Says something about how early I started
Found: Old condoms in my retainer case. I was a clever kid.
Totally Bogus Relationship Advice/I’m spending eons at baggage claim
1 - Date someone you can really talk to
Once I dated someone who made me feel like I could die as long as the last thing I did was talk to him, and the world would be a good, righteous place. Then he broke up with me because he couldn't stand the sound of my voice. HA.
2 - Date someone you can be totally silent in the car with
For a long while, this one song by Esthero (one of my most favorite singers of all time) had me convinced that so long as I could be comfortable hanging out in total silence for long stretches of time with a dude, he had soul mate potential. Not only does this clash with the last piece of advice (it's no wonder I'm all fucked up), but I also used it to gauge (unsuccessfully) how close I wanted to let this particular guy into my life. We didn't need constant conversation to feel comfortable around each other so I was stoked, but eventually we just stopped speaking completely. Go figure.
3 - Opposites attract
Everyone's heard this one, right? It's not true. You're only intrigued by what you don't know, and then when it comes down to it, ultimately, you're repelled by it.
I once dated this guy who was all about cars and football and the military. We lasted five years -- four years and probably about six months too long. The breakup was messy and exhausting. You can only argue about the same thing so many times before your brain starts to boil.
4 - Date someone who has a lot in common with you
I know, I know. If you can't date someone who's different from you OR similar to you, then what's left? Trust me, if I could answer that question, I wouldn't be writing this post.
One dude I dated was so similar to me it was scary. Our interests weren't the same, but our personalities and thought process and sense of humor was identical. For a long time it was amazing. Absolutely amazing. Then, without warning, we suddenly knew each other too well and used that knowledge as a weapon. Like when he was cheating on me? I knew it because I would have done the same. And when he lied to me about it? I knew it because I would have done the same. And when I tried to explain that during an argument? Armageddon.
My advice: You can love someone to death, but that doesn't mean you like them, or that they like you. So, date someone you like. Someone who likes you back. Someone who makes you really good mix tapes. And, someone whose baby you wouldn't mind having should your birth control decide to stop working. That's the best I got.
The Poison
My friend Arwen and I had an interesting conversation this week over brunch. Certain recent events have lead the both of us to consider the poison that some people are born with. Equipped with The Poison, you can get hook and land any girl you want, and what’s more than that is you can treat her like shit and she’ll still be there when you wake up in the morning. Cheat on her? Tell her she’s ugly? Annoying? Stupid? Whacked? She’ll cook you breakfast the next day! Act like a total douche bag for years on end? She’ll max her credit card out because she wants you to love her!
HWMNBN had the poison. Before me there were at least half a dozen girls that he wooed before walking all over. It’s infuriating. I don’t know guys, I’m not usually a sappy, weakling of a person, but something about that dude short circuited a fundamental part of my brain and I turned into a sniveling pile of emo-tastic shit for three years. I was also convinced that I was unattractive, too self-pitying (that one is still up for debate) and pretty much the biggest loser ever. Go. Figure.
I finally washed my hands of The Poison. And it was hard. Very hard. My friends saved me from caving multiple times, either by calling just when I was about to dial his number or by linking me to cool heart-mending resources. Or, you know, just by talking to me when I needed to vent. And for all those things I will be forever grateful.
Surprisingly, aside from my closet taking a total dive and the window of my car deciding it was through with rolling up, I’ve been riding a pretty positive wave. And get ready for this; some of the good things that have found their way into my life include jobs! That’s right, jobs! The plural of job! And what’s more, they’re writing jobs. Hallelujah.
I’m going to save the explanation of my not-being-a-total-bum for another post because it should be its own story, but I will say that I now get up at 5am every day to write, and the sunrise and I are beginning to get to know each other a little too well. But so far that’s ok.
I just wanted to take a second to note that I am no longer in a dumb-girl trance, and I’m sorry for those of you that read the posts that were directly influenced by it. If it helps, I probably hated feeling that way just as much as you hated reading about it.
EDIT 6/2011: Miss Beyonce totally read this blog post and wrote a song about it. (Or, you know, she thought of it herself. Whatever.)
An obvious affinity for Adams
The first cassette tape I ever purchased was a Simpsons soundtrack. I don't remember where I got the money or what on earth could've compelled me to spend it on music from a cartoon I didn't even regularly watch, but I don't suppose things like that really have to add up to a nine year old --plus, some of my fondest memories from childhood involve popping that tape into our household stereo and dancing around. Even now at twenty-four, all that really makes sense in my life is the music I listen to. In fact, now that I think about it, ever since buying that tape music’s the only thing that’s consistently made sense to me, so if Matt Groening has anything to do with the one thing I really know in life then I guess I owe him a thank you or two.
When I was eleven my mom started dating a guy who was really into alternative music, so I ditched the ‘toons and thus began my appreciation for the radio station live105 and artists/bands like Radiohead, No Doubt, Alanis Morissette, Butthole Surfers, the Smashing Pumpkins, Jewel (don't judge me) and the Counting Crows, who were my very first concert and full-fledged obsession.
I remember going home after school and plopping down on my bedroom floor with my bright pink cassette player and listening to Mr. Jones and Rain King over and over and over again. Alexis, my best friend at the time, would often come over to do homework, but instead of reading like we were supposed to I'd regal her with my tales of the Lilith Fair and the BFD while Adam Duritz wailed about depression, monotonous living and failed relationships in the background. Let me take this opportunity to point out that I wouldn’t question why my parents weren’t aware of the kind of lyrics their fifth grader was listening to because all that would lead to is a very unpleasant can of worms, and I’d like to remain in the positive mood I’ve been in lately.
I haven't spent much of my adult life attending shows because, I don't know, paying upwards of eighty dollars to see famous people bounce around on a stage hundreds of feet away for three hours before being herded like cattle out of a too-small parking lot just doesn't hold a lot of clout on my daily list of things to do. But when my friend Julie called last Thursday to tell me that she had tickets to see the Counting Crows at the Sleep Train Pavilion, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of nostalgia for the nineties and I accepted.
When we showed up to the venue I immediately thought, Why the hell are all these scantily clad girls here? I mean, Duritz is awesome but dude is like, in his forties, and last time I checked he was more famous for his vocals than his looks. But then some promoter handed me a stick of new 5 Lush gum and I was lost in a haze of sweet, tropical goodness and forgot about everything else.
I’m not sure how best to segue into my stupidity, so I’ll just go ahead and say I almost shit a brick when Julie handed me my ticket at the gate and I saw Maroon 5 in print next to Counting Crows. Had she told me on the phone that they’d be performing as well? Of course she had. Had I listened? Of course I hadn’t. I tend to do this thing where I hear one part of a story that’s exciting and then don’t really listen to the rest. So standing there at the entryway into what was soon to be considered I-am-only-yards-away-from-Adam-Levine-oh-my-god land, I suddenly understood the reason for what I’m sure was a pre-show pit stop at Forever 21 for hundreds of girls.
The concert had even MORE surprises, including gigantic, free cups of beer and cheeseburgers from a friend who was working the event, a handful of more will call tickets from a dude I didn’t even know that were picked up by three more of my friends, and Augustana, who opened the show. And can I say that the band blew me away? Because they did. Their chemistry is amazing, and Dan Layus has this quality in his voice that makes me feel like I just washed my brain; so clear and refreshing.
The Counting Crows were amazing too, of course. There’s no way I could possibly explain the feeling of seeing the very first band you ever truly loved for the first time since you were twelve, but I will say that Duritz likes to jump around a lot and seeing his ass crack over a dozen times was kind of funny. I know you’re jealous.
Maroon 5 performed last and after merely fifteen seconds of their first song I already couldn’t believe I'd even considered leaving early to get a full night’s sleep. Their stage presence was like a magnet, their performance perfect, and when they slowed down for just a second to cover a bit of Roxanne by the Police, I thought I might've died right then and there.
Levine opened the set by saying, “It’s good to be in California, which in my opinion is the best fucking state in the whole country” --and then I proceeded to fall truly, madly, deeply in love with him. I never told anyone this, but several months ago I had a dream that he and I were married and RIDICULOUSLY IN LOVE. Is that creepy? I mean, I’ve always been a fan of Maroon 5 (there was a period in my life when Songs About Jane could very well have been my personal sound track and the same goes for It Won’t Be Soon Before Long) but I wouldn’t say my love for them ever came close to what I felt for Counting Crows, so when I woke up from being Mrs. Levine I kind of chalked it up to the bologna I had right before bed.
But after seeing him on stage? WHERE DO I SIGN UP FOR MARRIAGE? And Adam, if you’re reading this, you stole the words right out of my head that night:
Call me? We can talk all about what the way you were touching that microphone does to me.
Neophyte
I’ve been meaning to write this post for several weeks now, but it’s just such a beast of an entry that I reverted to my four-year-old self and have been sitting in a corner playing with toys, pretending not to hear my laptop calling and ignoring life almost altogether. Then I made the realization –well, not the realization, more like I finally chose to address the fact –that the reason everyone is so freaky about getting things done in life as soon as possible is because we’re all trying to make something of ourselves before the inevitable. It’s all a race against time, isn’t it? So if I can’t move on and maintain a proper website until I get over this hurdle, I should just get it over with.
I realize how psychotic that sounded. Please don’t e-mail me about it.
A few weeks ago a good friend of mine that was going through some relationship issues told me she’d once found the answers she was looking for right here on this website, and since then she’s been coming back hoping for more. A few weeks before that another friend of mine all the way on the other side of the world sent me an e-mail and the first line was: Dear Chelsi, Queen of LOVE. -Both poor friends are actually under the impression that I actually know what I’m talking about half the time. But the truth is, dear Internet, when it comes to relationships, I know nothing. Sure, there are times when I’ll spout off some things that sound logical because often we can make sense of our lives when we look at them in retrospect, or if we’re just coming from a third person’s perspective, but there are more times, times like the ones I’m currently living, when everything is just a jumbled pile of crap.
When I’m going through relationship, or what-the-fuck-is-this-ship problems, they are more often than not ones that have lasted years, involve the same stupid person, are always either on the forefront of my brain if not floating around in the periphery, and just when I think I’m getting over it, getting stronger, something happens and I completely fall apart. You’d think that I, the one they call Queen of Love, or Girl With Answers to Life, would be able to step back and look at my heavy situations and find that one tiny pinprick of a malfunction, like a single defunct wire in a bundle of Christmas lights, and just fucking fix the shit. Or better yet, I’d just go buy a set of new lights and call it a day. But in all honesty, I’m just not as smart as I come off to be. And I suppose if things were ever that easy, I wouldn’t feel the need to send my problems out into the electronic, unrelentingly judgmental abyss that is the Internet, now would I? (Side note: for my newer readers, if you were around to read my high school entries, you probably would have pulled out a gun and shot yourself because I was the biggest sack of self-pitying shit ever.) Of course, I stay in denial by not opening up my comments because I’m sure strangers would gladly rip me another asshole, but that’s another story.
Denial doesn’t work for this relationship stuff, I do know that for sure. The longer you stay in denial the better chance you have for monumental heartbreak on top of monumental heartbreak from the same person, and I really don’t think anyone deserves that much power over another human being. It just isn’t right. But, another truth is I am masochistic, so, even though this paragraph alone sounds like it came from a fairly level-headed person, I rarely ever take my own advice. Instead, when I’m going through problems of the heart, I do the following things:
- Sex and the City on repeat. I know how girly that sounds, I’m sorry. And no, I’m not going to go into how many times that show has saved my life because it’s too ridiculous to actually put into words, but it has definitely been more than like, a hundred.
- Music. Music has saved my life even more times than SATC, if you can believe that, and I’d be more than happy to suggest some tracks that can make you feel temporarily invincible, and I promise that none of them will be I Will Survive.
- The banner on my phone says DON’T DO IT. “It” being drunk dial of course, (another problem I’ll save for another post) but it also means don’t text, don’t call, don’t sit there and think up reasons to call the person you so desperately want to talk to because if they’re making you feel like a big fat pathetic slug, they’re probably not worth it.
I feel really dumb for just typing those out, but it’s all I really have to offer at this point. So to the two gals I mentioned earlier: I hope this helped. If you can’t connect to me through my false all-knowing-ness, then maybe we can just relate through our own girly stupidity.
Cheers.
He’s on Fiyah!
A little over a month ago some friends and I went to one of my favorite lounges in the city for a birthday celebration. About an hour in, just as predicted, the males started to flock. I think they figure that their chances are better if they wait until all the chicks in the joint are reasonably drunk, and they’re right. My catch of the day was some twenty eight year old hippie who was wearing more jewelry on his person than I have ever owned in my entire life (turquoise stones and shit). He grabbed my arm as I was walking in a not-so-straight line from the bathroom back to my friends and introduced himself as Blaze. Yes, Blaze. Blaze like the fire in his pants, blaze.
Later on I found Angela (my housemate and dearest friend) outside with two pleasant young men from Colorado, one of whom just returned from a ten year stint in China, claims to have sold horses to the Mongols and eventually busted out the Mandarin.
I’m telling you, you want interesting characters? Spend a day in San Francisco.
Anyway, suffice it to say I did not get any contact information from Blaze, even though I thought it was especially hot that as I was running away from the bar he shouted, “Tell Chelsi she doesn’t know what she’s missing!” --I’m sure I don’t Blaze, but thank you anyway. I did however go home with a poster he brought in from his car of a very skinny man in a turban playing the bongos as a lion comes out of his chest with a glowing Star of David above it. Seriously. Angela ended up getting a card from Mr. Mandarin and has since contacted him. Mr. Mandarin is a very warm fellow who works in construction and does things like fix my toilet and my window, so I’m going to forgive him for accidentally breaking the water heater and making showering a terrible experience for me. I suspect that I won’t be seeing him for very much longer, given that I am moving soon and my senses say Angela is tiring of him (and so does her voice, outloud), but I do enjoy people that can just open up to you and have a conversation about anything, like Mr. Mandarin can, and hope to meet more of them.
I’m telling this story because I recently met someone just like that, and these early stages of friendship feel very organic, like we have already known each other for years, and even though I don’t think he’s sold beasts to those who spawned the fiercest and most ruthless warriors of Asia, I like him a great deal. We have a lot in common and the quiet moments between us aren’t filled with anxiety or tension because I’m not racking my brain for something to say. I’m just comfortable. I’m being really cautious though because recently my intuition regarding people has been a little off, and since that’s something I didn’t think could ever happen, you could say I’m freaked out. I’ll most likely lose contact with him and write a post a couple of weeks from now about how we could have been either great lovers or great friends (because I’m melodramatic like that) but until then I suppose I’ll just enjoy whatever it is, keep writing, and leave you with this:
