Goodbye.

I've spent a lot of time over the past few months writing letters to you in my head, thinking about all the things I've wanted to say to you, all the words I've longed to unleash like angry fists to beat against your skin and bruise you the way you've bruised me, deep inside, where no one else can see; but when it comes time to put the words down onto paper, they continually fail me.

I think it's because putting it on paper makes it real, somehow. I think it's because I knew that, if I put all in black and white, it would be so much more awful that it was in my head, and I wasn't sure if I was ready to face that realization.

I'm ready now.

I'm ready to tell you the truth; how the entirety of what we were, and what we were not, was all uncharted territory for me; difficult to navigate in itself, but rendered impossible by you and your rules and your temper and your impatience for everything that I, inherently, am. How I'm still not sure that I was ever anything more than just a convenience for you; someone to be there when you wanted to connect with someone, and to so easily ignore when you didn't.

That's not how it works with people, you know.

I realize now that I should have told you that. I still ache from all the bending and twisting it took to fit into the tiny, few-and-far-between compartments of your life, the brief moments that you were actually willing to share with me without anger between us, without frustration and timelines and deadlines and doubt and exhaustion between us, where it was just you and me and it was good. You blamed it on your job. I blame it on your inability - no, your unwillingness- to learn to adequately handle the stress that came with your job. You can't control your circumstances, but you can control how you react to them.

You can control how you treat the people around you, the people who care about you, when you're doing all that reacting.

I took it in stride, then; when you were angry, or stressed, or frustrated, so much more often than not, I would do everything within my power to try to ease your burden, to let you know that there was someone out there who cared. I never wanted to be your everything, but I did, at the very least, want to be your something. Something that made you smile. Something that made you laugh. Something that made your journey through the insanity of life just a tiny bit happier.

It made me feel like such a disappointment when I realized I never would be. It made me feel so small to finally realize that no matter how much I cared, it would never make a difference to you. It made me feel so inadequate to realize that you were so infuriatingly indifferent about the whole thing. God, I would have rather you hated me; at least that would have been some type of emotion. I think that's what hurt the most. Hearing about the beautiful women you knew and how wonderful they were; hearing about all the places you were planning to go and things you were planning to do without me. I wanted to be a part of your life, but it's clear now that there wasn't, and isn't, any room for me there.

And I think, what it really comes down to, is that I am so incredibly angry at myself for not walking away from you a long, long time ago.

I am most certainly not blameless in this situation, but this is not about me. This is about the way you shut me down every time I tried to communicate with you. You got angry at me, simply because I wanted to make sure we were being open and honest with each other. And so it got me thinking, since he obviously wanted out so bad, why didn't he just tell me? If he didn't feel the same way, why wouldn't he just tell me? Why wouldn't he have taken one of the many outs I had offered him? Was it really just about getting what he needed all along? No. He's not that cruel. Is he?

Is he?

And maybe you aren't. I don't want to believe that you could be, because what would that say about my judge of character? Maybe I was the stupid one, for not being able to take a hint, but shame on you for not being the bigger person when I was never anything but clear and honest with how I felt about you and what I wanted for us. Maybe there was something else going on with you that manifested itself in our relationship that I never understood. Whatever the case may be, even as I type this, I am weary of guessing. I am bone tired to the point of exhaustion, and I don't have any more to give you, friendship or otherwise. The only thing that I have left to say to you is this:

I can't. I can't, not anymore. I'm deeply, deeply hurt; after all the excuses I made and all the times I chose to believe the best in you even when you were showing me your very worst, all of it was for nothing. I guess maybe I thought that if I proved to you that you were worth loving, you would believe it, and you would be able to love me back.

Stupid, stupid me.

I waited for you for so long. For too long. You so very clearly never wanted to be with me, and that's okay. What's not okay is you blaming me for going out and dating other people and acting like I did it to spite you; what's not okay is you acting like I was the one who called it off and that I was the one leading YOU on. Fuck you for that. That's completely untrue, and beyond reproach, and you know it as well as I do. I can admit to my faults and mistakes. It's time you learned to admit to yours.

I love you. If I didn't, you wouldn't have been able to hurt me the way that you did, over and over, all this time. I love you, but I love myself more, and it's time to take care of me now. I wish you nothing but the best, and I hope that, someday, you find whatever it is that you're looking for.

Love,
GJ

A Very Special Friday Top Ten

... and I believe that time is now. 

As some of you may already know, I have a birthday looming. Next week Thursday, August 1st, I will be turning the big 3-0. While I have some mixed feelings about this, for the most part, I'm excited. I like to imagine that, when my birthday comes, I'll magically morph into this sophisticated and beautiful woman with an amazing job, a hot boyfriend, a great apartment, and a shit-ton of money. (Thank you, Thirteen Going on 30, for that incredibly unrealistic portrayal.)  However, deep down, I know that 30 won't be that much different than 29. I may not have spent the majority of my 20's slutting it up, doing drugs, and getting white-girl wasted at every possible opportunity, but I still feel like I had my fair share of moments, and - lucky you - I've decided to take a moment to reflect back on some of them before 30 claims me as it's own. So, get ready for the stupid, the ridiculous, and the downright illegal, folks, because shit's about to get real.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Top 10 Ridiculous/Stupid/Illegal Moments of the Past 29 Years 

The Ginger Jameson Edition 

10. When you've gotta go, you've gotta go.
Fairly recently, I peed in a bag, in my car, while I was driving, stuck in bumper to bumper traffic, and  not only did no one see me, but I also didn't spill a drop. "You did what???" Yeah, you heard me. That took mad skillz. I'm not even sure I could do it again if I tried. 

9. What's the opposite of cradle-robber?
At some point in the past 29 years, I slept with a grandfather. I'm not going to say any more about this, but in my defense, let me just say that he's a young grandfather, as in, under 46, so it's not that horrible. I mean, how many women in their 20's can say something like that? Yeah. Not many. I'm all about being unique. Get on my level. 

8. I do really stupid things when I'm drunk, or "I Just Wanna Live!"
I got completely hammered at a bar one night, and some of the guys I was with were going to Poto to gamble when the bar closed. I tried to do the responsible thing and went to stay at a friends house instead, but when I got there, I launched into a tirade, yelling things like, "I just wanna live! I just wanna party and not go to sleep and go to work still drunk the next day! I wanna do this!" So my sober friend drove me back to Poto just to shut me up, and when I got there, I felt so sick I couldn't get out of the car. She then drove me BACK to her place,where I puked in her bushes, passed out on her couch, and ended up having to call in sick to work the next day. Pretty damn classy.

7. I do really stupid things when I'm drunk, part 2. 
I got drunk for the first time in my life after my Senior year of high school when I was staying with some friends in Illinois. Too many Zimas with orange Jolly Ranchers put me over the edge; I climbed out of her pool, puked in her bushes (noticing a theme here?) walked in the house, and announced, "I just puked! Pour me some tequlia!" I then proceeded to black out for the first and only time ever, and during said blackout, I broke the door of her refrigerator trying to eat some pasta salad. I've been told that I demolished some cake as well, which I had figured, because I woke up with cake crumbs all over me and the floor that I had passed out on. That was a good night.

6.  The most hardcore case of the munchies ever recorded.
The statute of limitations has expired on this one so I can now share it publicly: one night, when we were feeling particularly scandalous and hungry, some friends and I raided the dumpsters and trucks of a certain chip company. We ended up filling my Mazda MPV to the brim with chips, cookies, and dip. The craziest thing about it all was the fact that I ended up taking a bunch of it home with me, and spouted some story to my parents that I don't even remember, and they believed me. The benefits of being a good kid in action, folks. Our basement shelves were full of delicious snacks for the next six months. Score.

5. What happens in the hot tub, stays in the hot tub.
I can't really say too much here because so many people were involved over the years, and I've been sworn to secrecy, so I'll break it down into mysterious words and sentence fragments. Booze. Nudity. Never Have I Ever. Truth or Dare. Hot Tub Olympics. All of this and more, wrapped up with a lot of  make-out sessions. The story that is repeated the most involves the night that we were all drunk, most of us 20 and therefore underage, and the booze was all over the kitchen table. My mom appeared in the doorway to the garage, and we all froze, sure we'd been caught.

"Ginger!" she yelled.
"Yeah?" I responded hesitantly.
"Can you let the dogs out?"
"Uh, sure, mom. I'll do it in a minute."
"Okay. You guys have fun." And with that, she went back up to bed.

I still can't believe I wasn't grounded for life. Again, the benefits of being a good kid. Man, do I miss that hot tub.

4. I <3 Phil Vassar
Nothing scandalous here, but Phil Vassar played a big part in the summers of my 20's. Some of my best memories are of spending the day at Summerfest with friends and family and then rocking out to Phil's concert, every year for the past 5-6 years. It's become a tradition, and one I wouldn't change for the world. I especially love the newly added addition of the hours spent playing Asshole while drinking "crotch vodka" and lemonade. What's "crotch vodka", you ask? Long story, but a good one. Maybe I'll share it someday. :)

3. Slippery When Wet
Once upon a time, some friends and I went to lunch at a quaint little restaurant in the quaint little town that I grew up in. There was a cute little bridge there that led you over a small little pebble-filled... river?... into the restaurant. It was really too small to be a river. More like a man-made trickle of water that was created for only for the sake of ambiance, but that's not the point. The point is that, on said bridge, there was a warning sign that said simply, "Caution: Slippery When Wet".

You know where this is going, don't you.

8 hours and some crafty work with a power drill later, under the cover of night, I made that sign mine. It was proudly displayed on my wall for years. No idea where it is now, actually. God, my perverted sense of humor really leads me to do some stupid things.

2. The Night I (Almost) Got Arrested
It was my friend's 21st birthday. I was 19. My friends were buying me drinks. We'd chosen a hole in the wall bar to avoid the exact situation that ended up playing out. The cops showed up. I attempted to nonchalantly walk to the restroom to hide. They saw me, and called me out. So, I did what had worked for me up until that point: I played the good girl. I did exactly as they said and kept my mouth shut, while the other underager there ran her mouth at them. One of the officers put me in the back of the cop car and when he pulled out of the parking space, I swear to God, I had a small heart attack. But, instead of taking me to the station, he pulled over to the front door of the bar, gave me a breathalyzer, gave me a lecture, and then told me that my friends and I had 5 minutes to get out of the bar, or he was writing us all tickets.

I've never moved so fast in my life.

Although, I'm pretty sure the cop got the last laugh here, because I didn't even attempt to drink in public again until I turned 21.

And last, but certainly not least,

1. 2708 Drinking Club
Senior year of college was arguably the best year of my 20's, thanks to these guys. We were a group of friends who spent more time at their apartment than in class, drinking beer and participating in the most ridiculous of shenanigans. There was the night where Chase* disappeared and ended up six miles from the apartment with no idea how he'd gotten there, and then walked home on the coldest night of the year, and we had to warm him up with blankets, heating pads and hot chocolate so he didn't end up losing any fingers or toes.

And the night where I was walking back from the bar with Jim* and Paul*, and one of them ran their mouth to some other people and we ended up getting jumped; I called Chase instead of the Police for help, and then couldn't figure out where we were. Arguably the best part of that story was when we took Jim to the hospital, and he told the doctors that the girls volleyball team had beat him up.

Or the night that Jim passed out and peed in Chase's bed, and Paul spiked a frozen bag of corn, which promptly burst and scattered all over the apartment. I'm pretty sure that Chase still was finding corn all over the place weeks later.

I learned the Perfect Cast from A Goofy Movie with these guys, my own, personal, protective big brothers, and, in exchange, I was the perfect wing-woman whenever they needed it. They would bring me Gatorade and hangover food when I had to work the day after one of our particularly epic nights, and I would ply them with free coffee in exchange. We had a great thing going, and above and beyond that, we shared a love of good movies and booze and fun. Although we don't see each other much anymore, I still love them all dearly. My college experience would have sucked without them.

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent 


So yeah. I think I've done my fair share of living up until now, so 30? Bring it on. Besides, I'm pretty confident that my 30's will bring their own brand of crazy, cuz that's just the kind of girl I am. I think the kids these days were onto something with that YOLO bullshit, so yeah. Live it up, darlings.

YOLO. :)