And When She Lets Me Slip Away
Also Titled: Because I Wanted You To Know
One of my biggest fears, especially when I am using a song title, TV reference or lyric to title a post, is that I am going to use the same thing twice. Like a fool.
Some people are a time capsule.
I am sore today because I danced last night like I could shake off the years I wasted. Or, more accurately, wildly-thrash-and-jump off the years I wasted. I got a couple of good songs for my nostalgia playlist out of the night, too. It was a strange sensation, though, being around people with the same love. A lot of people looked like everyone I knew from high school, when I knew them in high school, but much whiter, because I am now in Austin. The guys of Austin have never looked better. I hate myself for having an era of nostalgia. And even more for a type. There was a guy there that looked like the kind of mistake I'd dive head into. He had sharp facial features, a ponytail, and he wore all black with hanging suspenders. To be honest, I don't think that was a common look for people not actually in a touring band in the 00's, but, heart filled with shame, I was into it. He clearly knew he was hot, too. So my girls agreed that he was likely not any good in bed. Famous attractive people always seem so interesting and to have so much depth, but common attractive people are not famous because they realized at some point how easily they can coast on their looks. So they tell you long stories about how they'd "really love to see Japan" and don't read much anymore. They're thinking of going to Painting with a Twist next weekend.
I know I promised my first crush, but you can obviously see that I have been obsessed with Beetlebum lately. Kind of Blur in general. Which is entirely the soundtrack to my crush on the white supremacist looking art teacher that appeared in high school. I am even more pulled toward this narrative after having just seen Call Me By Your Name, which was beautiful by the way. Three Sufjan Stevens songs, a boy with a stare that sees the essence of your soul, and a tall guy with the energy and eyes of a husky puppy are all reason enough to watch it. It was also charming in the way that it allowed the younger person to be the one to approach the older one, so it wasn't kind of weirdly predatory in the way films with a much older man chasing a younger woman feel. I could understand the jealous petulance of Elio. I had totally been there- except I wasn't as near the cusp of adulthood and the teacher I was into did not look like Armie Hammer. He was more structurally similar to that weird eagle from The Muppets. He wasn't unhandsome, but he lacked the unassuming charm. Still, he was one of like 5 white guys I knew and the only one that seemed clean and self-sufficient, so by virtue of being lead to believe white guys were the biggest score, I was smitten. It helped that he was an art teacher, and even more so that he like, DJ'd or something, so he knew more about music than the guys in high school bands. As a blossoming manic pixie nightmare person I was all about indie music cred because I wanted to get into the Zooey Deschanel game before she brought a more whimsical version of my standard personality into popularity. So I obsessed. And I found all the time I could to go by. And I was painfully obvious, I'm sure. I spent lunches with him and he would tell me I should date some random kid from one of his art classes, probably as a kind way of implying that I shouldn't expect anything there. I didn't, of course. As much as the fantasy might have appealed, the practice would have been creepy and I would probably look back on him as even more of an asshole than I already regard him as. Which is not because I was spurned so much as because he was, in the end, not a great teacher. He was angry and mercurial. I don't know that teaching was ever what he really aimed for. He always spoke about going to Russia, and I think he did. He was interesting, funny, smart, but not particularly kind. Having stepped away from the girl who loved him I can appreciate the ego that I fell for. It's not an infatuation I particularly regret. If anything, my only regret is that I did listen to him occasionally when he tried to redirect my affections. It's how I ended up with Gilbert, and we both ended up regretting that because it created a bed of thorns between us. Being less enamored left room to become more frustrated, and with a guy around I always allow myself to be more deviant because I have a scapegoat. But when things were nice, he gave me mixed CDs. He was always pushing The Octopus Project, but I don't remember any of that at all. I remember that song from Veronica Mars and Blur. So when I started my nostalgia playlist, which I have grown very fond of for helping me pull out memories, and got around to adding Blur, I thought of him immediately. I so rarely do. Though I am often reminded by particular friends of the role I gave him for about 2 years. At some point he was rumored to have slept with my best friend, and I knew it wasn't true but I was jealous anyway because even though I spent so much time with him no one thought it would have been me. I've never been a temptress. The story comes up every few months when I visit. I assume, and hope, it won't be as often when I live there again. Either way we're oceans apart both physically and in personal growth, as far as I know.
It would be nice to have another, real, relationship based on mutual interest, though. Call Me By Your Name was brilliant. I couldn't have wanted more. Well, perhaps in one way...but every utterance feathered from their mouths and drew them toward each other. Every glance was magnetic. They were so in awe of one another's capabilities one would be hard pressed to find a reason they shouldn't have given in to each other. The depth of their conversations made their attraction feel substantial. I think it's also probably unhealthy that most of my knowledge of working relationships up until now has been from this kind of love story. The conflict is minimal. There's jealousy but for the most part it's light touches, a first kiss, playful wrestling and walks through the villa. There's never a really mundane moment. Things seem to always be in motion, even when they're not. Love never stops. Love doesn't sit. There's never any meaningless glances. No one passes without purpose. It's constant, it's consistent, even if it seems to waver it's clearly a farce. I think that's why I don't feel I've ever really been in love. I've never met a person I liked even when I didn't. There's always a way for me to find distance. In the distance there's always room for resentment. In resentment there stops being a need or desire for the other person. Every man has been expendable. Most family members. I probably hated the mercurial nature of Emerson because I am so mercurial. I've never been able to tolerate any aspect of myself in others.
Some unconnected thoughts:
The Kitten is always sitting behind me. Or next to me. Somewhere I am sure to jostle her when I move. She's too thirsty. Like, dog level thirsty. I tend to forget she is real. Sometimes I pet her tummy and I am confused that she has nipples because she was never going to have children. I suppose that wasn't inherent when she was designed. Her world was once full of possibilities. Her life is so small. She purrs a lot, so I hope she's enjoying it.
J.J. Totah (from Champions) does not look anywhere close to high school age. I was very confused when a lot of the last episode revolved around making him more popular in high school. I honestly spent half the episode wondering why his father was planning sociability so far in advance, because he had to be like two years away from high school at least. I finally had to Google him. He's 16. I have no idea what face he's going to grow into.
I miss rom-coms. I think they would be a great vehicle for John Mulaney. He's got that kind, funny, best friend who's secretly in love with the female lead face. Or, male lead- it is 2018. That, actually, I think, is a good reason for the revival of rom-coms now that it's slipped out of my imagination. I don't know if I have heard of any queer rom-coms. I would like to believe it's because queer people are known not to be as frivolous as us cis-straight women, but I suspect it's just because of under-representation.
I love love stories so much, if I were a better writer it would make sense to dedicate myself to them. Create the relationships I hope for so that other people might find inspiration in them and treat someone else that way.
Superstore ::SPOILERS:: because I need someone to talk to the show about. I need this for a lot of shows, actually. I am a lone wolf in my viewing trends. Anyway, Amy and Jonah are slowly creeping toward the inevitability of being the most charismatic couple on television, probably ever. At the very least this is the best pairing either of the actors has gotten so far. The men in Ugly Betty were not great. And while Ben Feldman and Cristin Milioti are the perfect specimens to create the army of thin, pale wide-eyed creatures Tim Burton has always dreamed of, they did not have the same chemistry on A to Z. And yes, I know that this is going to hurt Kelly...but Kelly shouldn't have even come here!! That is on the writers. My shipping was born early on, as it was meant to because of the obvious connection of the two characters. Kelly wedged herself in there just when it seemed they were finally getting close to locking it down, and I will not apologize for wanting her gone. Especially because none of these people are real...but also because she's not as funny as Amy. That may be by design because America Ferrera is running the show (not literally, at least I don't think she's the showrunner) but in the 23-25 minutes in which these people are real it's just factual that Kelly is not as witty as Amy.
I finally started watching Oh Hello, On Broadway, which I had been meaning to do for a while. I had to pause it about half way through though because I was laughing so hard my blood pressure was dropping.
I just got to the post where I stumbled off the plateau of generalized anxiety and the-new-normal style depression that everyone my age has, up a hill (because mental illness does not adhere to any rules about how people fall) to trichotillomania! Apparently it has been 2 1/2 years. TWO AND A HALF YEARS! God, it seems like only yesterday that I made this push toward a more extraordinary type of dysfunction.
I always find it strange but am appreciative when my neighbors leave their blinds open. The people who do this always have the kind of apartment you would want to peek in on. They're young couples with modern and minimal furnishing cooking together like they're in an Ikea ad. Or they have twinkle lights strung by the window. They have bike racks on the wall and well behaved dogs. They're the kind of person your parents want you to be.
I have taken to screaming along with Helena in the car.
This has been a lot of thoughts.
One of my biggest fears, especially when I am using a song title, TV reference or lyric to title a post, is that I am going to use the same thing twice. Like a fool.
Some people are a time capsule.
I am sore today because I danced last night like I could shake off the years I wasted. Or, more accurately, wildly-thrash-and-jump off the years I wasted. I got a couple of good songs for my nostalgia playlist out of the night, too. It was a strange sensation, though, being around people with the same love. A lot of people looked like everyone I knew from high school, when I knew them in high school, but much whiter, because I am now in Austin. The guys of Austin have never looked better. I hate myself for having an era of nostalgia. And even more for a type. There was a guy there that looked like the kind of mistake I'd dive head into. He had sharp facial features, a ponytail, and he wore all black with hanging suspenders. To be honest, I don't think that was a common look for people not actually in a touring band in the 00's, but, heart filled with shame, I was into it. He clearly knew he was hot, too. So my girls agreed that he was likely not any good in bed. Famous attractive people always seem so interesting and to have so much depth, but common attractive people are not famous because they realized at some point how easily they can coast on their looks. So they tell you long stories about how they'd "really love to see Japan" and don't read much anymore. They're thinking of going to Painting with a Twist next weekend.
I know I promised my first crush, but you can obviously see that I have been obsessed with Beetlebum lately. Kind of Blur in general. Which is entirely the soundtrack to my crush on the white supremacist looking art teacher that appeared in high school. I am even more pulled toward this narrative after having just seen Call Me By Your Name, which was beautiful by the way. Three Sufjan Stevens songs, a boy with a stare that sees the essence of your soul, and a tall guy with the energy and eyes of a husky puppy are all reason enough to watch it. It was also charming in the way that it allowed the younger person to be the one to approach the older one, so it wasn't kind of weirdly predatory in the way films with a much older man chasing a younger woman feel. I could understand the jealous petulance of Elio. I had totally been there- except I wasn't as near the cusp of adulthood and the teacher I was into did not look like Armie Hammer. He was more structurally similar to that weird eagle from The Muppets. He wasn't unhandsome, but he lacked the unassuming charm. Still, he was one of like 5 white guys I knew and the only one that seemed clean and self-sufficient, so by virtue of being lead to believe white guys were the biggest score, I was smitten. It helped that he was an art teacher, and even more so that he like, DJ'd or something, so he knew more about music than the guys in high school bands. As a blossoming manic pixie nightmare person I was all about indie music cred because I wanted to get into the Zooey Deschanel game before she brought a more whimsical version of my standard personality into popularity. So I obsessed. And I found all the time I could to go by. And I was painfully obvious, I'm sure. I spent lunches with him and he would tell me I should date some random kid from one of his art classes, probably as a kind way of implying that I shouldn't expect anything there. I didn't, of course. As much as the fantasy might have appealed, the practice would have been creepy and I would probably look back on him as even more of an asshole than I already regard him as. Which is not because I was spurned so much as because he was, in the end, not a great teacher. He was angry and mercurial. I don't know that teaching was ever what he really aimed for. He always spoke about going to Russia, and I think he did. He was interesting, funny, smart, but not particularly kind. Having stepped away from the girl who loved him I can appreciate the ego that I fell for. It's not an infatuation I particularly regret. If anything, my only regret is that I did listen to him occasionally when he tried to redirect my affections. It's how I ended up with Gilbert, and we both ended up regretting that because it created a bed of thorns between us. Being less enamored left room to become more frustrated, and with a guy around I always allow myself to be more deviant because I have a scapegoat. But when things were nice, he gave me mixed CDs. He was always pushing The Octopus Project, but I don't remember any of that at all. I remember that song from Veronica Mars and Blur. So when I started my nostalgia playlist, which I have grown very fond of for helping me pull out memories, and got around to adding Blur, I thought of him immediately. I so rarely do. Though I am often reminded by particular friends of the role I gave him for about 2 years. At some point he was rumored to have slept with my best friend, and I knew it wasn't true but I was jealous anyway because even though I spent so much time with him no one thought it would have been me. I've never been a temptress. The story comes up every few months when I visit. I assume, and hope, it won't be as often when I live there again. Either way we're oceans apart both physically and in personal growth, as far as I know.
It would be nice to have another, real, relationship based on mutual interest, though. Call Me By Your Name was brilliant. I couldn't have wanted more. Well, perhaps in one way...but every utterance feathered from their mouths and drew them toward each other. Every glance was magnetic. They were so in awe of one another's capabilities one would be hard pressed to find a reason they shouldn't have given in to each other. The depth of their conversations made their attraction feel substantial. I think it's also probably unhealthy that most of my knowledge of working relationships up until now has been from this kind of love story. The conflict is minimal. There's jealousy but for the most part it's light touches, a first kiss, playful wrestling and walks through the villa. There's never a really mundane moment. Things seem to always be in motion, even when they're not. Love never stops. Love doesn't sit. There's never any meaningless glances. No one passes without purpose. It's constant, it's consistent, even if it seems to waver it's clearly a farce. I think that's why I don't feel I've ever really been in love. I've never met a person I liked even when I didn't. There's always a way for me to find distance. In the distance there's always room for resentment. In resentment there stops being a need or desire for the other person. Every man has been expendable. Most family members. I probably hated the mercurial nature of Emerson because I am so mercurial. I've never been able to tolerate any aspect of myself in others.
Some unconnected thoughts:
The Kitten is always sitting behind me. Or next to me. Somewhere I am sure to jostle her when I move. She's too thirsty. Like, dog level thirsty. I tend to forget she is real. Sometimes I pet her tummy and I am confused that she has nipples because she was never going to have children. I suppose that wasn't inherent when she was designed. Her world was once full of possibilities. Her life is so small. She purrs a lot, so I hope she's enjoying it.
J.J. Totah (from Champions) does not look anywhere close to high school age. I was very confused when a lot of the last episode revolved around making him more popular in high school. I honestly spent half the episode wondering why his father was planning sociability so far in advance, because he had to be like two years away from high school at least. I finally had to Google him. He's 16. I have no idea what face he's going to grow into.
I miss rom-coms. I think they would be a great vehicle for John Mulaney. He's got that kind, funny, best friend who's secretly in love with the female lead face. Or, male lead- it is 2018. That, actually, I think, is a good reason for the revival of rom-coms now that it's slipped out of my imagination. I don't know if I have heard of any queer rom-coms. I would like to believe it's because queer people are known not to be as frivolous as us cis-straight women, but I suspect it's just because of under-representation.
I love love stories so much, if I were a better writer it would make sense to dedicate myself to them. Create the relationships I hope for so that other people might find inspiration in them and treat someone else that way.
Superstore ::SPOILERS:: because I need someone to talk to the show about. I need this for a lot of shows, actually. I am a lone wolf in my viewing trends. Anyway, Amy and Jonah are slowly creeping toward the inevitability of being the most charismatic couple on television, probably ever. At the very least this is the best pairing either of the actors has gotten so far. The men in Ugly Betty were not great. And while Ben Feldman and Cristin Milioti are the perfect specimens to create the army of thin, pale wide-eyed creatures Tim Burton has always dreamed of, they did not have the same chemistry on A to Z. And yes, I know that this is going to hurt Kelly...but Kelly shouldn't have even come here!! That is on the writers. My shipping was born early on, as it was meant to because of the obvious connection of the two characters. Kelly wedged herself in there just when it seemed they were finally getting close to locking it down, and I will not apologize for wanting her gone. Especially because none of these people are real...but also because she's not as funny as Amy. That may be by design because America Ferrera is running the show (not literally, at least I don't think she's the showrunner) but in the 23-25 minutes in which these people are real it's just factual that Kelly is not as witty as Amy.
I finally started watching Oh Hello, On Broadway, which I had been meaning to do for a while. I had to pause it about half way through though because I was laughing so hard my blood pressure was dropping.
I just got to the post where I stumbled off the plateau of generalized anxiety and the-new-normal style depression that everyone my age has, up a hill (because mental illness does not adhere to any rules about how people fall) to trichotillomania! Apparently it has been 2 1/2 years. TWO AND A HALF YEARS! God, it seems like only yesterday that I made this push toward a more extraordinary type of dysfunction.
I always find it strange but am appreciative when my neighbors leave their blinds open. The people who do this always have the kind of apartment you would want to peek in on. They're young couples with modern and minimal furnishing cooking together like they're in an Ikea ad. Or they have twinkle lights strung by the window. They have bike racks on the wall and well behaved dogs. They're the kind of person your parents want you to be.
I have taken to screaming along with Helena in the car.
This has been a lot of thoughts.
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