I always forget i have this blawg, until things are incredibly exciting or depressing for me. Which, in turn, makes me sound like i'm bipolar or something. It's just when things are normal and good, albeit basic and common, I feel silly updating this. However, in the past few weeks, i've been busy hanging out and living my life to the fullest with great friends, both old and new.

And, honestly, all of my friends are the best.

never break their hearts, never make 'em cry...

Somehow, I find myself with a near quarter sleeve (I guess half of half of your arm could be constituted as so) of sailor tattoos on a whim, and somehow, I find myself going out and meeting people without even really trying to. I'm slowly getting back into the game, and slowly getting back into dating, and meeting dudes. It's strange, but it's alright, and i'll be fine. As much as there may be a person (or two) that I may be interested in, nobody is really sticking out, unless you count the one who dumped me in a pizza place a few days before Valentine's Day.

And as for him? He's been around, he's helped me when I least want help (nobody wants to be locked out of their apartment when they're trying to drink someone away), and I believe and hope that, with time, it'll be friendly again. Phone calls out of the blue, with apologetic friends I thought were gone forever have helped heal the hurt, and just trying to take a day at a time is working. I'll be alright (without you). Eventually. In the meantime, I need to realize that just because I hurt, I shouldn't hurt myself or other people around me. Just breathe. And live. And love, and always, learn.

life through this, and you won't look back

I've been inspired by my good friend Bill to focus more on this blog. Bill, whom I actually dated for a hot second back in 2004, is one of the finest people I know, and I am happy we've remained close through these years. More often than not, I take a breakup and have smashed whatever's left to bits, leaving absolutely nothing. He is one of the few (I think 3!) guys i've dated, or hung out with, or however one chooses to define it, that i've maintained a friendship with. Currently, he is in Prague, and I am so proud of him for being so brave to just pack up and go, and follow life wherever it takes him. I wish I had his courage, his strength and his faith. His blog is amazing, and I hope it leads you to live your dreams as well. I've added a link to my "people" section, but you can also check it out here.

In going through yet another breakup, the first since I was thrown back into the pool of singledom after leaving Richmond, I find that it's not too hard this time around. Of course, it's terrible, well for a bit, at least. It sucks to connect with someone in a good way,in the best way and have fun (always fun, this last one was) and explore and love and just feel like the sun is yours only - and have it ripped away from you. However, I find myself doing the same cliche breakup things i've done in the past, and will probably have to do again in the future. Drink heavily? Check. Smoke heavily? Check. Hibernate with the blankets over my head? Check. Burst into tears in the grocery store? Check. I'm okay, i've done this before. Can't y ou tell?One thing that remains a constant, from the breakups in the past (3 in 4 years, 2 of which were live-in situations, ouch!) is the album that saves me every time. That album, Set Yourself On Fire, by Stars, is my Desmond Hume. My constant. Listen and love.

There's something about a breakup in New York City that's different from other places. Suddenly, the city that was your pearl, is now your pile of dog shit. The skies seem to be grey all the time, the other couples seem to be even more grotesquely adorable, and the streets seem cold and lonely. All the little places, "your" places, are no longer yours. The corner you kissed on while waiting for the light to change. The bar where you first held hands. The Indian restaurant you first felt your heart jump. The concert venue where you found a dark corner in the middle of the sold out set to make out. It's a city where there are millions of these places, to millions of people, and they remain reminders of a better time, and the people you were when you were there. Most of them I have tried to avoid, i've tried to seek out places where I feel anonymous, where I feel alright to be alone. However, the inevitable is there. The bar that was yours is stil lthere, and your friends still go there. The bathroom in that bar where you made out is still there, and they still do karaoke on Wednesdays. It's all still there. And, whether or not you wanted it to, life goes on. Feelings are fleeting, but places and people are forever. Unavoidable. So, you do what you always do to deal with it - pick yourself up by the bootstraps, and try as hard as you might to move on. The world is still there, and it is still yours.

goddamn, it was nice

Part of picking up the pieces and moving on from some not-so-cool times back down South, for me, was honestly moving on and making peace with (now) ghosts of the past. For me, I fell into something (someone) when I wasn't looking to, and was just getting content to being alone. Hell, it wasn't alone - it was me, and staying focused on my job and friends was all I needed.

Well, over the course of some months and the holidays, I felt the "lone wolf" strength I had slowly slipping away. I was scared, yeah, but what in life isn't scary? Regardless, I fell harder than I realized, and harder than I had expected to. Ever. Partly, I think it was old insecurities and ghosts that dredged up a neediness I hadn't had to deal with yet.

I just wasn't ready.

Last night, after making a quick exit after a much-needed conversation, I walked down Havemeyer, trembling and trying to not be the girl crying walking down the street. Until a darling (bless his heart) bum attempted to bum a cigarette from me. I was trembling, and just trying to get home before I lost my shit. Well, in my fluster, I must have made him feel very angry when I ignored him, and he began to call me a slut, a whore, a blonde witch, and the winner? A miserable, unlovable bitch.

Of course, that's what every girl wants to hear when she's on the brink of tears, and certainly feeling miserable and unloved. Of course, me being generally backwards with things most of the time, screamed back and scared the fuck out of the bum.

And you know what? It was okay. I didn't lose it when I got home, I didn't lose it when I, still trembling, bought some tallboys from the pervert at the bodega, and as sad as I am still today, i'm alright. I'll be okay.

So, thanks, New York. Thanks for being there. Thanks for the bums. No matter how miserable and unlovable I may be, I know there's been times that I have been considered lovable, and after a little bit of this mopey just got dumped girl shit, i'll be back. And then, Mr. Bum = you watch yourself, motherfucker. Don't let these tight pants fool you, i'm all heart.

bitches ain't shit

When did I become the girl who gets upset to only get late night calls?

When did I get upset to get blown off (or so it seems) on superbowl sunday, by a dude?

Sharks be circiln'.