Katie and Brianna: Heterosexual Life mates

photo We're not gay but we're meant for each other, baby

Thursday, June 22, 2006

This post is not about Brianna's Birthday.

Dear Brianna,

We all know what yesterday was. We all know people called you. We all know you had cake. We all know you made a crack pipe out of a coke can. We all know you flew to Alaska on a vacuum cleaner like Sabrina the teenage witch did on her TV show. We all know you got 10 bucks from your rich Uncle Morty. Give it a rest already! GEEZE!

I've been thinking lately. I know, right? WHO does that? I've decided to make myself more scholarly, which means I've taken time out of my busy life of movie watching and laundry doing to let that little organ under my hair have some exercise. We started slow with some basic cardio (reading "In Her Shoes" by Jennifer Weiner) then we slowly moved on to actual thinking without restraints. You know, thinking OUTSIDE the books. CRAZY RIGHT? Well, either way, I solved a lot of problems.

As you all well know, I was married once. It was great. I was twelve, he was two months old. I have to say it was damn near paradise, or at least what I think paradise could be. We held hands, he bought me ice cream (sand), I kept his fur nice and clean, and he gave me the most satisfaction that I've ever had. I thought life couldn't get any better. I didn't even know what cloud nine was because I was on cloud ten.

Along comes my thirteenth birthday. I was finally a teenager. I can't say I wasn't happy with my husband, but it was like the second I turned thirteen my view on life changed. Instead of ice cream I liked Italian Ice. Instead of reading The Baily Kids books, I read The Baby Sitter's Club. I had matured, and I realized that these were going to be the best years of my life. I didn't need a husband who was breathing down my neck everyday when I got home to rub his feet and get his cigar. I needed to spread my wings! Fly free from my chains of marital "bliss." So, we divorced.

It didn't end happy. It never does. Luckily, we never had any kids (he was sterile).

The sad part of this whole tale is that I've been alone ever since. He moved on and married a girl down the street when my parents and I moved. They said we couldn't take him because the new back yard wasn't "Big Enough," but I knew the real reason. They couldn't take the awkward silence at the dinner table. They couldn't stand that he now slept on the couch. You could cut the tension in the house with a butter knife.

Since moving on, I've had some meaningless hook-ups in my years as a single woman, but none of them ever meant a thing to me. I would lie in bed, each night, with a new random man and I could only think about him. It my idea to leave because I needed freedom, but what I failed to see was that the only time I was free was when we were together. Those nights I would catch fire flies in my hands and he would try to eat them. Those long days at the beach where we would dig holes we swore would go to china. At the age of Thirteen, I had made my biggest mistake.

So, you may be asking why I'm writing to you today. Well, I want you all to take this as a warning. A warning to never let those who matter most to you go. Sure, maybe they have fleas once in a while, but that just means you should give them a bath instead of throwing them to the curb. Give love a chance, don't push it away! Don't be pathetic like me! I'll never be happy again!



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