Instincts, Guts, Heart, It's All The Same, and I Go with Them All

It was not logic, or my sense of reason, or my over-abundance of quarters that got me through the turn style and onto the train that carried me to my crying best friend in the basement of her house when I was 16.

It went like this, I called her, to see what she was doing that night.

Her: (audibly crying*) Hello?
Me: Hey? Are you okay?
Her: (between sobs** and halfheartedly) Yeah...
Me: DO YOU WANT ME TO COME OVER?!
Her: If you can.

*This is the second time ever, in 10 years at that point, I had ever seen/heard her crying.
**CRYING! She never cried, I cry. My heart was racing.

At that point I put on pants and gathered my quarters and ran to the Diversey Brownline and got on and waited again at Belmont for a redline and as soon as the doors of the redline closed, I burst into tears.

A middle-aged woman: Are you okay, dear?
Me: (through tears, and nearly shouting) MY BEST FRIEND NEEDS ME!

When I got there I found out the trouble had been a fight with her mom, and I think later that night we cut and dyed our hair for the first of what would amount to many times.

I am maternal- not in the way that I am ready for babies, because I am not, at all, ready for babies. I am not with the man I want to be with forever, I am still younger than young and I am not setting any long-term plans.

But I am a hugger. I am a nurturer. Come into my house and you can be assured I will offer you my last slice of pizza, my last sip of pop, anything, for you. I care endlessly, mercilessly. It can be troublesome.

Also, I am mostly levelheaded. I have about zilch will-power, and just this side of none self-control, but I try to be logical, and reasonable. That being said, I am also certifiably boy-crazy.

Right now, it is mostly one boy in particular. I mean, he is more of a guy, and then there is the man that I have been with for 2 years and that's where my guts are confused.

I think it's my guts that wake me up in a fit every morning lately. I shoot up to a sitting position in bed, I am sweating and disoriented. Maybe it's because I have a touch of a cold, or maybe because I am totally smitten with a man more than twice my age, and also feel this strange undeniable spark with someone new, and different, and my age. The age thing doesn't bother me. Neither of the ages. They are just different men.

I feel so childish in my double-standard with my relationship, though. I mean, I feel fine with myself filled with warm-fuzzies for someone I am only starting to get to know, but the idea that John might be even vaguely interested in someone else, chews at my fingertips. Not for long though, because I remember that this is for now. John is what I want, and what I need right now, and he has said that at least now and for the foreseeable not-too-long-term future, he wants to be with me, and that is beyond okay, straight over to ideal. I enjoy John now, as in, the immediate present and in the upcoming months, probably some years, but there is no way he is the person I want to be with forever. He is distant, and his priority is his work, and my forever will not see life that way. John doesn't want a forever with anyone but himself and his work, which I figure is plenty respectable. Plus, if I set my sights on 'til deaths with this man, I know I would be left drowning in his wake.

I actually feel a great security in that we aren't going anywhere. It's easy, it's safe. There are no expectations on either side, and it's made for very little, if any fighting, ever, and pretty much the easiest, most stress-less relationship I have ever been in.

Of course I love him. I am a lover.

And he doesn't need to love me, because that isn't what this is about.

This is about guts, so I have colossally digressed, but I am sitting in his room, in my favorite chair, the chair that he gave me, and he is presumably asleep in bed, and I have a lot on my mind, and my gut is getting smaller.

This is already too long.

I'll hug pretty much anyone who asks, and at 3:43, at this exact moment, in my house dress and barefeet and minor congestion, I almost even want to hug you. I respect your position, and can see in him what can leave behind such devastation that takes a lot of time, if it can at all be repaired. I understand, but I don't think I'll ever know exactly. You will never get what you need or want out of him, and he will never love me, because he is an asshole, and an idiot, this I can see even through the rose colored glasses.

But none the less, for now, I adore him.

And now my gut just wants to curl up in bed, and sleep until Tuesday.

These are the facts.

I was born in New Hampshire, moved to Georgia before my first birthday, and to the city of Chicago before my sixth.

I am allergic to pot and honey.

I don't smoke, and I don't drink.

I grew up in Lincoln Park, and got picked on by all the private school kids and rebelled by trying to be the exact opposite of them; I am honest, friendly, and I don't pick on people smaller than me.

I have had a green mohawk, shaved my head, and had all sorts of bizarre and horrible haircuts in my life.

I got my nose broken in a mosh pit at the fireside bowl when I was 13.

In high school, I was miserable, all four years.

I might have a chemical addiction to nail polish and tattoo ink.

I got my first tattoos on my 18th birthday.

I have 18 tattoos at this moment.

I have 2 cats, Pouncer and Poppie, and I have a tattoo of my cat that died, Pearl.

I like to read, and watch movies.

I hosted a teen open mic for a number of years in high school, it was my singular salvation. Later I would sing in it, with my one-man-band The Alphabet. At open mic, I would dance alone until other people stopped caring about what people thought and would join me.

I am not into piercings, really. I like really weird ones. I had a dermal anchor in my chest for almost a full year, and a transverse lobe piercing for about 6 months.

I don't claim to be an expert on anything.

I have travelled some, and will likely travel a lot more.

I don't like New York.

I am moving to Seattle.

I mostly listen to 90's grunge, pop, and post-grunge alternative music, and a little bit of bluegrass and country and a lot of 80's new wave.

My favorite song this week:



I love Abraham Lincoln, and american history.

I am not a feminist, because I think the movement is no longer necessary, we got the rights.

I am an optimist, and passifist, but I fight like hell for things I believe in.

I cry a lot.

I laugh even more.

I try not to dwell.

I have to go to work.

FTW.

Wednesday is a great day.

John had to get up early, but I got to lounge around all day and sleep until 2 in his great big bed.

When I woke up, there was a bagel that he got for me, waiting. It was delicious.

The Carly Simon pandora station is slowly being replaced in my listening habits, with Fleetwood Mac, Cake, Weezer, and Jens Lekman. When the Barry Manilow cover of "Memories" from Cats, got played more than once in one hour, serious rotations needed to be made.

After 2 weeks of reduced portions, eating slower, and walking/exercising more, I am already down just under 10 lbs. I didn't even have to give up grilled cheese sandwiches with bacon.

I am a peanut-butter and jelly fiend, lately.

Also, the new girl at work is wonderful. I have been there for just over 2 years, and new people are exciting. All my new co-workers are awesome, and we seems to have a crop of new regulars, too, which is exciting.

I really feel now, more than ever, that I am a part of my neighborhood. Wellington to Altgeld, and Southport to Halsted. I know people. I know where people live, and work, and when I am walking down the street, to or from work, or anywhere, chances are I can say "Hello" to someone I know.

Also, while I was sad to see Coconuts go all those years ago, the fact that there is a Lover's Lane there right now, amuses me to practically no end. And the building right behind it is this beautiful curved porches, big, glass, fishbowl turrets, and it sucks to know that John could have lived there, when it was still Peter's apartment, but shit, it's a beautiful building, and I have seen a lot of trash go up in this neighborhood over the past 10 years.

I hope they put something as pretty in the lot where Billy Corgan's house used to be. That was a beautiful fucking house.

Eh.

For now, I am going home, to hang out with my mom. I love her, and have felt, lately, more than probably ever in my life, really glad to have her around. I love talking to her.

Also, I love John Lennon, and this.

Nine Inch Nails SUCKS (get over it, you hags): An Open Letter

I could write a 5,000 word essay on much I loathe Trent Reznor. He is an idiot, and a tool.

The music is melodramatic, it's 7th grade, it's 30+ year old women that pick on "little girls", I haven't thought about you idiots in months. Yes, I said idiots, and that's all you'll ever get out of me, you poor, pathetic children. I am washing you dumb cunts out of my hair. I have bigger fish to fry, and a blog to write, and when you come back, week after week, to read what I write, I hope you titter and giggle, and then I hope you consider your situation. You are grown women, who don't know me, and have made your own questionable choices.

I can't fight childishness, cattiness, and name-calling with logic, it just doesn't work.

I think it's funny that someone who is proud of pictures in ass-less stripper costumes questions my fashion sense.

Burn my effigies, eat me, shut up, move on.

I couldn't be more done with you. You are a joke, your blog is a joke. It's been almost 6 years, if your new beau is so great, move on, please.



I'm almost ashamed I stooped to your level. Almost.

winter/sadness

All in all, this winter has been far superior to last. This winter is racing by, and before I know it, I will probably be in southern Italy with John. I am ready.

Last winter I stayed at home all day and all night and watched Youtube videos. The back catalogs of vloggers, and I loved these people. I admired them all from afar, and my disinterest with my own life, and envelopment with theirs was nothing short of weird.

Spring came, as it does, and I got a bike, and rode it, even though I didn't lose as much weight as the summer before. Hopefully I will shed some serious poundage before I leave for Italy. Now I am going to start counting my chickens, and my calories, and my swim suits, and my heart beats. I need to, or I will end up in Italy all lumpy and insecure.

Now it's time to sleep, and I don't hate anything anymore. I just need a nice bike ride to the beach listening to Ceremony by New Order, and I want to swim.

Tomorrow will be a good day, y'all.

Middle School Wasn't That Long Ago

To you, buck up.

And to you, how many times can it be said? GO AWAY. Why my boyfriend? Why my life? GET OUT.

That's all I got.

Jessica Anne's Chaos

Dear Jessica:

On Sunday, during Sheer Chaos, when you had walked across the stage, and you were standing there, taking everything in, whatever you were doing, I wanted to get out of my chair, throw your birdbones over my shoulder and set you down in a bed, or a couch, or a nice chair, and paint you. All I could think about was wanting the world to see your cheek bones and collar bones and the knuckles of your index fingers. You are delicate lines and I just wanted to wallpaper your house with lace and bones and the kind of hands pianists have. I'd paint you on the ceiling and I'd paint your fingernails.

Do you have any idea how weird it all felt, at once, during that one play?

It was a great play.

Good work.

When I am a neo-futurist, you better still be one too.

Negativity

My negativity and anger is easily smothered by new people. Magical radiohead-girls, and awkward nerd-boys.

New people are exciting.

My hopes aren't up.
My hopes aren't up.
My hopes aren't up.

7 minutes until the bus comes.

I miss Fuzzy, so much. I miss him to the end of the earth and back. Maybe I ought to arrange another trip out west. I love that boy.



This is us last February. by the pacific.

LEFT OUT SHUT UP NOW I FEEL ALL INTROVERTED

The social "thing" has never come easy for me. I don't know if it's autism, or if I just think too much, or what, but it's a problem.

I feel like I try so hard, and nothing ever comes of it.

I am so eager and willing and I would do anything.

I am no butterfly.

I am mostly quiet, and still, and anxious, and emotional or something.

But you, you filthy, gorgeous, skanky, perfect princess. I hate you. You're nice, and friendly, and prettier than me. You breeze through these situations like they are the air you breathe and I could literally sucker punch you with my sweaty anxious fists.

I wish you would go away.

Please go away.

Maybe it should be me.

I hope I get the part in the play.

I need something to think about other than how I feel so left out among the people I spend the most time with.

I don't fit in. I am a baby. I don't want to get drunk and climb trees. I have never wanted to do that.

I don't belong anywhere

The thing is, every once in a while I think about this:

"i will never be a part/i will always be apart"

as a tattoo. But it's so defeatist and I hate that attitude.

Who am i kidding?

I hate everything.

My Monday Overshare (do not read if you can't handle a good TMI)

So, I just had sex with my magnificent boyfriend and I am going to get a bikini wax in a few hours and I am kind of nervous it will still be all sensitive. Shit.

Also, I hate it when people do shit like this, especially on facebook.

I consider myself a normally classy kind of lady, and I don't like it when people are all over-sharing and up in my brain with things I don't want to hear about.

I could have lived my whole life without even wanting to think of wanting to know if the shocker "actually feels kinda good!".

This has been my Monday Overshare. Don't expect another.