Sweeter as Fiction

My boyfriend is in jail.
I'm honestly not sure if I ever mentioned that on here.
This is not what I had planned. And if you really knew me, you would know that everything, including my spontaneity is planned.
Caleb has been in prison since our official one month anniversary. Great present, right? And since you probably don't know when that was, it was Sept 29th.
I know I'm not at fault, but I blame myself. It was the one day of that entire month that I was not with him and had not had the chance to call him and check in. Maybe if I would have talked to him, he wouldn't have been so irresponsible.
I'm going to tell you what I know about what happened, because I would be curious if I was an unbiased party reading this.
I was on my way to institute and got a quarter of the way there when I got this strange feeling that I shouldn't go. So I turned around and started towards his house. I called his mom and she said he wasn't in, but she'd tell him to call me as soon as he got home. So I figured he was working on his car at a garage that's just down the road. I got there but there was no one around his car, so I texted his sister, Casey, asking if she knew where he was. She never responded, so I ended up going to my Bestie's apartment and hanging out and being mopey because my boyfriend was AWOL. Well,  about three hours later, Casey texted back and said that he was arrested and that she wanted to tell me in person but figured that would be a day or two and it was better for me know asap so I didn't think he was abandoning me.
I'm still not exactly sure what he did. Part of me wants to ask, but most of me doesn't even want to know. From what I pieced together from hearing his sister and other people, he was working on his car that day and normally, the owner of the garage would let him borrow some tools and what not and Caleb would pay him for any parts that Fred had laying around. They had an agreement of sorts. Well, apparently some stuff started to go missing and they figured it was Caleb. So, when he showed up, they called the cops. When the cops showed up, they found a few of the missing things in his trunk or something.
And I know this is me being kind of hopeful that maybe it wasn't so horrible, but I think he's taking the blame for someone else. My dad stopped by that garage one night (that's where we get our cars serviced and junk) to pick up his truck and he saw one of the mechanics walking among some of the cars, looking kind of suspect. And dad talked to Fred about the whole Caleb thing, asking if he should tell me to run. Fred said that he dropped the charges because this had been going on for a while, before Caleb even started coming to the shop. So, I know that means Caleb still had to have something to do with it, obviously, since his trunk had some evidence. But it does make me feel better that he's not the only one to blame.
And in case you're wondering Well, if the charges were dropped, why is he still in prison? Well, darlings, let me get to that. The only reason he's still in is because he broke probation. You see, the judicial system is kind of like an angry girlfriend. Everything is fine and dandy until you piss her off and then she brings back all the stupid stuff you've done in your life and punishes you for it.
Which is kind of what I did. I didn't go see him for the first two and half months he was there. I didn't even consider him to be my boyfriend. I didn't write him. I barely wanted to talk about him. And then I felt generous and went to the prison and got to see him through the bullet-proof glass and talk to him through a crappy phone. And three weeks ago, I got to actually hug him and hold his hand and kiss his inmate face.

I was going to end this differently, but I can't figure out what I want to say and what feels right. But then again, nothing really feels right anymore.

Passion for Publication

I have serious delusions of grandeur. For some reason I always imagine myself one day becoming almost famous, right on the edge of fame. Not for anything specific. For music, or poetry, or a radio talk show I'm meant for, or for a restaurant that I hope to have one day, or a novel I haven't even written yet. It's not so much that I want to be famous, it's more that I want people to recognize me.
And I know that I actually have to be motivated and do something if I want to be noted. I haven't overlooked that fact. But it's good to dream, right?

Let's talk about how I've got an unhealthy addiction to Ben & Jerry's Milk and Cookies ice cream. Well, really, there's nothing to discuss about that. I just thought you should know.

Is it bad that I want to go back to my senior year in high school when I was adorable and not-quite-emo but was in love with all the straight-haired boys in the punk bands? Is it bad that I feel just like a teenybopper when I hear and see some of these bands now? If you feel the same way, I've got some bands you need to look up. Better yet, I'll update my playlist on this thing so you can share in my love.

I have a zillion books that I need to read and I keep putting them off. I don't know why I got them. I don't really have the time, even though that's a lie. I've already read the one before, but I didn't really get to enjoy it. It was a library book and I felt rushed, but enjoyed it thoroughly. Water for Elephants. Look it up. I know it's going to be a movie. And to make myself feel better about myself, I have to tell you: I read it months before it was announced to be a movie. But you need to read it. It's about carnivaly, circusy, sideshowy, menagerie-y goodness.

I really had nothing to say today.
I love you kids, even though only I know that one person (maybe) reads this.

Stuck in 1863

If I'm visiting your state and you know it, you can ask me what state I'm from, but not the town. Because will give you this reply:
"Well, I live in Reading Township, but my address says East Berlin. But if you've never lived in Adams County or a surrounding county, you've probably never heard of it. So, I'm just gonna say Gettysburg, since everyone's heard of Gettysburg. But that's still kind of small and no one ever knows where that is. So let's go with Harrisburg. That's the capital and I'm only an hourish away from it. But you probably still aren't very familiar with the geography of Pennsylvania. So I'm just gonna tell you Philly. Because we're about 45 minutes closer to there than Pittsburgh. And I know it's two hours away from where I really live, but you're probably more likely to have heard of AND know where Philly is. And if you don't, I'm from New York City."
That's something that just really annoys me. The only way it's acceptable to ask the town or general area of where someone else lives is if you say "Oh! I used to live in _name of town_! Is that close to where you're from?" or "My mother (or someone else you know very well) lives there. Where about?"
And the people that say "Oh really? Where?" They really bother me. I know they don't mean it in the same context, but it just sounds like they're testing me, that I'm not really from PA.
And I know I do it sometimes. Like Florida. That's the only place I'm ever interested in knowing where someone lives. 'Cause chances are, I've been there numerous times. And I live there occasionally. So, see? I'm acceptable.