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when I get scared, I end up running for the hills, screaming like a banshee, pulling my hair out and generally avoiding eye liner… So, Friday night, I just hung around in my pjs, watched a few episodes of “The Dead Files” and felt kinda crappy, which came to an unexpected head Sunday morning. Being inspired by a fellow blogger, I will endeavor to tell a couple of interesting stories from my life… In my high school days, wherever there was booze, weed and boys, I was there.
I distinctly recall one convention attendee videotaping the festivities and we all simultaneously shouting “WE’RE NURSES”…
I don’t dislike her, she and I always got along pretty well… don’t be a fucking coward and sneak around like some common tramp. But this was after I had grown up a little bit, graduated from nursing school and traveled to the largest city in my state to take my State Board examination.
all things bad for me and ridiculously unseductive. Someone that I love and respect madly told me that if I don’t at least try, he will be pissed at me… Anyway, I get a text message from my EX sister-in-law that I’ve only spoken to a handful of times over the last 4 years. If you’re done with someone, grow some balls and end it… Yet, I still managed to graduate with honors, not get in trouble with the law or get pregnant.
The details haven’t been worthy of writing about anyway. And they were fucking good looking men and we were a table of 20-something nurses, already half lit. It turned out that there was a convention at the hotel of FIREFIGHTERS AND PARAMEDICS. There were firefighters and paramedics there from all over the world, with cameras and video cameras.
I’ve made a few promises to friends that if I ever feel suicidal I’ll talk to them. Last week someone asked why I choose the subjects that I do for my photography (abandonments, specifically)… they’re rejected, unloved, forgotten, ignored, not as pretty as they used to be, no longer useful, haunted… Maybe, together, the camera and I can save a little bit of these places, for posterity… As we were drinking and doing shots, we noticed the bar filling up with MEN, just MEN.
But, not just for the sex that I sooooooooo badly need. Her marriage is miserable, he ignores her, and she tries to think of excuses not to go home… We dressed up and headed down to the hotel bar, not wanting to have to worry about getting lost, cabs, etc not being too familiar with the area.
but, with divorce and distance, those relationships fall to the wayside. The messages started out innocuously “Hey, how are you.” Then progressed to “I wanted to talk to you about relationships”. I replied with “I’m not sure I’m the best person to discuss relationships with, you were witness to what a spectacular disaster my marriage was.” But, just like every other person that wants to tell me things about their life that I don’t want to know, she is undeterred. I said that it is up to us to find our own happiness, but we shouldn’t destroy others in the process. I’m the screw-up, I’m the mess, I’m the fucking disaster on wheels…. There was a group of approximately 10 of us and we stayed at the most awesomely 70stastic hotel I had even been in (and it was long past the 70s) complete with orange shag carpet and green wall paper… We had decided to stay an extra night after our examinations were over, to celebrate.
) and staring at my notebook and technicolored pens determined once and for all to either create a viable SPOOC or abandon the project. I didn’t make the love interest in an erotica novel important enough. I just wanted to make them feel better and promising was the easy way to move on. First of all, would I call any of my friends on Christmas Eve (when they are happily celebrating with their friends and family) and tell them that I’m feeling suicidal? I, honestly, think that I can thank (or blame) the camera for helping me survive 2013. ” My answer “I wanted to be someone different, maybe, eventually I’ll be someone that I like.” It just occurred to me, that this time last year, I was in Georgia… The waitress was dubbed Betty Sue, I’m sure she hated us and she had plenty of reason to. Lying in my bed on Christmas Eve, I flirted with my contingency plan, but thoughts of the promises kept surfacing, making their way up through the ocean of vodka I was trying to drown my feelings in. And offing yourself at Christmas is just too pathetic and cliché. I know, my coping powers are pretty goddamn amazing. my mental condition can be measured by my tattoos and hair color changes… It’s ok though, I love the new tattoo and the hair doesn’t look awful. Perhaps in an attempt to guilt me out of depression… Not really the Carpenters of course, but that’s what we called them, they were pretty terrible.he was from Norway or someplace, I’m sure he seriously hoped he wouldn’t end up in an American hospital. Ridiculously friendly and gregarious, I’m a happy drunk. After I bid him goodbye, he sent me over 50 text messages…I became bored with the musical selections of the Carpenters, so I began singing a rousing, hillbilly-esque version of “You Shook Me All Night Long”. I was mad and went home, even though I had enough driving to do me for the weekend. I’m a single girl and I could seriously use the $$. that ran the gamut between begging me to come back, telling me that I’m ugly, to saying that he was calling an Asian hooker and he was going to send me video of their activities (this was the point when I blocked him, thank you i OS 7).
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