I have just received the most devastating news of the decade. This just in: Escada Magnetism is DISCONTINUED!! This is awful news. This is the end of an era, this is an absolute OUTRAGE! I have been a happy supporter of the fragrance for 6 years - yes count them - 6 years! I feel so angry and betrayed - how can such a brand throw my heart into the wind? I feel as if I found my lover in bed with another woman - I am furious! (And slightly over dramatic) I bleed, sweat, and cry that scent. The heavy, pungent fragrance has become my signature. What am I to do now? - Aside from piss and moan about how ludicrous this entire issue has become. You can rest assured that I will be writing a very angry letter. Until then..

Someone like me.

I am feeling nostalgic today. I feel the need for reflection - I am blue. Melancholy. (And the infinite sadness) Whatever. This entry is simply me whining about things I can't change. Enjoy?

"There are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone." -Chuck Klosterman, Killing Yourself to Live

Someone dear to me recommended the above book to me, and it is one of the best pieces of literature I have come across thus far. The writing is real (mostly) and the author, Chuck Klosterman, speaks as if he is sitting across from you at some dive bar. Bud Light in hand, teetering the line between semi-coherent thought and blacking out completely. Bottom line - it is a great read.

The above quotation is perfect, and relevant to men and women everywhere - which solidifies its momentous value. I have read and re-read the excerpt and each time I can't help but ask, "what about the other person - the person on the other end?" Her. Maybe she hasn't experienced that significant love. For her, the current love is creator of her heart. Is she forever fated to stand in the shadow of the "defining" woman before her? It's like finding this season's Manolos in a size 8 - and you're a 6. So you buy the damn shoes anyway thinking, "I can make this work." But you can't. So I ask, what about HER? She fell in love and landed on her face; she lost her logic and became totally enamored with an obviously unavailable man. Timing is a wicked trick of fate; it determines the outcome long before you start the game.

So, a guy falls in love and ends up with a broken heart. He loved some girl that made him feel important; she made him feel confident. She has more charisma than his previous girlfriend and she captivated him. He loved her because she was different; she was fun and encouraged him to break his own boundaries. I get it. It makes sense. But every woman after is bound to comparison? Every female - even the good ones - are never capable of filling his void? I have a hard time buying that. So now I have to ask, is it only frustrating chasing shadows when you know that they exist? What if you didn't know about the woman on a pedestal before you - would there be no feeling of inadequacy? If you didn't know that your character was being evaluated - that is was made into a list of pros and cons - could you trick yourself into believing that you were the "defining" woman? Its possible. But curiosity is the ultimate killer of both good and evil; Pandora's box is just too tempting to ignore. I have been there. Twice actually and both experiences were, or have been, absolutely horrible. I don't want to be the next girl, I want to be THE girl and Chuck Klosterman is a bastard for spitting the truth in my face. I hate authors that bottle truth in pint size doses and force feed their readers with eloquent language and witty banter. He is a bastard because he is right.

The epic woman is the control factor in this senseless battle we label "love". Love is a daily measure of checks and balances - comparing notes and doodling in the margins of experience - we fine tune our senses and learn the qualities that are ultimately compatible with our own character. The trick to escaping the labyrinth is this: don't be the next person. Don't allow yourself to become the person AFTER the "defining" love. You will spend the rest of your life chasing shadows; a 6 will never be an 8.

I was a smart girl, until I fell in love. (quoted from Sex and the City)

Whisper words of wisdom; Let It Be.

I am very dissatisfied with the direction of this blog, or lack thereof. I have become unreliable in my musings and I am not that sorry. So today I compiled a list of quick tips from the Lindsay Logic Library. (Yes, I am nerdy enough to coin my own advice as such.) These are just some things that I have found to be either true, or crucial to life. Enjoy.

-Monday's are best handled with a stiff cup of coffee and a great pair of shoes. Also, the better your outfit is the more effective your day will be. Confidence is essential.
-Ranting is important, it is very therapeutic to yell and scream and cause embarrassment. Find a friend that allows you to behave childishly.
-The Starbucks on Scottsdale and Shea is impossible to get into. Avoid that location.
-Whoever said coined the "if life hands you lemons..." cliche should be shot. I cringe every time I hear that reference. Life just is. That's it.
-Movies lie. lie. lie.
-Rhett Butler does not exist. Anywhere. I have looked.
-Men act out of necessity, women out of passion.
-Don't let a man take charge of your happiness, that is entirely too much control for such a person to have.
-Infidelity is the ultimate fate of a restless partner.
-Curiosity killed the cat - and destroyed the relationship. What happened to monogamy?
-Confidence. Enough said.
-Happy hour is an important part of the work week. Find a bar and become a regular.
-If someone wants you in their life, they will make it happen. Force should not be necessary.
-Gabel's laugh is the cure for everything.
-Trust is crucial in any relationship - work, friends, and love. The loss of such is crippling and nearly impossible to rebuild. I have tried.
-People don't change. They evolve and adapt. Stop trying to turn monkey's into men - it should just happen.
-On the above note, don't change for some blockhead. He should appreciate your greatness as is. Otherwise, he most definitely is not worth your time.
-A person's dating history is like their credit report; don't be silly and ignore bad habits!
-Love doesn't happen just once. It is every day.
-Find freedom in independence.
-Smile.
-Listen to your mother, she has been around and can offer great advice.
-Marry your best friend. (Just a goal of mine)
-Live in love. Every day.
-Give back. It's a great feeling.
-Remember where you came from; your roots help to define character.
-Strive to make an impact in someone else's life. This correlates with giving back.
-Stop searching; You're never going to find it if you're looking for it.

fated to pretend.

I am exhausted. I spent most of my night tossing and turning between lynard skynard lyrics and the obnoxious sound of my dog snoring. I was hot, I was restless - I couldn't flip the switch. As expected, the clarity of my thoughts became muted and I found myself wandering between impatience and insanity. (I really wish that I could leash these things, I feel I would be a more sound individual if I could just contain the high strung ideas that bounce around my head. Unfortunately for me, no such thing exists.) But in my madness I did come to one very solid realization: I am a product of my generation (how cliche!). I am pickled by the media and have a very unrealistic perception of the logistics of life. I think about point A and point B and spend little to no time calculating the distance between the two. I demand instant gratification; if I do not see results immediately I throw a fit and dictate blame. I wish that these little annoyances of my life could be bottled up and tossed into the waves. How simple would growing up be if the shitty things that make you crazy could just be shipped off to sea - fantastic, right? Too fucking bad.

At 2am I started picking apart love. Love is such a ridiculous thing to be wasting your sleep on. Except that I can't stop turning that thought - smoothing it over, pulling it to pieces, rebuilding its structure - I have given up and decided that I never will understand it. It came and I let it consume me: like locusts to a field I was devoured and left with ashes. Ashes that somehow are supposed to build my morale and prepare me for the next conquest of l.o.v.e I became stupid, made outlandish sacrifices and somehow went from being one very sane, very put together woman into my current state: the medusa haired potato lady. (I use this analogy because somewhere there is a large breasted woman laughing her ass off. Picture the potato that you seemingly forgot about until that day you rediscovered it growing tentacles under the sink. That is what I became this year - the spud covered woman that was left to her own craziness and demise. Pathetic.) So what happens next?

I feel so jilted - where is my Rhett Butler? Where is the man that comes and envelopes me in affection and adoration? And where the HELL is the man that thinks my childish giggle is cute and my high strung personality is fascinating? (I imagine that he somehow got lost in translation - his plane was delayed from Hollywood, I know he sends his apologies.) I guess these lessons in life are mandatory - 23 isn't supposed to yield a love of epic proportion. It is the age of learning these ridiculous rules and building that absurd thing my parents refer to as "character". At 23, I am expected to fall on my face and bear the scarlet letter of a shattered heart. Apparently it is a right of passage. Apparently cynicism is common in women of my character - apparently we are just tra-la-la-laing (thanks Jordan) through life on a magic carpet that will never land on the door step of any single/eligible twenty something man. No, this carpet just kicks me off into the wasteland of unavailable, unattainable, and completely commitment phobic men. (They're all really just frat boys dolled up in suits and ties) I really need to get my hands on a better flight itinerary.

signs her letters in x's and o's

When I grow up, I want to do grown up things. I want a grown up job in a big, working in a grown up building. I want to talk about politics, international trade and global warming. I want to become educated on stock options and 401k investments. All the while, I will run the city in my Manolos laughing with all of my grown up friends. I feel like 16 was only yesterday, and yet here I am. 23 years old and still wondering, "am I an adult yet?"

I have been thinking a lot about responsibility, and the so-called "perks" of being an adult. According to my age, I should know a thing or two about managing my life in the up scaled, grown-up way. In reality? I don't know a damn thing. I fake maturity nearly every day; I work, I bank, and I enjoy cosmos at happy hour. I even have a weekly date with the dry cleaners - but beyond the bullshit, I am still just a girl playing dress up. I have accepted the fact that I am a poor decision maker (Because I HATE making decisions, and I have a hard time making commitments. Ick.) and as a result of this I find myself pressed to juggle the boring, yet fundamental and essential, aspects of life. (IE appointment planning, meeting deadlines, and organizing all of the above.) I often find myself facing ridiculous and completely STUPID problems. I asked a girlfriend recently if she though that other "adults" our age face similar problems. Her response? Probably not. Which got my mind rolling in another direction - do we create our own drama/anxiety/bullshit? ABSOLUTELY! Pardon the cliche, but shit rolls downhill and you can't run forever. At some point you have to stop and breathe and it is at that exact moment that the mound of avoided responsibility will seize you by the throat and drown you in consequences. My mother would call these spectacular displays of life "lessons in humility" - which I think is just a smug way of saying, "I told you so". Apparently the first rule of entering adulthood is learning how to prioritize responsibility. Funny, at what step do I learn the responsibility? I find the curriculum to be very exhausting.

I am still just a nerdy girl with glasses, standing on my tiptoes at the adult table. I giggle at everything and ask too many questions. I still use lip smackers chapstick and wear band t-shirts to bed. I throw temper tantrums when I don't get my way and I still think that underneath every layer of arrogance and selfishness lies a decent human being: I have faith in people. My view of the surrounding world is altered - like I am looking through a kaleidoscope. My reality is bombarded and sugar coated with my own wants, dreams, and perceptions. (Through my eyes, the world runs on high-fives and cherry coke.) Too bad I am not 13 anymore.

Sunrise.

Sunlight slips slowly through chiffon,
blanketing my room in a warm crimson hue.
I spent so much time on those windows.
The light dances across mirrored surfaces,
pausing momentarily upon each
only to vanish seconds later.
You're not awake yet.
You're somewhere far away, and that small
smile that adorns your lips - your so soft
and lush and perfect lips - is a testament to your happiness.
And I can't help but admire this picture that you paint -
so soft, and flawless, and content - I am infatuated with
your beauty.
Your hair is curly now, unruly and natural.
Those ebony tresses cover the ivory linen like dark
chocolate;
cascading the perfect features of your face and your
pillow.
I smile, and count the freckles kissed on your nose
and across your cheeks.
You hate that I find them sexy.

You are so vulnerable, laying amongst down and silk
and so far away with your dreams.
Dreams that I know replicate me, our life, and our love.
You are so open with your adoration for me,
that the mere thought of this affection turns my cheeks hot.
Love is unknowing. It is raw, blind, and ignorant of
boundaries.
You are my living, breathing example.
Your innocence, it is perplexing, and fascinating
and real.
I envy you for this.

I want to kiss you, but in doing so I know that you will
wake 0
and smile, that smile that melts my soul and reddens my cheeks.
It is in sleep that I confide in you. I lower my guard and the wall
that I built disappears. In your sleep, I open my heart.
But the morning glare turns you restless, and slowly,
slowly you open those amber, almond shaped eyes.
And as your lips brush my cheek my wall returns.
Brick by brick, concealing my own vulnerability.
But tomorrow i only a dream away
and knowing this I smile.

Yesterday.

A thousand promises remain sewn to these lips -

words forgotten. Confessions and apologies bled

together in a mosaic profession of love. and devotion.

these promises, these fragmented utterances of exposure

echo through me, beating at my head. my heart.

my soul.

yet never straying from my lips.

their resonance is crippling;

their presence keeps playing this scene before me:

you are there and i am there and we are there at that place-

the place between yesterday and today

before the fighting and the resentment

at that time when all that was seen was you. and me.

and it was good.

i remember this: the air is thick with that new lust-

that lust that quickly consumed us and whispered life

into love.

that love that synced the beating of our hearts

and set blinders to our egos and to our fears.

i remember this yesterday, as it is still a part of me.

stuck far beneath the brigaded surface of spite -

the protective layer that still remembers.

these scenes are momentary, teasing memory

only for a second - promising encore, only to vanish

with that love.

that love.

that love that will never be.

These promises remain sewn to my lips, the words

that gave hope to a future, but remained silent to their

giver;

her pride too great, her remorse too heavy, and her heart

too bruised.

My eyes will not close, my lungs will not breathe

my screams will not deafen their mockery.

the last falls silent,

and gathering the shrapnel of this heart, my pride,

i turn to tomorrow and slip away.