A Post For Zoe

Something a little different for today. This is a blog post where I would like to be Vanna White and highlight Zoe. Recently, this little awesome lady was kind enough to mention me on her blog and post a link to my blog. I would love to do the same for her, because she is incredible awesome, talented and all around a super great gal. So stop by, say hi, comment, wave, do a jig, whatever, just don’t forget to visit her. You won't be disappointed by her amazing writing and view on life.

http://indisco-light.blogspot.com/

And Miss Zoe, I find it awesome to have a fellow ex-dancer in my life. You so understand where I’m coming from. It’s not what you wanted as a kid, but now you’re a little sorry that you quit. Dancing is definitely relaxing, and helps get a lot of emotions out. I’m glad our moms are cool about stuff like us changing our minds and having our own dreams. Mine can not be sometimes, but she has always been good about not making me do what I didn’t want to do when it comes to extracurricular things.

I definitely agree with you about parents pushing kids into things. To a certain extent, you have to push your kids into things because they wouldn’t know what they liked and didn’t if you didn’t, but once they try it and say they hate it, it’s time to let them find something they do love. All children are going to hate a lot of things, but then there’s going to be that one thing that gives them a spark and makes them tick. It does not look right when people make their kids up with more makeup than I’ve ever worn in my combined life. It’s especially unflattering when your kid is screaming and crying because they don’t want to wear that makeup, or go on stage. Not cool, Moms, not cool.

I think it’s so awesome that you found your passion for writing and creating so young. I’ve always loved to do it to, but I never thought I could ever be an author, or anyone would care what I wrote. I got talked into writing a fan fiction and it went from there, but it took me until I was about nineteen to do so. I have so much respect that you know what you want, and so strongly, too. I also can’t wait to read your novel.

Me? I’m nice. I am not as nice as you. I hope to be as nice as you. You take all this time to read my blog and give a nice long comment, and I adore the heck out of you for that. You have so much talent and such a great heart. I will also be in line to buy your book at midnight. Let’s just make a deal to not release our books on the same day, because then we’d be in line together waiting to buy each other’s books. Actually, that could be fun and I think we could confuse a lot of people with that. On second thought...

Owned By An Insect

I'm still working on a nice, long, hilarious blog post, and a thank you to Miss Zoe, but I would like you all to know that currently there is a score out there I must settle. It is as follows:

Moth: 1
Cassadee: 0

Yep, you read that correctly. A moth has indeed pulled one over on me.

I just want to start this post by saying that I am not a screamer. I maybe have screamed, and I mean really screamed from being scared, twice in my life. I just don't get that scared. I went to see The Uninvited with a group of ten, and while everyone is the theater was screaming and jumping, and my one friend was literally covering his eyes, I sat there and ate my kit-kat bar nonchalantly and didn't flinch. That's just me.

A few weeks ago, I found a page from one of my Bibles lying by itself in the middle of my floor. This was odd, because my Bibles are on my bookcase, squished in there, and it's not easy for a page to fly out without anyone touching it, but no one had been in there. However, I digress, because today was the day that I got around to cleaning things up and putting the page back in the Bible.

I went over, bent down, pulled it out off of the bookshelf, opened the Bible and a moth flew out. A moth. If you can explain to me how a moth got into the middle of the pages of the Bible, far more lived and flew out, I would appreciate that as much as if you can explain how the page hopped out of the Bible and landed six feet away on my floor.

Obviously, I wasn't expecting this moth, plus it felt it necessary to fly in my face. This caused me to scream and throw the Bible across the room. It took me a second to realize what happened, and then I just collapsed there in a ball of a laughter, gave the moth credit, and realized I was a wussy goober.

And since I explained that I never scream, you're probably wondering how my mom reacted. She didn't. She never came in to check on me. When she did finally come in it was a half an hour later. Apparently she never heard me scream. It's good to know if something actually is wrong, her ears don't pick up high pitched sounds, because our house is small. She should have heard me. The fact that she didn't is probably a good thing, because the way I figure it, I have another twelve years or so until I scream again. If I'm still living at home, no offense Mom, but we have a problem.

The Ballet Kind of Girl

When I was a little girl, I took dance lessons. I wore a pink tutu with white polka dots, and had little ballet shoes without the wood in the toes because those hurt my feet and I was little. I danced for several years and did several recitals until I got old enough to realize something really important. I really wasn’t a ballet kind of girl.

Now, all these years later, I wish I would have stayed with it, only, at the same time, I kind of don’t. I didn’t like the tutus or the makeup, or showing off, but I do wish I would have stayed in it long enough to skip all of that crap and learn how to dance like a beautiful swan. I find myself captivated by interpretive dance and mostly anything choreographed by Mandy Moore. I wish I could do that.

So much pressure builds up, though, when you’re that young and that dedicated. You start to wonder if you’re good enough, pretty enough, or just plain talented enough to pull it off. It boils over eventually, and in the years when you’re supposed to be a kid, it just doesn’t seem worth it.

This is why, when I see shows like Toddlers and Tiaras and Little Miss Perfect, that I wonder if these little girls really want to do this, or if their mothers are pushing their dreams on their children. They see them the way they wish they were when they were little and know they’re pretty enough and talented enough, and they want them to do it. But what do the kids think?

Undeniably, there are kids out there that want that more than anything, but a lot of the time I see kids scream or cry, and they plain out do not want to get on that stage. I can’t help but be angry at the mothers and want to tell them that their kids are not them. Their kids have their own dreams and aspirations.

Let’s also talk about the outfits they wear and the makeup they put on. All of those little girls are so cute without much makeup, and the next thing you know it they have more makeup on than I’ve ever worn in my entire life period. Their costumes are often small, or over done. This is because, in the pageant world, the over the top girls always win. I want to understand this, but I can't.

I think what I’m saying is, I want to understand the pageant world, but don’t. These little girls are all beautiful, each and every one of them, just the way they are. So why all the makeup, and the ridiculous, overdone dresses and small costumes?

It takes me back to the days when I stood there, small and young, in my little costume, over done up and wondered why I was doing this. I wondered if I was good enough, or pretty enough and if I wanted to quit, if my mom would let me or if I was living out her dream.

My mom let me quit, and I am forever thankful to have a mom like that, who let me aspire to my own dreams, let me follow my own path, and didn’t try to make me into what I didn’t want to be.

The Things I Know - The Unexplained

Today I’m going to talk about something that may cause people to stop reading my blog. If that’s the case, I respect your decision and understand the way that this sounds, and how some of you are going to just think I’m plain crazy. The truth of the matter is, though, that sometimes even I think I’m crazy. Only, I’ve done this for so long that it would be weird for me if I couldn’t do this anymore. I would freak out, and be utterly confused and lost, because as weird as this is, it’s a part of me. But to be honest, it’s still weird for me, too.

I was an odd kid, and ever since I can remember, I was surrounded by lots of people. Growing up in my first home, there was a wonderful older woman who sat and knitted in the corner of my bedroom at nights. There was a man who wondered around, and I had a few conversations with. There were little girls who came up to me, some my age, at different places and different times and we started up conversations.

The problem was, I was the only one who saw them. I would be there having a long, drawn out, two way conversation, only to find out that everyone else thought I was nuts, because all they saw was me talking to myself. I didn’t understand, because I saw these people as clear as I can see what I’m writing right now. I thought they were the weird ones. I thought they needed glasses.

As I grew up, this got even worse, sometimes spilling into dreams and me knowing things I should have never known, or had no logical way of knowing. At first I would tell people about this, but then, once I realized I was the only one who knew these things or saw these people, I stopped and learned to hide everything.

When I was fourteen my grandfather died. I guess I had always known exactly what was going on with me, who I was seeing but never the why, but it wasn’t until we were on the way to the funeral home to make arrangements after his passing, and I felt something on my shoulder. I looked to my left to see him sitting there as plain as day, and I knew what I could do and what I was.

There was no way to explain it. I had seen his body that morning in the hospital and I knew he was dead. I also knew no one else could see him, but I could. As plain as day, as sure as I sit here writing this. He was there.

You can believe me if you want, or choose to think I’m crazy. It doesn’t matter to me, because a lot of times I think I’m crazy, too, but I know what I see. Over the years I’ve helped some people, and I’ve known things that I’ve had no way of knowing. Don’t ask me how or why, because I don’t have the answers to any of those questions. I wish I did.

It’s only been in the past few years that I’ve really learned to hone this gift. Before that, I saw what I saw and talked to who I talked to, and then pretended as if it hadn’t happened. I have several people who could attest to the conversation I’ve had with people who weren’t there, but became utterly confused when I was told no one was there. Sometimes I became plain out complacent. I had seen and was talking to someone. End of story.

One of the most interesting moments, and fulfilling moments I had came when a friend of mine asked me if her mother could talk to me about her father’s death. I didn’t know her father, nor did I meet her until years after his death and her mother was remarried. No one in her family talked about his death, yet when her mom asked me if I could tell her what happened, I accounted everything back to her, including something she knew in her heart; he didn’t kill himself.

Later, upon talking, she told me that the police also suspected this, and she told me she knew in her heart who had done it. While talking to her the first time, I had told her who I was being told had done it and how. This matched up with exactly what was suspected, but again, I had no way of knowing this. I would have been about seven when her husband died, and I didn’t meet her until a good ten years later. And yet I don’t know how I knew this, yet I did. Someone stood there and someone told me, and I just repeated it back to her.

Two Christmases ago I was at my Great, Great Aunt Pearl’s funeral. I didn’t know her all that well, only having met her a few times when I was younger and having not see her in years. When I walked in, there she stood at the head of her casket. Like I said, it was Christmastime and she was extremely unhappy that we were taking time out of our lives to visit her when she was already dead, instead of spending time with our families.

She went on to complain about how one of the lights was out in the chandelier and how unprofessional it was, and how she couldn’t figure out why anyone would think she would like such a gaudy, old lady casket. She was in her 90s, and she was right, the casket was gaudy and looked quite flashy for a pimpin’ old lady.

At times, I had to walk out of the room because I was laughing so hard. Others, I had to leave because I found myself having conversations with her, and eventually the funeral home got busy and people started to stare. Not like that ever stopped me, but I didn’t feel like explaining to her children why I was having a conversation with the head of her casket.

Then, towards the end of the funeral, a relative’s grandson was getting restless. I was still standing at the head of the casket, but had stopped talking when I spotted the relative heading over with him, as he was only four. They said their peace and left the little boy to wander around a little, since he was so restless. As soon as his grandma walked away, he looked at me wide eyes and said, “you see her too.” I nodded my head and put my finger to my lips. He ran away, sat down, and suddenly stopped being so restless.

After all these years, all I’ve seen, and all I’ve been able to prove and back up, I still wonder, why me? To me, this is normal. To other people, this is plain weird, and I understand. I respect that.

Lately, I’ve been seeing more and more, and knowing more and more. I seem to collect a lot of young girls around my age, most of whom did not die a natural death. Sometimes they have messages, sometimes they want help, and sometimes they want answers for why they didn’t get a chance to live life long enough to die of natural causes. And I don’t always know what to tell them, or how to tell their family members what they want me to say. As long as I’ve done this, I still struggle with this. How do you just track down someone you don’t know and give them a message from a deceased loved one? This is something I don’t know if I’ll ever understand, or find the right way to do.

I’m telling all of you this because I know there are some believers out there and some people who have a lot of questions. I’m here to answer them, and if I can help you in any way, I will do that, too. I can’t promise I can help everyone, or anyone for that matter. I’m not a psychic and I would never claim to be. I simply see and can communicate with who choses to come to me. Sometimes I can find people and answers between the lines, but I can’t make anyone come to me who doesn’t want to, or doesn’t have anything to say.

Life, this gift, is about more than just myself. If I can help someone, I will. I know eventually, if things continue how they are, I will eventually find myself explaining myself to people whom I’d rather not, but, if ultimately, I can help someone move on, living or dead, that’s what I’d like to do, as long as it’s not at a permanent expense to myself. There has to be a balance.

So I hope you will take what I said in stride and think about. Some of you will write me off immediately. I understand and respect you for it, but for those who won’t, come, talk to me, ask questions if you have them. I’ll answer what I can, because I’m here to help. I know there’s people out there feeling lost, and in a little bit of selfishness, I’m hoping maybe someone will contact me; a family member who belongs with one of my girls, and I can know they will believe what I have to say and I can give them the messages they need to have, because I don’t know how else to do it.

I don’t hate that I can do this, and I’m always the first person to look for scientific proof. If something happens I can’t explain, or someone gives me information, I research it. Most of the time it adds up, and sometimes it doesn’t. And if it doesn’t, I move on. Sometimes it makes sense later, and sometimes it doesn’t, but I never press something without cold, hard proof that I can hold in my hand. One thing I know for sure, though, is I’ve never met anyone who didn’t believe me after spending a little bit of time for me. I never ask them to; you can believe what you want, but this has been my experience.

I put this out here for you guys, knowing I will be judged, but being okay with that, because this is my life. I don’t know anything different. If you would like, I can tell many stories about things that have happened to me throughout the years. If you don’t like this segment and think I’m crazy, tell me that, too, because I will never talk about this again. It’s up to you guys.

All I ask is, even if you don’t believe, please try to respect me. I know no different than what I see. I would never shove my views on you or ask you to believe and I ask you to please allow me the same courtesy. Thank you.

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"You know I love you, I really do, but I can't fight anymore for you."

Hey Cassadee...Get It Done

In lieu of the post I had planned for tonight, I'm going to post simply this instead.

Right now there is a lot going on. Remember that really heartfelt post from a few weeks ago? Well, it's reached a point where something has to be done. I can't sit idly by anymore and just let it ride. There's many reasons, but the fact is that I have to somehow contact said person involved, talk, and then learn how to let go of someone I never thought I wouldn't have in my life. That was never an option for me, but the time has come where it has to be. This is one thing I do not know how to handle, or what to do.

So I will be back with the regularly scheduled Cassadee-ness just as soon as I stop stressing. I am fine and things will be fine, I promise. I may be back tomorrow, or it my be a few days, but I definitely have some posts planned. Muhaha.

In the words of Emily Prentiss: "Ugh, this is really gonna suuuuuuck."

Mother Nature Is A Whore

I am exhausted today, therefore, this won't be the proper post that I wanted it to be. I was going through and deleting e-mails today, when I found this one that I sent. I wish I knew what I was talking about here, but I don't. Becky, do you want to weigh in on this? The e-mail was to you.

The universe is an ironic little fellow, or woman. If Mother Nature is a woman, I assume the universe is a fellow and the way they keep the universe balanced is to have Mother Nature make hot, hot love to it so it doesn't get too cranky. Maybe that's just me, but anyway.

I don't even know what else to say about that.

Zoe - I miss your blog! I really, really do! I also wish I could give you tips on how to start your blog, but I have such ADHD that I usually just write the first thing that comes out and then feel a little stupid about it. The things family members say are always way more amusing after the fact. You are definitely a skinny mini. Maybe she was just jealous. Oh no, that story about your gran is too funny. I don't know what I would have done if my grandma had learned to text, but it would probably require falling on the floor in a fit of laughter, and then being so shocked I couldn't get back up. You are definitely not writing too much! I love your comments and you are amazing. I am also done with said creepy person. It's over for me, whether they like it or not.

Regor

Today I would like to talk about penguins and Santa Clause.

Just kidding, but now that I’ve got your attention, I would like to make you all go, “aww.” So here is your aww moment of the day.

Today I was going to tell the story I mentioned yesterday. However, it was brought to my attention that I may want to sit on this story for a little while since the situation just happened, and the post may push this particular person into contacting me again, which I would prefer they not do. It’s not that I have anything against the person, they just got a little creepy. I promise that it’s not a sad story as much as an ironic, funny one. It probably shouldn't be, but it’s caused a lot of lols. For now I’m going to give it some time until I know the storm is definitely over for this particular person, too, and then I shall post it.

I would never leave you guys without a story, though, so I shall tell you stories about my family. I’ve mentioned before that we do not have a large immediate family. The little family we do have outside of that are distant relatives and scattered throughout the country. The ones that are here are older and don’t get out much, but that’s okay, because they still create really awesome stories and I love them so much for that and for other reasons.

Two years ago there was a family reunion held not far from our home. Included were mostly relatives from out of state. Within these relatives was my uncle, who technically is not my uncle, Roger. Do you see what I mean about our family being distantly and oddly related. It gets real dicey real easily?

Roger is a bit of a comedian. It’s sad that he didn’t pursue a career as one, because he could have definitely succeeded, but the thing is, he doesn’t even try. Things just come out of his mouth that leave us rolling on the floor and him not realizing he even said anything funny. He has two daughters and I’m hoping they appreciate him, because I sure do. I wish he lived closer, but that’s not the point.

At this reunion was also my grandfather’s brother, Clyde. At least I think it was Clyde. It may have been his brother, Charlie, but for all intents and purposes, it was Clyde. They all look alike anyway. I love you Uncle Clyde and Uncle Charlie. I'm sorry you look like twins.

The reunion was in full swing when, just within earshot, Uncle Clyde walks up to Roger and randomly says to him, “your name is spelled the same way backwards as it is forward.” Not missing a beat and with a straight face, Roger busts out with, “So now I’m Regor.” He said this as a statement, not a question or a joke. Uncle Clyde didn’t get it and walked away. Roger never laughed. But here’s the thing.

Roger was wearing a name tag.

Yep, a name tag with his name clearly written across it.

And just for the record, we now refer to him as Regor and have ever since. We just haven't told him that yet.

Since we so adore Roger and barely get to see him, we made plans to go out to dinner with him, his wife and his two girls after the reunion. Then in pops his brother, Rawn. I have several stories about Rawn that I will tell in due time, but the basic story is that Rawn is one hundred kinds of awesome in a million different ways. He’s just a super great guy and everyone adores him, and he and Roger are two peas in a pod.

Rawn once saved me from an ill fated vacation, a story I am also currently working on to post, so when he also wanted to go out to dinner, we were gleeful. There’s no words to express just how much I adore Rawn. The only problem is that Rawn and Roger together equals a whole lot of immature, hysterical things happening.

We headed out to a place inside of our mall to eat. We ordered and were waiting for our food when Roger and Rawn decide to have a spit-ball fight across the table. My mom and I couldn’t stop laughing. Tammy, Roger’s wife, rolled her eyes but otherwise seemed unfazed, like this was normal. But then there were Roger and Tammy’s two daughters. Their pre-teen daughter looked at me and said, “ugh, can we go do something else? I don’t want to be around them.” Then she rolled her eyes in the very way that adults do when they want to say, “kids,” in an annoyed, huffed out voice.

Roger, I believe you were just owned by a nine year old.

We trolled the mall, and when we came back, I’m not sure if I’m happy or sad to announce this, but they were done throwing spit balls. And from what I could gather, the waitresses found it hilarious that they did so. When they had to clean it up, they probably changed their minds.

Oh, and did I mention these men were in their 50s and 60s? Because if I didn’t, now would be the time to do so.

The next story I’m going to tell is going to sound a little insensitive, but I promise you this was a running family joke, and something we brought up when we wanted to think about our dearly departed. In the way that this should be one of the worst memories we have, it ended up being one of the best. We laugh and smile every time we think of this. Maybe that’s wrong, but we do.

I was twelve when my great grandfather died, but somehow I still remember this. My great grandmother, Gertrude’s, mind was going at the time, so she wasn’t totally sure what was going on during the funeral services. When it was all said and done, we packed her in the van to take her back to the home she was in. Upon returning she looked directly at us and said, “Well, didn’t we have a nice day with those old people?”

She was in her 90’s.

I don’t think this needs explaining any further, but we did agree with her, that yes, we did have a lovely day wit those old people. This is one of the better memories I have of her, even though that might sound morbid. For some reason, she never liked me all that much, and all these years later I still wonder why. It may have something to do with the fact that she thought I was a boy, and when I would go and help her with something, she told everyone that the Boy Scouts came to help her out. It wasn’t funny then, but it sure is now.

My aunt also named one of her geese Gertrude because she said it reminded her of great-grandma. I would say that this is absolutely ridiculous and there is no way a goose could remind her of her grandmother, but I named my fish Brendon because he reminded me of someone, so I have no room to talk. None whatsoever.

Last, but absolutely not least, I would like to thank the amazing Zoe for her comment. What you said means the world to me, and I'm appreciate to the feedback that the pictures represent me well. That makes me feel all jolly inside. (Sticking with the Santa theme.) Oh my goodness, I think that our mother's not only have something in common, but are possibly related. My mom is the same way with things! She figured out how to text today, but after six months, she still can't figure out how to use a tabbed browser, or email from her computer correctly. Ah, parents.

I Feel Like Flo From the Progressive Commercials

Just a short story for today, as I am working on another big story that is taking me awhile to write, but I promise it should be worth it. I say should in case you don’t enjoy the story you can’t come back on me and say, “hey, you said this story was going to be awesome.” I won’t be guilty as charged.

I know I often speak of my mom’s antics on here, and today she did it again; she proved that I can never know what to expect from her, but it’s funny. Here’s some highlights.

Today my mom went to deliver a present to her buyers who just closed on a house. She came home with a microwave. And not just any microwave, their microwave.

You did not read that incorrectly. I was just as confused. I mean, how does this happen? How does one take someone a gift and come back with their microwave?

Apparently they didn’t want the microwave that came with their house, so they gave it to my mom. I’m not complaining, because our microwave only heats up certain parts of the food and not the whole thing, despite being on a spinning tray, so I appreciate it. I’ll just never forget her walking in the house and asking me to remove her buyer’s microwave from the car.

On a related note, my mom had to go to an inspection for a house she is selling. She got very bored while there. How did I know this? She e-mailed me on her phone. Not called, not texted, but e-mailed me.

Again, you did not read that incorrectly.

I know I’ve talked about how technology inept my mom is, and considering she’s had her phone for five days, and it’s a Blackberry, I was shocked she could even e-mail, but I guess boredom forces you to figure things out. I commented that I was shocked, in which she told me that she wasn't stupid, just slow at figuring things out. I immediately asked her why she didn’t text me. Her answer?

“I couldn’t figure it out.”

For all of you with smart phones, you know it’s just as easy, if not easier to text than it is to e-mail. I explained to her how to do so, being as, on a Blackberry, it was practically the same thing. She couldn’t figure it out. Touche, Mom, touche.

While on the subject of awesome people, I would like to thank both Zoe and Vivi Ann for their amazing support on the journey that is my blog. Your comments and friendship mean so much to me and I am grateful to have you both to call friends. The fact that you two both take the time to tell me that you took something I wrote to heart is the greatest gift I could ever ask for. Thank you is not enough, but it's sincere.

In other news, I’ve known for awhile that I was going to have to get some pictures done that represented me as a person and a writer; that were my brand. The ones I had were old and that wasn’t a good way to sell myself. So today I finally had a chance to get myself made up and take some pictures. I did the pictures myself to save money, with the camera on a timer. They’re not the most professional pictures ever, but I think they represent me well. Here are some out takes.

For future reference, the name of this blog is a reference to one of the pictures I have where I look like Flo from the Progressive commercial. I didn't post it, but I suppose I could.

My appreciation and enough thank yous to last me a lifetime go out to Becky, because she was nice enough to sit with me for close to two hours and help me pick out pictures. What I'm saying is she had to stare at me for two hours and tell me how I looked. It wasn't right, but she didn't it anyway and I really appreciate her amazing awesomeness and friendship! I owe you a Ryan Spencer, Becky!






Last but not least, and just because I can be random, I would like to point out that I have no life, which you all knew. Therefore, this will come as no shock to you. For those of you who watch Criminal Minds, you will notice that Matthew Gray Gubler cut his hair short. I always thought long hair was fitting to him, but after I got over the shock of him going from this to this in a week, I'm pretty sure I decided he was drop dead sexy. Yes, this is what my life has come to, finding celebrities drop dead sexy and writing about it on my blog. And since I'm already being strange, I'm going to add to that. Can you guys believe he's 30? If I look that good at 30, I have nothing to complain about.

A Mantra of Bad Ideas

I’ve been thinking for the past few days about how I’m going to top the letter I shared with you in the previous post. Since it was one of the hardest things for me to share, I really don’t feel like there’s any way to do that, and since that letter is my heart, it almost makes me want to end the blog and begin a new one, but I shall not do that. Instead, I have decided to go off the grid and tell the kind of story that you will probably never hear from me ever again. But first, I would like to address something else.

I have incredible, amazing, strong women reading this blog. I appreciate all of them, and am humbled by them all the same. I am consistently amazed when you all care enough to leave a comment on my little blog. You are all simply amazing.

Vivi Ann, I proudly raise my glass high to our friendship toast. Your gift is both thoughtful and helpful. Thank you for sharing that with me and giving me incredible words of wisdom. You embody the true meaning of a survivor and I am grateful to have met someone such as yourself.

Yellowcard8807 - Your comment was beautiful and so true. It takes someone extremely wise to know this. Thank you for taking the time to comment on my blog, and if you see this, please know I am making my way over to your Livejournal very soon to check out your writing! You seem to have a way of sending such a beautiful message is so little words.

Second, I would like to announce that I finally took the time to organize all my tags, so, if you're looking for a certain post, things should finally make some kind of sense. If not, just ask me and I'll direct you to the post you are looking for.

And now, in less important news, on to the story. This story involves weed. Not the plant, or grass, as we call it here in Pennsylvania, but the actual thing you smoke to get high. This does not involve me doing weed, and I’m not one to hang around anyone who does such, which is what makes this story one of a kind. Also, it’s just too funny to not tell.

Many years ago, and I’m talking about four or so years ago, my friend, Becky, worked at at local store with a boy named Ben. I can’t remember how I randomly ended up meeting Ben, but we got along just fine and he invited us to a bonfire with just a few of his friends at his house while his parents were away. Becky was aware that Ben was 420 friendly and shared this with me. Usually this would make me run, but because Ben held a full time job and was a full time student who earned decent grades, and because of the way he acted, you could tell he wasn’t a true stoner and we could deal with him, so we decided to go. If things got out of hand, we’d leave. If wasn’t as if we were trapped.

Nighttime came and we went to the bonfire, which really only ended up being Becky, Ben, myself and three or four other people. However, when Becky and I decided to go over, we forgot about the little fact that this was a bonfire, meaning high people would be around fire. I want to say this was really terrible, but it actually ended up being one of the most amusing nights of our lives. This was especially true since no one got high enough to be ridiculous and scary, but were buzzed enough to be stupid.

The first thing that you need to understand is that, instead of having the bonfire in the middle of a yard like everyone else, Ben’s parents had built a huge wooden deck, and the middle of that deck was a fire pit that sat about three feet down inside of the deck. Wooden deck + fire pit = bad idea, just in case anyone was curious.

The second thing you need to understand was that it was a three foot jump up onto the deck with no steps to help you out. You either stretched the three feet, or you didn’t get up on the deck.

During this bonfire several things happened. One was that Becky and I learned that some 420 people are actually mature, respectful people who choose to wind down with something that just happens to be the opposite of illegal. Don't get me wrong, we're not supporting it, but we're also not condemning the people who do it, even though we disagree with it. Since they knew Becky and I didn’t do weed, nor did we want to, they went about thirty feet from the deck and did their thing and then came back. We appreciated this, however, remember what I said about there being a three foot stretch between the deck and the grass?

Some people fell, but one guy did so spectacularly. It was very, very funny, especially considering that, when people are high, they are invincible, so instead of getting hurt, they get up and laugh like a hyena and then keep going. There’s no way you can’t point and laugh, and they kind of encourage it in their state, so this was so my kind of humor. Hey, if you’re ridiculous enough to get high and then fall, I’m going to laugh at you. The fact that you let me just makes my day.

Do you also remember what I said about a wooden deck and a fire pit being a bad idea? Ben, who was actually not acting odd at all, almost caught the deck on fire several times. I don’t think we can credit the weed for this, to be honest. The deck was untreated, dry wood, and the fire pit was right in middle of it. The fire was reaching up and coming out of the pit at deck level, and it was obvious how the deck could catch on fire. Then it was chilly, so Ben kept adding wood to it. I think there was more stupidity to this entire deal than I care to think about, but it was funny.

Then, his friend, you know, the one who fell spectacularly, decided to help with the fire. It was okay when he was walking, slipped and almost fell in. It wasn’t so okay when he was sitting on his chair three feet away and almost fell in. Needless to say, he left then and had his girlfriend, who does not do weed, drive him home. I wonder how he made it in his apartment, and I hope he stayed away from the windows. I never did see him again after that...

Somewhere, at some point of the night, Becky and I left to go and get Starbucks up the road. We came back and were almost accosted for our coffee, in which case, we refused to share. And then we got cold and drove to the Wal-Mart up the street, hung out, and then came back again. The same kid who almost committed unassisted, unintentional suicide by way of falling and way of almost burning himself to death, reintroduced himself every single time.

What did Becky and I do? The mature thing, of course. We pretended we had never met him every single time. It went over well with everyone else.

Maybe this was one of those stories that you really had to be there to appreciate, but I’m sure that in all my years, I’ve never had a crazier night. Let’s recap how the night went.

*Show up at the bonfire, where the fire is in the middle of an untreated wooden deck, meet all the 420 friendly people, and go and get coffee at Starbucks.

*Come back with coffee, re-meet the one kid who must have been good friends with weed, and pretend like we never met him.

*Watch the same kid almost trip and fall in fire, while Ben throws more wood on and almost catches the deck on fire.

*Get cold and go to Wal-Mart, walk around for awhile, pee, come back.

*Get re-introduced to the 420 friendly, suicidal accident kid and pretend like it’s the first time we met him for the second time that night, and for the third time meeting him.

*Watch 420 friendly kid excuse himself and fall off the deck, then get up and laugh and encourage us to laugh at him. Gleefully reply with laughter.

*Go up to the car to warm up a little bit. It was damn cold.

*Come back and are re-introduced to the 420 kid again, and again pretend like we’ve never met him.

*Watch 420 kid almost fall in the fire from a lounge chair three feet away. Spend ten minutes discussing how he almost managed this, as his girlfriend drags him off.

*Watch everyone leave and spend some time talking to Ben until the fire is out and then leave, laughing the entire time, and reaffirm the reasons we do not do drugs.

For the record, I would just like to point out that Ben is now an educated adult, who works as a CNA at a retirement home. He is clean from weed, and I hear the old people love him, despite his lip ring and the like.

And also for the record, I like guys with lip rings. I’m not saying I liked Ben, because I didn’t know him that well even though there was chemistry that never went anywhere, but I’m just saying I seem to really have a thing for guys with lip rings. It’s not like they make a difference when you kiss a person with a lip ring, but I’m just saying I like them.

A lot.

Was that an over share?

Dress Rehearsal

Dear Friends,
I struggled with if I was actually going to post the following. I realized that my problem was that I was afraid to bear my heart. I've found strength and answers in the last few days, therefore, I will go ahead with the post as promised. I hope that someone can find light in it.
Cassadee

Life does not start out as a journey, but instead as a path. It’s one that we can follow within the lines, or we can build our own, stone by stone, and then choose how we navigate it. As we are building, or embarking on that path, others’ will rise or fall to meet our own, and that’s where things begin to get out of place. All those perfect pictures and high expectations begin to crumble and take new forms, and that’s when life becomes the true journey.

Nothing is clear cut and dry, and people will always be people, which may be unfortunate, because this means they are still animals to a certain extent. Some are more civilized than others, but one thing is always true; claws will come out when one feels threatened, or vulnerable. Some animals learn to live with their vulnerability, some own it, but others never do and they continue to bite until every path they met has been carefully removed and rebuilt to bypass theirs by the owner.

I have personally found that biting is my forte. I grew up an only child with an absent father and a mother who often relied on me to fill his place. My life was about school and helping my mom, not about me. This was okay, because I was needed. Then I got older, got sick, and needed someone, only my mom didn’t know how to stop needing me and things changed for me very quickly. I began to feel trapped and enclosed, and instead of reaching out to others, I shut down and tried to handle everything on my own, because it’s what I had gotten used to doing.

I didn’t fathom this would become the problem that it did later in life, because I always dreamed of the white horse, the white dress, and the white picket fence. What I didn’t dream about was the reality. I skipped the feelings, the vulnerability, and the fact that, in order to make a relationship work, surrender has to happen. When I was never allowed to surrender, because it was fight or die, and I was never able to fall back on someone completely, this concept was foreign to me. I didn’t actually believe in it, and people kept proving to me that I would always, always have to take care of myself, because no one else ever would.

In so many ways this is true, and always will be. You must be your best friend to survive life. You must look out for yourself first, while keeping others’ feelings in the back of your mind. You must take care of yourself, confide in yourself and the spiritual leader of your religion or choosing, and you must protect yourself. But you have to let people in, too, and sometimes, as long as you don’t let it go so far that you stop caring for yourself and only rely on someone else to do so, it’s okay to let down your guard and allow someone to care for you, too.

I learned this at an early age from my grandfather, and forgot it instantly after he died when I was literally forced into a struggle for my life, and told I had two years to live in the current condition of my health. Obviously, I fought hard, because I am still here. In order to be able to keep money coming in, my mom worked a lot and it became up to me, no matter how sick or weak, to one hundred percent take care of myself. Often, by no fault of her own, she was too tired during nights and weekends, from her days at work, to take care of me. She also still expected me to fill my father’s place. I could barely move and could barely say no all the same, because I was needed.

This is why I simply stopped believing. I would never say my mother was a bad mother. She honestly did the best she could, when she could, how she could. My father was a bad father, didn’t help, walked out instead of helping to take care of me, and can basically get lost and never come around here again and I would be the happiest girl in the world. We made do, and I took care of number one...and two...and the rest of this crazy household and mantra of ridiculous family members, and still continue to do so.

Then Friend came along. He was kind, gentle and sweet. He would sit with me and discuss my problems.

No one else did that.

He looked at me like I was the only person on the planet, and the most important.

No one else did that.

He would tell me that he felt I would be better for him than his own girlfriend. He told me a lot of things, and I fell into a complete trust pattern with him before I had even realized it. I had never met anyone like him, and because of that, my guard was down. But by the time things developed between us and he found himself full out willing to be there for me no matter what, no questions asked, I found myself running, afraid of being trapped in a fairy tale that didn’t actually exist beyond my dreams.

It took me years to realize I was afraid I would fall for him so hard that I could never get back up, and that I’d lose the ability to say no; to push people away. It only took me the last year to realize that would have never been a problem with Friend. So regretfully, I realize my mistake and I resign from blaming him, or being angry with him for caring about me, and making me feel something. I let go of blaming myself, but simply because I am left with no other choice, and surrendering to anything was never my style.

Instead, I am grateful and still very scared. I’ve learned from him and I’ve found solace in the fact that the right person will accept you for you. They won’t expect total surrender, but instead they will demand compromise, and they will challenge you. Boy, will they challenge you.

The right person will sometimes be the person who lives a lifestyle completely different from yours; the person you would never see yourself with, yet someone you have this undeniable bond and it just works, and everyone can see, but only you can feel. You can hold it in your heart, and them in your arms, and that’s how you know the dream has passed and met reality somewhere along the journey; the path.

So it is tonight that I proclaim my decision on how to handle the situation with Friend; the situation Friend is not even aware of, and can not be made aware of. Plain and simple, Friend has a girlfriend. Friend is, for all assumption intents and purposes, and until I hear otherwise, happy, and I would never do anything to bust that up.

My initial thought was to walk away from the relationship, but that would leave us where it left us a year ago, which is right back to me apologizing to him for being a general jackass. Let me make this clear, I do not regret my situation to walk away, because it was something I still know to this day that needed done, and I think he can agree with me on this, because I had become a crutch to his bad behavior, without immediate knowledge to myself. I do, however, regret not telling him why I walked away, not giving him the letter I had written him, and in turn, being an ignorant bitch about it. It was immature.

To combat that situation from happening again, I could give him an explanation for why I was walking away, but nothing but the truth would be good enough. He knows me well enough to not believe any bullshit I could come up with, so it’s not even worth a try unless I sincerely enjoy humiliating myself and wasting my own time. However, if I write a letter to explain him why I’m leaving, I am ultimately doing no good.

All I can think about is his girlfriend, his poor girlfriend, who will one day, with the luck we both have, find the letter and it will hurt her. No matter the outcome, it will still hurt her. What gives me the right to tell her boyfriend that I am in love with him and always have been, even if I do explain that I do not intend to interrupt the relationship?

Nothing.

Not even the three and a half years of knowing him that I have on her. Thinking time is an excuse makes me a moron comparable to the likes of the guy who was dumb enough to spend hours pretending his son was in a weather balloon for media attention. If it came to that, I would encourage no one to put up with me any longer.

It can be argued that the choice of who he wants to be with is his to make, but the choice of who I hurt and do not hurt, is mine. I would rather hurt myself than someone else. I am responsible for only the decisions I made and continue to make, and I will lie in this bed, but not lay down and die over them.

I will accept them, and accept that Friend and I are friends, and there’s nothing worth letting that go. I don't want to live without him in my life, and I learned this over the past year. The future and time can change everything, but I can not wish, hope, or wait for it to. Instead, I will be a friend with my head held high, an appropriate and well mannered friend, and if by chance the situation changes, I will reevaluate it and then choose another route to take.

Besides that, I’ve seen too much to believe that things don’t truly work out how they are meant to. There’s a balance I am not meant to understand, so I will let it ride. There’s nothing saying Friend and I would ever work out had we had a chance to try, and if we are meant to try, the opportunity will become available, if I stop waiting for it or expecting it.

Please don’t think that I say this with any grandeur, or don’t still find a place in my heart that hurts, but ultimately it will repair itself until it beats harder and faster, and everything finds its place. I am saddened, yet find strength in this decision, which is how I know that, for now, it is the right one. Eventually time will change that, as time always does, and life always does. One day I will find myself rethinking the situation. It may be tomorrow and it may be five years from now, but what I can count on, is that things will always change. That’s all one can ever count on.

And I am ready.

Until that day comes, however, I find that I am going to bare my heart to all of you, drop my guard, and my vulnerability and share a piece of me that will connect with a piece of every girl who has wanted someone that they can not have, and any girl who has had someone they can not want.

I had decided to write the letter to Friend just as I would if I were to send it. It was something I needed to do for myself, but when I finished, I found myself distraught. I had written one letter that I kept to myself, only to later incorporate it into my novel. I can not write something and not find use, or a reason to share it. With that in mind, I have decided to post the most recent letter I have written.

Also, I do not believe Friend reads the blog, because he would have mentioned it. I also do not believe he even knows about it, and I do not mention to him. However, if he does and he comes across the letter, he will know it’s for him, and will be the only one who knows that. I will not tell him about this letter, or mention my blog; I will just let it be. If he does find that it and it is for him, this blog lays out all the reasons why I did not ever tell him what this letter has. And if he finds it, there is no reason his girlfriend ever has to know that it was written for him, or meant for him, so this will also protect her.

I am banking on him not finding this, because it isn’t about him. It’s about me, and getting out what I need to, and sharing with other girls who need this as well, because sometimes, as women, we forget to take care of ourselves. We forget to be a little selfish, so that is what I am choosing to do now...for all of us.

Please forgive me if this is wrong, but it is, after all, my space to share my story, and this is the best way to reflect that.

Dear You,

Four years ago you came into my life on Halloween. We worked together, but the few “heys” we said here and there never warranted me remembering your name. After that night, I couldn’t forget it. We became fast friends, all because of you. You talked to me at work, took time for me, and made me feel like I mattered. I thought of you as only a friend and tried to give you the same. I soon realized we were in the same boat, both without much of a family, or much emotional support, and both looking for something we didn’t even know truly existed.

You fell for me before I fell for you. I was hesitant and never thought of you in any other way than a friend. You had a girlfriend, one of which I respected...and then all of that changed. I found myself alone with you and we found ourselves in a situation we had never been in before. Feelings flew, and over the next few years we took our respective turns running, not talking, and then finding each other again a few months later, only to do it all again.

It’s now that I realize you found me first. You always did. When I was looking to the sky, you were looking at me. When I was talking to myself, because I had eliminated a use for anyone else in my own crazy conversations, you were talking to me. When I was figuring out how I felt, you were feeling for me.

And I never appreciated that enough until it was gone. There is no way to say I am sorry for that, because I am feeling sorry for myself, and sorry for you all the same, because you put up with me no matter what. And I know I put you through hell. It was never too much for you. I was too dead set on running to accept that, and although it isn’t enough, I am sorry.

I hope over the years you found me to be a good friend, and you understood why I did what I did. You once told me that I always knew what you wanted. You always knew what I wanted, but I was too afraid to tell you, because sometimes, it was I who didn’t even know what I wanted. I know you knew that, and I know I would have been better off trusting in that, but I couldn’t until I found myself. Because of you, I ultimately have. If that’s the only reason you were put into my life, that will still make you one of the most important and special people I have ever, and will ever know.

When I finally set aside my fears, my pride and my anger, and apologized to you, I didn’t expect you to ever respond to me. Then you did, and you told me to put it all in the past and forget about it. It was then I knew I was in trouble. I didn’t think we would continue to talk, but then we did, mostly because of you, always because of you; and I realized what I had missed out on, and that it was you I’ve been waiting to be with in the past three years that I failed to manage a date. I could get them, I just didn’t want them. I wanted you, and was too foolish to admit that to myself.

If I had known I would feel this way, I don’t know if I would have ever apologized. I may have gone about life living with the guilt of never doing so, and letting you forget about me and think that I was a bad person, because my reasons for doing so were never about me at all. It was about what you deserved out of me, and I guess if I knew this was going to happen, then I would have slighted you again, and eventually the guilt of that would kill me, but at least it would be what I deserved. What I’m saying is, there are sometimes reasons why we don’t know things before we dive in head first and hope for the best.

In all the years, and all the times I’ve had my heart broken, I now know they were just dress rehearsals for this moment. No one ever truly had the power to break my heart, but you. But since you didn’t do anything to actually cause me the pain; I did it to myself, it is only fractured and it will recover. It will take awhile, it will not be easy, but it will teach me a lesson and a lot about myself. It will make me a better person, and yet again I find another thing to credit you with.

As many times as our relationship has been healthy, it’s been unhealthy, too, but it was what it was and there was love there in some capacity, in its own way, in the way we knew how to love. Maybe we’re both a little crazy, but we understood that in each other, and took it for what it was, even though we never moved past the title of “just friends.”

I am not asking anything of you, nor did I write you for that reason, now or when I apologized. Things are what they are and I accept that, but I needed to put this on paper, because one day, with or without you, this will all be a distant memory that I may want to remember in some way, in some place, in some time. Not to mention, when I feel trapped, I write, and right now I am caged, but it’s my own fault.

You are with someone and you are happy. I am happy for you, because I do truly love you, and I want what is best. I would never, in a million years, do anything to interrupt or displace that. I would never do anything to hurt your girlfriend, because she is with you. You picked her. You care for her, as she cares for you, and that is a good enough reason for me.

If we can continue in friendship, I would like that, but I find that I will be limiting myself to certain situations, in certain places, and certain conversations, because I need to emotionally stay comforted, or I will find myself in a very broken place, and no one wants to see that. You have fought too hard to get me out of that place; you’re the only one who fought for me, and I have fought too hard to stay there, often carrying a slight dignity, or over aggression about that with me.

I drop that, and my pride, and leave myself with only trust and the ability to know that I’ve held onto you for far too long. My feelings may never change, but my idiosyncrasy of confusing the hell out of your life for all its worth, will. And, if someday, we both find a change that lands us in the same situation, with the same feelings, I won’t be afraid to try and see what can come out of it.

And so it is...

"CowsAreEvil.com." "Undeniable."

This post isn't about creating memories or losing friends. It's about thanking the people in your life and realizing what is right in front of you. Let me explain.

Over the last few days, I've learned a lot about myself and relationships. As many of you know, I've been extremely conflicted with the issue with Friend. I am a spiritual person in many ways, and decided to charge through the last few days as if they were normal, hoping an answer that would make sense would come to me. Unconventionally, it did.

In the last few days I've heard quotes that have stuck with me, fitting to the situation, as well as turned on random television shows to have them be about what I'm going through. Imagine, there is an In Plain Sight that spoke to me, and that show is about WitSec. You can see how unexpected it was to find answers in a television show, but because it seemed like everywhere I turned something matching my exact situation was occurring in front of me, I took it as a sign, and with that, I took the knowledge and strength that I could carry, and then left out all the rest.

In a lot of ways, I am still conflicted, but I ultimately know in my heart what I should do and am comfortable with doing. The next blog will be more about this, but for now I want to talk about something else.

So let's talk about quacking cats.

You heard me.

Quacking cats.

The other day my cat came up to me, looked at me and legitimately quacked. When I thought I was hearing things, she did it again. She's made a lot of weird noises over the years, and I thought nothing could surprise me, but then she went and quacked. I'm starting to worry that she's a secret agent that can change animal identities as needed. I mean, SHE QUACKED, FOR HEAVEN SAKE!

I was also made aware that I no longer talk about my health issues on here like I did when the blog was started. The reason for this is because I had gotten so fed up with my health, and so exhausted over it, that I just didn't want to keep repeating it. I will give you all a quick update now.

My doctors have determined that I have an auto immune disease. It is showing up in my blood tests, but yet the blood tests are undetermined as to which I have. This is normal, apparently, and sometimes it can take years for a blood test to pinpoint which auto immune disease one has. At one time the doctors thought my grandmother had leukemia, only to find she had an auto immune disease, and then it took them four years to find out which one. It is suspected that I either have lupus, since I do have lupus anticoagulant, which can often be a precursor to such, and I have some of the symptoms but not enough to determine for sure. The other possibility is that I have Scleroderma, as it is believed that auto immune diseases can be genetic and that is what my grandma had. I also share her symptoms. Since symptoms are very similar and the blood is not determining, it's hard to tell for now. This also means nothing can be directly treated, so, as always, I am stuck not being allowed to work and waiting for my world to change. I hate not having control over my life.

On top of that, I haven't been feeling well the last couple of weeks. At first I thought I had a little kidney or bladder infection, since I seem to attract them quite often, but I took the medication for it and it never went away. Awhile back I mentioned that I had a polyp in my gallbladder, and because of this the doctor decided that eventually my gallbladder would start causing issues and he would have to take it. Those were his exact words; he would "take it." I feel like he wants to rob my body, but that's beyond the point. Because I have issues with anesthesia in my current state, he wanted to wait until we found out what was going on and could start treating it to make the procedure easier on my body. We now no longer know if we will be able to. Unfortunately, I will not be able to get in with this doctor until July, however, I will be going to my PCP and she will be able to make the call if she feels it is necessary to contact the other doctor and go ahead with a surgical evaluation immediately, or if it is not as bad as it feels and just a little something that can be easily treated for the time being.

Also, I need to have surgery on my leg. It's not major. I have a skin lump that is somewhat painful. They're pretty positive it's not cancerous, since it seems to be attached to my skin, but it is dangerously close to my one nerve, so they have to evaluate how, or if they will actually be able to remove it without causing damage. This is, by far, the least of my issues.

Other than that, I'm doing okay. Some days are better than others, but I'm not complaining. People in Haiti are living in hunger and despair. Men and woman are dying fighting for our freedom. And, as unhappy as this is, people are tortured and killed daily by serial killers and other evil beings. Considering, I have it pretty good. To complain would be selfish.

I would like to thank Zoe and Vivi Ann for being absolutely amazing human beings. You both are aspiring and wonderful. I both love and appreciate your comments. I am here for you girls no matter what you may need. Never hesitate to ask. Also, if everyone could congratulate Zoe on graduating, that would be awesome.

I will now leave you with a few quotes from my new obsessionally favorite show In Plain Sight. What you need to understand is that Mary is the dominate personality, who kicks ass and says it as it is, rarely caring if she offends anyone. Marshall is overly smart and often shares unwanted information with her, however, he is also very calm and unexpected, and quite sarcastically he shoots random comebacks out of his mouth in the most mellow ways possible.

Mary and Marshall, US Marshals and partners, are sifting through a list of websites that one of their witnesses is hosting, suspecting he's doing something wrong. They're looking for any websites that may sound funky, when Marshall comes across one.

Marshall: "CowsAreEvil.com"
Mary: "Undeniable."

Obviously, that wasn't the website they were looking for. When they do find it, this occurs.

Mary: "Here's something. SexySerge.com."
Marshall: "Do I want to look?"
Mary: "Just man up and do it."
Marshall: "Ugh, I'm going to be sick."
Mary: "Throw up later. We have to go."

This is a testament to Mary's personality if there ever was one.

Also in that list of websites.

Marshall: "SwifferMuseum.com. Why? How? WHY?!?"

This next little exchange is my personal favorite. The set up is that Mary is driving down the street and sees her troubled mother running down an alley in only a leotard. What she doesn't know is that her mother is auditioning for a play and had a dance rehearsal. In a panic, she calls Marshall, who also happens to be her best friend.

Marshall: "Hey, are you on your way in?"
Mary: *Pause* "I think my mother is a prostitute."
Marshall: *Without missing a beat* "So you're going to be late?"

Mary and Marshall go to pick up a witness at a federal state prison. Mary thinks Marshall drives like an old man and Marshall would rather walk than let Mary drive. Mary always wins.

Mary: "Give me the keys! I'm driving!"
Marshall: "Don't drive like you stole it."

During one episode, a child's father shot and killed his mother in a drug deal gone wrong. The father got sent to prison, the child testified and got put into WitSec with another family that was already in WitSec. Over the course of six months, they become close. Suddenly the charges are dropped against the father, he is released, and has signed a petition to regain custody of his son. Obviously this is a bad idea, so Mary, Marshall and their boss, Stan, fly out to settle this. They are speaking with the father's lawyer, who is a total jerk.

Mary: "How many times a week do people tell you, you suck?"
Lawyer: *To Stan* "You let her speak to me like this?"
Stan: "It seems like a valid question."

I think you all know me well enough to know that I am all about witty, individual characters who can not be compared to other characters, and say very inappropriate things that most networks wouldn't let anyone else get away with. This is what I appreciate about this show. The sarcasm is high, and the inappropriate answers Mary, as a US Marshal, slides by with would never be allowed in real life, but are true.

That being said, I shall leave you with this and this.

Put Me In An Asylum and I'd Still Hurt Myself

I have the running joke that I could hurt myself sitting down in a padded room with nothing else in it. This, in fact, is not so much of a joke as it is a play on the awful truth. If put to the test, I could do the above without even trying. If I tried, it would never happen. It only happens when I try to be careful. To back this up, I have a few stories to tell. These all happened in a two hour period on the same night.

Recently, my mom had to work some night shifts taking care of an elderly lady to supplement some extra income while she gets her real estate career up and going. She knows my penchant for getting hurt, mixed with the fact that I’m sick and it only gets worse at night. She told me to please be careful and not kill myself while she was gone. She should not have said this, because this naturally meant I was going to manage to hurt myself, and only because I was trying to be careful.

The night started out simple enough. I decided to take a bath. How can one really hurt themselves taking a bath? Okay, I realize there are ways, but I’ve taken thousands of baths in my life. I would be fine. This was one of the biggest lies I ever told myself.

And what did I do, you wonder? I was sitting in the bathtub all happy, my back up against the tub, soaking and reading a magazine. I have no idea what happened or how to replicate such, but the next thing I knew it I was completely immersed in the water. How I slid under while sitting and not moving is beyond me, and it took me a few seconds to get my head back out and readjust myself. Once I did I laughed and joked to myself that, that was my official attempt to kill myself while trying to be careful, and I would be fine from now on in. I got it out of my system.

This was a nice thought I had, but it was severely and dangerously wrong.

A little while later I headed into the bathroom to wash some tea hair dye out of my hair. I get showers on a regular basis, naturally, so this was nothing new. I hopped in the shower, got halfway done with my hair, and then my body decided to fall right on over and meet the floor. I’ve never fallen while getting a shower. I’ve fallen getting out of the shower since we have a garden tub with a step, but it was just a given that I’d wipe out on the step regardless of the treads we put on it. To top it off, I still have no idea how in the hell I managed to fall while getting a shower.

At this point, I realized that if I tried to do anything else physical, I would most likely find a way to kill myself. I was not yet hurt, so if I had half a brain in my head, I would just lie down and call it a night. It was late anyway.

This was exactly what I did. Remote in hand, I laid down on the couch and began channel surfing. Now, folks, I lie on the couch every single night and watch a little bit of television. I’ve never gotten hurt doing so. Okay, so with me it’s not safe to say never. Rarely, may be the better phrase, but that’s beyond the point.

I was minding my very own business, when I moved to readjust myself and somehow managed to flop off of the couch where my head promptly made a date with the coffee table. Every damn day I sit on this couch and never had this happen. I guess I was living up to some unknown status quo. At this point I just gave up and went to bed. When I woke up, I had no known new bruises. The key word here could quite possibly be “known.”

They say you learn a new lesson everyday, and trust me, I did. Just for the record the lesson that day: I should never live alone. Period. If I so much as think about it I am obviously writing my own death sentence.

Let me also point out that today I happened to be around a bunch of bees, ones in which I had to pass several times. I never once got stung. Folks, how does this work?

While I was out today, my mom and myself got behind a horrible driver which reminded me of a story that happened about two years ago, but never fails to make me laugh. I must share.

Awhile back they were widening the roads in our little town. I use the term town loosely. What we actually have is one two lane road that spans a half of a mile, with businesses heavily lining both sides of the road. PennDOT made the decision to put an extra turning lane it. It was about time. This was the first good idea they had...ever. The way they went about it, however, it was very indigenous to the genius that define that company.

While I tell this story, please keep in mind that the main point of our town is that it is a port for both FedEx and UPS, as well as a tourist and trucker stop over, as several roads merge here. There is this one road that goes straight through town, and unless you live here, it is very difficult to bypass the main road to get from one side of that half mile stretch of road, to another. If you do have to go out around, instead of traveling a simple half mile, you end up traveling about ten minutes around. We live in the country here, kids.

With common sense in mind, this would tell PennDOT that the smart way to handle widening the road would consist of doing one of two things. One would be to only shut down one lane while they worked on digging out one side of the road at a time as not to confuse and stop traffic. Two would be to work on this in the middle of the night, since the hotels sit far enough back off of the road that the people sleeping in them would not be disrupted, and everyone would be mostly hunkered in for the night.

PennDOT did neither. Instead, they chose rush hour to shut down a quarter of mile right in the middle of the busiest part of the road. On one side of the road was the only bridge to every highway needed, and on the other side of that half mile were the hotels. This obviously caused problems, not to mention that UPS can’t get their trucks down the small back roads to even get to any of the highways. Obviously this caused problems.

Then there was me, totally unknowing that PennDOT was going to be dumb enough to do this in the middle of the day. I ordered a pizza. I went to get said pizza, only to realize that I was a quarter of a mile from Pizza Hut and had to back up and go ten minutes around just to get it. I thought about giving up, but there was no food in the house and I was hungry. There were just a few back roads standing between myself and yummy, yummy pizza, so of course I made the ridiculous decision to go around.

As soon as I turned around, a van pulled right out in front of me by turning around in the middle of the road, almost hitting me. I was angry, but not as angry as I was about to be. Said van was obviously lost. I realized this when he started to drive in front of me quite quickly, but then would suddenly stop dead in the middle of the road until I caught up with him. I couldn’t figure out what the person driving the van was doing until I put my turn signals on, only to watch him make a sharp turn in front of me and go the way my turn signal had indicated. It quickly hit me what was going on.

We began our travel down the back roads, all of which have large hills, lots of blind spots and lots of sharp turns. Instead of the van driving slowly, he would once again go quite fast, and then all of a sudden I would turn a corner and almost rear end him going a nice, cool 25 miles an hour, because the roads were too dangerous to go much faster. After putting my turn signals on several times to have him turn suddenly in front of me, and almost hitting him a half dozen times in five minutes, I was ready to eat him.

The moral of the story: if you’re going to try to find your way around by going the same way someone else is, at least pull over into someone’s driveway and get behind that person, instead of almost causing them to wreck.

The situation got more dangerous when cars started to pile up behind me. It was no longer feasible for me to stop dead to keep from hitting this moron that had a penchant for stopping on the most blind turns possible. I was going to get rear ended, and this guy was being incredibly rude by not just getting behind me. Because it is in my good nature to politely continue showing a tourist the proper way to go, I did the nicest thing possible and deceived him.

We were coming up to a T in the road, and having caught on to his game, I put on my turn signal to go right. As expected, the driver took the bait. I then quickly switched my turn signal to the left and sped on out of there as the driver of the van sat stopped in the middle of the road waiting for me to catch up to him. I swear I could hear the people behind me cheer as they all hurried out of the road, several of them cutting the van off as he tried to turn around. At this point, after this van had almost caused several accidents, no one wanted the van in front of him.

So when you’re driving, please remember if you want to follow someone and are lost, it’s customary to pull over and get behind said person. As long as you don’t ride the person’s ass and consistently stop so fast you almost hit them on purpose, they will much oblige to showing you the proper way to go.

I’m going to end this post simply by telling Zoe that I will write you on Facebook, since she is an amazingly sweet girl.

House Hunting and Heartbreak - And So It Is

As promised, this blog will be all about helping Mike house hunt, and the adventures that have occurred along the way. In fact, we’ve had so many adventures that this whole blog will be dedicated to them, with a little story of matters of the heart that snuck its way into the end. To be fair, I will only tell you the stupid things that happened directly to me, because if I start telling you what’s happened with Mike, he might feel like my blog friends are stalking him and that wouldn’t be cool. Or would it?

I don’t even know where to start, so I’ll start at the beginning because that seems like the craziest thing to do, and I like to shake it up here on my blog. Before I get into the technical mumbo jumbo of all the incidents I’ve caused, or that have occurred around me, I would like to mention that my mom is Mike’s real estate agent. Even if she wasn’t, I would probably still go with him to look at houses because he is uber quiet and likes opinions. I know you’re all shocked by this, but opinions, I got them. Lots of them.

Two Sundays ago, Mike began his hunt. This was also the first time I would be meeting his mother, who was going along with us to also give her opinions. I was unsure how to handle her, as I had been told she was pretty conservative, but also liked Lil Jon and the East Side Boyz. I decided to be safe and stay quiet around her, which is something I don’t do well. About three minutes after meeting her I realized this was unnecessary and absolutely decided I loved her. Then things got awkward.

In order for this to make sense, you have to understand that I’ve known Mike for around two years, but until recently, he was simply a friend of a friend that wasn’t a close friend. I know it may take reading that a dozen or so times for it to make sense. Sorry. The first time I met him and ever really had a conversation with him was when said other friend and myself didn’t know what to do and decided to head over to his house to hang out with other people I didn’t know while his parents were away. This being said, I had been in his house before, but because his parents were away, they didn’t know this, and because I only recently become good friends with Mike, I didn’t know his parents either. Everyone with me?

Mike had gone to his mom’s house, since we live just miles apart, to pick her up for the house hunt. We were running early so we went inside. After a few minutes of talking, his mom made a mention of showing me around the house, to which Mike replied that I had been there before. The look on his mom’s face? Priceless. Her comment? Even more priceless.

“Oh, when was this?!” Alone, this comment is not scary, but imagine this in a completely shocked, petrified, really sweet, yet accusing voice of horror. While I tried not to bust out laughing and let Mike handle this, since there was nothing to handle and this was his mom, he proceeded to not catch on to what his mom was thinking and handled it in funniest way possible.

“Like two years ago when you and dad were on vacation.” It took everything in me to not absolutely die of laughter. His mom was horrified, he was oblivious, and I was in the middle of it knowing that nothing was even remotely how it sounded. Absolutely this was the best way to get to know his mom. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Within the first ten minutes we got the things that sounded uncomfortable, but really weren’t, out of the way.

Eventually I had to step in and explain that I was friends with one of his other friends who did know his parents, and we had come over when two of their other friends and his brother were also home. Confusing, I realize. It took her a second, but she realized that obviously I was seeing how bad this sounded, and looked her straight in the face while saying this, so it must be true. She breathed a sigh of relief and then got a kick out of it. I’m unsure if Mike is still confused about what went on there or not, but I appreciate his innocence and the fact that it led to one of the most awesome parent meeting moments ever.

With that debauchery under our belt, I couldn’t see what else could happen to top that as the day went on. I was, however, looking towards many more awkward conversations. Did I get those awkward conversations? Unfortunately, no. Did I top that debauchery? I did, and at the first house, yet. Ah, the Gods were with me, my friends.

We met up with my mom at the office, and after some unimportant mumbo jumbo, we were off and ready to rock. I would like to take a moment here to notate that as soon as Mike and I were comfortably settled in the back seat of the car, our moms told us that we needed to behave or there would be no ice cream for either of us. We behaved as best as we probably could and I even kept the comments to myself (more about this later), and yet Mike ended up buying the ice cream. I mean, you throw a few pieces of cereal at each other, and suddenly you get no ice cream?

Unfair? I think so.

When we arrived at the first house, it was clear someone was a “talented” photographer, and by talented, I mean they were besties with photo shop, because the house was far more worse for wear than the pictures online chose to show. All in all, it wasn’t a total loss, though. It just needed a little paint and TLC. That was until we got to the backyard.

I would like you all to take a moment and prepare yourself for the following, because this is the kind of thing that only happens in the movies. I promise you this isn’t a premise for a script I’m working on. I couldn’t even dream this up. This actually happened.

We got into the backyard and learned that it was quite...well, tall, and no one had mowed since it Bush was in office. That was okay, though, because it was a large fenced in yard with shrubbery in the back for privacy, even if the shrubbery needed trimmed. Or was it shrubbery? Maybe it was a tree that fell down. Huh.

Not being able to tell with the yard in such despair, and being in the only one in high boots, I decided to trek out and end this little mystery. I am happy to report it was just shrubbery. I am sad to report that inside of it was a newly dead, non rotted, deer. Yeah, you heard me. And before you even say it, it was certainly not a fake deer. Here in Pennsylvania, we know the difference. It was definitely real, and if it wasn’t definitely dead, it knew how to sleep like a pro. I didn’t stick around long enough to find out after I confirmed what I saw was a seemingly dead, completely log like deer.

There’s so many questions that go along with this. They include, how did a deer get into and die in the shrubbery? He didn’t smell, so how long had he really been dead? Did he come complimentary with the house, or was he extra? Was it even a he?

Needless to say, he did not buy this house right on up based on the amazing upkeep of the property. I don't need to explain the sarcasm dripping through the word amazing there, do I?

The next few houses went off without a hitch. I mean, I’m sure here were several hitches, but considering I had just found a deer in shrubbery, the other houses seemed completely hitch free.

Then we reached the house with lesbian neighbors. Please keep in mind that no one minds that the neighbors were lesbians. This effects no one, except Mike, who got a little overly excited. Then my mom pointed out that they are basically neighborhood patrol and will tell you if you’ve been, and I quote “a bad boy.”

This was said towards Mike, who instantly looked at me for a comment, because we all know I had one. There was a nice pause while everyone waited for me to comment, but dear readers, I’ll have you know that I did no such thing. Because his mom was in the car, and only for that reason, I kept it to myself until hours later when his mom was no longer in the car and I could say it. I don’t even need to share this comment. You all have read my blog long enough to guess the ballpark that the inappropriateness was in.

After avoiding saying something that everyone was just waiting for me to say, we arrived at the last house. Now I know this comes as a shock to all of you, but I am a klutz. In case you haven’t noticed from any of my other eighty four posts, I get hurt a lot on nothing. If there is something present that I could obviously get severely hurt on, I will waltz right past it happily, sit down, and then fall off the couch in a way that no one can explain or repeat, and end up with six bruises and a sprained wrist. This is how I roll...literally.

As we were walking through the house, I was in the lead with Mike’s mom close behind me. My mom and Mike were still out on the built in porch, while his mom and myself were inside opening the door to the pantry. When we opened it, it was obvious this was not a pantry, but a door to Narnia. By Narnia, I mean it was a door to the basement and there was no panty. In my excitement to see where this mysterious door led, I hastily turned the corner and slid, barely missing falling down the steps by a few inches, which I thinks surprised me more than if I would have taken a swan dive down them.

When I regained myself, I looked down to realize the stairs had rubber matting on them to keep uncoordinated morons from tumbling down them ever so ungracefully, and meeting a very untimely demise. I mumbled to myself, “it’s like they knew I was coming.” About five seconds later, after Mike’s mom arrived at the stairs, I heard her bust out laughing. Yep, she heard me say that right after she saw me almost wipe out. I think laughing was really her way of agreeing. Going with that one.

Also, while we were at that house, I would like to point out that Mike clearly attempted to abuse me. I was nice enough to bring a clipboard for him to use to write his personal comments about each house on the papers about said houses. This was obviously a bad idea to give him something he could use as a weapon. Apparently I made one too many comments about his pet frog, and BAM! He tried to beat me with my very own clipboard. I, of course, dodged him gracefully, and by gracefully I mean I went inside and almost fell down the steps immediately following this.

And to explain the frog thing, Mike doesn’t have a frog. Mike wants a frog, not a dog, but his mom and my mom kept mentioning how he would have room for a dog, because some of the houses had great backyards. I then began picking on him that the yards were nice for his frog he wants to get. He comes after me instead of them. I’m still confused.

Our day promptly wrapped up and we all went home, and then came back out two days later and did it all over again, only we just went to one house that had just gone on the market, and we were minus Mike’s mom. This somehow caused more debauchery without her there, than it would with her there. This was a win, however, because the selling realtor seriously embarrassed herself. Let me regal you with this tale.

As I mentioned, the house we were going to see had just been put on the market that day, so the selling agent was to meet us at the house, as she was going there anyway to get the key off of the owners. My mom wanted me to not say that I was her daughter, because it looks unprofessional for her to drag her daughter along to show houses, even if my friend is the buyer. It’s a no-no in the business, so she decided we’d just tell the agent that Mike and I were just friends. I knew immediately this was going to blow up in our faces somewhere down the line, I just didn’t think it’d end up being so hysterical.

We got to the house, introduced ourselves, said I was Mike’s friend, and went on our merry way. The real estate agent led us around and told us all about the house, pointing out that there was plenty of room for a nursery and the house was in a great school district. Mike has no need to worry about this, but it’s the realtor’s job to point all of this out. She’s also the first realtor that was actually at the house while we were there. For the other houses, they were either empty, or had lock boxes so the realtors weren’t needed. Either way, nothing was thought of this and all was well and good.

We got the whole way through the house and my mom and Mike sat down in the dining room to go over the disclosure. I helped the selling agent find the owners' cat. Once we successfully had Sir Fluffy Pants in sight (This may or may not be the cat’s real name. I will never tell.), the agent pulled me aside and happily asked me if Mike was my boyfriend. She was more or less pointing it out in acknowledgment than asking. Somehow, I knew this was coming. The look on her face when I told her no? Priceless. The look on mine when I realized from the look on her face that the reason she was talking about school districts and nurseries was not just because she was doing her job? Just as priceless. I’m not sure who got the last laugh in this, but I’m pretty sure it was me. Lucky for her, the house sold before Mike put in an offer and she never had to see me again. Somehow, I think she and I will live with this just fine.

I would also just like to point out that while we were in this specific house, the realtor also pointed out that the very embroidered flowered curtains would be leaving with the owners, much to the male counterpart’s chagrin. Mike takes one look at the curtains and then proceeds to say, “I’ll fight her for them.” Mike is usually quiet and obviously hated these curtains. It was awesome. The realtor then added that everything was negotiable. I love house hunting.

On a more somber note, I was talking to Miss Zoe a little earlier on Facebook, and I told her I would write of something on my blog. So Zoe, this is my unfun explanation of why I am sad, but I also think this is a good story to tell, because it goes along with the Friend saga, and it’s fair that others get to hear this hoping that maybe it will help another girl with a little bit of heartache.

Before I get into this, however, I would like to thank Zoe for being amazing and caring. If there is anything I can ever do for you, please never hesitate for a second to ask.

As you all know from prior entries, I contacted Friend to apologize for the way I had treated him. I did not want something from him when I did this. In fact, I didn’t even expect him to ever respond, and if he did, I did not expect it to be ever so polite. I just knew I had to apologize because he deserved an apology, and for no other reason. If I had known what has now happened was going to happen, I may not have done so, because I’m pretty sure I was prepared for anything but this.

Friend did get back to me and we did talk via Facebook. This was great and I was completely happy with the outcome, as we had worked things out and put the past in the past. I could not have asked for a better outcome and life went on. The only problem with this was that a lot more things were brought up as life tumbled down the dusty trail.

Lately, I started to notice that a friend of whom I shall not identify, and myself were getting fairly close. I was wondering if I could ever like this person as more than a friend. This person also reminds me of exactly who Friend used to be back in the days when I loved him but was too afraid to admit it, and before everything went oh so wrong. I was forced to sit down and really think out if I could actually like said other person, or if I did if it would only be because he reminded of me Friend. It took me several days to figure this out, and within these days, I had a little issue with said person. At the exact same time, and I do mean within the same hour of this issue happening, Friend left me a little message on Facebook. This answered everything for me.

Simply put, I am very much still in love with Friend, who seems to have gotten his life back together and have his head on his shoulders. He did what he couldn't do a year ago, and literally had to hit rock bottom to pick himself back up again. There was nothing anyone could do for him, and to this day, I know this. But now he is very much like old Friend, but more mature, more grown up, and I know in my heart I am ready to be with him and do not want the other person. In fact, I don't want any other person but him. This is great because Friend has a girlfriend and there’s nothing I can do about it, nor would I ever interfere. It’s rude and disrespectful to both Friend and his girlfriend, even if my intentions are sincere. Not so great, I know.

I am currently struggling with what to do. It is absolutely breaking my heart every time I hear from Friend, only I don’t want him to stop contacting me. I don’t want to let him go again, but I have to figure out if I can accept that I had my chance and it has passed. It is simply too late. I was not ready to be with him before, and there was nothing wrong with that, but now I have to accept that the dices have rolled in a new favor. Love is a game of Russian Roulette.

I have sincerely toyed with the fact of asking Friend to no longer contact me, but where is that going to get me? That would be a terrible thing to do, especially after I am the one who contacted him to apologize for walking out on him before. Besides that, there’s two problems with this idea. I don’t want him to, and I owe him an explanation if I do not want to be in the same boat as I was when I decided to contact and apologize to him. History does not need to repeat itself here.

Now normally I would have no issues being honest with him, but considering he has a girlfriend, I find this wildly inappropriate. Even if I did simply say to him that I still love him, I realize now that I could easily be one hundred percent all in with him and just go for it like I’ve wanted to for the past almost four years that I’ve known him but have been too scared, but I am choosing to no longer speak to him because this is unfair to his girlfriend and his relationship and I don’t want to hurt either of them, this is still going to do damage. I refuse to do that. If I'm not honest with him, that would be just as bad, and quite frankly, I wouldn't even know what to tell him.

Sometimes just knowing something can be harmful to a relationship. I don’t know if he still has feelings for me. I believed him when he said he loved me before, and he made me feel love. It was more than words, it was a feeling. If he truly loved me the way I believed he did, this could cause problems all across the board and I just refuse to do that. I don’t know what he has going on with his girlfriend, or any details about the relationship, but it doesn’t matter. I respect the relationship and that is between the two of them. But how do I go on being friends with him without being able to tell him how I feel? How do I walk away without telling him how I feel or giving an explanation, and especially when I don’t want to walk away?

I’ve never been this confused and unknowing of what to do. Every time he contacts me, he proves that he has grown up and he is someone I could one hundred percent go all in with. No one has made me feel the way he has ever. No one has made me trust them or sparked something within me like he has. I love when he contacts me and I revel in talking to him, but then realty hits and it just hurts so badly. I have no use for these feelings, and no idea what the right thing to do here would be.

I feel if you truly love someone, you will let things be as they are and be happy for them. I do truly love Friend and that's why I choose not to tell him about my feelings. But when does the point come where my heart is in so many pieces I can't glue it back together again after each time I talk to him? I realize I caused my own problems by not being ready to be with him before, but life worked out for the both of us how it should have in terms of where we both sit now. I just feel like decisions have to infinitely be made now, and the one my heart tells me to make is to just stick this out and see how things are in a few months, or even a year. I just don't know if I can, but I don't want to let him again. I learned in the year we did not speak, that he's not someone I want out of my life.

I’m going to say something that the Neiers use ever so often when they’re stuck in a situation they can not understand or figure out how to work through, as it’s beyond their control. I think this truly reflects the situation as best as humanely possible.

And so it is.