The Tracks of Her Tears

I finally found a movie that made my daughter cry. And I can’t even tell you how happy that makes me! I was beginning to think there was more of The Loser in her than I would’ve liked, since she sat through “Steel Magnolias,” “Beaches,” and even “Turner and Hooch” without shedding a single tear (I, on the other hand, blubbered like a fool during every viewing). I mean, come on!! Did this child have a stone heart? To remain indifferent when Sally Field bemoans the loss of Julia Roberts? To not even flinch as Bette Midler sings “The Wind Beneath My Wings?” To not even whimper when poor Hooch meets his maker? Oddly enough, it was not death that caused the dam to break, it was the heartache of unrequited love.

I made this discovery quite by accident on Sunday night. We had had a very busy weekend, and I was trying to distract her from the computer (damn AIM!) and wind her down for the night. So I started looking through the movies I had saved on my tivo. Lo and behold, right between “Ellen Degeneres” and “General Hospital” was “Forrest Gump!” I hadn’t seen that movie in YEARS and decided that it would be worth a shot to turn it on and see if Lexie was interested. Well, she was. TOTALLY. She actually turned off the computer and snuggled up next to me on the couch. She smiled at his simple but genuine personality, and laughed at his innocence and naïveté. And she was enthralled with his friendship with Jenny.

I noticed the first tear when Forrest went to visit Jenny in college, and she was with another guy. I tried to be nonchalant, but I couldn’t help smiling and Lexie caught me. “Shut up, mom!” she said, wiping away the offending droplet. The pattern continued with every letter he mailed her during his time in Vietnam, every comment he made about his perfect Jenny. Each time Jenny shot him down, Lexie cried. “I’d date him, mom,” she said earnestly. “He’s such a good person!”

And I’m sure she would, too. Lexie was able to see the Forrest that Jenny took for granted, and felt the same pain Forrest felt each time she slipped away. I can only hope that she continues to root for the nice guys and look beyond the surface. When Jenny died at the end, and Forrest stood talking to her at her grave, I think she cried more than I did.

“It’s not fair,” she said between sobs. “Why did it take her so long to realize how much he loved her?” I didn’t have an answer for that one. Because I saw a lot of myself in Jenny, someone always trying to be someone she’s not, looking for the bad boys and the adventure instead of seeing what was right in front of her face. I had my own Forrest before I dated Kevin, a great guy named Bobby Joe who bent over backwards to make me happy. He always knew the right things to say, listened to my problems and fears, made me laugh whenever I was down. But I never even considered dating him, because he was Bobby Joe. Not my type. A good friend, that was all. Funny thing is, all these years later, I’ve come to realize that what I’m looking for in my “perfect man” is everything Bobby Joe had been – and he was right in front of my face. I wonder how different my life would’ve been if I hadn’t taken Bobby Joe for granted almost twenty years ago…

Amazing how perceptive my ten-year-old is. I hope she never overlooks her Forrest or Bobby Joe. But for some reason, I have a feeling she won’t. She just doesn’t have it in her to be mean or hurtful, intentionally or otherwise. And again – yay for the tears! My daughter is human after all!

And on a side note – on Sunday I was at a friend’s house for a kid’s birthday party. Her brother was there, someone I hadn’t seen in many, many years. He asked me what I’ve been doing, and for the first time EVER I responded, “Well, I’m in the middle of writing a book.” Saying that felt good. I only hope I didn’t jinx myself…

The Beginning of the End, Part 19

I was right about Marc becoming a more frequent visitor. The thing was, I really didn’t mind. He was actually a really nice guy, and between him and Kevin, we were always laughing. I almost forgot that he even used at all, because his general routine was come in, socialize, head for the bathroom, take off outside, then return to hang out. He seldom shared the pipe with us, instead he actually seemed to really just enjoy our company. I think Marc was simply the type of person who liked being around other people. And from what I was able to piece together about his life, he didn’t have the best home environment.

His mother was an alcoholic and his father was abusive. He started getting high with his older brother, who had left home a few months ago. Things were really tense in his household, and he used every excuse not to be there. He hated his father for hitting his mom, hated his mom for drinking the violence out of her mind, hated himself for not doing anything about it. He hadn’t talked to his brother since he left, and wasn’t even sure where he was. We apparently were Marc’s escape, and had no problem with that. At least, Kevin and I didn’t.

Matt, on the other hand, was once again going through his “Kevin is MY best friend” phase, and started getting more and more upset every time Marc showed up. Finally, he gave Kevin an ultimatum: either tell Marc to quit coming by or he was leaving. I held my breath and silently rooted for Marc. Kevin looked at Matt, shrugged, and said, “See ya.”

Kevin never told Marc why Matt was no longer staying with us, and when Marc did ask, he just changed the subject. Neither of us wanted Marc to feel like he had caused any problems. He had enough on his mind already. Marc almost reminded me of a stray puppy, eager to make everyone happy, never in a bad mood no matter what his situation.

One day Marc had come over after working a day shift and was hanging out with Kevin when I returned from the Olive Garden. They had apparently just scored, as Kevin was busily gathering the “cooking utensils” and Matt was already in the bathroom. I tossed my apron on the bed and started counting the tips I had made for the night.

“Hey, babe?” Kevin asked. “Think you can run to 7-11 and get me a 40? I spent all my money on this…”

I sighed. It hadn’t been such a great night tip-wise, and I was tired and just wanted a hit and my bed. I had to work again the next day during the lunch shift, and really needed to get some sleep.

“Only if you PROMISE that this will be an early night,” I warned.

“Babe!” Kevin exclaimed, faking indignance. “What do you think the beer is for? It mellows me out. I didn’t get a lot tonight, so I promise it will be an early night.”

“Fine,” I mumbled, turning for the door. Then I stopped and spun to look at him. “And DON’T try telling me you only got one hit out of that!”

Kevin grinned at me. “I’ll save you AT LEAST two. I promise.”

He looked as sincere as he could look, for Kevin, at least, so I started to turn back for the door. As I did, the bathroom door opened, and Marc rushed past me and out into the night.

“First one?” I asked Kevin.

He nodded. “Yeah. You know he usually doesn’t even do more than one…”

I shrugged, “Yeah, but you never know.”

Marc had left the door slightly open, so I slipped out and shut it behind me. It was a cool night, but not cold. I looked around the parking lot for Marc, but he was nowhere in sight. With a sigh, I crossed the parking lot to the 7-11. Thank God it’s just across the lot, I thought, for the millionth time since we had moved into our room. The store was empty save for he clerk, and he smiled at me in recognition as I walked to the cooler and took out a 40 oz generic beer. The brand never mattered to Kevin, so I always got the cheapest. As an afterthought, I grabbed a bottled water for myself.

I paid for the beverages and walked back out into the night. The streetlights cast a soft glow causing shadows to dance in the corners of the buildings. For some reason, I suddenly felt a little nervous. I held the paper bag closer to my chest and started to walk a little faster.

“Hey!”

I must have jumped ten feet in the air, and my heart almost leapt out of my chest. But when I turned to face my “assailant,” I was met with laughing eyes and an amused grin. It was Marc.

“You scared the SHIT out of me!” I said, still trying to catch my breath.

“Sorry,” he said. And he really did look sorry, as his smile vanished upon noticing my fear.

“S’ok,” I mumbled, now actually feeling a little foolish. We were standing next to a large van parked in the lot across from our room, and I leaned against it.

Marc leaned too, facing me. “So tell me about you and Kevin,” he said.

I blinked. “What?”

“You and Kevin. How did you guys meet? How long have you been together?” he closed the gap between us. “Why are you still with him?”

Suddenly, my heart was beating faster not from fear, but from nervous anticipation. I knew what was going to happen, and was having mixed thoughts on how to react. You’re Kevin’s girlfriend! Yes, but Marc is so cute… Marc is a junkie! Oh, and Kevin’s not?? Before I could think anything else, Marc was leaning in and our lips met.

I hadn’t kissed anyone other than Kevin since Mitch way back in Chicago and Marc had incredibly soft lips. I melted into him and the kiss became more urgent as he ran his fingers through my hair. Oh, God, he kisses so GOOD, I thought, Kevin is a good kisser, but THIS… Suddenly my eyes snapped open and I pulled away.

Marc looked at me and cocked his head. “I would be so much better for you. I would treat you like a queen. And I know you felt the same chemistry I did with that kiss…”

“Marc, I can’t,” I insisted. God, would my heart EVER stop pounding?

“Why?” he asked. “I could take care of you. I’ll quit slamming. We could have a good life.” He reached out and touched my cheek. “I think I’ve loved you from the first time I saw you.”

I stepped back, away from his hand. It was burning my cheek. There was no doubt about it, I did feel the chemistry, and that was why I was so scared. I belonged with Kevin, I barely knew Marc, and I couldn’t do this. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.

“No, we have to go back,” I stammered. “We should just forget about this whole thing.” I started to walk around the van towards the room.

Marc walked behind me closely. “I can’t just forget you, you know,” he breathed into my neck. “But I won’t tell Kevin. You’ll realize he’s wrong for you soon enough.”

I threw him an annoyed glare over my shoulder and kept walking.

I could hear the grin in his voice. “Or maybe you already do.”

We reached the room and I opened the door and walked in, with Marc right behind me. Kevin exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“Hey! I was beginning to think you left me,” he said with a smile.

I could feel myself blushing. Marc put his arm around me. “Yeah, I almost had her convinced,” he said, squeezing my shoulder.

Kevin laughed. Marc laughed. And I slid out from Marc’s arm and walked over to Kevin.

“Here’s your beer,” I said, handing him the bottle. “And I really need a hit.”

One More Time...

I know I promised a chapter, and I will deliver. But in light of the “breaking news” that I feel oh so strongly about, I couldn’t quell the intense NEED to organize my thoughts and post (for the third time) on this topic. I know there are many of you who don’t agree with my feelings, and that is good; the world would be a very boring place if everyone agreed on everything. And in the true spirit of blogging, I choose to continue to write on this subject and welcome any comments – both good and bad.

In case you hadn’t heard, Oprah invited James Frey back to her studio for a live broadcast today. It didn’t go very well for Mr. Frey. In fact, Oprah apologized to her audience and admitted feeling “duped” by Mr. Frey. I haven’t yet seen the broadcast, but the gist of it can be found here.

Kudos, Oprah. A little late, maybe, but I’m still glad she finally publicly acknowledged the fact that it is NOT ok to lie. Because too many people followed her lead and said “oh, it’s the publisher’s fault” or “his story was basically true” and guess what? That’s all bullshit. Since the initial “outing,” there have been several other instances of, shall we say, “creativity” unearthed in his book. Most of these he admitted to, some he still skips around. But what it all boils down to is that he had reverted back to true addict form. He lied. I think this journalist did an excellent job of explaining exactly why the whole thing is so maddening.

I agree with what he said. And unlike him, I have read the book, finished it yesterday, as a matter of fact. And guess what? I wasn’t that impressed. Maybe because of all the hype and the controversy surrounding it, maybe because I didn’t much get into his writing style, and in all honesty, I went into it a bit jaded. But as the aforementioned journalist said, it angered me that he is sending the message that you don’t need rehab, in fact, you don’t need ANYTHING, to get sober. You don’t need the twelve steps, you don’t need a Higher Power, all you need is yourself. Bullshit. “Hold on?” I think that is exactly what addicts are doing during the height of their addiction. “Holding on” to their addiction, to the belief that they have control, to the delusion that nobody knows about their problem, to the insane notion that how they are living is ok. It’s not until you LET GO that you begin your recovery. As a matter of fact, one of the big cliches in recovery is “Let Go and Let God.” So what made Frey think “hold on” was a good message to spread is a mystery to me.

I think his book was actually more well-received by people who never had an addiction, and never attempted recovery. Because they were easily led to believe that everything he said was a realistic view inside the life of an addict. What it turned out to be was a view inside the mind of an addict, and a creative one, at that. As a recovering addict myself, his actions in his book angered the hell out of me. Laughing at the counselors? Leaving Rehab and going into a bar? Ignoring all the rules? Not great ways to begin a sober life. Although he repeatedly said in the book how ashamed he felt, I got more of a “Wasn’t-I-Cool” machismo vibe from his writing.

My personal take on James Frey is that he simply is incapable of truth. Is he a good writer? Apparently so. A good fiction writer. As I’ve said before, I still don’t understand the reason why he felt the need to lie – as any addict can tell you, the truth is compelling enough without the exaggerations. In my story, you won’t read about any jail time (not for me, at least) or cops out to get me or holes in my cheek or anesthesia-free root canals. What you will read is my story as I remember it. I don’t want to embellish, because I don’t have to. If people don’t like it, I DON’T CARE. If I try to publish it, it will be as a novel “based on my life.” Because the only fact-checking will be in my head, and believe me I’m sure there will be plenty of details omitted or dates and people mixed up. I’m not trying to shock anyone or make myself a martyr, I’m just writing a personal story. And for the record – unlike Mr. Frey, I strongly recommend Twelve Step programs. Maybe not for life, but I know I never could’ve recovered without my support system and an organized recovery program. Like I said earlier, I was tired of “holding on” – I had to eventually “let go.”

I just really wish James Frey would do the same – stop “holding on” to his façade and come clean on every account. It’s a shame to see someone who had the power to really make a difference fall so hard. In my humble opinion, an honest apology and the admission of his ill-fated decision to stretch and rewrite the “truth” to his own benefit would be the best thing he could do for himself and the people who so desperately wanted to believe in him.

And on that note, I am done chronicling my thoughts on Mr. Frey.

Sorry for the Delay

Wellllll... I was going to do another "TBOTE" chapter today, since Satan left early, but then M and I ordered baked clams for a late lunch, and OBVIOUSLY I couldn't type while I ate, and then I happened to run across a "flashback" internet radio station that is playing fun songs from my teenage years, and how am I supposed to get focused on "TBOTE" with "Simply Irresistable" playing in the background? Ok, lame excuse, I know. But seriously, it IS a distraction. I feel more like singing and dancing than writing. Of course, I won't sing OR dance, at least not here or ANYWHERE in public. Maybe in my head, though. Or maybe I'll be like a mime and just move my lips to the words and bop my head. Song change - "Let's Hear it For the Boy!!" Yay!

Sorry, folks. Looks like you'll have to wait just a wee bit longer for the next chapter so I can reminisce a while... I can't really focus on anything other than the music right now... Pinch me! Is that really "Sunglasses at Night?" Corey, I LOVE you!!

Why I Hate Satan; Reason #324,651

Can I please just say AGAIN how much I. HATE. SATAN. I apologize for the inability to post anything of substance today, but I have to locate a picture of the specific location of certain heart valves and arteries involved in a quadruple bypass. And here I thought my med school training would go unused since I am, after all, a PARALEGAL, and not a DOCTOR. Oh, and? I need to EXPLAIN to him EXACTLY what this procedure entails and how it is performed. Did you ever try to “Google” ‘coronary artery bypass graft x4’? Again, thank GOD for my med school training. Oh, wait – that’s right… I didn’t GO to med school, because I am a PARALEGAL! I forgot. Or at least, Satan apparently has. Asshole.

Not-Evil-At-All Corporate People

So today I called corporate. Guess what? The woman who answered was very pleasant and ALSO very helpful. She looked up my file and told me that apparently the T4 was out of stock and on backorder. And it looked like that was the reason they sent me a T3. Why asshole supervisor neglected to tell me this was unknown to her.

And? She will DEFINITELY ship me a brand spanking new T4 just as soon as more arrive in stock, which she believes will be within one or two weeks. And she apologized for the inconvenience and offered to send me a power cord to use the other monitor until my new one arrives.

No thanks, I think I will leave crappy monitor in its box until I am ready to ship it back. Which, if it’s all the same to you, I will not do until I get my NEW monitor. She said she completely understood and that was not a problem at all. She said she will have New Monitor shipped as soon as they are in stock, but I should call her just to follow up next week. That way, she could let me know if it had shipped or let me know when the next shipment was due to arrive. So basically, this story has a happy ending.

Only I still can’t help but wonder about Asshole Supervisor, aka Hyrum (I kid you not, that is his name). What could he possibly have gained from not telling me the monitor was on backorder? And why did he feel the need to flaunt his “power” by telling me I had to keep the T3? If I hadn’t called corporate, I never would’ve found out the real situation. Maybe Hyrum has a black market for T4s and is replacing EVERYONE’S T4 with a T3. Maybe THAT is why they are out of stock… Hmmmm.

I really wanted to call Hyrum and gloat, but my dad advised against it. He’s probably right, although a part of me STILL wishes I could. “Hello, HYRUM? Guess who? Yes, I just wanted to let you know that I AM GETTING MY NEW MONITOR. And know what else? When the T3 you sent me arrives back at your tech office? SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS, OK? And? Have a nice day!”

EVIL COMPUTER PEOPLE

I am MAD. I am less mad than I was last night, though, because last night I was FURIOUS. Furious to the point where you feel the blood throbbing in your head and you want to smash something, but you know that it's probably not a good idea. Now generally, I do not get mad very easily. It takes a lot. But when I am pushed, or feel I am being wronged, LOOK OUT. And last night I was both.

So here's the thing - I bought a brand new computer, flat-screen monitor and printer about two weeks ago. A store that we shall call "BB" for sake of privacy (yeah, I know, no one will figure THAT out!) had an online special, and with the rebates, I got a really good deal. It was still a big chunk of change, though, and I had already totally wasted about $300 on the damn "Geek Squad" trying to get my old old old computer repaired - which it never was. And THEY claim they did what they were paid to do, and that it wasn't their fault my computer was so old. (Side Note - I hate the Geek Squad. Not the employees, they were nice, but the company. I feel TOTALLY ripped off by them, sent a letter to that effect, and was completely IGNORED. Jerks.) As a single mom with only myself for income (see The Loser) I don't make big purchases often. But I thought this was a good thing, and I was really happy and excited.

So the monitor and printer arrived before the actual computer, and I decided I would hook up the monitor to my old computer to check it out. It was pretty cool, especially after being so used to my humungous old 100 pound monitor. Lexie played on the internet for a little while, then we turned it off for the night. Next morning, I try to turn it on, and NOTHING. The damn monitor won't turn on. I unplug it and plug it back in - NOTHING. Plug it into a different outlet - NOTHING. Check the surge protector - it's fine. The computer itself works, the speakers work, but the stupid monitor WILL NOT GO ON. So, I call the tech line for the company that starts with one of the first five letters of the alphabet and ends with a word that rhymes with "Plachines" and tell them the problem. The girl on the other end was friendly and polite, and tells me that it sounds like there is some malfunction in the connection wires or something. She says I can either a) ship the monitor back to them, have them repair it or replace it and then they will ship it back to me, or b) let them put a $99 hold on a credit card and they will immediately ship a new monitor to me, and also provide me with a box to ship the defective one back in. I opt for b, because I really didn't want to wait for the whole repair process.

As she was taking my information, I suddenly realized I did, in fact, have another option. "Can't I just take it back to BB?" I asked, actually feeling kind of stupid for not thinking of that originally. "Of course!" she told me. "But if they give you any problems, you can always call us back. It is, after all, under warranty."

So yay! I pack it up and bring it with me to work, deciding to go to BB during lunch.

Which I do. And when I explain the situation to the guy at the return counter, he tells me to go get a new one, and they will have their tech look at mine. When I return with the new monitor, the guy at the counter informs me, "Your monitor works fine." WHAT?? But it wouldn't go on at my house! "Well, it's working now." I told him then YOU keep that one and re-sell it, and I'll just take this nice new one here. "We can't allow you to do that." I ask what happens if I bring it home and it won't work again. Can I bring it back? "No, we don't accept returns a second time. It's already been scanned in the system as a cancelled return, and if you try to bring it back after we found it to be working..." he trailed off, and I could easily fill in the implication: "If you try to bring it back, we'll think YOU did something to it." Frustrated and angry, I left BB. I tried thinking of what could be wrong. Maybe I need a new surge protector. Yeah, maybe that's it. I decide to buy one on my way home and hope that it works. If not, well that nice lady at EM said I could still ship it back to them and get a new one.

SO, new surge protector in hand, I once again set up the monitor. Plug it in, press the button, voila! It goes on! I breathe a sigh of relief and thank the computer gods. Until I am in the middle of checking e-mails just about five minutes later and POOF! The monitor shuts off. And it WILL NOT go on again. DAMMIT! DAMMIT! DAMMIT! The thing is obviously defective. And now I can't even bring it back to BB. So, I call EM again.

Different tech, same information. Before he can totally explain the process, though, I tell him I've already been through this this morning, and I want the new monitor shipped right away. He says fine, we can do that, I'll just need your credit card number for the hold. Done, and done. He tells me a new monitor will be shipped right away, and they will also ship a box at the same time for me to ship back the defective monitor. Wonderful. Thank you for your help, sir, you're welcome ma'am, have a great day.

This was last Thursday. On Monday, I receive a FedEx package. It is an empty box. With a shipping label. Obviously to return the broken monitor. But I wonder where my new one is, after all, I have the hold on my account because I wanted the new one right away. So I call EM. "I am so sorry, they should have been shipped together. It looks like your new monitor should be arriving within the next few days." Well, ok. As long as the new monitor has been shipped, I'll just go ahead and send this one back. "Great. Yes, you will definitely have your new monitor soon. Again, I apologize." No problem.

Ship the new monitor on Tuesday. And wait. And wait. On Thursday, I call EM again. Where's my new monitor? I shipped the other one on Tuesday. And I had a hold on my account so I could get the new one RIGHT AWAY. It's been a week. "So sorry, ma'am. It looks like that new monitor was shipped yesterday, you should get it in 3-5 business days." But I thought it was going to be shipped LAST THURSDAY! I was told I would be returning the defective monitor at the same time I received my NEW one! Why bother with the hold if it wasn't sent out until after you received the old one? "Sorry, ma'am. There was apparently a mixup or something. You should be getting it soon." ARRRRGGHH! But ok. The new monitor was on its way.

Surprise, surprise, yesterday I get a package from EM. I was thrilled. New monitor just in time for the weekend! But wait a minute... "REFURBISHED?" Why does the box say "refurbished?" I was supposed to be getting a NEW monitor... Shrug it off, shrug it off, it's probably just a new monitor that they just fixed or something. Maybe they even fixed the old one and just sent it back. I vow to my coworker that if I get home and this monitor is defective in ANY WAY, EM will be in deep doo-doo.

So I remove the old monitor at home, and open the new monitor's plain brown "refurbished" box. Inside is a COMPLETELY different monitor than the one I bought. When I check the model number on the back, I find out that not only does he damn thing have scrapes and scratches all over it, it is an older model they don't even MAKE anymore. They sent me an E15T3 - I purchased an E15T4. There is no instruction booklet in the box, and then I notice there is ALSO no power cord enclosed. So even if I WANTED to use it, I COULDN'T. Begin first stage of fury.

I call EM, and calmly but angrily explained the situation. That I was SUPPOSED to get a NEW monitor, and I received an OLD REFURBISHED monitor that wasn't even the same model as the one I returned. That I had a hold on my credit card account to assure the return of the OLD monitor while I waited for my NEW monitor. Then a thought occurred to me - was there a misunderstanding, and maybe this monitor was sent while they fixed my old one? And that they would ship MY monitor back when it was repaired?

No, that's not what they do, I was told. The monitor I received was to replace the defective one. BUT IT'S NOT A NEW MONITOR! "Umm, in the warranty, it says we can replace a defective product with a comparable replacement." THIS ISN'T "COMPARABLE!" IT'S AN OUTDATED MODEL! "Oh, you mean it's not the same model as the one you sent?" NO!!! "Oh, that's strange. I've never heard of that before... let me talk to a supervisor..." OH, AND??? THERE IS NO POWER CORD. HOW CAN I USE THIS WITH NO POWER CORD?? "Really? Well, did you send all the accessories to us when you sent us your monitor?" Yessss, I sent EVERYTHING back. "You shouldn't have done that. You were supposed to KEEP the accessories to use with your replacement." Ok, but IT'S NOT EVEN THE SAME MODEL. THE ACCESSORIES WOULDN'T HAVE WORKED ON THIS ONE, ANYWAY! "Ok, ma'am? Hold on, I'm going to get you a supervisor." THANK YOU!!!

Hold hold hold. Finally, I'm thinking, I am going to get somewhere. This will be resolved as soon as I talk to a supervisor. Because I am SURE this company did not INTENTIONALLY send me a crappy outdated monitor to replace the BRAND NEW $280 monitor I had purchased less than two weeks before.

Guess what? They sure as hell did. The supervisor got on the phone and read me the damn warranty. Had the nerve to tell me "We can replace your monitor with ANYTHING WE WANT." I told him I wanted the monitor, MY monitor, that I had shipped them, returned to me. His answer? "No. It's not yours anymore, it's OURS. We sent you a replacement." I said I'll send you back your crappy monitor, and I don't even care if mine still doesn't work - I WANT IT BACK. "NO. No. No. No. We don't have to do ANYTHING." (Said in an annoyingly singsong voice, may I add.) THIS GODDAMNED MONITOR DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A POWER CORD!!! "So, I'll send you a power cord." I DON'T WANT THE POWER CORD, I WANT MY OLD MONITOR BACK!! "It's not YOUR monitor anymore. You have YOUR monitor." You DO realize that this is basically thievery, don't you? I mean, I spent $280 on this monitor TWO WEEKS AGO and you sent me a monitor worth less than $100. "That's YOUR opinion. The warranty states we can replace it with whatever we want." THIS IS FRAUD!! I DON'T CARE WHAT THE WARRANTY SAYS, I WAS TOLD I WAS GETTING SHIPPED A NEW MONITOR!! "Well, you weren't." SO I WAS LIED TO??? "That's your opinion." I WANT MY F$#@ING MONITOR BACK!!! "No." SEND ME MY F^%$ING MONITOR BACK!!!!!!! "No. No, no no." I'LL SUE YOU!!! "Whatever. But I'm not sending your monitor back. It's OUR monitor now." This guy was so smug, and arrogant and condescending - almost PROUD of himself for pulling this shit. I couldn't believe it.

I wound up hanging up on him because I was afraid I was going to burst a blood vessel in my brain. Like a wild animal, I was panting and my eyes were bulging out of my head. I think I scared Lexie. But I WAS PISSED. No way did I just get ripped off by that damn company. After doing some searching on Google, I found the number for the corporate office. See, they don't put the number for corporate on their website, probably because they don't want people to complain about being RIPPED OFF. So I will call them Monday morning. If they will do nothing, I will file for arbitration, as is indicated in their STUPID warranty. I can't imagine an arbitrator thinking it is ok to be given a crappy monitor to replace a brand new one. Maybe if it was the same damn model number - but it isn't. I WILL PREVAIL, EM. YOU DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE MESSING WITH. AND ASSHOLE SUPERVISOR, YOUR ASS IS MINE. DON'T THINK I WON'T DO EVERYTHING I CAN TO GET YOU FIRED. Maybe I'll ask for a meeeeellion dollars in damages. Probably not, though. All I really want is my pretty brand new monitor. Or my money back.

I HATE EM.

The Beginning of the End, Part 18

As Kevin shut the door behind us, I stood staring at the person I didn’t know. He had medium-length blonde hair and dancing blue eyes. He was attractive in a way, he resembled Alex Winter in his role as a vampire in “The Lost Boys.” He smiled at me, and let go of the strap on his arm.

“I’m Marc, I work with Kevin and Matt,” he said, extending his right hand. I took it warily.

“Dasi,” I replied.

He held on to my hand a little longer than I felt comfortable with, and then went back to adjusting the strap on his arm.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

He looked up at me, almost with surprise. “Slamming. You ever done it?” He reached for a syringe that was lying on the dresser next to him.

I recoiled. “No, and I don’t plan to.” My voice raised a notch. “And I don’t want anyone else to in here, either.”

Marc looked over at Matt, who shrugged. He turned his gaze to Kevin, who looked over at me. “No! I don’t like needles and I don’t want anyone shooting up in here.”

“How about if he does it in the bathroom?” Kevin asked.

“I’ve got a rock here for you, if you say yes…” Marc sang, giving me a wink.

It wasn’t that I NEEDED to get high, but I had to admit, it did sound good. The drug-free night Kevin and I had planned was all but forgotten. I relented. “Ok, but in the bathroom. I don’t want to see that needle at all!”

Marc bounced up from his seat and walked the three steps to the bathroom.

“Wait!” I said, “My rock?” I held out my hand and Marc chuckled.

He reached in his pocket and drew out a triangle of paper. “It’s not cooked yet,” he said. “But it should actually be enough for a couple.” He tossed me the paper and shut the bathroom door behind him.

“Here, babe, I’ll do it,” Kevin said. “Get me the tube.”

I obligingly opened the top drawer retrieved the necessities: a pyrex test tube and a wire stick.

“And that glass of water over there.”

Done. I watched as Kevin began his ritual of cooking up the drugs. I could feel my heart beating in anticipation, and almost jumped out of my skin when the bathroom door suddenly flew open and Marc came strutting out like a man on a mission. He had a wild look in his eyes, and his jaw was moving back and forth like it was coming unhinged.

“Be back,” he muttered, as he opened the front door and disappeared into the night, slamming the door shut behind him.

Matt shook his head. “Man, I hate when he does that!”

I looked at him in amazement. “You mean, he always gets like that?”

Matt nodded. “Dude, I would never slam this shit. Every time he does, he totally freaks and has to go out and walk around for like a half hour. Then he comes back, ready for the next one.”

“So what, he slams and goes out, and slams and goes out?” I asked.

“Well, sometimes he’ll only slam once, then just come back and smoke. He’s a lot mellower then.”

I heard the subtle sound of a cooked rock hitting the table, and turned to see Kevin smiling with pride. “Look at that, babe. Pretty nice sized rock, huh? We should probably get like two hits each, at least.” He laughed. “Marc probably doesn’t even realize he gave you this much.”

I smiled back, and reached for a pipe. But as I was getting ready to do my hit, I found myself wondering about Marc. The images I held in my mind of people who “shot up” were nothing like what I saw in Marc. They were supposed to be skeletal people, with hollows for eyes and the shakes. Marc, although not heavy, was far from skeletal, and his eyes actually seemed to sparkle. He wasn’t even shaky when he stormed out, although he did go by so fast, it was hard to tell. Actually, he reminded me more of a surfer dude, with his longer blonde hair and his “everybody’s pal” attitude. And when he shook my hand, it almost seemed as though he was flirting a little… but that couldn’t be. After all, he knew Kevin and knew I was his girlfriend…

“Hey, are you going to do that or what?” Kevin asked.

I blinked my eyes and realized I was still holding the loaded pipe and lighter. “Sorry,” I mumbled as I took my hit.

The rush came over me like an old friend, starting in my head and flowing all the way down to my toes. I closed my eyes and exhaled. My whole body was tingling, and it felt so good. I passed the pipe to Kevin, and he took it greedily.

I started rifling through the dresser drawers, not looking for anything in particular, just doing something to do something. I could still feel the grip of the drug in my gut. My head spun and I took a deep breath. This was definitely good stuff.

I heard a knock at the door, and almost jumped out of my skin. “It’s me,” a voice whispered loudly from the other side.

“It’s Marc,” Matt said, setting down his pipe and going to open the door.

Marc walked in, and all signs of the paranoia that had accompanied him on his way out seemed to be gone. He was calm and relaxed, and sat by me and smiled. “So, did you get a good hit?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, thanks. In fact, I think there’s still more, if you want a hit…”

He shook his head. “No, thanks. That was enough for me.” His blue eyes searched mine. “I’m glad you feel how you do about slamming,” he said. “Don’t ever try it.”

I had to laugh. “Oh, listen to you! ‘Do as I say, not as I do?’ Is that it?”

He sucked his teeth and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t tried it. The rush is incredible. But it’s almost impossible to quit.”

“You’ve tried?”

“No, but I’ve heard.” He stood up. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Dasi. Kevin’s a lucky guy.”

I felt my face flush under his stare.

“See you at work tomorrow, guys,” he called, as he once again left the room, this time for the night.

Kevin and Matt both waved, and Kevin handed me back the pipe. The rest of the night was like all the rest, partying, coming down, sleeping. But that night’s sleep was haunted by images of Marc. For some reason, he made me feel both uncomfortable and intrigued. And even though I tried to stop, I kept hearing his laugh and seeing his eyes. I had a feeling we would be seeing a lot more of Marc, and I wasn’t sure that was going to be a good thing.

AGAIN With the Scary Man!

Ok, this isn’t even funny anymore. Last night I had ANOTHER nightmare with ANOTHER psycho person trying to get me. Only this time, I was walking through a parking lot at night, looking for my car. There were other people around too, but for some reason I was really nervous and kept telling myself, “Just find the car and get in, you’re ok…” When I found my car, I got in and locked the doors, which I usually don’t do in real life. Almost immediately after I locked the doors, someone all in black slammed up against my driver’s side window with his arms, and had a crowbar in one of his hands. Again, I didn’t see a face. So I’m panicking and trying to push the alarm button on my keychain but also trying to start the car, and wondering if I DO press the alarm button, will the car even start – because I KNOW it’s only a matter of seconds before this person smashes in my window with the crowbar and gets me.

Thankfully, I woke up.

This time, though, it was still the middle of the night, and I had a hard time falling back asleep even with my fat cat Baby purring above my head on my pillow.

My coworker M is convinced that there is something in my waking life that has me either scared or nervous, but for the life of me I can’t think of anything major that is bothering me. What is that stuff you recommend, Miladysa? I think I need it!

BTW, Satan is leaving early today, so I am hoping to get an installment of TBOTE in sometime later today. Nothing like a good dose of your own f***ed up past to stop the nightmares, huh? (heh. That was supposed to be sarcastic, in case you didn’t get it.)

Welcome to My Nightmare

I was going to write about my love for American Idol, but Hope beat me to the punch. And she did a good job of it, too. So instead of repeating what she so eloquently wrote, you can check it out here. One thing I DO want to say, though, is that I, too, am thoroughly amazed at the vast number of people who truly believe they can sing well. And are so pathetically WRONG. 10,000 people and only 30-something through to Hollywood from my home town? I am embarrassed.

Anyway. I am having trouble concentrating today because of a HORRIBLE nightmare I had last night. Or should I say, this morning. Because it woke me up exactly two minutes before my alarm was supposed to go off. I dreamt that I was at what appeared to be a college campus, or something, in a large room discussing with some of my cousins a scheduled outing to some sports event. I was getting irritated with them, because they wanted to go to whatever it was we were going to when it was still cold out, and I wanted to wait until it got warmer. In any case, I decided I had to use the bathroom, which was in a different building.

So I walked outside and it was really dark and REALLY cold, which made me hold my coat closed up around my neck. I turned the corner and came to the sidewalk that led up to the building I was looking for. On my left was the wall to another building, on my right was a line of heavy bushes from the beginning of the sidewalk almost to the building. Across the quad there were two little kids, telling some adult that “he went right in THERE” and pointing in my direction. I started to walk down the sidewalk to the building, and about 50 feet away on my right saw a young woman holding books look my way with a stunned expression. And the next thing I know, a man jumps out of the bushes and grabs me from behind. He has to have been pretty big, because he physically had me lifted practically off the ground, holding me around the waist and pinning my arms to my sides while I still held onto my coat collar. I was screaming and screaming and trying to struggle, but I couldn’t. And he was dragging me away and I couldn’t break free.

I woke up with my heart pounding and the blood rushing in my head. It was like I still had an adrenaline rush going. And since the sun wasn’t quite up yet, it was still dark, so it took me a minute to get my bearings and realize it was just a dream. But let me tell you, IT FREAKED THE SHIT OUT OF ME. For whatever reason, I can still feel the incredible terror and this guy’s arms around me. (Shudder!)

I looked up dream interpretations once I was at work (when Satan wasn’t looking) and I found out a couple things – first, if you dream you are being attacked, there are “questions on your character and the need for you to defend yourself. You are feeling stressed, vulnerable, and helpless. You also may be faced with difficult changes in your waking life.” Bushes apparently represent “feminine emotions and desires” (heh). Also, “To have a dream that takes place at night, represents some major setbacks and obstacles in achieving your goals. There are some issues in your life that you are facing that are not too clear. You should put the issues aside so you can clear your head before coming back to it.” Dreaming of cold “indicates you are experiencing a breakthrough in some area of your life. Alternatively, you may be feeling isolated.” It can also be “a result of your immediate environment in which you are really feeling cold.” (Duh! I’ve been keeping the heat lower than normal!) The college scenario represents going through “some social or cultural changes” and that “now is a good time for you to experiment and try new things.” Finally, feeling terror in your dreams “forewarns of disappointments and loss.”

Ok. So according to the above interpretations, I’m having some feminine needs and desires but am feeling stressed, vulnerable and helpless. My goals are not being achieved yet, and issues in my life aren’t clear. I need to FORGET about these issues so they can BECOME clear. I’m either having a breakthrough or feeling isolated – or maybe I just need to turn my heat up a notch. And although it is supposedly a good time to experiment and try new things, if I do I’ll probably face disappointments and loss. Hmmmmm.

Know what? I don’t care about the interpretations. It still scared the shit out of me. And it had BETTER not become one of those recurring things. Sometimes I wish I DIDN’T remember my dreams so clearly, you know??

Yes, Virginia, There IS a Santa Claus...

...and I'm pretty sure he lives on the Northwest Side of Chicago.

I know Christmas is almost a month past, but I felt compelled to share the photographic evidence that my mother has a serious problem controlling her Christmas spirit. Lexie counted last year, all told she has like 50-something snowmen in her house during the holidays. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love how her house looks at Christmastime, but I’m pretty sure if there was a prize for “Excessive Insane Christmas Decorating” she would win – hands down. But don't take MY word for it - YOU be the judge...










Yep, you haven't experienced Christmas until you've experienced it at my mom's. With Johnny Mathis crooning in the background, of course. Thanks for making every Christmas so special, Mom!

The Loser

Today my mother and I are hosting a baby shower for my sister-in-law. My brother will be there, too (as long as it ends before the Bears kickoff) as apparently a lot of dads-to-be now join in in what used to be a "girls ony" deal. I actually think that is pretty cool, because it shows how important dads are in a child's life - even before the actual birth. And dads-to-be who go to a shower filled with women on a weekend afternoon and smile and be polite while watching their wife opening gifts are definitely a special (yet thankfully growing) breed. You just know, from these dads' patience and tolerance during the age-old female ritual of luncheons and gift giving and cake, that they are going to be very special fathers.

I know my brother is going to be an awesome dad, because he has been a surrogate dad to my Lexie her whole life. See, I didn't exactly make the best selection in the father department when it came to my daughter. Ok, so there wasn't really even any "selection" at all. Lexie was the most wonderful "accident" to ever happen to me. Unfortunately, she really got gypped in the dad department.

Initially, when I found out I was pregnant, Loser wanted to get married and settle down. I didn't - for several reasons. One of the main ones was that I didn't love him. The second biggie was that he had been dating someone else for quite a while. I nipped that in the bud immediately. I was still stuck in a bad place in my life, and wasn't even sure I was ready to have a baby myself. Thankfully, God intervened, and long story short, Lexie basically saved my life.

In the beginning, Loser swore up and down he would be there, financially and emotionally for his daughter. That lasted until I asked him to quit drinking and getting high and TRY to be a good father. Suddenly, his phone calls stopped coming, and the last time he ever actually laid eyes on his own daughter was when she was five months old. The child support was pretty screwed up, too, see, he worked for the County and had "connections," so when the Court tried to serve him, the Sheriffs' Department had one creative excuse after another as to why they couldn't do so. Two years later, I got my first Child Support check. Since then, payments have been so sporadic it's pathetic, and he is currently about $40,000 in arrears. Fighting the Illinois Child Support system is an exhausting procedure, and for whatever reason, they tend to favor the non-custodial paernt. At least, in my situation. To make things even MORE difficult, he is now married and living in Florida with his new wife and stepson - a woman I know from our past who used to hold a crackpipe in one hand and her toddler son in the other. Oh, did I mention that this guy is 45 years old? 35 when Lexie was born? Not exactly an "irresponsible kid" type. He is SUPPOSEDLY a "man." Anyway, the whole child support issue isn't really my biggest problem.

My biggest problem is the fact that my daughter, for all practical purposes, doesn't have a dad. Initially, I used to try to make up for this fact by overcompensating. Lexie was a pretty spoiled child, I’ll admit, she always had the newest toys and cutest clothes, even when I really couldn’t afford it. My parents seemed to help out a lot in that department as well, especially since she was their first grandchild. As she got older, and became aware of the fact that her family was “different,” I would explain to her that although she did have a dad, he was sick, and couldn’t be there for her. I never said a bad word about him to her (although Lord knows I have been tempted) because I really believe doing so would do more harm than good. I didn’t want her to EVER think that his not being around was because of her, so I always was careful to say that he just couldn’t be a good dad, and that maybe someday he would get well and be able to be there for her. When she was really little, this was good enough, but as she got older, she wanted more information.

Gradually I told her that in fact, her father was sick because of drugs and alcohol, and I even told her about my checkered past (well, in VERY limited amounts, of course). I explained that although I was able to recover, he wasn’t. I told her how hard it is to stop doing drugs and using alcohol when you are so sick from it. I told her that I was sure he WANTED to stop, but just couldn’t. Surprisingly, she was very accepting of the whole shebang. She asked some questions, but decided that she was ok with it. And for a little while, that was the end of it.

Then about a year and a half ago, she started asking more questions. She wanted to know if he knew where to find her. I told her yes, since her grandparents (his parents) knew where she was (they had always been good about sending cards and gifts for birthdays and holidays), obviously he would know as well. She wanted to know if he was married. I told her yes, and that he also had a stepson. She asked if that meant she had a stepmother and stepbrother, and I said NO. That in order for them to be “step” anything to her, her father would have to be active in her life. (Plus I wouldn’t want that woman near my daughter, but I didn’t tell her that...) She wanted to know what he looked like, and if I had any pictures.

Now, HERE we ran into problems. You see, I do have ONE clear picture of him from her christening, but in it he looks a lot like Skeletor from the old “He-Man” cartoons. And I didn’t want to freak her out. (Remember – junkie alcoholic.) So I found two other pictures – one from FAR far away in which you couldn’t really see him, and one that showed him holding her – which only showed him from the chin down. She accused me of taking bad pictures, and asked if she could call her grandparents for better ones. I said ok and prayed I was doing the right thing, and that they had some less-scary pictures of their son.

Eventually, they mailed her two pictures of him that actually weren’t that bad (neither of them were close-ups): one of him in a cherry-picker (weird, since according to child support he WASN'T WORKING) and one of him lounging in a speedboat (ROUGH LIFE, ASSHOLE). First, she brought those pictures to school to show her friends her dad, then she scotch-taped them to her bedroom wall. It was shortly after that that I caught her crying in her room.

She couldn’t understand why he could be a dad to someone else’s kid, but not to her. Why he chose drugs over her. Why he lived so far away in Florida. Why he never called her. Why he never came to visit. Why he never loved her.

It broke my heart, because he didn’t deserve her tears. I held her and rocked her, and tried not to cry myself as I explained to her that he DID love her, he just felt like he couldn’t be a good dad right now. That he was too sick. That I couldn’t explain why he was married with a stepson in Florida, but that it had nothing to do with her. That in the meantime, she had her Uncle Bob and her Grandpa, and maybe it wasn’t exactly the same, but that they loved her just as much as a father would.

It was then that I sent off a scathing letter to the Loser, telling him how much he had missed in almost ten years. Telling him he would NEVER get this time back, and it made me sick that he just didn’t care. Telling him that he had a DAUGHTER, dammit, a daughter who was a wonderful person and who everyone loved, a daughter who was good at bowling, who struggled with school sometimes, who loved all animals… a daughter he knew NOTHING about. My fury poured out onto the paper – fury at him for hurting my Lexie so badly, for not being the father she deserved. To me, it was incomprehensible. I couldn’t understand myself how someone could live their life knowing they had a child out there and choosing to ignore that child. I sent the letter off to Florida, not exactly sure what result I was hoping for. My mother was not happy – she didn’t want him to be any part of her granddaughter’s life. But I explained to her that the bottom line was that he WAS her father, and if he ever made a choice to straighten up and try to do the right thing, I wouldn’t stop him. I may not like the man, hell, I HATED him, he was STILL her father. And she deserved the chance to know him.

A few weeks went by, and nothing. Then, the week before Christmas last year, Lexie received a package in the mail from the Loser. I handed it to her in silence, and let her take it into the bathroom and open it herself in private. When she came out, she handed it to me wordlessly, and I could see the tear tracks still on her cheeks. He had sent a generic Christmas card signed “Love, Loser (Dad).” He also sent a brief letter signed the same way, in which he said he thought maybe they could write each other letters and maybe get to know each other. And he sent a gold heart on a chain.

When I asked Lexie if she wanted me to help her write a letter back, she replied, “No. He ignored me for almost ten years, maybe I’ll ignore him for a while.” She didn’t want the chain either, so I put it away for the day that she does. Oh, and the pictures on her wall? She hung a poster of Usher over them.

To say that her attitude didn’t make me feel a little smug would be a lie, but I still was disappointed in Loser. Lexie didn’t respond to his letter, but he never wrote her again, either. He gave up just like that, instead of making a real effort to connect with his own daughter. And every once in a while he’ll send a few bucks to the Child Support department just to beat the system. The whole situation makes my blood boil, but then I take a step back and look at the big picture.

My daughter has ME, and she has her Uncle Bob, and her Grandma and Grandpa. She has a ton of family here who love her very much – all my uncles and aunts and cousins and cousins’ kids. Maybe someday I will find my Mr. Wonderful, and she will have a “real” dad. But if not, she’ll still be ok. And Loser will never know everything he missed.

Maybe we don’t have the conventional family, but Lexie and I have an unbreakable bond and unconditional love. And I know she still hurts sometimes over the dad issue, but I help her through that as much as I can. Maybe someday as an adult she will confront Loser, and have her closure, but in the meantime (and forever) I’ll be here for whatever she needs.

I Don't Like Blackie Parrish Anymore

I had a dream about John Stamos last night. And let me tell you, he is an egotistical jerk. When I told him I loved him as Blackie on General Hospital, he said, "I don't like talking about that. It makes people think I am old." Then he gave me a dirty look and walked away.

Jerk.

Last Post on the Subject (But I Still Feel Strongly About It) - For Now, At Least

This whole James Frey thing is giving me a headache. I really wish I would get the book so I can read it and hopefully understand him more. If you want to know what was said last night on Larry King, you can read the transcript here. At this point, I stand behind everything I have said in my last post. I know it upset some people (Timmortal), but as much as I respect his opinion, I also know he respects mine enough to agree to disagree on the matter.

Just to make clear, I am NOT trying to belittle what Mr. Frey has done as far as inspiring other addicts, families of addicts, and people in general. I am NOT saying the man is a complete fraud. I have no doubt he has gone through his own personal hell and lived to tell about it. I just wish he had not felt the need to "embellish" the way he did and peddle it as the truth.

Before you join the masses and insist it was his publisher's fault, and that he had originally tried to sell his work as fiction, the bottom line remains: he knew there were some MAJOR "embellishments" and did nothing to remove or rectify these in his book or in any subsequent interviews - until he got caught. Until all this shit hit the fan, I don't even think anyone was aware that this was originally intended to be sold as a work of fiction, so his claim that "I tried to do the right thing" falls on deaf ears to this writer. This was marketed and sold as a memoir - NONFICTION, and although the majority of it probably is, there are major episodes, even some crucial episodes, apparently, that are not.

I always give credit where credit is due, and I believe Mr. Frey deserves all the praise he is getting for this book. I believe it IS helping a lot of people, and it IS (well, I am going by what I hear, here) and excellent book. But I just think it is a shame that something as ridiculous and easily avoided as lying about "facts" so quickly discovered to be false wound up drawing so much scrutiny on the rest of his life.

Listen to your mothers, kiddies, always tell the TRUTH. Unless, of course, you are in the fiction biz.

Accusations & Lies

Ok, how ironic is it that barely a week after I wrote this little gem, the shit hits the fan? And I SWEAR I had nothing to do with it personally.

I am still waiting for my copy of the book to arrive, while in the meantime apparently millions of people will be returning theirs.

My take on this whole James Frey situation? I am pissed off. I am hurt. It makes me sick to my stomach, to be honest. Because as someone who has been there, it really bothers me. So many people commented after I wrote my tongue-in-cheek blog about Mr. Frey beating me to the punch that I was amazed. And interested. I was really looking forward to reading his book. I still am, but now it’s for a different reason. Originally I really wanted to hear his horrific yet amazing story. I wanted to know just how far he fell before he was able to get back up – and indeed, how he DID manage to get up. Because I know. And I know there is at least one other person who reads my blog who knows as well, and people like us, well, we love hearing stories of people who have made it through. It’s inspiring, and it makes us realize that we’re not alone, and that the shit we did that we thought was so horrible – well, there are other people out there who have done just as bad and sometimes worse. And they have learned to accept it and move on. Not forgetting their past, mind you, but learning from it – and vowing not to repeat it.

What Mr. Frey did (or shall I say, “is accused of doing,” because I feel compelled to give him the benefit of the doubt, despite all the mounting evidence against him) is really not that surprising for an addict. He lied. Hell, I lied. A lot. Back in the day, I could lie to you while looking you dead in the eye and believe it myself. But now? Not so much. And certainly not about something like this. Something that people all around the country have been holding onto, desperately seeking answers about loved ones in the throes of addiction, or about themselves, something that gave people the hope to “hold on” as Mr. Frey said, because if he had survived through all those 400+ pages of hell and is still around to talk about it – well, then, certainly your brother/sister/son/daughter/parent/friend can. Or YOU can.

But it’s not true. At least, not all of it. And I, for one, feel really… well, betrayed, I guess. Why would someone do that? Why in God’s name would anyone feel the need to embellish to that extent and climb on their soapbox extolling their virtuous rise from the ashes? Anyone who has lived through an addiction can tell you, everyone has their own bottom. Some worse than others. But that doesn’t make anyone’s situation any “easier” or “better.” Just because I personally never spent any time in jail doesn’t mean my life while using was any better than the convicted dealer’s. As an addict, you live in your own personal hell. There is no need to exaggerate. Just the fact that you are an addict is horrifying enough.

Most of you are regular readers, and are familiar with my “TBOTE” saga. Well, I want to go on record as saying that yes, this is a true story – to the extent of which I remember. In other words, if this ever were to actually get published, I would certainly include a disclaimer stating that it is a “novel based on factual events.” I try to be as honest as possible – but the fact is when you are on drugs you don’t always remember everything EXACTLY as it happened. Obviously, conversations and some minor events may have been the product of some literary license. BUT – I would never add a three month jail term or several arrests that never happened or (and this one is bad) the guilt over the death of a person I had no verifiable relation to… I write what actually happened, and only add minor details that may not be 100% accurate. Besides being disappointing, I find lies like those just plain stupid. How can you think that no one would ever find out?

Mr. Frey is scheduled to be on Larry King Live tonight, and I am very interested to see what he says. If he did lie, I want him to come clean and admit it. Like I said, I still plan on reading the book. I won’t even return it when I’m done. I just wish he would’ve thought this whole thing through before classifying his work as “nonfiction.” Yes, it packed a more powerful punch that way, but if it is as good as everyone says, he probably could’ve done just as well publishing it as a “novel based on factual events.”

Which mine will be. No surprise lies in “TBOTE,” I promise. But I’m pretty sure after this whole James Frey debacle, Oprah won’t have me on even if I ever DO get published. Bummer.

The Beginning of the End, Part 17

We never saw Mike again after that night. Like the rocks he threw across the room, he seemed to have vanished into thin air. The phone number Matt had for him was disconnected, and deep down I hoped maybe he had found his strength in something other than drugs.

Kevin had finally landed a job at the same casino Matt worked at, and things were going well for me at Olive Garden. My co-workers were friendly and outgoing, and often times after work I would change out of my uniform and hang out in the bar area talking and laughing. It really felt good to be with these people, but deep down inside I was terrified that they would find out the truth about my life behind closed doors. I turned down several invitations to go to bars or parties, and for obvious reasons never gave out my phone number. Because of this, even though I was well-liked and accepted, I could sense the curiosity in certain people.

One night after an extremely long shift, I sat at the bar with one of the other waitresses, Shelley, and we began talking. She was a single mom in her mid-thirties who was struggling to make ends meet, and told me how difficult life was. She wasn't really complaining, just sharing, and because of her honesty, I felt my walls begin to crumble. I wound up confiding in her about Kevin, and our living situation, and even the drugs. She listened with a sympathetic ear, and didn't appear too shocked. I explained to her that I really didn't have a problem, but it worried me that Kevin might be headed in that direction. And that he really needed me to take care of him. After I finished, Shelley licked her lips and looked at me intently.

"Are you happy?" she asked quietly.

My eyes filled with tears almost instantly. "Of course!" I replied, despite the tears that threatened to spill out any second.

She gave me a sad little smile and shook her head. "Dasi," she said, "if there is one thing I've learned in my life, it's that you should never stay in a situation that you're not happy in. It would've been easier to stay with my husband, sure, but I wasn't HAPPY. As tough as things are now, I've got my kids, and I'm not dealing with his cheating or his lies, and I'm HAPPY." She leaned in and put her hands on my shoulders. "Girlfriend, you do not look happy to me."

I turned away from her and wiped my eyes furiously. "You don't even know me." I said angrily. "I shouldn't have said anything. I AM happy. I love Kevin, and I AM happy!"

She shrugged. "Ok, then. You're happy. Make sure you stay that way."

"I will!" Then I looked up at her. "I'm sorry, Shelley. It's just... I mean, sure it's hard now, but things are going to change. He's working now - that's a big step. Yeah, maybe we still party some (and PLEASE don't tell anyone!) but someday we'll stop, and probably get married, and have a WONDERFUL life."

Shelley gave me a big hug, and I wanted to just stay there and cry. Because what she had said had hit me hard. Was I happy? If I were being honest with myself, I would have to say I wasn't sure. But the bottom line was that I had made my bed, and I was determined to lie in it. And even though those nagging fears kept popping up, I still was convinced that things were starting to turn around.

Shelley became my confidant, my friend, and although there were still some things I felt I couldn't tell her, she was always there for me. She was like a big sister, something I never had, and I really missed her at work when our shifts didn't overlap. As for my life, it was going on as it had been: working, partying, sleeping, working, partying, sleeping.

With Kevin now employed, and three incomes between us, we should have been considering an actual apartment by that time. But we weren't. In fact, we seemed to have even less money than before, which could have been due to the fact that Kevin had buddied up to some major dealers in town. We were partying more and more, and although I was still functioning, it was beginning to take its toll.

I had lost an extreme amount of weight since I had been to Reno, and not in a healthy way. I had started only eating when I worked, and barely eating there. Kevin and Matt each got a meal every shift, so they ate at work too. Although Kevin and Matt tended to drink their beers while getting high, I stuck to water. I was beginning to look the part of a junkie, although I wouldn't face it.

The hotel we had been living in suddenly became more than we could afford, and the paranoia of people walking in the halls while we were partying convinced us we had to move. We found a motel right next to the casino Matt and Kevin worked at, and found it was (for the time being) a perfect fit. No phone again, and only one bed, but Matt made due with a foldaway cot, and besides, the only time he was really home anymore was when we were partying. And he usually was tweaking so much he had to go out for a walk immediately after that - sometimes not coming home until the next day.

I started picking up more shifts to pay for our habits, barely sleeping, but getting high to make it through the day. Shelley noticed, and called me on it, but I told her I was fine. I decided I would try to cut back a bit because she was right, and my body was beginning to fall apart from exhaustion and partying.

I talked to Kevin about it one night before he went out to score. I cried and shook and told him we needed to slow down, that things were getting out of control. Matt wasn't home yet, and for the time being we were both sober. Kevin looked me in the eyes and said, "Dasi, I love you. If you want us to chill, we'll chill." I hugged him tightly and my tears turned from tears of fear to tears of relief. "Tell you what," he said, "let's take the money we were going to spend and go out to dinner instead."

And we did. We actually had a great time, and it was just like when we first met. We talked, and laughed, and after dinner went into the casino and played rolls of nickels at the poker machines and drank free beers. My heart finally started to beat normally again, and even though neither of us hit on the machines, I still felt like a winner.

We walked home, and were still laughing when we opened the door to the room. But our laughter stopped abruptly when we saw Matt hitting the pipe and a blonde guy tightening a belt around his upper arm.

The blonde guy looked up at us. "Dude!" he said with a laugh. "Ready to party?"

Although I didn't recognize him, apparently Kevin did. The whole night was forgotten in Kevin's reply. "Dude," he said with a grin. "Save some for me."

"At the Tone..."

Ok, so the guy? The friend of a friend? He’s really starting to annoy me, and I haven’t even spoken to him since NYE. How so, you may ask? Well, I’ll tell you.

As I mentioned earlier, I “agreed” to dinner and a movie under duress. (And by “duress” I mean when I was more than likely still a bit buzzed, half asleep, and caught off guard.) To me, this does not then actually constitute the making of an actual date. This requires a phone call, at which point I would tell him that I really like him as a person, but I don’t want to get involved with anyone right now. Which I HATE doing, but since I was foolish enough not to nip this thing in the bud right from the get-go, I am obliged to do.

Anyway, he called on Wednesday while Lexie and I were out shopping, and I had no desire to call him back when we got home. Actually, I had no desire to call him back, period, but whatever. So I figured I’d call him the next day. Next day came, and I guess I “forgot” accidentally on purpose. On Friday I honestly DID forget, and then the proper time had passed for calling someone back. So I did what anyone in my situation would do: I lied.

I took Lexie to bowling and was talking to my friend R whose husband is FOF’s friend (hence, FOF). I told her I really had no interest in dating FOF, he was a nice guy and all, but not my type. I mean, honestly, I had known him over a year, and if I DID have any interest in him, he would have known by now. So she said, “Well, tell him that when you call him back. He’ll understand.” (This is the part where I lied.) I gave R the big innocent look and said, “Call him BACK? He hasn’t even called!” Of course, she told me that he said he had called, and left a message. I blamed it on Lexie and said I’d check with her about the message.

So. At this point, it is obvious that FOF is talking to R and her husband about said situation, so I figure R will tell him I didn’t get the message and maybe he would call back, at which time I would do the right thing and tell him the truth about how I feel. Because I had no intention of calling him and saying “oh, so sorry I JUST got your message!” because I think that’s cheesy. I honestly felt it would be better to wait, stick with my original lie, and when (or if) he DID call again say maybe Lexie accidentally erased his message or something. Anyway.

So there I am, Saturday night, with Lexie spending the night at her friend’s house. I come home from an early dinner with a few friends, and had just set up my cheap surround sound speakers and popped in an R rated movie (which is a real treat for anyone who lives with people under 17). As the opening credits began, the phone rang. I picked up the handset to check the Caller ID, and saw that it was FOF. Now, on TOP of the fact that I was totally irritated by a ringing phone just as my movie was starting, I was also kind of pissed off that someone who doesn’t really know me would think that I am sitting home at 8:30 on a Saturday night. So, in defiance, I ignored it. Because maybe I DO have a social life. He could just leave me a message and I would call back on Sunday afternoon.

But guess what? No message. Fine, I thought, I don’t even have to call him back, then.

Just as the movie was ending, the phone rang again. This time the Caller ID said “Private Caller.” Ohhhhhh, no. We are NOT going that route again. Tell me this – why is it that some people think that if you are screening your calls and won’t pick up when you see their number, if they BLOCK the number you will answer? This drives me NUTS. Dude, if I won’t answer YOUR call, I sure as hell won’t answer a “private” number. And it is totally rude and annoying when I know you are blocking your number to try to “trick” me. Mr. South Side used to do that – and we all know my feelings about HIM.

So again, I do not answer. And again? No message.

Fine. Fine fine fine. I refuse to let this get to me, as far as I am concerned, he hasn’t even called back. So I put the whole thing out of my mind.

Until he called again last night. At this point, I am more concerned about my friends being upset with me for being “mean” to FOF than about hurting FOF’s feelings. Because I am NOT going to call this guy back until he leaves me a message. Now it has become something of an obsession with me. I decide I will NOT answer his calls or speak to him UNTIL HE LEAVES ME A MESSAGE. And did he leave a message? Nope. Not that time OR the second time he called, which happened to be during “Desperate Housewives” when I don’t answer my phone for ANYONE, let alone for FOF-who-won’t-leave-a-message.

Maybe I am being a total bitch, but I don’t care. Ok, so I should’ve just bitten the bullet and called him back on Thursday, but I didn’t. And I DID cover myself with a pretty believable fib. So why he won’t just leave a message is beyond me. How hard is it to say, “Hey, I heard you didn’t get my last message, give me a call?” Because I WOULD call him back. I think the whole calling and hanging up thing is extremely juvenile, and considering that everyone in the world has Caller ID, pretty stupid, too.

So now I am waiting to see if he EVER leaves a message. If he doesn’t, fine by me. If he does, I will have one more reason why I don’t want to go out with him. But I won’t bring it up. God help me, I hope I don’t have another Mr. South Side on my hands.

Changes Are A-Coming...

Lexie called me at work when she got home the other day and asked me this question: “Mom, can I have $325?” My obvious response was “For WHAT?” although my mind was already reeling with the possibilities here. Did my ten-year-old daughter have to bail a friend out of jail? What could a ten-year-old need that kind of money for? And why $325? Sounds like a pretty specific amount… Anyway, she then proceeded to tell me that her friend Kara was going to either Mexico or Texas for two days either during spring break or summer vacation, and that her mother said she could bring a friend if her friend paid her own airfare. Which Kara told her would be $325, apparently. She continued to say that EVERYTHING else would be paid for by her mother. But she had to know RIGHT NOW, Kara was waiting for her to call her back. This long-winded explanation was punctuated by the classic “PLEEEEEEEEASE????”

Ok, so here I am, at work, trying to make some sense of what I just heard. Because let’s face it, it made NO SENSE AT ALL. Mexico OR Texas? During spring break OR summer vacation? And the kicker – FOR TWO DAYS?? I explained to my precious daughter that no, I would not give her $325 to go anywhere. Before she managed to start the obligatory whining, I explained that I would talk to Kara’s mother and IF I got all the CORRECT details, I MAY consider it. But there was no way in hell I was going to agree to her little “trip” at this precise moment, and she could tell Kara that too. Besides, I pointed out, $325 was WAYYY too much to spend for her to be gone only two days. Leave for a month, I told her, and I’d be HAPPY to pay. (I was rewarded for this snappy comment with a heavy sigh, and, I imagine, an exaggerated eye-roll.) Regardless, she hung up and never called back to argue more.

As it turned out, I did talk to Kara’s mother, and there is no trip planned at all. Apparently, she had told Kara that MAYBE they would take a trip SOMEDAY, but certainly not this spring or summer. She apologized profusely, but I only laughed. Kids will be kids, and at least the two of them didn’t try to book a flight or anything. When I informed Lexie that there was no trip, can you guess how she responded? I bet not! She said, “That’s ok. I knew you’d never give me the money anyway.” (Ok, so she was probably right, but STILL!)

People tell me that this is only the beginning. That my wonderful, beautiful blonde daughter will soon turn into a sullen, nasty teenager. At first, I refused to believe it, but I’m starting to see the signs already. The cold shoulder. The eye-rolling. The defiant wearing of clothes that don’t match or don’t fit, and the arguments when I ask her to change. When we’re around other people, she is an angel. Heck, she is an angel at home (sometimes), too. But I’m never sure what little comment or action will set her off. When she DOES act out, though, she always apologizes shortly after the fact, so that’s good. But I never knew how insane a fifth grader could make me.

I remember all my life (even now, sometimes) my mother would get SOOOOO upset with me, and I’d innocently say “What? I didn’t DO anything! All I SAID was (blah blah blah)…” and she would reply, “It’s not WHAT you say, it’s HOW you say it! LOSE the ATTITUDE and CHANGE the TONE!” I never understood what she meant, because I was deaf to my own attitude/tone. But now I do. Because her curse on me, you know, the infamous “I hope someday you have a daughter JUST LIKE YOU” curse, has come true. NOW I understand the whole attitude/tone thing. Because Lexie has it down to an art form already, and it makes me absolutely CRAZY!

Deep cleansing breaths. I know that we’ll be fine, because I am a cool mom (oh, shut up! I AM!) and besides, with just the two of us we are pretty darn close. I try really hard to keep the lines of communication open, and for now either of us has yet to receive a busy signal. So if some mouthiness and insolence is all I have to deal with, I’ll take it. But I’ll still brace myself for the worst, just in case. And, hey, there’s always boarding school.

In the meantime, I’ll keep watching the old home videos of my baby when she WAS a baby (well, 3 or 4 or 5, actually) and was cute and funny as hell. (Not that she’s not STILL cute, but you know what I mean.) I’ll have to remember to share some of the highlights of those in a future post, maybe when I am trying hard not to kill my angel for one thing or another. No one ever told me parenting would be such a challenge – but I think I’m up for it regardless. I know, I know, JUST WAIT!

RSVP ASAP

While watching tv last night (I know, shocker, ME watching TV) I found my mind wandering. Not because I was bored with the entertainment, mind you, far from it. I was watching an episode of Ellen (and you know how Lexie and I love our Ellen!) and started thinking how cool it would be to hang out with certain celebrities. Because there are some famous people you just KNOW you would get along with really well if you ever had the opportunity to socialize with them. Unfortunately, it seems that most celebrities rarely (if ever) socialize with the common man – or woman. Which is a real bummer, because in my opinion, they are really missing out. There seem to be a lot of fakes in La-La Land, and in the Real World (NOT the MTV version) most people are pretty genuine. For the celebrities who I would consider pretty cool people, this would be a real bummer. Because they are pretty much forced to hang with their own kind and seldom get to be anything other than a “celebrity.”

Well, I decided that if I ever became:

A) Famous
B) Rich
or
C) A Reality Show Contestant (because it seems reality show contestants usually get the opportunity to rub elbows with the rich and famous during their five minutes of fame)

I would have a nice little dinner party on an uninhabited tropical island (to keep away the paparazzi) for myself and twelve of my favorite film and TV stars. Just to be clear – I’m not talking “Survivor” here with the island, it would be more of a resort paradise locale. And although I only chose 12, after I listed my 12 I kept thinking of others I would add. But maybe for my next party. And? I chose NO musicians. Not because I don’t like musicians, but because this dinner party is only for actors. Why? I don’t know. That’s just how I did it. Otherwise, Joe Perry would DEFINITELY have been there and I would’ve ignored my other guests. Which would have been bad. And probably ruined my party. But I digress.

So here are my twelve guests, six women and six men, in no particular order with the reason I invited them:

Ellen Degeneres: Obvious choice. Because I LOVE Ellen. She is funny and real and makes no bones about who she is without flaunting it.

Sherri Shepherd: She cracks me up. Plain and simple. The woman is freakin HILARIOUS – but not contrived at all.

Nicole Kidman: She is sooooo classy. But she also seems like the type who can just “hang.” Hell, she dated Lenny Kravitz – she HAS to be pretty cool. And I want to know the truth about Tom Cruise.

Drew Barrymore: Can we say “FUN?” Even though this girl went through hell and back before she even hit puberty, she rose above it and took charge of her life. And she always seems happy and energetic – without the assistance of mind-altering substances.

Gwyneth Paltrow: I want to know why she named her daughter Apple. But I also think she’s the type who is more comfortable in jeans than a designer gown, and isn’t afraid to be herself and have fun.

Maura Tierney: For some reason, ever since she joined ER, I could picture myself hanging out with her. She just seems so real, not a glamour queen – but with an inner beauty that just shines. She’s the person you could laugh at raunchy jokes with while downing a few beers.

George Clooney: Every time I see him, I melt. Because not only is he HOT, but he is a guy’s guy. Even though I would love to do more than have dinner with him – he’d have to remain more a buddy type to avoid becoming one of “those” guys to me.

John Travolta: Down to earth, always smiling. I’ve never seen a bad interview with him. And he’s been married for so long and seems like a total family man. How can anyone NOT like John Travolta?

John Cusak: He’s from Chicago and loves the Cubs. That’s good enough for me. But I also loved every movie he’s been in and can’t hear “In Your Eyes” without seeing Lloyd holding up that radio.

Johnny Depp: I once read an interview with him that relayed how he played with a cockroach at the diner the interview was at during the interview. He is unaffected by his fame, and is totally his own person – strange as he is. Yet he has a chameleon-like ability to BECOME whatever character he plays. I just want to hang with the REAL Johnny, because besides being HOT I bet he is uber-cool.

Michael Chiklis: Love Vic Mackey. LOVE Vic Mackey. Yet from what I’ve seen in interviews, the real Michael is more like his old character on “The Commish.” But in any case, he strikes me as the type of person who is genuine and would be good to have on your side.

LL Cool J: One word: ABS. Oh, wait, make that TWO words: ABS and ARMS. Even though I’m sure he is as cool as his name, I am almost afraid to invite him because I would be tongue-tied around his perfect body. But if I make him leave his shirt on, I should be ok. Because he seems like the anti-player who probably has a lot to share. (CONVERSATION-WISE! GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER!!) Oh, and? I know I said “no musicians,” but he is really more of an actor now anyway.

So there they are. My twelve dinner guests. I figure we could start with some cocktails (except for Drew, of course, sparkling cider for her) and mingling. I’d share some of my better blogging stories with Ellen and Sherri, and they would laugh and laugh. Then George would invariably play a practical joke on someone, probably Johnny Depp – to loosen him up a bit. Hopefully Johnny wouldn’t get upset.

Nicole would hang with Maura and I would join them, and Maura would be wanting to know the same things I did – is Tom gay? Nicole would laugh and say she’d never admit it (probably because it was a clause in their pre-nup or something). Gwyneth and Michael would be talking about their kids, because Michael has all girls and Gwyneth has Apple and they are both family-oriented people. I’d join them and tell them all about Lexie, then John Travolta would join us and start talking about HIS kids.

John Cusak and Drew would be off in the corner chatting it up, and I would eventually join them and discuss the Cubs’ prospects this year. Drew would listen appreciatively and consider joining us for a few home games back in Chicago.

What about LL? Well, he’d be chillin, waiting for me to make my rounds. And then I’d get to him and we would discuss the current state of the nation and maybe Iraq and how it all could be changed for the better.

We’d all sit down to a wonderful dinner and the conversation would flow as easily as the wine (again – cider for Drew). At the end of the night, maybe we’d have a friendly game of Texas Hold ‘Em (I wouldn’t even want to take odds on who would win – I think Nicole may surprise everyone) and then it would be time to go back home.

All my guests would thank me profusely for the wonderful evening, and make me promise to do it again soon. Of course, I would, because they were fun guests as well. And we’d exchange phone numbers (direct lines, not “have your people call my people”) and promise to call within the next week. John Travolta, Michael and I might even set up play dates with our kids. And John Cusak would make me PROMISE to save the dates for the Cubs-Cardinals series at Wrigley to join him in his home plate box seats. Ellen would offer to have me and Lexie on her show and use my blog as the reason for it, and Sherri would insist on being there as well. George would ask for a rematch in poker, and Johnny would give me a little salute and an accented “thanks.” Gwyneth would tell me she will definitely take me up on my babysitting offer, and Drew and Maura would suggest a girls’ night out sometime soon. LL would make me weak in the knees when he said “Goodbye” in his sexy voice and kissed my cheek, and I would ALMOST be too distracted to hear Nicole whisper in my ear “as a three-dollar bill.” But not quite.

All in all, a good evening. And just so you all know, once I get my foot in the door with them, I’ll invite YOU, faithful cyber-buds, to the next soiree. And by all means, let me know if you have any suggestions for the guest list.

New Year, New You

So here it is, another new year. Ok, four days into it. Lexie and I rang in the new year with friends of ours playing Scene It (obviously, I won the TV Trivia version) and drinking Twisted V's. Well, Lexie didn't drink Twisted V's. She drank sprite. But I digress.

We all ended up staying up too late and talking, even the kids. It seems Miss Lexie finally gave up at around 3:00 am, and the last time I looked at the clock it was 6:00 am. (Haven't done that in YEARS, and don't plan to again anytime soon!) We spent New Year's Day at my dad's and the day after Lex and I hibernated straight through. So all in all, it was a nice weekend.

I'm not big on resolutions, basically because I feel that any time is a good time to make positive changes in your life. But I will admit that like most of the people in this world, a new year does invoke that feeling of "starting over" and "cleaning the slate." So I may not make resolutions, but every year I DO try to make changes sometime within the first few months of the year. Case in point: I quit smoking on January 16, 2004. Not quite on the new year, but in the new year while it was still pretty new. I usually get my ass in gear and exercise a lot more in the first few months as well. And I start pondering things like "Will I be able to fit into the shorts I haven't fit into for the last decade that I still won't throw out this summer?" and "Will I possibly meet a man who doesn't look like Shrek and doesn't act like Deuce Bigelow?" and "If I manage to use my ENTIRE tax return to pay off some of my credit cards, how many years will it take to finish paying them off?" (By the way, the answers generally remain the same each year: no; no; and 'like you EVER use your entire tax return check to pay bills!')

Well, this year I have made a few decisions. NOT resolutions, because I don't do resolutions. But I HAVE decided to stick with my program at Curves AT LEAST three times a week (besides, now that I have befriended the trainer, I am pretty much screwed if I don't go), and have also decided that IF I lose the weight I'd like to by the summertime, I am going to cut my hair. Because I am getting sick of it, it is too long and doesn't do anything. AND it costs too much to get highlighted every three months. Oh, and? If you are a guy reading this, before you even say it, I DON'T CARE. Why is it that guys always say, "DON'T CUT YOUR HAIR!!!!! GUYS LOVE LONG HAIR!!!!" I am 37 and still single, and have had long hair most of my life, so obviously that little "factoid" doesn't really merit too much consideration. Besides, I donÂ’t plan on going short-short. Just about shoulder length, which would mean cutting off about 8". Maybe I'll donate it to Locks of Love. (Is that tax-deductible? How much is hair worth, anyway?) Then again, maybe I won't lose any weight at all and will decide to leave my hair alone. But that is doubtful - because I'm pretty much being forced into exercising by Briesen (trainer friend at Curves) and by doing so have also found myself with more energy and less of an appetite. Therefore, as long as I want to be Briesen's friend, I have to stick with the program. And I kind of like the kid.

I have also decided not to be quite so closed off when it comes to dating. Which basically only means that I may not constantly insist that I am destined to be alone with my cats. I still believe in only dating people who I feel some kind of spark with, I am definitely NOT a "give him a chance, you may be surprised" person. I don't like being surprised, and I am old enough to know what I like. But I will TRY not to give off the "keep away, I'm not interested" vibe. I realize I have my own issues when it comes to relationships (i.e. I tend to sabotage the good ones), but based on my history (most recently Mr. South Side) who can blame me? So maybe this year serendipity will lead me to my Mr. Right, but if not, whatever. Oh, and? Funny thing is I've already agreed to a date with someone I have no interest in. A friend of the friends whose house we spent NYE at. He asked if I'd like to go out sometime on New Year's morning, and being half-asleep, slightly hungover and caught wayyyy off guard, I said, "Ok," and gave him my number. Note to self: watch caller ID and stay reallllly busy. Because honestly? He is a nice guy but no sparks. At all. And like I said - I know what I like. I just don't want to hurt anyone's feelings or get my friends upset with me for not wanting to go out with him. So second note to self: talk to friends and explain situation. Maybe they can handle this FOR you!!

So there you have it. Ultimate goal: Be thin and toned with shorter hair by summertime, which may just be when Mr. Wonderful strolls into my life (and I won't send him bad vibes). Aaaaaaaaaannd... BEGIN!

You Snooze, You Lose

So there I was, watching Oprah yesterday morning, when I realized that the guy she had on her show STOLE MY BOOK!!! Well, I guess TECHNICALLY he didn’t, but my whole plan was to eventually publish TBOTE as a book and HIS book, “A Million Little Pieces” is basically the same story: addict lifestyle & recovery. And there he is, on Oprah, basking in the glory of being an Oprah Book Club author and having his book be #1 on all three bestseller lists and getting thousands of e-mails a day from people who said he “saved their life” or “helped them understand their friend/child/parent who is also addicted.” I can’t believe he beat me to the punch. I guess I’d better get my ass in gear and write more chapters, huh?

Just promise me one thing: if I ever DO manage to finish and get published – buy my book and drop Oprah an e-mail about how the female version of “A Million Little Pieces” deserves to be in her Book Club too.

(Side note: As much as I’m loathe to admit it, I did order said book, and am looking forward to reading it. I’m just pissed he beat me to the punch and is now rich and happy and I’m still working for Satan and not a guest on Oprah.)