In high school, one of my better friends was a girl named Kelly. She was a hot mess. Her dad was a cop and her mother was overbearing, which equated to her doing everything in her power to defy all of the rules they set for her. She’d leave her house in a turtleneck and pants, with a miniskirt and halter-top stowed in her purse.

She was a party girl. She loved attention from men, and with an ass like J.Lo, she got it. She was one of those girls with talon-like fake nails, glittery lip gloss, and a weakness for pink. Almost the complete opposite of myself. She was 100% confident. She had an amazing voice and would sing without provocation, she liked to turn on music when everyone was sitting around and try to start a dance party. I envied her girlishness. I felt stupid dancing alone to music with people watching, but she looked sexy.

So, we partied together often. I made her laugh and she fascinated me. Her overt sexuality usually put us in a lot of crazy situations, especially since we dated guys in pairs. And, it was because she verbalized whatever popped into her head that I had my first experience kissing a girl.

We were dating some faceless and nameless pair of guys who were driving us to a party one night, and I was sitting in the back of the car with Kelly. She was singing along to the radio when she suddenly stopped, leaned over to me, and whispered in my ear, “Have you ever thought about kissing a girl?”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Oh my God. Had I just done something really gay? Why was she asking me this? My mind started racing through every move I had made around her for the last day, week, then year.   I’d suspected that I was at least partially gay for a long time- I had always been so infatuated with girls. Most of them were totally foreign to me: my mother had never been a fantastic role model of femininity. She liked to play Zelda and wasn’t the least bit sensual. I had never seen her wear a dress, make up, or jewelry. And, when I was little, my interpretation of “girly” was an erratic combination of puffy sleeves, ribbons and lace, paired with hiking boots and totally unkempt hair.  I had no clear instincts in the matter, and thus found myself hypnotized by women who naturally demonstrated every little pink, glittery detail.

But there was no way in hell I would ever have just volunteered that information to anybody. I became hot and prickly all over, fearing it was some sort of set-up. I felt like if I said “Yes!” Kelly would scream “Haha! Lesbian!” and boot me out of the car. So, my voice box frozen, I just barely nodded my head.

She leaned back, looked at me, smiled, then moved in and kissed me. When she pulled away I had pink, sparkly, sticky lip gloss all over my lips and my head was spinning.

I melted.

After that, she found an excuse to announce to EVERY guy we partied with that she was bi-sexual, and I was her girlfriend.

For a while, I let it happen. I was so excited by the new world which had opened up to me that I didn’t particularly mind the boner-fied audience of guys who got to watch me make out with her. But, unlike Kelly, my aim wasn’t to turn on the boys; it was to be able to kiss her. I had the biggest crush ever on her. I would sometimes call her on the phone and have her sing me to sleep. She cooked breakfast the mornings after she stayed the night. I thought she was pretty much perfect.

But for her, making out with me was like foreplay with whatever guy she happened to be with. Because, after we’d kiss and play for a while, she’d get up and grab her man by the hand and lead him off to go fuck somewhere. And I’d be sitting there, not wanting to hook up with the leftover guy, making really awkward conversation.

Kelly wasn’t bi-sexual. She was attention-sexual. And, I got tired of it after a while.

I remember one time when we drunkenly made it back to my house after a wild night of partying ,we had just crawled into my bed, and I found the courage to ask her:

“You always say you are bi-sexual. Does that mean you, like, ever want to hook-up with girls when there aren’t boys watching?”

“Yeah, I think girls are soo hot..”

“Really?” My heart fluttered.

“Mmm hmmm…”

I took that as a cue to move in closer, and as I did, I heard her start snoring.

Click Here To Read The Next Installment

Booty Queen:
Have you ever seen a gigantic ass clapping? Buffie Da Body.

Then, a few moments later when Irish Car Bombs were mentioned again, he leaned forward between the seats  and asked my mother “B, has Squink explained to you what an Irish Car Bomb is yet??”

She laughed and replied, “Holy Shit, David! No, but I was present for the 4 different times she had to repeat it to you.”

He just said, “Oh.” And sat back into his seat.

A few minutes later, Dad was commenting on the objects littering the backseat of my mom’s car. He was ragging at her about how many different half-full water bottles there were on the floor.

Mom shot back, “Ya, well you have no idea how many empty beer cans I find stuffed under the seat after you drive the car.”

“At least I finished them.”

“Okay, well the other day a FULL one rolled out from underneath the seat and got stuck underneath the brake pedal!”

Dad replied, “I’ll bet that was thrilling.” Smiled, and took a pull on his beer.

For the longest time, I worked at a bar called the Tilted Kilt, wearing a tiny whore outfit while serving booze to creepy old men. I really despised the job- feigning interest in nasty guys who had daughters my age who hit on me anyway- but I tolerated it because a) it was a job and b) I made a lot of money.

Me as a Scottish Whore

So, though I dealt with steaming piles of nasty shit from old men, I also got to hit on a lot of girls, and I loved it. But one chick in particular taught me a valuable life lesson: women are manipulative and emotional and out of their Goddamn minds.

There was a girl who was absolutely stunning-  smoking-fucking-hot. She had legs for days and a very sexy, dark European look. Her name was Katia and she came in to see me fairly often. She would come in and the male bartenders would get boners underneath their kilts looking at her, never missing an opportunity to throw about lewd comments about how bad they wanted to bang her.

Katia always sat in my section. She would strut in, sit down at one of my tables, and flirt with me for hours. I really enjoyed when she came in- this girl was confident and fun loving. We were always super fliratious and animated when we talked with each other. But, she had a boyfriend, who she would sometimes bring with her, who would linger awkwardly on the side-lines as me and Katia talked. My instincts told me they were probably interested in a threesome, so I never really pursued her, and kept the relationship at a friendly, interested, but unobtainable level. Katia eventually got my number, I had given it to her not ever expecting her to really call or try to hang out.

A few weeks later, on a Tuesday night, I was getting off of work around midnight when Katia started blowing up my phone. I ignored the first call, but after she sent a text message that said “Please answer me, I need your help!” and another phone call, I picked up- warily.

Me: Hey, Katia! How are you girly.. what’s going on?

Katia:  EVVVVVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Ah shitttttt… Katia was bawling. I had been hoping that her persistant phone calls and text message for assistance would be to help her solve a lighthearted dispute about some trivial question that she knew I’d have the answer to. But no. She was wailing on the other end of the line, and I had no idea how to react.

Me: Katia, are you okay?

Katia (in hysterics): Noooooooooooooooo…. Eva!  Eva my boyfriend and I are fighting and he’s threatening me and he just kicked me out of the house and I have nothing, no keys, no money, nothing and none of my fucking friends are answering their phones.. (sniff.. sniff.. sniff..) Oh my GODDDDDDD, I don’t know what to do. I can’t be by myself right now, I can’t, I want to go run into traffic. I don’t want to be alive right now.. Oh my GOOODDDDDDDDDDD.

Me (barely knowing this girl, and only knowing her as a fun flirt, not wanting to get involved): Umm.. well.. what do you want me to do Katia?

Katia: I only live a block away from your work, please, please just come and pick me up and sit with me until I can get a hold of SOMEBODY, ANYBODY! Eva, I feel so bad doing this to you, I know we don’t know each other very well I just don’t know what to dooooooo….”

Me: Okay.. okay.. I can come pick you up and we can go hang out for a while.. I have to get up at 5 a.m. and go do a promotion for work though- so I obviously want to help you but I really need you to try and figure out some kind of plan okay hon?”

Katia: (sniff.. sniff..) “Okaaaay. Thank you Eva! This means a lot to me, you are such a nice girl..”

So, she gave me directions to her house and I drove to go get her. When I pulled into her apartment complex, I was stunned. This girl was rolling around on the cement ground of the parking lot, wailing and screaming. I slowly pulled up next to her and got out of my car..

“Evvaaaaa I’m so glad you’re here I can’t stand him, he is evil and he’s in my house and I don’t know what to dooooo…” she cried.

I leaned down and pulled her up from the ground…

“We’ll figure it out Katia.. You need pull yourself together, gorgeous. We’ll figure something out,” I tried consoling her.

I packed her flailing, lithe body into my car and hopped back into the driver’s seat. Even though it was now apparent that Katia was mildly intoxicated, we decided we would go to the bar down the street until she figured out where she was going to stay and what she was going to do and if she could get a hold of anybody.

As I drove, she explained what had happened between her and her boyfriend that night, and I absorbed what I could through the sniffs and sobs. I tried to avoid looking at her face because at this point I just felt embarrassed for her. Her make-up was smeared all over, her cheeks were tear stained, and she had to keep wiping her nose because it was running from crying too hard. The sexy, confident, woman who always looked so collected was crumbling before me. I reached a hand out and rubbed her back as I drove, anxious to sit this girl down, wipe her face off, get a beer, and help her get her shit together.

Too bad it was 1 a.m. on a Tuesday. As I pulled into the parking lot of the nearest bar, the chances of the place being open looked dismal. The lights were off and there were no cars anywhere to be found. I slowed my car in front of the door and was about to ask Katia for any other ideas when she brightened up and declared, “It’s okay, I know the owners! I’m sure we can just go in there anyway!” and proceeded to hop out of the car and go and yank on the door as hard as she could.

The alarm started going off immediately. Looking like a scolded puppy, she ran back towards me..

“Oh my god, Oh my god, Oh my god..  I’m so sorry! I thought I’d be able to go in! I know the owner!”

I wasn’t aware if she realized that “knowing somebody” to get drinks at a bar was different than being given the divine power of opening the locked doors when the place was closed. Needless to say, I sped out of the parking lot to avoid any questioning by the cops who would be showing up shortly, who would have made the night all the more uncomfortable.

At this point, I was tired. Tired from working a double that day, emotionally exhausted from trying to console the disaster in my passenger seat, and not looking forward to waking up in T-minus 4 hours to go get my pictures taken for advertisements for the Tilted Kilt. We drove around for thirty more minutes as she continued to suck out all of my energy with her crying and blatant inability to regain composure. All I wanted was solace. I wanted to drop this girl off somewhere so I could crawl into my bed at home and burrow into my blankets and not have to worry about what I was going to do with her. I kept holding out hope that she would get in touch with somebody and find a place to stay. But, eventually I decided that if I had to continue to deal with an unstable, emotional Katia, I’d rather be doing it from the comfort of my home. So, I gave in.

“Katia.. I have a spare bedroom at my house. You can crash in it if you’d like, but I really just need to get home. I can give you a ride back to your place at 5 a.m. cuz that’s when I have to be at work.. is that okay?”

She whimpered and nodded. The rest of the twenty minute drive to my house was filled with her crying about her relationship and me silently nodding and inserting the concerned “Mmhmmm’s” when necessary. When we pulled into my apartment complex at 2 a.m., my ears were ringing from her sobbing.  I was so happy to be home as we dragged our sorry asses up the stairs to my place. Then, as soon as I inserted my keys and jiggled my front door open, Katia was in my house and bee-lining towards the kitchen. Once there, she opened my refrigerator and pulled out a can of beer- which she then proceeded to stab a hole in the side of and shotgun. When she finished, she spiked the can onto the ground, and pulled out another. She repeated the process three times as I stood there watching, speechless.

“Oh my GODDDDD I needed that,” she said when beer number four was gone, and shrugged.

I decided not to comment, because all I wanted to do was sleep, so I showed her back to the spare bedroom and went to grab her pair of pajamas. As I walked into the spare room to hand her the clothes, Katia knocked them out of my hands,  grabbed the collar of my shirt, threw me onto the extra bed, crawled on top of me, and started kissing me. The pathetic looking tear stained girl who I had been trying to piece together for the last 3 hours had suddenly transformed into a devious vixen. I was so tired, and confused, and completely clueless as to what this girl needed- I just went with it.

She wanted to be in control, and I let her be. She stopped and told me she had never been with a woman before but had always fantasized about it. I let her keep going. I was so defeated by how crazy this girl was, and so bewildered at how premeditated this entire night had been to get to this point. She kept going for a while, then she suddenly became unsure and awkward, and asked me to take over. I did, and after we finished I was drained of every ounce of energy in my body. I rolled onto my back and looked over at her, and as I did, she sat bolt upright, suddenly, like some kind of timer had just gone off.

She looked at me over her shoulder, now looking very perky and victorious, and said, “Okay! I’ll let myself out.. I’ll get a cab home.”

And she got up and walked out of my room, completely composed, as if nothing had just happened.

I didn’t know what to think and I was too tired to try and make any sense of what I had just been through. I just laid in my bed enjoying the coziness as she left.. and though I felt like I had lead blocks for feet, when I heard the door slam, I ran into the living room and locked the door behind her as fast as I could.

Click Here To Read The Prequel, Hot Love

(this was posted about 5 months ago, unposted, then I decided to stop being a puss and just leave it)

A while ago I met a local musician who had performed at a show I went to. He saw me dancing by myself with my eyes closed and shoes off and approached me. We talked a little, he gave me his name and we exchanged numbers. I went home, added him on MySpace, and looked up the bands he told me he was in. I found myself liking one of the band’s songs and charmed by the video that went with it:

Chapter Two, Yellow Minute

I also found myself thinking that one of the fellows in this video was very, very cute. (not the musician, he wasn’t in it)

Musician and I went on our first date a few days later. It went fairly smoothly, interesting topics of conversation, we got a little drunk.. and I remember actually meeting the Music Video guy who I had thought was cute- he was a friend of the Musician. He was incredibly energetic and outgoing, and gave me a high-five or two in the short time he visited with the Musician and I. I didn’t take too much note, and the Musician remained my main focus for the night.

A week later I went out on a date with Musician again, and again we saw his friend, Video guy. I received more high-fives and enthusiastic greetings from the friend, but was still trying to figure out the potential for a relationship with the Musician. I started realizing that most of the connection I had built with Musician was based on camaraderie from silliness & drunken debauchery rather than real chemistry. When we weren’t drinking I was bored to shit with his conspiracy theories and viewpoint that the essence of life was magic mushrooms. I knew it wasn’t happening.

Another week went by and I was trying to get the point across that I’d prefer to just be friends, but I failed miserably when we went to a show together and I let him pay for all of my drinks. We had an alright time, and it just so happened that his Video friend happened to work at the venue we saw the show at. Video guy gave me a high-five once for a greeting, once as I passed him on the way to the ladies room, and once on the way back. But we still never had a conversation, and he barely interacted with the Musician. I was curious about Video guy, but wasn’t sure what his standing with the Musician was, and didn’t know if I’d ever run into him again after I called it quits with the Musician. I didn’t dwell on it, and at the end of the night I talked with the Musician and was pretty much certain I would never see him again.

A few days later I was at a local show with a friend when I turned around on the dance floor and saw Video guy. I figured three introductions and numerous enthusiastic hand-slaps justified a friendly hello. So I walked up and tapped him on the shin with my foot to get his attention. He turned to me and gave me a big smile, a hug, and (of course) a high-five. We talked for a while, flirted a little bit… and ended up dancing the night away together. At the end of the night I invited him to hang out with me and my friend at my house just down the block so he could sober up. He ended up coming over, my friend left before he did, we talked until 4 a.m. and ended up falling asleep next to each other- no kissing or cuddling, just snoozing.

At this point I thought I was golden. I had been worried that Video guy might have been good friends with my Musician, but I took the night of dancing and flirtation as solid proof that they were more acquaintances than friends since he obviously didn’t give a shit. I figured I was good to go without messing up a Bromance and I was happy.

So, Video guy and I hung out a few nights later. He ended up at my house, again, we were cuddling and talking when he turned to me and said:

“I have to admit… when you kicked me in the shin the other night, I knew I recognized you but I couldn’t remember from where?”

I sat up straight. Oh shit: “Umm… you don’t know where you have met me before?”

Video Guy: “No… I can’t remember exactly. Where have I seen you before?”

Me: “Are you serious?”

Video Guy: “Ya. I know I’ve met you but I don’t know where..”

Me (not knowing what to expect): “I saw you on Sunday at the Jessica Lea Mayfield show.. you gave me like 3 high-fives in 15 minutes.”

Video Guy (thinking): “On Sunday?…

At the show…

Oh FUCK!

You were on a date with my friend!”

Me: “..ya..”

Video Guy: “Oh SHIT, are you fucking kidding me? You were on like your 4th date with my friend 3 days ago!”

Me: “Ya.. I thought you knew.. I mean… you’d given me so many high-fives when I was with him and I thought you recognized who I was when I kicked you in the shin!!”

Music Video Guy: “Nooo… when a girl is with one of my guy friends I don’t look at her face or notice her or anything. If she’s with one of my friends I don’t pay attention! Oh my God, what the fuck, he is my friend!! This is wrong.”

Me (getting defensive ):“WHAT?! You high-five people you aren’t even paying attention too? Was I expected to know you were mentally blocking out my face when you so enthusiastically greeted me everytime I walked by you? Fucking control yourself!”

Video Guy: “My high-fives… you kicked me in the shin to get my attention! You knew who I was and you STILL kicked me!”

Me: “Ya but I thought you knew who I was! I wasn’t going to flirt with you until you flirted with me! But giving like 10 high-fives to someone doesn’t get them a place holder in your memory bank! You can just pretend to be that excited to see everybody!! Do you even know how many times you high-five someone in a day?!?!?!”

Video Guy: “ME?! Do you just go around kicking everyone you want to flirt with in the leg?! What did you kick me in the leg for if you didn’t want me to flirt with you?”

Me: “Okay- I DID want to talk to you, so I kicked you, but ONLY because you’d given me so many fucking high-fives!!!!! And you started flirting with me because apparently high-fives mean nothing to you!!”

And then I kicked him really Goddamn hard in the shin.

Not really, but I wish.

READ PART 1 HERE

The next day I woke up with my sister telling me that Mom and Dad were freaking out because Shannon had disappeared. I heard my parents talking in the other room and it didn’t sound good.

I felt as guilty as an 8 year old can feel- basically; it was the end of the world. I had known Shannon was going to leave, but I had promised my best friends I wouldn’t tell on them, and now I felt like I was the reason my parents were upset. As Chloe and I listened through the door to their conversation I could tell how devastated they were and I was feeling more and more crushed. I didn’t tell Chloe that I had known; because I was afraid she would tell Mom and I would be cast out of our family forever.

Eventually, the conversation quieted and Mom and Dad came to our bedroom door and knocked. Chloe and I ran to our bed and jumped in, wanting to seem as if we had been sleeping. Mom and Dad came in and told us, very matter-of-factly, “Wake up. You two need to come with us to Grandma’s house. Your sister has left, no one knows where she is, and apparently destroyed the house. We need to go clean it up.”
We played ignorant and got up, quickly put on our clothes, and endured the intensely silent car ride to Grandma’s house.

The whole ride I was in a state of utter panic. Destroyed? Grandma’s house was DESTROYED? Like.. burnt to the ground? Did Shannon take a sledge hammer to the walls before she left? Why hadn’t Jake and Leah told me they were going to DESTROY Grandma’s house.. Because then I would have told Mom and Dad. Why hadn’t I told Mom and Dad in the first place? Were they going to find out I knew and I was going to be homeless forever?

I felt so responsible for how shitty everything felt.

We pulled into the driveway at Grandma’s , and it was then we figured out what my parents had meant by “destroyed”.

Shit was everywhere. The innards of the house were spilling out the doors and windows. It looked like the house had thrown up it’s contents onto the lawn. Tables and chairs had been thrown haphazardly into the yard, papers and trinkets littered the stairs leading to the door. We walked through the crunchy broken glass, fearfully, knowing that the inside of the house was going to be much worse than the outside. And we were right. The screen door was hanging by one hinge as my parents carefully opened it and we got a glimpse into the pit of despair. All of the filth and scum that I usually associated with Shannon’s dwellings seemed to have reproduced exponentially overnight. Like a fungus that had spread from the basement of the house up. Stains that had never been there before had suddenly appeared. Everything was broken. Literally just.. EVERYTHING. Memorabilia from my Mother’s childhood were crushed into dust on the floor and ripped in half and more than likely spit on. My sister had really gone to town. And we didn’t know why. This was the house that a few weeks earlier, my grandparents had lived in. Now they were dead and my sister had desecrated their memory.

I looked at my parents faces. On my Dad’s face I saw utter horror, shock, and disgust. He had always been the emotional one. Then, I looked to my Mom. I expected her to be crying but what I saw instead was a pale white stone wall where her face should have been. There was no color or emotion, instead there was just a void, sucking in everything that she was seeing. And there was so much to take in.

We continued down into the basement, which had been Shannon’s lair. The dark gloomy basement she had inhabited because that was the kind of nest she had preferred. Musty, dark, damp and gloomy. We got down there and saw the rest of the wreckage. But what sucked even worse was the pristine table set up in the middle of all of the chaos. It was waiting there for us. A light was turned on above it, the table was clean, and sitting perfectly in the middle of it was a note, typewritten, by Shannon, addressed to my mother.

My mom told us to go upstairs and have Dad take us home.

People walk around with flashing neon lights and MySpace profile blurbs waiting in their voiceboxes to shove down someone elses throat. The meaning of their self-descriptions are meaningless. The summation of your personality in 50 words or less. If 50 words is all you’ve got, then you aren’t worth my time. Spending all day putting up your facade rather than expanding yourself means that when I meet you and hear all you have to say, that’s all there is. Spend less time putting up your billboard because you care what everyone thinks and more time experiencing things so you can talk about something else for a change. Get weird, feel uncomfortable, talk inappropriately, do something stupid, and live something new. Don’t let me hear you try to convince me how bad you are, how caring you are, how silly you are, how fucked up you are, how big your problems are.. let me see. Use my senses and shut up.

You are not hard because your middle finger is up. You are not a model because your pictures are overexposed and make your eyes look pretty. Put your clothes on and advertise your brain. Your ass should not be your selling point. Stop caring so fucking much what people think. Don’t cry about your life. Shut up and show me your disaster. So fly, so fresh.

Eat it.

After a month and a half of slowly realizing that I’m returning to the same state of loneliness that engulfed me when I first moved to ASU, I cried. I cried in my car, eating an Oreo Sonic Blast, listening to my melancholy indie chick music, choking on my tears and an occasional chunk of Oreo. Cars next to me at the red lights more than likely felt uncomfortable when they looked over and saw my silent portrayal of heartbreak. My shoulders shook with overdramatic sobs, tears rolled down my splotchy red face, and I let my head hang down as I tore through my ice cream. I didn’t care. These tears were overdue.

Moving to Arizona was a big deal, initially. I grew up in a tiny one stoplight town in rural Iowa, got a scholarship to ASU, moved here, and started going to lectures that had more students than my entire high school. It was fucking terrifying. The amount of self-exploration, growth, and maturation I went through was life changing. Adapting to a new culture combined with being broke and figuring out how to take care of myself made for the most important few years of my life. I was outside of my comfort zone for so long, and it wasn’t until this last year that I could confidently say I was comfortable in my own skin, and proud of where I came from, and who I have become.

And then all of those people who I grew to know and love and who went through those important years with me have all just completely disappeared. The ones who knew me best. The people that I bonded to for strength through difficult situations all seemed to have graduated on time and left me high and dry. And here I am, facing one more semester, looking around and wondering “Guys?… Guys, where are you?”

I still have friends, obviously. There are acquaintances that are friendly and fun and invite me to go out. And I have been enjoying the company of so many new people who are incredibly welcoming. But I’m just weary. Do I have to form a whole new circle of close friends only to graduate in 6 months and probably leave? Who can I call when I’m crying, and who is going to let me spoon them when I get too high and freak myself out? Who am I not scared to announce my stupid ideas to, knowing we will follow through with them no matter how deranged other people will think we are? These are the thoughts that have been plaguing me for the last month.

And today, my dog ran away. And now I feel totally, totally alone. The puppy that loved me no matter what and got excited every time I saw her is gone. So, after riding my bike around for hours searching nearby neighborhoods and bordering heat exhaustion, I felt my lips begin to tremble and hurried home for my car- my crying place. As my face scrunched up and I knew the water was coming, I got in and started driving. The sun was setting, some soulful Cat Power came on, and I filled up the car with self-pity as I let the sobs roll out. I’m about to go through another big life transition, I’m feeling unsure of myself again, and I hate it. The confidence that I fought so hard for has slowly slipped out of my body and I feel like a fragile shell of the person that I authoritatively claimed before.  I have no idea where my life is taking me. But after a good cry, I feel ready. I’m just going to have to hold on tight and go along for the ride.

You would cry if you lost her, too.

Edit: I wrote this post on June 20th but forgot to post it. Since then I found my baby at the pound, got into contact with friends I grew away from, and have strengthened bonds of many of my new friendships. I just thought it was a good post & thought it would be good to put up, even if delayed.

We are now reaching the halfway point of summer, the time of year where I always find myself spending a month reevaluating my life, getting really whacked out sleeping patterns, dealing with the consequential soul searching depression from staying up for 24 hours straight, biting my nails at 3:52 a.m. wondering why I have made the choices I have made and where I will end up.

And what always helps me cope with the month of fleeting insanity?

New music.

I’m a music junkie. When I can’t sleep and need to pull myself away from the deep emotions that possess me during the month of July, I scour the internet for new bands to listen to. I distract myself for hours at a time (my record being 8 straight hours) by utilizing MySpace, Pandora, Daytrotter, Gnoosic, various blogs, and other tools to find bands that I’m sure no one else has ever heard of before. I usually come away from these sessions with a few new band crushes, and a couple of songs that I can lose myself in for a week. Then the process repeats. But, I’m telling you, I find some good shit. And I always know who is going to be cool in 5 years. Swear to god. I listened to Kings of Leon in 2004. Cat Power was my baby 4 years ago. Tegan and Sara? I practically own them. And Lady Gaga… ollllld news (although anyone in the gay community can claim that one).

So, I’m going to recommend that you click on that YouTube video of Jessica Lea Mayfield residing at the top of this blog so you know which bitch is going to be taking over the world in a little bit.

Right now I’m into a lot of hippie folk stuff, so if you have a distaste for showers, rarely wear shoes, and love you some trees, take a listen to these guys, Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros:

And if you want to be really cool, check out The Dodos.

Meric Long of The Dodos. I would like him to marry me. Jus' sayin'.

And I’m proud of these stencils I made:

Yay for me!

 The End (for now).

Eva Feels the Wrath of Karma

I’m a pansy, and it makes me a bitch. I’m not totally sure why I get so turned off by people who want to get serious, it just happens and I shut down. Then, the thought of facing someone who is upset with me is so terrifying that I go into hiding. That’s what happened with the last 5 people I dated. With every single one of them things were going along great, then suddenly I realized their feelings for me were more intense than mine for them, a switch flipped on, and I froze up. Instead of letting any of them know that I needed more time or that I felt smothered or wanted to be friends, the thought of them wanting me so badly made me feel like they were needy and I just ran away. I ignored phone calls, responded to texts days after receiving them, gave them aloof one word responses, and treated them like dirt. With each one, the amount of time before they got it varied, and once I knew it had set in I completely stopped talking to them. I didn’t want them to ask me why I had changed my mind, because I couldn’t give them a good answer.

In short, I fall hard and run fast.

In my head, I was convinced they were all needy and annoying and I started picking apart their personalities.. just because they liked me alot. I turned them into whiny little puppies in my brain, even though they were all real people, with real feelings, who I had really liked at one point… facts I ignored so I could move on in my dating life without a pang of guilt.

And now, here I am getting mauled by the karma that I deserve and realizing what a bitch I was- and if any of those people I ignored are reading this, you can curl up your hand and raise it in a fist of triumph, because I will say honestly that I got a dose of my own medicine. But at least I am learning from it.

…..So I guess it’s finally time for me to lay down the saga of Jed.

Remember the Undie Run I wrote about back in May? Well, that’s where I met this guy. In the throbbing crowd of half naked college students, I was throbbing next to Jed. The tallest, cutest boy that I could see happened to be standing next to one of my friends, Natalie and I made our way over, and I found this handsome, tattooed guy  looking adorably confused at a marker in his hand.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“Ummm.. I dunno, I just found it on the ground a couple of seconds ago. I don’t know what to do with it!”

“Autograph boobies, duh!” I yelled, ripped it out of his hands, and put Eva R. on his chest.

He laughed, and asked if he could sign mine.

Jed.

(not my rack, unfortunately)

Then the starting signal went off, the crowd broke, and everyone started running. We lost each other within minutes, but when I got home later that night I Facebooked “ Jeds” at ASU. He was listed on the first page and I added him. A few days later we talked. He asked me to go out and I was excited. I had found out already that this guy had hippie parents and grew up without a TV. I was a little flabbergasted, because until this point, I had never met anyone who had such a similar upbringing to mine. I was kind of eager to see if he was as cool as I thought he might be.

Then he stood me up.

He told me he would call me in 20 minutes so we could go do something. I sat for 3 hours, dressed up and ready to go, waiting for that phone call. Most girls probably would have written him off after sitting for a few hours on that first night, fully dressed and doing all of those “getting ready” things you only have time for if whoever you are going out with is really late. Painting your nails. Watching them dry. Tweezing all of the extra fine hairs around your eyebrows. Moisturizing your elbows. Cutting cuticles. Watching time ooze by as the realization eventually sets in that you’ve been sitting 3 hours and 20 minutes longer than planned and that call is NOT coming. But I’m 1000 times more patient than most other people, and gave him the benefit of the doubt.

We ended up hanging out the next 3 nights in a row. He was as cool as I thought he might be. He was intelligent, funny, quirky, great taste in music, and good looking. I tried to hide my excitement at the prospects of dating this guy, but I probably did a bad job of it. We spent a good amount of those first 3 times we hung out getting extra drunk with all of his recently graduated friends and I am sad to report that huge chunks of the conversations that we had are missing from my memory.

Then I didn’t hear from him for 3 days straight.

When we finally did talk, we made a date plan. We ended up spending something like 23 hours together on that first date. We hung out again the next night as well. It was an intense, highly alcoholic 2 days.

Then no talking for 4 days in a row. I started sweating.

Eventually, I got a text message from him, letting me know that he has an intense fear of moving too fast. I let him know that I definitely understood, and backed off considerably. I got so scared that he might potentially do what I had done to so many people before, and it made me so fucking nervous, I couldn’t handle it. This is when I debated whether, if I ever saw him again, I wanted to kick him in the balls or give him a hug. I wanted to stop liking him at all, but I couldn’t. And it was killing me. His unreliability, the way he could go 4 days without even thinking about me, the fact that everything was going so well and then it was like a switch flipped on, he froze up, and turned into a ghost. He was doing to me what I had done to so many guys and girls before. My confidence was in shambles and I hated him for it. To be fair, he told me he didn’t have his shit together and didn’t want a relationship. I told him it would be cool to just be friends, and I meant it.

But still, it persists. I want to hear from him and I never want to talk to him again. As much as I want to forget he exists and  ignore the fact that I have been rejected, I want so bad to be friends and somewhat nurture the connection that was made in the first few weeks I knew this guy. But the unreliability continues. It’s like we never had a single good conversation before. I get aloof one word responses from him and feel an overwhelming lack of interest when he is talking to me.

For the last 3 weeks, if we talked, it wasn’t because he initiated conversation, it’s because I debated whether or not to say “Hi!” for 10 minutes and risked being that person who just doesn’t get the hint.

Maybe it’s in my head, but I feel so awkward. The confident, fun-loving girl other people see is nowhere to be found when I hang out with this guy who has shown me what it feels like to be punished for liking someone too fast. My confidence with him is shattered, and I’m beginning to feel like we can’t be friends because I turn into such a self-conscious nincompoop around him that I will never be able to carry on a conversation again. The sympathetic side of myself continues to argue that he might be okay because he is doing exactly what I have done so many times before and it’s something I can understand, my proud side is longing to tell him off for being such a prick, and all of me just wishes I had never met him.. because I finally GOT it. It has set in, and I’m still torn up that I got such intense karma from someone who I thought I could connect with, even if it would be just as friends.

So there you have it. The Trainwreck is getting what she deserves, and I guess I just have to promise that if I end up dating another person who lays it on too thick, too early for me I’m going to deal with it the right way, be honest, and do my best to stay friends, because if I ever act like as big of a flaky bitch as I used to be, I want someone to punch me in the face.

One of Andy Hartmarks awesome photos. Of a good face punch.

I don’t want to make anyone resent me for turning ice cold without any notice, ever again. When someone I’m dating lets me know they are starting to feel attached I’m not going to burn the bridge down right away. Instead I need to evaluate the potential for a relationship as realistically as I can, and see if they can deal with being just friends. I don’t want to hide from the people that I make a connection with anymore… because now I realize how arrogant I was in assuming all of those people that I ran away from only wanted to date me and make me THEIRS and couldn’t handle anything else. Staying friends would be better than knowing they are feeling resentment towards me for slamming on the brakes and disappearing when things are seemingly going well. Now I’ve seen things from the other side of the situation, and I finally realize how dumb I was for running away from the people I made connections with.

Karma really is a bitch.

Lucy, Bella, Joohee, Brianne

Bella Montoyana is the first girl to get her shoes on and into the classroom every single week. As soon as she enters the room she begins “racing” from one end of the room to the other. She makes comments about how fast she is, and completely ignores my requests to slow down. Last week, Bella was just reaching one of the walls and turning towards the next wall when Joohee Suzuki entered the room halfway between Bella and her new finishline. Joohee, not understanding the concept of fair racing, sprinted to Bella’s next destination, slapped the wall, and declared “I won!”

Joohee continued her marathon as Bella, devastated by her defeat, began to demand the Joohee stop so she could explain the rules of racing to her. To Bella’s dismay, Joohee could not get over the idea of endless running back and forth.

“Joohee! Stop I need to tell you how to race!”

“Joohee! Stopppppppppppppp….”

After a bit of frustration Bella caught Joohee’s attention, and Joohee halted. Unfortunately for her, Joohee was heading towards the wall Bella was currently standing next to. 

“Joohee!” Bella was in the middle of saying, “Stop! I’m going to tell you the rules of racing…”

At this moment Bella puased and realized the enormous advantage she had over Joohee.

“I won!” she declared victoriously, slapping her hand on the wall she was standing next to.

Instructing 3 to 5 years olds through an activity takes a bit of maneuvering, considering their raisin-sized attention spans. Each activity must involve sparkly princess ponies, or racing; otherwise you’re fucked. The area most desperately in need of creativity (cuz it’s the most boring!) is during the ballet stretches, where a countless number of ploys have been created by teachers at Nolte Academy to keep the girls satisfied.  It is during stretches that a majority of the uninhibited girlishness comes out. We take imaginary trips to ice cream stores and bakeries as we bend our bodies in half to “eat” the delectables off of our knees and toes, and on these trips the girls get to take turns telling me what flavors of treats they will be ordering, such as:

“Pink Gold Diamond Sparkle unicorn.. cake”

Or

“Princess with a long dress and fairy magic… flavored ice cream”

Bella Montoyana is by far the most preoccupied with fanciful ideas. She loves to dominate everyone else’s flavors or colors, completely destroying their pride in their whimsical ideas. Lucy Polyaki is another student in Bella’s class. Lucy had spent approximately 6 months listening quietly to directions and living peacefully under Bella’s self-appointed tyranny, but blew my mind one day as we sat stretching.

First, we were butterflies. We sat in our butterfly position stretching our legs, and I went around the circle asking everyone individually what color of butterfly they were. Bella’s turn came and she proudly announced that she was a pink and purple butterfly. The other girls were crushed- why hadn’t they thought of pink and purple?! Lucy’s turn came next, and my eyebrows raised when she replied, staring unblinking at Bella:

“I am a rainbow pink and purple butterfly today!”

There was a brief moment of intensity, but it passed as the herd of butterflies flew to a nearby cake bakery to make some cakes. As we  ‘mixed the batter’ for our cakes with our legs extended into a straddle, I again went around the circle and asked what flavor of cake the girls would be making today. Bella’s turn came. She was making a Barbie flavored cake.

The whole group of 5 year olds thought, simultaneously:  DAMN! Barbie cake, I bet that tastes good! God I suck!

Lucy’s turn:

“I think I will be having.. RAINBOW Barbie cake!”

Everyone: Holy shit! Ingenious, how could I ever live without rainbow Barbie flavored cake?! Lucy’s shit is on point!

The heat was on. Bella, the tyrant queen was about to be overthrown by quiet little Lucy. Curious, I went around once more, asking what kind of frosting we would be having on our cakes today. Crickets chirped as I asked the first few girls what they would be having.

“Joohee? Will you be having frosting on your cake?”

…..no response, she sat, staring wide-eyed at the waves of radiation pulsating in the air between Bella and Lucy…

“Brianne, do you want to frost your cake?”

“Miss Eva, I’m scared.”

“Oh.. okay dear. Um, Bella? What kind of frosting are you putting on your cake today?”

Bella turned towards me, slowly, with fervor in her eyes..

“I am having RAINBOW Silver frosting today!” she said, triumphantly.

“That’s nice. And you Lucy?”

Intense silence.

“Miss Eva, I am having Rainbow Silver SPARKLE frosting on my cake.”

One for Lucy.

I love to see the effect that everything has on little kids: the empowering factor that is “sparkle” or “rainbow” or the magic of pink. The mundane objects of the adult world become their weapons and assets.

At the end of class each week, we take turns leaping over the head of a stuffed ballerina mouse, named Angelina. One week towards the end of the year, I saw a sliding amount of excitement at jumping over Angelina Ballerina. Apparently, the rat no longer inspired my girls. I decided to do something about it when Brianne forgot the mouse was there as she wandered into the center of the room, tripped on it, and toppled over.

“Were we leaping? Oh, sorry Miss Eva, I thought you and your gay little mouse were just having a tea party in the middle of the room. Sorry I interrupted. Oh, and by the way Miss Eva, you’re not really exciting or creative anymore. Just thought I’d let you know. Bye.”

Something had to be done.

An idea popped into my head.

“Okay girls.. I’m not sure Angelina Ballerina is working anymore. What would you say if I gave you magic, so you can fly over Angelina?”

Interest sparked in 5 little pairs of eyes.

First, I raided the three other dance studios for every last pink scarf in the building, then I handed out two pink scarves to each girl, and told them they could be used as fairy magic, wings, magic carpets, capes.. Anything that could make them soar into the air. The girls were buzzing, and I noticed the change right away. The first few girls who leaped tripled the height of their jumps, soared delicately through the air, and landed gracefully on the other side. Now, we were up to Lucy.

The raw determination on her face as she stormed towards the mouse appalled me. Her little arms flapped wildly with the scarves that represented her pink fairy wings, and I prepared myself for amazement as she took her final step and launched into the air. As if in slow motion, I saw this 3 foot tall girl ascending into oblivion. As she rocketed over Angelina, I felt a glowing sense of pride for Lucy the underdog who was now showing up every other girl in the class. After an amazing leap which lasted for days,  she came hurtling back down to earth. Her feet touched down, but her arms were still pumping. My hands were positioned for applause, but I recoiled in shock as her momentum pushed her further.

Lucy was now sliding across the last ten feet of floor on her stomach, superman style with arms in front of her, scarves streaming from her clenched fists. She slid sideways into the Pilates mats and her propulsion stopped. I prepared my ears for screaming little girl sobs. Instead, she stood up, brushed herself off, smiled at me, and wiggled her eyebrows. Thank god for the magic of pink scarves.