We were discussing starting a book club when Sara first made the suggestion. Initially it was meant as a joke. "My book will be He's Just Not That Into You," she declared. "You bitches need all the help you can get."
I laughed, of course, but then the brilliance of the idea started sinking in soon after. A book club devoted solely to self-help, a monthly meeting where we tell each other exactly what we're doing wrong. And maybe take some action.
Ilaria and I got started last night with a book called The Four Man Plan: A Romantic Science by Cindy Lu. Its one of those books that showed up on my desk during my book publicist days, even though it wasn't a Harper Collins title, just one of those ones publicists sent to other publicists in an effort to build buzz. Even though I could use all the help I could get in the dating department I never gave the book much thought.
Last night I pulled it off the shelf on a whim, why not give it a glance? I figured it just advocated dating multiple guys at once (which in the most basic terms, it does) but on further inspection its actually pretty fucking awesome.
Here's the general idea, each 4MPlanner (as the author refers to all women following her theory) fills up a slot card of 16 spaces, each with a different man or giving the men who progress the rights of multiple squares and chucking out those that don't (there are of course rules set up for who moves on and who gets removed but that's later). The whole process is approached as a science with Einstein quotes guiding the way. The real brilliance of it though is that the author is hilarious, like seriously funny, as opposed to the dowdy psychologists that doles out ridiculously unpractical advice filling lesser self-help tombs.
First we were prompted to make a list of all our personal dating deal-breakers. My list:
1-Men shorter than me (I'm a tall girl and its a self conscious point)
2-Men in finance (gross)
3-Men older than 35
4-Menwho use drugs regularly (including the pot smokers)
5-Unattractive men
6-Overly muscular men
7-Fat men
8-Bald men
9-Men who are obsessed with making money
10-Men who live in New Jersey/ Staten Island/ Bushwick/ Queens (I'm not big on the outer boroughs other than most of Brooklyn)
11-Anyone allergic to dogs (Zozie is way too important)
12-Bad kissers
13-Men who have strange Muppet voices (this is a weird tick I have and usually other people don't even notice these apparent weird voices but I do)
14-Men who stay out late partying alllll the time
This all seems pretty reasonable to me. But Lu then instructs that we are absolutely not allowed to turn down ANY man who falls into this list. None. Make no exceptions. Blah. I guess short old guys with money need love too or whatever...
Next we have to compile a list of our expectations in a man, whether shallow or not. Here's what I end up with:
1-Sexy
2-Artistic
3-Well-read (if a man tells me he's not that into reading, I'm quickly not that into him)
4-Interested in all things ME
5-Gives me lost of attention (without being annoyingly clingy, there's a fine line)
6-Incredibly intelligent but in a worldly way not the numbers way (yawn)
7-AWESOME kisser (I've liked men that are only so-so but really, what's the point in keeping those around too long)
8-Great sense of humor (I'm my mother's child, not funny is equal to no fun)
9-"Gets" me
10-Appreciates the Counting Crows (this one is a little picky but I could never spend a lifetime with someone who can't understand my ridiculous love for this band, its just a straight up fact)
11-Must LOVE Zozie (she's here to stay, they are can be replaced)
12-Close to their family (but not so close that my family won't always come first)
Is that so much to ask for?
Apparently while following this little plan though I am to focus on only the 3 she gives me and to ignore my other criteria, which again is just me being picky (boo). I must only expect a man to be HONEST, LOVING and WILLING. At this point Ilaria and I are at least a bit intrigued. Then we're dealt a blow in "A Powwow with Your Hoo-ha." That's right, the vagina is not to be the boss, she is not to make decisions, she gets no real say until much, much later in the dating game. Damn, this is going to be a tough one.
(This post will be continued later as I am taking the books advice and off on a date)
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
22
I've been listening to Lily Allen a lot lately, mostly cause I think she's so damn funny. And this one song kinda struck me in one of those totally self-obsessed "she is so talking about me" sort of ways except in regards to this song, that fact is totally depressing.
Anyway, here's the lyrics, I may add a youtube post to the video later but the video is even more horrifyingly depressing I may not be able to bring myself to do it...
When she was 22 the future looked bright
But she's nearly 30 now and she's out every night
I see that look in her face she's got that look in her eye
She's thinking how did I get here and wondering why
It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age
She's got an alright job but it's not a career
Wherever she thinks about it, it brings her to tears
Cause all she wants is a boyfriend
She gets one-night stands
She's thinking how did I get here
I'm doing all that I can
It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age
It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age
Anyway, here's the lyrics, I may add a youtube post to the video later but the video is even more horrifyingly depressing I may not be able to bring myself to do it...
When she was 22 the future looked bright
But she's nearly 30 now and she's out every night
I see that look in her face she's got that look in her eye
She's thinking how did I get here and wondering why
It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age
She's got an alright job but it's not a career
Wherever she thinks about it, it brings her to tears
Cause all she wants is a boyfriend
She gets one-night stands
She's thinking how did I get here
I'm doing all that I can
It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age
It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age
Bubbles
Our small room in London had a bunk bed but we never really used the top. Instead we slept each hot summer night crammed together on the single mattress of the bottom.
For the most part the top bunk was used only as a tossing ground, strewn with dirty laundry and a blow up plastic chair with a Guinness label which one of our flatmates had drunkenly blown 50 quid to win. Only one time do I recall actually climbing up to lie on the top bunk, both of us, side by side, staring silently towards the ceiling.
In my memory of the moment there are always bubbles. And I really don't know why when obviously in reality there were none. But when I close my eyes and picture the moment, the room is always filled with the brightly colored bubbles, bouncing gently over our heads. A million unsaid words, hanging in the air, waiting to burst.
Pop! "I will miss you."
Pop! "I don't want this to end."
Pop! "Don't leave me."
Pop! "Please."
Pop! "Please."
Pop! "I love you."
Instead I say only, "I can't handle long distance again. When I leave here we should just admit its over."
And that's it. I didn't look at him, not wanting to let loose the other words, the ones I mean, that continued to hang in the air silently.
There is a party before I leave and his friend pulls me aside for a word.
"He'll come to America if you really want him to," he tells me.
"No, he'll never come," I sigh. "He says he will but I know him too well, it will never happen."
"You just need to tell him you want him there, he just needs to know how you feel."
But I never did release those words. And he has still never come.
For the most part the top bunk was used only as a tossing ground, strewn with dirty laundry and a blow up plastic chair with a Guinness label which one of our flatmates had drunkenly blown 50 quid to win. Only one time do I recall actually climbing up to lie on the top bunk, both of us, side by side, staring silently towards the ceiling.
In my memory of the moment there are always bubbles. And I really don't know why when obviously in reality there were none. But when I close my eyes and picture the moment, the room is always filled with the brightly colored bubbles, bouncing gently over our heads. A million unsaid words, hanging in the air, waiting to burst.
Pop! "I will miss you."
Pop! "I don't want this to end."
Pop! "Don't leave me."
Pop! "Please."
Pop! "Please."
Pop! "I love you."
Instead I say only, "I can't handle long distance again. When I leave here we should just admit its over."
And that's it. I didn't look at him, not wanting to let loose the other words, the ones I mean, that continued to hang in the air silently.
There is a party before I leave and his friend pulls me aside for a word.
"He'll come to America if you really want him to," he tells me.
"No, he'll never come," I sigh. "He says he will but I know him too well, it will never happen."
"You just need to tell him you want him there, he just needs to know how you feel."
But I never did release those words. And he has still never come.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Just checking in...
I treat blogging the same way as exercise. Its something I do in spurts. Nothing, nothing, nothing and then a one month membership at hot yoga, daily classes, organic eating... Then back to a gluttonous existence without batting an eye.
Sometimes I get really into my blog. I get super verbose and can't help but want to tell people things that they probably dont care about but I feel like writing. It'll go for days on end, sometimes whole weeks even. And then, I don't write a word for a month. I think this is why I assume I could never really write for a living, it's just not something I can make myself do. It needs to be organic. Needs to come when I need to get it out. My writing is my therapy and nothing else, but if others take to it, read it, like it, even better.
I've been thinking lately of starting up a blog more devoted to things and less to my actual thoughts and musings. I spent the weekend at the Architectural Digest Home Design Expo and I have all these creative ideas and thoughts pouring out of my head but this blog just seems like the wrong place to put them... We'll see.
We're closing my restaurant during lunch soon for summer hours so I'll have days free pretty much always soon. Perhaps I need to make this new blog into a job type task, something to keep me occupied. Art projects. Do-it-yourself tests. New products, pretty furniture, color palettes. I always wanted this blog to be a daily kinda thing but I just can't force myself to write. At least not publicly.
Anyway, needed to get those thoughts out. Perhaps this week I'll be in the habit of it now...
Sometimes I get really into my blog. I get super verbose and can't help but want to tell people things that they probably dont care about but I feel like writing. It'll go for days on end, sometimes whole weeks even. And then, I don't write a word for a month. I think this is why I assume I could never really write for a living, it's just not something I can make myself do. It needs to be organic. Needs to come when I need to get it out. My writing is my therapy and nothing else, but if others take to it, read it, like it, even better.
I've been thinking lately of starting up a blog more devoted to things and less to my actual thoughts and musings. I spent the weekend at the Architectural Digest Home Design Expo and I have all these creative ideas and thoughts pouring out of my head but this blog just seems like the wrong place to put them... We'll see.
We're closing my restaurant during lunch soon for summer hours so I'll have days free pretty much always soon. Perhaps I need to make this new blog into a job type task, something to keep me occupied. Art projects. Do-it-yourself tests. New products, pretty furniture, color palettes. I always wanted this blog to be a daily kinda thing but I just can't force myself to write. At least not publicly.
Anyway, needed to get those thoughts out. Perhaps this week I'll be in the habit of it now...
Friday, March 20, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Decline of Detroit
There is a haunting photo essay on Detroit's sad decline into abandonment featured in Time Magazine right now. Maybe I'm moved because Detroit is my hometown (well the suburbs of in reality but there is certainly a connection to the city we in the 'burbs surround). I grew up wishing that I was from a vivacious, thriving city like New York or Chicago (and consequently moved to both those cities) and it was always so depressing to drive through Detroit and see the potential it still had.
Detroit is a beautiful city. Architecturally amazing. Brimming with a history seemingly forgotten. There's something quite haunting about the city still, a town of ghosts. Over the years I've tried to explain the oddness of the place to others who have never been. Its almost like taking a trip to Machu Pichu or Pompeii. A civilization destroyed and an ancient ruins remained. The only difference is there are still people alive who remember its days of glory.
http://www.time.com/time/photogallery/0,29307,1882089,00.html
Detroit is a beautiful city. Architecturally amazing. Brimming with a history seemingly forgotten. There's something quite haunting about the city still, a town of ghosts. Over the years I've tried to explain the oddness of the place to others who have never been. Its almost like taking a trip to Machu Pichu or Pompeii. A civilization destroyed and an ancient ruins remained. The only difference is there are still people alive who remember its days of glory.
http://www.time.com/time/photogallery/0,29307,1882089,00.html
Sunday, March 15, 2009
A Change of Seasons
(circa February 2002)
In a different time
when the sun shone bright
in clear blue skies
And flowers started to poke their eyes
from the cold earth
with life again
When the birds returned
to sing their happy melodies
in the glistening of the morning dew
I would see you
and you're face would light up
in a way that let me know
I was more than just a friend
But seasons change
Now that same sun hides
her face behind clouds of grey
And all the flowers are nestled away
under the dead dirt
without a trace
Now that its too cold
for the birds to sing of happy times
amongst this frozen sea
You see me
and try to force a smile
in a way that lets me know
that I have been replaced
In a different time
when the sun shone bright
in clear blue skies
And flowers started to poke their eyes
from the cold earth
with life again
When the birds returned
to sing their happy melodies
in the glistening of the morning dew
I would see you
and you're face would light up
in a way that let me know
I was more than just a friend
But seasons change
Now that same sun hides
her face behind clouds of grey
And all the flowers are nestled away
under the dead dirt
without a trace
Now that its too cold
for the birds to sing of happy times
amongst this frozen sea
You see me
and try to force a smile
in a way that lets me know
that I have been replaced
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Little Things
My second day in Africa I emerged from the shower to find a fresh cup of coffee and a rusk beside my bed. It was the little things he did, the trivial bits like this, that made me love him in the first place.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
I Hate that I don't Hate You
(circa November 2002)
I hate cigarettes
especially Marlboro Lights cigarettes
I hate that you smoke Marlboro Lights
I hate even more that I do too
and think of you with every drag
I hate that I'm underage
I hate that you're younger than me and are not
I hate that you work in a bar
so every time I have an Amaretto Sour I remember
liking it better when you made it
I hate being stuck in Ann Arbor
especially with the obligation of school
I hate that you don't go to school
and live in London
I hate that I love London
but am scared I wouldn't love it without you
I hate that you have an accent
I hate how the way you say "cute" with that accent
is so darn cute
I hate that you end a conversation with "cheers"
I hate even more that you once ended it with "I love you"
but no longer do
I hate that I live in America
I hate that your passport says South Africa
I hate American taboos
and attitudes towards visas
I hate the American mentality of anything is possible
when we've painfully learned it to be false
I hate cigarettes
especially Marlboro Lights cigarettes
I hate that you smoke Marlboro Lights
I hate even more that I do too
and think of you with every drag
I hate that I'm underage
I hate that you're younger than me and are not
I hate that you work in a bar
so every time I have an Amaretto Sour I remember
liking it better when you made it
I hate being stuck in Ann Arbor
especially with the obligation of school
I hate that you don't go to school
and live in London
I hate that I love London
but am scared I wouldn't love it without you
I hate that you have an accent
I hate how the way you say "cute" with that accent
is so darn cute
I hate that you end a conversation with "cheers"
I hate even more that you once ended it with "I love you"
but no longer do
I hate that I live in America
I hate that your passport says South Africa
I hate American taboos
and attitudes towards visas
I hate the American mentality of anything is possible
when we've painfully learned it to be false
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
An old photo memory
Ryan and I both had copies of this photo. I made doubles of all my pictures when I got back to America and sent him everything I had. This was always one of my favorites, in fact it still sits in a frame in my room to this day.The interesting thing about my framed copy however is that it's actually HIS copy of the photo, a fact he doesn't know. When I moved back to London the following summer Ryan and I lived together. We shared a teeny tiny little bedroom, with a bunk bed. One day I was trying to organize our mess of belongings while he was at work when I came across a box of photos. He had written on the back of all the photos I had sent him from the previous summer. Mostly just with the names or places of those in the picture. But this one was special. It read:
"Dinner with Amit and Kat on our second double date. Emily is so gorgeous. I love her so much."
It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen, in part because he had no idea I would ever see it so I knew it wasn't something that was merely said as flattery, for my benefit.
So I switched the photos. I gave him my copy and I kept the one he had scrawled those words upon. It is one of my very favorite possessions.
Monday, February 16, 2009
My Delusion
Just yesterday I found out some very exciting news. Now brace yourself for eye rolling cause this information may just cause such a reaction:Colin Farrell and his girlfriend broke up!
First of all, I hated his girlfriend to begin with. Well, perhaps hate is a strong word but in this instance my normal venomous feelings towards Colin's significant others were intensified by the fact that I KNEW this woman. Emma Forrest is a British author who in 2007 released a book of essays called Damage Control. Yours truly was a publicist for this book.
Now most of my interactions with Emma were via email, with the occasional phone call here and there, but I still didn't necessarily like her. Some authors can be incredibly friendly and generous while others can be an enormous, complaining pain the ass. Emma was in neither of these categories. What I didn't like about her was her tone. She came across as a bit patronizing. She was friendly in a way that you could tell she was faking it. And although she was a writer from the UK she ran with a Hollywood crowd. Minnie Driver was her close friend (and a contributor to the book). She insisted the launch party in LA had to be held at the Chateau Marmont where they "simply adore" her. It all just always seemed so contrived.
So when I read the gossip last year that Colin and Emma were settling down together I nearly died. It was too close. He could not possibly be involved with someone I knew and disliked! It was not fair!
Let's step back for a second so I can explain my uncharacteristic celebrity obsession with Colin Farrell. The story is actually quite simple and I've been known to hold on to things for far more trivial reasons.
It began with a picture. With Britney Spears. In the fall of 2002 I loved me some Britney, it was Slave 4U days and to me she was the ultimate in hot.
The funny part of course being that I didn't like any other pop or dance artists. I still really don't like anything of the same genre. But I still love Britney. See, I told you I hold on to random things.Anyhow, Colin brought Britney as his date to the premiere of The Recruit, an incredibly smart move for an actor that was not too well known at the time. Suddenly Colin was everywhere. That photo of him with his arm slung around America's Pop Princess (the same year she broke up with Justin mind you, so the media was all up in arms over her love life) found its way to EVERY SINGLE news program and gossip rag.
Which is when my mom said something that began it all, "That guy in those pictures with Britney really looks a lot like your boyfriend." I stared at the picture in my US Weekly. How could I have not seen it before? This Colin Farrell guy looked just like Ryan! The spiky hair and dark bushy eyebrows, the jawline, the cheekbones. They really did have something similar going on.
Not too long after that Ryan and I broke up because of the long distance. And I did what every logical girl would do in my situation. I became hopelessly in love with Colin Farrell.
The following summer I had moved back to London so Ryan and I could be together. One evening we were at a bar with our friends Greg and Grace when the conversation turned to celebrity crushes.
"I am obsessed with Colin Farrell." I stated.
"So if Colin walked into the bar right now and wanted to sleep with you, you'd do it?" Greg asked.
"Obviously."
Ryan slammed down his drink. "That's fucked up!" He was furious. "Really fucked up of you! How could you say that in front of me?"
I was a bit confused by the reaction, especially when I knew that the only reason I loved Colin Farrell so much was that he reminded me of the person in real life with whom I was actually in love. "Ry, its a hypothetical. Colin Farrell isn't really going to walk in here right now and proposition me."
"But what if he did?"
"But he won't! Besides, he doesn't count. Everyone knows you get to pick a free celebrity get-out-of-your-relationship-card." This was not what he wanted to hear. His face turned bright red and I swear smoke poured from his ears in the way they do in cartoons.
"If Natalie Portman walked up to me right now and wanted a quick go around I would tell her NO. I have a girlfriend!"
I couldn't help it. This made me laugh (and not only because for many years I had been compared to Natalie, so Ryan had chosen unconsciously my lookalike as I had chosen his). "Ryan, if Natalie Portman were to desperately want to sleep with you, I'd say go for it. I could tell all my friends my man banged Natalie Portman!" Suffice it to say, this did not comfort him in the slightest and Greg had to finally take him outside for some fresh air.
After my brief stint in London Ryan and I broke up again. He moved back to South Africa and I was back in the US. We stayed in touch a little the first year and then the following summer, at a pay phone in Chicago, we said goodbye for what would be a long time.
Over the two years we didn't speak my love for Colin Farrell grew exponentially. When I found myself living in New York, associating with people who knew this man I loved, I would often joke that I had more of a chance of sleeping with Colin than seeing Ryan again. And I honestly believed that (it even
tually proved to not be true when I flew to South Africa to visit Ryan).One time my mom came to visit me in NYC. I had an office job at the time so she would fill her days wondering the city shopping while I put in my hours at work. "I saw a man on the street today that you would have loved," she told me one evening over dinner. "He was so perfectly your type that I actually almost stopped him just to set you up. I thought you'd be embarrassed though so I held myself back."
"Are you kidding, Mom? This is me! I don't get embarrassed over anything! Next time stop the sexy man!"
A week or so later my mom called. "I was glancing through my People Magazine earlier and I saw a picture of the man I saw on the street that day, same outfit, dated when I was visiting. It was Colin Farrell."
I loved that my mom once again saw him and knew I would love him.
So now he's thankfully single again. I have to say, I was a little worried this one would last and my chances would be over. In 2006 there was a rumor that he married some co-star while filming in New York, I wore black to work the next day in honor of the death of my dream. The rumor proved untrue and my fantasy future was restored. Until Emma. Who I knew and disliked. Who lasted over a year. Who was spotted in a pharmacy buying pregnancy tests. I really thought this time it would be over.
But Colin is free again! Someone out there hook a sister up already!
Slacker
I haven't been writing lately and I feel kinda like shit about it. The new year started on such a great upswing with my blog and then boom, I suck again.
But I'm getting back at it. Honest to goodness. Two people out there that read this do not fear! I will be writing for you once again ;)
Starting with my thoughts on the worst movie in the world. Which I saw today. And wanted to scratch my eyes out during.
Good times.
But I'm getting back at it. Honest to goodness. Two people out there that read this do not fear! I will be writing for you once again ;)
Starting with my thoughts on the worst movie in the world. Which I saw today. And wanted to scratch my eyes out during.
Good times.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
I Hate Valentine's Day by Jewel
Valentine's Day
Wish I had a sweetheart
It's Valentine's Day
Didn't even get a stinkin' card
Its Valentine's Day
I just have to say
It's Valentine's Day
It's Valentine's Day
And I didn't get no chocolate
It's Valentine's Day
If I had a heart I'd hock it
It's Valentine's Day
All I have to say
I hate Valentine's Day
It's Valentine's Day
And I hope it finds you healthy
It's Valentine's Day
I'm glad your stinkin' girlfriend's wealthy
It's Valentine's Day
I just have to say
I hate fuckin' Valentine's Day
Wish I had a sweetheart
It's Valentine's Day
Didn't even get a stinkin' card
Its Valentine's Day
I just have to say
It's Valentine's Day
It's Valentine's Day
And I didn't get no chocolate
It's Valentine's Day
If I had a heart I'd hock it
It's Valentine's Day
All I have to say
I hate Valentine's Day
It's Valentine's Day
And I hope it finds you healthy
It's Valentine's Day
I'm glad your stinkin' girlfriend's wealthy
It's Valentine's Day
I just have to say
I hate fuckin' Valentine's Day
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Birds flying high you know how I feel
Sun in the sky you know how I feel
Reeds driftin on by you know how I feel
Its a new dawn
Its a new day
Its a new life
For me
And Im feeling good
Fish in the sea you know how I feel
River running free you know how I feel
Blossom in the tree you know how I feel
Dragonfly out in the sun you know what I mean, dont you know
Butterflies all havin fun you know what I mean
Sleep in peace when day is done
Thats what I mean
And this old world is a new world
And a bold world
For me
Stars when you shine you know how I feel
Scent of the pine you know how I feel
Oh freedom is mine
And I know how I feel
Yes, Virginia, You Can
Today, January 20th, 2009, was a historic event. A day for my generation to tell our children about. A day united in the hope that the world may soon change, for the better.
I only have vague memories of Bill Clinton's election as president. The first time I was only in the 5th grade and knew very little if anything about politics. I understood that the president was decided through a national vote and would serve then as the leader of our country but the capacity of that meant very little to me. I hardly had any idea about the world outside my suburban town. What I did know about the campaign was that my parents supported Clinton but I didn't know why. I knew he played the saxaphone and that the current president George Bush did not like broccoli. And then there was the other candidate, who had big ears, a lot of money and what everyone told me was no hope at actually winning the presidency.
I recall my younger brother and I accompanying my mother when she went to her polling booth at the nearby middle school. I also remember my brother and I being so misbehaved we were in deep trouble when we got home. Hardly one to remember every childhood squabble, my mom vividly remembers the night as well, our misbehavior overshadowing all other significances of that night.
We must have watched the inauguration at school. I feel like I know it happened but I can't say I can remember it at all. I do have a small glimmer of Clinton playing his sax on the television that night, although the context escapes me.
When he was reelected four years later I was older, a high school student. I had taken history and politics courses and I had a greater idea of the world at large. Yet I paid little attention to the campaign. In fact, I have absolutely no clue who Bill Clinton even ran against. It was such a given that he would simply remain president. Was there an inauguration that year? Is the president re-sworn in when he takes a second term? I'm embarrassed to say I just don't know.
In the year 2000 I turned 18 and was able to vote in my first presidential election. But truthfully I was far more interested in the fact that I could vote than I was in the candidates running. I supported Gore because I was decidedly Democrat but I could never have had a conversation on his platform or his policies. I basically had one stance to quote, I was definitely pro-choice and George W. Bush was not. This was about as solid a reasoning as any it seemed.
I was registered in my hometown but away at school so I voted via absetee ballot and therefore the day of the election was hardly different than any other day. Election night was spent in my dorm at Michigan, college students blasting the polls from every bedroom, running up and down the halls. The race was tight and when we went to bed that night we still had no idea who had won. I don't remember finding out the results and I certainly do not recall watching Bush being sworn in as president that January. I simply went back to being part of the apathetic generation.
Then September 11th happened. Politics were on everyone's mind. Our country went to war for reasons I'm still not entirely sure about. I lived abroad and feared the judgement towards my nationality. "Everybody wants to be American. The world wants to be like us." No, they didn't. There was little respect for our nation, a harsh opinion of our politics, our president, our entire culture. We became a global embarrassment.
The campaign leading up to the 2004 election should have inspired me, should have made me and others like me sit up and pay attention. But it didn't. We were shamed. And we thought the nation agreed. But John Kerry was simply not the right figure to get behind. Most people I knew supported him but not because of him. It was merely a matter of being not in support of the current president. And this proved to not be enough to move a nation. We didn't step up to the plate. We didn't show up in droves at our polling booths. I again submitted an absentee ballot in advance and went to bed without even watching.
Again I don't remember watching an inauguration. Was Bush sworn in again? Did he draw a crowd of supporters? For the second time our president lost the popular vote but won the electoral college. He wasn't someone the majority of the country wanted. He stayed in office mostly because we were complacent.
Today was different. This year was different. This president is different. Finally.
I will admit I had initially been a Hillary Clinton supporter. I thought she was without a doubt the most qualified person for the job. But I was quick to switch my loyalty to Barak Obama. In 2004, when I was briefly living in Chicago, I would meet up occasionally with a high school friend in the city for a summer internship. She was working on Obama's Senate campaign and she could not say enough about this man she was supporting. "He will be president one day, I promise." When he secured the democratic nomination, her words were the first thing that came to mind.
And I followed this whole campaign. I watched every single debate. I, like so many other young voters, those who hadn't had a candidate who spoke to them ever, finally had a reason to sit up and pay attention. Maybe it was because the policies suddenly spoke to me. Roe v Wade and the Republican agenda to overturn the precident it set remained a concern. But there was more now. I found myself one of the far too many who couldn't afford proper health care. My friends were being laid off due to the crumbling economy. My hometown of Detroit declined at an exceedingly rapid rate. My brother and roommate, school teachers, complained of the decline in our educational systems. It wasn't about helping an unknown "other" anymore, things had gotten personal, too close. The country needed to change.
As much as I loved Hillary Clinton, and still do, I now know she was not the right person for the time. We needed Barak Obama. My apathetic generation suddenly had someone that they could look up to. Hillary Clinton may have been qualified for the job but she represented a thought that scared some. We could have ended up with two entire decades led by only two families. Our political system, created in retaliation from the exclusive monarchy of Europe, would have become what it had set out to escape. The Clintons will always maintain a strong force in politics, the Kennedy's continue to spread their influence, the Bush's aren't going anywhere soon. There will always be political royalty. But we didn't want that as the face of our nation. Not now.
I cried on election night like so many others. And I felt wrong about it because I didn't think I had that right. But this win was something so personal, so familial, so touching to so many. It was more than just that we had finally crossed a racial barrier most thought would never happen in their lifetimes. We suddenly had this man, this intelligent, articulate, man who had experienced LIFE. Yes, his education was elitist (as the opposition so often pointed out) but it was because he had worked for it, not been handed it by being born to a prominent family. He was, for the first time really, living proof of the American dream.
Yes you can, truly be whatever you want to be.
I only have vague memories of Bill Clinton's election as president. The first time I was only in the 5th grade and knew very little if anything about politics. I understood that the president was decided through a national vote and would serve then as the leader of our country but the capacity of that meant very little to me. I hardly had any idea about the world outside my suburban town. What I did know about the campaign was that my parents supported Clinton but I didn't know why. I knew he played the saxaphone and that the current president George Bush did not like broccoli. And then there was the other candidate, who had big ears, a lot of money and what everyone told me was no hope at actually winning the presidency.
I recall my younger brother and I accompanying my mother when she went to her polling booth at the nearby middle school. I also remember my brother and I being so misbehaved we were in deep trouble when we got home. Hardly one to remember every childhood squabble, my mom vividly remembers the night as well, our misbehavior overshadowing all other significances of that night.
We must have watched the inauguration at school. I feel like I know it happened but I can't say I can remember it at all. I do have a small glimmer of Clinton playing his sax on the television that night, although the context escapes me.
When he was reelected four years later I was older, a high school student. I had taken history and politics courses and I had a greater idea of the world at large. Yet I paid little attention to the campaign. In fact, I have absolutely no clue who Bill Clinton even ran against. It was such a given that he would simply remain president. Was there an inauguration that year? Is the president re-sworn in when he takes a second term? I'm embarrassed to say I just don't know.
In the year 2000 I turned 18 and was able to vote in my first presidential election. But truthfully I was far more interested in the fact that I could vote than I was in the candidates running. I supported Gore because I was decidedly Democrat but I could never have had a conversation on his platform or his policies. I basically had one stance to quote, I was definitely pro-choice and George W. Bush was not. This was about as solid a reasoning as any it seemed.
I was registered in my hometown but away at school so I voted via absetee ballot and therefore the day of the election was hardly different than any other day. Election night was spent in my dorm at Michigan, college students blasting the polls from every bedroom, running up and down the halls. The race was tight and when we went to bed that night we still had no idea who had won. I don't remember finding out the results and I certainly do not recall watching Bush being sworn in as president that January. I simply went back to being part of the apathetic generation.
Then September 11th happened. Politics were on everyone's mind. Our country went to war for reasons I'm still not entirely sure about. I lived abroad and feared the judgement towards my nationality. "Everybody wants to be American. The world wants to be like us." No, they didn't. There was little respect for our nation, a harsh opinion of our politics, our president, our entire culture. We became a global embarrassment.
The campaign leading up to the 2004 election should have inspired me, should have made me and others like me sit up and pay attention. But it didn't. We were shamed. And we thought the nation agreed. But John Kerry was simply not the right figure to get behind. Most people I knew supported him but not because of him. It was merely a matter of being not in support of the current president. And this proved to not be enough to move a nation. We didn't step up to the plate. We didn't show up in droves at our polling booths. I again submitted an absentee ballot in advance and went to bed without even watching.
Again I don't remember watching an inauguration. Was Bush sworn in again? Did he draw a crowd of supporters? For the second time our president lost the popular vote but won the electoral college. He wasn't someone the majority of the country wanted. He stayed in office mostly because we were complacent.
Today was different. This year was different. This president is different. Finally.
I will admit I had initially been a Hillary Clinton supporter. I thought she was without a doubt the most qualified person for the job. But I was quick to switch my loyalty to Barak Obama. In 2004, when I was briefly living in Chicago, I would meet up occasionally with a high school friend in the city for a summer internship. She was working on Obama's Senate campaign and she could not say enough about this man she was supporting. "He will be president one day, I promise." When he secured the democratic nomination, her words were the first thing that came to mind.
And I followed this whole campaign. I watched every single debate. I, like so many other young voters, those who hadn't had a candidate who spoke to them ever, finally had a reason to sit up and pay attention. Maybe it was because the policies suddenly spoke to me. Roe v Wade and the Republican agenda to overturn the precident it set remained a concern. But there was more now. I found myself one of the far too many who couldn't afford proper health care. My friends were being laid off due to the crumbling economy. My hometown of Detroit declined at an exceedingly rapid rate. My brother and roommate, school teachers, complained of the decline in our educational systems. It wasn't about helping an unknown "other" anymore, things had gotten personal, too close. The country needed to change.
As much as I loved Hillary Clinton, and still do, I now know she was not the right person for the time. We needed Barak Obama. My apathetic generation suddenly had someone that they could look up to. Hillary Clinton may have been qualified for the job but she represented a thought that scared some. We could have ended up with two entire decades led by only two families. Our political system, created in retaliation from the exclusive monarchy of Europe, would have become what it had set out to escape. The Clintons will always maintain a strong force in politics, the Kennedy's continue to spread their influence, the Bush's aren't going anywhere soon. There will always be political royalty. But we didn't want that as the face of our nation. Not now.
I cried on election night like so many others. And I felt wrong about it because I didn't think I had that right. But this win was something so personal, so familial, so touching to so many. It was more than just that we had finally crossed a racial barrier most thought would never happen in their lifetimes. We suddenly had this man, this intelligent, articulate, man who had experienced LIFE. Yes, his education was elitist (as the opposition so often pointed out) but it was because he had worked for it, not been handed it by being born to a prominent family. He was, for the first time really, living proof of the American dream.
Yes you can, truly be whatever you want to be.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
"Sometimes it seems like we're all living in some kind of prison. And the crime is how much we hate ourselves. It's good to get really dressed up once in a while. And admit the truth: that when you really look closely? People are so strange and so complicated that they're actually... beautiful. Possibly even me." -My So-Called Life
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Happy Birthday to me
So I am what I believe to be OLD now.
Congrats to me. High fives and ass slaps to everyone.
Congrats to me. High fives and ass slaps to everyone.
Friday, January 9, 2009
About Bad Poetry
Why if I think its so bad, am I posting my old poetry? Because its FUNNY. Seriously. Its amazing how dramatic one can be over something and then years later find it hilarious.
I always hated the phrase "everything happens for a reason." I think that's bullshit. There are a lot of things that happen without some happy ending attached.
BUT I tend to believe that "everything happens for a story." Good or bad, there's eventually something to tell. And the story itself is usually interesting.
There's a lot that I have learned about myself by reading these old bits of writing. Take the last poem I put up for example, "Her." I wrote it right around my 20th birthday. Peter and I had broken up about 8 months earlier but that winter began to rekindle things a little. Or so I thought. Next thing I know I get an instant message from him reading "Things are cool between us now, we know we're friends and nothing more, right?" I asked if he was wondering because he was suddenly in some relationship or something. "Yeah, kinda," was his reply. I immediately signed offline.
When I read the poem I think it's interesting that its almost entirely focused on me not looking right. I was too tall, too fat, too pale; my hair too curly. I recalled over the summer when he referred to Britney Spears as "too beefy" while admiring Christina's "heroin chic look." Its not until the end that I even think that there might be other reasons he would choose someone else over me, that they had similar interests, got along differently. It hardly occurred to me that anything other than my physical self was at play.
Of course, I was just an insecure child. Later, Peter told me I was by far the most attractive girl with whom he had ever been involved (which is true, I've met most of his exes over the years). It was mostly about timing that things didn't work out. But looking at that poem, there's a story much deeper than just what happened between he and I. Those are the things I'm fascinated in now finding out.
Plus, looking back, it seems so silly.
I always hated the phrase "everything happens for a reason." I think that's bullshit. There are a lot of things that happen without some happy ending attached.
BUT I tend to believe that "everything happens for a story." Good or bad, there's eventually something to tell. And the story itself is usually interesting.
There's a lot that I have learned about myself by reading these old bits of writing. Take the last poem I put up for example, "Her." I wrote it right around my 20th birthday. Peter and I had broken up about 8 months earlier but that winter began to rekindle things a little. Or so I thought. Next thing I know I get an instant message from him reading "Things are cool between us now, we know we're friends and nothing more, right?" I asked if he was wondering because he was suddenly in some relationship or something. "Yeah, kinda," was his reply. I immediately signed offline.
When I read the poem I think it's interesting that its almost entirely focused on me not looking right. I was too tall, too fat, too pale; my hair too curly. I recalled over the summer when he referred to Britney Spears as "too beefy" while admiring Christina's "heroin chic look." Its not until the end that I even think that there might be other reasons he would choose someone else over me, that they had similar interests, got along differently. It hardly occurred to me that anything other than my physical self was at play.
Of course, I was just an insecure child. Later, Peter told me I was by far the most attractive girl with whom he had ever been involved (which is true, I've met most of his exes over the years). It was mostly about timing that things didn't work out. But looking at that poem, there's a story much deeper than just what happened between he and I. Those are the things I'm fascinated in now finding out.
Plus, looking back, it seems so silly.
Her
(circa Jan 2002)
So what's she like?
Is she small?
That was always my problem
Too tall
for you
You didn't like that
Is she thin?
Could you hold her up
in the palm of your hand?
You couldn't even
hold my heart anymore
That alone is too heavy
with grief
Is she dark?
Perfect sun-kissed skin
The only son to kiss
my complexion
was you
That's why
I'm so pale in her shadow
I bet her hair is straight
Sleek and smooth
Simple
Mine is curly
A mess of corkscrews
and complications
I bet she listens to your music
Appreciates your stories
Laughs when she's supposed to
at all the right times
all the right places
I'm so random
Rarely right
An embarrassment
Does she look good in your arms?
Better than I did?
Of course
She's the perfect person
you're wandering eye
was searching for
While you were merely screwing
a mediocre me
So what's she like?
Is she small?
That was always my problem
Too tall
for you
You didn't like that
Is she thin?
Could you hold her up
in the palm of your hand?
You couldn't even
hold my heart anymore
That alone is too heavy
with grief
Is she dark?
Perfect sun-kissed skin
The only son to kiss
my complexion
was you
That's why
I'm so pale in her shadow
I bet her hair is straight
Sleek and smooth
Simple
Mine is curly
A mess of corkscrews
and complications
I bet she listens to your music
Appreciates your stories
Laughs when she's supposed to
at all the right times
all the right places
I'm so random
Rarely right
An embarrassment
Does she look good in your arms?
Better than I did?
Of course
She's the perfect person
you're wandering eye
was searching for
While you were merely screwing
a mediocre me
Name change
So I've been encouraged to change the name of my site by many at this point. Just 5 minutes ago Caitlin called out from her room, her voice echoing through the wall, "But you don't write about sex, there's nothing tawdry on your site at all, it gives the wrong impression."
"It's a lot about relationships though. That was the point of the word sex." Even as the words left my mouth, I knew she was right. It just didn't translate and it never had.
Over breakfast one morning with a boy (see there's implied sex sometimes), I whipped out some random cards from the game Loaded Questions that I like to carry around as occasional conversation fodder. His turn to read: "What would be the name of your autobiography were you to write one?"
"That's easy, its the name of my blog, All Sex and Philosophy." I was left totally confused when he started laughing.
"I totally forgot that one of the first things I ever learned about you was that you wrote a sex blog!" My cheeks reddened as I tried to defend myself. Its not a sex blog. Its about life in general. Its just a quote I took from my friend because I liked how it sounded.
Its the same story every single time.
I guess its time to change the name. Suggestions anyone?
"It's a lot about relationships though. That was the point of the word sex." Even as the words left my mouth, I knew she was right. It just didn't translate and it never had.
Over breakfast one morning with a boy (see there's implied sex sometimes), I whipped out some random cards from the game Loaded Questions that I like to carry around as occasional conversation fodder. His turn to read: "What would be the name of your autobiography were you to write one?"
"That's easy, its the name of my blog, All Sex and Philosophy." I was left totally confused when he started laughing.
"I totally forgot that one of the first things I ever learned about you was that you wrote a sex blog!" My cheeks reddened as I tried to defend myself. Its not a sex blog. Its about life in general. Its just a quote I took from my friend because I liked how it sounded.
Its the same story every single time.
I guess its time to change the name. Suggestions anyone?
Secret Currency of Love
A couple months ago my former boss at HarperCollins contacted me to help out with makeup on a video shoot. The book was called The Secret Currency of Love: The Unabashed Truth about Women, Money, and Relationships and its a collection of essays from various women, speaking openly about how money has played a role in their relationships.
Since the shoot I've thought a lot about my own relationship to money. For one thing, it is still taboo talking about the topic, there's no doubt about that. People judge you on money and maybe that's why the topic has always made me completely uncomfortable.
I've claimed for years that I have no interest in money whatsoever, which is only partially true. Mostly I just don't have money and can't really see myself ever having much of it so I tend to go on the defensive. "What is money anyway," I'll chime, "Other than bits of paper that float in and mostly out of my life?"
And I've certainly never considered money much of a selling point when it comes to dating. "I hate men with money," I've been quoted saying on many occasions. Really I just hate men who flaunt their money, the bankers with their extravagant nights on the town, who talk of nothing but their posh vacations and fancy gadgets. I once faked a migraine on a dinner date with a banker from Merrill Lynch (wonder how much gloating he's doing these days). I was just never impressed. What I was far more interested in were the men who were doing something they love despite the poverty it brought. Of course, I quickly learned that often "Brooklyn artist" is synonymous with having "lazy Peter Pan syndrome."
"You'll see things different when you're a little older," I was told again and again but I didn't agree. I would never see money as a turn on. I would continue to date bartenders, starving artists, struggling musicians forever. Or until I turned 26 and realized I was kind of over it.
Being 22 and struggling is sexy. Its dangerous. It makes a bad boy. But I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that after 25 you have to start getting your shit together. Including me. I recently compromised and dated a banker by day and a struggling musician by night. It was to me the perfect combination. He was realistic and had drive but didn't give up on his dreams in the process. To be honest, I think I was the one who came off as the child. I'm 26 and I do the same job I had at 15. I went to a top University and for some reason work 20 hours a week at a bar. I can no longer actually pay my bills. My lack of interest in money is finally catching up with me it seems. And I don't think its impressing anyone.
Since the shoot I've thought a lot about my own relationship to money. For one thing, it is still taboo talking about the topic, there's no doubt about that. People judge you on money and maybe that's why the topic has always made me completely uncomfortable.
I've claimed for years that I have no interest in money whatsoever, which is only partially true. Mostly I just don't have money and can't really see myself ever having much of it so I tend to go on the defensive. "What is money anyway," I'll chime, "Other than bits of paper that float in and mostly out of my life?"
And I've certainly never considered money much of a selling point when it comes to dating. "I hate men with money," I've been quoted saying on many occasions. Really I just hate men who flaunt their money, the bankers with their extravagant nights on the town, who talk of nothing but their posh vacations and fancy gadgets. I once faked a migraine on a dinner date with a banker from Merrill Lynch (wonder how much gloating he's doing these days). I was just never impressed. What I was far more interested in were the men who were doing something they love despite the poverty it brought. Of course, I quickly learned that often "Brooklyn artist" is synonymous with having "lazy Peter Pan syndrome."
"You'll see things different when you're a little older," I was told again and again but I didn't agree. I would never see money as a turn on. I would continue to date bartenders, starving artists, struggling musicians forever. Or until I turned 26 and realized I was kind of over it.
Being 22 and struggling is sexy. Its dangerous. It makes a bad boy. But I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that after 25 you have to start getting your shit together. Including me. I recently compromised and dated a banker by day and a struggling musician by night. It was to me the perfect combination. He was realistic and had drive but didn't give up on his dreams in the process. To be honest, I think I was the one who came off as the child. I'm 26 and I do the same job I had at 15. I went to a top University and for some reason work 20 hours a week at a bar. I can no longer actually pay my bills. My lack of interest in money is finally catching up with me it seems. And I don't think its impressing anyone.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
with my depression
(circa fall 2001)
in an empty room
surrounded only by isolation
the beating of a heart
keeps time for desolation
pretending to be strong
but drowning in emotion
a desire to be held
and a need to feel devotion
obsession feeds the soil
for a garden of confusion
the idea that you would save me from me
was clearly an illusion
in an effort to escape
from hopeless desperation
I let myself believe your feelings
were more than my creation
I was wrong and now alone
held captive by an overhealthy imagination
in an empty room
surrounded only by isolation
the beating of a heart
keeps time for desolation
pretending to be strong
but drowning in emotion
a desire to be held
and a need to feel devotion
obsession feeds the soil
for a garden of confusion
the idea that you would save me from me
was clearly an illusion
in an effort to escape
from hopeless desperation
I let myself believe your feelings
were more than my creation
I was wrong and now alone
held captive by an overhealthy imagination
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Character drop
OK, I've changed my mind. When it comes down to it, the Isaac stuff isn't nearly as fun to write about as the other boys. His significance in my life revolving mostly on the fact that he left.
Its all probably something I should be telling my therapist about, if I ever finally start seeing a therapist rather than simply spill my issues on the world wide web. Basically, the change Isaac made on me is something that I understand now, looking back, reading my thoughts from that time. Then I merely thought I had my heart broken for the first time.
But the thing was, I never actually loved Isaac. And as many times as he told me he loved me, I don't really believe he ever did. Not that he was insincere. He was just such a lost and lonely boy that he was desperate to be in love. And I filled some kind of safe void for him. Because I would never hurt him, I didn't exist in the same world as him. While his home life was crumbling, his parents practically drinking themselves to death, having affairs, attempting suicide, leaving him and his brother to fend for themselves, his fantasy life created around me was a safe haven. When his high school girlfriend broke his heart because he was too depressed to be around, when he dropped out of college cause he couldn't will himself to care about a future, I was always there on the other end of the email or the phone. Comforting him.
He would send me these words:
"I have never felt more alone and sad in my entire life. I know that I'm not alone but I have pushed everyone out. I don't have any direction and I don't know what to do... I'm not looking for pity but these are the thoughts that run through my head all the time. That's why I thought of you the other day. I was trying to remember a time when I was really happy. When I felt worth something. Like I meant something to someone... I never thought, until I met you, that I could open up to a someone and let them know me. I felt an overwhelming attraction to you, both physically and on a person to person basis. You and I seemed to be on the same wavelength, I could go on forever... I meant what I said when I told you I love you. And I know if we were together I know I would fall completely in love with you."
And it was this devotion he had towards me that let me trust him. Let me pretend in the way he did that whatever else was going on in our lives, we had this one magical, amazing connection that transcended all else.
Before Isaac's departure from my life in the winter of my freshman year of college, I was a hopeful, naive, and trusting young girl. My journal was filled with endless crushes that came and went, declarations of love for boys I don't even remember, ego bruises, rejection, a gambit of emotions. The enthusiasm I had before Isaac has never appeared in my journals again. The word love was never uttered again til Ryan, and never since. When I look back on the beginning of my relationship with Peter, who entered my life only a couple months following the Isaac fall, its strange to see how little life I put into my feelings. How guarded my words became. I never trusted him nor did I confuse my interest in him as love. I assumed he would hurt me before things even began. And I was always one foot out the door. Ready to run.
And its the same way now, this insecurity, a fear of being hurt that causes me to sabotage potential before its off the ground. Perhaps we all go through this one catastrophic change in our formative years. I suppose my experience is no different then most. We've all had our hearts broken, there wouldn't be pop music or chick flicks without that common human bond. But what I find interesting is the evidence of the change. Its amazing to me that I wrote it down. That I can recognize the change in tone, in diction (or maybe that's from too many lit courses for my English major). That I am able to look back and see where my life took a sudden turn.
To this day, I don't think I've ever felt as completely torn apart as the night things changed between he and I. And I doubt I'll ever fully heal. Perhaps one day I'll actually write about the night it happened. For now I'd rather not relive the whole experience too in depth.
A year or two ago I found Isaac on myspace. I dropped him a brief note, sending my best. He wrote back:
"I was wondering how long it would be before we met on myspace. I appreciate you reaching out to me and making contact. Considering our mishaps, I'm glad that you are willing to contact me.
That night at western... well actually, I was too far gone up to remember it. I can wager that I was probably a jerk, and sought things of you that you were not willing to give. And I deeply apologise. It is because of nights like that, and there were many that I was out of my mind and body, that I gave up drinking. Its a poison for me that has so negatively affected my life."
We never wrote again. It was all that needed to be said and I'm relieved that his life has gone in a better direction.
Its all probably something I should be telling my therapist about, if I ever finally start seeing a therapist rather than simply spill my issues on the world wide web. Basically, the change Isaac made on me is something that I understand now, looking back, reading my thoughts from that time. Then I merely thought I had my heart broken for the first time.
But the thing was, I never actually loved Isaac. And as many times as he told me he loved me, I don't really believe he ever did. Not that he was insincere. He was just such a lost and lonely boy that he was desperate to be in love. And I filled some kind of safe void for him. Because I would never hurt him, I didn't exist in the same world as him. While his home life was crumbling, his parents practically drinking themselves to death, having affairs, attempting suicide, leaving him and his brother to fend for themselves, his fantasy life created around me was a safe haven. When his high school girlfriend broke his heart because he was too depressed to be around, when he dropped out of college cause he couldn't will himself to care about a future, I was always there on the other end of the email or the phone. Comforting him.
He would send me these words:
"I have never felt more alone and sad in my entire life. I know that I'm not alone but I have pushed everyone out. I don't have any direction and I don't know what to do... I'm not looking for pity but these are the thoughts that run through my head all the time. That's why I thought of you the other day. I was trying to remember a time when I was really happy. When I felt worth something. Like I meant something to someone... I never thought, until I met you, that I could open up to a someone and let them know me. I felt an overwhelming attraction to you, both physically and on a person to person basis. You and I seemed to be on the same wavelength, I could go on forever... I meant what I said when I told you I love you. And I know if we were together I know I would fall completely in love with you."
And it was this devotion he had towards me that let me trust him. Let me pretend in the way he did that whatever else was going on in our lives, we had this one magical, amazing connection that transcended all else.
Before Isaac's departure from my life in the winter of my freshman year of college, I was a hopeful, naive, and trusting young girl. My journal was filled with endless crushes that came and went, declarations of love for boys I don't even remember, ego bruises, rejection, a gambit of emotions. The enthusiasm I had before Isaac has never appeared in my journals again. The word love was never uttered again til Ryan, and never since. When I look back on the beginning of my relationship with Peter, who entered my life only a couple months following the Isaac fall, its strange to see how little life I put into my feelings. How guarded my words became. I never trusted him nor did I confuse my interest in him as love. I assumed he would hurt me before things even began. And I was always one foot out the door. Ready to run.
And its the same way now, this insecurity, a fear of being hurt that causes me to sabotage potential before its off the ground. Perhaps we all go through this one catastrophic change in our formative years. I suppose my experience is no different then most. We've all had our hearts broken, there wouldn't be pop music or chick flicks without that common human bond. But what I find interesting is the evidence of the change. Its amazing to me that I wrote it down. That I can recognize the change in tone, in diction (or maybe that's from too many lit courses for my English major). That I am able to look back and see where my life took a sudden turn.
To this day, I don't think I've ever felt as completely torn apart as the night things changed between he and I. And I doubt I'll ever fully heal. Perhaps one day I'll actually write about the night it happened. For now I'd rather not relive the whole experience too in depth.
A year or two ago I found Isaac on myspace. I dropped him a brief note, sending my best. He wrote back:
"I was wondering how long it would be before we met on myspace. I appreciate you reaching out to me and making contact. Considering our mishaps, I'm glad that you are willing to contact me.
That night at western... well actually, I was too far gone up to remember it. I can wager that I was probably a jerk, and sought things of you that you were not willing to give. And I deeply apologise. It is because of nights like that, and there were many that I was out of my mind and body, that I gave up drinking. Its a poison for me that has so negatively affected my life."
We never wrote again. It was all that needed to be said and I'm relieved that his life has gone in a better direction.
Monday, January 5, 2009
To begin...
In order to represent the impact of Isaac's departure from my life, I have to first build him up to the extend I had done so many years ago. he must become a symbol of perfection. An unrealistic fantasy of a man. Beautiful. Open. Loving. Naive to the pain of the world and optimistic of all possibilities.
It was the summer when I was 15 years old that we met. A summer I look upon now as the time my teenage life really began. It was over this three month period of adolescence that I first became aware that boys actually noticed me. And I relished over this new found power.
When my freshman year of high school came to an end, a popular senior boy asked me on a date. A real one. My first. We went to dinner, caught a movie, and later over coffee he asked, "Do you even have any idea just how unbelievably beautiful you are?" I blushed. I had never been told I was beautiful by a boy before.
He was of course too old for me and I soon began seeing his more age appropriate friend, a boy my parents dubbed the Nice Boy from Farmington. He however was a bit too nice and after cheating on him a couple times with my delinquent neighbor, I ended things to begin a fling with a long-haired, pothead. Luckily it was on this self esteem high that I was floating when Isaac and I first met because had I not been the aggressor, things may never have started at all.
It was the summer when I was 15 years old that we met. A summer I look upon now as the time my teenage life really began. It was over this three month period of adolescence that I first became aware that boys actually noticed me. And I relished over this new found power.
When my freshman year of high school came to an end, a popular senior boy asked me on a date. A real one. My first. We went to dinner, caught a movie, and later over coffee he asked, "Do you even have any idea just how unbelievably beautiful you are?" I blushed. I had never been told I was beautiful by a boy before.
He was of course too old for me and I soon began seeing his more age appropriate friend, a boy my parents dubbed the Nice Boy from Farmington. He however was a bit too nice and after cheating on him a couple times with my delinquent neighbor, I ended things to begin a fling with a long-haired, pothead. Luckily it was on this self esteem high that I was floating when Isaac and I first met because had I not been the aggressor, things may never have started at all.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
A memory of Isaac
(circa fall 2001)
No more than fifteen years behind me
And I've never known what its like
to have a love life
I have never even had a like life
But here we sit alone for the first time
A drop of liquid falls on my toe
Or is it a drip?
Drop
Drip
I ignore the rain
And hold your hand in mine
as we sit it silence
There's an unspoken connection
From your eyes locked in my gaze
And I feel
the exhilarating rush of our instant attraction
Turning itself into a mutual lust
Between us
And I know you understand
That feeling
It's new to me
Stronger than anything
I had previously experienced in relation
to a boy
But here I am with you now
Comforted by your presence
And the realization that I am capable
of being loved
By someone
I begin to cry
Was it ever raining at all
or always just my tears?
No more than fifteen years behind me
And I've never known what its like
to have a love life
I have never even had a like life
But here we sit alone for the first time
A drop of liquid falls on my toe
Or is it a drip?
Drop
Drip
I ignore the rain
And hold your hand in mine
as we sit it silence
There's an unspoken connection
From your eyes locked in my gaze
And I feel
the exhilarating rush of our instant attraction
Turning itself into a mutual lust
Between us
And I know you understand
That feeling
It's new to me
Stronger than anything
I had previously experienced in relation
to a boy
But here I am with you now
Comforted by your presence
And the realization that I am capable
of being loved
By someone
I begin to cry
Was it ever raining at all
or always just my tears?
Cast of characters
As previously mentioned, I'm pulling from my old journals for stories and while the two whole people who actually read my blog already know these folks i will soon be referring to, I thought I'd give a little insite anyway. Just for the hell of it.Three boys played extremely significant roles during the time of my life that I'm focusing on. Two of them have been written about on this blog already, their impact still maintaining a firm grasp on my life and self. The other is someone who has in many ways been forgotten. A person who flitted in and out of my life quickly, yet dramatically, and it was really only by reading the words I wrote at 19 that I realized how my experience with him had changed things in a way I can no longer deny.
So here they are: Isaac, Peter, and Ryan (Peter's name had previously been omitted and instead been referred to only as Boy in the past but since I'm fairly certain he's not going to be reading this anytime soon, we'll give him his name back).
Isaac I met when I was 15 in Holland, MI, a small town where my best friend at the time had family. We had taken a Greyhound bus across the state to stay for a week, spending our days with her cousin Matthew and all his friends, who were our age. One of these friends was a cute, shy boy named Isaac. I was his first kiss late one night out in the rain and we stayed in touch for years after, sending long emails and pseudo professions of love. Isaac was my first faraway fantasy, a role Ryan later took on. He became this perfect being in my mind and the fallout on a winter night in 2001 has left me scarred in ways I did not realize.
Peter was for all intensive purposes my college boyfriend, even though at no point in the three years that we were on and off did we ever give ourselves a label of exclusivity. Regardless, we both always referred to the other as our exes and when he graduated the year before me, he professed my role as the person he felt closest to during all those years. Peter was also the first boy I ever slept with and therefore he played a role far more complicated in my life.
Ryan is most easily described as my actual first real love. And to this day he has remained the only person I ever have loved. He is the only one of the three who is still in my life as we do write, text, and call occasionally. And there is always still the inkling that our relationship is not something which will always exist in the past tense. He is also the only one who will probably ever read the words I've written about him over the years. Once I sent him the beginning of the short story I began on our relationship, his only comments were to correct a couple errors in grammar. He lets me tell the story the way I remember it and I appreciate that.
So there they are. I will be alternating between their stories as I write, I have no interest in being totally chronological, but use the labels below to section out each individual as necessary.
Let the stories begin!
Friday, January 2, 2009
Time to cheat...
Alright, I admit it, I'm about to start cheating with this blog. When I was home over Christmas I found some of my old journals (I have like 100 of them randomly boxed all over my parent's house so every time I'm home I tend to discover another one). Anyway, one of them was from the college years, most specifically when I was taking creative writing courses, getting into poetry, and hopelessly in love with a boy across the ocean. Needless to say, I think I did some of my best writing during those days. Their journal pieces, so they're totally raw, but I want to start borrowing from them, editing on them, and posting some stuff here.
My top New Years resolution is to focus on my writing. To promise myself at least one solid half hour each day of quality time between my computer and my ideas. I also want to post at least one thing a day here. These two things however are not necessarily the same. My writing is sometimes just for me and I don't want it on here yet. SO that's where the old work comes in.
Who knows, maybe people might take interest in my 19-22 year old thoughts...
My top New Years resolution is to focus on my writing. To promise myself at least one solid half hour each day of quality time between my computer and my ideas. I also want to post at least one thing a day here. These two things however are not necessarily the same. My writing is sometimes just for me and I don't want it on here yet. SO that's where the old work comes in.
Who knows, maybe people might take interest in my 19-22 year old thoughts...
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