Today, so far, has been uneventful, but I have been in a good mood.

For starters, I heard from a woman whose blog I've been following for two years. She's moved her blog to another location and I enjoyed getting caught up. Then, today in my Soc class, which is my most challenging of all, I found out that I got a 98% on my last test. Yippee! For a while there, I feared I would flunk the class, although the lowest grade I got on an assignment was a "C" and that wasn't even a test, and it was only one "C" at that. I still do not know what my grade is going to be, because we still have one more test and two assignments that need grading, but my test before this was an "A" also. I can't wait. One of my other classes is a definite "A", and my Psych class could go either way, "A" or "B", depending on how we are graded on our group project that we present tomorrow and the last test we take. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let me make the President's list! I know I'll make the Dean's list but I SO BADLY want to make the President's list. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! LORD HEAR MY PRAYER!

I am so driven. I know that making either list will not really help me in the real world. I also know that making either list will help me win scholarships. (Which I need so bad!) But it's achievement motivation for me. For the kid who got kicked out of her 9th grade school and was also told not to return the following school year, making ANY list would be wonderful. It is such a great feeling to know that YOU CAN DO IT. I screwed off my high school and junior high years, doing everything but not learning. Now I have to work extra hard, harder than a lot of people in my classes, but I am smart enough and driven enough to succeed. Success is my drug. I can't get enough of it. It's funny how people in your life start to change when they realize that you are changing and you are no longer dependent on them. For instance, my sister Kathy. We've always been really close. She has 4 boys....31,22, 23, and 27. (I am 28). We are 23 years apart and have the same father but different mothers. She has always been like a mother figure to me, supportive and in my face when I needed it. As a result, I talked to her about everything that I couldn't talk about with my father and I never, ever disrespected her or swore at her or called her any names; we never really fought. Up until I moved to Florida in 2002, her and my nephews were really the only thing I had keeping me grounded. (We are all very close, like brothers and sister.)

When I started working for a national temporary medical staffing agency, she was my biggest fan, cheering me on about the money I made and constantly telling me how proud she was of me. I was making more money than she was, so I would constantly send money home to her....$20 here, $80-$100 there. Everything was fine and then suddenly she began calling me all hours of the night, drunk and saying the most awful things. (She is an alcoholic, I might as well just say it...as was my father and her mother.) I didn't get it. She was my champion, my role model. Why in the hell was she suddenly calling me up at 3:15 AM and leaving messages on my voice mail using sweet words such as, "You bitch...all my life all I ever wanted was a sister and you have done nothing but fuck up my life. I swear to God I hate you." And for the longest time, I ignored it and pretended it never happened. She would call me and act like she never said those things, so I went along with it. I was hurt, yes, but shocked, no. I grew up in an alcoholic household, so nothing that they do surprises me.

This went on for about a year and I came to realize some things. First of all, she wasn't paying her bills. Second of all, she was totally dependent on our father, who had given her a home to live in and a car to drive. Third of all, three of her four children avoid her like the plague and I began to understand why. My dad had major heart surgery in Los Angeles last year, and the plan was for me to go out there and be there when he had the surgery, and she was supposed to fly out and stay with him and help him recuperate. I did my part, staying in the hellhole they call Los Angeles for the entire ten day break between winter and spring semester, but she never went. Dad kept calling me and asking where she was and what her deal was, and finally she said to me, "I am afraid of flying and he knows that. I don't have enough money to take the train and the bus is out of the question. Maybe it would just be better if you went back instead." I was furious. I had just begun a new semester. I would have been happy to take one off if I had known she wasn't going to go. Instead, Dad had to recuperate from quadruple bypass surgery on his own. The final straw was when she began to bilk money out of her sons to "pay bills" that were never getting paid. The bills were all in Dad's name, as he was still keeping Michigan as his legal residence but was staying in California four months out of the year. The management ended up kicking her out, causing my father to come back from California. Now they do not speak to each other, which makes it even worse for me. Now, when the phone rings at 3:00 AM I hear, "Daddy's little girl," and "Little kiss ass bitch," more often than not. When she does feel like talking to me, it's always stuff like, "What did I ever to do Dad to make him treat me this way? I mean, I was a good kid. You did much more horrible things to him than I ever did. Don't you think?" as if I would agree. (The worst I ever did, and this is bad, was to steal a book of checks from him when I was 17 and forge $85 worth of them. And no, my father and I didn't start getting along til I was much, much older.)

Finally, I came to the realization that she must feel threatened by me for some reason. We have never verbally had it out, and I have yet to tell her off, but judging by the things she says to me ("I bet you feel pretty fucking smug, don't you?" and "Oh great, now Sondra can solve everyone's problems!") I conclude that she is really threatened by me. I don't know why. She acts like I'm uppity or something, but I'm not. When I bought a new car and drove it to Michigan for a visit, she scoffed. Gone were the "I'm so proud of you's". Instead, I feel that everything that I succeed in is a direct threat to her in some way. It's gotten to the point that when I do talk to her, which isn't very often, I don't say anything favorable about myself at all. I'm scared that she will go off on me. My sister is famous for "going off" and had her children and husband cowed by that for years. I certainly don't want her going off on me. For one thing, it would hurt my feelings because the shit she says now hurts my feelings. Second of all, I know that I have taken all I am going to take, and I fear that I may be the one to go off and say something I regret.

I despise her hypocrisy. She doesn't like it when her children ignore her, but she whines and cries that she doesn't understand why they do. She does too..she has to. She abandoned them when they were little and had a distant relationship with them throughout their teenage years. She is unstable because she drinks and she needs therapy, but instead she blames everything on my Dad, who was not the greatest father in the world but the past is the past. She hates my very existence for some reason that I have yet to completely figure out. But she's nice to me now when it serves a purpose for her. Me and my nephew Ricky are very close, and he is staying with her right now out of pity more than anything else (he is the only one who will) and even he is sick of her shit.

So I will not talk about making any list with her. She is not the only one who treats me this way. My friend Angie does, too, but not as bad. Angie is married with about a hundred kids, they live on welfare and depend on the kindness of others to scrape by. Now, this I can understand if you've fallen on hard times and need the help, but she and her husband have figured out a way to milk the system as long as they can without working. There is always an excuse and it's always someone else's fault. This shit drives me up a wall. I understand things are hard, but you have to swim upstream if you want to survive and that does not include laying on your back and popping out more kids, or blaming everyone else for your situation. Angie wasn't always like this. This is something that has just started happening in the last two years or so. And I like her husband very much, but he is sooooooooooooooo lazy. On the rare times I do visit, I feel like I'm being milked: "Can you run me up to.....can we borrow a couple of.....what are you doing on Thursday, so and so has an appointment....can I have a cigarette, or two, or three, or ten?" Being around them is so unpleasant now that I feel my stomach drop when I hear her voice on the other end of my line. It's always something. "They shut off our water." "Our power is about to get shut off." "The car won't start." These declarations of strife are always precipitated by a huge, deep sigh designed to get your sympathy. I decided it isn't going to work with me anymore. And Angie would be thrilled for me if I made the President's list....but when I told her I had an opportunity to sell my rental property on a cash deal, she harrumphed into the phone and then made the comment she always makes when something good happens to someone other than her: "Must be nice." Yeah. Said with dripping sarcasm. Bitter.

So, I shall share my successes with those who truly appreciate them...and me. After all, I'm going into what can be a very negative business so I should be prepared for it. But that doesn't mean it has to affect me. And dammit, I won't let it.

Well, well, well.

In my last entry, I said that I had asked one of the best writers and bloggers I have read http://www.allprowaiter.blogspot.com/ to link me in his journal. I went back there today to see if he had posted anything new and to scan through any new comments. (Every now and then he gets some crazy comments.) Someone commented on his entry, and then blasted me full force about my blog, stating that I was "unprofessional" and "vulgar." The vulgar thing I do understand, but the unprofessional I do not. If I were writing this for a grade, or an assessment of some kind, or even to impress someone, I can understand the point of professionalism. But in these entries, I am just me in all my glory, whether it be stories about my husband saying asanine things or stories about me doing asanine things. I scrolled through the entries on this page, and yesterday's entry could be shocking, I guess, to those who don't know me. I mean, writing about your husband telling you he was going to slit your throat is a perfect example of high self disclosure. But I prefer to be a high self disclosing person; this my journal, my blog, and I will write it any way I want to. I do understand that I am opening up myself to criticism by doing so, and I really don't mind people who are turned off by me, but like I said when I responded to his comment, I just hope people will take the time to read a few entries before making a judgment based on what I write here. I do not censor myself and I never have. I'm not going to start here, either. Judged by what he wrote, my guess is he only read that one entry. If he had scrolled down and read my entry about Tom, or maybe my entry about the video made for the Katrina victims, or my entry about daughter and basketball, he would have not been so scathing in his review. But it does not matter. I am me, and that's it. I'm going to swear, tell stories, and be myself. I know how to conduct myself in the business world, as well. Believe me, I never spoke this way to my clients or my employees. I know where the fine line is.

He also said I was without humor. Sheesh. I wasn't trying to be Eddie Murphy when I wrote that last entry. Matter of fact, I haven't been trying to be funny all that often. I just write what I want, when I want, however I want. That's the whole point of a blog, isn't it? If I was writing to be funny, I wouldn't be wasting my time on blogspot. You wouldn't believe how many people think I should try to write something worth publishing. The truth is, I'm working on it. In one of my entries, I stated that I was going to get out my laptop and start writing. Well, I did. I've been pretty busy and I only have about 50 pages written. I'll have more time to work on it when the semester ends in two weeks. Then I'll put more effort into it. If I get published, that would be wonderful. If I don't, then I keep on trying until I do. I know I can. It's just a matter of finding the quality and the story line that works for me.

That's all I wanted to say. For anyone new who happens to come here, please take a look around. You may find that you relate to this stuff; you may not. You may be shocked and surprised; you may not. Give it a chance and see what happens. In the meantime, I'll still be here in between pounding away at my laptop and I'll be happy to answer any questions anyone might have about this blog. Believe me, I'm up to the challenge.

Well, I have a lot to write about, but today I did something I have wanted to do for a while.

I've been following the journal of http://www.allprowaiter.blogspot.com/ for quite some time, and I asked him to link my journal to his so that his fans can read me, too, if they choose to. I haven't really tried actively publishing this blog yet, but he's really fucking cool so I am sure he'll do it. And I have to figure out how to link his journal to mine. I'm pissed off that I can't figure it out. I feel stupid.

So, anyway, Thanksgiving was fun. I guess. LOL. Actually, it was pretty fun overall, even though the turkey smoked for over an hour, which caused us to open all the windows. Then we all got cold, so we sat around in our coats and shoes laughing about the fact that we were dressed up in our coats and shoes. Then Lynn's five year old screamed, "FIRE!" while all the adults were huddled in the bathroom smoking. I started walking toward the kitchen when I was quickly passed on my right by James, who frantically began throwing baking soda into the oven, which had, indeed, caught on fire. (But not the turkey!) Shawn was holding the oven door open, saying, "Yep. It's on fire." Lynn yelled, "Shut the fucking door!" and that's when James ran in, tight pants and all, to throw baking soda on it. But not before Lynn grabbed the turkey out of there. Then the house really began to fill up with smoke so everyone huddled in front of the fireplace, laughing. When the food was done, it was really good, especially this stuffing Lynn made. I asked her what it was, but I don't listen very well, so I know it had cornbread and sausage in it and that's about it. None of us had dessert but Shawn drank too much and before we started playing this board game, Cranium, James offered Shawn more beer. I interrupted and said no, he didn't need any more to drink. He was already slurring his words. Plus, you would have to know Shawn. I don't normally boss people around (well, yes, I do, but that's besides the point!) but I can't stand being around drunk ass people, and especially my husband. So, anyway, Shawn didn't really say much about it and Lynn and James were good sports about it, until suddenly Shawn started calling me a bitch and other various names. I kept my cool and didn't yell back, but I did go out into the kitchen to make a phone call. While I was out there, Shawn told Lynn and James that he was going to slit my throat. Lynn, shocked, replied that he could not do that...besides, he'd already told them about it so the only place he would go to is prison. Shawn said he'd take care of that by killing himself. (This is why I hate him drinking.) Believe it or not, we had this sick ass conversation while playing Cranium, which included humming songs and shaping things out of clay. Can you say d-y-s-f-u-n-c-t-i-o-n? Hell, can you even imagine? "Hey! I got it! That song you're humming is 'Raindrops Are Falling On My Head!' And by the way bitch, sleep with one eye open tonight, cuz I'm going to draw a smiley face on your throat with my ginseng knife! Would you move my gamepiece three spaces down to the blue spot? Thanks."

Welcome to my world.

Today I decorated the house. I started to put up the tree yesterday, but I did it all wrong and Shawn had to fix it. Last night we put the lights and garland on it, and today we strung up the lights outside. I also made our stockings and hung them up. I know, I know, boring stuff. I haven't really done shit today, except decorate and watch "Good Times." I used to watch this show all the time as a kid and it just recently came back to TV on TVLand. Today at 6AM they started an 18 hour Good Times marathon, which I am taping. I haven't even really talked on the phone today. I called Lynn at around 9:15 but got no answer. I'm not even in the mood for online bowling, but we do bowl with Lynn and James tomorrow. I still have a little homework to do but I just can't seem to get in the mood to do it. I don't think I will. Fuck it. I'll do it next week. I work better under pressure anyway. LOL. I think I'm gonna soak in my whirpool tub and watch more Good Times.

It's a beautiful day. Snow is blowing everywhere, and the ground is slowly but surely turning white. I've been wandering around aimlessly all day, trying to find something to do. I have a little homework to do, but none of that sounds enticing right now. I'd rather sit here by this window and watch the snow come down.

So, anyway, today I'm kind of aimless, like I said. So I got on the computer and started looking people up in the criminal system. (It seems as if every ex boyfriend I ever had and every friend of mine from the Eastside are locked up, have been locked up, or are going to be locked up.) I decided to type in the name of my twin's father. (The twins are 7 now.) I haven't talked to him since the day they were born. We never had a relationship, but I don't really have anything bad to say about him. I mean, we didn't really know each other...it was kind of a three night stand. LOL. Not only that, but he was three years younger than me. Before I found out I was pregnant, he went back to his on again, off again girlfriend, Miss Trash. I never liked her because she was so dumb, but after she found out I was pregnant she made life really difficult. She wouldn't let George take my phone calls and would instead scream at me that the babies weren't George's because twins didn't run in his family. What the dumb bitch didn't realize is that men don't carry the genes for twins..women do. I tried to explain that twins run in my family to no avail. I think the saddest thing about it was that she was 34 years old, I was 20, and George was 17. He was a good kid, I think. About a month before the twins were born he'd go to his mom's and call me to make sure everything was okay and to ask if there was anything he could do. When I made the decision to put them up for adoption, he became very upset and began begging me not to "give his kids away." I was adamant in my decision because I knew I could not raise them by myself, and I knew he would end up being very little help because of Miss Trash. On the day they were born, I called him on the phone and told him he was welcome to come up to the hospital. He sighed and said, "I don't think so, Sondra." He sounded extremely depressed. I sent pictures of the babies to his mother for the first year of their lives and his mother told me he carried them in his wallet. I have not talked to him since but I have thought about him often, hoping that he was okay. Like I said, I don't have anything bad to say about him.

So today, I type his name in under an inmate search, and he pops up. I know I have searched his name before, but I guess I was spelling it wrong or something because this offense was dated from 2003. He's been discharged from probation, but he was convicted of FOURTH DEGREE CRIMINAL SEXUAL CONDUCT...FORCE OR COERCION. What???? Talk about being shocked. George? I realize I didn't know him all that well, but from what I remember, he was a gentle person with a big mouth who took care of his mom and sister. Criminal sexual conduct? So I decided to do some more investigating. I did a record search under his name and found that he married Miss Trash in July of 2003. That's another shocker. I never thought it would go that far. We met in 1997. I kind of figured he'd be over that old hag by now. So then, I searched her name. Turns out she never changed her last name to George's name and has several tickets for DWLS. She was also hauled into court by her finance company for defaulting on the mortgage that was in her grandmother's name. (I hope at 41 I don't have to put anything in anyone else's name, so help me God.) And the big shocker was that she was the one who pressed charges on George for criminal sexual conduct, then married him six months later before his conviction and sentencing. WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?

Thank God I chose not to raise my children in that kind of environment. During one of our conversations, I came right out and told George, "It's not you. I know that you and I could work on our friendship enough to be good parents to our children. I have faith in you. What I do not have is faith in her. She's trash." George responded with, "I know. I guess I understand. I'm just asking you to reconsider."

Thank God I didn't. Can you imagine having to explain to my five year olds that Daddy is going to jail? And for God knows what? I know without knowing the whole situation that he didn't do it. That's the kind of bitch she was. She must've talked him into marrying her real quick in order to save him from going to jail. She must've thought that would look good to the court. Like I said, thank God my children are not worrying about their Daddy being in jail. He would have hated for his children to see that.

I keep trying to look him up on the sex registry but the site is down right now. I'm going to keep on trying. Yeah, I'm kind of curious to see what he looks like now. I vaguely remember what he looked like then. His description on the offender page says that he has eleven tattoos and is 6' tall and 210 pounds. I can't imagine him being 210 pounds. The last time I saw him, he was about two inches shorter and probably forty pounds or so lighter. I remember thinking he was skinny. Alexa, who was three at the time, called him, "George-with-the-eyebrow-ring." LOL.

I'm going to keep on passing the time. Maybe I'll do some homework. (But most likely not.)

I don't have much time to write, since I am switching a couple of rooms in my house around (BY MYSELF, EVEN! WOW!) but I just felt the need to ask a couple of things.

Has anyone watched an episode or two of Cheers? I've been catching it on Nick at Nite. You know, that show from the 80's with Woody Harrelson, Kelsey Grammer, Rhea Perlman, Shelley Long, and that other guy whose name I can't remember but who plays Sam on the show? I guess this show was quite a good one, lasting many seasons. I find it really stupid.

First of all, there are no black people, not even the token black guy that's usually on shows like this. Second of all, don't these people have jobs? I know that one of them is a mailman, but instead of delivering the mail, he's sitting in some pub throwing down the brew like it aint no thing but a chicken wing. Get to work, fat ass! Who the fuck has time to sit in a bar and bullshit all day, unless you're on unemployment and happen to be an alcoholic? They all act like they're best friends and rarely does someone new come into the bar.

Now, Shelley Long's character...I forget the name. I've only been watching this a few days. But that bitch is an egotistical, arrogant, manipulative, two faced, fake ass bitch and no one likes her....yet, everyone kisses her ass. Why? Even the owner of the bar, Sam, kisses her ass. Screw it, dude! She's a fuckin employee. Fire her fucking ass! But no, instead,she prances around all day telling people what to do and pissing people and off and no one does anything about it. In fact, they even try to protect her from failure and go to elaborate lengths to do so. Why? Why? Why?

It frustrates me because this show comes on after Good Times and What's Happenin, and I laugh my ass off at these shows. I remember watching them when I was little. They're funny and informative. Then comes Cheers, with the skinny blonde making everyone chase after her while they talk about her behind her back and kiss ass to her face. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

Normally, I do not interact at all, even with computers, when I first wake up. But I have got to get this in writing before I forget.

The picture you see above was taken in either 1991 or 1992. I am the one in the yellow shirt, my friend Angie is the other girl in the jacket, and the guy in the middle is my friend Tom.

I met Tom in 1991 at a party held by a bunch of people he went to school with. One of my friends, Amy, was part of that group and invited me. I remember thinking he was so cute, but he had a girlfriend, so I picked up a guy named Jason instead. Somehow, we exchanged numbers and spent hours on the phone talking and flirting with one another. One thing I noticed about Tom right away, even then, was that he was brutally honest. I thought that was kind of cool and wished I could be so brave. I learned that Tom was in love with a girl named Marie, and that they had just broken up. I was also still in love with my first love at the time, so we had something in common. We made plans to meet at Amy's cousin's house, where there was another party. At the party, we held hands, walked around the block, and even gently pushed me up against a tree in front of their house and kissed me. We also made out in Paul's bedroom, laughing at his Pound Puppy sheets and comforter. That kiss rates up there with one of the best I have ever had in my life. For years, when he told that story, he would always turn to me and say, "Hey Sondra, isn't that the time you pushed me up against the tree?"

After the party we continued talking every day. Back then, "You Could Be Mine" by Guns and Roses was on the top 40 in a big way,because of the movie Terminator 2. I remember Tom telling me that song reminded him of me. When I asked him why, he said, "Do I have to explain it? YOU could me mine, but you're way out of line. Sheesh." Later, he explained that we were in fact perfect for each other...but maybe in another life. He was still in love with Marie, I was still in love with my ex boyfriend, and we figured the two of them to be the reasons for why we could never be together. (Yes, I was dramatic even then. What's weirder is the fact that Marie and my first boyfriend ended up actually knowing each other and being in the same circle of friends.) But our friendship blossomed into something we never would have had otherwise.

A year later, when I was 15, I accepted a date from a guy named Tony at my school. I asked him to pick me up at the Gap, which was a Christian hang out for kids in our area. Tom's father was involved in it in some way, so I usually went every Friday night to see Tom and hang out, since we went to different schools. (As a matter of fact, this picture was taken at the Gap.) Tony came to pick me up and we went driving. He kissed me, and it wasn't so bad, so I kissed him back. But then, he became more than a little overzealous and began pawing at my clothes and panting in my ear, and tried to lay me down on the front seat of his truck. Because I was such a non assertive person back then, the only thing I did in defense of myself was tell him I had to go because my Dad was picking me up early, instead of just kicking him in the fucking balls. Tony knew he did something wrong and he kept apologizing, but I was thoroughly sickened and just wanted to get away from him. (He didn't do anything illegal, but I was grossed out by him just the same.) When he dropped me off, I ran into the Gap and grabbed Tom, and in tears, told him what happened. He immediately went storming outside and attempted to yank Tony out of the truck, but Tony saw him coming so he closed his door and stomped on the gas. Tom started yelling and threw some bottles at his truck. Then he turned to me and gave me a hug, and ten seconds later he started yelling at me for going in the first place. "That guy was a freak. You could have been raped," he said. Of course, he was right. Back then, I had absolutely no sense. Sometimes I still don't but I am happy to report that I am wiser in the ways of men.

When I was 16 and ended up pregnant, Tom knew the circumstances surrounding it,and he never judged me. He would only listen. We were both getting a little older, getting our driver's licenses and acquiring more freedom, and learning things about the world we didn't know, or thought we knew, anyway. I had hooked Tom up with a few of my female friends that I thought he would like, because I knew how particular he was. He still wasn't completely over Marie, but at least he was dating all over the place. My cousin, who went to school with him, called him a "ho." He was, I guess. Because he played football and was good looking and popular, it wasn't hard for him to get dates. He wouldn't take me anywhere when I was pregnant because he didn't want people to think we were a couple and that the baby was his. (LOL) But he would come over, cuddle, and eat and watch movies with me. This could only happen while my Dad was at work, because, even though I was already pregnant, BOYS were not ALLOWED in my room when he wasn't home. Even trying to explain to him about me and Tom did not work.

When I went into labor, I had a condition called "placenta previa" which caused me to bleed out all over the place. My Dad called 911 and somehow he got the emergency room on the phone. I'm sobbing, waiting for the ambulance to show up, and Dad thrusts the phone in my hand. I hear, "Sondra? This is Tom's mother. You have to listen to me. Are you listening? I need you to breathe. Sondra? Listen to me. Breathe." But she had said the magic words, which were "Tom's mother." I knew she was an OBGYN nurse at the hospital I was going to deliver my baby at, but I guess I didn't really realize she might actually be there during the birth of my baby. I had never met her in person, but I had talked to her on the phone plenty of times. So the ambulance takes me to the hospital and both me and the baby are in distress. She ran into the room, along with a bunch of other people, and while everyone was sticking me and prepping me for surgery, she tried hard to keep me focused on her and not the panic around me. She told everyone, "I know this girl, she's a very good friend of my son's," as she held my hand. The last thing I remember is seeing her face donned in a surgical mask before my lights went out. LOL.

A day or so later, Tom called me in the hospital, and said he heard that I almost didn't make it. He said that he would have been so sad if I had died. I laughed and said I wasn't going anywhere any time soon, that I was going to be around for the rest of his life. He laughed and said, "I don't know if that's a curse or a blessing. I guess I'll take it as it comes." Taking advantage of the tender moment, I asked him to come and see me. He immediately replied with, "Hell no. I don't want to see you like that, all bloody and bloated and unwashed. Screw that. Call me when you get home." We both laughed, but he meant it. He would not be coming up to see me. His mother came often, and Tom sent her with flowers once. He was the only person who did, but it didn't matter. I knew he cared without the flowers.

After my baby was born, we spent a little time together. We both had discovered pot by then, so it wasn't unusual for us to skip school and drive around in his little white Cavalier, getting high and listening to Cracker and talking about everything. At this point, he was in love with Jaimee, a friend of mine I had introduced him to. They had this really intense on again, off again relationship peppered with sex and fights, and more sex. He really fell for her in a big way, and one time, when they were "off", they met at Jaimee's house and had sex, and Tom fell asleep. Sometime in the wee morning hours, they were awakened by footsteps coming up at the stairs, and Jaimee began throwing his clothes at him and hissing for him to hurry up and get out because her boyfriend was coming. Tom frantically tried to dress but he wasn't quick enough. The bedroom door opened and her boyfriend, Doug, who was a big guy, saw Tom standing there half naked and lunged at him. Tom, without thinking twice, dove out of her second story window and plunged to the ground, and when he hit the ground, he began running for his car. Doug, in the meantime, had flown down the steps and flung open the front door and was in hot pursuit. Tom got to his car just in time and screeched off, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts and had his wallet in hand. When I got that phone call, I couldn't stop laughing. I knew it wasn't funny, but I could just picture it. I remember asking Tom if he was going to give up on her now. I was kind of hoping he would. He responded with, "Why should I?" as if being chased by a fucking bear was nothing but a momentary inconvenience and not a threat to his physical well being. I shook my head and stayed out of it. Eventually the relationship ran its course, but it was always something funny....Jaimee driving off in his car, Tom calling her with someone on three way to see "how she felt about me".....Jaimee fucking one of his friends....Tom fucking one of her friends..and the list goes on.

When we turned 18, I had a girlfriend and so did Tom. He was not surprised or turned off by the fact that I had a girlfriend. He didn't ask to join in with us, either, which is usually the standard response. I made the mistake of telling him how touchy Rachael was, and one day he showed up while she was there, making comments like, "I'm going to kiss your girlfriend now, is that okay?" and "What's your bra size? Because, I mean, well, there doesn't appear to be anything there." LOL. Rachael got pissed and said she didn't like that "cocky motherfucker." I just laughed. He did kiss me goodbye at my front door, right in front of her, dipping me down and making moaning sounds while he pulled my hair to make it look like we were making out. I was laughing hysterically. As he walked out the door, I said, "Tom, you know I love you." He said, "Yeah, yeah, you know I love you too." That was the last time I would ever see him.

From 1995-2000 we kept sporadic contact, talking about three or four times a year. Right before I moved to Grand Rapids with Rachael in 1995, he told me he had bought a ring for his girlfriend, Kerry. He even brought it over to show it to me. I asked him if he was seriously contemplating marriage. He looked at me like I was nuts and was like, "No, not right now. But later." It was a pretty ring and I told him so. I even talked to Kerry on the phone a few times. I liked her a lot. Tom later told me that he had an instant attraction to Kerry because she was like me. When I asked him what that meant, he said, "Just what I said. She's just like you, only not you." When I asked him what in the hell was wrong with me, he just got huffy and said, "Never mind. You don't get it." I get it now.

In the summer of 1999 I called Tom and admitted to him that my life was fucked up. I was living in Kentucky, had no job, and was in the middle of some stupid relationship bullshit with the panty wearing faggot. Tom told me I was being stupid. He told me to just come home. I said that there was no way I was coming back to Michigan. Then he sighed, and said exactly this: "Sondra, there are two kinds of people in this world that I hate. Stupid people and fat people. Stupid people because, they're...well, stupid. And fat people because they know they're fat, yet they keep on eating." I laughed at this, because he was being honest. Then I told him how fat I've gotten. He said the rules didn't apply to me because I wasn't stupid (even though I was acting like it at the time) and even if I was fat, he had yet to see it. But he still wanted me to come home. I tried to get him to come and visit me instead, and he said that he would have some time off from work after Christmas and maybe him and Kerry, who was still the love of his life AND the mother of his son, Tommy, who had just been born, could come down. I got so excited and said I would love that. I wanted to meet Kerry anyway, had been wanting to meet her for four years, and I could not wait to meet his son.

In December of 1999, I called Tom again to wish him a Merry Christmas and told him I had my own house, a beautiful double wide mobile home right on the Ohio River. I was describing living in the hills of Kentucky and he said it sounded nice. We talked for about an hour, and then he put Kerry on the phone. We chatted for a minute and I could hear the baby in the background. I said I couldn't wait to see them all and if they couldn't come down to Kentucky, then I would come up there since I did frequently anyway. I remember Kerry saying, "Well, either way, we'll all get together." It did not happen that way. My only comfort is that the last thing he ever heard me say was that I loved him. The last thing he ever said to me was, "I love you too."

About two weeks into the new year 2000, I was out with the panty wearing faggot (referred to as PWF from now on) for a couple of hours shopping. When we got home, I had two messages, one from Angie and one from my cousin Sarah. Sarah said, "When you get this message, you need to call me right away." Angie said, "When you get this message, you need to call me right away. Don't go anywhere. Call me now. I have something to tell you." She sounded slightly subdued and I told PWF it was probably because her little sister had gotten pregnant. Her little sister had this serious boyfriend and they were talking marriage, but I was almost certain that's what she was going to say. I picked up the phone and called her back while putting away the stuff I had bought. Angie kept telling me to sit down. I kept laughing at her and telling her I had things to put away, and that I was fine, she could just tell me. She kept insisting I sit down. (Angie can be a bit dramatic, too.) Finally I laughed, sat down in my kitchen chair, and said, "Okay, Angie, I'm sitting down." PWF was standing right next to me, watching me. (He was as nosy as they come.)

She wasted no time. "Tom is dead, Sondra."

I sat frozen for a minute, and then I said, "What?"

She repeated herself. "Tom is dead, there's been an accident. Honey, I am so sorry. I know how close you were."

I sat there in total and absolute disbelief for a moment, not saying anything at all. My mother has died, both of my grandfathers have died, but that all happened in the eighties and I was a little kid. I was not prepared to hear those words.

I slammed the cordless phone to the floor at PWF's feet and picked up my chair that I had been sitting on and hurled that across the room. I began hysterically crying and screaming, "No no no no no," over and over again. PWF rushed over to put the phone back together and when he did, he called Angie right back. I heard him say, "What did you just say to her? She's losing it!" as I ran throught the entire house, knocking stuff off of walls, smashing dishes, yanking sheets off the beds, grabbing at my hair and screaming. I guess Angie must have told him, because he hung up the phone and grabbed me, trying to restrain me. I pushed and shoved at him, saying, "She's lying. I just talked to him. She's just trying to piss me off. HIS SON IS NOT EVEN A YEAR OLD!" PWF did not respond to anything I said, just tried to hug me close to him. I wouldn't let him. I literally destroyed that entire house, screaming and crying and carrying on. My mind heard it, and there was no reason for Angie to ever make that up, but I so badly wanted her to be lying. The look on PWF's face was one of pure pity because he didn't know how to make me understand that my friend was gone and was not coming back.

Finally, I told PWF, through my tears and fits of hysteria, that I was going to call his house and get him on the phone and that would prove that Angie was lying. He didn't try to stop me as I sat down on my daughter's bed and dialed his number. His sister Katie answered. Tearfully, I asked for Tommy. (She had to have known I was crying.) She told me to hang on a minute and put down the phone. I looked at PWF and said, "See? Angie's a fucking liar. His sister is going to get him now." He said nothing. I waited for less than a minute, and then Katie came back on the phone. "Sondra?" she said. "I have to tell you something." I immediately began to wail again. She patiently waited, sniffing back her own tears, and then explained to me what happened. "Tom was on his way to work and was driving in the fast lane. There was a semi truck in the fast lane on the other side of the expressway. There was a small car behind the truck. The car wanted to get around the truck and sped up to pass it, but there was a patch of ice he didn't see and the driver lost control of the car and smacked into the trailer of the semi, which caused the semi to fishtail and flip over the median...right on top of Tommy's car. He felt no pain, he was dead instantly." I just remember crying over and over again about how I couldn't believe it, and Katie told me when the funeral was going to be. She also said there was going to be a viewing, but then they were going to cremate him. After I hung up the phone, I just laid down on the bed. I didn't move for two days. I just laid there. I didn't watch TV, I didn't answer the phone. PWF, who didn't live with me but usually stayed on the weekends, finally came to me on Sunday night forced me out of bed. "You need to take a shower and get out of this house. Enough is enough," he said. He took me to a card store, where I bought Tom's family a card to mail. I could not bring myself to attend the funeral or the viewing. What is there to see? That's not my friend. That's just his body. Not only that, but I knew it would send me over the edge.

I walked around in a state of intense pain and loss for quite some time. Several times, I picked up the phone and dialed his number, only to hang it up quickly when I realized he was not going to be there to answer it. Never again would he answer my calls. Never again would he hug and kiss me, or tell me he loved me. My friend was gone, and for good. I had to move on. But it was so hard. I mourned for a long time. Eventually, I realized that if Tom could see me, he would be highly pissed. I could just hear him saying, "What the fuck are you doing, whining around for? What a cry baby. I'm fine. Hello? You hear me? I'm fine, Sondra. Stop being a sissy." Over the course of a couple of months, I started to heal...slowly but surely.

Now, almost six years later, I think of him often, but always with a little smile. I try to remember all the fun things we did. The only time I ever choke up is when I hear that song, "Heaven's So Far Away," by the Offspring. Then I feel the pain anew. Like no time has lapsed. But most of the time, it's like he's right here with me. I even had a dream about him a couple of years ago, when I first moved to Florida, in which he kept telling me, "I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm all right." But I couldn't figure out why he kept saying that. I told my sister Kathy about the dream. She's a big believer in Sylvia Browne (so am I) and told me that normally when we have a dream like that about someone who has passed over to the other side, that it's considered an "astral visit." Obviously, they're not really there. But they're visiting you in your subconscious. They always appear as the way you imagine them...that's part of the subconscious too. Not only that, but if they appeared as the way their spirits really are, it would scare the bejeesus out of us. We are not prepared for that until we ourselves cross over to the other side. But it is their way of telling us that everything is okay. They take the shape and form that we recognize and try to pass the message on that they're fine. It's the only way they can.

So that brings me to the reason for this entry. Last night I had a dream about Tom that was kind of scary. I rarely dream about him, so I always tend to remember what happened in the dream pretty vividly. Angie was there, and me, and a bunch of other people. We were working, but we were outside. I don't know exactly what it was we were doing. I know that there were planes involved. And in walks this young girl, maybe 16, to our mostly 28-35 crowd. I asked Angie who the hell was the young girl. And she said, "Oh, she's with him," and pointed to the guy standing next to her that was TOTALLY Tom, except the fact that his skin was gray and appeared sallow, and he had dark circles under his eyes. I stared at him for a minute. He didn't really move, just kind of stood there next to this young girl. He was wearing a white shirt and khaki pants, but the shirt actually appeared gray and somewhat dirty. I remember thinking in my dream, That's Tom but he's still dead. That's Tom but he's been dug up. That's Tom but he doesn't know he's dead. He looked like a zombie, and he kept looking at me with a smart ass grin on his face. I kept telling Angie, "I think that's Tom," and she kept saying, "No, he just looks like Tom. Tom is dead. Remember?" Finally I went up to him and the girl and I said, "Do you know you're Tom?" I got no response, just the same smart ass grin. Throughout the whole dream, he stayed by the young girl's side, who didn't seem to notice that he looked like a zombie. He was always looking at me, and always grinning, but never said anything to me. The thing that freaked me out was that he looked like someone who was living dead. I can't describe it. The young girl makes sense because Tom was only 22 when he died. But I have no idea what this dream is supposed to mean. I woke up chilled to the bone and came straight to the computer. Is he fucking with me? Is my subconscious fucking with me? Why did I dream about him? I don't get it. And why was Angie there? It seems that in the dream, he represented himself, but no one else knew but me. Fucking weird.

Dreaming about him always wakes me up wishing he were here. Strangely, I also feel like I have made contact with him in some way. Every time I dream about him it's like that. Like we touched for a brief moment. Maybe we did.

Tom, I love you so much and miss you every day. I often wonder how close we'd be if you were still here. I know that you'd be in my life, at any rate. I am so glad I knew you. You were a great kisser. You were an even better friend. But please don't scare ths shit out of me by showing up in my dreams as some kind of half dug up zombie. You scared the shit out of me. Of course, that's probably what you were trying to do, you fucknut. I love you. Did I say that already? You will never be forgotten. Peace, brother.

What can I say about this picture besides the fact that I look absolutely ridiculous? Lee and Lynn look great. I look like a pale ass, cocaine addicted butch lesbian. Which, I assure you, I am not. But anyways. This is what happened after we snapped this picture:

Lynn: I look fake, like someone from a wax museum!

Me: Jesus, I look like a boy! I look like my dad. I LOOK LIKE MY DAD WITH BLACK HAIR. OH JESUS HELP ME NOW.

Lee: I look good.

I love you guys.

Actually, I'm waiting for Lynn to call. I'm supposed to be helping her with some documentation that she needs for something, and I am waiting for her to call me. I hope she does. I'm bored. I shopped all day and got a bunch of Christmas stuff. I am not going to decorate until the day after Thanksgiving, and when I do I'll post pictures. This is my favorite time of year. I was quite surprised when my dear husband was so agreeable to all the money we spent on everything. It was nice not having to pay for it all myself, though. I guess it's all the same in the long run, anyways.

Ever since Andyro posted a comment on my journal a few weeks ago wanting to know why I haven't written anything to be published yet, I said that I cannot write unless I am completely alone and have one hundred percent assurance that no one is going to read it until I am done. That is a big dilemma in this house, because my husband is nosy, and my kid never leaves me alone. And right now, we're all on the same schedule, so none of us really gets any alone time. That will change after the winter semester starts, which is January 10th. Winter semester I am taking all night classes, and I will have Tuesdays and Fridays off. My dear husband and I were talking last night about writing...he knows I have a passion for writing but he hasn't seen any evidence of that except in papers I write for school. He has never read anything I have ever really written for myself, because I keep it securely under lock and key. I actually haven't written anything for my own enjoyment for years, but when I get into it, I become comatose and don't even notice the passage of time. I have even been known to forget to eat, which is rarer than snow showers in South Florida. So anyway, we were talking about it, and I said that I might go ahead and buy myself another computer that only I can use, because I have been feeling the writing itch coming on. Anyone who writes knows what I'm talking about. It's a persistent, nagging, very strong pull that is hard to ignore. He said something about a laptop, and I said, "Well, I don't want to spend a whole lot of money on a laptop. I'll just buy a new computer and use the old one for my manuscripts." (I say that in the plural, like I'm Stephen King. Ha.) My dear husband says, "You already have a laptop. Why don't you use that?" HALLELUJAH! I forgot all about my laptop, which I bought last Christmas for traveling. I totally forgot about it. The best part about using my laptop is that it's password controlled. NO ONE CAN USE IT BUT ME. So, today, when we went out shopping, dear husband bought me a new coffeepot and come Monday morning, I'm going to brewing a pot of coffee and writing until my fingers fall off. I don't know what it takes to be published, but I am not afraid to find out.

So this is for you, Andyro. You will be the first to read it. And I will dedicate it to you, my little muse...my inspiration. I love you.

Here are some thought that have been going through my mind today and for the last few days. I am a study in contrasts. It's enough to drive me crazy. I thought I would share.



Making lasagna for dinner. Have the next ten days off. Got a little homework. Still waiting for that train headed "anywhere, never to return." I want to be alone. I want to be comforted. I want to be self sufficient. I want to be able to depend on someone. I want to have sex three times a day. I don't want to be touched. I want to quit smoking. I need to go get cigarettes. I want long hair. I need a hair cut. I want a girlfriend. I don't want a girlfriend. I miss Anne and Tim Tees. I want a new, old car. I want to pay off the car I already have. I want this house clean. I don't want to clean this house. I feel like breaking free. I feel like breaking free. I feel like breaking free. I FEEL LIKE BREAKING FREE.

On the way home from class today, I heard the song "Something to Believe In" by Poison, which really struck a chord with me and I began to cry a little. I don't know why, but lately I've been feeling hopeless, trapped, stagnant. Yet, at the same time, I feel satisfied with where my life is right now, so I don't understand these feelings. All I want to do is cry and run the fuck out of here. This in itself is not unsual. It usually takes about three months of stability before I get restless and want a change of scenery. But I feel strangely unsettled in a way I have never felt before. I feel like nothing I do is going to change it. But why? I don't get it. I have a doctor's appointment today, and they just changed my medication, so I am thinking that maybe that has something to do with it? I don't like feeling like my old bipolar self. I like the sane, rational Sondra a lot better. I do not want to embark on another three or four month crusade of negative feelings and extremes. I just want to be normal. But to be honest, what I want to do right now is get really drunk and go anywhere..anywhere but here.

For the last two weeks I have not had the energy to do my hair or put on makeup. That has a lot to do with the fact that I am on the wrong dosage of medication for my thyroid, I'm sure, but is it affecting all areas of my life and making me crazy? And by me even thinking that, am I allowing it to happen? I just don't know. I am not looking forward to my appointment, because this doctor does not evaluate. All she wants to do is find out if the medication's okay. I hate it. I don't want to go, but I have to. Just like everything else I do in my life I do because I have to. I want to do something that will benefit no one else but me. I want to keep something in my life all to myself. I'm sick of sharing. I want to be ALONE, by myself. I don't know. I am just angry and sick of it all. I want to get in my car, go somewhere, create a new identity, and never come back. Time has already proven I can't stay away from Lynn, so I would keep in contact with her. And of course, with Andyro. But no one else. I don't really mean that, but I do in this moment right now. This is getting me nowhere so I am ending this now.

Please click on this link.

This is a website that my mother in law sent to us. Shawn and I moved from the gulf coast of Florida to Michigan when Hurricane Dennis hit, and we were also in Florida for his sister's wedding when Katrina hit. All we got from Katrina were some power outages and minor wind damage, thank God. But in September of 2004 we got hit by Hurricane Ivan, and hard. I remember the panicky, helpless feeling I had when that was going on...not knowing if our house was still standing, etc. It was God awful. And then when Katrina hit it was worse, wiping out the Gulf Coast from Mobile to New Orleans. This link will take you to a presentation done by a resident of Biloxi, Mississippi, which was hit very hard by Katrina. Shawn and I have spent our last two anniversaries in Biloxi casino hotels. (Isle of Capri and Beau Rivage). I am very familiar with the Biloxi/Ocean Springs/Gulfport areas....they no longer exist. There are pictures in this presentation of hotels sitting crookedly across the street from their foundation. There is a picture of Beau Rivage, and it looks good, but then you see how the back of it is completely torn apart. Also, living on the Gulf, everyone is familiar with the bi-coastal waterways that get you from one point to another by going across the water. There are several pictures in here of the one that connects Ocean Springs to Biloxi and it is gone, just gone. The presentation is a little over five minutes long and by the time it got three minutes through it, I was crying. Mostly because I have been to these places and I have seen the devastation first hand. Also because the Gulf Coast was my home for three years. It's so sad it's beyond words. And the music he added to the slideshow..could not have been more perfect. (Pay special attention to the pictures that come up when the song says, "When your walls come crumbling down (one picture)..I will always be around (another picture.) It must be noted that two structures in Biloxi withstood Katrina..the old lighthouse that has been there for several decades, and a church that stands amidst the ruin, basically untouched.

I know we have been inundated with hurricane stuff and everyone is sick of hearing it, but please take a look at this. Leave me a comment and let me know what you think.

http://www.datasync.com/~magee/hurricane_katrina_relief.wmv

Isn' t this so flattering? And isn't it SO me?

I used to have a blog on AOL that I wrote in when I was charting my diet stuff. It got boring writing down what I had to eat each day and instead I started writing about everything from politics to the skinny bitches at the gym. Being that this journal was on AOL, I had to censor most everything I said because the majority of the AOL community is made up of whining ass cry baby half wits that think words like "fuck" and "bitch" are "offensive." So I really wasn't able to let it all hang out. Well, here I can, and I love that I can, so what I did for the last few hours was go through my AOL journal and copied and pasted EACH AND EVERY ENTRY and emailed it to the email address I use for storage. Then I am going to post these old entries randomly. Most of them are not very entertaining, but there were a few that gave me a chuckle, like this one, which was written in April of 2004.



Okay...time for another Sondra list. I have nothing better to do, my cousin is watching TV with Shawn, and I am bored outta my gourd. (sp?) So I am going to make another list. Or two. Or maybe three. Who knows? And furthermore, who cares? LOL.


Okay, here we go.....
MY BAD PERSONALITY TRAITS
I don't like talking to strangers.
I can't stand crowds.
I have no patience.
I'm loud and I yell frequently.
I have a loud, barking laugh that is really embarassing.
I hate to not get my way, and usually, I find a way to get it.
I'm not usually friendly---I'm pretty stand-offish.
I am EXTREMELY competitive. In everything. Especially when I drive. I don't drive to get where I'm going; I drive to get there FIRST.
I have really bad road rage and have been known to pull my car over on the side of the road and challenge people to fight.
I slammed my hand so hard on my steering wheel once, in a fit of frustration, that my horn came on and wouldn't go off until someone disconnected it.
I like really loud music and tend to play it with no regard for the neighbors. (They're pretty cool...they get me back by slamming their door and sending their three year old brat outside to play at 7 AM on the weekends.)
I tend to stereotype people in a bad way. That part of me I really can't stand. Like, when I see a group of teenage girls I think, "Oh what a bunch of valley-girl idiots" or when I see a bunch of teenage guys, I assume they are talking about me. When I see people getting pulled over I just assume they're going to jail. Pretty bad.
I have no tolerance, and I mean NONE, for today's top 40 music. I try to forbid my 10 year old to listen to it but I know that won't get me anywhere. But I just can't stand all that hip hop crap. Whatever happened to Motley Crue and Skid Row being on the Top 40? I'd rather hear "Sweet Child O Mine" then "Bet I have you naked by the end of this song". And our kids are listening to this! Agh!
I don't like to get close to people. I have lost three of my childhood friends already, and I don't want to go through it ever again, so I tend to keep people at a distance.
I HATE to clean. HATE IT.
I HATE to cook. I never do it.
I tend to eat Subway in the car and leave the wrappers and trash in it overnight, until the next day when it's 80 degrees out and my car smells like boiled ham.
Uh, I think it goes without saying that sometimes I can be pretty lazy. :)
I am very irritable.
I have no fashion sense.
I hate to have my nails done.
I swear too much.

Okay, that's all I can think of. I'm going to try and think of more. LOL.

This is one of my favorite pictures of me. It was taken after I got home from going to dinner with my friends from Pensacola Junior College, Melissa and Whitney. I sometimes miss my long, full, gorgeous curly hair that everyone complimented me on. I was like, "But it's fake." "It doesn't matter, it goes great with your green eyes." "Uh, well, my eyes aren't really green. They're blue." LOL.

Sometimes I really miss Florida. Not very often, but sometimes. Probably because I am experiencing end of the semester burn out and I miss PJC. PJC was a good commnity college, one of the best in the state of Florida. Hard to believe I've been in school for almost two years now. I remember how scared I was the first day, and now it all comes so naturally to me. (Yeah fucking right. Who am I kidding? I have a ton of papers to write and here I am, wasting my energy on this. LOL.)

So anyway, I have fifteen minutes more that I have allotted myself before it's time to start the laundry and spaghetti, and then after that I have to work on assignments. But I wanted to take this opportunity to tell everyone about this fucking asshole prick that's in my psychology class. Matter of fact, I am going to call him "Dick." See, Dick thinks he is smarter than the teacher. (Where he gets this information, I don't know.) And not only does he feel that he is superior to her, he also feels superior to others. Well, those that know me well know that that shit don't fly with me. Even if you are superior in some way, there is no reason to act like a fucking asshole. So anyway, we're sitting class yesterday and the teacher is going over some material for our next test. The whole time she's speaking, Dick is talking loud enough for her to hear and loud enough to distract the class. It's as if he could care less. She told him to knock it off and continued with her lecture. He didn't stop though. He continued making sarcastic little comments, such as, "I don't need this class anyway," or "Dyad is spelled D-Y-A-D, NOT D-I-A-D." The teacher, who really IS a horrible speller and admits it, just laughed it off but I was getting more and more irritated. I live my life by the rule that you treat people the way you yourself would want to be treated. There is no reason to treat anyone as if you feel you are better than them. I don't associate with people like that. So anyway, he wouldn't quit talking and distracting the class, so the teacher decided to take action. This is what happened. (By the way, I should mention that this class takes place in a video interaction room. So while she is teaching us in person, she is also teaching the same class, by video, to a class in Cass City, about an hour from here.)

Teacher: "Hey, Dick, you need to stop playing back there. You're distracting the class. Hey Cass, City, take a look at Dick. You can watch what he's doing." She aims the camera right at him, and he doesn't like it.

Dick: "Hey, I don't need that right on me."

(Teacher ignores him. He's a big guy, so most of the class keeps silent.)

Dick begins packing up his things in a huff. I guess he doesn't like it when people put him on the spot.

Teacher: "Where are you going? This is important material you need to know for your test."

Dick, pissy: "I don't need to worry about it. This class is like cake to me." (He actually says it just like that. Like a prissy schoolgirl. Only problem is, he used the euphemism out of context. He should have said, "This class is as easy as cake." But, since he's obviously a genius, he makes up his own phrases. I shudder to be in the presence of such brilliance.

Teacher: "Okay then. Tell me about the arousal theory."

Dick, unpeturbed: "The arousal theory is about sex."

There are a few laughs in the room. Most people think he is joking, and I am one of them. The text says nothing about sex in reference to the arousal theory. I know, because I've read it like a good little student. But I think he is just being an ass, until I turn around in my chair and see that he is clearly not joking.

Teacher: "Sex? Okay. In what way? What does the arousal theory state?"

Dick: "Well, it's about sex and I don't have to answer that question anyway." (His tone of voice is combative and his body language suggests he's defensive. I haven't spent two years studying psychology and social work for nothing.)

Teacher, laughing: "Well, it's your choice, but I think you should stay for the rest of the lecture."

Dick: "No, I'm not going to sit here and put up with this." And then he begins to bitch about the teacher, how she can't spell, how there's no homework and that's a good thing because a second grader could pass this class, and blah blah blah. I can't remember all that he said, because I was, to be honest, more than a little embarassed that he would speak to her like that. And as he continues to speak, I start to feel anger coming on. I mean, I'm a nice person but I can be outspoken at times, especially against people like him. I don't appreciate sitting there having to listen to a litany of bullshit from some half wit prick just because he feels as if his rights are being infringed upon. This is the same guy who came to class last test day, signed the attendance sheet, and slipped out the door. Then he concocted some pity story in order to get the teacher to let him take the test late, when the rest of us had to take it on the day scheduled. That's pussy shit. And I don't respect pussies at all. So, after about two minutes of listening to his mouth, I turned around in my seat and said," Do you think you're smarter than the rest of us?"

You could have heard a pin drop, but then again, there were a few people giggling as well. Most people that I talk to in that class don't like him anyway, so everyone was staring at me, the quiet one, wondering what it was that I was going to say. I didn't disappoint them.

He didn't answer, just looked at me as if I were really quite stupid, then mumbled something about being smarter than the teacher. I responded with, "Well, you're distracting everyone else and I think you're an asshole." Then I turned back around in my seat and stared straight ahead. Some people openly laughed. He didn't respond, just grabbed his backpack and left. I don't play games like that with people. I refuse to let some fucker with a small dick make me feel inferior to anything. From the first day he joined the class, he made sure he came across as arrogant as possible. That just shows me he has low self esteem for some reason. Maybe he really does have a small dick, but he's not going to waste my time and money by showing his ass. He can do that somewhere else. I look forward to class on Wednesday to see if he's there. And if he is, I am just waiting for him to say something else that I can jump on. The teacher can defend herself; she's a clinical psychologist and has probably seen a lot of people like him in her day. But he is not going to sit there and waste my time with his bullshit. I am not the one. Not only that, but there is no way that he is smarter than everyone in that class. Not even on his best day. And he definitely NOT smarter than me. Passivity is not in my blood. But competition is. So I am waiting to see if he says anything to me at all. If he does, he will regret it.

Someday, I am going to go back to a weight that is comfortable for me. Anywhere between 135 and 180. (Big difference, I know. Shut up.)

When I do, I expect a lot of things to change. Me, I'll still be the same person, just with more self confidence. But everyone around me is going to change.

I don't mean significant others. I'm not talking about my husband or Lynn or even Andyro. I'm talking about people I don't know, people who see me and think, "Gee. She's got such a pretty face. What a shame."

Why is it a shame? Can't I still be fat and be a beautiful person? Inwardly, maybe, but on the outside..never. This is the only part of me that I hate so much it keeps me awake at night. I am so tired of worrying about it. I mean, when you've gotten to be as big as I am, you have to take every little thing into consideration. Fitting into clothes..and seats. Making sure the seatbelt on an airplane will fit around me. Feeling anger and despair as most strangers that I make eye contact with QUICKLY AVERT THEIR EYES. They do it because they're thinking something negative and don't want me to notice. I do it too sometimes. I used to do it back when I was classified as "overweight" and not "obese." Obese people freaked me out and disgusted me. I was petrified of becoming one of them. And now I am.

I miss being flirted with. I LOVE the attention. It has been so long that I can't even remember. Now I get flirted with maybe once a year, and always by someone so undesirable it's almost hysterically funny when it happens. And, unfortunately, if someone desirable were to hit on me, I would look around for the hidden cameras. Because I don't find myself attrative physically so I cannot imagine why anyone else would. Don't confuse that with low self esteem. My self esteem is healthy. It's just that I really hate the way that I look and I think everyone knows it. I was not born fat. I was kinda chubby as a kid, and as a teenager I think I had maybe an extra 15 or 20 pounds at the most on me. This is new to me. I haven't weighed myself recently, but I was really close to 300 pounds last time I checked. Granted, I do have hypothyroidism, which, according to my doctor, accounts for a good 80% of my weight gain. The other 20% is laziness, lack of exercise, and really bad eating habits, which I had all before my thyroid gave out.

I recently got my insurance and now I am waiting to see if I am a candidate for the lap band surgery. I have been checking into this for months now. I don't know how much insurance will cover, but it seems like the perfect solution for me. It's surgery, but it's not as invasive as a gastric bypass, it can be adjusted, and the best part is that they put you through nutrition classes and intense psychotherapy before going through with the surgery itself. I am all for that. That is fine with me. But I want to do it soon, because every time I look in the mirror I want to cry. I saw this kid on TV who weighed almost 450 pounds, and he said, "I don't see myself the way other people see me. Other people see me as this fat kid. I know I'm fat, but I don't picture myself that way." EXACTLY. That is exactly how I feel. Sometimes I forget I'm fat until I look in the mirror, then I quickly look away. I feel like the best years of my life are going down the drain and I want to stop this madness. I want to do things, like play one on one basketball with my daughter, or bowl three games without working up a sweat. I want to have sex in more than three or four positions! I want to go to Cedar Point and ride the rides. I want to get on an airplane and not worry about those fucking seatbelts. I want to buy clothes that don't have pictures of fruit and flowers on them. I WANT TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY, GOD DAMMIT.

So there you have it. There is my inner demon that tortures me, day and night. I want it to stop. No one knows how bad I want it to stop. I would really do just about anything to have that surgery. Once the weight is off, I know it won't come back. I want to feel feminine and sexy again. I just want to be me again. LOTS of people have done it. Why not me? I need it more than I need anything else right now. I don't want to enter the workforce again as a big fat ugly slob with short spiky black hair. (That's what I look like right now. I guarantee I never would have cut all my hair off if I wasn't so fat. I just figured, what the hell. It's not like I'm attractive right now anyway.)

One more thing before I go, since it's WAYYYYYYYYYYY past my bedtime. I really hate it when people say things to me like, "There's a lot of guys out there that prefer big women." Yuck. They can go on and prefer them all they want to. I am not a fetish, or some kind of freaky circus sideshow. And not to mention, I am bisexual, so I know what I find attractive in a woman. I like women who are (BAD PHRASE PLEASE FORGIVE ME I AM VERY TIRED) ethnic looking, voloptuous and curvy. I don't care at all for toothpicks. And there is no woman on earth that is pretty enough to be attractive to me if she weighs over 300 lbs. That may seem like a double standard, and I am not totally ruling it out, but it's highly unlikely. I guess maybe I apply my personal beliefs to everyone else, although I am well aware that not everyone thinks like I do. But I know what I look like naked, and I surely don't want to be face to face with THAT.

LOL. Heard enough? Me too. I'm going to bed. And dream of medium size shirts and hip hugger jeans that don't leave me with a thick ass fat roll hanging all around out of my shirt. Someday, someday, someday. Sigh.

I am testing this to see if it will work. As you can see, I am not very skilled at blogspot yet, which is why I haven't adverstised it so far. I am checking to see if this is a viable way to post pictures with an entry. I hope it works.

This is me and my husband sometime early last year. He doesn't always look psycho. LOL. Matter of fact, he rarely looks psycho. I've only seen him look psycho once and that was when he inadvertently read my post about Heath. As soon as I saw the first anonymous post, I knew it was him. I cannot describe the gut wrenching feeling I had. I never, ever wanted to hurt this man, because he really is a kind and gentle soul who loves me completely even with all my faults that probably piss him off on a daily basis. He lets me do whatever I want to do, spend as much money as I want to spend, and does anything I ask him to do. Oh, and did I mention that he just loves the laundry? No, my marriage isn't always a great one, but I love my husband. Sometimes I wonder if we're a perfect fit. Sometimes I wonder if we rushed into marriage without thinking? (We only knew each other for four months before we got married.) It's a struggle sometimes, because even after being married for almost three years, I am still the kind of person who is happier alone than sharing my space with someone. I think I was still upset over my break up with the panty wearing faggot and rushed into a relationship with Shawn. Not that the relationship itself is a bad thing, but I am normally a very conscientious person who doesn't rush into serious decisions. However, even though it's been hard, I'm glad I did it, because Shawn is really good to me. I really haven't been with anyone that loves me like he does. So I wanted to clear that up so I don't come across as a cold hearted bitch.

Yes, I know this is my journal and my intent was to keep it a secret from him so I would have a chance to vent. But then stupid me posted the link on my old journal that he reads, so he innocently followed the link and the first thing he read was my post about Heath..and on his 30th birthday, no less. So I felt pretty small, because I would rather kill myself than hurt him. We fought pretty bad that day.

So, Shawn, I want you to know I love you. And I DO appreciate you. And now I'm going to end this post and go into the bedroom and cuddle with you because you are the cuddliest person I know.

Sorry guys, but I had to do this. What you see here in this post are two of the best friends I have ever had, not counting my cousin Andyro because she's family. And even though they look goofy, trust me when I say that they are anything but. They are trustworthy, honest, supportive, and caring. Yes, this is the infamous Lynn and I can't think of a fake name for her husband so I'll just refer to him as (hee hee, ha ha, he'll like this...James. James it is, buddy.) Lynn and I have been friends for a long time, eleven years or so, and boy have we had some fun times as well as bad. We have run away, went on the run, panhandled people for money, got arrested (me, not her), witnessed each other doing things that most people won't admit to, went nuts together, and even shared a few love interests along the way. Our friendship hasn't always been good, mostly due to my complete and total, for lack of a better word, psycho ness. When I moveed to Florida I accused her of not being my real friend, although nothing could be further from the truth. I can't tell you how many times I lived with her because I had nowhere else to go, or how much money she's spent on me over the years when I had none. She never let me go without anything, even when I annoyed and irritated her, and believe me, I can do that quite easily. She hated my exboyfriend, which turned out to be a good judgment call, because the guy was a total fag and wore women's clothing. I seemed to think that that was acceptable behavior, whereas Lynn tried to gently remind me that he gave her really weird feelings, as well as most everyone that came into contact with him. Usually, when I don't listen to her, I suffer the consequences and that experience was no exception. We went without speaking for nearly two and a half years after a big, huge fight that really wasn't necessary in its hostility. It didn't take long for me to miss her and our friendship. But it took me a long time to make that phone call. I know she loves me, or she would have never picked up the phone in the first place. And ever since then, I do not evaluate our friendship at all because I KNOW it's for real and I could not be more thankful for having her in my life. I really do love you, Lynn, a lot, even though I don't say it much. I didn't realize how much I missed you until you weren't around. Even though you make me feel "rushed rushed" sometimes (LOL) it's worth it because it's always an adventure with you. Thank you so much for being there for me and don't you ever doubt my loyalty for one second, ever again. I love your entire family and would never hurt you, or them. I know we don't ever talk about it, but I am happy to see the trust is there. And I want you to know that I don't give a fuck what anyone else says or thinks. They can kiss my fat fucking ass. I love you!! And as for you, James..(LOL)..well, shit, where do I begin. Let's just make it as short as possible. You know that I love you and I think of you as a brother, kind of, because that's the kind of relationship we have. I know I get on your nerves, and believe me, you do things that get on my fucking nerves too, but the bottom line is, I know you love my friend with all your heart and I know you love your children to the death..and I think you are a wonderful person. You take care of your family, you work hard, and you are a good friend. I told Lynn this and I don't know if she told you or not, but I feel very lucky to have your friendship because we both know I don't really deserve it. We have QUITE the history, you and I, but there is a reason for everything and I do think you're SUPPOSED to be in my life. I also think you were MEANT to be with Lynn, as you guys have so much love between you. It's really great being around you both. So maybe I did serve some purpose in your life other than aggravation and keeping the Flint Police Dept in business. I'm kinda glad I hung in there, (LOL, oh my God, BAD analogy but you know what I mean) to see the end result, which is two of the most loved people in my life sharing a life together and enriching mine just by being in it. I will always be here for you no matter what happens. That may sound cliche, but Lynn said it to me a million times over the years and it's still true. We may experience some more bumps in the road (rather than the big fucking pothole we encountered in 2002...sorry for the word, Lynn) but it will never affect my loyalty again. As I've said before, I love you both. Now go get that job, James..and Lynn..STAY AWAY FROM CNN!!!!