I have had a really shitty day and I’m sick and tired and tired and sick of talking to people about things. I’m sick of trying to make my points and trying to explain how I’m feeling, I’m way over it. (Keep in mind this was written on 12/23/06) But earlier this week when I was stuck on a couch in southern california with hives I caught the dead end of this news story about people and their blogs. All the people they interviewed were totally nerdy so I thought I’d fit in.
Anyhow so here I am single once again and blogging up a storm with my buddy Hering. And this is where my story begins and well who really knows where the hell it’s going to end. But the journey to find love will continue and by both choice and nature I’ll action pack the ride with my obsession and love for music. So allow me to begin and bless this blog with my douche bag story of love over the past year or so for me. I begin the epic story in August because that’s when I met the last boy that I crossed off my back, as of just yesterday.
God bless my tattoo guy for being so damn flexible.
Here she blows!
It’s early August and I’m single, I had been single for about three years at this point (nothing long term, I liked putting a two month max on my men) and I was living it up. I dated guys and disposed of them like it was a sport, much like how a guy might deal with dating women only worse.
I rarely paid for dinners or drinks during those years.
I came, I saw, I conquered, or was it I saw, I conquered, I came?
Yeah, that was it. I went through front men of popular bands, chefs, professional skateboarders, professional bmx bike riders, several drummers, producers, promoters, guitar players, film directors, cartographers (i do love love love maps), tour managers, trust fund babies, tattoo artists, band managers, you name it and I did it, literally. I wasn’t always this heartless though, in fact at one point my heart was big and grand and I was as, if not more emotional than Meg Ryan during the end scene of Sleepless in Seattle. But I had my heart broken a few too many times and it just made me callous to other peoples feelings.
I had it out for mankind, namely those of the male race. Those rancid assholes had another thing coming, and that was me and it was going to be all over their face and then I’d be gone.
I tried to use tattoos as my coping mechanism, I tried the requisite shrink visits, I tried soothing the pain by drinking, I even tried volunteer work and nothing helped, so giving them back what they gave me was my best laid plan.
But after a while, three years that is, I started to feel empty. I realized that all the while I thought the drive thru approach to dating was doing me good and that I wasn’t falling for these men when really I may have but just didn’t know it because I wanted to hurt and destroy and that was my mantra. It was time, oh God, and I couldn’t believe I was even considering this; it was time for a boyfriend or at the very least someone that I could see myself falling in love with. And what good timing, I met someone but as my life goes my timing was shit and at this point in his life a girlfriend is not something that he can deal with, I’m not going to lie, I was to say the very least, crushed. There’s an intuitive and terrified little corner of my mind that feels that although this may seem like the end, that it might in fact just be the tip of the iceberg. Gah!
I liked him, but I’m not sure if I can really love yet, sometimes I think I can and I do but my feelings don’t fit the dictionary definition of love at this juncture, see below. But hang on after actually reading the definition of love maybe I was. FUCK!
love:
Pronunciation: 'luhv
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English lufu; akin to Old High German luba love, Old English lEof dear, Latin lubEre, libEre to please
1 a (1) : strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties
2 : warm attachment, enthusiasm, or devotion
I guess those things take time to heal, and still I have to grow that skin back that I lost three years ago and most recently as well. At the dead end of my last bad relationship I got seven hearts tattooed on my back with the top two crossed off. Seven hearts because that’s my lucky number and two outs because that’s how many times I had legitimately lost myself to love. Well, I’ve crossed yet another heart out. So we’re three down and four to go, that’s not too bad, a little under half. Things could be worse I suppose.
How did I manage to date all these hot shots?
I know that’s a good question.
I’m not stunningly gorgeous but I’m not ugly, I’m not a career gold digger, I’m not rich, but I do work in the music industry and for some reason men hold women in this particular line of work in high regards. I could never quite figure it out, maybe it’s because it’s known as a male dominated industry and most men are gay and I at least half way fit the bill? Or maybe it’s because they want to be dominated and think that if I can rock the music scene then I can rock their scene? Or maybe they just want a chick that can school them at music trivia? Or maybe, they’re looking for someone who is busier than they are, someone they’ll only see between the hours of 9pm and 6am? No matter the reason I get my fair share of attractive, well-groomed, and sometimes famous ass. I’ve been working in music since I was old enough to work. I worked in a record store, as a rave promoter, band manager, booking agent, concert promoter, and am now dabbling in the upscale event planning world for money and nursing a baby booking agency which I own with a close friend for fun and hopefully future. I also read to a blind elderly woman twice a week, promote shows, do pro bono booking work for new bands, and am in eager pursuit of love. It’s fucking work and I somehow manage to do it without putting my hand or anyone else’s hand in a blender, or at least I haven’t yet. There’s still time though.
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