Rocky Cola Cafe on a Late Thursday at Ten

     "The time is late," I say to Garrett. "I need to work early."

     Garrett replies, "I have an early photo shoot. So that makes both so us."

     "We have time. Rocky Cola Cafe is opened until midnight," I comment.

     "Ready to order?" The blonde-hair waitress asks, staring at us while she is standing at the edge of the table. 

     I look up at her direction. "Yes, I'm ready." 

     Garrett answers, "Me too."

     "Go ahead. Who is first to order?"

     I glance at Garrett. He smiles. "Ladies, first."

     "Forgot what I had ordered." I silently think, reading the menu. I wasn't a disciplined eater back then in April 2,1992. In fact, I wasn't a vegetarian. 

     "Miss?"

     I look up at the blonde-hair waitress, seeing her Californian face. It's fair and above average. Young and not old. Blue eyes.    
     "Maybe my friend Garrett should go first." I stare at him. "I might take awhile."
     The blond-hair waitress looks at Garrett. "You ready, sir?"
     "Are you sure?" Garrett eyes me.
     "Yeah...I think. Sort of." I sound hesitant. "I'm trying to remember what I had eaten during the time of my baptism."
     Garrett interrupts, saying, "How long ago did you get baptized?"
     The blonde-hair waitress stares at us. She clears her throat. "Need more time?"
     I look at the menu. Unsure what to do. "Garrett?"
     Garrett looks at me. "Up to you."
     "Alright," I say. "I'll order a breakfast item."
     "Breakfast at ten?" Garrett asks.
     I reply, "Of course. My favorite. Before my baptism, I used to eat at Denny's all the time. The restaurant along El Segundo Boulevard. Near the 405. I enjoyed eating the nachos."
     "So what are you ordering?" the blonde-hair waitress asks me as she stands at the edge of the table.
     After staring at the breakfast items, I answer, "The egg white veggie omelette."
     The blonde-hair waitress writes my order on the pad. She looks up, staring at me. "Any drink?"
     I gaze at the menu. "Glass of orange juice."
     At this minute I begin to think that I don't know what Garrett will say or do. In the past, my relationship with the church brothers who belonged to the "LA Church of Christ" were not interested in me as a potential girlfriend. Jim, only. I'd wondered why. I quickly begin to start a conversation before Garrett can have a chance to talk. Order.
     "My baptism night," I began saying, staring at Garrett.
     The blonde-hair waitress interrupts. "Are you ready to order, sir?" she asks.
     Garrett replies, "The breakfast burrito."
     "Buffalo steak or chicken?"
     "The steak."
     "Any drink?"
     "Coke."
     The blonde-hair waitress writes Garrett's food and beverage order on the pad. She smiles. "I'll be right back with two glasses of water."
     I smile. "My baptism night. Want to hear it? What happened? How it was like?"
     "How it went?" Garrett asks.
     "Yeah."
     "Sure."
     "Okay."
     I explain that the night of my baptism was on April 2, 1992, Thursday. I remember it was right after a  Bible Talk discussion at Doug and Angela Wens' apartment somewhere in Hermosa Beach. I drove Melinda, my discipler, to Manhattan Beach. After I parked the Toyota Corolla at a parking stall inside a building structure or at a meter parking stall close to the beach, I grabbed my Bible and a towel then got out of the car.
     At the beach, on the sand, I read a scripture that I had picked, chosen as a special verse in the Bible that I would remember, reminding me of my baptism. My dark brown eyes had been focused on the flashlight's beam that reflected the printed text. The sound of my voice echoed in the cool April night air as I read the New International Version's scripture of 2 Corinthians 4:16-18---Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that for outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal---and sang, standing closely, side-by-side, near one another, two songs. "Sanctuary" and "Jesus Will Fix It."
     The blonde-hair waitress arrives at the table. She is holding a tray that contain the food plates and beverage cups.
     Garrett and I had already received the glasses of water while I was talking about the night of my baptism. As we are eating our food, I revealed to Garrett about a "close call." It was on a Friday, June 13, 2008. The time was 11:20 a.m. My emachines laptop was up and running on the electrical cord and not on battery power. I had just thrown away the ripe peel after Grandma ate a banana. Midnight, my black kitten, was in the bedroom; Mika, my yellow lovebird, was in his cage. I'm eating a piece of orange that is mixed in with several different fruits in a bowl. The television was on the History channel 72, a program of Dogfights: Kamikazes.
     I swallow the chewed veggie omelette in my mouth and grab the orange juice, taking a sip. I lay the glass on the table and watch Garrett eat his breakfast burrito. He looks at me while eating his food and then smiles. Garrett sees me smile at him too. He listens as I speak: "I recently discovered that a person I had known to be a member of a church organization in Southern California thought of murdering me in order for him to receive money. Killing me or having me accidentally killed because I looked like or reminded him of someone in a past history. This church brother knew his movies and was considered to be a "history buff." Approximately three days ago from today I found out that the individual who I looked like had been the Black Dahlia, Elizabeth Short or Betty Short. She was a 1947 Los Angeles murder victim who was tortured before being cut in half. All of her body fluids had been cleanly washed. Someone who was in a medical profession could had done this type of procedure such as a doctor."
     "That is hard to believe," Garrett says. "Are you sure? Who could have thought of something sinister as that? Did that church guy tell you? How did you find out?"
     I stare at Garrett. "My own premonition."
     "Okay."
     "Thank you."
     "Not a problem."
     "Anything else I should know?"
     "No."
     "Want dessert?"
     "Think I'll pass."
     "Ready to leave?"
     "When we receive the bill."
     "Alright."
     Smiling at Garrett, I say, "Thanks for coming to the Rocky Cola Cafe with me." And add, changing my mind, "Maybe we should order dessert to go."
     He looks at me strangely. "Thought you'd pass."
     "The desserts are non-fat and low-fat."
     Garrett stares at the fitness menu. "Homemade cheesecake and frozen vanilla yogurt," he says. "Are you still hungry?"
     I laugh. "No, of course not. I'm just playing, that's all."
     "Good."
     The blonde-hair waitress arrives at the table. "Care to order any desserts or are you both done for tonight?"
     "I'm done," I reply, staring at her. "Ready for the bill."
     "And you, sir?" The blonde-haired waitress asks Garrett.
     He looks at me. "We're both done."
     I smile, thinking, "Garrett is my best friend."
     
              


         



  


   

The Drive Home At Night

The next day I'm at my computer desk, thinking of Garrett, writing him a letter in a blog. It's about a scary experience I had during a drive home at night. The date was Friday, November 6, 2009. How would Garrett react if he was to sit in the passenger's seat beside me? Nice and polite, I vision seeing him.

Not this guy, the stranger, who I had encountered. Met. The drive home at night. After having a lengthy high strung and heated pounding "temper tantrum" I wrote:

     Dear Garrett,

     A girl never knows when a day would be her last. I say this because yesterday, last night, while I was sitting on a chair at the food court inside the Ala Moana Shopping Center, I was approached by a young, local male stranger. His name was Jerard. He asked for money. I shook my head and said that I don't have any money to give him.

     Jerard still sat there, a seat to the right, in front of me. I stared at him, for a moment, trying to think what were his motives and why, of all people, he had chosen to pick me as his victim. The time was almost 8:45 p.m. when he asked if I could give him a ride to Waipahu, the city where I currently reside with my mother and uncle. Grandma died on July 2, 2009. 

     "No," I said. "I don't trust you."
     He sat in his chair. Several minutes later, I grabbed my bag and searched for spare change in the wallet of dimes, quarters, and nickels. I was honest to had given him the supply of quarters that were hidden in a plastic sandwich ziplock. There was no dollar bills. No cash. The time on my wristwatch was 8:50 p.m. "I need to go," I said. "My cat is waiting for me in the car."
    Jerard began begging. He pleaded with me to have him come along for a ride inside my mother's car. He wanted to be dropped off somewhere in Waipahu. "Please," he said. "Thank you."
     I concluded that he appeared to be a normal guy who would do me no harm. Jerard is a decent, moral human being who was living a hard life, but needed, at this moment, help. I took the risk. After climbing a flight of stairs, we left the food court.
     Outside at the shopping mall level, a dark-haired woman was standing next to a merchandise cart. This vendor asked me if I could try a product that she was hoping to sell. "No thanks, " I said. "I have a cat." The woman persisted. She squeezed out lotion from its container and was about to put it on the palm of my hand. I simply explained that I would hold on to my cat minutes after I had gotten inside the compact car. She then rubbed the lotion onto the hands of Jerard. 

     Then Jerard and I walked on. He briefly engaged in a conversation with a black man who was standing near the entrance of Longs Drugs. This store is located near Sears, now closed, and Banana Republic, still open. Approximately three seconds later, he finished talking. Quick interaction.

     I walked along the side next to him when he said, "I'm Hawaiian." 

     "You're Hawaiian, but live in Seattle?" 

     Jerard clarified. "I was born here (Hawaii), but moved to Seattle, Washington."

     At the parking lot, as I approached the silver vehicle, I saw Midnight, my black cat, sitting on the dashboard next to the steering wheel. I searched the bag to grab the cell phone. Mabel's voice was loud and distinctively strict when I expressed to her that a male friend needed a ride to Waipahu. I gave the stranger the cell phone. He talked to my mother before I ended the call.
     Midnight's claws clung to the sides of the passenger's seat. As Jerard opened the car door, I held onto my black cat. He sat inside and closed the door. The Jerard asked if I could put Midnight in his pet carrier. I disagreed, however, saying, "No." My black cat avoided him and, instead, sat behind the car seat or on the car floor that is directly behind the driver's seat.
     I started the engine and mentioned to Jerard that I needed to be alive, so I could write his encounter of meeting him into a blog.
     Behind the wheel driving, I was taken-a-back when Jerard suddenly became a pervert. He had placed his hand on my thigh, talking as though he was trying to "pick" me up. Pickup lines. The stranger's language was the f-word. "I want to fuck you," he said. He also wanted or allowed me to touch his penis. Jerard's voice sounded low as if he was on a drug. I felt uncomfortable hearing him say that I was "beautiful." I'm not a pretty blonde. I was, in the past, overweight and currently trying to find a solution to help clear the acne on my plain face. The sound of my voice was shaking as I talked.
    As I listened to Jerard's perverted conversational talk, I quickly decided to drop him off at the Zippy's restaurant at Nimitz Highway. On the contrary, because of renovation, the parking entrance had been closed. Sensing I was about to let him out of the car, he panicked. "Drop me off at Ward. No, at Ala Moana. Please. Thank you." He opened the door near the bus stop at the corner of the street in the underground parking at Ala Moana Shopping Center. Along the cement sidewalk there were shopping carts that belonged to the homeless.
   I could had died or became injured from this 17-year-old boy who constantly changed his mind about revealing his real age in which he claimed to be at least "twenty-five." Don't trust anyone. Nobody. Don't trust him. Not even if he sounds sincere, nice, polite, at first, and, above all, friendly. Decent. A lesson I had learned last night. This was Jerard that I had encountered at the Ala Moana Shopping Center Food Court. He wasn't what I originally thought of as before he turned into a scary pervert who could had gotten me killed.      
     
         
                            

Sunday Evening at the Hermosa Beach Theater

It's a Christmas get together during this Sunday church service. Garrett is my visitor. I haven't been here in years. I park the car and turn off the engine. He looks at me. I smile and say we are five minutes early. The singing and preaching don't start until six. It's five fifty-five in the late afternoon. He opens the passenger door and steps out. I grab my Bible and notebook. After stepping out of the car, I close the driver's door. 

As we walk toward the front entrance of the theater, I look around. Garrett notices. I carefully explain to him why I had chosen to leave the "Sports" ministry in the AMS Region of the LA Church of Christ. First, to clarify, it was because of certain sisters and brothers in this church group. So that is why I appear cautious at searching to see who is "out there" walking, in the same direction, to the theater doors as we are. The implanted voice of "When you see someone that's worldly!" echoes loudly in my head. It's from a blonde sister. My ex-roommate named Necole. Won't say her last. Garrett stares at me. I am unaware.       

Once inside the building, several people, nicely dressed, stand near the entrance of the theater. They are busy talking. A couple walk out of a room. Child care. The church members can't see me and Garrett. This is an illusion of a past event. Think of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. Ebenezer Scrooge and the Ghosts of the Christmas past, present, and future. No one talks to us. We are viewing the past, 1996, but living in the 2013 present.   

I advised Garrett that I had difficultly trying to control my temper as soon as I had moved to the island of Oahu where my mother Mabel and the rest of my family reside. Life wasn't easy. I was angry. We sit in the back of the lighted theater. He wants to know more, so I explain the time when I was a student attending a community college in Honolulu during the fall semester of 1998. I wrote, in a classroom essay, that I was awakened from hearing the sound of gushing water that was coming from the bathroom. I jumped out of bed, opened the door, and discovered that the toilet had been flushed. I was filled with anger as I ran down the stairs.

Garrett gives me one of those "I can't believe it" look. I continue speaking, but, then, suddenly a group of people step onto the stage. All of them are holding song books. The lead singer instructs us to turn to a certain page. I only brought my Bible. No "Songs of the Kingdom" book. Garrett doesn't know the lyrics to Sanctuary, Men Who Dream, and Jesus Will Fix It. I casually sing along feeling uncomfortable.

The singing ends. No time to talk. A male figure emerges. He stands behind the podium and speaks into the microphone. The Christmas lesson is about to begin. The Evangelist guides the seated church members and their visitors to open the Bible and turn to Luke 2:1-20. It's the scripture of Jesus' birth. The birth of Jesus. I share my Bible with Garrett. We both read while I jot down notes. On the other hand, I don't need to. Forgot. We are not physically visible. No human form to contend with while hearing the Christmas message. I look up, staring at Garrett. He doesn't notice until I start talking.

Okay. I hear him say. Do you know what I said to my mom? I ask him. Garrett doesn't know. He wants to, though. So, I continue. In a loud voice, I say that I had asked Mom why did she flush the toilet. She said it's because I don't flush the toilet and it will get clogged. I stare at Garrett. He nudges me to go on telling my story. At this moment, I do. The reason why, I explain to him, I didn't want the toilet to be flushed was because I had a phobia of the phone ringing. The phone would ring whenever I flushed the toilet. I angrily asked my mom why does she always flush the toilet at six-thirty in the morning.

People are starting to stand up from their seats. A few leave the theater. The rest remain. Brothers talk to brothers; sisters talk to sisters. The church members walk around the spacious room to find those who are still presently in the theater. Each of them don't see us, Garrett and I, sitting in the back seats of the theater.

I continue talking, explaining to Garrett, in my "phobia" story, two hours later, I came downstairs to make breakfast. Still upset at Mom, I grumbled and complained loudly. Aunty stopped me. I turned around and saw her sitting on a recliner chair. She was watching television. In a loud voice, I shouted that my mother doesn't understand and doesn't care about me. Aunt said, sternly, correcting that if Mabel doesn't care, then why does she give money to attend school? Pain in my heart, I yelled at my Aunt. Mom doesn't want me to graduate. This is why both of them want to make things hard so I don't graduate.

Garrett looks at me. He gestures that there are only two to three people left standing in the theater. I guess it's almost time for us to go.

No later than ten minutes, we arrive at the compact car in the parking lot. Garrett smiles. That was quite a story I had just told him. I smile. Yeah. It was...wasn't it? The key unlocks the driver's door. I get inside the car and open the passenger lock. Garrett slides into the seat. He closes the door. I start the engine. There was more. He couldn't believe. Want to know what else happened? Of course, he does, Garrett nods.    

I turn on the radio. The song California Love plays in the stereo speakers. It's sung by 2Pac, Roger Troutman, and Dr. Dre. The ending of the music. TLC's Unpretty is up next.

When I arrived at the World Civilization class in Honolulu, I wasn't able to concentrate and I felt deeply discouraged. As I waited outside the classroom, a local girl began talking to me. I wept as I confided to her about my problems at home. I knew something was extremely wrong at what I had thought about my family. The most frightening feeling was that I believed all of this was real.                                  




   

The Shopping Cart Battle with Memorized Conversation

The Supermarket Shopping Cart Scene. Describe the cart being used. Is there any defect? Observe oncoming and side shoppers' carts. Any problems? Are theirs the same as mine? Does the wheel skid? Locked tight? A mind of its own? Refuses to turn into the aisle that I prefer. A cart that make strange sounds.

Inside Costco, as Garrett is pushing the shopping cart, I begin talking to him about how I had gotten to receive a monthly Social Security disability income. This was in 1999 after "living my life in a cult." At this moment, the shopping cart wheels start to squeak. Garrett makes a comment. I laugh. The shopping cart wheels are tight. Garrett makes a comment. I look at him and the shopping cart wheels, then continue my "life in a cult" talk---

Sheri: I'm living on Social Security disability income until I become famous, which would be after selling a spec script or when the press and public take notice of a published book. 

Garrett: Why did you start receiving Social Security? 

Sheri: Long story.

Garrett: There is time. We are in Costco. 

Sheri: Okay. Are you sure?

Garrett: Yes. 

Sheri: I suffered from a serious brain disorder known as schizophrenia. This happened towards the end of 1996.

Garrett: Schizophrenia? 

Sheri: Yeah. 

Garrett: What month in the year 1996?

Sheri: The ending of September, but could possibly be sometime in October. Especially on Halloween. 

Garrett: How did you get that? 

Sheri: What?

Garrett: Schizophrenia.

Sheri: This illness altered my thinking patterns while I was working as an accounting assistant at Eizo Nanao Technologies in Cypress. 

Garrett: Where is Cypress?

Sheri: Southern California.

Garrett: This shopping cart has a mind of its own. Schizophrenia. Go on, I'm listening. Continue.

Sheri: The shopping cart has schizophrenia? 

Garrett: The wheels are hard to turn. Not in the direction I want to turn them. The shopping cart. See?

Sheri: Oh, okay. You're right. The shopping cart and I have something in common. A mind of its own.   

Garrett: What is the rest of your story?

Sheri: In a nut shell?

Garrett: Yes.

Sheri: I truly believed that my boss and co-workers were in a conspiracy with my past church roommates and a brother, also in church, who I knew for almost two years. I thought they were planning to control my personal life by forcing me to be with this brother and eventually move us to New Jersey because his parents lived in Connecticut. Not being able to handle this delusional situation, I left California and moved to Oahu in November 1996. I hoped that my mind would start to think normal thoughts since I was back home. Unfortunately it did not and for the first time in my life I wasn't able to find an office job, so I decided to try print journalism. It's a very complicated and weird story. Are you still with me?

Garrett: Yes. I'm still with you and so is this shopping cart.

Sheri: Schizophrenia. 

Garrett: Did you like this church brother?

Sheri: Maybe, at first...Then, I don't know. Just because I like a guy doesn't mean that he likes me back in return. Sometimes, unfortunately, the feelings are not mutual. I wasn't a very disciplined person and don't even know how I had gotten myself into such a horrible mess as I had, per say, the church sisters,  needed to see a shrink. 

Garrett: A psychologist. 

Sheri: Right, at first. Specifically in 1996. After that, it has been a psychiatrist.

Garrett: Why?

Sheri: Social Security.

Garrett: Why would Social Security want you to see a psychiatrist?

Sheri: To approve my monthly income. The medications make the case look stronger.

Garrett: Did it help you? Taking the medications.

Sheri: No. I got a bad rash breakout. Really bad. Till this day, there is a scar on my thigh; although, it has slightly faded.

Garrett: Ouch. Are you still taking them, you know, the medications?

Sheri: No. I'm doing okay without the meds. I have been taking a daily multi-vitamin instead.      

Garrett and I are standing in the checkout line at counter number five. The shopping cart wheels are slightly turned to the left position. 

Sheri: Play along. You are the church brother. I like you, but you don't like me. So I accept and move on to live my own life without bothering you. Is that okay? 

Garrett: Understandable. And the same thing goes with me. I might like you, but you may not like me...for whatever reasons.

Sheri: So am I considered to be normal? 

Garrett: Yes.

Sheri: Oh, thank God.

Garrett pushes the shopping cart forward to the checkout "counter five." The wheels are tight, squeaking. Hard to push. The cart's wheels automatically turns slightly to the left. A mind of its own.      

   

       

The Men's Fragrance Ad

I'm sitting on a stool, at the computer desk, reading a men's magazine. In the June 2013 issue of GQ, page 28, "HAVE YOU NOTICED LATELY THAT EVERYONE THINKS THEY'RE FUNNY?" The page, 29, next to those words, on the right, is of a Giorgio Armani ad for promoting "Armani Code" product. The male model is handsome. Next to him is a beautiful female. But the handsome model doesn't appear to be interested. He is more consumed with selling the ad's fragrance. "Available at Macy's and macys.com."

From In Person to Online Dating: Pop Up Ballon Notifying, "Update Available"

Am I ready to start dating at the age of 45? What would happen when I see a potential prospect sitting in a chair, signing autographs at a department store such as Macy's? What do I do? Do I ask him if he is straight, single, no girlfriend, and interested in a date? He shows a "enjoyed spending time on" sign of interest. We start a conversation that is well.

What if he---Garrett Neff---signs his name on his picture and includes his phone number and e-mail address? A dream come true invitation. 

I noticed each time, during the day and night, whenever I turn on the laptop computer, there is always a "pop up" box notifying me of an update available such as Java and Adobe.

What is my occupation? And why would I be at a men's underwear department store? Questions to consider before writing a story.

I need to see Garrett's photos and videos (media gallery) in his Twitter site.

Strange. He can't call me, so I'll phone and e-mail him the next following day while I'm at work or arrive home after work.

Scene of "meet," "date, " and "..." to be filled at another time.

Reading an online dating book during the morning hours, but changed my mind because it's not focused only on one specific person. So I'm kind of on my own, thinking, creating, and coming up with light to deep felt conversations.

How would Garrett and I live after we had met? What would we do? How would our lives end? Would we want to spend time together or apart? The first, second, and third encounters are exciting. But how about the forth, fifth, and sixth? Would we last? Where would we be from the first to the final interaction at living our lives?

From "in person" to "online" dating. He is visiting as a guest at an event, but resides in another state. This would become the possibility of a long distance romantic story plot.

       

The Black-and-White Beach Ad

"I never had a dream come true until the day I found you." The lyrics of a music reminds me of a vision I first had in my mind after seeing a beach scene photograph in a fashion magazine a long time ago. 

I'm searching for the ad's snapshot at this moment in the April 2008 Elle magazine that I had previously purchased at the Amazon website last fall in September 2012 inside a Fedex store. 

There were so many magazines, in the past, that I had forgotten and couldn't remember precisely which magazine that I had seen him. "He's everything I want. He's everything I need." And here he is...the most gorgeous guy that I had ever seen. Absolutely "perfect." 

Who is he? What is his name? Will I ever see him again? In another ad? He's running with a blonde, though. Sigh. That is the end of my "dream" thought of thinking about him again. But I will always remember seeing him in a black-and-white ad in a fashion magazine. Life goes on and I had putted him aside. 

I stash the fashion magazine aside and focus on the time to write in this new "My Mind" blog. Think I'll rename this blog to Internally Garrett. I know who he is, amazingly. Recently. I can't believe. My fantasy is alive. He is online. I feel his presence every day. So it was him who had been online communicating. Thought he was a guy who isn't good. Bad. The same scary church brother who had seen me as an unattractive Asian female and planned to have me killed. The Black Dahlia murder. The model who looked like Steve, and I will not include his last name in the blog. 

Thank God Garrett Neff is straight. Researched girlfriend. She sounds like me of having the same symptoms in regards to characteristic descriptions of...still searching. Found it the day before while I was on my Kindle Fire. However, at this time, as I'm searching for her "foreign" description, I unexpectedly located Garrett's Wilmington, DE telephone number and home address in the White Pages. Don't think I can call him yet. We don't know each other too well. Perhaps later? "Heaven is the moment I look into his eyes."    

I seen him though, Garrett, before I did a lengthly research at trying to find him online. See if he is on the Internet. He has been in a lot of men magazines modeling. Along the way, I have wondered whether or not this handsome guy is the guy who stole my heart away when I first had seen him in the black-and-white 'running at the beach' ad. 

And what is more bizarre is the fact that I was using him as a "friend" of mine who would stand by my side and be my friend while I post his current "ad" picture in my site at Twitter. A buddy to kind of protect me as I tweet and retweet tweets about a past church group that I had once been a member of from 1992 to 1996. Refer back to the brother whose real name is Steve. 

And now I found him. Once again, his name is Garrett Neff. There are a lot of pictures of him, breathtaking ones, but haven't seen the 'running beach' ad that I had first seen him in a fashion magazine. The "ad" that had instantly caught my eye. 

I'm moving along with my black cat Midnight to Wilmington, Delaware. The city where the model Garrett Neff had resided. To get closer to him and be a part of his life. See his hometown in person. Visit Wilmington University. Hang out in coffee houses. Become adjusted to a brand new life. Experience being in love to the vision that I had seen in the first ad, the black-and-white running beach scene or is this all a fantasy created in my mind? Maybe I'll meet someone new. Another guy just like Garrett. Can't think of Garrett as a boyfriend until...I don't know. He might turn out similarly as a brother named Jason who had been the worst. A delusional nightmare. I could only hope that talking to Garrett over the telephone would be different. He is friendly and not cold as in having a "grouchy" attitude such as "I don't know you" vibe.

What would happen? Never had sex so I don't know. Hum. Does he know that I'm old? Middle age. 45  years old. Turning a year older, 46, next year February. Sex for an older female who is considered to be a virgin is different for a female my age who isn't a virgin and already had sex. Hum. 

So this "blog" is what I think of Garrett and what I want him to know about me and me wanting to know a lot more about him. We can go through the seasons and years together in the process of me trying to get out of debt, save money, and move. Hopefully Midnight will be okay on the airplane ride to the Philadelphia airport and the road drive home to Wilmington, Delaware.