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I don't hold my breath, and I don't hold my tongue.

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:: 2011 17 February :: 1.13 pm
:: Mood: aggravated

You were my best friend. You knew all my weaknesses. Then you exploited them. Like only you really could.

And I bit the shit out of my tongue. I held my hands over my mouth and let you get the upper hand just so you'd go the fuck away.

But now you're sorry.
And now you're alone.
And now you need me.

How many times have I been through this with you? How many times have I bent over backwards to make you more comfortable? How many times have I fought and argued to sort things out to keep you around, even when everyone else in my life thought you were the worst thing for my sanity.

And your texts, they kill me.
Your messages twist my stomach.
You have no idea how hard it is for me to look down, see your name on my phone, and flip it face-down without responding.
I'm not holding back because I'm afraid I'll say something hurtful.
I'm restraining myself so I somehow don't wind up with my arms wide open to you again.


Please can I go home now? I can barely stay awake.
But you sit there with your pride and kill us all.
You have so much fun now trying to bend me till I break
and I just set myself up to take the fall.

Your eyes are black as tar and to look at you is hard,
but I'm just too afraid to look away.
Misery loves company and here you stand in front of me.
Just please don't ask me to stay

So, who do you trust? Now that you need me to get through the day.
I'm asking too much - to have you hear what I have to say.
So I say:
Help me help you, I'm down on my knees
If you need me so much then why did you leave?
You needed a reason, you needed too much.
You can lean on me, but don't lean on me like I'm your crutch.

You never started loving me so you could never quit.
I could rule this fucking world and you'd still think I'm shit.
You've turned your back on me, have no family;
In the end the devil gets what he deserves.

So, who do you trust now that you need me to get through the day?
I'm asking too much, to have you hear what I have to say.
So I say:
Help me help you, I'm down on my knees.
If you need me so much then why did you leave?
You needed a reason, you needed too much.
You can lean on me, but don't lean on me like I'm your crutch.

1 comment | [x]


:: 2010 1 December :: 7.03 pm

One day until I'm 21. One.

It's amazing how much everything changes so drastically from year to year. Different places, different people, but always hoping things are going to get better. This is the year! This is my year!

And 4 months in, I'm all "fuck this year."

After 21 years one would think you'd get used to the swing of it all. But no. Not me. I still let my days revolve around everyone else and put myself in the back of my own mind until they get tired of me and move on.

And I'm always so shocked when it happens. I always cry like it's the first time. But the only reason is because it always hurts like the first time.
And there's a little miniature me sitting on my shoulder, rolling her eyes.

I'd give about anything for someone to explain to me how I manage to ignore all the red flags and drive myself into the eye of the storm.
Explain to me how I always find the experts at sorry, and how I always fall for the same act every single time.
Explain to me how I manage to fall into this cleverly disguised hole - when I dug it myself.

Don't really explain it to me. I won't listen..

I've ignored the anger and the lies and the fake smiles, and instead of getting out before it all comes crashing down on me (again!?) I hid my own anger with fake smiles and lie to myself about his lies. Vicious, vicious hamster wheel of a life.

It's such science, really.
It never fails and always plays out the same way to a T.
More accurate and timely than a clock.
I could write a book and start my own Self-Induced Relationship Psychosis program. Chase away your loved ones in RECORD TIME! Here's my guide!
Somehow I feel like there's a bigger market for that than anyone would care to admit.

Crazy or not, that's the reality of it all: tumultuous, explosive relationships are more common than the happy ones with the white fences.

Why?

Because we all love to play mad scientist, especially with our own hearts (because that little river runs into the Self Loathing delta, and if you're like me, you're always looking to step it up.) There isn't a more volatile, explosive, hazardous compound in existence than the human heart. Truth.

And if you can get multiple hearts involved? Russia can eat their frozen little hearts out. Nuclear warfare has got NOTHING on love and other related disaster products. Absolutely nothing.

Not to mention, it's cheaper.
Wayyyy cheaper.

Because almost every person on this planet will give their heart willingly. FOR FREE! I love free shit! As long as they don't know it's for free. What I mean is, play your cards right. Eyes up front, asshole. Listen good. Fill them up with flowers, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep. Swear by fake I Love Yous and Forevers. Empty intentions also work, too. Spray that cologne on that teddy bear to cover up the deceit! Mmm, Abercrombie & Lies, my fav.

More than likely, they'll give it up and you're free to do whatever your crazy little mind wants. Love them, hate them, mind-fuck them. Run over their heart with a metaphorical steamroller. (1) Their heart is your oyster!

The beauty of the heart and consequential breaking of said heart is that - although it is almost ALWAYS MESSY - the human heart (2) is self-medicating and self-healing. Give it time (and a collection of Journey/Cher and some cheap wine) and wait it out. They always forget about it. The pain fades with the excitement of something new. Until it happens again. This, boys and girls, is how the head-to-desk slam came to be. And also, suicide.

When you're all done, you move on. They move on. More heartbreak, more pain, thanks for the memories and the cheap dinner dates! (3)

The only thing that ever changes is whether you're the one getting your heart pulverized, or you're the evil heartbreaker. Sometimes people get their heart stepped on so many times, they finally wise-up and turn the tables. Also, some people get beaten at their own game and wind up crying into a bowl of spaghetti-o's while drowning their sorrows in Tyra re-runs.

In that lame movie "The Happening," that crazy lady had it right. She said something along the lines of, "there ain't never two people standing in one place lovin' each other exactly the same." I'm not going to research the exact quote because like I said, the movie was lame. But the crazy lady? she knew what she was talking about. So she didn't have electricity, she collected weird dolls, she slapped a little girl for reaching for a dinner roll, and ultimately she killed herself on her own broken windows; yes.. but SHE KNEW HER SHIT.

I'm not trying to come across as pessimistic (what, you were getting that vibe too?) and I'm not saying everyone should give up on love, so put your pitchforks and torches and "fuck you, Love!" signs down for a second and finish this.

It's not about avoiding pain. No matter where you are or what kind of life you're living, there will be pain. So maybe you haven't given anyone the chance to cheat on you, lie to you, promise you forever then take it away? Doesn't mean you're safe. You're, in fact, more vulnerable than anyone. You will have friends that betray you. Your car could collide with an oncoming truck and take away your dreams of being an Olympic gymnast. And guess what, your grandma is going to die.

...

Here's a tissue. You had to hear it at some point.

Life IS pain. Life is knocking you down and seeing how many times you can get back up on your feet before your clock runs out. Life is ugly and it is devastating, but it's the most beautiful gift you'll ever receive.

My point: break the cycle. Break the cynicism. Ditch your preconceptions and trade them in for acceptance. Stop wasting your time punishing every new person in your life for all the wrong the old one's did.
It's too short. We only have so many grains of sand in that glass and this isn't Verizon, there's no roll-over.
No do-overs.
No bank in the world can give you a loan for more time.

So take off that fake smile and put a real one on someone else's face.
Help them clean up the mess someone made of their heart.
Try keeping those promises. You'll be surprised when people around you start keeping theirs.
Give those flowers and chocolates, and when someone finally returns the favor, share with your friends (after you've gone through and eaten your favorites already. They can have the coconut ones.)

Tomorrow is my 21st birthday.
And after 21 years of pain and hardship, I can tell you why I'm still optimistic.
Because I've also had 21 years of stomach cramps from laughing so hard at the funniest jokes told to me by the most beautiful people.
I've had 21 years of being free to make these mistakes.

I'm grateful for being hurt because if I hadn't, I wouldn't appreciate how it feels to be loved.
I'm grateful for losing people in my life because otherwise, I wouldn't know how to appreciate the ones still in it.
I'm grateful for having my heart broken so now I know who I can really trust with it.

Yeah. It may have taken me 21 years to figure all of this out.
But I know some people never do.
And I want you to know that, whoever you are, wherever you are, whatever you've done - I love you. With all my heart.






(1) Metaphorical steamroller. Like, cheating or lying. Running over their heart with an ACTUAL steamroller won't get you anything but a cozy prison cell and a new best friend who will come to know you better than your mom. Inside and out. Think about it.

(2) Not sure about any other type of heart. Cats may hold forever grudges.
I know mine does.

(3) Every time I have diarrhea, I'll think of you.

[x]


:: 2010 19 October :: 12.40 pm

Why'd you call me today.. with nothing new to say?
You pretend it's just hello,
but you know what it does to me to see your number on the phone.

Now tell me, what do you want?
What do you want? What do you want from me?
Are you trying to bring back the tears, or just the memories?

You keep taking me back,
taking me back where I've already been.
When we hang up it's almost like I'm losing you again.

Can't you see?
So what do you want?
What do you want from me?

I get so tired of living like this.
I don't have the time, neither do my friends,
to stay up at night to pull me through..
and to find the things to keep my mind off of you.

So, now tell me, what do you want?
What do you want? What do you want from me?
Did you call to say you've found someone and I'm a used-to-be?

You keep taking me back,
taking me back where I've already been.
If you've moved on why does it feel like I'm losing you again?

Can't you see?
So what do you want?
What do you want from me?

What do you want me to say?

That I'm content?
That I'm on the fence?
That I wish you would've stayed?

1 comment | [x]


:: 2010 26 July :: 6.27 pm
:: Mood: calm

Hey there to my future-self, if you forget how to smile
I have this to tell you,
remember it once in a while:
Ten years ago, your past-self prayed for your happiness.
Please don't lose hope.

Oh.
Oh what a pair me and you, put here to feel joy; not be blue.
Sad times and bad times, see them through.
Soon we will know if it's for real.
What we both feel.

Though I can't know for sure how things worked out for us
no matter how hard it gets, you have to realize.
We weren't put on this earth to suffer and cry.
We were made for being happy.
So be happy.
For me.
For you.
Please.

[x]


:: 2010 15 February :: 7.57 pm

And as strong as I seem to think I am, my distressing damsel.. she comes out at night, when the moon's filled up, and your eyes are bright; and I think I simply oughta fall over.
Life is hard. It always has been.
As a kid, you hear all about it, you co-exist with it.
You dance, twirl, and muddy yourself in life's sand box without ever really having to deal with it. Most of our parents do an amazing job and disservice of protecting us from reality and its evil ways.

I never appreciated growing up in a tumultuous home. I resented my family for not shielding me. All, of course, until I left that place and found myself surprisingly prepared for the horrors and stress waiting around every corner of my own day-to-day.

Whether or not they meant to, my parents gave me a gift with every first-hand experience I took in their respective worlds. A personal how-to on love, hate, abuse, addiction, redemption, struggle, and passion. I compare my notes with every person I encounter and am constantly editing the pages of my mentality, my values, my self.

It's a book that will never be complete. I can't wrap it in brown paper and twine to be sent off to an editor, because everyone would write this story differently. Life: a Memoir. A novella. A poem. A fantasy. Anything, and that's the horrific beauty of it; it's whatever you make it.
You.
No one else.

So dream big.

If there was ever a time to dare, to make a difference, to embark on something worth doing, it is now.
Not for any grand cause, but for something that tugs at your heart, something that's your aspiration. Something that's your dream. You owe it to yourself to make your days here count.
Have fun.
Dig deep.
Stretch.
Dream big.

Know, though, that things worth doing seldom come easy. There will be good days and there will be bad days. There will be times when you want to turn around, pack it up, and call it quits. Those times tell yourself that you are pushing yourself. That you are not afraid to learn by trying and working.
Persist.
Believe in the incredible power of the human mind, of doing something that makes a difference, of working hard, of laughing and hoping, of lasting friendships.

The start of something new brings the hope of something great.
Anything is possible.

There is only one you.
And you will pass this way only once.

Do it right.

[x]


:: 2010 5 January :: 10.35 pm

Check it, peeps.
So the holidays have come and passed. Kaleb is 8, Karis is 6, Eliseo is five. FIVE. And Emilio is 2 1/2. Let us not forget the 1/2, else he'll turn into a "mean alligator" again and bite my boob.

I've been gone awhile. But I've got myself moved into a new house, with a new puppy, new inspiration, and a lot of new shoes.
Yes; things are good.



The photo is me and Mealy on Christmas, ft. one of his many motorcycles - they're his fav. Although he much prefers to call them "mexicos."
Why? because he can, that's how he rolls, and with a name like Emilio you'd just better be crossing your fingers, toes, and ankles in hopes that he isn't packing heat.

The holidays gave me a ton of time to think and observe all of the things that were/are important to me. Family, friends, things I've lost and things I've recovered.



See, I love my life right now. But I definitely miss the way things used to be.
Some things at least.


(my uncle Jamie carries on an innocent conversation with my grandma, Christmas '09.)




(he's about to find out what I've been doing.)

If you're reading this, I love you.
And if you're still hanging around, I miss you.
If you haven't given up, I'm still here.
And if you're sorry, I am too.
But if you're happy, I'm happy.
So happy.

Hope everyone is well!

[x]


:: 2009 9 November :: 6.41 pm
:: Mood: accomplished

How do you say, "Don't move, or I'll shoot you?"
Classes taken care of for this next semester.
Oh Joeyyy.. can you say 'open our own psychology practice?'
'Cause we're gonna.

5 comments | [x]


:: 2009 7 November :: 3.15 pm
:: Mood: anxious

Death to the ladies first, then the gentlemen.
Last night, somewhere between my first beer and Casey coughing up blood all over me and Sam, something hit me.
I don't know what, exactly.
I just know that I felt.. hit, like something was staring me in the face and I couldn't single it out.

Every time Adam would make a smart remark, or funny quip, I'd laugh hysterically and lighten up like your typical girl-at-the-party-giving-hair-cuts-to-the-drunks.

And I look around at some of my oldest friends, drinking and laughing and singing around me, and console myself that whatever is trying to get my attention, it will never slip past these people.
My protection; my shields, my bodyguards, my dreamcatchers.

Because, no matter what, they have always been there.
Forget these so-called "besties" that pose for glorified photobooth snapshots.
Forget these amateurs that don't know what "anything" really means, but swear they'd give it readily for me.
I'm tired of them
and their needs
and their secrets
and their voicemails
and their take take take take lifestyles.

I have realized that I have given so much to so many people, who never offer anything in return.
No compassion, or concern, or regard for who I am.
You just want me to give you a ride,
or you need a hair cut, or colour,
someone to ride shotgun for you,
or someone to vent to,
someone to run to the store for you because you can't drive,
or you don't have a car,
because you don't have a job,
but you know you have me.
And that's enough for you.

It's a method called, "You get what you give."
My advice to you would be: expect nothing.
Exactly what you gave.
Exactly what you're made of.

There's a reason I don't answer your calls.


:: 2009 6 August :: 2.42 pm
:: Mood: blank
:: Music: AFI - Leaving Song pt 2

Don't waste your touch - you won't feel anything.

Or were you sent to save me..?

I know what I've become.
I'm just unsure of what tipped over the first domino and started the transformation.
I remember wanting to be that fairytale princess, falling in love, having a big family, being that mom that wouldn't care about the stray dog her kids dragged home.
Yadda yadda..
I remember it all vividly.

I say "remember" because as vivid as it may be, it's not my perspective now.
Not even close.

Fairytales bore me; I've become too cynical.
Too analytical.
Princess? Try Queen of Attention to Detail.

And I can't see myself giving birth to a miniature me when I can barely stand myself most days.
No sir, not for me.
Not anymore.

Don't even get me started on the "L" word.
Agh. I hear the phonetics start and my hands are already up over my ears, and I'm chanting "la-la-la-lalalala-laaaaaaaa!"
Sometimes I have such a dislike for the word that I find myself groping my crotch to make sure I haven't developed man-parts.
Yeahhhh it's that bad.

I've become the antithesis of myself.
I don't want love.
I want to use you up until I'm bored and jump ship.
That's it.
That's all I want.

I don't want best friends, it's just another term for 'convenience' anyway and as much as I'm all about convenience, I'd like to be able to get rid of you whenever I please.

Sorry, but honesty hurts.
And honestly, I'm not that sorry.

Don't get me wrong: there's still a select few (three, rather) that still sit inside my private circle - but you'd be surprised to find out who they really are.
And who they aren't.
And just where you fall.

Right now you're thinking back to every conversation we had and every topic we skimmed across.
Why? I can promise that even though you're conjuring up the worst possible scenario, you're right.
You're wondering about all the times I called.
But more importantly - all the times I didn't.
All the things I never said and never will, but also all of the things I never asked and never will - because I just don't care.

We're all aware of the famous saying by the famous person, "You learn from experience. Regret nothing."
And even though I am well aware of the fact that I mashed a few famous sayings together and couldn't name the famous somebodies, I'll tell you this:
You may learn from experience but you'll learn a lot more a lot faster watching everyone else burn themselves.
It saves on regrets, too.

"And I disintegrate
'cause this hate.. is fucking real."

[x]


:: 2009 6 April :: 11.33 pm
:: Music: Burn Halo - Dirty Little Girl.

You caught me under false pretenses.
..and on my day off from Aveda and the turmoils of memorizing head and scalp conditions, what do I do?
Type up my scalp condition notes.

COME ON.

I have seemingly developed a creepy need to be organized.
Organized to the point of self-irritation.
I'm not just keeping an agenda. No. We're talking re-ordering my music library, being two weeks ahead on my homework, making note cards (insert 'wtf' here) for things I ALREADY HAVE MEMORIZED (or, excuse me, compartmentalized..).
I have even gone through my phone and reassigned all of my ringtones.

Not only have I tidied my own bedroom, but Courtney's as well because she's in Florida on spring vacation so she isn't here to lock me out like Cammie does and dear god I cannot help myself.

Fuck an alarm; I get up before the sun and you can bet I'm looking for senseless things to preoccupy myself with.

I mean, who has their fridge color coordinated?

This bitch right here, thanks.

Oh p.s., I've passed all of my knowledge assessments and practical applications so far.
So woo.

1 comment | [x]


:: 2009 6 April :: 12.07 am
:: Mood: exhausted
:: Music: Muse - Supermassive Black Hole.

I've been lax on the updatage 'round here on account of the fact that I've BEEN GETTING MY ASS KICKED with school and the overflow of material I need to cram into my head.
Or as Aveda says, "compartmentalize."
def: to store away in different compartments of the mind.

So now I listen and daydream about little secretaries running around my head, which is filled with a million filing cabinets.

I really shouldn't be complaining considering work starts on Wednesday, so if I think I have it bad now, I should really finalize my Will.

BUT OTHERWISE THINGS ARE GREAT.

[x]


:: 2009 12 January :: 12.03 am

Dear Isaiah Jakob,
It's been a year and 3 minutes since I found you and lost you all in one moment. I'm going to see your grave today but it's more than that. I come by to say hello all the time and I leave you things, but selfishly keep your lamb and blanket and hats and clothes..

But today is different.
Today is more.

Today is my realization that no matter what, time is going to keep marching by but this will never hurt any less. Nothing will ever feel so right wrapped around my finger than yours. Or my arms around you.

I don't fight the tears anymore.
I'm not ashamed and I'm sorry that I ever was. I'm sorry that it took me a few days to confess to my father, but I was scared, and I'm so sorry.
I know you already knew that. You already knew everything I needed to tell you. One breath was enough, for you, little man.

I'll still always want a million more.

But that's because I'm your mama and I love you and I miss you, and damn it, 8 hours was NOT enough. These pictures, these clothes, these toys, these cards - they get me by. But they're nothing compared to being able to fall asleep with you, even if it was just one night.
I breathed you in and memorized your scent and face and could probably measure out perfectly how long your fingernails were.

Things have changed so much and this world is a mess. Sometimes I'm glad you're there, and not here, because this world sucks and isn't fit for you and your perfection.
If there were some way I could cut to the front of the line and be with you, I would.

Or maybe we'd cut ties and sneak away to string together stars and build our own world, just the two of us. We could race pirate ships to nebulas and back, drink laughter and feast on dreams, and just be happy.

Because Isaiah Jakob, talking to a cold stone and damp grass just isn't working for me.

I see Kaleb and Karis and Emilio and Eliseo run through the house on the holidays and sometimes I wonder what it would be like to see you running along behind them. Or beside them. Or in front. Or maybe you'd do your own thing. Maybe you would rather sit and watch.
I was a watcher too.
Maybe you'd be outgoing, charming the pants off of every lady in every supermarket. Or maybe you'd be shy, covering your face.
Maybe you'd have my curls and pull at them nervously.
I do know you had my lips and my eyes and my nose.
I've pictured them all scrunching up into a smile for so long.
One year and three minutes, to be exact.

Your aunt picked up your Christmas star from the funeral home and gave it to me on New Years. I wrapped it in your blanket and tucked it in your chest.

And I cried just as hard as I'm crying now.

1 comment | [x]


:: 2008 17 December :: 3.47 pm

Parents?
I'm going to throw a curve-ball at you guys and I want feedback.
Unless it makes you feel icky and uncomfortable - in which case, you shouldn't even be creeping my blog.

How do you feel about your parents?

I know it's a loaded question. I'm wondering how you felt about the way they raised you, their rules, their flaws, their greatest moments and mistakes - and will you take any of this with you when YOU become a parent?

Duh, okay, I know you take some of your parents' tendencies with you everywhere but some people absolutely adore their parents and kiss ass to no end. Some would rather feed their kids tic-tacs for breakfast just because their parents never let them have any.
So are you grateful, or spiteful?

I think I'm a little bit of both, honestly.


(my mom, Lynnette, and step-dad Barry.)

My mom never got along with my dad, ever. What with his cheating and all. So I never spent time with the two of them together. Always back and forth. Always.

My dad got married when I was two and spoiled me because he knew my mom couldn't, being a single parent with two daughters. My mom always used to tell him, "You can't buy her love. She'll grow up and realize."
And I did.

But I also realized other things. Like my mom's drug addiction, her alcoholism, her depression. Looking back now, she made it look so easy, but I can tell it took its toll on her. Now she's divorced for the second time, stays in her room 22 out of 24 hours and regularly engages me in drunken arguments.

My mom was never big on affection or taking my sister Casey and I out places. Most of my memories from my single digit days are of Case and I eating popsicles on our front porch, watching the hot air balloons take off and float overhead.

There was a slew of new houses and abusive boyfriends before we actually got settled and my mom seemed to be consistently happy. For awhile.

My friends tend to love my mom because you can tell her anything and she's super easy going. She'll cook for you and teach you her trade secrets (my mom is an amazing cook), but only if you clean up afterwards. She'll come sit and play video games for hours, pressing other people's buttons and trying to cheat.

Sometimes she'll remember things I like and bring them home from the store, and announce it proudly.
And it hurts because she tries so hard.


(Myself and my dad, Carlos, at my sister's birthday dinner.)

My dad used to be my hero. He would drive anywhere to get me and back, and then back again because I forgot my Simba in his car, and then back.
But always with a smile.

I have baby shoes and letters he wrote me when I was growing up, memories of the toy-room he built for me, so stuffed with toys that I couldn't walk through it. I felt like a princess. But after awhile the Victorian dresses and painful hair-dos, and shiny new dolls got old.
Right about the time I did.

My dad is a Spanish (and also Mexican) Catholic. So I became the antichrist when I let my mother cut off my long hair, when I died it neon colors, when I listened to profane music, and when I got my first piercings.
My ears. Wtf?

My relationship has always been strained with my dad, and it only gets worse the older we both get. I have a 3 hour time limit that I allow myself to see him before all bets are off and the fists come out. My dad's a manipulator, guilt-tripper, and cheater. The first time I ever heard him say he was sorry to me, and admit that he was wrong, was when I walked in on him and his secretary in the living room.

It's crazy not to look up to your parents in some ways. Don't get me wrong, the respect is still there. My mom struggled and raised me fine, and my dad dealt with my step-mom's racist parents. Even though he hid me from her family for years.

But whatever.

When I'm with Emilio or Eliseo or Karis, or Kaleb, and I hear something come out of my mouth that sounds born from my parents, it scares me.
Because yes, they raised me successfully, but not without a lot of trauma and anxiety disorders and obsessiveness.

It's why I always loved Alex's mom - you could tell her anything. And Samm's mom never judges, just always wants what's best for you. I don't envy my parents but I'm grateful for everything they've done for me, good or bad, because I'd like to think I'm a strong individual that could deal with pretty much anything - that I haven't already.

How about your parents?

12 comments | [x]


:: 2008 6 December :: 3.39 pm
:: Mood: bubbly
:: Music: The 69 Eyes - Ghost.

Happy post! Yayyy!
I figure it's about damn time for an upbeat contribution from me. Sorry I've been a drag lately.

So. We'll go for some great conversation snippets with great friends and photos from my 2nd attempt at a great birthday dinner, and me and Emilio's hat fashion show.

"If I can convince her.."
"Dude. Cry."
"You think if I gave ya like 20 dollars you could pick me up?"
"Fuck yes I will. But seriously. Cry if you need to."
"I will."
"Tell her you got me knocked up and you NEED to come down here. I don't care. Whatever it takes."
"Ahahahahahahaaah!!"

I'm in love with my friends.
Especially Mandie.
Thank you for your kind words.

"Skeletons and ghosts are hiding in the shadows, threatening me with all the things that they know. Choices and mistakes, they all know my name.. but I'm through holding in and holding onto all that pain."



Our signatures and profane crayoned messages, and the chocolate cake/truffle/tranquilizer that we all tried to eat. Tried. We seriously almost passed out on each other from sweet-overload.

Samm says:
I love how on facebook it says "interested in: men"...then your relationship status says "married to Samantha Hamp"
...I'm secretly a man..shh
Jessica says:
Why are you hushing me? Baby, everyone knows it.
Samm says:
damn.. it's my cleft chin isn't it?
Jessica says:
And the beard.


Emilio laughs it up while I sport my traditional "TANKS" face.
If you've seen the office, and love Steve Carell, you know the face.


We tried on many a' hat.

But finally, Emilio settled on one.
Which YES - I TOTALLY BOUGHT FOR HIM.



*sniffle*
My little Soviet bear.

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:: 2008 21 November :: 11.00 pm
:: Mood: disappointed
:: Music: Rihanna - Rehab.

Baby, baby, when we first met, I never felt something so strong. You were like my lover and my best friend all wrapped into one, with a ribbon on it.
I have a ton of things I need to write, but I'm working on dealing with these things I need to type first.

It's easy to set a goal and look up at it, completely ignoring all of the hurdles and obstacles in between. In fact, I've made a habit of it. Because if I let on to myself in any way, I'd never get anywhere.
Not that I've even been moving forward lately.
Just backwards and sometimes, around in circles.

And I'll never give myself to another the way I gave it to you.
Don't even recognize the ways you hurt me, do you?
It's gonna take a miracle to bring me back.
And you're the one to blame.


Is it bad when you finally convince someone to divuldge all of the rotten things they've ever said about you, and you're left expecting worse? Because that's where I'm at.
Like, spot on.

I over-analyze to begin with but now I'm just overboard.
I'm looking at things from angles that shouldn't even exist.
Tilting my head in ways it shouldn't even go.

I'm hearing words and trying to translate them into languages that have long since died.

I try to hold my hands up and say, "no, I don't know what my problem is."
But I do.

Me. I'm my problem.
And these things in my head. Thoughts? Yeah, those. They're a big issue too.

I've lost track of my 'off' button and am left with 'self-destruct.'
But I worry not! I have plenty of people willing to detonate that sucker for me.

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