Will I ever make it home....
Monday, February 12, 2007
Valentine's Day
As I try and hold my breath through ridiculous Kay Jewelrer's commercials, and other almost vomit worth crap you can get your sweety on Valentine's; I honestly have tried to pinpoint on why I loathe this holiday so much. Yes, I love the theme of it. I mean my kitchen is bright red, all my stuff in it is red or white, and a lot of it is Valentine's stuff. But I can assure you, I am no lovey Valetine's Day freak. I don't go around hoping I get a heart shaped box of chocolates with matching white "I love you bear-y much" bear, and roses. Believe me, if RC wanted us to break up, that certainly would be the way to do it. But I still can't think of why, on God's green earth, do I hate this day so much. So, I decided to recap my Valentine's Days on here as a sort of momento, for myself, and ya'll. (My like only reader....Randy)

Okay, 2nd or 3rd grade, Valentine's Day:

We go outside for recess, come back in, I see a flower and a barbie on my desk. It wasn't time to pass out our cards, yet. So, I sit down and look at the two items curiously. I scope the room and see no one watching me. I neatly place them under my desk. Never mention it in the class. My mom comes and picks me up, I show her my "prizes". She asks me who they are from. I told her what I knew which was nothing. A classmate's mom comes up and talks to my mom. I look at him as he blushes and tries to act tough around me. My mom whispers his name in my ear and tells me to thank him. I go up, and punch him in the face. Needless to say, I didn't get anymore nice things from him.

Okay, 5th grade (new school), a few days before V-Day:

I have had a crush on this boy since I laid eyes on him. My best friend and I would sit around my house thinking about calling him, and giggling hysterically at the thought of a 6th grader talking to us. We dial and as soon as he answers (well, we assumed it was him), we would giggle then hang up. V-Day comes around and we make something to put on his locker, we watch from accross the way as he tosses it in the trash. My best friend isn't discouraged, she just found out some boy in our class likes her. But me, I was crushed. Who would love such a scrawny, tan, tall girl, when I would tower over most of the boys in our school?

Okay, 8th grade (new school, once again) V-Day:

Everyone gets stuff from other students, but I....I only got one flower from the nastiest, ugliest boy in our school. I felt awful, and didn't want to carry it around with his name on it, so I threw it in my locker. The boy that I liked, well, he certainly didn't notice me. He was noticing my best friend. And her little sprouting flowers. Ugh, who was going to love such a flat chested girl?

Okay, 10th grade, V-Day:

I have been dating the sweetest most wonderful guy. He is truly awesome. He picks me up from school, and is so patient to wait on me. He works at the flower stand, so I know I will finally get roses and a tedy bear, just like all my other friends have. We have plans to go out to his friends' party. As I hear the doorbell ring, and squeal all the way to door, I see the big white bear, and roses in the window...But wait....that's not my boyfriend! It's his friend. Bubba delivers the news that my boyfriend has decided to not be with me anymore, because he just wasn't ready to wait for me. I bite back tears, as Bubba gives me a hug. Who breaks up with someone on V-Day?! And who gives them stuff when they break up with them?! He claims the flowers and bear are from my recent ex, but I know they are from Bubba. My mom really loved the roses and the teddy bear.

So, I guess with all those not so great experiences, I have come to think of V-Day as a sort of day to squash people, to hurt them unintentionally, whether those people knew it or not. And I know I was wrong for punching that poor kid, but I guess I already knew that V-Day was for suckers. I mean, do we actually need a holiday to remind us to be romantic? Do we need a holiday to countdown for us when we should make a real commitment to someone? I think it is all overly commercialized crap.

Love is love. No, it wont always be romantic. No, you don't always get flowers, and bubble baths, and chocolates. Sometimes you get tickle fights, and inside jokes, and blogs. Sometimes you just get a simple, "I love you" at the end of the night. Love isn't about the romanticised portion of life. It's about building, and trusting, and pushing, and working together. So, no....I don't need overpriced flowers, or stale chocolates. And I definitely don't need a little blue box, or white teddy bear. I just need a hug at the end of the day. And a friend there to hold my hand through the hard things in life. And a friend to be there with me during the good moments. To smile alongside of me.

BTW....Happy early birthday, Tellipot. I love you. And I hope you get everything you wish for, you LOVE baby!
posted by The Devil @ 8:09 PM   2 comments
Dear Diary
I have no clue how to even begin this post, as it would either come out as bitchy or whiney, or maybe a weird cross between the two, but what the hell, it's my blog and here it goes...(yes, that was a run-on rentence....)

I have recently discovered that my ex-husband has a myspace. Yes. And well, even though it has always been clearly evident to me, that he is a total douchebag, he is making himself look like one completely. It's not that it hurts my feelings to see him gloating at clubs with sub-par looking females. It embarasses me, actually. Because I was married to him for 3 years. I was with him for a little over 4 years. And it embarasses me, because that is the father of my son. I don't want people to misjudge me thinking that THAT is me. Because it isn't. And it's not even people judging me about that, but judging my son, I suppose. Because now, it is confirmed. My ex-husband never dissappoints, I suppose. Well, at least in that regard. I have taken great pains to make my profile private, and myself virtually unfindable. I have assumed a name, and used last names from my past. I have changed my area code, to one far away from me. So even, if he figured it out, and did actually find me, he wouldn't be able to snoop into MY life without him. He tends to overreact over miniscule things, and I know he would try to find some reason, albeit through my page, to try and take custody from me. WHY? Because he is spiteful, and hateful towards me, even if he does swear up and down that we are good friends, and that he still cares for me. I grew up with a liar all my life, so I know how to spot one. And I have an inane intuition that is usually dead on about people's intentions. So, being this "cautious" is for my well being, as well as his.

Okay, but that certainly doesn't stop me from lurking on his page. I know. I'm terrible! I am just so.....I guess, disgusted, is the right word here, at him. I feel so....stupid. I have let him walk all over me time and time again, why? Because I felt guilt. Guilt for things I couldn't undo, for things I shouldn't have done, for thoughts and tears that would never go away. I let him screw me over and over again. All because I felt that I owed him something. Something.
Some people have asked me how I could get over some of the fucked up things that have happened to me. I really don't have an answer. I have been low. I have been high. I have had wonderful friends to guide me and help me through it all. And without my family, I probably wouldn't still be here. It has taken a long time for the rain to stop and my rainbow to shine through. And even if sometimes that rainbow might not be as bright as it was that first day, it's still there. I have been...I suppose "blessed" by circumstances. I didn't see them as such at first, but have now been able to realize that I am lucky.

I am awfully worried about getting out, but that hasn't squashed my excitement. No. Not at all. I can't wait, to be ME again. I am tired of being confused for other people. I am tired of being treated like a dumbass, because I am "low ranking". The sad part is, I might have more sense than half the people in leadership positions in my command. Oh well, I "lack motivation". I am not "driven enough". And you're right. I'm not. I am happy being me. And being dependable, and being reliable, and realistic. Yes, the Army is going through changes, you're right. But they are changes I frankly don't want anything to do with. I am not looking at this as six years wasted of my life, because without the Army, I probably would still be living at home, in some going nowhere job, aspiring for something better, but never realizing it.

My main fear is not being able to get a GOOD job. A job that I am happy in. Money....well, I don't really care for it. As long as I can pay my bills and get a nice thing or two every once in awhile, I'll be fine. I want a life of happiness. You know...all that mushy stuff in hallmark movies. I want that. The nice house in suburbia, with the couple of kids, and dogs. Loving couple happily married. I want that. And I just want a job, where I feel useful, and happy in. Too much to ask for, I suppose. I just get scared that I might not get a job when I first move. And then what am I going to do? File for unemployement? HELL NO. I will get my ass in school so quick they wont even know my name at the registrar's office. I am still debating whether to go to vocational type of environment or go to an actual college and strive for my MBA.

Growing up is hard. I am realizing that. And yes, I have had my heels stuck firmly in the ground for awhile now, wishing to go back to simpler things and times in my life. But I can look in the mirror with pride, and with hope in my eyes. Because I have proved everyone wrong.

And that feels good.
posted by The Devil @ 8:08 PM   0 comments
About Me

Name: The Devil
Home: Somewhere in, Texas, United States
About Me: I'm a young mom, who stresses out far too much.
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Dear Diary
Past Indiscretions

"Before you do anything, think. If you do something to try and impress someone, to be loved, accepted or even to get someone's attention, stop and think. So many people are busy trying to create an image, they die in the process."-Salma Hayek

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