sticks, stones, fragile bones.

i’d like to meet the person who came up with the phrase ‘sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me.’  i’d like to ask them exactly what context they were trying to side step with this little rhyme.  was it hummed to a child in an effort to soothe away the idol prattle of a playground skirmish? it must have been, because no self respecting adult would ever tell this little singsong verse, this out right lie, to another.  words, we learn as time marches on, in whatever context, are powerful…

words have taken me around the world in slightly under 100 days.  words have hidden me in the moors with a convict who later turned out to be my mysterious benefactor.  words have walked me, naked, into the sea to end my life of duty to a loveless marriage and burdensome children.  once a month, words take me to paris or to milan, to showrooms and to sample sales, to the offices of the hearst corporation, and on interviews with some of pop cultures’ most interesting, up and coming talents.  

words, in the form of songs, have given me the palate to say what i long to say, and somehow just cant find the right ways in which to do so.  lyrics and melodies have provided the backdrop to a college education punctuated by silly nights of cruising, windows down, with my girlfriends, bouncing from dj booth to dj booth, and now finally in adulthood, my meal ticket and the beginnings to a career.

however, words can be dangerous.  long ago, if a writer wanted to tarnish someone’s character or ruin a reputation, it was much harder to do so.  weekly write ups by the likes of dorothy parker could make the society sets tremble with fear that something they said or did after one too many champagne flutes would end up as tabloid fodder.  then, as the information age raged onward, celebrities one and all became constant prey for the general public.  weekly updates and word after word accompanied by pictures and bold faced headlines proclaiming that the stars really were just like us because they bought their own pampers and charmin began to dominate newsstands and checkout lanes everywhere.  then something else took place, a shift in the way all of humankind absorbed and traded information.  thanks to a certain mr zuckerberg and a few too many post breakup beers with some binary code spliced in for the sake of logistics, anything said about anyone at any given time can go viral in a matter of seconds.  usually, its harmless- all in fun.  a snide remark every now and again is generally offset by some self deprecating remark or a list of idiotic incidents that seem commonplace in a less than brilliant society, therefore alleviating the sting of the aforementioned remark.  

but what happens when words go too far? what occurs when a playground he said she said becomes public record? what is one to do when a disrespectful, one- sided diatribe begins to generate buzz on various media sources? 

i built a house with words on a foundation made of words… beautiful, beautiful words.  words that fed me and brought the color back into my cheeks.  words that made me awaken sleepy eyed, but excited in the middle of the night to read a tiny screen, filled with promises of love, of a life together, of a brilliant future.  with my coffee in the early mornings, i took a big gulp of words spoken from a mouth attached to a person who, from common opinion, was safe.  a person who wouldnt be my undoing.  a person who was afraid to fall and was hurt in a previous relationship.  so, knowing what it was like to feel frightened and wounded, i poured my heart into him.  i made myself available, too much so at times, to show him that for once the stars had finally aligned and he had met his match.  i said so many beautiful words that i began to think about the future; ‘how would our contemporaries write our love story?’, i sometimes wondered.  with every little blip, every word that didnt seem to lay flush with the future our other words were paving for us, i chalked it up to a bad day, a night of too little sleep, the stress of the upcoming holidays.  i became ignorant to the trouble that the strain in his voice was spelling out plain as day.  i ignored my internal dialogue, the thoughts that were screaming ‘something is amiss, he isnt telling you something.’  instead, i replaced the fear and the doubt with comfort, ‘he loves you.  he fell for you in a matter of weeks.  you’ve looked into each others’ eyes and felt a spark.  this is the love of your life.  you’re fine.’  i wasnt fine.  we weren’t fine.  

after the dust cleared and the wrecking ball had demolished every last spoken and written brick, like a refugee trying to salvage whatever scraps of my previous life i could gather, i dug and searched and tried to recover any way that i could.  i likened my heartbreak to movie stars and songbirds.  i didnt eat.  i didnt sleep.  i drank wine…a lot of wine.  i watched movie after movie, scene after scene and tried to draw some semblance of hope from the female leads, who were rebuilding their lives with the help of good friends, funny adventures, and rockin’ soundtracks.  however, i wasnt in a movie.  i was in real life.  and i was posting my mis-adventures at a rate so rapid and with so much passive aggression that, looking back, im shocked that sparks werent shooting out of my fingertips.  i was miserable.  i was coping.  i was not thinking that my remarks, my pain, and my heartbreak would be fodder for social commentary.  i suppose i was wrong. 

‘You write your snide bullshit from a dark room because that’s what the angry do nowadays. I was nice to you. Don’t torture me for it.’ – erica, the social network.

 words can’t actually break your bones, but they can break your heart, break your spirit, and forever change you.  yesterday, i had a conversation with someone, someone who has promised me the world and is actually capable of following through with that promise:  ‘why won’t you let yourself be romantic?  why wont you let your guard down and let yourself fall for someone?’ he asked.  ‘as a businessman,’ he continued, ‘what if i never took risks?  what if i never decided to buy or sale? i would have never gotten as far as i have gotten.’  ‘stick your hand in a garbage disposal.  turn the garbage disposal on.  take what is left of your arm out of the garbage disposal.’ i told him. ‘then see if you’ll ever do that again.  i bet you wont.’  

i have no fractures, no breaks, no cuts or scrapes visible to the human eye.  but, i am in no way unharmed.  

kitty lips.

i havent blogged in what feels like an eternity, so i suppose this will be just a quick pre-lunch meeting life update…

 

first and foremost, i FINALLY got a performing job.  up until a few weeks ago, i had nearly resigned myself to thinking that i would be one of those people who graduate with an arts degree and spend the rest of their lives waiting tables/tending bar/working retail/generally squirming and becoming hideously awkward when someone asks them what they do and they say, ‘im an actor.’ because they’re about as much of an ‘actor’ as ru-paul is an actual woman.  and no, im not knocking any of those occupations, as i have done them all, find them quite noble, and was considering either going back to any of the above mentioned careers or weighing my options as a stripper.  however, since i dance like a cross between phoebe running and elaine from seinfield….thank god some theater saved me from a life of  swinging on the pole for quarters when my peers are making dollars.  

 

i jest about being a stripper….for the most part.

 

yesterday, someone told me that i remind them of a writer.  ‘who?’ i inquired.  ‘shit…i forget his name…he wrote a book with a squirrel on the cover…and he worked at macy’s as an elf.’ he replied.  ‘ahh…yes..sedaris.  well..thanks for telling me that i remind you of a man.  thats touching.’ i shot back.  now normally, a sedaris reference would do one of two things: 1. send me running out of the room in a hysterical crying fit.  2. send me looking for the nearest sharp object with which to impale myself /something high enough to fling my body off of that would really kill me, not just break something thus, sending me on a stay-cation to the psych ward.  however, recently any time something happens that has the possibility to send me into sad ex girlfriend land, population 1, i employ my brain to play a little game.  a game i call ‘kitty lips.’  rather simply, i tune out whatever or whoever is happening or speaking and start thinking of subjects that leave me looking outwardly engaged in my surroundings, but inwardly in a galaxy far, far away.  it goes like this… as the person continued on yesterday about sedaris, i began thinking of issues great and small that really have no resolution, like:

if hello kitty has no lips, how can she possibly be the brand ambassador for a lipgloss line in her honor?

making a pro’s and con’s list of: if you could chose one, only one. sex or cheese, for the rest of your life what would you chose? [on the one hand cheese really is fattening, on the other, sex will ultimately result in a baby, which makes you pretty damn fat as well, trust me…so both are inherently evil…].  

segway to, kate hudson is pregnant, ergo, in a matter of months, i can brag that i am in fact the same size as a hollywood starlet, and soon after that, when she is in her last trimester, that i am SKINNIER than penny lane. woah.

 

 i reccomend you all try it sometime.  it doesnt have to be used only to mask great pain and turn gaping wounds that feel as if you’re being sucker punched into minor blips, its also quite useful in tuning out annoying co workers, large groups of sorority girls, and construction sounds.  no, im not over it.  yes, i find myself playing kitty lips WAY more than i will ever let on.  but i assure you its really helping…or maybe its just putting a piece of tape on a demolition site.  either way, go forth…play kitty lips.

 

i have also stopped going on disaster dates, because lets just get real, soon enough people are going to stop lining up to take the long lost bronte sister to dinner just to watch her sob as if you just told her everyone she knows has been shot execution style.  

 

however, i did go on a date a few nights ago…UT basketball game…pretty safe bet. everything is going well.  we’re driving, when suddenly small talk turns to reality tv and pop culture.  now, normally, i can hold my own in this realm, so i looked forward to where this could possibly be leading.  ‘do you watch the bachelor?’ he asked innocently enough.  at this point, im assuming that after i say no, we can spend the rest of the drive to the game trading witty retorts about what a dumb show it is, what a horrifying concept is it, etc.  ‘HAHAHAHA! OH. GOD. NO.’ i tell him, emphasizing every word.  ‘yeah what a great idea, im going to meet my soulmate as he’s taking 30 other women on dates and doing what-have-you with them in the hot tub,’ i say, rolling my eyes.  ‘you dont really think he sleeps with the majority of them do you? i mean, theres a camera crew right there?’  ‘trust me,’ i laugh, ‘if you’re brazen enough to search for your next boyfriend in prime time syndication, you’re brazen enough to get it on in a hot tub in front of joe the gaffer.’  i continued on for a few more minutes about how insane this show and its spinoff, the bachelorette are, until i noticed he had stopped looking at me and was staring straight ahead at the road, even though we were stopped in traffic.  ‘umm…sorry…why do you ask?’ i questioned, trying to become the less dominant force in the conversation.  he looked slightly wounded as he admitted, ‘oh…well i kinda do..’ [thank god he was driving, as i would have most likely brake checked us out of total shock]. he proceeded to tell me some tragic tale of a contestant who had a daughter with a race car driver who crashed a private jet into a mountain on race day and was now looking for her one true love after not dating for 6 years.  im sure he could see my left eyebrow raising ever higher and was noticing the look of total disdain creeping more and more quickly across my face, because he then started to justify that he watched it because he was familiar with the racing family; knew the dead guy’s dad…or something along those lines.  hmm.  well then… honestly? he could have told me that he was the show’s producer or had created it and i would still have sat there silent and judging.  im sorry.  the only reason a grown man should watch any programming along the lines of the bachelor is because his girlfriend/ fiance/ wife is making him.  or because he is gay.  my date had neither of those things going for him.  he later rationalized that he and his daughter talk about it.  i guess that makes it 30% okay? maybe? no…no not at all.  so, i have decided, after further review, that i am a mean spirited judgmental hag who needs to sit at home alone and watch mad men on dvd, lest i continue to have people ask me whats wrong with me, why am i so jaded, and say, ‘to be so young, you’re a cynical little thing.’  

 

i have no dating skills…just a pretty face and an ass that wont quit.  damn good genetics….ugly people have all the luck.

 

 

all that glitters.

i should have listened. 

when i decorated my apartment for the christmas season, i, as most people with banisters do, hung garland, lights, tiny felt stockings, and shiny glass ornaments upon said bannister.  when visitors would stop by, more often than not they would notice the proximity of the last glass ornament hanging from the tinsel and remark, ‘thats really close to the door dont you think?  arent you afraid youre going to knock it down with your purse or something when youre trying to leave?’  i would always roll my eyes or flippantly reply that it was fine and to just let it stay where it was located.  after all, although i do have quite the affinity for large bags, my purse would have to be pretty epic to dislodge the ornament from its resting place. 

today, as i was leaving, i hit that one, ill placed piece of decor.  i didnt realize i had done so until hearing the smack against the entryway tile, the smash of glass, and the million tiny pieces it shattered into.  slowly, i bent down and inspected my damage…glitter and teensy fragmented shards had dispersed everywhere; there was barely anything left clinging to the metal top that hung the former glass ball so ineptly placed on my railing.  i put my purse down on the carpet, placed my keys on the entryway table, and prepared to clean up the mess everyone had told me i would eventually make when i realized something–if i had hit the ornament without such force, hadnt jerked my bag from the bannister so harshly and so quickly, or maybe just bumped it from a different angle, this could have been prevented; if i had just listened when my visitors told me i was making an error, this could have all been avoided in the first place.  quickly, i scooped up the remains of that holiday cheer and thought to myself, ‘im going to have glitter everywhere for weeks.  theres no way i can pick all this up, all these pieces and scraps and broken bits are going to stay here, on my floor, for quite some time.’

if it had been anyone else.  if things hadnt been jerked away from me so quickly.  if those glittery, beautiful words hadnt sank into me from all angles and penetrated to my very core.  if i hadnt thrown caution to the wind and heeded everyone’s advice. if i hadnt fallen at a rate that baffled the laws of logic and gravity. if i hadnt been so close to everything that i never knew i always wanted… i wouldnt have shattered. i wouldnt be in tiny bits that will remain impossible to clean up for god knows how long.  

…all that glitter on my floor, and all this mess in my heart.

step and repeat.

today i woke up foolish.  i woke up with thoughts and feelings and emotions in my brain that had no rhyme or reason to be there.

when children lose a tooth, they are visited by the tooth fairy… a cheerful, winged woman who leaves change or dollars to rectify the hole in your face that usually comes around school picture day ensuring mortification for years to come.  adults, however, have no such luck.  yes, we arent losing teeth anymore [save for the occasional male bar fight or sporting event] but sometimes we get visited by a demon, by our demons; by some sort of ghost of relationships past.  this creature has no wings, no tidings of financial joy, only negative comparisons and doubt that everything isnt really as great as you think it is.  when will the other shoe drop? when will the things he says start to reveal their double and hidden meanings? when will we have that fight, that meeting of minds that makes us question everything we thought we knew and wanted? when will it end? 

waking up this way makes a person insecure, needy, jaded.  waking up this way makes a person pick and beat around the bush; makes a person start and end sentences with ‘i mean..i dunno…just forget it.’  after saying words that have no meaning and no relevance to the person youre talking to or the situation you’re in, you hang up the phone and think ‘who the fuck was that? that wasnt me…’  no.  its not.  its just the ghost…

it really amazes me how much people screw up other people.  you meet someone and you think you have something true and great and real.  then that person spends their time walking the tightrope between who they really are and who you so desperately want them to be.  its also amazing the things that we, as women, tend to fall for in the vain hopes that we’ll be the exception to the rule.  we’ll be the woman that the others can talk about and tell their friends, ‘well jane started dating bill, but he wouldnt ever say they were totally together.  one day jane told bill that he couldnt jerk her around like this anymore and that she needed to either be with him as his girlfriend or as nothing at all.  well, bill said he couldnt be her boyfriend so they ended it.  3 months went by and bill was so miserable without her that he showed up at her doorstep with roses and a 2 carat princess cut solitare.  their wedding is next month in maui! can you believe it?!?!?’ no.  i cant believe it.  and neither should anyone else.  because this rarely actually ends up going that way.  but, we soldier on.  we give men time and space and try our best to wait for them to come around.  usually we accept less than we know we should. we let them walk the line. thus, everything they say is a double edged sword.  ‘im going out with the boys for wings.’  simple enough.  he’s going to go out, eat chicken, drink beer, say things his mother would be ashamed to hear, and go home.  when really, he should have said ‘im going to get laid.  then im going to lie to you about getting laid.  if you ever find out that i got laid, im going to justify this with the hollow excuse that you’re not technically my girlfriend, we arent technically exclusive, and i was drunk.’  this, for some time, was my reality, and let me tell you, its a scary reality to have lived in and looking back im pretty angry at myself that i allowed it to continue for so long.  however, aside from making me look like an idiot, all relationships like that actually do is ruin you for other people.  and before you all go thinking im a she-woman man-hater, women are just as bad.  ive heard tall tales out of the mouths of the fairer sex that make john dillinger look like bambi.  

relationships that fail are a blessing and a curse.  blessing: after they end you get a new shot, a shot to find someone who is real and true and who will look after you and guard your heart with good intentions and truths.  curse: although youre technically free to go and do as you please with whomever you please, youre never totally free.  once every blue moon that ghost comes a’calling and leaves you in a dark place of will he/wont he? should we/shouldnt we?  and this morning, as i said, i awoke feeling quite haunted and with no good reason as to why.

when you are in a different situation with some similar circumstances, comparisons begin and that is only natural.  every creature with powers of cognizant reasoning uses the past as a sort of springboard.  if you touch a stove eye thats still smoldering, odds are you wont touch it again.  if you get burned, next time you wont stand as close to the fire. if you suffer at the hands of someone who doesnt have your best interest at heart, you seek someone who does.  and when you find that person you can either let the past smother all the light out of the relationship until it too is just another tale of woe, or you take the past and keep it where it belongs; behind you.  

i cant promise perfection.  i cant promise to not have some insecurities or feelings of fear.  i can only promise to send my demons away to the best of my abilities and to look forward not back.  i can promise to never lump the new with the old; and to apologize when i fail to do so.

possibly becoming the other half to sheer brilliance is terrifying yet wonderful… like riding a rollercoaster in the dead of night and hanging breathlessly upside down, awaiting the next twist and turn.

you say yes, i say know.

recently i was asked ‘what do you think about knowledge?’ knowing better than to just blurt out something coy or overdone like ‘knowledge is power’ and go about my day, ive been taking a few weeks to process this question and really formulate a response better than a 4th grader who can read one of those seemingly inspirational posters with a cat skiing or something as equally ill conceived on it.

so many times as girls and as women we ask too many questions.  we call 15 times in a row.  we hang up when he answers just to know that hes there and alone.  we text all day and obsess over every little gesture and glance our way.  we ask where its going far too quickly.  and although i havent done all of these myself [or havent done any of them in a reallllly long time] its not some wild eyed crazed ‘i love you i need you i gots to have you’ frenzy that spawns this sort of temporary mind loss, for me anyway, its a twisted way to get an answer; to gain some knowledge.  anyone who has ever sent the obligatory morning after or where is this going text knows of what i speak.  your whole body tingles.  your palms sweat.  you stare at your phone willing it to jingle or light up or beep.  you repeat his name over and over again in your head.  then, you receive what youve so longed for: an answer.  even if the results are less than desirable, at least you know.  at least you get it.  at least you can move on or stick with it and see where it goes.  youre no longer in the dark and left out.  there are no more secrets or ways to maybe take something the wrong way, just the knowledge of where both people stand.  and that is good.  so good.  let me tell you from experience, there is no worse feeling than being the last to know something that everyone else in your daily dealings knows.  sometimes knowledge hurts you.  but personally, id just rather know.

knowledge for many people is also a means to an end.  knowing a little stuff about lots of stuff can turn an average joe into brad pitt circa legends of the fall in about 45 seconds flat.  there is nothing that will make a sober woman with even half a brain in her head get all kinds of naked faster than telling her which literary character she reminds you of and why and to really honest to god know what words are falling out of your mouth vs just have a staged  ‘you remind me of juliet because youre hot’ come tumbling on out.  a man that can answer at least 3/4 of the questions on jeopardy, tell you why peyton is such a good quarterback, then tell you about the hoppiness of his beer, while checking his fantasy bracket, after reading some poetry, and making a pop culture joke will always get laid more than the hot guy.  in fact, smart man who knows stuff is probably doing it right now, with a girl who is ‘way too hot for him.’  i think the nerds learn early on they cant throw a slider, and take the game winning pass to the end zone, but they can learn a little about a lot and use that to their advantage….[of course it doesnt really hurt if you can in fact throw a slider and keep up your end of the conversation…just sayin].

knowledge can be temporary, or can grow into wisdom.  knowledge can be the 96 on a test you gained after cramming at starbs like a caffeinated demon or it can be something you have devoted your life to such as a hobby, craft, or occupation.  knowledge can be as simple as a child learning not to touch something hot, or as complex as a 30 page dissertation.  what one does with this knowledge, however, is whats important.  when something is learned and then is allowed to grow tucked into the corners of your brain it develops into wisdom.  it develops into caution or into a way of thinking that is new and different.  if you let it, it empowers you.  knowledge will allow you to carry yourself in a way that demands respect and commands attention if you learn from not doing so to begin with.  when you know that you cannot be proven wrong on a certain subject or when you know that youve made it through a circumstance that would wreck most people you become strong and can impart that knowledge onto others.  i jokingly call myself a cautionary tale on occasion, but i really am.  and from all my trials and tribulations and mis-steps and bad spur of the moment decisions i have gained knowledge.  i have held onto my knowledge and let it take over my entire brain and nurtured it until it formed deep lasting roots that made me wise to the world i once saw as so rose colored and happy.

knowledge is good.  knowledge is sexy.  knowledge can be liberating and make you fly higher than any compliment, drug, or purchase ever could.  it isnt always what we want to hear, but its always good for us to hear.  so i guess knowledge is power….the skiing kitty would be proud.

objectively ever after.

about a week ago i was having a conversation with someone for whom i care very deeply, and that person asked me “how did you get yourself into this mess?” now im guessing he was meaning the state of my relationship, not the state of my life, which would take slightly more than a week to self-evaluate.  however, in the week that has passed i have done some major soul searching, some intense thinking, and ventured into dark corners of my mind that generally i try to avoid at all costs.  so, here is the best reasoning that i can surmise as to how i got myself into this mess…

i was in a relationship in college.  a relationship that changed my life forever and set into motion all the events since. a relationship whos dissolution caused me to hurt so many people who i never intended to or set out to scar.  for whatever reason, i fell quickly and whole heartedly in love with this man.  while i sat in my apartment and analyzed every moment and every word, i guess the old additive puts it best, his absence truly made my heart grow more and more fond.  my last year of college was spent in a honda civic, macie on lap, cruising down i40 at least 3 times a week to see him, his friends, and be in his world for as long as my musical theatre schedule would allow.  on monday mornings when his alarm went off at 4am eastern time, i would gather my belongings, fill my tank with gas and my mug with starbs, and head off to a monday through thursday of central time, of tap dancing; of voice lessons, bongo java, long talks with girlfriends, and the eternal countdown until i could be someone’s live-in girlfriend again for the weekend.   

he and i had problems, most of them spurred by a mix of his peter pan/scott baio complex of never wanting to leave the safety and the eternal sea of randoms that punctuated a large university campus.  however, the issues of my own childhood kept creeping in and reaping havoc on what should have been a simple enough relationship.  we loved each other.  we wanted to be together.  we wanted to stay together after our respective graduations.  but, i couldnt leave well enough alone.  

growing up my parents were married and divorced somewhere around 9 times between the two of them.  while i never really gave it much thought, i have recently come to realize all my issues stem from this.  as much as i would like to have an easier answer so typical of beautiful, damaged, slutty girls everywhere and blame it on dear ole dad,  i have no daddy issues.  i got enough love from my father.  i have and have always had a pretty great relationship with my father.  no no–i have mommy issues.  my mother has been dating, cheating, engage-ing, marrying, and divorcing my entire life.  through her string of failed relationships i absorbed one thing: you are worth nothing until a man validates you.  you are not pretty until a man tells you youre pretty.  your career is not important and your goals are not worth achieving until a man tells you he admires everything youre striving for.  your children arent well spoken and beautiful testaments to true selfless love until a man tells you youre a good mother.  the list could go on and on.  from my earliest memories, my mothers focus on outward appearances and what people were going to think were shoved down my throat like the glass of chocolate milk i had to down with dinner every night so i would grow ‘tall and thin’.  no matter how much i tried to deny it and was repulsed by the notion of it, by 20 i was my mother.  yearning for attention and seeking approval from the male gender.  i was the canvas onto which she was painting her ideals.  go to college.  meet a man.  get engaged.  get your degree.  graduate.  have his children.  do so fairly young so that your body will bounce back to a size 2 again.  navigate the thin line between dreams of singing, dancing, and acting and being a soccer mom in your beautiful home your husband has provided for you.  

after graduation, i was no closer to a ring than i was to shitting out a unicorn.  instead of taking it in stride and making decisions based on what i thought was best for the long term and for my own future, i moved back to eastern time and hounded my poor boyfriend daily on where we were going, why we didnt get an apartment together, why he didnt realize that i was good for him and loved him and wanted to bear his children.  all around us people were getting engaged, having weddings, coming back from tropical honeymoons, and starting ‘grown up’ lives together like they were ‘supposed to’.  we were in college bars yelling over sweet caroline about why i was crazy and why he was such an asshole.  shortly after he resigned his lease without my name on it, i was invited to go to fashion week in new york city for a week of after parties, shopping, and pretending i was some sort of carrie bradshaw paris hilton hybrid.  my beautiful friends and i were constantly let into the best of the best and the swankiest of the swanky.  i left the city after having no contact with my boyfriend in knoxville for a week and riding high after 7 days of being told i was beautiful, smart, funny, and could take over the world if only i would hop a plane out of hick town and into the bright lights of the worlds most happening city.  

 upon returning in a haze of social heaven one thing was clear to me.  he wasnt going to ask me to marry him.  no matter how much i loved him, he wasnt going to love me with that same fire and intensity.  he wasnt going to propose.  he wasnt going to marry me.  i was no good.  i had no worth.  i couldnt stay.  i made up bullshit reasons and blamed my newly acquired degree for my running off with a one way ticket to new york.  at the time, i had convinced myself that the city was what i wanted.  the city had more to offer me than anywhere else in the world.  and while this may be partly true, i had the constant type writer of self loathing clicking off in my head: if he wont marry you you are no good.  if he wont marry you you have no worth.  if he wont marry you then everything youve put into this has been a waste.  if he wont marry you youre forever damaged goods until you find someone who will.  you are not a whole person until you have the hardware on your finger to show the world that a man thinks youre wonderful.  

it is so painful to read this.  it is so painful to re think all of this, but onward i must trudge, because out of this psychosis comes growth.  

in new york i was engaged to a stranger.  i thought that if i met someone who thought i was great then i was great.  we hastily decided in a kmart beside nyu that ‘hey what if we got married?’ i knew it wasnt right.  i knew he was someone else’s stand in.  i knew that when he put the ring on my finger i would have accepted a ring from a stop sign if that stop sign had asked.  i was wounded and hurting and wishing that my life in the tn had gone down this same road.  11 days later i was sitting in his room telling him that i wasnt ready, that we didnt know each other, and that my heart was elsewhere.  i broke him.  i wounded him and damaged him and brought him to the lowest of low.  11 days earlier i had also wounded so many wonderful people i had come to know as friends.  i had alienated an entire group of individuals who werent just my ex’s friends, they were my friends as well.  a group of people who i had shared so many fun times, deep talks, and over a year with.  people who as i type this i still love dearly.  people who i would give anything to make all of this up to. people whos memory evokes a stream of tears as im surrounded by strangers who most certainly think im insane in starbucks right now.  but, they chose to go to my ex’s defense, as well they should have.  and after my poor choices in new york the lines were drawn.  in my state of utter devastation i managed to take down several people with me.  misery doesnt love company.  knowing that i had made others feel even a sliver of the pain that i was feeling made me ache even worse.

i left new york.  i came back to tn.  but nothing was the same.  my love was in austin, pretending to be fine.  my heart was with him as i too pretended that enough time had passed to smooth over the cracks in my spirit our split had caused.  i got asked out by a man who said he was tired of dating, ready to settle down, loved kids, wanted to be a young father.  9 months later he got his wish.  engagement #2 was like a template.  i had an amazing ring.  i was pregnant.  we had a nice house, nice cars, nice lifestyle.  from the outside looking in i had gotten my dream come true.  but, typical of templates, it was a hollow outline, waiting to be filled in by a life we couldnt create.  he and i were friends who had a baby.  friends who thought that if we took all the right steps that eventually we would grow to be those 70 year olds walking in the mall holding hands.  at the end of the day we are both good people.  we both deserve a partner who wants for us what we want for ourselves.  for him a partner who is okay with a lot of alone time.  for me a partner who is slightly more devoted to cultivating a long term relationship where each person in it feels so full of love most of the time that they could literally explode.  a partner who i could read the phonebook with and still somehow think it was funny.  a partner who seemed to embody everything i had given up in october of 2008.  

now, 2 years after ending everything, 2 years after making mistake after mistake and searching for something that seemed all too elusive, i realize a ring doesnt make you a whole person.  someone elses love doesnt make you worthwhile.  saying yes i will marry you and saying i do isnt the instant band aid to right all evils and wash away your past sufferings. you make you whole.  you heal yourself.  with the help of friends and family and a lot of thinking and praying and growth you become your own band aid.  you can never fully erase your past, but you can look at it with wise hindsight and really, really grow from it.  once you can surpass all the bitterness and all the blaming and he said she said and fear you grow.  you grow taller and stronger than any glass of milk could ever help you to grow.  am i perfect? no.  do i make idiot decisions still and say things i wish i could take back? yes.  am i still damaged goods? somewhat, yes.  am i still angry that i let the repeated actions of a deranged mother take years of my life that could have been spent doing much better things than inadvertently seeking a mate? whole heartedly yes.  was i initially defensive and hateful upon being asked ‘how did you get yourself into this mess?’ well….yeah.  however, had i not taken a lot of time and stared at my ceiling at night and thought and re-thought every decision that ive made over the past few years i would have never realized the error of my dating ways.  the errors that gave me an amazing little boy, but errors that are errors all the same.   

moving forward, i am in no rush to be a mrs.  i am in no rush to have a boyfriend, a date, a one night stand.  for the first time in my life i like me.  yes some mornings i wish i looked a little differently and weighed slightly less and that my thighs didnt touch blah blah blah. but for the first time ever i can say that i think i am pretty rad.  and not just because the barista at starbs just told me i was interesting and well dressed, but because i am the most mature, most together, most amazing i have ever been.  i dont know what my dating future will hold.  but i do know what i want.  i know who i want.  and i know that i will never settle for a stand in ever again.  maddox will not grow up with an endless stream of men.  he will grow up dealing with being grossed out that his mom is making out with his step father in the kitchen again…and that all his friends have a mrs robinson complex…

xx

wonder.wander.

fyi- there is no rage here.  that last blog was a doosey, i know, but after a solid week of hatred i think im done.  all i will say in regards to mr. epic fail whale waste of time is this; you amaze me.  im not sure if you really think that the things you say/ have said and the total disregard for those things in your mannerisms and actions is fine and not a big deal, or if youre just a sociopath who is trying to make me have a brain hemorrhage.   either way i have no time for your antics…have fun with the girl that you tell everyone isnt your girlfriend when she actually is.  hope you dont still “think of me every day” or else she’s going to quickly become as disenchanted with you as i have.  ahem…soapbox done. 

moving forward, ive been thinking a lot about why people come into and out of lives.  i have been blessed to have some amazing people enter into mine and stick around.  ive been equally lucky to have some idiots enter and exit taking their tom foolery and douche baggery with them.  i just wonder why this is.  i wonder if there is some giant magic eight ball in the universe that god shakes around and then boom! we’re all a little dizzy and thrown together, no worse for the wear.  there has to be something more to it than that; more to the meetings and un-meetings of humans than just dizzy, bleary eyed happenstance.  whatever it is, i like it.  i like it because there have been several amazing people introduced into my life just this year, and some reintroduced just this month, and each one of these people seemed to come in at just the right time, with all the right words and all the right qualities.  

speaking of- to all who celebrated the big 2-4 with me, or wished me well, or caught me as i popped a bottle of pink champagne in the parking lot of jacksons and then fell off the curb, again, i and my face, thank you.  

i have to cut this one short, because i must quickly enter into the world of non-profit retail, with a staff of miserable humans and try to work up the gumption to not stab myself in the neck with a plastic fork or a box cutter…but i will leave you with this to think about and to pray about if you are the praying kind.

the other day something weird happened in my body.  upon drinking starbs, i became very dizzy and disoriented.  this strangeness has occured many times since then.  if i have to live in an uncaffinated world, a world without starbs, a world of decaff and actually sleeping at night without the help of medications, i may not have anything else to live for. just keep this in mind when youre asking for world peace and johnny depp to come take you away from all this.

xx

summer of 69.

warning.  if you are a man, you may want to shield your eyes from the spew you are about to be submitted to.  by continuing to read this, you have acknowledged that you either have a vagina or would like for some reason to feel really guilty about the shortcomings of your feeble gender or be subjected to the ultimate in wrath.  buyer beware, these goods are damaged.

theres a song i really love by the band the bird and the bee.  this group is amazing and has brought my ears such lyrical gold as ‘fucking boyfriend’ and now this one.  simply entitled ‘man’.  here are said lyrics:

Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, leave me 
Don’t leave me here. Skirt in the air 
With muted cares, all limbs and love absurd
I know I say, “just let me stay”
But stomp the ground, push me around.
And send me to my way.

No, no, no , don’t leave me
Don’t take my word, I’ve lost my head
I need my bed, I promise you my bird
When I awake all sweet and sound, without a care or woe
I’ll thank you dear. I’ll kiss you love, no matter friend or foe

I want to be the best I can
For me for you for everyman
But I can slip, I lose my place
This shamefulness is hard to face

No no no don’t tell me
Of what I’ve done. I might ignore,
Just close the door, before you have your fun
You tell it with such grace and wit
I know it can be humorous. 
But I don’t have the heart for it.

Oh, oh oh, don’t look
I’ve lost my way. I’ll button up
Hold out my cup, and beg for a cliché
I have no rights to a complaint
I guess it’s just a little nuts
We’re all bit insane

I want to be the best I can
For me for you for everyman
But I can slip, I lose my place
This shamefulness is hard to face

Oh please let me 
Keep my head.
It wouldn’t do you any good 
Just hanging by a thread. 
I want to be the best I can
Nose to the ground, it’s pound for pound
Or stick it to the man.

I want to be the best I can
For me for you for everyman
But I can slip, I lose my place
This shamefulness is hard to face

i clearly cant sum up my feelings the way they can.  my skills as a song writer are up to par with my skills as a lumberjack or a monk.  not so good.  but i have decided to write a song all the same.  it would begin with some sort of vile sound like nails on a chalkboard or a perpetual electric guitar chord that sounds like a bag of cats being banged against a wall or maybe even the droning on of the adult characters from charlie brown but at an insanely high octave.  it would be meant not for the woman who needs to brood and weep over the loss of her love, yet for the woman who wants to track down said love and kick him.  or hit him.  or set his house on fire with him locked in the closet.  it would have no real rhythm and would be best performed by banging your head against the wall while screaming at the top of your lungs or while driving down the interstate as if you were a long lost member of the cullen family while screaming it to the random men who happen to be in cars next to you and dumb enough to look over disapprovingly of your use of american highways as if they were the autobahn. the lyrics would be:

mother fucker mother fucker careless mother fucker/ im an idiot why am i so stupid why have i lost my mind you mother fucker/ im an idiot im an idiot im an idiot a big freaking foolish idiot/ mother fucker mother fucker mother fucker/ for [insert your own personal number here] of years i have been wrapped up in you/mother fucker mother fucker mother fucker mother fucker get your dick out of my ear and stop fucking with my brain/ leave me alone for once and for all/ it stops here/ i am so angry/ mother fucker.

while fiona apple i am not, i think it gets my point across nicely.  

shame on you if you fool me once.  shame on me if you fool me about 68 times. there wont be a 69th.  I AM DONE. congrats.

my rage has managed to seep into my daily life.  earlier today a young, attractive male passed me on his motorcycle and started doing all sorts of weaving and bobbing, wheelies, no hands driving, etc and i smiled.  not because his antics were thrilling in any sense of the word, rather because in that moment i imagined myself speeding up and running him over mid-wheelie.  motorcycle dude, youre an idiot.  i was not impressed.  i was fighting the urge to kill you with my car. 

ms. havisham wasnt crazy.  estella wasnt crazy.  pip would have gotten his hearts desire, taken her for granted, moved her deep into the moors, cheated on her with some little twinkie in the city, confessed his transgressions, and later found estella hanging from a rafter.  this is the reason why god gave me a son.  if he had given me a daughter she would have been raised from this day forward to spew malice and hate to all of the male gender.  

my life was so much simpler when i thought fox moulder was my boyfriend.

whole whole half whole whole whole half.

yeah i know its my second blog today.  ive had lots of time to think and reflect and drink caffine.

you’ll be very in the know if you have any knowledge of the 3-6-2-5-1 chord progression as to why i sometimes feel this way…enjoy my half hearted try at poetic justice. 

I'm the 2 and you're the 5 and man its good to be alive. 

I go with you I really do I can't stand alone cause I'm the 2.

The 5 can do whatever it likes, talking loud, staying out all night.

2 just does what its supposed to do-it waits it lingers it runs into you.

2 stays up and wonders why while 5 stands there all
strong and wry.

2 always listens is and is always there. 5 goes and does without a care.

2 decides it can't play this game but now the melody isn't quite the
same.

The 2 comes back and waits for more, the 5 just keeps closing that same door.

The rest of the song feels sad and blue they see what's happening to the 2.

The 2 can't quite get, it the 2 is blind, so 2 resolves- this is the last time.
[The 5 however has other plans and makes its silent tonal demands.]

So begins another song and dance, the 2 the 5 the risk the chance.

The songs now over and the movement is done and 5 moves on to another one.

The 2 is used and the 2 is dead and 5 has 2's resolve still in its head.

5 wonders for a second about where they've been, the 2 the 5 they're such good friends.

Yet, the 2 is trapped and stuck like glue.

[Because the 2 is still me and the 5 is still you.]

xo

24, forever more.

23 was basically not a good year for me, the only bright spot being popping out the booboo nugget man.  moving to a desolate farm town, being locked away like a princess in a tower, and having to ask someone to provide every basic want and need is, in essence, my own personal hell that i will never repeat as long as i live.  pregnancy is supposed to be wonderful and beautiful, yet the sweetness is quickly sucked out when youre told your body hates sharing itself with another person and your partner [i use this word very loosely to describe what he was] would have more emotion regarding chipper jones’ batting average than if you got ran over by a bus in front of his eyes.  23 is was not all that i was promised.  23 was rough.  23 had to be medicated for months to work up the gumption to take a shower. 

however, 25 is my ‘scary age’.  the age that you as a younger you say ill do this this that and that by.  the age that youre supposed to be a super human or super famous or just all around super by.  and although 25 is next year, and i feel like im actually pretty super as is, i want a little more for myself that i have at this point and time.  so, with that being said, 24 is going to be epic.  24 is going to be the year that i make steps to make my life and the life of the boo boo incredible.  and until i accomplish all the things that i have planned out before my ‘scary age’ of 25, i will remain 24 after 8.26, no matter what the age says on my drivers license.  

now, the point of all this ramble is to say this: my birthday is ever approaching, and i want shit. here, is the said shit…

[birthday list]

1. for no child to die of something preventable or simple such as malnutrition, malaria, or not getting enough fresh water.

2. for all trade to be fair.

3. for americans to really really care about food and the food industry.  for people who value the $.99 hamburger to realize how unfairly and inhumanely that cow was treated in order to prepare something so quickly and so inexpensively; for them to realize that by the time that burger reaches their mouth, its more akin to a shoe than to a once mooing creature; for them to not think that choosing to be meat free, organic, or free range is stuck up and unrealistic versus a life choice and a choice to better your insides.

4. for people to never again post their sexual exploits and conquests on facebook, twitter, myspace, or the television.  remember-those who speak the loudest most often have very little to actually say.

5. for every single man in the entire universe to act his age and not his shoe size.  to admit when you’re scared.  to call when you say.  to do what you promise and set out to do.  to stop using life as a crutch and as a means to rationalize away your insecurities.  to say the things that need to be said even if they may be rude or hurtful or the total opposite of what the person on the receiving end wants to hear. to be good lovers, fathers, sons, brothers, partners, boyfriends, and husbands.  to think about your mother and how she raised you [hopefully] to be a gentleman, and before you do/ say/ post/ watch anything to think how your grandmother would react if she were right there with you.

6. for starbucks to realize that i may or may not be their most loyal customer and to reward my addiction with free skinny vanilla lattes [iced in summer, hot in winter] for the rest of my life.  or just once a week,  whatevs.

7. for my inner thighs to respond to the eliptical, treadmill on an incline so steep i look like an airbus leaving the runway, hours of yoga and zumba, and my pretty meager caloric intake.  come on legs.  i dont make you run marathons or abuse you.  just do this one thing for me.

8. a homemade cupcake.  not a cupcake from a bakery.  anyone can do that.  i want a cupcake, just one, made by someone who really knows what theyre doing.  if this person happens to be a male, that would be an added bonus, but anyone with good baking sense will do.  i also want a candle in it.  just one.  no fire hazards people.

9. some louboutans.  size 8 because they run small.  swear to sweet baby jesus if i get these i will never take them off.  i will wear them in the bath, shower, to the gym, to run errands, to work, etc.  i will sew my feet into them.  i will build a room onto a house just for them to live in…maybe that’s a little much, just saying, who knew a shoe with a red sole could make me almost willing to sell my soul.

10. a pony. 

11. a unicorn.  my unicorn.  those who know me know of what i speak.  

12. for macie and charlotte yorkie to stop attacking each other.  its upsetting.  

13. adam levigne.  please.  

i realize that some if not all of my demands may be lofty.  thats why im not turning 25 for a little while.

oh and i also want to be famous and save all the animals in the world.

xo

a