Ouch!

DC went snowboarding this past weekend. Good times were had, as expected. Three out of four days were spent snowboarding in the beautiful mountains of Vermont, freezing our asses off. The remaining day was spent playing ice hockey with a bunch of guys we met in the lodge on our first night there.

This is where I learned that not only do I not know how to ice skate very well, but that getting slammed on the ice will make every joint/muscle in your entire body hurt. And bruises will appear in places that might make an outside party wonder what really went on during this little trip we had.

[Yes, I'm the idiot who wears a vest instead of a full jacket when snowboarding in -20º weather. But before you all call my crazy, in my defense, I would like to note that when snowboarding, you use every muscle in your body. Muscles you didn't know you had. And when you're as out of shape as I am, you get real hot real fast. So a vest is always a good idea for snowboarders like me. AKA, chain smokers who don't exercise regularly anymore.]

I got my ass handed to me this weekend. It wasn't pretty. But it was a blast either way. After a quick Doctor's visit this morning it was determined: DC dislocated and broke her right wrist. Again. For a grand total of three times in her life thus far. Yikes. And I got that "I told you so!" when the Doc explained to me that since I broke it last year (snowboarding, ha!) and I refused to have it casted (6-8 weeks!!!) that it would not heal correctly and be much more fragile than the average 20-something's wrists, and I ran the risk of breaking it again.

Ask me if I got a cast put on it this time around.

Nope.

Ask me if I'm going to stop snowboarding.

Nope. (Though at the rate I'm going, I probably should.)

Ahhh... Thick Mick at her finest.

[Note: the picture shown above is an exact reaction to inspecting the damage of the cracked and dislocated wrist. Notice the smile? Yea... I'm a sick bastard.]

*****************************************************

After getting tossed and tumbled all day long on the slopes, our evenings were spent in quite possibly the sickest log cabin known to man. Woke up every morning in the loft with floor to ceiling, two story high windows overlooking the mountains. Drank my hot tea and read the newspaper/checked some blogs I make a point to read daily, and responded to work e-mails. Evenings were either spent at the lodge getting hammered and listening to a few local rock cover bands with some cool mountain folk or getting hammered at the cabin in the hot tub with some of my closest friends.

I've come to realize that my friends who seem like normal adults, will always be high school/frat boys when consuming mass amounts of liquor in a short amount of time, away from home, in a hot tub.

...Did I mention that I was the only girl on this snowboarding trip? Yea. Eight of my best guy friends and little 'ole me in a hot tub. It was interesting, that's for sure.

Without naming names, I got two of my straightest guy friends to kiss. No tongue, but open mouth for sure. Was trying to put an old rumor to rest that girls are turned on by two guys kissing. I explained that I needed to witness such an event up close and personal. I don't know how I did it, but I did. [The powers of persuasion are strong with this one.]

Like the twelve year olds at heart we all are- a game of truth or dare was initiated. Most of my friends were not only twelve about it, but twelve year old girls.

DC: "Ben, Truth or Dare?"

Ben: "Truth."

Are you kidding me? I was forced to get to know the inner-boy of all of my friends this weekend. I think after the male/male make-out session, all the guys were afraid to see what I would come up with for dares.

Oh well. It was good time all around.

Let's just say I got to know a few of the guys a little too well though. And when I say "little", believe me, the PUN was intended.

;)

[And, no. I did not sleep/make-out with any of them. Because I know all you pervs were wondering about it.]

(((P.S. I'm not sure why, but I was unable to get today's post to space itself properly. So I'm sure it looks jumbled and crowded. I apologize.))

Being the bigger person.

Original plans of attending Times Square tonight were squashed when I learned that with the snow, heavy winds, and low temperatures it would actually feel about ZERO DEGREES out tonight. So I opted for option number two.

House party at a friend's. Local. Which is sometimes nice. No worries about transportation, etc. Semi-nice attire, champagne bottles popping at midnight, free beer, watching the ball drop in a warm cozy house on a giant projector and screen. I'm all over it.

The only problem with scenario number two? An old fling will be there. Normally I wouldn't give a damn, but here's a breakdown of the situation:

Xiv and I have known each other forever. I mean forever. He is a few years older than me, grew up around the corner and played hockey with my brother when were kids. But we lost touch in our teenage years since we attended different high schools. A few years after that, when the loser Ex and I finally split, I heard rumors that Xiv was pumped about it. I was confused, I hadn't really seen the kid in years (other than the occasional bump-into at random bars and whathaveyou).

[Note: He works with a very good friend of mine, Joe.]

Joe confronts me at Monday night poker. "Xiv thinks you're adorable and really wants to take you out one night. He wanted me to see if this is something you might be interested in." I agreed. Though, I'm not really sure why. I thought it might be weird because we were friends when we were kids and he was friends with my brother also.

But we went. We had an alright time, nothing fantastic. Then we hung out another night, casually, at my place just kicking a few beers back and catching up, bullshitting, you know the routine. Then we started talking about our "date" that we had. We both decided that we were much better as friends, that the date felt a bit... awkward.

Awesome. I was really into it. We had a lot of fun together, but I just didn't get that feeling, ya know?

About a year goes by, and we're practically best friends. He calls me when he's had a fight with his girlfriend and I call him after a bad date. Tuesday officially became drinking day. Every Tuesday we got together and drank at my house. He came over and got shitfaced when he and his girlfriend split and he took me out to get hammered on my birthday. (The only one of my friends who wouldn't let me pay for my own drinks.) Life was great. I was really enjoying our friendship. It was unique and just what we both needed, wanted and loved.

...Or maybe it was all one sided and I never realized?

He came to Bonnaroo with me and another friend. We meet these kids as soon as we get there and wound up hanging out with them the entire trip. Sharing food, beer, tents, toothpaste; you name it.

Well, the first night we're there, I got drunk and stupidly slept with one of the kids. (Whoops.) And that was it. That was ultimately the end of mine and Xiv's perfect friendship. I got the cold shoulder from him the rest of the trip and haven't really spoken to him since.

He'll never come out and say it, but I know that's why he hates me today. When we got home, a few Tuesdays passed where I never saw or heard from Xiv. He never called, he always just came by. But all that stopped. I would call... no answer. Text... nothing. I was heartbroken. I missed my friend.

Joe and I went out for drinks with a bunch of friends a few months after Bonnaroo. Joe gets drunk and lays right into me. "What you did to my buddy, Xiv wasn't right!"

Huh? What the fuck did I do? I don't get it. We were great friends. And even if he didn't feel the same way I never knew that. And it's not my fault. Or my problem! He can have a girlfriend the whole time we're friends and I can't sleep with some random dude? What the fuck?

[[And I thought girls were annoying about shit like that.]]

Anyway, still no word from him today. But I do know that he's dating a girl we went to school with when were younger. She and I never got along. She and I got into a fist fight in junior high and another one in high school. This broad will just never let shit die. She's a tad too scrappy for my taste.

[Note: I didn't start either of those fights. I didn't lose either of those fights either.]

Anywho... they'll both be there tonight. And all I can hope for is that they both just be adults about the whole thing and don't do anything stupid. Because it's MY friend's house and I won't tolerate any bullshit.

***********************************

Actually... Why do I even care?
I'm going to have the hottest date there. And to boot, he's fucking awesome.









I win. ;)

Invisible Man Part II

You sang sad songs in my ear
And wondered why I didn't smile.
Thinking that sad songs
Were the way to my heart.

You poked fun at my art
And wondered why I wasn't laughing.
Thinking that mocking me
Wouldn't tear us apart.

You tell me we're friends
But tell your friends different.
Saying that you can't live without me
I say "ditto"
And then you doubt me.

As if to mimic Houdini
You disappear without a trace.

Your pessimism and negative energy
Have left my world
Leaving nothing but sunshine and rainbows in their absence.
Making stress dissipate
And yet you didn't say a word.

*******************************

And now it's Christmas
And somehow... I miss us.

Invisible Man.

You fade in and out

Like a star whose level of brightness can only be measured

When you're not looking directly at it.

You clog my brain

With thoughts of your cynicism

And with your ability to wash out important things

With unimportant things

As if to cleanse yourself of anything

That would ever truly make you happy.

(Disregarding things that cannot be labeled,

Because labels are what make the thing exist,

Not the thing itself.)

...Or so you like to think.

"Life is not a game."

You say.
Though I know how you play.

Whoops!

So it's Saturday night and I'm out for a drink with some friends. Trying to maintain somewhat of a social life on Long Island isn't easy. Especially since the only people that are here are the ones I went to high school with. (Thankfully, there are a few I don't mind seeing/hanging with.)

We headed to the local pub because it's cheap, close to home, we LOVE the bartender, and Saturday night karaoke is always good for a laugh.

Stepping out for a smoke Bebe and I get approached. "Can I bum a smoke offa one uh you pretty ladies?" Without thinking much of it, I open my pack, pass one over to him and then continue with my conversation with Bebe. Until we get interrupted again.

"You look familiar." He says to Bebe. Turns out they went to high school together. Well, we all went to the same high school actually, but Bebe and (we'll call him) Dave are about 8 years older than me. We all introduce ourselves, his friends wander over and introduce themselves also.

About two minutes into the group conversation (mostly Dave, his friends and Bebe catching up on people from high school while I sit there quietly) Dave is so drunk that he's practically falling into me. "You're pretty. Can I get your cell phone number?"

I have to laugh at this point. This kid doesn't know me from a whole in the wall! "Yea... I don't know if that's really a good idea."

"Come on! I'm a good guy. Bebe will tell you, she knows me." Dave pleads.
"I don't know you! I haven't seen you in ten years."
I'm laughing so hard now, I'm seconds away from peeing my pants. "Well, you have to appreciate her honesty!" I say as I flick my cigarette into the parking lot and make my way back inside.

Moments later a HORRENDOUS choice of karaoke song is chosen. The Grease Montage. But after about 9 shots of I don't know what (Kay-the bartender-makes great shots but never tells me what's in them) and more beers than I can count, Marc and I decide that dancing to this song is a GREAT idea. I then notice, while Marc and I are out on the dance floor, Bebe and Red (yes, her name is Red) are cornered by Dave and a friend of his.

Upon my (angry) return to the table, Dave and his friend leave without saying a word. "What the fuck was that all about?!" I'm not sure why, but I was REALLY annoyed that he had cornered them.

"That kid's a mess. He asked me what he needed to do to get you to give him your number."
"What did you say?"
"I told him that if he still needed help getting girls' phone numbers at hisage, than he was even more pathetic than I can remember." While what Bebe said may've been really harsh, you have to admit, it was kind of funny.

I felt a little bad for the guy, so I made Kay send a beer and a shot of Patron his way. Dave winked at me from across the bar, and that was the end of that.

We're all laughing and having a great time and the entertainment was to die for. Then, next thing I know, the bar goes silent.

"You are.... so beautiful..... to me....... CAN'T YOU SEE!!!!" Some dude actually chose that for a karaoke song?! I couldn't believe it. And this is the last thing I want to hear on a Saturday night. So, what do I do? The asshole that I am? I 'boo' this guy. Only, it sparked a wave of 'boos' coming from the far end of the bar. Now, almost the entire bar is 'booing' this poor guy. But he doesn't stop.

He finishes out the song and when it's over, he gets down on one knee and says (into the mic), "Stacy, I love you more than anything. Will you marry me?"

...Wow. I kinda feel bad now. What a dick I am!

Whoops!



P.S. She said 'no'. Ouch.

Just another statistic.

"...Pushing you away before you walk away, hurts a lot less in the end." These words have passed through my lips, entered your ears, and appeared to have registered with your brain. I have been fooled. Either these words did not register, or you tricked me into opening up to you.

Dick.

You begged and pleaded, practically got down on your knees and cried at my feet. You were eager to gain the knowledge of the truth, of the feelings, the thoughts in my head; swore they would be sacred to you, that you wouldn't do a thing to hurt me.

I was reluctant. I hesitated. Thought you might be just like the others. Then something happened. I cannot describe it, because I'm not sure what the trigger was. But for whatever reason, I felt it comfortable enough to divulge such information to you.

And where did you go? I'm not sure. But your current location is not what's important. For it does not matter where you are, it matters where you're not.

...And that's here.

Thanks for helping me justify old habits which have protected me from people like you in the past. I will continue to do so, despite your efforts to try and change me forever.

Just another one to add to the list. Another statistic.
That's all you are to me now.

Be seeing ya.

October twenty-seventh.

October 27th came and went as it does every year. Of my twenty-something years I can clearly remember fourteen of those October 27ths.

I have bittersweet sentiments regarding Autumn. The changing of the leaves, slight chill in the air, clear sunsets. It's my favorite time of year. But with that cold chill comes memories. Some good, most bad. I know that things would be different today had things been different in the past. But I also know that everything happens for a reason.

The past eight October 27ths (as well as the past eight August 13ths) I have spent alone. Thinking. Dreaming. Wishing. Desperately trying to pry open locked filing cabinets in my mind containing valuable memories only I know exist. Stories would never do them justice. The smells need to be inhaled; the nerves, touched; faces, seen; and voices, tickle every bit of my insides.

Instead, I settle for stories. Because the keys to those filing cabinets have been missing for fourteen years. 5,110 days. Give or take. But I dump the filing cabinet? Never. The key could turn up. All hope cannot be lost.

This October 27th was spent in a hospital. As well as this August 13th. I strayed away from routine for the sake of my sick father. The "miracle man" who keeps miraculously getting better. Or did.

****************

I know that she wouldn't've minded. In fact, she would've much preferred me where I was. She wishes I would be at his side every October 27th. But I am not. Not every October 27th. Because there were October 27ths that I was traveling, working, sick, busy, far, far away. And there were October 27ths that my father did not want to see me. Or any other day in October, November, December, and so on.

No matter what the circumstance, I always made an appearance to where I felt in my heart I needed to be on that day. And then it became the place to be. The thing to do. The spot to visit. The peace I needed. The view that took my breath away. The place I thought about crying, but never actually did because I am not a crier (years or pretending to be tough with eventually make you tough).

And this October 27th, I felt I betrayed her by not visiting. Thought she might not be able to find me if I wasn't where I normally am on this day every year. Hoped she didn't get lost up there in the dark looking for something that wasn't there to begin with.

But then I realized. She was right by my side all along. And not because she had been following me, not even because it's "our special day". But because right where I needed to be is right where she needed to be too. At his side. Whispering in his ear. Loving so much that the room filled up and no one else could squeeze in there with us.

Sorry, Mom. I didn't make it up there to "our spot" this year. The day that marked the fourteenth year you left me. But I will be there soon. Because I need to be. Because I want to be. Because I can be.





Dad says "hi."