The Talented Ones

Once upon a time, I was living at home with my parents and working for free at a record label and also working retail to try to save whatever money I could.  In general, I tried to be pretty and trendy while still being, you know, me, and mostly it worked.

I was also in this I Don’t Know What My Hair Is Supposed To Be Netherworld.  It’s a fun Netherworld to inhabit from time to time.

I showed up to the retail job one day in a decent outfit, and I’d straightened my hair and my bangs were pretty grown out so I’d sort of braided them back and pinned them to the side of my head.  I was working behind the register and somebody commented on the ‘do, asking, “Is that a braid?”

I smiled and nodded.

She shook her head, looked at her friend, and sighed.  “Oh, man.  The pretty ones.”

Weird, and slightly uncomfortable, but flattering.

(this video is also weird and slightly uncomfortable, however, it was filmed on the day in question and displays the ‘do nicely.)

I don’t really know what made me think of that moment other than… I don’t really know.

BUT THE POINT IS — maybe, according to the random girl shopping at Guess, I was (or am) a pretty one, but my friend Erin is a TALENTED one.

And it’s kind of fitting that I bring up this moment and find this video because in the video I’m all, “I’M MOVING TO TENNESSEE. “  And if I hadn’t moved to Tennessee (hello WHOA I’ve been here forever now) I wouldn’t know Erin and wouldn’t be doing all this fun stuff that is SO Tennessee like, um, letting her take pretty pictures of me and eating pancakes afterwards.

SNEAK PEAK.

That’s all.

I love her.  She is a talented one.  AND a pretty one.

The Way It Will Be

October 29th is the day one of my very best friends, my little brother, was born.  It was the day I lost a grandparent for the first time.

And it was the day I met Ryan.

Call me crazy, but that’s how I knew, and still know, he was supposed to be in my life.  Things worth remembering happen on October 29th.

A little over a week ago I sat at my kitchen table, writing a letter.  I was shaking with emotion, pleading my case with every bit of strength I had left–please, stay or go… but I need you to choose.

Already knowing he’d be out, I drove out to his house and walked around his backyard, looking at his Studebakers, lined up in the yard for the afternoon.  The red car was finished.  It was only the second time I’d seen it out of the garage.  I taped the letter to his door, turned my little orphan car around, and drove away.

I wasn’t at all surprised when he called Monday night to say he didn’t think we should be seeing each other anymore.

My brother, one of my very best friends, was sitting on my couch watching Harry Potter when I walked out of my room.  I refused to cry.  I laid down and commented on the movie.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I could only nod.

The next day was hard, but the days following were easier.  Much easier than expected.  It’s not that I didn’t or still don’t have feelings for him.  It’s just that we should have stopped dating each other months ago.  And I was sad, but I felt better.

But I met him on the 29th of October.  I met him at a time in my life when I didn’t have very many friends I could count on, certainly not in the same zip code, or state, or general area of the country.  He was interesting and easy to talk to and he was from the midwest and he liked my music and I gave him my number not because it even occurred to me to make a move, but because I really needed a friend.

And we started dating, and the dating was fun.  The relationship aspect that existed between the two of us never got very serious.  I’d have liked it to, sure.  We weren’t in the same place when it came to what we wanted from our lives.  But that didn’t change the fact that nobody understood me the way he did.  No one could be truthful with me the way he could, could relate to me the way he could, could knock any kind of common sense into me the way he could, and he never even had to try.

He said the thought of a relationship turned him off because he liked things he knew how to fix.  Cars you oil and grease and twist the nuts and bolts and eventually the car would run.  Girls aren’t more complicated, they’re just not as straight forward.  You can’t use your hands, your elbow grease.  There’s no real way to know when you’ve really done your job.

I always thought that was so silly because all he had to do was answer his phone and make me smile and let me cry a little and I was fixed.  There was nothing more he’d have ever had to do.

And that is why I couldn’t bring myself to put an end to a situation I knew neither of us particularly liked anymore.  Because I was afraid that losing the cuddling and the kissing and the frustration at the differences in what we wanted from each other in that particular situation would mean losing the talking and the coffee and the… everything else.

Ryan was — and is — one of my best friends.  How do you just give that up?

People say you can’t be friends with your exes.  You broke up for a reason.  You won’t be strong enough to keep things platonic.  Someone’s feelings will get hurt in the end.

I know we were right.  I know we did the right thing.

I called him after work tonight.  We’ve texted each other a few times but this was the first time we’ve really talked since the night he called to call things off.  He sounded good.  He’s already a completely different person than he was a week ago.  Things are changing.  I bought a puzzle and coloring books… Maybe all of those things he’s doing are his own way of getting over me.  But he sounded happy to hear from me and I told him to call me.  Whenever he feels like it.

We’re going to try being friends.

It’s going to be fucking hard and it’s going to hurt like a bitch.

But it will be worth it.

The Broken Road

On my way to work this morning, already fighting tears as best I could, some divine sort of intervention happened and Rascal Flatt’s “Bless the Broken Road” started playing.

There was no fighting the tears anymore.

I set out on a narrow way, many years ago
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road
But I got lost a time or two
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through
I couldn’t see how every sign pointed straight to you

Every long lost dream led me to where you are
Others who broke my heart, they were like northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

And I guess it was what I really needed to hear and I guess someone out there knew that.

I don’t regret him, he wasn’t a mistake.

But there are better things to come.

The Match

That boy I’m dating said something that sparked a lot of hurt last weekend.

Yes, we’re still together.  Yes we talked about it.  Yes, I’m trying to be the bigger person and considering compromise and all that classy mumbo jumbo.

But for honesty’s sake, I’d like to make a confession.

It took me little more than seconds after he said it for me to decide ONLINE DATING SOUNDED LIKE A GREAT IDEA.

Now, okay.  There are other factors at work here.

There was a time, about a year ago, when I told myself if something or other didn’t work out (I don’t even remember which imaginary relationship I was in at that point) that I was going to give online dating a serious try.  This was, of course, before the new job, and the circle of friends my own age with their own circles of friends my own age that I could mix and mingle with and my shot at meeting somebody in real life was basically, as far as I could see anyway, non-existent.

Then I DID meet somebody who I went on a few dates with, although in the name of full disclosure here, I did first meet him online on 20SB.  But that was different in my head because I wasn’t using 20SB as a dating service.  No, really!  I wasn’t!

Okay maybe I was.

That aside, it didn’t seem creepy because I was just hanging out at 20SB like it was an online local coffee shop.  I’d met plenty of other people, girls and guys, because of 20SB.  I got to kind of fool myself into thinking I found something extra special in an ordinary sort of place.  I could flirt and there was no pressure.  I knew, in most cases, it really wouldn’t go anywhere, and that if it did, it was because we both really wanted it to.

Not like a dating site where you go in with your main goal being to meet people in person.

And that didn’t work out, but then I met Andrew at a music conference in Nashville.

And that didn’t work out, but then I met Ryan at a coffee shop in town.

And that’s been working it’s way along ever since, and I guess that means I never really had to resort to online dating.

But part of me has still been curious and since I’ve suddenly been thrown back into the If Something Better Comes Along Feel Free To Take It Zone (or apparently we never left that zone?) I thought, hell.  Whatever.  Nothing will come of it anyway because it creeps me out SO.  Let’s just do it to say I did.

Let me save you some trouble right now.  Plenty Of Fish is full of creepers.  It was my first choice because I knew it was free.  Yeah.  That’s where the poor people shop for relationships.  Poor in every sense of the word.  I deleted my profile the day after I created it.

Match.com was next because it really does have a pretty decent reputation.  I decided to just create a profile without paying for anything… but you can’t talk to ANYBODY without paying for it!  Nobody!  Which is obviously how they make their money, but now my inbox is full of messages saying “So and so checked you out!” and “So and so winked at you!” and “So and so sent you a message!  Sign in to read it! ….. AND PAY A MILLION DOLLARS.”

Or $30.  Whatever.

So I have no idea if my potential suitors on Match.com are creepers and I suppose at this point its only $30 but when I’ve got a boy who sometimes says things that don’t make me happy but who I’m also totally sure isn’t Creepy McCreeperson, and I got him for free, well, I kinda wanna just take my chances.

I haven’t deleted that profile though.

And the last one?

No, I didn’t veer down the road and head for eHarmony.  Oh no.

Let’s talk about Catholic Match.com.

Except for I shouldn’t say it with such implied disdain because it’s really not creepy-face at all.  It’s cool because it’s more or less all Catholics and there are little surveys that show you pretty much how Catholic everybody is, so you can decide how Catholic you’d like to be together.  The people around these parts seem like decent human beings and most of the guys are actually pretty cute and I’m not getting winked at by 40 year old men.  There are problems, though.  First of all, I can’t seem to find a way to set it up to only show me people in the Nashville area.  I’m not moving to Idaho, Catholic Match, and don’t you think you can make me!  Yeah, sure, Justin587693 seems like a lovely, God fearing man with a great career and killer blue eyes, but he lives on THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COUNTRY.  No thank you, Catholic Match.  No thank you.  Second, once, again, I have to pay to actually communicate with this people.

Wait.  Let me say that again.

I have to pay to communicate with other Catholics on Catholic Match.com.

Let’s think about this for a moment.

You’re telling these people how Catholic I am.  I’ve more or less told you exactly which church I attend and roughly how often, and since we’re all Catholic and we presumably all go to church… well…

Don’t you think I could go throw my five dollars in the basket and meet a good looking dude there? One, who, I don’t know, lives in the same time zone as I do?

Not only that, but, while I understand that the church needs money to run itself, I can’t help but wonder where that money I would pay to Catholic Match.com would be going.  If they had some sort of policy about sending a portion of your money to the church you attend, I can honestly say I’d be all in.  But it doesn’t seem right to me to be all, “Catholic Catholic Catholic!  Church Church Church!  Gimme yo monies!”  I mean, is that just me?

So, in conclusion, I got a text message this morning which I’ve more or less been ignoring partially because it wasn’t an important text message, partially because I’m no mood to banter, and partially because, while not generally a player of The Game, I’d really like to give him just a tiny taste of his own medicine.   Annnnnd I’ve got about 40 emails stacked up from the day from people who think I’m pretty and date worthy.

I don’t even need to date them, you guys.  I just need to know I’ve got the option.

Ask Me: what would you do if you couldn’t sing?

Remember that formspring thing everyone is doing and I tried to implement and then abruptly ignored?  Let’s try this again, shall we?

Anonymous question:

What would you do if you couldn’t sing?

That’s a weird question because it can be taken a few different ways.  If I never could have sung?  If I’d been tone deaf all of my life or my vocal cords just never cooperated with me?  I’d probably have been a piano player, honestly.  For whatever reason, singing was the thing that I worked hard at without ever feeling like I was working.  Piano was more of a chore for me, not because I didn’t like it but because my parents were paying for lessons that yes, I requested, but was young and had no idea what they would mean (lots of work after school before you were allowed to play with your friends down the street!  What?!)  Singing was something I tried really, really hard at, but of my own accord.  And when I asked for lessons, I was old enough to know what that meant and I went into it willingly anyway.  But if I never could have?  I’d probably have just stuck with piano and worked a lot harder at that.  Because music has always been very interesting, very challenging, and very important to me.

If for some reason my life had been, up to this point, the way it’s always been, and then something crazy happened and I couldn’t sing anymore?  I imagine I’d keep writing, maybe get myself more into piano, maybe find another outlet.   And I’d turn up my car stereo so loud that I couldn’t hear myself and sing anyway, pretending I still could.  Half the fun of singing is getting weird looks from people when you’re stopped dead in traffic on the highway because you’re dramatically reenacting the scenes from Reba’s Fancy video in your head while trying your very best to convey meaning with your eyes, all while sitting behind your steering wheel, forgetting just where you are.  (What?  I have to make traffic bearable somehow!)

So, I imagine I’d be okay.

But I’m glad I can still sing.

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Got a question? Ask me.