Rufio lost a ball during the neutered process. His heart couldn’t take the entire procedure since he’s incredibly small. We were going to take him back to lose the other family jewel but he didn’t handle the anesthesia at all. I really wasn’t expecting a dog who is incredibly lazy to have lance armstrong sperm with only one nut.
You seem so comfortable in your own skin. Has it always been that way? I guess what I'm trying to ask is how did you become so comfortable with your body and not give a shit what others may be thinking?
You ask me this as if I had anything to be uncomfortable about to begin with. I’m 6’2 and 178lbs, if that makes other people uncomfortable then I guess they have some inner issues to work out for themselves. As for me, I’ve loved being this height, weight, color, length and width for 25 years and so have many other people.
I’m not interested in running back into a relationship, that doesn’t mean I want my legs closed forever. I don’t want to have an intimate relationship with somebody that leaves my bedroom, and I don’t want to fill out the space under my blankets with just anybody. Finding a person with equal loathing in the thought of connecting emotionally and with a facebook status change is challenging. One minute you’re having a good time in your sexy lingerie and the next you’re getting your Chai Latte being thrown at your lap for not calling the following day at Starbucks.
I met him on a snowy day in Chinatown. He was a recent graduate from Georgetown and wanted to conquer the world, but of course before he could do that, Sushi was his first stop. He held the door open for me while we both walked in with snow flakes on our shoulders and slush wedged between our boots. I shook out my hat and got in line to pick up my order, he followed right behind me. Small talk ensued while the people ahead of us were unsatisfied with the mix up of their order and next thing you know my take out turned into eating in with a perfectly handsome stranger.
He was as tortured as I was. Both were convinced in our mid twenties that we would be alone for the rest of our lives. The conversation got lost in the hours, memories were shared and relationship war stories were held with a show-and-tell of battle scars. Next thing you know we were sharing a bed. That one snowy night, two people who were prepared to live a life forever alone, found themselves to be in each others company and kill the silent loneliness that interlocked their soul.
I didn’t want to fall in love, he didn’t want a relationship, I didn’t want a call the next day, he didn’t want to pick up the phone, I didn’t want to know his last name, he didn’t want to know my favorite color, I didn’t need his constant attention, and he didn’t need me to love him. We both needed affection, we both wanted to feel a physical warmth, and we both found that in each other. I still don’t remember his first name, but I won’t forget what his bedsheets smelled like. Nor will I forget that two lonely strangers can find themselves in the same restaurant looking for the same thing other than their order.
Dad: K… Me: Dad… Dad: I throw my hands up in the air sometimes Me: don’t Dad: Saying ayyyy yo. Gotta lettt gooo Me: Stop. Dad: I want to celebrate and live my life Dad: Saying ayyyy yo. Baby lets goooo Me: (starts tapping foot while scowling) Dad: CAUSE WE GON ROCK THIS CLUB Dad: WE GON GO ALL NIGHT. Dad: WE GON LIGHT IT UP LIKE ITS DY-NO-MITE Us:
“Sometimes I got so bored of trying to touch her breast that I would try to touch her between her legs. It was like trying to borrow a dollar, getting turned down, and asking for 50 grand instead.”—Rob, High Fidelity
…and anybody else who likes this post. For those of you who are not listed its not because I don’t love you, its because I know everyone else is probably following you as well. If you become a negative nancy and unfollow me for not listing your name, I will haunt you in your sleep and kill you. Just saying.
My father arrived around noon and sat in the kitchen while waiting for my mom to get ready. She’s been a complete wreck since this morning. Recently my mom’s very dear friend lost her battle to breast cancer, a friend she’s had since 2nd grade and has stayed connected with for over 30 years. Today we were attending her funeral. We all knew it would be tough for my mother. One thing about my mom, she rarely shows emotion. I’ve never seen her cry and I’ve never see her upset. Anger and enrage, yes. I knew those emotions very well from her. She buried both her parents and even then she composed her feelings enough to mourn in private. This was the first time I’ve ever seen her cry, and the first time she allowed us to be there.
I came upstairs from the basement with my shoes untied, my blue hair sticking up and a hole slowly developing in the back of my stockings. I stood in between the doorway and blew the hair out of my face and twirled around for my father asking him if I looked alright. He just shook his head and told me to go downstairs and change the following:
Comb your hair
Hide the blue
Cover your tattoos
Wear hole-less stockings
I looked at him as if he told me to go downstairs and find another person to be. Holding back my inner brat, I stomped past my mother and back down to my room to change my entire being. I stuck my head under the faucet to wet my hair and to comb over the blue I had in my hair, using a bobby pin to tuck in the rouge rebellious streaks. I grabbed my cardigan, buttoned it all the way up to the point of a turtle neck, changed my tights and grabbed my very uncomfortable pair of flats that were a size to small for me. I walked back into the kitchen grumpy, sore, waddling and with a wedgie. I raised my arms and grunted, “There! You happy?” My dad just looked at me with a smirk while he was sipping on his coffee, I proceeded to pout next to my bowl of cereal.
My mom was zipping back and fourth from each level of the house. Talking and mumbling to herself. She has to speak at the funeral, something she tried to get out of but had no choice. I heard her reciting her speech as she kept gathering things around the house to ease her mind. Both my dad and I wanted to sit her down to take it easy, but neither one of us wanted to risk the wrath if she objected. Finally as she was making a last stop through the kitchen, she looked at me. It wasn’t just a normal look she gives me which involves yelling of my entire birth name or disapproval. It was a genuine sad look as if i took something away from her. I opened my mouth full of lucky charms and said, “What I do? I didn’t do it. I swear, I just woke up.” She walked over to me, messed up my hair, took the bobby pin out, made me unbutton my cardigan and told me to go put my chucks on. I looked over to my dad and looked back up to my mom worried. She sat down and with her serious ‘you’re in trouble’ eyes she said, “If I stand up in that church, read this speech and cannot find you in the crowd I won’t be able to do it. I need to see you. I need normalcy. I need to see my daughter.” My dad walked over and put his hand on my mothers shoulder and I walked downstairs to change again.
We made it to the church in peaceful silent. I sat in the back watching my dad trying to comfort my mother and my mother looking out the window keeping her mind on the changing scenery as oppose to where we’re going. We made it to the funeral and once seated I noticed my mom growing more and more nervous. A couple stray tears fell to her chest and I handed her a tissue. She patted her eyes and looked down to her lap. There was really nothing I could say, she’s never been one for hugs or hand holding, my father and I just looked at eachother helplessly while we kept feeding her more tissues. As the funeral was getting to the part where friends and family speak, my mom got called to the front to speak on behalf of her friends. She fumbled around with her paper that she was rehearsing all morning and took a deep breath in front of the microphone. As she looked up, she looked directly at me, wiped a loose tear, smiled, and began her speech.
At that moment I realized my mother needed me and I was there for her. It didn’t come in the form of a hug or a held hand. It was the comfort that knowing even through her time of an emotional wreck she was having within herself, that things were going to be okay. Death is normal, life is normal, we are normal. Seeing my father and myself in a crowd gave her enough normalcy to not break down through all the weeping faces. And for once, just being myself is all that she wanted from me. Me and my blue hair is what kept her together.
They say bad things happen for a reason But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding Cos she’s moved on while I’m still grieving And when a heart breaks no it don’t breakeven even… no
What am I gonna to do when the best part of me was always you, And what am I supposed to say when I’m all choked up that you’re ok I’m falling to pieces, yeah, I’m falling to pieces, yeah, I’m falling to pieces