A Room Full of People.

I've been watching Intervention for a couple of years now.

I've seen meth addicts run butt naked down the street, alcoholics sneak away from work to refuel at the liquor store, fathers passed out on the couch after a three-day coke binge while their babies play nearby. Even one girl who couldn't stop huffing Duster long enough to eat a meal with her mother.

I've seen it all - well most of it. All from the confines of my living room.

It's devastating. Sometimes funny, but largely devastating.

Families are literally destroyed by drugs everyday. People die. They go to jail. They sit in a room full of sisters and best friends and mothers and fathers that love them, and they laugh in their face. "I'm not going."

Usually, they do. Usually, they at least try. A lot of the times, they relapse and fail. They go back to drugs or alcohol, and they fail. But, you know, at least they try. And if they tried once, they'll probably try again.

But what about all those other people? The ones not in front of the camera. And the ones that just say no? What about the anorexic that cannot and will not admit she has a problem? What about the heroin addict that looks millions of people on the other end of the camera right in the eyes and says, "I'd rather be dead." What about them? What about their room full of people? What do they do?

I've lost people - some living and some dead - to drugs. Some who won't even admit they have a problem. Some who don't even know that I've given up on them.

It's devastating. Heartbreaking. Something I will never, ever get over.

There's a part of me that's still mad at Brooke for getting behind the wheel. A part of me that still can't forgive Zack for not asking for help. And there's a part of me that cannot and will not ever forgive ... him. Or her. I can't say it, but I know I mean it.

I will never forgive them, but I would sit in their room full of people any day of the week. And I will still love them like crazy even though they'll do the same things over again. That's the painful thing about the drugs, and the unforgettable thing about family.

Everyone does stupid shit at one point or another. It's whether you grow from it that counts. Whether you have that day where you wake up and say, "Enough." That's what really matters. That and how much love you give your room full of people back.

Up Your Dot Com.

Irony does not translate well on paper, a wise man once said.

I’m not quite sure who that wise man was, but I read that quote back when I was a journalism student. It resonated even then, even before I joined Myspace and Facebook. And even before I LinkedIn to the unforgiving cyber community.

You know, back before “paper” turned into walls and photo comments and status updates.

I don’t know if I’ve just been in a bitchy mood lately, or if I’ve just fallen victim to one too many Internet arguments. But irony has not been translating well for me. … Hell, it hasn’t been translating at all.

I swear, if one more person tries to tell me one of my photos is inappropriate or that I shouldn’t post so many of me in a bar, I’m going ape shit. I mean, seriously. I’ve literally left lunch with a person, only to return to my desk and find an e-mail in my inbox criticizing something I said or something I did. Something they didn’t have the courage to say when I was sitting right in front of them.

Grow some balls, asshole.

If I wanted to be philosophical, I’d probably ask what has made us as a society feel more comfortable clicking “Send” than picking up a phone. What has given us the courage to call someone out on their politically charged status updates (et al) but when confronted, just nod, smile and say, “Hmm-mmm, you’re right.”

That’s if I wanted to be philosophical. Right now though, I just want to bitch and maybe kick some ass.

I’ve just about had it with Facebook, Myspace, LinkedIn, Twitter, your blog, your mom and your face.

You can all take your Dot Coms, blogs, profiles, lists, bookmarks, private photo albums, status updates and videos and shove it up your asses for all I care. I don’t want you in my life.

That being said, if it’s all right with you, I’ll probably keep you on my Friends list. I’m a big fan of stalking.

Tale of a Tortoise Shell.

I went diving yesterday for the first time in two weekends. You could tell some of the fish were still hibernating somewhere distant, away from the potential destruction of typhoon season. The winds and the rain have scared most everything out of the water it seems.

On the day's second dive, the boat captain decided on a slow and easy drift dive, just outside Apra Harbor. They call it Vecky's Wall, and it's not a popular spot. Thank goodness.

Divers who truly love the water leave nothing but bubbles, and take nothing but pictures. Usually, that's me. But yesterday, on that second dive, as soon as I hit the water, I saw the most beautiful tortoise patterned shell I've ever seen. I mean, it was perfect.

No broken pieces, no barnacles, just a beautiful shell. One problem though - something was living inside of it. So, being the selfish person that I can often be, decided, what the hell, I'm taking it. Whatever is in it will probably die by the time I get home. Then I can set the shell on my window sill and enjoy it every day.

Wrong. It's not been more than 24 hours and the poor snail inside the shell is still living. I feel so barbaric, sitting around waiting for it to die. It's sitting in my sink, in what I'm sure it's figured out by now is it's above ground death bed.

Poor thing. Every once in awhile I'll peek at it. It must hear me coming because it sucks itself back into its beautiful shell every time I crane my neck to see.

I feel terrible. Next time, I'm only taking pictures.

Grudge.

I’ve have always had a knack for holding a grudge. And even when I didn’t care about the initial cause for the grudge anymore, I had a knack for upholding the principal of the thing.

Now I’m paying for it.

More than a year ago, I was close to two people who hurt me – bad. They hurt me more than I had ever been hurt by anyone before. And now, that I’m completely fulfilled in all other aspects of my life, more than I thought I deserved once upon a time, forgiving them is the only puzzle piece I can’t seem to fit in place.

Whoever said it’s easier to forgive than to forget only got half of it right. I wish it was easier for me to admit when I’m wrong, forgive who wronged me and just move on. … God, do I wish that.

I can’t, for the life of me, forget the pain those two people caused me. It was so intense I can still feel it sometimes. Literally like someone had taken a knife and thrust it through my chest … and then right as my knees gave out and I hit the ground, the other one thrust another in my back.

I know, it sounds dramatic. But at the time, it was.

I was so devastated then. For months, all I could think about was the pain that I felt. And in a city of over 8 million people, it seemed I could not get away from them. They were everywhere. And when they weren’t, I felt like they were just around the corner.

My life has since changed in so many ways it’s hard to even fathom it. It’s so much better than I thought I was destined for. I did not, EVER, think I could have the kind of love that I had always wanted.

And now it’s here. With me. Always.

My heart is full, except for the part that hasn’t fully forgiven these two people. I think that all this time I’ve convinced myself that they don’t matter, so I don’t have to forgive them.

Now I understand that I can’t really move on without forgiving. And it’s not possible to forget the pain they caused me without giving myself – and them – some sort of closure.

So, if you’re out there – I forgive you. And I wish you the same happiness that I have. Really. I do.

Bless my heart.

I woke up late this morning. Not that it was a bad start because the reason I overslept is a sweet one. Brent called at 4 a.m. just to tell me he was wide awake and all he could think of was me. It took me forever to go back to sleep, and when I finally did, it was deep enough to snooze right through the alarm.

By the time I got to work, my mental to-do list was as long as the 30-minute drive. I have a huge launch coming up for Shell – one that should take 6 months of preparation – and for some reason my client decided to tell me two weeks ago we were doing it by Oct. 1. Fantastic.

My boss is taking the opportunity to pile as much other shit on as possible, and it seems like the more I try, the harder it is to get anything done on Guam. There is no such thing as a deadline on an island. Where else in the world would it take two weeks to get a price estimate? Seriously.

There may be a silver lining to today though. After getting my car detailed yesterday, I’m just in time to show it to a potential buyer. Not that I don’t love my Altima, it’s just that I could get by much cheaper and just as good with a Guam bomb. Not that I even need one right now – I have Brent’s car to get me around.

Nate from Chalan Pago called me Monday night to set up a time. He was really interested in the car, asked all kinds of questions about it. Let me call to make sure we’re still on for my lunch break. Hi, is Nate there?

“Nate? What’s your relation to him?”
“Um, he called me about a car.”
“A car? Hold the line, please.”
“Hi, this is Nate.”
“Hi Nate. This is Amanda. Are we still on for 12:30?”
“Amanda who?”
“Uh, Amanda with the Altima.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Nate from Chalan Pago? At 688-0945?”
“Yeah, that’s me. But I didn’t call you about a car.”
“Uh, ok. Bye.”

Great. What the hell? Am I in the Twilight Zone? Well so much for getting my hopes up about that. I should have known. Last time Brent and I went to look at a car here, the guy showed up 2 hours late. No exaggeration. That’s Guam for you!

To-do list or no to-do list, I have to be home at 2:30 to meet the cable guy. My TV, phone and Internet (thank goodness for bundles!) have been out for nearly a week. And since I can’t do “all day appointments,” I had to reschedule for one during the work day. Before you ask, no, my bill isn’t overdue. For some reason, everything just shut off one day.

I walk in to the sound of rushing water. What the hell? The plumber just came to fix the toilet yesterday (after I had requested two weeks earlier he find out what was making it run constantly). What’s wrong now?

Oh, wow. Overflowing water in my bathroom. Great, the OFF nozzle isn’t turning it off. This is amazing. Landlord, water department, someone help!

“No worry, no worry, he on de way.” … Yeah, well, look lady, he’s been “on de way” for 45 MINUTES now and in the meantime, there’s an inch of water in my bedroom and it’s rushing into my closet. And now I’m crying. What do you mean the water department can’t help me? Do I look like a maintenance man! We pay an arm and a leg (literally!) for rent around here and that’s all you can tell me? He on de way?

Where the hell is Brent? This is a man’s job! Oh my god, I’m losing it. Great timing too! The plumber just pulled up. And only an hour too late!

Ring, ring. No worries, just my boss again to yell at me for something I had no control over. Oh wait, she hears that I’m sobbing uncontrollably and decides to give me a break. Silver lining on the horizon!

Only one solution - chocolate chip cookie dough. Yes, I did it. I made cookies just so I could dip into the dough. Damn, I feel better already. But I hear the gym calling ...

Wake Up.

Yeah, sure, so I can't sleep until 11 a.m. like some people. And most of the time, if I lay down for a nap, chances are I'm going to get antsy and get up to do the dishes or fold laundry after about 10 minutes.

So what? So I can't waste my days away sleeping. That doesn't mean that I don't hit the bed like a log at night, dream peaceful dreams and wake up all refreshed. Right?

Wrong.
So wrong.

I am officially an insomniac.
Or at least I have been for the past three weeks. It doesn't matter how tired I am, I'm up at 2:30 or 3 a.m., wondering what the hell I did wrong for God to suddenly stop letting me sleep through the night. I've never had this problem. Ever.

It's ridiculously frustrating, and I have a good idea why it's happening now.
King-sized beds are not meant to be slept in alone.

This deployment is affecting my sleep life, among other things.

The Proposal.

People are dying to know, and since I've already told the story a million and one times, I decided to write it down so I didn't have to tell it again. Not that I mind telling it. It's just that I think maybe I should have a written record of this sort of thing.

So, ever since I moved to Guam, my dear, dear boyfriend has said that he wanted to marry me "someday." He's spent MONTHS telling me how much he loves me, how he can't wait to spend forever with me and how one day we're probably going to have a daughter that'll give us as much hell as I gave my mom. He even asked about my ring size.

It got so bad, that one day I said, "Look, baby. I love you to death. And I can't wait to spend my life with you. But I'm not saying one more thing about a wedding or a marriage or kids until I have a ring on my finger."

And that was that. Almost.

Every once in awhile he'd slip up and say things like, "Where would you want to get married?" And so on and so forth. And every time, I'd just look away, smile and reply, "Not without a ring."
I knew something was up when he came back from San Diego on his work trip. He was cheesing so bad he could barely look at me when I ran up to him at the airport. ... That boy can't hide anything from me, I swear.

Well, from then on it was just a waiting game. I had assumed maybe he'd propose on our one-year anniversary (this upcoming weekend). But about a week before, on Thursday night, I got antsy. He brought up something along the lines of "Baby, when we have kids ..." and I just lost it.
"We're never gonna have kids! We're never gonna have kids because you're never gonna ask me to marry you! I know it! You're never gonna ask me!"

I was half laughing the entire time, but it must have been hormones or something because the other half of me was serious. He said, "Well, how do you know I haven't been carrying a ring around in my pocket this whole time just waiting for the right opportunity?"

"Come here!" I said.
So he did, and I patted down his pockets.
"See? I didn't think so!"

He just laughed at me, and we ended the conversation there. Everyone that knows me knows I'm impatient as hell. So I'm not even gonna try to make excuses for that one.

The next night, Friday, we were lounging around the house at about 7 p.m. We had planned on going out to meet friends, but we weren't in a hurry. He wanted to go out and eat, but I decided to cook tacos instead.

So there I was, in the kitchen chopping an onion when he comes up behind me.

"Put down the knife and turn around," he said.

"Baby, I'm doing something. Can't you see I'm trying to make you dinner?"

"Just do it!"

So I sighed, turned around and he met me with a big hug. "I'm gonna marry you some day," he said.

I kind of laughed and thought to myself, "Here we go again. Some day."
Then all of a sudden, he gets down on one knee and pops out a ring.

"Will you marry me?"

I was so shocked all I could do was look at him, look at the ring and say, "My gosh, baby! I'm cooking dinner!" He just smiled and said, "Well, is that a yes?"

"Well, of course it is! Yes! Yes!"

So, that's that. I'm finally engaged to the man of my dreams, and there's no way in hell I could be any happier. I think we've both known for a long, long time that we wanted to spend forever with each other. We were just playing the waiting game because it was what we were supposed to do.

Hope you enjoyed the story. If any of you know us, I'm sure you know that this proposal was better than any fancy dinner or any sunset surprise he could have thought up. It was just us. In our home. On the best Friday night of my life.

We'll let you know when we plan on getting hitched.
Love you all!
-The Future Mrs. Lawson