They say before you can truly fall in love you have to have had at least two relationships.

One where you get your heart broken. And another where you break someone’s heart.

Now, I have several things to break down within that idea. What if you get your heart broken and also break someone’s heart at the same time. Cuz I’ve done that.

I’m sure I’ve bruised someone’s heart since and I know I’ve had mine bruised back. But as far as broken? There really was only the one. Its possible I just haven’t let anyone get that close since (possible, hell, I know its true). And the one I wanted to let that close showed little to no interest in scaling those walls and seeing whats behind. At least, not in the way I was used to seeing.

So that has left me here. 26 and with one great heartbreak. One great love.

Not saying I want to go back to that. I look back at that relationship and think, yeesh. We were over the top, absurd and insane about each other. To the point of exclusion of almost everything else (including my studies, whoops!). And it was glorious, while it lasted.

“And I loved him, Jesus how I loved him. It wasn’t love of course, even I can see now that it was infatuation, but at the time it near enough killed me. Its so passionate, so intense, so painful, that even years afterward you still feel the hurt when you hear their name.” – Jane Green, Straight Talking

After TheEx I went back to my old ways, dating around, finding guys who fit the niche that I need them (my sports guys / arty film guys / casual Saturday guys), until NiceGuy – we were just always hanging out together, even if he didn’t do my music or my artier stuff, we spent most time together. It was kind of natural that we fell the way we did.

Also natural that we fell apart the way we did. Its still hard. Its by no means as hard as TheEx – I couldn’t even bear to look at his picture / emails / blog / etc for over a year after he and I ended. NiceGuy, we’re doing the friends thing, or at least trying… Sometimes with his hair all mussed and still sleepy… it kills me to not lean over and plant one on him. Or nestle myself right into that crook where I know I’ll fit just so.

I really need to step up my game on this. I’ve already got a long list of more to post – and haven’t even finished my last list.

You should never have to convince someone to like you. But when you do – in hindsight, the ending seems rather obvious.

However, to tell the ending, we have to start at the beginning.

NiceGuy and I were friends first, for about a year and a half. I never really went there with him, thought I always thought he was cute – mostly because he was so Nice. I don’t really do nice. I like the heartbreak and the angst and the passion. And then the group got smaller – and he and I consistently seemed thrown together, and then came the night where he suggested I crash in his bed instead of on the couch.

Oh, huh, that seems fairly obvious. Guy invites Girl to sleep In his bed. And from there? We slept. For three months.  And nothing else. Ever. Good conversations (and by conversations I mean I would ask questions and pry answers out, occasionally actually getting one), and late evening, intimacy was there, and I began to fall. Hard. He was so Nice and everything was always so comfortable with him. I would wake up, hungover, hair like poof, makeup smeared and the conversations would continue – over brunch or on the couch together.

But then we kept adding alcohol. Eventually the right combination of alcohol and sleep deprivation and sexual tension made us snap. I snapped first – in the hallway to the bathroom at a dive bar. We didn’t speak of it. Then he snapped, while wasted on his birthday. And after that we fell into a … something. Every weekend we were at his place or my place, during the week, general texts back and forth. Until – I realized he wasn’t in it. Just going through the motions. So I cut it off.

Then in December he started coming around again – all actions were on him. He was actually making plans and reaching out to see me. I figured it would be different, despite him telling me on NYE he wasn’t interested in a relationship. All his actions were saying different. We were inseparable for 4 days over the holidays, even after his admission.

So we kept doing what we do – every weekend, many weeknights, and gradually just fell into a routine. It was still comfortable, nice, better than the first time around. I started to let myself fall. We had been ‘together’ for a year and half – his response when asked at a wedding by my friends. I wasn’t even aware that we were considering us together. I would catch him referencing him and I as an ‘us’, ‘our’ plans, etc. And it gave me a warm glow, I liked how NiceGuy and I were becoming linked – NiceGuy and Disarming. Even our names sounded good together. There was starting to be some pressure from friends – having seen how happy we were together – wanting to know plans. I don’t really do commitment, so I danced around them – and NiceGuy always deferred to me on those questions. He excels at the non-answer answer.

And then, with the advent of this summer, I felt NiceGuy start to pull away. Not so much it was obvious – but he was less engaged, more willing to break plans and not hanging out as much.  I have admitted to myself I’ll always love the guy – he is a nice guy at the heart of it. But I couldn’t be in love with someone who wouldn’t let me. And the move into my new apt was something that made me reevaluate … well everything.

And so, one Friday evening, after his poker game – we had The Talk. Sprinkled with “I never meant to hurt you”s and “we’ll still be friends”, we called it quits. A quiet breakup. One that left my heart more bruised than broken.

I didn’t cry that weekend. Actually until this past Saturday I hadn’t cried about it at all. I’m not sure if that was because I didn’t care enough to cry or I just thought it wasn’t the end. I’m trying, oh so very hard, to stick to the break up this time around. Probably part of the reason I’m writing this all down. Written word always seems to reverberate harder with me.

No more reaching over to smooth down the cowlick, no flirtatious glances across the table, and no handholding as we drive to the bars. No more cuddling on the loveseat and watching bad 80s movies I should have seen the first time around but missed because “I wasn’t born yet”. No more texts when I am just thinking about him, or giving him crap for playing too much xbox and being antisocial.

I’ve had both kinds of breakups. TheEx and I’s breakup was so shattering he actually had to call the landlord to get me to leave his apt (in my defense there were pictures I wanted off his laptop before I left…), that one took me a solid month to think of him without an actual pain in my heart. And then at least a year to actually get over him. And I can freely say there are still parts of my heart locked away from others. TheEx was the only one to get that close.

NiceGuy – we had a quiet break up. Not unlike our relationship. Quiet and controlled, no hysterics, just general sadness at the ending of … not quite a something, but a possibility of something great. The breakup, like our relationship, was rather bloodless.

Two kinds of love – two kinds of heartbreak. Having now had both, I’m not quite sure which was more devastating.

I do hope in this aftermath that NiceGuy and I can remain friends – its important to our entire group dynamic. But I also know that when we’re out at the bar, sometimes our eyes catch – lately I’m always the one looking away first.

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.

It was all at once.
He was everything I wanted
appearing in black and white
I was a firefly with premature wings.
no visible scars.
Proud.
We drank bottles of wine and I let him tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
He looked at me, sipped, and I swallowed.
He wanted me in color.
I wanted things he couldn’t give me
I decided to see how long I could pretend it didn’t matter.
He told me I glowed and ran two fingers along the ridge of my spine.
I held my breath and he named freckles on my back that I’d never seen.
He thought I was beautiful and held my face still to tell me so.
I squirmed.
It was easier not to believe him.
He was
40 minutes
Late.
A handsome stranger bought me vodka cranberries
Black high heels dangling from a bar stool
I waited
40 minutes too long.
I dressed in ruby slippers and chased tornados.
He spoke another language and
I asked him to use it when he touched me.
I saw him enter my room as a thief
He wore the shirt I picked out for him and I felt invaded.
I set out books he did not bother to read
I threw him out of my bed and bought him coffee the next morning.
He refused to lie
I refused to negotiate when I was naked.
In the end when he left, I saw he’d taken nothing more than what I’d given him
The loss was spectacular.

After over $300 in repairs – my laptop is back up and running… albeit without several programs I used to have. I guess I’ll go the wait and see route. This is the third time I’ve had to do this – replace the hard drive (tho this time I did it on my own as the warranty has expired). stupid hp. And yes, I do continue doing this. Thank god for external hard drives and back ups.

Anyways, I’ve stopped writing this blog on my work computer, because, well, you get fired for that. And my desktop downstairs is rather communal… and I haven’t *quite decided to go public yet. This is more for myself. Which you would think would mean I would write more, and yet..

Lately I’ve been dealing with relationships. And failure. Two things I struggle with.

A very good friend and I have parted ways and as much as I try to examine the why.. I keep coming up blank. All I can do is know that I tried. Not as hard as I could have, because well, I had reached my end point. I was done putting everything in time and time again – this was it. I don’t know if she realized that, or if she ever will. I hope, one day, she figures out what she needs. Not just what she wants.

Another good friend has caused me to lose a lot of respect for her. I am coming to terms with the fact that I have very high expectations of people. Expectations that I know I myself don’t always meet. Cheating, for those who know me, is something that I don’t tolerate well. Even if I am not involved in the relationship – because once upon a time I was. And I know the carnage that can come from that. She has stayed with her man despite his infidelities, yet, as they get closer to a milestone in their relationship, she is the one who strays. I look, and I want to tell him. I know its not my place, but it just reminds me of how I felt when I did find out – I wondered who knew, who would keep something like that from me… I know that it is just a physical manifestation of her unhappiness, but why does she keep putting herself in that position. Just escape.

Escape. If only it were that easy. TheEx and I did something very stupid over the 4th. We met up. Admittedly there was a free concert nearby, an artist both of us adore – one that sang “our song”. But meet up we did, and it only caused conflicting emotions for me. For him – I’m not sure. I do know that while two weeks before we met up he was trying to reopen our conversation line, and now… now, hes leaving it up to me. And I’m not sure what to make of it. I think I’m happier when he is nowhere in my life. But not as happy as when he was In my life. I can’t do the friend thing, I will always want more. He was my best friend for so long, we connected so strongly – it seems… disrespectful to try to pretend we’re just buddies.
We aren’t.
We never will be.
He has offered to move, when I get transferred (something I’m hoping to have happen in the next year, and is a subject for another post). He has said he will go with me. He said as much when I talked about grad school, last year, when he and I were still doing the “talking”, but not dating stage.
Maybe my best move is to cut ties. Clean break, like with the first friend. But how does one walk away from someone who holds your heart? I’ve already lost part of mine to her this summer; can I afford to let him take more?
I’m afraid I already have.

I wish I could stop seeing relationships that end like this as failure. Intellectually I know its not that, its merely one person moving on, probably doing something great for themselves. Lately, I have found my comfort in writing. (The personal diary, not here) In my cat. And in random people I work with.
There are times when it is easy to get so bogged down in how you think people view you, you forget of other viewpoints.

The hardest thing about living here is that my parents, my rocks, my tie to myself, live so far away. I often lose myself. I did that a lot last year, and I didn’t like who I turned out to be.
24 – I’m going to be selfish. I’m going to do what I want, what is best for me, what I need to do.

That may be letting her go. Letting that be our last words, and letting the memories fade.
It may be writing one last letter, so I can say my piece and feel that I truly have done everything.
That may be allowing a friend to make her own mistakes and remain her rock.
It may be telling a friend I think her behavior is shameful and that there has to be more behind it than several beers and lowered inhibitions.
That may be showing up on his doorstep and demanding…
It may be cutting him out.
Once again, for good.

Everyone has that one guy. The one that you will always remember. Not necessarily your first crush, but definitely… something.

My first crush was Shea Stamp. I remember his last name only because “stamp” was one of our spelling words in first grade. And I already knew how to spell it.

Between first grade and freshmen year, there were several crushes.

But I didn’t have too many, I was a tomboy and boys were for playing tag, war, hide & seek, or Nintendo.

But every once in awhile, one would sneak in.

Then I made one last move. Started a new school (again). The bus stop was on the opposite side of the block and I knew no one there. The neighborhood kids all played so well together, had known each other for years.

And then there was me.

My first experience with him, he locked me out on his roof. I had been hanging around with the other kids for a week or so, they all liked me. We got along great, a regular bunch of misfits as kids that age generally are.

And he locked me on his roof.

In retaliation, I threw a can of pop at him. From the roof. It landed at his feet and exploded all over.

Then I threatened to climb down the fireplace and let everyone else in. His brother let us back inside, finally.

It was always explosive with him. Time went on, and I harbored my crush secretly, oh so secretly – rarely even telling friends. He collected hearts like it was his job, I didn’t want to be know as “one of those who liked him”.

My best friend at the time had a crush on him.

My best neighborhood friend dated him.

I never said I wanted him.

I was the good girl, I didn’t talk back (at least to teachers), I never snuck out (that my parents knew), I never went beyond second base (until Keith my senior year). I made excellent grades, I said please and thank you. I was the girl next door.

I never knew that he had felt the same pull.

He was the bad boy, too outrageous for me in my mind; I was too tame, too unoriginal.

I was the good girl; mostly pleasant, “perfect” was a word he would later use. He was messed up, dealing with family issues and alcohol.

Then there were the nights he would inspire me to sneak out, just to wander the neighborhood in the dark and talk. Just talk.

There were the days he would crack jokes about himself, to take attention off others.

We brought out the opposite sides in each other.

I thought he was too wild.

He thought I was above him.

Until this past New Years, when I was above him, I never knew any of this.

He told me as we lay in bed, that he used to dream about my “dancer’s legs”.

I never even realized he knew I danced.

I forget about this sometimes. I don’t mean to, I have the best intentions when it comes to writing.

But sometimes, at night, its easier to pull my written journal out of my inner pocket of my purse, and hand scribble. Its easier when I cry, if its handwritten. The water on the page, blurring the ink, makes it more real. How do you translate that effect to the typed page?

Maybe as I get older I feel I have less to share, less to justify feeling. When I started blogging, sophomore in college. There were no boundaries – I shared my writing and my experiences with everyone from strangers to family to friends, to people I hadn’t seen in 5 years. Now I’m more reticent. I write anonymously, knowing, one day, I will get the courage to share. With everyone.

Until then. There is this.

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.

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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