"Boo ya! Let's go the Library!"

Okay. Fine. I s'pose we'll clear this up again.

Please, please, please do not walk through my glass house on the sly, throwing rocks aimlessly without at least leaving me a little note telling me you were there. Yeah, yeah--most likely this doesn't apply to you. That's true. But check this shit out.

Somebody in my rainy little hometown has decided to peruse my archives for a total of several hours in the last week or so. Would it kill you to let me know you stopped by? Apparently.

Fine. Don't tell me. Lie to me. Whatever, because here's what I realized:

I should be perusing my own archives. Why? Well, there are some rather poignant posts you visited that in revisiting myself, has led me to realize a tragic string of events that I never really wanted myself to see. Okay let's see. Let's start with the ones you read like:

Worst. Sex. Ever. Damn, that was a great post. What's weird is that I kind of forgot I had written it. I once said, right after the first Open Letter, that I had become scared of what I write down, lest it become true. I'm suddenly so pissed at myself for that post (albeit super funny) because I clearly nailed my own coffin shut. I set my own stage for a hermit-like sexless winter in which I largely scrooged my way through every post and pined over a boy that I had several months previous had early morning punk rock pillowtalk with on Mary's birthday who was two states away, much like you, in my hometown. Fuck, I gotta stop writing this shit down. It always comes true.

Oh, and:

Oh, I'm afraid I left something out. This post was great--and was one of those, like this one, where I am speaking to someone unnamed but point blank through the blogosphere. In that post, I was speaking to Sam, who had recently decided to write me a series of e-mails in which she conveniently forgot the past and came just a little to close for my taste to comparing herself to Jesus.

I guess that brings me to my point. There are some I think you missed.

Like Okay. Got it. No really. My favorite excerpt of this is: "I don't know, I just miss him, and you know: I miss him. I'm so freakin' wasted you guys. Omigod, I'm so FREAKIN' wasted. I'll just go home with that Jason guy. Jake. What the hell! Whatever! I don't love anybody! Fuck you! Omigod, I love you so much, Mindy."

The unfortunate part I left out of this post is a conversation I once had with Samantha. I had spent Labor Day Weekend '06 in Seattle, and took over her room in the wharehouse while she stayed at Ian's. A couple weeks later, she called me. This is not paraphrased at all. I remember this conversation vividly.

"Hello?" This is how I and the rest of the world answer the phone. Lest you not believe me, there was no pause between me answering the phone and her next sentance.
I laughed out loud to this, finally composed myself, and then answered.
"Yeah, dude. Totally. Didn't you already know that?"
"No, you didn't tell me!"
"I didn't? I thought we just weren't talking about it 'cause it was boring."
"How is that boring?"
"Because I had just fucked Abara the day before."
Then she laughed out loud.

Oh! and there's also this one. A response, in repose. This is the one I wrote because Samantha insisted I was being retarded, that I needed to slap some sense into myself before it all got out of control. I thought that if I wrote it all down, it would all make sense in my head, and I could fucking move on. It makes me furious to think of this.

I have been, several times recently by many people, posed with the notion of making good with Samantha, up to and including being told that "If I could just get you guys in the same room, maybe you guys could be friends again." My response? This too, I also remember vividly.

"Yeah, but it's more complicated than you know. We were more than best friends. We were closer than sisters, we were better than lovers. She really hurt me. To the point where it will never be the same."

What I wanted to say?

"You have no idea what she says about you behind your back. If it weren't for her and everything she told me, I would have been here, both the litteral and the proverbial 'naked in your bed', for a long time now. I mean, you wouldn't believe some of the stuff I've said about you, but you seriously would not believe the shit she says about you. To her credit, she might have just said all that shit to suit her own purposes, keep me single and for herself. Also to her credit, it sounded like shit Ian was telling her and she was merely repeating, as she's often known to do when she loves some boy or another. I hate myself for ever believing her, but more importantly, I hate myself for thinking all of this and not telling you, for letting you lay there and hold me and defend her because you think it's the right thing to do. It's not. She would never offer you the same courtesy."

It's true, though. She wouldn't. Not you or me. And yeah, this whole idea of "You" in this post is getting a bit skewed, and I may not know who "You" even are, but I think I do. More importantly, it doesn't matter if I do--google away. Search and find some tidbit you think illicit and secret--but know that it's not.

If there's something you really want to know, just call me. I'll tell you. It's 415.567.7339.

If you want to just read my blog, drop me a line. Leave a comment. That way, we can both make sure you don't miss anything next time.

And thanks, because since you've forced me to take a frank look at my past, it's all so very clear to me now. It just sucks that all of this time that's gone by has to be added to the short list of things I truly regret.


p.s.--there is a nav bar on the top of thus blog. on the left, you can search just my blog by entering keywords. try it out by entering the title of this post and reading the other entry that comes up. this will be fun for everyone, by the way.


Big Rhyno said...

come on....more posts!!

angelica said...

i love when you call people out, its so exciting, even if i have no clue what is going on or who they are. btw, im always reading but i never comment. you made me feel bad. see you monday.