One year ago today, I woke up at 5 am, turned on my phone, checked my voicemail, and discovered I was officially an orphan. As I think about it today, I realize that it wasn't just the loss of my dad that devastated me, but the feeling that I suddenly lost both of my parents all over again. While the last several years of their life, I wasn't super close, and in fact, hadn't lived with them since I was 11, I still miss them--- and it's still really hard.
So, on the anniversary of their deaths (March 18 & October 5), I try to think about some of the more positive experiences that I had with my parents.
- When I was a small child, people would ask where I got my dark eyes, and I said that my dad bought them for me.
- My mom bought me and two friends matching outfits, and let us use her stereo and back porch to create a dance to "My Boyfriends Back." She encouraged us to practice our dance; we won 1st place in our age group in grade school; we won 3rd place in the older age group-- and then we practiced all summer and got 2nd place in the "big" talent show at the Cherry River Festival. We were in 2nd grade. And we were awesome.
- My dad always took my side. I remember my mom put food on my plate one day, and I refused to eat with because some food touched the other-- and my mom said, "it all goes to the same place," and I replied, "But I don't have taste buds there." My dad laughed, didn't make me eat it, and said, "She's got a point, Lorrie."
- My dad would let me read to him all the time. I loved opening mail, and reading to him. He would tell me how proud he was of me, and encouraged me to do well in school.
- My dad bought my brother a gun once, and then got another just like it that he planned to trade. When I saw it, I was ecstatic, because he bought it for me (even though I NEVER played with guns). I was like 5 years old. He didn't have the heart to trade it, and instead kept it until I was older and asked me if it was okay for him to give away.
- When my dad's parental rights were terminated, my mom let him come visit my brother and I; I was really upset about this-- and she ended up losing her rights over it, but looking back, while I still don't agree with what she did, I understand that she really loved my dad and brother-- and really wanted to go back to the happy family that once was.
- I ask myself a lot of questions about things I could have done differently-- but none of it really matters now. I've learned just to always try to be as nice as you can to people; even those that drive you crazy... and cherish those who care for you, even if you think you don't care about them. Guilt is a terrible weight to carry-- and can be suffocating...
So, for today's song:
When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.
And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree,
there will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer. let it be.
Let it be, let it be, ...
And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
There are certainly differences between growing up in rural West Virginia, and currently living in Pittsburgh. One benefit to living in Camden-On-Gauley, West Virginia is plenty of parking. When I lived with my parents in Camden, we had a huge front yard.... And a lot of that area was graveled so that there was a ton of places to park. That was beneficial, seeing as how there were always a ton of people coming and going from our house, buying drugs.
When people did come to buy drugs, they often ran in to other buddies or friends. It was like having every night being a high school party-- and my parents were the cool successful dealers whose house was always the center of the party. One day, one man, we'll call him "Gilbert" happened to run into a friend, left with the friend, and left his car in our driveway.
Typically, this wouldn't be a problem. However, this man had parked in front of our garage. We didn't really ever keep cars in there, but we'd keep our four-wheelers, and when my dad and his friends would illegally kill deer in the summer, that's where they would hang and gut them. Also, I don't think my dad was crazy about Gilbert... otherwise, the ending may have been a bit different.
After a night of Gilbert's car sitting in front of our garage, my dad called him and told him he needed to come get his car. Gilbert, according to my dad, was all, "yeah, yeah, sure Randy, I'll be over to get it later today."
He never came. The next day, my dad called and told him again-- adding this time that if he didn't come get his car, my dad would give the car to my brother.
My dad gave Gilbert another day.
The next day, the man called our house, and I answered the phone. All of dad's friends knew me.
"Hey, Lizabeth," he said, "Where's your dad?"
"He's outside," I replied.
"Is he busy?" he asked.
"Hold on," I replied, as I set the phone down. I ran outside, yelled and asked my dad if he wanted to talk to him. My dad said no, and to tell him that he warned him.
I picked the phone back up. "Um, he's outside cutting the top off your car."
"What?" he asks with a nervous laugh. "Really Liz, where is he?"
"He's outside cutting the top off your car. He's going to give to Joey."
"Oh, shit."
Outside my dad had the blowtorch fired up--cutting around the windows. The old car had been transformed into a topless old car. My dad then pulled the wires out from under the dash, and pretty soon, the car was on. (Btw, how does one learn to hotwire a car?)
When Gilbert finally did show up, my brother was driving the car around the yard, and all the druggies were standing in the driveway laughing at the eight-year-old driving around the yard. My grandmother was standing at her back door, shouting at my dad, as my brother narrowly missed her home. His head was barely over the steering wheel, and all you could see was his giant smile.
Gilbert almost started to cry, and my dad just put his giant hand on the his shoulder, and said, "I told you I was going to give it to my son."
It was 1989 my thoughts were short my hair was long Caught somewhere between a boy and man, She was 17 and she was far from in-between It was summer-time in Northern Michigan
Splashing through the sand-bar, talking by the camp fire, It's the simple things in life like when and where We didn't have no internet but man I never will forget The way the moon light shined upon her hair
And, we were trying different things we were smoking funny things Making love out by the lake to our favorite song Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Catching walleye from the dock watching the waves roll off the rocks She'll forever hold a spot inside my soul We blister in the sun we couldn't wait for night to come To hit that saving place of rock and roll
While, we were trying different things we were smoking funny things Making love out by the lake to our favorite song Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Now nothing seems as strange as when the leaves begin to change Or how we thought those days would never end Sometimes I hear that song and I start to sing along And think, Man I'd love to see that girl again
And, we were trying different things we were smoking funny things Making love out by the lake to our favorite song Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
We were trying different things we were smoking funny things Making love out by the lake to our favorite song Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
The day started out strange enough. Though I can't remember the specifics, what I do remember is my dad spending the day with my brother and me. Dad often stayed at home, and let my mom do all the grocery shopping, taking us to the doctor, etc. We had a pretty stereotypical set-up when it came to raising children, which is why my dad taking us out was such a big deal.
I remember he took us to Summersville, where we ate at McDonalds. Afterwards, we got ice cream from Dairy Queen, and he took us to Summersville Lake. I can't remember what we talked about or even what we did. I just remember feeling so happy that my dad was spending time with us. My dad was always my favorite, and I'd like to think I was always his. I couldn't wait to get home, though, and tell my mom what a wonderful day I'd had.
However, when we got home, my mom was not there. I went to my grandmother's to find her, but my grandmother said she had borrowed the car to pick us up. I knew my mom knew we were with my dad, and even then, at only around nine years old, I knew this was bad news. I started calling all of my aunts and uncles asking if they had seen my mother. My dad didn't seem concerned.
I remember I was frantically worried about where she was, demanding to my father that we find her, while he smoked pot in the living room of our home with his friends. He told me not to worry, be quiet, and go to my room. Despite my dad's size (350+ lb), and generally scary appearance, he didn't scare me, and I wouldn't let this go.
Again, at nine years old, my dad said to me, "Liz, your mom cheats on me. She's probably with another guy right now."
I was devastated. I screamed at him that he was lying. She was probably hurt--in a car accident-- maybe she was in a hospital. She would never do something like that to him. She couldn't do that to us.
He responded with specific examples, "Liz, I walked in on her on the couch with Ronnie, kissing him. She said she got lost."
I couldn't believe what he was saying. I just became more hysterical. I knew my mom couldn't do this. She was my mom. She wasn't capable of doing those things. They were my parents; they were still perfect. I couldn't understand...
He said, "Liz, she's probably at a bar with another guy. You need to just go get ready for school."
After enough crying and fighting, my dad decided to prove it.
I got my brother, and we climbed into the truck. I was still convinced that she had been in some kind of accident. Driving from Camden to Craigsville, I watched over the hill looking for tire tracks. We drove towards Richwood, and as my dad turned into a bar to turn around, our headlights shined into the windshield of my grandmother's car, where my mom was engaged in a deep kiss with a man who often bought drugs from my father.
My dad was infuriated. He jumped out of the truck, and punched through the passenger side window where the man was. He started cursing, trying to fight the man, and then crying asking my mom why. My mom was drunk. The man ran out of the vehicle, and over a hill into the woods. I stood, staring and crying. My brother, only seven, was crying and punched the gutter. My dad actually dented the gutter with his fist. He kept asking my mom why? Why, Lorrie, why?
She pulled out of the parking lot, while my dad screamed something like, "Yeah, go get your fucking boyfriend."
I thought my dad would kill that man, and I felt so guilty for calling my dad a liar. I kept saying I'm sorry. I remember looking at the speedometer and seeing the needle race past the 100 mph mark, and to the 110. The song Just Died in Your Arms tonight was on the radio was on. It was years before I could hear that song without feeling like I was going to vomit.
That night, my dad took my brother and I back to my grandmother's house. She put us in the back bedroom, and told us to go to sleep. Even then, despite having the exact same experience, we were unable to comfort each other. I remember saying, "I love you, Joey" and he replied, "I love you, too, sissy." I don't think either of us slept that night--and knowing that we loved each other didn't make anything better.
My mom called and I talked to her. I can't remember why I wasn't mad. I think it's because I was so scared. She told me that she was in a safe place, and that she would talk to me soon. She said that my dad just needed to calm down.
It was shortly after that when my mom checked herself into rehab for the first time. It was the next day that my teacher, Mrs. Leslie, hugged me during a bathroom break, and said, "I heard you had a rough night, Sweetie. It will get better."
I hope she knows how much that meant.
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
I keep looking for something I can't get
Broken hearts, they're all around me
And I don't see an easier way, to get out of this
Her diary sits by the bedside table
The curtains are closed, the cat's in the cradle
Who would have thought that a boy like me could come to this
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been some kind of kiss
I should have walked away
I should have walked away
Is there any just cause for feeling like this?
On the surface I'm a name on a list
I try to be discreet, but then blow it again
I've lost and found it's my final mistake
She's loving by proxy, no give and all take
'Cause I've been thrilled to fantasy, one too many times
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been some kind of kiss
I should have walked away
I should have walked away
It was a long hot night, she made it easy
She made it feel right
But now it's over, the moment has gone
I followed my hands to my head, I know I was wrong
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been some kind of kiss
I should have walked away
I should have walked away
My brother, Joe, and I always had an intense sibling rivalry, but at age nine nothing got under my skin like him daring me to race him on a bicycle. He had dared me in front of Ricky and Scotty, our neighbors, to race him down a hill behind our house, making me look like a chicken. I told him simply that I couldn’t race him because it wasn’t fair. He had been practicing, and I hadn’t had a chance. I told him that of course, I wasn’t scared. Tomorrow, I said, tomorrow, we would race, and I would show him.
That evening he went with the neighbors to baseball practice, as he did every evening, giving me two solid hours to conquer that hill on my pink princess bike. I told myself that I would make it down that hill, and become so confident that I would blow him away the following day.
The hill in question was just to the right of my house. My dad had a logging business, and we had 16 acres of mountainous land. Of course, as soon as we moved, my dad logged behind our house, giving my brother and I several trails to walk, play or ride one of our many recreational vehicles—and not to mention practically paying for itself. Living in the heart of West Virginia, it was only appropriate that most of the roads and trails were both steep and curvy. The path my brother wanted to race down was no different.
In my first run, I didn’t go to the point where my brother and I would start our race. I knew better. I didn’t even go half way. I went about a quarter of the way up, then rode to the bottom, holding my brakes all the way down.
My second time, I decided to do the same distance, only a little easier on the brakes. Going about a quarter up the path again, I release the brakes, and rode freely down the hill. The wind was in my face, and the crisp spring air gave me hope that I could conquer this mountain.
I then got ambitious. This was not going to be nearly as horrid as I had originally thought. I could go all the way to the top of this hill. My brother was going to eat his words. Ricky and Scotty were going to see that this was something that I could finally be as good—if not better than my filthy brother. As I walked my bike to the top of the hill, I could hear victory in my mind. It would be the proudest moment of my life: the moment I was better than Joey in something that wasn’t academic.
At this point in my dad’s career, things weren’t exactly how one might imagine a logging business. He was successful. He employed five guys, and owned several pieces of heavy machinery. Sometimes, in between logging jobs, he would bring home bulldozers or skidders and let us play on them—or put me, Joey, Rick and Scott in the bucket and drive us around the yard.
Life was good—so good that it allowed him to pick up a second business on the side. The second business was that of a drug dealer. This was the business my dad was looking to expand. He decided that the best way to do it was to begin growing our own marijuana plants at home.
My dad is the kind of person that always has people that owe him a favor. So, when he asked a friend to get him some fertilizer, the friend delivered.
When one is growing pot, there are certain appearances that one should uphold. In other words, we had to start a garden. That’s what we told people when they asked what the big pile of shit was doing in our yard, anyways. That’s right, an entire dump truck full of cow manure and compost had planted itself in our yard just down from the hill where my brother and I would be racing.
I stood straddled over my pink princess bike, knowing that this ride was going to be the one that changed my life. I didn’t even need to do it—it was only going to boost my confidence. I put my feet on the pedals, and prepared for the ride of my life…
The bike started moving too fast. Before I knew it, I felt like I was going faster than most cars go. I kept slamming my feet backwards, beginning to panic. My brakes weren’t working. The further I went, the faster the bike would go. I knew that I was going to wreck, and didn’t know how long it would take for someone to find me. I knew in my nine-year-old mind, this was going to be how I died. People would blame Joey for my death. Had he not dared me to race him down that hill, I would have never practiced, and my brakes would not have went out, and I would not have crashed into a tree—or the driveway of gravels, and died.
As I got to the bottom of the hill, I saw my salvation. I couldn’t get my brakes to work, and if going down a hill would make me go faster, then going up a hill, might bring me go a stop.
The pile of manure looked ten feet tall. My bike raced forward, and I thought if I slowed down enough, I could just lean it over on top and walk down the mountain of shit. This entire time, though, my feet were planted firmly back in the brake position.
I made it down the hill, and started up the heap. I wasn’t slowing down as I thought I would be. Perhaps after making it up this small hill, I would still die. I feared that if my bike didn’t slow down, I would only pick up momentum going down the other side.
Miraculously, on top of the hill, my brakes started working again. This blessing led to an unfortunate series of events. Having my feet in a rigor mortis state in a backwards position didn’t allow for a slow and subtle slowing. Instead, it allowed me to flip over the handlebars of my pretty pink princess bike, landing face first, full body in the swell of shit.
I never raced my brother.
Bicycle bicycle bicycle I want to ride my bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle I want to ride my bike I want to ride my bicycle I want to ride it where I like
You say black I say white You say bark I say bite You say shark I say hey man Jaws was never my scene And I don't like Star Wars You say Rolls I say Royce You say God give me a choice You say Lord I say Christ I don't believe in Peter Pan Frankenstein or Superman All I wanna do is
Bicycle bicycle bicycle I want to ride my bicycle bicycle bicycle I want to ride my bicycle I want to ride my bike I want to ride my bicycle I want to ride my
Bicycle races are coming your way So forget all your duties oh yeah Fat bottomed girls they'll be riding today So look out for those beauties oh yeah On your marks get set go Bicycle race bicycle race bicycle race
Bicycle bicycle bicycle I want to ride my bicycle bicycle Bicycle bicycle bicycle Bicycle race
You say coke I say caine You say John I say Wayne Hot dog I say cool it man I don't wanna be the President of America You say smile I say cheese Cartier I say please Income tax I say Jesus I don't wanna be a candidate for Vietnam or Watergate Cause all I wanna do is
Bicycle bicycle bicycle I want to ride my bicycle bicycle bicycle I want to ride my bicycle I want to ride my bike I want to ride my bicycle I want to ride it where I like
My brother has attempted to call me about six times this weekend. For those of you who don't know me, my brother was arrested sometime last fall for a plethora of charges. I have to admit that I do value family, but I think I value friendship more. The combination of the two makes it a special kind of bond-- and I'm thankful for my family that I also consider friends. However, I don't think that just being family should entitle you to anything more, and the fact of the matter is that my brother and I hadn't really talked in several years until our parents passed away. He's looking for someone to lean on, and I don't want to be that person.
I understand that "I'm all he has left," but I also know that we haven't built a relationship of trust. When I was 15, and he was 13/14, he moved out and we've never lived together--or really talked since. He blamed me for my family's problems--mainly because he didn't see the lifestyle of drug dealing and drug doing as a problem. He steals, he lies, and he cheats-- and I don't want someone like that in my life. And besides, I have to pay like three bucks to talk to him for 15 minutes. Why would I pay to awkwardly try to fill 15 minutes of time?
He's burned a lot of bridges, and I know that very few people have accepted his calls-- and I do feel incredibly guilty for not accepting them-- but it tears me apart. And I don't want to feel that.
And on Memorial Day, I don't want to focus on the bad. I want to remember good times-- summer times, and when things were good with my parents and brother. And for period, I think of Nickelback's This Afternoon.
There was one summer when my dad's logging business was doing extremely well. Additionally, his 'side business' of dealing drugs was also going well. There were always people at our house, and kids for my brother and I to play with. I had friends named Felicia and Dawn, and we spent days at each other's houses-- riding bikes, making up dances, playing in the woods, etc. My brother spent most of his time playing with the neighbor boys. Their parents considered him one of their own. They signed him up for baseball, took him to practice, and sending him home was the worst possible punishment was to send him home.
That summer, my dad had told us about these caves up on the Ridge, and I became completely obsessed with seeing them. He promised me that he would take me before the end of the summer, and as school inched closer, I thought he was going to forget... and I wasn't about to let that happen. With our living room full of people, passing around a joint, I marched in, and asked my dad when we were going. He laughed that wonderful laugh, and said, "later, sis"
Later was unacceptable. Despite being about 9 or 10 years old, and really knowing better, I decided to take action. I told everyone to leave, and started throwing a tantrum that would embarrass even the most shameless person. My dad, even though pissed, could never really be mad AT me, told me to go get my brother, and told my mom to pack a lunch. My mom hated that I always got what I wanted from my dad, but what can I say? I was the favorite.
We took our two ATV's, my mom and brother on one, and my dad and I on the other, and headed up the road. I remember on the way there, we had to make a pit stop because my dad lost a bag of pot. If you think Where's Waldo is hard, you should try finding a bag of green pot in a heavily wooded area. I was still pouting because this was delaying my trip, but I kicked around some leaves, and tried to help. My brother, of course, would be the hero that found it, and promptly put us back on track to finding the caves.
I've learned now that my parents, and more specifically my mom, made up a lot of crap that wasn't true and told us. I would be mad, but looking back, it was really funny. I hope that if I ever accidentally have kids, I can think of fun lies to tell them, too. On this particular day, my mom told me that the drawings on the side of the walls in the caves were done by Native Americans "many many moons ago." She and my dad then sent us into the cave to try to figure out what it said.
Now, I can't disprove what she said, but I believe it was probably something that she and her stoner friends probably drew when they were in high school--if there was really anything in there at all. My brother and I got our flashlights out, and started crawling back through the caves. As soon as I could no longer see the entrance, I started to cry and want out... I think I remember my parents being a little mad, but I also realize what a brat I was being. I had thrown a fit to go, then didn't go into the caves, and complained when my brother took too long to explore.
We spent the rest of the day together, driving around on fourwheelers, and enjoying a beautiful summer day in the mountains of WV. This is probably one of my favorite memories-- and when driving around in mountains and smelling the scent of woods makes me think of it... While there were a lot of drugs that summer, I was safe, my parents weren't fighting, and there were always fun things to do... It really was a summer full of them partying, selling and doing drugs, while my brother and I did pretty much whatever we wanted. No rules, no worries, and enjoying the afternoon.
Lookin' like another Bob Marley day
Hittin' from the bong like a diesel train
And I'm down with hangin' out this afternoon
We've got weeds in the backyard 4 feet tall
Cheech and Chong prob'ly woulda' smoked 'em all
So I'm out on the couch this afternoon
Beer bottles layin' on the kitchen floor
If we take 'em all back we can buy some more
So I doubt we'll go without this afternoon
You better hang on if you're taggin' along
Cause we'll be doin this 'till 6 in the mornin'
Nothin' wrong with goin' all night long
Tough to put the brakes on,
Doesn't matter when you'd rather
Get up, and go out
Me and all my friends
We drink up, We fall down
And then we do it all again
Just sittin around, hangin out this afternoon
Landlord said I should buy a tent
But he can kiss my ass cause I payed the rent
So I doubt he'll kick me out this afternoon
Down on the corner in a seedy bar
Juke box crankin' out the CCR
Had a few to Suzy Q this afternoon
Don't wanna wristwatch or an alarm clock
To see what time it is
From the moment I wake up
I just love being with my friends
We barely get by, but have the best times
And hope it never ends
We drink all day till we fall down
So we can do it all again
It's not the human walk
It's the human race
If you aint livin on the edge
You're takin' too much space
So I doubt I'll figure out
Just what to do
'Bout to kick it around
Hangin out this afternoon
Get up, and go out
Me and all my friends
We drink up, we fall down
And then we do it all again
Just kickin' around, hangin out this afternoon
Sittin around hangin out this afternoon
Just kickin' around, hangin out this afternoon
Just sittin around hangin out this afternoon
Just kickin' around, hangin out this afternoon
Just sittin around hangin out this afternoon
My friend, Emmy, has inspired me to start blogging again... And, I think I'm going to change my focus to Soundtrack of my Life. I've always wondered, if there was a movie made about me, what songs would be on the soundtrack?
So, I'm giving myself a little assignment to pick songs, and why I would want them to be in the soundtrack of my life, what period they stood for-- or what I'll hope they'll be. Now, don't judge the music. I know, I know, I have terrible taste. But I like it.
A lot has happened to me in my life; I wrecked a car when I was three or four into our landlord's house; my parents started their own business, then got heavily into drug dealing; I testified against them in court; I was placed in foster care; I got an amazing scholarship to go to an amazing school; I went to England and Australia; I was student body president and General Manager for the radio station; my senior year, my mom passed away ; I graduated, moved to Pittsburgh for a wonderful job, and less than seven months later--and 20 days before my 23rd birthday, my dad died in a house fire .
Since then, my brother's been arrested, I was accepted to grad school, was offered an amazing assistantship, and am now planning to move again. I sometimes feel like the luckiest girl to have all these opportunities, and other times, it's overwhelmingly depressing to think of all the terrible things that have happened. They say that writing is great therapy, and my best friend's mom, who is like a mom to me, insists that I can help people with my story. I don't know if that's true, but here it goes.
Opening credits: MGMT's Time to Pretend
I found this song with Pandora. I imagine a flashback-- starting where the story ends and going backwards-- and moving back toward the start... moving from cities to towns, and through my various ages... with highlights...
I'm feeling rough, I'm feeling raw, I'm in the prime of my life.
Let's make some music, make some money, find some models for wives.
I'll move to Paris, shoot some heroin, and fuck with the stars.
You man the island and the cocaine and the elegant cars.
This is our decision, to live fast and die young.
We've got the vision, now let's have some fun.
Yeah, it's overwhelming, but what else can we do.
Get jobs in offices, and wake up for the morning commute.
Forget about our mothers and our friends
We're fated to pretend
To pretend
We're fated to pretend
To pretend
I'll miss the playgrounds and the animals and digging up worms
I'll miss the comfort of my mother and the weight of the world
I'll miss my sister, miss my father, miss my dog and my home
Yeah, I'll miss the boredom and the freedom and the time spent alone.
There's really nothing, nothing we can do
Love must be forgotten, life can always start up anew.
The models will have children, we'll get a divorce
We'll find some more models, everything must run it's course.
We'll choke on our vomit and that will be the end
We were fated to pretend
To pretend
We're fated to pretend
To pretend
- My dad always took my side. I remember my mom put food on my plate one day, and I refused to eat with because some food touched the other-- and my mom said, "it all goes to the same place," and I replied, "But I don't have taste buds there." My dad laughed, didn't make me eat it, and said, "She's got a point, Lorrie."
