28 April 2013

We All Go a Little Crazy Sometimes

“True friendship multiplies the good in life and divides its evils. Strive to have friends, for life without friends is like life on a desert island… to find one real friend in a lifetime is good fortune; to keep him is a blessing.” Baltasar Gracian

I wrote this for my friend H. But as time passes, it applies to more and more people. Well except for the life saving tree thing... that only happened once

I don’t always have the words I need to tell you how much you mean to me.
I have never known a friend like you. You know me, sometimes better than I do. You understand my crazy. My need for fire.

I have always been the sort of person that runs from myself. You are the only one that has ever run beside me. Your love for me; never questioned. Your silent support is sometimes the only safe place I know.

Climbing trees, a bowl of oatmeal, leather pants, moments of silence in the backyard… Somehow you have always known what I need, even before I do.

You have been beside me through the births of my last two children, through the beginning and the near ending of a marriage.
Through all of the pain and the fear and the uncertainty, you have given me joy and love and support.
And also chocolate.

You are the type of person I aspire to be…A great person, all the way through.
This year has been rough. I have been scared and alone and hurt and lost. You have always helped me find me.

I can only hope my words express how much I love you and how grateful I am to have you as a friend.

“A friend is the one who comes in when the whole world has gone out.” Grace Pulpit

I can never give back all that you have given to me, all that you have been to me.

“Friends will keep you sane,
Love could fill your heart, A
lover can warm your bed, But
lonely is the soul without a mate.” - David Pratt

Thank you so much for all you have done for me. For us. Thank
you for holding my hand; for being my umbrella in this storm;
for never failing to make your love and support known.

Thank you for always wanting the best for us, for never judging and for saving my life that night in the tree.

Thank you for being everything I have ever needed, even when
I didn't know I needed it.

Someday I hope I can give you back just a fraction of all you
have given and shown to me.

There are a lot of people in my life that this applies to. They might not know it, because I am not the most expressive person in the world... But hopefully, you guys know who you are, if not what you've done for me.

05 April 2013

Ladies, really. It's Not That Fucking Hard

And back to the shallow end today...

I keep seeing these Facebook posts about relationships...And while I certainly realize that I am probably the last person on Earth to give any advice or even an opinion on relationships, I am going to anyway.

It's not that fucking difficult. I mean really, let's examine a few of these posts, shall we?

For starters:

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I mean really, if you are single and a man says to you that he wants you to prove that you are not a whore like every other girl he's ever dated, you would run the fuck away, right?
If not, you're just an idiot.
If you start a relationship with the idea that someone is just like the last one, he's going to be automatically defensive and probably won't take too long to get fed up with your pretentious bullshit and walk away.
So you dated an asshole. 
Who hasn't?
We've all been hurt and fucked over. You know what you do? You suck it the fuck up, realize you are better off and move on.
If you find yourself incapable of moving on? Get a therapist and work through it before you decide to date anyone again.
It's only fair.

And then there's this one:
Um. Nope.
Again with the I may not be a normal girl, but Jesus Christ, if this is true? Knock it the fuck off.
Is there some girl code that guys are supposed to decipher before they should be permitted to date someone?
How about, I love you meaning I love you? How about, if you're not okay, you fucking tell someone instead of waiting for him to read your damn mind?
If you say you are okay, he has every right to assume you are telling him the truth.
Once again, relationships don't have to be as fucking difficult as girls seem to make them.

And finally for today:

You had better be a perfect fucking person, lady. I mean really, who the fuck do you think you are?
You have no issues? No faults? Haven't made mistakes? Does that mean you don't deserve him either?
I mean, really, that's a healthy way to look at a relationship... You're human, and therefore  imperfect, and you don't deserve for anyone to love you.
And also? Relationships aren't supposed to be about what someone can do you for you.
What kind of asshole thinks that way?
And these are the same girls that are posting shit on Facebook about how they just want a "nice" guy and talking about how lonely they are...
Rant complete.

04 April 2013

I Collect Broken People

I attract broken people, I think. 

This is why I keep them.

We have a huge heroin problem where I live. 
An epidemic, really.
I've lost more friends and classmates than I can remember from the shit. We buried my cousin not too long ago because of an overdose.
It breaks my heart.
Every single time I see or hear or read about another heroin or any other drug related overdose, it simply breaks my heart.
When John* died though, it broke my soul.

I have this memory of him in high school. It was one of those trust-building field trips, with all the ropes and games and shit.
And a climbing wall.
One of my most vivid memories from high school is watching John as he flew up that wall. He made it look effortless, like maybe he was somehow floating up the thing, immune to the laws of gravity.
He flew up the wall, perched on the top of the thing and grinned down at the rest of us with his amazing, brilliant smile.
The sight of John smiling down at us so dominates my memory of that day that I don't remember if anyone else even made it up the wall, myself included.

It wasn't John's dying that affected me so much. I was saddened that he'd passed, just eighteen years old. More so, though, I was horrified by the way he died.

A passerby found him passed out in the passenger seat of a truck, just a block or two from the local hospital. He would never regain consciousness and would be removed from life support 10 days later.

Someone reported that the vehicle had been left in the parking lot by another man, who then got into a car that was driven by a female and one other man. When they printed men and women, I'm assuming they meant people around the same age as John... 17, 18, maybe 19 years old. Maybe not. I don't really know.

I can imagine they were just scared little kids, afraid to get into trouble. I would assume there are some sort of criminal charges they would have faced if they'd taken the kid into the ER instead of leaving him alone to die in a parking lot just feet from an antidote. Maybe they couldn't fathom having to explain to their parents why they were hanging out with a dude that was overdosing on heroin. To them, I suppose avoiding the questions, the scenes, must have been worth letting John die.

It could have happened anytime, I guess. He could have overdosed and died alone in his room, or anywhere else where no one was around. But he didn't. He overdosed with a group of friends that left him alone to die. I have never been able to wrap my head around that.

I would like to say that I don't know anyone that does any illegal or dangerous drugs. 
I wish I could say I've never seen anyone do too much of a potentially deadly substance.
 I'd like to say that I've never been around a person that was suicidal and crying out for help, in whatever fucked up way it usually comes out.
 I wish I could say I'd never seen someone hurt themselves or someone else.
I do.
I have.
I've been terrified to let someone fall asleep.I've watched pupils dilate to almost nothing, and also grow so large the iris seemed to disappear. I've poked and slapped. I've taken away weapons and said all of the wrong things. I've cried and yelled and sometimes I've hit people. I've made it perfectly clear that I am not afraid to call 911 for someone, even if it costs them their jobs or kids or anything else they might lose. I don't know if there are some sort of charges they can press if you are bringing someone in for an overdose, but I am not afraid of that either.

Even when I am terrified, or angry, or fed up with people doing stupid shit over and over? 
John's memory haunts me.
I picture him, alone in that truck.
He may have lived for 10 more days on life support, but essentially, that poor kid died all alone.
I wonder if he was scared.
If he was lonely.
If he even knew what was happening to him.
I wonder if he knew how close he was to that hospital.
I wonder how those kids lived with themselves after he died.
And I don't leave people alone.

*Names have been changed.

02 April 2013

Key West's Creepy Chickens

I have fallen in love with the Florida Keys. I love everything about the islands, the climate, the history of the place, the people and the pace of living. I love the food and the culture.

Well, almost everything about the Islands.

During the trip, as I posted shit on Facebook about dive bars and drinking mimosas at ten am, several of my friends posted back with suggestions on bars and restaurants and attractions. My mom texted me suggestions from my former boss.
Everyone, it seems, has been to the Florida Keys before.


One would think, then, that maybe someone on my friends list would have mentioned the fucking chickens.
The first morning we woke in the hotel room, I heard a rooster crowing.
Well, that's cute, I thought. The resort has a rooster. After several moments of crowing, I searched the parking lot in vain for the little bastard as I stood on the balcony, determined to throw shit at it until it shut up.
I did not find the rooster. 

I did find the guy that drives around and tickets people for not paying for their parking. I did not throw things at that guy.

At some point, walking out of the resort I saw the rooster, and it occurred to me, quite suddenly, that I fucking hate chickens. I didn't know, until  that very moment, just how much I hate them.

Later in the trip, Husband and I decided to go on some Jet Ski tour around the islands. It was an hour and a half of shitty tasting water and rough waves. I'm sure the islands are beautiful from the sea, but I couldn't see shit with all the salt in my eyes... Not to mention? Should one ever decide to take that tour? Do not, I repeat, DO NOT shave your legs prior to jumping in the ocean.
You are welcome. 

Anyhow... standing in line, waiting for the tour to begin, I saw the fucking rooster again. The tour place is right next to the hotel. So I assumed it was the chicken owned by the resort. I pointed it out to Art and maybe shivered a little as I realized that the rooster was following me.

Everywhere we went, the fucking rooster was there.

I was slightly paranoid about the damn thing. I was maybe googling bad omens in relation to roosters following people around.
Because of all of the people that had been to the Keys, out of everyone that gave me recommendations for food and fun, not a single fucking person mentioned the fact that there are wild fucking chickens wandering everywhere on the islands.

Apparently, they came with the influx of Cuban immigrants. As the tour guide said, while cock fighting was never actually legal on the islands, it was always allowed anyway. Until someone realized it was a pretty fucked up thing to be allowing and they banned it.

So the people with the chickens? Just fucking let them go. Just let them free to wander the islands, eating lizards and freaking out tourists. I wonder if maybe that was the intention... Fucking with tourists. I learned this after three full days of wondering if roosters following people was a sure sign of impending doom. Assholes.
They should maybe post that shit on the sign that says welcome to Key West.

The tour guide guy from the jet ski trip gave me the strangest look when I exclaimed to Art, "That fucking chicken again. Bro. It's following me. I think it wants to eat me or something..." He didn't exactly grin an evil grin and rub his hands together in glee, at least while I was looking, but he certainly didn't mention the fact that the island was full of fucking chickens.
Fucking with tourists?