My Absence

I feel like a gopher peeking my head out of its hole to make sure everything is safe before I come out again.

 

*wind blows silently*

 

All's good.

 

I know. I've taken a short break from blogging around these parts. And I spoke to my roommate Jess about it. I told her how every since I said my final goodbye to OAOA (which I've held strong for a week now, doing good!), I haven't had much to say. My life, I felt, wasn't particularly exciting or interesting enough to write about on here. That may or may not be true. I'm sure I could've found something noteworthy to write about had I really sat down to try, but truth be told...I really had little to say.

 

But Jess assured me that that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. My life had no drama. That's ok.

 

And after a weekend of listening to a bunch of friends rant and cry to me about their relationship problems, it struck me that being single definitely has its perks. I have this notion in my mind that a relationship (the right one) will be this perfect, blissful experience, where we're always happy and life is fantastic and nothing can stop us.

 

Quite romantic. Quite unrealistic. Even the most loving of couples have their epic fail moments, the times where you wish you truly weren't "Him and Her" but just "Him" or "Her."

 

The idea of being in a relationship has become even more crucial in my mind because I'm unconsciously racing with my siblings. I'm the only one in my family not married or on the verge of getting married. I haven't even started the race. I'm still at the starting line, waiting for a partner to come along so we can bolt and catch up. What does it mean for me that I'm the only one in my family that doesn't have a significant other that wants to spend the rest of their life with me? Does that mean there's something inherently wrong with me?

 

No. It actually doesn't mean anything. It means I'm taking my own path, and my own time. And from an outsider's perspective...my perspective that is...my siblings look happy. Their lives look together. My mother, however, reassures me that none of my siblings lives are perfect, and they still come to her with all their rants, raves, and frustrations. I was actually talking to my writing partner, Josh, the other night about how I look at my older sister and am SO jealous that she's happily married and has a beautiful nine month old child. Then I started thinking about what it would be like to go to bed terrified every night that something is going to happen to your child, that this person's life is absolutely dependent on your maturity, responsibility, and cohesion. Sure, the child gives you unconditional love, but that love comes at a cost...the cost of your freedom. Your life is now your child's life.

 

And as much as I'd like a child at some point in my life, I know that I could not handle that right now, because I'm still learning how to completely take care of myself, and I'm still learning how to have healthy relationships with others.

 

So, when it all comes down to it...being single and without those responsibilities isn't bad. It's actually pretty great. I don't have a wife, I don't have a child, I don't have a mortgage, I don't even have a pet that I have to look after. I really am freer than I realize. Free to discover who I am and what I'm capable of.

 

And yesterday I discovered I'm slightly capable of forethought. I thought about this girl Melissa who I hadn't spoken to in maybe four months...she had gone to Pittsburgh for a while to do a rotation for medical school and I was wondering if she returned. Not three hours later, I didn't immediately realize that I was standing behind her in line at a Wendy's.

 

 

Weeeeeird.

 

She declined on lunch with me. Still single. :-P

 

-Spontaneous K

My REAL Best Friend

I actually have a real best female friend. One who is genuinely there for me. She doesn't just listen to me when I'm down, she lifts me up. And I do the same for her.

 

Her name is Katie (Sorry MFIE. Her name is legally Katherine, but I've always called her Katie). Our story is a fun one. Lemme take you back, circa 2000.

 

Oh my god, I'm suddenly a sophomore in high school, and holy hell am I a nerd. I have no sense of style, I probably weigh about 120lbs, I wore a back brace (and braces on my teeth), I wrote a fantasy novel, and I played video games all day. I was so much a nerd that I had two siblings in the same school as me (one being my twin, the other being my "epitome of cool" brother), and most people didn't know there was a third one of us...me.

 

I was quiet. The intelligent type. People cheated off my vocab quizzes. I let them.

 

My twin sister and my brother owned the school. They were high school royalty. Their groups of friends were the types you saw in movies...uber attractive, amazing at sports, the super elite. They only dated each other. Kim, my twin, was best friends with a lot of these untouchable women...namely one. Katie. And Katie was truly untouchable. She dated a guy throughout high school who was crazy insane, much worse than OAOA was for me, but she kept running back to him for safety.

 

Whenever Katie would come over, my heart would stop. It was your typical high school crush. What was amazing about Katie was that she was popular yet somehow NOT a bitch like my sister and the other girls could be. (Yes, my sister was, and still can be...a bitch. But I love her.)

 

Katie, unlike OAOA, never reciprocated feelings for me, despite my attempts, however, she was always so humble about it. She never made me feel like I was wrong or that we couldn't be friends because of how I felt. Ten years later...she was right.

 

In the beginning, it was hard because Kim was possessive. Katie was HER best friend, not mine at all. And Kim did what high school girls did when they felt threatened. She made shit up.

 

Kim would tell me that Katie didn't like me at all, she was just being nice, and was really annoyed that I ever tried to talk to her. I should just stop. This, naturally, made me very sad.

 

Until I was reassured by Katie that Kim was making shit up.

 

As we grew up, and the partying and the popularity contests became less important to Katie, and having someone to connect with and empathize with became more important, she gradually moved from being my sister's best friend to my best friend.

 

Kim was bitter for a while. But now, Katie is a friend of my entire family. She just goes through me the most.

 

I haven't mentioned Katie because seven months ago, just one month before I met OAOA, Katie moved to Chicago with her long-term, planning to marry, boyfriend. Life became a whirlwind for both of us.

 

But she's coming in to visit this weekend. I'll see her for the first time in seven months.

 

I am SO STOKED. :)

 

-Spontaneous K

 

 

 

 

Moving Onward. Seriously this time. I'm SERIOUS!

I'm proud of myself. Not because I cut ties again with OAOA, but because I feel confident this time, and I'm not allowing myself to grieve too much. Maybe it's because I've done it a bajillion times already that it just doesn't hurt as much...or perhaps it's because I've finally accepted and understood that it's toxic and doesn't work.

 

Whatever the case, a HUGE thanks to all my readers harsh but true words of wisdom. You all had your insights, and you were all right in your own ways.

 

Clap, clap, clap, clap, I love you all.

 

Especially since all my readers seem to be female? Why is this? Haha.

 

This isn't the first time I've learned this lesson, and it probably won't be the last. However, since I'm aware of my pattern, that means each time it happens, I should be able to stop it more quickly and efficiently, until I've worked it out. I'll find myself in a healthy relationship. I know I will. :)

 

In the mean time, I have amazing news. I had a stroke of creative genius on the way to work this morning...and it felt so good that it almost made me feel like I had amazing sex the night before.

 

Remember My Troubled Protagonist? 

 

She's not TROUBLED ANYMORE! Seriously, when it hit me this morning, I almost froze and leaped straight up into the air in celebration. One simple idea cracked the code to my plagued story, and the beats shot through my mind like rapid-fire. I was back baby. This story is MINE.

 

Ben and I also started hitting the gym yesterday, and shall be returning today, and three times a week every week until we're strong and energized. Healthy habits for a healthy mind. :) Things aren't so bad after all.

 

But you guys (and myself, deep down) already knew that.

 

-Spontaneous K

One Last Step...

"I'm sorry for getting angry at you and writing to you what I did on Saturday. You're there for me as much as you can be, and I didn't respect that. I still have expectations of us that I can't shake. I'm still angry and sad that things didn't turn out the way I wanted them to for us. I'm still upset that you're not there for me the way I want you to be, but that's not your fault.
 
I never wanted to admit that you and I were just two people that don't mesh...because I thought we did so well in the beginning that I couldn't understand why we can't now. I care about you so much that in my mind that meant it had to work somehow. But I'm learning that just because you care about someone doesn't necessarily mean you're allowed to have them in your life.
 
We've both fucked up. I never meant to hurt you and I'm sure that you never meant to hurt me. Through this whole thing, I'm sure we just wanted the best for each other and we simply aren't mature enough yet to be able to handle one another.
 
I love you. I mean that. Which is why I should try my very best to let you go and be free of my expectations and my wanting to care for you.
 
Once again, I'm sorry for everything, Ali. I know you're sorry too. Not everything gets a happy ending. I hope we can both find the strength to let the other go in whatever way we need to.
 
Yours,
Kevin"

 

For those who don't know...my name's Kevin. And that was my apology to OAOA. I kind of thought I was going to get some cheers from my readers for telling her off...fact of the matter is, I was wrong to do it. We were both wrong. A long time ago.

 

This is being an adult, right?

 

Goodbyes suck. Every time.

 

-Spontaneous K

MFIE Was Right...

I have no idea who I am. This occurred to me moments ago. I knew that I haven't written a post since Saturday...two days...and I haven't missed two days since I started the blog almost two months ago.

 

I realized that I have very little to talk about besides my plight for a significant other. At least nothing I think others would find as interesting as my hopelessly romantic search.

 

I truly have defined myself by my story of finding "the one." And I have no freakin' clue what to write about on here...at least right now...if I'm not writing about that.

 

Which sort of means I don't know what I'm doing in life if I'm not doing that. And I don't know what I'm doing with this blog right now.

 

Existential Crisis Reached.

 

-Spontaneous K

Every Reader I Have Is Going To Love This: OAOA - The Final Battle

Well, you all saw it coming. I knew deep down that it was coming. I couldn't keep living by OAOA's rules without my emotions getting the best of me. I wasn't allowed to be myself. I was giving away all of my power. The friendship was on her terms.

And I got angry. It was over something small...but it meant something big.

I'd called her three days in a row. And she never got back to me. After I answer every text she sends me, every phone call, every emergency, every call for help...I can't even get a return phone call. And it really...really pissed me off. I called her out on it, and at first she was confused as to why I was angry, and then when she realized what I was angry about, she said "This is retarded."

That's when I flipped.

I said to her, "First off, as someone who is your friend, and who cares about you, don't you ever tell me that the way that I feel is retarded."

She promptly apologized, and then went on to listen to me rant, as calmly as I could, about how I've been acting perfectly for her, I've been the best that I could possibly be, I've abided by all her rules and requests, respecting her space and her feelings, and that it's frustrating and hurtful that when I call, when I need her, she isn't there.

She did what she always did. She sat there and she listened, not responding, not defending herself, she just said she was "Sorry and didn't know what to say."

It's like talking to a wall. I kept trying to get something out of her, but she wouldn't budge. She went on to say "I'm getting off the phone, I'm not going to sit here and let you say things that make me feel like shit all day. Why does everything have to be so drawn out and dramatic with you?"

I threw it back at her, saying that she had no right to call me dramatic when her whole life is drama and she lets me know ALL about it.

"I said I was sorry, what else is there to say?" she said to me.

Nothing. I knew her apology meant nothing, so I let her hang up. But I was still angry. I wasn't satisfied. So...

I wrote her this email:

"You have no idea how cold you can be. You have little respect for how I feel or how I work, and things get drawn out because you refuse to work on them, you just block them out or run from them.

I've put myself out there for you, and I can't keep being your crutch when things go wrong in your life if you're going to consciously keep a distance from me because your own insecurities make you feel like shit.

I've changed to try and make our friendship work because I think it's worth it, but you've hardly made any sacrifices.

It's selfish, and it's hurt me.

If you don't think you can honor how I feel, then don't tell me "I'm sorry, I'll try to change" when you don't intend to.

You've disappointed me so many times, but I keep coming back because when you're smiling and you're happy, you're amazing, but when you let your insecurities get the best of you, you forget how to treat people.

I've tried nothing but my best for you, and it hasn't been enough.

You never opened up, you never let me know how you were feeling, I've always had to guess or pry it out of you, which is why I act so erratic, because I never know what's going on.

I've tried to focus on what's good about us and how to strengthen that, and you've chosen to focus on what doesn't work and how to avoid it.

No matter how many times I say I care, or do things to show that I do, you never believe them. Why is it so hard to believe that I just want you to be happy, and that's why it hurts so much when you make me sad?"

And I finally felt better. It was like I was drunk and I vomited, and the sickness went away. It was my emotional vomit. I expected not to hear from her after that. However, I got a text an hour later: "Hey, do you want to hang out?"

I didn't know if she had read my email or not. But I agreed.

When I met her, I asked her if she had read it, and she said yes. Said she deserved it. And we hung out for several hours, not talking about what had happened. When it was all over, nothing was different. Nothing had changed. The time we spent together wasn't even good. It was awkward, a lot of it quiet.

When she left, all I could think was "You're still not off the hook. I'm still angry." She hadn't done anything special to redeem herself. She hadn't done anything to truly show that she cared. Coming out and hanging out with me after I wrote her that email took courage, yes, but it wasn't enough.

As I watched her ride off on her bike, I thought to myself "You'll never change. You'll never do anything to show me you care that even comes close to the things that I've done for you. And that's why this is never going to work. That's why this time it's really over."

Yeah, I'm sad. Yeah, she probably thinks she made things somewhat okay. But the fact of the matter is, I've wasted enough time thinking about her and trying to prove that she's worth all this. The pain and the struggle has become my choice now, and I choose for it to be over. It's time to find out who I am, heal a little, and open my heart up to someone else.

The universe doesn't end with a bang...it ends with a whimper.

It's foolish for me to believe I won't meet someone who I find more beautiful, or who I can connect better with, or have as much fun and create such wonderful memories with...

...because I always do.

-Spontaneous K

Who are YOU?!

I found myself asking this question TO myself in those days I laid in bed. Who the hell am I? What am I doing? Where am I going? What is my purpose?

 

Danger: Approaching existential crisis. Please eject promptly.

 

(See, if this were Scrubs, that would be a fantasy where JD's brain ejects from his body to avoid said existential crisis. I can still have fun!)

 

What I didn't expect was someone, namely MFIE, to ask me the same question when commenting on my most previous post. She wanted to know who I was. Not in the sense that she doesn't know who I am, but who I am without the pining interest for a significant other. Who was I...alone? It then occurred to me...how many other people want to know who I am too? How many other people, whether they were female love interests or not, have I been depending on to TELL ME who I am? Who I should be?

 

Well shit...a lot of fucking people. Particularly the people I'm having letting trouble go of in my past...because I thought they defined me. Does your past define you? I'm learning that:

 

No. It doesn't. But I certainly thought it did.

 

There is a rift in my memories. Pre-Firefly and Post-Firefly. I can barely remember significant details of things prior to Firefly UNLESS they revolve around some girl I wanted real bad. I remember my first crush ever.

 

I was 8. In Second Grade. Boy did I start early.

 

Her name was Stephanie. She was the most popular girl in second grade, she had flowing blonde hair, a perfect smile, perky blue eyes, and a score of beautiful friends who frolicked the playground, carefree, just being gorgeous. Even back then, at eight years old, I felt something, an attraction, a need. I was not popular. I wrote this girl notes I would never give to her, when I would try to speak to her no words would emerge...I remember one time I even won a goldfish at a school fair and I wanted to give it to her as a present. My mother even spoke to her mother and was going to drive me over to her house so I could give it to her.

 

But I spilled some of the water in the baggie, and filled it back up with water from the sink. The fish promptly died. I didn't know tap water was bad for fishies. This, as I can recall, is my first crash and burn. The phone call to her mother telling her the fish was dead was tragic.

 

I digress. It's true. My life, at least leading back to the age of eight, has been defined by a series of fruitless searches to find "the one". That perfect companion who would fill me up, give me purpose, and provide me with constant happiness. I've defined myself as a hopeless romantic who is hopelessly and perpetually single or in toxic arrangements, and that's where I'll stay if I continue to define myself as "searching" instead of "being".

 

None of you know this. I have a twin sister. We are nothing alike. We hardly speak unless she needs something. Fact of the matter is though, even before I was born, even IN THE WOMB, I was accompanied by someone, and I spent the first several years of my life with that someone. They say you're born alone and you die alone.

 

Well, I may die alone, but guess what. I wasn't born alone. And, according to an old therapist I once had, the fact that I'm a twin may link to my incessant need for "another half."

 

I wonder if other twins suffer from this problem?

 

I digress again. MFIE makes a fine point. She wants to know, and I want to know, who I am without the search. So, [My Own Voice Over] readers, despite being single for mostly ever, I still...

 

DECLARE INDEPENDENCE!

 

I am my own person. And yesterday when I posted that I felt creative...I meant it. I want to write. I want to draw. I want to digitally paint with my wacom tablet. I want to dance. I want to learn a martial art. I want to channel my energy to create (create being the root word of "creative") because that's what my mind was built to do. Not destroy itself by battering me all day with "I can't, I hate, I shouldn't, I won't, I'm afraid, What if, I'll never" and on and on and on...

 

If I don't express what's in my mind...no one will.

 

Thanks, Katie.

 

-Spontaneous K

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh Dear...

I missed a day. On an important storytelling moment such as my date with Pam. Not very blogger professional of me.

 

Well...first of all...I have nothing exciting to say about Pam. The date was rather blah...and while I found her quite attractive and fun, she did not feel the connection and decided we shouldn't have a second date. It only lasted an hour.

 

Anti-climactic if I do say so myself.

 

So, things suck with OAOA...what else is new...things don't exist with Pam...c'est le vie (I don't know if I spelled that right)...and I was still so stuck in my bout of depression, paralyzed in bed, that I called the absolute one person I wanted to but knew I shouldn't since she hadn't responded to my plea for help weeks ago:

 

Firefly.

 

What I received was almost exactly what I expected. A cold, bitter, "I'm not the person you should be talking to anymore. There's nothing I can do for you. I'm sorry."

 

Crash. Burn.

 

Firefly is someone who took up almost a decade of my life, someone whom I define myself and my past by. And if there was ever closure...this was it. It was done. She didn't want to speak to me, not now, not ever, no matter how much I felt like death.

 

So what then? What do you do when you realize you have to let go of almost all of what you've defined yourself as?

 

This morning, I found myself paralyzed in bed once more by my onslaught of terrible thoughts about my life and my past and my future. And the closer it got to the time I needed to get out of bed and go to work, the more my heart started to pound, the more I wanted to scream and cry and just couldn't.

 

That's when I rolled over and grabbed a notebook I had tried writing in yesterday and hadn't. I was going to attempt one of my CBT exercises by draining the thoughts out of me by getting them onto paper. When I opened the notebook, I found a drawing I did yesterday while home by myself, caught up in my feelings…it was rather cartoony. It was me getting real angry and lifting my foot up to stomp on my heart that was laying on the floor, because I was so angry at it for making me feel this way. As gruesome as that sounds, since it was cartoony, it was actually pretty funny, and I thought to myself that I actually did a good job drawing it, and I stopped to think for a moment that I felt pride in my work, even though it wasn't bringing me money or fame.

 

What happened next was pretty incredible.

 

I decided to start writing my CBT exercise, but halfway into it, my thoughts shifted from being negative to being angry. Not angry at someone, or something, or even myself…but like my mother  had said to me many times before.

 

GET ANGRY AT IT.

 

For maybe fifteen to twenty minutes, I wrote, it didn't matter whether it was big or small, scribbled, legible, I wrote however the words felt like coming out, it didn't matter whether there was a rhyme or a reason, whether they were poetic or gibberish, I just kept writing and turning the pages and I felt all my anger and all my frustration leave me. I felt my strength come back, I was getting angry in a way that was good. I declared that I didn't want this anymore, I shouted to the page that this was over, everything was over, and I choose differently for my life, because it's mine, and I'm not living for anyone else.

 

And when it was all said and done, I couldn't believe how I felt. I felt better. I felt capable. And strangely enough, I felt creative and motivated.

 

For the first time, I channeled my energy. I channeled my emotions. I figured out how to get them out of me. And as I got dressed, exhilarated, and walked to work with my head held high, I wondered to myself, "If I can channel my emotions to break a bout of depression…what else can I channel my emotions into to do something great?"

 

My art. My goals. My relationships. My life.

 

My purpose. Which I had cried to my therapist yesterday about having none. If I wasn't loved, and I wasn't needed, then I had no purpose.

 

But that's not true. My purpose is to experience.

 

-Spontaneous K

A Quick Thank You

Blah. I know I've been really depressing lately, and nobody wants to read about the lulls of someone's life, I guess unless they can learn something from it. And I'm trying to pull some semblance of a lesson out of my moods.

 

Fact of the matter is, I do enjoy writing this blog very much, and despite doing basically nothing for several days, I've still managed to do this. That's got to count for something. And while I do write the blog for me, I also write it for my loyal readers, even if there are just a few of you. So, now that I've reached my 42nd post, I just wanted to say:

 

Thank you for reading [My Own Voice Over]. It truly means a lot to me.

 

I'll be back to my peppy, storytelling self in no time. And Pam texted me. She's stoked about tonight. :)

 

-Spontaneous K

I Have 11 Hours To Get My Shit Together, Part II

When I stepped outside to go to work this morning, the day hammered me immediately with a visual metaphor. As I faced north, I could see the beautiful orange sun rising in the east, cascading its light on the Philadelphia skyline, while in the west the dreary gray clouds that have pounded us with rain for the past five days were finally receding.

 

I could only hope my mental clouds would follow suit, as yesterday was no better than the day before, or the day before that.

 

Friends, when I spoke of My Mental Event Horizon, it was truly cautionary, and I've found that I didn't heed my own warning. Saturday, my disappointment of a day lost with OAOA catapulted me across that line where it was too deep to pull myself back out of, and now I'm in real trouble.

 

The past three days have been entirely unproductive and way too introspective, in a bad way. I've got this filter on my brain that isn't allowing me to see anything that's good, and it's evaluating all that's bad, over and over, going way back into my past and finding the worst of it.

 

This is my modus operandi: Find reasons to invalidate myself...seek others to re-validate myself.

 

Fuck, that is a crappy MO.

 

I can't let go of my past. (Okay, I don't want to let go of my past). I've been attempting to do so for the past decade, but the longer it takes, the more "past" I have to make up for, and I can't keep up. For whatever reason, I feel like I have to redeem myself for all the mistakes I've made, all the people and things I've lost, and all the damage I've done. And that's what I spent all last night thinking about...what's gone wrong in my life and why I haven't been able to fix it. And while I'm still trying to fix problems from 10 years ago, more problems keep piling on.

 

There are five people in my life that don't won't allow me to speak to them, two of which probably wish I was dead. Four of these people used to be my closest friends, people I grew up with, and one of them is Firefly, the most epic lover of them all.

 

What I can't figure out is why...

 

I mean, I know why. Intrinsically, I know what happened, but I don't understand why I wasn't given a chance. A chance to talk things out, a chance to change. Maybe I was given the chance. Maybe I was given multiple chances and I didn't even know it. Was I really that horrible? All I ever strove to be was a good person, so why did my best friends commit mutiny? What did I do that was so horrible?

 

It's haunted me and continues to haunt me. I keep asking myself if it really matters, though. Maybe it was just time for change, time for new best friends to enter the picture, which they have. But have I changed enough to not make the same mistake again? Why do I believe that if something was good in the past, that means it's sacred forever, even if it went sour?

 

Even the best of people are hated. Gandhi, Mother Theresa, The Dalai Lama, Martin Luther King...hated. And I'm no where near the level of wisdom and compassion they had, so it should come to no surprise to me that there are a few souls who wish ill upon me.

 

Ugh, my nose is running like it's getting paid for it, and I'm stuck in a rut, while in 11 hours I'm meeting Pam for the first time. I should be super excited and all I can think is "What am I about to subject this girl to?"

 

I gotta get my shit together.

 

One thing did occur to me during my long state of introspection, one enlightening idea. If my negative thoughts, my worry, my anxiety, my regret, my guilt and resentment, if all that crap can physically make my body feel a certain way...a bad way...then the opposite must also be true. When someone does something nice for us, or we succeed at something, or the object of our affection tells us that they love us, we fill up and feel fantastic. But they aren't making us feel that way, we ourselves are. Our own bodies are creating the sensations that are making us feel good...it's only because in that moment we believe great things about ourselves, due to some external stimuli, that we attribute it to that stimuli. The fact is, I should be able to make myself feel good at any moment, just like I can make myself feel bad at any moment.

 

Instead of waiting around for something to make me feel good.

 

11 hours. Here goes nothing.

 

-Spontaneous K

 

 

Make That 34 Hours

Pam canceled due to the weather and travel, in trade for a nicer evening tomorrow, a day where the sun's supposed to be shining.

 

The Universe is truly testing my patience, ha. Perhaps this is for the best though. I'll get some rest, knock down this cold, and show her all the great qualities I've got to offer.

 

-K

I Have 11 Hours To Get My Shit Together

"In London, I woke to the sun streaming through the window, and the resolve that I can make things better, largely by learning a little self-control over body and mind. It's my mind, and my body, dammit."

 

DAMMIT! *pounds table*

 

That was the first thing I woke to this morning, from my good friend at Proud Maisie. The perfect words of wisdom after a weekend of unwarranted self-pity. I suppose any weekend after what I dubbed "the greatest weekend thus far of 2010" in my post Dangerously On Again was going to have a lot to live up to, but I didn't expect it to be utter crap. Let's re-cap:

• Cabinet falls off wall in the middle of the night, makes loud crash, breaks all my dishes, makes me think a burglar is going to kill me.
• OAOA's sister is sent back to ER for the second time after being struck by car while on bike, OAOA is in distress, can't see me, my plans are ruined.
• Waste most of the day protesting in bed, paralyzed by disappointment.
• Pull myself up enough to go out with Dan, have panic attack, run back home, feel guilty, embarrassed, fearful that I'm developing a phobia of best friend.
• Wake up late Sunday, should have gone into work to do overtime, don't feel like it. Feel bad for feeling bad, call friend for solace, get bitch-slapped by a reality check.
• Cold developing half-way through the day.
• Wake up at 4am in the morning, can't get back to sleep, cold fully blown, acceptance that Monday is going to be crap.
• Manage another hour of sleep, get that nice message from Proud Maisie.
• It's still raining from Thursday.

It's our human nature to blame things, as I learned from my good friend at Raptitude. I'd like to blame the shitty weather for this awful weekend, I'd like to blame the asshole that hit Emily on her bike and drove off, I'd like to blame my illness for making it difficult to see my friend, but when it all comes down to it, there is no one to blame. We must take responsibility for everything that happens to us.

 

So I should allow this weekend to be a lesson to me. While it was not preferred that I did not get to see OAOA this weekend, it is my responsibility as a human being to find something else to fucking do. It is my responsibility to say to myself "Okay, this wasn't planned, I don't necessarily have to like it, but what can I do to make the best of this situation and how can I handle it like an adult and not a protesting five year old?"

 

No matter how long I laid in bed protesting, the Universe wasn't going to magically go "Okay, sorry I screwed up your plans, here's something really nice in return. My bad."

 

No. I have to go make something really nice happen. That's how it works. The Universe provides us with the circumstance, we create the experience.

 

Perhaps the most profound thing I've said in some time.

 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have 11 hours to learn a little self-control over body and mind and pull myself out of this wretched emotional hole I've dug...

 

Because I've got a date with Pam tonight.

 

Wish me luck.

 

-Spontaneous K

 

I'm a Bona Fide Asshole

And I'm not talking about your run of the mill asshole. Not someone who says mean things or treats people like crap...no, I'm the worst kind of asshole. I'm the guy that is as nice and polite as he could possibly be, the guy everyone thinks is completely genuine and great, yet, deep down he's got a selfish motive of his own.

 

This is what I discovered...or better stated, rediscovered...about myself this weekend. What's worse is that I don't even do it on purpose. I'm ignorant to it. And it's probably why I've never had a serious relationship in my life that wasn't rocky as hell.

 

As stated in my previous post, OAOA's sister was unfortunately struck by a vehicle while riding her bike. This incident caused our day of fun to be canceled. Deep down inside, I knew that this had absolutely nothing to do with me. OAOA wasn't blowing me off, as she has done in the past, because she was tired, or wasn't feeling well...she had a legitimate emergency. But all too familiar feelings of abandonment and disappointment washed over me. Even though I was concerned about how OAOA was feeling, I found myself not so much concerned with how her sister was, but what the fuck I was now supposed to do with my Saturday.

 

I didn't want to do anything. OAOA and I had made our plans on Tuesday, and I had waited all week to see her. I was SO excited to hang out with her again, since we had such a good time the past two previous times, that it was all I could think about. And then, when this incident happened, something out of all of our control, I felt like it was happening to me and not to her. Like the universe had done this to me on purpose. I was the victim, not her sister.

 

I didn't want to do anything else. She was the person I wanted to see that day, she was the person I wanted to spend time with, and I was so disappointed that I felt like nothing I could do or nobody else I could see would make me feel better.

 

And so I did nothing. I "protested" like my friend Josh would tell me today. I literally stayed in bed all day, attempting to gather my thoughts and force myself to do something, but I couldn't. It was the worst form of non-acceptance.

 

The same went for today. I didn't want to get out of bed. I was supposed to go into work and do overtime, but I didn't feel like doing that either. Nothing. I wanted to sit and wait until I got to see OAOA again.

 

This was bad. This was dangerous. This was what I told myself a month ago when I thought I was dying that I would never, EVER do again, which is depend on someone else to make me happy. All I wanted was to be filled up by OAOA.

 

And as my friend Josh so aptly put it, "Her sister is in the hospital and all your siblings are just fine. And you're wasting away your time, upset because your plans didn't happen with her."

 

Oh...by the way...this is coming from a guy whose younger brother committed suicide. So there was a nice tinge of "Stop fucking complaining" in there.

 

I'm the worst kind of person. I try and do what's right for everyone else, trying to make their lives full and happy...but only so someone will do the same for me.

 

My priorities are way disorganized. I feel awful. I feel sick. I feel undeserving.

 

Shame on me. How could I do such a thing?

 

-K

My Friday Night Freakout

It's been a long week. Yesterday was a day that made me reminisce to the point of sadness. But all was to be well, because the next morning, I was going to be spending the day with OAOA, and we we're going to have a blast. I was sure of it.

I went to bed early because I was supposed to wake up early to take her to a bagel place near my house I've been raving about, and to accompany her to a doctor's appointment to get her blood taken. For emotional support I guess. She cries when she gets needles.

It's about 11:45pm, I'm dozing off into sleep land, and BANG! I'm awakened by a loud fucking crash downstairs in my apartment. I'm frozen in my bed on the top floor in the darkness, door shut, awaiting further noises. This wasn't just a regular bump in the night, something broke and I was hoping it wasn't someone breaking in. Because both my roommates were on spring break. I was here alone.


What did I do? I called OAOA. Of course, her phone was off. Fuck. And I knew it wasn't off for long. She has a track record of letting her phone run out of battery and then plugging it in, and it was late, she should be at her dad's place any minute and have the phone plugged in, so I kept calling and calling. I felt like I was in a horror movie each time the call went straight to voicemail. Finally, she picked up, and I babbled on to her about how something crashed downstairs and I'm too afraid to go check it out. She assured me that everything was fine, and that if something was going to happen to me, it probably would've happened by now. In my head, that made sense, and I took her word for it. I went to sleep.

At around five in the morning, I had to pee, and all my fears of the crash had subsided, so I ventured downstairs to the bathroom. What did I find?

The entire fucking cabinet above my kitchen counter had fallen down, no thanks to probably the heavy ass ceramic dishes my roommates had in there. I stood over it in slight shock, thinking "Had I actually been standing under the fucking thing, I'd be close to dead, if not dead."

What occurred to me even more, in retrospect, was the fact that I called OAOA. There are half a dozen people I could have called. My mother. My father. My brother. Dan. Ben. In all actuality, the smartest phone call would have been to call 911. However, I would've felt absolutely retarded to have police come to my apartment to find I had been scared to death by a falling cabinet.

What's interesting about the situation is that OAOA could have done absolutely nothing. Had a person been in the house, all she could have done was redirected me to calling 911 like a smart person would have done in the first place. But she's done the same thing to me, in a multitude of situations. Over Thanksgiving, I was the first person she called crying after she hit a deer while driving. There was absolutely nothing that I could do besides tell her to call the police and her parents.

Even on the same day, before my cabinet fell, she called me at work asking me how to get to Temple Hospital because her sister had been in a bike accident. She has an iPhone, she could have looked up the directions. She could have called anyone but the fact remains, she chose me to call first. And I chose her.

What does that mean?

-Spontaneous K

Six Months Ago This Evening...

Had I not turned to my friend Nick at a party and said, "Excuse me, I'm going to go talk to this girl while I still have the balls,"...my life would be a whole lot different.

 

Actually, there are an infinite amount of other choices that led me to that moment, but allow me to go back a little further.

 

A little over six months ago, I was still working at the hellhole that is Starbucks on South Street. One of the only things me and the other guys behind the counter (there was mostly men working this store) could do to keep ourselves slightly happy was ogle the attractive female customers and dream of being with them since...let's face it...the green apron and the stupid hat isn't exactly the best attire to be picking up women.

 

"Hey! I make $7.75/hr! Date me!"

 

No. The best we could do was give them free drinks and hope for the best. Which I did.

 

There were two girls in particular that were regulars...one came in on a constant basis and the other came in on a more sporadic schedule. The first girl was Lauryn, a short, blonde, dreadlocked chica who seemed just as miserable with her job as we were with ours that she would have lengthy conversations with us. She worked at a jeans store across the street, and I always enjoyed my encounters with her, usually hooking her up with her drinks.

 

Then there was the other one...the sporadic one...I never knew when she'd be coming in, but I always waited for it. She was tall, 5'10, gorgeous, and had this epic, artsy tattoo over her right shoulder. She was the one I had the crush on...and the one I knew I had no shot with. Even my manager wanted a piece of this girl.

 

One day she came in while I was working the register, and I took a deep breath and decided to muster up my confidence. As she handed me her credit card I said, with as little anxiety as I could, "Don't worry about it."

 

She literally took a step back.

 

Now, this is the split second moment where I'm waiting to see if the girl reacts with:

• "Uh...thanks." and rolls her eyes, walking off all awkward. Or...
• Smiles and accepts the small gift.

Much to my surprise, I got that smile. "Really?" She asks me. I nod happily. She takes that step forward again and puts out her hand. "Wow. Thank you. Emily."

 

I shake her hand. "(For the sake of anonymity) K. Nice to meet you."

 

As she walks away toward where she's going to receive her drink, she keeps looking back at me, smiling as if I just did the most unbelievably nice thing for her. I felt fantastic.

 

A week or so later, things got interesting. Lauryn and Emily came in to the store...together. Turns out they not only work at the same place, but they live together. I'm working the register again, and Lauryn asks me, "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

 

"It's my mom's surprise 60th birthday party." I answered, and I don't think I could have had a lamer answer. The other two guys I'm working with are staring at me like I'm retarded.

 

"Is that going to go until midnight?" Lauryn continues.

 

I think about that for a moment. "Well, um, most of my parents friends are in their sixties, so I'm going to guess not."

 

"Good, because our housewarming party starts at 12. Be there."

 

Lauryn gave me her address and her phone number, and I was shocked. The guys I was working with couldn't really believe that just happened, and all I could think was "I guess I'm going to a housewarming party!"

 

Now, I don't know these girls. At all, aside from their names and place of employment. Actually, I knew that Lauryn was 18, which was really pushing it for me, so I assumed that Emily as about 18 as well. They also lived in a ghetto, ghetto, part of South Philly, one I'd be venturing into by myself. I wasn't going to let that happens, so I dragged my friend Dan with me.

 

We took a cab, and we literally told him to stay there while we checked out the party in case it was non-existent, because we had been calling Lauryn and she wasn't answering. When we arrived, the party was indeed on, and we let the cabbie go. Walking in, we immediately realized we were out of place.

 

There were about seventy-five people in the house, all dressed in leather, chains, piercings and tattoos galore...Dan and I are dressed in clothes from Target. A good portion of the party was already drugged up and passed out on the various couches, and we were definitely older than most.

 

Since I was the only one who knew anyone, and I didn't really know them to begin with, Dan was like "Lead the way." So I did.

 

It was dark. It was crowded. I was on the lookout for Emily, and I thought I spotted her amongst the crowd. I tapped on her shoulder, "Emily?"

 

She spun around. "No, Ali. I'm Emily's sister." She said with a smile so gorgeous that I almost fell over. They looked so much alike yet, Ali was dressed a lot more like...well me. She seemed just as out of place as I did.

 

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm K. A friend of Emily's." I said to her.

"I think she's out back." Ali said.

 

And that was it. For now.

 

Dan and I found Emily and Lauryn, and after hanging out with them for a little while, they didn't turn out to be what I had hoped. Emily was a smoker, a drug user, and had guys all over her. She seemed to care very little that I was even there. However, I found my thoughts drifting toward Ali. Ali looked even younger than Emily did, so if I was right to assume that Emily was 18, then I'm thinking that Ali's gotta be 16. But what the fuck do I know.

 

My friend Nick arrived, so I went downstairs to meet him. We sat down near the door and looked out over the party. It was a wreck. A bunch of people passed out, really not our scene. Yet there was one empty couch, the back of which was adjacent to the back of another couch...where Ali was sitting talking to another girl. She was part of a small group of people that was her own, none like anyone else there.

 

That's when I turned to Nick and told him I needed to talk to this girl while I still had the balls.

 

And to this day, I can't believe I actually had the balls.

 

I sat down on that couch behind Ali and said, "Hey, sorry, I don't really know anyone here, and you seemed really nice when you introduced yourself to me, so I thought I'd come over and say hello again."

 

Solid line? I thought so. So did she.

 

"I don't really know anyone here either." She responded.

 

And we started talking. A lot longer than I expected the conversation to go. And it turned out she wasn't 16. She was 24. Like me. She graduated from an art school. Like me. She didn't smoke, she didn't do any drugs...and halfway through the conversation, since we were leaning over different couches and it was awkward, she invited me to sit down next to her on her couch. And do I did.

 

The conversation was going so well, and this girl was so beautiful, that I just couldn't fathom this was actually happening. I went for the home run and I said, "Listen...my birthday party is next weekend. You should come."

 

"Yeah. I'll come. Let me get your number."

 

The coveted number exchange. This could mean everything or nothing. Since she wanted my number, it meant the ball was in her court. She could use it at her discretion and never contact me. But I was willing to take that chance. I gave her my number, and then much to my surprise, she says "Okay, I'm calling you to make sure you didn't give me a fake one."

 

What?! Why the hell would I give her a fake number? Who the hell would ever give her a fake number?

 

My phone buzzed with her number, and that's when I realized she actually liked me and didn't want me disappearing somewhere. I believed her when she said she'd be at my birthday. After that, she and her friends left, and Dan gave me a high five on a flawless victory.

 

A victory so flawless, that I'd have her in my bed the night of my birthday party, in heaven, the both of us unable to stop smiling.

 

A victory so flawless...that it was all downhill from there. As she just wanted to be friends.

 

Ali...my friends...is OAOA. And that was how I met her. Six months ago this evening.

 

-Spontaneous K

TMI Thursdays

TMI Thursdays is a little trend I picked up from my good friend imerika at Refreshingly Honest. It's a day where you share a story that has, well, too much information. We bear our souls just a little bit more than we normally would to those amongst the blogosphere.

And since I don't have anything as of recent that's too raunchy, I decided to grant you all the pleasure of reading a REALLY old blog post. Yes, I had a blog before this. Yes, there was a girl before OAOA. Yes, this girl's story is one hundred times more epic and melodramatic than OAOA's.

I called her Firefly in previous posts on this blog. And yes, this TMI Thursday post is about her. It's a long one...but damn, it's a good story. :) Enjoy!

Saturday, June 28, 2008

Day 1 (Holy Shit)

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

Ho-ly shiiiiiiit.

It's 7:35am right now, and she's still asleep, so now is about the only time I'm going to get to discreetly write a post. Not that I want to be sleeping. I'm awake because I'm wired. Day 1 went...well it went better than I ever could have hoped for. Or worse than I ever could've imagined, depending on your perception of good and bad.

All too familiar feelings washed over me when I arrived at the Vancouver International Airport. Man, have I been here before. Except this time it's not midnight and almost empty and I'm not dying from pneumonia. The place was MOBBED. Standing in customs for an hour and a half after I had just traveled for over nine hours was torture. All these people, hundreds of them, waiting to get past the gates and into the city of Vancouver. I wondered if any of them had stories anything like mine.

The customs person didn't give me nearly as much trouble this time as they did last, and it's probably because the line was long as hell and I didn't look like I was bringing the Ebola Virus across the border. Luckily, literally seconds after I passed through customs, my bag arrived onto the carousel. I snagged it and I fucking jetted out of that airport.

Only to find there was a line for Taxis. What? Really? A line? This country amazed me with how polite and courteous everyone is. A LINE! For TAXIS! Try making a line for a taxi at PHL, LAX, or JFK. There will be blood shed. Gotta love America. Most aggressive wins the taxi.

When I did finally get my taxi (which was a really nice taxi, by the way, with a really nice cabbie), I started on the final stretch toward the girl I've been waiting for. I asked the cabbie how long it would take to get to her house. He said around twenty minutes. Alright, not bad, I can handle that. She was in the vicinity of 10th street, and I found us crossing 50th street minutes later. I was like, "Really? 40 more fucking blocks?" Could the trip really take any longer?

All-in all, it took me about twelve hours of traveling to finally be dropped off in front of her house where the door was open. I couldn't see anyone inside. The cabbie goes: "Look. Door's open, waiting for you."

Yeah. It sure fucking is.

I was shaking as I took my bags out of the trunk. And when I looked over to the door one more time, I saw a head peak itself out, a head with a huge smile. I paid the cabbie, began walking towards her door, and like any cheesy, romantic movie of any kind, she comes outside, I drop my bags, and we wrap our arms around each other as tightly as you can hug someone without stripping them of the ability to breathe. We did not let go of each other for a LONG time. We just kept spouting out random bits, not really knowing what we were saying, but kinda saying what we re supposed to be saying: "Oh my god, you're really here. Oh my god, it's you. I can't believe you're here, it's so good you're here."

When we stopped hugging, we stared at each other, grinning, for a long long time. And this continual staring will continue to happen for the majority of the day, each of us not really sure how it's possible that we're standing in front of one another.

Her and I talked all day. ALL day. We always wondered if we could uphold conversations in person like we could on the phone. Our record on the phone was 8.5 hours. We broke it yesterday. We talked about everything and anything, and we never stopped.

The actual events of the day, aren't really that exciting (until the end). All we did was go get a cup of coffee, sit in a park, meet her roommates friends, go out for sushi, go out for beer, and then come back to her place. I mean, no, they're not exciting in and of themselves, but the fact that I was doing all of these things with her made them exciting. We gazed into each other's eyes any chance we got. We reveled about how crazy it is to see someone in 3D and not in a picture...to get to witness their subtle nuances. She looked gorgeous. She thought I looked gorgeous. And about an hour into being there, all I could think was "This was going to be harder than I thought."

It got to the point where we actually COULDN'T look at each other because we were too attracted to one another and we knew exactly what was going through the other's mind.

We got pretty tipsy at the bar, having shared a pitcher of beer, and she broke the ice (knowing she shouldn't) by letting me know that I have the most beautiful eyes.

As we were walking back to her place, I took her hand, and she held it tight. We both held it tight for a few moments before she spurted out "You're here for nine more days. Who the fuck were we kidding?" I have no idea. No matter how many declarations I had and she had over and over in preparation for this trip...it seems being in the presence of someone can nullify anything. We took our hands away from one another, attempting some form of restraint.

When we got back to her house, nobody was there, the music was left on (and we continued to leave it on), and we sat next to each other on the couch, pondering what to do next. We sat close. We knew what we wanted to do, the question was simply "how long can we go before we give in?" The answer?

Not very long.

For what seemed to be an hour, she and I held hands, rubbed arms and legs, put cheek to cheek, whispered things like "I remember your smell...", and "...we were never going to make in 10 days."

We were afraid to kiss one another. Seriously, genuinely afraid. We knew the consequences. I wanted to be good to her, and she wanted to be good to me, by NOT kissing each other. But this was vacation. And I hadn't seen her in 2.5 years. And I didn't know when I was going to get the chance to see her again.

So, everyone who's reading this that may be my friend or just plain doesn't agree with my relationship with her...I'm sorry. But I'm really not sorry. I kissed her. Which brings me, once again, to the first line of this post.

Holy Shit. I've never had a kiss that was as hot as this before. Not even with her. This topped it. This topped anything. We went nuts, right there on her couch. We practically tore each other's clothes off. I was halfway between ecstasy and halfway between hysterically laughing because she was right. Who the fuck were we kidding? This was so predictable and so downright awesome at the same time that I was laughing.

We moved it to her room, and, well...yeah. Officially, I've gotten more action in the past week than I've gotten in the past 2.5 years. And this girl tops her own record for best sex I've ever had.

We did end up stopping halfway through at one point because she was so nervous and felt so guilty about what was happening, and just plain needed a glass of water. This girl, though...nobody has ever looked at me and my body the way she does. I felt like a god damn Abercrombie model standing in front of this girl. She would look at me and practically cry before saying things like "Jesus Christ, do you have any idea how hot you are?"

Um, no, I don't, so thank you!

This is how hot I am, apparently: When we went to get a glass of water, I was standing nearby in my jeans, but lacking a shirt. She fills her glass, holds it, turns to look at me, and she freezes as her eyes admire my shirtlessness. Then, because she couldn't handle it (and she verified this, so it's FUCKING AWESOME), she dropped her glass. It shattered all over the floor, water everywhere, and we were both cracking up because that had never happened to her in her life. I am so hot to at least one person that I can cause them to lose control of motor functions. That is downright phenomenal.

We ended up laying with one another, holding hands, caressing, kissing, talking and reminiscing until about two in the morning. We went on about how unique our situation is and how we've never known anyone with a situation like ours. We tried, like many times before, to pinpoint what it all means. And still...we have no idea.

For the sake of I dunno what, we slept in different rooms. Maybe to just redeem ourselves a little. But I didn't get any sleep. Despite having been awake for almost 24 hours yesterday, I'm wired right now after five hours of sleep. I couldn't sleep because I was so happy. For once in my life, I couldn't sleep because I was HAPPY! And for all the pain and despair...it's pretty worth it. Maybe that's just the self-masochist in me. But if you knew this feeling...I think you'd know where I was coming from.

Today, it's going to be 90 degrees, so we're heading to the beach. The nude one. It's gonna be a good day.

I still can't predict what's going to happen in the remaining nine days and its finale. But if all manages to go to hell, which I know it certainly can...yesterday alone was worth it. It really fucking was.

Stay tuned. 

I hope you all enjoyed today's rendition of TMI Thursdays! G'night everyone!

(Or good day. I got a whole freakin' work day left.)

-Spontaneous K

My Budding Bromance & My Rising Romance

Romantic relationships aren't the only thing that hopeless romantic males like myself are searching for. We also dig our bromances equally, if not more so. Sure, a woman can stroke your ego, among other things, and provide you with boundless sexual pleasure.

But when you need to beat the crap out of someone in Super Smash Bros., tell someone that you almost walked down the "up" escalator because you were staring at a 10, or aim a fart in someone's direction with pride...well, then you need a Bromance.

While romantic relationships have always seemed to elude me, even when they're right in front of me, I've never had too much trouble with bromances. I'm good at being one of the guys. And lately, a new guy has come into my life, and I feel like something special is blooming.

His name's Ben, and he's a fellow Comcaster. He works on my team, he's a bit younger than me, from NY, we both enjoy video games, and he lives five blocks from me. Lately, we've been chillin' outside of work, talking on a regular basis, and...this part's key...creating inside jokes. Inside jokes are essential to ANY relationship. I live by this rule.

They say that inter-work relationships are bad. Not when it's a bromance.

Ben feels the same way. I can feel it. It's something you just know. :)

On the other hand, an actual romance is perhaps on the horizon for me, as Pam continues to blow up my blackberry on a now daily basis. Knowing I'm a movie guy, she texted me this morning just to let me know that Corey Haim's had passed (RIP). How sweet of her. Despite the morbid news. We'll be getting together at some point this weekend, and I'm very excited about it.

I'm also getting together again with OAOA on Saturday. 'Tis a battle of epic proportions.

-Spontaneous K

My First Blogging Award!!

I can go back to the naming convention every once in a while. When it works. Ha!

Okay, so I was pretty proud of myself to have even kept this blog going for a month now...but I never expected to be given an award of any kind. It's been so nice to have readers and commenters, but to have someone acknowledge that all my glory and all my grief...my "star-crossed" story as she put it...literally brightens her day to read. That, well...brightens my day and gives me such an incentive to continue blogging. Fellow readers of [My Own Voice Over], I present to you my first blogging award, presented to me by Jen Jen of Jen's Battle Book, The SUNSHINE AWARD!

 

Sunny flowers! Yay!

As is tradition with the Sunshine Award, you are to pass it along to other bloggers who brighten your day...because we're all in this mess we call "life" together, right? Here's a little list of internet denizens that keep me sane:

• Katie Blogs: She told me not to do this, but I have to! Katie literally hopped on my ass within 30 second of my joining 20sb, and was perhaps my first reader. Even when her whimsical, sarcastic, and downright funny outlook on life isn't entertaining me on her blog, her wise insight is warming me as a friend. She's a keeper. Even though I know her as My First Internet Enemy.
• Proud Maisie: Forewarning all that this is an adult content blog, she may have a darker side, but she's a sweetheart in the end and has a mysterious way with words that is quite tantalizing. She's been an avid listener to my stories, and I was turned onto her blog by her elegant, dangerously arousing use of language. 
• In Search Of Pemberley: If there's someone out there that thinks similarly to the way that I do, or at least thinks about the same things I do, it's writer Pratty. While a lot of blogs out there are hysterical rants and commentaries about life, and others are plain whining (I'm guilty of both I'm sure), Pratty has a genuine introspective writing style that gives you something to think about throughout your day.
• Refreshingly Honest: by writer imerika. I have to say, I am truly blessed to have a reader such as her, because she is downright hysterical and in your face. I wish I had the balls to write about some of the things she writes about on her blog (and perhaps I will if I ever get laid again one of these days), but you know you've got a good friend when they tell you, hands down, verbatum "kick the bitch in the face" as sincere advice. Please read her blog.

I'm a little new to the blogosphere myself, so I have to keep finding other great blogs to read, and hopefully as I do so, I'll attract more readers to my own neck of the interwoods. (I just made up a new term, what what.)

Okay! The rules for accepting the Sunshine Award are as follows:
1. Put the logo in your post or within your blog.
2. Pass the award onto fellow bloggers.
3. Link the nominees within your post.
4. Let nominees know they have received this award by leaving a comment on their blogs.
5. Share the love and link to the person who gave you the award!

Much love to the blogosphere. Pay it forward. :)

Honored and Yours,
Spontaneous K

Dangerously On Again

I feel like I had the best sex of my life last night. And I didn't have sex.

This is why expectations are the worst ideas in the world. When you have great expectations, and they're not met, you're thrown into a bout of disappointment that's hard to pull yourself out of. When you have bad expectations, it paralyzes you and you can literally create the outcome you so vigorously feared.

I can honestly, truly say that this was the greatest weekend so far of 2010, even though it started out with a Panic Attack so epic that I thought my subsequent weeks to months were ruined. The reason my weekend ended up being so great was because I defied my own expectations.

Before I continue any further, I promise, promise for any new readers coming in, tonight I'm going to be placing TAGS on all my posts thus far, because my story is a pretty detailed one, and if you're jumping in straight in the middle, I wouldn't want you to have missed any of the good stuff. And things are just getting good again.

Spring's coming. It was almost 50 degrees this weekend and will almost be 60 today and tomorrow. I didn't even have any trouble waking up this morning. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. It's one of this sickeningly happy mornings that you only see in the movies. Since spring is just around the corner...let's consider this the end of Season 1 of [My Own Voice Over] and the premiere of Season 2.

See how I did that? Seasons? Because Spring is a season? Aren't I clever?

For anyone following, you're probably wondering how my evening went with OAOA. Things have been rocky and emotional between us to say the least, especially since the her trip to the ER, which I thought was an amazing time and actually wasn't.

Well last night actually was an amazing time.

We were going to the Continental Midtown, which is a snazzy joint, so I wanted to look nice, but I didn't want to get too dressed up, because I didn't want her to think it was a date. But I also didn't want to dress down too much so it would seem like I didn't care. I said "Screw it" and went with what I felt comfortable with. You can't go wrong with a nice button-down, jeans, and solid shoes.

It was a really nice, quiet evening at the Continental, low music, low lighting, small crowd...we found a cozy corner on a tiny couch, her sipping on a sweet Martini, me relishing in a glass of Cabernet, the both of us celebrating our recent career successes. There wasn't a moment we weren't smiling. There wasn't a moment we weren't giggling or joking or looking attentively into the others' eyes, listening as hard as we could to what the other had to say. We ordered cheesecake and shared it together. We took pictures of the two of us on our phones. I felt confident, secure, and alive...I felt happy.

I know she's not my girlfriend. I know she doesn't want that from me. And as much as I'm in love with her and want that from her, I haven't given up because I believed there was something worth saving in there, and that just because she was a female, doesn't mean she couldn't be one of the closest friends I have. The connection we have is one I haven't had with anyone else, and I know she feels the same, even though not in a romantic manner. Last night proved to myself that I respected her boundaries and gave her the space she wanted enough to trust me again...and maybe we really are "On Again" as best friends.

I know I make her out to be this confusing, wicked female on here sometimes, someone who is dead set on making my head spin, but I wasn't so wonderful to her either in the six months we've known each other. I've been overbearing, melodramatic, needy, clingy...all those things a girl never wants. The reason I believe we keep giving each other second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth chances is because we know there's something great there that shouldn't be discarded...it just needs to be worked on.

As I spoke of in My Role As Friend and also more privately discussed with My First Internet Enemy (whom I miss...Katie if you're reading this, come say hi!) everybody has a specific role in our lives, whether we realize it or not. And MFIE noted to me that while I'm looking for that one person to fill ALL my needs, find people that can fill singular needs in your life, and build and foundation that way.

OAOA fills a big role in my life...some way, some how. And I'm looking forward to see how Pam fits into the whole picture. :)

Happy Spring, all. It's going to be a good season. :)

-Spontaneous K

Getting Back Up On The Ball Return

The title of this post makes absolutely no sense to you, but it will.

My last post, whether you have or have not read it, was a difficult one for me to write. No one likes to advertise their flaws to the world. It (usually) makes them feel quite vulnerable and less worthy of whatever. Let's say someone's friendship or respect. It's surprising to me, however, how often people do the exact opposite when you admit your flaws...they empathize with you and respect you more. Tell you that you're strong.

I also suppose what I'm going through isn't necessarily a character flaw, merely a fact of life. People go through shit. I'm going through shit. There isn't a person I'm going to meet at my age who has some perfect life put together and doesn't feel like it's going to fall apart sometimes. The trick is to find people whose shit complements your shit and you can fix your shit together.

We call that shit love. :)

And while at this point in my life I haven't had so much luck in the "romantic" category of love, I'm quite wealthy in the department of friends and family. I'm extremely fortunate to have people in my life who not only understand what I'm going through, but are being patient and helping me through it...my poor mother for one. I wanted to spend most of my Saturday in my bed, scared to leave the apartment in case of another panic attack, but my mother assured me that my Friday night panic attack was an incident not a setback. This was very important for me to understand, and she had to pound it into my brain several times before I got up, went to my local Starbucks, and wrote yesterday's post.

That evening, I was petrified to go to my friend Andrew's birthday. It was an hour away from my apartment, truly a distance for anyone whose ever had a panic attack and wants to be close to somewhere "safe." But I went. We were to have dinner and go bowling. It was going to be a whole evening. Probably a solid five hours of hanging out. That's a long time for me to spend with people as of late. But I went.

And by god, did I have a blast.

It was me and five of my best friends, guys I've known for over a decade. We've been bowling together since high school, it's one of our favorite past times, and we get really, really into it.

We're also quite good.

This was the first time playing at the alley we were at, so we talked about "breaking in the ball return" or "popping it's cherry." Why would anyone ever want to do that? What does that even mean?

I don't even know how this tradition got started, but we've literally been doing it since we were fifteen years old, and if you don't go through with it, it's bad luck. Every time you get a turkey (three strikes in a row for anyone who doesn't know) you have to hop onto the ball return and ride it like a bull.

It's ridiculous. It draws an insane amount of attention. But it's so much god damn fun when all your friends are cheering you on.

I rode the ball return twice last night. :)

It felt good to be out and to feel confident after having such a horrific evening prior. My mother was right. It wasn't a setback...it was just an incident. If I held onto it, then it would be a setback. But I had to just keep moving forward, and I did.

Amidst the evening, OAOA did text me...she got into an Art Show she had applied for in Seattle. She was so excited...and she wanted me to come celebrate with her soon, which is what I'm going to be doing with her in about two hours from now. Getting a drink at the Continental Midtown, something we've been planning on doing for months, before going on and off. I know what you're all going to say...the same things you've been saying to me before.

Sever the ties. Kick the bitch in the face.

Aaah, but I can't yet. Perhaps I haven't learned my lesson. Perhaps I'm a fool with a good heart and high hopes. Perhaps I believe that deep down she's got good intentions for the both of us, even if they're not exactly what I want.

But one thing's for sure...Pam did finally get back to me. And she wants to meet me this week. And I WAS excited to hear from her this time.

So if OAOA really wants me...she might have some competition. :)

-Spontaneous K

The Truth About My "Illness"

In my "About Me" I claim that I'm a lot like JD from Scrubs. And I am. I'm goofy, I'm a bit of a woman, I have man-love for the guys in my life...I don't land as many ladies in bed as he does, but I certainly mess up relationships as regularly as he does...and he's constantly on the prowl for approval from friends and mentors.

Unfortunately, TV Land is nothing like Real Life Land...I wanted to write just now that RLL is a helluva lot worse than TVL, but it's not. It just has a lot more to offer, and some of those things can be pretty harsh and unwelcoming. While a situation like the one I have with OAOA would work perfectly well in a sitcom...what I've been dealing with for the past couple months simply wouldn't. See, there's nothing too happy or too funny that you can't put into a sitcom...but there are some things that are too hard to touch on, even for Scrubs, which deals with death and pain on a regular basis.

Maybe I'm not giving Scrubs enough credit. Anyways, here's the deal.

I'm dealing with an acute case of Panic Disorder/Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. As much as I want to portray my life on here as fun and interesting and exciting...which it is...there's also this part of me that has been struggling more than I've ever struggled in my life, and I haven't talked about it on here in fear of losing readers. But it occurred to me that the whole reason I started this blog in the first place was to help myself get out all of the emotions that I have no where to place...the emotions that some of my friends and family, and people like OAOA, just won't understand.

I had Panic Attacks when I was much younger, in my earlier teens, but they subsided with some medication. The depression, however, was something that I continued to struggle with way up until, well, now. Depression is an ugly beast. It can incapacitate you in ways you didn't think possible. But I've discovered recently that there are other ways to be incapacitated that make depression seem like a better option.

I'm not a drug user. Never have been, never will be. So whatever prompted me to try a hallucinogenic drug called Salvia right before the new year is beyond me. It was supposed to be this calming, out of body, spiritual experience...I suppose for someone who is in the right state of mind. Unfortunately, my experience was the opposite. It was the most terrifying thing that I had ever been through, and I panicked so greatly, wanting it to be over that had my friend not been there to watch me, I might not be sitting here writing these words to you.

In the subsequent weeks, I had flashbacks to the trip, severe panic attacks, and persistent symptoms of vertigo, numbness, tingling, dissociation, hot flashes. One flashback was so bad that I took myself straight to the ER.

I was pretty sure that I had done something permanent to myself. That I had altered my brain chemistry, unlocked some latent psychosis or schizophrenia, and that I was permanently damaged. I was in danger of becoming agoraphobic. I couldn't go out for extended periods of time, I couldn't see my friends, I constantly felt terribly physically ill...in every sense of the word I thought my life was over because of a stupid mistake I made.

And of course, OAOA wasn't there for me when I needed her most.

I saw every doctor to make sure I was okay. I saw a neurologist, I saw an optometrist, I saw an Ear, Nose, Throat Doctor, I'm seeing a Psychiatrist, and I had my blood taken to make sure everything was working properly.

All tests came back immaculate. I'm the healthiest 25 year old on the planet. I don't have to see another doctor for another five years, and my psychiatrist is assuring me I'm not schizo. She hasn't even diagnosed me with anything in particular, Panic Disorder and Post Traumatic Stress are my own diagnoses based on my symptoms and what I've read on the internet. She just has "General Anxiety" written down. Apparently I'm making a huge mountain out of a molehill.

But how could I not? I saw the end of my life. I literally thought that in mere moments I would lose control and be dead. And that memory lingers on within me.

This past week, the symptoms started to subside. I started to feel myself again. I went out to that show with OAOA, had my first beer in nine weeks, and I didn't freak out. THAT situation above all should have made me freak out. But it didn't. So I felt capable. I felt back on track.

Last night was supposed to be a guy's night. Five of us were going to get together at my best friend Dan's...the place where the whole bad trip went down in the first place...have a few beers and then head out into the city. I was really looking forward to it, because I hadn't had a night like that in months. I should have known better though. Merely talking about the experience is enough to induce a flashback/panic attack to the whole experience, so actually being in the location that it happened with the person that it happened is a recipe for disaster. Ever since, I had had trouble going back into his apartment. There were times where I literally waited outside for him to go in and get something, because I just couldn't step foot. Then again, there were times where I successfully spent hours there...stressful hours...but still, no panic.

Last night though, I was there for 15 minutes, and then BOOM. I was back into having the salvia trip. Dan and I were in the middle of a conversation and I said to him "Excuse me, I'm having a panic attack." And he was just like "Ooookay."

The whole experience lasted maybe fifteen to thirty seconds. I stepped out of his apartment and sat down on the steps in the hallway, closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths, and willed it away. But I was shaking. I was petrified. I knew I was going to be okay, but I had no interest in hanging out any longer, I wanted to go home, somewhere safe, and just...be.

Two of my friends, who were not friends with Dan, were supposed to be coming over to help show Dan's new friend around Philadelphia. When I canceled, the other two didn't come, leaving just Dan with his friend. I felt completely awful.

I spent the evening ruminating on how well I had done recently, how I took a huge step back, how I completely ruined a friend's evening, and acted out of control. That just made it worse. Sometimes I have tiny panic attacks that are easy for me to deal with, so easy that I don't even have to mention to anyone that I'm having them...but when I have one as strong as the one I did last night...well, I feel like it sets me back twenty steps. I feel like the day after I had the original bad trip. Like my life is in complete disarray and there's nothing I can do to fix it.

I'm supposed to go out tonight to my friend Andrew's birthday, about an hour away from my apartment. It scares me to want to go that far in case I feel the need to leave. Dan's apartment was literally around the corner from mine and I couldn't stay. Granted, his apartment is the trigger of all triggers...it's the place where all my current fears were unlocked, and I haven't had a panic attack NEARLY that bad in a place that wasn't his, or when I wasn't around him. So I'm sure I'll be okay. What kills me is that, right now, I can't be around my best friend or the place where he lives...

And it doesn't change the fact that I'm scared. Truly scared. I know I can't go back and change it...but of all the things in my life I wish I hadn't done, whether they were bad financial decisions, bad relationship decisions, or whatever...I wish I had never taken that drug.

Some days I feel like I've got all the strength in the world to get over this.

Today I don't.

-K

P.S. Regarding Pam, I emailed her when I got finished with OAOA, sent her something real nice, and asked if she wanted to get a cup of coffee with me on Sunday. I haven't heard from her. I know I'm not supposed to over-analyze, perhaps she's just busy...but I was hoping to hear from her again. Not a good Friday.

My Naming Convention/My Evening in Fishtown

I don't like it anymore.

Not that I don't love Scrubs, nor do I dislike the naming convention of their episodes for their episodes, but as of late I've found myself wanting to title my blog posts with a little less constraint. So this will be my last post with the "My ..." post title.

Is that alright? I hate to change the theme of a blog in the middle, but things evolve, right? I didn't really have any idea what this blog was truly going to become (still don't) when I started it, so I figure, why not let it grow into itself? It will find it's own purpose. I will find my own purpose.

The name of the blog itself, though, stays. I dig it.

Anyways, onto more important matters. OAOA. Dun dun dun. Hell, we argued about a week ago regarding space while she was in Atlanta, and I hadn't heard from her since. She didn't even respond to my "Fuck you recession" facebook status explaining to the world that I actually now have a great job, which everyone responded to. I deleted her number two days ago so I wouldn't be tempted to call.

I'm on eharmony. There. I admitted it. It's not the first online dating site I've tried either. I've tried online dating for many years on and off. Eharmony, I think, has the best method of matching people, but at the same time, I bought a year subscription, it's been nine months, and I've still had no luck. I've gone on countless dates, but nothing has truly surfaced. To be fair, I stopped checking it for about four months while OAOA and I were still somewhat questionable. A few days ago, I was matched with a girl named Pam. Like from The Office. A show which she loves. Yay, we both love funny shows! I saw her picture and her profile was only half-filled out, so there was a chance she wasn't even a full member, which meant if I emailed her, I'd get no response. She also only had two pictures, which I was "meh" about at first, but I decided "What the hell?" and sent her a message.

Much to my surprise, she updated her profile to completion, added more pictures which make her seem lovely, and we've been emailing back and forth. She seems really great. Trying not to get my hopes up, but she does.

Then...yesterday...as I'm waiting as patiently as I can for my next email from Pam, I get a text from a number that's not in my phone asking me "What r u up to tonight?" At first I thought maybe it was Pam, whom I'd given my number to. Then I realized it was OAOA.

Christ.

I ended up going to a show with her in Fishtown. Just the two of us. Granted, I had fun, and it was really nice to see her, it's like a drug high every time. I get this rush when going to see her, and it fades over throughout the night. I can never get over how beautiful she is and how I'm just not allowed to hold her or kiss her, and as we stood next to each other on the balcony, watching over a man play beautiful music on his guitar, I tried to savor the moment as much as I could thinking "I don't know how much longer I have with her in my life and I should just cherish the moment, whether she's in my arms or not."

Pam emailed me while I was with OAOA at the show. I had waited all day for that email. And I hated myself. Because when I got it, I didn't care. God damn you, OAOA.

-K