The chances of you meeting me in a bar and being able to fall in love with me (according to me) - 0

The chances of you knowing me, and me letting you fall in love with me - 0

The odds of you understanding my black heart if you heed this information - No quantifiable number, but certainly improved.

The percent that I feel sorry for that - 100%

This week… I don’t even know where to start about this week.  Wild, hopeful, then crushing.  For the last three days the dial has been set firmly at “Blah.  And also?  Meh.”  I hardly recognize all this apathy, all this laying around doing nothing, caring about nothing.  Tonight’s Anti Biddy was a strange one, as suddenly all four of us girls are suffering the Blahs. 

Saturday I leave for Flagstaff, one of my favorite places.  It’s been many, many months since I drove for pleasure, and considering the frequency that I used to take solo trips to Flag/Sedona this one is long overdue.  This time instead of driving up and through and back in a day, essentially spending 8+ hours in a car by myself, I’m staying with friends Saturday night.  We’ll hang out at the cabin, drink and talk, hit the bars that night and relax on Sunday before heading home.  I’m looking forward to this like you could not believe.

I am, however, not preparing for it.  We haven’t firmed up times or plans, and I haven’t packed a single thing.  Not that there’s much to pack, I don’t have any clothes and am nearly out of half of the products that are necessary to be a clean, decent human.  Truck is overdue for an oil change and I never bought a travel charger for the iPod.  Did I mention I’m going out to drink my face off for the best friend’s birthday tomorrow night?  So basically, I’m waking up Saturday morning(ish) and throwing anything that seems like it would be useful in a the overnight bag, hoping that it’s still well stocked from the last trip I took.  And honestly?  I can’t remember the last trip I took.

The only thing I have managed to prepare is a few mixed CDs for the drive.  I’ll probably pick out another handful off the rack.  I cannot tell you how badly I need to be alone with myself in a car for an extended period of time, obviously so much that I’m driving separately from everyone else.  I need thinking time, and the highway is the best place to do that.  Not to mention that there will be few distractions the whole weekend, no internet, little cell phone.

I wouldn’t be surprised at all if I came back changed.

I need someone to talk to.  The universe is trying to tell me something and I need a sounding board.  On Sunday I attempted to explain to someone why I am so busy.  That I have a huge family, and groups of friends, and bands.  There’s always some birthday, baby shower, wedding, some show.  Every week there are so many things that I have to do, people that I have to see.

So why can I go through my phone book twice today searching for someone to bounce ideas off and come up empty each time?  It pains me to say this, but welcome to having a black heart.  I think even those who don’t believe that I have one saw me exhibit classic black heart behavior yesterday.  For a brief time I felt hope.  Hope is a good thing right?  Why is my reaction to get nauseous, jump around, and I’m pretty sure there was some cursing?  I was completely thrown for a loop, and I flipped out.

By this morning I had squashed all the hope, and I’ve been in “a mood” all day.  I got lost in thought while at my desk, and I so rarely do that.  When I snapped back to reality my eyes settled on a fortune stuck on the wall.  I tend to keep all the fortunes because they are funny, or because I hope some day they will be true.  Perhaps this is not a healthy thing, placing so much stock in a piece of paper stuffed inside a cookie.  But that fortune prompted a feverish bout of writing, and I honestly couldn’t tell you, just a few hours later, what I said.

Then someone sent me a text message of the fortune they got today, she said it applied more to me with what’s going on.  Okay Universe, I’m paying attention.  But I’m missing all the signs until after the fact.  It’s not until I’m relaying the story to another person that all the bits and pieces fall into place in my brain.  Several times over the last few days I swear you could have heard the *click* if you were standing next to me.  Then you get to watch me cringe in horror as I realize what I should have known all along.

I feel like an idiot for letting myself feel hope.  And that’s why I’ll probably never talk to anyone about that situation again.  I know that I’m blind to so much, maybe if I worked it out, talked to someone about it, I could see it in a clearer light.  I’m back to the train of thought where I started, but because I flip flopped it’s no longer comfortable.  But right now, for the time being, I keep telling myself to forget about hope.  It’s “safer” for me to forget about the chance, to settle into what I already thought I knew.  But if enough information was presented to make me to change my mind, even for a few hours, do I have to explore that opportunity?  Which one is the right thing to do?  What do you want Universe?  Do what I always do, take risks, forget about the whole damn thing?

I have no fucking clue.

I have a list of eleven things to write about.  I have a notepad with paragraphs of ideas.  I sit down tonight to tell a simple story about my best friend and it just will not come out.  Sure, I wrote the story.  But in the end it sounded mean, or just confusing. 

I’ve told this story before, it’s a good story.  It’s perfect “blog” fodder.  Why the hell can’t I write?  Seriously, what the hell is broken?  Maybe it was fine, and to other people it would have sounded fine.  But I don’t normally hate everything I write as soon as I finish, and I just can’t put it out there like that.  Why do I hate everything that I create lately?  Frustrated.

Overheard a woman saying to her husband:  “You know, we put that pool in for her twelfth birthday…”

A sign seen later that same day:  “Tires and wheels for sale.  Cash only.  No checks.  No food stamps.”

I’m painfully aware that it’s been a week.  It’s not that I have nothing to say.  It’s a little that I don’t know how to say it.  It’s a lot that I don’t have time or energy to figure it out.  And I’m struggling to decide if I’m just avoiding it because I don’t want to remember, or if I’m afraid sitting in front of a keyboard will open the flood gates.

Is it possible to have writer’s block when most of what you write is just your thoughts?  It’s not like I’m weaving a plot here, it’s just ramble.  But I haven’t taken many pictures these last two weeks, and what I have taken are all crap.  That may seem inconsequential, but to me it’s a sign of something…  I don’t know what, but something is amiss.

You’ll never get the full effect, Reggie.  I’m too busy playing dead.

On days like today I find myself wishing for a secret blog.  One that my friends and family aren’t reading. I can let loose and censor nothing and not worry about the consequences.

It’s a good thing I don’t.  Nothing ever stays a secret, especially anything that ends up on the internet.  But man, I could rip some people a new one today.  Maybe people who try to take advantage of me, who don’t live up to my low expectations, and the people that deliberately do something I’ve asked them not to deserve it. 

But maybe I just can’t make myself be mean in print, even if they deserve a punch in the back of the head.  Maybe I’m just a sucker.  More questions then answers lately, which is so unlike me.

I’m hereby declaring grey hair sexy.  On men, not on me!

I’d like to call a moratorium on telling people that they look tired.  It is nothing but thinly veiled code for “you look like ass” and I’m forced to grin and agree that, yes, I do look like death slightly warmed.

Most Random IM conversation:
Jen: are you SURE I can’t put that on myspace? It’s a good picture!
John: No way you’ll ruin my rep
Jen: your rep is what? fish eats babies alive?
John: I don’t need people to think I’m a daddy
Jen: Alright, damn it.

Gratuitous Kid Pics:

D.B. #1

D.B. #2

D.B. #3

Best text messages received:
I want to die
Tonight my son said “top model” I blame you. Oh do you like corn dogs?
Don’t throw up. That will totally blow your cover
He’s here
At least it was dead and not flopping around.
What happened to the black heart? Or you just want the useful part of a boy?
When I was on drugs
Just something different
That’s dirty dude. Really dirty. I like it

Strangest text messages I sent:
So how mad would you be if I wanted to come out tomorrow instead? Will the floor still be naked? I’ll buy you dinner!
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
I know you are laying off the liquor, but linen? Really?
Fuck. I should not have eaten dinner. I may throw up.
You are a lying liar!
Lindsey balded my nephew! You better not be bald!
Lol. I think I’m the only person scared off by the birds. And I’m too weak to steal any of the good shit
Um… because I love hot dogs. They’re better than ponies and kittens.
Chris is so freaking hammered he is threatening to wrestle me after the show.

Text Messages I could have lived without sending/receiving:
Whats that mean
O ok. Well next time I’m in the area well have 2 meet 4 lunch.
Do you remember any thing from last night?
And that’s great. Talk to me about that when I don’t see you for the next month.
I moved out of the apartment last nite

Laugh of the Month:  I’m sorry to tell you the story behind this is confidential.

 

Not proud of:  In one weekend I took three compliments in the worst way.  When my boss said my smile was amazing I started crying.  When Em said I was complex I developed a complex for a few days.  And when Chris and Randy tried to thank me I practically stuck my fingers in my ears and shouted “LA LA LA LA.”  I’m not generally a big old girl in this way.

Weirdest night:  The night we discovered that Shan Shan, Lindsey and I were all… how should I say… well, synced up.

Music:  Angels and Airwaves, Taking Back Sunday and Reggie and the Full Effect.  You can pretty much assume that these made up 90% of all the playlists in May.

Best Show:  Dos to see the boys, how can you not have a good time with these girls?

Song of the Month:  Miami - Taking Back Sunday.
You have to, you just have to trust me
Whoever I was then, I can’t ever be again

The faith you found I never felt
The terror held in wedding bells
And comfort in there’s no one else
The truth be told I’m never gonna know

Money shocker:  My spending on clothing went up 279% to a grand total of $61.47.  Can you tell how much I really hate shopping.

Favorite Random Picture:

I had hoped these targets would distract the children armed with squirt guns enough to keep us all dry. Instead the big kids got drunk and turned on the hose and/or jumped in the spa fully clothed.

Strangest Email Exchange:  Yes, we actually speak to each other this way.

From: Jen
Date: May 16, 2006 1:36 PM
For The Record playing at warped. first of all, awesome.

second, I have no fucking money until like next january because of florida. so hi, probably not going.

—————– Original Message —————–
From: Lindsey
Date: May 16, 2006 10:13 PM
First of all FTR at warped, fuck yea! second, boo to you for going to florida with the biddies. what’s that all about dude? just come live at my house for a week, hello? and third, STAY HOME, SAVE MONEY, AND GO TO WARPED WITH ME!!

have I made my point?

—————– Original Message —————–
From: Jen
Date: May 16, 2006 9:16 PM
how bout drink way less and go to warped and florida?

because seriously, FTR at warped = holy shit so fucking amazing.

not only that, I have 4th of july off. dur

—————– Original Message —————–
From: Lindsey
Date: May 16, 2006 10:21 PM
ok, in all seriousness now, can you handle the drinking way less? cause I’m not sure… if you can, I’m all for that, cause then you can do florida too.

Favorite Party buds:  Girlies willing to dance with me in public.

Song Lyric of the Month:  Good Day - Angels and Airwaves
I think I like today
I think its good
Its something I cant get my head aroundObsessions:  The spa.  Yum.If I keep saying things like this someone will have me committed:
I totally had a banana in my purse this morning, and now I can’t find it.Birthdays?

Kristi

Jackson, with his mom Brig

Tate

Last year:  We had a house full of people, then our air conditioning broke and we were seconds away from a slap fight in the back yard.  Heat makes people bitchy, especially when they are already hating each other.  Thank you, thank you that my current roommates aren’t completely insane.

Two years ago:  I was still in complete denial that I was leaving “home,” to the point that I hadn’t even begun packing.

Looking forward to:  Kevin’s birthday and Digital Summer show in one weekend.  Hopefully a few more nights of just relaxing in the backyard.

Coolest unexpected night:  Jen and Kev coming to a drinking in the backyard night.

TV:  I’ve discovered a certain show comes on when I get home from work before the girls get home.  I blame them.  I’m (only a little) ashamed.

Crappy Stuff:  The hour I spent cooking my ovaries under a heating pad and blankets.  I got so hot and miserable pieces of my hair were straight when the kids woke me up.  You really don’t want any more information about this.

Violent Much?  “First of all, I’m a lady. Second of all I will punch you in the face.”
I said this to Lindsey* when a guy tried to cut in front of me walking out of Texas Roadhouse.
*I know!  I actually censored my mouth in public!  Except that he probably overheard me.  But still!  A step in the right direction!

Hair Watch 2006 Status:  It’s curly as all hell most days, and for the first time in my life getting caught in my purse strap.  Grrr.

Graph:  My Aunt Lynda started reading my website.  (From work even, she’s gutsy!)  Then her and my Mom had a conversation about how depressing my writing can be.  Huh.  Really?  So I divided up every post from September to May, and tried to be impartial.

The percentage of depressing posts was a little shocking to me, would have thought it was lower. But as you can see, overall I am neither raging nor crying. An interesting and completely unsurprising note: December was the dreariest month yet.