Father's Day

When I was 6 years old my mother and father split up. It happened in the Spring of 89' and my mother found herself acting as both parental roles in my and my brother's life. It makes sense that on Father's Day that year we went to a St. Louis Cardinal's game instead of a cookout where fatherhood is celebrated. It would be the first of many Father's Days to come where I didn't see my father or get to wish him a Happy Father's Day.

Despite my dad's general lack of a presence in my life, I never really went without a father figure. For many years I looked to my grandfather to fill this role. He was a very funny man, and he was gifted with colorful word choices. If I spilled food on my shirt while eating he'd tell me to "eat like I'm riding into the wind." He was a biker, and this phrase was his way of telling me to lean over my dinner plate. If I choked on something or had a coughing fit he'd say, "Block her Henry!" I never quite figured that one out, but it was usually accompanied with a swift blow to my back to help me survive the moment. When he watched the news he called it "Library hour," and when he took a nap he called it "Happy Hour." Both phrases were his way of telling me to pipe down and be quiet for a little while. He also had the uncanny ability to assign outlandish nicknames that stuck for people he was fond of (I was Junior or Rerun). I find myself with his sense of humor inside of me. When I say something witty or give somebody a random nick name I think of him and silently thank him for his genes and his remarkable influence on my life.

When I was 12, my mother met my step-father, Terry. Through the years I've never started calling him Dad, but in a round-about way... he has become exactly that. When I'm talking to friends (or even random people) and I use the term "my parents" I am referring to my mother and my step-father. I've even referred to him as my dad or my father when talking ABOUT him. For some reason, though, I've never felt the need to actually address him as such.

The time when I first felt like he was taking a fatherly role in my life was when I was 13. I came home from a dance at school bawling my eyes out. I can't remember the name of the boy I liked back then, but he had been at the dance with another girl. It devastated me. Terry took me to get ice cream (always a good call) and he told me I was beautiful and that boy was a jerk for not seeing this about me. He said not to worry, there will be more boys. He made me feel better. He took my broken little heart and put a band-aid on it. At the time he and my mom weren't even engaged yet, but I hoped he would stick around forever.

I was there when he proposed. My mother, Terry and I were laying on a blanket in my grandparent's back yard. It was late August and we were watching the meteor showers. Only the crickets made noise as we lay in silence watching the sky. Then, out of nowhere, Terry says to my mother, "You're going to marry me, aren't you?" My mother simply said, "Yes, I am." There was no excitement. There was no ring. He didn't get down on one knee and make a speech. He simply said what was on his mind, and my mother simply replied. It took a moment for me to realize what just happened and I shot up and said, "Did you just propose to Mom?" He said, "Yeah, I think I did."

That was that. Within a year or so they were married. I was the maid of honor, and my brother gave her away. On that day our little family of three grew sizably. Not only did we gain a step-father, but we also gained two step sisters (one of whom had a baby girl) and a step brother.

Through the years Terry has been my rock more times than I'd like to admit. He taught me how to drive. He taught me how to fish. He participated in lengthy discussions about life with me. When I was 16 he helped all of us get through my grandfather's passing. He's fixed my curling irons, my car, and numerous other objects when they broke down. He went with me to the vet's office when I had to put down my childhood pet. And when I got my heart broken as an adult, he was there again with words of encouragement. In all senses of the word, except the biological sense, he has been my dad for a very long time.

In the meantime, my biological father and I had a rather rocky relationship. We had arguments and falling outs. We said things that I'm sure we both regret. We went years without speaking to each other. As of right now I haven't seen him face to face for 14 years. That's half of my life. But, as of last summer, we are communicating again.

As an adult I can look back and see the mistakes I've made with him. I was a child then, and many of them can be excused or explained by age. I also manage to see his mistakes in a clearer light. I've forgiven him completely because I know he didn't realize the monumental mistakes he was making as he made them. And holding onto that anger only makes me an angry person. I can honestly say that I love him... but he's never been a permanent fixture in my life. He's never been who I ran to when my car or my heart was broken.

This year, for the first time in over 20 years, I told him Happy Father's Day. I left it as a message on his Facebook wall. It was posted there right next to another salutation left by a young woman in his new life with his new wife. This young woman, I assume, sees him as a father figure in her life. And even though I have an amazing father in Terry, part of me is insanely jealous that my dad obviously got it right with somebody else. Where was that for me? Am I being selfish to wonder that, and wish for it a little bit? Because, you see, when I was deciding on a picture of my dad to post as my profile pic, I chose one of me and Terry. I'm sure that caused a twinge of jealousy in my father's heart. For that reason, alone, I have no right to be jealous... yet I am.

Buck up, Destiny. I tell myself that, because when I look at Terry I'm amazed at how good of a dad he is. He has excellent relationships with his daughters. He's currently helping one of them out who is coping with her own broken heart. She's like a sister to me, and I love being able to say that. This year on Father's Day he stepped up in a way that no father is required to, and in a way that some fathers never do. The thirteen year old inside of me is beaming because when I wished he'd stick around forever... that wish came true. One day when he's dancing with me at my wedding I'll thank my lucky stars that there are men in this world who are fathers to girls who don't share a shred of DNA with them.

Happy Father's Day... a day late.

Repeat Offender

Oh how nice it must be to have all that attention from him. He treats you like a goddess doesn't he? He calls and texts you regularly, and he takes you out and shows you a nice time whenever you ask him to. He probably tells you that you're beautiful, and sweet, and funny, and sexy. And I know you love it. What woman wouldn't?

He's not the first, though. He won't be the last. There is something about you that draws men in. They want you. They need you. They have to have you. Normal, upstanding, goodhearted men turn into dumb, ignorant, cavemen around you. You must put out some sort of pheromone to get this attention. I can't figure it out, but you'll never be lacking for the attention of a man.

The downside to always being the recipient of male attention is always being the recipient of negative female attention. Most of the women I know can't stand you. I think part of it is jealousy. They wish they received the validation that you get from men. Or you are receiving the validation from the man they want, or the man they had. That can spark rage inside any woman's heart.

The jealousy turns into disrespect quickly. Women talk, and, before you know it there are rumors about you floating around. Some of them are true. Some of them are not true. Still you hold your head high and you continue your path of destruction. You go from one guy to the next. As long as there is a line of men who are willing to show you the attention you so badly crave, there will be a longer line women ready to discredit your name anytime it's mentioned.

I've found that it's not always women who are quick to bad mouth you, either. You tend to infiltrate groups of guy friends. When one of them doesn't work out for you, you float to another one... and then another one. Before you know it you've made your way through the group of friends, and they all think bad things of you. They tell their friends, who tell their girlfriends. And then half the population of an entire town knows about you without actually knowing you. It's sad really.

It all reads as insecurity. You leave yourself open to this interpretation. It makes sense, though, because what self respecting girl would spread herself around like that? The proof is in the pudding sweetheart. It wouldn't be so negatively put upon you if you seemed to have standards, or morals, or remorse for when you actually hurt people.

You do hurt people, you know. You hurt a lot of women who date these guys. Although, I kind of think you do these women a favor by showing them how much of a dog their man can be. Sure, he can smell the scent you're putting out there, but if he were seriously committed to another woman then he wouldn't fall for your charms. When he does... that other woman should see the light.

But, you also hurt guys. Because not all of these guys who go after you are dogs. Not all of them are previously attached to another girl. Some of them are really good guys at the core. They're hard working. They are genuine. They aren't assholes... not all of them. And you lead them on. You make them believe you are in it to win it. But then somebody else picks up what you throw out there and you can't turn down that attention. You'll either cheat on that good man or toss him aside with the evening trash. And then he's devastated. He never saw it coming.

Well, he might have seen it coming if you had been honest from the get go about the kind of person you are. But you're never honest from the beginning of anything. You pretend. You figure out what it is that they are into... where their passion lies. Then you pretend their passion is your passion. You don't have an opinion of your own (not one you'd actually say during these preliminary periods) and you certainly won't show them anything that's real about you. You only put on this little show, which makes them think they've struck gold. Finally... a woman who is exactly what he wants... only because she makes herself appear that way, fellas.

Eventually those true colors show, though, don't they darling? It's hard as hell and exhausting as fuck to keep all that up. You might wait until you have another man waiting in the wings to let these real facets of your personality shine through, or you find yourself slipping and showing them too early. However it happens, he will start to see he was duped. You're not the girl he thought you were... instead you are an immature drip of a person who can't take responsibility for her own actions. And when he calls you on it, you will call him an asshole and blame him for everything wrong about the pretend relationship the two of you just had.

Never fear, though, sweetheart. There's another man waiting to woo you. And it doesn't matter that you were only thinking of him as a friend just a week ago. He's here now... and he's giving you that attention. He's distracting you from the last guy. He validates your existence... and he starts the process all over again.

The real bitch of it is, you're not a bad person. You actually do have a good personality. You just decide to shelve it and swap it out for whatever it is you think this guy wants you to be. I wish you'd be honest with yourself... for once... you might find somebody you don't have to play games with or be fake with. Then it won't matter what anybody says or what you've done in the past, because you'll finally realize that it's not about them... it's not about pleasing them, getting them to notice you... it's about making you happy and respecting yourself enough to stop this very destructive behavior.

Revision

Over the last week I have found myself among some pretty influential company. My dearest friends.

The unfortunate event of a death in the family brought home Rob. He recently moved out east and had been enjoying coastal living when he was informed that his cousin died in a drunk driving accident. He made his way back to Illinois to pay his respects. While he was home I had the pleasure of spending a couple of evenings with him. As usual, these evenings were soaked with alcohol, long conversations, laughter and insight.

He and I have never lacked for conversation, and we've never been afraid to delve into ourselves during these conversations. We will talk about anything from broad topics like religion and politics to more focused points such as personal growth and internal struggles. Through these rather therapeutic discussions I've learned more about myself, and my own capabilities. One of the things he said this week was "Let go of your ego."

I don't consider myself to be terribly egotistical, but, I suppose everybody is to an extent. Letting go of one's ego is probably an entirely impossible task. I'm sure even the most silent monk will still think of himself more than he thinks of others. It's a natural instinct. However, Rob had a point. If I let go of my ego, I will essentially make myself more useful to others. By making myself more useful, I become a better person. When that happens I can think of myself in a better way... therefore boosting my ego. Does that make sense at all?

Rob wasn't the only friend challenging me in my journey called life this last week. My friend, Jessica, unknowingly joined him. She recently obtained her Master's Degree in Social Work, and she's a victim of the economy. She's keeping tabs on how many resume's she has sent out and she's rapidly approaching the number 50. Surely she's also doing a lot of her own soul searching.

I told her I have a new outlook on life. I've decided that no definition can be applied to me. I've observed that people tend to define themselves, each other, and their situations. They say to themselves, "Am I better than he is because I have a better job?" Or they assign definitions to those individuals who they feel threatened by. Through doing this we limit ourselves and our peers. So I've decided I have no definition, and if you want to define me I will defy your definition. I will not fit into your category and you can't make me.

As I explained this to her she played devil's advocate and said to me, "If there were one thing you could change about yourself, what would it be?" I came up with an answer quickly, though I won't share it here. It's private. She said it wasn't society that wants this from me, it's me. And changing myself won't change my definition since I refuse to have one. She's a smart one... and she managed to get me to do even more thinking.

As you may have noticed I've changed the look of my blog. I am no longer mundane and predictable. I'm revising my life and taking power over it. These changes are happening and they will take place. I'm not resistant to them.

Thank you, my friends, for being who you are. You push the limits and dare to ask questions. This is why I love you. Don't stop doing it, because through your bravery and your insight I am propping myself up and moving forward. I love you all so so much.

Bev and Roz Escape the Nursing Home

"This is why I never had kids. They always turn on you." Roz is fuming as she breaks open the tap on a new box of wine. Once her glass is filled and she draws a long sip from it she continues, "Can you believe it Bev? Lily's own children sent her to that... that... that PLACE! Gah! It's so evil I refuse to even mention it!"

"You mean the nursing home?" Bev hands her glass to Roz, who refills it for her, "Yes... THAT place. It's so awful. We HAVE to break her out."

Roz has always had a flair for the dramatic. And when she gets an idea in her head, she rarely lets it go. She sits on the couch and thinks. Bev watches her dear friend. When Roz gets worked up she can't sit still. Her foot twitches and she smokes one cigarette right after the other.

Bev tries to offer her some comfort, "Well, maybe Lily LIKES the nursing home?"

"Don't be naive, Bev. NOBODY likes the nursing home. It's the pound for old people... except nobody wants to adopt Grandma and buy her a chew toy."

Bev thought for a moment, "We could go visit her..."

Roz snapped at her, "And run the risk of those vile people capturing us?" Roz was sure nursing homes were just waiting for the elderly to walk in so they could snatch them up and make them play bingo for hours on end, "Besides they wouldn't let us bring wine to her. I'm sure she could use a drink, too."

"Then what do you propose we do?" Bev lit a cigarette only to have Roz steal it from her chubby fingers. So, Bev lit another one.

"First, we have to do some re-con. We need to figure out the best time to get her out of there, AND we need to get her co-operation."

"What if she doesn't want to escape."

"Bev... stop asking so many questions and just get on board already." Bev laughed, "Okay Roz... let's help somebody escape from a nursing home."

The re-con was easy. All they needed to do was rent a car, sit in the parking lot at night and watch the activities happening around the nursing home. The original plan was to nab her during a smoke break, but it turns out the nursing home no longer lets the residents smoke... not even outside. What a crock!

It was obvious from the beginning that the escape would have to happen after 6 pm and before 9 pm. This seemed to be the time when visitors were still coming and going, the managers and office people were gone for the day, and the doors weren't locked. Also a lot of the group activities happened in the evening hours, and the mass confusion would help their plot.

Roz refused to step inside the facility before the actual plan was underway, but Bev was brave enough to go in and have a meeting of the minds with Lily. She found Lily in her room, sitting in a wheel chair watching the Price is Right.

"Drew Carey is no Bob Barker." Lily turned at the sound of Bev's voice and smiled at her visitor.

"BEV! What a nice surprise!"

"Why are you in a wheel chair?"

"They put everybody in one. It helps them corral us for dinner." Lily stood up, quite easily and on her own. She crossed the room to lean over Bev's large body and hug her old friend.

"You seem capable of independence, why did your kids put you in here?"

Lily sighed and sat on her bed, "They said it would be easier to take care of selling the house and getting everything in order. They act like I'm going to die tomorrow. Ever since Harold died..." Lily's eyes teared up, "They act like I can't take care of myself. They worry."

Bev shook her head, "You don't deserve to be here. You're not sick! You're not even that old!"

Lily laughed, "Sometimes I have to remember that I'm not 30 anymore."

Bev reached into the bag which was tethered to her scooter and produced a thermos, "Want some?"

Lily grinned, "What is it?"

"Does it matter?"

"No!" Bev poured some of the liquid into the lid of the thermos and handed it to Lily. Lily took a sip and said, "mmmm... that's the shit."

"Roz and I want to get you out of here." Bev said as Lily emptied the lid and asked for more.

"Oh, Roz! Where is she? I want to see her. She's so much fun."

"She's refusing to enter until we break you out." Lily grinned and said, "Are the two of you scheming on my behalf?"

"Well, that depends if you're up for a scheme or not."

"Only if you two have a pack of smokes waiting on the other side for me."

"Deal." Bev was glad to see it didn't take much convincing. Over the next hour they went over the details of Lily's escape. By the time Bev left, Lily was nice and liquored up. Bev left her to her soap operas and reported back to Roz, "It's a go. We strike tonight."

At 7 o'clock the bingo started in the main dining room. The nurses and nurse's aides who weren't dealing with the activity were busy giving showers to other residents and/or putting them to bed. Lily told one of the aides she'd like to sit outside. The aide told her no, since there wouldn't be anybody to keep an eye on her. Bev and Roz's plan hinged on Lily being allowed outside, and the sudden change in plan put a large kink in that.

Luckily Roz had a back up plan. She'd been watching each worker enter and leave the building. There were a series of codes that needed to be punched in to work the doors. The front door had a different one than the side and back door. Also, to exit the building there was a different button/code to use on each door.

Bev waited in the car. She was an excellent get-away driver, and it was easier for her to wait and Roz to maneuver. Roz waited until the Bingo game was in full swing and she chose the side door. She punched in the code and entered quietly. Following Bev's instructions she found Lily's room. She dodged a few workers while roaming the large building, but managed to find the room without being seen. Lily was waiting with a duffle bag packed.

Together they went through the hallways deftly and found the side door. Roz punched in the code and they were out. Within seconds they were in the car and Bev took off. They all cackled loudly.

"What a rush!" Lily exclaimed, "I never felt so alive!"

Bev and Roz both knew it was only a matter of time before they were found out, so they decided to live it up while they had time. They hit a club where the doorman almost didn't let them in, until Roz informed the young man that she knew his grandfather, and she also knew several pressure points that would debilitate him in an instant. Somehow, that convinced the guy to let them past the velvet rope. He was either scared, or figured they wouldn't be any harm anyway.

The music was loud and the bartender refused to take Bev's Senior Discount Card, so they left. They found a liquor store, stocked up on wine and cigs and headed back to Bev and Roz's apartment. They partied all night long. They cackled as they all recalled stories which had been long forgotten or retold millions of times.

Lily passed out first and then Bev and Roz continued the party outside on the patio. They each passed out in lawn chairs like a couple of college kids.

The next day Lily's kids were pounding on the front door. When Bev answered it she was blurry eyed and hungover. "Where is our mother?"

Bev played innocent, "Didn't you put her in a nursing home?"

"Yes, and yesterday somebody in a scooter visited her, and then she disappeared. WHERE IS SHE?"

Bev sighed and knew the party was over. She opened the door and allowed Lily's kids in. Lily was in the kitchen making breakfast.

"Come on Mom, we're leaving." Lily's oldest son said as he attempted to grab her arm.

"I'm not going anywhere!" Lily demanded, "I'm making breakfast. And I raised you better than to grab a woman like that. Let go of me right now."

Lily's authoritative tone shocked Bev, and it worked on her son. He let go of her and backed off.

"Why did you run away?"

"Because that place is awful. Would you like a pancake dear?"

"No. I want you to go back to the nursing home."

"Well, that's not happening. What about you, Melissa. Would you like a pancake?" Lily offered breakfast to her daughter who, up until now, hadn't said a word. She politely declined.

"I know Bev wants one, don't you?" Bev nodded. She was starving. Roz stumbled into the room just then and said, "Well hell... the gang's all here."

"I should've known you'd be in on this. You ruined my graduation party." Lily's son started in on Roz but before Roz could bite back at him Lily interrupted, "That's no way to speak to somebody in their home. Besides, your graduation party was lame until Roz spiked the punch and started singing karaoke."

Roz grinned at him as Lily rested a hot pancake on her plate. Both Bev and Roz started eating their breakfast as Lily explained to her children that she would like to stay in this apartment. Bev started to protest that they might not have enough room, but she couldn't speak for some reason. She looked over to Roz and the look on Roz's face mirrored Bev's.

It dawned on both of them that their breakfast had been poisoned. Lily continued to talk to her kids, "I think the apartment will be up for rent soon, and I can afford it on my fixed income." Bev and Roz both struggled to hang on to their lives, but within minutes both of them fell out of their chairs. Lily stood up and asked her children to leave, "If you'll excuse me now... I have to call the Coroner."

Cubic Zirconia in the Rough

As I apply my perfect smoky eye for a Friday Night Karaoke session I jam out to some Pat Benetar and Heart. I'm preparing for a fun night in which I will be a microphone whore and a beer drinking fool. Trust me, I'm a fun time. But I'm not getting ready for a date. No, I'm meeting up with a girlfriend.

A little over a week ago I met a guy. Believe me when I say I had a wonderful time with him. The time flew by like it was nothing and he had me laughing and hanging on his every word. He wasn't particularly charming or even very good looking, but I went with it. I went with it because it's rare for me to find a guy I genuinely enjoy spending time with. Also, it's rare when that guy also thinks I'm beautiful, and a catch, and he can't wait to see me again. Honestly, I felt like I had found something worth exploring.

So why am I not going on a date with him tonight? It's a Friday night... an optimal night for young single twenty-somethings of the opposite sex to mingle in the night life. The opportunity for romance is afoot, is it not?

Well, it seems his interest has waned. Is it embarrassing for me to admit that I didn't manage to hold a guy's interest for longer than a week? Frankly, yes. It is embarrassing for me to admit that. I get told by my friends that I'm beautiful, funny, charismatic, smart, and a really fun time. I know for a fact that I'm not particularly clingy and I like to go with the flow when it comes to guys (something Cosmo tells me guys LOVE).

So here's the break down. This guy texted me a lot right away. Now I'm not a huge phone person. Yes, I have a smart phone and I keep it near my side most of the time, but I don't check it constantly. It's rare that I'll be huddled up in the corner with my face in my phone while I converse with somebody who isn't in the room. I prefer face to face contact. I tend to leave my phone unattended when I'm at home. It will be in my bedroom while I'm vegging out to netflix in the living room. So I have to be honest when I say that I didn't answer every single one of his texts. When I explained this to him, he stopped texting me constantly. I saw this as a good sign, right? He's able to listen and adjust, correct?

No. He went to the complete opposite end of the spectrum and stopped texting unless I texted him first. Okay, fine... I guess I asked for that one. So, I played into his little game. And that's how I viewed it... as a game. Also, in the back of my mind, I saw it as pouting because I wasn't conforming to his need for constant attention.

And that brings me to the next subject. After one date this guy felt the need to make several sexual innuendos towards me. If we were talking late at night on the phone he mentioned having a "kickstand." Which I steadfastly ignored. I'm not a prude, trust me on that, but I do like to take my time before reaching that level with a guy. I've had my phase of going through men like kleenex and I'm done with it. I've also had a friend with benefits in the past. I'm also done with that. Now I'm looking for a guy for the long haul, and call me old fashioned, but I think there are some things that are better left to the imagination until a little ways down the road. Sex can ruin a good thing. And I thought I had a good thing going with him.

After turning down his requests time and time again (these requests consisted of me driving an hour and a half to spend the night with him, send him naughty pictures of myself and so on), he's decided to not return any of my phone calls or texts. He swore up and down he was wanting to get to know me and actually date me. He told me it wasn't only about sex, but that he's a guy and I can't blame him for thinking about it. Yet, here I am high and dry because I wouldn't get down and wet with him. This sudden about face only makes me happier that I didn't give it up to him.

While the whole sex conversation so soon makes me nervous... it also makes me something else: feeling very disrespected. I realize men have urges and they supposedly think about sex more than women do (though crash any girl's night out and you'll hear some pretty raunchy talk going on). But we live in a world full of sexual crime. When a woman is sexually attacked it's very HARD for her to open up sexually to a new man. It takes time and patience and lots of understanding. Guess what? She probably won't clue you in to the fact that this is WHY she wants to take things slow. So as you're jabbering on about your kickstand she's fretting over how it's going to feel when you touch her or kiss her. Will it trigger a bad memory? Will she be able to take it? Men don't think about this... they don't think about how their words and their incessant nagging on the topic is very un-nerving and sometimes... highly inappropriate.

I guess another one bites the dust. Honestly, I'm not too worried about it. I know I'll find my diamond in the rough... if he's meant to be found. And when I do, he'll understand my need to take things slow in order to preserve the good. When things ARE taken slow... it's so much better anyway. But tonight... me and my perfect eye make up are hitting the town and belting some high notes. I just hope I don't make the cats cry with me.

Destination... Nobody Knows.

She walks. And although she's out of breath and her side hurts, she continues to walk. Her rapid pulse thumps in her ears and her sweat drips down her neck. A cool breeze wafts through and it cools the paths of sweat on her face. Her smile shows appreciation to Mother Nature for this simple gift.

She only halts when her path changes. She stops and thinks to herself, "Will I be able to return on this same path when I come back? Will I get lost, or give up? Or will there be no turning back?"

Usually she silences these seeds of self doubt and trudges on in spite of them. If the down slope is steep she simply tells herself she'll work extra hard to climb back up it upon her return... if she ever returns. She's been walking for a while now and hasn't turned around yet.

She glances back to see how far she's come. She can't even see where she started. This makes her smile but it also strikes fear into her heart. She fears that she's truly alone in this. She fears her path was only made for her to trudge through... that nobody else will ever join her.

She fantasizes as she walks. After all it's just her, her heavy breath, her sweat, her pulse, and her thoughts on this journey. Those thoughts are her only companion, though she secretly longs for a real companion. When others ask her about it, she shrugs and says she enjoys her time alone. In reality, she'd enjoy it a lot more if it weren't a solitary trudge but rather a lazy stroll while holding somebody else's hand. The progression of this thought always leads to the same place... thoughts of the one who once did that very thing with her... lazy stroll, hand in hand.

Her thoughts dictate her speed. As she thinks of him she goes faster. She may even break into a light jog as she tries to outpace the memory. She can't out run his memory, though. He steals into her mind whenever he damn well feels like it. His laugh. His quirky sense of humor. His... everything. It all reminds her. And, even though she doesn't think about him all the time, when she does think about him he's all she can think about. Eventually the thoughts turn dark as she recalls how he left. Then she remembers how he stayed gone... and now she has to pretend she's okay with it. She's not. Her sweat blends with her tears as she struggles to keep some composure.

She walks until she’s no longer in the city, the town, the village where she lives. She's on a country road and there isn't a house for miles. She finds a patch of trees and she seeks shelter in their shade. The breeze blows as she sits on a large rock. Finally she's found enough solitude so she can cry. She does. She heaves a heavy sob until her strength is depleted and she can sob no more.

When she's done she stands up, stretches, and decides to keep walking. Where to? Nobody, not even she, herself, knows.

Will You Go To The Prom With Me?

Inhale deeply. Tell me what you smell? Try to sniff past the smell of fresh cut grass and blooming flowers. If you have allergies go ahead and sneeze a few times, but then I want you to concentrate. Close your eyes and focus. Zero in on the corsages, the taffeta, the tiaras and the limousines. Feel the excitement and last minute date scramble. Taste the punch and the hours-de-ourves. Hear the thumping music just before the DJ announces the last slow dance. Now open your eyes and see the balloons, the dance floor, the young people glammed up in tuxedos and formal dresses, and gaze at the sparkling decorations. Have a seat and take in your surroundings... You're at the prom.

The Prom is always the climax of a teen drama. Everything in a teen movie happens at the prom. The unsuspecting girl is named Prom Queen. That high school crush finally makes the transition from fantasy to reality. Virginities are lost. Rivalries cemented. You name it... it can happen at the prom... in Hollywood.

In reality prom is just like any other dance. There are couples slow dancing. There are girls dancing in groups. The decorations and dresses all resemble the same decorations and dresses of the past generations. There are flowers pinned to jackets and strapped around wrists, and at the end of the night your life is still the same as it was at the beginning of the night (with the exception of your feet throbbing and aching from the shoes and the dancing). Chances are, Prom is just another event to remember years down the road where nothing significant happened.

I went to Prom my junior and senior years in high school. I went dateless both years (that shouldn't be surprising since I'm perpetually single and I seem to have more fun that way). My school had Post Prom (which was the school's way of keeping the teens from drinking and having sex). Since I was a goodie two shoes in HS, I spent the entire night after prom in the high school gym playing games and getting attendance prizes. I had fun. I went to prom and I had fun.

A friend of mine (one that I graduated with ten years ago) was asked to Prom this year (seriously). The guy who asked her is 18 years old and, evidently, infatuated with her. While he's not exactly jail bait, I think he'd be better off asking a girl his own age. If you think about it... the last time my friend went to prom, this kid was in the second grade. He was just learning his cursive letters. His biggest academic hurdle was distinguishing his r's from his n's. I told her if she were meant to go to prom with him, she should have done it back then... it would have been cuter than a 27 year old showing up wearing a dress and a corsage. Of course, she declined his flattering offer.

It's got me thinking, though. I want to go to Prom again. Like I said, I had fun at the first two, but I want to go to another one. But I'd like to go to an adult prom. I want a prom with booze. I want to go to prom without the awkward feeling that accompanies adolescence. I want a prom without the chaperons. I want to get all dressed up in a formal dress, get my hair teased, combed, curled and pinned into place secured with an entire bottle of hairspray. I want to dance, and dance, and dance, and then dance some more. I think I still want to go dateless. When I went stag I managed to dance with all the other girls' dates. That's a trend I'll keep from the first time around.

I guess we already have adult versions of Prom. Weddings tend to get us to dress up and dance. I guess the bride and groom are comparable to the king and queen, but the major differences are the dresses. At a wedding the bride is guaranteed to have the best dress in the room. At prom, all the girls are wearing something fabulous. All the girls are well put together. All the guys are wearing tuxedos... not just a select few like you'd have at a wedding. Everybody's dressed to the nines and look their best. You can't really get that at a wedding. There's always some redneck cousin wearing jeans, thereby ruining any sort of dress code in place.

The more affluent adults find themselves at elite parties which would be more comparable to The Prom. Dress codes at certain events, fundraisers, extravaganzas can mimic that of a prom. I suppose if you're rich you can show up to an event like this in a chaffered vehicle. For the economically blessed and the social elite, the invitations to these galas are always coming in. They may even be jaded to this lifestyle and don't find it as glamorous shiny as I would.

Why can't we "salt of the earth" peeps get a big dance? I realize it costs a lot of money to do a big event like that. With the cost of admission, the dress or the tux, the limo, etc the grand total is a hefty one. Because of that, my dream of the adult prom will probably never see fruition. I turn 29 this year... and I'm thinking for my 30th I want something fancy. I want to get all dressed up and I want everybody else to get dressed up, too. The theme? Will be The Prom. It's decided so don't try to talk me out of it.