FuhRuhstrated

I am feeling very frustrated with school right now. I have been taking general education credits for about 3 years now and I'm still not done. That's not to say there is no validity in a class on Race and Ethics or Social Psychology, but when it comes down to it, I don't have to time to do the work so I do the bare minimum to pass (sometimes I don't even have time for that) and then I forget all of the information I sort of learned over the semester.

The most frustrating bit about it all is that because I am so busy faking my way through these required classes, I'm not writing and I'm not reading. Typically the last thing I want to do when I happen to be on top of my homework (which never happens) is engage my brain some more to write something brilliant and best selling. So I end up turning on a movie or watching reality television, which in turn is leaving me completely uninspired and heavy. So fellow writers and artists out there: How do/did you balance school work, life and writing? Because I am failing miserably at it.

In a perfect world this is what I really want:

• To meet and marry a man that I love, wears TOMS and drives a moped.
• He'll be some fancy architect or own his own publishing company in London that's doing fabulously well despite the world's economy.
• He'll make enough (but not too much) so that I can stay home. But don't worry, I'll learn how to cook and wear heels to make up for it (ouch, did I just set back feminism?)
• Fine, in the name of progression, I'll become a part time yoga instructor.
• I'll write eight hours a day everyday. But it won't be tedious or boring. It won't feel pointless. It will be like playing dress up and make believe.
• I'll learn how to do awesome things like make jams and sew my own clothes. I'll make my own stationary, but not that cheesy crap suburban mothers get together and make while they drink wine coolers and play bunko. No, mine will look like this. I'll teach myself how to paint, and I'll be terrible at first but the husband will put my creations on the refridgerator any way.
• Eventually I'll be so damn crafty I'll start making furniture and painting murals on all the walls in our house (all while writing 8 hours a day of course).
• We'll have a second house in Portland, but we're giving people and find it ridiculous to have two houses so I'll spend my time (when I'm not writing or being a carpenter/seamstress/jam maker) to turn it into a sober living facility or refugee housing for African women effected by the war in Northern Uganda.

And there you go. My future in a nutshell. I'll have stop using the law of attraction to NOT get swine flu so I can focus my attention on those little (and totally realistic) nuggets above.

I'm not getting my hopes up. In fact, I actually foresee myself squandering my time for the next two years, maybe longer because I'll inevitably fail a few classes and then graduate completely burnt out and uninspired, never write anything, end up marrying some guy I can sort of tolerate, work at walmart and die unsatisfied.

That was a little dramatic, I'm sorry. I really don't want this blog to turn into something incredibly negative, which is what it has been lately. All of it seems to stem from school. I'm ready to have nationwide healthcare so I can drop out again and still have insurance.

Do you want to know the REAL reason I'm sticking it out until I graduate? Graduation ceremonies remind me of Harry Potter. I will be suggesting we walk to the HP Theme song rather that Pomp and Circumstance and some how rigs candles on fishing wire and hang them from the ceiling.

Moral of this blabbering- I'm sorry for all the negativity and complaining. Blogs are an easy place to vent frustration but that doesn't mean that's all I should use this for. I promise to upload a picture of a cupcake or something I can't afford from Anthropology real soon.

{photo from here}

New Music Monday: Oh Mercy

Ok, I love these guys. I heard about them just last week and I'm probably a little late in the game compared to my Aussie friends. But never the less, I give you Oh Mercy. I only know three things about them:

1. The lead singer is increadibly dreamy in a completely average sort of way. His voice is beautiful and totally sounds like a girl's, just the way I like it. That may add to his attractiveness factor.
2. Frankie Magazine gives them their seal of approval
3. They are amazing.

The End.

Oh Mercy - Get You Back from Milefire on Vimeo.

Feels Like Winter Today

I don’t want to go out there, where the wind blows my dress and there’s frost on the roofs. I can see it from these windows. The low roofs of the temporary classrooms all ablaze with that white stuff. Not quite snow, but not quite settled rain either. The sky is gray, so gray it seems like we skipped autumn completely. If I go out there my nose and cheeks will turn red and I’m wearing bronzer today. The two will mix like oil and water, showing everyone the mask I paste on every morning.

I want to stay here, drinking my earl gray tea wearing my scarlet pashmina, feeling too hipster for my own good, and looking out at the grey sky, thinking this must be what London’s like. There’s this song in my ears that makes me want to sing out loud, or run to the nearest piano. I know where there are some, they aren’t far. It would be too easy to disappear into one of those tiny rooms, just big enough for you and the piano, maybe a second lover if you want. But today it would be just me and that wooden box of soul. We could talk to each other for a while, the piano pounding notes on my heart, and me filling the walls with words that sound like winter.

But instead I’ll trudge along these sidewalks to a completely uninspiring class about power and wealth and the way we’ve twisted the world into a dollar sign. Then I’ll trudge home, alone and songless, until my shuffle finds a song that pleases my heart and the dark haze of an early winter seems magical and inspiring again.

Sir Eliot Can Suck It

Today in my creative writing class I had my first workshop experience. I knew I would have to read my poem aloud and hear constructive criticism from the class on it. I knew I would freak out and turn red and probably hyperventilate a little. I believe Auraria campus sells alcohol on campus for just such occasions. And thank God they do. So I downed a few Hazed and Infused before heading off to class. Let's just say that while everyone in class was complaining about how freezing it is, I was warm and toasty and probably had jolly red cheeks. I'm not Irish but this tends to happen when I drink. And I can't breathe through my nose. But I digress.

Right as Sir Eliot comes in, I turn to the girl next to me and say "I need to go first so I don't lose my buzz!" As luck would have it, the prince of poetry choses me to go first without having to ask. I'm feeling quite hilarious and read my poem quite dramatically and sit back thinking I am so confident (and slightly drunk) that whatever they say is no big deal and I can handle it.

Nothing will kill your buzz more quickly than a creative writing workshop. It was dreadful. I felt like a complete failure. And I've decided there are a few reasons for this:

1. I am notoriously too hard on myself. My inner critic always gets the better of me and convinces me to give up because I have absolutely nothing to offer.
2. I am absolutely and irrevocably terrible at poetry. It is something I am simply not gifted in. Some people are born to write beautiful lyrics. Some people are born to paint wonderful and complex paintings. Some people are born to take stirring photographs. Some people are born to write elegant poetry. And some people are born to write thought provoking and entertaining prose. Of course there are countless instances where people overlap in these talents (I hate those people, for the record). I am NOT one of those people. I enjoy photography actually, but painting, lyrics, and poetry are something I wouldn't touch with a ten foot stick.
3. This class counts as a general education credit, which means people from varying majors are taking it to fulfill their graduation requirements. So why in God's name is Sir Eliot so brutal? Why would he say that a particular line made him want to pull his hair out or make feel like I should absolutely, positively never ever write EVER AGAIN?

I guess this blog post is my way of saying "Suck it Eliot." But for a minute I truly thought I would just give it all up, drop out of school and be a nanny for ever. That may have been the booze talking. But I did realize that I can't just give up every time I hear something that upsets me about my work. Not everyone is going to love what I have to say or how I say it. I absolutely believe that Eliot goes about the critiques the wrong way and that the rest of the class are a bunch of idiots that follow his lead, but they will not be last. And if I really want to get into this writing game then I'm going to have to suck it up and get used to it. I just cannot wait for this poetry unit to be over. Although since Eliot is a "published poet" (he never misses a chance to remind us of this) I haven't been able to find a prose section on the syllabus. So much for a CREATIVE WRITING class.

To top my night off. As I sat on the light rail on my way home, there was an extremely cute guy across the aisle from me. I made eye contact with him once and made some sort of strange jerky movement with my head I've never experienced before, and then awkwardly clunked my foot against the metal underneath the seat. For some reason he still decided he'd like to talk to me. Oh that was a bad idea on his part.

I was sitting there, brooding in my little world of inadequacies, contemplating how I could drop out of school and still have insurance, and parents that would speak to me. He leans across the aisle and asks what my tattoo on my foot says. He took me completely by surprise. I was thrown out of my heady world and into a social situation with a stranger. Uh oh. Watch out.

I explained to him it was my name in Hebrew and then explained why Sarah is a Hebrew name. He said "Well Sarah, my name is Jake. Nice to meet you." He put his hand out, I shook it and said "Hi, I'm Sarah... right, well... er, we already went through that." He was kind enough to over look that little faux pas but a guy behind him laughed. Then as the train got to where I needed to get off I said "Well, this is my ste ste ste... stop." I do not have a stutter. At least I didn't think I did until that moment. He shook my hand again and said "See ya later!" I said "Thanks." For what? I'm not sure, it just came out. And then by the time I got to the doors of the train they had already closed. They only thing I could think of was to push them with my index finger over and over again, praying the damn thing would open. In a strange turn of fortune, this worked. Though I'm sure I looked pretty pathetic doing it.

PS- I'm making a conscious/lazy choice not proofread this. Think of it as another way of telling Sir Eliot the Bastard to suck it.

{photo from here}

Sleeping At Last- New Music Monday

New Music Monday Y'all!

Today, I have for your pretty little ears, the musical stylings of Sleeping at Last. Dear Lord they have beautiful lyrics. Every time I listen to them something new will pop out and stick in my mind. They are seriously poetic.

They have a new album out called Storyboards and it's streaming in it's entirety on PureVolume. I am listening to it as we speak... er, type. I love love LOVE their water color artwork. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

Sunset Skies and the End of the World

I missed the VMA’s the first time around, but I caught parts of it tonight. Don’t worry, I’m not going to sound off on Kanye. I think everyone else is doing a pretty good job at that. And anyway, it’s old news by now right?

As I watched Alicia Keys and Jay Z perform together I started thinking about the book I had just finished for my political science class called Hot, Flat and Crowded. In it, the author reveals some very real and very scary truths. Truths about what could happen to our country, our world, if we don’t seriously pay attention to global warming, global crowding and the implications of globalization.

By the end of the book I felt so helpless. So guilty! I finally understood those people that simply live for the after life, that look around them, scoff, and pray they be delivered sooner rather than later. I felt myself feeling the same way actually. I thought, “what is the point? We’ve dug ourselves into such a deep whole that it’s hard to imagine we will ever emerge on the other side, the green side." In all seriousness, I felt completely and utterly helpless.

And then, by watching MTV of all things, I realized that no matter what terrible things our world is facing, there are constants around us that make life worth living and experiencing. One of those is music. True music. Like Jay Z and Alicia Keys singing about New York and saying things like “let the lights inspire you.”

And that took me back to my kids. It’s hard to feel doomed when you look into their beautiful, hopeful faces. I picked them up one evening and Olivia looked up and said “Oh Sarah! It’s beautiful!”

“What is,” I asked?

“The lights!”

She was looking up at the sunset sky and marveling over the way the rusty street laps shined against it. I saw billions of electrons being wasted, carbon emissions bombing against our ozone layer, and the dirty trail of blood money the price of energy and oil leaves behind. She saw magic and beauty. And when I looked up again, this time through her eyes, I saw it too. It really was beautiful.

So I don't feel so helpless, so meaningless anymore. Even though this world really may be royally fucked, there is still enough beauty left to make every thing, every single thing, worth it. If I can still find inspiration from MTV, then there is something yet to be broken in the world. Art may never save the world but it certainly makes life easier, more enjoyable, and worth the shit we have to put up with.

Do we need a green revolution? Yeah, we really do. But quite possibly what we need more are hopeful faces looking up into a sunset sky, illuminated with magic and appreciative of the beauty.

Inside Scoop

Those of you in LA probably already know this because Los Angelites always get to the trends first. BUT, I am here to tell you that Starbucks is now selling instant coffee. I just tried a cup and let me tell you, it's damn good. Not as good as in the store, but still. Wow. I mixed mine with Italian sweet cream and some hot chocolate mix (because I am way too much of wimp to even go near black coffee) and I am in hang over recovery heaven!

And in regards to that hang over. Last night someone called me a "conceited titty bitch" because I asked him to stop staring at my chest. He then proceeded to tell me he'd only stare at my chest if there was something to look at. And THEN he asked if we could go hang out at his place. I obviously said yes (not really). Can someone please remind me why I don't stay home reading books and drinking instant coffee? Denver is starting to feel a little tired.

This is Not a Love Story, This is a Story About Love

Wouldn't you like to hear about my relationship problems some more? Oh good, I'm so glad!

We last left our characters (Me, being the easily wooed fair maiden and Mr. Long Distance being the well meaning, devastatingly handsome yet flawed non-hero) on New Years Eve. At midnight he grabbed my hand and kissed me. Our kiss, our new found love, brought in a new 365 days. In our minds it would last, and surpass, those days. We were infatuated. He left the next afternoon to go back to South Dakota. Both of us had no idea what we had gotten ourselves into. I had never had a long distance relationship before and he had only been in one before, and it was terribly unsuccessful. All we knew was how hard it was to fight back those feelings and how right it was when we just gave up and gave in to each other.

Long distance relationships are fun and exciting.... at first. We texted most of the time and talked on the phone the rest. There was always something to say, some mushy anecdote to send to the other person, and oh they never got old. I could've gotten a million "sending you a thousand air kisses watch out!" and never be satisfied. (Ok, yeah, looking back, most of it was over the top and cheesy, which also means it may not have been genuine, but I was so head over heels for this guy I didn't care. The cheesier the better. Our relationship was like Macaroni and Cheese). I would sometimes think about what a great story this would be if we ever had grand kids (yeah, mind jumped a head a little bit there. Don't judge me). He would send me letter with poems he wrote for me, and I would write him back with the most elegant prose I could muster.

I made plans to go to South Dakota three months after he left. At the time I booked the flight, I didn't really give it a second thought. I was that comfortable with him, and missed him that much. But when I told my friend SP (a fellow romantic, writer, and dreamer) about LD and the trip, she looked at me with something of disbelief, fear, and esteem.

"You mean, you're going to a state you've never been before and where you know no one but a guy you, honestly, barely know. Wow, you're gutsy!"

At the time I just poo-pooed her and said "Well yeah! It's going to be great and I miss him so much I just can't wait." I was so confident about it all, I was impressing even me.

Let's flash forward to about 3 days before I left.

I was freaking out. I absolutely did NOT want to go anymore.

When someone asked why I said "Because I'm going to a state I've never been before, where I know no one but a guy I, honestly, barely know! What am I doing?"

It finally hit me that I was taking a big leap. I knew that I really liked this guy, but I had only ever seen him in my state, basically on my terms, when I always had a way to leave if I needed one. Now I was going to a place where I would be powerless, with absolutely no control over anything. Not that I really thought I'd be in any danger. No, I like to think my intuition is a little better than that, but I would be meeting all of his family and best friends and South Dakota is a pretty wildernessy place. I am not a wildernessy girl. Not in the slightest.

So, before my flight took off, before I was even at the airport, I was in the middle of a full fledged anxiety attack that would literally carry me through the entire trip. I had my moments of calm, mostly while I was sleeping, which wasn't much, because, what if I snored or my mouth was open or *gasp* tooted in my sleep? It was way too much to enter into any sort of REM cycle.

And here in lies the main problem with our relationship, and yes, I will admit it was mostly my fault. I felt way too much for him, way too soon, that it led to constant anxiety attacks when I was around him. Anxiety has always been something I've desperately struggled with but I refuse to take medication until i can afford therapy to go along with it. Yes, I am being self destructive on principle, damn it. Anxiety attacks aren't like panic attacks which are quick, dramatic and totally visible and evident to everyone around you. Anxiety attacks are much more self-contained. I've gotten quite good at hiding them, only leaving the observer with the idea that I'm bitchy, closed off, and unemotional, when really I'm desperately trying to catch a breath and get my mind out of an anxious haze. It was because of this anxiety that I couldn't really partake in a real relationship with him. More often than not, when we were in the same state, we were silent. I would try so hard to think of something to say and never could, because my body was in survival mode. You know Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs? Yeah, breathing comes way before trying to make witty conversation with flirtatious undertones.

There was a moment, I can't remember which state we were in at the time, when we were sitting next to each other in his car and I just thought, "When is he going to realize that he is wasting his time with me? When is he going to realize that we have no business being together. I am nothing compared to him." It sounds so over the top, so pathetic, and not something I enjoy admitting, but it's where my mind was. So insecure that not even a million cheesy text messages about air kisses could change my mind.

If you couple my strong feelings for him with my extreme insecurities and the steady flow of new people ("best friends") I was supposed to meet and impress, you get a severely inhibited Sarah. Looking back, I'm surprised he put up with me as long as he did.

I did tell him once about how I was in a constant anxiety attack the entire time I was in South Dakota the first time, hoping that maybe he would be more in tune with it, that if he saw I was distant or shut off around his friends (or around him for that matter) he could understand and ask if I was ok. He never did, and I can't blame him for that. Who wants to coddle an anxiety ridden girl every time they go out? Like I said, I'm surprised he put up with me as long as he did.

This saga is coming to close. The end is coming next.

(I'm sorry that sounds so ominous)

{photo from here}

{side note: I hated 5oo Days of Summer and feel a little dirty for using that title, but it just fits}

Goodbye Summer

{dreameveryday}

Baby, I Gotta Go

I need to go on a vacation.  I need to get out of this city.  I love Denver but I need to see a new one for a while.  I want to go alone.

I don't want to go to a secluded cabin in the middle of no where.  I don't want peace and quite.  That's probably the last thing I need, to sit alone in the woods thinking about how my life has felt like a crapshoot for the last month.  No, I've done enough of that kind of pondering and now I want new people.  New strangers.  I want new architecture, street art and bookstores.  

But I have $80 in my savings account and $100 in my checking to last me until October.

Where can I go for super cheap?

New Music Monday

Hooray! First installment of New Music Monday.

This is Josh Ritter singing The Temptation of Adam. Oh how I love this song.

And here are the lyrics. What are your thoughts?

If this was the Cold War we could keep each other warm
I said on the first occasion that I met Marie
We were crawling through the hatch that was the missile silo door
And I don't think that she really thought that much of me

I never had to learn to love her like I learned to love the Bomb
She just came along and started to ignore me
But as we waited for the Big One
I started singing her my songs
And I think she started feeling something for me

We passed the time with crosswords that she thought to bring inside
What five letters spell "apocalypse" she asked me
I won her over saying "W.W.I.I.I."
She smiled and we both knew that she'd misjudged me

Oh Marie it was so easy to fall in love with you
It felt almost like a home of sorts or something
And you would keep the warhead missile silo good as new
And I'd watch you with my thumb above the button

Then one night you found me in my army issue cot
And you told me of your flash of inspiration
You said fusion was the broken heart that's lonely's only thought
And all night long you drove me wild with your equations

Oh Marie do you remember all the time we used to take
We'd make our love and then ransack the rations
I think about you leaving now and the avalanche cascades
And my eyes get washed away in chain reactions

Oh Marie if you would stay then we could stick pins in the map
Of all the places where you thought that love would be found
But I would only need one pin to show where my heart's at
In a top secret location three hundred feet under the ground

We could hold each other close and stay up every night
Looking up into the dark like it's the night sky
And pretend this giant missile is an old oak tree instead
And carve our name in hearts into the warhead

Oh Marie there's something tells me things just won't work out above
That our love would live a half-life on the surface
So at night while you are sleeping
I hold you closer just because
As our time grows short I get a little nervous

I think about the Big One, W.W.I.I.I.
Would we ever really care the world had ended
You could hold me here forever like you're holding me tonight
I look at that great big red button and I'm tempted

ps- I wrote this at exactly 11:11AM. <3

A Letter to Lady Gaga and Kanye West

Miss Gaga,

You are weird.

Lady Gaga - New Music - More Music Videos

Kanye,

You're an ass.

MTV Shows

Your's Truly,

Moi

Sunday Funday

I've toyed with this idea in the past, a weekly installment featuring a new artist, song, or video. What do you think? I have some ideas building up for the first few weeks. No promises on them being so completely fresh you've never heard of a single one, but I can promise they'll be at least be talented and have a myspace page. I think I have pretty decent taste in music, or at least I know which guilty pleasures need to remain a secret.

I was a music business major for a while. It almost ruined my "everything" for music. My love, my passion, my everything. When you listen to a song and only see dollar signs, you start to get a little bitter. Or, at least I did. I have several friends that graduated the program that have no problem using art as a commodity. Not to say they shouldn't. It's only the was we can share what we create and earn enough revenue to keep creating. I just hope they do it well. Sitting in class with these innocent eyed students, proclaiming their love for the indie sector and denouncing the major labels, I think they just might.

But I digress. Moral of the blog, Mondays will be New Music Mondays. That title is totally overdone, I know, but I've been sitting here for an hour and it's the best I could come up with. Any other aliterated (my made up adjective from "alliteration") ideas are very much welcome.

Enjoy your Sunday you pretty things.

Loving This Song

Today in America

In those days, 
we finally chose 
to walk like giants 
& hold the world 
in arms grown strong with love 
& there may be many things we forget
in the days to come, 
but this will not be one of them.

StoryPeople

Sexually Delicious, Mentally Nutritious

Last night we went to see the Killers at Red Rocks.  Being able to go see shows there is one of the best things about living in Colorado.  It's an outdoors amphitheater surrounded by beautiful red rocks that naturally create amazing acoustics.  And it's absolutely beautiful, almost surreal even, watching bands rock out with these massive wonders of nature standing boldly beside and behind them.

And because we are so incredibly amazing and famous in Denver, our picture was featured on the front page of Metromix.com's (Denver's version of CitySearch) website today.  Yes that's little ol' me in the red belt.  Ok, we're really not that amazing.  And famous?  Yeah, not at all.  We're just friends with the photographer.

The Killers were amazing.  I haven't been to a big show like that in so long.  I definitely prefer a more intimate setting, but sometimes it's just fun to have to the lights and the fog machines and the confetti.  Oh yes, there was confetti.  

The opening band was decent.  They'd be better in a smaller venue though.  They had two girls in the band "playing" guitar and keys.  But they were clearly just there for the eye candy.  The apathetic blonde (who's pants HAD to have been painted on) played about 5 notes on the keyboard and tapped the tambourine a couple of times, and the brunette was trying REALLY hard to focus on strumming the chords right.  I love seeing chicks rock out, but only if they're talented.  These girls were just nice to look at.  However, their song Classy Girls, was amazing (they are to blame for the title of this post).  Myspace!

My favorite moment of the show?  Brandon Flowers started in on a cover of Can't Help Falling in Love, we saw the man sitting in front of us turn to face his girlfriend and dropped to one knee.  She said yes immediately and with a nervous hand he put the ring on her finger.  Despite my bitterness towards love lately, this made me cry, in a really really happy sort of way. 

{photo from metromix but taken by thisguy} 

A New Year, A New Love, A New Loss

Here we go with the next twist in our little story about the demise of Mr. Long Distance and I.  After my first post about it, I became a little conflicted about writing about all of this.  I imagine people stumbling across my plot of writing soil to see only negativity and whining, when perhaps they'd rather see lovely stationary and pictures of puppies licking kittens.  Now don't get me wrong, I love stationary and I have absolutely nothing against puppies, or kittens for that matter.  But I just figure there's enough of those blogs out there.  Inspiration blogs I guess they're called.  I even subscribe to a good chunk of them.  But since they've cornered the market I guess I'll try for a bit of inspiration of my own.  Inspiration to see that beauty doesn't only lie in a photograph of a bookshelf from Anthropology, but also in the truth of a painful experience.  I hope that you'll see that the recognition of one's experience in that of another can be just as inspiring.  

Anyway, that being said, here's the next bit.

I ended with me asking LD if he'd go to my sister's wedding with me.  He kindly agreed.  I was still in denial about his feelings for me, and mine for him.  I had just broken up with my last boyfriend and not totally feeling ready to start another relationship.  About a month passed after I asked him.  During that time I succeeded in finishing the master cleanse, which left me about 10 pounds lighter, huzzah!  Nothing will help you get over an old flame (and on to the next) like losing that kind of poundage.  I also found myself having to work harder and harder had supressing the feelings I knew I had for LD, especially when he told me he'd be staying for New Years.  My imagination took me to magical places filled with glitter, ticking clocks, Dick Clark, and a lovely kiss at midnight.  All of that I quickly pushed out of my minds eye as best I could and as often as I could though.  I had no idea how he felt about me, after all.  Despite the fact that this boy would be driving all the way from South Dakota to go to a wedding where he knew aboslutely no one, just for me.  Red flags of infatuation all over the place.  I just didn't want to convice myself of something that may not be there.  

The day of the wedding (I was maid of honor) I had to go out into the crowd to give the groomsmen the ring when I spotted LD.  I really wasn't even supposed to be out of the bridal room so I was a little flustered by all the  "oohs," "ahhs," and hugs.  But when I saw him, and the way he looked at me, everything stalled.  I walked up to him, gave him a hug, and he whispered "you look wonderful."  Butterflies exploded.

The ceremony went on without a hitch.  I had him arranged to sit with my Dad's sisters during the ceremony, knowing they were a chatty bunch and would take good care of him, in hopes it wouldn't be that awkward for him.  *Notice the difference in attitudes at the weddings. I truly went out of my way to make sure he was taken care of and comfortable.  I'm not sure that could really be said on his part.*

After the ceremony we danced and danced and danced.  We took some pretty hilarious pictures, especially the candid ones of us trying to figure out the electric slide.  I had finally met someone who was as inept at doing line dances as I was.  Be still my beating heart.

Afterwards he helped clean up a bit, which really was above and beyond.  All these signs pointed towards him really have feelings for me, all of which I intentionally ignored.  Him living in South Dakota had a lot to do with that.  Deep down I knew that starting something with him wouldn't end well.

Later I walked him to his car, hands lingering in each other's a little longer than they might for platonic friends.  I hugged him and he hugged me back, tight.  There was something of a pent up energy both of us had.  We both felt really strongly for the other person but neither was willing to admit it.  The logistics were just bad and we both knew it.  It wouldn't end well.  It wouldn't end well.

A few days later it was New Years Eve.  I had a bunch of parties lined up and several differen obligations, including LD.  I had to go to my aunts, first and foremost.  They are amazing, I would never turn down a party ivnitation from them.  And then my two best friends had party invites we had to make apearences at.  None of us were willing to give any up or go separate ways so we just ended up stressing each other out and not making it to most of them.  We hardly made it to any, actually.  LD's friends were having a party at their house too.  I desperatlely wanted to make it to the midnight hour with him.  It was getting harder and harder to push those glittery thoughts away.  He actually said he'd go to my aunts with me, and possibly some of the other parties as well, as long as he could end up at his friends at some point.  It was nearly impossibly to deny that he had feelings for me at that point. 

After my aunts we went to a bar to meet up with some friends and friends.  It was here that we both gave up all our hang ups, fears and insecurities.  LD was feeling a little awkward around my friends, I could tell.  I tried to pull him into the conversation the best I could, but when you get a bunch of girls that have known each other for years and years, it's hard to explain th einside jokes, it's hard to explain them all, let alone make them seem funny for anyone else.

Somewhere along the course of conversation, our hands met each other under the table and didn't let go until we had to stand up and the rest of the bar could see us.  We were barely willing to acknowledge what was going on to each other, let alone the whole bar.  

I was lucky enough to be able to spend the midnight hour with him.  We went back to his friends house.  They were having a party which was... well it wasn't what my friends and I were used.  No one really talked to us (pattern?), LD was spread thin between them and us, and no one was really into the whole "New Years" thing.  I personally love New Years.  I love counting down and screaming and hugging and playing Auld Lang Syne in a  way that makes me want to cry for all the memories I would be leaving along with the old year and for all the new memories yet to come in the 2009.  

This group of people, though, not so much.  No one counted, no ball was dropped, and I'm pretty sure we just made up an ambiguous time to count down.  I didn't care though, because by the time our little group got to midnight, LD grabbed my hand, looked me in the eyes intently, drew me close and kissed me.  Our first kiss was in the first moments of the new year.  I couldn't think of anything more perfect.

It just goes to show even the most perfect of circumstances can lead to the most painful of endings.  More on that later.

{photo found here}

In the Beginning

Alright, I guess I promised to write something about what happened with Mr. Long Distance.  Not that I imagine you all are checking in every day hoping that it's been posted, but I guess I promised myself more than anyone.  I supposed I need to air this out before I forget the facts entirely.  For a while I was really pissed off about the whole situation.  Whoever said anger is unhealthy is full of it.  It's been my experience that anger makes for more interesting writing.  But tonight I'm just depressed about it.  So I apologize if this is boring, weepy, and melodramatic.  But anyway, here goes.

Mr. Long Distance and I met a few years ago, via the internet of all things.  I started this group that wrote letters to our Colorado senators about the civil war in Uganda, asking them to help end it.  I used a list of people that went to an event Invisible Children had in Denver to send out Myspace messages about the group, LD was one of them.  He ended up adding me as a friend on myspace.  I remember thinking he was way cute but that he had a girlfriend.  "Oh well," I thought.  "He lives in South Dakota any way, what exactly did I think was going to happen?"  Flash forward a few months and he added me on facebook, still with the girlfriend I think.  We never really talked but I added him anyway (I usually reserve facebook for people I actually know, his good looks must've made him the exception).  

About a year went by (I may be royally making up this time line, but it's the best I can remember) and a boy I had been positively in love with (unrequited) had officially told me to screw off, my grandfather had died, and I started in on my quarter life crisis.  I was in a pretty dark place.  You can go back to my old old posts and see they're quite depressing.  He would send me kind comments telling me I'm wonderful and to hang in there.  It felt really nice to have a complete stranger in my corner when it seemed no one else was.

And then on a Sunday morning in April, I was sitting on my friend's porch swing, eating a saltine and drinking a sprite, trying to get rid of a hang over.  I received a text message from facebook saying I had a message.  It was LD saying he was going to be in town in a few weeks for a wedding and would I go with him.  I may or may not have still been slightly drunk when I agreed to go with him, but the email was sent and I had two weeks to freak out over the whole situation.  I finally met him the day before the wedding at a park with some his friends.  My friend Gia came with me.  They were all playing soccer and frisbee.  Gia and I don't play anything that resembles a sport, especially with complete strangers.  The whole situation was incredibly awkward and I couldn't wait to leave.  I even made up some phony excuse as to why I couldn't go to sushi with them afterwards.

The next day was the wedding.  He and his brother came to pick me up, about 20 minutes early, which meant no make up and wet hair.  Awesome.  He didn't seem to mind though and told me I looked beautiful.   I hadn't really thought about it being a romantic date until then and I started to get really nervous.  We got to the wedding and I was introduced to his friends who hardly talked to me.  The ceremony was almost done when someone made the announcement asking that we stick to the seating chart.  I leaned over to LD and said "Did you RSVP for me?"  He leaned back and said "No but I talked to the groom about it yesterday.  He's totally cool with it."  Men obviously don't understand catering bills and seating charts.

During the reception I coward behind a corner while he asked the mother of the bride for another chair and place setting.  I was terrified.  You know how mothers of the bride can get.  And she had reason to be mad.  I wasn't the only crasher.  Some other friends of the groom decided to show up unannounced as well.  Our table was crowded, I'll leave it at that.  Despite the amount of people at our table, conversation (for me anyway) was in short supply, something that would happen time and time again as our relationship progressed.  But I'll talk more about that later.  To tope it off, there was no dancing, no music other than the father of the groom playing the accordion and no alcohol.  Yes, I crashed a dry wedding.  FML.  

I have a small anxiety problem.  And by small, I mean most social situation make me short of breath.  This particular social situation brought on a full fledged anxiety attack.  Luckily I'm pretty good at hiding them and managed to get through the night.  It was just so incredibly awkward.  LD made pretty good conversation, but he was also there to be with his friends, so a good chunk of the night was spent trying to get someone to talk to me for more than a couple of minutes, and failing miserably.  I finally gave up and sat in silence for a while, until it was time to go.  LD invited me to go with him to his friends house.  When I asked what they'd be doing he said "probably sit around, drink a little and play some music."  Sounds like a decent time, if the people involved were at all friendly and open to new people.  But, since they weren't any of those things, I made up a story about offending someone for not going to party and needing to leave.  Gia was my saviour that night.  When she showed up it was like all of that anxiety finally was diffused.  Finally someone I knew, liked, and was willing to talk to me.  

After I left LD that night, Gia and I went to a party with some friends.  Ironically that was the night I started a relationship with a guy I had been interested in for about a month.  That makes me sound like a total whore, but I honestly never really thought of the wedding as a romantic date.  LD did send me an email later though asking if we could go on a date the next time he was in town.  I told him to call me and "we'll take it from there."  Essentially our entire relationship, romantic and otherwise, has been built on bad timing.  

You're probably wondering why I ended up dating this guy when I had such an awful time with him.  The truth is it was his friends more than anything.  He was wonderful.  He was accommodating and nice and I felt really comfortable around HIM.  His friends were a different story.  For the next year we would get together every once in a while when he was in town, just he and I, and it was great.  We were both into activism and music, he made me laugh, and I liked the way he looked at me.  I'm beginning to think that I'm much easier to get a long with the less you know about me.  It's like the closer I get with people (with a few exceptions) the less we like each other.

So, when my boyfriend and I broke up a few months before my sister's wedding, I had to call in a favor to a boy in South Dakota.  And that's when the real story begins.  But it's late, and this has been enough of a trip down shitty memory lane.

{photo from here}

Feisty With a Drinking Problem

Well it's been a while.  School has been smacking my behind quite efficiently and I'm only like two or three weeks in.  Today I got to experience my first "workshop" session in my creative writing class.  Luckily none of my poems were chosen to be "workshopped" but I got to see how the process works. 

Holy damn I am terrified.

The process starts with the poem being read by the author.  One can only assume that this kind of on the spot embarrassment is meant to lower your defenses and make you a prime victim for the ten minutes of harsh critique that is to follow.

We spend about half a minute saying what we like about the poem.  Someone will say something about a favorite line, the professor will disagree and then we're into the "fun stuff."  He seamlessly transitions into the critique before you even know what hit you.  He all of the sudden starts pulling out lines that you ferociously fucked up and telling you how much he hates them, and you by extension.  And then the girl in the back starts to put in her two cents.  But really they're the professor's two cents recycled because she's so clearly in love with this washed up poet who, everyday, looks like he just woke up from having the worst, gin invested, night of his life.  She supports his views on rhyming (damn it, when did poems stop rhyming?) and agrees on ever criticism he has.  Even that a beautiful line about a sisters' love being like intertwined fingers is a cliche and should be omitted, despite the resonance it inspired in the entire class.  Idiots, the lot of them.

I was so looking forward to this class. My first real writing class.  But now I know what I'm going to be spending the next two years doing, shrinking in the back of these classes while pretentious "writers" in dark rimmed glasses try to teach us how to bring our own self actualization and existentialism into our writing (without rhyming).  And all the while I'll be wanting to be sitting under a tree writing stories that matter to people and have nothing to do with my effing self actualization.  

I was not expecting that little rant to come out of my nimble fingers.  But there you have it.  I've been feeling a little fired up lately.  "Fuck" is my new favorite word and I've been driven to drink quite frequently on my own.  I've turned it into an art form actually.  These can't be good signs.  Oh and did I mention how lovely cigarettes are?  Cloves actually.  Mmm, Bali Hi.  

A lot of this has to do with the fact that I haven't done anything especially fun and reckless in far too long.  There is some definite steam that needs to be blown off (I recently found out that in the UK, to "blow off" means to fart.  This makes me love the previous sentence all the more.)  School is positively dreadful and Mr. Long Distance is doing his darnedest to give me an ulcer.  

I want to share the saga with you all but I'm trying to muster the energy and the right words.  How do you begin a story about a person that has you feeling like you're ruined for any other guy that's brave enough to come around?

More on the later.  Promise.

{photo found here}