oops

Soo my favorite story in the last month happened a few weeks ago when I heard that a dear friend of mine lets call him Frank....Well good ol Frank was feeling down cause some schmack had broke it off and as his co-dependant friend I felt the need to hate this person as much as possible and as cruel and harshly as possible.

My first goal was to text Frank back and make him feel better by texting the following, "F*CK him. That Piece of sh*t M*therf**king c**ksucker can kiss my f*cking ass and die."

I thought the more profanity the better it would make Franky feel. And simply enjoy a liberal use of the profane.

Until I realized that on my Blackberry....well...Frankie is right before Pastor Frank (not his name...again...protecting the innocent)....and I had just sent that text not to Frankie....but my childhood pastor.

To say I about shat myself would be an understatement. I loved this pastor and he was a huge part of my youth and music education and training. Just a wonderful man I would never want to make swallow his tongue by sending this. But. I. Just. Did.

Well. When I left my job for another a few months ago I got a new phone....and thus a new number....and though I had programmed everyone in my phone....some didn't know my news number yet....Pastor Frank one of them.

"I am sorry I think you got the wrong number. And by the way you just texted that to a minister."

That is what I got back. Wanted to puke. However.....this did give a nice out. He had no idea it was me so I could just say. "Oh...Sorry..." and dart. And he would never know.

But I couldn't. I don't know why. So I did the unthinkable and told the truth.

"Uh. Pastor Frank. It is Zack Dobbins and I am really beyond sorry. I had a friend just go through and awful break-up and well....that is what I do. I would never disrespect you and truly apologize."

Silence.

Silence.

Holy shit (no pun intended) I have alienated one of the most wonderful people I know.

Then the reply came. My phone vibrated that someone had texted me. Oh Lord in Heaven. Please don't make this as awful as I think it could be.

And there was the reply.

" LOLOLOLOLOL. THAT is funny. You owe me big time for that! Lunch when you are back in town! LOLOLOLOL"

Now this is what I love about this man. He is brilliant and kind and talented and truly a pastor and believes all many say they do. And acts accordingly. But he loves people. Not dogma or judgement. And loved me for years and could see how me using every curse word in a text to HIM of all people was indeed funny.

Lesson. Check your texts are getting sent to commoners who enjoy as much profanity as you consume and spread..... and maybe once in your life send your opinion leaders and pastors filth ridden texts that are simply against God's will they are so filthy....simply to be reminded some people are truly wonderful and stand by what they say they believe. It is wonderful to be shocked in this way.

And this has turned into one of mine....and I hear through the grapevine...HIS...favorite stories to tell. LOL

Merry eX-Mas

So in this time of refection I can't help think back....and reflect literally and figuratively. Literally thinking about the past year...and realizing it has been almost four years since I have dated seriously and I haven't been in love since I was 23. That is now ten years ago. THAT is truly frightening to put a number on. Because now I am becoming howard hughes and as attractive as a shut in, body dismorph, buts artist... is to most people.....lol...ten fucking years.

I think of the last Christmas I was in love and I was basically still quite a young kid. Twenty fucking three. Lord. And my ex was a bit older. But Ideal. Mother fucker. The reason this came up was because in Reflection.....the literal version....his best friend used to say "he cannot pass any shiny or somewhat reflective surface without looking at his reflection" So in this season of mirror-y shine and glitz and basically everything reflecting back at you.... I think of him and laugh....or cry. Both? Depends on the day and medication or intoxication level.

Mom still has the william senoma paper towel holder we bought her...and as lame as that sounds it is actually one I have been trying to find for myself since then. Really chic. If you can imagine. And I still have the cashmere sweater he bought me. I tried to get rid of it...alot...but it fits too well and looks too good.....Here is a tip if you'd like to torture whomever you love when they leave you down the road. BUY GOOD GIFTS. PAINFULLY GOOD GIFTS..... Ones they can't throw away because they are too good. And buy their families good gifts so they won't throw them out. That way they will be tortured by you forever. Merry Christmas. For years Mom hung the God damned hand painted glass ornament he gave her....even though it stabbed me in the heart and I expressed that. But her christmas tree was what she waited for all year and she couldn't not have that gorgeous ornament...that piece of art not on her beloved tree. REALLY. I mean the tree was more important than my mental health. Thank GOD she dropped it last year and it shattered and never have to see the fucking thing again. She, however, still brings it up. "What a shame that gorgeous ornament ______ gave you broke. It was soo lovely. It is not enough to not see it....now it is fucking yearly conversation. Turn the knife. My Mother.

Only really great gift I gave (besides goyard luggage...) was a recording of YOUR SONG to an ex later in life... totally unworthy of getting a CD of the The Thong Song let alone YOUR SONG. Though I think me recording a version of thong song is actually a hilllllarious idea. anyway I recorded YOUR SONG for the waste of breath and had the alarm set on his birthday to have it go off to wake him....as it was "our song" as the first moment of his birthday. I think I just vomited in my mouth thinking of the sacrifice I made to get the money to record it. I was working for ten dollars an hour and struggling to eat...skipped meals...for months...to save the money to get into a studio to do this. Anyway. I wanted to be slick and learn the lesson from my first love....and leave that gift to torture him....but couldn't.... upon leaving took a hammer to the CD and beat the shit out of it until unrecognizable.

Anyway. Back to Christmas...And having your first love be your only love tends to suck. To remember yearly waking up on christmas morning and have that person not in bed but laughing with your mom and dad having coffee by the tree. I mean it could be out of a fucking christmas movie on lifetime....well...logo...it would have to be the faggot version. "Gay Holiday"

So left with the memories of ten years ago. And the few relationships I have had since then can only kindly be compared to abortions. Or suicide bombings. Something like those but alot longer and drawn out. And with a worse ending. LOL worse endings than death. That is not good. I have not made good choices. Obviously.

But then again there is that memory of the perfect man. The perfect holiday. Even if it is the only one I may have in that way.

We even went to a wedding over that holiday. He went as my date in my hometown. That alone was enough to give a good dozen heart attacks in an evening. It was a huge goooorgeous wedding of a dear friend whom I love to this day. She didn't even think twice about me bringing him. But she isn't the expected idiot bigot. She and I sang on the beach after her rehearsal dinner around a fire. She to this day is one of the coolest strongest people I know. And it is a testament to her at that time she had not one moment of hesitation about it. I saw everyone from highschool and didn't care then nor really do now what they thought about any of it. I was soo in love. Attending things like that with someone you are truly in love with is the best. Attending them alone is like ripping your fingernails out emotionally. I would like to know the suicide numbers of singles attending weddings alone and seated at the sad old lady table seated next to the cousin that never got married and now smells mildly of cologne from years ago that isn't really made anymore because she gave up.

I watched him dance badly but charmingly badly....with the ladies in their glory and smile back at me. I caught him looking at me at the table. He was one of the most handsome men I have ever known. In that traditionally handsome rock hudson meets Cary Grant and Paul Newman way. If that perfect movie star handsome thing is for you. Everyone at the wedding was smitten. And he was mine. God.

We took a break from the wedding to walk outside and breathe the tropical air and two sequined and diamonded ladies of about 70 walked by and said to us "I'll take you....and She'll take you!" and we all smiled and laughed....then one of them specifically said to me "If my husband looked at me just once the way he has been looking at you all night I would be a happy woman"

It was true. I was too young to realize it wouldn't always be this way. I wouldn't always be adored and loved in this way. Glory of youth and innocence....and torture of memory.

Kind of sucks. And a lesson hard learned. Soo many dickheads to reiterate love like that may only be once. May just never happen again. We even had the same humor. He was too skinny growing up....and I was too fat. So we had to be smart and funny to get by in our youth. We didn't have anything else....we were very similar. I don't think we fought. I made up with that in years and relationships that followed....trust me.

So I sit in front of the tree at christmas. Played with my supermodel blonde God daughter. Felt my new twin niece and nephew fight threw my sister in law's stomach. Jotted down some future art projects I wanted to remember and music lyrics I needed to add....all with turkey and love and cinnamon in the air and truly know how blessed I am and amazed and grateful for all I have earned and been given. I am beyond blessed....Not even sure what that word would be.

Yet will never forget the moment I had. It lingers in the air like those smells once the meal has been eaten.

And wish I had known to savor every moment and live every second and remember every detail...and knew how rare it was.

Lesson learned.

And tonight.... Mom and Dad will sit and hold hands while we all watch a movie. And cate will cuddle up with Scott and Tara while Scott has one hand on Tara's belly and his twins to soon arrive. And I will love to see watch the beauty of it all.

But at the same time a thought will come as it does every year on this day.

Ten years

Ten years.

Ten years.

Almost Boycotted Birthday

I was very not excited about my Birthday this year and basically banned it. I was not having any party. I was not having a small dinner. I was not accepting gifts. NONE. OF. IT. And it had nothing to do with the stupid getting older thing because ever since I met my best friend botox that is no longer a concern...By the way. Did I mention the most genius thing about my gorgeous doctor whom I am desperately in love with....her name....ready?....Doctor....Doris...Day. DORIS DAY! I mean is their anything gayer and more wonderful than that...google her. You can't make that up. But I digress.

Birthday. Over it. Have been going through a depression where at any point in the day I could easily break into tears for no reason. It is good if you are a Soap Opera actor....bad if you are pitching very expensive windows to a designer. So in this depressive state I just banned the birthday. Pissed off many friends. Especially Anne who would not stop. And should have been a trial lawyer because she made one hell of a case....until I reminded her it was my birthday and life and I don't owe anyone shit. If I want to sit home and watch THE END OF THE AFFAIR and cry and not eat birthday cake or ice cream even though I want to but my anorexia keeps me from it and I like to stick with my motto "If you aren't a little hungry....You're fat".....then I would stay home and do that.

However today....It is my Birthday. Day two of bizarre light therapy scary machine that is simply insane. And today. I am happy. Today I am grateful for my birth. I called my Mom and thanked her for shooting me out....and she told me once again the story of the Dr not even having time to put on his gloves because I literally jumped out....atta boy. And then called my Father and thanked him for rocking it with my Mother so that I could be alive.

Interesting all of this begins a new year. I feel optimistic for no reason. I think it is called Faith....or finally the right combination of medications.

SO I am going to a party tonight to celebrate my dearest friend's company launch and I couldn't be happier as if it were for me. To be alive, in this amazing city, have great hair...and to be loved.

And also to not have to pretend to like the gifts people give me that I don't want because I am self (and everyone else) admittedly the most difficult person to buy for. My stupid ex was even moronic enough to buy the ONLY thing from Hermes I would never wear or want....and that is saying something because I thought that wasn't possible. A....logo....ski cap. What? What rapper meets douchebag wants that.

Anyway. Thank you my dear friends and family for loving me. I am not easy. I am very difficult. I am a control freak. And on any given day might be contemplating going to sleep with the gas cooktop on.

But you love me. And for that. This is a wonderful day. A wonderful Birthday. And the best gift. ( ok...that was true...but stating it makes me vomit in my mouth a little)

Me and my light box. First date.

Day one of light therapy.

It is bright. Very bright for five thirty am.

This ugly ass hospital sad looking thing lights my entire apt. But it is like prison lighting...or the lighting at work. And is about 18 inches from my face so you can imagine how enjoyable it is. And I don't even get a tan. Stopped tanning since I realized my skin was going to look like a sharpay if I didn't stop. And didn't want to waste the money on botox if I was going to fry my skin. I am certainly going to need botox because this light is making me squint and I like it better when that ability has been poisioned out of my face.

My favorite part of this experience so far was my doctor trying to find places for me to use this thing and ways to excuse the fact I have a neon movie screen a foot from my face.

"You could use it at work....as a lamp." I looked at the box. No way in hell anyone is buying it is a new fashion-y...or even ugly.... lamp. It just is not happening. I will not be setting that trend. And I already have given everyone enough "he's an artist and nuts" qualifiers that I can't also be bringing movie screens to light me at work.

And now packing this fucker anytime I go anywhere the sun doesn't shine is going to be fun as well. My crazy is starting to cost me.

Allright. SO this part of "therapy" is done for the day. And I have taken my hand full of nutter pills. I have become a new york cliche. Well....another new york cliche.

I am Woody Allen.

However I did just look in the mirror and it kind of does light you a bit like a make up light at a make up counter. Maybe I should just take it around with me...My own light and imperfection diffuser....like Barbara Walters light....all the time. More to come. Maybe my assistant can wear it as a backpack and walk in front of me. I would look flawless....maybe I need a couple...

So. I blog. I now...blog.

I started this blog because alot of friends and people I don't really know but somehow got on my Facebook friend list told me to do a blog. And because I post about thirty updates a day on facebook about absolutely nothing.

My latest favorite moment in Facebook was (is it sad that I am blogging about facebook? Only thing worse could be blogging about facebook while twittering...) when I accepted this friend because she knew some people I knew and I don't really care that much about who is my friend on FB. FB slut.

Well. That wasn't the greatest decision I ever made...and far from the worst... but that is another story.

So I wrote something, as per usual, about being up all night because I can't sleep and am minorly (depending on whom we are comparing to) insane.

And she writes (which is lovely but I am an asshole) "I take melatonin and use a lite that works in lite therapy and it has really helped me sleep."

Now if she WERE actually my friend she would understand my response was a joke... And if I didn't think everything were a joke... I could have avoided this whole thing. But I am glad I did because it still makes me happy.

My response was:

"thank you for the advice but at this point melatonin are like skittles to me and I don't understand how playing with lite brite would make me at all tired and sleepy"

Of course I know about lite therapy (though I do rather love lite brite and want to buy one now)....and...well... melatonin... are like skittles to me. But she got....Well. Rather offended.

"This is not a fucking joke and not fucking funny (she then went into a rather lengthy explination of lite therapy too boring to re-write...google it) and if melatonin is like skittles than you need to look at what medicine you are taking because you seem to have become a total asshole since highschool"

Wow.

I did giggle. More evil than cute giggle. Not sure what that would be called.

I should've kept it going totally disregarding the long ass description of lite therapy by saying "I truly don't understand how a few colored pegs into a childrens toy that lights up making a boat or a fish would help me sleep..." but I think I could have given her a heart attack if I really went any further. I must be getting soft if that stopped me. I think I didn't really care enough. And had no idea who she was. Is someone really still referring to high school?

Plus... I have become an asshole.

Oh. And the next day my crazy doctor prescribed a fucking lite box.