Feels Like Starting Over

Seen in Snake's journal.


Crush this person!
Get your own ThisCrush.com CrushTag!

I don't actually think anyone's got a crush on me, but it's such a funny thing to assume anyone would click it. Or maybe that's just me...

If there is at least one person on your friends list you would like to take, strip naked, tie them to a bed post, lick them until they scream, then fuck them until both of you are senseless and unable to fuck anymore, then wait about five minutes and do it all over again, then post this exact sentence in YOUR journal.

Here, in no particular order, is a list of the best parties I've ever attended:

- Orlando's 30th birthday (can I list this if I helped organize it? Who cares, it's probably the best party I've been to.)

- A frat party my freshman year (the name of the frat escapes me) where I received my first... Where I was pleasured orally for the first time. Funny how something that's over so quickly can leave such a lasting impression. I remember nothing else about that girl but bubblegum pink lipstick.

- My 14th birthday. Dad was out of town and Mom let me have Pete over to spend the night. All we did was listen to music, watch TV (Mom rented us a VCR and some movies) and eat a lot of junk food, but it was awesome. It might not technically count as a party since it was only my best friend, me and Mom, but it was definitely one of my better birthday celebrations.

And now for the worst:

- My wedding reception. I don't have enough time to list the reasons why this rates as one of the worst, but I'm sure you can figure them out.

- Every Christmas party I ever had to attend for work. As much fun as it sounds to be trapped under the mistletoe by drunken female colleagues or the drunken wives of colleagues, it was mainly awkward and did nothing to raise my level of Christmas cheer.

- Every fundraiser/benefit/begging for dollars type thing I attended as a representative of Hamilton-Fairhaven.

- Another frat party later in my freshman year where my shoes were mistaken for a toilet and some poor girl yakked all over them.

From Ray

( How I die )

Talia's pregnant according to my mother. Ex wifey called her to share the news so she could let me know. She and lawyer man are breeding. That's... That baby's going to be born with horns and a tail, I know it.

I'd actually wish them well if I hadn't found out Talia spilled the details of our marriage to some rag. All that goodwill I'd worked so very hard to feel towards her went away just like that.

The one thing I did right in our marriage was not get crazy and insist on having a kid with her after she "lost" the first one. I'd be tied to the witch forever.

My Ann and Helene's kid is going to be so much cuter than that spawn of evil.

Shit. I should take that back. I keep forgetting I'm trying to be a better person.

It's not the kid's fault it's going to be born to the icy bitch and the shyster them. I hope it's born healthy and grows up to be intelligent and well-liked, thus, guaranteeing it won't follow in its parents' footsteps. Poor kid.

From Ray

( Information no one really needs to know but I'm sharing anyway. )

I'm disappointed that things didn't work out with me and Peter. Before I say anything else, let me qualify that by saying that I couldn't be happier with my life, now. But every now and then I think about Pete and feel a little wistful.

I suppose the main reason I'm disappointed that I'm not going to be Mr. Peter Cavanaugh, one day, is because it felt as if we were destined to be together. Look at our relationship. It's got all the elements of a happy ever after.

We met when we were 11 years old and were both sent to the principal's office. An instant friendship was formed and we became inseparable. Over the years, the friendship grew even stronger. We supported each other through everything. He became the most important figure in my life besides my mother and was the only one who knew how to make me feel better about anything. We loved each other in that way that close friends do.

Peter made no secret of the fact that he's gay. In high school, he didn't date anyone, and while he never came right out and said that he was interested in guys, somehow I just knew. There were a couple of drunken incidents between us, things I denied for my own reasons, but he never let that affect our friendship. Rather, he never let my rejection of them, or him, really, affect things between us.

The drama came during college. When Peter found out I was getting married, he confronted me about denying my own sexuality and tried to convince me not to go through with the wedding. He kissed me, and it was my reaction to it that made me realize I needed to shut him out of my life. I couldn't be with him. I had to marry the woman carrying my baby and prove to my father that I wasn't what he thought I was, end of story. I kept track of Pete through my mom because she wasn't willing to cut him out of her life just because I was angry with him. But, really, I was never angry with him.

When I received word that Peter's lover of seven years had been killed, I couldn't ignore that. The news had shocked me into action, reminding me that life was too short to hold onto grudges that shouldn't have existed in the first place. That's why I went to the funeral to see him.

We talked. A lot. We caught up on each other's lives and cleared the air about what had happened. He met Talia, he came over to spend time with us, we took the dogs for their run together. Just when it looked as if I had my best friend back, he told me that he could see how unhappy I was and he couldn't stand it. And when he kissed me, I didn't push him away.

Our affair was one of the most incredible, exciting, satisfying things I've ever experienced. I'm the one who insisted on keeping it a secret instead of being honest with Talia. It was unfair to both her and Peter, but I couldn't bear the thought of a divorce. He didn't fight me on it. I think he was still dealing with the grief over losing Kory, so we were both getting what we needed and wanted from the relationship.

Then Talia caught us. The shame and guilt I felt would have been unbearable if not for Peter. Same thing for the divorce. He stood by my side, unwavering, loving me throughout all of it and when we were finally free to be together... It didn't happen.

The both of us tried, we really did. But I told him that I didn't want to lose him as my friend if we ever broke up. He told me that we'd never break up so it was a moot point, but I didn't have his faith in my ability to settle down with him. We ended things and agreed to be the best of friends. In fact, we'd made a promise to one another that we'd always be first in each other's lives no matter what other relationships we had. That included a physical relationship. I abided by that, too, until Orlando.

But after all those years and all that drama, when everything should have had a happy ending and Peter and I should have ended up living happily ever after, I ended things for fear of getting my heart broken. It seems kind of silly now.

Mom knows that I'm not a practicing Catholic. She knows that I only do the Big Masses when I'm in the mood and that's about it. So why would she scold me for not going to church on Wednesday (Ash Wednesday - which I actually forgot because the Catholic fucking church is not really on my mind much these days) and not giving up anything for Lent? Believe it or not, there's an answer.

She wants to make sure that God sees fit to make sure the baby's born healthy, and, since I'm the father, it's important for me to "be vigilant" while Ann's pregnant. (Maybe angry hordes are on the hunt for her and the bambino...?) I'm not sure if she knows that Ann's an agnostic.

I don't know when my mother turned into a religious freak and lost her grip on reality. You'd think that there would be warning signs or something. I didn't have the energy to tell her that if my being a good little boy is what would keep the baby safe, the poor kid wouldn't have a chance.

My mother is usually a very rational, grounded woman, so I know that all the excitement about Baby is making her a little loony. I'm thinking of humoring her and telling her that I'll give up scotch starting today. I won't, but I'll tell her I did.

Have you seen that GoToMyPC commercial with the stupid little kid who talks about his father always having to go into the office? I hate that commercial.

The Anna Nicole Death coverage can stop any second now. I feel very sad for her little baby but enough's enough. I'm not sure if it's comical or tragic that (formerly?) legitimate news channels have spent so much time on this. The comparisons to Marilyn Monroe are also irksome. Not in any universe should a big-breasted, billionaire widow, D-list reality TV star be compared to MM. We need a war or something so they can report on important things. Oh wait...

Now, to get serious. Don't be frightened.

I'm watching a report on teenaged boys who kill homeless people for sport. I'm angry and disgusted, and if the excuses keep up for the boys' behavior, I'm putting my foot through the television. I don't care how bad your childhood was or how much you were neglected or unsupervised. When you reach a certain age you know the difference between right and wrong, period. Badly behaved, spastic, incorrigible teens are not cute. They're little delinquents in the making who choose to be insufferable for effect, at the very least. At their worst, they literally destroy lives. Yes, the parents should be held accountable, too, but ultimately these teens are responsible for their own behavior. Maybe that's why I have no patience for rude children who act as if they're entitled to be disrespectful.

Yet again, LJ isn't sending notifs for everything. I'm still trying to catch up on chatty threads from the weekend, but I know for sure that I'm not getting notifs for new threads.

Bah.