The Men I Didn’t Marry

I was browsing for books on the internet today and found this one. First of all, I get that it is supposed to be far fetched and aimed to send you off into fantasyland but I couldn’t help giggling when I read the summary. Not one, not two, but three rich, famous and conveniently available ex boyfriends? Of those you have dated in the past, how many do you know have extraordinary and extravagant lives? I wonder where this person grew up, because seriously, I’m moving there.

There are a few people I dated “once upon a time” that I have “googled”(ok, yes, I did. I am really good at internet stalking. Probably not something I should be bragging about) or heard about from others. First of all, very few(read: none) have done anything national newsworthy. More than a few have attended graduate school which is good and probably makes them a good chunk of change but it hardly makes me say “oh my! how glamorous!”. A couple have bought property. One went to Harvard. One is living with his parents(oy). Most are married. One is even already divorced. None are on the “Richest People of the World” list and I am pretty sure none are spiritual leaders. Pretty sure.

Of course, all of them are still in their 30s so I guess there is plenty of time for one of them to become the next Gandhi or, with my luck, this guy.

Mean Girls

You know, I thought a lot more people I knew would be on MySpace. Granted, most people my age are either busy procreating or working their asses off, few(with the exception of those in my industry), it seems, are paying attention to the hottest thing to hit popular culture since MTV(yeah, I said it). At 31, I did not have a cell phone or a computer until I was out of college. “WHAT?” The young ones are saying. “Before computers? What did you do?? Surely no one was ALIVE then”! Oh but we were and we were ok. Maybe not in touch with each other every second of the day but we made due with the old trusty telephone(cord attached). I actually really thank God that we didn’t have text messaging when I was in high school or college, no one ever would have dated me.

Anyway, this is not my old biddy “When I was your age” post. It is about how a person that I haven’t spoken to since I was 15 got in contact with me. She sent me an email through MySpace and my junior high years came rushing back. Much to my dismay. Junior high was not a happy time for me. As much as high school was tough and full of dramatic angst ridden moments, junior high was 10 times worse for me. 10. times. worse. High school I found my kindred spirits, I found my place and I found friends that were NICE to me. It was a change.

The girl that emailed me, we’ll call her Carolyn. Carolyn was a nice person so I wrote her back to see how she was doing. Honestly, I truly care about how Carolyn is coming along in her life but her email reminded me that last April I had gotten an email from one of my other friends from that time in my life. My “best friend” from that time, Casey. I honestly could do a fuck off and die post about her. Still. To. This. Day. It’s hard for me even to talk about Casey but I will because ever since I heard from Carolyn I have not been able to stop thinking about her.

I think I have posted before about how I had befriended the school bully in 4th grade. Casey was that school bully. The reasons I did this, in my opinion, was that I had been picked on to no end when I was little. The kids who lived on my block were mostly older and my father was hittin the sauce a scant too much for me to have friends over. So, I ended up being the outcast. I think in 4th grade, I decided I had enough and it was my turn to be the bully. Unfortunately, I wasn’t really cut out to be a bully. I cried at the drop of a hat and was extremely religious. If one of my friends cursed I would say “she’s sorry, God” right after they did it. I guess I kind of ended up being Casey’s lackey. I would be mean enough to get a laugh out of her and I knew I was safe because everyone else was scared of her.

Casey was fiercely loyal. If anyone said a bad thing about me, they were backed up in a corner in teh playground pleading for their dear life. The problem was that she even bullied me and I was her “best friend”. She was just mean for no reason, well, no, there was a reason, because it was “fun” to be mean. When we would get in a fight, as girls in elementary school and junior high often did, she would turn on me so fast it made my head spin. All of a sudden, I would be the one that she focused all of her attention on. It would be a constant barrage of insults, teasing and threats of bodily harm. When she was angry at you, she was a force. People would laugh at you with her, not really for any reason except they were afraid of her too.

In 10th grade, I was able to have enough confidence in myself to pull away from her. Luckily, Casey was too busy with her boyfriend at the time to really pay attention to the fact that I was slowly weaving my way out of her life. Being friends with her was sort of like the mob, the moment you weren’t friends with her anymore, you were her target. For awhile, I got away with making new friends and not calling her. Finally, it got to the point where I would pass her in the hall and barely give her a smile. Casey and my old “friends” would stare me down in the hallway(this did not include Carolyn, Carolyn had more important issues she was dealing with at that time and she wasn’t very close to them anymore either), whisper and laugh at me when I went by. It didn’t really bother me because I knew I was better off. I wanted to go to college and get out of my hometown, two things I knew many in that group of friends were not looking to do. I walked away from them because I had found people that had the same goals that I did essentially but I also, couldn’t shake the good feelings I had when I would get into an argument with someone who didn’t immediately threaten to kick my ass.

When I was in 11th grade, Casey finally officially turned on me. Her actions, along with another “friend” from junior high, kicked off one of the worst times in my life. I was walking down the hallway between classes and she was walking behind me with this “friend”. I could hear both of them giggling and I knew I was fucked. I heard, in the loudest voices possible, them start to make fun of me. So that EVERYONE in the hallway could hear them. They were laughing obnoxiously and pointing. I really can’t even remember what they said but I know I was humiliated. I tried to hold in all the tears until I was well away from them. I met my real friends in the hallway who decided that day that they were mad at me for a different reason(ahh, high school). They did feel badly enough for me to comfort me and then tell me after school that they were upset with me. I recall that shortly after that day I had my first bout with depression. I am not saying my depression was caused by this chick but I do remember that incident because it was followed shortly by that first confusing dark period in my life.

Flash forward to April 2005. I was getting ready to go back to Philly to be with my mother through her chemo for breast cancer. I get an email through my classmates.com from Casey. She was talking about how she had a 9 year old daughter and as she was talking to her, she was recalling stories of when she was a young girl. Of course, this made her think of me. Lucky me. I was stunned that this person had the balls to contact me. I proceeded to then delete it. My mother had cancer, I couldn’t deal with that “best friend” coming back into my life even if she had changed or grown up to be a damn saint or whatever. All I knew is that her energy made me feel small and I was no longer the little scared girl who felt that she deserved to be small. Plus, I knew that no matter how nice she was, we would have nothing in common now. I deleted that email and never thought of it again.

Until Carolyn’s email a few days ago. I was struck with the feelings I had about Casey. I have actual hostility towards her. I didn’t think I had feelings about anyone that even resembles hostility from my past. Even people with her name give rise to a mixed feeling of dread and anger. I realize I need to let this go. I mean, it has been too long of a time and I am much to old to be harboring old resentments of my school days. I always felt sorry for people like that. People that were still upset in their twenties and thirties because they weren’t popular in high school or because that one boy rejected them when they asked him to prom. Without realizing it, I am one of those people. All because of one small girl who made me her bitch a really long long time ago.

Fucking bitch. Oh dear, sorry God.

Random Realization

I just realized that the only two men I have ever been in love with grew up a block apart yet probably have not uttered one word to each other. Weird. Not sure where that came from but felt the need to share. That is all.

P.s.I felt you all really needed a picture to get a sense of what I am talking about. An artist rendering of the situation is now provided:
P.P.S-I did this on Microsoft Paint.

P.P.P.S.- I am crying from laughing so hard. Alone. In my office. Uh, I mean, at home where I shouldn’t be doing work at all….

Other Bloggers inspire me

So, it can’t all be about Chase even though I love her. Her posts consistently make me look at my own blog and wonder how I can write better. CP wrote an amazing post about NYC today that I think everyone should read, click here. I’ve been reading CP for awhile but just recently added her to my everyday list. She’s hilarious and seems to have such an old soul. I just really dig her writing. Anywho, she inspired me to write about my own love story with The Big Apple.

My father grew up in a section of Brooklyn called Red Hook. Red Hook was not a great place to live back then(you know, compared to the million dollar condos that are there now). It was basically a poor Irish immigrant neighborhood, most of the residents worked at the Brooklyn Navy Yard nearby. My father actually used to SWIM in the Hudson River(which even back then was just sludge masking as a river). The stories my father has relayed about his life in Brooklyn were pretty depressing. I mean these people were extremely poor and he had to be one tough cookie to survive it. Much different than my sunny suburban upbringing outside of Philadelphia. Needless to say, my dad could not wait to get out of Brooklyn. So much so that he enlisted in the Air Force right out of high school and never ever looked back.

I, on the other hand, grew up being in love with New York. My father’s side of the family all stayed in New York. We used to go to my uncle’s in Long Island for Thanksgiving every year. I would be in the backseat craning my neck the moment my mother said “Deb, I see the city!”, which meant she would see the first glimpse of the World Trade Center. It was the only part of the ride where I was allowed to take off my seatbelt. I would peer over the front seat waiting for the city to come into view. I remember the feeling in my stomach, the excitement of seeing the city and dreaming about all that went on it. When I was about 11, I told my parents when the city came into view that I was going to live there someday. My father visibly winced. My mother laughed. Unfortunately for both, I had meant what I said.

I moved to New York in October 1999. My friend, April, was a production accountant living in Brooklyn and I had worked with her on a film in Philly that spring. The first week in October I packed a small bag,I told my mom that I was going to visit April and see if I could get a job there. I guess my mother didn’t think I would actually find one but I found a temp job the second day and on the third, began looking for an apartment. I called my mother a week later and told her I found a job and a place to live. She started to cry and pleaded “but I thought you were just going to visit!”. My previous job had allowed to me to save $3000 which I was able to put towards an apartment. So, on November 1, 1999, I moved into an apartment in…the Cobble Hill section of Brooklyn. Literally 10 mins drive from Red Hook where my father grew up. My father drove up to drop off my stuff, as we were carrying loads of boxes up to my third floor walkup he looked at me and said “I did everything I could to get out of this place and now you have done everything you could to get in”.

My dad’s words were true. I had dreamed of living there my whole life and there I was. The energy was intoxicating. I was 24 living in a huge city where I only knew four people. I felt free. My temp job was on Madison Ave and 61st, I was the receptionist for the Editor in Chief of Architectural Digest. I was getting paid $10/hour in the wealthiest part of the city with the wealthiest people in New York walking in and out of the office all day. It was strange but I didn’t mind one bit. After all, I was in New York.

As time went on, I started to feel a little let down. New York was supposed to change my life. It was supposed to transform me. It didn’t. I was still dorky weird me just a dorky weird me living in New York. At a certain point, I started to get lonely. I still loved the city but none of my friends lived in my neighborhood. A few were even over an hour away as they lived uptown. Loneliness began permeating my dreams of the glamorous life I was supposed to be living. I was alone in a big city that was supposed to be my savior and I was finding out quickly that the dream was going to have an end. Weekends were spent on my futon eating Ben and Jerrys, watching Sex and The City which didn’t help my already dreary mindset. There were four gorgeous women living the life I was supposed to!

Finally, depression set in. I went to therapy and slowly came back out of the black haze. I started to get out more and make the effort to see my friends. I even made some new ones. Then I came to Los Angeles and saw Jason for the first time in 2 years. We were friends since high school and I hadn’t seen him until I came out to visit. He looked good. Really good. We had always gotten along and I loved him as a friend. I always wished that I was attracted to him because he could make me laugh more than anyone in my life ever had. Finally I was attracted to him but he lived in LA and I lived in NYC. I had to make a decision. In a previous relationship, I fell in love with someone and they lived far away. Consequently, we broke up and I ended up in love with him for a long long time after that. It was torture and it sucked for both of us. I couldn’t let that happen again. I had to go for it.

In December of 2000, I left New York to move to Los Angeles. I moved knowing it was temporary. I knew that someday I would get back. It did let me down but I had childish expectations and lucky for both of us, I grew up.

On September 11, 2001 I was in bed sleeping with Jason when my room mate blasted into my room at some ungodly hour. He looked frazzled and confused, “I’m really sorry to wake you guys but the World Trade Center is on fire!”. We flipped on my little TV just in time to see the second plane hit Tower 2. We, like everyone else, couldn’t leave the TV all day. I couldn’t stop crying after I saw that plane hit. I just kept thinking of my mother turning around in the car “I see the city!”, knowing that any second I, too, would see the towers that caused that feeling of excitement in my stomach.

I went back in December 2001. I rode the train up from Philadelphia and like in the car, I missed the towers. I looked around at the other passengers as I sat silently crying as the city came into view. The woman next to me, looked at me and put her hand on mine “This is your first time seeing it, huh?”. I guess she had seen many faces like mine. I went to the site and I couldn’t believe how empty it felt. No one was there anymore. You could feel no one that died there was still there. Their spirits weren’t hanging around. It was almost like a big blanket was lying over the site. Suffocating everyone that came near it. You couldn’t even breathe the sadness and pain were too much.

I will be moving back next year. This time I am bringing Jason with me. I have never lived in this New York. The New York that has lived through 9/11 and has been on “high alert” since that day. I’m not scared or nervous to move back either. I am as excited as the day I left Philadelphia when I was 24. I am ready. I am ready to go back home.

*P.S. I am going to save my full 9/11 story for 9/12 as I am doing a tribute to a victim of 9/11 on 9/11. It is a really great project, if you are interested in writing a tribute to a victim of 9/11, click here and volunteer!

*P.P.S. It’s too late for me to read through this again so if it’s unreadable, let me know…k,thanx, bye.

All For Free

So, as I have mentioned I was in fact a sorority girl in college. Ok, all of your eyes, stop the rolling. It wasn’t so bad. It made my school seem smaller and the friends I went in with, I came out with, I just got to know them better.

I just got done reading Alexandra Robbins NYT bestseller, Pledged. Before I rant and rave about how she barely touched on “normal” sororities(i.e. ones that don’t haze and are at smaller schools) or her characters were so one dimensional I could have given a crap about any of them, I will say what I did like.

I liked that she actually did tell the other side of the story. She touched on a story that I believe closely relates to mine. Just a mention of regular girls wanting to get into a group that made the school smaller, less intimidating and of course there were the friends, boys and beer.

She also revealed some sacred “ritual” handshakes and knocks of some sororities which I found amusing because I always thought that part of it was a bunch of crap. Like I am so going to go up to a random Alpha Phi somewhere and do the freaking “secret” handshake.

The rest of her story revolved around 4 sorority girls that went to “State U” and were in 2 different sororities. She never made me care about them. At all. They were so one dimensional and almost parodies of “typical” SNL sketch sorority girls. It was also filled with all of the sensational stories we have all read about, people dying as a result of hazing. Which I totally understand, it is important to show that side of it but, of course every other chapter was about hazing. She had to fill up the space with this I think because the rest of it was such shit.

I realize everyone’s experience is different but I have never heard from any of my friends who were in other sororities at different schools that they were hazed. Never. They would certainly tell me. I mean none of us took it that seriously. I wouldn’t have joined a sorority if they hazed me. F that. I am not risking my life for boys and beer, thanks anyway.

Her stories about the 4 young women were barely readable. No depth to these girls at all. They were real people, I don’t care if they were idiots, even idiots can be interesting because they are human.

She talked about how sororities would only let in women who were good looking and had designer clothes. I’m sorry but that is such utter crap. Maybe one sorority at a private university did that somewhere but I can assure you, it is not a majority. That is virtually impossible in college. Most schools that you go to now have normal poor ass college students, like myself, that paid my rent and dues through a side job. There wasn’t anyone at my school buying Gucci. The looks factor is even more ridiculous. There were girls in every sorority that weren’t considered good looking. You know why? They were people we liked and wanted to hang out with. We weren’t superficial monsters like this Robbins chick makes us out to be.

Robbins could argue that this was my experience and that isn’t what her book was about. I feel like her book is the same book and story that has been told over and over again. Sororities suck, they are detrimental to the girls in them, blah, blah. Well, sure, if you go to one school in Texas where sororities are these people’s lives. What about the good experiences? The positive ones? Ones that involved real people and real friendships that continue long past your college years?

I don’t have one regret in joining Alpha Phi. It was a great experience. It helped me feel a part of something when I was just kind of floating around not sure which direction to go. It was so much damn fun and I met some wonderful people. Friends that I cherish to this day. Jason jokingly once said to me “Yes, I know you were in a sorority and I am willing to overlook that”. That’s ok, I am willing to overlook his acid flashbacks and that skank he dated so I guess we’re even.

10th Grade Deb

There are times when I, too, get extremely bored with me. So much so that I start to feel sorry for all of you out there that like me. Sometimes you have to suffer through my boring ass life. For these desperate times I resort back to my old journals. When I find I have nothing at all to write about or just don’t want to write about what is going on presently, I will dive back into these prized personal archives. I try to find someone, a situation, a feeling that I can grab hold of and talk about. The problem is, sometimes I find even my past bores me to tears.

Tonight, I grabbed my 10th grade journal. Figuring 10th grade was always quite dramatic, I could always count on it for some type of inspiration. I mean with all the hormones running amok and teenage angst there has got to be something to write about. I sat down and read through some of it and it was literally making me laugh my ass off. First of all, I had my first date in 10th grade. This guy was the subject of every entry for the next 3 months. I went on one date with this person. Seriously, 3 months of writing dedicated to this person? I know I dwell, but jesus.

I also could not get over how my little 15 year old brain was being pushed to the max jotting such ditties as:

Other interesting tidbits I found amusing:

Oh my gawd, it was like so much fun to read even though I totally felt gay reading it. Like, ya know? Like I totally need to go catch some z’s now and stuff so I gotta go. LYLAS!

Love ya, Debbie

Old Timey Notebook Writing 3/20/05

I wrote this after seeing “Prozac Nation”. Since I am such a bundle of joy lately, I thought I’d post it. Also, I am a lazy ass that doesn’t feel like doing a real post.

I was watching a movie last night called ‚“Prozac Nation”, it was a movie from a book a woman who dealt with depression wrote. I don‚’t know. I could relate to some of it. That everything is a crisis. She couldn’t get out of bed in the morning. She couldn‚’t be creative or write or concentrate. A fear of rejection because of her father rejecting her. She was a little more dramatic about it than me though. I feel like anytime I watch something about someone being depressed that it is over dramatized. Like they throw things and get drunk constantly. I guess that happens to some people. That has never happened to me. I feel like depression is more quiet than that. Not being able to function is what it mainly is. Feeling intensely sorry for yourself all the time. Selfish to the point that the world becomes so small. Lack of motivation to do much of anything. Fear of everything. I guess for me, it’s about being afraid. Who knows. The point is, I identified slightly but at the end, I just felt she needed to be nicer to her damn mother. I guess with me, depression is never all consuming. I press on to function, I press on to be happy, I press on to seem “normal”. I just don’t “go crazy”.

Sometimes I feel like it might be slightly relieving to just go “bat shit crazy”, y’know? It may be nice to run around screaming at people and then tell them that I am convinced I am going to die any minute. To me, that seems like too much effort when I am depressed. I don’t think people even know I am depressed until I tell them after I get help for it. It’s funny because it’s so damn embarrassing. Why is it so embarrassing still? Half the fucking world is on antidepressants. Hell, even people who don’t get depressed are on them. Everyone needs help at some point. If it’s not depression, it’s panic, addiction, weight problems, money problems, death of a parent or loved one. We all need help when we get knocked down, right? Why do we always have SUCH a hard time asking for it?

P.S. I probably should make clear that this is from my notebook last year and I just thought I’d post it. I am not depressed now.

The Ex and Nostalgia

My Friend Leanne called today to let me know she ran into a girl that knew someone I “dated” in college. I put “dated” in quotes because frankly, Boston Market should never count as a date. Never. Anyway, so this guy I “dated” was one of my longer ones, two months. Oh, but we did have that month off for Christmas break soooo maybe that is why I didn’t get bored. Plus he was in a fraternity and I was pledging(um, yeah, you can all STFU right now, k?), back then I thought that I was cool because I was dating a fraternity guy. Even if he did kind of look like a slightly taller version of an ompa lumpa. Seriously, stop laughing. You were stupid when you were younger too. Jesus.

So yeah, this guy. Oy. Memories just came a floodin back and I had to go down that road with them. First of all, he was not attractive. Let’s get that right out there. I never really went for that anyway though. I went for talent or sense of humor, intelligence…he didn’t really have much of those either. Hmm. I guess he was just fun. He was fun to be around most of the time. After we stopped dating, we became friends. We were better as friends, so I thought about how much fun we would have at his parties and my sorority formal. Good times.

THEN I remembered that he caused me to have one of the most humiliating moments in my life. Really, at the time, it was horrible, like I don’t know if I can ever show my face horrible. Sorority girl drama central. Oy.

It was my junior year. My friend Leanne and I were living in the dorms as the next semester we were to transfer to UNCW for the last half of the year. I had a job at the student union at their “Information Desk”. It happened that I was there Sunday nights when the fraternities held their meetings(oh no, totally didn’t plead and beg for that time slot, not at all). Anyway, there I was minding my own info desk business when the Ex sidles up to my desk with a huge smile on his face. He tells me that his room mate just broke up with his girlfriend and thinks I am cute. Um, the room mate was actually attractive AND played guitar which I was totally into. Ok, ok, I think “how nice of the Ex hooking me up” and tell him to let Mr. Cutey Guitar Playin Roomie give me a call.

That evening I am on my way home when I catch my friend, Becca(that’s what we will call her anyway), walking back from her aerobics class. We get to talking and she tells me that she heard Mr. Cutey Guitar Playin Roomie is interested in her, thinks she is “gorgeous”. Now I have to say, Becca was gorgeous. There was no denying that. She was tiny with these huge perfect boobs. Not only that but so nice and sweet. At that moment, my heart sank. I thought it was a nice ego boost at least but clearly he’s going to go for Becca. Becca must’ve sensed my change in mood. “What’s up?” she asks. I tell her that I heard he was interested in me too. She said “Oh Debbie, I don’t think he is cute AT ALL. He’s not my type. I am so excited for you though, he seems really nice!”. Yeah, so perky huge boobies didn’t want him, I was thrilled. Maybe I would find someone at this school that I actually liked for more than one drunken evening!

Flash to the next night. I get a phone call from none other than Mr. Cutey Guitar Playin Roomie! Ok, now, I am 20 years old at this point AND in a sorority, my ass is giggling and drinkin Boones Farm the whole time I am talking to him. He then asks me to come into Philadelphia to hang posters for his band. Um, he’s taking me off campus, in a car, I was there. Long story short, the night was fun and interesting for a 20 year old blah blah. At the end of the night, I ask him to my sorority formal that is coming up. He tells me he can’t because he’s going to a friend’s formal that night. Sorry. Ok, that was ok because I knew the friend he was talking about and it was all good. I sat patiently waiting for him to ask me to his. He didn’t. Ok, ok, that was ok because it was the first night we really ever hung out more than 5 mins so no big deal. No big deal. He kisses me at the end of the night and I get the requisite “I’ll call you” and I really felt good about it.

Next night, we have a party at another fraternity house. I am walking with Leanne and my perky huge boobed friend Becca bounds up to us with a smile as big as her boobs. She looks at me and excitedly asks “Guess what???”. I say “What?”(having no idea of the horror that is coming my way). “I’m going to the XXY fraternity formal with Mr. Cutey Guitar Playin Roomie!!!!” she exclaims as if she has won a god damned Oscar. I look at her stunned. “I thought you didn’t like him. He wasn’t cute, he wasn’t your type”. She says “Well, he’s not but I thought he seems so nice I should at least give him a chance”. I ran up the steps and into a small room. Leanne just stood in front of me, not knowing what to say or do. I looked at her and said “I was out with him last night. Last fucking night. He kissed me and then asked her to his formal when he got home from OUR date. Holy shit.”

Now, folks, I was drunk. I was a drunk 20 year old sorority girl with a flair for the dramatic. We then went home and did what NO ONE should ever do in this already too humiliating situation. We called him. We got the Ex first who was giggling when he heard my drunken enraged tone and handed the phone quickly to the now branded “Mr Asshole Cutey Guiter Player From Hell” or MACGPFH. I was mostly sobbing and yelling. Leanne called him the names and got actual words out of her mouth. The words were mostly used by truckers and whores at 3am after a crack binge but they were words.

I woke the next morning and I remember thinking how my life was over. That I was going to have to drop out of school. Everyone was going to know how Becca got picked over me and how I had handled it. The funny part was that Becca never knew about that date he went on the night he asked her to his formal. Also, the Ex nor MACGPFH breathed a word of what I did because he didn’t want her to know about me. So, he and I got a reprieve from being in the greek rumor mill. All was well, except for that HUGE GASH on my ego that took a little more time to get over. I felt like shit to have been picked over and what was even worse is I felt the Ex did it on purpose. Like he knew that MACGPFH would pick Becca and leave me looking and feeling like a big loser.

Then I realized. I had hooked up with his former room mate that previous summer. That roomie and him couldn’t stand each other. I still believe that he helped humiliate me on purpose or at least got a lot of joy out of seeing me look like a fool. That bastard. Good times. College was fun wasn’t it?

By the way, Becca and MACGPFH fell in love and dated for 3 years. Who was I stand in the way of love?