November.

My posts have become less and less frequent lately, I am devoting most of my writing time to a little project I am working on and I’m finding it very difficult to get it right. I want it to be as close to perfect as I can make it because it’s loosely based on real events and I want to do them justice.

Beyond that I have a hand in a lot of places right now, exploring a lot of different avenues of creativity. I find it funny that I was made a deeply creative and inventive person and given no musical or artistic talent to go with it- so I am forced to write and come up with good ideas for others as quickly as possible.

I’m still working at the restaurant, which I do enjoy but it’s not taking up enough of my time right now. School fills that gap somewhat. I got a sort of second job promoting liquor at different venues around here. Basically companies contract out pretty girls to hang out at bars and nightclubs giving out t-shirts and free samples. I’m represented by an “agency” in Washington that does all the legwork for me, all I have to do is show up with my hair done and get paid a good amount considering that it’s not very difficult or intellectually challenging.

I’m also under consideration for a calender that benefits some charity I can’t remember the name of. It pays. Not sure how it will all play out yet. Let me just say this- I am not a model. I am 5’2″.

Oh, and here’s the exciting one. I am officially back in play in dog training industry. I’m going to withhold details on this one until I feel a little more secure in my endeavor.

Seth and I are still doing great.

This isn’t really a genius piece of work, more like a general life update for the few people that do still read my blog.

It started on a day in late May. The day after my mother’s birthday, in fact.
While we carried on our lives in the normal fashion, working, going to school, and looking out for the health and happiness of two young children, the two of you began an affair.

The details are still forthcoming as to how it began, but everyone knows at the end of the day that doesn’t really matter anyways.

The truth finally came out on July 4th, on a day people spend with their families, mine was finding out that the normal we’d been living was never going to be our normal again.

My mother has been married to my stepfather for nearly thirteen years, a man who became in effect my stand in father because my first turned out to be a bit of a disappointment, at least in those days, but that’s neither here nor there.

The story should end here with “and they all lived happily ever after” but the fact is it doesn’t, and we didn’t.

I spent many many years quietly hating my stepfather, and even more loudly hating him. At twenty-five he was not equipped with the skills necessary to relate to or raise a nine year old girl. At eighteen my presence in the Sanderson household came to a rather volatile end, and I got to quietly dealing with all the unpleasantness that happened between nine and eighteen.

Life and it’s unpredictability found me back in my parents house at the age of twenty one, pleased to be in the consistent company of my delightful, charming and intelligent younger brothers (which if you ask me were the best thing Larry did in those thirteen years), but once again in the close proximity of a man who took joy in making me cry the last time we cohabitated. In the three years of my absence, I found him to have become a quieter man, and the fact that he was no longer drinking didn’t hurt either. So for the sake of my mother and my brothers I dug in my heels and made a concentrated effort to tolerate him, occasionally even taking joy in his misguided theories about life and the universe and his wandering tumor.

It took effort on my part to get to where I was in my relation to him, it was work not to completely detest him. I’m pissed. It was such a wasted effort. Nearly thirteen years of my life I watched my mother patiently wade through all of his bullshit, to stand by him while he took his sweet ass time figuring out his family was more important than the drugs and alcohol his system constantly craved, I endured every power trip he went on, screaming at me that he was an adult, and telling me on more than one occasion that it made him happy when I cried from him yelling at me. I took the myriad of inappropriate names he called my mother and I and stored them away in the deep recesses of my mind because I was trying hard to get along with him these days. To the back of my mind also went the times he screamed at my mother because I happened to be on the phone with my biological father, his constant hair pulling, the times he told me my ass was getting big, the time he almost punched my boyfriend, the night I left home and all the times I had to stay home to watch my brothers even though he was also home because he was entirely incapable of caring for his small children.

Wasted. All of it.

And you. Well, I’ve saved you for end of course, because for you, I have no sympathy.
I don’t know you, you see, and so as far as I’m concerned you have no redeeming qualities and one really damning quality:
You caused my mother and my brothers a lot of pain.

I don’t know where along the line you decided that your desires were more important than the needs of an entire family, but you are wrong. I asked you this the one time we spoke, and you didn’t have answer for me, but of course, how could you? There is no defense for your actions. It does not matter who pursued who, you had the facts. You knew the man in question and you knew he was married. You also knew he had young children. All of this was right in your face and when decision time you decided that you were more important.

Surprise, you were wrong, and how long it will take you to realize that remains to be seen, but when you build a life around lies it will eventually come down on you.

–I did not post this as soon as it was written.
I was right though. You lost.

Angry.

Yeah, we need to not talk for a little while here, because you don’t want to hear the things I have to say to you.

When I think of my childhood, it wasn’t necessarily unhappy- I had some good friends and some good times, but when I search my memory for moments that stick out to me, this is what I remember- Larry taunting me because. I couldn’t do anything to him, Larry enjoying making me cry, asking me at my uncle’s wedding to lie about how much he was drinking, having to climb up on the roof to get your car keys down because Larry threw them up there so you couldn’t follow him, the whole clan outside looking for your engagement ring.. Larry threw that too. Nicholas crying on the carpet of the house in covina because Larry lost his temper and smacked him on the legs with a fly swatter, the speaker going thru the wall, the candle that missed its mark and clipped you in the knee instead, the Vegas trip Larry ruined by almost getting arrested, Larry trying to come after me and since you got between us, his spit on my face instead.

Any one or two of these things would have been enough for most people. But no, not you. You seem to have an infinite amount of patience for this man.

For the past three weeks he’s told you he wants a divorce. He’s been lying to you about where he goes and drinking again, and the very day you find out about this you go out and buy a truck with him and decide maybe you’ll stay together after all?

What happened to the woman who taught me not to accept bad treatment from a man? The woman who refused to hear another word about any man she deemed fell below her standards?

I can hardly bring myself to speak to you right now and certainly not about this.

finally.

I’ve been in a writing dry spell.
In the last few months I have put my fingertips to keyboard on many occasions and abandoned my labor halfway through- I vowed to let go of the things I could not control and I promised myself I wouldn’t write about the past anymore, and so I ran out of things to write about.

Hundreds of words, thousands of letters and more cyberspace than is really healthy has been devoted to my complaints, my hurts and my failures at lasting human connection. I made a decision last November- I chose to grow. I chose to be happy, I chose to become the version of myself that I’d been missing.

It’s easy to write about that which pains you. It is simple to sit in front of your computer and fire off an angry rant, in hopes of change, or merely because you need the feelings out of you. Writing has long been my way of purging all of my unpleasant feelings and lightening the heavy feeling lingering on me.

I’m pleased to report my silence has been due to happiness. I moved to Oregon because I needed to commit to something, anything and what I was doing wasn’t working. I’m back in school, I want to get out of bed in the morning, and I consistently work five days a week at a place where I do not have to wear white pants. It gives me a great joy to watch my little brothers getting older, to be asked to help with homework, and to pick them up from school once a week. I enjoy going shopping on Sundays with my mom, except when she drags me to Winco

I didn’t come to Oregon to meet anyone, despite my frequent jokes about finding a mountain man to bring home with me. I spent a year or more chasing after the same man in California only to be disappointed, and so upon my arrival I sought something I’d find familiar- to be with someone without actually being with them. The fourth week I was here, lightening struck, and someone magically appeared in my life.

On our first date, not “come over and watch a movie” or “let’s chill at my place” or even a “hang out”, it was a real live date, he drove 45 minutes to pick me up at my house and take me to dinner. Dinner turned into drinks. Drinks turned into a drive. A drive turned into a walk under the stars of a freezing cold and new state. A good date is one that goes on much longer than you ever intended, one which where you aren’t struggling for conversation, where that first kiss sticks in your mind for days afterward. This was all of those things.

Suffice to say we clicked instantly. But I almost ruined it. He made his intentions very clear from our second or third date. He wanted to call me his own. I put him off a handful of times knowing that eventually I’d have to make a decision to let him in or cut him loose.

Over the last few years I have dated a handful of guys who were pretty great, but ultimately damaged from some girl before me. Some girl who they were with for a year or two or three, sometimes she lived in, sometimes she took all the furniture, sometimes she fucked someone else, sometimes she couldn’t introduce him to her friends or family, there was always something.

There is always going to be an excuse for avoiding human connection. I decided not to be that person. A man or two has put me through the figurative dryer of hell in my lifetime, and you know what? It’s time to quit bitching about it. Everything I did yesterday put me where I am today.

As if I needed further convincing, two of my best friends in the world came up from southern California and spent a little time with the boy in question. After a little too much liquor they followed me into the bathroom of the bar and said to me “You are the best possible version of yourself around him.”

That was it.

Little things make me happy- the way his eyebrows crinkle when he’s concerned about something, the fact that he cocks his head like a dog does when he’s curious, that he enjoys kissing as much as I do. I haven’t hidden a detail about my past, and he hasn’t judged me for a bit of it. I feel safe. I used to theorize that the men who stuck around and were willing to acknowledge a desire for a relationship were the boring ones- he has proven me wrong. We have fun together, I laugh almost constantly, he has a multitude of talents that continue to impress me (such as cooking really amazing and complicated things and changing the headlights in my car) and he’s saucy too. I feel pretty first, and sexy second.

This is all new to me. But I’m enjoying the adventure.

And for you, and anyone with half a brain knows who you are, thank you. And sorry about the sapfest- but I had a feeling you could handle it.

I’m a writer, it’s what I do.

wake up, the sun is beautiful

Hello from the fair state of Oregon, where there is no traffic, everyone complains about the 8 minute commute to the big town, and you don’t have to pump your own gas!

Pace of life here is kind of slow and since I haven’t started school yet I’m finding it difficult to drag my ass out of bed in the morning. My living situation is delightful, I’m currently occupying a studio apartment above my uncles house, which works for me because it’s like living alone except without the fear of rabid burglars. I’m about a 3 minute drive from my parents place right now but they just bought a new house with property which will be a little further but still completely reasonable.

Right now my biggest complaint is that I’m bored. I’ve made a couple aquaintances, but making friends is as hard or harder than building romantic relationships. I find myself second guessing when I should call or text because I don’t want to sound clingy. I don’t doubt my social skills, merely my bonding skills. Everyone assures me it will come with time.

So far I don’t miss “home” as much as I expected to. It does give me the slightest pang when I hear my friends have all gone to Pasadena, or when my best friend sends me update after update regarding her upcoming nuptials. For the most part though, I’m fine being here and I’m finding that when I do go out, it’s a good time. I mean really, drinking with good people is the same in all 50 states.

I got a bartending/serving gig on my fourth day here but I haven’t started full time yet which is definately contributing to my boredom. I think once my life starts to flesh out a bit I will probably wish I had less going on but that’s kind of how it always is. I am really enjoying spending time with my mom and brothers… and even larry sometimes.

Since being here I’ve tied up a lot of my loose ends with people, I have a bad habit of leaving things open ended. I’m also finding my stress level here is very low, perhaps because I’ve put a very healthy level of distance between myself and the things/people who were causing me grief.

I hope things continue in this fashion.

i am no longer in fear of my target audience

Sometimes you get in the car and it’s just a ride home.
“I’m not really ready to go home yet,” I said.
The air in the car got a little thicker, something in the atmosphere changed. It was the first indication that maybe this wasn’t an ordinary ride home.

You asked me where I wanted to go. I didn’t know, merely that I intended to remain in the car. I haven’t asked you if that night was a matter of convenience or if it was a reality you had never expected. I’m not certain that I want to know.

You parked the car somewhere off Indian Hill. We talked. At some point I said something that led you to slide a finger under my chin, lean in and kiss me. It was gentle, it was timid, and when it was done you pressed your forehead against mine and looked at me, presumably to determine if I was freaked out or not. I wasn’t.

I never had the fear that you would try to take it further. You acted as if we had all the time in the world despite the fact that it was already 2 am. We drove into the mountains in an effort to find privacy, and still I did not worry that you had other things in mind. We talked, we kissed.

It’s been a very, very long since I’ve been kissed that way. Hands in my hair, on my face, at some point you even held mine. I don’t really know that you could fake that. After dating someone for over a year who hardly kissed me (and never with such decisiveness), and then someone who said he “wasn’t really into” kissing, I wasn’t sure what to with myself.

You took me home eventually, walked me to the door and kissed me goodbye. I went into my house in utter shock.

I’ve long been in the practice of not caring if a boy calls, or at the very least lowering my expectations of them to follow through. You did follow through, and you promptly showed up at my doorstep the next night. All of the things you said to me that night will be put to paper, but they don’t belong on the interspace. They are for me.

Someday I will tell you all of this, but today is not that day.

I find that it is always easier to write when I am displeased or distressed.
It is always simple to fire off paragraph after paragraph of angst and righteous indignation.

Today is the first day I haven’t been ready to kiss California goodbye.
Seeing my life in boxes makes it real.

Despite this, I am in good spirits, and wanting to desperately write a blog about it but I am holding back for a multitude of reasons- I fear that my words won’t do it justice. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way.

There’s an amazing picture of me at my going away party, but I’ve been looking at it for the past two days wondering why I like it so much- it’s not really that flattering and I’m holding a corona- it makes me look like a damn alcoholic, but- I look happy. Not a little bit happy. A lot happy.

There’s a picture of me from my twentieth birthday in which I look as happy.
On that particular birthday I had everything I wanted- and I wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop. I will always remember that night for the very special things that happened in the course of it, they are fond memories despite the ugly chain of events that resulted from it.

The last month or so I’ve become myself again.
That particular picture of the night will, again, serve as a reminder of the amazing things that happened in the course of the night.

I’m still smiling.

I’m feeling inspired today.

Last night an old friend showed up to my going away party, and when I say old friend I mean someone I dated once upon a time, my loyal reader you might remember him as P, or glasses. We dated in early 2007, I think it’s fair to say that it’s quite obviously ancient history. The timely demise of our relationship resulted when I found out about the girlfriend he neglected to inform he had. I’ve made my peace with it and I have no problem being in the same room as him so his arrival did not cause me any distress. The reason I bring him up, is because when I hugged him, I was hit with a very familiar smell – Hugo Boss. As far as I remember, P never wore Hugo Boss.

But I’ll give you one guess who did.
That’s right my friend, the d-o-double g, the infamous J, he of many nicknames, mostly unpleasant.

Here is the amazing thing. It stopped at that, an acknowledgement that someone’s cologne had led me to think of him. There was no flash of rage, there was no drop in my stomach, there was no steamy flashback.

Because I am proficient at internet stalking, I am fairly certain he is now in a relationship with someone else. Am I thrilled about it? Of course not. It sucks a little bit because I wanted nothing more than a functional relationship with him and I could not, for my all efforts, make it happen, and someone else could just moments later.  However, it doesn’t make me sick. It doesn’t make me want to throw things. I made a quiet noise of displeasure at the discovery and that was that.

My ability to keep my cool last night is confirmation of what I was already mostly certain of- I’m over him.

So, unless something radically changes (highly unlikely), this will be the last piece of cyberspace that I dedicate to my ill fated older man drama.

Thanks for the memories.

letters to no one

I took the long way home tonight, it’s something I do when there’s a lot on my mind. I got to thinking about to you. You know I’m living about three blocks from your house these days? I guess it’s presumptuous of me to assume you still live there, it’s been years since we’ve spoken. Time and distance have softened the harsh edges of my memory of you, I no longer feel something in the pit of my stomach when someone brings you up.

You lured me in, with your overpriced cologne and your crooked smile. I will always fondly remember your slightly tousled hair and the way you whispered my name in my ear. It will always enrage me when I think of the way you disappeared on me for days, the way you treated me when you’d been drinking and the plethora of girls who similarly admired your charms. I knew I wasn’t the first and even then I knew I wouldn’t be the last, but none the less the abrupt and confusing ending of us was difficult.

You were intent on being my one and only. I didn’t trust you, as much as I adored you, and I refused to tell you I loved you- even though I did. You asked me one day on the phone if I did, and I danced around the question. Years later, someone else asked me the same question, and I flat-out lied. You infuriated me one evening by calling me while we were arguing and saying “I love you, GOODBYE!” and hanging up the telephone. You had never said that to me before and you never said it again. You further aggravated me by ignoring my calls and texts for the duration of the night.

Some of my friends have delightful stories of the way I used to curse at my telephone because of you.  Other friends like to tease me about the time the first met you- you met one of them in 99 cent kid sunglasses, a beanie and a collared shirt. Another remembers that you met us for dinner, didn’t come sit with us and instead went to the bar for a glass of wine. You were a four month roller coaster I desperately needed to get off of.

All of this reminiscing is besides the point. I think of you nearly never now, though I will admit it was a process. It was months before I was really normal again. I’m thinking of you tonight because I’m trying to remind myself that eventually, everyone means nothing.

It’s funny, the things that stick with you. The shampoo tucked behind the curtain in your shower. It’s girl shampoo. And there’s a million possibilities as to why it could be there, the most disappointing of which could be that there is a woman there often enough to leave her shampoo there. You look at me funny when I even want to use your shower. The least disappointing of these possibilities is that you simply like girl shampoo. I suppose I could just ask you. But that would be insinuating that I care. And we don’t do that.

I stood up for myself. For the first time since I’ve known you, I’ve said what was really on my mind: I don’t like the way you treat me. This is not the end all be all, but it sure as hell is progress. It’s probably pretty sad that I regard this small thing as progress, but one day I am going to be free and clear of this.