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It kind of felt like learning to walk again when I left. I felt exhilarated by my new-found separation from such a shaping relationship and simultaneously a little lost. The good kind of lost. The kind of lost that makes you feel like you are teaching yourself something new. Sure, I had pangs of homesickness, because he was what I considered home for as long as I could remember. But missing familiarity eventually turned into embracing change.
I met new people. I dabbled in new relationships. At first, it felt right. Like making an A on a test makes you feel right. Which felt good. New relationships were accomplishments in moving on, but not much more than that. After all, GPAs don’t matter much in the scheme of life. Nonetheless, the new relationships were fun and easy. I could feign attachment without skipping a beat of my own agenda. I almost fooled myself into thinking I was anything but detached. I liked it that way.
I strategically and forcefully changed all of my radio stations; a subconscious attempt at moving on. It was working splendidly until DJ Heavy Metal decided to throw in a little Tim McGraw for shits and giggles. My new guy quickly reached out at the exact moment as me… only he was reaching out to turn the station, and I was reaching out to turn up the volume. “I never liked country,” he said.
As I looked around, it was as if everything suspended for a brief moment, and in that moment, nothing looked right. Something shattered in me, and I immediately thought of him.
After that, I began to shell up even more. I would steam up the bathroom to mimic the humidity we used to bask in. I would pour a little too much on the rocks. I started cooking those savory meals again, and found myself seeking solace in my headphones, blasting nothing but country. I tried to transfer all of the things I loved about him, into my new relationships.
I’ll never forget the moment we reunited. The radio must have been on our side, because the perfect songs trickled in as we sat on the tailgate together in the damp air. I didn’t say anything, I just breathed him in. I never believed in the saying, “you never know what you have until its gone,” just as I never liked Country. But sometimes you just have to admit you were wrong. And that’s why I went back.
I missed you, Louisiana.
This two part post was inspired by A New Orleans Love Story by Joey Albanese about New Orleans.
Don’t you love a good conversation with your family on the Holidays? My family sure does…
Brother (from a room on the other side of the house): “Come help me, I don’t know how to wrap.”
Brother: “Come help me.”
Mom: “She said no.”
On shopping last minute…
Brother: “What can I get for Dad?”
Me: “He likes to be outdoors. You should get him a tent so he can camp out in the back yard.”
Brother: “He would probably love that.”
Me: “Or, a pillow for when he sleeps on the floor. I was joking about the tent.”
Brother: “I am going to get him slippers. If he doesn’t like them I will take them.”
Me: “I don’t think that is how it is supposed to work.”
Brother: “Do you have any money?”
Merry Christmas everyone. May all of your conversations be this deep.
As promised, and to avoid angering the blogging gods ultimately ruining my internet karma, today’s post is inspired by “Faddah Friday” or “Funny Dad Friday”. Started by Brother Jon, or more officially, Jonathan (control your excitement Rutabaga), I am excited to share with you a post in this style. You might even gain some insight as to how I became the way I am, but I doubt it.
My dad is a car maintenance enthusiast. Sometimes I think he is a car mechanic instead of a salesman. He once had the same truck for like fifteen years. That thing had about 500,000 miles on it. He also taught me to drive in that same truck when I was eight, then again when I was fourteen, and once more when I was actually of legal age. He also forgave me that time I backed into the house… eventually. Here a few things I learned from him on the subject: Read the rest of this entry
I know everyone must think this, but bugs in general are out to get me specifically. Bugs and frogs, but today we are just going to discuss the bugs. They know my name, what apartment I live in, and have a tracking system planted somewhere on my vehicle that I can’t locate. I guess that’s because a bug made locator device would be rather microscopic, but whatever. The point is that they are watching me. They are. The proof is in the battles.
Show Down #1:
I never roll my windows all the way down in my vehicle. I’m have long hair, and I bitch when the wind messes it up. There I said it. I am very much a girl. A small crack will always suffice when needing fresh air. Until they missile their way into my vehicle that is. They strategically wait to strike until they see that I have exceeded 50 mph. On the highway. In rush hour.
They know my attempts to halt swiftly and counter attack will be futile. Their tactics are flawless. I have yet to determine how they train for such accuracy.
Becca: 0 Bugs: 1
Show Down #2: Read the rest of this entry
Well, well, well. It looks like Blogger Idol is allowing us peons to play along from the loser’s bench. I sound a little sour, but truth be told I think it is a great idea. I also like the challenge of having a topic provided for me to write about. The topic for this week is Family Traditions. You might need a cocktail for this one.
The holiday season is inevitably rushing towards us. I have to keep reminding myself of this, because in Louisiana it feels like summer throughout the entirety of this thing they call “fall”. I am not quite sure what that word means. The first in the string of holiday festivities for my family is Thanksgiving which then leads straight on into Christmas and ends with New Years. I know you are grateful for that uncommon knowledge I just provided.
I present to you a play-by-play of all three holiday dinners in my household, as they are all identical if you swap a ham for a turkey in December. The predictable behavior that repeats year by year is the tradition in itself. Your play-by-play stars myself, my mother, my father, and my brother. Action! Read the rest of this entry
OR, 5 Ways to Tell If You Are Adaptive and Awesome
You belong in one of these two categories, depending on your inherent optimism/pessimism, if you do any of the following:
1. Use your hair straightener to iron only the front of your shirt while it remains on your body. After all, it’s the only side people see anyway.
2. Sprinkle your house with multiple bowls of cat food and water in a decorative fashion to avoid having to worry about completing the task throughout the week. Soon, your cat can’t run away from you when you try to motorboat his belly. He will waddle slow enough for you to catch him. Two birds, one stone.
3. Your driver’s side window in your vehicle has not had roll down capabilities since some time in 2011. You enter the drive-thru backwards.
4. Instead of holding that heavy blow dryer over your head for twenty minutes, you turn on Willow Smith and whip your hair back and forth until it’s dry. Go green.
5. You write a “list” post and lure people in with a picture of a bulging cat belly. This is most certainly in the adaptive and awesome category. No debate here.
- lazy days (ohshecooks.com)
- Great tips on how to Make your hair straight using blow dryer (forallwomentoknow.blogspot.com)
- Lazy Cats (gaspodethedog.typepad.com)
Some things about me:
1. I don’t eat cereal, but if I did I wouldn’t eat it with milk. That’s disgusting.
2. I don’t have barbies anymore, but if I did I would totally line them up on my ceiling fan blades and flip the switch to on. I make it rain… dolls.
3. I don’t have cable anymore, but if I did I would be watching the premier of the new season of Grey’s Anatomy in exactly ten days. Don’t look at me like that. There is sarcasm all up in that title.
So, what have we learned? I don’t like soggy food, or the word soggy, and I don’t have the healthiest ways of entertaining myself. My previous barbies will vouch for that.
Speaking of entertainment and TV shows, I have discovered a new series. You’ve probably never heard of it, but it is named Dawson’s Creek.
Somehow I was never properly obsessed with this show ten years ago when it actually aired. I was probably too busy seeing how many items I could sling off of my ceiling fan. I also remember being ridiculously consumed in The OC and fantasizing about seven minutes in heaven with Adam Brody. Between the two activities there wasn’t time for much else.
How I never so much as channel surfed my way to Dawson’s Creek in between dodging commercials is beyond my comprehension, but I didn’t. I fret not. Thanks to Netflix, I can now time travel back to the nineties and earn this right of passage. I might possibly be one of the last people still wondering when Dawson is going to get laid.
Regardless, It is nice to go back. Back when twenty-five years olds played fourteen year olds and there was always a moral at the close of an episode. Back when scenes became more intense with an Alanis Morissette song. Back when ceramic hair straighteners didn’t exist and actresses looked more like normal people.
With seasons one and two down, I began to wonder how much these fictional high school dramas have probably changed in a decade. After reading The Hook’s post referencing Glee, I don’t think I am quite ready to leave the nineties. Dawson and Joey may be frustratingly prude, but at least missionary sounds less dicey than scissoring. Cue audience laughter.
What is your favorite show from the 90’s?
- Joshua Jackson On ‘Dawson’s Creek’ Reunion: ‘Never Say Never’ (huffingtonpost.com)
- Comic-Con 2012: Michelle Williams Teases ‘Dawson’s Creek’ Reunion (screencrave.com)
- Dawson’s Creek Disappointment (25hoursblog.blogspot.com)