Monday, June 28, 2010

I'm not dead....even though it feels like I am.

I know....I've fallen off the face of the Earth.

I've been in heart has been beyond shattered.....and writing about it is literally like opening the wound of DEATH and reliving the trauma once again, which is why I've avoided it....there's just too much-it's still to fresh and bloody, a complete, disgusting, pathetic mess.

My live-in boyfriend of almost two years and I broke up about a week and a half ago. The man I called "my love," my best friend, my soul mate, the man I believed I'd HEART....a "part of me" broke up. It isn't just like deciding to part this specific situation it's like waking up one day and realizing, "OH SHIT....what do I do with the rest of my life now....when this person has been a part of ever detail that made up my EXISTENCE for two years....and beyond....every dream, every plan."

Let me just say when you have a "feeling" TRUST IT..... My Love and I had been fighting the last few weeks the way you do when you're a couple; he stopped coming home when he said he would, he stopped "showing up" emotionally, stopped making me feel all, started staying out till 3am....4am, without calling... there's only so much a "cool" girlfriend can do at that point and then she gets fucking angry..... we had a couple blow out fights, most of them he wasn't sober enough to probably remember and in all fairness, neither was I- because while I worried that he was out doing something heartbreaking and not giving a fuck, I was trying to convince myself otherwise with a glass (or 3) of pinot grigio. Everything about our relationship was a SOLID TEN; emotional, physical, sexual (hi, important!) moral, spiritual, family, dreams, EVERYTHING. We fought... but not like anything a "normal" couple doesn't experience... especially after two years of being together, living together and learning how to "coexist," work within each other's perimeter's and make the compromises necessary to sustain a relationship past the butterflies and the "getting to know each other phase."

We were beyond that phase- we were falling asleep without cuddling, peeing with the door open, admitting we liked the reruns of Full House and all that uncomfortable, slightly embarrassing stuff. The "stuff" that actually, inevitably, makes up the majority of a relationship...the"LIFE STUFF."

The day when I had "a feeling" that something wasn't right after a week of late nights and "distant eyes" (GIRLS, BEWARE OF THIS LOOK), ended up leading me to checking My Love's email- look, I wouldn't generally advise doing this, in fact, I'd never done it before- but I had a "FEELING" that I should.... and sure enough I found something he'd written about another woman, he deleted it before posting it.... but yet it remained all sordid and secretive in his "Trash." It stated some things like, "I wish I had you instead....I don't feel the way about you as I did about her..... you're magnificent...." etc. I mean, Honestly- I probably would have been happier walking in on them fucking like rabbits instead of reading this bullshit- there's no deeper betrayal, especially to a "word mincer" like I am to SAY, FEEL, AND THINK things that are EMOTIONALLY charged. Even though "nothing happened...." he said.

When I confronted him he denied it.... and when I showed evidence he cringed....he cringed because the truth is the woman he wrote about (who I happen to know) isn't NEARLY HALF of the woman I am, NOT BY A FUCKING LANDSLIDE....and in his drunken stupor he convinced himself to believe she was. And because truthfully, maybe I believe this, maybe foolishly....but I don't think he ACTUALLY meant it. I know he knows that I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him.

What it comes down to... after a week of not speaking- after I kicked him out of our home... the home I still can't go back to because all that remains there are outlines of "US" and "HIM" is the fact that he got afraid. He got afraid of the (in his words) "marriage bound" relationship we were having....the one that HE suggested be marriage bound in the first place. He wants "freedom" and no one to answer to, late nights and recklessness. And in turn, he wants to lose me.

This is the same man that a month ago said he couldn't imagine his life without me.


In fact, this blog probably makes hardly any sense because I'm paraphrasing for the sake of my own SOUL to not actually crumble under the devastation I've experienced the last week.....writing about it, talking about it, tweeting about it- answering anyone and telling them what happened is all too fucking much to even go through.

The hardest part is that I miss the person I was planning a life with.

I miss the man than rolled over in the morning and called me "precious." The man who told me I was like a "limb," and that he couldn't live without me- the man who knew how I liked my bacon, who knew how to calm me and protect me....who was spiritually aligned with me....who left the cabinets open, who liked to watch late night TV and leave his socks in the cushions of our couch, who never finished his toast, and who almost ALWAYS inevitably would lose the keys when we needed them. Who's family I adored, who's sister I was excited for my children to call "auntie," who knew my deepest, darkest secrets and fears and who let me into his too- the man who I know more about than anyone else in the entire world.

I miss the man who let me sing to him, who let me dream and be "unrealistic," because he believed everything would work out for us eventually- the man who my family loved, who called me "vibrant," who suggested names for our future children and who got misty when I held a newborn baby in my arms, imagining what ours would someday be like and insisted that someday he would teach our "kids" to be good with their hands....and who told me I dressed just like a Poppy; spirited, colorful, unique. Who taught me the best way to chop garlic, who killed the spiders that crawled up from the drain while I showered, who knew my "triggers" and my spots.....

I miss the man who woke up every morning for the last year next to me and told me it was a beautiful day.....and who toasted to our "overwhelming success" every time we sipped a drink, or celebrated just BEING.

I miss my best friend, my heart, my dreamer.....the man who I pictured at the end of my aisle one day.

I'm literally beyond devastated. CRUSHED INTO NOTHING. Waking up hurts.

I don't know what happened........

I haven't written because I honestly, am just trying to figure out how to BE; how to walk, how to stand, how to EAT... how to get out of bed and go about your day without your "other half." I'm trying to figure out how you take a vision that seemed to "right" and so perfect and change it.... My life with him was exactly what I wanted- he would be my co-creator, my muse.... the person that encouraged me to take it to the next level and who would be there to catch me when I failed, or rocketed into abundant success. I didn't feel tied down by him, I felt like I'd found my person that would make up the 80% percent when all I could give was 20...and we'd make up for what the other one lacked, because we wanted to be strong for each other. I didn't want to tie him down, or suffocate him and until about two weeks ago he didn't think I was....I want him to flourish and prosper....I just wanted us to be able to do it together.

A week and a half ago we were talking about the first home we'd d buy together, the way the garden would look- the spiral staircase to my office, the wine cellar and the wood floors- and today, I'm at my parents house, with no home- my clothing packed in the back of my car, my heart torn out of my entire 2010 year abolished (we had a band together...the shows are cancelled, the recordings I'm not a part of....) literally, everything is DUST.

The best thing I can do at this point is wake up. Beyond that I'm spent...


Monday, June 14, 2010

It all boils down to pointless crafts in the end.....

I got REALLY "life-y" today....

Like, I made a specific trip to Target to buy, who the fuck buys binders? Children, students, teachers, parents...and people with plans. Funny, because I'm none of those things. I don't have plans, I just sort of have "ideas" that just maybe end up happening when I get bored enough, or some molecules end up bumping up against other molecules causing some fabulous stroke of "luck" and I find myself doing something totally bananas that I hadn't foreseen (story of my life.) The rest of the time, I do things like buy binders, make lists, try to "figure it out and make it happen" and tell people things are going really, really well when in real-time they're actually just kind of stagnant, and I'm fucking bored out of my mind enough to buy BINDERS.

Let me tell you the worst part, you know what I used these binders for? TO SAVE THINGS FROM MAGAZINES. This was just DAYS after I created a budget.... annnd cue laugh track.

Uh..... Hysterical. This magazine thing was sort of like an activity that would be scheduled on an old folks home on "mixer day" It's like,"Hey, old people- busy yourself, with pictures of fancy things that you don't have, and yeah, India would be awesome- but you can't go! mua ha ha."

Sort of like that.

(To make matters worse, I also painted a birdhouse the other day.)

I divided my gigantic binder into 4 sections; food, home, travel, and "pretty things." And now that I'm done bitching about whoever makes activities like this at old folks homes and boredom- if you feel as guilty as I do throwing out magazines....seriously- save the good stuff in a binder, because even though I felt like a gigantic toolbag whilst doing this activity, I'm convinced it'll be useful down the line...and it makes me look organized, which is hilariously untrue.

Look, currently, this binder is entirely unnecessary, I don't live in a permanent residence and I don't even cook- I mean, I will always undoubtedly have a great restaurant recommendation in various zip codes, for various types of cuisine...and I probably have the happy hour schedule memorized, but if you want me to figure out how to "double a recipe," or cook the chicken just right, I start looking for the closest exit sign, or check to see if I still have ovaries. Not to cook...but to you know, see if I evolved from the female species.

I wanted this binder because I wanted to set the best intention that SOMEDAY I will have stability, that allows space for throw pillows, gardening, and pretty platters of lavender infused macaroons.

I don't know if it's that everyone's getting married, there's bridal showers, there's graduations- people are all excited about life, while I'm just collecting ideas to maybe get excited about if all goes according to the "plan." HONESTLY, I'm in dire need of a change of scenery so I'm collecting images of what that "scene" will look like once I decide to make a choice.. And because I have absolutely no clue what that is, all I can think is to build this "magical" by page, in plastic casing, in a binder.

...and that's pretty "Life-y." And you know what scares me about the binders, the old folks homes, and the fact that I already know I'd like to grow poppy's and basil in my "someday garden" this;

I'm "dream-y" not "life-y"...and can you be dreamy- and life-y at the same time? Or do you have to choose one? I'm working and living and pursuing, but there's still this nagging voice that says, "there's got to be more than this...right?"

Collecting images of antique roll top desks, persian rugs, ceramic bowls and panzanella recipes means that underneath I have this desire/belief that I'll be "home-y" which eventually means, LIFE-Y and that means eventually I'll have things like rolling pins and required volunteer hours at schools and 6am swim meets and sneaky sex when the kids are asleep. With their father, ideally. And all of that sounds nice....perfectly nice, someday....just not now.

And I guess with all the uncertainty that surrounds my life constantly there's something oddly comforting about knowing somewhere in my home there's this binder full of future life projections....and that I don't have those things RIGHT NOW, because there's other amazing things I need to experience first...and that right now, it's ok to be flailing around with clumsy optimism that I'll have a few million in the bank by the time I'm 30 and that Oprah could be my next boss.

As for now, when in doubt refer to page 27 of "the binder"... there's always a really nice chaise lounge waiting for me....someday.

What does LIFE look like to you??

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Because I'm pretty sure Oprah has a DIRECT line to God and I really love being connected to the "in crowd." AND Yes, I want a talk show.

"Well, you always get back up and try again...."

I've always hated it when people would say that to me anytime I didn't "get" one of the many things I auditioned for; Lady Gaga, The Pussycat Dolls (don't judge, you all know you got turned on a little when you saw "Buttons" I mean, isn't that what we all want to do in some small way- turn the entire world on? Yes. Yes we do, especially if we're going to get to dance in flames, while wearing an outfit made of spandex and walking through a chandelier maze? wait? TANGENT), or that time I got demoted to the top of the stairwell in "pop choir" only to sing "Feed the Birds" while the other kids got to sing that Boyz II Men song....or the time Simon Cowell told me I wasn't "unique enough....," and the list goes on and on....

I always got the sad face, "Dust yourself off again..." or "She probably couldn't hack it." Look, here's the thing with dusting yourself off- and the reason for why I hate that phrase:

What the hell else are we supposed to do when we fall down? Lay there in the dirt and hope we can find a 6-month old Twinkie, a nickel and that damn sock you've been looking for under the couch, while we watch everyone else step over our defeated body and onto their LIVES?

No, we don't deserve any pity or medals for trying again- we try again because WE are the ones who determine whether we're going to stay in on the ground, paralyzed by disappointment and fear/regret, or get up and walk onto better opportunities, people, homes,....and careers as talk show hosts, or Madonna reinvented. Or what have you.

There will always be times when we want to lay on the floor, in our despair, in our new town of victimhood- when we want to eat unnecessary third helpings and catch up on Bewitched and childhood and everything that was "supposed to fucking happen!!!! damnit." And sometimes, that's OK.

It's OK to feel bad for ourselves every now and then- because sometimes we just want someone to stroke our heads and give us permission to have a root beer float and "play hooky" from life until we can face it's big gnarly grin with an equally big mean mug and gold knuckles. And battle wounds that make us look all tough and "unique."

I've played hooky...I've taken my hall pass and checked out from life every now and then cause we weren't getting along- and it threw me powerful curve balls, that had some sting on 'em. But I "check out" like a vacation...not permanently.

I had a teacher say to me once, "You don't TRY to pick up the chair, you either pick it up or you don't."

We don't TRY to "make life work" we get up in the morning, we set our intentions and we MAKE it HAPPEN. Whatever it is that doesn't feel like it's working....keep getting up, keep getting at it....either DO, or stay on that floor. It's one or the other. We gotta keep on keepin' is so much better when we aren't face down staring into the matted carpet. That view gets old.

As many of you saw on Twitter and Facebook, I made a video to try out to be a host on Oprah's new network OWN, so many of you voted and tweeted and I'm beyond grateful.

In case you didn't see it- I want to create a TV show for Oprah that profiles 20somethings/30somethings living their best lives....NOW; how do they do it, how can WE do it, what do they do- who are they; bloggers, ahem-I'll be talking about you all A LOT and entrepreneurs, artists, travelers, mom's, wives, and everything else in between.

I want there to be a talk show for our generations that is empowering, inspired, honest and completely "talks smack..." with a dose of Oprah magic. And maybe some wild show where I get Jake Gyllenhaal to agree to greet every woman, just once, on a rainy day, shirtless (er, naked) with french toast in bed- since dreams do come true.

I need as many votes as I can get to get the attention of Oprah, the producers and readers/viewers, etc. I would be BEYOND grateful if you would vote, you don't need to register or anything- just click the green button!

Link to vote: HERE

You all have always been wildly supportive and loving, so THANK YOU THANK YOU. I'll stop whoring myself out now- but if I win maybe I'll be able to buy my whole audience cars. Wait...

I'm "trying again" because I want to live a life IN MOTION, a life where my feet are tired and my brain is full, but my heart is equally bursting and I'm going somewhere- but the travel time is just as exciting. A life in motion that's watching change happen outside it's car window rapidly, but always sure that you're safe and have a direction, a destination in mind and a secure transportation (unless it's My Love's old car, or a pissed off donkey.)

I'll spend the next three weeks of the voting period visualizing sitting on a couch, with Oprah- and her welcoming me to her team. Then I'll make out with Nate Berkus, I'll have tea with Gayle, I'll jump on shit with Tom Cruise, I'll make a pretty rose bouquet from Oprah's garden, I'll take family photos with her dogs, and I'll have a 20something book club with a cute emblem on the books and magazines with my face on it. AND REALLY REALLY FABULOUS SHOES. I will want to hug her and say, THANK YOU for being so powerful and smart and innovative....and for bringing us Dr. Oz because now I no longer have the desire to Google weird symptoms and I'll never, ever, be curious about what my colon looks like....cause he did an episode on that. Yes, thank you.

If/when I get my own talk show, we're having the baddest meet-up ever, hi future studio audience!!!!

What would YOU like to see talked about on a 20/30something talk show????