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In my heart there’s flowers growin’,
On the grave of our old love

There are two kinds of people: selfish and selfless. While it may seem noble to be among the selfless, it’s also very painful. We bear the burden of the selfish. We may sleep well at night knowing we’ve done right by those around us, but we are forever at the mercy of those ready to trample us for their own gain or amusement. But do selfish people really think they’re doing anything wrong?

I don’t think people like Fizzy think of themselves as bad people. Sure, in the cosmic good/ bad scheme of things they are unquestionably the bad ones, but they must be able to justify their actions to themselves. How else can they make it through the day? I get caught up wondering stuff like “how could she?” or “why did she?” when I really should just chalk it up to the fact that it’s her nature. A selfish person takes it for granted that acting out of self interest is acceptable, rational behavior. The pain they cause those left in their wake is to them probably some sort of unfortunate byproduct that can’t be avoided. “Better you than me” most likely sums up their attitude.

I remember so many things that I should have seen as signs, but I failed to read them at the time. I was blinded by love, as they say. I remember how she always stole things from her workplace, or how she lied to her parents and sisters all the time. I remember her one day cutting all ties with her then best friend, and never telling her why or even looking back. Somehow, it never registered to me that one day I might be on the receiving end of such behavior.

So what have I learned from Fizzy? Many things, both good and bad. I know what it means to be in love with someone. Moreover, I understand that love transcends all rational thought. I know what she did was wrong, and I know I shouldn’t love her anymore, but I still do. I hope I’ll fall out of love, and if I do, I now know what true love is, and I forever have a barometer by which to measure future emotions. I’ve also learned to try not to let love blind me. I placed unconditional trust in her. I overlooked the aforementioned telltale signs, and it was my downfall. I know better now. I’m confident that one day I’ll be ready to try again with someone new, and I know better than to let my guard down. I think I can eventually trust someone again, but it won’t be without careful consideration. I know I can never be 100% sure about anyone, but maybe I can be sure enough to try again. Maybe.

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Since MySpace is all the rage these days, here is the latest ridiculous “survey” that I’ve filled out there, saved here for posterity. And for future embarrassment.

9 lasts.
last cigarette: I don’t smoke, but I had my last pretend cigarette whilst getting air outside at the Chinese Hospital casino bash
last beverage: coffee at Fenton’s
last kiss: friendly? Chloe, unless I kissed Josh tonight. I think I only bundled him up. romantic? Tzuen.
last cd played: actual CD? Brian Jonestown Massacre. Last song, Joy Division is playing now.
last bubble bath: at the Madonna Inn in October of ’04 with She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named
last time you cried: this morning :/
last time you laughed: Moments ago whilst foos-balling with a super-stoned Josh

8 have you evers.
have you ever dated one of your best friends: no
have you ever skinny dipped: no. wait, yes. forevs ago
have you ever kissed somebody and regretted it: boy howdy have I ever
have you ever fallen in love: yes
have you ever lost someone you loved: yes
have you ever been depressed: consult previous blogs…
have you ever been drunk and threw up: *nod*
have you ever ran away: no. but ask me again in a couple weeks.

7 states you’ve been to.
1. Alaska
2. New York
3. Michigan
4. Arkansas
6. Hawaii
7. Texas

6 things you’ve done today.
1. got drunk
2. ate cheeseburgers, plural
3. listened to music
4. read comics
5. wilded in the streets with Teddie, Bronson, Kevin, Josh, and Nick
6. sent a fax

5 favorite things in no order.
1. my friends
2. being massaged
3. cooking
4. her, but not the her you think I mean
5. film noir

4 people you can tell [almost] anything to.
1. Teddie
2. Kathryn
3. Chloe
4. Diane

3 wishes.
1. to be happy again
2. to trust again
3. to love again

2 things you want to do before you die.
1. spend time in at least 50 countries
2. find out why

1 thing you regret.
1. trusting her, the bad her

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She walks in
beauty like
the night
Discarding
her clothes
in the
plastic
flowers
Pornographic
and tragic
in black
and white.
My Marilyn
come
to my slum
for an
hour
I’m aching
to see my
heroine.

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Maybe, maybe it’s the clothes we wear,
The tasteless bracelets and the dye in our hair,
Maybe it’s our kookiness,
Or maybe, maybe it’s our nowhere towns,
Our nothing places and our cellophane sounds
Maybe it’s our looseness

But we’re trash, you and me,
We’re the litter on the breeze,
We’re the lovers on the street,
Just trash, me and you,
It’s in everything we do

A friend recently chastised me for, as she put it, “associating with trash.” Apparently, many of my friends aren’t ambitious or “going places” and I’d be better suited to hang out with young lawyers and other motivated and soon-to-be-wealthy professionals. My initial reaction was shock at hearing one friend describe the rest our friends as trash. I happen to think they’re great people, or else I wouldn’t be friends with them. After a moment something else occurred to me: what the hell makes me any different? If they’re trash, aren’t I trash, too? My friend explained that yes, I am trash as well but I have a decent-paying job and have saved some money, so I’m above them. She described me as “trash with money.”

This did not sit well with me. I tried to see the side of the friend who said these things to me, but her attitude is diametrically opposed to everything I believe in. The more I’ve mulled it over, however, the more I see that she is right, to an extent. Just like Brett Anderson wrote in this post’s epigraph, we ARE trash. I’ve been trash all my life. Proudly so. I grew up poor, in one of the “bad parts” of Los Angeles. My father would routinely come home from work after having been robbed, once whilst tied up and at gunpoint. I remember my mother sometimes buying two fast food cheeseburgers and cutting them into pieces to feed three of us. For most of my childhood, my clothes were ordered from the Sears-Roebuck catalog. Going out to eat meant Taco Bell or McDonald’s– Sizzler if it was a special occasion.

My job often entails me interacting with moneyed folks, and by and large I find I have nothing whatsoever in common with them. I don’t dislike those in the stratospheric socials classes. I harbor no ill will for them, and congratulate them for the hard work or good fortune that got them where they are. It’s more that I have an entirely different value system and lifestyle than they do. And yes, the sense of privilege and entitlement that sometimes seems to run rampant through the upperclass can at times be sickening, but for the most part they are people like anyone else. They just aren’t the sort of people I feel comfortable being around. Sure, a few lucky breaks and wise choices on my part have landed me in a career that provides me with a decent level of income, but I don’t consider myself a part of their world. For that I am glad, as I think I’d be miserable if such people were my friends. I was born and raised trash, and trash I’ll always be.

And the road that I have walked upon
Well it filled my pockets
And emptied out my soul

Truth be told, money is almost meaningless to me. Earning it has never been my goal. I realize I need some to survive, and while I’m glad that I no longer have the money worries I used to have, I know that I was a much happier person when I was still poor. I once gave the girl I loved the last dollar I had so she could make good on her bills, and I gladly ate leftovers and scraps for a week until more money came in. I was happier eating those meals than I am now that I can eat (nearly) anywhere I choose. And now that I have a little money, I do my best to share it. I treat my trashy friends whenever they aren’t fixed for cash, I over-tip trashy waitresses working dead-end jobs in nowhere towns, and I give to charities that help trashy people in other cities and nations. I even gave a twenty to a trashy homeless man the other night. So yeah, trash with money is fine by me.

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I wasn’t going to post this. I wrote it, and decided it was much too personal to share in a blog. But I did share it with a friend, and she responded with her thoughts on the matter, and her own experiences. Other friends have shared their versions of the story, and when it comes down to it I think what I have learned from all this is the true nature of love. When someone falls in love– truly, honestly falls in love, it’s forever. There is no undoing it or going back. The love becomes a permanent part of that person. When both people fall that way, it works. When only one does, he spends the rest of his life trying to forget something that can’t be forgotten. And so:

At some point years ago I realized I was going to love Sue for the rest of my life, and now that I’m no longer supposed to do so, I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to shut off those feelings. I know she’s gone, and never coming back, but my heart still belongs to her. It’s been over nine months now. For many months I didn’t know where she was, or if she was even alive. By now it has become clear that she decided to vanish one day, and couldn’t be bothered with saying goodbye to me. I also know that wherever she is, she isn’t thinking about me, yet once again I am sitting here missing her, just like every single other day since she left.

Every time I promised to love her for the rest of my life, I meant it. I don’t say such things lightly. She is the only girl with whom I’ve ever fallen in love. It was a gradual process. By the time I first told her I loved her, we’d known one another for nearly two years, and I was already hopelessly in love. Over the next five years, every time I promised my love to her, I absolutely meant it, and every time, I felt it even stronger than before. There were times that I held her in my arms so tightly that it felt like we were one person. I’d sometimes feel so much emotion that my body would tremble; I’d honestly feel so much love inside that I would literally shake on the outside. I’d never experienced anything remotely similar to that in the past, and I doubt I ever will again.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t break promises to people. I just don’t. If I promise I will do something, I always do it. Now I am faced with the fact that I am supposed to break all the promises I made to her over the years. I don’t know how to do this. I can lie to myself and pretend I don’t love her, or that I never did, but that doesn’t change the fact that I do. I meant what I said to her. I really will love her for the rest of my life. It’s unfortunate that she has left me, but that really doesn’t change anything, does it? My promises, like my love for her, were unconditional.

I’ve tried dating. It feels wrong. I feel like I am cheating on her. Which makes no sense, because she is long gone and not coming back, but I still feel the way I imagine a person cheating on his girlfriend must feel. I met someone wonderful recently, and by all rights, I should be focusing on her, even though the circumstances surrounding her point to another doomed love affair; I should at least be able to find out.

I need to fall out of love with Fizzy first, and that just isn’t happening. It doesn’t help that the last time we spoke, the last thing she said to me was “I love you.” She once promised that no matter what happened, how she felt, or how hard it was, if she ever thought what we had was finished, she would tell me so. She broke her other promises to me, and she seems to have lied to me about many things, so I shouldn’t be surprised that she was lying when she said that to me, but there is still some stupid part of me that believes in her. And every time I try to start over with someone new, it just feels wrong, because I’m still waiting for someone who is never coming back, and I’m still in love with someone who stopped loving me a long time ago.

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It’s half past four on Christmas morning and we just finished cooking and cleaning crabs for tomorrow night’s dinner. Someone has been kind enough to adopt me for the holiday, and we’ve been hard at work preparing to make dinner for her parents and relatives. I’ve been looking forward to it, and I know it will be a marvelous Christmas. Of course, I have one Christmas wish, which I know won’t come true. Yet, at the same time, if asked with whom I most want to spend this day, I would say with all honesty there is no one in the world I’d rather be with this Christmas than exactly whom I will be with. I may be far from “over” the past, but the present has been a little bit better of late. I don’t believe in fate in any way, shape, or form, but it is remarkable how things sometimes work out. HHGFF. And ever.

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Thank you for a lifetime of love and guidance. I would never have made it this far, or done as well, without you. You gave me the raw material to work with, and the drive and vision to use it. I would not be the man I am today without you. Whenever people compliment me on my manners, I always tell them that they should be thanking you. I learned from your example. That and the yardstick you could mysteriously produce from thin air under seemingly any circumstances. If I ever failed to follow the etiquette lessons you provided, or misbehaved in any fashion, then wham! I would get a not-so-gentle reminder from the Yardstick of Etiquette across my backside. But in all seriousness, you taught me how to be a good human being. You always put your children and your family first, but you never took advantage of any other person. I never once knew you to lie to anyone about anything for any reason, nor did I ever know you to fail to keep your word to anyone. You seemed always to do the right thing, and instilled in me a belief in doing likewise.

We became even closer in recent years. When Dad passed away, we leaned on each other. When you needed a date for your 50th high school reunion, you asked me to the dance. When Vernon Bean annihilated Pinky, you were by my side. When Sue disappeared, I turned to you for solace and guidance. I tried to brighten your remaining days and made sure you received the best treatment available. You always made a big deal out of the weekly trips I made to get you to the doctor, but for me they were a joy. I got to know you, and through you my father, so much better in these past two years than I think I did in all the years we had together before them.

Until I grew up and left home, I assumed all families were like ours– always happy. I never realized that so many people had fights with their siblings and/ or parents. That other people sometimes left home, or went to bed angry. I took for granted, and was probably spoiled by, the fact that you and Dad taught all four of us to be moral, honest, caring individuals who love one another, and work to make the world around us a better place first, and for ourselves second.

I miss you already. I’m still continuing your quest to pay that man back for the milkshake. Maybe some day, together we’ll have paid the debt. Goodbye, Mom.

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This is the only entry that is too cubbing to re-post to the new blog.

If I change my mind, I’ll post it. *cub ears*

The comment exchange with my stalker is pretty rad though. At least you can still see that bit of lore.

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My first crush came when I was about 10 or 11 years old, which would put me in the 5th or 6th grade. Her name was Heather, and I can’t really recall much else about her beyond that. But at the time I thought she was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Of course, since I wasn’t a popular kid by any stretch, I never did anything about it other than silently admire her from afar. Our sole interaction came in a class project during which her hands became messy with some sort of clay or paste. She asked me to roll her sleeves up for her, as my hands were clean. It was the highlight of my week, but for her it was surely just the dorky kid doing her a meaningless favor.

I’d like to think that as I’ve aged I’ve become more sophisticated, or at least more able to express my feelings to members of the opposite sex, but that moment has pretty much repeated itself with every crush I’ve had since then. From age 10 on into adulthood I periodically crushed on various girls, never finding a way to express my feelings. I usually found myself in the role of the uncool outcast with whom they would not associate. When I was able to initiate a relationship, I seemed forever relegated to the role of the platonic friend who occasionally does a meaningless favor.

All the ridiculing and teasing, ostracization, and outright abuse was painful of course, but for the most part it rolled off my back like water from a duck. I didn’t have enough of an emotional investment in anyone to give them the ability to truly hurt me. But that eventually changed. I met Fizzy.

We spent nearly two years courting one another before we became a couple. After that came a long period of absolute bliss, and without a doubt the happiest time of my life. For the first time I was content and confident about my future. My older blogs are peppered with tales of happiness and love, and even a cursory glance at my older posts demonstrates how important she was to me. In short, Fizzy turned my world around. I dropped my guard completely, and let myself love and trust her unconditionally. Had someone asked me six months ago if she would ever lie to me or hurt me on purpose, I’d have staked my life that she wouldn’t. I knew that the same way I knew the sky is blue…she was my absolute in a world full of uncertainty. Or so I thought.

Now I don’t know what to think, because I don’t know where she is. I mentioned last time that I have it on good authority that she is not dead, but beyond that– I have no idea where she is or why she left. I hope she isn’t sick, or hurt, or in jail, or… well, I could go on forever. I really don’t know what happened, but the more that time passes, the more I am starting to realize that she isn’t in any sort of trouble, she’s just gone.

I never saw any of this coming. I didn’t even acknowledge the risk I ran by putting such faith in her, because it seemed so impossible that she could betray that trust. That only made it worse when she did, because I realized that so many years of my life were devoted to someone I wrongly believed cared about me enough to be honest and fair with me when it mattered most. I don’t pretend to have been perfect by any stretch, but I was a devoted, honest, and caring boyfriend/fiance. Am I wrong to think I deserve some sort of closure?

Still, there is something sadly liberating about having had my heart so thoroughly destroyed by Fizzy. I realize now that *anyone* can betray you, and as such I shan’t be betrayed again because I simply won’t trust again. I can’t. She has left me utterly unable to ever trust or love anyone the same way. And while I may never completely heal, I will eventually get past this pain. And then I will never, ever feel this way again, because I just won’t be emotionally capable of giving another person the power to do this to me. See what I mean? Sad, but liberating.

But first I have to get past this pain. And it seems every day I am, one tear at a time.

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Well, if I could tame all of my desires
Wait out the weather that howls in my brain
Because it seems that it’s always changing
The winds indecision, the sorrowful rain

Yeah, I was a postcard, I was a record
I was a camera until I went blind
Now I’m riding all over this island
Looking for something to open my eyes

I have a funny, somewhat paradoxical attitude towards my prowess with members of the opposite sex, and it’s hard for me to know exactly why. Sometimes I feel like I am completely inept at meeting women, and that none ever take an interest in me, while at other times it seems like there is always some girl chasing me, at least when I’m single (and occasionally when I’m not). And while most of the women I meet don’t take a romantic interest in me, enough do that I should be confident, if not downright cocky about my sex appeal.

I know that at least part of my reluctance to admit to myself that I’m attractive to women stems from my first experiences with dating. Ever since my early teens, girls have flirted with me, but I’ve never felt like I deserved it. I think part of that disbelief stems from the way the girls who actually knew me ignored me. Throughout grade school and most of high school I was always the least popular kid in my class, and no girls ever asked me out or agreed to go out with me when I was the one asking. It was only when I went somewhere else that girls occasionally showed interest. Obviously, I attributed this to the fact that the people who knew me well disliked me; strangers were more easily duped into finding me attractive.

Once I got to college, and the slate was wiped clean, and I was surrounded by others with interests similar to my own, I was surprised by how many girls were into me. I just wasn’t sure what to do about it. I’m pretty sure that all those years of being ostracized by my peers taught me to expect to be ignored by others, so I wasn’t prepared for a girl showing interest in me, hence my uncertainty. Even today, all grown up and years removed from being unpopular in any sense of the word, when a girl tells me I’m cute or fun or interesting, or anything of that nature, I don’t believe it. I feel I must somehow have tricked her into thinking so, because I know the real me is plain and uninteresting. No matter how old I get, or how often girls seem attracted to me, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m just a heartbeat away from being exposed as unworthy of such affection. Or that there must be something wrong with the girl saying nice things about me. That sounds really harsh, but it’s true. I honestly feel this way.

There is another aspect to this that I have yet to mention, and while using math to explain love is seldom an effective route to take, I think this time it is justified. So here goes… let’s try to graph love! Throughout my life, there have been a number of girls for whom I was utterly smitten– crushes, or what have you. Let’s plot all of those girls on a line called something like “Girls What That I Like.” Granted, I don’t crush easily or often, so it is a small line, but it is a significant line nonetheless. The other line on our graph is “Girls What That Like Me.” This is a noticeably longer line. Unfortunately, the two lines never intersect. That is pretty much the point of our math exercise. I’ve liked some girls, a bunch of girls have liked me, but none of the ones I liked ever liked me back. Until…

Fizzy was the big exception to that. I liked her, and she liked me. More than that, when she became my girlfriend, it didn’t feel as though I’d pulled a fast one on her; we seemed like a perfect fit. And she became, for better or worse, a sort of badge of honor for me. I extolled her virtues to anyone who would listen (not to mention the entire blogging world), and I guess in retrospect maybe it seemed like I was bragging. In a way, I suppose I was. I never imagined someone so wonderful would ever take an interest in me, much less agree to marry me, and I wanted to shout it from rooftops.

Whenever friends would consult me about problems with their love lives, I’d remind them that true love and happiness is possible. I’d tell them how I never thought I’d find it, but then one day it happened. I never meant to gloat or boast, but maybe it came out that way. Now I feel sort of foolish– I was obviously wrong. True love is harder to hold on to than I ever imagined, and even someone you trust and love unconditionally can unexpectedly lie to you or hurt you without reason. Even when things seem perfect, they don’t always work out.

I have no idea why I’m writing about this. Wait, yes I do. I think it has something to do with the gradual realization that I may very well be single again. I mean, I am not entirely sure that I am, and I don’t want to go into all sorts of personal details here, but Fizzy vanished without a trace (or a goodbye) about three months ago. I have it on good authority that she is not dead, but beyond that I know nothing. So yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s over, which means I no longer have an excuse to ignore flirtatious women. That sounds weird, doesn’t it? Why would I want to ignore them?? I wish I knew. I’ve always been this way– it’s as if I actively try to make women disinterested in me so I won’t feel surprised when it turns out to be the case. At least when I was with Fizzy, I had an excuse to ignore other women. I was taken. Now I have no excuse. But I still find myself doing the same thing. I think it is the lack of closure that has me in this holding pattern. Without resolution it’s hard to move on. Not to mention the fact that I don’t really want to move on. I was very happy for a long time, and the last thing I want to do now is “get back out there” and try to meet girls again, but it seems that eventually I am going to have to do so. Rats.