Fancy Pants

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Life and living and Chicago.

I have nothing good to write and I am not a good writer.

I miss Liza and my grandmother and I still get mad when I see people shopping without thinking. This is not jaded, it's bored.

I see that my role in life is not to change others, but to love them...but why do they have to make it so hard?

Keep on keeping on while the keeping on is so easy and without resistance, I guess.

Friday, April 16, 2010

You call me exclusive.

Sometimes I get screwed over, then mad, then I realize it's my fault. Sure, I told you to keep things to yourself in order to not get you in trouble...then you made my life harder. Trust is so very valuable, but nobody recognizes it when you give it to them.

Monday, March 22, 2010

I love you no matter what.

Ok. In my head, I attend church. Really, I have only attended one church regularly. It was maybe the most pleasant thing that I have ever experienced. In an attempt to cure loneliness, I started reading my old pastor's blog. Dude, it worked. I read a post that was up in November, and learned more about Love. I thought that was impossible.

I pride myself on being able to love people.

He talked about changing bloody bandages and cleaning up messes that you couldn't imagine. Shit, I just show up when I say that I am going to.

Tonight, as I sit alone, I learned about love that I can't practice.

Sometimes I wonder why I am in Chicago. Sometimes I wonder why I don't further invest in friendships. Sometimes I wonder why She stopped loving Jesus.

Liza told me that she was no longer in love with her savior. I wasn't afraid of that statement...
I am not afraid of you not loving Jesus.
I am terrified of me not loving Jesus.

I don't know what this means.

I can't wait to go back to Athens. I can't wait to go to church again. All of it means so much and nothing at the same time.

Sunday, March 07, 2010

I know nothing.

Being away doesn't make it better. Being away makes it worse. Being away reminds you of what you are missing while you ignore the rest of your life go on.

Sunday, January 03, 2010

Thanks Kevin.

This may just be what happens on my day off. I get swept up in remembering her. Most people like alone time, I don't. I think it strange that people get lost in their head and enjoy exploring it in the quiet. I am thinking all the time, and only shut off when reading or watching something. I rather have your company and examine your ideas, because I always have mine. My friend talks about being alone in public. I don't know if that is a real thing.

Liza's mom didn't want the new year, because her daughter does not exist in 2010. I didn't think of it in that way.

I don't do resolutions, but not because I can't keep them. Getting better as a human being should be something that we constantly pursue (I am not saying that I always do). The new year is about renewal. It's a start.

I have inventory to finish. I have an apartment to clean. I have trips to prepare for.

I miss her. Sometimes I am afraid to see the people that we were both friends with. Why aren't we allowed to talk about her?

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Trying to break away.

I got stuck reading blog posts about Liza. I read how she died. I read how she lived. I knew that it was torture to keep looking and longing, but it would have taken another human to force me away. Writing doesn't really do anything for me. Expressing and human contact really does do something for me. Every time I talk about Liza, the person I am with gets quiet. I don't really want to ruin anyone's day with my coping, but I also want others to know her like I did, and like you did, and like she did. I really want to post a link to the blog I was reading, but somehow, I feel like that would be invasive... but that doesn't make sense either. I really do sometimes start to call her. It doesn't last long, I usually realize the minute I scroll down to her name and then everything gets quiet, and then all of a sudden loud. There are happy memories that I live in too.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

It's been about a year, and this doesn't mean that I am coming back.

I wrote this to a friend, but I wanted to share it more. I can't stop talking and thinking of her. Please understand that this is all stream of consciousness writing.

Liza was beautiful. She was 20 years old but could convince you that she was wiser and smarter than you. She was extremely young yet an old soul as well. She fit under my arm. She was annoyingly charming. I was so jealous of the way that she attracted people. I was intimidated by her pursuit of her profession. She was one of the only other up and coming female baristas...and sometimes I was mad about that, and other times I was glad for the company. She was boy crazy and loved bikes. She had three tattoos. One was in french and read "always optimistic, always yours", one was the giving tree on her back, and the other was a coffee plant with the coffee cherry, green coffee bean, and roasted bean all incorporated. No doubt her next tattoo would have been something to do with bikes. All summer she sat at the end of the bar sipping on a soy cortado, eyeing cute barista boys, and reading about coffee. She was fluent in french. She was vegan. She loved cooking vegan food and sharing it with people. She had invited her family to the city for thanksgiving so that she could cook an entire vegan feast. Her sister looked just like her, was only a little younger, and followed Liza her whole life. Liza and I took a road trip to Michigan for a coffee jam. We realized how similar and different we were from each other, and cemented our friendship. That was only three weeks ago. We made plans to go to this fancy cocktail bar to flirt with the cute bartending staff. She was so excited about the bike I have being built for me. I confessed how afraid I was to ride in the city and she promised to teach me. She loved me with out knowing me more than just 6 months or so. I first met her at the coffee shop she worked at when she approached me, knew my name, told me she had seen me compete, and told me I was great. She told me her plans of competing and was so convinced that she was going to be a star. When we were in Michigan, we danced in the car and she made me listen to Taylor Swift defending it only to say that her sister loved this music and she loved her sister. She wasn't afraid of a crowd and was never timid. Her smile was wide and her nose was prominent. She always had these little things that she would say that annoyed me like "Where am I, I'm drunk." She made friends with everyone, but made the best of friends with people I can't imagine holding a conversation with. She played instruments and knitted. She was killed in a biking accident at the intersection of Damen and Wellington in Chicago on Wednesday around 3 or 4 pm. The cops reported it as a 23 yr old female, because her fake id was that good. She had been riding her bike on a beautiful day with her roommate and fell off at a stop light right as traffic started to go leaving her body to be demolished. Most of her injuries were to her head and she held on until they got to the hospital. Tif road in the ambulance with her and told her that she was going to be ok. Matt's mom was in the bus right next to the accident and called him because she was so disturbed by the sight. When he showed up, he realized it was his friend. Matt and his mom came into my shop right after looking ragged. Matt always orders tea but couldn't focus when I asked for his order. He asked to just get the "same thing" as his mom which was a medium cappuccino with an extra shot. I knew something was up, but didn't ask. As I made his drink I listened to him tell the story of what just happened to his roommate, my staff member. He only said his "friend." Marty called the shop around 6 and frantically said, "Was it Liza? Do you know if it was Liza." I told him that I didn't know what he was talking about. He told me that he thought Liza had been killed. I told him I would find out and hung up the phone. I didn't know what to do. I went to the computer and googled her name. Nothing. I remembered Matt's story and made his roommate ask. Deanna and I started to cry and then I went and told the staff that was on. Everyone was stunned. I called the rest of my staff and then the owner of the company. We closed early and went North to where the staff of her coffee shop hung out. The Sovereign is a block away from Metropolis (her shop). We cried, and drank, and told Liza stories. The next day we reserved her seat at the shop with a picture of her and some flowers. The wake was the next day and was where I saw her little body that didn't look at all like her but looked as if she was breathing. I saw her roommate for the first time since the accident, and we held on to each other. The day of the funeral my boyfriend covered my shift at work and many of my staff went to hear about Liza one last time. Last night we rode the route that her and her roommate went that day. It was nice out just like the day she died. We put up her ghost bike and everyone contributed something. I rode a bike for the first time in 2 1/2 years. She got me on a bike. We took the keys to the lock on the ghost bike as well as a portafilter to a beach. We screamed Liza's name and cheered for her and tossed the two into the sea. It started raining, and it was perfect. What she was, like Sue said, will never happen again.