Love and Marriage

Johnny Johnny Johnny... I'm so disappointed.

We argued in the middle of a Taco Bell about marriage, engagement and social rolls in America. Now ignore the fact that I'm actually IN a Taco Bell and just be secure in the knowledge that I did NOT eat anything from said establishment. (I would rather die... and I might have.)

On a Sunday afternoon, John got a hankering for a beef and cheddar heart attack so I reluctantly joined him to simply remain in his company. I innocently asked how things with his girlfriend, Sylvia, were going. He said things were great and he was thinking about maybe getting married. "That's amazing! Have you bought a ring yet?!" I exclaimed, in pure joy for my friend finding someone to whom he was willing to make a lifelong commitment. Instead of a smiling back, his face dropped into a perplexing somber affair.

"An engagement ring?", he asked with pure loathing in his voice.

He went on a 10 minute long rant about how the idea of an engagment ring is sexist and insulting to any woman he would marry. It hints at ownership. (I argued so does a wedding ring) Why does the woman only get a ring? Can't a man have an engagement ring too? (I said yes, if that's important to you) And why not a engagement tiara or engagement stilettos? (because an engagement tiara probably couldn't be worn at all times like a ring.)

I understand. I get it. Society says we must buy a ring; why should we yield? I could say the exact same thing about that flat screen in your living room. Do you really need 72 inches of TV when you don't even have cable? Why do you paint your walls or coordinate your furniture? Why buy anything from a mall? Why do you reluctantly recycle when you don't really believe it does anything for the environment? Why do you wear pants but never a skirt? Because it's in your head since you were born, that's the way it should be. Perhaps society does tell us we must do these things but we do them because we want to, really.

If he really doesn't want to buy an engagement ring, he doesn't have to. I told him Sylvia will be disappointed, perhaps only a little, but disappointed no less.

It is a symbol, regardless of what society says. A symbol of love, that he treasures me above all other. Whether is be a diamond, sapphire, or hunk of safety glass from a broken windshield, I'll know he chose that something special for me, to signify his love and commitment. To celebrate our new life together.

We get to pick and choose what tradition we want and that fit our lifestyles. It's like how I don't celebrate Christmas, even though society seems to demand that I do. How my lesbian friends live together as a married couple with their children even though that is not how it's traditionally done. And Johnny, if you want to not do the engagement ring, that's up to you. But I just want you to think about this: is this situation really about you and your ideals, or is it about making her beam and glow with happiness, not only when you get down on one knee, but every time she looks down and sees it on her hand? Would you deny her that if she really wants that?

But really, none of that matters, because for a girl like me (and Sylvia), it all come down to this... I want my moment. I want that moment where it's just like the movies. As little girls, we dream about many things. Driving our own car, getting a career we love, getting married. And not too many little girls imagine that the proposition to marriage comes with an empty velvet box and a "Let's get married" thrown commonly over one's shoulder. I WANT romance. I WANT a little dramatic flare during one of the most romantic times in my entire life. I WANT something special that is only for me, something that I will wear for the rest of my life. Something that will remind me again and again of that perfect moment, the romance and happiness. When the entire world melted away and it was just the two of us.

Nothing was resolved that day, as is typical. I'm not sure anything has ever been resolved at Taco Bell. But he said he would think about it. I think he heard me.

Things I learned in Paris

It was like a dream.

Monday I decided that I needed Paris, or it needed me and by Friday I was on a flight. Now on the eve of another trip, I recall my first visit and what I gleened from my experience.

-One must SLOW DOWN to enjoy certain things. Way down.
-(some) French men are hot, but wasted because of the poor attitude...
-Walking is good. Great. Fabulous. Something that makes you feel alive when you walk out and breath in a little Paris smog, french bread and coffee.
-Maybe it was because I was only there for a short time, but the French: not so evil!
-I don't miss the days when you could smoke anywhere in America...
-I found that my art appreciation class actually came in handy and that I yearn to know more about the art that shapes our lives.
-Modern art can be annoying.
-Graveyards can be great!
-French kissing in public... not so hot.

But mostly, I am just nobody; a small fish in a big pond. I should get what I can out of this life and ENJOY IT! Because when you're not looking, life will pass you by.

Quick poem from a desparate girl

Just a little reassurance.
A little kiss.
A love rant, tug at me and make me clear of mind.
Just pin me up, push me into the wall, make me.

Can't you feel me?

Holy Mother Church

The Catholic Church makes me want to die.

So much for "holy mother church"...mother left to go get more liquor and left junior with Chester the child molester. Oh, but Chester didn't mean to be bad, so let's pay off mommy and get him a job at a FRIGGIN DAYCARE CENTER!

It's beyond comprehension that people can get away with this kind of behavior simply because they are fake 'men of G-d'. I run a red light, I get a ticket. I don't pay my taxes, the feds come and get me. I mess around with children, you bet your Aunt Betty I'm in prison faster than you can say, "Don't drop the soap".

I don't know what the answer is. I do know though that the answer involves some kind of justice for the victims. What kind of justice, you ask? Anything these survivors want. Let your imagination run wild.

Fufu Bunny and the Almost Dead Girl

There's a girl speeding down I-69 She's smoking a cigarette and thinking about the state of our welfare system and how we all lie and how she wanted strawberry shampoo. Her topless Spyder zipped passed a speed limit sign, going much faster than was legal. It was dirty and tired, just like her. But she was beautiful and hard to catch and leaving the world in her dust. Just her and Dean Martin on the radio and Fufu Bunny buckled up in the seat next to her. She'd been alone on the empty stretch for a hundred miles, slightly curving to the left, to the right but always flat. She put her foot down and the car shot across the landscape. The cacti and prairie dogs became quick flashes, then just fuzzy blurs. A car materialized on the horizon, she slowed, but only for a moment, before she gunned the motor again. "He has to see me" she said of the other driver...

A toad hopped by the smoking wreckage. He paused, but only for a moment, before he continued on his path. Her car was on it's top and the other car was crumpled, it's left turn signal still blinking. . . . .

She awoke in vibrant colors and with a strawberry lollipop in her mouth. She spit it onto the dirt only to have the birds and bees take it up to the nests that they shared. Fufu Bunny laid beside her, somehow staring at her was malcontent through button eyes. Slipping past carrot trees and walls made from jars of marmalade stacked up like bricks, she thought to herself, then said to Fufu Bunny "Candyland, this is not." The sun rose three times and was a cotton ball soaked in gatorade. Then the moon came out, only to reveal it was ball of medical waste. She was lost among madness with nothing but her torn clothes, a carrot plucked from a tree with a jar of marmalade for dipping and Fufu Bunny; too much like Alice to comprehend. But Alice wasn't alone. She had help.

Jaded road led to a hot air balloon, ruby slippers and a floating bubble but she refused to go near them. Carrot trees were about as weird as she was going today. She curled up under a tree that didn't talk and went to sleep with Fufu Bunny.

After the second rising of the sun, she awoke with Fufu Bunny sitting on her chest, his head leaning slightly to the left. She stood up and continued to the right, down the jaded road. She finally hit a wall made of jars of ink and couldn't knock it down. She took a feather off the ground and used the ink to write all over the trees that didnt talk and the jaded road. "Life is moments turned to hours." "He will make you cry, no doubt." "Death to the Czar" "Laugh it up, fuzzball!" "Fufu Bunny was here." When she was satisfied, she stood back to admire her work only to see it all crumble before her eyes.

She was going to turn around and go back; at least there she had marmalade and carrots. But she didn't. She went past the threshold and didn't look back because she knew it wouldn't be there if she did. She walked up to her car, broken and sad, just like her. She laid down next to her car and her head started to bleed. Her legs broke and her jaw cracked in six places. Fufu bunny was nestled under her dislocated arm. She could hear a faint song in the wind, humming to keep her company as she waited for someone to come.