Sunday, May 29, 2005

My baby is sick

Ryan has a mysterious rash all over his body. Red raised bumps. His eyes look like he has shiners under and above each eyelid.

Now he has a fever of 101.2.

Good times.

I soaked him in baking soda bath mixture last night and it seemed to make the rash on his legs get better, but the upper torso and his face still have it. He also is irritable. And miserable.

Mama don't like miserable babies. Miserable babies make mama sad.

Looks like a trip to the doc is gonna happen, on a Memorial day weekend Sunday. Looks like my baby is gonna have to be miserable and not see the parade. Looks like my poor baby is sick.

Good times.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

How dare she

I don't know if you remember or not, but back in January I had written about a childhood friend that I decided to clean my life of. To wipe her off of my universe. To tell her syanara, see ya tomorrah. Or never.

Guess who emailed me today?


This is what the fuckwad writes me:
I was just letting you know if you are able to receive this email that I am now expecting another BOY... in 4 months… Beginning of October... Evan Robert Lee Martin...



... And I should give a fuck, because? Fuck you Stacey. Fuck you and your little asshole ways of trying to slither back into my life. You want congratulations? You want a fucking award? An award for what? Having three different baby daddy's with five children? All boys may I add, who will never have a real man in their lives to teach them how to be men? All boys who have underlying mental conditions because their mother has uprooted them from evicted houses, watching her be a drug addict, watching her never do anything but fuck up her life? And one of those boys being a very special boy to me because I babysat him, and took care of him, made him as my own, who called me "Titi Mari" for years, and you then took him away from me because you were fucking jealous of me having a real life? A very special boy who was fed venomous lies about his Titi Mari. A very special boy who suffers from Oppositional Defiance Disorder because of YOU STACEY?

Fuck you Stacey Jane. I fucking have known you for 24 fucking years, and all that came out of that friendship was me digging you out of shit. Digging you out of one fuck up after another. Digging you up and dusting you off and you going right back to being a fuck up. Over and over and over again. The only thing that is good that came out of knowing you so long, was you introduced me to my husband. Thank you. You actually did something for me.

Fuck you Stacey. You didn't give two fucks that I almost fucking died after I had my last baby. But had to fucking email me, after I fucking BLOCKED you from my godamn email account, to tell me you're having another baby with a crackhead that fucking stoled from us when we were roomates 10 years ago?

You want congratulations from Mari? Oh how nice. Guess I shall give it to you on the internet, and I hope one day you come across this and finally get a fucking clue.

Congratulations, for fucking up a friendship that was worth gold. Congratulations for being an asshole. You win. Biggest asshole of the fucking decade.

My life will forever be golden, because I have left you out of it.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Mama's little lion fish

  He is so full of vinegar. My son. My oldest son, my middle child.

One moment he is as sweet as a sugar cube, the next he is hissing with anger. He doesn't know what to do with his anger, so he does what he feels... he hisses. Like a cat. And he scares kids when he hisses. And he bites. He says mean and horrible things. Things that shouldn't come out of a small three and a half year old's mouth. Not bad words. Not things that make you think he will kill a small animal, but things like "I hate her. I hate you. I hate this." or "Stupid poop head."

As funny as it sounds reading it, it isn't funny when it happens. I am trying to help him learn how to channel that frustration and anger into something other than hate or anger. To channel it so he make something of it, and to go on. But I myself am just as confused as how to do this.

My poor Keith Matthew. My poor little middle boy. Not the oldest, once the baby, now stuck in the middle with me. You and I are so much the same. You may resemble your father in all physical ways possible, but your tiny little soul is inherited from my own. So fragile. So scared. Confused, yet strong willed. You could be my little Pisces, Keifer. You could be more a Pisces than the Leo you were born. My small little lion fish.

I tell him daily, as I rock him in his favorite chair, "I love you, you know that. You are my baby boy, and I always will love you." and he whispers softly, "I know mommy. I love you too." And I feel so full of tears I could overflow a bucket.

This has been a rough year for you, my son. A rough year full of transitions that your small soul can sometimes not muster. You don't know how to take it. You don't know what to do with it. But I promise you, we will figure it out, together.

Monday, May 23, 2005

For Maddie...

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  ...who says I don't smile enough. Here is my big ol' cheese smile, Maddie.   

Oh yea, I cut all my hair off.     Image hosted by  

I can wear it straight, or as the picture below this shows, with all my curly Puerto Rican roots going buck wild.
Image hosted by that there is a hungover Mariposa. excuse the no makeup and the huge circles under me eyes.

Saturday, May 21, 2005

Days like today

Days like today make me second guess my choices in life.

Days like today make me feel like a caged soul, unable of spreading out the way I need to.

Days like today make me want to give up.

Days like today make realize that I color things too rosey with my glasses.

Days like today make me realize that I have a hard time trying to translate my thoughts to the man that I love, and make him realize that all we need is right in front of us. That the most important things are in front of us. That the things that we never agree upon could be simply resolved if maybe we both listened more instead of just hearing.

My marriage is something that I am proud of. Something that makes me high. But days like today, make me realize that it's hard work. And sometimes you just can't work hard anymore. So you cry. And you hope the tears will cleanse away the unhappy parts.

Friday, May 20, 2005

Just Because

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Tiger's Eye. Protects. Against. Demons.

The power of Christ compells you!

Thursday, May 19, 2005

inch worms

I have a worm in my computer. Supposedly from Limewire, which is the music sharing program I have. Thanks Limewire! Thanks Dave Matthews Band for making a song I wanted to download and was too cheap and poor to buy! Now I have a fucking penis running rampant on my computer!

I am running some scans, and my Norton antivirus and Symantec crap.I hope I will be able to get this fucker out of here soon. Sissy had one that ate pretty much of her PC. That scares me. I better back up some shit, because I am scared.

It's called the W32.Alcra.A . Do any of you out there know how I can get rid of this asshole?

Saturday, May 14, 2005


Thank you all for babying me and letting me know I am not a failure.

Although, I feel like a huge ass for posting that little pity party I had for myself on the world wide web. Geesh, I shoulda just posted pictures of me sobbing for the world to see, for chrissakes.

Anyhow, importantly, your comments and personal emails touched me. You all really said some things that made me actually tear up. I so appreciate it.

I will be taking some time out, though, so that I can sort my labrynth of a mind. I need to reconnect with myself and figure out some things.

I just wanted to let you know, so ya'll didn't think I ran out and jumped in front of a clown car or anything.

Much butterfly love,

Friday, May 13, 2005

I give up

I have had a really bad week.

I am not going into details because they will bore you. And me. All over again.

One thing I am sure of, I can't write unless I am writing on a blog. I want to write a book. I began writing back in February, as part of my own therapy. So that I could find things that were of my interests and bring them back into my life. Such as writing fiction. I loved it, I loved how it felt. When I put my thoughts onto a screen and there were characters being born. I felt like I was on top of the world. I felt like I had finally found my purpose in life, and godamnit I was going to be a writer!

I am a writer. A writer of a blog. And as it seems that is all I will ever be.

I can't get my thoughts together. Not even thoughts that I had already written years ago, into some sort of order. To make sense of it all. To make some sort of story, whether it be my fiction story, or one that I was trying to put together that consisted of my old entries. I was going to try to put those old entries into some sort of diary type book thing. I can't even do that. I'm lost. I have no clue.

I have spent way too many nights, writing shit down, and then deleting it, just so I can be back at square one. My kids need me to get sleep, so I can be attentive and alert, and be a mom. I feel like I can't even do that right anymore.

I am also slipping back into depression. I cried tonight when my kids wouldn't listen to me. Everyone in my house stopped what they were doing and just stared at me. All I wanted was someone to hug me and caress my back and say it's going to be ok. But how could they? When they didn't know what the fuck I was crying about, and I seem nuttier than horseshit.

My health is fucked up. My mind is fucked up. My outlook on what I wanted on life- is fucked up. It seems unreachable. It seems too far fetched.

I had dreams of writing some great book, whether fiction or non fiction. Something. To make my mark on this world. But all it seems now, is I am just a really good blog writer.

And that, really makes me feel like a failure.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Angels bring angels

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Three years ago tomorrow, I had a miscarriage that forever leaves my heart aching.

My second child was only nine months old and my daughter was only three. It was a surprise pregnancy, and one that we were not sure how to handle. Regardless, we had come to the conclusion that it was something that was meant to happen.

More worries came along when I realized that I would have to have much care for my pregnancy, it would be high risk due to the fact that my body freaked out when I was pregnant. My body actually would try to reject my babies and the placentas would form clotting. Keifer was almost lost this way. He had a fifty fifty chance, but he made it. And so would this baby, I thought.

I had only known a week and a half, and was nearing seven weeks when the bleeding began. It was about the same time that it happened with Keifer. I would be put on bedrest and have to take it easy, I did it before I could do it again. But it was different this time.

I woke up and was losing the baby. Some may think that it wasn't really a baby. But it was to me. It had a face I longed to see, a soul I longed to hold. It was my baby, no matter what. And I was losing it.

The physical pain was like a heavy period, but the pain inside my mind, and my spirit felt like I was dying. As this tiny being slowly slipped away from the hopes and dreams I held so tightly, I felt the part of my life that would always be missing something, I felt that small hole become a gaping wound over time. This part will always be unmendable. The baby I lost and would never see.

I had dreams about her face (I decided it was a girl for my own closure purposes) and knew her name before she left. Her name was going to be Nataly.

Nataly is my own special guardian angel. She saw that I loved her and would always love her and that we would one day meet when I pass on to the next life. I will get to hold her in my arms. She holds that special time for me. The special time when a mother holds her newborn child in her arms for the first time. She holds that for me because she knows that I cherish the births of my children more than breath itself. So she holds that time for me and her to happen in heaven.

I plan on planting a tree or rose bush for her. And I thank her every night, because she gave me the biggest gift ever known. She gave me Ryan Joseph. Ryan was born because I could not have the baby I lost on May 11, 2002. Ryan is here because an angel had to be born to heaven instead of on earth. She made room for him. She gave him the life she would have had here.

So many times we ask why. We don't understand the circumstances as they occur, and then one day, when the sky is as blue as the ocean, and the clouds resemble cotton candy pinks and purples, we realize why. And our question is answered.

Monday, May 09, 2005

bleeding insides

I have been sick. I don't know exactly what is going on, but I have a feeling I know what is going on. My own self diagnosis and research has led me to believe I am suffering from a bleeding ulcer.

I will leave the gross details out of this post, because as it is I share too much about myself that is gross. So I will leave all the grossness that is inside my insides, to be left to your imaginations.

Does anyone that reads me have any holistic approaches to this? I have a dear friend in NY that I am going to call this week and ask her what she thinks, being that she believes in the power of herbs and such. But if any of you have an idea, they would be grately appreciated.

My husband had a vacation day today. Instead of enjoying the beautiful 80 degree weather, I sat indoors and whined and cried about how I thought I was dying. He wanted to take me in to the hospital, or to a gastroenterologist (is this spelling right?) but I refused. You know why? Because for almost a year I have been poked and prodded and stabbed and jabbed and squeezed and mentally analyzed and so on and so on and so on. From doctor's appointments for a high risk pregnancy, to having a high risk delivery, to having problems from my high risk delivery to having to have my blood transfused upon, to having pneumonia, to having double ear infections, to having a mental breakdown.
So, with that said, if I would have gone, to the gastroenterologistististishness (is this spelling right?), I would ended up getting my insides poked and prodded with and I think I would have just exploded into a huge nutball panic. Most likely stabbing and poking and prodding on the doctor himself. And then I would have been on the nightly news in your home towns as "Ohio woman stabs gastroenterologishtishtishtishness and then shoves doctor's tools up his ass... before performing a labotomy on him and painting his walls with his own innards."

And that just wouldn't have been too good now, would it?

Sunday, May 08, 2005

Happy Mother's Day

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Happy Mother's Day to all fellow mother's out there. Enjoy the laughter, the smiles the tiny handprints on your walls.

I am proud of my family. The loves of my life. My heart and soul.

Saturday, May 07, 2005

booby show

I am drunk. And horny. And I just sent my husband to the titty bar with his brothers.

Why did I do that? Because I went to an art opening and am giving him the opp to have some fun? Or because I am drunk? Or because... I know after seeing some titty's he will be mad horny and come home and screw my brains out?

I had the chance to go, but I didn't. My sister in law offered to watch the kids, and I didn't go. I shoulda went to see tittys. I like tittys too.

Maybe I am too drunk.

Sissy's art show

1Last night I went out with Sissy. Her artwork (the collage on the right for her Sisart link and one of her paintings) was featured in a Mother's Day art show. We went to check it out.

Her work looked gorgeous. Surrounded by other artist's work on the theme of Motherhood, it really stood out and was making me beam with pride. My best friend, my "Sissy Flexitalis" is taking her first steps into the world of an artist.

I tried to be nice and look at all the other works, but I kept walking back to hers. Maybe because I knew it and was familiar, and because I was thinking "I saw that after it was made. I saw that before anyone else!". Or because to me, they were the most original, the most beautiful, the most creative.

We had a beer each and then we decided to go out to eat. We ate at a strange little "World Juice Bar and Eatery". It had the name Mango in it, so I thought I would be familiar with the tastes. I wasn't. Luckily Sissy knew the good stuff to eat so I just ordered a portabello, garlic and tomatoe quesadilla like she did. It was really good. But I was gassy as a mofo all night. Thanks Sis.

But, the "bread and slather" was just fucking nasty. It was some seedy bread with a tomatoe and strawberry salsa. We ate it as an appetizer and we both were confused. "Tastes like one of the kids made a concotion in the kitchen", I said. "Like ketchup and strawberry jam" Sis said. She was right. Why the fuck would you name something "SLATHER" anyway? Slather is gross. Slather is gross on bread. Slather is just nasty no matter how you say it. "How was the slather?" asked the waiter. "It tasted like weird jam" I said.

The Mango and lime spritzer was not too good either. It needed sugar. And everytime I would sip it I would break out in a coughing fit. "I think your allergic to it, Mari." She started laughing. "I know..." and then I would sip it again. And cough again. And laugh again. As we left, Sissy blew her nose and then took her booger rag of a kleenex and smooshed it into her hardly touched Mango Lime Spritzer. "This is what I think of your nasty ass spritzer" and she positioned the kleenex on top of the drink. The waiter was right behind her. I started laughing.

Little college people with weird eyes stared at us like outsiders. Something we love. So we continued to act like asses. Little college people sipping their "world" drinks and eating their "slather". I am so glad I am not a little college person with weird eyes.

I had to put my glasses on because I have been having a problem with my contacts lately, so I took them out. When we were leaving I got a glimpse of my butt in a window and started laughing. "I look like a little church lady with a ghetto booty." Then I made a comment about how I had a bad vibe about something and Sissy started laughing saying "What are you a little psychic with your glasses and ghetto booty?" I called myself The Medium. I guess you had to be there.

In the car, I started making fun of someone we know who shall remain nameless. The face I made when I was imitating them made Sissy stop and laugh so hard that I began heaving from laughter. I didn't wanna go home. But we were around the corner from my house.

As I got out I hugged Sissy and told her how proud I am of her. She is going on a trip for a week and what will I do without her? I call her everyday and vice versa. We are each other's sanity during motherhood insanity.

I guess I can try to write a book, so she can come with me to my book signings?
Sounds good to me.

Thursday, May 05, 2005

My sister in law is sixteen. Sweet sixteen. I have watched her practically grow up before my eyes from an eight year old little girl, into the young woman she is now.

When I met my husband eight years ago, she was only a year older than my daughter is now. We took her places to eat, to play, and we spoiled her rotten. We bought her barbie dolls and I played late nights with her while she stayed over my apartment, braiding barbie's hair, and listening to the Spice Girls.

She is now, like I said, a young woman. And I have become even closer to her now than I could have ever imagined. She comes over almost daily, she helps my daughter with homework, when she sees my husband and I spent and almost dead on the carpet while children climb over us. She changes the baby when I am chasing my three year old around the house. Or she rocks the three year old to sleep while I am juggling house duties.

Today she told me her heart was breaking. The boy she has become quite fond of, the boy she thought liked her mutually, the boy she went to the movies with and walked home from school with. He told her he was thinking of asking another girl out. And her heart broke in two. Friends, he wants to be. Friends is a harsh word to a sixteen year old girl with a heart of gold waiting for love to finally blossom.

My mother in law and Tina don't get along. They actually come over one after the other to tell me how they don't understand each other. How they speak different languages and how they continually hurt each other with hate. It's a relationship I am deathly afraid of with my own daughter. One I know, that will never get to that point for various reasons I will not delve into on here. I am sitting on the sidelines taking notes. Trying to see what I can do differently. Knowing I will take a different approach.

Today, when the boy broke her heart she had no one to turn to. No one at home took her seriously. She was told to grow up and get over it. She can't grow up and get over something when she is only learning how life can be at such a young age. So she turned to me. She told me she hated herself. She told me she hated life. And the words that came out of her mouth on the phone made me ask her to come over immediately. Which she did. My husband sat and told her about the mind of a teenage boy, how not to take things and over analyze them and blame herself. Then it was my turn. I told her to never hate herself. To never hate life. To never doubt how beautiful and full of intelligence she was. How strong she was, how much of a leader she was. How much hope was ahead of her. How funny and sarcastic, how gorgeous and how unbelievably incredible she is.

I told her I was proud of her. I told her it would get better. I told her if she ever felt like she hated life, to come to me. Because I hated life not long ago. Enough to want to end it. Enough to not feel my own self in my own skin. Enough to feel as if my world was death and bones. I told her I never wanted her to get to that point, and if she did, she could come to me. I would listen. I would care. I would do something.

I told her "I know it hurts. I know it is unbelievably painful right now, but it will get better. Don't say you hate yourself or life, because someone doesn't feel the same. Learn from it, and realize that something good will eventually come of all of this."

Then I hugged her. And she didn't want to let go. She clung to me for what seemed forever. And tears streamed down my face because I felt her pain and her confusion. I kissed her forehead and I told her I loved her.

Tina stayed over for another hour or so. Wrestling with my kids, kissing my baby's cheeks and laughing with my husband. I watched her and realized that the sister I was grieving for about a month ago was not gone like I thought, but was in front of me all along. She's not just my sister in law. She is my little sis.

I hope when my daughter is sixteen, that I will be able to have just as much empathy and communication for her.

I know that in time, Tina will figure it all out. But while she can't and while she feels as if the world is black and full of shadows, I promised her tonight, I would help her as much as I could.

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

"Mommy, Why?"

Question just asked to me by my 3 and a half year old son Keifer:

"Mommy, why do you grow big human boobies? Why are they round and human?"

Good question son.

Human boobies?

"Women have boobies to feed babies."

"But you fed Ryan with the nipple on a bottle. Not your human boobies."

"Yea, I know."

blink. blink.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Twat Ebay people and other stuff

I haven't been up to much this week.

Other than bleeding like someone stabbed me with a pitchfork in my nether regions, feeling like I have lost a pint of blood, feeling depressed, and fighting with Ebay sellers- my life is just dandy.

I wrote this woman, actually, I ASKED this woman about her pinup girl creations on Ebay. She sells them pretty high priced and I clicked that "ask seller a question" link, thinking that my question would be posted on her site. I asked her if she was planning on selling her items cheaper because I figured if she sold them cheaper, she would sell more of them since they are in demand at this point in time.

You know what this C U Next Tuesday wrote to me in email? She wrote me this :
I appreciate your taking your time to make your "suggestion" but
this particular dress has been selling like hot cakes...
You must also understand individual craftsmanship - this is not the usual off the
rack you> are used to buying.
If you do not understand this, I cannot
help you.
I am currently over my head in orders primarily due to repeat
clients coming back to purchase various dresses in different colors. If
you are employed, you can afford my dresses. I will be offering items
at a later date at a lower price point. Perhaps you should get a job somewhere other than McDonald's that makes a little more than minimum wage, that way you might be able to save up for maybe one? ... just a little suggestion

Ehem. So I went all ghetto bitch on her ass. I wrote her this:
Wow, do you speak to everyone who sends you a note with such nastiness? I didn't have an ounce of nastiness in my tone to you. I was simply suggesting something that I noticed you sold them over priced, and I was wondering if you sold them cheaper.

Doesn't seem like too many people are buying from you. I was offering you a way to make more money. Being that this style is in such high demand, I wondered if you sold less than $200 worth of CLOTH.

With an attitude like yours, why would I want to purchase anything from you? You make gorgeous clothing, but your attitude and your inside wreaks of ugliness.

I do have a job, honey bunches I am a writer. I don't have to sell on Ebay and rip people off.

I also know what it's like to want pretty things and not be able to afford them, much like many people I do know, who DO HAVE JOBS and work for more than minimum wage.

My other "suggestion" would be to get a real job other than sell things on Ebay. Preferably working with people, so you will learn how to talk to them when they make simple suggestions.

Sending you the bird and an up yours.

Ok, I told her I was an author. But I wasn't lying. Right? I mean I am writing my first book, no matter what the fuck it is supposed to be, because I am in limbo doing all of that. But that's besides the point. Here is the next episode email from the CUNT:
Don't assume anything about my life, I won't assume anything about
yours. For your info I am a stay at home mom with two jobs and loving
it. An author is not a "real" job so get off your high horse and stop
insulting people, making assumptions, and rude suggestions to people
you don't know. Just to remind you... "tone" is impossible to
communicate to through email but the content of yours was just not
called for.

What an ass is all I can say. Why do women feel the need to go "I AM A STAY AT HOME MOM! I AM SUPER WOMAN YOU ARE NOT". FUCK YOU. I am a stay at home mom you TWAT. Shows what she knows that fucktard. So this is my response:
Hey honey, I didn't say anything nasty and make assumptions. You were the one
assuming and making an ass out of you. Not Me.
And an author is a real job.
By the way, my first job is a STAY AT HOME MOM. So I know all about that. Don't go all high and mighty and act like you know what I do and who I am by my email asking you for pricing. Stop assuming. Again, making an ass out of you. NOT ME.

You were the one, may I remind you, saying I should get a job that makes more than minimum wage working at McDonald's. You attacked me. Not the opposite.

And high horse? I don't sell overpriced CLOTH on Ebay as a living. Remember. You were the one telling me, again, to get something more than a minimum wage job so that I could AFFORD your CLOTH.

Oh, and I can tell someone's "tone" when they send me a nasty email, such as yours. I have all the copies, maybe you should reread. I am sure Ebay would love to.

So. Um yea. FUCK her. Her and her little reproduction business on Ebay. The Ebay clothes she makes that I am too poor to buy.

She then wrote this (I know you're sick of this already but keep reading and pretending you give two rat's asses about stay at home mom's and their cattiness):
Don't you think I deserve to set prices on my items? I know how many
hours it takes to produce one of these and I have no problem selling
them and having people come back for more more more- so if you can't afford it,
you should keep your smart ass comments to your self.

Stop harassing me or I will report you to ebay. Go write a Harlequin
Romance or what ever it is you write.

Ok KUNT and PAT. (hint hint hint).

I don't write harlequin romances. I write about being a stay at home mother, moron.
When you wrote me back the first initial email, I was shocked. All I wanted was to post a question on the item #'s site. You told me to "get a job that makes more than minimum wage"... you were the one that began insulting me. I simply defended myself.

Hey KAT. Lemme ask you something. When I write my first fucking book, and I wanna buy some nice retro clothes to go with my nice new retro shoes, who should I buy from? Because it ain't gonna be your NASTY ass.

Want her ebay name?? I bet you do. Ask me and I won't be shy about telling. I am nice however, and the fact that she feeds her little children's mouths with her pricey reproductions of Marilyn Monroe dresses makes me so sad for her. So I won't ruin her little "business" on the internet. Her little trailer business that she runs while sucking dick on the side for canned goods.

Sunday, May 01, 2005

What we were, are, and will be

I just wrote this to my new friend Maddie:
" ...Friends come and go, through life, for reasons we can't explain. They drift in for that specific amount of time, to take us wherever we are headed, and then they disappear into the years.
It hurts, it always will. But we all have memories.
Your new friend, Mari..."

It made me think of the friends that I don't have anymore. And the ones I do have now. How I cling to them in my mind because in life I have learned, nothing lasts forever. Not even school yard friendships.

I miss my old friends. Aida, the girl I grew up with as my nextdoor neighbor. The one I called my cousin. The one that I called when I lost my virginity and was crying because it was horrible. The one I would sit with until all hours of the night, talking about hopes and dreams, and how when we got married we would be each other's maids of honors. How when we had children, we would be there for their births.

We never were each other's maids of honors. Or there for births. Because we drifted apart. Because words hurt. Egos hurt. Lives hurt.

My friend Stacey, that I just ended a 23 year friendship with a couple of months ago. We were there for each other through marriages, divorce, break ups, miscarriages, happiness, sadness, babies, unhappiness, drugs, alchoholism.

We are not friends, because she chose to be someone I don't want to associate with any longer. She chose to do with her life things I never would do. She chose. I chose. We drifted. Apart. Forever.

My new adult friends, the few that I have. Are golden. Good for me. Positive. Loving me for who I am. Not making me second guess myself. Good, beautiful people. That I love for a special thing they have inside of themselves that makes them beam, and makes me want to bask in their glow.

Friends come and go, through life, for reasons we can't explain.