Songs that sing to me

There are lines in these songs that make me rock out in my car, thus making me as completely unattractive looking as possible. Regardless, I love them and sing along every time.

Travis Peery- Cries at Night (Now if only I could get him to sing it to me personally!)

She craves the touch, but hates the fight

and it hurts so much all through the night

I can see things deep down in her soul

she’s got all the parts, but oh she ain’t whole.

I am also reveling in the following:

Metro Station- Shake It

Matchbox Twenty- Hand Me Down

Fountain of Wayne- Hey Julie

Jason Mraz – A Beautiful Mess

Linkin Park- Hands Held High (great workout song, I think)

Cartel- This City Never Sleeps

There are many more, but this will do for now.

PS: New neighbors moved in below me today. Let’s just say I may not have seen them come home, but I definitely know what they sound like when they come (if you get my drift).

newbie

Being a newbie to blogging, THIS IS MY FIRST-EVER POST ON ANOTHER PERSON’S BLOG. Lauren had a great idea and started Testaments, and I gladly offered up one of my favorite pieces.

Check it out here!

I would like to thank her for heading up this amazing project and making it possible for newbies like me to share our voice and reach out to make new friends. I am also (beyond) honored to follow the likes of Jenn, Chris, Amanda and Ben! Yay blogosphere!

A-game

It is funny sometimes how the people you would least expect to be there when you need them, show up and they bring their A game.

I had two friends like that rescue me today with laughter. I was bumming, and before you know it, there I was cringing while holding my stomach, as a teacher friend recounted a story about one of her students.

I also enjoy the boy perspective as they can take a situation completly blown out of porportion, and boil it down to the basics.

I was feeling undervalued and was having a hard time coping with some work stuff.

They were there when I least expected it.

I love that.

take it back

In my muddled mix of nostalgia and accordion players, I texted Bear last night.

I KNOW. If I could take it back, I would. Why doesn’t texting offer Nordstrom’s return policy? They take back everything, worn, battered, and ruined.

Last night, I was thinking (and by thinking I don’t mean using my better judgment) GOOD IDEA, and this morning I am am thinking CAN I TAKE IT BACK?

Living before the text was so much more satisfying, so much more he doesn’t deserve me.

Post text living is a little more Seriously, Pretending, what the hell are you doing?

Want to know what I said?

“We both royally fucked that up.”

Can I please take it back? I have proof of purchase. It hasn’t even been 24 hours, let alone 30 days.

Sheesh. Talk about a mean case of buyer’s remorse.

Have I told you about the accordion player?

Oh, not yet? Well, let me begin.

I went to a bar with Chewy and Liliana, my American friends I met while studying abroad in Italy.

We went to Longboards for happy hour, and passed the time with fabulous stories about the Peroni we used to drink and the adventures we shared together. There were trips to cheese factories and wineries, Italian bars and Italian operas. In that trip a lot of us found ourselves, and we needed eachother to do so. At the bar, we caught up on life, took drunken pictures and before we knew it, a bunch of random acts begin to take the stage.

In the beginning most were solo gutair mavens (whom I would have made out with in a second) playing standard covers of songs everyone loves to hear. Then there were some reggae bands. Amidst the crowd was a younger man wearing an accoridian as a backpack.

Pictures were taken. If I had them, you would see them.

So we posed endlessly with the accordion, while its owner was facing the bar. The aforementioned guitar mavens busted out into Pepper’s Dirty Hot Sex. So I started singing along and and before I knew it accordion man was asking me if I liked Pepper. We discovered we went to the same university, and chatted many times thoughout the night.

He hung around, would pop in and out of the conversation at our table, but made no attempt to ask for my number. He mentioned that he was supposed to go on sometime around 12 AM and I wished him luck. Then, as the bar started to thin out, he was called to the stage.

I was nervous as my friends had left and I was basically waiting to see where this was going (cleverly disguised as talking to a former coworker). So he started to play mostly hip hop, some reggae, all on the accordian.

Now, now, wipe that impressed look off your face. It’s an accordian.

And HE SUCKED AT IT. I would say that on a scale of one to ten his performance was at about an 2.3.

I would like to think I made him nervous, etc, but, come on people, this guy was American Idol try-outs bad.

The bar was beginning to empty and I just had to leave.

So I did. But I had to do so while he was super into his music, eyes closed singing. I stealthily left my table right in front of the stage, walked around the crowded bar and out the door.

And the accordion man was no more.

I cannot

believe we just lost in the playoffs.

I like winning better.

Finally Free

Today is the day. It is His birthday, and no more than two years ago, I broke His heart, and mangled mine in the process.

I don’t remember the day I broke up with Him (although I am sure he can tell you) because it was drawn out over the course of a week; a mish-mash of phone calls and crying, all right before His birthday.

My excuse for blowing word barf at Him instead of birthday wishes? It was time. I just couldn’t do it anymore.

I couldn’t be confined to what He wanted me be, or the compromises we had made over the years. I didn’t feel like that was what I wanted, that He had my best interests in mind.

I am not the person I was then. I have changed for the better, realized I am capable of truly amazing things, and as strong as I will ever need to be.

So it may be His birthday, and I think of Him fondly, as first loves never really fade.

But really I am celebrating inside a little.

Because sometime this week, two years ago, I let myself live my life.

PiNK Dinosaurs

Please tell me you crazies watched the season premiere of Project Runway last night.

Please tell me you caught the end preview where Tim Gunn says, “It looks like a pterodactyl from a gay Jurassic Park.”

Hilarious.

More Fireworks, Please

Every day the fireworks go off for eight minutes at Sea World. You can see them from the little park near my house, and every day I hear them and think,

One Day I will Have a Boy to Walk Me Down to Watch the Fireworks.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have seen them plenty of times on my own, but how cute would that be?

So tonight, at 9:52 when the fireworks began, I shared my thoughts with my roomie.

Her response: We are going to have to get a longer lease.

screens

I had a dream that Bear called me this morning. I sleep with my phone so that when the alarm goes off I can just hush it without lifting a finger, and somewhere along the line I was dreaming I had my phone in my hand, and it was ringing. When I went to look at the caller, the face read “Screen This” as though I had renamed him in my phone. Somehow I knew it was him.

So I silenced the ringing phone in my dream and went back to sleep.

****

In other news, I have been eaten alive by mosquitoes. Now SD doesn’t exactly breed the things, but they have been showing up in my apartment with increasing regularity. I have approximately 12 bites and I get a new one every night. I have checked all of the screens in our apartment and I have no idea how they are getting in. I am pretty sure I don’t live near standing water (I do, however, live near a community garden, RANDOM.)

These buggers are driving me crazy and my roommate remains bite free.

Sleeping pretty much stinks at this point.