Last night, I went to his concert with Emily, and DAMN! This a sexy, sexy man. Everything about him was sexy. AND, I was so close I could practically touch him.
This is a man who sings about feeling complete in the arms of a woman and incomplete when he’s alone doing man-stuff.
I seriously contemplated throwing my panties on stage.
I love the way pepper feels on your lips when you eat spicy foods. It burns just enough to be satisfying, but not enough to really hurt.
My dad turned 48 a few weeks ago and we went to Disneyland. I believe that he is the only 48 year old that still insists that he be taken to Disneyland for his birthday.
He still begs for giant lollipops too.
I am not the child of divorce and I have never really felt the pain of a major breakup.
That being said, I do know what it’s like to have to say goodbye to Very Important People in my life. I have a story that I’ve been reluctant and eager to tell, and now that I’m at the very end of it I think I can give a recap.
Deciding to come to UC Davis for school was a decision based almost completely on the fact that it is 400 miles away from Los Angeles. I didn’t know any one or anything for miles. I was scared and excited and optimistic. Really, really optimistic.
Freshman year I was placed in a 3 bedroom suite with 5 other girls. My roommate B and I hit if off immediately. It was like my sister and best friend had come with me to college. She and I and two other girls in the suite, T and D, became inseparable.
My first year went by in a blur. All I remember was that I don’t remember much from our drunken adventures, talks that lasted well into the night, and Project Runway marathons. Looking back, it is the most cliche 9 months of my life. I had a posse and I thought I was the shit.
Since things went so well in the dorm setting, we decided that we should get a 4 bedroom apartment and continue the everlasting party. We realized very quickly that there is no such thing as an everlasting party.
By November, I was almost completely alienated from D and B. I’m sure what happened or why it spiraled out of control. I know that there is no one person at fault, only that a Thing grew in our apartment. It kept me out of the common areas, and sucked all of the fun out of the room. The Thing was not spoken of, and there are many examples I could point to, and none that I want to. It was our negative energy, our ghost. It was the end of the party.
As time went on, I distanced myself further and further away from my Best Friends in the World, and they became my Thing. They were my stress, my greatest fear. My fears of loneliness, abandonment, and rejection were embodied by these girls, and I hated them for it.
I think I really hated myself for it.
By February it was clear that things were not getting better. I opted to move out. To this day, 2 days away from moving into my new apartment, I still wonder if that was the cowardly thing to do. I like think that it was at least mildly brave. I hope that time and distance does heal all wounds, and I hope that my act of desperation turns into an act of love. I hope that I can get my friends back.
Tonight was the first time in 3 months that I was in my apartment for more than a couple of minutes.
I started packing.
I packed as lovingly as I could, and did my best not to cry. I couldn’t handle the kitchen, when I’ll have to pull out pots and dishes and the coffee maker, and try my best to separate my things from those of my (almost) ex-roommates. My ex-friends.
I still don’t know what happened between us, and maybe I never will. Maybe this is just another break up, where each party has to pull their shit together and move on, disconnected from the other person. Where you have to find the strength to try again, with a new person and a new situation. Where you might have to fight for custody of the heart-shaped cake pans or electric grill, when you really want to fight for the relationship, for the friendship.
I’m tired of fighting. I just want my friends back.
Davis is full of these signs. I didn’t really know what it meant before coming here. I knew that there was one on 26th Street in Santa Monica, and that it’s pretty self explanatory. Once, I tried to describe the sign as “the one with the whirly gig on it” and NO ONE knew what I was talking about.
Like that’s a new feeling for me.