Red Letter in Pink Ink

I miss... The way things used to be.

I don't want to go back to those days, but I really miss those times.

I came to this realization... Just now. But seed planted... yesterday, if I'm not mistaken.

I'm happy. Really happy. And, fuck, telling people just how happy I am kinda hurt because I had to tell them just how happy I am without you. I didn't think it would ever end up like that because we were tight. We made plans and imagined what our lives would be like together and promised each other a myriad of things that are now never going to come to fruition because of... What, bullshit, drama, and stubborness? Well, blow me down and fuck me sideways-- that sounds mighty stupid.

I haven't thought about it because, well, let's fucking face it, what is there to think about, really? And when I do happen upon your name on my FB or a mutual friend who asks about you, I'm not really all that sad or nostalgic or anything because I don't particularly miss you, I miss the idea of you and what you symbolized more than anything.

You were supposed to be my best friend.

You were supposed to be the one who, even when we fought, would understand me and say, "Fuck, you're being stupid and you're wrong but that's okay, I still love you so let's just shut up and forget about whatever this is you're being stupid and wrong about."

You were not supposed to treat me like I was a contagious case of malaria, even if it was only for... Fuck, I don't remember, I think a week?

You were not supposed to message me and call me a stubborn bitch while making yourself look even worse. And, what makes it worse, is that this was the second time.

Shit. I think back to what our life was like just one mere year ago and I swear to you I never saw this coming. We were supposed to be better than this. I wasn't supposed to go off and grow up without you. And you weren't supposed to stay in that rut of a life of yours, either. But, there is is and here we are... Well, aren't.

It doesn't make me sad or anything. It makes me angry. Mad. But most of all hurt. I'm mad that I can't have a best friend like you because I can't trust someone enough not to hurt me. I'm pissed that I've had to grow up and get the majority of my act together without you. I'm angry that you haven't changed one bit and that I know it's probably not good for you but I can't do anything about it because we're not even friends anymore.

Fuck. Maybe I'm overthinking things. Whatever. I'm done. You want to try talking to me again, check your drama at the door first, please.

I like
Where we are
When we drive
In your car
I like
Where we are
Here


<3Lulu

Riding In Car With Boy

Fogged windows, stifling heat
Cramped quarters, back seats
Parked behind a moving van
In an inner city lot
Hiding from the whole damn world
Our world is getting hot
We christen the cushion, baptism divine
Of sins of our own making
Our holy water is drips of sweat
And the point we near is breaking
As I call God and he calls me
I see fireworks in my head
He fists my hair and breathes so deep
And this is as good as any bed



<3Lulu

Music To The Tune of Strawberry Win

Words are sweet
Like strawberry wine
Rhythm and time
Sacred, sacchrine, salacious
Actions are rough
Like sandpaper on skin
Where do I begin
Making sense of the two
When his lips find my flesh
Sandpaper and rhythm mesh
Chaste kisses with words
That undermine their chastity


<3Lulu

Demon words
Artless tears
Empty diners
Frustrated fears
It's like living in a bubble
Slowly losing air
You try to breathe
But there's nothing there
I gave him what he wanted
I'm not sure it was enough
He gives me what I needed
I tell him it's too much
So how do I repay him
His kisses aren't cheap
They're worth their weight in diamonds
My imitation kisses are weak

<3Lulu

Shemp-ing

Determined within the next month to watch "Soup to Nuts" (Three Stooges masterpiece with Shemp, not Curly, cuz I'm totally a Shemp girl all the way), "Duck Soup"(because the Marx brothers are awesome), and "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" (because The Beatles and the Bee Gees and Peter Frampton with hair in pastel colored piper jackets singing 'Being For The Benefit of Mr. Kite' is just fricking priceless).

Seeing as I mentioned one of the holy comedic trinities that is the Three Stooges (yes, my choice of comedic trinity is split between either the Stooges and the Marx Bros.), I've got to say I'm totally a Shemp girl. He was so much funnier. Not saying that I don't love Curly-- little bastard certainly had his charms ("Hey, look up Moe! A leaky faucet!" Boink! Haha, that shit never gets old)-- but Shemp was the original Third Stooge. Despite that, he became the Stooge no one ever truly acknowledges. Everyone's always, "Larry, Curly, and Moe," or "Moe, Larry, and Curly," or whatever combination of the three you prefer. No one really remembers the classic "Moe, Larry, and Shemp" days. Um, hello? 'Soup to Nuts'? THAT WAS SHEMP, PEOPLE, NOT CURLY!

Ha. I guess I just know how Shemp feels.

Shemp's story (in five hundred words or less): was an original Stooge before they became the enigmatic Three Stooges (back when they were the act 'Ted Healy And His Stooges'). He left, they replaced him with baby brother Curly. Curly died, they begged him to come back. He dies being the Replaceable Stooge. Ouch.

Granted, he was popular on his owndoing all those comedies in New Yawk, but still, you never hear a decent Shemp-esque joke or pop culture reference, do you? And if you do, most people look at you with the question, "Who the fuck is Shemp? Sounds like a stoned sheep or something," in their eyes.

That is the point in my life I am at now. I feel like I've been replaced and kinda forgotten. Like it was so easy to shove someone else in the place that I was standing in, that I was just a seat warmer for the actual first stringer. Yes, I'm happy with my life-- I do have my irreplaceable best friends who try to make sure that I never feel like Shemp, I've got school, I've got work, my writing, my reading, my books, etc, etc, etc x1,000,006-- but I sometimes get this nagging feeling in the back of my head. That feeling of inadequacy, that crushing realization that you can be so easily replaced without a second thought.

Eugh. Emo awareness. Emo-ometer in check now.

Fuck 'em. Fuck all the lowlife bastards who think they can replace me. They can try, but they'll never truly succeed because I am determined to be better than them. I am Shemp- hear me roar.

Psst... Psst... Hey, look up, Moe! A leaky faucet! Haha, I will never get tired of that line.

Eugh... I hate it when I get so caught up in... Um, stuff.

Books = the official love of my life

Can't help myself. Books thrill me, fulfill me, sustain me, maintain me in ways than no man has ever been able to match.

Hmm... A small, miniscule part of me is depressed by that. Conversely, every other part of me is jumping for joy at the fact. Ha.

I swear I'm back and I'll be up to no good soon.

Insomnia kills me.

Studying kills me.

Packing/moving kills me.

Bleh.

Working on next two chapters of SJNWYP and they'll be up soon, I swear. I'm actually kind kicking myself in the face, wondering why I haven't been working on them so much lately and I have come up with a two part answer-

Part 1- I'm actually content with my friendships; the original point of (I want to say interest but it keeps coming out anger so insert what you will here) has just proven my point that she definitely is not worth my pretty and I'm at peace with that.

Part 2- everything's too busy to just sit and write with earnest. There's school, packing, shipping, moving, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

More of pt2 than of pt1. But it's coming. I hate abandoning my babies bourne of creativity, whoever their bastard father may be.


<3Lulu

Frapdoodle is totally the coolest swear on the planet.

:)

Obsession: 'Garden State'

Okay, so I'm lying in bed and I just finished watching the movie 'Garden State' for, like, the nth and seventh time in my life. There are a few things I've found that I seem to rediscover every time I watch this movie and that's probably why I love it so much.

If you've ever seen the movie, you're gonna totally understand me from here on in.

Like, flat out- this movie is probably one of the most awkward pieces of film ever concieved. Awkward in the sense that it deals with certain aspects of life that movies usually just gloss over, awkward in that it just feels and makes you uncomfortable when you watch it. The speech and dialogue is stunted and short, the lighting is really kind of dim and the scenes are choppy but still complete. It's literally like watching someones life, not in the glossy Hollywood sense, but in the real, I wanna turn my head because it's so fucking embarrassing that even I feel embarrasses kind of way.

I remember watching thus movie when it first came out: I was at that point in my life that Large describes, the point where the house you live in no longer feels like home and about the dynamics of family. It's the scene about halfway through the movie where Sam and Large are just chilling alone at the shallow end of Jesse's pool and they're just talking while everyone else is dicking off in the deep end. Anyway, I remember watching that and hearing what he was saying and, to this day, that is the only scene of any movie that I have ever seen in my lifetime that has actually made me cry.

I love that it's such a contrast to all the perfect lines and perfect timing of other movies and shows. Even the ones that try to portray real lives end up being perfectly imperfect, kind of fulfilling the cliché by trying not to fulfill it at all. Go watch it, you'll understand what I mean.

There was yelling through the streets as Charmaine and I wove our way through the square. It all seemed foreign to me, the noise of people coursing through the streets like a pulse. I looked around, trying to jog my memory but it was a difficult process. There were teenagers leaning against walls, elderly sitting on the edge of the fountain, the sounds of a city scaled down to fit the square. The church was still the same, the only difference being that the once bright white paint had aged into a mottled and peeling grey. This was no longer the sleepy little town my mother and I had breezed into almost twenty-five years ago.
“Come, Charmaine,” I called, noticing that she was lagging behind me. I stopped to wait for her to catch up when I felt a sort of still dizziness hit me. I shook my head at the feeling, trying to figure out what it was. Déjà vu, that what it was. I hoped.
“What’s wrong, Maman?” she asked, standing beside me with a hand on my arm. I looked at her and smiled, her onyx eyes shimmering with concern.
Looking to the scenery surrounding me I felt a bubble of laughter well up inside of me. After all these years, I was only beginning to understand the method to my mother’s madness, but there were moments in which I knew her soul was coursing through me. Standing at the mouth of the square, I had one of these moments. I felt the laughter leave my lips but, strangely enough, it didn’t sound like mine.
“What is so funny, Maman?” Charmaine asked, her eyes wide in askance and her English lilting under her delicate French accent. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she searched for her next words, trying not to mix up her languages. “Is it this place? Because I don’t think this place is funny at all. In fact, I think it smells.”
I laughed again and this time the laughter I heard was mine, not my mother’s, and I was slightly relieved. I sniffed the air between my breaths of laughter.
“Ah, ma cher,” I replied to her in French, “I do believe that this town has…” I thought for a moment before replying in English. “Gone to the dogs.”
“Maman!” Charmaine cried, looking up at me with an obvious annoyance on her face. “Why must you keep doing that?”
“Doing what, my love?” I asked her sweetly, feigning innocence.
“That! First English, then French, then Dutch, and back to English! It’s confusing!” She stomped one of her little feet on the concrete sidewalk square beneath her. Gone are the cobblestones, I noted to myself before quickly reverting my attention back to my daughter.
“I must keep you on your toes, darling!” I replied to her in Dutch as I picked her up. She squealed in delight, all annoyance gone. Holding her in one arm, I swept out my other across the square.
“Maman, what is this place?”
“Do you remember the sleepy little village Granmère Sophie used to constantly speak of?” Charmaine nodded her head. “Well, ma petite souris, this is that sleepy little village.”
Looking at me puzzled for a moment, Charmaine wriggled free of my hold and leapt from my arms. Running ahead of me, she turned in a circle then stopped. She looked up to the sky, the clear blue canvas above her, then I saw her eyes travel down, quickly studying the buildings that bordered the little square. I approached her as the eyes of townspeople began to notice us. Taking her hand, we walked towards the fountain and sat on it’s edge.
“But this village is anything but sleepy, Maman!” She gestured to a group of raucous teenagers playing dice against a building wall. “They’re terribly loud for a sleepy little village, don’t you think?”
“Ah, how times change,” I whispered to her. I closed my eyes and remembered the old village of when I was six. “Time certainly do change.”
“And it is much too big to be a village,” I vaguely heard her quip. She was right. The tiny, close-knit village of my reveries had grown and transformed into a bustling town.
Charmaine’s voice pulled me out of my memories as her hand tugged at mine. “Come, Maman! Show me where Grandmère’s bakery used to be!”
I stood and watched my daughter for a moment, feeling a strong guilt-laced pang of kinship with my mother. She must have felt the exact same way I felt, watching an excited daughter of six ready to take on the world. I shook the feeling and caught up to her, taking her small hand in my own and guiding her to the main vein of streets that would lead through the winding boulevards and avenues I used to know by heart. As we walked, I tried to place the buildings and shops from my past into the new structures and the current reality. It was hard.
“And this used to be Rue Avenue,” I informed Charmaine as we walked down the largest street. I searched out a street sign and found one, the brightly painted metal placard seeming garishly out of place against the ancient signpost it was affixed to.
“Rue Se-se-secor-ord,” Charmaine read slowly, sounding out the letters phonetically. I waited patiently until she was repeating the street name into her memory. “Rue Secord. Rue Secord.”
“Very good, darling.” I smiled at her encouragingly as I switched my tongue to French. “Now, down this street is where Granmaman had her bakery and patisserie. Can you tell me what a patisserie is in English?”
Charmaine hesitated as we strolled. I could feel her fingers drum lightly into my hand as she contemplated her answer. I chanced a glance ahead of us, to see how far our paces had taken us when I saw the hanging shop sign swaying in the breeze in the distance. I narrowed my eyes and chuckled to myself.
That stupid sign. That stupid sign was still there, still being used, although sorely neglected, I noticed. The bell beside it that used to be connected to the door was gone, that goddamn bell ringing incessantly, a sign of good fortune for my mother but one of sheer annoyance for me. Twenty-five years of dirt, grime, and countless seasons had abused the sign and one could barely make out the juvenilely painted loaves of bread with white squiggles of steam rising from them. I had made that sign. It was a surprise, a gift to my mother when we had first moved to Rizal all those years ago. I could remember my excitement as I searched the riverside for the right piece of wood –
“Pastry shop!” Charmaine cried, beaming proudly.
“Excellent!” I could feel the pride emanating from my own grin as I squeezed her hand. I pointed towards the weather beaten and blackened wood sign swinging in the distance. “Do you see that, ma petit souris?”
“Uhhh… Uh-huh,” she replied nonchalantly as her gaze tried to follow the invisible path my finger was directing to.
“That, my angel,” I whispered to her, my tongue choosing Dutch this time, “is Granmère Sophie’s bakery.”
She looked at me with wide eyes, absently sidestepping a small clutch of washerwomen and laundresses. They looked at us warmly and cooed over Charmaine in her red pea coat, red beret, and matching red patent strapped shoes. A jolt of motherly pride mixed with another pang of motherly kinship ran through me and my smile broadened.
Charmaine skipped ahead of me, eager to share in our family history, as I followed, my vision beginning to fade into the sepia of my memories. Six year old me was running along side Charmaine, both casting an occasional glance backwards for a sign of approval. I nodded my head as I remembered my mother had and the two little girls surged forth a little further. I had to blink as they ran: it almost looked like the two were holding hands.
Stopping in front of the bakery window, Charmaine waited for me impatiently as the six year old me of my memories grew fainter with every step. Finally, I stood with Charmaine, our reflections staring at us. I was startled to see white curtains drawn inside the window pane.
“Is it closed, Maman?” Charmaine’s expression of excitement began to melt, her eyes looking crestfallen.
I glanced at my watch and smelled the air. “No, it’s a Tuesday morning. And I smell bread.” I leant over and looked at the glass door. Catching the eye of an exiting patron, I smiled politely. He smiled in response. I heard a weak tinkle of a bell as he pushed the door open.
“Excuse me, sir,” I asked, tugging on the red woolen lapel of Charmaine’s pea coat as I turned away. I felt her little hand grasp mine. “The bakery is open, correct?”
He was an elderly man, perhaps in his early seventies. He seemed to be in the same condition as the old bakery sign hanging above, stooped and beaten by age, leaning heavily on a knobby wooden cane. His face was sun spotted and jowly. Looking him straight in the eye, I was again taken aback: one eye was a bright clear blue, the other sparkling electric green. I knew this man.
“Yes, yes, my dear,” he replied in a French that had been slowed with age. He stood in the bakery doorway, holding the door open for us. I could smell the familiar aroma of breads and pastries waft through. “The bakery is open. They’re just putting the finishing touches on the new window display.”
I searched his face to see if he recognized me but I saw no spark of familiarity pass through his blue and green eyes. I thanked him.
“You’re very welcome. I’m curious myself to see it,” he said, letting the door swing shut behind him. He walked over and stood beside Charmaine and the three of us watched as the heavy white curtains jostled and flapped inside the store.
“The owners put up a new window display every Tuesday,” observed the man. I watched in the windowed reflection as Charmaine turned her face up to look at him, eyes wide half in fright and half in eager interest. “It’s all very nice: loaves lined up at the ready, cookies and tarts patterned around the whole thing. Nothing so intricate though.”
I smiled as I remembered Mother’s window arrangements. Intricate scenes, every week something new and exciting. One week a carnival, another a scene at a zoo, animals and miniature people, too, all out of baked goods. I knew in my heart that what we were about to witness was nothing compared to the audience my mother used to attract when she was running the bakery.
“Yes, I’ve stood at this window every week for the past twenty-five years to see what new wonders lay behind that curtain,” he continued. I quirked an eyebrow and he turned to look at Charmaine, a kind smile gracing his aged face. “Used to be the old owner would have whole worlds waiting behind that curtain. Well, it wasn’t a curtain back then, more of a wooden shade contraption. But I remember the crowds that would gather, just waiting for Madame D’Orlean to pull up that shade.”
“Really?” I heard Charmaine whisper in awe. There was a warm silence as the elderly gentleman nodded his assent.
I felt Charmaine let go of my hand and I watched her march in front of him with pride. “My grandmother used to own this shop.”
It took a moment for the gentleman to process Charmaine’s words. He looked at her closely then turned to me, his eyes tight in the fight to remember a face.
“Really,” he stated slowly, looking between Charmaine and myself once again. I felt a sly grin creep across my lips as he tried to connect me with the little girl he had met, what seemed, a lifetime ago. He addressed Charmaine as he stared at me, his voice growing lower at the bewilderment. “If your grandmother used to own this shop, then you must be Sophia D’Orlean’s daughter!”
I laughed. “Oui, Monsieur Colle. I have to say, I’m quite surprised you did not recognize me.”
“Julienne! Heavens, me!” He raised his arms in the air and I saw Charmaine duck out of the way of his flying cane. “Recognize you? An old man like me? I never would’ve guessed in a thousand centuries!”
He clasped my hands tightly in his own as we shared a laugh. Feeling Charmaine standing behind me, I stepped aside to reveal her. “My daughter, Charmaine. Darling, this is a dear old friend of mine and Granmère Sophie’s, Monsieur Regis Colle.”
Colle stooped even lower and grasped her hand before righting himself again. He wiped the sweat off his brow from all the excitement, turned to us again and smiled.
“I should have known," he said, the twinkle in his eyes alive and electric. "I should have known."

7. She's Just Not Worth Your Pretty If She Doesn't Like Your Family

You don't get to choose your family, but you do get to choose your friends. Thank God for that, right? And I can speak from experience when I say that my family drives me freaking insane, up the wall, batshit crazy. You don't always like them but you always love them. Your friends, on the other hand, could hate your family with a passion; hell, that's probably one of the reasons why you two became best friends in the first place! But whether she likes your family or not, it's the fact of does she respect them and treat them fairly when they're around and when they're not.
It's nice to commiserate about how sucky your family is, comparing their embarrassing moments with someone else, knowing that you're not alone in the department of Bloodline Dysfunction. But when all she's doing to ragging on your family, especially when you didn't start that conversation, then there's something wrong with her and she's not worth your (or your family's) pretty.


The "Her Family Is Perfect" Excuse

Whose family isn't a total puddle of bog water sometimes? And, when said family is starting tto stink more than usual, it's always nice to have your best friend to help you through it. But if she insists that her family is perfect, that they never giver her anything to complain about then she's not being honest with you. And if, in addition to insisting that her family is picture perfect, she's ragging on your family, then she's got some issues.


The "Her Family Is So Much Worse" Excuse

It is not a competition to see who's mother puts who through the most torture. It's all about getting through said torture together and in whole pieces. But if she starts making it a competition to see why her father is more of an embarrassment than yours, then she needs to see that she just ain't worth your pretty (and your dysfunct family's pretty, too).


The "My Family Treats Her Like Crap" Excuse

Just because your family may not be nice enough to treat her well doesn't give her the liberty to act the same. You want you best friend to be mature enough to be the bigger person, not to stoop to the level of not even going to your house lest she run into your live-in aunt who constantly berates her hairstyles and choice in clothing. But if she's being petty to your family, who's to say that she won't suddenly turn on you and the family you make for yourself in the future? In other words, she's not worth the risk or the pretty.


It's so simple! If she takes out all her bitch on your family, then there is something wrong!

Let's now delve into why this can get hard: if you do find that your family and your best friend are at odds with each other, sooner or later they're going to make you choose. And, either way you swing, the other side is going to feel hurt, betrayed, and let down. BE CAREFUL! Choose wisely and know that you're family is always going to be there (not necessarily for you, but they'll most of the time just 'be') and, if you're best friend really is worth your pretty, so will she, no matter what you choose.

6. She's Just Not Worth Your Pretty If She Doesn't Like Your Man (Without Trying)

Boys: stupid yet stimulating, insufferable yet insatiable, and be damned if our world doesn't revolve around them. More than half our conversational subjects include boys, from how to snag one to how to train them. They're a healthy part of a friendship because they give us something to talk about.
It's normal if your best friend and your boyfriend don't get along: they both love you and want what's best for you and sometimes those opinions may oppose. But there will (at least there should) come a point where both of them will agree that their dislike for each other is trumped for their love for you. They will (again, should) try to co-exist peacefully for your sake, so you'd never be forced to choose between them.
Alas, this isn't always the case. I found that the bestie can feel left out when a boo comes into the picture, especially if said bestie is single herself. But if she doesn't try to make an effort to like him, to be nice to him when he's around and to keep the trash talk at a minimum, the she just ain't worth your pretty.


The "He's Not Good Enough For You" Excuse

She's worried. He has a tendency to act a little aloof when company's around. He seems cold and closed off. He can be immature at the worst possible times. He acts like a flirt. She sees all that and more and she tells you every time the opportunity arises. After awhile it gets pretty annoying so it's either she's right or she should have some faith in the decisions you make. If she is right, though, she will still make the effort to point out his good parts, to get along with him, to include him so as to try to see past her convictions. If she doesn't than she's judgemental, a bitch, and not worth your pretty.


The "He Doesn't Like Me So Why Should I Like Him" Excuse

It doesn't matter if he acts like a dick whenever your best friend is present. Okay, well, it does, but if there's one thing I've learned about men is that they are set in their ways and not always apt to change. But if she uses that as her excuse to act like a bitch towards and about him, then she's more than likely just a bitch in general. And we all know the rule about bitches: they're not worth your pretty.


The "There's So Many Things Wrong With Him" Excuse

If your best friend finds a problem with every small, miniscule flaw your boyfriend has, take this as a big warning sign. There are two main reasons that indicate that this is toxic behavior:
1) she is picky. While good for eyeing out the latest handbags and matching shoes, not good if she brings this trait over to discerning people; and
2) she's jealous and she can't talk to you about it.
If your girl can't let go of the fact that he is always munching on strawberry Mentos or he named his car, then she's not looking at the bigger picture, aka your happiness. So while she's obsessing over the fact that he wears socks with sandals, let herobsess over why she's just not worth your pretty.


It's so simple! She rags on the boyfriend means that she's a bad and bitchy friend! Okay, so it's not actually that simple. See, if she rags on him all the time or if she voices her opinions without and concern or regard for you and your feelings then that's when you know she's bad and she's bitchy. But if she takes you aside and says, "Hey, I think there's something sketchy about this dude," then maybe it might be a good idea to listen to her. But if it's always, "He's so dumb, he's an idiot, I bet he can't even spell neanderthal," without any warning then maybe it's not the boyfriend that needs the boot.

This can be hard, and I mean hard, because no one wants to be put into the position where they may have to choose between Boyfriend and Best Friend. In the perfect world, they would get along with each other and be friends themselves. That isn't always the case. Jealousies, hurt feelings, mixed signals all get in the way of that perfect picture. And picking out whether your best friend is watching out for you or being toxic is even harder because, let's face it, sex and having a man are pretty damn great and no one likes being proved wrong. So, before you boot anyone, think long and hard and decide whether He's Just Not That Into You or if She's Just Not Worth Your Pretty.

I want to wring your neck. Literally. Like, so hard that your eyes pop out of your skull. You're so fucking hard to deal with sometimes that I wish I could just kill you and collect the insurance money and live my life the way you never would've let me. Fuck. You say all these things and you can't even follow the shit that you say. And things are a lot easier when you say them and blame me or make me look bad. It's not so easy to do shit when you have an overbearing, widemouthed bitch standing over you.
I get that shit is happening. I'm trying my hardest to cope, to figure my own shit out, to fix whatever I have to fix but you're not helping whatsoever by standing there judging me and whatever. And it really doesn't help when you piss the fucking shit out of me and then expect me to take it in stride. One of these days I should tape record you so you can hear just how bitchy, demeaning, and judgemental you sound.
Fuck sake, be a fucking human being. Just because you seem to move at a robotic pace doesn't mean that the rest of us are as unfeeling and as coldly efficent as you.
I can't believe you sometimes. Really. You act as if everything you do for me is a favor. Well, it's not. And I go out on my ass for you, too, but I guess you just don't see it or maybe you don't want to see it. But I get it now, now I know why you have no friends, why no one in this family WANTS to talk to you. Here was I thinking, hmm maybe they just don't get you. Reality check: you're a fucking bitch. I guess I should never forget that, huh. Well, there goes my good mood. Surprise, surprise.

5. She's Just Not Worth Your Pretty If She's A Drama Queen

Now, I know I touched upon this in the previous 'chapter', but the Drama Queen is a category all in herself.
The Drama Queen. She is the girl who wraps herself in an emotional Linus blanket and comes out for no one lest someone not like the real person underneath the Drama. She is enticing, exciting, intriguing, and addictive. She's got twenty five 'best friends' at any given time and she swears up, down, and six ways sideways that each one is her absolute closest and best. You can't take your eyes off of her and you can't help but drink up every venomously honey dipped word that that comes out of her lined and lipglossed lips. Well, I'm sorry to say but she is the girl who is definitely not worth your pretty. She makes it seem like she is and she'll do anything to make you believe so but she's not in it for you or the friendship, she's there because it boosts her ego and makes her feel like she has an instant on-call audience.


The "Stuff Just Always Happens To Her" Excuse"

Something is always happening and she makes sure you know it. Whether it's crappy stuff, happy stuff, stuff about work or her love life she is right there in your ear giving you every single mushy detail as if she's testing the script for the movie of her life. It's all fine until you start to wonder: why aren't I with her, sharing all these experiences; why do I feel bad about myself after I hang up the phone with her; why aren't I out, living the kind of life she's leading. The minute you begin to compare yourself to her is the minute you should realize she's just not worth your pretty.


The "She Doesn't Mean To be A Bitch" Excuse

Yes, she does. She knows she's being a bitch and she knows that, because you love her, you'll take her asinine behavior with the least resistance. She always needs to get her way and she will pout, kick, scream, and curse until you relent and give her her satisfaction. This girl, ladies, is toxic. Because of her own issues and insecurities she feeds off of the misery and low-self esteem of those who will accept it from her. This girl isn't worth the time of day, and she certainly isn't worth even an OUNCE of your pretty.


The "People Are Just Naturally Drawn To Her" Excuse

Being a genuinely enigmatic, interesting, and friendly person will not always win you the love and respect you deserve. To have friends and to be a friend consists of hard work and compromise. To be a best friend and to have a best friend is requires even more hard work and sacrifice and compromise; the joy, however, is in the fact that it doesn't feel like hard work because you two mesh in a way that nature (or God or whatever you believe in) intended.
No one over the age of eight is surrounded around every corner by a person they call and consider their 'best friend'. Best friends aren't like hot dog vendors (eugh... Don't get me started on street meat pushers...), everywhere you look. That's probably the absolute excitement of having a best friend: they're rare, one of a kind, unique, and unlike anyone else you know. So if your 'best friend' is gushing about her million and six 'BFFs' (god, how I hate that acronym...), you can bet that she's not taking your friendship as seriously as she should be and you can definitely bet that she's not worth your pretty.


The "She Only Acts Like That When Other People Are Around" Excuse

I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but the Drama Queen is a really good actress. Chances are if she's acting totally 180-degrees different when there are people around, then she acting and not being genuine around you. She's got the Gemini complex (and she doesn't even have to be born in late May-early June!): in plains English, she's two-faced. Hell, knowing Drama Queens as well as I do, there are multiple faces to deal with! So if you find your friend to have more facets than the Hope Diamond, you can tell each one of her faces that she's just not worth your pretty.


It's so simple! Drama = not worth it. If you begin to feel like you're a supporting actor in your own life, chances are you've bonded yourself to a Drama Queen.

This is hard because Drama Queens are good at what they do: ensnaring and capturing their audience, making sure they never get away. And it's hard to admit that your best friend is a Drama Queen because you love her (or at least the person who she's been playing) and she'll do anything for you to make you stay. She's that seemingly too good to be true friend that everyone adores. You may not know it at first but sooner or later you'll start to feel like she's driving the big rig that us your life and you're just her cargo. That's even harder to get away from because she seems to make everything easier for you to deal with. What you should realize, though, is that you should be the one controlling your life and that she should move out of your driver's seat because she's not worth your pretty.

4. She's Just Not Worth Your Pretty If She Won't Share

I'm not talking about being four years old and in kindergarten again, being told to share your crayons and cookies. I'm talking about emotional sharing, really talking to each other- connecting, empathizing, sympathizing, and understanding.
I'm gonna share something here that's going to seem crazy at first but it will make sense once you think it through: talking is the platonic version of sex. It's the same kind of deep seated, comforting connection when two people share and talk to each other. It sounds mushy and stereotypically femme, but it isn't. The best friendships- heck, romances, too- have been based on this: Bert & Ernie (they haven't officially come out of the closet yet, so we'll classify that as friendship), Ariel & Flounder, Thelma & Louise, Mowgli & Baloo, et cetera, et cetera.


The "She's Afraid To Get Hurt Again" Excuse

She's had best friends before and they've let her down: laughed at her feelings, never kept her secrets, the whole game of hurt. She should know that that was them, not you. If she really wanted to, she would open up, tell you the things that she doesn't tell anyone else, think to herself, "I can't wait to tell her this!!!" Ultimately, she's going to want you to be her confidante because that's what best friends are for!


The "She's So Hot That She's Cold" Excuse

Everything starts out great: you two are hanging out, calling each other, you're starting to get really tight and she tells you one tiny secret. Then, bam, she's distant, only hangs out when there are other friends around, barely calls you anymore. Platonic version of 'fear of intimacy?' If I may be so bold as to call BULLSHIT! Now, I can't explain her behavior but I can say that if she's activg like that then she is definitely not worth your pretty. The only hot and cold you should have to deal with in your life are your faucets.


The "She Makes It Sound Like It's Important" Excuse

This one is a little trickier. She talks to you, you two seem close. But, upon further inspection, it turns out you barely know anything about her! You think back and realize that all the things she's told you have been small aspects of her life, unimportant facts and meaningless tidbits of information. Shit! You can't believe you've been fooled! Before you start the emotional tailspin and start telling yourself you are a bad friend, STOP! You are not the villain in this excuse, she is. She is the deceptive and cunning Drama Queen, capable of making you believe what she wants you to believe. She's the type who needs followers and attention and she'll get it in a way so that, when she gets found out, she won't get hurt. When the tell tale signs of a Drama Queen show up in your 'best friend', I suggest you tell her dramatic ass that she is not worth your genuine pretty.


It's so simple! Talking and sharing is (or should be, in a way) like sex: satisfying, comforting, and freeing. And, again, like sex, if it doesn't make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside when it's over, then chances are it's bad for you.

This one is hard because it's hard to talk about feelings, even for us women. Talking about and sharing things that make us feel certain ways opens us up and makes us vunerable to whatever hurt than can be brought. We're trusting someone not to be the bearer of that hurt.
Stupid feelings. If it wasn't for you, things would be a lot simpler, I wouldn't have to be lying here writing this! But we all need an outlet, another person who is willing to help us work through all of the crap in life. And because we feel that way, it makes it harder to believe that someone doesn't identify. We are prone to think that we are suited to be everyone's best friend and that everyone would want to open up to us because we are great listeners and we are so great at comforting others. Reality check: the world ain't all that we wish it were. There are fake and shallow and just generally shitty people out there who do nothing unless it benefits them and they're not always obvious about it. So, if she's dodgy, deceptive, or distrusting then she's definitely not worth your pretty!

The Night Of The Bitching

ARRRRRRGH!

So I've decided to be annoyed. It's late (well, technically, for me, it's actually early) and I'm tired (exhausted) and I'm kinda steamed (annoyed to the point of actual seething).

Okay, okay, I know that I'm in the middle of writing "She's Just Not Worth Your Pretty: A Girl's Guide To Best Best-Friendship" but tonight I just can't. Tonight's one of those nights where I want to just vent and rant and bitch and seethe about the stupid people that, well, are stupid! Yes, that includes the people who are reason why I started writing "She's Just Not Worth Your Pretty". It also includes (but is not limited to) guys who are just not worth it but who are so damn... I don't want to say irresistible, but, really, that's the only word for it; people who can't run their own shit but believe they can run yours; people who bitch and complain about things that don't concern them; people who believe that they are God's given gift to humanity and believe that the world does not in fact revolve around the sun but around themselves; delusional people (of grandeur or otherwise); people who... Well, fuck it, people in general.

So I claim tonight as The Night Of The Bitching. Some activities you might find and partake of in this grand affair:

• The Buffet of Bitching - you will find dishes of all kinds here like the ever popular "Damn cunt talks shit behind my back", "Fucking jerk won't give back my stuff", and "She has the balls to say/do that after what she did to me?!?"
• The Verbal Diatribe Dunk Tank - you can confront your demon (in imagination or picture form) and yell at them and tell them all you need to say and all you think they need to hear
• The Grand Tirade Parade - we all come together, agree that people fucking suck and proclaim that statement across the land

Okay, okay, I'm done with the fiction. I won't deny, though, that it felt good to write. But really, some people in this world... It just makes my head throb, like, physically throb, just thinking about how stupid/childish/moronic/idiotic/etc. some people in this world can be!

I know, it's probably not very mature and it certainly doesn't help my credibility towards "She's Just Not Worth Your Pretty" that I'm here, wasting my time, energy, and inspiration writing a bitching-rant about the people I've left out of my life. Yes, it still stands that SJNWYP is still about how to overcome these feelings of anger, loathing, near-hate. But sometimes a girl's just got to let go and have at it.

Seriously, though, how did it come to this? Things were good (fine, I'm willing to settle for 'things were okay'), and then, suddenly, things were no longer just things but situations. And, of course, as I have previously stated numerous times before, the timing for situations in my life is

S-H-I-T-T-Y.

At this point, I'm still not willing to concede my position. I know, I know, I should be better than that; after all, I am writing about how to leave those toxic friendship situations behind.

(And for those of you who read this and believe that this is about you: I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it's most likely not. Go listen to Carly Simon's "You're So Vain" and get over yourself.)

I hate to say it, though, but my life is so much better now. The only reason I hate to say it is because I hate to think that when you were in my life you were the person keeping me stuck to the rut I was in, you were the sinking ship I was refusing to jump and I don't think anyone deserves to be told that they are, or even were, a burden. I'm not gonna go right up to your face and say, "It's your fault my life sucked back then!" and walk away because, well, it's petty and it's unrealistic. Granted, I've wanted to do that on occassion but I've held back because I refuse to sink lower than your level.

I know what you're thinking. Gee, Lulu, if they were that horrible, why did you stick around? Because I loved them. Because, at one point or some points, we really were good for each other and we really had something good going. And I know I'm not alone when I say I got attached and I didn't want to let go of what I thought was something fun.

Speaking of things fun: BEWARE OF ALL THAT SEEMS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE. That includes men. Well, guys; finding a man is so rare that you might as well call them a myth. And there's a particular species of guy you've got to watch out for: Mr. Irresistible. Mr. Irresistible is everything you want him to be except for one thing: he can't be yours! Whether it's because you've got a man or because he's got a girl, he is and never will be the one buying you roses, making you homemade chicken noodle soup when you're sick, and braving his balls to meet your family. But, from the way he acts towards you, you'd think he was that guy. Well, give him a fucking Oscar because it's all an act. I hate him for being so fly, for acting so cocky but in a subtle I-don't-hate-it-he-actually-looks-kinda-cute-when-he-acts-like-that way, I hate him for making me think that he's worth all the attention I give him! Fuck! Don't get me wrong, I love my man (the guy I'm with now, the guy who I'll be with later on, whoever), but Mr. Temptation is just within my reach. Better swat him away instead of grabbing. Bah.

I'm out of steam. I'm not any less annoyed (okay, a little).

I'm going to bed.

3. She's Just Not Worth Your Pretty If She Doesn't Hang Out With You

Just like dating delving into a new close platonic relationship is confusing. The uncertainty, the vaugeness, the murky shades of grey between what is appropriate and what is awkward. Every girl hates this time because this is the crucial moment where you both decide whether either of you can make it as each other's best friend. The walls slowly begin to come down and you're each at your most vunerable.
This is the point where spending time with each other is essential. You have to know if your best friend (or best friend-to be) wants to be with you, wants to hang out with you, wants to really know the kind of person you are, in public and at home.


The "She's Been Hurt and Betrayed Before" Excuse

Which one of us hasn't already felt the white-hot, sickening sting of platonic rejection? It's more than just unpleasant and, in a lot of ways, can be more heartwrenching than losing at love. At least with love you prepare yourself for rejection; you feed yourself all the placating excuses until you feel up to the challenge again. But no one wholly prepares themselves to be ejected from a friendship that seems to be going well.
Being previously betrayed and hurt does not constitue a good reason to perpetuate the vicious negative cycle. Chances are you could be the one who shows her that not all people are bitches and jackasses, if only she'd give you the chance. But if she decides not to give you that chance, don't feet because there's someone better and more worthy of your time and pretty.


The "But We Really Are Best Friends" Excuse

There's a certain security in knowing that your best friend is there for you, that she's got your back. And there's a certain pleasure, a warm fuzzy feeling if you will, when we can say, "That's my best friend." It sounds so Neanderthalic, the simple act of just saying it out loud but in actual truth saying it out loud really does carry validation. So if your so-called bestie keeps choking on her words, then the words you need to recognize are she's just not worth your pretty.


The "We're Around Each Other, So Why Not" Excuse

Right off the bat I need to say that settling for the girl who you've shared a cubical wall with for eight and a half months is not grounds for best friendship. She's a colleague, a work friend at best. In English: settling is not friendship. Settling is the act of sheer laziness, and who wants or wants to be a lazy best friend? When you settle for the person who's "just there," you're really cutting down your standards and, in the long run, cutting down your self-esteem by saying that you're not good enough to be searched for or to search for someone who perfectly complements you. So if you find that your relationship with your BFF is based on "why not," then I suggest you reevaluate it because, in the long run, she's probably just not worth your pretty.


The "She's A Jet Setter" Excuse

So your best friend is out of town. Again. It's nothing new, it's not a surprise. She travels a lot and, c'mon, someone's gotta wrack up them Frequent Flyer Miles! But here's the thing: it's beginning to feel like you've got a constant out of town visitor and not a best friend. She's constantly talking on and on about her travels and the people she meets and you feel like everything you have to say us insignificant in comparison. Well, it shouldn't be like that. Having a best friend means that she doesn't constantly feel like a stranger in your life, especially one that makes you feel like you aren't up to snuff.


It's so simple! Really and truly this time, it is: she doesn't want to see you then she's not worth your pretty. It's pretty plain, cut and dried. It may not feel that way because of all the excuses we make for them and to ourselves. But hanging out together- shopping, hiking, at home mani-pedi's- is essential in knowing and getting to know your best friend.

This one's particularly hard because your boundaries aren't yet fully defined. It's only when you're both willing to take that leap over the Wall of Awkwardness and land into Acceptance that you'll know whether you're each others' best friend material.

2. She's Just Not Worth Your Pretty If She's Not Calling You

Not being able to call you is the worst, bullshittiest excuse in the world. There is no excuse for your girl not to call. As a girl, if it's one thing I know it's that we love to talk. We love to verbally share pretty much everything we do, from the most embarrassing FML moments we have to our proudest, ego-boosting triumphs.
Being 'busy' is not an excuse. Every girl I know is just short of surgically attached to her cellphone, so being 'busy' is just another way of saying, "I don't want to talk to you," and what girl wouldn't want to talk to her friends? Even if 'busy' does occur, a phone call will happen eventually in the day, with the phrase, "Ohmygod, I thought about you today when..." littered throughout.


The "But She's Always Out" Excuse

I said it before and I'll say it again: we women are practically just short of surgically attached to our cellphones. Just because she's out doesn't give her the excuse not to call. Granted, she doesn't have to call the moment something exciting happens or the second she walks out her door, but she will eventually come home (or someone else's home, I don't judge) to chill and relax. This is usually when a girl will whip out her trusty phone and call. If you're not on that list of people she calls, she is not worth being in your life and she is certainly not worth your pretty.


The "She's Got A Lot To Deal With" Excuse

She's got a full time job, two kids, a dog, and a jackass for a husband. Okay, she's got a loaded plate and you don't want to add to it. But if she's really and truly your best friend, then she will find the time in her schedule to call, even if it's to cry about how she just can't get a moment to herself. Women want to share their misery and grief just as much as we want to share our happiness and laughter. We need someone there who understands us, who can commisserate with us, who we can share the burden with.


The "She Just Says Stuff That She Doesn't Mean"

Okay, if you read 'He's Just Not That Into You', you'll recognize this one. I believe that it goes for both women and men alike. If your girlfriend says she'll call you back, she will call you back. If she says she'll call you tomorrow, she'll call you tomorrow. Or, at least, she should. Whenever she says things like these, she's making you a promise, even if it's just something as small as a phone call. By letting her break these promises, you're enabling her to treat you like crap, and who wants that? Granted, there are exceptions to this rule: if she manages to seriously contact you in some way (six-page email, three consecutive wall posts, five message IM, that sort of thing), then it's okay, because she's still trying to get in touch with you. Not okay, though, if she says she'll call you back and replies instead with an email every single time. Phone contact is good. It means you still want to hear their voice and know who the person is. If she becomes (what I like to call) PC Poltergeist, then she's not worth your pretty. She's just using you to vent. So tell her to hit the the road and get a diary.


The "She's Just Not Really A Phone Person" Excuse

Lies. If she really 'wasn't a phone person' she wouldn't have a cellphone. (Granted, there are some who still don't.) But she has a house phone. And, c'mon, she's your best friend: wouldn't you want to be able to talk to your best friend without having to wait for a wall post or an email? And who said those things were really all that great? I've found that, with my best friends, emails and wall posts and MSN just don't cut it. There's just the comfort of the immediate response, the warm fuzzy feeling when you realize you've gone totally off topic and launched into a totally different conversation.


I'm just going to point out right here that, as I write this, I am writing specifically about best friends. Those who you count as the women in your inner circle, the ones who you multiline call at night, the ones who you'd imagine would be your bridesmaids at your imaginary wedding. Friends, just friends, those who you're close with but not in that special way, are different, and have a whole different set of rules entirely. Example: I have a close friend who I email with all the time. We don't talk on the phone, that's just not where our relationship is based, and that is a mutual understanding on both our parts. (If you're reading this, you know I love you, lol)

It's so simple! Email, Facebook, Twitter, text: they're all just ways of shortchanging the human race on communication. If your best friend really was your best friend then she'd want to bug you with the little things in her life, and you'd want her to listen as you dished on a new song you heard while your do your nails.

It's hard to believe because there is an exception to the rule: I'll admit, I'm a girl who loves her technology. I've got an iPhone (ninety per cent of the time that's where I'm blogging from), I've got Facebook, I've got Twitter (sammimartinez, thank you very much), I have several, if not too many, email accounts and all of these are hooked up to iGgy (my affectionately named iPhone). I utilize all of these methods to talk to my best friends, and we manage to contact each other on a daily basis. But there is phone contact, at least once a week or so, which I think is okay because we manage to be part of each other's lives in every single way. That's really the point I'm trying to get across. If your best friend won't deign to call you, let alone attune herself to your life, then she's just not worth your pretty!

Let me just start off by saying I love my boyfriend, I really do. I'm grateful that he's in my life, making this part of my life better that it else would have been.
But did you ever wonder? Okay, yeah, that was vague. What I mean is, did you ever wonder about their (the collective universe of boyfriends/girlfriends/spouses/significant others) past. And not in the overtly pathetic, clingy, "Ohmygod, who was that and how do you know them? Did you date? Did you fuck?" kind of way. I'm talking more of the casual, "So who were you before you met me?"
I guess I should back up and explain- I realized, while on the phone with TK's best friend (he answered his phone, I didn't care to ask why), that I didn't know how the two of them had met. Yeah, I vaguely remember some drunken, fumbled book cover blurb when we first met, but I never really got around to knowing. And it got me thinking.
Piecing together the stories I've heard while we've been together, I've managed to kind of see bits and parts of his life (now, calm yourselves: this is gonna sound egotistical but it's really not) BM, or Before Me. But it's like doing a giant jigsaw puzzle and I only have the egde pieces figured out and I'm left with handfuls of similar colored pieces. Call me crazy and insanely curious, but I want to see the whole puzzle, finished and whole.
I'm not gonna spout pretty platitudes about how our pasts don't matter because we're together now; I'm too emotionally scarred and realistic for that. No, I actually believe the opposite, that our pasts do matter because they've lead us to each other. And, a little more cynically, we're going to be part of each other's pasts eventually and I want to at least stand out (positvely) from the rest.

The Great Canadian Hair Challenge

From my lover, Jae (http://abitofjae.blogspot.com)

The Great Canadian Hair Challenge.

What it constitutes is that you must not alter your current hair in any way for a year. That means no cutting, trimming, relayering, rebanging, etc.

My own exception: I get to dye mine. I dye my hair like I breath water, like the Pope wears a funny hat, like dogs sniff each others butts.

I've recruited my sister into the challenge (with the same exception as me).

Lol, I love you, Jae, for thinking up of this.

FB Notes: 'In All Honesty...'

As much as I love this, I want more. Call me greedy or selfish, but I think that, after all this time, I deserve "it". I'm not even sure what "it" is, but it's got to be more than just lunches, late nights, early mornings, and "coming home" to each other.

For so long I was comfortable. I was fine, hell, I was HAPPY, because it didn't have a name, there was no definitive way to describe what we have. But, because of my own shortcoming curiosity, I had to push you, I had to care about titles and definitions and all those things that other people look at. I had to wonder and I apologize for that.

So what we have (or, more likely at this point, had) is an 'understanding'. No matter what happened, I always came home to you. Through these past few years and the people in and out of our lives, we still, as you like to put it, came home to each other in the end, through it all. But I'm done with 'in the end'. I don't want 'once upon a time' and 'the end'. I want it all, the story in between, wicked step-mother and all. I'll take a bed full of mattresses with a singular pea; I'll clean night and day with mice as my only companions; I'd rather live in a tiny cottage with seven strange, little men than go on with this 'understanding' that you're only there for me when the day is done.

For the longest time I believed that this, what we had, was the best, the ultimate option because no one could quite pit a finger on it. It couldn't be defined, therefore it couldn't be touched and it couldn't be construed into something ugly or mundane. But now, now that other options have come my way, I feel like the only reason we never defined it was because we wanted to hide it. Albeit, hide it in the most obvious of ways, but hide it nonetheless.

And, also, it's just gotten hard. I try to figure out my feelings for you but there are other guys out there who make it plain and simple for me to understand. I hate second guessing myself when there's a guy there who wants to hold my hand when we're out, when there's someone who'll catch me when I trip and doesn't want to let me go right away. I want to feel good when I plan a weekend full of bad TV and bad movies with a guy and I don't want to have to think about you or have to consider your feelings or wonder if you're gonna call or text me or show up out of the blue. I want to talk to a guy when he calls me and wants to talk about nothing at all, instead of hanging up when I see you're on the other line. I want to keep the shit eating grin on my face when he messages me at the end of the day, wondering if I'm okay instead of wondering why you haven't asked me that yet.

See? I want more. If it has to be you, I want it to be you, one hundred per cent: I want you to be the one holding my hand. I want it to be your hand on my waist to steady me from falling. I want it to be your hips against mine as the music blares and the lights dance in a frenzy. But, right now, it's not. You just hear about it all when we're sitting in your car and you tell me that you wish it were you. I don't think you really mean that, though.

So, with this, I'm leaving 'home'. No more 'understanding' crap, no more 'I come home to you in the end' bullshit. I'm over all that, and I'm done with your charm. I'm packing up this emotional baggage and hauling it off to a one-bedroom apartment across town and no, I will not leave a forwarding address or phone number.

FB Notes: 'Remember this when things get tough...'

I love how every conversation is a private joke.

I love how you look at me like I’m absolutely crazy when I’m acting like a normal person.

I love it when your hand searches out mine automatically.

I love the fact that together we defy time.

I love our little competitions and I know you usually let me win.

I love that you’re trying and I love that you love that I’m not.

I love your laughter, your giggle (yes, you giggle), your tsk, your sighs, your huffs of disbelief.

I love that you’re crazier than I am, but in the most normal of ways.

I love how you can stare vacantly into thin air as if you’re looking at the most important thing in the world.

I love how you make me believe that nothing else really ever matters to you when I’m around.

I love that we don’t need conventional boundaries.

I love what we have and what we have is each other.

I hope nothing ever changes.

♥

FB Notes: `Cliche`

If I could say all the things I’ve ever wanted to say to you, I have a feeling that you’d be more offended than flattered.

It’s not that I don’t have anything to say at all. Quite the opposite, actually. But I sat and I thought about it today as I watched you. You were sitting so close to me and yet there I was, watching you from a million miles away, my eyes unable to see anything else but you. As you concentrated so hard at your task at hand there I was, wondering what I would tell you if you gave me the chance, if I gave me the chance. I think that it’s important to point that out: even if you asked me to tell you what’s on my mind, I’d never be able to; those little voices in my head always seem to edit my words as they’re coming out of my mouth, leaving you with the severely abridged version of what I’m thinking.

It’s funny, really, that when chances like that are given I can’t seem to say what I truly want to say. Choose any other point in time and my mouth would be shooting off without my mind even knowing. It’s no new experience for me to taste my own pedicured toes when I put my foot in my mouth. But when it’s just the two of us and all pretense is gone, I just can’t help but think. My mind suddenly warps into overdrive and my tongue can’t seem to articulate the proper sounding words. So I thought about it.

You make me feel like a cliché. But not just any cliché. When you’re with me I’m lighter than air, the birds are chirping happily, and, somewhere in the world, Mary Poppins is extolling the virtues of cleanliness in song. When I hear your voice on the phone there are a million violins playing their sweet melodies harmonized by the lively laughter of children. The world is bright, there is hope, and “priest-rabbi-duck” jokes are actually funny when you are around. You make me feel like the most clichéd cliché and it makes me blush a little.

Just thinking about you, I suddenly understand all those sappy love songs on the radio that used to make me nauseous. When we’re together the urge to pelt rocks at couples at the park is quelled and puppies are more than just slobbering mongrels that like to sniff inappropriate places. You turn me into someone I never thought I would be, or even could be. With you I become one of those girls that I used to make fun of. But, of course, I’d never actually admit it.

After considering all this, I wondered how I’d ever be able to tell you all that without coming off as inexplicably insane. Then I realized, slowly (as I tend to do with life altering epiphanies), that it was simple. I was making things too complicated. All I need are simple words because you know me and you know my every thought as it crosses my mind, every breath as it passes through my lips. But, as the little voices in my head protest, I begin to agree with them: what if my words are too simple? I hope, with every fiber of my being, that you understand.

So, what would I say if I could say all the things I’ve ever wanted to say to you? I’d say thank you.

FB Notes: 'Frustration'

This is so stupid. I’ve hit the point where I can’t even write anymore because all I can think about is you. I can see your face in my mind and it’s like an incessant reminder that I feel absolutely incomplete without you, that I care about what you think of me, that I cannot properly function without some sign of your approval. Okay, so it’s not that extreme but it feels that way. It just that I feel so stupid about all of this, these feelings that I, obviously, feel. I never used to feel like this before. Believe that. With our history, it surprised even me that I feel this way now. And, if I ever let you actually read this, you would be, too.

I just can’t seem to do anything right, even if it doesn’t involve you. I think before I act, but then, two seconds after I’ve done it, I wonder what you would think, what your reaction would be. It’s just so infuriating, that you can carve out a niche in my mind so easily and I can’t even get you to call me once a week. How do you do it? How do you make me feel like I’m two inches tall right after I’ve climbed the highest mountain? I guess I should congratulate you, though, for managing to do what you’ve done to me. It’s no easy feat; I tend not to trust many people as much as I do you.

You’re like an addiction: unhealthy, uncalled for, and insatiable. And I don’t know what part of that description scares me more. I find myself sitting on the cold bathroom floor, crying, because I’m just so messed up thinking about how you make me feel and the many reasons you’re not supposed to be the one doing that. I disgust myself because of you.

You used to be my best friend. I used to be able to tell you everything in my world and now I’m just relegated to the occasional wall-posts, the not-so-often e-mails, the rare phone calls, the almost-never luncheons. This is us, the duo who used to share one bed, when we weren’t even dating, and not have sex; this is us, the two who could just look at each other and have a whole conversation in the mere blink of an eye. That was us, but not anymore.

There are so many reasons that tell me that falling in love with you again is wrong, the strongest being that it feels so right. I know I need to just walk away, but that’s impossible. We’re thrown together out of circumstance, out of karma, out of kismet. Circumstance, karma, and kismet are probably the three forces in this world that are out of my reach. Which means I can’t do anything except sit back and wait until you come to me again, even if it is just for a hour, a word, a minute, a moment.

FB Notes: 'Vicious Cycle of You'

its kinda sad, really... actually, i think i'd equate it with pathetic.

what is?

you. no, not YOU, per say, but its the way you make me feel. that fluttering feeling i get when i see your name pop up in the corner of my screen; that nervous sweat that starts to gather on my brow when i know i'm going to be near you soon. and you know what the saddest part really is?

You Have No Clue That You're Making Me Feel This Way.

&&it gets worse.

i actually wait and try to seem distant/aloof/casual. i wait until you talk to me first; i stay in a place where i know youll find me. but whenever i do it, i'm always just that little bit afraid that you'll see right through me.

but i should know better than that. why?

Because You Don't.

it's probably because i've done it so convincingly before. i act the same way i did before i truly realized how i felt about you. so it's pointless, me waiting for you to figure out that what im doing is all just an act.

&i know that sitting here is getting me nowhere and that these things have been said so many times over [too many to count. ] but its just so hard for me to believe them because you'd think, if they had actually been heard, there wouldnt be any anymore.

did that make sense? ... see?

You Make Me Not Make Sense.

and the saddest part of all is that i do nothing to change the situation i've put myself in. i just sit and think these same things over and over until i see your screenname pop up or your name on my caller id.

And So It Starts Again.

1. She's Just Not Worth Your Pretty If She's Not Including You

It's amazing, this friendship thing. The excitement of finding someone who thinks like you, who makes you laugh, who understands your weird sense of humor. And, as with most, if not all, new things, we women want to do one thing: show it off! Just think about it and you'll see that it's true. Just got your hair done? You're gonna go out that night. Found that dress that makes your boobs look huge and your ass look great? Head straight to the mall for a "walk" and then to the club! It's natural for us to want to show off our new things and that holds true for friends, too.

It goes beyond wanting to introduce this new friend to the other friends: it's a simple fact of, "See? She's MY new friend, I found her first! Isn't she great?" It sounds bitchy and petty but that's just the way we women work. I can't explain why and I'm not about to go changing the rules that have been around longer than I have.

Now, see when your new friend doesn't want to bring you around to meet her other friends, there's a problem. It's natural for her to want to show you off and you are amazing, so why not? If she likes you then she'll want to share you with her friends let you be a part of her inner circle.


The "But I'm Afraid My Other Friends Won't Like You" Excuse

If she tells you this, I have one thing to say to you: never talk to this girl again! She's basically telling you that you are not good enough to be friends with and that she's ashamed of you. No one needs that, no one deserves that. Even if her other friends wouldn't or don't like you, she'd make an effort to include you so as to tell her other friends that you are important to her and they need to either shut up, try to get along with you, or just play nice.


The "You Might Not Like Them" Excuse

Another way of saying that she's ashamed, this time not of you but of her other friends. This should be a warning sign for two main reasons:
a) she treats her other friends like shit, an omen that you may one day be treated like that, and
b) she thinks you won't make an effort to get along with her friends.
You wouldn't assume a person's standards because you can't read minds. So it's not right that she should presume that you wouldn't like the people she hangs out with. She's hanging out with you, isn't she? And as for b, it's an insult to think that you'd purposefully act rudely in front of her friends. What kind of person does she think you are?!? So ditch this bitch and move on!


The "You Wouldn't Like What We're Doing" Excuse

Oh, please. You are a better person than that and you should be able to see through this excuse like plastic wrap. Even if they were going to do something you don't particularly enjoy, you'd obviously make an effort to try, for the sake of your new friend. So for her to assume that you would pout and be sourfaced the while night is an insult to your social skills and social intelligence.


The "I Don't Want You To Feel Awkward" Excuse

Let's face it: for 90% of us meeting new people is awkward. The stiff pauses, stunted conversation, the cold tension before the ice is truly broken can be tough, even tougher when the ice only cracks and doesn't break through. But it is the, what I like to call, host-friend's duty and responsibility to ease those awkward moments and help you be comfortable. If she's not willing to make that effort then she isn't worth you time, your effort, or your pretty.


It's so simple! You, the amazing chick reading this, are, well, amazing! You need to spread this amazing, share your specialness (and I'm not talking about the 'quit-eating-the-glue' special) with people who are like you and who have a specialness that they could share that complements your own. If your new friend doesn't realize this and recognize this then she's just not worth your pretty.

It's hard because we want to see and believe the best in people, especially friends, and even more so new friends. Of course there's that allure of being unknown and mysterious but that wears off quick, and I mean quick. Eventually we want to be known and recognized for the great person that we are and if someone denies us this, we're apt to believe whatever excuse they give us and blame ourselves for being 'needy' and 'clingy'
Another reason why exlusion can drive us crazy is jealousy. If she's constantly talking about how great her other friends are, telling you all the great parties and adventures you're not a part of, then the little green monster named Jelousy might tell you that you're not good enough to be a part of her group. But he's wrong: you're better than her and all her friends because they'd be crazy not to have a funny, charming, and quirky girl like you around!

She's Just Not Worth Your Pretty

Everyone knows about the awesome phenomena that is "He's Just Not That Into You"; it's an awesome book, movie, and liftstyle! But my love life is pretty awesome right now, so what need do I have for it (excluding the obvious because of what will happen in the future crap)? Well, I've found that most of these concepts can be applied to friendships, too. I mean, what is a friendship but a non-romantic relationship, right? So here I present to you:

She's Just Not Worth Your Pretty.

Introduction: You are all friends with her.

She is the flake who constantly blows you off for other plans. She is the one you've known for years and takes advantage of that fact. She is the one who will choose her man over you when she's forced to choose. She is the one who just started a new job and she's got to make friends at the office, lest they think she's a loner. She is the one who has been betrayed before and because of that has severe trust issues. She is the one who know he's not good enough for her but stays with him anyway. God, she must be important to have all these problems and still keep you in her life.

She is the friend made up entirely of your excuses. Granted, this might be easier to spot than in a man, but it's harder, much, much harder to axe her out of your life. There had to have been common ground between you two before, or you'd have never been friends in the first place, right? It can't be that all of a sudden she's not the girl you thought she was or the girl she used to be. Well, it can because of one simple thing: people change. Maybe it's you: you've outgrown the phase of your life in which you two fist began your bond or you're not into the things you used to love and obsess over. Or maybe it's her: she hasn't grown up or she has and it's in a direction totally opposite from yours. Whatever it is, your dynamic has changed and that girl- your BFF, your bestie, your sister at heart- is no longer that, but a stranger that you just don't have the heart to take out of your life because, at one time, you loved them, and it's hard to just let that go.

Derived from Greg's, "Don't waste the pretty," philosophy, I hold that friendships are just like romantic relationships, with one exception: they're even harder. Yeah, of course it's hard to find love, to keep love, to maintain a romantic relationship; but you need to balance it out with a platonic relationship, that solace from when romace gets weary and eventually drifts away. Friends are supposed to be about support, open communication, and no judgement. For men we put on our sexiest makeup, perfume, and lingerie but with our friends we should be able to strip away those layers of extra work and just be ourselves, messy hair, sweats, and all.

It's just not that simple, though. In our lifetime we will go through thousands of friends, only about twenty or so we'll truly deem worthy of calling our best friends. And, a lot of the time, transitioning through these friends is painful because there is a deep history there: sleepover, bowls of ice cream, chick flicks, hair dye and tears over boys, parents, family, work, other friends. Sometimes we hold on to friendships just for the sake of nostalgia, even when that friendship is beginning to hurt us and make us unhappy. Even after the friendship is over, there is resentment and anger that one could feel so easily discarded, like Kleenex. Well, after a lot of hurt, I'm here to offer my advice. Try and bear with me as I blog these chapters and remember: you deserve only the best when it comes to your friends.

Eugh.

I saw your status on Facebook today. It made my heart jump and my insides squish a little. All the feelings I used to have for you came rushing back, like the tide crashing into the shore.

The uncertainty. The lust. The pain. The pleasure. The satisfaction. The withdrawl. The the contment. The unease. What I thought was the beginning of something. What I thought might have been love. The angry realizations that it wasn't anything and that it sure as hell wasn't love.

I'm loved now. I love someone and he loves me. I don't need you. You're not worth it if you think I'm not worth it.

You probably thought that you were all that, because you used to have me on strings like a marionette. I'd dance your dance then get left hanging on nothing but a vauge uncertainty, a shadow of a promise.

I'm better than all that now. I'm not afraid to go as far as to say that I'm better than you now. I don't play games and I don't get played. That's over and I'm stronger than you'll ever be.

I can't wait for the day when you call, like you used to, and I just hang the phone up on your ear. That will probably be one of the most satisfying moments I will ever get to experience.

Deserving

I really hope you read this one day. Preferably one day soon. It would be really lame if I had to show you this, I'd probably wouldn't be able to anyhow.

I don't know what I did to deserve you. I must've done something real good once, something amazingly selfless and humanitarian to have you in my life now. I count my blessings, thank my lucky stars, and kiss the clouds that you are my number one.

You're a jackass. You run your mouth. You're more than a goof and the term 'fuckface' seems to fit you like a glove (not Isotoners, though; we all know what went wrong there). You whine and bitch just as much as any girl, though you'd never admit it in a million and six years. You drive like a maniac, complain about my driving, and your map reading abilities suck worse than a hooker who forgot to take out her loose and ill-fitting dentures. Your job sucks and we barely see each other but we still make it work. You're shameless, in both positive and negative ways (no, I will never forget the time you showed up at the park in your car wearing nothing but a tool belt) and you always have an arguement up your sleeve even when you agree with me. You're strong, one of the strongest people I know. You stick your guns, stand by your convictions and you never let anyone take the rug out from under you. You're not stupid but you have your own logic, a certain smarts that's yours all alone.

I love you. All of you and everything about you. And I love how you love me, how you make me feel accepted and wanted and needed.

I don't deserve you. That I know. But if you'll take me, I'll love you like there's no tomorrow. <3

I hate...

Well, I was going to write some long-winded rant about how much I hate the bad things, the complicated things, the things that make other things impossible. But I realized that that would be stupid, that it would be fruitless, and that I`d end up regretting it and deleting the post.

After thinking about it for a minute, I decided better. And then it came to me, I knew what I wanted to say.

Love like there`s no tomorrow. Tomorrow is a privilage, not a certainty. Tomorrows are the rewards we get for living today worthwhile, for loving the people we`ve got. We talk about tomorrow like we`re entitled to it, like it`s a given and it`s a fact because we`re so used to waking up in the morning and going about our day, because we know nothing beyond not waking up. Reality check: one day we may not wake up, or we may wake up somewhere else entirely, or we may wake up and no one else believes it. I don`t know. I`m not clairvoyant, I don`t know what comes 'next'.

Put your heart and soul into everything you do because essentially what you do in the end amounts to people. Not the dirty, 'Ew, hahaha, you do people,' but you do to, for and, about people. What you do matters, what you do affects someone. Everything: the good, the bad, the ugly, and the stupid actions all matter so you might as well make the most of them.

If you love, love thoroughly, like loving that person takes every fiber of your being.

If you hate, hate with all the passion and fury of ancient gods bearing down upon the peoples.

If you laugh, laugh heartily, there are too many moments in life that make you just want to hang yourself.

If you cry, cry out every tear and sob out every hurt so that way you have the hope of never crying again.

If you`re being honest, be honest, don`t leave anything out, because you don`t know who could be around to listen to you.

If you lie, lie like a motherfucker on death row because the last thing you want is to go down in flames.

There`s a huge chunk of life we miss out on because we`re too caught up in everything that life can afford. Jobs and school take up time and energy, too much time and energy, if you ask me. We get caught up in making the sale, closing the deal, bringing home the bacon (hold the swine flu, please, haha), winning the bread that we forget to just stop and love and be thankful.

So. Do with this what you wish.

PACQUIAO FTW!

It's my Filipino Pride. I can't help it!

TK, you owe me $50, sucker. =P ily!

Gotta hate it when I'm right.

On a totally different note... Wait... I don't have anything else to say at the moment.

Huh. Go figure.

I don't quite know if I like days like today.

All the prep, the anticipation, the dragging of my ass out of bed at an ungodly weekend hour.

And for what? A crabby almost middle aged fart trying to recapture the days of his youth by throwing a fight night party? Geeze, swell.

Worst comes to worst, I'll binge drink until I can't walk and smoke myself blind.

I guess.

"Even Fairy Tale Characters Would Be Jealous"

I sit, curled up on the couch, partially listening to you and partially listening as PlayRadioPlay! play one of our songs off my iPhone.

"Even Fairy Tale Characters Would Be Jealous".

Things aren't perfect, but we're happy. Who'd want perfect, anyways? Perfect would be me fretting over dinner while the children played in the living room with the dog as we'd wait for you to come home from work. That's someone's perfect, but not mine.

Yeah, you know what? I think fairy tale characters would be jealous of us. Again, this ain't no 'happily ever after' in 'lands of faraway places', but who said the Brothers Grimm and Mama Goose had it all right?

See, I think that after the 'happily ever after' came the reality check. The Princess refused to eat peas due to her spinal injuries and thr resulting emotional trauma. Snow White caught several STIs from a naughty little gangbang with the seven dwarves. Cinderella became a carnivorous, insufferable, tyrannical owner of slaves and house help, with a mean streak for animal cruelty.

And it's not just the women, either. Every single ego-bloated Prince Charming probably became fat through the follies of ale-belly, thusly crushing their shining white steeds whilst trying to mount them in an attempt to prove their masculinity.

Or I could be wrong. Every Princess and her Prince would ride off into the sunset, blissfully ignorant of reality and the best parts of being in 'love'.

Every one of those fairy tale characters is probably watching us from the confines of their covers, aching to feel what we feel, from the toe-curling sex to the vase-hurling fights, whether their lives are just as picturesque as written or if they're living in already depicted fairy tale hell.

I love that we fight. I know that you're willing to fight, that you're passionate for something, even if it is just something small and stupid, like who ate the last bagel or which person left the window open while it rained. I've seen and been with too many people who had no passion, no drive, no fight. I don't want that anymore because when push comes to shove I'd want you to fight for me, not just let me walk out the door and out of your life.

I love that we're probably not meant for each other. That degree of uncertainty helps me to appreciate you more while I've got you. Odd are against us actually being together forever. Hell, the odds and my own pathetically fallic predisposition are the two main evils we're fighting here, so it's us against the world, baby. But knowing that either of us could walk away at any time makes me cherish you all that much more, kiss you hard when you walk away, and hug you tighter when I see you again.

This is the stuff they leave out of the fairy tales, the stuff that makes being with a person absolutely worthwhile, exhilarating, and unpredictable.

So suck on that, Fairy Godmother.

Stripped down, naked in the dark: nothing clothing you, nothing hiding you - who are you really? There are no words to armor you against the still and stale air. Your tongue is heavy and too tired to defend. What now, what next? Wait for daylight, for the moment you can find your shelter and you can pretend to be strong again.

The dark. Your only fear because it takes away everything, shrouds all your securities in a thick veil of black. You try to convince yourself that it's only dark, that it won't hurt you. But you know better- it's not the dark that's going to get you but yourself.

---

[ TK. ].oO(That's why you should sleep with a nitelite.)
[ Lulu. ].oO(That's why you should STFU!)

---

The way you chew on your fingertips while you drive.

How you stare at me when I'm trying to make a point and you don't care.

That slack, dumbfounded look you wear on your face when you're absolutely absorbed in whatever you're watching.

That laugh you make when you think something is really funny.

The crease you get in your brow that only shows when you're annoyed with me.

The stupid voice you make when you imitate me. That does not sound anything like me.

Your backwards, loopholed, Pig Latined logic that make 'I Love Lucy' episodes look boring.

Your endless complaining while I pack and how you feel the absolute need to sing "Leaving On A Jet Plane" when I start to zip up my bags.

Those stupid little thing you do that make me want to strangle you, kiss you, smack you, jump you and *blank* your brains out. These stupid little thing are what I love so much.

Happiness is...

Today. =)

Oh, and playing BINGO.

Lying in bed...

Yeah, so I'm all snuggled in bed watching '300' and I feel the need to share with the world:

Gerard Butler is freakin' sexy.

A bit of useful advice...

Do no, I repeat DO NOT, attempt to flat iron your hair while in a moving vehicle.
Oh, and if you happen to see me out and about, no, My ears are not pink because I'm shy or embarrassed.
Dammit.

Obsession: Studio Ghibli/Hayao Miyazaki Films

Okay, I'm not just jumping the bandwagon here, I actually have loved and do love anime. It comes from a lifetime of brothers who love anime and all things of that particular Asian genre. Yes, I have watched 'Akira' and 'Neon Genesis Evangelion' and all the old-school 'Gundam'. I'm trying to get into 'Bleach' and some of the other newer stuff that's out. But, what I know I love are the films of Hayao Miyazaki.

Okay, I'm jus going to say it right now: Hayao Miyazaki is a freakin' artistic genius. Yes, his amount of work isn't staggaring like some but it's the quality that is amazing, but his talent and his loyalty to realism and form is what makes every one of his films an absolute treasure.

I recently decided to add full length films on to iRving (my iPhone). Sitting in front of Percival (my computer) I contemplated just which movies I would deem worthy enough of, well, in all true reality, taking to bed with me. See, I like being comfortable and I'm an insomniac so putting movies on iRving makes total sense (which makes me kind of wonder why I hadn't done it sooner, but that's besides the point): I can watch movies in the comfort and warmth of my bed and it would put me to sleep! I thought of what I wanted and what I really and truly liked as Limewire loaded and my mind raced to my three ultimate favorite films: 'Spirited Away', 'Kiki's Delivery Service', and 'Princess Mononoke'.

So I searched, downloaded, converted, and finally downloaded 'Spirited Away' on to iRving. Happily skipping off to bed, I snuggled in and watched, so captured into the movie that I didn't fall asleep until about twenty minutes before the ending, right after Chihiro and Haku leave Zaniba's and Chihiro reveals to Haku his real name. I fell asleep dreaming of the movie and when I woke up I rolled over, unplugged iRving, and picked up the movie where I left off. And I was so excited when I finished the movie to go and download the other Studio Ghibli movies that I almost forgot about the other errands had to do.

Tonight's Miyazaki film du jour was supposed to be 'Princess Mononoke'. But no, the idiot who ripped the DVD didn't rip it properly so the sound and picture weren't in sync and then about twenty minutes in the movie starts to skip and fuzz. Dammit. So here I am, discussing Miyazaki films instead of actually watching one.

There are so many things that I love about Miyazaki films, and I know myself and I am extremely picky about what I like. The animation is superb and very specific: Miyazaki picks up on acutal human idiosyncracies and animates these movements, never cutting corners when most animations do. Also, his (what I call) miniature characters are simply adorable: Boh's mouse form, Yubbaba's raven in fly form, Kamaji's sootballs, Kiki's cat, the kodoma in 'Mononoke-hime'. The storytelling is also terrific, something akin to a modern day Aesop. Really, it's true when you go to dissect his films: the fallacies of pollution in the instance of the old river spirit in 'Spirited Away' or the fallacies of over-industrialization in 'Mononoke-hime'. The soundtracking is breathtaking and, overall, the films turn out better than most live-action crapfests that plague our theatres today.

Okay, enough of me. I'm gonna go watch 'Spirited Away' again.

Aware: Blog Change Alert!

Yes, I know, I've caved. Changed up the blog, yet again. For good reason, though. Life changes. And I finally downloaded an app to iRving (my precious iPhone) that taps directly into my blog. Yeah, I'm a horrible slave to technology. I get it.
At least I imported my previous stuff, although it wasn't much to begin with. Whatever. I'm here now. Deal.

Life Perfect

“Life perfect ain’t perfect if you don’t know what the struggle’s for/Falling down ain’t falling down if you don’t cry when you hit the floor/It’s called the past cuz I’m getting past and I ain’t nothing like I was before/You ought to see me now.”

- ‘Lesson Learned’ by Alicia Keys feat. John Mayer

I don’t know why, but after big parts of my life, I seem to turn back to a few certain songs to get me through, pick me up, and dust me off. This one is one of them.

It’s pretty accurate, though. Not just about love, either. There’s so much that’s happened in just the span of a month that my mind is still reeling, my eyeballs are still spinning, my stomach’s got that feeling like I just rode that giant roller coaster at Busch Gardens again. And it’s just now that I’m looking back, analyzing, trying to fix, and trying to improve the things that have happened.

Yes, yes, I’ve already learned, no unnecessary airing of dirty laundry. So nothing specific, just veiled pieces and vague suggestions from here on in.

I just got off of a blind date tonight. My friends figured that, because they’re all happy in their respective ruts and monotonic misery that I should be, too. So there I was, sitting in a pretty decent restaurant waiting for the guy to show up. Can I just say that the guy never came? No, I didn’t get stood up; I sat and made very polite conversation with a cardboard cutout all evening. And, just so that I’m not being totally one sided, he probably thought he was got stuck with a dud of a date, too. The first five minutes of conversation after the waiter seated us and got our drink orders went as such:

Him: So, you’re friends with So-and-so and Whatshername?
Me: Umhmmm. I've known Whatsherface for years and I was a bridesmaid at their wedding. How do you know them?
Him: Oh, Whateverhisnameis and I work together. Different departments, though. (awkward laughter)
--Awkward silence ensues for, what felt like, an eternity.--
Me: Oh. That's nice.

Now, see, that was the pleasant part of the evening. And, granted, from the first five minutes of being together, I probably judged him and closed myself off from him, but I really couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t stand him. (Kind of makes me question the kind of friends I’m keeping now… Heh, I’m kidding… Sorta…) And throughout the evening, there were so many things I wanted to say, so many stories I wanted to share, so many of my experiences that I wanted to scare this man with but I had to keep my friggin’ trap shut. Why? Because those stories, those experiences, those memories all happened with people who aren’t exactly… Available or attuned into my life right now. Seems like a stupid reason not to talk about stuff, right? Nope.

I believe that if people aren’t part of your life, you shouldn’t talk about them. Not out of malice or of spite or anything negative like that; just a simple matter of respect for them and for yourself. It just raises eyebrows and questions, emotions and talk. So I guess I played my fair share of the cardboard cutout, too.

And, sitting there with my glass of wine and dinner, I realized a bunch of things. So many epiphanies were soaring through my head that I’ve not yet even changed out of the annoyingly painful (but achingly adorable) high heels I wore out tonight. So, even though my date turned out to be a total bummer (trust me, absolute FAIL. The guy didn’t even warrant a ‘goodbye-nice-try’ kiss on the cheek. You know it’s bad when a cordial handshake and a dash to the cab is what I’m attempting) and I did go out for drinks alone afterwards, it’s still been a pretty big night for me.

Firstly, have passion. That’s something that I cannot stress. If there isn’t passion in your life, in how you live, in what you do, then you’re not going to have fun and you’re going to be one of those Milquetoast personalities that gets bypassed and rejected. Everything you do should be done with absolute conviction, courage, and white-hot assurance that you are indeed correct, even if you aren’t.

And, to go with passion, there’s fight. No, I’m not saying stop and throw down every time someone crosses you; what I mean is that the passion you have should also have some fight behind it for when someone does want to question your passion. Take a stance, stand your ground, be stubborn if you believe that it’s worth it. But also know when to yield, when to concede and agree that you’ve been bested.

I’m stubborn. Sad fact is, that’s probably one of my more endearing qualities. But I’m not afraid to admit that some of these platitudes that I spout are things that I’m still working on, things that I’m trying to master. Oh, hell, I’m far from perfect; Perfect and I stand at opposite ends of the spectrum and Perfect likes to point at me and say, “Oh, yes, her,” in it’s WASP-y, snobbish tone when asked what is the bane of it’s existence. The art of graceful failure is one of the things I’ve yet to learn to properly execute.

Be proud. A fair amount pride never hurt anyone. And I’m not talking about the kind of boastful, arrogant crap that leads me to dislike so much of the English speaking population. Real pride: the smile of satisfaction at (cliché alert) a job well done, walking through the streets like you’re worth a million and a day. Actually, the latter bit is something that someone taught me years ago. She was an amazing person and I thank whatever forces that control this kind of stuff that I was able to once call her one of my best friends. She told me to never walk with my head down, looking at my shoes, but to always look up and ahead, like I was the most important person in the world and I was worth more than anyone could ever dream of. Lawd, I miss that girl. Word is is that she’s got a baby boy. Well, if she’s still the same girl I knew back then, then that kid is in good hands.

Forgive, but never forget. Forgetting, when practiced purposefully, is just flat out disrespect. Probably the highest degree of disrespect you could ever deign to bestow upon a person and I don’t need to explain why. But forgiving, another feat I’ve yet to wholly accomplish (but luckily I’ve got another ten, count ’em, ten years left in my life to try and master it), is probably one of the hardest things to do, show, and give. It requires you to swallow the pride you’ve worked for and admit that you’re smaller than you really are, that there is someone inside you that feels and that is real and willing to work to make yourself and the people you love better. Even if others have moved on, bettered or worsened their lives without you, forgiveness is sometimes all a person has or is asking for. Might I now direct you to listen to Don Henley’s ‘Heart Of The Matter’, for it explains this concept in its entirety, with a sweet melody and memorable acoustic riff to boot.

And, in the pursuit of forgiveness, it’s okay to miss things, to miss people. That is, if I may say so, one of the things I’m better at: the melancholic misery is one probably one of my better moods, and one that I’ve been immersed in wholly as of late. Missing people just proves that you’re human, that you can love and be loved (sorry, forgot to sound the cliché alert) and that something in your life is wrong, is absent, is, well, missing. But it’s hard to admit to missing someone, because that shrinking feeling seems to embrace us and push us down until Smurfs look taller than Yao Ming and Michael Jordan. But people never learn to appreciate you until you show them that you’re capable of being three inches tall and that you do indeed need them in your life.

Also, and this is probably the most imperative of all my epiphanies of the night, embrace your humanity. And by humanity, I mostly mean flaws. Embrace it, make sweet, sweet passionate love to it because, no matter what, it’s those flaws, that humanity that makes you the person that you are. There’s no sense in hiding it or else you become just another emotionless, uninteresting, bland, grey chunk of cardboard that gets bypassed by everyone.

No, I’m not going to continue spewing commonsense banalities or strangely mundane advice like Baz Luhrmann did (think back to the late nineties… Remember ‘Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen)’?) for pages and pages. But sometimes it’s the things we already know that are the things we need to be reminded most of. And this, all these things that I’ve been saying are just some of the things that I needed reminding of lately, and I bet many others, too. And there’s still so much more that I could say but who am I to impose and force you to reevaluate your life and the people you hold? These are just some things that need to be thought about.