Dear Cancer Sticks, I love you.

Courtesy of NY Daily News (http://www.nydailynews.com/gossip/2008/12/28/2008-12-28_gotcha_salma_hayek_more_star_smokers_try-2.html)
By KORIN MILLER DAILY NEWS STAFF WRITER

Whatcha got there, Salma Hayek?
The "Ugly Betty" star is the latest closet celebrity smoker to be exposed after she was spotted puffing away on American Spirits this weekend in Beverly Hills alongside her 1-year-old daughter, Valentina.
Cameras caught the secret smoker outside Neiman Marcus as she lit up while her mom and tiny tot waited.
Hayek told Marie Claire last year that she got hooked on cigarettes while filming "Frida" - and subsequently quit last April.
"It's the s---iest vice you could possibly pick," she said. "I've tried to quit before. But this time I'm done with it. I've changed."
But the 42-year-old isn't the only star who tries to keep her nicotine addiction under wraps for fear of a negative fan reaction.
"Desperate Housewives" star Eva Longoria Parker was desperate to keep her habit a secret after she was caught in the act while vacationing in Puerto Rico earlier this month.
"She hates to be photographed smoking," says X-17 owner Frank Navarre. "But we get her once in a while."
But why all the secrecy?
"It's so taboo," says Antonia Russo, a Manhattan image consultant who specializes in advising performing artists.
Not only does does the habit work against Hollywood's health conscious image, she says, but it's counterintuitive to being a role model for teens.
"There's definitely a concept of 'people who smoke just don't care about themselves' or they're socially irresponsible," she says. As a role model, "you wouldn't want to be a part of that."
Teen idol (and frequent smoker) "The Hills" star Lauren Conrad never appears on her hit reality show with a cigarette - and goes to great lengths to abstain from puffing in public. "She avoids it," says Navarre.
Onetime closet smoker Britney Spears now openly flaunts her Marlboro Lights, while Anne Hathaway just admitted
she was a smoker for years - before she quit this summer.
And new mom Ashlee Simpson-Wentz was a top-secret smoker who went to great lengths to hide her habit before she became pregnant, even ducking behind a pal when one of our reporters caught her in the act last year.
The American Lung Association frowns upon star smokers, but still holds the tobacco industry responsible for influencing teens.
The organization "does not blame smokers, celebrity or otherwise," says spokesman Heather Grzelka. "The tobacco industry is guilty of causing nearly 400,000 deaths due to smoking related illnesses each year."
"There is nothing glamorous about a product that causes death and disease," she adds.
But, according to Navarre, stars don't seem to care about smoking's nasty side effects.
"A lot of celebrities smoke - a lot," he said. "Young Hollywood is still a big smoker. The [anti-smoking] campaign has no effect on them."


Katherine Heigl used to hide her habit, but now openly smokes in public


Dear Cancer Sticks,

Yeah, we all know smoking is bad for you. There is a reason that you have to be 18 to buy them, because by then, the state thinks your mature enough to make decisions that will effect you for the rest of your life. Not to mention, every time I light up, or buy a pack of smokes I get a little love letter from the Surgeon General telling me that I could mess up my kids, get cancer or another smoking related illness.

I can honestly say that I don't think that the tobacco industry is responsible for me smoking, I mean, their ads. Obviously if they didn't make them, I couldn't smoke them. I can't think of any ad that I ever saw that made me want to have a cigarette. Honestly, Hollywood which is shunning actors/actresses for smoking, is probably more responsible for it. Yeah, I know the tobacco industry pays for people to smoke in movies, but hey, Hollywood is reaping the benefits and bitching about the effects.

Yeah, I'm not going to smoke for my whole life, and certainly not if I get pregnant. I wouldn't smoke around my niece, nephew or Bobby's niece, pretty much all little kids. When I was in Kentucky, Bobby's Mom said then when we go outside to smoke, if it's nice out to take his niece, and I told her straight up, I didn't feel comfortable doing that. She sort of laughed and said don't give her a puff or anything just let her play outside while your smoking. Regardless, Bobby and I agreed that it wasn't gonna happen. I'm not gonna start smoking again after I have kids, that it's my end point, play time's over, and not smoking while I have children is important to me.

I don't know, this is a rant, but I just think it's stupid that people are looked down upon as smokers. We're not allowed to do it inside, people are grossed out by it, and give us shit. I can honestly say, nothing pisses me off more than some random person telling me that it's bad for me. NO SHIT!!! It says on the box ASSHOLE!!

My Uneventful Christmas

I say that gratefully; I had a very uneventful Christmas. Christmas Eve was probably the most stressful day. I went to work at the crack of dawn (I got there at 5.30am) and then rushed home as soon as I could. I baked cookies most of the afternoon, somehow I managed to throw in the traditional Christmas eve dinner with my mom, Erinn, and Cristin, also, guest starring, my aunt and grandmom. It was nice, and a pleasant break for the hectic day. I got home and though I desperately wanted to take a nap went back to baking. Eventually Bobby woke up and after I picked up up, I immediately put him to work wrapping all of the presents that we had, including any and everything from both my brothers, and my mom threw some stuff in too.

I managed to finish baking just in time to do the traditional dinner with my dad. My older brother had to work, so it ended up just being my little brother, dad, Bobby and myself. After waiting a half an hour (at least) to be seated, we got our food, and shortly after Bobby and I had to duck out for Christmas mass.

The church was beautiful as usual, and the choir was pretty good too. I pointed out the girl with the great ass who I secretly have a crush on, and Bobby didn't understand why I knew she had a nice ass... Anyway, having Bobby there made mass a bit better, more entertaining. First the first time in two years, Father changed the story he usually tells, this year he didn't talk about geese, which I was beginning to expect. For those non-catholics, after you receive the Eucharist, you have a few minutes of silent prayer to reflect and what have you. I usually cry at that point. It doesn't matter what time of year, or what's going on in my life. When I bow my head to pray for those people that I care about, the same things always make me cry...

..That Patrick will get to live with my sister, and grow up to be a more adjusted kid, more like our family than his mother's
..That my sister will keep this baby, because she is an amazing mother and deserves all the kids she wants
..That Russell will find peace on his first holiday season since his mother died, because his family has already been through so much
..That Jaime will get her life together and be a functioning member of society
..That Tim is happy where he is now
..That Tim's family is making it through this holiday season without their youngest son
..That my aunts cancer will stay in remission because she tries so hard to be a good person
..That Ben's mom will make it through this holiday season and that her family will remember her in her prime, and not in the bed-ridden state she is now

Thinking of Tim dying, Russell's family, and my sister make me cry the most. Not necessarily because they make me sad, but because I want them so bad and there is nothing that I can do that will affect anything.

After church I finished wrapping present, and very shortly after that, I went to bed. I slept in as long as I could, and Christmas morning (afternoon) was great. Everyone seemed to get things they wanted, my family seemed amazed that I didn't cry, and I made out like a bandit.

I got a really nice ring from my mom, the livescribe smartpen that I wanted, shoes, boots, shirts, a tomtom, bobby got me the blackberry, it was pretty good.

I hope everyone else had a good Christmas/Holiday

Note to Self....

When you're as hot as Gordon Ramsay, not really having lips is okay. I want his body, in all sorts of dirty ways...

Is it that I have a weird thing for men in Chef whites with power and attitude?

Regardless...I like it, chefs are hot.

Christmas Cheer

I'm seriously lacking Christmas cheer. As with most holidays, I seem to find myself unhappy and wanting to hide from my family. You would think that Santa in fact did rub his balls on my toothbrush. I can't seem to get into the Christmas spirit. I watched both Alexis and Jil, as well as Bobby's family, decorate their Christmas trees and wanted nothing to do with it. I spent hours in the kitchen yesterday baking cookies, and just wasn't excited. I mean, I like making cookies, but not because I want to spread cheer or anything.

It could be that I'm tired, or that I always remember Christmas sucking, but I felt the same way about Thanksgiving, and that was relatively uneventful. I don't want to wrap presents, I don't want to get buddy buddy with my family, and I don't even want to do the traditional Christmas Eve with my mom. It doesn't help that instead of just the usual suspects she's invited my aunt and grandmom. Not that I don't love them to death, I just don't want to spend a day with them. A few hours every Sunday has been just fine. Maybe I'll start to feel different about it later.

Well...Merry Christmas

Growing up

I went to my dad's house yesterday, and since I'm mad at him, I made it clear that I was in fact, not there to see him. When I told him I was still mad at him, his response was, not as mad as I am at you... Very grown up, especially for a 69 year old man. No, we indeed never do grow up

Mis Amigas

I don't think two better words exist to describe the women I spend the most time with. They are my ladies, bitches, EP sluts, amigas, lovers, friends, biddies, bigities and everything in between. We as a group have an interesting dynamic. We can talk about sex, drugs, boys and anything else, and the best part is, that even when we're not talking about anything slightly dirty, we find a way to make it such.

We all met in various ways, but came to bond throughout our group nonetheless. Jil and I met through a mutual friend, we were BFF for a long time, and then drifted apart for a few years but are tight as ever again. Alexis and I went to elementary school together, as early as first grade. I don't think we became close, the way we are now, until high school. Cristin and I met in third grade, as I've mentioned in a previous entry. I think Alexis met Carol first, and then I know I became close with her in high school, and even more so after she got cancer.

There are few biddies who come and go, but we love them all the same. Elyse hangs out with us on occasion, and when she does you wouldn't know that we barely ever get to see her. Jacqui is more of my friend than anyone elses' but they put up with her for me :) There also used to be Ali, but she went crazy and we don't talk to her anymore.

I almost feel like it all started sometimes around high school. I remember that we used to joke that I was a "dark vortex" that sucked everyone in - not that they didn't love being sucked in. We started smoking cigarettes and hanging out at pool halls, swearing and loving it. We went to clubs downtown, slutted around with the boys and then would come home, wipe of the sleez, and maybe get pulled over on the way to a diner.

Eventually we graduated to having pool parties at my house. Lots of booze, boys and kissing. I think I've made out with damn near all my girls. The parties were loose and out of control on occation. I think any of our parents would blush to hear some of things we've done, or even the way we've been known to talk.

We can sit at a bar all night, just shooting the shit, chain smoking and getting drunk. The most random conversations can come about, from "beam me up Scottie," to freely flowing streams of the word "cunt." We enjoy watches gorgious men fight in the octagon, ultimate fighting kinda rocks.

We have no problem sticking up for one another, being a shoulder to cry on, or plot the death of a man who broke one our hearts, but forgiving and forgetting when we get back into the same relationship anyway. I remember one night at a club some guy stepped on Alexis's foot and I slammed him into a group of guys and told him to appoligize. Then there is all the various times we've broken up, gotten back together, and broke up again, with plenty of boys. We've all done it. I know I have a few individuals on my list of "people who need their face beat in," and I'd love the chance, because I love those sluts!

The best part about the fact that we are Fucking Classy, is that we're classy. We can dress nice, be taken out in public, and no one would realize that we act the way we do when it's just us. Regardless, these are some lovely ladies, that I love, more than everything.

Missionary Flirting

I had my first experience with Mormon missionaries on Friday. The Mother and maid of honor arrived at the church before Bobby and I. They were calling us because the missionaries were standing out front, and couldn't come in until Bobby got there. I didn't really understand, but missionaries are not allowed in the company of the opposite sex without a chaperon present.

Shortly after we arrive, Mother and Maid of Honor left. I was working on the wedding cake and the missionaries were decorating the room where the wedding would be held. As I was decorating the cake, one of the missionaries told me that the flowers I made looked like bird poop. Then as I worked on the cake, the other missionary told me that it was crooked. My cake was perfect, for the record. I got so fed up with the missionaries and their crap that I told Bobby to take me out to the store because I didn't want to be around them.

So my first impression of them was not very good. I told the Maid of Honor who had a crush on the bird poop missionary, and her reasoning was that they don't know how to talk to girls, and they were probably just flirting. Missionary flirting, awkward and inappropriate.

Even though Bobby and I didn't like them, Mother decided to have them over for dinner, especially since Maid of Honor had a crush. Before they arrived, I helped them clean up the house, and assured Maid that her outfit was cute, but not like she was trying to hard. She was nervous, because she was going to "missionary flirt" with bird poop boy. She went on to explain that missionary flirting is more like talking about the scripture, and small talk. Kind of like the missionary position, not very exciting.

During dinner, one them asked Bobby's niece if she had ever been "beaten senseless." Bobby restrained himself the best he could, I pulled him away for a smoke so he could cool off before he beat someone senseless. After we came back, we (by I which I mean, I hid in the distance and took pictures) but the Christmas tree together and began to decorate. The missionaries played with the dogs and cats, one said that the floor would be perfect to play spin the cat. Bobby assured him that if he did, Bobby would play "spin the chamber," referring to his revolver, of course. Then, one of the geniuses decided to show Niece "the right way to hold a cat," at which point he held the cat by the throat and told her to hold it like that and shake it around.

Finally, Mother, who had been going through the whole evening looking through rose colored glasses, stepped in. She's a small woman, about 5 feet tall and pear shaped. She got as close as she could to the 6 foot something missionaries face and told him that if he wanted to disrespect her home, or her animals that he could leave. Maid of honor didn't seem to mind, this to her, seemed like missionary flirting... I'm not sure how.

After they finally left, Bobby apologized because he thought it was unfortunate that my first impression of missionaries were those douche bags. It was interesting to say the least. The excuses that Mother and Maid came up with to why they behaved that way was also rather interesting...

They aren't around people a lot..

......That's what they do, they talk to people, that's the point of the mission

They're just playing around..

......What kind of person, of any age asks a four year old if she's ever been beaten senseless?

They're just kidding around..

......So it's cool to say those kind of things, or insult something I've been working really hard on, for free might I add.

I think the best part of this is, that mormon girls LOVE, LOVE, LOVE missionaries. I think they love the fact that the missionaries support the "mormon way" of dating/marriage (as per a discussion with one of the missionaries). Date three months, propose, engaged three months, married. You know a person six months and then your hitched. Since most women are crazy (I speak from experience), they can probably hide they're crazy just long enough to trap them, before the boys know what they're getting into.

And now for some missionaries who have returned from their missions, and pose for the "man on a mission" calander, real live mormons...it almost makes me understand the attraction...

The Stormin' Mormons

I'm currently in Kentucky for my boyfriend's baby sister's wedding. I made the wedding cake and the groom's cake. It was a lot of fun. Everything looked amazing, the bride looked amazing. I learned that Mormon's spend a lot of time at church, during the week, and on Sundays.

It was different, compared to other weddings that I've been to. On Saturday morning, we went and got our hair done, and then drove an hour and a half to Louisville (pronounced Lul-ville). That is where the mormon temple was located. The bride and groom were sealed for this life and the next. Only Mormons who were, as I like to put it, really Mormon, were allowed in. Boyfriend and I sat in the waiting room for his niece.

The service took about 15 minutes and then we all drove back home, to get ready for the ring ceremony at the church. It was pretty great. There was really no pressure because they were already married. Boyfriend cried, Papa cried, everyone cried. I probably would have been balling my eyes out if it hadn't been for neice/flowergirl asking me to scratch her back constantly because her sweater was making her itch.

I really enjoyed it, and I'm super happy for them.

"Letters from Home"

"Letters from Home"
By John Michael Montgomery

My Dear Son, it is almost June,
I hope this letter catches up to you, and finds you well.
Its been dry but they're calling for rain,
And everything's the same ol' same in Johnsonville.
Your stubborn 'ol Daddy ain't said too much,
But I'm sure you know he sends his love,
And she goes on,In a letter from home.

I hold it up and show my buddies,
Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy, and they all laugh,
Like there's something funny bout' the way I talk,
When I say: "Mama sends her best y'all."
I fold it up an' put it in my shirt,
Pick up my gun an' get back to work.
An' it keeps me driving me on,
Waiting on letters from home.

My Dearest Love, its almost dawn.
I've been lying here all night long wondering where you might be.
I saw your Mama and I showed her the ring.
Man on the television said something so I couldn't sleep.
But I'll be all right, I'm just missing you.
An' this is me kissing you:
XX's and OO's,
In a letter from home.

I hold it up and show my buddies,
Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy, and they all laugh,
'Cause she calls me "Honey", but they take it hard,
'Cause I don't read the good parts.
I fold it up an' put it in my shirt,
Pick up my gun an' get back to work.
An' it keeps me driving me on,
Waiting on letters from home.

Dear Son, I know I ain't written,
But sittin' here tonight, alone in the kitchen, it occurs to me,
I might not have said, so I'll say it now:
Son, you make me proud.

I hold it up and show my buddies,
Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy, but no one laughs,
'Cause there ain't nothing funny when a soldier cries.
An' I just wipe me eyes.
I fold it up an' put it in my shirt,
Pick up my gun an' get back to work.
An' it keeps me driving me on,
Waiting on letters from home.

I guess it makes sense why this song makes me want to cry. I have been to so many going away and welcome home parties. When they go away you never really imagine that they won't come back, you give them a big hug, and tell them to be safe. Then all you can do is pray they come back.

My friend Megan's husband left right after they got married. He has done at least two tours in Iraq. I remember she said that she was so depressed the entire time he was gone she couldn't do anything. She wouldn't here from him for days...she would just cry. Once his Lieutenant called her because her husband was having a hard time getting through to her on the phone. When the man said who he was, she fell to the ground, expecting to hear the worse.

I remember back back in the day, Cristin's cousin used to send me love letters from boot camp. I think I might still have them somewhere...

I just don't know what I would do if Bobby went to war...
My brother tried to join the air force when I was in 9th or 10th grade...
My dad wanted to be in the military...
My uncle killed himself after coming back from war...

I remember being on base one day after a boy came back from war. He had died and the funeral procession started from the base after his body arrived via plane. As the base was covered with men in uniforms saluting the hearse, I cried.

It's sad, and I know that why we do it, and I know why they do it. I just know that I pray for everyone who is over there protecting us and our country, giving their lives for our country.

Daddy Dearest (Part 2)

My dad can be generous in many ways, he can also seem like a crazy person, or someone who is trying to live vicariously through his kids.

Since my dad retired when we were young, we would often go run arrends with him after school. The thing was always tricky was, when my dad said he was going out, sometimes he'd say where he was going and other times he wouldn't. When my dad didn't say where he was going, the only thing you knew, is that you wanted to go with him. You might end up going to the hardware store, or you might end up at Six Flags.

My dad collects things, you name something that was around in 1940-1960, my dad probably collects it, at least, if he thought it was cool when he was a kid (yeah, he was born '40). The coolest part about this that I can remember was my basement. My dad has a collection of beer signs, add to that a couple pin ball machines, a pool table, ping pong, a slot machine and a dart board, and you got a pretty good game room. A lot of the stuff was collectable stuff that my dad bought.

Mother

My mom and I have never had the best relationship. Since I've always been a pretty depressed kid, cutting myself and binge eating and the fun stuff that chubby little girls do to try and make themselves feel better. One thing that I always remember my mom doing which I hated, and still hate, she would ask me if I wanted to go shopping. Instead of making small talk or listening to the radio while we were in the car, she would ask me what I was thinking about.

"What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? How can you be thinking about nothing? What were you thinking about before I asked?"
"Nothing."
"Is there anything you want to tell me?"
"No."

That was generally the course that our conversations took. I still don't know why I hate being asked that, but the one thing I dread, to this day, is to get in a car with her and have that conversation. She always makes sure we're driving somewhere so I can't escape.

Since in a car you can't escape, my mom also likes to take those times to yell at me. I never have any idea what I did, or what was wrong, I was always in trouble. Drives with my mom always seemed to have meant trouble. If they didn't, there was always a possibility of something coming up, and her getting mad at me about who knows what.

I still don't really tell my mom anything, I barely see her. I live with her, but not really. I either work late, or stay at Bobby's. On nights that I do come home to sleep I usually come home after she's gone to bed and leave before she wakes up. I don't know why I can't open up to my mom.

We used to go to see a shrink together, we've done it all, but I never see us having one of those Gilmore Girls relationships. It kind of makes me sad becaus I hope I can have that with my kids, but if I can't do it with my mom, how will I be able to have it?

The Assault: The Drunken Pass

I have a small and select group of girlfriends. They are all the most amazing people, who I can trust with any information, and to take care of me if I needed it. I very seldom am accepting of new women into my life, I don't trust them. It's an instinctual thing, women are hard to trust because they are more emotional, they are more likely to stab you in the back. Due to this and a thousand other reasons, women are drama queens and to be trusted only at your own risk. I am more likely to befriend a man any day of the week than I am to let myself get to close to a new woman I don't know.

• Women with a childhood history of sexual abuse are 4.7 times more likely to be subsequently raped (Merrill, et al, 1997).
• Of female Americans who are raped, 54% experience their first rape before age 18. (Ibid)
• Of surveyed college women, about 90% of rape and sexual assault victims knew their attacker prior to the assault (Fisher, 2000)
• 69% of teen sexual assaults reported to law enforcement occurred in the residence of the victim, the offender, or another individual (Snyder, 2000).

Changed names...

• My roommates Best friend: Slut
• The guy I'm dating: Joe
• Slut's guy Friend: Creeper

I have always had the feelings that women were drama, and trouble, but while I was at college, I only had so many friends. Sometimes you just need a girlfriend, and while my lovely ladies were at their respective colleges, I had to fill the hole. I let myself get friendly with a rather anti-social girl, because that way, she needed me more than I needed her. After she got crazy and clingy and tried to sleep on the floor of my dorm every night (even though her room was just a few doors down); I had to make a new friend. My roommate was a pretty cool girl, and she was always asking me to come hang out. I eventually became sort of friends with her, and her best friend. I was more friends with her friend because we spent a lot of time hanging out with the same group of guys.

At one point, I was dating this really cute older guy. His eyes were amazing, he was sweet, and I really was attracted to him, in every way. I spent most nights in his dorm, and a lot of time texting him when we weren't together. One particular evening, he was having a guys night with his roommate, they were going to the bar and get wasted. My friends were all either home for the weekend or out at bars, since I was under 21, I had nothing official happening that night.

While I was on my trek from my car to the dorms, Slut pulled up next to me to see what I was up to. She had a case of beer in the car, we parked, and knocked back some beer. After we put a big enough dent in the case, we grabbed the last of them and headed back to the dorms. At the time I was a two beer queer. We weren't supposed to have beer in our dorm, but Slut had a friend who was over 21, so we went to Creeper's room, so if he got caught with the beer, he was old enough to have it.

I was already drunk by the time we got to the room, Slut kept asking me about Joe and how everything was, and what he was doing tonight, I didn't think anything of it, I was drunk. She kept passing me beers, and I didn't know my limit, and because it was happening so fast, probably not everything that I had drank had really gotten to me yet. I kept telling Slut that I wanted a cigarette, I wanted to go outside, and then I wanted her to take me to my room. I was so drunk at this point that I could barely keep my eyes open.

She asked to borrow my phone, gave creeper a hug and a big smile, took my phone, and left. Apparently, Slut had no plans of coming back for me. She was busy calling Joe and trying to get him to hang out with her because she wanted to fuck him, and she didn't care what that cost me. As I began to fade in and out of consciousness, Creeper started try and make moves on me. I pushed him off and told him I wanted to go to my room, he said he would take me soon.

As the time between conscious and unconscious grew, I woke up to Creeper on top of me, he was, rather vigorously, fucking my limp unconscious body. I tried to say something, but as I lifted my head I blacked out again. The next time I woke up, I was laying in his bed, half dressed, feeling very sick, and with a very sore vagina, he wasn't around. I managed to put pants on, and grab the rest of my clothes. I can picture walking up to my room as if I were watching myself, but I don't remember doing it. I just had a bundle of clothing and kept falling into the wall, trying to find stairs, trying to find my room, trying to be anywhere but there. I don't remember getting back to my room, but I remember waking up there, sore, and with the familiar feeling of being dirty all over. I stayed in bed most of the day, my roommate got my phone back from Slut, but I didn't want to do anything anyway.

Eventually Joe asked me to come see him, it was the only thing that seemed to make me feel better. He mentioned how Slut kept calling him from my phone, but he barely knew her and didn't understand why she wanted to hang out with him. I felt safe because Joe and I weren't having sex, never did, and he was a big guy so I trusted him to protect me. I remember falling asleep in his arms, and then him waking me in the middle of the night. He said he really had to pee and asked if I wanted to go for a walk. Why one of those things led to the other I'm not sure, but that's what happened. We walked around the dorm building, and he finally stopped somewhere to pee. As I was standing there in the middle of the night, in the dark, freezing, wearing nothing put my pajamas, and wrapping my arms around myself for warmth, I felt something come out of my already very sore lady parts.

That feeling is very hard to describe, but it scared this shit out of me. I had no idea what just happened, for all I knew, I just had a miscarriage and there was a very small baby laying in my underwear. I was terrified, but didn't want to tell Joe was had just happened. I started bouncing up in down, and telling Joe to hurry up, I was cold, and needed to go to the bathroom. We made it back to his room, and I ran into the bathroom to see what had happened. That's when I saw it, it was just there, smashed up, almost unrecognizable, a ripped condom. Which Creeper must have lost while he was violently thrusting into me.

That was followed by the standard fears that anyone would have if a condom ripped during consensual sex. What if I get pregnant? What is this fucking ass's sperm actually got to one of my eggs? What am I going to do? How long can you wait until you take the morning after pill? Will is still work? What are my chances? I spent the next day waiting at planned parenthood for the pill, I had seventy two hours, after the incident to get the pill, which would, by the grace of God, kill whatever devil seed that prick may have put inside of me.

I only trust a few girls, because bitches are back-stabbing, and usually just out for themselves. Slut got me drunk, and then passed me off to some creeper, with no regards what he would do to me, but she wanted me good and drunk, so she could take my phone and try and fuck my boyfriend.

Evolve One, Evole All

From the people who bring us those incredibly entertaining commercials about STDs.


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The Assault: The Story

Being the victim of a sexual assault hurts in a lot of ways, emotionally, physically, it makes you sick, and it's often embarrassing. For that reason, and for other reasons, even though I knew the person who assaulted me, I'm going to refer to him as "the boy." It's a hard story to tell, and I think that most important part, even more so than the actual events that ensued, my feelings, as it was happening, and after it happened.

I'm about 15 years old, I meet a boy with the prettiest blue eyes I'd ever seen. He was cute, he thought he was a bad ass but really he was very nice. The first few times we hung out, if we would walk somewhere he wanted to be on the street side, that way he protect me if something happened. He said on top of that, in some places, if you are walking with a woman on the street side it meant she was for sale, like a hooker. He seemed like a really nice boy, and I thought he treated me well.

My mom took me to his house one day and dropped me off, she didn't really like the idea, but she knew I was going to want to start hanging out with boys. I told her that I would call her when I needed a ride home. When I got there he was outside playing on his skateboard. His house had a wooded area behind it. We walked through the wide field and he said he wanted to show me something in the woods, he told me I'd like it.

We walked through a small winding trail, it seemed as if were forgotten, barely visible. As we came to an opening there was a little bench, the branches and leaves wrapped around the bench like a halo. They left just the right amount of room for two love birds to sit together. When I saw the bench up close it had a faded poem carved into it. I don't remember it exactly but it said something about the spot to come and sit, and love.

I told the boy that I thought it was really sweet that he brought me there, and the poem on the bench made it even more special. He agreed and said that he liked it because even though you could see people hiking through the wooded area, they couldn't see you. The boy liked the privacy, I didn't really understand why at the time. He started to kiss me, it was nice, almost special. He started to move his hand up to my breast, and I pushed it away. Again he tried but this time, he slipped his hand under my shirt.

Again, I pushed him away. He didn't like the way things were going for him. He tried to be sweet, say nice things, tell me how he liked me. He again tried to make a move on me. I still wasn't interested, he asked me why I didn't want to make him happy. I didn't understand. He gave me a hug and the next thing I know he has my arms forced behind my back. I try to fight him off, but I didn't think that he was going to do anything so I didn't try hard enough.

He pushed me towards the ledge of the space where we were, he pulled my shirt up to my neck. He asked me if I could see the people below, I could. He asked if I wanted him to push me off, I didn't. He pulled my bra down to reveal my breast to the people below. They weren't looking, but if they had looked up, they would have seen a scared barely teenage girl, more exposed than ever before.

Then he let me go, I quickly covered myself back up. He laughed, he thought it was funny, he didn't think that it was a big deal. I didn't understand. Then he started acting really sweet again, he didn't think I would get upset, no one was looking anyway. It was just a joke, he was sorry. He hugged me, told me to come sit with him on the bench. I joined him on the bench, against my better judgement, because I thought maybe he was sorry.

After sitting there for a minute I stood up, I told him we should go. He held my hands and started sweet talking me again. I told him to get his skateboard, I told him we should go, to pick it up, we'd leave. I'm not really even sure how it happened but he did something with his legs, and knocked me to my knees. He kept pushing my head into his crotch. I'd push my head back. He put his skateboard in front of me and told me to kneel on that so I didn't get dirty. He didn't let me go, but he was trying to make it seem like he was being nice.

There was a back and forth battle of him trying to get me to blow him by pushing my head, and me pushing back. When I'd get my head up, I couldn't get my arms free, so I couldn't get away. He told me that he could push me right off the ledge on that skateboard. I didn't seem to have many options. Eventually he pulled his boy penis out and forced me to put it in my mouth. The pushing situation seemed to work to his advantage. Any time I would start to pull my head up farther than he wanted, he would push it down as far as he could. His penis would push against my throat and I would gag.

As tears streamed down my face onto his lap, he ejaculated in my mouth. He finally let my head up. I spit out the salty, warm, slimy mess. I wiped my mouth, wiped my tears, and he tried to console me. I pushed him away. We walked back to his house so I could call my mom. I would let him touch me again.

My mom took me home, asked if everything was okay, I told her I was fine. My neck was killing, my pants were dirty, and I felt dirty all over. I pretended nothing happened. I hate myself for that. I thought of, and can still think of all the things that I could have done differently. Things that I could have done to get him off of me. I can go on for days about what I could have, or should have done.

Now I can only wait for time to heal my wounds, as I write this, I'm working through it. It has effected me for a long time. It has had a control over me. I hope that one day, the idea of it won't make me feel dirty, embarrassed, disgusted... One thing that I can be sure of, without a doubt in my mind; I'm a much stronger person now than I was then. For that reason, if the boy ever crossed my path, I couldn't be held accountable for my actions, I might even kill if I had the chance. I think about it often, what I would do, but I know in my heart, no matter how much the idea of confronting him scares me; I'd make him feel my pain.

The Assault: The Facts

Sexual Assault:

• When the act is intentional and is committed either by a) physical force, violence, threat or intimidation; b) ignoring the objections of another person....
• noun: Conduct of a sexual on indecent nature toward another person that is accompanied by actual or threatened physical force or that induces fear, shame or mental suffering.
• A sex act committed by one person on another pr son, or against that other person's will
• A sex act occurs when one person's genitals touch another persons mouth or genitals, or when a substitute for a person's genitals, such as fingers or an object, touches another person's genitals.

Pennsylvania Law: Considered a misdemeanor of the first or second degree. They can carry a 9 month to 2 year sentence, if convicted.

• Girls who were raped are about three times more likely to suffer from psychiatric disorders and over four times more likely to suffer from drug and alcohol abuse in adulthood (Kendler, et al., 2000).
• Female students who have been physically and/or sexually abused by a dating partner in the 9th through 12th grades are at increased risk for substance abuse, unhealthy weight control, risky sexual behavior, pregnancy and suicide (Silverman, et al., 2001).
• 23% of all sexual offenders are under the age of 18 (Snyder, 2000).
• Female adolescent abuse survivors are more likely to develop eating disorders - 18% binge and purge, while only 6% of non-abused adolescent girls do so - and are more likely to use illegal drugs - 30% compared to 13% of teenage girls who were never sexually abused (The Commonwealth Fund, 1997).
• The cost of crime to victims is an estimated $450 billion per year. Rape is the most costly to its victims, totaling $127 billion annually. (Miller, et al., 1996)
• On average, from 1992-2000, only 31% of all rapes and sexual victimizations were reported to the police(Hart, Timothy and Rennison, 2000)
• The overall probability that a rapist will be sent to prison for his crime: 16.3%. The average sentence: 128 days. (National Center for Policy Analysis, 1999)
• 1.8 million of the 22.3 million adolescents in the United States have been sexually assaulted (Kilpatrick and Saunders).
• Teens 16 to 19 years of age were three and a half times more likely than the general population to be victims of rape, attempted rape, or sexual assault (Rennison, 2000).

The absence of injuries often suggests to others that the victim failed to resist and, therefore, must have consented. Often, rapists only need the threat of violence to control their victims.

Everyone has the right to change their mind - even about sex. One form of sexual contact does not necessarily open the door to other sexual activity. Even if the two have had sex before, the perpetrator does not have the right to force sex on the victim.

There are many ways a person can be forced into sexual activity. Sometimes perpetrators use physical force or a weapon, but more often they use coercion, manipulation, or psychological pressure.

Allowing survivors to discuss sexual abuse/assault helps them heal. Speaking out about sexual assault might be an essential part of the recovery process. It empowers the survivor to erase the shame and stop the silence of sexual violence. However, no survivor should be forced to speak, publicly or privately, before they are ready. Every survivor is the expert on their own recovery. For many, recovery becomes an ongoing process of change that may continue for 1, 5, or 20 years.

I may have mentioned my incident in passing, but never to the full extent. I know that when I first ever discussed it, there was not assault mentioned. Chunks of the story were left out, and I made it sound like something normal. I've blamed myself for a long time. A really long time. I spent a lot of time not thinking that it was an assault, it was just my fault, and I deserved it. I know that it isn't my fault, but I still haven't come to terms with that. I still feel responsible. The first time I told the story, I explained it to my shrink, not in full detail, but overall. She said that it's good to tell my story because it takes away some of the strength and control it has over me. Therefore, I will work on my story, and eventually, the drafts I write I will be able to post, and let myself tell the whole thing, just how it happened.

Bill (Part 3)

Disclaimer...If as you read this, you ask yourself, "how much more stupid can she get?" Just keep reading. Same goes for when you begin to wonder "How much more of this is she going to take?" The pain ends eventually, but it goes through a few ups and downs. There are probably a few holes in my stories from things I can't remember, but I'll do my best to get across each fun filled little event.

I remember taking Bill to a lot of halfway houses. He always had to go back and get his stuff. Not only were they in really bad parts of Philadelphia, I would sit in the car by myself, which I guess was safer than going inside with all the junkies. I got in trouble on plenty of nights for letting him stay at my house. My mom didn't trust him, understandably, you can't trust junkies. Since I was blind to the fact that he could be a bad person, I never understood why it bothered my mom so much.

I remember going to pick him up at his house on many occasions too. I would sit in the living room with his mom. One time she had a container full of baby ducks she was raising, another time there was a baby squirrel up her sleeve, literally. She'd stand there and tell me that she didn't understand why I would keep coming back. She did the same thing, but Bill was her baby, she had a good reason, I should have walked away. I remember her telling me that he hit her once, smacked her around. I didn't believe it, but I'm not surprised, it could have gone either way because they were both liars.

One day a few of my friends and I went to Bill's house, his friend M was there. He was in a really good mood, we were all hanging out, and having a good time. It didn't take long for him to not be in as good of a mood. He got up at one point and disappeared for a while. Then when I was going to get up to check on him, M stopped me, he knew that Bill had a drug problem because they did drugs together. When they both came back, it was a different situation. He stripped down and it turned into almost an orgy without the sex I guess, I mean, it was just nakedness and kissing everywhere. It bothered me in a way, even though sex eventually didn't mean anything between the two of us, I didn't think it was something he'd up and do with anyone around.

Bill in I always stayed in touch. I went away to college and he was always getting clean and all that good stuff. Even when I was at school he would call me every now and then, it was always nice to hear that he was still alive. The last I heard, he had died once and was resuscitated, and he ODed about 8 times. At least he tries hard...

At one point when I was in college, in another state might I add, he called my from Philly because he was getting out of a mental hospital. He told me how his mom wouldn't let him come home, and he had no where to go. I drove in the middle of the night from college, to the hospital to pick him up the day he got discharged. I drove him all the way back to my dorm. He stayed with me for about a week or more. He started some fights, and freaked out one of the girls down the hall. I finally got a notice saying that the school had reason to believe that someone else was living in my dorm room, and they were going to come check.

Before I finally took Bill home from college, he of course hooked up with some girls there. He would talk about how much he loved college. He took money from me, among other things, like he's great at ruining friendships, and stealing my clothes and cd's. The day that I got the note, my roommate called me. She didn't mind that he was there. I think I was finally starting to come to the end of my ability to deal with Bill. He would call me every day and tell me that he needed food, or cigarettes, he couldn't seem to make himself anything to eat, he of course didn't have any money. I felt like I was blessed when I finally got that note from the school, I wanted him gone.

Another long night of driving, I was free of Bill. I can guarantee that there is more shit that he put me through, but I either don't want to go through it in my head, or I don't want to see it in writing. Knowing that it's all true, and it I put up with it, makes it hard. Since he left my college, I think I've talked to him a few times. His story last was that he was going to college. Then another time he was joining the air force. I've had phone calls from him mom, because he still lies to her by saying that he's going out with me, she still trusts me. I respect her enough to tell her the truth, I haven't seen him, and I didn't know he was using me as an excuse. I remember the last time that I saw Bill, I was driving down a street near is house.

He was sitting on the side of the road, with a trash bag, and no shoes. I felt myself hit the break on the car. I thought to myself, I'm driving in a brand new car, doing really well, and he's going to see that and think that I have money, and that he can take advantage of me again. I let go of the break and kept driving. I checked my rear view mirror as I threw my cigarette out the window. My rear window, where he should be, behind me. I hope I can keep him there. I still love him, and that part of me that he will always have is the part that wanted to hit the breaks. The part that wanted to pull the car over and give him a hug, tell him everything would be okay. The piece of me that knows, deep down inside, that former honors student, athlete, loving, caring person is in that mess of drugs somewhere.

I know he's been terrible to me, and for me. He isn't always bad. He always supported me. When I was in a relationship at college he was happy for me, he thought we were good together. After I told him about Bobby he was really glad that I found someone that treats me so well and I want to spend the rest of my life with. All I can do is pray for him, maybe one day, years from now, he'll come to a high school reunion or something, clean with a job, or just clean would be great. I've been to more NA meetings and sober parties than I can remember, but I guess it was worth it, as much as it hurt, and can still hurt. I'm a stronger person, I know that because I could drive away from the boy who stole my heart in 7th grade, and hasn't given it all back.

Bill (Part 2)

Disclaimer...If as you read this, you ask yourself, "how much more stupid can she get?" Just keep reading. Same goes for when you begin to wonder "How much more of this is she going to take?" The pain ends eventually, but it goes through a few ups and downs. There are probably a few holes in my stories from things I can't remember, but I'll do my best to get across each fun filled little event.

Besides the obvious inconsideration for my feelings, or anyone's feelings for that matter, through the course of Bill's drug abuse, there were a few events that are worth mentioning. Once during a visit to a mental hospital, Bill met a girl who was there becaus she tried to kill herself, unsuccessfully, obviously. While Bill was spending at least some of his time, getting me to believe that he loved me, he also decided to have some quality time with this girl. I can only assume the worst. I even think she called me once, wanting to know why I was trying to "get with her man."

Prom night, every girl waits for that moment, when they have the perfect dress and the perfect date. Bill would have easily been my perfect date, and the dress, that was already perfect. Bill instead of going with me decided to ask some other girl we went to high school with, one who I hated on top of that. I was pretty upset about it, well, that's an understatement. I think I managed to have a good time anyway, I brought my best friend Jil, and danced with everyone else's date. I got my picture taken with a friend, I wanted them taken with Bill, but by the grace of God, my friends wouldn't let that happen.

After prom a bunch of us went to stay at a friend's beach house. We had our cute little room assignments with our dates, but actually, I ended up being with Bill. His date didn't come to the beach house, and I'm a glutten for punishment. He was obviously strung out on dope for the duration of our trip. He would stay up late at night, and sleep a lot during the day, he came in with me one night, and we almost had sex. I don't know why I was going to do it, but I wanted him, I always wanted him. Again, my friends saved the day, they refused to supply a condom, and no sex was had.

Don't let that fool you, he's the boy I lost my virginity to. That was an interest turn of events. It came down to that fact that I didn't want to go away to college a virgin, I wanted to have sex with someone I had feelings for, and I cared about. I considered Bill my best friend, even thought he could be an ass. So the day came, and I went to the grocery store and got condoms, and went to his house. We started off really slow, he didn't want to hurt me. In the end, we had sex for what seemed like hours, in actuality, it was probably only about an hour. The benefits of boning junkies, they have a real hard time getting off when they're high. I don't regret it. I wanted it to be special, and it was, at least for me.

After the first time, sex turned into a thing we just did. I'd come over, we'd watch some tv, chain smoke a bit, talk, and usually have sex. It didn't take long for sex to lose meaning to me, it already meant very little to me because I was sexually assulted, but I thought maybe by doing it with someone I cared about I could bring some love back into it. The love that might have been there the first time was soon gone, sex was sex. Penis in vagina, thrusting...over. It took me years to find meaning in sex again, meaningless lovers, meaningless sex, meaningless me.

To be continued...the pain isn't over yet.

Bill (Part 1)

I feel like it is time to tell a story that is not only hard for me to tell, but hard for me to think about. It's a sad story really, because it starts off seemingly good, and then ends in heartache. There are unfortunately ups and downs, and the downs hurt the most because at the age this happened, I was naive. At any rate, this is the story of a boy, who could have grown up to be a smart, successful man, but instead lives on the streets, and though he seems to have nothing, will always be carrying a piece of my heart.

I first met Bill in my seventh grade English class, 4Th period, Ms. Davis. He was very quite, and sat in the back of the room. I was not exactly a social butterfly, but I noticed him, and for a while, that's all it was. I had a boyfriend, Doug, not the most attractive man in the world, but I settled, it's what I did. Bill and I also had biology together, I think that was 7Th period, with Mr. Keller, he was the greatest teacher ever. Somehow, I'm not quite sure, Bill and I came to know each other, though there is one specific time that I would consider our first cordial meeting.

We were both on the track team, I spent most of my time doing shot-put and occasionally long distance with my friend Amanda. Bill did the same events but he did them with his friend, Josh. On this special day, after a track meet, I was standing in the middle of the track with Amanda getting our equipment together to carry it all back inside, when Bill and Josh came up to us. Josh introduced everyone as though we'd never met, then Bill asked me if I wanted help carrying my stuff, and I let him help.

After that we spent a lot more time together. Doug and I broke up, and I started "dating" Bill. Doug was in a freak baseball accident and I, as much as I regret it now, dumped Bill to get back together with Doug. To this day, Bill blames me for this. He never let me forget it, and he sees as the point where is life fell apart.

We had a few dates. I remember one day in particular where I took the bus home with him, one of the first times I remember meeting his mom. We were sitting in his backyard on the deck, surrounded by various animals and reptiles. When we finally got up the nerve to hold hands, his mom came running out the back door screaming "Cannibals! Cannibals!" While running at the wild turkeys who were wandering around the backyard. We quickly pulled our hands apart.

In an unfortunate turn of events, Bill went from a guy who lifted weights all the time, and was on the wrestling team, to a junkie. It didn't happen all at once, but he went straight from weed to heroin, after that he went back and tried crack and stuff, but heroin was his first true love. Bill and I were both going through rough times, but we would make deals that we both knew we wouldn't keep. I would promise not to cut myself, and Bill would promise not to use. It wasn't because they were equal problems, but because I cared about him, I didn't want him doing drugs. He cared about me, and didn't want me to hurt myself.

Then came the ups and downs, he was in the hospital, he was out, he ODed, he was clean. Bill would overdose and then go to the hospital. On those days I would cut school and lay in the hospital bed with him all day, well, until They came to take him to the mental hospital. Those days while we laid there he was probably my favorite person. After he finally realized where he was and what was going on, he was the sweetest man in the world to me. I just sucked it all up, and clung to it like a life preserver while I waited for him to get back out of the mental hospital.

Sometimes he would disappear for a while, and when he would come back I was the only person he was allowed to hang out with, because his mom trusted me. I let him break my heart time and time again. I told him I loved him even though he would go out scoring dope and not come back for days, or end up in the hospital, or get arrested. I loved him through it all.

I loved him because of the person I knew he could be. The way he took care of me sometimes, he had a way of making you smile no matter what happened. It was pretty amazing, he was pretty amazing. I'd love to say that I grew out of the relationship, and realized that he was a mess. Unfortunately, that is not the case, it was a mess for a long time. Sometimes I wouldn't talk to him for a while, and I would just try not to think about it, but he always came back. Somehow or another Bill would be a part of my life until I almost graduated from college. Now I only can pray that I'm strong enough to stay away from him.

Tim (Part 2)

After meeting Tim, and eventually moving in with him and my boyfriend, I realized what a great guy he was. He was a southern gentleman. He worked for my favorite chef (K-Paul) in his home town of New Orleans. He would make the best food, I will always remember that. We spent a lot of time together, and I loved it.

We were both under 21 at the time, but there was a bar around the corner from the apartment and we got in there, and always got served. We spent so much time there playing exotic photo hunt with occational help from Al the bartender. Sometimes my boyfriend would come out, but he was not a very social fun loving guy, he was kind of old, even for his age he was old. After drinking we would walk to another bar where I knew the bouncers, plus I used to be a promoter, so getting in was easy there too. My boyfriend would give Tim some cash and tell him to buy me some drinks.

Tim and I would drink and dance all night long. I did my best to be a good wing man for him. I knew when to dance with him to get attention from girls, and when to walk away so they could step in. It was a really great relationship. Overtime, our friendship turned into something a little bit more than that, at least for me.

I remember during a break, I think it was during the winter, I was sitting at my favorite dive diner with my ladies. I was texting Tim, and then he called me. All of a sudden it was like I was in elementary school all over again. I was giddy, to say the least, when I finally calmed down, and got my friends to calm down, I answered the phone. I told him that I liked him, ya know, like that. He said that he knew.

Obviously there was the whole boyfriend thing, so Tim and I stayed strickly friends. Though my (ex)boyfriend admitted at one point that he thought I was having an affair with Tim. There was one time when the boy was going out of town and I was going to stay at the apartment with just Tim anyway, and when I came back after work, the boy was there. He obviously didn't trust me enough to leave me there with him. Our friendship made him uncomfortable.

I know it's not really appropriate to tell someone you have feelings for them when you're in a relationship, but I don't regret it. In fact, I'm greatful that I had the balls to do it at the time. If I hadn't told Tim about my feelings, I would have regretted it to this day. I mean, only a few months after I told him, he passed away.

I have a heart shaped pillow on my bed that he gave me, which reminds me of him every day. Every time I make chicken with Chef Paul's Poultry Magic, I think of him. When I take a shower, and see my tattoo that I had made, especially for him, I think about him. I think that it was the perfect tribute. I didn't get his name tattooed on me or anything, I had a tattoo designed for him, that would make me think of him. Since he was from New Orleans (which he did teach me how to pronounce like a local) I have a marti gras mask, that is bright and vibrant like he always was, and it has ribbons on it in case I decide to put his name in it later. It's perfect, and as they say, only the good die young, and Tim was a pretty great guy.

Dr. P: My High School Savior

I first met Dr. P in elementary school. He was always helpful then too. Cristin and I would skip recess and have lunch with him. He always had the coolest toys on his desk. We would just talk to him. He made the days easier.

In high school he would make life much easier for me. I was very despressed in junior high and high school, and being able to talk to someone made life better. I was very self loathing, and I was cutting myself, and just always depressed.

I would skip classes to talk to Dr. P. He wouldn't try and do what normal shrinks do, he would make me feel better, and some how, amongst the jokes, we solved a few problems. When I was dreading my older brother coming home for the holidays, we joked about how I could "off" him, and hide the body, but he made the whole idea more tolerable. When I was just beside myself and couldn't handle being in school, he would let me use his phone to call my dad. He would pull my cut slips on days where I just didn't have it in me to go class, or if ended up driving myself home. He was there when I almost got suspended, or when I cut school to see Bill in the hospital, even though we both knew I shouldn't. Not to mention, that he would look up on the school data base if he'd been in school lately, so I could have some closure on what was happening.

He was a savior, and to this day, he can still brighten my day. I wish I could find a shrink that could help me as much as he has. He's an amazing person, and perfect as a high school counsler.

Thanksgiving: Family Dysfunction at its best

Thanksgiving at my house is, well, painful. As in most families, Thanksgiving is very chaoitic. I can remember many fun filled years of Thanksgiving fun with my family. Since I'm a pretty lucky lady, my birthday always falls right around thanksgiving. When I was a kid that seemed like the best thing ever, because the most people always came to my birthday party (because we always celebrate on thanksgiving) and therefore, I got the most presents. My dad always invited some random person who had no where else to go to celebrate, and my family came in from New York and everything.

Wierdly enough, I remember that I was always sick on birthday as a kid. I always came down with some terrible cold, or the flu, and one time, the chicken pocks. I know realize, that even as I was sick again this year, I think it's my body's natural reaction to impending doom. Thanksgiving was never really fun for me, because it's just not a family holiday until someone gets drunk, makes someone else cry, a physical battle almost breaks out, people storm out, and everyone is left unhappy.

Since my family is plagued with alcoholism, we generally try to avoid having drinks available at these events, especially since the year my aunt go really drunk, and started a fight with her brother and sister, and then tried to walk home.

Or the time we all had to go to New York for Thanksgiving, against my will, to eat at my uncle's house, where all the food sucked, and I started crying because I was sick, and my mom finally couldn't handle it and took us home.

Then there was the time, my two cousins got so drunk, they ended up fighting, and then everyone was crying, and everyone was sent home.

Nothing like the fun that comes from family dinners together.

This year was no real exeption. The drinking has come to an abrupt stop, thankfully. Most disfunctional family members are no longer invited to dinner, which rules out an uncle, several cousins, and those who are married/related to them. This year, the fighting was left down to petty fuids between a few people.

I started my day by waking up at my boyfriend's house at about 2.30pm. We decided that since the food at my house is terrible, to go and find some where that would be open, and get some cheesesteaks. We run out, find a 24hr diner, grab our food, and head back to the apartment. No sooner had we finished eating, did I get a phone call from my mom, freaking out that she can't find a knife, and that she could really use my help. I calmly tell her, that I will be there in ten minutes, and not to worry.

I get to my house and see that there are already plenty of people in the kitchen helping her, and that she really doesn't need my help. I make some whip cream, and make the mashed potatoes; which is my favorite food ever, and I can't let my mom ruin it again this year. At this point, my mom can't ask for anything, she demands it in a tone that makes me want to kick puppies. I run around getting my knives and getting stuff for her, and then I do the reasonable thing. Hide.

I enjoy a cigarette on the front porch while the rest of the family arrives and stress ensues in the kitchen. One of the two turkeys we made is raw, while the other is overcooked, as usual. Finally they demand that we come and sit down. Lucky me, the birthday girl, gets stuck sitting at the kiddy table, even though my younger brother gets to sit with the adults.

After getting my boyfriends dinner ready (because he had surgery on his hip and shoulder and needs help doing stuff) I'm told by my sister to sit, I sit, the kids pray, and I get back up to get my food. The turkey is terrible, as expected, so I pretty much just eat stuffing and mashed potatoes. Then when we're done eating, my boyfriend and I get up from the table. Of course at the moment, my sister and her hubby, captain douche-bag, decide to parent us. My sister is not even close to be old enough to be my mother, or anything of the sort. She starts telling us to sit back down because they have a hard time getting the kids to stay at the table. I personally, smile, and retreat to another room. Boyfriend desides to tell my sister, that he's not sitting back down. Captain Douche-bag says that it's not just a "three and half rule" (referring to the age of his kids) and Boyfriend responds, that the three and half years olds didn't have a piece of bone taken out of their hip and their collar bones sawed in half. Then he left the room.

I found the evening overall, tolerable. As soon as cake and everything was over, Bobby and I left. It had it's awkward moments of my Dad bringing his girlfriend, and my aunt's kids being there.

Overall, interesting..