Friday Flashback

Since I’m anticipating a crazy weekend in South Beach, I’d thought it would be fun to recycle an old post from Amy in Miami.  

Living in Sobe: Letters from Amy
June 26, 2007 

One of the great things about living on the 5th story of a South Beach building, is being able to hear all of the happenings on the street below. When I sleep with the balcony door open, not only do I get hit with the ocean breeze, but I’m also privy to early morning drunken screaming matches, as well as other lively conversations. For this I would like to send a note of thanks, as well as some advice, to the following people:

Dear Vanessa,
I’m sorry that your friend, Jessica, made you cry. That really sucks. Especially at 4:47 on a Wednesday morning. I think the first time she asked, or maybe I should say screamed, “Give me my shit, so I can leave.” you probably should have given her her shit. Instead, you tried to exhibit some tough love, and would not agree to turn over her shit, until she heard you out. I appreciate that you wanted to be heard, but believe me, the only one who was heard was Jessica, for at least 15 minutes. Vanessa, I think next time Jessica asks you to get her some ‘shit’, it might be a good idea to just say no.
Sincerely,
Amy

Dear Darrell,
Because you are a city worker, I really do appreciate that you and co-workers are so bright eyed and bushy tailed at 6:30 a.m., as you sweep up the garbage on my street. Not only do you keep our streets clean, but you also do a great job of waking the neighborhood up. Really, it’s no biggie. I didn’t really need that extra 30 minutes of sleep anyhow. What I envy about you is the constant amusement and joy that you get out of your co-workers. Everything they say, you find hysterically funny. Not only do you scream and slap you knee, but I could swear that you’ve actually fallen down on the sidewalk because you’re laughing so hard. Another talent you have is the effective communication you have with your co-workers. Even when working on opposite sides of the street, you still keep the conversation and jokes flowing. Sometimes from half a block away, which is quite impressive. Even though I have early morning fantasies about lobbing a water balloon at your head, you do seem like an alright guy.
Keep On Laughin’,
Amy

Dear Bro,
What the fuck, dude? Where did you leave your fucking car? I have lost my car countless times in the parking garage at Aventura Mall, so I understand your frustration. Though, I have never stood in the middle of the street and screamed, “FUCK.” I usually just wandered around the garage, clicking the alarm. I figure either you don’t have an alarm, or you’re probably exhausted, having been at the bar until closing time at 5 a.m. . Usually around 5:17 a.m., you realize that you didn’t lose your car, but it’s been towed because you parked it underneath my building, where is says “No Parking Without Permit.” Bro, my advice to you would be to READ THE FUCKING SIGN BEFORE YOU PARK, or maybe stick with a bar that’s within walking distance to your crib.
Peace Out,
Amy

Discombobulated

It’s been a month since the break-up, and I’m still feeling a bit out of sort.  The sadness and crying have dissipated.  Thank God.  But now I seem to spend too much of my time worrying.  About him.

The communication and interaction between us was becoming tense.  A few weeks ago, words were said, then the next day everything was very amicable.  Not only does this confuse me terribly, but it also holds me back from moving on.  We had to take care of some business, early last week.  Prior to that, I told him that it was best for me not to have any contact for awhile.  So, there has been no contact for over a week.

I ran into him Sunday evening, and he looked terrible.  My inner Mormon, wanted to take him home and make him dinner.  Of course I didn’t.  He approached me, and we made small talk.  I’ve heard that he and the tarantula broke up.  Shocking.  I’m sure it has nothing do with her other boyfriend.  I also know that he’s looking for an apartment. He’s avoiding his friends, and seem to have gone into hiding.  I’ve heard the he feels shunned, because I’ve received so much love and support.  Not just from my friends, but from his friends, as well.

Yesterday was hard.  I wanted desperately to talk to him.  There are so many things I want to share with him, but I can’t.  I even wrote an email from our cat, but course didn’t send it.  Actually, I wrote him several emails, which are all sitting in my draft folder.  Last night, I was trying to will him to call me.  It didn’t happen.

A cold front rolled in yesterday, and I worried about him not having enough blankets.  He also left all of his sweaters and jackets at the apartment.  A good friend pointed out, that he gave me very little consideration in the end, and I owe him nothing.  I know she’s right.

Oy vey.  As I was typing this, he texted me, and now I’m really freaking out.  I hate feeling like this.

Larry

35 years ago today, my father was killed in a car accident. He was 24, and I was 4. As a child, I always felt different because I didn’t have a father, and spent so much time dwelling on how my life would have been, had he lived. I didn’t have a bad childhood by any means. My mother remarried when I was seven, to a wonderful and kind man. Still, I always went back to “what if…..,” which caused me a lot of pain and grief throughout my life.

Only since I became sober, have I been able to accept, and let it go. Instead of feeling slighted for the loss of my father, I’m now grateful for the few memories that I have of him. My last memory was just hours before his accident. It was a Sunday night, and we were laying on the couch together, watching Sonny & Cher. I also remember that he called me “cake” because I said I was delicious. I remember the way that he smelled, and that we both loved raspberry yogurt. Other than that, I don’t remember much else.

In April of this year, my grandmother (Larry’s mother) died, and was laid to rest next to him. For the first time in over 30 years, I saw all seven of his siblings together. I watched his three sisters place flowers on his grave, as his brother stood off to the side and wept. He told me he still misses Larry every day. So do I.

Just Another Day in South Beach

Yesterday, as I was heading to work, I was approached by a woman, asking for spare change, so she could get some food. As I was digging in my purse, she farted, loudly. By the time I retrieved the change, the smell almost knocked me over. Once again, I found myself dry heaving on the sidewalk. Sometimes, I feel like these things only happen to me.

At the end if the day, I was approached by two different people (separately). Each had a very elaborate tale of why they needed money. Stranded, luggage stolen, sick gradfather, etc. I then realized they were in on it together.

It makes me sad, having to see people resort to this type of behavior, in order to support a drug habit. It’s everywhere in South Beach. For me, it’s a harsh reminder of what my life could have ended up like, had I not become sober. For that, I am very grateful.

My Jagged Little Playlist

I must admit, in the days following the break-up, I did indulge in The Carpenters for what was probably an unhealthy amount of time. I eventually moved on to Barry Manilow and Dan Fogelberg (I know, but I looooove him). For good measure, I threw some Carly Simon, Bread, and Carol King into mix. Thankfully, with the exception of the occasional Fogelberg relapse, I have moved on.

Moving forward, here is my current break-up playlist. I guess it’s reflecting my mental state as of the past week. A week ago, the anger kicked in, and nearly crippled me. I then moved to feeling empowered, which has now shifted to the missing, and longing for him stage. I can’t wait to see what next week, or tomorrow, might bring.

Just Fine – Mary J. Blige
Breakin’ Up – Rilo Kiley
One – Aimee Mann
32 Flavors – Alana Davis (Ani’s version is too crunchy)
Come Clean – Hilary Duff (Laguna Beach marathons helped me through my last break-up)
All Cried Out – Alison Moyet
Sunday Morning – Maroon 5
Fidelity – Regina Spektor
You Keep Me Hangin’ On – Kim Wilde
Don’t Get Around Much Anymore – Harry Connick, Jr.
Love Song – Sara Bareilles
Stay – Lisa Loeb

Tell me about your break-up songs, and I’ll add them to my playlist.

The Dress

A few days after returning from New York, I decided to indulge in some more retail therapy. An impromptu Thursday night shopping trip, with my favorite blonde, was a smashing success.

I’m a dress girl, and I stumbled across a beautiful green and white, silk knit dress. There was one size left, and luckily it was my new size. I tried it on, looked in the mirror and fell in love.

The following Sunday, knowing I was going to see Ben, I threw it on with a beautiful pair of gold sandals. It was a hit with everone I saw.

I wore it again last Monday, with black pumps. For the next 14 hours, everybody was looking at me, and the dress. Strangers stopped me, to tell me I looked beautiful. At the workplace, I was chased down by a Pulitzer Prize winning photographer who wanted to thank me for wearing such a beautiful dress. I was also told by one of miss higher ups that he was afraid I might catch on fire, for looking so hot. Inappropriate? Maybe. But so good for my bruised ego.

Days later, people are still talking about the dress.

The picture doesn’t do the dress justice. It hangs perfectly, and makes the most out of the hip bones, and clavicle I’ve been sporting.

I neglected to mention I found the dress on the clearance rack. This could be the best $42.99 investment I’ve ever made. I wish I could wear the dress every day.

Do you have a dress or article of clothing that changes everything once you put it on? If so, tell me about it.

Things

Here we go with another upbeat post.

Since Ben left, and the contact is sparse, I’m coming to terms with the fact the my former life is over. In the immortal words of Barry Mannilow, I’m doing okay, but not very well.

There are things I still can’t bring myself to do; things I can definitely do; and things I can barely do.

Things I can’t do:
Cook
Watch any of the Law & Orders
Eat popcorn
Smell popcorn
Sleep on his side of the bed
Get drunk
Anything involving violence
Say her name
Forgive
Ask him to come home
Hold back the tears

Things I can do:
Look good at all times
Cry, and know it’s okay
Reach out
Accept love and support
Stay busy, to the point of exhaustion
Go to the gym
Go to therapy
Go to AA meetings
Spend time with my girlfriends
Shop
Flirt
Look forward to Thansgiving in NYC and Shelter Island
Hope he’s miserable
Worry about him
Miss him tremendously

Things I can barely do:
Get through the morning
Sleep through the night
Go to work
Eat (I’ve lost 23 pounds)
Talk to my family (they don’t know)
Speak to him
Go to the grocery store
Brush my teeth without gagging
Make it through the day without crying
Try to let go
Breathe

Fry Sauce Fixes Everything

The silver lining to the big, black cloud that is my current life, would have to be amazing friends.

For many years, I felt so alone. This is no longer true. My phone rings off the hook, day and night. The support, love and kindness that I’ve been shown from friends, all over the country, is simply amazing.

Last week, I received a care package from a friend in New York, via Salt Lake City.

I’m the luckiest, broken hearted girl on earth!

My Other Half, Part 3

J and I went home, and spent the next three days in seclusion. We cried, talked, laughed, shopped, drank, and smoked many cigarettes. We needed to be left alone, which didn’t sit so well with drama queen, Duke. Within a week, their father flew in from Utah to make sure that the three of us didn’t kill each other.

It wasn’t easy. I felt like J was getting a lot of love and support, and I wasn’t. He was travelling a lot, so we decided to be roommates. There were a lot of fights, mostly caused by my feelings of anger and betrayal. After one really nasty fight, he looked at me and said, the thought of me not being in his life was completely unacceptable. We both put a lot of effort into our friendship after this.

Things changed. He fell in love. I fell in love, twice. Fifteen months later, he moved to New York, and I suddenly felt totally and completely alone.

This was when my life started to unravel, I was drinking heavily, and making some very bad decisions. I unfairly blamed my problems on him. He was nothing but kind and generous, and did everything he could to help me. We talked every day, but I missed him so much.

Friends were blown away by our friendship and love for each other. About five years ago, we were at a beautiful dinner party in Miami. The host proposed a toast to the greatest love story that he had ever known. Amy & J.

J has since become very successful. I am so proud of him. He is a kind, decent, moral person. Really, he is the best person that I know. My life is so much richer for knowing him and loving him. We still talk daily.

A month ago, as my world was falling apart, I called him. He sat on the phone and listened as I cried. He cried to. His words to me were, “Baby, you’re my north, my south, my east and my west. You are my family, and we will get through this together.”. As always, he is my rock.

This is not a classic love story, but it is a true love story. The love I feel for J, my friend, makes my heart swell.

My Other Half, Part 2

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 11, 2006
Why I Suspected My Boyfriend Was Gay
Reason #31

Christmas Day 1994: After spending the day with friends, my boyfriend and I headed to Coconut Grove to see the new Robert Altman movie, Pret-a-Porter. While waiting in line for tickets, an older, very elegant gentleman caught our attention. Suddenly my boyfriend started hyperventilating and frantically whispering over and over, “Oh my God, it’s Gianni Versace. Oh my God, it’s Gianni Versace.” He was so excited, I thought he was going to tinkle in his pants. When Mr. Versace, came and sat behind us in the theater, I didn’t think my sweet, little boyfriend would make it through the movie. He almost didn’t, so we ended up having to change seats.

A few weeks earlier, also in Coconut Grove, we had a Shaquille O’Neal sighting.  We weren’t sure who it was, so I asked the people dining at the next table, if they knew. When we were told it was Shaq, my boyfriend seriously asked, “who’s that?” 

Part 2, The Letter 

J and I went on a dinner date every Friday night. It was the last Friday in February of 1998. He was late getting home, which was not unusual. After an hour, I knew that something was not right. There was a knock on the door. When I opened it, J’s brother, Duke, was standing there crying. My knees went weak, and I started shaking. I thought J was dead. Duke told me to pour us each a stiff drink, which I shakily did. He then told me to go to the bookcase and pull out Atlas Shrugged. Inside, was a letter from J. A very sad, but very beautiful letter. J was gay, and had been struggling with it for the last year or so. I was floored, but not shocked.

The letter was full of love, sadness and fear. The ending of the letter said I should never doubt his love for me. He said I was his north, his south, his east, and his west; his best friend; and his family. Assuming I would hate him, and never want to see him again, he was staying at an undisclosed location. J greatly underestimated me.  All I wanted was to know that he was okay. This involved plying Duke with enough alcohol to get him to tell me where he was. After a few hours, he broke down and took me to him. J looked like a scared child, and I held him, as we both cried. I then took his hand, and told him he needed to come home with me. He did.

Part 3 to come…