Happier.

I have so much to tell you all about, but right now I want to add something to my last post. More specifically, I want to add a video. It's called Happier by A Fine Frenzy, and she's right...I am happier.

Friend is just a troublemaker, but he causes his own trouble. He always has, and as much as I feel bad for him and want to help him, anymore, I just don't share that same thought. If you make your bed, you have to lie in it. Now he's getting kicked out of his apartment. This is not the first time this has happened in the last year from what he's told me. He was homeless before on his own doing. All this and he still hasn't changed. I can't hold on to what someone used to be. I can be here for him when he really falls, but he's down that before and has hurt me instead of accepted my help. I never want to leave him feeling alone, but I also refuse to enable his actions.

The End of the Aisle

There’s a phrase that I’ve always loved, and hated all the same. Our relationship is barely new, but it feels like it every single time this phrase comes up. I guess saying I have a relationship with a phrase is an overstatement, considering having a relationship with anything means it knows you exist also. A phrase can not know one exists, but it can be used over and over again.

As a woman, as a human being, and as someone with a beating heart, sometimes I feel like a phrase and a punch line.

Sometimes I feel like, “if you have something to say, say it. Life is too short.”

There is so much truth to this phrase, yet people often don’t realize that it’s the biggest lie of all. I respect the people who can say what they want to say, but not everyone, even the strongest of people, says everything they want to say.

There’s a million reasons for this, but one is that, often times, it is just not appropriate to say what you want to say, no matter how short life is. Sometimes you do it because you are scared, others because you are trying to protect someone else. Either way, there’s always a reason and always a valid excuse for why you can’t say what you want to say when it matters the most.

Sometimes you just can not without ruining the entire situation and making things one hundred times worse than they are, so you would sacrifice saying that one thing just to keep things as they are and not make a mess of things, or hurt anyone.

Sometimes you don't say what you want to say even though you are fully ready to say it, and you don't know why. It's there on the tip of your tongue, and the voice in your head tells you not to say it. It begs you.

On the flip side, sometimes you do say something that needs to be said and it still blows up in your face when the person refuses to hear you. Sometimes it’s completely innocent, or a response to something that sets someone off and leaves you wondering what in the world just happened, because this was one very pleasantly normal thing that should not have ever become a line of contention.

For years, I've struggled with saying too much or too little and just living my life. Today I would like to share with you two things that have happened because of the former and the latter.

We all know about Friend by now, and hopefully this is the last post concerning him. It's no secret that I've struggled our whole relationship between telling him things, and not saying things. Then, at the end of the grand scheme of things, I was swallowed by tears for what I had not said.

But no more, my friends. No more. Sometimes things come to you slowly, in little pieces and lessons learned. Other times they slam right into you like a freight train going full speed, and knock you backward so hard that you barely realize it when you hit the ground.

The other night I had a dream. This dream involved marriage and weddings, and for those of you who know me best, you know that marriage isn't at the top of my to do list. Sure, I would love to be married if I found the right person, but the years of living with someone who tries to make me who they want to make me has left a sour taste in my mouth when it comes to tying myself down to someone else. I like being myself by myself. This isn't to say I'd rather be alone than with anyone else, it's just to say that I am okay and stable in who I am and can be alone without feeling lonely. If I don't get married, I will not crumble or seize to exist from loneliness. It will simply not be so. And besides, I have Greta Hayley.

In this dream I was taking a course on wedding planning, which is the field that I want to go in to. Wedding planner by day, novelist by night. In this class, our final test was to pair up with a fellow classmate, male or female, and create and go through with a mock wedding. This included the dress, the bridesmaids, and the whole fake "I Dos." Now, I realize they don't actually do this in wedding planning courses. Even in my dream I knew it, but I soon found out that wasn't the point of my dream.

I became vehement toward getting fake married to someone I didn't love. This sounds stupid, I know, but to me it wasn't. I couldn't plan a fake marriage, especially when marriage isn't at the top of my list, and then fake it with someone I didn't want to spend my life with. The sanctity of marriage and the personal touches that go along with planning one for oneself is something I always thought should be best be saved for when you are meeting someone you cherish at the end of the aisle. And that would be okay if that was the main reason I couldn't do it.

In my mind, I was marrying Friend at the end of days, no matter what, soul for soul. That's how I felt. In my dream he also had a girlfriend, but I knew that one day we would just end up together, and I was so sure that we were meant to be together that I refused to go through with the project, further explaining this to my professor. How it ended isn't important.

This dream haunted me for many days. I talked to a friend about it, but then recoiled. I felt confused, lost, but most of all I couldn't figure out why I would have a dream like this about Friend when I never had any plans on marrying him anyway. It was never a thought. But in my dream I was so sure, so positive that he was my only love that I can't even explain it. That's what bothered me the most.

I chewed on this thought for days, having no other choice. Then, one night, just as the dream came to me, a dose of reality followed. I love Friend. I will always love Friend. Maybe I didn't tell him, and maybe all the things I needed to say didn't get said, but I now know that is best. Friend and I would never work out. Friend likes the bottle and so does his family. I like good, clean fun. No matter how I slice the way he treats me, at the end of the day this is a huge lifestyle problem that I know I will inevitably have to choose between. The choice will always be sobriety over Friend, because I've fought hard to keep myself clean, not ever get drunk, not do drugs, or go to parties where people constantly get in fights and where you have to sometimes call the police at family functions. This isn't Friend's life.

I deserve better than that. So does he, quite frankly, but he's made his choice. Maybe not better than the way he treats me, but better than the drinking and the fights. I don't have much of a family, so I want to marry into one that will become my own. They don't have to be perfect; I don't want perfect. I want real. They're not going to make the best choices, but at least I don't have to worry about punches being thrown and behavior I am unprepared for. I am a tame girl.

The same goes for Friend. He's always been amazing to me, but when he drinks or gets in one of his "moods," he can be so far less than stellar. He's inconsistent, and I chose to only hang around him when the bottle was in the fridge, so I spent time seeing him how I wanted to see him. I can't escape that in a marriage. I simply do not want the life he has to offer. I do not have to take it.

I always knew this, but for some reason it hit hard the other night. I did not cry; I still haven't. I don't feel upset or sorry for any of this. It isn't him I want and that's not a lifestyle I want to live. I would rather be alone than deal with the issues that come along with a lifestyle that he admittedly won't get help for. No matter how much he's changed, without help, he will never be the person he used to be and I can't hang on to that anymore.

Subsequently, had I told him all the things I wanted to, it would only hurt worse now. He would find me contradicting myself six ways from Sunday, when at least before I was honest about not being sure if I could be with him. I hesitated then for a reason and I should hesitate now.

The only question remains is the one that asks if we can still have a relationship. I don't know the answer to that. We haven't talked in quite awhile and I haven't been more fine with that. I don't not want him in my life, but I feel like if he's in my life, we'll be each other's bad habit. Something happens when we're around each other without us ever trying, and neither can deny it. It's like the stars circling the universe at the speed of light just to put on a show for us. Now we lie the fallen stars and I've never been safer inside knowing this. I will always wish him the best and the most happiness ever imagined, and the same for myself.

Many moons ago when I was young and not as sick, so three years ago, I had a good friend I will call J. I adored everything about J and then things started to go wayward. I had an odd relationship with another friend who she did not know, but knew of. She also knew about our friendship and the funny and odd moments we had together. I was also like his pseudo mother, because goodness only knows where his was. The friend who introduced us thought this was the best thing ever and someone needed to hold him responsible for his actions. J did not agree.

One day J sent me an email about all the things I was doing wrong with the other friend, even though she did not know him or our relationship, just some of the things about it. I was understandably angry. I debated letting it go, but it was too big of a thing and I could not, so I spoke on it. I did it in the nicest way I could, explaining that she did not know his response to our relationship and that we were fine. He had no issues with it and she needed to mind her own.

This caused a huge fight. We are no longer friends, but I still think about her and hope she is doing okay. I'm indifferent to the friendship and what happened, but I still sit back and wonder what exactly happened, since it happened so quickly. I also wonder if there wasn't something else brewing below the surface that made this happen. I wonder if she didn't think I would defend my relationship with other friend, or what brought it up in the first place. Maybe I blocked that part out.

Whether we say things or not, we will never have all the answers. We're best to sit back, enjoy the ride, and learn that one day, most things will make sense. But sometimes they're not meant to. Another situation will eventually come along, one similar, and we'll be able to make a better judgment call than we did last time, because of where we've been. We have to go there to get to the end.

Shortcakes and Arrests

So, way to bring down the room with that last post, right? I wrote it and I even brought myself down. Therefore, today I shall post something fun so that we can equal out the fun to pitiful ratio I had going on. I was initially going to put up a story about Aunt Bev, because I know she is a fan favorite and we all love Aunt Bev. However, because I strayed waywardly emo with the last post, I decided to go off the beaten, every day path and share some rare stories from the past.

Before I start, I would like to share two separate things with you; one of which is kind of exciting, at least for me, and another in which is something I’m contemplating. All in all, each thing leads to a possible new path for me if I choose to take it. We shall see.

I don’t know how many of you know this, but I am in love with baking. I’m probably more in love with baking than I’ve been with any boy, including Friend. This is no offense to any boy in my life, it’s just that I know baking will leave me with a fulfilling and joyous feeling at the end. Unless the baking comes out badly, then I usually end up laughing about how I could manage to make something suck that bad. Sometimes they dogs won’t eat it. But I digress. The fact is, I love baking. Period.

For awhile, I’ve wondered what it would be like to have my own little business baking, because as a general rule, no matter how I feel, I am usually up for a little bit of baking. It gets my mind off of things. The problem with this half-baked plan, pun intended, is that you can’t use regular, every day recipes. You must come up with your own recipes and own products to sell. Otherwise, you’re just providing the consumer with something they can get anywhere, and who wants that?

In my baking, I am particularly obsessed with cupcakes. I even watch all the cute shows about cupcakes. Although not as crafty with the icing sculptures, I can make a mean cupcake...out of a mix. Since I’ve been home and had some down time, I decided that since baking products are fairly inexpensive and last awhile, I would make my own recipes from scratch by mixing together things that are usually used in cupcakes, just not together.

I can finally announce that the fruits of my labor are starting to pay off. I learned that once you get the right combination and right basic recipe, it’s easy to substitute the flavorful ingredients with other equally delicious ones. And it looks like I have a hit. I made my first mixture of three different things that aren’t usually used in the same cupcake, and everyone seems to love them. Understand, I am around people who would tell me they were gross and proceed to pitch them into the trash and not eat them. I don’t know many gentle people, which is good in this case. I was actually told without mentioning it that I should sale these. They’re even Greta Hayley approved and the same color as her, so I think they shall be called Greta Hayley Cakes. Did I mention Greta doesn’t normally like cupcakes?

I also have one icing mixture that is unlike any other icing out there that everyone else wondered how I came across figuring out to mix certain ingredients together, but everyone loves. (Hint: It was pure dumb luck of not realizing I didn't have all the ingredients I needed. Little accidents.) It’s super different, and although it wouldn’t be my favorite icing on the cupcakes I made today, I now know the basics for both my cupcakes and my icings, and have already figured out the other mixtures I want to try, and the amounts of ingredients I need for each. Naturally, not all the mixtures will be super tasty, and I do like my cupcakes to have a flavor explosion in your mouth, but some will come just right.

As soon as I have a few different mixes, I’m going to contemplate how to properly start a small cupcake business. I don’t want to open a shop, just make some from home that people can order for parties and the like. I think the best way to do this may be to take free samples to places like my chiropractor, who I am friends with, and similar places to share with others. I even considered taking a few dozen to the community my grandmother lived in. If nothing else, it will be a treat for the residents. I also should make some of my own business cards. I think this could be a fun experience and I’m excited to see where it takes me.

Another new venture that I’m debating is one in writing, because the only thing I love more than baking, is writing. Recently I found a website called Bella Petite. It’s for medium to short people like myself; 5’5 and under. I like to say I’m 5’6, but I am not. I’m 5’4 and some change. I try to wear shoes to negate this, but let’s be honest, I’m a shortcake. I loved their site and signed up for a user account, only to find that I would be receiving a free magazine subscription to Bella Petite Magazine just by doing so. I have a little obsession with magazines, I will admit, so this was probably the best thing ever.

In the email I got confirming that I signed up on the site, there was a place on the bottom that said they were looking for contributing writers. If interested, you are to send your resume. I am honestly thinking about doing this. It’s considered an internship, so I wouldn’t get paid, but I don’t care about the money. I think this would be something that would suite me, and a good way to get to do what I love; write, while also working on my novel.

The only issue I have is that I don’t have a college degree due to being sick and unable to attend college. I also do not have any work experience in writing, other than being a receptionist at a counseling office for a friend. Even though I wrote well over fifty papers for him, I don’t count that because I was only helping him as a friend, and was not an official employee.

I am going to think this over a little more, but I think the best thing I can do is admit up front that I don’t have a college degree or work experience, but in a creative way. I can write a one page resume of my own kind, telling about the haphazard issue of my health’s disagreement with me, and why I think I would be an asset to the company, regardless. I would do it in a funny, entertaining way, giving them a taste of my writing skills, which I think would be an excellent resume, although unconventional. I could also link them over here to the blog, and to my fashion blog.

In this case, it’s the best I can do. If they like getting a sample of my writing without the traditional resume, then they like it. If they don’t, I think I sent them the best representation of myself as a person and as a writer, and that’s okay. As they always say, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Now, let’s get started on those stories of days passed, shall we?

There are times where I am reminded of stories from yesteryear. And by yesteryear, I mean more than two or three years ago. It’s about time I pull out the random, the ridiculous, and the stories that have nothing to do with one another to share with all of you.

Several years ago I worked at Lowes and befriended a girl who, for the life of me, has a name that I can not remember. For the sake of all things easy to understand, I will call her Amenna. Mostly because I know her name was either Amanda or Jenna, but I can’t remember which. I'm leaning toward her name being Jenna and her friend's Amanda, but I'm not sure. Sad, right?

One night after work, I was visiting Amenna’s house. She asked me if I had every played Dance, Dance revolution. I had not. She went looking for the pads, only to realize her brother must have taken them to the next door neighbors' house to play with the neighbor boy. She said that was okay, because we’d just go get them.

We walked over to the house and she didn’t bother to knock on the door. She simply went inside. It was really nice to see neighbors who were good friends; good enough friends that she could just walk into their house at anytime she wanted. Seeing how she had expressed that it was often she would end up with the neighbor's stuff, and they would end up with their stuff via her brother and his friend, I didn’t think this was weird. I thought they came and went as they pleased.

It wasn’t until after we were in there and she shoved me in a closet and followed behind me when someone came by, that I realized something was wrong. It wasn't until after she dragged me down the stairs, into the son’s room, found the pad, and pulled me out the basement door and out of the house, that she explained to me that her brother was welcome to come in and out as he pleased, but the neighbors hated her. Basically, we had just broken into someone’s house, me not even knowing we had done it. I felt so bad ass. Then, for the next week, I instantly hid every time I heard cop cars.

When I was around twelve, my mom put me into a daycare called Kindercare. For those who attended this place, it was known as Hell. The teachers didn’t watch the kids or reprimand them when they did something wrong. Unfortunately, our next door neighbor was one of the teachers and then became the head honcho of Kindercare while I was there, which is maybe why I have a slight disposition to being all cheery, cheery with her.

While I was there, I was pantsed by some kid who was popular at my school and a football player. His parents had money, so when he went around and pantsed several girls on the same day, the teachers did nothing. By nothing, I mean they pretended like it never happened. I, of course, told my mom this had happened, as this is completely mortifying at twelve, or pretty much at any age. My mom went to Kindercare and complained. They told her plainly that they weren’t going to do anything about it. My mom told me to stand up for myself if it happened again.

About a week later, I was at Kindercare and the kid pantsed me again. I punched him. I knocked the kid backwards and out cold. I got in trouble, me, with my pants around my ankles, whereas he did not. Although I don’t believe violence is the answer, I do not regret that punch. He never pantsed another girl after that and not another word was spoke about it. My friends and I also didn't get harassed by any of the other kids that liked to bully us. Sadly, it was kind of a win.

In truth, this is about as bad ass and I’ve ever been, and probably ever will be. Hopefully. Although my sign indicates I am most likely to get arrested. For what? Jaywalking. Because that’s the worst thing I do.

And can I do something that I never do and go off topic? By never, I of course mean all the time. I don't know how many of you have seen the recent show, Fact or Faked: Paranormal Files but the whole being arrested thing reminded me of a funny little moment on that show. They were investigating this video that has spread around the internet like wildfire. While doing this, they were replicating the police chase, so they asked their stunt expert, Austin, to ride in the police car with the cop. When he went to get in the car, he immediately got in the back. The cop laughed and told him that he wasn't in trouble, so he should get in the front. Without even a moment's pause, he goes, "Sorry, bad habit."

Anyone saying that is just funny, especially when you learn that this kid graduated with a major in biology and is a major geek in the good way. Anyone seeing him on this show would pretty immediately laugh for this reason. Most likely, the worst thing he's ever done is jaywalk as well, but hey, I don't know him, so I could be wrong.

Oh, and the answer to that video is that the car managed to drive under the fence, believe it or not, because two of the reams were loose on it. They were able to replicate it. Nothing paranormal there, folks.

Okay, back to yesteryear.

Long, long ago, back in the day when I was still young enough to be considered cute, my biological aunt rescued raccoons. Most of them were babies whose mothers had been hit by a careless car forgetting to slow down while cruising the streets. I was fortunate enough to get to spend time with these raccoons and learn that they are sweet, loving animals, and the only reason they come across so mean in the wild is because we are encroaching on their territory.

I got to help her raise a gaze of raccoons, and I learned something very special about one of them. His name was Zeke and he was a hairdresser. Well, he thought he was, anyway. You would be sitting there minding your own, when his cute little face would peak around the couch, and before you knew it he was all up in your business. He was licking his paws and parting your hair six ways from Sunday. It took him a good ten or fifteen minutes, but when he was finished with you, he would run around your front and check you out. If he was happy with the job he did, he'd get this look on his face that counted as a non-verbal self pat on the back. If he was not happy, he'd race back up behind you and fix your hair some more. And that's how I got my hair did by a raccoon.

Last but not least, I’d like to tell you one of the funniest stories I’ve ever heard that didn’t actually happen to me. I am so jealous that this didn’t happen to me. So jealous, because it involves two of my favorite things, gay guys and purses. When my friend told me this story, she indicated it was about an Asian guy and a purse. She also said it was the best thing ever. This was a pretty tall order to fill, but fill it she did.

She was attending an event having to do with football and band at a rival school, when this guy walks by. He’s Asian, has dyed red hair, eyebrow and ear piercings, is wearing a purple button down shirt, black slacks, and was carrying a little white leather purse over his shoulder. Do not adjust your eyes. It was, as she said, the most amazing thing she’d ever seen, which made me instantly jealous that I was not there and that she didn’t take any pictures.

If that weren't enough, later in the evening, she and her friend had made their way into the bleachers, when who comes along? You guessed it, the Asian guy with the purse. Only this time, the purse was gone. As he proceeds to pass by, the mom behind my friend goes “Oh look, he lost his purse.” It was nowhere to be seen. Excuse me while I end this blog to go laugh. Every time I hear this story, I break into a new set of hysterics.

Insert Title Here

Howdy cowpokes. Okay, unless you like horses this doesn't apply, and the last thing I want to do is alienate anyone. So let me begin again.

Hello everyone! Better?

I'm sorry for not updating lately. I don't necessarily think this post is going to be filled with glee and wonderment beyond reasonable proportions, but I will update you on where the hell I've been.

As some of you know, but I think most of you don't, my blood disorder has crept into my back. In the two years since I've been diagnosed with LA, I've never had this happen. The reason I know the pain in my back is from it is because the lacing rash that comes with my LA is covering my back. And man does it hurt. If I thought my legs and arms hurt, this held no candle to what my back feels like, which is making it difficult to get up to do much of anything. I don't know what made my blood disorder decide all of a sudden to move into my back, too, but here's the only reasons I can come up with.

*Some of the blood disorder got sick of my arms and legs and left to find new territory. The rest of it was happy where it was and stayed put.

*There was an argument between my arms, legs and blood disorder, so the disagreeing party left, while the part that did agree stayed.

*It thinks it's funny.

*It got bored where it was.

*It needed room to stretch out just to make sure no part of my body was left unscathed.

*It runs my body with an iron fist. It finally managed to scare the rest of my body into allowing it to creep into my back. And it is enjoying it there.

I've even had it in my face, people, but never my back. I haven't been able to feel my left leg in close to two weeks. I know it's there, but it's just numb. This has happened before, but not the whole way up to my back. The top of my leg is hard and swollen, and I'm beginning to worry about a blood clot. I'm over-worrying, I'm sure. I see the doctor next month, so I'll know for sure. If it gets worse between now and then, I'll go to the ER just to be checked since I know I'm highly susceptible to blood clots.

Also, I've been doing something really strange that I can't seem to explain. I am running into things. None of you are shocked by this because I'm a klutz, but it's not like that. I am watching where I'm going, looking straight at something, seeing I have plenty of room to pass it, and then, before I even realize what happened, I'll run into it. And I still didn't think I was close enough to do that. I had my eyes checked and they're fine. Better than fine, actually. I'm seeing better than 20/20, so I don't know what's causing this. Also, we've had the same furniture and arrangement for several years, so even if I'm not seeing things right, you would think common sense and habit would tell me when I was too close to something; like a wall.

I will also just fall over or fall into something at random. I won't feel it coming, I won't get dizzy, I won't feel funky, and then I'll just black out and fall into something. As you can imagine, I look like I got in a fight with a bully and lost badly. I can't figure out why I'm doing this, so if anyone has heard of anything like this, please let me know. I can't get in to see my doctor for another three weeks, and that's at her moving up the appointment for me. This is totally a new thing for me.

On top of that, I am having bigger problems than usual with my mom. For those of you who have known me for awhile, you know of the strained relationship with my mom. She has been diagnosed bi-polar by two different psychiatrists, but thinks she knows better and refuses to take the meds.

She also has a God complex, which makes her difficult to live with. I feel like her minion and nothing more. I don't even feel like her friend, and at this age, I think we should be friends. If I could move, I would. But right now with being sick I can't, and sometimes she makes me feel like I am a burden and being sick is my fault. I'm having a hard time right now even finding something to say to her or wanting to be around her, and she's all into my business when I hardly ever leave the house.

She's getting to where she suddenly wants to know what I'm doing online and is accusing me of having a boyfriend I'm not telling her about. I don't, and why that matters I don't know. I like my privacy and share what is relevant with my mom. I don't like everyone in my business and it, as well as my mom running over everything I try to do and claim that it's her right since I'm her daughter; in other words, her property. That's all I feel like I am to her sometimes.

So, for right now, I'm just having a hard time. I'm miserable from being sore and sick, and emotionally beyond my limit with my mom. As soon as I have something cheery to say, I promise I will be back to update. I don't want to add too much non cheeriness to this blog. I might make it cry.

The Things Men Do to Not Look Like A Jonas Brother

This post is long overdue by about a year, but I decided this would be the right time to tell these stories. In the last post, I talked about how my grandparents influenced my life more than mostly anyone I knew. When they passed, I felt like an orphan in my own way.

Today, I would like to tell you a little about my grandma. She was the most badass grandma I ever knew. If she was watching me type this right now, she’d be laughing. She would swear at old people who drove down the road and were in her way, albeit being old herself. She would speed. She would do what she wanted, when she wanted, and no one could take that away from her. If I turn out to be like her, I can’t complain. She was loved. She still is loved.

Last year, my grandma ended up in the hospital. This was when she was really starting to get sick and we knew that our time was becoming limited with her. If I were the one in the hospital, I would have been a bowl full of cranky. I don’t do well in hospitals. I can go for tests and appointments, but if you leave me there, I will have my own little panic attack. I don’t like feeling trapped and alone, and hospitals will definitely do that to you, but I digress.

Grandma hated hospitals as well, but she would never complain. If she did, it was in this sarcastic, Alex from Wizards of Waverly Place, kind of way. All you could do was laugh, which is exactly what she wanted you to do.

While in the hospital this particular time, she had an interesting roommate. Grandma, having nothing else to do, always made friends with her roomies. But this time she was roomed with a woman who must have been going into dementia. She wasn’t totally sure what was going on and kind of did her own thing. On top of that, she also needed oxygen to, well, breathe. I guess it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.

One day while we were there, she was told to do her arm exercises to keep her body strong while she was cooped up in a hospital bed. I’m not sure if this woman was a Maverick, really out of it, or just a bit cheeky, but she did the best thing ever. She proceeded to take the oxygen out of her nose, and use the chord that went in her nose to do her arm exercises. Yes, folks, she was using her oxygen tube as a weight.

Grandma’s response? “Oh, she does that all the time. A nurse will be in, in a few minutes to tell her to put it back in her nose so she doesn’t stop breathing and die.” A few minutes later, here came the nurse.

While there, we somehow got to talking about how Aunt Bev said she was leaving everything to me when she passed. Don’t ask me how this happened, because that conversation had nothing to do with Grandma and her being in the hospital, but it happened. Grandma just looked at me, hunkered down in her bed, and said “It wouldn’t be hard to kill her. All you’d have to do was push her down a flight of stairs.” Then she cackled and changed the subject. She was kidding, of course, but that was my Grandma.

When we were getting ready to leave, Grandma decided it was time for her to go home. She had it with staying in the hospital, since she was now just there for observation. She was done being observed, so she followed us to the elevator. The nurse, fearing she was going to try to run away, came over and told her she was not to leave. She wasn’t going to, but in fact, was just trying to freak out the nurses. It worked.

But the best part was when she told the nurse, “There’s no way you could ever find me if I did get in the elevator. It’s like Where’s Waldo in a hospital. All of us patients are dressed the same.” The nurse couldn’t disagree.

After we got on the elevator and began out descent down, it stopped like it often did for someone else to get in. It opened up to a little younger than middle aged guy who was an employee of the hospital. He looked at us confused and asked us what way the elevator was going. We told him down. He got in and started laughing.

He then proceeded to tell us that, no matter what floor he was on or where he was waiting for the elevator at, the buttons never lit up to tell him if the elevator that stopped was going up or down, so he never knew if he should get on it, because he didn’t know if it was stopping for him, or for someone else to get off. He then jokingly said it was a conspiracy, and that the elevators refused to tell him where they were going because they simply didn’t like him since he rode them several times a day. They felt overworked by him and were rebelling. I adore that guy.

Possibly the funniest story I have to tell happened on the way to the hospital the following day. We were stopped at a stoplight, and there was a group of people pushing a car onto a cart for towing in an empty parking lot. As we were watching them, we saw a midget make his way over and start talking to the people. There’s nothing funny about midgets unless they start singing “Follow the Yellow Brick Road,” except this midget was wearing mens' shorts as pants. You read that right.

And for the record, they were huge on him. He looked like he was going gangster with the big pants that were ready to fall down, but yet he didn’t get them long enough to reach his shoes, so his socks just stuck out randomly.

He was just round enough that childrens' clothing probably didn’t fit him, and mens' pants were too long. However, it was completely obvious he was wearing mens' shorts...as pants. We decided this was acceptable since his only other option was to buy pants for teenage boys, and he probably didn’t want to look like a Jonas Brother. We could understand, but I still don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard in my entire life. Thinking back on it, I still laugh. Just picture it for me. You’ll laugh, too.

The Angels Are On Her Now

This was supposed to be posted yesterday. I went to bed before I could proofread it. Sorry, guys!

Today I cleaned like nobody's business. This doesn't sound epic, but if you know me at all by now, you'll know this is for two reasons. One is that I managed to injure myself. That's right; I injured myself cleaning. Nothing major. I just ticked off my ankle that had a one hundred and twenty pound box come down on it three years ago. It wasn't supposed to heal. It did. I expected one day I would tick it off, and quite frankly, I don't blame it. Injuring yourself cleaning is funny enough to warrant the pain, so it's all good. I say that now...

Second, I clean when I need to think. I don't know why I do this, but for some reason I can get lost in all my thoughts while I clean, and then take out the feelings of those thoughts on the dusting, sweeping, etc. It's a healthy way to let my emotions out and clean my house, so it works for me. Unfortunately, or fortunately, for all of you, this post is going to be about the thinking that happened during cleaning and not about how I hurt myself. I actually don't know how I did it, I just did. Sorry there's not a better story to that. I know. I'm disappointed, too.

Yesterday and today were emotional days for me. I have no other reasoning for this other than it's that time of the month. If you're a girl you understand why that's relevant to this story. If you're a guy then I'll just tell you. That time of the month is the emotional equivalent of a woman being pregnant. I realize the irony in this considering you don't get your period when you're pregnant. I think this is our body's way of either preparing us for pregnancy, or making sure we have to act like a crazy pregnant lady in case we don't get pregnant. I'm not sure what my body is trying to tell me, but I'd like to think that I am on to its evil ways.

Anyway, I found myself with one particular thing that I needed to think about. That was, why I do the things I do when it comes to love. I'm the kind of girl who truly wants to be with someone, and then wants to be alone just as much. I can't have it both ways, and all I've ever wanted to know is why I feel this way; why I'm torn. How could one person want both things? What is causing that person to want to open their heart up and love, and then push everyone away who loves her back at the same time? I knew if I ever found the answer to this, I would find myself explaining the whys and hows to at least one person, if not several. I at least owe Friend that, if he would ask. Knowing him, eventually he probably will.

I didn't have an answer for anyone, not even myself, until today. I was just letting my mind wander, letting it run through all the reasons I felt like I had been socked in the heart over the weekend, when, in fact, I had not. The feeling was so overwhelming that I just let my mind go, and eventually, before I even knew it, by the end of day two, I had my answer without ever trying to find it.

I've had a lot of death happen in my life. Namely, the death of my grandparents. As you all know, my grandma died in January of this year. We knew the time was nearing, yet it was very sudden. We got a call and she was gone. I guess we expected it to go differently. I don't really even know anymore. In 2000, my grandpap died. He had cancer, but they didn't lead us to believe that he was as bad off as he was. One day we got a call that he was in his last of days. We were genuinely shocked. A year after he was diagnosed, he was just gone. I wasn't ready for that. Even if I had years to ponder it, I still wouldn't have been.

I was closer to my grandpap than my grandma. This is no disrespect to my grandma. When I was little and my mom was in school, or worked, I stayed with my grandparents. They largely helped to form me into the person I am today, and I am grateful for that. I was there a lot, and in a way, they were just as much my parents as my parents were. Of course, by this time my father was gone, so my grandpap stepped into duel roles and he loved every single moment of it. So did I. I was also with him more because my grandma worked. He dedicated his days to spending them with me. Period. That's what he did and I was the world to him. He always made me know that. It wasn't just in the things he said, but in the things he did and the way he treated me. Even if he never verbally expressed to me how much he loved me, I would have known. I still know over ten years later.

After my grandpap died, people I didn't even know were coming up to me at his funeral and knowing who I was because he had showed them pictures of me, and told them all about me. Every one of them expressed how I was his world and how much he loved me. There were many who did so.

There were also many people who attended his funeral. Old war buddies from across the nation came out, war veterans from across the nation who didn't even know him, but came to respect a fellow veteran after hearing of his death, and people who knew him from when he owned the feed store were all there. There was a line the whole way out the door. There were more flower arrangements than we fairly knew what to do with. There was a lot of love. This is a testament to the man he was. He left behind a legacy, and to this day, I miss him more than anything.

When I was little, around eight or ten, he would talk to me about my wedding. He did this nearly daily and I wasn't even at the age where I was thinking about weddings, or dating, and still thought boys had cooties. He would tell me about how he was going to walk me down the aisle, and how we would share the first dance, and it would be our day as much as my day with my new husband. That was the kind of person my grandpap was. All he wanted was to hand me over to someone who brought me more happiness than I ever thought possible. He wasn't selfish with me. He was kind and respected my little girl decisions, no matter how dumb. As long as it made me happy, he was there to share in it.

Without realizing it, I grew up with the idea of having him to share my wedding with. He would be the one who walked me down the aisle. He would be the one to hand me off to start my new life. He'd be the one in the front row bawling his eyes out. He'd be the one I'd dance with during the father / daughter dance. He'd be the one who helped me fix up our first house. He'd be the one to babysit the grand kids. There was never any flexibility in that. I never saw my wedding without him.

Then my grandpap got cancer. That was okay, because he was always going to beat it. Wasn't he? He was always going to be there for my wedding. Him dying before my wedding, before I started my life, was never a thought in my mind. But then he did, and when he did I was also very sick. I was told that I would have only been able to get through two more years with the way my body was had I not found help. I had to focus on myself, but the death hit me hard.

I found out just how sick I was one day, and the following day my grandpap passed. From that day on I began to get better. I'm sure part of it was from the help I was getting. I'm a logical thinker. But I can't help but notice the coincidence in this, and somewhere in my heart I've always known that he was part of the reason that I survived what I did. He's part of the reason I'm still surviving after all I've been through. He's always here with me. I can feel him and there's some things I just know. Those are two of them.

Having been sick, I was pulled out of high school. My body couldn't handle what was required to physically be in school. Sometimes I got dizzy and nearly fell down the stairs. Others, I got so sick I couldn't stand it. Sometimes I was so tired that I needed, not wanted, to lie down. When I didn't, again, I got sick. My body was extremely weak. I started homeschooling prior to my grandfather's death. I got behind being so sick, and eventually got my GED. I know, I'm not exactly a genius here, but I think I turned out all right.

Not being in high school, and being sick, therefore, not having the strength to go out with friends, and having lost touch with many after leaving high school, my social skills lacked sourly. I just didn't realize it until I got out into the work world. I could socialize fine with girls, sure, but guys were a whole other story. They were these scary beasts that I didn't want to deal with. I had never flirted with a guy, or talked to one I was interested in, for that matter. I didn't know what it was like to go on a date. To kiss a guy. I had done neither.

I had become, "that girl." As much as I was okay with it, it was also uncomfortable. For the second job I ever had, I worked closely with a guy. I liked this guy. I was optimistic that I could get whomever I wanted. Not because I was gorgeous or perfect, but because I thought I had a decent personality and they would at least give me a shot before saying no. My grandpap always led me to believe that. I didn't get either out of this guy, but later came to find out that it wasn't me, it was his father that was intentionally keeping us apart. It's a long story; one for another day.

From then on, I found jobs where I worked with all women. I avoided guys. I didn't know why I was so afraid of them. Part of the reason was that I wasn't in high school to get the interaction as part of daily life; there was no male living in the house to learn from. I had no males in my life at all, in fact. Another part was because of what my father had done. But what about my grandpap? He taught me that guys were wonderful, caring, sweet; and he made me believe that I would find my fairytale in real life just by talking about my wedding. He let me know there was someone out there for me who would be far from perfect, but perfect for me.

This lead me into years of trying to figure out why I was so messed up when it came to guys. I went through a tough time. I got depressed. I became immature. I acted like a moron. See here and here if you don't believe me. I will never tell who the second one is about. Ever. But it's not someone I've ever talked about on this blog. Oh, and probably here, too. Yep, that really was me. What in the hell was happening to this mature, level headed, have it all almost figured out girl? I hated being that way.

When I got sick a second time and had to quit my job that I loved because of it, I never could have seen what was coming next. I truly loved the job I had. I worked at Hallmark with all women and we were all good friends. Despite the pay not being great, it was the perfect job for me. But I kept getting ill and had to take several months off for my body to cooperate with me again, because I couldn't keep going the way I was. I started to feel better three months later and started to look for another place to work. I knew I would end up in retail until I figured out something otherwise, and my mom worked with someone whose son worked at Best Buy. We talked to him and he said he could get me in. I loved music, I loved movies. I was game.

To this day I don't know if this was the smartest move that I've ever made, or the dumbest. Before I knew it, I was hired to work in the media department selling CDs, DVDs and gaming systems. What I didn't know until I started was that I was the only girl in a department. Let me repeat that, I was the only girl in a department. I was the one girl on the sales floor. In a company with nearly sixty people, there were maybe ten girls who worked there period. I can not even begin to tell you how mortified I was. I knew for most people this wouldn't be a big deal, so I sucked it up and moved on. I realize now that although I look back at that job and feel fear and have not so fond memories, I had to work there to learn how to deal with guys. Now, I prefer talking to and hanging out with guys over girls. There's far less drama and cat fights, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I had learned in my other jobs that I seemed to be able to persuade guys to like me, or to do what I wanted. The thing was, I never did anything to bring this on. I never fancied myself pretty, not even cute. I was the geek in school and still saw myself that way. Years change a lot of things, and I started to no longer see myself as the ugly duckling, but I still was far from the kind of girl who got their own way with guys. Yet I was one of these girls, and I didn't even do anything. I didn't even know how to do anything, and I was backwards with guys. In fact, I would have preferred if the only form of noticing me they did was to notice me long enough to realize they just wanted to ignore me, and then went on their merry way.

I am still not the prettiest girl in the world, and yet this happen to me all the time. It is never with guys that I like back, at least not usually. Is it because I'm a Scorpio? I'm not into astrology, but it's the only reason I have. I guess that makes it null and void.

I had worked at Lowe's for a very short period of time. I didn't work in a department with any men, but at the registers with all women. I got hit on by contractors all the time. I didn't speak to them outside of the allotted "register" talk. I was actually more quiet than most of the girls there, yet they still hit on me. Some of the men that worked there would go out of their way to help me out even if I didn't need help, but wouldn't do it with other girls. I wasn't even that cute, and especially not in those snazzy red vests. I went in minus the makeup so that this wouldn't happen. I was mortified. I'm not a girl that likes to be noticed. I know this probably sounds like I'm complaining about nothing to most girls, but for me this was the last thing I wanted. Then it got worse.

I worked at Hallmark for almost two years thinking this wouldn't be a problem. Most of the clientele were women. Then came awesome, older business man. Now AOBM, as I shall call him for short, was well read, kind, probably in his late thirties to early forties, and came in all the time just to talk to me. He offered to buy me stuff, take me out, etc. I turned him down nicely every time, because he was genuinely a nice, not pervy guy, and I appreciated it, I did, but I was still mortified. Eventually we got another lady to work with named Mary Ann, who is, to this day, my favorite person I've ever worked with. After AOBM came in several times, she shoved her ring on my finger and asked me about my husband right in front of him. AOBM came in no more.

I really thought things couldn't get any worse, and then Best Buy came along. The guys who worked there would bend over backwards for me, and I didn't even ask them to. I dated two guys I worked with from there. These were the first and only two guys I've dated. I don't consider them real boyfriends, and in reality, I should have never dated them. They were the type of guys who didn't know who they were, only cared about themselves and were never going anywhere in life. I know the one is an unemployed druggie now, and I know nothing about the other one, but you all get the hint. In my attempt to not be mortified by guys and give them a chance, I didn't think it out properly except to think that I was being a scared little unsociable chicken, and dated guys who weren't worth my time.

Sadly, that wasn't the worst of my guy issues at Best Buy. I got hit on by a lot of stoner gamers, and guys in their pajamas. I wish I was kidding. One time I came back from vacation exhausted. I had offered to take someone else's shift, stupidly, not thinking that I would be getting back from vacation within a half an hour of having to be at work. I sat down on the floor to file DVDs and woke up a few minutes later to one of the guys from another department doing my job and waking me up. He basically did my job while I was there, which wasn't fair to him, but I never asked him to. He just did. Thank God this was an instance of someone just being really nice, but still. I never asked him. He just did it. I didn't know why guys wanted to be around me, far more do nice things for me, even if they didn't like me.

And then came the kicker. I could probably make a whole post about this story, but I'll try to keep it short and sweet. There's nothing sweet about it, though. One day these two guys, obviously slightly intoxicated, but not enough to excuse their behavior, came in. They walked around for awhile and then came up to me and asked if we had a certain movie. It was not on the shelf so I did what we normally would do, and got into the computer system to look it up and see if we had any in stock, or if any stores nearby did. This was a mistake, and I realized they weren't so much as looking for a movie. It was a super old movie that hadn't been in print for several years.

What were they looking for, you ask? Well, once they had me cornered right up against the computer desk and started asking me if I did threesomes and if I liked porn, I realized quickly they were looking for a "good time." They even offered to pay me. How nice. I should have told them where to stick their money, only I was a little afraid. This happened on a night when we normally weren't busy, so we were understaffed. There was a NFL game going on that night, and normally the store is so dead you can hear crickets.

However, the store had just started some upgrading and got a brand new, the biggest screen I've ever seen, big screen television. Being that we live in a small area that is big on football, of course everyone who loved football and electronics found out about this. There was no longer a reason for them to go to the bar and buy drinks, because now they could just come and stand around the big television at Best Buy for free!

Because of this, the store was crowded, although not busy with shoppers, but where I was standing, no one could see me being cornered. The person who was supposed to be watching the monitors was also more busy watching the football game than doing that, or they would have noticed the obviously inappropriate and uncomfortable position I was in. To make it worse, my co-worker had somewhere to be, so he was in the back collecting his stuff while the other co-worker who was supposed to be there to work with me in the same department was running late. I was the only one in the department. Had anyone else been in it, they would have noticed something was wrong by now. This was also before we had the walkie talkies that connected to our pants and went in our ears. I couldn't even call anyone for help.

I got lucky because the co-worker who was leaving forget to clock out before grabbing his stuff. He was going to clock out on another computer, but while trying to avoid people noticed something wasn't right. This co-worker was well over six feet tall so he could see above pretty much everything and decided to clock out at the computer I was being trapped at. As soon as he came over, the guys split and left the store. Awesome co-worker told me he had seen something going on and knew something wasn't right, and then proceeded to go and alert the person who was supposed to be watching the monitors of what had just happened. Awesome co-worker also told me that, if the guys didn't leave, he was going to call me hunny and ask me if I would pick up supper on the way home. After that I wore a ring that looked like an engagement ring. I was only bothered once after that and those guys never came back, thankfully.

Then we have the infamous Good Girls Go Bad story about Mike, who is probably still waiting for me to call him about buying a house. I didn't do anything there either, he just clung himself to me, but I digress. You get the picture of the issues I have with guys. Little boys like me, never men.

While I was working at Best Buy, in the mess of all things that I didn't know and that scared me, I met Friend. Now you all can probably get a better idea of why he was, and in his own way, still is such a substantial part of my life. He wasn't like the other guys; the ones I dated or the ones that hit on me. He wasn't interested in himself only, or in just getting laid. In fact, he had a girlfriend. He just liked me for who I was. He never wanted nor expected anything from me. And with that, our friendship grew.

To this day, I can honestly say that if I had not met Friend, I'm not sure where I would be emotionally. He listened to me for hours on end. I complained a lot. If I were him, I probably would have either ran from me, or moved away and changed my name just to get away from me. You think I'm kidding. I'm not. I was that bad, but he never cared. And through all of that, he liked me. Me. The person who over shared everything with him and used him as a shoulder to cry on. Of course I never did it because I was trying to use him, but yet, because I trusted and respected him. I had never, ever trusted or respected a guy before other than my grandfather. And, like my grandpap, after our friendship developed, I knew that Friend loved me. Unlike my grandpap, it was as more than a friend. Just so you don't get confused and think my grandpap was a creeper or anything. It was in the way Friend acted and the things he did, more than what he said. But he said it, too, in his own way. And he was happy to say it finally. This he told me. Even if he hadn't, I still would have known.

The thing that happened with Friend is truly my fault. It is. I take full responsibility for it. I think back now and I wonder if he ever knew I loved him. I wonder if he knows I still love him and always will in some way. I tried to tell him in the best way I could, but it wasn't very good. I know now what I didn't then, and that's that I didn't know how to tell him. No matter how I knew what he felt for me, I was afraid if I told him, that he, too, would leave, just like my grandpap. My grandpap didn't leave by any fault of his own, but Friend had the choice, so who's to say that he wouldn't? My dad did.

When I had the chance to just be with Friend, another thing I knew for sure was that, if I were to be with him, that would be it for me. That's who I would be with. I just knew. Now, if I had a dollar for every time someone told me that "they just knew" and I laughed to myself and thought they were nuts, I could live in the lap of luxury and do nothing for the rest of my life. So really, I can't explain on which grounds I had to just know this, but I did. At the time I was only 21 or 22, and he was a few years younger, so I just wasn't ready for that kind of commitment. I think back now and wonder if I should have been, but then I realize a few things.

I was in a bad place when we were so close. I didn't know who I was, and had I gotten together with him, who knows who I would be. Would I have ever figured out exactly who I was? Or would I only know who I was with him? He was the opposite. He only knew who he was with certain people, and not who he could be without him. Then those people left. He's just learning who he is now, and I can see it in him when we talk the little that we do anymore. He's becoming his own person at the same age when I became my own person. Yet I still have the same feelings for him.

I struggle with this. I realized today that, even though I always felt we were supposed to end up together, that it was us against the world, we had to take the paths we took to figure ourselves out. It was supposed to happen. We're still friends through all of this, and that being said, there was a reason. The reason I worked at Best Buy was to meet him and get more comfortable with guys, while finding out exactly what I didn't want in a guy. Through him I found out what I did, at least emotionally.

I've said it once and I'll say it again. I don't agree with Friend's lifestyle. I think he can be wreckless, but as his age, it's his choice. I know the kind of life he's lived and I understand why he is the way he is. I don't hate him for it, I'm not angry, I hold no resentment, but I accept it. It's just not the kind of lifestyle that I can live. But I see him growing and getting out of the drinking, and the constantly being drunk, and maybe that means something. Maybe it doesn't. I don't know. What I do know is all that I learned today, and the answers I have received.

I, without knowing it, have lived with a fear of commitment since my grandpap died. He was the ideal father and grandpap figure to me. No one compared to him. I found every reason to not go out with someone, instead of finding reasons to do so.

I've lived with the fear of abandonment really since my father left. It intensified once my grandpap died, and continued on. If I got involved with someone and I fell hard, and they left, I didn't know if I would be able to pick up the pieces. This went for friends I got close to as well. I was such a fragile being before, but I'm not now. I know that if I give love a try now that I could pick up the pieces if it didn't work out. It wouldn't break me. It would simply be a learning experience.

My love of weddings and wanting to be a wedding planner comes from the days when my grandpap and I would talk weddings together. It's idealistic for me. It brings me back to my childhood and the days where I had my best friend by my side. It's a reminder that life is beautiful, and I was loved so deeply and unbelievably by someone I trusted and respected fully. The people I would be helping plan their wedding also feel that way, but it's a different kind of love and a beautiful thing to be a part of.

I never saw myself getting married anymore. Not after I really got into the real world and started to kiss frogs. Not after I realized my grandpap would never be at the wedding and that the day was as much about having him walk me down the aisle as it was about getting married. I rejected the idea, because he was never not part of it. Now I know that if I stand at the end of that aisle with no one by my side, he will be there to walk me down it. Even in spirit, he will be there. He will still be in the first row, he will still dance at my wedding, but now grandma will be there by his side. His one and only true love.

My grandma was so intent on not dying until I was married. She was worried I'd end up old and alone, and trying to take care of my mom and everything around me before I did eventually end up alone. We have a small family. It's now just my mom, Aunt Bev and myself. She had a point, and she promised she wouldn't die until I was married. I think I let her down because I didn't have the chance to get out and meet someone, and when I did, I pushed him away because I was ill prepared and non understanding of the feelings I was facing until we had our year apart last year and I realized what I really felt. But that's okay. It was meant to happen this way.

When my grandma passed, as weird as this will sound, I felt like an orphan in a way. Yes, I still had my mom, but my grandparents had so much to do with raising me. Most of my youngest and favorite childhood memories were with them. It's not my mom's fault. She was a single mother who was going to school and working hard to provide for us. I loved the days with my grandparents. When I had problems, I still, up until the day my grandma passed, would call her and we would talk them out. Sometimes we would even complain about being sick together since we had many of the same symptoms. I didn't have that anymore. My little light was gone. Knowing she was going to pass, I had prepared myself several months before, only to learn that I wasn't really prepared and I missed her more than words could express. It felt like my childhood left right along with her.

Because of that I learned what it was like to shut down, and then realized that was what I had been doing all of these years. I needed to do the opposite. I knew what it was like to shut down, but not to open up. I have geniunely been trying to do so and somedays it's harder than others. Sometimes I just want to cry and be alone, away from the rest of the world. Other days I know that I'm ready to try love and try things again. I'm taking it one day at a time, but I'm getting there.

Without two of the most influential people left in my life, I found myself unexpectedly becoming the free, hopeful and optimistic person I was when I was child. I'm opening up again and I'm having to rely on myself. It's a different world out there for me, but today, I learned so many things about myself. I learned why I do and have done the things I have. I learned why I treated Friend the way I did, and then went back to him after a year apologizing and making sure he was okay. And I still feel like I have so much more to apologize to him for and I may never get the chance.

I miss him, I do, but I know it's time to let go. He has a girlfriend and I would never do anything to disrupt that. He knows that. I'm not here to make his life complicated; I've done enough of that. I just want to see him happy, because he's gone through more than I have. I respect him. I always heard that if you truly love someone that you would just want to see them happy. I never believed it, but I do now. There is no jealously, or anger. There's just the hurt that I feel knowing that I could have been with him, but the relief in knowing that we both had to grow separately.

As much as I don't want to let go, today taught me to let go of my father's memory, keep my grandpap's and my grandma's and let go of what I can not have. This doesn't, by any means, mean we still can't be friends. If it becomes too difficult like it did last year, then it will, but right now, I want to stay friends with him. The truth in last year is one he doesn't know. I loved him, I never wanted him to leave me, and I was scared so I pushed him away first. I regret this every day. I will just not compare anyone to him or "wait and see what happens." You girls know what I mean by that. We all do it. We are friends. Period. It hurts, but I'll live.

Today, as I was crying and pondering what I was learning, I talked to my grandpap. I couldn't see him, but I could feel him. I told him that if I was on the right track, if what I was learning was what I was supposed to be, to give me a sign. I told him that I missed him and I wanted to know that he was still around me and that I was making him proud.

I don't know how many of you know about "pennies from heaven." Essentially, it's said that when you're missing someone and you find a penny appear from nowhere, or in the oddest place with a year significance to the person you're missing who has passed on, that it is them saying hi. I see dead people. I never had to rely on a penny, however, later in the night, once I had picked myself up again and stopped thinking about waiting for a sign from him, this happened.

I went into my mom's room to get the bandage for my ankle. I barely ever go in there unless it's for something like that. Because my ankle was bothering me so badly, I couldn't bear to bend down long enough to find out which shelf it was on, because I knew it was on a lower shelf, just not the exact one. Therefore, I sat. I went about my business, pulled out the bandage wrap and wrapped my ankle. And that's when I saw it, but almost didn't.

My mom has one of those carpets made from eighteen by eighteen carpet tiles that interlocks together. When it's together, you can no longer see where it interlocks, and it interlocks so tightly that nothing can get in between it, but there it was. A penny in between the carpeting. I don't even know how it managed to wiggle it's way down in there, but I picked it up and thought nothing of it. I went to put it on my mom's shelf when I noticed the date. There it was as plain as day, 2000. The year my grandfather died. Somehow, I just knew it was from him. Some may call it a coincidence, but having lived in this house with that carpeting for around eight years and knowing nothing has ever gotten stuck down in it, I knew this was different. This was special.

So I will keep this penny as a reminder that I am on the right track. I'm living, I'm learning, and I'm on my way to being who I really am, and finding peace when I'm confused. My grandpap is here watching, guiding me, now with my grandma by his side. I am a lucky girl, a blessed girl and I will be okay. I will just keep growing knowing that I have two angels watching out for me.

Just A Vintage Girl

Hey all! Me again; here to not dazzle you on this blog for the second post in a row. However, I have been working on something super special to share with you all, and finally, I am ready to do so.

Do you all remember how, a few posts back, I mentioned that I would be opening a blog about vintage clothing and how to rehab it and make it work, in the next few months? If you don't, that's okay, because I will be super annoying and repeat what I wrote previously.

"This is going to be an extremely pretentious announcement considering this is probably coming many months in advance, but I will be starting a new blog. Some of you know that I am a bit of a vintage clothes restorer aficionado. I am in love with vintage clothes and the look of them in general, and I am in love with sewing. Lucky for me, Aunt Bev happened to have a slew and a half of vintage clothes that fit me that I was welcome to. This is one of the many of millions of reasons why I love Aunt Bev.

Anyway, some of the clothes were vastly out of style with their sleeves and length, and were not the cute kind of vintage at all. However, the patterns and the garment itself were vintage, and I saw complete hope for reworking the garment so that it kept with feel of the pattern and the era, but also update it so I could wear it everywhere and not look like an old schoolmarm, as Aunt Bev would say. Sometimes all it takes it removing the shoulder pads from the sleeves, and others all it takes it removing the puffy, I’m on a pirate ship, sleeves. It’s quite easy, actually.

There are some pieces that are fine on their own, several actually, and only needed the buttons and what not changed out. But some of the pieces were those matronly pieces, as some were her mother’s, and they actually laughed when I put them on and wondered how I was ever going to do something with them to allow me to wear them in public. Since I’ve had a few people who are also in love with vintage clothing and want to know how to change them up and make them fit today’s style without stealing their integrity, ask to see the pieces I’ve done or how I’ve done them, I decided to do a blog all about this particular subject.

In this blog, I will take some before and after pictures of garments that seem as though they are past help. I will also include the pieces that I’ve done nothing to and show how to make them work with an accessory or two. Accessories can make all the difference. I am also vastly in love with Jennifer Love Hewitt’s character’s style on Ghost Whisperer. She wears all vintage pieces and changes them up with accessories, so even the silliest things suddenly don’t look so silly after they are dressed up with the right accentuating pieces and accessories.

I am far from a fashionista, but I think this blog could be something fun for me. It will be awhile until I get it up, because I’ve got a ton of other pieces that I’m currently working on altering, and it is also time consuming to get some great pictures to put up on the blog. As soon as I am ready for the new blog, I will let you all know. I will not be taking this blog down, but simply starting another one dedicated simply to vintage clothing."

Well, my friends, I was not actually being pretentious when I said that, but I just didn't know it yet. Today I started the brand new blog, and posted the first entry. So head on over to Just A Vintage Girl and become a non-fashionista, fashionista like myself.

Also, I received a random question on FormSpring from an anonymous individual. I'm pretty sure I know who asked me this, but I answered it anyway. Wait, that came out wrong. I would explain, but it's complicated. Don't you hate when people say that? It's right up there with, "because I said so."

Do you have any regrets? If so, what?

This is one of those devil's advocate kind of questions. In the long haul, big picture of it all, I do not. But sometimes I think about love, and I wish I would have been more ready to just dive right in and give someone a chance. I didn't, but that was probably the way it was meant to be

The Hills Are Alive

Not much entertainment here today. This will be short and sweet. I think it's illegal to be this boring, right?

Aunt Bev and I went shopping for a car again last weekend. She finally bought herself a Hyundai Sonata. I was shocked, seeing as she was all over this one Buick, but she is happy. No hijinx ensued. We were actually surprised by that. So surprised, in fact, that we actually spent more time on the ride home talking about how it was odd that nothing weird or crazy happened to us that day, than we did about the car.

I have at least forty seven billion things to do this week. I am in over my head here. It's already Tuesday and I am losing the battle with my own to-do list. Amongst other things, I am planning a party, which is in a few weeks and somehow I ended up not having enough activities. The party is only for my mom, Aunt Bev, our friend Linda and her three year old grandson, and myself, but if you don't plan enough activities and you have a lapse in time, Aunt Bev will tell us the same story over and over. I love her.

I am also working on writing. It's insane over here, guys. I have such horrible ADHD, and then my character from the initial novel I started and myself are having a fight. Yes, apparently you can do that with your own character. I am also working on another potential novel. I knew the one I started first may not be the first finished. The thing is, I have about 20 solid ideas for novels. This is not an exaggeration. I want to work on them all and once, and obviously that doesn't work well. Plus, I still haven't finished the story I started to write for my friend's birthday. Her birthday was like four months ago, you guys. I am a terrible, terrible friend.

I will get back to regular blogging, if there is any such thing with me lately, soon. But for now I shall leave you with a thought. If someone had stopped writing the score for The Sound of Music at "the hills are alive," it could have been a completely different song much more suited for a horror movies. Sometimes I like to sing just that part of the song and watch as people cringe when they realize just how creepy it is that the hills are alive with anything. Just saying.