I'm starting to believe every bad thing anyone ever uttered about him. Hmm, oh well. You live and you learn!

New Years Eve looks promising. Besides working til 11pm and rushing back to the city, I'm very excited. The New Year always riles me up in its own way.

I've become utterly obsessed with "To-Do" Lists. I even bought a special pad of paper that further organizes my already organized to-do list. Obviously, I've been working on an epic New Years Resolution list.

Marley is here for another week. I'm going to lose it when he leaves. I walked him around the real dirty part of Main St. and spent an hour with a hot dog vendor. Maybe he can stay forever. Marley, that is, not the hot dog vendor.

Listening to Pink Floyd on vinyl while chainsmoking has become one of my favorite things to do lately. I sound like such a hippie.

I still have to make Christmas presents.. eek.

Having Steph here was really nice. Even though we only spent a little bit of time together, I realized I haven't laughed as hard as I do with her with anyone else. In a genuine sense.. not at anyone, not maliciously.. just rib hurting, cheek stretching, open mouth laughter. I miss her already.

My christmas has consisted of:

Waking up sweating balls on the couch.
Walking Marley down Elmwood.
Eating 2 tuna fish sandwiches.
Chainsmoking and bitching with Nicholas.

I think I might have liked this "Tiny Tim" Christmas.

P.S. My sister had the baby last night. I cried at work and Mark said I was officially a woman. I'm excited, but scared.. but more so excited. Ohh, life.

Tomorrow I rage! Well, as much raging as someone who has to work at 8am the next day can do.

Go back to California already, please.

Thanks.

Everyone is super, super dramatic. And malicious. And conniving. And oblivious to others feelings.

Makes me want to hibernate inside. Good thing this weather is giving me a great excuse!

I hate how everyone blends together.

I'm entertaining the thought of moving to Ohio.

Buffalo is too small.

I don't have a grandma or a sister anymore.

Apparently I'm a "self-centered bitch."

Oh, poo. That's how I feel. "Oh, poo." I'm not really sure if the feeling can be translated into actual verbs and nouns and bullshit.

I feel awful for Marley. His fucking tail is going to be a nub soon. Hopefully he doesn't think his Buffalo trip was a complete disaster. I'll still love him, even sans tail. I hope he doesn't mind being walked through Allentown and the Elmwood village with a giant, boisterous cone around his neck and a dinky, stubby tail awkwardly swaying in the December brisk breeze.

The old shoes I could never fill are coming back to haunt me. None of my emotions can be pinpointed, controlled or organized anymore. Scatterbrained and irrational are suddenly synonyms for "Trisha."

Jealousy.. I despise it, but now I'm overcome by it? I hate that he'll be in town in less than a week. More so I hate that I found it out by looking at all of my friend's facebook accounts. So fucking random. I suppose I'm getting a taste of my own medicine. Deserved? I don't know, maybe. I'll shake this feeling.

Apparently I'm still okay at piano and I like that. I've been youtube-ing "how to" videos and I can't say I'm prolific, but I'm gaining in the area.

In a few days Laura gives birth and I'm indifferent. Yikes.. that's semi-brutal. Maybe I slightly lost interest when she coerced my dog into biting his own tail or fed him swedish fish and he couldn't help but shit everywhere and anywhere. First thing I do is feed her kid a bountiful supply of sour patch kids and make him bite his own feet. Revenge!

I'm slowly and painfully learning that the more potato chips you toss into your private lunch box.. the more opportunity there is to get some really rotten, green chips in the mix. I'm not liking it one bit.

Foster tattooed my wrist and I'm taking out a student loan to finish my fan/half sleeve. I know, I know, I'm clearly the most responsible and level-headed student out there. Must be the reason it's going to take me 7 years to graduate BuffState with a bullshit degree in Fine Arts.

I fucking lost it last night. Completely fucking lost it.

My romantic situation with Joe is pretty much expired. I suppose I'm now onto the transitional "get your possessions out of my home and never speak to me again" phase. Sometimes people just cross a line that puts you over the edge, and edge you never want to be teetering on, and he did that. I'm pretty indifferent to the cause. If it's because of alcohol or the Sabres losing or whatever, I don't want to hear it. I have far too much on my plate to be fed even more excuses.

Such a scene was caused in front of my friends. Outrageously rude statements were made in front of some of my favorites. I feel absolutely terrible that I practically ruined Ana's birthday and everyone was either feeling really fucking awkward or scrambling to pick up bits of a wine glass, while I just sheepishly and ashamedly sobbed. I kept repeating to Nick over and over "I want to go home", but I don't have a home. As much as I put up knickknacks and chockys around the apartment, it doesn't feel permanent or maybe it's me that feels temporary.

Nick hates me. Or resents me. I'm not sure which one and I'm not sure which one is worse.

I want to hibernate alone in my room for a really long time. I really don't want to affect people anymore because it just seems to be in a negative manner. I haven't been myself in years.

I am so embarrassed about last night. Rarely do I cause a melee, but for some reason I couldn't control myself. I wish I would have been more drunk so I had a better excuse for my behavior.

If Marley wasn't here I probably would have killed myself. Seriously. He just knows what to do and when to do it, even if it is just laying next to me or putting a paw on my shoulder.

I feel left out.

I'm bummed that I don't even feel like writing in here anymore.

I am in such a slump lately. I'm having a hard time getting myself off the couch. I don't think anyone understands. Plagued by a constant state of exhaustion, I just don't have the energy to do much.

Hopefully I have mono so there is an actual reason for me being like this. It's too early for seasonal depression.

Wowwww.

So I looked on Facebook and Jessamyn unadded both Stephanie and myself from her friends. Apparently the internet really is life. As much as I want to write a big crotchy message to her, I will refrain. Sometimes I laugh about the whole situation. Ya know, being called a "boy crazy whore" to my good friend (her ex-boyfriend of.. what.. 7 years? Get over yourself!). It was all humorous. In fact, I made many an inside joke based off of that situation. I personally had, and definitely spread many a decent and hearty laugh as I retold the stories of her freaking out on Steph and I for not being relatable.

Meh, I understand friends branch off onto different roads, but isn't that the beauty of friendship? The diversity, the loving to hear about new and exciting lives. And then the comfort you just get encompassed in from spending time with someone who has known you forever. Maybe that's what made Jess uncomfortable.. that Steph and I actually knew her and she was trying to create some weird, fabricated persona in DC.. and we were just hindering her plans by knowing the real her.

Orrrr maybe she was always a vain, stuck-up, rigid bitch?

All I really felt from Jess was resentment. Resentment because I have established (and kept) long friendships. Maybe even some resentment because I was genuinely having a blast while she was sulking over a closet gay breaking up with her? Okay, that was catty, but still I even invited her out to open up her horizons to my life in Buffalo (and to help her get over the closet gay breaking her heart) and she didn't even give a shit. She really hadn't given a shit in years. She made no effort to get to know my friends here, she actually made them slightly uncomfortable.

I don't really know why I'm upset. Maybe because I feel like deleting people on the internet (I'm still sorry, Bobby!) is silly when you're in the heat of the moment.. but to let it brew for months and not even try and contact me, just drop the friendship as if we hadn't made stupid "friends forever" pacts is kind of brutal.. as if it's the ultimate "HAH! I showed you!".

I'm a little ashamed of my Stay Gold tattoo. I should be ashamed that I stopped denying the "Ohhhh nice NFG tattoo" comments and just embraced them because I don't want everyone to know what a shitty friend I had.

I suppose this is when "If you're not now, you never were" is appropriate and fitting.

I feel like an awful person. The funny thing is, I haven't even done anything awful. Or purposefully awful.

I can understand when people are joking and, ya know what, maybe I just can't take criticism well.. but since when do other people think it's okay to kind of pick me apart. Not even pick, but jab and evaluate and come to some sort of conclusion that I'm a little (lot) stand off-ish. That I'm cold and unapproachable. (It's funny, because I used to pride myself on being the opposite of these things.) That I have a hard exterior or a "wall" if you will. (The wall part might be true.) If I had a Starbucks beverage for every time I've heard someone tell me I had a "wall" or "guard" up in the past year, I'd be set for life.

I'm consistently reminded of how I'd like to hibernate alone in my apartment for a good chunk of time.

Breaker of hearts.

Yesterday was one of the best days I've had all year. I shot some targets with high-powered rifles and pistols. I ate some deer tacos. I drank some spiced rum and cider. I drove by my old, memory-filled house. I was in very close proximity to an alligator, a few snakes, a scorpion. I held a tarantula and even embraced a child.

I'll never feel more comfortable than when I am with the people I grew up with.

Which leads me to think, I don't think I'm ready for any type of relationship besides friendship yet.

I wish people just got it. Just GOT me.

I hope I'm just acting like a giant crotch because of this raging cold and not because I really have turned into a bitter, mean spirited, shit talking bitch.. ?

Hm.. oh well.

Hurricane Ike is showing no mercy today. It feels like my windows are going to shatter from the wind. Maybe Ike can blow BuffState away.

Today there was a fire in my apartment complex. All I grabbed was Pete and a pack of smokes. I laid outside on the grass, clutched Pete close to me, smoked a cig and stared at the clouds moving feverishly across the sky. I didn't even think of my possessions slowly catching a blaze, burning, roasting and then turning to ash.. probably because itty bitty pieces of me are scattered about the U.S. in various parts of Buffalo, Columbus, NYC and Boston.

Apparently my sister's friend, Eugene, is going to be on Jerry Springer tomorrow at 3pm. Hah.

Ohhh, life.

Why am I soft in the middle? The rest of my life is so hard.


Lately, I really am at a loss for words. I mean, I could say so much. So much, but with little substance.

I think I'm more into doing.

I could quite possibly be happy. Be happy for me?

This is just a bullshit/clearing my mind entry.

School started. I got the usual horrible stomach pains and panic attack before I went. I hate those feelings that you just can't shake. I think I'm one big ball of nostalgia.. lipgloss, scarves, certain songs and smells.. they all induce a flood of memories. Some fantastic, some bad. But I suppose I just associate going to Buffstate with living on Norwood. I remember digging my car out of my parking spot only to not be able to find parking in lot G or whatever. I remember fighting with Dave and almost running him over with my car in front of the garbage men. I vividly recall coming home with my feet full of salt and stinging from mother nature's December wrath, crawling into bed with Peterbilt and sobbing because my walls were too white. Maybe I need to forget.. as Nick told me tonight.. "you either forget about it, or you kill them." I should probably start killing the memories i can't forget.

I haven't talked to Scott lately. Hm, I mean, that's probably a good thing. I'd like to be friends. He comes home in a week. I, truly, don't even know what to say about the matter. Oh well. Oh FUCKING well. I just hope he doesn't come home and try to fuck up my life when he can escape to California in four days and be okay with the sunshine.. all the while I am left here to pick up pieces and attempt to fit them together like a puzzle. I think I'm realizing now that he's secretly taking those pieces so that I'm awkwardly disoriented and bitter and bruised and left with a puzzle that's lacking a crucial corner piece.

I keep deleting a sentence I so desperately want to let out. I'm fucking terrified. My body is not right as of late. A test says no, weeks later I am saying.. what the fuck. This can't happen. I hope it doesn't happen. Wow, I'm an irresponsible asshole.

I don't want to jinx things in another situation. I feel like I'm at the point where I pick out flaws, dwell on them even, let them marinate into a part of my brain that will never forget. That way, you're not perfect anymore. You're not.. to be honest.. exactly what I've been wanting/needing/looking for at the moment. Moment? More like forever. I have never been this nervous or uneasy or tedious about love. I think I'm just scared. I know I'm extremely terrified. I came to HATE who I was in a relationship. I wasn't fun. I wasn't smiling. I wasn't the girl everyone adored. Have I gotten back to that point where friends, just friends, want to fill every moment with me? Maybe. I look through my cell phone's inbox/outbox/missed call logs and see multiple names of individuals I adore. A few years back it would be just 3 people, tops. I was miserable. I don't want that to subside. I don't want to lose me. I haven't even known me in awhile.

Maybe I should just pick up a paintbrush and some oil paints and figure out who I was and am.

I.. just.. don't want to hurt anyone ever.

I'm scared people are going to start giving up on me soon.

I feel like absolute SHIT lately.

My body is slowly, but surely shutting down. I need my tonsils out, but I have no insurance.. I am probably going to get fired from the Thruway.. especially since today I ate some "free" fried chicken and my boss screamed at me because I didn't put forth money for Dave's dad's retirement party, which apparently was based solely on fried chicken consumption. Hm, pretty sure I owe him nothing and can help myself to free fried chicken at his expense. Oh well, any situation negative or positive there would be a boost in a non-stagnant direction that I desperately need.

I've gotten close to really weird people lately. Weird in a good way. A weird comfort level that I've accepted with open arms.

I'm glad Nick is here to pick me up when I am literally freaking out. When my thoughts are racing through my mind like Olympic sprinters going for gold. Thoughts of Dave's cancer, Scott, Chris yelling, stupid band girls and band boys that made it through hell to only force a billion fake smiles, stupid infidelity and shots upon shots bought from a boy that couldn't care less. Stupid girls in gigantic high heels that want nothing more than to push towards the bar and fill up on calories of liquor that will compensate for their lack of calories at lunch. I hope I'm not bitter.

I think I should hibernate again. But just not get chubby this time. I guess I just need to paint and get healthy and fix my mental shit that I've been putting off. Seriously.. if seeing Andrew sing songs about cancer can fuck me up that bad, then I'm not okay yet.

Jack's Mannequin/Andrew McMahon make me miss high school. I'm glad I got to talk to Paul. I miss him. It's nice that sending him a video of "Punk Rock Princess" acoustic can open up a whole can of mutual worms full of love.

I miss Stephanie.

P.S. Politics are fucked up.

My sister is going to jail soon.

If I could go in her place, I would in less than a heartbeat.

My life, our lives, everyone's lives are in shambles.

I've felt really numb for the last few days just thinking about her.

I'm terrified for when I stop feeling numb and start to feel.

As much as I hope someone is there to pick me up and hug me and tell me they love me, I really hope I'll be able to do some of it myself.

I've been trying to be strong for her, but I feel like she's realizing I was never the strong one in the family. I never really could be the strong one as hard as I tried.

I feel silly for always talking about boys. But sometimes I just enjoy talking about the petty things in life that don't matter and never will matter in retrospect. It's better than talking about this. It's better than talking about what's consuming my mind lately.

I want Nick to come home. I want Stephanie to come home. I want Sara's cramps to get a grip!

I don't care who sleeps next to me in my bed anymore, I just don't want to sleep in this apartment alone and have nightmares each night.

P.S. I will save everyone.

"My love, you can't save everyone. I wish you understood that," a tone of disappointment saturated with flecks of genuine sincerity that only a mother can convey.

Lighting my cigarette, I desperately tried to breathe every ounce of that sincerity in.

"And please quit smoking."

Silence. Reflection? I wasn't even listening at this point.

"Maybe my words of wisdom are falling on deaf ears," she rambled, "but your heart has always been far too large for your body. You worry me."

"Ma, smoking isn't all that bad," I muttered with an exhale, my avoidance blatantly obvious and scattered in second hand smoke throughout the room by the power of my stand up fan.

My mother sounded like a TRUTH ad, and oh how those ads rile me up.

"Fair enough.. I guess it must have been pretty exciting to see someone smash another person's head with an acoustic guitar. Call your father later, he'll love that story."

"Moral of the story.. I needed to get me some bigger overalls."

.. oh, metaphors.

My mind is racing.

I just saw a boy smash a guitar over man's head at The Pink. And I tried to help. In fact, I dragged him away and slapped him a billion times and yelled. I was yelling for my sister and her dirt bag scumbag husband. I was yelling for the kids in high school that didn't make it and can't make it. I was just yelling at the top of my lungs. I was yelling because I feel so fortunate to have parents that have hugged me a whole lot and still love me no matter what. I feel awful that this boy doesn't have that and has never experienced that. Maybe I gave him that. Part of me hopes so. Part of me knows that he will just continue to jump trains and be crazy and spend 5 more years to add onto his measly 20 in jail. That's life. That's what happens. Fuck, I wish I could control other peoples demons and vices. I can't. I need to realize that. I definitely said I just wanted to throw him in a solitary room, fill it with kittens and puppies, tuck him in with a blanket adorned with a pattern of the state of Kentucky and have him be incubated in love. Then, just maybe I wouldn't be throwing up every day due to nervousness and too big of a heart if that were the case. I'd rather be throwing up over someone else's problems than my own. Because I don't really have any problems of my own, whatsoever.

(I hate that this whole thing happened in front of the bartender, but ya know what.. I wish he didn't hug me so tight and squeeze me like I want to be squeezed because he has a girlfriend and that disgusts me. He kind of angers me in a way that I haven't felt before. A way that is weird because.. I'm a wreck, I get it.. but if I commit to someone, I commit. I don't go looking for validation that I am good looking or have people falling all over me. If he is using me for his own ego, that's rough, that's not right, and I don't think I deserve that).

I never say I need anyone. I have kind of needed a lot of people in the past few days. Maybe I said it? Maybe I hinted? Maybe I should have been more direct. Everyone has their own shit. I just hate that most of the time I am there. I guess I need to be more independent. I hate that I can call Ray and text him and he is there (because we are so shitty to each other), but no one else is. I mean, really, it's kind of awful. I've spent the last few nights with Nick and I like that. I just wish my family was a lot closer. I need to be hugged and someone to tell me they genuinely love me. Not the bullshit love yous that come from bars and Allentown, but something nice.. something that transcends Buffalo. Something that you can just fall apart in, crumble even, and be okay.. or at least know that at some point things will be okay.

I left a boy in my elevator without a goodbye. He's a band boy. He's just making his trek through the continental United States and will forget about me, but he was fucking good looking and charming and great.. but I just feel as though that ship in my life has passed. I don't want to have meaningless times anymore, really. I want substantial. I want great. By the way, I am going on a pseudo date tomorrow with possibly the most substantial guy I have ever met in Buffalo. Yikes. Watch me fuck this one up?

Happy Birthday, Stephanie. You are the love of my life. I love you with my whole heart, and truly. I feel like we are kindred spirits that just get each other no matter what. I will never judge you or have anything rough to say about you because you're pure at heart and a genuine good person. The only bad thing I can say is that I wish you were closer, so much closer to me. You're great and you deserve the best. I hope your celebrations are amazing and fantastic and fabulous.. just like yourself, all of the aforementioned and more. I love you, simply put.

I'm kind of mess. Maybe someone needs to incubate me in a room of puppies and kittens for awhile.

EDIT:

Alright, no more of that. None of it! Ever again!

It's a lesson learned and I'm just thankful that no one said "I told you so", though many are obviously thinking it.

Oh well. There are plenty of fish in the sea and Buffalo, my dears, is a small pond. I will take my big fish love interests elsewhere.

I really feel like I'm nothing. Nothing special, nothing extraordinary, nothing substantial. And I'll never be responsible. I like to say "Whoa.. I spent the last 3 years of my life taking care of someone who was sick with cancer.. give me a good reason why I shouldn't go nuts?" What an excuse. What a bullshit excuse. What a really fucking shitty excuse. Hey, at least I admit to my excuses.. right? hah right.

I will now shower and go to work 3 hours late because I really am full of excuses and absolutely nothing.

I will never dress my children in "crocs".. ever.

Estelle Getty died the other day and I'm kind of really upset about it.

Ryan Adams and Mandy Moore broke up before the 4th of July and I feel like it's a sign. No two people can be in a relationship that perfect. Ohhhh, parallel lives.

I refuse to stop drinking Bloody Mary's. A burning heart and fiery lips are worth it.

Since when did everyone go and get real self-centered? Only more ammunition to fuel my ever continuing "if you're not now, you never were" theory/motion.

My brother blew my mind today. I can't wait until mid/late August for our intense family adventures. I'm lucky to have him in my life.

I am totally my father's daughter. And I love it.

I need to get my act together, but I've got 7.5 years to work on it. I'm okay with that.

I can't organize anything lately.. from my thoughts to my actions to the clothes on my bedroom floor.

"It's like my heart can't be tamed,
I fall in love everyday.. I feel like a fool.
I have to face the truth.. that no one will ever look at me like you do..
Like something worth holding onto."

"Wish you were here."

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

In fact, I'm so sorry that I don't even recall what I am sorry for anymore.

..........


I wish people weren't so mean-spirited. More importantly, I wish it didn't rub off on me.

Tonight maybe the anti-whatever of a few nights previous. I am sober, I am eating whole grain pasta, I am in my own wifebeater, the couch is empty. Frankie confessed his lust for me, hot bartender fell in conversation love with me. I feel like I won. I should win. I ultimately feel like a dirtbag that needs to be more honest. No real winning. Tomorrow I will be more honest over a cup of coffee.

Speaking of honesty.. you are bullshit. You pushed so many friends away. You're desperate and rude and it shows so blatantly obviously that I feel sorry for you. I hate feeling sorry for people. HATE it. Despise it. When you come back, I'll still love you.. but until then.. is it your heart that has been so large for the past 6+ months.. or rather your head?

I hope Sara had the best birthday ever. (I love you, Sara!)

There are some songs that, when they hit my ears, I never cease to feel sick to my stomach.

I hate you for that. And I hate my memory for that even more so.

I am an asshole for saying I want to erase memories. But sometimes, just sometimes, I'd like to listen to my favorite songs and not feel nauseous.

OH MY GOD. I am so predictable.. I definitely came home completely shitfaced at 5:30am, stripped down to underwear while feeding Pete handfuls of of "Meow Mix" and ignoring my brother's intense snores from the couch.. and buttered some wild grilled cheese sandwich for myself. As the toast was crisping, I realized I should probably put non-party dress and non-neglige clothes on, so I moseyed on down to my bedroom and threw on a gigantic wifebeater. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and thought "Oh, wow, best hipster outfit ever because this dirty beater looks like an amazing dress". Then I realized what it was and thought.. fuck, three maybe four nights in a semi-row, shit Trisha you cannot do this. You cannot be that girl. It fits, I wear it, take what you want from it.. read between the lines.. whateverrrrr.

If all the aforementioned is true, then I am shitty. Ya know what, I am shitty. Shitty because I was weirdly bummed that Frankie made out with some awkward bleach blonde new-boobed haggard ass hoe (oh god.. I need to quit reality tv).. at the bar in front of me. Frankie.. really?! He fucking murrrrdered a girl on Craigslist. Anyhow, and I also got bummed because Bartender #1 tells me (hot) Bartender #2 can't stop talking about me, yet has a girlfriend. Seriously, GET A GRIP. Everyone, GET A GRIP.. including me. More importantly, me.

Annnnnnnnd, I am a boy crazy whore.. which proves why I should not be wearing this wifebeater right now. Awful.

This past week has been bullshit.

I keep coughing, but I can't stop smoking. I don't really think the two are related.

I keep getting very angry, but I can't stop putting myself in detrimental situations. I know the two are not related.

I keep getting worked up and expect a headache, but I can't stop wanting a drink to make me feel better. I'm sad that the two are related.

Blah blah blah, complain complain complain.

I'm out $50 and not seeing Alkaline Trio.. fuck. I have $10 in my bank account, no money for laundry or NYC or fun.. double fuck. I spent 6 hours today driving Nick around to Orchard Park, Alden, Varysburg (where I was convinced we were going to be left for dead and eaten by weird camping hicks because my car kept getting stuck in mud every two seconds), Alden and back to Buffalo in a wild goose chase for his keys.. fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck, complain complain complain. Isn't that how it always goes?

This weekend is NYC on a tight budget and then Sara's birthday extravaganza. I swear I will leave my shitty attitude in NYC. I promise promise promise. Fuck fuck fuck. haha That's how it usually goes.

So one by one, this is how it's going to go.

It's kind of a "history repeats itself" situation, but that's a stretch.

I guess you could really say I need to start trusting my gut.

I feel slightly guilty and I can't help it. A guilt that an only (semi) selfless person can truly feel, I suppose. I've been encompassed in nights that end with quiet thoughts of "I can't wait to tell my offspring and their offspring about this." And then I think "Wow, I can't wait to tell Laura's unborn child these things." And that excites me, fucking real life. I hope it's a girl so I can tell her to slow down and never settle for anything but this feeling.. the feeling of beautifully adoring friends and loves of your life. So I can tell her to have an open heart that is wise beyond years, yet never guarded in any sort of defensive barbed wire. I hope it's a boy so I can tell him to be reckless in life, but extraordinarily careful in love. So I can tell him to be the best brother and son and father and boyfriend ever. Some boys haven't ever been told that. It's not their fault, they just never knew how fragile such a silly little organ could be.

What a giggling mess I've become. Grateful is an understatement. I can slap my best friend across the face with such force that both of our eyes lock in maddening shock.. and then we laugh. We laugh like we were watching some sort of amazing sitcom in which we both got the punchline. I can be tough with a side of love and a boy understands that I mean business. That I will slap him harder than her if he chooses to get on my bad side. I ride home on the back of another boy's bike, treacherously weaving in and out of the cracks of Elmwood while I try to puff on a Seneca and simultaneously hang on for dear life. I quietly think "What a good story.. I am living in the movie Now and Then and riding home on the bike of a wormer." We have good talks about life and how small Buffalo really is and we secretly tell eachother we never want to leave. I run inside and strip down to underwear, being greeted graciously by sassy Peterbilt. He reluctantly follows me around as I make my nightly routine of over-buttered, over-cheesed grilledcheese and I unconsciously dress into a dirty, gigantic wifebeater that has been left behind. Without much thought, I inhale it's fading smell of sweat and brash soap and I smile. Part of me is mad that I've become one of those girls, but the less rational part of me can't get over the way it fits perfectly in an odd manner. In 4 hours I will awake to drive my little, yet constantly growing brother his spare set of car keys. It's nice to know that he still needs me. That I should be annoyed and inconvenienced and aggravated, but I still need him too.

In a few days I will be on an epic journey, fleeing Eastward to the smell of an ocean and dirt and grime. I love this summer. I think I'm happy.

It's Independence Day and I don't feel the least independent. Not free of vices, bad habits, bad news individuals.. none of it.

Shit.

P.S.
(You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed
With a single pillow underneath your single head
I guess you decided that that old queen was more space than you would need
Now it's in the alley behind your apartment with a sign that says it's free

And I hope you have more luck with this than me

You used to think that someone would come along
And lay beside you in a space that they belong
But the other side of the mattress and box springs stayed like new
What's the point of holding on to what never gets used?

Other than a sick desire for self-abuse

And I try not to worry, but you've got me terrified
It's like your some kind of hurry
To say goodbye, say goodbye, say goodbye

You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed
You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed).

.. Story of my life.

I'm convinced far too many people are bullshit. And I guess when you finally come right out and tell them they are bullshit, they end up yearning for you even more. Part of me knows it's one of those "I can't handle you not liking me" situations.. another, more vain and self-absorbed (yet altogether oblivious) part of me wishes it was what it seems to be. Wishes it was as simple as "you don't know what you got 'til it's gone". Rather exhausting, if you ask me. But for some reason, for some fucked up reason, I love hearing "sorry". Maybe it's due to months and months lacking apologies, who knows.

My stomach is hurting over the new Death Cab for Cutie album. (In a good, great way). It makes me want to make memories that I will reminisce over when I replay song after song.

I went with Ian to watch him get tattooed by Erich. It was nice spending time with two of the most down to earth guys I know. Entertaining, genuine conversation immersed us for 3 hours. It felt comforting.

I've been sleeping about 15 hours a day. What is wrong with me?

I am confident that if I quit drinking I would lose the 20lbs I've been packing on like some grizzly bear anticipating hibernation.

Such a shame that I don't know how to have a good time without a drink or nine. Kidddddding, right?

Oh well, maybe I can meet up with Joey from the Real World and we can go kayaking or take some long walks in the park sans alcohol.

Stefffffan, hush up.

Oh god. It seems as though the treacherous weather, my broken digital cable box permanently stuck on Discovery Channel and the tattered and ravenously chewed computer plug are all in cahoots to ruin my day. Or to make me realize how much my body is going completely wild right now. How bad it hurts all over and how I'm in desperate need of a massage of sorts. Yikes, being a girl has been kind of awful recently and that is honestly the first time I've uttered such a phrase in all of my menstruating years. Alas, I am going to try to lay off the chemicals for a bit. I'm doing enough harm by drinking and smoking in a fashion nowhere near the term moderation, so maybe I'll give Alan's holistic methods a shot.

A woman outside of my apartment complex is making herself look like a real maniac right now. I can't say for sure that she "issss" a maniac, but she definitely is acting as though she has a few screws loose. And to an outsider, they'd think that.. but I heard her confrontational conversation escalate to the heights of her screaming "Shut your fucking fucked up motherfucker mouth, Steffffan!" I mean, he was really bugging her like a gnat divebombing on your last, tasty meal. All she wanted him to do was be quiet, calm down, take a step back and get out of her face. Now here they are, riled up on North St, causing a ruckus. She looks crazy, and he looks battered. Story of my life.

Last night was entertaining. Marshall and I created a non-Monday-Monday for ourselves. I got lectured on racism and reverse racism by a boisterous black man named Abraham who had the ability to take out all of his teeth in one swooping hand motion. Quite the party trick. I, as per usual, asked Marshall invasive questions and begged for advice on certain topics. And, unfortunately, I got quite an eye-opening view on things. Bummer, maybe. Not really, sort of. Ohhhh well.

I honestly don't even feel the slightest bit bad or remorseful because I have a few great great great things to look forward to. Even if they are "me me me" things. (Or silly unattainable, yet fun things).

I'm okay with doing whatever floats your boat.. just don't make waves in my sea.



(I only want the good waves that jolt your stomach and flood your heart and don't let two ships solely pass in the night.. and maybe even shoot you ridiculous looks that are filled with weird intentions across a dirty bar at 3am because I can see you are unhappy. Maybe I am crazy, maybe you need to stop having a girlfriend and I need to stop letting undeserving people take tiny parts of myself.)

Since when does skin color matter? Seriously, it's 2008, get with the fucking times! Ah, the transition from "third room" to "la luna" was basically three white girls getting murdered. Yikes. Annnnnd Luna bartender can quit calling me by my first name and/or acknowledging my presence because I am donnnnne with it. Done as in.. yeah sure I will check out your ass, but you are a bartender aka Buffalo Celeb with a girlfriend and I will not participate in the game.



On the contrary, today was kind of fucking really awesome. I liked it. And I love Sara and Courtney because we moved from hustling to balling to dancing like ethnic bitches.

Ohio was fantastic. Ohio was home, in fact. Everyone and their Southern drawls, lazy days and awe of Buffalo. I'm growing to let it grow on me. I detoxed for a few days and actually felt alive. Shame that I came home and ran to a pack of Senecas as if it were my life support, but to each his own.

I officially missed people while I was gone. I understand it was only a few days, but I've crumbled my wall and in return built up some amazingness that I enjoy. Some solid ground, if you will.

I get myself into pickles often. A persistent pickle in the middle is how I feel. I'm testing the waters on one end of the pickle, but I just absolutely cannot bring myself to give up the other, sooo so far away, end. An end that could be a great beginning if I were still a dreaming, hopeless romantic. If I wasn't so goddamn cynical. If I shed my skin a little and got a tan. But this other end, shit, it's been good. Great, even? I hesitate to say great because after great things get ambiguous and iffy and.. why not stay at great? I shall. A pickle, indeed.

And, bluntly, why does everyone have a problem with great? Well, only a problem that my back has had the leisurely pleasure of overhearing. hah

Spring fever has gotten so many people riled up. Negatively and positively, but more heavily on the downside. I wonder about many individuals. I've always been a sincerity skeptic, but come on. Or rather, don't. Way too much "sweating the small stuff" when, in fact, there is not nearly enough heat to warrant perspiration. I know too many chronic perspirers (is that a word?) who love sweating the small stuff and actually enjoy making others yearn for a fan and cool drink of water. How do you do this to "good friends"? How do you purposely try to make people feel bad by resorting to the most petty of tactics? Who knows. I sure as fuck don't know, but I'll play along if that is what floats boats around here.

I'm cutting ties, apron strings even. If you're not know you never were. And if you never were, I'm ashamed for trying. And if you were trying, we wouldn't be having this conversation.

Marley, here I come.

I'm going to miss some. Others, not so much. Drama, certainly not.. drama would fit into the "not so much" category.

Sara, I love you.

June is bullshit. Complete and total bullshit. I gravitate towards Courtney because she is a good time and I see my youth, our youth, thriving inside of her. We both have the same mentality of having fun no matter what. Some people shun and look down and judge. FUCK YOU. Seriously, I've never been mean intentionally.. but fuck you. I'm screaming that, just so you know. Just so you are fucking aware. In case you haven't gotten your head out of your own shitty self-absorbed cloud in enough time to hear me yell it in your fucking face.

I miss Jackie. I have so many regrets. And I see the regrets coming out in me now. Now that I don't have a family in Buffalo it is making me reflect on my own. How after Jackie passed we rallied around one another. How Nick and I both deal with it in our own ways. How I fucking need to be in Ohio in 3 days. Seriously. I've seen death and I need life. I don't need bullshit drama or petty arguments over me being "boy crazy". Because, ya know what, being boy crazy will help me meet many and weed out many and savor few.

.. the fucking few that will resemble the genuine love and concern and care that my brother and dad show me. At 22, I doubt I'll find that. I doubt that grilled-cheese-making-carry-me-home-drunk boy will be here. But at 22, at least I know what I want. At least I know that I've felt it before. I've felt someone hug me sincerely and lovingly and with the utmost selfless concern for my well being. Sorry if, at 22, for the first fucking time in my life I care about myself and what I want and who I want to sleep next to.

I am a ranting machine in 2008, apparently.

I fucking hope.

I don't know. I just don't know. One day I'll get it.. an epiphany that isn't alcohol induced. My mind and thoughts race at speeds that Danica Patrick wouldn't even have the audacity to sneeze at. One day.. some day, they'll settle down and catch up to hearts and heads all at once.

For some reason I dare not even question, the roof makes me make sense. Does that sentence even make sense?! Does it make sense that a view of a city I grew to hate and learned to love can fucking complete me. I look at it with a biterness that is so saccharin soaked it's oozing with tooth rotting capabilities. It's great. So many loves of my life have enamored themselves in dizzying streetlights and sounds of the city.. with me.

.. I just deleted possibly the best sentence I've ever thought, typed and/or written because it scares me. I hope it scares you just as much, if not more. I hope.

"te quiero puerto rico" - hillary clinton - shut the fuck up!

I need to keep repeating and reiterating and recycling the notion that the only reliable dude in my life is my brother. I mean, Peterbilt.. maybe when it comes to reliable biting. But dude-wise.. who else will pick me and my drunk friends up from a bar at 4:08am.

I think people are too shady for their own good. I had this epiphany of honesty that I just can't shake as of late. It's amazing because I'm not hurting anyone and I refuse to let myself be legitimately hurt. Ever. I will save that hurt for real life because from now to 30 means nothing.. nothing but fun. Even friends.. I completely refuse to be vulernable, yet I make myself socially vulernable.. doesn't make outward sense, but to me it does.

Anyhow, I spent the past hour calling awkward memories from home. Leaving ridiculous voicemails regaling old stories of love and lust and middle school wishes. I miss Derek? I miss Derek. A statement, I think. A moral question, sure. But a fucking statement none the less. I try to brush it off when I hear that I ruined his life. When I hear that I'm the reason he is sooo FUCKED UP. Come on. I loved you since 6th grade and you felt the same and never mentioned it, yet blamed me. Never have I met anyone who made me laugh like he did.. where my insides and outsides ached from a joyous feeling of pure innocent bliss. From giggling outrageously to sitting in silent understanding... we fucking got eachother from day one. Whenever my mom would talk about marrying someone and what it meant I still pictured Derek dangling from a scaffolding we used to paint our Impressionistic piece of art on the hallway in Alden. He did it because he wanted to make me laugh.. forever. Like anyone should. Like I hope anyone I'd want to spend a significant amount of time with. Yet I have not felt anyone who was crazy over my happiness like that yet. I guess I should chalk it up to a childhood memory that is exaggerated with tree climbing and blood brother's oaths, but who knows. I don't fucking know.

Fuck.. I don't even want to know anymore.

How many times can I think and realize and know I am happy before it becomes cliche?!

I just spilled beer onto my laptop. Read between the lines..

So tonight I spent half of a previous paycheck on a bar tab, but it was worth it. It was worth it to be filled with familiarity and laughter and love that I've wondered about for so long. I won't be replaced, ever. It's validated. I am fucking happy.

I don't know how I all of a sudden hit the jackpot of life. Yes, I'm broke. Yes, my sister might go to jail and I will care for her unborn child. Yes, I still have a closet full of skeletons wreaking of past relationships and fucking cancer.. but fuck, I am happy. It's Nick's birthday and I am just bursting with a feeling I want him to feel. Fucking happiness.

And texts from Steph all of a sudden put everything into perspective and make me feel okay about life. About everything. About my situations and previous situations. I love her. Ya know, Because we could die tomorrow and so why the fuck shouldn't we live today?! Exactly.

If you're not now, you never were.

What about that list of your mothers?

I never learned to read.

Most of them are yours.

And it's so nice sitting very still without those old shoes.. I could never fill.
----

I wish they were still around. A feeling of comfort you doubt (know) you'll ever (never) find again. New ones refuse to feel the same. Kind of awkward, too much to get used to.. too much to adjust to, and the smell of plastic still lingers even after first wiff. Nothing can replace the old ones. Fuck, nothing should replace the old ones. Ever. (I'm speaking of the band, not the shoes, right? .. I hope the shoes are in goodwill and gone and used up by someone else whose feet they can mold, conform and grow on.)

Speaking of replacing, how do you do it? Can you do it? Should you? I was once told you don't recycle human beings. You don't throw them out either. You just preserve, preserve, preserve. Cherish, even. Humans (me) are not disposable. I'm going to be replaced. Suddenly (not so?) I'm disposable and it's finest (worst). At a place where people love(d) me. Past and present and future mushing together into one big ball of memories I won't be in. I don't like it. But this stuff happens, right? .. My old shoes won't fit anyone else. Ever.. right (wrong)?

I read and re-read this cess pool of internet banter I once thought was me at my most articulate. (I now realize my most articulate moments are effortlessly crafted on a La Luna dance floor after 3 PineappleUpsideDownCake shots and 5 Captain&Gingers.) My electronic diary is me whining about boys. Whining. Seriously fucking whining. Kind of pathetic. No one should be sympathetic and I regret to admit I'm slightly apathetic.

I'm having a good time, though. A real blast. A hoot, if you will. Despite my lack of accurate punctuation and word usage, I'm doing good. I can't place my finger on the problem, where I've been going wrong. If I knew where I've been going wrong, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have made a left hand turn at the sign for right. Maybe life is one big loop. One big caldisac of weird occurances, moderately acceptable random nights.. and a pinch of serious business. Some houses hidden behind white picket fences, other homes boarded up and abandoned.

Irregardless, you can hunt and locate me by my trail of ill-fitting, smelly shoes.

I need a really significant amount of glue to hold my crumbly life together.

Dudes gone wild.

Edit: Wow, I'm a bitch!

And I fucking woke up at 10:30am because in the middle of the night my phone broke and I missed work.

I am irresponsible annnnd a huge bitch.

Hustle.

Shit. When did I turn into the bitch that cannot sleep alone? Seriously. I even deleted 98% of my phone contacts, which in turn means 100% of my shitty dude contacts are gone. How did I call you? Ohhh because you text me with super dumb hook up things. Blah. Delettttttte. Anyhow, tonight was fucking awesome. Even though Megan lost her camera and I unsuccessfully screeeeamed at the cab driver to "take me back to my English loverrrr!" I feel like it was a success.

Stephanieeeee.. I successfully "eye-fucked" someone. I owe the ability all to you. He was English (aka totally NON-BUFFALIONIAN) and tattooed and up my alley. Although I eye-fucked him and pretended I was not interested. I am dumb. English men have bad teeth though.. right? Fuck, I need something to justify my "hard to get" shitty attitude.

Ah, I am still in love with the bartender/bar back. But he "has a girl" in West Seneca. Meh, that whole scenario ruined it for me. It kind of made everything too real. A little crush first of all and now I am picturing his white picket fence and chocolate lab. I want to take it back to when he called me "babe" and "doll" and leave it at that. Oh wait.. tonight, yikes. "Nah, these drinks are from the boys and me". "You never know"- Sara. So true!

Oh well, this whole jam is null and void. Because I have decided that from now until I am 30 I am going to fuck like a dude. For real, 30 is my scary (even terrifying) age. 30 is when my life has either been successful or not. 30 I will (hopefully) marry and have beautiful babies named Ramona, Antoinette, Milo, Luca and Liam. 30 I will have settled into a fantastic job. Orrrrrrr 30 will just be the year when I reflect on the previous 8 years and realize how awesome it was to FUCK LIKE A DUDE.

Ah, total trainwreck.

And now I have nothing.. but your heartbeat in my head.

After being in really good company the last few days, I realized I don't need a male companion. I haven't successfully been my own, legitimate companion in a really long time. (And I probably haven't been the best successful companion to my family and platonic friends either). I should work on that before I work with someone else. Butttt then here come the texts.. like clockwork, even. Sorry I shoot you down, but it's more logical to do that then get blown to bits in the near future. I refuse to be a secret slay, my dear. And I refuse for you to be my completely public slay. And for some reason, I still don't think you are shitty. In fact, I think I am more.

Nick's friend from his old work died this morning. I say "friend" and smile because she was in her 80's and somehow infiltrated my brother's hard exterior and really touched his soul. He's devastated and refuses to show it because he's a Mazzi and we just don't do that. All I could say to him was "Are you okay?" He didn't answer and merely ranted about his shitty day at work. We haven't experienced death in awhile. Jackie passing away tore us up inside. I still dream of her and my stomach hurts. Every funeral since then, I've seen her and only her in the casket. Not saying I wasn't paying all my respects to Rob and Mr. Besch.. but I don't think I'll ever forget the utter loss I felt when she left. I see her everywhere, in everything. Sometimes hanging out with Courtney is brutal because we both feel the same thing, and we both know it. Phyllis isn't even having a wake or funeral, just a party at the old Cricket Club. It's very fitting because she was a vivacious, classy, party animal.

Fuck. I hate the whole dying part of life.

.. this is our decision to live fast and die young.

Blah. Apparently after Dave's Prom I was very angry. Irate, even. Luckily only this blog and a glass I smashed in my apartment felt my wrath. I thought I had fun? Alcohol is a tricky substance. I woke up and I had 15 numbers left in my phone.. for some reason I left the Pizza Hut that delivers and Liberty Cabs. Even belligerent me knows what is important in life.

(P.S. Sorry, Hilary Clinton! I don't really think you are a dykeass who can't get over Bill gettin' blown. A sober me would never even say "dykeass".)

I hate insincerity. Especially when I am doing quite possibly the most sincere thing I've been waiting to do for two years. You don't know how many times that dollar has burned a hole in my pocket. How many times I've hesitated to feed it into a vending machine. Rather than getting some fatty candy bar that will only stick to my thighs, I have stuck with my heart. Not appreciated. Some people's priorities will always be scanning a crowd for the next summer face to appear and disappear in their lives.

So my brother and I have this weird thing that when we are intoxicated in a semi-unfamiliar place we will walk home abruptly in a slight stuper and/or rage. After countless times of me escaping from Allentown or further, my brother confessed he had the same problem. We racked our brains and tried to figure out why we do what we do. Usually I am the panicky "I gotta get outta here" walker. Nick is more of the quiet snake that slips away. And after many nights of wearing out shoes on Buffalo's unforgiving pavement I realized where I learned this habit. Where we learned this habit. My dad. My earliest memory of my dad being outrageous is a wild one. A yellow school bus pulls up out in front of our childhood home. Grown men are hanging out the windows chanting "tony! tony! tony! tony!" My dad rushes into the house, grabs a thirty pack of beer and doesn't say a word as he joins the chanting men on the rowdy school bus. Hours later we get a frantic phone call. My dad is lost at the Bill's game and the bus cannot find him. (I'm sure he couldn't find the bus either.) Fast forward two hours later and we receive a slurred phone call from my dad who walked 20 miles down Southwestern in search of our home from the Stadium.

Sometimes, you just gotta walk.

He's just not that into you.

.. the only dude that truly ever will be is my dog, Marley, and that's okay.

I fear I spoke (evoked my real feelings via an internet diary) too soon.

Poo.

I should promise myself I will not give away the milk for free anymore. Not with such a pricey cow for sale.

From now on.. fun. No feelings, just fun.

(Stephanie, I miss you.)

OH GOD. I totally lost my cool at work today. Seriously, I cannot show my face tomorrow (tonight). If it wasn't already completely obvious that I've never got over you/smitten to an extreme/me/us.. it probably is grossly and blatantly obvious now. I'm a fucking embarassment. I had to turn on the air conditioning in 50 degree weather. Co-workers stared and wondered why I couldn't get it together. Not like I can ever really get it together, but come on. And the woman in the next car definitely said "You look like you need a cold shower." Normally, I'd be offended and feel ridden with perversion.. but truer words have never been spoken to me in quite some time.

Since when am I a horny 15 year old boy? And since when have I gotten so jaded by this area that I literally bought a one-way ticket out of here? Since when has my head not only been unattached from my body, but been so far up in the clouds that I can confirm the absence of heaven?

Inappropriate.

I can't say "People in Buffalo love to talk shit." Far too much wrong with that statement. It's more of a "People I know who have Buffalo connections and live in Buffalo love to talk shit." A good friend once told a story of Kyle Bishop talking way too much shit for his own good on some tour. Well, people held him down and shit in his mouth.. because if you talk shit, you should probably eat it as well. In my opinion, this is a genius idea. Not saying I don't have an everlasting love for Mr. Bishop.. but I am certain he hesitates before emitting a foul statment about another human being. If this happened in real life all the time, everyone who talked shit would be walking around with a heinous case of dysentary and the public would be well aware of their diarrhea of the mouth tendencies. Problem(s) solved. Hah!

Don't get me wrong, people telling me that I have std's now or saying an ex (whatever.. bf?) is a coke head.. all entertaining, but it boils my blood to an unheard of degree. Quite possibly the best part is that I keep my mouth quiet about you and you and you. If I was less of a lady, (and actually had the ability to shit), I would fucking shit in your mouths. Mark my words.

I've been trying to synch my breathing with a boy. I don't know if it's outlandish and unrealistic, but I have been liking it. Humans are far too complex, yet completely simple at the same time. Right now, it's simple and fun and (causing so many rumors! Yes! Go Buffalo!) a good time. Something might be off though, I'm guessing it's me. I'm terrified to genuinely like someone. I have this irrational fear that they will get brain cancer and that cancer will be a bigger part of their life than I could ever be. I'll help them through it.. be their heart, soul, nurse, friend.. and then have nothing to show. Good karma, maybe. But what good is karma when you ultimately lose yourself? I've been rebuilding relationships for 6 months now. I still have nightmares of my brother or Marley or Stephanie getting really sick and dying. It's terrifying. I wonder if I'll ever be back to normal. Hopefully.

Scott comes home soon. Aside from family and great friends, he's the only genuine thing I've let into my life in a long time. I miss him. Sometimes I think my life would be so much easier if he lived here. California makes me nervous, too much sun. Everyone hassels me for sincerely enjoying his company, but that is only because they don't have sincere in their lives.. anywhere.

I went to my sister's plea bargain for her trial. I can't even describe it. Sad, an eye opener, devastating. Sitting on the bench and seeing my father actually showing he cared about the situation really got to me. I started crying and the judge made eye contact with me. For some reason, I had a feeling he might save her. I hadn't had a sister for a good 20 years. How can they take her away now? I can't raise her child. Ah, I don't really have anything else to say about it.

So Says the Dream

This is going to sound a little weird so bear with me.

Last night I went to a bar to play pool by myself and only had a few beers and a couple shots, thought I was fine, but then remembered the shots were DOUBLE shots, which I hadn't noticed at first, so I was hungover this morning and needed to take a nap after going through the morning routine with Larry.

And I always have wild dreams when I take naps. Just outlandish. But this time my dream was long, pretty steadily focused, vivid, and realistic as all hell.

There were four parts of the dream, that mixed together, and popped up at random times to sort of finish tying ends together. Kind of like Magnolia. But the reason I am writing you is because you were in the dream. We were on a train, and I guess it was present day, Spring, because everything was that fresh sort of green color, outside. Fields of wheat that looked like honeycombs. Watercolor skies, clear as aquariums. Clouds like jellyfish. You know.

And you started to open up to me. I'm not even sure if I've ever heard your voice before, but it sounded familiar. Anyway, you told me that sometimes you lucidly hear music in your head, along with flashes of images, sounds, colors, what have you. They all blur together and it makes it hard for you to focus. But it goes away when you drink. You got a real sad look in your face, when you said that. And we kept talking, I don't remember about what, and you told me you wanted to feel loved, so bad, but hated feeling needy. And your eyes soaked up the scenery flashing by outside of the window.

Unfortunately I don't remember anything else we said.

I'm thinking I just projected my own character onto yours, or someone else's, or made it all up or whatever. That's the likely, psychologically sound conclusion. But I figured I'd at least see if this sounds like you, because if it is, it's kind of neat I dreamt it. And also, if I was dreaming you, I want you to know that there's other ways to get all of those sounds and colors out of your head besides drinking, and there's nothing wrong with wanting to feel loved or being needy-- just make sure you are very particular about who you give your heart to.

So I probably just made an ass out of myself but oh well. I like to believe that life can do bizarre things like this.

- E. Payne.


((It's surreal knowing someone who knows me better than I can ever possibly know myself. And we've never met, but lurked in the same odd vicinity of corn fields and cows for years. I don't know what else to do besides marriage.))

Bad news.

At least I have this guard built up similar to that of an indestructible wall of Legos that a youth builds, but never fully realizes it could crumble at any moment.

I'll probably get hurt. It'll be another life lesson to tuck away in the back of my mind.

Too many Buffalo connections for my liking.

Did your heart break enough this tiiiiiime?

The simple word "emotional" describes me so well lately. I watched a full episode of A Baby Story (hey now, don't judge) yesterday and was practically hysterically crying when the (still young) older brothers were telling their new baby brother "You now have my heart!" in their adorable and innocent 6 year old voices.

If only everyone I knew could be as honest as a 6 year old.

Life has too many options. It reminds me of Coldstone when I stand in line with a very vague idea of what I'd like to feast on. I think I have it all figured out, but once the outwardly flamboyant worker asks me what special treats I'd like to toss into my Cake Batter ice cream, I lose it. I am at a loss for words and all of the clear jars filled to the brim with unknown substances make me entirely antsy. I always panic and include the same old, same old ingredients of white chocolate chips, twix bar and caramel. I want to go wild. I vow to add some gummy bears of sprinkles or maybe fresh fruit.

My metaphors are ridiculously ambiguous. Maybe I should take my own advice and be as honest as a 6 year old?

I don't even really like chicken wings that much.. ?

(I am a disaster!)

Soo.. exactly how many 'd's have you 's'ed in Buffalo?!

I'll be the first to admit that I will NEVER get over bullshit. Especially if it happened anywhere in the time frame of 2004-now.

In my previous life, I was a professional at the "act like you're having a blast" mentality. Fast forward to now, and acting seems irrelevant, foolish and non-existent. I am enjoying this.

Did you ever hear the phrase "One green potatoe chip ruins the whole bag?" So true. And when one really tasty, crispy and golden brown potatoe chip decides to leave.. it leaves such a void in the foil-lined bag that all the rest of the potatoe chips just cannot fill. I am going to miss Courtney not living 5 floors up anymore. Yes yes, she is only moving two streets and 4 blocks down, but who I am going to chain smoke and talk (girl) shit with on the roof? With whom will I throw wine-soaked fruit onto innocent pedestrians from the roof? Who will appreciate the roof as much as me without putting it into words, just appreciating silence? Poo.

(I think Nick and I are making plans to move in August so we can get a dog. I talked to him about it last night and he wholeheartedly agreed that our lives are missing a crucial, fuzzy and drooling puzzle piece.)

I hate that I base opinions before truly, truly knowing people. But do you ever really know someone? Hearsay is bullshit, but come on. I dated Dave for 3 and a half years and I still feel as though his innerworkings are a mystery to me. At least I can openly admit to people that I've done this and am currently doing it. I just don't want to get hurt or tricked or deceived. I'm grateful that when I am completely honest, other people are kind of okay with it. We talk it out and appreciate eachother's positition and honesty. Quite possibly the most honest text conversation I have had to date. Maybe he's not such a bad dude afterall, but probably not the best dude to hold my hand. I shall save a dance.

A few months ago, I was getting my haircut at Parkway. Charlene always does this swivel the chair so I face Pano's thing that I laugh about.. because people walk by and see my hair all a mess and I have no choice but to blankly stare out onto Elmwood. I usually see someone I know, and they wave, and I fumble with my hands under the apron. That particular day, a very handsome couple was getting a quick meal at Pano's. They drove separately, and were saying their goodbyes in the parking lot as it started to sprinkle light rain. The good-looking man grabbed the gorgeous blonde girl and dipped her nearly to the asphalt as he playfully kissed her. She laughed like I've never seen anyone laugh before. He did it again and again and you could almost feel their embrace become more loving. My eyes watered and my thoughts raced.. "This happens in real life?!" The older man who owns the salon looked at me and coyly smiled, "Love's beautiful, ain't it?" A cynical divorcee getting an unncessary perm gruffly said "That's bullshit." Yesterday I saw the same couple walking down Elmwood, hand in hand. It kind of made me feel good inside.

I awake expecting a semi-brutal hangover, but instead my face just hurts. The kind of hurt that can only be blamed on hours of laughing and smiling. Not even forced laughing or smiling. Genuine, sincere and spontaneous.

Hearing Gwyn say "I am having a lot of fun!" over and over again was worth enduring an Army boy vomit unsightly vegetarian food onto the concrete in front of Tudor. Man down. I hope we really do go to the Army Ball. It will surely be a time that we will be relaying to our diaries later on, once the evening is over. The only downside.. my potential date is the Man Down Army Man. haha!

I hope she stays strong. It was rough seeing someone go through the same problem I did awhile ago. You feel like you're stuck in quicksand sinking and there is no way out. I hope somehow we were there for her.

I am wondering why I've spent the last couple of months yearning for someone's affection and attention, who ultimately wasn't into who I am as a human being. Wasn't ready to even give me that affection and attention. With people in my life who will deliver scrambled eggs at 8am to my apartment, I don't know why I need much else. Everything else is just a spice that I could do without. I will do without. Spices ruins scrambled eggs, anyhow.

Some people are settling down, some people are settling, and some people refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.

It boggles my mind when people detest Sex and the City.

Furthermore, 90% of life/relationship situations can be directly related to this series.

Get over SJP's face resembling a shoe, already!


P.S. I'm oddly excited for Dave's Cancer Party/Prom thing. I never went to Prom and I think it could either be a really awkward time, or a really good time. Each of those options I am okay with.

P.P.S. If I spent every day of the rest of this nice Buffalo weather on top of my roof drinking homemade Sangria, I'd die happy. Really fucking happy.

"The only one who should have to pay for a bad relationship.. is the person in your next relationship."

I woke up this morning and laughed until my cheeks hurt. I had a dream that I suddenly got ambitious and started my own business. The business was called "Boobs of Lust." Haha, I will explain.. I thought about it for awhile and realized my books are too big for my body. Why not donate them? It was a company based on the premise of "Locks of Love" except I think a girl finally appropriately filling out a C-cup is more satisfying than getting a wig of someone else's hair.

What a dream, I should get this business off the ground!

As she proded and pressed on organs I don't even know the names of, I figured this was the best place, if any, for bantering small talk.

"So, my sister's having a baby." Unenthusiastic? Maybe. It's hard to be enthusiastic about fertility when that's the last thing I want.

"OH MY!!!!!" I felt a jerk inside of me, possibly a thumbs up. She's way too enthusiastic about life. Her zealous nature makes up for my lack there of. "You know, Twenty-five years old.. wow, that's a fantastic time to rear a child. Twenty-five is when your life should begin! This is going to change you, ya know. Okay, done with the internal. A baby! Yes!"

How she could bounce back and forth from vagina business to excitement to vagina business, boggles my racing mind.

Hmm.. I wondered if she misunderstood and heard "I'm" instead of "my sister".

"How old are you? Twenty-two.. almost twenty-three? You better get thinking about these life lessons, miss!"

While dressing, I couldn't help but think of twenty-five. Twenty-five. 25. 2-5. Two decades plus five. A baby at that age? Not even three years to find a suitable mate and get me knocked up. I'm all about unconditional love from a lump of flesh that just vomits and shits, but at twenty-five.. I don't know.

My life is going to change and I'm okay with that. A little more than okay. Ya know what, maybe I'm even enthusiastic.

Maybe.

I keep typing, deleting. Writing, deleting. If only I could learn to be constantly thinking, and deleting.

I yearn to think, and delete.

Lightyears have passed since I let someone else turn me into a wreck. As unaware as I am, that someone else could currently be my own foolish self. All of my mirrors are skewed, so it's not like I'd notice otherwise.

I've racked my brain, picked my brain, rearranged and arranged my brain. I pick fights to bring myself closer to others. To have that "wow, that was shit, but now I love you" outcome. So unrealistic. I've never had the make up sex. I hear it's fantastic. I've done the break up sex, not so fantastic. I've done the "you're leaving for awhile, let's just have sex" sex, so bittersweet. I had false hopes of make up sex. Does anyone ever have make up sex? Or is it too Sex and the City?

Funny things is, I'm not even talking about sex, I just like typing the word because it's the last three letters left on my keyboard that haven't faded.

Human Ipod to the rescue.

Wrestling with 7 overfilled bags of Wegmans groceries, I began to resent the beautiful rain. Plastic had never felt so slippery, my shoes had never dug into my heels so hard. As I saw the front of the Ambassador, I exhaled relief and inhaled the rain.

"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fukckcn;lkclknkcn!" I yelled, gaining the attention of the little old woman who frequents the beauty shop.

I felt my knees buckle, my feet protrude out from under me. Smack dab in the middle of a puddle. Mud and rain water soaked through my last pair of clean jeans, right through to my last pair of clean underwear.

I frantically looked around North St. in hopes of it being less busy than usual, no such luck. It's almost as if the snickers were deafening, yet the only sound I could hear was someone's familiar voice bellowing towards me.

"Jimmy cracked corn and I don't CAAAAAAAAAARE! Jiiiiiimmy cracked that cooooorn and I DON'T CARE!"

The Human Ipod! As he helped me to my feet, brushed off the murky water and gathered up my perishables, I couldn't help but laugh.

"Sometimes, you just gotta SLOWWWWW down, baby girl." He sang to me.

I traded him a Granny Smith apple in return for a serenading of "It's Raining Men".

Sometimes, life just isn't so bad.

Explosive, violent vomit. Fuck, who comes up with this? Open bar and secret Sparks are sure to be the death of me. Saturating my hair, nostrils and mind, I cannot control it. Amidst sobs and dry heaving, I fail to notice any commotion, anyone else.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" I can't make out a figure, let alone a face. My eyes can only focus on inquisitive Peterbilt, underneath my right arm, staring into the toilet simultaneously thinking along with myself.. What did you eat?! I have a vivid flashback to my insane, but lovable, sister telling me about her acid trips. How Jimi Hendrix abruptly showed up in her bathroom and she nonchalantly told him to "get the fuck out."

God, I'm desperate for this to be Jimi Hendrix.

I frantically click through my phone, perilously searching my drunk dials. Shit, fuck, oh god, why? Next time, remember to forget your phone - mental note.

I awake from an ever so groggy slumber. How did I get here? My bed is a safe haven that I know my feet did not lead me to. A faint silhoutte can be seen, wrapped up in my least favorite blanket on the floor.

"Umm.. did we?" I mutter, loud enough to wake the dead.

"No."

"Did I invite you over in hopes of..?"

"No."

"No offense, but why are you here? I thought I was talking to Jimi Hendrix!"

"Your brother called, he thought you needed a good friend. If you decided to let people in every now and then, you might have known that you really do."

Ashamed, aware and uneasy, I drift back into a heavy slumber. I need you.

"Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. This won't hurt in the slightest," a devious look with a sharply added, "I promise, quick and painless."

Where, oh where, have I heard that well rehearsed line before? Cloudy, dirty memories flooded my unconscious and I instinctively shuddered, followed by uncontrollable laughter.

"Was that the theme to your prom?" I asked while holding in my chuckles, my breath, waiting for my joke to reach ears.

"You're an asshole."

"I'm THE asshole."

Swift hand, rip of skin, and all I could do was stare at the bandage. Bits of my sweater had somehow found their way to the adhesive and clung on for dear life. That hurt worse than I imagined, but I liked it. I loved it. For the first time in lightyears, I was feeling something real. Something throbbing, stinging. Numbness was Japanese to me at this point. Foreign in all aspects.

I stared at the wound for what felt like decades without leap years. Rats, it showed signs of healing. What would it take to feel this again? For a moment I could relate to the psyche of a cutter. Nah, fuck that, I am too vain to accept scars.

Breaking my trance and perfecting my doe eyes I coyly forced words from my insides, "I don't think it's ready, yet. Might need another bandage for awhile, maybe two."

"You'll.. I mean, fuck, it will never be ready."

Silently, you know me too well.

I was depressingly correct, sobbing myself into a deep slumber in absence of Marley's abundant fur and limitless love is not even remotely fun.

I miss the warmth, the forever brown eyes, the rough and scratchy tongue doing its best to gingerly lick my tears away.

A gigantic heart covered in fur is what he is. How did I get so incredibly lucky to know such a creature?

I've always had an intense love for tupperware. A love that could only be rivaled by maybe puppies, Peterbilt even. Sure it stained if Spaghetti lingered too long, but there is just something alluring about its inexpensively priced competitors and that semi-vacuum seal. The ability to maintain a decent amount of freshness, while warding off mold and other unsightly tragedies riles me up.

Not only do I, along with countless suburban housewives, utilize tupperware to contain my most tastey of meals, but, while longingly staring into my favorite receptacle, I realized I've tupperwared myself all over the United States. I genuinely wondered, can I truly be encompassed in a 4 inch deep/5inch wide generic plastic container, or would I ooze, leak and seep.. or worse, rot?

I pondered, reflected, mulled over all of the many individuals who have a substantial and concrete piece of myself tucked away somewhere in their fridge or freezer. I know some of you have thoughtlessly let my insides corrode and furthermore thrown me out like yesterdays garbage, lacking such respect as to not even take the time and rinse out my tupperware.

It's okay. I've got the good ones. The ones that freeze me, defrost me, and devour me whole.

I just got a stale breath of fresh air..

Words of wisdom:

No one is going to buy the cow (a drink), if you give the milk away for free.

Since when did I stop appreciating the greatness of sunsets?

What the fuck!

The cycle of life?

I am 99.9% sure that I found Creamy the Creamsicle Corn Snake.

He's probably 3/4 of the way through Pete's digestive tract, breaking down from his original slithery state to a more.. poo state?

The normal reactions (such as, but not limited to "Rats" or "Poo") that I would respond to such an incident with just seem silly to say outloud at this point in time.

I feel like tomorrow will consist of me combing through a litter box in hopes of catching a glimpse of my once cold-blooded friend.

(R.I.P. Creamy aka No Name aka Sir Hiss aka Dude)

Completely unrelated, but is anyone else jonesin' for warm weather? For days full of waking up in underwear, making coffee, staring out onto North St. to people watch, and smelling grass for the first time in forever.. all the while the sun is tanning your face and lightening your mood? I am in dire need.

At 70mph, we sped under the overpass and all I could think of was your humorous little story. A secret story, as I like to call it. Some people get their kicks from bangin' a lot of chicks or smokin' big blunts.. you, nope. You are a different animal now. I vividly remember the stories of your out of control childhood where blood brothers, loyalty and Woodstock took precedent above all else. In the past, you'd say.

The past.. do you miss it?

Or are you satisfied standing on overpasses, letting the force of the semis below give you a simple, yet never duplicated high.

Young and naive, I thought the ol' timer phrase "bump on a log" was entertaining, silly.. hillarious, even!

Old and (wise need not apply) un-naive, I find it terrifying and unsettling.. and grossly familiar.

I think I am the definition of bump on a log.