Archive for family

Day 25: “You Want to See F***ing CR@ZY?!”

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on May 18, 2011 by Veronica Graham

So… I had quite a bit to drink last night.  Drunk does not wear well on an emotional, borderline girl like myself… Buzzed doesn’t even wear well.  The thing is, everyone always looks at me like I’m this walking time bomb like any minute I’m going to flip out, toss some vases, and scream like King Kong or something… And sometimes I do.  But last night, as I threw back the drinks, everyone: my family, my brother, probably his new girlfriend, and Kimmie tip toed around me like I was about to go bat-shit crazy.  And I probably would have if it WASN’T for my few drinks.

Growing up poor, often times it’s really hard to be around my Dad’s side of the family.  Here, they talk about things like golf, careers, and such.  Something about these conversations immediately put me on edge:  I don’t have a typical “career” although I love my work (Is that a check from Lifetime Television I see?  Yes it is!), I have no love life except for my growing crush on the Irish Ugly Hot guy (found out yesterday he’s from Cork, Ireland… which now I know everything about thanks to Google!), and the only girly conversation I can stand is about shoes, movies, and make up- and only good ones at that.  So, often times I feel like the third wheel, sitting in a country club conversation that I don’t know how to be a part of… But I try.  And usually fail.  I’ll throw out a, “Yeah, love it when they make a goal in golf!”  “Is it the khaki pants that makes Arnold Palmer’s ass so hot?”  “Mmmmm… these horderves are quite delectable… no, I’m not from England… I don’t know where that accent just came from…” and  “Yes, yes, my pinky is sticking out… I thought that was the proper way to drink a Bud Light..”  By the end of dinner or whatever gathering, everyone is just about uncomfortable with me.  Can’t we just talk about sex?!  Isn’t that the one topic we can all agree that we enjoy?!  Even though I know how to dress and present myself as a rich, suburban snob… I can’t do it for long without feeling totally fake!  There’s something in me that just wants to uncross my legs in my Banana Republic dress, swear like a sailor, and check out hot guys!  But I hold it in and as I do that, tension and my emotions start to get the best of me and everyone can sense it.  Uh oh, Veronica’s gonna snap… She can get a little… crazy.  This is usually where I prove them right.

The night I was arrested for littering, I had met up with Kimmie for dinner.  This is after a long spout of not speaking and I really wanted to make amends with her.  I should have talked about how I was sorry about not going to Ireland and pretty much flushing her money down the toliet, how Iago had totally consumed my life and how lonely I had become.  Instead, I talked about how the world was against me.

“That sounds pretty immature.”

“That’s the way it is!” I declared.

I don’t remember Kimmie saying much during this conversation, but i do remember her eye rolls she doesn’t think she does, and her shaking her head a few times.  I ranted.  I went off about how my family hated me, the only thing I had left in this world was Iago and he wasn’t enough, and the world was against me so all I could do was fight back.  I DECLARED all of this, not just said it- DECLARED it to be the truth.

As we were walking back to our cars, I continued ranting and quoting the things you usually hear from rappers:  Fuck the world!  You better respect me, bitches!  I don’t owe you nothing!  I don’t need nobody!

“Pride comes before the fall,” Kimmie quoted and left.

I got into my car and lit my cigarette.  Puffing on it so hard it burned my lungs and damn, it felt good.  I flicked the cig out the window and the next thing I knew, blue and red lights were behind me.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” I pulled the car over and was huffing and puffing with anger.

The cop came to my window and said, “Do you know why I pulled you over?”


“You littered a cigarette and I’m going to have to write  you a ticket.”

At this point, I went into full on HULK mode.  When the cop came back with the ticket and asked me to sign it, I told him to “F” himself.  “I’ve been throwing cigarettes out my window since I was FOURTEEN YEARS OLD!  I’m not signing that ticket!!!”

“Fine, then you’ll go to jail.”


Man, would I regret that.  He handcuffed me and the next thing I knew I was on my way to the police station, screaming.  I wish I could say I was screaming words, but I’m not quite sure.  I was so drunk with anger, I don’t even remember.  But they did drug test me, gave me a breathalizer and they all came out negative.

The next thing I knew, a cop said, “This is an SS.”


Strip Search.  I was so irate that they didn’t believe it could just be from anger.  As they stripped searched me with a few cops monitoring, probably for the poor female cop’s safety, I screamed, “Oh!  Is this how you cops get your jollies off?!  HUH?”

I was tossed into Solitary Confinement… because I was a threat to others.  “I GET A PHONE CALL!” I was screaming.  The cops were ignoring me.  I screamed and cried the entire night until a new shift came on to give me my breakfast through my little slot.  I threw it back at them and cried, “I DON’T WANT YOUR BREAKFAST!”

“You don’t even want the cookies?” The female cop asked.


I called Iago and he called one of his shady drug dealer people to bail me out.  As we were finishing up my paperwork, the magistrate asked me, “Don’t you wish you would have signed that ticket?”

I still had too much pride in me to admit that I probably should have signed the ticket and said, “Thank you, Officer.  Will never happen again.”  Instead, I looked him straight in the eye and said, “NO.”

Last night as I was fuming with anger again for being misunderstood by my family, I was going to head to a bar and get trashed by myself.

“That’s a really bad idea,” Kimmie said.

“I don’t care,” I responded.  She rolled her eyes.

By the time we had driven back to the area, she had convinced me to just go home.  It’s easy for me to confide in her more so than others- maybe because I’ve witnessed her Asian fury more than once:  throwing a drink on a douchebag at a bar, getting into a physical fight once (she wasn’t winning, but to be fair- she did stand up to a guy twice her size and about 200 pounds, and by the time it really got good.. enough guys stepped in), and countless “check please!” moments because her big mouth.  I listened to her- for once- and woke up today, determined to make it an awesome day and it was… I had slept away my anger and didn’t get myself into trouble.  My best friend is a good angel on my shoulder, but anger-days happen for me too often and when I’m usually not around my friend… So what do I do then?  Should I take up meditation?  Should I drink more?  I don’t know.. I guess I’ll have to cross that bridge when I get to it.

Here’s to 341 Days, Veronica Graham, You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry…

Day 22: “Kindergarten Teacher Vs. Swimsuit Model”

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , on May 15, 2011 by Veronica Graham

Last night my brother came home from college, spending a few days in DC before he starts his summer internship in New York City.  He is the child that makes my father and step mother believe they are awesome parents, because he came out- well, pretty perfect… Like science experiment perfect.  My brother’s girlfriend is coming in to town tomorrow night to stay with him before he leaves for the summer- she’s a cute, homely looking, blond.  I think about the kind of girl I’ve always pictured with my brother, a Victoria’s Secret model with a mensa IQ… and this girl seems, well, a little ordinary (in my opinion.)  Kind of like a kindergarten teacher.

Perhaps ordinary is the wiser choice, a Vicky’s Secret girl is sure to keep a lot of secrets, huh?  And the guys I’ve chosen haven’t been all that ordinary and I’ve had to pay for it.  The good looking millionaire- FAILED relationship # 282838, The good looking lawyer- FAILED relationship # 84838, the ex-convict- FAILED relationship # 18738, and the Utah Family Vacation dream guy that flew to DC for Valentines Day to see me- FAILED RELATIONSHIP # 20.  But, I’ve found that “ordinary” guys rarely get past the 3rd date with me, somewhere between hearing about laundry and walking their dog- I fall asleep.  LET’S TALK ABOUT GOD, or DREAMS, or POLITICS, or SOMETHING INTERESTING FOR CRYING OUT LOUD?!  No?  Don’t want to talk about any of those things?  OK, let’s just have sex then.  <– why I’m not dating right now.

When I say “Ordinary” I don’t mean it in a bad way, but I do mean, lack charisma, spark, and the kind of guy that gets lost in a crowd– the kind of guy who’s name I’ll never remember.  I know this sounds harsh, but years of cocaine really did affect my memory retention.  This ordinary girl just doesn’t seem to fit my oddly perfect brother.  He’s tall, good looking, weirdly smart, and knows how to party- kind- of- guy.  He’s one of the most honest and virtuous individual I’ve ever met… In a nutshell, I look up and learn a lot from my little bro.  So, why is the fact that he’s with Susie Sunshine bothering me so much?  Do I have unrealistic expectations for him?  That he’s selling himself short?  I’m the overbearing and over protective older sister and no girl will ever be good enough for him?

Yes, yes, yes?


This is why.  None of the guys I’ve been with were good enough for me according to my brother- the not-ordinary and the ordinary.  None of them have made the cut and he was right about all of them.  Guy after guy I introduced to my family, my brother would give me his blank stare and say, “Are you fucking kidding me?”  Words like, “Boring,” “Broke,” “Douche-bag,” “Just Not Right For You,” and “Prisoner” would escape his lips.  Sure, I ignored him, but his “high” expectations of me should be my expectation for myself- anything less would be settling.

Sure, I support my little bro, but until a mega hot swimsuit model, super genius girl with a killer sense of humor comes around- then I’ll be thinking, Damn, they got lucky to have a guy like him!  Often times, I feel like I sell myself short and if I would have just listened to my brother and my friends, I would have gotten out of my FAILED RELATIONSHIP- number ALL OF THEM, long before I was burned.

Why is it that we ignore those around us?  Are we just happy that we actually found someone?  Or we take their criticism of our choice in boyfriend/girlfriend as a reflection of ourselves?  Who knows?  But I do know, what I’ve been telling myself hasn’t worked for me and maybe I should be a little more open to the opinions around me, even if it’s just- “Eh, he’s just so ORDINARY

Here’s to 344 Days, Veronica Graham, I’ll be taking applications for model-genius for the job of my brother’s girlfriend-

Day 16: “Mother Fuckers”

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on May 9, 2011 by Veronica Graham

I took a stroll downtown to get some air and enjoy the weather, feeling melancholy and restless at the same time. It’s Mothers Day and I have a mother, stepmother, godmother and Nanny.  I don’t plan on seeing or spending time with any of them today.

The only person that I was able to wish a “Happy Mothers Day” to was my biological mother, not because the others don’t deserve it, but I couldn’t even bring myself to pick up the phone or even get a card for the others.  My mother has ALL the Graham characteristics:  She is impulsive, religious, creative, hot-tempered, passionate, sharp tongued, and constantly believing the world is against her.  In HER case, it seems as though my entire family is against her, and not without reason, but in my opinion, still unjust.

She is still my mother.

 My relationship with my mother is far from normal or healthy, but I could care less, I love her just the way she is.  I drove to visit her this past Christmas, four hours away and had a bag packed because of a monster snow storm expecting to hit her house.  Somewhere after opening presents and before baking our secret family recipe for dishpan cookies, the flood gates of yelling, crying, and flushing out Mother’s Graham’s past and how it’s affected me into my adult life poured out.  My little sister stormed out in the middle of the meltdown and Mother Graham took off after her, leaving me alone on Christmas night.  I wasn’t sure if she was going to come back (not being a stranger to her leaving me in strange places in the past) so I drove home in a snow storm.  On the way home, Mother Graham panicked and called everyone I know telling them I was drunk driving and that the Christmas fiasco was not her fault.  She has been divorced twice and to this day has never remarried but is in constant pursuit of finding “The One”. I guess the old saying that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree is more than just a saying.

Trash talking Mother Graham is acceptable as saying the sky is blue, saying that Mother Graham is crazy, fucked up my childhood and adulthood, and shouldn’t be a part of my life now is all dinner table conversation.  She did throw me out of her house when I was 14, with a trash bag full of clothes and asked my father to take me (and he did), and our relationship has been a slow work in progress- taking one step forward and two steps back since I can remember.  She loved men, she fought, and she loves God to the point of God-fearing Bible thumping Carrie’s mother caliber.  For the longest time, I agreed with everyone around me, she ruined my childhood, she’s ruined me, I was better off without her.  Entering into adulthood, these nonchalant and cornering comments that my mother is crazy and I’m “acting just like her” to get me to cooperate with their wishes began to seem a little dated, immature, and disrespectful.

My mother brought me into this world, is also the one who taught me to believe in God, and planted the seed that led me to become a makeup artist.  From as early as I can remember, I used to sit crisscross applesauce on the toilet seat watching her apply makeup.  She could turn the just-rolled-out-of-bed look into photo shoot ready in 20 minutes and I watched with fascination as she transformed in front of my eyes.  “How does this look?”  “How does this dress look?”  “Do you think I’m pretty?” she would ask me.  The fact is:  My mother was a beauty, but had the lowest self esteem of anyone I’ve ever known.  Just like me:  She’s burned a lot of bridges and has severed the trust of many of those around her: including family members.

To this day, with all my flaws and all of my friends and relatives that have given up on me and just chalk me up to being “just like my mother,”  SHE has been the one to always come back to me, not just waiting for another mistake.  I did not see her today, but I know she worked on Mother’s Day, making minimum wage to pay her bills and probably still looked photo shoot ready.  When I texted her, “Happy Mother’s Day.”   She wrote back, “Thank you Pumpkin!  Miss you! OOOOOOOOOOOOOXXXXXXXXX Pretty Little Lady :)”

We spoke for a little after that- all positive comments from Ms. Pessimistic.

Sure, Mother Graham and I have a lot in common:  Good and bad sides of me, but she was the only one that I could bring myself to say “Happy Mother’s Day” to because she believes in me, between our fights and fears that I’m hell bound– she believes that I’m more than just a slutty fuck up and that I’m in this world for a reason.  When I screw up, my mother is one who is cursing me with disappointment while others look away with silenced comfortability thinking, “It’s all right, we knew you would.”  In their eyes, my upbringing with my mother led me down the path for a failed life, but my survival came from Mother Graham.  She taught me how to fight and how to defend myself and to keep moving forward like she does when nobody else believed I could.

For all those who write off my mother as a waste of space, write me off as well, and therefore, on this Hallmark Holiday, I don’t have anything else to say to those Mother Fuckers who believe I’m less than what I am.

Here’s to 350 Days, Veronica Graham, Happy Mother’s Day, Mom, I Love You, Dammit!-

Day 6: “Daddy Issues”

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on April 29, 2011 by Veronica Graham

Today I yelled at my father.  Yelled is an understatment, my head lifted off my shoulders and it spun around puking green demon vomit all over my father.  My father is an ex-Naval officer, still working in his 60s, trying to make a living and putting my younger brother through college.  He’s been gracious enough to pick me up when I’ve fallen over the last 20-something years of my life and for some reason he is always the brunt of my banshee screaming.

I was the kid that parents wished they could put back.  It’s like that toy you get from the sand treasure box and quickly return it to get something new.  My brother is the super awesome secret prize that only one person can get out of that sandbox.  You know what kid I am- they made a movie about it called Problem Child.  Great movie, but there’s a reason why they didn’t make the sequal Problem Teen or Problem Young Adult.  I was the Problem Child, Problem Teen, and Problem Young Adult… I was probably the Problem Baby and from what I’ve heard, I was the Problem Fetus.

You’d figure someone in my position would appreciate my father taking me in when I was 14 and rescuing me from San Francisco when I was 18 and rescuing me from my ex-convict boyfriend when I was… well, let’s just say way too old to be playing around with boys THAT bad.  So why does my dad get the brunt of all my pissed off psycho glory?  I mean, he gets the Muhammad Ali version of the Veronica wrath, and yet he’s the one that means the most to me in my life.

The fact is that I still view my dad the same way I did when I was 5 years old.  Invincible.  He’s capable of everything and deserves some hot young dame that will make him feel like he’s 22 again- who also knows how to cook, clean, and never cries.  (Sorry, interested ladies- he’s married!)  I expect things from him that only a superhero could handle and I spit out venom bullets because he’s bullet proof.

The reality of this situation is:  I’m too old for this shit.  My dad will always mean the world to me and I am the rare specimen of slut out there that isn’t whoring myself around because my father neglected or abandoned me.  Unfortunately, there’s just been no one else that could compare to him:  he’s bared the brunt of my wrath with excellent bulletproof strength, loved me unconditionally, and even gets my head out of my ass.  No guy I’ve dated has been able to bare this wrath of mine, and quite frankly, shouldn’t.

I have to learn to say to myself, “Come on, Veronica!  Shut your damn mouth, take a xanax, count to ten, and down a Modelo like the rest of the working adults out there!”  Then pop in the dvd of The Princess and the Frog, because Raymond never fails to put me in a good mood.

Here’s to 360 Days- Veronica Graham, Don’t make me light my butt!