Chase Bales is Dead.

I was a horrible stripper. That's what I told my childhood friend after twenty five years or so. And every word was true.

I wanted to be good at it. I wanted to be super sexy, super appealing, super seductive. Really the only thing of notice was my piercings and my big ass...they made me some money, filled somebody's fantasy. But, true be told, even if I took the normal stripper drugs, picked my favorite song, drank some...I was still a horrible stripper. I'm just way to goofy to be. But, I did make rent a couple of times. I made more money when I sold drugs and waitressed.

This morning I was thinking about that, and all the things that I've done. There's not enough blog space to cover it all. And in the grand scheme of things, I'm just a drop really. I try not to carry much of it around...it's just stories.

My childhood friend total me that a bully had died. He died? Yes, he was involved in shooting his girlfriend's parents than he and his girlfriend shot them selves in some hotel. Just a normal story for where we grew up. It hit me. I needed to confirm the story. I talked to another childhood friend. Yes, he was dead, he put his hand through a plate glass window and hit an artery - then bled out before the paramedics go there. Another friend, yes, he's dead, and it's a shame, don't you think.

All the stories, and the it's a shames. This guy who butchered me on a constant basis. He had a doctor for a father. He won the science far with the project his father did for him. I didn't even place because I couldn't be that smart - someone had to have done my work for me. I worked so hard on the project, only to loose to a bully faker. And the day when he stood up in class when the teacher was gone and made an announcement that made the whole class laugh at me and hate me. The days when he beat people up with fists and words - scared and us running. I didn't know that I could step up to anyone then.

I secretly meant to go back and check him out. I secretly meant to go back and tell him Fuck You. Fuck You and You didn't break me - My Life Rocked. And I do know how childish that is. I do know how stupid I sound. I do know that I shouldn't have cared. I didn't keep it close or anything, it was just there, sometimes.

And now he's dead. And his legend is still growing with all the people who can't get it straight how he offed himself. And I'm writing it down, too. Jesus, he won't just die already.

People said that I could go and piss on his grave. What?!? That's not the same and telling him Fuck You. I don't need to desecrate a grave or anything. I needed him alive.

People said, you didn't know what went on in his house that could have made him do those things. Yeah?!? Well, he didn't know what went on in my house either - so, that's a lame excuse.

I'm just pissed off that even in death, he still beat me. His death stories seem to rock. He went down in flames and a legend. Shit!!! Fuck!!! Shit!!!

We all paint our histories differently. Maybe it's accurate maybe it's completely inaccurate. In my mind we never actually grew up. That picture of him, taller than me, richer than me, more popular than me, more in control than me...winning the science fair by cheating. Yeah that's when my picture of him stopped.

I'm sure some people loved him. There were the "It's still a shames. Is it? What did I think about that? I thought if I were a good person, I would probably be mourning him, and saying some prayer. I just get zapped for not telling the truth. But, all I kept thinking wasn't it a shame that I didn't tell him Fuck You when I had the chance. Death doesn't mean you get a pass....who made up that rule? They were a douchebag, then, for making up that rule.

Would people tsk-tsk me or hate me for not being the bigger person here. For not have the mental capacity to just let things go. I resided to the fact that I will go to my grave with this piece of unfinished business, and the longing for the afterlife where I might run into him, and then getting to say Fuck You.

Shame. Hate. Embarrassment. Longing. Mourning Myself. All the turning in my head.

Then -My childhood friend fessed up and has a secret Fuck You list, too.