I’m turning into an ass man.

I was lucky enough to shoot with an amazing man named Ken Chung a few months back. He was a pleasure to shoot with. I had a great time. It was total improv and I just brought a bag of my own clothes into the woods. Magic happens on a whim.


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Between Two Lungs, It Was Released

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Heartbreak, Six Years In The Making

There comes a time in everyone’s life when they realize enough is enough. Recently I came to that point.

Six years ago I met a boy at a party. I can still remember what he was wearing.

Back then he was just a young boy, not much older than I. I had no business being at this party, no older than sixteen. But i wanted to hang out with the “cooler older” crowd. And this is where they all were. They did “cool adult things”. They drank booze, smoked weed, and really whatever anyone brought their way. I wanted a piece of that. Now in my defense I had already graduated high school and had danced with drugs and alcohol for the last few years. Still, I had no business there. But I felt it was where i belonged… Where I fit in.

I moved to Indianapolis in 2005. The first person I met was one of the people that lived in this house. It was a typical party house. Empty beer bottles everywhere, half smoked cigarettes in every ashtray, or whatever someone decided to use as one the night before. People were crashed on the couches, the chairs, but mostly the floor. There were seven people that actually lived there. Five boys and two girls. All the guys were in a band together. I can admit now that they were a pretty shitty band. As people though, I thought they were the coolest people I had ever met. I haven’t seen a lot of those people in years. Some of them have grown up, made lives, some have stayed the same, and sadly, some have only gotten worse.

This story isn’t about one of those boys. It’s about a boy, now a man, I met at one of their infamous parties.

The outfit he was wearing made a statement, a loud one. An oversize t-shirt with ‘FUCK’ written in huge letters. He intrigued me. I remember exactly where I was sitting when he walked through the opening of what, if a normal family had lived here, would’ve been used as the dining room. I remember thinking, possibly out loud “Who is he?” I had to talk to him. He had and still has the most beautiful, attractive, pouty mouth I had ever seen in my entire life.

We did speak that night, a conversation even. Though I couldn’t tell you a single word that was said. I was probably in complete shock. Amazed that he was even talking to me, and I’m sure i was a bit inebriated. I don’t remember how the night ended, all I know is that was the last time I saw him, in person, for 5 years.

Now, this is going to make me sound like a total creep. But a guarantee 90% of you have been where I was. I randomly looked through his pictures and statuses on MySpace, but I could never stroke up the courage to speak to him. Plus, what would he want with a girl like me? Would he even remember me? The conversation? I remembered him, and those lips.

He was straight-edge. I was a bad girl in disguise. He would probably think I slept around. I was always hanging out with the guys, getting as wasted as possible. Back then I could drink almost anyone under the table. I could beat anyones ass at beer pong. I loved it. I was actually proud of it. It was what we all did at the “college house”. Why was it even called that? None of them actually went to college.

In those five years a lot happened in my life. He became a distant memory. I moved home to Mississippi, met a man, had a baby and began to make a life for myself. A pretty decent life i might add. I was happy. I had the most beautiful child, a caring boyfriend, a great, supporting family (on both sides), and a great job to go along with my seemingly perfect life. Everything was in my favor. Only until my son turned 6-months-old. That all came to a complete hault. Im sure some of you can relate to this as well. Maybe not in the exact terms, but it really doesn’t take long for wonderful to become miserable. But that is a different story.

My son and I moved on. We made a new life. A happy life.

I don’t remember the exact moment or even how we, the dream boy and I, began speaking, but we were. I’m sure it had something to do with the thing we all love to hate. Facebook. He had stayed in Indiana, joined the military, and had been shipped off to Afghanistan. That was the whole reason he joined. To go to war. It does take a special type of person to do what he did. He is special. He is wonderful. A beautiful human being, with a beautiful mouth.

We chatted through Skype most of the time he was there. I learned a lot about him. He really was everything I expected him to be. We never spoke of the future. I didn’t ever actually think there would be a future. But I was there for support. Of course in the back of my mind I wanted there to be. I wanted more. I wanted him to be mine. I’m sure I hinted, we did flirt. But he was just lonely right? He didn’t actually mean the sweet, charming things he was saying, did he? I enjoyed talking to him. It came easy. I was comfortable. He made me feel warm inside, and I was really falling for the man of my dreams.

I planned to move back to Indianapolis. There was nothing actually tying me to Mississippi. Of course I’d miss the delicious food, my wonderful friends and family. But I knew I could visit. Anytime I wanted. I wanted to be close to my mom, I wanted my son to be close to her. To grow up with her. I missed the people, the semi fast pace life that was there, and even the god-awful snow.

He was coming home for his week, or two week visit and I wanted so badly to b e moved by then, be settled and actually get to see him, and kiss those lips. God, those lips. But, I wasn’t, I hadn’t saved enough money. I remember being disappointed. But hey, everything happens for a reason. Looking back on it now, who knows what would’ve actually happened had I lived here.

I did end up moving a few months later. I got settled and started school. We werent talking as much, I was busy making a, yet another, life for my son and I. I was determined to settle. Be normal. I was so tired of starting over. Still he was there in the back of my mind. I wanted him to be a part of my new-new life.

He came home from Afghanistan July 4, 2010. (Fuck Yeah! Americuuhh) We agreed to hang out as soon as possible. Of course there were more important things for him to do first. Visit his parents, his family, his friends.. But our plans kept falling through.

*By this time I was seeing someone who honestly made me completely miserable. But he was someone, and he was there, I needed something to waste my time.

But I was keeping a huge secret from him. I had a secret lover. Who I wanted more than anything else..

I don’t blame him for the plans falling through. He had been through a lot I’m sure. I couldn’t ever imagine what it’s like for someone over there – I don’t want to. Plus, he pretty much had to start over too. I had bigger things on my plate, school and a two year old child.

However, time after time of plans falling through will take a toll on anyones self-esteem. I began to wonder what was so wrong with me. He had to have known how much I was looking forward to this. Why had we talked so much while he was over there, but now he is fifteen minutes away and I couldn’t even see his face?

I wasn’t the party girl I had once been. I had settled down a few years earlier, for obvious reasons.

Still, I would get so excited when he would text me saying he wanted to hang out. Once i was so convinced it was going to happen I got a sitter and began to get ready. Wow, it was ACTUALLY happening. I couldn’t wait. He had been home at least three months by this point. I got ready, dropped the kiddo off with the sitter and asked him for his address so we could meet up. No response. Damn, stood up again. I was livid. I was done. Just give up. Why can’t you just stop? Just. Let. Go. I was better than this. I deserved more. I knew to stop chasing after someone who obviously didn’t care. I kept making excuses. He was just as nervous as me, or busy, or this, or that. But I actually did stop, for a little while anyway. But eventually I fell right back into the same place I was before.

In my head I pictured him to be just like Rob Dyrdek. Extremely funny. Except all he was doing was making me cry.

Eventually things fizzled again. I had finally convinced myself to just stop. He had gotten a girlfriend. A beautiful girl. I will admit I was probably the most jealous human girl in the entire world. Like an ant wanting to be an elephant. Why wasnt this girl me? What had i done wrong? What was I doing? I had tried to be there for him the best I knew how.

Around December or January I finally got some answers from him, some answers I had been waiting so long for. Why hadn’t we seen each other? He explained that he had every intention of going back, back to Afghanistan. He didn’t want to have anything here holding him back. Making it hard for him to leave. I guess I understood.. or at least thats what I’ve tricked myself into thinking. At least he had opened up and been honest.

That gave me more than enough motivation to move on. And I did. But deep down inside all I wanted was him. No one else compared. I can’t even explain. Not having seen someone in years, only speaking through a computer, or through text messages. Fucking technology. How could I want him as bad as I did? I can only describe it as wanting something I couldn’t have. I dont know, I don’t have an answer. All I knew is I had to keep him a secret. He was again my secret love.

-Fast forward to May 2011. I was sitting on the couch listening to Why? Hanging out with a few friends, drinking Red Bull and Vodka, blowing off steam from my then boyfriend, well sort-of. We were in the last few days of our relationship.

-Guess. Who. Texts. Me?


And he wants to cuddle.

-Great, a booty call.

Maybe it was the alcohol.
Maybe it was those lips.


I didn’t care. I was going to kiss those lips.

I drove to his house. Just a few minutes from where I lived. I knew it was really happening. IT was real. He had given me his address. I was nervous. Shaking from head to toe. It was happening. It was really happening.

And, it did.

He met me at the door of his apartment building. We laid in bed for hours, talking, laughing, cuddling, and well, the obvious. I was so, so, so, so happy. No one could slap the smile off my face. His warm body was next to mine. Dream boy was now a dream man, and he was in MY arms.

I left the next morning and I couldn’t believe what I had just done. Half of me was the happiest woman ever but the other half was so ashamed at what I had done, just hours before.

A few days later it happened again. I got the balls to stop. To just let go. I changed my number. I couldn’t face what i had done. I didn’t want to admit to myself, or anyone. I was embarrassed. I wasn’t like this. Why was I like this with him?

I didn’t speak to him for 6 weeks.

By then it should’ve been blatenly fucking obvious that he really, was just not that into me. Plus, he was back with her.

But of course, I broke down again.

We talked every so often, but I knew it wouldn’t ever be the same. Maybe on his part… I was probably just another girl. I don’t think I have gotten past the embarrassment.

Eventually the girl broke his heart, and I just wanted to be there for him. I always have. I want to be the shoulder he leans on… Even cries on.

I saw him a few days after this happened. He was fragile. I could tell. I could see it through that beautiful mouth of his. He came to my work and as soon as I saw him walking up to the door I got that nervous 12 year old girl nervous. Butterflies in my stomach, body shaking like a leaf on a tree.

We only talked for a few minutes, and there it was.

The obvious.

I mentioned us hanging out, as friends, and he said we couldn’t ever be just friends. We never had been. It had always been different between us. We couldn’t help but flirt. I knew this of course. I wanted him. He was my dream guy. Strong, beautiful jaw lines, the best smile with the prettiest teeth. Tall, handsome, baby blues that could kill me, and did I mention his mouth? Those. FUCKING. Lips.

I gave him a huge hug goodbye, which he returned with picking me up and hugging me back. I gave him a high-five at the door and I knew right then and there it was the end. This would be the last time I would ever see him. I was forever in the friend(ish) zone. I watched him walk to his car and deep down inside it became obvious.

Who knows, it could’ve been magic, given the chance. But it also could’ve been tragic. Something like Sid and Nancy.

I haven’t ever told him how strong my feelings for him truely were… Maybe thats why things never went the way I always dreamed they would.

But I know that boys will always be boys.

Maybe one day he will read this and regret the chance he never gave me.. And if he does:

Though you may never be mine. Secret lover I will always be here for you.



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7 AM Breathalyzers

First off, I would like to apologize for my absence from Darling House the last few months.  I am glad to say that I am doing a lot better these days, aside from a few minor setbacks I will share with you in a bit.


I was in a very “serious” and committed relationship until about two months ago, so any extra time I had in my life was devoted to him. It may seem like an excuse but somehow my life became revolved around anything and everything to do with him. Being in that relationship caused a lot of problems in my life. Mostly losing friendships, money, and not caring about myself or really anything for that matter, in the least bit. He was very controlling. I beat myself up for it almost every day for not opening my eyes and seeing what was falling apart right in front of me.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not asking for a pity party or down in the dumps about it at all. I am doing much better without him. However, my bank account is still recovering.  (Who’s isn’t right?)



Part of me wants to explain everything to anyone who is reading this, but I would probably ramble and lose most of you within the first few minutes, so I will try to keep it semi-short and sweet(ish).



Anyway, I was on probation for something super foolish I did when I was 18. (I am 22 now) I was offered something called Diversion, which is basically where the court  gives you second chance, the only requirement is you don’t fuck up for a year, check in a few times with the court and it doesn’t go on your record. Well I fucked up. I completely forgot about it, moved back home to Mississippi and didn’t look back. Well a year later, when I decided to move back to Indianapolis it caught up with me, so I got a year of probation. 8 Months into that I failed a drug test, for smoking weed. My officer never drug tested me, so I figured fuck it, I can get away with whatever cause I am awesome and…. Well I couldn’t. I got another year of probation, and a total of 80 hours of community service. My birthday was a few months after this happened and the shit eating fuck tard of an ex-boyfriend decided that he wasn’t going to do anything for my birthday.  (a month earlier was his birthday and I went all out for him, mostly because it was his 30th and I wanted it to be special, well and because I loved him.) That morning he asked me if I would like to smoke later, and I told him no… I was trying to be responsible and not get in anymore trouble, because probation sucks.  Maybe some of you can relate. Also, in the state of Indiana it is illegal to drink alcohol while you are on probation and the tests they have can go back to 5 days prior to the day you are tested.  Well anyway, later that night I realized he really wasn’t going to do shit for my birthday. He really hadn’t gotten me a present, not even a fucking cheeseburger. So I told him “yeah, yeah call her over and I wannnaaaaa get higgggghh” So that’s what I did. The next day he got really shitty with me because I smoked weed and I am a terrible person.  Well heres another small (huge) detail in our relationshiT that will better describe his personality. He is an ex-heroin addict, who now and has been for the past two years, been taking Suboxone. When he doesn’t have it, he is a completely different person that the oh so caring loving boy he was when he did. Near the end I saw his manipulating ways, and really all he cared about was how and when he was going to get his “medicine”. Anyway I am getting worked up, so back on track.






Well a week later was my probation meeting, I wasn’t too worried about getting drug tested because I literally been tested once, in over a year of probation.


Well, guess what happens?


I get tested.


Now, I am a pretty tiny girl, I don’t have my fat content so I figured, hell I might pass this thing.


Guess again.



I didn’t.



So this is my second probation violation.


Well I don’t know how things work where you live, but where I live they don’t fuck around. I was lucky enough the first time to not be sitting in jail for my first violation. So I don’t even get to leave the office, and I am carted off to jail right then and there.  A part of me wants to blame all of this on his evil ass, but I am coming to terms with it being (mostly) my fault. But that doesn’t make me happy about it. I sat in jail for three whole weeks. Wah, wah, it sucked it was awful, the food was awful, everything about jail is 100% awful.  But I did realize sitting in there that I was better than that, I didn’t need him, and when I got out I wasn’t going to talk to him anymore. So that’s what I did. I will admit that I miss him every now and then. Sometimes when I go through my clothes ill find something of his, or of course ill remember something we did together when I am wearing a certain outfit. If you are a girl, maybe even if you are a guy, you will understand what I am talking about.



Again, sidetracked…. Focus, Focus, Focus.



The point of this story really isn’t about him, its about where I have been and what I have been doing. Right before I went to jail, I got my own apartment again, I had been living with him for a month or two waiting for the contractors to finish building mine. So I hadn’t even finished unpacking. I was really nervous that I was going to lose my brand new, beautiful high vaulted ceilings and my balcony over the lake, and everything that I had moved in because I was convinced I was staying there forever and I wouldn’t be let out until I was ready to go 6 feet under.  While I was there I wrote the judge begging for another chance. I didn’t want to sit in there any longer. A week was long enough to give me a serious wake up call. 3 weeks in I was going insane. I was fortunate (I guess most people would say) enough to get out on this program called “Recovery Court”. In no way shape or form am I addicted to any substance, however I do love smoking pot and drinking whiskey. Whats wrong with that? Unfortunately, this program does not allow me to have either of those things… Maybe you are wondering where the title of this blog came in. Well here you go. Here are most of the guidelines for this program. I fuck up once, I am back in jail for the remainder of my original sentence.  170 days. So needless to say, I am walking the straight and narrow, and not skipping a mother fucking beat.

1.      I must stay clean. I am drug tested twice a week, randomly. No drugs, no alcohol, not even prescribed medicine. Nothing containing alcohol (mouthwash, hand sanitizer,maybe a little over board but I stay away from it just in case) Nyquil is another no no.

2.      Breathalyzers every morning at 7:30 am. Even a minute late and i am automatically given 8 hours of community service. ( Im not sure what happens after the first time, but I don’t want to find out)

3.      3 AA/NA meetings a week.

4.      3 Group Therapy sessions a week

5.      Court once a week, just to check in and say fuck you. Or at least that is how I usually feel.


Now, theres more benign shit, but holding a full time job to pay for this, and all of my bills is very stressful. I am constantly driving to the next place, I hardly have time to sit and enjoy anything anymore. But, like I said before, I am coming to accept what I did. But, fuck, I cannot wait to smoke a bowl and have a few whiskey (hold the) coke.  I try not to think about the long road ahead, because it is going to blow. But I can say that I do feel pretty awesome waking up every day at the same time, getting my day started before most of everyone I know, and being semi level headed and for the most part being on top of everything in my life.  So I guess there is a positive side to my long, miserable story.  Plus, it beats the alternative.



So every time you drink a beer, or anything containing alcohol. Think of me and drink another.


I’ll be around here more. Stay positive.


I love you guys.


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This is what you call magic @ 2 am.

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