Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Yesterday was not a good day for me. My "insecurity button" was pushed again, and I surrendered to paranoid thoughts when I shouldn't have, my back was out (huge sign number 1 that my stress meter is overloaded)... like everything else though, good things came out of it, I was forced to communicate how I was feeling, on the verge of tears, and was heard...

It is a new thing for me to feel heard. Truly heard. And that is a gift that is precious to me...

I'm pretty much programmed so that my default setting is paranoia. I really don't trust anyone anymore unless they really earn it. This is the total opposite of how I used to be - blindly trusting anyone that came across my path because they had a smile or seemed to care about me.

I used to think maybe it was a bad thing to be jaded - that is, spiritually a bad thing... I've been thinking about this though and I don't think it is - because you can still be kind while you are being cautious. And I am cautious now. Sometimes I am still very afraid... afraid of the ghosts of the past, afraid of the unknown future and wanting something to believe in when I have a hard time believing in myself at times.

I used to never ever admit fear... never admit weakness, because it can be exploited. I've since discovered we all have our fears, every one of us does, and vocalizing them to those you trust can really take a lot of the power out of them. When you can share them, even laugh a little at their ridiculousness, or be reassured until you finally can believe it.

Maybe I am unintentionally high maintenance. I need this constantly right now, and I'm certain this has to be frustrating to my boyfriend. I'm impatient. I want to "get on with it." I want the "proof" I am important - and this is silly... so silly... because while grand gestures would indeed help me feel better, I shouldn't be this way... and I'm going to work on that.

But it dawned on me. I just don't trust WORDS. I need actions. Because I am completely used to living in the land of empty promises... and so I don't trust anything simply because its said to me, even though I always speak the truth. I need to SEE it, because actions I trust...

It's like if someone says "I love you" as they are scowling and flipping you off... which are you likely to believe? I mean, that's an extreme example, but you all probably get the point here. People can talk until they are blue in the face and I don't find security in that... I need to see it happen for me to assess its validity.

Come to think of it, I learn best by "doing" also. Someone could tell me how to do something a hundred times and I will stress out over it until they physically show me, with my own hands doing it.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005


So last night was the Dandy Warhols show. I wasn't super excited to see them for some reason but ended up being very happy that I did.

At the last minute I decided to goth out kind of, and so I wore all black and red, my "dumb jerkoff at concerts ass kicking boots" and way too much black eyemakeup (no glasses). My hair was a perfect sculpture too - very 60's Edie Sedgwick with the new layers. Anyway. So I was kind of feeling cute, which got me in the mood.

Brie was drunk when I picked her up, and in a very good mood as a result. Found the Ballroom, parked (hit a curb AGAIN, I hate on street parking) and got there with enough time left to get a drink - It's been weeks since I had an adult beverage and I was in the mood. Decided on a rum and coke, which smoothed out my edges a little bit and cemented my standing position at the very part of the roped off 21 and up area.

Brie wanted to be closer, so she bailed and took off for the front of the stage somewhere, I saw her a couple of times briefly during the show, but I was chillin' by myself. Chatted up a really tall dude next to me - that looked like Lurch - that was nice and wearing this weird bomber jacket. It's weird - I'm shy with other people around, but when I'm alone I can totally just randomly talk to people.

The Out Crowd opened, I dug on them (about 90 percent of the tunes), Brie did not. Old BJM members are in this band, its basically just a 60's sounding Wall of Guitar - think Velvet Underground inspired stoner rock. Kind of was digging it.Was amused by the various members of the Dandy's and their entourage wandering about 2 feet from where I was - I was near the part of the side stage where all their families were camped out. Laughed to myself at all of the people I recognized from myspace.

After the Out Crowd finished Matt Hollywood (lead guy) wandered into the roped off area, turned around and was basically in my face. So I said "Hi, great set." "Thanks." exchanged smiles and a couple of other pleasantries. He smells good. He was the only one out of that whole group that didn't absolutely reek of weed. I'm sure that came later. Hahaha.


Dandy's opened with "Ride" which is what they opened with EVERY TIME I have seen them. It is a good opener but come on! Anyway, they were in great form - Courtney was delicious in his little pilot hat...mmm. I'm still fascinated with his mouth. Too bad he's a crabby little stuck up prima donna. One of those that's nice to look at, listen to, but nothing besides those two things. Zia kept leaving to pee, which was funny, that would be me if I ever had a band that went anywhere - hahaha.

Highlights of the set were "Smoke It", "Bohemian Like You", "Gett Off", "MINNESOTER!!!" (that RULED, haven't heard that one live before), "White Gold", "The Last High"... Yeah. They owned. I wished they would have played "Horse Pills" but ehh you can't win em all. :) And I HATE THE FUCKIN STROBE LIGHT but it was only on two songs, so I guess that's not a bad ratio. Courtney was pretty chatty too, which was different for him.

There was a guy in front of me (in the all ages section - thankfully with about a 2 foot roped off barrier between us- I always make sure to give myself a barrier due to my chlostrophobia if I can help it) that was dancing like he had epilepsy. I couldn't understand what his deal was. He was all muscled out and in an Army t-shirt, not the stereotypical Indie rock fan - but he was obviously digging on them, so whatever. Dandy's manager was next to him with his girlfriend and they kept mercilessly mocking him.

Dandy's show closed with "Little Drummer Boy" which was actually their first record, oddly enough, and it was awesome - total psychadelic swirly madness - then they had a bunch of their friends throw fake snow on all of us, which irritated me because it got in my stupid contacts - GRR. They played a long ass set - almost 2 1/2 hours... to the point where I was actually ready to go before it was over - and I love them.

I was ready to come home at 11:45 when it ended though.

It's to the point where there are maybe 5 bands I would go out on the week nights to see anymore... and the Dandy's happen to be one of them... although next time I might not. I think this means I am getting old.

Monday, December 5, 2005

Weekend Update.

Lots of stuff happened this weekend. The actual days on which things occurred are kind of a blur (and YES I was SOBER the whole time, I don't know why I can't keep things straight right now) but that doesn't really matter anyway.

Trimmed the tree at Dave's house. Also brought Dalai over to Dave's for the first time. Can you say, BAD IDEA? See, Dave is kind of cat sitting his babysitter's cats.... one of who apparently is the Mad Phat Dog Assassin. After taking several clumps of hair and flesh off of my dog, we quickly determined that there was no co-existing arrangement that was going to work with this cat. Dalai of course didn't understand this, as she thinks all kitties are her friends...

It frustrates Dave and I both to no end that the one thing that should be so very simple - sleeping in the same apartment - is so rare to come by, between all the kids (fuzzy and otherwise) we just can't seem to make it work unless someone is missing. *sigh*

On the upside, this is the *SOLE* problem or even wrinkle that our relationship faces - which is really no big deal if you think about it... it's kind of temporary...

Saturday I hauled them all down to Vegetarian House, where they all enthusiastically consumed fake meaty goodness with me.... = HAPPINESS.

I'm not telling you about Saturday night. It was goooood. >:)

Sunday... Sunday Dave had stuff that needed to get done and so I was left to have a day to myself. Which normally would have been the absolute awesomest thing I could imagine - I used to live for unscheduled days of free time and quiet... and... well, I didn't know what the hell to do with myself. All I kept thinking was "I wonder what the kids and Dave are doing." So I kept myself busy... I cleaned, I baked a loaf of bread (which fell for some reason), baked some whole wheat muffins, went to the grocery store, scribbled in my journal, read... and I was SO READY to see them all last night - GAH!

I've been super emotional lately. It's weird when you start to radiate happiness little bits of the crappy stuff you've stuffed inside and not wanted to deal with sneaks out too... I think I've cried every day this week and it pisses me off. Last night was worse than usual. All of a sudden my apartment has become somewhere I really don't want to be anymore, and that's weird... It took me forever to fall asleep last night. I was having one of those nights where it was just thinking...thinking... and you just want your brain to shut off so you can sleep.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005


He is thoughtful and considerate.
He respects me and shows me this.
He follows through with what he says, even for the little things.
He is emotionally available and his feelings run deeper than he ever lets on to the "outside".
He is an amazing father, and I am completely in love with his children.
He understands my needs for security and reassurance.
He knows what it means when I am quiet.
He doesn't force me to talk when I don't want to.
He levels me with his eyes.
He really sees me.
He doesn't want me to change.
He smoothes out my edges when I'm unravelling.
He sets me on fire.
We are able to surrender and find freedom in it.
I loved him before I met him, I just didn't know it.
He is mine.
And I am Home.
And for that I am thankful.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Monday Blues.

Well, I had a good weekend more or less. Sunday was less than stellar at first - woke up and realized somehow somewhere one of the diamonds out of my mom's garnet ring fell out. I have another ring (that the stupid ex gave me) that is missing a Sapphire and has both side diamonds in it, so I'm hoping I can take one of these diamonds out and put it in my mom's ring - they look smaller though, so I think I've just offically started a collection of fucked up rings.

I try not to get too attached to material things, but this is the first piece of jewelry my father ever gave my mother - she didn't have an engagement ring. So I'm bummed out. At least it isn't her wedding ring though - I'd be hysterical if something happened to that ring...

Anyway, Sunday I went to see Dad as per usual, and hauled a bunch of my stuff over to the Goodwill drop by his apartment (Troutdale/Gresham area). I open the trunk to pull the bags out and it smacks me in the head not once, but TWICE - once leaving a dent and once leaving a huge bump. The nice old gentleman handling the drop off facility showed concern (the fact that I was literally blinded with pain was probably a big clue...) The clincher however was when he said, "Oh no, Maam you are bleeding." I had this tiny little cut on my forehead from one of the smacks and a little trickle started - and have I mentioned I HATE BEING CALLED MAAM??

So at that point I had to make the decision - was I going to go home and ice my melon and whine to myself all night about how that sucked or was I going to go over to Dave's house as planned and just say fuck the stupid wind and fuck the stupid trunk. Well, I chose the latter, which was of course the right decision. By the end of the night I was completely unconcerned with my head - and was this morning until I shampooed my hair and touched the bump and it hurt.

Speaking of this morning. I had to get up almost an hour earlier to take my dad to his eye appointment. Fortunately, I woke up about 2 minutes before my alarm went off, so at least I wasn't homicidal directly upon waking. Stopped at Burger King to get my dad breakfast and try not to gag at the smell eminating from the drive through. Went to pick him up.

Could tell upon my arrival that it was an "off" day. He went to put his arms in his coat and about keeled over - he would have if I hadn't have grabbed him by his belt loop. Worries the shit out of me - watch him fall right before my vacation.

Anyway, he was bitching about his knee too. Woohoo, could tell this was going to be fun. Got to the doctor's office, had to get him to sign three places (stupid HIPAA won't let me, as his power of attorney sign this for him) which was a challenge, and led to frustration for him.

The eye exam... I really don't know what to say except that it literally broke my heart. It always does. It's so hard for me to see him like this, unable to follow simple directions like "cover your left eye". To see him just sit there, staring blankly, knowing fully he doesn't remember the commands as soon as he hears him. I went over and moved his arm up over his eye, repeated to him "See, this is covering your left eye". The Doctor knew he had dementia, I made sure to tell them before we even got there, and then the light seemed to come on for him. He began to cue him heavily, and use his name to get his attention. "John, look over to the right, at the picture of the bear on the wall." Then things went a little more smoothly.

Until the diagnosis.

I knew he had "dry" macular degeneration - apparently his right eye is screwed, and has turned into the "wet" variety, where you actually slowly lose the retinal fluid and there's nothing you can do. The left eye seems to not be leaking, but his cateract has returned - so he can't see shit out of that one either. He referred us to an eye surgeon, and seemed to think that laser vision might at least bring him some sight back to the left eye.

I don't know how much Dad really "gets", aside from asking the doctor "Will I ever be able to see again?" and the doctor telling him that he's hopeful about his left eye, but the sigh and just total look of resignation from my father made me want to just die. For someone that was as proud as he was, and as active as he was, to just basically have his body, mind and everything else shut down all at once, in an agonizingly slow process is just awful.

We rode back to his apartment in silence, just the quiet drone of the radio as any sign of life, and as I got him settled back into his apartment he patted me on the arm, thanked me for taking him, and asked me if I thought it was "worth it" that he was "half dead anyway." I told him if the doctors thought it would help, and if he was up for it, and could perhaps see better, that yes, I thought it was worth it.

I went back to my car and I cried. For about 5 minutes. Then I pulled my shit together and went to work.

I know we won't all stay young forever, and I know there are some important, invaluable lessons that both my father and I are learning. And I wouldn't trade it. But sometimes it's hard... so so hard. And I wish that I had someone to help me take care of him, just like, emotionally. My mom is there for me, and I know that... but their history makes it challenging. And I try to insulate her from it too, because when we talk about it we both end up crying.

Then I got my paycheck. I noticed on my last check that they were still having me down as 0 exemptions (correct) but as married (incorrect). So they changed it and it made a HUGE difference. FUCK. So this pissed me the hell off.

And so that's how my morning has gone. And I used my lunch hour for the above mentioned eye appointment, so its going to be a long fucking day. And I just got two TUBS of mail to process. Woohoo.

Thank God its a short week. I need this vacation, badly

Monday, November 14, 2005


All weekend I made the mistake of indulging my insecurites enough to let them weasel their way into my thoughts. Almost cried in front of Dave last night, sucked it up at the last minute. If it's to the point where I cry in front of anyone it's not good. I think I've only cried in front of Brie once... Anyway...

If I shut up, breathe, and listen to my heart I know everything will be fine. If I listen to the parts of my brain that are messed up, the parts that have been re-wired by the people that have hurt me to try to make me believe that I will end up alone and that I should end up alone I begin to believe it. I thought I disconnected all of that, but apparently I didn't.

It pisses me off. Because I know it ISN'T WORTH IT. And it gives him power over me, that he never should have had in the first place. And I thought I was over hating him, but I'm not. I hate him all over again. Worse than before.

And I don't like being afraid. It's hard for me to even admit, let alone deal with. I'm the tough girl. I'm the one that people go to to solve their problems, I'm the one that keeps a level head and a cool head in a crisis and can handle anything. Except my own negative thinking, apparently.

For the first time in my life I'm in a relationship that's truly working. I wasn't looking for it, I didn't want it. I went into it with authenticity that I haven't really experienced before - I wasn't trying to impress him. In fact, it was more the opposite - here I am in all my hard-headed glory, let's be friends. And the coolest thing happened - not only was I completely *seen* for the first time ever, he loved it. And the edges of our hearts clicked together like two pieces of a puzzle that no one else has the solution to. And it was like, well NOW what for me. So I rode the wave.

So now I actually have something to lose. Before I spent so much time trying to sew up ends of "loves" that were unraveling so quickly that I could never have even evened it out let alone build a life with someone. I just didn't fit.

And now I fit. And I'm terrified as hell, because I now know that I don't fit anywhere else. And you all can think I'm completely insane - it's hard for me to even admit to myself sometimes, and I know what is completely happening "backstage" so to speak. I was his before I knew I was his. And this scares the crap out of me, because for the first time in my life I am 100 percent vested in a relationship. There is no "escape hatch" for me - there is no "well, if it doesn't work out I have plan A B C and D" in place. There is only plan A.

And so for the first time I have to trust someone else to love me unconditionally. There is no other choice. And love has always been turned off and on from me like it was a fucking faucet my whole life. Even with my parents I constantly was trying to please them, afraid if I wasn't smart enough, good enough, that it would go away. They both emotionally checked out on me when I needed them the most - when my Daddy came home on Christmas Eve (after disappearing for 6 weeks, we didn't even know if he was alive) to pack his shit to leave us for his stupid girlfriend. When my mom's revolving bedroom door was more important than me sleeping with her gun under my pillow, trying to get the balls up to finally use it and just be done with it.

For years and years all I wanted was to die. And so I drugged myself up in any way possible, took out my aggressions in the mosh pit and pretended I just didn't give a fuck. When all I wanted was to mean something to someone, to be the one person that someone couldn't live without. And so now I want to live.

I don't want to need him. But I do. I need him in my life. And part of me hates it, and part of me wants to find freedom in it. I just don't know if that's possible. I am going to try though, because we are both worth it.

Tuesday, November 1, 2005


Our appetites were formed
In the optimism
of our Youth
Before we knew
what we really needed -
Decisions ripening
and falling like leaves,
dead on the ground.
Our experience
alone and together
like a prism
through which we see
differently now,
not led by restlessness
or ultimatums,
a path of technicolor
where it was only
I have disconnected my fantasies
So I can fill myself
with something real
and the Hunger stops.

Friday, October 28, 2005


All I swore
I couldn't live through
Has come and gone...
And excuses
Didn't change
The Truth.

I evolved
Past confusion,
Rewriting the clarity
Of my own days.
I am no longer led
By recklessness
Or Ultimatums.

I control time
My hours are mine
I am not locked into
A pair of arms
That don't comfort...
Internal bleeding
Is always more dangerous.

I removed
All the pieces of him
That stuck to me
Like invisible anchors.
Instead of looking
At the door that closed
I opened a window...

And joy leaked in
Like a warm breeze
Cleaning and restoring me
Bringing value to all
That was lost...
And I am beautiful
Because you love me.

Thursday, October 27, 2005


I'm so used to waiting for the other shoe to fall that I don't really know what to do now that I'm not afraid.

I'm so used to feeling alone that I am almost in awe as I feel him all around me, all of the time.

Just knowing he exists is enough for me.

My whole life has been about those issues - feeling like an outsider in my daily existence, like I am on my own little island of nothingness and no one can ever reach me, so why bother trying?

There is freedom in letting go - and having someone catch you. I am caught. All of the crap I went through, all the drama and unhappiness was just preparing me to appreciate and know the difference.

And I have never been happier.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Adventures of the Black Wig.

Decided it would be fun to wear a black Wig to the Bauhaus show at the Roseland tonight. Black wig = MANTRAP. Seriously.

I was, of course, super excited to see my beloved Bauhaus - and wanted to get down to wait outside an hour and a half before the show started so I could be right up front. So, my beloved Brie Cheese went down there with me at 6:30.

I must mention that Brie looked extra hot this evening - her hair was down and she had on a little tight, black ensemble and the infamous sex boots. It was ON.

So we parked and went down to the Roseland, and there were only a few hearty souls that made it there before us. As we were standing in line, gushing about the men in our lives (or lamenting on the recent departure to Thailand thereof) Brie noticed on her ticket that the show started at 9 - apparently I was thinking of the Seattle show (which I sold my tickets to, and which DID in fact start at 8). OOPS.

Anyway, because Brie loves me she just rolled with it anyway. Got checked out by some weird guys drinking beer, tried to get the attention of the cute Euro guy for Brie, and spotted the Keanu Reeves guy that sadly, ended up being gay and breaking Brie's little heart. (but kept staring at her all night, as he sat with his

We got in, and I went to the merch stand to spend entirely too much money on a Hoodie that I love and of course needed, as Brie marked our front right center territory (prime Mr. Ash viewing) in front of the stage. Met a cool chick from Boston or somewhere that was at the Seattle show and gave us the good news that there was no opening band.

Let me just say Daniel Ash in tight leather pants eclipses my previous favorite Daniel Ash, Mr. Mesh Shirt. WHO KNEW?! I'll just leave it at this, if Brie wants to elaborate, she of course may... hahahah. They played the big three songs I wanted to hear - including what I refer to as the sex song. Daniel sang "Slice of Life" too which made me suuuuuper happy.

About 3/4 through the show all hell broke loose and all of a sudden crazy crackwhores started to show up and get in our space. And I mean shove us around, throw their arms all up in the air, hitting us, and generally spazzing out. I started out calmly pushing her back, then I got a little meaner and put my elbow out. Finally I turned around and threw a bunch of profanities at her and informed her I was going to start throwing punches if she didn't quit elbowing me in the fucking head. Well, she didn't listen (after she apologized) and so then I just started to throw elbows at her, getting a small satisfaction that her ribs and her face will be bruised and sore in the morning. Brie in the mean time was putting the smackdown on some stoner chicks that were in her space, so between the two of us a brawl was about to ensue. Cause NO ONE fucks with my Bauhaus time. lol.

Show was over, just in time, I was getting WAY too pissed off and was seriously going to hit this stupid pincushion chick (she had about 1000 facial piercings and smelled TERRIBLE). Her stupid boyfriend was about to get it too, I was sick of feeling certain parts of him shoved up against my ass. On the way out we saw the prettiest goth boy ever (aka Mr. 42) and several other interesting people...

There was the afterparty - which we had NO DESIRE to go to, and so we went to Taco Bell (where the mantrap black wig continued to work its magic - hahahahaha) and now are at home, preparing for a wonderous day of work in the morning.

But Bauhaus does indeed still rock your ass.

Friday, October 21, 2005


More VA Hospital Funness with my dad this morning. More fun sitting and reading disgustingly filthy/crusty copies of Parenting Magazine in a room that smells like weird old men and mold. Some cute kids did come sit by me and tell me all about their Halloween plans, so that passed some time.

Got in and the Ortho MD whipped out his latest round of hip ex-rays. My dad is like the Bionic Man - he's been put together so many times that they are going to end up with a 50 pound bar of steel screws after they cremate him. Hahahah. Anyway, the hip joint collapsed around the pin they put in - which isn't good news. BUT, he is generating enough new bone growth that there is a possibility this will be okay. I loved how the MD made this sound like an all around positive result of the surgery - even though I knew better, and he knew I knew better when I started pointing things out on the X rays.

The VA is crap. It still amazes me though, how many of these old dudes are walking around thinking they are in good health when in reality they are barely held together. I guess knowing the reality of the situation wouldn't really help, in fact I was really worried about my dad getting de-railed at what I perceived to be bad news, so I was very thankful for the doctor's discretion.

This messes with my mind a little, as obviously I am all about "honesty is the best policy", yet in this situation I was happy for the skewing of my Dad's condition. I know that he seriously can't handle another surgery, unless it was of course something to completely save his life. I also know for a fact that he doesn't want any kind of life saving surgery. And I will of course, respect his wishes.

There comes a point where you kind of let go of wanting to fix someone. His body was so abused from the drugs, booze, fighting, motorcycle wrecks and various other ailments that its kind of amazing he's here at all. I showed my mother a recent photo of him the other day and she actually cried. She was shocked as to how he looked, and knowing what a prideful man he is how terrible it must be for him to suffer like this. And through all of this also, she has lost her hatred for him and gained compassion for his situation... at the same time fully realizing the karma of his situation.

I don't believe in accidents. I really don't. And I don't think that any of this is an accident.

Likewise, I have some other important things that are happening in my life. A someone. I was up most of the night last night, writing, trying to wrap my mind around all of it - examining feelings new and old, fears, insecurities, motivations - and I know my heart is in this for all the right reasons... and I'm pretty sure his is too. And it's a good thing to feel a little nervous - because this causes you to stop and think before you act out of impulsiveness. It allows nurturing to occur, and timing to work its own karma. I'm not going to screw this up, overanalyze or choke it with irrational fears.
Some things aren't as elusive as I was thinking them to be... I just needed to stop looking so it could smack me in the forehead.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Why I bother.

I've been writing for as long as I can remember. I still have my first diary, I started keeping it when I was 7 years old. I used to write the names of the boys I liked and complain about how unfair my mother was. I also kept an extensive record of which books I checked out from the library, and the status of whatever lego project I was engineering in my spare time.
Writing for me though, is primarily therapy. In my first journal I found comforts after my grandfather died.

My grandpa Robert, Papa, was the first love of my life. I was his first grandchild, and he was like a father to me in all the ways that my dad was unable to be. My dad had a terrible childhood, and never had a good parenting example. He did the best he could with limited information. Everything with my father was on his terms. If I wanted to spend time with him it was handing him tools in the garage.

My father wasn't a bad father. He taught me how to read at age 3 by reading the Wall Street Journal and the Shotgun News. I used to crawl in his big brown recliner chair and read to him. But my father didn't know how to really play with me, he just never was a kid himself. He tried his best.

My Papa on the other hand, was like a big kid. He was funny and goofy and instilled in me a reverence for nature. He used to take me on nature walks, picking wild blueberries, or checking out birds. He taught me which plants I could eat if I ever got lost in the woods. We'd go out to the lake in his fishing boat and sit there and talk for hours.

The best part of visiting my grandparent's home however, was the garden. 3/4 of the back yard was his huge organic garden. He grew everything you could imagine. I remember digging up carrots, brushing the dirt off of them and eating them right there, and that they were sweeter and more satisfying than any candy on the market. I remember taking huge bites out of fresh, warm tomatoes and having the juice drip down my chin, sweet rivers of summertime staining my skin. I remember sitting out there in the yard dipping pieces of rhubarb in the sugar jar and chomping down happily, thinking that I was in the most magical place on earth.

The garden was my haven. I would sit out there for hours, with my little daisy watering can, talking to the plants because my grandfather told me it would make them grow. I didn't realize it at the time but the garden was a mode of survival for my grandparents. They grew things to can them, to get them through the lean winter months.

Hibbing, Minnesota was a tiny mining town in the Northern part of the state, and it was bitterly cold in the winters. If it made it ABOVE ZERO that was a good day there. Hibbing is also the boyhood home of Bob Dylan, if it sounds familiar to you for some reason. Bobby Zimmerman was a rich kid, however, and lived in a different part of town than where my mother grew up.

My grandfather operated a train for a living. And of course, due to the weather, the railroad shut down in the winter, which meant no income for part of the year. So the garden saved them. That and hunting, which while I could never do it was literally how my mother and her brothers ate in the wintertime.

He hated his job his whole life. He wanted to be a writer, and he had great talent for it. The newspaper in the closest big town had a contest every year, and he won 5 years in a row. His style was very Hemingway-esque, immersed in details and heavy on nature themes. He also was a poet. He was discouraged by his parents from it and told to get a "real" job. He also was a member of Special Forces in WWII, but even that couldn't kill his need to write, and his passion for the written word.

He hated his job so much that it killed him. He just swallowed all of his bad feelings, sucked it up, and tried to lose himself in his writings and his garden. He finally retired, with his pension and gold watch. He took my grandmother on a trip up to Canada, which they were so excited about. The first morning they woke up in the hotel, he woke up, clutched his chest, fell over and died. He never got to enjoy his free time. He worked his whole life and then never got to do what he really wanted to do. And as an adult, this seems so tragic to me.

I think this is why I'm so passionate about getting my degree. I am not obsessed with status symbols or being rich. I want to be able to be comfortable, and not worry about providing basic necessities for my family. I'd like to be able to travel once in a while. I must feed this wanderlust inside of me. I want to see Paris, and the pyramids, and Stonehenge... I want to turn a prayer wheel in Tibet... and I don't want to have to work jobs that I despise my whole life to do it!

When he died I was inconsolable. I wouldn't come out of my room for three days, I wouldn't eat. Even my father couldn't get me to come out. So I used my journal, and I began to address it "Dear Papa" instead of "Dear Diary." I wrote to him every day, asking him what heaven was like, and if he missed me. I told him all of my troubles.

I used to think I saw him everywhere. We lived in Detroit when he died, and my dad and I were on a bus on our way to a Gun Show one day, and I swore I saw him outside and was hysterical, trying to get off of the bus. I used to dream about him nearly every night and write down what he said to me in my diary the next morning. I slept with a bandanna of his for two years, until it finally lost its smell. I still have it.

Now I write to vent, to analyze - I make lists and reminders of why I make decisions. I write for hours, put it away, pull it out the next day and don't even remember doing it. When I can't make a decision I do that, and read it imagining my best friend wrote it to me - and I usually can find the truth in there and make the correct decision. I paste things in there that mean something to me, like concert tickets, and leaves from the tree outside that I'm in love with. (Yes, I fall in love with trees.)

Also, any time I reach a milestone in life, I buy a new journal. When I can tell a new chapter is opening. Even if the old one isn't even close to being done. I also threw away boxes and boxes of journals a couple of years ago. It was my way of letting go of the past. I read them all first before I did. The memories are all still in my head, anyway...

Wednesday, October 12, 2005


Hearing my father belly laugh for the first time in years. He looks at me, as we are waiting in the doctor's office, all serious - "Say-ruh, Ahm sorry, but Ah think Ah have to fart." I cracked up and he cracked up and I told him just to let it rip then. Told him at least he wasn't so deaf he couldn't hear that. He laughed until tears came down his cheeks.

In the car he told me he was happy that "I was there to take care of everything" and thanked me.

Yeah, this is why I do it. Even though he can be a huge pain in the ass, he can be stubborn, and selfish, and totally demanding... but he is my blood. I have a very small family. And its moments like this, when he's "on" that I'm so thankful to spend the last few years of my daddy's life with him.

It heals so much of that wounded, abandoned child left in me. Every time I reach out to him when its hard, it breaches a little of that gap that grew when he left. And now my hand is the strong one. And I have forgiven him.

We almost got sideswiped by a semi on the way home. It was a close call. After it was apparent we were safe he looks at me and wryly says with that mischevious twinkle in his eye, "Oh man, if we woulda been mashed up, Ah want you to just take me to the side of the road and shoot me...Ahm done being patched up." And I looked at him, trying to guage his seriousness, and he cracked up again and patted my knee.

Yup, he's doing better. :)

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Slice of hell - dumping thee ex bf.

Once you've been abused, you can smell it a mile away. And you get weird to it, and things push you into an ugly place, a place of survival.

Last I heard from him he was sending emails, asking what to do with some stuff of mine, I had stuff of his also. He said he would leave it up to me how to decide to swap it.

I decided to think about it, because I wasn't ready to see him, because it had been confused, even though I knew the end of our relationship and probably our friendship was the right thing to do, it still hurt, I still missed him, and I still wanted him around in some ways. We didn't date that long, but it still sucked. And whenever we would talk via email one of the other one would basically vent about how much it sucked without the other person, and why are we doing this. I knew I personally was too weak to make it stick, because I missed him. And I knew it wasn't right, which is why I broke it off in the first place.

So I was trying to strengthen myself, so when I saw him it would be calm.

After 9 he just shows up. I was in my pajamas, talking to Dave on the computer. He brought the things, I could tell he was upset and had been crying. I thanked him for bringing it, tried to remain as casual as I could. He left. It was weird. But I was grateful for the maturity of the situation.

Within two minutes on my porch he was back, telling me he needed to talk. I hesitated, then I invited him in, I figured it was the least I could do, and I felt bad that he was feeling pain, because I had been there so much in the last two weeks over us. I'd been up and down and all over the place.

He started with apologies, which I accepted, I tried to remain calm. I wasn't comfortable with the amount of emotionality that was happening, but I tried to just chill. He brought up an issue that I didn't blog about (because despite what he thinks I don't blog to hurt him, I blog to DEAL) and expressed regret that he did "one fucking thing wrong". This is where our voices got raised, and I told him I didn't want to argue with him. I told him again and again. And he begged for time. He said "just two minutes" and looked at his watch. I gave him two minutes, which was two minutes of picking apart my personality flaws. It hurt, but I took it. He was standing in my doorway. Then I asked him to leave.

He made excuses.

I asked again.

More excuses.

My voice was raised to a shout, as was his, it was the only way I knew how to communicate that I was serious, that I wanted him out of my life. I couldn't deal with the poisoned relationship we became. I started to panic. It was survival, GET OUT. GET OUT OF MY SPACE. This was about 20 minutes later... he kept saying "just let me talk" not even realizing he had, and that if I gave him three days he would still not be done attacking me.

He left and the phone calls instantly started. There were 9 of them, from different cell phones, between 15 seconds and 3 minutes apart, whether I hit "decline" or if i talked to him and told him to go away. On one phone call I gave him 30 seconds to talk, as he requested, and he chose to argue during that time.

I told him "I do not want to be in a relationship with you. I do not want to talk to you. I do not want to be your friend." I was brutal, and honest. So he would GET IT. Finally, after he wouldn't listen after my repeated requests for him NOT to call me, I was so angry and felt so scared and violated that I shouted "FUCK YOU! GO AWAY! I WILL CALL THE COPS IF YOU CALL ME BACK. DO YOU UNDERSTAND???"

And finally it was enough.

The last time I had to say that was when I left my husband. I hate to have to be cruel. But I had no choice... he wasn't listening.

I don't think that he has the capacity for physical violence. But I felt intruded on, I felt like he wouldn't leave me alone, and this scared me. Because this is how it starts. He says he will do one thing (wait to hear about the "stuff exchange") and then just do another (show up). It's never consistent with him and so I don't trust anything he says to me.

So he probably hates me. But everyone told me to call the cops, have him picked up, he's probably drunk. I didn't know if he was drunk, he smelled like bar. And he finally did stop calling me. They all said I'd be doing him a favor by calling the cops. I don't know. I'm not a mean or selfish person, not all of those mean things he's been saying about me.

Anyway, if he comes back I will contact the police because I am afraid, and I have the cell phone records, as well as three different people as time stamps as to when it happened and how long it lasted

I hate this. I hate that he made me feel this way. I never expected it. And he will blame me me me me because that's what people with no boundaries do. And that's ok. It will be his way of coping.

My way of coping is keeping him the hell away from me. And I will do whatever it takes.

Thursday, October 6, 2005

Pair off.

So last night was better than the night before. Only cried once. I figured it out - it was mourning the future that I was thinking was going to happen with him. I have forgotten one of the crucial and very basic Buddhist teachings - BE HERE NOW. It's attachment to the past or the future that causes suffering.

It's hard to balance because I am so monogamous in nature, and my whole life I've just wanted to be part of a family unit. I suppose that's why I stayed with an abusive asshole for four years.
I haven't really admitted this to anyone but I was thinking about it last night before I fell asleep.

The first time he abused me was three days before we left on our wedding trip. I was too scared and embarrassed to tell anyone. Everyone told me I was moving too fast and I was stubborn and wanted to show all of them that they didn't know what they were talking about. He wanted to marry so fast because he knew his mask would slip if we waited any longer. I blamed it on the stress of the planning, I deluded myself.

Hindsight is always 20-20, and even though I didn't pay attention to that little slice of hell I still ended up getting out. He just about destroyed my self-esteem in the process, but I'm reclaiming that, bit by bit.

But I don't think I'm over it yet. I'm not over being used, abused, and taken advantage of. I still hurt from a very deep place. And I think that I was naive in pinning all my hopes on the future, my dream of finally being "taken care of" before I'd really gotten okay with being alone again.

But who does want to be alone? No one does, but I have to learn to at least being comfortable in doing it.

And now BOTH of my parents are here. Yeah, they don't speak or whatever, and now I'm the one caring for my dad. But they are HERE. And I forget that. They moved here to be with ME. They chose this. And yet I always still feel lonely and unloved? It's obviously in my head...I can feel lonely in a room filled with 10,000 people. And I need to knock that shit off, because its destroying my life.

They are pretty much my only family. No brothers/sisters, two uncles (California and Minnesota) and one Grandma (Minnesota) and I barely know any of them. So the three of us (and now thankfully my stepdad, who I adore) are it for me. So of course I want a husband and at least one kid. Who wouldn't? But expecting that when I start to date someone is just stupid, because dating should be about friendship - friendship with chemistry, if you will, and dammit, I'm going to start dating like a normal person when I am ready to date someone. Like, meeting them somewhere, or god forbid having a guy pick me up and take me somewhere and then going home.

But first I need to be friends with people. Because then I can learn to trust people again, in a non-threatening way. And be loved unconditionally by my friends, because that is low-risk. I can have a rewarding social life without having to be part of a "couple". So when I am ready to be half of a couple it is all for the right reasons.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Today I brought the noise.

Got to pick up my dad and he was on one. Demanding I take him to the bank "RIGHT NOW" because he "knows his money is gone." I explained to him that we had to go to the VA for his Neurology appointment, that we can go to the bank afterwards, if we went then we would be late. He proceeded to basically throw a tantrum and I blew. I told him he was damn lucky to have what he has, that I can't help him if he won't trust me, and that I can't be there 24/7 to hold his hand through everything, that school was starting next week and I needed to be able to sleep at night instead of being up stressed. I basically laid it all out without any kind of name calling.

At first he blew back and then by the car ride to the VA was done he was calm. He even was joking with me.

Dr. Davis at the VA - God Bless Her - fresh out of OHSU.... she HELPED US. She had read his file before we got there, instantly sided with me about his level of oxycodone and why its making him nuts, I explained to her about how Home Health never came for his blood draws and how Social Work was dodging my phone calls, and SHE FIXED IT.

She knocked some heads at social work (I have to follow up, but she sent a message to all involved telling them that their continual passing the buck was dangering the health of her patient - which it IS, these draws are necessary to make sure his blood levels are balanced so his blood clot can be absorbed). She instantly cut his Oxy dose back to 4 automatically a day paired with Tylenol for pain control, cut back his Sinemet a bit to see if that helped his mind clear AND... and this is a big AND... she prescribed him a mild anti-psychotic, because it's apparent to her he's suffering from delerium - which unlike severe dementia CAN be reversed, and usually is a result of trauma and drugs that make him loopy...

SHE LISTENED TO ME. AND FIXED IT. And I know she generally was horrified at his new condition compared to how he was a couple of months ago when he was in there joking with her.
I am so writing a good letter about her to the VA to whoever will listen...

Also, his mysterious "side" pain (of which he tried to convince me he was dying) SWITCHED SIDES since last time he was bitching - she examined him anyway, his ribs are fine, she agrees with me its probably pulled muscles from his walker... new muscles being used.


I FINALLY got a POWER OF ATTORNEY done!!! I finally talked him into it!!!

This will make my life so so so SO much easier!!!

So tonight I'm going to go home, eat some yummy dinner from stuff I bought at Whole Foods (I'm thinking FALAFEL!!!), clean, and SLEEP LIKE A BABY knowing I got all of this fixed!!!!

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Nearly Postal at the VA.

For days and days and days I've been planning going to the VA to get my dad out of there. I've talked to Social Work every day. They were supposed to have the following equipment ready when I arrived: Wheelchair, Walker, his meds, a shower bench, a raised toilet seat, a weighted wrist cuff to help stabilize his tremors for eating and writing.

I arrive, on time, 15 minutes early actually (I'd always rather be early than late) and he's there, in his wheelchair, with a GIANT and I mean GIANT bag of meds. No walker. No bench. No toilet seat. No cuff. And the night staff has no idea where any of this might be.

They call the one social worker on staff, who isn't familiar with my father. He says "Oh, I'll go look him up in the computer and see what the notes say. Maybe they've got it put away somewhere." I thank him, and we wait. And Wait. And Wait.

45 minutes later, he hasn't returned, I walk down to the nurses station. I ask where he is. "Oh, he's on dinner break. Try the employee lounge."

I'm positively STEAMED at this point, my dad is freaking out, thinking he can't go home, he's nearly in tears, he wants his walker, he wants to go home and thinks he can't.

I knock on the employee lounge, he's in there stuffing his face.

"Hi." he says.

"Hi. I'm Sara, John B....'s daughter. You were supposed to check on some equipment for me?"

"Ohhh, oh yeah. I looked. Nothing. You'll have to call Mike in the morning. Sorry." And back to his sandwich.

So I'm thinking this is just brilliant. He's ready to go home and I have next to no equipment. I decide, fuck it, I'm getting him the hell out of here now.

I take him to the car. There's no one to help me get him in, this is okay, I can manage. I then have to try to figure how the hell to collapse/breakdown his wheelchair, because even though I had arranged for someone to show me how to use his equipment they didn't show up either. I manage to do this, shove it in the trunk, pack the rest of his stuff and get in the car. My dad's so happy he almost is in tears.

"It's so good to see something other than the inside of the hospital. I missed the clouds and the trees." He smiles and is like a little kid, eagerly drinking up the scenery on the way home. I instantly know I made the right decision. I'm racking my brain, trying to think of somewhere that would have enough medical equipment (its like 7:30 at this point) to get us through the night. I decide to ask the people at the Assisted Living when I get there, its their job to know what to do, I'm still learning.

I get there, they are there, just like they promised, just as scheduled. They are positive and tell him they are excited he's home. He's very happy. I pull the night nurse aside and tell her that I'm sorry, the VA effed up, I have no equipment, I couldn't leave him. He's upset there's no walker, he says he wants to walk to breakfast in the morning, not wheel in. Its a pride thing for him. His neighbors saw him walk unaided.

She looks at me and smiles. She says that they lost a resident this week, and while it was sad for that family they donated all of this resident's equipment to the facility for other residents to use. And that we can have it. For free.

She has the kind of walker he needs.

She has a shower bench.

I'm so thankful and grateful I almost cry.

The rest can wait until later.

She says she has to go on her evening med rounds, can I wait and go through his meds with her in an hour or so. Sure, no problem. I unpack him, he asks for a beer and peanuts - this makes me happy, this is my daddy I know. He watches ESPN and drinks a Coors Light.

Around 9 she comes to get me, I grab the huge bag of meds and go to the nurse's station. We sort through it. In the bag is a bottle of 300 Oxycodone. He's slated to take TEN A DAY. No effing WONDER he's been so out of it. We are both shocked - she asks, "Is he just now coming out of his surgery?" I say, no, its been two months. She's also appalled at the dosage. She explains to me that she needs to follow the instructions on this med until she hears otherwise from the hospital, she suggests I call the docs to get permission to cut the dose back or to make it as an as needed basis. He's also on Tylenol for pain. I understand his clot is painful, but I think I've just pinpointed the cause of his "hallucinations and memory problems".

I didn't walk in my apartment until 10:10 last night. My mother, thankfully, came over and let my dog out for me yesterday afternoon.

Fucking bastard VA just drugs these old guys up so they are complacent. ARRGH! I'm so effing mad!

So I've already put a call in this morning, asking about the damn toilet seat and cuff (its really the cuff I'm interested in at this point, I'll go buy a seat if I have to) and why the hell my dad needs 10 oxycodone a day.

It makes me furious how shitty the VA is. My dad fought in the Korean War. He's 100% service connected, which means that his medical problems (technically its his other hip and his arthiritis, not his Parkinson's) are linked directly to his years of service. So no, he doesn't have to pay a dime for medical care. But I don't see how sending someone home with no equipment and major drugs is "medical care". Our veterans deserve better. And my heart breaks for those veterans who just don't have an advocate to check up on them.

I want to write a scathing letter about my experience but I have no idea where to do it. I thought about writing an essay/article and having it published. I have to do something. You can bet this girl will bring the noise. As soon as I get some damn sleep.

Saturday, August 20, 2005

Bad news.

Doc called me last night at like 8pm. He's got a DVT - big ass blood clot - in his leg. If he doesn't listen to the docs and tries to get up on his own or whatever the thing could dislodge, move to his lungs and kill him. *sigh*.

I'm going to get in the bath now, then go over there and try to explain the importance of this to him, hopefully he will effin listen.

Last night I cleaned my bathroom, which always fucks my back, then pilled myself up, read magazines in my bed for a couple hours while I listened to Elliott Smith, then fell asleep. Woke up every hour on the hour almost, it was totally weird. But somehow I feel well-rested. Or maybe this is just defeat?

I'm going to hide out again tonight, clean the rest of the apartment, play with my fuzzies, pluck out a few songs on the axe, make something yummy for dinner... Yeah, that's the plan.

Monday, August 1, 2005


Dad's hip was a success, they say.

Saturday I slept 11 hours. Sunday I slept 9 hours (it was 11, but I subtracted a couple for tossing and turning). How is it I can still be exhausted?

Some advice: Mixing tequila and rum leads to very bad things. Like throwing up. Yeah. Nuff said. So much for my drying out. Going to try this plan again...

Sometimes I just don't know what I want. Honestly. Stress = paralysis in making even the smallest decisions... I know this has to be frustrating to deal with.

Attorney appointment tomorrow. Loose divorce ends. Like making sure I don't get stuck with his thousands of dollars of bills. And how I can ensure he has to stay away from me. I think this has put me on edge and made me more sensitive than usual. I refuse to turn into one of those chicks that wrongly assumes that all men are evil. All I know is that I'm not very good at being loved.

Friday, July 29, 2005


I spent all evening in the ER with my father - he took a fall...broke his right hip - will have to have surgery of course - terrible news for someone with a bad left hip and Parkinson's...

He's hooked up to an EKG right now, they think something to do with his heart or circulation has something to do with why he blacked out and ended up waking up on the floor...

I'm so upset right now... and I feel really really lonely... and I'm crying and not sure how or when I'm going to stop...

I feel horrible for him...

Anyway. yeah.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

i want my own private island. NOW

Today sucked on so many levels...

I'm totally bawling right now... I spent most of the day at the VA with my dad... Neurologist this time. Which is the number one pressing issue.

CAT scan came back - apparently he's had many small strokes... which is why he's having so many issues... when they took his socks off to look at his feet I about lost it - they were bright purple and so swollen... I had to turn around and wipe tears away...

He mentioned to me if they take his feet/legs he'd rather be dead...

I know he's got serious medical problems, but today just really got to me... there's nothing I can do for him...

They tried to talk him into a walker again and he refused... he's too proud...

The one good thing that happened today is the docs finally managed to talk him into meds for depression - I was so grateful I could have kissed the doctor... I hope to god this helps...

I'm so totally sad, and tired, and worn out, and worried and I just don't know how to cope right now... and I don't want to talk to anyone because all I can do is cry and its just stupid and I don't want to be high maintenance. And there's nothing anyone can do anyway... I almost called my mom but then she'd just worry, and its not fair to worry her just because I am having issues coping with LIFE.

And dude, I should KISS OFF because I have nothing to be upset about, its HIM that has to deal with this shit on a first hand basis, so why in the hell am I so damn upset when I have no right to be - I need to be strong for HIM.

I hate to say it, because I hate him, and I don't want him OBVIOUSLY, but I really miss being married and having someone to lean on when this shit happens... he was an abusive asshole 99 % of the time, jealous and manipulative, a liar and a batterer... but I feel really alone right now...

People try to make me feel better with "Oh my uncle had a stroke" or "Oh my grandpa was really sick and now he's better" and it just pisses me off because its like DUDE, its not about your Uncle or Grandpa or whatever this is about my DAD and can something just be about me and how I feel, just ONCE???

Life is not a big fucking comparison all the time... not when its something like this that just takes my heart and fucking squashes it - I'd do ANYTHING for him to just be well... and I can't.... and that's why it sucks. So don't fucking ONE UP ME or tell me you know how you feel because you FUCKING DON'T know what its like for me... to see your mirror image, the man that gave you so much just fucking wilt away in the worst way possible... this is so HELL for him... I can't think of a worse disease for him...

I just want to be taken care of, and I don't know how to let this happen... and I don't even know if I really want it. Just like him I'm too fucking proud... I probably don't. I don't know what I want, except I want to stop hurting...

I'm making no sense, and this will probably be deleted when I get some composure back, but writing is all I have right now... just words...

Why is it that sometimes it feels like words are my only friend?

I swear to god i'm going to crack... I want to hide away forever and not see anyone ever again... I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

Dear World:


Sincerely yours (with my white flag and two fingers raised high),

Monday, July 11, 2005


I'm currently feeling pulled in two different directions... like this should be nothing new.
Now that the last chapter of my so-eventful life is officially over, its got me thinking - what kind of life do I really WANT?

Because I'm free to do whatever I want.

I could now accept that really exciting job offer, writing where the winds take me... that I gave up because my ex couldn't handle it. I could go whenever I wanted. I could be as bohemian and flaky and irresponsible as I want. I want to seriously take up guitar again, drink beer in dive bars, buy a motorcycle... I could write the next "On the Road". I could live it.

But I had this other realization... and its a weird one. I want to be domestic. I want a little house with a backyard where I can have all kinds of fuzzy babies and I could grow my own veggies and take naps in the sun and read books all day.

So which do I want?

I don't have a fucking clue. So I'll walk the line until I figure it out. They both seem so terribly important to me... And I can only have one.

Monday, July 4, 2005

Spooky Sundays... the stuff Legend is made of.

Yes, I am home before one.

Random highlights of the evening:

1. Threatening mass suicide in the bathroom the first hour, if they wouldn't stop playing the damn depressing goth and play some stompy shit we can dance to.

2. Brie's goals of the evening - a. to have a $60 bar tab, b. to "make out with a hot boy." Both were achieved.

3. Talking to the guy Brie's been lusting over - to discover - yep, he's probably gay, and if he's not he's a total sissy.

4. Having above mentioned "hot boy" 's 30 something friend try to impress me with all of his name dropping of 80's/90's punk bands that he is "friends with". Laugh secretly inside as I think of how many of them played at my own damn club.

5. Laugh even harder when he wants you to join his band who sounds like "Lydia Lunch." Guess what? Any band that tells you they sound like Lydia Lunch SUCKS BALLS.

6. Taco Bell Debauchery. Have two drunken young men proclaim to us, as we sit in the drive through in my beloved Grandmamobile, that they are eating "THE BEST TACOS EVER" and "I LOVE YOU! CAN WE HAVE *YOUR* TACOS?" Patiently explain to Brie the connotations of said comment as she's too drunk to understand.

7. Get home early and not a MINUTE too soon. Heh.

Friday, July 1, 2005

My dad rocks.

I get a voicemail on my phone...

"Hi Sara, It's just me. Do you think you could bring by some blasting powder tonight? Thanks."

So I call my dad back and I go, "Sure dad, I'll bring you whatever you want, but I don't know what exactly it is you need..."

Him: "Oh... you know, that Milk of Magnesia stuff."

HA!!! RAD!!!! Blasting Powder! HAHAHAHA

In other news, work is extremely torturous this afternoon. Half the office, okay, OVER half, is already gone on vacation, most of the people I know are either getting off early or gone.... GAH! Torture I tell you!

Fez tonight! Woo! That's about all that's getting me through... the promise of a good time...

Saturday, June 18, 2005


Well now that I slept nine blessed hours and know what the hell is going on I can try to cram 10 days of craziness into one blog entry.

Good things that happened in Florida:

Got to lounge by a couple of hotel pools.

Got to hear all kinds of crazy stories about my Dad's youth and Hell's Angels days. Like, for example, when he was 13 and got kicked out of his town in Alabama - after spending a night in jail the police discovered he was underage and were forced to take him home, apologize to his father and all that. His dad handed him a beer and high fived him. LOL.

I moved dad's 106 lb Magneplanar speakers from his house (they are 6 ft tall) to the FedEx office and mailed them off - feeling like a badass Wonder Woman.

Things that sucked:

Too numerous to mention. Highlights included:
having dad panic over every detail,

getting to the airport 6 hours early because he was freaked out we were going to be late, having to wait an extra 2 hours (besides the 6) due to a huge ass storm - which started precisely at the moment we were to board the plane - and having our luggage SOAKED out on the tarmac as a result - all my dad's leather jackets are fucked now...

Not sleeping.

Explaining to my dad at EVERY meal that I still don't eat meat, as he makes comments like "There's not very much there, sweetie..." hahahah... he's pretty out of it but still rad. :)

Since we've gotten back Dad is liking his apartment very much. The main reason is allllll the ladies there are already chasing him. LOL. The manager lady comes up and introduces herself, and goes "Welcome, wow, Sara didn't tell me you are so handsome!" The residents AND the ladies that work there. Seriously.

I was doing his laundry and I had three different ones come up to me and go, "Are you Sara? I hear your daddy's tall and handsome - can I meet him?" hahahahaha.... We are INFAMOUS dude. The cleaning lady came in and said "Wow, they were right, you are a good lookin' man." He loves this shit of course, and he's totally the big man on campus.

So now I am the geriatric pimp! I just tried to call him and there's no answer - he's probably being wooed and getting some. HA! At least one of us is.

Friday, June 3, 2005

You have to be kidding me.

Online, looking for coffee shops around my dad's house, so I can survive a week in the bunghole of America - aka Florida.

And in my search this is what I find.

Popeye's Chicken & Biscuits - More Info / Map1713 S Pine Ave, Ocala, FL 34474 Category: Coffee

WHAT. THE. FAWK. I am never going to survive a week there. Never ever ever ever.

Tuesday, May 31, 2005


I am tired of assuming that people are genuinely sincere and warm hearted and real and actually care about each other. Being cynical is easier. How do I learn to do that?

I pretty much drugged myself all weekend with booze, and dancing, and flirting, the "club life", and that was a lot more fun than focusing my energy on the shitty things going on. But its not reality. My empty bed is reality. It's all a big dance, seducing each other, or at least attempting to, just to know you're still alive. It's fun and all... but I want more. I need more.

I know that creative people are difficult, I place myself in this category, and I'm drawn to people in this category like we are magnets. I'm moody and mercurial, but I love hard and when I'm feeling it I'm so open it blinds me. I just want to turn it off for a while... I feel like I feel things so much heavier than most people, and I'm TIRED of it. This could totally be angsty b.s., but I don't think so. I think its self-preservation.

I'm so close to the end of so many bad things, and so close to getting my dad out here and being able to focus on making the last months/years of his life good. Hearing how happy he is to hear from me is the only thing that reaches me... the love there... how happy he is just to hear my voice.

I don't need a relationship to feel "full." I've been alone six months now, and just because the scab has been fucked with this past week doesn't mean I should yank it off and bleed all over.

But dammit, it would be nice to be able to be with someone, and feel the electricity, and know that there's no one else on Earth that they would want to stand next to like they want to stand next to you, and someone that exhales their soul in a kiss, and someone that sees you for all the beauty that you are, and every time they look at you they paint a portrait in their mind...

Because that's how it is for me. I'm really *there*. And I miss being there, even though I don't know who it is I'm supposed to just Be with. Even though it scares me.

So where are YOU anyway?

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

CH4 + 2O2 -- > CO2 + 2H2O

Tonight I am a scientist
Struggling with the formula
To determine if
The velocity of intoxication
Outweighs the ratio of destruction
Tonight I am a doctor
Plotting elective surgery
Choosing how deep I will be cut
If your heart is not connected
To the rest of your body
Tonight I am a composer
Crafting a forgotten symphony
Where minds and mouths
Perform a sacred
And forgotten dance
Soon I will be only Yours
Surrendering to my soul's desire
Hoping that one taste of Bliss
Is enough to balance Hell
Of being Haunted

Monday, May 23, 2005

melodramatic and in need of prozac.

I'm having one of those nights. Just general ennui and angst. The people that I know can that talk me down off the proverbial ledge and not think I am a total lunatic are either way over their phone minutes or its past 11pm on the East coast and they are sleeping.

I sit here, trying to will the phone to ring, and won't pick it up and call someone because I don't want to bother anyone. I hate calling people. but I like to be called. I'm incorrigible.

I'm listening to dark music, wumpscut, KMFDM, Bauhaus... I have snacked on various soy products looking for something to satisfy this soul's craving, brewed a couple cups of chamomile and nothing seems to help.

Tonight I am lonely, and I don't really know why... because I had the best drive home - I took the long way home, and blasted the Cure, and shielded my eyes from the sun and smiled for no reason... now I've crash landed.

I hate when i get like this.

Where all I want is to be gently loved to sleep... and my bed seems huge and empty and the night is so so long.

Monday, May 16, 2005

Robert who?

He made the fatal error of describing those that believe in God as weak.

Now I don't give a fuck what anyone believes. Honest. You can ask anyone that knows me. I've known Brie for a year and the only time I've ever mentioned anything spiritual is when she asked for a school project. I don't think any religion or no religion is good or bad. It's all subjective.

I was raised Catholic, and I can tell you I don't buy into all the fire and brimstone. But do I rag on it? No. It's just not my truth. But spirituality is something very important to me. And I am NOT fucking weak.

Life is not a contest, but I can guarantee you I've been through more shit than most 50 year olds alive today. So fuck that weak shit. And I don't know how someone that has his whole back inked in a Tibetan theme can be so dismissive of what those symbols mean. People in Tibet DIE because they get caught practicing their faith. That big fucking Om he has inked at the top - guess what? That means GOD in Sanskrit you dumb bastard! Just like the one I have inked does!!

All my tattoos have meaning. It would take at least two paragraphs to explain the one on my back. It's not just a pretty fucking picture. I'm not saying you can't tattoo shit just because its a pretty fucking picture, but I'm saying that if you take something and use it, for art's sake, have some fucking respect for it. This just seems hypocritical to me and I have to cut ties on this one today. Not sure how to handle yet. He's not for me.

Sunday, May 15, 2005

Today was the best day I've had in like 5 years.

And NO I didn't get laid! ;) Ok, so maybe it wasn't THE best day, but close.

Today I spent a near obscene amount of money on stuff - I ordered new glasses and sunglasses and bought some new clothes, which were desperately needed. Hung out with my mom, got a call from my dad with really good news - his house sold! For the full price! So he's no longer freaked out about everything.

He also told me that he's going to sell his car and that he wants to use the money from his car and have me sell my car (aka the Grandmamobile) and buy a good car! Which I think is the nicest thing ever, because I really miss my Nissan (but I don't miss the payment). I totally didn't expect that at all.

Tonight I went to the Viper Room - dancing - some great tunes (thanks Jason, you rock!!) and had a couple of drinks (was the DD as per usual - one of these nights I'm going to say fuck it and take a cab and just get shitty at a club - I've fucking earned it). Met a few friends there, including a very sweet man - the tattoo apprentice guy, Robert, I can't remember if I mentioned him before. He kissed my hand when I left, I eat shit like that up. I also eat up the type of compliments he was giving me - I'm such a girl. It is always nice to know that you are attractive to the opposite sex though. And he actually dances. Big points.

He's 37, so a lot of that young boy angst is gone, which I love. Always love the older ones. Then when Brie and I left the coolest thing every happened - it started POURING rain, and I got absolutely soaked - which I just loved! Sounds bizarre, but something about getting soaked is just so sensual. it felt SO GOOD after being hot in the club too... Some day I plan on having hot passionate wet sex in a rainstorm... I have this big goofy grin on my face and am just happy as I can remember being. :) Everything just fell into place today... BTW, the Taco Bell on Burnside and 21st by Brie's apartment makes the best 7 layer burrito ever.

Saturday, May 7, 2005

Friday Night

So tonight I was really spontaneous. The girl from my work I was supposed to go out with bailed, so I was little bummed out, but I got a message from Heather who was itching to go out.

Well, turns out the Raveonettes are playing, and well, they freaking RULE so we went down to Dante's. I was so brave tonight. I talked to like 6 boys on my own. I started out with the boys (okay, at my age they are men) that I wasn't attracted to but I knew I would instantly have conversation with (i.e. bands on their t-shirts).

I started to feel pretty good and right before the Raveonettes started fate smiled upon me and the cutest boy I've seen in ages stood next to me. I was initially paralyzed with fear, but Heather sensed something was up and just walked up to him and was like "Hi, what are you drinking?" I so wish I could do that!

Anyway, she introduced us and we proceeded to stand next to each other and talk between songs for the entire set... Heather left half way in-between because she was "so certain we were going to hook up." Hahahah. Yeah right. I don't hook up.

Anyway, show ended, we talked some more, I didn't freaking know what to do - he was so sweet and nice and had the best teeth and was at least 6'5" and dark so totally cute and *sigh* he went to Coachella and saw BAUHAUS. AND LIKES THEM. We'd been to about a million of the same shows blah blah. So he asks my advice which of the Raveonettes CDs he should buy, I tell him, then I'm like, "Uh, yeah, so, uh, yeah, was nice to meet you Aaron, see you later!" and he smiles his cute smile and shakes my hand and I leave. AAARRRGH.

I can't believe I choked!! Now what? I know what Pixies show he's going to be at... but dammit. I have no idea what to do when I meet someone I am interested in getting to know better. I'm really mad at myself for being so retarded about this stuff. This one was total quality, folks. And I blew it. So sweet Aaron, good night, whereever you are. I hope you enjoy your CD... and maybe I'll see you at the Pixies or Peter Murphy!

I suck at life.

Sunday, May 1, 2005

Back from Seattle.

Had a fun time. Hangover only a 3 on a scale of 1-10 - general indifference, mild depression, craving for carbs.

Oh my God. I have never been in a room with so many physically beautiful men in my life.

Met one, Tommy, I would have married on the spot. The most beautiful man in and out I have ever seen. He watched out for me all night at the casino after the fights and made sure to hook me up with the VIP pass at the after fight party so I could get some free grub! Sweetest guy ever. Totally gives me hope that all the attractive guys aren't assholes! I needed to meet someone like him to give me the courage to remain in the dating pool with hopes I'll find someone to swim with!

Random statistics from the weekend:
Guesstimate number of pro fighters I met/drank with/bullshitted with/sat on their laps: 35
Number of times I was asked if the tattoo on my wrist was real: 4.
Number of pro fighters that performed impromptu strip shows to show me their cool tattoos: 4
Number of times I got seriously turned on by this: one.
Number of semi-strip shows I performed to show off my tattoos to pro fighters: 2
Number of times I seriously got turned on by this: 2 hahaha
Number of times I held hands with people: 3
Number of pierced nipples I was shown: 6
Number of pierced nipples I was told to pull on and did so: 1
Number of fighters I met that I would have seriously dated if they lived in my town and were interested: 3
Number of horse-races I witnessed at the track: 6
Number of Mexicans that "eye fucked" (her word) Sharidy and I at the horse races: 457 (they likes blondes, I guess)
Alcohol consumed Friday night: 1/3 bottle Bacardi Vanila, 3 Budweisers, some orange thing called Sparks that is like red bull with liquor in it
Number of drinks I spilled all over someone's hotel room: 1
Number of times we shoved people in the car trunk to try to move us all from one place to another: 2.
Number of curbs hit intentionally to try to fuck with the person in the trunk: 3
Number of fights outside the ring I witnessed: 2
Number of boys that asked if they could "sleep in my room" with me: 2

And I went to my room all alone last night, despite all the handsome boys I was surrounded by. Yay me for continuing to have morals!! But if Tommy had asked.... heh.... >:)

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Here I go to Florida.

So my Dad's in need of a nursing home.

He wanted to go into the VA down in Florida, and that would require him having a roommate, which he will fucking hate. He called me at 6:30 in the morning today acting all weird, telling me he put his house on the market, that he's sending me money all this shit. All of a sudden 6 months out from the home turned into "2-4 weeks". What the hell?

So I called his cousin today, who is around the same age, but in good health, and said, "I think Dad's having some issues, mentally and otherwise." He agreed and told me that he was trying to talk dad out of the VA but that my dad wants to go there so that he can leave me money! I'm like, whhhaaaat? I don't care about that, I don't want a fucking dime, I just want my dad's last few years to be good... so then I started bawling, at the thought that my dad would put himself someplace he hated because he thought it would help ME.

His cousin said I need to get out there asap, because a. he's worried my dad is going to kill himself, and b. if he doesn't kill himself he's going to end up in the shitty VA even though he (cousin) and I BOTH are wanting him to get in a private facility, and that c. it isn't my imagination, the Parkinson's related dementia has started, in his opinion also. He's been getting weird phone calls too.

He said when I fly out, he will pick me up, and he and I will both go talk him into it, and bring him home with me. So I call my dad back, and tell him, "Look, don't be mad at me, I'm not trying to meddle or anything, but I talked to Clark (cousin) and we both think you should be up here with me, and that you should be in a place where you can have your own room." He hems and haws, talks about how much money it will cost, blah blah, and I'm like, dad, even at $50K a year in care that gives you five years worth of assets you have - and you told me yourself you don't have 5 years."

He hems and haws some more and is like, well some of its tied up, blah blah, I'm like you don't need it all right NOW. I point out to him that he and I are too independent to have roommates, how he hated it when he had one when he had his last hip done, how he and I need our alone time - its just who we are. And he agreed... If there's one thing my dad and I are it's alike...

Then I tell him, look, worst case scenario, the money does run out. You still get your $2K injured soldiers money a month, you've got an annuity maturing for $50K in 5 years (another year of care) and at that point then we could put you in the VA, you won't end up on the street. They don't put people on the street due to lack of funds...

What I didn't tell him, but thought, is by then his mind will be gone, and the shell of his body can be cared for and he wouldn't require the privacy and independence a private facility would provide him... and I can still be there, to talk to him, to hold his hand, to at least be there, whether he was aware of it or not.

I think I made some headway. I made him promise not to do anything drastic for a couple of days, to let me see what I can find here as far as homes, would he consider it? And I got him to agree to it... I tell you, I am a very spiritual person, and I do pray... but tonight it was so on a higher level. I've been a practicing Buddhist for like 6 years, and I came home, collapsed in a heap on the couch, sobbing, just praying to God or whoever to help me get my daddy out here, and help his last few years be okay.

They say people turn to religion in desperation - I guess I'm there. I'm a mess. I don't think I've cried this much since I left my ex. But I've mobilized, Left posts on Parkinson's boards about advice, left messages on local Parkinson's research networks, have some numbers to call. I will do this if it kills me. He deserves it. I just feel like shit he wants to go rot somewhere for MY benefit. Having him here would be the biggest gift... I love him so much I can't even explain.

Everyone loves their parents, but my dad is ME. I mean, we look alike, aside from the obvious gender differences our bodies are the same, our minds are the same... he's where I came from 100%...he's always had my back...ALWAYS. Never judged me. No matter how much I fucked up, how many times I got sidetracked, he never let me forget the lesson...

Why am I writing about him like he's already gone??

This just reinforces why I should never ever have kids, who wants to put people through this shit? I've fucking iced my ankle all night, half my calf is bruised now, its most definitely sprained, and I have to hit the courthouse tomorrow. I DON'T feel sorry for myself, I just wonder when the time will come when I'm not dealing with a crisis? Don't get me wrong, I'm very thankful for what I have, I'm very lucky on a number of very important levels... I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other and trust that it will all be okay. Fuck. I need vicodin and sleep. Right now.


Last night was weird. Good music, weird drunk people. Why is it they always find me and I have to spend half the night avoiding them?

Anyway, I was really in the mood to dance in a big sweaty sea of sexy people and ended up dancing with like 4 other people, and that was just weird.

On the way out to the car I fucking fell over NOTHING (I was NOT drunk, not even close) and today I think I sprained my ankle. Nice and swollen and purple. Lovely.

I get a call at 6:30, I giggle, thinking its Brie making sure I'm up to make it to work because I was whining about worrying about it. Wrong-o. It's my dad.

It's never a good thing to get calls this early from him, especially when you talked to him 2 days ago. Something happened, I don't know what, but now his going into a nursing home is kicked into full gear. He's telling me 2 - 4 weeks! Some place in Lake City Florida. Now he says his cousin will take him there, I don't "have to do it." HAVE TO DO IT? What the fuck? He's my DAD and I so want to be there to help him.

Last week he's talking about him coming out to Oregon to go into a home and now apparently he's staying? yes he tells me, "I'm not sure if that's where I'm going to end up yet, but here's the contact information". Then he tells me he's going to send me a little money because the nursing home will tie it all up and so I have money to fly out and see him or some shit.

I'm really upset right now, and 4 hours of sleep isn't enough for me to deal with this right now. I should be on the next plane to Florida to find out what the fuck is going on.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005


Every time I can't sleep

and the moon winks at me

through my bedroom window

I think about

the Promise of Us

Does it mean that I love you


Or are you just

A bad case of

Romantic Indigestion?

You are like

A terminal cancer

eating my heart

Suffocating me from

so many miles away

All you've ever offered

is Memories

of when I watched you sleep,

our bodies intertwined

like wild vines,

how your eyes

could level me without even trying

We are like stunted seeds

born without a chance

Banished forever

from a garden we dared not explore

Monday, April 25, 2005


I need more balance in my life right now. I'm totally exhausted, I can't sleep, I'm obsessing about stupid things. I've pinpointed what the problem is though. It's the same problem I've had for years. BALANCE.

For my job I have to be professional, look professional. When I don't bad things happen. It's a conservative office, a conservative industry. Last Friday I forgot my watch and my wrist tattoo (which is TINY, like an inch square) was visible. Granted it is RED, and stands out a little. I got so much crap for this it wasn't even funny. Everyone thinks it was a "end of relationship crisis" inking. Its like dude, it was done clear last year, you have no idea what you are talking about.

So its like I'm schitzophrenic. I have this boring middle class existance from 8-5, Monday through Friday, I hit school 2-4 nights a week depending on my course load, I go out and party my ass off on Friday and Saturday, do laundry Sundays, and I'm totally exhausted all the time. Its like living two parallel lives.

I have 8-5 friends, who have mortgages, and kids, and husbands, and wives, and watch football and listen to the Beatles and are honestly good people. Then I go out on the weekends and feel like an alien sometimes in a club, and the feeling of me being in my element there, who I truly AM, the music and lifestyle I really thrive in is almost like a tease. Its like, nah nah nah, you gave this life up when you gave the club up to marry someone "normal".

Then this "normal" person makes you feel comfortable with this schizo lifestyle, until it becomes a threat to them, until the intensity of connecting with artistic and passionate people becomes something that they can't deal with, and then they try to squelch it out of you, smother you, and then things turn really ugly, and then you leave. And you continue to walk this line.

I got burnt out on the "scene" when I lived back in Boise, the old club days. I got tired of fake friends who tried to be nice just because they wanted in the club for free, or wanted to meet their favorite band, blah blah. It only took me two years of doing it to want out, but I miss it every day.

I miss waking up at 4pm and wandering downstairs and blasting Sisters on the sound board and rocking out. I miss waking up in a mess of guitars and 8 tracks and drumkits and demos. I miss creating every day of my life. I miss insisting on renting a 2 bedroom so I can have a studio. And now in Portland, sometimes I feel like since very few people in the industry know me on a personal level they assume I don't get it.

I'm not particularly bold, I don't have pink hair anymore, and they think I'm not one of "them." And so I don't connect with them, I'm on the fringes, and I refuse to try to sell myself. I'm too old for these B.S. games now. I have issues when I connect from afar with these people, with what they are doing, and I can tell by their reactions to me when I try to smile or start up a conversation that they have no idea what kind of a soul I have, they think I'm some groupie piece of shit. Fuck you, I WAS the fucking band.

People in clubs aren't particularly friendly, smiles aren't returned, people don't B.S. with you while you are in the drink line here. I can sit and talk to anyone and enjoy it, and connect with just about everyone on some level. Because I'm quiet am I assumed to be a snob? And why is it when I meet someone I know I can connect with, I suddenly become SHY, and I hate it! I'm babbling. All I know is I feel totally fucking trapped by this boring job, I really like the paycheck this job brings, it supports me and gives me enough fun money that I can really do what I want to do, but I have very few people to do it with. And on Monday morning I'm totally exhausted, and I didn't even do anything fun last night.

But at least I'm still out of Boise! HA!

Sunday, April 24, 2005

rum kicks ass. warning, drunken post.

its fucking 3 am and i now just got trashed. fucking christ tonight was a cluster. okay, so today i went and bought some new shit, clothes and stuff, was feeling kinda seeeexy which is always nice, given my state of mind as of late, and so I got all gussied up to meet heather at some club over by PSU. So i got lost on the way there, but found it.

Got there, was alright. Live music - bluesy, groovy, danced my ass off last night so I was down with just listening and chatting with her. So its total meat market, right? I wore my glasses on purpose, as they usually dissuade a lot of the men just looking for an easy lay, which I am not. I may be a good lay but I am not an easy lay. Anyway.

Dude asks me to dance. Sure. Someone has the balls to ask me to dance, I dance with them. God knows I'm too chickenshit to even fucking talk to people I find attractive unless I'm liquored up, so I figure, kudos to them for fucking sucking it up.

First dude - from Ethiopia. Real nice. Engineer. Something to do with computers, name I couldn't pronounce sober. Whatever. Nice guy. Well apparently I made an impression on him because he kept coming back. No biggie. Was very polite, no problems here.

Second guy aka the Crotch master. White dude, typical middle class blah blah, not my type again. No biggie, he asks, sure. So we go out there and within like 3 fucking seconds he's grinding me against the wall. What the fuck? Like I want to feel his huge fucking boner and I was like, "Whoa dude, you need to back up a little" (polite, mind you) he just wasn't fucking hearing it and grabbed my hand harder and starts grinding. Fuck you horn dog! The song blessedly ends and I escape and he has the balls to say "We can keep dancing, you know?" I say "Sorry, that isn't dancing in my world."

Next comes Giovanni. He wanted to start a band with me. I'm not kidding. I've never used the fact that I play guitar to pick up guys. File away for future use. So he was from Buenos Aires and verrrry touchy feely, but not in that perverted way. (maybe it was the accent) Found out I play and wanted me to feel the calluses on his fingers, proof he plays too. Wanted my number, told him sorry dude, don't give out my number to men.

Which is true. Unless I really like you and know you aren't a psycho.

Anyway, Mr. Ethiopia kept coming back and chatting, which was alright with me. I just wanted to get the hell out of there. The only person I had anything in common with in the whole bar was the guitarist, who I chatted up - totally innocently - not my type again - to his girlfriend's bitter chagrin. A discussion about his pedal apparently set her off. What is it with fucking jealous people?

Then at like 1:50 the lights went on and it was fucking hilarious to see people run to each other like fucking cockroaches to try to hook up and take someone home. hahahaha. I had four attempts. Sorry dude, I'm horny but I cope. I want a little meaning to my lays. And yes, I'd like to have a low maintenance monogamous friend to spend time with, but I'm picky. If we can't even enjoy the record that's playing while we do it it won't work out for me. yes, I like to have sex to music, its a requirement in my bedroom. Moving on... (damn i'm drunk - this is almost as funny as my convo with Brie about swallowing last night while we waited for our 7 layer burritos - Taco Bell is only good when hammered)

Anyway, I obviously couldn't get lit because I was driving, but that didn't stop me from taking a wrong turn and ending up on 5 South to fucking Lake Oswego at 2 in the morning. So I finally got home, reeking of some dudes cheap cologne and stale bar cigarettes and decided I needed a fucking stiff drink, because everyone I know is either sleeping or doing something I don't know about (like each other).

FUCK. And there's a snag in my new pin stripe pants I just bought today I'm really glad i threw away all my clove cigarettes last December cause i'd so be chain smoking right now. what else is a girl to do at 3:19 am while she listens to bauhaus and pickles herself with bacardi? good night my loves. i hope you are all sleeping well and dreaming of sexy people. i may watch the sun rise. can't remember the last time i did that when i was alone.

Saturday, April 23, 2005

"(s)he just moves me like no other" - Daniel Ash

1:48 am. I just got home. I saw you there. You have no idea how beautiful you are to me. Do you even know who I am? Dressed in all black, with your typical posse of people there. I don't know if you kept looking over at me as I danced. I felt your eyes on me, they helped put me in the "zone".

I was dripping sweat, and all I could think about is the heat... think about how your mouth would taste - what was it you were drinking? Would it mix with my Bacardi? You smelled like lemons. I'm not sure what it is about you. You're tall, your shoulders are wicked, I would feel small in your arms. I heard your voice tonight. I touched you three times... three times while we were dancing, next to each other, in the same bubble... did you touch me on purpose?

Why can't I just say "hi?" One syllable, and I'm paralyzed at the thought of it. How retarded! I hate it that I'm so shy around you. If I didn't have to drive home I could drink enough that it would put me over the edge, I would get "over it" and finally talk to you. Then at least I would know if the spark was mutual. It's getting ridiculous. I want to know you. I want to know how you smell. I want to know if we connect. We may not have anything, but you move me in a way that I haven't felt in a while, and yet I'm not sure why! I missed my turn driving home down Burnside as I was thinking about tonight on the way home.

I feel like I'm back in high school, trying to get the popular boy to notice me. So do you?

Monday, April 18, 2005

Reason number 456 living alone ROCKS

You can sit on the computer wearing jammie pants and a bra eating watermelon and french bread for dinner, singing your lungs out to crappy 80's New Wave and no one except your dog looks at you like you are a freaking weirdo! . BWAHAHAHAHAHA

Sunday, April 17, 2005

Emotional Day

Today was a very emotional day. Talked to my Dad, like I do every Sunday. He had a big trip to the VA hospital to check the progress of his Parkinson's. And, well apparently its not good.

He talked to them about going into a VA facility, i.e. a nursing home, somewhere down in North Florida. He seemed okay with this, he's made peace with it. He asked me if I would come down and help him get settled in there, I said of course, thank you for asking for my help, I love to be able to be there for you. We hung up.

And I started thinking. If its to the point where he has to be in a home, why does it have to be in a home down in Florida, 3200 miles away? When he originally retired there, before he got sick, it made sense - he golfed, he liked to be out in the sun, he bought a house for a reasonable price. If he sells his house and is in a home, why there? There's nothing there.

Maybe he would want to come HERE. So I get online and I research the VA Hospital in Portland. And wouldn't you know they have a HUGE Parkinson's clinic/program here. 15 minutes from my apartment. And so I called my Daddy back, and I asked him if it was important for him to be in Florida, because if he still wanted to be there I understood. But if it wasn't important to him, why should be be down there, alone, when he could be up here, with me? His only child? Who would love to be able to visit with him whenever we wanted, who would love to be able to take him to his doctors appointments, who would love to get to know her Daddy better before he goes.

He told me to get more information from the VA here, to call them and see what it would take for me to go and get him and bring him here. This makes me so very happy on so many levels... on the soul level. I could be here for my Daddy. Just like he was here for me. I love this.

I just need to find how to make it happen, and get him here, where I can make the last months or years of his life good, where he won't have to go and die alone. I'm very emotional over this. I know he will die, and it will be within the next two years more than likely. And this is hard, but I won't be sad when he goes, because he's suffered through this B.S. disease for years, and for someone as proud and as strong as he was Parkinsons IS several slices of hell. And he's stuck it out.

So tomorrow I'm going to make some phone calls. And hopefully I can go get my Daddy.

Friday, April 15, 2005

Adventures at 4:19am

First, a disclaimer... some of you know that I am NOT, repeat, NOT a morning person. In the spirit of this, I'd like to make a list of things that it is acceptable to wake me up for at 4:19 am:

1. You are my hot boyfriend and want sex.
2. You heard something really really cool, like George Bush died, or Daniel Ash is coming to Portland to play.
3. You have a really extravagant gift for me - like a Fender Stratocaster with a sunburst finish, princess cut pink sapphire earrings, or a trip to Jamaica.
4. You are Courtney Taylor. You can wake me up just because. If you don't know who Courtney Taylor is google it.

If its a situation other than this, you should use extreme caution in waking the wrath of a 4 am Sarafina (chances are I may have just passed out).

With that in mind... At 4:19 am "dingdongdingdongdingdong" - rapid fire ringing of my door bell. I'm in a dead sleep, the dog freaks out also and starts barking. I spring out of bed, grab my glasses, and it rings again ... "dingdongdingdongdingdong".

I have one of those little hinged window thingys on my front door, instead of a peep hole. I open it. Upon first glance, in my grogginess I think it might be Mr. Hot Neighbor from next door. Why Hellllooooo there. Then I notice the stocking cap, and the bike, and that this guy isn't hot.

"Yeah?" I ask "

Um Maam, please don't call the authorities, they know I'm out this morning."

"It's 4:00 in the morning."

"Yes Maam, it is." Does he know how much I HATE being called "Maam"? Makes me feel like a fossil.

"What is it that you want?"

"Well, your light was on."


"Your light - it was on, I thought you were awake."

I leave my small kitchen light on when I sleep. It illuminates the back porch. Yes, thank you stalker ex for making me a wuss.

"You woke me up at 4:00 to tell me my light was on?" I ask. I'm irritated as hell now and he knows it.

"No Maam... well, see, I'm 1500 miles away from home..."

" WANT!"

"Um, I need four dollars for..."

I cut him off. "You WHAT? You are panhandling me at my OWN HOUSE and woke me up out of a dead sleep at 4:00 am to do it?"

"Well, your light was on."


"Your light... so I know its early, but I'm 1500 miles from home and..."

"NO!" I slam the window and lock it. Only in Portland, dudes.