somebody that I used to know

I swear I’m writing posts of substance right now. I figured out a couple things and I also want to share some stories. Truth.

But until I finish those, here’s what’s really popping my cork these days. Gotye is bar none my favorite music discovery this year. I love him (it? them?) and I pretty much listened to Making Mirrors on a loop my entire Seattle trip.
And this song? This song is honey on my wounds. This song reached into my soul and pulled out the truth. It punched me in the guts and pulled out the pain and tears. It’s exactly what I had and have been going through the last couple months. Seriously. Every damn word.

And you know what? It makes me feel better. I feel validated, I think. But it’s also somehow very Foucault. Like, someone else took my thoughts and feelings and put them out in the universe and so they’re not in me anymore. Something akin to catharsis but not quite.

So I'm happy this week. Light at the end of the motherfucking tunnel yo.

Also? This video rocks my whole world wide open. Enjoy!

Thoughts on Jesus

A week or so ago, as my friend and I were looking at Christmas lights, we saw a house with a sign on the lawn that said:

A Savior is Born

JESUS

Just in case you were thinking it was a different savior whose birth is usually associated with this time of year. I can just picture the converstion that went into making the sign.

Let's make a sign that tells people a savior was born! 

Which savior? 

JESUS! 

Today, as I was driving home from Seattle, I saw a guy standing on an overpass with a huge cardboard sign that said, JESUS.

That was it. No other words.

I really wonder what the purpose of the sign was. Was it Jesus' ride from the airport? Was the guy worried that he might not recognize Jesus or that might get a cab instead? Or maybe Jesus was up on the overpass and he wanted us all to know. Or maybe the guy IS Jesus and that was his abnormally large name tag. 

I often wonder about religious billboards. You see many this time of year, but depending on what part of the country you're driving through, you'll be inundated all year round. But billboards seem to really only be effective for fast food or casinos. I don't really know that "God" is really going to get converts that way. Has that ever worked?

Has anyone ever driven down the highway, happy to be sinning, perhaps drinking and driving, looked at a billboard that said, "Repent, sinner, or DIE!" (an actually billboard I saw once) and thought, Well SHIT, I'd better repent then! ? I'd really like to know if that ever worked. Is anyone a minister or pastor or something? Have you ever gotten a new churchgoer who walked in and said, "So I saw your billboard..."?

drunken Christmas eve blogging

I'm writing from gorgeous rarely, but it was today, sunny Seattle. Though it's not sunny right now. Right now it's nighttime and I just got back to my hotel after eating my body's weight in sushi and green tea ice cream and wine.

I'm in my happy place finally. Also: a little sloshed. Which was the point of this trip.

Why am I in Seattle? Well why the fuck not? All my friends and fam are in California and I had no absolutely no place to go because I have all of one friend in Portland anymore (more on that in a bit) and what else was I going to do? Sit at home and feel shitty? Nope. So I jumped in the car and drive the three hours to Seattle.

And, as it turns out, the drive was important. I cried almost the whole way. Not in a pathetic way, really, more of a I really needed to fucking cry kind of way. I've cried since the breakup, for sure, but not in a just letting go purging and crying it all out. I've been crying in furtive spurts, trying to keep it in so as not to scare my friends or make them feel uncomfortable. Crying like I did, all alone in the car, freely and without reserve, felt fucking great. I needed a good cry.

Then I was feeling much better for a while.

Buuuut then the holidays crept up and I got homesick and I realized that all but one of HP's friends had dumped me too and, god love her, but she of course has her own life and I understand that she's going to spend time with the group before me. And that leaves the one of my two besties, the one who lives in Portland. She's been so damned supportive and I so really appreciate that I get to be in the same city with her because what the hell would I do without her? She's my only friend here (well, there, in Portland). But more than that, there's a reason she's my best friend, because she's just so awesome.

But, like I said, she's really my only friend right now. Not that I need hoards of friends necessarily, and I do get that I have tons of friends down in California and I miss them all so immensely much right now. But it's the holidays, a time of year which does its damn best to make the alone feel more alone. And I am making some cool, new friends lately, but they're new and I feel pathetic insinuating myself into their lives just yet.

Can't you just see it?

"After a most tumultuous relationship, my tool of a boyfriend dumped my ass and took all his friends with him. Please be my friend and love me!"

Ugg.

When I graduated college, all my friends moved away. They went to grad school or went to their hometowns or got jobs and internships elsewhere. But for a while, because I stayed and worked, I found myself completely friendless. Of course, I made new friends in time, but it was odd to suddenly be left behind. That's sort of how I feel right now. Only it's slightly more depressing to have to start all over because one guy decided he didn't want me.

Not that I would change things or want him back, because I really really really don't. It's just awfully bad timing.

So I just needed an adventure, to choose aloneness for a bit, to explore and discover and think. Sometimes a girl just needs to get away.

So here I am, in Seattle, in a cushy hotel room (have I mentioned how much I love hotel rooms?) after having a great first day of vacation. I plan to stay up watching movies and drinking wine and tomorrow I can't wait to explore the city. While everyone is home eating and exchanging presents and arguing and stressing, I'll be tromping around the city and taking photos. Doesn't that sound lovely? Yeah, I think so too.

the saga of the broken bed

So, before we broke up, the ex and I broke my bed. Yup. That happened. You can guess how.

You can also do the math and given that the last time we had sex was over a week before he dumped me, you'll see how effing long this saga truly, truly is. It's an epic, folks. I'm like Odysseus. Minus Medusa.

But the break wasn't actually that bad. It was just the plastic foot that goes in the corner of the metal frame. So my bed was missing one foot which meant that it was teetering like an old man with a walker with one leg shorter than the other (on the walker; not the man). Not exactly awesome. Still, I stuck a book under there and called it a day.

So I was living on this rickety ass bed, feeling a little seasick from it all actually. And then HP dumped me and it's not like he cared that his ass broke my bed or anything. But it's not like I was getting any so the rickety bed was not exactly the end of the world. And Goldie doesn't care if she's used in the bed or the bath or what.

Nevertheless, I needed to fix my bed. It wasn't exactly...how you say...classy. Plus it was just a reminder of the last time HP and I had sex and it's not like that time would be memorable on its own if not for one broken bed, nor did I want to remember it at all in any way.

So. This problem needed to go.

So for several Saturdays in a row, I hoofed it around Portland. I made phone calls. I visited mattress stores which sent me to hardware stores which said I'd have to try mattress stores. Nobody carried these plastic feet. Nobody. "They only come with the bed frames," said they. I'd have to buy a whole new frame.

"Bullshit!" exclaimed the pissed off woman. No fucking way was I paying for a whole new bed frame because one plastic piece broke. Surely this was a common occurrence. Surely this is a big racket. Surely this was turning into a bigger headache than I'd planned or needed and I was about to pull out a katana Kill Bill style and get myself a new fucking bed set for free I tell you what.

What's a little blood spatter? Sheets will cover that right up.

Yesterday morning, as I got out of bed, the mattress tilting beneath me, like a 800 pound person getting out of a mini-cooper, I'd had enough. "I've had enough!" I yelled to no one. Though Hobbes gave me an annoyed meow and rubbed up against his food dish. Because he has his priorities straight.

I drove my ass to the Target, battled holiday parking and holiday shoppers and holiday checkout lines, and I bought a tool to fix my bed.

I came home and I fixed that damn plastic foot MacGuyver style.

Duct tape fixes everything. By the way, Internet, it's DUCT tape, not duck tape. THAT is something else entirely.

Anyway, so far so good! It took a little while to get my land legs back, but it feels good to have a sturdy bed again. I don't know how it will hold up with rigorous bedtime activities ifyouknowwhatImean, but there's only one way to find out. Wink wink.

The line starts here.

Epiphanies and Dreams

Random Self-Portrait

Cozy sweater? Check.

Favorite sweat pants? Check.

Too much wine, per usual? Check.

Let the blogging commence.

Not to belabor the whole break up thing, I mean it HAS been like a month and a half or something. Right? How long has it been? I'm told you get half the time that you were in the relationship to get over it. So I'm right on track, methinks.

Anyway, I had another love life epiphany last week, all thanks to Parks and Recreation. Now, if you watch the show, you'll enjoy this bit I am sure. If you don't, muddle through or skip over. I'll have plenty more for you, I promise. BUT, if you don't, you should. It's really brilliant. AND if you're planning on starting to watch, you should def skip over the next couple of paragraphs, because there will be a spoiler or two. Je promet.

So, I'm watching last week and Andy does another retardo move and Ann looks at him with just such a pitying look like, mmm no, dear. And I think, Why the hell was she ever with him? And it hit me! I'm Ann! Pretty damn smart, sweet, kind of a doormat, unlucky in love. And HP (the newest ex. keep up.) is Andy, the overgrown man-boy who does dumb-ass shit and lived in a pit.

It all makes sense. What the hell was I ever doing with him?

I was telling this to a friend the next day and she was like, "UM YEAH! We all thought that."

Sigh. Yeah. I guess I'm just kind of clueless.

Until recently, I'd been clinging to this idea that he was such an idiot for tossing me aside (which he is) and I just wanted him to know what he lost. I wanted him to realize what a mistake he made. But I know now that he won't. He won't ever know that or believe that and I have to accept that. I have to be okay with that. I know what he gave up and that has to be enough. 

Not that I regret my time with him necessarily. We had some good times, though I can't think about those too much yet because then it gets too easy to romanticize it all and forget what sucked and then I get sad. I'm done being sad. It's time to let the sad go. And I have to concede that he was the first man to ever tell me he loved me. However he felt at the end, which I admittedly don't know, I do believe he loved me once. And that's a gift. He loved me and I can't regret that.

But when I think back to how unhappy I was the last month or so, I have to be grateful it's over. I want to thank him for that, I think. I was so unhappy! I was unhappy and I just didn't want to see it and I clearly wasn't brave enough to walk away. So whatever his reasons for leaving, at least he did me that favor. I see that now. I don't forgive him for breaking my heart, not yet, but I do thank him for doing what I couldn't.

I've been dating a bit. Just putting my foot out there. It's probably too soon and I know my heart's not in it. I'm sure he's having some torrid affair with some chick with big boobs and I should do the same. Well, except big boobs aren't really my thing. I prefer boyish girls. I just mean, I know some hot sex would help distract me. But I haven't really felt the desire yet.

Still, Goldie has been getting quite the workout. Speaking of which, I need new batteries.

But I think I know why I haven't been into the dating scene. I've been waiting for my true, future husband: Sir Richard Branson.

Yeah, slightly creepy

He's handsome, if slightly creepy. He wants to save the world. He's all athletic and shit. Plus he's fucking rich as all hell so he could just put me up in a chateau in France where I could just be an artist and travel and eat yummy food.

I know he's married, but I don't even need to marry the guy. Domestic partnership would be fine. And I know his wife would love me. Because, well, obviously, I'm adorable.

Plus, people, he has a space shuttle. A space shuttle! Not only have I wanted to go to space since I was like 6, but I'm positive that the only way to survive the zombie apocalypse is in space. I should know. I had a dream about it.

And we wouldn't be one of those couples with pet names (though I do like the pet names). I mean, he'd have one for me. But Sir Richard Branson is much too cool for pet names. I'd call him by his full title at all times.

Sir Richard Branson, dinner is ready.

Sir Richard Branson, so nice of you to buy me that baby giraffe!

Sir Richard Branson, you were great in bed last night. Rawr.

It's meant to be. Obviously.

Still, if I can't have Sir Richard Branson, I have been having dreams that I'm at a museum and meet a guy who looks just like Zachary Levi, but when he's scruffy of course, and it turns out he's an architect and he thinks I'm just delightful, naturally, and we fall madly in love. The end.

Yummers

Hey, it could happen.

the wearing of the red

The point of this post is meant to be happy, but I'm in a fairly cranky state due to my drinking entirely too much for the third weekend in a row, thus incurring a most evil hangover. My head is just doing that womp womp womp and I kind of want to rip it off and trade it in for a better one. Maybe one with better eyesight and less sensitive skin, while I'm at it.

Point being? This post may turn out a little manic.

Incidentally, mulled wine is an incredible invention. As my friend Kim put it, it's like Christmas sangria. And that is the damn truth.

Anywayyy, as I mentioned last week, I've been really focusing on what I need and want, etc, focusing on what makes me happypants.

The first things I did were easy, but make a huge difference.

I started wearing more red. Why? Well, chickadees, I'll tell you why. Most importantly, red looks great on me. I wear bold colors well if I do say so myself. Plus, red is the color of bravado. Red is the color of fuck yeah I'm awesome and you can fuck off if you're too much of an idiot to know it and walk away from alllll this. mmhmmm. That's right. This lady is smart and funny and looks hot in red lipstick and red lace panties too. Yup, red lip gloss, red nails. I bought a new red scarf and matching gloves.

Then! And this is the exciting one....I changed my hair!

Wait...here's a before:

And here I am at the Aveda Institute getting my herr did (LOVE that place!):

 

When you have as much hair as I do, you get the royal treatment

 

Waiting for my hair color to process

 

Right after

Then, I went home for two days and decided I wanted more bangs and trimmed the sides myself. This could have been BAD, but turned out awesome. Because I AM awesome after all. Dur. Haven't you been paying attention? 

Here's the hair last night at the epic Ugly Christmas Sweater party (where I drank all that delicious mulled wine):

 

Christmas threw up on me

I know it looks good because Johnny, the approximately 65 year old concierge (and a shameless flirt) in my building told me I looked hot. He also called me Marlo Thomas. 

 

I'll take it.

He was also super impressed I knew who Marlo Thomas is. But, like I said, I'm awesome.

So I bet you're thinking that after the red and the hair, there's really nothing left, but I assure you, you're wrong. So very wrong.

I've been working out as much as I can (which I would like to be more, but getting into a routine is a challenge) at the free gym in my building. I really wanted to join 24 Hour Fitness but the 24 gods hate me and it's looking like that's not meant to be. I can't even explain; it would take too long. 

Plus, there's the art. I've been really trying to bring art back into my life, taking as many photos as I can, when I can, and visiting museums and places with cool architecture. 

A couple of weekends ago, I spent an entire day in Portland Art Museum and had the best time. I hadn't been before because I was being really snobby and judgey. See, PAM charges 15 smackers to get in. And I'm like, I paid less to get in the damn Louvre (of course, I was an art history student at the time, so I got in for free.) and I paid $10 at LACMA to see Lichtensteins and Warhols, why would I pay $15 to get into Portland's dinky museum? 

Well, hit me with the asshole stick because it's an awesome museum. They have quite a few Impressionists, including Rodin, Van Gogh, and Monet. They had a small Titien on display (though not my fave of his) and they have an entire building for modern art (which really gets me happy) including a Chihuly and Rothko. 

Plus? I took my camera. And what I love about museums which let you shoot (hehe) is that it challenges my photography skills in so many ways. One, it's a blast to make new art out of other art, capturing installations from different angles or in front of paintings. But also, the lighting in museums is so changeable and not always conducive to photography that it really keeps me working hard to get any decent shots. Needless to say, so much fun. 

 It's ME

 It also inspired me to get painting again. I haven't painted since I was a kid, mostly because I got discouraged when my skills didn't match what an instructor asked of me. I'm never going to be the girl who paints a still life or a portrait. It's not what I like and not what I'm good at. What I do love are textures. So I'm interested in getting into some abstract work that plays with texture and mixed mediums. It will take a while, because spendy, but I can't wait.

Oh and funny story. I go to the museum cafe to get a tea and I notice these little gluten free granola bars next to the register. The girl then tells me that they also have a gluten free cupcake. Yes. And I say, "I don't remember the last time I had a cupcake!" And she says, "Well then you need it." And so I got it. 

It was pure, decadent, moist, sweet, blissful heaven. I think I frightened the other museum patrons as I devoured the cupcakey goodness.  And do you see the sparkles? The sparkles! THE SPARKLES!

Sigh.

And that's just for starters. I've also been drinking too much wine. That counts right?

Game Changer

I barely know where to begin.

This week was big. Do you ever have one day that changes your whole perspective? Yeah, that. That.

I had a scare last week. I doubt I have to come right out and say it. You know the scare. The holy-mother-fucking shit-what-the-hell kind of scare. There's this moment, when you're moaning and complaining about how you feel and all of a sudden it dawn on you that OH SHIT! and then your friends encourage it and pretty soon you believe it. And then you hate your damn body for being a damn petri dish that's absolutely beyond your control.

Are you following? I thought I was knocked up. The timing was right. And yet so so wrong. And for about a day I was scared shitless. My first thought was, If it's true, what the fuck would I tell him? Yeah. Never mind that singlemomhood would suck balls and where the hell would I put a baby and I can barely afford myself and it's not like I have any family here to help or whatever so it would be ALL ME. Never mind all that because it would be all wrong.

So so wrong.

This is coming from a woman who wants a baby so badly she'd consider stealing one and stuffing it in her uterus. Yeah. I want a baby. But not like this. Not like this.

And then the haunting prevailing thought was that if it were true, if I was preggers, I'd be tied to that man for life...and I felt deep down in my core that, no, I don't want to be tied to him for life. No way.

Which I needed to feel. I knew that of course, consciously, I knew he was wrong for me. I knew that. But I hadn't truly FELT it. I needed to really feel that, to be punched in the gut by it. I needed to feel that certainty in my whole body. Sometimes a scary ass situation can be the best thing for you.

Needless to say, I'm not pregnant. I took a test, for peace of mind mostly, and I wish I could frame the damn thing it made me so happy.

And it's not like I don't still care for him or have love for him. Of course I do. With the exception of a couple uber douches, I still have love for several exes. I care about them. Of course I do. Maybe I shouldn't, but that's just not in my nature.  It's not like I want to be with them again; it's more that once I give someone love, I don't take it all back. I spread the love around, people. Maybe one of my issues is that I have too much heart, but that's just too damn bad. Because I yam what I yam.

In fact, I probably have better relationships with these guys as friends than when we were in relationships. But that's a whole 'nother issue entire.

Anywayyy, back to my point. Ever since that insane day, I've felt free, happy. I also realized a few things.

We all know how unhappy I'd been the last few months. I think I'd been losing myself (well, I know I had), but also, I think I was unhappy in the relationship and unwilling to see that. I'm nothing if not tenacious but blind tenacity isn't always healthy.

So yeah, I'd been unhappy and not my usual self and once I started to find myself again, the fun, funny me started coming back. I missed her as I know everyone else did too. We all get caught down from time to time and I'm giving myself patience to get back again. While I don't regret this breakup anymore (and regret isn't the right word since it implies culpability of some kind, but I lack a better word.), I do wish he could have been more patient, at least realized that's what I was going through. I could have used the support. Of course, that's one more reason this was for the best.

More than that, despite the misery of going through a breakup, feeling unloved and rejected and wounded while I grieve this relationship I'd put all of myself into (and lost so much of myself into), I've been happier than I'd been in months.

Go figure.

I'll stop there before this becomes a dissertation. I have much to share still, like changing my hair (!) and all the great stuff I'm doing for myself. I'll hopefully find a minute to write again soon.

Also, The Blogger Body Calendar is up for sale now (wee!). Go and buy yo. PS? I'm July. Eeek!

Alone

So how many weeks has it been since my ass was dumped and my heart ripped out? Two? Three? The days are all blurring into one and I can't really keep track. Plus this long vacation threw me off of thinking in terms of a calendar. Nonetheless, here I am.

Here I am.

I'm kind of miserable. Maybe I shouldn't share that. He probably still reads this thing and that would seem pathetic or something I'm sure. Wouldn't want to show our true feelings, would we? That would be playing it all wrong, right? Blech. I've never been one for playing by the rules. Rules schmules. They don't suit my brand of crazy.

So here I am. Breaking the rules. Sharing my misery.

Doesn't help that right now I have the hangover from hell and so am feeling especially shitty.

And that's just it. Most of the time, I'm okay. I feel good. I find things that make me happy. Keeping busy helps a ton. But in the quiet moments or when I feel down for some reason or another, the sadness creeps in and I lose it.

I think the hardest right now is thinking that he's so happy without me and I'm here all alone again, left behind. I think I'd feel better if I knew he was sad too.

And at the end of the day, I know it's for the better. I do know that. It's just been hard.

So naturally I've been doing a lot of thinking about myself and all my relationships and how I keep finding myself here. I feel like I want to hope for the future, but if something doesn't change, what little hope I have left is not going to cut it.

So.

So.

This is really hard to write. To accept culpability for being left over and over again. To find what I've been doing to make that happen. And I think it's this: I am alone.

Think about that for a second.

I am alone. Alone is my default. It's my true self as I know it. 

I learned a little psychology lesson recently in a random setting, but hit me as really poignant. I'm gonna get this wrong, but I think I have the idea right at any rate. There is a part of your subconscious that believes you are a certain way and so we repeat patterns to make that true. The brain is just that powerful. Even if circumstances change, we sabotage them to keep those "truths." Make sense?

How does this apply to me? Well, I've always been an independent girl. Apparently my foster mom said she'd never met such an independent baby and I was very cautious with affection as a child. As an adult, in relationships, I've done one of two things. In my early twenties, if things got scary, I'd just leave (peace the fuck out, yo). The latter part of my dating life, if I suspected my boyfriend was puling away, I would too. Instead of fighting for a relationship (and it's not like I'd leave, but I'll get to that later), I'd just pull back, convinced (rationalizing) that if he really loved me then he'd make the effort. Fighting is just too scary. Too risky.

Yet I don't fight and I get left anyhow.

So back to my orginal point, I think this is in part because I'm adopted. It's not necessarily the fear of abandonment (though that's a part of it for sure), it's that I came into this world alone and I've always taken care of myself and I think I truly believe deep down that that's how I'll always be. Alone.

And so I make it so. Not consciously of course. And I'm not happy about it. But I do it nonetheless.

Of course I don't want to keep it that way. I want to be all-in in a relationship.

Not that my heart isn't all in. It is. It was. And that's partly why I'm sad, because my heart is pretty broken still.

But I clearly hold myself back and don't fight for what I want and need.

I also think maybe I'm choosing people who reaffirm this belief.  People who will ultimately keep me in that state of alone.

So I need to make some changes. Change my thinking. Change my self-perception. Change what truths I know about myself. I'm not entirely sure how to do that yet, but I think figuring this shit out is the first step.

I'm supposed to have coffee next week with another ex, one I'm so glad I stayed close(ish) with and whose perspective I can't wait to pull out of him, whether he likes it or not.

Then, since I haven't started therapy again yet (partly because wading through the HMO red tape is its own psychological hell), I think I'm going to recruit all my friends to have mini sessions with me. At least I can get talking and analyzing again.

And of course there's you, dear readers, dear friends, dear kiddos, you who are always here reading no matter how little I write or how crazy I get. I plan on using you people a lot. I'm not going to hold back here. I know you probably don't think I do, but I do hold back. I do censor the blog a bit. So I'm really going to be brutal on myself and let you help me through this process.

As my cousin told me just now, I'm not really alone. Not really.

Photo of the Day: Sparkly Black Friday

I've always hated Black Friday, but for more selsfish reasons that opposing the gluttony and consumerism of the US (which I do, I guess). Because of my many years in retail, and thus working many, many Black Fridays (the most stressful day of retail, after of course working in a bookstore on the day a Harry Potter book came out), I refuse to go in any store on the day after Thanksgiving. Refuse.

So how did I spend my day instead? I went on a run. Then, because the day was so gorgeous and I felt so good, I hiked (and took some amazing photos.). Afterwhich, I had some yummy leftovers, edited film, and as of right now I am parked in front of a fireplace, watching Indiana Jones movies on a large screen TV. THIS is how to spend a day, people.

Photo of the Day: Leaf on a Windowsill

This little guy somehow made it into my apartment, up the stairs, and onto my bedroom windowsill, where it made me smile. I don't love Thanksgiving, but I do love Fall...and the little things that bring joy.

Dreams

So I just read this book, The Dream Manager (which, whether you read it for work or for yourself, you should so check out), and at the end, you get to make your own dream list (makes sense if you read the book). And, I couldn't help sharing mine.

This couldn't have come at a better time. I've been in so much upheaval that it was so great to sit back, reevaluate, and figure out what's important. It's a work in progress of course and will morph over time. Some are short term dreams and some life-long. I'm sure some dreams will become less important as new ones come along.

In no particular order, just as they popped out of my head:

• Take a weekly dance class
• Be a professional writer/photographer 
• art show
• sell pieces
• photo sessions
• freelance articles
• book deal(s)
• Plant roots:
• Healthy relationship
• Family
• Have kids/adopt
• House where I can garden and paint with space for my art
• in a neighborhood where I can walk and take photos, with coffee shops, etc.
• Pay off student loans
• Speak French again and then learn a 3rd language
• Leave country once a year
• Top places
• Back to Paris
• Peru
• Greece
• Turkey
• Bali
• Egypt
• Thailand
•  Get accupuncture
• Learn to bake
• Get back to New Orleans to build
• Start therapy again
• Get my dad to visit Portland
• Get a masters degree (maybe in Creative Writing?)
• Take graphic design classes
• Some kind of art/craft class
• pottery 
• sewing
• knitting

To be continued....

Now tell me your dreams.

one week later and I'm alright

On the upside, if there's anything I'm pro at, it's breaking up. I've done this A LOT. A lot a lot a lot. There are rarely any surprises anymore when it comes to how I'll deal. I know just how to get through. I've got my playlist, my books, my breakup buddies. I know just what happens at each stage (though duration varies, naturally).

Unlike my last hard breakup, where I didn't eat much for two weeks and threw up most of what I did (which was scary because I didn't really have the weight to lose), I only did the starvy-barfy thing for like 2 days this time. But add to that,  as I was leaving to go see a friend Monday night, I slammed my thumb in the car door and decided to get cozy with an ice pack for two days (I think the ice pack and I are now legally married in at least 3 states.). The horrid pain and fear of losing my thumb nail was both sufficiently distracting and sort of a when-it-rains-it-fucking-pours deal.

Yet by Wednesday, at a record breaking pace, I was already leaving behind the shocked, rejected, pathetically sad phase and entering the oh so delicious angry phase. This is my favorite phase because it's where you can first start seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Getting that what the holy mother fuck feeling is the first taste of perspective. And what the fuck indeed.

Once that starts, my appetite returns and thus begins the shopping, the getting done of the nails, the joining of the gym, the considering of the cutting of the bangs (should I?), and the feeling sparkly and attractive again. Not that I wasn't sparkly and attractive pre-break-up, but there's something about a little pampering to remember that.

By Thursday, all my friends and coworkers were conspiring to hook me up with as many guys as can make up a pro football team and by Friday, I was feeling alright.

I have to say, I'm okay. The hardest part has been missing his damn presence in my life. Little things, like a text or talking. And then Saturday morning, I was half awake and went to curl up to someone who just wasn't in my bed. That was hard.

We spent 6 months in a relationship and how does a friendship not come out of that? Fact is..he was a friend, one of my best friends, and I've never been one to understand why I should lose a friendship because a relationship dies. Some of my great friends are exes and they have perspectives about me no one else does and I like that.

So we'll see.

I saw him for the first time last night at our bar (which neither of us will give up. which is just fine.) and it was okay. Weird and slightly sad, but okay.

My friends have been incredible and I couldn't ask for more support and love. It can be exhausting, growing older in relationship after relationship. And when you find yourself at the end of yet another, it's invaluable to have an army of people reminding you of your value and worth.

I am still a little sad. I am. I'll be okay. I am okay. But like any wound, it will take some time for the bruising to subside. My heart is bruised, but it will recover.

Same old song

And then I got dumped.

Yet again.

How did I even find myself here?

How is it that all of my friends love and appreciate me but no romantic partner ever has?

I suspect it's for the best. But right now I just feel unappreciated. And stupid.

Changes

 

I've still been struggling. I know it's not been long, but impatience is the hardest part of finding yourself again. I've been making baby steps, trying to do some things I love, find some creative "me" time, but it's slow going. As is probably normal. But this liminal space, this weird middle place where I know what I want but can't quite get there, is really damned hard.

And subsequently, I feel kind of manic. One minute, I'm all over this shit, then the next I'm sad and lost and weepy. If I had periods, I'd think I was hormonal, but I think I'm just figuring shit out and it's fucking hard. Though I do know the path to finding oneself is never easy; I just thought I'd figured a bunch of this shit out already, so I'm kind of resentful. How did I let myself get here?

Sigh.



Not that it's entirely my fault per se. Life happens yo. And I've had some major life changes this year. Something was bound to give, but I was less that diligent about holding on to my passions.  We all make adjustments. So I'm in the place now of trying to figure out what I can integrate back in and what I can just set aside for the time being.

Anywayyyy, the other day, my bestie Lynnette and I made our way to Hoyt Arboretum here in Portland and had a blast tromping through the woods, taking a million photos and freezing our asses off. I really needed that and some of my shots came out fucking awesome, which is incredibly satisfying.



Then I had a low moment again that night (like I said, manic) and my practically big sister Lori (probably one of the most supportive and wisest women I know) made me promise to write once a week and take photos once a week. I'm going to do my damndest to do just that and I'm putting it here in the hopes of feeling some commitment to it. That is, more than just because it's good for me. Because, I haven't been good at doing what's good for me, so clearly I need some forcing until it's second nature again.

I've said many times, especially when I'm at my most blissful or satisfied, that happiness doesn't find you. You have to chase it, seek it out, choose it. So it's no wonder that when I stopped chasing my bliss, I lost it.



So it may be a long road, but I'll find it again, dammit! Right now, I'm in a coffee shop, sipping tea, writing, and editing film. Finally doing something I used to absolutely love. And it feels good. Really good.

I've always love fall, autumn. The change, the crisp energy crackling in the air. So I think it's appropriate that this is when I find my change.

A hearty chuckle

As is usually the case, after Hot Pants goes out drinking, he passes out in my bed. Dead to the world. Doesn't matter how much he drank either. That man makes sleeping an Olympic sport. Good luck waking him up.

So, the other night, he'd done just that. Then I awake at some point in the middle of the night and can just make out his dark shadow standing in the corner of my room on my side of the bed. And he's walking into this chair I have in that corner like a bug in a windowsill. I can see outside, just can't figure out how to get there! Over and over, he's bumping into this chair.

So I go, "What are you doing?" And he goes, "LKJGJHTRDJG JYFG OINEFIYRBFWHFI NUIYB NUY." That's a direct quote.

I respond with incredulity, "What?" Which I felt was an appropriate response.

He says, exasperatedly, "The Xerox! I gotta move all the Xerox!"

So I calmly inform him, "You're not at work."

To which he replies, "THEN I HAVE TO PEE."

So I very forcefully point out that the bathroom is in the opposite direction and don't pee on my furniture or he may have to die tonight as well.

He did, eventually, make it to the bathroom and, I am happy to report, did not pee on my furniture or my carpet and still retains his life, but not before getting stuck at my desk chair (picture the bug again) thus necessitating the turning on of the light.

I have now told this story five thousand times to my friends and then all of his friends, but I can't help it. It made my whole week.


My man is nothing if not entertaining.

a little bit lost

I feel like I'm losing myself. I'm not sure where I went, but I can't quite find myself again.

I've always said that I met myself during my travels and, if that's true, maybe it becomes easy to lose oneself when you stay stagnant. I haven't really traveled in a long time. I'm not talking about my trip to California, I'm talking about truly traveling, experiencing somewhere new, meeting a new place and tasting its cuisine. I miss sitting in a foreign cafe, drinking some local tea or coffee, listening to live music, and soaking in the pure, raw experience.

But beyond that, I don't really do anything that I love anymore. Not personally anyway. I never write, I hardly ever take photos. I used to wander the streets taking photos of anything I spied, coming home to an impossible amount of film to sift through. I took photos on my vacation, but hardly any before or since. I don't ever write anymore, blogs or essays or poetry.

I don't create with words. Hell, I don't create anything. I suspect my creative muscle is atrophying.

I barely recall the last time I danced.

So if what you do is who you are, who am I? Am I someone new? Someone who can't bring herself to just create something, anything?

Where are the streets to wander and why don't I look for them? Where are the hours of sublime nothing, spent only with earbuds and a camera or a book and a cup of tea? Where are the minutes of delicious inspiration? Why did I let that go and how do I find it again?

When people ask me about myself, especially at work, where folks are all about the numbers and the selling techniques, I say, "I'm a creative." It's what's essential to the core of who and what I am. But can I honestly say that anymore...when I don't actually create?

All I know is it's causing me pervasive sadness, sadness that creeps in when I least expect it, ruining whatever happy moment I'd been enjoying, as if I'm grieving some friend who died too young. I resent myself for letting this loss happen. I feel immense guilt at just watching this girl waste away and doing. absolutely. nothing.

Nevertheless, I just sit here, motionless, somewhere beyond apathetic.

And yet.

And yet.

These thoughts ran through my head tonight over and over, like a long train that just won't end, and, instead of pushing them aside in favor of sweet, sweet sleep, I got up, pulled out my laptop, and wrote.

Duh, you snort, with the disdain of a thirteen year old.

You know I wrote. Obviously. But I haven't done that in a long time, chosen to write instead of whatever else beckoned me. I stopped and I wrote. I laid my thoughts to paper and I created.

That has to be a start.

these are some banging laws

This made me happy:


Via: Medical Insurance

I shoot people!

When I was in California, I had the amazing opportunity to do an engagement shoot for my favoritest cousin Lindsey and her fiance John. These two were already some of my favorite people on the planet, so I can't tell you how cool it was to photograph them. It was the first engagement session I've done (or any kind of formal people photography really) and I was really, really nervous. But they were awesome and fun and game to try lots of fun things and, thus, the photos turned out great. I took a roll of 120 film too, which of course I've yet to develop.

I can't wait to photograph their wedding! And now I can't wait to do more sessions like this. Thanks, Linds and John, for the opportunity!

I didn't die in California. Promise.

So yeah. I've been back for like 2 weeks or a week and a half. Or something. I can't be bothered to do the actual math. I also haven't written a post since before I left for California and don't even think about making me do THAT math. I may just eat your head.

I am so close to quitting blogging. And let me tell you...it's not for any dramatic reasons. I just don't want to do it anymore. I never want to write. It's become this albatross that I keep out of guilt, because quitting is such a loser move. But DUDE I just don't wannaaaa (she said in her whiniest voice)! Who knows? Maybe I've outgrown the blog. Or maybe I'm just burned out. Whatever.

Anywayyyyy. I'm not quitting yet. Just kind of leaning there.

I don't really want to write about my trip. There were good moments and there were some rough ass moments. Needless to say, I missed Portland and, while it was so good to see my friends and family who I missed so much, it was really great to come home too.

Here are some highlights:

Shooting an engagement session for my cousin and her fiance, two of my favorite people on the planet. It went really well (I was VERY nervous) and as soon as the film is developed (I shot some on 120), I'll share those photos with ya.

My dad: Hey, you look like you lost weight!
Me: No, I actually gained weight, but thank you.
My dad: See? I know how to talk to women.

Getting to meet Shnerfle, probably one of my best blogging friends and I'm so happy to call her my real life friend. There were hugs and squees and happy making. You can see some of her photos from our visit on her photo stream.

The weirdest karaoke experience on the planet. They record you singing, replay it for the whole bar on many, many TV screens after you're done thus solidifying your humiliation, and give you a DVD to take home. I've been contemplating sharing my humiliation here, but haven't decided yet.

Picture it: we're driving a mountain road. To our right, sheer cliff. To our left, the other lane and the a steep wall of rock. We come around a curve and this deer runs down the rock wall and straight toward my car. I am able to stop before hitting him, but he keeps coming straight at us and gets pretty damn close to my car before veering to my left and keeps on running. It was probably one of the scariest, coolest, and awesome experiences I've had. I've never been that close to a deer, for one. Two, how scary for both the deer and us! Three, what the hell happened to that deer? Did someone else hit it? Did he keep running to freedom? We'll never know.

Getting home alive because Hot Pants and I didn't kill each other, though I'm sure we came close.

I have no idea why I make crazy faces. I really don't. It's my default.

Here are a handful of the hundreds of photos I took:

Peace the fuck out, Portland

Off to California, kiddos. There will be lots of burritos and In n Out. Hot Pants will be meeting, well, everyone. There will be beach time. And most of all? There will be vacation!

Don't miss me too much (like I ever post anymore anyway)

Da-amn

I live across the hall from the college guys. I have yet to befried these young dudes, but my roommate has been in their apartment (being the former manager) and can attest to their typical college male style.

The other day, I got home from work as I always do, and walk down the long driveway from my car to the front door of our apartment building.

Said guys are gathered on their balcony, which is just above and slightly left of the front door. Meaning I feel like I'm walking under the peanut gallery itself.

As I walk, they're elbowing each other and issuing calls of, "DAMN! She got some long ass legs!" And "AW YEAH!"

As if they worked in construction instead of paying good tuition for a higher education.

It immediately reminded me of this:

Mad TV Can I Have Your Number? - More amazing videos are a click away

One of TV's most brilliant moments to be sure, mostly because it's so true. SO TRUE.

Back to the story, what's a girl to do but point out the obvious?

"I can hear you," I said to the balcony without making eye contact. To which they scattered like roaches in a kitchen.

Sigh. I fear for the next generation.

Admissions

You may have noticed that I've been having some anxiety lately. I haven't been totally happy and I've come to think that's my fault because I've let go many of the things that make me happy. Amateur move right there.

So it's been a slow crawl into crazy town, lemme tell ya.

For one, I'm not in therapy anymore so it's not like I have a coach in my corner keeping an eye out for any stumbles. Not that I want to need a therapist for the rest of my life, but I was maybe not ready to lose that help. When I was in therapy, I was doing great! I was making progress and healing and learning and growing. I had cut my visits down dramatically. Also, I used to take anti-anxiety drugs (more on that in a minute), which my therapist helped me taper off of. By the time I moved to Portland, she was confident I'd be fine.

Except I didn't keep up all the good skills I learned there. I wasn't nurturing myself. I wasn't continuing my personal growth at all. And my anxiety just popped right back up.

I have to say it was a bad sort of manic feeling. Not manic exactly, because I wasn't swinging from the rafters one minute and then hanging myself from them the next (sorry to make light of that). But my anxiety episodes would feel sort of manic, like out of control. Once I felt it, I couldn't stop it. And the more I tried to stop it, the worse it got.

I'm positive, too, that a lot of this is due to once again putting my heart on the line and really letting myself fall. Now, we can't blame any of this on him, because he is a fucking trooper for dealing with my array of shit and I wouldn't blame him if he ran the other fucking direction, leaving flaming tracks in his wake. But he seems to love me, so he pushes back. Which, in the moment, makes me feel awful, but in truth, is probably good.

Nonetheless, heart outage is scary yo. And he'll meet my family in like two weeks which is MAJOR scary. Not that I'm worried they won't like him, because they will and even if they didn't, I wouldn't care. It's mostly that I just want things to go smoothly, but also because this is a big deal. Big. For me, anyway.

So yeah, I can't believe I didn't see all that anxiety coming and that I was arrogant enough to think I could just manage it on my own.

And yeah, the drugs. Xanax helped me in the past. A lot. I could never take a full dose anyway, because I felt like a damn zombie. Plus I never wanted to stay on it because, HELLO! my mother is a prescription drug addict and putting chemicals into my body for extended periods of times scares me more than I can express. But I haven't taken any in almost two years and I was doing splendidly.

Until personal demons and twelve o'clock!

Yeah.

And I've been acting irrationally for absolutely no good reason and out of the damn blue. Well, not totally out of the blue. There's always a trigger, but it's never anything to get worked up over. The real me would just get annoyed and then decide whether it's worth worrying about or just letting go. I'm a big fan of letting things go because life is just too damn short and I spend enough of it worrying anyway.

But last night, I was a crazy bitch. I flipped out on Hot Pants because he fell asleep. Yup. Criminal right? Sleeping is bullshit. How dare he. Sarcasm font.

I can't believe he didn't dump my ass right then. Who needs a crazy bitch flipping out on them for stupid shit? Nobody, that's who. But he didn't.

And I didn't see it right away, but after an insomniac night of sort of loathing myself and wondering if I'd gone off the deep end (Which I'm told is a sign of sanity. Crazy people never wonder if they're crazy right?), I sort of had enough. It wasn't quite an epiphany, but more of a feeling of being fed up with my own behavior.

So I called my old therapist today (lard love her) and had a long talk about everything and she reminded me about what I used to do to find outlets and feel happy and creative and nurture myself. She also talked me into trying some herbal remedies that have worked for some of her other patients for controlling anxiety and mood. So I'm gonna try that. Everyone cross your fingers.

Plus, I'm getting benefits at Le Job and so I'm going to find a new therapist ASAP.

And of course I apologized to Hot Pants and he forgave me, like the awesome guy he is. I only hope he acts crazy one day so I can return the favor. Wait, I take that back.

Truths

I am hypersensitive sometimes. Other times, I can let things roll off my back. You won't know which times are which.

I don't take criticism well when it's about a personal matter. I always end up feeling attacked and demeaned and sometimes rejected. It's stupid, but don't tell me that. If you must point out a shortcoming, please do it as gently as possible.

I can be a great listener and a good shoulder to cry on. That said, I can also be insensitive when it matter most. I sometimes don't know when to do which.

THAT said, once you're in my circle of those I love, I'll defend you no matter what. I'm fiercely protective of my loved ones.

There is a good chance I'm actually crazy. My mom is batshit, so who knows. It's my biggest fear and when I start acting irrationally, I hate myself so much that I make it worse.

When I feel confident about something or in a situation, though, watch out. I'll kick ass and take names. And then I'll make myself a huge gold star and hang it where everyone can see how awesome I was. Because I need that kind of validation. 

I require a lot of sex. When I haven't orgasmed in a while, I get really unpleasant.

I miss therapy. It was the most functional time of my life.

I am happiest and kindest and most reasonable when I have creative outlets. When I have no time to express myself artistically in some way, I become very unpleasant.

I can be antisocial. By this I mean that I can be social up to a point, then I need down time to recharge.

I am more afraid of hurting feelings than being dishonest.

I'd rather make other people happy than myself. But then I often don't give myself permission to be happy enough.

I have a perfection complex. Don't worry, not about you. You can be as imperfect as you'll allow yourself. But I can't allow myself that. I have a hard time accepting when I fall short. Which is often.

I'm brilliant about a lot of things. I have a sharp mind. I excel in many areas and I absorb new knowledge with unparalleled pleasure. 

But then sometimes I come close to retardation when put on the spot. I'll have no idea what to say and completely shut down. Like a little child. It's ridiculous. I hate that about myself.

And if someone talks to me like I'm stupid or tells me I'm dumb, I'll be deeply wounded. Because smart is the one thing I need to be.

I'd rather live in pain than take a bunch of pills.

That said, I'm a wuss. I hate being in pain.

I want a baby. I may not be able to have a baby. I also might be a horrible mother. But I want a baby. I promise not to start stealing babies. Promise. I'm not THAT crazy.

I often write blog posts that I never publish because I'm afraid of hurting feelings. They just sit in the queue, collecting dust. It's sad, really.

Being vulnerable is hard for me. If I do let my guard down, please be kind. It's not gone well for me in the past and each time I get hurt, I build the armor up more. Pretty soon, no one will get in. Not even me.

I like the word fuck. A lot.

I hate the phrase, "a lot." Yet I use it improperly all the time. This is why I hate vernacular.

I am a lifelong insomniac. Yet I require lots of sleep to function. This is another thing that makes me feel like a crazy person.

I miss smoking. A lot. But I cannot start again (why the fuck does everyone in Portland smoke?). It's not easy.

I feel like a doormat so much of the time, but when I stand up for what I want, I feel like I'm unreasonable and demanding. Guess I can't win that one.

I hate when I gain weight, but love food too much to really do anything about it. I have the potential to become really huge I tell ya.

Therefore, I really need to start dancing and running again. I guarantee I'll be a nicer person then too.

I hate this blog sometimes. Hate it.

I really need a break from myself.

Tawnya

It was the first day of Kindergarten and I couldn’t have been more excited. Brand new things to learn and new people to meet. Energy leaked out of me with every bounce.

We all mingled in the first room, taking in the toys and books and tables and carpets and SO MANY THINGS! Some kids cried, while I physically pushed my parents away. “You can go now!”

And then I saw the prettiest girl I’d ever seen in my life. What else could I notice first but her pile of espresso curls upon curls upon curls? That many curls a girl could only pray for, especially a girl like me with ashy brown, pin-straight hair. Nobody would die for my hair. But hers?

She was dark and beautiful with huge brown eyes and a bashful smile. I wanted to be just like her, I just knew it.

I don’t recall how I approached her, but I must have pounced. Eventually, or suddenly, I said, “Let’s be best friends.” To which she smiled and replied, “Okay!”

And then we were.

We were completely opposite, yet joined at the hip. One of us shy, the other precocious, both of us quick to giggle. We both wanted the other’s hair. I was sure she was insane for wanting mine, naturally not understanding the challenge of such a mass of curl.

Yet while I had always thought we were poor (and by most standards, we were), her family lived in near poverty. They moved often, between trailers and hotel rooms and even unfinished houses her father was building. She often stayed over and her family spent many holidays with mine.

I was too young to understand how much older than me her life made her. All I knew was I wanted her to be happy and, over the years, I did my best, constantly hamming it up to make her laugh.

My childhood is a blur of memories with her. Sitting next to each other on field trips as we whisper back and forth. Sleepovers where we cackle late into the night, waking my mother over and over and over.  Getting our faces painted. Sharing clothes. Endless games and make believe. Cheeks pressed together for a photo.

About the sixth or seventh grade, she pulled away. Who knows why? Maybe I wasn’t cool enough for her anymore or she found new friends or maybe I just knew her too well. I mourned our friendship for far too long. Such losses are devastating, let alone in junior high where even the smallest snub meant the end of the world.

I see her now on Facebook, her children with the same big eyes and gorgeous curls. She looks happy. That's all I could ask for.

This was a post for the RemembeRED prompt: Your assignment for this week is to write about a memory of yourself WITH someone else. Remember, it’s MEMOIR, so it needs to be about YOUR experience with this person and it needs to be TRUE. Let’s keep it to 600 words or less.

Fears

I'm scared of lots of things and I'm not scared of much. Little things? Piece of cake. I'll probably jump out of an airplane one day (finances willing) or off a cliff into the Mediterranean or whatever. I get a little thrill of the typically scary things.

But the big things? Terrify me. Terrify me to the point that I worry these fears dictate my decisions or freeze me to the point where I make no decisions at all.

However, there are exceptions. I'll give myself that. I did quit my steady job to move a gathousand miles (okay, not quite that much) to live somewhere new where I only knew maybe 4 people. I was chasing happiness but it was definitely scary beyond my normal comfort zone.

And I do love learning new things. Things are awesome right now at le job because I'm getting so much new stuff thrown at me. I just eat that right up.

But my fears are deep, deep, deep. I'm so scared of becoming someone I don't want to be. I'm scared that because I try so hard to not be that person. To not be crazy, to not be a burden on others, that I might become its equally destructive opposite.

I'm scared of becoming my mom. I'm scared of drug addiction and inviting addiction into my life. I'm scared of her crazy, of it infecting me, of losing my mind. I'm scared of being cruel and narcissistic.

What if she's made it impossible for me to be a good mother?

"For a mother to be expected to show up sane and reliable is the least any kid deserves."

I read that in a book the other day and it slew me. I started bawling, in between bites of salad, sitting outside next to all the other workers on their lunch breaks, I just cried at the truth of my life.

But I'm also scared that I blame everything on her. I'm scared that it's impossible for me to be an adult because I can't get over this huge thing of my past. At what point can I just let it go and just be ME? Who am I even really? How much of me is my past anyway?

And what if I can't ever move past this? What if I'm so damaged that I can't ever conduct myself normally in a relationship or be a mother or what have you? I have no idea what I'm doing half the time. I'm just bumbling through hoping I don't fuck myself over yet again and again.

What if I just go the other way and end up this pathetic doormat to life? Afraid to ask for or take what I want because that would be too narcissistic right?  I'm afraid of not finding that balance. Of not knowing the difference between what's important to stand firm on and what I should just let go.

In short? I'm just damned afraid. And I'm damned afraid that I don't have the skills to be the person I want to be or even think I'm capable of being or deserve to be.

In my professional life? I can kick ass. I'm confident and brilliant and can take whatever is thrown at me with gusto.

In my personal life? I have no clue what the fuck I'm doing. Ever really. Winging it. Constantly.

But I don't know how else to be. Don't know who else to be.



But at the end of the day, these are just fears and I know that. It doesn't make them any less scary, though. Nevertheless, I'm nothing if not stubborn as all fuck. Lots of people have given up on me, so I figure someone should stick around. Might as well be me.

the kind of girl

I’ll admit that I was beginning to have feelings even though I’d told myself I wouldn’t.

He really wasn’t my type and we really didn’t have anything in common, including a common city. The 2 hour drive definitely made things difficult, but I was just beginning to feel it was worth it.

I’d held back as long as I could but was beginning to crack, to let him in, to really care.

He’d been in town the weekend before, which had been good. Blissful even.

I went for a run and came back sweaty and happy. Sprawled out on my living room floor, my head pulled to my knees, really deep into the stretch, my phone rang.

A smile immediately found me. “Hey, you.”

“Hey.”

We shot the shit for a few minutes. Talked about our days, work, the weather.

“Sooo when will I see you next?” Flirty, yes.

“Look. Things are getting busy at work and I don’t think you understand how demanding my job is. I’m a busy guy and you work a lot too, I know. You’re a lot of fun though. It’s just...”

It suddenly dawned on me what was happening. This wasn’t my first rodeo. “Are you dumping me?”

“I guess I am.”

“Over the phone? Seriously?”

“...”

“I just thought I deserved a little more than that. You were just here and you waited until now?”

“Look, don’t get crazy. I thought we were really getting along.”

“Um. Yeah. I thought so too. So I don't understand...”

“You’re a cool chick, totally fun. But you’re not the kind of girl you have feelings for.”

Despite my best efforts, a small gasp escaped me. Not the kind of girl you have feelings for? How does anyone hear that and respond?

In that instant, he stripped away from me my worth and tossed it aside like a dirty rag. Left me naked and broken. 

He spoke finally. “Look...”

I sucked up every last bit of strength and dignity. “I’m done here.” And pressed end with my thumb. End indeed.
 
Not the kind of girl you have feelings for. Two years later, it still haunts me.

This was a post for the RemembeRED prompt: We all have them. Memories that we wish we could forget…things that we wish we could banish from our minds. Imagine that writing down your worst memory will free you of it. What is it? Why does it haunt you? What could you have done differently?
Write it down and let it go. Let’s keep it to 600 words or less.

This Week at Sprocket Ink

It's Sunday and I'm just getting around to wrapping up the week. That's how much I fail today. I was sitting here, rueing my headache and feeling cranky beyond cranky, reading blogs and I suddenly remembered (!), oh yeah. I didn't write that post. I fail.

Anyway, here are my posts at Sprocket Ink LAST week:

Survey Says: Pretty People are More Selfish

New Extreme Sport: Naked Fishing

Thanks for reading.

Photo of the Day: Pretty Flower

I haven't done a photo of the day in a long while. In fact, I hadn't even taken new photos since the Fourth of July. I know! Who am I? Anyway, my roomie got some gorgeous lilies the other day and I was suddenly inspired to photograph again and I just went to town.

I like how soft and slightly out of focus this is. Gentle bokeh. Lovely late afternoon light. Le sigh.

This Week at Sprocket Ink

Nothing but fluff from me this week. I know I usually write about more serious fare, but for some reason (maybe my snot addled brain), I took on entertainment. I know. Who am I?

Just go with it.

This week, go read:

10 Celebs Who Just Need to Go Away Already
Celebs and pseudo celebs who top my list of most annoying annoyers who annoy me and who must go away now by any means necessary

Why Must Hollywood Ruin Everything?
Dirty Dancing remake? Somebody should have left this baby in the corner.

A Wish List

Would you believe it? My birthday is in less than a month. I mean, honestly, how does that happen?

I have been enjoying 30 and then suddenly 31 is upon me.

However, as little time as I have left being 30, you have just as little time to all buy me gifts. Just kidding. Or am I?

Anyways, here's my lists of crap I'd want if there were such a thing as a birthday fairy (don't pretend like you won't want a birthday fairy!). All the photos link to the product pages.
 

Vulvalicious pillow

I have wanted this pillow since I discovered it last year. It's deliciously awesome. Plus with all Hot Pants' cocks (long story), I feel like I need more vaginas around. I mean, can you ever really have enough vagina? No. The answer is no. 

Frida Kahlo Uterus

"Complete with uni-brow and an unyielding creative presence Frida proves that a woman doesn't need to pro-create to be fertile. Modeled after the feminist icon and artist Frida Kahlo: this plush features a braided floral hair-do, full and serious lips, her signature uni brow, large colorful earrings, two golden necklaces and a Spanish style skirt. This plush is made of soft vegan fleece and she measures about 11 1/2" from fallopian tube to fallopian tube."

In other words? Awesome.

Recycled Tee Scarf

I can't decide if I just want this or I want to learn how to make it. Either way, maybe. Or both! Instructions on how to make it are at the link. 

Junk Mail Portraits

I want. I want. I want. So damn cool.

Lelo Mona

Because while Goldie is awesome, I'm hankering for someone new to keep my G spot company while Hot Pants works 5 thousand hours a week. Plus, her name is Mona. Mona! 

Ithaa Restaurant

I don't want this as much as I just want to eat here. Maybe for my birthday dinner. I kind of don't even care what kind of food they serve because THEY SERVE IT UNDERWATER! How fucking cool is THAT? And, oh yeah, it's in the Maldives, so not exactly convenient for a dinner trip.

Four Seasons Hotel, Bora Bora

Again, I don't want to own the hotel, just stay there. I mean, honestly, how utterly cool would that be?

Birthday fairy? Hello?

Portrait of a Strong Woman

Today, I'm once again over at Blogger Body Calendar, telling the story of a strong woman in my life.

Thanks so much for reading and for supporting this wonderful project!

On Gender Politics and Feminism

There has been something bothering me of late, swirling around in this insane, manic head of mine.

I feel I must apologize now for the highly political, unapologetically opinionated (as I apologize. heh.), and entirely too cerebral post for a blog that is to follow. I just can't help myself.

It bothers me that there seems to be a new brand of "feminism" which isn't feminism at all, but because it parades as such, it carries an air of authority it shouldn't have. It tells you that if you disagree, you're not femisnist, or something. Which, frankly, is bullshit.

It's specious rhetoric at its worst.

I'm talking about the rise of conservative feminism, which I see as matriarchal feminism. But I'll get to that.

Then I heard a sound bite the other day from, wait for it, Fox news. Surprise surprise. Which I couldn't find anywhere online so I know I'll butcher. But it was something like, "the last frontier of misogyny is the hatred of conservative women."

To which the fury of a thousand suns rose up from the depths of my soul and if I could breathe fire, I would have.

First of all, misogyny, I think, is really about the hatred of all women, despite or regardless of type. So let's just take that word off the table since I think it was completely misused.

Second...ly, no. Just no. You can't just say that the hatred of conservative women in such a blanket way as to take away any sort of logic at all and make any liberal man or woman (or, I guess, conservative men, or even moderates for that matter) look like hateful monsters.

"Communism is just a red herring." Uh huh. Exactlty my point.

I don't think anyone hates conservative women, individually or collectively. I have serious problems with their politics and their logic, however, and that is not the same thing.

I have a problem with calling yourself a feminist and not listening to the needs of women (and men) as a whole. When you ignore gender issues in politics or you fight against gender equality or gender freedom, you just cannot call yourself a feminist. You just cannot.

Which brings me back to matriarchal feminism. This is what the majority, this trading of patriarchy for matriarchy (and it's not just conservative or liberals or whatever. this is a big trend, I think, right now) is touting.

We wanted to overthrow the patriarchy and achieve freedom for the genders (and I won't even get into gender studies and the looseness of that word and the implications for the GLBTQ community and civil rights) but we just traded one for another just as oppressive.

Gloria Steinem said that feminism was supposed to free both sexes and what we're seeing is not freedom, but simply a shifting. 

Instead of strict gender roles prescribed by the male dominating class, we're seeing a female dominating class which prescribes just as strict gender roles for females (and males too I suppose). It's not okay for men to tell us what to do, but it is okay for women to tell women what to do? How does that make sense?

 That's not the feminism I subscribe to at any rate.

I don't expect to achieve some genderless utopia where we all enjoy life free of any gender roles or normatives, but I would like us to wake up and see that we're not really achieving anything this way.