Christmas Traditions

I'm finally done wrapping presents, have only a little bit of cleaning left, and I'm taking a break. I've music playing, currently White is The Winter Night by Enya, and it hit me: tomorrow is Christmas. And for reasons not quite so obvious, I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. While Christmas is not my favorite holiday, it is extremely special to me.



In the Catholic Church, Easter is the most joyous and holiest of holidays, so it is with me, but Christmas evokes such amazing feelings of love and openheartedness. It is the time of year where it is so very easy for me to open my heart to one and all.

For as long as I can remember, Christmas has meant family and church; holy supper and midnight mass. I'm sure every family has their own tradition for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and mine is no exception. As a child, Christmas Eve day was spent with my Dad. He was a mechanic and owned his own shop. Every Christmas Eve he would hold a holiday party for his customers, and he offered beer, whiskey, soda and Boilo. Google Boilo. We have always made ours with moonshine. I remember the one year I made chocolate chip cookies for the party. That was the first year my dad poured some whiskey into my 7-up bottle and I drank with the guys. They were all old enough to be my dad, and they all looked out for me. We drank and played darts, and it was the only time in my life I've seen my dad get drunk. To this day, it is one of my best memories.

Holy supper was at my grandmother's house. She's passed away, now, but when I was young, supper was at 5:00 sharp, and walking into her house, everyone's stomach would begin to growl, it smelled so amazing. Homemade mushroom soup, fish, homemade sweet raisin bread and a lot of ethnic dishes. My mother has a smaller version of dinner now; she took over after my Babka died (my dad's mother). Dinner at the dining room table was loud, lots of laughing and talking and excited talk about when Santa would be coming. Because Santa came after dinner at Babka's.

My sister and I were talking about Santa the other day, about when we stopped believing in him or even if we ever really believed in him at all. And it dawned on me, Santa never visited our house, meaning my parents' house, but he sure visited our grandmother's. I don't know why there was a belief for one house and not the other.

Gift giving is a big thing in my family. Not in quantity, but what it means to share of yourself with another, the value and joy of giving. To the one or two of you who know me and of my seemingly "overboardness" of giving gifts, this is partly the reason. The joy of giving runs rampant in my family. Even young - seven, eight, nine years old - my sister, brother and I would give presents. We'd scour the house looking for things we could wrap and give as gifts, having no money of our own to actually buy something. We'd usually start early, too, in September and October, stashing our gifts until December. There was a lot of laughter and surprised faces.

This year my church is celebrating Midnight Mass. It won't be the same as the mass of my childhood, however. Gone are the days when young girls dress in red satin robes with red bows in their hair and take part in the midnight procession. One girl would hold the statue of the Infant Jesus, and the procession would end at the Creche where the priest places the Infant in the Manger, signifying his birth. Gone are the days of the choir singing the Christmas Kolendy, Polish Christmas carols. I have them, of course, and play them often.

But these memories live on in small ways, and I'm eager to pass them along to my son. It's his first midnight mass, and while he's excited to being able to stay up late, he'll also learn of my traditions and memories and why it's important to eat a little of everything at holy supper, and why we take a bit of straw before we leave the church tonight.

Tomorrow morning we'll open presents and eat a nice dinner. It won't mean much to me; by tomorrow morning, Christmas is just about over. I like it that way, to be honest. My way is better, I think.

I wish you the merriest, most blessed of Christmases.

A Book Recommendation

I finished reading a book last week called Red Planet Noir. If you follow me on Twitter, then you've read my tweets regarding the book and it's author, D.B. Grady (@dbgrady on Twitter),who lives in Baton Rouge, La. (I've his website listed, please visit when you leave here). Online, he's prone to self-deprecation and occasional geeky-ness which is funny and endearing, but make no mistake, he is a smart, intelligent writer. Other writing credits include political articles for The Atlantic, an online publication.

I'll be honest, when I first heard the premise of his book shortly after having met him, I was almost sure I would not be interested in reading it. Not by any shortcoming of his own, I wasn't sure if I'd like a part detective/part science fiction novel. I'm not a sci-fi kind of woman, after all. But then I read his articles, and I was impressed not only with his intelligence and skill with the written word, but also his ability to capture my attention. He drew me into his article on the ongoing war in Afghanistan, for instance, when I'd long since given up on understanding our role in the country.

By this time, I'd made up my mind to purchase his book when it was released, if for no other reason than to help support his writing effort. Then I read an excerpt on his website, and once again, I was hooked.



Red Planet Noir in turn scared me and excited me. It made me cringe and wince and mutter "Oh my God" more than once as I traveled alongside Michael Sheppard, the down, but not out, Private Eye from post-apocalyptic New Orleans, hired to solve a murder on Mars. Falling into the world Grady created, I found it, in turn, horrifyingly believable and fantastical. The story is fast-paced and multi-faceted, and the author brings richness and depth to even the minor characters as Mike makes his way in and out of trouble on the Red Planet.

Park Mickey Spillane and part Michael Crichton, Grady manages to bring both the past into the future and the future back to the past in his novel with clarity and humor. The futuristic world inlaid with Mike Sheppard's old-fashioned vernacular makes reading this novel a joy.

The book is available on Amazon.com and just about everywhere else. If you don't find it, ask the store to order it. It is a great read!

Holidays

The holidays have arrived. I've been in my kitchen for four hours now, prepping and readying the turkey for the oven. I've been on and off the laptop; I've been checking in with family and friends online, wishing everyone a Happy Thanksgiving to my friends here in the States and bragging about my mad cooking skills to those far away.

For as much as I adore my family, they are stressful. I know I add to that stress by wanting everything just perfect and not having patience for those with a different idea, agenda or timetable than mine. Everyone knows to ignore me, and I know to pour the first glass of wine just about... now.

I will try to post another story before the end of the year; I've ideas rumbling around even now. When I learn more of how this site works, I will put the majority of the stories under a link, so that if you'd rather peruse my blog without having to scroll through my stories, you've the option. They aren't for everyone, I know. And I would very much like everyone to enjoy visiting my little blog.

So, to those who celebrate, Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you are blessed with family and friends, with a warm home and health. If you are striving for those things, or even if you are not, I'm wishing for every good thing for you.

Dari

Inspiration

I've been doing a lot of writing lately, and the stories are becoming more and more intense, it would seem. There is no particular reason, other perhaps than wanting to test my writing and creative abilities, to push the boundary of what is comfortable and easy for me as a writer. The next story I'm posting crosses a lot of boundaries for me. While I maintain I've always written that which interests me and excites me and fascinates me, this next story, Switch, does so in new ways. Until now, I can honestly say there have been elements from my own life in each of my stories. Perhaps a scenario, perhaps some level of excitement, perhaps something more. In this story, everything is new to me, and there is not one element in it of which I am familiar.

So, while I am very excited to be posting this story, I'm very, very nervous, as well. I've had nothing to draw on in writing it except my own imagination and understanding, so if you are reading and find flaws, please know they are my own.

I do hope you will leave a comment and let me know what you thought of it. Authors do appreciate feedback.

Pain and Failure

Some of you may recognize this.

He’s gone. Fucking gone. Forever. The words keep circling inside my head, repeating themselves over and over. I’m being crushed by the weight of them - horrible, gut-tearing, soul-bleeding words. How am I going to do this? How many times will I have to try, only to fail? I can’t do it. I can’t keep doing this. This is killing me; every time I try, it just keeps happening. Not the same way, but I can’t stop it. He’s gone. He left. HE’S GONE!!! The words scream and echo and bounce in my brain.

I can barely breathe. My heart is twisting in my chest; I’m gasping and heaving, doubling over in my pain, desperate to dispel the poisonous images. I vomit and vomit until nothing remains but pain and failure. They sear my every thought, every movement, every blink of my eye. He is dead to me, and I am alone.

I have to pull myself together, somehow. I have to go back to… To do what? What can I possibly do? What can I try that I haven’t tried? What can I do that I haven’t done? My eyes sting, my lungs burn from crying. My brain hurts from the words twisting around inside, from trying to think, yet not think.

What do I do? What do I do? I’m pacing, - back and forth, back and forth throughout my house. The words loop in my mind. He’s gone. What do I do now? He’s gone. What do I do now?

There’s nothing left to do. I’d given him everything I had inside of me. Was it not enough? Was it too much? He would never say, would never tell me what he wanted, what he needed from me. He told me I was his best friend. He told me he loved me. And then she walked back into his life. Why was I not enough? What didn’t I tell him? Did I make him too happy, that he wanted to go back to being miserable? Did he miss the agonizing thoughts of pain and failure he had with her so much that he had to share them with me, so that I too would know the pain of losing someone, the pain of failure of not being enough for the one I love?

I hate you!!! My brain screams. But it does not hate him, it hates me. For losing him. For letting him go.

I lift my chin against that final onslaught. I will not be the desperate one. I will not beg. I will not plead. I will not bargain with him or blackmail him or make him feel guilty for leaving me. Let it be on him. Let him be the desperate one in their relationship. Let him be the one that wants more, who must lick his wounds in the corner when she kicks him, when she rejects his love. Let him wonder why he chose her when he could have had me, when she leaves yet again.

You want to be miserable? Be miserable. I have a life to live.

I will retrace my steps through our relationship and leave without a backwards glance, without a raised hand in goodbye. I’ve said all I had to say, except this: You know where I will be when you are ready to be happy again. Don’t wait too long or you won’t be able to catch up.

Why I Write...

I'd forgotten why I write.

For more years that I care to count, I wrote in a journal. I've dozens and dozens of journals packed in boxes under my bed and in my closet. I'm not talking about the "Dear Diary" kind of journal; I'm talking about analyzing and questioning and theorizing about my life and all that it contained. I wrote when I was happy - not just, "Today is a great day; I'm happy." I wrote about what kind of happiness it was and all the events that made it happy. Sometimes I just woke up in a great mood and things just seemed to go my way. I could write five pages on the whats and hows and whys of my happiness.



When I was upset, that number easily increased to 25 pages. Yes, 25 pages. It is not a stretch. I would write and write and write and write until what ever it was that had to be worked out, was worked out. I'd write until I was done. Until all the worry or sadness or reason I had for a heavy heart was worked out and I felt lighter and freer.

There are only a hand-full of online friends that I've spoken to in person. And of those, an even smaller number have heard me talking when I really had something to say. On those occasions, I talk fast. I mean really fast! I'm animated and sometimes loud and I even trip over my words in my haste to get it all from my brain to the tip of my tongue. I write much the same way. Run on sentences and sentence fragments are littered throughout the pages. The words and the cadence mirror my thoughts. Sometimes disjointed, sometimes smooth and coherent.

The point is, I write because I need to; I'm not one for sharing my feelings or problems with anyone. I'm weird like that, I suppose. My journals keep all of my secrets and never think me strange or over the top or pathetic. Not that I think my family or best friends would think that, but I'm the type that keeps her own counsel. If I were a guy, I'd be the strong, silent type, I think. Not that I'm particularly strong, but silent, yes.

I haven't written in a journal in ten years. Why? I got pregnant, and suddenly, there was no more time! I was so preoccupied with the baby that all thoughts of myself went out the window. Over time, they forgot to come back.

For the past ten years, I'd no thoughts of myself, of stopping and writing and working out in my journals the ups and downs that were going on in my life. Going back to school, taking a job with a long commute. My feelings of inadequacy and failure at not being able to work closer to home or spend more time with my son. Nothing I did was good enough in my own mind, and because I wasn't expressing myself in my journals, I began to believe that those feelings were justified and not temporary.

The results of ignoring my thoughts and feelings, of not expressing them on paper was a deterioration of my self worth and self esteem. I could list for you my accomplishments, but they couldn't compare to my list of failings. I'd forgotten who I was and why I was of value and all those things that made me me.

I'd often been told I wasn't Daria any longer, but Mommy. I wasn't to have an identity outside of my son. And stupid me, by ignoring my thoughts and need to work out these issues via my journal, I began to believe these foolish ideas. I began trusting myself less and other people more.

But I'm writing again. It's slow; I'm a bit rusty. But I'm getting there. Writing was always my coping mechanism; nothing could happen or not happen that I didn't write about. I wrote until I felt better. Those days are coming back.

For now, I'm identifying problems and working on solutions. I'm once more recognizing my feelings towards people and situations. It once came naturally to me; I don't think it will be hard to get back into the swing of things.

I write because I need to; it is an integral part of what makes me, me. I write because I don't function properly otherwise. I write to become a better person, a more complete person. I write for me, about me, and to me.

I write until I am finished.

I'm finished.

Meeting and Falling in Love Online

I love meeting people online. For someone like me, who holds back in person, who is more comfortable in small groups than I am in a faceless crowd, meeting people online is a dream!

I've three friends I met on Live Journal for whom I would give my right arm; Jeannie, Shelly and Jill. They are the most wonderful human beings, and my life would be very empty without them. I met Shelly in May when I flew out to California. I'm hooking up with Jeannie in October at her place. Jill, by the grace of God, I'll meet sometime soon. These woman have made me a better person, a richer person.



I've met other people online, as well. Amazing people whom I cannot imagine not having in my life, regardless of where they are: West Coast, Midwest, South, even in another country all together. I am an exceptionally lucky woman, honest to Christ.

But what do you do when online friends cross the line from friends with whom you chat and share a few laughs and become a person with whom you want to share more? And yes, we all know what I mean when I say the word "more." We are all adults, after all.

I'll admit, I like to flirt, but it is harmless flirting. It's a wink and a slightly suggestive comment or reply. It's not lewd or salacious. No one takes me seriously, and I don't take them seriously. It's a bar chat in a digital setting. But what happens when you start liking the person you're chatting with on the next digital bar stool?

I've met a couple who met and fell in love online. They are the most amazing people; they have so much faith and hope in each other and what they share with each other. They will be meeting each other for the first time in a week or so. I'm waiting with baited breath to hear how things work out. These two people inspire the hell out of me. They give me faith and hope. That in this day and age, when it is harder and harder to meet someone, meeting someone online can work out. That it isn't some sort of hallucination; you can find someone honest and caring and genuine hundreds or even thousands of miles away.

It is possible? I'd like to think so, even though there are more non-believers than believers. There are nay-sayers and pessimists and those that say, "They can be anybody online," and "How can you believe anyone you haven't met?"

I'll admit it, I'm a very literal person, much to my detriment. It takes me an extra moment or two to make the connection from what I am reading to what it really being said. It's not that I don't believe people lie, they do! But I don't. If I don't want to answer a question, I won't, but I won't lie and make up an answer that will get you off my back or appease you somehow. I'd rather not say anything and suffer an uncomfortable silence than lie. But people do lie. Horribly. All the time. And for their own reasons, most of which, I'm counting on, are not malicious.

But to these nay-sayers I say this, I've just as much faith in the person I meet face to face as I do in the person I meet online to be as truthful and as honest as they can be, with me. Some say it's easier to be truthful when you can't see their face, other say it's easier to lie when you can't see their face. Both are true.

But still, I have faith and hope. Because I've met someone. I'll not go into any details, except to say, I was not looking for him; he found me. He says he's the lucky one, but I know differently. The Daria in every day life is the Daria in digital life; I don't make friends easily or often, but sometimes I take a chance. I'm determined to be realistic; despite not wanting to be, so I'll not make promises I don't know if I can keep. I'll not jump in with both feet without knowing if it is safe or not. But sometimes, it is hard not to say, "I love you." Not that I'm in love, I'm not. But he inspires me to love. I think that's a good start, don't you?

How the fuck did this blog become about me?? I'm turning into a fucking wuss. Honest to Christ.

A Realization

I've now posted two stories that I've written to this blog, and in a few moments, I am going to be posting another. And I can't help but pause for a moment and wonder if this was somehow a part of the plan all along. Not intentionally, of course. In the beginning, I could not imagine sharing what I've written in this manner, but after my first story was posted, the response was immediate and slightly overwhelming. And it appears I've found a small outlet for my creativity for now.

That's not to say that this blog is suddenly going to be just about posting stories, nosiree! I will be posting the odd bit here and there, sometimes rambling, sometimes ranting, perhaps even, if I'm tipsy and in a good mood, I'll make a social commentary that I will undoubtedly regret at some point in the future.

But for now, it seems a good enough place for me to introduce some stories.

Thanks for joining me and reading.

Twitter and the Taboo Word

I'll admit it, I am fucking addicted to Twitter. It is bordering on unhealthy, in a really good way. That doesn't make sense, you're thinking. I know. It doesn't make sense to me, either.

I love Twitter. I love meeting new people, reading their tweets and learning about them. I love funny, sarcastic and intelligent people. They tickle my brain and my funny bone and occasionally, another region, as well. I am extremely fortunate that I have those kinds of friends on Twitter; they make me laugh, make me think and offer tidbits of their lives and adventures. I have friends and followers all over the world, and they constantly remind me that the world is much smaller and intimate than it was twenty years ago.

I've also learned a valuable lesson while talking to my new, international friends. I've learned that words are just words. They hold no more or less power than you give them; and it is not just the speaker who gives the words meaning, it is the listener or reader, as well.

Take the word cunt, for example.

Growing up in a small, conservative community, I was taught that girls were girls, boys were boys, and boys should always respect girls. The word cunt was, and still is, taboo. Seriously taboo. It is THE word that is never said. It is perfectly acceptable for a girl or guy to call a guy a dick, if he was acting obnoxious, idiotic, rude, belligerent or, in general, an ass.

But GOD FORBID, you call a girl a cunt for acting in the exact same manner. A bitch, yes. In fact, the moniker "bitch" is about as bad as you can acceptably go in calling a female a derogatory name. To call a female a cunt, however, is taking a shot at her womanhood, at how she defines herself and her place in society. It is calling into question not just her femininity, but her worthiness, as well. Utter the word cunt, and her behavior gives way to hysterical crying and will form a complex so severe that it will take weeks of reassurance and chocolate to overcome.

Which brings me around to Twitter again. Brits have mastered the word cunt and use it with razor-sharp precision; yet, it's true meaning is in the context. I was told by someone very high up in cursebird.com's rank that it is the vilest of vile words, when no other word can match the depth of disgust and loathing, you throw out cunt. Instantly, there is the sharp intake of breath and a low murmur. There is no comeback. There is no evasion. You stand there and take it on the chin.

The word has other uses, as well. Guy friends call each other cunts, either jokingly or giving warning. I've heard of a woman calling a guy a cunt, although I've never seen or read it, personally. I was slightly appalled at first, but that feeling has since given way to pride, that a woman broke that barrier, feeling strong and brave enough to venture not only into male territory, but out of her own perception of the word. To say, this isn't about guarding my womanhood or how I define myself, this is about you being so horrible that I'm going to call you the one word that will take you out.

Rock on, and all you cunts can fuck off.

I love Twitter.

A Call for Help!

Currently, I am researching communication information for a play I am writing, and I am using my blog to enlist your help, especially all my guy friends! What I need to know, and what I'd like for you to answer, involves all the ways in which you stay in touch with your friends. Specifically, I need information on the following:

1. Home Phone - Do you still talk to your friends on the phone? If yes, how often? What do you talk about generally? How long do you stay on the phone? What do you do while talking on the phone? Is it easier to talk about something on the phone rather than in person?

2. Cell phone - This is separate than a regular, old-fashioned landline phone in the home. I realize some of you may only have a cell phone. If that is the case, how do you use it when you are OUT of your home? Where do you make phone calls? Do you make private calls on the phone? When do you use your phone the most? What do you talk about the most, when using your cell phone?

3. Texting - Do you text your friends? When? Why?

4. E-mail - laptop, PC, cell - when do you E-mail? When do you make the majority of E-mails? D0 you discuss personal matters in your E-mail?

5. Networking Websites ie Facebook, MySpace - How do you use page to stay in touch with friends?

I appreciate everyone's participation and help with this project. If you would not like your comments made public, please indicate, and I will comply with your wishes. Also, may I contact you for further information? Please?

Thanks!

Myers-Biggs Personality Test Results - INTJ

I took a personality test a while back, and I shared it with my friends on Live Journal.

When I first read the results, I was like, No Way! But after thinking about this, I'm like.... hmmm. Maybe.

It is true that I like things in my life to be organized, only because so much in my life is beyond my control and is NOT organized.

Not sure if I would say I am skeptical, although I do tend to see situations for what they are, rather than what I'd like them to be. I do not explain myself or my actions, however, so that may lead some people to believe I don't see a situation for what it really is. I do.

And while I am independent and stubborn, I do not feel as if I only befriend those who are like me. Although it is probably true that my closest friends are likeminded. But I like everyone and can appreciate everyone's individuality!

I don't think of myself as 'the brain', more like in a room full of people who don't know how to make a firm decision for fear of stepping on toes, I'm more than capable of saying, "Okay, this way is the best because of A, B and C. Do you agree?"

Aloof, controlling and insensitive... I suppose this is an accurate, for those who don't get me. But I try very, very hard to take a step back from a situation and look at it objectively. I do not take sides. Before you ask me for an opinion, make sure you are ready to hear it, because if I think you are wrong, I will tell you.

You Are An INTJ

The Scientist You have a head for ideas - and you are good at improving systems. Logical and strategic, you prefer for everything in your life to be organized. You tend to be a bit skeptical. You're both critical of yourself and of others. Independent and stubborn, you tend to only befriend those who are a lot like you. In love, you are always striving to improve your relationship. You have strong ideas of what love should be like. At work, you excel in figuring out difficult tasks. People think of you as "the brain." You would make an excellent scientist, engineer, or programmer. How you see yourself: Reasonable, knowledgeable, and competent When other people don't get you, they see you as: Aloof, controlling, and insensitive

Here is the link for the Myers-Biggs personality type INTJ Wikipedia, if you are interested Wikipedia - INTJ.

If you have the opportunity to take this test, take it! It is very insightful.

Online Friends vs. 'Real Life' Friends

I have friends and a sister who differentiate between online friends and real life friends, as if talking to someone through E-mails and IM and Twitter makes the person on the opposite end somehow less of a person or less real.

My sister, for instance, does not believe you can have a true friendship with someone who isn't physically standing before you. I think she's full of shit. There are certain things that make a friendship, and honesty and the ability to share yourself are key.

I tend to share more personal details of my life when someone isn't in front of me. I don't know if it's the Catholic upbringing and telling my sins to the priest in a confessional or something else, but it is easier for me to say, "I wrote a great piece of porn last night for my story" to my friends online than I can to my best friend who lives only a couple miles away. Am I worried about her reaction to this bit of news? Ehm, not really. She's my best friend, she won't judge me. I'm more concerned she will read it and get ideas of what my sex life might be like! To be truthful, I don't really think I want to sit there and watch her eyes go all glassy and unfocused. Can I tell my best friend Jeannie, whom I've yet to meet in person but whom I've talked to through chat thousands of times and have talked on the phone with about the great bit of smut? Oh, hell yeah! She'll send it back to me with corrections and additions, as well.

But even more important than the ability to share with someone who isn't in front of me is the ability to see the bigger picture. I'm not, for the most part, a detail oriented person. I don't like looking at the itty, bitty details in my life. I know what is there and what isn't. I can look at my five friends whom I've met online, and say, "These people are really important to me. I would miss them if they left my life. I would go to them if they needed me. The only reason I'm not with them now is because they don't life close to me."

Perhaps it is because I don't believe that a person I've met online is any more or less likely to lie to me than if I've met them in person. A serial killer in person won't look like a serial killer, but you've more of a chance of being killed by running into one in person than you do if you've met one online. I think everyone mixes lies and truth, whether over a table at a restaurant or over laptops at kitchen tables. And in most cases, you see what you want to see, regardless of where one is sitting.

Personally, I'm of the opinion that I can have a long, sustained relationship with someone I've met online. For thousands of years, people have been exchanging letters without ever having met. The history books are filled with relationships that have been carried out in them. In this day of texting and instant messaging and Twitter, not to mention Skype, what is the difference between an E-mail and a letter?

My sister says that a letter is more thoughtful, it is from the heart. I'm of the opinion that the longer it takes to write a letter, the more it is untruthful, for you've had time to phrase a sentence just so, to chose your words oh, so carefully, to portray that exact emotion or moment as you want. I'm not implying that all letters are lies, just the opportunity to smooth over the rough spots or... well, yes, to lie. While to the same extent, you can do the same in an E-mail, for the vast majority of personal E-mails sent every day, usually someone is on the other end waiting for you to hit Send. There isn't always time to chose that perfect word. It might be a bit cruder, but it is no less honest or dishonest.

Will there come a time where remaining online friends won't be enough, that I'll need to meet them in person? Yes. I've met one, already. Michelle. I flew across the country to meet her. Worth every mile. I'm meeting another next month, at her house. Jeannie, who makes me laugh like crazy. If I were ever to have an older sister, I'd want it to be her. Two more live one state away. I figure, if I plan it right, I may be able to spend time with both of them. The last one? Best saved for another time. Maybe.

Surreal Moment

I'm not big into celebrities. Not that I don't appreciate them, for it can't be easy having the world have an opinion on how you live your life and making free with the comments. I am just not awestruck by them.

Okay, I'll admit that when I was in Hollywood last month and I saw Bo Bice, the runner-up from American Idol Season 4, waiting in the wings to be interviewed, my panties got a little wet. But that wasn't so much because he was a celebrity, it was his hair! That gorgeous hair. And his smile. His smile cannot be discounted. But it wasn't an "Oh my God, it's someone famous!" kind of moment. It was more of an "Oh my God, if he wasn't married or surrounded by bodyguards, I would so jump him," kind of moment.

I'm saying this because tonight, Rod Stewart began following me on Twitter. Yeah, that Rod Stewart. At least, I think it's that Rod Stewart. From all accounts and impressions, it most certainly seems like it is. I sent him a Direct Message saying hi and thanks for following. He can't send a message back, because I haven't friended him.

And I'm sitting here wondering why I haven't. I mean, come on! This is my chance to rub shoulders with someone famous! I'm an aspiring writer and playwright. I should want to network and get my name out there, right? What better way than through a celebrity? One that began following me, instead of the other way around.

And I'm thinking, is it because I like the idea that I've attracted a celebrity and perhaps I can make myself seem more alluring by holding off jumping on the bandwagon of Rod Stewart followers? Is it the pull of being able to think, perhaps he likes me more than I like him?

All of this sounds very egotistical. And perhaps I like that too. For a brief moment in time, I have someone famous liking me enough to follow me.

It certainly is a surreal moment. I couldn't stop giggling, truth be told, at the absurdity of it all. I mean, this is Rod Stewart! Rod the Bod! Rod, Do-You-Think-I'm-Sexy, Fuck-Yes-I-Do Stewart!

And I can't be bothered. I think I'll wait to see if he says hello. Or if he says something interesting on his wall. I mean, after all, beyond his persona, what the hell do I know? Is he someone I'd like to hang out with? I've no idea.

But still, it is a surreal moment.

Exes

So, I've been thinking a lot about relationships lately, and exes, specifically.

I know many, many people, both men and women, who say that when a relationship has ended, they've maintained a speaking relationship with their ex. They are friends or friendly or occasionally have lunch or dinner with each other.

And I wonder how the hell they can do that.

Because I cannot. Not on any level. If a relationship is over, it is over. Completely. I can't imagine staying friends with someone with whom I'm no longer involved.

Once a relationship has moved beyond friendship and onto lover/roommate/fiance status, I cannot see myself taking such a huge step backwards to just friendship again. For instance, I can't see myself sitting across from Andrew at a restaurant, asking after his friends and family, and not imagining either a) that sexual romp in the middle of the baseball field or b) the huge fight where we ended up chucking glasses of Kool-Aid at each other.

Do you follow? It would be like pretending that all that came before it somehow either didn't matter or isn't important enough to be remembered. I suppose one could say, Dari, get over it, get past it, move beyond it. To which I say, NO.

I don't want to stay friends with someone who I've given head to a thousand times but who could cheat on me with some slut he met at work. I don't want to have a drink with someone who, the last time I had a drink with, we had four hours of sex and I was sore and walked funny for two days, only to discover he had lied to me about major events in his life.

Call me silly, but I'm like that!

Because for whatever reason we had for breaking up, they were big enough for me to walk away from them. And trust me, it takes a lot for me to walk away. I'm not like that. Through thick and thin, good times and bad, I'm there. But if you've hurt me enough for me to walk away, then you aren't a good enough person to be my friend.

Is it wrong to think that way?

We've all had friends and boyfriends/girlfriends come in and out of our lives. I believe everything happens for a reason, and the reason why you became friends with that dude you worked with suddenly isn't there when you are no longer working together. Some friends and lovers are transient, and I'm okay with that. If I had to deal with every friend and lover I've ever had, I'd have no time to pee. It's just that simple.

But that's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about someone who has made me laugh until I couldn't breath, and cry until I fell asleep, only to wake and cry some more. The person with whom I've attended family reunions and weddings and funerals. That I cried with when I found out I wasn't pregnant. How does one wipe away all of those intense encounters that indelibly left a mark on me to just become friends once more?

I can't do it.

My First Time

I don't blog. Well, I never thought I would blog, might be more accurate. I always maintained that you had to feel pretty self-important to post something and expect people are going to read it. But I've learned that the world is a funny place, and people do weird stuff all the time, including read strangers' blogs!

I do maintain accounts at other sites. I've a page (wall?) on Facebook. I think I created it to do something else, but I've forgotten now what it was, and I'm taken by surprise when someone friends me on Facebook. I keep forgetting it. I've an account on Live Journal. I've made fantastic friends, discovered quite a bit about myself, and have a tremendous amount of fun there. It's not open to the public, however.

This is, apparently. So, here it is, my first blog.

Do I have anything important to say? Not really! But it is still early, and I've not gotten out of bed properly, yet. Going pee and getting coffee doesn't count. Getting out of bed is more of a state of mind than physical action, in my opinion.

I don't talk much about myself. I never have, and I can't see myself starting now. I can be funny. I can be sarcastic. I am even a bit intimidating at times. I'll offer opinions, make observations and sometimes tell jokes.

I've an account on Twitter. Don't we all? You can find me here http://twitter.com/Daria67 . Just so you are aware, I won't follow just because you follow me. I will check out your wall, read what you have to say. If I think you are funny/interesting/sarcastic/insert other adjective here/ and I think we'd get along, I'll friend you. If not, don't feel bad, please. If I Tweet and you like it, comment on it! I read them, and I usually respond, as well. Do it enough, and well, we'll see what happens.

Kinda like real life, isn't it? You don't make friends right away. You scope the other person out, run into them from time to time. Make small talk. See if they've the qualities you're looking for in someone to hang out with. Of course, it's great if you come recommended. A friend of a friend, and all that. I've met some great friends like that.

So, there you have it. A brief intro by me and a link to Twitter - all because I am shameless and want more followers.

I hope like hell you comment and I can read them. I've yet to figure out how to leave a comment. I try and try, it's like they don't want me to speak. Hmph.