Happy Birthday Dad

Today is my father's 56th Birthday. Well, I don't think you age in heaven, so I think it's safe to say that today "would have been" his 56th Birthday. In honor of my father, who's passion for my writing was almost greater than my own, I am posting the poem that I wrote years ago that he said was his favorite--I read this very same poem at his funeral to honor him.

*The Butterfly*

Every creature has a story
With a beginning, middle, and end
Every creature has a journey
A battle to contend

He started off as a caterpillar
So small, so plain, so meek
Learning and experiencing very little
Dirty roads week by week

The most he could do was glance
At the beautiful and open sky
So many opportunities up there
He envied the birds flying by

Until one day he started to change
Out of sight from all the rest
In his cocoon he started working
It seemed he had a quest

His time in the cocoon seemed long
Hard work he thought went to waste
All he wanted was to grow and change
Of the sky he wanted a taste

And then one day it hap pend
Right before everyone's eyes
Out of the cocoon came not a caterpillar
But a beautiful butterfly

His wings, they dazzled many
His colors sparkled in the sun
It was his time to venture into the sky
Another journey had just begun

Indeed every creature has a story
Not every ending is what it seems
Not it's his time to be a butterfly
And begin to start living his dreams

The Lies WE Tell

This past weekend I was reading one of my various magazines that come to my house each month (Glamour, Cosmopolitan, Marie Claire, Vogue, LittleGus has a Fashion Magazine addiction, etc) and I came across an article that I found very interesting, and a bit entertaining. It was entitled "The Lies Men Tell"--and it was written by a man. As I read more, I found it hilarious. It was written with such a matter-of-fact nature, like it's normal or even acceptable that these common lies pour out of men's mouth like verbal diarrhea. This article got me thinking about the lies that come out of women's mouths as well. There are things we indeed lie to our significant others about in order to spare their feelings, save a conversation from getting too intense, or...just because we have a little bit of verbal outpouring of our own. So, to the men out there-- here are the lies WE tell.

1. "Size doesn't matter." Trust me, it does. The term "it's not the size that counts but how you use it" was most likely coined by a man who was probably ashamed of his very small parts. Gentleman...yes, size matters. Be logical.

2. "I LOVE your mom"! Odds are, we don't. We can sense that she will never think we are good enough for you, and we can also sense that we'll never quite measure up to her in your eyes. We may like her, but we have a sense that she's constantly "judging".

3. "You're the best I've ever had!" Strictly speaking in regards to actual number of orgasms, you may not be ranked numero uno. But who counts anyway?

4. "I've only slept with ______ amount of people." Add a few numbers to that list. Then, if we really love you, you should add a few more.

5. "Oh I've never done that!" Odds are we have done it at least once, or we've thought about doing it.

6. "I've never felt this way about anybody before"... We have. We've probably said that to each guy we've ever "fell" for. Everything feels the same in the beginning of a relationship.

7. "I've never (kissed, done this, gone home with) a stranger before!" Sure we have, we just don't want you to think we're a slut.

8. "I'm not looking for a relationship". We are. We either don't think you are good enough, or we think you don't want one and we don't want to appear needy.

9. "I got them on sale". No we didn't. We spent half our rent money on them, but we just don't want you to know that.

So, women tell little white lies as well. Just like men, we have a certain way we'd like to look and be portrayed, and certain facts from our lives just don't paint that picture. As for the important stuff---if we love you, and I mean really love you-- you'll know what's truth and what's not. And if there's love, it shouldn't matter anyway. Believe me?

Tis' the Season

I was always told about this "season". I was told it would approach in my mid-twenties (which, despite my incredibly young boyfriend, I am currently in) and that it would hit like a freight train. Yes, the joys of the long awaited wedding season.

I was told that each friend would start dropping like flies and falling victim to this beloved sacrament. Wait, don't get me wrong, marriage seems like an amazing thing and I can't wait to do it one day---but, do they all have to plan these things around the same time?

This past weekend, two very good friends from high school got engaged. I am so happy for them! Overjoyed! Ecstatic!

However, it starts to sink in that they will probably be just two of many, and this means not only dresses and gifts-- but flights back East. And I'm sure they'll all plan these weddings close enough to where I'll go bankrupt, and far enough apart to where I'll have to plan separate trips to CT.

I should have started saving when I was a young girl, when the first wise person told me it would all start happening like this. I should have set aside a "friends wedding" fund so that I would be prepared. But, I didn't. Now, it's panic time.

However, maybe after they read this blog I won't have to worry about it, because my invitation will get mysteriously "lost" in the mail....

I'm really over the moon for both of you, I swear. Hugs and Kisses, and I wish you a lifetime of happiness.

Death to Cupid

OK, so this title seems harsh. But I've been thinking about how this little diapered devil has screwed me over so many times--- and now, I'm fighting back. Mr. Cupid has decided to play various jokes on me in the past, like making me fall for commitment phobes, mama's boys, alcoholics, and the occasional "man without a soul". But this time, he's gone too far--he's made me fall for someone who's perfect.
Cupid took his bow and arrow and decided to have a little bit more fun with poor Little Gus. He fired that deadly weapon in the direction of not only Mr. Perfect, but Mr. 5 years my junior, and Mr. "Leaving for the Navy".

Being the eager little adventurer that I am, I decided to have a little "fling" with this gentleman at first. He was younger than me after all, so I figured all the balls would be in my court (literally). The sense of power consumed me, and I loved the fact that maybe, after being in the passenger seat during all my past relationships, I would finally be the one driving. I figured we'd have nothing in common but a physical attraction, and then he'd leave for boot camp and we'd miss nothing about each other but an occasional drunken romp, and our lives would move on separately.

However, in comes that little diapered bastard with his cleaver sense of humor and apparent hatred towards me. Cupid said to himself, "hehe, not only will I make them attracted to each other, but their relationship become so much more than either of them ever thought it would, and then he'll have to leave her."

And, that's just what he did.

This "graduate-esque" relationship ended up turning into something so special, I never could have predicted it. Quick phone texts turned into hour long phone conversations, random get-togethers turned into almost every day togetherness, routine trips to the store with him turned into laughter fests that I never wanted to end, and a seemingly simple physical relationship turned into complete companionship, mentally and physically.

And then, last night, he had to leave for boot camp in Chicago for 8 weeks, then Pensacola Florida for 16 weeks. (For those of you who don't know it, I live neither in Chicago or Pensacola).

Thanks Cupid. He gives me everything I have ever wanted in a man, but wraps him up in a youngin' (which lets many people say very colorful words about me, I'm sure) and someone who is starting off his life, many miles away. I guess maybe the worst part about it is that he reciprocates these feelings, and wants to be with me. He thinks there is no one more wonderful than me (neurosis and all) and says he's more than willing to put in the difficult hours now, in order to reap the benefits later.

Now I'm guessing those "cup is half full" type people will tell me that I should be thanking Cupid--- that I am lucky that I've met someone wonderful, and that not everything is easy in life and I should just take a "leap of faith" (as my young Seaman tells me to do). Should I take that route? My gut instinct is telling me that I should, but I can't help but feel a little bit of animosity and skepticism towards the whole situation.

I'd be open to any sort of advice out there (except from you, Cupid) on what I should do. Not that I'll listen to anyone but myself in the end, but I'd love to know what someone else would do in this situation. Is it really logical in the year 2008 to "follow your heart" and trust the man with the diaper, bow and arrow, and wings? Can things really work out sometimes, despite the level of difficulty? Or, do I tell Cupid to go to hell and point that arrow elsewhere, and get myself as far away from this situation as possible?

At least I can say, without any hesitation, that life is never boring.

Pain at the Pump

It's happened. I can't believe it's actually happened. The talk about gas hitting the "4 Dollar Mark" has been going on for quite some time now, but in a futuristic sense just like spaceships and flying cars. But it's actually finally happened. I was on my way to work this morning when I spotted it, and I felt like rubbing my eyes a few times just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Thrifty Station in Fountain Valley read $4.25 for regular... Regular gas!--Not even the good gas that makes your car do all those wonderful things that I don't know about because I'm a cheap ass regular girl. No, for Premium they require a down payment and your first born son. I felt like a senior when I started reminiscing about the days when I first got my drivers license and gas was 99 cents. The Golden Days where I could fill up my gas tank for $15 and still have enough money left over to actually have a life. What is going to happen to all of us? Are we all going to be broke? Are we all going to leave our cars in the driveway and walk to work, even if it takes us five hours and we are ridden with filth and sweat by the time we get there? Should I move? Change jobs? Stage a protest?
I'm thinking I should come up with an alternative source for fuel. Any suggestions? Right now I've got some useless items on the list that don't do much good now, such as Decaf Coffee, Designer Impostor Perfumes, SPF 0 Tanning Oil, and Fruity Vodkas. Loan me your car so I can experiment.

Tossing Stones

God informed us that "he among us without sin should be the first to condemn another, or the first to throw a stone"... How often does anyone follow that statement? If that were true, no one would ever say anything bad about anyone else-- and that we know isn't true. People on a daily basis critique everything about everyone else-- they presume to understand, are quick to judge, and discuss another's life choices just as often and as quickly as they pick out what clothes to wear in the morning. There is no one person out there who is without sin---who doesn't make mistakes themselves. Granted, there are some of us who are better at making them and make them more frequently, but we are not alone. However, maybe it isn't other people whose critiques and judgements are undoubtedly harsh. I'm wondering if it's ourselves who throw the stones the hardest.
If we are perfectly confident and loving of ourselves, it shouldn't matter what others think of us, correct? Maybe we as a human race put way too much pressure on ourselves on a day to day basis and when we attain less than perfection, we toss the stone. We let others dictate what our level of perfection should be, and if we fail to achieve it, we feel like we've let ourselves down.

Today, I'm putting down the stone. I've got welts on my body the size of golf balls.

Why Drink?

As I sit here, staring at the computer, wondering why the walls feel like they are caving in and wondering why my surroundings are spinning, I can't help but ask myself why.. Why drink?

Last night's happy hour which went from one cocktail to four has evolved into this mornings hangover and I am desperately trying not to curl up into a ball under my desk and go to sleep. I dine on a very healthy breakfast of diet Dr. Pepper and Sour Cream and Onion Pringles, and hope that my antics last night did not a.) embarrass myself or b.) end with my phone number permanently stored in any strange man's cell.

The "morning after" is most definitely a hell on earth that we voluntarily put ourselves in when we decide to have too many cocktails. That three hours of giddiness comes at the expense of an entire day of dry heaving, diet soda, salty food, dizziness, random flashbacks, and frequent trips to the lavatory.

The universe, ever so amusing, sends the hangover in waves---so just when you think you've been cured, it comes back, disguised as something else. First, there's the initial wake up-- everything hurts, everything wants to come back up through the route it came in, and you have no idea what you've ever done in your life to deserve that amount of discomfort. You take some pain meds, sleep some more, maybe drink something carbonated and eat something to coat your stomach. An hour later, you start to feel better. You get out of bed, maybe even start to make something of your day. Then suddenly, it comes back. This will go on all day.

Seriously...Why drink?