So Good

There are people in your life who are going to love you for all of the wrong reasons. They will love you for the best part of your face, the best part of you naked, the best mood on your best day, the best story you ever wrote, the best outfit you ever wore.

They are going to miss the scar on the underside of your nose from the time your older brothers dared you to run across a pile of logs. They won’t know that you fell on a hidden nail just as you completed the challenge. They’ll miss the scar on your finger, too from the time you were seven and closed a swiss army knife on it. They won’t understand that these are two of only a handful of things you can remember about your childhood. They’ll notice that you have great tits, but they’ll miss that your thumb tucks into their palm when you’re walking together and that your eyes have darker circles when a migraine is coming. They won’t know you get migraines. They won’t ask where the story you wrote came from, so they’ll never know that it was true. They’ll love it because it feels real to them. They’ll miss knowing the sweatshirt full of holes that they criticized you for wearing was your dads. You might tell them some of these things along the way, but they will remember the best things instead.

They will love your good moods, your energy, your sense of humor, but miss that you never turn to them, but rather to a shower or a pillow or the back of your throat to shed tears. They won’t ever consider you strong.

When the parts that aren’t your best come out, some people will shield their eyes as if you have just forced them to look directly into the sun for hours until their irises burn. They’ll silently make you promise to never show them that again. Those things are not to be shown. Be at your best so I can love you. I would love you more if only you never show me those things.

And you do not marry those people. You do not sit and sleepily drink coffee with those people. You leave those people and you remind yourself that they missed the better parts of you.

– From Give Me A Job, Please

I’ve been thinking about those boys a lot lately, what with being engaged, being in the longest relationship of my life, and living with a significant other for the first (and hopefully only) time.

Eternal Sunshine Of The Offline Mind

Sometimes I wish I could just remove my thumbprint from the internet completely, so I wouldn’t have to think about certain people or, worse and more specifically, know that they are thinking about me. I’m engaged! I shouldn’t have to think about this bullcrap anymore! GO AWAAAAY

And while I don’t feel quite as dramatic as this (and definitely not lovestruck), it’s still worth sharing because I am dying over Charli XCX, seriously:

Also Grimes!

Too Cold To Touch It

This song makes me wish every ex-boyfriend I’ve ever had would call me.* Even the gross ones! Even the ones I dumped! Even though I have the best boyfriend in the world!  THAT’S HOW GREAT THIS IS.

 

 

*Do not call me.

First And Foremost, I’d Like To Mention You

I used to spend a lot of time on this blog writing about this dude who broke my heart. It’s why I started the blog in the first place, admittedly. I would say hundreds dozens of entries are about how that affected me, and the entire spectrum of emotions that come from a loss like that. (I’m hurting! I’m over it! I’m reflective! I’m empowered! I’m pathetic! I’m hot shit!)

Since I’m moving to a new blog and it will be a while before I transfer this over, there’s a part of me that feels like I’m officially moving on, even if I moved on emotionally 3 years ago.

But I feel like there’s one more thing I have to admit; one regret I really have about that entire relationship: I really wish I had known more about my city when he was here, so I could have shown him why St. Louis is so great. The only places I really showed him were West County and that stretch of Natural Bridge Road where he spent a semester at UMSL. Not the best representation of the Lou, you know?

I don’t regret it because I think he would’ve moved here instead of dumping me for that band. These days, I’m glad he didn’t.

I simply regret it because St. Louis is so fucking amazing. Every day since I moved to the city (and these days, when I spend every weekend downtown) I discover something or someone new and I fall in love with it all over again. The architecture. The history. The revitalization. The diversity. The quirks. The landmarks. The food. The bars. SOUTH CITY. And so on, and so on.

People from the East Coast have such a strange perception of everything below and west of them, at least until they reach California. They consider the rest of us uncultured and ignorant, when they’ve never driven through the rest of the country and interacted with the people (or even acknowledged that underneath the southern accents, they are people at all). This was my chance to show some kid from Connecticut why my city was so rich – why people left his homeland, met up here, and called it expansion – and I blew it.

Some people think it’s sad to live in the same area all your life (and I’m not even sure I will; I would love to migrate north to Michigan or Wisconsin someday, and so would J). But I love how every corner of this area is mapped in my heart, through the various groups of friends who lived in each neighborhood, the people I was with when I explored each street and discovered its haunts. And I love that in the past year, I’ve realized how much of this city I DON’T know and how astonishingly gorgeous it is, despite all it’s faults. Last week, I watched fireworks in the playground where my dad used to play, without even knowing, and I felt him there. Next month, I’ll be able to look out my window and see the building my mom worked at 50 years ago, directly across the street.

So yeah, aside from stories about London, heartbreak in general, or that time he knocked my tooth out (or if Justin dumps me some day and I go on another heartbreak bender), I can’t picture myself writing about him the way I used to. But I had to put this out there. B, if you read this, St. Louis is fucking beautiful, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t show you why.

The Coffee Isn’t Even Bitter

This song used to make me so sad, but even in my misery, I knew that someday I’d be able to love it.

Yesterday I heard it for the first time in years and remembered, “Oh yay! I can love you now!” I can’t wait to run to this song, even though it’s slow.

A couple months ago, my friend’s wife left him. All his friends kept Facebooking him with bummer things like, “Sorry bro,” and “That sucks dude.” So I left him this: “This is the best time in your life to do cool shit. Travel. Make new friends. Learn what you like now, not what you liked the last time you thought about it. Do all of this and I PROMISE – in five years, you’ll look back on this as the best thing that ever happened to you.” And I meant it.

My favorite running song has a slightly similar theme, and while not entirely applicable to me (it reminds me of TSCoC, though the only reason we don’t talk is because he’s in Myanmar), it’s a far more jammin’ way to end this so here you go:

My Little Chicken Drumstick

And then Erik posted this:

This video reminds me of a conversation I had with a dude that I was hanging out with when my dad got sick. He would whine about how much life sucks 24/7 while my dad, who had just discovered his heart was 75% blocked and he could probably drop dead at any second, managed to smile and crack me up on a daily basis.

One night I interrupted his bitching and started yelling at him about it: “You have your health, you have a job, you have a roof over your head, you have family, you have friends, you’re smart … you may not have a car, but at least you can walk. Some people can’t, or they can but they don’t have anywhere to go. You know? Focus on the shit you have – because you have more than you think – and build from there. Your life will never get better until you do.”

He refused to admit that there was anything good about his life. I started to get more and more upset, and in hindsight, I was probably more mad at myself for suddenly realizing my own negative attitude than I was at him. But I flashed him this disgusted look and tremblingly said – in a voice so harsh, I can’t believe it came out of me – “My dad’s body is killing him, but he’s still living more than you.”

Needless to say, that’s about the time he stopped talking to me. I try to control my emotions these days, but people who are trapped in their own misery make me violently angry. Life sucks. But it doesn’t stop and, after a certain point, neither should you. Get a good night’s sleep, grab some duct tape and get back to it. You know?

Point of story: I love this dude.

The joke about his hands being cold reminds me of something that cracked my family up at the hospital. My dad needs an inflatable mattress for his bedsores. During one visit, after they brought in the bed and put my dad in it, a nurse taped a sign to the wall:

She taped it to the wall after she saw that my dad doesn’t have heels. I read the note to him and he laughed.

“Well, I forgot to bring my heels with me. Can we float yours?” he asked, then added, “Are you sure it’s safe to leave me with these people?”

You Will Probably Tell Your Grandkids About It

Last year on the Fourth of July, I really hit rock bottom in terms of my love life and, more importantly, being depressed about my love life.

The dude I was dating (and am still friends with) ditched me to reevaluate his life and try to fix things with his ex. During the same week, a friend who has liked me since college (that I couldn’t date at the time because of Brian) decided to pursue me again, bombarded me with compliments, promised to visit, and promptly chickened out.

My circle of close friends at that point consisted of all couples, except for two guys that I had dated (who both blamed me for complicating their friendship). I was pretty sad about watching the fireworks alone, surrounded by all of them, for reasons that are too complicated to explain here. Let’s just say, I have a history of lonely fireworks.

I had asked two friends to warn me if my ex was at the 4th of July party, and not only did one get mad at me for asking, but they still didn’t tell me. So I showed up to this party with a brave face, immediately saw not one but two exes, with the rest of the group staring at me to see what I would do. I stayed, but I felt blindsided and (though this is no one’s fault and probably has more to do with all the above events combined) a little hurt. I went home early, and almost skipped the fireworks entirely before meeting them at the last minute, unsoberly.

The next day, I decided that being depressed and pouting wasn’t doing me any favors, so I resolved to branch out and meet new people. I contacted a few folks about this TV Time Club that a Squid named Justin was throwing on his roof, and I got the secret password.

I drove downtown extremely early, not knowing what I was in for. So when I climbed out onto the roof, I saw Justin standing there all alone, with a lit-up Ferris Wheel spinning behind him.

My friend Heather is convinced that I’m going to marry Justin, so she asked me, “Did you just know? When I met my husband, I knew.”

And even though I was trying to avoid “Are You My Boyfriend?” Syndrome, and I’m risking sounding like an asshole here if we ever break up – I did. I knew. Something huge was about to happen, and I could feel it starting right there.

I guess my point with this story is, get ready for some Epic Fireworks Cuddling tonight, people. I earned it.

Yeah, I Know It’s Stupid

Robyn is so damn awesome, I almost wish I was still depressed about some dumb boy so that I could appreciate and enjoy this to the fullest extent*:

*Hahaha NO I DON’T

Don’t Tell Him I Did This …

… though to be fair, the temporary tattoo was his idea. I still have a giant one with his name on my arm. Best Valentine’s Day Ever!

OH! A while ago I promised I would tell you the tale of my tragic 2008 Valentine’s Day, and since (hopefully) everyone involved in this story is over their feelings by now, here it is:

I went over to Pat’s house. This was a few days after our first – for lack of a better word – “date” where I introduced him to Everything Is Illuminated the film and he told me about Everything is Illuminated the book. He greeted me in the driveway with a copy of the book as a Valentine’s Day present. Jason had told me that I should “absolutely not” get Pat a present, so I wasn’t expecting anything and was extra touched.

Pat told me that he had ordered a pizza. The pizza guy shows up and it’s [name withheld], this dude who had a big crush on me a few years ago. I used to see him at Target when he worked there and he would, like, run away from me. One time right after Brian and I got back together, we went to a Halloween party and when [name withheld] saw me and Brian together, he got really upset and apparently some tragic and embarrassing stuff happened because he was really drunk. He made this huge scene in the front yard while I was out back and then ran home. I didn’t know anything about this for months. (All I knew was that he got drunk and ran home dressed as Teen Wolf and at the time I thought it was hilarious.)

So anyway, pizza guy comes to the door and it’s [name withheld] and he sees me inside and freezes. Pat was like, “Want to come inside for a second?” and [name withheld] is like, “Nah.” and runs away.

Pat shut the door, shuddered and was like, “Did you get a really weird vibe from [name withheld]?” and I told him the story and he was like, “Oh, right.”

Then, not even FIVE MINUTES LATER, Pat’s best friend – who ALSO had a crush on me a few years ago* – shows up. He walked inside and saw me and his eyes immediately narrowed. Then his phone vibrated (I will not be a dick and claim it was a fake call, even though) and he went outside for a second. When he returned, he said he had to meet someone in the city, where he just came from and then he ran away.

Pat was like, “What the hell?” and then I cleared my throat and he was like, “Oh, right.”

So anyway, a “second date” on Valentine’s Day and two of his friends who once claimed to love me and hate me for not loving them back show up within five minutes of each other. That happened. This year was much better, though being in a Breeder’s video in 2009 was pretty kick ass, too. Whatever, VD2010 wins.

*Back in 2004-2005, I was The New Girl in a group of friends with a very long history and very few newcomers, so when my out-of-state boyfriend dumped me, all the boys pounced. (All the boys, that is, except for Pat which probably explains the crush.) (Oh, and also Ron, duh.) I don’t blame the crushes on anything except my novelty, but there were seriously 5 dudes on the case. At the time, I was like “Wow Ron, your friends are so nice,” which cracks me up in hindsight.

It’s weird, I should remember that as a sad time where a boy broke my heart, but I just remember the excitement and electricity, like that first week of high school where everyone had a crush on everyone and every single interaction was charged with meaning and hormones and the such.

This goes without saying but the title of my post applies to everyone involved.

“I Thought I Would Take Her Ahp On Eet, Hahaha”

Exactly 6 months ago today, Justin invited me to sneak into that little movie theater room at Webster U to watch our mutual favorite movie, The Room.

Afterwards, we stopped by Weber’s for a drink. 3 drinks later, he asked me if I’d like to go out again. So today is sort of our 6 month anniversary? Hooray! I realize this is incredibly cheesy, but it’s important to note for 3 reasons:

1. It’s been almost a year since I centered my birthday party around The Room and had one of the best birthdays ever.

2. Janet and Courtney bragged about my party to Justin, who then asked me, “What is The Room?” This was our first conversation ever and apparently sparked his crush on me. Thanks, The Room.

3. It has been almost 15 years since I had a decent 6 month anniversary:

I don’t know if I ever told you guys what happened with me and Pat, but the gist is this – we hung out almost every day for 6 months. People would refer to him as my boyfriend or me as his girlfriend and he wouldn’t flinch. However, after 6 months I needed clarification: “AM I your girlfriend?” He replied, “I don’t know, we haven’t talked about it yet.” Then he avoided me for like two weeks. I called him out on this and we “broke up”.

Brian and I got together in London when I technically still had a boyfriend back home, so during our 6 month “anniversary” I was in another state, probably hanging out with my actual boyfriend.

THAT boyfriend got drunk and passed out on our 6 month anniversary, AS USUALLY.

In fact, the only decent 6 month anniversary I’ve ever had was during my first long relationship ever… when I was 16. Mark and I celebrated by going out to the movies – National Lampoon’s Vegas Vacation. Romance!

SO I AM TAKING THIS SIX MONTH ANNIVERSARY AND OWNING IT, DAMMIT. In honor of our happiness and the movie that brought us together, I will spend the whole day punctuating each sentence with a Tommy Wiseau laugh:

I’m In A Mewd …

… where I don’t want to tell anyone anything.*

I’ve recently come out of this phase where people I trusted hurt me a lot. (And I know I keep using annoying cryptic language, but these were very important people to me and the things they did were too personal and effed up to whine about here. More importantly, I don’t want my friends to think that I’ll just blog my ass off about them whenever I get pissed. I save that for the worst people, and only when I’m PMSing.)

I don’t want these people in my life anymore. And I’m afraid to let new people in, or let the current ones come any closer. So I feel completely in limbo in terms of what I want to share.

I don’t want to share good news and fun stuff with the people I’ve cut out of my life. I don’t want the friends who are still there to know about the sad and depressing stuff. There’s been a lot of both.

I mean, I don’t have a main group of friends. My family is busy taking care of each other. My 2 besties have their own things to worry about. Single, surprise! I’m a high plains drifter, basically (minus the rape and murder). Every conversation I have lately makes me feel like I should be doing something, or seeing someone, or… I don’t know. I get resentful sometimes. I feel like wandering around for a while, gathering stories and experiences and seeing what I can make out of them before I share it.

OH! And I’ve been working 10-hour days for the past 2 weeks? Plus this week? NOT in the mood to write when I get home.

But there are happy things I’ll write about when I feel better, which could be tomorrow for all I know: Kevin and Monica’s reception, a puppy, a big move, an almost-here baby (not mine), new hobbies, running, a road trip, the BEST CLUB EVER, new friends, fun secrets I’ll enjoy alluding to and more.

Sad stuff? Basically the usual and the aforementioned banished folks. Not worth getting into. I think that’s why I’m in such an anti-writing mood… when my mind is on the happy stuff and work calms down, I’ll get back to spilling my guts.

I realize this is pretty much the last entry I wrote, only without pictures. Well, DEAL. Until next week: see you on Twitter.

*So naturally, I post it here for all to read, right? Combined with a massive explanation? It’s 3 am, you guys. It makes perfect sense to me.

I Would Rather Have The Metaphorical Ones, Revisited

Another year, another chance to watch fireworks alone.

I’d like to think that I have a good sense of humor about being the perpetually single gal. I enjoy the productivity (and occasional attention) that emerges from heartbreak, I can turn even the shittiest dude into a good story, and hell, sometimes I find my bad luck totally hilarious. I mean, every circle of friends needs a girl like me. I’m a good sport.

But watching fireworks surrounded by snuggly couples is the one thing that still kills me. No matter how much work I do repairing my heart throughout the year, when the booming starts and I have no one to hold on to, it starts to break again.

The first two years were okay… I had a boyfriend who lived far away, but I had this hope that we’d live in the same city someday. Maybe next year…

Our long, roller-coaster break-up managed to coincide perfectly with the summer, so the next two years were spent with legitimate heartache. Maybe next year, maybe next year…

The next two years were super single and surprisingly fun, but the Fourth was always a painful reminder of the few painful parts of singlehood. Maybe next year, maybe next year…

Then last year I had someone! And I loved him a lot! And he ditched me for a party with better food. I spent the whole day fuming, and the whole night sad (and remarkakably cold; it was a chilly Fourth). Maybe next year…

I’m at a loss this year; it’s the last summer I will live next to the park and I feel obligated to take advantage of it. However, I’m not sure I can handle Round 8 without letting my bad mood effect my friends. And if the guy who ditched me last year decides to show up this time and ruin another year for me, I’ll probably throw my shoes at him or something awesomely drunk like that.

The Fourth used to be my favorite holiday, but this year I’m pretty sure I will just go home, rock a sleeping pill, go to bed and hope for the best.

Maybe next year.

~~~*~~~

I haven’t spent the week entirely depressed; Kevin and Monica had their wedding reception and it was perfect. I want to smile when I write about it as much as I smiled when I was there. So it will have to wait til the 5th, when I’ll be fine again. Like I said; it’s just the Fourth that kills me. The rest of the year, I find the bright sides, and there are plenty.

As much as I’ve accepted that love does not exist for me, there is no doubt in my mind that it exists for other people… and I’m so delighted and greatful that it exists for people as wonderful as Kevin and Monica.

I mean, can anyone be sad after looking at that picture? Nope, not even me on the Fourth of July. This picture makes me so incredibly happy. So I’ll leave you with that.

As If I Were A Shoelace

Every now and then a song sneaks up on me and kicks me in the ass (or rather, the ass of my heart):

I haven’t thought about that situation in a while, without even trying. It was becoming a non-issue despite the propinquity and I liked that. To be honest, I wasn’t prepared to be in this mood again at all. I wish he could hear this. It’s really hard to avoid songs that make me feel like this when they are so beautiful.

Since we’re on the topic of gorgeous memory-provoking Swedish music with eerily-correct lyrics, here’s one more:

So pretty. Seriously, what is up with me and Swedish music? Every time I dig something on Pig Radio, it’s from Sweden.

And Though My Love Is True-Woo-Woo-Woo-Woo-Woo

The more I listen to my friends complain about their boyfriends, or see the boyfriends treat the girlfriends like shit, or notice the girlfriends acting pathetic just to keep the boyfriends, or all of the above… it just makes me feel so, so, so incredibly relieved that I do not have one.

Sometimes I act more happy about it than I actually am as a defense mechanism – and I’m sure it’s obvious when I do – but in the past week I’ve seen more downsides than upsides and I’m filled with a sincere appreciation for this rare freedom that I have.

I’m very lucky to have a sweet guy in my life who is on the same page as me. He’s willing to give the exact amount of attention and time that I’m willing to give – which is not that much – and it remains a cute happy thing as opposed to one of us feeling jealous, neglected, etc.

SIDENOTE: I don’t want RQ to think I’m talking about her boyfriend (we talked about him on Monday, but it was all cute stuff). And the above paragraph is in no way a “friends with benefits” situation. As much as I love spilling my guts to you guys, I would never blog about something like that. Or, um, do something like that. Y’ALL, I am a LADY.*)

* I CANNOT read this sentence without hearing Kenneth in my head, can you? Weird.

I know that when people fall in love, all their convictions fly right out the window. They put up with things from this new person that they would never accept from anyone else. Hell, I fell in love with an alcoholic pizza cook who smelled like old basement, remember? None of his faults mattered to me; I just wanted to buy him beer and bake cookies and kiss him 24/7. Sometimes I still do. That’s love. It’s the greatest yet dumbest thing that can ever happen to you.

I’m not making a huge declaration that I will never have a boyfriend ever again. Shit happens and by shit I mean Cupid. When it comes to love, I have absolutely no say in the matter and I’m aware that the same is true for my friends.

I guess my point is, this week I am feeling like a lot of dudes I know need to MAN THE F**K UP because you’re making this single lady feel pretty grateful that she doesn’t have a boo like you.

Also, for reasons both related and not: I ABSOLUTELY F#@KING LOVE MY LIFE RIGHT NOW.

This World On You Depends

“If you give this man a ride, sweet memory will die.”

– Riders on the Storm, The Doors

One night when I was fifteen or sixteen, Rachael had come over to hang out at my house and my mom let me drive her home. I had my driver’s permit, so the three of us piled into the old Honda and headed towards Kirkwood.

It was a beautiful spring night, so we had the sunroof and all of the windows open. I was wearing flip flops, so I was practically barefoot, just the way I like it. This was the year I discovered the “Dead at 27” club, so we were grooving to The Doors. I was driving down West Adams, which is this long windy road that goes through the woods alongside a big creek – about as close to country driving as you can get in the county.

Everything was so perfect and relaxing and – as I thought in my adolescent mind – cool. And I remember thinking, “When I get my license, I want to do this ALL THE TIME. This is AWESOME.”

Rachael lived very close to where I live now, and we used to ride our bikes past this building all the time. There were always people barbecuing and hanging out on the porches. When I was little, I thought all these swinging college kids and young adults lived there and they had parties every day and it must be the raddest place ever.

Tonight I was driving home from the hospital in my Honda. It was a gorgeous breezy spring day. I kicked off my heels and drove barefoot with the sunroof open. “Riders On The Storm” started playing on the radio. I drove down West Adams with the wind blowing and Jim Morrison crooning, towards that building that used to fascinate me so much.

And it hit me – I was doing exactly what I wanted to do, at least for a while when I was younger. I take that road home every single day. I live in the building that I thought was so glamourous and cool. Sure, most days aren’t that pretty. My neighbors are older and give me cookies instead of margaritas. I don’t actively listen to The Doors. But tonight – tonight it was perfect.

I used to have this boyfriend who always told me that I would never be happy if I stayed in St. Louis. He told me that my dreams would come true somewhere else, and he was so worried about what would happen if I never left. He used to rip on my city (and the Midwest, and so many places he had never even seen) so much, and at the time I hadn’t explored my home enough to show him why it was so perfect in spite of its faults. I thought he would rescue me from whatever he was so afraid of. When you’re in love, you believe they know what’s best for you without question.

Which is better: having big dreams and lofty goals that you will never achieve, or simple dreams and small wishes that one day come true? I suppose it could be argued either way.

But every day… every single day for the last two years, I live out at least some version of that childhood fantasy that I had forgotten about until just now. I think that’s pretty remarkable, and I’m a bit overwhelmed by how lucky I feel to be exactly where I am.

Vacation Had To Get Away

Usually when I go on a big trip or attend something amazing, it takes a week or so to process everything and see which memories stick. The same is true for The Spot, though I will tell you now it was practically perfect and incredible medicine for the soul. Things like that are hard to describe right off the bat.

There IS one story that I have to tell you immediately. It seems silly to share it because I’ve probably already told it to everyone who would appreciate it.* But it’s just… well, here:

So the first night was very low-key and relaxed. There were maybe 15 of us? There were 20 or 30 counting the band, who visited us from time to time but mostly stayed by the stockade.

Okay. Okay so…

We’re sitting around the campfire and I notice a tall boy making goo goo eyes at me. And shoot, I’m sitting in the woods all muddy and gross; I’ll take goo goo eyes for sure. So that went on for a few beers-ish.

He mentioned that he had never been to the stockade (which is this crazy gigantic fort hidden in the back of the property) so Jen and I decided to show it off. He flirted with me during the long walk through the woods and he seemed relatively interesting. More importantly, tall with goo goo eyes.

Okay. Um. So you guys. I was trying to decide if I should have a crush on him? I have learned my lesson after all; from now on my crushes need to be informed decisions. So as we were exploring the top of the stockade, I decided to get the deets and kick off a conversation: “So, how do you know Ron?”

“Through my brother,” he said, just as we reached the firemen’s pole in the corner. “Well, my half-brother.”

“Oh, really? Who’s your brother?”

Guess.

GUEEEEEEEEEEEEEESS.

Yes. Yes he did.

He said the worst name possible. The reason I almost stayed home. The guy I dated for 6 months, who broke my little heart in July.

Then he flashed a horrifically-familiar smile. Then he slid down the firemen’s pole, hitting the ground a few seconds after my stomach and my jaw.

I think The Spot is built directly over an Ancient Indian Burial Ground composed entirely of my great-great-grandmother’s ex-boyfriends. I mean, it’s gotten to the point where it’s almost art.

*Really, at this point my only reason for living is to make my friends simultaneously groan and laugh when I tell them about my day. You know that noise that starts with a scream and then echoes off into guffaws and giggles? It is the soundtrack of my life. I LOVE THAT NOISE.

OMFG October

You know, writing about seasonal products has ensured that I will never be one of those people who proclaims, “I can’t believe it’s October!” or “Wow, Christmas already?” I look at Christmas stuff all day; Halloween is old news by now. And I don’t think time flies anymore. I don’t have much to look forward to these days, except maybe The Office.

Superbabe September was sort of okay. I didn’t get everything out of it that I wanted, but that’s okay. I’ve been sleeping much more, which I mostly attribute to my chilly apartment. When I was little, I used to get in trouble for opening my windows in the winter to make my room freezing. It’s cozier that way. I love it.

I don’t know what I want for October. I know I’m doing Thriller. I know I’m going camping.* I know I’m doing an assload of yardwork for my mom and maybe getting some muscles out of it. Definitely poison ivy, I just don’t know where or when. I know I’m chopping my hair off. I know what I’m going to be for Halloween.**

Basically, I just want to be happier at the end of this month than I am right now. I know I’m probably jinxing it but that’s the goal. I’ve been seriously down and caught up in my dumb problems. It’s time to snap out of it. My problems are absolutely nothing compared to things that other people face. I need to take advantage of what I have, rather than focus on what I’m missing.

~~~*~~~

Random Stuff:

My dad went back to the emergency room – nothing bad but yes, again – and I entertained myself by riding his wheelchair from the waiting room all the way down to the cafeteria. Someone in the elevator touched my shoulder and said, “You’re so brave.” Yikes.

Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist was pretty darn cute. Any movie with a gay Greek Chorus gets an A+ in my book. Michael Cera does what he does best without overdoing himself. There are tons of cameos from actors that I really dig. But the best part was Drunk Caroline, played by Ari Graynor. She NAILS IT. I could not stop laughing. Watch out for her.

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The bad part about dating a guy who lives halfway between you and your best friend is that when you stop dating, you still have to drive by their street all the time. I saw him walking last night. I thought about stopping and saying hi, but I didn’t. Even if he was happy to see me, it wouldn’t do me any good and I know it. That’s a sign that things are much better. It’s also a sign that, despite gas prices, I need to start driving the extra-long way.

For the first time in years (possibly decades), I don’t even have a crush. He was always my Go-To Crush because I never, ever expected him to like me back. So now I don’t even have a backup. I’m feelingless.

Do you guys remember that old children’s book, Are You My Mother? This little bird hatches in the nest while the mom is out looking for worms. He spends the whole book asking everyone and everything he sees, “Are you my mother? Are YOU my mother?”

When I first break up with a boy, I tend to wander around just like that little lost bird. I have a crush on everyone I come across and I think to myself, “Are you my new boyfriend? Are YOU my new boyfriend?”

I went through that for a few weeks. Then I got over it. Then I stopped missing him. And now I’m just shuffling through all these plutonic people, feelingless.

Maybe that’s my problem. I don’t care if anyone likes me right now. I just want to find someone to like. I need a Go-To Crush. I need something to look forward to. I need to get excited about stupid fun crush stuff, like pulling up to a friend’s house and seeing your crush’s car. I need goosebumps. I need daydreams. Where can I find that feeling again? Maybe I just need to move.

*And I’m betting my entire paycheck that Tony dutch-ovens our tent.

**I was really sad to end things with him before Halloween, because I REALLY wanted to be a Robert Palmer girl for Halloween. That costume only works if you have a guy dressed like Robert Palmer or a bunch of chicks dressed like you. Alone, it becomes more of an Adam Sandler costume – “Hey, I’m Too Much Makeup On The Face Lady! Give me some candy!”

I Would Rather Have The Metaphorical Ones…

This weekend was pretty lovely… we had beautiful fall weather and I saw fireworks two nights in a row!

Friday night we went to the Balloon Glow at Forest Park. Every year, St. Louis has this fun hot air balloon race, and the night before it starts, all the balloons gather in the park to, well, glow. About every five minutes, this horn would sound and all the balloon guys would fire up their engines. It was magical. There were maybe 20 balloons and it was crazy to walk underneath them. Here’s a pic from 2006 – it looked exactly the same:

Jen and I tried to get underneath the Energizer Bunny, but just as we got there, they started deflating it and it started falling towards us while everyone around us yelled and ran away. Very Cloverfield.

My friends all fell in love with this balloon owned by a Dutch cheese company (and I suppose my Dutch ass did too; represent) because it had a giant cow on it. But my favorite was this tiny, colorful patchwork one. The colors aren’t great in this pic, but just staring at this balloon made me so happy:

Also, the whole time I was there, I kept thinking about the fact that technically, these balloons are transportation. That is so unbelievably weird.

Afterwards, fireworks. Compared to the balloons, they were only so-so.

Saturday night there were MORE fireworks right by Jen and Ron’s house. Me and 6 of my besties walked up to an elementary school and watched them from the playground. That was one of the best displays I’ve seen in a long time and it was neat watching them in that little tower at the top of the slide.

However! Surrounding myself with a bunch of snuggly couples is always a bit of a bummer. Maybe someday I’ll be able to watch fireworks without that suh-weet old maid feeling?

But after celebrating Guy Fawkes Night in England, I have been a die-hard believer in fall fireworks, so I’m glad Jen and I got a double dose this year.

Afterwards the boys sifted through 8 giant tubs of old vinyl records and the album art was beyond hysterical. My personal favorite was from the St. Louis band Head East:

Pancakes represent! Amazing close-up:

Sunday was a lazy, lazy, lazy Sunday. No pancakes, REGRETTABLY.

If ever a comic has described me, it’s today’s Dinosaur Comics. I’ve actually (surprisingly? Shut up?) never hooked up at a wedding – ill-advised or otherwise – but that last line. Wow. Brilliant. Ryan North is a genius and I heart him immensely. Do they have fireworks in Canada?

A quick Mean Girl-ish observation: have you ever noticed that the left mountain on the Busch beer can looks exactly like Rumer Willis?

Tonight – CELEBRATE THE RETURN OF HOT, STEAMY BROMANCE! YES.

On The Mend …

I’ve been feeling really depressed for the past month or so and I’ve been on this mission to figure out why. You would think it’d be obvious for any number of reasons:

1. My dad’s in the hospital for the fourth time in 3 months, on his second major operation.
2. I got my heart (admittedly only sort of) broken.
3. I quit smoking.
4. The DAY after I quit smoking it turned into fall, which is my favorite time to sit outside and smoke but also the time that reminds me of ex-boyfriends.
5. I lost two of my best friends.*

However, this type of sadness doesn’t seem like it was caused by any of those things. I”ve been through all of those things before. This feels different somehow… it just lingers there all of the time. For the past 3 weeks, I’ve been ready to burst into tears at any second. And I mean, I’ve been sleeping! I’ve been sleeping 7 or 8 hours a night and I’m still moodier than after an all-nighter.

So today I did extra research on lorazepam, the pills I’ve been taking to go to sleep. They’ve been working wonders, so I’ve been avoiding researching them because bad news is inevitable. And boy, did I find it: in addition to being EXTREMELY addictive, they’re also capable of triggering severe depression. So… I got that going for me.

I haven’t been taking a high enough dosage to experience the super-scary withdrawal symptoms (I hope), and hell, it’s nice to have a tangible, fixable reason for feeling this bad. When I’m this sad and I don’t know why, I usually end up sitting around thinking about all the things I should be sad about (see: reasons 1-5) and then crying about one or all of the above.

I mean, I love not smoking when I’m not drunk for the most part. I love saving money and smelling like Sweet Pea and having fresh breath and the such. And the fall is also my favorite time to run, and now I can run faster and longer (I’ve already broken 2 personal records since I quit!). My dad still has his leg and more importantly his life, and to be honest I worry about him less when he has 24/7 medical surveillance. Those two friends were bad for me, or at least that’s what everyone tells me. And honestly, there are so many logical reasons to not be sad about that break-up that I can usually reason my way out of being bummed after a minute or two.

So this week I’m only going to take half the dosage that I’ve been taking, and next week I’ll take another stab at falling asleep completely on my own. It should be much easier when I’m not busy crying about absolutely nothing, or virtually everything, or something totally dumb in between like One Tree Hill.**

And THEN, hopefully I’ll be back to the normal, happier, chattier, and sillier me. I would like to write more happy blogs about hula hooping and Squids and Thriller and new friends and other adventures. But I have to get back to living that way first. There’s still two weeks left of Superbabe September! I can salvage this!

In the meantime, if I look like I need a hug, go ahead and give it to me because more than likely, I do.

*I didn’t lose them like they died or moved – I’ll tell you what happened in person if you want (and giiiiirl, it’s a good story). But their houses were the best places to go when I was scared and I needed to feel safe. It was a big shock to my system to lose both safehouses during such a weird, stressful time. I hope they’re very happy together.

**I’ve never even WATCHED this show until last week. Maybe that is why I feel so bad?

Going Places

In about a month, I have to go somewhere that I never planned on returning . It’s a lovely place and I’m trying to be optimistic. A lot of friends and fun acquaintances will be there. I promised I would go, back when I thought he was going with me. He’s not anymore. I’m only planning on staying the first night. I’m hoping he doesn’t show up until day 2, or at least until after I pass out. Hell, I should pretend that I really want him to be there – that way he’s guaranteed not to show up at all.

The truth is, I have some painful memories involving that place. Not bad, just intense. They’re memories I really don’t want to go back to and I’m scared that going there will dig them up. I know that more than likely, I’ll have a great time when I get there and I won’t be sad at all. Even if do get sad, I don’t plan on showing it. I guess I’m just afraid that I’m walking into one of those situations where I’m surrounded by people and I still feel alone.

I mean, I’ve already had to revisit bad memories this past week. Here’s something that I don’t need to tell you but I will anyway since we’re buds: more than half of my life ago, I went through something incredibly violent and scary. I’m only telling you this because I had to develop this tough, no-nonsense part of my brain in order to deal with it and protect myself from going through anything like that ever again.

We all know that when it comes to boys, I am usually a total wuss. It takes A LOT to tap into that part of my brain and make me snap, but last week someone managed to do it. Want to know how? Act like you own me. Tell me how I’m supposed to feel. Tell me what I can and can’t do. Tell me that what I want isn’t worth it. Ignore me for years and expect me to love you. Try to make me feel guilty for things that aren’t wrong. Try to prevent me from being happy just because you can’t figure out how to cheer yourself up.

That’s what some dude – not the aforementioned he, but a different dude – did to me last week. And he managed to mess up something that made me really happy. And he did it for no reason. I don’t really know how to forgive him right now. And I’m really glad I have this part of my brain right now, because it reminds me that I shouldn’t feel bad about standing up for myself. It reminds me that I deserve better and that when I’m surrounded by people, sometimes being alone is actually the best thing.

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I’m actually going to good places though, and I don’t even have to leave my room.

First up: 90210. I LOOOOOVEEE IT. Here are some reasons why you should, too: Ahndrea Zukerman’s baby is the school news anchor. Aunt Becky from Full House. Kelly Taylor’s drunk mom. BRENDA WALSH. A cutie patootie English teacher. That guy from the Peach Pit. Kids with actual backstories that (so far) aren’t a cliché for everything. Best of all Kelly Taylor’s mystery babydaddy – BRANDON OR DYLAN??? BRANDON OR DYLAN?? Or: STEVE?? I LOVE THIS SHOW.

Don’t get me wrong, I miss Peter Gallagher’s eyebrows like nobody’s business, but Rob Estes is surprisingly lovable and funny. And of course – the entire reason why I watch this show – the return of Lucille Bluth. I don’t even know what her character’s name is – just imagine Lucille Bluth got drunk and wandered over to someone else’s house. Her five minutes per episode make the whole thing worthwhile. God bless you CW.

“I have to finish my memoirs before my friend Virginia – we’ve slept with all the same people.”

I LOVE HER.

This is also taking me places:

Hula hooping is the closest I’ve come to meditating since I stopped meditating. I can’t describe how addictive it is or how great it makes me feel. I mean, I CRAVE IT. I carry my hoop around in my car. For the past two weeks I’ve been hooping for at least an hour a day and I can say with 100% certainty that it is changing my life. I tried some tricks the other day and whapped myself in the face, so I’m sticking to the straight hooping til I see Courtney again.

Next up: going to sleep. Hopefully now that I don’t smoke, I’ll be able to figure out how to get there on my own.