agirlaguyandadog

Hello dear

Mom!

Yes!

What are you up to?

Well, it is six in the morning here, your father is having a fit because the air conditioner broke, and I have no idea what he needs me to do. He's in the attic--shouting at me, no less. What are you doing?

Well, it's six in the evening, I was going to go see my friend D.

Hold on dear.

( I muffled shouting, and then a silence...and then a bang. My mind does entertain the though that they have really killed eachother now...but then she takes her hand over the phone reciever)

Okay dear. Your father has really lost it this time. He is insisting I need to go in the while he stays down here and controls things.

Where are you?

Outside, didn't I tell you- The AC went out and he is attempting to fix it. May he fall in that attic and I will be forced to call an ambulance. He's up there in his boxers!

Ha. Mom you guys are crazy.

Yes, I know. Have a cigarette?

I'm in a taxi-- talk to me while you have one.

Okay. You can't smoke in taxis?

No, well..I don't know..he seems like a clean guy.

(I hold up my cigarette pack and the taxi driver nods)

You sound stuffed up, are you sick?

Yeah. I feel like its the flu...do you think I have SARs?

Yes. Dear! What if you [i]do[/i] have some asian bird flu?

(We both laugh)

Ready for Spiderman 2?

Your father is. May he live to see the outside of that attic.

(I hear my father shout somthing)

(My mom shouts back, "The RED BUTTON?)

(He answers)

Okay, now you were saying you were on your way to visit a friend?

Yes, I went to volunteer after work and then home and now I am going out.

On a date?

No. Its just my pimp.

Oh dear, well I hope he pays you well.

He does.

Are you being safe?

I am always safe. It comes with the territory of the world's smartest daughter.

I always thought that daughter on Inspector Gadget was a smarty.

She was his neice.

What was her name?

(I hear my dad shout "NICKEL")

No, it was Penny.

(My mom shouts out, "IT WAS PENNY, YOU FOOL- COME DOWN FROM THERE!!!")

Do you have money?

I get by.

Are you broke?

Mom. Yes, I am broke.

Yes, I guess you are. Can we help you?

No. You help me enough. How's everything else at home?

Well....I think your dad is going senile. (She whispers this)

No...?

Yes. Yesterday he rented that ridiculous Happy Times movie again! We've seen it three times.

I hardly think...

Well, you have to be careful, you know. Next thing he'll be lost in some town in Arizona, thinking he went to get a glass of milk.

Roswell?

Yes, probably. Oh dear, I heard him. Shush. We'll talk later. Your sister says you have a boyfriend?

She did? Thats wierd.

Ha. Your bad at lying, Mariana.

I don't have a boyfriend.

Good- You don't need boyfriends, and anyway-- I know his name!

Who's name?

Your 'man' friends name.

Ha. My manfriend?

Oh Dear-- I think your dad has electrocuted himself.

Do you have to go?

No, of course not. So your man friend, his name wouldn't be D, would it?

Ha. No. Bad guess.

Oh well, maybe my informer was wrong. Did you know your brother took that job in California?

He did? When does he move back?

I don't know- I can't wait. Are you ready for your father's visit?

Is he really senile?

No. I was kidding. OK, I finished my cigarette.

(I look at my cigarette, remembering that we were having one together)

Uh, me too.

I love you-- Be safe.

I will be, thanks for calling me.

I'll call you back soon- Your dad is taking his videocamera....be warned.

Thank you-

I love you mom

Love you too bug.

*

Dear D,

[b]Anything I've ever done that ultimately was worthwhile initially scared me to death.
--Betty Bender[/b]

Some stuff does scare me. Fearless? No wayyy. There is this inkling of a feeling behind what we should be doing, no?

'what we should be doing'.....worthwhile? Can you relate to this, I wonder?

I can't remember a lot of the time I want to....so sometimes I just try and go back to it in my mind, question it- play with it- wonder how it happened-

I was five.
We went to see her at the hospital.
I thought I hated her.
She was beautiful.
She offered my brother a cigarette.
She had two birds. One could have been called Rocio, but did I think that, name it that?
The birds are on this soiled paper in their cage, my dad makes some comment about having dirty birds. I remember the cage was red. My grandpa had bought it for her after the first time. When I was four. I don't remember seeing the birds then- he must have bought them after he brought the cage by our house. I know he loves her, because she was friends with him. He picked me up from school that friday, afterwards, and got me two ice cream cones. The first one fell down.
The newspaper under the birds says something about 'Saturday'. I know this word- like all the days of the week, from school- I know them in spanish and english, i write them in the carpet with my finger sometimes, when my brother is busy and doesn't want to play. I keep looking at the word, at the paper, the birds little claw.
I can hear my dad yelling.
My brother punches my arm. I feel like crying, but it doesn't hurt. I just wonder that if I cried, my dad might stop the yelling. She's crying, so why don't I start to cry?I think my brother sees this so he pinches me and whispers that I better not cry. Sometimes, when I see his face up close, I cannot tell if I am looking at me or looking at him. Like mirrors.

Then I am six. Ambulances. I think this is the first ambulance I have ever seen up close.

There's a flight. A stuffed seal someone gives me. My grandmother sends her sister to pick us up.at the airport. I have never met this woman, and am fascinated with how long her earlobes are. She asks me if I like her peacock earrings. My brother won't speak to anyone and he is always crying.

I had to go with this woman, her name I can't remember, to a big department store to buy a dress.
I've never been to a funeral and instantly decide I hate them.

We eat cheese and strawberry jelly sandwiches in her old bedroom, on the canopy bed. My brother is eating a lot because he hadn't eaten in almost three days. He keeps crying and stuffing the sandwich in his mouth and I just watch him, thinking about how his sandwich must taste salty because he is crying so much.There are bread crumbs around his nose, his eyes are swollen, almost shut--and so red like the jelly. I still haven't cried.

People come in and out and then my father comes in and tells us we are leaving. He looks small, I think. Then he remembers something and asks us if we will stay for another while. I answer, because my brother is staring at the wall, lying on his side. My dad looks at me but doesnt look at me, and then nods and aks me if I would want to sleep there. I say yes, because I have learned already what parents want you to say. He says good, and walks out.

There are two little butterflies--those cheap glass things that are so tempting for little fingers--on her dresser. I pick one up and then want to throw it at my brother. I don't. I think that will make him cry more, and he doesn't like to cry because he is older then me and a boy. I think my father hates us.

I am eight. My half brother is six. I take his My Pretty Pony coloring book because he cannot color in the lines and I want to show him I can. He gets angry and shouts something at me. I pinch him. He says he will tell mom. Then his eyes get kind of glossy and he looks like he is going to spit. And he says I don't even have a mom. I passed him the coloring book and went outside to our 'treehouse' or the boards nailed on this huge tree that lead to a deck and a hammock hanging between two limbs. I try and put this together, but I don't really want to. That night for supper we had cheese and jelly sandwiches, my brother's eyes are puffy and red and I know his mother has been speaking to him in the library since he heard us talking that morning.

Fifteen. Highschool art class trip to art collection. Her name. On gray, in black letters-engraved into the plastic, mounted next to a painting of huge red splashes, a woman with gargantuan hips. I am quietly thinking about how a boy named Roberto is standing next to me and that maybe he sees we have the same name. He doesn't, he says that the woman in the painting is fat. I don't really look at the painting, just her name. In the book shop when you leave the exhibit, I find a book explaining all of the work. Her name is there again. Where she was born. Where she studied. A year. Next to her name, the year she was born. And a dash. And the year I was six.

I am eighteen. I recieve a letter from her parents requesting that I send them a picture of my brother and I for their granddaughter's family tree project. Its in loopy cursive, on stationary, and I know its my grandmother's writing, a woman's writing--she calls her granddaughter 'our granddaughter' and addresses the letter to 'Dearest Mariana'. She signs it formally, with both their names. I pick out a horrible picture of my brother and I at his high school graduation and write a small note. They don't ask me about myself, but I think I want to tell them I am going to college. That I am alive?

I throw the note out at the last minute and just send the picture.

My high school graduation. My brother and I take a trip to Mexico and eat street food and drink beer to our hearts content. One night a man comes by us and reeks of weed, my brother asks him if we can score, and he gives us a huge blunt. We smoke on the beach in a romantic beach town with white seawalls and an old carousel blaring this ridiculous circus tune that makes me think of dancing clowns and elephant trainers.

My brother goes back to college. We aren't friends, the trip is our last, we're stuck between knowing whats best for us and knowing that we can't really live without eachother. When I see him at the end of the summer, before I go to college, he looks thin and scary. scared. But I guess I did too.

I am in college. Someone has contacted me about some paintings being sold. I say I don't care. My brother says I should care, he has sold some of the stuff also, so I call back and ask if I could have the paintings instead and maybe decide later to sell them. The man on the phone speaks in a high voice, but still sounds muffled. He says someone will contact me. My father calls me three days later and says the paintings and a sculpture have arrived at home. Their all in these huge crates, with red letters on them. I eat jelly and cheese sandwiches that night, after driving home from university for the whole five hours blaring Nirvana.

Sandwiches. The back porch. I pick up my best friend from high school and snort enough cocaine to kill someone normal. I feel invincible, my dad and stepmom are so caught up in their drama of that year that I don't know if they notice I came home. Then I am leaving on Monday morning and my stepmom sees me. I haven't slept in three days. She asks me if I can see that she knows I am an addict. I just look at her and say I'll see her at Thanksgiving.

By Thanksgiving the entire family is trying desperately to stay afloat. My brother has attempted suicide twice now. Both times are so secret I wonder about when he succeeds and no one will find him. I don't tell anyone I'm thinking that. Its all a blur. My dad decides we are all bastards and will not speak to me on the phone, tells his secretary to hang up on me. My oldest brother flies home from Tokyo and takes me out for dinner the night he arrives. He cries. I ask him if he thought this was happening, and he says I look like shit. I didn't know he was crying about me--I thought he had been wiping his eyes about my dad. He pays the bill and drives me to my dorm room. He asks me if I want to get a beer and I say sure. We got to a convenient store and he scours his brain for an answer to why he never stepped in when he saw that things were out of control. I just let him apologize and rant. I don't drink the beer.

A phone call at seven in the morning from my youngest brother to say my parents have decided to throw the contents of the refrigerator at eachother and that my dad has his mom by the throat. I ask him if he can go to school alone. He says sure. I say okay, then go. I call the cops at home, even though I am five hours away. I call my sister, who drives home and says they have lost it.

At home for the summer, my suicidal brother sits around alot and asks me to try and remember what happened the night our mom.... I say I don't. But I do, I don't know why I lie to him, it just feels like he needs to think of it on his own. He packs up his stuff by the second week of the insanity at our house and leaves. He sent me a postcard and called me twice that summer. I dissappeared for a week to snort enough blow that maybe this would go away.

I still haven't told anyone about this. At school, on the phone, by email, I say everything is fine and just cut the bad parts out.

By august, my dad and stepmom are in rehab and I have lost 30 pounds.

My sister is at home, taking care of my brothers while the folks detox, and walks into my bedroom that really isn't my bedroom anymore, but the guest bedroom now. We used to share this bedroom along time ago. When I was 6, she was 17. She sees me packing my bags and she walks up to me very very slowly, like she is walking on snow.

She slaps me. I start screaming expletives and she slaps me again. I start crying. She hugs me and her husband comes into my room and asks me where my paraphenilia is.

I remember thinking that all of this was absurd- a bad movie, that she had just gone mad...-In my mind, everyone had lost it but me this whole time, you see?.... I was capable. I was in charge. I was an A student with smiley pictures of me in prom dresses and in my college cheerleading outfit all over my bedroom.

She says something about how she should have done that years ago.

Conversation with doctor:
[i]
What is it you think you're afraid of? Lets discuss you because you have a lot to say of your parents--but not of yourself.

I can't say for sure.I'm not afraid. Its anxiety I guess.

Do you think you will go back to drugs?

I can't really, well- yes. I mean not so much, I know that was a problem. But things have always been okay- I mean it sounds sad....But well, I was never sad.

Yes. You have come to terms with this have you?

Terms. We're on good terms.

Just stay honest with it.

I don't like to talk to people about it. I think thats best. I wasn't connected to her. I don't want to explain myself all the time.

Don't then.

Yeah.

So have you considered the medication I suggested?

Yes. I'll take it. Things are going to be okay.

Thats why we're here. [/i]

Things were always worthwhile, I was always happy. I never thought that things weren't compatible for me in my life. I can't remember sadness in drugs and the life I was leading until those paintings and the stress of my parents dramatics, of thoughts of losing my brother---I never told anyone about much. I just lived it all and figured I'd have the next day to find what would be next. I wasn't some sad addict or some poor little rich girl--I was just having a good time and loving everything about life. I volunteered, went to school, had a boyfriend. No one knew about what went on.

The paintings. Last year I give one to a professor I really liked, because I hear his son has luekemia. He starts crying. Thats uncomfortable.

I sold one and used the money to help me buy a new car. No one said I was perfect.

I gave a five part series to a methadone clinic I work at. I learn how much the sculpture is worth, or could be worth, and I pull the crate out of the hallway and into the garage and ask my youngest brother to open it. He says it just looks like paint droppings. I auction it, with the help of the high voice guy. Someone in New York buys it.

I kept the last one. Its in my old closet at my parents house, the one I painted with clouds when I was a fifth grader. Its behind some boxes of high school crap. Its still in this crate thing. I know which one it is because in the package of paperwork that came with them, there is a detailed description and then small 5'5 photograph replication of each of the paintings and the sculpture.

Life went on. I finally, after a cocktail of Paxil and coke and whiskey and some guy named Phil, decided that I could remember what had happened that day. I called my stepmom and asked her if I could see her. She flew out that Friday. I asked her to tell me the whole story--from beginning to end to her thoughts.She looked like she was on something like Valium, but she looked like she was at least there--and I had gotten off the rollercoaster and just decided they would have to work it all out--so I didn't care.

We had Italian. She said she hadn't been drinking and ordered a bottle of wine. Yeah.

Then I just started talking, for the first time ever, about what had happened.

Six again. I smelled something funny in her apartment. She had invited us over for the weekend. We wore our new blue jeans. My dad didn't seem happy about it, but she seemed normal and was in her apartment and was our mom after all. We had hot dogs. She boiled them. I remember thinking that was wierd, that we grill them at my house. My brother was too talkative. He always talks so much. She let us paint and we talked about some things like what colors we liked and how often we went to church. I think she had on a blue dress, with no sleeves. Then we went to meet her friend Selma, walking. Selma had a boat, and we went on the boat for a while. We were all going to bed. We had had ice cream. She didn't tell us to brush our teeth. I didn't care. A cot. A baby blue blanket.

Then the story is so terrible. It just stops in my mind with me there, I watch it, like a movie now instead. I look so small.

I have always been utterly terrified of saying these things outloud--like they would break glass shards on someone if I spoke them, they would hurt and mangle and ruin.

Its just not me..I like happy and yellow. All of that just made me bigger.

I want to say this to you D. I am afraid if you know these things, you'd change your mind. So everything keeps getting scarier for me. So maybe one day...just not now, but one day because I have told you more then I ever tell anyone else. Have ever told anyone else.

Terrified,

M

As a child, I always thought something would take me away from my desperately bored town. So I worked hard, but things sort of came my way. There wasn't a reason to work....maybe-this wasn't so true..but I never excelled much, where determination should have been, I had no competition in me- it just happened that I would win, and everyone would smile. Then I was in high school, and more things came. It was easy- to smile and flirt my way through a lot. Sick, isn't it?

So there I was. Former Homecoming Queen, Beauty Queen, Salutatorian, high school dream. Only.. It wasn't a dream per se: The first time I met a very good friend of mine he asked me where I went to high school and I told him and he said, "Oh shit. Those girls give blow jobs for coke."

I didn't argue. I've never given [i]anything[/i] up for drugs--but some would say you give your soul if you harm it. So he was right, even if I'd never given a blow job for anything like that. And I found myself plunged into a world of university that meant no cocaine for breakfast.

High school hadn't been horrific for me- in fact, it had been hilarious fun- always something to do or someone to pick on, or whatever. I look back at pictures of my girlfriends and can sadly give them honest descriptions, like I was writing a book description...We were mean. I made fun of people- I even rolled my eyes at boys. You would have hated me.

Their emails are light and fluffy and sweet and they send christmas gifts that are identical and still sign their cards for my birthdays, "Love, Your Girl!".....So...Why was I a part of this odd Barbie squad, you ask?

My parents were gone. Alot. I had big brothers with cars. Being decent looking invites you into all sorts of circles. I like recreational drug use. I had an older boyfriend who was sweet enough to let us use his swimming pool whenever we wanted to.

I really don't know.

A big part of me wants to go back and say-- to every kid who wasn't us, to all the girls who hated us, to every boy who could have spoken to me--that I was human. But I wasn't, was I?

So there I was. In a pub, at uni--face to face with someone who could blow my habit's cover, blow my cover, whatever. I just looked him in the eye, didn't say anything, and then smiled. I shook a little bit as I walked away, I'm sure.

But I kicked the Barbie Squad. When I felt it enveloped me again in college, I just said, 'bullshit' and walked out. I made friends with everyone--and kicked the coke habit with the help of my parents and sister Yuni. I made sure what I did was what I wanted, as opposed to group think among the penguins/lemmings of pretty girls in the world.

Why does this happen to girls? I am thinking of this today when I recieve an email from a professor I wrote to for advice. He wrote back, very corteous, within a few days. It was blah, blah, encouragement, and then this:

"The pretty girl always wins in the end."

Motherfucker. You don't kick the Barbie Squad right? Because it always seems that for whatever reason, people will think I am dumb or trying to use my (nonexistent) looks, or willing to fuck them over just because I am not hideously nervous behind a sweaty film..or, god forbid... willing to fuck them? A Professor who of course didn't mean to hurt me, managed to recover some still very painful memories of being Malibu Barbie.

Things did come easy. But all the wrong things.

[u]The Things I Have Worked Hard For[/u]
(In No Particular Order)
(This one goes out to you, Mr. Professor)

My degree.
My place in this world as an activist.
My faith in people.
Love.
Learning how to speak several languages.
Patience.
Control over addictive substances.
Control over my choices vs. my parents wishes.
Being a role model to my brothers.
The time I won state in basketball and then again in Editorial Writing. (okay, a bit passe, but I am still happy about it)
Running for Miss Texas. (Well, sheesh, I did work hard.)
Learning to forgive the guy who trampled and broke my heart.
Creating the CBYVO volunteer organization-- (wowee, now has over 10,000 volunteers!)
Saving this world.

I make mistakes. Every day, I know it. But all I can do is what I can do from where I stand. I wish everyone else could see that.

I know I am not mad at what or where the world would have me, I am just venting...give me a day. a lifetime.

[i]"ooohh..I hope you don't mind"[/i]

I open my blog and see that, "Hmmm...apparently 808 someones read this/have read this."

I must be boring, considering I have recieved about three comments. Ahh, my life:

So now I am wondering about some thing: My parents.

1) my dad is a crazy oil and gas attorney who shouts loudly and fishes all day now that he's retired almost, and he says things like...."Fool". My mom is a retired attorney turned teacher who loves all things about this world and is the sweetest, most beautiful lady you'll ever know. They have a karaoke machine and drink gin and tonics while they sit on the patio until 2 in the morning arguing over ridiculous and hilarious things...like who can jump higher, who will die first, what they're first apartment building was named, how often you need to water roses, who has a better singing voice, who makes a better egg....whe the argument is over, they dance around and my dad says things to her like, "Well, now that you've aged, I believe you are becoming like cheese-smellier yet tastier." My mom shouts out on the patio during the day to make him stop fiddling with the boat and says things like, " If you die balancing on that thing, I will be forced to move to Hollywood and spend all your money on some young hunk. So GET OFF OF THE BOW!".

They will, if you are not careful--force you to discuss flatulence, virginity, socialist political views, my father's bout with foot fungus, condom purchases, my menstrual cycle, George Bush, tax evasion, your pants size so that you can have an old pair of one of my brother's pants, res judicata and other legal terms you will know nothing about, and then force you to karaoke a duet with my mother while my dad dances around the room doing a jig and claiming he could have been a broadway star.

(All of this has been done, in front of friends of mine.. sheesh. Note: Don't bring friends home from college)

2) My dad's been married three times. First time, three kids (Arrow, Raul, Yuni), second time two (Omar and I), third time two (David and Mem) . Seven total- 8 grandkids, (Catarina, Samantha, David Arrow, Benjamin, John Antony, Jacqueline, Samuel, and Say) two dogs, and a couple of cats. My stepmom is my mom since she raised me from practically birth. No comment on this, please.

So we need a big freakin' Thanksgiving table.

3) But I was thinking...as I doctor this blog...[i]will I ever find this? [/i]

My dad has always worked abroad and my mom worked/traveled with him...they weren't around alot- we have our issues, on that I mean. There has also been some things like drugs/alcoholic tendencies/etc that have caused tumultuous times...So, do I, as my sister proclaimed once in a heated fight, cause people to not want this with me because I am deadset on otherthings first??? C and I discuss this over too much wine on the beach this weekend. I say, well, I just can't imagine it ever happening to me.

4) My parents never stopped holding hands. Isn't that kind of cool?

Oh well.

Dear Yuni....

Yesterday, I was so desperately bored in this cubicle, thinking of what I could do next, trying to convince myself that if I [i]did[/i] die here, someone would find me and say, "Oh gosh, she did end up looking like the Tales From The Crypt guy, didn't she?...But look, she finished the free trade agreement! Hurry, someone pry it out from under her rotted corpse."

So... I googled my name---yes--god forbid-- and realized my quotes had been used in a newspaper artciel about Ruben.....parlyzed. My life- what is this?..Fuck. Now I cannot move. I wonder if I [i]do[/i] stop breathing, will anyone know?

I get up and stand outside, look at the windows and this city and can't think of where I ended. When did I grow up? When did this emotion of such horrible horrible sadness become my ocean?

D calls. Where I couldn't say how grateful/elated/desperate to leave work I was, I hope I showed it to him by meeting him for McDonalds while he skipped three hours of work.

We have plans to see eachother again at night...he goes golfing/work...I go goof off with C. Then I see him again- and mom calls, poor guy. But he sits through it and I take him on the best BEST BEST surprise ever. We went to the second tallest building here to this open air bar on the 59th floor and looked over this city of 20 million lives and all I could possibly think was how did I not know I was supposed to be kissing this guy here?

I can't give it justice. He is wonderful. Amazing. superlative times ten. knows the nipple scene from cable guy, orders vodka, runs a skipping race with me on the 40th floor of the building, kisses perfectly, has nothing but the sweetest things to say, text messages me the sweetest things, has this impossibly sexy mix of little kid plus man that is just edible.

So. Whats wrong? Absolutely nothing. Is this too fast? Let me tell you whats gone on...I mean..you know I am about that thing and it hasn't happened. I can't help but think it is going to happen, because the attraction is immense....(enough to think about his fingers...?) Okay, well- nothing I can't handle. Okay well maybe (2) things I can't handle, but he makes me feel so comfortable and is perfectly kissing me everywhere. Sheesh. I am out of self-control. ME. Impossible, you say? No. But I just can't go there....Why?

[b]1[/b]-catholic guilt
[b]2[/b]-performance anxiety. The truth of the matter is two men is only well, [i]two men[/i]. He seems to have chalked up quite a few more notches on his bedpost--nothing extravagant, but enough to make me uneasy that I won't be up to par.
[b]3[/b]-as sexy as this boy is...yum yum sexy...I wonder about the intimacy that comes along with saying, 'okay we can have sex'. Its too fast for me. There are these times, you know, when things happen- a date, an okay kiss, whatever. And you think, 'well I am adult' and maybe sex could be an option. Only for me---my catholic girl wierdness, my obvious inexperience, alas--even my ability to withstand way more alcohol then anyone would want to take home with them---well, these oppurtunities/thoughts of sex don't ever come to my mind or even to my door. So why rush what I know would be perfectly wonderful?

However...the very obvious and disastrous: I [i]am [/i]leaving in only 1 month or so.

[b]To do it means:[/b]
1) cast aside catholic oddities. (Impossible, but will write this in...my sins still get confessed/premarital sex is still a sin/etc. etc.)
2) May dissapoint sorely with my title as Captain Crunch of the USS-Never-Been-Laid-Nearl y-As-Many-Times-As-Other- Folks-My-Age.
3) Rush into that intimacy and say, well- Everything felt right, and I trusted him and it was wonderful. But it would still be a rush.
4) Enjoy that yum yummy yummy boy.

[b]To not do it means:[/b]
1) I stick with my track record of 2.
2) I have no sins to shock the priest with
3) I leave. he leaves. when we see each other again, will it be the same?
4) I don't get edible, adorable, sexy him.

Anyway. We got tipsy, kissed alot, it was deliciously wonderful. D makes me KNOW that all I thought about post-B--about being still happy me, about knowing what I did and walking away, about being positive--D makes me think that I knew those things were real, but now I can experience them--and that is the best thing a friend could give me.

So?
Your sister,

Mariana Crunch

[b]Fallen: Ruben Valdez Jr., U.S. Marine lance corporal, Age 21 [/b]


Lance Cpl. Ruben Valdez Jr. loved to laugh, loved to make others laugh and loved his country.

Valdez, 21, of ________, was killed April 18 while trying to pull a wounded comrade to safety during a firefight in Husaybah, Iraq, on the Syrian border.

"He was an awesome kid," said Yolanda Torres, who taught him Spanish for two years at ________ High School in Valdez's hometown.

"He wore braces, and all we could see was the braces because he was always smiling," Torres said.

She said Valdez was a dedicated student and a hard worker who had held a job at a local fast-food restaurant.

Mariana ________, a classmate of Valdez's until their high school graduation, recalled him as a born comic who dressed up as Cookie Monster for his preschool Halloween.

"I remember a few classes where I had to leave to go to the bathroom, he had me laughing so hard," said _____, a senior at _____ University. "He was really lovable. ... I can't say enough good about the guy."

She said Valdez shared a love of country with many of the people who lived in her small town, and it was his goal to join the Marines.

Valdez enlisted June 21, 2001, shortly after graduation, and participated in last year's march on Baghdad. He was an assaultman in Lima Company, 3rd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division from Camp Pendleton. Valdez was based in Twentynine Palms.

He married his childhood friend, Amy Hernandez, last year and returned to Iraq this year.

According to Ron Harris, a St. Louis Post-Dispatch reporter embedded with Valdez's company, Valdez and another Marine were killed when they tried to move a wounded buddy out of harm's way. They were hit when they entered a room crowded with insurgents, Harris told KRIS 6 News in Corpus Christi, Texas.

______ said she wasn't surprised that Valdez died trying to save a comrade. San Diego is a small southern Texas town with 4,000 to 5,000 residents.

"Everyone that leaves San Diego, Ruben included, has 8,000 hands holding them up, and that results in a lot of bravery and pride," she said.

San Diego High School Principal Luis Pizzini said Valdez was the second recent graduate killed in Iraq, which is notable because the school only has about 450 students.

Pizzini said he did not know Valdez well because the young man was not a regular visitor to his office.

"He was a good son," Pizzini said. "He didn't cause any problems for his parents."

Valdez's family declined to be interviewed.

– Michael Burge

Dear Mom,

I recieved your emails and I emailed you back-- but I was thinking of snail mail, and decided you need a new post for your fridge.

There is no day in my life that I am not grateful for all you have given me. You are a beautiful role model-wonderful mother-amazing comedian-best karaoke singer-sexy momma-faithful teacher-and wonderful wonderful example of having faith in people.

Thank you. This post made me think of these things, so I will write them. Thank you for letting me be your daugher.

M

Beach. This weekend. I cannot wait.....so I will think of songs to be thinking of while lying on the beach?

this song...I think it makes me think about knowing that --Mariana--she didn't stop because of any roller coaster I've been on. I do equate some of it to D, since he is so [i]beautifully yummy[/i]- but the lyrics have love and love and well,-- I'm in love with D, but I'd die of embarassment if he ever knew that...... But I love, love this song. makes me think of more then just dating/love....

it makes me more positive then most songs can make me, as it is I listen to a lot of rap...but this song has been a pillar in some wacky things- and how does she sing it so perfectly?

Eva Cassidy, Songbird

[i]For you there'll be no crying
For you the sun will be shining
Cause I feel that when I'm with you
It's alright, I know its right

And the songbirds keep singing
Like they know the score
And I love you, I love you, I love you
Like never before

To you, I would give the world
To you, I'd never be cold
Cause I feel that when I'm with you
It's alright, I know its right
[/i]

Other songs that may be heard this weekend:

Patrick Swayze 'She's Like The Wind'

Ha. Apparently Patrick Swayze sings this song....I think that is hilarious, and now I owe D dinner...

Michael Jackson 'Beat It'.

Oh pooey. I love this song, people think he's a perv, but he was great before he was a perv.

Nas 'Get Down'

Nas can get down on me anyday.

Talib Kwali 'That Feeling'

and so can you, talib.

Wreckx and Effects 'Rumpshaker'

heehee...this song is so much fun

Snow 'Informer'

among the best..

Dizzee Rascal 'I Love You'

Annoyingly catchy...


One of the best songs in the world..., why did you write your songs for me?

""Meet El Presidente""

[i]Miss November Tuesday,
Bend your rubber rules.
Take your time, but don't take
Off your high heeled shoes.
She's in demand at dinner time;
She's on the factory wall.
And when the gentlemen retire
Guess who's in control?
She blew your money
On taking a cruise.
If that isn't funny,
Well, watch out teacher.

[CHORUS]
Ooh, ooh. When the chamber's empty
She said ooh, ooh, Meet El Presidente.

Dressed in flimsy clothing,
Use your lipstick line
To colour fear and loathing
With a pink disguise.
You've never refused when she lies back
Put a stripe on the union; and a star on the jack.
She's on the case at dinner time.
She's on the evening news.
And if you dare step out of line
You're going to be abused.
You may not like it;
You may not be scared.
But hell has no fury like a
Young girl's ego.

[CHORUS]

Ooh, ooh. Doo, doo, doo.
You might adopt an attitude;
Look on the moral side.
But if police are after you,
Where's the best place to hide?
For this production
They gave her a gun.
Ain't no director--
So watch out actors!



[/i]

There are some criterion you must adhere to prior to being deemd eligible to take this Melt-Test. (Yes, I have some standards..)

To be eligible for my thoughts at every moment of my work day, you must:
-not be, very obviously, a creepy 60 year old man/ big girl who goes by Pat or Earl/ of any relation to me/ not of the humanoid race...etc. etc.
-intelligent, witty, sweet, and all things yummy tasting...moral...most of all hilarious....must hate tuna...must never, ever say anything bad about your mother/my mother/my best friend......must not kick/dislike dogs, threaten children...must say bless you when I sneeze...open the door, without thinking...smile sexy when I didn't have any inkling you knew I had some impossibly dorky thirteen year old crush on you...
-when walking by me, your smell must make me think thoughts not allowed in church/Lutheran coffee meetings/
visits to my grandmother's house....
-have and UPHOLD good faith in people...always..

If you, or someone you know, can fulfill the above requirements...then:

[b]1) [/b]Can you, in minute detail, describe [i]any[/i] Beavis and Butthead cartoon? [u](If Yes, go on to number 2, if No, go to number 4)[/u]

[b]2) [/b]Can you drunkenly dance with me to Michael Jackson's Beat It, and when I smell your collar can you make me want to kiss your fingers....? (Kissing fingers is not anything I have ever wanted before..but if you dance..) [u](If Yes, go on to number 3, if No, go to number 5)[/u]

[b]3) [/b]Are you impossibly sexy when you describe, in perfection, exactly how I feel about the world...or anything.......butter?jobs?DuranDuran?[u ](If Yes, go to number 4, if No, go to number 5)[/u]

[b]4) [/b]But can you describe the movie Mom and Dad Save the World? [u](If Yes, go to Ending #1, if No, go to number 5)[/u]

[b]5) [/b] As a last chance.....have you, or anyone you know for that matter (as a plus for association) ever called a girl Miss Universe in the morning after she has definetly consumed more then most long-time alcoholic men drink and undoubtedly smells like a nursing home? [u](If no, go to Ending #2, if yes, go to Ending #1)[/u]

ENDING #2: Unfortunately, though you and I may be attracted to each other--as the clear pre-requisites have probably established--I see no future in someone who lags in horrible cultural knowledge such as what the neighbor's name was in Beavis and Butthead...I wish you all the luck, though. You and I have probably met at my uni pub or something equally as silly-we may have even kissed once or twice, but I can foresee no insanely delicious elevator kissing between us/future prospects of longer then a week/owning a dog together.

ENDING #1: Your name is probably D. You make me think of insanely adorable song lyrics and what kind of underwear you might be wearing. You----being the reason I have been grinning goofily for the last two days--may not realize just how long I can kiss you, so if you are free for the rest of the summer....? (Elevator?) But most of all, thank you for making me know that all of my 'positive affirmations' and always knowing I could never be so jaded was well.....very well indeed...well worth it, sexy D. My favorite part of the summer? you.

Dear Yuni-- Since I have the worst hangover/mind is completely elsewhere, I will number this to make it easier.

1) He kissed me.

I have nothing else to say, except that how will I leave this guy in August? For once,[i] I[/i] actually don't have a thousand words to say about something.

WOweee. That will be sufficient.

2) I hate having diabetes. You know this already, but I will say it one more time, lest we forget. The reasons for this are apparent, but yesterday I accomplish the search for one more of hundred reasons to FUCKING be disgusted by this. It is always in the back of my alcoholic mind. What if I just stopped? Sigh,..... life. I won't pass this one to anyone, will I?

3) I took the LSAT. Its over. A toast, or several, courtesy of the adorable gift from D of a bottle of Johnny Walker- ah, my friend Johnny, (and I GOT TO kiss HIS FINGERS!!!, D's not Johnny's and was more then I ever thought.....I just have nothing to say other then I can't wait till he gets off of work..me, nothing to say? Impossible....) and I have reached the height of the tests that will determine our meek lives. How are mom and dad so nonchalantly lawyers? My life will be dictated for a while, I guess. So be it, the test went fine, I know I kicked its ass, and the celebratory kissing/walker drinking/dancing was fun fun fun.

4) I do believe, though I was able to kiss him, I have officially sealed my fate as a fool. At the bar....before the kiss...and we are shit faced and he asks me when I will leave and I say August 17th and he says thats a month and MY STUPID MIND thinks, Yes D--You have a month to kiss me. Alas, not only did I think this--- [i]I said it. [/i] And then slapped my hand over my mouth. he had to have noticed...I was entirely speechless for a good while after saying this ridiculous statement. But he kissed me, walking home....did it work? I have no idea...never again will I take my brain with me to a bar. I will have to check it out to someone or place limits on what it is allowed to say.

Fool. He is a wonderful kisser,

I miss you terribly--

Mariana

(Note #1) (I take the fucking LSAT on Tuesday. Why WHY why was this there??? In the folder. This letter is two years old!?! I know that moving out of my apartment, my mom threw things from some places into other places without thinking that I had any order-but this?
What the hell?-- I [i]did[/i] think it was appropriate for my feelings on B lately--but still achingly painful. YUCK....but, I know my door is closed.. B loved me, and things went wrong between us. There were things- despite gorgeous letters and music made just for me--that I cannot compromise about myself, nor stand to see him do to himself. The fucking LSAT folder, I wonder? But. I can take the test and say that somehow, that letter should have been there. Miracles--and reality--and my words--B didn't change any of that. I am still impossibly dorky. As I've said before, I am still Mariana. I still get to be the girl he wrote these letters to. )

(Note #2)( Motherfucker. Pop up when I least expect you, and I will feel like, well--[i]maybe things could have worked.[/i] But I am just lonely/worried/ preoccupied with being real person. Whiskey, why aren't you available at work?)


Dear Bug,

You once told me about a mathematics guy who proved that with probability theory, everyone experiences, on average, a miracle a day. You seemed to genuinely believe this--and seemed excited enough to sum up the fact that you had not been late for work to probability theory. I think I seemed doubtful, but now I am changing my mind.

Last night I realized what you said that one night--about reality being you and I--not the memory we'd have. Because all that was there was you and I and [i]that[/i] and [i]then[/i].

I have accomplished the addition of new and excitingly sexy vocabulary words such as: 'coinkydink', 'buttsex', 'largemarge', 'barferella' ,
'captain', 'heinous' , 'alkyhall', 'drayma' ,
'wisheshopesdreamsandthin gs' and the ever useful 'putada'.

I have been succesfully woken up by you several times and the hilarity of the kiss of death always works.

I have begun to observe 'To Hell With It Days' almost faithfully. (And I have--though sheepishly-- enjoyed Extreme Makeover)

I love, love you. Music girl, dammit girl. There won't be a day that I can't think of how I could love you more than this. But I'll try.

Your B
*

*This is after many, many whiskey sours. And then whiskey shots. And then purchasing a bottle of whiskey, which now belongs to C and myself- we own a number, number 4232, in fact--with which we now have exclusive right to that very same bottle when we return to this bar.

Text Message: 07-*******

[b]so drnk bt wish u wr hr[/b]

*

Why in the hell did I do this?? Have I lost my mind? Of course-- and mortifyingly so, there is no reply. Who could reply to that?....I must have spilt my brains/common sense on the bar somewhere between telling the bartender I would only marry him if he gave me a big wedding and discussingly, quite seriously, with C the various forms of OCD she seems/claims to be afflicted by. (She has no such afflictions)

We head home. I am mortified next morning when I see my in message of 'write message'. Yup. Sent the fucking thing, didn't I?

So what could have happened? Ranked in order of my preference:

1) he didn't get it
2) he chose to ignore it.
3) he saw it. wrote back, "[b]Wierdo[/b]", and vowed to never speak to me again in any such way that would cause me to administer such drunken text messages.

Oh, and lets not forget a fantasy option:
Fantasy Option 1) (this option of course outranks all preferences previously noted) he saw it. wrote back/wanted to write back that he wished he was here too?

I am a thirteen year old girl. I cannot believe what this ridiculous crush has diminished me to- yuck. But, hey- I really only thought of him while drunk as a skunk, and I really did wish he was there. He's fun.

C and I also call my sister to drunkenly ask her who Goose's friend was in Top Gun. C decides she wants to be Goose--and I should be Vampire. However. I know that 'Vampire' is in no way ever mentioned in Top Gun--since I know the words by heart--but for some reason Tom Cruise's name has escaped my whiskey laden brain.

My sister takes us quite seriously, placing us on hold and insisting she will have to call back once she accomplished our mission. She does not note that for us it is 3 in the morning, since for her it is 3 in the afternoon.

She calls back with one, elated word-- "MAVERICK!"

We both scream and thank her. We have new nicknames--These new names, however, quickly change to "motherpecker" and "pootietang"....whiskey can do wonders, can't it?

OH. But---- (at this point, achingly dreadful music plays) I did send the dorkiest text message ever. Text message too- EEK. I know now impending rejection is impossible. Oh well- the little attraction. (big attraction?) was enough to make me see many many things that needed to be changed. NO more insecurities, [i]or at least [/i]I will try to work on them. Boys aren't scary. I mean, [i]he is a bit[/i]-- but I can handle all that comes my way.

sigh. a text?! What a ridiculous doodle brain, you are Mariana.

Dear Daughter,

Is this luck or what? You are being mistaken for a Bangladeshi starlet, and I am fighting a rat in my wall....
Yes it's true. I am trying the Manuel Noriega variety of torture--playing AM radio loudly 24/7 blasting his rat hole. Your dad keeps reading internet rat sites and not killing it or not hiring an executioner/exterminator...Meanwhile Mem and I have no internet at home. We are ready to strangle eachother. The grandchild pack gets here tomorrow....Poor Uncle Mem- puberty, your father and I are apparently no longer cool whatsoever, and he has to deal with the invasion of the bodysnatchers. Yes. Even I will say it, the grandchildren are loud. But it will be fun. I have been working writing curriculum all week. We're heading to the beach house for the time being. Dam this rat.... David is coming in with R--I will tell him once again to call/write/communicate with you more often. He claims he has emailed you and you two are in correspondence. I do not know what to do with that boy. . I sound like a broken cd. The Pistons killed the Lakers last night 88-68 in Detroit! But alas, no Spurs. It wasn't in our stars. Hopefully by next year you will be wedded to Manu Ginobli and we'll have courtside seats when they win the championship. Am I pimping my daughter for Spurs tickets? Oh, lord. Arrow and Di are incredibly busy with work, as are Raul and Celeste- I know the break while we have the kids will be much needed. Apparently Celeste is thinking she will take a mini-vacation?
Mem begins basketball camp Monday. Yuni is constantly making us laugh with her tales of the adventures of Say.
B got a new car--she says for you to bring her back a key ring.
L M is getting married. S is already going back to Iraq--sorry I was too late in getting his
address. But I know you will pray for him--
I love you and miss you.
Sorry, so sorry I have not been able to call you more often. Call me whenever you feel like it-- despite time difference. I will speak to you in my sleep-- isn't it poetic, my day has just begun- the day you have already lived? Always, always be safe. I know I am just your boring nag but I have to tell you these things. I love your letters. Keep it up!

Love, Mom

. Your father said he emailed you about your plans??? Please tell me more.
. I am endlessly proud of you, bug!

Re: MARIANA!!!! WHASSSSUP?

Hey Nana-

So you're on your way to speaking the language? Mom and Dad are making me work THREE jobs. I have no free time. I did buy that book Soul Mountain-- did you know he's the first Chinese author to win a nobel peace prize. But for me, at least [i]now[/i], peace is more then ideas in overpriced books at Barnes & Noble. But---I'll read it. Mom already finished it. And wants me to discuss it. I have no discussion in me, as I have not even cracked the dam thing open. Speaking of crack- B called Dad and he was SO p-ed. Dad was fuming enough to go get on the boat and just sit there. Wierd. I know Dad and Mom hate KI for me, but I think they have some serious BEEF with B. I do too that fucker- if I had answered the phone, but you know that.
Okay. So I thought abt what you wrote. You really are my closest friend right now. BUT what the hell, Mariana? I didn't wreck your car to hurt you. I felt really bad to hear that (read that) so just so you know- everything will be taken care of. You made me think. I'm making more of an effort. You always have it all together--and that pisses most people off, but then when I talk to you, its like you really hide alot of shit inside. I can't do that. When mom and dad piss me off, I go off. But I will work on it- and do the yoga stuff you sent me. I just feel lame- but you're so zen-like....I'll work on it- I think your letter about this D guy was hilarious. And he has my name.... Wierd. J has Dad's name, and remember that dude you brought to granma's thing- he had O's name. You trying to tell us something? Go for it. Like this guy [i]doesn'[/i]t like you? Couldn't like you? You're hilarious, and not to mention fairly decent looking and smart. No just kidding. you know what you are-the hottie that you are, if you weren't my big sis I'd think you were hot. go for it. And OKAY--? I know you love her---I do too but you shld not worry about competition or stepping on peep's toes because you're not. Thats my view of it. Kiss the guy--because he'll be blown out of the water. KI's been calling. This happens because she's on summer break and home and 'ohhhhh she misses me.' Bull. She's got some bf in Cali and I should play around now? Not that it wouldn't be fun..... CH scored all this dank and we've been doing that, I am officially hating my summer, my jobS, even the weather-- so this makes things seem brighter. Sorry- but sheesh. I got my grades. Mom and Dad had a conniption. I left. I am rereading some Shakespeare, slowly. The beach house is so busy--everyone has been in and out. The rugrats are all coming on Monday. Tell me about your adventures. Could you send more pics??? They're so awesome. That postcard thingie was the best though...did you really take that? He looked so serene, and he made Mem and I think of you. Becuase he was bald. ha. What do monks wear under those dress things? But what was with the toilet pic? Mom was so embarassed because she was showing them to P or soemthing and then it was a toilet and she was like, oh- and then the next pic is of you holding a whiskey bottle. Oh- shit- almost forgot. You know how R's car got stolen by those strippers he let in his apartment? Yeah- they found the thing. Completely stripped. I told him its an organized crime ring. He must have pissed the boss off.
Okay. Thats all. Write me. Or call my cell phone-

Your brother*

Re: DAVID! Wasssup????

Dear Davedavedave,

3 jobs? Mom and Dad are insane. I am so sorry- but hey, like I said- you know, they'll be upset for a while. And you'll live. I've done worse things- and they still love me. Ha. Remember the things O did?? Hilarious. You're just on your way to being another one of their certifiably insane adult children. You should take pictures-man-you know you are so much better then I am. Take the rats pictures. They'll love that. . WOW. You should go stay at the house house. Dave- DO NOT GET BACK WITH KI. I don't care how bored you are. She's just not for you--because she is a nut. Such drama. DRAY-MA. Okay. thats all I have to say about that. About the D thing: I can't. and I am sure He doesn't like me. I have no confidence. C is wierded out by it, I know. But this is what I am getting....I just feel wrong/right. I mean he feels right. The situation sucks. The wanting to kiss him is crappy...why couldnt' I have just known him first? Okay...complete dork fantasy--but you know before I met I--his bestfriend--I actually had a class with D. Shoulda. Woulda. Can't now. okay.
David. Practice being positive. All the time. For me. I am sorry about the comment I made about the car being hurtful. But you know, I know you will take care of it.
I listen to WAY too much shitty music here. No not shitty- nostalgic, hilarity. I have this really funny cd with Master P, Kriss Kross, even Vanilla Ice- ha. reminds me of our dj contests when we were kids. So. serious now, My motto- which you know--is All I know is what I know from where I stand. Meaning-- no pride, its useless. no anger, its gets you nowhere. love what you can, and who you can. Be in control of the things you can control- and do not let what you can't control consume you. Be moral, be good, and take care of yourself, be at peace. What you do decide to do-- DO it. Don't bullshit yourself. The whole "all I know.." it just sums it up for me. I am Mariana, I'm rocking what I want to do, and I enjoy it all--I have no judgments for others- well, just jokes- and thats that. Make the world--from your stance--better. And then go to sleep at night and know you did your very best, with every intention of going back to do it all again. Cheesy-- I know. But useful....So Dad emailed me this loooong, 'You're doing what you want' email about support. The words, "forty and broke" were in it-- I swear. Ouch. But he's just trying to love me--and is worried. But David- Its corny- But when I see what I am doing here touches so much more then I can touch from law school, from home, wow. My work-its tangible, not money in the bank. I don't care though. He seems resigned to not care either anymore. But we'll see. I don't talk to anyone about it you know---I hate for people to think I am trying to convince them so I can convince myself. I just see what people see when they see me, and I feel so judged and little. Like they think I am not cut out to work with this.....because ...what?? Anyway, I am not bugging. I love my work. Dad can live with it. He actually said I could go to Africa. I felt horrid. You know I was going anyway--but okay, now I have his blessing.
Don't smoke too much pot, little brother. Tell G I said for her to call me--- be safe, work hard, and you'll be grateful for school when it starts again.
I love you very much--!
Mariana

*

We have aviators, which we now wear while driving around in a Tuk-Tuk and drinking big beers.We have a new uniform.

We saw a boxing match--at which we were the only two, over-dressed American girls with aviators and vodka--yet we screamed during it all. Offered to kiss bar boy for a free beer. Offered C's kiss for her, since she is too drunk at this point to understand we are on our way to an incredibly cheap evening through bargaining.

I happily get on a mototaxi of an obviously just as intoxicated as me driver, C is laughing the whole way to the bars, and he is saying beautiful, beautiful. I call him my husband. He gives me a marlboro red. Apparently my hubbie is a big spender, considering reds cost a dollar fifty here.

I won't remember what we talked about or how we accomplished the ride home. I will remember seriously bargaining for a chicken leg from a scary street vendor illuminated by her generator powered lightbulb. I will remember C tripping, almost falling. I will know when to pick her beer up- we buy new additions to our uniform, fake adidas jackets, white-with black stripes- our aviators slipping down our noses, as the heat is stifling here. I buy beer for the mototaxi drivers--we buy beer at 711 and walk with it, stumbling....I will remember quietly not wanting to admit I want to eat McDonalds to our new friends we have picked up at a gas station/bar. And demonstrating to C how to use the hole in the floor bathroom. How did I even learn to do this, I wonder?

So I will be late to work in the morning. 3 or 4 hours late. K will blow a fat cock, as usual- and make some statement about my tardiness. I won't care- because C and I have listened to a cd of christmas songs while we have cookies and milk for breakfast.

She blasts me for drunkenly bitching about her dirty feet in my bed. I don't even recall doing this-but I see her feet are dirty, and just laugh.

And then I wear the aviators on my way to work.

Re: Your Plans

MARIANA,

I have been very busy. The office has three clerks this summer and all three are without brains. JoAnn is always asking about you---we got your postcard at the office, and your mom has your posts on the fridge at the beach house. I haven't caught any fish lately, partly because I have lost the keys to my tacklebox and partly because your little brother has now decided because it is hot enough, he will swim (scare fish) while I am simply supposed to drive him around in the boat. I will have to buy him a raft. I did catch a flounder, your mom pan fried it. We had crabs this weekend, and your sister's husband threw a clab claw at mom's plate--I almost spit across the table when I saw her face.

Well, daughter, I hope you are being safe and saving some money once in a while. I am still not so sure about what you are doing, but you know that already. Law school will prepare you for some things I think you are not prepared for right now; I really do think it is your best option. You seem to find energy in endless adventure and want to fix this world--which I can respect. But if saving the world is not accomplished by the time you are thirty, what will your plans be? I want a clear and detailed plan from you eventually. I understand that what you want for yourself is not what I want for you, I will not argue with you about this any longer. Go to Africa. Stop lying to your mother and I about finding something else, because I know where you want to be. My house is yours, and I will gladly pay for graduate school and/or any adventures you need help with. But I do want you to know that I feel you will one day want security and safety and I will not let you live in my house when you are forty and broke. But I have faith you will find your way, and you should really call your mother more often. I already asked you to CC your grandparents. Your grandfather calls you eggroll now.

Your idiot brother is fixing your car. Everyone misses you, even the cat. Your B boy called me concerning your things. I took care of most of it, I still want you to know your brothers and I can make his death slow and painful.

We have almost all of the grandchildren, except Say, for three weeks starting Monday. I am sure I will be exceptionally annoyed during this time.

CALL YOUR MOTHER. DON'T BE A FOOL.

Dad

Herrrrroooooo?

Hello?

Wassshhha doing brother?

Mariana, is that you?

Yeah! What are you doing?

Hmmm. Nothing. I'm going to the gym at noon.

Going to go get Buff?

Shut up.

Okay, C and I want to know who calls my phone. (C is precariously perched in her chair, the glass of gin she is holding sloshes down as she places it on the table and tries to light a cigarette. She is laughing and the cigarette falls out of her mouth)

Uh. Some guy named Jmo calls all the time.

JMO! (C and I laugh hysterically...we have both already reached the point where we are wearing our aviators and burping alcohol. The waiter is staring at us. Jmo is some basketball player I knew in another lifetime...)

Yeah. And he must like you, because his messages are prett funny.

Okay. Do Bill Murray please?

No.

Please, C and I are dying to hear it, PLLLLEEEAAASEEEE?

No. Don't be stupid.

Okay. Whatever.

Okay I'll do it.

(C leans in close to my head and we hear my fourteen year old brother turn in to Bill Murray, dead on. We both crack up)

I can't do it if you guys laugh.

Okay okay.

(He again turns in to Bill Murray...)

Okay.

You're hilarious- I miss you.

I miss you too. Buy me something big.

I'll think about it.

(I laugh)

You're mean, Mariana

No I wasn't laughing at you- its C--she's pretending to know how to light a cigarette. (C has still not accomplished the cigarette lighting)

Are you out right now?

Yeah at a bar-

Oh. Be safe.

Don't be a nerd.

Shut up.

I'll call you soon, my dah-ling.

Mariana you're so wierd.

Yes- and you're related to me, small fry

Are you drunk?

No. Tell mom I called. Be safe-- love you.

Love you too, drunk.

*

NOTE: Today is Thursday..July..well,I forget the date, but I am editing this blog because I threw out the notes. Yes, friends- I took that dam accordion folder that held nothing in particular that was important and threw it all out. Of B I want to remember one thing when I am forty: That he made lovely music. I can remember music, I do not need notes/letters stashed around anymore.

Only, I cannot decide what to do here: Shall I keep the good ones posted, and recall the great times B and I did have? Shall I keep the horrid ones posted (like the one on a gum wrapper he taped to the bathroom mirror that said"FUCK YOU"..my but that took effort) and recall why I know I am best now without him?

Because I cannot decide, I will keep my favorites here in my online sanctuary just in case one day I have amnesia and he walks into my life...so here, both bad and good:

Drunkard, thank you for the lovin' you give me. Hope you're okay today- B

B LOVES MONKEYS.

R at Greenbriar. Shell on the left-keys are on the fridge, lovelovelove B

your dad called. me a fool. at 7:30 in the am. call back. he's "expecting you to call". Love you- good luck.

The shower curtain fell down. Don't use the shower. I took ten dollars, sorry. lovelove

FUCK YOU.

KISS. (on the back of a reciept for two sandwiches on thursday. why did he tell me he didn't eat dinner because he felt sick? there it is. the time. dinner time. on Thursday. With two beers, two sandwiches. And he leaves this note by my carkeys?)

I LOVE BUG, love whitey

To the bestest, sexiest, smartest, and drunkest girlfriend. HAPPY BIRTHDAY. HAAAAAPPPPYYY BIRRRTHDAY.

your website. NEED TO TALK. B

Need my black shoes. Why haven't you been answering your phone? Give me my cds if you're going 2 be an ass. CALL ME.

Be safe, lovelove whitey


Okay. Now, since I threw out all pictures except ones that contained mutual friends and we are all having a good time--I feel much better. Only there are these things I feel like I need to say outloud or I will never know what its like to have told someone the truth of what went down between B and I.

When my friend died, Iraq was all I could think of.....B was around, were we 'together'? --[u]No[/u]. We were in our final 'trying to work it out' episode. The episode to end all episodes, for we were very tumultuous in that we were friends before we dated, hence the insistent call to continuosly trample eachother's hearts rather then lose a friend.

B comes over. C tells him my friend died. He looks at me, says he's sorry. Then he asks me what I want to do that night.

I almost screamed.

I have Iraq, mortality, etc on the brain. We're outside, I am crying on a chair and he is staring at me. Then he tries to comfort me in some awkward way, but is kissing and licking on my neck and is obviously very drunk and high--so I stop him, gently. He then looks at me wounded and starts to tell me a story about someone he knew who died. I listen, only his story revolves around drugs--as most of his do- and I begin to wander in my thoughts.

I land on a horrific view of Ruben flying home to his mom and B not even knowing or caring how much this person meant to me. Or even saying his name.

I start to tell B about him and my mind leads to the very obvious difference between B and I that is sitting on the balcony with me that night. B does not know people who will die in war before him, because he does not think of this difference.

I let myself start to talk about it. I don't know what I say, but he argues against it. I say how can you say that? He says because you just said anything your friend did he had to work harder then I will ever have to work.

I think thats true.

Its not. You can't fucking say that.

B, I'm only saying he was poor and Hispanic and thats not fair, because its not something he chose, and okay- you didn't choose to be wealthy and white, but you are what you are, and he was what he was- and things are not easily passed to you when you are a minority in cyclical poverty, okay?

(He looks at me like I have just told him I was satan here to take his soul)

Where the fuck do you get off, Mariana? What the fuck is that, seriously? You have something seriously wrong if thats how you're seeing the world. Shut the fuck up.

B. Don't get mad. Okay...............


forget the rets of the story. it was all so wrong

Yuni!

All is well here...I bought huge aviator sunglasses and smoked way too many cigarettes last night. C and I talked of war and the roller coaster we've been on since knowing each other. Mom and Dad come up. I tell her that that ride is over, I got off that crazy train, to quote Ozzy. She thinks about this for a while---where else can we go but off? She cries when she talks about me coming back for sophomore year and how she could see my bones on my back when I changed. I felt like shit- all she ever did was stand behind me, quietly- waiting for me to say, Hey you know there are these things wrong in my life, and I can't even say them out loud, so instead I decided to stop eating. Where we would have met, I can't say- but I have known this girl for every walk I've ever had on this earth.
She also tells me this crazy fucking thing about DC. Apparently, according to me at one time I called him and asked him to come over--like for ...sex. And he turned me down. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I couldn't stop- the tears just fell. That fucking crazy fool. I have ZERO balls, ZERO attraction to him, ZERO recall of this sexy phone call, and ZERO notion that he would have turned down that oppurtunity. But- she said he was dead serious, and dead drunk, and all she could think was, "Mariana wanted to have sex with him?" Ha. I can just picture this 'sex scene'...and its a comedy.
This draft thing? Is it real? I can scream, my thoughts, they jumble together in this scream about that. Ruben didn't have to die-no one does. I can never say war is okay to me--there aren't winners. Ruben will always be a little boy to me- fuck the night my rich friends around a bar blabbing about how they'd run, how they'd go to Mexico. All I can think is, 'well what makes you better then my friend who was only trying to do right? Just because you have the money to leave? The knowledge that war will kill you, even in ways that you may come home okay, you will have died, you will have fired a gun and thought, 'my there is little back, this gun hardly moves when I press this trigger' on this, and then fired again? Because you know-or have some sense that what my friend died for is so you sons and daughters of lawyers and doctors can can leave when you're called? Is that freedom? Drafts and war--they're wrong. Very simply, no one's mother--no matter what nationalty, should lose the person they knew before words to a war. But a draft does level a field I know very well-- because I can say I am of both worlds--I can sit in a bar, with these children of privelege, because I am them, right? But I can say I knew this soldier when he was 4 years old, and we'd always be the first to prekindergarten class, and he'd cry and I'd cry too. How he made me laugh so much, the day he got his braces off in junior high, how he goofily tried to play basketball. So I am from both worlds. And that these kids, to them, a soldier who dies is a name in a war they don't know. To me, this soldier's name in the newspaper, the collective, it was my lifetime before I felt my heart beat again. There is no exception to the rule that we [i]will all die[/i]--but there is unfairness in that he would have died first before me, though we have known eachother our whole lives, and because I drew a lucky hand--because he was poor and we are not, we all know who dies first in wars, who our soldiers are....only to my uni friends, those soldiers aren't a 6 year old dressed as Cookie Monster waiting for me to unwrap a roll of smartees. I would have died for him, I would have screamed when this conversation moved to the draft, I would have thrown my beer in I's face. Only I have no balls---so I sat there, and boiled, and when I tell C about this, she is shocked and lost for a moment. Because we know both worlds, right? No draft will happen...Americans and fairness? Ha. But the idea will throw many mothers into some place they never thought they'd know. And I will angrily, and perhaps someday only sadly, remember that all I could think of when Ruben flew home, that night....was that I wanted him to fly home to his mother with respect--for everyone in the world to know this soldier like I did, to know names aren't only names but children and moms and grandmas and easter memories and achingly nerdy adolescent attempts at coolness and first kisses and Michael Jackson songs in the shower and human mistakes and in war [i]people[/i] die. But I don't say any of this to them, maybe I don't want them to be that human?
C and I get sufficiently drunk and I tell her about D...with very little details (no mole) and only sought her thougts. She said she never would have thought of it how I thought of it, and that D was cool. I don't go any further...because she doesn't seem so sure of this. So I drop it. All I know is what I know from where I stand....and there is more to living friendships where we have become connected in our minds. She wouldn't mind, of course, but competition between the two of us is sometimes salty like things you taste when you're drying off at the ocean- but I want to say she hasn't lost any competition-she won, actually, and I am only where I am. She insists its perfectly fine--but now, permission standing, I hate competitiveness-would I only be pursuing this to beat her? No- I tell myself, of course not. But if she thought so, where would I be? So I will avoid him. There is something there--I mean between us--like chemistry and interest, that is reciprocal between us, but that the situation is just retarded for. I can still [i]think[/i] about kissing him and asking him a million questions-just not do it.
Okay. Enough for today, my pschyoanalyst. Email me soon and tell me about what happened yesterday. Don't worry about me-- I am safe, and I now own huge aviator sunglasses.
Mariana, who loves you very much and is eternally grateful for your expertise

Ps. Ahhhhhh. Having sex with DC? I would crush his little

body.

Tell C about my crush on D?

At some point do some sight seeing, right? But vacations- as a child even- you're so fucking stressed. Sight seeing brings back odd memories of my parents being annoyed by each other, uncomfortable photos in which you must smile and pose next to the stickiest sibling you have because you're still to small to push the older ones close to the smelly one. Wanting some dumb souvenir. And it breaks in the car, right? Then I am older, and my parents stop marathoning it- get older? They start vacations in which what we do is--relax. Nothing. We lounge, they drink. We play cards and scrabble at the beach and they tell us crazy stories of their romance. Why--why--I wonder- was there such insanity as a child? So I haven't seen anything here--oops.

Tell C all about all things hilarious here. I will have to remember this...but I hope she isn't tired when she gets here tonight. Flying thirty hours is painful.But drinks in plastic sacks with straws coming out of them are hilarious.

Go to the doctor eventually.

Stop drinking. as much.

Make an effort to go to bed earlier.

STOP.STOP the incessant Phil Collins listening. I believe my romantic awakening/musical tastes belong in 1983. I should have been in my twenties in 1983..not now...I wish I had spandex pants and big bangs. Also-If you cannot tell people of the secret love for Phil..well, stop. But for some reason, for the past month I have listened to nothing but Nas and Phil Collins. Odd combination.

Ha- what time is it over there?

Its 2 in the afternoon, and you?

Its 2 in the morning, wierd.

Are you drunk?

Of course, I was thinking about you in that crazy country. Whats it like?

Wonderful. I love it. I won't ever leave--I mean, until I have to.

Do you go out at all?

Sometimes..I mean, well. (OMIT OMIT OMIT, I think..he doesn't want to really know anything)

Hmmm..I just watched a crazy movie. Called Suicide Club- its Japanese, and made me think of you.

Whats school like?

School. Ugh.

Your parents? When do you go to Colorado?

Next week. I need it-I have been so stresed out- shoudl I just bail on everything and live on the beach?

You can't . You're too materialistic.

Ha. Okay. But maybe I will.

Let me know if you do.

Okay. Be safe

Okay.

*

(My thoughts on this conversation: Why do I still have these conversations, J? I mean- I can remember a time when we were inseperable, yes- and you don't date someone for junior high and high school off and on and [i]simply forget them,[/i] right? But your life-my life, they don't mix. You choose uni close to home, I go far off. You choose law school close to home, I chase some impossible nomadic dream in a suitcase. You want children, I'd never be maternal. You haven't dated anyone since me, have you? I remember the night you broke up with me-Exactly what you said. And I remember no part of me died, no part of me even felt sad--I felt released from some life I knew I could never lead. Its not that you aren't one of my best friends...its just that ......will I ever go back?






I don't think so. So sweet dreams, the first boy who held my hand.

Call me when you need me.


I wonder why do we do this? Become attached to those firsts in our lives--we save our children's teeth, we savor first steps..is it because we can't have that back?)

Yuni!
you crazy mother--how do you do it? I am in awe of you, constantly. But your children will be better for it- and you know, every fucking semester I went through the same bs- you're just a real person, and I unfortunately, am not yet [i]real[/i].

Yes...whiskey and I were reaquainted last night. *groan*
And I saw D. The impossible crush is still ridiculous. Sheesh. I am attracted to a mole-to fingers-to the idea that kissing him would taste like, hmmmm...candy?

Okay. So my website? Sorry. Yeah yeah, I know you need an update, constantly...but I started a weblog from Fred's advice. Its okay- your emails go on there...its just perhaps to responsive for me? I don't know. I post the story I wrote about my mom's birthday letter and immediately regret it. Too raw, I think- like salt on scrapes, because well...is a website more anonymous?

I bought the nobel prize in lit today. Lets see if I actually read it...Okay, penmaster- I have nothing more to say except for this fucking crazy thing--

Apparently I look enough like some Bangladeshi movie star to get followed around in a mall. This family/maybe two families? approaches me and asks me if I am her and I say no and they say wow, you look liek her, and then I see them following me around everywhere, and as I am trying on shoes, one of the three men comes up to me and says they bought a camera to take my picture. Bought a camera! This place, insane...and me- with an ice cream cone in my hand and a huge whiskey headache., well- I take the picture. AND. I kid you not, give the autographs. What the hell, why not, I figure. I am actually asked to pose, with each family member, and then with the entire group, and then alone.

Wierd. Last month I told you how the waitress asked for my autograph so that explains it--I am moving to Bangladesh as soon as possible.

My love to your brats,
M

"Boyfriend, schmoyfriend"----C, my best friend

"Never say never"-----my amazing mom

"People are endlessly corrupt. So you must always be moral. You must always find a way to make things right."----my dad

"You'll always have to work twice as hard." ------my dad

"Live your life, don't wait for your parents to do it for you"----my uncle ed

"Walk on the left." ----my campfire leader

"You know, you'll be okay, but zip your fly"---my big brother

"You don't have a boyfriend? Good- You don't need one. Be a slut"---my grandfather

"Your uterus may fall out"---my grandmother, on why girls shouldn't mow the lawn

"You have to get your feet wet, don't be nervous, and just do it. Don't worry about money, or love, or anything, and just go for it." ---my amazing mother

"Americans have no concept of sex--thats why they're nuerotic. Drink your beer, so I can try and kiss you when you're drunk."--a sexy Belgian boy named M.

"If I had somewhere to go, I'd want to go back to before I was this person."----- Jack, and eleven year old.

Its terribly inappropriate considering the circumstances, a bit pathetic- and probably never going to happen, but I want to ask you a thousand questions and know what you are. And then kiss you and you're little mole too.

There's an Eva Cassidy remake of a Michelle Mcvie song, I think, I'm not sure-but its all about being positive between two people..'For you..you'd never be cold'. Thats what sticks out at me-not the rest because I am not sure how it goes. You aren't B--in all ways-- you are B's exact opposite, and I know you must-like all people--have your sad days-but for me, you are happy and infectious, almost. Why do I have such a pathetically winded crush on you?

I could just ignore this, and be your friend. But please, stop flirting with me, and I could accomplish that--are you even flirting with me? Why do boys do this kind of thing? For me-just so there is no gray area- I'd love to know a million more things about you and kiss you just to see what you taste like. But I guess I couldn't stop there, right?

So there. I am not completely over B- hardly, in fact. But this is an 'insecurity-not-over-thin g'. There is something sick about getting your heart broken because even when you are ready, completely, to be away from that--you find you lost all your courage and you are a self-conscious thirteen year old girl again. Its insecurity--but a thousand times worse because it hurts that you hear yourself incapable of having an adult conversation anymore... (why did my balls go with B, I want to ask? Because I know I used to be a bit more brave before all of this...brave enough to tell you I want to kiss you, probably--so why not now? Ahh, rejection can make a Pavlov follower out of anyone, yes?)

Then there is that horrible song, 'jump on my love'..but sheesh the lyrics make me laugh.

But then again- all I know is what I know from where I stand, right? This is where I am, I never liked I, C never liked you, I like you. Thats about it-if you break it down to minutae, yet my Catholic guilt would say that C's my best friend, I's your best friend, and I have no business liking you. My incredible self-control doesn't work now, though, dammit.

I have this impossible crush on you. Its terribly inappropriate considering the circumstances, a bit pathetic- and probably never going to happen, but I want to ask you a thousand questions and know what you are. And then kiss you and you're little mole too.

I wonder. But alot of this shit is taken right from my website (see link at left) soooo..I may just throw it all up- with smidgens of writings that actually occur present time. as soon as I can i'll move my pictures and art from the website to something new---this may temp?? But I just have to figure something out- Foreign country, no use of my own computer- or limited use- so it will all work out. You know where to find me if you've been following for long now.

1. Birth Control

Mom, those mexican birth control pills....

They didn't work??!!

No. Well, sheesh, I hope they worked, I mean no- I don't know if I should continue taking them.

Oh- that is a bit of a risk, yes?

You mean not taking them?

Well- if you're deciding to not take them, would you perhaps consider other methods of birth control?

2. On My Ex-Boyfriend, B

He looks like Charlie Brown, doesn't he?

I think he's handsome.

But doesn't his head seem so big?

Mom- please.

Well. I am only stating the obvious. Your children would have big heads.

3. On Cigarette Smoking

No- I don't want to smoke in the bathroom with you- but I'll have one on the balcony.

I didn't say the bathroom, but.... why are so nonchalant about smoking in my bathroom? Do you smoke in the bathrooms at home?

Of course not- but you seem to have other strange habits and I was only responding to your suggestion.

Dear B,

Thank you for teaching me about manners and consideration--It's people like you who make me grateful my parents were so wonderful at teaching me how to behave towards others.

I will not miss your smelly smoke on my work clothes, the way you kick me in bed, and how you never have shampoo in your shower. I won't miss how depressed you are. Nihilism is so passe. How you constantly judge people, talk badly about my friends & family & work, how you said C's name in bed with me, your racist comments that you actually tried to defend, how much you ranted about my job abroad--I am leaving all of that now, for good this time.

I will probably miss your stories and your laughter. I will miss that when there's just dark, you let me hold your hand when your sleeping. I will miss music, most of all.

I can't do this because my heart has stopped each time we went through this. People typically die from ailments like that- I did learn about resilience, I guess. Too long, too much, cheating, drug addictions- whatever. You know I loved you--at least I tried to- all I can control is where I am, right? You're not welcome here anymore, for reasons I am sure you're well aware of.

For everything that came my way while you were the rock in my life- I have nothing but thanks--but for all the times I believed you; I have to swallow so hard to make sure I don't cry in line at the bank, or at my desk at work. And I'll get over you, and call my mother more often, do more yoga, and eat less crap. I'll save the world and try to smoke less cigarettes and drink less beer. But I'll get over you.

I wish you well, B B B ford. For the first time since you left, I can sleep without looking for you--because I'll love someone else sometime after a thousadn years, but you just weren't that person. This didn't break me, I'll still get to be Mariana, I still have faith in everyone around me-- because I can't ever be as jaded as you set out to be.


Mariana

YOU SHOULD BE CCING YOUR GRANDPARENTS, YOU FOOL. THEY ARE VERY WORRIED ABOUT YOU.

Dear Fred,

I took my website down, or at least temporarily. I wish I had more time-it was just getting to be quite a pain to update things and also my fam expected pictures of family- not art walls? . Maybe I will start some web log somewhere. I did read yours- hilarious.

How's work? The funny thing is how much more time I have now that I don't work for you, you ruthless slave driver.

Everything else is fine- its fun being a real person with a real degree....Hope your family is enjoying their summer.

Mariana

Once I was in a furniture store commercial. I had to be happy it was the fourth of July.

I worked at a pool in high school and had to save these twin girls. One jumped in to save the other before I got there. One actually broke her nose. How do you break your nose drowning?

Every 8 second someone dies of AIDS related causes. Do something about it. Most of all- wear condoms, be faithful, talk about it.

So I gave my kid brother my car because I moved away after uni and he wrecked within a week. Punk. He hasn't told me, either.

My best friend and I once had a fight where we seperated all of the things in the apartment. Even the condiments in the fridge.

After kissing some boy named Sean once, the next night he came by to talk to me and I said, (entirely sure of myself), "Hi Paul!" He calmly stared at me and then placed his hand on his chest and said, "Sean." I said "oh, shit". He looked like he could cry.

I actually ran for Miss Texas USA. I swear, who will ever need to wear a swimsuit and high heels? But now I can add that to my list of charms, I guess.

I once smashed my head between a boat and a pier on vacation with my familia.....yes, I could have been smashed like a flea.

Of the several times I was caught sneaking out of my house in hs, I once had to hide in some drive way while my dad went around locking all the windows. As a result of his hilarious parenting, my brother and I had no choice but to bang on the window of my kid brother, who woke up and promptly called 911.

My best friend when I was little was named Gabriel. Now we hardly speak to eachother, but we were inseperable when we were kids. We'd have sleepovers and he'd make mini-bagel pizzas. Why is it things are so cool when your a kid?

I was the first girl in my city's little league.

No one- even my closest friends sometimes- can pronounce my name correctly. fuckers. It is like this:
MOD-EEE-AH-NAH.

oh well.

Ahhhhhh!
You little punk! You said 'Oh Yuni help me' and then hung up!

Oh gosh, I was so plastered-*groan*

I had a Thai hairdresser with me trying to get through to you, you punk- I was freaking out. You're insanely lucky I didn't call your parents.

Ha. Sorry- How's the day treating you?

I went to class-had the most stressful morning in the world- and there was no class, it starts way later.

Ha. Well- I've done way worse, you know that.

Yes.

Hey.

How's your volunteer thingie?

Terribly sad.

Mr. Bumwee?

Still calls me Miss Universe.

B called Dad- did anyone tell you-? I didn't want to email it.

Yuck. Did someone ask for my stuff back?

Yeah, I think so- Do you know how often you need to change air filters?

No. Ha- I am across the world, air filters...?

Oh- sorry- shall we talk politics? What time is it over there?

2:00 am.

You little skank, go to bed.

I miss you.

I miss you too. You know- that sit-yee-ation we emailed about?

Hmm.?

Fuck it. Your adults.

.

Call me soon-- I love you os much- but I have to go.

Oh you rat- I waited so long to call- I've been up doing nothing until you could get my call.

No really- child emergency- but I will call you back.

Okay- my love I miss you.

Miss you too. Be safe. Mole-y Mole mole.

*

Mariana,
I wrote two stories for you and then they were just one. You know you look like a monkey but i liek monkeys. Read my story for you. And write me endless letters constantly. Please be safe, stay away from crack. love

[u]Streets and People You Don't Know Sometimes Stare At You, You Know That Feeling?[/u]
or
[u]Before [/u]


she calls me. i let her talk about a funny man she saw today, because i really do wish she was not having problems falling asleep and then i say i have to go to sleep. she laughs and says but you never sleep. so i tell her she can come over and when i see her there is just that, this street, and she walks slow towards me, looking for a lighter that is thrown around here somewhere. outside in a jacket and her pajamas. the glass reflects her face and i see she's smiling. that way that i think could taste so good if it was mine, but i've seen her do it to other people so i don't let myself love her any more-but if it was mine, only i would do what she asked, because her eyes and the way she bites her lip. once she fell asleep in my shower, i know this because i shouted her name right next to the curtain and she didn't say anything at all. so, yeah- i looked-really quickly, but only quickly because i felt like a creep. but i always say, you know i can't love her any more. when i tell her about the shower she laughs so hard she cries, and i think about how when i met her parents for the first time they were arguing over whose feet could be used in advertisements, and her father laughed so hard he cried, too. its not really going away. she takes me home with her three times. her kid brother asks me to take him to the store and he tells me there are two ways to get to the house and that once she got caught holding a joint outside of her window and lit her arm hair on fire with a match, she got so scared. i think about how she never told me that and laugh. its still there.

while your away i can think of more but don't forget to call me from every second payphone you see, buy me lots of presents.

Love, B