Nails and Thorns

Interesting...

2004-09-24T02:53:00.000-04:00

A Web site explains that an Indiana candymaker wanted to make a Christmas witness. He began with a stick of pure white hard candy to symbolize the virgin birth and sinless character of Jesus. Hard candy symbolized the Church's rock foundation. Upright, the staff-like shape represented Jesus the Good Shepherd. Upside down, the cane became the letter J for "Jesus."
The candymaker added one broad red stripe and three narrow ones. The broad stripe calls to mind the blood of Jesus that was shed on the cross. The narrow ones represent the stripes of his scourging.

Peppermint, like hyssop, belongs to the mint family. It reminds us of the hyssop used in the Old Testament for purification and sacrifice.

Heh...

2004-09-24T01:31:00.000-04:00

How Much is a Sermon Worth?

One beautiful Sunday morning, a minister announced to his congregation: "My good people, I have here in my hands three sermons... a $100 sermon that lasts five minutes, a $50 sermon that lasts fifteen minutes, and a $10 sermon that lasts a full hour. Now, we'll take the collection and see which one I'll deliver."

read more ha-ha's at beliefnet.com...something for everyone. And I mean, everyone.

Cute Story

2004-09-22T01:33:00.000-04:00

SPEAKING AGAPE

In the early 60s, Brother Andrew, a man from Holland, smuggled a load ofBibles in his VW across the Romanian border and past communist guards. He checked into a hotel and began praying that God would lead him to the right Christian groups - the ones who could best use his copies of the Scriptures. That weekend Andrew walked up to the hotel clerk and asked where he might find a church. The clerk looked at him a little strangely and answered,"We don't have many of those you know. Besides you couldn't understand the language." "Didn't you know?" Andrew replied, "Christians speak a kind of universal language." "Oh, what's that?" asked the clerk. "It's called Agape." The clerk had never heard of it, but Andrew assured him. "It's the most beautiful language in the world."

Andrew was able to locate several church groups in the area and managed to arrange a meeting with the president and secretary of a certain denomination. Unfortunately, although both Andrew and these men knew several European languages, they found they had none in common. So there they sat staring at each other across the room. Andrew had traveled thousands of dangerous miles with his precious cargo,but there seemed no way of telling whether these men were genuine Christian brothers or government informants. Finally, he spotted a Romanian Bible on a desk in the office. Andrew reached into his pocket and pulled out a Dutch Bible. He turned to 1 Corinthians 16:20 and held the Bible out, pointing to the name of the book, which they could recognize.

Instantly their faces lit up.They quickly found the same chapter and verse in their Romanian Bibles and read: "All the brothers here send you greetings. Greet one another with a holy kiss." The men beamed back at Andrew. Then one of them looked throughout his Bible and found Proverbs 25:25. Andrew found the verse and read: "Like cold water to a weary soul is good news from a distant land." These men spent half an hour conversing and sharing - just through the words of Scripture.They were so happy in this fellowship that crossed all cultural boundaries that they laughed until tears came to their eyes. Andrew knew he had found his brothers. When he showed them his load of Bibles, the Romanians were overwhelmed and embraced him again and again.

That evening at the hotel, the clerk approached Andrew and remarked, "Say, I looked up 'Agape' in the dictionary. There's no language by that name.That's just a Greek word for love." Andrew replied, "That's it. I was speaking in it all afternoon."

Author Unknown

Work. HA!

2004-09-20T07:48:00.000-04:00

Things are ok. I am having difficulty adjusting at work. I find that I am less and less thrilled about going to work as every day passes, which (usually) means I am soon on my way out the door. And I am struggling to command myself to give it more time, to be patient with those around me. You see, this kitchen tends to be on the rough side: a lot of calling each other an asshole, screaming at one another as though speaking to a retarded, armless child, assumptions that turn out to be rash thinking... all not happy stuff. And I say, "we've worked in kitchens for a while now, we know the drill." But this kitchen is harsher, less forgiving. The worst, or maybe best, part of it all is that I have mastered the skill of seperating Work from Personal. Up until the moment an order is first walked in, until the all-clear is given at the end of the night, everyone is like one, big clique. Joking, catching up, spreading harmless and funny gossip, the usual banter that goes on in a tightly-knit group. But when that first check is brought in, it's almost an instant change. Everyone arms their proverbial missle launchers and goes to war against every other person in the building. I hate these bodies, I find myself gripping my knife tighter and tighter, ready to spring if one more person screams "How long on that fucking cheese fry already??", after 10 people have already asked that question at full volume. But then, the last customer is exited politely from the building, the music gets changed back to rock or rap (depending on the manager on duty) and it's one, big cleaning party. And I like the guys I work with, every one. Until I hear "walking in a...." and then the only thing that calms me down is picturing the different cuts I could use on their faces.

And I hate that. It is a constant, unending, no-cigarette-break trial, from 8 to 10 hours long, 5 days straight. My Christian temperament is challenged moment by moment, and usually by 7 pm I grab the first capable person to do my station and I head for the bathroom to piss and pray for strength before literally throwing myself back on line. I try singing to myself, or praying silently, or coming up with puns, anything to keep the frustration and rage down, but then there's the times when I can't hold it back any more, and then it's out before I can stop it...

"If you scream at me one more fucking time I am going to gut you quicker than stink on shit! (The response that I threw out tonight, when shrieked at where the hell the coco shrimp was, when it had been sitting in the expidite window for ten minutes and I had announced so four times already).

These outburst instantly send me into a silent, visibly fuming sulk for the remainder of the evening, until the music gets cranked and I can finally go out back for a smoke. The funny thing is, as soon as I become a real prick with the Mask of Fury on my face, people ask me for things as though I wwere donating organs. Why? Why do I have to act like an ass to get treated... professionally? Why is it I can say "please" and "thank you" every time I open my mouth, yet I get," If I don't get this on time I will have your first born for Christmas dinner"?

It's becoming too much of a burden to get through the night. My chest muscles have been aching ever since I started here, from the constant lifting of things from my table to the window, or the broiler, or the mic, etc etc. Excuse me, my left pec to be precise. If I end up with uneven man-boobs, I will sue. And that's aside from this one particular nerve that keeps getting pinched, and then numbed, with every sideways-motion I make, on or off work. And when I saw a different pay scale on my first check then was previously promised, I almost hit the roof.

***
And then, there's the Eye Incident, or what I like to call, Chase Becomes A Known Stoner. So, one night I managed to splash grease from the fryer directly into my right eye. The contact lens literally evaporated, and I was in pain for all of 2 hours until I taped an ice cube to it and went back to making salads. I felt okay afterwards, really, knowing full well I could have gone to the doc on the restaurant's tab just to check it out. But I was perfectly okay by the end of the night, no pain, a-ok. Then, about a week later, something happened. An infection, a sty, who knows. But my eye was in agony. Couldn't see a damn thing, forget about a lens. The light was just too bright. So, I went in to work, to show them the bulbous, red thing that had replaced my eyeball, and did what any smart person without insurance would do. I went to the pharmacy, asked for advice, and took it, going home with one of everything. I could start my own practice with all the stuff I bought. Then next day, with little change, i did my best to go online and see what exactly my symptoms pointed to, which happened to be one of 2,174,221 things. So, I just did my washing-rinsing-drops-rinsing-drops-pills remedy, threw my Bible on it for good measure, and prayed. The next day, much better results. I kept wearing an eye patch, the med, and managed to wear a contact even though the light was still to much, mainly, but by nightfall I was feeling back to normal, with only the intense redness, but no pain, remaining. The following day I started work again, after my weekend off, so I went in for my shift.

And immediately I was assaulted. "Why are your eyes red?" "Did you bring a doctor's note?" "Why are your eyes red?" The message was clear by the tones, the looks, the subtle leading questions. And I stayed calm. I had some kind of infection. No, I didn't see a doctor. Yes, I am fine. But, I finally heard what was trying to be said between the lines by a loudmouth server I love to refer to as The Bottle Job Queen of all Fagdom: "Oooh, someone had a blunt before shift!" And try as I might to denounce this asumption, no one would hear of it. Management just walked off without any reaction to the "joking" remarks, and the rest of the kitchen went on wondering aloud just what I had gotten a hold of that would keep me so fucked up, I couldn't remember getting high from it. Ha very ha, indeed.

But I was furious. Why, you may ask? Well, you see, back in the day I used to go everywhere high. I didn't do anything unless I was on something. And I eventually realized that being stoned at work is just not fun. At all. The paranoi, slow reflexes, monotone drawl, and of course red eyes just make it too... childish. And difficult. I mean, being high is supposed to be fun. And having to function while stoned is definatley not fun, especially when around very hot or very sharp things. Plus, I've learned self-respect for my work, and to take pride in what I do, and that means being level-headed and ready for anything: the opposite of being stoned. So, I have a rule. Never before work. And by that, I mean, before work. I like to leave at least an hour before my shift to sober up if I do smoke, and time to eat, be thinking right, etc. I may feel a little of it when I walk in, but the high is definately banished once the pressure is on, usually a minute after I clock in. If I don't have at least an hour, then I keep it moderate. One bowl, if that, just enough to feel that Jay-and-Silent-Bob feeling in the back of my mind, but minimal enough so I know that by the time Brad drops me off I'm no different than if I just had a quick nap. I pride myself on this little rule, as stupid or ineffective as you may seem to think it is. But I've been smoking pot since I was a wee lad, and I know my body, it's limits, and it's tolerance by now. I know when to smoke and when to skip. And I am so adament about this, because I garun-fuckin'-tee that 95% of that restaurant is taking their last toke before walking into the building, yet I have enough personal ethincs to say no. Still, the first thing that pops into my manger's mind was that I was high as a kite. And all I could think was, "FINE. If I'm gonna get accused of being high, then goddamit I might as well be high and enjoy the consequences."

So that's what I did. The next day, I happily lit that bowl on the way to work and smoked my ass off in about 15 minutes. I hadn't been that blasted in quite a while. I couldn't stop smiling, I reeked to high heaven, and my eyes were so red I looked possessed.

And yet, not a word. Not one word. No strange looks, no elbow-pokes, no snickers or comments. Nothing. I walked right up to my manager and in my best Paully Shore said "What's going down, yo' ?", ready to get axed on the spot. All I got was a smile and a "hey, Chase. How's it goin' ?"

In my cloud of bliss, I still managed to plot mass murder. I reverted back to my rule, out of principle, but I learned a valuable lesson. People are assholes, despite personal morals. And I may let that rule slip when the situation warrants.
***
This is taking a toll on me, physically, mentally, and spiritually. If this is God's way of teaching me about patience and long-suffering, I give up. Which, of course, is impossible because when God wants to teach you a lesson, you either learn it, or you learn it after a longer period of time. I may have found a loop-hole, by transferring to the Day Prep shift, where I get to actually make things. I wanted a grill spot when I came here, sick of making salads after the last place, and yet I'm back to doing salads and frier, which I have grudgingly done with a pleasant, if sarcastic, attitude. But the DP comes in, finishes their prep list, and goes home. No customers or servers, little management which really doesn't affect anything, since you have a list with recipes to do by the end of the shift, and best of all there's about 3 other guys who are all off in their own worlds silently mixing and cutting and cleaning. So, I will ask to be transferred. And if that doen't work, well, I'm sure I can think of something. I better, before bloodshed insues.

Events

2004-08-16T11:05:00.000-04:00

So, I got to see Meghan and Violet. Every time I visit Vi, I think how suited her enviornment is. And yes, I feel a tingle of pride to know that I have one future lawyer and one serious enviornmentalist (along with a professional writer, props to Kari) as friends. But then I wonder, can they say the same for me? The downfall to being with my closest comrades is it is a reminder of how unsuccessful my life is, how undisciplined I am, how flighty my mind is. I wonder how I can be so close to people that lead lives that I want but will never have...

As for my new job: wow.

Outback is a chaotic whirlpool. From the moment I am on my feet to the moment I walk out, it is non-stop work. Dozens of servers running in and out, yelling for this and that, dishes being passed back and forth, flames bursting, food steaming, sweat dripping. For eight hours straight, with no breaks. I mean nada. No cigarette, no chair. And worst of all, no break from the people you are about to strangle if they ask you for another side of ranch.

But can it be possible, that I am having a blast there? Yeah, it's exhausting, frustrating, torture. But man, is it fun. STRESS. That's the stuff, oo yeah.

Neat things...

2004-08-01T03:43:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I made my first website, all by myself. (Okay, Brad helped, but just a little). I made it to describe a character I play on a website roleplaying game, as well as the room I created on the chat client to play. Go look at it just to share my pride (I still giggle with glee when I go look at it).... http://www.angelfire.com/fang/smokeytones

And, if you're looking for cute n silly, check out the 30 second movie remakes on http://www.angryalien.com . I laughed me arse off.

New Show You Have To Watch...

2004-07-29T15:27:00.000-04:00

Okay, folks, I watched something last night that was incredible: Amish in the City. This show follows 5 Amish "kids" (2 are over 20) on their rumsprina, the time when Amish youth step out into the "real world" and decide whether to stay there or return to their community and become full adults. These five are taken to live in a house in L.A. with 6 roommates and see the modern society.

Of course, I wanted to see this. I have always been fascinated by the Amish life, especially the Old Order, which is where these 5 come from (Old Order Amish are the ones we hear about, who don't use electricity, and take part in church in their homes rather than a community church). But I certainly did not expect to see what happened.

Let's see.... first of, the Amish are HOT. See what a life of building barns gets you? Perfect washboard abs (except for Mose, but he's the oldest one, and I think the most traditional). I really expected plain-looking, plain-talking people...but everyone in the house is almost flawless. (Figures.) What surprised me, though, was that the 2 girls had pierced ears (but I think they have been on their rumspringa for a bit), as well as the casual use of curse words (the little guy, Jonas, can have quite a potty mouth).

I liked how the Amish were introduced. The "modern" roommates arrived one at a time to the posh mansion (little did they know why there was a farm scene covering an entire wall), and to meet each other as they arrived. But the Amish came together, after the others had made intros. The look on the faces of the modern people as they opened the door was priceless.

The Amish "kids" actually seem like anyone else. Aside from their clothes (which were soon changed), you can't pick them out of a crowd. They don't speak "thee" and "thou" like most people believe...and that's what's so good about this show. It'll break down stereotypes, but hopefully, new ones won't be made.

The modern kids are pretty diverse. There's Whitney, a black girl with just the right amount of attitude to make her endearing, who has also not had many experiences. Meghan seems very caring and open, but hey, it was only the first episode. Kevan is the buff grad from Las Vegas (hey hey!) with alot of patience. And, Ariel, a VERY strict vegan who belives that cows come from outer space. (No one is happy when she is sent to get groceries; how cute it was when people would request beef or chicken and she'd say with a flat smile, 'if I can remember'.Personally, I think I would have slapped her after hour one.)

Of course, there's a gay one. I knew there would be. I knew there would be drama. But I did not expect Reese. Why is it when gays have a chance to represent themselves to the world in a realistic way, the most heinous, femme, dramatic one is put on camera? I hate this guy. I can't stand to watch him. And they aren't in the house one night before he starts trouble. He has a hard-on for one of the modern guys, and apparently things go sour when they come home from a sushi dinner (the Amish were hilarious as they chowed down, and they hated every bite. I don't blame them.) A minor "brawl" insues, and I prayed they'd kick that fag off. But nooooooooo. The next morning, it's like nothing appened.Believe me, this is not how it would be in the "real world".

The Amish are not without their own personal drama. It seems that Randy and Miriam have dated over a year and (recently?) broke up. Hmm.

Amish Ruth can't swim, and it was incredible to see her roomie Kevan teach her to float. The next morning, they would all go to the beach, and for Ruth and Mose it would be the first time ever seeing the ocean. As they approaced the beach, I remembered how powerful it was when I first stood in front of the Pacific on the end of the Santa Monica Pier, and shed a tear with Ruth as she was awed by something the Whitney has in her own back yard. Trouble occurs when Ariel and Mose start swimming out to touch a buoy. Mose swims dog-paddle, and is soon overcome by the waves. He is very, VERY shaken by the experince (seeing Mose cry is like watching a puppy get kicked, it hits ya right there). A lifegaurd comes to take Mose out again in a floating harness, which is good for Mose since he knew if he didn't go back out into the water right then he never would. But that night, Mose tosses and turns, eventually going to read his German bible and pray. His biggest fear (I think) is that if he were to die outside his community, he would go to hell. My money is on the fact that Mose will most definately go back to the Amish.

The next day a trunk arrives, and the modern roommates are made to wear Amish clothes out to a small game park. My problem with this wasn't that the moderns made fun of the clothes, but that when they went out, they weren't weraing them properly. Aside from the black dresses and hats for the girls (which looked to be simply thrown on instead of being done nicely), they looked like everyday people--hats on ascew, shirts unbuttoned and untucked-- I don't think that's how it was intended. And yet the roomies talked about the stares they got, and Randy said to the camera now they know how he felt standing there as the door was opened for the first time. I think the stares were because they were acting stupid, and oh yeah--THEY HAD CAMERAS FOLLOWING THEM.

The show ends with some house drama. Poor Randy just doesn't know how to clean up after himself, and this irks the modern roommates (duh). The moderns end up sitting around picking on and criticising their roomies, which upsets Ruth who tells Jonas, who gets more upset and goes to the moderns to confront them about the "talking shit" that's going on. That's pretty much where it ends. But I wish someone had repeated what Ruth explained to the camera: that in the Amish society, men did not clean up after themselves, it was the women's duty. Believe me, I sympathize...My own boyfriend leaves spills, trash, and doesn't even close the ceral box or put the milk back in the fridge, due to years of having Mommy Dearest do it for him. There isn't very much understanding going on, what with the modern people openly mocking the Amish and jumping on their backs for doing the wrong thing. I mean, hello?!?!?!?!

There's an encore showing Friday at 8 on UPN (http://www.upn.com/shows/amish_in_the_city/), and I beg you guys to at least watch this first episode, it's worth it. There's almost no talk of religion, which is what the producers planned, though I know it's bound to pop up soon. This is different from other reality shows, even from that ridiculous Mad Mad whatever show on SciFi, because this is an actual tradition having been performed for years and years but NEVER like this. Yes, of course, maybe in reality Amish kids aren't given free room and board in a mansion, put with strangers on camera. But hey, it is TV, right?

I know you people. You will like this, even if only the first show. At least do it so I can have something to talk to you about aside from my fucked up relationship :)

Get off my back...

2004-07-18T18:01:00.000-04:00

YES, it's been a while, but alot has been happening.

First, we moved. The apartment is definately a fix-me-up-as-we-go, but the rent is incredibly cheap. Living next to his parents, at the moment, seems uneventful. We're slowly putting things out, yet Brad has yet to fulfill his "I'll be a better housekeeper" promise. Oh, well, I should be grateful I have a house to keep.

As for work? Quit, as of Saturday. Just, to many things I couldn't handle anymore. The filth of the kitchen was one thing. The arrogant attitude of my boss was another. Then there's Kathy, a fat, Gollum-resembling woman who basically acted as though I wasn't there. I mean, literally--she once opened a door, smacking into my knee, without saying "excuse me" or "sorry." I couldn't do my job, because she did it all (which is weird, since she's known as doing absolutely nothing), and I'd be in the back, cutting 5 or 6 buckets of potatoes all night. I did not choose culinary to spend my time cutting fucking potatoes.

And then there's Cosmo, the morning cook. Think of the most ignorant, egocentric, controlling, lazy person you know, multiply by 1,000,000, and that's Cosmo. This guy actually said, "You are my bitch on breakfast shift"--with a straight face..

Excuse me?

What did my boss have to say to this? "Can't you just shut up and do your goddam job?"

Um... excuse me???

Yeah, so I decided not to go back again. It sucks, because I did meet some very cool people. But, I wasn't working 40 hrs a week, I barely worked 32, I was forced to work with assholes, (I was put on the Saturday breakfast shift because Cosmo and Kathy could not get along...so, wait, now I have to wake up at 7 a.m. and get along with this jerk? huh?), when a line position was opened I was passed over, and the guy hired after me had already made 3 raises in 2 months while I was still at $7/hr. No, thank you.

So, I went online (( http://www.gay.com )) and was chatting with someone I had met there a month or so ago, who is a manager at Ruby Tuesday's in Montage. He offered me $11.25/hr and 40+ hrs because they needed staff so badly. It's quite a drive, but the money is worth it, and I'll be an actual line chef again. No more of this salad-making crap. But, the offer is still "open", which means I need to actually GO to the restaurant and interview, but aside from that, I'm hired.

Home, work...Brad. Brad and I are actually very good. He's out...are you ready?...looking for a job. A jobbie-job. Capital "J" Job.

That's all. I have something else to write about, but not yet. I'm not ready. Keep an eye out, though.

2004-06-21T05:27:00.000-04:00

Okay, updates...

The move.
Have yet to even see the new place, or be comfortable with the new neighbors. This business of having his parents right next door is just too weird right now. There are concessions, as well, to the move. Actually, not to the move, but to MY moving, and I have reserved the right to pull out of stated deal at any moment without notice for any reason I deem as a breech in the agreement made. So there. I'm sort of making the same mistake twice, because I am agreeing to move in without seeing the space, but hey---you can't beat $235/mo rent. But THIS time, I am meeting the landlord and laying all cards out. No surprises there, no siree.

The work.
After slaving faithfully, without refusal of any task from anyone,(including dishwashers),and coming in with 5 minutes notice, and staying way later than I could physically accomplish without dire circumstances, my opportunity *might* have come. Mariann has been fired. Therefore, a new line chef is needed.

Rumors fly, as usual anywhere. It's been said to me that
(1.)John is already placing an ad for a new chef
(2.)I am the obvious choice for a promotion
(3.)I'm too good as a prep chef to be taken out of prep and into line
(4.)Monkeys will one day act like humans and enslave us all.

My take on this is, if I don't get that damn position, I will either demand the highest salary ever granted a prep chef in the history of culinary arts, or I will give my notice and move on. Just wait. You'll know when I know.

The boy.
Ahem. What?

Family.
Happy Father's Day, Gary

Friends.
Meg has returned to me, and it's about damn time. Where the hell have you been??? Cripes, right when.... anyway. Love you.

God.
Yes, I went ahead and did the ordination online thing. Brad isn't taking it seriously, meaning he thinks I won't ever use it. He may be right, I'll give him that. I don't want to get into it, not here.

Universal Life Church
Just go there, alright? Cut me some slack. Do your own research, I spent three weeks doing mine.

School is on hold until the move. Actually, alot of things are on hold till then. Maybe this is God's way of saying "Rest up, you'll need the energy."

A glimmer of hope...

2004-06-09T15:59:00.000-04:00

Yesterday Brad was in an accident. He's fine, the car is out of commision. Then his dad went into the hospital for chest pains and they may need to see if it's a clot. So things went south yet again.

But today, he got a good offer. His parent's neighbor owns a couple properties, and offered to lt Brad manage them (shovel sidewalks, collect rent) while living in a unit for less than $300 a month, plus 10% of rent collected.

Fingers are crossed.

Gather the mules...

2004-05-31T14:30:00.000-04:00

>It's time to move...again.

So the other night, Brad comes home with a server. A heavy server. And so he pulls the car up into the driveway next to our apartment to carry the server upstairs into our place, and then he would park the car in front of the house. Now, everything should have been fine, except for the fact that the KEY BROKE IN THE IGNITION.

So, does our oh-so-righteous, our-son-goes-to-Catholic-school, I-don't-allow-the-word-fuck-in-my-bar landlords simply see the situation, realize it is a fluke, and let us take care of it? No. Apparently, they attacked Brad because the car was blocking the driveway, and it wasn't our driveway to use, and it better get moved NOW, and this is ridiculous drawing attention to the bar blah blah blah. And Brad comes upstairs, having a breakdown.

Well, I'd had it.

So, I go downstairs, and want to find out what happened. Long story very short: bad things happened. It was mutually decided that Brad and I would leave.

O, wait. The decision changed in the morning. It was decided that I would leave, since I'm not on the lease.

Alright, okay. So something is happening. I mean, the KEY broke. HOW does this just... happen??? It's apparent I am suppose to move to another place.

Shut up. Yes, Brad and I are going together. One way to look at this is, "Here's your chance to make a clean break and start over yadda yadda yadda." The other way to see this is that once again I have an obstacle, and I can take the easy road or keep trodding along, saying "I will bear my burden with a happy heart." Because (1.) Brad already told the landlords he wasn't staying without me. (2.) It is apparent that God has put Brad and I together. And (3.) I don't have the means to go out on my own right now, which means God has not provided a way out of my situation, only my apartment.

It's a chance at a fresh start, and I've said this. I've made it clear that there will be no more moving, and nothing is put in my name until I know for certain that those things in my name will be paid on time. I feel peace about the move, just not the circumstances, and I feel that this is a blessing.

Just pray for us.

Deadly silent.

2004-05-28T12:33:00.000-04:00

It's been quiet. Too quiet.

Things have, for the most part, evened themselves out. Brad has been stable, hopefully due to the increased meds. And I have been feeling better, thanks to watching Joyce Meyer. Visit this site, Christian or not. She breaks down life so you can go, "oh. Duh. I knew that...didn't I?" She has been a huge HUGE help to me, just watching a daily episode or too.

But.

The other day, while I was at work, Brad's mother paid him a visit. Now, I know you're thinking, "His father is suppose to keep her away." Well, how can he do that if he's out of town??? So, she came, declaring him a loser, that he cannot run his life without her. The demon has shown itself in full glory.

Brad handled it, God love him. He did take a 2 Seroquel, which I frowned on (why wasn't One enough?) but it knocked him out, and that was probably a Good Thing. And since then, there hasn't been too much.

Other than Brad's dad calling to offer him the shed in the backyard to live in. Has he turned back to the Dark Side? Yes, but only because she got to him before we could, to tell him about her visit. One step forward, two steps back.

But we're still here, and okay.

For now.

Visions in a dream

2004-05-22T13:26:00.000-04:00

Brad Overdosed on muscle relaxers.

I got the call as I sat wondering why he wasn't answering his cell, to pick me up from work. It was Wendy, not knowing what to do. So I said to take him to the hospital, pump his stomach, and come get me. Nikki took him, Wendy came for me.

She started telling me what happened. He'd been talking to her father about his back problems, so her dad gave him a bottle of pain killers. Brad and Wendy went on to finish an installation job in the Poconos. He lost it sometime at the end of the job, pissing himself and having convulsions on the floor. Wendy managed to get him in her car and start back for Wilkes Barre, 45 minutes away. She asked what was wrong and where was I at, but Brad could barely speak. He kept telling her I'm home, and she called 20 times furious that I wouldn't answer the phone. And I was sitting at the bar getting pissed.

She takes him to a friend's house and finally calls my work.

As she finishes the explaination, she hands me his glasses, and I'm sitting there frozen, looking down at them and saying "This is all that's left." I had Breakdown Number 1, further referred to as BD1.

I get to the hospital. Of course, I have to wait. And BD1 continues on in spurts, while Wendy tells me not to cry. When I am allowed through the automated doors, I follow a nurse. She asks me if I know what he took, and where he got the pills. And I say no.

I said no.

And then I walked in. It's like getting hit by lightning, I'm sure. Because I couldn't move. I stopped breathing, my heart stopped. He was lying in the bed, an IV in one arm, a monitor attached to the other. A nurse was drawing blood. He wasn't moving.

I stepped up beside him, and just looked at him. I took his hand, and he opened his eyes and started crying, saying "I'm sorry" and "i love you." There was more, later. "I want to die. I don't want to die. I just wanted to feel happy. Don't tell my mother."

This was a request repeated all through the night; keep this in mind.

I talked to a really nasty, faggy nurse. I wanted to strangle him moment by moment. The story came out in bits, the past few weeks' activities, his emotional strife, the stress, the unpaid bills, his entire life story. And the nurse said one thing. "You have to make a decision as to what to do now."

Excuse me?

A Crisis nurse would be seeing him. Most likely, he will be transferred. To one of those hospitals like the one in Girl, Interrupted. And what about his parents, shouldn't they know? It was up to me, I had to tell everyone what to do. And I couldn't, I just couldn't. Not now, not while he's lying there dying, I just couldn't.

And then God finally spoke. It was about time, and I had said as I walked to Brad's section that if He didn't speak to me like yesterday already I was going to be very, very upset. He took hold of me, hard, and said "Stop. Breathe. You know what to do, because you have already done it. The consequences have already been tried and finished. Just do it. Now." And He released me, and I could feel Him there, just backed off a bit. And I took a breath, and breathed it out slowly, and I turned to Wendy to explain the plan.

---See, Brad's mom had called as we waited in the lobby. He and Wendy had seen them earlier, after he had taken the pills. His mother knew something wasn't right, and he told her he was drunk. He said he was going home after the job was finished. But he still had the keys to the office, and his mother needed them top get inside in the morning. So Wendy said she would drop them off when she left our apartment. Brad's mom didn't know he was in the hospital. And Wendy hadn't answered her cell.---

I had to tell Brad. I said I was going home to get a few things to stay the night with him, and I would be right back. He was afraid of me leaving, but I smiled and said I had to go, I would come back really fast. Finally, after comforting and coaxing, he let me go.

BD2. As I walked out of the hospital, I was so afraid. I couldn't leave him! How could I leave him alone in there? What if I didn't get back in time, before they transfer him? How could I leave him alone? I couldn't. If it hadn't been for Wendy pulling me away to the car, i would have ran back and lost it all.

I needed strength, and somehow I got it, for a moment.

The plan.
Wendy would call Brad's mom. She would say she just got to her car, and had left her cell there while at our house. She asked if Brad's dad could come to our apartment to pick up the keys. "... Brad? Is asleep. ... Yes, I'll take them downstairs to his dad when he gets here and calls from his cell. ... No, he's asleep. He's fine. ... No, really, he's fine. ... Asleep. ... In my car. ... No, he's fine. ..."

(do you understand how insane this woman is?)

So it was set. We would go back and wait. When his dad called, I would ask him upstairs and tell him what's going on. That's as far as I could plan, really. Here I was, about to meet one-half of the AntiChrist...without Brad. I had to tell this man that's his son had overdosed on pills, and that he absolutely did not want his mother to know, or to see him.

I had to get stoned.

And so we did, Wendy and I. At the apartment, we cleaned up any paraphenalia and then stood at the window smoking bowl after bowl whie incense burned until the cell rang. I froze.

Somehow, I talked to him. I told him he had to come upstairs. Brad was sick. And then, he was there, and I said hello, and we went into the living room. Somehow, I managed to get it all out, with help from Wendy. It's strange. I was pleading with every single word for help. I mean begging And he didn't look surprised at all. He thanked me, and said he was going to the hospital. I stuttered out that I would meet him there. That stutter lasted all night. I've never had a problem before.

And then, BD3 came on me like a punch to the stomach. I collapsed on the floor and weeped, pleaded with God not to take Brad away from me. That's all I could do. But I had to move again, and after...i don't remember how long, I got up. I changed, got in semi-formal attire (a sweater from my mother for my birthday, a clean pair of jeans). Me eyes were so red. But, Wendy said I had been crying.

That's what that friggin nurse said when I returned. "Your eyes are awfully red." "I've been doing a lot of crying," I replied with a hard smile. And there we were, his father and I, standing on opposite sides of the bed, looking down at the man we loved equally and differently. Silent.

Brad woke up a little. He was furious that his father was there. He wanted to piss, and didn't accept the explaination of the catheter. He yelled how badly he had to go. Once, he woke up, sat straight up, pulled the pxygen mask away and announced very loudly, "My mother is a fucking psycho." Wendy and I, still adequately stoned, laughed our asses off.

Brad's dad spoke to Wendy a little. I talked politely witb the gaddamn nurse. I remember goin outside with Wendy to smoke a cigarette. At some point, I told Wendy to go home. I would call her when I knew something, or needed her. She left, and it was just the three of us. I guess maybe Brad doesn't count. He was Somewhere Else.

I went outside to smoke. And God was there, waiting. I smoked a while, before saying it. "I give up. I can't so this any more. I'm just not strong enough for the both of us. I can't do this alone. I'm just not strong enough." And He said, "You're right. You can't. You can't do this anymore, something has to change. If everything doesn't get better now, you have to leave. I will lead you out, whether you like it or not. You have one chance. And I will be there, and I will bless you if you ask of it. But you cannot live like this anymore. I will not allow it."

Stupid, isn't it? Insane? A delusion caused by immense stress, an emotional fracture, something like that? Whatever. It was God. And He meant it. I knew at the moment that God had brought me and Brad together for a reason, that He had a plan for us, but if we didn't do out part He'd make another plan with us seperate. See, Brad and I didn't give our relationship time to develop; we skipped many important steps. And we were fucking up. So if we didn't knock the shit off, it was Game Over. I had a mission from God, and I was going to complete that mission. I could do it with everything I ever dreamed of, or I could do it with the bare necessities, it was up to me. But something--no, everything had to change starting now.

I went back to the small split section. Three hours of staring at the monitor, then at Brad. Sometimes, he would wake up. But it was the silence, the chocking, strangling silence. Then, he spoke, I don't know what it was, something casual. We did that a while, talking about nothing that mattered. He asked me if I wanted a ride home. I said no, not until I knew wahat they were doing with him. But, thank you.

A girl was brought in by two men. She had slit her wrsit. She was put next to us, seperated by a curtain. And she just cried. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to ask, "why" And she'd say "Because it hurt too much" and I would say "It hurts us too" and she'd ask "Who?" And I'd say "The rest of us that love you." And I'd point towards Brad, and say "He did it too. Pills. He's an idiot. You're both idiots, because we love you and you don't give a shit. And that's what hurts so fucking much." And then I'd go back to Brad. Instead, I sat still and listened as the nurse spoke to her, and the docter stitched her up. I got out of it all that she did it because of a guy, like I suspected. And then she went home.

Time passed. At around 6 am, the Crisi nurse came. Brad woke up long enough to say that he didn't want his mother present, and that we would not voluntarily go into a hospital. After that, his father and I traded off giving answers into Brad's personal life. He told about the past, and I spoke about the present. We clashed on a few things, I could see him getting upset. But I stayed firm.

The worst part is, i lied. Half of the story was untrue. I can't go into it now, or never. But believe me, I kept back some things. To protect Brad, I suppose, and his dad. Maybe to protect myself, a little. But it was wrong, and I waited for a slap from God. Instead, I knew He was disappointed, because He gave me an opportunity to get it all out in the open and start completely fresh. But i didn't take it. I failed, a little.

At some point, Brad was let go. We woke hime up, a difficult task to say the least. He dressed. Signed forms. I remember going behind his curtain, as the nurse handed him something.

---It was pot. Brad had an 8th on him. And the nurse just handed it over. I found out later that they had shown it o his father. But not me. I was there first, i was in command. But they didn't tell me.---

His father drove us home. When Brad got out, I thanked his dad. He thanked me, and said to call anytime. Brad and I got in the apartment. Did we talk? Maybe. I think I was angry at him. It's too, too hazy.

But I got him home, thank God. I made it through, though...no, it wasn't over. It's still not over. But he's home. Now, I wait until I get a clue.

The vicious cycle....

2004-05-18T21:47:00.000-04:00

Here is the problem.

I have a guy I really love. I mean, really Love. Did I say that already? And he's no more perfect than I am, and that means not at all. And I have more flaws than he does, by a long shot.

And the truth is, his flaws I can't really pin on him. He's never been Alone. I mean, 100% independant, Alone. There's always been Mom and Dad to pick up the pieces and clean the messes with the wave of a pen on a check or a wad of cash. He doesn't know the value of a dollar, or what it means to be a Responsible Adult.

Then there's me, the kid who grew up on and off welfare or assisstance of some type, who jumped a Greyhound bound for Vegas a mere 6 months after graduating high school. I had to work with almost nothing save for very loving and helpful people, and I went through hell more than a few times to become who I am today.

No, I'm not perfect. But I know responsibility.

Is it too much to ask that the bills be paid when they are due? To have a pack of smokes in one pocket and a few dollars in the other? To expect that when someone says they will do something, to relax and trust that they will do it? Brad can do none of these things.

The first month's rent is still due, and it's almost time to pay the next month's rent. We still owe $100. And the phone, and electric. I don't know how the car insurance payments have been made. There's no food in the fridge. I went to work today and asked people for change on the way to buy cigarrettes...oh, yeah, I walked to work. And I walked home, because though I was told I'd be picked up in 20 minutes, an hour later I was still at work.
So, I walked home, then climbed onto the roof and through the bathroom window, becuase of course after living here for going-on 3 months, I have no key.

And then, the cycle began. He came home. I tried to act casual, like no-big-deal. Because I didn't want to start shit again. And of course, he knew something was wrong and I said I didn't want to talk about it. And the water works began, like they always do. I get upset, and he's the one that cries. So, I end up telling him it's okay, and build his confidence up again, and tell him I'm not leaving him, and then he feels better and we watch TV until bed. He keeps fucking up, and then I get upset again, and he cries... the same story told the same way.

Not tonight. The tears started, but I stayed firm. I didn't want to talk about it. he said he had to do a few more things, and now he's gonna wonder whet he did wrong until he gets back here. Like he needs a clue as to what he did wrong. So, I said go, do your thing, I'm okay. really. But I said it that way, so he knows I'm okay until he gets back and then it's on.

But I know what's happening. At this very moment, he's trying to see through a wall of tears as he drives too fast in a storm without working windsheild wipers. He's wondering if I'll be home when he gets back. I'm left here wondering if he'll make it home okay.

What am I suppose to do?

I'm not a person who takes others lightly. If this were anyone else, I'd have left LOOOOOOONG before now. And I knew he had problems, emotionally and otherwise. I accepted that...why can't I accept it now? I won't leave, because I need him as much as he needs me. Am I trying to make him into a better person, or someone else entirely? I use to say, I'm helping him adjust to being a responsible memeber of society. What a friggin crock that is. I'm not his parent, or his therapist, so I shouldn't have to "fix" him. I guess that's what it is, I'm trying to fix a broken person. But the truth is, he was never whole to begin with.

So, maybe I should just admit to that. He's not responsible or dependable, and he may never be. So, I either I accept that and handle things on my own, or I walk. Right? Or do I keep pushing him, ignoring the constant crying and forcing him to grow up until he or I break? What?????

Grr.

This is a test...

2004-05-13T16:33:00.000-04:00

My friend Kari has been on Blogger since I've known her. And I have tried this online journal thing before, just never here. Now that my life seems to be getting more interesting, I've decided that I should follow through with something. Even if I only write how I have nothing to write about, that's still something. So.

Maybe we can start with an introduction? My name is Chase. Actually, it's Charles, but I've only used that moniker for formal forms, like taxes. I grew up hounded with the name Charlie, a sound that grates my ears. Then came Chaz, the persona I always wanted to be and eventually despised. This past transformation seems to be the last, but since I'm 25 I doubt that's true. Maybe I'm just running out of acceptable nicknames. Next thing I know, I'll instruct people to call me Heaven Dog or something as equally stupid and segregating.

I claim not to have chosen "Chase" though I rarely talk about it. During a very difficult and dark period in my life, I ended up in Texas living with a Southern Baptist pastor and his family. In time I embraced Christ, though keeping a distance from Christianity, and only a few nights before my baptism I had a dream. That's where Chase comes from. Tbere's more, but I'm not really comfortable talking about it.

It's funny. Christians hear you tell a story about encountering God, and they smile and nod and say "oh, yes, how wonderful" and tell you what a good Christian you are. Non-believers hear the same story and either argue or accept it as you tell it. But no matter who it is, Christian or not, when you talk about your personal dealing with God, they all have that same look behind their eyes. That look of, "yeah. Suuuuuuuuuure. God spoke to you." And there's a metaphorical he's-a-looney motion made, and that's that.

That's a problem I have with other Christians. No one really believes each other. They just say they do, because that's the right thing to say. But deep down, every testemony they hear pushes them one step closer to disbelief.

But that's not what I wanted to write about.

Life got intersting a few months ago. I met my boyfriend Brad on-line while I was living in South Montrose. Our relationship started fast and furious, and within a month I had agreed to move in with him. Three months later, and I did. This decision wasn't entirely easy. I had spent a year rebuilding my life again: getting a good job and my own place, making friends. I even got my GED. I came back to PA after 6 years in Las Vegas and 5 months in Texas to follow my call to ministry, though what the call meant specifically I am still trying to decipher. And things were going great. Then I met Brad, who lived an hour away, and I felt like the only way I was going to keep this wonderful, fulfilling relationship was to leave my life behind and start over. I've done this countless times before, and have become quite good at it. But I thought I was going to be happy in little South Montrose, working at a local redneck bar. I still think I was right about that.

But I moved. Without really knowing one another, Brad and I settled in Plymouth, Pa. And then the drama began. Let me say this: it pays to know who you are living with. Sleeping with someone is relatively safer than living with someone. And there have been 2 instances in the time I've been here that I wanted to leave. But I love Brad. He's it. He's "the one". We're almost complete opposites, and we have our struggles with each other and the world, but dammit I love him. And he loves me. It takes more than love to make a relationship work, there's other elements too, like respect, loyalty, trust and patience. But we have the love, and I think that will be enough to fuel everything else.

This past Monday I gathered college information. I'm planning on attending Luzerne County Community College this fall (God willing). It's daunting to look at a few sheets of paper and realize that what you write down will shape the course of your life forever. Do I take education? English? Will this carry me to what comes next? We're talking about 2 years that will lead to ?? years, which will lead to a career that I will support myself and my family with until the day I die. Yes, it is that drastic, people. And still the papers sit, unmarked. I wonder if I'm grown-up enough to make this decision.

Well. That's it for now. A good start to a good project. Who knows where this will take me?