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I shouldn’t talk about staying injury free and not hurting myself, because then? Then I do.
Went out to a show last night with one of my girls, BlueFairy. Great show, entirely too many drinks (red bull / vodka / splash of grenadine), entirely too much dancing and walking around without a coat…

All was great – her bf was our DD. I do so love having a free taxi driver. Especially one that detours to Wendys. Ahhh drunk food. Got back to her place, ate, helped em move a mattress, sobered up, and went to drive home. It has been snowing a lot lately, and the streets/sidewalks are not really clear and in this area, not really even either. Down I went.  Made it to the car, defrosted it and the rest of myself and headed home.

It was a great night, exactly what my newly single self needed after two dinner party evenings. A night out on the town with booze, greasy food, and good peoples. I, of course, managed to make at least 4 new friends over the course of the evening. I also bought cigarettes (I don’t smoke… much) and was passing them out at the bar. Because why not!

And then I fell. And as I drove and I started wondering if I’d really hurt myself again and if I’d need crutches and if I did, if I would borrow NiceGuy’s again. It hit.
I missed him. I missed crawling into mussed sleepy sheets with him. Coming in from outside and how he’d wrap over and around and under me until I got warm. Waking up, slightly hungover to bad jokes and awful breath and the way he’d look at me that would break my heart. I wanted to call him. 2 in the morning on a weeknight. He wouldn’t answer. I know that sober, but then, at two in the morning…. I wanted to believe. Believe that he’d hear the phone and see my name and he would answer. That this time things would be different, he’d realize what he was letting go and he’d refuse to do it. But he never refused anything.
Except me.
I”m a fickle bitch. I know that even if he had answered and we’d had that moment… eventually I would have resented him. Resented that I had to be the one to weaken first, to bend first, to make that call. That while he missed me and we were doing this again, I was the one who had to admit that I wanted him more, first.

So I called Carrots. And I called RedFairy. And finally I called BlueFairy, the friend I’d just left, knowing she would still be awake. She talked me through the drive, up the stairs, into my safety.  I showered and fell into bed.

No regrets this morning, except a twinge in my foot and one in my heart. Because even in the stark light of day… I still want to believe that if I’d called…. he would have answered.

Coping off the fabulous Maggie Mason (www.mightygirl.net) , I present: My Life List… finally transcribed off my blackberry.

27 seems appropriate, as I’ll turn that this year, on the 27th. Maybe thats my number this year.

  1. Do Roller Derby
  2. To have at least 7 days of matching bras and panties
  3. Go skydiving (maybe this summer..)
  4. Finally learn Spanish. And brush up on my German, French & Italian.
  5. Visit Montreal and see a sunset.
  6. Send my parents on a trip
  7. Learn calligraphy
  8. Frame my g*d artwork
  9. Visit Edinburgh for Hogmony
  10. Own a dog
  11. Write one of those strongly worded letters I’m always going on about.
  12. Teach a (my?) child to ride a bike / tie their shoes / blow a bubble
  13. Disconnect for a full week – no phone / net / tv
  14. Learn to knit – FINALLY
  15. See the pyramids at dusk – Orions Belt
  16. Learn to surf
  17. Do the NYC thing: Empire State Building / Times Square / Central Park / Broadway / see an off Broadway show
  18. Hot air balloon ride (anywhere, tho definitely would like to do it over Iowa – where I first saw them)
  19. Road trip to the Grand Canyon – stopping at the tiny towns along the way (note: bring own sheets).
  20. Scuba dive – NOT in a pool or lake (preferably be certified)
  21. Plant (and keep up) an herb garden
  22. Make my own bread, routinely
  23. Sew curtains
  24. Travel to all of the places I have lived, again.
  25. Keep writing – even if just for myself, for the memories
  26. Surprise my mom on her birthday
  27. Surprise my dad on his birthday

Am not feeling like typing anything I said I was going to. So. Moving on.

Lollapalooza.

I went this year, first year. And it was totally worth it. Having now been to Rothbury / Bonnaroo / Lollapalooza, I have to say Bonn is at the bottom. They will have to have an AMAZING line up for me to go next year – I’d rather toss my money to the hippie fest at Roth and then go rock out at Lolla.

Even with the weather starting as cold / rainy / uninspiring – I saw some fabulous shows and made some awesome new friends. Though I will say that I often felt like the odd one out. Which is impressive given that I was staying with Carrots (as in she is Carrots and I’m Peas – we go together!). It was a mini reunion of sorts for her friends she studied with in London. All 3 of them live in Chicago or NY, and then there is me – semi-big city in MidWest. Not famous by any means, but not horrible either. Its cheap to live here, I can afford to go out drinking and have a car and indulge my shoe fetish when I wish. But I definitely felt… which one of these is not like the other.

So I did what I do, which is to say – I made friends whenever I could. Talked with strangers in line, on the L, on the bus, at the festival. And I shared what I could – sunscreen, water, shade. Its what you do. And that is part of what makes me who I am. Even though I definitely felt… well not looked down on, but they thought it was “cute” that I did that. Whatever, I find comfort in talking with strangers, identifying, even if just for a moment that you shared an experience with them. Be it a smashedclose L ride or an amazing concert.

So Fri/Sat/Sun all became a blur – a fantastic blur filled with some of the  people I love best in the world and some seriously great new music that I was so excited to see live and so close.

Shows I saw (so I can remember):

Friday: Bon Iver / Ben Folds / Fleet Foxes (!) / The Decemberists / Kings of Leon

Saturday: Gomez / Arctic Monkeys / Santigold / TV on the Radio / Ben Harper / Yeah Yeah Yeahs / Bassnectar

Sunday: Back Door Slam / Bat for Lashes / Portugal. The Man / Kaiser Chiefs / Vampire Weekend / Passion Pit / Cold War Kids / Snoop Dogg / Silversun Pickups / The Killers

It was exhausting and exhilarating and every time I sit down to write about these type of weekends, words fail me. Rothbury was probably one of the most profound instances I’ve ever had – just the combination of the company and the music and general fantasticness was great.

Lolla wasn’t quite there – but the music (and the ability to take showers every night and sleep in a real bed) was beyond amazing.

I took the bus home on Monday, sun-dazed and music-soaked. And back to the real world. I will say that these festivals reminded me of passion and creating and oh how I needed that wake up call.

So. Summer Oh-Nine. Seems as good a time as any to give this whole blogging thing a go. Again. I think this is like my fourth start. Probably another false one, but hope springing eternal and all that. I feel like I always try to start these in the summer months.. wonder what that means.

Hopefully, this is different, a lot more like when I started the original, the legend. I want to write more, to stay in the habit – so I can look back at these days and remember. And so can others (perchance with careful editing).

I’m alone now.
I have my own apartment.
Very. Own. Apartment.

Its something I was never sure I would do, but always knew I wanted to. And when my relationship with NiceGuy was going so well and my relationship with GuyRoommate deteriorating, well, the new apartment came about rather quickly.

Granted it is me, so even quickly there were file folders and notes and copies of floor plans and visits. But we found it, and like all my big life decisions I knew when I walked in. It was more than I had wanted to spend / budgeted for – but was cheap enough I could budget for it.

So without further ado, I let GuyRoommate know I was moving out and managed to cajole all my boys into helping me move (damn sprained ankle). We got everything done in a weekend. Granted the unpacking took a little longer (and by took a little longer I mean still going on).

And I’m not quite settled yet. Not sure I ever will fully be.  The best part about it all? Also known as the most overwhelming part of it all – is that it is all mine. No one else to shuck blame onto, no one else to tell me not to paint something. All mine to have and to fuck up.

So NiceGuy. That probably deserves another entire post. Let’s see what else to catch you up on.
–         Nice Guy
–         Driving Debacle
–         MusicalTheater’s latest exploits
–         My Life List (I wanna be like Maggie when I grow up)
–         Parentals Visit
–         Bonnaroooooo
–         Canoe Trip

Long story to come – NiceGuy and I broke up. Again. But I think for good this time. Given that what I’ll need for a Round III from him includes a trench coat, boom box, and potentially some fake rain outside my bedroom window… and I know him – so that will never happen.

However, since the break up there has been contact by at least three ex-boyfriends to me. WTF, I no longer have myspace and I *never check my facebook profile, did an email alert go out? Is there a blog about my dating life that I’m just not checking? Cuz seriously, I could use some dish about some peoples.

Anyways, without fail, contact by these people never fails raise emotions and questions and… and.

I’m alone now.

Got home from work, as always, am feeling rather… restless. Lay down for awhile, taking joy in the absentee my current roommate has become… consider if would be possible to make it downstairs, close the blinds and enjoy my wheat thins and cottage cheese topless. I decide against it, fashion a rather interesting dress out of an old sarong and continue on with my dvr day.

Except, its not cutting it. Writing wasn’t sounding the best, too much effort to go for a bike ride (and the light is fading fast, damn light), no book really has my interest…

I decide to make the apt look better, take out the trash, finish laudry, tidy up. I realize the need for clothes and throw on some ol’ white capris (the Ex once referred to them as J.Lo pants, right after yet another of our ill-advised meetings) and a black racerback tank. No bra.

I load up the car (freshly washed!) and head to the trash dump. On the way, I offer to take another couple’s trash as I was headed that way and it is at the other end of the building. Good karma for later, I was hoping.

Midway through my unload at the dump, another car pulls up and a woman gets out and unloads hers. I go back for one more load and a beautiful guy is standing there. I didn’t know we HAD beautiful guys in our neighborhood (makes note to go rollerblading/biking/jogging IN the neighborhood from now on). He motions for me to go ahead and even pulls out the remaining bag from my trunk and throws it in. Well, hello gentleman! TrashGentleman shall be his nickname, now lets hope I have a lot more fun ins with him!

Damn. AbsenteeRoommate is back. Guess that means no more lounging topless. sigh.

Well maybe, not quite. AlmaMater was the first place I ever moved to of my own accord. It had nothing to do with my dad’s company getting transferred, nothing to do with my parent’s decision to move for a promotion. Nothing to do with my family.

It was my decision.
Mine.
So to say I loved that place would be an understatement.


My freshman year was a little rough. I lived with three jocks. Me the theatre/poly sci double major. Basically everything that wasn’t sports. I danced, but that earned me no new points. Most of my roommates were very unhappy there – the classes were too hard, they preferred to spend their free time drinking and partying at the frats. I did the same, and indeed, spent more weekend nights away from my room than in it.
Sophomore year was bliss – I had found a soulmate, who was now my roommate and we lived with two other theatre majors. They fought like cats and dogs, but we swore we would never end up like them. Most of the time was spent on AIM and web camming – oftentimes each other. From a space no more than 5 feet away. And we would talk until 3 am most every night.
Junior year we had a double. Just me and CollegeRoommate. First semester was a dream, we loved the space, the talking until 4 am continued, did miss the ac from prior dorm. Life was hectic. And then I met Ex. He consumed what free time and energy I had left – especially as I prepared to study abroad spring semester. Slight tension developed between CollegeRoommate and myself.
Senior year – stretched myself too thin, trying to repair/just live with CollegeRoommate, keep relationship with Ex alive and functioning, working for admissions, plus continuing my double major without dropping a ball. End of the year, I dropped them all (see: Mental Breakdown).

My trips back take me back to my first few years there, when I wasn’t over stressed or over stretched. When I would skip to class, make mix cds just for the purpose of listening to them as I walked to class. Enjoying the hella hill, the far walk from dorms to science building. To the novelty of meeting new people, just by seeing them around campus. The general atmosphere of safety and acceptance that exuded from AlmaMater.

Its home. And as this past weekend reminded me, always will be.

CollegeRoommate and I have since made up (after the demise of The Ex & I). Made up to the point of her moving to my fabulous city just to live a little closer. Admittedly, she is now researching jobs back in her old home town (also place of AlmaMater), as well as jobs here. Hope she chooses to stay. She reminds me of my sanity.

The past few weeks have brought me back to myself. My start at AlmaMater reminded me I could remake myself however I want to – all the lessons I learned in high school, here is the result. Being around people who have seen me in all my forms – dorky, goofy, un made up, glossy, fancy, fabulous, li’ skeevy, maybe a li’ skanky, drunk, sober, hungover, happy, sad, laughing and crying.

It makes me remember myself. I forget how easy it is to forget.

I can’t seem to stop writing today. Its actually rather odd. I think part of myself is filled with anxiety over the pending trip to my alma mater.

One of my very good friends, Carrots (as in she and I are like Peas and Carrots), graduates on Sunday and as such, I am headed back this evening to celebrate with her. The plan was for last weekend, but due to a friend freak-out, I remained home.

This weekend, tis do or die. She heads to Alaska for six months (phenom!) and if I want to see that smile again, road trip it is! Last time I visited, I had to pull over five miles outside of the quaint little town that houses my alma mater and sob. The last time I had been there (at that point), was my graduation. When Ex and I were on a temporary break and I was on a break down. If my parents hadn’t showed up and literally sat by me while I finished a few papers and projects, its entirely possible I would not have graduated. I have never been that low in my life, and never intend to let myself get that low again. The death of my relationship, combined with the  end of my after graduation plans (move in with Ex), the stress of graduation, and the fact my best friend of three years and I were in a stand off (I disliked her boyfriend, she despised mine – three years later, they’re both gone and she & I now live in the same town) all combined to just make it too much. Too much. Thankfully my amazing parents seemed to know and came into town 5 days early, to help pick me back up. I could not have done it on my own, but it was exactly what I needed.

Anyways, I sat by the edge of town and sobbed, upset with myself (I was then, with a job I hated, not paid well, and did no real use there), upset that my last memories of a place I loved so much, for so long, were tainted by the demise of a relationship, upset that I felt I had failed so many friends and teachers. The curse of an only child – I love to please people. I get more upset when I fail someone than when I fail myself. In my major, I was always told that I would go on, I would do something. That *I* would be something. Nothing like graduating with two degrees and not finding a job that would use your degrees, oh, ever. This trip, I anticipate to be much better. Now that I’ve gotten over the horrible hump of the first trip back. Almost like seeing an ex again for the first time – and now, now I have new memories. Then: I ripped the oil pan off my car. ($600 and 3 days later I finally got out of town. This was when I was working hourly, so I was also out 2 days of work.) And I was sick, during mid-terms, so I’m sure my Carrots loved having me lounge on her pull out couch and cough, sneeze and read my way through her nights. But now.


N
ow is spring.
I will NOT be driving the same road that raped my car. The Ex is no longer an issue (or at least as big of one). I have a job that still doesn’t use my degrees, but does use me. A roommate who continuously make me better. A cat that reminds me what love truly is. And friends, friends who let me know that me, as myself, is quite possibly one of the best things ever. I am happy.
I am proud of myself.

And I can’t wait to show it off.

venice-bed.jpg

Its okay to believe in Prince Charming, but you have to believe in midnight too.

disarming (adj): tending to allay suspicion or hostility; winning favor or confidence siren (noun): a seductive or tempting woman, esp. dangerous or harmful

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