letters to no one

I took the long way home tonight, it’s something I do when there’s a lot on my mind. I got to thinking about to you. You know I’m living about three blocks from your house these days? I guess it’s presumptuous of me to assume you still live there, it’s been years since we’ve spoken. Time and distance have softened the harsh edges of my memory of you, I no longer feel something in the pit of my stomach when someone brings you up.

You lured me in, with your overpriced cologne and your crooked smile. I will always fondly remember your slightly tousled hair and the way you whispered my name in my ear. It will always enrage me when I think of the way you disappeared on me for days, the way you treated me when you’d been drinking and the plethora of girls who similarly admired your charms. I knew I wasn’t the first and even then I knew I wouldn’t be the last, but none the less the abrupt and confusing ending of us was difficult.

You were intent on being my one and only. I didn’t trust you, as much as I adored you, and I refused to tell you I loved you- even though I did. You asked me one day on the phone if I did, and I danced around the question. Years later, someone else asked me the same question, and I flat-out lied. You infuriated me one evening by calling me while we were arguing and saying “I love you, GOODBYE!” and hanging up the telephone. You had never said that to me before and you never said it again. You further aggravated me by ignoring my calls and texts for the duration of the night.

Some of my friends have delightful stories of the way I used to curse at my telephone because of you.  Other friends like to tease me about the time the first met you- you met one of them in 99 cent kid sunglasses, a beanie and a collared shirt. Another remembers that you met us for dinner, didn’t come sit with us and instead went to the bar for a glass of wine. You were a four month roller coaster I desperately needed to get off of.

All of this reminiscing is besides the point. I’m thinking of you tonight because I’ve just said goodbye to someone else. I won’t compare because there is no comparison. I could tell you about the way he smells of booze and cologne at night, I could tell you about how ridiculous we were trying to put ice down the others shirt while making drinks, about the drunken night I chased him down someone elses’ neighborhood, ridiculous jokes and embarrassing slogans my friends will forever live to mock. I could tell you. But I won’t- I’m holding these moments as my own.
My mind goes back to you always because you were the first to hurt me enough for me to remember how it felt when I got in my car to drive myself home. In retrospect you are a blip on the radar, a funny story to be told over cocktails, and a few fond memories.

Right  now I feel like he is never going to be a blip on the radar. I feel like I am never going to want to get drunk and make my girlfriends laugh by quoting the appalling things he’s said to me. I started to write this because I was hoping to reassure myself that eventually everyone means nothing, but I would be kidding myself to say that the situations are even a little bit the same.
I’m going to be fine, I know enough about myself to know that I don’t dwell on much for too long, one day not too long from now I’ll wake up, yank the sheets off my bed, blow dry my hair and go for a long drive. Then I will get on with my life.

Maybe someday I will be writing him an imaginary letter because someone else got to me.

Maybe.

 

smorgasboard

I’m dying to write this blog, I want to put it paper so badly, but I just can’t bring myself to do it because I feel like seeing it all laid out like that will cheapen it.

I’m in one of these moments right now that I never want to forget no matter what the outcome is, and I just cant seem to find the words.

I’m stressed the fuck out right now. I’m begining the “find a roommate, find a place, move” process again. I almost went a year. Almost.

You know I’m starting to feel extremely transient, and it’s funny, everytime I move I unpack and set my things up “just so”, like I’m actually going to be allowed to settle in somewhere.

My grandma’s boyfriend, here and forever after refered to as “Shirtless Bob” showed up one day three weeks ago and has never left, next thing you know they will be married. Then they will be divorced. Then he will finally leave… probably.

I know this all must sound incredibly bitter.

But honestly, aside from the stress, I’m feeling more like myself again.
I spent months feeling not pretty enough, not old enough, not affectionate enough, not sexually adventurous enough, etc etc i think you get the picture, and I’m finally back to feeling like my happy confident self.
Welcome back I really fucking missed you.

Tonight I am feeling something other than righteous indignation.

Ugh.

Rant

wow.

I’ve been tossing around things in my head for a few days now with the intention of blogging them out but every time I sit down to start I lose interest or someone calls and wants to do something and I’m desperate for a distraction right now so I always take the bait.

J and I are no longer speaking. Officially, unquestionably, definitely not speaking. It bothers me, but honestly I thought it would bother me a lot more.  I have made some mistakes in life, that was one of the ones that will go on the list of big ones. Not my actions, the fact that I’ve let him be a shit to me for the last year and not done anything about it until now. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think he’s a total asshole, but I let him establish a pattern with me and it was an unpleasant one. I am not a perfect human being and the circumstances leading to our timely demise do not leave me free of guilt, but I ultimately feel that this is the best thing for me. Things have not been the same on my end since I found out about the girls (the ones not me) and I have pulled back- I don’t like part of me that was insecure enough to snoop and I don’t like what I found. I think he has too, and I think we were both waiting for a catalyst.

I have tried to write the most accurate description of the chain of events that led up to this. If you asked him, he would probably tell you a little differently. But OH HELLS NO. You do not get to treat me like this. I have been nothing but pleasant to you. I concede that on occasion I have reacted rather strongly to minor offenses on your part, but on each occasion you have always made me feel stupid and have always made it about what I said or did when I was the one who was offended in the first place. I always end up apologizing profusely to you even when I do not feel entirely responsible because as my mother says “you can either be right or you can be happy.” But there is a limit to that. I have not being seeing anyone else. I have, on occasion, enjoyed the company of attractive men when out with friends, but I have not pursued anything further because it felt wrong. I didn’t want to be with anyone else in that way. I have no regrets at the end of the day because when it was good it was fun. Unfortunately it’s not good anymore.

It, in a word, blows that it wound up this way. Yes, it most certainly needed to end. But it didn’t need to be like this, so ugly. It saddens me when people who enjoy each other implode in this manner. I enjoy you. I enjoy our conversations. But I do not enjoy being kept at arms length for a long period of time and I do not enjoy feeling stupid.

Everything I’ve written lately sounds angsty.
That should have been my tip off.

Your all ghosts.
All of you.
It’s like looking at mugshots.

All of these people I have been and these places I have become so acquainted with. And it’s sort of sad really, I’ve forgotten some of you.

Someone somewhere has forgotten me.

all of this is temporary

-I’m going to preface this by saying that I feel that this blog is going to get really long and jump around, and it’s also going to cover some subjects that I consider very personal, so if you have something unpleasant to say please take it elsewhere.-

I left at eleven am for work this morning . When walked the door there was a maroon dodge something or other parked out on the street in front of my house, and an old man getting out of it carrying a bag. As I waved at him in a general acknowledgment of his presence he came scurrying over to open my car door for me and hug me hello.

When I got in my car I was extremely uncomfortable.
This man is my grandmothers.. boyfriend? manfriend? special friend? I don’t really know that they’ve defined their relationship as of yet as they’ve only been seeing each other a month. I know this because he sent her an anniversary card. In an effort not to speak ill of my grandma (as I generally consider her to be pretty swell) I’ll merely say that her past is colorful. When it comes to men, my grandma sure likes em. Mr. Bob is not the first and he is unlikely to be the last.

So herein lies the question: Why does this make me so uncomfortable? I’ve been doing a lot of “soul searching” (i hate that term but it seems appropriate here) lately and this is what I’ve come up with:

1. I’m no good at relationships. Guys like me, for the most part. I like guys, for the most part.
I mean, I’m certain I’m not into chicks. I’m not any good at relationships with my family either. My mom gets me, she’s the person in the world that I am closest to. She knows things without me telling her. I fucking love my little brothers in a ferocious mother bear sort of way, I hate to see them upset and I get a little irrational when they are. But that about sums about it up. I’m fiercely protective of my great grandma, shes 93 and cries at the drop of a hat so I do my best to keep the hats off the ground so to speak.
I think I might be a little bit jealous. I want my grandma to be happy but it’s difficult for me to watch her find someone yet again. She has a habit of dropping everything else in her life (including me) when there’s a man around. This guy calls constantly, he turns up every weekend wanting to spend time with her. I can’t remember the last time a guy called me just to say hello. This sounds ridiculous, I’m sure, I’m jealous of my grandma, how effed up is that?
I want to like her new.. whatever he is, but I haven’t hardly spoken to her in the last month except in passing.

2. This guy keeps hugging me. Every time he does, I die a little on the inside.
He smells fine, I think he’s clean, he’s not a lech as far as I can tell, but I HATE being hugged by 98% of people. I don’t know whats wrong with me. There is something about being pressed up against someone’s body that feels extremely personal to me. My grandma and I were talking a couple of months ago (this is the first time we have ever lived together) and she asked me if I didn’t like her. I said “of course not, why would you think that?!”. She replied “Because you spend a lot of time in your room alone (see above) and every time I hug you I feel you stiffen up and I can tell you don’t like it.”
How. Fucked. Up.
Honestly, I have a hard time typing it out. My own grandmother thinks I don’t like her.
I don’t know whats wrong with me.
I hug my good girlfriends on occasion, usually one or both of us is crying or it’s been a really long time since I’ve seen them.
I hug my mother, but only when I come or go because I live in another state. When we lived in the same state I hugged her occasionally.
In general when I’m seeing someone I do hug them but not until or unless I’m feeling pretty comfortable with them.
This is obviously a problem but it’s not really one I know how to fix. I could just hug everyone until I become desensitized to the act, but honestly, there’s a certain meaning to my hugging and I’d hate to cheapen it.

My grandma and her special friend are not the end all be all of this but all of this has gotten me to take a good look at my life.

I think it’s about time I admit it.
I’m not really happy here.
I go to work, I come home.
I don’t like my job, I can’t quit cause I’m a “responsible adult” and I don’t know what else I’d do anyways.

I’m extremely lonely.
I have friends. I have a lot of friends, and I’m busy most of the time between work, school, and my friends.
But that does not constitute connection.
“What is about people? We all need to be loved but why is it that as soon as someone tells us they love us we run scared?” (I stole that from HBO)
Don’t get me wrong, there’s a select couple of people I know I could always call no matter the day or the hour without fear of what they might say.
And if your my friend reading this, please don’t think I don’t adore you or think that this means I don’t feel close to you, it doesn’t.
My loneliness is mostly my problem.
I don’t tell people when I’m hurting, usually when I cry it’s alone, and I don’t share the most intimate details of my life with my closest friends, and if you happen to be testosterone orientated, well fuck, why bother, I’m never going to trust you.
It’s an uphill battle with me.

I mean, c’mon. I’m clearly not quite right right now, and rather than call a real live person, I’m pouring my soul onto the interweb.

I’d like to tell you I’m working on it.
I am. But honestly, I don’t even know where to begin.

for the everyman, the anyman, and one man

You ever have one of those perfect moments where nothing else exists except that moment?
The whole world could be coming down around you and you wouldn’t care because your in this moment.

The problem with perfect moments is that they are just moments.
And they’re haunting.
So many things will take you back to that moment- a song that was on, something someone says, a whiff of cologne, sometimes they hit you just because.

We leave our imprints everywhere.
We leave our mark on people and we leave our shadows in the places we’ve been.

You may never go back to a place and you may never touch a person again but you’ve left something behind.
There is something there you will never get back.

I’m not a person who is capable of loaning herself out.
I can’t come kiss you and cuddle you and want to touch you and not be attached to you.
My affection is for one person.

I don’t know how you can loan yourself to more than one person.
I understand the notion of dating. Sure, if your single go out and have fun.
We live in a culture where people touch other all of the time. People get drunk at parties and make out and hold hands and put their arms around each other and it’s commonly accepted. The typical greeting these days includes a hug, and depending on whom your hugging, you may be required to stand there for a full three seconds. The more alcohol, the more touching. A hug suddenly turns into an unexpected and unwanted advance.

People who I don’t know very well touch me all the time.
I feel the arm snaking around my lower waist. I don’t know why that’s necessary for conversation.
I feel you licking my ear,you might think your being funny but it’s not OK, I don’t know you well enough for this!
I don’t like clubs, and I don’t like the few bars I’ve been to because I’m just not comfortable with the rapid progression of comfort.

I’m not a prude, and I’m not the ice queen.
Sure, I fake it a little. I smile at you when you greet me over zealously, and let your hand sit on the small of my back for a second before politely excusing myself.

I am capable of showing affection.
I want to be affectionate.
I want to kiss you just because and I want to cuddle with you and linger a little longer than I need to.
I won’t though. Because I refuse to share and I don’t understand how you can spread your affections.
I don’t want to have to convince you that I’m the girl for you.
I’m secretly the biggest sap you will ever meet.
Seriously, it’s pretty bad.
But I have my own complexes and you won’t see that part of me until I’m certain you are mine, at least for now.

I just can’t loan myself out the way you can.
And I gotta look out for myself because no one else is going to.

for you.

I can tell you where I was 365 days ago at this exact time.
I was lying in my bed.
I couldn’t sleep.

You know there’s not a single picture of us?
I spend half my life taking pictures and somehow, in all that time, I never managed to capture a moment with you. Ultimately, I don’t need a picture. I remember.

I’m sixteen years old, I’ve never seen you before in my life,  it’s the very first day of our Jr. year in high school, and your turning around to tell me that our teacher smells funny. She does.
By the end of class, I know your name and your life story.

Fast forward a few months.
We’ve become friends.
Your at my house, my little brothers don’t know quite what to make of you, because unlike a lot of my friends, your actually talking to them.
They like you- you know lot’s of stuff about video games.

It’s our high school graduation.
Your getting a standing ovation.

I’m trying to come see you.
I’m cussing at all the cars around me because there’s traffic and I’m lost and City Of Hope is a hard place to find.
But your happy to see Lauren and I.

It’s a year ago.
Your grandma is gently teasing me because I don’t know what to say to you and I can’t get you to talk to me.
Finally I ask you how you are, and in typical me fashion I just say what comes to mind and say “Hey Brian, how are you? I know that’s kind of a rhetorical question…” And then you open your bright blue eyes and say two words to me: “Rhetorical. Question.”
Today is difficult, there is no contesting that.
I haven’t forgotten you, and I miss you.
There is regrets, of course, as there always is when someone leaves the world too early, but the best way that I know to pay tribute to you is to live.

Just to live.

red, she said

The neighbors think I am a harlot, or perhaps a prostitute.
Is there really a difference?
They shine their brights on me when I stumble from your house, a little worse for wear and entirely uncomfortable.
I’m dysfunctional again, it was always about you, but it was never about you.

I stay with you when I’ve had a few too many.
There’s something so intimate about sharing a bed with someone, which probably speaks volumes about my dysfunctions because I have problems being that close to someone.
I could get there with you but I’ve put you back in your box because I don’t trust you, but is there really anything to trust? We don’t have that kind of interplay.

At the end of the day, your a small piece in a big puzzle.
I don’t like anyone very much anymore.
I don’t like to rely on people, but like everyone else I am human and I need someone to lean on.
And right now, I don’t have anyone to lean on.
I stopped leaning on my mother a while ago, she lives too far away and at some point I suppose you have to cut the cord, but it’s killing me that I haven’t told her a significant detail of my life, I don’t think she could handle it.
My friends don’t impress me. My “best” girlfriend is kind of immature and it’s become very clear that I will always get left high and dry for any guy who will pay attention to her. So I quit leaning on her too.
I need a girlfriend. A quality one.
I probably need to come clean with my mother. I feel that she has her suspicions, she has a frightening way of knowing what I am keeping from her, and a scarier way of dispensing advice without making it clear that she’s aware that I need it. This probably makes her a damn good mom, and if god forbid I ever have children I hope I inherit this trait.

Your a small piece of a big puzzle, but your a big fish.
And I’m holding out for a big fish.
Someday I hope to write about this experience in a way that doesn’t sound angsty but the fact is I’m in the thick of it and I won’t be able to make any profound observations until I have a little breathing room.

an open letter to any man who’s had more than 3 drinks tonight

Dear drunk man (men),

I (the woman) have a handful of experiences with you which have left a bad taste in my mouth. This may be due to the fact that I have not had nearly enough to drink to think your antics are cute, but nonetheless, I would like to lodge a list of complaints:

1. When I turn up to find you chatting up a drunk girl, please do not introduce me as your wife and then whisper in my ear that she “really wants me to fuck her” as she will spend the rest of the evening disillusioned into thinking I want to talk her because she wants to prove she wasn’t after your manly bits. Yes, I know my dress is nice.

2. When you then turn to introduce me to your friend, please do not follow the statement “This is Mychal” with “She has the best ass in the world.” As if this isn’t bad enough, do not round out this little trinity with “Do you want to see it?” Maybe you haven’t figured it out yet, but we don’t like that.

3. That old guy over there is not amused by your consistent atagonizing.

4. Ditto for those girls sitting in the corner and the bouncer by the wall.

5. When you point out your other friend, it is never aceeptable for you to say “Oh that’s ______. He’s married and a total skeez. You should totally go hang on him.”

We (the women) are willing to forgive the drunk man for his transgressions, as we ourselves are no strangers to the funny water, and we know how charming and delightful you are normally, but copious apologies and “I am a drunken idiot” will be necessary.

Thanks for your consideration,
The cute girl who the bartender felt really sorry for.