Break-Up Songs

This is a conversation that came up today at dinner.  How there is always that one song after a break-up that you just wear down.  And I without thinking went, "I can name that song right now for each one of my important break-ups".  So, of course, I was asked to put it to the test (and totally judged for my answers).  So anyway, here they are:

1.  Yesterday by the Beatles
2.  Your Daddy's Son from Ragtime
3.  Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen
4.  Lullabye by Billy Joel
5.  Somebody That I Used to Know by Gotye/January Hymn by the Decembrists (tough choice)

I just realized that I messed up the order at dinner.  Oh well.

Anything Could Happen

Merry Holiday everyone!  I've been in such a good mood the past couple days that I just wanted to share.

I've been feeling incredibly optimistic since I started my new job.  I mean, I can already see so many flaws with it, but I can also see enough to make me hopeful.  Actually,  I'm hella hopeful about this new year in general.  I think part of it has to do with having really clear goals for the first time since moving to SF.

Basically, I've realized that I want my own classroom next year.  And I'm putting all my energy into making that happen.  Resumes.  Interviews.  Reference letters.  Electronic Portfolio.

Also, it just feels like things are falling into place.  I'm getting two weeks at home to recharge and see the people I love.  It's snowed a couple times.  There's nothing like waking up to a snowy neighborhood. 

And guys, I'm so glad I wrote that post about Luke.  After writing, it felt like a huge weight lifted off my shoulders.  Like all those feelings have been slipping away; my head's been clearing.  I'm finally starting to gain perspective.  See things for what they really were, you know?  It's like when you're a kid and they tell you to write all your bad feelings on a letter, then tie it to a balloon, and let the balloon float away.  I swear someone told me that once.  And to shout your angry feelings down the drain.  It also helps that Luke's in a new relationship and is as good as keeping secrets from the internet as I am.

Anyway, I'm so excited for next year in SF.  Of course, there's that constant voice in the back of my head, screaming out all my doubts and stuff, but like, I feel great right now. I'm fixing my hair on Monday.  I'm signing up for new health insurance benefits on Tuesday and I'm committed to making use of them.  I'm starting Improv classes that week: could be rad, could be lame.  I think I'm gonna cancel Netflix in favor of an Rdio subscription and reading more books.  I'm feeling really zen about my where I am and where I'm going in life.  I've started hearing love songs again.  I've got my summer job all lined up.  This Harry Potter tattoo seems like it's finally going to happen (after years of stalling). I'm just really excited.  Things feel like they are falling into place.

Belated

I was gonna make this big post declaring that minus one time in July I'd been single for exactly one year today.  Which is like kind of a big deal.  I dated... poorly after Andy and I broke up, and I'd been trying to like, break-out of that habit for awhile.  When I moved to graduate school I made a big deal of telling people that I was totally going to be single for the whole year, focus on school and me, etc.  And then that FAILED because what I actually wanted at the time was to be in a relationship. So that happened instead.  With someone I wasn't really into.  We both kind of understood that we were dating because it was convenient, not really because we could ever fall in love or anything.  And then I moved to San Francisco and fell back into the same habits.  It was easier to date than to try to make friends.  I was much better at that.

And so a couple guys happened until I gambled my Click with Luke on some drunken kisses in the cold. (Looking back, I regret drinking so much with him.  I blacked out a lot of moments from that relationship.)  A big part of me feels like he could have been a pretty solid friend out here if we had never dated.

Anyway, after he called it off and I got a grip on what I needed out here (companionship, community, stability), I decided that  it wasn't worth the gamble anymore.  Because no matter what I want to believe, friendships never outlive intimacy.  So I kind of lost my taste for dating for a long time.  But now, finally, I find myself missing romance.  So like hopefully I'm ready to get back into it.  And hopefully from now on I'll do it right.  I really don't want another relationship like the one I had in grad school.

Anyway, it turns out I had my dates wrong.  And I've actually been single for a year and a couple days.  So that's pretty cool.

FLIGHT HOME TOMORROW.

Fortune Cookie Advice

This is a post about Luke.

I want to post about something that I've been afraid to post about all year.  I was worried about the ramifications.  I was worried that he'd somehow see it and get mad at me, ruining any chance at friendship or reconciliation.  But he's so far removed from me at this point, that I don't think it matters.  And I, slowly, frustratingly slowly, am starting to be removed from him, I think.

And that's the point, I guess.  I think about him, and us, and what happened all the time.  I've had the worst time letting him go.  That's it.  I haven't been able to let him go.

It's no wonder I thought he'd be mad at me for saying that.  I'm mad at me for feeling it.  You date someone for a month, and you should be over them a year later.  You should.  You should be over them 7 months later.  You should be over them 4 months later.  You should be over them a month later.  I hate this.

Normally when I'm dumped, I'm upset.  Big messy crying.  Whatever.  But a couple weeks later, I'll come around to his way of thinking.  "He was right, we had nothing to talk about." "We really aren't compatible." "Religious differences are a good reason to end it."  etc.

I've replayed and reread everything Luke ever told me about our break-up.  And I get it, I think.  I get why he did it.  It makes sense that it happened.  But for whatever reason, I can't make this leap...  the leap that these things add up to us making a bad couple.  And that's really the conclusion I have to come to if I want to let him go for good.

This happened to me once before.  With Andy.  Andy and I were a great couple.  We loved each other a lot, then a lot of things happened to lead our lives in different directions.  And we are different people now who would not be a great couple anymore.  And I've known all this for years.  And all those years that I knew that, understood that, I couldn't control my feelings for him.  If I was lonely, or sad, or ending another meaningless fling, I'd remember how happy I was with him.  I'd get jealous of him and his new girlfriend.  I'd be upset that he'd fallen in love again and I hadn't.

And I guess that's part of the reason these feelings for Luke keep hanging around.  He was the first person I'd met since Andy that I actually liked.  That I was actually excited to be with.  That I really wanted to care about.   I wasn't just dating him to pass the time.  I really did care about him.

That's a tall order I guess.

Now, let's be real for a minute.  It's not like I have this big dream of him rushing back to me, making some grand romantic gesture that means "Take me back!" so I can wrap my arms around him and kiss him and we'd get back together and everything would be wonderful like we're in some romantic comedy.  I may have all these feelings I can't deal with, but I still have a grasp on the way things really are.

Aside front he myriad of reasons that would prevent him from doing that, there's also a myriad of reasons that'd stay my hand if everything changed and I suddenly found him at my door.  Namely, all the trust that was lost.  At this point, I'm under the impression that he lied to me.  A lot.  Almost exclusively.

I'm not saying like he would look at me and say "I'm going to the store" then go sleep with some other girl.

I just... I don't think that he ever showed me who he really was.  I think he was really good at seeing who I wanted to be dating and acted like he was that person.  And I don't think he did it maliciously or anything.  I think he was just naturally really accommodating.  Maybe.

And that's something else that's so frustrating.  Is that I know I'm hung up on this image he projected.  Part of me feels like if I knew who he really was, if I saw the differences he saw, I'd be behind him on this one.  I be able to take the leap and see we weren't a good couple.

But I don't even know really, do I?  I only knew him for a month.  Maybe he wasn't putting up a front.  God I wish we could have been friends.

I don't even know if he liked me or if he was just passing time with me.

But I mean, all that considered.  There's still the memory of how I felt with him.  How happy and exciting it all was, right?  How great it felt when I thought he felt the same way.

And that's what's so hard to shake.  Those feelings are so salient.  Sometimes I catch myself thinking that we met at the wrong time.  That if we had met each other 2 years from now in some cafe it would have all worked out, I could have known who he really was.

It's all so damn frustrating. And I wish I had even one picture together.

Invisible Man

A year ago last Monday I was coming home from another shitty rehearsal for my shitty play and I was fed up.  I was frustrated and tired and lonely.  I saw my neighbor wave good-bye to some girl and light a cigarette on the stoop.  He always seemed to be out there brooding.

Earlier that week my roommate had told me, with a kind of dreamy look in her eye, that our neighbors were having a party and we were like kind of invited or whatever.  I didn't know them any better than I knew her, so it's not like I was just gonna show up.  But then there it was.  A kind of golden opportunity.  If I spoke to this guy a couple times that week, maybe he'd invite me to the party directly.

And oh man, it was like the stars were aligned or something, because right there in the middle of the sidewalk was a conversation starter.  A mostly dead, four-foot-tall pine tree.

"What's with the Christmas tree?"  That was my big opening line.

I don't even know if he realized I was talking to him at first.  I'd never done it before.  Normally I just awkwardly half-smiled and shuffled in the door.

I had a pretty clear expectation of him.  Like I said, he was always sitting on the stoop brooding and waving good-bye to some girl.  He had this saccharine little voice.  I was expecting this kind of emotionally reclusive ladies' man who got women by appearing sensitive and being a snot about poetry.

But man, when we started talking he ended up being so unexpectedly accessible.

I remember the moment my opinion about him shifted.  We had been joking back and forth  about the tree and I was about to go in, when one of us (I don't remember who) made another sarcastic comment.  And we were off again.  And I had this flash of Nate and my old housemate Dan.  They'd always take a joke a little too far with me.  Let it last too long.  Not many people do that, but here was my neighbor who I didn't even know, doing the same thing.  So I guess that's when I fell for him really.

I started looking at his jawline.  And his peacoat.  And his tousled hair.  And his spindly fingers around his cigarette.  And I went upstairs and blogged about him.  And I went to his party that weekend.  And I went out to dinner with him the next week.  And I saw him after rehearsals.  And I got excited about the city with him.  And I spent too much time with him.  And we never took any pictures together. And I tried to move out of our building.  And I stopped seeing him.  And I spent months thinking about him.  And then it was a year later.  And what a powerful little moment that was.

Nap Dreams are Weird and Vivid

I had this dream that I was in town.  I had plans to see my family, but for some reason I was seeing my mom and sister first, then my dad, and for some reason this guy I once dated.  I guess he lived there too.  I saw my mom and sister.  We were in an RV or something.  Maybe my RV?  And I made tilapia and soup for one, but didn't eat it because we got distracted and ate at a restaurant.

 Immediately after that I had to go over to the mall to meet that guy I had dated.  He had ridden his bike but he had a broken foot.  Before I got dinner with him, I ran into my dad in the mall parking lot and I told him that mom was waiting for us and I'd see him after dinner.  I was nervous about dinner with that guy I dated because in real life we aren't on speaking terms.  I honestly don't know who arranged the dinner or why.

We had dinner (maybe) and then my family was there and a taxi came and picked up my mom and me and maybe my sibling(s), and a taxi picked up my dad, and that guy rode his bike behind us with his broken foot.  My mom's van was only parked outside of the mall parking lot, so I couldn't really understand why we didn't just walk to them.  When my dad climbed into the van I saw that he looked like he was struggling with some potentially life-threatening disease but didn't want to tell me yet.

I went to say good-bye to the guy I dated. He was sitting on a stump looking agitated. I assume it's because he just had to sit through dinner with me.  I give him this really awkward super light hug where he didn't hug me back and the whole time he just had that sour look on his face and I'm thinking he's being this way because he just hates me.

Then all of the sudden he says, "That's all?"  We are face to face right now.  Him sitting on a stump and I'm standing up right.  That's because he's about 8 feet tall.
"What are you talking about?"  I ask.
"Remember that night when our faces were really close and I just paused there talking to you?" This has never happened in real life, but in my dream I totally knew what he talking about.
"Yeah?" I say.  I know what it sounds like, but I'm not sure I'm understanding him.
"Why do you think I--?"  And I just guess and kiss him, fully expecting it to be as one-sided as that hug.  But it isn't.
"Why didn't you do that then?" He asks after we pull away.
"I didn't think I was allow-- I didn't think you wanted me too."
I don't remember what he said to that, but he didn't look sour anymore, he looked sweet like he used be so long ago. I know we kissed again and I sat across his lap.

Meanwhile my parents are watching and so's one of our taxi drivers, Sergio.  He is very rotund and comes up just as I am about to say good-bye and he says that when I open my mouth I better convince him that I have an accent.  Because it's okay for some Europeans to make-out in public like that, but with Americans he gets very mad.

This guy I dated pulls himself up on his broken leg and we walk holding hands down the road and into the valley that my parents' vans (they've doubled at this point) are parked along.

It's late fall because every leaf is a different shade of brown and they are blanketing the side of the hill.  I pretend to be French, then Italian.  I say "Okay, well, I'll call you," then think that may sound pushy.  And maybe I'm misinterpreting what's going on right now; maybe it doesn't mean that we want to repair this relationship.  "I mean, you can call me or text me"

Sensing my embarrassed confusion, he clarifies in that playful mocking manner that we used to use with each other, "Yeah, like, we'll call or text or do whatever we want."  And then he leaves and I climb into my mom's super fancy new van after my brother and sister.  I don't have a brother in real life.

Anyway I wish all my dreams had kissing in them.

Little Talks

Internet:  Mel, you aren't blogging every two days, what a refreshing change!  I mean-- we missed you!
Mel:  Thanks, Internet, it's nice to know you care.

Seriously though, I need to get my body acclimated to this new, relentless schedule because it's not going to slow down anytime soon.  It's making it hard to sleep.  Honestly, I devote a lot of time to leisure and without it, I'm in kind of a weird place.  The first week of school involved struggling to fall asleep, then waking up multiple times to cough.  I overcame that thanks in large part to Nighttime Robitussin.  This week, I'm falling asleep fine on my own.  But now I'm having weird dreams.  Last night I jerked awake from a nightmare guest starring Luke.  I don't remember what it was about, but I just know that I didn't appreciate it all.

My new hipster glasses finally came in the mail from Virginia after a long and harrowing journey.  They look awesome.  As one of my kids said they are "nerd glasses".  Oddly enough, she said that as a compliment.  As in "Melissa, I like your nerd glasses".

My bangs are becoming an issue.  Stringy and in my face.  I think they are going to end up growing out.

I am continually fighting the urge to become a brunette.  Financially it would be much more sensible.  And generally less of a hassle.  But each time I look in the mirror, it just seems too weird.

I am reading the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy.  Don't.  Just don't.  Whatever myriad of excuses you have to do so, fight them.  It isn't worth it.  These books make me so angry.  But like with most men, I'm not willing to let go of them until I've seen this thing all the way through to the end.  Even though I'm not enjoying myself and it clearly isn't working out, I have to let this thing run it's course to the end in the hopes that it will redeem itself and actually be pleasant at some point.  I will most likely post on my pure hatred for the Fifty Shades Trilogy after I've finished all three books, but not yet not until I have all the facts.

My three new fave songs are:

"Dear Avery" by the Decemberists

"Little Talks" by Of Monsters and Men

"Rivers and Roads" by The Head and the Heart

They are going to be at Hardly Strictly and you KNOW I will be at that concert.

Making Inroads

I just finished sanding the horrible Yellow Pages decoupage off of that table I found in the street and now it is PERFECT for my as-of-yet-non-existent turntable and it even has a section underneath that's perfect for storing the records I brought back from home.  For a second I was worried one of the TSA people had stolen my ZoSo records when she searched my bag at the airport, but then I found them.  And I bought a mattress today.  Full size.  Big enough for "two small adults" haha.  And Abigail is coming a day early (tonight!).  And I start work tomorrow.  And, guys, this--  this is the first day of the next chapter of my life in San Francisco.  The past three weeks have just been the blank space on the page between the end of the last one and the start of the new one.

I was listening to this song on repeat all day.  Whatever that means.

No Light No Light

(No Light No Light: Florence + the Machine)

I'm dealing with a lot of relationship angst right now and this song speaks to it. I envision this as a partner dance piece where the girl is like continually throwing herself on the male dancer and he's throwing her off.  There's a bed involved that she launches herself from and lands on.  There's a lot of running and jumping involved and spinning. Very physical theatre dance fight.  There's also a moment like that moment during the dance competition in Dirty Dancing where Baby knocks her head from side to side with her hands above her head, except in this piece the female dance does that motion, but he's holding her by the wrist and she's on her knees.  There's also a moment when it slows down when he grabs her from behind and they kind of slow motion grind and breathe in tandem before she pushes him off.

(SYTYCD: Garden)
Something with the rawness of this.

 

(SYTYCD: Fallin')
And with the intensity of this.

(SYTCD: Hometown Glory)
 The movement vocabulary of this.

(SYTYCD: Mercy)
And the futility of this.

All the videos are from "So You Think You Can Dance" and totally worth watching.

Fireworks

Once, when I had only been dating a guy for a couple of days at best, he called me from out of town, adorably drunk.  Some ways into the conversation, he described a moment between us before he left that was like "fireworks".  Being kind of a (hopefully adorable) little shit, I started joking with him that I never saw any fireworks.  Literally.  Wouldn't fireworks have a hard time fitting indoors?  Where would the fireworks have come from?  Was he looking out the window at the time?  I also pointed out the time that he had cheesily said the phrase "Let the magic happen", and how at no point in the evening had there been even a hint of a rabbit from a hat...  I'm not sure if he was too drunk to follow my logic, or if he was playing along, but he kept trying to explain to me that he meant fireworks figuratively.  I, of course, thought I was too funny, and kept egging him on.

Once he was back, we got together for a lovely date of doing something or other.  When we got back to his place, those fireworks came up again.  I remember him being playfully indignant (but indignant nonetheless), "I can't believe you didn't feel the fireworks moment!  I was obsessing over that moment the whole trip back!"

"I was joking, I meant there weren't literally fireworks.  Like I did not see any actual fireworks when that happened."

Later that evening, at a very similar moment to the one that he had described before, we heard this strange crackling: fireworks.  There were actual fireworks going on outside.  For no apparent reason.  I remember him cocking his head and pointing skyward as if he had somehow planned it all.  It was this big "I told ya so" moment.  It was pretty perfect.

Tonight, the Golden Gate Bridge celebrated it's 75th anniversary, complete with a big fireworks show that I could see from my window.  Sitting in the open window, shivering from the cold San Francisco air, I kept thinking about that moment.   I hate to admit that it was very sad.  Beautiful, but sad.

General Tsao's Tofu

We had this unofficial ritual in grad school; on Fridays we'd get off from work, drive to Norfolk, order the best Chinese from this place near Safeway, watch that week's Criminal Minds on DVR.  We'd rag on the shitty writing in the new season, but still freak out about Emily Prentiss' eminent doom.  Usually by the time we started Kitchen Nightmares, I'd had enough beer, Chinese food, and school children to fall asleep on the couch.  If I managed to stay awake, I'd marvel at how Gordon Ramsay could be so angry, and how those people could get so defensive when they are holding the reins of a dying business.  After Gordon Ramsay the apartment would start to fill up, people would start trickling home.  It was an easy, casual, delicious, wonderful existence.

I find myself craving that casual Friday night feel.  Where you can just kick back and be with someone you genuinely enjoy being around.  You can kind of talk, but it doesn't have to be important.  No one is trying hard to be awesome, you're just hanging out.

C'mon, who doesn't love a good episode about our dear, probably schizophrenic Dr. Spencer Reid?

IQ of 187? Eidetic Memory?  Familiar, much?

*Look at Me*

When I was in high school, I had a friend named Beth.  I probably loved Beth.  If I was asked to name my first love, it would be a toss up between Andy and Beth.  Don't misunderstand, I didn't have a romantic relationship with Beth, but never before had I let myself really care about someone the way I cared about her.  No one outside my family that is.  I was so wrapped up in her, in all my friends, in my boyfriend, but mostly her.

Her senior year, things started to go downhill.  I felt like she wasn't taking good enough care of someone that I really cared about: herself.  I won't go into all the details about what I perceived and what really happened, but was hard for me.  Too hard for me.  I cut her off. 

I just stopped being friends with her.  I made the decision to cut her out of my life.  To give up.  If she couldn't care about Beth.  Then I couldn't care about Beth.  Story over.

I was so angry.  So angry.  And so sad.  I thought I'd never speak to her again.  I'd just ball up my feelings, push them deep down inside of me, and never worry about Beth again.  

Some time in college, when I was less angry and less sad, and a couple years had passed, I realized that 'Beth' was still a thing.  Still a thing that occupied my thoughts.  Still a thing that weighed on me. Still a thing that made me hate this all-consuming-obsession-people-mistook-for-love and it's suffocating nature. 

I may have cut off the girl, but I didn't cut off the feelings.

Well, then it didn't make sense to me, anymore. That I was putting all this effort into not being her friend.  Because that's what it was.  Effort.  I felt guilty.  I felt sorry.  I felt like this 'thing' was looming over me all the time.  Unresolved.  And why?  Because I told myself I didn't want her in my life?  Because I was too chicken-shit to message her?  It didn't make sense.  It was hanging there.  In the background.  Always.  And I wouldn't resolve it.

WHAT THE FUCK WAS I DOING?!  WHY?

I don't remember what I did.  I think I facebook friended her.  I facebook friended her and sent her a message that was like "Hey, how's life?"

And you know what?  Beth stopped being a thing.  She started being a girl.  A girl that I knew in high school.  And sometimes, after graduation, we hung out.  And sometimes we fbook chat.  And that weight was lifted off my shoulders.  That weight that I barely knew was there.

I've never done that again.  Cut someone out of my life.  I've made an effort.  To not have unresolved conflicts in my life.  Or have people I make a point of not talking to anymore.  To hate.  To be angry.  So angry.  And I've had reasons, I've had people.  People I could be angry with forever.  But forgiveness.  Forgiveness is so important to me now.  And I don't have to try hard, if I try to see where they are coming from.  If I want to forgive.  And I do.  And I try to.

I'm getting a new tattoo eventually.  And it's kind of about that. 

~<3~

P.S. Don't worry, I no longer hate or question the reality of "romantic" love as I used to call it.  If you ever wanna wax philosphic on the L-bomb, lemme know.  I'd love to share and trade opinions :)

25: Prologue (Luke's Gift)

The story of my birthday starts on Sunday-- no, much earlier:  mid-January.  Let's say like January 20.  A month after our month-long relationship had ended, Luke and I still weren't on speaking terms; my friendship with his roommate was fizzling; and all the people I actually clicked with were in another state. I was starting to grow anxious about my birthday.  It might pass by uncelebrated.

Now, I never know a lot of people, so it's not like my birthdays are ever exactly... memorable.  Last year, Toph stuck 24 candles in a giant cupcake and accidentally bought me a "stupid sea compass" instead of a fancy hiking compass.  He was going to engrave it and everything, but it ended up being HUGE and made for mounting on a boat.  I've never laughed so hard.  For my 22nd, Andy and I (exes for approximately 2 weeks) got dinner in Richmond and drank some Loire Valley wine in the Sunken Gardens.  At 21, I went to the 20th birthday party of another girl.  After spilling a mostly full rum and coke on Andy (dating for approximately 2 weeks), his roommate found out it was actually my birthday, stood up on a chair, and made everyone sing me Happy Birthday.  Turning 17 involved a sparkly pink crown and the sense that, "This is what my Sweet Sixteen should have been".  Excluding a Hokey Pokey debacle when I was around four, I don't remember any others.

Unmemorable though they may be, however, I always do something.  I always celebrate.  A solitary birthday would be sad, even for me.

So like I said, I was starting to worry.

Well, after two consecutive weekends of forcing myself to go out with acquaintances and having a thoroughly miserable time, I decided that I wasn't about to spoil my birthday by doing the same.  I wasn't going to invite people I didn't know or didn't like to hang out with me just so I wouldn't feel alone.  In those two weekends, I had engaged in only one conversation that I actually enjoyed.  It was about zombies.  And it was with Luke.  On January 20th.

Okay then, I was going to invite Luke to hang with me on my birthday.  I was going to wait until the Sunday before: early enough that he might not be booked up for the week, late enough that we could still have plenty of time to mend our broken relationship.  I gave him a week off from texting and contact before calling (yes, calling, you can't ignore a phone call like a text) because this was a pretty big request and I didn't want to him to be worn down by little ones first.  And if he turned me down?  "Luke, we need to talk."

Well, folks,  he beat me to it.  When he didn't answer the phone on Sunday, I began to wonder how long I would have to wait before calling back and demanding a meeting.  On Monday night, I got a text: "Can we talk around 10?"

I go rigid.  I will not let this get to me.  I will not feel anything.  I am a rock.  I am an island.  Why doesn't my ipod plug into my car anymore?  Why does We Found Love keep playing on the radio?  Twice in a row?  Don't bullshit me.  This conversation can't end well.  I call EVERYONE.  No one answers.  How do I make sure I stay in control of this conversation? This won't be like when he barged into my house and told me it was over.  I will say my piece.  I will say when the conversation is over.  I will leave first.  I will be in control.  I will say my piece.  I will ask my questions.  I will get my answers.   He will know and care about how I feel.  I will say my piece.   I run through every scenario.  I think of all my answers.  I remember everything I've been shouting and crying in my car for the last month.  I organize it.  I want to write it down... but note cards would look ridiculous.  I think of all the important points, I run them through my mind.  I will not let them get away from me this time.  I will say my piece.  I won't show any emotion.  I won't feel any emotion. I am a rock.

Around 11, I get home from rehearsal.  I brush my teeth because you can't be your best unless you feel your best (and I don't feel my best with unbrushed teeth).  I look at the mirror and am glad I managed to wear a nice sweater and a cute bow today (feeling your best = being your best).  I grab my coat, prepared to stand outside and have this conversation on the stoop (he is not coming in my house again; that makes him the only one with the power to leave, the power to end the conversation).

I knock on the door and he ushers me in.  Why would he do that?  He is very handsome in a grey V-neck.  Was he always this skinny?  He asks me to sit down.  Should I?  Shouldn't I assert dominance and insist on standing? Don't be so much of a rock, Melissa, that you aren't open to this conversation.  I sit in the chair.

And he lays it down for me.  "Let me give you some context..."  I am a rock.  Well, maybe more of a brain coral.  I look like a rock, but I'm actually soaking up a lot.  I lay it down for him.  "I respect what you are going through, but this is how I'm feeling... "  He is a rock.  Though I hope more like a brain coral.  We are both impressively dead pan.  Dead dead eyes.  Eventually it gets to the point where I can tell he's ready for me to go, but  I haven't said everything.  I haven't asked everything.  The questions seem insensitive and selfish now.  It takes a long time to remind myself that we both have needs, and we both deserve to have them met.  If I'm going to walk out this door, giving him the space he needs, maybe never talking to him again, then I'm going to get my answers.  I'm going to get closure.  I deserve that.

And I don't leave until I'm ready.  And I say my piece.  And I ask my questions.  No matter how dumb they sound.  And I can't resist trying to lighten the mood by pointing out that it's a bummer that I won't be able to give him and his roomies a Valentine.  And it is a bummer because Valentine's are great and full of love and happiness and warmth and I have metallic spray paint this year.

I part with a hug and with answers.  And that all I could have asked for.

~ <3 ~

"I think that if I ever have kids, and they are upset, I won't tell them that people are starving in China or anything like that because it wouldn't change the fact that they were upset.  And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn't change the fact that you have what you have." ~The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Best Case Scenario

Going to bed, a little more at peace.

Bee Yourself (A Post About Dog People and a Little More)

Lying about liking cats.  A self-confessed cat person, this happens to me quite a bit.  People tell me they like cats, when really they prefer dogs.

Now I like cats and all.  I respect them because they are badass, flippant mother fuckers that make you earn their time and attention.  I respect that, I love that; they don't just give it away.  And so naturally I want one.  A big black one that stalks around my house and scares superstitious types.


That being said I love dogs  I can't say I have the same cautious reverence for them that I do for cats.  But they are loving and loyal and show concern when you are hurt or sad.  Naturally I want one.  A tiny little one that runs, yapping around my apartment and is dwarfed by my big black cat.  Or a big, dopey one that's bark rattles the walls.  OR BOTH.

From like fourth to sixth grade, when I wasn't trying to be cool and checking out those damn-boring Laura Ingalls Wilder books, I used to scour the library for books on dogs.  God, I fucking love dogs.  Just as much as (if not secretly more than) cats.  So if I'm like, "I love cats, I want a big honking black one."  Why lie and be like "OHMAN.  ME TOO."?  How about saying "No way, I'm a total dog person."  Because then you know what I'd say? "OHMAN. ME TOO."

Like I also love goldfish and parakeets and snakes and rats.  But HELL.  Who would ever lie and about liking rats?  They wouldn't.  They'd probably tilt their head to one side, squint their eyes, and say, "So... you're kind of weird, huh?"


So why are cats and dogs this like big debate?  This big point of contention that people feel like they have to lie about for you to like them.  I mean, really, people.  It's such a little thing-- ("That's why it's okay to lie about, Mel."... What?!  That doesn't even make sense.)  --it's such a little thing, so why bother?  Like if I'm getting to know someone, I want to get to know who they really are.  Not who they think I want them to be.  I mean of course I'm going to like you if you are pretending to be everything I want someone to be.  But what is the point of that?  What is the point?  You can't keep it up, and I'll feel fucking betrayed when I find out that you actually hate cats (I know you're dying to ask; yes, I am speaking from experience) or whatever else you stretched the truth about.  I mean, there's this one co-worker I have who will flip-flop from sentence to sentence.  He'll say "This rain is so cold and dreary; I hate it."

And I'll respond "I kind of like it; it's peaceful and a nice break from the usual."

"Oh yeah, I know what you mean.  This rain is great."

Like stick. to. your. fucking. guns.  Especially if it's something so damn trivial.  Like if you're going to lie about trivial shit like how you feel about the rain or if you fucking like cats or not; how in the world can I trust you to tell the truth about important things.  Things that are hard to tell the truth about.  How can I trust you to say "Mel, you were being a bitch and he had every right to get mad." or "Mel, I have feelings for someone else."  How can you be honest about hard things, if you can't be honest about easy things?

Like if I'm getting to know you (to quote Aladdin's Genie), "BEE yourself".  I want to know you, not who you think I want you to be.

Classical Conditioning

That moment when you realize that you are no longer indifferent to the smell of cigarette smoke.

Pick Up Off the Floor

Rainy days like these kind of get inside my head.

#drink beer

Apparently drinking alone is okay now.  I saw a shooting star and made a wish and sat outside and listened to this Jason Mraz song I just heard on the radio and I was sitting on the stoop and I wish I had a deck or backyard or whatever.  Oh wait I guess I do, but I'm not allowed on them.  I wonder why my roommate who is a secret smoker doesn't secretly smoke in the backyard b/c she's the only one with access.  I called Abigail and she answered the phone and it was great and I am happy feeling not hollow and I got this fortune cookie that I taped to my wall and I taped a snowflake on my door.  And I have work tomorrow.  Oh man.  Alone drinking.  I wonder if I'll feel like a shit in the morning.  Maybe, but I feel great now.  And I want to sing SO LOUD.  And I wanted to smash a beer bottle on the ground and I didn't.  Because I'd have to clean it up.  And I want to climb things.  And I want to go to my school and play on the jungle gym when no one's around.  And I want to dance.  I want to be on the roof.  I don't give a shit. I want to jump.  I want to fly. OH MY GOD 11:11 is coming up... what to wish for?  I need to go to bed.  I love.

Click

When Rolfe and I finally broke-up (because for those of you who don't know it was a long and arduous process characterized by unfettered tears and constant denial) he tried to tell me it wasn't me, it wasn't him, it was us.  We didn't like each other.  Simple enough.  At the time, I was so full of self-doubt and self-loathing that I didn't believe him.  I was convinced that I had destroyed our relationship.  By being too clingy, too needy, too sensitive, too stressed, too awkward, too me.  Everything I was, was wrong: unlovable, disagreeable, and generally infuriating.  I clung to that for months.  It wasn't until I met Andy that I realized Rolfe was right.  About 15 minutes into our first date, I got it.  We were sitting at a table at Aroma's, Andy in black and grey was assuring me that every kid has a chubby phase, then telling some story about chubby 8 year old Andy face-planting on a skateboard, and in the back of my mind I was like, "Oh my god, this is what Rolfe meant.  This is so easy.  We get along."

It was this big epiphany for me.  I wasn't the problem.  I wasn't a problem.  Just because I was quiet didn't mean I was awkward.  Just because I was clingy didn't mean I was needy.  Just because I was stressed didn't mean I was about to break.  It wasn't always my fault.

Ever since that eye-opening date, I've been acutely aware of that fact that some people just "click".  Conversely, you can be great friends with someone, and hang out, and have a good time, but still consistently miss the mark.  You know what I mean, there are lulls in conversation, you run out of things to talk about, you have to wrack your brain for things to say.  And I'm not talking about dating here, I'm talking about life, friendships, work, interactions, people.

There are some people in the world who will get along with 90% of the people they meet, then there are people like me: who only get along with about 10%.  If I don't find them infuriating in some way, then they are probably intimidating, boring, or we just don't... click.  I try to be friendly with everyone, but anyone who's met me can tell you straight away that I don't always [often?] succeed.  On the flip side, there are some people I can talk to all day.  I don't know what it is.  I never wonder self-consciously if they even care about my story (and my stories, like my blog posts are VER-fucking-BOSE), or if we hang out too much, and never have to roll through my lists of small-talk conversations starters ("So tell me more about your job.", "This weather, huh?").  Maybe those people are the 90%-ers; maybe they fill in the gaps when I stop talking; maybe they make me feel comfortable prattling on about myself; maybe I care to know about them, so I feel like it's okay to tell them about me. I don't know.  I don't know what makes people click.  What makes me click.

This past week I've been trying to figure that out.  I'm still mostly alone out here on the west coast and I'm wondering why.  The same thing happened when I lived in D.C.; I spent an entire year up there, dated, made friends, and didn't meet a single person I really connected with or am still in touch with.  I'm wracking my brain trying to remember how I I got to know those people in my life that I really connected with.

Like Nathan.  We sat next to each other in class. "Oh you're taking Greek Archaeology and Art at 12:30, too?  Let's go down together... Oh, you have a break now, too?  Let's grab lunch... Oh, you're watching Back to the Future in your dorm?  That's my favorite movie too!  I'm gonna come over to watch it."  And come over.  And come over.  And come over.  And we just... clicked.  I couldn't replicate that if I tried.  And I try.  Somehow saying "let's grab lunch next week" has never quite worked out the same way.

Or what about Toph?  "Let's get together and study for this exam.  Oh man, our brains work the same way, we study well together... we should get blasted drunk before classes start again... fuck drinks let's go to the beach all night... I'm gonna come over to study." And come over and come over and come over.

I dunno.  You know when you meet those people.  Those people that are easy to talk to.  That you are interested in knowing.  And are interested in knowing you.  Where coming over feels natural, and not a burden.  You never have to ask "Do you mind if I hang out a bit?"  Those people you stay up with until 4 am just talking and you're like "Shit where'd the time go?"  The one's where words and emotions flow like you're drunk.  Where a quick "Hi" turns into 20 minutes in the cold.  You know.  And until them you're just treading water.

NYE

New Years Eve was the first holiday out here where I had absolutely no plans.  I was completely alone.  It had the potential to be crushingly sad.  And while I admit a lot of champagne, a midnight kiss, and a room full of smiling faces would have been optimal, I think it actually worked out.

I had actually received two (mostly drunken) invitations to parties down in SoCal (Luke would cringe if he knew I was calling it that).  Palm Springs and L.A (though the Palm Springs invite had long since been rescinded).  They never would have happened, but it's a nice to be asked, right?

Instead I found a Walking Dead marathon on AMC and settled into a night of getting to know the zombie phenomenon.  I opted against breaking into my remaining Blue Moons; I did a lot of drinking the first couple days after Luke and I broke up, and I've gotta say I got over it quickly.  At the time it was nice to feel hollow and to find a way to stop crying, but after visiting Toph and taking a swig every time I had a hint of how I was really feeling I just started to feel scungy.  I stopped drinking half-way through the night, sobered up, decided it was better to feel sad, and drove home while Toph and his girl were asleep.  On my way back, I got lost on 395.  The only car on the road, I drove in endless circles and ended up in the very foreign feeling capital city.  By the time I got home an hour later, I knew I was over it.  Over drinking, over feeling sad, over feeling hollow, over it.  I wanted to come back to San Francisco and see those sunsets and those kids and feel excited and optimistic again.  I still had a couple more days left in D.C. and a couple more days of sadness, but I haven't been drunk since.  At first the idea of drinking at all was repulsive, but now the lure of a good party with good dancing is too strong.  The idea of drinking alone, however, still sounds awful; those Blue Moons might be there for awhile.

So anyway, I watched Walking Dead until about 11:45 when I switched it over to New Year's Rocking Eve with Dick Clark.  I know New Years had already happened in New York, and I was totally cheating by watching the recorded broadcast, but it's kind of a tradition for me to watch the ball drop at midnight.  I don't know if people do that here on the West Coast, but I did.  It was nice.  And I could hear the fireworks going on somewhere over by the bay.  I got a little misty eyed.  It was nice.  I sent/responded to a couple "Happy New Years" texts, practiced The Sound of Silence on my piano again, and went to bed.

And that was New Years Eve.  It was nice.

P.S.

A lot of people reflect and look forward at this time of year, I normally wait for my birthday to get all sentimental or bitter about the past year ("God, 22 sucked, I hope 23 is better"... It wasn't by the way, that first year out of college just blows).  Besides I reflect and look forward constantly.  But I will say this: if 2012 is even half the adventure that 2011 was, it's gonna be a good year.