i found Misha today.
Dana was my first, my innocence, my beauty, my goddess.
Misha was my first bad girl, the end of my innocence. She was my beauty, my goddess, but of a whole different pantheon of passion and emotion.
I have dreamed of her for 20 odd years. I had one picture of her, those years ago. When I ran away from home and ended up getting arrested in New Mexico, all those years ago, they confiscated the guns, the stolen "evidence" and my wallet, which had pictures of Dana, Charla Cusimano, Courtney, and my one pic of Misha.
I have not seen her since.
I discovered that my best friend Greg, knew her, in Amarillo, years before. We were college roommates, talking about our first loves. I mentioned Misha, described her in so much perfect detail, that he recognized her. I recalled that she had moved from Amarillo to Lubbock. And it was so crazy- He knew her as the most beautiful girl in his school, before she moved off.
And she had moved to Lubbock and met me. She was so wild, so free, so decadent, and even so corrupt. She was the girl that made it impossible for all other girls that followed. She was a hard act to follow.
I've looked for her, on and off, for years.
I've heard this, and that. And ran into her Dad a time or two, years after she was gone.
But then, she was gone.
And- I found her tonight.
No matter how jaded i think I am, I walked on clouds today, having seen her once again.
Love never forgets.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
The foolish notion known as love
A few hours ago we were kissing. I held her in my arms and she kissed my neck softly and I didnt want to let her go.
I was writing her to tell her what she means to me. And I'm pretty good at this writing shit, not to toot my own horn, but I can throw some romantic syntax when the mood takes me- but It wasn't ENOUGH. I didn't want to imagine her reading my words, this time.
So I decided I would call her, and pour out my heart. And so i deleted the long letter and I called her, breathless with anticipation. My heart leapt and bounced sideways in my chest as I prepared the words in my head.
She answered, and you could hear the smile on my face as I beamed- "Hey you, what are you doing?" Her voice was a little flat. "I'm sitting here with _____." It took a second or two to register. And then my heart sunk a mile. It all hit, immediate and crashing like an elevator dropping out from under me. "Oh, you went to see him at-" "No he's here, at my apartment"
And, that was that. And even before I clicked end, I already felt like the fool that I was- that I am. I was already laughing at myself while crying inside with shame.
I was writing her to tell her what she means to me. And I'm pretty good at this writing shit, not to toot my own horn, but I can throw some romantic syntax when the mood takes me- but It wasn't ENOUGH. I didn't want to imagine her reading my words, this time.
So I decided I would call her, and pour out my heart. And so i deleted the long letter and I called her, breathless with anticipation. My heart leapt and bounced sideways in my chest as I prepared the words in my head.
She answered, and you could hear the smile on my face as I beamed- "Hey you, what are you doing?" Her voice was a little flat. "I'm sitting here with _____." It took a second or two to register. And then my heart sunk a mile. It all hit, immediate and crashing like an elevator dropping out from under me. "Oh, you went to see him at-" "No he's here, at my apartment"
And, that was that. And even before I clicked end, I already felt like the fool that I was- that I am. I was already laughing at myself while crying inside with shame.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
HNIC-DFB
Listening to "Red light" for the thirtieth time, this week. Why is pain remembered somehow a source of pleasure for me as I get older?
It brings me happiness to dwell on the sadness. What the hell IS that all about, anyway?
I have a half-ass gf who keeps playing all these games., and i'm way too old for that shit, but, its all the relationship i've got, so somehow i keep hanging in there, thinking it will get better. The relationship is all secret, on both sides. We play our roles, and avoid the commitment aspect. We tell each other we love each other, and I think we do. But, we've been through a lot. And a relationship just isn't the end-all, be-all it was made out to be.
I don't really know how into me she is, or is not. We are a lot alike. We are, well, both sluts. And the odd thing is, we don't ever hardly ever fall into bed with each other. We are close friends, and we give each other support. We take care of each other. And we have that deeper love, that I imagine is how older couples feel about one other. I wouldn't know. I have never had a relationship that lasted long enough to know.
The sexual aspect just doesnt factor in that much. She's really hot. And a lot younger. And she keeps me from feeling alone. I expect I do the same for her. The oddest thing is that the passion that is usually the first all-consuming notion of a new relationship isnt there. Its just like we are such good friends that we can't really go there- on either side.
I can sense that she knows that I am good for her, and I know she would be good for me. But we just can't go to "that place". Emotionally, sexually. We don't allow ourselves to lose control.
And thus, it really isn't real.
Love is all about losing control, and giving in, and freeing your mind to the whims of your heart.
And, we just don't go there.
And, maybe its all for the best. i hate being alone, and i hate being with someone. I'm a difficult fucking bastard, this is true.
I'll leave it there, for now..
It brings me happiness to dwell on the sadness. What the hell IS that all about, anyway?
I have a half-ass gf who keeps playing all these games., and i'm way too old for that shit, but, its all the relationship i've got, so somehow i keep hanging in there, thinking it will get better. The relationship is all secret, on both sides. We play our roles, and avoid the commitment aspect. We tell each other we love each other, and I think we do. But, we've been through a lot. And a relationship just isn't the end-all, be-all it was made out to be.
I don't really know how into me she is, or is not. We are a lot alike. We are, well, both sluts. And the odd thing is, we don't ever hardly ever fall into bed with each other. We are close friends, and we give each other support. We take care of each other. And we have that deeper love, that I imagine is how older couples feel about one other. I wouldn't know. I have never had a relationship that lasted long enough to know.
The sexual aspect just doesnt factor in that much. She's really hot. And a lot younger. And she keeps me from feeling alone. I expect I do the same for her. The oddest thing is that the passion that is usually the first all-consuming notion of a new relationship isnt there. Its just like we are such good friends that we can't really go there- on either side.
I can sense that she knows that I am good for her, and I know she would be good for me. But we just can't go to "that place". Emotionally, sexually. We don't allow ourselves to lose control.
And thus, it really isn't real.
Love is all about losing control, and giving in, and freeing your mind to the whims of your heart.
And, we just don't go there.
And, maybe its all for the best. i hate being alone, and i hate being with someone. I'm a difficult fucking bastard, this is true.
I'll leave it there, for now..
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Friends that fade
Doyel's dad called me last week.
Turns out Doyel is coming up for parole. He's been in prison ten years now. I'd say I wouldn't wish that on anyone, but I have. On him, even.
His dad said that he "knows that there's been some history" but asked if I would write a letter to the parole board recommending an early release.
I feel for his family, I truly do. He shit on them a hundred times worse than he did on me. And arguments could be made that they brought it on themselves. I don't believe that part, any more. Truth is, poverty and ignorance go hand in hand. And hanging around with the people I did, in the circles I did, gave me a helluva insight into generational devolution and the morass of apathy that is the lower-lower class. It spawns itself, over and over. Few of us ever get beyond it.
I didn't tell his dad that I'd write that letter. I did, however get the address. And I thought I might write it. But, it ended up that I didn't.
"knows that there's been some history". Yeah, that, there has been. I remember a lot of things about my old best friend. Things you can't un-remember, no matter how hard you try.
Ryan and I moved from the projects to the country. Mom married sideways, from the single mother with 3 jobs, kids raising ourselves lifestyle out to Bumfuck Egypt. We moved out to a three acre farm, with a step-dad who would one day become beloved to us, but at the time was just a alkie welder with a decent job. We moved out to the East side, past the ghetto, out into the ramshackle neighborhood of shacks, trailers and half-ass farms that filled an area that was surrounded by cotton fields. Our new step-brothers didn't like us none, and sure didn't like their new replacement mom- who was filling the void their real mom left when she took off and wrote them all off. At the time, they might have thought she was going to come back some day. She never did.
So, here were two city kids, moved out to nowhere, with a new built-in family who didnt really care for us a bit.
Doyel was the neighbor kid. He was two years older than me when I met him. I was 12, he was 14. The first week we met him, he had noticed how our new step-brothers were picking on us and testing us, and he decided to join in on the fun. I bloodied his nose and pushed him off his bike, which gained me some respect from my redneck step brothers, but no love from Doyel. We all rode the bus to school together the first couple of years that I knew him. I was already a little rocker. Doyel, raised up christian, listened to Stryper, a christian rock band. We had yelling matches on the bus all that time- Me proclaiming "six-six-six" and giving the devil horns, and Doyel piously yelling out "Seven-Seven-Seven, God Rules!" Hell, he didn't even cuss til he turned 16.
My older step brothers had been run off by my mom by the time Doyel turned 16. She had quit drinking, got my step-dad to quit drinking, and alcohol was "no longer allowed in This house!" So of course, my older stepbrothers left, although they would drift back in, from time to time- whenever they were down and out. My youngest brother and step-brother caught the football bug, and sports became their life. Doyel became 16 and got an Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. So, Fuck the bus... we ended up hanging out more and more.
... Damn. I am starting to realize this could be a novel. No time for all that shit now.... Too much reminiscing makes Daddy pine for the fjords. (There ya go, John). I'm going to try to avoid fleshing this story out too much, and just stick to the remembrances that swam through my head all this week as I contemplated Doyel, the past, the present, and whatever future there may be.
I remember picking up Dana Gentry and Holly Smits in the mornings at Lake Ransom Canyon and taking them to school - Two dirt road longhair punks hanging out with rich girls. I remember parties in the ghetto, Doyel getting me into fights (He NEVER Fought)... I remember we would cross reference how much alchohol and gas money a girl could get her hands on with how easy she was in our decision making for who we would pick up that night. I remember his parents banning me from his house and mine banning him from mine. I remember breaking his bedroom window sneaking girls into his house late at night. I remember going out to Horseshoe bin canyon and listening to Queensryche Operation Mindcrime and Metallica Kill em all and stairway to heaven at the top of the canyon and listening to the music reverbate off the canyon walls.
I remember letting him drive everywhere, cuz he was a better driver, and it gave me more time to make out in the backseat with whichever girls we had picked up. I remember his fucked up family, and getting in fights with them cuz my Daddy was rich. I remember winning most of those fights. I remember the night he graduated high school and we partied. I remember the night I graduated high school and we partied. I remember every other night in high school (and we partied). I remember him picking up my camaro at my work, then him showing up when my shift was up, with a pair of girls and a case of beer. I remember losing a lot of sleep and living on vivarin.
I remember surfing on my t-tops and street racing everywhere we went, day or night. I remember swords, and petty theft, and gangfights and road dogs and lots and lots of weed. I remember the night I told him I was leaving Lubbock to go to college in Dallas and how we went on a crying drunk. I remember how he never forgave me for leaving to go to Dallas while he stayed stuck in god-damned Lubbock.
I remember bringing people from college back to party at his house. I remember finding out he sold my little brother dope and me threatening to kill him if I heard he ever did it again. I remember talking him into leaving the dope and the fucked up family and coming to Dallas to work at the service station I did after I dropped out of college. I remember the people at the liquor store gave him a charge account and looked at me like I was crazy when i asked for one. I remember Doyel picking up some black girls who ended up giving us enough furniture to furnish our whole apartment. I remember getting arrested with him and him signing out of jail under my name when I got bailed out because I was asleep. I had to figure out on my own that I was him, in order to get out of jail later that day by pretending I was him. I remember him leaving me with rent due and sneaking back to Lubbock when Randy Laird got out of prison. I remember him going back to the meth. I remember writing him off.
I remember getting drunk one day, years later, and going out to his house. I remember regretting that, and I remember John Welch and Angela Rash regretting it far more than me. I remember Doyel stealing my truck and my cell phone. Racing for $20 bumps all night on 82nd street the night Angela moved out, and blowing my motor later that night. I remember selling him the fucked up truck later, making him sign a contract for $1500 for it. I remember he paid me $50 down. And that was fucking it.
I remember him getting more and more dope-fucked. I remember the night he spiked a shot of tequila with a sixteenth of crank while i was damn near passed out and made me drink it. I woke instantly up, and we were headed for Relax & Tan in my fiancee's car. I only got half a block before i totalled her car. I remember how Doyel told me it was a good thing for the crank because I was able to come up with such an iron clad alibi/lie to tell the cops that night so that we wouldnt go to jail and the insurance would still cover the car.
I remember Doyel coming over with Donny Dunaghey and trying to sell me a military issue bulletproof jacket and taking turns shooting each other with a .22 pistol while wearing it in my front yard. I remember thinking just hanging out with idiots like this prevented me from ever doing hard drugs.
I remember him ripping me off. Once, twice. Three times.
I remember the last time he came over to my house, on a sunday afternoon. How he threw his waterproof crank container in my 2 year old daughters swimming pool to her, as she waded. I remember him trying to sell that crank to one of my friends, who he didnt know and had never met while I sat there watching his tweaked out ass. He asked if he could have a beer. There had been a party the night before, and I still had a fridge full. I said yes, come on in. I opened the fridge for him, and I said take all you want. I remember how he greedily held his dingy shirt out in order to load it up with about 8 bottles of beer. I remember how happy he looked at his good fortune. He gleefully loaded it up in his truck and popped one open.
I remember asking him if he could do a favor for me, in return. He smiled and said, "Sure!" And I remember telling him to get in his truck, and to leave my house and to never, EVER come over or talk to me again.
And I remember thinking, Goddamn, if I Never see him again, it'll be too soon.
And I haven't yet.
Turns out Doyel is coming up for parole. He's been in prison ten years now. I'd say I wouldn't wish that on anyone, but I have. On him, even.
His dad said that he "knows that there's been some history" but asked if I would write a letter to the parole board recommending an early release.
I feel for his family, I truly do. He shit on them a hundred times worse than he did on me. And arguments could be made that they brought it on themselves. I don't believe that part, any more. Truth is, poverty and ignorance go hand in hand. And hanging around with the people I did, in the circles I did, gave me a helluva insight into generational devolution and the morass of apathy that is the lower-lower class. It spawns itself, over and over. Few of us ever get beyond it.
I didn't tell his dad that I'd write that letter. I did, however get the address. And I thought I might write it. But, it ended up that I didn't.
"knows that there's been some history". Yeah, that, there has been. I remember a lot of things about my old best friend. Things you can't un-remember, no matter how hard you try.
Ryan and I moved from the projects to the country. Mom married sideways, from the single mother with 3 jobs, kids raising ourselves lifestyle out to Bumfuck Egypt. We moved out to a three acre farm, with a step-dad who would one day become beloved to us, but at the time was just a alkie welder with a decent job. We moved out to the East side, past the ghetto, out into the ramshackle neighborhood of shacks, trailers and half-ass farms that filled an area that was surrounded by cotton fields. Our new step-brothers didn't like us none, and sure didn't like their new replacement mom- who was filling the void their real mom left when she took off and wrote them all off. At the time, they might have thought she was going to come back some day. She never did.
So, here were two city kids, moved out to nowhere, with a new built-in family who didnt really care for us a bit.
Doyel was the neighbor kid. He was two years older than me when I met him. I was 12, he was 14. The first week we met him, he had noticed how our new step-brothers were picking on us and testing us, and he decided to join in on the fun. I bloodied his nose and pushed him off his bike, which gained me some respect from my redneck step brothers, but no love from Doyel. We all rode the bus to school together the first couple of years that I knew him. I was already a little rocker. Doyel, raised up christian, listened to Stryper, a christian rock band. We had yelling matches on the bus all that time- Me proclaiming "six-six-six" and giving the devil horns, and Doyel piously yelling out "Seven-Seven-Seven, God Rules!" Hell, he didn't even cuss til he turned 16.
My older step brothers had been run off by my mom by the time Doyel turned 16. She had quit drinking, got my step-dad to quit drinking, and alcohol was "no longer allowed in This house!" So of course, my older stepbrothers left, although they would drift back in, from time to time- whenever they were down and out. My youngest brother and step-brother caught the football bug, and sports became their life. Doyel became 16 and got an Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. So, Fuck the bus... we ended up hanging out more and more.
... Damn. I am starting to realize this could be a novel. No time for all that shit now.... Too much reminiscing makes Daddy pine for the fjords. (There ya go, John). I'm going to try to avoid fleshing this story out too much, and just stick to the remembrances that swam through my head all this week as I contemplated Doyel, the past, the present, and whatever future there may be.
I remember picking up Dana Gentry and Holly Smits in the mornings at Lake Ransom Canyon and taking them to school - Two dirt road longhair punks hanging out with rich girls. I remember parties in the ghetto, Doyel getting me into fights (He NEVER Fought)... I remember we would cross reference how much alchohol and gas money a girl could get her hands on with how easy she was in our decision making for who we would pick up that night. I remember his parents banning me from his house and mine banning him from mine. I remember breaking his bedroom window sneaking girls into his house late at night. I remember going out to Horseshoe bin canyon and listening to Queensryche Operation Mindcrime and Metallica Kill em all and stairway to heaven at the top of the canyon and listening to the music reverbate off the canyon walls.
I remember letting him drive everywhere, cuz he was a better driver, and it gave me more time to make out in the backseat with whichever girls we had picked up. I remember his fucked up family, and getting in fights with them cuz my Daddy was rich. I remember winning most of those fights. I remember the night he graduated high school and we partied. I remember the night I graduated high school and we partied. I remember every other night in high school (and we partied). I remember him picking up my camaro at my work, then him showing up when my shift was up, with a pair of girls and a case of beer. I remember losing a lot of sleep and living on vivarin.
I remember surfing on my t-tops and street racing everywhere we went, day or night. I remember swords, and petty theft, and gangfights and road dogs and lots and lots of weed. I remember the night I told him I was leaving Lubbock to go to college in Dallas and how we went on a crying drunk. I remember how he never forgave me for leaving to go to Dallas while he stayed stuck in god-damned Lubbock.
I remember bringing people from college back to party at his house. I remember finding out he sold my little brother dope and me threatening to kill him if I heard he ever did it again. I remember talking him into leaving the dope and the fucked up family and coming to Dallas to work at the service station I did after I dropped out of college. I remember the people at the liquor store gave him a charge account and looked at me like I was crazy when i asked for one. I remember Doyel picking up some black girls who ended up giving us enough furniture to furnish our whole apartment. I remember getting arrested with him and him signing out of jail under my name when I got bailed out because I was asleep. I had to figure out on my own that I was him, in order to get out of jail later that day by pretending I was him. I remember him leaving me with rent due and sneaking back to Lubbock when Randy Laird got out of prison. I remember him going back to the meth. I remember writing him off.
I remember getting drunk one day, years later, and going out to his house. I remember regretting that, and I remember John Welch and Angela Rash regretting it far more than me. I remember Doyel stealing my truck and my cell phone. Racing for $20 bumps all night on 82nd street the night Angela moved out, and blowing my motor later that night. I remember selling him the fucked up truck later, making him sign a contract for $1500 for it. I remember he paid me $50 down. And that was fucking it.
I remember him getting more and more dope-fucked. I remember the night he spiked a shot of tequila with a sixteenth of crank while i was damn near passed out and made me drink it. I woke instantly up, and we were headed for Relax & Tan in my fiancee's car. I only got half a block before i totalled her car. I remember how Doyel told me it was a good thing for the crank because I was able to come up with such an iron clad alibi/lie to tell the cops that night so that we wouldnt go to jail and the insurance would still cover the car.
I remember Doyel coming over with Donny Dunaghey and trying to sell me a military issue bulletproof jacket and taking turns shooting each other with a .22 pistol while wearing it in my front yard. I remember thinking just hanging out with idiots like this prevented me from ever doing hard drugs.
I remember him ripping me off. Once, twice. Three times.
I remember the last time he came over to my house, on a sunday afternoon. How he threw his waterproof crank container in my 2 year old daughters swimming pool to her, as she waded. I remember him trying to sell that crank to one of my friends, who he didnt know and had never met while I sat there watching his tweaked out ass. He asked if he could have a beer. There had been a party the night before, and I still had a fridge full. I said yes, come on in. I opened the fridge for him, and I said take all you want. I remember how he greedily held his dingy shirt out in order to load it up with about 8 bottles of beer. I remember how happy he looked at his good fortune. He gleefully loaded it up in his truck and popped one open.
I remember asking him if he could do a favor for me, in return. He smiled and said, "Sure!" And I remember telling him to get in his truck, and to leave my house and to never, EVER come over or talk to me again.
And I remember thinking, Goddamn, if I Never see him again, it'll be too soon.
And I haven't yet.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Time Capsule
Tristan is here. We are doing his birthday party with the Berryhills today. Then maybe catching his first ever movie in a theatre. Hopefully he wont set the place on fire.
Amy's doing well with the guitar thang. She played her first concert this year, just a small West Texas music fest, but she was the youngest guitarist there, playing on stage with Walk of Famer John Hartin. It was an awesome experience for her. She really did well and I think it built her self-confidence immensely. She's really come into her own these past years. The stuff with her mother has hurt her, but it didn't break her. Like me and my real father, it has burned away the excess and revealed the steel underneath. Amy is very, very strong, unlike her mother. Where Andrea let her personal tragedies warp her, Amy has shaped the bad into good and used it to make her a better person. She's much like Evan.
Evan's doing well. College classes going good, he finally shifted to ASU, where he had gotten accepted in the first place, but his mother stepped in and screwed that up. He's working almost full time and I'm proud of his multi-tasking and being successful at making it all work.
Andrew came to visit last month for his 22nd birthday. That was a really good time. It was great having him and the girls together again. They miss their brothers quite a bit. We did a bunch of family activities. Andrew had mentioned going out for his birthday, but I thought about it, and I let him go with his Aunt instead. I can think of nothing more depressing or reprehensible than drinking with your child, crazed alkie that I may be at times. So we stuck with family stuff and it was a great experience. So many things have changed since Andrew was a child. He has grown so much. It's actually amazing how Amy mirrors Evan and Andrew mirrors Rain. But maybe its not that amazing, I raised them all, in the formative years, and they all exhibit some of the same characteristics. I am proud of the job I did on that end- striving to be like my mother and instill the core values deeply. They are good, thoughtful kids who know wrong from right and strive to be better than the average person.
Self-awareness and self-analysis is a big part of that. Each day we learn more about those around us, and ourselves.
Tristan's hair has grown back from where I shaved it, into a cute little crewcut. His mom is still pissed off at me. But, the hell with her. Its just hair. And the mohawk looked cool for a little while at least, heh. She fucked me on the divorce, after I strived to make it the least expensive on our wallets and try to be adults about it. I set up the child support to automatically come out, at the rate we agreed upon. I've got no problem with that. I wish Andrea could hold a job so she could whittle down what she owes me ($55,000 at this point). Lauren secretly moved to Kansas without telling me, taking Tristan with her. At this time, she's in contempt of court for not informing me of her intention to move, giving me her new address, and new Kansas Driver's license. I spoke with an attorney. It will cost roughly $10,000 to fight for partial custody, complicated by the fact that since she is in Kansas now, Kansas may not choose to uphold a Texas court ruling.
Sigh. Burned again by trusting someone to follow their word.
She doesn't want to keep Tristan from me. (Thank god). She just wants to control how and when I see him. It's Trish all over again. Except with Trish, the undercurrent was straight up Bubba-and-Wanda. If I got with Trish, everything would be okay. So, the blackmail back then was I could see Evan if I saw Trish. And I chose not to do that. Not like it would have worked out anyhow.
So, who the hell knows what is in Lauren's head? The girls are very upset with her right now, especially Amy. I had a week planned to pick up Tristan for Labor day and when I called Lauren, she started a fight on the phone, then denied me picking up Tristan at all. The court papers say I get him every other weekend, but when she has taken him 1000 miles away, its a helluva trip to see him for 48 hours. Not to mention she's getting 25% of my net income, and since I dont get child support things are very tight.
She filed bankruptcy soon after I told her I wanted a divorce. Which is hilarious, since a lot of her problems with our marriage all had to do with money, and she refused to look into a bankruptcy while we were together. I paid down her credit cards, sold my Grandfather's 39 Chevy and liquidated everything I could that last year of trying to make it work. And what does she do when we leave? She maxes them all out (on the advice of her lawyer) and then files bankrutpcy. She has the gall to claim everything was my fault. But she's irrational like that. When we went to the marriage counselor (which she insisted upon, and found a woman she liked because she thought that woman would see things her way) she got in a fight with the counselor on the second session. It's funny now, I look back and that entire session was just a microcosm of exactly what was wrong with our marriage and why it was NEVER possible for us to be happy together.
I had found the opposite of Andrea, and thought that somehow made it perfect. I thought I could put aside my own ego and love Lauren. And I did for awhile, but her constant attacks boiled away whatever love I had for her. I remember loving her. But there's nothing left now. And everytime she tries to make things hard for me, it makes me hate her a little more.
I still have a soft spot for Andrea, some nights, but its more of a wanting what you cant have than it is any real love. I wish she'd get her shit together, for the sake of the girls, but that ain't happening. She married an Army guy one year ago and after that she's managed to go thru one stripper and two other Army guys (from the same base, good lord) in that year. Yeah, her-getting-her-shit-together is about as close to an impossibility as Jesus coming back in 2012.
I am dating a tiny bit now, but its a chore. The girls take most of my time and I have little extra cashola, so its just here and there. Mainly on dates with women I've known for years and who always seem to re-appear here and there over time. I guess that they can tell I'm not needing a serious relationship because it will go alright for a while, then I guess they move on because I'm just not into them, or whatever.
I think I helped save a friend's life recently. I hope he's alright. I suspect he is. I expect great things from him, if he can find his own salvation. For what it's worth, I found mine.
Amy's doing well with the guitar thang. She played her first concert this year, just a small West Texas music fest, but she was the youngest guitarist there, playing on stage with Walk of Famer John Hartin. It was an awesome experience for her. She really did well and I think it built her self-confidence immensely. She's really come into her own these past years. The stuff with her mother has hurt her, but it didn't break her. Like me and my real father, it has burned away the excess and revealed the steel underneath. Amy is very, very strong, unlike her mother. Where Andrea let her personal tragedies warp her, Amy has shaped the bad into good and used it to make her a better person. She's much like Evan.
Evan's doing well. College classes going good, he finally shifted to ASU, where he had gotten accepted in the first place, but his mother stepped in and screwed that up. He's working almost full time and I'm proud of his multi-tasking and being successful at making it all work.
Andrew came to visit last month for his 22nd birthday. That was a really good time. It was great having him and the girls together again. They miss their brothers quite a bit. We did a bunch of family activities. Andrew had mentioned going out for his birthday, but I thought about it, and I let him go with his Aunt instead. I can think of nothing more depressing or reprehensible than drinking with your child, crazed alkie that I may be at times. So we stuck with family stuff and it was a great experience. So many things have changed since Andrew was a child. He has grown so much. It's actually amazing how Amy mirrors Evan and Andrew mirrors Rain. But maybe its not that amazing, I raised them all, in the formative years, and they all exhibit some of the same characteristics. I am proud of the job I did on that end- striving to be like my mother and instill the core values deeply. They are good, thoughtful kids who know wrong from right and strive to be better than the average person.
Self-awareness and self-analysis is a big part of that. Each day we learn more about those around us, and ourselves.
Tristan's hair has grown back from where I shaved it, into a cute little crewcut. His mom is still pissed off at me. But, the hell with her. Its just hair. And the mohawk looked cool for a little while at least, heh. She fucked me on the divorce, after I strived to make it the least expensive on our wallets and try to be adults about it. I set up the child support to automatically come out, at the rate we agreed upon. I've got no problem with that. I wish Andrea could hold a job so she could whittle down what she owes me ($55,000 at this point). Lauren secretly moved to Kansas without telling me, taking Tristan with her. At this time, she's in contempt of court for not informing me of her intention to move, giving me her new address, and new Kansas Driver's license. I spoke with an attorney. It will cost roughly $10,000 to fight for partial custody, complicated by the fact that since she is in Kansas now, Kansas may not choose to uphold a Texas court ruling.
Sigh. Burned again by trusting someone to follow their word.
She doesn't want to keep Tristan from me. (Thank god). She just wants to control how and when I see him. It's Trish all over again. Except with Trish, the undercurrent was straight up Bubba-and-Wanda. If I got with Trish, everything would be okay. So, the blackmail back then was I could see Evan if I saw Trish. And I chose not to do that. Not like it would have worked out anyhow.
So, who the hell knows what is in Lauren's head? The girls are very upset with her right now, especially Amy. I had a week planned to pick up Tristan for Labor day and when I called Lauren, she started a fight on the phone, then denied me picking up Tristan at all. The court papers say I get him every other weekend, but when she has taken him 1000 miles away, its a helluva trip to see him for 48 hours. Not to mention she's getting 25% of my net income, and since I dont get child support things are very tight.
She filed bankruptcy soon after I told her I wanted a divorce. Which is hilarious, since a lot of her problems with our marriage all had to do with money, and she refused to look into a bankruptcy while we were together. I paid down her credit cards, sold my Grandfather's 39 Chevy and liquidated everything I could that last year of trying to make it work. And what does she do when we leave? She maxes them all out (on the advice of her lawyer) and then files bankrutpcy. She has the gall to claim everything was my fault. But she's irrational like that. When we went to the marriage counselor (which she insisted upon, and found a woman she liked because she thought that woman would see things her way) she got in a fight with the counselor on the second session. It's funny now, I look back and that entire session was just a microcosm of exactly what was wrong with our marriage and why it was NEVER possible for us to be happy together.
I had found the opposite of Andrea, and thought that somehow made it perfect. I thought I could put aside my own ego and love Lauren. And I did for awhile, but her constant attacks boiled away whatever love I had for her. I remember loving her. But there's nothing left now. And everytime she tries to make things hard for me, it makes me hate her a little more.
I still have a soft spot for Andrea, some nights, but its more of a wanting what you cant have than it is any real love. I wish she'd get her shit together, for the sake of the girls, but that ain't happening. She married an Army guy one year ago and after that she's managed to go thru one stripper and two other Army guys (from the same base, good lord) in that year. Yeah, her-getting-her-shit-together is about as close to an impossibility as Jesus coming back in 2012.
I am dating a tiny bit now, but its a chore. The girls take most of my time and I have little extra cashola, so its just here and there. Mainly on dates with women I've known for years and who always seem to re-appear here and there over time. I guess that they can tell I'm not needing a serious relationship because it will go alright for a while, then I guess they move on because I'm just not into them, or whatever.
I think I helped save a friend's life recently. I hope he's alright. I suspect he is. I expect great things from him, if he can find his own salvation. For what it's worth, I found mine.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
So, I'm drifting thru this life, pretty as you please
Nothing ever seems to make sense when I try to make sense of it. But when I let go of trying to control it all, it all makes perfect sense
go figure
I'm in love with love, and lost with lust, and screwed when trying to screw
the only time things work out is when I dont know what to do..
everything has an odd way of working itself out, in the end.
the times that i think i should break are the moments when I find myself in a bend
Back in the day, It was all about not yielding. And now I know nothing's more vital than a friend
Drunken bs NOT aside, i'd like to invite you on this ship for a new journey dawning...
Nothing ever seems to make sense when I try to make sense of it. But when I let go of trying to control it all, it all makes perfect sense
go figure
I'm in love with love, and lost with lust, and screwed when trying to screw
the only time things work out is when I dont know what to do..
everything has an odd way of working itself out, in the end.
the times that i think i should break are the moments when I find myself in a bend
Back in the day, It was all about not yielding. And now I know nothing's more vital than a friend
Drunken bs NOT aside, i'd like to invite you on this ship for a new journey dawning...
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