In 1998, when I was 17- I fell in love with a boy named Chris who played the piano for me. He was dating my best friend at the time. On a night filled with tales of heroism and Little Debbie snack cakes, I made him kiss me.
Time passed.
In 2003, after Chris and I had been seeing each other for 2 months, my father was diagnosed with terminal cancer. 2 months later, on the day after my birthday, dad came home from the hospital. He had portions of his brain removed to stop the tumors in his head from hemorrhaging. He was never the same again.
2 months later I got on a greyhound to Bloomington, Illinois. I lived there for two years with my ex Jason, after high school. While I was there I slept with Jason. Dad died in October of 2003.
Chris forgave me. Sort of- he turned to another woman to help him deal with this betrayal. Time passed- good times and bad- and in the fall of 2005, Chris had to move from Duluth to the city for work.
He broke it off because now was the time for his career and he couldn’t handle a long distance relationship at this point in his life. That- and because he had already fallen in love with a girl he met on okcupid from Winnipeg.
Time passed- and we missed each other. We decided to give it another go but I was afraid of being second best forever. I was angry and bitter and hurt. There was a girl- a casual friend of his. She fit into his new world better than me. Her name was Jessie and Chris had had a crush on her for years. I trusted him but deep down I was afraid he didn’t really love me.
In April of 2006- a week before my birthday, I went to see our mutual friend Bobby. He had just come back from visiting Chris. I told him about Jessie. He knew. I told Bobby I was going to talk to Chris when he came up for my birthday. He couldn’t quite meet my eyes when he agreed that was probably a good idea.
My Birthday was on a Thursday. Chris came up on Saturday. Bobby was in a fatal car accident on Friday. When I told Chris I didn’t think things were good and I thought we should take a break he said yes. He started sleeping with Jessie on Sunday.
That summer, Chris drove up north to tell me he finally knew what I had been talking about all those years- love. He said- loving her as completely as he did, made him come to a realization. He was afraid he never really did love me.
Remember that phone call that one night? That was me. That night I called everyone in the world to stop myself from doing something stupid.
When she left him I read blog upon blog about his pain. Pain caused by losing the relationship he had wanted for the last 5 years. I tried not to let it bother me.
In September of 2006 I had a decision to make. I had made plans to move to Minneapolis to be closer to Chris. I had already given my notice at work, found a new job in the city. I had a lease in Loring Park and nowhere to go in Duluth. So I came.
And when I arrived, he was there. And he worked so hard to win his way back in my heart. And somehow, despite everything- with no one on our side- we soared. He was completely amazing and I was happier than I had ever been in my life. We got past all the bad stuff. We forgave each other finally.
Time passed.
Then there were 2 concerts. At Chris’s concert, he decided he was going to ask me to marry him. At mine, my friend Alex asked if he and his band could spend the night at my place. They did- and that night I kissed Alex. It was not a sweet and innocent kiss. Chris left me the next day. Through a haze of painful tears, I *begged* him to stay- to give me another chance. He couldn’t. It was November of 2007
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I hate that this made up the bulk of my 20s.
I hate my birthday because it means bad things are probably coming.
I hate that for whatever reason- genetic, psychological, drug induced- *this* is primarily what I remember of my life thus far.
I hate the fact that the ‘Jessie situation’ damaged me in a way I might never recover from.
I hate that I could hurt the most amazing man I’ve ever met this badly.
I hate that he’s not here.
But most of all- I hate the fact that once upon a time, today would have been our 5 year anniversary. Instead of getting to hold the person I loved deeper than any other and just be ridiculously happy- I’m going home after work to the rest of my belongings. Chris is bringing over everything I left at his apartment- all traces of me gone- while I’m at work. Norman will be overjoyed to see his daddy again.
We both made a lot of mistakes. I hate that it was *mine* that finally did this to us.
How do you deal with a loss like this- losing the one you thought you might be lucky enough to spend the rest of your life with- when you know it was *your* fault?
Monday, December 31, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Something needs to happen soon.
Thursday is donut hole day at the Normandy. It’s not official or anything. Someone just *always* brings them in on Thursday... but no one ever mentions it, so let’s not jinx it, ok?;) I <3 donut holes.
Since Thursday is Unofficial-Donut-Hole Day, early Thursday morning is the Quick-Eat-All-Donut-Holes-Before-Housekeepers-Get-Here Competition. Again, this is an unspoken tradition… normally. But not *today*!
Today we decided to see who could smash the most donut holes in their mouth at one time:D Winner takes all. (All being bragging rights and a sour stomach;)
First contender: Our assistant general manager- Mike the Mouth! Weighing in at 250lbs and affectionately known to his wife and kids as the ‘human garbage disposal’, Mike the Mouth habitually finishes off his kids left-over plates. Hot dogs and tator tots- Oh My!
Contestant Number Two: Maintenance manager and self admitted ‘bottomless pit’ it’s Skinny Stan- At 6’3 and 175lbs, someone get this man a sandwich!
Entering Third: Marie the Babe, with the face of a Botticelli and the body of a Degas, she’s the hotels breaker of hearts and our reason for sexual harassment training. (I don’t think she’s quite aware of what we’re doing here;)
Last but not least: Okcupid’s very own loveable Kell; champion of the Girls Next Door and general big mouth! No one else can play! We figure we’ll run out of holes if any one else plays...
So- Stan and Mike JUMP into the competition, cramming one, two, three, FOUR, *FIVE*! into their mouths almost in unison. Marie has finally figured out we’re eating donut holes- like, omg! Calories! Fatness! Ick! She forfeits her turn with a horrified look on her face... and then there was me:)
*I have this theory- I think that each and every one of us has one unique talent. One thing that we happen to be better at than anyone else in the world...
Mine happens to be donut-hole eating;) I casually toss four in there, act like five is a big deal... look at the boys, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and with one finger, pop number six in. I win:)
Oh the elation! I am winner! I am victorious! Nothing will ever beat this moment! Nothing will ever bring me down! Oh no, the owner of the hotel just walked around the corner and he’s looking for me. I lied. That pretty much does it...
Mmhmmhmh mhhhmm MH?
(Six-donut-holes-in-the-mouth for: Why does this *always* happen to me?)
He wanted to talk about the Secret Santa party tomorrow. That *I’m* apparently throwing for everyone. I had to... all I could do was nod like mad;)
Hours later I still feel like ralphing and everyone keeps poking me in the stomach because if I throw up, the competition’s a draw and we can all do it again next Thursday... unofficially of course.
...........................................
In other news- Norman is home!!! And sleepy and sore but otherwise doing good! Vet says he’ll be good as new in three days!! WOOOO!
Peace out homies- <3 and kisses from Kell and Norm.
Since Thursday is Unofficial-Donut-Hole Day, early Thursday morning is the Quick-Eat-All-Donut-Holes-Before-Housekeepers-Get-Here Competition. Again, this is an unspoken tradition… normally. But not *today*!
Today we decided to see who could smash the most donut holes in their mouth at one time:D Winner takes all. (All being bragging rights and a sour stomach;)
First contender: Our assistant general manager- Mike the Mouth! Weighing in at 250lbs and affectionately known to his wife and kids as the ‘human garbage disposal’, Mike the Mouth habitually finishes off his kids left-over plates. Hot dogs and tator tots- Oh My!
Contestant Number Two: Maintenance manager and self admitted ‘bottomless pit’ it’s Skinny Stan- At 6’3 and 175lbs, someone get this man a sandwich!
Entering Third: Marie the Babe, with the face of a Botticelli and the body of a Degas, she’s the hotels breaker of hearts and our reason for sexual harassment training. (I don’t think she’s quite aware of what we’re doing here;)
Last but not least: Okcupid’s very own loveable Kell; champion of the Girls Next Door and general big mouth! No one else can play! We figure we’ll run out of holes if any one else plays...
So- Stan and Mike JUMP into the competition, cramming one, two, three, FOUR, *FIVE*! into their mouths almost in unison. Marie has finally figured out we’re eating donut holes- like, omg! Calories! Fatness! Ick! She forfeits her turn with a horrified look on her face... and then there was me:)
*I have this theory- I think that each and every one of us has one unique talent. One thing that we happen to be better at than anyone else in the world...
Mine happens to be donut-hole eating;) I casually toss four in there, act like five is a big deal... look at the boys, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and with one finger, pop number six in. I win:)
Oh the elation! I am winner! I am victorious! Nothing will ever beat this moment! Nothing will ever bring me down! Oh no, the owner of the hotel just walked around the corner and he’s looking for me. I lied. That pretty much does it...
Mmhmmhmh mhhhmm MH?
(Six-donut-holes-in-the-mouth for: Why does this *always* happen to me?)
He wanted to talk about the Secret Santa party tomorrow. That *I’m* apparently throwing for everyone. I had to... all I could do was nod like mad;)
Hours later I still feel like ralphing and everyone keeps poking me in the stomach because if I throw up, the competition’s a draw and we can all do it again next Thursday... unofficially of course.
...........................................
In other news- Norman is home!!! And sleepy and sore but otherwise doing good! Vet says he’ll be good as new in three days!! WOOOO!
Peace out homies- <3 and kisses from Kell and Norm.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
My ambiguous shoulder duo.
Let me show you them.
Yesterday, 6:30pm- I’m lying in my new fabulous bedroom reading Slaughterhouse-Five. (Can you believe I’ve never read it?) Oh hell :(... Norman’s operation. It’s about that time. I mosey on into the living room, yawning and stretching, and see a 4 inch mini me avec halo sitting on the window sill- smoking a cigarette and filling out college forms. (My Shoulder Good Girl took to smoking the last time C. and I broke up- presumably to calm her nerves. An event that also caused her eyes to turn bright blue- something about ‘taking the people we love with us, always’ or some such sentimentality)
Me: Hey. It’s almost time to go- put those away and help me get Norm, k?
Shoulder Good Girl: Says the girl who’s been lounging in bed all day. There’s time yet... *finally tearing her eyes away from the paper, looks me up and down haughtily* You know... eh, never mind.
Me: What?
SGG: Well, you *could* go for a nice jog.
Me: Wha..?
SGG: Or maybe do some sit-ups or something while we’re waiting...
Me: :O
SGG: I’m just saying- you’re kinda maybe sorta letting yourself go. Pot belly and all... just saying…
Me: :O *blink* :O
SGG: *dramatic sigh* Oh like I said- never mind! Say- don’t forget we still need to pick out a present for J. at work. For Secret Santa. It was your idea...
(About this time a slightly slurred, barely coherent voice chimes in from the kitchen. I shake my head and leave Shoulder Good Girl to her superiority. Rounding the island- there she is… weaving a bit, clutching a bottle of vodka, using my magnetic poetry kit to make dirty limericks- Shoulder Bad Girl!)
Me: Wassat?
Shoulder Bad Girl: I said *here she uses the bottle to punctuate each word* we should get him a little leather whip. *Huge grin* You know- a hotel inside joke and all!
Me: (She looks so pleased with herself I can’t help but chuckle a bit) Hehe- well, maybe...
SGG (to me): *completely indignant* OMG. You cannot be serious? Kell- please tell that pleather wearing lunatic over there that would be completely inappropriate.
Me: *looking hard at SGG* Hey! Is that a black eye..?
SBG (to me): *losing her humor* Kell... please tell Ms. Uptight over there that he would totally get it and think it was funny.
Me: Shoulder Bad Girl... What’s on your... you have a fat lip! :O
SGG (to me): *sickeningly sweet* Kelllll, tell that BOY KISSER in the kitchen that I’d rather die than hand over something so tasteless so completely...
SBG (to SGG): We’re imaginary you moron! We can’t die!!
SGG (to SBG): Moron? *getting louder* MORON? Oh! That! Is! It!
(I stand in shock as my two little alter egos race the distance between them and start pummeling each other- fists and fury high. Shoulder Bad Girl gets in one good shot before Shoulder Good Girl starts to choke her with her halo...)
SGG: TRAMP!!
SBG: *gasping around halo* SNOB!!
SGG: I HATE YOU!
SBG: I HATE YOU TOO!
(Hm. Something tells me this has happened before... It seems they’ve been getting on even less cordially than usual. I finish packing Normy up in his carrier and toss the kids over my shoulder- they’ve progressed to deep breaths, angry sighs, and sniffles.)
In the car. For some reason I picked a vet WAY WAY out. It takes forever to get there. Norman is being such a good boy in his box and I feel horrible that I will soon be doing this to him. The Shoulder duo is presently sitting on opposite ends of the backseat. After accelerating to 75 then slowing back down to 55 over and over again... I couldn’t take their squabbling anymore and banished them.
We get there and go in- the girls on their respective shoulders, Normy in hand. There is paperwork upon paperwork to be filled out. Waivers and such... they people there are so nice, I’m starting to feel better about having the operation done. Until I see this.
Release from responsibility for ACCIDENTAL CASTRATION DEATH.
Oh-my-freakin-god.
*Phew* *Phew*
*Thunk* *Thunk*
The duo simultaneously loses consciousness and falls to the ground.
(Norman, before he’s taken away, reaches a kitty paw out from his box to pat at the two passed out mini me’s as if to say *sob* ‘bye guys, it’s been fun!’)
It’s a quiet car ride home... I keep thinking about how maybe this was unnecessary and how lonely Normy’s gonna be all night. Please! Please let him be ok... The vets at Cats Preferred are really awesome. He’s in good hands, right?
We pull into our ramp and I look over to see if the girls are ready to go in. I’m greeted by two icy, icy pairs of eyes glaring back at me.
Me: Oh come on guys... you know we had to! He’ll be fine.
SBG: I can’t believe you left him at that ball butcher!
SGG: Honestly woman- you call yourself his momma... Come on lunatic...
SBG: Right beside you, Mary.
(And they leave – righteous together, arm in arm. A duo again)
Well then. So it goes.
Yesterday, 6:30pm- I’m lying in my new fabulous bedroom reading Slaughterhouse-Five. (Can you believe I’ve never read it?) Oh hell :(... Norman’s operation. It’s about that time. I mosey on into the living room, yawning and stretching, and see a 4 inch mini me avec halo sitting on the window sill- smoking a cigarette and filling out college forms. (My Shoulder Good Girl took to smoking the last time C. and I broke up- presumably to calm her nerves. An event that also caused her eyes to turn bright blue- something about ‘taking the people we love with us, always’ or some such sentimentality)
Me: Hey. It’s almost time to go- put those away and help me get Norm, k?
Shoulder Good Girl: Says the girl who’s been lounging in bed all day. There’s time yet... *finally tearing her eyes away from the paper, looks me up and down haughtily* You know... eh, never mind.
Me: What?
SGG: Well, you *could* go for a nice jog.
Me: Wha..?
SGG: Or maybe do some sit-ups or something while we’re waiting...
Me: :O
SGG: I’m just saying- you’re kinda maybe sorta letting yourself go. Pot belly and all... just saying…
Me: :O *blink* :O
SGG: *dramatic sigh* Oh like I said- never mind! Say- don’t forget we still need to pick out a present for J. at work. For Secret Santa. It was your idea...
(About this time a slightly slurred, barely coherent voice chimes in from the kitchen. I shake my head and leave Shoulder Good Girl to her superiority. Rounding the island- there she is… weaving a bit, clutching a bottle of vodka, using my magnetic poetry kit to make dirty limericks- Shoulder Bad Girl!)
Me: Wassat?
Shoulder Bad Girl: I said *here she uses the bottle to punctuate each word* we should get him a little leather whip. *Huge grin* You know- a hotel inside joke and all!
Me: (She looks so pleased with herself I can’t help but chuckle a bit) Hehe- well, maybe...
SGG (to me): *completely indignant* OMG. You cannot be serious? Kell- please tell that pleather wearing lunatic over there that would be completely inappropriate.
Me: *looking hard at SGG* Hey! Is that a black eye..?
SBG (to me): *losing her humor* Kell... please tell Ms. Uptight over there that he would totally get it and think it was funny.
Me: Shoulder Bad Girl... What’s on your... you have a fat lip! :O
SGG (to me): *sickeningly sweet* Kelllll, tell that BOY KISSER in the kitchen that I’d rather die than hand over something so tasteless so completely...
SBG (to SGG): We’re imaginary you moron! We can’t die!!
SGG (to SBG): Moron? *getting louder* MORON? Oh! That! Is! It!
(I stand in shock as my two little alter egos race the distance between them and start pummeling each other- fists and fury high. Shoulder Bad Girl gets in one good shot before Shoulder Good Girl starts to choke her with her halo...)
SGG: TRAMP!!
SBG: *gasping around halo* SNOB!!
SGG: I HATE YOU!
SBG: I HATE YOU TOO!
(Hm. Something tells me this has happened before... It seems they’ve been getting on even less cordially than usual. I finish packing Normy up in his carrier and toss the kids over my shoulder- they’ve progressed to deep breaths, angry sighs, and sniffles.)
In the car. For some reason I picked a vet WAY WAY out. It takes forever to get there. Norman is being such a good boy in his box and I feel horrible that I will soon be doing this to him. The Shoulder duo is presently sitting on opposite ends of the backseat. After accelerating to 75 then slowing back down to 55 over and over again... I couldn’t take their squabbling anymore and banished them.
We get there and go in- the girls on their respective shoulders, Normy in hand. There is paperwork upon paperwork to be filled out. Waivers and such... they people there are so nice, I’m starting to feel better about having the operation done. Until I see this.
Release from responsibility for ACCIDENTAL CASTRATION DEATH.
Oh-my-freakin-god.
*Phew* *Phew*
*Thunk* *Thunk*
The duo simultaneously loses consciousness and falls to the ground.
(Norman, before he’s taken away, reaches a kitty paw out from his box to pat at the two passed out mini me’s as if to say *sob* ‘bye guys, it’s been fun!’)
It’s a quiet car ride home... I keep thinking about how maybe this was unnecessary and how lonely Normy’s gonna be all night. Please! Please let him be ok... The vets at Cats Preferred are really awesome. He’s in good hands, right?
We pull into our ramp and I look over to see if the girls are ready to go in. I’m greeted by two icy, icy pairs of eyes glaring back at me.
Me: Oh come on guys... you know we had to! He’ll be fine.
SBG: I can’t believe you left him at that ball butcher!
SGG: Honestly woman- you call yourself his momma... Come on lunatic...
SBG: Right beside you, Mary.
(And they leave – righteous together, arm in arm. A duo again)
Well then. So it goes.
Monday, December 17, 2007
FRIDAY.
So. Friday. I resigned my lease! YAY. Agreed to a tentative contract- I can leave at any time as long as I give my landlord 60 days notice. Seemed like the best idea... it was kind of a bummer day for me. I was supposed to go to Chris’s company Christmas party up in Duluth. I had been looking forward to it for a long time. I tried to make him feel better about going by himself which made me feel even worse about it. Which makes no sense- but is true.
Anyways. To make myself feel better, I went to IKEA and spent $600 on bedroom furniture. For the past, I don’t know- 6 years or so my mattress has been sitting on the floor. I don’t know why this matters- god knows the next time someone’s going to see it- maybe I’m trying to improve my bed karma... kind of an asian-inspired, hidden-bookcase Field of Dreams. If I build it, he will come ;)
Those of you who shop IKEA know- you can purchase something that assembled is, say- the size of a minivan but it comes in a box the size of a book of matches. So yeah, after swearing and hammering... screwing and some more swearing... I was... done. (If by done you mean in-no-way-shape-or-form-done) Ugh, it was time to get out of the house.
So I called up Boyd and Nea and we all went to see I AM LEGEND- sorta. We really really tried to see it at 10. 3 theaters and 4 hours later, we finally did:) I decided the reason Will Smith was all alone in New York City was because everybody else was at the movie theater... I enjoyed it though! Much more than the book. (I plan on getting a fire place specifically so I can burn it;) It was nice to be out with people again! Nea told me she was proud of me, being all fabulous and single-like again. And I managed to hang on to those feelings all weekend...
But now it’s Monday and I really need a distraction right now. (More so than work is offering me;) Something. I’m going crazy here. Tell me to take up underwater basket weaving.
I’ll listen.
Anyways. To make myself feel better, I went to IKEA and spent $600 on bedroom furniture. For the past, I don’t know- 6 years or so my mattress has been sitting on the floor. I don’t know why this matters- god knows the next time someone’s going to see it- maybe I’m trying to improve my bed karma... kind of an asian-inspired, hidden-bookcase Field of Dreams. If I build it, he will come ;)
Those of you who shop IKEA know- you can purchase something that assembled is, say- the size of a minivan but it comes in a box the size of a book of matches. So yeah, after swearing and hammering... screwing and some more swearing... I was... done. (If by done you mean in-no-way-shape-or-form-done) Ugh, it was time to get out of the house.
So I called up Boyd and Nea and we all went to see I AM LEGEND- sorta. We really really tried to see it at 10. 3 theaters and 4 hours later, we finally did:) I decided the reason Will Smith was all alone in New York City was because everybody else was at the movie theater... I enjoyed it though! Much more than the book. (I plan on getting a fire place specifically so I can burn it;) It was nice to be out with people again! Nea told me she was proud of me, being all fabulous and single-like again. And I managed to hang on to those feelings all weekend...
But now it’s Monday and I really need a distraction right now. (More so than work is offering me;) Something. I’m going crazy here. Tell me to take up underwater basket weaving.
I’ll listen.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Is it better to be a loser or a quitter?
Sorry. It’s the jazz music they pump in here... makes me feel like Carrie Bradshaw. Kellie likes JAZZ.
It all started with a book. It is officially High Fidelity’s fault. I have wanted to read, yet refused to read it, for years. I think I was always afraid it would validate my inability to be with Chris. (That’s his name... Chris. So much for protecting the innocent.)
I bought it last weekend. Chris’s adamant declaration that our relationship was irrevocably ruined forever; it’s time to just *give up* Kell... I guess it’s time to read it. There’s something about losing him that makes me into my worst possible self. I lose all dignity, get pathetic, lose my mind blubbering until I become a person *I* wouldn’t want to be around. I must somehow think this is going to help.
Anyways. One of my coworkers- is also going through a break-up. Leaving work yesterday, (Late, because *everybody* was stuck in the snow yesterday) I passed him making his way through the back hallways. I strike up a conversation with him coming down the loooong corridor about the book High Fidelity. We’re approaching each other, getting closer and closer; when we come face to face I mention he can borrow it when I’m done with it. And I notice- his eyes are completely bloodshot, his suit is rumpled, and he hasn’t shaved in days... He says- ‘I read the first 2 chapters of that book. Then I had to stop so I didn’t kill myself.’ He absolutely reeks of vodka. Fuck. His eyes start to fill with tears and his lips tremble and out comes- ‘I’m trying to work full-time, go to school full-time, and drink full-time... Kell, it’s not working.’ Fuck x2.
Oh hell- intervention time. (I feel that this is partly, somehow, halfways my fault as his ex is from Duluth and so am I. Don’t ask me to explain that). I drag him across the street to Embassy’s convenience store- we *seriously* need some altoids. About this time I realize how drunk he actually is. So we go outside (in the freakin’ snow emergency) to sober up. I keep passing him the little bottles of Scope, he keeps going on about not caring and learning to be apathetic- or rather, abruptly cutting off all the feelings you have for this other person. From here on out- poof! Gone... pruning the dead emotions. That’s when I saw it- *THE LINE*. He was on one side and I was on the other and I told him I didn’t think he was on the right side.
That’s when he crossed a different line.
He called me a loser. Holding on to something worthless. A. Loser. *Now- on a side note... I’m the first person who you’d sit next to on the bus or ask for some much needed change. I’m the least intimidating person you’ll ever meet. I’m freakin’ adorable. But when he said that to me... *Oh no you di’n’t.*
Conveniently provided by the city of Minneapolis was a beautiful, pristine snow bank located at *just* the right height. I grabbed a fistful of hair from the back of his head and smashed his face and shoulders directly into the snow. Guess what hun- you just got yours from a 100lb loser!
*That* sobered him up pretty fast- he was able to get to work and function- and I’m sure he’ll start speaking to me again any day now:) I don’t know if I was in the right- or totally wrong.
But I do know I’d rather be a loser than a quitter.
Get me?
It all started with a book. It is officially High Fidelity’s fault. I have wanted to read, yet refused to read it, for years. I think I was always afraid it would validate my inability to be with Chris. (That’s his name... Chris. So much for protecting the innocent.)
I bought it last weekend. Chris’s adamant declaration that our relationship was irrevocably ruined forever; it’s time to just *give up* Kell... I guess it’s time to read it. There’s something about losing him that makes me into my worst possible self. I lose all dignity, get pathetic, lose my mind blubbering until I become a person *I* wouldn’t want to be around. I must somehow think this is going to help.
Anyways. One of my coworkers- is also going through a break-up. Leaving work yesterday, (Late, because *everybody* was stuck in the snow yesterday) I passed him making his way through the back hallways. I strike up a conversation with him coming down the loooong corridor about the book High Fidelity. We’re approaching each other, getting closer and closer; when we come face to face I mention he can borrow it when I’m done with it. And I notice- his eyes are completely bloodshot, his suit is rumpled, and he hasn’t shaved in days... He says- ‘I read the first 2 chapters of that book. Then I had to stop so I didn’t kill myself.’ He absolutely reeks of vodka. Fuck. His eyes start to fill with tears and his lips tremble and out comes- ‘I’m trying to work full-time, go to school full-time, and drink full-time... Kell, it’s not working.’ Fuck x2.
Oh hell- intervention time. (I feel that this is partly, somehow, halfways my fault as his ex is from Duluth and so am I. Don’t ask me to explain that). I drag him across the street to Embassy’s convenience store- we *seriously* need some altoids. About this time I realize how drunk he actually is. So we go outside (in the freakin’ snow emergency) to sober up. I keep passing him the little bottles of Scope, he keeps going on about not caring and learning to be apathetic- or rather, abruptly cutting off all the feelings you have for this other person. From here on out- poof! Gone... pruning the dead emotions. That’s when I saw it- *THE LINE*. He was on one side and I was on the other and I told him I didn’t think he was on the right side.
That’s when he crossed a different line.
He called me a loser. Holding on to something worthless. A. Loser. *Now- on a side note... I’m the first person who you’d sit next to on the bus or ask for some much needed change. I’m the least intimidating person you’ll ever meet. I’m freakin’ adorable. But when he said that to me... *Oh no you di’n’t.*
Conveniently provided by the city of Minneapolis was a beautiful, pristine snow bank located at *just* the right height. I grabbed a fistful of hair from the back of his head and smashed his face and shoulders directly into the snow. Guess what hun- you just got yours from a 100lb loser!
*That* sobered him up pretty fast- he was able to get to work and function- and I’m sure he’ll start speaking to me again any day now:) I don’t know if I was in the right- or totally wrong.
But I do know I’d rather be a loser than a quitter.
Get me?
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Thinking of an ex may get you killed.
I read somewhere that the pressure under the stiletto heel of an average sized woman was equal or greater to the weight created by a skyscraper. Whether or not this is true- it will be relevant later.
SO. Last night I couldn’t sleep. I tried making Secret Santa cards for my coworkers; the repetitive cutting of snowman circles and application of glitter was to be soothing. It didn’t work but there was something about the sweetly lopsided pile of candy canes and ribbon that had to make me smile. I decided to take a bath with the pretty oils the girls from work gave me and in no time I was feeling deliciously drowsy... I’ll fix my hair in the morning.
This morning the alarm goes off and I lie there thinking happy Christmas thoughts and relishing the fact that it’s only 5:30 and I can sleep for another 15 minutes and still have plenty of time to fix my hair. Then the phone rings. HUH? Felicia makes her morning, ‘Are you up/coming to get me’ call at 6:30... *looks at phone*. Apparently the alarm has been going off all morning. Oh my freakin’ god- it’s 6:30.
MAD DASH about the apartment. Clothes- check. Hair? I look like one of the creatures from Fraggle Rock. Oh hell. Oooh- quick think happy Christmas thoughts! Oh that’s right, Secret Santa cards, how fabulous:) I run to the living room to scoop them into a bag when THESMELL hits me. Hard. Norman has peepeed on my cards. Yes, that’s right- I said he peepeed, the important part being... on. my. cards- that I spent half the night making.
After standing there, in shock, for who knows how long- debating the different approaches to kitty parenting- I decide, I don’t have time for this right now. I toss the cards in the trash and Normy, from his kitty hiding place is overjoyed that he is not being punished this morning. So overjoyed, in fact, that he decides we’re going to play as I’m running out the door. (Playing means putting this body directly underneath my sharp, pointy heels.) I know I’m not at my best because for a second I thought it would serve him right not to care...
But then I remembered the skyscrapers and cared again.
Those of you with cats understand the abruptly absurd bending of the laws of physics in order to project one’s entire body weight away from the furry feline in question... It’s okay though- I broke my fall on the door. With my face.
Oh my god- it’s 6:45. I have exactly 15 minutes to get to Felicia’s and then downtown. I better stop for coffee. Or more specifically- a chai frappe. I just... I just have to. So I’m at the counter, liberally sprinkling the top with cinnamon when the top of the shaker comes off and pours a gallon of cinnamon down my leg. *Fun cinnamon fact I’ve learned since I started mainlining chai: when dry, cinnamon can easily be brushed off but the second it gets wet, it forms a sticky red paste that will NEVER come off of your clothing. Note to self: don’t get wet.
Running down the parking ramp to the car, I’m shaking my pant leg trying to dodge traffic when suddenly I hit a patch of ice. Yay! I’m flying! And I’m so proud of myself- I manage to land on my back with my cinnamon leg sticking up in the air. Oh yeah.
I get to Felicia’s and she hops in the car and we’re off. We both have a good laugh about our already dysfunctional early days- she’s no better off. She and her kids are having a dishes war, which is why she has a mason jar filled with ice water on her lap. The Normandy’s water is just. gross. So she brings her own. (In the comedy world, this is known as ‘the set-up’. I’d try misdirection, but we all know where this is going)
I pull up to the parking lot gate, just starting to get my Christmas jollies back… have to slow down to pull a ticket to make the bar go up when something funny happens. I *know* I told my foot to do one thing. Let’s slow down foot! But it decided to do something else. Like stomp on the gas. As the bar gets closer and closer, and we start to go faster and faster- my mind can’t quite wrap itself around what’s going on.
If Felicia hadn’t have screamed I probably would have rammed the gate! (Maybe pent up foot hostility towards downtown parking prices?) As it happened her scream was just enough to fix the broken connection to my foot to slam on the brakes. Yep. She threw her water everywhere.
So here I am at work. Big crazy frizzy hair on one side, flat on the other... (I stuck a santa hat on my head to cover it up) red pants... reeking of cinnamon.
Merry Christmas everybody:D
SO. Last night I couldn’t sleep. I tried making Secret Santa cards for my coworkers; the repetitive cutting of snowman circles and application of glitter was to be soothing. It didn’t work but there was something about the sweetly lopsided pile of candy canes and ribbon that had to make me smile. I decided to take a bath with the pretty oils the girls from work gave me and in no time I was feeling deliciously drowsy... I’ll fix my hair in the morning.
This morning the alarm goes off and I lie there thinking happy Christmas thoughts and relishing the fact that it’s only 5:30 and I can sleep for another 15 minutes and still have plenty of time to fix my hair. Then the phone rings. HUH? Felicia makes her morning, ‘Are you up/coming to get me’ call at 6:30... *looks at phone*. Apparently the alarm has been going off all morning. Oh my freakin’ god- it’s 6:30.
MAD DASH about the apartment. Clothes- check. Hair? I look like one of the creatures from Fraggle Rock. Oh hell. Oooh- quick think happy Christmas thoughts! Oh that’s right, Secret Santa cards, how fabulous:) I run to the living room to scoop them into a bag when THESMELL hits me. Hard. Norman has peepeed on my cards. Yes, that’s right- I said he peepeed, the important part being... on. my. cards- that I spent half the night making.
After standing there, in shock, for who knows how long- debating the different approaches to kitty parenting- I decide, I don’t have time for this right now. I toss the cards in the trash and Normy, from his kitty hiding place is overjoyed that he is not being punished this morning. So overjoyed, in fact, that he decides we’re going to play as I’m running out the door. (Playing means putting this body directly underneath my sharp, pointy heels.) I know I’m not at my best because for a second I thought it would serve him right not to care...
But then I remembered the skyscrapers and cared again.
Those of you with cats understand the abruptly absurd bending of the laws of physics in order to project one’s entire body weight away from the furry feline in question... It’s okay though- I broke my fall on the door. With my face.
Oh my god- it’s 6:45. I have exactly 15 minutes to get to Felicia’s and then downtown. I better stop for coffee. Or more specifically- a chai frappe. I just... I just have to. So I’m at the counter, liberally sprinkling the top with cinnamon when the top of the shaker comes off and pours a gallon of cinnamon down my leg. *Fun cinnamon fact I’ve learned since I started mainlining chai: when dry, cinnamon can easily be brushed off but the second it gets wet, it forms a sticky red paste that will NEVER come off of your clothing. Note to self: don’t get wet.
Running down the parking ramp to the car, I’m shaking my pant leg trying to dodge traffic when suddenly I hit a patch of ice. Yay! I’m flying! And I’m so proud of myself- I manage to land on my back with my cinnamon leg sticking up in the air. Oh yeah.
I get to Felicia’s and she hops in the car and we’re off. We both have a good laugh about our already dysfunctional early days- she’s no better off. She and her kids are having a dishes war, which is why she has a mason jar filled with ice water on her lap. The Normandy’s water is just. gross. So she brings her own. (In the comedy world, this is known as ‘the set-up’. I’d try misdirection, but we all know where this is going)
I pull up to the parking lot gate, just starting to get my Christmas jollies back… have to slow down to pull a ticket to make the bar go up when something funny happens. I *know* I told my foot to do one thing. Let’s slow down foot! But it decided to do something else. Like stomp on the gas. As the bar gets closer and closer, and we start to go faster and faster- my mind can’t quite wrap itself around what’s going on.
If Felicia hadn’t have screamed I probably would have rammed the gate! (Maybe pent up foot hostility towards downtown parking prices?) As it happened her scream was just enough to fix the broken connection to my foot to slam on the brakes. Yep. She threw her water everywhere.
So here I am at work. Big crazy frizzy hair on one side, flat on the other... (I stuck a santa hat on my head to cover it up) red pants... reeking of cinnamon.
Merry Christmas everybody:D
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