But Michelle Trachtenberg’s presence in Complex magazine is rocking my world right now.
Tag Archives: women
Valentine’s Day was swell. I spent it with the Poet, bowling, playing pool, eating pizza, and feeding pizza crust to ducks. He is incredibly easy to talk to. A day well spent.
What did y’all do for Valentine’s day? Anything romantic? Did you avoid it altogether? Perhaps you spent it in bed with cookies (which was my alternative).
I tried speaking to Cry-Baby tonight. She’s different. Something’s different. Traveling across the country will do that to a person, I suppose. I don’t think she’ll ever understand how confused she made me. How ass-backwards vulnerable she made me. I wasn’t flaky, I wasn’t indecisive. I was just confused. I felt antagonized for months, to have my world turned to adoration. And then I had to make a decision. And I couldn’t. Because I was still used to feeling antagonized and tolerated. Whatever. I won’t bring it up again. After the initial conversation she just…stopped responding. I think she has her mind set concerning how she sees it all, and I am tired of trying to explain it. I spent months watching her walk away from people, avoid commitment like the plague. So that’s what I expected. As much as she told me differently, I needed something tangible. Which is impossible. And then she left. I just have to get over it.
Ready. Set. Go.
**I feel like I need to explain that Cry-Baby meant something to me. I’ve never liked someone for such an extended period of time. I just needed to know she wouldn’t leave. Which is ironic, because in the end she did anyways. I know I left once as well, and that I hurt her unintentionally. But when I looked at her, I only saw her. Which is rare for me. I always have one foot out of the door. Hence the preoccupation and the fear.**
There is a mixture of emotions around me. The prospect of newness. Refreshing, trip-you-up newness. And the heaviness of history. Cry-Baby, the Artist.
In the land of humor: I was talking to Tao about how I am worried I’ll end up a spinster with a herd of goats (as opposed to a house of cats), and he laughed at me. He told me I had too much life and passion to end up alone. That he could see me at 70 with a young toy on my arm.
I need to find someone who won’t become exhausted by my nature. He said I’d find someone to match my fire. God, I hope so.
I can handle being alone, and right now I’m reveling in the quietness I’m in. But some nights, some moments, I’d like to feel that belly magic of new love.
~ Hannah Morgan
[As in Johnny Depp – not tears.]
Talk about a confusing woman.
I met her three years ago, outside of our dorm. My first impressions of her were dazzling.
You know the gut-dropping, heart-wrenching, ‘oh my god i want you in my bed,’ feeling?
That’s exactly how I felt.
I think it was sparked by her plaid shirt, gorgeous brown hair, and sweet smile. [Not to mention she has the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard, and everyone falls in love with her when she sings and plays the guitar.]
So we flirted for a portion of freshman year, until somehow we end up hanging out over the summer.
Two bottles of red wine, and a bottle of honey mead later, I got up the nerve to kiss her. Now, from what I can recollect, it was magical and lovely, and nice. We partied like that for about two weeks or so. We’d end up making out, half naked in her bed, drunken and intoxicated by the parties. And then I’d leave before she woke up the next morning.
Which became a pattern until I decided to take a semester off.
When I got back we’d both moved on in our own ways. We started hanging out again, and I fell back into like with her voice and her art and her fucked up personality. But things just didn’t line up. I was still caught up with a chica I’d been pseudo-seeing back home, and I’d started to hang out with the boyo that would become the second person I’ve ever committed myself to for more than 6 months – [sort of].
Cry-Baby and I drifted apart again.
Summer rolled around and I needed a place to live… and Cry-Baby had a free room, a cheap free room. Thinking the distance was enough, I took it. Yes, in reflection, I notice this idea is not the best I’ve ever had.
Flash-forward to today. About 9 months later I’ve moved out, into my own one-bedroom apartment in the clouds, and she’s jetted across the country to “escape.” I moved out because I was allergic to the apartment, and she was passive aggressive. I’m sure I was too, but I got increasingly tired of how she treated me, especially since for the greater part of the 6 months that I lived with her we worked at the same job as well.
Which was a barrel of fun, let me tell you.
So after an apartment hosted party at our entire building, and the underhanded comments, and the hidden tension between the two of us, I packed up my shit and left.
We saw each other occasionally after that, and one night she handed me a letter containing her hidden attraction and “like,” for me. I was still reeling after my break up with the boyo I’d been seeing the entire time I lived with Cry-Baby, and her confusion attached itself to me and wouldn’t let go…again.
We hung out a handful of times after that, a movie here, an awkward party there. Sporadic kisses that made my head spin because I didn’t know if I legitimately liked or hated her. Pasts build up, and I have a tendency to hold on to them.
So, finally she asked if we were “getting anywhere,” which I didn’t have an answer to. Recently heart-broken, and utterly confused, all I could say was that I liked her, but I was too much of a head case to give her an answer. I just couldn’t do serious, and I wasn’t convinced she could either.
And her response? To tell me that she was moving a good 3,000 miles away. She would have stayed if I’d asked.
Right. Problem solved. Confusion is fading, and life is returning to its bizarre level of normal.
Of course I still think about her from time to time, but it’s better this way. I’m not rushed into something potentially volatile and destructive, and she is escaping Asheville – finding a clean slate.
Sometimes it works out that way. Sometimes you dance around people for an extended period of time, trying to find a break in the continuation of horrible timing – just to find that time would match up if it were supposed to.
So, wherever you are, buenas suerte Cry-Baby.