Well, it turns out �Butch� who I will now be naming �Babs� because she didn�t like the pseudonym I gave her� still reads my diary. Well, at least she did last night. She read all that I said about how Flame Boy as I will now call him was running around spreading all the rumors and talking all the smack that she thought I was saying about her. I wanted to tell her so badly, but how do you tell someone you aren�t really on good terms with anything- without them getting instantly defensive? Not to mention, I have already been accused of making it up to try to win her friendship back.

Well, this is what I say to that. I despise liars, and although I am not perfect, I try not to lie. And were I to lie, I assure you this is not one of the cases I would waste a moral sin on. I can think of many better things actually. Secondly, I don�t chase after the past. I have enough of it haunting me now, that worrying about who my friends are is not a priority.

In all honesty, I feel terrible for Babs. I think it�s pretty shitty to have to walk around wondering who to trust and not to trust because when ya do end up giving out your trust, ya get shit on for it. I know Babs thought the world of Flame Boy. And I know she never thought that he, of all people, would ever be the one to spread shit about her. (and to think, after 5 years she didn�t trust me� go figure) So I feel bad. But as far as saying something or even things to get her to take me back as a friend, I don�t think so. It�s not in me. After 5 years of friendship, if she couldn�t trust me then- she�ll never be able to trust me. And I am one who needs to be trusted and respected. So that�s that. And people ask if I still hate her. To set the records straight, I never did hate her. I was hurt, yes. Pissed, beyond belief. But hate? I don�t hate anyone. I don�t have it in me.

I don�t even regret the friendship we had. Babs and I had our fun. Hell, we painted the town red a few times. We had a lot of treasured moments, a lot of good times. Sure, we had our ups and downs. What relationship doesn�t. No, I don�t regret it. We traveled a path we were meant to. When one stumbled, the other helped brush it off and keep the momentum going. But that road, unfortunately, forked. She went left, I went right. That was our fate. We didn�t lose anything. If anything, we gained. Or so that�s how I feel. I wish Babs the best. And I hope she experiences nothing but blessings and happiness on her new road.

As far as Flame Boy, I�m glad he got busted. He was trying to play Babs and I for fools. I have a zero tolerance rule for bullshit. And lordy, when he is around, ya best be getting� out the waders because the shit gets pretty thick! I think what this all boils down to, is he wants Babs to himself. I mean, he�s gay, so he doesn�t want her physically. But he gets damn jealous of her. She told me that a long time ago. I guess I�m just now seeing it. The people who told me about the stuff he was saying said he didn�t start talking about Babs being a lesbian until they mentioned she was hot or what not. When they showed interest, his tongue started wagging. I was warned by my friend/boss, who was told Flame Boy is a Drama Queen. As always, he�s right.

Flame Biy confronted me at work. He said he knew it was not the time or place- BUT, he didn�t know what I had been writing in my on line diary, but� to which I cut him off. I told him to stop right there. Yes, he was right. That was not the time or place for that to be discussed. And secondly, the key words being diary. This is MY G*damn diary. I write my thoughts, feelings, about current events, whatever tickles my fancy. Why? Because I can. I need no better reason. What good is any diary, on line or off, when ya hold back. I need not, lie, embellish or censor myself. I know full well where my diary is and that it can be accessed on line by any Joe Blow. That�s the best part about it for me.

My God given talent is writing. I have always dreamt of being a writer. But I don�t wanna write for a local paper and cover fairs and local events. I wanna write stuff that matters to me. You�ve got to kick a little to cause a stir. Sometimes ya gotta make some noise to be heard. And I abhor censoring in any respect. You just can�t censor ones heart. And me, I write from the heart. Even if it�s about something crazy like sex. That�s just my 2 cents.

Work was hellacious. Everything that could have gone wrong, did. And in the worst way. So I did what I could to get through it. Atop of all the machines crashes, problems and confrontations (and there were plenty), it must have reached 120 degrees in there. We were all sweating ourselves the next Great Lake. It was nuts. But I did get a good laugh.

Some of us were on break and sitting outside hoping for some fresh air, fun conversation and smoking our cigs when this clean cut guy shows up in a brand new, white, cherry Mercedes Benz. We were all commenting on who he was and why he was there. Funniest thing I have ever seen in all my time there.

He was the pizza delivery guy!

Can you imagine the comments? Oh, and how he loathed us as we made them. And none too quietly either. We were joking about tips being enough to buy his car in our little resort town and how we�d be sure to tip less. How we were going to quit and go deliver pizzas. Stuff like that. One guy was cracking comments about how the pizza was probably loaded with drugs. And just at the right moment, the guy he was delivering to said he knew the guy personally and that we didn�t wanna know what he does on the side for work.

Oh, but we did�. Even I knew what he was walking into. Well, D-man flips out his wallet all Dick Tracy like to show us the Pizza Guy�s card. Turns out he has something to do with being a lawyer or paralegal. I told D-Man he can�t be that good if he�s delivering pizzas. I cracked all kinds of jokes about him being the kind of lawyer who sends his clients to jail because he sucks moose cock at law and just wants the money to roll in. Man, we were laughing so hard we about fell off the picnic table. Poor Pizza Guy. Ahh, well. He�ll get over it.

I have been thinking about my Dad a lot tonight. There�s a new country song called Walk a Little Straighter by a guy I believe to be named something Currington. I could be wrong. He sings about his staggering Dad. I grew up with only my Dad. Mom left when I was 12 and honestly, I don�t remember her ever being around much when she was �there�. My Dad too, is an alcoholic. And yes, at times, like in this song- it was embarrassing. But I remember thinking as I listened that even though my Dad is a drunk- I love him. Every part of him. Everything about him. I dare to say that had my Dad been sober while we were growing up, things may�ve been less pleasant. We 4 kids weren�t exactly the easiest. My Dad had his hands full. I�m not using that as an excuse by any means. I just know what my Dad was like as we grew up. He was so much fun. Even when he was drunk, unless you knew him, it rarely showed.

My Dad was the Dad all my friends wanted for their own. When the snow rolled in, he was the first to grab the sleds and gear and hit the hills. He was the first one in summer to cut off a pair of ratty jeans and haul his 4 rebellious children to the community pool for hours on end. He was the Dad that begged us to get dirty, to collect frogs and insects, to play rough, to have fun at all costs. My Dad was the kind of Dad who brought 4 kids up to live. And live life to the fullest. With my Dad, there was never holding back. It was all or nothing. The other parents would tsk tsk as �Those LaFleur� kids ran around half clothed and caked in mud and dirt all summer. But Dad didn�t care, let them worry about it �cause he wasn�t going to.

And my Dad was also the kind of man who cried when he hurt. Even in front of his kids. The first time I saw him cry, my heart shattered. Now, I catch myself rolling my eyes sometimes. My Dad himself can be a true Drama Queen. But it�s cute.

Yeah. I�ve got Daddy on my mind. I miss him lots. My sisters and brothers who live down state also. I�m not always so big on family. Which people often question me about. (Which in itself is another entry for another day) But I don�t think of Dad, even Mom or my siblings, niece and nephew as family. They�re more. They�re my life support.

Sleep with angels, D�land.

Simply,

Sara

A.K.A. the Wannabe Pizza delivery gal with the stylin� Benz!

P.S. TGIF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!