Reminiscing and Anticipation

(Originally written on May 28, 2009)

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Last night, Sparrow came back into town after spending a year-and-a-half teaching English in Argentina and then hiking his way back up to the U.S. through South and Middle America.  He’s going to be here for the summer working at the YMCA camp until he goes to Princeton in the fall for seminary school.  Sparrow and I have a very unique and interesting history, which is made even more so by our respective relationships with Napoleon and Gaston.  Allow me to explain this by first detailing my relationship with Sparrow and then explaining Sparrow’s relationships with Napoleon and Gaston.  After that, it should be pretty clear how they tie together and put a bizarre spin on it all.

I first met Sparrow when I was a freshman in college (2004) at the opening SGA (Student Government Association) meeting of the fall.  It was pouring outside and I didn’t have an umbrella, so I trudged through the rain in my oversized University hoodie from my dorm to the dinning hall, then from the dining hall to the building where the meeting was being held.  I ended up getting to the meeting really early (probably about 20 minutes) and was the only one there…except for Sparrow.  He was a senator and was there serving his office hours.  I took off my sweatshirt, which was heavy with rainwater, and we got to talking.  And right off the bat, I was attracted to him.

The meeting opened with a welcoming and then split into committees.  Naturally, I chose the Student Life committee, which was head up by Sparrow.  Once the committee relocated and settled into its room, Sparrow addressed the first order of business:  appointing a secretary…which ended up being me.  Anyways, the primary role of the Student Life committee was the planning and execution of Tailgate with the Team, an event held on campus where the football team, coaches, and cheerleaders eat and mingle with the students (and give speeches and exhibitions and whatnot).  Additional meetings were held solely to prepare for Tailgate and, as the secretary, I attended those as well.  The guy that Sparrow put in charge of those meetings was incredibly unorganized and just wasn’t getting anything done.  After a particularly irritating Tailgate meeting, I called Sparrow to express my concern with being able to pull it off…and I think I bitched a little about what an idiot the Tailgate dude was.  So that’s how Sparrow got my number (at the beginning of every SGA meeting, Sparrow always posted his contact info on the whiteboard).

About a week later, I received a call from Sparrow:

Do you know what Celeste Cola is?

No, what is it?

Well, Celeste Cola is a gas station brand of Coke and me and my fraternity brothers are kinda obsessed with it.  It’s great.  Every football Saturday, I sit on the front porch of my fraternity house and enjoy a nice, cold Celeste Cola.  I was wondering, Elliott, would you like to drink a Celeste Cola with me this Saturday?

I would love to!

And Sparrow and I had a date (this marked X’s and my first “break”)!  I tailgated and went to the football game with him and had a really great time.  We started hanging out a lot more:  we went to more football games together; I would come over to his fraternity house (he lived there) and we would watch movies and he introduced me to Monty Python’s Flying Circus; and I attended fraternity parties and date nights with Sparrow as his date.

Now here’s where things start to get sticky – and, mind you, I’m fully aware that it’s all my fault.  Anyways, the very last date night of the semester was Sparrow’s semiformal.  We had a ball!  I’m not sure if there was ever a single moment when we weren’t dancing.  When we got to our car after the conclusion of the bash, we noticed that there was a note folded up and enclosed in a ziplock bag that was tucked under one of the windshield wipers.  Written on it was a scavenger hunt-like clue that instructed us to go to a building on North Campus (which is renown for its beauty and holds several famous historical landmarks).  Sparrow played it off like, “Oh cool, have you heard about this?  It’s this thing where you’re randomly chosen to go on this hunt through campus and there’s a surprise at the end.  Do you want to do it?”  I had never heard of this “secret society” and figured it was just because I was a naïve freshman; but it sounded really interesting and exciting, so I definitely wanted to do it.  Each clue took us to a different romantic spot on North Campus and the final clue lead us to the Founder’s Garden, where Sparrow gave me a pair of earrings for Christmas (the “surprise at the end”) and asked me to be his girlfriend.  Let me go ahead and just say that I am an idiot:  I told him that I couldn’t because I wasn’t over X yet.  Needless to say, that was pretty much the end of that.

Later on throughout my sophomore and junior years, Sparrow and I reunited a few times when X and I were taking other breaks, but, obviously, nothing serious ever came out of it.

Now – onto Sparrow’s relationships with Napoleon and Gaston:  the three of them are all fraternity brothers in the same fraternity (XYZ)…so they’re all pretty good friends.  Not only that, but before Gaston was Napoleon’s roommate, Sparrow was.  And it turns out that Napoleon and I have been neighbors for the past three years, but didn’t meet or become aware of that fact until this past September.

So it’s just odd because I’m sure the three of them have been sharing their individual stories about me with each other since Sparrow’s return.  I wonder how that’s going to affect my relationships with them – specifically, Sparrow and Gaston…

•     •     •     •     •

Gaston told me last night that he’s made his decision regarding “us” and he’s going to tell me what that decision is on Sunday.  He wants to wait until Sunday since he left to go home to south Georgia today and expects that’s when he’ll be back.  I can’t help but have this urge to tell him that I don’t care about doing it “properly” (face-to-face) and that I just want for him to tell me over the phone.  I’m so tired of waiting.

Missed Connections

(Originally written on May 27, 2009)

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Chickadee intern orientation today.  The CEO came in and gave a presentation about being a leader.  Then he revealed that this was not the company for someone who wants a flashy office and all that jazz.  I know that IS what I want, can I therefore resign?

•     •     •     •     •

Gaston came back in town on Saturday.  We were supposed to hang out later on that afternoon, but he was out-of-reach because he took a nap and then didn’t wake up until 9pm.  Once I started getting ready for bed, he finally called.  I ignored it.  Immediately, he called me right back, so I answered.   He told me that he was waiting at my door and asked if he could come in.  So I came downstairs, let him in, and we sat and talked for a little while.  He at one point put his leg up in my lap; however, we didn’t even hug at any point and nothing else physically binding occurred between the two of us.  He went out downtown for the remainder of the night, but before he left my apartment, I expressed that I wanted to spend some time with him before he returned home to south Georgia and I started working.

I ended up not going to trivia on Sunday because I went to a barbeque with Mario and some of our friends from back in my high school days instead…so I didn’t see Gaston on Sunday.  Then, when I left for the grocery store on Monday (which was Memorial Day), he was driving out of the parking lot with who I believe was Tomboy in the front seat and he simply – yet cheerfully – waved at me in passing.  I later texted him asking if we would have “our time”.  No response.  Sometimes he doesn’t get my texts, so I sent him a direct message on Twitter (which he receives on his cell phone in real time as text messages).  Still, to this day, no word from him in response to either of my messages.  And he was supposedly going back home to south Georgia yesterday, but when I got home last night and left this morning, his car was still sitting in our apartment parking lot.  Guess he didn’t go back home yesterday after all…  The red BMW that I think belongs to Tomboy is also still in the parking lot.

Why am I anxiously awaiting his response? I KNOW I don’t want to be with him – I could go on and on with reasons why.  But for some reason I just can’t help but crave his love/attention/affection/approval/whatever.  Why can’t my heart and emotions accept my logic and just let go?

•     •     •     •     •

So we just got back from the orientation lunch and chicken processing plant tour.  All I’m going to say about the tour is that I enjoy not being a vegetarian and don’t understand why it was necessary for me to have to see that.  For lunch, on the other hand, we were served a really nice six-course meal – full place settings and all (needless to say, everything except dessert and coffee was chicken).  Let me just say that I am astounded that I was the only one present that knew how to properly use silverware – I mean, this is a company that is centered around food.  It wasn’t the other interns who surprised me, but not a single one of the high-rankings of the company knew how to properly use silverware.  That’s part of simple business etiquette – I mean, if nothing else, at least remember the rule quoted to Leo DiCaprio in Titanic:  “Just start from the outside and work your way in”!

Oh my god, the Vice President of Human Resources is supposed to be finished presenting by now, yet he’s just been blowing air up his own asshole for his entire time slot.  Wow, he thinks really highly of himself.  He hasn’t even started his presentation yet…

Ugh – they constantly throw around the words/phrases “murder”, “slaughter”, and “rip ‘em apart” to describe the chickens and their processing.  Although the Chickadee employees may be used to it, I am not nearly as desensitized about the whole thing.  Like I said earlier, I enjoy not being a vegetarian and could do without hearing those words/phrases in this context.

Chicken Shit

(Originally written on May 26, 2009)

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Beast turned 55 today.

•     •     •     •     •

Today was my first day at Chickadee.  I absolutely HATE it.  What they want me to do is definitely NOT marketing research.  Someone with solely a high school diploma/education could do what they’re asking of me.  All I’m doing is going through an Excel file and creating new columns based on the value of another one.

There isn’t even anyone remotely close to my age in the office.  Everyone who works here is old and already has a family with kids.  And they’re all hicks.  I know I’ve grown up in the South, but I didn’t grow up in the country.  I mean, I can at least talk properly…  And the office is in the middle of nowhere – there isn’t even a Starbucks – there’s only ONE little po-dunk coffee shop that’s somewhat close to the office.

At around 1pm, the HR lady called me into her office to tell me that I had to take a drug screen.  At every job I’ve ever worked, random drug testing has always been listed as part of the job that I would have to agree with before being hired.  However, I’ve never actually had to take one.  During my drive to the doctor’s office, I finally had some time alone and away from Chickadee.  I was inches away from bursting into tears – and I would have if I didn’t have to look presentable for the rest of the day.  I was just so frustrated with myself for accepting an internship position that was (unbeknownst to me until today, of course) so far beneath my skill level.

This morning, I woke up at 5am, left the apartment at 6:30am, and didn’t get home until 9pm-ish.  I’m not so sure I can withstand keeping this up for three months…

Hmm…

(Originally written on May 21, 2009)

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Gaston called just to chat and apologized to me for not calling yesterday.  Weird.

The Music Box

(Originally written on May 20, 2009)

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In September of 2007, Martyr’s mother (my gramma) died from ovarian cancer.  She was by far the grandparent that I was always closest to.  Like me, she was an artist – only, she preferred oil painting, whereas I prefer sketching and working with colored pencils.  Now, Gramma was never one to play favorites, but I think the two of us had a special connection because of that (the art).

Anyhow, Martyr and her sister (my aunt) were responsible for dividing up Gramma’s estate after she died.  I submitted my request for only one item:  a little 3” long by 4” wide by 1” deep jewelry/music box.  It’s really primarily a music box because the music-workings take up so much room that the remaining space for the jewelry compartment is only 3” x 1” x 1”.  I guess I could put a couple pairs of earrings in there…  For as long as I can remember, that little music box sat on the counter in the hallway bathroom of her house.  When we were really little, Gramma would play it whenever she gave us baths.  Over time, however, the inner-workings of the little old box had broken so that when wound up, the key would unwind crazy fast as soon as you let go of it – within seconds, regardless of how much you wound it.

Lately, I’ve been hanging out with Mario a lot more.  Sometime last week after a drunken night downtown, I briefly mentioned the music box and showed it to him when he dropped me off.  I didn’t think anything of it, just a drunken tangent, and I assumed that he dismissed it as the same.

For my Bacchus trip, Mario volunteered to feed Peabody and Lilly while I was away.  Thus, I temporarily entrusted him with a key to my apartment.

After carrying up my luggage when I got home this afternoon, I plopped down on my sofa and audibly exhaled as I looked around at my apartment.  When I glanced in the direction of my dining table, I noticed that Gramma’s music box was sitting on it.  I thought, “That’s odd, I always keep that in my bathroom upstairs.  What is it doing down here?”  I got up, walked to the table, and noticed that there was a note in front of the music box that read, “Open Me.”  It was fixed! Immediately, a huge grin took over my face and my eyes welled up with uncontrollable tears of reminiscence, happiness, and gratitude.  I then waited a bit to calm down before calling Mario and thanking him.

No one has ever made such a nice gesture towards me or in any respect as benevolent as what Mario did by fixing Gramma’s music box.  I know I could have taken it in and gotten it fixed at any time, but I probably never would have.  I mean, I only talked with him about it that one time, that one brief moment.  And then I come home after three nights away and he’s gotten it fixed for me.  It just means a lot.  Because I do miss Gramma so much – even when she was sick from her chemo meds, she still had a sense of humor about her.  It’s really refreshing that Mario did that for me.  I’m not sure how I’m going to thank him; I’ll just have to think about it.

Sidetracked

(Originally written on May 19, 2009)

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Gaston called me at around 1:40pm (EDT).  I called him back (not sure if I should have, but I did) while waiting for my lunch-interview and told him that I would call him once I got to my hotel in San Francisco.  That was the first time we’ve spoken since the 14^th (Thursday to Tuesday, five days, without any communication whatsoever).  He just wanted to call and see, “How is Cali?”

It’s now 3pm local time and I’m sitting at the hotel bar with a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.  There is a trio of middle-aged ladies at a table nearby that Martyr would absolutely love.  They’re talking about pets (dogs and cats, to be specific) and guzzling wine.  They remind me a lot of her.

Gaston just called me and is now throwing me off from what I thought I had avowed myself to do about our current situation.  He just wanted to chitchat.  Then I pointed out that we haven’t spoken in five days.  He didn’t even realize that it had been so long until he thought about it (therefore, my purposeful avoidance went unnoticed).  Throughout our conversation, I was trying to be short, but I really did enjoy hearing from him.  I mean, I had this whole realistic and logical explanation for why he hadn’t called thought through in my mind:  that he thought I was upset/mad since I hadn’t contacted him (which I was) and that he, consequently, was going to wait on me to get over it and contact him whenever I was ready to talk it out (which I was committing myself never to do).  So much for that…  Anyways, he said that he had actually thought about calling me before today, that there wasn’t much else to do in south Georgia.  Boy, how commending.  Go figure – that’s all he said about it.

Still no mention of his decision, no hint of progress.  Nothing.

So I have now thrown myself off of the track I had committed myself to.  I don’t know what I’m going to tell Scarlet.  I’ve never lied to him and don’t even want to think about starting, but I’m just not so sure I can resist Gaston if he does decide to give me another chance.  And I’m not sure why.  I know, logically, that I shouldn’t, but, emotionally, I am intensely inclined to let him take me back – even though I recognize that’s backwards and that it should be a joint decision.

Ultimately, I need to either grow a pair and just commit to my decision, or just give myself time enough to do so without doubt.  My heart is so weak…

At the same time, I can’t help but question how in-tune Gaston may be to this fact.  After this entire ordeal, I can’t control my suspicions, even though everything inside me wants to bury them beyond even my own memory.

Why am I contributing ingredients to this recipe for my own disaster?

Ironically, the song playing at the bar right now:

If he don’t love you by now,

He ain’t never ever gonna love you.

Ooooh-ooh-ooh-ooh!

I should have listened to those lyrics months ago, and I should take them even further into consideration now.

I need to just think of the guide from my personal Bacchus winery tour today:  gorgeous, young, funny…  I should focus on knowing that there are better guys out there – even in Modesto!

Jots from the Day

(Originally written on May 18, 2009)

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During breakfast, I heard Samantha’s old ringback song – it’s the first time I’ve ever heard it besides when calling her.  It made me think of her and smile.

•     •     •     •     •

The security guard behind the front desk of the Bacchus administration building was wearing Gucci sunglasses…  For one thing, it’s weird that he was wearing sunglasses indoors.  And for the other – and I’m not sure if things are different in California, but I was unaware that Gucci anything was affordable on a security guard’s salary…

There was a peacock freely roaming the Bacchus campus and a HUGE blue parrot outside the entrance to the administration building (the parrot, unlike the peacock, was caged).  I was amazed:  the peacock would walk within three feet of people and never appeared skittish.  I wasn’t expecting it to be so friendly.  I suppose I also wasn’t expecting the Bacchus campus to be a menagerie…

Oh – and my interviews all went well today.

•     •     •     •     •

There really is NOTHING in this town.  For example, the population back home is 100,000 (including the 30,000 University students) and there are 120 bars downtown;  here, the population is 200,000 and there is a grand total of 15 bars in the entire city!…and we all know how important drinking and bar life are to me…

I’ve also noticed that there aren’t many people here in their early-mid twenties; it’s a bunch of families with younger kids.

Takeoff

(Originally written on May 17, 2009)

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I have officially decided (again) that I am getting rid of Gaston and that crowd of friends for good.  I still haven’t heard anything from Gaston; this is the third day without any contact whatsoever between us.  I know this is the right thing to do – I mean, he (supposedly) doesn’t even have time to think about “us” and told me, “I’m not sure you’re worth it.”

I am currently leaving to go to California for a series of interviews with Bacchus.  There is a couple sitting next to me on the plane cuddling really sweetly and they’re making me lovesick.  I know (somewhere inside me) I don’t want to be with Gaston, but I do still yearn for a relationship.  I think that’s why I’ve waited on him for so long.  BUT I know that I just can’t do that anymore and I just need to “purge” myself of him (as Scarlet put it).  I’ve actually stopped hanging out with all of them these past three days – Napoleon, Leto, Yuengling, everyone.  Both Scarlet and Mario agree that it’s what’s best.

I know I’m gonna look back at the time I’ve spent with them and regret it, but it really does hurt to knowingly purge them when I have practically no one else to be around and hang out with.  Perhaps that’s more the reason to move somewhere far, far away – if for nothing else (besides a job, obviously) than to get away from the constant reminder of this catastrophe.

There is a surprising number of Europeans on this flight…

GOD! I wish they would stop kissing!

Good to Know I’m Not the Only One

(Originally written on May 16, 2009)

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Remember the post detailing the time I ran into X at one of my friend’s band’s shows?  Well that friend is Mario and I know him from high school.  He has told me that I was the first girl at our high school that was ever nice to him (he transferred in the 10^th grade from a Christian school; we ate lunch together, Spring semester of that year, I believe).  Anyways, he started dating Hippo around the same time X and I started dating.  And I’m not calling her Hippo because she’s fat!  I mean, she is a little on the bigger side, but that’s beside the point – she used to be obsessed with drawing hippopotamuses in high school.  I don’t know, she may still be; I never knew her beyond an acquaintance (and still don’t).

Well, Mario and Hippo just broke up this past September and tonight Mario and I discussed it over dinner at Los Compadres.  He explained to me that what’s helped him the most has been living for himself and not for pleasing someone else (both Flower-Child and Scarlet have tried sharing that same concept with me before…I guess it’s different when you hear it coming from someone currently going through it).  What hit me the hardest was when he told me,

I realized I was happy by making her happy.  Then I stepped back and saw how shitty she was treating me.  I was living as she wanted me to, I wasn’t myself.

And they were together for five years…  How can I let Gaston do the exact same thing to me and yet we weren’t/aren’t even “dating”?

Slumberland Reverie

(Originally written on May 15, 2009)

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This morning I awoke from another one of my weirdest dreams:

For some reason, there was a gymnastics meet going on in the street and I was one of the competitors.  The way the floor exercise was set up was really more of a tumble-off where we took turns (clockwise) tumbling through a somewhat-crowded street intersection.  For some reason, Angelica (my dad’s boss’s daughter in real life, who never did gymnastics growing up) and I were set up for disaster – a “hit”, if you will:  we were each given the go-ahead to run our tumbling passes at the exact same time, during which a dumpster truck was in the middle of the intersection.  Even though the dumpster truck was there, I went ahead with my pass because I assumed that it was moving out of the way (I didn’t see that Angelica was also taking her pass).  Miraculously, we were able to escape the setup safely, with only minor injuries.

Later on that evening (even though it was dark outside during the gymnastics meet…), I met up with Angelica at a sketchy pub that was across the river from a public outdoor amphitheater.  When no one was looking, we climbed into the attic of the pub, where there was a secret passageway that led to an underwater opening in the river.  Then, we swam across, coming ashore underground beneath the amphitheater.

There was some sort of community/public gathering taking place that featured and/or was honoring a popular child star.  Angelica and I navigated ourselves to where we had clothes stashed under the amphitheater.  We dressed in pink dresses with pink and white scarves tied around our necks, as was this child star’s signature look.  After getting dressed, we were ready to enact our plan to reveal the vulnerability of the child star and “send the message” about the need to beef-up her security.  We popped out on stage behind her, simply brushed her hair, and then fled the scene.

This was a BIG deal and we definitely got our message across successfully.

The following night, a similar event was being held at the amphitheater and Angelica and I were being hunted by the authorities for the previous evening’s activities.  We decided to pull the same stunt again and Ursula joined us this time.  As it turned out, no one could ID neither Angelica nor me as the “culprits” from the night before – but there were, however, some close calls.  We were dressed in the same pink attire, as were several other girls – of all ages – in “recognition” of the “attempt made on the starlet’s life”.

There was just something different about this night, though.  After I mockingly (publicly, of course, to reestablish our point) brushed several girls’ hair on stage at the event – to the humor of the crowd who believed we were part of the act, Angelica came from behind me and slit each of their throats.  The audience was left gasping in a disgusted shock.  I didn’t realize what had happened until after we had executed our planned escape.  I couldn’t stop thinking,

What have I gotten myself into?!  Even worse, what have I gotten URSULA, my baby sister, into?!

The three of us went on the run and decided to leave town via the docks in the marshes just outside of the city.  Initially, we stole a little rowboat, but that didn’t last long because we got kidnapped by pirates at the next dock, where a brawl ensued over who would get to take us.  Amazingly, all three of us were kept together and “claimed” by a pirate who captained a small houseboat-like boat (as the sole crew member) that was full of junk that he had pillaged.  He was surprisingly fatherly; it was really weird.  He made each of us take turns playing the piano for him (all three of us actually play the piano in real life and grew up taking lessons from the same piano teacher) and he let us wear whatever clothes, jewelry, and purses we liked from his stash.  We were like his little baby dolls.

When we docked at the next port, Ursula and I secretly collaborated together and escaped.  Before long, we ran into a really nice homeless dude that offered to help us.  He jacked a car and drove us to this place where there was a congregation of homeless people.  It just so happened that this site was located just outside of the town from which we were trying to escape.  Even though it was close to town, Ursula and I thought it would be a good hideout since the police were still searching for us.  However, once we got out of the car, it became evident that the homeless dude conned us and that we had been kidnapped yet again.

Chip and Dale came searching for Ursula and me and somehow found us at the homeless hangout.  Once they got there, they first went up to the dude (who appeared to be the “leader”) to “negotiate our release”.  As it turns out, the dude claimed ownership of Dale and wouldn’t let him leave until he was sold. I managed to escape with Chip, but he ended up going back because he was scared for both his and Dale’s lives.  In the meantime, Ursula escaped, thinking that Chip was still with me.

There was a University football game going on and that’s where I fled to.  Even though the big crowd provided anonymity, I still had to be careful not to be recognized. Surprisingly, even after swimming with my cell phone fully submerged in my pocket, it still worked.  I called Martyr and Gaston, with no answer from either of them.

For some reason, campus was surrounded by Universal Studios and Disney World.  At Disney World, there was a boat ride that drove by old pirate ships while narrating tales from the past to the passengers.  I decided to use it as a temporary safe place.  I passed the line for the ride, dove into the lake, swam all the way across, and climbed aboard one of the old vessels.  There were a couple of other fugitives staking out there as well.  Before long, the police came across the marina looking for me – they had found my location by pinging my cell phone.  To avoid their getting caught, the other fugitives urged me to go someplace else.  So I snuck into the water and swam off.

I eventually found Beast, Martyr, Ursula, and Chip and we decided to go get Dale; I lead the way.  Martyr was going slow (as usual) and having trouble keeping up, so I gave her the location and went ahead by myself (Beast, Ursula, and Chip decided to stick with her).

I got to the homeless hangout and told the dude that I could guarantee him the money for Dale, that Beast was on the way and would pay upon his arrival.  He replied by asking me, “Well what about my money for you, Ursula, and Chip?”  Before I could respond, one of the other homeless people approached, holding a gun to Chip’s head.  The dude demanded more money.  I looked over and saw that Ursula had been shot in the head.  I noticed that she was still barely breathing.

Then I woke up.