The Aftermath

Ok, I believe in honesty. Honesty with yourself, honesty with others, all that good stuff. So, what do you do when honesty isn't pretty. Well guys, here goes my shot at the therapy everyone has recomended. I guess if I want to run for offiice someday I might as well lay some stuff out on the table as I am sure I will have an opponent who will have a hayday with all of my drama. It's not like I don't live my life as an open book anyway.
I'm struggling. Have been for awhile now. See, placing my daughter for adoption last summer has left this hole in my soul that just won't seem to heal. I know with time our wounds are supposed to scab over and begin to hurt a little less, but this has become a festering wound full of infection and toxins and a lot of heartache.
I started popping Vicadin and Hydrocodone the first day I got home from the hospital. The physical pain was minimal to say the least, but my heart was so heavy that it felt as though it might actually drop out of my body and onto the floor if I didn't do something. For those of you who know "cutters", that's the principal. There is a pain running so deep that it seems to create a mass under the surface of smiles and "I'm OK's" that has to be drained. Hence cutting. Well, the pills did a similiar thing. They made this wave of calm flow through the aching agony of my broken heart, and I could function. I started back to work 2 1/2 weeks after her birth and school started roughly a month later. Initially, as the industry goes, everyone asked me about my daughter as I had worked up to the 9th month. Kinda hard to keep it a secret when you waddle from bottle to bottle. Most people were supportive, some were assholes. I knew that would happen as I had already lost some close friends over the justation duration. I was 28, who places a child for adoption at that age? And, she was biracial. I never thought twice about it and assumed that those closest to me wouldn't either, but this whole scenario showed how racism is alive and well in America. Just figured since I surround myself with some pretty amazing and diverse people this wouldn't be an issue. Needless to say, I had to make a few cuts on the friend circle.
Saying everyday what had happened was like getting socked in the gut 50 times a day. I pulled on my smile suit and agreed to the maturity of the decision I had made and how I knew she would be so well taken care of and loved, but on the inside I wilted. More pills. I realized I could smile through the most invasive and painful conversations as long as I could keep a steady stream of pills coming. And Jager. The scary part is that I didn't become some dopey, drunk, watered down version of me, I became normal Dejenerate. Just like before that pregnancy test stared back at me at 5am on a Sunday morning. I was maintaining and smiling.
And I was rocking school. I don't think I slept more than 2 hrs any given night and sometimes not for days last August through December. And, after being a meth addict for nearly 10 yrs, my logic was that if I wasn't all doped up on street drugs and I wasn't coming apart at the seams (You know the addict's story: O.D.'s, jail, general craziness...been there, done that.) this was fine. I found the best antidepressant in the world. Fuck Zoloft and Prozac and Lexapro, this was the fixer-upper I needed.
Cut to present day. It's catching up with me. Maybe it's because her Birthday is rapidly approaching. Maybe it's because of Mothers' Day being on display. Maybe it's the fact that Baby's Daddy will be here soon and he thinks this is just something that happened that is over now. But I'm struggling. I eat Darvocet and Percocet and Vicadin like candy and wash it down with a shot or two. I am doing so well. I am on top of things at my new job and am finally a manager after so many years of trying. I am on my way to making NYU a reality. I have the most awesome, supportive friends around me. I am doing good finacially. And every night I get in my car and drive around town in circles because I can't go home to the place that I should have been able to make into a home. I eat pills for breakfast just so I'll get out of bed and quit crying. And then I smile all day. I am a ticking timebomb right now and I know it. And now, so does the rest of the world.

Pet Revolution, 2006

Friends, a movement has begun in my household. After nearly 4 years of harmonious living, ok, there was the Battle of the Couch 4 yrs ago, and some blood was shed(mine) in the "I don't want to go in my kennel" standoff of late 2003---I feel civil unrest brewing. It started with, during Jesi's visit, "I'm gonna poop in the corner whether you walk me or not."(The dogs, not Jesi.) Next, the cat sprayed for the first time in all of our five years together. The dog's ripped open the garbage last week, finding small salsa packets, devoured each, and then barfed throughout the house. Two days ago, I come home to find the baby gate has been jumped as apparently I am not feeding the dogs enough toilet paper, so they pulled out every roll and dined away. And today, oh my, I awoke to that oh so lovely smell. No, not Folgers brewing or fresh bacon, ----cat urine ON MY FAVORITE CHAIR. Now, I have been home alot more of late, so I can only deem this as now that I live here too on a regular basis, my pet's are unsatisfied under my rule. I send this as a note to family and friends and a warning I feel I am in danger of a full overthrow. Help me! Where's that damn Dog Whisperer when you need her?

"I just wanna give a shoutout to..."

I forgot to post a b-day for the little Jungle Ricken Costa Rican, it was yesterday. But I love you all the same. And, the party next weekend with D and George will be an awesome night my dear. Keep the fairies flyin, I love you.

"I just wanna give a shout out to..."

Sooperstar....I love you. Happy B-day on Saturday. Hope you have not been overtaken in a pet revolt. 30's right around the corner!!! (don't worry, it happens to the best of us)

The Dejenerate Mix

1.) Any Buena Vista Social Club
2.) Syleena Johnson w/ Common (that one song, you know)
3.) I'm on Fire-- Bruce Springsteen (that's my old school 1)
4.) The Pretty in Pink soundtrack (and there's 2)

I love you too, drunk guy

Preface: Since there are two types of people who read this that I could possibly offend, let me start with a disclaimer.
A.) Mom, Dad, I gotta write. I know racy humor is hard on ya, but this is my reality, so we all gotta laugh.
B.) Bar Regulars, I do love you. And if you have this site, this is not about you. Wouldn't call you out like that.

So, I decided to do a little dancing on Wednesday. I love the music at the club on Wednesdays, so it's pretty much my go out night. Plus, no school on Thursday. Yippee.
I was so happy to see an old friend come in after rarely venturing downtown. However, he went from the "I'm not getting drunk tonight" phase to "I can't stand up straight" rather quickly. So, realizing that 1.) it is a friend and 2.) We're liable if he decides to plow through all people, places, and things heading out of downtown, I'll drive him home. But I am beginning to notice an odd occurrence amongst wasted men I "kinda" know. As we get to his car, after arguing for awhile as to why he shouldn't drive, he tells me, "I wanna eat that pussy reeaalll bad." Hmmm. Now, I realize that for males in a world of quick, vigorous thrusting, this is one of the supreme offerings of caring. And, I am not saying that this activity is not enjoyable under certain circumstance, but, in trying to get your drunk ass in the car, I have to admit, flattery is lost and I am now looking at you not out of arousal, but out of annoyance. There we are, in a parking lot arguing about "eating my pussy". This is not how I like my courtship if anyone cares. Take note.
In the end, I told him he could munch away if he'd just get in the car and let me take him home. What do I do? Normally a good guy, a bit forward this evening. Still desperately in need of a ride.
I got him home, and alas, I turned down this offer. But it made me wonder, do guys think this is a good last call line? I mean, I've approached some sexy guys before, hell, I approached my boyfriend, but even in my most wasted of moments have I gone up to a guy at the end of the night and said, "Let me slob your knob, baby"? (And I can make my guy friends blush with cracking jokes of explicit content.) Especially if it is the person trying to help my drunk self? Nope. It made me feel weird and dirty as he slurred those words over and over so heavily that I felt like I had been drizzled in dirty sex syrup. I don't know what that is, but I needed a shower. You see my point I'm sure.
So, chalk it up to another night in the life.....but today.....oh today. Another guy, riding the Jager wave, came up to me as I closed and said, "God I could eat that pussy good." I would've left it alone if it was a random act, but now there's a pattern. I offer this. This plan of pussy attack will never work guys. Even as a single girl, this is just plain yicky. Work on a more subtle approach. Chug a case of beer at home and go to the mirror. See how sexy it is to have your eyes half shut, a little drool going, a hand on the counter to prop you up, while you continually spew such an entrancing word as "pussy". Remember, once good and drunk that hard "p" will send some spit my way too. If you can walk away from that moment thinking, "damn I'm sexy", roll with it. If you find it, well, gross and obnoxious, hang it up with the old letter jacket. Cause us ladies, or even us bar bitches, are just like "bleh". What happened to that good ol' "I love you man." Back in the day my friends.

Blog, blog, blog

Tonight was the first night I waded out of the peaceful waters of my internet home. I decided to explore other blogs and it was fascinating....and disturbing. I learned how to wrap my entire head in packing tape, I learned some more guitar chords, I read a complete blog to Jesi in German and translated it for her(her final statement to me was, "Can you hold on a second while I grab a fork to stick into my eye?" I was only trying to share every cool thing I found. So unappreciated.), I learned that little girls need to check with their parents before setting up a blog (if you are sixteen and going through the suicidal and/or slutty phase, might not be the best idea to go live kids), I learned every race hates every other race, and I learned Moby is the Blogmaster himself. So, now that I am back in comfy, cozy land...wanna know what I really learned? Lots of people are lonely out there....and sad/bitter. So, I issue a challenge my friends. Tomorrow, give a complete stranger a hug. Try it, it's awesome. And I think we all could use one.

Barack for President

You may notice my buddy Barack has joined the links on here. I vow that when he runs for President, oh and he will, I will be unable to answer my phone for roughly 2 years as I will be so busy campaigning for him that I will have time for no one. A politician who takes a stand and gives honest answers, what is America coming to?

bebe's kids

7 o'clock in the morning and I am just getting in. (Note: I have no clue how to reset my update time on this blog. Any takers?) It was a myriad of experiencing new things tonight, which is always fulfilling. I actually took a night off at the bar so I could study. Life of a rockstar I tell ya. I still ended up at the bar as I had to take some supplies and the other manager is only in charge of....hell, I don't even know what he's in charge of. Anyhow, having a barback who is a philosophy major is proving quite helpful. An hour alone in the dry storage and I came out a confident woman. Concerning philosophy that is. Then I was off to Denny's. I'd heard of these "study sessions" before but had never actually taken the time to partake. So, by 2:00 I felt like a philosophy wizard. (And yes, Mental, I am going to draw unicorns for the test on Tuesday. If Vissintainer hates language so much, I don't see why I need to define variables with boring ol' letters.) But this studying thing, I see why the kids like it so much.
So, at 2 as I leave Denny's I decide that since I am still wide awake, I'll go grab a bottle I had left at the bar and hit Dulce's bday party at the hot new after hours place.
Somewhere along the highway I found a wormhole that was able to transport me to 1997 Miami. Blog, blog, blog......or blah, blah, blah for the My Space users. First, the parking lot is jammed full of drunk guys in big expensive cars with big expensive stereos booming. I'm sure you can guess the mood when there's 100 cars and 75 parking spaces. Lovely. Good stuff: hearing T.I. blaring on good systems. Bad thing: Having drunk guys think they are T.I. and wanting to "Whatcha Know About That" my ass right out of a parking space. I kid you not, it was parking guerilla warfare style.
So as I walk across the lot, texting Ram like crazy to see if he can save me from this bastard of a line, it happens. A loud pop and the shattering of this precious after hours haven front window. Now mind you, I have bets placed on how long this place will stay open. 300 drunk people consuming a parking lot in a mini mall at 3am, being forced to fight for parking and a place in line, sure no problems will arise there. Anyways, I'm thinking gunshot, the clubgoers inside from Ram's account are thinking gunshot, so I breeze over to the sidewalk where the pillars are just because nothing can kill a good night out like a stray bullet. However, as mister angry pants comes running through the parking lot and I get to the entrance, a new story unfolds. One of those line separaters is laying on the ground and he had taken the base and drilled it through the front window. Hey, some people are not cool with having to wait. He made his point. I however decided to go with a more mild approach and take a spot in line. (I didn't even pull a name dropping card. Hey, I'd been studying all night and was unshowered, unmake-uped, and only had heels on because I carry a pair in the car for emergency purposes.--Which by the way, I just realized I have no jumper cables, but I have emergency heels. That's awesome.) So thus begins my wait at the golden gates.
First of all, Ram rocks. He actually left the party to come wait with me. And anyone who knows Ram, knows he IS the party, so I don't mind waiting if he's there to crack jokes with. However, this Versace cowboy decides to ride up in front of us, and at this point, line cutters are pissing me off, so I challenge him and say, "hey, get behind us dude." This is when he gives the best answer ever and says, "Sorry, it's not like I was trying to cut in front of you." And then he gives me this eyeroll like I'm am idiot. "Of course not. You just walked up and stood in front of us to get in first. That's totally different". See--even I'm getting line tense we all know I'm sweet as a peach. : ) Kisses.
When it's finally our turn, I know what to expect. And the club is beautiful. Sheer white curtains and chrome. Black and white leather. Old school house. Giant projection screens showing showing tasteful artsy videos. It is!! I have officially found Miami and Orlando from almost ten years ago. The music is even the same. I have now paid ten bucks to go back in time. ($5 if you're their friend on My Space. Insert your own jokes here.) No one is dancing though. (except for Patty, and she is dancing enough for everyone. That was awesome. She broke a lamp dancing on a table. I love her.) No one else is even breaking a sweat. They are immune, because it is roughly 110 degrees in there. I felt like I was rolling just from what I can only deem as the onset of heatstroke.
But, it is FABULOUS. All the pretty people. $250,000 of silicone in one place and apparently, there is a uniform. Ram and I notice blazer shorts and white peek-a-boo blazers are the it thing to which he goes, "Oh my God, bebe is totally on the phone trying to order more clothes. They have been stripped bare in honor of this club." It was pretentious. It was rude. It was boring. This place needs to sell X with their bottle set up(which is $40 for ice, a bucket, limes, and cups. What's the inflation rate there?) because I will sum it up in one sentence. "I feel like I paid to go to the bebe zoo." Loosen up people. And can I just say that excluding a couple of basketball players, I had a good five inches on everyone there? It was weird. I felt like I was too tall to ride this ride.
So, Ram gets dogged for a ride home due to a progressing hookup, and lets me know, "this is why I don't come to Whiteville. I just get stranded here." I decide that I'll take him home though. We've made fun of everyone we can, it's 5am, let's go. He is so pissed at his ride though that as we walk to my car, he lets me know, "I'm gonna text that bitch so hard." I love it. Five years ago in moment of anger, who would have thought that was going to lead them to some "hard texting"?
Now what is the point of this entirely too long description of club fluff? All I can say is Ram and I had more fun on the drive home and at the gas staion than with the "IN" crowd. It was comforting to get back downtown to crackheads and the crazy old man in the elevator. I am not cool, nor do I want to be at this point. The cool kids need to all keep together there and we'll stick to our "everybody's welcome" bar. Man, I love my bar.


Note: this was written Sunday morning, but go figure, I was tired.