He loves me

Howard and I met in February 2004. I was less than impressed as the only things he said to me in that short first meetng were impolite and on the verge of being mean. But, it is in my nature to forgive and to give second and third chances to strangers. Maybe he was just having a bad day?

Our second meeting was a small group of us, in which he and I both remained rather quiet and our friends talked. But it was probably a good thing that he didn't say anything in case he might have had another similar incident such as our first encounter.

After our first two meetings, time kind of slips together. We saw eachother more and I still thought very little of him in an affectionate kind of way and enjoyed the company of other people in the mutual group. Mianly, he had that "I'm too tough" attitude. But he was always the most gentlemanly host, making sure his guests were always comfortable.

We chatted online durring the summer of 05 and probabaly the most I ever learned about him was durring that time sending messages back and forth. When Fall semester of 2005 started Howard and I hung out a little bit more just one on one and I was completely fasinated by his rough exterior and clearly softer interior.

By early September I had quite the crush on him. I liked his blunt honesty to everyone, something I have never been able to do as I am too shy. He always says just what I want to but can't. Howard told me later that he had thought I was stunning when he first saw me but knew he'd have to let things play out before anything could happen between us.

By September 10, 2005 we were officially dating. Our friends said we'd never last. I didn't think so originally either. I was a sweet, innocent, Christian, virgin and he was an experienced, obnoxious, Athiest. Naturally, we've had our ups and downs but nothing that can't eventually be worked out.

But since we started dating we have both changed. We are both open to new things. He attends church with me every weekend. And we are perfect mathces for eachother. He is my best friend and the love of my life. We never fight or argue and he is sensative to my feelings. When we do dissagree things can be talked out and set right in a matter of minutes.

We have been dating ten months in July. We agreed to exchange "promise rings" for our 1 year anniversary. He wants a short engagement and since neither of us want to be married until after college (at least 3 years) promise rings will do until we can actualy get married.

Our friends say we're young. I don't think we're that young. I'm 21, he's 20. In 3 years we'll be 23 and 24. Of course a lot can change in that amount of time and I'm willing to accept changes both for the good and the bad. I suppose I can not guarantee that we will be together forever, but at this moment, everything is wonderful and I plan to keep it that way.

Czech this out!

My boyfriend's cousin, Franky, is visiting for 6 weeks from the Czech Republic. We have been taking him everywhere trying to show him America. Everything, it seems is different. The language, obviously, the food, the culture and the laws.

Frenky explained to us, in his broken English, that in Czezh, he drinks a lot. All the time. He told us he could drink 5 bottles of wine and a bottle of Vodka in a day. We did not believe him. The concept of drinking from the age you could lift a glass is foreign to us. He also told us that in Czech, he smokes marijuana everyday, that he even grows it in a field by their house. Apparently, it's not illegal to possess it or grow it, but it is illegal to sell it. So when he says, "we smoke here?" He always seems sad when we have to remind him tat its illegal in America.

Drinking, as I said, is also a problem for Franky since he is eighteen years old. On Saturday night, we had a small party with just 9 of us a 5 gallon keg and two bottles of hard alcohol. The drinking started in the early evening and by eight o'clock, those who had planned on being drunk were. (I'm 21, but have never much cared for the idea of drinking so much I'm sick, so I prefer not to drink so much.) Franky, however, who had drank as much, if not far more, than anyone else at the party claimed he was not drunk at all. He could still speak clearly and his movements were not clumsy. He still had full control of himself. I was amazed at what he began to call "endurance." Since he kept saying, "He have no endurance. Pussy."

On that note, since he is staying with his two male cousins and their two room mates, he is indeed getting probably a somewhat "typical" idea of how men in America, at this age, might act. From Franky's stories, it sounds very much like how young Czech males act as well. The boys are teaching him some very valuable words as, "hoochie mama," "pussy," "dick," and "clevage." Sometimes I worry about Franky, since his dream, and reason for learning English, is so that he can take over the Country Saloon that his family owns and runs in the Czech Republic.

I have never been a foreign exchange student or gotten to know any either. I have always wanted to travel as a student because I believe I will learn more about culture that way instead of traveling later as just a tourist just taking snapshots of famous buildings I won't remember the names of later. Unortuantely, I am just that: a poor college student. But, I love taking care of Franky, showing him a softer side of America. Tonight he turned to me when we were alone and said, "When I come to America, I uh... I think I have no, uh... friends. But there is you." I smiled as he said, "You are good friend."

Drama hurts

The thing I dislike most in the world is drama. A friend once told me there are two kinds of people. There are the kind that cause drama and that there are the kind who don't like drama but it is somehow drawn to them regardless. They assured me I was in the second group.

This weekend my mom visited from Las Vegas. Generally, we had a very good time and kept busy together.

I suppose I must actually skip back a few chapters in this story... over spring break, I went to Mazatlan, Mexico with my boyfriend and his family, which included his crazy mother. A mother who very clearly favors one son from the other for no apparent reason (my boyfriend is not the one who has favor in his mothers eyes). She is often mean to my boyfriend while she lavishes love on his brother. (I just wish I were exaggerating.) The boyfriend's mother booked a separate plane ride for me, a day later than the rest of their family. Which meant I would be alone, in Mexico. Naturally, I feared for my life. One hears so many horror stories about pretty American girls being kidnapped, etc...

Thus, in order to be assured my safety, my mom emailed the boyfriend's mother a few times. Basically just, "Hello, I am my child's mother and I want Howard (the boyfriend!) to pick her up from the airport. I will reimburse him with the money for the taxi, but it would make me feel better." The boyfriend's mother promised my mom that Howard would pick me up from the airport and that we had nothing to worry about.

Then, the night before I was to leave for Mexico, the boyfriend calls me from the hotel in Mazatlan. He informed me that he would not be picking me up from the airport (because his crazy mother had decided I could do it on my own.) He then told me that someone from the hotel would be there to pick me up the following day. I was worried, but he promised I'd be all right and he'd see me when I arrived at the hotel.

When I got off the plane, no one was waiting to pick me up from the airport. And I decided I'd be better off finding my own taxi than waiting around for someone from the hotel who might never come. I was nervous about it, but fine. In the end I thought nothing of it. But when I arrived in the states again I told my mom I had taken a taxi alone. I was proud of myself. She was furious at the boyfriend's mother.

Thus, when my mom visited the weekend, she did not want to meet the boyfriend's mother. However, the boyfriend was stupid enough (ack, men!) that he decided to tell his mom, "Now, Stephanie and her mom are coming for lunch. Remember, her mom hates you, so be nice."

Immediately his mother tells him that my mother and I are no longer welcome at their house and now we had two angry mothers. Sigh! Then, she even blamed my boyfriend for my mom being mad at her. (She's so mean!)

Of course, when my mom found out how his mom had reacted, she cried and told me she felt so guilty and that she never "hated" anyone, only that she was angry I had been left alone in Mexico. She then made me call the boyfriend to find out if we could come over and appologize/explain. But his mother refused to speak with us.

My mom was hurt. It was highly dramatic and sometimes men are just stupid. Good thing I love him.

When I grow up

I am thinking about how nice it will be when I am older and richer and probably fatter, and I can do whatever I want. I think I will buy a house with a gigantic yard and then one of those lawn mowers that you can ride around in and mow my grass in sweet patterns. My fridge will always house mozzarella, tomatoes, beer, and left over spaghetti.

I will, without hesitation, buy a jet and fly on a moment's notice to New York, Alaska, Spain, Nigeria, Australia, Russia, and Japan, anywhere I feel the need to go. I will learn how to fly a jet. I will dress up at least one day out of every week.

I will have a shower that has 4 heads and heated floors, and an oversized bathtub with heat lamps suspended from the ceiling above. I will attend every ballet, opera and theatrical production on and off Broadway, including highschool musicals, within a 50 mile radius. I will go to NBA and NFL games (even though I hate sports) and drink beer and eat peanuts.

I will sleep on a gigantic trampoline in my backyard. I will dance, and sing at the top of my lungs. I will feed all the neighborhood cats. I will order stuff off of QVC because I've always wanted to. I will have a few cars, including an old slug bug, a convertible of some sort, and an old, beat up, manual truck that I can practice my clutch/gear coordination on.

I will play Dance-Dance Revolution and X-Box until my thumbs get sore and the skin starts moving away from the nail-- you gamers know what I'm talking about. I will tell people exactly what I am thinking, whether they are listening or not. This means that I will uncontrollably tell people "I love you" and "fuck you, biotch" with every emotional extreme I will undoubtedly and dramatically feel.

I will buy the complete series of Bob Ross' simple paintings and recreate each and every one of them. I will feed my kids tons of Flintstones vitamins. I will adopt children from 3rd world countries and send $18 a month to Guinea or wherever and sponsor one of those children with a bulging belly and flies on the corners of his eyes.

I will eat out 3 nights of the week and tip my waiter or waitress obscene amounts of money if I liked them. I will get dressed up sometimes, and make a big deal about myself and strut around and go out and scoff at things that displease me.

I will sing karaoke and have every drink ‘on the rocks’ while wearing every piece of jewelry I own, all the while giving younger men "looks." I'll have shrubs lining the driveway of my home that are carved like famous sculptures, the David, Venus DeMilo, Mt. Rushmore, the Sphinx, etc. In my free time, I will write 3 novels and 1 memoir and at every book signing write, “With my deepest love!”

Ooooh, I will so go see the pyramids and visit tombs and find treasures and hopefully Indiana Jones as well. I'll have a gigantic dog. I will speak many languages. I will probably put on my bathing suit when it rains or snows and run out in the weather like a moron, like I used to when I was little.

I could really go on forever and ever, but to sum it up, I will large carpet castle scratching posts for all the neighborhood cats to climb on, so that they have a home, and in the mean time, I will simply finish college.

Reaching Out

The other day someone said I was sad. I tried to explain to this person that if they’d known me a year or two ago the last thing they would call me is “sad.” People used to know me for my happiness. I was “Pollyanna” in high school. I was “full of joy” at church. I used to laugh a lot. I was always cheerful. Joy used to overflow almost constantly from me and it was contagious.

A few years ago, someone told me that happiness was generally a mask for your true feelings. That no one could be happy all the time, the way I was. I thought about that a lot. Because I genuinely felt happy. But was my happy just a mask for what I felt inside?

What I felt inside was joy. Overwhelming joy that takes your breath away and without your realizing it, a smile seems permanently glued to your face. It wasn’t a mask, not then. Sure, hard times came, but still I had this bright joy creeping from my eyes, from my every spirit.

I don’t know when the change occurred. When that joy began to turn pale, when the smile left my features, when I lost that sparkle of true happiness. It was a gradual change, something I couldn’t notice until it was too late.

I have lived without Jesus for about 18 months now. I still go to church, mostly just to keep face. Inside, I pray that today will be the day Jesus reaches out for me. That today, the Lord will call my name and I will finally hear that call, make a decision to change and follow his voice.

I used to pray that someday I would have a testimony that would touch people. Simply growing up, always knowing without a doubt that I was a loved and saved child of God was, to me, nothing that would draw people into the truth. But now my testimony seems almost redundant of all the other testimonies I’ve heard in my life. Girl loves Jesus, goes to college, becomes immune to sin, gets into the party scene, loses virginity, tries drugs a couple of times and one day wakes up realizing that she hates where she is and wants to be back with Jesus, but feels too lost to do anything but stay where she is.

I know the gospel, I know all the laws, I’ve read most of the Bible, committed some to memory. I know that the way I feel is the typical way the devil works. I know he’s fighting for souls the same way Jesus is. But I know that Jesus, in the end, always wins. I know that Jesus is calling my name every moment of everyday and I know it is not Him, but me, who cannot hear Him.

I used to know the answer to things, directions to things. That was when I was aware of the Holy Spirit moving within me. Those were days when I prayed constantly, it took practice to hear Him. I recall the last thing He whispered to my spirit, He said, “Do not associate with them.” But they were my ministry at the time. And I could not fathom how, since I was doing the Lord’s work, it could end badly or why He’d want me not to try to help them.

Remember how badly Paul wanted to go to certain cities and God kept telling him “No.” And Paul followed God’s direction. Inside, Paul probably felt the same way I did in that moment. “But Lord,” we said, “We’re doing Your work. We will bring people into your kingdom. It’s all for your glory.” And the Lord simply said, “No.” Which brings me to the difference between Paul and myself. Paul said, “Okay, Lord.” And went the other way. I said, “No, Lord, I will win them for You!” And I followed the path I created for myself.

What I cared about most at that time was becoming immune to sin. I did not want to become immune to sin, because I knew that if I became immune to it, I would no longer be able to tell the difference between sinning and… not sinning. I also longed for fellowship at the time and these people offered me their friendship and I embraced what they offered.

It was a slow change between the innocent happy me to who I am now. But who I’ve been makes me who I am, and I know someday, this will all have made me stronger.

I woke up this morning hating what I felt: alone, depressed, hopeless. I don’t want another summer filled with loneliness, as last summer was just the same. I don’t want to spend the rest of summer watching movies and sitting alone in my apartment looking out the window.

I am tired of the life I’m living here. I am tired of the regular, mundane, the predictable. I miss the adventure of following Christ. I miss the mystery of His voice, I miss the warmth of the sun and I miss the joy that sprang forth from somewhere deep inside of me. I need to be challenged again.

I am reaching out to chance. I am reaching out with hope, for a life I once knew. I’m reaching out to Jesus, who has always been reaching out to me