Thursday, December 29, 2011

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!

Monday, December 26, 2011

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
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? 
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..."?

Saturday, December 24, 2011

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!"


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.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

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 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.

Friday, December 16, 2011

Epiphanies and Dreams

self 12.11.5
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.

Hey, it could happen.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

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!'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!


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

Sunday, December 4, 2011

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!
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