We Found Love In A Hopeless Place (feat. Starbucks)

I glimpsed him through the window. Was it really him?I looked so cool in my square, purple sunglasses. I was in my typical “casual date” uniform of those dark jeans that make my ass look great, as if it needs any help, and that top I got at Ross, of all places, that emphasizes my boobs perfectly.It was him.Before my brain could compute: “You look different from your pictures.” Or something to that effect. “Not in a bad way.”Before I even said hi.  There’s no coming back from that.“You’re Ryan, right?” Ryan. Of course that’s his name.“Yes.” He smiles. So goofy.  He's got chompers.  I don't judge him.  I don't even have to stop myself. He laughs at every single thing I say. I know that I wanted a guy who laughed at my jokes, but every single thing. I can say anything. It’s amazing. Because a lot of things that I say are nonsensical half-thoughts akin to drivel.We talked about Doctor Who and he wooed me with Quantum Physics. I was concerned that I didn’t have anything to offer in comparison. Then I realized. I’m a pretty girl fascinated with a nerd talking about Quantum Physics.I’m all set. 

 For some reason I switched back and forth between tenses a lot in this piece; I've been known to do this since high school.  I tried writing it all in the present as well as past tense, yet neither created the tone that I wanted like the mixed tenses do.  I'm a grammatically incorrect rule breaker I guess.

You Have Only Your Emotions To Sell

I realize it’s a strange thing now, to write as openly as I used to. I’d gotten so good at it, too.I was leaving everything that I was writing about behind. It’s easy to write about those things when you’re opening up a completely new chapter, free of such toxicity.I caught up to the “now” some time ago in my writing and it looks like I’m not so good at acknowledging things AS they happen.  I personally think that is a bit of a problem. I’m aware of so many things yet somehow I still miss so much. About my own life, no less. What is that? Am I so focused on being self-aware that I've become completely self-absorbed instead? Am I just completely missing it? Have I crossed that line? I really hope not, but god I think I’m getting close to it.

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What am I even talking about? Ugh. Can we just not?So there are these new people who I know and who I LIKE reading this thing. Actual strangers are also reading it. People subscribe. Like what is that? Who are you people? “I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member” is basically my motto. I’m not thrilled to be living my life by the words of a guy who was called Groucho but we all have our crosses to bear.   Seriously, guys. Go away. It’s not you, it’s me. You’re better off without me.I’m just kidding though, please keep reading and tell all your friends.I’ve had a request for more bitchy posts, and god while I do love me a good rant about shitty people, I’ve made a real solid effort to avoid the type. And I’d say I’m doing a pretty bang up job of that lately. I really don’t have much to bitch about. That’s good, right?So what DO I have to talk about? How great my exceedingly mundane life is? I’m not that kind of pretender, ok? I’m not sure if I’m detestably modest or just really that mediocre, but either way, it’s just not happening.  No toxic people. No particular grievances. No feminist rants. I guess that just leaves room to focus on the good things that I’m supposed to be doing with my life.

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No, no, that’s clearly not going to work. I can’t write happy. No one wants to read about that. Happy people are the worst. Like who are you, without your self-doubt and mediocre job and shitty, overpriced loft? NOT SOMEONE I CARE ABOUT. We already use Facebook to pretend that our lives are perfect. That’s not the point of this.

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Happy is not a constant thing.  It comes and goes.  As far as I can tell, much of life is spent simply content.  It's ok if things aren't fantastic, as long as they aren't bad.  But hard times are had.  It happens to everyone.  Happiness isn't some state of being that once reached you can never leave.I mean that's what prison actually is, so you just think about that ok?I still remember the best thing that happened since starting this blog. A month or so into it, a guy I (barely) knew through a (barely) mutual friend sent me a message telling me that my writing helped him deal with a some difficult stuff in his own life.  And that just made my fucking day. I didn’t really know what the point of all this was when I started writing it. I just knew I had a story I wanted to tell. I didn’t have to make it up. There were characters, twists, drama, romance, love, lust, and more. It was a soap opera. It was just too easy.But then people actually started telling me how much they enjoyed it. That they could relate. That it made them feel less alone. It’s nice to have that reassurance, for them as well as for me. Writing personal stuff is not easy. That reassurance is a two way street.Life is hard and it doesn’t really get easier. In time we learn, which helps us make better decisions, but those choices just keep coming. It’s the journey to happy that’s interesting and it’s really never ending. It’s the road less traveled that people want to hear about. I’m still figuring stuff out, just like you are. I’m just a voice telling you that you aren’t alone. 

Living in Ruins of the Palace Within My Dreams

When I was younger, like high school teenage years, I loved the idea of being saved.i am filled with christ's love saved mandy moore gifYeah no, not that kind of saved, thanks.  I’m talking troubled, jaded girl who is saved by an understanding, guy-of-her-dreams type.  Never mind the fact that I was totally not that girl and couldn’t even pretend to have a reason to be.  I’m sure I was just a bit of a bitch to my parents, though.  Just a bit.Anway.  I actually spent hours trying to explain that in a way that made it less embarrassing, except that’s just really not possible.  At all.  Because it’s just so ridiculous.  Whatever.  We all have our embarrassing teenage secrets.  I don’t know where such a warped idea of what love and relationships came from – oh wait, yes I do.(The answer, in case you still haven’t realized what apparently is the connecting thread regarding my entire life, is movies.  Also books by Sarah Dessen.  Thanks, bitch.)It took a shitty relationship where I played the heroic dude’s role for me to understand that’s not how it works.  Ironically, after all that time, after that relationship ended, I finally got the play the part that I’d always romanticized.  Yay me.  At first the jaded, manic pixie dream girl character was fun.  It totally was.  Then I realized that the problems went deeper.  And that was totally not fun.It’s not romantic and it’s not endearing.  There’s no one who wants to help you and make it better because no one knows.  It’s not something you talk about – except yelling at characters in rom-coms when your friends force you to watch them. Because yeah, I really hate rom-coms now.  Like a lot.  Because they are stupid.  And lies.janice ian suck it mean girls gifOk, fine, whatever.  I’m not going to get into that whole thing.  I’m not feeling sorry for myself and I don’t want anyone to worry or feel sorry for me.  I’d actually started writing this with one very specific thing in mind: to explain why I wished I’d never met him in the first place.  I'm talking about the guy who made me feel this way, in case that wasn’t clear.I don’t know, though.  Do I really feel that way about him?  Months ago, I wrote how time and time again I understood and that I’d always care about him.  That isn’t true anymore.  I don’t understand and I don’t care.  The truth is that I don’t feel anything at all.  I just do not care.It’s taken far longer than I would have liked and more patience from Ryan than I deserve.  The heart does what it wants and in its own damn time.  It most certainly was not fun, and I have absolutely learned my lesson.  Now all that’s left is for me to get back to that point I was at a year ago, this time with someone who actually deserves those feelings.

Yesterday's Gone, Yesterday's Gone

So I was talking to one of my friends a couple of weeks ago, in one of our typical 5 hour phone conversations where we stop talking about moving in with our boyfriends and living in new cities long enough to talk about the things that are actually important, like shopping and Doctor Who.Oh wait, I think I have that backwards.  Just kidding, no I don’t.She wanted to know about Ryan, since, you know, she was there for my first boyfriend experience, that breakup, and the whole Joshua debacle (before and after, twice).  The little she knew from our annual 4/20 reunion was simply NOT good enough.Honestly, most of my friends know little more than what I’ve written in this blog.  Ok that is actually a lie.  But few of my friends know a lot.  No, that’s actually a lie too.  I mean, my entire family has met him, and I’m talking about a ton of my extended family on my mom’s side, too.  I basically dragged him everywhere to meet anyone I could.“Hey this is Ryan, my new boyfriend.  How did we meet?  Oh, haha, that’s a long story.  We’ve been together for three whole months, and we’re probably going to get married.”annie edison ghost story community gifUh, so yeah, there’s that.Whatever.  There’s a lot to it.  I’m still figuring it out, and for once, I’m taking my time in that department.  My friends know as much as I do, to varying degrees.  By the time I finished writing the terrible, epic tale of the J’s, I had already moved across the country and was sharing a bedroom with my boyfriend of four months.  Granted, we’d known each other for a couple of years, but come on now.  It took me a little while to calm down and get my shit together.So yeah.  I wasn't quite ready to write about it, but I think it's about time that I started.  If the amount of time it took me to write this short bit is any indication, it's going to take a while.  I want to get it right.  Plus there’s that whole book thing that I’m working on.jennifer lawrence funny face hunger games awesome gifRight.What it comes down to is that I’m still learning to accept that the guy who is wrong for me in all the ways that I thought were important is right for me in all the ways that actually are.Like how he’s on the shorter side.  I’m taking one for the team on that one, ladies.sadie awkward you're welcome gif

I'm Getting a Life, Ok?

I've unintentionally on purpose withdrawn from this blog, which is excellent.  I meant to do so when the story I had told about last year caught up with my present, but found myself going on about almost anything that I thought of.  Since my brain does not shut up (think: laying in bed, boyfriend snoring beside me, unable to fall asleep not because of the snoring, but also totally that, but because my train of thought never ends and is too interesting for me want to turn off, anyway), things to write about have been plentiful.That is not the point.I've been meaning to turn my attention elsewhere.  Keeping up with this blog has done wonders for my writing, and now it's time to focus on the book that I wrote.  Because yeah, I totally wrote a book.  It took about 6 years and it's funny but terrible.  Because there is no plot.  A very helpful literary agent pointed that out.  So I realized that would require a ton of re-writing and started this blog instead.So I finished writing the story that this blog started out as.  And began wanting to work on my book.  And kept writing this blog instead.  And actually haven't written anything here in over a week.  Which is good.  Because I can't write from the mind of a highly dramatized, totally unrealistic, 15 year old version of myself when I'm also writing this thing.But I do have the plot all laid out.  It really won't be that difficult to re-work.  But I'm an awful procrastinator and am lucky if I write a page a day when it comes to that fucking book because I kind of hate it now, and my goal is to have it all worked out by the end of February.Don't get me wrong; I will almost definitely be writing stuff here and there for this blog.  My thoughts cannot be contained within the confines of my head.  I'll try to stick with only the most interesting and important, because a lot of it is really just bizarre drivel.  I've also discovered that it's far better for my writing if I actually live out my life for a bit, figure it all out, and then write in a reflective way.   I've felt like I don't have much to say regarding my life right now, but a lot is going on and I just haven't realized it.  So I do have some stuff to write, but I'm going to give it some time to settle.Aaaand a post that was supposed to be just a few paragraphs has turned into this.  Figures.  Once you pop, the fun don't stop.I also just realized how that phrase absolutely sounds like it's referring to popping pills and not eating Pringles.  I thought that was necessary to point out.  Also that I was not referring to Pringles or pills, but to the word vomit that is my entire life.Ok I'm done.  I'm going to leave you with this blog, instead.  It's a link to Matthew Richards' work, a Portland based photographer who is truly, incredibly talented.  He's one of the first random people who started following my blog, and we still don't actually know each other, but I absolutely love his photos, most recently this one.matthew richards congress stSo I recommend that you follow his work.  That is all.  I actually want to say a lot more, but it needs to stop sometime.  I will be back, my loves! 

Way To Go, Me

Alright.  So.  I’m watching Moulin Rouge and as fantastic as it begins, it’s far too depressing to warrant my full attention.  So I’ll write about what I’m doing right now.But my god, Ewan McGregor has a magical voice.  And face.Thing Number One: Interning at the Writer’s Guild Foundation.  Basically sitting at a desk in the library, checking people in, working on random projects, and reading scripts.  Lots and lots of scripts.  And movie news.All you need is love.  So distracted.It’s really fantastic.  Smart, interesting people work there, and I’ve spent a few of my days off sitting there writing.  Creative people in an awesome environment.  Oh, and it’s totally located where famous people kind of just exist.  It’s near the Grove, right around where Mindy Kaling lives, and I’m pretty sure that I saw Carey Mulligan at a Starbucks a couple weeks ago.  By pretty sure I mean I’m 100% sure it was her.  I more or less had lunch with her.  And lots of people talking about business things.  And last week one guy was talking on the phone about how soul sucking the whole business is, but what a great privilege it is to find someone creative and be able to help them get a leg up.  While I was sitting one table over, scribbling my heart out in my notebook and simultaneously eavesdropping.Then he told the guy on the phone, hold on a minute, and walked up to me, and started talking to me, asked what I was doing, blah blah, etc., and I was like THIS IS MY MOMENT TO SHINE.Except that didn’t really happen.  Instead he went off to smoke a cigarette in an elevator or something.Thing Number Two: This is the real thing.  It’s a small fashion and lifestyle website that I write for.  What someone is actually giving me money for.  Hey, look at that, I’m actually getting paid to do what I’ve wanted to do for my… entire life.  Way to go me.  I started working there immediately after I moved, and less than two months later I get paid.  Ok sure, I’m technically only considered a “contributor,” but they got rid of their other contributors in order for me to write everything.  I believe the phrase “head writer” was used.Seriously though.  Ewan McGregor.“Got rid of” is kind of a harsh way to put it but it’s really basically what they did, as far as I know.  Because they like me and think I’m smart and described me as their target demographic basically like all the other girls who work there.  Which is fantastic.  They are, I mean.  They have that valley girl drawl, vocal fry apathy that I kind of really love and love to make fun of.  In case you need an example:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dmC1vknpqggShe’s my favorite character so it actually makes a lot of sense.I get to call myself a fashion blogger, which is ridiculous.  Because it is so cool.  A year ago I was working at a kennel, which was great, but I wore the crappiest clothes I owned on a regular basis.  Now I get to wear fantastic outfits all the time, or not if I don’t want to (lol, good one).  Then there’s the food.  Because apparently it’s like, always someone’s birthday, so there’s usually cake, and I’m not even kidding.  And the other day a couple of the girls went out to buy everyone In-N-Out for lunch, which is California’s version of delicious, local fast food.  It’s definitely good, but I really just don’t get it.  I don’t.  Five Guys is just better.  It is so much better.  Also fries.There’s one more thing about this job.  Oh, calling it a job seems so silly.  In a couple months I will possibly probably get paid more and have more hours, but it just doesn’t feel like any sort of “job” I imagined.  Anyway.  Writing for this website has made me realize that I actually, really want to write for a magazine.  One in specific.  Nylon.  I’d always actually liked the idea of writing for a magazine, but never seriously considered pursuing it.  Now this has basically fallen into my lap, and I really enjoy it, and find myself already thinking down the line, about how this is the perfect opportunity to learn everything I need to know in order to prepare myself for something else.Perfect.  Way to go self, proud of you.

It's Constricting My Brain*

Big changes are a comin'.  That writing style I've been using since I started this blog isn't mine.  I mean obviously it's mine, as I am the one who wrote it, but it's not my natural whatever.  It was kind of a necessary endeavor for me to explore in laying out a dramatic series of events.

Aaaand that's over.

So I know I can access that writing style when need be, but as I don't have much in the way of excitement in my life, the style's gotta change.  My god, how boring would this be if I kept writing like that?  I'm very capable of writing grocery lists, and I'd prefer that this blog not become one.

Side note: Is it weird for me to use phrases like "my god" when I don't really believe in god?  Or when I prefer not to acknowledge his/her/its possible existence?  And should I capitalize it?  Is it offensive if I don't?  Does it imply something if I do?

Welcome to my brain.  We're just getting started.  Oh my god this is going to be so fun.  And there we go again.

*The title is a quote my sister and I came up with.  I'll probably do a post on it somewhere down the line.  It would take time to properly convey the absolute fucking hilarity with which it came about.

She's A Dead Ringer for Katherine

I love The Twilight Zone.  I’ve watched it since I was a kid.  In one specific episode that always stuck with me, a woman encounters her doppelgänger at a bus station.  The doppelgänger more or less makes this woman appear insane, so she’s taken away to the loony bin.  The evil double could only survive by eliminating her good counterpart, and once she succeeded, was free to take her double’s place.As much as I love The Vampire Diaries, in comparison to that, their interpretation is just crap.Bri and I have what I like to think of as a “doppelganger relationship.”  Ok, well, hold on a moment, she already made it clear in her comments what her real name is, so there’s no need to use that pretense anymore. It’s Jenny, or Jen as I so fondly call her.  No, we look nothing alike, but we are very similar in many aspects.  It seems that, as a result of these specific similarities, we feel the need to eliminate the other’s existence.  Not literally.  Not on my end, anyway.  To me, she’s the evil double that needs to go away, and I’m sure she feels the same way about me.  We live on opposite sides of the country, our lives are both going in good directions, and we want nothing to do with each other.  Despite all that, somehow we still can’t stand each other.I suppose that’s not true though, not on my end.  Not anymore.  Not be able to stand her would require some level of caring, and I just don’t.  It comes as no surprise to me that I ended up regretting my post “You Are So Much Less Than the Best of Humanity.”  I shouldn’t have posted it.  Not because of how certain people (let’s be real, one person) reacted, but because I am so much better than that.For about a week before I wrote that post, I was furious.  One morning, I wasn’t anymore.  I don’t know what happened, but I don’t question it.  I’d already decided to post something about her blog and had written plenty about it.  I had a point, but it was just so irrelevant to anyone except me.  I was mad, and it felt necessary to announce that.  It required a lot of effort to write, many re-writes and figuring out just what I meant to say.  I sure had something to say, but ugh, who cared.  I attempted to make it mean more than it actually did, to tie it into the craft of writing, to talk about why I need to write.  Ultimately it was just about me being angry.  I wanted to talk about it, so I created an excuse.And yeah, it was really well written, and I meant every word of it.  But it was unnecessary, plain and simple.  For someone who spent that entire post talking about having something to say, I sure wasn’t saying much.Faulkner has a great line, to “kill your darlings.”  This was not the first time I’ve encountered that necessity; it was just the first time I ignored it.  I should have taken my difficulty writing that piece as a warning sign, that it just wasn’t meant to be.  That’s what I usually do.  If something isn’t flowing, if the words just aren’t right, I erase it and start over.  You can’t re-work something that doesn’t work in the first place.If nothing else, my total lack of interest in the subject in general should have been enough.  I didn’t feel like posting what I’d written anymore.  I didn’t find it important.  But it never crossed my mind just not to.  Further, I knew that Jen had read every post, and I knew she’d read that one.  I knew she’d be angry, and I found that funny.However.My desire to piss her off was greatly outweighed by my newfound absolute apathy toward her.So why, oh why, did I do it?  Honestly, I just don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter, because regardless of the reason, I did.I have plenty of thoughts, plenty of opinions that I could say in response to the comment that she left.  I could slip in some subtle insults about her, just because.  Why bother, though?  Even entertaining the idea of writing about those things is just tiring.  It requires energy that I genuinely have no interest in using for that particular subject.I will never not have my opinions.  I will never not care.  But it’s really just so uninteresting to me now.   I’m glad to say that general apathy has returned.Months ago, I wrote that I couldn’t imagine how some women live their entire lives immersed in this sort of drama.  It’s exhausting.  When I made that post, I put myself in the position of remembering that.  I’d unfriended Jen on Facebook and gone months without talking to her.  But for some reason, I allowed her to get under my skin when I was finally at a turning point.  And thus I perpetuated that exhausting drama, that doppelgänger relationship, just a bit more.Now I can realize what that is, the unfamiliar feeling I got days after that post.  I’m disappointed in myself.I’m better than that writing.  I am better than those blatant insults.  I’m better than my anger.  I don’t care about explanations or excuses.  I’m disappointed that she completely misunderstood my point in favor of being angry, but I don’t really blame her for that.Whatever.After all this time, after all those battles and fucking apologies and apathy, I still find myself left with one thing.  The sadness.  The inexplicable inability to accept that she and I just do not get along.  That we cannot accept the other’s presence, even 3,000 miles away.  That we can’t even allow some peaceful co-existence in our mutual dislike of each other.I think that the worst part, the strangest part, is that as much as I don’t like her, I think that I actually kind of do.

And No One Had Asked Them to Grow, Or Me to Grow

“I don’t know when we’ll meet again or what’ll happen in the future, but Desolation, Desolation, I owe so much to Desolation, thank you forever for guiding me to the place where I learned all.  Now comes the sadness of coming back to cities and I’ve grown two months older and there’s all that humanity of bars and burlesque shows and gritty love, all upsidedown in the void…”

I finally finished reading The Dharma Bums, by that wonderful, illuminating man Jack Kerouac.  We experience the world through Ray Smith, in his journey through life as a Buddhist, just searching for truth and how to exist.  The last ten pages are the saddest and most peaceful.  After spending the summer in complete solitude, atop a mountain, overlooking the rest of the world for miles around, the book ends with the end of summer and thus the end to this solitude.  He’s found complete happiness, yet he cannot continue it.  Instead he has to go back to this world, full of “bars and burlesque shows and gritty love.”I was upset for him, but he wasn’t.  He was simply moving on to his next adventure, whatever that was.There is no way to move forward by merely existing in your own happiness.  Life only begins at the end of your comfort zone, and happiness is only created through new experiences.  Anything less becomes stagnant and stale.At the end of last year, I was terrified.  I was allowing my life to become stale in the name of love.  I told myself that I could be happy where I was, that my life could be what I wanted if I stayed.  I knew it wasn’t true though, simply because it wasn’t what I wanted.I still haven’t addressed exactly why I moved to California.  The best reason I’ve given was “why not?”  That's somewhat adequate, but no longer sufficient.  The reason that I decided to move across the country is simple: I needed to do something big.  I needed to prove to myself that I could.  I needed a change, and the most appealing one was the biggest thing that I could think of.  It was in pursuit of a new career, sure, but that wasn’t the entire reason, nor was the nice weather, nor was the fact that it was so far away.  It’s because it wasn’t easy.  It’s because for so long, I’d just been coasting through life, letting things come to me.  That was working pretty well, honestly.  Somehow my entire life had consisted of good things just finding their way to me.And then it didn’t work, anymore.  Then I was dealing with the most difficult ten or so months of my life.  It was the first time I had truly understood that life was not easy, that it wasn’t supposed to be.  That my life may had been comfy for a while, but enough was enough.  It was time for more.Everything in this blog has been so much more than merely recounting the events that led me to this point.  That was never the intention, as difficult as that's been for some to comprehend.  It’s been a difficult, fantastic, emotional journey.  Simple events have no impact on a person’s life, not mine nor anyone else’s.  People do not learn or change simply from things happening to them, or even from their own actions.  What matters is how we interpret those events, those actions, how we react to them on an emotional level, and what we take away from them.I may not have chosen to leave my comfort zone, but I'm glad that it happened.  I needed it.  I didn't know what I wanted with my life, but I did know I didn't like the direction that it was going.  As hard as that time was for me, it's a period that I'll always remember fondly, because without those people and what they did, I don't know where my life would be, and it's currently going in a fantastic direction.So I told the internet what I had gone through, only to convey a true sense of just how detrimental it all was to my emotional state.  It was devastating.  It was difficult.  It made me realize just how much more there is to life.  Everything that happened during that year was important, but what matters is how much I learned and changed from it all.In short, I moved to California to learn how to live.And hey, with less than two months in my internship, I’m now getting paid and have the title of head writer, so that’s pretty cool, too.

You Are So Much Less Than the Best of Humanity

I have something to say, but I don’t really know how to go about it.  It’s annoying, considering that I’ve written plenty on the subject in the past week.  I just don’t know how to go about it now.Bri decided to start her own blog, citing the same purpose as my own.  They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  I suppose that’s true, even if it is an insultingly sub-par imitation.The majority of this blog has been fairly restrained in terms of me acting on my feelings.  No, I was not always nice, but I didn’t want to be nice about things that weren’t.  No one spared my feelings in their actions, and I didn’t spare theirs in my writing.  I do not take the events that I wrote about lightly, and I didn’t want anyone else to, either.Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.I did my best to never let my emotions get the best of me, despite their constant attempts to.  Writing is the way I deal with anything and everything.  My emotions can be overpowering.  I don’t know what they are and I don’t know what to do with them.  So I write what I’m thinking.  It allows me to create some sense of order.  The more I write, the more it soothes me, and the better I am at piecing together why I’m so emotional and how to move away from that.Simply put, it’s something that I need to do.Naturally, when I found out what Bri was doing, I was livid.  I knew she fancied herself a writer, but this thing was mine.  Her attempt to steal the one thing that defines me isn't something that I could just laugh off.  If she had just decided to start a blog with her own intentions, that would have been one thing.  I would have scoffed, rolled my eyes.  But for her to copy me?  Bitch, please.So I read what she wrote.  Of course I did.  My curiosity will very likely be the death of me.  I didn’t know what to expect.  At first, I actually wasn't very bothered.  Her writing was fine and she hadn’t said much of anything.  Of course, the more I read, the angrier I got.  No, not angry.  Offended.  It had nothing to do with what she’d written about me, actually.  That part is minimal, and more or less true, though she was not-so-subtly nasty about it.No, what I’m offended by is her audacity to pass off her biased, manipulated version of events as any sort of reality.  I’m offended that she’s using my blog as a foothold for her own.  I’m offended that there’s any possibility that she believes that what she is doing is in any way the same as what I’ve done here.I could point out every inaccuracy in her writing.  I could point out that she never mentioned how she and I were actually friends, that this guy she was pursuing was not only her ex’s best friend, but MY ex, who I was still in love with.  That about a week before she slept with him, he and I had slept together again.  How there was simply no way everything just drunkenly “came pouring out” to Ryan because she had first texted Josh that she was “going to tell Ryan everything.”I could point out all of those things.  Oh wait, I just did.I know that it doesn't really matter.  No one really cares.  Anyone who is bothering with her blog will choose to believe what she writes.  I could point out the inaccuracies, but to what end?  For a time it felt like my life's mission was to make sure that everyone knew what an ax-wound she really is.  However, that would entail spending the rest of my life with her, if only mentally, and I can think of nothing less appealing.  Anyone who wants to know what actually happened during the time that our blogs overlap can scroll way back here and do so.You've got to sell your heart, wrote F. Scott Fitzgerald in a letter to a friend and aspiring writer.  Do not come lightly to the blank page is what Stephen King wrote in his memoir.  In a letter to a class of high schoolers, Kurt Vonnegut encouraged them to practice any art… to practice becoming… to make your soul grow.(Read the letters by Fitzgerald and Vonnegut by clicking on their names, respectively.)When I first got the idea of creating a blog, I was not so eager to bleed my soul on to the page.  It was personal.  I had been stupid.  I was embarrassed that I hadn’t seen what was right in front of me.  Everybody else had.  Looking back, it was just so obvious.  I was also ashamed of how I had treated some people.  The way I’d felt about Cal in the end and my ridiculous, catty behavior with Bri.I had been an idiotSharing that was difficult.  I had two choices.  Spin a version of events that left out all the ugly bits.  Create a dramatic story in which I was this two-dimensional character who had made mistakes and excuses, where I had merely been a pawn in a game played by others.Or I could tell the truth, as far as I could see it.  I could take responsibility for the bad, for things that up until writing this blog, I still hadn’t completely accepted.  I could write about my thoughts of cheating on my first boyfriend, my disregard for a friend’s feelings, what it was like to be helplessly, hopelessly, pathetically in love, about how I completely lost respect for myself in favor of those tragic feelings.I felt brave.  I wanted to share what I’d gone through, guts and gore and all.Bri went with the former option.  I chose the latter.  Really though, she can write whatever she wants about the events that transpired.  She can be completely honest or she can lie.  Of course, her manipulation of those events does irritate me, but I can’t change it, and I accept that.  So really, it’s not such a big deal.When I started reading her blog, I was actually looking forward to something more.  I was expecting to find sympathy for her through her words, to be able to relate to some sort of inner turmoil.  All that I had wanted since May was to find any sort of good in her, to find some common ground, to have some understanding of why she was so vicious.I suppose that would require some sort of self-awareness on her part.  That is, as I know all too well, one vital characteristic that she desperately lacks.  Why I thought she might have suddenly discovered it, I don’t know.  And so I was disappointed, yet again.It seems unfair of me to judge her so harshly.  Who am I to say that she isn’t bleeding her soul like I’ve done, or isn’t at least trying to?  Well, I can only assume that fictionalizing the events that happened to make herself look better would somewhat hinder her ability to express her true feelings about everything that she did, and what others did to her.I’m not one to judge skill, and I don’t pretend to be any sort of literary authority figure.  I still have my opinions, though.  I am not criticizing her writing.  I am not criticizing her right to write whatever she wants.  What I am criticizing is her attempt to pass off her fictionalized version of events as the truth.  In doing so, she has insulted the craft of writing and has therefore insulted me.I’m sure that was her intention, though, to some extent.  To upset me with her blog the same way mine upset her.  And of course, it looks like I’m falling into her manipulative trap, but I know fully well what I’m doing.  Time and time again, I overlooked the terrible things she said and did in favor of not stooping to her level.  While I do feel morally superior, ignoring her existence hasn’t changed the fact that unfortunately, she’s still around.Let it go?  Eh, sure, of course I will, all in good time.  She has made a point of making that rather difficult for me, though.  Every time I think she’s finally done, she pops her head back in with some sort of something.  Before this blog it was an email that she sent me a couple of weeks ago, with no purpose that I could see.  Before that it was the obnoxious comments she was leaving on this blog under a fake name.  Even before that, it was her apology for writing such unforgiving things about me in response to this blog.  But really, the one that I’d thought was the end of it was the night we met up, the night we were friendly, the night everything actually seemed nice and good again.Apparently, and most disappointingly, that seems to be the farthest thing from possible.For those who became curious while reading this, here's a link to her blog.  Knock yourself out.