Archive for May, 2012
The stronger Vicodin made me sleepy. I fell into a strong, deep sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I dreamt of running from gangsters and monsters in downtown Manhattan. I dreamt of monsters that were my family members and my other personal demons. I couldn’t face them, so I ran from them. I woke up in the mid-afternoon, having a low blood sugar. There was a persistant knocking at the door to the suite. A note that had been lain on my chest tumbled to the floor when I sat up. More knocking. “Alright!” I called out. I stumbled from the bed to the doorway, and opened the door. S was there. “How’d you find me?” I asked, dizzy from the low glucose. “It’s not that hard. You okay?” he asked. I shook my head. “Got any more of that Vicodin?” “I brought six more, but…” he held out another ziplock baggie. I snatched it, said I’d be back, and shut the door.
Stumbling to the mini bar, I wolfed down something sweet and sticky. I barely chewed it. I just had to get it down my throat and into my blood stream. I felt disassociated. The room was crooked. That annoying knocking had returned to the door. “Don’t make me talk through a door! C’mon, let me in. I promise not to cross any borders,” S called in to me. “I’m not well,” I called back. “Come back in an hour,” I finished, looking for more sweet, sticky food. S tried to reason with me, but I wouldn’t answer him anymore. I had drank an entire bottle of ice cream topping and I was still shaky.
Getting up off the floor, I sat down on the bed and checked the time. It was well after 5pm. I had slept over eighteen hours. At least. I saw the note on the floor, picked it up, and read the two lines that Dennis bothered to leave me: Kids with groups. I’m out till ten. Hm. I wadded up the paper and tossed it into the nearest trash can. Why didn’t he wake me up?
I vaguely remembered getting up this morning, taking my meds, and then climbing back into bed, mumbling something about having awesome dreams and not wanting to be disturbed. Maybe that is why he continued without me? Why was I even there? Once again, I felt the tightening in my throat, indicating that I was about to start crying again. No. Not tonight. Tonight I wasn’t going to sit around, feeling sorry for myself. I pulled on a clean tee shirt and some jeans, tossed the Vicodin in my clutch and opened the door to the suite to find S standing outside the room. “That was quick,” he commented. I smiled. “Want to go pass through some more bottles of wine?” I asked. He nodded, and we went down to the wine room of the resort.
The room was noisy but not with the same chatter that was in the dining halls. Once again, I was racing through a bottle of white wine. I wanted to be drunk more than anything else in the world. The more I drank, the more I poured out my irritations to S and the more I insinuated that I wanted to fuck him. He took the clues pretty well. We talked about all the groupies that he had over the years, then we talked about my conquers. Who was the best, why they were the best. What I liked, what I wouldn’t do. I remember I went through two bottles of wine tonight. The night was young, and I hadn’t eaten, once again, and as I staggered back to the suite, I mentioned that there were no condoms in the suite. S shrugged. “I don’t carry, either. How can a groupie not carry?!” I had to laugh at that. I was a groupie coming out of retirement. Why not? There was so much to gain from this. I know that things happened on Dennis’ days on the road. In the beginning, I ignored them. I assumed that some day we would over come them when we had children or got married. But children and marriage doesn’t change a person’s core. If you’re bisexual or a bi-groupie when you get married, you will be one after you get married.
On the ride in the elevator, a thousand memories came flooding back. Marilyn Manson concerts, Ozzfest, Billy’s failure back a few years ago. Oh wait, that wasn’t voluntary.
I remembered all the back stage mischief. I remember the fun. I remember the photos that Michelle had snuck of James Hetfield that night Metallica played at the BOK Center. Out of all of the metal and rock concerts that I have attended, the one that people question me the most is … that Davy Jones concert I attended in October 2003. Thinking about that, I burst out laughing for no reason in the elevator. S gave me a funny look. “I was thinking about things,” I said. He smiled.
Stepping off the elevator onto the floor where our rooms were, I checked the time on my phone. It wasn’t quite ten yet, but it was too late to do anything sexual. I sighed and explained the time stress to S, and he walked me to my suite. I wasn’t sure if the kids had been tucked in or not, but I invited him back in. Fumbling with the door card, I dropped my phone. The photo of me holding baby Everly was on the wallpaper. S picked up the phone. “Is she your’s?” he asked. I didn’t reply. I was still fumbling with the credit card door key that did not work. “She’s pretty. She looks like you..” I snapped the phone back. “Her middle name is Miracle, but it should be Mistake,” I mumbled. “Why?” “Kids screw up relationships. Or they did mine. I’m not an equal partner anymore, but a baby factory. A baby maker and raiser. It sucks,” I replied. The door finally opened. S took my hand and placed four more Vicodins in the palm of my hand. “You have a lot of pain. I hope these help,” he said. I wanted to melt into the butterscotch-y rug in that hall way. Human contact, how I missed you! Understanding, where have you been?! With another smile, he turned and left me there in front of my suite. I watched him leave.
Entering the suite, a nanny was watching TV inside. I told her she could leave, as I sat down on the bed and began pulling off my shoes. I placed the Vicodin on the nightstand and finished getting undressed. I was able to slip into my pajamas and settle down on the couch, popped a few Vicodins to help me sleep. And here I am. And Here I Am. Dennis isn’t back yet and I sit here, plucking at a computer while heavy narcotics flutter through my blood stream. Sleep has not come to me yet. I’m not even shaky from not eating tonight. Hoping that I run into S again tomorrow. Maybe we can go to the dance hall. Human contact and Understanding does much for me. I crave it constantly, and now that I was given a little taste of it, I want it all the time. I want it now, but I know the best I can hope for is one of the kids to need me in the night. Such is life.
Tonight was the first night of a series of dinner parties, mingling, and the first time that I have been able to come out on an outing with my husband as is, and not as “husband and wife in private”. I don’t even have to make up some story about being a cousin with HIV. He really wants me in his world, all around! It was going to be great. Outlined, it was that we were going to attend a series of dinner parties, whilst our children were entertained in the resort. There was a pool, dining halls, and game rooms. It was geared for children; it’s one of the many places where famous and important people dump their children so they can attend adult conferences and other places where they do not want to be bothered by their offspring until the little ones are old enough or unique enough to start raking in the dough themselves. I hated leaving the kids there, but they didn’t seem to be so sad to be unattached to their parents for a few hours. We didn’t even say goodbye.
Dumping our luggage in the suite, I was surprised to see there was a whole separate bedroom for the kids, with two beds. We were in a hotel with two bedrooms and three beds! I’d never saw anything like this in nursing school. Dennis told me I should get used to it. Lots of places are set up like this, apparently. I unpacked my meds, changed, grabbed a clutch and we both hurried to the elevators. Glass, fast moving elevators took us down to the lobby, where we met up with some friends and band mates of Dennis’. I was glad I had my iPhone. Possible human contact. I was ignored on the way to the dinner hall. It never occurred to any of them, these people that my husband supposedly gets together with frequently, that he had a new date. There were people there that he was quite open and comfortable around that I had never saw before. People who saw right through me. I suddenly wished I had packed some Vicodin.
Dinner proved to be different. Dennis ordered something that looked, and smelled like, cat food that a house cat had thrown up onto his plate. I ordered a single plate of spanish rice and a glass of white wine. I ate slowly, tried to get myself into the conversation, but every time I said something, they would either ignore me (the band members) or look right through me (Jewish friend and co). Even the women. Even the other band wives. Alright. Fuck ‘em. I didn’t have to stand for this. After clearing my plate, I pushed back in my chair, and hurried out to the patio outside. If I couldn’t be accepted by the stars inside, I could wax poetic on the stars outside.
Sitting on the rail, watching the sky above me, I started thinking that maybe it was a mistake to come to this. After all, for the next three days, while Dennis mingled and became more important, someone else was tucking in our kids, I was being ignored, and my urge for Vicodin was rising. My back hurt. My shoes were painful and the bed was hard. I wasn’t craving because I am some kind of a pill popping maniac. I stopped a waiter carrying a tray and took another glass of white wine from the tray. He acted like I slapped him and then kicked him in the nuts, but I didn’t care. This wasn’t a place I’d be invited back to any time soon. A roar of laughter came from Dennis’ table. I turned away sharply. Fuck ‘em, I thought, when I become famous I’m never doing anything here. And if they invite me I won’t even RSVP. It was then that I realised that tears were on my cheeks. I was crying! Over this! Why? It wasn’t a vacation. I knew this was business when I agreed to come. What was wrong with me?!
“Break up with someone?” A soft voice asked from behind me. I spun around. “What?” I asked. A man dressed in a white shirt and black pants stood behind me with a kind smile on his face. “You’re upset about something. I don’t recognise you, so I assume you’re a date that got kicked out when fame came crashing back down on your date,” he replied. The fuck…? Get outta my head, asshole, I thought. “I um, I came alone,” I said. “Really? Were you seated at the wrong table?” “What’s it to you? What are you, a reporter? The interesting people are in there.” “I’m not a reporter…” he began.
We made small talk out there on the patio. He was surprised that I was a band wife, bands never bring their wives to places like this. He should know, his band never did anyway. I was surprised to find out who he was. In retrospect, he was familiar, but I couldn’t place him. I asked where his wife was, and he shrugged. Never had one, don’t need one, hasn’t found any to change his mind. By nine-thirty, my head was throbbing. S, as I will call him, ordered me an entire bottle of the white wine, and I had hogged it all. We talked of many things. The most common was how badly we hated that place, and the crowd of people inside.
The Groupi in me was coming out. I wanted to offer him a lay. Sex, with no strings attached, that night, just as I would if it had happened in 1996. I wanted to be that Groupi again. I wanted to have the freedom to do what I wanted right then and there. But all the swarms of changes came back to me. My children would be sleeping in the next room. Dennis would know. I would know. It just doesn’t seem to be in the stars that I love so much to be coming true. S made the first move and handed me a piece of paper. “This is my room. We’re staying at the same place. You should come by and visit me if you want to talk again,” he said. “Thanks, let me go get my car and I’ll be there,” I replied, somewhat drunk. His eyebrows rose. “You drove here? You can’t drive back, drunk.” I replied with some off remark. He took me by the arm and said he would make sure that I got back to my room safely.
All the way back, the focus was on sex, and when it was going to happen. My inhibitions were gone by now, and I openly expressed that I wanted to screw his brains out. I also blurted out that Dennis and I were in an open relationship, so it wouldn’t be cheating on my part. Something that was only partly true. In order to keep our relationship secure, we tried being open, but when the time came for one of us to get laid by someone else, usually me by his brother Billy, we couldn’t do it. We loved each other so much back then, we couldn’t turn away from each other. I slipped my silver wedding band off and dumped it in my clutch. “Bastard never got me a wedding band, either. But that’s alright. It’s not like I don’t know that he gets lucky every time he’s with that group,” I said. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to go through with sleeping with S. Sure, I was pissed at Dennis for bringing me here, and then making believe that I was invisible, but was it really worth an affair? With a man technically old enough to be my father?
I had an idea. I promised S that if I needed him tonight, I would call. We said goodbyes, and then I contemplated that if Dennis could fix what happened tonight by talking to me, I wouldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t. An hour later, he staggered into the room, and flopped down on the bed. “You’re drunk,” I replied. “You came here?” he asked, “And I’m not drunk, I just feel bad. Nothing that sleep won’t fix.” “We need to fix something else, first. Us. Can we talk?” I asked. “Sure. Just let me get ready for bed and put on my earbuds, Cee, I’m exhausted. Plus I think the tuna was bad tonight. And so what if I had a drink or two? I’m not in AA or even NA anymore!” With that, he hurried into the bathroom to change. I sighed. I was in pain. I hadn’t bothered to get undressed for when he came home, so I was still pinched with the dressy clothes.
Getting up off the bed, I wrapped up in a robe and hurried out of the suite. I tiptoed down the hall to the room number written on the piece of paper. When S came to the door, suspiciously scented of vinegar, I blurted out, “Do you have any Vicodin? My back is really killing me. My feet too.” He seemed surprised at my request, but nodded, and stepped back inside his room. When he returned with a ziplock with four pills, he asked me something that I was not expecting, “Are you sure this is for your hurting feet and back? Or your hurting heart? Cray, I think we shouldn’t break up your family.” I grabbed the bag from him. “I just came by for the narcotics. That’s all. You didn’t think I was serious about sleeping with you, did you?” I threw in a small laugh, turned and hurried down the hall. I knew if I scurried right, I could get back before Dennis was out of the shower, and he’d never know that I had been gone.
Back in the suite, I was right, Dennis was still in the bathroom, still taking a shower, and I was there alone. With the kids sleeping in the room next to ours and the ziplock baggie of Vicodin. I opened the bag and inspected the pills. They were Vicodin. A little strong for my liking, and use, but hey, S was right, I didn’t need them for my back and feet. I needed them to heal my hurting heart.
Megan Lewis, AKA CloudzAngel and a whole scope of fraudulent cam whore sites, has discovered my little writings here, and boy is she mad!
She left me a sweet comment. Every other name was “you fat fucking slut” and how she hopes she sees my “fat assed face” again, she is going to “beat the fuck outa” me. Tsk, tsk, why so violent, Miss Christian? Is that how Christ would act? You started this. You set up fraudulent websites and pissed off the entire internet. No one has anything good to say about you because of that. Then you targeted me personally when you made fuck-profiles to send to my husband and try to have an affair with him. Joke’s on you, huh? Oh, and she totally had sex with my man. Totally. He just might bring me AIDS if I’m not careful and don’t delete my posts about her. My kids will get it and die too. Did she just admit to be giving random men AIDS to bring home to their wives? How are the kids going to get AIDS? Just cuz lil ole MegNUTTERS is the product of incest and dating a man old enough to be her great-grandpappy doesn’t mean that everyone living in this state is doing the same thing.
By her comment, I can totally tell that she is so much more mature than me. So much more that her entire site was shut down for abuse, and making threats. And it’s a true sign of maturity to threaten to beat up another person, sleep with their husband and infect their whole family with AIDS (she must be the only person immune to carry AIDS…Because she commented that she had done it before….LOTS of TIMES), and then totally fuck them all up. Her words, not mine. But she’s very mature for 25. And she’s totally a poster child for God’s love. Sounds more like the typical Bible Thumping Back Woods Freaks that we’re surrounded by here. You know, the place where the men aren’t afraid to shoot women and make sure you know it well.
There’s her IP. Ban her if you must. Or congratulate her. Ole Freddie was put out to the gallows before horny desperate Megan came along. Hey, she must be good for something, right?
You can now add your own link to Scram! So click there and get adding! You have to have this site linked before you can submit your own site, though. After all, it’s a link exchange, not a solo page of links, anymore.
I wish I had some good news to report, or something. So far all I have to report on is that at least I am trying to get better. Not really working at it, but trying hard. I opted not to teach summer school this year, in hopes that I can somewhat get my old job back. Even if I had to work with Michelle and Lance again, it would be worth it to do what I truly love and to be where I truly belong. Looking at my professor ratings, I thought the students would trash the shit out of me. I know I hated professors like me back when I was in school, but looking at the “grades” they gave me, many of them loved that I kept them on their toes during tests and exams. One questioned if English was my first language (it is, I promise! No matter how badly I butcher it, it’s because I never heard it for the first ten years of my life, and then I was brought up to learn creole), and a few questioned why I was teaching (with a husband like mine, I guess I’m not supposed to want to do anything to stimulate my mind). Overall the reviews were pretty good. I challenged the students and they responded positively. I think there were only three students to fail the course completely, and either they loved me too, or they didn’t submit a review. At the comments section, some were asking (hoping) that I was going to teach this summer, or this fall. I feel like a bitch in taking that away from them, but I have to go in pursuit of my own dreams and happiness, even if that leaves a class of hopefuls behind. Richard said that most assistant professors hold other full time jobs, but I don’t want to run any more. My boys are already potty trained and I wasn’t a part of it. I enjoyed teaching, something that I vowed to do once I became a pharmacist, but now it’s time to focus on doing what I want. When I’m ready to retire, I promise, I’ll teach pharm classes until it goes out of style.
Lil baby James is doing so much better tonight. He got well without any intervention from me. The boys are too young to recover without my help! It shouldn’t be this way! They need to know that momma will always be there for them, no matter what! So there’s some more inspiration as to why I need to be home more often. I feel as though my life is running away with itself and I’m not going to be around for the better things in life. Things that I have now that aren’t going to be here forever.
Dennis is away on the road. Out with friends for “one more night”. I have to admit that I felt bad when I kissed him goodbye last night at the airport, and that feeling was with me throughout the day, and the pain that I suffered through, and part of today. I’m getting too used to him being home. That’s bad. I’ve been alone before, but I didn’t opt to be out this summer just to sit at home and take care of the little ones. I want to go out, I want to share chocolate shakes and snack on ice cream sandwiches, home made. I wanted to bake cookies with him, just once more. Maybe spend the summer on the ocean side. That is something that I have always wanted to do. Spend some serious time by the ocean. Just me and my little family. No crowds, no people calling at three AM to inform me they hate me for marrying their pop star. But just the ocean waves crashing against the sandy beach. I could introduce the kids to the ocean and ocean life. I could get back in touch with swimming and playing in the sand. It’s been a long time since I touched the sandy beaches or played in the chilly Atlantic Ocean. Maybe too long. But I can dream, can’t I?