About how you’ve never doubted for a second that I’m the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with.
And I guess he had never felt that way with my mom, even at their best.
There’s usually a scene in all my favorite shows that never fails to get me all choked up… like this scene from The Office where they explain how Jim’s feelings about Pam is what caused Pam’s dad to decide to leave her mom. Sometimes getting a taste of how things should be makes you realize you’re in the wrong place…
ROBIN: I am never going to have closure. Okay, closure doesn’t exist. It just… ended. And, no matter how much I try to forget that it happened, it will have never not happened. Don and I will always be a loose end. We will always be—
TED: Unfinished. Gaudí, to his credit, never gave up on his dream. But that’s not usually how it goes. Most of the time it’s just too difficult, too expensive, too scary. It’s only once you’ve stopped that you realize how hard it is to start again, so you force yourself not to want it. But it’s always there. And until you finish it, it will always be…
HAL: Well, let’s say that since you were little, you always dreamed of getting a lion. And you wait, and you wait, and you wait, and you wait but the lion doesn’t come. And along comes a giraffe. You can be alone, or you can be with the giraffe. OLIVER: I’d wait for the lion. HAL: That’s why I worry about you.
Why You Need A Man, Not A Boy | Mindy Kaling via Glamour
Until I was 30, I dated only boys. I’ll tell you why: Men scared the sh*t out of me. Men know what they want. Men own alarm clocks. Men sleep on a mattress that isn’t on the floor. Men buy new shampoo instead of adding water to a nearly empty bottle of shampoo. Men make reservations. Men go in for a kiss without giving you some long preamble about how they’re thinking of kissing you. Men wear clothes that have never been worn by anyone else before.
OK, maybe men aren’t exactly like this. But this is what I’ve cobbled together from the handful of men I know or know of, ranging from Heathcliff Huxtable to Theodore Roosevelt to my dad. The point: Men know what they want, and that is scary.
What I was used to was boys.
Boys are adorable. Boys trail off their sentences in an appealing way. Boys get haircuts from their roommate, who “totally knows how to cut hair.” Boys can pack up their whole life and move to Brooklyn for a gig if they need to. Boys have “gigs.” Boys are broke. And when they do have money, they spend it on a trip to Colorado to see a music festival.
Boys can talk for hours with you in a diner at three in the morning because they don’t have regular work hours. But they suck to date when you turn 30.
So I’m into men now, even though they can be frightening. I want a schedule-keeping, waking-up-early, wallet-carrying man. I don’t care if he takes prescription drugs for cholesterol or hair loss. (I don’t want that, but I can handle it. I’m a grown-up too.)
When I was 19, my co-worker Mike took one look at my 21-year-old boyfriend and told me that I needed to date a real man (Mike was 30 with tattoo sleeves on both arms—I’m pretty sure he was talking about himself). Fast forward 10 years, and I’m still not dating real men! Maybe I’ll consider upgrading when I turn 30… in 3 months. Yikes.
If they will do it with you, they will do it to you.
Dinner with friends turned into an emergency girl boy session at Station Tavern last night. Afterward, I polished off an entire bottle of wine by myself like I was the one hurting! Or… like it was just another Tuesday. Ha.
August was a tough month for love! Hello, September. I hope you’re amazeballs.
The universe is obvi confused about what we want, judging by the excessive amount of emergency girl sessions, tears and vino consumed this past month. So the girls and I wrote our own letters to the universe last night and lit that shit on fire.
We were enjoying some sangria afterward when the man at the neighboring fire pit offered us some brisket. Was the universe answering my letter already? Maybe I should have been more specific when I said I wanted more meat in my life!
When it’s going well, the fact of it is everywhere. It’s there in the song that shuffles into your ears. It’s there in the book you’re reading. It’s there on the shelves of the store as you reach for a towel and forget about the towel. It’s there as you open the door. As you stare off into the subway, it’s what you’re looking at. You wear it on the inside of your hat. It lines your pockets. It’s the temperature.
The hitch, of course, is that when it’s going badly, it’s in all the same places.
Everything that happens from now on
This is pouring rain
This is paralyzed
You were having a shitty day at work today, so I shared my favorite Bon Iver song with you to make you feel better. And then I found out what you did. Now every time I hear this song, I’ll be reminded of the exact moment you lost me as a friend.
So avoid using the word ‘very’ because it’s lazy. A man is not very tired, he is exhausted. Don’t use very sad, use morose. Language was invented for one reason, boys—to woo women—and, in that endeavour, laziness will not do.
I’ve read your entire blog from beginning to end and it made me laugh, cry and everything in between. When I was reading I kept thinking, you’re so honest and you’re not afraid to say what you feel. If I ever bump into you on the streets of SD I would totally give you a big hug and say, Thank you!
Holy balls! Beginning to end??? When I started this blog in 2003, all I talked about was concerts, food and my boyfriend. 8 years later, I’m still blogging about concerts, food and my (now ex) boyfriends! Some things never change…
I feel like I lead a different life on the interwebs, because IRL I’m not this candid. Here, I’m not afraid to admit that I still think about you without feeling like a total idiot… Maybe you’ll read it, but most likely you won’t. It’s easier to say these things when you think that no one is listening.
If you were able to identify with anything I’ve written these past 8 years, then I’m glad you found my blog :)
At Alicia’s dirty thirty last night, I realized that A) I should just automatically assume that every guy who pursues me is in a relationship (as my ongoing track record suggests) and B) maybe I shouldn’t have worn leggings. I can’t even tell you how many people grabbed my ass! I went home alone last night and I’m not gonna lie, I feel pretty good about not having to take a shame shower. I don’t care how hot you are (or how drunk I am), some guys just aren’t worth the trouble… I may have woken up this morning with dollar bills in my bra and a serious hangover, but at least I still had my dignity!
This must be how Reese Witherspoon felt in Pleasantville when she started reading books and stopped being such a whore.
HENRY: I didn’t want to tell you, because as long as you didn’t know, there was still… I don’t know… some fantasy where you and I could be together. BETTY: Sometimes we want things to be different. We think maybe if we pretend that they are… fool people… that’s enough. But it never is.
I have a habit of getting addicted to shows after they’ve already been canceled. And I hate when they say, “To be continued…” at the end of an episode, because even when it’s past my bedtime, I have to continue.
This one time I painted a living room with a girl.
This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.
But it still holds as one of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that – more often than not – she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.
Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.
That’s what love is. Attention to detail.
And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate each other at the end. And you might walk away from each other one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.
But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.
She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.
She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time.
She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.
But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:
One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes a hold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that – gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.
And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.
Some people pass through your life and you never think about them again. Some you think about and wonder what ever happened to them. Some you wonder if they ever wonder what happened to you. And then there are some you wish you never had to think about again. But you do.
The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd; the longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.
I know five* couples who have called it quits these past few weeks. Okay so maybe three of those couples are celebrities. Technicalities. Nobody stays together anymore… not even Christina Aguilera and her husband.
I met up with the girls and Anthony for sushi and drinks last night. As I listened to them talk about broken engagements, unofficial relationships, ex’s reaching out to them while they’re married… I had absolutely nothing to add to the conversation in regard to myself, and I guess that’s a good thing for once. So much for happy hour! Almost everyone I know is in some kind of relationship, whether it’s between a husband and wife, a man and someone else’s wife, a girl and her long distance love, or a boy and his fleshlight. Even though I miss being in a relationship sometimes, I don’t miss all the drama that comes along with it, and was happy to drink my mai tai in silence.
*Update: Six couples now. 2010 has def been the year of babies and breakups.
Whatever happened to chivalry? Does it only exist in 80’s movies? I want John Cusack holding a boombox outside my window. I wanna ride off on a lawnmower with Patrick Dempsey. I want Jake from Sixteen Candles waiting outside the church for me. I want Judd Nelson thrusting his fist into the air because he knows he got me. Just once I want my life to be like an 80’s movie, preferably one with a really awesome musical number for no apparent reason. But no, no, John Hughes did not direct my life.
Sometimes when you look back on a situation, you realize it wasn’t all you thought it was. Someone walked into your life, you fell in love, or did you? Maybe it was only a childish infatuation, or maybe it was a brief moment of insanity.
The BFF told me about Il Postino’s new girlfriend today, and I felt nothing. It’s funny how I always used to find myself running back to him, for some reason, thinking it would work out differently the secondthird fourth fifth time. And now, I can’t think of a single reason why I’d ever want him back.
Human beings are funny. They long to be with the person they love but refuse to admit openly. Some are afraid to show even the slightest sign of affection because of fear. Fear that their feelings may not be recognized, or even worst, returned. But one thing about human beings puzzles me the most is their conscious effort to be connected with the object of their affection even if it kills them slowly within.
Every night after work, I begrudgingly drag my ass to the gym. But today, I finally found my motivation. Turbo Kickboxing Instructor Mike, where have you been all my life??? It will be like that summer I took that art class in college with that hot teacher and had unusually perfect attendance that quarter ;)
Update: I just googled Mike to see what gyms he regularly teaches at since he subbed my class today, and his personal training site lists him as MARRIED (of course he is). Come to think of it, that hot art teacher from college was married, too.
Yeah, I’m pretty sure God wants me to die alone. And possibly out of shape.