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Wednesday, July 22nd, 2009
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2:52 am - A multitude of days.
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It's amazing how things can change, simply with the passing of time.
We lost the house I grew up in. 3510 Vernon Road no longer is the home of the Cromwell family, as it had been for 25 years. I suppose that's all thanks in part to the fall of the economy. We've moved up to Houghton Lake, and haven't looked back.
Matt Carr and I are officially divorced. The papers say it was December 8th. I think it was over long before then. We talk on the rare occassion, but that's the extent of it. He's found himself a new girlfriend, been living with her since September, I think, and they're expecting a baby around this upcoming December sometime.
I briefly saw another Matt, one from Laingsburg. We had met just before the move, and he'd come up to our new place here just about every weekend. That fiasco ended in January, when I found out he was seeing his previous ex, and a little while later, discovered he was also seeing his ex before her, too. Good riddance, yes.
After the hurt started to wear off, I remade myself, yet again.
My old Jeep is on the road again, though we still have to make a few repairs as I have the time and money to do so. I only hope the old thing can hold out.
I joined up with the Roscommon Township Volunteer Fire Department. I just had my agility practicals last week, and after the Officers' meeting, then Township meeting at the end of the month, will officially be hired on. Fire school starts after that... a bit anxious to see how that pans out.
Around the time that I met the second Matt, I had found a guy named Jordan online. We hadn't talked but a couple times, and then fell out of contact. In March, he reappeared out of the blue. We had a few conversations online and on the phone, and then got our chance to meet.
March 13th, a Friday, no less, he drove over here to the new house. We picked up a pizza from Howie's, and stopped at the cemetery down the road to dine.
Things progressed quickly, yet we tried our damnedest to take our time. It started with spending a weekend over at his place. Now, I think I spend the majority of the time there, coming home for fire meetings and to do a load or two of laundry... say hi to Mom and Dad.
I wasn't counting on any of this to happen. But this is where life has brought me.
Chris' death date is coming up in a few short days. For the first time, I don't feel it coming like an ominous cloud. For the first time, I'm actually happy.
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| Wednesday, October 8th, 2008
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12:25 pm - Change (In the house of flies?)
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I should write in this more often. Of course, the allowance of time and inclination usually beat out any chance of that. Basically, I'll say I should, as I just did, but I won't.
However, it is time for that yearly update! Woo!
Ok, where to start?
Never got the apprenticeship, but I suppose in retrospect that everything happens for a reason. Hindsight is 20/20, you know how it goes. I do have my own tattoo equipment, which I practice with... fun times.
Matt is still working for Hollingsworth, has in over a year now. However, we're also in the midst of a divorce. Sometimes things just don't work out. I'd rather not get into it fully at this moment.
Our house, which we sold to a guy named Todd in July of 2007, is now being foreclosed on. We've been paying him $1220 a month in rent.. and he hasn't made a mortgage payment since April. So.. we're on the hunt again for some place to live. We're packing the house back up... which the process has been slow-going at best, because nobody really has any desire to have to do it all over again..
In December, I moving to Buffalo, NY, where I have a guaranteed job waiting for me, and a place to stay until I get on my feet. I'm nervous about the move.. simply because in all my pathetic existance, I've never taken that leap of faith. Have to learn to fly sometime.
And one of the most awesome people I've met is out there... his name is Nick, and he's helped me change my perspectives about myself and life so much. I love him, probably even more than I can realize right now.
Julie is living here again.. moved back from Boston for a year. In March, for St. Pat's I had gone out there, and her boyfriend took us to see a Dropkick Murphys concert. That. Rocked.
I quit working at Harrand's around July. The owners started to be real fuckers about everything, even if I still got along with the rest of the co-workers, for the most part. Only so much shit you can deal with, and honestly, working 19 hours a week for minimum wage after four years... it was time to move on.
So now, I'm just waiting for December, when I can start my life again... when I can finally be done waiting, and get back to living.
Right now, I'm going to go sleep for an hour or so. The sudden change in atmospheric pressure has given me one hell of a headache.
I hear the laws of physics are lovely... this time of year...
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| Sunday, November 25th, 2007
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5:40 pm - Oh.. and...
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So there were a few details I forgot about the yearly review.
Tom, our awesome and utterly fantastic lawyer, ended up quitting his practice after our case lost. I'm not sure how close to the loss his departure was.. I just know that he quit being a lawyer, and now takes depositions for another firm.
I wish I had a means to contact him. For those three weeks, we all saw each other every single miserable day... I just wish I could say something to him now.
This October into November, Mom and I made a trip out to Boston to see Jules. It was our first flight ever (1st class the whole way there! Woo!).. and while I figured I'd be shitting my pants and clawing to get out through those little oval windows, I was actually quite calm when it came down to it. About 10 minutes after we hit cruising altitude and I was sound asleep. It was a Flint to Atlanta to Boston set up (Thanks, AirTran, for doubling flight times by not having a direct flight over there!). But really, I can't bitch. It was free. Jules works for AirTran.. yay perks!
Her apartment is tiny.. and sparsely furnished. I use the term "furnished" lightly.. meaning she has a matress, an air matress, and two barstools. Her kitchen contains the essentials.. stove, fridge.. even a microwave, toaster and waffle iron... though she only had a 1 quart saucepan with which to cook on the range.. and one cookie sheet the size of a sticky note.
Jules and I ventured on the fabulous public transportation with the use of our Charlie Cards.. and went to go see the Redsox parade after they'd won the pennant. It was insanity at it's finest. The highlight (as I'm not a huge baseball fan..) was Dropkick Murphys playing on one of the floats going down the route. That in itself was worth fighting the crowd for a chance to get up where I could see the tops of their heads. I have pictures still in my camera.. I just need batteries so I can download them.
We spent much of the time just lounging about on the floor at Julie's.. we didn't have a whole lot of cash to spend on bus fares and the trains.. let alone taking a taxi anywhere.. though I did get every single awesome cabby in Chelsea (I was not hauling a shit ton of groceries the dozen blocks or so back from the store. No fucking way).
The flights back were a bit more crowded as time was getting closer to Thanksgiving. But we made it to Flint, Mom flying first class on both jets, and I got stuck in coach for the first leg. It wasn't too bad.. and again, I slept most of the way.
Aside from that...
The tattoo apprenticeship is still coming along. I'm playing phone tag with the prospective tattooist. Waiting for him to call back, once again. Kind of frustrating.. but tomorrow is the day he'll say "Fuck yeah"... and Tuesday's when I'll actually get over there to talk to him in person. I know this, because a Jen knows these things. I'll post to let you know I was completely wrong.
And wow! Two posts within the same week! It's a comeback!
current mood:  relaxed
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| Tuesday, November 20th, 2007
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8:50 pm - A year, in retrospect.
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So, I haven't written in this in nearly a year. You would think, as uninteresting as my life generally is.. that not a whole hell of a lot would've happened in the course of this time.
Wrong.
I'll start out with the basics. At least, those that I can remember.
The first third of the year was spent in much anticipation of what would happen in May. That being, the culmination of the four years it took for Chris' trial to go to court. We had the most outstanding lawyer on the face of the planet, one Mister Tom DiAgostino. For the better part of a week, Mom, Julie and I lived in the hallway outside of the courtroom up in Saginaw, as we were sequestered witnesses. Danny, Chris' father, and Adam, a close friend that used to live down the road growing up, were there for a couple days... until Adam testified, and Danny was dismissed as a witness.
The defense attorney, who we'll call Cunty McCunterson, was appalling in so many ways. Tom enlightened us that she was well hated in his community of lawyers. It was clear why.
After testifying.. which was the most grueling few minutes of my life (I hate public displays of emotion.. and I was bawling like a ten year old kicked off the cheerleading squad)... We were allowed to sit in on the rest of the trial.
Cunty did everything she could to dehumanize Chris. There were posters made of him.. from the autopsy... there were so-called 'expert witnesses' that claimed he'd have died no matter what method of treatment they went about... even though no methods were administered whatsoever. Cunty, who had requested the sequestering.. was revealed to have broken her own court-mandated ruling... when one of her expert-witnesses spoke of something that another, previous witness had said.
Through all of this.. and a full three weeks of trial.. the jury was split. It only took most... not all. And the jurors that had sided with us were furious when the verdict tipped to the defendent. They made it very clear that they did not agree.
For the second time, at long last, we mourned Chris. His death would not be recognized as a fatal error on the part of Doctor Strauthers, should he ever be righteously called a Doctor. Tom and Lisa, his assistant, stood with us until the end, and we by them. I still believe that he tried the hell out of the case.. and I would never have gone with another lawyer.
All I can say for our legal system is that it has been corrupted beyond measure. Half of the facts were omitted.. and others were so poorly misconstrued... it tears me apart just to think of it.
It was a struggle to get past the loss. For four years Chris had been dead. Sitting in that court room, we, for the first time, had gotten to hear exactly why. Every detail leading up to his final moments and beyond in the most clear definition. And now? Now I can't recall most of it. It's locked away with the days directly following Chris' death.
It wasn't the money we were counting on.. it was the retaliation. The retribution for a life lost. We never got it.
Shortly after the trial, we had our time at Higgins Lake. We were all grateful, as it offered us a reprieve from the hells we were experiencing at home... a time of healing after more of our souls had been chunked away. I had my puppy, Sampson, up there with us.
Sampson was the only pup we kept out of Sable and Max's second litter. He had a birth defect.. likely from his umbelicle cord being wrapped around his neck in the womb. MegaEsophagus, we had learned by this point. The eight month old pup, who we'd managed to keep alive solely on a hit and miss basis, could not swallow properly. And if his throat became inflamed.. well.. it was pretty much a hell of regurgitation, whining and discomfort.
July 19th. That was our deadline for foreclosure on our house. CountryWide had managed to fuck my family over so hardcore... While we were in the process of finding another lender to have our mortgage through at a much lower rate (they refused to refinance us without screwing us somehow).. they threw us into early foreclosure, then pulled us back out, claiming it was an error, but refused to take it off the credit report. And of course, this was the day before we were supposed to sign papers with a lender we could deal with. That was around this time last year.
We'd already gone looking for other places, even though nobody would give us a loan for our shitty credit. As a last ditch effort, we'd found a guy who would buy the house, only to turn around and lease it to us, at the same ungodly high rate that we were trying to get out from underneath. July 19th, the papers were signed... two hours before deadline.
At the end of August, Matt went down to Indiana for some truck driving school. Finally, after four years, he was going to have a real job... a career, no less.
We would come to find out that drug tests are often wrong. He failed his down there, and was kicked out of the school. Disheartened, and looking at a rent payment coming up that we knew we couldn't manage.. we didn't know how the fuck we were going to make ends meet.
Finally, he went over to Hollingsworth in Flint. They told him that yes, they'd give him a chance.. and by sheer luck, the failed drug test hadn't been put on his official record. He passed the next one.. which, they told him.. those things are often mixed up or tainted. If youe ever fail one, demand a retest. They claimed that they'd had drivers that would go in one day, and test positive for cocaine... and the next day, be clean as a whistle. It's all in the handling. Switches, dirty equpment.. etc.
So Matt got his job with Hollingsworth.. and has finally been pulling in decent paychecks. I knew I could handle him being over the road.. home for a couple days, then gone for a few. We'd get by.
The pattern, though.. has not been so great. He comes home off the road, and he's gone. I've seen him probably a total of 36-48 hours since he started driving in September. He spends all his time over at his parents' or friends' houses... citing that he never gets to see them anymore. Well.. I never get to see him anymore. It's kind of mutilating our relationship. I'm growing completely resentful to him.
He's over at his parents' house until Thursday... which means he'll come home, eat, then sleep, then go back to work.. or back over there.
So, with all this freetime on my hands.. as I only work 19 hours a week and can't fine better employment.. I've been gearing up and looking for a tattoo apprenticeship. A few of my customers from the convience store are helping to look around.. and one might've found me a guy in East Lansing.
That possible connection has brought me back here. Skippy was from East Lansing.. and is in the general area once more. I figured I'd drop him a line.. renew my own connections to the area, in case the apprenticeship pulled through. And in the meanwhile? Why not post an entry?
So... there you go. That's me this year, in a nutshell.
current mood:  apathetic
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| Thursday, November 30th, 2006
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12:05 am - Bang, Bang, goes the drum.
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Today was my Grandpa Cromwell's funeral. Surreal, to say the least, yet not totally unexpected. He was battling a list of diseases and illnesses for a while now. But it still hurts to see him go.
I didn't fully expect it to affect me like it did, either. He was old, his time had come. But unlike my mother's side of the family, that rarely ever saw each other, Cromwell reunions were something to look forward to. Cousins, all fun to talk to and none with a 'better-than-thou' attitude on life. Aunts and Uncles that would sit around the tables, drinking their coffee and smoking their cigarettes, sharing stories of when they were mischeivous little kids. Grandma, milling about and always greeting everyone with a smile and warm words. Grandpa, sitting back and relaxing, always in a jovial mood.
From what I can see in the pictures, he was always dressed sharp. If ever there was a man that could emulate Johnny Cash, it was him. I don't think that he was so much the pill-popping type, but definately strong-headed. He was the kind of person you'd see in the old movie reels.. the black and white ones from the forties. I wish I could've really known him back then... just like when I look at pictures of my father, back when he was a teenager, and when he was in the Navy.
And with his generation dying out now, that leaves the next to start to fall victim to the inevitability of time. My parents' generation... my aunts and uncles on both sides of the family. Mom and Dad will both turn 60 this upcoming year. Does that mean that I should still have 20 good years left with them? Or will I be robbed of that by Alzheimer's or some other disease? Or will it be quicker, like Chris, and they'll be gone in a matter of hours?
Mortality is frightening. People run around, worrying about getting to work on time, or to the cleaner's. This, that and the other thing. But in all essence, what is a day in comparison to a lifetime? The small, mundane tasks in our daily lives are just a mimicking of the grander scale. I concern myself with getting to work, with getting home and doing everything that needs to be done within the course of that time. I am born, I die, and I live inbetween. Day in, day out, people do this. Work, sleep, eat, breathe. Live. Die.
Mourn, cry, laugh, share, love, give, lose, greive, celebrate. The many, many ups and downs of life. Sometimes experienced together. Sometimes so completely singular that any other thought or emotion is blocked out.
I am sad that I didn't know my grandfather better than I did. I wish I would've taken the time to sit with him as an adult and hear the stories of his life. To let him influence my own actions by the wisdom of the words shaped by over eighty years of experience. To truly know the man that lived as my grandfather.
But, through his children, my aunts and uncles and father, I truly do know him. Through my mother, grandmother, cousins and distant relatives twice removed, I know him. Through myself, I know him. The undeniable features in the Cromwell family. I have his crooked smile. I know the pride of family and heritage, of God and country. I know the morals and ethics that he stood for, and the love and compassion that he showed for his family.
Last week, William Earl Cromwell departed from this world, and we all are a little poorer for it.
current mood: reflective
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| Saturday, November 25th, 2006
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1:09 am - Give me a fuckin' break...
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This is going to be one looooong fucking rant. Bear with.
My life is fairly simple. I wake up in the morning, afternoon if I stayed up too late, and then I go about my business. If I have to work, I get ready and go do that. My nineteen hour a week job at minimum wage isn't much to get all spazzed out about, but it's better than nothing, and with the state of the economy, nothing is the only other option.
I live at home with Mommy and Daddy because my finances haven't afforded me the ability to go out on my own. I deal with that. Will I ever get to a point where I can just waltz out the door with every belonging I have to my name and get a place of my own? Who the fuck knows?
And I'm not alone in this. I talk to people all the time who bitch and complain about how shitty their pathetic little lives are. Their jobs don't pay enough. Their bills are too outrageous. Their fucking dog humps their fucking couch. And God forbid you don't give them all adequate attention and pity over it.
Even that isn't so bad as the people who bitch about a life they don't really have. "I'm soooo broke.. and I'm getting kicked out of my parents' house." That doesn't really sound too wonderful, right? But I hear it all the time. I hear about concerns of how someone is going to pay for college... how this and can't afford that and all this other bullshit. Everyone sings a song of poverty.
I don't. I don't want to spill my guts out to any poor fucking sap that'll spend one second listening and get stuck for ten hours, offering unfelt sympathy. So I just don't say anything. Nobody else would get it, and nobody else would really care. They say they will, but unless you're wiping their ass with apologies for how bad life screwed them over in scratching one of their cd's, they don't give a shit.
Well, here's my fuckin' turn to bitch and mope and whine about how bad life has given ME the shaft. And that's right. You're the dumb son of a bitch sitting there reading it. I don't want your fake sympathies. So save them.
I have a severe paranoia problem, in addition to odd phobias that seem to be cropping up out of nowhere, and quite unexpected. Sitting on a lake in a tin cup of a fishing boat is not a good time to discover a deep-seated fear of water.
My husband was injured just before we got married. Due to this, he can't get a steady job, let alone one at all. His doctors are currently freaking out because of what they think his back might be doing, and they want him in for another MRI soon, something that we can't afford. Another MRI will probably mean surgery, which means recovery time, a cranky husband, and the possibility of catastrophe. Hello, wheelchair.
Just past one month after my wedding, my brother died. That would hit anyone hard, but the fact that it was so completely unexpected just made it ten times worse. Hearing all his god-damned friends over the phone give their initial reactions didn't help, neither did sitting in a crowded funeral home, the hallways jam-packed with overflow of the standing room only situation and watching every single person mourn his loss.
Three days later my Grandma died. My grandma that had Alzheimer's disease for 10 fucking years. Ten. Fucking. Years. Watch that shit for a month and see how bad it wears on you. People make snyde remarks about you putting someone you love in a nursing home and leaving them to rot inside their head while you just ignore them and go on with your life. Not that fuckin' easy, shitheads. Everything you do, you remember the fact that she should be there with you. Family vacations. Christmases when she'd come over early in the morning. Whenever there was a thunderstorm... we'd race to go get her. Those thoughts don't fade, and neither does the guilt that you can't do a god-damned thing for her because she's more of a danger to herself if she can't be watched 24/7.
For three years after the fact of the hospital toeing the line of murder in my brother's case, we've had to deal with the haunting. Not a ghost rattling fucking pots and pans in the kitchen, but the constant reminder of what happened those three days he was in the hospital, complaining and getting no fucking help. Having to keep alive the sorrow and misery and downright fucking anguish of never getting to see him, never getting to have our kids grow up together like we'd always talked about. No more road trips, no more vacations, no more unexplainable, unexpected visits whenever we had pizza or fresh cookies. No more, except in our minds, because if we lose grip of that at all, of what we lost and how much it hurt to lose it, then they'll try and tell us that it doesn't hurt.. and that Chris didn't mean a damned thing.
For the past year and a half, we've been struggling with mortgagers to be able to keep the house we've lived in for 23 years now. The very house that my brother grew up in, that my grandmother came over to on Christmas morning, or if it was storming out. The house I was raised in. I have never lived anywhere else, and yes, that is unusual. But we're losing it. This bitch is foreclosed and auctioned. And unless a miracle happens and I can start shitting Benjis, we're losing it. We're losing the house. We're losing. The house.
We're losing the mother-fucking house.
And all the while, I'm watching my mother's health start to decline. Is she following in grandma's steps? Is that edge of forgetfulness the onset of Alzheimers? Am I going to have to go through that living fucking hell all over again? With her macular degeneration, will she be blind next year? If I ever have a kid, will she get to see it before she can't see anything? With as much stress as she's under, with the clinical depression, will she kill herself? If this shit keeps up, will I?
And yet, here I sit, at the end of another long, fruitless day, just barely now venturing into a new one. I'm thankful as all fucking hell to have food on the table. Venison, as much as we can pack into the freezer to keep us through the winter. Might not be much else to go with it, but we'll eat. Don't know if the electricity will stay on.. or if any other bills will get paid. But you can't bleed a turnip.
And my friends.. those poor, helpless friends whose lives are so terrible that they can't do anything... what're they worried about? Whether or not their brand new PS3 is going to have too many read disc errors. About living in their cars? No. About what to play on the new Wii system. Multi-hundred dollar gaming systems, and I think I'd be lucky to afford a deck of used playing cards.
And none of them get that.
current mood:  irate
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| Tuesday, August 1st, 2006
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4:02 pm - for the moment..
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I'm excited about the fair coming up, even though I know in my mind that I'm overrating it excessively. But I have plans, in more of a journalistic sense, for this year. I've been thinking about doing shit for a while.. and I think I will. I'll elaborate more once I know I will actually go through with it.
I got a motor for my Jeep, which I hope to have fully resurrected in a couple months. The Brown road mud bog is September 2nd.. I hope it's at least road worthy by then. It's been sitting in the yard for three years. Staring at me. Driving me nuts.
It's been over 100 degrees the past couple days, with no hope for cooler weather in sight until Friday. The dogs have been in the house, with warnings out that death from overheating could be a possibility. So that's been fun.
Other than that, there's just the occassional odd thing happening. I'll hear voices, one was distinctly female the other night, and for a moment I thought it was my mother calling me from downstairs. Just... weird shit.
And I've lost my train of thought... again.
current mood:  drained
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| Sunday, July 30th, 2006
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10:08 pm - Carnieville - Anticipatory Moments
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The highlight of all things backwoods and redneck is coming up in a week. That's right, kiddies.. the Shiawassee County Fair.. and I plan to soak up every minute of it I can manage. A whole week of smelly, disgusting, toothless freaks meandering about several acres of rides, games, greasy-food booths and enough barnyard animals to feed a third-world country for a decade.
Boots, cowboy hats, enormous belt buckles, 500 pound fat chicks with midriffs, clusters of school kids trying to be punks, screaming kids, shuffling blue-hairs, loud fucks, dumb fucks, carnie-folk, ringing bells, blaring music, the stink of over-used shitters... it's truly a modern marvel.
And there's nothing so terrible that it should be missed, other than some of the pathetic attempts at artwork displayed in the 4-H barn.
More at a later date.. I'm suddenly tired.
current mood:  sleepy
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| Tuesday, July 25th, 2006
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11:53 am - "D.O.W." - or "A life, in Retrospect"
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Today is the day. July 25th... the one day out of the entire year that I could never look forward to. It was three years ago today that the phone call came in. The one that made me hate answering machines, hospitals, and funerals.
In all my childhood, Chris was the regular pain in the ass big brother who would near murder us when he had to babysit. Julie and I would cry inside when Mom bid her farewells to head to work. The door would close, and there'd be that low, diabolical laughter coming from his throat. Torture time.
Despite his less than pleasing antics to get a bit of fun out of beating up on us, he always watched out for us. I recall a certain neighbor kid being over, and trying to strangulate me. He went out the second story window, Chris' hand around his throat. My hero.
There was his endless supply of shitty cars and trucks.. a different one every month or so. The Maverick was my favorite.. his fifty dollar hoopty with the Corvette sidepipes. The ones I burned my leg on when he bitched at Jules and I to go pick up the hoola-hoop left out in the yard. No matter how irritated we'd get with each other... he wouldn't let anything bad happen to us... not life-threatening anyway. I remember sitting in the living room after the incedent, bawling my eyes out, as he applied ice packs to the burn, waiting for Mom to get home from work.
After he graduated, Chris got kicked out of the house. He was so hateful from our mother's divorce from his dad, and he never got over it. There's a lot, I'm sure, that happened in his life in those years.. but I was too young to understand it. I recall going over the 69/71 overpass in the Astro van, and Chris and Mom arguing. He pulled the door open, about to jump out, Mom nailing the brakes and screaming at him to get his ass back in the van. I cried, hating being in that situation.. watching my family fight.
I remember sitting on the front porch of our house, watching as Chris was carted off in handcuffs for writing bad checks. Julie and I were crying, Mom running out to the driveway to ask the officer why. After that, we'd get phone calls, late at night, about how depressed Chris was, and that he was going to shoot himself. Julie and I would beg him not to.. crying to Mom that she had to help him. But she knew it was all a ploy.
When he met Trish, things started to smooth out. He wanted to marry her, and we were astounded. "Chris?.. is getting married??? No way!!!" Pure elation... he was the last person we'd expected to settle down. The kid who got caught fooling around with countless chicks out in the barn...
It was May 18th, 1996 I think. Jules and I wore some of Mom's old dresses from the 70's... we were VERY sheltered children. But they were awesome, in a super-vintage sort of way. It was at McCurdy Park, in Corunna... the gazebo at the river. Trish waited in their white Astro van, her bridesmaids mulling about and complaining. Chris was late, as usual. But he came nevertheless, dressed nicely, even though he had on his little, black leather biker hat. Mom got choked up, and I'm sure Danny, his dad, did too. The wedding commenced, and I couldn't remember a time I'd been more proud of him.
The reception was at a hall... I don't even remember where, though I want to say Lennon. Tulle and lights were strung across the ceiling, tables were covered with white, touches of purple, teal and peach everywhere. All of Chris and Trish's rabble friends had come... it was a party. I remember hearing Kayleen bitch that there was nothing left to drink but beer, and that Trish was crying because she'd bitched her out. So I assigned Jules, our cousin Derek, and myself to trek down to the gas station and get some 2-liters with what little cash I had on me. The three of us laden down with plastic bags, we headed back. I'd never felt better about doing something in my life. They lasted the remainder of the reception, a couple bottles actually left over. Jim and Skip tapped out the rest of the kegs, filling milk jugs.. as no beer could go to waste. Chris and Trish took off for their honeymoon, and the party wound down.
There were summers at Higgins Lake... afternoons of swimming here in the pool. Family reunions and Christmases, random visits, both good and bad. They got a trailer over in Perry, and Jules and I would go and stay the night occassionally.
I remember one of his birthdays. The usual crew was on hand, as well as people I'd never seen. Cherokee and Zipper from Iron Wheels.. those names always stuck in my head after meeting them. I was thirteen. Chris had a cake made to look like the torso of a woman.. which was a huge laugh point for every perverted man there. We had waterballoons in a kiddy pool, and Chris was zipping around their small yard on his three wheeler, Skip sitting on the back and nearly tipping the damn thing over. Jules and I loved to recount when she randomly threw a water balloon, nailing Jim in the balls. He'd had a cigarette in one hand, a beer in the other, and after the assault, both were MIA.
There's a picture from that night. One that breaks my heart to look at every single time. It's four people, all standing at the tailgate of Chris' 1893 pickup. Chris, Scott, Jim and Skip... caught in a moment that was so very true to them.. just being. I can hardly stand to see it now.
Chris had several jobs, driving truck. I recall hazy, summer nights when we'd get a phone call. "I'm going to Kentucky.. wanna go?" Hell yes! Jules and I would scramble to pack our shit.. then wait for that rig to pull into the drive. If he wasn't supposed to have passengers, then why did all of his trucks have passenger seats? We lived from one truck stop to the next, chatting with other truckers over the cb as we went. Jules and I would take turns sleeping on the bunk in back.. and when Chris would stop to sleep, we'd sit up front and talk on the cb.
Rattlesnake was our favorite to find. He drove around a black ranger, and came to meet us at a truck stop. Looking back now, it was probably a terrible idea on our part.. but we never got out of the truck.. and with Chris' snores rattling the cab, nobody would've been dumb enough to try anything.
In Owosso, there is a cruise route. Or at least there was... I haven't been there in nearly three years. On a Friday or Saturday night, it was almost a guaranteed thing to find Chris there, parked with all his friends until the cops chased everyone out. They'd circled the couple of blocks that the route encompassed, then park somewhere else, and do it all over again. We'd watch as a Camaro would roll though, stopping to burn off the tires, then speed away, and Chris would boast that in it's prime, the route would be three times as packed.
There were stories, of how when he was younger, some guy tried to pick a fight with him. He went to the back of the S-10 he had at the time, and grabbed his chainsaw. The guy didn't panic until Chris started it up and went after him. People are still talking about that. There were countless tales of different vehicles, all doing their spectacular stunts.. jumping curbs, blaring music, and pulling donuts. Jules and I cruised the route with him for 6 or 7 years.
In 2002, we had gone to Higgins Lake, Chris and Trish coming with us. I had my Jeep, and had met Matt by then. We went to Hanson Hill, a huge sand hill that was a challenge for any vehicle to climb, no matter how big the tires were. Chris had just made it to the top with Mom and Jules and Trish. Matt and I were about to try the steepest part in the Jeep. We set off, and all went awry. A rock nailed the undercarriage, knocking a hole in the oil pan. We backed out to hard ground, not fully realizing the problem until the engine was drained. I called up to the top of the hill on the cb, fully frustrated. Chris, who was talking with some other people up there, ended up yelling at me that he'd get there eventually. I walked away.. about 3 or 4 miles, maybe, before they caught up, the Jeep being towed behind Chris' truck. I didn't want to stay the rest of the vacation... and I don't think Chris did either, but we did.
We feuded, off and on, for the next several months. It wasn't full out fights, but the nitpicking stuff that siblings do. But it wouldn't last... it couldn't. Matt and I were getting married, and as much as I "hated" him at the time, I knew that at some point, we'd get over our squabble, and I'd never forgive myself if he wasn't there.
Chris was at the door of the church before I went to walk down the aisle. The bridesmaids had already gone... then the flowergirls. He looked at me before opening the door, and gave me a hug, and told me he was so proud of me. I told him I loved him... and we didn't have to say it to know that our differences had been set aside. He had tears in his eyes... his youngest sister about to get married.
The reception was a blast... once the pictures and limo ride were done. Chris shed his tux in favor of his blue jeans and a t-shirt.. but I couldn't blame him there. If not for the cost of the dress, I'd have been in jeans myself. He danced with me later on in the night.. asking if I was happy. And I was..
Matt and I left the reception, heading for home. We'd open gifts the next day, then go on our honeymoon to Higgins. Chris and Trish were supposed to come up later in the week, so we could all go out trail riding.. and have fun. I was going to put our feud officially to rest when he got there. They couldn't make it.
I only saw Chris one other time after the wedding. He was sitting up at the cruise route, in their GMC truck. The route was dead that night. Matt and I pulled up to talk to him for a minute, before heading through to wherever it was we were going. That image haunts me as much as the photo from his birthday.
It was a Friday. Mom had gone to see grandma at the nursing home with Uncle Doug. Dad was at work. Matt, Jules and I were home, fucking around with the answering machine. We'd done one of those long "Hello......... you've reached... blah blah blah" messages, to throw the person off when the answering machine picked up. "Chris hates it when he gets these.." I said, proud of our little trick. We'd just finished with one we were satisfied with, when the phone rang. Caller ID said "Chris' Cell". It was supposed to be our glory moment. They'd be calling to let us know that Chris was coming home.. and they'd get that message. The machine picked up.. and went through the entire message. Trish's voice came on "Is anyone there? Pick up.."
I picked up the phone, apologizing immediately for the message, as funny as it was. Her voice cracked then. "Chris is dead." "What..?" "Chris is dead..."
I don't really remember the details of what happened afterward. I remember crying... Jules and Matt asking what... then I screaming it, trying to get to the bathroom from feeling utterly sick. Someone took the phone from me. I hit the floor in the living room... I remember screaming... and that I couldn't stop.. until my throat was raw. I don't know how long it was.
Julie was gone.. headed to get Mom from the nursing home. I got on the phone and called her. I remember her voice.. a whispered "no.." at first.. and then she dissolved. I told her to stay put.. that Julie was on her way. I paged dad with our phone number followed by "911". He never called, but sped the whole way home. Dad never goes over 50... so that was something.
We sat at home, the five of us, Mom, Dad, Julie, Matt and myself, bawling our eyes out and trying to make sense of how... why... Uncle Doug came by, trying to give as much comfort to Mom as he could.. even though at the time it was of little use.
Later, Julie and I would go down to Rick and Mary's, and tell them what had happened. That was the start of the pattern. "What?... oh god..."
Matt and I went to Mike and Jenny's that night. Jenny was on their porch, sitting with a couple of friends. Mike wasn't home yet. "What're you guys doing here?" she'd asked chipperly. "We have bad news."
She called Mike, and he got there as fast as he could. From there, he called Gary... and they called and called and called, on their Nextels. Every voice was heard the same as the last. "Hey... ah.. Chris died today.." "What?.. oh my god..."
A small group of us, whoever could make it, assembled at Mike's. Everyone was in total disbelief. There were tons of people to contact.. many we didn't know how to. A call was made to the local radio station.. 92.5 "The Castle". They only had one Hank Jr. song... "Family Tradition". And so, that was played, with a message that Chris Peake, "Bounty Hunter" and "Mountain Dew Man" had passed. By the time we hit the cruise route that night, the whole city knew.
The next couple days at the funeral home dragged on forever, in one continuous blur. Tuesday was the day. Chris' beloved truck, freshly washed and waxed, was trailered in, to follow behind him in the funeral procession. The population of Perry doubled. Every parking lot around the funeral home was packed. People stood outside the double room parlor during the funeral. People got up and spoke about how Chris had touched their lives as country music played over the speakers.
Everybody had come. And nobody tried to pretend it was some grand affair, burying Chris. People in jeans and t-shirts.. boggers and motorcycles.. Scott wearing nothing but his camo pants and boots. It was a salute to the true person that Chris was. I couldn't stop crying for a second.
The procession was miles long. The cemetery was only two or three miles away, and we were pulling in before the last car had left the funeral home. Chris was taken there in the back of a 4x4.. not in some stuffy hurse. His prize truck was behind him, and the rest of us filed along.
At the cemetery, we all stood around. A gallon of Southern Comfort was passed from one person to the next, a drink poured over the coffin occassionally. Our last drink with our collective brother. The sorrowful blare of the Dixie Horns from Chris' truck rang out.
For the past three years, I've barely been able to cope with the loss. It hasn't sunk in yet, and I doubt it ever will. If I try to force myself to accept it, I can't. I've found little ways to deal with it for now.. to keep myself from crying about it daily. But I don't think that'll ever be enough. He was supposed to be the "Uncle Chris" to my kids some day... he was supposed to have his own. He was supposed to turn out successful and happy.. and alive.
The night Chris had gotten into the accident, Jules, Mom and I pulled out the Ouija board. We'd asked a few questions, not really understanding the answers. "Will Chris come to Higgins Lake with us?" "No" "Why" "Work"... "Is he going to be ok?" "D-O-W... 3" "What?" "D-O-W... 3"
Later, I came to assume this meant "Death on Wheels... 3 days".. for three days later he died from his injuries in the roll over accident.
But.. today is the third anniversary of his death. A day I never look forward to in the whole year. Wherever you are, Chris. I miss the hell out of you. And I never sold your damned jacket.
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| Monday, May 22nd, 2006
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7:44 pm - A rotten fucking pain in the ass
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So I'm curled up in my bed last night, got there before nine, hoping for once to get to bed at a decent hour. Desperate Housewives (yes, I'm a junkie) comes on, and it's just getting good. After the season finale ends at 11, I plan on catching the news and falling asleep to it, having to get up at 5 the next morning to work. That's a good night's sleep for me.
But noooooo.. nuh uh. No sleep for Jen. 10 o'clock rolls around, and with it comes Mom screaming up the stairway "We got hit again!" Matt and I virtually leap out of bed, scrambling with dogs to get downstairs and get boots on to go firmly plant them in someone's ass. He takes off in the truck, headed East on Goodall after where Julie saw the fuckers go.
Welcome to my life.
Two weeks ago, on Friday night, our house was paintballed. Wonderful splats of bright green and pink that were so lovingly flung onto our siding and windows. One of them even busted through the siding. Weren't we all just so fucking peachy.
This time, they hit on Sunday night, at 10 sharp. They must've been out of green, for we only got smeared with pink globs of oil-based paint. We had spotted only six of the shots at first, which were the ones across the porch. Cops are called, Matt's out looking for them, Dad is in the yard screaming about how he'll murder the fuckers if they ever even fart near the property. Jules and I are checking for damage.
The cops are out in full force now, looking up every single fucking sideroad, hoping to catch the pricks. Matt's still out there, dwindling down what little gas there was left in the truck. Dad goes out for a quick moment, then comes back.
Matt had just pulled back in the driveway when he saw a truck stop in front of our neighbor's house, then back up and shut the lights off in front of their barn drive. He waited for a moment, then took off to see what the fuck was going on. As he drove past them, he could see it was two guys in a red, extended cab S-10, and the passenger was getting out with a flashlight. Matt went down to the corner store, turned around, and while on his way back, the S-10 started to take off, like a bat out of hell. He followed, calling me to tell me what was going on. We called the cops to tell them where Matt was, and what had now happened. Matt tailed them, eventually calling dispatch himself to report where the truck was going, and at what high speeds.
Jules and I went to Sandy's house, waking her up with yet again more bad news. She got her boots on and we went over to make sure that nothing had happened to her barns or horses. Everything looked ok.
While standing there, Matt called me again. There were three cruisers in the guy's driveway, all talking to the guy and searching his vehicle. They said nothing was out of the ordinary. They said he was alone.
So, in my paranoia, I figure that the passenger must be around somewhere. I call Dad, and he goes out to the woods with the shotgun (by 'the', I mean one of 'the' many) and a flashlight. I join him soon with Max, who is trained in S.A.R. and is mean as hell. We scour the property, coming up with nothing.
Matt returns home, and tells us everything he saw happen. We all put the peices together, because nobody in this house can understand a single word anyone else says when there's chaos. This is the closest I can come up with, even now.
The cops had to let the guy go, lack of evidence, though they have his information if it happens again. It was just too fucked up to not find suspicious. We have some theories of our own, with some reasoning behind them that I don't dare divulge now in case this could somehow ever get to them, and foil our plans.
This morning, while I was on my way to work, the sun just barely trying to show it's disgustingly happy light, I looked at the house to see the overall effect of our new decor. The second story wall, as I could see from here, was also nailed, a lot more than the porch. Apparently that was what they were going for.. the fuckers. It's hosed off now.
This bullshit still makes me irate. The cops can't do shit without proper evidence, so we're going to end up having to take matters into our own hands. I'm sure we'll manage something.
All I can say is, thank god that vacation is in four days.
current mood:  cranky
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| Tuesday, April 25th, 2006
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1:13 pm - That's all you can say about that...
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So way back in the day, probably early 1970's, my Grandpa Michael went down to Florida during one of the Apollo missions. He was working for Buick then, and might've even had my Uncle Doug in tow as a child, I'm not sure. He was four miles away from the launch site, and decided to give the Buick City radio station a call to give a blow by blow of the launch.
Grandpa Michael died in 1976, and me being born in '83 means I've never seen his face, save for photos, and never heard his voice.. -until today.
The phone call he'd made to Buick City that day had been recorded on vinyl. Mom had been saving it all this time, waiting until we had a good working turntable to listen to it. Little to my knowledge, Matt has an old record player out in the barn. I thought it didn't have a needle. I was wrong.
So standing out in the barn, the day is cold and the sky is overcast. Dogs are barking outside and birds are hardling daring to chirp. It's about 34 degrees with the windchill. The crackle and pop of the turntable starts up, and we wait. A voice starts in, talking to someone named Bill. I tell Matt I don't know if that's Grandpa or not.
Bill replies back after the voice tells us where the man is. He calls the man Carl. That's him. Carl Edward Michael, the grandpa I never knew but have been told that he was one of the best men to ever grace the face of this planet. I can think of a few who rank like that... but I've always stood in awe and wonder of this one that I never knew, yet have such close ties with.
I've seen old photos of him with my grandmother, who passed away now just a couple years ago. He was always smiling, always playful and as my mother would admit, a bit risque when it came to his affection of Grandma. He was a white collar of Buick City, with a blue collar attitude. He worked for what he had, and earned every penny.
Within the last few days, Mom has gotten out her old slides from her childhood. We got a new printer that will turn them into photographs, conveniently enough for us. She's putting together a new photo album documenting the early trips to Higgins Lake where they'd camp right on the shore of the state park, instead of back a few hundred yards and up a hill where the campgrounds are now. It shows their brand new vehicles with the tail fins and retro paintjobs. Teals and greens and reds and white. In the photos, Grandpa and Grandma are alive and happy, the model parents of the era, and Mom and Uncle Doug are kids, much younger than I am now. They live on forever, unwrapping Christmas presents and admiring a bountiful catch of perch and small mouth bass.
Tie into this the great sense of pride I have in my family. Yeah, we can be a bunch of kooks, bitchy and cranky all while helping out a friend and sometimes forcing a smile... but it's my kooky family. And no matter how much the lot of us fight amongst ourselves, I'll always love each and every one of us.
And that's all you can say about that.
current mood:  nostalgic
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| Thursday, March 30th, 2006
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7:47 am - "Is that supposed to smoke like that?"
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So five o'clock this morning rolls around, and Mom and I usher Jules to the airport. Flint Bishop, to be exact. The nicest place in Flint. Her flight leaves at 6:45, and we leave the house at 5:30. Quick stop to McDonald's for coffee and disgustingly greasy hash browns, and we're at the airport.
Check in takes a few minutes. Apparently every other idiot ready to take to the skies wants to do so before the sun is up today. A would-be bomb threat presents itself.
If Flint Bishop were any other airport, there would've been an evacuation. For a good ten minutes, a lone suitcase stood in the middle of an aisle by the check in. Nobody.. -nobody- was around it. Nobody said anything. -Until Mom turned, saw it, and said "There's a lone suitcase." We told some guy who was telling the few people at the Northwest Airlines check-in to stay in line before going to an automated check-in computer, and he went over... -picked up the suitcase-.. -CARRIED IT BEHIND THE COUNTER-.. then asked if anyone had the last name of so-and-so. DON'T WE HAVE PROTOCOL FOR SHIT LIKE THIS???
I could just see the stupid thing blowing up or some shit like that.
Turns out, thank god, that it was just some idiot's suitcase. The lady claimed it, and we went on with our lives.
Jules gets checked in, deposits her luggage, and we're off to the escalators.
The slowest damn escalators I've ever seen in my life. Ever. In. My. Life.
We get to the security check, and have to wish Jules off. She stands in line with a couple dozen other people, occassionally turning around to smile at us. Mom and I stand there like idiots, making people nervous. When she gets through the security check, we turn and leave.
We get down the escalators, and get into the van. After driving for a few minutes around the parking lot, we decide to head over by the hot dog factory where we can watch Jules' plane take off without being harassed by the airport security guard.
Lo and behold, I have my camera. Here's a good shot of her plane just before take-off.
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She becomes a mere dot in the sky, and moments later, is out of sight. Mom and I go back home.. and life resumes.
current mood:  blank
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| Tuesday, March 28th, 2006
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1:19 pm - Strange fuckin day.
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So I had to get up and go to work today for Denise. Not a big deal. Only an hour and a half's work.
I get home. I'm not in a good mood. I'm not going to say why for the sake that it'd not be good for family relations.
So I go into the Michigan room and get on the phone with Matt, asking him when he'll be home. "Soon". I hear a tap on the door and turn around to see who it was. Nothing, but the cat is sitting there staring at me. Whatever, the cat must've knocked something against the door. So I get off the phone, grab the doorknob. Locked.
[ Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<insert [...] here.>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.] So I had to get up and go to work today for Denise. Not a big deal. Only an hour and a half's work.
I get home. I'm not in a good mood. I'm not going to say why for the sake that it'd not be good for family relations.
So I go into the Michigan room and get on the phone with Matt, asking him when he'll be home. "Soon". I hear a tap on the door and turn around to see who it was. Nothing, but the cat is sitting there staring at me. Whatever, the cat must've knocked something against the door. So I get off the phone, grab the doorknob. Locked.
<Insert string of profanities here.>
I'm barefoot, can't go outside and use the other doors because there's broken glass on the ground from a failed wine-making experiment. I get back on the phone to try and reach anyone inside the house. Not a single god-damned person answers their phone.
So, push comes to shove, and I pound on the door. Eventually, here comes mom out into the kitchen. She's lookin' at me with a toothbrush in her mouth, like "what the hell are you doin out there?" "Let me in the fuckin' house!" I shout, and over she comes. Sure as shit, the door was locked.
"Did the cat jump up and lock it?"
"No.. she was sitting there on the floor the whole time.."
Like I knew. It's a push button lock, anyway. I don't think cats are that skilled on a "leap up and hit it" sort of level.
I still don't know what the fuck happened. Nobody else was around.
I'm still cranky.
current mood: cranky
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| Friday, March 17th, 2006
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1:06 am - I'm the Juggernaut, BITCH!
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Shut the fuck up, Charles. I'ma beat yo' ass!
I don't write enough in this thing to really merit writing in it now, but here I am. It's fucking 1:08 in the morning, and I have to be up in a mere 4 hours to go to work. Seems I only get inspiration to write in this when it is so very late.
The puppies have all grown, and all but two are gone now. There were 7 total, which I'm not sure if that was ever mentioned or not. There was an 8th, but it was stillborn. Terribly sad.
I've been busy lately. And sick.. as I sit here and cough. This last week, I haven't even gone through a whole pack of cigarettes. I think it might finally be time I take advantage of illness and quit. I'm sure it'll be for the better of my health and whatnot...
On the 30th, I'm going to see Big and Rich in concert. They'll have Gretchen Wilson, Cowboy Troy and the Muzik Mafia with them. I think it'll be awesome... however the greater part of the fad that was Big and Rich seems to have dwindled. It's been a couple years and they haven't really done anything new. It's.. old. I guess when the objective of one of your shows is to have the audience leave saying "what the fuck just happened?"... you run out of things to make people leave saying "what the fuck just happened?"...
I'm really, truly, honestly, very tired. I think I should hit the sack.
God damn I don't want to go to work tomorrow.
But I don't feel like shutting up.
On second thought...
Ok, so I'm not going to sit here and have an argument with myself in text on a blog I hardly read and nobody else ever does. Decision made, and that's final. I'm going to bed. Goodnight.
((there's something to be said for having an emoticon for the feeling "crappy".. I'm not sure what it is yet, but I'll be sure to let you know when I do))
current mood:  crappy
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| Saturday, February 25th, 2006
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11:58 pm - nostalgia
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So Jules went out tonight to Larp at Funn City. For a moment, I was jealous. This was my world. This was the identity I so coveted for so long.
But nothing there would be the same for me now. The people would all be different.. and even if they were the same people, they would themselves have changed. I have changed.
My fondest memories of the game left me questioning my true reasons for ever going.
I don't remember a lot of things that ever happened "in character". I never did anything remarkable. I never had a character for more than a month or so.
I remember the summer months, when we'd all escape with Kerry to go down for a cigarette. I was under 18 then, so I always hid it from Kerry and Rich. They were my co-workers, and I felt it would lower their opinion of me if they saw me smoke. I'd hang out in the back alley, or walk around the block with friends while I got my fix. I remember the freedom of those smoke breaks. The warm air as you walked amongst the city lights. Traffic from M-21 seeming to fly by, only slowing to take a look at the oddly dressed pedestrians.
Three years' worth of happy memories can be summed up by this. Summertime Smoke Breaks at Larp.
It was just a fleeting thought I had.. and now I have to go to sleep so I can work in the morning.
current mood: nostalgic
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| Friday, February 3rd, 2006
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2:02 am - Puppies, puppies, puppies. (PUPPIES!)
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Monday morning I woke to Mom outside my bedroom door. "Jenny? Sable's having her puppies!"
8:30 am and I come trudging down the stairs, half giddy, half exhausted. Julie met me in the landing and we giggled together for a moment.
Sable gave birth to 5 pups right away. Our hearts melted with each one. A couple hours passed, and out came number 6. In all honesty, we weren't sure if it was there until it came out. Matt felt Sable's tummy, and thought he felt one more in there. A couple more hours, and out came number 7. Sheer excitement.
One more was definately in there. Sable even tried a couple times to give birth to it, but hours passed. Not two, but now three. Then four. Five hours after pup number 7, pup number 8 came out, stillborn. Matt tried for a good five minutes to revive the puppy, but it was gone. Our hearts broke right then and there.
But 7 out of 8 isn't bad. Seven healthy, vibrant young puppies who are already showing signs of their personalities. Seven sweet little souls who lounge in a birthing box in the corner of the living room. Seven babies who stole my heart.
The 8th puppy is buried on top of the hill near the house. From there, it can always watch over the property, always watch over us. It was a male, and would've been black and tan.
Five of the puppies are already sold.. kind of. One is going to Julie... the little black female named Braelyn. Another is going to Matt's sister, April. That one is a sable female named Avery. One is promised to be donated to the Shiawassee County K9 unit. A big, black and tan male named Denali. Troy, Matt's friend, is getting a huge black and tan male named Junior Jake, more affectionately called "Jakie J". The fifth is a solid business deal with a guy named Jim, who wants the dog for his daughter who is moving out on her own. That one is the biggest of the males, who we refer to as "Bubba". All that is left is a little female and a male, though those might be spoken for by this weekend.
This is the new thing in my life that is consuming most of my time. My thoughts are so filled with the expectations of what these puppies will bring, that for the second night in a row, I find myself awake in the wee hours of the morning, when I have to be up for work in about two and a half.
But it's so worth it.
current mood:  geeky
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| Tuesday, January 31st, 2006
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12:45 am - Life, in review
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My life as I have come to find it is not as peachy as I would like to have thought.
I started out Jenny Cromwell, affectionately known as "NeeNer" by my cruel family. My childhood comes back to me in the sort of film noir, hazy summer, fuzzy around the edges dream like memories that only allow me to remember the good times, and laugh at the moments that were less than grand.
I was the schoolyard bully in my youth. Full of energy and cruelty to those below me on the pecking order. Frankie and I, we ran the playground. Brad and Walker and Ben were our minions. But before them, all I had was Julie, my sister older by three years, whose duty it was to teach me everything a seven year old knows about life. I was a very frightened child, and from here stems my great paranoia.
At the end of elementary school, I discovered that I could have friends of the same gender. I had been the ultimate tom-boy: short hair, grass-stains, and dirty jokes. But Sara opened up a door to a world I hadn't seen before. Dolls, horses, everything purple and pink in all it's terrible girlyness. She was my best friend for years, though tragically cut short by betrayal.. and being in Middle School, that meant she and another mutual friend ditched me and two other mutual friends at the highlight of life in the autumn months, a football game. Their reason? Boys.
So Sara and I parted ways, and I remained great friends with Keesha, one of other said mutual friends. But, as high school would have it, she wanted the fame and glory of popularity, something I would've prefered to shit on. She went to her neighbor's party, and I never talked to her again... we just never found the reason or want after that.
It was my freshman year, and I found myself alone in my class. My last real childhood friend had ditched me for the much more desireable "preppy" crowd. Thank god that Julie was a senior that year, or I would've had nobody to eat lunch with. So I sat with her and her friends in the cafeteria, and the rest of the time I mulled around the school, trying to go unnoticed. Trying so desperately hard, and usually failing to now become the target of the high school bullies. A former playground bully is no match for those pricks.
Sophomore year came, and with it came a new crowd of people. I had really started hanging out with Branden at this point. Going out every weekend to a LARP somewhere or another. Introduce confidence. I met people. People who didn't know me as "Julie's sister" or the "uncool kid at school". People who had been social outcasts in their own worlds, and we all formed our own.
Introduce Paul, George, and Brandon.
This time in my life was carefree, wreckless, dangerous. I was so sick of being left in the dust by my friends, that I was now striving to fit in with the outcasts. I did. God damn did we ever have fun, too. I was the only one with a license and a vehicle, and whenever we got a whim, we'd take off. This was my pot smoking crowd. A day didn't go by that we didn't come across the miracle weed that let us let go of our inhabitions and become truly free. Ian, John and Rory eventually came into our circle.
At school, though, I was someone completely different. I was labelled an outcast, and so I wore it on my sleeve, my fishnet sleeve. I went goth, completely and utterly. Instead of people sneering at me in the halls, they made way for me. I made a name for myself, and it definately wasn't "NeeNer". Life became good, though, as with anything, it would spin out of control.
At school, I knew Mike, Sam, Shawn and Amber. It was my crowd there, with all of their extended friends who I wouldn't give the time of day, yet who seemed to find themselves in need of my attention. Make yourself untouchable, and they'll need to touch you. During week days, I was theirs. We'd hang out at Mike's, or in town, sometimes here at my place. They were trying to make names for themselves, but I couldn't let them in on my other world. That was mine, and mine alone.
Branden was the only connection between my two worlds.
Others came through my life in those years. Jim, Jason, Justin, Aaron, Matt, Keith, Chris, Angel, Faith, Dave, Carl, Keith, John, Pete, Bob, Eric, Justinian, Justin, Jordan, Mitch, Clay, Marty, Dez, Marcus, Tez, Rich, Kerry, Burnadette. But none of them knew the -whole- me. That was what kept them around, I think. Whenever they thought "These are her limitations, this is what she is..." I would have something else. Something so deniably out of nowhere, that it always kept them guessing.
But it kept me guessing.
In the beginning of 2002, I worked at an arcade called Funn City. I still went to my ritualistic LARPs. I would go find my brother to hang out with on occassion. It was a fateful Saturday night. I had gotten off work around 10-ish, and LARP didn't start at the arcade until 11. Great, Chris should be in town, I'll go find him, right? Then head back to LARP. I had Mom's van, the Jeep, my great mode of freedom on wheels was broken. There was a new kid Chris wanted me to meet.
Introduce Matt.
Matt was just some kid, a redneck hick with a big belt buckle, a Carhartt jacket, and a fat gob of chew in his lip. But he had a nice truck, and even then, I could appreciate that. Chris knew a lot of people that I didn't, and it was just one more circle to advance upon... keep my contacts growing. Matt and I spent that night, February second of two-thousand and two, sleeping on my brother's couch, MTV playing on the set across the room.
A week passed and I hadn't heard from him. I knew his last name only because he mentioned it once during our conversations that night. I looked him up in the phone book, and found out he was in town with his parents at the Quality Farm and Fleet that was going out of business. I'll be god damned if that wasn't across the street from where I was, at Mom's office in H&R Block. I caught him there that night, and we never spent a day apart after that.
From here, I pause to go sleep. It's been a long day, I'm tired, I'm cranky, and I just don't like people.
current mood:  exhausted
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| Thursday, November 17th, 2005
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10:48 pm - welcome to my geekdom
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So I play an online rpg. So what? So I made GM finally. Shweet.
Jules comes home Sunday. Looking forward to that.
I got a puppy. Her name is Kai. She's a solid black German Shepherd... well.. she's got a little white patch on her chest, it's really cute. She's adorable.
Co-worker Stacie has put in her 2 week notice. Tom is out on medical. I am working almost every day right now.
Matt has been out deer hunting. Behold, the great white hunter.
I am tired, but content.
current mood:  calm
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| Friday, October 28th, 2005
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4:49 pm - so I haven't updated...
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Here I am. At long last. Get over it.
Jules has been in Boston for a while. I've lost track of the days.
This weekend I'm going to a Halloween party with Stacie and Terrie, we're going as the Sanderson Sisters. Fun.
Monday I'm going trick-or-treating in Vernon. I'm going to look like the picture. Yes, that's me. I'm just that damned good.
I have to go comment on Julie's blog.
Cheers.
current mood: apathetic
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| Thursday, August 11th, 2005
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7:46 pm - mmmhmm. . *z-snap with head bob*
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Yay for carnies! Small hands, smell like cabbage.
Shiawassee County Fair is going. Only gone a couple days so far, but I have every intention of going tomorrow and Saturday, too. (I went today, so nyah.)
A lot of the awsome vendors that have been there in the past weren't there this year. Bah.
A lot of the awsome rides that have been there in the past weren't there this year. Bah.
We got Mardi Gras beads (Jules and I went).
Saw Trish, Kelly, Aaron, Carl, and Laser and Amber. Thank god I didn't know any of the other freaks that were there. Thank. God.
"Shh. . . I'm talking to Goo."
I've gone to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and found it astoundingly great. Johnny Depp is wonderful. I will buy it when it comes out. Yay Tim Burton!
Dukes of Hazzard is the shit. Jessica Simpson actually did a decent rendition of Daisy Duke. I was impressed. I'll be making a purchase there, too.
The dogs (as posted in Jules' lj) have been a riot. Sable is now about 75 lbs, and will get massive when she's done growing in, oh. . another 9 months or so. She's got Czech lines, which are always bigger than most shepherds. Max, the dog we rescued, is Dad's. They're on another 4 mile walk right now.
The Shiawassee K-9 unit is very interested in getting some of their pups. Talon (the current K-9) is 9 years old, and ripe for retirement. I'm excited for that to come.
Work has been work. I might be picking up more hours again, and training another person. Ah well. There's some issues going on there, but I've been told not to disclose them. My boss and I talk a lot, and she tells me what's going on behind the scenes that the owners tell her, and she shouldn't talk about. So I'm sworn to secrecy a lot. That doesn't bother me though.
I'm fairly damned tired. . . worked from 6 til 2, then went to the fair. I think I'm going to try and find my damned oil pastels and work on some of my projects.
Wow. . . a positive post for once. And Jules. . . quit yer' bitchin. . . I updated.
current mood: drained
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