Drive By Truckers at the Cat's Cradle - 04/19/12 (Happy Birthday, Jess!)

Sometimes it feels like the only thing in the world I want people to understand about me is how big of a U2 fan I am; the fact that everything I feel like I am or understand about life, God and the universe is somehow expressed by the work of U2. Or by my utter obsessive love of U2. I am the U2 Superfan. (Well, the biggest U2 superfan I know, after my buddy Shareef and his late BFF, Doobie, bless him.) So I relate to other superfans. I love superfans, regardless of the band they are in love with, no matter how much I do or do not love their music. I can enjoy any show… ANY show... if I am surrounded by the right people and I am absorbing their passion and I get all wrapped up in the love. It is addictive. This is why I seek the superfans out, even if it’s a LBLB and 4 people are in the audience, if I can be near the one guy that loves that freakin’ band, it’s worth it for me.

So Drive By Truckers… this was a rare and beautiful experience for me for 2 reasons: First, the easy answer: this entire audience was comprised of Superfans. I don’t think there was one person on site there by happenstance or for shits ‘n’ giggles. I’d estimate that this show was a very distinctly well thought out and religious pilgrimage for a good 98% of the audience. The room was full of people that god damned LOVE Drive by Truckers… Ambiance Jackpot!

Next, my sweetass boyfriend, Jessup, is a DBT superfan. I hadn’t realized quite how much until I dropped him stage-front in Carrboro. There had been clues here and there; a story or two about what a song reminded him of. The fact that the majority of the time when I’d walk in the door and his Pandora was fixed firmly on the DBT channel. The random Sunday afternoon when we’d gotten drunk at Olive Garden and he sequestered me to the futon in his office and decided that since I had made him like Morrissey, he was going to make me love DBT and then he sang along to every song. When I saw they were coming to town (or to Carrboro, close enough,) 3 days before his birthday, I thought it would be a pretty good birthday present idea, but I had no idea it would be like; BEST IDEA EVER.

Side note: I “saw” DBT last year at Hopscotch, (aka, Selma, Anne, Claire and I got real drunk in the plaza and pretended to have a hoedown and subsequently wound up on the N&O website.) this was 3 days before I met Jess for the first time, who was sitting outside the Big Easy, not two blocks from me, listening to the band. Delicious Irony.

Pre-Jess DBT Danceparty. Who knew?

Jessup and I headed into town a little early to pre-game at the Station and then headed over in time to get some brews, mingle with other Superfans (of which, as I said, there was nothing but,) and catch Megafaun. As Megafaun was playing, Patterson Hood steps out of the hallway near the board, where we were standing. I leaned over to shake his hand because Jess was too shy. I then shook hands with Jess so he could shake his hand by-proxy. It was kinda loud in there, but I can only assume he Squee’d.

do not let his slighty-drunken apathetic face trick you, HE IS PSYCHED

Hanging with another Superfan, this guy + Jess = BFF (I forgot his name, dammit!)

Megafaun I’d seen before; good guys. I dunno. I’m not so much the Alt-country buff. Then DBT hit the stage and dear god, these people love these guys. Jess LOVES these guys. I saw a whole other side of him all of a sudden. Singing along to every song, grinning like a fool. One beer, one arm in the air majority of the songs. About 3 songs in, I realize what’s happening. I am seeing a new Jess; I am falling in love with a new Jess. My boyfriend is a superfan, too. OMG. Such good news! So I know what I have to do, because Jess is a sweetheart and very shy; I grab him by the shirtsleeve and push through to the front for a song or two. And there he was… right where he needed to be; right up front in front of his favorite band with his new best friends, united in superfandom. I eventually backed out of the crowd to let him be with the people that loved them most. His people. I found myself wanting to kiss and grope him incessantly because I was falling all in love with him again, but that wasn’t where he was. He was rocking the fuck out… so I wandered around a bit and let the fans be with the fans. 

Yess's Pancake-hand up in the air

LOVE IT!

 DBT was pretty much amazing, probably one of the most perfect sounding shows I think I’ve seen at Cat’s Cradle. I don’t know if this has to do with the recent re-model of the space, or if there is a new Sound guy, or if DBT brought their own sound guy. But it sounded really good. (Note: a few days later Jess and I watched the DBT Documentary “The Secret To A Happy Ending” and I learned much more about the band and basically how they have toured almost non-stop for over a decade.) Most importantly, the feeling in the room was unbeatable. It was one of those rare shows where there was so much love and good vibes from the band and the crowd that I felt like a part of a secret club where the members are really all chill, cool dudes who have been through some heavy shit but still have the tenacity/stubbornness/just plain stupidness to carry on. I had a blast, I know Jess had an amazing time, and I’d love to see them again sometime.

One of the most special-est moments was during the first encore when Megafaun joined the band for a special cover performance of The Weight from The Band in honor of Levon Helm, who had passed away earlier that day.

The Best Birthday Ever: Birds And Arrows, Free Electric State and Gray Young - Tir Na Nog - 07/21/11

(quick pre-note, pics in this entry are much smaller than usual, as there are way more pictures than usual. click the images to embiggen in a separate window!) 

This morning I woke up in my old bedroom in my parents house, as my mother had doctor appointments today which required her to have a chauffeur. As we sat at the kitchen table sipping our identical coffees (which we both destroy with countless Splendas and too-much-cream,) we chatted about the news and typical things. she then remembered suddenly to show me the scrapbook she has been making for my now 10 year old niece. (this is ironic, because I'm fairly certain my mom doesn't know it, but I've been keeping a journal for my niece since before she was born, telling her all about her life and stories about her family as well.) Mom brought out the scrapbook and it is filled with my niece's silly drawings and comics and stories she has written over the years. Mom smiled at me and asked, "guess who she gets this from." We didn't have to say anything. It got me thinking about the typewriter, something I had written about long ago, back before this blog was about shows and was just about music.

The best birthday present I ever received as a child was a baby blue, steelcase mini-Brother typewriter for my 6th birthday. I had decided, even then, that it was my destiny to be a writer. Pre-typewriter, there were stacks of my scribbly stories stuffed in drawers, I needed the typewriter so I could begin to transcribe them; even thought I probably didn't know what "transcribe" meant. I begged and prayed and hoped for months that it would be my "big" present. And it was; I got to work. Stories like "Robin Hamster", "The Hamster that went to Space" and "The Dog that ran through the Woods" came to life.

Other birthdays that stand out in my mind were my 12th, in which I had my first boy/girl "party" at Rock-O-la in Mission Valley; I had made the invitations myself to look like tiny pianos, to match my deeply obsessive committed relationship with my piano lessons. note: the only thing that has ever really mattered to me has been being able to express myself artistically... can you tell?

I spent my 21st birthday in the alcove stage right at the Berkley Cafe on Open Mic Blues night with Summer and Rob Roy. I had my first beer and hated it; didn't drink again until i was 32.

then around the age of 23, something happened. I started abhorring birthdays. I was horrendously depressed for weeks before the day actually came, then the day of I would find myself in bizarre circumstances like, lying by the creek half a mile into the woods behind my parents house, crying my eyes out about my grandfather or Vivien Leigh. I felt lost and behind everyone else's expectations. I felt like I was missing some big piece of the puzzle everyone else had figured out in their teens and I had no idea what I was looking for, much less how to find it. All I knew was that everyone else seemed to have it figured out, I didn't, and my birthday would come and I'd start taking this mental or financial or educational inventory on myself and my inner-critic would drop-kick the shit out of me. I was unbearable for years around birthday time.

There have been, so far, only 2 birthdays wherein I was not the most wretched, suicidal mess on the planet my 34th, which you'll hear about in a second and my 25th, when I was living in a townhouse beside my friends. My best friend J9, her husband, and my then boyfriend, Rob Roy, took me out to dinner to a teppanyaki place in Cary (I'm not kidding when i tell you how much I love that stuff.) They had crafted this entire scenario to make me believe that everyone on the planet had, in fact, forgotten my birthday. I got not a single call, save from my immediate family, telling me happy birthday. I was keeping it together to the best of my ability. After dinner, J9 didn't even offer to cover my birthday dinner.  I paid for myself. I didn't really care too much, I never assume anyone is going to buy me anything....  well except for my pop, because ...hey.

After dinner, J9 and her husband lead me to believe they were begrudgingly following me back to my townhouse to stop in to visit the girls next door and watch the Muppet Movie with them. I, in driving the BF and I back to the house, finally let myself unleash the pity party within and cried my heart out all the way home. We pull in, I notice J9's car out front, and I decide I need to go into my own house and hide for a bit until I calm down. Rob Roy was insistent I just stop in for a minute. after about 2 or 3 minutes of a misplaced screaming-match, (entirely my doing,) I finally agreed to walk over. Upon walking in the door, I hear a SURPRISE and every god damned body I think I had ever known was standing in the living room. I stood there, dumbfounded for a moment, letting it sink in; then proceeded to jump into the air and run around the room high-fiving everyone, as if i had just been called down to Contestant's Row on the Price is Right. It was my first and only surprise party; and trust me kids, I was surprised as hell. It was absolutely amazing.

This night was also, coincidentally, the second time in my life I ever ate "special" brownies, a gift from one of my closest friends at the time. I had a couple, then had a curious feeling that sent me searching for more things to nosh on; OH HEY LOOK, BROWNIES! I wound up eating, oh, say.... 5 or 6? there was a period of about 2 hours where I was afraid to move a muscle on the couch. I later found myself on the phone with a friend from New York, walking a circle of about a 4 foot radius on the back porch. god knows how long i was out there, but it felt like days.

Until my 34th, this past year, the surprise party birthday and the typewriter birthday were the two best birthdays I'd ever had.

I never really plan my own birthday things, I have a general idea of what I'd like to do, and I go along with whatever everyone else thinks is cool... (for example, 33rd was the year I FINALLY got a barbie cake! YEAH! Childhood dreams come true!) This year, months in advance, as I have gotten semi-addicted to my reverbnation fanpage (I can track local shows with much more obsessive voracity than via facebook invites or my google calendar,) I noticed my little Gray Youngsters were playing on July 21st at Tir Na Nog.... oh.... snap. you guys... my birthday is July 22.

Then, more information began to surface; Gray Young was to be playing with NOT ONLY Birds and Arrows, but ALSO Free Electric State.... are you kidding me? This was cosmic. Did they plan this or was it entirely coincidental? My three very favorite local bands playing the eve of my birthday, with the completely obvious possibility that my VERY favorite local band would be on stage as it in fact, did turn midnight and become my actual birthday? Too much, too good. The plan was set, I knew what I was doing for my birthday. I pretty much told everyone, "hey, this is where I'm going to be if you want to hang with me on my bday." I found myself for weeks, checking my iPhone calendar, counting down the days. I NEVER count down the days to my birthday. I HATE my birthday. this year, oh man... I LOVED my birthday.

I went to see Mom at her shop (she's a hairstylist, btw,) and she trimmed my bangs and gave me an ultimate bouffant Rhoda-esque flip-do. I squeezed into my ultra-retro Mod Cloth red dress and Roo, Patrick and I wandered down to Tir Na Nog a little early to have dinner and set up shop. The evening quickly became a blur of love, as people I adore started appearing in droves and the music I love the most began to fill the room.

Just an FYI, as I find myself writing this, I'm not going to be giving you a straight-up "this is who this band is and this is what they sound like" review. As many times as I've seen and reviewed these bands, I think you i know what's up... What I'm telling you this time is pure and simple "i am in love with these bands and this is how i felt."

First up, My sweet B&A. If you've been here before, you've heard me gush before. This is a band full or so much love, imagery, and depth; hearing these songs when I was already in so much of the greatest loving mood I can remember in years was sort of like the chocolate sprinkles on the banana split of love. True, not that many people had shown up yet, but I selfishly found myself appreciating this fact, as I managed to convince myself this was a private concert just for me. It is a well known fact that there are more than a few Birds and Arrows songs that turn me into a huge crybaby, so I found small, distracting ways (PBR) to distract myself form becoming too emotional. Still they got me, dammit. They always get me.

Between sets, I found more True Loves outside. and more people handing me birthday drinks; always welcomed.

Next, the Best Rock-n-Roll band I have known in real life. The band, in which every time I see them live, I think... how in the world am I lucky enough to know these people? Why are they not the biggest superstars in the universe? Seeing Free Electric State live is a treat every damned time. I can't remember if I ever told the story, but I'll tell it now: I was riding in my car back behind Hillsborough a while back and I hear one of the coolest most rockingest damned songs I think I ever heard on WKNC maybe ever - I pop on WKNC's site asap and see it is a song called "marshes" by FES. I turn my happy ass right around on Brooks Ave and drove straight to Schoolkids and bought the album. (This is why try and request it/bride for it to be played every time I see them.) FES are a kind of Rock that is better than pop or heavy or indie, it's like they have manifest destiny on this whole new territory of sound that no one even knows how to cross the river to get to yet. Another one of those bands I feel like I know a secret no one's figured out yet. I always wind up injuring my neck from all the banging/bobbing of the head when they play.

In later reviewing my pictures that I took this evening, I realize I somehow managed to take about 25 pictures directly of Nick. this does not at all surprise me as I have the most obvious, debilitating embarrassing crush on him ever.

oh, ffs, fes.

Between sets, the pictures of my friends and I become more and more embarrassingly drunk. I feel it in my bones... THEY ARE SETTING UP I CANNOT MISS ANY SECOND AT ALL... and i high-tail it inside for Gray Young.

At this point, I was; well... drunk.  Hey. It was my birthday, I am beyond allowed. I was overwhelmed by the amount of love and kindness all around me, the hugs and birthday shoutouts from my friends on stage, the sounds I felt so lucky to hear; then suddenly these guys get on stage and I basically just become an emotional waste of space. I am rocking out so hard, it all becomes a bliss blur. At one point, Chas steps off stage in front of me, I find myself flinging my arms around him and holding on for dear life as he plays... how this is even possible, I don't know. he didn't miss a beat, I can only assume this was my birthday present from him. (weeks later, at Slim's we encounter each other in the hallway leading to the patio. as we have still never spoken to each other intentionally and he very much has a girlfriend at the moment, i feel an overwhelming urge to thank him for this moment in my life [the birthday moment] and as i am walking towards him, i hold my finger to my lips as if to say "shhh" and hug him. for probably way too long. Mike Gray walks by and says,  "THAT'S a really long hug...." I die of embarrassment and run away. Dear Chas, that was me thanking you for the best birthday ever.)

Later review of the pictures I took this night reveal that i did, in fact, fill the remainder of my camera's memory card with some of the greatest pictures of the boys that I've ever taken.

So here's the best part. The BEST PART that i would have never guessed in a million years, not if you had given me a multiple choice option and the thing that actually happened was one of the options, this option would have been so good i would have never assumed something so magical could have happened. What happened next turned this into the greatest birthday I have ever had, trumping both the typewriter and the magic-brownie surprise party.

Throughout the evening those in the know, band members and close friends of band members approached me asking "did you find out what the last song is yet?" ...no i didn't. I didn't want to; note: I LOVE SURPRISES. i won't guess surprises because the surprise itself is so good, i would never jeopardize any chance i get to be surprised. I halfheartedly threw out "Oh, It's probably Tilling the Wind, they know it's my favorite and makes me all crybaby and shit." Everyone just smiled and nodded. I didn't hazard any other wild guesses, I intentionally avoided peeking at any setlists (however i did snatch it up later and it is on my show-wall with all the others, obvs.)

Back when this show was then officially announced on facebook and the invites were sent out; I casually joked that this was, in fact, my birthday party and "wouldn't it be cool if there was some awesome all-band singalong to a U2 song at the end of the night... haha."

you guys.
seriously, you guys.

As GY finished their set, they were then joined on stage by our sweet Andrea Connelly et. al., suddenly i feel several people standing around me, several of those friends of bands that had been taunting me with last song guesses throughout the evening. I find myself standing to the right of Joe Maz from IWTDI... He turns to me and says something like "did you figure it out yet?" and i say no. he says something like "get ready".  I then find myself alternating between Ultimate WOO-girl and the biggest weepy mess ever for the next few moments as the most beautiful thing I think I've ever witnessed happened in front of me.

I'll let the video speak for itself.


Bad (Birds & Arrows & Gray Young) For Karla from abbyladybug on Vimeo.


In Another video shot by someone I don't know, further back in the crowd, you can hear my initial "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" cry as I finally realize what's happening...

I cannot express to you fully how absolutely powerfully amazing this moment was for me. I know i gushed and hugged and cried all over everyone involved that night, and here it is over a month later and I still feel myself getting all sorts of choked up and weepy about it... but I have to say once again that I feel like the luckiest girl in the world and this was, in fact, the greatest birthday of my entire life thus far. Thank you all so much. thank you, thank you, thank you times infinity.

in other news, this gray young tattoo was my birthday present to myself. I am officially the SUPERFAN.

 

How could 35 ever top this??

second person narrative mode - christmas edition

Imagine you are a girl. (If you are actually a girl, this exercise will be much easier for you.) Now imagine you are not just any girl; you are an overweight, clumsy, awkward girl with a heart of gold. Imagine you have broken almost every rule enforced upon you by your parents in some misguided attempt to protect the honor of your friends and to uphold your own personal beliefs in being a friend to the friendless and living a strictly Carpe Diem life. you make poor choices, like staying out late because if you don't your friend might drive drunk or get involved with the wrong people; so you come home late and you get grounded. Imagine you find yourself entangled in these stupid scenarios over and over because you were raised to believe that your specific deity which you have chosen to worship rewards those who selflessly take care of those who can't or won't take care of themselves. Then imagine after several years, say 23 or so, of being constantly taken for granted, ignored or abused you start to question your motives. are you doing these things because you want to or because you're supposed to? Are you doing these things selflessly after all or are you assuming there is a reward? Are you supposed to expect the reward? Then maybe you have a crisis of faith here and there because ... you want that reward! you feel so guilty for wanting it and this causes so much anxiety and depression in you.

Now imagine you are seeking answers. Imagine the only way you know how to do this is a constant internal dialogue. You see everyone around you making life make sense with college degrees, husbands and wives, hobbies or sports, and with unquestionable religion. You see most everyone around you contented, calm and accepting. The only way you have found, however, to make anything make sense is to keep quiet and be alone and to escape into some music. Your headphones are your church. Your mix tapes are your religion. When the music stops, the confusion creeps in. You drown yourself in it, it is the only time your imagination runs free, there are no expectations and you dream wildly. it keeps you calm, it keeps you awake, it keeps you safe. you have no husband, you only have Bono. You have no degree, you have Peter Gabriel. You are not working a job you care about, but on the way to and from this job you get blast Jesus Christ Superstar at full volume and sing along. This somehow makes it all okay.

Sometimes when you are alone with your music, you are someone else. You are on stage. You are flawless and loved. You are thin and beautiful. Pretending you are someone you aren't becomes something you do so much it almost becomes who you are. you become an amalgamation of the pretend you and the real you. Then suddenly someone comes along, the right girl at the right time who encourages you to try and be both. why not? Dream out loud, be wild, be free, kick and sing! You may be in a stranger's bedroom at a house party and meet this girl and never think twice about it and then sometime down the road that moment becomes legend in the story of who you are together. Then one day you're sitting out on a patio of a coffee shop and this same girl decides to sit with you and you find yourself telling this practical stranger things about yourself you never said out loud before. Through a series of twists and turns, broken hearts, dead ends and towers falling, this girl becomes so much a part of yourself that you forget where she ends and you begin. You start to depend on her, to love her like family, to trust her input and opinions more than you trust your own. Her approval feels better than your parents'. You need too much sometimes and she kicks your ass in gear. you get stuck in a loop and she pulls you out. she watches you fly into the same closed window over and over again and she never judges you, she just waits until you learn your lesson. You love this girl. she is your best friend.

As you get older, it gets harder and harder to stand back up when you fall off the hypothetical horse. You feel so sure about something and it falls to pieces and you, therefore, fall to pieces. Your best friend will listen and nod and offer kind words and keep you moving. Sometimes the weight of the poor decisions and the heartbreak and the pain keep you in bed for days. Your body aches, your brain can't sit still, you walk aimlessly around the house for hours, heaving with sobs. Your best friend knows this about you, she is never cruel, she is never demanding, she is never condescending; she listens.

Somehow through the grace of your chosen deity, you suddenly find yourself becoming the person you always wanted to be. your body is cooperating and looking better, your self esteem is in tip-top shape, your mental imperfections are under control and your bills are being paid on time. and for this you suddenly start seeing those rewards you hoped would come. so then one day, you meet a man. This man takes you back to the girl you used to be before your best friend. this man reminds you of all the times when you were a kid and you just knew your chosen Deity would repay you for your kindnesses with just this type of person. The strength, beauty and goodness radiates from this man with such high intensity you want to just linger in it all day like a cat with a premium ray of sunshine. This one man represents everything you admire and respect in humanity, he represents everything you ever admired about yourself and your best friend in a beautifully bearded package. you can even see your mother and father in him, you can see such gentle kindness, such wild passion, big dreams that he will determinedly make come true, and most importantly you can see every reason in the world why you should be a better person because of him. You find yourself taking those final steps your best friend laid out for you and now through the strength and conviction of your love for this man, you are strong enough to take them. You feel justified and finally like a complete person, not just a collage of ideas. you feel whole. you finally feel better than the rest of the people who thought they had it figured out because you know the real secret; you solved the riddle of true love.

you start a project. you are on step-whatever of your never ending-step-plan to become the best you that you can possibly be by actually doing something you set out to do; you start writing. it may not be the best written thing out there, but it is yours. and with every new thing that is written, you feel more and more confident. you feel that empty vessel that was meant to hold your pride all along start to fill. you are writing for three people. yourself, your best friend and your true love; the only three people in the world you trust with your life and most importantly, your heart. you make a decision to dedicate songs to the people you love the most as a Christmas present as a part of this writing project. From day one you start to realize the two hardest entries will be for these two people. It takes you months to make a decision and as soon as you make it, you realize it was the wrong one. Imagine this: you have to stand at the graves of your grandparents. You have to look into the faces of the people who share your blood. You have to spend Christmas Eve alone and lost. You have to hear the right song at the right moment, you have to read just the right poem at the right time and you have to have just the right dream during the right nap to know the answer...

There is no one song for your best friend. There is no one song for the love of your life. They are your songs; they are every song. These two, these two random people your chosen Deity has chosen to set before you that he or she gave you to love more than life itself, they are your soundtrack. They ARE the music.



no two silly people have ever been so loved xxx

Montell Jordan - This Is How We Do It

As noted in the previous entry, one of the things my best friends would think to criticize me the worst for is my inexplicable tendency to assume people are somehow "better than me." It's ironic to me now that the two heavy hitters, the two people i feel the most intimidated by, the two girls I have thought for the longest were way too cool to be friends with me, are a) posted back to back and b) two of my best friends; Samara and now Courtney.

Courtney is one of, if not *the* most beautiful, girls i know in real life. I met her, as it appears to me now the more and more posts I am dedicating to my friends like this, at Cup a Joe. Cup a Joe, I have always said, is like homeroom; The place we meet before the action starts. Home base. Where all great ideas are born and then come to die, slowly and honorably to be brought up again years later over drinks and much laughter at outlandishness. The dreams bourne at Cup a Joe rarely ever make it out the door. This is a haven for crazies and daydreamers; lieabouts and homeless artists; trust fund babies and recovering alcoholics . I got my drivers license and Cup a Joe was the first place I came, journal and headphones in hand. I am 33 1/2. I am now sitting in Cup a Joe, writing this blog post. There has never been a time when i did not know or love this place. It's no longer a smoking establishment, but we huddle outside in the winter and laze around sweating in the summer. I met Courtney (aka "Cote d'Azur" or just "Cote") through friends of friends of friends. I can't even remember the exact time or circumstance, I just remember suddenly she was a part of my life.

Every lesbian i know has been in love with Courtney at one point or another. This statement should be given a significant amount of weight, as i know a significant amount of lesbians. I don't know what it is about me and gay people... I'm not sure if it's my innate need to surround myself with those who are repressed or judged unfairly or my constant draw to the underdogs? maybe because i was a theater major or maybe I'm just really fabulous? Whatever the reason, I probably have 3 or 4 close straight friends. Courtney is one of these inexplicably straight ones. I think there would be a major blowup, basically a WWIII of the Raleigh lesbians if Cote ever switched teams, they would murder each other over this girl. Every man Courtney has dated has been the luckiest man in the world. She is now dating Tony, probably the only guy she has ever dated that i would have dated. Tony is fabulous, and by proxy as determined by the above statement; the luckiest guy in the world.

Courtney is one of those people who, no matter how well you think you know her, you just don't. there is so much depth, complexity and energy churning at all times inside her brain and in her heart, so much so that i'm not sure she even knows from one moment to the next who she is. One moment she is a photographer, the next she is a psychologist. A rollergirl, a goth vixen, a pilates fanatic,a book nerd, a vicious card shark, a waitress, a ghetto fabulous gangsta queen, a down home country girl... sometimes she glows with such power and confidence it is blinding and sometimes the darkness in her consumes the room. she is a dynamo, she is a supernova, she is a force to be reckoned with. You will never have a short chat with Courtney, you will always have a full conversation. you will never walk away not knowing exactly what she is thinking and how she is feeling. She is spontaneous, wild, hilarious and humble. like most of us at the ole coffee shoppe, she has the dream-out-loud disease. however, what sets Courtney apart from the rest of us, much like Samara, she made it happen. and she keeps making it happen. she keeps getting more and more degrees and following more and more dreams and travel itineraries.

One of my favorite Courtney memories is driving with her to the Gay Pride Parade in Durham in 2009. (literally no straight friends. seriously.) Along the way I was hitting random on the iPod and came across this song and she and I had middle school dance flashbacks and decided to rock out any and all mid 90s r&b and hip-hop I had. Which we did. I would have never have expected Courtney to know every word, and of course she did. Then she told me crazy stories about high school and I just remember thinking, you know... as long as i have known this girl and as long as I will probably know her, which is forever I hope, I will never know all there is to know about her. Every time I hang out with her, I figure something else out and I am crying I am laughing so hard. Everyone needs a Courtney in their life, If you don't have one, I feel really bad for you, because she is spectacular.



cote and I at the borough, being in love, as per yooshe.

Cocteau Twins - Iceblink Luck

I am a Cancer. More specifically, I am a Cancer/Leo cusp. This cusp is known as the “cusp of oscillation” … You get the best of both signs: Cancer’s sensitivity; the moon, water, kindness, attraction to home/silence/quietness… then Leo’s wildness; the sun, fire, attention seeking/confidence/strength. It all makes for a hugely delicious clusterfuck of fun and moodiness. I tell people I’m a nice bunch of girls and that I am ruled by opposites. There is no gray area in my life; all or nothing. I use astrology as a tool to understand life, a subject I am constantly probing. I cannot ever remember a time when I was not soul seeking on some existential/transcendental/religious/psychological level. I recently found my little diary I kept from ages 8 to 14 in my parents’ attic… It is full of love declarations and soul seeking. Sound familiar? I am nothing, but if consistent. Astrology is one of those little tools I pick apart, like self help books, the bible, meditation, daydreaming, etc… to figure out who I am, who you are, why we are here, why we are friends, why we connect, why I love you, etc. I like to think this is a great asset; the constant questioning, the constant self-review; but there are times when it becomes hyper-criticism and I am cruel to myself. Standards for explanation and understanding are set too high and I fail to find answers that others seem so easily to see… what is love? How do you find a partner and make it stick? How do you find your life’s purpose? What is your life’s purpose? How do accept and stay satisfied with the choices you’ve made?

It almost seems irresponsible to me to not consider astrology a piece of the puzzle. Take for example: My closest friends and greatest lovers have all been Libras… Their balance and rationale evens out my moods and recklessness. The majority of my family (mom, brother and niece) are Pisces (the one sign that eludes me, their depth is somehow beyond my own and they are just too damn good at hiding it!) This song reminds me of the one Pisces in my life whom I didn’t automatically adopt, but who inadvertently became a major part of my life… Samara.

The first time I remember meeting Samara, I was so jealous I could spit nails. I was with Rob Roy at my coffee shop and she stopped by the table to say hello to him. They were old friends. She was so beautiful and unique looking and tall and cool; there was no way I could compete with a girl like that.

Backstepping to that hyper-criticism bit, one of the things I've never understood or been able to explain away about myself is one of the worst things about me. It is the thing my best friend points out to me constantly... I have this inner voice that tells me that I am not good/cool enough to be friends with certain people or to date certain men. This is obviously a self-esteem shortfall and depending on my mood I will either aggressively deny it or sadly nod my head "yes." Samara was always one of those Raleigh elite, way-too-cool kids that I never assumed I would be friends with. Then somehow, the way life likes to do, I was proven wrong. Samara and Jeannine (best friend) were friends all along. As I became closer to Jeannine, Samara came as like, a package deal. Eventually, somehow, we started hanging out on our own. Strange coincidences cemented our die hard friendship... We both started dating Brits. Hers was in London, mine in Liverpool. Throughout all this drama, (we both were engaged to these fellas at one point, neither of us actually marrying. well, at the time. Samara and hers eventually did marry, much later down the road...) we became sounding boards, shoulders, coffee buddies, cheerleaders and eventually close and dear friends.

Samara has that gorgeous Pisces trait that I am seethingly jealous of... follow through. Most Pisces have the "dream out loud disease", in fact it was Samara who either coined that phrase or was a major part of its conception... She wanted to live in California, she did it. She wanted to go to beauty school, done. Nursing school? done. Pisces are so good at letting their dreams run wild, but then figuring out how to just.... do that shit! Get the gumption and go! I still find myself hung up on the "wouldn't it be cool if?...." and staring off into space for 2 hours, then being entirely too lazy to break out of my comfortable routine. Samara is never afraid to just take a chance... why not?

Samara and I have spent the last ten years or so pulling each other out of pity party pits. Never judging each other for that need to just, sit at the kitchen table sipping whiskey and cry your heart out on a sunday afternoon. we have listened to each other weep, bitch, moan, gloat, brag, love, hate and dream dream dream! I have never been afraid to tell Samara exactly what i was feeling because i know on that precious Piscean level, there is no emotion that isn't okay or justifiable. She exists on a level where emotional/personal justice and lioness-protecting-her-cubs ferocious loyalty is not questioned, it is just done. I cannot tell you how much i appreciate this fact about her. She would not hesitate to do anything for those who love her best. I absolutely cannot wait to see her as a mother, because I think this is where these amazing attributes of hers will shine. When I hang out with Samara, I never forget to thank God that I have her in my life, I am really lucky to know her, love her and have her on my side.

Samara is one of the handful of people whose musical tastes I trust. I remember on of the first mix cds she ever made me, which was actually a CDR overloaded with mp3s that my car at the time would play, this song was one of the firsts on the list. It was a song I had known for a very long time, but for whatever reason, it became the ethereally beautiful aural representation of my too-cool friend. I think Cocteau Twins, I think Samara. I hear Elizabeth Fraser's voice, I hear Samara.


(samara & i, totally sober i'm sure, in front of ye olde jackpot. xoxo)

The Reverend Horton Heat - In Your Wildest Dreams

Earlier drafts and planning stages of this blog was a sort of retelling of the many loves in my life via “our songs”… while that is certainly something that has seemed to occur many times through my posting, I also felt it was really important to include stories about my family and childhood as well. So I did. But the awkward fact remains that the majority of these posts are about men from my past whom I have had unresolved crushes on or dated or whatnot. I’m trying to break them up, but I wonder/worry if it’s not becoming entirely too Oedipal that I post one blog about some guy I used to date and then a post right after about my dad.

I was a freshman at ECU. Around this time, I had discovered the internet. This was back when you paid by the minute for AOL and dad would flip when he got $200 or $300 bills. I would chat with complete strangers about Jane Eyre and U2 and fart noises, who knows what 17 year old kids did back then. (Who knows what they do now?) I would chit chat for a minute or two about nothing, write down screen names and when I got back to ECU, I would open up email/pen pal correspondences. It was a lot of fun! I kept up with a lot of these kids for years because of it. One such person was a boy named Mike from Huntington Beach, California; a shaggy blonde photographer/skateboarder.

I had this great idea once, or twice, Or twelve different ideas including novels, essays or even screenplays based on this one most profoundly important statement of my whole life... (Maybe after all these years and all these unfinished ideas and poems and songs and stories can just be summarized in one stupid little blog post and it can be put away for good?) This is the thing that I feel defines so much of who I am and what I believe in this world: I never met the first boy I ever loved.

Back then (1995/1996) you had very limited options for web access. AOL and maybe Prodigy? It was such an abstract and exciting concept for me, (well for everyone when it first started happening.) I used AOL at home, (when home,) and some freaky ancient DOS based chat program in the labs at school (when at school). I can’t really remember talking to him on AOL, but I remember and still have the first email I sent him from school. And I have every email that happened after, of which there are hundreds. (One of my ideas was to simply collect all these emails and just stick them in a notebook and give it to a publisher. Who knows, maybe one day I will.) The emails were silly getting to know you “this is my life” emails for a week or so, then suddenly they were novellas. Straight Novels. Hundreds of pages several times a day. Filled with craving for each other’s brains. We were ridiculous. We were smitten. We told each other about our whole days and our whole hearts. I would skip class to write him. He would skip work to email me. The most romantic and beautiful thing of my life happened because of this boy. (I say boy, I was 17 at the time, and he was 18.)

This sterile email conversation plowed along full steam for weeks; months. Valentine’s Day was coming up and I don’t remember if I asked outright if anything would be coming my way, or if I just kept my wishes secret and hoped for the best. But what happened turned into something much more magical than anything I could have ever expected. It was the first day in weeks we hadn’t “spoken”. We had not communicated in any way other than the very first brief chat and the emails that followed, yet we called each other boyfriend/girlfriend. It was my first full day or not speaking to my first real boyfriend. As the day trudged on and after my 5th trip to the computer lab to check emails as well as checking the mailbox outside our dorm room and seeing nothing, I resigned myself to lying around on my bed feeling pathetic and weepy and eating pudding cups, resisting the urge to cry.

Sometime around 7pm, as my roommate and I were lying around watching something like PCU for the 8,000th time the phone rings. I jump and grab it. I called out a “hello” and heard nothing. My heart flipped. I knew it was him. I walked out the door and sat on the ground in front of our door. “Hello? Mike?” and suddenly the music. He played this song, start to finish, saying nothing. And when it was over, he just... hung up. I sat splayed on the ground, panting, my heart beating so fast it was like a hum. I whispered his name over and over again, wishing he hadn’t hung up; praying he hadn’t. I sat there for quite a while with the beeping receiver in my hand, shell shocked. The best part of it all was the emails we sent to each other the next day. He told me all about how nervous and excited he was all day because he knew what he was going to do. I told him about how much I tortured myself with anticipation and expectation. He told me how his heart raged when he heard my voice for the first time. I told him about how there was no more exceptionally perfect gift he could give me other than music.

It was only a few weeks later that we spoke to each other on the phone for the first time. I sang Alanis Morrissette to him. He sang The Cure to me (note: both of these songs are obviously ruined for me). I read him my poetry, he described his photography. We stayed on the phone together until 6am and I let him hear the bird chirping outside my window before I fell asleep. That was one of the most glorious nights of my life. Thinking about it now, my face burns. It was so long ago, but I still think about the gifts he gave me, the birth of the hopeless romantic. The girl who believes in love beyond reason was born from his words. I mailed him pictures I drew; he mailed me photographs he took. We talked about where we would live when we got married. We named our children. I had one picture of his face. It is the only picture of his face I’ve ever seen. Probably the only one I'll ever see.

Then the distance, the stress, the cost of the phone calls, the expectations, the hope... It got to be too much. We imploded. I wanted to throw caution to the wind and make anything and everything happen. He had a much clearer grip on the fact that we were just dumb kids with zero cash. It ended and I was devastated. Correction: I was Devastated with a capital D. He would still write me once in a while, but his messages got shorter and less sparse. I was so confused and hurt. We eventually stopped speaking. I would try for years to email him, although I haven’t in a very long time. 10 years or more, maybe. It amazes me that in this time of information overload where you can find so much information about anyone, anywhere, anytime; this guy is practically non-existent. I only wonder if he still thinks about me the way I still think about him. Even if he is married with 2 kids (which he probably is). Even though logic and real life says in every way he shouldn't... I still hope he does. Just every once in a while I hope he thinks about us and he smiles.

There is more to say. Maybe one day; not now. I just wonder is all. This song brings it all back. Like a fucking hurricane.

I honestly haven’t listened to it all the way through in years; can’t even do it now.

The Beatles - Yellow Submarine

I promise you this; you will never ride in a car with me and let a Beatles song come on the radio where I don’t explain their significance in my musical education. I will nearly always explain the same things: The Beatles taught me to sing. I am completely incapable of hearing or singing along with any Beatles song and not singing the harmony. The Beatles explained the execution of harmony before I even understood what it meant. Then, if you’re really lucky and I’m feeling chatty, I may go into the story of my childhood Saturday mornings with you.

My dad is a total Technophile. Or, he mostly was, now he’s just a slow-paced retiree with a golf addiction (we still love him) but he still has that 80s-esque yuppie compulsion to have the newest gadgets. I can remember when the first VCR came into our house. It was one of those gigantic ancient bad boys that was the size of a small coffee table. This was also back in the day before the production companies had released the licensing on cassettes, so very few places actually *sold* VCR tapes, only rented them. Of which, until I was older there was only one place that actually rented them; it was called Video1 in South Hills Mall; I think its part of a bridal shop now. But the point is, back when tapes were still scarce, they were purchasable, but viciously expensive; $80? $75? … a lot. Dad bought a few. I remember kinda feeling like hot shit because not only did my family have a VCR but we actually had TAPES. Dad bought the most random things… Patton, first of all (his favorite movie), Teen Wolf (what? Why?) And Yellow Submarine. Also Tommy got in there somehow at some point. Of course. (Reminder to self to write a post about Tommy.)

I was raised on the musical. My dad, in addition to being a Motown junky and a classic rock aficionado, was also inexplicably very into musicals… this is one of those million reasons why I always joke that my dad is gay. (Ps my dad is actually the antithesis of gay; he just has very funny things like this about him that I love to pick on him for.) (Ps again – I don’t know how I just made this connection, but this fact about my dad is most likely the predominate reason why I went to college for Musical Theater Performance. Durr.) So there was a big portion of the record collection I gleaned from my dad that was Rogers and Hammerstein and Andrew Lloyd Webber stocked. I listened to Jesus Christ Superstar and Tommy more than just about any other records in that collection. I’m not even sure if you would consider Yellow Submarine a musical (I would) or just a really long music video.

Of the vinyl I inadvertently hoarded away from my dad, there are 2 albums I am most emotionally connected to. The red and blue albums. The “best of”s I suppose. I used to sit in the floor turning those albums over and over again, watching the boys age before my eyes. Dad had sat down and recorded most of his vinyl, these albums included, onto cassette tape, and these tapes were probably played more on those Saturday mornings that any other one thing. My brother and I would ride around with Pop on these Saturdays singing our hearts out and I felt in my soul that harmonizing was the right thing to do; no one explained to me how or why to do it. (This was my Mozart playing thirds moment, I suppose?) It is impossible for me to listen to any Beatles song without singing the harmony. I joke that the Beatles taught me to sing.

I went today to see the new biopic about John Lennon, Nowhere Boy, in the theater. It was pretty spot on and was shot in all the right places. It was basically the telling of John’s childhood/early teens up until Hamburg. (Digression: it really amused me that there were so many people in the audience who didn’t know his story? Growing up with Aunt Mimi and that his mom died after being hit with a car? The gasping horror emitted by the majority of the audience made me kinda roll my eyes a bit… I wanted to be like, “people. Why are you here? Did you not know this shit already? Spoiler alert. Duh.”) As I stated in my facebook status update, I really only got weepy at the end, as the credit rolled there was a slideshow of childhood pictures, leading up the Quarrymen, which included babyfaced pictures of Paul and George. (I will have no hesitation telling you George is my favorite Beatle. Inside and out, I love that man on an atmospheric level. Missed forever… xoxo) so yeah, I forget that people don’t get as ‘involved’ with their favorite artists; needing to know entire biographies and meanings to certain songs. Also, having spent such a significant amount of time in Liverpool (story for later?) It was really cool to relive these places that I saw in the film again.

I have struggled off and on with my dedication/admiration of John Lennon. Yes, there are a bazillion reasons to love him, but there are those 2 or 3 little things that he did in his life that make me snarl a little. This movie helped humanize a little more of those things that bugged the crap of me about him, so that’s good. Also the boy playing him in the movie was so balistically hot, especially towards the end with those big ole black frame glasses and pea coat (so much how I like my men. [Plus beard. Obvs.])

This blog post has inadvertently become every discussion about the Beatles my brother and I have ever had. Of which there have been infinite. If my brother was guest blogging he would then have a terrible opinion about his favorite album/song and then I would force him for the bajillionth time to listen to the b-side of Abbey Road (you cannot deny it. None of you. Don’t make me make you listen.) Brother would then tell me for 200th time that he can never really tell which Beatle is singing and he would have to be dead to me for a while.

There is a new multimedia experience I am trying to add to this whole blog situation. I made a terrible quality video of me singing. Mostly this is to give you insight to my all day/everyday. Yeah, I know it’s dumb to drive around with headphones, but I just can’t get it loud enough without. I cannot listen to a song I know without singing alone. Especially in the car. I am a car singer extraordinaire.

My favorite part of this video at the end is when I am talking to another driver who is making poor decisions. Lol at the constant turn signal noise. I crack myself up. Enjoy.

Wreckless Eric - Whole Wide World

There is only one thing in the world I think about more than music, which should be baffling to some people, but when I confess what that thing is it should come as no surprise: Love. I think about love a lot. A LOT, a lot. What it is, what it means, what it could be, what it should be… What I want, what I have, what I need, what I feel. What I deserve, why do I deserve it? Is “deserve” even the right thing to say? Does anyone DESERVE love? Is it a human right or is it a privilege? What is the ratio to human suffering and the retribution in the form of someone worshiping the crap out of you? Have I suffered enough? Is there such thing as karma? Am I repaying some karmic debt from some terrible thing I did in the past in the form of being forever alone? Why? Isn’t my faith enough to combat this self-imposed solitary confinement? Am I doing it to myself? Am I just too stupid to know how to love correctly? Why am I my favorite person on earth and yet I am no one else’s favorite person on earth?

There are a thousand other questions… I won’t burden them with you for now.

I will admit I never heard this song until Will Farrell’s movie “Stranger Than Fiction”; a movie I loved so much I bought instantly on DVD. I find myself watching it over and over again, as I do with certain low budget-ish indie-esque quirky love stories (i.e. Dream for an Insomniac, The Pillow Book, Garden State, etc… these are my very favorite kinds of movies) If you knew this song before this movie, you win this cool-points battle, cool kid. I didn’t. I will not be ashamed to admit that. But that scene, when Harold just randomly starts playing it and Ana comes out and just falls all over herself for him; yeah that. I want that. I remember watching that scene for the first time and literally saying out loud; “Oh god! I want that!!!” (I want that, by the way.) This song personifies everything I want a man to feel about me.

So I was walking in to work this morning and this song randomly popped into my head, so I was walking along, whistling the tune, when I realize. Damn, I’ve really never had that. How have I never had the kind of love I deserve, to this point? How do I keep missing the mark? I have such a good, clear vision of what it is, what it feels like, I know exactly how to love someone else, but why has no one ever figured out how to love me? Why hasn’t anyone bothered? I’m so …. Loveable? How is it even possible that no man has written a love song about me? How have I never gotten a love letter, like a hand written “you are perfect” love letter? How has no one ever written me a poem? How have I never gotten a mix cd from a man? How is this even possible? ME? Of all people? Me, the girl who has made more mix cds than friends, the girl who makes such perfect mix cds I should practically put this skill on my resume. Never has it happened; it blows my mind.

I should clarify. Yes, men have loved me. Men have loved me well; socially acceptably, restrainedly, technically correctly, cautiously… but I don’t want that. I want the right man to love me the right way. I want someone to go the whole wide world just to find me… so then I say this, (I type this,) and I hear the voice of my conscience and my father and certain friends saying things like “you should be reasonable and you should accept that men are the way they are.” I hear every ex of mine say, "You live in a fantasy land." Or something like that. I would rather live in a 'fantasy land' than on a planet where that kind of love doesn't happen. I don’t want a sane, rational, calm love. I know it exists! I know it as well as I know that *I* exist, or god exists; I can feel it. Look at this song, for Christ’s sake. There are men that feel like this. Look at every incredible love song written by a man. Look at Ian Curtis or Shane MacGowan. Look at Lord Byron or Nicholas Sparks, even. Listen to Explosions in the Sky, dammit. There are men that are capable of great loves and very capable of expressing that love without hesitation or fear. I want this man. I have a habit of saying that I need a man to have bigger balls than I have. And for someone to have literally no physical testes, I have certainly dated my fair share of weak men.

About a year ago, actually a year ago this month, my ex, Gigi, and I split. We had a good run, but there was about a million things wrong with our relationship, which I really don’t feel like going into right now… after a month or two of going wild and being free I started having that “oh god, why did I dump my boyfriend, I might have screwed up” feeling. I ran into a good friend who had me make a list. I made this list. This is part of the “story” as I related it on my private journal at the time, 3 days before my last birthday:


I’ve been in love before. Lots. I have loved more in my little lifetime than most people do in five lifetimes. There is nothing on earth I have pursued or fought harder for than true love. I have loved men who pulled my pigtails, men who didn’t know I existed, men who knew I existed and exploited me, men who abused me, men who tried to hold me while I wriggled free, men who loved me some but not enough… I almost got married once, but we were kids. I can look back on that and see how we both dodged a hellacious bullet, but I mostly think I missed my only chance there. I was with Gigi for almost 3 years. We ended things at mostly my insistence because I thought we were going nowhere and at the secondary insistence of my friends who KNEW we were going nowhere and that someone who would love me how I needed was out there. I knew it too. I got single, I got laid. I met some guys, I dated one young guy and had a really good time and dumped all my emotional garbage on him that I never dealt with after Gigi. I got really close to losing my mind for a minute there. I kept talking to a good friend of mine who kept insisting I meet this one guy because he was my ‘soul mate.’ I knew who he was talking about but I let old ugly me take over and insist that I had no chance with this guy. Through some impossibly coincidental circumstances that I, at the time, took as fate (which was the prognostication of my entire spiritual downfall let me tell you,) we wound up dating. I literally did everything by the unspoken girl rule book, aka ‘He’s Just Not That into You,’ every Cosmo mag EVER, everything your mama ever told you about how to get a man and every bit of bad bar bathroom advice from your girlfriends all in one. I played it cool, I acted indifferent, I stayed calm, I didn’t run my mouth, I didn’t get carried away, I let things happen, I was a cool customer. But somewhere lurking in the shadows, as always, was the ‘OMG MAGIC! TRUE LOVE! TAKE A CHANCE, THIS COLD BE IT!”

We had a few really amazing nights together, then one REALLY amazing night together and I realized that I was falling stupid head over heels for this guy. So what did I do? Got drunk and told him, of course. And what did he do? Run for the hills, of course. There are some really stupid circumstances surrounding this situation. One of which is this: either right after or soon before Gigi and I split I was hanging out with one of my hippie mama outcast weirdo’s at the coffee shop and she told me to make a list of everything I could ever possibly want in a man, as if I created him in a lab, make it as outlandishly impossible as I wanted, just dream out loud…. I made the list. This man was the list. NO ONE SHOULD BE THAT LIST. IT DOES NOT EXIST. IT IS ME WITH A DICK… …I am so pissed that I am getting pissed about it. He was so different; I don’t want to get over him. I want the phone to ring. I want magic. I had the opportunity to see him again last weekend and I was a fucking coward and I drank myself into blackout status. Don’t remember the majority of the night, just that I finally told him that I loved him and he pretty much patted me on the head and said “Aww, you’re just drunk!” and then proceeded to let me drive home…? In what universe is the logic that I am too drunk to understand what love is, mean that I am in any way capable of driving? This thought fucks me up too much to continue right now.



Part of the first, which is not explained in the journal entry above, no one ever saw that list except me and my best friend until him, now you. As me and this guy were dating, I started feeling brand new about it all, about life in general, it was off the charts exceptional. Not just him, but the way I *felt* about him, the way my body and my heart my very being reacted to his existence and presence. The calm and confidence I felt when I was near him or thought about him. I asked my best friend about it, and she simply said “well yeah, because he’s ‘the list’.” I thought about it for a minute and pulled the list out of my wallet, where I had toted it around like a good luck charm for almost a year and read through the list. By the time I got to the bottom I was crying because I knew I had found him. It is an amazing yet almost horrifying feeling when you realize you’ve met the love of your life. Maybe it’s what parachuting feels like? … The best and worst feeling ever. It was all within the same week that I realized I had found him and I loved him that he broke up with me. I was a wreck for a long, long time. (I had a really shitty summer this year. Lost my faith, my coping abilities, too much weight, etc...) Sometimes I still backtrack; mostly now-a-days I propel myself recklessly forward, taking whatever chance life throws at me to prove me wrong about him. So far, no luck, but it doesn’t mean I won’t give up giving up on him. I’m trying, still. One day it’ll stop being him I compare every man to forever. I’m really ready for that to happen. But the point of this is… the list.

When he ended things, we sat on my couch and cried like idiots and I decided to show him the list. I can’t say what he felt when he read it; I just know we were both emotional wrecks that day. I did my best to stay strong and make the hurting me hurt him less. I loved him that much. So I kept my head up and waited until he left to lose it. but after he read the list, he either that day or in a later email said something to the effect that I needed to add one more to that list… a final bullet point that says more or less that the man of my dreams has to be “ready and willing to accept the kind of love that I have to offer.” So yes, that. I have thought about that a lot. It’s something my best friend and I have discussed many times. So the thought that this guy was "everything but" has helped talk me down off that “but he was THE ONE” ledge many times… but the right word or song or thought or memory triggers him like a leg cramp; I am paralyzed with the loss. I’ve stopped talking about him and reconnecting him to everything and everywhere I go (much to the relief of my friends, I’m sure) I’ve stopped crying myself to sleep and finding myself driving in circles on the beltline listening to horribly heartbreaking love songs. I stopped hurting and started dating. I’m moving ahead slowly, doubting every step in the opposite direction from him, but I have no choice, so I keep walking. Some days are terrible, some days are awesome. Most days are just another day without him, but what are you going to do, right?


So what I NEED is the right person feeling that much for me. And I could have any guy being in love with me, but I want THE guy to be in love with me. The one I love back… The perfect one, the man from before plus one - how can something so seemingly simple be so hard? I still fervently believe the man of my dreams will be that list; he will be gratefully excited and ready to accept my intense level of love, he will write me unprompted love letters and show up with red tulips because it’s a Tuesday and he loves to make me smile, he will push through a crowd of strangers to get to me across the room because he is so excited to see me, he will sing acoustic version of glam rock pop songs to me on a barely tuned guitar in a dimly lit living room; he will love me so much it leaves me shell shocked and drunk without the drink.


on second thought, I think I might actually hate this song.