So Happy I Could Die

In October 2008, I went to the New Kids on the Block Reunion concert at Madison Square Garden. Listed as the opening acts were Natasha Beddingfield, of into theme to "The Hills" fame, and someone calling herself "Lady Gaga". When she hit the stage in an all white ensemble and long platinum blond wig with half naked men writhing around to house music, literally everyone in the 20,000 seat venue went "Who's this bitch?" I thought maybe she was some kind of Euro-pop star that was just starting to get big over here in the U.S. so I Googled her on my Blackberry. Turns out she was just some broad from Yonkers. The last song she played sounded familiar - it was "Just Dance" and Z-100 had just started playing it recently. I went, "Hey, I know this song. I like this song." Of course, my Main Gay already was all over the Lady Gaga thing, raving about how great she was, so I downloaded her album. It was fun, quirky dance music. I remember listening it to as I walked from the train to my job the next week on a brisk, November morning and instantly, I was on Team Gaga.  Before she had 6 million followers on Twitter, I remember clicking on that button to follow her when she had roughly 150,000 followers - and imagine my surprise when a few days later, I received an email telling me that Lady Gaga was following ME on Twitter now too!

"Just Dance" soon took over the radio and the rest of her pop anthems slowly crept over the rest of society, with "Poker Face" became musical crack-cocaine, the stuttering and catchy lyrics getting stuck in everyone's heads. By Spring 2009, Gaga-Fever had swept the nation; Gaga's crazy outfits and antics were getting the attention of everyone from Toledo to Tokyo. She graced the cover of Rolling Stone magazine in an outfit made entirely of bubbles. Her video for "Paparazzi" (with the oh-so-yummy Alexander Skarsgaard from 'True Blood') garnered so much attention that when she performed it live at the VMAs, in a show where Kanye West snatched a mic from Taylor Swift, Gaga doubled up and "hung" herself from the ceiling of Radio City Music Hall, dripping in fake blood, it was one of the most EPIC performances ever to grace the stage. (Unfortunately, because of Kanye's antics, the proposed tour with him and Lady Gaga was canceled. It would have been one of the best tours ever I believe.) I even dressed up as Lady Gaga for Halloween in a lavender bodysuit, blond wig complete with hairbow and hula hoops around my body ala the promotional pictures for her upcoming tour, "The Monster Ball" and I came in 2nd place in a Karaoke contest for singing "Poker Face".

And so, with the release of her 2nd album, The Fame Monster, Gaga-mania was in full effect. She was everywhere. She was Marching for Gay Rights, she was collaborating with Beyonce, she was meeting the Queen of England, she was opening the Grammys with Elton John in another EPIC performance that brought tears to my eyes and she was touring non-stop all over the globe, selling out every show in every city, bringing much joy to the masses and much money into the pockets of scalpers who could get away with charging whatever they wanted in the midst of Gaga-fever.

As the Monster Ball made its way around the globe, I tried from January to July, desperately trying to get tickets for her shows in NYC - both mine and Lady Gaga's hometowns... Turns out, she wasn't from Yonkers after all. She was from NYC, born and raised, and dispelled the myth of her birth as the "worst rumor she had ever heard about herself" on Jay Leno's show. Even when I was in Japan in the spring and Gaga was doing 4 shows in Kobe and Yokohama, I still couldn't get tickets.... Until this week that is.

Lady Gaga was doing a 2 night stint here in Philadelphia. I looked on Stubhub, Ebay and Craigslist, desperately trying to find a decent price for a single ticket. People wanted $150-$200 for obscured view, club box and even nosebleed tickets. I wasn't willing to settle. I kept looking. And to my luck, there was one posting that read "1 Lady Gaga Ticket 9/15 - $95" and I checked it out. A girl was selling her FLOOR ticket at almost half the price as people wanted for seats! I quickly emailed her asking if it was still available, and it was. I told her I'd meet her the next day, cash in hand. At 12:35 the next afternoon, I had procured my ticket and had the biggest smile on my face for the rest of the day.

I rushed home and amended my Halloween costume from last year, included a leather jacket and some ankle boots and using a LOT of Aquanet and bobby pins, rolled my hair up in some soda cans like in the "Telephone" video. I set out for the venue and proudly strutted my way to the entrance to the floor, got a beer, and found my spot for the show. When the lights dimmed and the music started pumping, my heart started beating and with those opening notes to "Dance in the Dark", the crowd went wild and I was transported on the 2 hour journey that was the Monster Ball. I cheered and put my paws up. I laughed at her jokes. I screamed when she said scream and jumped when she said jump. I cried when she emerged from the stage wearing a movable piece of art and fashion she calls "The Living Dress" and performed my favorite song, "So Happy I could Die" - a platform elevating her high above the crowd and I looked up as tears streamed down my face, ruining my mascara. At that moment, I was truly so happy I could have died. And when she came out for her final encore, those unmistakable notes of "Bad Romance", the crowd went wild and moved in unison as one giant Little Monster.

That night, I came to see what all the fuss about her live shows has been about: Her vision is truly remarkable and can be seen in every detail in her show from the sets to the lighting to the costumes to the interludes. She is beautiful, intelligent, talented and has an amazing voice. She speaks her mind. She loves one and all unconditionally and holds no judgment. Everything she does is for her fans and completely selfless. She tells her fans to love themselves and be who they are and to not be afraid, because she will be there for them. She has given me hope and strength in myself through her music and her persona, making me feel empowered and beautiful.

I grew up hating my big Italian nose, but thanks to Lady Gaga, who is also a beautiful, big nosed Italian girl, I just now at 26 years old have grown to love how I look and embrace it as part of who I am.Your flaws are not flaws at all; they are what makes you who you are, they make you beautiful and you were BORN THAT WAY.

Lady Gaga is loved, hated, revered, abhorred, idolized, feared and celebrated the world over. She is only 24 years old and already a force to be reckoned with. I can't wait to see what is next to come from this amazing woman in the years to come, but I can't even begin to imagine how she will top herself next.

Always Remember, Never Forget

Nine years ago today, my life and the entire world as we knew it, changed forever.

September 11, 2001.

I was but a week away from starting my Freshman year of college in Boston. I had planned on spending the remaining days before I left enjoying my freedom and taking in the sights of my beloved New York City. My parents had just gone down to the World Trade Center the weekend before to see some cruise ships that had come in. They walked through the lobby of WTC 1 and thought to themselves, Wow, we've lived here our whole lives and never been to the top. Should we go now? Nah, it'll still be here another day. So, my ex-boyfriend and I had made a plan that we would wake up early, take the train into Manhattan, and spend the whole day doing fun, touristy things.

Thankfully , I hit my snooze alarm at 7 am.

My mom woke me up at a quarter to 9. Her voice emanating from the bottom of the stairs, "Come downstairs - you have to see this!" What the hell dumb shit on Regis & Kelly was she trying to show me now? I looked at the TV and she told me, "A plane just flew into one of the Twin Towers." As I stood there, watching this burning building, the news was interviewing a woman who was out on her porch when she saw the plane strike the building. My mother and I pondered what had happened - maybe the pilot had a heart attack? As we listened to her recap and watched this building burn, a giant fireball erupted on the screen; What at first seemed like an instant reply soon was soon determined to be a second plane, as the woman who was on the phone with the news yelled, "Another plane just hit! Another plane just hit the 2nd World Trade Center!" My mother and I looked at each other and now we knew: our nation was under attack.

I immediately called my boyfriend on his cell phone. No answer. I moved on to his house phone, SCREAMING into the answer machine: "PICK UP THE PHONE!" He finally answered, drowsily asking me what was wrong. "TURN ON THE TV RIGHT NOW! TWO PLANES JUST HIT THE TWIN TOWERS!" ....... "Oh Fuck!"

My father and my aunt both worked in Manhattan. My dad, directly across from Madison Square Garden. My aunt, but a few short steps from the Empire State Building. My Grandma, mother to both of them, unable to get in touch with each other her children due to the congested phone lines in NYC, called my mother hysterical. No, we hadn't heard from my dad. We had been trying to call his job and got nothing but busy signals, too. I sat on my couch watching these two landmark buildings, the icons of my city, burn before my very eyes. Thirty minutes later, word came that another plane had hit the Pentagon in Washington DC. My best friend had just moved down there for college - and that set off even more panic in my mind. And 30 minutes later, another plane crashed in the middle of western Pennsylvania. It seemed that there was no end in sight.

I sat on my couch clutching a stuffed animal and watching the news while at almost 10 AM, a giant boom! and then a rumbling occurred in the background as all news stations were broadcasting and a giant cloud erupted across the screen, chasing a mass of firefighters who had stationed themselves on the street near the World Trade Center. Watching those brave men run, as they had no clue what was going on, was even more terrifying than anyone would have imagined. When the smoke cleared, we all saw what we had feared: The south tower, WTC 2, had collapsed into a pile of ash. And then, another mere 30 minutes later, just as the camera cut back to the fiery scene, WTC 1 - with it's iconic antennae held high - came plummeting down, imploding upon itself into the rubble.  The Twin Towers were no more.

I cried and cried and sat in fear, awaiting more horrible attacks and bad news. But finally, it seemed as though everything had come to an end. All I could hear outside my window were fire trucks, ambulances, police cars - All the local and volunteer corps had been called down to assist in the city. But my father was still missing. I knew our Credit Union was located in the lobby of Tower 1. Could my dad have gone down there to make a deposit today and gotten trapped? Would I ever see him again? Who knew? My Grandmother called to tell us that my Aunt had gotten a ride home from her boss, but still no word from my father.

Finally, at around 1:30 in the afternoon, the front door to my house opened and there stood my dad. I ran to him and hugged him for what seemed like an eternity. He had had to walk from 33rd and 8th to 42nd st/Grand Central - where they were evacuating the building when he got there. From there, he walked all the way to Harlem, 125th street and luckily caught the last train that was running out of Manhattan for the day. And he made his way home. I was never happier to see my dad in my entire life.

But now my city was in ruins - a gaping hole left in its beautiful skyline and thousands of brave citizens and unsuspecting people lost and dead in this vicious attack. And I had to go away to college in just a few short days. How could I leave now when my city needed me most? We drove up to Boston and no planes were flying in the air. It was the creepiest, most solemn sight I had ever seen. I had heard horror stories of people jumping out of windows, body parts falling from buildings, limbs being collected by the Sanitation department in giant dumpster trucks, but not being reported in the media. I sat in Freshman Comp & Lit staring out at Boston's Prudential building thinking, "What if a plane just flew into that right now? Then what?"

.........

Nine years later, the world around me has changed so much. Where a once angered nation sought to seek justice for the horrendous terrorist attacks against the "Camel Jockeys" and "Towel Heads", a now tired nation seeks to end a senseless war that has amounted to just as many unjustified deaths as that fateful day 9 years ago. We suffered through 8 years of an incompetent man's presidency, laden with corruption and conspiracy theories. We elected our first Black president, whose term is already tainted with criticism and racism from a nation of people who are supposed to be one of the most open minded in the world. There is still a hole where those 2 almighty buildings used to stand, but we are slowly rebuilding, making ourselves stronger than ever before. But we still suffer from an insensible hatred towards a religion in which only a small percentage of their followers, extremists,  have destroyed any hope for a peaceful unity with our citizens.

Can there ever truly be peace or justice for those victims of September 11? Maybe not. But we will never forget those who risked their lives on that fateful day nine years ago. The acts of courage and selflessness that occurred by all involved will always be remembered. And as two beams of light illuminate the Manhattan skyline this night, I will remember the prayers I said then for all the people inside and continue to say to this very day and every year on the 11th day of September.

Always Remember, Never Forget.

The Walking Idiom

I am not holding my breath anymore. I am taking all my eggs out of this basket.

I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.

I am tired of waiting.

I used to think it was worth it - but where does waiting ever get you? It makes you paranoid that the second you stop waiting, the thing that you were waiting for will finally happen - and so you keep waiting indefinitely.

I am done putting myself out there for him, for you, for everyone. I am done being the one who cares enough to try to make plans with people or send messages or to just plain care and get nothing in return. Am I too available? Maybe. Maybe that's what makes my frustration so much more difficult. It is like the whole world is going on around me and I am just there standing still. I try to make plans with friends for drinks, dinner, vacations - and even the simplest things never come to fruition. I hate that I am always so ready to go that extra mile for everyone in my life, but I don't get the same respect in return.

Why is no one calling me or emailing me or bending over backwards to visit me or make plans with me or be an active presence in my life? Then I wind up feeling like if I am being too pro-active or too "in touch", that I am being too clingy or too dependent or too available - And all these new forms of technology that have supposed to improve our lines of communication just make it easier to be ignored, to fall under the radar, to get sorted into the "SPAM" box.

So I will just sit here and not expect your IMs or your emails or your texts or your Facebook messages or your letters or care packages or e-vites. I am done stressing myself out with all this waiting. I am walking away from this bus stop of my life - because if I get a head start,  I'll already be halfway there when you finally decide to show up.

Epilogue

A friend of mine told me today that my blog has run out of "scandeelous" stories to keep him entertained and that my blog has gotten "too serious". But alas, we can't all be young and reckless forever.

This first book of my life is coming to an end. My Scandeelous Life was a beautiful disaster - something that a quiet, straight-edge girl in High School could never have dreamed of in a million years. I have been half way around the world and back twice and seen and done some crazy things, felt amazing highs and horrifying lows, and gotten in and out of all kinds of trouble. I had my hay-day throughout college and my 20s of all night partying, drug experimentation, casual sex, girl-on-girl encounters, rollercoaster relationships. And as much as I would love to go back and relive all those amazing adventures, road trips, weekends staying out from Friday night until Sunday afternoon, going to work on 3 hours of sleep or still drunk, mornings-after nursing horrendous hangovers and trying to piece together parts of drunken, blacked out nights, I just have one thing to say:

You have to grow up sometime.

The Pursuit of Happiness

I am in a funk. A horrible, never-ending, unchanging funk. I am discontent with my current life and the direction in which it appears to be going. I am frustrated by my living arrangments, my current position of employment and my romantic situation. While I know that better things are on the horizon, it is the getting there that is frustrating me the most. Everything will change come springtime. And by this time next year, hopefully I will finally have found the balance of all things that are messing up the Feng Shui of my life.

I know that people sometimes have a tendency to view different points of their life as different chapters. Well, right now, my life feels like those last 50 pages of a really intense book where you are at the Climax and just want to know what the hell happens at the end already! I don't want to write another chapter to this current version of my life; I want to start over. To write the sequel to the first book of my life and the spin-off to this sort of short novella the past year of my life has been comprised of. I thought that the plotline was perfect when I took off from Connecticut and moved to Pennsylvania last year, but clearly, it just didn't generate that much interest and quickly fell off the Best Seller list.

I am struggling to find my place in the world, struggling to gain footing on which I can find solid ground. I want to be able to start a career in a field that I love, doing something exciting and amazing, where I can only go up and grow and learn, instead of stagnating and simply shifting sideways. I want to live in a city that I can embrace and call my own, that loves me back with the same voracity that I have come to love it over the course of my entire existence; That I can wake up in the morning and feel proud to call home and where the smile never comes off my face as I walk its streets. And I want that perfect boy - who suits me in so many ways, ways that I have been looking for my whole life over, who completes me and understands me like no one else, who matches me like for like, whose soul sings the harmony with my lead vocals - to come back and be my partner in life and never be ordinary and grow old with me.

When all these three things finally align themselves in my life, home, career and love, it will be like sitting behind a slot machine in Vegas, putting in your last quarter, pulling the handle, and seeing three "7"s pop up on the screen. I'll have won the jackpot and then I couldn't ask for anything more.

.......But until then, I'll just keep trying to breaking even.

The Fear

If you've been following me for a while, you know I am ridiculously terrified of marriage , attempting to date in a city that really doesn't cater to women who enjoy the romantic companionship of straight men, and have lifelong trust and commitment issues thanks to the three & 1/2 years of my life I wasted dating and co-habiting with the World's Biggest Asshole. To be quite honest, as much as I hope to one day find someone who's presence doesn't repulse me and that I can have meaningful conversations and amazing sex with, I am staunchly terrified of having an actual relationship. But between all the fights and breakups and cheating and failed marriages that you see amongst your friends, colleagues and stars of the Silver Screen, is it any wonder that I'm having trouble finding faith in the success and stability of human relationships?

I read an article in a recent issue of Philadelphia Magazine which attributed having kids early on in your marriage as one of the major causes of divorce. Now, I don't want children to begin with, but could they honestly be serious about this?? Almost everyone that I knew and grew up with, their parents either got married because they got pregnant or waited a few years before they had kids. And there really wasn't any difference in the amount of couples who got divorced in my eyes. From the "getting married to make an honest woman out of her" to the "college sweethearts who got married and then had their first kid a few years after getting their Masters degrees" - both of these types of couplings led to divorce. So why would anyone use their children as a scapegoat for their own relationship problems? Clearly there are people out there in all kinds of situations who have married and had children at all stages of life and not divorced. Is this type of behavior somehow becoming more prevalent due to the decade and the state of economy that we're in? Perhaps.

I wrote my Senior thesis in college about the societal constraints that are put on women in order to get married, have kids and be successful - all in one shot; The whole "Superwoman" persona - saving your company's largest accounts by day and still having dinner on the table by 6 and tucking the kids into bed at night. But surely, more men are also playing the "mom" role these days too? Is this perhaps emasculating men who were raised to believe that the husband should be the breadwinner? Maybe it is that men can't swallow their pride in these situations that is creating a rift between husbands and wives. But what about stay-at home mothers who still find themselves on the outs with their supposedly doting 'heads of the household'? Ok, yes, things change dramatically when you incorporate kids into your marriage. It is no longer "You and Me" but "and Baby makes 3"; Maybe sometimes people are having children and aren't completely ready to accept this as a fact of life yet. But again, that in no way dictates that children are causing divorces - it just means that people are having kids before they are emotionally ready, because they think that is what society expects of them. That once you are married and settled into your new home, the next thing to come should be the pitter-patter of tiny feet. (and not of the four-legged variety)

Obviously, there is no dictating how relationships will turn out. There is no road map to life that can be purchased and help you learn the lay of the land. Unexpected things can happen around every turn; cheating, unemployment, death. No one truly gets that Fairy Tale ending. And I guess that's what scares me so much - that there is no way to tell how things will turn out. No one expects to be in a relationship for 10 years that never goes anywhere, or to live with someone who lies, cheats and steals (or even, to be that person who lies, cheats and steals). No one gets married with the anticipation of one day getting divorced. No one expects to have to figure out what they will do with their lives when their partner dies and because, since the State does not recognize their Union, they are not entitled to the benefits their partner has left behind.

And so, as much as I would love to be in a relationship, this fear still haunts me. We all have expectations and hopes for future romantic couplings. We want our mates to be these perfect matches, these puzzle pieces that fit perfectly into our lives. We hope for unending sophisticated conversation and superb sexual compatibility. You hate to think that you will ever get mad at one another, fight with the other, break that person's trust. You do not want to be betrayed by someone that you let into your life, your heart, your soul - that you give all your  love to. And also, you do not want to commit the same atrocities to that other person who becomes your other half. What if I just can't do it? What if I just can't learn how to compromise my own stubborn sensibilities and I drive this person out of my life because I am too thick-headed to learn that a relationship is a two way street? What if I am too clingy or jealous or cumbersome? The thought of failure consumes me.

This is why my pseudo-relationship with Emmett has worked so well so far. We have never lived within close proximity of each other for anything to be considered remotely serious. Every encounter between us has always been light, fun and breezy, almost as if we are just test driving it before we commit to signing the lease. There are no strings or promises to each other - as much as I wish at the end of the day that there were - and maybe in a way, that is also scary as well. Here I am, pining over this man like a pair of expensive pants in a store window that I keep going in to try on, but don't know that I can ever bring myself to purchase. Even though they fit like a glove and make my ass look amazing and would go with everything in my wardrobe, they are always just out of reach. Maybe I will see them again one day on clearance and consider them a little bit longer.

But what happens when I finally buy them and bring them home? Will they have the same allure in my bedroom as they did in the dressing room? Was it all just lights and trickery in those store mirrors, as I try to replicate the same tantalizing appearance in my cheap $10.99 IKEA wall mirror at home? And after trying those pants on with an insurmountable number of tank tops, button downs and cardigans, will they just wind up in the back of my closet with the tags still on, never to be seen again? If this relationship ever really becomes real, will I be as ready and emotionally available as I make myself out to be in my head? Or will I struggle to find the receipt in my bag to take it back to the store?

Such foolish desires. Damn these wild young hearts.

Bridging the Gap

I'm an only child. Growing up, this meant I spent a lot of time playing board games by myself or reading as opposed to fighting with siblings over the last cookie or our parents' affection. But just because I was an only child, that didn't mean I didn't have sisters.

Kaylie and I met when we were 7 at summer camp, but our friendship didn't really start blooming until the summer we were 13. I was already friends with two other girls, Emily & Ashlee - who were cousins - and Kaylie became the fourth to our group in our pre-teen years. We spent all our camp periods talking about boys and sitting on the blacktop wall, acting too cool to play tennis or box ball or any of the other pre-arranged camp activities. Once we moved on to become counselors, Kaylie and I spent more of our time together, running the same activities together (Arts and Crafts, Cooking and Game Room), making runs to Mcdonalds for lunch on Wednesdays (Ravioli day = YUCK!) and volunteering for the same field trips. (Bronx Zoo!) She'd pick me up in the mornings and we'd go home together after camp, plotting what to do for the night - which usually involved going to the mall, the movies, local neighborhood festivals or to clubs and bars.

During the school year, we would hang out as well. She introduced me to all her friends in the Bronx and all her new friends when she moved to Westchester. We got into all kinds of trouble going to raves and participating in all types of underage drinking and mayhem. When we finally graduated high school, she came to visit me at college in Boston and then, when I moved back home, we were inseparable again. I was always down for whatever and became her sidekick for all kinds of misadventures like late night diner runs, playing open hockey with the Men's league or mani/pedis. Kaylie was like a streetlight and everyone who crossed her path became a moth, gravitating towards her presence. She was beautiful and sassy, modeling one moment and beating up anyone who talked smack the next. Guys wanted to date her and girls hated her guts. She knew what she wanted and she knew how to get it and wouldn't take no for an answer. She always told it like it was and wasn't afraid to let anyone know her opinion. I loved being around her because everyone else wanted to be around her too. She helped me find a confidence in myself that I never knew I had before - channeling my inner Bronx, talking tough and walking pretty.

When I first met my asshole ex  and introduced him to Kaylie, I knew she was going to hate him. He was loud, obnoxious, and almost like a male version of her the way he was never afraid to speak his mind. She was never shy about telling me how she didn't like him. I just wanted them to get along, but of course, that was never going to happen. He didn't like her either because she didn't like him, and so he never wanted me hanging out with her. I'd have to lie to both of them all the time and it was agonizing to be torn between two very important people in my life. Once things started getting bad in our relationship, I tried to hide everything from her. She wasn't the only one: I was alienating myself from other friends and even from my own family as well, putting on a happy face and smiling through the pain. All that confidence I had from hanging out with her had been stolen away by him and I didn't know how to get it back. I knew I couldn't tell her what he was doing to me because frankly, she would have killed him. And I was already afraid of him and didn't know what to do. And so, I did the worst possible thing you could ever possibly do to someone: I stopped talking to her for absolutely no reason. I cancelled plans. I didn't answer texts or phone calls or emails. I distanced myself from her because I didn't want her to see the way my life with him was spiraling out of control. Because of this, I lost a big part of my life. Kaylie was truly like the sister I had never had. She had two brothers and so it was like I was her sister too. I know that I really hurt her and I felt horrible for doing what I did, but I wasn't sure how to make it right. Even after my relationship with that shithead ended, I didn't know how to fix it - the damage was done, the bridge burning behind me.

Recently, thanks to the power of Facebook, Kaylie and I exchanged a few pleasantries via comments. We were both living in PA now so we shared our frustrations over the DMV system here or apartment/house hunting. So much time had passed though and I missed out on big parts of her life in the past 3 & 1/2 years: her engagement, her wedding, her graduation from Nursing school. This past weekend, she invited me and our mutual friend, Gigi to a Luau party at her Husband's firehouse and I was nervous; Would we be able to bridge the gap? Was it going to be tense or awkward? And even though she invited me, would she even talk to me? Should I take her aside and try to talk to her or apologize? I wasn't sure what to do.

At first, it was a little bit nerve wracking - Gigi and I showed up and she hugged Kaylie and everyone else there that she knew from her time living down there with her. And I just kind of stood there like, "oh hi." The three of us sat together, both Kaylie and I kind of turned away from each other - hiding our glances behind big sunglasses and letting Gigi basically lead the conversation. As the night wore on, we started to get more comfortable. I had to use the bathroom and I asked Gigi to come with me, but she wound up talking to someone else and Kaylie was like, "Well, now you know she's never gonna shut up!" and took me inside to go pee. I lightheartedly made a comment about how Gigi had been driving me nuts before she even go there and she joked back saying, "Yeah, she tends to do that." (Which we both are very familiar with in dealing with her when we were growing up.) Finally, the night was ending and we were bringing up old stories and the three of us headed to Kaylie's house, staying up late and talking - just like old times.

In the morning, I got up and went to get some water out of the fridge. Kaylie had some cards and pictures on them: party invites, save the dates, baby announcements, wedding pictures... And then, in a small square frame, there was a picture of her and me. It was taken in my college dorm room one weekend when she had come to visit. I looked around to see if she had any other pictures of her and friends on it, but that was the only one. I smiled and started to tear up a little bit. That's when it really hit me how much of an asshole I had been. I guess I never knew that I meant as much to her and she had meant to me. And I was just happy that she didn't hate me after all.

Gigi, Kaylie and I went to breakfast and when we came back to get my car, the two of us hugged goodbye and she thanked me for coming. I told her I was glad that she invited me. Hanging out with her made living in PA for the day just a little bit more enjoyable. It made it feel like my old life, made it feel like home. Hopefully this means that we will see each other more and hang out more, that I can start feeling like the old me again after all these years, and that someday soon, we'll be able to put this fire out together.

Which is great, because I really missed my sister.