This is for the girls who understand that they aren't perfect and that the guys they're interested in aren't either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe this time he'll have understood. This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in skirts and sweats and boots, who care more than they should for guys who don't deserve their attention. This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their dreams dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you've returned home alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little too softly for the girl he's with to be a random hookup. This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn't that he didn't want a relationship: it was that he didn't want you. I honor you for the night his dog died or his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his car and you held him, thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or said the right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he'd realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to sleep. This is for the "I really like you, so let's still be friends" comment after you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those which make you cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you've received from your true friends, for the nights they've reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the .despair. you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a pillow and your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used & abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we've believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we'd have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisified with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don't think that they deserve more, because they've been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys. This is what I don't understand. Men sit and question and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mindgames, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: if were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, you give her your number and wait for her to call...and if you were to receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the "stalker chick"you met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once more for this "nice girl" who you just cannot seem to find? Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you're not looking for a nice girl. You're not looking for someone genuinely interested in your intermural basketball game, or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your father; you're looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom you were using during it.

Michael Dean Axtell, 53, of 108 Lynn Ave., Fayetteville, died Sunday, July 1, 2007, in his home.

Mr. Axtell was a Marine veteran.

Services: Funeral, 1 p.m. Thursday in Jernigan-Warren Funeral Home chapel in Fayetteville. Burial in Lafayette Memorial Park.

Visitation: 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. Thursday at the funeral home.

Survived by: Wife, Carol; son, Stephen Hogan; daughters, Angela Langkilde and Jackie Hertel; mother, Reba; sister, Suzanne Ascuitto; brothers, Dana, Kevin, Keith and Chris; and five grandchildren.

At the end of the day, a loving family should find everything forgivable.  ~Mark V. Olsen

We know you're finally fishing with your daddy,

we miss and love you Uncle Dean

aaahhh....yet ANOTHER blog. I'm done writing about how my life sucks or what ever hell else could go wrong has. My theory... "Most people think life sucks, and then you die. Not me. I beg to differ. I think life sucks, then you get cancer, then your dog dies, your wife leaves you, the cancer goes into remission, you get a new dog, you get remarried, you owe ten million dollars in medical bills but you work hard for thirty-five years and you pay it back and then -- one day -- you have a massive stroke, your whole right side is paralyzed, you have to limp along the streets and speak out of the left side of your mouth and drool but you go into rehabilitation and regain the power to walk and the power to talk and then -- one day -- you step off a curb at Sixty-seventh Street, and BANG you get hit by a city bus and then you die. Maybe."...Life is always goin to suck, and it's always going to get better, if it didn't suck to begin with you wouldn't know when it was getting better. So I'm done bitching and i'm just gonna start appreciating more. I have a job, i have a family, i have friends, and most importantly i can still physically consume beer, nothing to bitch about, end of story.

***NEWS FLASH***

figured it out...was just missing my bro thats all

 

I don't even really know what im writing this one about...i just got back from the bar with a great set of friends and had a great time. I actually had a good day at work. I talked to my mom and made yet another plan for my life and we'll see if this one works so evidently there is hope. I'm even ahead on my bills. And yet here i sit still without whatever the hell it is im looking for. I don't know what's wrong with me, or even if there is something wrong with me, I just know I don't feel whole anymore. And no matter how much i work, or how much i hang out with friends, or how much i laugh, or much i cry this sinking feeling in my stomach that something is wrong just will not go away.

The 13 hour rides sux ass but GEORGIA fuckin rocks. I get there and for two days am surrounded by kick ass army guys. Got to see Skotnicki's turnin blue and graduation from Ft. Benning, but best of all the night after. We get back from graduation, grab something to eat at a japanese steak house n then head out. The Taxi dropped us off in front of the marriot and it began. We head in and we tell the guy at the front desk what room we're in, his complete demeanor changes once he finds out we're in the GOVERNOR'S SUITE! A two story kickass suite. Complete with a big ass sleigh bed, the view of the city, a jacuzzi tub, the works. We knock on the door and we're greeted by a gang of skotnicki's battle buddies. I get the best greeting of course! Skotnicki: "guys this is Shannon" Gransback:"Oh we've heard all about you!" Hell yea! So then I get handed a beer n it's all over with. After shots and more shots and even more shots out of a gallon of Jack (eventually just chugging it) and too many beers to remember i end up havin yet another night to remember with the infamous duo skotnicki n genthner. Between walkin around downtown Georgia wasted, runnin up n down the stairs leavin beers half way down, arm wrestling, findin blunts on window sills, n bein the last to pass out its all memorable n can't wait to do it again. HOOAH!

life is bliss....i woke up at one thirty in the afternoon...i sat out in the bikini ta get sum sun...played with my dog...cooked out...went fishin with my best friend and my dad...drank more beer than i caught fish...watched movies with friends...n now im gonna go ta sleep knowin i dont have to wake up early tomorrow for work....a perfect day