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Love is…falling down but knowing you will get back up.


When you fall down you never wonder about whether or not you will be able to get up, you just do it.  You pop back up and move on.  Maybe you have a few bumps and bruises but you are usually fine.  Personally, I love falling.  Falling down.  Falling in love.  Falling apart.  Falling behind.  Falling for a joke.  Unfortunately not all falling is as easy to recover from as falling down even though it is really the same basic concept.

Falling in love is especially difficult to recover from once you hit the ground.  You know you will be able to get up but you just aren’t sure how and it seems like an especially impossible feat when face meets asphalt after your first love disappears into the horizon and you are left there wondering how exactly the sun is now smirking at you from such an odd angle.  Soon you realize that the heat in your flushed cheeks is not, in fact, from this asphalt ground you picture yourself lying on; instead it is a mixture of anger, sadness, depression, confusion, desperation, anxiety, pain, agony, and a whole hodgepodge of unidentifiable emotions screaming through your head in delirium.  It’s an improbably painful fever broken only by the seemingly unattainable sanity of reality.  A reality that can only be seen through the eyes of a person whose entire being isn’t overwhelmed with daggers of pain and whose heart isn’t decorated with gaping holes where someone else used to live so comfortably.

Somehow though, after living in your own comfortable bubble of darkness for days, weeks, or months, someone finally penetrates the bubble and starts to let light back in.  Lends you a hand you are finally willing to accept and hold on to for dear life as you start your slow return from the supine position you had previously believed you would assume for the rest of your unlovable existence.  Because at some point you realize that you have been festering – dwelling on the same hurt and pain, regurgitating the same false beliefs that your irrational brain has set to repeat, playing them over and over until you are so brainwashed and numb that you begin to believe up is down and left is right.  As an aside, it was around this time that I decided that I would repeat this gem to myself: left is always right, except of course when it’s wrong.  I figured if my brain was going to fuck up my thinking I might as well try to fuck up my whole world while I was at it…except now it’s kind of my motto since it basically makes no sense to anybody who isn’t as psychotic as me.

Once you start to get your thoughts and feelings sorted back out and stop letting the irrational beat out the rational things begin to look up again, albeit very slowly.  Positivity is easy to put out into the world but it is quite another thing to be on the receiving end of.  Accepting the bright side after falling down into a deep abyss of loneliness and pain is almost an affront.  How dare people think we should be happy again after such debilitating pain!  Fuckers.  But, as we all know, just like falling down, we must get back up.  We must continue onward.  And this is why I love falling, because each time you do it, getting back up becomes easier.  Figuring out how to stand on your own again begins to become second nature.  You start to believe that not only will you be okay, but you will love again.  You will.  Because love is out there.  It’s in you.  It’s everywhere.  You just have to find it.


I could love anyone. Love is easy. You can find something to love inside everyone and I think everybody deserves to be loved.  However, just because I could love anybody doesn’t mean I should.  As seen in my fail date posts 1 and 2 (3 and 4 are currently in draft form) I’m not always the best at picking people with which I am compatible.  I am rather terrible at it, to be truthful.  When I am proactive about dating I always go for the wrong people because I want to give everybody a chance but when I am not really trying I can find someone perfect for me…perfect for me but at the most incredibly wrong time.  A dilemma I am fairly certain we have all come face to face with on more than one occasion.  For the longest time I told myself that this was a sign proving to me that I would be alone forever, but now I am convinced that it means at one point I will meet the right guy at the right time and everything will work out.  Until then I will remain firm in my faith and my hope because I have learned that when I lose both of those I go back to my old ways of going after the person that I know will hurt me most.

Going back to someone who hurts us is a common denominator among all human beings who have experienced love.  I think the reason we do it is because we like the pain.  We think the pain is part of the love.  We believe that love, without pain, is no love at all!  We have to take the good with the bad, right?  Wrong.  True, there will always be difficult times but I can tell you now that they will never be as difficult as whatever that person continues to put you through.  Just because you love them doesn’t mean they hold the same caliber of affection for you.  Learning that you deserve better and then forcing yourself to let go of the bad and go for what you deserve is probably more difficult than getting off that ground once you have fallen.  I still have trouble believing that I deserve anything.  I fall into the trap of thinking that nobody will want me around for very long because I’m not pretty enough or smart enough or skinny enough or rich enough or kind enough or stable enough.  I have flaws and therefore nobody will love me – that is a thought that likes to resurface quite often and pushing it back down is not as easy as I thought it would be.  But I am trying.  Every day.  Because I have hope that at some point I will find someone who really sees me and realizes that they can never let me go.  When I really see who a person is that’s how I feel, but I usually have to settle for just being friends but at least I get to keep them in my life.


So always remember that when you fall, you can get back up.  You will know when you meet the right person because you will see them and they will see you inside and out. They will know you and you will know them and together you will make sense.  And this person?  This person will be right beside you every time you fall, catching you before you can hit the ground.


P.S. As always I feel the need to sign off in a very me kind of way so…

May your week be filled with random glitter bombs thrown at coworkers, may your mornings be spiked with coffee and rock and roll, and may your Friday begin and end with a break-for-dance moment.


It’s not a date!, Pinky and The Brain do Pizza, and Boy Band – no s

My week thus far has been interesting…ish.  On Sunday I met up with a guy I had met at the dog park during my week of dog sitting and I think I did something wrong.  See, when I met Mr. Dog Park it was at night and he was wearing a hat so I didn’t really pay much attention to what he looked like figuring I would never see him again but of course, at the end of the night, he asked for my number because he is semi new to the area and wanted me to show him around Dallas.  So we were going to the gun range and possibly food afterwards but come Sunday I didn’t feel like doing either so I reluctantly dragged myself to the range thinking shooting something might alter my mood.  I ended up walking in first and was about to text Dog Park when he walked in because I heard, “behind you.”  When I turned around I thought I was facing the doppleganger for Andre from The League.  A younger version of him but him none the less.  In all honesty he kind of talked like him too.  It was weird.

Paul Scheer

Turned out that shooting did nothing to change my mood.  Maybe because I hate indoor ranged or maybe because I prefer rifles but I was done after a few shots and ready to leave. When I told Dog Park I was done he seemed bemused and looked at me like I had just spoken in a different language.  I left the range and sat inside to wait for him to finish feeling only slightly bad that I had wasted his time.  Before I had left for the range Mr. Perfect told me that it was a date but I was quite adamant in informing him that it was most definitely not since we were just going to hang out.  But since Sunday I have not heard from Dog Park and I am thinking Mr. Perfect might have been right about the whole date thing.  In which case I am a complete bitch.  But whatever, I can’t ALWAYS be perfect.  Although, apparently Mr. Perfect is always right.  It’s fucking annoying.

So the rest of Sunday was spent relaxing and dreading work the next morning.  Unfortunately, upon getting up when I didn’t want to, making myself presentable when makeup seemed like a time-wasting enemy, and driving all the way there when I suddenly had a personal vendetta towards everyone on the road, I arrived in the parking lot only to find out that – lucky me – work was closed.  President’s Day and all that. If only someone had informed me of this, that would have been nice because I don’t know about you, but I absolutely live for getting up early when there is no need for it as well as wasting gas.  It is on my list of top ten favorite activities, right up there with getting paper cuts, ending a relationship, and having bacon grease pop in my eye.  Though I suppose if I am going to do all those things I don’t want to finding out that you have the day off is probably the best pot of gold you could find at the end of that shit rainbow.

After being completely lazy the rest of the day Brain invited me to come over for wine, pizza, and a movie where I got to have some seriously good girl talk with a girl that I am seriously glad I met! You know those people in your life that you meet almost by accident and, after a spell, realize that you aren’t quite sure how you have lived so long without them?  She is one of those people.  We are similar in all the right ways and always have something to talk about.  We both practice tolerance towards people with differing opinions and care about sports more than normal and it is pretty awesome, we should all have friends like this.

We chose to watch The Perks of Being a Wallflower which was better than I ever imagined.  I know I liked the book but the movie may have been better.  And when the movie was almost over and I was wondering what I would do after I got a message from a friend who I hadn’t seen in awhile asking if I wanted to hang out, which I most definitely did.  We met at my bar and my entrance was poetic.  Since it was my bar I knew several people there, most of whom I hadn’t seen in quite awhile so I went around and said hi and hugged everyone before making a proper greeting to the friend I had actually come to see.  I felt cool. But I am most decidedly not.  This made me happy.

So…my friend…He had boy band hair without even trying. It was beyond fantastic. I touched it and I promise you there was no product in it, or at least it didn’t feel like it. I wanted to take a picture with him and post it on Facebook and just caption it, “OMG! GUESS WHO I MET!” just to see how many people would try and guess some random person.  I wouldn’t admit it out loud but I have a love for boy bands because I was, after all, once a teeny-bopper and couldn’t help but be obsessed with NSYNC and Backstreet Boys. Even now I love/hate boy bands. Mostly hate because…well…they are boy bands and generally make me want to pierce my eardrums with blunt pencils…repeatedly. But I can’t help loving One Direction for the simple fact that when I was sad and felt unattractive post-breakup with HIM my soulmate would always randomly send me lyrics to “What Makes You Beautiful” and now every time I hear that song I have to turn it up and belt it out. No matter what mood I’m in it will instantly make me happy. If Boy Band had broke out into that song I would have taken him at the bar! I’m just kidding…I would have at least taken it out to the parking lot.  I’m classy like that.

I went onto YouTube just now to get the video and post it here for those of you unlucky people who have never experienced the horrifying greatness of this song and realized that I had never watched the video.  Now…there is so much fun to be made about the video but I won’t start.  I know you will do enough of that for yourself.  It is so bad that, had my soulmate not given me a reason to love it, I would completely hate it. There is one good thing that came from watching this, it reminded me that when I brought up One Direction to Boy Band that he mentioned their being English.  HE brought it up.  I had no idea.  Maybe we have a One Direction connection!

Until next time, remember to stay popular, always assume it’s a date, and never underestimate the power of your hair.  And may your week be stocked with liquor, filled with friends, and ended with madness.


There is no point to this post. There NEVER is. You shouldn’t read it.

I have a problem.  It’s a recently developed problem but I have discovered that it causes me a lot of trouble.  I can never decide what I want to do at night when faced with these decisions: read, write, or play video games.  All of these are things I want to do.  I want to do them all equally desperately.  I know that if I either read or write I will also watch TV or a movie.  Generally if there is a sporting event on that I want to watch I will choose to watch that and part of my problem is solved – but then I have to choose between writing and reading.  If I choose writing I may put it aside quickly because, most of the time, my genius dries up as fast as it comes and leaves me with ample time to move on to reading.  If I start with reading I will more than likely not put my book down until I realize it is getting late and I need to sleep.  However, if I decide to play video games I run into the problem of rarely being able to stop.  I just keep playing.  And that is dangerous because at some point I really do need to go to sleep and it would cut into my precious REM cycle, leaving me looking raccoonish in the morning and less than lovely.  Coffee can’t cure bitchiness.  It just can’t.  So now, not only can I never decide what to do, I have also realized that I must be at least 50.  At least.  No longer do I not give a damn what time I go to sleep.  No longer do I stay up late just to see how long I can last.  No longer do I tell myself, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” because by my accounts I almost am dead.  Add to that the moccasins and crossword puzzles and soon I’m going to be in an old people’s home yelling at the nurse to change the channel to my soap opera – I think all old women end up watching soap operas, no matter how much you hate them when you are young.

In my old age I am also apparently very wasteful.  I bought myself the latest and greatest 27” computer that I was sure I would use ALL THE TIME!  I don’t.  In fact, I avoid that damn thing.  It’s so big.  Instead, what I use it for is a jukebox.  It has much better speakers than my tiny 13” laptop (which I ALWAYS use and love, it’s kind of my baby) so I use it to play my music way too loud while contemplating my next move (book? Write? Video game? It’s all so overwhelming!).  But the kicker is this: I can hardly get to my monitor because I have taken to using my desk as bookshelf overflow.  I have three stacks of books in front of my computer that cover some of the screen but still leave me enough room to see what I need and, of course, play music.

I use my computer so very much...

But that’s all I use it for.  Other than that it is a nice decoration in my room that scares the living shit out of me because I am convinced the government is hacking into the tiny camera and watching me periodically.  I say “pot” a lot…I’m sure they are watching my every move.  I may be up to no good so they have to monitor me for any anti-governmental activity.  This is what they spend their money on, I’m sure of it!  (Hey, I never said I was a good conspiracy theorist…)

I keep trying to come up with reasons why I am maybe not that old, but then I remember that I got home at midnight last night.  Yes, there were extenuating circumstances, but still.  I am home at midnight and zonked out by midnight thirty.  I then woke up exactly eight hours later, made myself some coffee and read the sports section before sitting down to watch football, while intermittently reading/writing because I am way too ADD to concentrate on just one thing at a time.  I just can’t do it.  I try, but to no avail.  The other day at work I was spacing out every minute thinking about something completely random and having to shake myself back to reality.  Then this brilliant idea came to fruition: “I’m so ADD today!  I need a distraction!”  Because that’s how it works, S….you get rid of Attention Deficit Disorder by distracting yourself.  You should bring this up to the docs, they will thank you one day.

I’m ADD, have mood swings that could knock a ball out of the park, and am so confused with everything that goes on in my head that the cattle are still laughing at the headstrong cowboy.  The only thing that has been keeping me sane is music.  Of course, it also makes me a twinge crazy at times but, with me, what doesn’t?  It’s like that book, “You’re a Horrible Person, But I Like You.”   Except with me it is more of, “You’re a crazy person that sometimes scares me with your awkwardness mixed with insanity, but I like you!…I guess.”  A good friend of mine saw this:


read it, and pointed at me.  So did the other friend we were with.  Up to that point I hadn’t realized I was that awkward and I will openly admit that I was proud. Somehow people still like me even though, sometimes, I don’t like myself.  I annoy the living shit out of me.  And the really terrible part??  I can’t get away from it.  The more annoyed I get, the more annoying I become.

I’m pretty sure this all makes next to no sense to anybody who is brave enough to read it.  So it is probably a good thing that I write for myself and not for anybody else.  However, if there is someone out there that followed my pinball around the machine that is my mind, then I sincerely congratulate you.


New Year? Yes. Happy? Not so much.

Last night I attempted to go out and have a good time, until around 11:30 when my would came crashing down around me.  I wish I knew why, but suddenly I felt more alone than ever.  I miss my best friend more and more every day.  I miss having a companion.  Mostly, I miss HIM.  I miss the apartment, the shared life, the always knowing I had someone there for me.  I even miss the misery from time to time.  Maybe it wasn’t the best of situations but when he came home I could judge in about two seconds whether I needed to 1) leave the apartment, 2) leave the room, or 3) give him a hug and act like everything was okay.  And that knowing is what I miss.  The comfort of having a routine.

I almost broke down crying in the bar but managed to make it outside before the waterworks began.  I have been so emotional lately I feel like a leaky faucet.  One day I’m fine the next I have to force myself to make it through the day.  To pretend to be human.

It isn’t that I hate my life – hate is such a strong word.  I would say I am more disappointed.  I know there is more out there but, sometimes it seems out of reach.  Not always, but possibly every other day.  Truth be told though, I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I have been emotionally dysfunctional since I can remember.  I don’t feel the same way others do.  I don’t see the world the same.  I think outside the box.  I’m awkward, weird, and more than likely certifiable.  I see up as down and left as right and, while I could change my ways, I don’t want to.  I like being me.  I embrace the downs as much as the ups (probably more than the ups).  I like acting like everything is okay.  I like being sad.  What I’m not particularly fond of is being happy.  There is just something about it that makes me feel completely disconnected from who I am.  When I am happy I don’t worry.  I don’t try to do anything more.  I don’t write, I don’t read, I just am.  I exist.  There is nothing extraordinary about me when I get happy and comfortable.

So, yeah.  Maybe this New Year didn’t start out “Happy,” but I am me, so I don’t really want that anyway.  Everything is all fucked up, this much is true.  But fucked up in a way that makes sense to me.  That makes it all seem natural.  That is comforting.  I would say that, “this year will be different!” but…it’s just another year like any other.  It’s our decisions and thoughts that transform everything so this year will only be different if I make it that way.  It isn’t as though I don’t constantly try to better my life, so it isn’t something new I will be trying, but maybe this year it will work out.  And maybe this year I will find someone who will see me, really see me, and realize that they should never let me go.  I know I’m not perfect, but there has to be something worth keeping me around for and I would really like to be there for someone else again, too.


Well…I’m confused

I ran across a blog on Freshly Pressed called “Why Disney hates parents” and I must say, while he makes some valid points I felt compelled to defend Disney.  I have always loved research and, even as a child, I was curious to know where these stories came from and found out that most were based on other stories or books.  (As an aside, I’m not sure if I’m allowed to link to other people’s blogs or even mention them…if it’s not allowed let me know.)

First and foremost – James and the Giant Peach.  Did anybody ever read the book?  Because the book came out before the movie…quite awhile before the movie.

Can we blame Disney for this?  I think not.  They just happened to be the ones to make a movie about it.  Also, and this is pretty important people, it was produced by Tim Burton.  Make more sense now?

I’m not saying James and the Giant Peach isn’t due for some criticism, but I AM saying we can’t blame Disney for it.  The book was written in 1961 by Roald Dahl, and I think we have all read his stories and know what we are in for.

Second, let’s take a look at Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, which is a German fairytale born way before Disney started.  The Brother’s Grimm also came up with their own version and Broadway was putting on it’s own show years before Disney animated it.  Again, bad parents, but not Disney’s fault, he just decided to make it into a movie.

Third – Peter Pan.  I don’t now about you, but that is one of my favorite books, written by J.M. Barrie in 1902.  What does Disney have to do with this other than making the movie?

Next he mentions UP, granted this one was not derived from anyone I think it focuses more on escapism than on bad parenting.  But that is just what I got from it, which is what I think is great about movies – we all get something different from them, no?

Then he moves on to Bambi – another movie based on a book entitled Bambi, A Life in the Woods, written by Felix Salten in 1923.  We shouldn’t blame Disney for all the therapy sessions; we should blame Felix Salten.  Although, I always knew what happened to his mother and all it did was make me not want to hunt, or eat deer, ever.

Now comes my all-time favorite Disney movie, The Lion King.  The one based on Macbeth and Hamlet, which is something I discovered once I became obsessed with Shakespeare.  Also apparently the story of Joseph and Moses has something to do with it.  And the Bible and Shakespeare came out looooong before Disney was around.  Again, Disney just happened to make the movie.

As far as Honey I Shrunk the Kids goes – there really is no excuse for that one.  I will admit that.

But here is a (short) list of other Disney classics and their accompanying books/tales:

  • The Sword in the Stone: Book written by T. H. White in 1938
  • The Little Mermaid:  Danish fairy tale
  • Pinocchio:  Adapted from the book The Adventures of Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi in 1883
  • Cinderella:  We all know that wasn’t Disney’s idea
  • Tarzan:  Based on Tarzan of the Apes published in 1912 and created by Edgar Rice Burroughs
  • 101 Dalmations:  Based on The Hundred and One Dalmations written by Dodie Smith in 1956 (another one of my favorites)
  • Oliver and Company:  Based on Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens

(To see a full list visit here)

I could keep going but there is no need.  The author of the blog Why Disney hates parents was right in point out that Disney has made a few movies with absent, or wretched parents and some in which the parents are taken away for what seems no good reason, but it wasn’t their idea.  They only adapted other popular stories.  Maybe the stories only became popular in the states because of Disney, but they were quite popular in the world before the movies came out.  Not to mention, Disney has made several other movies that don’t feature bad parenting.

And I understand where people are coming from when they say that it could cause children to rebel but I feel like that is similar to the Barbie debate.  Remember when they changed the proportions of Barbie to make her seem more “real” so that children wouldn’t think they needed to look just like the plastic toy whose head was easily removable and whose knees hardly bent?  Barbie was always a toy to me, I never looked at her as a perfect object that I needed to look like.  I generally made fun of her because she couldn’t blink and she was always smiling.  I think that most children will understand the difference between fantasy and real life; they will understand that it is just a movie or a story.  I think if we put too much focus on the negative we will have trouble seeing the positive that it brings.

Disney, as well as most other makers of children’s movies and writers of children’s books, isn’t trying to put the focus on the negative, they are trying to show that through adversity people can still shine, can still move on and make it.  They show great strength in their characters and prove that even through tough situations there can always be a good outcome.  I think they could also be pointing out that parent figures can be found in several different situations and in different people.  Maybe sometimes they are trying to say that there are adult figures out there that you can look up to even if it seems like you can’t look up to or trust your parents.

So before we decide to hate on Disney, I think we should look at the predecessors.  I don’t think there is anyone to “blame” though.  We all have stories inside of us, these people just happened to put theirs out there for the world to see.  Each story and each movie resonates with us differently, so lets not forget how wonderful storytellers are and how much our lives are enriched through daydreaming and make believe.

I know several people who commented already pointed this out, but I just wanted to add to it.  I am confused about why that was put on Freshly Pressed since it seemed kind of biased and more of an attack than a well researched piece.  But I suppose blogs aren’t meant to be accurate.  Still…

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