The silent wall flower

Someone once said that when a person gets drunk that his or her true personality comes out.

Back in the day, I used to be terrified of the thought of drinking, of alcohol, of parties... pretty much anything I had no idea about. [Fear of the unknown, perhaps]. In my case it was probably church that drilled the thought of those things all being unclean, unholy... sinful. I won't argue that they're not or that they are.

At first when a bottle of beer was placed before me, I literally would freak out inside... then I would politely decline. I worried what I would become, who I would transform into. I worried I would lose myself: say or do something that was unforgivable and I would not recall it happening. I was worried I would turn into a flirt -- more than a flirt, a slut. And even more fearsome, I would become a slut who didn't remember a single thing that had occurred.

The first time, and every time since, that I've been tipsy, I've been silent. Apparently I'm a really quiet, very calm drunk. One-on-one I'm very talkative. In a group I'll be the one sitting in a back corner quietly watching while everyone else is going crazy. I'll admit, it wasn't what I expected, but it is how I typically am: demure, shy, quiet in groups and talkative when I’m alone with someone.

I was thinking about this with relief tonight. I was comforted to realize that my inner self is not a forgetful slut, but instead a quiet wall flower. I'd rather be a quiet wall flower deep inside me anyway. Of course, it makes me shy and it causes me to have a lack of trust in people, to confide in them irregularly. Everyone knows some secret about me but no one will ever know everything.

I used to think it'd be marvelous to stay up all night with a husband and share you're entire life story with them, from start to finish. Now, I know I couldn't do it. Now, I have regrets and secret hopes that no one will ever know. I enjoy my silence. I take pleasure in my “hermit tendencies.” I like to be with people, but not involved with them. I'm an observer, a silent wall flower, drunk or sober. It's who I am. I'm glad to be me.

Two lovers: a fantasy

While driving home from work today, I saw a man pulled over on the side of the road. His emergency lights were on, but I didn't see a flat tire, his vehicle had Washington state liscence plates. As I drove up beside him, where I happened to stop at a red light I noticed he was looking at a map. Then, while I waited at the light, he pulled around behind me and I noticed his face. He was young, perhaps mid-twenties. I knew then that he was lost and I wondered to where he was trying to go.

I imagined that he was deeply in love and missed this girl -- who must be lovely -- so much that on a whim he jumped into his car and drove straight to Reno. Of course, he'd never been to Reno so naturally, he was lost! Which, by the way, also explains the map.

I knew he'd find the girl his heart pined for eventually and that he'd arrive at her door, most likely with flowers in hand. And she'd be so pleased to see him that she would cry as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pecked kisses all over his face. He would laugh and might even get misty eyed, but he would not cry himself.

The two lovers would be united again and I would feel that I had palyed some part in their romance by noticing his red car on the side of the road and the fact that he was reading a map, which ultimately is how he was able to find her! Needless to say, I came home feeling quite pleased about the whole ordeal.

Hans

I have a little cat named Hans. He's grey and fuzzy and possibly the cutest cat anyone could imagine (I may be a bias mother, but it’s still true.) Even people who aren’t “cat people” love this cat. Every day, while I’m at work or school he sleeps out on the porch in a folding chair (He tends to do this on warm nights as well.) While I do my homework, it’s “Meow, mommy cuddle me, meow!” My little Hans likes to be held like an infant, with his belly up. Typically, he is found curled next to my face in the mornings, a habit he’s had since he was a tiny kitten. (Curl up on mommy’s face because we know she has allergies.)
I came by Hans in a rather obscure fashion. I have always loved cats, but I did not want one while I was in school, I thought it was unfair to spilt my busy schedule between work, school and an animal. However, last year, while living in the dorms, my roommate brought home the little ball of fuzz which she had named Toby. “Isn’t he cute!?” she said, while I worried about getting caught by the RAs. He just sat in the palm of your hand, and yes… he was pretty cute. But he wasn’t my responsibility; I didn’t want him. He woke me up at night in our dorm room, once again, by trying to seep on my face.
After about a month of the little cat my roommate was sick of him. And I mean, completely ignored the little kitten, which could now sit in two hands instead of one. So, she decided one day, to give him to the SPCA. But, my boyfriend had fallen in love with the cat. He talked about getting one of his own but kept saying, “I only want that one!” So, he and I took a trip to the SPCA where he adopted little Toby and renamed him Hans. (He’d never answered to Toby anyway.) Hans loved the boy’s house. It was much bigger than a little dorm room and there was almost always someone around to play with him. Hans grew to be a big cat over the winter (which is good since he had such a big name to grow into.)
Unfortunately, when the boy friend’s crazy mother (also the landlady) saw the cat, at first she liked him, them a few weeks later she just picked him up and said, “Say good bye to Hans!” and literally ran to the door to return him to the SPCA. Everyone was upset. Hans had brought us all closer together; he was not just Howard’s cat, but everyone’s. However, we had nowhere to keep him. At the time, Suzanne and I had been waiting for an apartment for almost a month and weren’t expecting one to open any time soon.
But I still rescued Hans from the SPCA, making him officially my cat. By this time, I’d fallen in love with him too. Nothing was going to separate Hans and me. None of us could stand him being lost to us forever. He lived with Suzanne for a time and the boys when the crazy mother wasn’t around. He even stayed with a few other friends for a week while Suzanne and I waited for our apartment. And finally our move in day happened. My little Hans had a home!
Hans is about the happiest, curious, most loveable, un-cat-like cat there is. He snuggles and hardly ever leaves my side, following like a dog. Where I go, he goes. I wouldn’t give up my little Hans for the world.

Proving her wrong

What is the last thing anyone needs? Well, for me the last thing I need is someone who doesn't believe in me. Especially a family member.

My dad informed me today that my mom's mom... so my grandmother who died in February 2005... said I would never make it through college. She said I wasn't a "go getter." She said I'd get distracted and drop out, just like my mom had. She said I couldn't make it and that I never would.

I don't know why she said those things. Clearly she never knew that I loved college classes. That already I've learned so much and made myself a "more valuable member of society." Why would a grandmother said their grand children couldn't make it. Shouldn't you have the highest regard for you offspring? Howard's mom does the same thing to him all the time and it always makes me mad. No parent or grandparent should ever tell thier children they can't make it. It's very unfair.

I don't know... I found out and I just feel so dissapointed in myself. Why should I feel dissapointed? At least I'm in college. At least I'm doing well. I'm having fun. I feel like I let everyone down.

I wish they hadn't told me she'd said that. I'm just so hurt by it... All I want to do is curl up in my bed for the day and not wake up for a long while.

Feeling the kick

Tonight I had my friend, Jenny, over for dinner. I picked her up, drove her over. I had dinner ready to cook, so I simply turned on the burners and was in business. I made Alfredo chicken (it was the best I've ever made), mixed veggies and wild/brown rice. And of course, ice cream for dessert.

Every Sunday at church, Jenny and I sit together. For almost two years now. She was one of the first people to introduce themselves to me at the church and since then, we've always just kind of small talk-ed before and after church.

Jenny and I have a lot in common. I always liked her at church but tonight was the first time I've ever really gotten to talk with her, one on one. We have so much in common it was almost frightening. She would say things and it was as though she was reading my mind... seeing my inner self... and not necessesarily the good side of me either. Sometimes discovering that someone has much in common with you is good. In this case, it was almost intrusive.

Jenny is pregnant (something we do not have in common). She is due in about five weeks. We talked alot about the baby. About the father who left. About the choice she made in keeping it, seeing as though she is only 20 years old. About her family's reactions. We talked about abortion and miscarriages. We talked about boyfriends, rape, protection (or lack of). We talked a lot of "what ifs." She said, with tired eyes, "I CAN'T wait until you're pregnant! You're going to be one of those thin mommies who looks like she's carrying the sate of Montana in their bellies." I told her that I, on the other hand, COULD wait to be pregnant.

After dinner we brought out the Bible. We had a small Bible study. I haven't been able to talk so freely in a long while. We ate icecream and while she talked, her icecream melted. Then she lay down on the carpet and allowed me to put my hand on her belly.

It was very intimate. There were three of us in the room, though only two clearly visiable. She turned giddy when the baby inside her moved, "She's living!" she would say, as a ripple would move across my palm. It would kick and I would exclaim, "Oh, I want to see her little face-y, come out now, baby!"

And Jenny would laugh. And I would laugh. And then a silence would surround the three of us. The same silence that seemed to say, "I'm sorry for your circumstances, but so glad you have been blessed with this new life."

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."