Now that my classes are over and there is no more homework to be done I can finally get back to posting here. I had gone back to school just to take a few of the required classes going toward my Business Degree. And just to clarify, this school was a community college, a whole heck of a lot of difference than the large campuses. My English 2 course started out with roughlly 25 students: last week during the Final Exam, only 6 students remained. I aced the course, though. I blew everyone out of the water and made straight A's on every single Essay. Principles of Financial Accounting is a whole different story: my Office Accounting class at Commonwealth helped me through the first few weeks, but as soon as we got past the debits and credits and finished everything we were doing with Work sheets and what not, I lost it. I couldn't even tell you what it was I was supposed to be doing. Teacher was speaking another language and I found myself day dreaming about Poodle and if I had sufficient coupons for the groceries I needed. The class was split into two parts, one hour was lecture and the other hour was spent in the computer lab working on homework assignments. I started ditching the second half of the class as I usually had all my homework completed a week early. I did it all at work using Excel.
Personal Note to Gorilla:
Ma'am, please stop kicking the machine up to incline 10 and trying to jogg in those sketchers. You are ruining your knees, not to mention the poor machine which now croaks each time someone steps up onto it. Invest in some proper shoes and some shorts that are not completely see-through, preferrably a pair that fits properly and doesn't ride up. And only Paris and Brittney can get away with no underwear.
A lot of my favorite shows are on MTV. Teen real life dramas like My Sweet Sixteen, Engaged and Underaged, and, of course, True Life. Yesterday's episode was about two couples struggling with a long distance relationship. They were such pansies! Then again, I was the one bawling on the couch fighting back the urge to call Poodle every three minutes. Take the first couple for example, the girlfriend lived in Austin, and the boyfriend lived in Dallas, or vice versa I forget. They saw each other every month! The guy went out drinking one night (of course, teen drinking is always a big hit on MTV) and the girl was calling him every five minutes to yell at him. I have to give the girl credit, though, because after the final, heartbreaking hang up she looked dead into the camera and said something like "It's really hard...because when we fight there is no make up sex: no hug, no kiss and an 'I'm sorry'." That's very true. If Poodle and I do have an argument we often go to long lengths to not go to sleep mad at one another. That is partly why we started saying "I Love You Kiss Kiss Bang Bang Bye Bye"
I think the other couple lived slightly further away from one another, and had been together for approximately 2 years. She lived in Boston, he lived in Atlanta. But still...same side of the country! After I finished crying I called Poodle, boyfriend of seven years living in New York right now, and told him about the episode. He wasn't as moved as I was, but it was just him pretending, of course. He was melting on the inside.
Somebody, and I'm not saying who (God), doesn't want me to have Tuna Fish this week. I just moved into my brand, spankin' new apartment, right? So I go to the store and grab the quick-fixins essentials: Ham/Turkey lunch meat combo, cheese, bread, chips, tuna fish, mayo, and veggie burger patties (I forgot the buns). I get back to my new apartment and as soon as I open the door, the plastic bag containing the jar of Mayo slips out of my hand. The Mayo obviously shatters in the bag. Not a big deal! I had ham and cheese. The next day, while at work, I go by the store to pick up another jar of Mayo, this time in a plastic jar. I toss it into the fridge at work because you can't just have Mayo sitting around under a desk. It's weird. As you might have guessed, I forgot it. I tried swinging back by the funeral home after my class to pick it up, but the cleaning crew was there and I didn't want to bother them, as the last time I interrupted their cleaning somebody got their head split open. I run by the funeral home in the morning before class and pick up my Mayo. On the way to school I had that crash that I mentioned in the previous post. I obviously wasn't having Mayo that night either, but it made it to the fridge none the less. Tonight after coming home from the service center I went by the store to get a can opener (I forgot to mention that the tuna cans were not the peel open kind...and I didnt have a can opener). Wielding my new can opener, I pulled out my can of tuna, toasted my bread, and that damn thing broke. The spring popped off and all the washers and whatevers went flying all over the kitchen. I'll go ahead and admit it...I cried. I've eated ham and cheese for four days straight now. Tomorrow, I'm going back to the store to purchase another can opener, maybe one not so cheap this time. It is a very good investment, I believe.
So I was in a wreck today.Some guy wasn't paying attention and ran a red light. Scariest moment of the whole ordeal was waiting for my truck to roll over in that surreal, gelatin-kind-of-feeling, slow motion bit. I might have been relieved when the ton of gasoline powered metal encasing me didn't flip over, but I can't remember if that elation came before or after the air bag deployed. I was able to walk away from it only a little beat up with a burn on my arm from the air bag and a case of whiplash. What's worse is the guy didn't actually "run" the redlight, just creeped forward into the middle of the intersection, then froze as if realizing the light hadn't turned yet. That's when I hit my breaks, he looked over, and I crashed into the center of the side of his truck, T-Bone. He tried telling the cop that he had the green light, when I obviously did because there were cars sitting at the red light on his side. Besides, my light was green. One of the cars was blocking my view of his truck. I believe he wasn't paying attention, saw the car beside him inch forward and he just assumed without checking that the light had turned green, just by the way he sort of creeped out like that. I think he stopped when he realized that he light was still red, but it was too late at that point. The two witnesses did not stay to play witness. I remember looking over to my right to see the cars that had obviously seen everything already trying to wedge past the wreckage. The cop couldn't write a citation because of the circumstance. The insurance companies are duking it out right now. I do have a one up because I took pictures of the little debris there was, mostly glass from my headlights. if I'm lucky there's a red light camera at that intersection. If I'm lucky. Here are only three of the eight pictures I sent to my insurance company to help. Please tell me what you think.
I've never seen that much blood on one face in my entire life. Who knew that urn display wasn't stable? Why do weird things always happen to me when I'm at the funeral home alone?
I was staying late at the funeral home, planning to leave around 6pm since I didn't have to meet my english group until 6:30 at the college. I completely forgot that the cleaning crew was supposed to come, so when they arrived (a husband and wife cleaning team) I felt it was necessary to leave for them to do their job. I was sitting in my car, organizing a few things from class and about to pull out of the parking lot, when the husband ran out of the funeral home holding something white and red in his hands. I thought maybe he found something in the office and thought I had left it, but when I rolled down my window he shoved the paper towel through the gap. It was completely covered in thick, dark blood. He said in his thick spanish accent something about his wife being hurt. I jumped out of the car and ran back into the funeral home after him. When I reached the arrangement room I found her sitting in a chair near the door with both hands clasped over a wad of red paper towels held against her head over her right eye. Her face was covered in blood. It was running in thin rivers down her arms and neck and dripping to the carpet. I stood there only for a split second then ran back to the nearest phone, calling 911. I was in the process of talking to the dispatcher when the husband came and found me, telling me that he didn't think it was necessary and that he was going to drive her to Cy-Fair hospital just down the street a ways. I tried to convince him that an ambulance would probably be better, thinking that Cy-Fair might not be able to help her and would just transfer her to Memorial Hermann like I was after my crash. He refused my offer to drive them and proceeded to tell me that he would be back later to clean up. I told him not to worry about cleaning after which he thanked me and pulled his wife to her feet and helped her out to their car. I waited in the lobby to make sure they were going in the direction of Cy-Fair then I returned to the arrangement room. I hadn' t noticed the damage before, as I was focused only on getting her help. The top shelf of the urn display was laying on the floor, blood splattered all over it. Several urns were scattered on the floor as well. I turned one of the larger urns over to find the side of it covered in sticky blood. I began crying at this point I think. As I walked back toward the office I saw the trail of blood through out the funeral home, even dotting the concrete outside. I stayed a few more minutes only to call my boss and give her the information. She told me she would be calling the legal people of the company to make sure I did everything necessary incase of a law suit. I feel sorry for the older receptionist who is opening the funeral home this morning. It really looks like a homicide took place.
Last Saturday I found myself cowering in the preparation room of the funeral home seeing as how it was the only door in the building that would lock. My cell phone was glued to my ear as the officer on the other end of the line tried her best to calm me down. Just moments before I had been watching a movie in the office when I heard a door slam some where in the funeral home. I was all alone in the funeral home which is normal on my weekends to work. Knowing it had to be a delivery in the garage I began frantically trying to turn the TV off, though the button was stuck. I dashed across the room and turned the TV off manually. When I turned around to face the back door of the office (which I had left closed all day) it was open about four inches and was slowly closing, as if someone had pushed it open then let it fall shut. I thought it might be the delivery man messing around or maybe he went to go find the restrooms or to raid our cookies. I pulled the door open again and stepped back into the back hallway. All the lights were off in the funeral home save for the office and the front lobby. I wasn't expecting any deliveries so I had also left the back doors locked. I remembered this as I stood in the back hallway starring at the pitch black garage when I heard the door at the far end of the hallway shut. I stood still for a moment before venturing toward the door and opening it, which left me standing infront of the casket selection room. I turned the corner to find the arrangement room door shut, though I don't remember ever seeing that door shut since I began working at the funeral home last october. Not only that, but by looking at the crack inbetween the door and the carpet, I noticed that the light was on and I distinctly remember leaving the light off. After a few agonizing seconds of pacing in the office I finally call 911 on my cell. At this point I am slightly hysterical. The main dispatcher transfers me to the Harris county sheriffs office and I'm immediately told to find a closet or a room to hide in. She tells me after a few moments that the sheriff is on his way and that I need to somehow make it outside. Bolting through the middle of the funeral home probably wasn't what she meant but I made it to the front parking lot just in time to see the patrol car peeling into the parking lot. He escorted me through the funeral home, throwing open doors and checking caskets. There was nobody in the funeral home. He checked to make sure the back doors were locked before meeting me back in the office. He told me I did the right thing and that the funeral home was probably just haunted. Great.
When I called Poodle a few minutes after the sheriff left he said "Don't worry, Cara, ghosts can't harm you...although if they can open doors and turn lights on, imagine what they can do to you." His efforts to try and make me relax only made me more paranoid. I told all the girls at work and now one of the funeral directors refuses to go into the back hallway by herself. That same funeral director told me she has had something similar happen to her. She was staying late at the funeral home when she all of a sudden heard a noise like something being thrown against a wall coming from the children's room. She said she left, not real curious at to what made the noise, and too scared to stay any longer. The next morning when she open she went back to the children's room and found half a dozen small hour glasses shattered against the floor. She remembered placing the small trinkets on a shelf earlier in the week, but not anywhere they could just fall by themselves.
I think if I didn't love him so much, I would kill him.
Ever since returning to Houston from Delaware, I can't stop thinking about Poodle. So much now that I've had a lot of trouble sleeping not to mention I'm wearing Poodle's nerves thin with my incessant, albeit endearing, phone calls. We make the commitment to talk everyday atleast once, though we usually speak to each other about five times a day. To make sure we never hangup bickering, we have a ritual we do everytime before hanging up, and it goes like this:
Me: okay, I'll talk to you later. I love you!
Poodle: I love you, too!
Me: Kiss Kiss!
Poodle: Kiss Kiss!
Me: Bang Bang! ---(from Nancy Sinatra "Bang Bang", nothing lude...)
Poodle: Bang Bang!
Me: Bye Bye, sweetie!
Poodle: Bye bye, Baby!
Me: Bye!
Poodle: Bye!
And he must say this with alittle more than a trace of conviction or I'll force him to repeat it all over. There are also rules for disconnections: before saying anything when we call each other back, we must say this ritual first, then resume our conversation. We've been communicating primarily by telephone for seven years and have done this every time we've spoken. I am convinced that this is one of the main reasons we have not had any large arguments. I have, however, hung up on him several times, but more because he did the scary voice that I hate or he was just being an ass. I call back right afterward, unless he calls right back, as I cannot what-so-ever go to bed without saying those few sentences.
Is there anything you do specifically with your partner that MUST be done, or am I just a tad too obsessive?
I'm allotted how many pity parties in one month?Oh well, one more can't hurt as much as going to bed alone after ten blissful days of waking up next to a delicious, hairy-chested italian man (yes, I'm a fan of the chest hair). For some odd reason this last visit to see Poodle was so much more enjoyable. We seemed to finally reach that point of connection that we carry on the phone (for over 6 years now) in real life, and it felt so great to be understood.
I have a fairly simplistic theory as to why this visit went so great:
- Although sex isn't as important to me as some of the other relationship fundamentals, I must say, WOW! Sex has always been great between us (since he was my first, and I was his) but it has only been getting better. We tried some new condoms this time which claimed to improve each other's sensitivity. Poodle and I also experimented with new positions, mostly with me ontop. I went to the "happy place" each and every time, sometimes twice, each time we had sex. It was amazing. Though it was hard to focus on anything else at the time, I feel like I was more connected with Poodle, so much that almost every time we did the naughty we both went to the "happy place"at the same time. Okay this is sick. Sorry.
- Traveling almost always gets me irregular, if you know what I mean. So when I was at Poodle's, I couldn't wear a lot of cute things because I was bloated and not able to fit into certain outfits. The visit before this last one, I was constipated for over a week and kept having to wear the same pair of jeans each day, and shirts that were alittle loose so I wouldn't feel uncomfortable all day. It was awful. This last visit, though, as soon as I landed in DE I demanded to go to the nearest grocery store to buy Kefir yogurt, which I had been drinking each morning for several weeks before my trip. By drinking my coffee and yogurt each morning I stayed regular and was able to wear all the cute skirts and shirts without any uncomfortable bloatedness. Before my trip, though, I went on a spending spree at Old Navy and bought dozens of new clothes that were comfortable to wear and not tight, but still utterly cute, just in case I got sick again.
- This last one is very important. I live by a routine each morning that more or less revolves around going to the gym. Since little ol' Delaware doesn't have a gym I had to resolve to jogging around Poodle's development, or going to Glasgow Park about five minutes away. So each morning Poodle would wake up around 8:30 to go to school, and I would enjoy my cup of coffee while sitting at the computer, then I would borrow Mario's car (Poodle's brother) and drive over to Glasgow Park to jog. I was back home and out of the shower just as Poodle was coming back home from class around 11. Because I stuck to a familiar routine that involved a daily workout, I was in a much better mood than I had been during my last visit to DE. Poodle noticed too.
I miss him so much! After such mental and physical connection, I feel so incredibly deprived now! He's taking it really hard this time, as well. It has never been this difficult to adjust before. He begins his classes at New York Law School in about two weeks and I'll be taking some classes at the community college beginning at the end of August. The added work load should help keep us from dwelling too much on the steamy sex, or I mean, the familiar absence toward the other side of the bed, or the irresistable urge to bicker to the empty passenger seat.
How many times have you had your heart broken?
Submitted by BullDogg.
Honestly? I've had only a few relationships before the seven year romp with Poodle and none of them consisted of enough tender affection to result in heart break. I did, however, grieve the demise of fifth grade which heralded the news that my first best friend, Spencer, died in a car wreck before the beginning of Sixth Grade.Utter heart break.
In a few days I'll be leaving Delaware and Poodle and returning home to Houston. Despite having done this too many times already over the past three years or so, I always cry. The first time I of course shared some tears with Poodle in the car at the airport, the next time I was slightly more subtle and cried while gazing out the window on the plane. Last time I shed a few tears in the airport bathroom. This time I think I might just do the same. I don't suffer from heart break anymore when leaving, just a few short heart tremors and hesitation and maybe a prayer that the flight has been delayed until the next day.
I can't remember any other time in which I felt my heart rip asunder and I'm interested to know if my inexperience in heart break will result in something more dramatic if for some reason I lose Poodle. Like for instance, a friend of Shonna's lost her brother after he died of heart break, literally. His wife was sleeping in their bedroom while he was taking a nap on the couch in the living room, when a flame was ignited somehow on the side of the house near the bedroom. The husband woke when he smelled the smoke and immediately ran to the bedroom to wake his wife, but the door was locked. The fire was obviously concentrated in the bedroom, probably having started in the office behind the bedroom. He ran out of the house and tried to crawl though the bedroom window when a fireman pulled him back. When the firemen checked the bedroom they said there was nothing left: everything had been charred and there was no possible way the wife could have lives. Later that day when they were looking through the house, they found the remains of the wife. She had died from smoke inhalation long before the fire ever reached the bedroom and never woke up from sleeping. They found her lying in the same position she had fallen asleep in. The husband was devastated and heart broken of course. He was kept on suicide watch, though he simply slept all day and all night. Shonna said he never woke up to eat, drink, use the bathroom or anything. Towards the end his body went through shock and all his vital organs shut down. He was placed on machines until the family made the decision to pull the plug and donate his body to LifeGift. I couldn't believe that anyone could die from heart break, until now.
A wicked storm crept in from the north last night. The incessant lightning scarred the dense blanket of clouds, and even with my eyes shut tight and my face buried against the pillow, the fierce strikes bathed my entire room with an ungodly amount of light. Eventually, after tossing around beneath the sheets for some time, I flopped back over onto my back to witness the electrical storm’s theatrics against the far wall of my bedroom. Because I hadn’t closed the blinds completely, each strike illuminated the window and threw the pockmarked shadow across the wall. I was wide awake, pretending that each explosion of light was the result of some nuclear attack that many Americans anticipated during the Cuban Missile Crisis. The thunder that roared in the lightning’s wake was the wall of radiation that swept the city, leaving it barren of life and structures. I wondered that at what point would I need to roll out of bed and seek immediate shelter, or if I would even know the difference between lightning and the end of the world as I know it. I caught myself holding my breath as all the dark red walls of my room and everything in front of my eyes, for a split second, turned to an electric white. If I was a high school student, tormented by daily nuclear bomb drills, mortifying news broadcasts of soviet missiles just beyond the gulf and targeted for the US, would I know the difference between that diesel truck ripping down the street and a 12 foot wave of incinerating heat?
I remember that for several days after 9-11, every airplane or jet that would pass over our house, was inevitably aimed for Houston’s oil refineries. During a storm one night, the planes flew at an especially low altitude. The engines were so loud and I remember waiting for that high pitched whistle, then the foreboding silence before the crash.
Oh guess what?! I’m going to Delaware tomorrow to visit Poodle!
