You’re My Person
B: I’m in a dark place right now emotionally.
E: I’ll be on the next plane with a flashlight.
E: Or maybe those helmet things with the bulb attached to them, so we’d have our hands free.
B: I’m in a dark place right now emotionally.
E: I’ll be on the next plane with a flashlight.
E: Or maybe those helmet things with the bulb attached to them, so we’d have our hands free.
B: Booking my tickets now. I can be with you for New Years if you still want me.
E: What good is a year that doesn’t start with us together?
B: OMG, I had a crazy f*cking dream about us last night. We were downtown at the bars in pajamas. Not like footy pajamas, like Blair Waldorf sexy pajamas!
E: What happened?
B: B*tches were all like “WTF? It’s fricking freezing, quit dressing slutty & put a damn coat on!”
B: Except we were so hot. And our friends were with us. And the haters were jealous. And we were like, “We’re putting 2011 TO BED!”
E: Bwhahahaha. Can that be our new slogan? Apparently it’s been a hard year…
B: April and May were GREAT months. Everything else (besides the Homecoming holiday) can go to Hell…
E: TO BED.
B: It was like a big pajama party. In public. And by big, I mean, elite.
E: So, I’m thinking we need to have a PJ theme party for New Years?
B: Obviously, it needs to happen.
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This year, my Thanksgiving is taking a different shape. This year I’m doing what for years I’ve watched people do on TV shows. I’m going to serve the homeless a meal (Yes, I’ve done it before, with a wonderful group of friends and one of my very favorite college professors… after we picked up a hitchhiker and worked our asses off at the shelter, but I haven’t done it on Thanksgiving.).
For Thanksgivings previous, I’ve hurried and rushed and fought weather and flights and traffic to get home to the Midwest. I have always skipped breakfast, helped with the fixin’s, slid up to the table to gorge myself and then been overwhelmed by dishes and miserably full and terribly bored for the rest of the day. But this year, it’ll be different. This year, I’m putting my holiday to good use, for others, and for me.
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No, I won’t get to see my family (I will for Christmas), except for my Godmother (who happens to be my older & wiser cousin, friend & best gift my parents ever gave me, and she has always wanted to serve a Thanksgiving meal too), who is KICKASS. Kickass in that she slips me vodka money in church. THAT kickass. She’s my cheerleader, my confidant, my best friend and my second mom. She’s the mom I call when I hate what my first mom has to say. She’s ALWAYS, ALWAYS on my side and NEVER, NEVER plays devil’s advocate, gives unsolicited advice, warms up my sins for breakfast or passes judgment on my decisions. She had a FedEx man meet me at the back door of my (dry) sorority house on my way to 9am class to deliver me a 1.75 of Absolut for my 21st birthday, and she puts Absolut shooters in my Christmas stocking. She understands that a girl’s got some Absolut neeeeeds. God Bless the Godmother.
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This year, it’s more important to me/for me to focus on something besides food and laziness. This year, I need a day that ISN’T about me… I need to not tell family member after family member “what I’m up to,” or that “NO, I don’t have a job yet,” or to tell them story after story (no matter how hilarious & entertaining they may be) about my shitty summer or shithole apartment where nearly all unlucky/unfortunate things have happened.
I need this day to be about something other than what I don’t have. I need a day where I can see right in front of my eyes that I am privileged, lucky, fortunate, blessed (I knoooow it, but I need it to be tangible, you know?). I need a day where I can serve others and share a meal with people who have been crapped on but who most likely will have a better outlook and attitude than I do. I need a day with people who see things differently. I need a day where putting others first will fill my spirit with good, with love, with calm.
And then, I’ll have me some damn pie.
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What are your Turkey Tofurkey Weekend plans?
XOXO,
B
I have a theory that as long as you have one good friend, one real friend, you can get through anything.
-“How to Build a House” by Dana Reinhardt
E: Strippers in North Dakota make 2-3 grand a night. HELLO CHRISTMAS BREAK.
B: Hahahahaha
E: I need a new car. You need rent money. How can this go wrong?
B: Hahahahaha
E: You have the boobs, and I can dance slutty. Combined, we’d make a whole stripper.
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Sometimes it’s just heartbreaking, and there’s nothing you can do about it except let it wash over you. It always seems to strike at the most inopportune times, like when you’re studying for your test at the library at 10:30 at night, and you worry people will wonder what’s up with the tears dropping on her textbook. Or it will hit you when you’re completely alone, with no one and nothing to take your mind off what you lost, or what happened.
This is one of those love stories that I love to read about, because I like to read painful, heartbreaking stories to know that I’m not the only one fucked out there. It’s nice to know that someone else ducked out early, or that others have still have feelings that they pretend not to. Mostly, it’s nice to have someone write down the words that I can’t seem to myself.
When you finally moved away, I told you, as I stood in the driveway crying, that I tried so hard. You looked at me, brushed my hair back from my face (what a classic, heartbreaking move, much like the one you were about to embark on), and told me I never had to. However, I know now, that wasn’t true. I gave it all my all, and I wasn’t enough, I wasn’t old enough, I wasn’t broken enough, I wasn’t enough for you to stay, no matter how hard I tried.
That was probably the last time I actually had you, if I ever did to begin with. It’s one of those perfect, vivid moments in my mind, with everything in painful detail, from the Twins hat you always wore to the gravel on the driveway under our feet. The hundreds of hours we spent in bed, the dozens of movies we watched, the time we spent together is mostly a blur, with most scenes melting into each other, but this one is clear. I may have forgotten more than I would like, but I remember you, and I remember that driveway.
-E
E: I finally figured out the biggest problem in our friendship
B: What?
E: We’re not the same shoe size
B: You finally understand
E: Yes, and that it sucks more for you since I’m the one with the better shoes.
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I haven’t spoken to you in months. The last time we talked, I poured my struggles out to you, and you pushed them aside as if they were background noise of the television while you made dinner. It wasn’t then I then realized you would never care about me the way I cared about you-I had realized that long ago. Rather, it was that you couldn’t be bothered to care about me at all, when I spent years and relationships putting you first.
Now I’m coming to the cities next month for a concert. If this was a romantic comedy (or tragedy, if we’re being honest), this would be the transition scene where it shows a shot of me driving, with the reflection of the city sprawled across my face in the car window. I’d stop at a red light, and there would be a flashback to that intersection of us running across it holding hands, stopping to kiss.
But this wasn’t a movie, and we weren’t a fairytale. Rather, I was young, and fell too hard and too fast for a man who had no intention of ever doing the same to me. Ours was one of those long, drawn-out painful stories that a smarter (or older) woman would have walked away from somewhere around Chapter 3. But I held out till there was nothing left to say, held out till I went bankrupt and hit Chapter 11, left with the remains of our relationship, and the debt of too many unanswered questions.
2 years ago, I wouldn’t have went to this city without letting you know. I would have invited you to the concert, and held your hand, squeezing it when he plays the songs we listened to as we fell asleep in your room. But I’m not that young anymore, and you’re not the man I thought you once were. I can go to the cities without thinking of it as your city. I can think of you as more of a fleeting memory than as my constant reminder. I won’t wonder if this is the diner we always ended up at for breakfast, and I certainly won’t worry about you. I learned how to do that from you.
I won’t call you to tell you thank you for introducing me to this artist that I love, and I won’t text you when he plays your favorite song. I’m almost positive I’d be wrong, because we haven’t talked about his new songs, his new albums, or our new lives. Maybe it’s easier that way, or maybe I had no choice. What I do know is that while sometimes you cross my mind (that song on the radio, photos I ran across while unpacking, movies on a bad cable station late Saturday afternoon), you no longer hold center stage. What I do know is E doesn’t love there anymore.
-E