Jet To No Where

Help me find out if I am on a Jet To No where…or just on stand by.

Archive for the tag “Family”

Back in Pennsylvania…

I slumped to the ground in a lifeless pile. The ground was so cold, so muddy. My fingers and hands that were so desperately trying to hold me up were buried in soggy cold, thick, wet dirt. The rain had not stopped all day. It was the type of rain that just kept coming and coming….no end in sight and pouring down. Every time I opened the door to see if  the guys had arrived, the rain was loud and insistent. I could see my breath outside on the back porch. I was wearing a white v-neck t-shirt and a long skirt….no shoes. The kids were inside playing video games and Ted was pacing nervously back and forth on the porch as he tried to put his best it’s-going-to-be-okay face on. It wasn’t working.

We knew something had happened. Something tragic, but we didn’t want to believe anything we read on the Internet. I only checked it twice and saw two news reports. I read only a little and closed them out….the computer was off from then on. I had a horrible sinking feeling of dread. I knew he did something really stupid this time.

I finally heard two bikes coming closer to the house. The sound was so faint, but I heard them. I had been listening for hours for that sound. I wanted to know what happened….the real story…… The bikes grew louder and louder until they finally arrived. It was Tom and Sam. They were wearing their usual jeans with their old worn in leather jackets. Tom had a cigarette hanging from his lips. He always had a cigarette hanging from his lips.

I stood on the porch, cold and barefoot, waiting for someone to say something. Ted was standing on the front steps, waiting just out of ear shot. They walked up to Ted so slowly that it seemed as if an hour had passed. They shook Ted’s hand. I couldn’t hear exactly what they said. I only saw tears and heads shaking.

Sam looked Ted dead in the eye and said, “I’m sorry man….there was nothing anyone could do.”

Ted walked back and forth on the porch while I just watched him. I gestured for Tom and Sam to go in, whispering there was coffee or beer. I still didn’t know exactly what had happened. I was afraid to ask Ted. I didn’t know if he was angry, upset or just completely distraught with grief. I kept looking over to him and he finally looked back at me.

“He was in a bad way”, he simply stated. His eyes were so welled up with tears that never fell. His head was tilted to the side slightly with a look that I ached for him. There was so much pain in his soft voice and crooked glance.

“No one could help him any longer. It just happened…..it had to happen sooner or later.” Ted said with a tremble. “He took a bunch of pills and wrecked his bike.” He went through the open sliding glass doors into the kitchen. I wanted to go and help him, console him….but I knew he wanted to be alone for a while.

On my way down to the mud I couldn’t control myself. I was inconsolable. I cried so hard my chest hurt. The kind of cry you had as a kid when you couldn’t catch your breath. My face down, struggling to catch the breath I could see right in front of me in this wicked rain….my hands grasping the mud, squishing through my fingers. I sat there in the yard getting drenched on the freezing ground. No one would know I was crying unless they heard me….the rain was sliding down my face…mascara running down with it.

I didn’t even like him. He had done so many awful things in the past two years to everyone who had tried to help him get on his feet again. The whole family talked about him taking pills, but no one ever confronted him. Everyone was great at that….talking about what was wrong with someone, expressing so much concern, but never doing a God-damned thing about it and then saying they couldn’t have done anything anyway. No one actually cared enough to sat anything….even myself.  Plausible deniability.

There was a certain look on Ted’s face. You cannot describe it….you only know it if you see it.

Guilt.

Guilt of never confronting him about the rumors of pills, erratic behavior and lies. Ted would never be the same after today. I knew it would be a long time for him to open up and talk about it, but I would wait. He would need me soon enough and I didn’t want to push him. He needed to feel the loss….face the pain….it was his only brother, after all.

Leonard was dead.

Monday Afternoon…..

Before I spoke, I studied him. He looked familiar, as in a long time childhood friend way. I grew up in a small Italian, Catholic, white, family-oriented town. Everyone knew us. He looked like one of the guys……like the kind in the earlier part of the movie Goodfellas. He has that younger DeNiro look, wearing a buttoned down Cuban style shirt and pants. His hair was slick and dark…. and he had a cute, sweet smile…..like he was flirting with you without even trying. I felt at ease with him. I didn’t know why….I just know I did.

I had this vision, just for one minute, of him speaking to me in a deep Italian, rough and tough guy type of way. I gazed all over him with that sly sweet smile, glancing at me for 15 seconds and slowly glancing away. He was just giving me a little when he knew I wanted a lot. I could not break my stare and it was obvious, but I did not care. I never cared about asking for what I wanted or telling someone how I felt, good or bad.

I think it was the whole image that intrigued me. The badge…..the voice…his demeanor, look and stance….it all added up to an intoxicating combination….and I was drunk. For those briefs moments that were only seconds, I was transformed back to a teenager. I was almost giddy, yet acting just as seductive without saying a word.

I remember thinking how I wish it could all be just that simple again.

No responsibilities….bills…kids…nothing. Nothing to worry about except how I was going to start talking to this guy. Just like in high school. When you were dying to go over to that one guy your father told you never to even think about seeing. He was the dangerous teenager your daddy warned you about….and the more daddy told you no….the more you wanted it.

He pulled out his wallet, only it wasn’t a wallet. It was a roll of money with a thick rubber band around it. All hundreds, fifties and twenties….just like my old neighborhood guys had. I don’t know why he did this. He was fingering through the cash, as if he was counting it, but there really was no need to. There wasn’t a store for at least a mile around here. It seemed odd to me, but unwantingly sexy. My family had money. I never wanted for anything, but money was never something I considered where a guy was concerned. I had the best sex ever with some of the most broke-ass guys. Go figure.

I finally spoke.

“What do you need all of that money for?”, I simply stated.

“It’s bond money.”, he replied, tilting his head slightly with that sweet and sly smile that I could now not do without. He took out a pack of Camel no-filters and flipped one into his mouth. He lite a match still the the pack and proceeded to light is cigarette and blew it out. He put the pack and matches into his back pocket. He noticed I was smoking before.

“Do you want one?”, he softly offered.

I don’t smoke Camels. I prefer Parliment lights….always have for years, but I wanted a reason to get closer to him.

“Sure”, I replied in that same soft voice. I could be just as coy and flirty without trying too, if I wanted to.

He started to walk over to me. He was only about twenty or so feet away. There was no other noise except for his footsteps. It was the middle of Lake county. No buses, trucks and only the occasional car. I was getting nervous, but didn’t show it. He walked slowly and methodically….almost deliberate. It seemed to take forever. He smiled the whole time…he knew what he was doing. There was a method to his madness and he knew how to use it. He finally made it over to me, took out his pack of Camels again and I looked down. I stopped breathing for a second.

He had more that just a pack of Camels in his hands.

“Realization is one of the most difficult acheivements” ~ Erich Fromme

by Alex Senape Vader on Monday, November 8, 2010 at 1:42pm

Is sad that is took me so long to realize that my body does not function like everyone else. Th common cold puts me in bed for a week. Stress makes me vomit and the flu puts me in the hospital. If I make a promise, I keep it, but if it comes at a price of my health, I cannot. I look and feel (most of the time) normal, but I am not. I will need a heart transplant one day and until that day I am cannot pretend I a Superwoman, Super-wife, Supermom or Super-friend any longer. I don’t like this realization, but I have to accept it. I wish others could accept it and I understand that it is not that I do not want to do something that I promised, it is that I CANNOT do it.

I try my best to stay true to my word, but I am no good to anyone, especially my children, if I am too sick to do anything. I have to start putting myself first and I will not apologize for that. I wish the people who say they love me and are family here would understand all of this, but unless someone has had a life changing health issue, no one could possibly understand. No one will ever truly know what Ted has been through or what I have been through with our health.

It saddens me….it hurts me…I do not want to hurt anyone, but I cannot be what I thought I could any longer. I cannot do it all…I wish I could. It is entirely 100% true….if you don’t have your health, you have nothing. I do have Ted and my children who truly understand all of this…. because we have been through it all together.

I always thought that admitting ones weaknesses was admitting one was fragile or not strong.  It is not. It is human.

I now realize that I am weak to a certain extent. I cry as I write this, but it is because I feel sad for the promises I cannot keep….but it saddens me even more deeply that people called family cannot understand this. I needed only to explain this one person, and I hope she understands. I thought she did….and I hope she can understand.

 Now, I have to take care of myself….I have to do this for my family, my children most of all.  I have to remove myself from all things that have an impact on my health.

 Anyone who truly loves and cares for me will understand without a word.

 Others who cannot or will not understand…..then I know I made the right choice.

“To preserve health is a moral and religious duty, for health is the basis of all social virtues. We can no longer be useful when we are not well.” ~ Samuel Johnson quotes (English Poet, Critic and Writer. 1709-1784)

 “Before healing others, heal yourself” ~Indira Gandhi

Twas’ the Night Before Christmas….

It happened last night. It was inevitable. I knew it was coming, like murky grey clouds hanging over my house….the electric smell of a storm brewing. I had avoided it for almost a year. I kept thinking to myself….just one more year, a little more time, I am just not ready yet. We were sitting outside on the balcony. I inhaled a long drag off of my P-Funk and blew it away from him, as always when he would come out with me. The smoke just hung in the air like those cartoon bubbles above characters heads….just waiting for the silence to break. Then he asked….

“Mom….is Santa Claus real?”

I stopped breathing for a second or five…all possible answers flew through my head like a swarm of locusts on a crop.

“What do your friends say about it?”, I questioned back quicker than I thought.

“They said he isn’t real…that your parents do everything…so do all the kids in my class.”, he responded. He was matter of fact. Just as if he were telling me what time it was.

“What do you believe?”, I quietly said.

“I think he’s real.”…..And there it was. The answer I didn’t want to hear. He is going to be nine years old in exactly one month. I found out when I was about seven or so. Now what? I was so happy I squeaked by last year with answers like, “Do you think I want to stay up all night and put presents together?”….”Why would you think I would do all of that…I’m tired.” I refer to myself in the singular only because in the past eight years there had not been one Christmas Eve where Ted had been awake long enough to do it all. I was Santa all these years.

Jake is extremely mature for an eight year old. People don’t give him enough credit for how smart he is or for how much of the real world he does understand. He’s in third grade, reading at a fifth grade level….and a math genius. How do you lie to a genius?

So I did the dirty deed.

I explained it all. Santa…St. Nicholas…why people created the fantasy of such a person. A person with incredible influence and power over children. How does a child get over the fact that it is all a lie?

A lie is something you tell someone to hurt them. A lie is meant to be cruel….the fantasy of Santa is not a lie….it is a way of making children understand the concept of giving. It helps them to understand how to treat one another….how lucky we are and how unfortunate others may be. It is the reason we feed the hungry, house the homeless and drop our change and dollars into those red buckets every year outside of Wal-Mart.

He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t sad. He asked one question. “Well, if Santa and Mrs. Claus aren’t real, then who I was talking to on the phone last year wasn’t real?”

Ummm…yea….here we go…..

“Well, they were real people, just not Santa and Mrs. Claus.”, I answered.

“Then who were they?”, he asked.

“Your aunt and uncle.”, I said timidly.

“So, they lied to me.”, he responded…so quickly and with a shred of anger.

I proceeded to explain how it wasn’t really considered a lie, as it was not meant to hurt him in any way. It was merely meant to keep up with the illusion of the Santa myth. (I didn’t say that part ver batim….I skirted around that one as much as possible). At this moment,  Ted came in from walking the dog. I proceeded to tell him the entire story. He didn’t react as I expected. He was extremely angry that I didn’t “consult” him before telling Jake the truth about Santa. Really?

I mean fucking REALLY?

Three months ago Jake asked the sex question. I “consulted” him on that one and he proceeded to simply say….”Oh no, you got this one.” and threw his hands in the air. So I took it and with the maturity that Jake has, he handled it just fine, matter of fact, not really even surprised at all. He just said, “Oh, ok”, and shrugged his shoulders.

Ted was so enraged about this life altering decision I had made that he went on and on for over an hour. I defended myself, Jake told him to knock it off…that he was just fine and to “get over it”, which I found completely hysterical.

After Jake fell asleep and Owen was bathed and finally in la-la land too, I proceeded to give Ted the silent treatment. For someone who says that I talk too much and to leave him alone during an argument, he cannot stand the silent treatment. It kills him. He tries any and everything to get me to give him some sort of response…none of it worked.

About 11:00 PM, Ted got up to go to bed. I simply said, “Ted, if it will make you feel better, I’ll give you the Easter Bunny and the fucking Tooth Fairy…..ok?”

 

 

In rememberance of all those who have given the ultimate sacrifice…9/11/2001

To live in hearts we leave behind….. Is not to die.

~Thomas Campbell, “Hallowed Ground”

American Flag

Quote of The Day

“Would you like me to give you a formula for success? It’s quite simple, really. Double your rate of failure. You are thinking of failure as the enemy of success. But it isn’t at all. You can be discouraged by failure or you can learn from it, So go ahead and make mistakes. Make all you can. Because remember that’s where you will find success.”
– Thomas J. Watson

http://www.motivatingquotes.com/success.htm

How Do You Measure A Person’s Success?

How does one measure a person’s success?

I have known many wealthy individuals who have worked themselves almost to death and for what? A bigger house. A nicer car, designer clothes, more vacations and hair by Fredric Fekkai….why are all these things so important? Do they really measure a person’s worth? Do they calculate their success or value as a human being?

I knew a woman once that would give you the shirt off of her back…knowing it was her last shirt and never bring it up in a conversation again. She had ruined her credit, had no vehicle or home and was virtually broke. I also know a man who has earned a lot of money, helped his family members when he could, but was quick to use it against them in the future. Yes, this man worked long, hard hours. He was rarely home and saw little of his children. He had everything he ever wanted, but there was always something lacking…. something more…something better to buy…something more expensive or trendier to obtain. So he kept working way beyond what should have been his retirement age.

Now, this woman died penniless, but with all of her friends and family surrounding her.

This man is still alive. He has a strained relationship with one of his children. He lives under constant stress and is still striving to obtain “the American Dream.” Most people would agree that he has already achieved it, but not in his mind. He has to have more…has to keep up with the lifestyle he has made for he and his wife. I don’t discount for one second all the hard work he has done to have this level of success…but is it really success?

I have shitty credit. It’s my own fault. I made huge mistakes and now I am paying for them. I don’t own a home right now. I rent a really great two bedroom, two bathroom apartment. This is where I am right now in my life and I am taking steps to change my life. Not only monetarily, but spiritually as well. I am truly happy with my life right now. It has improved greatly from over a year ago and my husband and I are doing more to insure that our family will always be comfortable.

Now….am I successful? In one respect, no, as my credit is shot and some months are harder than others with the bills. On the other hand, yes. I am in a much better place than last year. I am healthier, my kids are happy and my husband is much more relaxed. We have improved our lives 100% in the last year, but we are by no means wealthy. Does this mean I am not successful? Do I have to be Donald Trump to be a success? Is the measure of ones success based solely on their economic status?

Is it so horrible to die broke? I really don’t plan on that happening, but if I do, does it mean I died with nothing to show for it? My children are always well cared for. They have everything they want and need and more. We do things as a family all the time. No…we don’t go on elaborate vacations to exotic destinations, but we go to Disney-world or Universal Studios for the day every few months. We go to the park and the beach. I spend almost every day at the pool with my kids and their friends. My oldest has sleep-overs constantly and my house has become the Kool-Aid House. I write every day, which is what I love doing. I have friends that I talk to every day. But most importantly, my husband loves me and I love him. We have had some of the hardest times one can imagine, but we got through them.  We have both made mistakes, but we worked them out. We will be married 11 years on August 31st. He is the only man in my entire life that has never disappointed me.

Some would define our life as average….some below average.

Why is it so important to be wealthy and powerful to be considered successful? Does it not count to have a loving family and friends living a less than middle class life? The middle class has been totally screwed lately, but they continue to pick themselves up, brush off and start over.

I was middle class once. I screwed it all up. I am below middle class right now. I don’t plan to live paycheck to paycheck for the rest of my life….who does? But life happens and people screw up. What else are we supposed to do? I could drop into a deep depression, make my kids miserable, ruin my marriage and really make my life a royal fuck up. But I am choosing to pick myself up, brush off and start all over again….with the help of my husband. We did it before…we will do it again.

 I would say that sounds pretty successful.

The Reality of It All….

It finally happened. I saw them both. We were all in the store. It was just a coincidence, happenstance….or are there no coincidences? I followed them around the store while my father longingly looked back as his unsympathetic wife walked faster and faster. It was as if he were trying to stop, but couldn’t. I could tell by the look on his face. It was ….”I’m sorry”….”I love you”…..”I have no choice.” She was cruel but her crocodile tears were starting. They always came….she was a professional. She could have won an Oscar so many times over the past 30 or so years…it was a true hidden talent….but I knew that’s all it was…a talent, acting…not real tears. Maybe this time she was genuinely scared. Scared of my wrath, as the anger was growing on my face. Scared of my letting the truth out, calling her out on her lies and manipulations. But I saw the slight grin surface a few times around each corner. She knew what she was doing and didn’t care. What made me sad…more than anything was that my father was going along with it all. Dodging me, pretending to ignore every time I yelled to him…asking him….”Please, please stop!…I need to talk to you! I have to talk to you!” I started to cry….the kind of cry that is almost inconsolable. Sobbing, my chest heaving with every breath and step I took.

It was as if I were in slow motion. I was trying to catch up so desperately, but there were people everywhere. The store was so busy and flooded with potential consumers that just seemed determined to block my every move. I finally caught up to them. I didn’t say a word at first. I just stared at my father for a minute that seemed like a lifetime. The type of stare that buckles your knees and says everything without uttering a word. I was puzzled, dumbfounded, hurt, shocked, visibly upset…but only slightly angry. My chest hurt so badly. I was squeezing as if I were in a vice. It seemed impossible to speak, but I finally could.

“Why are you doing this.”, I sobbed to him. “I just don’t understand. Just what am I supposed to say to Jakob”. I started to yell. “He is only eight years old…a little boy…he doesn’t know what he did “wrong”.” I was now spewing at him.

He had no defense. He knew he was wrong. He had hardly spoke to me in the last year and a half and had called Jake about ten times. His wife, who Jake had called Mom-Mom at one time, had not spoken to him in over two years. No phone calls, letters, holiday or birthday gifts that she picked out. He only received what my father picked out and signed her name to the card.

“Jake has done nothing!”, I screamed. “He is so innocent and good-hearted. He is kind and wants to know why “Mom-Mom” doesn’t care about him any more. He wants to know why everyone he has known for the past seven years has disappeared out of his life. He wants to know what he did “wrong.” I finally screamed at both of them.

She was “crying”…. A meek, simple sob that would absolutely be figured out by the majority of strangers and most family members. I knew it so well. My father was always reeled in., but he was different this time. He seemed to know that she was the reason, but he had no choice. He kept stumbling over every word. He couldn’t complete a sentence. He was crying now too. I have seen my father cry a few times, but not like this. He was truly sorry, empathic….with a look on his face that said everything. He was helpless. He was a pussy.

“We can’t trust you. We never could. You have always caused problems for your father and I will not see him hurt any longer. I am done with all of your bullshit for all of these years.”, she spit at me. Her eyes were dark with nothing behind them. I had heard this speech so many times before. It was ridiculous. I could not have possible been that bad for thirty years.

“What does that have to do with my son!” I screamed into her face. I was up close to her, intimidating and angry. I always knew deep down she was scared of me. Scared that eventually my father would finally listen to me. That he would would hear how she treated my sisters and I over the years. I was never afraid of her. I never backed down from a fight with her. I called her out on every evil, manipulative move she made. She had said to me so many times over the years….”I will deny everything I say to you, so don’t bother saying anything to anyone because they will never believe you.” She was right….they never did.

I was pleading with my dad…..”Daddy, please…why are you doing this to Jake?….I don’t want you to hate me, but it doesn’t matter if it means you’ll stop what you are doing to him. Jake is so sad some days. I don’t know what to say. I am sick of lying….telling him that you and her are so busy…that you work so much, even though you are supposed to be retired. I am tired of having my son think your wife is a good person when she absolutely is not!”

“I don’t understand.” I said as more and more tears were streamed down my face. All three of us were unaware of anyone else in the store. The people all seemed to go about their business in slow motion. They were all a blurry haze of everyday life passing me by. My father didn’t seem to care either. Normally he would avoid any public display of this sort. His wife kept looking around…as if anyone really could give a shit. They had lives to lead, bills to pay, grocery lists to fill. She was always putting up a front. No, no…nothing is wrong in my life…I have the perfect life…a huge home, a rich husband…and I was able to turn him against his three daughters…it was so easy.

What kind of man lets that happen? What kind of woman lets a man choose her over his children?….But we are talking about her. She hates kids. She hated us as kids. Now as adults, she saw no reason to find any possible imperfection or nuisance to make my father’s life so miserable that he was willing to ignore his daughters. At that very moment… I didn’t care what he was doing to me. I was protecting my son. I was standing up for my child who loved unconditionally and didn’t understand what he could have done that was so awful that his own grandfather hardly spoke to him…..that his so-called Mom-Mom hadn’t talked to him in over two years and hadn’t step foot into our home in over three years in Pennsylvania before we moved to Florida.

My father just kept sputtering…trying to catch the right words. There was an obvious look of  “I am so sorry for all I have put you through over these years. I wish I could change it all. I wish I had a relationship with you”. It was everything I ever wanted to hear, but it wasn’t why I was so angry….Jake…why would he torture a poor little boy that he used to take almost very weekend to fly in one of his planes. Jake loved it so much. He would tell everyone he could…”My Pap-Pap is a pilot. He has his own planes and lets me fly them all the time. I know how to fly a plane.” He was so proud…so sincere….it broke my heart.

It ended almost as quickly as it started. We were being pulled apart by her. My arm was out stretched….with so much pain on my face. He had the same look of pain. He kept asking me, “Do you need anything? Does Jake need anything? I’ll give you whatever you need! If you need any help. please let me know!”

I yelled… “No. …I don’t need or want that kind of help! I don’t need your money….I need for you to be a grandfather to my son! Don’t do to him what you did to me! He doesn’t deserve it! He did nothing wrong!”. Tears were flowing so much that I could see any longer. She was pulling him father away. I was screaming at him.

“Call Jakob!..Call your grandson! He doesn’t understand! He just a little boy you bastard!” It was my final good-bye as she whisked him far out of my reach. I was sobbing so heavily. I didn’t answer the people…strangers asking me if I were all right. My mind was boggled and nothing was resolved….as always.  I had a glimmer of hope that everything was going to go back like it used to be… but  it was gone as quickly as it came.

The sobs kept coming. I couldn’t control it…I was inconsolable. I hurt so badly for my child…..Jake loved him and her so very much…..I had never felt such pain and controllable grief…it was a loss greater than any death I had ever experienced….because it was a chosen loss…. by my father.

I woke up grasping my chest, tears streaming down my already soaked face. I was crying during the whole dream. I still could not control it. Jake was sleeping next to me. I hugged him so hard, but not enough to wake him. I love him so much…..everyone always tells people that you will never know such a love until you have children….I never believed it until I had Jake. I would die and kill for him. Everything was so fresh and real. I was there. My dad was there. She was there. It really happened….it couldn’t end like this? Why was it all a dream!!! Why was my son going to still question himself and what he did wrong to have this all happen to him.  I was still crying, but starting to become angry.

I got up and went to the bathroom. I washed my face off and brushed my teeth. The clock said 1:46 AM. I cried the whole time.

It’s 2:58 AM now. I am done with the dream, but I am still sobbing uncontrollably. I had to wipe my eyes so many times just to see the screen. My chest doesn’t hurt any longer. I am starting to calm down. Jakob had a sleep over with his cousin, Skylar. She keeps waking up and moving around, but I think she is still sleeping. The computer is right next to where she is sleeping. I am going to check on her.

I just can’t believe it is over. It was so real. It still seems within my grasp….like maybe when I fall back asleep I could pick up where I left off…but that never happens in my dreams no matter how hard I try.

I guess no matter how much I say that I am OK, I am still not over all the hurt from my father. Maybe I will call a therapist in the morning.

The Poisonous Bait and Switch

Everyone has arguments. We all cannot agree on everything all the time. When these disagreements turn ugly there is one thing that I will never understand.

Why…when someone has nothing valid or intelligent left to say…do they always bring up issues that have no bearing on the issue at hand?

If you are arguing with someone about, let’s say, a rude comment someone made to you…and it gets heated…why would someone bring up the time when you were in college and they loaned you $300.00 and you never paid them back the whole amount? What is the point? What does that have to do with the fact that a person you thought cared about you said you were being unreasonable or mean?

Throughout every argument I have ever had with anyone, there is a common denominator….the bait and switch. It’s exactly likes sales. They reel you in with something really interesting and them jack it up to a level that doesn’t even come close to the original reason you were interested.

If you have no argument left…stop…retreat…let it go…but don’t bring up shit that has happened in the past, you heard someone say or just plain has nothing to do with the original argument. Everything spirals out of control and ends up in the shitter. People can be extremely vicious when backed into a corner.

Just like snakes…..and then they show their true selves.

http://images.google.com/images?gbv=2&hl=en&sa=1&q=snake+in+a+basket&aq=3&oq=snake+in+a+

Devil May Care….

I despise all of the social websites being used as a platform for airing out ones feelings when they don’t have the balls to confront the someone in person or by phone.

Since my last blog, my family drama has increased. It seems a certain someone did not like what I had to say and proceeded to post her attitude all over Facebook.  This act also allows one to drift completely off topic into issues that were not even an issue to begin with. So, if my family member wants to use the web as her platform instead of talking like an adult….I see no reason why she shouldn’t get what she wants. Who am I to deny her that right…..

Her reply in reference to my last post concerning a truly stupid issue:

“I dont owe you knowthing! I just qoited what my brother stated to me that early morning!  Oh and you call  the land lady right back afiter i called you  was mature !  Amy was standing right next to me! Its is all good we took care of it !I am over it! Oh and I am truly glade you had time to check on your niece though ! I am greatful my brother did ! He made time for her while no one other than my mother and eddie and teddie and justins family !Oh and from what I hurd for other sorces you brought  a little of it on your self with the house and not all that you say was true ! I dont care if you dont like were you lived !From what I see it seemds like you never wanted to be there in the first place! Let alone in florida ! From the whole time you lived there you not onece came over just to visit us only when you need something or if it was a birthday or hoilday! So yes I see its all about alex! I dont care ! I am me and we help you guys out when need and only greatfulness was my brother!”

Which was promptly followed up with this:

“Alex I truly hope your happy maybe you will stop bitching so much and finally be happy! That what was truly on my mind begreatful for what you have and not what you dont have!!!!!!!!!! Have a god day! I am done with this topic and drama! ;0) Please kiss the kids for me!”

Spelling and grammar not corrected…that’s exactly what I was supposed to decipher…..and that is a lot of exclamation points. Do you think she wanted to emphasize something?

Men would never dream of doing something like this. They hash it out quickly and it’s over. Women, on the other hand, have the wonderful tendency to drag their bones of contention on for days, weeks, months and use emails, letters, social networking sites and the web as tools for their annoyances. I am just as guilty, just not as angry.

My question is this: Why do we, as women, let tiny words on a web page get to us so badly? They are just typed words, right? Or is it that we don’t like everyone else we know on that social networking site to know our dirty laundry? Why does one simple sentence require a litany of words just spitting back at you to make a point? It all seems awfully desperate and angry, yet not enough to have a real conversation.

I, myself, could care less who knows what about me, as long as it’s the whole story and the complete truth. Others just like to throw out whatever they have just to try and hit a nerve. Whatever the reasoning one has for not sucking it up, acting like an adult and picking up the phone instead of hiding behind a computer…I’ll never know.

I haven’t had much inspiration lately for writing, but I have also been moving and under a lot of stress….or maybe I just needed a little aggravation?

I am right here, Angie, when you want to apologize for all of the lies and nasty things you have posted about me. You had the floor and now you need to act like an adult.

But, like you said, “I dont owe you knowthing!”.

Post Navigation