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Rebekah

Rebekah Harris


Last Updated: 3/22/2009

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Gender: Female
Status: Single
Age: 13
Sign: Capricorn

City: WEST HAVEN
State: Connecticut
Country: US
Signup Date: 1/15/2005

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Thursday, July 09, 2009 

Current mood:  depressed
My cousin Larry died Monday. He was 37, my little brother's age. I think it was a respiration problem gone horribly awry. My cousin Liz emailed me to make sure that my family knew.

I went to the funeral. My dad was in daycare, and my mom stayed home because someone has to be there to open the door to let him in when he gets out. (He can't be left home alone.) Because my family is Orthodox, out of respect I wore long sleeves to cover my tattoos. It was a gorgeous, sunny day, and I was uncomfortable, but I figure that his parents were way more miserable, and I survived.

Larry and I had drifted apart, but we used to stay in touch by phone. His parents and brother, my cousin Jon, made sure to tell me that Larry loved me.

Before the service, I knelt in front of my cousin, Tami, Larry's mom. She was surrounded by people, but I hoped I could add comfort. I managed to distract her: my dad was orphaned very early (infant?) and Tami is the one who told me my medical history. I got to tell her that, when I was in the hospital in May, I told the doctors that I wouldn't be able to be so thorough if it weren't for my cousin Tami. That made her happy.

Her husband, Ed, Larry's dad, whom I'd met three times, maybe, threw his arms around me and thanked me for being there. Ed has a knack for making people feel good, and welcomed, even when he was mourning outliving his child.

The rabbi broke down during the eulogy. I didn't know that Larry was frum, but he was known as "the one who took his father to Chabad."

At least fifty people showed up - not bad considering that Jewish people bury immediately, and word has to get out quickly. Jon's wife flew in from Israel, a twelve hour flight, and made it to the grave side early. Her cousin made it from California.

I went back to the house for shiva. Believe me: I didn't want to. I don't want to believe that my vibrant cousin is dead. However, shiva is for the family, and it's a mitzvah to go, obviously. Tami and I talked more about my medical problems, but she wouldn't let go of my hand. It really hurt, but I figure that Tami was hurting more. Seriously, I managed to distract her, and I was glad I sat there.

Tami also told me more about my heritage, too. The information I lost out on because I didn't have a grandmother to tell me.

I talked to Revi, Jon's wife, for a bit. I told her what I was thinking as I drove to the Bellins' home. The only people who showed up for the funeral were people who either loved Larry, or who loved his family and wanted to support them. No one needed a ticket to mourn. There were no musicians or people looking for a moment in the spotlight; Larry was simply eulogized by a rabbi who knew him, and by his father. Just a thought.

I'm still crying - it's the first time in a long time that I've cried, whether I need to or not - and I need to get in the shower - but I wanted to write about Larry for a little bit. This weekend, if my dad is lucid, I'll take him for shiva.

Bye, Larry. I should have kept in touch, and I'll try to act more like you to keep your memory alive.

12:33 PM 
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Thursday, June 25, 2009 
  • By some lucky coincidence, a very nice Social Security lawyer just took my case.
  • Until one of my sister's friends directed me to her blog, I had no idea that my dad's favorite dinner is spaghetti and meatballs. (I thought it was meatloaf; my TVP loaf tanked. but whatever) Unknown to me, I made a vegan marinara sauce with texturized vegetable protein chunks and he was VERY happy. Who knew?
  • I'm mostly packed to see Sworn Enemy on Thursday and Friday. Basically, I need camera and batteries, GPS, power bars, and clean underwear. I pack light. (Floyd the Laptop's sitting out this one.)
  • I am very pissed that this entry shall now be cut short because my fingers ache from typing "so much."
  • Good luck with Christian C's surgery!
Currently reading:
In This Way I Was Saved: A Novel
By Brian DeLeeuw
1:40 AM 
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Tuesday, June 23, 2009 
I actually went out saturday night
the bar fight wasn't my fault. i fucking got elbowed in the face and don't appreciate the bitch in front of me insisting that i was starting drama when i began with "excuse me, but..."
saw someone who made me sad. i guess therapy worked; i quietly excused myself from my friends and walked out into the mist. (the mile long stroll home only took 17min. my speed's down but i did have blisters)
guess who didn't call her father on father's day.
$15 jeans rock even if they're generics
saw my babygirl today. made her a ringtone for my phone. she reminds me a lot of my sista
thursday: pro-pain & sworn enemy at the webster
thursday night: priceline rocks
friday night: pro-pain & sworn enemy at the palladium
my pam may join me at the palladium!!!
i do not expect to have much of a life again this year. i will probably go to sleep early on july 4
1:32 AM 
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Tuesday, June 02, 2009 

Thanks, Mom. (btw it's her birthday - share the love)




Rhymes with Orange 02 JUN 2009

4:18 PM 
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Monday, June 01, 2009 
I'm utterly sickened.

Before reading, please keep in mind: "Cristina" was the 437th most common name out of 4275, according to the United States Census Bureau. I could be talking about ANY Cristina, here.

I was friends with a woman named Cristina before she went ballistic. She then [in a HIPAA violation] contacted the biological sister with whom I have not spoken since the summer of 2001 (because she took the side of her husband, who stole from my parents' retirement money). *S*, the bio-sister, claims to be brilliant but she's stupid if she thinks that that conversation stayed private and that it didn't make its rounds in cyberspace!.

Unfortunately, I cannot drop this: Cristina has also contacted some of our two dozen or so mutual friends and, it seems, says that I threatened them/you. If you have heard from her, would you please let me know.

For the record:

I have never been required to go to therapy for a job, nor has my family ever required me to go to therapy. My insurance hasn't covered my therapists; I've paid out of pocket. THEREFORE despite what *S* has said:

  • I don't lie to my therapists; what's the point if it's only for my treatment?
  • If I don't like what a therapist says, I'll argue and either concede or dissent. I don't switch shrinks. (I *DID* switch about 18 months ago; I didn't like that the doctor said my pain is "dramatic." The most recent doctor believes that chronic pain is actually a big part of why I've got depression.)
  • I do not "scare away" *S*'s friends; her husband has. Hell, the only one of our old mutual friends with whom I don't speak is one who shit-talked *S* (and I went to her defense like an idiot).
  • Despite what she has blogged, she never had to suffer because my mom said that she had to give in to me. (it was the other way around; she was the good kid. However, I got over it.) She must worship Jan Brady.
  • If I hear one more time that *S* doesn't have clinical depression, that she doesn't need serious treatment, that her problem is that she's psychic and picking up other people's bad vibes, I'll scream like I haven't screamed since I got into therapy.
  • *S* has no business putting my dad's problems up for sympathy. She didn't visit him the last three times he was in the hospital. "Oh, I could run into Rebekah" (when I was in Los Angeles for three days of the month he was in post-illness care). "Oh, I'm sick and subject to MRSAs." (So am I, and so am I.) It's not a contest. She should be there, though, if *S*'s going to use him as an excuse. (She does that a lot. She skipped her homework one night, but then told half the school how she couldn't do it because I was dramatically ill. Yeah, I WAS dramatically ill, but she'd already skipped the homework and gone to bed. She's also quoted "Go Ask Alice" with me being the protagonist.)
I hate blogging about this bitch's existence; I don't want to blog about the other psychotic (does she hear voices?); I don't want to blog about my therapy. None of this is not supposed to be anyone's business. Thanks a lot, little "sister."

This is why I chose JENNIFER to be my sister. She's blunt and sometimes crude, but she does not lie. Fuck sisterly DNA.

(our poor mom)

5:46 PM 
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Wednesday, May 06, 2009 
thanks everyone for all the good wishes for my mom. this family stands by "all prayers are welcome." i am tired - we had to be at st vincent's at 6am, which is an hour and a half before i usually WAKEN. most of this is from the email i sent to my favorite uncle and cousin.

after much coaxing and whining on my part, i talked everyone into putting my dad in respite care for the weekend. i just couldn't worry about two parents. mom IS an easy patient, but what if there were complications? besides, think of my bipolar! :D it means i have to get up early tomorrow, to sign him out of respite and into daycare, before work, but having a break tonight was good. no pill dispensing, no dinner delivery service. and since we could leave the house without worrying about my dad getting hurt, on sunday, i took my mom and aunt to visit my cousins in farmington. it was an awesome, though tiring day.

btw: my mom and brother, and uncle and cousin (but not i, nor my aunt marcia) have a condition called HHT or Osler-Weber-Rendu Syndrome. it's inherited, and it affects the blood vessels "A person with HHT has a tendency to form blood vessels that lack the capillaries between an artery and vein. " (it's not a "blood disease" - it only affects the blood because the weakened vessels break, and aforementioned blood leaks out.) "We usually call a blood vessel that is abnormal in this way a telangiectasia (tel-AN-jee-eck-TAZE-ee-ya)" - that's from the web site. i always forget the word and cite "mom's televisions in her nose." i confuse everyone but my mom, and it's my mom who needs to know what i'm talking about, so...

all went well. we arrived at the hospital before even the valet parkers! and they took her very early. the nurses and anesthesiologists were really good about explaining. mom's doctor, dr ross (not the one from ER) stopped in to talk to both of us before they took her away. they gave me a beeper "like chili's" to let me know when she'd be done, especially since i had to leave the hospital grounds to smoke. (it's fine with me; it's a hospital. i went to the street, which isn't owned by the hospital. i also picked up my butts. you wouldn't believe how many butts there were on grounds covered with NO SMOKING signs every few feet. well, MINE are in the trash.)

dr ross didn't even page me; he came right into the lobby, his hair still in its "shower" cap. it was only an hour after they took her. (surgery was scheduled to take 1.25hr) everything went well. he lasered a bunch of those television things in my mom's nose, and she should be good for six months to a year. she was in recovery, waking up. he sent me out to smoke while i waited. i would have emailed and updated my, and her, Crackbook pages, but my laptop cable shit the bed right before i packed it, and my battery had died.

they paged me after i'd been back inside for a while, and i went into recovery. mom was drinking diet coke and was pretty happy, it seemed. she was more rested than i was! - she got to nap :D we were home well before noon, with no traffic.

i had more problems with the pharmacy (they didn't have the exact medication on the slip, and the hospital didn't call them back about a substitute - it's just an antibiotic cream and not pain meds, thank goodness) and the self-check for my groceries (hand scanner wasn't working, and i wound up going to an aisle with a person, and then holding up the whole damned aisle while i tried to unpack and walk out but kept being told "just a second" totally pissing off everyone behind me) than i did with getting my mom to the hospital at an ungodly hour. really. it was quite simple from this end.

mom has royal palace - i loaded up the fridge last night so we'd have soup and i wouldn't have to cook - and happily watched NCIS

my brother and i had been in touch all morning, and i called aunt marcia as soon as my mom was out of the OR.

i'm still a bit annoyed that i couldn't let the immediate world know what's up, but well, laptop...

dr ross said that mom can come back in six weeks if she wants or if there's a problem, but otherwise there's no need to follow up. one nurse said that they have a patient who comes from massachusetts just to go to dr ross. i will definitely say that he was very personable, and very kind to come looking for me. (i kept ignoring the beeper because it didn't vibrate like my old 1990s pager and i was listening to garth brooks and then alice cooper on my sony walkman) i napped when i got home, awakening to a nightmare that i'd missed the beeper and that old lady candystripers were looking for me in the lobby.

my biggest worry right now is not my mom, but that i'd started making a kelly clarkson ringtone for my cousin anna, and i can't access it because my laptop won't boot. (there's a hack for getting free ringtones onto one's razr. i need to find it; it's on lifehacker i think. paying retail is just wrong.)

 -- I want to believe that the world is just teeming with awesome people, but all of this is giving me great pause. I want to go back to cyberspace. - Penelope Garcia, Criminal Minds Episode: "House Afire"
1:33 AM 
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Sunday, April 26, 2009 
It's officially the end of winter. I had my morning coffee and finished The Secret Life of Bees. ON THE FRONT STEPS. It was SUNNY!

I refilled my cup and went out with a bit of hand sewing and Metallica on the Sony Walkman. I wasn't out for fifteen minutes before Michael came up on his two wheel bike, followed by his sister Melissa. I swear, they were there for a good three-four hours; Michael went home for popsicles, and their mother came over when I asked Michael where he picked up some of his new vocabulary (first graders shouldn't be talking about humping) and Melissa thought it was so funny that she called their mom. My stoop is officially open for business!

My left hand is killing me now, probably from holding the fabric steady. I only got about a dozen inches sewn, but it's looking ok. (Yes, Dee, I'll post the finished product.) It seems too small to make it worth pulling out my machine, which isn't set up in a permanent place yet.

Yesterday rocked. My mom and I got our nails filled. I am not sure why Ness finds it so amusing, since I've only had acrylic nails for a few years, but whatever makes my Pam happy... anyway. ahem.

Then it was an Afternoon with Ian and Cindy, going through old photos, gossiping about boys, watching Ian play, having a lovely vegetarian polenta and spinach lunch, and then raiding Cindy's closet for her fat clothes (many of the ones I took are, alas, snug). Ten minutes at Joann's Fabrics waiting for some blue tulle to be cut, and out the door $1.87 later. The only thing that sucked was losing WQUN and, therefore, the Red Sox game!

Sam posted a piercing emergency on Crackbook, so at 9:30pm I was off to the rescue, grabbing a bottle of ibuprofen at Walgreens en route. Five seconds in the house turned into an hour and I only left because I was dying without my 10:00pm Lyrica. I didn't see Rich (across the street from Sam)'s car, although there were cars in front of his house, so I just went home and crashed. Being nice to people, even my friends, is EXHAUSTING!

My skin is sticking to itself and freaking me out. Now for a shower, an ice pack for my wrist, and another book.

7:39 PM 
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Thursday, April 23, 2009 

So I crashed my husband's wedding

My mom has been on my ass to write this since March 12, 2009, the day it happened. She actually started on me when I walked through the door.

Where do I begin? EXE? Dirk?

I read about the wedding on Facebook.

The day before, I'd uploaded some photos I took when Shovelhead (Sid's band before he joined Sworn Enemy) opened for Bile (the band for whom Bear brilliantly plays keyboard). I tagged the hell out of the photos. One of Bear's friends, Valerie, saw the photos, thanked me for posting them, and added me to her Crackbook F-list.

I read on her page that Bear and his forever lover, David, were getting married the next day.

A few phone calls later, I got Bear on the phone. He was at the airport, getting David, and would call me back.

What to do? I put together an all-black outfit and waited by the phone.

The story goes back many many years (more than I want to say, given that doing so ages me). I was Hittman's groupie. Dirk, the singer, was the object of my desire. A long-haired, redheaded Irishman who looked like Bruce Dickinson but better, who sang like no one's business. YUM.  Hair metal was only one of my favorite genres, so Dirk suggested that I get the EXE album. His best friend (Bear) was in the band and Dirk wanted him to be "a huge star."

I was hoping to meet Bear at the upcoming Alice Cooper concert. Covered in tattoos, back in the day, he really stood out in a crowd. I actually saw him in the huge New Haven Colliseum crowd - but the asshole I was with (Fredd, that was your roommate, Don) got into a fight with One-Eyed Joe, and by the time I'd pulled Don away, Bear was gone.

That's ok, there was always the phone. (and, since this was so long ago, there were accompanying long distance phone bills.)

Bear, heavily tattooed, and about as fucked up as I am, was my guru. This was before the days of BME. (Fine, I'll date myself. We're up to May, 1989.) I even called Bear when i got my first tattoo (Hittman's logo, of course). That was a great night. I went with Steve Nadile. (He pulled down my tube top - remember those? - when I got dizzy, but that was to be expected from Steve.)

There was the night we went for tea and then record shopping in the Village. We split up when we walked into the store, to look for different stuff. I got to the counter first, with my Dio and Culture club 45s, maybe some Queen and Neil Diamond too. The cashier looked at my booty, then looked at Bear, and said, "You must be with him."

So the years have passed. Love of Dirk as a sex object is a thing of history. (We never even kissed. I'm, uh, not his type.) I've gotten fat, gotten thin, gotten fat, gotten thin, gotten somewhere in between. I went from high school dropout to a fairly good senior secretary. I went from overweight-pain to unbelievably healthy to pain-not-related-to-my-fat-ass. I've gone from poverty to mid-upper-middle-class to slave-to-the-System-for-health-insurance. (The fuckers won't cover my pain medication any more. The fucking pharmaceutical company won't work with them. But that's another post for another day.)

Thrash, hardcore, and hair bands still own my heart, but I'll also happily listen to the Country station. I've gone from a plainskin to about 30% tattoo coverage. I've gone grey.

And I've grown closer to Bear over the years. We almost got married, you know.

I was working as the Senior Administrative Assistant to the Vice Chairman of Pathology in the Yale Medical School (the best Title I ever had!) and had amazing health insurance. (OH those were the days!) Bear desperately needed health insurance. I called him on my 17-cents-a-minute cell phone (having a Title did have its advantages!) and said that we should get married. He announced it to his family at the Thanksgiving dinner table.

I don't know why it fell through. I think we lost interest in the project. Anyway, he was the first man I almost married. (Even though we never hooked up, and I have received two engagement rings since, Bear was always my favorite. He's such a bitch.)

So. time has passed. Bear met David on my dad's birthday a thousand years ago. While I got dumped time and time again (and was the dump-er instead of the dumpee once), Bear and David persevered. They're absolutely wonderful together. David is a brilliant man. I know this because I typed his resume. He's got a big heart and really gives a damn about kids. I know this because I typed his resume.

Bear and David were planning to live in England this year. David got an amazing teaching opportunity.

Connecticut makes me proud; the people for whom I voted have made marriage between people who love each other LEGAL, never mind their genders.

Bear and David were back in the States; David had a conference on the West Coast.

Crossing the border from New York into Connecticut, into Greenwich, brought them halfway between their families.

The day after I put together my black outfit, Bear called me while I was at work. My poor boss had to listen to me bitch that I'd heard on Crackbook, and that I was wearing all black and wouldn't miss it for the world. Bear said that he was wearing all black, too. I was given permission to crash the wedding.

Much as I wanted to call the kids' dad, there was no way I'd be able to get him, even from a train station. He has issues with time. (There was the wedding he was in. I didn't know the couple but got there in a fair amount of time. He, the best man, missed the wedding. And there was the flight I missed... it's like my little brother's time issues, I swear!) I ran home after work to get Tommy, my trusted TomTom GPS, and to brush my teeth. Then it was off to Greenwich.

I was driving, I swear, the only Hyundai in town. When I got close to the Town Hall, I swished with Biotene and realized that there was no way I could spit it out the car door. (I have, incidentally, only done that once - on Racebrook Road in the middle of the night). Biotene is NOT meant to stay in one's mouth. UGH.

I missed the left turn into the Town Hall, and had to turn around. So scared I was going to be late! I saw a family coming in, and assumed that they were there for a wedding, too.

Bear was easy to spot. Along with the tattoos, he sported his Misfits shirt. So typical! So endearing.  Hugged him, hugged David, spoke to the families. Bear pointed to the other family and said, "That's Beth."

Beth is Bear's sister. I was always afraid of her. If ANYONE was going to say that I was not good enough for her little brother, it would be Beth.

She looks amazing. Like me, she underwent gastric bypass. Despite the pains of aging, she is just ... she brought tears to my eyes.

His other sister, Lillian, was there. There were grandchildren whose names I forget. There were his nieces, Lillian Ruth and Jean. When Lillian Ruth was a baby, Bear would amuse himself by picking on her. Like I said, he's a bitch.

We gazed at him, at them, with such love.

The marriage license is the same as that for heterosexual couples. As it damn well should be.

The Justice of Peace is a lovely lady with white hair, who was in tears with joy over being able to legally marry Bear and David. She beamed with happiness. She also enjoyed looking at our tattoos; no one had ever let her look closely. I really hate to be touched, but what the hell, she was so thrilled to be where she was, and for men that I love, that I let her. Her husband has a Bachelor of Fine Arts, and I suggested that he look into tattooing as a potential career move.

They said their vows. I believe that they really will love each other forever.

The families were going to dinner. I didn't have any money, so I was heading home when Beth said that I was going and that was that. Like I said, she scared me. (Bear was shocked: "But she'd never do anything to hurt you!")

I sat with Beth at my right, and even though I was very uncomfortable because there were, you know, people there, I think I did OK. It was a nice meal with better people, since I love Bear's family. We missed Gramma Rose, but we knew she was there. (Bear has her cremains in a tupperware; I'm surprised that he didn't bring her along.) I'm amazed at how Jean and Lillian Ruth have grown into women, but I guess it happens. Beth remembered Bear announcing that he was going to marry me, so it wasn't my imagination. (Actually, since I wasn't there when he made his declaration, I'd found out about it from Gramma Rose.)

Lillian, along with me, is also a big fan of glitter. She had a glitter bedroom. She bought it in bulk. We love glitter.

Only David could have been so wonderful as to treat us to his own (and Bear's) wedding dinner. Only Bear can call me "Bad Jew!" after I tried to pay my share, and get away with it. (Yay for Paypal - HAHA ON YOU <3 )

I knew the night wasn't about me, but I did take a moment to ask Bear why men have treated me so shabbily recently. This is a man who said that he wanted, for his birthday, to go out with me in high heels and watch me fall down. (The night we walked along an icy street, he missed my falldowngoboom.) This is the man who tortured his little niece. He's mean for fun. Even he couldn't come up with a way that his gender's behavior could be my fault.

I had an hour drive home, and was emotionally exhausted from being allowed to be part of such an enormously wonderful day and from sitting in a room with strangers. I said my goodbyes, even though I didn't want to, and headed out.

And that's how I crashed my husband's wedding.

--
I want to believe that the world is just teeming with awesome people, but all of this is giving me great pause. I want to go back to cyberspace. - Penelope Garcia, Criminal Minds Episode: "House Afire"
7:30 PM 
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Sunday, April 12, 2009 
dardosMy mom tagged me. Yes my mom blogs; yes my mom is cooler than yours.

Premio
Dardos means “prize darts” in Italian and is awarded for recognition of
cultural, ethical, literary and personal values in the form of creative
and original writing. The rules are as follows:

  1. Accept
    the award by pasting the graphic on your blog along with the name of
    the person who granted the award and a link to his/her blog.
  2. Pass
    the award to another 15 blogs that are worthy of acknowledgment,
    remembering to contact each so they know they have been selected.
Thanks
for your tag, Mom - you named a third of the blogs I'd use (well that
would include Bev, who linked to you). Therefore, I'll do my best to
come up with fifteen but am also going to have to link to the ones to
whom I'd have linked if they weren't mutual friends. Many of the blogs
I read are locked, and a few are too public to respond.

I am NOT
fucking including Tweets. I cannot include MySpace blogs because I want
people to look at these blogs, and MySpace isn't always the safest
click. Besides, often, my friends' MySpace blogs are locked half the
time, and the suggestion is to link to public blogs - the idea is to
share really good writing.

Please do not leave comments telling
me who I should have tagged. I am trying to keep "should" out of my
vocabulary. If you don't like my choices, mine isn't the place to make
"corrections."



  1. Castlehom - my friend Shannon's dad - he's become my friend over the past few years
  2. Cyberoutlaw's Hideout - his photography is superb, and his stories are creepy because they could be true. i HIGHLY recommend his noir collection Burning in the Heat, which I desperately need to review
  3. Famous by proxy - Shannon's fiancee. She's crafty and cooky and kooky and funny and I like her
  4. Lara - she will probably be posting more. She's one of my favorite people on the planet
  5. Fallen Angel
    - the perfect example of biology not making a family. Politically, I
    disagree with half of what he says. Doesn't matter - he says it
    eloquently
  6. Red Shoooes n Inky Fingers - full of crafty goodness! a lady I know from a modification group comprised of some good people and a few shitheads
    a lifestyle that's no longer part of my life but I love the crafts and
    we'll share ideas once I can figure out how to make my sewing machine
    stitches stay put
  7. Scarybaldguy
    - another perfect example of biology not making a family. computer
    guru. dad. crazy cat man (as opposed to crazy cat lady). we have a
    movie snuggle date as soon as I can afford to move to Phoenix
  8. Shannon Larratt is Zentastic - i'd known Shannon in a modification group comprised of some good people and a few shitheads a lifestyle that's no longer part of my life, but I'm glad he's still around
  9. The First Church of Common Sense - she works with the downtrodden and describes the interoffice bullshit beautifully
  10. Twelve 28 Tattoo - the blog of tattoo ARTIST Joy Rumore
  11. WHaT WaS I THiNKiNG WHeN I SHuT MY MouTH?
    - OMG this is awesome. It's the archives of my friend Lianna's blog.
    I've known her since before I'd started stretching my earlobes. That's
    a long time. If you'd like to read the archives of a journalist who
    knows a bunch of psychotic people, this is it.
These are the blogs that won't follow along with the game, but which I feel are worth readingI'd also add the ones that my mom had also listed:
  1. Zen and Chocolate - I wait for her email, saying that she's updated.
  2. Cosmic’s Corner
  3. fmd
    - my darling Quin, who is the mother of our son Taylor, the recipient
    of (why the hell would he want when he's on a Naval ship in the middle
    of nowhere) Ramen soup
  4. The Purple Chai
  5. Airy Persiflage



6:54 PM 
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Tuesday, March 10, 2009 
Remember when I almost married Sean? and then he suddenly stopped calling for absolutely no reason that I could fathom? This isn't the first time this happened to me, actually; my first boyfriend, and a few others over the years, did it too.

Sean, this time, led a string of four. In a row.

I don't date men unless we're friends first. Really, what's the point? You've got to talk about something when the sun rises... Friends don't just... end a relationship without saying why, do they?

Each time, there are plans to get together in the very near future. Then, no call, no return calls. No reply to emails. I try not to be overbearing, lowering it to a call a fortnight after the first few calls.

Just tell me what's wrong with me: I hate short hair. Your butt's too big. Your butt's too small. (Yeah right) I don't like your politics. I met someone I like better. SOMETHING.

Four men who'd never met each other, who did the exact same thing. I don't get it.

It's not like I can't keep friends. I've happily maintained relationships with my childhood friends, some for over thirty years. When, occasionally, a friendship does end on bad terms, I find that I make two friends immediately, like replacements, who wind up being awesome over the years (and, sometimes, decades).

Am I choosing the wrong men? or is there something wrong with me?

It's time for drastic measures. I'm calling Cindy's psychic, and maybe she can say if it's my choices or if I'm doing something wrong.
7:30 PM 
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