Where it started.

My first memory is of my parents, chugging vodka in the Winn Dixie parking lot. I don't know how old I was, but I was still strapped into a car seat.

When I was younger, I swore I'd never be like my father. Just a bumbling, angry drunk. Falling into doorways at 6pm. The guidance counselors called me into the office to talk to me about my dad's disease. But, at 6 years old, a disease wasn't what my dad had. He wasn't in the hospital, he wasn't dying. He was a normal dad.

I started staying at friends' houses, realizing that not all dads stayed up half the night yelling, fighting imaginary men in their sleep, stumbling through the house, punching holes in the walls and leaving blood trails from busted lips.

He took too many pain pills with a swig too much vodka and flipped. The only thing I can remember is a lot of yelling, my grandma coming, my mom and dad fighting to keep me in the car/get me out, and finally, my dad leaping on top of the car. He punched it, broke his hand in 4 places. We stayed with my grandma for a week that time. I swore I'd never touch a bottle of vodka.

A little older, and I swore I'd never be like my mother. A crackhead, a whore. I would watch the car tail lights leave the driveway every night. I'd get up, go wake up my dad, who at this point had semi sobered up, and we start making calls. At the time, I didn't know where she was going, but I knew she shouldn't be.

Me and my dad would sit up, watching the history channel. The sound of fighter jets still reminds me of those nights. I remember not wanting her to come home, thinking things were good like they were. Who needs her anyway? I learned to cook because my mom was gone, and my dad was passed out. I perfected every kind of hamburger helper by the first grade.

She got a boyfriend. I didn't know it at the time, but maybe I did. Deep down. I just knew that this guy brought me video games. He always played with me when no one else would. He left her because she couldn't leave us. I have no doubt that if my father would have been stable, she would've left and never turned back. But she didn't.

I can't remember a lot from childhood, just a few flashbacks. But, I do remember my first drink. I was 11 maybe, sitting at the table with my mom's best friend's son. There was a bottle of citrus vodka on the table. He dared me to sip it. I had no desire to taste the poison, but I wanted to impress him. That was the first time I ever got drunk.

H1N1. The easiest way to get out of work.

So as I become more and more congested, I can’t help but be a little paranoid. I mean seriously, swine flu seems a little unnecessary. But I feel like everyone I know knows someone with it, and they’re all sick. So my chances are pretty good.

The best part of all of this is my company’s swine flu policy. It says that you don’t need a note saying you have swine flu to be out of work, but you do need a note saying you don’t have swine flu to come back to work. This makes absolutely no sense. So, you can miss work for a month, go to the doctor, he writes a note saying you don’t have it, then you come back to work punishment free. Vacation time, anyone?

I started culinary school a month ago and I am definitely in love with it. I cut back my work hours to focus on classes, and then what happens. I get a promotion to a job that I’ve wanted for a while and won’t be open again until someone retires. The only thing is, it’s full time plus some and crazy hours. I’m never going to get any sleep. Add that to my pitiful excuse for an immune system and I’m going to be sick all freaking winter.

That Night

Dear Racist Asshole:

I would really like to hate you. I would. But I don’t.

I feel bad for you because you’re living in a fantasy world where black people aren’t people. Most of the things you’ve said to me in the last few days via the 60 unanswered creepy texts that I’m still not answering have made me cry. Most have made me want to strangle you. And some made no sense at all.

I feel bad for you because if you ever move out of the dirty rundown house with no heat that you live in, you’re gonna be shocked to see what the world really looks like. That real people don’t see color. That anyone with an IQ over 70 knows that Hitler was insane, and that there will never be an “Aryan nation” like you think it will be. I hate to tell you, but you have brown hair. You never would have made it.

You hate people on welfare, but you’ve done nothing for months except drink and drug away all of your unemployment. That’s government funding too, you lazy bastard. You will never be any better than anyone else. You won’t even be as good as most people. You’re literally the scum of the world and karma is going to get you. Watch out. I won't be ashamed of who I love and you're too closed minded to realize that.


Amber



Dear everyone else there that night:

It really hurts to know that no one checked on me after I started hyperventilating. That you let me drive home without at least checking to look and see if my eyes were both open. That you knew what he said and wouldn’t let me in the house to hit him. That you continued the party after I left without a phone call, text message or anything to check on me. Fuck all of you.

Amber

You wanna WAN burger and some french cries?

Wow. How pathetic was that last post? Further proof that drinking Jagerbombs all night while crying and reviewing every failed relationship in my life and then blogging about it is a BAD idea. My boy, the one I was somehow convinced was leaving me, may or may not be. But he’s not leaving me for good. Just moving. Maybe. He’s very unsure of his current life move, therefore his decision to move changes daily. Either way, I do believe he’ll be around for quite a while.

Anywho, in other news, I had a really strange week. I had that impending sense of doom hovering in the corner like a bad child. But after a plethora of liquor, a therapeutic rage kicking session, and a very invigorating adventure in the mountains with my love yesterday, things are looking much better. I’m going to West Virginia this weekend to spread my dad’s ashes on the New River Gorge Bridge. If you’ve never heard of this bridge, it’s amazing. There’s a mountain called Beauty Mountain on one side of the bridge, where I will proceed to pour out for some vodka for my homies and let the ashes fly. I feel like this event may help me begin to let go and move on.

It’s a gorgeous day outside and I’m stuck at work. How fun. If one more customer hangs up on me, I swear I’m gonna start hanging up on them. It’s ridiculous. But more on customer service later.

A fairy tale of sorts

Once upon a time there was a girl. She was what we like to call a "serial dater". She was in long term relationships back to back for 8 years straight. One boy leaves, oh well, the next one's right around the corner. Six years into this constant whirlwind of mean, angry, useless boys she met the one. Or so she thought. He was everything she thought she wanted. The strong quiet type. He had good values, good you know, and he was good looking to boot. Up until this point, the girl had never really dated an attractive guy. She thought they were, of course, but most didn't. Until this one.
This boy took over her brain. He moved in almost immediately and was always there for her, or so it seemed. Soon enough things started to go sour. They were engaged 3 months in (too soon of course) and began to plan for happily ever after. Then he cheated. Things were tense and this girl went crazy. Crazy jealous. She couldn't handle the pressure and couldn't trust him again. She couldn't let him go though. No way no how. So she pushed through it. She dealt with all kinds of bullshit. Tons of potential cheating. Five breakups. But she never gave up. In the back of her mind she knew. It would be her and him forever. Then, during a freak blizzard at the end of February (which doesn't usually happen in VA) and right after the girl's dad died, he left. Left and never came back. This girl lost her mind and went on a fury of binge drinking and overall self loathing.
Fast forward to three months later and she met HIM. The new boy. The love her life. The reason she wakes up smiling every morning and the reason she makes it through the day. And now he's leaving too. How does said girl make sure the next one doesn't leave? It seems almost impossible that she could have to feel this pain again. Yet it's happening. It's playing out right before her eyes.
This feeling has to go away soon or I might just lose it for good. It seems ridiculous that I base my self-worth on if someone loves me or not. But it's always been this way. Call it daddy issues. Call it co-dependence. Call it dumb. Either way, it seems like this pain will never go away.

Happy fucking father's day.

Dear Daddy:

This is my first father’s day without you. We never really celebrated it when you were alive but now that you’re gone I’ve felt like I couldn’t breathe all day. I don’t think I will ever get over the pain of watching you die and knowing I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I am so angry that you left me here. I’m even angrier that you left me for the bottle long before that.

I thought I had daddy issues before but these days it seems I’m a whole new type of crazy. I coddle the hell out of everyone for fear that if I turn my back they might leave me. Or die. Or something. Because of my intense need to be with the people I love all the time, I’ve pushed two very important people away from me. I’m my mother. I never understood why she put up with your belligerent shit for so long. It’s because she needed something to keep her grounded. Now that you’re gone, she’s flown the coop. I keep trying to replace you with someone just as drunk and mean as you but no one will ever replace you. No matter what, I’ll still always be daddy’s little girl. I love you. Happy father’s day.

Get off me, blood sucker!

Ever since I can remember, I have taken care of people. I’m the first to loan someone money if I have it or buy them a pack of cigarettes or a beer when payday isn’t soon enough. Sometimes, this is a good thing. People think I’m caring and sweet. I’ve made plenty of friends by passing out cigarettes to drunk girls who’ve dropped their cigarettes in puddles/toilet/ piles of puke (don’t judge, we’ve all been there).
I’ve been taken advantage of for years. Some of my best friends have only hung around me because of my generosity. I’ve spent thousands of dollars to make sure that no one is left out and everyone is having a good time. And it has to stop.
I’ve recently been extremely broke due to the back and forth moving and being unemployed for the last 3 weeks. I’m tired of being used and being broke is always a good motivation. So I’m cutting everyone off. No rides, no food, cigarettes. Nothing. Find someone else to leech off of. Please.