Time Marches On...

So yes, I know it is Saturday and I don't usually post on weekends, but I am in an unusually good mood today, and last night I said to my girlfriend, "This is definitely good blog material!" so I had to put it out there before the mood passes or I forget. As it is right now, I am listening to good party music and waiting to leave for the Cubs game in AWESOME seats (remind me to tell you about the whole e-bay selling the extra two tickets fiasco later) and hoping to God their streak continues and they beat the Cards for the third time in a row. And if they don't, well, at least we won the first two. Hopefully I will have some pretty good pics to post from today.

Anyway, last night my friend Julie and I went out for her birthday. I got tickets to see Collective Soul at Lincoln Park Zoo. Yes, I said "Lincoln Park Zoo." See, apparently they have a "Jammin'at the Zoo" thing after zoo hours that benefits the zoo and the animals. Since I love both Collective Soul and animals, I thought it sounded like fun. So I got the tickets, and Julie and I went. We brought a blanket and a couple chairs and it was a lot more crowded than either of us expected. But we managed to find a nice grassy spot off to the side and set up camp. (Thank God we didn't have to sit on the dirt/wood chip area or the cement.)

So we spent a lot of time just talking, catching up, you know, the usual girl stuff. Eventually during the opening act, we both looked up and were amazed at how much MORE crowded it had become. But what was even more interesting was the crowd itself. It consisted of mostly people in their mid thirties to I'd say fifties, even, and there were a lot of families with babies or little kids. So although it was an enthusiastic crowd, it was pretty mellow compared to concerts I've been to in the past. Which was nice, because you didn't have to shout to be heard and nobody was drunk and stupid or annoying or anything, and where we sat we could hear the music well enough without injuring our eardrums. It was really cool.

Then came the part I had to blog about.

At one point, we decided to go get some food and use the bathroom. We meandered through the crowds to the food court building, got our food, then Julie watched our food while I went to use the bathroom.

I didn't mean to laugh, in fact, I tried hard to hide it, but it was really hard to keep a straight face. There I was, standing in line in the women's room, looking at the other people waiting and the people leaving. Every single woman was at least in their mid to late thirties, a lot probably in their forties, and they all had done the same thing I had done that night: they had worn something they thought made them look hot- something maybe low cut, or tighter than usual - put on more makeup than they usually ever wore, and obviously had taken a little more care with their hairstyle - whether it was in a ponytail or down or whatever. Now, in my own defense, I didn't dress sleazy or anything, just a top with a bit more cleavage showing than normal. I did have on makeup, and originally I had spent an hour flat ironing my hair, but had since given up and pulled it into a half-assed ponytail since it was so damn hot. I did see some women quite obviously old enough to have grown children wearing skimpy tight short dresses, and one woman with a shirt slit all the way down to her navel. But it struck me that every single one of us was doing the same thing - attending a rock concert and trying to recapture that feeling of being in your twenties, and sexy, and having a good time.

Every one of us had at one time been a wild young thing that went to concerts and picked up guys and drank and danced and maybe kissed a stranger in the mix. Every one of us had thought longingly of those years while we got ready for the concert, hoping that maybe somehow that feeling of youth and recklessness would somehow be restored by wearing a little more eyeliner than usual. And the truth is, all we were was middle-aged women who were kidding ourselves.

It was funny, though, because when it came right down to it, I didn't really want to go back to that girl. I was having fun with my friend, I wasn't going deaf, and I was still sober enough to drive home. Ok, sometimes I'll look back wistfully on my youth, but I think it is more important to enjoy life itself in the now.

I'm sure I 'll still pull out the "cleavage shirt" every once in a while, and I'll still mug for the mirror while I put on makeup I'm not used to wearing now and then, but I'll try to remember that I am in my mid-thirties and not in my twenties. And though I may on occasion get lucky enough to look younger, I will remember to act my age, because I'm not a kid anymore. Which isn't to say I can't still have fun...

The Beginning of the End, Part 33

I allowed myself to drift into a dreamless sleep, still shaking at the memory of seeing him again. When I woke up, Kevin was gone. It was now afternoon, he had probably gone to work. Sure enough, a cursory glance around the room told me that his work gear was gone too. I took a deep breath and tried to collect my thoughts.

I was still wearing my work uniform, and suddenly I just wanted to change clothes as fast as I could. The fact that he worked in the same place I did the whole time made me sick to my stomach. Although I had told Gregg I would be back at work tomorrow, I was no longer sure I would ever be able to go back there again. Once I changed clothes, I grabbed some loose change from the dresser and left. I needed to hear what Nancy had to say.

My hands shook as I dialed the number. I heard her familiar voice and blurted out, “I saw him.”

“You saw who? Who is this?”

I took a deep breath. “I saw him. The guy. This is Dasi. You told me he was in jail. Why is he out? What’s going on?” It all came out in a rush.

There was a moment of silence, as if Nancy were weighing out her response. Finally, she replied, “I’m sorry, Dasi.”

I felt the blood rushing to my head, anger making my thoughts swim. “You knew? When did he get out? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Calm down,” she said with authority. “I didn’t know. At least, not when I talked to you yesterday. I just found out this morning myself. He was bailed out late last night. And Dasi, I did tell you that was a possibility.”

“But you didn’t think it was likely,” I accused.

“No, I didn’t,” she admitted. “But it's happened, and now the most important thing is getting this into court and getting him put away for good.”

“He worked with me,” I whispered.

“What?”

“He worked with me. I mean, he worked in the kitchen. In the back. I didn’t even know.” Then it hit me. “That’s how Jesus knew him. From work. Oh, my God.”

Nancy’s voice was soothing. “It’s ok, Dasi, calm down. You’ll get through this. Is he still working at the restaurant?”

“Not anymore,” I replied bitterly, and told her what had happened.

She listened in silence, and when I finished she sighed. “I’m sorry you had to go through that ,” she said quietly.

I shook my head and shrugged, I didn’t know what to say. I was sorry, too. But it had happened, and it wouldn’t be the last time I would see him. I would have to face him in court, and now that he was out, I could feasibly run into him practically anywhere, at any time.

“Are you still there?” Nancy asked.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I said dully.

“I could draft up a restraining order. In fact, I will,” Nancy told me. “That way you can feel a little safer.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you going back to work, then?” she asked.

“Actually, I don’t know. I really thought I would, but after everything…”

“It would certainly be understandable,” she reassured me.

“I just don’t know if I could work there knowing that he was there. And all his friends are there,” I shuddered.

“Not all of them,” Nancy said pointedly.

“What do you mean?” I asked quizzically.

“Well,” Nancy began, “apparently Jesus has left the country.”

I felt all the air go out of my lungs. Not only did Jesus leave me on that night, but he now he had left me permanently. The only witness to the crime besides the people involved had run away.

“So what does that mean for the case?” I asked bitterly.

“I won’t lie to you, it does make it a little harder. If we had Jesus as a witness it would be an open and shut case. Now, we have to hope the jury is sympathetic enough towards you to convict.”

“And the defense will try to prevent that, of course,” I said flatly.

“Dasi, we discussed that already. But I don’t want you to worry about that right now. All I want you to do is move forward, and I’ll get in touch with you when I need you,” she said firmly.

“Don’t call the restaurant,” I said, with a humorless laugh. “I would guess you should probably leave a message for Kevin at the casino. I’ll let him know.”

Nancy told me she would file the restraining order as my attorney, and therefore I wouldn’t need to come in to sign anything. She told me to let her know if I ever saw him again, or if I needed anything.

Um, yeah, I thought. A time machine. To go back and start over. Before that night. Hell, maybe before I ever even got to Reno.

“I will.”

I hung up and felt my eyes fill with frustrated tears. I was feeling so many emotions I wasn’t even sure I could think straight. I blinked several times and angrily brushed at my eyes, then walked home. I sat in the room for a few minutes, but I was too antsy to sit there alone. I got up and walked outside, crossing the lot and checking out the room numbers on the doors.

When I got to the one I thought was correct, I knocked.

The door opened a crack, and I saw one blue eye staring at me. “Hey,” I said, “you guys partying?”

Melanie opened the door the rest of the way with a broad grin. “Hey, Dasi!” she turned after letting me in and closing the door. “Look, Bobby, Dasi’s here!”

Bobby looked up as he hit the pipe. I saw his lip curl up into a smirk as he finished, then exhaled. “Well, hey there, neighbor,” he drawled. He picked up a second pipe and dropped a rock in it. “Looks like you could use one of these.”

I took the pipe and he lit it for me. The drug swept away all my fear, all my pain, all my anger. All I felt now was the rush. And damn, it felt good.

A Journey Into Dasi's Brain at Bedtime

Note: Be careful - the following may make no sense or be absolutely ridiculous or make you think I am certifiable. But it is the way my brain has been working lately and as such hasn't produced much more than randomness, thus making blogging difficult. So I figured I'd just blog the randomness.

Ok, bedtime. Finally! I am sooo tired. Ok, time to sleep. Now. Ain’t gonna happen, is it? Course not. Ok, but I refuse to open my eyes. I’ll just lie here until I DO fall asleep. And I won’t look at the clock. At all. So happy the Cubs won again. Carlos is my man. Would’ve killed Dempster if he blew it. Thank God for Howry. And HA! The Sox lost AGAIN. Yankees are only ½ game back in the wild card now. All I want is for them to blow it. And shut up the stupid Sox fans. Can’t take another year of that BS. No sir. Saturday should be fun. Great seats for the game with dad. Only hope the guy who is supposed to buy the other two tickets comes through. $300 is a LOT of money to be out. What if he DOESN’T pay? I mean, I have his name, address, e-mail and phone number, but so what? What if he stiffs me? He better not. I NEED that money. I need a lot of money. I need a new car. Mine still stinks from the rain. How can a sunroof only leak on one side? Although I guess I should be glad it’s not on the driver’s side, I guess. Still, it SMELLS. And it leaks oil. Damn association better NOT charge me for oil stains on my driveway. They can’t really do that, can they? It’s MY property – I mean, I guess if I moved I’d have to take care of it, but I’m not going anywhere. Except maybe Denver. It says that that is the best place to live if you’re single… How about it, Linda?? Amber?? Is that true? Heck, like I care anyway. Last thing I need is another person to complicate my life more. Like Lexie doesn’t complicate it enough. Punk ass tween. God, I love her though. Even though she makes me crazy. Can’t believe she actually wrote her “father.” It’s been over a week since I mailed that – wonder if he’ll actually write back? That asshole. He’d better. He’d better not break her heart any more. What a loser. I wish she had a better dad. Guess that’s my fault though… Oh, well, the past is the past, I guess. I can’t believe Jase went so ballistic on Big Brother tonight. What an ass. Of COURSE he would be put up after that little display!! And Dr. Will – he bothers me on so many levels. I never saw his original season, but he just annoys the hell out of me. Smarmy. That word fits him well. And he picks on Howie – I LIKE Howie. He’s like a big puppy dog. And he’s the nephew of a friend of the other attorney in my office. How many degrees of separation is that? Let’s see, I know Howie by… THREE degrees of separation. Is that right? I think so. Actually, I know Jase by TWO degrees of separation, since my sister-in-law’s sister (who I consider a friend, thus eliminating a degree) was good friends with him in college. But he seems to have gotten stranger, and besides, she hasn’t seen him in years. I definitely like Howie better. I bet I could last in that house… Well, maybe not. I’d miss my tv wayyyy too much. That would suck. Although, half a mil wouldn’t suck. And the publicity might get my book published… And if that happened, I could quit my job and work out more and get in awesome shape. Of course, I’d need to watch my diet too. I wonder if you can get in good shape if you only consume pumpkin seeds and water? Or if you would just get all bloated from the salt and be peeing all the time from the water? You’d have to lose SOMETHING, right? Hmmm, I wonder… Can’t wait to go out Friday night. It will be so good to hang with my friend and listen to Collective Soul. I don’t even want to get drunk or anything, just relax and chit chat. And nothing heavy, either. I’m tired of being the go-to gal. Tired of everyone else’s problems. What about me?? I have problems too!! LOTS of them!! Heck, I am just a tangle of issues! And baggage! But you don’t hear ME whining about it, do you? No siree. Not me. This sucks. What time is it, I wonder? SHIT! I swore I wouldn’t look! How can it be that late already? I’m going to be so tired tomorrow. And I have to bring Stupidhead to the vet. All those $16 visits add up. He’d better appreciate it. Hell, he’s a cat, like he appreciates anything. He just hangs out and looks at us humans with such contempt. I wish I could manage to live with a cat’s attitude. That would be sooo cool. To just always be like, “Screw you, this is my life. I do what I want, when I want. Feed me, give me attention when I want it, otherwise leave me alone. I don’t need you or anyone else. I am the center of my own universe.” HA! That would be kind of neat. Doooo Doooo Doooo… I think I’ll pop in the Marah CD again tomorrow, haven’t listened to it in a while. Monica is so cool. I really should comment sometime on her blog. She writes so well, but she almost intimidates me. I feel like a groupie… which is kind of funny, actually. A blog groupie. Tee hee. But she just seems so cool, rock star hubby, awesome dog, writing for tv news… even though she really seems so down to earth too. I bet she’d be a really good friend. Someone you could tell anything to, ANYTHING. Who would never judge you. Ok, I am getting weird here. Like a psycho stalker. HA! Me, a stalker. That’s funny. But bloggers make good friends, look at Linda. Thank God for her. She cheers me up. And we’ve never even met. How weird is that?? That is weird, I tell you. But we can talk on the phone like forever – and it’s all good. Hmm. I don’t even talk to my real life friends like that anymore. That’s not good. I need to open up more. Maybe on Friday with Julie. I mean, I CAN, I just haven’t had the opportunity. I am so tired. I need to sleep. Need. To. Sleep. Ok, brain, shut down now…

Oh, shit! My Fannie May gift certificate expires in four days! Have to get candy… so much for the pumpkin seed diet… can’t do that with vanilla buttercreams around now, can we…?

Mmmmmmmmm, Fannie May vanilla buttercreams…

In a Nutshell...

• Work has been insanely busy, and Satan has been practically up my butt the entire past few weeks, leaving me barely enough time to peruse my favorite blogs, let alone comment or post my own;
• I have gone to Great America about a gajillion times recently and have been exhausted and too tired to do anything except recuperate for the next visit;
• Lexie had surgery on her nose yesterday (no biggie - just cauterized to prevent further nosebleeds - of which she has has several recently) and I had to be up at 4:30 am to get her to the surgery center on time, thus missing work and reinforcing my first point today;
• The cat is still diabetic and even though I have been painstakingly consistent with injections, vet visits and food intake he has still managed to gain a few ounces on his last visit;
• I have apparently become the sounding board for everyone I know, which isn't really a bad thing, but when I can't do anything to help I feel like a loser;
• I have seen two ugly pincher bugs in my house over the past week - one I actually stepped on in my bare feet and felt squirming around (EEEWWWW!!) and I HATE those things, they give me the creepy crawlies, so now I keep watching for them to pop out everywhere, even though logically I know they probably won't;
• I have two extra tickets for the Cubs game on August 1st, which is 70's night, (anyone want to go?) and may be forced to bring my daughter and a friend, which, although is not the worst thing in the world, isn't as much fun as just going with adult friends;
• And finally - I know what happens in the next installment of "TBOTE," (duh - I lived it!), yet I am having a hard time getting it down on "paper." Partially because of the first point, partially because of all the other points.

So there you have it. For all three of you who are still remaining faithful to my blog. (Or maybe two - who knows?) I know I am lame, and the above excuses are also lame, but they are the truth, and they're all I've got. Bear with me, and hopefully I will manage to get back on track soon!

Oh, and? You can always just keep coming back to look at the cute pictures of my godson...!

Just TRY Not to Smile!!

Guess what? I found several MORE things to take my mind off my stress, and I thought I would share... WARNING: If excessive cuteness bothers you in any way, I suggest you find another blog to read today. If not, by all means, proceed!

All right, where's my driver? Let's blow this popsicle stand!!

Oh, yeah, that's the spot!

Babies need stress relief too, you know...!

What do you mean it's bedtime?? The Cubs are still on!

Oh, yeah, Dad! That was a good one! Say it again... go on... "The Cubs might have a chance this year...!"

Baby fat, my tushie! This is all muscle, baby!

Hey, this isn't Harry Potter!

Sweet dreams!

Of course, these pictures are of my perfectly adorable little godson, the one, the only - Erik. I don't know, there's something about looking at cute babies that just makes all your problems vanish... (at least temporarily - which is why I recommend you bookmark this blog to have handy when you need a cute baby fix...!) Enjoy your weekend, everyone, more writing next week!

Don't Worry...

You know, I was lying in bed last night trying to fall asleep (and having a difficult time of it) so of course, my mind started wandering. I started thinking about bills, and money, and doctor and dentist appointments, and vet appointments, and relatives, and friends, and work... Then all of a sudden, a song popped into my head. And everything went away. And I started giggling to myself - freak that I am. Because the song that popped into my head was Bobby McFerrin's "Don't Worry, Be Happy."

I think Bobby was really on to something. Landlord taking you to court? Don't worry, be happy! No money, no style, no love life? Don't worry, be happy! No place to live? Don't worry, be happy! He said that worrying just doubles your problems, and you should just smile and deal with it. Or call him. Cause when you worry, he'll make you happy. Well, maybe not anymore, I mean, the song is like 20-something years old and he probably got tired of making everyone happy, but still...

Another reason this song makes me feel good is because way back when, before karaoke became popular, they had a "recording studio" at the amusement park in my state. You could pick a song, and sing it, and they would give you an audio cassette of your musical debut. Well, I sang this song with two co-workers from Red Lobster, Bobby Joe and Tandy, and we sounded GOOD. And we weren't even drunk. But we had fun making it, you can tell. Half the song we laughed while we sang. Which is appropriate, since we were supposed to be happy. I still have the tape, and it's still in pretty good condition. If I knew how to download audio, I'd share, but alas, I don't.

Anyway, life of late has been pretty stressful. I won't go into the details, because I really don't feel like it, to be honest, but that is also why my writing has been so sporadic. And then there I am, lying in bed, stressing even more, when my brain is invaded with Bobby McFerrin's dulcet tones. I think it is a sign. And I think I will take his advice.

What was the final line of the song again? Oh yeah - "I'M NOT WORRIED, I'M HAPPY!"

Intervention?

So, “Intervention” started its new season last night on A&E, and I watched the beginning of it this morning. I think being someone who has “been there, done that” this show intrigues me more than your average viewer. It is always interesting watching someone caught in the throes of addiction from an outsider’s view. And for me, remembering is important, because I need to never forget what it was like. I doubt that I ever will, but over the years I have seen quite a few people get cocky and think “Oh, it’s been x amount of weeks/months/years, one line/hit/slam won’t kill me.” And guess what? Eventually, it does.

I like the fact that “Intervention” doesn’t pull any punches. It shows the addict in all their glory. The “interviews” I pretty much take with a grain of salt, because anyone who has been there knows that addicts are liars. And these heartfelt soul-baring talks to the camera may be true to a point, but I have a feeling most of them are just saying what they feel the producers want to hear. All they want is the money they are probably being promised so they can go out and party some more. Little do they know, though…

There is something that really bothers me about this show, though. I mean, it’s all well and good that they are offering free treatment to some of the nation’s best facilities, but I can’t help but feel that their money is being wasted. Why, you ask? Because an addict can’t be helped until they want to be helped. And I mean REALLY want to be helped. They need to hit their own bottom, and come to their own realization. Interventions, to me, are well-intentioned but not the answer. The ultimate intervention would be one where loved ones just put their feelings out there and then back off entirely. Instead, they pressure the addict to “get help now.” And 99% of the time, the addict will agree, out of guilt, out of fear, out of obligation, out of frustration. Hardly ever because they really want to. They are backed into a corner and forced to make a choice they weren’t ready to make. That can be a really bad thing for an addict.

In recovery, I listened to story after story of how others got clean. There were several “intervention” stories, and guess what? Not one of them took. Ever. Maybe for the sixty days they were inpatient, or even for almost a year, but eventually these people went right back to their old habits because deep down, they never wanted to quit in the first place. The only way these people had any hope of staying clean and sober was to take their own life inventory, and decide on their own that they were powerless – and that they needed help. When they asked for it on their own, they were more likely to succeed. When they were forced into it – not so much.

It breaks my heart seeing these families and friends reaching out to their loved one, wanting so desperately to save them… but the sad reality is that they can’t. Not with all the money and love in the world. Addicts unfortunately must save themselves. Now, I don’t know what the statistics are on the addicts who were profiled on “Intervention,” but as the show has only been on for about a year and a half, they would be hard to read right now anyway. What I do know is from personal experience, and the shared stories of others.

I don’t want to knock “Intervention,” on the contrary, I truly believe it is an excellent show that should be commended for trying to help. And maybe in some way it will. Maybe the addicts profiled will watch themselves on tv and realize what they have become, what they have lost. Maybe they will decide that they don’t want to be that person anymore. Maybe they will decide on their own to ask for help again, without an intervention…

In any case, I just hope that people watching that show don’t think interventions are miracle cures. Because when it comes to addiction, there is no miracle cure. There is only hard work, determination, and support groups. There is the conscious decision to admit defeat and regain control of your life. And it is hard as hell and it sucks starting over, but the end results are well worth it.

Puppy Love

So I did something really really stupid yesterday. REALLY stupid. What, you ask? I shall tell you what. I took my daughter to the brand new Petland in our neighborhood.

I know it sounds harmless enough, and it was - at first. We looked at all the little parakeets and ferrets and bunnies and hamsters and then... PUPPIES. Damn PUPPIES. They had a whole bunch of the cutest, sweetest puppies you could imagine - all shapes and sizes. Long hair, short hair, big, small... EVERYTHING. All with little signs on their cages "You can take me home for only $60 A MONTH!!" Imagine - financing a puppy!! Who knew? But actually, $60 a month didn't seem so bad... Hmmmm....

Anyhoo, there I was, trying not to show weakness to my daughter, who was busy "oohing" and "aaaahing" over every last one. As long as they all stayed behind that glass window, I was good to go. But Lexie played the trump card. "Can we see that one?" she asked one of the teenage employees, who was only too happy to oblige. Next thing I knew, we were ushered into a little cubicle along with this tiny little pomeranian puppy - and I couldn't get the stupid grin off my face.

The thing weighed all of four pounds or so, just a little ball of fluff, actually, and as he ran around, nipping at Lexie's pant leg and wagging his tail, I found myself mentally weighing the pro's and con's. We already had two cats - one of them diabetic. Plus, said diabetic cat was about five times the size of this little guy. What if he tried to eat him? Seriously?? I mean, he eats everything else, he MIGHT think the puppy was a squirrel or something... That would be awful. And ok, $60 a month doesn't sound bad - but for how many months?? And what about vet bills? And a crate to train him? And food? (Well, ok, so the food would probably run about a buck a month - how much could a dog that size eat anyway?) What if he chewed everything in sight?? What if he couldn't be housebroken? What if he barked incessantly? What if he whined all night?? And what if his presence bothered the cats so much they started marking their territory?? My house finally exorcised the most recent cat pee incident - I couldn't take that smell again.

But gosh darn it, he WAS cute. Lexie picked him up and he looked her in the face and let out this little "grrrr!" that cracked us both up. "Oh, so you're a tough guy, huh?" Lexie asked him. And his tail wagged furiously. We decided he would have to be named Jaws, and that every time we saw him coming we could do the Jaws theme. And we laughed about him running around the house. And Lexie explained how she would train him to not bother the cats - at least, not TOO much. I admit it, I was breaking.

But then I came to my senses. The employee looked over the cubicle and asked "How's it going in here? He's great, isn't he?" Lexie enthusiastically agreed, and I smiled tightly. "Yeah, he's great, but I think we need to do a little research first..." Lexie knew that was the kiss of death.

After a couple more minutes of puppy time, we gave Jaws back. I knew it was the right thing to do. Although I DID love that fluffball to death (and Lexie knew it, too), it was so not the right time to get a puppy. To be honest, I'm not sure if there EVER will be a right time. At least, not while I'm working full-time, Lexie is in school, and the boys are still alive. Lexie has been continuously giving me very valid arguments in favor of getting Jaws, but the responsible me knows that it's not going to happen. No matter what.

Which makes me really sad. I wish I could just give in and go pick up Jaws, but that wouldn't be fair to him or us. Lexie doesn't understand that right now, and I wish I didn't either. Because then I wouldn't even care about things like how much time he would spend in the crate, how the cats would react, how much more money I would have to spend to own a dog... Unfortunately, though, I do.

So it looks like Jaws will have to find another family to go live with. And I will have to hope that Lexie eventually gets tired of her puppy campaign and gives up. At least for now. Who knows, if TBOTE sells and I'm home all the time...

The Beginning of the End, Part 32

I awoke the next morning with a combination of apprehension and excitement. I hoped Shelley was working too, it would be good to have her there on my first day back. I showered and dried my hair, then pulled it back into the required ponytail. I tried to brush the stubborn wrinkles out of my white oxford, then decided it looked fine. As I hopped around pulling on my socks, the lump in the bed that was my boyfriend stirred.

“Can you be a little quieter?” he mumbled from under the covers.

“No, I CAN’T be quieter! Come on, Kev, we have to leave in like ten minutes!” I said with exasperation. I didn’t want to be late, in fact, I wanted to be early just to get back into things easier. I pinned my nametag on and checked myself out in the bathroom mirror. Would anyone else notice how nervous I was? Would anyone see that the light in my eyes had permanently dimmed? The last time I had seen any of my coworkers was on that night, and I hadn’t exactly been behaving properly to begin with. What if they all knew? What if they all thought it was my own fault? What if they all hated me?

I tried to shake the negative thoughts away as I reminded myself that Shelley had told me that not everyone knew. And that nobody blamed me for anything. I took a deep breath and walked back out of the bathroom. Kevin was now sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

I picked up his jeans and threw them at him, hitting him in the head. “Hey!” he protested.

“Get dressed! Seriously, Kev, I want to get there early. Please,” I begged.

With a sigh, he pulled on the jeans and went into the bathroom. I heard the water running as he brushed his teeth and ran some water through his hair to smooth the cowlicks. He came out toweling off his head and looking around searchingly.

“You seen my glasses?” he asked.

I picked them up off the nightstand and handed them to him silently. Then I walked to the door and shifted from one foot to the other nervously.

“Ok, let’s go,” he said, tugging his shirt on and grabbing the car keys.

We rode to the restaurant in silence for a while, then Kevin spoke.

“So should I just come by at like 1:30?” he asked.

“Yeah, that would be fine,” I replied.

“If you think you’re not ready to go back, I’m sure Gregg would understand,” Kevin offered gently.

I looked at him with surprise. “Do you think I’m not ready?” I asked.

“No, no – not at all,” he answered, suddenly flustered. “I’m just saying if you feel too nervous or anything…”

I was nervous. The hummingbirds in my stomach were a testament to that. But I needed to move forward, not just stand still. I needed to continue my life and focus on the future, not the past.

“Kev, I’ll be ok,” I assured him, gently touching his arm and squeezing it.

“Well, maybe I’ll come earlier, just in case.”

I smiled. It was good having him on my side, and his concern was touching. “What about your job?”

“Not until 4:00 today. So maybe I will come earlier and just hang out. You know, moral support and all that,” he said casually.

Actually, it would be nice to know that he would be there. Even just sitting in the bar area. I could handle the first two hours, I was sure, but knowing he was there waiting for me just might make me a little more relaxed. Who knew how the day would go?

“Ok,” I conceded. “Whenever.”

We pulled into the parking lot and Kevin leaned over to give me a kiss. It was soft and gentle, and before pulling back, he looked into my eyes.

“I love you, you know,” he said softly. “And I’ll wait until you get inside.”

“Love you too, Kev. And thanks.”

I turned away from him and opened the car door. Clutching my apron and waitress book, I got out and took a deep breath. I slammed the door behind me and started to walk toward the front doors.

I walked more confidently than I felt, surprised my jelly knees were holding me up. When I got halfway to the restaurant, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, and instinctively looked to my left.

My heart stopped in mid beat, then leapt into my throat. It couldn’t be. A group of about five Mexican guys was strolling out of the restaurant, laughing and talking in Spanish. One in particular made my blood turn to ice. He caught my eye, and with a self-satisfied smile tipped his baseball cap and winked at me. It was Morcos Magana.

I froze in my tracks and let out a choked scream. My whole body was trembling, and I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. Their laughter echoed in my ears, and seemed somehow amplified so I could hear nothing else. I watched as they strolled out of the parking lot and down the street, and suddenly I realized Kevin was holding my arms, calling my name…

My mind was still numb from the shock, my head flooding with the memories. But I managed to look into Kevin’s worried eyes and whisper, “That was him.”

“What?” Kevin said, unable to fully understand what was happening.

It all seemed so surreal. Nancy said he was in jail. In jail. Yesterday she told me he was in jail. But I could never forget the face of that man – and without a doubt, that had been him. Leaving Olive Garden, walking with his friends, laughing for God’s sake. And the way he had looked at me… the wink, the tip of his hat… I felt like I was going to vomit.

I started to get dizzy, and Kevin held me more tightly. “What?” he repeated again, to me. “Help!” he called out toward the restaurant.

Kevin lowered me to the ground where I sat down and wrapped my arms tightly around my legs. I felt so cold, yet it was warm outside. I kept seeing his face, morphing from that night to just a few moments ago… I shook my head and started to cry. “It was him, Kevin,” I said through my tears. “It was him.”

Gregg had come out of the restaurant along with a couple other servers. He looked as confused as Kevin had been moments before, but Kevin’s face had suddenly dawned with understanding. His eyes clouded over, and rage made his face contort as he stood up and faced Gregg.

“He was here,” he spat at Gregg. “That bastard came out of your restaurant.”

Gregg looked from Kevin to me, and shook his head. “It couldn’t have been,” he said with confusion. “Those were kitchen employees. One just came back from Mexico.”

“What was his name?” Kevin whispered.

“What?”

“What was his NAME?” Kevin demanded forcefully.

Gregg looked shaken. “Morcos. Morcos Magana,” he replied.

“It was him,” I said, starting to shake all over again. “He works here?”

I looked up at Gregg, whose face had suddenly become hard. “Not anymore. Jesus, Dasi, you never told me his name,” he said, his voice filled with apology.

I shook my head. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He was out, he was here, he knew where I was.

“I need to go home,” I muttered. I looked up at Gregg through my tears. “Can I come back tomorrow? I just can’t…”

Gregg helped me to my feet and he and Kevin walked me back to the car. “Of course, of course. He won’t be here, I promise. That bastard,” he added under his breath. “If you don’t feel up to it, don’t come. But we can talk tomorrow. And you can work, if you’re up to it.”

I nodded as I got into the car. “I think I will be,” I replied, starting to regain my composure. “But I just need to… to…” I didn’t know what I needed to do. And Gregg understood. He simply nodded as he shut the door behind me.

Kevin got behind the wheel and I could see he was now shaking as well. Only he was shaking with rage.

“Which way did he go?” he asked in a low voice. “Did you see? Which way did he go? I’m going to drop you off at home – lock the door – and then…”

“Kevin, no!” I pleaded. “All I want you to do is stay with me. Please. I can’t lose you now if you do something stupid.”

Kevin looked at me with his jaw set and his eyes glassy. “Dasi, I want to kill him.”

I saw in Kevin’s eyes what I felt in my heart. But I also knew that wasn’t the answer. “Please, Kev, let’s just go home.”

He started the car and he pulled out of the parking lot amidst screeching tires, using the car to punctuate his anger and frustration. The blood was pulsing in my head, and I closed my eyes, hoping we made it home in one piece. I fell asleep in the ten minutes it took to drive back, exhausted from what totaled less than fifteen minutes of my life. I barely woke up to walk inside, and Kevin laid me down on the bed. I could feel him watching over me protectively, and was grateful for that. I just needed to relax. To refocus. To call Nancy and find out what the hell was going on…

For Better or for Worse

Today is the day that my grandparents got married… back in 1937. Yes, SIXTY-NINE years ago. I am totally in awe. Just imagine, sixty-nine years with the same person every single day. Sixty-nine years of laughter and tears; children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Sixty-nine years of waking up every morning knowing that you have found your soulmate, and that person will be by your side forever.

Grandma and Poppops are incredible. At 89 and 92 respectively, they are still going strong. Their love for each other is an inspiration in a time when so many marriages seem disposable. They took their vows seriously almost seventy years ago, and never wavered. I love spending time with them because to me, they epitomize everything I would want in a relationship.

Sure, they may bicker, and Grandma often gets frustrated with Poppops’ antics (“For God’s sake, Leo!”), but there’s no denying the unconditional love between them. They have built a life that most only dream of, working hard in their youth and raising four children, then being able to retire comfortably and enjoy their grandchildren and great-grandchildren. They remain healthy even now, with occasional “scares” but so far, nothing serious (knock on wood). They love nothing more than being with the family, and the feeling is reciprocated.

I look at my life, and my past relationships, and realize that I am right where I need to be. No one I dated in the past was my “Poppops.” And I don’t want to settle for anything less. I don’t want a disposable marriage, I want the “forever.” If I can’t have it, then I’m fine as I am. Too many people seem to forget that love and marriage isn’t always hearts and flowers. Love is hurtful, love is stressful, love is frustrating as hell. But REAL love will endure regardless. My grandparents have shown me that. I’m sure they have had knock-down drag-outs earlier in their marriage, heck, maybe even a few in the past few months, but they always work it out and move forward. And because of their belief in the marriage vows they took, they are blessed with the gift of security and everlasting love.

I love you, Grandma and Poppops – here’s to sixty-nine more years!