Wednesday, February 22, 2012

On seeing stars

"You're the star of our relationship," I somberly sighed into Solo's ear.
My face was nestled between his chin and the pillow, we held each other in bed.
A sadness washed over me, maybe even more than a tinge of resentment.

This melodramatic admission came at a time when we both had endured difficult weeks. Mine was leaps and bounds less stressful than his but when I finally felt secure talking about it, I realized he wasn't listening. I held onto this until I found myself whispering into his ear about the inequalities of our love.
The "inequalities of our love" being that he has to work for everything he has; he pays all his bills on a modest income, he is constantly working, his car is not the most reliable for the three hour commute, he is often tired from all the work he does during the week on top of his academic obligations. This meaning that I am often the financial sponsor of our time together, that I am often the one going to see him, that we spend much more time inside than we do interacting with the outside world & that sometimes bums me out.

If it seems like I was a whiny brat taking for granted the fact that this one weekend, Solo HAD come to see me  despite the aforementioned obstacles and an impending Tuesday exam for which he was less than prepared, it is because I was being a whiny brat.

Why did this thought upset me so?

This would not be the first time that I was the driving force behind my romantic relationships.
Quite the contrary, more often than not I am the partner that spoils the other, the other's biggest fan.
Not because I don't view myself as important, but because I like to give 100% in my relationships.
I take a lot of pride in being everyone's favorite.

& also, I guess I've always firmly believed that successful relationships depend on one partner being the star and the other being the support.
I don't think these positions are static--they SHOULD alternate as one partner needs more support--but I think  relationships depend on give and take.

Fatty once told me something similar; that two go-getters are inherently incompatible.
This is something I've considered a lot in the past few days.
Maybe this idea is the catalyst behind so many celebrity divorces and break ups:
can two people, unwilling to back out of the lime light and let the other have their moment, make things work?

The failure rate of celebrity relationships, as compared to those where celebrities find someone wonderful who isn't famous, seems to argue in favor of one partner in the lime light & one in the shadows.

Is that such an awful thing?
I don't know, don't ask me.

But what I do know is that my former partners have more or less not deserved the effort I put in, & often times did not appreciate it.

This is not the case with Solo.
Rather, Solo is someone reluctantly in the light who promises to return the favor under more desirable circumstances.
He is someone who completely deserves everything I do and someone I'm proud to do everything for.

He was quiet for a moment after I whispered my resentments.
& then
he kissed my forehead,
"I'm the star, but you're the magic."

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Love Letters

I'm still enamored with the day I had yesterday.
For the first time in a long time, my Valentine's day was NOT a bitter failure.

I got to spend the evening with a couple of the fabfaves (originally the fab 4, but we've since expanded) and watch some of my favorite romantic films while stuffing my face with chocolate covered strawberries, spinach dip on pita chips, pigs in a blanket, and more chocolate covered strawberries.
It was actually really good.

& to that end, I'd like to tell the fabfaves, my family, Darlene, & of course Solo:
(via happy place)
& also, I'd like to tell Solo--
I consider myself fortunate to be with someone I respect so much.
You are a great man, even if you're having a difficult time seeing that truth in yourself. 
My dad once told me loving someone is waking up everyday wanting to make that person happy. That is how I feel about you. Without much effort, you make me smile everyday.
& finally, what we have has left me amazed at how close I can feel to someone who is three hours away. I miss you all the time, but I know you're always there at the same time. You are my best friend.

& now reader(s), if you need to project vomit all the mush I just forced into your brain, please have at it. 

Monday, February 13, 2012

Bring Me a Dream

Last night, I had the most disturbing dream, ever.
It was so unsettling, my dream self looked at me (as someone observing my dream) and shouted for me to wake up until I actually did.

In the past, I've gone into excruciating detail describing how much I hate cockroaches.
& it still rings true:
Reader(s), I can find sympathy in my heart for almost all living things but I'll stomp the mess outta a cockroach (and also: mosquitoes, spiders, fleas).

So I was alarmed and repulsed to find a cockroach on my bathroom ceiling the other night.
Knowing that any attempts to swat at it would knock it off the ceiling and likely onto my person or onto the floor where it could quickly scuttle underneath some furniture or into the black abyss that is my closet, I decided I would trap this cockroach.

In elementary school, my fifth grade science teacher had us turn in dead bugs glued to construction paper with their scientific names beside them. He taught us that once an insect has been trapped, you can kill them by tossing a cotton ball full of rubbing alcohol or nail polish remover into the closed jar encapsulating the bug. & this strategy worked for me.

I tried to recreate my childhood successes by getting a small ladder, a bowl, and a cotton ball full of nail polish remover to trap the pest. This attempt was only semi-successful. Rather than instantly killing the roach,     the nail polish remover just made it sick. As I glided the bowl from the ceiling down the walls (in an attempt to get it to a level where I could squash it), a trail of brown mush appeared. The bowl was sort of see through so I strained to see what was happening; the cockroach was writhing and twitching and pooping everywhere.

I was eventually able to kill the cockroach, wash off & disinfect my ceiling and walls, and live my life in only a mild state of paranoia that any given moment, I could be eaten alive by the dead cockroach's brethren.
This is the third cockroach I've found inside my apartment since I moved in in September. I pay A LOT of money to live in my tiny apartment and I keep it pretty clean. I don't understand why this is happening to me.

back to my dream last night.
In my dream, I was walking through my apartment in the dark, looking for Shakespeare. I found him in the dining area, and the carpet had been pulled back from the walls. Something was crawling all over the underside of the carpeting. I flipped the kitchen light switch to see that the carpet was covered in cockroaches. I grabbed Shakespeare and threw him in my room. I closed the door behind him and went looking for pesticide. I found some under my bathroom sink and started spraying away.

The whole floor of my dining area was covered in a frothy pesticide coating. It was like snow. But then, this really wealthy girl I went to high school with emerged from the blanket of pesticide. She stood up, covered in the fluff. She looks me dead in the eye and then starts twitching, writhing, foaming at the mouth. The poisonous pesticide is killing her in a very violent way.
It was horrible to watch.
Dream me decides that maybe I can put her out of her misery if I spray her with more pesticide.
That doesn't work. Instead she gets angry, she starts charging at me--still writhing, still twitching, foaming at the mouth, blood shot eyes. The pesticide has started eating away parts of flesh.
You guys, this was some horrific shit.

 I was afraid.
This is the part where all of a sudden, I stop being myself in the dream.
Dream me becomes separate, able to turn to me and tell me to wake up.

Seriously, it's been haunting me all day. Stupid fucking nightmare.

I'm pretty sure all of this gore and horror was brought on by the mid-season premiere of Walking Dead, which aired last night; guilt over the prolonged murder of that cockroach as well as fear of a cockroach uprising, and talk of snow yesterday as nearly everywhere in Texas but San Antonio experienced a little snow fall or sleet yesterday. But still. This was some disturbing shit.

Monday, February 6, 2012

Margarita Monday

Reader(s), it's Margarita Monday;
a day I used to celebrate weekly during undergrad by subjugating my body to gallons of tequila and cheesy Mexican food for ridiculously low prices.
Thanks to a local Mexican restaurant located less than 3 minutes (LITERALLY) from my school's campus, I am able to recreate my weekly ritual and so fill the void that was ever-expanding like a black hole in my heart.
I tell you all this to explain up front that I am, right now, slightly inebriated in my 6 o'clock class AND to apologize ahead of time for any spelling and/or grammatical errors (as well as the all too likely unhealthy craziness).

because I'm just drunk enough to talk about something that I consider a scab on the flaky exterior of my heart soul...
my arch nemesis(es--there are more than one).

I never talk about them.
Because a vast majority of the time, I don't deem them worthy of mentioning.
To sum it up nicely, if there were a "Who's Who" of human crap--they would be on that list.
(AND, much like the annual "Who's Who of American Teenagers" publication, they would gladly pay whatever fine for a little bit of recognition; even if the recognition were to be acknowledged as crap--THAT is how low they are, readers!)

I, perhaps not being the most reliable of sources to judge such things, dislike them for their neediness. For their attention-whorish-ness. For their need to consistently and perpetually spew out their irrelevant opinions and fill my facebook timeline with albums upon albums of portraits of themselves and bitterness and false portrayals of happiness.

Those bitches.


&, I've decided, I was (& am) correct for always choosing not to do so.
BECAUSE: these people, beyond all else, crave attention to fill the nasty, ugly void within themselves.
& THAT is why they flaunt their pretend happiness and very real bitterness;
THAT is why they fill entire photo albums with photos of themselves--
so that everyone can fawn over and envy the pretend lives they've created on social media,
so everyone can praise their elementary opinions and lament the fact that they are so sad,
so everyone can re-affirm how pretty they are.

They need that.
They would probably die without it.

& I will not contribute to this mindless trend by keeping up with them.

take note; I here for to erase you from my life.
I will block you
and forget you.
You will be dead to me.
& I know it will hurt you.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

2.1.12 This House is Not a Home

I'd like to think that most of us are our significant other's biggest fan, whether they deserve it or not.

For me & my guy, better known to my beautiful and small readership as Solo, it's just that.
No one laughs at my jokes harder, no one praises me more for getting dressed on Sunday when all I want is be naked on my couch, no one tells me my sweat and stretch marks are sexy the way Solo does.

I don't think I've ever taken the time to publicly acknowledge how special my guy is.
He is the bomb (taking you all the way back to 1991).

& moreover, what I'm here to talk about today is that he is in a band. 

You don't have to take my word for how truly talented this kid is, you can read about him here-- he made his local town's publication's cover story a couple of weeks ago. I love that article. 

OR, & what I'm actually hoping you'll do, you can judge for yourself by downloading his album today (or tomorrow, or next week--whenever you get around to it, really).  The album has been a labor of love for my boyfriend and his band and group of producer friends for over a year. They meticulously tweaked each song until they were certain it was the best product they could give listeners.

I understand, you might be skeptic. Who wants to download an entire album to their computer only to find that they don't like it. & for you, my intelligent reader, I give you the opportunity to hear a couple of singles from this album before you make a decision: here here!

Of the band as a whole: they are all my boyfriend's friends. I feel good saying that they are a great group of young men with big hearts and that this album is their baby. I have NEVER in my life liked any of the people my past boyfriends have brought around but this group of men is truly something special. It's a pretty big deal for me & I hope they can become a big deal for you, too.