My Mark

When I'm here (er there, or present with someone, I'm there).

I make phone dates with friends far away that I try very hard to keep. Very hard. But . . . I get sidetracked easily.

I know a lot about people . . . but specifics on books, movies, tv shows etc. I forget the details.

If people are my true friends, they'll understand (if they walk away based on any of the things one person says or just based on a few of my actions, well . . . guess they weren't really friends to begin with).

There is only one of me on this crazy web, in this crazy world.

Believe it or not, I'm prepared to explain everything I've done, I just think it would be superfluous and would only feed into your paranoia. But if that's what you need, just ask.

As much as you know, or think you know, what I know is . . .


No matter how much I tell you I care, you'll look for all the reasons why that must not be true.
If I even try to tell you that I love you, you'll scoff and say I don't.

These are all things I cannot argue with you about.

And why should I, you're as big a flake as me.

Honey bun, I know how I feel. I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it, and I wouldn't have . . . well. I tell people who see me down certain things because, well, there's no need for fuss.

"Oh, that guy, yeah, bailed on me again, so I drove to Beverly and picked up my dumb bitch card. Now I'm licensed to bitch to any guy who wants to try to date me, 'You men are all the same . . . '" I had some guy rolling at work with that line. Do I believe it? No. People who are alone in that area of their life find ways to manage/deal with it. Feeling sorry for yourself for staying in on a Saturday night, sometimes alone, sometimes with good friends doesn't really accomplish much. What's even worse is having OTHER people feel sorry for you. I did get a Valentine's Gift, from a nice guy friend. He gave me the boxing cow saying, "cuz I know no one else was going to give an asshole like you anything . . ." It's fine. Because it's true. I smell a game a mile away.

We all have our anecdotes, our security blankets, our "standards." We all have our notions of how things should be. I've been thinking about the definition of love, how it's used so interchangeably, and how in other languages they're quite conscience of that fact, and we . . . well, we aren't. Did anyone really think Rock of Love or Telia Tequila's Shot of Love had ANYTHING to do with love? God I hope not. Incidentally the Rock of Love S2 Reunion did boast one of reality T.V.'s best "in your face" moments. There it was, there was Brett and his bandanna telling Daisy why he went with Amber. He kept claiming his reasoning behind being hesitant on her was because she still lived with her ex. Now maybe it's me, or maybe it's because I can handle a person being friends with their ex, no prob, that I didn't really see THAT as being a reason he should be hesitant on Daisy. Let's be honest, Daisy had little to do with Brett's problem. The problem was the other man. Yes, the other. We met Charles and Charles' sister (brought on to the show as Daisy's family because her family wasn't really in her life). Awkward. Yes, but when you know someone and trust someone, maybe that pill isn't really so hard to swallow. Nooooo, Brett took one look at Charles, younger, sorta just as creepy looking, but not in that I've had too much plastic, surgery, these-locks-are-extensions-kind-of-way, and was intimidated by him, then by the situation with Daisy. Women, don't get all on your high horse, we do it too. No one is immune to this behavior. So yeah. Brett threw Charles in Daisy's face as the reason why he was going with Amber (who Brett found out lied to him about her age and was not happy, oh shut the fuck up idiot, pssht, don't even get me started on that episode) any who, where was I, yes, that was his main beef with the inked, blond fish-face, I mean bombshell. And her response, "Well, we've been on the Charles matter for some time, and it was clear you were never going to drop it, sooooo why did you sleep with me last night?" Yeah, Brett. Suck it.


I asked my mom what she thought love was, or what it was about, or well anything really . . . and all she did was look at my dad in his reclining chair, look back at me, look at my dad and look at me. Yeah, that's love. There's no cheat sheet.

I hear you knocking. I've always heard you knocking. And you're the right one. But that's really none of your business.

There are many things that I would like to say to you. But I don't know how.