Bob, Willie, my Dad, and Me.

As soon as we checked into the hotel, we headed to the liquor store for some beer. Dad actually had to settle for Miller Lite, as there was not PBR to be found in in the middle-of-nowhere Pittsfield store. (The horror!) We quickly downed some and headed for the ball park. As we approached the entrance, the line curved around the block. So we kept walking, trying to find the end, and realized we were not about wait in a line a mile long. We turned around and headed to the parking lot...where we walked directly into the park - proving there was no need to wait in line (silly people!). Since we cut our wait time by about an hour, we walked straight to the stage and scoped out our spot. We sat surrounded by blankets and happy strangers just 15 feet from the stage watching as the people poured in, pondering why anyone would chose to sit in the stands where you could barely make out the stage, let alone see the performers. I went to get us some beers and we sat soaking up the sun waiting for the show to begin. My dad had struck up a conversation with our neighbors who was also made up of a father and daughter duo, as well as her hippy friends. There was no where else I would've rather have been. Bring on Willie.

The opening band, The Greencards, was a compilation of musicians from Australia and England that met in Austin, Texas. They're music is ironically quite American, rocking out the fiddle (my personal favorite) and mandolin to create a bluegrass sound infused with obvious influences of rock and celtic. Bluegrass being one of my musical loves, I was blown away by this band that had only been together for a little over a year and were already touring with Bob Dylan and Willie Nelson. Talk about luck. I was especially intrigued by the female bassist, who was obviously psyched to be doing what she was doing (and really, who wouldn't be?), rocking the bass and looking incredible sexy while doing so. I was hooked.

Then Willie came out, the black curtain fell to release Texas state flag, and his family started playing (literally, two of his sons younger than me were in the band and his aunt played the piano). It turns out I knew many more songs of his than I thought I would. He played Crazy and I was filled with memories of my grandmother listening to Patsy Cline on our road trips south. He sang On the Road Again and I felt like I was in the back seat of our family car on the way to one of our camping trips as a kid. It was perfect being there with my dad. He played all the greats, and he was better live than I would've thought (knowing now that was stupid of me). The beer goes down nicely when you have Willie singing along with you. (Although, I'm guessing there's a little something else that might go even better, but beer did the trick that night.)



Finally, Dylan came on stage. The Texas flag was dropped to reveal his insignia (see below), that just prior to I had seen the same logo tattooed on a the back of a woman's neck. He came out dressed in a deep purple-almost black suit with a white cowboy hat. He set up in front of a keyboard and didn't move the rest of the night, except to check his set list after every song. He would walk back to the sheet in what seemed like a daze, to only continue without a word spoken to the crowd below. He had an acoustic guitar set up right next to the keyboards, but it remained untouched the entire show. He played song after song without any recognition from the people who were there to see him; we were left wondering if we would know any of the lyrics he was mumbling with such humility. Right when I thought it was over without one song I could sing along to, he came out with Like a Rolling Stone for an encore and put the cherry on top of the entire night. I enjoyed the music the whole set, but wanted that one familiar song, and man he gave it to me.



The next morning we slept in until 9, and my dad didn't snore once. It was the pefect night. I am so lucky in so many ways.

Please bare with me while I get this out so I can feel better.

It's not easy when you get an update from your first love's mom as to how his and his fiance's trip in europe is going. I wonder if they got married yet. It's not easy when you have someone incredible waiting in the wing, but you can't find it in yourself to actually believe that he's there and wants to be; to know that he might not want to leave. It's not easy to get hammered into my head when I'm reading how much fun he's having with her, staying in homes in the countryside of Italy where they make their own olive oil and have horses you can ride with the glow of a sunset lighting your way. It's not even that I want to be with him, that I wish it were me - in fact, that's not it at all. It's the fact he has what I want so badly that I'm being caused actual physical pain. I can picture his happiness, and somewhere deep inside, I am truly happy for him. But right now it's selfishly masked, and that's hurting me more than the pain of wanting to be with the one I can stop thinking about. I despise selfishness when it's not needed. I've spent a good deal of time focusing on not being selfish, making a conscious effort to never be that. But sometimes it silently creeps in. I hate that I can't bury myself in my happiness, in my hope for the future that is so close I can taste it's honey-dew sweetness; the happiness that that I have burned into my memory of his eyes telling me everything I've been wanting to hear, with no words needed. I don't hear from him in 3 days, and I'm already thinking he's realized I'm not worth his time. This insecurity always finds it's way back into my body, haunting me. I like to think the insecurity will someday go away. As far as he's concerned, I'm confident and non-pressuring. But inside I'm so scared, I'm making myself sick. This one, I fear the most of leaving, because I want him forever. I want his eyes to look at every morning, his smile to return mine when I wake up next to him. I want him to go with me to Europe where countrymen make their own olive oil, where we can ride horseback in the countryside. I want to write the emails that get forwarded.

I know it's not easy now, but thanksfully, somewhere there's a part of me that holds out hope that it will be all worth it in the end. I will hopefully read this soon, and laugh at my wasted insecurities. That's my plan, anyway. Wilco said it best when they said, "what would I be, without wishful thinking?"

Cheap beer, a park, and artists who can't sing (but damn they can write good music).

Tonight night I am going to see Bob Dylan and Willie Nelson with my dad in Pittsfield, MA. It should be quite entertaining, to say the least. And Bob and Willie might be ok, too. A friend of mine told me last night that Willie hasn't been that great live lately because he doesn't even pay attention to the crowd. He just mumbles and plays what he wants to, barely even talking to the people who PAID TO SEE HIM. Wait, doesn't that describe Bob Dylan? I guess when you're about 243 years old, you stop caring what your fans want to hear, and you just do what you want. So I'm interested in seeing what this is going to be like. I've seen Bob Dylan twice (when he was touring with I-only-play-the-same-songs-in-the-same-exact-order-every-single-show Paul Simon) and the first time, he was absolutely dreadful; but the second time, incredible. So it's most likely hit or miss for both artists. Either way, I'm getting to enjoy a show outside in a park with my dad, it doesn't get much better than that. We'll probably drink some cheap beer (because in my dad's eyes, there's no such thing as a beer without a blue ribbon on the outside of the can), laugh at the hippies, and get stoned. No, I was kidding about that last part. But I wish I wasn't.

On another music note (ha! pun intented), I recently purchased Coldplay's X & Y. Now, this was a difficult purchase for me, as I often hesistate in purchasing an album from a radio band. But I have to admit, they are a really excellent band, and his voice is what drew me in. The first time I listened to it, I was incredibly disapointed. I couldn't tell the difference between songs, they kind of all blended together. I set it aside for a few days, thinking that would be the last time I caved in and bought an album from radio play. Then, out of boredom of my other music, I put it back in for my drive home one night. As I was listening, I randomly chose different songs to listen to, instead of listening to the order they came in. Somehow, this worked...and I was blown away by their lyrics and ended up not being able to get enough of some of the songs. The more I listened, the more of a fan I became of Coldplay. Till Kindom Come and Swallowed in the Sea are the two most on repeat right now. I'm still not a converted radio listener, but I do completely understand the appeal of Coldplay now. Perhaps you need to be in the right mood; but whatever mood that is, I seem to be stuck in now, because I can't take it out of my cd player.

Alright folks, I'm warning you now -- after tonight, I might come back all mumbly and disconcerned about the people around me...with a PBR in my hand and a bandana on my head. You've been warned.

The planets must be all aligned, and pointing in my direction.

There's something really right in the Universe right now, folks. Things are beyond good in my life and those I am connected to. My friend Ill Na Na not only just found out she got into Graduate school (Yay Ill!), she also just started a new job, which means, she got out of her old really crappy job that she didn't like at all. (Although, sadly, that also translates to no more all-day email from her. I'm still mourning that loss.) My other friend S who just moved to California, not only ended up landing a great job, but found an apartment directly on the beach (the ocean is literally her back yard). If you have ever met this woman, you know that her dream has been to live on the beach and play volleyball all day. She's almost there...keep an eye out for her on the professional circut any day now. A little closer to home, my girl T has basically taken it upon herself to declare this summer: "Summer of Celebrations in Honor of Me" She's already had one in May, there's another this weekend, and the final one in July. She's worth it though, and it sure is making her glow. (No! I am not telling you what we are doing Saturday, T! Give it a rest!) Finally, my girlfriend L, is experiencing exactly the same thing as I am, in such an eerily parallel way. See, ever since we were in high school, not once have we been happy at the same time (regarding relationships, I mean). When she had a boyfriend, I was single; when I had that one boyfriend way back when, she was single. It's actually very strange. Now, all of a sudden, we're both happy. Our lives are eerily parallel. She's on her way out to Cali right now to get her some -- I mean, see her man. So let's everyone cross our fingers for her that she figures things out, and this happiness continues.

This brings me back to my life. Guys, I am experiencing feelings I have only dreamed about. The butterflies are there, the excitement causes me to shake. It's better than anything I could've imagined...and it's scaring the crap out of me. I don't want this one to go away. He's a thousand times more wonderful than anyone I've ever met. You know, I never thought it would be this scary. It's intense, it's real. I could go on...but I'll spare you. I'll just say that I honestly believe I am the luckiest person alive right now...and it happened in a blink of an eye, just like they said it would. Damn, life is incredible.

For S

Last night, while still stuffing envelopes, a rerun of the MTV movie awards was entertaining me. Until this happened. Then I needed to be alone for a little while, if you know what I mean.

This, of course, sparked a debate with my girl S about whether or not that could be real. Meaning, is there really that much passion between two people to actually not be able to contain yourself when you're around one another, forcing you to run, jump into his arms, and kiss like it's the only thing saving you from a tragic death. We say yes. There has to be. But there are so many people out there that do not believe it exists, that it's only in scripts written to feed to hopeless romantics...leaving us just that, hopeless.

What do you think?

Proof that I'm happier.

Instead of puking and spouting off angry tangents about unsuspecting strangers so innocently embracing one another or gazing into one another's eyes on the street, I'm now thinking to myself, "AWww! That's so CUTE!"

I disgust myself. I might go puke now.

Still not as good as she puts it, but here's my take on the whole thing.

Have you guys noticed I haven't been posting as much now that I'm happy? Me too. It just goes along with an idea that I can't stand, one that Dooce laughed at that Sarah pointed out so perfectly. And what am I doing? Exactly that. I'm happy for the time being, and my inspiration for writing is lost along with the bad moods and self-doubt. What? Nothing to bitch about, Undecided? Then why write? HUH?! So instead, I'm bitching about how I'm not writing anymore. Ha! I think this little pet-peeve of mine stems from the excuse I received from The Ghost as to why he's purposely staying in his current miserable condition -- because his art is flourishing. I cannot tell you how much this angered and frustrated me. He would rather miss out on his happiness to produce art that he deems as his best, simply because it's inspired by his darkness. I mentioned this to Ill Na Na who had experienced something similar with her ex, that when he actually got out of his depression, and realized the art that he thought was so remarkable, actually turned out to be crap once he could see it in a different light. It just seems like a lame way out of getting better, and an easy reason for staying in your gloom. Because it's not easy to get out of, that I'm aware of. In fact, sometimes even I like to wallow in my depression. It does allow for some self-exploration, a window into your deeper, more introspective side. OR SO YOU THINK. Usually when I re-read things that I wrote in my journal about how sorry I was feeling for myself, or some great revelation I discovered from staring at my wall for 5 hours straight while seeing nothing but dispair in my life, it's pathetic and uninspirational. I find I like myself more when I'm happy, and I end up liking others more when they're happy. So please, all you depressed artists out there, your work is most likely not good enough to keep pretending that the darkness that is your soul is inspiring great masterpieces. Most likely, it's just crap that only other depressed will appreciate. And if you're fine with that, then I'm fine with it as long as you don't share your saddness and complain that your life is awful, but then say that your art is flourishing as a result, so it's ok to continue wallowing. And I promise I'll try harder to write while this happiness lasts.

I'm trying.

Ok..I've recovered from my day of negativity yesterday, and am back on track. Mainly, and I'll give due credit here, all because of S and T for kicking me back into shape. And, I spoke to him yesterday, so my fears of him choosing not to come were squashed. It does bug me that I am constantly going back and forth. Although, perhaps I do need to give myself credit for eventually coming around, even if I go right back within a few hours...at least I'm there for a little while. That's progress, right?

Presently, I am positive. Things will happen for me. They have to, based on probability alone.

Besides, It would be a shame that a good catch like me wouldn't be snatched up eventually. And if I'm not, there's always toes to paint, and that's what matters most in life. (wink, wink!)

And....it's back to negative...

The negativety I have in my head always finds it's way into my stomach, feeling as if I had a salad of stones for lunch. I hate that I think this way, and even more, I hate that I can't get out of it no matter how much I strain to do so. I can't seem to tell myself that something good will come; instead, I see nothing but a fate of unhappiness and days alone. I really do start to wonder if I am meant to be alone. Even with amazing prospects on the horizon, it's a future of no one but my dog at my side that I see. The part of that that really seems odd to me, is that that really wouldn't be a doomed existence. And yet, I see it as one. Why is it that in my thoughts, my hopes...it's finding a partner that becomes the last part of the equation left missing in my happiness? I can see the ridiculousness of that without reading the words for evidence...but it's convincing my heart of that that is proving impossible. As I've mentioned before, I am so lucky in many many ways; and as a result, I am truly happy. I realize this may not seem all that apparent here, as I am most often filled with words of doubt and anger - but if you notice the reoccurring subject along with these tones, they are usually stained with thoughts of love. So as a result, I am beyond frustrated with myself and this habitual way of thinking. The thing that really gets to me, is that I am aware this way of thinking may very well be the reason I am alone. I am a huge believer in the idea of putting positivity out there and being returned with exactly that...positivity. But being a believer in that concept does not make me an immediate practicer. My capability to put those good thoughts out there has begun to prove more and more difficult.

I need to get out of my head just long enough to find something else to invest in, something else that will fill that void I can't seem to stop dwelling on. I admire those few who find happiness in every aspect of their lives, and that is truly all they need. But I can't help but wonder if they're just better at hiding it.