Sabrina Says:

Sitting in my drafts for a hot minute..but yet again, Fuck it:

The life of Mrs. Leyla Christensen-Hannibal has been dormant for quite some time.  And honestly, I figured I was done talking about past transgressions, insignificant people, fabricated falsehoods.  in a nutshell, wastes of my goddamn time.

The timing could not be more ironic, considering this is the time when the sim that celebrates its 8th anniversary is this weekend.

But I digress.

And now we’re gonna get into business mode.

I was approached with a “concern”.  Are you ready for this?

Seems like there are concerns from “a few people” that I was taking money from one sim to pay for my own when my name was on both.

Laymans terms?

Embezzlement.  Stealing.  Whatever politically correct or incorrect word you want to use.

There are a lot of ironies in this particular situation.

First One?  Isn’t it interesting how this becomes a topic of conversation not the first year my name was on this sim, not year two, but literally 7 months AFTER I turned it back over?

Second One?  Yours truly, SABRINA has been absent from the pixel universe, enjoying my children, my marriage and the benefits of my career, so it looks like being absent is grounds for validity of theft.

Third One?  My choices, let me repeat that: MY choices, have resulted in a domino effect of events where even when I’m not in this place that I willingly gave my time to for nearly 6 years have resulted in: “well she hasn’t left on her own yet so another way needs to be found to get rid of her.”

There were many,many choices over the years in my time of service for this place:

~I made the choice to step up and take the sim over when no one else would because no one wanted it.

~I made the choice to come up with a business plan that has to date, evolved and is run damn near perfect thanks to the efforts now of other people.

~I made the choice to take financial responsibility and seek out help when it was needed with the assistance of  my former colleagues.

~ I made the choice to separate my personal sim from the other because I would not allow anyone to dictate who I would allow in my domain that I pay for.

~And I made the choice to stay silent about these things, with the exception of here because I was saving face and figured hey, the truth always comes out in the end, and these people are adults and will act as such.

Now of course rumors happen.  Speculation. Here-say.   Which honestly, I figured wouldn’t happen because we’re dealing with people in their 30’s-late 40s and up:

You would think right?

And for the most part, I let them all go.  Didn’t even bother to mute anyone because that would be giving too much credit.  They don’t matter to me so they don’t exist to me, its that simple.

But now, whats being said, is pretty much that Ms. Sabrina Santiago, was a thief.

In a nutshell, they’re saying I stole from every single person that donated a single dollar to that place.

They’re saying that the hours accumulating to years of time to that place while working 50 hour work weeks and raising a disabled child are null and void.

Fuck. That.

You would think that people would know me by now.  Business wise at least.  They would know that if you accuse, you’d better have something concrete to back it up.  You better have numbers, dates, a whole goddamn ledger.  Because you had best believe that I do.  And you would think that they would know that if you’re going to accuse, I have every right to know whose accusing me and what grounds they have to bring this up all of a sudden.  Have I done things that question the lines of morals? in the life of Leyla Christensen; Absofuckinlutely.

But the minute you have the balls, the nerve, the outright audacity to say Sabrina is questionable regarding her financial integrity?  Get ready to be put on blast.  Period.

The thing is as I was engaging in this conversation I was actually laughing.  Like “come on…really?..people are seriously reaching right now.  Two years ago I would have been almost amused that my little pixel barbie is still on peoples agenda.

But I will be frank in saying, its actually kinda sad.

When my Dad died, that was in itself a life changing curve.  Am I going to sit here, 33 years old, with an ass dent in my chair, stressing out over completely stupid fucking things that have nothing to do with my own family?  What am I gonna do?  Talk about disobedient kids, failed marriages while drinking myself into a stupor?

Ah, No.

And through all of this, after dissecting whats relevant to the current situation and what isn’t  this is what it boils down to in a nutshell:

Dealing with people having assumptions about matters they didn’t have full knowledge of:  Irrelevant.

People saying that my fathers passing was “besides the point”:  Irrelevant.

Similar methods used to oust other people based on insecurities: Irrelevant.

My Father, one of the most frustrating, strenuous, yet overall, one of the most important people in my life, died sitting in his chair, watching tv.  Even though he was listening to Slayer (most hardcore, by the way)  he still embedded in me that is not the way I’m going to go out.

This life is Mine.  And with unity of family..REAL family and a select handful of friends, I’m living it.  I accepted the fact that my time of service was done to that place when he left me.  It was a smack upside the head to say  “Wake up babe.  there is too much out there to set aside for people that will turn their face from you the minute you call people out on their bullshit.”

And in his way, he was right.  James Raven.  Christopher Daniel.   Those are who I need to be giving my service to.  The ones who deserve it.

People are going to make choices.  Some good, some bad.  But if you can walk away and say “You don’t need approval, acceptance, or fair weathered behaviors, You make the choice walking away with the truth”:  Then you’re always going to be one step ahead of anything anyone throws at you.

And if you choose not to take my word for it

The numbers don’t lie, bitches.  Bottom line.

 

Pt 4: Unforgiven.

I had these thoughts stored away stuck in my drafts, rewriting, deleting, attempting to change my words for whatever reason.  And then I sat here, asking myself the same questions:

What the fuck for?  Who am I looking out for?  Who the fuck is gonna say something to me?

No reason. No one. Nobody.

I go back to the first post when I said that at the end of the day, this was for me.  That hasn’t changed.  I haven’t changed.

With that being said:

I’m so fucking angry.  It’s been a year now, and it’s as raw as it was then.  I still can’t bring myself to go into that room and paint away the images that are burned in my brain from that day and every day after.  I wanna stop feeling this loathing of emotions that fuckin drowned me and keep choking me.  I wanna get in my car and blind my older sister with my high beams as I step on the gas and watch her face explode against my wind shield as I run her ass over.  I want to grab the dullest knife and disembowel my cunt of a mother and look in her dying eyes while I twist the knife.  I want this fist to crack a selfish bitches esophagus and listen to her choke and gurgle on her own blood.

I want to yell at my father for not fucking taking care of himself and leaving me and my sister behind.

I don’t want any fucking pity. I’m past the point of wanting people to understand.  Everyday I put the face on for the sake of my kids, my husband, my family.  I don’t expose them to this poison that has stayed with me, all the while, its a time bomb of self destruction and I know it.

I know it.  And I embrace it.  It’s the one thing that is completely mine.  It was the product of what other people embedded in me and makes me see people and their actions clearer than I did when I called them sister, mother and friend.

Here, I’m letting it out.  But I feel like I’m never going to let it go.

And for now, I’m good with that.

 

 

PT 5: The Last Thing You Do.

Before they took him away, they handed me everything he was wearing.  His personal items they sat on the tv counter.

I didn’t pay any mind to it then, again going through the motions of making calls, handling his affairs and trying to just keep it together.

His IPhone was sitting by his computer.  Fuckin IPhone 4 that he barely knew how to use.  Eccentric maniac that only bought it because quote “it’s shiny!”

I wasn’t there when he left.  I grabbed his IPhone and sat with it after they took him away.  Looking through the call history.  The last call he made was to a local cab driving company just five hours earlier.  I kept asking myself: was he calling to go to the hospital?  Was he just going to get something to eat?  Or did he know something was wrong and didn’t want to say anything to alarm Fabian and the kids?  The TV was on so at some point he just faded.

I should have been there.  I should have fuckin been there.

So for this past year, I’m constantly thinking about death.  I put out a life insurance policy, revised my will, made sure the people that need to have access to my bank accounts do if something happens to me; dotted all my I’s and crossed my T’s.  Just wanting to make sure that my family is taken care of when I’m gone.

Sometimes I find myself waiting for it.  On borrowed time knowing that it can be over tomorrow at the snap of someones fingers.  And then I look at my kids. I hear my nephew sing blues clues, I get a hug from my husband, I laugh with my sister.  And I say “I wanna fuckin live.”

The fight in my father had left him.  He had a spirit that his body couldn’t keep up with.  And every day he woke up he would think of it as him “making it another day”

His death made me want to live my life.  His sacrifice made me want to be a better person than what I was to the right people.  Fuckin 33 years old and sitting in front of a computer worrying about other peoples trivial bullshit.  7 of those years wasted on people who mean nothing.  Allowing myself to get caught up in the ex husbands excuses and headaches.  No Mas.

The last thing I do, will be the first thing I do every day when I wake up.

Fuckin Live.

 

PT 3: Fang Bang

7.22.11

Quiet room.  Cops in the house.  Tears overflowing.  A piece of my life ending and beginning in one fell swoop.  Sitting in his room as his eyes focused on the open window.  No signs of struggle or pain.  Just a man that had met three quarters of a century of his life and decided it was time to go.

The kids were taken to their grandparents and fathers house while personal matters were handled and everyone tried to pull it together.  I was so fucked up.  The day had drained me.  And I was the only one that could gather the strength to take care of him one more time.

This house was drenched in grief.  I had called everyone I needed to from my sister to my job.  And called people that I felt would be there for me.  Like a robot, I went through  the motions.  Carrying out his wishes.  He didn’t want a viewing, he wanted to be cremated, given to my sister and that was it.  I couldn’t accept that even though his life had ended, that I could just keep it movin’.  He had died watching the metal channel on his big ass 72 inch television with Slayer rocking out.  He didn’t want a service, so that night, I sat my ass in this chair, pulled up the playlist, and at 11PM eastern standard time, 8PM Second Life Time, I celebrated my fathers life with what was the best fang bang I had ever done in 5 years.

The speakers were cranked to max.  I wanted the whole fuckin neighborhood to hear the music.  So loud that I wanted it to pierce the dark skies of heaven to the front gates of hell itself.  It was riding a Harley at 140 mph, jumping from a fuckin plane at 15 thousand feet, hurling my body in a mosh pit and just knocking someone out with steel tipped boots.  Because that was my father’s spirit.  What he couldn’t do because his body wouldn’t let him, he expressed through music.  And I wanted to share that with the people that I had loved.  I remember the end of that show, speaking to the people that had gathered; thanking them for letting me share my fathers love with them.  The voice cracking, ready to break.  And saying “I love you all, I love you Dad: One Blood.”

Had I known then what I now know.  Had I foreseen the events that would quickly follow suit, I wouldn’t have shared a fucking thing.

This year, I celebrate My Father through the things he loved to do.  He loved The Ozzman, so I’m watching “God Bless Ozzy Osbourne” which airs on his birthday, Friday, July 13th.  He had a hardon for prime rib, so Im gonna take my ass to the best restaurant in NYC and indulge.  He loved his tattoos, so I’ll ink myself up one more time for him.  He loved his grandchildren, so I’ll take them out for a trip to the park which is something he always wanted to do.  He served this country in the Korean War, so I’ll be  visiting the memorial park to pay respects.

And he loved his music.  So I’ll blast his favorite tunes one more time behind these four walls, for no one else but him. Knowing that somewhere, somehow, He can hear me one more time.

No Regrets.

PT 2: I Hate You

I never really knew how these words would follow or what caused them to spew from her mouth.

I mean I “knew”.  She was a cold, bitter, selfish woman who if she didn’t get her way, she would scream these words at the top of her lungs.  And it wasn’t like it was even done in private behind the four walls of our apartment.

They’d get into an argument, and when he walked out the door and down the block, this fuckin beast would stick her head out the window and scream “I hate you! i hate you!”  until he disappeared around the corner.  Every time she bellowed these words, I’d go to my room and cry.   My sister would be scared to death because we knew that this trigger could mean anything, from a beat down for whatever reason to the beast throwing shit and breaking everything in the house.  Even the fear that one day he would turn that corner and never come back.

There were alot of reasons that she wound up saying these things now that I look back at reflect:

She hated him because he didn’t have the job that brought in so much money to provide for her..not us..her.

She hated him for not being able to keep up with her stupid porcelain doll collection that he funded.

She hated him for having arthritis and always saying how he was in pain.

She hated him for keeping his wifes ashes with him stored away in the top shelf of the closet.  Hated that he still loved her.

She hated him for always coming back because he didn’t want us growing up without a father.

She hated that me and my sister loved him more than we could ever love her.

And the truth is, we did.

I remember after those verbal bashings, he’d come home and when she’d go out and do whatever or whoever, I’d sit with him and tell him my fear.  That one day, he wouldn’t come back.  Back then, it wasn’t just the fear of losing my father it was more of “please don’t leave us alone with this woman cause we’re not gonna make it without you”

And he’d always say ” I’m not going anywhere, bebe.  I’m always gonna be here for you and your sister..I love you both and you’ll always be my daughters.”  And he meant it.

Growing up, I had never found my voice when it came to her.  Never stood up to her, never defended my dad against her.  In my adolescence, she was my greatest fear.  But growing up, having my own child, and coming into my own, the living nightmare turned out to be only flesh and bone.  A broken woman with problems that I no longer bothered myself with.

Its like when you’re a kid and you’re afraid of the monster under your bed, or afraid of the dark, or the bully that terrorized you to no end.  I was 21 or 22 years old when I turned on the light, looked under the bed and faced my bully head on.

They were coming home from my sisters high school graduation.  My dad was so proud.  At that time, I refused to speak with my mother.  She was living out of state and had abandoned my dad to be with a guy she had met on the internet.  He couldn’t survive upstate on his own, so I made the choice to say you know what?  You took care of me when I needed you, so I’m going to do the same.  So he stayed with me and my son in our studio apartment while I worked full time.

That night is as clear as crystal to me to this day.  He came walking through the door, tired and with this look of exhaustion and dread on his face.  A few minutes earlier he had called me and asked if it was ok if she could see my son.  And of course I was like “hell no keep that bitch away from this apartment and keep her away from my son.  She gave up all rights when she walked out on us.”

So he sat on his bed, hooked himself up to his breathing machine and just sat there.  I told him that there was no way that woman would ever be around my son.  My gut had told me to send Chris to the neighbors until I knew for certain that she was in her car and gone completely.  My gut was right..because within minutes, she was walking through my door that I forgot to lock.  She strolled in like she owned the place, looking at the empty crib.  Before she could even get a word in I pointed to the hallway and said “get the fuck out of my house”

“Im your mother, you respect me, who do you think you are?”

“Youre not my mother. You gave up that right when you abandoned us.  You’re not a mother, you’re not a grandmother and you sure as shit are’nt a wife..you see that man?  That man is more of a parent than you will ever be!  And you have the audacity to come in here like you’re owed something…you’re owed jack shit…all these years you made his life hell, cheated on him, abused him..you aint doing that shit no more, now get the fuck out of my house!”

She looked at him..expecting him to stand up for her or say something in her defense.  And he just sat there speechless, trying to breathe.  That’s when she slapped him.  And in that same second the minute her fist hit his face, I reached for the corona bottle, threw it at her and grabbed the next one and cracked it, pointing it at her ready to jam it into her jugular.

“That’s the last time you put your hands on him.’ I screamed.  I had her full attention now.  I grabbed the phone and called the cops.  Dialing out thinking ‘this is it..this bitch is going to jail”  When she saw me dial she looked at my father and said to him. “you’re gonna pay for this”

She stormed out and I was like oh hell no..shes not getting away this time.  I followed her down the steps, yelling at her, screaming to her what a failure she was.  She called my older sister with crocodile tears saying how I hurt her and she needed her help.  She was mumbling threats at me about how she was going to destroy me, break me, make my life hell.  And I just laughed.  She was powerless to me.  This person that haunted me and did in fact make my life hell through the years…I wasn’t afraid anymore.  Even when she turned around and grabbed me and punched me twice in the face, I laughed back at her and said “that’s all you got?”

My sister got there before the cops did.  And of course she was blaming me for “causing a scene”  At this point, the adrenaline was fueled so hard, my blood was literally boiling, every muscle in my body was shaking. And I wasn’t afraid.  I screamed to the top of my lungs, like so many times before that my mother had done to my dad, how much I hated her.  How she was a failure as a mother and a wife, how no matter what she did in her life, she would always fail.  How much I loved and respected my father more than she would ever get.  How she would die alone and broken and I wouldn’t shed a single tear.

The cops came, went upstairs to the apartment where he was still on his breathing machine.  They came down and pulled me to the side and said he didn’t want to press charges.  “just let her go home maam, she’ll be gone and you wont have to deal with her anymore”  Yay, NYPD.

After she left, I went upstairs.  Then the anger was focused on my father.  How could he just let her go like that?

This was his chance to make her pay for everything she had done.  How could he not back me after everything she had done?  And he answered “I just want it to be over.”

I never understood how he could just let it go.  I knew he was angry, the pain from my busted lip began to surface, but my brain just couldnt compute what had just happened.

Was he still scared of her?  Did he still love her?  Fuck if I knew back then.  It was one of the traits that I never gained from him.  His forgiveness.  It’s what people would say is a weak trait.  But when I think of all the wrong I’ve done in my own life, all the poor choices I’ve made, and Him forgiving me,  now only part of me understands.

I never hated him for it.

Pt 1: Sherwin

Sherwin Silverstein was born on Friday July 13th, 1936.  he never really spoke about his parents except to say that his dad was a hard worker and his mother was a devoted wife.  I met my him at an AA meeting that my mother had brought me and my sister to.   We would go into this inventory room with the other parents kids while the adults talked about whatever it was they needed to get off thier chests.
he always seemed scary to me, this salt and peppered haired man with big star trek ears that always freaked me out.  and he never smiled.  and he snapped his fingers all the time…like ALL the time!  Freaked me the hell out!
when we visited his apartment there was one rule…DONT TOUCH ANYTHING!
it was like going into a place where of course, you wanted to touch everything.  he used to be a jeweler as a hobby and he had this huge jewelry station.  there were pieces of ivory with trimmed gold accenting the pieces, with ginormous magnifying glasses that sat on the table.
what caught my attention was these little pewter figurines, little dwarves and warriors finely painted and huge dragons sitting on ruby and sapphire stones.  he saw my interest in these tiny little pewter people and on one of our many trips out of the city, we went to this comic book store called “The Dragon’s Den” and he bought me my own set.  Back then I figured he just got it for me so i could leave his collection alone.

it wasnt until I was like 12 or 13 that I was in a musical rut.  Everything on the radio sounded the same, and even then i lived with the assumption that being hispanic and living in the bronx, it was expected of me to listen and follow a specific genre.   Rap wasnt really big yet and there was alot of freestyle flooding the airwaves.  They didnt have sirius back then so my options will next to nil.

And then I remember sitting in the passenger seat of his car and I heard this sound like nothing I had ever heard before.  And I loved it..the music did something to me that just said “wake the hell up, theres more out there than you ever thought there could be” and it was to the sounds of Led Zepplin that brought me to that edge.

From then on, we finally had something to talk about.  Musics the universal language right?  For me and my dad, it was the turning key that opened the door to what would be a lifetime of memories.

He had this laser disc (yes i said laser disc) of the led zepplin movie the song remains the same.   And I remember watching it and he paused it and pointed and was like “there i am”.

But even growing up with him i had felt like something was missing from my life.  At 18 years old, I had took it upon myself to find my biological father.  before that day, i had spoken to my dad and i remember telling  him that i was going to meet him and i hoped that he wouldn’t be mad at me.  And to this day, I remember him saying to me “bebe..you do what you have to do, you’re an adult now, and i love you no matter what you do”

So I met the man again.  And being in his house, I remember telling him about my dad.  and what a great job he did in raising me and my sister.  and that he never had to worry about us because we turned out pretty ok.  After a 15 year absence from my life, i got my closure and i went home..i went home to my dad.

“Curtain Call.”

Its almost that time.

This year has been a rough one.  Alot of ups and downs, highs and lows.  And now being just a few weeks away, I find myself reliving every moment that led up to the end of a really awesome life.  And every moment after.

I’m going through the motions.  The whole “let it out then let it go” mantra isn’t applying this time around.  Because with reliving loss you relive heartbreak, moments of anger, resentment, and bitterness that cant be let go of.  These aren’t the words of some make believe person that was manifested in a pixel universe, it’s not the words of a woman with shoulda coulda woulda wishes of changing things. That’s one of the things that some people couldn’t and most likely would never understand.  That this time around, the motions are those of Sabrina.  Sabrina The Wife, The Mother, The Sister, The Daughter, The Current and Former Friend.

People will not like what I write here, and honestly, I don’t really care.  Because its not for them or for You.  Its for Me.

My Way of dealing with my demons.  My Way of facing my ghosts.  For those that would be offended or insulted, two words:  Oh, Well.

Crime & Punishment

So the mantra for Sabreezy lately has been “Let it out, then let it go.”:

If some thing, or someone pisses me off, I’ll vent, smoke a cig and then not talk about it anymore..just add it to the list of that persons fuckups as a reminder why I shouldn’t bother with them in the first place.

Nothing new in Sabi’s world right?  

Well today is no different.  This past week has been an uphill ride of challenges and harsh realities; of overcoming obstacles and drawing the line in the sand to see who has the right to be called family and who gets their name with a line drawn through it rather than under it.

First off, I LOVE My Sister.  I love her courage, her perseverance, and her determination to be the best mother in the world regardless of what hurdles are thrown her way.  Since Our Father passed, we have both made the conscious effort to be involved in each others lives.  Did it take Him leaving this world for that to happen?  Yes, but I know in my gut that He would be smiling and relieved that we lean on each other now the way sisters are meant to.

And you would think, that positiveness would spread like candy cooties; that people would see the bond that we work  on and be like, “hey, I need to get in on that because it’s nothing but love there when you look at the core of it.”

You would THINK, right?

So lets yap a little bit about “the other one”, because this is the last time I’m even going to give her this kind of attention.

We had a talk a few days ago, because yet again, it was all about Her and Her “feelings”

“I feel like I’m being punished by you two because I still talk to Mom.”

“I’m mad at you because you didnt tag me in a picture of your son in facebook.”

and so on and so forth…

Mind you, this conversation happened AFTER she decided to post something on her facebook…because FB is all about moral vindication right?  That’s the solution to everybody’s problems right?  

“I am so tired of everybody BS. I believe I’m a good person and only have good intentions. I cannot do more than I can do right now. i do what i can to be there for some people and still not enough for them. I’m trying to live this life peacefully with the people i love. But I’m not here to please everybody and make them happy, im here for me and my daughter. If nobody likes the way I live MY LIFE then by all means take me off your FB list. I love my love ones but I’m not going to continue letting people treat me like crap because Im not living the way they think i should live.”

and of course, you get the responses from people who barely know you or know the situation:

“Way to stand up for yourself! : ) Those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind!!!!”

 “Tell them girl yea”

and this one i REALLY loved:

“Babe who cares what others think… you are who you are and that is a beautiful daughter and mother dont let others get to you ! You do you and let them do them . They dont like how you live your life they dont have to be a part of it.”

Well what a great idea.

Let me just set up the cross and you get right up on there because your life has SO much meaning and purpose.

Living life peacefully?..really?  That’s why you called our sister on her birthday and tried to make her feel like shit because she deserved to be treated royally and you weren’t included.  That’s why you easily blame her for “abandoning you” when she was FIFTEEN while you were out on the streets getting high.  That’s why you rant at her for not being included when we went on vacation and being, in your words “jealous and pissed off because you weren’t extended an invitation”

So tired of everybody’s BS: well how about I’m tired of yours?  This is the EXACT reason why I didn’t want you involved in my life or better yet, my children’s life in the first place?  Because its all fake.  Its all bullshit.  If I was quick to dismiss a nobody from mine and my children’s existence, what makes you think that I wont do it just as easily with my own blood?  No one is asking you to do anything, because frankly, you cant do shit in the first place.  Being the oldest sister, now all of a sudden you want to assume that role and demand respect?

No age, no bloodright, no title is going to demand shit.  Like anything else in life, you EARN what you think you’re entitled to.  And bonus, damaged goods sister of mine, You earned MY right to not have you involved in my life, my kids’ lives or anywhere near my perimeter of great things that happen and continue to happen.

Let it OUT.  Then let it go.

 

Memorial.

I dont remember how old I was, or how old He was at the time.  I know it was before I had my first son.  Maybe a year before or somewhere along those lines.  We were told to do a book report on war veterans.  So i figured, instead of writing about some war that I only read in books or looking up some soldier whose name I wouldn’t remember after the book report was turned in, I decided to sit with My Father in the kitchen and tell His story about his experience in the Korean War.

He was around 16 or 17 at the time.  He couldn’t recall the place where he was at, only that he was sleeping in a trench for days.  Talking to his buddies, the enemy lines not far from where they were.  He remembered getting up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom out in the woods.  He was gone from his spot for a while, probably about a half hour or so.   And then coming back to his post and falling asleep.  When He woke up, He turned over to his buddy, and saw the blood.  He turned him over and his throat had been slit.  He went over to the next soldier.  And the next one.  And the next one.  All around him, His comrades were dead.  Throats slit and He stayed in that trench for days, screaming.  His battalion found Him days later, unable to move or speak.  They took him back to the main camp and He couldn’t remember how long he had been there.  But this teenager, who went out there for whatever reason; to see the world, to kill people, to do something more than what he was doing back in the states, got more than what He bargained for.

My Father never really liked to talk about The War.  Too many bad memories of things he had done or seen.  Some things you cant really explain to a person, let alone a child who is sitting there asking all sorts of questions with a tape recorder in your face.

I remember one day we went to Battery Park to the memorial.  Throughout the day He was fine until he got to the site and then he just started weeping.  Another Veteran went up to Him, someone who never met My Father in His life, and just hugged him, rubbed his shoulders and kept saying “its ok, brother, its alright.”  Even then as a child I couldn’t understand why a complete stranger would comfort My Father and call Him Brother.  Now, all grown up and seeing wars plastered on the tv and in the newspaper, I understand to an extent:  Why there’s a need to have a Brother.  When you put your life in someone else’s hands, that unspeakable bond that happens when you share something that painful, that life changing.  Its a language that a civilian couldn’t possibly comprehend.

I’m not a fan of War.  I mean, who really is?  Except politicians of course but that’s a whole other post.  

Fathers, Mothers, Sons and Daughters..Sisters and Brothers:

I can never understand, but I am grateful that they would put their lives on the front lines so I can sit here and have an opinion.

I aced that book report, by the way.  

Fair Weathered Family

Yep I’m going there.

So I sat here over the weekend with a little lion on my mind.  My lil “mail-wailing” nephew who was having some yucky times in the hospital and it was definitely a nail biting 24 hours to say the least.  The most important thing is that hes okay and back to his hyper huggable self.  I definitely miss him.

So relief set in.  Which was unfortunately replaced by incredible bitter resentment.  There’s the part of me that always wants to do more.  Its those times when I do wish the teleport button was available in real life and I could swoop in and make things better (or worse) for the people that have made a scratch on the Bentley that is My Life.

So someone who is starting to become less and less of an importance in my life made it thier business not to show a genuine concern for their blood.  In a nutshell it was a write off of “dont call us, we’ll call you” type of thing where a  dick in the pants held a priority over just a few minutes of putting their needs aside for the concern of a young boy.

This is how I took it people.  

You would THINK, that this person who now has the privilege of being involved in this child’s life, that they would do everything they can to make the most of the opportunity.  Instead its brushed off, secondary, with a signature of “oh well, I’ll get back to you when I can.”

I’ve been on a roll lately of writing people off and I’m seriously that close to doing it again without a second thought.

What gets me even more tight is that this fool goes ahead and posts on FB about “how concerned they are and how they’re sending a prayer to their “poor little nephew”.

Fuck your prayers ok?

Fuck that phony bullshit because if you really cared, your man wouldn’t be a priority.  FB wouldn’t be your way of fishing for your friends to give you bullshit sympathy because you’re starved for attention.  If you were any kind of person, you would tell your man to hold the fuck up for 10 minutes, step away from the computer, pick up the phone and talk to your family who is in need of that support.

Zero tolerance.  

I’ve written off people with huge eye openers as the aftermath:  Family who don’t have a mind of their own and still think that they’re living in their high school eras where the world is a popularity contest.  Yea, you keep doing that while I’m enjoying the fruits of my labors and laughing at you in the same breath.  Pieces of shit who didn’t wait for My Fathers body to be cold because they wanted his big screen tv and that was the only way they would come over and offer condolences.  Ghetto ass welfare hustlers who can only make their living on their fucking back between their cellulite packed thighs.

I’d rather have an honest enemy than a fake friend.  I’d rather show love to the innocent than waste it on the tainted.

I’d rather people keep it real than pretend to care.

 I’d rather have a handful of family to say I love you than a group of broken people looking for a handout.

My Bentley is accessible to a selected few.  The rest get run over.  

And I dont give a fuck.

 

That being said,  Let it out, then let it go.