I wish I could tell you some stories. October 22, 2008

I’m beginning to have some writers block. It’s hard to write sappy stories when everything in your real life is going as according to plan.

Whiskey & Co may possible drink more than me. October 18, 2008

I did an interview the other day with Whiskey & Co, you can read it here:

http://www.punknews.org/article/30842

And listen to them here:

The Best Love Stories Are On The Pages October 18, 2008

It’s Friday night and unlike the rest of my friends, I am staying in tonight and working. For those of who are unfamiliar with what I do, I sell porn; don’t ask any questions.

I managed to score tickets to the Packer game this Sunday, minus the “drunk squad” who joined us for the Falcons game. It’s going to just be Joe and I, which I am totally fine with. I totally padded myself on the shoulder when I found out Joe read my blogs and was able to give me another chance. Not to mention, all my friends are stoked that I can stop talking about it now and finally smile for once.

With that said, I am going to post a bit of fiction I wrote last week. I posted this on my Facebook, so some of you may have already read it, if not, enjoy! I think it’s one of the prettiest little diddies I’ve written in awhile. Like I said, it’s fiction, however, knowing me, there is a line of truth hidden in everything I proclaim to be fiction.

I shared this piece with some friend’s right after I wrote it, and Joe said to me,” You’re not done with it yet, right? This is just a chapter, isn’t it?”. The answer is, no. I don’t like writing long stories. You know when you listening to a song and the whole three minutes spark a feeling in you? Whether it makes you sad, happy, confused, in love, missing, etc? That’s what I want my writing to be. I want it to be three minutes of feelings. Life doesn’t have a beginning or ending, so why should my stories?

Anyhow, enough rambling…Enjoy!

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“The Best Love Stories Are On The Pages”

We’re standing outside of this dusty, cold hotel.

He’s thinking of things to say to keep me standing here longer than either of us need.

I knew I shouldn’t have picked up his phone calls a few days earlier. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten in my car and drove these 300 hundred some miles. I knew it all.

“I’ve always missed the sound of your voice.” I knew he couldn’t get enough.

In a matter of moments I am going to turn around and drive back home and pretend none of this happened. He’s going to go back home to the belly of the beast and I am going to go back home knowing that I’ve never been happier than with the man I’ve got back there.

Curiosity couldn’t have bitten me any harder this time.

He puts his hands against my cheek. It’ll be the last time he’ll ever touch me; I say this in ways that are too beautiful. I’m walking away with my appetite for apathy being overstuffed.

“You’re going to make me cry. It’s the only emotion I can give you though.” I said that.

He told me one time, in the most honest of forms,” You and me babe, we look a lot better on paper than we could ever look in real life.”

We spent the last day together with strangers asking us if we were ever really in love.

Those strangers, they say the most daring of things,” You two sure do make the cutest of couples.”

If only they knew. I sigh.

I just wanted to get back home. I wanted to dig through my purse, pull out my keys, open my apartment door, and crawl back in to bed next to the real man of my life. I want to run the back of my fingers down his cheeks and tell him that now I know he really is the one for me.

But this guy standing in front of me; he’s standing with so much pose that all I can really care to do is rip my hair out.

I’ve strived so hard to find one guy who could love me for me and now I have one too many.

“I really want to see you again.”

I shake my head from side to side.

He knows he shouldn’t say these sorts of things. I remind him about the paper incident.

“You write stories on paper. Stories can come to life.”

I shake my head some more.

I’m still thinking of pulling my hairs out, one strand at a time, for each affair-like behavior I’ve par taken in, in these last 24 hours.

I don’t know what to say. I think about it too much. “If he doesn’t take me back, we can talk about it.”

Sounds so dumb; so stupid. What the fuck is my problem.

Just get back in your fucking car and drive.

“He’d be stupid not to take your back.”

No, it’s not a matter of his intellectual side. It’s a matter of the circumstances. I say words like that in my defense.

Now all I can think about is him not being there when I come back. A note sitting on the coffee table and a pile of dog shit in the kitchen:

When did business trips become full blown affairs?

I put my face in my hands. I’m in big trouble this time.

“Babe, he won’t find it. It was worth it though.”

Yeah, it was worth it all right. Now all I can think about is getting in a car accident on the interstate and the police phoning up my boyfriend to tell him I died somewhere outside of a city he doesn’t know I’m in. Sort of like how your mom tells you to change your underwear every day, just in case you get in a car accident – yea, this is sort of the same thing.

The paramedics, running scissors up my thighs to cut open my pants. There it is, I’m wearing the ultra-sexy satin panties that I only wear when my real boyfriend gets a big promotion.

Now all I can think about is him receiving my belongings from the morgue and there are those silk panties bundled up with my jewelry. Than at my funeral, during my eulogy he’s going to tell my family,” Just so everyone knows, I didn’t get a big promotion this week.”

What a way to fuck up.

Now this guy, standing in front of me; he’s smiling, touching me, gawking, wishing.

“If only we would have met before I met her.”

Yeah, sure; if only he would of known what he wanted than and if only I would of known what I didn’t want back then.

“You’re so beautiful.”

I nod. I couldn’t deny flattery.

All I can think about is getting back in my car – driving. I could drive to the other side of this country, but I wouldn’t be able to rid myself of this guilt.

Now I’m thinking about just telling the real boyfriend; dial him up on my cell,” Sweetie, there was no business trip. Not unless you count finding out what you want in life a business trip.”

He’d just be confused if I worded it like that. He’d tell me to get to the point, what was the problem, why would I do that, what was I thinking it, was it worth it, why did I drag this out, why would I do this, why, why, why, why!

There isn’t a reason.

But I can give it some justice by over saying the following:

Sometimes, you know exactly what you want in life. I do. I’ve been waking up next to it for the last year or so. I’ve never felt happier than knowing that this individual, this real boyfriend of mine, that he loves it when I smile and hates it when I cry. This real boyfriend, he’s everything. But this man in front of me, with his pose and his broad shoulders, this man, years ago, he could have been the real boyfriend. He could have loved it when I smiled and hated it when I cried. But this man, the pose, the broad shoulders, his blue eyes, we didn’t meet at the right time or in the right place. We can’t change it. We both know it isn’t worth giving up things we know that are working just fondly back in our real homes, outside of this hotel, outside of this foreign city. This man, his pose, his broad shoulders, his blue eyes, his wedding ring, he and I should have just known better.

“Sometimes, we just have to get things out of system. I’m always going to think about you, everyday for that matter. You’ll never not, be a part of me.”

I finally smile a bit. I tell him we should just go home, kiss our current love ones and remind them of why they are the ones for us.

“You are right. We don’t need to drag this out any further.”

He hugs me. I feel him breathing in the scent of my hair. He kisses the top of my head. I clinch on to the sides of his jacket. These are the last few seconds of what could have been. These are the last few seconds of what shouldn’t have been.

As he backs away I take one last look. My big blue eyes, hiding under the stars, they are gazing up to history. I let go of the side of his jacket and walk away. I’m heading for the car, heading home, heading back to the real deal.

I hear this man, his pose, his broad shoulders, his blue eyes, his wedding ring, his appreciation for me,” If you ever miss me, just write about us on some paper.”

And I heard the guitar player say…..Shenelle’s on her way… October 15, 2008

Let’s celebrate.

My blog did it’s job 🙂

Blues are the only cure when you aren’t determined enough. October 15, 2008

Its day 3; still no phone call.

When I woke up Monday morning, I was far worse than just hung over. I slept over 12 hours, trying to prove to myself that as long as I’m sleeping, I don’t have to feel a damn thing. When I woke up, I had over a dozen phone calls from all sorts of people.

The first I called back was Aaron, an old lover of mine, but those kinds of people know you better than anyone else. Although he was in Portland, it felt like he was right next to me,” Shenelle, this is just what happens in relationships; things always fall apart – than people write a song about it – go write a song about it.”

The rest of my afternoon bounced around with phone calls from friends across the street, to friends across the country. My parents even called me and for once acknowledged that I have feelings and right now they were falling apart. My Grandmother reminded me that her and my Grandfather broke up or six months before he realized she was the one. I don’t want to compare Joe to that, but I see the references. My Dad opened up about his past relationships and reminded me that you really can’t change anyone’s mind, as much as you want, but that I just need to walk away with some lessons learned. Who wouldn’t take advice from a man who has been married three times?

Yesterday, Diva and I walked the pier, where I proclaimed all the things I wanted to change in my life now, whether or not Joe is here to watch them. I slumped my shoulders down a bit and said,” I don’t want to go back to being the girl I was before I met him.” We both knew what that really meant.

By late evening, my roommate Jim came home and offered me a drink. He knew I needed to vent and I needed to here a guy’s point of view that mattered. While sitting at the bar, I just kept flapping my mouth with excuses and reasons. Jim suggests a few of his own, pointing out that maybe Joe is beginning to feel too close to me, that maybe he is scared to get attached to someone like me.

Whatever it is, it’s all I thought about yesterday. By the time I got ready to go to bed; I tossed and turned over every detail. I never wanted something so much before. I just want this to be over, the waiting, the regret, the missing.

I don’t know if he is reading any of this, but if he is, I just want him to know that I’ve never wanted to change for anyone, I never wanted to change for Aaron, for Jide, for my parents, for the big man in the sky, but I’d be willing to change for you. I just want another chance, one that I won’t screw up. I’m not as bad as you think I am and I shouldn’t have to tell you that. There was obviously something there and I don’t believe it’s left the building yet. If you can find it in yourself to give me another chance, I’d even make an effort to do the little things. Ya know, like take Duke to obedience school, sign up for an IRA, no more surprises without telling you first, I’ll stop inviting strangers over from the bars that know how to do penis puppet shows, hell, I’ll just stop inviting people over period. I’ll start coming to Green Bay more often and I’ll never talk sour about it again. I’ll make sure to listen to every word you say, I won’t bring up the V word anymore, and I’ll actually listen to a Kings of Leon record. Despite those things, I’ll carry on telling you how much I love it when you don’t shave, I’ll remind you too often that you’re the paramount of my life, and I’ll continuously make sure that I never fuck this up the second time around.

There isn’t much more I can say. But I am really getting sick of listening to sad songs and wishing you were a horrible guy so I could stop crying.

I’ll wrap this up by quoting a conversation Diva and I had in the whole foods parking lot last night:

Me: You know what would make this so much easier?

Diva: What?

Me: That he was an asshole. You know, I just want you guys to tell me,” Dude, you are so much better without him.”

Diva: Yeah, um, that’s not going to happen.

I’d swim for brighter days, despite the absence of the sun. October 12, 2008

It’s been a day since I’ve heard from him and to me that could easily feel like a century.

Our friends never thought we would break up, hell, I was pretty sure this was everything I had been missing out on. So it’s hard to believe that just a few days ago, around four in the morning, you’d fine me crying in his passenger seat, barefoot, but still in my little black dress.

“You are the worst kind of person! I can’t imagine going any further with you!” he shouts.

My hands are full of tears.

We hadn’t been dating long, but for the two of us, this could have been the rest of our lives. We had met at a Hold Steady concert only three months earlier, introduced by a mutual friend who never thought twice. I remember dancing around the show and as he put it,” You parked yourself in front of me, and you never left.”

“Your tears don’t mean anything to me! You can cry all you want. You deserve every bit of this!” More shouting.

More tears in my hands.

Although we have 120 miles between the two of us, we made it work. I bitched about Green Bay and swore it could never be as great as Milwaukee. But as time went by, it became clear to me that Joe could have lived in a tent, in the forest, without any sort of air conditioning, and it would have been just as great, because it would have been with him. As our relationship progressed, I spent some time lounging on my bedroom floor wondering if I was prepared to raise the flag on Milwaukee. For all of my relationship-pro friends, they tell me this is the sort of stuff you do when you get these sort of feelings, “Shenelle, this is the real deal, you got to make sacrifices. We’ll miss you though.” I was all about those sacrifices. I gave up my weekends, to spend them with him, without any complaints though. I gave up those boys at those bars and my 6 am drinking habits. This could of possibly been the first time in my life that I was honestly beginning to grow up.

“You’re never going to find another guy like me! I just want you to know that! You will never see me again!” He’s trying so hard to drill this in my skull.

My head is now buried between my hands; my hair is my face, my mascara on my cheeks.

He wasn’t like any of the other guys I had managed to scrape off of bar room floors. He was logical and witty. He was funny and smart. He proved to me that it was okay to be twenty-nine, addicted to video games, and have a quench for the weeds you can’t find in your back yard. It was a predicament of what was to come with all my friends when they hit their late twenties. It was okay to be a dude, and to still get your bills paid on time. He could have easily been my Dan Connor.

“Just get out of my car. We’re done. I’ve got nothing more to say to you!”

I didn’t want to budge. I didn’t really want this to be the last time I saw him.

Whatever led up to him storming out of my house after four in the morning, it appeared to have been in the making. One of the first times we had dinner together I warned him,” Most guys think I am a tornado. You just want to look but you really don’t want me to come in to your life, I’ll destroy it.” He just smiled; maybe that was what he needed after all. It was no lie that Joe and I were both two blind people going in to this relationship. Neither of us had ever had anything that lasted. I tried my hardest to domesticate myself. I don’t want to point any fingers, but I was nurtured in a family that didn’t have rules or feelings. I was just a kid, it was expected that I’d try out drugs, take part in pre-marital sex, and get arrested. It was wastes of breath to for warn me of all the things I was destined to do. With that said, you can’t just expect me to throw on an apron and have a new attitude.

Joe doesn’t think I care about him, but in reality, the last kind of emotion I could ever have towards him is no emotion at all. I was beginning to take pleasure in the word “us”. This was the first time in my life that I was ecstatic over structure. Regardless of all of this, he wants me to change. He wants me to put down the bottle and start waking up at times when I am usually just passing out. But for Joe, I’d do it.

“Get the fuck out of my car!” I finally unlock the passenger door, and crawl out. My feet hit the bare grass, which by now, is becoming wet from the dew. I walk up the block, towards my house, where all my friends are waiting for my arrival. Everyone begins to hug me and tell me that I’m going to be okay, everything will fine, he’s going to come back, he cares to much, etc.

I’m fighting off the temptation to call him. He said he needed space and with that, I’m willing to buy him the first ticket to the moon if that helps him find what he needs to find, to understand that I’m not ready for this to be the end of us.