Chaos

You keep watching me in the dancing moments when I forget that someone might be looking again. Then I catch you struggling to eat a noodle for three minutes and I think: This could be so nice.

So, there's that.

I think I've come to the realization that, while you can put yourself out there and all can be great and fine and dandy...when you find the time, if not everyone is willing to find the time, it's not worth your time...or your disappointment.

Moments and Mind-Fucks

There’s a moment created organically and you realize you’ve been waiting for that weird thing to surface. You didn’t know you were waiting for it until it appeared, but when it did you laughed and got so excited to wait for the next new weird thing to be discovered. Only, you find yourself in one instant completely enjoying the moment and in the next questioning everything else. Nervous with anxiety created by moments that involve everything but you; the flapping wings of a thousand butterflies resting in your throat and floating around your stomach waiting for the perfect – or worst - moment to flit and flutter and burst. So uncomfortable with the thought that I may be competing for time...or just the last option in a litany of items on a to-do: The list is fine; I just want to be at the top of it. And I want to verbalize it all, but realize it always just comes out wrong.

Sometimes I feel the best way to get what you are looking for is to offer what you wish to receive. I’m beginning to think I offer too much and too soon and I make it too easy and I seem too open, and that makes me slightly terrified. Perhaps, so frightened I feel like my eyelashes could fall out and choke me. (Now if that’s not fucking terrifying, I don’t know what is.) And all I want to do is sit back and enjoy these moments - simple - but I panic or fixate or...something. God damnit!

And that thing, that weird thing that made me go “Holy shit, wee!, there it is,” and you have those things too and I’m finding them! Where are mine? Have you found mine? Do you want to? But over the tears of laughter, in the moments to myself to think and baffle and mind-fuck myself, I realize that I'm apprehensive to be excited for something so silly. That, that weird new discovery, delighting in tears, is probably just a weird thing to you. And it feels as though I’m at the bottom of a list – you know, convenient for whenever you can pencil me in - and I am so much more than that; I am worth a pen at the number three spot...at least.

I have my pen.
(In this moment, it loosely dangles from my fingers...)

The Starting Line

via PaperTissue

12.09:12.09

I like everything about you. It's me that's the challenge.

And When It Rains, It Pours

You have those moments sometimes in life where it’s all “this is good this is good I’m confused this is good this is good”: Bubbles of shit between, sure; but mostly good. And then it rains for days and as you check the flooding basement, you hear a boom from above and the ceiling in the kitchen caves in and out pours years old leaky pipe solution of toilet paper and paper towels: Streamers of disgust draping down to celebrate how much shit is happening in your life. Yes!

I don’t understand. Life tests us. Everything will be good for a while; we go years with no death, no major complications. Then suddenly BOOM! Things add up. Aaaand sinking. Everything begins to unravel and you try your best to gather it up in a ball and take it home and put it back together and just when you think you can make it work some dumb cat comes along and thinks “let’s play with this string” and the whole fucking thing falls apart again. You swear the cat would only have to look at it and it unravels - the smallest twitch (that normally would be meaningless) and your eyes well up with tears: The sorrow of loved ones weighs on your heart. And you’re just kinda left on your bed, alone, staring blankly at a wall wondering “well shit – now what” while that fucking cat has the time of its life you and swear to Jesus it’s laughing at you. But we just feel so despondent at the point that it doesn’t even matter. We don’t want to eat. Get out of bed. Move - not even to kick the cat. (Well...maybe to kick the cat.) We just want this part to be all over and the water to recede and the shit to start unshitting and the streamers to burn and it start to be “this is good this is good I’m confused this is good” again.

And hopefully we won’t be so afraid of the shit storm cycle to hit again that we won’t enjoy the sun.

That’s life. Without the death valleys, you can’t appreciate the stunning mountains. But, man, do I need a hug.

Indecision is a Decision

I'm a horrible decision-maker. Again, a quint-essential Libra trait. I mean, once I've made a decision and I'm sold, it's solid and I'm hard to budge. But if I have any room to waiver, I will spend far, FAR too long go back in forth about logistics and rational for each point of contention: Read: Choice A or Choice B ... or perhaps even a C or D. I will take E: All of the Above. This can go anywhere from where to live to what to eat for lunch. To which shoes to buy (which, sometimes leads to Choice E - and that can get expensive. In recent years I made a rule that if I have to ask myself if I like something, not to buy it.) More often than not, I'll spend so much time going back in forth that my indecision creates the decision for me. Which, I suppose, was my decision in the first place. Last night I was trying to make, what should have been, a very easy and simple choice. It likely had no baring on my life and I enlisted the help of my friend whom I was conversing with on gchat at the time - which went like this:

me: i like to just be directed.
i'm not gonna lie.
direct me till i protest.
C: well there's you answer.
next time I'll just direct.
me: but don't get mad when i protest. thats just me making a decision
C: I don't take offense to your protest
I realize it's your decision process

I didn't exactly realize that that is my decision process till just then. But it is. I make apologies for it; I understand it can be excessively frustrating for my decision 'bouncees' - but just imagine being inside my head. On the plus side, once I commit to a decision, I rarely feel remorse. Mostly just contentment. Perhaps delight. It's getting there that's the problem (...but I suppose that's most anything in life).

Steps of an Imbibed Saturday Night (AKA The One Where I Became a Prostitute)

I hadn’t been drunk in a while. As part of a half-joking pact, fueled by getting free drinks (while I still had a full one in my hand), I decided to drink on Saturday. You know, the drunk kind of Saturdays that make for unpleasant Sundays, as many in our generation tend to do…especially in the District.

In a drunk wardrobe-malfunctioning decision, I decided to remove my leggings. I had just purchased boots and I liked them and decided to wear them with a wool sweater that can serve as a mini-dress…with the appropriate accessories. Then the bars were hot. And I was about 4 vodka tonics and 2 shots in so when I asked my friends “would it be too slutty without leggings" and they resounded “no”, I decided to remove them…in the middle of the bar. So, that was not my best decision; but, also not the worst – or most random. And while it was cooler - I’ll hand that to drunk self - I won't being taking inebriated style advice from boys anymore.

Step one.

The night continues and I hear of odd things happening but really have no recollection. So lets move to our next drunk decision.

Step two:

By the time I reached a metro (I think I got lost first), the gates were closed. Nuts. So I turn to the corner with a million cabs zooming past. It was cold and, even though I had leggings in my pocket and my butt was freezing, I guess my drunk self decided putting ON leggings, I had taken off in a bar, in the middle of the sidewalk, would be wildly inappropriate. And I could not catch a cab. Maybe they thought I was a hooker (apparently at the bar an Indian man asked my friend “How much for the blonde”). So, back to step one: I won’t be doing that again…no matter how hot the wool.

Step two continues when I do get a cab. There was someone in the back. And that’s not legal, but near freezing temps made me not care even a little; you better bet this bitty got in that cab. And thanked him. I sat in front since the other fare was in the back and on curb side. He took the other guy home, and then took me home. Then, for some reason, I sat and talked to the cab driver for at least an hour.

What did we talk about? I have no idea. And then the cops showed up.

The cop was rather mean to the driver for no reason. Scolding him for parking a foot past the sign. the cab driver kept saying, “this is my friend, she lives here”. Legging-less me, appearing as a slut-on-accident – but in a long jacket, concurred. The cop asked for my ID. I obliged. The cab driver asked the cop what was wrong and the cop said there has been a problem with prostitution in my area (which, now that I think about it…really??). I then proceeded to scold the officer for suggesting I was a prostitute. He encouraged that’s not what he was suggesting and apologized; he went away, checked our records or whatnot, then came back. A minute later, after hugging the driver, I walked a few steps to my door.

Step two suggests my conclusion of step one is re-affirmed: KEEP ON YOUR LEGGINGS, WOMAN! For the kids cops!

Now, perhaps this wasn’t my best decision, but the cab driver was very nice. And not in an obvious way – gentle, soft spoken…sad, even. And while I don’t really recall what he said or what we talked about, I do remember vaguely him talking about his family and I think the word “lonely” popped up. Sure, I might have been in knee-high boots and a knee-length jacket, but I honestly think this guy wanted a kind ear. And that’s all. And everyone can laugh at me or nativity or the cop thing (cause, well, the cop thing is typical of my life), but sometimes it makes you wonder that if you didn’t take that time to spend with a stranger, what might have been? Or what might not be now?

Sometimes people just need someone to listen to them. And sometimes, even if you’re drunk, you can sense that and it’s not necessary to ignore it. Sometimes, people just need a hug from a stranger. And maybe it means nothing and maybe it meant everything. Perhaps I'm stupid, but maybe I'm just kind.

Step three:

For future reference: Trust your gut, listen more and hug strangers. The world’s not such a bad place. My hope believes that.

I'd rather regret what I did say, than what I didn't.

 
This is where I stand...

“Yes, it’s a mistake. I know it’s a mistake but there are certain things in life where you know it’s a mistake but you don’t really know it’s a mistake because the only way to really know it’s a mistake is to make the mistake and look back and say yup, that was a mistake. So really, the bigger mistake would be to not make the mistake because then you’d go your whole life not really knowing if something’s a mistake or not.” ~How I Met Your Mother

“Forget about all the reasons why something may not work. You only need to find one good reason why it will.” ~Dr. Robert Anthony


(Now where do I go?)


[thanks]

Songs for a Rainy Day

 
Direct Grooveshark URL to List or listen below. Enjoy!

♫

Astrology: 10:28

Love Horoscope today via e-tarocchi.com reads:

Aroused both mentally and physically are feelings that will be reinforced by conversation and those subtle signals. Let your feelings flow and they will carry you along without your having to make much of an effort. Don't plan what to say, just say it as whatever comes out first is probably the most sincere, so don't over think your reactions, just go with the gut.

I should listen to that shit. See: previous entries, word.

And this is tomorrow's:

At the moment it may be easier to see what is wrong with your personal relationships than it is to see what is right. If so, you're likely to fall into such a funk that you find yourself doing so much whining resolving your problems seems impossible. Shake your down mood off and confront any issues in your personal life head on and with optimism. If you do you may find that most of what is bothering you quickly vanishes.

I should listen to that shit too. But while talking to friends, it seems we're all slightly melancholy lately. Might it be the weather? Or maybe we should all take a big group cruise. (See: following horoscope re: big purchase.)

General horoscope for today:

This is a time of serious thought and self-analysis regarding the direction of your life. You need some time alone to ponder your situation so that you can make wise decisions. You are also likely to feel the pressure of many obligations in your daily life. Few doors may open for you now, but with some honest introspection that will change soon.

Seems appropriate.

General horoscope for tomorrow:

Make a point of not allowing others to ruin your plans today, because there will be certain individuals that won't like what you are doing. Your priority needs to be your more significant relationships in this instance, so don't let anyone sway your decisions. Now may be a good time to make a high end purchase like a new car.

Yeep. I get a feeling about that one too. And I have already made a decision regarding this. See: today's horoscope. haha.

It's okay though.

I’m not myself. Perhaps I was, for a moment there. I mean, I am and I’m not. I don’t feel trapped or locked, but there’s something I’m not saying. When I put everything out in the open, I kind of decided that that was enough for me. And then it all came back and I thought: “Oh, what the hell”. So, on I go. Only, now I’m hiding a bit. And how do you say, “I’m terrified (of what could be absolutely nothing but it’s huge in my head),” without sounding like a screaming child or an intensely insane adult? The funny thing is: I know it could be so easy. If I could just get life out of my head for a minute; if I could just trust, but I can’t – I have no reason.  And it would be naive of me and of my life and lessons and drip::drip, yadda::yadda , for me to just go “I’ll just plunge then, without fear of consequences.” (I realize I'm contradicting myself; I'm a work in progress.) Also funny, if it’s all that easy, I’m very likely to be uninterested. How fucked up is that?

It’s okay though. A decade in and my heart still beats with the ferocity of a teenager in lust. I'll wait for now.

Just Sometimes.

A minute back, in a brief and completely random and un-responded to chat to a friend, I declared:

sometimes.
just sometimes.
if you stop being afraid.
everything works out.

***

And since Grooveshark's widgets are broken, you get my songs of the moment as such:


Heartbeats (Jose Gonzalez)
Firework (Katy Perry)
Sigh No More (Mumford & Sons)
You Could Be Happy (Snow Patrol)
Animal (Neon Trees)
Feel the Tide (Mumford & Sons)

(Currently love Mumford & Sons: The Cave, Awake My Soul, White Blank Page, Little Lion Man)

On Being Real

As children, we go for what we want. We don't yet understand repercussions. And teasing and hurt and pain doesn't exist yet - or at least it doesn't matter. Then life teaches us. And our parents tell us to look both ways before we cross the street.

Slowly we come to fear everything. We fear rejection. We fear pain. We fear ridicule. We fear so much about not getting what we really want that we drive ourselves to madness skirting the things we want most - because it's those things that are likely to bring the biggest risk.

It took me a while, but I realize that the fear from adolescence and everything I've been taught about fear is hogwash. I realize that when my step-dad told me in August, "I learned [in Vietnam] not to live in fear. It's stupid.", that he's right. It is. It truly is. And if we drive ourselves mad trying to avoid what we fear, how can we ever really be happy?

I've hidden truths many times in my life. Most recent and extended, I spent a long time hiding what was really happening in my life in my last relationship. And purchasing smiles. And hoping beyond hopes to laugh again. Then, finding the strength to leave something I put so much into with someone I still loved (but knew I was better without). Regardless of my fear of admitting failure and my fear of being alone again and my fear of going back to the start, I did it. And I found myself again. My smiles became mine again and my laugh is genuine. I'm a better person for it (...and he still sends me flowers on my birthday!). I love my friends and my life is a happy one. I know that these times don't last; but how did I get here? I must have done something right.

Thinking back to my most unhappy times, they are chalk full of me pretending to be someone/thing I'm not. And I think my most happy times in life can be attributed to being honest...and letting go to be able to be myself. I lost that recently again trying to hide from something I feared, but I was finally honest with myself again. (Which is great because it made me realize how insane it comes across when I'm not saying what I really want and hiding the truth.) So I said "fuck it" and I wrote down the truth; it could not have been more sincere and it was from the heart. And you know what I did? I let it be read. And so far, I'm still here. I have peace of mind. And I'm not afraid. I'm not lying anymore - and now I can just go on being myself. And I feel so fucking free.

So the next time you don't feel so free, Self, and your smiles aren't genuine and your laughs don't throw your head back: Just be honest. It will set you free. And it feels a lot like love.

Bananas

I got off the merry-go-round. Being inside your own head can really make you crazy. Though I still have confused angry oats rolling around in there. A flickers of remaining illness expectorating and fuzzing logical thought processes.

I analyze way too much in life. A friend of mine is currently doing the same: Analyzing everything. And we're both driving ourselves bananas.

I think doing this is based on anxiety. And fear - but those usually coincide.

It's hard to admit that at 26, you don't really know who you are. And I wonder if we ever really find ourselves. If life is ever-changing and it all alters from day-to-day, how can you stay the same person when events make an impact?

Perhaps then, we are just what the situations make of us. Or rather how we cope, deal and revise ourselves based on what life throws our way. Some years are great, others are awful. It's all about balance. Is a person defined by how they keep their balance internally? Or their techniques of not falling? Or failing? Or how we dig ourselves back out once we're down?

It is far easier to have fun in the moment when you're not thinking about anything else. And it's hard to make those moments happen when you're too busy wrapped up inside your own head. Too busy cloaking yourself from what you've convinced your mind is happening - when really all you're probably doing is fucking up something that was otherwise fine.

Life is a fickle matter. I hope it gets better with time.

The Merry-Go-Round

You enter a situation that falls into your lap while you fall down a stairwell. Because, hell, why not? I'm young. And it presented itself...again.

Cautious, perhaps? Or just stupid. Like a child getting on a playground merry-go-round while the big kids push it. You feel like you're going to puke and fall off and it's going to hurt like hell, but they're pushing it too fast and it's too late to get off. So you just have to wait till it stops...or at least slows down. And then on what do you play?

Composed after departure, you get your stomach in check and someone asks if you want to get on again. Hell, they DARE you to get on again - or perhaps you dare yourself. And against your better judgment - and with no one watching - you get the fuck back on that stupid thing. Then, once you're going back in slow circles, you see the big kids coming back to pu(ni)sh you, and you go "What the hell was I thinking?". Only, now you're 26 and you know you should know better.

But you can't. Somehow you can't stop getting on. And you sit there - a glutton for obvious punishment - and scratch you head and say WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! This was just suppose to be easy and fun to ride. And now you're bothered. And sick to the stomach and I-feel-like-I'm-going-to-fly-off-this-centrifuge-of-persons.

You sit there. Grown up. And you analyze and understand that nothing - even this, perhaps especially this - exists in a bubble.

What was there at the beginning is never the same at the end. Otherwise we'd still all be at the starting line...and still sitting on that damn merry-go-round. Everything changes. Life alters. If you can honestly believe that life exists in a bubble and ideas and feelings and nuances and expectations and please-don't-fucking-do-that's don't change, you are blind. Or pretending. And you need to junk punch that big kid and tell him to stop spinning the god damned merry-go-round so you can get off the blasted thing!

The only problem is, it's really fun. And really the only ride you like on the playground - regardless of if all it does is go in pointless circles. But sometimes playgrounds change: They take away your favorite recess past time. And the big kid graduates. And you grow up.

And then what? You feel like a child on a swing and it's just so back and forth. Can things just be as easy as playing in a sandbox and when I want your shovel, you give it to me and when you want my bucket, I say "okay". Because we're adults now and isn't that how's it's suppose to work?

One should probably just use the slide. Or play with bugs. And then she whines, "BUT I DUN WANNA!"

The One Where I Lost My Shit

I’m a badass bitch, right? Totally forward. Honest. Tough. Tell it how it is. Blah, blah, blah. You know it’s our kind that’s likely the most sensitive? Maybe, sometimes … oh, who knows. But there’s a good chance we have a lot of stories…and even more quirks.

I have anxiety. I didn’t used to (or just didn’t know, I used to say I was “nervous” a lot, for no reason) – I also didn’t use to be afraid of heights. Fun things happen in your twenties! (Thanks mom.) And while I rock/wall climb in pretty valid attempts to ignore, pretend against or invalidate my fear – I can’t do much of anything about the social anxiety.

Side note: I am also terrified of cockroaches for no reason. As a kid I played with bugs. Potato bugs (or rollie-pollies, as some call them) and milli/centipedes were my favorite - I guess I liked bugs that could curl up. I blame my fear of cockroaches on not having any in SW PA – the first time I saw one was when I first moved to DC; it was in our kitchen and I screamed bloody murder (that made my boyfriend at the time bolt into the kitchen to see if I was alive) and jumped up on the counter and refused to dismount for at least 30 minutes. I have since learned to deal with the fear by eeking like a little girl and running away. Solid.

Likewise, I am also terrified of the dentist. This has a foundation though. As a kid the Novocain took longer to work on me; only my dentist at the time never figured this out and also never believed I could feel everything they were doing. And I had many, many, many fillings as a kid. (In 7th grade my tooth just fell apart while eating a chocolate bar in science class. Sexy, right? I blame genetics and second hand smoke.) Once they put so much Novocain in my mouth that, even though I still felt everything through the drilling and filling, by the time we left, the right side of my mouth was so heavy with the drug that when I smiled, only the left part went up. My sisters kept making me smile the rest of the afternoon and drinking that milkshake was a disaster. It got to the point where I found a new dentist and just told him to forgo the Novocain. Felt the same. Finally, at 18, I went to a new dentist who I told my woes to and he suggested we wait a little longer to help it work – assuring me that it was a new chemical compound or something (which I think now was a fib) – but it worked. Unfortunately, it was far too late and the trauma induced by years of pain and people telling me I couldn’t feel what was happening to my teeth and nerves and OUCH! had caused me severe anxiety about going to the dentist. I was prescribed valiums to take before my visits. Now, I haven’t been in 4 years … I know, I know, I need to go.

I’ve had the same 10 Valium pills for four years now. I used one last year to fly to California. (I’m less afraid of flying now; it is now in an ‘uneasy’ category.) A few months ago I used one to go to the Coheed concert. I felt comfortable at the concert and really enjoyed it. So much so, I decided to go to another Coheed concert. Last night. My concert companion really wanted to stand up front. I vowed never to do this again after a Foo Fighters concert when I was 19. I was about 4 rows back from the stage and everyone was jumping around and etc. and at the end of the concert a guy threw up…a lot…in a circle. It was weird. That was when I decided concerts are not for me. I went to two after that; once was JEW where there was a 21+ area towards the back and plenty of personal space and the Coheed concert a few months ago where we were in the middle with a valid enough about of space. (And a Valium.)

I really hate inconveniencing people – namely because I don’t want to be inconvenienced. And I feel guilty if I’m the reason someone can’t do something they want to. I don’t know if this is a personality flaw; plus; or who cares. But against every part of my being, I stood in the second row in front of the stage. The first act I cried a little; but managed to contain the tears in my eyes. I stared at spotlights, closed my eyes, and thought about anything else to compose myself. The act ended. I managed to smile and laugh and pretend to convince myself everything was okay. Then, the second act came up and every adolescent in the first 5 rows pushed forward, my eyes were forced shut , my face was shoved into bodies and I felt like I was in a trash compactor; a really hot, sweaty trash compactor that smelled like feet. Horror.

The music started and everyone started jumping and pushing and screaming and I HATE ALL OF YOU. (Which made me telling the girl that had burped in my ear, not to yell in my ear about an hour prior particularly ironic.) And while my companion knew I was struggling (as the marks on his arms now indicate) and tried to help hold back the masses from killing me, it honestly felt like the worst moments of my life. I felt like I was dying. (I can cope with many things – this is obviously not one of them.) This lasted about an hour. They said two more songs and I held back my tears and my urges to punch people and push them and knock them out and kick them down and pull out their hair that was all over my arm that was covered in sweat that wasn’t mine. (Two things come from this: 1. Concert going ladies: tie your fucking hair back and 2. It provided much needed comic relief when said hair was stuck all over said concert companion’s face and he made futile attempts to get it off whilst his hands were forced down at his sides – after laughing, I helped.) I felt a brief moment of relief when the song ended; my salvation – it would only be better from here: Only just then it felt like the ENTIRE world pushed me forward. In my head I was lost. I just wanted to go home. I was on the verge of breakdown; I had held it together; we could see the band we wanted from so close – only the entire weight of the world pushed against me and my face was in a fat guy’s back and my was chest being compressed again and I CAN’T BREATH! and my anxiety and everything inside me wanted to ball up and die.

I don’t have any idea what my eyes looked like, but who I was with finally said let’s go; and trying to get out was almost worse. We’re going one way and people are pushing against us trying to fill the spots we hadn’t yet escaped. And I scream in terror “let me out” – which someone so kindly mocked, but I didn’t care. He stopped mid-way out of the crowd: Perhaps my eyes were just a glaze and he had no idea what I was going through and only left the crowd because I nearly tearfully said “I want to go home”, because he stopped while people were near. There was space; I would have been comfortable regularly. But this was not a normal circumstance.

We got to the back. I leaned up against a bar. It was cold. My breathing was abnormal but I just needed a minute. And then another minute. And then I realize: Oh shit, I’m hyperventilating and I can’t feel my lips. My face is numbing. I feel like I’m going to pass out. I alert my companion and he insists we go outside but doesn’t understand that my legs are too weak to walk. I had been hyperventilating since we left the crowd. All the composure and focus on lights, and closing my eyes and bracelets and I’m-so-fucking-tough-no-I’m-not came all at once. It had been at least 5 minutes – a concept of time was of little concern. I had about no blood anywhere I needed it. Walking was not an option and I hadn’t enough breath or stamina to be able to communicate that. I leaned against the cold bars at the back of the theatre. He talked calmly. That helps me more than anything: People talking calmly – it helps me focus…gather their energy, or whatnot. I breathed again. I could feel my face. And I felt like a fucking fool. He said I was shaking, but I couldn't tell.

I wonder if anyone else noticed. I mean, I was breathing like I ran 3 marathons for at least 5 minutes before I shook him to let him know that some help was needed. And he was right beside me. That is clearly not something I’m built to do. I had a dream the night before that I missed the whole concert because, while I was there in person, my mind was somewhere else, focused on something else, thinking about something else. That is exactly what happened with the first two acts. And I would have missed Coheed had we not left the crowd – instead I spent the rest of the concert being happy with the music, annoyed I couldn’t do what I know the person I was with wanted to do – trying, though failing, and embarrassed that I am clearly so vulnerable to something so non-life threatening.

Last night I had a dream that we left the concert venue but came back to say goodbye to friends. When we came back, the band came back on stage to play a few more songs for the people that were still around at the theatre. We got to stand right up against the stage with no bodies around us or pushing us or sweating on us. And it was amazing.

I love you.

She sighs, with the heaviness of her heart trembling in her breath.

Did that just happen? I mean - all of it?

I can't imagine. I can't imagine my life. In one moment you leave for a happy occasion and in the next you find yourself saying "I'll see you in the morning" when that morning nearly never comes.

And you find yourself with anger, and fear and sadness...and blindness. I wish I would have... And why didn't you call? And how could you? And don't you dare ever leave me!

Only moments pass in the cycle of life and a happy occasion occurs until you are hit with another bullet. You tell me what? And now. And my heart sinks. And it deepens. And why didn't you tell me this before? Why didn't you tell us before? Why don't you tell me more? Why are you thanking me for sharing YOUR stories?!

I always wanted to know. But I had no idea. Your tears shake me. It all makes so much sense.

And this just moments and moments after I find out more on the other pair of the duo. And it comes full circle now. And it all makes sense. And why won't you talk about it? You know I know now. Why won't you tell me? I want to know more of you. You mean more to me than anything in the world, in spirits and flowers and life and limbs and I would do anything for your life - why won't you share yours with me? It makes me love you more. It makes me understand. It makes me feel.

My heart is heavy, but lightens with understanding and time.

I take unto me the pain of others. I want to understand their plights. I want to put it into perspective and focus. I want to love you like you love me. I want you to love me like I love you. I want to understand you and love you more. I want to listen and learn and know and I want relationships to blossom.

My heart is heavy, but it strengthens when it aches.

A Libra takes the pain of others unto themselves. I will always repeat myself as a quintessential Libra in all respects. I will take your pain and I hope to understand it and feel it and be with you. My love is forever and loyal and growing. Just tell me. Call me. Whatever you all need, I want to know.

There's more to everyone than they're willing to share. And it's those parts that explain it all.

Current Playlist

Juggernaut: anything requiring blind devotion...

 
Jug·ger·naut
\ˈjə-gər-ˌnȯt, -ˌnät\ –noun
1. any large, overpowering, destructive force or object, as war, a giant battleship, or a powerful football team.
2. anything requiring blind devotion or cruel sacrifice.


keep your secrets in the dark.
nothing matters anymore.

bodies breaking, drive me crazy.
this is not your place, no this is not your playground, it's my heart.
we were stupid we got caught.

nothing matters anymore.
so what.
here we are, juggernaut.

courage broken lash to scars.
can this love be what i want?

bodies breaking, driving me crazy.
it's your fault.
we were stupid we got caught.
nothing matters anymore.

so what. here we are. juggernaut.
juggernaut.

oh so hang us a hangman.
we'll bury our burdens in blood.
oh, so hang us a hangman.
we'll bury our burdens in blood.
become stronger, juggernaut.

oh, answer me, did we take this too far?
you've given all i could need.
did we take this too far?
oh, but your kiss won't leave me be.
cause your teeth just won't stop chewing out my heart.

we were stupid we got caught.
nothing matters anymore.
so what, here we are, juggernaut.
we are juggernaut.
we are juggernaut.

why, why, why.



[3:08 mark]

The One Where I Burned My Boob

So the power went out on Sunday, as I previously mentioned. It came back 3 days later. And apparently I forgot how to use it.

Yesterday, I made an appointment with the doctor. I waited for a half hour past my appointment time. Then, the nurse asked "What happened?"

"I burned my boob."

"With what?"

"Hot wax."

She giggles, "What? I'm going to need more of the story." I tell her. She takes my vitals. 120/80. She tells me there is a student doctor today.

"Perfect," I say, "I was hoping to flash as many people as possible". She laughs and leaves.

The doctor comes in alone. (Nice, one less person to flash.) She asks me what I did. "I burnt my boob with hot wax."

She smiles, but obviously not thinking it was as kinky as the nurse did, she inquires as to how. Well, I'll tell you:

I'm an idiot. And I might have A.D.D. I was packing and cleaning out all my bathroom stuff and found a wax kit I bought a few years ago. I put it in front of the bathroom door until I decided if I wanted to keep it or chuck it. A couple of hours later I went to take a shower and saw the wax kit and was like "Hell, I'll just use it now, then throw it out". So I put the wax in the microwave for a minute - not reading to do 30 sec increments - and took it out. Only the middle was warm - the rest was still hard - so I put it in for another minute. Since I was heading to the shower, and my roommate's already gone, I was barely wearing a towel and when I took the wax out a second time it was a lot thinner of a liquid than before. Since the microwave is above eye-level, it spilled on my chest.

I show her. She makes that sucking air through your teeth noise. "Ya, you really burned yourself."

I asked if I was a first. I am indeed. I have 2nd degree burns. She gave me Silvadene and gauze. Hot.

However, on the plus side, if you have a semi-serious burn, you notice the pain less when you wax yourself. How's that for commitment?

I assure you, it looks more painful in person. And, no, for the record, I did not scream. I was too busy slapping molten wax off my body. Blonde...

Blind

 
if ever you wanted to love me, i was always here. (Popped into my head; had to type it.)

I'm slightly blind at the moment.

Well, hold on. I'm always slightly blind; glasses since the 2nd grade will do that to a girl. But I mean figuratively.

I learned a couple of weeks ago that people I interact with - or at least share a same social group - are "interested" in me. Fittingly, they thought I was in a relationship for some unknown reason. I say fittingly, cause that's typical of how my life rolls.

Well, hold on again. During this conversation I was told that my abrasive personality creates this...um...aura, or something, but also since I have more guy friends than girls, people who don't know me assume I'm dating my guy friends I hang out with. Once people get to know me, they laugh at the ideas they had before about me dating these people.

So, there's those two things down. I'm well on my way to figuring out why an attractive, funny, smart and moderately "successful" (depending how how you want to swing that term) single twenty something never gets asked out. Modest enough, no?

Well, hold on. On the metro last weekend I did get hit on by a young black man. With plenty of seats open, he gets up from his and walks and sits next to me. I have my iPod in my ears and listening loud enough that he could probably make out every word of Quiet Riot and starts talking to me. I take out an earbud: "What?"

"I like your hair," he says. Well, there's a first. Very original. I tell him thanks. He keeps talking - asks me my name - repeats it back to me wrong - I take out the other earbud to correct him as is impulse by this point in my life - he repeats it back the same way - I correct him again "It has an 'H!" - he says it correctly. He puts out his hand with nails that are well manicured but clearly need cut (in my opinion). I stare at it for about 30 seconds before I shake it with hesitation. He says nothing, then starts to pull my hand to his face - to kiss it, I'm assuming. I pull my hand back and say "Don't do that," then reinsert Cum on Feel the Noize into both ears. He sits there for about 2 more stops, surely coolly playing off the rejection, then goes and stands by the door.

THIS IS TYPICAL. Or I just randomly get yelled at: "YEAH SEXY!" or casually hit on as I walk by. A lot. Or just stared at. (Ya, that's not creepy, guys.) What the hell?

I am the type of girl you take home to your mother. Damnit. Screaming at me walking down the street isn't going to work. Fear? Might I be just too damn sexy for people to actually approach me? Shall I start dressing like shit? Maybe I'm too honest? Or perhaps, just perhaps, I'm an asshole. And that's why I don't get asked out. Then again, I come back to that conversation where people go "Oh, yea, he was totally into you" and I go "WHAT?!".

I'm blind to these things. And then I never see him again. I'm back in middle school.

 

Homeless person finds home, ditches shopping cart, tchotchkes - packs nothing

So, here’s the scoop. Last Thursday I looked at two places in Columbia Heights, DC. It’s Green/Yellow line – which, if you know anything about the District isn’t the best place to live, but certain places are up and coming.

My desperation that night was at its peak. My anxiety about homelessness was about a 9 out of 10. I went home that night, laid face down on my bed and repeated into my pillow “I just can’t do this anymore”. I went to bed thinking about housing – I had a dream my car got towed from the one place that looked half-doable with an Asian chick and a 10x10 room with a dirty carpet and tiny closet after, in my dream, I had an “over night test stay” – and woke up thinking about housing. [I got an email from her today saying "unfortunately, I don't think we're a good roommate match. 1. Ya. Duh. I was desperate, 2. Just say you found someone else, dumbass, and 3. ARE YOU BREAKING UP WITH ME?!]

On Friday, still in full-on panic mode, I decided to reassess. Upon the suggestion of about 5 people and looking for any new outlets at all (since Craigs List is just getting weird and I’d been staring at blue and purple links for DAYS nonstop), I went to roommates.com. I answered one ad, she told me to stop by on Saturday at noon.

My roommate came home while I was watching LOTR on his sweet ass LCD TV, before he took it away, and perusing Craigs List when he came back with his previous/future roommates (I was an interim replacement). At this point, I had begun to laugh about the situation. I mean, panicking only gets you so far – the motivation is good, yes, but it was starting to make me lose my mind, e.g. face in the pillow dive. I kept making the joke that was going to be pushing around my things in a shopping cart (and then kept making the push-my-cart motion). Any time someone made any slight reference to moving, my invisible shopping cart came back. I lightened up and then discussed the possibility of asking our current landlord if I could possible renew the lease in the event that one of the 3 appointments I had set up for Saturday didn’t work. I wrote her an email: She’s a little loopy, and missed the “if” part. She started emailing people that I was definitely staying…so it got in my head that I was definitely staying too; though I wasn’t looking forward to switching gears to finding a new roommate now, after all this work to find a new place back in the District and closer to the metro. Regardless, I wrote a Craigs List posting to find a replacement for the very-soon-to-be empty room. I went to bed at about 4am – content with the idea that sometimes, if you have no place to go, it’s best to stay where you are.

I almost didn’t go to the one at noon. But decided for the sake of testing out all options, (and since it was close and in a neighborhood I wanted) that I would take a look and would skip the other two since my landlord had basically committed me to the place and the places I had looked at before had all been holes. Or they were nice enough, but I never got that feeling that they would be “home” to me. Or have any place for my "things".

I walked in the door of my noon appointment – yet again, awkwardly running into someone else who was looking at the place. The first thing the girl who was attempting to replace herself on the lease said to me was “I like your hair”. I felt comfortable around her. I looked around – still rather convinced staying where I was, was probably best – and she said “You want to live here. I know it. This is your house. It’s awesome. You should live here.”

I told her I was a Libra. I told her my situation. And I told her I’m more than awful at making decisions. We talked for a while...deciding we'd be friends if she wasn't moving.

Is this entry long enough yet? Don’t worry, it’s almost over. And the irony is to come…

My friend drove up from Richmond to visit a mutual friend – we were going to lunch. He called when he was at my place and I asked him to come up the street to help me make a housing decision. (You thought I was kidding about being an awful decision-maker, didn’t you?) He had a look – we discussed and decided I should go for the move. I wanted to be back in the District, I wanted to be closer to the metro, I wanted it to be cheaper. It's about $30 more a month, but 2 out of 3 isn't bad, we decided. Another deciding factor was the girl who was showing me the place told me what a wave of foreign people nightmare it was to try to rent it out – and I was so over anything that had to do with hunting apartments or people to live with. I met the owner, he asked if I had a job and for how long. I asked if they would be interested in a new couch and chest freezer. They said "yes". Then I signed a lease and gave him a check. ::slaps hands together:: Done and done. I was there for about 3 hours. I can start moving in Wednesday evening.

Afterward, my friend and I grabbed lunch. He paid for lunch. We came out to find out I paid more for parking…I forgot the ass of a state that is Maryland wants meters paid on Saturdays…and so I got a $45 parking ticket for a meter. No, really. Forty-five fucking dollars. But, at that point, I was just happy I had a place to live and it was all over. So I kind of giggled it off, but damnit. But seriously, oh well: I HAVE A HOME!

BUT, you want to hear the best part? Yesterday, after softball practice and a trip to Value City Furniture after (in which no one wanted to ask sweaty me if I needed help – haha), a storm came out of nowhere and our power went out as I pulled onto my road at about 3:30pm. I napped a couple hours then packed till dark - which wasn't much. But it has been out ever since. Reports are saying it could be days until it is restored. I don’t get home from work until 7-7:30pm and I can’t pack in the dark. So…in fitting with the story that is my life…I can’t pack.

Ha. Ha-ha-ha. My life…

Homeless person chucks tchotchkes, clings to Trivial Pursuit, bed

 
I’ve been absent. I know. But forgive me, I’m homeless.

WHAT?

Okay, not yet. Give me 9 days and I’ll be on the sidewalk with a dining set, a sweet ass sectional and my prized bed – which I love dearly. Oh, and probably my 5 versions of Trivial Pursuit.

Clothes are optional.

I’ve been searching for a place for months to no avail. I want to punch all those stupid DC reality shows because now the world can see DC is a pretty rad city – one in which I found no problem finding an abode in for the last 4 years, but suddenly it’s more competitive than real people trying to get internships at Elle over the Whitney Ports of the world. But I digress.

No. No, I don’t. It sucks. It’s consuming my life. I found a roommate and we were looking for a 2BR together. Monday, that option took a back seat and now I’m looking for any means of accommodation. For me. And my Trivial Pursuits --- if those cards get wet, it’s all over.

I wish someone would have told me not to make a home with someone until I was sure. (And, let’s be real, how sure can you be at 22?) HAVE YOU ANY IDEA HOW MANY KITCHEN CANISTERS I HAVE?! Ten; I have ten. [edit: over the weekend I saw two more I forgot about. So, I actually have 12.] That is preposterous. And now that I’m looking to move in to someone’s pre-established residence – there is no room for this shit. Nice shit. Ohh…all this SHIT I’ve collected over the years. All the things and selective tchotchkes (and I fucking hate tchotchkes) and games and books and clothes and art and and…and…I’m spent.

I made a home with someone. A home. He had to move back with his parents; I kept everything in the house. (Thanks for the Wii, past-lover.) But now I have a house worth of stuff we purchased to make a home and no place with which to fill.

Living with someone taught me I was planning on spending the rest of my life with the wrong person. That love is fickle...and unsuspectingly fleeting. It taught me that who you are in one place, at one point in your life, is not who you are in the next. And it’s the transitions that will kill you; a partner for life is someone who can make those transitions with you – and ease the pressures of them. (But honestly, I don’t think any 22 year old can do that effectively.) It taught me a lot of things, but it definitely taught me not to make a house into a home with someone until you're married. (You can quote me on that.) I wish someone would have told me to live in a studio with him and not fill out a house worth of things because the packrat, the frugal Mable, and the what-if persons inside of my head are going DON’T THROW THAT SHIT OUT!!!

But that’s all I want to do. Purge EVERYTHING. My motto: The more stuff you have, the more you have to lose - the more you have to worry about losing. And all I can worry about right now is not even having a place to put shit in order to lose it.

So I want to pull up a dumpster next to my window and dump everything I own in there – except my Trivial Pursuits, of course. I want to just clean house and be rid of all of it. [Cause when I'm living out of a shopping cart, it just won't have that same je nais se quoi.] But I know I’ll want it in the future…or at least I think I know. Then again, last time I knew something, is how I ended up with all this shit in the first place…



Dear World, Please provide me with a roof – and possibly the option to keep my sweet ass sectional. And bed. The tchotchkes can go.

Gchat Snippet: "Women are Insane"

C: men don't realize that when we say to go or do something, really we want them to fight a little for the opposite.
in that regard, women are insane.

me: lol. yup.

Lucky Bitches

The day before vacation, I'm slightly distracted. After getting in a small fender bender this week that left my car pretty much the same as it was before (especially after the Mazda dealership checked it out, cause it happened on my way there anyway for new rotors, then gave me a few new bolts for my license plate), I can slightly relate. If only I hadn't hit a brand new Acura. Guess I stole it's V-card. Better than a keying for no reason 3 weeks after you buy your brand new car and had yet to even make a payment...just sayin.

Anyway, this video is crazy/awesome. Make sure to watch all the way to the end. Cops should require college degrees. haha.

Jokes! People. Just jokes. Calm down.

iPod Free Write

"Delicate"

And did I tell you that when you smile, I can see your heart?

BWA-HA-HA. No way. Just a little slice of metal.


Damian Rice, you Siren, you.


Stuck between giving up something forcefully easy. And then, wondering when it's time to leave. And time to ask for more. From myself, you know. Mom says 28. 28, huh?

Twenty-eight. 16 months and some amount of days. Twenty-eight. Perhaps 30 is the new 28. Or never. This is fun, but it makes me go I miss the rest of it. Until I realize the rest of it is all a headache. Perhaps twenty-eight is when it's all just how it is now - and there are no headaches. Just, ya know, that...there. And a hug or something. But, dear Self, Damien Rice, Mom, I highly doubt it.

"New American Classic"

And she drives. Into the night. Angels creep in her mind and she wonders why the fuck all that dumb shit falls into her mind. All the shit she can do nothing about.

April comes and the rain welcomes new open windows, and fresh air and dreams of new things. Maybe, for a moment, there's nothing to worry about. And, maybe, for a moment, everything is perfect. There is a perfect. And she finds it. And then cynicism and reality falls into place. And there's all things she can do nothing about. Fall back and just ride the ride.

Tidal waves sweep you. Small currents caress your back. Rocks are jagged. Waterfalls are a terrifying leap of faith. Fall back and ride. Don't think. The wind, the water (fire, earth, heart...captain planet!) take you where you would go. Where you will go. Regardless of what you do or how much you pressure or play games or ease up. Life isn't yours - it's fate's.

"The Velorium Camper I: Faint Of Heart"

Stop.

Okay. Go.

Stop procrastinating. Less thinking. Impossible.

Slice of the tongue. Sharp words that cut through veins. The heart bleeds.

Well-behaved is an option, an opinion. I'd rather keep it interesting. My life will never be boring. And my momma still loves me.

Weekend Playlist

I'd say it's for you, but it's probably more for me.

Today's Playlist

Today's Thought....

I think that if the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, the way to a woman's is through her laughter.

(I'll take both. Greedy, greedy. Nom, nom.)

Still Here

Dear Neglected Blog, I apologize.

Life has been a flurry of activities and too much grocery shopping. This past weekend I did a booze cruise on the Potomac, falling asleep at about 4am after stealing a ride home from two guys from Boston who started talking to me just to ask if i was "actually with" the guy I was with. "No, we're friends." Then we all got in a cab an they were staying at a hotel about half a block from my friend's apt. who I was staying with that night. Exiting the cab they said, "Well, it looks like you got a free ride."

"Yup. Thanks." And she walks away, wondering if she really needs to explain ever at all why she is single and never gets asked out on dates. My wonderment lasted all of about 13 seconds. Then I time traveled to passing out. I woke up at 8am, and headed out to get on the bus to go to the wine festival all day. I think I wasn't sober yet when I started drinking again. Okay, I was. But so sleepy - however most all of us were on the boat, thus in the same boat. I remember most of the festival - much more than the boat. But then the shotgunning bagged wine on the ride back and drinking a bottle purchased at the festival was a bad idea. We returned, I used my friends shower, then we cabbed out to our next destination, ending the night at an iHop which was delicious but I couldn't tell you what I ordered. Prior, I had Hard Core cider. There was a lot of dancing...and I bought a 35 pack of orbit at CVS to get cash back. This is what my mind chooses to recall? Interesting.

I got back to another friend's and realized my camera was gone. He called where we were (thank you, love) but no luck. Sad I lost my camera, I went home the next day and napped and watched Scrubs and was elated to learn that my friend who's shower I used had my camera on his coffee table.

So, with that, the weekend was officially a success. And I slept for at least 16 hours yesterday (to this morning).

Um. Yes. So, my Yes Year is going awesome, but the blog is suffering as I have no time for upkeep - a flaw in the design plan, I think.

Wait, this isn't the blog I intended. I'll regroup an be back shortly. Thanks, MNGT

Today's Lesson: 4 Chords

Nashville in Need

Nashville flooded, but you might be unaware. It's sort of  pathetic that the news just brushed over this devastation (see video below) in the 60 seconds they gave it between and oil spill that didn't kill anyone and a Time Square bomb fail, that also injured no one. Over 20 people have died due to this flood and billions of dollars of damage have been done. 

It's really quite astounding that something so devastatingly gorgeous can be so destructively heartbreaking.

http://malcolmmacgregorphotography.wordpress.com/

Below are photos my sister, a Nasvillian, took today. My blessedly lucky family and other Nashville loved ones are safe and dry. Others were not so lucky; my sister went to help out those today and got to view the destruction of the water first hand. Entire homes...ruined. (click to enlarge)

She said, ""It is unlike anything you can describe [sic]. Encourage everyone you know to donate - these people have nothing, nowhere to go, and are literally living day to day on the generosity of others." 

If you'd like to help, donate, spread the under-spread word, go here.

Like I've Said For Years

.

Turtles are awesome...

...and birds are assholes.

[images via imgur.com]

The One Where I Got Punched In the Face

Oh life, full of adventures. You are such an asshole. Really.

Lately I haven't ended up in any bartender's houses or walking around the District for 4 hours searching for a car to sleep in that was miles away then catching a cab as the sun came up only to tell him to turn around cause someone stole my wallet (which ended up being in my bra along with my iPod anyway). Miss those stories? Well, shame on you - you should have been following my blog earlier. Just go find them. Catch up.

Latest in the Really? Files of my life was this past weekend. Deciding that everyone needed to tip the bus driver, I made it a point to yell at an entire bus full of drunk people heading home from the Gold Cup on Saturday. I got in an argument with some ass that just got in an argument with a trip "monitor" who was also drunk (good job, Lindy). All I was saying was it's not the bus driver's fault there was no A/C (that's what the fight was over between the two guys too. Sigh.) and he deserves the same as the other drivers - more even, cause he had to put up with the heat as well...and our complaints.

One guy backed me up. The drunk guy's girlfriend got involved. I told her to shut-up. She did the classic passive-aggressive WASP move and asked if I was done. Bitch, don't WASP me - I am WASP-aggressive...and I've had my vodka - I told her "no, I'm not" and gave her the good ol' Fuck-Off Face. Then told them if they want to be cheap, that's their business, but it's not the bus drivers fault. If they went to a restaurant and the food was no good, but the server was - they wouldn't tip the server any less. They said they would...and those two lost causes belong together. I went back to my seat.

Shortly after, we all got off the bus. I watched the bus driver get some good tips. Then went to get my shit out from under the bus only to catch a swift impact to the face. I kept with the momentum and turned around and walked away. After moving back a few feet and turning around I saw the two douchebags fighting prior on the bus BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF ONE ANOTHER. Let me tell you, those punches hurt. A crossfire casualty: Right to the nose.

The nose! Did you miss the posts where I had a nose job last summer? Shame on you - go back and find those too. I felt so Marsha Brady: "Ohhhh, my nose". The cops came and talked to the guys. Then that dumb WASP came over to ask if I was okay and I essentially told her that I saw through her games and was not selling her boy out to the cops and please go away I'm crying: Which was mostly out out of JESUS CHRIST THEY FUCKED UP MY RHINOPLASTY! She walked away after asking if I wanted coffee -- ahh, yes, that would be so amazing right now. I always thought if I got punched in the face a nice mocha latte would really hit the spot -- and I gave her the Fuck Your Coffee Face. And eventually the cops left too. Then there's me: Little blond girl in a hat and a dress and cute shoes and half drunk, sitting on a planter on the side walk in Arlington and holding ice to her nose...because some muscle just fucking punched her in the face.

No? No one noticed? Typical.

.

Who I Was is Not Who I Am

Yesterday I was talking to a friend that I had met before my ex and I really started to crumble into a sad mess. The spring after meeting him I started to play kickball...and consequently meet a lot of new people. He told me that there were a lot of people that really didn't like me when we first met last spring, but they're starting to now. Ah, yes, I said, "That's what always happens - that's the way I was explained to people 'she's a bitch when you first meet her, but if you can deal with her at first, she's great'."

He said something like, "That's fine. But it was more than that. You were a bitch."

"I was?"

"Ya. Total."

I stopped to think and responded, "Well, I was in a relationship that was falling apart."

He said I was rationalizing. I don't think so. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that last year - when I was meeting all these people - I wasn't who I am.

The first half of last year was, perhaps, the most desperate time of my life. It was falling apart. I was falling apart. I was fighting with part of myself that was telling me to stay and searching for the strength to leave. In a final appeal for strength, I took a sign from a Post Secret card that read: It's okay to leave. The time is now. And I did.

***

My family doesn't talk much about personal problems. We tend to be our own little islands; for some reason we think we can deal with everything ourselves. But we can't. For example, we went to my sister's wedding last May - in the midst of our failing relationship - and no one in my family asked what was going on between us (and I didn't tell). This past weekend, my sister told me that everyone was too afraid to ask. (Afraid of what?!) At the start of the trip I complained to my family about him being difficult, but with no further inquiries. Other than that, we got along that weekend; in fact, he thought our relationship was back on track when we got home. It wasn't back on track; we had derailed too far. And I think it really hit him then - perhaps both of us -  when he thought we were in love again and I broke the news that we'd likely never be.

I'm not sure when my family discovered it was over. I'm not sure when my friends knew either. Five years and my heart was breaking. I was angry. I was miserable. I was sad. And I was alone. Sobbing on a weekly basis. (And I never cry.)

I didn't have anyone to help; it was just me to cope. Me as my own island and the cause of my sorrows living on it. Difficult doesn't begin to explain it.

***

A few days ago my mom said, "depressed people will rub off on you and make you depressed". I realize that's true. People can change you. Situations can change you. And it's hard to see when you're standing in the middle of it all screaming silently for any help, sign or strength to do...something. Anything.

I don't know how I did it. Moreover, I don't know how we lived with one another for six months after breaking up. It was probably one of the bravest, stupidest and most eye-opening experiences of my life. And I can't thank those enough who were there for me in the small moments they were: Those moments were bigger to me in that time than you may ever know. And it is because of them that, one year later, I have returned to who I used to be. The girl that laughs, loves and makes a million mistakes all by herself.

It has been a journey. Nothing about it has been easy. My Dearest Ex, I love(d) our friendship, but I hope that you, like me, are doing well and laughing again. I hope you are back to who you used to be. I hope we're better versions of the people we fell in love with. And I hope that your old friends and your new friends understand that who you were last year isn't who you are in life. And love you anyway.

The Bet - Update

With nine days to go, here's an update. Last week I had some female moments and went from 143.5 to 148 in 4 days. After that, I ate half a half gallon of Breyers ice cream in 2 days. And a 12 inch subway sub...and was still hungry. So there's that. Then we went to Nashville where he ran a half marathon and I ate delicious BBQ and DQ Blizzards. So I'm still behind (that week of illness still haunting me), but not giving up without a fight. Today I am 142 - I started the week off at 146.5. He is 135.5 - starting the week off at 139.5. The purple tank is from 2 weeks ago, the black tank from last night (2 hours, 900 calories - 7+ miles and 500 crunches). I'll need to pick it up for next week.

Organ Donor < 3

I have always been an organ donor. I want to keep my eyes; perhaps my heart, but since I got my license at 16, I have always chosen to donate my organs were I to perish. I think it selfish to keep something of yours that could save the lives of others. And not just one other, but up to, what? 10? ...how many vital organs do we have again?

My aunts are nurses, my mom is a nurse; both my grandmothers worked in hospitals of one kind or another at one point or another. When I first chose to donate, I always heard the stories that said they let you die if you are an organ donor - that they don't try as hard to save your  life if you're barely breathing. The Nurses always denied this...until recently.

My family came down earlier this month for the cherry blossoms and to visit me and my other aunt. At lunch, my one aunt, who is the director of nursing at a large trauma unit, told me they recently changed the laws to say that, basically, they will let you die easier if you are an organ donor. She changed her status on her license. Made her husband and daughter change theirs too. She urged me to change mine: To retract my organ donation.

My retort befuddled her: I will not change my mind. I would die to save 5 strangers: 5 mothers, daughters, fathers, sisters, brothers. If that is what is chosen for me, if that is my lot in life, so be it. Just so be it. I believe that life is fated. Every step we take is chosen for us. And while I don't believe that a building defines your spirituality, I do believe in God. In God's will.

And so I told her: If my life is hanging in the balance, if my body is frail and my chance of survival is slim, perhaps I wouldn't want to live anyway. "But what about the chance to live; what if you would have lived," she asked. I told her that if by my perishing, I can extend the life of others - those who are otherwise healthy, except for that one pesky organ - that I would die to save their lives. She looked at me in disgust. She couldn't understand why I wouldn't want to live.

Oh, but I do. I so do. I love my life. Every moment of it - even the ones I hate, I love. But if I am meant to live, I will live. If I am meant to die, I will die in peace knowing I have saved someone else who is truly loved. And they can love their life. And perhaps that selfless act might bring some peace to my family as well. So be not disgusted and understand that while I hate people, I love humanity. And, when hanging in the balance, I would die to save your life as well.

Or her life. 

The world lacks compassion. But I have hope. And I have faith. And then there's fate...


 <3

Gchat Snippet of the Day

 AK:  hmmm maybe you can get really ugly

 me:  psh! please. have you seen me?

 AK:  hahaha

help! it's an emergency!  i'm hot and there's no one around to see!

 me:  it's like a really good parallel parking job that no one is there for.

 AK:  or wanting to deliver a donkey punch when you have no schlong to do it

 me:  strap. on.

 AK:  check. mate.

See Also (there appears to be an accidental theme today):

M:  How did this come up again!?!?!

 me:  i have a problem with this.

also, that's what she said.

 M:  Ha, OK... I'll give you that one

 me:  it was a good one.

 M:  It was in the middle of the pack

 me:  was that a vagina joke?

M: no it was not

me: it shoulda been

J:  it doesn't taste great

but it doesn't taste awful

me:  that's what she said

--------- Just call me Micheal Scott. I'm just not tired of that joke yet...get over it. ----------

The Bet

After getting grossly out of shape while in grad school, I lost about 30lbs (taking from my most and least weights…realistically, it was more like 25lbs.). Since then, I have stayed between 140 and 150 – favoring 142 and often taking few week breaks to get slightly gooey again so that I regain the motivation to work out and get a tight belly back again.

I tried to work out for my Halloween costume (right)...and it turned out alright, but then I let go a bit till after the new year. 



I worked off a few holiday pounds in January and I looked alright at the end of January, but I was frustrated because, as a person who loves instant gratification – I was weighing 148 every week and saw little changing besides some muscle building in my stomach:

…and the elliptical was broken and I hate treadmills. So I stopped. I worked out the first 2 weeks of February sporadically (typically I go for 1.5 to 2 hours MWF), then pretty much stopped altogether except for a day here or there.

Last month, after about 6 weeks out of my regular gym routine and after a couple of weeks of complaining about being squishy (see pic, right, 1 week prior to competition) to a friend of mine – and he feeling out of shape as well and needing to train for a half-marathon in late April, I suggested we make a competition out of it. So we decided our individual wagers (if I win, I get my climbing shoes…finally) and set a start date of March 22nd and an end date of May 1st.

His start weight was 147. Originally mine was 148 that I had somehow maintained since January (damn you 148!). Since he weighed in on Tuesday, he let me push back my weight again till Wednesday when I weighed in at 150 (extra water? I don’t know. But I took it...I also took a photo, but I'll show you that one for comparison purposes once I start to progress -- again).

Two weeks prior I had been really sick, but took off that Thursday and felt better. However a pesky cough stayed with me. After the Beer Fest in AC the weekend of the 20th, I came back doing not quite as well, but went grocery shopping for “diet” foods and worked out starting that Wednesday. I lost 5 pounds from Wednesday to Saturday. That Monday was getting more ill and couldn’t make it to the gym. I had to call off Tuesday. I saw the doctor on Wednesday (and if you know anything about me, seeking medical attention means I’m hurting. Bad.) and returned to work on Thursday, still not feeling quite up to par. This past weekend I spent outside with my family and felt okay – I thought I was healing…aside from the coughing at bedtime. Then I slept on my aunt’s pull-out sofa and the animal hair and whatever else made me regress to feeling just awful in the morning. I tried resting up to get back to the gym this week, so I’m making the attempt tonight.

He allowed me to push back the date to May 8th since I was out of the fight for a week due to death illness. Today I weighed in at 147.5. He weighed in at 140. I’m way behind.


I'll post pics and progress periodically...

Gchat Snippet of the Day

♫ A:  getting a tattoo 

me:  oh. what is it? 

A: it's a white wolf with some other shit going on 

me:  2 more wolves and a moon? 

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In case you are in meme darkness, click here or play this:
Know Your Meme: 3 Wolf Moon from Rocketboom on Vimeo.

The Price of Female

So my roommate is accidentally sexist. (Yes, I have told him this. His retort: “Could be”.) Two nights ago he called women’s basketball a joke and a few weeks ago, in the midst of women’s Olympic hockey, he said women sports are  not full contact because our bodies are weaker than men’s.

Hi, if you tried to have a child, you would likely die from the pain. And your body can’t do or endure half the things mine can. Can you bleed for five days and not die? I DIDN'T THINK SO.

Anyway, last night he finally realized that it’s much more expensive to be female than male. Um…yes. I almost wanted to hug him. Almost. Maybe he’s progressing. Will he next admit that women are a minority and are not treated equally in the United States? (I did get him to admit that female genital mutilation is a problem. Sigh.) Probably not...and we're currently ranking 17th in gender equality. 17th!

As women, we have so many more costs to living and just in case you were previously unaware (see above), I'll give you a few examples:

• Make-up: Catch me in the morning if you don’t think this is a necessity – and it’s proven that attractive people get further in life and careers, so there. 

•  Tampons’n’at: Oh, sorry, I mean “feminine hygiene products” – trust me, this is not the area to go cheap.

• Bras: $45 for this?!

• Gutchies: Trust me, we can’t buy the ones in the packs at k-mart like guys can and get away with it. So it’s at least $5 a pair ($12+ for the sexy, fancy ones), unless you are are feeling cheap and Target is an almost manageable $3, but still, men get away with underwear with holes in the asses and broken elastic; if a girl does that, he takes his holey-assed undies out the door. Plus, we just don’t do that…most of the time.

• Bathing Suits: Women’s suits are overpriced, especially if you can’t fit into the ones you can buy at Target that I swear would only fit a mid-pubescent teen. (Exactly what portion of my breast would you like me to put that over?!). Let’s do a quick comparison: Men’s: $30, and even cheaper at Marshall’s. Oh, medium? Done! And Women’s: $80+, which not only has to deal with the size of the bottom, but the size, molding, etc. of the top. And it will likely never fit right and she'll have to buy it online anyway if she's over a C cup. Awesome...and you have to buy them separate if you buy online. Double awesome!

• Birth Control: Now if this doesn’t show you the inequality in America, I don’t know what will. Many girls use the pill to alleviate cramps, some use it to clear up their skin and a lot use it for the intended purpose. But why, if it can be used for medical (debilitating cramps) and combating pregnancy (hi, where’s my tax money going?) is this not covered by insurance. Insurance covers Viagra - so we have more men who can get women pregnant, but not birth control - to help prevent unwanted pregnancies. What is it, $30, $60, $90 a month, $50 for Plan B...a few hundred  for an IUD? The government should pay us for being responsible. If birth control for women, which has been around for decades, isn’t covered, than why is the birth un-control for men, which has been around since, what? the 90’s,  covered? How’s that for sexual inequality?!

• Annual Gynecological Visits: Men don’t have to get an annual anything until they need their prostates checked over what? 40? Women have to start at 17 now. And earlier if they’re sexually active (because men can pass all kinds of STDs that essentially do nothing to them on to all their partners unknowingly and they don’t have an annual appointment to keep to know. Awesome squared.)

Additionally, women require more shoes and many dresses as opposed to one suit. Our shoes and our clothes are made to a lesser quality, requiring us to buy them more often. And while men can get away with the same look for many events, women are expected to show up in certain form. Which, costs money. Our hair cuts are more: $15 vs. $60, conservatively. Our fucking shampoo is more! We have hair product…and more hair to use both it and the shampoo. We have jewelry. And the expectations!...whatever they are, likely cost money.

Am I bitching? Maybe just a little. With all these extra costs, you think women would make more money. I mean, we have to MAKE LIFE, for crying out loud! But no, we are still paid 25% less than men for the same position

So, to all the men - and my roommate, who eloquently stated that men only buy drinks for girls at bars in the hope of taking them home - perhaps you should rethink your reasoning for buying a girl a drink or dinner. Opening a door is nice and all, but seriously, when it all comes down to it – half of what we spend money on is for you (I mean, we could wear the holey undies) and we still make less. And we only got to vote in this last century. And did I mention we MAKE LIFE?!

No really, guys, you can pick up a check. Seriously. It's okay. And with good reason. It’s expensive to be female. And let’s not make it weird. Like, this whole awkward, who’s-gonna-pay-for-dinner conversation didn’t exist 50 years ago. Just because we’re allowed an education and careers doesn’t mean the world is equal, especially financially.  I mean, I find it hard to let someone pay for me - I’m independent and stubborn - but I’m willing to learn!

I’m a feminist and I’m all for it. Whoever decided splitting a check equals equality between the sexes is a moron. (Good job, men.)  Go ahead, you pick up the check … I need a new bathing suit.


...I'm moving to Sweden.