The more things change, the more they stay the same after all.

For all you non-literary types, that's from "A Separate Peace." Not to be confused with "The Catcher in the Rye." Similar character structure, totally different scenario. In a nutshell... in the first book, a guy lies about how his friend dies. In the second, the guy admits he lies all the time for no apparent reason. The same concept, but different perspectives. Crazy. Both stories remind me of when I was a kid. I got messed with all the time. No, really. ALL the time. I was one of those dumbass, gullible kids you could tell anything to and they would believe it. (funny, I don't think I've changed much...) To get me to take a nap, my mom would tell me that as soon as my "eyes fell asleep", I could come out and play. I bought it every single time. I remember having my grandfather tell me that chocolate milk came from brown cows. That ended up being my very first debate; I was in kindergarten, and my main argument was, "My Pappa wouldn't make that up!" Flash forward to the end of that day when I got home from school and told my mom (in absolute disgust) how the kids in school had the AUDACITY to say all cows make white milk. To which she replied, "Pappa made that up." Whaaaaat? Then there was the cold cement. We would sit on the cement steps leading up to the porch and Pappa would say, "Don't sit on the cold concrete like that! You'll get hemorroids like your grandmother!" Poor Gram... he blamed a lot on her. And then there was sugar. If we were eating too much candy, or licking our fingers and sticking them in the sugar bowl, we were told we couldn't have any more because "buggies will grow in your stomach." You know, I didn't realize that wasn't the truth until around 6th grade when we learned in health class about stomach acids and stuff. But... ...I also thought you could get pregnant from kissing a guy until I was about 15. Until then I hadn't planned on having kids and figured if I got married, I wouldn't kiss my new husband, I'd just shake his hand at the altar. Did I mention I believed in Santa Clause until I was 13? And I'm okay with that, because I'm pretty sure my sister figured it out only the year before (as I throw her under the bus with me...) AND....it just hit me this past holiday season that the song, "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause" was about the dad BEING Santa Clause! What the fudge!!! I never realized that the song was about Mom kissing Dad. Yeah, I'm an idiot. I admit it and I'm not ashamed. It's an ambiguous song. Sue me. Call me Forrest Gump, but I like that I can't sniff out bullshit from a mile away. I like that I get offended when I make eye contact in the supermarket and say "Hi!" and the other person doesn't respond. Where I come from, people say "Hey." We don't need to know each other. We don't care what kind of day you've had. You say "Hey" because, well, that's what we do. So that's my story and I'm sticking to it. I don't like liars, probably because I believe them. Where I come from, it's pretty simple: If you gotta lie about it, you shouldn't do it.

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." Robert Frost

Tomorrow will be the 1 year anniversary of when I got engaged. Ahhh, I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember studying for a test (I ended up failing), I remember my dad calling me an asshole...the memories. I will cherish them forever. Picture it: A long-haired brunette marries a bad boy. The vehicle for the wedding? A giant pick up truck. Her wedding ring: Platinum, of course. His? Steel. Country music was played at the reception. Their backstories: She was engaged once but broke it off. He had been married previously. She had dogs, he had kids.

The bride's thought on marriage? A quote direct from her: "I've always been very skeptical about marriage, because I only want to do it once; I want to do it the right way." Name that couple... Sandra Bullock and Jesse James. I know, I know, you were gonna say it was me (for the record, hers was a giant, red Monster truck; mine was my dad's big white Dodge Ram). But my point is this: She gave a guy the benefit of the doubt the rest of us didn't. Unfortunately, we were right. It does make me wonder, though, what kind of boyfriend he was? At the very least, we can assume he was a convincing "good" boyfriend. I bet he even provided the first toothbrush she left at his place (I'm guessing). The reason I bring this up is because my sister and I had a discussion about how I am the ultimate bad boyfriend. Okay, let me explain: As you all know, my sister lives in Arizona. The rest of us are in Pennsylvania. My mom goes out to visit at least quarterly and as a result, she ends up leaving personal items behind so she doesn't have to pack so much on her trips. Over the years it has graduated from a toothbrush to make-up, pajamas to regular clothes - pants, shirts, shoes...you name it. I live about 2 hours away from my folks. It is a comfortable distance. My sister asked me once how much crap my mom has left at my place. I thought about it and said, "Well...she left socks behind once and I gave them back." And that's when I realized there had been several times my mom left some things behind and I, in a completely oblivious move, made damn sure she got her things back. No pajamas, no socks...is that a brush? Not in my house! In my defense, I didn't realize what was going down. I thought I was doing a good thing by giving her stuff back. I mean, socks...how many pairs does one person have? Maybe she needed them! I don't want to be blamed for my own mother going sockless. And pajamas... really people, I thought she was being a smartass by leaving them in the hamper. Kinda like a 'Hey kid, now it's YOUR turn to wash MY pajamas for a change." So...uh, yeah, I think it's a safe assumption that if I'm a bad 'boyfriend' to my own mother, I would be a total douchebag to date (if I were a guy). Crazy.