Summer Fashion

Emery at Moms Are For Everyone is doing another fabulous fashion week revolving around summertime getups. I'll definitely be joining and hopefully giving my closet a much needed re-vamp and I'd like to maybe collaborate with the uber amazing Preen to showcase their one of a kind vintage finds. Gotta support local businesses people!

Join us!

Friday Fondue

Well, thank god it's Friday! Or if you have young children- it's Friday. Maybe you'll get to sleep in 10 extra minutes tomorrow. Tomorrow we all get to meet my brother-in-law's new girlfriend and I'm glad I have a reason to get semi-dressed up. Fresh meat equals a fresh coat of nail polish. They say familiarity breeds contempt but I think it just breeds excuses for having chipped nail polish, unstyled hair and overly casual clothes. When my mother-in-law was there to witness me breastfeeding Jack for the first time, all need to get dolled up for chips and dip sort of went out the window. There was no mystery left. This time I get to masquerade as a put together person instead of the ball of crazy she will probably soon watch unravel in spilled drinks on my shirt and my ass in my bathing suit. Poor girl. Anyway...

Here's some eye candy clothing-

I've been on the prowl for a cute sun hat. This one gets it right-




I need a different cinching belt. They pair well with my gravitation towards flowy tunics.




I love this nightie set so much!

And some Friday laughs-

Drunk History Vol. 5 w/ Will Ferrell, Don Cheadle & Zooey Deschanel from Will Ferrell

Check out the whole series.

Hope you all have a marvelous weekend.

Behind the Blog

I kind of realized perhaps those that read this blog may not know much about me, on the superficial scale. You read my thoughts which are most definitely an extension of myself but perhaps you don't know what makes me tick and what makes me dance, so I've compiled a bit of a list so we can get to know each other better. Here's a bit about me.

Name- Amanda Sierra Martin. I used to be Amanda Nicole Sierra but once I got married I took the opportunity to get rid of a middle name I didn't like throughout my life (sorry mom and dad!) and bumped my maiden name to my middle. I wanted to keep that part of me intact. I got the best of both worlds- my husbands last name and the history of my maiden name.

Birthdate- March 1st, 1988. There are very few celebrities that share my birthday. The only one worth noting is Ron Howard. But there were a lot of early century composers born on March 1st. And on the opposite spectrum Justin Bieber (whom I'll acknowledge thanks to his sketches on SNL with Tina Fey, if you haven't seen them youtube that ish!) and that dumbass Ke$ha.

Fun Facts

* I'm a flaming liberal. I've figured this out by acknowledging my beliefs and the general feeling my stomach produces when in large groups of neo-conservatives (hint: it feels like burning). Pro-choice, pro-gay marriage, pro-green movement, PROBAMA!, etc etc. I've never wanted to throat punch somebody so hard until I was introduced to Sarah Palin, and I'd rather take a table corner to the crotch than have a discussion with her supporters. There I said it!

* But I'm not closed minded. I was raised by blue collared Republicans. A large part of both sides of my family are Republicans (I'm what's known as the black sheep or instead "crazy ass Amanda") so I get it. While my views generally end up on the opposite side of the spectrum that doesn't mean I can't get along and support my opposite equals. Just don't come at me with dumb shit. I'm talking to you Tea Baggers!

* I am sans religion at this point in my life. I was raised Mormon until I was 16 or so until I rebelled against the church by having an opinion, premarital sex and drinking copious amounts of caffeine. Now, if I absolutely had to classify myself as anything I think I'd have to say I'm agnostic. I just don't know and to be honest, I enjoy looking at the teachings of all religions and taking them for what they're worth. I also find comfort in the comfort others find in their religion. Reading Chelsea's or Emery's blog brings me a great appreciation for a religion not my own but appreciated. Seeing others lifted up be it through religion or other avenues lifts me up. I think we need that energy in the world.

*I'm a Spanish (well, Sierra is by definition a Spanish last name, but I believe my grandparents came from Mexico, my ancestors most likely from Spain) Swede, but I just fill in the "Hispanic" bubble in official forms. I've been very much interested in all facets of my heritage as of late. It's starting to show in my decor as I'm in love with all things Mexican kitsch (sugar skulls and luchadores) and Ikea.

*I have a hard time describing things. Be prepared to be slightly confused when I talk to you. For example, yesterday on the radio "Summer Breeze" came on and I REALLY dislike that song. When Greg asked me what was wrong, as alluded to by the constipated look on my face, I said "this song makes me think of being in a dusty antique shop with nothing cool to look at and the sales clerks all want to get the hell out of there. Like I'm breathing in dust and lead paint. This is a root canal to my ears. Please change it." I describe a lot of things in this fashion.

*That being said, I suppose the one thing I can be a bit snobbish about is music. Greg says I'm an "elitist", whereas I say I just don't like to be ear raped by bullshit.

*My hobbies are, but not limited to music listening and playlist making, Buffalo Exhchange spelunking, cooing over stuff I can't afford at the moment via Anthroplogie.com and Modcloth, nostalgia searching, poetry and book reading*, eating A LOT, napping, going downtown with friends and soaking in the eclectic culture we're blessed with in Tucson and watching Mad Men.

* I suppose I can also be a book snob. I refuse to touch anything with a cover that is bright pink and/or emblazoned with the following- martini glasses, stilettos, chocolates, flowers, a mom pushing a stroller dressed to the nines, jewelry or satisfactory reviews from Cosmo magazine.

* I get really obsessed with certain foods at any given time which makes people ask if I'm pregnant again. I'm also a pasta and carb junkie. A part of me wishes I was related to Caroline on The Real Housewives of New Jersey just for the family dinners. I have expressed my desire for a third large Italian family to Greg. Or maybe just a lot of Carraba's gift cards.

* I'm afraid of the concept of zombies, aliens, and moving to the suburbs.

* I LOVE tattoos and am trying to work my way up to having both arms quarter sleeved eventually.

* I'm a cat AND dog person. Hell, I'm an animal person all around. I've had a large amount of pets in my life, all very different in species and personality. But one of my favorites were the four chinchillas that filled my room and life throughout my middle and high school years.

* I actually have a large amount of respect for Jenna Jameson. Check out her book, it's a pretty good read. I think people sell her far too short.

* I'm a ball buster. I think Bethenny Frankel and I would be instant BFF's. If you've ever watched "Bethenny Getting Married?" you've just gotten a glimpse of our relationship dynamic.

*I crave meat intensely on certain days of the month. It's like I'm a werewolf changing with the moon.

*My hands go numb when I laugh to much. I can't pick things up if I have a bad case of giggles.

*I hate being tickled, talked down to, anonymous comments, baseball hats on women, hot weather, people that don't use their blinkers, allergy season, and paying too much on car insurance.

*I hate also cherry "flavored" anything unless it's actual cherries. I'm very firm on this.

*I'm sorry almost half of these are food related.

* I'm a nerd for musicals. I probably know every line to Grease, Moulin Rouge, Chicago and Hair. I think the most embarrassing one is Hair and I apologize to the males in my life that I've made sit through it.

*Greg and I are opposites. He's a logical thinker and I run on emotions. He's a Leo and I'm a Pisces, which says A LOT. Fire and water. He's more zen and I'm more bohemian. When he wants to listen to classical music is when I most want to listen to the Sex Pistols. He likes being out in nature and the most outdoorsy I get is when I'm drunk on the patio or by the pool. Not that I don't like nature, it's just freaking hot here. Anyway, I think Jack will have an interesting childhood...


And I think that's pretty good for now. How about you guys? I'd love to see one of these on your blog.

Weekend Discoveries II

This weekend was somewhat of a doozy, starting with a gynecologist appointment that I'm about to tell you all about with a good amount of TMI. Because if there's one thing I pride myself in it's my uncanny ability to go the extra mile, nay, the extra marathon, when it comes to "oh, she went there." Because openness is my policy and I aim to please. Anway, here's how my Friday went-

We all woke up around 8, since I expected my appointment to be at 10, a big misstep on my behalf. My dad used to tell me "assumptions are the mother of all fuck ups." And he's right, because well, I fucked up. I make all my appointments in the morning, usually around 10, and when I didn't get confirmation during this appointment I assumed I had just scheduled it when I normally do, but to be sure I called them that morning and discovered it was at 2. Greg had blocked off the morning and made arrangements at work assuming I was right, and when I wasn't it really threw his day into a time crunch and stress knot. He had meetings with VP's at 1, projects to finish and tests to run and I felt like an idiot. The stay at home mom whose job is to have a handle on this sort of shit and I couldn't even do that correctly. We got into a morning squabble and the bad mood just hung over our heads until the appointment arrived...so there was that.

We sit in the doctor's office amidst about 5 families who are obviously not there for birth control as their 4-6 child broods run all over the office screeching and throwing NuvaRing pamphlets around. I thumb through Parent's magazine and immediately become bombarded with a whole NEW batch of stuff to worry about when it comes to your children and vagina. Did you know grapefruits, of the fruit AND juice variety, can mess with your prescriptions? I didn't either. But there's a new question for the 23 year old pharmacy intern that I always manage to get at Walgreen's. They finally call my name and immediately I picture my cervix as a german shepherd about to be neutered, looking up at me with knowing eyes that scream "you sure about this boss?" Yes, yes I'm sure about this Sparky. No babies for awhile.

I go in and guess who gets the intern again?! I lay on my back, legs splayed and straight faced. My doctor directs the bright eyed intern around my nethers and all the while, I'm on my period. The second day in fact, so it's not like this is a pink welcoming banner. More like walking into a scene from Nightmare on Elm Street.

"God, I'm going to be talked about at the kegger this chick goes to tonight," I think.

She then administers the "duck lips" in the most awkward fashion I'd experienced, actually pinching me a bit.

"Oh! Are you okay?!?"
"Yeah, I'm just a little twitchy."

My words are nicer than my thoughts a majority of the time.

My doc advises her to go in a little deeper as if I actually WANT to be screwed by Robocop. But she was right, the way the intern was doing it was like Robocop needed Viagra. Like I'd have to explain to the "duck lips" that "it happens to everybody."

I digress...

Once we get all set up and ready to party, I hold Greg's hand (yes, I made him go in there, because if he gets to spray sperm around all willy nilly, he gets to watch what I have to go through in order to deal with all the aforementioned man freedoms) and listen as my group of vaginal support each exclaim little observations-
"Wow, you really hold in all the pain."
-Yes, in my stomach as a matter of fact, so if I vomit later, I apologize."
and
"You're cervix isn't very open."
- I know, it's like Fort Knox.

And they try and insert the Paragard, I flinch, cry, taste metal and feel like I'm going to pass out and then I throw up in the adjacent sink. Just like old times.

"I'm not sure it's in properly so we're going to do an ultrasound."

We go in there and she applies what looks like a condom on this 7-9 inch probe and goes in there. I look at the screen and cross my fingers that I don't have to go through all the bullshit again. That I'll see Face from 90's Nick Jr. cover the screen with his smile saying "yes, it's all good Amanda!"

"Yay! You're good to go starshine!"
But it was more like

"Oh shit! They messed your stuff up guurrrl!"

"Yeah. Not even close. It's not even in your cervix."

I pretty much have a new hole gouged right by my cervix now. Like a shitty Claire's piercing. She takes out the IUD and informs me that I have to allow myself at least two weeks for my new underground railroad to heal. They have to order another IUD and we'll try again next month. Which means I'm on the pill for another month. I get to take a pill that is supposed to dilate my cervix the night before my appointment, and I've asked that we use a local anesthetic for next time. Because I hate pain in and around that area so much I need a horse tranquilizer just to make an appointment.

I left the office crying behind my sunglasses. This is not the first time my body has failed me. And now I had to keep swallowing hormones for another month. Greg and I had fought that morning. He had to go back to work as I watched Jack alone and cramping, disappointed and angry. And that was how my Friday went...

Until Greg got home and greeted me at the door with flowers and more understanding than the morning allowed for the both of us. When you rush out of doors sometimes you forget more than your sunglasses or wallet. You forget your calm, you forget your empathy in a mad rush. But thank god for a man that recognizes you can make up for it when you walk back through.

That night I bought a red velvet cake, some delicious food and washed the day away in Mad Men reruns and ginger ale. And everything was back to normal...for at least 13 hours.

Saturday we had a car appointment. One that would take over 3 hours so we arranged for a lunch with the in-laws at a nearby restaurant while we waited. We left a little early so we could take Jack to the park beforehand even though we only lasted about 20 minutes once we felt the full force of our 106 degree Tucson heat. We couldn't swing, slide or sit without burning ourselves so we called it off and went in search of refreshments at a nearby CVS. Greg runs inside and I turn on the AC. Greg comes back in five minutes or so, turns the key and gggggvvvgvgkuhvasfo. The battery had died. Luckily, it died across the street from the restaurant we were meeting Greg's parents at. So Greg runs across one of the busiest intersections in Tucson, has his dad come back to jump us and man, waiting there, even if it was only ten minutes or so, in that heat felt like an eternity. Jack was red as a lobster, sweating more than any toddler should be able to sweat. My makeup felt like it was running down my face and even though I wasn't in direct sunlight, my legs were getting burned.

And so goes my plans to move to Portland or Seattle. Just kidding. Kind of....

The remainder of the day went well. Delicious food with people I love and later on I went downtown for a little fashion show/clothing line launch at Preen, visited our beloved Hotel Congress for ample margaritas and patio people watching/chatting.

Sunday I made Greg and Jack pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream. We visited the in-laws again and hung out by the pool with Chipotle and a very excited Jack.

So all in all, a long bipolar weekend that in retrospect went by far faster than any of us would have liked.

And a Happy (belated) Father's Day to all of our spousefolk, parents, in-laws, etc.
I know I couldn't do it without my calmer more level headed half.

Greg, Jack '08


Greg, Jack '10


And some pretty cool dad pics I found off the web-





And a pretty bitchin' mom pic of Jerry Hall (Mick Jagger's main baby mama) that I happened to stumble upon while trying to find a cool pic of Jagger with any one of his lovechildren-


Hope you all had a great weekend and a lovely Father's Day!

Since I haven't talked about boobs enough...

I read a lot of blogs. As of late, at least among the "mommy blogs" there is one heated debate and one heated debate only- breastfeeding. It's the subject that never dies, is never taken lightly (and perhaps it shouldn't be), and since I've started my blog I've never really touched on the topic. But here for the first and last time on Lullabies, I'm going to go ahead and "go there".

My name is Amanda and I breastfed for 6 weeks.

Some people gave me a pat on the back for the good ol' college try. Some insisted that I "could go longer you know." And I yes I did and do know. Some got up on a high horse and shook their heads down uponeth the scourge of the Earth. Some gave me support. More did the former.

Let me go on record as stating- I think breastfeeding is in fact the best thing you can do for your baby after they're born. It's scientifically been proven as the absolute best nourishment, it can help bonding, and there are multiple benefits for mother as well. But not all experiences are created equal.

My birth process was one great big ball of "oh, you want this? Well the exact OPPOSITE is going to happen." I wanted a vaginal birth and fought and pushed until I threw up, until I was so exhausted I needed an oxygen mask and six people to assist me. When Jack's heart rate started dropping and when his head was nowhere near close enough despite three hours of the most strenuous pushing, they called the shot and prepped me for a c-section as I cried in fear of the unknown, of the loss of the idea that I had about birth and how mine would go. My epidural (oooohhh, she used pain relief for a watermelon coming out of her vag for the first time ever! What a weak woman!) was barely hanging in there, the general anesthesia wasn't enough and if you'd like to know what the pinch of the scalpel feels like towards the end of the incision or what a persons hands feel like entering your body through your stomach feel like, just let me know. When I let the doctors know, they put me under completely.
I woke up probably an hour or so later. War torn territory, stitches and arms so sore I could barely hold my own baby. My body had never been in so much pain. To feel like you're dying and be presented with life, all swaddled in pastel stripped blankets, watery eyed and new...well, that's a different post entirely.
After I greeted Jack for the first time, I was presented with the next challenge- breastfeeding.
I thought it would be easy. I knew it was the most natural thing in the world so "why the hell is this not working?! Give it to me straight lady, are my tits broken?!" But they weren't, not entirely anyway. It was just harder than everybody had waxed poetic about. And it continued to be hard all the way through.
I cringed at every feeding time, which was always. My milk took a tad bit longer than I had thought. Once my boobs looked like Pamela Anderson's on roids I knew it was there, and then I thought it would get easier. I thought wrong. My boobs hurt so bad at every feeding, like my nipples were cracking open and he was sucking my blood like a vampire. And he was insatiable, since I made next to nothing milk wise. 4 oz. every 4-5 hours makes for a hungry baby, a tired mom, pain, frustration and sadness. I talked to consultants, I talked to my pediatrician and by the 6 week mark, after very little progress, after my breast pump threatened carpal tunnel and I threatened the pump and my body and Greg and whatever powers that be that were playing this cruel joke on me, I finally buckled and we took the drive to Target to buy our first can of formula, my eyes holding back tears from feeling like a failure.
And so it went. Jack ate when he needed to and to satisfaction. He grew and developed on point, and he only got sick with the croup once when it was going around the fall/winter of '08. I should have been happy with that. Happy that he's such a healthy boy and beaming with life every day. But I'll never forget the feelings I felt those first weeks of his life and I resent that if I had just not been inundated with judgement from other women, I would have enjoyed a time that he outgrew so fast. And I'll never let women get to me like that again.


I don't give a rats ass about what choices you decide to make as a parent. I've got decisions I need to make and a toddler I have to raise which is quite enough in and of itself. And if you're a woman that gets off on judging people for their choices because you think you're just so perfect, than I'm going to go ahead and say something I should have said three years ago- FUCK YOU. I don't suffer fools lightly anymore.
I believe in educating yourself about breastfeeding and in trying it and I believe in supporting one another if that doesn't work out. There are soooooo many other variables in life to consider other than breastfeeding. Yes it is an important thing but it isn't THE important thing. I believe it takes all kinds and that the world isn't black and white. I'm amazed I haven't completely given up on the idea of sisterhood, hell even just humanity, considering the things I've read, seen, experienced from other people, specifically women. But I won't give up. Let's be friends, sisters, women, mothers, wives and human beings. And let's support one another in the choices we all make in those roles. Perhaps I'm naive, but I feel that that shouldn't be so hard.

What do you think?

I think I can, I think I can

I've been undertaking a very large task that I'd like to attribute to temporary insanity. A friend of mine sent me a link on Facebook insisting that we must absolutely get our asses up to Seattle for the 2010 Burlycon.

A convention of burlesque in one of my favorite cities? Sign me up! But wait...Seattle. Wouldn't that take, you know, air transport to get to? Yes. And convention tickets themselves, don't those cost money? Indeed. And aren't you currently jobless? You betcha. So how are you going to pull this off again?

But I'm done self defeating, if burlesque has taught me anything, it's been empowerment and I've DECIDED that I'll be going there in October. Tomorrow I'm dropping Jack off at my in-laws and pounding the pavement for jobs, applications in hand and maybe, maybe just a slight hint of cleavage because I fucking mean business...and because I'm pretty fascinated (as well as a few exclaiming friends) with my new post-birth control sweater babies. But that is neither here nor there...

I need to come up with about $1,000+ for round trip airfare for three (I'd be taking Jack and Greg) in about 3 1/2 months. It's gonna take some tears, some frustration, determination and some major wherewithal. It may also mean some lackluster blog posts, so I apologize if there's a lot more clothing/picture/doodad posts. Most of my energy will be going into this new endeavor, but I'm still going to try to make time for this one, as it is very dear to me. So, there you have it.

Currently my need to say "no" is being directed at this-


Urban Decay sent me a notice that their duo shadows are now $20. I heart Urban like no tomorrow. Their shadows pop and are of high quality, they don't test on animals and they actually last for a pretty long time.

Why must you taunt me UD.




Whhhhy!!!


You too Anthro! We can not keep seeing each other like this.

Weekend Discoveries

This weekend we-

Loved on some pandas.


Learned that i-pod time for Jack equals cuddle time for mom.


Found out that these are amazing!!

Ladies and gents- The Green Tea Frappuccino. And if you don't know, than now you know.

And that playing "1,2,3 JUMP!" for four hours ...


...will lead to this-

Pool:1, Jack:0

Muse of the Day- Joanie

I haven't done a Muse post in awhile, but since I've been waiting ever so patiently for the new season of Mad Men, I figured I'd ease the ol' Sterling-Cooper pangs by with pictures of my Muse of the Day- Christina Hendricks.

I'm 100% envious of her figure, her alabaster skin, sapphire eyes and perfect red hair. In a world where models pass out due to malnorishment, where teenage girls diet and try to work off phantom "fat" that the media has told them is unacceptable, Christina is the breath of fresh air women have needed for years now. A monument to "the curve". Healthy, sexy and at times maybe even a little dangerous. So, Christina, I salute you. Shaaaa-wing!





Oh! And her wedding dress/bridesmaid's dresses- AMAZING!

Friday Fondue

I'm kind of tired. Last night I sat on my hip the wrong way and pain went coursing down my leg and up in my sciatic nerves and hip/pelvic joints, something that hasn't been the same since Jack. Since I was a baby I've had hip bursitis or, in it's street name, "clicking hips." Sometimes things are fine and dandy, and other times I can barely move my lower half without feeling like my hip bones aren't in their places and my sciatic nerves get all touchy and they team up and gangbang me with pain. So I took an emergency Percocet I had stowed away for my IUD insertion and now I'm in post-painkiller groggy land. So pardon me as I bombard today's post with cool stuff I found on the interwebs!


A bed set I lurve. I'm kind of cuckoo for sheets. When Greg and I met he had these black and slate college boy sheets. The comforter was a curious suede type fabric and I hated them. One afternoon (when we were more serious) I went out while he was at school and I bought these really cool herringbone sheets at Urban Outfitters. They were semi-masculine enough for him and NOT black suede "hey wanna come back to my place" which appealed to me.


A book I want because everytime I see someone order a drink on Mad Men I think "I need to try that." I also liked the way my grandmother's eyes lit up when I mentioned the delicious "grasshopper" and she went on to tell me how back in the day the ladies used to have them as a treat, "but not too much when you were being the hostess." God, I love hearing stories of yesteryear.


A sweet summer dress (courtesy of Modcloth), that I'd pair with some wedges...




I'm still on the quest for a decent romper. This one *looks* perfect.


I'll never be over the white romantic top.

The puppy I want to smother with my face-


A Jack face (with panda cohort numero dos)-


And a song-


Have yourself a merry little Friday!

Interpol and Me

I hadn't really planned on posting one of these today. The aforementioned blog post is still lingering behind me (thank you for the supportive comments by the way you two, it meant more to me than you know), but I feel it is slowly fading. I chose Interpol because they seemed fitting for the place I'm in right now, and when I found them, they were fitting for the place I was in then...

We were all dressed up for a funeral.

I think this as I look at the men behind the band.



I was 17 or 18 when I really got into listening to Interpol. Usually they followed the 3 Tylenol P.M.'s I had grown accustomed to taking in order to silence my over thinking mind and my angry body and finally drift off to sleep. I put "Turn On The Bright Lights" in my combination TV/DVD player (it also played CD's) every night. I didn't need Dashboard to hold me at night or Amanda Palmer (of The Dresden Dolls which is next up if I can just find the right words) licking my wounds, I needed these men, dressed in black, to make me not care. Just try not to care.

I was practically living alone at the time. My parents harbored their own secrets in separate houses at that point and my flawless intuition was telling me that the boyfriend I somehow thought was the saving grace in all of this was having a change of heart. I can feel things like that happening the way they say some dogs can smell cancer or how cats can predict natural disasters.
And the worst part about it all was that I couldn't really blame him. His father had just died and he needed to deal with onslaught of changes and grief that had been dropped on his head with a weight that few know or should have to deal with. He couldn't babysit me anymore. Couldn't make sure I was okay, check my arms for more bandages, help divvy up the load of sadness in my ever unfolding depression. Once for me and twice for him. We needed to do some soul searching. I didn't know that at the time but he was right. I only saw the onslaught of more hurt.
"He's going to break up with you today. You aren't going to know how to handle it. You wont even know how to pretend to handle it," I thought one day. And indeed that afternoon, I was crying on the shoulder of my friend, smoking the last of her cigarettes because I had forgotten my own. It is almost insult to injury to be without cigarettes during a breakup. I made sure I was never without cigarettes for at least a year after that day. Nor was I without Interpol after that night.
He wasn't there anymore to tell me what I wanted or needed to hear, but Interpol was.

"I had seven faces
Thought I knew which one to wear
But I'm sick of spending these lonely nights
Training myself not to care
The subway is a porno
Pavements they are a mess
I know you've supported me for a long time
Somehow I'm not impressed"

A few weeks after the breakup we went to my senior prom together. We had planned on it shortly after we began dating and he wanted to stay true to his word.
"How noble." I thought, reeking with bitterness.
I put on my $350 gown that we had picked out and I called Samantha before he picked me up.
"I feel like a bride left at the alter. What's the point of this gown, this dance, this fucking charade? I'm going home alone tonight. Everybody is getting lucky and I taking my ex to the prom."
It didn't get any easier after the pictures were taken. I counted the times we looked at each other with questions we didn't want to ask yet. Eight. I awkwardly answered the questions of my classmates who asked me "oh, so this is your boyfriend?!" Five. I counted down the hours until my carriage would turn into a pumpkin. Until that glass slipper was no longer mine. Seven. And by the end of the night I took three and went to bed.

"But you cannot safely say while I will be away
That you will not consider sadly how you helped me to stray
You will not reach me I am resenting a position that is past resentment
And now I can't consider and now there is this distance, so..."

The pattern was much the same for a good couple months. Combating bitterness, chain smoking, etc. Until I met Greg. And he stuck around. I didn't make it easy. I did everything I could to push him out the door, testing him because "what guy ever stays." But this guy did. And these guys receded.



I don't want to make my experience with Interpol sound bad. Like they were merely the instrumental to my misery, they weren't. But they were there for me when nobody was. My bodyguards and lullaby creators. And perhaps if they weren't there for me on those lonelier nights, something else would have been, something that I couldn't take back. And I'm grateful they were, and even now as they play in my car and I see a smiling toddler in the back seat, miles away from the place I was in five years ago, I tip my hat to them.

"It's up to me now, turn on the bright lights."

Shiny Happy People

Whatever.

I'm not in a very good mood today. Disappointment abounds with people, opinions, ignorance and to quote Dashboard (if I'm going to get all "emo" here) "it's left me feeling tired and exposed."

Perhaps if I delete them from Facebook my mind will clear a bit, out of sight out of mind right?

...If only it was so simple.

Perhaps if I just skip over the negative comments.

...Why are there so many these days?

Maybe if I just don't care as much?

...Ah, but you've tried that route before.

I feel like I need a Xanax or something. A forcefield. An island. More wherewithal to not be so...altered...by stupid things.


So please excuse me as I take a few breaths. Take a time out and try to regroup. This is a negative post as it is and I don't want to bring too many more so I need to fix myself before I get to posting on the regular again. But first, first I needed to vent.

Step one accomplished.