Tag Archives: exes

Supposed To Be



I’m supposed to be working on my novel.

I’m supposed to be sipping this Live Oak Hef, my favorite beer, and working on my novel.

I’m supposed to be enjoying the Texas summer (before it gets too hot)—wind through my hair, sun on my skin, taco truck scents drifting my way—and working on my novel.

I told my friend Ashely that it’s been difficult to write lately because I’ve been so happy. “Give me a heartbreak and I’ll pump out a few novels,” I’d laughed and given her tiny Pomeranian a pat. And it’s true, it really is. I mean, that’s how the first novel came to be.

But the thing is, you make me want to write all the time. And that’s not always a good thing. Usually it is. Usually, you make me want to write sappy poetry after I’ve had a few glasses of Cab. I grab the first writing utensil I find in your grungy garage and jot some cheesy observations into the legal pad that you draw in. I sketch stanzas about your whiskers and kisses and huge hands and you telling me you loved me in that sketchy motel we stayed in. I paint lines with your expressions, sayings, Spanglish, noises your watch makes.

But sometimes. Like now. I’ve felt on the edge of crying for a couple hours—thankful for my Ray Bans and lipstick and beer. I wish I could explain why. I wish I could be honest when you ask me what’s wrong. I think the sad fact is simply that I’m in love, I’m so in love with you and I’m so scared and I don’t want to feel completely destroyed ever again and that’s the only thing I wind up being able to write about.

I get anxiety, I feel this intensely strong desire to put giant walls back up, brush these feelings aside, break this off and avoid any kind of pain. I thought I’d be over this—I thought you’d be the one to be freaking out, tight chest, on edge. How hilarious that it’s me!

I wish I could explain this…better. But that’s what it is—you haven’t done anything wrong, necessarily. I think I’m a little crazy is all. Isn’t everyone? That Kerouac quote about “mad ones,” you know?

I need reassurance by the bucket or else I think you’re going to leave. It’s sad, really, but it makes me feel better that I’m not alone. So many of us have these skeletons, the burned past—the exact same insecurity, fear.

I wish it were my fault and I could fix it. I’m great at fixing things that are my fault. But I didn’t do this…my father did this, my ex-boyfriend did this, my friends and their stories, their nightmares, almost every single man I’ve dated, actually. It’s a long list, it’s a lot of pain, it’s kind of like this campfire experience of ghost tales that travels with you forever, the smoke seeping into your heart.

I hope you won’t be added to the list. That’s all I can really do, I suppose. Drink my beer, try again tomorrow to work on my novel (I’m supposed to be working on my novel).

10 Year Reunion


I just watched 10 Years, the movie with a crazy number of famous people about a 10 year high school reunion. It was OK, not fantastic, but it did have one lasting effect: I can’t stop thinking about what my 10 year high school reunion will be like. And I mean, can’t stop. I figure if I write this blog, get all my wacky thoughts out of my head and onto a Word doc, I’ll be free (until 2016, which, sadly, is coming up very, very soon).

I’m going to list the main plots of the movie and then talk about my fears/hopes/predictions for my own looming reunion. I guess you should know that I went to Jack C. Hays High School in good ol’ Kyle, TX. We’ve made national news a couple times for using the Confederate flag much like other people use the Bible or peace signs and painting “nigger” on a teacher’s door. Classy, I know. Please note that when I say “we,” I obviously mean the entire school, past and present students and staff, because we are all guilty, in some form or fashion. I myself, for example, went to school with so many Republicans that I thought I was one, until college hit me like a bag of Taaka bottles. I dated someone once who dipped. I owned overalls and thought that men who drove cars instead of trucks were pussies. Must I go on?

You should also know that in high school, I was editor-in-chief of the newspaper, historian of Student Council, I didn’t know how to dress, I have no idea what was going on with my hair, and I had a small but solid group of friends who all had similar stories. My only real boyfriend was senior year…and he was a sophomore. Oh, and I had severe scoliosis; high school really wasn’t my time to shine. So there you have it. Now you’re ready to read on.

A)     Exes

I already covered this, really. There will be no awkward small talk with a former lover for me, yay! Although I can’t wait to watch this happen between other people.

B)      Looking/Acting Completely Different Now

I do look pretty different, in that I am now somewhat attractive, whereas in high school I think I just looked odd. My body grew too slow in all the wrong places and too fast in all the other. I was the opposite of sexy. So that might be kind of fun, especially considering that most people look worse 10 years after graduation. I plan on being very high and mighty as the leader of the very small percentage of graduates who will not be pregnant or overweight at the reunion. Suck on that, blonde beauty queen bitches (OK, some of you were nice and cool, I admit. I still hope you’re all fat).

But I really want to see something more significant—someone who completely and utterly changed their lifestyle, walks into the room, and no one knows who they are because they’re THAT shockingly different.

C)      Anyone Famous?

I don’t think so. The closest is probably this one kid who’s trying to make it on Broadway right now. We’ve all been waiting for him to come out of the closet since high school.

D)     Pictures

In the movie, there were pictures of their class hanging all over. I don’t remember having many photos in the yearbook, but maybe I’ll submit some winners (StuCo sleepovers, Newspaper meetings, that time I tried to make a documentary), to make sure us “losers” are represented just as much as the prom king and queen.

E)      Embarrassment

Will we get drunk? Will anyone cause a huge scene, get into a fight, have sex in the bathroom, throw up on the dance floor? Where will this event even be held? You better believe I’ll be tipsy, but I won’t embarrass myself. I have to stay sober enough to remember (and capture on my iPhone) all of the sloppy happenings of the night.

F)      Romance

Although I have no exes to rekindle flames with, I do have to wonder…will I still be single in 2016? I told my best friend that she’ll probably meet, aka re-meet, her husband at our reunion. That’d be crazy, right? Yes, there are a few people we have in mind. But they’re probably like the rest of our high school: married, kids, horrible jobs. I’m exaggerating. Our graduating class was about 650—I’d say 75% are married (some already divorced and remarried). So of that remaining 25%, take out the women, gays, unemployed, tools, and rednecks…you get 5%. Of that 5%, probably half won’t come because they’re too busy making a lot of money, travelling the world, or saving babies. That leaves us with 2.5% but let’s not forget, my friends are the cool ones who went to college, didn’t knock anybody up, and now live normal, adult lives. Therefore, at least 1% of that 2.5% consists of friends who I see more as brothers. That leaves us with a whopping 9.75 men that could be potential interests the night of our reunion. Let’s chop off that 0.75 because I don’t like the sound of a three-fourths man. Let’s subtract another two because they’ll be too pretentious, ugly, or both to handle. So seven potential people who I could get handsy with by the punch bowl or make out with in the parking lot. Or, ya’ know, exchange numbers and go on an actual date with later in the week. Seven sounds like WAY too high of a number, what am I forgetting to subtract?

I’m really looking forward to our 10 year reunion, especially after seeing that movie. My best friend doesn’t want to go at all and doesn’t understand why I’ll be dragging her to it no matter what. I’m just so damn nostalgic. I’m dying to see how everyone’s doing, what everyone looks like, who has adorable baby pictures in their wallet and who still hasn’t fixed their awful eyebrows/teeth/halitosis. Who is just downright happy and who is just downright miserable? Who lights up the room? Who looks so freakin’ fantastic you can’t stop staring? Who comes way overdressed/underdressed? Who cries? Who will I not remember for the life of me? Who will not remember me for the life of them? Who will surprise me?

Can’t wait. 2016, you better be kind to me.