Long story, unhappy ending

Last night The Boy and I went to a wedding reception. First we started out by meeting a couple of his friends in the bar of the hotel where the reception was taking place. This was fine. After about an hour or so, we move into the reception hall and found seats near The Boy's sister and other co-workers/friends.

We ate, took silly pictures, they all drank, including The Boy's underage sister (she'll be 21 in two months), and I sat there feeling left out as I normall do at these things. I barely know his friends and most of the time the guys sitting around accusing each other of being gay, of having a dick in their mouth, etc. And it's not very funny after a while, especially since my brother is gay. My brother is a homosexual and I know how much it has hurt him when a group of guys sit around calling each other "faggots" and other things to stop on their masculinity. My brother is probably one of the most masculine men I know. No one would ever suspect. He is not a stereotype.

So, this talk bothers me, but I indulge The Boy because they are his friends and have been performing this ritual, this act long before I came along. I just hope some day they out grow it. I don't see this happening. Also, they drink a lot. I don't really enjoy drinking and even when I was not on a medicine that prevented me from drinking, I rarely took part in it. I don't understand the need to down alcohol, I don't like the feeling it gives me.

The Boy's sister became drunk and beligerant after drinking too many screwdrivers. She made it clear to me that she did not want to talk to me, by stating just that. The Boy left me sitting at the table with his drunk sister and two of his co-workers/friends. I don't know these people very well and when they got up to dance, I felt very lonely. Then his sister went to the bathroom and indeed, I was lonely. I didn't know where The Boy had went, he last mentioned he was going to use the bathroom, which peeing does not take 20 minutes. So, I go in search.

I find him in the bar playing Blackjack with one of his friends. I get on his case for not telling me where he was going. He said, well I told my friend, pointing to the guy sitting next to him. I said, whatever and walked away. I went back into the reception hall, his sister came back, clearly irritated with me, daggers shooting from her eyes and piercing my emotions. The couple was still dancing so I decicded that I was going home. I hadn't driven to the hotel, but The Boy's apartment was a scant three blocks away. I went back to the bar, found him, and announced my intentions. He said, "Sorry. What do you want me to do?" I said nothing, that I just wanted to go home.

I went home, cried, and went to sleep. He showed up around 2:30am. He didn't think I was there, not seeing my car in the parking lot, forgetting we left it at the mall earlier that day. I walked down the stairs to find him dialing my number. We sat together on the couch. We talked, chit-chatted about this and that. Then he told me, "I might have smoked pot tonight."

I lost it. I do not tolerate drug use of any kind. None. He knows I don't like it. I got upset and all he can say is, "I shouldn't have told you." I retorted with you shouldn't have wanted to do it. I cried and yelled at him for about an hour. I went out the door and was ready to walk the 2-3 miles to my car, when he was standing in the window calling for me. I went back in, shaking with angry. I have never shaken with anger, my arms crossed with my fingernails making dents in the soft skin of my inner arm. He said he was sorry, but that it's not like he is an addict, that it was only the second time in his life that he's tried it. I asked why he did it, his answer was the most hideous one he could have given, "Everyone else was doing it." I scoffed and walked away again. Then came back filled with more rage.

I told him why I don't like drugs. That I lived with a drug addict, that I lived with an alcoholic, that I got to have fun at Family Days at rehab, that every Sunday for a year I visited my brother in baby jail because he decided to commit a felony in order to pay off drug dealers. I told him this and said that shouldn't have made a difference in his thinking. I said he shouldn't have wanted to do it. He replied that nothing he said was going to make me not mad, that it already happened, and that there was nothing he could do. I asked how he could do it after he bitched, complained, and moaned about how his ex-fiance used to use marijuana. He said nothing.

Finally, exhuasted, we went to bed. I still love him, but he undermined my trust. He broke something in me. And it will take a long time to repair that injured piece. His nonchalance irks me. I made him promise that as long as he is with me, he'll never do it again.

I am still angry and irritated.

Is it Your Birthday?

Every day at work, a girl, perhaps she's even a woman, her age is indistinguishable, walks around all the cubicles with a highlighter and a printed sheet of names. She takes attendance. This makes me laugh and it makes me feel like I am in elementary school. I keep waiting for her to ask me if I am having hot or cold lunch. However, she doesn't and most likely won't, which is a good thing. Sometimes, she'll also hand out print out of reports that are run each day.

So, when she came to stand near my desk, and I caught the sight of her out of the corner of my eye, I returned to my computer monitor, barely noticing her presence. She asked, "Is it your birthday?" I had no idea why she said that or if she even said it to me, but then I looked over and a tall carboard box was in her arms. I said, "No." No other words came out my mouth. I was so confused as to why I was receiving a box at work. I thought back and wondered if in a stupor I ordered something from the LTD catalogs that float around between cubicles.

She sets the box on my desk and walks away. I open the box and see green leaves and purple-pink flowers. I pull them out and feel something heavy stay in the bottom of the box. When I reach in further, I pull out a pink and red striped pot. I set the Calla Lilies into the pot and then notice the card. I wonder who they are from, I wonder why they have come.

The card explains how he can't explain his love, the card speaks of love becoming more love, and the card is from The Boy. The flowers are for no reason other than to express his feelings for me. I cry and I try to call The Boy. I can't get a hold of him, so I call my mom instead. My voice thick with happy tears. Later, I get in touch with The Boy and the tears stream again, my voice barely audible as I say, "I love you."

We meet for tacos at lunch and I am able to touch him, to know he's real, and I feel giddy. I kiss him and could continue to do so for hours, months, years.

My mom said she would not mind his as a son-in-law. I tell The Boy this and he mockingly says, "Everyone wants you to marry me." I say back, "And no one wants you to marry me." He replies that he was once there, not married, but supposed to be married. I know this, I tell everyone that it'll be a while before we're ready, before he's ready for that level of commitment again. Everyone else seems to want to rush things, want us to put rings on our fingers, and repeat some vows. But I am already committed to him, I am already his. I believe he is mine. If things are meant to be, shiny marriage markers will adorn our fingers in time but until then, I am enjoying living in sin because I am dirty.

It's a mixture called Life

I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow. I am tired of spending my days in the bathroom. I should just move my office and my bed into the bathroom. That way I can just sleep right next to and work right by the toilet so that when my bowels decide to evacuate, I will be prepared and ready. I know my bed won't fit in the bathroom, but I could start sleeping in the tub and at work, I don't think there is internet access and that's crucial to my job. So, perhaps that's not such a great idea after all. I may also mention that since it's become so humid I am having trouble breathing, catching my breath. I don't know if it's anything or merely nerves.

Speaking of my natural disposition, which is a little on edge all the time, I recently met someone who felt that right off the bat. I got a haircut today. I do not have a regular stylist and will go to whomever is open. I saw this woman and judged her, and judged wrongly. She seemed old, too old to give me a hip, modern haircut, she was foreign, her accent seemed Easten Block-ish. Of course, all of this was incorrect. She was a lovely lady, while she is older, her mind is sharp, her spirit is vibrant, and she is Croatian. So, while I had parts of it right, I had the best parts of it wrong. She gave a great haircut and was interesting to listen to. So, I stand corrected.

I am now the proud owner of a bra with its own boobs. I purchased a strapless bra today for a wedding I am a bridesmaid in this summer. It is more comfortable than the previous one I owned and seems much more supported. Maybe my old bra just needed boobs of its own. I thought today about how women's clothing would be so much different if we didn't have breats. Think about all the things that are done to shirts to play-up, play down, play with, the breasts. It's interesting to think about how fashion would have evolved, would we dress like men? Would there be a different in male/female tops? Just a thought.

I was thinking the other day about how everyone is either getting married, talking about getting married, or just became married, and I get a little jealous. But mostly, I think I want the shiny metal that goes around my finger. I've never been a jewelry person, nor a materialistic person. I love stuff, weird, kitschy, ugly, things, but rings have never really drawn me in. Now, they are. I want some bling and I don't know who I am.

Stacy and Clinton

I did not see The Boy last night. I saw one of my best friends instead and another girl I haven't spoken to in a long time. It was fun to be without him, to be the other person I am with the girls. Some people say that you should be who you are around everyone, but each person gets someone a little different, that's just the way things are. I am not the same person I am in front of my parents that I am with The Boy, that I am with a bunch of giggling girls talking about fashion, What Not To Wear, and our lives. It's a different connection, it's a different feeling, and I enjoyed it.

It's been so long since I've spent time with just girls, sitting around with the tv on, commenting on life, throwing out the details of importance and non-importance. It was fun and I hope to do it again soon. I shall be seeing those same girls tonight and we wish one of them a Happy Birthday, which I hope it is indeed.

Currently, I am looking for music online, trying to find something with meaning, with substance, and a sound I like. This is hard and I am not really sure why I am doing this. I no longer listen to music in the car. I strictly listen to books on CD. Each time I enter the car a story plays for me, a story that I recall the last edges of, shimmery edges of excitment, of feeling I didn't want to get out of the car because then the story will end. But I do not bring the tale inside, no. It stays in the car. It is only meant to be heard in bits and pieces, not in long stretches. For I listen to books I would never otherwise read, could never otherwise finish. I would have given up on them in the first few pages, but with a voice slipping from the speakers, the story takes on a lifelike quality... as if a friend is in the car beside me waiting for so she can finish telling her story.

She waits for me. And it's nice. Just like my friend waited for me to ditch The Boy for a night, just like I waited for her to finally have time for a social life, we all wait. And the wait is worth it.