scary stuff.

I am not much in a halloween mood this year. As you can see by my lameass pumpkin. I waited until I got home from work today to carve it and it only took 10 minutes. No costumes or decorations this year. It's my favorite holiday and my mind has been too preoccupied with other things to celebrate. The fact that most of my friends live in different states and the ones that live here are doing things with their significant others doesn't help any. So as I sit here waiting for some trick or treaters from hootieville across the street, Cowboy Junkies are flowing through my speakers and I'm wondering what to type. Maybe I'll make a list of my scary ex boyfriends to keep the in the spirit of Halloween...

Scary Stories

or

Confessions of a Single Girl

Boyfriend #1: We were together off and on for 7 years. He stole something from Victoria's Secret to give to me for my birthday. I should have known then that he was going to be trouble. I loaned him money for a car-he never paid me back. We were shopping at Target one day and he got arrested for shoplifting. Imagine my embarrassment. He had a guy with a gun pointed at him while we were on the phone one time. That was interesting. Finally, he had borrowed another significant amount of money from me and instead of paying me back, he bought a bow and arrow for his friend for Christmas. We argued about it for about 30 minutes-he lived in Michigan at the time-and I hung up on him, changed my phone number and never spoke to him again.

Boyfriend#2: It was short lived. We had known each other for a long time because his brother dated my best friend in high school. I rode in his uncle's El Camino one night, the ashtray filled with roaches, the speedometer didn't even work and we were on our way to meet #2 at a friends house. His uncle tried to put his hand up my skirt and I smacked his hand away. Anyway, #2 and I dated for a few weeks, spilled his guts about his father's death and various other horrible pent up feelings he had, told me he was falling in love with me and then dumped me the next week. "I'm in love with someone else" he said. Hell, it was only a few weeks and I'm sure he probably knew going into it that he still loved this other girl. I guess he just had to get in my pants to be sure.

Boyfriend #3: I think I went out with this guy because I was lonely. He had his own shop-he also slept there. And he had recently broken up with his longtime girlfriend. So I guess his excuse for being with me was being on the rebound. His cousin sprayed mace in his face one night. I thought it was funny. So this went along for a few weeks. I found a note in the back seat of his car, quite by accident, from his supposed ex girlfriend. It said don't forget to meet her somewhere and it was dated the day before. He said they were getting back together. When was he going to tell me? I got pissed and never spoke to him again. About a month later, though, he wanted me back. He was begging my friends to tell me to at least consider the notion. I just laughed.

One Night Stand: The only one I ever had. It was a joke. Let's just say he put the cart before the horse. We worked for the same company at different locations. He bragged to his coworkers about his conquest, leaving out the small detail of his, um, mishap. I just kept it to myself, sharing it with only my close friends. Then I found out later that he was engaged at the time of said incident. It wasn't worth the effort at the time and now, it made me feel bad.

Boyfriend #4: Here's a tip: never go out with someone you work with AND is a good friend. Because it all turns to shit in the end, my friend. We were together 5 years. He was black, I am white. He was an only child, I have 4 siblings. He was in the military, I am an anarchist. He was an Aries, I am a Taurus. He liked to drink ALOT and I had no tolerance for it. He had a very bad temper and I am very stubborn. It was a match made in hell. How we survived that long, I'll never know. Even after he was fooling around with some girl at a company party, went home with her and did who knows what (I wasn't at the party-I found out about it a year later from a guy that was). I confronted him about it and he played dumb. Then I repeated the story that was told to me and he admitted it was true. We broke up. After a couple of weeks, he begged for me back. Dumbass me took him back. Then came 9/11 and he was sent to Saudi Arabia. Time away from him made me realize that it was going nowhere-he wanted to get married so he could get more money from the military. He wanted kids to leave his comic books to when he got old. I wanted neither. So when he came back, it ended. I haven't spoken to him since.

So is my life. I've been without a guy for 4 years. The only action I've gotten is from a good friend's fiance. The 3 of us went out drinking one night. While my friend was distracted, her boyfriend told me how he felt about me, all the things he would like to do to me and proceeded to stick his hand down my pants. I told him to fuck off (in nicely put sentences). "Your girlfriend is one of my best friends-you think I won't tell her what you've done?" A couple of days later, I told her what happened. They argued. Then he proposed a few weeks later. She said yes. Scary stuff, huh?

anniversary.

"Now the floodgates cannot hold all my sorrow, all my rage." -David Gray


Today is the 3 year anniversary of Nancy's death. She was my sister in law, but our family felt that she was one of our own flesh and blood. The wound it left is not as fresh, but sometimes I scratch at the scab and it bleeds a little. The pain I feel is not for her absence, although it is there, but for my brother. It's rare that people will find their soulmates, but my brother and Nancy found theirs in each other. All the medication, therapy and treatments can't dull the aching or memories he has. He has recovered somewhat, but never will fully.

I was in Baltimore with my friend Donna and her husband Jesse when Nancy died. I was ready to move up there. We had looked at apartments, I had discussed transferring with my current employer at the time and I had saved enough money for moving expenses. It was almost a done deal. And I was looking forward to living somewhere far away from home. It was strange-we were eating somewhere in downtown Canton, enjoying ourselves before I was supposed to leave for Philadelphia the next morning. Nancy actually came up in our conversation-certain things she had said a while back had made Donna giggle, so it would be brought up often. So when we got back to Donna and Jesse's place, I got my things together for the drive the next day. Around 11pm, my Mom called and told me the news. I was in shock until I actually reached the Maryland border the next morning. Then, it hit me like a ton of bricks and I cried for the rest of the 8 hour drive. But the worst part was arriving at my parents house and seeing my brother crushed. Devestated. The following days proved to be the worst-the details I won't divulge here.

Needless to say, my relocation plans were nixed. I had to stay for my brother. There was no question about it. So I decided to get out of my crappy apartment and buy a house. Got a new job and car, while I was at it. My brother is doing really well, although he still has flashbacks every once in a while. Nancy died in his arms of an embolism or heart attack-we are not sure because an autopsy was never performed. But he is my hero for surviving through it all this time, against all odds. I don't think I could have made it. So here's to Nancy-we love you and miss you everyday.

thought overload.

"I was standing dowtown, staring at the puddles on the ground. Trying to figure out a way up out of this town." - e. badu

Taurus sun sign: You are the original immovable object and irresistable force...a fixed sign, which means its natives are not fond of change.

Gemini Ascendant: Restlessness underlies your personality; it is the symptom of your yearning for something that is just beyond your reach.

The combination that is me is always at conflict.

The bull weighs me down. I stay put because my family is here and it's somewhat comfortable. Dependable Paige. She'll never leave home-someone might need her and it's a short drive away. Well, that's what sticks in my head. And why would I uproot my cats, sell my lovely house and leave my family behind? Because the twins over my shoulder keep nudging me to leave. They tell me to just pack my shit and go. And I want to. But the bull stamps his hoof down on my back. No, you must stay. You have no good reason to leave and besides-everyone depends on you. But what if my blood boils a little every day, wanting to leave everything and everyone behind?

Waiting...

For what? I have no clue. I wait every minute for something to happen, something to change. And of course it's fruitless. Only I could make things different for myself. But I just don't know how. Maybe I'm afraid of deciding on something, actually following through and then failing. That seems to be a pattern in my life. I wanted to be a musician-took piano and guitar lessons, then realized I sucked at it and quit. I wanted to be a photographer-bypassed a trip to Europe for a really expensive Nikon for graduation (which was stolen this year-that's another story). Then I realized that my subject matter was good, but the quality was mediocre. So I gave it up. I wanted to be a writer-that went away quick because I have no imagination for fiction. I wanted to be in film-no looks, no talent for that, not to mention, no motivation and everyone laughing at the mere thought of it. I have always wanted to study archaeology, which I may if I ever get the money. But I want to be Indiana Jones or Lara Croft, not some granola eating student digging in the dirt for an arrowhead. So here I sit, spilling my boring guts into cyberspace, waiting on something to happen.

A Girl Thing.

I'm not sure if guys do this-maybe not even all girls, maybe it's just me. My thoughts go into daydream mode most of the time, imagining that I'm famous, having all of these fantastic adventures in foreign places. In my fantasies I: have no freckles, am 5'8" with a B cup (sometimes an A) and child bearing hips and I can talk to anyone without sounding like a complete moron. Then HE appears-everything is forgotten, the man of my dreams sweeps me off of my feet and we live happily ever after having our own fantastic adventures. Then I snap out of it. I'm a dork, sitting in a cubicle getting carpal tunnel, listening to Terri Gross stutter her way through an interview, while staring at a picture of Wentworth Miller tacked to my wall. My freckles look like dark constellations against my pale skin under the crappy lighting, my chair lowered to compensate my short stature, my XL tshirt stretching over my eye catchers while the rest of it sags (making me look fat or pregnant) and a pillow on my seat to cushion my non existant ass. Show me a girl who's happy with her looks, and I've got a bridge to sell you...

So it's Sunday morning. I have yet to set my clocks back. The coffee has yet to wake me up and get ready to go see a movie with the parents, which is what I do every Sunday. So many things that need to be done around the house and instead I'm sitting here typing to no one. But at least my mind is less heavy. Writing is like a penseive-the keyboard is a magic wand, the screen is a pool to collect my thoughts. With the wand dragging the thoughts out of my mind into the pool, I can go on with a clear mind for the rest of the day. I can always go back to the pool if I want to retrieve a specific thought. But why would I want to?

out.

Slightly drunk. Massive headache. I decided not to go to Rick's tonight and, instead, went to (suprise) Market Square. Janet was dressed like a bee, heading straight to the Downtown Brewery from a Halloween party at work. We sat there, drinking our usual, talking about the funny things children say. I thought it was funny that I taught one of my best friend's kid the porno song. Then Janet told me about her friend's daughter that said "Uncle Jimmy's coming over to smoke a blunt". I had been bested. Both kids were 3 years old. I laughed my ass off. And my friends say I'd be a great mother...

After the Brewery, we went to Preservation pub where we met our friend Justin. We also met (as always) some interesting characters and got a bunch of free drinks. I took an assload of pictures and had an avid discussion with Justin about why guys think Janet is so mean, yet they love the shit out of her and won't give me a second look. She is quite lovely, I must say, but her personality when drinking leaves something to be desired. I, however, tend to attract the rednecks and fat divorced men at the bar. I always think it's because I've never had a college education or a real career, maybe my freckles are a turnoff. But neither has Janet. So fuck it. Maybe I'm just too picky. I have a description of my perfect man- very intelligent, creative, loyal, not a liar or a loser, maybe a sarcastic sense of humor. Brown eyes would be nice. Good teeth (to relieve my phobia of bad teeth). But none of these seem to fit in one man, especially in Knoxville. Is that just too much to ask???

So after the Pub, we head to McLeod's to listen to kareoke. We always hope, as we walk in the door, that the drunk college guy with the dead on Axl Rose voice, will sing a Guns and Roses song. But, alas, it is the same old fuckers singing the same old crappy country songs. After 1 drink, I'm ready to call it a night-and it's only 12am. I drive Janet back to her car and go home, listening to Billie Holiday and feeling sorry for myself. A typical Friday night for me in Knox Vegas-leaving downtown feeling drunk and empty with a bunch of photos to remind me of it.

work and cookies.

I came across this blogspot on someone else's blog I found by accident and decided to post my own. So sue me for being unoriginal. The whole myspace thing was getting rather annoying. I had guys with mullets and redneck divorcees with 5 kids replying to every blog with what seemed to be meaningful comments, but really they were just wanting to hook up. I don't want your heartfelt comments. Or a hookup. Or psychotic emails 20 times a day (note to self: never date anyone from the internet ever again). I just need an outlet to get rid of some pent up junk residing in my brain. And if no one likes my random references to songs and books-I don't care because I don't know you. You can stop reading at any moment.

My house smells of peanut butter from the cookies I made for the people at work. It seems all we do is eat around there. No wonder we're all overweight. I try to sit in my cubicle and doze under the sleepy fluorescent lighting surrounded by my Star Wars figures and pictures of my daily saviors-David Sedaris, Trey Parker and Matt Stone, Harry Potter, Steve Correll, Dave Grohl, Rogue and Gambit, Lara Croft and my family and friend's photos-but the redneck behind me constantly talks. Loudly. About babies and being pregnant. All day. Every day. The only relief I get is listening to NPR and emailing my friend in the cube across from me about how all of these bible thumping republicans working with us can just rot. But I put on a happy face for them every day and make cookies for the monthly birthday pig fest because this place is better than the last. So I will get up at the buttcrack of dawn tomorrow, put on a happy face and serve my famous peanut butter cookies to my country ass coworkers while I count down the minutes. A dollar burger(maybe) at Rick's Place, many alcoholic beverages(definitely) and singing along to my friend Spencer's renditions of Steely Dan and Beatles songs. Not my bar of choice, but it's a change of pace from the human reject fiasco that is Market Square, my weekend home away from home.

My pal Joe is IMing me. I must away...