For me...inspiration comes in the form of movies. Is this a positive thing? Movies are not real, they are a vision of someone's imagination. Even when movies are depicting real events...they are still only how someone remembers it. There is only one person, one real, living, breathing, not an imaginary character person that I find inspiring. In a world filled with such amazing wonders how can it be that only one person inspires me without even knowing it. You may think this person is some famous actor or singer or limelight liver but he/she isn't. This person is someone I actually know, someone I have shared dinners with, someone I have played games with, someone I have traveled with, someone I have loved. When I am lacking motivation to do anything...I think about this person and how he/she is constantly moving. Always doing something or rather completing something. A decision to do something is made and within a matter of time...completed. Who does that? I never finish anything.
My recent movie inspiration is Julie and Julia. I know I know...what I'm doing here is so cliche. I don't care though. I like the idea of deciding to do something and setting a deadline. Especially on here. I like the idea of being held accountable by someone other than myself. My inspiring person shall be impressed although I doubt he/she will ever know but that's not my reason for doing it anyway.
I've been wanting to write a book...for a VERY long time. The ideas and chapters have been floating around from computer to USB drive to paper and back. It's time I really did something about it.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Confessions of a lonely heart
I fear that I am doomed to be alone. It's not that I'm a hideous chud or that I lack personality. It's because I believe in true love. I believe in complete and utterly confounding true beautiful meant to be together forever love. Then I hit the cement and crack my head open and realize that it hurts and the longer I hold on to the concept of this fantasy...the less likely I'll let someone who encompasses any piece of my dreams in.
You know that feeling of your first love? That absolutely positively no doubt going to be together forever feeling? That feeling that makes your heart flutter and your palms sweat? That vision of your future? The one that makes all other men disappear from your sight? Yea...I haven't felt that since I was 17. How is it that in 10 years I've managed to date my fair share of men and still be left unsatisfied? I don't want to be with my first love anymore...I've accepted that bridge and I've crossed it with grace. However, I want my innocence back. I want to be able to feel all those feelings again with someone different, with someone who will be my forever. I realize though, that I never will. Therefore, I'm doomed to be alone.
You know that feeling of your first love? That absolutely positively no doubt going to be together forever feeling? That feeling that makes your heart flutter and your palms sweat? That vision of your future? The one that makes all other men disappear from your sight? Yea...I haven't felt that since I was 17. How is it that in 10 years I've managed to date my fair share of men and still be left unsatisfied? I don't want to be with my first love anymore...I've accepted that bridge and I've crossed it with grace. However, I want my innocence back. I want to be able to feel all those feelings again with someone different, with someone who will be my forever. I realize though, that I never will. Therefore, I'm doomed to be alone.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
I must admit...
I absolutely love having the internet. I do apologize for my temporary abandonment. I shall not be so distant in the future. More to come soon....
Friday, September 4, 2009
Chapter 1
Confessions of a Lonely Heart
I have recently learned what obsession means - for those of you as unaware as I was – to obsess is to preoccupy oneself intensely or abnormally with a thought or idea. Although I had used the word quite a bit, I didn’t know the exact definition until I began this assignment. I was reminiscing over a relationship that ended about four years ago. The memories still consume me and push me deep into this slump which only I can see in my mind. On the outside, all you see is a smile. My obsession however isn’t thinking about old loves, but dreaming about new ones.
When I think about love, I have this idea that borders fantasy and reality. Actually, it’s more like three-fourths of the way into fantasy and a fourth of the way in the air, bouncing like a twenty-five cent rubber ball – for a split second it hits the ground, that’s reality, but immediately after that it’s right back in the air, keeping me from settling on anything. To me love should involve this feeling that is so overwhelming that you hold your breath for fear that any moment it would end. In almost any movie, if the love aspect is strong enough it will engulf me – I will feel the emotions so deep in my soul that I become the character. In the movie The Village, originally displayed as a horror film, was nothing to me but an intense story of what one will do for the one they love. My mother says it’s not reality, then why do I surrender to these emotions that touch my heart and my soul? I begin to doubt my mother, and have faith in the love I long to experience. So I wait. I wait for the right guy to come along and both literally and metaphorically sweep me off my feet. I want to be so weak in the knees, that when I see him I softly stumble into his arms. And still, I am waiting.
Now I have been in situations where I’ve been exceedingly comfortable with someone. That’s always a nice feeling, but it lacks the power that takes me over when I read a book, or watch a movie. My mom says that maybe being comfortable like that is love. What? No, no, no. There has to be at least two fireworks. But for me, it is usually nothing but comfort. When I lack this indescribable feeling of love in a relationship, I tend to think he must not be the one. I begin to move on – I try not to linger – although part of me waits until I find a new prospect and those tingles of a new possibility begin again. It would be nice if the tingles were a never-ending feeling, but at the same time they could become uncomfortable and I certainly don’t want to be uncomfortable around him. My mom points out again that maybe being comfortable with someone is love. What? No, no, no. Well… maybe.
If comfort is love, how do you weed out the one most worthy? I’m comfortable with lots of guys, but I’m not a polygamist. How do I decide which one is “the one”? That brings me to another issue, in searching for this so-called Mr. Right, how do I know that what I’m seeing is what I’ll be getting? Even the most beautiful pink tulip begins to limp and fade with each passing day. If I fall for someone, it is because of the way they treat me – I hate this dating game of charades:
“Okay, two words. First word, one syllable. Man pointing to me. Me? No. I? No. You? Almost! You’re? Yes! Second word, one syllable. Man pretending to fan himself from the heat. Gee, let me think. Um... hot? You’re hot? Ding ding ding! And the lucky lady wins… another date!”
Okay. Providing that I want another date, that’s all dandy, but if once you have me pretty much fallen do not cease to tell me that I’m hot. Those things that guys do in the beginning seem to dwindle slowly, like the fizz from a soda that’s been replaced in the fridge half empty. It just loses the oomph. If he’s going to quit doing things after he’s got me, then he shouldn’t start. I don’t want to fall in love with someone that isn’t real. I want the truth, the hardcore truth. If you aren’t going to open the car door for me every time we get in, then don’t open it every time we get in until you have me. Make it a special thing that you do because you want to, not because you feel you have to. If you don’t like cats, don’t pretend that you do because I have one. When you pretend to be something you’re not, it makes me feel as though I’ve been duped into letting you in. All it does is anger me and make your life hard.
Have I become so enthralled into the movie life that I’ll never know real love? Where did this obsession begin? Let’s start with Mr. Wrong #1: I met him in a religious class – that should have been my first red flag. Not that there is anything wrong with religion, it’s just a little… too much for me. He was about 5’8”, 180 pounds, blond hair, slicked down the side of his narrow, pale face. He wore a different Hawaiianesque shirt every day, and followed me around like a lost puppy dog. We became friends, but from day one he always wanted more, and I didn’t. He invited me to everything, birthday parties for people I barely knew and get-togethers for people I had never met. I remember he had a Halloween party one night, and of course I was invited. However, I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay that long, so my mother and I concocted a reason for her to pick me up early, which backfired because I ended up having a good time. We found out that we both really liked Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho and from there our common interests escalated, and that’s where the obsession really took off. We couldn’t stand to be apart from each other – I taught him to spike up his hair and over the summer he sprouted six inches, making him a beanpole, which he paired with 70’s style shirts – and life was good. He worshipped the ground I walked on, and I did the same for him. He was my first real relationship – my first kiss, and my first heartbreak. Other girls started noticing my diamond in the ruff; he liked this never-before-experienced attention. But, paired with my insecurities, it just didn’t work, and I lost him. It’s been a rough and long road to recovery. Some people say you never get over your first love - God, I hope they’re wrong.
After Mr. Wrong #1, there were a few here's and there's. I never got really serious for fear of facing another tragedy with my still shocked and somewhat paranoid heart. So, I just had fun. I let guys take me out and I kissed them, and I let others kiss me. In spite of the barbed wire I had installed for protection around my heart, it still managed to face unfortunate issues. A couple of guys I was having fun with decided it would be more fun to impregnate other girls, because I was locked at the knees. Another guy whom I met at the Halloween party became a regular, but off into the Air Force he went. Another was working construction, and didn’t seem to be going anywhere else, yet he was topped by one more, who was basically homeless, jobless, penniless and at times even heartless. Yes, I know how to pick ‘em. So what do I do? Run away, of course, right into Mr. Wrong #2’s arms. Mr. Wrong #2 seemed absolutely right. He was perfect – suspiciously perfect. We both wanted the same things in life and in love, we enjoyed the same music and movies, and he was absolutely wonderful to me. He was about 5’6”, 160 pounds, very clean-cut; he wore Abercrombie and Fitch, Hollister and American Eagle; played football and rugby and he was very popular. Nothing I ever thought I’d get in a guy. I’m a magnet for weirdos. He was hot, too. I’m talking sizzlin’. Most guys I find attractive, aren’t that way to other people. Mr. Wrong #1 was only noticed after I picked him up and dusted him off. But this guy was downright, top o’ the line good looking. Things were great in the beginning, as they usually are, but something inside me became unsettled. He actually didn’t change towards me; he was the kind that kept doing those little things clear up until the end and even after. But he never stood up to me. Whatever I said, is how it went. He never offered resistance; there was no push and pull, or give and take. He was giving and I was taking, all the time. Some chicks might like that, but I didn’t. I didn’t enjoy intimacy with him either. It was like a chore that I wasn’t getting paid for. Little did I know that this would be an issue I would face with every guy.
I think I may have again been engrained with this misconception of not only love, but sex as well. I envisioned my first time to be… special, with someone I loved, on a beautiful plush bed, with candles all around and sultry music in the background; the glow of the candles illuminating our faces as we look at each other, smiling, knowing this is right. Instead of at a friend’s house on a pull-out couch, with someone I could love and the static of the T.V. bouncing off our faces, and the only sounds being heard are not that of ecstasy but the silent screams of fear, pain, and the beginning of resentment.
Needless to say, it ended. Although I knew fairly early into the situation that it wasn’t going to work, it was about a year before the end would actually occur. I clung on to the love that he freely gave, and I effortlessly embraced it. I sucked it up like a sponge does with water – it just felt good to be loved, even though I could not return his favor. For fear of being unloved, I held on a bit to what he gave, tucked it away safely in the back of my mind and pursued other foolish saps who happily gave me the love I needed to feel good about myself while I slowly weaned off of the previous supplier. It sounds worse than it really is. I call them foolish, because they fall for someone who is obviously unstable in the relationship department; I make sure they are all aware that I don’t want anything serious. I call them saps because they seem so weak in my presence, so quick to help me out and indulge my wants.
There was quarter-boy. Let’s just say the fun occurred once, and lasted about 2.5 seconds. I’m tempted to not even account for this incident. The following summer involved a long-time friend. It started with us reminiscing through ten years of friendship, accompanied by a couple of beers. You can imagine where it went, but you can’t imagine what I felt. All of these emotions were racing through my being (and in the lead, we have Wrong. But, coming close in second is Exciting, Unnerving is falling further and further behind. Oh, and Exciting is passing Wrong, Wrong’s not happy, trying to take the lead back… it’s gonna be a close one. I can’t believe it, out of nowhere comes Good! Good is flying by Unnerving, leaving it in the dust – comes up on Wrong and Exciting who are still teetering back and forth between each other, too busy to notice Good taking the lead. We’re coming up on the last leg and Good has a solid lead and keeps it for the win! Following for a last minute second place, is Exciting, then Wrong, and Unnerving bringing up the rear.) Now take this horse race, and envision those names being my mind, my body, my soul, and my heart. My body is named Good, because that’s all it’s feeling. My mind is yelling ‘No, no! This is so Wrong!’ My soul, in experiencing something new is feeling Excited. And my heart, Unnerving, brings up the rear because it stopped to watch a movie that it found more passionate than the current event at hand. The owner of this particular heart decided to retire it after this disappointing race. I realized that although something feels good, it doesn’t always mean its good for you. I ended the only enjoyable random vacation my body has ever felt and decided that any future lusting would occur with someone who definitely had long term possibilities. I know what you’re thinking, but how could a fickle person like me ever settle on anyone. Well, stay tuned for the next episode when we explore the winding ways of my mind and if it ever connects to my heart and makes anything resembling a firm decision.
I have recently learned what obsession means - for those of you as unaware as I was – to obsess is to preoccupy oneself intensely or abnormally with a thought or idea. Although I had used the word quite a bit, I didn’t know the exact definition until I began this assignment. I was reminiscing over a relationship that ended about four years ago. The memories still consume me and push me deep into this slump which only I can see in my mind. On the outside, all you see is a smile. My obsession however isn’t thinking about old loves, but dreaming about new ones.
When I think about love, I have this idea that borders fantasy and reality. Actually, it’s more like three-fourths of the way into fantasy and a fourth of the way in the air, bouncing like a twenty-five cent rubber ball – for a split second it hits the ground, that’s reality, but immediately after that it’s right back in the air, keeping me from settling on anything. To me love should involve this feeling that is so overwhelming that you hold your breath for fear that any moment it would end. In almost any movie, if the love aspect is strong enough it will engulf me – I will feel the emotions so deep in my soul that I become the character. In the movie The Village, originally displayed as a horror film, was nothing to me but an intense story of what one will do for the one they love. My mother says it’s not reality, then why do I surrender to these emotions that touch my heart and my soul? I begin to doubt my mother, and have faith in the love I long to experience. So I wait. I wait for the right guy to come along and both literally and metaphorically sweep me off my feet. I want to be so weak in the knees, that when I see him I softly stumble into his arms. And still, I am waiting.
Now I have been in situations where I’ve been exceedingly comfortable with someone. That’s always a nice feeling, but it lacks the power that takes me over when I read a book, or watch a movie. My mom says that maybe being comfortable like that is love. What? No, no, no. There has to be at least two fireworks. But for me, it is usually nothing but comfort. When I lack this indescribable feeling of love in a relationship, I tend to think he must not be the one. I begin to move on – I try not to linger – although part of me waits until I find a new prospect and those tingles of a new possibility begin again. It would be nice if the tingles were a never-ending feeling, but at the same time they could become uncomfortable and I certainly don’t want to be uncomfortable around him. My mom points out again that maybe being comfortable with someone is love. What? No, no, no. Well… maybe.
If comfort is love, how do you weed out the one most worthy? I’m comfortable with lots of guys, but I’m not a polygamist. How do I decide which one is “the one”? That brings me to another issue, in searching for this so-called Mr. Right, how do I know that what I’m seeing is what I’ll be getting? Even the most beautiful pink tulip begins to limp and fade with each passing day. If I fall for someone, it is because of the way they treat me – I hate this dating game of charades:
“Okay, two words. First word, one syllable. Man pointing to me. Me? No. I? No. You? Almost! You’re? Yes! Second word, one syllable. Man pretending to fan himself from the heat. Gee, let me think. Um... hot? You’re hot? Ding ding ding! And the lucky lady wins… another date!”
Okay. Providing that I want another date, that’s all dandy, but if once you have me pretty much fallen do not cease to tell me that I’m hot. Those things that guys do in the beginning seem to dwindle slowly, like the fizz from a soda that’s been replaced in the fridge half empty. It just loses the oomph. If he’s going to quit doing things after he’s got me, then he shouldn’t start. I don’t want to fall in love with someone that isn’t real. I want the truth, the hardcore truth. If you aren’t going to open the car door for me every time we get in, then don’t open it every time we get in until you have me. Make it a special thing that you do because you want to, not because you feel you have to. If you don’t like cats, don’t pretend that you do because I have one. When you pretend to be something you’re not, it makes me feel as though I’ve been duped into letting you in. All it does is anger me and make your life hard.
Have I become so enthralled into the movie life that I’ll never know real love? Where did this obsession begin? Let’s start with Mr. Wrong #1: I met him in a religious class – that should have been my first red flag. Not that there is anything wrong with religion, it’s just a little… too much for me. He was about 5’8”, 180 pounds, blond hair, slicked down the side of his narrow, pale face. He wore a different Hawaiianesque shirt every day, and followed me around like a lost puppy dog. We became friends, but from day one he always wanted more, and I didn’t. He invited me to everything, birthday parties for people I barely knew and get-togethers for people I had never met. I remember he had a Halloween party one night, and of course I was invited. However, I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay that long, so my mother and I concocted a reason for her to pick me up early, which backfired because I ended up having a good time. We found out that we both really liked Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho and from there our common interests escalated, and that’s where the obsession really took off. We couldn’t stand to be apart from each other – I taught him to spike up his hair and over the summer he sprouted six inches, making him a beanpole, which he paired with 70’s style shirts – and life was good. He worshipped the ground I walked on, and I did the same for him. He was my first real relationship – my first kiss, and my first heartbreak. Other girls started noticing my diamond in the ruff; he liked this never-before-experienced attention. But, paired with my insecurities, it just didn’t work, and I lost him. It’s been a rough and long road to recovery. Some people say you never get over your first love - God, I hope they’re wrong.
After Mr. Wrong #1, there were a few here's and there's. I never got really serious for fear of facing another tragedy with my still shocked and somewhat paranoid heart. So, I just had fun. I let guys take me out and I kissed them, and I let others kiss me. In spite of the barbed wire I had installed for protection around my heart, it still managed to face unfortunate issues. A couple of guys I was having fun with decided it would be more fun to impregnate other girls, because I was locked at the knees. Another guy whom I met at the Halloween party became a regular, but off into the Air Force he went. Another was working construction, and didn’t seem to be going anywhere else, yet he was topped by one more, who was basically homeless, jobless, penniless and at times even heartless. Yes, I know how to pick ‘em. So what do I do? Run away, of course, right into Mr. Wrong #2’s arms. Mr. Wrong #2 seemed absolutely right. He was perfect – suspiciously perfect. We both wanted the same things in life and in love, we enjoyed the same music and movies, and he was absolutely wonderful to me. He was about 5’6”, 160 pounds, very clean-cut; he wore Abercrombie and Fitch, Hollister and American Eagle; played football and rugby and he was very popular. Nothing I ever thought I’d get in a guy. I’m a magnet for weirdos. He was hot, too. I’m talking sizzlin’. Most guys I find attractive, aren’t that way to other people. Mr. Wrong #1 was only noticed after I picked him up and dusted him off. But this guy was downright, top o’ the line good looking. Things were great in the beginning, as they usually are, but something inside me became unsettled. He actually didn’t change towards me; he was the kind that kept doing those little things clear up until the end and even after. But he never stood up to me. Whatever I said, is how it went. He never offered resistance; there was no push and pull, or give and take. He was giving and I was taking, all the time. Some chicks might like that, but I didn’t. I didn’t enjoy intimacy with him either. It was like a chore that I wasn’t getting paid for. Little did I know that this would be an issue I would face with every guy.
I think I may have again been engrained with this misconception of not only love, but sex as well. I envisioned my first time to be… special, with someone I loved, on a beautiful plush bed, with candles all around and sultry music in the background; the glow of the candles illuminating our faces as we look at each other, smiling, knowing this is right. Instead of at a friend’s house on a pull-out couch, with someone I could love and the static of the T.V. bouncing off our faces, and the only sounds being heard are not that of ecstasy but the silent screams of fear, pain, and the beginning of resentment.
Needless to say, it ended. Although I knew fairly early into the situation that it wasn’t going to work, it was about a year before the end would actually occur. I clung on to the love that he freely gave, and I effortlessly embraced it. I sucked it up like a sponge does with water – it just felt good to be loved, even though I could not return his favor. For fear of being unloved, I held on a bit to what he gave, tucked it away safely in the back of my mind and pursued other foolish saps who happily gave me the love I needed to feel good about myself while I slowly weaned off of the previous supplier. It sounds worse than it really is. I call them foolish, because they fall for someone who is obviously unstable in the relationship department; I make sure they are all aware that I don’t want anything serious. I call them saps because they seem so weak in my presence, so quick to help me out and indulge my wants.
There was quarter-boy. Let’s just say the fun occurred once, and lasted about 2.5 seconds. I’m tempted to not even account for this incident. The following summer involved a long-time friend. It started with us reminiscing through ten years of friendship, accompanied by a couple of beers. You can imagine where it went, but you can’t imagine what I felt. All of these emotions were racing through my being (and in the lead, we have Wrong. But, coming close in second is Exciting, Unnerving is falling further and further behind. Oh, and Exciting is passing Wrong, Wrong’s not happy, trying to take the lead back… it’s gonna be a close one. I can’t believe it, out of nowhere comes Good! Good is flying by Unnerving, leaving it in the dust – comes up on Wrong and Exciting who are still teetering back and forth between each other, too busy to notice Good taking the lead. We’re coming up on the last leg and Good has a solid lead and keeps it for the win! Following for a last minute second place, is Exciting, then Wrong, and Unnerving bringing up the rear.) Now take this horse race, and envision those names being my mind, my body, my soul, and my heart. My body is named Good, because that’s all it’s feeling. My mind is yelling ‘No, no! This is so Wrong!’ My soul, in experiencing something new is feeling Excited. And my heart, Unnerving, brings up the rear because it stopped to watch a movie that it found more passionate than the current event at hand. The owner of this particular heart decided to retire it after this disappointing race. I realized that although something feels good, it doesn’t always mean its good for you. I ended the only enjoyable random vacation my body has ever felt and decided that any future lusting would occur with someone who definitely had long term possibilities. I know what you’re thinking, but how could a fickle person like me ever settle on anyone. Well, stay tuned for the next episode when we explore the winding ways of my mind and if it ever connects to my heart and makes anything resembling a firm decision.
I must admit...
I must admit that I have a rather nice radio voice. It's not as child-like sounding as I thought it would be. I dread leaving voice mail messages. Actually, I guess I don't mind as long as I don't have to hear it. It irks me like nails on a chalkboard, but on the radio...well on the radio I think I sound sexy.
Now that's an odd thought. If I think I sound sexy, does that mean others do too? If random people think I sound sexy well that's cool, but if my dad heard it and didn't know it was me and thought it was sexy...well that's just appalling. It reminds me of the scenario in which a daughter poses for playboy and her dad has a subscription. My stomach just turned.
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