90210 vs the OC

If yesterday's post was the funniest thing I have seen in a while, this might be one of the funniest things I've read in a while. And, I happen to know a few women who will appreciate it, including the 3 I watched it with every week in college. (I apologize ahead of time for the lengthy copy and paste of the comparison, but it was sent to me in an email, and I'm too lazy to find the link.)

I give to you, the 90210 vs. O.C. debate, by Bill Simmons from ESPN.

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You're right, it's time. Let's break this baby down, Dr. Jack-style. To keep things fair, I'm only comparing "The OC" to the first two seasons of "90210."

Premise: "90210" revolved around two twins from Minnesota moving to Beverly Hills and dealing with rich people. "The OC" had a troubled kid from Encino moving to Orange County and dealing with rich people. The lesson, as always: You're probably going to have a hit show if an outsider is dealing with rich people. "The OC" pilot was better -- actually, it was probably the best episode in the history of the show -- but "90210" gets points for originality. Too tough to call.
EDGE: EVEN.

Stars: Brandon Walsh could have been a pretty corny part in the wrong hands, especially when the pilot had him turning down the advances from a smoking-hot chick in a hot tub, or the episode when Emily Valentine slipped him an ecstacy pill and he reacted like she had infected him with an AIDS-infected needle. It was also confusing how the writers made him the moral conscience of the show, then gave him a gambling problem out of nowhere, or had him smash up his car in a DWI accident. But Jason Priestley handled all of these things, became a pretty big star, helped launch the remarkably bizarre sideburns trend, hosted an "SNL" episode and breathed life into lines like "You sure you should be driving?" and "You OK?" Good actor, great part. He was the rock of the show -- we even forgave him after he broke the Code of Guys and started dating his best friend's girlfriend. Meanwhile, if it wasn't for Marissa, Ryan would have been the weak link of "The OC" -- he was very good in the first few episodes, before the whole "he's a brooding outsider with a hair-trigger temper who means well" act wore thin because they ordered too many episodes at once. By the end of the season, Ben McKenzie (who plays Ryan) was stuck doing Jay Mohr's eyeball rolling, "I love her man!" impersonation of Andrew McCarthy, only he wasn't kidding. So they preppied him up in Season 2, gave him a self-deprecating sense of humor and a broader personality, and now he's an absolute mess -- to the point that they're starting to steer the show around Seth. What happened to the guy who wore leather jackets and white T-shirts and couldn't express himself? Now he's whipping out one-liners like Yakov Smirnoff. I'm confused.
MAJOR EDGE: 90210.

Breakout Sidekick: I'm already on record as saying that the guy who plays Seth (Adam Brody) has the best chance of anyone to become the next Tom Hanks ... and yet, I'm not sure Seth could carry his own show. He's a little too manic. Dylan McKay? He could have carried his own show. And then some. I'm just saying.
EDGE: 90210.

Babes: Tough category for "90210" -- there were only four girls on the show, and two of them were Tori Spelling and Gabrielle Carteris. Ouch. I liked Jennie Garth, and her Kelly Taylor character clearly foreshadowed every loathsome character we would see 14 years later on "My Super Sweet 16," but she wasn't prettier than anyone on "The OC" (except for maybe Ryan's new girlfriend). And Shannen Doherty was too wholesome and crazy-looking during those first two seasons, although maybe she had to be. As for "The OC" ... good golly. It's a murderer's row. You could make the case that Alex (Marissa's new girlfriend) and Summer (played by Rachel Bilson) are two of the hottest characters in the history of televsion -- that's right, I said it -- with Marissa right behind them, as well as Julie Cooper and Seth's mom making the Meredith Baxter-Birney Hall of Fame for smoking-hot TV moms. Say what you want about Josh Schwartz (the creator of "The OC"), but the man clearly knows what he's doing.
MAJOR EDGE: The OC.

Parents: I liked the Walshes, but the Cohens serve the Brandon Walsh role for "The OC" -- in other words, they're the collective rock of the show, which made it so infuriating when they introduced the recent storyline where Sandy Cohen struggles with unresolved feelings for an old flame (played by a Botoxed-out Kim Delaney). Too out-of-character for him. Anyway, I can't ever imagine the Cohens getting slowly phased out of the show like the Walshes did, or getting transferred to Hong Kong and knocked off the show. Wouldn't happen. Only one thing saves this from being a complete landslide: The opening credits of "90210", when James Eckhouse (as Mr. Walsh) would proudly turn around with his arms folded over his chest, followed by the "that's right, I'm Mr. F-ing Walsh!" smile. That always killed me.
EDGE: The OC.

Wet Blanket Character: This boils down to Andrea (90210) against Caleb (OC), which is ironic because they're both the same age (bah-dum-cha!). But at least Caleb serves some sick, twisted purpose -- he's a villain, just a bad one. Andrea murdered entire episodes at a time -- she was like a cross between Adrian Balboa and Ted Bundy.
EDGE: The OC.

Theme Song: I can't believe I'm saying this, but ...
EDGE: The OC.

Unintentional Comedy: Between David Silver's budding music career; the two-part accidental shooting death of his buddy with the cowboy hat; Brandon nearly making the basketball team when he was like 5-foot-5; Andrea being like 35 in real life; and every single scene with Steve Sanders -- including the unforgettable adoption episode, which should have won Ian Ziering an Anti-Emmy -- I'm not sure we'll ever see the likes of "90210" again from an Unintentional Comedy standpoint. (Again, Ian Ziering was one of the stars of this show. The man had a blonde mullet perm. Repeat: Blonde mullet perm.) Anyway, "The OC" is too smart for that stuff -- if anything, the Unintentional Comedy is intentional, if that makes sense (like Luke's "welcome to the OC, b---h!" scene, a parody of those cheesy 80's scenes with the Zabka-like villains, the more I'm thinking about it). I'm pretty sure they're parodying shows like "90210" with some of these plots -- like Caleb's secret daughter being involved with his other daughter's surrogate son, or the entire episode when Luke's dad was outed -- which is one of the reasons I enjoy the show so much. No premise is too absurd for "The OC." At this point, the only Unintentional Comedy happens during any scene when Marissa has to act, especially if she's throwing a tantrum or pretending to be drunk. I keep waiting to find out that Mischa Barton is Keanu Reeves's illegitimate daughter. Then again, she's no Ian Ziering.
HUGE EDGE: 90210.

Plot Lines: "The OC's" biggest mistake was the way they raced through plots and relied too heavily on the "tune in next week!" factor, which is a pretty dangerous way to go -- we weren't even midway through the second season when they were playing the lesbian card. At the rate they're going, by Season 4, we'll see Ryan kidnapped by a UFO or something. I also think they juggle way too many plots, almost like the TV version of the Memphis Grizzlies playing too many guys. And with so much going on, the characters are racing through their lines now, so everyone talks in the same snappy, sarcastic fashion and you almost need to watch the shows twice to pick everything up. With "90210", they were very good at building shows around guest stars and one-episode plots during those first two seasons, with almost everything revolving around Brandon's world and the Dylan-Brandon relationship. Some of those early episodes stood on their own, like the one when Brandon dated the racist volleyball player, or the slumber party where Kelly confessed that she lost her virginity in the woods to a conniving senior. (It's weird, I can't remember what I did last week, and yet I can remember all of these stupid episodes). When something major happened -- like the Dylan-Kelly-Brenda love triangle -- it happened over the course of an entire summer, not two episodes, and it actually made sense as it unfolded (they set that baby up like a multi-episode arc in "Lost"). I don't feel like there's any rhyme or reason to the stuff that happens on "The OC" -- personified by Marissa falling for another woman during February sweeps. That's right, it's girl-on-girl action, Thursday on Fox!
EDGE: 90210.

Gratuitous use of half-siblings and step-siblings: It took a few years for "90210" to master this one, whereas "The OC" jumped right in -- at this point, Seth is related to everyone on the show except for the gardener.
EDGE: The OC.

Hangouts: "90210" had the Peach Pit, where aggrieved teenagers gathered to bitch about their parents, throw down some greasy food and crack wise with Nat (the one-note Peach Pit owner who inexplicably landed in the credits in Season Six). My favorite part about the Peach Pit was that Dylan hung out there -- here's a 17-year-old kid who didn't need a guardian and somehow knew every shady character in Los Angeles, someone who Mr. Walsh thought was WAY too dangerous to date his daughter, yet you were always most likely to find Dylan in a diner having lifetalks with someone who was three times older than him. How did that make sense? It was right up there with Daniel-San introducing Mr. Miyagi as his "best friend" in "Karate Kid 3". As for the Bait Shop, which became the main hangout on "The OC" this season, this might be the most unrealistic club on the planet. First of all, it's never crowded, even though they frequently have bands like The Killers playing there. Second, they don't card at the door, but there's a full bar. Third, it's the only music club in America where it's possible to have full conversations without shouting at the top of your lungs, even when the band is playing on stage. Fourth, there are no fights, no mosh pits, no obnoxious bouncers, no marijuana smoke, no cigarettes and nobody ever throws up. And fifth, none of the characters on the show are aspiring musicians along the lines of David Silver, who would have belted out
"Precious" on stage at least six times by now. So why even have the Bait Shop? Again, I'm confused.
MAJOR EDGE: 90210.

Glaring and embarrassing exclusion of any African-American characters: At least "90210" had a black manager at the Summer Club, or the episode when Brandon butted heads with Vivica A. Fox, or the one where Brandon nearly exposed the rule-bending on the hoops team. I'm not sure I've even SEEN a black person on "The OC." Has it happened? Did I miss it?
WORST OFFENDER: The OC.

Originality: "90210" mastered the love triangle -- which was shamelessly ripped off by every subsequent show of this ilk, including most of the excruciating "Dawson's Creek" -- as well as those preachy storylines involving alcohol, the loss of virginity, drugs, diet pills, drunk-driving, bi-polar girlfriends, elephant tranquilizers, bestiality and everything else you can imagine. It also invented the "outsider deals with rich people" concept, as we discussed before. "The OC" mastered the "parody of a 90210-type show that somehow carries the weight of a real show" dynamic, which is harder than you think ... but not enough to take thiscategory.
EDGE: 90210.

Inexplicable homoerotic overtones: When Brandon and Dylan grew matching sideburns and started calling each other "B" and "D," you would have thought they were a lock for this category. But between Seth and Ryan's "Single White Female"-like friendship and Marissa's new relationship, this isn't even close.
GIANT EDGE: The OC.

Cultural Impact: Brandon and Dylan started the sideburns trend back in 1991, leading to my ill-fated attempt to grow them during my senior year in college. I'd rather not discuss this again. Ever. But "The OC" never inspired me to do anything. Not even throw up in my mouth.
EDGE: 90210.

Watershed ridiculous episode (through two seasons): For "90210", it's the episode where Brandon dumps Emily Valentine and she melts down -- any show that ends with a crazy girl threatening to set herself on fire on the school's homecoming float is one for the ages. Of course, Brandon visited her in San Fran a few years later and there was no mention of any of this. You had to love "90210." As for "The OC," I'd have to go with the Tijuana episode, which ended with Marissa overdosing and Ryan carrying her in slow-motion through the streets of Mexico, one of those "I can't believe I'm watching this" moments in life that you can never get back. Throw in a homecoming float and we would have had a winner.
EDGE: 90210.

Final verdict: "90210" invented this genre, whereas "The OC" tried to re-invent it (throwing in a little self-parody to boot). "90210" didn't make many mistakes during those first two seasons, whereas "The OC" made a bunch of them (most famously, the Oliver debacle). More importantly, I can't believe I just spent 2,000 words trying to figure this out.
FINAL EDGE: 90210.

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I would like to say, as much as I have grown to like the OC, I have to admit it doesn't come close to filling the void that 90210 left, and I believe Bill would agree with me. Your thoughts, ladies? (and any gents brave enough to admit they watched it. Go ahead, you can do it.)

If you guys have yet to see this, I recommend not wasting any more time and watching it immediately. It is perhaps the funniest thing I have ever seen. I mean, I couldn't be happier that he did it, as it was definitely needed, but the look on Mike Myers face, then the reaction of Chris Tucker had me almost in tears.

Watch it. NOW.

http://www.ifilm.com/ifilmdetail/2678975?htv=12

And then...it gets even better when Chris Rock does this:

http://www.ifilm.com/ifilmdetail/2679500

My week in numerous sentences, bordering on a little too many.

Since I usually fill my blog of heavy, somewhat melodromatic posts, I feel it necessary to share with you all about my past week and how incredibly blown away I have been by it all. Please, read on. I hope you don't get too bored with all my gushing:

Do you all remember this? That was back in January that I discovered my potential new love, and before that I had been filling my friends and coworker's ears full of my desires to have my very own Mac. And as I am usually rather obsessive and neurotic about expressing my wishes, I no doubt did this particular wish of mine great justice by successfully making everyone roll their eyes every single time I mentioned it. Well, apparently, they had had enough.

In case any of you don't know me, you should know one thing: I am all about my birthday. It's not just one day for me, it's an entire month dedicated to just my birth. Really, I feel like everyone should make the biggest deal as possible about their birthdays. It is the only day (or in my case, month) out of the year that can be dedicated just to you. There's no need to be modest about it, I say live it up. You might want to start out with a birthday week, then work it up to the birthday month. A birthday year would be taking it to far, I mean, that's rather selfish, don't you think? There are a few other billion people to take into account. For me, this year so far has been no exception. In fact, it's been the opposite of an exception. (Hmm...what is that exactly? An inception?) It not even close to my birthday, it's still two weeks away in fact, but I already feel like I've had two birthdays. Thursday I came into work to a vase of sunflowers and a note that read, "Happy Birthday Month, (heart) T." T shares my affection for celebrating the birthdays to a T (ha!), so she tends to go all out at the sake of others as well. But sunflowers 3 weeks before my birthday, she took it up a notch, and I quite enjoyed it. I sat under the towering sunflowers as my sister called to have lunch with me a bit early that day. I thought nothing of it, she's often doing that. We had an unsuccessful lunch at the french place that others refer to as Au Bon Pain; me: The French Place whose name I refuse to say so I don't sound like the idiot American it makes me feel like. We head back about quarter of so she can say hi to T and J, on the way she makes a strange phone call to her husband but some weird person answers and she thinks she has the wrong number, but then it turned out to be his secretary. I'm still clueless at this point. We walk into the hallway and the door is shut and the lights are off, I express worry to my sister, wondering what happened. We open the door and all my coworkers and even friends not from Brown are standing all around, balloons, streamers, and good food surrounding. I was completely shocked. I would've been content with just that, happy that people had made an effort to celebrate my birthday early, in what is completely my style. I thought that was it, I was ready to eat and chat with my friends. But there were requests to open the present I planned on saving until everyone was gone so I wouldn't have to be watched. I opened just the end of it, and saw the beautiful two word name: "Mac mini." I was in shock. No way is that really a computer wrapped in the shiny purple paper, no way did I just see that correctly. Surely it was just the box. I continued unwrapping, and it was indeed a Mac mini. And the tears started flowing. And folks, they didn't stop for about another hour. I couldn't believe this many people had cared that much about me to put their hard-earned money into getting me something I had always wanted. Never in my life would I have expected this, I will forever be blown away when I think about how incredibly special and loved they made me feel with that one act of kindness and thought. Everytime I turn my comptuer on, I'm reminded that I am one lucky individual that has been blessed with the people in her life, in so many ways. I'm especially grateful to T, not only for this incredibly thoughtful act, but for being a constant in my life, and for being a wonderful, amazing, gratious friend that I am so lucky to have forced to be my friend. Ah, sometimes I'm proud of my skills of persuation.

And folks, this is not the end of it. In addition to this lovely unexpected surprise on Thursday, I also threw a little BBQ out at my house this weekend. It was appropriately dubbed, a "country shindig." And that it was. People came out, sangria was made, a fire was built, and food was consumed. It couldn't have been any better. I loved everyone there, and was so thankful they made the "trek" out to my house to enjoy the fresh air and the company of one another. It was pretty much the first party I had thrown on my own without the help of roommates, and not on that, but it was the first successful party I had ever thrown. I couldn't have been happier with the turn out. There were constant comments about how much colder it was way out in Foster compared to the city (only 20 miles east fo there, but you would think I live in a whole other country). Later in the evening, Took had managed to wrap himself entirely around my friend M's ankles and caused him to fall down. (Finally, our little trick had been mastered! Nice work, Took, nice work.) The best was feeding my friends, and them overwhelming me with compliments and requests for more. Nothing in this world makes me happier then feeding people and them loving my creation. If possible, cooking is kind of my art, and it's one of the few things in this world that I claim to not be all that bad at. So when I can witness a group of people enjoying what I put time into, I'm not sure I could get happier. I didn't want the night to end, I wanted people around my fire permanently, and laughter and conversations heard from my house on a more constant basis. It was lonely there last night, my house was too empty and Took was too bored with just me.

In addition to all of this, I've been keeping something from you. Kind of intentionally, actually. As you may have noted, I tend to jinx myself with talking about someone special here, so I've purposely been keeping it to myself. Although, I think I may have hinted towards it now that I'm thinking (here, in fact)...but I've been hanging out with someone new who really makes me smile and continues to surprise me. His intelligence is inspiring, and the similarities and connections between us are still being uncovered. More on this to come.

Overall, I have lately been amazed at how life throws things at you when you least expect it. For me, it was my trip to DC and the feelings and motivation that came from it, including a desire to move there. Since this experience, all these things have happened in my life that has made me re-evaluate my eagerness to move away from Rhode Island. People have come into my life that already held a love of this city, and have made me realize what it was I was looking past, and simply because of unsettled feelings I had of refusual of this actually becoming my home. The past week has reminded me of the friends I have made here and how much I love them all, and don't want to leave them simply because of stubborn reasons that I can't rightly justify. I'm not saying I'm ready to settle, as I'm not sure I'll ever be ready for that, but I am planning on sticking around for a little while longer at least. This city is special, and the people I have met in it, even more so. And I think that is one of the little pleasures of life, the realization that something of greater force is throwing what you want the least back into your life in pleasant little reminders. That maybe what you want, is already what you have, but for some reason, you just can't see it. This whole idea of life's little ironies is one of the many things in this world that continue to amaze me...

...that, and my inability to express myself accurately. I think the next book I need to read is a Thesaurus. Here are some pictures of the surprise party, and my reaction to the unexpected gift that is now threatening my relationships with actual human beings because I love it so much:

And here it is: Proof that way too much time was spent contemplating TITC, in chronological order. (R would be so proud.)

Here you go, Velumptuous ladies, you asked for it. I'm not sure you knew what you were getting yourselves into. The following should provide ample procrastination time. Let the discussion begin....

---

Thursday, August 11, 2005

From: Courtney
To: Robert
Subject: trapped in a closet

Message:
you seem like an intelligent, creative, intriguing
being...so i am curious what it is about a video of r.
kelly waving a gun around and finding out his wife
knows the cop that interests you? is it a part of your
popular culture studies? or simply a burning desire to
be trapped in a closet?

and an even better question is: when do the next
chapters come out?

sincerely,
the only other person who watched it besides you,
courtney

(If only I knew where this was headed..)

----

From: Robert
To: Courtney
Subject: re: trapped in a closet

Message:
now this is a subject i can get into. and, sadly, i
know a pathetically large number of people (say,
two or three) who followed the saga religiously.

i think i'm just trying to figure out if the r is as far
ahead of his time as i think he is, or if he's just a
very lucky idiot. but there are so many priceless
exchanges, odd minute details and
inconsistencies, and so much flat out insanity to
pts 1-5 (and i have no idea when the rest is coming
out - i heard he made 35 of them - but i'm there
when it happens), that i'm still struggling to wrap
my head around it all. and, yes, i'm kind of scared
to ask myself why i care.

and you, did you stumble along this epic on VH1,
or did kells have you from hello? that's important
for me to know before i really get into part one
alone.

it's too bad we can't have this exchange in song.
i'm suddenly inspired...

talk to you soon...
rob

(This was only the beginning, my friends. Only the beginning...)

---

Friday, August 12th, 2005

From: Courtney
To: Robert
Subject: re: trapped in a closet

Message:
yes, however...if we were to have this conversation in
song, you would be doing all of the singing, and i would
just be mouthing my words. as for how i came across
it -- i did just happen to stumble upon it on mtv2,
actually. although, i was definitely sucked in as soon
as the husband came home and turned out to be gay.
(um, which is a little shocking, really) but priceless
exchanges, eh? and these inconsistencies you speak
of..i'm intrigued.

i might have to say he could be a very lucky idiot. i
mean, 35 more? i'm afraid his luck could run out with
that many more lyrical exchanges.

yes, this is a little scary. especially now that you
actually have me seriously contemplating the depth of
an r. kelly drama.

courtney

---

Sunday, August 14, 2005

From: Robert
To: Courtney
Subject: re: trapped in a closet

Message:
scary, eh? the r's fear leads him to nearly
shooting someone around part three. and
really, why was he "scared"? so he got
caught in bed with the gay pastor's wife? i
also like that he says "all of this that i'm
going through is unheard." is it? is it that
outlandish?

other little bits: the cell phone ringing -
can you turn it on vibrate at mid-ring?
and who called him at 7 o'clock in the
morning when the "rays from the sun
wakes me" (poor grammar from the git.
learn how to use your prepositional
phrases, kells)? why doesn't this get
answered?

the "he says yes i says no he says yes i
says no he says yes it's the truth" line:
priceless. just priceless. just like "and he's
looking at the closet/and i pull out my
baretta/he's coming to the closet...now
he's at the closet/now he's opening the
closet." can you ever think of closets the
same way? can you?

another priceless one: "and she says rufus
you son of a bitch, and he says kathy you
go to hell." they don't read nearly as well
as they are sung, but what's with the weird
she gives r a biblical name at the club
(mary), and that turns out to be false. and
then he actually details her throwing a
pillow at rufus, like she tried to shoot him.

the part four sex scene: possibly trumped
by "i cannot believe it/ooh ooh ooh
ooh/here come's a policeman", which he
delivers w/o a hint of irony. and where the
hell did her brother twan come home
from? college? the army? prison? space
camp? but the sex is so lurid. i mean, his
leg cramp?

and who the hell is tina? why did his wife
mention "tina", only to move right to
roxanne? will we find out later? and just
how large is our man's persecution
complex?

oh, almost forgot: "there's a reason i'm in
this closet." "yeah, what are you, talking
clothes?" wtf?

well, if you weren't scared before, that's a
lot to write about r kelly right there. i think
i have to go give my brain a shower. in
the meantime, what else are you up to
when not getting sucked into r kelly's idiot-
savant psychodrama? as if that isn't
enough...

rob

(See, what did I tell you?)

---

Tuesday, August 16th, 2005

From: Courtney
To: Robert
Subject: re: trapped in a closet

Message:
ok. so apparently, i need to watch this one more time
before i can really add anything substantial to this
conversation. however, some initial thoughts: "there's
a reason i'm in this closet." obviously, being trapped in
a closet is figurative as well as literal. i mean, the
"reason" he speaks of is more than just for the clothes
because the pastor was not exactly a model of fashion.
so what then, he's feeling trapped because he's not
getting satisfied at home or something? but obviously,
as shown in the last chapters, he is getting rather
satisfied (physically) at home. so what could he be
hiding? what makes him trapped? ah...the depths of r
kelly's mind.

i was definitely confused as to why he felt the need to
bring the gun out. like you said, what did he have to be
scared about? obviously, he could have taken the
pastor, w/o a gun. was he really threatened by
someone half his size? i remember the phone ringing,
but i believe mine might have rang at the same time,
so details are a little blurry around this time. but
perhaps he just silenced the ringer? which can be done
while it's ringing. i'm a little blown away by the fact that
as soon as the husband gets home, he and his wife go
at it, all the while she knows r is in the closet. don't
you find this a little strange? i mean, i guess she had
to just go with it so that he wouldn't suspect anything.
but still, it's a bit odd. also, when r was calling home,
why would the guy that was with his wife answer?
that's a little unrealistic. of course, the dramatic effect
would not have been present had she answered.

so fast forward to the final chapters...that was a leg
cramp that caused him to stop what they were doing?
or was it the possible guilt or lack of trust? i think i
need to watch it again before we continue this
conversation. honestlly, i didn't exactly realize an r
kelly video could have such depth as this apparently
does. so either you are really good at finding depth to
just about anything, or i was oblivious of the layers at
first viewing. but either way, i think you are on to
something and i will try and find it again to watch it
more closely.

so this will have to be continued...

courtney

---

From: Robert
To: Courtney
Subject: re: trapped in a closet

Message:
sadly, i lost a thread of emails that my friend josh
(a brown grad studying middle-eastern politics in
jerusalem, and the smartest person our age that i
know) started among ten or so of us on the saga.
enlightening, and scary proof of how much
brainpower has gone into deconstructing "the pied
piper of r&b".

so, i'll keep the analysis short, but you touched on
the closet metaphor thing, and i can't help myself.
i'm not sure if r ever - intentionally - implicates
himself in that metaphor. it's like he says about
the pastor at the start of pt 2: "now he's staring at
me, as if he was staring at a mirror". this
foreshadows the pastor's own infidelity, and
his "coming out the closet". honestly, i think r's
persecution complex is too large for him to feel
any guilt. for (amazing) evidence, check out the
quote at the link below:

(Sadly, somewhere along the lines, the link was stolen from Friendster. Rob, do you still have them?)

at least i've proven i can talk at even
greater length about things unrelated to mr robert
kelly. i'll wait for you to take another look at the
video (but look for the poster in part five. beyond
priceless).

rob

---

And, that, my friends, is waaaaay too many words exchanged about R. Kelly. Or is it? It's up to you. I believe there are many more words that can be said, and Rob is your man. (Oh, and by the way, the last paragraph in the last post was taken from another message, I had to cut out the part where he asked me to have his baby, it was a bit ridiculous, and I tried to keep it to TITC-related.) There has been a few more exchanges in person, and constant references made. We still have yet to catch the VMA performance, I'm hoping to catch it on a re-run.

Ok...your turn.

And I'm out of my shell with a bit of a (heavy) bang.

In 5th grade I received a ceramic figure of a deer and some fake ruby earrings from my boyfriend on Valentine's Day. I still remember the card; it was a tri-fold, an arrow aiming for a heart, signed, "Your Boyfriend, Ebben" When, at that time, the title simply meant someone to tease on the playground. I think I may have broken up with him the next day with a note passed through a friend. I couldn't be his girlfriend any longer when it was his best friend I had a crush on that day. In high school, no one ever admitted who it was they were into at the time, it became a guessing game and an extended chain of "Telephone." My first real "love" was my freshman year of college with a hippie named Barrett. I had met him through a mutual friend and later ran into him at a show in the club next to my dorm, the next day begun a year and a half relationship. My first real boyfriend. I was convinced I would marry him, that it was that simple that your first love would become your life-long partner. After we broke up and I eventually moved on and it proved easy to fall for someone, maybe a little too easy. The only difference was that I would realize that they weren't necessarily going to become the "one." You could fall in "love" instantly because your only worries were writing papers and studying for tests, a romance made everything around you heightened. It might last, but it might not. You were surrounded by options, including, for the first time, a place of your own or of his own. Freedom allowed lust and infatuation to permeate your life (as well as lots of alcohol and other mind-clouding substances).

After college, it has all become so complicated. Expectations are present, realism sets in. It's no longer as easy; the brain kind of gets muddled in the process and you can't shut the thinking off, no matter how hard you try. I think it's when you fall for someone married, that it really sets in that you can no longer have the free-falling romance of the college years. Next thing you know, you're invited to your first love's wedding and then have to refer to his partner as his wife when they drive through town and ask to stop by for a visit. And now, instead of the foolishness of just thinking someone could very well be the "one," you actually have to consider it. It needs to at least be an option, or you feel like you're wasting your time. But after years and years of that question turning into disappointment and ill-judgement, it becomes even more difficult to fall. You can physically feel your body holding back, putting a shield up around the heart, requiring it to be chipped away at over time; the safegaurd getting more and more nails hammered in each time it's successfully torn down and put back up again. You don't want to be that one with the baggage, the one that sabatoges good things when entirely having the intention to do the opposite. But you realize, eventually, that the baggage isn't baggage at all. The bags you're carrying are simply reminders, warnings if you will, that the shield is still present and it's there for a reason: because along with the realism that sets in at this age, you're also aware of what exactly it is like to be completely and wholly consumed with love, and you know what's at stake if it doesn't work out. I don't even wish that I could be back to the times of checked boxes on passed notes, because I wouldn't have known what it was like to really feel. All this goes through your head even with the first hello to someone new, and you there's no preventing the flow of thoughts that come with it. It's a tiring battle, this falling in love. It's no longer ceramic animals and cheap earrings; it's the hope of a partner to share your Sundays with, the hope that in the end, it will all be worth it.

I guess the hard part is allowing the sheild be chipped...even if it is little by little.

Apologies and random thoughts.

Don't you like that I outed myself, only to leave you hanging as far as more posts go? Yeh, my head has been in the clouds this last week. That and I think I may be being a bit bashful. See, I've given my blog address to someone of the male-variety who I happen to find extremely intelligent and who also happens to be an excellent writer..so now one might say I'm having stage fright.

But some random thoughts to hold you over until I come back out of my shell:

* The eels, Blinking Lights and Other Revelations (a double disc), is worth downloading. If not simply for the fact they have a song titled "Going Fetal."

* Do you know how difficult it is for a girl to make girlfriends? It's not easy, my friends. Girls are petty little bitches. But when we do make girlfriends, man, it is so worth it. This feat occurred on Saturday, and let me just tell you, this girl drinks whiskey. Enough. Said.

* I've decided (along with above friend) that I need to stop voicing my thoughts so much. For example, thoughts on actions I'm contemplating taking. It only works to my disadvantage. Either they tell me something I don't want to hear (meaning, their opinion), or, I later turn out to not at all do anything of the sorts and feel stupid for voicing my idea prematurely. Which, I would say, the latter happens 9 out of 10 times. My brain switches gears about every 5 seconds. I can be totally psyched about something for one minute, then the very next minute, absolutely realize there is no way I would ever considerate that. So in other words, my indeciveness, from now on, is becoming mute. I think.

* I need to read more. Must read more. Need more knowledge.

* Earlier this week, I was a spider. Which is ironic, considering spiders put more fear in me than axe-murderers (ah-hem, R). As much as I fear spiders, it turns out I don't like being them, either. Go figure. Providence is a small, small city; in fact, it is bordering on incestuous. Quick synopsis, try to follow: Tuesday night I went to a bar with a friend of mine to meet up with some friends. We get there, and his ex-girlfriend is sitting with my ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend (and are roommates, no less). The friend's ex also is not a huge fan of me, considering I hang out with her ex often. At one point she also liked someone else I just recently met and have been hanging out with. At another point in the night, this same girl inquired about another friend of mine who was also there, stating she found him attractive and had seen him around. I bet if we had polled the room, guaranteed everyone had slept with one another through one person removed. Now that's an image for you.

* Did I mention my new friend ROCKS? She does. No, really.

* Look at that, you ended up with a post after all. It's your lucky day.

Annonymous no longer.

(In D.C., on one of the insane escalators that city has. I think if you look closely, you can see your reflection in my forehead. You almost need some sunglasses to look at this picture.)

As part of this new me that emerged from my trip to D.C., I've decided not to be annonymous anymore. I'm not sure what sparked it, I just figure I have no reason to hide behind my words. They're my thoughts and my life, I shouldn't be embarrassed to own up to them -- whether the words themselves are embarrassing or not.

After all, I embarrass the shit out of myself on a daily basis in real life, why not do it on the Internet as well?

--- Courtney

This is just too good not to share:

Chick: "I swear to god, I don't know how nothing has happened to me yet, either I am infertile or the cure for herpes in is my vagina."

--- Overheard on the 6 Train, NYC

I just found this site, Overheard in New York, that posts different things overheard on the streets in NYC. It's hilarious.

(And to give credit where credit is due, I found it through this guy, also a good read: The Hanging Stranger.)

A photo.

In leu of a boring written post about what I haven't done today, you're getting a random picture from my trip to D.C. This was taken in a bar in Adam's Morgan after the sangria we consumed at the mexican restaurant around the corner. At the time, I thought it was a brilliant picture. Now that I see it full size, it's not quite so brilliant; but I still find it kind of cool at the same time.

Enjoy. And have a great weekend!

A change will do (me) good.

I need a change in my life, ladies and gents. But what that change could be, I am a little stumped on. I thought the new purse and dress purchased this weekend at great deals would help my little slump I have found myself in as of late, but alas, it did little for the cause. A new haircut? New glasses? A move? A new career? I thought maybe even moving around the furniture in my house would help, but there are little possiblities there as my house is uber old and lacks the space needed for such moves.

Any thoughts?

In other news, I further perfected the grilled pizza last night. It was absolutely delicious. The concoction was comprised of the usual whole-wheat crust from Federal Hill, homemade pesto from the basil in my garden and garlic (grown locally), carmelized onions (once again, from a locally grown onion), local mushrooms, sundried tomatoes, mozzarrella, and feta. Seriously, I make a lot of pizzas, and this was my best one yet. Oh how I love thee pizza.

In addition to needing a change, I am also in need of a new project of some sorts. I've been thinking of writing a book (but then again, who isn't these days?), or actually setting up my sewing machine. You would think the project of my jewelry making would be keeping me satisfied, but sadly, I have the attention span of a two year-old when it comes to projects. I really dislike that about me.

This weekend should be fun. I am heading to the Newport Jazz Festival for the first time on Saturday, then to Maine w/ T on Sunday for a little Peak's Island reggae. Good times, good times.

Until then, I will most likely bore you with more pointless posts such as this one. See why I need a change?

You should see me with a Maglite, I'm bad-ass.

Having four days off is delicious. I'm having a difficult time getting back into the swing of things, especially because that would require actually being on the swing prior to leaving for my mini-vacation. I did nothing of particular note, except spend a lovely evening with some wonderful people (hi C and M!) and an old friend (hi old friend who doesn't read my blog!) on friday night. We all met at their house before heading to dinner, and they almost had to drag me off their porch for some food because I really loved their porch. Really, I love it. I'm thinking about moving to their porch, it's that great. I think my love for it has to do with the fact that my porch is big enough for a few plants and door into my house, and the view from the porch is that of an overly-large lilac tree and some even more trees behind that. But on their porch, you get ample space that you could probably hold a mini-marathon on and has views of drag racing and sunsets. Both of which I witnessed on friday. Dinner was great. And I really do love those guys. I think I can honestly say they are two of the most incredible people I have met, and their relationship should be what everyone strives to have, it is that great. I'm really glad I met them, even if they are all-too-often consumed in med school life and don't get to hang out as a result, but I guess I'm ok with that, considering they want to be doctor's and all. They are really lucky to have met, and the best part of that is they appear totally aware of that, and most people often forget how important that is. I admire that to no end.

So guys, this is a total suck-up so you'll want to hang out with me more. Is it working?

Just kidding. You guys really do rule. Oh, and your stories of the ER are totally making my blog when I'm struggling for topics. Trust me internet, you won't want to miss out on these.

Anyway, the rest of my weekend was fairly good, minus the fact I was stranded in Foster because my car's brakes decided they would start making a piercing sound that caused me to want to stick sharp objects into my ears so I could no longer hear. I feared driving anywhere and causing further damage, so I was stranded alone dogsitting for my dog and my sister's for almost 36 hours without any other human contact. Oh! Sunday night, after watching a not-so-great movie, I was walking back to my house and noticed my car's dome light was on. I walked to the car thinking the door had been ajar, but no...the switch had been turned on. At this point, all of my body started shaking and I thought someone was going to jump out of the woods and abduct me and no one would ever find me again because everyone refuses to drive to Foster in this state, so of course they would never drive out if there was a chance they wouldn't even find me. So I cautiously opened the door and shut off the light, and continued to totally freak myself out the rest of the night. The three people I spoke to after I realized my life was threatened by the light-turner-oner were of no help, too. One lived in Providence with no car, one in California with a car, and one in Boston, also without a car. THEY WOULDN'T OF HELPED. So there I was, clutching my 15-inch, 5-pound Maglite in my hand the rest of the night, afraid of every room in my house.

But luckily, I must have intimidated whoever it was with my immense strength and Maglite weapontry, because I escaped the night unscathed. And here I am, at work, after 4 days of being gone. But I did come in to an email from a friend of mine that sent me a link for a story on Cindy Sheehan staking out at the end of the driveway at the President's summer house until he speaks to her. To read the article, click the links below. The NYTimes one you need to sign-up (for free), but I went ahead and found a CNN artcile that's free if you're too lazy.

NYTimes

CNN

Also, if you missed my post about her incredibly powerful talk here in Providence, read it here.

Oh, and one more thing, I'm thinking about getting rid of this whole annonymous thing. Any objections? I'd probably keep my friends annonymous, though. Ok, I'm done boring you to death. You may go now.

So I know I've been on a roll lately with my posts, but I wanted to give you a head's up that I'm not going to be around for the next 4 days. Tomorrow I am taking off and going to the beach with my sister, and Monday we have off because Rhode Island is the last state in the country to celebrate Victory Day (previously known as "Victory over Japan Day"). So don't miss me too much, I will hopefully come back with the same motivation to post as regularly as I have been as of late.

Have a great bug-and-bat-free 4 days! I'll be back real soon. I promise.

I may be losing it.

Last night, on my way home, I looked down at my hand right as I was about to shift and saw the biggest ant I have ever seen crawling on my hand. I freaked out, of course, because I'm not one for the crawling creatures, and I seriously think it could've bitten my thumb off. Later on, around 9:30, I was making one of my trips to my sister's house across the street and I was dive-bombed by two bats. They came within a foot of my head, stopping briefly before me, then zoomed past to the field. I, of course, stopped in my tracks and screamed. Because, you know, that's obviously what will save me from getting my eyes gouged out by two evil bats. Not too soon after, I went to bed. Right above my bed is a window with a fan blowing in, and directly on me. As a result, I am paranoid something will fly in through the fan and attack me in my sleep. I was on the cusp of sleeping, where dreams feel like your reality, and saw sworms of those giant mosquitos (you know the ones, they're not really mosquitos, but look like the big brothers of mosquitos?) surrounding my bed. I freaked out, started waving my arms frantically, jumped out of bed and turned on the light to see that there was absolutely nothing in my room. It had been a dream. After laughing out loud to myself, as well as catching Took's look of "What the hell is your problem, lady?!" I fell back to sleep to later dream I was being covered by ants.

Do you guys think I need to move back to the city, or what?

He's worth it.

Usually when Took and I go for a walk, he's in his own world having a personal adventure of mysterious scents and varying landscapes of tall grass and poop graveyards. He trots along with his tongue hanging out and a look of determination in his eyes. But sometimes, he comes out of his world and realizes I'm walking along with him. He stops dead in his tracks, looks up at me as if to say, "Oh...It's you! You feed me and scratch my belly! I like you!" and then he wags his tail and looks up at me, not budging until I scratch his head. For everyone who comments that dogs are too much responsiblilty and question why I would take that on, this is the reason. That single moment where he realizes who I am and makes eye contact as his smiles, is what makes all the responsibility totally worth it.

Evidence

A while back, I came across the site Postsecret through the Blogger welcome page. Postsecret started as an art project compiled of secrets annonymously confessed on post cards. The idea took off and became so popular a blog was started to post a few of the thousands they began to receive. This morning a friend of mine suggested I check out the new secrets that had been posted (new secrets are posted every Sunday). This one struck me:



How can you be so power hungry that you can ignore the plea of soldiers, the mental poisoning of YOUR citizens, W.? How much more proof do you need before you decide to pull out our daughters and sons from destroying someone else's land and killing themselves and other innocent people? Perhaps you should send your own daughters overseas and see if they come back just as they left. Or if they come back at all.

I think you may need to reacquaint yourself with the definition of freedom. I'll make it even easier for you: here's a link.

------------------

Click here to read the rest of the secrets at Postsecret.

More gushing about my garden, a bit about my weekend, and finally D.C.

It's riding on borderline freaky how much I love my garden. I have yet to sleep outside next to it, but when I was planting it, I did have a hankering for rolling around in the compost it was so rich and beautiful. I was thinking how if I were to do it for my job, if I would still love it as much, or if farmer's just loose the love of gardening when it becomes their way of making money. Right now, I'm abound with cucumbers and zucchini, and still basking in the glory of being able to share my veggies. If I were doing it for a living, I'm afraid it would suck the love right out of it. Just a thought. Also, my zucchini and cucumber plants are attacking my skin. I just looked down as I'm typing this, and it looks like I got into a fight with a hundred kittens. And I say kittens because they're little scratches. I'm not sure if I'm allergic, or this is normal. But I digress...

I had such a great weekend of normality. And I was excited about that, internet. Although, something happened friday night that threw me back a bit. I went to a friend's house for a party they were throwing and I was the first to show up. Soon, about 15 girls around the age of probably 20 or so came walking in with cell phones in their hands and apparently having forgotten to put clothes on. So not too long after this, I got told that I'm too mature by friend. Hm. Too mature - I've definitely never been told that one. It could've been because compared to the 15 year olds that were there, I could've been their mother. But apparently, he meant it as a compliment -- he said he was intimidated by me because I'm so mature. Nice, huh? I left not long after that, I had to get up early for Bingo anyway.

Ok, so instead of posting what I wrote about DC in it's own entry, this is what I have to say: D.C. blew me away. I have left there energized to finally do something for myself. The people I met were familiar to me, welcoming of me -- I was a part of their family the second "hello's" were exchanged. They were intelligent, kind, open, driven -- each incredible and owning of a passion I crave. I walked miles and miles, enough to aquire painful shin-splints, and now the last thing I want to do is drive my car or sit down. For months now, I've felt bored and uninspired. My life had become routine and pre-planned. The people I met had a purpose to their lives, they had a cause they were fighting for, something they felt was unjust and needed attention. And not only did they hold this, they acted upon it. It effected me in a way I didn't expect, I found motivation for something I didn't know I had. The first night there, I met my girffriend H's friends and instantly was surrounded by political debates and current issues I hadn't thought twice about. It was refreshing, and quickly made me feel like I needed to stop living in my hole. The next day we attended a panel discussion on hip hop and culture and how it can be transformed into a positive influence and put back to it's roots. The discussion continued for about 4 hours, followed by a couple of performances by political hip-hop artists, including one that was H's friend. It was amazing. That night we went out for Mexican food and sangria that knocked us on our asses. It was GREAT to sit there and chat with my girlfriend, to catch up after FOUR YEARS of not being in touch. It was like we hadn't gone a day without talking. The rest of the time there was spent exploring the city (including the zoo that I didn't like all that much) and hanging out with her friend Alex who is so sweet and intelligent and kind (and walks dogs for his job!). She also had a dinner party where one of her roommates made a lasagna out of ingredients from their garden, and it was one of the best meals I had ever had. I honestly can not say enough good things about my trip and D.C. I feel like I'm not even doing it justice. And my girl H...ROCKS. What a cool chick. I didn't want to leave, I wanted her in my life on a daily basis, not a flight away. Not only is she one of the greatest people I know, but she's actually SINGLE! *GASP* I mean, I thought I was the only one left, people! All in all, it was one of the best trips of my life, and I've been a lot of places.

So that's the short recap of D.C. Hope you're not disappointed, but most of you I've already talked your ears off about it anyway.

Happy Birthday, S!

Today, one of the greatest people I have been blessed to meet in this life, is celebrating her birthday. She's miles away...and having the time of her life. I couldn't be prouder of her for making the move that she did; she is an example of strength. S is one of the kindest, funniest, sweetest, most beautiful, sincere and genuine people you will ever meet. I am so lucky to have her as a friend. I can only hope to give back to her what she has given me over the years, for she deserves nothing but the very best.

Have a wonderful, fair-filled birthday, S. I love you with all my heart!

My garden.

So this is the full garden (well, actually, to the left are more plants -- but it's the majority of it). Sorry the pic is kind of little. But isn't it beautiful? I love my garden. Can you tell? I also have some lettuce in there that I just realized I didn't label. You can kind of see it in the top picture above the zuchini leaves and below the tomatoes. It looks really great and almost ready to pick, except it's really light green and I'm wondering if it's going to get darker. It looks exactly like the picture on the seed packet, except for the color. Anyone know if I'm doing something wrong? And check out that Took plant, isn't it handsome?

I'm so proud! Look at my little pepper!

Oh how he's grown...the time goes so fast.
*sniff* *sniff*

Pride a ribbon could never display.

Last night as I was driving home, my phone rang and up popped my dad's picture. Earlier in the day, I had emailed the below post to my mom, curious as to what she would think about what I had wrote. She emailed me later saying she was impressed by what I had written and thanked me for sharing it. What I didn't know was that she had forwarded it to my dad (which I would've done on my own, I just spaced it). I answered my dad's call and he immediately said, "I'm so damn proud of you." I asked why, and he replied, "Your mom sent me what you had written, I am so proud. This is what we need to do, this is what you kids need to keep doing. They did this for Vietnam, and it eventually ended the war. I think this is great." I was taken aback by his comments, I certainly hadn't expected them. I knew my parents weren't in agreement with Bush, but I was not exaclty confident they felt this war was unjust, as politics are not usually a topic of choice in our family. What my dad said next, filled me with pride - he had forwarded what I had written to everyone he knew. He had also printed it out, and was bringing it into work today for his coworkers to read in the break room. (Actually, his words were, "I'm bringing it in so all those damn republicans can read it.")

Guys, I can't explain how this made me feel. Up until two weeks ago, I was an avid news-avoider. I have the NYTimes as my homepage at work, but I would only quickly glance at the headlines and then continue on to my other work out of fear of becoming sick with what I would read. But my trip to D.C. struck me, made me realize I need to stop living in the dark and find out ways to make a difference. And I can already feel it. I'm psyched my dad is doing this, that he's going to share the story that made this whole thing so real. If it even changes one person's opinion, I'll feel like I've succeeded. And you know what? This is only the beginning.

Cindy Sheehan

I know I promised a post about D.C. (um...S!), but I have to get this out, I want to share this story with you. I feel empowered to share it, to spread the truth so others can get a better understanding of who the person is that is running our country. I apologize ahead of time, some of what I'm about to write may not settle too well with you. But that's the point.

Last night, I attended a talk given by a woman named Cindy Sheehan whose son, Casey Sheehan, was killed in the war in Iraq. She was introduced to the sweltering crowd at the Beneficient Church in downtown Providence as a woman "who lost her son in the war." She immediately explained that she is more often than not introduced as a woman who "lost" someone. She said she once lost her son in Disney World; her son was murdered and she knows exactly where he is: in a coffin. She didn't want sympathy, she wants people to become angry at what is going on in the Middle East, angry that we are being lied to repeatedly, angry that thousands upon thousands of lives are being innocently lost - both Iraqian and Amerian - for no reason except for the President to gain even more power in this world. She wants people to know the truth behind the bloodshed and media deceit we are being fed.

I wish I could remember everything that she said, all the reasons she gave as proof of this war being unneccesary and unjust. But unfortunately, my memory is horrible. However, I do remember the story she told that will stick with me for the rest of my life, and the story that I am going to tell here. This story was the point where it became real to me exactly what kind of person (I say person because I am convinced he may not even be human) George Bush is. Before her son left for the war, he was told they would be greeted by children handing out chocolates and flowers, expressing unending thanks for being their saviors in this world. He was there 4 days before he was shot in the back of the head (by a weapon that, most likely, was given to an Iraqi by Americans back when we were friends with Sadaam). He was armored in a vest left over from the Vietnam War, a green vest; he might as well have been wearing a flashing sign stating: "Here I am! Here I am!" There are varying stories about his last breaths, but what she does know is he eventually died in a hospital while a nurse was trying to hold his brains in and a doctor was trying viligently to get his heart pumping once again. He never got handed chocolates and flowers, the children of Iraq would have actually had to have wanted them there, first. After he was sent back to California to be buried, the Sheehan's were invited to the White House for a memorial for their son. They awaited the president in a room with various families of soldiers who were killed. He walked in and the first thing out of his mouth, in a long Texas-drawl, was, "So who are we honoring here today?" He spoke the sentence out loud to the room, he didn't even bother to find out before he walked in. He came up to the Sheenan's and never once called their son a "He" and not once referred to him as any form of a human being at all. He also never once looked any of them in their eyes. He bent down to speak to Casey's sister and said, "I wish I could bring your loved one back," as if it was being played from a tape recorder, without a trace of affection in his words. She replied in agreement, "Yeh, I wish you could!" He simply said back, soaked in arrogance, "I bet you do." Further down the line, another woman whose only son was killed by his war had, prior to the memorial, written a letter blaming the president for the death of her son, calling him a murderer and stating she will do everything she possibly can to prevent anyone else from being innocently killed and deceived by this war. He had apparently been read the letter before he came into the room, and knew what she had written Before she said anything, he got within an inch of her face and said (approximately, my memory isn't the greatest), "I am George W. Bush, the President of the United States, and I hear you have something to say to me." She didn't back down, she told him everything she had written in the letter, including calling him a murderer.

Casey Sheehan was killed on 04/04/04, exactly 37 years after Martin Luther King, Jr. was assasinated, and exactly 38 years after he wrote "Letter From Birmingham Jail." This significant date has driven Cindy Sheehan to lead a life dedicated to ending unjust wars and spreading the truth about the politics in this country. She hopes to motivate the citzens of this nation to take back their country and make a stop to this war. The last poll showed that over 60% of Americans believed there is no just reason for us to be in this war --- so how is it that we have no control over the fate of our sons and daughters? They enlisted into the military because they felt it was their duty to protect our soil and fight for our freedom, but they didn't enlist to be lied to or used in the fight for ultimate power over the rest of the world.

I recommend checking out the Gold Star Families for Peace group's site (http://www.gsfp.org/) that Cindy Sheenan helped found. I especially encourage you to read the poem that her daughter wrote about the death of her brother, the poem "A Nation Rocked to Sleep," that moved me to tears as she read it to the audience last night. (If you go to the site, it's on the opening page about half way down). I know that this talk, as well as my trip to D.C. has given me a motivation I've needed for a very long time now, motivation to start fighting for what we should be handed to as citizens of this so called "free nation." I hope I can continue to find ways to express this, and I hope you can somehow find a way to do so in your own lives. As of late, I've felt like a stranger to myself. I'm not used to this energy, but I am soaking it up and hoping it sticks around.

Ok, I promise, the D.C. one is next up!

Here is the only photo I took at the DC zoo to hold you over until I finish the post about my trip later on today. Until then, sit back and enjoy the flowers.

Some advice from an Idiot about other Idiots.

In case you haven't noticed, I've been on a bit of a hiatus lately. After it was apparent my instincts were, in fact, dead on - AGAIN - for the umpteenth time, I guess I needed a little time to myself to mull things over. So now I'm back, only a little bitter, and more imortantly, realizing more and more that it's nothing wrong with me -- that it's the guy that is just being idiotic and missing out on a fabulous catch. Now, I'm not one of those gals who always says all guys suck or are stupid, but I do have to say, I may have been given clarity on that very supject. Yesterday T and I were discussing men with one of the professor's here. He said it bluntly, "Women always think they've found the one man in the universe that is different, the one man out of the billion that is wonderful. Then they realize at some point down the line, that he is no different. Let me save you the time, we are ALL IDIOTS. Every single one of us: IDIOTS. It's just how we are. We can't change that. So just stop thinking you'll find the one exception and you won't keep getting disappointed." Both T and I found this rather refreshing, and so true that every woman thinks that she's found that one exception, including me on more than one occasion. And what do they always end up doing? Fucking up. Being stupid. Missing out. Now, his point was not that they aren't worth it, because he's happily married -- but we need to stop thinking the one you find will be different. Chances are, they don't have a chance in a million of being different. And if, by chance, they really truly seem to be --- give them time. But it's ok, guys, the good news is we know you're worth it. But do know, that the secret is out; which, really, should make it easier for you. Just do us all a favor and stop pretending like you're perfect from the beginning -- that way, when you fuck up down the line, we won't be surprised and shocked that you really are no different from those other guys.

So, on another note, although still kind of related, my grandfather is getting married this weekend. It's a little strange for me, as I was really close to my grandmother, who only passed away 3 years ago. But I am fully aware that it's his happiness that matters, and I'm trying to be ok with it. Which, I am sure I will be, as soon as I see how happy he is. I kind of just need to get it over with. In addition to this, I will be spending ample time getting excited about a little trip I spontaneously planned to D.C. After getting dumped on my ass out of no where, I decided instead of wallowing in the frustration I was experiencing at having another great prospect go down the drain, I called my friend H and told her to expect a visitor - I was planning on having some fun single gal time in a city I'd never been to. We haven't seen one another in about 4 years, and it's due time we made up for that. So it's sure to be an all-out gab fest among pints of beer intermingled with laughter and tears in the capital city. I'm really really looking forward to it. I just wish my damn iPod Shuffle wasn't a piece of shit and I would have some music for my travels. I hate thinking of being without my tunes for a whole 5 days when numerous forms of transportation will be used alone. I may just have to resort to signing aloud and amusing myself by flashing strangers on the subway and in the airport. No wait, that only happens to T during class. Guess I'll have to find my own form of entertainment. Until I leave next friday, you should hear from me again. Because, after all, it's back to normal for me -- I'm once again alone. Only this time, a little more fired up.

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.

I surrender.

Alright, karma, did you have fun this weekend taking revenge out on my little plan? I had to be all: "...I'm done letting your plans for me direct my path. I'm creating my own." So you just HAD to go and put him in the emergency room. Seriously, what did I do in my previous life to make you so mad at me? COME ON ALREADY!

Finally, proof!

What I have been saying all along (you know, that Rhode Island has, by far, the WORST drivers in the country), was just proved by CNN*:

http://www.cnn.com/2005/AUTOS/05/26/drivers_study/index.html

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*Please note, that Massachusetts is only 0.2 points away from a TIE FOR WORST DRIVERS IN THE COUNTRY. And you guys wonder why I have mental breakdowns and accidents?!

The final rose ceremony it is not.

So the big difference between me and those girls on The Bachelor, is that I don't even get to be famous while sitting around waiting for him to decide. Therefore, I will also not be bombarded with requests for dates simply because I was on TV, nor will I have a fancy limo to cry in if I'm not chosen.

Think it's too late to contact ABC?

I'm not complaining in this one, I swear!

As much as I bitch and complain about my lack of a love-life, I am the luckiest person alive when it comes to friendships. My friends make me feel special every single day. I have been blessed with some of the most amazing people as comrads in this thing we call life...from Australia to California, from Canada to Georgia (and all that's in-between!)...I couldn't be luckier.

Last week was quite the week for me. My girl from high school came for 4 short days to the little state of Rhode Island. We caught up on the quality hang-out time we had been missing the last few months, and it was so wonderful. She reminds me of the girl I used to be, the girl that thought she'd always be alone (wait a minute...), but didn't care. I'm reminded when I'm with her, that I'm not alone. That she'll be there every step of the way, most likely experiencing a very similar path. And most importantly, I'll at least have someone to back me up when I'm being pathetic. She's one friend in the world that I can do absolutely nothing with..and still love it. She and I have moved further away from each other every year (physically). One of these days, we better settle as next door neighbors, missy!

After she left to get some much needed action on the West Coast (um...YAY!), another friend came to visit. I don't believe we stopped yappering once (minus the sleeping hours and mouthfuls of yummy, carb-laced delights. But then again, no one was awake to verify we didn't keep talking in our sleep, which we very well could have done.). We had months and months to catch up on, and we only had a few hours to do so. It was all too short, but all too necessary. Thank you so much for making the trek up here, S. I can't express to you what it feels like to know we lost nothing in our lack of communication. You're a special lady, and I'm so lucky to have met you when I did!

Also last week, in a rather bittersweet event, another close friend moved across the country..and I couldn't be happier for her. It was not an easy move, but in so many ways, it was the right move. She's been rather lucky when it comes to various aspects of her life, and I do hope the luck spills over into the rest of it. I couldn't imagine a more deserving person than her. She's genuine, kind, and probably one of the funniest people I know. If she weren't at the other end of my almost-daily phone calls, I'd be lost.

Then there's T, a rather reoccurring character in my stories here at Undecided. And I say character in every definition of the word...because a character, she most certainly is. I may not have shared this story, but the day I met her will forever be recalled. I had just moved here and started as a temp in what is now my real position. I had been working here for a couple of months before she showed up, also hired as a temp. I was starved for interacton with people my own age, that I had already decided we'd instantly be friends before I even met her. (I mean, she was from Maine and everything.) So she's getting introduced, and before she even got to the second syllable in her name, I was already shaking her hand telling her I was from Maine, too, and we should hang out some time. And that we did, and we haven't stopped since (as I even moved in with her and her man). I often admit how desparate I was when she started working here, and along with that, have had to admit I was also rather psycho-like when attacking her on her first day at the job. But hey, I wasn't wrong, was I? Huh, T?! HUH!?! I KNEW WE'D BE FRIENDS!! Anyway, I have met very few people in this world that I can spend as much time as I do with her, and actually still talk to one another. She has been my savior in this city. I think daily how if I hadn't met her, I would probably be poorly dressed and begging for friends on Thayer....and no one would EVER get my jokes. Don't worry, T, I'll always be there to laugh at your jokes. Someone has to. HAHAHA. (hehehe...love you!)

And there are so many more, so this will have to be an ongoing post...so stay-tuned (including one about a particular GREAT friend over at my favorite blog, Velumptuous, who I have also mentioned numerous times)...I am one lucky gal. Thank you so much for being in my life, you are each amazing in your own ways, and I will never stop appreciating you! I love you all!

My life as a pathetic and rarely watched reality show.

My life as of late has turned into one long, drawn-out episode of The Bachelor. Only I'm without the fancy dresses and tropical islands, or million-dollar Malibu home.

I believe it began in high school, with E. My little hippie boyfriend, who brought feelings out I had yet to experience. After 3 months of being with me, he calls me up to break the news. He had had a girlfriend. OF. 3. YEARS. He felt horribly guilty, and eventually went back to her. Later, I began dating R in the class below me. It was exciting. It was as hot as a high school relationship could get. But after 3 weeks, he had told me he didn't want a girlfriend, he wasn't ready for one. It was within a week he started dating my friend, of whom he stayed with FOR. 3. YEARS.

Then there was H in college. He left for a course in Prague after an incredible month of being together, leaving with promises of thoughts and words of hope. We would pick this back up when he came back, this he was sure. The first week he was gone, he said he missed me and didn't think it was going to be as bad as it turned out to be. Then the email became more and more sparse, the conversations generic and painful. When he came back he said he had felt nothing. When I kissed him, it was blank. I asked if he had met someone, and he said yes.

Then, after a few interspersed between, there was, as you are familiar with (and undoubtedly annoyed with hearing about)...the Ghost. I had met him in the post office. He was standing at the counter, for what seemed like an eternity. Our eyes met, I smiled. Before I left, I looked one more time and his eyes had never left me. I smiled once more, assuming that would be the last I would see of him. My friends convinced me after work that night to meet them at the bar for a round of darts. I walked in, and it was as if his eyes had been with me the entire day into the night. There he was, the guy from the post office. The Ghost. We spent what would be the most incredible few weeks of my life. But inevitably, he was left with a choice. His wife (yes, his WIFE) ended up with the prize (rightly so, I do admit), and I was left again with the feeling I would never be the one on top. I would forever be second runner up in this battle of contest Love*.

And here I find myself again, awaiting the final rose. After almost two years of being convinced that I was left incapable of feeling again, it having been shut off the day he disappeared, has been torn open in a matter of a night. Suddenly, I can feel again. And it scares the shit out of me. He told me yesterday it's between me and her. He has to make a decision, and it won't be easy. In my mind...I'm the obvious choice, how could I not be? But then I look at my track record, the odds are against me. Except, maybe it's about damn time I do get the final rose. I mean, one of these days, I'll have to end up in first place. Life isn't that cruel.

At least give me my final date, Chris. Or surprise me with more time like you did for Charlie with that annoying chick Krisiley and innocent Sarah B. I'm tired of waiting my turn, knowing my time will come. I'm ready for my turn to be now. I have too much to give.

The rose ceremonies have not only run it's course for me, but for primetime as well. I'm done competing. And really, you should be too.

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*Painfully cheesy, I know. But it serves it's purpose for dramatic emphasis quite nicely.

Conspiracy Theory

I'm not sure exactly when it happened, folks, but somewhere along the lines, things went backwards on me. For the majority of my adult and teenage life, I've had to talk myself out of wanting to be..um..."with" someone. Now. I'm trying to talk myself into wanting it entirely. What happened? Did I step outside of myself at some point, and not find my way back in? Am I really 25 and not wanting a sexy and willing, definitely hot and incredible, man? What is wrong with me?! Can someone PLEASE. TELL. ME!

Nevermind. I'll tell you what's wrong with me. It's been wrong with me right along with what's been right with me all these years. My mind is somewhere else. With someone else. OF COURSE. Why would it be so simple that I would actually be WITH that someone else...both physically and mentally.

BECAUSE THE UNIVERSE IS EVIL. It apparently has a conspiracy against me. I'm decidedly taking revenge. Yes. You heard me. DECIDEDLY.

Watch out world. I'm taking me a fabulously delicious young man. Because I'm done letting your plans for me direct my path. I'm creating my own.

TAKE THAT!

What's so wrong with dating myself?

Some people have told me that maybe I need time off from dating, time to myself. What they don't know is even though I may be lucky in regards to getting dates, not once have I been emotionally involved in any of them except for one, and that was almost two years ago. Which translates to so much time to myself, I start wondering half-way through the evening, whether I'll get myself lucky that night, regardless of whether or not I paid for my dinner. Dating seems to have become a form of entertainment lately. Only the entertainment is now effecting how I think. I'm no longer as excited as I should be; I worry, I analyze, I think of cancelling because I wonder: what's the point? Chances are, I'm not going to be interested in him. Then I'm continuously avoiding phone calls and coming up with excuses not to go out with them again. I'm not saying all this to complain that my life is rough because all these guys like me; I'm not, I know I'm fortunate...I'm just wondering if these will forever be my options. Lackluster males with too-large of egos that are incapable of taking hints easily, or giving up at the first sign of no interest, that I couldn't be more blatant about. I don't want dates. I want emotional involvement. A glimmer of something to help me realize I'm not what I fear most: incapable of feeling anything but annoyance.

Yesterday, unexpectedly, a little bit of that glimmer found it's way to my desk. But my issue (I always have issues) with all this is I've started expecting the glimmer to be fake, to burst as soon as we begin our first conversation, before the food has even reached our table. The frustrating part of it all (although it may not seem it), is that I tell myself to be hopeful, as I'm fully aware that being pessimistic might very well be the pin that is bursting the bubble. I try to supress the voice in my head that's questioning whether it's worth it anymore. I try to make the voice that thinks maybe this time it will be right, loud enough to drown out the negative.

Then again, maybe it won't be so bad dating myself for a while longer...at least I control whether or not I get lucky. And I'm fully capable of getting the hint. As long as that optimistic voice stays drowned, that is.