...34! I would have called her, after having sent her a card (she always sent me packages for my birthday, but I never did better than a card), or maybe I would have just texted, because that's what people do now.
However I sent her birthday wishes, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. But now I do nothing except think twice - more than twice - every eighth of March.
Happy birthday, Kara...
Showing posts with label Kara posts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kara posts. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 8, 2016
Friday, October 16, 2015
Five years today...and this is what I meant in the previous entry about things getting dark.
I didn’t mention it before but she’d been dating a guy I didn’t approve of when she died. And by “didn’t approve of,” I mean that I thought it very inconsiderate of him to replace me as the most important friend in her life, especially while I was going through "a rough patch" and needed her to spend all of her time with me on the phone, listening to me whine.
It all moved so quickly, this boy and her, and me being left behind, so we fought about that, and about all sorts of other things that had nothing to do with anything except the two of us being locked in an unwinnable competition to prove who was more stubborn. It was the type of fighting that leads to silence; the summer before she died, we barely spoke.
What I remember most about those last few months is how angry I was. I was angry that she’d had my book for fifteen months and never given me her edits, so I’d had to finish it without her insight. I was angry that I spent a whole day poring over a complaint she’d written against a faculty member only to have her scrap it once I sent her my feedback. I was angry that she only seemed to call to talk about boys when I was lying awake at night worrying that Congress wasn't going to pass an extension on my unemployment benefits. I was angry that she was still in school, still blissful in the mentality of a student, unable to relate to my growing contempt for academia and its snotty immunity to rest of the world, which was falling apart outside its bubble.
I was angry because I had to hear from Alex that things were going so well that she’d gone on vacation with his family. (Alex!) I was angry because I missed her. I was angry because she was still the same Kara she’d always been, and I was losing Becky to a world of lost dreams and false starts. I was angry that I felt old, and that as I aged, she seemed suspended in a joyous youthfulness that I vaguely remembered but could no longer touch.
And I was especially angry about the card she sent. Kara was always sending cards…St. Patrick’s Day, Valentine’s Day, Just Happened to be at Hallmark That Day… This one said she missed me, and (like I do) I hit my limit and snapped. It was the harshest e-mail I ever sent her - she missed me? I wasn’t the one who went away. I wasn’t the one who had forgotten her in her time of misery because something a lot more fun had come alone.
I was the one who never asked for help who had asked for hers and not gotten it. I remember that I ended the e-mail saying she’d always been competitive and: “Congratulations; you won.” You won because you have a life and I’m a shell of my former self, stuck writing about some fucking movie star that I can’t stand the sight of for the sake of selling a book I can’t fucking get published. I looked like shit and I felt like shit and I was so angry at myself because I’d never gotten so down that I couldn’t pull myself together. But that’s where I was… I think that was September.
When I went to see her in Nashville, two days after my first track workout, we hadn’t talked in ages. We didn’t even say much to arrange the meet-up because we were still mad at each other, but being mad at each other didn’t seem an acceptable reason to either of us for me not to drive over to see her for the day when she was so close. So I did. She was visibly ill when I got there, the blood clots that would kill her already in both lungs, though neither of us knew that. We knew only that she didn’t feel well, and no, she didn’t want to go to the hospital, she said, before I had the chance to ask.
When I was younger, I had problems with hypoglycemia, and my remedy even now when anything is physically wrong, with me or anyone else, is to find food. We walked a block away from her hotel to a restaurant for lunch, the first one we came across because she was having difficulty breathing. I didn’t know what to do, so after we ordered, I dug a granola bar out of my purse and gave it to her. She ate it, and her lunch too, but none of it made her feel better.
She told me a little about what she’d been up to (the trip with his family, thinking about moving in with him, working on her dual PhDs), and congratulated me on being published (six weeks earlier), and then we went back to her hotel room so she could lie down. While lying there, she told me she’d had a really bad feeling about coming on that trip. That she’d gone to her boyfriend’s house before she left and cried, telling him she didn’t want to go.
And as I stood there, listening to her, I knew. I knew. And she knew, too.
But I still didn’t know what to do, so I left her to sleep the afternoon away and I drove back home, telling her as I left that I’d call in a few days and we’d get caught up when she felt better. We both knew it was a lie.
Three days later, I woke up with the phrase “my best friend died that summer” going through my head, which I initially thought was the prompt for a new story (I was prone to dreaming up all sorts of narrative threads in those days). But mid-morning I got the call. The only thing more horrifying than hearing she was gone was the internal recognition that I was in no way surprised that she was gone.
I met her boyfriend at the funeral. He wrote me a week later to apologize for coming between us and to thank me for being such a good friend to her, even though it wasn’t him that came between us, it was our egos, and having said that, my aptitude at friendship maybe wasn’t the best. I always say she was my best friend because she was - she was the best friend I’ve ever had. But it wasn't the same as it once was. And it was never going to be the same again.
And that’s the story about when Kara died.
- from the Breakaway book
It all moved so quickly, this boy and her, and me being left behind, so we fought about that, and about all sorts of other things that had nothing to do with anything except the two of us being locked in an unwinnable competition to prove who was more stubborn. It was the type of fighting that leads to silence; the summer before she died, we barely spoke.
What I remember most about those last few months is how angry I was. I was angry that she’d had my book for fifteen months and never given me her edits, so I’d had to finish it without her insight. I was angry that I spent a whole day poring over a complaint she’d written against a faculty member only to have her scrap it once I sent her my feedback. I was angry that she only seemed to call to talk about boys when I was lying awake at night worrying that Congress wasn't going to pass an extension on my unemployment benefits. I was angry that she was still in school, still blissful in the mentality of a student, unable to relate to my growing contempt for academia and its snotty immunity to rest of the world, which was falling apart outside its bubble.
I was angry because I had to hear from Alex that things were going so well that she’d gone on vacation with his family. (Alex!) I was angry because I missed her. I was angry because she was still the same Kara she’d always been, and I was losing Becky to a world of lost dreams and false starts. I was angry that I felt old, and that as I aged, she seemed suspended in a joyous youthfulness that I vaguely remembered but could no longer touch.
I was the one who never asked for help who had asked for hers and not gotten it. I remember that I ended the e-mail saying she’d always been competitive and: “Congratulations; you won.” You won because you have a life and I’m a shell of my former self, stuck writing about some fucking movie star that I can’t stand the sight of for the sake of selling a book I can’t fucking get published. I looked like shit and I felt like shit and I was so angry at myself because I’d never gotten so down that I couldn’t pull myself together. But that’s where I was… I think that was September.
When I went to see her in Nashville, two days after my first track workout, we hadn’t talked in ages. We didn’t even say much to arrange the meet-up because we were still mad at each other, but being mad at each other didn’t seem an acceptable reason to either of us for me not to drive over to see her for the day when she was so close. So I did. She was visibly ill when I got there, the blood clots that would kill her already in both lungs, though neither of us knew that. We knew only that she didn’t feel well, and no, she didn’t want to go to the hospital, she said, before I had the chance to ask.
When I was younger, I had problems with hypoglycemia, and my remedy even now when anything is physically wrong, with me or anyone else, is to find food. We walked a block away from her hotel to a restaurant for lunch, the first one we came across because she was having difficulty breathing. I didn’t know what to do, so after we ordered, I dug a granola bar out of my purse and gave it to her. She ate it, and her lunch too, but none of it made her feel better.
She told me a little about what she’d been up to (the trip with his family, thinking about moving in with him, working on her dual PhDs), and congratulated me on being published (six weeks earlier), and then we went back to her hotel room so she could lie down. While lying there, she told me she’d had a really bad feeling about coming on that trip. That she’d gone to her boyfriend’s house before she left and cried, telling him she didn’t want to go.
And as I stood there, listening to her, I knew. I knew. And she knew, too.
But I still didn’t know what to do, so I left her to sleep the afternoon away and I drove back home, telling her as I left that I’d call in a few days and we’d get caught up when she felt better. We both knew it was a lie.
Three days later, I woke up with the phrase “my best friend died that summer” going through my head, which I initially thought was the prompt for a new story (I was prone to dreaming up all sorts of narrative threads in those days). But mid-morning I got the call. The only thing more horrifying than hearing she was gone was the internal recognition that I was in no way surprised that she was gone.
I met her boyfriend at the funeral. He wrote me a week later to apologize for coming between us and to thank me for being such a good friend to her, even though it wasn’t him that came between us, it was our egos, and having said that, my aptitude at friendship maybe wasn’t the best. I always say she was my best friend because she was - she was the best friend I’ve ever had. But it wasn't the same as it once was. And it was never going to be the same again.
And that’s the story about when Kara died.
- from the Breakaway book
Sunday, March 8, 2015
Kara Bayless and the Histrionic Fangirl
In honor of what would have been Kara's 33rd birthday, here's a look back at what she and I were up at the (inconceivably young!) age of 24...
From chapter 5
Stephen took it from my outstretched hand. “What’s your name again?” he asked.
“Becky,” I said, again placing special emphasis on the word in hopes that he still might make some connection. Nothing. He scribbled something across the title page before turning again to leave. “Oh, can I have a picture too?” I asked, really pressing my luck now. Why was I still talking? I felt like I was going to be sick. “Sure,” he said, and Kara, who had appeared behind me at some point, grabbed my camera and snapped our photo.
Once he finally managed to release himself from my clutches, Kara grabbed me and asked if I got my book signed. “What did he write?” she asked anxiously. She’d been in the line ahead of me and had hers signed minutes earlier. I didn’t think she’d been able to hear what Stephen said to us, but she was scowling and casting suspicious looks in Stephen’s direction, obviously having picked up that something was wrong.
“He just gave us a lecture,” I said, my voice a little
teary, before opening my book and reading, “Becky, It’s all about
learning. Stephen.” I looked at Kara. “‘It’s all about learning?’ What did he write in yours?”
She opened her book. “To Kara, May poetry teach us all.”
I paused for dramatic effect. “It’s all about learning?"
From chapter 7
I didn’t call Sex and the City Girl. In fact, we never talked again. I don’t know if she visited Jake Watch, or if she ever ran into Jake as she casually made the rounds to his favorite New York restaurants.
“Are you sure you don’t want to call her? I don’t mind,” Kara asked the next morning, our last in the city, as we packed up. But the guilt I felt over what I’d done to her vacation dominated all decision making for the rest of the day. Though she repeatedly assured me she hadn’t minded the day in the cold, or my prolonged crying spell, or the way all our other plans had to be retrofitted around my agenda for the weekend, I still felt I owed her the opportunity to direct at least this, our final day.
“Honestly, what if we did run into him?” I hypothesized. “After staking out a bunch of restaurants? I’d feel weird.” That was the other side of it. While in the midst of conversation, talking with another fan, it hadn’t seemed all that bizarre that Sex and the City Girl knew where Jake liked to eat. But in the harsh light of day, I wasn’t entirely comfortable with tracking him down while he was going about his daily life. Showing up to a public event, like the night before, was one thing, but …
“She was kind of, um, shall we say ‘intense’?” Kara hazarded.
“I don’t know. No more than most of the fans I talk to,” I said. I noticed when Kara didn’t answer me right away. I looked up from my suitcase; she was looking a bit worried.
“Becky, she wasn’t like you,” she said. “I’m not entirely sure that was healthy, the way she was acting.”
I instinctively jumped to Sex and the City Girl’s defense.
“What? She was a lot like me! I understood her. She’s pretty much exactly like all the people on Jake Watch I talk to every day. I totally get where she was coming from.”
But Kara wasn’t buying it. “No, I’m sorry, you would never act like that,” she said, and then she went back to packing.
From chapter 5
Stephen took it from my outstretched hand. “What’s your name again?” he asked.
“Becky,” I said, again placing special emphasis on the word in hopes that he still might make some connection. Nothing. He scribbled something across the title page before turning again to leave. “Oh, can I have a picture too?” I asked, really pressing my luck now. Why was I still talking? I felt like I was going to be sick. “Sure,” he said, and Kara, who had appeared behind me at some point, grabbed my camera and snapped our photo.
Once he finally managed to release himself from my clutches, Kara grabbed me and asked if I got my book signed. “What did he write?” she asked anxiously. She’d been in the line ahead of me and had hers signed minutes earlier. I didn’t think she’d been able to hear what Stephen said to us, but she was scowling and casting suspicious looks in Stephen’s direction, obviously having picked up that something was wrong.
“He just gave us a lecture,” I said, my voice a little
teary, before opening my book and reading, “Becky, It’s all about
learning. Stephen.” I looked at Kara. “‘It’s all about learning?’ What did he write in yours?”
She opened her book. “To Kara, May poetry teach us all.”
I paused for dramatic effect. “It’s all about learning?"
From chapter 7
I didn’t call Sex and the City Girl. In fact, we never talked again. I don’t know if she visited Jake Watch, or if she ever ran into Jake as she casually made the rounds to his favorite New York restaurants.
“Are you sure you don’t want to call her? I don’t mind,” Kara asked the next morning, our last in the city, as we packed up. But the guilt I felt over what I’d done to her vacation dominated all decision making for the rest of the day. Though she repeatedly assured me she hadn’t minded the day in the cold, or my prolonged crying spell, or the way all our other plans had to be retrofitted around my agenda for the weekend, I still felt I owed her the opportunity to direct at least this, our final day.
“Honestly, what if we did run into him?” I hypothesized. “After staking out a bunch of restaurants? I’d feel weird.” That was the other side of it. While in the midst of conversation, talking with another fan, it hadn’t seemed all that bizarre that Sex and the City Girl knew where Jake liked to eat. But in the harsh light of day, I wasn’t entirely comfortable with tracking him down while he was going about his daily life. Showing up to a public event, like the night before, was one thing, but …
“She was kind of, um, shall we say ‘intense’?” Kara hazarded.
“I don’t know. No more than most of the fans I talk to,” I said. I noticed when Kara didn’t answer me right away. I looked up from my suitcase; she was looking a bit worried.
“Becky, she wasn’t like you,” she said. “I’m not entirely sure that was healthy, the way she was acting.”
I instinctively jumped to Sex and the City Girl’s defense.
“What? She was a lot like me! I understood her. She’s pretty much exactly like all the people on Jake Watch I talk to every day. I totally get where she was coming from.”
But Kara wasn’t buying it. “No, I’m sorry, you would never act like that,” she said, and then she went back to packing.
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Kara talks "I'm Stalking Jake!"
I sometimes (all the time?) glorify the level of dedication I had in getting I'm Stalking Jake! written and published as quickly as possible, and in doing so, forget that it was actually a horrendously difficult process that frequently left me wracked with insecurity. In the process of writing my book proposal - which I wrote after the book itself - I asked Kara for advice because, in the panic of having to explain what I'd written, I managed to convince myself that I had just put all of that effort into something that was worthless. Proving for the umpteenth time that she was an incredible friend (and human being), this is (part of) what Kara wrote back to me after reading a rough draft of the book.
(P.S. imstalkingjake.com just passed 1,000,000 page views. It's no Jake Watch, but for a blog about a book, it's done well for itself.)
Ok, first things first: your book is needed. It is necessary. [...] In some ways your book isn't really even about a blog. (well it is, but that's not all it is.) Your book is complex: it is about how you went after something you wanted, about how you lived essentially two different lives - one as Becky and one as Prophecy Girl, and how the online world (through a blog) allowed you to do that.
Your book is completely about you. It's about how you set out to do something - to find something - to be something and possibly someone else in an online world, but also in the real world to express your admiration and appreciation for an artist - to be supportive while also serving a greater need to other fans. But, ultimately, your book boils down to your journey and how the events of your post-graduation years shaped who you are now. It's about what you learned and how you grew. It's about a college graduate with the world at her fingertips and how she survived, and not only survived but carved a niche for herself and became famous among a group of fans. It's about growth and learning and finding your own way and (as corny as all this may sound) about the lessons you learned - how dreams don't necessarily always come true, but then again, maybe your original dreams change as you work to achieve them because of experiences and things you learn...
Your book is funny. It is sad. It is uplifting as well as depressing at times. It is real and your delivery of adventure and the complexity of battling real emotions is felt by the reader. Yes, perhaps the lure of Jake will draw readers; but, really, Jake is simply the carrot in front of the horse. [...] Your book reveals how much popular culture and celebrities do influence the lives of fans, but even more it details how you make sense of this fandom in your everyday life. And by doing this, your book opens the door to a whole new sub-genre in the book-blog genre. This sub-genre is one in which a blog is merely a character. Ultimately your book is a memoir of your personal experiences and adventures and where they led you. Jake and the blog simply happened to be your personal carrots and outlets for creativity, which also speaks to the time in which you are writing and living...
Your book wasn't a challenge that you presented to yourself (or that someone else presented to you) in an effort to find meaning in your life. Your book isn't about overcoming extreme adversities, but about overcoming everyday life and the everyday trials that present themselves in an attempt to derail average, normal people. Everything out there is about the exception and not the norm: about people that I can't relate to, but that I pity and then feel relieved that they overcame things. They're about people that I don't know and people that I never wish to be. They're about people coping with things that I would never want to cope with. And because of this, they're out of my reach. Yes I feel empathy towards the writers and am amazed at the feats they have overcome and accomplished, but I might as well be reading fiction as my personal situation is nothing like theirs and comparing the two would be silly.
Your book is about someone like me - someone I could know (and, hey I do know!) and someone I could be. In many ways I think that a lot of people experience very similar things to what you write about. And therefore there needs to be a book about those people - about the real people and real experiences. One that describes and explains the blog, but even more than that one that describes and explains the life and adventures of Becky - of the girl we could know and who we could be. Ok, so not every one travels like you did to meet their celebrity, but given the opportunity to do so - who wouldn't? You simply had the connections and the opportunity to travel and be adventuresome. Your memoir is the one that people can relate to...
I'm sure there are a ton of memoirs out there. It seems everyone is writing one: which is why yours should be published. Because everyone writing one is writing one that has already been written. Yours hasn't been published yet. Yours is different and real. Yours is a tale of survival in the everyday world - something all of us, particularly immediately out of college, single, not knowing what we're doing or where we're going girls, experience...
(P.S. imstalkingjake.com just passed 1,000,000 page views. It's no Jake Watch, but for a blog about a book, it's done well for itself.)
Ok, first things first: your book is needed. It is necessary. [...] In some ways your book isn't really even about a blog. (well it is, but that's not all it is.) Your book is complex: it is about how you went after something you wanted, about how you lived essentially two different lives - one as Becky and one as Prophecy Girl, and how the online world (through a blog) allowed you to do that.
Your book is completely about you. It's about how you set out to do something - to find something - to be something and possibly someone else in an online world, but also in the real world to express your admiration and appreciation for an artist - to be supportive while also serving a greater need to other fans. But, ultimately, your book boils down to your journey and how the events of your post-graduation years shaped who you are now. It's about what you learned and how you grew. It's about a college graduate with the world at her fingertips and how she survived, and not only survived but carved a niche for herself and became famous among a group of fans. It's about growth and learning and finding your own way and (as corny as all this may sound) about the lessons you learned - how dreams don't necessarily always come true, but then again, maybe your original dreams change as you work to achieve them because of experiences and things you learn...
Your book is funny. It is sad. It is uplifting as well as depressing at times. It is real and your delivery of adventure and the complexity of battling real emotions is felt by the reader. Yes, perhaps the lure of Jake will draw readers; but, really, Jake is simply the carrot in front of the horse. [...] Your book reveals how much popular culture and celebrities do influence the lives of fans, but even more it details how you make sense of this fandom in your everyday life. And by doing this, your book opens the door to a whole new sub-genre in the book-blog genre. This sub-genre is one in which a blog is merely a character. Ultimately your book is a memoir of your personal experiences and adventures and where they led you. Jake and the blog simply happened to be your personal carrots and outlets for creativity, which also speaks to the time in which you are writing and living...
Your book wasn't a challenge that you presented to yourself (or that someone else presented to you) in an effort to find meaning in your life. Your book isn't about overcoming extreme adversities, but about overcoming everyday life and the everyday trials that present themselves in an attempt to derail average, normal people. Everything out there is about the exception and not the norm: about people that I can't relate to, but that I pity and then feel relieved that they overcame things. They're about people that I don't know and people that I never wish to be. They're about people coping with things that I would never want to cope with. And because of this, they're out of my reach. Yes I feel empathy towards the writers and am amazed at the feats they have overcome and accomplished, but I might as well be reading fiction as my personal situation is nothing like theirs and comparing the two would be silly.
Your book is about someone like me - someone I could know (and, hey I do know!) and someone I could be. In many ways I think that a lot of people experience very similar things to what you write about. And therefore there needs to be a book about those people - about the real people and real experiences. One that describes and explains the blog, but even more than that one that describes and explains the life and adventures of Becky - of the girl we could know and who we could be. Ok, so not every one travels like you did to meet their celebrity, but given the opportunity to do so - who wouldn't? You simply had the connections and the opportunity to travel and be adventuresome. Your memoir is the one that people can relate to...
I'm sure there are a ton of memoirs out there. It seems everyone is writing one: which is why yours should be published. Because everyone writing one is writing one that has already been written. Yours hasn't been published yet. Yours is different and real. Yours is a tale of survival in the everyday world - something all of us, particularly immediately out of college, single, not knowing what we're doing or where we're going girls, experience...
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
April 23, 2004
My continuing dialogue with Kara while we were still students at Rhodes College. She was in the computer lab while I was in my dorm room, pre-Pike Beach Party (this was via e-mail, because this was in the days before texting; my words are in regular font, Kara's in italics):
7:26 p.m.
OK, Crystal is in but we're pushing our departure time back by an hour (10:30). I'm hoping you get this, but if I haven't heard from you by 8:30 or so, I'll come find you. Happy writing! :)
7:36
Why later? It works fine by me...just curious!
7:40
Because [a friend of ours] was all like, "NOOOO! You can't go that early because NO ONE will be there!!!" She wanted to go at 11:00 but conceded that we probably wouldn't die of social dysfunction if we went at 10:30. Still no word on if the fourth roomie will be accompanying. Should be an interesting night...
7:59
She is going....maybe I won't?!?! No, I suppose that I will make an appearance, although I will need to shower...I can smell myself. gross.
The Girl [i.e., the girlfriend of Kara's crush] is here glaring at me...oh, how I love the computer lab.
8:05
Dude, I doubt that anyone would notice you were sweaty. Everyone'll be trashed. And that stupid girl is freaking always in the computer lab! It's like her second home. Loser.
8:21
I know...she is always here. Oh well, such is my life.
What is Crystal wearing to this social function?
8:25
Jean skirts all around! Crystal is wearing a jean skirt with what she is calling a "Hawaiian shirt." Kathryn "really wants to come" but she has to do laundry. I told her that wasn't a good enough excuse. That's just the lamest thing I have ever heard in my entire life.
8:44
I bet that you have the shortest skirt! Fun times!
Man, I love this Russian site! I can listen to all the Russian music I want! What more can I ask for? And I have written another page and a half! Dude, I am on top of the world...
Ok, back to writing...gee, this is almost like IM!
8:46
It's cracking me up that we're having this dialogue. :) Way to go with the writing, too. If I'm distracting you, I won't e-mail you anymore. Oh, but one more thing. Do you want us to come get you from your room or are you coming here? I couldn't remember what you said before. Cheers! (Because I'm reading that novel [?] and feeling British.)
9:15
The only other person that I know of who says "Cheers!" is Seth Gilpin [a fellow student]! You crack me up! How is the novel going?
Can you guys come by and get me since it is on the way to the par-tay?
Dude, this is not a distraction at all...I have another page written!
Cheers!
The next day...
Mistress of Rhodes.... my arms have never hurt so badly! What the hell was I doing last night that would make them hurt like this?!?! I must be a crazy dancing fool! :)
***
I don't know why I saved this exchange, but on days like today, I'm wholeheartedly glad that I did. I went to that party hoping to impress a crush...who didn't show. Kara went with no expectations...and wound up on the receiving end of a show-stopping kiss from her crush (computer lab girlfriend be damned).
So simple, unimportant, and utterly mundane, but that's what most of life winds up being. This was us, and this was our friendship.
Three years ago today - Kara, I miss you, dear friend.
7:26 p.m.
OK, Crystal is in but we're pushing our departure time back by an hour (10:30). I'm hoping you get this, but if I haven't heard from you by 8:30 or so, I'll come find you. Happy writing! :)
7:36
Why later? It works fine by me...just curious!
7:40
Because [a friend of ours] was all like, "NOOOO! You can't go that early because NO ONE will be there!!!" She wanted to go at 11:00 but conceded that we probably wouldn't die of social dysfunction if we went at 10:30. Still no word on if the fourth roomie will be accompanying. Should be an interesting night...
7:59
She is going....maybe I won't?!?! No, I suppose that I will make an appearance, although I will need to shower...I can smell myself. gross.
The Girl [i.e., the girlfriend of Kara's crush] is here glaring at me...oh, how I love the computer lab.
8:05
Dude, I doubt that anyone would notice you were sweaty. Everyone'll be trashed. And that stupid girl is freaking always in the computer lab! It's like her second home. Loser.
8:21
I know...she is always here. Oh well, such is my life.
What is Crystal wearing to this social function?
 | |
| Jean skirts all around! Becky, Crystal, Kara |
Jean skirts all around! Crystal is wearing a jean skirt with what she is calling a "Hawaiian shirt." Kathryn "really wants to come" but she has to do laundry. I told her that wasn't a good enough excuse. That's just the lamest thing I have ever heard in my entire life.
8:44
I bet that you have the shortest skirt! Fun times!
Man, I love this Russian site! I can listen to all the Russian music I want! What more can I ask for? And I have written another page and a half! Dude, I am on top of the world...
Ok, back to writing...gee, this is almost like IM!
8:46
It's cracking me up that we're having this dialogue. :) Way to go with the writing, too. If I'm distracting you, I won't e-mail you anymore. Oh, but one more thing. Do you want us to come get you from your room or are you coming here? I couldn't remember what you said before. Cheers! (Because I'm reading that novel [?] and feeling British.)
9:15
The only other person that I know of who says "Cheers!" is Seth Gilpin [a fellow student]! You crack me up! How is the novel going?
Can you guys come by and get me since it is on the way to the par-tay?
Dude, this is not a distraction at all...I have another page written!
Cheers!
The next day...
Mistress of Rhodes.... my arms have never hurt so badly! What the hell was I doing last night that would make them hurt like this?!?! I must be a crazy dancing fool! :)
***
I don't know why I saved this exchange, but on days like today, I'm wholeheartedly glad that I did. I went to that party hoping to impress a crush...who didn't show. Kara went with no expectations...and wound up on the receiving end of a show-stopping kiss from her crush (computer lab girlfriend be damned).
So simple, unimportant, and utterly mundane, but that's what most of life winds up being. This was us, and this was our friendship.
Three years ago today - Kara, I miss you, dear friend.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Oh, Boys!
I was recently talking to a friend of mine (who will remain anonymous for the sake of privacy) about a very brave e-mail she sent to someone of the opposite sex who has, for several years now, been less than clear about his intentions.
As we were talking, I couldn't help but be reminded of another e-mail, slightly less brave (though it certainly didn't feel like it at the time), sent a decade ago:
Kara was beyond anxious about setting up a study date with Alan and David for the Cold War final. Though they were the ones who asked her to set it up, she was still horrified that she would accidentally wind up professing her love [to David] when she sent them an e-mail with the details. She managed to talk herself into sending the e-mail to only David, asking him to relay the info to his roommate. But the intense fretting that went into wording the thing was beyond comical. Kara was completely and totally beside herself, and the e-mail wound up being so generic that I could have written it and no one would have known the difference.
In fact, from our posts on the floor, Greta and I pretty much did write it, directing Kara as she sat at my desk. It took her minutes of reading and re-reading to actually send the sucker and for days afterwards, she asked me to assure her that she had not signed the note “Love, Kara.” [circa 2003]
When I found that passage on my hard drive, I laughed and I laughed and I laughed.
Friday will be Kara's birthday. As is likely too obvious for me to need to state it, her birthday and the anniversary of her death are rapidly becoming ritualized times in my life, both to remember her and to reflect back on the ways my own life has changed since she's been gone. (Reflection: Something new for me, right?)
Last year the dates were especially poignant as my college group moved into a new decade, forever leaving her behind in her twenties. This year their primary sentimentality may come because of passages like the one above and their stark contrast to their contemporary counterparts. It's kind of like that meme that's making the rounds right now:
It's funny, is it not? Because it's true? But it starts to get a little weird when the 20-year-olds you're hanging out with are yourself and your friends, trapped in words that you compulsively wrote and then protectively hoarded so they could be wheeled out twice a year for the sake of memorial and "reflection."
It's fascinating, really, the difference between the episode quoted above and the one my friend and I talked about last week, the e-mail this time around intended for the exact opposite effect. At twenty-one, there was sheer terror in the thought of tipping your hand. At thirty-one, it's simmering exasperation at not openly addressing the obvious. "Oh, God, I'd die if he knew!" has turned into "I know he knows and I'm sick of him pretending he doesn't."
And yet what hasn't changed is the way we let them get under our skin, the way we reach out to each other after they have, and the way we pour our energy into self-preservation (fear of embarrassment now overtaken by fear of missing other opportunities while holding out hope).
Put that way, it seems like life itself never changes at all, only us.
So here's to Kara's 31st! To youth, to wisdom, and to the boys who will always drive us to madness as we contemplate what to write them via e-mail... :)
As we were talking, I couldn't help but be reminded of another e-mail, slightly less brave (though it certainly didn't feel like it at the time), sent a decade ago:
Kara was beyond anxious about setting up a study date with Alan and David for the Cold War final. Though they were the ones who asked her to set it up, she was still horrified that she would accidentally wind up professing her love [to David] when she sent them an e-mail with the details. She managed to talk herself into sending the e-mail to only David, asking him to relay the info to his roommate. But the intense fretting that went into wording the thing was beyond comical. Kara was completely and totally beside herself, and the e-mail wound up being so generic that I could have written it and no one would have known the difference.
In fact, from our posts on the floor, Greta and I pretty much did write it, directing Kara as she sat at my desk. It took her minutes of reading and re-reading to actually send the sucker and for days afterwards, she asked me to assure her that she had not signed the note “Love, Kara.” [circa 2003]
When I found that passage on my hard drive, I laughed and I laughed and I laughed.
Friday will be Kara's birthday. As is likely too obvious for me to need to state it, her birthday and the anniversary of her death are rapidly becoming ritualized times in my life, both to remember her and to reflect back on the ways my own life has changed since she's been gone. (Reflection: Something new for me, right?)
Last year the dates were especially poignant as my college group moved into a new decade, forever leaving her behind in her twenties. This year their primary sentimentality may come because of passages like the one above and their stark contrast to their contemporary counterparts. It's kind of like that meme that's making the rounds right now:
It's fascinating, really, the difference between the episode quoted above and the one my friend and I talked about last week, the e-mail this time around intended for the exact opposite effect. At twenty-one, there was sheer terror in the thought of tipping your hand. At thirty-one, it's simmering exasperation at not openly addressing the obvious. "Oh, God, I'd die if he knew!" has turned into "I know he knows and I'm sick of him pretending he doesn't."
And yet what hasn't changed is the way we let them get under our skin, the way we reach out to each other after they have, and the way we pour our energy into self-preservation (fear of embarrassment now overtaken by fear of missing other opportunities while holding out hope).
Put that way, it seems like life itself never changes at all, only us.
So here's to Kara's 31st! To youth, to wisdom, and to the boys who will always drive us to madness as we contemplate what to write them via e-mail... :)
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
One week of melancholy.
A week from today will be October 16, the two-year anniversary of my friend Kara's death.
I bring her up a lot, I know. Part of it is because for the last two years, I've missed having someone in my life that I tell everything to. Part of it is because when she died, I had a lot of awful thoughts about "what if it had been me?" And because I suppose it's only natural in times of shock to think the worst, I thought she'd probably do a better job of grieving or remembering or whatever it is that you go through after a death than I would, and because of that, I needed to be active in accurately representing the place she had in my life. Both of those reasons are selfish; then again, I guess grief usually is, what with the griever being the one left behind.
The last time I visited her, I slept in one morning while she went to the doctor. She came back with the news that she was going to need surgery on her knee, and though she was extremely disappointed (this would be the second surgery on that same knee), I watched her push it aside and be cheerful and happy for the duration of my stay. That surgery, which wouldn't happen for several more weeks, eventually led to the blood clot that killed her.
During that same visit, we took off in her beat-up old car and went looking for creepy places in the Indiana countryside. We found a (supposedly) haunted train tunnel that she'd been to with some other friends and she handed me her camera to snap a picture of her standing in the entryway. Then we got lost in the middle of some farmland, and her car almost died, and suddenly I was half-terrified. Kara, on the other hand, was in her element. She laughed and laughed and expertly bluffed her way down one county road after another ("This looks right; let's see where it takes us!"), willing her car forward and getting us back to town just as the sun was setting. I like to think of myself as being at least quasi-adventurous, but Kara was the real deal. She once traveled across Siberia. By train. By herself. As close to her as I was, I knew her insecurities well, but I also knew that she had a confidence and a bravery that couldn't be faked. When she wanted to do something, she did it, and she did it full out.
She wanted us to make Post Secrets the last night of my visit, but I was tired and couldn't think of anything, so she made one by herself and was mad at me the entire time she did it. I'm not sure she ever got over that, actually... That same spirit that allowed her to climb into a train in Siberia also allowed her to hold grudges and to butt heads with anyone as hard-headed as she was (i.e., me). But that was part of our friendship: the way we were honest and open about most everything, including the ways in which we annoyed each other.
I don't regret not sending a Post Secret. I do regret not somehow stealing hers, because it was sweet and about a boy and so Kara.
The only time I ever saw the picture of her that I took in front of the tunnel was at her visitation. It was part of the slide show in the room opposite her body, and I almost threw up when I saw it, because it was unexpected, and also because it didn't seem that long ago at all that I had taken it. And it hadn't been that long ago. Not even six months. She didn't look like herself at the visitation and that just made the whole thing more surreal. In one room, there was a body that used to be my friend. In the next room, she was grinning back at me, alive and happy and minutes from leading us into the middle of nowhere in rural Indiana.
Looking back, I can see now how losing her as a friend led to some bad decisions on my part. I've spent much of the past two years subconsciously trying to find someone to fill the void she left in my life, and yet simultaneously resisting the notion that anyone should replace her. It's madness. But now that we're two years out, I think maybe I'm finally coming to a peaceful emotional reconciliation. She was my best friend during ten of the most important years of my life (18 to 28) and no one will ever be able to touch that. And yet that won't (can't) be diminished by any relationships I form now or in the future.
I don't really feel myself "moving on" until I start to think back and it hits me how much has changed - how much living I've done - just in the small amount of time that she's been gone. I also can't overlook the ways in which her death spurred so many of those changes. Typical Kara. Even now, she's pushing me to grow in ways no other friend ever has...
I bring her up a lot, I know. Part of it is because for the last two years, I've missed having someone in my life that I tell everything to. Part of it is because when she died, I had a lot of awful thoughts about "what if it had been me?" And because I suppose it's only natural in times of shock to think the worst, I thought she'd probably do a better job of grieving or remembering or whatever it is that you go through after a death than I would, and because of that, I needed to be active in accurately representing the place she had in my life. Both of those reasons are selfish; then again, I guess grief usually is, what with the griever being the one left behind.
 |
| Becky, Kara, and Crysal, Senior Week 2004. |
During that same visit, we took off in her beat-up old car and went looking for creepy places in the Indiana countryside. We found a (supposedly) haunted train tunnel that she'd been to with some other friends and she handed me her camera to snap a picture of her standing in the entryway. Then we got lost in the middle of some farmland, and her car almost died, and suddenly I was half-terrified. Kara, on the other hand, was in her element. She laughed and laughed and expertly bluffed her way down one county road after another ("This looks right; let's see where it takes us!"), willing her car forward and getting us back to town just as the sun was setting. I like to think of myself as being at least quasi-adventurous, but Kara was the real deal. She once traveled across Siberia. By train. By herself. As close to her as I was, I knew her insecurities well, but I also knew that she had a confidence and a bravery that couldn't be faked. When she wanted to do something, she did it, and she did it full out.
She wanted us to make Post Secrets the last night of my visit, but I was tired and couldn't think of anything, so she made one by herself and was mad at me the entire time she did it. I'm not sure she ever got over that, actually... That same spirit that allowed her to climb into a train in Siberia also allowed her to hold grudges and to butt heads with anyone as hard-headed as she was (i.e., me). But that was part of our friendship: the way we were honest and open about most everything, including the ways in which we annoyed each other.
I don't regret not sending a Post Secret. I do regret not somehow stealing hers, because it was sweet and about a boy and so Kara.
Looking back, I can see now how losing her as a friend led to some bad decisions on my part. I've spent much of the past two years subconsciously trying to find someone to fill the void she left in my life, and yet simultaneously resisting the notion that anyone should replace her. It's madness. But now that we're two years out, I think maybe I'm finally coming to a peaceful emotional reconciliation. She was my best friend during ten of the most important years of my life (18 to 28) and no one will ever be able to touch that. And yet that won't (can't) be diminished by any relationships I form now or in the future.
I don't really feel myself "moving on" until I start to think back and it hits me how much has changed - how much living I've done - just in the small amount of time that she's been gone. I also can't overlook the ways in which her death spurred so many of those changes. Typical Kara. Even now, she's pushing me to grow in ways no other friend ever has...
 |
| College reunion, 2009. |
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
The Infamous Rhodes Nickname List
Can you blame me for re-reading the memoirs this week? Never before published in public (and censored and incomplete here), here is The List. (Did Kara and I ever call anyone by their real name?!)
Rhodes College, circa 2004:
Rhodes College, circa 2004:
‘80s-Bangs Girl: She is two years below us and has unfortunate ‘80s bangs. We would give her the benefit of the doubt, but her hair has remained in the same style for her entire tenure here at Rhodes.
Backpack Boy: see Slick Nick
Boy Wonder: see Jesus
Chipmunk Boy: Who looks a bit too much like a chipmunk for his own good. He graduated last year as a biology major, and lived his senior year in the famous Apartment 204 with Satan #0. He is known for having quite a dirty mind.
Democrat Girl: So-called because Kara thought her antics during the 2000 Presidential election were far too adamant.
Eavesdropper Boy: Who enjoys sitting by himself at the Rat, just close enough to our table to overhear our outlandish conversations. This was mostly a problem first semester of senior year, Friday lunches in particular. Since, he has been spotted in the company of none other than Jamie Hulett, who attests that he’s actually a pretty nice guy.
Freaky Trenchcoat Boy: Who lived on the second floor of EVA and earned his nickname rather honestly. A junior, his look has changed over the years, and his sophomore tendency to grow facial hair and come to the Rat at the same time as Satan #0 frequently had me giving him unintentional second glances. Erroneously believing that I was checking him out, Freaky Trenchcoat Boy earnestly returned the favor, and only added to the awkwardness while living in my building my senior year. He quickly got over his crush, though, when I began noticeably avoiding him. He twice held the door to EVA open for Kara, despite the fact that she was a good 500 feet away at the time. He is never seen without sunglasses and, weather permitting, takes every opportunity to don his long black trenchcoat.
Freshman Boyfriend: Term first coined by Jordan, who had a small obsession with a freshman during her senior year of high school. She once again found love with [name removed] her senior year of college, and the freshman boyfriend was reborn. This boy is the one who, during your senior year, you pick out of the freshman class and giggle over his hotness. You would never go for said boy because ew, he’s like 18. Interaction of any sort is strictly prohibited. Following suit, many in our group chose a freshman boyfriend, mine being Tom Cruise Boy, a Pike/Woolsock combo. Megan also chose a Pike, but I don’t really know who he is. Greta’s freshman boyfriend turned into something more (see Freshman Husband), and Crystal’s freshman boyfriend wound up being at least a junior (see Kitchen Bitch). We’re not sure what his name is or where he came from, but he really, really likes the Lair.
Freshman Husband: When the freshman boyfriend just isn’t enough, you move to the next level, as Greta did in the case of her freshman boyfriend. Greta once had the good fortune to actually speak to this guy, which is why Kara was forced to coin this new term. Sadly, he had to leave Rhodes after one semester due to some sort of academic inadequacy.
Freshman Little Brother: see Tom Cruise Boy
Freshman Pike from My Art Class: Who somehow never got past this embarrassingly clunky nickname. As a friend of Satan #1, his few antics are recounted in the Memoirs.
Freshman Stalker (also Headphones Boy): Who fell in love me on the first Thursday of classes his first semester at Rhodes. It would be the first and only time I went to breakfast at the Rat that semester. Thinking I, too, was a freshman, he struck up a painful and awkward conversation which died a painful and awkward death. I got out of there as soon as possible and, finding that he was going to be walking in the same direction as me away from the Rat, I took a detour to Bellingrath. Much to my horror, he reappeared after I had rerouted myself, thus again placing us on the same path and adding to the humiliation of the situation due to the obviousness of the fact that I had tried to avoid him. Though I hoped this would be my last encounter with him, I soon discovered that he and I crossed paths roughly 15-22 times every day. He was even at the freaking airport as we got ready to depart for London for Spring break. That also led to an interesting situation, in that I was trying to be nice and ignore him and he insisted on cornering me in a magazine stand, forcing me to say “hi” and unnecessarily grabbing my arm as I tried to get past him.
He is also known about campus for the fact that he is constantly wearing headphones (thus Headphones Boy). He wears the same shorts and jean jacket every day, regardless of the weather (except for yesterday when he unexpectedly donned a pair of white MC Hammer pants), and frequently wanders about campus as if he has nothing better to do. He is not actually stalking me, but I run into him far more frequently than just about anyone else on campus.
Freshman Stalker #2: Who does not quite deserve the title he has been given, but the name has stuck nonetheless. I was once standing around after Dr. LaRosa’s Colonial Latin American History class, waiting to go into Dr. Cohen’s Documentary Film class when he approached me. I was apparently looking a little dejected because he got just past me and then turned around and asked if I was alright. Stunned, I affirmed that I was fine.
“You just look so sad,” was his reply.
I was slightly embarrassed and confused as to why I was exuding emotions of grief in the hallway when I really wasn’t upset in any capacity. True, I wasn’t laughing with glee but, as I once said in reference to this very episode, “I’m not happy every single day of my life!” It was one of those moments which you hope disappears in the annals of time, but, like his predecessor, freshman stalker #2 began to pop up everywhere I went. He might be gay. Like his companion stalker, he has a penchant for wearing the same outfit every day: khakis, a striped t-shirt, and a grey hoodie.
Fuck-Stick Boy (also Toolbag): Who was in my intermediate painting class and looks like a serial killer.
Headphones Boy: see Freshman Stalker
Hissing Boy: He earned his nickname after an encounter with Crystal in Burrow Library. Her cell phone rang and, while rushing out of the library to talk, she passed him. Apparently not pleased with the disturbance that accompanied the ringing, he hissed at her to be quiet. Crystal has never liked him since.
Jesus (also Boy Wonder): Jonathan Hulgan, Megan Pollock’s fiancé. They began dating at the start of Megan’s senior year and five months later, the two were engaged. As a strong member (even president at one point) of the Rhodes Christian Fellowship, Jonathan’s religious fervor, along with his long hair and proclivity to wear sandals every day, earned him the title of Jesus. Also, his disgusting tendency to be the perfect boyfriend warrants him a Boy Wonder nod.
John the Baptist (formerly Satan #2.1): Alex, who joined our group of friends after a stint as a marine fighting in Iraq. Though no amount of space could ever fully convey the weirdness that surrounds this enigmatic figure, he was, at one point, the object of Kara’s affection, thus earning him the Satan #2.1 moniker. In retrospect, his antics and their relationship were not actually compatible with the predetermined Satan rules. Megan renamed him on the way to the Rat, keeping the biblical theme but removing the stigma that comes with the Satan name (although he actually probably deserves it).
Kitchen Bitch: Crystal’s former freshman boyfriend, who outgrew this moniker by revealing himself not to be a first year. Crystal and I decided to share said boy when I realized that my freshman boyfriend was really my freshman little brother. Besides having a proclivity toward the Lair and being a soccer player, we also know this boy to be employed at the Flying Saucer. His work in the kitchen and his frequent appearance there when we were in the building led Kara to dub him the Kitchen Bitch. Initially overconfident, I told Crystal that I would reel him in for her. The result was his temporarily thinking that I was stalking him and thus avoiding me at all costs. Despite the fact that he has a girlfriend, the Kitchen Bitch may someday rightfully earn the title of Satan #3 should he choose to accept the responsibility (see Satan).
Library Boy: Some dude who kicks Kara out of the library when it’s closing. I know no further details.
Memphis Bachelor Guy: That inexplicably dorky business man who intermittently emerged from the depths of corporate Memphis to eat lunch at the Rat. He was so dubbed by Carl, who only assumed his bachelor status. However, I can confirm that earlier this year he did, indeed, bring a female companion to share his meal. She looked horribly uncomfortable but stuck it out like a real trooper. Memphis Bachelor Guy also has been known to bring male friends to the Rat, impressing them with the all-you-can-eat-for-a-ridiculously-low-price cuisine. He is most frequently seen at lunch (Saturday in particular) and often brings the office with him, chatting on his headset whilst munching away in a solitary corner. He once ate three seats over from Kara and me (a Saturday lunch) and while he appeared intent on joining our conversation, he never quite made the move.
Rapist Boy: Who has been known to sexually terrorize the women at Rhodes.
Red-Headed Slut: Becky Heineke, so dubbed after an interesting Monday night at Neil’s. After the traditional trip to the Flying Saucer for Pint Nite, I headed to Neil’s bar along with Kara, who was looking to hang out with a few of her residents celebrating a birthday there. There was much frivolity and at one point [name removed] (whose birthday it was and who had a tab running) ordered me a red-headed slut shot, thinking it was fitting considering my physical appearance. She took a sip and then gave me the rest. Though I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, I am to this day teased about the fact that I took the entire shot in one drink. Ever since, I have been known to certain residents of third floor Bellingrath as the red-headed slut.
Rich Young Ruler (also RYR): So named because his future seems a little brighter than the rest of ours right now.
RYR: see Rich Young Ruler
Satan: General term used to describe the object of your affection. This crush of yours is characterized by occasional obsession and the full knowledge that this person, in some way, is not good for you. His tempting nature is enough to keep you coming back for more, even in the face of serious misgivings from friends and other acquaintances. In simplest terms, your Satan is he for whom you go to the Rat.
Satan # -1: Ashley Arnold’s crush of four years, so named because he predates all other Satans.
Satan #0: Whom I wrongly assumed to be the original Satan before talking to Ashley. Because of this, he is sometimes erroneously given the subtitle “The Original.” The bane of my existence for the duration of my junior year, he is discussed, in detail, in the Memoirs.
Satan #1: The bane of my existence for the latter half of junior year and my entire senior year. Possibly the worst of the all the Satans, he was co-named with Satan #2 around the end of first semester of senior year. For more details than you ever wanted to know, see the Memoirs.
Satan #2: Kara’s own personal Satan and object of intense (intense) crushdom during those few months straddling Christmas Break. Though her eyes have now been opened, he is still well in the throes of admiration, despite dating The Shrew.
Satan #2.1: Renamed John the Baptist
Satan-in-Spain: Greta’s fling from her semester abroad, jokingly named but appropriate nonetheless.
Self-Portrait Girl: A freshman of remarkable artistic ability who was in my intermediate painting class. Though there was no denying that the girl was talented, she had the unfortunate tendency to paint herself for every assignment, regardless of the theme.
The Shrew: A junior with no outwardly remarkable characteristics. She dated Satan #2 prior to Kara’s attraction to him, and was blissfully abroad the semester the crush started. Ironically, I often joked with Kara that she shouldn’t get too attached to her crush before Christmas Break because he may have a girlfriend who would be coming back from abroad. I said this in a highly teasing manner, referencing my own Satan #0 disaster from exactly one year prior. Little did I know…
Slick Nick (also Backpack Boy): Who is humorously in love with Kara. He, along with Headphones Boy, is known for his tendency to roam the Rhodes’ grounds aimlessly at all hours, though instead of headphones, it is his backpack that he is never without. He has been seen in the company of Democrat Girl. Kara once stared him down in the computer lab, though this has not deterred his affections. He also has a tendency to touch her in situations where touching is not necessary, such as in line at the Lair when he is three people in front of her. Snort.
Stirrup Boy: Who was in physics with Dustin Diez and Kara during freshman year. He had the unnerving tendency to place his feet in the exact position that a woman might should she have her legs in stirrups at a gynecologist’s office.
Tapered-leg-jeans Girl: Who came about her name quite honestly.
Tapered-leg-jeans Girl’s Best Friend: Who really needs a better nickname. There’s no real describing this girl, aside from the fact that she’s sort of a mess and couldn’t ride a mechanical bull if her life depended on it.
Tom Cruise Boy: A Pike, a Woolsock, a freshman boyfriend. Living in Townsend, he was first spotted by Megan, who was struck by his likeness to the famous movie star. She now insists it was I who christened him Tom Cruise Boy, although everyone else remembers it being her who came up with the name. It wouldn’t be an issue at all were it not for the fact that he doesn’t actually look all that much like Tom Cruise. Anyway, though I did find him attractive, he always seemed a bit lost and very serious. I quickly turned my attraction into a sort of motherly attention and began referring to him as my freshman little brother. I have spoken to him, in line at the Rat when there was no one to swipe his card and he was unsure of the protocol in such situations. Our interaction there secured his place in the freshman little brother category, and not the freshman husband category. He also used to have facial hair and bore a slight resemblance to Satan #0. He has since shaved and looks like he’s about 13.
Toolbag: see Fuck-Stick Boy
Monday, October 3, 2011
I keep thinking about Kara.
I guess because it's October. So it's time to start gearing myself up for "the anniversary."
I went to this pub crawl tonight with running people and it was fun. It really, really was. And yet as I was leaving my apartment, I had this strange thought that this was somewhat of a last hurrah before I "got serious" about reflecting on life and time and all that shit. "Normalcy" will pick up again after the 16th, but in the meantime, I've got a hard milestone ahead and I might as well stop pretending I don't.
For all the good times - for all the alcohol consumed - tonight felt lonely. It made me feel adrift. It made me feel like I wanted to call someone and whine over the phone that I'd been looking forward to something that just didn't quite restore me in the way I wanted it to.
The thing about Kara was that if she didn't want to talk, she wouldn't answer the phone. But if she'd answered tonight, I would have told her that I've had a hard couple of weeks, a nice couple of running accomplishments recently, and probably a couple too many drinks tonight to be calling anyone.
Sometimes I feel like I just don't know what I'm doing, you know? I'm just out there. Waiting for something...
I went to this pub crawl tonight with running people and it was fun. It really, really was. And yet as I was leaving my apartment, I had this strange thought that this was somewhat of a last hurrah before I "got serious" about reflecting on life and time and all that shit. "Normalcy" will pick up again after the 16th, but in the meantime, I've got a hard milestone ahead and I might as well stop pretending I don't.
For all the good times - for all the alcohol consumed - tonight felt lonely. It made me feel adrift. It made me feel like I wanted to call someone and whine over the phone that I'd been looking forward to something that just didn't quite restore me in the way I wanted it to.
The thing about Kara was that if she didn't want to talk, she wouldn't answer the phone. But if she'd answered tonight, I would have told her that I've had a hard couple of weeks, a nice couple of running accomplishments recently, and probably a couple too many drinks tonight to be calling anyone.
Sometimes I feel like I just don't know what I'm doing, you know? I'm just out there. Waiting for something...
Monday, August 22, 2011
The Things I Forget...
I know it's way too soon to be doing any sort of one-year memorial in honor of Kara - we've got nearly two months to go before we hit the anniversary - but I was editing something I'd written about our five-year reunion. And it led me to stop and look through the pictures I have saved from that weekend. And in my haste to open the whole folder, I not only opened the pictures, but highlighted and opened the Quoteboard that Kara and I started the first night of Homecoming weekend, 2009, but then forgot about:
1. "I've never been able to fit that much in my mouth at once."
- Becky, who then wound up fitting that much into her mouth
2. "It didn't help that they were really tall and narrow shot glasses."
- Kara, re the quote above
3. "I can't handle uppers of any sort."
- Becky, on why she only drinks decaffeinated Coke
4. "It was the best experience of my life so far."
- Kara, on being hit by naked old women with sticks
I think about her every single day. And Jesus Christ, I wish I would have thought to write down some context for that last quote...
1. "I've never been able to fit that much in my mouth at once."
- Becky, who then wound up fitting that much into her mouth
2. "It didn't help that they were really tall and narrow shot glasses."
- Kara, re the quote above
3. "I can't handle uppers of any sort."
- Becky, on why she only drinks decaffeinated Coke
4. "It was the best experience of my life so far."
- Kara, on being hit by naked old women with sticks
I think about her every single day. And Jesus Christ, I wish I would have thought to write down some context for that last quote...
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