But Wait...

My mother met my father in the early seventies, or maybe it was the late sixties. They lived around the corner from one another and neither had another serious relationship. My mother and I look very similar, save a few distinguishing features, mainly my hair. We have similar personalities and nuerotic tendancies that I notice with regret all the more I get older. But my mother was very lucky, she didn't have to go through the same experience I'm both proud and slightly ashamed of.

There are things in my life I am always going to gloat over and regret at the same time. When I think about my strange dating life, all the important sounding men that have walked in and out of it through the years, part of me can't help but have a sick sense of pride. I wear my conquests like a purple heart, all the terrible situations I've jumped in and out of, out of fear, out of desparation, and frankly, even out of bordom. There is a part of me that is very malnurished; for a long time I feared everything would constantly fall to pieces. The bottom always fell out, no matter how hard I tried to keep everything together. There are parts of me I worry I'm never going to recover. And when I look at my mother, all the things she'd tell me through those times, I didn't know how to listen, and she's partly responsible for that, I think. I can;t help but be what she and the world around me helped to create, the spoiled only daughter of a people who didn't quite know what to make of me and gave into my misgivings perhaps for lack of anything else to do. The freedom I've had since a young age had left me to develop most of what I know and think on my own; she didn;t worry about me like she did her other children because she thought I was smart enough to do it on my own. But Ma, you left me out. Ma, you let me think things that weren't true, Ma, you let me believe in a world that didn't exist because I couldn't face reality, that I scared you more than you knew how to handle. Ma, I don't know what to do now.

When I was younger, I decided I wanted to be a trophy-wife. I wanted to walk down Fifth Avenue with my McClaren and Tiffany eternity ring, giving my nanny a day off and showing off my Burberry coat. I equated this with something I didn't understand until recently, and like all things I want, I went after it whole-heartedly. And I'm sorry for all of the men I used, all of the times I didn't feel anything, all of the meaningless words, the numb embraces, the pained smiles. I was so traumatized by the shock of losing everything so young in such a horrible way, too young to understand, that all I wanted was to forget it all. I say he died at the perfect time; I was leaving forever. I was separating myself from everything and everyone I knew. And you let me go, Ma. You helped. Did it bother you ever? Did you watch me slip away? Did you worry what I might be doing to my next few years? Did you hope things would be different? There are so many things I never asked you then, and I won't ask you now. I think you needed to get away from me just as much as I did you. I understand. But I wish you were there. I wish we had gotten along. I wish we were close then, when I needed you, so that things may have been easier now. I know what I wanted then and it's everything I'd like but can't seem to do now. I want to be adored. I want to be molly-cuddled, I want someone to tell me everything is going to be ok, that nothing is going to happen to change who I am or what I'll be. I need this more than you know, perhaps more than I do. And I want to feel. I want to feel all of these things I've denied myself through these years of being a corporate courtesan, I want to be obsessed, I want to be infatuated, I want to go in deep. I don;t know how to nurture, I don't know how to be a part of a relationship because I've spent so much time being ok with endlessly being left alone. I'm ok being alone, I'm very strong, and it's something I'm perhaps too proud of. I want to be held by the hand, I want my back patted, I want to be able to cry again. I'm tired of being happy for everyone else. I'm tired of solving everyone else's problems. I want to be listened to. I want to feel its ok for me to break. I want to feel alright with being vulnerable, sensitive. I don't know how to do this. I'm trying as hard as I can. I don't want to mess this up, but I can't help being who I am.

Please don't go. Please see I'm doing all I can. Please don't go. I want so much to belong to someone, to belong to something. To feel distinguished, to stop worrying the end will come undone and everything will fall apart again. I want to stop expecting that, to stop silently waiting for disaster. I want it so much, I don't think any of you know how much it upsets me to think maybe I won't ever get it. I hate all of you sometimes, you blood-sucking leeches, you take all you can from me and never ask what it's worth. I want to break-out of everything sometimes, I want to leave you all behind and find myself somewhere where there is no such responsibility.

But I'm trying this. This is new, please don't hold me back now. Maybe this can be something beautiful, maybe I can do it better. Maybe like he once said, everything does happen for a reason, and I'm going to be saved. He's perfect, untouched and pure like something I've never hoped to own in my own jaded paradise. You're all angry with me for taking him in, you can stay angry, I don't care, but at least see it. See how pretty it is to have wanted something you didn't know you kept locked away for years. See what it is like to feel again, to feel sorry for yelling, to realize how silly you've been and to wake up from a most elaborate and empty dream to a new and full reality. Maybe I want too much, I let my imagination run away with me, I'm too easily influenced and don't understand what I'm saying. Maybe it's just semi-permanent, a flash of static from the brush in the dark, something singularly beautiful in its alternation, in its swift came-and-go. Maybe I do belong in the Fifth Avenue world of eternity bands and Burberry coats; the cold sounds of his shoes as they hit the expensive tiles, being left for Shanghai once more. But I hope not. I'm crossing my fingers and walking silently. I went into this trying to change what I saw only to be changed. And part of me is sad now, because I have changed. I see all the time I wasted, all the things that might have been, my self-destructive behaviors. I told him he was perfect, and I meant it, I'm not sure if he heard. I can be sweet and unscathed, can't I? Am I wrong to hope for more? Even selfishly, I need this. I was so sad... And I know I'm nagging and I worry over it.

But I'm going to smile about it. I won't worry anymore. I did need this, this is my reason for everything that happened to me. This is what I've been waiting to happen, the Earth-jolting movement, the magic I sowed and has now come to bloom. I can do this, really I can. You watch me fly.

I just keep telling myself, this is mine. This is mine. This is all mine.

Squinting both eyes at the sun and crossing eight fingers beneath my coat. Twirl me around as long as you will, you're perfect, forever beautiful like you always were. You can ahve me as long as you want to, I'll be happy to comply. Keep going, keep dancing around me the way you do, keep speaking. I'm listening. I'm standing still.

Miss Behaving.

So at last the wildnerness years have ended and am proper girlfriend and all and have lessened occurence of morbid fantasies of dying alone. (The one with 78 cats to inherit my millions, saved up from all the Social Security earned from my 457 years of existence, onyl a few gay men and fabulously dressed women to attened my funeral, where "Eleanor Rigby" is played as I roll on down the isle...) Now I take my attention to figuring out how inspicuous I can make my secret bitchiness. Am trying my hardest to tone down my most singular of critical qualities and being nice. I'm smiling as hard as I can and pretending to enjoy sports or at least to understand them. Pepsi cousin is properly miserable.

But I am in a state of bliss.

Off It...

It's a cruel and serious thing, understand, the power of an ex.

Frustration

And I christened that BMW like there was nothing else.

But now I'm angry and alone and upset and miserable and doing strangely fine.

Putting It Down...

Umm, so yea not one but TWO calls this week. A new record, you all see. Some drunk ramblings last night caused me to hang up. (He thinks I need that shite?!)

So here I sit, and wait for phone to ring.

(None of these YET. But YET is there.)


(Right?)

And I seen those other girls; they're not that serious. I'm over it. Am hoping cousin who is 3/4 friendly or decent enough to pretend he is to me will at least keep girlfriend around long enough to call attention to the situation.

Am desperately wondering if I should call. Damn this game! Damn this phone! Damn the entire institution that turned me into this sick, sad person, endlessly waiting by the phone...

(Am slowly losing touch with reality, understand.)

Am wishing his friends would say, James, we now have better things to do than see you. As a last resort, I'd be called. But who wants that? That's scraping the barrell, correct? Correct.

(But I wouldn't be waiting by the phone!)

Me and Dionne at work decided, we need men with zero self-esteem. Men so shod from the world's finer graces that they've naught to do but wait for us. Call us. Buy us presents. Wouldn't I love that?

Am in deep, the picture is setting in.

Deep!

Shamu on the Verge

OK. Updates! So James called, blah blah blah. Back on and the world is sunny and glorious once more. Am beginning to think he is a bit of a prick, as conversing with him has proved exceedingly difficult. Like Chrissy before him, James likes to push my buttons and we all know how Casey gets... So who better to ask how to interpret this but Chrissy himself.

BAD idea. So Chris ended up reconfirming my original hypothesis and did so in a way that i refuse to call the man ever again. I admitt a certain sadness though, at having to speak to him in that way. I miss Chris. I'd never consider taking him back after he's been with THAT girl, but there is always going to be a part of me to miss our talks. He's still upset over the whole situation. Still thinks I'm self-centered and cold. Still wants to know all about my life, scandal and all.

Nothing much else going on, am currently a whale. Bought jeans this afternoon at Bloomingdales in a size bigger than my usual. Am ready to become a recluse. So tomorrow I will eat:

1 leaf of lettuce!


So let's have the tally for today:

Tantrums Thrown at Work: 1
Bosses Pissed Off: 3
Desperate Texts to New Boy: 1
Dollars Spent: 200
Calories: Oh, thousands...

I Will Never Drink a Bud Light Again!!!

Ummm yea so my whole little attempt to include gorgeous James into my city circle, yea, failed. Miserably. Due to the fact of course he has seemed to have dropped off the face of the planet.

HE'S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU.

(oh, yes! I had assumed so, just didn't hear you correctly. Glad we've sorted this out!)

Whateves.

Anyway, more importantly, work is getting interesting as the fierce women of fashion from the tenth floor duke it out over the battle of the dress shirts, namely today's meeting. Once again I was left to fend for myself mediating product verses marketing. Crazy shit went down. Today's topic of choice was labels on polybags and on the shirt itself. Have decided I want nothing more in my life than to be one of these women, stylish and crazed till the end. Eccentric women of fashion, single at 50 but never without the tolken himbo. (usually non-English speaking and tanned, you see) A fabulous loft somewhere and enough to money to tell the rest of the world to go to hell. (which anyone who knows Casey well enough, knows that this in itself is her greatest wish) These bitches are fierce. I want to be glamorous like that, when she walks down the halls, even if she's talking to herself, which she usually is, people still get to work. I love it. I love watching them string their words together, so fucking out there. I love it.

So what if I've been rejected by a man who everyone said from day one isn't of my calibur?! I'm going to be amazing. I'm on the way up, damnit. I've already got my frist promotion mapped out, and even got invited today to a fashion meeting personally. I love it. I love my job, it gives me purpose.

So maybe it didn't work with James. I'll get over it. How many men before him, afterall.

How many afterward?

Another Nervous Breakdown

Something has got to give.

A book I read recently is the saddest story, but has the happiest ending. Melissa finds the love she sought in all the wrong ways, and ends up happier with a man she'd met at a bar. But the most touching aspect of the story is the story about the beggar who kept bringing the king melons. The king detested melons but took them to be polite. One evening, the beggar dropped the melon in front of the palace, and it broke into a pile a jewels. All those pretty melons broken open into mounds of jewels.

I keep waiting for my own garden of discarded melons, which I guess meant mistakes, to crack open.

But what does that mean, exactly? Is happiness a good job? A drink on Saturdays with my closest friends? Falling asleep next to the most unexpected of adored? A self-confidence that no one can reach?

I have no idea. I really don't know.

Sometimes I dream I'm reading. No action, just words. Pages. Pages and pages of vivid, beautiful tales of who even knows what, I tend to forget them once I wake up. But it's never a first hand experience, never tangible. Maybe that's how I live, on the sides, reading the words that make up some assorted plan I should have been into. I worry I'm too distant. J tells me I'm cold, I'm only nice to her. I know she;s right in some aspects.

I feel I'm letting it all go.

Something has to give. Please.

Acceptance

Oh, the things we do for adoration. And the people we put up with. Namely Gremlin cousin with the soda route. Sigh.

Anyway, the birthday is tomorrow but I'll be damned if I'm going to be one of these sad girls who gives up everything to say it to him. Catherine knows better. But I can't ignore the fact, you know? And I did want to be the first person... (however, would more appreciate being the LAST..."Oh, babe, just tell your little friends you love so much that they can drink their beer alone. We have other things to do...")I've been such a dirty girl, letting my mind wander in that direction all day... BAD.

But soda cousin is seeing him Sunday. Hmm.

It's not this serious. Fuck this guy, man.

(I intend to...)

By George, She's Gaah-It!

Am laughing this morning as the entire Corless against neivahood has ended. Let me show you how:

Cor: Call me when you go home.
Me: Ok.


*some time later*

Cor: You had better not still be out.

*some time later*

Cor: You had BEST not still be out.

*some time later*

Cor: (Leaves unreasonably angry voicemail.)

*this morning*

Cor: How are you feeling this morning?

Is he kidding?!

So now I can relax. Corless is trash. The last thing I need is a controlling man in my life, and taking anymore of his time and enjoying his "gifts" would only encourage him to be possessive.

THIS being said, it all makes sense now. Silly Casey, must you be so foolish?

Poor neivahood, he liked me he did. And I was just crazed not because of some unseen insecurity of him not liking me, but more because it became this entire malfunctioning discombobulated argument against one part of myself against the other. I had been so worried about giving up the glamorous things I put so much value in I forgot why I left them in the first place. I thought back to, and got out the photos of Jonathan, and remembered what being with him was like, having that title that had nothing to do with me. The pictures change, as one fantastically named man became another. One suit after the next. All the expensive gifts I had accrued over the years, all the names I had, all the time I spent playing the different roles. I had so much fun, but I was ready to leave that world and honestly, I don't want to go back there.

One of the most marked things about living in London was coming back and seeing the photos. J always told me when we were girls that I was bad with my expressions, that my face gave me away. I never knew what she meant, and figured it was simply her being overemotional, I'm the logical one. But there are all different smiles in those photos. A different group of girls, one for every relationship she got into, something to define herself. I never had proper parents, I wanted to be taken care of monetarily, I wanted to be hopeless and endless adored, I didn't want to have control anymore for fear that I'd lose it. All I've wanted my entire life was to belong to something. But the photos of me, they were so alone. There are more than a few where I'm in a room of people and the only one looking at the camera.

I left because I wanted a life of my own.

And I've got that.

So as for neivahood, maybe I've wrecked it beyond repair, who knows? But I understand now why it was so different. I also get why he hated titles so much, and why I depended on them myself.

So the summer fades to autumn with a wiser, older version of the same things before.

I want you all to do something for me. I'm asking because I know it works. Hope I get there. Hope I'm someday able to open my eyes, turn the lights on, come out of the imaginary shadows that I've grown into.

I'm getting closer.

Adoration to all of you, who loved me, even when I wasn't lovable.

Officially Losing it

Hmmm. Not much left of what had been my better senses. I find myself walking around more often now, no idea whats going on. It's like the world is in this planned dance that only I missed the steps to.

And I adore it.

Phone ain't ringing and its we all can guess who not calling. Corless however has been calling like the phone is new. I enjoy that at least. Tuesday we're having dinner and drinks. That's sweet.

Out for brunch and sanity in Burg this afternoon to keep in touch. Will wear my new black dress. Everytime I meet s anew man, I've noticed, a black dress. I bought the one with the blue flowers and the one with white daisies whilst Kenny, black with red roses for Mike, black chiffon for Jonathan (or was it Derek?), black silk for Tamer, and now, most appropriately, black cotton for well...

It's hysterical really. I can't seem to help myself.

Pull yourself together girl!!! Let us cast out the delphic comforting liars of our lives and embrace rejection and likewise adoration from a wealthy man willing to give all and anything for our own personal happiness which would only be acheived for the cost of a few mere trinkets we would have bought anyhow!!!

"I find myself choking on all my contradictions." - No Doubt

Here, here.

Reality Setting In?

Hmm. He's just not that into me.

lol, Fool.

Perfect

5 AM on your couch is beautiful. I want you to know I left because I needed to. I didn't want that now, I didn't want to waste it all. Because I wanted to savor it. I wanted to loll the flavor around on my tongue so I'd remember it, storing it away like so many other things. But this one is special, this is one that wouldn't destroy my tepid soul like the others. This is the good kind of crazy.

Thank you for taking me in. At least for the night. I bit down too hard and I'm sorry, I let it all go. And I'd do it again. I hope you know that. I'm sure you'll blame yourself, but I hope you understand, I really think you do. Isn't it strange how two people that lived such odd different lives 10 years ago could be so eerily similar now? And I meant what I said, I remember everything. You even smell the same. And I'm the same, forever chasing the boy who I could never really be sure wanted to give me the time of day. But it is more fun now, you said yourself.

I never wanted anything tangible, nothing real - it hurt too much. You've changed my mind, at least right now. I want nothing more than to be welcomed on that couch. I want nothing more than to get to that point where I stay. But maybe your entire mystique is in your selection; only occasionally.

I'm not sure if you figured it out, I left the stockings on purpose. If I broke you'd have them at least. I bought them from the place you remind me so much of, the place you feel like. London, my favorite city in the world. London was sweet release, London was a nervous breakdown and an infallible adoration with a man who was half Egyptian. London was something I'd romanticized as everything I'd wanted best. London was where I could touch me. You remind me of all that; you're perfect.

I left you while you were sleeping because I wanted you to stay that way, untouched, undisturbed, far away and nearly unreachable.

I'll get there someday.

Two Princes?

OK. Things are getting deep in the BX as the place I'm so ashamed to admit I'm from has become my main source of torrid lust affairs. Can I just take thirty seconds out of our lives to demand from all the single women of the world; single, successful, really going somewhere, beautiful, and intelligent, can I demand to know What is it about bad men that will keep you coming? Have become common trash, you see, arguing at 4 AM outside of local bar, with standard boy with beer in hand, cheap tie and badly matched suit ensemble. Oh, but he's so pretty, I assure you. I'm like a girl possessed lately, just like with that joke Mike the Med Student, you can't get enough of what you don't really want nor have. I'm doing all I can, I cannot tell you the amount of men in my life who'd laugh to see it. I'm smiling like a Crest kid at the friends, who I've genuinely come to respect, playing beer pong like a pro and downing Coors in public.

Am slightly disturbed by increasing fantasies of life panning out to my wedding where I know everyone on both sides - and respective dates, have gotten my hair done in an updo with the curls on the side, know the photographer personally, and will proceed with my new husband to Villa Barone where choice of chicken or beef will be served over open bar stocked with Budweiser...

But there is something so exciting about all that, isn't there? Never a dull moment with this "neivahood." Never a dull moment. Chrissy used to say I loved drama, I never understood what he must have meant until recently.

But is it wrong to want something rational? We fight, we yell, we don't call for days, we make up, we have those moments of silence you wish would last longer, but this is real... This is real. This is tangible. It's so mundane but I don't feel like I'm acting. It doesn't feel like another thing I ought to do, but rather something I want to do.Is that so strange, afterall? Should I think of it as mere frivolity? Maybe. But i know I'm having fun, and will ride this wave so long as it'll carry me. My strange life has been full of men, in and out, one here and there, always the same kind of man, the kind that spoils you rotten and never takes you seriously. The kind that dates you for the same reason you stick with him, these things are simply mandate. It is nice to be fancied as the proper girlfriend of the proper man, the kind that get quoted in the Wall Street Journal or the Times Travel Section, we'd take the photos like still life, every movement dictated by some unseen dance to a music we'd both be hearing. The stuffy suit, the hand on the lapel. Smile now, the flash comes. You'll be taken care of all your life. You'll never want for anything, dear. I'll hire the nanny, you get the lawyers. I'm going to go and shop and lunch with friends and you go and build me an empire. I'm not going to leave, you won't leave me. And here we're going to stand, you for the world you created, and me, to be the prop, another trophy won, another accomplishment for you to recount in Fortune 500. Keep me warm and coutured. I'll keep you impressive.

I've never asked; is this really all there is? Maybe not? Everything happens for a reason he once said. Maybe I've already gotten mine out of this and am squeezing a juiceless pulp. But really, I know I want more. I'm having fun. Really, I'd be sad to see him go.

On the flip side, Corless is back in the picture. He's very devoted. Doting, even. But Corless is the man I've just described. But maybe I was better off in that world, where imperfection never touched me. Could I give in to be pampered by another wealthy man willing to give me everything I want to give up what I didn't know I wanted in the first place?

Depends. Sometimes things just don't go as we want to. Sometimes we just put more into people than they ever wanted out of us. Sometimes things aren't pretty any longer... Sometimes you're simply a certain type of person and can't change that. And everyone would say, "Casey, you've come out on top, you've got everything you wanted now."

And I used to think they'd be right.

I guess we'll see.

What is it about the wrong men that always feels so right?

Reality Check...

Um, and why are my stressing over said loser when I have job offer?!

Oh, right.

I shouldn't.

Good girl.

Pour Mon Cher

Almost cried with emotion today in realization of how things are going.

I used to wonder what that would feel like. What it was like. On the surface of my own misgivings.

And should we not go any further with this, I want to thank you now. I really do. Thank you. I haven;t felt in ten years. I haven't felt in ten years. And now I'm seeing, I'm really seeing. Let me see it. Please don;t take this from me now, don't let me down. Down put me back where I've begun.

We argue, we drink a beer, we sit with your family I can't stand. But this is real. This is real. My days of being a courtesan; a living doll, may well be over. I'm scared. I'm scared because of all the terrible things people tell me. I'm scared because I didn't think I could be happy in this way. I'm scared because I worry over everything. I'm scared because I want you to be happy too. I'm scared because I'll still be feeling when it's over.

If I don't break, come with me. Please follow. Please.

Pelham Bay

Confronting the ghosts of a rather ecclectic past and drinking some others out. Made a former abuser cry at a aparty at the Steyer house and mortally offeneded another.

Situation has gotten better at hand as have become the new intrest of an editor. A writer? This could work out. Found said writer to be absolutely boring in topic but with good imagination. Oh, the possibilities.

Even spoke to chrissy after a night of free shots with another blonde and Crims. He says he's ok, but he sounds sad, he's always sad. And I'm fine. Really, I'm fine.

Really. I mean it isn't even tragic and despicably lied for once. Really, I'm well.

Being around all the people I've left for long, it's odd in a way to be playing the part I've have wanted had this been 1997. When they tell me I look good, I have grown up quite beautifully, I alway feel that same mix of insult and compliment. I get so many people telling me they never forgot my name, my face, things I said and did. I want to know why I ever questioned myself in the beginning. I could have done much better because I was better. To embarrass the boy who made me cry year ago for weeks on end, to be asked for my number by the kid who bruised both my arms on my 12th birthday, its all unusual, but I guess settles things perhaps I hadn't fully resolved. To have that peace and now the realization of what was and what wasn't... it's beautiful even. And I know I'm sounding stupid writing about the people I've looked down on for years, the place I'm ashamed to be from, but seriously, it's good to have come this far.

And it isn't even acheiving anything; I never needed their confirmation. I never needed their respect. I laugh when they tell me how pretty I am, because I always was pretty. I always was beautiful and witty. I always had a clever smile, a free laugh, a colorful imagination and an amusing appetite for liquor. I never needed their respect and seeing this now, that what Crims has been saying for years was true, that I am a strong person has been extremely therapudic. I got through those horrid times brought back and set to peace by the events this summer on my own, even when I didn't realize the world was a big place, and blonde hair wasn't ugly. Even when I wasn't Casey, but Cathy. Even then. What I've always had and for those reasons had been so ashamed of, is indeed my best. That my self sufficience and quiet pride is something to be envied, and no longer misunderstood, most of all by me. I always had it, I just hid it. I don't need to be that person anymore. I have no reason to hide.

I always go by no regrets, but in the past this had more or less been a defense. There are things I regret, but not in a shamed way. I regret listening to the advice of people who had no advice to give; most of all my own misgivings. I regret not hearing the advice of Crims, of the people who really know me, a staid and precious few. I regret never knowing what people are no longer embarrassed to tell me, that I had always been beautiful, the horrible things people had said to me in those awkward years were never true, and being old enough to see that and happy enough to apprechiate it are invaluable.

I have few pictures from then, but I kept them all in the same album. I flipped through it the other night, and saw her, the loud girl with the bad skin, thick glasses and metal braces. The orange hair I was so ashamed of that has no become the feature people notice most. The hips that grew before anyone elses. And I confirmed it, I wasn't the monster I like to remember in allegories of my tacky adolescence that I relate to people I meet now. I was lost. And now, I'm found.

I was telling someone the other night that one of my most hurtful moments was when a kid I had liked told the entire class during an assignment on what he thanked God for (Catholic school, understand) that he thanked God for me because he felt I was strong because everyone "hated me." But I shouldn't have been ashamed. He was right; I was made of different stuff. I was stronger. I would have never done the things I've endured to anyone. I would have never followed the crowd simply to fit in, and I didn't. I did what I wanted, and am better for it. And at last, I've come to it, the respect I needed all these years wasn't theirs but my own. I would never trade places with the girl in those pictures, but I'd like to have told her what I know now.

"I always wanted to ask you out, I was just afraid of what my friends would have said."

I tell you I heard this and laughed, not out of my usually degree of discomfort, but with satisfaction.

I was never afraid, and now I know it, too.

Retail Therapy

Over it. Going for broke today as bought anything I admired. I love the fact that I can do that now.

Adore Ker, spent hours with her tonight. Adore her. Adore her!

Found out London boy is actually from Nottingham. Hmm.

Brunch on Saturday with Bre. OOOOOOOOOOOOyea.

Hot.

Have I mentioned I've had four hours of sleep and still going?

Hell yes.

Hopes and fears.

Hopes. Blimey-well hopes.

Wow.

Was better today as remembered something. I am curvy and blonde and impecably dressed.

(Chrissy who?!)

Um, and let's discuss how obsession with best friend has become scathingly worse. 0r at least I think so. See, single and weird I could accept. Gay, I could accept. With a gorgeous girl, I could try to accept. But with that ugly little scrawny bird-like thing? None of these.

Things getting intresting at new job as have become the center of a large arguement over a sticker on a package of some boxer briefs.

All of fucking these.

Have eaten all of these today, as you can see.

Bought some new shox to motivate self to run.

Otherwise am over it. As per usual.

Wow.

London men are fab.

Opening mind up to other things as am alone.

Over it at new job.

Over it entirely!

Revalation

Better today, but sad as ever. Nothing happens. No change in forecast. Nothing. Monotony used to make me feel safe, I'm bored now with never meeting any new people.

Over the nonsense with Chris and his India. Have decided things happen for a reason, and we aren't the same. We don't value the same things, and I do look at the future.

Have understood that there is nothing wrong with that, or with me. It is actually a sad little realization, as am now back to being bored.

Other Enlightenments:

1. I AM an ice queen. It works on me, I'm quite pale and my nose upturns naturally. I'm part Scandinaivan; it's practically my heritage.

2. I have dated better men in the past and will continue to date such men in the future, Chrissy or none.

3. I cannot define my self worth by a man, who, at 29, will give $20 to a friend for sticking hot sauce up his nose.

4. I cannot define my self worth by a MAN.

5. The future is bright and now it is a free of black t-shirts purchased for 25 cents.

6. I do not like penguins.

7. It is similarly fitting (see #1) that my younger brother called him a donkey. He really is a jackass.

8. I am ready to move on with my life. And I want to do this without the need for pennicilun that a relationship with India's throwbacks might insue.

9. I can be biting when I think in truth.

10. I simply want more. He couldn't give it. Not that he didn't try as I always claimed, he just couldn't give it. And she is satisfied whereas I never was. So, let it be.

11. My family has enough drama.

12. Square toe shoes are OUT. And his insistence to wear them proves the insistence to never changing.

13. I can not live without change.

14. I never liked his band, his friends (except D., but for nothing more than is not respectable) , his taste in drinks, his preference for stupid girls, and his mother. In fact, I want to reiterate that, it was so freeing. I NEVER LIKED HIS BAND, HIS FRIENDS, HIS DRINKS, HIS MOTHER. I DIDN'T THINK HIS MOTHER WAS SO GREAT.

15. I don't think he was a good guitar player. I found him very stiff. And those photos he so glorified were cheesy and made me laugh, not with him, at him.

16. One word: TEETH.

17. Ice cream with a fork. Give this damn girl a good spoon!!!

18. I laughed the day it ended, I laughed the day after that, and then that. And I'm still laughing; living. I'm still living. If he isn't powerful enough to make all that stop, he isn't all that great, no?


So the lesson of dearest Chrissy is not to lose oneself in misery, not to let one's own hurt ego tranform itself into a romanticized version of the man himself. Let us remeber, dear readers, that one can fix what began broken. It's just easier to return it.

And who is tacky enough to rebuy?

Ridiculous Thoughts

"It is foolish to regret something that is already done." - Melissa P.

A week has gone and I'm still alive. Job, and trip to amusement park in which my blood is still whooshing around. Observing all the couples.

But new thought. Maybe me and her, we're not that different. I always said she was my antithesis, everything I am not. But here she is. She wanted once, too. She stood there whilst the shoes were on my feet. She watched as I lead. Did she sit like me and contemplate? Did she despise me? Did she live in regret that maybe there were things she had wanted to say, so foreign to her that not even she was aware of them; lurking in her subconcious. Did she want to impress the mother, four feet and accomplished? Did she just want things to change? Did she want more? Does she worry about trust?

He said where we differ is she doesn't worry. She lives in the now; he's so hedonistic. I'm too jaded for that; I walk the Earth worrying the bottom will fall out; it usually did. If he had known.

And what for now? A thirst for a drink already knocked over, a hunger for a meal spoiled. Another life calls me and we might as well be strangers.

I don't cry. You'd like to see that perhaps. But I'm different, I soldier on, doing whatever I can, working harder. You always said I was a negative person. I thrive off disappointment, I'm so used to it. I've prided myself on stoicism so long I know nothing else. You've always said I was stronger than alot of people, in my odd way.

I wish I had gone to Geneva. You get to move on with your life and here I am. It kills me to know you're happy now where you were never happy with me.

I do want to cry sometimes.

But it IS foolish to regret something already done. And someone who doens't care if it is or what. And you were to care, how should I know? I wouldn't want to, what would it change? She;d still be there. And good for her, I've nothing against her.

In the drop of the rollercoaster, just before it goes down before the loops, I closed my eyes. I wanted to feel it. I want to feel this, too, as odd as this sounds. I want to be sad. I want to be angry. I want to grab onto it as long as I can. Never say die. I'm not ready for this sort of thing.

Please don't say hello to me, please don't be kind. I'd rather you scorned me, I'd rather you yelled, I'd rather you were angry. Kindness is so cruel; I don't want to be friends; friends meet and greet your significant others; friends drift apart after the fact, friends get left behind. Exes, we are forever. Dignify me enough to let me be safe without having to see you with her, with letting it go. Please don't pity me, please don't feel sorry for me. Please don't bother about it. I don't want that part of you, I don't want to be forgotten in that dismissive way. Don't congradualate me on my new job, don't praise my taste in fall '08 suiting colors, don't say everything will be ok because the fact of the matter is it isn't; and I see that. Don't tell me I'll be fine, don't tell me I'll get over it, I don't want that kind of reassurance, I don't want to be insignificant enough to be a friend. I don't want to be another friend. We cannot be friends; we cannot.

And I've no idea.

I really cannot do this. I really can't.

Making My Way Back to Reality

Third day. Feeling slightly better as have stopped blaming Chrissy and focusing on myself. What I must have done wrong. Perhaps its the fat on my upper thighs? The size of my hips? My cheeks' widths. My hair didn't fall the right way. I was too tall. I didn't dress right. I need to lose 40 pounds. My skin is too pale. I'm ugly. Beautiful skinny India, with long DARK hair and skin that tans even in May. Short, skimpy little wisp of a thing. Quiet and softspoken. Hardly audible. Following Chrissy around everywhere, like a lapdog.

I thought like this all day, and I realized I was being sad and pathetic. Sure I'll blame my looks, but what woman hasn't? The main thing to remember here is India, my antithesis; the woman I played second to. Or did I?

I've got youth, my career, my clothes, my mind, my face, my brain, my mouth. And I had him first.

If he prefers her, so be it. She needs it more.

But this isn't about bashing her, I refuse to surrender to that.

My friends all called today to make sure I was doing well. I am. I'm still standing. I did well today at work. I did the best I could. I poured myself into it. I bought new shoes. My new book came. I had good hair. I got my order from Victoria's. My VISA recycled. I met a man, a British man.

Shen at work made me laugh, saying, "If he really wants HER, do you not pity HIM?!" Sixten was by with another smile. The phone rang all day with well-wishers.

Still I was a bit sad, but it's tapering off. I was too busy to think on it much, and settled more for letting my mind wander in the underwear department in front of the picture of Calvin Klien's Travis. I'm doing what I can.

Good.

Picking It Up...

So okay it's the second day of being utterly alone, unhappy, and heartbroken. But I'm standing pretty well, considering the fact I go through phases, some wanting to slash some tires, others wanting to cry under my desk in utter, impenatrable and endless despair. But overall displaying a feeling of knowing things need to move along. Which is why I'm writing today, Chrissy can't have this either, pride or none.

Work going along smoothly, worried a bit too smoothly. Is so different to be a proffessional these days. Nearly was arrested this afternoon for examining packaging for men's thongs. Sixten is feeling the burn, too. It is good to have a commiserary in-office, even if down the hall. We had a good laugh though, Lady and the Tramp, how I am replaced by my antithesis. He says what everyone says, it's not that serious; I did better. Six, it isn't the thought of losing a scrub, it's the thought of losing.

My life has become a struggle; I'm so exhausted at the end of the day. I've forgiven and unforgiven 20 times today. There is nothing better for disappointments than work. And I put heart and soul into those thongs. (and some Italian tourists...)

Long and wonderful life ahead. Even if the rain falls harder on my head these days. Can't even bring myself to put on eyeliner; most of me just wants to lie in bed and listen to sad ballads of women scorned. I refuse to let that happen. Not for "Chrissy," not for his India. Not for all the lies, all the garbage he gave. I'm going to succeed and do it better than any of the other girls on my floor. I'm getting my MBA and my liscense. This won't stop me. This won't be on my mind a week from now. I'm going to be better. I'm only 22. There are so many reasons to be strong, and you're always stronger than you think.

I just have a headache. I can't do this right now.

Chrissy, pour toi.

Chrissy, I never knew you read this. This is just one of the things I guess we'll never say. I'm glad I told you I was angry. I am. I'm glad you know I've forgiven you because I do. Not because I want to, because I want the part of me you took. I want her back. You can't walk away with that.

You know, you never got me. You saw what I wanted you to see. And I'm hurt and angry and miserable and upset but I'm okay.

You're just as scared as I am, aren't you?





After we spoke I got up and looked in the mirror, and I looked the same.



And I want you to know I laughed. I AM too dramatic, sometimes.




So here's to us, Chrissy. To who we were, to who we are, to who we will become. This is your choice. I've never felt more real than I do lately, the weeks setting in a greater sense of self than I ever knew possible; being stripped of school and tossed into the adult world. And you'll miss out on all that; I forgot I wasn't alone in this. You'll never see the woman I've become, the money I'll make in my new career in fashion, the home I'll lease in the city. You'll never see the pictures from my MBA graduation, listen to my stories of the people I meet in class. You'll never know the grace I'll attain, never ride in my passenger seat, never see me dance in the rain. Never hear my theory on 19th century British literature, never see me cry, never have another whiskey and coke with me. You'll never touch my thighs, recently thinned, you'll never smell my new scents. You won't see my new highlights or new tortoise shelled heels. You won't be around to toast me at my dinner parties, you won't hear my laughter. You'll never hear about my new days in corporate society, you won't be able to watch me climb.






You're never going to know the woman you helped create from the silly little girl in designer clothing.




Merci beacoup, mon petit ami, pour tout le monde.

Pour tout le monde.





"Life goes on. That's how it should be." - Sally Field

Becoming a Stalker

Um.. Yes. Is it wrong to admitt you're currently sitting online viewing pictures of random exes and respective current girlfriends and making a face?

Ugly fucking bitches. Beautiful pictures of boys and their dogs.

And me.

Alone.

You know one of them is actually dating another girl with my name?! FIRST AND LAST!

Sometimes life isn't fair.

Hung out with Sher for Cinco De Mayo. Was fabulous, as we went to Whole Foods; you'd be surprised at the amount of hot men in the grocery store on a Saturday night! And then by the amount that talked to me; namely none. I'm so voer it. All I want these days is cold hard cash.

Bored and angry as there aren't anymore bags of microave popcorn in this house that also lacks Diet Coke. My lovely little British friend online here is ignoring me, as he must have found something to do. Ah well.

Bre is of course scurrying to impress the company that nobody really understands what does. I was telling her, this endless interviewing is just like my dating life. And, as I'm still single, I'm also still sans career.

But hope is not all lost, I will be interviewing with MGM this week.

Oh, yea.

Sad and pathetic in this evening. Feel gross as hair is mad and am over it entirely. Wow.

Oh, yea.

Girlfriend?!

So sexy Frenchman stalking ahs yielded amazing resultsm as have dug up some rather intresting information. EUGH!

Tapping nails on this keyboard as I need thirty seconds to consider the issues at hand!

Was fabulous day as Fir let up and Bagel was toasted. Love it all. Not makign sense damnit I need a nap!!!!!!!!!

If it means that much to you, it'll happen. You must believe it, babe. It's going to happen. And we'll be there to watch the star shine.

All of my love,

H.R.H., N.W.

Up That Ladder!

Having a fantastic disaster at Vanity Fair as am healing old wounds and tearing into new ones. Have become the darling of the office now have learned how to create a disaster thanks to Tennille, my ever-affectionate and doting mentor.

Am fantastizing about a life where searching for a new job is not a priority.

Whateves.

I need a drink, I need a ride around New Rochelle, I need a night with some lovely creature, not at all opposed to being used. I need all of these and more.

The happy ever colorful walls of Fir light up these days with the onset of some fantastic design plans. Bags is still hanging around, no longer the subject of raunchy in-office fantasties as over the lack of wit he perscribes to conversation. Although quite flattered by a display of carefully mulled over upper body in tight fitting cheap T-shirts in orange. J'adore.

Other than that, no real change in forecast. It rained all day today, literally. I used to believe that rain was a sign of onsetting success, and let us hope my consequent interview with Hillary Clinton at Fir this week goes well. Crims says to dress fantastically, and I of course concur. Use what you got, even if it isn't much. God only knows what I'm going to ask!

Eating like a starvation victim recently freed. Queen of carbohydrates and thighs to prove it. None the les,, am daydreaming over some more pepsi.

Hanging; if not strongly, surely. Am getting used to having no ground beneath my feet. Have learned to kick quite profusely.

Am blest despite this misfortune. Am a slow train, crawling up a hill. Awaiting the ever sweetened moment when we hit the climax, when just one jolt goes out beneath me, when I begin that glorious speed, faster faster, into the light.

Ugh These Losers...

Another bad date this evening with Ian the British bore. Are there no decent men in all of New York? I've simply become so jaded over the years of dating that no one will do.

And so, a Coke, and daydreams of sexy foreign men, never to be tainted with reality...

The Art of Fabulous

Ever sit back and laugh at your own times?

Wow.

Fucking Bloom is fucking Bloom. Times are very chill now that life is fabulous again. I had today:

1. First taste of W. - fries and a chicken sandwich with about a gallon of Diet Coke
2. 1 Rather large raspberry cupcake
3. 1 Bottle of Diet Coke
4. 3 Chicken fingers
5. 3 Handfuls of Assorted Jelly Belly Beans
6. 1 Serving of Green Beans
7. 26 Tater Tots

All of this adds up to:

17 times I obsessed about my thighs actually welling up before my eyes
45 extra pounds on my body
7 clogged artery scares (8 imagined, of course)

...and this in turn adds up to:

45 minutes I will spend on my StairMaster this evening!

Am obessing at Fir with things I cannot have. Had rather graphic fantasy involving a scene from Vanity Fair and a few QG's.

Am also, in turn, contemplating how to rid myself of and simultaneously become Tennille. Rock and all, please. It is so typical her, husband. The man looks liek Prince Charles and she's got money like the Queen.

And then there's me.

I once read that there were stars out during the day; that you just can't see them next to the sun. Tennille is the sun.

(And guess where I am in this sky?)

Argh.

Am newly enthralled by Mark at work. He's amazing.

Am enjoying my spot of happiness in this rainy night.

"We're getting jacked on cheap champagne, just let the good times all roll out."

- Scissor Sisters

Loves it. LOVES it!

Wow.

So I got up extra early for philosophy class and arrived an hour late. Hmm.

Decided I want to get a degree in chemistry?

Will perhaps face the fact that my real life aspiration is to be set financially and buy a pair of Loubitons. Yes.

Perhaps?

In a Funk

I know what an eternity band is, Robin. You needn't speak so slowly to me, unless wanting to hear the sound of your voice.

Over it and barely amused.

Hold It Up

Whoel world is crumbling. Fucking up royally in every way possibly at school, Bloomingdales and Fir. Slapped a fat girl at work and now have to deal with charges of racisim and carrying on from her end. (admittedly, slightly proud of myself)

Have just left Fir, as well. I want to cry of embarrassment when I'm there, I hate these people and they way they speak to me. I'm taking it too much to heart but I don't like the way they speak to me. I get it; they're WAY ahead of me, I will not be hired, I'm naught but a pathetic unpaid intern they graciously allow in their midst. I get it. Next topic, please. I couldn't get down crop marks, just like I couldn't get down type changes. There is so much filth in our lives, must we clog it with poor eight sided communication? Ten sets of different directions for the same task are not making it any clearer. And I hate knowing what people think of me when it is negative. I hate being called paranoid and annoying when I know I'm hiding something much bigger. I am not dumb, I am not worthless, and I'm not too stupid to see that I'm bothering you. I get it. I just don't know what else to do. If you'd kindly let me know, I'd be ok. Too many cooks and just one bowl of soup. And I still haven't gotten a taste.

But what else can I do?

I'm young. Understand I haven;t had any enjoyment here on in my life thus far. I had a acrazy mother who beat me down because she was beaten. All my childhood friends are dead. I wake up every morning trying to think of how I'm going to finish what I don't even want to start. Cut the crap. Get rid of the fake smiles because I see it. Just talk to me not like an "intern" (whatever this foul word must communicate!) and speak to me like a person. Take me seriously. Don't humor me with side comments meant not to be understood by me. I get it. I'm not the girl you apparently think I am, but have fooled you instead. You only try harder to make me feel less and less significant. I'm no fool. I don;t want to be your friend, I don;t want to impress you even. I want to finish this. I want to finish this. I just want to finish this.

I'm doing the best I can with what I was given. Dignify me in doing the same on your end.

Fool at Fir

Am annoyed at Fir and all of it's workers (except Alex, she's fabulous) particularly this fucking Jake Bagel. I'm sick of this man, these men who work there, it's like I feel like a fool most of the time. I do not need them to go out of their way to make me feel stupid, the work is clearly done! I am carrying so much shame and nervousness, I balance a set of encyclapedias whilst tight-rope walking everyday. He's nobody special, and that wierd other designer talks to himself in his cubicle whilst playing the best of ACDC and has nerve carrying on about me. The nerve of some people.

And will be painting the wall again on Friday. B. is going to flip. I just can't seem to get a grip on anything. Information goes through me like a sieve, I'm too nervous. They talk about everyone else there and I know they talk about me. I've let it become a reality, meaning ok, whatever, fuck you and I'm just going to do what I have to. I try very hard, but sometimes I feel like I'm so slow an inefficient, and nothing is more embarrassing than having this exposed. Nothing is more discouraging than having them take my tasks from me because they doubt I can do it myself. I hate the thought of annoying them but they need not make it so obvious. I want to die of embarrassment.

Don't see the type I rasterized or the clipping I did wrong. Don't see the drops of paint I got on the carpet and don't notice that I broke the bottle of Dolce and Gabana last week. See me. See that I'm trying as hard as I can, that I want this more than any other intern you could have hired. Understand I'm trying the best I can and I'm sorry if this isn't enough, I see it, too. See that my smile is painted on, I'm fighting a war behind it all.

And losing is not an option.

" Live through this with me, and I swear that I would die for you."

- Courtney Love / Hole

Crawling Up a Hill

Over it and carrying on. Ghetto girls at work in my hair and sewing in their own. Finding fauolt with everything. On edge. Oh yes.

Oh Here We Go Again

On the test for professionalisim and an entire change of priorities. Have become disgusted beyond reason with romantic life that is going nowhere and have surrounded myself with the cruel women of beauty, which, if those of u who read don't know, is an ugly, ugly buisness.

Finally bid goodbye to Chrissy and has been a month since we last spoke. I'm trying to juggle my job, school, and my internship and impressing a rather fierce mentor these days and thus, have no time for his antics or any of those with a man I don;t whole heartedly respect. Which rules out the majority of them.

Feeling I'm stumbling quite terribly in the dance to impress Firmenich. I'm not a good listener and this is getting in the way. The conversations I'm continually having are going too far my way. The need to exercise being quiet is apparent this semester.

I want to become someone with purpose. This is my new passion. I've never been more content or more stressed, honestly.

Update for the New Year

Successfully dieting and going broke due to shopping bills for products I do not need. Happily in love with Chrissy and perhaps in love with life itself. Am with IFF and learning French. Am gliding towards success, one step at a time.

*Knock on wood :)

Heard from Tam and from Spraggs. Fab.

Am fab at work!

Åm exhausted as have just worked out and went out with girls from work.

Am enjoying happiness for one of the fewer times in my life. And hope you are all the same.