If you saw ME in a police car, what would you think I got arrested for? Answer me, then if you want, post to your own journal and see how many crimes you get accused of.

I haven't posted in recent months because there either hasn't been much to say, or there hasn't been much I've wanted to share. Today I feel a little different. Today I feel hopeful, thoughtful even.

I'm still largely unemployed and I'm tired of fighting it, tired of feeling shitty for being unable to meet my financial obligations, my debts owed, my fuck-ups hanging over my head with an annoying "na-na-na boo-boo" expression going on. Today I decided to fork over this emotional burden and accept the reality that I can't control it and "whatever will be will be." Oddly enough, this line of submission seemed to be what the Universe has been waiting for.

Today, whilst making coffee and chatting with customers, I met someone who works for Wells Fargo, who has asked for my resume to forward on to her manager. I also met a woman who works with pre-paid legal services as well. I also began to feel more optimistic about the recruiter from WaMu that called me two weeks ago.

My mother and my brother came to visit last week, which was fun but stressful. It was great to see them and nice to go to San Francisco and Santa Cruz and Big Basin, all of which turned out to be lovely excursions. I'd not been to Big Basin before and the view was absolutely gorgeous! I had to take my family to the airport on Tuesday and as soon as I dropped them off and drove home, the apartment felt empty and I felt more homesick in that particular moment than I had in a long, long time. Of course, it was also a relief to walk around in my underwear again and not have to worry about my mother "cleaning" the apartment while I'm at work.

Other than that, things are have pretty much been business as usual.

I miss you all. ( Well, most of you anyway... ;oP )

I have yet another interview next week. I'm not particularly excited, but it would be more than what I'm doing now and it'd help pay the bills, which is kind of what's important to me at the moment.

I am not meant for domestic life. I need to work, I need to do something with myself all day. I have other responsibilities that have been too long neglected, and it would be nice to be in a position to take care of them.

Le sigh.

Wish me luck.

Oh. And I think Sarah Palin is one of the worst things that could potentially happen to my body and my choices in the last three decades.

I got a text message last week that went something like this.

"This message is in regards to Ryan Waller. He passed away at 2:37 this morning. I hope he will be in your prayers and in your heart. Cathy Waller."

Mind you, the damn text message came from Ryan's phone. ~rolls eyes~

You have *GOT* to be kidding me, right? First of all, who the fuck sends a TEXT MESSAGE to inform someone of a death? Second of all, there's no mention of a service, no obituary in any newspaper, nationwide, no record with the Social Security office, nothing. All of these facts, by the way, were established with two simple online searches.

Then, as if this whole charade isn't lame enough, I get another message from some random chick named "Rachel" with a similar message.

"Don't know if you have heard yet or not, but Ryan Waller has passed away. His mother was suppose to get in touch with everyone that he was friends with and inform them.
Within a letter that he wrote he stated this,
"When the day comes, make sure someone lets Jami Rhodes know that I am gone, she'll be pissed if I die and don't tell her."

I wish I wasn't the one who had to tell you about this situation and in this way, but I'm keeping true to his wishes.

I'm sorry and may his memory remain in your heart.
-Rachel "

The language, phrasing and grammar are the same in both messages, suggesting they were written by the same person. Not to mention the fact that in "her" message, my freakin' name is misspelled, so "she" wouldn't have been able to find me that way. No, this person would have to know what I look like. Ryan doesn't have any pictures of me, so it would have to be someone who has actually seen me in person.

I was so infuriated I was tempted to respond, but eventually decided no response would be even more troublesome to him.

Personally, I'm waiting for that phone call in a few months where he tires to tell me the CIA had him fake his death or some other bullshit like that.

Ugh! Unbelievable!

Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0 created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Lara Croft A thrill-seeking, slightly unscrupulous, tough-as-nails archaeologist, Lara Croft travels the world in search of ancient relics perhaps better left hidden. She packs two Colt .45s and has no fear of jumping off buildings, exploring creepy tombs, or taking on evil meglomaniacs bent on world domination. Lara Croft 100% Captain Jack Sparrow 75% Maximus 71% Neo, the "One" 67% Indiana Jones 63% James Bond, Agent 007 58% Batman, the Dark Knight 54% El Zorro 50% The Amazing Spider-Man 50% William Wallace 38% The Terminator 17%

I'm coming home to visit, and I'm having a birthday party! Woot! Woot!

Everyone's invited. Friday, July 25th at Mic's on 1212 S 119th St at 9 p.m.

Hope to see y'all there!

Oh, and for the duration of the festivities, we are ALL, I repeat, we are ALL 21!

Woot! Partay on!

I swear, it's on a freakin' schedule.

Me an' melancholy are old friends. Every now and again I find myself overwhelmed by sentimentality and a vague feeling of regret, or maybe it's just remembrance mixed with a touch of longing. Then again, that's not a bad definition of regret, either...

I love music. Especially sad songs, though I can't really say why... Maybe it gives me a face and a sound to match with this pervasive sense of... something, I don't know. There are moments when I'm driven to clarity, when the enormity of it all, the vast interconnectedness that runs rampant in the world, the unfairness, the beauty, the passion and pain and the knowledge that it's all so damn fleeting... These moments come upon me and swallow me whole, and I'm left shaking from the overwhelming strength of that knowledge, like I can touch it, but it's too powerful for me to hold it, so you have to let it go, let it slip back down so you don't drown in it.

I may not be drowning, but sometimes I feel like I'm choking with no place to release that energy. There's a futility in being unable to express something that is ever and always so much a part of me. So much that I manage to put in my own way...

God, is the fear so strong? When did I morph into some sniveling, terrified, quivering mess? When did I become so much in doubt of my own capabilities, my own strength? Goddamn, I feel like such a stranger to myself sometimes. Occasionally, I miss that sort of fearless naivety that clung to me like a second skin. I'm sure it was annoying as hell to the rest of the world, but there was something ruefully admirable about it too.

That's it. Tomorrow is a new day, a whole new day for fuck-ups and successes. I will meet it valiantly, or at least not miserable.

Yeah. So take that!

Post 3 things you've done in your lifetime that you don't think anybody else on your friends list has done.

See if anybody else responds with "I've done that."

Have your friends cut & paste this into their journal to see what unique things they've done in their life.


Numero uno: I once had a multiple-girl orgy. Mind you, I'm mostly straight. This event can be attributed to a bottle of Jerry at the time and mind-numbing panic at being kicked out of my apartment.

Number two: I totaled my first brand-new car 6 months after I bought it.

Number three: I once punched a guy three times my size and broke his nose. (Suffice it to say, the bastard deserved it.)

I spoke with my mother today. My bunny is sick. There's blood in her urine and the vet doesn't know why. They think it's because she needs to get fixed, but they're only guessing.
I'm stuck here and there's nothing I can do, except wonder if I could've prevented this by getting her fixed sooner, like I knew I should have.
I don't know how I'll cope if she doesn't get better.
I miss her. I've been looking forward to taking her back to California with me.

I hope to God she'll be ok.

I love you, Bailey. Hang in there.

Hello.

It's been a really loooooong time. So long that I don't really know where to start. This past Christmas, Jason went home to Omaha for a visit and we started talking again. The night before New Year's Eve, I totaled my new car. The blue, shiny one I'd owned for about 7 months. I was driving home in the wee hours of the morning and slid on some ice. I smacked the wall at about 55mph. Car totaled. I was ok, though.

Shortly after that fiasco, I went down to Texas for work. That turned out to be a disaster. I went home wiser, poorer and determined. I've been looking for work for almost three months now. In the course of that search, I've arrived in Sunnyvale, CA. That's about 20 minutes away from downtown San Jose. It's quiet and beautiful and I love it.

As some of you may have guessed, my primary reason for coming here is Jason. We're good, great even. He travels alot and I miss him alot, but it's easier missing him in California.

Recently, I've been in negotiation with Morgan Stanley. There's a good chance I'll become a Financial Advisor with the firm and I'll be working out of the downtown San Francisco branch. It's a tremendous opportunity and I really want it. I have my third interview this Friday and I'm hoping I'll know whether or not I need to keep looking for a job. Once I'm hired, I'll likely be moving to San Francisco within the next six months.

Here's hoping.

Heh. I just took a new pic of my most recent shade of red. I really liked it, so it's been uploaded as my latest user-pic. Slightly overexcited and wanted to share. That is all.

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It's been almost two months since I had an update for you guys. I've been preoccupied with getting some things together in order to get out of here. I'm relocating to Texas for work. I spent the last three weeks down there trying to get set up, but I had to come home for a bit. Ahh, corporate America--hurry-up and wait.

In any event, when I go back down there I'll be entering into an intense training program. I'll be studying for my CFP, which is kind of like a doctorate in the financial world. I'll be picking that up, along with my tax specialist certification and I'll be learning the business in order to open up my own office in the next few years.

In the mean time, business is slow as ever in Nebraska, so I think I'll be temping for a while until they're ready for me in Texas.

J and I are good. He came home over Christmas and we had several loooong talks. I miss him lots and he misses me too.

Hugs to everyone, and special thanks to James and his Erin--without you guys it wouldn't have been possible.

Love yas!

So I heard that there were some crazy people going around and protesting military funerals because they believe that God is punishing America for tolerating homosexuals.

I read all these articles about these nutballs picketing funerals, and I guess the father of one of these fallen soldiers sued them for invasion of privacy and emotional distress. The jury awarded the plaintiff $11 million, which tells me this country hasn't gone completely insane.

I am so sick of everyone screaming about their first amendment rights--what the fuck ever happened to being RESPONSIBLE for how you choose to express your views? Sure, you can protest my brother's/mother's/son's/father's funeral, and if you cause me emotional distress because you're a bigoted asshole, then I can smack you with a civil suit--how about MY fucking "rights?"

Look, I believe that we have the right to protest our government, we have the right to unpopular opinions, we have the right to make those thoughts and ideas known; however, there is a time and a place to do so. Is a funeral any more public or private than a wedding?

If I object to the Pope, do I have the right to say inflammatory things to Catholics on their way to Mass?

Well, maybe I do--just thinking out loud here, but even if I did, I would EXPECT and accept the consequences of doing so.

Does anyone remember that protesters were still ARRESTED back in the 60's? I mean, free speech isn't FREE and it never has been. This gross sense of fucking entitlement is ridiculous and dangerous. It removes any semblance of personal responsibility--no one should be held accountable for anything.

Soo... my mom had a birthday on Thursday--she turned 47. I didn't really get to see her or do anything fun with her on her birthday, so Friday night, we went and had a few drinks together. We started at the Oppenheimer bar, from there we went to Brewskies, but I didn't like it and there was no room for us, so we went to Choo-choo's, but there was still no room, so I wanted to keep it moving, and my mother laughs and says "We can't just go trolling the bars tonight--I'm too old for that!" I laughed with her and replied, "But I'm not! Come on--it'll be fun." So onward we went.

We ended up at Pheasant Run, where there was finally some breathing room. We sat down and ordered some drinks, and the next thing I know, some old guy is asking if I'm smoking a cigar. Those of you who know me, know that I only smoke cloves, and only when I'm drinking. So I said, "No, not a cigar--it's a clove." Next thing I know, Old Guy is totally hitting on my mom, and his friend is chatting me up. His friend was actually a nice, smart guy, quite a bit older than me. We had a nice time talking though, and when it was time for them to leave, I was a little bummed he didn't ask for my number. Whatev. I don't really have time these days anyway. So I turned to my mother and said, "Too old to go trolling the bars, eh?" We had a good laugh, finished our drinks and went home. I had a fun time with my mom and she took my leaving Ameritrade much better. She's still threatening to kick me out, but I think it'll pass. Once she sees that I'm able to pay my bills doing the sales thing, she'll come around.

Oh, speaking of that, I'm leaving Ameritrade. I put in my notice today. I made more money in one week last week than I make here in an entire month. Plus, I get to be out walking around and talking to nice people, really, really nice people, make good money and save them ALOT of money on their health care at the same time. I'm loving it!

She sits at home on Friday night, watching movies that arrived in the mail that morning. She's eating ice cream and trying not to think about how distant he sounds, trying not to think about the fact that their relationship is ending and she feels powerless to make it stop.

It's late. The clock is winding towards 1am. There's a knock at the door and there he is. So tall, standing there. She ushers him in and he flops on the worn blue sofa. He starts to talk. About how he thinks they're friends, and maybe that's all it is. She says she doesn't think so. He tells her how she never relaxes and how that's all he wants from her. She says she doestn't know what he means, she doesn't know how.

"Why do you like the music you like?"

"I don't know," she says. "I just like it."

"Tell me why. Tell me why *you* like that music."

She thinks for a moment and says. "I guess it's because it speaks to me. There's something out there in the world, I can feel it and I know it's there, but I can't quite grasp it, I can't touch it, but when I listen to music, it makes it real for me. It's this feeling that I can suddenly manage because I can grasp it and then I don't feel quite so crazy, quite so alone."

"That is the most brilliant thing I think I've ever heard you say and I had to drag it out of you. I don't want to have to do that. I just want you to be you around me."

She doesn't believe him; she's afraid to because she knows he's leaving, and that when he goes, he won't be taking her with him. She knows he will abandon her, yet again and still, she loves him. She kisses him, pretends she believes, knowing that her sanctuary of sorts is only an illusion.

"If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, even if we don't speak often, please post a comment with a memory of you and me. It can be anything you want -- good or bad. When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people remember about you."

So I'm reading this new book, Paint it Black. It's written by Janet Fitch who also wrote White Oleander, which I adored. Only problem is that one of the main characters commits suicide within the first 10 pages of the book and all I can see is my dead cousin, and I have to put the book down because it hurts to be reminded, hurts to see him that way. So I stop reading and realize that though I hurt, I can't cry. The tears just won't come, and it's been that way since I started taking my meds again. I can't figure out if this is the way "normal" people feel most of the time--aware but unmoved, and I can't decide if this is preferable, even if it is "normal." It's certainly easier.

I think all the time. I think about Jason too much, which basically means all the time. There's a poem that Ross wrote a million years ago and this line stays with me..." this is supposed to *work*" I get it. I feel that so often and it grates on my raw nerves, which are not so raw these days, thanks to better living through chemistry.

I think about my fantasy downtown apartment, how it will look, how I will live there, what my days will be like, how I will invest myself and my time. I will exercise every day. I will dance every night in my apartment with the curtains open and the lights on and pretend that my neighbors can't see me. I will go to poetry readings at Mick's and I will write most days. I will look at art and feel inspired. I will remember and smile instead of grieve. I will travel often, because I want to and because I can. I will meditate each morning and work hard each day. I will still have Sunday dinners with my mother and brother because it feels so good to go home for a visit.

This is the space where I want my thoughts to live, so why do I constantly find myself treading water in a past I can't change and wasting time missing a man who doesn't deserve such devotion? Useless questions. And I suppose in the end it doesn't matter why; what matters is making a new choice about where to direct myself when those thoughts occur. I will not dwell on boi or fear; I will be bold--I will dare to imagine myself happy and whole in a world *without* boi.