This is the longest sentence Amber has ever written in parallel structure form. Amber always has alot to say when it comes to her being single......again.
When you have been a part of the scratching, crawling
blood drawing fight just to catch the brides bouquet,
kicking and screaming that it belongs to you, not the
blushing brides 12 year old aunt Jessica; and you know
her name because she invited you to join the reception
even though you weren't invited and don't even know the
wedding party, you were just watching because it
seemed romantic; when you have seen every friend,
co-worker, aunt, second and third cousin marry; when
you’re part in cyber space is the personal ad you
placed on that overpriced internet dating service
where there usually are no good matches anyhow, but
you do it hoping that by some flicker of a chance Mr.
Romance will spot your ad and he wont be a psycho
killer who leaves his socks on the floor and the
toilet seat up when he pees with the door open after
having two minute long sex with you and the condom he
wore stops up your toilet because he wasn't smart
enough to put it in your overstuffed trash; when you
show up to Metalskool tribute band concerts alone
hoping to recapture your youth, the time you felt
like you were the coolest but you really weren’t, and
your popularity was only with the high school boys you
slept with before your midnight curfew, and the
bouncer at the door knows your name and that the age
on your I.D. is not your real age because you are
really older; when you feel inferior to the other
people that are part of your local alcoholics
anonymous group and your coffee addictions are far
worse than the entire self-help group combined; when
your daughter (who you don’t even have
custody of because you don’t make enough money) hangs
up post it notes on the refrigerator telling me how to
“behave like a lady” and maybe then someone would ask
me to marry them, and I could be living happily like
“daddy does” with his petite wife and her overpuffed
new breasts; when you spend all your state paid
financial aid on dermabrasions and botox and as a
result you just look like a young girl with road rash
across her face instead of like the supermodels
pictures that line your bathroom walls unless company
comes over, and you take them down to hide, but the
only company you have is the short chubby maintenance
man Hector and he knows you don’t do dishes and that
you only called him over to work on “fixing things”
just to have someone to talk to, but his wife Maria
always pages him right when you get a conversation
going; and you inner child is even grown up enough to
know that you should be married instead of home alone;
and the fears and resentments you have about getting
older are only heightened because you choose to live
in Los Angeles and be an actress so that someone,
anyone will notice you and love you; and look past
that bundle of small grey hairs peeking out the top of
your head; and the stretch marks across your stomach;
when you know that your best friend is out of town for
your birthday every year just so he doesn’t have to
hear your whine again, and every year he gets further
and further away in hopes of staying clear of phone
reception so he can have a break from your madness,
and you remind him constantly that you are forever a
part of his life; when you buy new cigarettes after
stopping smoking for the Nineteenth hundred zillion
millionth time; then you know you are single.
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