Nodody shits in sinks anymore...

There are people in this world who know things about you, not bad things, not good things, just things. Those people just kind of feel it, they can touch it and reach you in a place very few people even see. These are the people you never forget. The first time I met one of those people he was tellin nigger jokes and could have gone swimming in his own pants. He made no apologies for his jokes once made aware of my ethnicity, I think he actually told a few more and for that I will always be grateful. We were'nt best friends but we were friends. There are a million stories that could be told about this character that was the NBJ himself. I'll only tell you a few. We were kids and we were dumb and we had fun. I saved his life once. Ok, maybe not saved his life but that pale fucker would have drowned in his own vomit on my parents front lawn if I hadn't hosed him down that night. It was Beefeater Gin and koolaid that did it and we'd both had a good amount. We were sitting in the back of my dads work truck with blankets and a few of us were hangin out. I was grounded for life and couldn't go out but could hang out outside if people came over. Occasionally people brought me things, that night it was Gin. My parents were out and shortly before they arrived home we realized our friend had passed out on the lawn when he had gone to throw up earlier. He was passed out in his own fucking vomit. I kicked him a few times then resorted to the hose. He jumped up when the cold water hit him and we laughed like idiots, he thanked me for savin his life, and I think my parents came home and everyone left.

I was grounded most of my highschool career. People came to visit and once in a while I'd be granted freedom but I don't think many people came to visit and hang out as often as the NBJ, he came and ate my mothers hot dogs - raw. He came and searched the couch cushions for change and once or twice I think he even helped my mother bring in groceries. He also answered our phone "Stratford abortion clinic, you rape em, we scrape em" at least once before gettin hit with the receiver for answering the phone in the first place. I can only assume his reasons for being at my house so often were that he got kicked out of his best friends house and mine was the closest. Whatever the reason I'm glad. He used to pretend to be running in front of cars and then fly back like you hit him but you were parked, and yea we were possibly, maybe, under the influence of tai food but for such a scrawny shit he sure made a thud and it was a simple kind of hilarious that most people seem to forget as they grow old. He also threw matches at me more than once and made fairly amusing jokes about what countries my tits could feed, but hey, no one is perfect. He was one of the few friends I never had a crush on and he always seemed to understand why I loved the things I did about the people he knew were more than just a crush. He carried a doorknob with him and was the first person I had ever heard use words like twatwaffle, grundelbisquit, and my personal favorite slampig, he said them as if they were the first words he'd ever learned and it was priceless to watch him talk shit. One morning after staying overnight at a friends house I woke up to him trying to break in through the window. He had plenty of jokes about the bed I was in but they were funny so I went and opened the door for him. When I left that day he and his best friend had taken a little joyride in the household car. When I got back a few hours later they were still gone and shortly before an adult came home you heard the car screech as they turned down the street and pulled in just in time. If I remember correctly they lost a hubcap somewhere upon entry but they made it just in time.

He almost caught me once while fishing for idiots. I was on my way into Dunkin Donuts for coffee and I saw a dollar. I stopped and considered picking it up, nearly went for it before remembering he liked to watch people chase the dollars and recalled that he hadn't gotten up to say hello to me just waved from the wall. Kelly on the other hand bent to go after it before I stopped her and pointed out the string attached to the dollar being held by the NBJ. Another Dunkin Donuts night he was running to the car to say hello. I opened the car door and got Hi Miiiiiii out of my mouth before vomitting. He helped me out of the car and walked with me to get coffee wich was more than the person who had driven me there was willing to do. It's shit like that you remember about a person, if they're doing anything right. He was a dick, but he had his moments and they were some really good ones. Six years is not quite as long as I knew him but it is as long as I've missed him and his inappropriate antics. I'm going to miss him for the better part of a lifetime and he is missing the better part of our lifetime. He wasn't my best friend but he was a good friend and I'm still angry he's not here to see the men and fathers, women and mothers his friends have grown to be and he's not here to make us laugh on our bad days, or meet our significant others with stories of our youth. He left us and for that, if there is a heaven or  a summerland, and if I get there, one scrawny motherfuckin white dude with glowsticks and springs for earrings better be wearing a titanium cup to protect him from the nut shot I will be greeting him with.

Make it sound good, REAL good...

My 21st birthday started about an hour before I officially turned 21, we went to a bar called Helwigs and aside from that I mostly remember only the highlights. I know my Shoe was there, I know Sweet Dee was bartending, I know the same guy that pierced my nipples bought me my last ever shot of Jager and I know when the bar closed I was on the phone with a friend and screaming for the bikers parked in front to "Make it sound good, make it sound real good!". I know Shoe drove my car home and me in my short skirt and lowcut top hung out the passenger window pretty much the whole way home and I know I slept on the beach that night. I celebrated that particular birthday for 7 days and 7 nights and I remember enough to know it was a good fuckin week, much like a fair amount of weeks that year.
I lived in the house with some of the best people I will ever know, we partied like rockstars, fought like family, and once in a while someone did the dishes or I broke them, point is we had a good time bein young and dumb.
Of the 15 or so places I've lived in the last ten years that house of crazy was one of my best bad decisions. If the walls of that house could talk they would tell you the best of secrets and the worst of truths and all the really funny shit in between. Those idiots blew up a toilet once, they also drank beer in the shower and shot eachother and me with pellet guns among other things. We had theme parties, break shit parties, shot parties and even once or twice just an impromptu, plain old, party. We relaxed and enjoyed just plain livin and we fought and laughed and this is all starting to sound like a much nicer version than I thought I'd remember when the lease was up.

The thing about the past is it gets easier to look at and easier to fade out the bad. The bad, I was a whore, I threw a cat once, one of the most epic fights I ever had. Yes, I threw that mother fuckin cat after pulling a large sharp object out of a drawer, after throwing a penguin, after having a coconut thrown at my shin, in a room full of people who sat speechless. What no one knew was late at night when no one was around I used to comb that cat and clean his litter and make sure he was fed, granted I still threw the cat.~RIP Jerry. Back to the whore part, I brought home more dudes than any of the boys brought home girls, and I sent them all home right after.(Don't worry Mom, Dad condoms are a gals best friend!) Now, a few things I can hear being questioned right about now and you have to keep in mind, 1) I am the worst lez ever. 2) Yes, my parents read my blog and 3) No, I'm not ashamed of where I've been. My past is more than what the interwebs knows about me and any one who knows me could probably tell you much worse than this anyways. The point, I told a good amount of people ~ If they were gone when I got back from the shower that would be great.

The other thing about the past is its passed, it's not comin back around like Big Ben, it's not a place you want to live and it's not worth holding all that tight. Freedom comes with knowing that. Freedom comes in recognizing your biggest mistakes and making them into future victories and sometimes all it takes is a glance back at who you were to remember who you are. My 21st birthday I asked for my favorite people to be in the same place and somehow, the Friday night of my 7 day celebration, even if only for a short while, most of them were. I was late to my own party, my aunt took me out drinkin first to Alphas, then Rays, then home, where one of the boys asked me who the hot chick was, where Crouse sent me on a really good trip and at some point we had a topless congo line. I was fun once ya know! I am fuckin happiest when the people I love are, well, around. Is that all there is to take from that though? Two of the people there that day are dead, many of the people there that day I haven't seen in years and the ones that count are still around.

The things we do that remind us of the worst of who we used to be can be the best tools for stopping the replay. All the showers I took no one ever stayed or came back around, they never counted. The choices I've made are mine and the people that have stayed in my life, they're my people and the ones that didn't, they're my past. What the hell does any of this mean? Means today I wanted to remember. I drove trucks to be tall, I went to broadcasting school to find out who lived in the radio and I live like I do because objects in motion tend to stay in motion and the last time I let someone stop me I ended up in the shower. You figure it out, I'm goin to watch the sun go down...

A tarnished star, and the rule of thumb...

In the first few minutes of the movie Boondock Saints there is a scene where a woman firmly explains the history of the phrase "rule of thumb". The scene - awesome, the movie - amazing, My reason for bringing it up? The woman played by Dot Marie Jones (Google her) has a tattoo that says "Untouched by man." The first time I saw this I was 19 maybe 20 and had no idea there was more out there than what you learn in school or among childhood friends. Years later I know bath houses really do exist, neither black nor white likes a bi-racial truck drivin girl in the state of Mississippi and there is far more to the world than this tiny sliver of life here in Connecticut or anything we will ever learn by stayin in one place too long. Somewhere in my travels I learned there was significance to that scene, a relevance that goes unnoticed, and maybe it's only me that makes the connection but I somehow doubt it and now you'll think of this when you see it wether you agree or not.
Fun Fact: A Gold star lesbian is a lesbian who has never had sex with a man - untouched by man - biblically.

Last night in a room filled with a majority of trendy, modern day, lesbian seagulls, I realized how little I fit. Don't get me wrong, I'm fucking awesome in my own tarnished chrome kind of way but much like I was never black enough for the black kids as a kid, I'm not sure I will ever be lez enough for the lesbians as an adult. One might attribute that to the approximately 1/5 female to male partner ratio but only friends know the specifics on those statistics, so, really it must be me right? Even so, in a room with shiny gold stars its intimidating to be the not so shiny one, but thats life isn't it? No ones really that fuckin shiny anyways.

I knew at an early age I liked both girls and boys, I knew at a later age that sometimes, sometimes we do what is easy rather than what honestly feels good or right and I know now that my attractions to both has little to do with physical form and everything to do with personality and possibility. I don't know that I've ever really looked at people as their parts but more as the sparkle in their eyes and the heart that fuels them. I see potential and I see something indescribably amazing in a handful of people and personality types and I could get lost in that, like really lost in that. This kind of lost leaves no space for registering what sexual parts a person has, the time wasted evaluating that is about 6 months and it gets messy. The point is lately more and more I can see how for me, its not what I see that turns me on, but who I see and if I am really honest with myself , fuck the details.

In a room full of people lastnight three people knew my name when I left, the 2 folk lovin, Falcon Ridge goin, hippie dudes with kids my age (Thanks for the beer guys!) and Chris Pureka. While if she remembers it the next time I see her I will be amazed and even more ridiculous over her, I don't imagine she's writing love songs about meeting me. The thing is I'm still not quite sure how I managed to not lose my mind. With the simple act of buying a tshirt turning into a discussion with someone else in front of the aformentioned folk singer about how great my boobs would look in said tshirt and then going back later to get a postcard for my collection only to find that she remembered my name. There is something about the way someone your attracted to says your name. There's this millisecond that feels like forever in the best way where you stop, breathe and tell yourself not to act a fool. It's possible this only happens to me but I'm fairly certain everyone has something that triggers the stop, breathe, don't act a fool reaction when done by someone they're into. For me its hearing my name come out of their mouth, that and watching them wash dishes. Don't laugh at me, to see someone I want (-biblically -) wash my dishes, it's like Halloween, Mardi Gras, New years and my 21st Birthday all combined into one really fuckin awesome 4th of July firework show ~ in my lady parts. I digress...

What I'm getting at here, I'm not even sure I have a clue anymore. I guess what it is, is that all the unladylike behavior thats created some of my best stories from the bedroom don't amount to but maybe two sexual situations where I can say I felt truly right and honestly beautiful. (The ratio on that is one to one, female to male for anyone workin the math on this.) I can count those moments, add the times someone has made me feel lost in that good way, and still have somewhere between 3 and 5 fingers left out of 10. As I grow so does my interest in feeling, that feeling, that way, for more than just a fleeting sexual moment. It's taken too long for me to accept that I don't have to choose a sexual preference, I simply have to recognize that maybe no one else can understand what it is that really turns me on about the people I'm attracted too. Those people being Butch of either male or female parts and if you need that explained by all means ask but there is just not enough room here to get into that statement in full. For space I will simply quote S. Bear Bergman "Butch is a noun, and an adjective, and a verb...", read the whole book, its amazing (and not too long).

Above and beyond sex at this strange stage in my life, I prefer the beauty of the verbally triggered orgasm and the intensity of knowing just how fast my heart is beating and hoping they have no idea, and then maybe hoping they do. I'd rather this than the sex with the lights out, hiding every detail of who we are. I want to see and be seen, I prefer the idea that maybe the person who makes me laugh and smile and calms me down with even just a small understanding of my awkwardness, might be someone who can wait to fuck me. A gentleman, a true Butch and worth the time it takes to find them. I am a Femme, I am a tarnished star and I might not be the lady you think I am but I'm ok with that. I'm wearing the tshirt now by the way and my tits look AMAZING in it, no bra! One of a million great stories of my adventures!

It was blind intuition that drew me to you, you were a miracle of sadness ~ Chris Pureka, Shipwreck

Ever been hit with a bag of Spaghetti?

Maybe I was in the kitchen, but I think I was in my room and drawn out only to be rudely suprised by a bag of spaghetti to the head. I don't remember all of that time in my life clearly but I do remember it fondly. You learn alot living in a house full of guys, then again you learn alot just by living. I've done a shitload of really dumb things and had ALOT of fun doing all of them and while I now recognize just how dumb most of my best stories are I regret none of them. I've been giving this no apologies no regrets lifestyle of mine some serious and sincere thought lately and have yet to come to any conclusions as to wether or not I'm totally karmically fucked for living like this. I've also been wondering if I'm really living by it. Anyone who knows me knows I don't believe in apologies unless they're sincere and for real things, I'm sorry lost its value to me circa 2002. I only use the words if I actually mean them and I apologize sparingly as to uphold my rep as the last true insensitive. So I guess that means I do live as close to "No apologies" as anyone with some kind of heart actually could.
This leaves me pondering regret. Do I regret shaving the back of my head a few weeks before christmas in highschool, losing my virginity in a field instead of a bed, drinkin a 23 year old under the table at 17 then screaming "Stop the world I wanna get off" from the back seat of a friends car as I threw up and took my clothes off all while hanging out the window of a moving vehicle? Nope, don't regret that shit, they're funny fuckin stories. Breakin plates on my own kitchen floor, losin my shit cuz 6 boys didn't know how to do dishes, topless congo lines and sleepin on the beach for my 21st birthday, pirate parties with sand from the actual beach... ok had to think about it but no I don't regret that shit either. Would I do it again, probably not, but I can't ever imagine being sorry I did it. Now thats the fun stuff how about the crappier decisions like moving in with an asshole and all the crap that goes along with that old, old story no one needs to hear, nope don't regret that either. It made me strong, you can't regret the things that make you strong without taking something away from who you are. I'm built like a brick house, so I'm good with strong. Without the bad I'm not sure I'd know the good. Do I regret any of my HORRIBLE roomate choices or career choices or ridiculous plans to do what I may, or may not, believe are AWESOME things, nope still got nothin. We're about a paragraph and 2 decades in and yes this is the highlights but still no regrets. This is where I had to look it up, websters dictionary defines regret (in the noun form) as : Sorrow aroused by circumstances beyond ones control or power to repair.
Ok, terrific, we're back to sorry but with a twist. What, of any of the things I've done or been through am I sorry I cannot change? Here, is where I find my 2 definite 100 percent without a doubt, regrets. They both involve dead people, I can't change anything about the decisions I made, but in both cases, not a day goes by I don't wish I could. Number one, not calling Crouse the weekend before he died and number two never telling my Aunt that one night in a truckstop in Ohio her shithead alcoholic husband attempted to kiss me after a few beers. Now, I never really called Mike Crouse except to get other peoples phone numbers, we just weren't friends like that but the whole weekend before he died I was afraid he was gonna OD and I had a feelin I should call him. I didn't, he did and I miss the fuck out of him.
My Aunt, maybe he told her, maybe he didn't, we never talked about it, he probably didn't remember it and if he did, he knows he creeped me the fuck out, but I never told her. I told her everything but I never told her that and now she's dead.
So, regret for me I would define it as simply this ~ When you know there is nothing, absolutely nothing you can do about it, but you still wish you could. It's the wishing you could that I see most people get lost in piles of regret and I've recently found myself in this whole new place where I wish I could change the impression this one person has of me, and its frightening because I feel this regret thing is a slippery slope. The reality is either this person has no idea who I really am or maybe they do, or maybe I have no idea who I really am, but I do, it took me a long time but I do. Then someone came along and suddenly I'm a dumb girl nervous and incapable of basic normalcy (ya know for me) instead of the Gune, Shoe, Jugs, Sicklecell, Rainbow, Scalpel, Eddie, Mz Mitzy, combo pack of nicknames and awesome I TOTALLY am. I question wether I can even actually count this as a regret. If a person is living, there's hope that at some point you can do something about whatever it is that's bothering you. Is having that chance enough if you never do anything with it? Do you take it as a lesson learned and move on? Is nothing sometimes the best thing you can do? I hate awkward moments, it's a problem because I often create them and then react by making them more awkward or doing absolutely nothing. Until now I've never had a regret for any of the things I have done only those two things I didn't do and maybe that one other thing, that time in Wisconsin but that is neither here nor there. The jury is still out on this whole bein a girl debaucle but I feel it leaning toward lesson learned and do nothing.

Beauhandsome, A Valentine Manifesto

I had a good Valentines day once, really it was beyond great even. It lasted about 4 months and included some of the most mind blowing orgasms of my life... so far. While each and every one of those orgasms was made of a loving moment, great sex, good sex, sex at all, will only take a relationship so far. She brought me flowers, the trippiest teddy bear I've ever owned, held doors open, listened to me and even once or twice kissed me right into an orgasm or two. She was the best Valentine I've had... so far. Her fatal mistake was loving me and it ended the minute she said it. Had the moment been in a movie, time would have stood still, freeze frame style and you would have heard me yell "FUCK". It wasn't a movie though so no one heard it and the only one who time stood still for, was me, and thinking about it, maybe her too. Don't get me wrong, flowers are ok, I absolutely love when someone holds a door open and even the most jaded of people wants to be listened to. The thing was, I wasn't ready to be loved. Like any end there were other factors but the biggest was that I just wasn't ready.I'll always love her but not in a way you love a partner, not in a way you love someone who may honestly love you. I didn't honestly love her, I did honestly love plenty of things about her but that wasn't enough.
This relationship was a beginning, an awakening, a reminder of who I was, once upon a time, before I had to become a grown woman with a teenagers tools, before I knew the world could and would kick a woman in the vagina and heart while simultaneously fucking her mind via her ear. -Humorously stated, maybe, but real nonetheless. We all have baggage but that's not what this is about. The past is a memory, not a regret but a memory that gets us where we're going. This particular piece of my past changed my direction and forced a much needed examination of who I was letting myself become. No one wakes up and says: "I want to be alone. I strive to be a bitter, crazy, asshole whose intimate relationships are based solely on sex and a fear of commitment. Please Jeebus don't let anyone love me.", but I can't imagine I'm the only one to wake up and realize that was where my head was. With that ever so important wake up, there comes, with any luck, a moment of much needed clarity, where you realize that what you've been putting out there is far from your potential and even further from who you really are. This is the point where shit gets real, where you look in the mirror and see yourself. I saw myself as the girl who let one year define the next eight and I'd like to think that in my moment of clarity the woman I am finally remembered she existed.
Over time I'm learning to set real, legitimate boundries and communicate actual, honest, emotions but I'm still learning.
Lately, I've found myself thinking about what I would want in a partner and for me what sums it up is Valentines day. Don't worry I'm about to elaborate. The Valentines day I'm referring to isn't about candy, cards and flowers, Its not about who has someone and who doesn't. Yes, society tells us this holiday is about love in the most romantical sense of the word, thats kinda bullshit. Love isn't a holiday we celebrate once a year. It's not some ski resort we spend vacations at, or a planned out plotted out day of festivities ending in mediocre sex and ultimate disappointment - come on, we've all had atleast one of those valentines. Love doesn't happen in a day, it takes many and it doesn't cost money but it does require sacrifice and it may sound cliche but if you don't know yourself you can't love yourself and if you don't love you, it's not that no one else will, but you will make it damn hard for them to reach you. Love isn't February 14th but Valentines day is about having someone to share it with. To me this whole wanting someone to share it with is mindblowing and completely new, the "it" I'm talking about isn't Valentines day but life itself. I think once you find that person EVERYDAY is the four months of goddamned amazing sex I had that one time for Valentines day but its not just orgasms your sharing, its life. Life is too short to let one day define you and too long to let love escape you and once you have it you can share it and that is what its all about. For the first time in a long time I kind of love the person I'm becoming and for now thats all I really need. Do I want more? Hell yea, I want alot more, got a list of hopes and dreams but what I needed was to love me, myself. I may not have ever learned to do that if it weren't for my beauhandsome Valentine and yes, of course, I want someone to share it all with, therein lies the beauty of Valentines day.

Dancin with Nancy

No one ever teaches you how to grieve. People spend lifetimes telling other people how to live and how to be but no one ever actively says "No, this is how you grieve." Because really we all have to do it our own way.I've spent a year with grief on a daily basis, on a level I'm fairly certain isn't healthy and these last few months I've been slowly coming away from it and it feels goddamned great and strange at the same time. I missed my Aunt long before she died but I don't think we know what its really like to miss someone until theres a hole in your heart that they used to fill. The details of her death weren't simple and easily packaged , the behaviour of her husband wasn't that of the poor grieving husband - more like that of the raging junky addict who hit the jackpot but blew it long before the body was even cold, But the fact remains she's dead. He's miraculously still living and I can choose to carry all of this with me or I can let it go and try with everything I have to do the forgiveness thing. How do you forgive the devil? Do you kill him in your mind? Do you just pretend it never happened? How do you do that when the hole is still there to remind you it did. There is so much more to forgiving this kind of hurt than just letting go of it. Or is there.
I've been crying less and dancing more and more and more and there's a few reasons for this but I have to believe she is contributing to all of these and while I know she is never coming back to this home. I know she is home. I know she is dancing and I know the only thing that was keeping me from dancin was the weight of hating her husband. While that weight is lifting it is all but dissipated and now to break free of that there is this choice, this chore of forgiveness and to do that I need to try to let go and keep it movin. I've got big plans and a bright future and no time or energy to hate someone for something that just won't change. Fuck if that ain't easier said than done but a year is long enough for me to hold to something so painful as loss. I'd rather dance, feet, heart, spirit and head light, I'd rather smile and laugh and dance and love.
My Aunt Nancy was one in a million but isn't that what everyone thinks about the people they love? She really was though and she laughed and loved and danced and she did it all kinda heavy with the crap she carried with her. I don't want to be heavy like that but I do want to be strong like that. Life is too short, too precious and too important to waste holdin on to the sad parts. Give me the joy and the memories and season it with sadness so I remember to appreciate the better days. I don't need to carry the heavy shit, it'll stay right where I leave it. As long as I keep moving and groovin everything will work itself out.

~ Got no time for spreadin roots
The time has come to be gone
and though I healthily drank
a thousand times
Its time to ramble on...

Daddy is a football Coach...

The thing about a town like Stratford is, if people know you, then well they know you and that's not to say they really truly know you, but they know your name. Sometimes its just your family name and other times its more than that but I'm not talking about friends here. This is about the village inside the town. The people that watch you when your parents aren't there, the people that taunt you when your siblings can't and the people that have your back even when you don't know it. As I get older I gain a respect for the village inside the town that I've been trying to escape since birth. At the same time it's that same village mentality, that hypocratic bullshit that in some ways fuels my desire to get the fuck out.

I grew up in a home where football was life and the rest was just details. As I get older I learn knew things about how this shaped me as a person. The reality i know now is that it was much more than football and much more than life. Growing up in my family we were told the kids my father coached were our brothers. Some of them we got to know and some of them not so much. They were our babysitters, our siblings, once in a while a friend and occasionally that dick that told us how tough our dad was. Honestly, as a kid I hated football and hated those kids. At the time they got more of my Dad than I did. As an adult I realize things weren't what they seemed and maybe, just maybe they needed him just as much as I did.

My father doesn't coach anymore and I'm over that teenage anger, but that village mentality still lives in some half assed way in this silly town where everything and nothing change all at once. As a kid I wanted nothing more than to have my Dad to myself. As this whole adulthood thing kicks in I want the village to step up. Not a month goes by where I don't run into one of my fathers football players somewhere in this town. Not once in recent years have they not told me how great my Dad is, or asked me how he's doin. The thing is talk is cheap, free in fact and it gets old. Generally,I have a stock answer for these conversations ~ Go see him, tell him yourself. I'm aware people grow up get lives and move on but if even half of everyone who gives me this "How's your mom and Dad, hows Coach?" Bullshit, took an hour, one day a year to go visit the man that honestly worried about your grades, your well being and your future, maybe I wouldn't be such a bitch everytime someone said it. The difference between the teachers, coaches and influences we remember and have love for as adults and the ones we don't is that the ones we remember and wonder about are the same ones that wonder and remember us 10, 20, 30 years later.

I'm no longer afraid these villagers, football players or otherwise are going to tell my family I was smokin a cigerette, out late partyin or anything else a kid might worry about. What scares me is that someday, the kids I may (or may not) have, won't have that village to look after them. Granted, the whole village isn't made up of football players. They're just the group that pissed me off today. Mostly my point is if someone influenced you, helped you, gave a fuck about you, don't just ask other people how they're doin, find out for yourself. Don't go telling everyone but them how they made a difference in your life, tell them. The losses of the last few years have taught me that much atleast...