I was thinking last night, as I was listening to Blind Faith by Warrant, that I
have had two boxes of important stuff in my life go missing. This first one
actually included a tape on which Blind Faith had been dubbed in one of those
high-school love lorn fits of passion, by a guy who I was head over heels for by
the time I was 16. Also included on the tape were selections from Air Supply.
Figures. The box went missing when my "best friend" at the time got a little
upset with me and decided to chunk it. I had given it to her for safekeeping
after a "break up", so that I could "get over" him. I still want the mix tape
back. It rocked. The second box that went missing didn't have anything to do
with mix tapes, but did have to do with a significant other. It actually wasn't
even my box, interestingly enough--it was his, but included the first letter I
had ever written him. It was an awesome letter. In fact, the best letter I've
ever written. Sitting in art history class, the words just poured in a moment of
renessaince revelation. A year and a half after that, we broke up. So much for
renessaince revelation. Two years after we broke up, I wanted the letter back.
Don't ask why, I'm not sure I even know. He said that water had seeped into the
storage unit where the box was stored and ruined everything except a wine cork.
Why he'd saved a wine cork in the first place was beyond me. So the moral of
these stories is multiple. For starters, never dispose of anything romantic for
the sake that undoubtedly, you'll eventually want to see it again. And in the
first place, it's better not to start down that mushy romantic trail for fear
that one night, years later, you'll be driving home from work listening to
Warrant and wishing you had ancient mix tapes (that wouldn't work anymore
anyway) and old love letters (that are better off at the bottom of a dump),
telling yourself that life will be that good again. Someday.
September 2003 Archives
I just blogged this whole great schpeel on lesson learned in life this week, and
then went and clicked on something strange and lost the whole bloody thing.
Darn. But I'll tell you what I talked about anyway (even though it won't be
nearly that great): I hate it when people are mad at me. I hate it when I've
hurt someone's feelings, or am the root of someone's consternation (word?). I
hate it when I'm the reason someone is angry, or crying, or upset. I hate it
when people don't like me, for whatever reason. I'm a very friendly person. Hi,
will talk to brick walls and mute stones alike. I hate it when I've accidentally
done something that ruins my chances for furthering a friendship. And I hate it
when those actions are irreversible, the kind you can't make amends on. I can't
make someone like me, I can't make someone listen to me. I can't make them feel
better, even though I can try. Ultimately, our emotions in this life come down
to our choices. If we want to be angry, it's because we chose to be angry--it's
not so and so's fault that we're ticked. If we feel guilty, we probably need to
reasses our actions, and figure out if there is good reason for it. If there is,
it needs to be dealt with, apologized for, and life needs to move forward. If
not, we have to realize that the only nose we can keep clean is our own. Rise
above the trivialness of situations. Work towards a higher cause. You get the
drift.
I cannot grasp this HTML thing to save my life. The new website is supposed to
be up and running soon, in all it's first-time-to-do-this glory. It's going to
take longer to figure it out than I thought. On another note, I'd like to point
out the time yet again. Middle o' the night. Yep, can't set people-hours. And I
have to have something at a client's house first thing in the morning. Coffee
will be my best friend tomorrow. Fortunately, I got alot of sleep this weekend
at Jen's. Two nights of eleven hours each. I think I'd been running on fumes.
It's official. I'm getting old. I used to look at my (more mature) friends that
said this, laugh, and beg them to go out with me anyway. Now I understand. There
comes a point in time when going out is not nearly as much fun as going home and
going to bed. I hit that point. TONIGHT. Sitting at Sherlock's in Addison,
YAWNING (heavens, no), I could think of no entertaining questions to ask my
companions, not enlightening tidbits of useless information to share, no
trivial, off hand, amusing comments to spark interest. I was no doubt, the
dullest, most lifeless form to ever have walked into Sherlock's. Jen insists
they understood. If they do, they get more points for understanding than I did
when once in their shoes. I didn't understand my old (sorry guys) friends when
they said they were getting tired. And this is exactly how tired we both
were--no Taco Bell on the way home. So I'm about to crash on Jen's couch. I had
a relatively fruitful day, spent in the most darling shoes you've ever seen that
left a blister that I swear will be a crater on my foot once it pops. I had
dinner with The Boy Who Adores Me and currently am in a missing him state of
mind. Jen thinks this is sort of an annoying trend, since my affection for him
varies on a day to day basis. Nevertheless, I miss him at the moment, and for
this I am glad. Ciao for now.
Oh wow. What a day. Up at 7 to get the oil changed on my car, and JUST got to
work. Of course, there are a million emails and to-dos...C'est la vie. Last
night I had a good ole time. Hung out in Bricktown with a bunch of cool folks.
(Folks--since when did I start using words like FOLKS???). Anyway, it was
awesome. Great music, great people, great atmostphere. It's my new favorite
happy hour joint. My friend Mike's girlfriend, Jamie, was trying to get me to
2-step. Which brings up a funny story. I don't 2-step for one reason. I'm afraid
to try. Keep in mind that I have 6 left feet and am a klutz to begin with. Pair
this commodity with the timidity of an insecure college freshman at Tumbleweed
and the dorkiest guy there asking me to dance. And he couldn't dance. It was
awful. Everyone was staring, I was branded for life, never to try to 2-step
again. Even though I really, really want to. It looks like sooooo much fun. I'm
just waiting for the right guy to come along and teach me... So I've got to get
back to this day. I'm leaving (was supposed to already have left) for Dallas for
my friend Jen's birthday... I love the big D. So many people, shopping,
fast-paced, and The Boy Who Adores Me is there, too... :)
In case one hasn't noticed, these posts are landing smack dab in the middle of
the night. I'm noticing a recurring trend. Interesting.
So I've got to learn to keep normal, people-oriented hours. This middle of the
night stuff doesn't work on the schedule I'm keeping that supposed to earn me
the income to build a house (since I can't seem to find one I like well enough
to buy). CMT is on in the background and Johnny Cash is playing. Talk about
talent. Maturity has taught me that his words could move. Obviously. I had
something I wanted to say, something about boys and thank goodness for
blogger--since the boys are all together worthless, aside from occasionally
being nice to look at. Remind me sometime, and we can talk about the lead singer
from Rascal Flatts, and the Boy Who Adores Me, and the collection of those that
chose to ignore me... But for now words escape me, this means I'm tired,
goodnight, I'm off to bed.
What on earth am I doing? It's the middle of the bloody night, and I only have
to wake up in three hours and start my day, but I'm sitting here pouring over
internet articles on artist licensing! And writing in run-on sentences. And
fragments. But I get so excited, not that's not it...elated...inspired? to think
of all the possiblity and potential in things like product licensing...so now I
have to go to bed because tomorrow there will be all sorts of people knocking on
the phone lines asking about whatever...oh, must go now.
I got an email reminder just now that read "All those listed in cc will be
deleted from this reminder list unless they contact me and let me know that they
would like to stay on the mailing." It was a very abrupt way of saying, "If you
want to continue to join us at our scrapbook crops let me know or else I'm going
to quit telling you about them." Makes me wish I could send a mass email to
everyone in my life and say "If you would like to continue to be a part of my
life, please let me know, otherwise I would like the opportunity to delete your
name from my phone/Outlook Inbox/palm pilot to make room for others who really
do care." It's been a sucky night. Previous to above mentioned email, I ran into
a guy from a band that I went on one date with who thought that after that it
would be considered polite to ignore me; came home to an AOL instant messenger
that my ex-boyfriend had decided to block me from; and delved into a reminder
that my best friend from college no longer considers it worth the effort to be a
friend. Why do people leave my life? I haven't had a long history of so-called
friends abandoning me...why it happens now is confusing. I'm not a psycho
stalker, I'm not a bad ex--considering that facts have to be faced and delt
with--and I'm not a bad friend, in fact, I'm a very good friend, when people
understand the fact that starting your own business is a grueling feat. I'm not
crying yet, but I very much want to.
Monday morning. Ugh. Things are finally starting to look like they are flitering
down around here. I keep on waiting for orders to come in so I can ship them
out. Orders are finally shipping, thank goodness. It's lunch time and I just had
a salad and finished off the diet meal with a root beer float from Sonic. The
Split-T Sonic, I might add...which means the root beer float is extra special.
Ashley got her site up and running...www.members.cox.net/ashlybrooke she's going
to be famous someday...
Most of the time I laughingly joke that I'm easily entertained. Some people
would no doubt take one glance at my Imelda Marcos-worthy shoe collection,
Legally Blonde Tiffany bracelet, and fondness towards expensive dinners and beg
to differ. Nevertheless, I hold firmly to the fact that simply, I can be excited
by biscuits and gravy, a good boardgame with good company, my darling dog Lucy
and very poor flirting skills.
