An open letter

Dear Girl-I-thought-was-my-friend,

I went to your Celebrating Home party not because I have a home of my own, yet, to decorate, but because you asked me to go and bring my mom to cheer your mom up.

I bought $35 worth of stuff and booked a catalog party to help you get that metal booze  tub that you want so much.

You know about Apache, and the complicated situation therein, though you've never met him.

Before the party started and we were drinking Seamonsters, made with the Malibu I brought to the party, I was socializing with you friends--only one of whom I met before. One of your friends talked about how she was a masseuse, and I wondered aloud if she would do gift certificates. Maybe I could buy Apache a gift certificate for his birthday to redeem when he comes home on leave.

One girl, who I met before, says, "You guys are engaged right?" And before I have a chance to respond, you blurt out:

"No, because he's married! HAHAHAHA!"

Okay, way to make me look like an ass, a homewrecker, and a stupid slut in front of people I don't know. I'm not sure where you go the idea that that piece of information, while technically true, was a juicy tidbit you could tell everyone I just met, including a girl who is engaged to the biggest gossip this side of the Mississippi. You really think everyone at the firehouse is not going to find out about this?

You know full well that I had nothing to do with the end of their marriage. But that's not how you made it sound. You know full well that I'm not a mistress, and it's no sordid secret that we are together. His family knows and likes me. His wife (DogFace) is living with another man and has been for months now. She was the one who stepped out on that relationship with her infidelity, not him.

If you have a problem with him being married then you should have talked to me about it, like an adult. Not lampoon me in front of people I don't even know.

Close encounters of the ex kind

After my "grueling" workout at the gym with Minnie (I walked for 45 minutes. I wish I could run), I stood at the desk waiting for tanning. All of a sudden, Chase walks in.

I haven't seen Chase since our last encounter in September. I had purposely joined this new gym because it was not the one he was going to last time we talked. He's one of those toxic people I do my best to avoid. And yesterday, I had Chase-dar. Walking on the treadmill, I got the premonition that Chase could walk in the gym at any minute. And here he was, 24 hours later.

Of course, sweaty, in spandex yoga pants, no makeup, and at least 15 lbs heavier than the last time he saw me, was not the ideal way to run into your first boyfriend especially when you realize that the gym has transformed him from scrawny ghetto boy to muscular gym rat. I may not want to date or sleep with him, but a girl has some pride.


He said hi as he walked in. My face must have turned white because walking into the tanning booths, Minnie whispered, "God damn, who the fuck was that?"

"Chase, my ex. He's an asshole, but we dated on and off for a couple years." 

She turned to look appreciatively at his back as he flirted with the attendant at the counter.

"With a body like that, Aurora, he could be an asshole all he wants..."

Having Chase around the gym makes me very nervous for some reason. He now inspires the same chills up my spine that seeing a coiled rattlesnake in the grass gives me. I don't trust him in any way, shape, or form. 

The story is anticlimatic. He didn't say or do anything improper--just a quick hi and funny to see you here. He actually even deleted me off facebook  He just gives me the creeps. He's just one of those people I just as soon as forget, and I can't seem to avoid him.

Can anyone relate? 

TMI Thursday: How I Earned the Respect of Men at a Strip Club

Inspired by Chelsea's inaugural TMI Thursday post at Chelsea Talks Smack, I am dedicating this week's TMI Thursday post to strippers.

 

It's not secret that I'm a rather open-minded person. Naked women bother me not in the slightest. Hell, Mafia Princess and I visited the local strip club whenever we were dead broke last summer because there were drunken men who would buy us drinks. It was almost too easy.

When Apache was home on his Christmas break, he had planned to go with "the boys" he works with to the local strip club. No big deal. I planned on hanging with some friends. Well, at the last minute he decided for me to go, and I went. 

I was totally terrified. Here, I was going with Apache to a) a strip club to meet b) men that I had known previously as Jay's girlfriend and c) Jay told me that everyone he worked with hated me, and d) there was a possibility DogFace would show up.  Lovely.

I get there, and it turns out only one of them, Player, remembers me. And since this particular guy has nicknamed Jay, "cheat", things are okay.

So, I sit down and quickly realize I am a girl out on boys night. I get introduced and then get ignored while men have their man time. Fine with me, I busy myself with catching up on my blogs on my cell (strip club ettiquette be damned).

The cocktail waitress comes over to ask us what we want to drink. She's a cute blond with glasses and her hair up in a librarian bun.  She gets the boys drinks then looks at me:

"What can I get for you, Miss {insert my last name here}?" 

The boys notice this exchange. I take a closer look at the girl. She is one of my former students-- apparently all grown up and working hard for the money. We catch up for a bit, then she goes to fetch our drinks.

Apache looks at me.

"Let me get this straight. You know a stripper?"

"Yea, she was one of my students."

"You taught a stripper?" I nod.

"Dude, your girl's killin' me." Player moans. The other guys voice their approval at this connection. 

It continues through the night when I get a lap dance bought for me. I was NOT drunk enough to even begin to remotely enjoy that. It was kinda awkward actually, especially since Apache was watching and I had NO clue how to act. I've never had a lap dance before. Advice?

 

Adding to the bizarreness of the night, a few strippers befriend me. Seriously, I was the ONLY girl in the bar other than the strippers, and the girls all came over to hang out when they weren't on the floor. The boys collectively decide that taking a woman to the strip club is definitely good for business.

As for me, I decided that tagging along for boys night isn't such a good idea. I'd much rather do the strip club thing one on one with the boyfriend since it can be a sexy date. Going with you boyfriend and his buddies, not so much.

So, I try to drink away the awkwardness-- after three relatively weak diet coke and Bacardis, i decide that I need something stronger. Cue a Grateful Dead, which I figured would be made weak like the Bacardis. I drink the drink, and still don't feel a thing. An hour later, Apache and I decide to leave. We had come in separate cars, and I was going to drive to his house. I get on the highway and realize a few miles later that I am NOT okay to drive. Not at ALL okay. Luckily, Dawson lives only a few minutes down the road. I call Apache to let him know the change of plans, and dump my car off at Dawson's, before proceeding to pass out in Apache's car.

Next time he wants me to join him on boys night, I might just end up staying home. 

I wonder if he knows what he's doing now

"I wish I was a little girl again, because scraped knees are easier to heal than a broken heart."

Skinned knees heal rather quickly and usually do not leave a scar behind. Broken bones, like broken hearts, heal much more slowly. And as everyone who has broken a bone knows, there are sometimes, in some weather, that the break begins to ache, no matter how aged the injury.

Did a little spring cleaning today of my computer hard drive-- since I have a back up program on my computer, I wanted to make sure that my files were organized. I spent the last hours organizing my photos, including 2006, 2007, 2008, and early 2009. 

Organizing those hurt. Having to sort through the photos of Trevor and I-- from the early dates, to pictures of our first apartment, first holidays, and him proposing-- to the middle years-- anniversary camping trips, parties, dances-- and the last hurrah we had last winter., hurt. A lot. 

I'm healing from the break up. I've had my rebound (Doc) and found someone pretty special (Apache). I don't think of Trevor every single day-- he remains mostly blocked from my mind. But seeing his face and mine, so happy, makes me wonder what's he's doing now.

I know from Megan that he's still with Amber, and he loves Amber and he's happy. I know he hates me or so he says. And I know that that means he hasn't healed. The opposite of love is not hate, as one may think. The opposite of love is indifference. 

I'm not saying I wanna be with him. I know that things would have to change drastically for that to ever work. I'm not sure a person can change that drastically. It'd mean he'd have to keep a job, and, from what I understand, sober up.  That's not going to happen soon, if ever.

I just miss him. It feels weird sometimes that I have no contact with someone I loved so much such a short time ago. He's made no attempt to contact me. I suppose thats for the best. I do care still. I do wanna know if he's okay. I wish I could influence him to clean up his life because he is much better than a needle or a short white line. Saving people's lives used to be important to him. Why is he trying so hard to ruin his own?

Anyone ever feel nostalgic and wistful about your first love or the one that got away?

Endorphins

"Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make people happy. Happy people just don't kill their husbands."

- Legally Blonde

Minnie & I joined a gym yesterday, the Fitness Factory. With our newly minted grad school student ids, it's only $37 a month including tanning! The start up fees were waived and we get a lovely 20% discount. That works out great for me because it's pretty much one stop shopping. It's 5 mins down the road from the barn, there's a nail salon right next door, and my tanning is there so I have NO excuse to not at least hop up on the treadmill. Plus, it saves on gas and travel time.

I'm taking it easy with my ankle. I can really only handle walking on the treadmill for now. Anything high-impact is not a good thing while the tendons heal. The most important thing is that I'm laying the ground work for a habit to develop.

Stage 5 Clinger

"I got to get outta here, pronto. I got a stage five clinger. Stage five, virgin, clinger."

- Wedding Crashers

So I have this friend. a male friend. We're not going to mention any names or anything but you've heard about said male friend before.

Male friend, once a habitual monogamist, has discovered the wonderful world of casual dating since he believes that "playing with" women is much easier than falling for them since that has led to multiple heart breaks from women who use him and break his heart.

Male friend, however, lacks the skills and tact of a player. He's starting to become a little bit of a creep. Since I have a very high comfort level with him, I haven't noticed it, but my single, female friends who I've been spending time with these days have.

Case #1- MF and I were suppossed to go to a friend's birthday party then out to a club later on to meet up with my female friends, none of which MF had met before. He had briefly chatted with one of them, who he poached off my friend's list, via facebook that week earlier. I got quite sick, and decided not to go out. MF met up with my friends anyway.  He went onto FB, got this girl's cell #, posted in his FB status that he was meeting his "date" (now- he's never met this chick before), and as the story was relayed to me yesterday, he proceeded to give men the death stare if they got anywhere near her. Girl was none too amused, and as she told me, he was "acting like a stage 5 clinger."

I can believe that since, he has been systematically attempting to hook up with not only my female friends, but my exs' sisters.

Case #2- he comes out to the bar to meet up with Country. Eager to show off to Country, he takes his brandy new Chevy Silverado out to go do donuts and off road through a frozen hay field. He thinks he is impressing the ladies, but Country just thought he was stupid, especially since he did damage to his truck.

 I mean, both girls think he's really sweet, but that he's trying too hard to be someone he's not. And that's not attractive.

Care Package

With a finally confirmed address in hand, I sent Apache's care package out last week. It weight 28 lbs-- I thought it was going to be close to $60 to send.

SOMEHOW it was only $19.

I try to send random things in his care packages to make him laugh since he is having a really hard time adjusting to his deployment. I am working on his second care package, which will be his birthday one. In the first one, I sent him some stick on moustaches (their CO made them grow moustaches, which he hated) and a "Bullshit" button (kinda like the Staples Easy Button) plus a lot of plastic army men.


He keeps asking me to send myself in a box, so in his 2nd care package I am sending a Pamela Anderson blow up doll. I'm going to blow it up before I send it, so the doll will pop up when he opens it. Dawson finds this hysterical--I'm hoping Apache does too (I'm half afraid I'm going to give him a heart attack). Plus some birthday hats, candles, etc. He loves Key Lime Pie, so I'm going to try to find something Key Lime flavored to send. I also am going to attempt to send a bottle of Patron in the Lipton Iced Tea Bottles since he is thirsting for a drink!

I also put little post it notes on things when I send it, explaining why I include some things. For example, I included a box of dryer sheets since I know that they can help to make things smell nice, can be used to wipe dust off of electronic LCD screens, and if you hang them up they keep away the bugs-- trust me. I own a horse and I braid them into his mane and tail in the summer time to keep away the horse flies. So I put a little post it note on it.

I also bought him a blanket from the grad school I attend-- one of those really warm ones that are made out of sweatshirt material. I slept in it for a week and then sprayed it with perfume