Well, I thought it would be a good time to post something new
since I have recently been falsely diagnosed with PTSD and bipolar disorder. It
really sent me into a fucking depression for a few days there. I was going to
sign up for disability and start collecting my checks. I felt like a fucking
crazy person. Not that people can’t function with those disorders, but damn, I
can barely function as it is, so that was like way too much for me to handle.
Plus, this so-called psychiatrist, who turns out to be nothing more than an
ARNP, prescribed me gabapentin, which made me fucking insane for a few weeks,
but then, after I complained about the gabapentin, she wanted to put me on
Lamectyl, one of the two main drugs for bipolar disorder! And I am NOT bipolar!
I might be a nut—I might pull out my hair, chew on my lips and fingers, and have
an immense capacity for self-loathing, but I assure you, I am not bipolar. I
should be so lucky as to enjoy manic episodes of overwhelming self-esteem and
delusions of grandeur. No, lucky me, I suffer from pure MD….Major Depression.
Yes, that’s right, it’s the depression part of bipolar without the fun part (the
part that keeps people from wanting to take their meds). Yeah, woohoo, yay, me!
I have regular-ass old depression. Old school, writer shit. Typical Jew shit. Go
figure, big fucking surprise. So I can’t get a real job, or a real life, I’m stuck here in my dad’s house, a thirty-one year-old chick, with a less than part-time job, and a desire to
become a “published author” one day, when I’m the only one (and occasionally my
therapist) who reads my blog. I drank nearly an entire bottle of wine and then
silently snuck into my dad’s bathroom and found a bottle of benzos from 1996.
Will they still work? I took four. We’ll see. I also binged on peanut butter and
various sugary substances for the first time in a long time. I’ve been doing
good, in fact, I weighed myself today and I was down to 115.6, the lowest weight
I have been in over a year. But I probably sabotaged that tonight since I ate
almost 3000 calories in one sitting just a little while ago. I am such an idiot
some times. Do I want to sabotage myself? I don’t know, maybe. My ex called me a
few days ago for the first time in months. I didn’t even know he had my phone
number. It pissed me off. I told him to never call me again and I hung up on
him. But still, it fucked me up. I told him, “Well, I hope YOU feel better,
because I don’t. You think you can just call me up and apologize and tell me
about your life and whatever, and I’m gonna be OK with that. Well, I’m not. I
was fine already and I planned to never talk to you again. So I hope YOU feel
better, because I don’t. I feel worse. I’m gonna go now. Don’t ever call me
again.” And then I hung up. It felt scary to officially and finally take my
power back, but it felt good, too. He knew I meant it. He didn’t call again.
That was it—he knew I was serious. He knew I meant it when I said “never call me
again.” And he knew I meant it because it’s the truth. I never for the rest of
my life have any need or desire to talk to that asshole ever again. He’s put me
and HAM and our relationship through hell and he has absolutely nothing to offer. I
don’t need him to write my memoir. All I need is MY story, MY memories—not his.
If he wants to write a memoir, then he can go right ahead, but this one is mine
and I know enough about him and the rest of the losers of my past to write my
story, I want to call is something like, “My Life Through You”, or “Chameleon:
  The Story of the Girl Who Changed for Him”, or “UFO: Unidentified Female Object”.
Maybe the last one is best. I’d like to keep my misery lighthearted. Seriously,
  though, if you can’t laugh at your own life, you have no business laughing at
  anyone else. And, sorry, but that just won’t work for me. I need to laugh at
  all of us—we’re all fools. Even the smart ones.

Just wondering, do I look fat or ugly? Because HAM hardly ever wants to fuck me anymore. I have to put my hair in pigtails and do my makeup perfect and dress up in slutty clothes and get him drunk before he wants to fuck me. That's too much work. Why can't he just think I'm cute because he loves me? Why do I have to do so much shit just to get some? It's not that I don't like doing all that - it's fun most of the time, but I don't like feeling like I have to do those things to get his attention. Every night, before I even try, he's like, "Damn, I am so tired. I just wanna pass out." So, I can't even try to fuck him at that point. I really don't want to be one of those girls who ends up chasing some poor, undesiring man around the house. I don't wanna be Peg Bundy. And I don't wanna me single forever. I want to get married. And I may or may not want to have a baby. Not that I'm into the idea of child-rearing, but I am into the idea of having someone to take care of me when I'm old. I'm tired of having a really great friend that I sleep next to and spend all my time with - I mean, I like those things, I'm not tired of it, I just want to be desired, and I feel like I'm not and I can't talk to him about it and it sucks. I miss us fucking every night. Now I'm lucky if I get it twice a week, or once a week, and then he has to have a few beers first. It seems like every time we've fucked in the last couple months, it has been after some drinks. It's really stupid. It hurts my feelings and makes me feel like there's something wrong with me. It makes me want to cry. And I have been doing so well on this diet, too! I eat salad every day at lunch, and vegetables and lentils for dinner. I don't eat sugar or anything bad for me. Not even any gluten. My carb intake is way down. I am looking pretty good these days. But I am too poor to get my hair done and nails done, and I guess he needs all that shit, plus lingerie, to have any desire for me. That's what's lame about dating a young guy. He's so superficial. I've rarely had this much trouble getting sex out of my own boyfriend. I feel totally unattractive. The last time I had this much trouble getting sex out of my own boyfriend was when I was in a relationship with a gay guy. I know HAM's not gay, so that means he just doesn't want to fuck me. And like I said, that hurts my feelings a lot. At least I have shit to focus on now, like this memoir writing class and studying for the LSAT. Yeah, I said the LSAT. BG's latest plan is to be an animal rights lawyer. Let's see how long this plan lasts. If I could bet myself, I'd bet until my next period, so about three weeks. I am so tired of giving up on shit, it gets really exhausting. I just want to stick with something. And FUCK I want to move out of my dad's house. And it seems like I will be stuck here forever. I have no money, my hours are getting cut at work, there are no job prospects out there, and everything just sucks my imaginary balls. Oh, and I have folliculitis, so I have to take long-term antibiotics and I can't shave, can't even trim, you know where. Just one more thing to turn HAM off. Great. His birthday is in two days and I'm giving him a $200 gift certificate from me to redeem for tattoo work. I am such an awesome girlfriend and yet I feel neglected sexually. He is still present in other ways, and still sweet, but he just doesn't want to fuck me. I hate it. I think I really need that to feel attractive and loved. I feel like he doesn't really want to be with me if he doesn't want to fuck me. Sorry for saying fuck so much, but we don't make love - we only did that when we were both high on opiates. It turns out that what people say when they are on opiates is all bullshit. So all the "I want to be with you forever" shit is just that - shit. It's meaningless and I didn't realize that until I read "Scar Tissue", Anthony Keidis' memoir. He was a total junkie and he mentioned all the bullshit love talk people spout when they're high on opiates. I am such a fool sometimes. I actually believed everything he said. But it's obviously bullshit because he NEVER says it now. Who knows if he even wants to marry me one day. If one day, then why not at least make plans now? Why not ask me now and then it will happen "one day". But he won't do that, NO, because he doesn't even want to marry me. He doesn't know what he wants. Maybe he wants a place to stay, a ride, I don't know. Maybe he loves me. But I don't think he has any intention of being with me forever. It was just something he said when he was high. 

Well I haven't written for the last couple days because I feel like I have nothing to say. I am close to my period and not sleeping well, and of course I am hungrier than usual. Today I ate an ice cream cone with two scoops of ice cream and it was fantastic. I caught up with pretty much my only friend - PH, my old AA sponsor. She's recently separated from her husband has moved into a condo in Juanita, or is in the process of moving. I offered to help her but she said she might just invite me over as a guest, not to help her move. I told her that I'm not sober anymore and of course, she didn't judge me or try to change me, which is why we've always had such a good relationship. She just offered an ear if I ever need to talk to someone or if I am concerned about it and need someone to talk to. It's a pretty wierd thing, to go from having almost four years clean to drinking wine and smoking weed again. I can't say that I feel great about it, but I don't feel like shit either. So far it has had little to no impact on my life, and I think that's about as much space as those things should ever take up in a person's life. Before I got sober and went to AA, I let it run my life. All my decisions were based on drugs and alcohol and keeping my addiction going but under cover. The men I chose to date were always more fucked up than me, my friends were all more fucked up than me, my jobs always sucked so they were easy to just quit without warning and still feel justified in doing so. AA taught me how to be a decent human being, a productive member of society, how to care for someone other than myself without being totally codependent. It also taught me not to put all my eggs in one basket, meaning that, nothing in life can be the answer to all your problems, be it religion, drugs, a job, a person, or AA. For a while there, I let AA be the guiding force in my life, so when that stopped working, I felt like I'd lost a limb. It was extremely painful to be so let down by people I thought so highly of, especially when I needed them so desperately. It wasn't just the people that I needed - I needed structure, guidance, just help in general because I was sad and lost. I prayed more and it didn't help. I tried to get a new sponsor and one girl turned me down, another girl stood me up twice. I tried to make friends with people and they ended up rejecting me. I thought so much of the people in AA, I was brainwashed to believe they were the epitome of reformed derelicts, because I thought I was, too. I went from being a lying, stealing, cheating, selfish bitch, to volunteering every week rain or shine, not talking badly about anyone, helping anyone I could, praying every night, and following through on all my promises and commitments. Not to mention, I was as honest as I could be, wouldn't dream of cheating or stealing. I thought everyone else was as "good" as me. But I wasn't good, I was perfect, and perfect is 1) not sustainable and 2) impossible for anyone else to live up to. So I was just setting myself and everyone I encountered up to fail. And they did. And then I quit AA. But after I let go of AA, my life did start to improve. I stopped praying (something I always felt awkward doing anyway) and went back to being an agnostic with leanings toward karma and past lives. I continued to work out and develop my relationship with HAM. I had some bad habits, too, like the binge eating and the talking to ALL every once in a while, even though I had no intention of ever going back to him (which I made clear whenever I talked to him). But I don't know, all this shit went down with ALL and HAM, and me, and what I want out of life and a relationship, plus the antidepressants and the Ambien, the panic attacks and depression. All this shit just snowballed and reached a crescendo and then dissolved into nothingness and everything was peaceful and the way I always wanted it to be, and then we got high. I don't know if it was because we were trying to cover up some emotional pain, which is what they want you to believe in AA (and it definitely has validity), or if I have just changed. I certainly don't feel like the person I once was before I began AA, before I was sober. I have a great job with a super cool boss and a lot of responsibilty. I am totally trusted and never micromanaged, and I love it. It's perfect for me. And I'm in a relationship with a wonderful guy who always treats me with respect and supports my goals, and vice versa. He's smart and in college and we play scrabble together. I also go play scrabble with my grandma every week, which I love to do, but it's also kind of like volunteering (and I can't think of a better way to volunteer my time than to hang out with my sweet little grandma). My life is drama free and on track. I'm starting the memoir writing course at UW in October, last week I worked out six days in a row, I've been cooking a lot of really fabulous meals, and I like to have a glass of wine or a few hits off the weed pipe in the evening after all of my responsibilties are handled. And I never get drunk, don't even wanna get drunk. I like to sip one glass of excellent red wine over the period of a few hours, and that's all I desire. I don't know if I will switch over from this to being unmanageable and powerless, or if I will remain a casual, light enjoyer of these substances. Is it worth it? Another question I don't know the answer to just yet. Sometimes I think I must be out of my mind to drink or smoke anything, and other times I think, there's just nothing wrong with this, millions of people do the same thing as me with no guilt and no negative consequences. But we live in a guilt-driven society and I am product of it, AA being even more guilt-driven than regular society. But the fact is, I got sober because of ALL, and I'm thankful to him for shifting my life that way, but maybe my problem was more related to childhood pain that has since been worked through. I don't feel resentful or angry toward either of my parents or the other parental figures from my past. I am an adult now, I am responsible, and in a healthy relationship, working on my professional goals at work and with writing on my own time. Life is good, and playing scrabble stoned is a total blast. If shit gets out of hand, hopefully I'll have the the awareness that it's out of hand, and the respect for myself to cut it out.

I got home from the gym a little while ago and since then I have taken a shower, got dressed and did my makeup, took out the trash, recycling, and compost, done the dishes, wiped down the kitchen counters, and taken my vitamins. Not to mention that when I first got home I smoked a little weed and ate some waffles. Back when I was the old me, living in that nasty house on the highway in Nice, CA, I used to be one of those stoners who couldn't do shit. I'd just sit there and eat and surf the internet. Or drink and surf the internet. I couldn't exercise, pay a bill, make dinner, clean the house, or clean myself. I was a waste product. Needless to say, I felt like a loser. Today, I figure, if I smoke weed, it's okay, as long as I am still a functioning human being who is able to take care of business. I've found that I've actually become more productive stoned than I do just normally. I used to tell myself I couldn't write stoned, and it was probably just an excuse I told myself so I didn't have to write. Or exercise. Although I wouldn't exercise stoned because that would just be counterintuitive, I also wouldn't let it come before a work out. Nothing comes between me and the gym. I'm there rain or shine, heartache or bursting at the seems with love, whether I'm angry, depressed, way too full from over eating, sick, or in pain. I always go. I can't imagine anything other than HAM being as important as the gym. I guess school. School takes even more time than the gym and balancing the two is difficult. I don't know how HAM does everything that he does. He'll make a good marketing executive someday, or whatever he decides to do. I remember back in my senior year of college, I was newly married, in school full time, working part time, applying to grad schools, and smoking crack on the weekends. I mean, not every single weekend, but if it wasn't crack, I was getting drunk, popping Xanax and Oxycontin, snorting cocaine, or even dropping ectasy. Who knows how I made it through all of that with my degree and a 3.9 GPA. Of course I didn't get into grad school, and I'm sure it was because I was delusional from the drugs. But I still accomplished a lot while I was handling a million other things. So I wonder, was it not being accepted to grad school that really pushed me over the edge as far as "partying", or was it just the natural progression of addiction? In AA, they say that's what happens - you can never maintain. One is too many and a thousand is never enough. I guess I don't know yet. I do know the year before I quit drinking and getting high was the worst year of my life. I definitely don't want to end up back there again. So maybe that's why I become so overly productive, trying to prove to myself that It's different this time. But is it worth it? Because if I am truly an addict, this won't stay manageable. It will become unmanageable and I'll have to stop. If it turns out I was just misguided and had some impermanent dependency issues, then I guess I could go on forever feeling satisfied with a little evening weed smoking and one glass of wine. That would be fine. Honestly, I don't know why I ever liked getting drunk. It's much better to just slowly sip one glass of fabulous wine than "get fucked up". I don't like being out of control, doing and saying things I normally wouldn't do and say, and waking up feeling like shit, dehydrated and ashamed. No thank you. One is just right, actually. I don't ever feel like I'm stopping myself from having more. All I care for is one, and then I feel done. Damn, AA really fucks a person't head up, doesn't it? It's so weird, because AA helps so many people, but it's also a brainwashing cult. It's just that the brainwashing helps a lot of people. But it hurts people, too. It hurt me and I've heard stories about others. I guess I just don't have the answers on this. I guess I'll just have to watch and see what happens, and hope it's nothing I'll regret.

Since Amy Winehouse was found dead in her apartment, everyone's been talking about the age 27. So many artists have died at age 27, and everyone is asking, "What is the significance of this number?" Of course, we all know that Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, and Jimi Hendrix died at age 27, but there are others, too. They call it the 27 Club. A complete list of all the musicians who died at 27 is available on Wikipedia. It makes me think of my 27th year. It was the worst of my drug and alcohol addiction. I lived in this brokedown palace on Highway 20 in Nice, California. The house was this huge, dilapidated shithole covered in chipped white paint. The owners of the house split it into two apartments, one with store frontage facing the highway. The guy who lived in the front apartment owned an antique shop. He was pretty much a jerk, but we didn't talk to him much. RC (my husband at the time) and I lived in the apartment around back. It was two stories. Upstairs had a master bedroom, two bathrooms, a living room and kitchen. In the summer, the upstairs would get so hot that I could barely stand to cook anything in that kitchen because it was like cooking inside a sauna. The downstairs was somehow dug out after the house was built, so the ceiling was very low. It had a living room, a weird bedroom in the back, and a full bathroom. This was also where the entry to the house was located. Another door was upstairs, but it was off the side of the deck and wasn't a good place to enter the house. RC and I spent most of our time in the downstairs area because it was warmer in winter and cooler in summer. RC was gone a lot, though, because it was a two hour drive from our house to the mountain where he was growing weed. I went with him sometimes, and I had a job trimming buds for some people up there that paid $20/ hour. But most of the time, I'd stay home with the dogs, or at least one of the dogs. I'd mess around on the internet for hours, with the TV on as background noise. I'd sit there, smoke weed, drink wine or beer, sometimes scotch neat. I got a prescription for Vicodin, so I'd pop them like candy while drinking and smoking. Sometimes, I would feel my heart squeezing like it was going to explode, but I never told anyone. This was also when Amy Winehouse's second album came out, the album that projected her to stardom. I used to make these videos of myself singing songs to karaoke music and post them on YouTube. I was drunk when I did Amy Winehouse's song, "You Know I'm No Good". I got a lot of negative feedback on that one, which, at the time, hurt my feelings, but looking back at it later, it's obvious why people didn't like it - I was wasted. I guess I thought that there was no other way to sing Amy Winehouse - she was always wasted, so I should be too. I fell in love with both of her albums. My friend told me there was this cool song out called, "Rehab", so I checked it out, and she was right - it was brilliant. I promptly downloaded everything Amy Winehouse had ever recorded and began listening to her albums on repeat. But at the same time, I was dying. I had been overweight a few months earlier, but I decided that alcohol had far too many calories for me to continue eating food, so I gave it up, except for the occasional fifty calorie hamburger bun. RC would ask, "What are gonna have for dinner tonight?" And I would reply, "Well, I don't know what you're having, but I'm having wine." I lost 20 pounds in a month or two on the PAW diet. That's pills, alcohol, and weed. I started an internet affair with my husband's friend. He contacted me on MySpace and after that, we started talking on the phone when my husband was on the mountain and his wife was at work. I began drinking scotch first thing in the morning, so when he called me, I'd be more relaxed. I felt so guilty for having this long-distance affair that I had to drink in order to go through with it. I couldn't work anymore. I was unemployable. I was writing a little, but it was mostly self-loathing ramblings - nothing productive or interesting. At night I would get so paranoid that I was sure some tweaker would break into the house and rape me. I couldn't clean, I couldn't pay any bills. I could hardly bathe myself or brush my teeth. I would go three days without a shower some times, even though I had one in the next room. Many nights I spent sobbing uncontrollably, believing that I was going insane. I still remember one time I had smoked a ton of weed, drank a few glasses of wine, and took two Trazadone. I stood up and immediately collapsed on face forward. I had my head hard on the ground, and even as messed up as I was, I thought, this is NOT okay. My life was definitely unmanageable and I had lost all control my actions. I determined my problem to be sex addiction. That was the only possible explanation for my behavior. Why else would I have an affair? (Even thought I was also on Prozac during all of this so I couldn't have an orgasm. I'd always fake it when I was on the phone with RC's friend.) I called the community clinic one day to make an appointment with a counselor. When I went for the appointment, the counselor told me that I couldn't afford to see him, but it sounded like I needed AA more than SA. He gave me a list of local meetings, and I went to one that afternoon. This begins a new chapter in my life, and there's much more to this story than just going to a meeting, but I did choose sobriety. I think maybe age 27 is so poignant in a person's life because it's sort of a change over from childhood to adulthood. People who spent most of their lives medicating with drugs and alcohol realize at this point that it's either going to be a lifelong problem or they're going to have to grow up. If you've been getting high since you were thirteen and you're still doing it at 27, chances are it's not a party anymore. It's not a casual thing to do once in a while with friends, it's a daily, lonely nightmare and it seems like you'll never wake up. For whatever reason, I was one of the lucky ones who managed to get out alive, but so many people, like Amy Winehouse, never wake up.

It was a toss up this evening between tanning and writing. Here I am, so obviously I chose the latter. EP invited me to a barbeque tomorrow and I'm thinking I will go. I don't know anyone there besides her and I'm not very good at parties, especially if I don't know anyone, but I feel like a jerk that I keep avoiding hanging out with her. Even though she's a hot girl, she actually is really nice. I just never know what to say to girls. I've spent most of life around guys. My first friend was a boy. We met in Hawaii when I was one year old. Then, growing up in West Seattle, my best friend was a boy. We used to build homes for worms out of mud and leaves, throw toys around my room, get chased by packs of neighborhood dogs, and torment his twin sister. There was a bit of time, middle school, where I didn't really have any boy friends. But in high school, my best friend was a boy. We talked on the phone for hours every day. He had a crush on me, and since I didn't feel the same way, we became friends for several years. When I started hanging out at Totem Lake Denny's, there were mostly guys there. I became friends with pretty much all of them. Wherever I went, whatever I did, I always had lots of dudes around me. I like guys because they're usually funny and there's no competition. I get to be the pretty one, the one with the vagina, they get to be the ones who settle for being my friend because I won't date them. I'll admit, I've had my share of guy friends who bought me drinks, dinners out, clothes, gas for my car. One guy bought me cable TV. I always got free drugs. To this day, I have no idea how much an eight-ball costs. Although it doesn't matter anymore. I've just had a lot of bad experiences with girls. A girl introduced me to HAM. She had a boyfriend, but apparently she liked HAM, or at least she wanted HAM to like her. When she found out that he and I were seeing eachother, she didn't want to be my friend anymore. That really hurt. I thought she actually liked me but it turned out she liked me until she realized that guys were more attracted to me than to her. As soon as she realized that, she was out. Now she's best friends with HAM's ex girlfriend. I had a "best" girl friend for years. I'll call her TB. TB was pretty cool for a while. Super artistic. She was a poet, and she was funny. We had all kinds of inside jokes and we also spent hours on the phone. Bit drugs eventually tore us apart. She went to prison for a year for international drug trafficking, and I only wrote her twice the whole time she was locked up. We stayed friends after that, but she was really fucked up, and I guess I wasn't much better. Eventually I got sober and I decided I didn't like the state of our relationship, so I basically broke up with her. I've talked to her only one time since then, to apologize for being a total shithead (because I broke up with her through email after being best friends for 15 years). I guess she's living in some ghetto apartment out in Lake City and spends every night in a gross bar getting wasted. So I guess I'm not missing much. Too bad, though, because she used to be really amazing. She was so charismatic. She was the type of bitch who could make friends with anyone, get a job anywhere, convince anyone of anything. She could dance, sculpt, write, sing, and paint. Drugs and alcohol just sucked the soul out of her. I guess they sucked my soul out for a while, too. I'm thankful for all that time I spent sober and for learning how to live sober, learning that "getting fucked up" really isn't that great. I mean, every once in a while, sure, but every day? So lame. Life is too good to spend it high. Besides, I like my job, I love HAM, I love that family trusts me, that I can hold a job, go to school, write, work out, afford to get my nails and hair done, look realistically toward the future. I enjoy a nice glass of wine here and there, and a good old-fashioned opiate session is still enjoyable every now and then, but I'm not trying to spend my life as a junkie. I truly learned from AA that life is better without drugs and alcohol running it. But I have also discovered that I don't have to be a teetotaler to NOT be a junkie. There is a balance. Anyway, I've gone off in a completely different direction here. My cat is staring at me. Girls...that's what I was talking about. I'd love to have some girlfriends, but where the smart girls at? Where the funny bitches at? I miss my college professor, SH. That's the kind of chick I want in my life. Funny, brilliant, eccentric, and darn cute. I guess I really need to go back to school and get my master's if I really want those type of chicks in my life. The ones who understand my sense of humor, who think deeply about things, who know there's more to life than taanning. I get to be that girl who's funny, eccentric, smart, and hahaha, she goes tanning and spends $300 on her hair, isn't that insane? Oh, that BG, what a character. I want to be the only girl in my group of girlfriends who goes tanning and gets her hair and nails done, because usually the girls who do things like that are empty, vacant. There lives revolve around those things and they lack substance. I do those things now more for HAM than for me. I mean, I like being pretty and well-maintained, but it's expensive and a lot of work and time. I can think of about a zillion things that are more important than tanning. Like writing this long, rambling blog about...what is this about? Girls, drugs, and tanning? I guess. My point is, all those superficial things I do, I don't believe in them as worthwhile endeavors, I just can't stop doing them for some reason. I am attache to physical appearance, being pretty, or desiring to be pretty. But I know in the greater scheme of things, hair, nails, makeup, and tanning is all irrelevant. It won't say on my tombstone, "BG - She had fabulous hair". (I guess I could request that if I really wanted to.) I would like it to say something like, "BG - A great writer and a true friend" or something like that. "Loved by many". Right now I have HAM, my mom and dad, and my grandma, who (if things go the way they're supposed to) will probably not be at my funeral. Maybe there would be an old guy friend who would show up, maybe my ex boyfriend, BD, and my homie KH, but other than that, I am not loved by very many at all. "Loved by a few". Better than "BG who?" Oh well, this is getting a bit morbid. I just need to go to this barbeque tomorrow.