Like a million other little girls, I've dreamt of my wedding day all my whole entire life. Ever since I've known what a wedding was, I've been thinking about mine.
I can remember sneaking out of my bed when I was a little girl, early in the morning to play wedding with my Barbies. I only had one Barbie wedding dress that was kind of flat and ugly, but fortunately I had Cinderella Barbie's detachable poofy skirt to go over it and give it a nice ballgown look. I also had one veil that was tragically, the kind with the elastic headband that went across their forehead. But hey, Barbie can't not have a veil on her wedding day. Top that off with her glittery plastic shoes (that had a nasty habit of getting sucked up in the vacuum cleaner) and Barbie was set!
Her bridesmaids were various other Barbies, and unfortunately their dresses never matched, but which ever Barbie was the bride never seemed to mind. I only had one Ken doll and a Prince Charming doll, so they swapped off being the groom. The groom's tux was splendid; it was a glittery black number with a pale pink tuxedo shirt and shiny black shoes. Because I had twenty-something odd Barbies and only 2 Ken dolls, Ken and Prince Charming were the most brazen polygamists on the block. They each had several marriages with all of the Barbies.
And much like their TLC counterparts, they all lived in one big, pink Barbie Dream House. No, really I had a Barbie dream house that was cotton-candy pink with a neon blue textured roof. It had a front patio, a downstairs sitting room, a kitchenette, an upstairs bedroom complete with jacuzzi, and it even had a functional elevator. Barbie and Ken often consummated their marriage(s) on the pink plastic twin bed.
And of course, these frequent wedding ceremonies were always attended by their parents. My mom's retro Barbie and Ken doll always happily filled these roles; dutifully making the trek down from their cases in the upstairs closet. Vintage Barbie had interchangeable heads with different hairstyles, so that was always fun and in no way horrifying whatsoever to a young child. But she had wacky blue eyeshadow and the snooty look a true mother of the bride ought to have. Vintage Ken just complacently drove the pink Cadillac convertible.
I can distinctly remember doing this everyday of my adolescence until it was no longer cool to play with Barbies. So I packed them up and put them in the closet. But I never stopped loving weddings.
I can remember very, very distinctly the first wedding I went to. It was my piano teacher Michelle's wedding. She was Jewish, and she and her husband had a traditional ceremony, complete with the Chuppah, the Yarlmukes, and the stomping of the wine glass. It was the most exotic thing I had ever seen at eight years old. When they lifted them up on the chairs, it was wild. I was wearing a blue and cream floral print dress with dyed-to-match shoes and I was in heaven. I can remember the bride walking down the aisle, her veil being lifted, and the reception.
I was down at IU, miserable and majoring in journalism. I literally woke up one day and decided I wanted to be a wedding planner. I was never one to waste time when I wanted something, so I dropped all of my journalism classes, signed up for event planning classes, and set out with stars in my eyes. I didn't have a clue what I was doing...at all.
When I began working for my catering company, we used to cater to a facility downtown called the Mavris Arts and Event Center. Mavris is absolutely beautiful. Sealed hardwood floors, exposed brick walls, wooden beams wrapped with twinkly lights. It's right in the heart of downtown, so when you go outside or look out of any of the windows, you have a spectacular view of the city skyline. I can distinctly remember one wedding reception that I worked. It was a Saturday night, in the summer. Late June. the weather was sublime. Not too hot or humid, a slight breeze, and the night sky was full of a million billion stars. We took the trash out and I lingered outside for a minute. The dumpsters at that place are against a large brick wall, and you have to walk on sort of a sidewalk/ledge to get to them. If you lean up against the wall and look out, you have just a perfect view of the whole city. I took a deep breath of the summer air, and I was at peace. Everything was so wonderful right at that moment, and I never wanted it to end. And I knew. I knew that this was my city, and this was my calling. To plan beautiful weddings in Indianapolis, the city I loved. I've never had such a moment of mental clarity in my life. This is what I'm meant to do and this is where I'm meant to be. I never wanted that feeling to go away.
And so I will sit on my laptop late, late at night when I should be studying and sleeping, and look up venues in downtown Indianapolis. I'll research catering, linen companies, and bridesmaids dresses. Even though I don't have a boyfriend, I'll plan my wedding like it's coming up tomorrow. Because I love it. I love it all. Wedding stuff is like crack to me; I get bride magazines in the mail, I watch all of the wedding shows on TV, I belong to TheKnot.com. If any potential suitor knew all of this, he wouldn't run, he would sprint in the opposite direction. Because some girls are like that. Some just want to get married just to have the wedding. So that's why I plan. "Those who can't wed, plan," said Jennifer Lopez in The Wedding Planner. But it all just makes me so happy. Weddings make me so very happy, and that's all I need. All I need is to be happy with what I do and I'm set for life.
So that little girl who played with Barbies, the young girl, wide-eyed at her first wedding, and the ambitious college girl in the city are all rolled into one. It's a journey everyday, and I wouldn't change a minute of anything. It's nice sometimes to be reminded of why I'm where I am today.
It's another lovely summer night. I take one last breath of the summer air, and go back inside. One day, it will be my day. But until then, I'm alright.
Life can be grand. But only if you follow your centerpiece, buttercream, and champagne dreams. ;)
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
Keep Holding On, Cause You Know I'll Make it Through
I just don't know anything anymore. Casey Anthony, like OJ, proved that only in America™ can you murder a member of your family and get away with it. A slut murdered her baby, yet a jury says she didn't do it. Rod Blagojevich has bad hair, is a bad liar, and is going to jail forever, perhaps. What the fuck? Jose Baez is licking his chops and cracking his knuckles with excitement. Casey Anthony winks at the cameras and that twinkle in her eye says, "got you good, fuckers!!!!" The world has ceased to make sense.
I'm angry, I'm jittery and nervous. I'm not hungry but I eat anyways. I don't know what's wrong.
Actually, I do. I'm just scared shitless of everything, and I don't want to let go of the people I cared about in the past. You know who. Well, not You-Know-Who...not Voldemort. Never mind.
I know I mean nothing to him at all. AT ALL. But he meant something to me and it's so hard to let go, really. It's a daily struggle. Wait, who am I talking about? Either/or.
I know there's supposedly a point to everything, and everything happens for a reason, but what the FUCK?
I just don't understand it right now. I know that refutes everything I've ever spewed in my writing, but right now, at 3 AM, nothing makes sense. I hate the whole world, and I want to throw things until they break. I hate whatever fates exist in the universe for bringing me to him and falling for him. What was the point?? Just to throw it in my face at 1 AM in a parking lot of a Mexican restaurant? All of that for that kind of humiliation? I don't get it. Everything hurts. It feels like being punched in the gut a million times, then no one helping you.
And E? I don't get him, either. I don't understand him as a person or understand why I spent three goddamned years of my life pining after him. I don't understand falling in love with a person only to never speak to them again. I know that was my choice, but he brought me to that decision with his own actions. I don't know what hurts more, to love someone and not be able to be with them, or have loved and lost? It doesn't matter, I guess.
I have so much anger pent up towards E. I really, really do. Three fucking years of my life I gave him. I loved him absolutely unconditionally despite all of the shit he put me through, and all of his many emotional problems and problems otherwise. I never once, EVER wavered in my devotion for him. I was there every time he needed me and more. Every time he asked me to, I drove my ass all the way to Bloomington. If he said "jump", I said "how high?" All I ever wanted to do was be with him. For real, not just between his sheets at 4 AM. And he could never give that to me. And then to add insult to injury, he fucked my friend. After I'd been nothing by loyal and kind and caring and loving to him for three. Fucking. Years. I know he never asked for it, but A) that's not the point and B) I loved him with all of my whole heart, and I wouldn't have done anything less for him at the time. I guess that's the point, you're supposed to see the beauty in a sea of ugly. But I don't want to. Right now, I just want to be hateful and childish and throw a pity party for myself.
And Trick...well, I don't really have anything to say. Well, actually, I do, but most of it is an illogical argument that I don't care to state. I liked him so much, and it seriously hurt more than he'll ever know that I made an ass out of myself by telling him I was in luuurve with him, and for him to just stand there and mumble awkwardly. I mean, what did I expect him to do? Throw his arms around me in a fit of passion and declare his undying love for me right back? HAHAHA, no. Why on earth would he do that? He has a girlfriend henever talks about is perfectly happy with. My bitterness is like a lemon wedge; small, but still there. But why should I be? I liked, I lost. Move on, right?? Except it's not that easy, cause I really liked him a whole lot. It hurts not only that I don't get to see him anymore, but that he doesn't really care that he isn't seeing me, either.
That's the very worst part.
What matters is these men I keep falling for that let me down like a stack of bricks. I don't understand what I did to deserve it. I look at other people who are happy and wonder why I'm not good enough for that. Why do I continually get shit on when everyone else gets to be happy in love with rainbows and butterflies? All I have is a cold and a billion guys who want to send me pictures of their man business. Fuck that.
EE is the only man I trust. And he's a stuffed Disney animal.
...................I'm fucked.
I'm angry, I'm jittery and nervous. I'm not hungry but I eat anyways. I don't know what's wrong.
Actually, I do. I'm just scared shitless of everything, and I don't want to let go of the people I cared about in the past. You know who. Well, not You-Know-Who...not Voldemort. Never mind.
I know I mean nothing to him at all. AT ALL. But he meant something to me and it's so hard to let go, really. It's a daily struggle. Wait, who am I talking about? Either/or.
I know there's supposedly a point to everything, and everything happens for a reason, but what the FUCK?
I just don't understand it right now. I know that refutes everything I've ever spewed in my writing, but right now, at 3 AM, nothing makes sense. I hate the whole world, and I want to throw things until they break. I hate whatever fates exist in the universe for bringing me to him and falling for him. What was the point?? Just to throw it in my face at 1 AM in a parking lot of a Mexican restaurant? All of that for that kind of humiliation? I don't get it. Everything hurts. It feels like being punched in the gut a million times, then no one helping you.
And E? I don't get him, either. I don't understand him as a person or understand why I spent three goddamned years of my life pining after him. I don't understand falling in love with a person only to never speak to them again. I know that was my choice, but he brought me to that decision with his own actions. I don't know what hurts more, to love someone and not be able to be with them, or have loved and lost? It doesn't matter, I guess.
I have so much anger pent up towards E. I really, really do. Three fucking years of my life I gave him. I loved him absolutely unconditionally despite all of the shit he put me through, and all of his many emotional problems and problems otherwise. I never once, EVER wavered in my devotion for him. I was there every time he needed me and more. Every time he asked me to, I drove my ass all the way to Bloomington. If he said "jump", I said "how high?" All I ever wanted to do was be with him. For real, not just between his sheets at 4 AM. And he could never give that to me. And then to add insult to injury, he fucked my friend. After I'd been nothing by loyal and kind and caring and loving to him for three. Fucking. Years. I know he never asked for it, but A) that's not the point and B) I loved him with all of my whole heart, and I wouldn't have done anything less for him at the time. I guess that's the point, you're supposed to see the beauty in a sea of ugly. But I don't want to. Right now, I just want to be hateful and childish and throw a pity party for myself.
And Trick...well, I don't really have anything to say. Well, actually, I do, but most of it is an illogical argument that I don't care to state. I liked him so much, and it seriously hurt more than he'll ever know that I made an ass out of myself by telling him I was in luuurve with him, and for him to just stand there and mumble awkwardly. I mean, what did I expect him to do? Throw his arms around me in a fit of passion and declare his undying love for me right back? HAHAHA, no. Why on earth would he do that? He has a girlfriend he
That's the very worst part.
What matters is these men I keep falling for that let me down like a stack of bricks. I don't understand what I did to deserve it. I look at other people who are happy and wonder why I'm not good enough for that. Why do I continually get shit on when everyone else gets to be happy in love with rainbows and butterflies? All I have is a cold and a billion guys who want to send me pictures of their man business. Fuck that.
EE is the only man I trust. And he's a stuffed Disney animal.
...................I'm fucked.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Breaking Up with BlackBerry
He's up in my room. I hid him up there so he won't know that I'm carrying on a clandestine internet affair. I spend hours watching videos of the new guy, browsing the online store to see what I can buy for him. All while my current one sits upstairs unsuspectingly. Just minding his own business, not knowing his end is near.
I'm talking about phones, of course.
My torrid love affair with smartphones began in the fall of 2009. I acquired a BlackBerry, and it was love at first sight. It was all sweet in the beginning. We would sit and play brickbreaker for hours on end. I would marvel at the fact that I could browse the internet via a small device in my hand. He would wake me up each morning with the sweet pings of spam email. Then, the honeymoon phase was over. We got comfortable with each other, and I began to long for something more. It became a chore to take care of him. The trackball that was once lovingly caressed by my thumb was now clogged with oil and germs. He froze all the time and his keys began to stick. I just couldn't deal with it, so I pulled the plug. Our relationship, a tender year old, had soured. We decided to go our separate ways and I upgraded to a new model.
It was like discovering that there was more than one position in which to have sex. My new Bold was everything the Curve was not. He was faster, sleeker, and best of all, no trackball! Instead, he had a smooth touchpad sensor. We have been happy thus far. He's been very good to me, and when he upgraded his software, it was like going on a second honeymoon. But yet, something still was missing. I longed for a love I once considered forbidden.
I vowed in my existence to never own an Apple product besides my iPod. I loved my iPod, but I refused to own an iPhone. But in the back of my mind, I wondered...what would life be like with an iPhone? There is a certain stigma attached to owning an iPhone. That stigma being "douche". The 'iPhone douche' is the modern-day equivalent of the nearly-extinct 'Mustang douche'. He is the guy in the bar who talks too loudly and brags about having an iPhone. He may even sport that stupid little white sticker in his rear windshield that they send you with your bundle of cords and manuals when you get an Apple product. The iPhone douche is the guy who is so convinced that his iPhone is superior to your other smartphone that he appears to be educated in nothing else but iPhone facts and stats. He actually uses the line "there's an app for that!" He may or may not have sexually explicit fantasies involving Steve Jobs. He puts too much gel in his hair and shops exclusively at Express Men.
That was then. But now, everyone has an iPhone. People who are clearly not douches. My dad owns an iPhone, for Christ's sake. They're clearly superior products. The app store has about 700 bajillion apps, some of which are damn awesome. There's one where you can turn the lights on and off in your house. There's a homework scheduler thing, there's a flashcard app, and a Netflix app. Also, Fruit Ninja. (New high score 230!!) I did not know a life existed before there was Fruit Ninja. It gives me pangs of sadness that I once felt those same feelings for Brickbreaker. Now my BlackBerry sits forlornly up in my room, wishing with all of his little SimCard that he could be relevant once more.
It wasn't an easy decision to make. I, the renown hater of Apple products has decided to acquire an iPhone. I vowed never to join the cult. But I've drank the Kool-aid, put on the Nikes. Hell, I drank the Kool-aid while I tied on my Nikes and pulled the blanket over my head. I didn't think it would ever be. But, slap my ass and call me a Thetan, cause this bitch is soon-to-be the proud owner of an iPhone!
But first, I must end things with the Bold. I think he knows it's coming. He watched today as I simultaneously played Words with Friends and kicked ass on Fruit Ninja. A tear gathered in his little screen as we took a picture with the front-facing, 5 megapixel camera of Sydney's iPhone. We didn't speak on the way home.
This is two phones I've cheated on now, and I'm not proud of myself. But I think I've found happiness with the iPhone. I think we'll stick together. I spent too much time denying our true love for one another. At last, my smartphone has come aloooooong. Lonely days are over. And life is like an iTunes song. :)
I'm talking about phones, of course.
My torrid love affair with smartphones began in the fall of 2009. I acquired a BlackBerry, and it was love at first sight. It was all sweet in the beginning. We would sit and play brickbreaker for hours on end. I would marvel at the fact that I could browse the internet via a small device in my hand. He would wake me up each morning with the sweet pings of spam email. Then, the honeymoon phase was over. We got comfortable with each other, and I began to long for something more. It became a chore to take care of him. The trackball that was once lovingly caressed by my thumb was now clogged with oil and germs. He froze all the time and his keys began to stick. I just couldn't deal with it, so I pulled the plug. Our relationship, a tender year old, had soured. We decided to go our separate ways and I upgraded to a new model.
It was like discovering that there was more than one position in which to have sex. My new Bold was everything the Curve was not. He was faster, sleeker, and best of all, no trackball! Instead, he had a smooth touchpad sensor. We have been happy thus far. He's been very good to me, and when he upgraded his software, it was like going on a second honeymoon. But yet, something still was missing. I longed for a love I once considered forbidden.
I vowed in my existence to never own an Apple product besides my iPod. I loved my iPod, but I refused to own an iPhone. But in the back of my mind, I wondered...what would life be like with an iPhone? There is a certain stigma attached to owning an iPhone. That stigma being "douche". The 'iPhone douche' is the modern-day equivalent of the nearly-extinct 'Mustang douche'. He is the guy in the bar who talks too loudly and brags about having an iPhone. He may even sport that stupid little white sticker in his rear windshield that they send you with your bundle of cords and manuals when you get an Apple product. The iPhone douche is the guy who is so convinced that his iPhone is superior to your other smartphone that he appears to be educated in nothing else but iPhone facts and stats. He actually uses the line "there's an app for that!" He may or may not have sexually explicit fantasies involving Steve Jobs. He puts too much gel in his hair and shops exclusively at Express Men.
That was then. But now, everyone has an iPhone. People who are clearly not douches. My dad owns an iPhone, for Christ's sake. They're clearly superior products. The app store has about 700 bajillion apps, some of which are damn awesome. There's one where you can turn the lights on and off in your house. There's a homework scheduler thing, there's a flashcard app, and a Netflix app. Also, Fruit Ninja. (New high score 230!!) I did not know a life existed before there was Fruit Ninja. It gives me pangs of sadness that I once felt those same feelings for Brickbreaker. Now my BlackBerry sits forlornly up in my room, wishing with all of his little SimCard that he could be relevant once more.
It wasn't an easy decision to make. I, the renown hater of Apple products has decided to acquire an iPhone. I vowed never to join the cult. But I've drank the Kool-aid, put on the Nikes. Hell, I drank the Kool-aid while I tied on my Nikes and pulled the blanket over my head. I didn't think it would ever be. But, slap my ass and call me a Thetan, cause this bitch is soon-to-be the proud owner of an iPhone!
But first, I must end things with the Bold. I think he knows it's coming. He watched today as I simultaneously played Words with Friends and kicked ass on Fruit Ninja. A tear gathered in his little screen as we took a picture with the front-facing, 5 megapixel camera of Sydney's iPhone. We didn't speak on the way home.
This is two phones I've cheated on now, and I'm not proud of myself. But I think I've found happiness with the iPhone. I think we'll stick together. I spent too much time denying our true love for one another. At last, my smartphone has come aloooooong. Lonely days are over. And life is like an iTunes song. :)
Sunday, June 19, 2011
I'm Gonna Change a lot of Things, Starting with Me
I reason that I spend the majority of my complaining time on boyfriends, or lack thereof. I'm a total poster child for type-A personalities, so I'm a natural list-maker. Thus, I have compiled a list of reasons why, at this particular time, I should NOT have a mate of any sort. I think I make my case pretty succinctly, if you ask me.
REASON #1: I'm not ready to grow up.
I really should be ready to grow up. I'm 22, theoretically most people have graduated by this age, and have their first job. But I'm still dicking around in college. I've changed my major 3 different times, and up until last May, only recently had the vaguest clue of what I wanted to do. But the real problem is that I enjoy being taken care of by my parents way too much to want to move on to the next phase of my life. Being in a relationship at this stage of your life means that you're probably considering marriage, cause most people are engaged, married, or on the engagement track at this point. Or at least it feels that way. But being in that serious of a relationship means you're ready to take on adult responsibilities, and are willing and able to be responsible and take care of another person. It means you're ready to take care of a household, manage your own finances, have a big-girl job, and most importantly of all, commit to being someone's spouse. It's more than just buying a pretty dress and saying "I do". It's a lifelong bond. I take marriage extremely seriously, and the person I marry is the person I intend to be married to until death do us part. I have realized that now, at this stage of my life, I'm not ready for that level of commitment.
REASON #2: I'm not the best "me" I can be.
Back when I paid someone to listen to me bitch about my life problems, she actually dished out a few sage pieces of advice. One of the gems I've kept with me since then is "you can't find someone until you've found yourself." I know that isn't really the most awesome, amazing piece of advice ever doled out, but it's had an impact on me. I think "finding myself" has been an ongoing process for about the last 4 years now. It's amazing how well you think you know yourself, only to have your life up-ended and have to start back at square one. Just when you think you've reached the end of the road, you realize you've got about a million more miles to go. I think that self-improvement is a lifelong thing, but really knowing who you are and what you want out of life, defining boundaries and setting firm standards, those things all have finite deadlines. I've just yet to set my date. I need to figure out what I truly need to make ME happy. I need to improve my life to the point where I'm happy with the finished project. I'm a jumbled mess still in the blueprint stage right now.
REASON #3: I don't like the person I see in the mirror.
Part of being the best person you can be is liking who looks back at you in the mirror. Gerard Butler said to Katherine Heigl's character in The Ugly Truth "if you don't want to have sex with you, then who does?" Exactly. If you don't like the way you look and feel, then a guy sure as hell isn't going to like it either. Insecurity is very unsexy. I wish I could say that I'm comfortable in my own skin, but I'm not. I hide under baggy clothes and stretchy pants. I wish I were more tan. I'm terrified if I lose weight, that my boobs won't be as great as they are now. But I'm not happy with my weight. I can't get motivated to exercise, and I can't force myself to eat healthy. I reward myself with fast food, only to regret it later. It's just a cycle I don't have the energy to break. But it's the first step that needs to happen. I firmly believe that improving what's on the outside will be a kick start to improving the inside. Speaking of...
REASON #4: I'm crazy.
No, really. Actually, "crazy" is a super-offensive term to describe mental illness. But for the past couple of years, I have been battling a bone-crushing bout of depression, to the point where some days I can't even get out of bed. It comes and goes in waves. Good for a few months, bad for a few, severely bad for a week or so. I can better keep it in check during the summer. But the bigger problem is the fact I've chosen to ignore it and not seek professional help. I've tried to act like it's something that will go away on its' own, like a paper cut. But it's not something that's going to go away overnight; or any of its manifestations. I need help. I'm just too scared to receive it. Which is a problem, since I can't present myself to someone being an emotional wreck the way I am. Not because being depressed in a relationship is unacceptable, but because I could never expect my boyfriend to be my entire support system. I can't heavily emotionally rely on someone that way, nor can I expect them to put up with emotional mood swings. I need to be a strong person all of the time.
REASON #5: Every guy I meet isn't E*** L*****.
I bleeped his name out, lest he google himself once again and actually read this (he will henceforth be referred to by his initials, ERL.) He was my first love, and I've never quite gotten over him. I met him at a frat party when I was 19, and he was supposed to be a one-night stand. He evolved into the person for whom I gave my love virginity to. He means more to me than any guy ever will because of this. A girl never forgets her first anything, and I'll never forget him as long as I live. But the problem is that I didn't have my first love in high school, so I never got over him while still in high school. It just hasn't run its course yet. In my mind, I still wax poetic about him, even though we had a horrible relationship. It was never even a real relationship. More like a catastrophically dragged out hook up session. It was mentally and emotionally draining to be in love with him, and it took over my entire life. I had to leave town to get away from it all. I physically couldn't be in the same area code with him. But it was much needed, because once I moved away, I was able to gain some perspective on the situation. I still love him in a way, but the real problem is that I've done a bang-up job of convincing myself that I'll never love anyone the way I loved him. It's going to take me time to realize that's a good thing that I never will.
REASON #6: I've convinced myself I have too many skeletons in my closet.
Everyone has so-called "skeletons" in their closet; secrets they think would scare other people away. Sometimes when I evaluate my life, I feel like I have a disproportionate amount of secrets only a handful of people know about me. Granted, they are pretty hefty items, but I don't think it's anything too out of the norm. I feel like I've slept with way too many guys, I'm ashamed to admit that to potential suitors. I've also had things happen to me that are far more common than one would think. But it still makes you feel like damaged goods. And that thing....it's so hard to admit that it's happened in the first place, and it's ten times harder to realize that it's affected every aspect of your life. You don't ever fully recover from something like that. But I haven't even completely come to terms with it. I've never sat down and actually admitted it to myself, or fully recognized the repercussions of it. I know it will eventually be something I can deal with, but right now it seems like climbing Mount Everest without a handy Sherpa guide. This all leads to...
REASON #7: Major trust and intimacy issues.
As a direct result of what happened to me, I have a LOT of trouble not only trusting men, but being physically intimate with them. My dirty little secret is that I've only soberly hooked up with one person in the last 4 years. The rest have all been drunken or high encounters. I don't even know how to initiate contact with a guy anymore. I need alcohol as courage to take my clothes off. Which is so wrong on so many levels, I don't even know where to start. I recognize that I have trust issues, and I grill guys and give them the third degree, which drives them off too early on. It all leads back to my point that you can't sell someone damaged goods. Guys do not want a girl who can't trust them, and who is making them sign a contract right up front. They don't want a girl who's in denial about her salad bar of problems and insecurities. And they especially don't want a girl who is going to be questioning their loyalty all of the time.
REASON #8: I'm looking too hard. Or just looking period.
I've been told more times than I can count that you don't find someone, they'll just fall into your life when it's perfectly right and when you least expect it. It's completely true. I met Jeremy when Syd dragged me over to AK's house the day after Thanksgiving. I met ERL at a party they basically forced me to go to. And those guys were right for me at that time. I'm just trying waaaaay too hard. The desperation is wafting off of me like the smell of a skunk. I keep looking in stupid places like work, bars, and online dating services. None of those work, of course. And for the people they do work for, they're the exception, not the rule. First off, you don't shit where you eat. Dating someone you work with is a recipe for disaster. You're just on top of each other, and you get sick of each other. Meeting someone in an alcohol-induced haze is never a solid foundation for a relationship. And all of the guys on dating websites are either virgins, damaged from their last relationship, or just looking for sex. I've been told so many times that I just need to focus on myself, then Mr. Right will waltz right along. Speaking of Mr. Right...
REASON #9: I still think "Mr. Right" is coming along
I'm super bad at taking my own advice (duuhh) but let me tell you that Mr. Right ain't coming, honey. Because he doesn't actually exist. I have knowingly made the most common dating mistake. I've cooked up a list of traits, Frankensteined qualities together from past dudes that I like, and slapped it all together to make some imaginary Ken doll of a man that I expect to come along and sweep me off my feet. But the truth is that men like that don't exist, and women who think they do hold themselves back because they pass up perfectly good men in their quest for the "perfect guy". You have to realize that, A-no one is perfect, and B- you yourself could potentially have qualities others don't dig, so why hate on others for their quirks? The golden rule tells us to do unto others as you would have them do unto you. If you don't want to be judged for your quirks, then don't do it to other people. My problem is that I find one tiny thing wrong with a person, and banish them away. I also have a tall list of expectations they have to meet. I read somewhere that you should have five "non-negotiables" when it comes to dating, and that's it. Five things that guys absolutely either must or must not have. My problem is that I have like 225, not five. The more you narrow your focus, the harder it is to find someone.
REASON #10: I'm the "dog catcher".
This is what my dad calls me. I tend to scrape the bottom of the underside of the barrel when it comes to guys. My problem is that I take any and all. No one isn't welcome at my door. My standards are way too low, in addition to being too narrow, as referenced above. But the abovementioned reason contributes completely to the problem. I tend to look more at guys' credentials than their actual compatibility with me. Hence me getting involved with so many dudes who aren't right for me, hence me getting my heart broken and let down over and over again. I continually voluntarily date shitty guys who I know aren't right for me, then get shocked every time it doesn't work out. Like it was gonna be a surprise or something. And the kicker is that I know exactly the moment I meet someone if they're right for me or not. Yet I still pursue these guys even if I know they won't work out. I need to realize that it's ok to be alone.
[[Hopefully no dude actually reads this. Because it's great to have perspective on your problems, but who really wants an itemized, detailed list of everything that's wrong with a girl?]]
And all of this makes me sound really, really batshit crazy. But I'm gonna do me, and I'm gonna do it right. Next time we talk, hopefully I'll be a little bit better of a human being, thus on my way to true happiness. :)
REASON #1: I'm not ready to grow up.
I really should be ready to grow up. I'm 22, theoretically most people have graduated by this age, and have their first job. But I'm still dicking around in college. I've changed my major 3 different times, and up until last May, only recently had the vaguest clue of what I wanted to do. But the real problem is that I enjoy being taken care of by my parents way too much to want to move on to the next phase of my life. Being in a relationship at this stage of your life means that you're probably considering marriage, cause most people are engaged, married, or on the engagement track at this point. Or at least it feels that way. But being in that serious of a relationship means you're ready to take on adult responsibilities, and are willing and able to be responsible and take care of another person. It means you're ready to take care of a household, manage your own finances, have a big-girl job, and most importantly of all, commit to being someone's spouse. It's more than just buying a pretty dress and saying "I do". It's a lifelong bond. I take marriage extremely seriously, and the person I marry is the person I intend to be married to until death do us part. I have realized that now, at this stage of my life, I'm not ready for that level of commitment.
REASON #2: I'm not the best "me" I can be.
Back when I paid someone to listen to me bitch about my life problems, she actually dished out a few sage pieces of advice. One of the gems I've kept with me since then is "you can't find someone until you've found yourself." I know that isn't really the most awesome, amazing piece of advice ever doled out, but it's had an impact on me. I think "finding myself" has been an ongoing process for about the last 4 years now. It's amazing how well you think you know yourself, only to have your life up-ended and have to start back at square one. Just when you think you've reached the end of the road, you realize you've got about a million more miles to go. I think that self-improvement is a lifelong thing, but really knowing who you are and what you want out of life, defining boundaries and setting firm standards, those things all have finite deadlines. I've just yet to set my date. I need to figure out what I truly need to make ME happy. I need to improve my life to the point where I'm happy with the finished project. I'm a jumbled mess still in the blueprint stage right now.
REASON #3: I don't like the person I see in the mirror.
Part of being the best person you can be is liking who looks back at you in the mirror. Gerard Butler said to Katherine Heigl's character in The Ugly Truth "if you don't want to have sex with you, then who does?" Exactly. If you don't like the way you look and feel, then a guy sure as hell isn't going to like it either. Insecurity is very unsexy. I wish I could say that I'm comfortable in my own skin, but I'm not. I hide under baggy clothes and stretchy pants. I wish I were more tan. I'm terrified if I lose weight, that my boobs won't be as great as they are now. But I'm not happy with my weight. I can't get motivated to exercise, and I can't force myself to eat healthy. I reward myself with fast food, only to regret it later. It's just a cycle I don't have the energy to break. But it's the first step that needs to happen. I firmly believe that improving what's on the outside will be a kick start to improving the inside. Speaking of...
REASON #4: I'm crazy.
No, really. Actually, "crazy" is a super-offensive term to describe mental illness. But for the past couple of years, I have been battling a bone-crushing bout of depression, to the point where some days I can't even get out of bed. It comes and goes in waves. Good for a few months, bad for a few, severely bad for a week or so. I can better keep it in check during the summer. But the bigger problem is the fact I've chosen to ignore it and not seek professional help. I've tried to act like it's something that will go away on its' own, like a paper cut. But it's not something that's going to go away overnight; or any of its manifestations. I need help. I'm just too scared to receive it. Which is a problem, since I can't present myself to someone being an emotional wreck the way I am. Not because being depressed in a relationship is unacceptable, but because I could never expect my boyfriend to be my entire support system. I can't heavily emotionally rely on someone that way, nor can I expect them to put up with emotional mood swings. I need to be a strong person all of the time.
REASON #5: Every guy I meet isn't E*** L*****.
I bleeped his name out, lest he google himself once again and actually read this (he will henceforth be referred to by his initials, ERL.) He was my first love, and I've never quite gotten over him. I met him at a frat party when I was 19, and he was supposed to be a one-night stand. He evolved into the person for whom I gave my love virginity to. He means more to me than any guy ever will because of this. A girl never forgets her first anything, and I'll never forget him as long as I live. But the problem is that I didn't have my first love in high school, so I never got over him while still in high school. It just hasn't run its course yet. In my mind, I still wax poetic about him, even though we had a horrible relationship. It was never even a real relationship. More like a catastrophically dragged out hook up session. It was mentally and emotionally draining to be in love with him, and it took over my entire life. I had to leave town to get away from it all. I physically couldn't be in the same area code with him. But it was much needed, because once I moved away, I was able to gain some perspective on the situation. I still love him in a way, but the real problem is that I've done a bang-up job of convincing myself that I'll never love anyone the way I loved him. It's going to take me time to realize that's a good thing that I never will.
REASON #6: I've convinced myself I have too many skeletons in my closet.
Everyone has so-called "skeletons" in their closet; secrets they think would scare other people away. Sometimes when I evaluate my life, I feel like I have a disproportionate amount of secrets only a handful of people know about me. Granted, they are pretty hefty items, but I don't think it's anything too out of the norm. I feel like I've slept with way too many guys, I'm ashamed to admit that to potential suitors. I've also had things happen to me that are far more common than one would think. But it still makes you feel like damaged goods. And that thing....it's so hard to admit that it's happened in the first place, and it's ten times harder to realize that it's affected every aspect of your life. You don't ever fully recover from something like that. But I haven't even completely come to terms with it. I've never sat down and actually admitted it to myself, or fully recognized the repercussions of it. I know it will eventually be something I can deal with, but right now it seems like climbing Mount Everest without a handy Sherpa guide. This all leads to...
REASON #7: Major trust and intimacy issues.
As a direct result of what happened to me, I have a LOT of trouble not only trusting men, but being physically intimate with them. My dirty little secret is that I've only soberly hooked up with one person in the last 4 years. The rest have all been drunken or high encounters. I don't even know how to initiate contact with a guy anymore. I need alcohol as courage to take my clothes off. Which is so wrong on so many levels, I don't even know where to start. I recognize that I have trust issues, and I grill guys and give them the third degree, which drives them off too early on. It all leads back to my point that you can't sell someone damaged goods. Guys do not want a girl who can't trust them, and who is making them sign a contract right up front. They don't want a girl who's in denial about her salad bar of problems and insecurities. And they especially don't want a girl who is going to be questioning their loyalty all of the time.
REASON #8: I'm looking too hard. Or just looking period.
I've been told more times than I can count that you don't find someone, they'll just fall into your life when it's perfectly right and when you least expect it. It's completely true. I met Jeremy when Syd dragged me over to AK's house the day after Thanksgiving. I met ERL at a party they basically forced me to go to. And those guys were right for me at that time. I'm just trying waaaaay too hard. The desperation is wafting off of me like the smell of a skunk. I keep looking in stupid places like work, bars, and online dating services. None of those work, of course. And for the people they do work for, they're the exception, not the rule. First off, you don't shit where you eat. Dating someone you work with is a recipe for disaster. You're just on top of each other, and you get sick of each other. Meeting someone in an alcohol-induced haze is never a solid foundation for a relationship. And all of the guys on dating websites are either virgins, damaged from their last relationship, or just looking for sex. I've been told so many times that I just need to focus on myself, then Mr. Right will waltz right along. Speaking of Mr. Right...
REASON #9: I still think "Mr. Right" is coming along
I'm super bad at taking my own advice (duuhh) but let me tell you that Mr. Right ain't coming, honey. Because he doesn't actually exist. I have knowingly made the most common dating mistake. I've cooked up a list of traits, Frankensteined qualities together from past dudes that I like, and slapped it all together to make some imaginary Ken doll of a man that I expect to come along and sweep me off my feet. But the truth is that men like that don't exist, and women who think they do hold themselves back because they pass up perfectly good men in their quest for the "perfect guy". You have to realize that, A-no one is perfect, and B- you yourself could potentially have qualities others don't dig, so why hate on others for their quirks? The golden rule tells us to do unto others as you would have them do unto you. If you don't want to be judged for your quirks, then don't do it to other people. My problem is that I find one tiny thing wrong with a person, and banish them away. I also have a tall list of expectations they have to meet. I read somewhere that you should have five "non-negotiables" when it comes to dating, and that's it. Five things that guys absolutely either must or must not have. My problem is that I have like 225, not five. The more you narrow your focus, the harder it is to find someone.
REASON #10: I'm the "dog catcher".
This is what my dad calls me. I tend to scrape the bottom of the underside of the barrel when it comes to guys. My problem is that I take any and all. No one isn't welcome at my door. My standards are way too low, in addition to being too narrow, as referenced above. But the abovementioned reason contributes completely to the problem. I tend to look more at guys' credentials than their actual compatibility with me. Hence me getting involved with so many dudes who aren't right for me, hence me getting my heart broken and let down over and over again. I continually voluntarily date shitty guys who I know aren't right for me, then get shocked every time it doesn't work out. Like it was gonna be a surprise or something. And the kicker is that I know exactly the moment I meet someone if they're right for me or not. Yet I still pursue these guys even if I know they won't work out. I need to realize that it's ok to be alone.
[[Hopefully no dude actually reads this. Because it's great to have perspective on your problems, but who really wants an itemized, detailed list of everything that's wrong with a girl?]]
And all of this makes me sound really, really batshit crazy. But I'm gonna do me, and I'm gonna do it right. Next time we talk, hopefully I'll be a little bit better of a human being, thus on my way to true happiness. :)
Friday, June 17, 2011
I Know it's Easy to Say, but It's Harder to Feel This Way
I really love jelly doughnuts. More than I love jelly doughnuts, do I miss actually eating jelly doughnuts. See, I'm allergic to most "berry" fruits and the ones I loved the best were the Krispy Kreme raspberry-filled ones. Krispy Kreme went out of business, and I'm allergic to the filling. Out on both counts. That doesn't really have anything to do with anything, just an example of the random, tangled clusterfuck that is my mind.
I grew up believing that if I was good and nice and did everything I was supposed to; got good grades and went to a good school, that good fortune and good things would just naturally come my way. I would just stumble into a great relationship, have an awesome job, a beautiful house, and two perfect children. No one along the way seems to warn you that reality harshly whacks you on the ass with a two-by-four. It doesn't matter if you go your entire life without doing a single bad thing, life still likes to find ways to fuck with you. There isn't such a thing as a wholly good or bad person; fortune is just as random as the weather. It doesn't more often strike certain people than others. But the lottery, you say. Poor people always win the lottery! Yeah, but look at the facts. Statistically, people of lower income will buy lottery tickets more often than middle- and upper-middle class people. They feel like life has already dealt them a shitty hand, they might as well try and up their chances of getting a pass at good fortune. But life doesn't work that way. Bad things happen to good people, and bad people get luck they almost never deserve.
We grow up thinking that life is perfect, and there's one true love out there for everyone, just waiting to find each other, like a rom-com with Meg Ryan, circa 1994. Real life is messy. You have bills and taxes, problems, and flat tires. You fall in and out of love many, many times. And it feels like it hurts more and more each time it happens.
If life is a journey, then it's like riding a horse. Finding love is like riding a horse, backwards and sidesaddle, blindfolded, trying to hit a moving target with a bow and arrow that's 900 feet away. It isn't an exact science, and there's absolutely nothing you can do to prepare for it. People will give you tips, people will tell you to be less of this, and say more of that. Don't talk so much, or don't be so loud. Try to be more like ______. THEN you'll get a mate. But I don't know how to do any of that. I just know how to be me. Isn't that good enough?
I'm kind of terrified of everything, secretly. At the risk of sounding like I'm reading straight off the script of Dirty Dancing, I'm scared of everything. I'm scared of life, what the future holds. I'm scared of being a real adult. I can't really do anything for myself. It takes me 10 minutes to pick out my underwear in the morning; how the hell am I going to be a real grown-up?? I'm scared that what I'm studying isn't really what I'm destined to do with my life. I'm scared my dreams won't come true. But more than any of that, I'm scared I'll be alone. I'm scared I'll never love anyone the way I loved E. I'm scared I'll never have feelings for someone else the way I do with Trick. The former is much more plausible than the latter, but still.
PS, if you're itching to know what the actual Dirty Dancing quote is, (just like I was), here it is: "Me? I'm scared of everything. I'm scared of what I saw, I'm scared of what I did, of who I am, and most of all I'm scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I'm with you." -Baby [[Exactly, sister.]]
But on the flipside of that coin, I'm only 22. I'm not some dried-up old hag who's seen the best years of her life go by. But at this age, it seems like every time I turn around, someone I went to high school or college with is getting either engaged, married, or popping out a kid. Damn you and your constant updates of life's milestones, Facebook. But really, Facebook does exacerbate the situation. It makes you feel like a single, lonesome loser who might as well turn off the lights, put on some Air Supply, and cry yourself to sleep.
For real, though...I'm pants-shittingly terrified of what the future (even if that only means the very next day) holds. And [tiny voice] I'm scared of the rejection, deep down. I'm scared of that feeling that no, I didn't pick you, you're not good enough for me. Or sorry, someone else beat you to the punch and I'm too comfortable to get out of my current situation. Or...someone else makes me so much happier than you ever could...and I don't even want to give you the chance. Those are scary sentences.
I'd hate myself for never trying. But the fear he won't fall holds me back more than anything. Isn't that stupid? Me, the ballsiest chick of them all, is too scared to utter a sentence to someone. Someone who, I've never felt that way about anyone before. Someone who gives me the tingly chillies and warm fuzzies, someone who makes me feel like I can be myself, despite my flaws and fuck-ups. Someone that I feel accepts me for just exactly who I am. Someone that when we're together, I feel like nothing else in the whole world matters. Everything just stops for a minute and it feels like we're the only two people in the room. All of that...and he doesn't even know.
And man, I really wish he did.
I grew up believing that if I was good and nice and did everything I was supposed to; got good grades and went to a good school, that good fortune and good things would just naturally come my way. I would just stumble into a great relationship, have an awesome job, a beautiful house, and two perfect children. No one along the way seems to warn you that reality harshly whacks you on the ass with a two-by-four. It doesn't matter if you go your entire life without doing a single bad thing, life still likes to find ways to fuck with you. There isn't such a thing as a wholly good or bad person; fortune is just as random as the weather. It doesn't more often strike certain people than others. But the lottery, you say. Poor people always win the lottery! Yeah, but look at the facts. Statistically, people of lower income will buy lottery tickets more often than middle- and upper-middle class people. They feel like life has already dealt them a shitty hand, they might as well try and up their chances of getting a pass at good fortune. But life doesn't work that way. Bad things happen to good people, and bad people get luck they almost never deserve.
We grow up thinking that life is perfect, and there's one true love out there for everyone, just waiting to find each other, like a rom-com with Meg Ryan, circa 1994. Real life is messy. You have bills and taxes, problems, and flat tires. You fall in and out of love many, many times. And it feels like it hurts more and more each time it happens.
If life is a journey, then it's like riding a horse. Finding love is like riding a horse, backwards and sidesaddle, blindfolded, trying to hit a moving target with a bow and arrow that's 900 feet away. It isn't an exact science, and there's absolutely nothing you can do to prepare for it. People will give you tips, people will tell you to be less of this, and say more of that. Don't talk so much, or don't be so loud. Try to be more like ______. THEN you'll get a mate. But I don't know how to do any of that. I just know how to be me. Isn't that good enough?
I'm kind of terrified of everything, secretly. At the risk of sounding like I'm reading straight off the script of Dirty Dancing, I'm scared of everything. I'm scared of life, what the future holds. I'm scared of being a real adult. I can't really do anything for myself. It takes me 10 minutes to pick out my underwear in the morning; how the hell am I going to be a real grown-up?? I'm scared that what I'm studying isn't really what I'm destined to do with my life. I'm scared my dreams won't come true. But more than any of that, I'm scared I'll be alone. I'm scared I'll never love anyone the way I loved E. I'm scared I'll never have feelings for someone else the way I do with Trick. The former is much more plausible than the latter, but still.
PS, if you're itching to know what the actual Dirty Dancing quote is, (just like I was), here it is: "Me? I'm scared of everything. I'm scared of what I saw, I'm scared of what I did, of who I am, and most of all I'm scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I'm with you." -Baby [[Exactly, sister.]]
But on the flipside of that coin, I'm only 22. I'm not some dried-up old hag who's seen the best years of her life go by. But at this age, it seems like every time I turn around, someone I went to high school or college with is getting either engaged, married, or popping out a kid. Damn you and your constant updates of life's milestones, Facebook. But really, Facebook does exacerbate the situation. It makes you feel like a single, lonesome loser who might as well turn off the lights, put on some Air Supply, and cry yourself to sleep.
For real, though...I'm pants-shittingly terrified of what the future (even if that only means the very next day) holds. And [tiny voice] I'm scared of the rejection, deep down. I'm scared of that feeling that no, I didn't pick you, you're not good enough for me. Or sorry, someone else beat you to the punch and I'm too comfortable to get out of my current situation. Or...someone else makes me so much happier than you ever could...and I don't even want to give you the chance. Those are scary sentences.
I'd hate myself for never trying. But the fear he won't fall holds me back more than anything. Isn't that stupid? Me, the ballsiest chick of them all, is too scared to utter a sentence to someone. Someone who, I've never felt that way about anyone before. Someone who gives me the tingly chillies and warm fuzzies, someone who makes me feel like I can be myself, despite my flaws and fuck-ups. Someone that I feel accepts me for just exactly who I am. Someone that when we're together, I feel like nothing else in the whole world matters. Everything just stops for a minute and it feels like we're the only two people in the room. All of that...and he doesn't even know.
And man, I really wish he did.
Monday, May 23, 2011
You Can Go Your Own Way, Trick
Why the fuck do I write all of these things at like, 5 AM? Anyways, I'm watching Harry Potter (Deathly Hallows, part une) and it's fucking awesome. Harry Potter will never cease to be awesome. When I'm 100 years old, I will still be reading Harry Potter books.
I have a lot of things to do tomorrow, but I predict that I will only get one of them done, because I won't wake up until 3 PM. That's just how I roll. I'm super productive at 5 AM, asleep by 8 AM, and awake and raring to go at 3 PM. Life rawks.
I think quite possibly there is something wrong with these sleeping patterns. No, I KNOW there is something wrong. I don't know, I guess I just function better when I'm alone and the whole world is asleep. Whatever.
I wanted to write about something profound, but my brain is full of marshmallow fluff and cobwebs. Work is taking over, slowly. I want to think about certain things, but my brain space is occupied by things like lemon wedges, table skirts, and asshole customers. Blah blah blah. Straws and napkins. Sugar packets. Aprons. Blah blah.
It's a good thing, I suppose. If I weren't thinking about mindless things like that, I'd be thinking about "why". OOhhhh, so cryptic.
But, in all honesty, I can't sit around and bite my nails and freak out about what I supposedly did wrong, or what happened, or whose mind changed (SPOILER: not mine).
Because you know what? I KNOW I didn't do anything wrong at all. Ok, maybe I was a little bit too forward. That, I will admit to. I can come on strong. I'm a grab-life-by-the-balls kind of girl; I've always been that way. But why the fuck should I have to apologize for the way I feel? Why should I have to be sorry for taking that chance and acting on feelings that I have? No one should ever have to apologize for the way they feel. No one should ever have to apologize for having legitimate feelings for someone else.
You know what, damnit, I'm proud of myself that I stuck my neck out there and took a chance. Because I would have regretted it if I didn't. Life is too short not to do exactly what you want.
And maybe I stick myself out there too much. Maybe I get my hopes up a little bit too high, maybe I take too many chances. But I've never regretted a single chance I've ever taken. I've never regretted my feelings for anyone, ever. Because that's how I felt in that moment, and in that moment, that was all that mattered. Yeah, I've had fuck-ups. Yeah, I've had bad relationships and failed ones. I've gotten my heart broken and I've hurt so bad I could barely stand it. But not once, ever, did I ever give up. And I won't ever. Maybe I'll get my heart broken again, but you know what? In the end, it's all worth it for love.
And I'm talking right to you now, sir: I care. I care a lot, actually. If you were to ask me why exactly I'm infatuated with you, the answer is simple. Because when I'm with you, it's like nothing else matters. I lose all sense of time. I could sit and talk with you for hours. Conversation with you flows as easily as water. When you look at me, I feel like the only girl in the room. I feel like it's alright to be myself around you.
Well....at least that's how it was. Lately, it feels like you've been pushing me away. And you know what? I know how to take a hint. I'm backing off. It's all business between you and me, baby. But sometimes I get little glimpses of how it used to be between you and me. And it fucking hurts. It hurts to be pushed away so fiercely when I once felt like we were getting closer.
I guess I'm more angry at myself for falling. For allowing myself to think there was a chance. For opening the door, even if it was just a crack.
I didn't see a falling star tonight, but I'm gonna wish anyways. Not for you, but for me. For love. For passion, romance, companionship. To be swept off my feet, carried away, never to look back. And if it's with you, then I'll just count that as a bonus. ;)
I have a lot of things to do tomorrow, but I predict that I will only get one of them done, because I won't wake up until 3 PM. That's just how I roll. I'm super productive at 5 AM, asleep by 8 AM, and awake and raring to go at 3 PM. Life rawks.
I think quite possibly there is something wrong with these sleeping patterns. No, I KNOW there is something wrong. I don't know, I guess I just function better when I'm alone and the whole world is asleep. Whatever.
I wanted to write about something profound, but my brain is full of marshmallow fluff and cobwebs. Work is taking over, slowly. I want to think about certain things, but my brain space is occupied by things like lemon wedges, table skirts, and asshole customers. Blah blah blah. Straws and napkins. Sugar packets. Aprons. Blah blah.
It's a good thing, I suppose. If I weren't thinking about mindless things like that, I'd be thinking about "why". OOhhhh, so cryptic.
But, in all honesty, I can't sit around and bite my nails and freak out about what I supposedly did wrong, or what happened, or whose mind changed (SPOILER: not mine).
Because you know what? I KNOW I didn't do anything wrong at all. Ok, maybe I was a little bit too forward. That, I will admit to. I can come on strong. I'm a grab-life-by-the-balls kind of girl; I've always been that way. But why the fuck should I have to apologize for the way I feel? Why should I have to be sorry for taking that chance and acting on feelings that I have? No one should ever have to apologize for the way they feel. No one should ever have to apologize for having legitimate feelings for someone else.
You know what, damnit, I'm proud of myself that I stuck my neck out there and took a chance. Because I would have regretted it if I didn't. Life is too short not to do exactly what you want.
And maybe I stick myself out there too much. Maybe I get my hopes up a little bit too high, maybe I take too many chances. But I've never regretted a single chance I've ever taken. I've never regretted my feelings for anyone, ever. Because that's how I felt in that moment, and in that moment, that was all that mattered. Yeah, I've had fuck-ups. Yeah, I've had bad relationships and failed ones. I've gotten my heart broken and I've hurt so bad I could barely stand it. But not once, ever, did I ever give up. And I won't ever. Maybe I'll get my heart broken again, but you know what? In the end, it's all worth it for love.
And I'm talking right to you now, sir: I care. I care a lot, actually. If you were to ask me why exactly I'm infatuated with you, the answer is simple. Because when I'm with you, it's like nothing else matters. I lose all sense of time. I could sit and talk with you for hours. Conversation with you flows as easily as water. When you look at me, I feel like the only girl in the room. I feel like it's alright to be myself around you.
Well....at least that's how it was. Lately, it feels like you've been pushing me away. And you know what? I know how to take a hint. I'm backing off. It's all business between you and me, baby. But sometimes I get little glimpses of how it used to be between you and me. And it fucking hurts. It hurts to be pushed away so fiercely when I once felt like we were getting closer.
I guess I'm more angry at myself for falling. For allowing myself to think there was a chance. For opening the door, even if it was just a crack.
I didn't see a falling star tonight, but I'm gonna wish anyways. Not for you, but for me. For love. For passion, romance, companionship. To be swept off my feet, carried away, never to look back. And if it's with you, then I'll just count that as a bonus. ;)
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Being Carrie Bradshaw
I look out my driver's side window at the sign attached to the building. The radio is off, so the only sounds present are the machine-like hum of the neon and the gentle May breeze rustling the leaves on the scant greenery of the urban sprawl. My best friend is looking out the passenger window, apparently transfixed by similar things. I look ahead of me and there are shimmering lights as far as the eye can see. From the pinpricks of car headlights to the occasional office light still on in the impossibly tall skyscrapers, to the neon signs of various companies left on, downtown Indianapolis is aglow. The concrete jungle. It's a beautiful sight. It's hard to imagine why anyone couldn't love the city.
I love downtown Indianapolis. I don't really know why I do. I suppose it's the allure. I grew up sneaking and watching episodes of Sex and the City on HBO. Carrie and her friends ran around in $3,000 shoes and lived the life. They had fabulous everything; shoes, clothes, boyfriends, jobs, apartments. But the backdrop is what made it all the more alluring. The stories were set in New York City, a city everyone desires to live in at one point of their lives. The glittering back drop of NYC was like getting a peek into Oz for me. I can remember being a little girl, sitting close to our television set so I could keep the sound low, and promising myself that someday, I would be a writer just like Carrie. I would sit in my apartment downtown and type on my laptop (my desk would have a view of the city, of course). I would have amazing clothes and friends, and go out to eat at delicious, expensive places just like Carrie did. And most importantly, I would wear high heels Every Single Day, because my mother only allowed me to wear flats.
In my freshman college journalism class, we were asked to introduce ourselves and state our "journalistic dreams." Every kid said down things like "become the editor of the Wall Street Journal" or "become a sports broadcaster on ESPN." I proudly stood up and announced that I wanted to "write a column and be just like Carrie Bradshaw." Needless to say, I didn't last long at the IU Ernie Pyle School of Journalism. They only churn out Pulitzer prize-winning journalists, not trashy sex columnists with great shoe collections. Fine by me. I was never a color-in-the-lines type of girl, anyways. I'll blaze my own trail. I'll show them.
I don't think I'm special, or even different. I simply know how to convey my thoughts into words. It's the median in which I chose to express myself. But I love it. I have a passion, a deep, fiery burning passion that glows deeply within me. More than I've ever wanted anything in my whole entire life, I want to be a writer. My dad told me to find what you love and make a career out of it. And I can't think of anything I love more. One day. One day, I'll be there.
But for now I'll settle for flipping through the channels and finding a SATC rerun. I know it's utterly unrealistic to think that a single woman could afford to live alone in New York City in a posh apartment with a lavish designer wardrobe on a freelance writer's salary. But hey, a girl can dream, can't she?
I'm gonna keep on chugging. I'm going to finish college, get a big-girl job and start my real life. But I still want to be Carrie Bradshaw.
I'll be there one day. My name will be in lights, and I'll be a famous author. I'll wave my book in the faces of everyone who laughed at me and told me no, and every snotty, preppy sorority girl journalism major who turned her nose up at the rough-around-the-edges bitch who didn't quite fit in. I'll stomp off in my glittering pink high heels, and I'll thank Candace Bushnell. Not only for creating such an awesome character, but for giving a little girl in pajamas who watched a forbidden TV show hope, desire, and a dream she never let die.
I love downtown Indianapolis. I don't really know why I do. I suppose it's the allure. I grew up sneaking and watching episodes of Sex and the City on HBO. Carrie and her friends ran around in $3,000 shoes and lived the life. They had fabulous everything; shoes, clothes, boyfriends, jobs, apartments. But the backdrop is what made it all the more alluring. The stories were set in New York City, a city everyone desires to live in at one point of their lives. The glittering back drop of NYC was like getting a peek into Oz for me. I can remember being a little girl, sitting close to our television set so I could keep the sound low, and promising myself that someday, I would be a writer just like Carrie. I would sit in my apartment downtown and type on my laptop (my desk would have a view of the city, of course). I would have amazing clothes and friends, and go out to eat at delicious, expensive places just like Carrie did. And most importantly, I would wear high heels Every Single Day, because my mother only allowed me to wear flats.
In my freshman college journalism class, we were asked to introduce ourselves and state our "journalistic dreams." Every kid said down things like "become the editor of the Wall Street Journal" or "become a sports broadcaster on ESPN." I proudly stood up and announced that I wanted to "write a column and be just like Carrie Bradshaw." Needless to say, I didn't last long at the IU Ernie Pyle School of Journalism. They only churn out Pulitzer prize-winning journalists, not trashy sex columnists with great shoe collections. Fine by me. I was never a color-in-the-lines type of girl, anyways. I'll blaze my own trail. I'll show them.
I don't think I'm special, or even different. I simply know how to convey my thoughts into words. It's the median in which I chose to express myself. But I love it. I have a passion, a deep, fiery burning passion that glows deeply within me. More than I've ever wanted anything in my whole entire life, I want to be a writer. My dad told me to find what you love and make a career out of it. And I can't think of anything I love more. One day. One day, I'll be there.
But for now I'll settle for flipping through the channels and finding a SATC rerun. I know it's utterly unrealistic to think that a single woman could afford to live alone in New York City in a posh apartment with a lavish designer wardrobe on a freelance writer's salary. But hey, a girl can dream, can't she?
I'm gonna keep on chugging. I'm going to finish college, get a big-girl job and start my real life. But I still want to be Carrie Bradshaw.
I'll be there one day. My name will be in lights, and I'll be a famous author. I'll wave my book in the faces of everyone who laughed at me and told me no, and every snotty, preppy sorority girl journalism major who turned her nose up at the rough-around-the-edges bitch who didn't quite fit in. I'll stomp off in my glittering pink high heels, and I'll thank Candace Bushnell. Not only for creating such an awesome character, but for giving a little girl in pajamas who watched a forbidden TV show hope, desire, and a dream she never let die.
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