Last Post

I realize it's been longer than a year since my last post.  In blog world this probably means that my post will go unnoticed.  I'm sure my loyal followers aren't THAT loyal.  Anyway, it doesn't matter... because this will probably be my last post on this blog.

In the last year my little world has gone through some major overhauling. I suppose the most prominent thing... the most noticeable thing... that has taken place is the passing of my grandmother.  All year long she'd been complaining about pain in her abdomen. It wasn't until late May and early June that the doctors really started paying attention to her complaints.  By then they knew it was cancer and there wasn't much to be done.  She was diagnosed in early July and she died on Halloween.

It was a difficult time.  I lived with her; therefore I took care of her.  Towards the end it became too difficult to take care of her in the home.  As much as I wanted her to stay here with us and die in the comfort of her own home, we had to put her in a nursing home. The last month of her life was lived from a bed in a room with a total stranger for a roommate.  I felt so bad for her, but at least the staff there made her as comfortable as possible in her time of need.

I wrote and gave the eulogy. It was difficult to get through, but I managed. I have visited the grave a few times already, and I wear her locket when I feel like I want to be close to her. I'm still going through the grieving process.  I'm doing my usual thing of pretending I'm all good when really I'm falling apart on the inside.  Nothing will make me behave any differently, so why try, ya know?

My best friend, Jason, battled and defeated cancer this past year.  He was diagnosed in April. All summer long he dealt with surgeries and procedures.  He can happily say he defeated it, but he isn't without scars.  It, and taking care of grandma, really affected my friendship with him. I think we both buckled under some major stress and, at times, took it out on each other.  We're still good, but I feel like things tend to still be rocky a little bit.

I turned 30.  Unfortunately it happened about a month after Grandma passed away, so I was still fresh off of the loss.  My friends threw me a party and I had a lot of fun.  A few of them got super drunk, while I chose to sip my cocktails all night.  It was a great evening full of laughs, and a lot of new memories were made.

I bid adieu to my biological father. Words were said. Calls have since been ignored.

I'm trying to make strides with my writing.  I'm selling short stories on Kindle now. Bev and Roz are making me a few dollars here and there.  I am their madam, and they are my whores. I don't blog so much (duh), and I've been keeping a personal hand written journal.  I wrote a novel this year, but I haven't finished editing and revising it. I'm going to write another one in January.  I've already started it (shhh).

Other than all that, things for me are the same.  I'm still single.  I'm not ready to mingle.  In fact, I'm trying to move on and get over somebody... still. I have faith I will get over him, though, because I don't think it's meant to happen.  If it were meant to happen, it would have happened by now, right?  Right.

From here I plan on working on my writing, myself, my family and my environment.  There are a lot of things about me that need work and focus right now, so that's what I plan to do.  I will do my best not to get side tracked by all the other distractions in life, and, instead, will work on creating the best me I can create.

Ta-ta Readers.  Perhaps I will live to start another blog someday. Until then, just look for me on Kindle.

Santa

I recently asked the children I babysit if they were ready for Santa. The twin 9 year old boys and 11 year old girl all looked at me with a puzzled expression. One of the twins spoke up, saying, "We know he's not real. You don't have to pretend with us." Then I gave him a puzzled expression. Before I could rebut with, "Yes huh he IS real," his twin brother said, "Shut up! She still believes in him!"

It's true... I do. I've believed in the big man since I was a tike sitting on his lap and rambling off my list of Christmas Wishes. When I was around 8 years old, I heard the kids at school talking about how Santa Claus isn't real. Of course I asked my mother about it.

"Of course he's real." She said.

"But the kids at school say that parents are the ones who put the gifts under the tree and eat the cookies and drink the milk."

"The kids at school are wrong."

"But it makes sense. I mean, how can one man get all over the world and visit everybody in one night?"

"Magic."

I will admit that I am quite gullible at times, but even my 8 year old self had a hard time believing this. Especially since all the kids at school were telling me it was a big conspiracy. I decided to save face with my mother and simply pretend to still believe that year. And when I woke up on Christmas morning I made a big production of thanking Santa in order to keep my mother happy. The following year I leveled with her and I told her I knew the truth.

"So, I guess that means you won't be getting as many gifts this year? Santa only brings gifts to children who believe in him."

"Huh?"

"Well, it's simple. If you say you don't believe in him, then he doesn't exist. If he doesn't exist then what's the point in presents?"

Well, I never thought about it like that. She had a point. Like any other child I didn't want a Christmas with no new toys to play with. So, once again I put on an even bigger production of believing in Santa. My plan worked and I didn't get a lump of coal in my stocking.

As the years marched on I made it a point not to question Santa's existence. When my younger step-sister learned the same way I did that "If you want presents, you believe," she, too, shut the hell up.

I guess it is a form of bribery, but really, it isn't. With maturity I understood my mother's motives. She wasn't trying to lie or keep me in the dark. She was simply trying to keep the spirit of gift giving alive. To her, Santa is an invisible force... an anonymous donor of good cheer. He reminds us of the people we love and why we go out of our way to show them how we feel during the holiday season. Plus, he's jolly and surprisingly agile.

Santa takes many forms. He's a Marine collecting new unwrapped toys for children. He's ringing a bell for The Salvation Army outside of the mall. He's an anonymous person paying off layaway tabs at K-mart for total strangers. He's the woman working at the Food Pantry on Christmas Eve. He's inside of each and every one of us. When you least expect it he will show up and make you wonder why you ever doubted his existence at all.

Santa

I recently asked the children I babysit if they were ready for Santa. The twin 9 year old boys and 11 year old girl all looked at me with a puzzled expression. One of the twins spoke up, saying, "We know he's not real. You don't have to pretend with us." Then I gave him a puzzled expression. Before I could rebut with, "Yes huh he IS real," his twin brother said, "Shut up! She still believes in him!"

It's true... I do. I've believed in the big man since I was a tike sitting on his lap and rambling off my list of Christmas Wishes. When I was around 8 years old, I heard the kids at school talking about how Santa Claus isn't real. Of course I asked my mother about it.

"Of course he's real." She said.

"But the kids at school say that parents are the ones who put the gifts under the tree and eat the cookies and drink the milk."

"The kids at school are wrong."

"But it makes sense. I mean, how can one man get all over the world and visit everybody in one night?"

"Magic."

I will admit that I am quite gullible at times, but even my 8 year old self had a hard time believing this. Especially since all the kids at school were telling me it was a big conspiracy. I decided to save face with my mother and simply pretend to still believe that year. And when I woke up on Christmas morning I made a big production of thanking Santa in order to keep my mother happy. The following year I leveled with her and I told her I knew the truth.

"So, I guess that means you won't be getting as many gifts this year? Santa only brings gifts to children who believe in him."

"Huh?"

"Well, it's simple. If you say you don't believe in him, then he doesn't exist. If he doesn't exist then what's the point in presents?"

Well, I never thought about it like that. She had a point. Like any other child I didn't want a Christmas with no new toys to play with. So, once again I put on an even bigger production of believing in Santa. My plan worked and I didn't get a lump of coal in my stocking.

As the years marched on I made it a point not to question Santa's existence. When my younger step-sister learned the same way I did that "If you want presents, you believe," she, too, shut the hell up.

I guess it is a form of bribery, but really, it isn't. With maturity I understood my mother's motives. She wasn't trying to lie or keep me in the dark. She was simply trying to keep the spirit of gift giving alive. To her, Santa is an invisible force... an anonymous donor of good cheer. He reminds us of the people we love and why we go out of our way to show them how we feel during the holiday season. Plus, he's jolly and surprisingly agile.

Santa takes many forms. He's a Marine collecting new unwrapped toys for children. He's ringing a bell for The Salvation Army outside of the mall. He's an anonymous person paying off layaway tabs at K-mart for total strangers. He's the woman working at the Food Pantry on Christmas Eve. He's inside of each and every one of us. When you least expect it he will show up and make you wonder why you ever doubted his existence at all.

Bev and Roz Stalk a Celebrity

From the comfort of their living room and a box of wine in, our favorite old ladies are watching the evening news. They don’t care so much about current events; therefore they gave up watching anything political or local years ago. Now they simply enjoy the trappings of celebrity profiles and hellacious gossip.

Bev is the more constant watcher of these things. The dent in her recliner cushion will agree with that statement. She loves her high definition television and often sits in the dark with only a cloud of cigarette smoke to accompany her.

Roz also likes the gossip shows, but she’s not glued to the television like Bev. She usually spends her evenings tinkering with gadgets or attending secret meetings without Bev’s knowledge. On this particular evening, however, she is propped up against a pillow, enjoying some wine with her good friend as they laugh at the latest celebrity news spewing from the mouth of Ryan Seacrest.

“How cool would it be to actually know a celebrity?” Bev muses as her fuzzy mind gulps down some more White Zinfandel.

“That would be cat’s ass,” Roz replies, “I once met Chevy Chase at a Starbucks, and he hit on me. I didn’t know it was him until after I told him to get lost. Then the Barista informed me that I just turned down a very famous man. His grey hair threw me off.”

“Oh how unfortunate! You could have charmed him into meeting somebody interesting!” Bev replied.

“Oh, yeah? Like who?”

“I don’t know somebody from Saturday Night Live, perhaps?”

“The only good episode of Saturday Night Live from the last twenty years was the one where Betty White hosted the show. You know that. Who would we want to meet from Saturday Night Live?”

“OOOH! Betty WHITE! I LOVE HER! We HAVE to meet her! Roz… seriously… how can we make this happen?”

The wheels in Roz’s head immediately started to turn. Bev could tell her dear friend was thinking hard and felt the need to say, “Think out loud, Roz. I might be able to help.”

“OK. Well let’s start with the internet.”

“That giggle thing?”

“Google, Bev. It’s called Google.”

“Yeah, that thing.”

“Sure, we can start there.” Within a few minutes Roz had her laptop out and was searching feverishly for information about Betty White.

Bev was always amazed at Roz’s ability to comprehend technology. She’s always had her finger on the pulse of what’s new ever since she was an underworld spy and had to use cutting edge technology for her job. Of course, Roz denies being a spy and simply says she’s smarter than the average bear.

It didn’t take any time at all for Roz to locate the name of Betty’s publicist and then hack into the mainframe of said publicist. Bev watched in amazement as Roz furiously scribbled down names, addresses and a schedule of public events at which Betty White would be appearing. Bev started to get excited at the possibility of meeting one of her idols as Roz uncovered more and more information.

By the end of the night, Roz had formed a master plan and at least 5 back up plans of how she and Bev would run into, introduce themselves and eventually befriend the great Betty White. They both slept peacefully in an alcohol induced slumber in front of their television that night.

The first plan of attack would be at a bookstore in LA where Ms. White would be signing copies of “Chicken Soup for the Pet Lover’s Soul” in which she was a contributing author. This required Bev and Roz to fly since they wouldn’t make it across the country in time for the book signing by car. The only hiccup at the airport happened when they inspected Bev’s oxygen tank and found her thermos of wine. When they took it away she screamed at them and Roz had to sweet talk the agents into letting them on the plane.

Once in LA, the ladies rented matching pink scooters (Roz didn’t want to do all that walking, and thought it was unfair for just Bev to have a scooter). They checked into their hotel room and then headed to the book store with a half an hour to spare.

Upon arrival at the book store, they discovered a long line of fans waiting to meet Betty White. They convinced somebody near the front of the line that it was a matter of urgency that they cut. Bev said she forgot her medicine and needed to get back to the hotel in an hour, and they promised they’d be quick. It was a lie, of course, but it worked like a charm.

By the time it was their turn, Bev was beside herself with excitement. Ms. White signed their books and dismissed them as soon as she was done.

“Wait!” Bev said as she was being waved off by security, “I need to talk to her! I need to make her my friend! Wait… BETTY!” But Betty White ignored her pleas as she continued to sign books for other patrons. Bev tried swerving around the security, but to no avail. They both were ushered outside and told not to come back.

“How rude!” Bev exclaimed once they were both outside.

Roz was calmer about the situation and said, “I kind of expected that to happen. It’s time for plan B.”

“What’s plan B?”

“Tomorrow, she’ll be cutting the ribbon at a new animal shelter. We’ll be there for the opening. Let’s hit a liquor store and go back to the hotel for tonight.”

With a resigned sigh, Bev agreed and followed her friend back to the hotel. She set her sights on the following day. Maybe she’d be friends with Betty White yet.

The following day, with filled thermoses and extra packs of ciggs, the ladies buzzed to the event at which they were sure they’d get to meet Betty White for real. This time they got as close as possible to the ribbon and waved fanatically as Betty White walked out with a large pair of scissors.

Ms. White recognized them immediately and whispered to her security guards. Roz was prepared for this and managed to out maneuver them and roll her scooter under the ribbon. She tried to offer Betty some wine, but Betty seemed to be quite scared of her fan’s extra attention. She took off and headed towards her car. The old ladies chased her down and followed her through the crowd of people. Try as they might, their scooters couldn’t keep up with Betty’s car and they lost her far too easily.

Without realizing it Bev and Roz turned onto a street where the Gay Pride Parade was taking place. Pulling out behind the Dykes with Bikes, they swerved into the glittery traffic and were immediately stalled behind slow moving floats.

A couple of young lesbians hopped onto the backs of their scooters, and asked if the old ladies were up for a party. Of course, they were. Bev shared her thermos with the young ladies and when the parade was over they found themselves at a large party in an apartment of a wealthy lesbian. It was there that they discovered how much the gay community loves old ladies. It was also there that Bev discovered pot brownies.

She unknowingly ate two of them before somebody told her to not eat any more. Bev took offense and said, “And why not? One of the great things of being old is overloading on sweets. I’m not worried about calories.”

The polite informant then said, “No… they’re SPECIAL brownies. Two is more than enough to fuck you up.”

Bev soon figured out what the person meant as she was laughing her ass off and helping herself to a huge pile of chips and salsa, “Those brownies are AWESOME! I need the recipe!” Immediately after exclaiming this, a recipe was placed in her hand with a wink from a friendly gay man, “Be careful with this. It’s top secret.” He informed her before walking away.

Bev spent the rest of the evening talking exuberantly about days gone by, and Roz spent the night dancing with gay men and taking off her clothes.

The next day they were both hung-over, but Bev decided she needed those brownies for when she and Betty White became friends. She just knew it would help break the ice between them. She paid a bell boy at the hotel to get her a bag of weed and the needed ingredients to make the brownies. By the afternoon she’d made three different batches of special brownies, and gave one of them to the bell boy for his help.

“Betty will love these tomorrow when we go to her house.”

“If she doesn’t, I think we should stop and get her a bottle of vodka on the way. I read somewhere that she enjoys vodka. No wonder she didn’t want any wine when I offered it to her yesterday.” Roz replied

“Yes, I bet that was the reason, “ Bev said genuinely, “We weren’t prepared with the right gift.”

So, the next day the ladies put on their best dresses and zoomed over to Betty’s house with a bottle of vodka and a batch of special brownies in tow. At home, Betty didn’t worry about having security around because she was convinced that people didn’t know where she lived. Therefore when her doorbell rang she was surprised to see her two most crazed fans waiting on her doorstep.

“Betty!” Bev said as the star stood with a shocked expression, “We brought you gifts!”

Betty White tried closing the door but stopped halfway and said, “Are those… SPECIAL brownies?”

Bev nodded.

“And is that a bottle of vodka?”

Roz nodded.

“Well I’m afraid I have no choice but to let you ladies in.”

Giddy with excitement, Bev and Roz crossed the threshold into the celebrity’s home. They finally did it… they were going to be friends with BETTY WHITE!

She led them to a backyard patio where they all looked out onto a spectacular view of Los Angeles. Betty mixed drinks with the vodka and the ladies enjoyed an afternoon where they were all in stitches and cackling as Betty White regaled them with jokes and funny stories of celebrity run-ins she’s had over the years.

They broke out the special brownies around sunset. The dark night set in, and the ladies laughed wildly as the moon rose over them. Finally, at the end of the night, Betty White showed them to the front door and thanked them for the visit. Bev and Roz felt like they’d made a genuine friend in the comedienne.

Still, the next day, Roz said there was one more event at which they could still run into the celeb. Bev said that she didn’t need to go, because she’d accomplished what she’d come for.

“We’re in LA for one more day. We may as well go and do what we have planned.”

Bev resigned herself to agree, and decided to bring the last batch of brownies since she couldn’t take them on the plane home.

High on brownies and excited about their new friendship, the ladies buzzed their pink scooters to the Los Angeles Zoo where Betty White was scheduled to appear. They enjoyed seeing all the exotic animals and delighted with the children who’d never seen a tiger or a lion before.

Finally they arrived at the spot where Betty White would be making a speech about a grand opening of a new exhibit. They sat in the crowd and waved at their new friend. When Betty White saw them, she didn’t share their enthusiasm.

After her speech she came up to them and said, “Okay. I’ve entertained your crazy ideas that we are actually friends. It’s time for the two of you to leave me alone, please.”

“But, Betty.” Bev and Roz protested simultaneously.

“No buts. I’m serious. If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll be forced to get a restraining order.”

Enraged with anger, Bev revved up her scooter and threatened to run Betty over with it. Roz stopped her and suggested they just go home. Resigned and defeated, Bev agreed. They turned to leave, but Betty had different plans.

She removed a blow-dart gun from her pocket and shot a poisoned dart into Roz’s neck. Roz fell off of her scooter and twitched until she died. Bev’s eyes glared at Betty as she reared her scooter in Betty’s direction. Another poisoned dart landed in Bev’s neck as she obtained the same fate as Roz, falling out of her scooter and twitched on the ground… death fast approaching.

“Nobody stalks Betty White.” Betty said as Bev took her last breath. Betty then leaned over to remove the darts. As she bent over she caught a glimpse of the aluminum foil wrapped brownies in Bev’s bag. She took them and put them (and the recipe which was tucked with them) into her own bag. When the crowd started drawing in, Betty told them that two of her oldest fans were so excited to see her they had simultaneous heart attacks. She yelled for somebody to call 911 with a knowing smile on her face.

Internet Bullies

With each wave of new technology we find ourselves becoming creatures of comfort with them. Thanks to the internet we can now do our banking from home, have groceries and entire wardrobes shipped to us, and with a few clicks of the mouse we can find out what our old high school friends are up to these days. Yes, the internet is a marvelous thing... but with the good you have to expect the bad.

One thing the internet provides is anonymity. There are so many forums where opinions can be expressed without the hassle of providing your real name. Virtual fists get to flying when people can't be expected to be held responsible for any of the words that spew from their hateful little mouths. Did you know there is a website that exists for the sole purpose of letting people within your town talk about any issues they have with the town (or the people in it) without ever having to reveal who they are (or even sign up for an account)? It's called www.topix.com. Look it up... look up your town and enjoy.

And then we have social networking sites like Facebook and MySpace. I haven't checked my Myspace in ages (literally), but I am all over Facebook. The convenience of having all of my friends at my fingertips is indescribable. However, sometimes Facebook is used with more malice intent.

I currently have a handful of people blocked from my page. Several of these people are people I'm actually friends with outside of the internet. We spend a lot of waking hours together, we go out and have drinks, we watch movies, we sit in my back yard and chill. But I cannot allow them access to my Facebook because I can't stand the drama.

There is a certain individual who I've gone round and round with. We all have people like this in our lives, and I'm lucky enough not to have to live in the same state with mine. Because we don't live in the same state, I, honestly, rarely give her any thought. I barely mention her because I barely think about her. She is barely a spec on my radar at any given time.

In fact, the only times I do think about her, or speak of her is when she tries pulling some off the wall crap with me and my friends (and as it turns out, a few of these friends are helping her do this, thus the blockage).

Her latest war with me (or attempted war, because this blog is my first, last and only response to her attempts at garnering my attention) has me penned as the internet bully. She's convinced I'm a gossip monger who is spreading disease about her over the internet and around her home town. She's painted herself as a helpless victim.

She has messaged people in an attempt to get them to confront me on her behalf. She's posted a note about me and tagged several people in it to get them to let me know. She even messaged my mother to vent her issues with me. The only thing she hasn't done is contact me personally. She has my phone number, my email, and (until two minutes before composing this) she wasn't blocked from my Facebook.

She won't contact me, though, because she knows that I haven't said or done anything to her in months. The things she's accusing me of are blatant lies, and I'm not even phased by it anymore. She fails to excite me, rile me up, or get me going. She claims she is going to start ignoring me... well I wish she would already. I've been ignoring her for a long ass time now.

Here's the thing... I'm not an internet bully. I don't harass her, talk about her or post things about her on an anonymous forum. In the past I have had words with her in person about differences between she and I... but when it comes to Facebook I only vent a little and I never name names. When she went to my mother and begged her to "make it stop." I had to laugh. Because, on my end, it's been stopped for a long long time. Me thinks she doesn't want it to stop. She likes the attention and she's confessed to using my words to make herself money... which, as a writer, royally pisses me off. I'm not a fan of plagiarism. And I'm not a fan of internet bullies. Please... you know who you are... leave me alone. This shit is getting old.

Flowers in the Sky

I'm going to pull a little bit on your heartstrings, if I may.

A few years ago my mother watched a television show which talked about different things you could do with your body once you are dead. Up until then she'd always told me she wanted to be cremated, placed in a beautiful urn, and be displayed in either my home or my brother's. She then went on to say that whoever puts her in a closet first and no longer displays her will be haunted by her ghost. Then that television show put a new idea in her head.

Among the many options they reviewed (sending it into outer space, donating it to science, turning it into jewelry) there was one my mother got the most excited about. Fireworks. This expensive alternative highlighted how one's ashes can be packed into several different large fireworks, and then be shot into the sky in an official send off. She suddenly changed her mind and excitedly told me about it. I was less than thrilled.

I actually gave her a look of horror and then immediately had that overwhelming feeling of bursting into tears. I exclaimed that I'd never be able to watch fireworks ever again if she did that... and she'd be gone forever. My brother, however, says that's what we're doing. No question he thinks we should find a way to make it happen when the day comes. I suppose he's right, but the idea still makes me sad.

As time would find out, a couple of years after my mother's revelation, fireworks would come to remind me of somebody else who's no longer with us. Shanna. I wrote about her in my first post on this blog, but I'll recap quickly for those who may not have read it.

Shanna was the first friend I made in first grade. I was new to town, and, other than Mavis and Danielle (both of whom are also no longer with us), I hadn't made any friends yet. Shanna was the first girl to spend the night at my house, where she formed a crush on my brother. It was short lived. We didn't remain close throughout the rest of our school years, but we remained friendly. I always enjoyed running into her and talking with her.

Two years ago, today, she passed away. I'm not getting into specifics about her death, but I will say that she was taken from us too soon. I honestly believe there will not be a Fourth of July for the rest of my life where I won't remember her. It really sucks losing friends when your young.

Yesterday really did seem like a day of remembrance. The patriotic feel does that to people. We remember to be grateful to past generations. We remember the troops who are not given the day off to be with family and friends. And the civilians tend to remember those they've loved who cannot attend this year's BBQ party. Getting older only means there will be more and more people who only live in your memory.

I was fortunate enough to spend the Fourth at a friend's house. I engaged in a lot of fun conversation, ate way too much great food, and even got a little tipsy with some cocktails. We laughed and made a lot of jokes. We gossiped and broke out some opinions. And we felt our hearts sigh when we spoke of the friends we've lost. After the festivities we gathered up our lawn chairs to see the fireworks.

This year my home town put on a show for the first time in two decades. Luck would have it that this display in the sky could be perfectly viewed from my front lawn. A group of roughly thirty of my family and friends clustered up by my house on the hill to see the show. It was magnificent.

There is something so awe inspiring about watching fireworks. You're sitting there quiet, staring at the heavens, gasping at magical nanoseconds of bright, glittery, booming explosions. I don't know about you, but in this quiet head space I think about Shanna. As each explosion forms these beautiful firey flowers in the sky I think of her beautiful daughter. As another one bursts and leaves an imprint of a chandelier in a drifting cloud of smoke my mind travels to a time of younger innocence. I can't help but feel the pure joy the fireworks exude. They are magic, truly.

Now that I think about it... I could not think of a better burial for my mother. Everybody loves fireworks...

The Fear of Being Fearless

As a child it was easy to admit fear. I was afraid of the corner of my grandparent's basement where no natural light ever seemed to infiltrate. I was afraid of Nola... the claw-less attack cat. I was afraid of falling off of high towering objects. Yet, I always ventured into the basement, I tried relentlessly to get that damn cat to like me and I was always climbing on top of things.

As I grew up, though, I stopped conquering my fears by means of facing them. In fact, I steadfastly avoided them at all costs. When I was in school, and I had a crush, I would avoid that crush and hope to God he didn't find out liked him. When I was afraid that my father would disappoint me I'd mask it with a smile and pretend to not be bothered by it. When I was afraid I wouldn't be able to lose weight, I wouldn't even try.

Now as an adult I've come to realize I'm ruled by fear. And, admitting that is scary business. Admitting fear is admitting weakness. It's leaving myself exposed and vulnerable... and that alone is a huge fear of mine.

So why am I doing it? I recently realized that when I'm afraid of something, it seems to come true.

For instance, a couple of years ago I was afraid that the man I was falling for wouldn't ever return my feelings. That fear came true. Then I was afraid he'd find somebody else. That fear came true. Then I was afraid he'd fall in love with her and take a serious step of commitment with her (like moving in together)... that fear also came true. Now, I fear he'll marry her (something he said he had no interest of ever doing). And, I fear that because I fear it... it will come true as well.

I know logically that just because I'm afraid of something happening doesn't mean it's actually going to happen. But I also wonder if being afraid of it isn't the same as knowing it's going to happen but secretly hoping it doesn't. Am I just really bad at accepting things as they are, or am I really, really unlucky?

For a long long time I was afraid of the number 13. My childhood dog died on a Friday the Thirteenth. My grandfather died on November 13. I took a date to a party once, on June 13 (many years ago), and he had sex with somebody else in the bathroom. On another Friday the Thirteenth, my boyfriend showed up to a girls' night out drunk off his ass and embarrassed the hell out of me. The more and more I was afraid of the number, the more bad things started to happen in and around that number. It was as if my negative energy brought on the negative activities.

So, I faced the fear. For the first time since childhood I took an irrational fear and head butted it. I, Destiny Fritz, got the number 13 tattooed onto my body. There's no escaping it now. I even got the tattoo on FRIDAY THE 13TH! I'm surprised I didn't contract a communicable disease, given my fear of the number. So far, it hasn't brought me bad luck. In fact it feels freeing to say "I had this fear... and now I don't. See? I can't be afraid of something tattooed on me." Because no matter what, that number is in my life every day now.

I want to be fearless. I want to love fearlessly. I want to go through my life knowing there's fear, but saying, "Fear... you don't scare me anymore." Because what kind of life is one ruled by fear? How will I ever accomplish anything if I'm afraid of what people will think, what people will say or how it will look? I've come a long way in being a confident, self assured person... but I still have a long way to go.

I think admitting the fear is the first step. When you say you're afraid of something, then you have it out of the way. You've expelled part of the fear and you now have the opportunity to come up with a solution against it, move past it, and just maybe... conquer it.

So what am I afraid of? So many things. I'm afraid I'll never finish a book. I'm afraid I'll never get that book published. I'm afraid I'll never find somebody to fully love me for who and what I actually am. I'm afraid I'll never lose this weight. I'm afraid I'll always be distracted from accomplishing my goals.

Now that I've said all of that out loud, I'm going to work on ways to solve those fears. I'm going to take them, crush them, and prove them wrong. Who's with me? Who wants to get rid of the fear?