Starting Off Good?

Bring in 2010...I'm ready.

It's just a number...

right? What number? Oh, 2009. What's the big deal about celebrating a new year anyways? Is it a celebration that we made it out of a horrible year in one piece? Are we really that excited that a whole new year is about to start...not so much a new beginning but doing everything ALL over again? Let's celebrate getting older! What?! Getting excited about being a year older lost it's magic when I reached 18. Now it's just a number. The year 2010 is just a number, meaningless if you don't plan to do things differently this time around. My friend Molly pretty much covered this already in her blog.

So I'm not gonna go off the deep end explaining what I wish the new year would bring, because when the clock hits tonight it will still feel like 2009. It'll just be staying up late on a Thursday night, like every other night in my life. Tomorrow? It'll just be a Friday off work (but still on call), in which almost everything will be closed and I'll once again be pissed off I have nowhere to go eat. Monday? Monday will just be Monday. Another work day, a busy one at that...and I'll spend the following week reminding myself to write 10 instead of 09 at on my dates.

So here's to a new decade, people of the world. May your bad moments be brief and you find yourself with someone to face them with. May your good moments remain longer in your memory, and may you become grateful of what you have...no matter how small or insignificant it may seem. To those who came into my life this year and changed it for the better: thank you and I sincerely love you. The few of you that came into it to leave me broken and abandoned: thank you and I wish you well. I could love you too, but that would mean I didn't learn my lesson.

The year is over...and it's just a number. A number that means time, and that time is flying by. Make the most of it.

He Said It, When I Couldn't:

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

~ Robert Frost

Vanilla

Could it get any more plain and unsurprising? Really people, it's just vanilla.

I've never been a risk taker. I don't like unplanned situations and as much as I hate routine, I do enjoy knowing tomorrow is going to suck as much as today. I've never been the kind to do things on impulse (except spending money), and as some of you know, it makes me uncomfortable to meet new people.

I don't sleep around, never did. I was never the kind to date an array of people, or mess around with those I did befriend. Hell, I was always that one with the 'gorgeous face' but when people saw I was big...well...yeah I guess I didn't have much choice as to messing around with anyone. Run from the walrus, kiddies!! Lol. Alas, I digress.

I don't go clubbing, I read a lot though. I enjoy documentaries and random things make me cry. What brings me to tears? Discovery Channel commercials, beautiful worlds that don't exist (i.e. Avatar scenes at night where everything glows) and this video right here:

I'm serious...I just cried for a good 5 minutes over that little animated kiwi.

I like being a homebody, staying in and watching old and new movies curled up under the blankets. I don't have big dreams, and if I do, I'm afraid to chase after them. I like safe. I hate eye contact, but then people think I'm being weird and evasive.

So this is me: vanilla. Plain and expected. Sitting in a little dish waiting for other flavors to combine with me and make me special...because by myself I'm not too impressive.

So now I'll go to bed wondering if, at 25, it's starting to get too late to be bold. To make the first move. To stop being self concious about how I look and afraid of rejection. To one day get in my car and drive to my special happy place without telling anyone where I'm going and why. To be free if only for a few hours. I wonder if I'll have anything important to share about myself when I'm old, or if it will be a life full of would've, could've and should've.

That poor little kiwi...it died. But it flew, first.

Here Comes The Sun

Well, I spent the afternoon working in a small cramped office, trying to teach an older lady how to use software that might have been a bit too much for her. She doesn't know how to open Word. Enough said.

However, right on top of her very messy shelf I found a very out of place Ipod hooked up to a speaker dock softly serenading us as we learned to work together. I had tried hard to block out the tunes coming from it, and concentrate on work but ended up failing at that miserably. She got up for her 4th pee break, leaving me alone with that endless Beatles playlist she had just as "Here Comes The Sun" started to play. The familiar guitar notes flooded me as I stared out the window at the falling snow. "Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter." I sort of nodded at the lyrics, agreeing that the winter, in fact, has been long. Of course, referring to a metaphorical season...at least I was, anyway. "Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here." It does feel like it's been here entirely too long.

The last time I heard this song, you were playing it rather drunkishly and sounded sadder than it was supposed to. So, what else would come to my mind when I hear this song now if not you. I looked out at the fog and gray skies, at the gigantic snowflakes and for the first time I didn't wonder how you were. I couldn't bring myself to miss you or even feel sad that you've disappeared for the last 5 months. I felt no anger or bitterness, no abandonement or betrayal. I simply heard your voice in my head singing, I saw your eyes full of wonder and pictured that silly green M*A*S*H t-shirt you wore. I simply thought of you as you think of friends that have come and gone. Nothing more. Nothing less. Oh delight.

It's nice to feel nothing. So, that being said, I believe the sun probably is coming some day soon. This time I'll look up at it and feel it's warmth on my face. I might even smile, too. Hey, really, I'll smile...greater things have happened.

There's a picture of your hand, blocking my camera. Maybe it was your way of waving good-bye...

Purge, Pt. 1

AOL chat rooms, and Yahoo ones, had been the sole reason to live when I first discovered them in 1999. I was 15 and had never so much as had a computer for personal use, this was my first one. I was amazed by this new world that had opened up before me, and with it the freedom of finally being able to be myself without fear of face to face rejection.

I went to school from 8 a.m. to 3 p.m., rushed home and hopped online from 3:20 p.m. until 6 a.m. Non-stop. I do not joke. I showered, slept an hour and headed to school to do it all over again. I remember almost every person I chatted with that meant something to me. You see I actually WAS that naive little girl that thought everything typed in chat or in a PM box was true. I believed every word everyone told me, and that they only had their best intentions towards me. I was 15. I was jail-bait.

I used to get soooo attached, quickly, just because someone said some kind words to the fattie (me) and offered tenderness described in between asterisks. *hugs* Yeah, I was amazed at how much a simple "e-action" could convey to a loner like me. Everything was great. I used to talk to an Erik from California, two Ryans from Ohio and Pennsylvania, David from Greece, Brian from NY, etc etc etc. Always the same crew in the same chat rooms. The regs. I opened up completely to them, offering my friendship along with pure unadulterated trust. Blind trust. Fool's trust.

Suddenly I began to see a side to them that confused me. Their affections got more and more self-imposing and possessive. They started flirting heavily after a few weeks and almost insinuating things that at that age I had NO idea how to even get involved in. I'm serious. I was THAT girl. I never skipped school, always got straight A's, never lied (seriously, never), I didn't try pot until I was 19, never drank...I was a freakin' saint. Always good little Yari, obedient to mom and dad and such. Naturally, when they realized this was actually a good little virgin they were talking to and not some little slut pretending to be coy...I became the ultimate trophy.

Needless to say, I felt nauseous that the people I once considered close friends turned out to be wolves in sheep's clothing. Erik even turned out to be 49, instead of the age he said blah blah it was just disgusting. I didn't understand how men could behave this way. I didn't understand how WOMEN could behave in a way that they relished in flirting with everything that moved in the room and then declare themselves victims at being treated like pieces of meat. Honey, you were looking for it and thanks for making it a hunting ground where quiet people like me that went to relax ended up being e-flashed more times than I care to remember.

So I abandoned Yahoo for a while and stuck to AOL, where they 'sane' people used to hang out. The local chatrooms. I decided to join a Northeastern US Music Chat. People from Pennsylvania, Ohio, NY, MA and NJ mostly gathered to discuss guitar playing, they played on mic, we bashed each other, we loved each other and we were pretty tight knit. None of that e-leg humping crap, just straight up people shootin' the shit discussing their favorite hobby. PM's were always safe, and usually involved either meeting someone close to me in PA for a jam session (and they were, actually, awesome) or safe convos about guitars or musicians.

When (screename witheld) sent me a private message one night, I expected nothing more than a guitar chat and a new friend. His name was Ronnie. He was 21 years old. He was recently divorced with twin daughters that were 3 years old, Hannah and Kelsey. He lived in California. His father owned a large and successful construction company, where he worked and made 'good money'. He never boasted, but he always dropped hints that he wasn't hurting financially. Specially listing his 'gear' to me, which included several guitars that were over $4k each, equally luxurious amps...yeah. We spoke of music, but he seemed a sad fellow who was holding a lot back. He kept repeating how nice I was and that he'd never met a girl who could play Metallica as well as me. He mentioned battling depression briefly, and we both were so consumed talking to each other that we didn't notice the chatroom die away and the clock flying away with our time. That night I didn't sleep at all, and simply showered and caught the bus to school, feeling this void that I couldn't talk to Ronnie until night time.

Weeks passed by and turned into months of almost 24 hour Ronnie company. We never did anything but relish our company, talk of hobbies, talk about his problems, he'd ask me to play my guitar so he could fall asleep. He made me feel like he needed my company, like he needed -me- above all. Eventually phone numbers were exchanged, and the daily calls overtook everything I ever did. He's all I ever spoke about to my friends and parents, I sent packages with gifts for his daughters and the plans began. It was several months later that he whispered "I love you" right before hanging up one night, which only cemented what I already felt for him but had never spoken out loud.

This is where it gets great, wonderful and traumatic. We started planning a life together, giving him my deepest secrets and promises and, at 15 yrs old, giving this man more than anyone ever knew about me. I don't need to go into further detail but you all can take that as you may. I was going to run away from home at the end of the school following school year, when I was 16 and we'd move to Germany where some relatives of his lived (oh stupid stupid Yari). At the same time our 'love' blossomed, his personal life was crumbling. His behavior was increasinly erratic, he had this absolutely unbelievable streak of bad luck and endless rants about committing suicide. Here I was, on the other side of the US, crying hysterically and begging him to not give up, that it would get better. I'd get calls during the week from him saying he had an accident or his house got burglarized. Soon his 'sister' came into the equation, though I never spoke to her on the phone or heard her voice in the background. I did, however, get PM's from her and emails from her saying how Ronnie was getting worse and how I should leave him alone because he was unstable...ha!

One day my parents figured it all out, and as soon as I turned 16 they shipped me off to Puerto Rico for the summer to see if I'd get my head out of my ass. He still called me non stop since I had no computer near by, but things were very rocky. Until the day came when it had been 2 weeks since I had last heard anything from him. I ran to a neighbor's house out of sheer paranoia and checked my emails, to find an email from his 'sister' saying that Ronnie had been in a car accident that left him brain dead. They were going to unplug him in a few days and she was asking me if I wanted to know where to send the flowers. I stumbled away from the screen and don't really remember how I got home. I must've been in bad shape because my aunt called my mom and I just heard her screaming at me to snap out of it from the phone that seemed so far away. My parents said they knew about this but had decided not to tell me because we had been nothing, and that it wasn't good for me to be this upset over 'something silly and someone I had never met'.

But he was real to me, he was everything and now he was gone. I didn't eat for days and can't really remember much but crying on my friend's lap while she looked at me with something in her eyes that was an unknown pity. Like she wasn't saying something. I asked her what was wrong and she simply said "You're so young, I hope this isn't in vain." I felt enraged that she, one of my best friends, did not believe my love was real. Alas, that fool's trust didn't prepare me for the next Ronnie chapter. About 2 months later, I received an email from the dead man himself saying that it had all been a joke. His 'sister' just wanted to see if I had really 'loved him' and had taken the opportunity that he was away on business to make it seem like all that had happened...and I woke up.

Hell hath no fury like a 16 yr old who has been betrayed and broken to the ultimate level by her first love. I didn't answer the email. Instead I inmersed myself into finding out what else he had lied about. Ronnie's real name was Dean. He made the mistake of giving me his real last name and date of birth, to which I did verify his address and that he was married with 3 children. The pictures he had sent me had been of his youngest son who was 21. The girls? His grandaughters. He was 42. He had been married to his wife for a long time according to public records. He's an EMT and now, a pedophile thanks to yours truly. Oh I went there. He had no business screwing a 15 yr old over like he did.

After that I left the chatrooms for years, I never trusted anyone again nor loved that purely. I recently returned to chatrooms only to find the snakepit now knows nothing good...what else was expected? I learned my lesson at 16. I re-learned it in my 20's. But it really doesn't matter what or when I learned it...but that it finally sunk in and I've sealed myself shut in self-preservation.

I don't know why I named this post as Part 1, when I've said all I needed to. I let it out, I carry no further secrets. Most of you knew of Ronnie, but I don't think you knew to what extent. Maybe something else will come to mind that needs to find it's way out into the atmosphere. For now I leave you with this: Open your eyes. Even though nobody will learn a lesson from someone else's mistakes, I wish you don't go through what I did at that age ever. It's never too late to demand the truth. Never, absolutely NEVER, be shocked to find out that there is so little love, compassion and humanity left out there. Don't settle for anything but those 3 qualities, there are no excuses for anything else.

I'm tired. Bed at 10:00 p.m.

Covers

Sometimes I enjoy them more than the original thing...


Also, you should check out mine. Why? Cuz I suck yet still record em in hopes ya'll enjoy em more than the originals?

I can dream.

www.youtube.com/TheMonkeyScrotum

S is for Sunday, and Stuff

I have a red ribbon in my hair,
and my guitar earrings on.
The dog's curled up beside me,
My pink eyeliner's gone.

The week is over. Done.
The holidays ran through.
I scarcely had my fun,
but always thought of you.

I'm kicking these old shoes off,
and finding my best flannel.
Watching movies, yuck, of love
or just the Weather Channel.

~ by Yari I.
(with special collaboration by Blue the Dachshund
and stupid painful romantic comedies on Netflix)

Pink Bullet

During the last 6 weeks of my mom's pregnancy, I decided that her left hip bone would be an awesome place to stuff my head into. It made sense I suppose. It wasn't time for me to come out yet and I was getting tired of just floating around with nowhere to rest my head, so why not shove it in a tiny space?

Turns out that I had missed the memo about baby's heads being soft and pliable. So when my time came to do my grand entrance into the world, it is no surprise (at least to anyone else but me) that my first nick name would be "Gumby". Yes. Gumby, the lovable clay toy with the lopsided slanted head. Oh the horror! My mother was distraught that her otherwise perfect baby (hey I was a good looking baby) had a huge lump on her head exactly the shape of her hip bone.

The doctor consoled my mother saying that in time it should go away, if they rubbed it every day softly (yeah like a freakin' buddha belly) and gently massaged the bump. If that failed (I bet mom's confidence just shot through the roof at that statement), she shouldn't worry because I was a girl and my hair would grow and hide the bump. Seemed sketchy, and, they weren't counting on me being a bald baby the first year of my life. No hair. Thanks, doc.

Eventually the bump went away with the rubbing of the hands all over my head like a freakin' crystal ball. Also, I grew a fine head of hair which now covers other slight imperfections. However, it makes me wonder if maybe that's why Gumby was one of my favorite cartoons growing up. It also makes me wonder if that's why I'm so fond of hats, and I sort of feel exposed without one.

One thing is certain. This story makes for good conversation, maybe even makes me a nice centerpiece for a table. Next time ya'll see me, feel free to touch my head. I know you're already wondering inside your head or at least picturing me walking around a clay farm with Pokey by my side. Besides, I like having my head rubbed. Good times.

Food for thought: Would a pink colored bullet hurt you the same as a regular bullet? Or say an adamantium one? Anyone care to try?

Speed Reading

Also...

I read this book in exactly 24 hours. I had not laughed that much in a long long time. It was great, not at all a self pity book (well the character was full of it but I didn't read it to identify with it, I actually thought the vintage cover was alluring) and the awkward moments were just...I'm speechless.

It did, however, have a horrible ending. I mean the type of ending that makes you want to cry and sob your heart out because it's not the feel good finale you were expecting. It was realism at its best. Real life ending...sad Yari heart.

"Maybe that's why falling in love becomes so important. The hope of it. Because it's the last standing pillar in the temple of thrill."
~Heather McElhatton, "Jennifer Johnson is Sick of being Single"