Arkansas Times

Monday, November 24, 2008 - 20:31:41

Killing the Fairytale.

A while ago, a good friend asked, "You're so normal, why are you single?" For me, a resounding question recently asked by yet another friend. It's a question I can't answer because my abnormalities stare back at me. The last few times I've let my guard down and thought I'd found something special and real, I later discovered it was a facade leaving me empty handed and heartbroken. A part of me died, but I don't really miss that wide-eyed girl.

Never really feeling means never really hurting. And yet, how does one truly disconnect emotionally? Do we shut out the surface love for fear it could expand and eventually cause pain? Or, does one jump in, cannonball-style, despite the risk of probable hurt? What is the right route? For me, it's sitting on edge with occasional dips in the shallow end.

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Monday, November 17, 2008 - 17:50:55

Almost InFamous

Several years ago, an ex-boyfriend, Justin #1, would regularly get together with my best friend, Wes and his friend, Micah to play music. Occasionally, I would assist with harmonies and writing, but was never fully part of the group as I didn’t play an instrument. When my relationship with Justin #1 ended, his ties to Wes and Micah ended as well due to their connection to me. A couple of years later, Micah and I decided to give the music thing a shot as we both had identical musical preferences. We began writing several of our own songs, but the predominance of our focus surrounded cover tunes. We selected our favorite songs while working on new ways to make them our “own.”
 
Months later, I met Scott through a mutual friend. Through email exchanges, we discovered our musical preferences paralleled. I invited him to join Micah and me to practice one evening and the rest is history.  Our greatest struggle surrounded selecting our band name. I liked “The Pass a Fist,” a play on words for “The Pacifists,” which obviously have opposing meanings. This was immediately shot down. I always joked with Scott, telling him all the girls would come see us just to see him. Micah jokingly said, “Yeah. Like the poster in Almost Famous. You’ll be in focus and Lauryn and I will be blurs in the background.” Scott retorted with, “Hmm. Haven’t seen it, but we’d be more like Almost Infamous.” And it stuck. We roll our eyes when asked of our name now, however it was too late to rename our trio.
 
 
The original crew.
From L to R: Micah, me, and Scott

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Friday, November 07, 2008 - 17:50:14

Over Served.

Last July, my friends and I gathered at a local restaurant to celebrate my birthday. We reserved two large tables which unfortunately, separated the group. Early in the evening, I noticed one of our servers and thought he was attractive. It was nearly impossible to miss him as he stood almost seven feet tall. Retreating back to my junior high school self, I sent a couple of texts messages to a few girls at the opposite table, encouraging them to inquire if he was single. He, Jonathan, was. I asked them to prod him for his evening plans, asking him to join us later if able. Yes, I was pimping myself out via text message. Classy, I know.
 
Once we finish dinner, our crowd disperses. The other server approaches me and requests my number to give to Jonathan. I oblige. As we exit the restaurant, I introduce myself to him. I felt like an Oompa Loompa despite wearing unusually high heels. In this moment, I also learn he is left-handed with puppy-dog eyes. I’ve always been a sucker for eyes with a quality of sadness.

 

Jonathan and me in July of '08.

Yes, he really is a foot and eight inches taller than me.

 

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Tuesday, November 04, 2008 - 17:21:45

Just Off Turner

In the summer of 2007, John Mayer (my future husband,) wrote a glowing review of a band by the name of Just Off Turner.  Upon listening, I fell instantly and wholly in love. Soon after, I discovered two of the four band mates were originally from Northwest Arkansas making me all the more eager to pass on the word. Phil, the keyboardist and backing vocalist, and I began communicating casually via myspace. The exchanges spawned a surface friendship which enabled me to encourage the foursome to stop through Little Rock while touring in October of ’07. I assisted in finding a suitable venue and the crew played an unreal show at Sticky Fingerz one random, rainy, Thursday evening. They were so fantastic in fact, the sound manager at Sticky Fingerz made a point to mention more than once, “We have to get you guys back here on a weekend!” Unfortunately, due to the weather and weekday, the crowd was small. Small, though mesmerized. The typical bar room chatter was hushed in efforts to hear every song and note played.
They are lyrically, melodically, and musically pretty dang great. Music stirs many things within me and finding the entire package, all the components, is an infrequent find. I have since shared their music with nearly everyone I know who has ears. The majority of the feedback is positive. Even those who tend to disagree with my taste in music, agree with me on this particular band. I would describe the sound as “rock and soul,” but it transcends these genres as well. At times, they even have a jazzy quality to their music. Perhaps the eclectic styles lead me to never tire of listening. In a previous blog, I mentioned of “nostalgia inspired by music.” Just Off Turner’s album, “The Long Walk Back,” ices the cake in this regard.
 
 
L to R: Bryan Mounce (Lead Vocals, Guitar,) Phil Metzler (Keys, BV,) Stephen Andrews (Bass, BV,) and Eric Gustafson (Drums, BV.)  Erik Thureson for lightbox57.com

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Monday, October 27, 2008 - 18:56:03

In Remembrance

Fear, Satan’s most powerful tool, is the root of all evil. Fear itself is my greatest fear. It is. Fear, coupled with worry (a needless emotion,) robs us of time. It replaces joy with anxiety. As an “over-thinker,” it’s hard not to succumb to it this week. I will write this entry with a heavy heart and a head full of questions. On Saturday, October 25th, we lost Anne Pressly. I note “we” because this loss has been profound and vast while affecting many. I did not know Anne personally, nor was I familiar with her from afar. I was asleep in my bed during the time in which Anne was on the air, but I still find I am enraged.
 
I pray of solace for her family, friends and co-workers. I know they are left with grief I cannot imagine or pretend to understand. Though I realize it offers superficial comfort, knowing she is with the absence of fear, pain, worry, and sadness should offer a bit of peace. Justice will eventually offer more.
 
Until recently, I lived a handful of blocks away from where Anne was attacked. It was not an uncommon occurrence for me to fall asleep with my back bedroom door ajar. I rarely locked my doors at all because I was delusional in believing it could not happen to me. To quote another, “Our sense of safety is a mirage.” False security I assume Anne harbored as well. My doors are now closed and locked and my eyes wide open. My commonsense no longer in hiding.
 
My best friend, Wes, was an acquaintance of Anne’s. He works mere feet from where the nightmare occurred. Wes is unable to leave for lunch, so I frequently visit him during my lunch breaks. I visited him today like I’ve done hundreds of times before and felt a foreign feeling in a familiar place. I can’t describe with complete accuracy but I felt uneasy, nervous, heavy yet empty. Wes and I made efforts to discuss anything other than the tragedy that has lurked in all of our minds, but we found ourselves engaged despite our best efforts. Wes said, “We are not hateful people. Neither one of us is capable of really hating and yet, we both genuinely loathe the person(s) capable of such shameless evil.” Like a domino effect, the hate I feel makes me hate more.
 
I can’t wrap my mind around it. I would purposely wreck my car to avoid hitting a squirrel. The idea of purposely harming another living being is beyond my comprehension. Just as I cannot fully grasp the concept of infinity, I cannot get my arms around the capability of such hurt. Continually thinking about it creates insanity. I have to remind myself people are mostly good. The good guys outweigh the bad guys. I cannot borrow worry from tomorrow because tomorrow isn’t promised or guaranteed. I can only love as much as possible and live as best I can. Otherwise, my thinking becomes a hamster in a wheel running in exhausting circles.
 
I am hurriedly walking my dog, calling my neighbor to smoke outside with me once night falls, literally startled by my own shadow. I’ve discovered a new fear and suddenly all my other fears seem trivial. This too, inspires anger. Like hate, the anger makes me angrier. Talking with Wes aided in making some of the fear subside. Baby steps…
 
Saturday, the 18th, I spent the majority of the evening drinking wine and talking outside with my mom and stepdad. Ironically, we discussed the death of my grandmother (whom I lost 5+ years ago.) I miss her more as time passes. My mom asked if I eventually want children. I am still undecided, yet swayable either way. She elaborated: “If none of her grandkids have children, grandma’s memory dies. She becomes a picture in a photo album which eventually disappears. And if you don’t have children who have children and so on, your memory dies too.” How soon I learn this lacks truth. As mentioned, I didn’t have the fortune of knowing Anne, but she leaves a legacy. She will be remembered. Her light now burns elsewhere, but the memory of her light burns as a constant reminder.  She will always be missed by those who knew her and by those who wish they had known her.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008 - 18:29:52

The One Kick Wonders.

If you live in the Central Arkansas vicinity and are between the age of 18 and 60, odds are you play or watch kickball on Sunday afternoons. If not, I encourage you to give it a shot in the spring. Last year, my good friends Marty and January asked if I’d be interested in joining their new kickball team, The Blue Balls. I agreed to play after some initial hesitation due to my lack of athletic ability. I did not know the majority of the players but grew to instantly love our team. We were an eclectic crew with varying interests and yet, it worked. The following season, last spring, we neglected to sign up for the novice league and as a result opted to accept the only opening remaining in the competitive league. Marty and I assumed the role of “captain” and “co-captain” while recruiting new players to join the “fun.” The competitive league was appropriately titled. We were quite literally “out of our league” and as a result, the passion for “kickball Sunday” diminished. Ultimately, Marty and I both formed new teams in the novice league enabling us to revive the good times.
 
Blue Balls
Season One
Tell me kickball isn't a blast!
Blue Balls, Season Two
Note the "Blue Balls: We're Aching to Play." Things we know nothing about...

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Monday, October 13, 2008 - 18:15:08

Deal Breakers.

I have previously defined what I consider to be “fundamentals” or “essentials” when dating someone. I neglected to note what I refer to as “deal breakers.” These consist of the surface, quirky, and often times ridiculous little traits or actions leaving me running, top speed, for the door. Have you seen the movie “Singles” written and directed by Cameron Crowe? Written in 1992, it is a movie full of witty and truthful insight. I’m sad to say, I identify with the character Janet Livermore, played by Bridget Fonda. Some of her “deal breakers’ are eerily close to mine and they existed for me long before seeing this movie. I say "sadly" because she is a bit nutty. 'Course, I would like to think she and I are similar sans the craziness. For example, there is one scene in which Janet fakes a sneeze to gauge the reaction of her sorta-boyfriend, Cliff. His response is no response. She delivers yet another phony sneeze and Cliff responds with, “Hey babe, don’t get me sick.” She was looking for his recognition of her sneeze; a simple “bless you.” This is important to me. Why? It’s important because it offers a selfless moment of wishing me well. I bless complete strangers.
 
I am a sucker for good grammar and spelling. Men, in general, are usually stronger in areas dealing with numbers so it is rare and precious to find a man who knows the word “grammar” is spelled with an “a” rather than an “e.” Oddly, as I’m certain you’ve noticed, I am rather often guilty of grammatical (primarily surrounding punctuation) errors myself. In short, maybe it’s easier to see someone else’s flaws before seeing your own. I always forget words when typing. I see the word in my head but it doesn’t translate through my fingers to the page. I am a victim of my impatience. I should reread my writing more.  
 
Another irk is when a man (or person) enters a restroom, does their business, while returning to the table (or wherever) moments later. The effort it takes to spend an extra thirty seconds to wash your hands is really no effort at all when considering the overwhelming amount of funk you touch while in the restroom. I won’t get into details as it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out.
 
The worst offense of all? Bad kissers. Chemistry is a factor, obviously, with every kiss. What I consider to be a “bad kiss” may very well be another person’s preference. This must be the case. To me, a good kiss should be progressive. In other words, do not jam your little lizard-like tongue down my throat at the raging speed of light. Slow, progressive. Passion is good. Messy, sloppy, kisses that hurt? Not good. There is some good news, however, there is bound to be another you. Find her ‘cause if you’re a bad kisser, I am not your girl.
 
A few years ago, one of my best friends, Jim, shared a few of his “deal breakers.” One has tattooed my brain and has become one of my peeves. He said “I have met some beautiful, intelligent, kind women and then discovered they bite their nails. Nail biting is a complete turnoff. Short nails are fine, but nubby, barely-there nails gross me out.” I was a nail biter at the time. It’s been a couple years but I completely kicked the nasty nail biting habit. Jim went on to say, “How you take care of your hands says a lot about you. Nail biting is a sign of stress and a lack of self-control.” I found that to be an excellent point and have since found myself taking note of fingernails as well. Plus, it is gross.
With Jim in May 2008. One of my favorite pictures. Taken by a stranger on the bridge.

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Tuesday, October 07, 2008 - 16:41:32

NY, Nostalgia, Home, and Indecision.

I am a sentimental girl and I save far too much. I save old pictures, love letters, clothes I’ll never wear again (because they remind me of a specific event,) and dried flower petals. I keep everything because to discard certain things feels as though I am discarding a part of myself. A couple of weeks ago, while in Manhattan, my old friend Michael and I went out for a couple of (overpriced) drinks. He and I have been friends many years so of course, we share many memories and “remember when” stories. My memory serves me well. I remember insignificant details—almost on a photographic level, a blessing and a curse. I am a force to be reckoned with in an argument. After wading in the nostalgia, Michael asked of why I’ve remained in Little Rock. I find myself tightly wedged between a rock and hard place. I wish I had the courage to live outside of Arkansas and yet, the idea of leaving my family and friends leaves me with a lump in my throat. When polling friends and acquaintances who’ve found the courage to uproot, I discovered most were nudged due to a career transfer or a significant other. Very rarely have I heard, “I just packed up and moved.” I know a handful who have and they are satisfied with their decision, yet the absence of reason tends to be uncommon.
 
My visit to New York stirred something unexpected in me. I had the notion I would enter the “big city” and feel an overwhelming sense of home. My grandparents were born and raised in Queens and Brooklyn, so I harbored this romantic fantasy of being cradled by the city. Instead, I felt anonymous. To quote my mother, “Manhattan is almost dehumanizing. No one cares. You are insignificant.” I was not a brick in the wall, I was I was a speck of dust in the brick. Chicago, on the other hand, entered my veins and allowed me to exhale. I assumed New York would be a magnified Chicago and learned the two cities are absolutely incomparable. It was great to visit with Michael and his wife Brooke, don’t get me wrong. They both bent over backwards to show me the city, plus conversation with both was always enjoyable. But the city itself? People exist like sardines in a bottomless can. Stench and all.
With Michael in Soho. Supporting the hogs in NYC.

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Tuesday, September 23, 2008 - 17:32:45

Coward or Douche Bag?

In the fall of 2007, I did something I never imagined I would do; I signed up on eHarmony. My primary reason surrounded my curiosity and boredom. I was required to fill out an abundance of questions in which my responses would ultimately be used to pair me with compatible matches. One of the matches was a man named “Drew.” We exchanged a multitude of emails which eventually led to the exchanging of phone numbers. Drew first contacted me on a Saturday evening. Our first phone conversation lasted a couple of hours. He was at a friend’s house and we talked until his phone battery died. Moments later he called me from his friend’s phone. I could hear his buddies giving him a hard time, which inspired him to lock himself in his car to continue conversing with me.
 
Our first date was arranged for the following evening, a Sunday. I selected a random restaurant while notifying a handful of friends of my whereabouts “just in case.” I recall him being far more attractive than his pictures conveyed. We had initially planned on going to see a movie, but opted against it as we found ourselves submerged in conversation. At the end of the date, we arranged for a second date for the next night. While driving away, he immediately called me and said “I should have kissed you.” I told him he would have a second chance the next night and he said, “Tomorrow is too long of a wait. How about now?” We were at a red light of a busy intersection but I still complied and immediately found myself engaged in one of the most romantic kisses of my life (thus far.)

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Friday, September 12, 2008 - 15:05:13

I Still Remember When 30 Was Old

I still remember when thirty was old, except for I really don’t. I was always an old soul even as child. On my 10th birthday, someone said, “How does it feel to be in the double-digits?” I said “Eh. I look forward to being 27. I will be old enough to be respected but I will still be in my 20’s.” So riddle me this, when did 28 become old?!? Last Friday night, I went out with my cousin Aaron to celebrate his 31st birthday. He wanted to go downtown, and I was immediately disappointed with his preference. Outside of the nightmareish parking situation, bar covers, and overpriced drinks, I was fully aware I would be the odd duck out. The girls would be trying too hard in skirts too short, shirts too low cut, and dresses far too dressy or skimpy for a local bar. My premonition was accurate as I walked into a sea of girls wearing 1/3 the clothing I was wearing. I was fully dressed and still self-conscious. How does that happen?

 

Friday, 9/5 with my cousin Aaron.

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Tuesday, September 02, 2008 - 18:28:48

Dogs are a Girl's Best Friend.

My dachshund, Rusty, will be nine this Thursday. I've had him since he was a puppy. He's been my buddy through a lot of smiles, tears, tornados, men, friends, etc. He was  docile in nature even as a puppy but has grown into an even softer, more laid back dog. He doesn't really want to sit in my lap, he doesn't bark much, he doesn't pester my guests, and I can't imagine not having him.

Sunday evening, I went to dinner with my friends Chris and Katherine. Generally, our friend Cathy joins us as well, but she was out of town this weekend. I'm glad Cathy missed the following exchange. While eating, we watched reports of hurricane Gustav. Our bartender said "The people just need to get out. They need to leave their things, leave their pets, and head out of town."

 

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Wednesday, August 27, 2008 - 17:47:17

Fun Picture Trick

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Friday, August 22, 2008 - 18:11:24

Who Says That!?!?

Growing up I lived with my mother and two sisters. My father was a participant, as well; however, he lived out of town so it was typically my mother who initially met and “approved” those I dated.  My mom was also an avid Razorback basketball fan. My first word was “rebound” if that tells you anything. My male junior high and high school friends often opted to watch the games with my mom because she was quite animated. March of 1994 was an extra special month for the Hogs as we won the NCAA Championship title.  During this time, my mom asked my buddy Michael a question that would forever haunt me, “What are your intentions with my daughter?” Since that March, this question generally inspires a lot of “uh’s” as well as visible fear and confusion. The general answer was usually generic and seemingly phony. Michael’s response set the bar a little higher. His answer? “To eat and drink as much of your food while I am at your house.” It was the perfect 14 year old teenage boy response.

 

 

 

 

 

Michael and I remain friends. In fact, I will be visiting him and his wife Brooke in Manhattan next month.

 

 

 

 With Michael at our high school reunion.

June 2008

Yes, I've cut my hair since this photo was taken. Yeck.

 

 

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Friday, August 15, 2008 - 19:10:21

The Switchboard Theory

I give Wes, my BFF (Best Freakin' Friend), too much credit, but occasionally he hits the nail on the head. He and I have had our fair share of conversations about love and the absence of love.  One evening several years ago, I mentioned to Wes "Isn't it odd how someone who is so seemingly perfect initially winds up so obviously imperfect later?" Wes' reply spawned the "Switchboard Theory."

 

By the way, this is Wes:

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Friday, August 08, 2008 - 12:06:40

White Knights

Back in June, circa 1998, I flew to Chicago for the first time with my aunt Liz. While there, I fell in love...with the city. I was also quite intrigued by my concierge, Alister. I was 17 and he was twelve years my senior. While waiting for my taxi to shuttle us to the airport, I had the opportunity (and misfortune) to talk with Ali. As the time passed, I learned of the vast similarities we shared despite our age difference. Twenty minutes of conversation inspired what later became a decade of friendship. Ali came to visit Little Rock once. I was dating someone seriously at the time. I mention this to prove Ali and I shared a purely platonic relationship.

Through the ten year course of our friendship, he encouraged me to visit multiple times. Perhaps it was my fear of flight, the timing,  or intuition that forced excuses and left me Arkansas bound. Ali worked at the hotel part-time enabling him to finish medical school. He often mentioned working long hours which made it difficult for him to visit more.

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Friday, August 01, 2008 - 15:05:11

Dreaming Flat Tires

I've found myself aware of expecting the worst — dreaming flat tires, so to speak. My guard is up before the dance begins. I wade in the disbelief he'll call at the hour he promises. Sometimes, I doubt he'll call at all. I question his intentions. I sabotage good things into bad. I fully realized this when I stepped outside of myself to review the following conversation with a  friend.


Angie: Who is coming to see your band Thursday night?
Self: <Insert varying list of names here> and he says he's coming but I'll believe it when I see it.
Angie: Why would you assume he wouldn't show up?

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Friday, July 25, 2008 - 15:13:22

The Brightest Light

One Saturday in January of 2006 I met with my best friend Wes to solicit his candid, un-sugar-coated advice about my latest relationship. Perhaps what I truly sought was the approval and encouragement from a man whose opinion I respected. Wes and I have been close for 15 years, since I was 13, so he knows me quite well. In typically naïve schoolgirl fashion, I recounted to Wes every insignificant detail of my new relationship. You know, the "he said" and then "I said" details that generally no one beyond the folks involved cares about. Giddy, I elaborated with, "He is so perfect." Wes rolled his eyes and uttered the following statement, which will forever be remembered: "Don't you know your eyes adjust to the brightest light?" Through confusion, I asked for explanation. He continued: "When you turn off the light and find yourself blind in a dark room, only to find your eyes adjust minutes later and you're able to see? It's the reverse scenario." Essentially, he was warning me to beware of anything that burns unusually bright at the beginning, as the same fire generally burns out just as fast.

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Friday, July 25, 2008 - 15:11:09

Who I Am

I call boys. Always have. Even when my mom encouraged me not to, I called anyway. Still do. Not over and over, mind you, but if the desire to do so strikes, I call.
The difference between me and most girls who call boys, however, is that my calls tend to require a 1 plus an area code before the regular ol’ seven digits. In other words, they typically live out of state.

So when I’m with my friends, I refer to these boys by their location as well as their actual name. For instance, if I discuss Tyler, I have to quickly add “the Nashville drummer boyfriend" descriptor.  Yeah, I know.

Perhaps this penchant for far-away significant others is by design. It enables me to keep my distance and allows them to keep my attention. I am a fickle gal. On the other hand, I feel you really get to know someone when there is distance. It inserts vulnerability while removing the physical distractions.

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