The McLachlan Factor

I just dropped more than $600 dollars on two concert tickets for the love of my life. From all appearances, it looks like I'll have front row, which I've never experienced from a seated event.

To date, there are probably only three musical acts I would pay this kind of dough to (a) see or (b) see from the front row.


"How Long Can a Girl Stay Haunted by You?"

I'm attempting to write a post to my on-line journal, knowing full well that as soon as I publish it, I'm going to have to re-enter that entire right column, which just leaves me cranky at Blogger for "updating" their whole site. I adapt to change two ways: with great disdain or great excitement, usually, it's not the latter.

I'm sitting here wondering when the past leaves you. I'm wondering when the knot in your stomach doesn't form by the mention of his name. I'm wondering how many years have to pass before people quit asking you about him. I'm wondering if I can truly, whole-heartedly not care some day.

Many memories have been replaced, but many more still linger. I'm passed the part where I long to know things that can only hurt me. I know what I believe is the only limitation I'll ever have. I just don't want to have to look at this scar forever, and frankly, I'm tired of others pointing it out. You know damn well how I got it.


George Herbert

"He that is not handsome at twenty, nor strong at thirty, nor rich at forty, nor wise at fifty, will never be handsome, strong, rich, or wise."


Worth a Click

I spend a lot of time reading on the web, with most the reading being spent on blogs. I love reading anything funny, and I really admire people who are able to put their thoughts together so eloquently.

Today, I stumbled upon this website. I looked around a bit and started reading this story. When I read these words, I didn't think twice about lifting them. They are perfection. Thank you Jeffrey.

"To avoid pain, we began to feel less. The price is a wall you build around yourself. At first the wall protects you; then it merely shuts you off from the light of experience and the warmth of love."


The Logic of it All

I went to four years of high school, like most kids, to come out on the other side not that much wiser. I stressed so much about high school, thanks to teachers telling us college was the end all for life. I managed to graduate--not that I was even close to not graduating--to go to college, where I then had to take four more years of "general education" requirements because, well, they want you to be well rounded when you leave. It all seemed like deja vu from high school if you ask me, but no one asked me.

Upon college graduation, we had to take a new exit test. This test was to see what we retained from our four years at the university, and thank god, it didn't really count. It counted for the university, but it had no personal impact on me. Finding out a test has no real impact is always a big relief.

Now that I'm looking at graduate school, the same mindless people want to test me again to see if I'm smart enough to come back to school. Am I the only one who sees some flawed logic in that? Why would they even care? I thought they just wanted my money. Who knew they were going to be snobby about it.


Cinco de Mayo

I definitely had intentions of writing this entry yesterday in the basking glow of my own birthday, but things were totally stacked against me. For the first time that I can recall, I was sick on my own stinking birthday, which really bums a birthday girl out, especially one who loves her own birthday as much as I do. See? I just mentioned "birthday" three times in one sentence. There's lots of love there.

I had walked in my neighborhood the night before where I inhaled many grassy, offensive smells. Between traveling to a foreign city, standing out in the freezing cold rain for two nights, and inhaling fresh cut grass, my body began to show signs of distress. My throat started to hurt right after the walk. To combat that, I quickly popped an Allegra, but I could tell it wasn't helping much. By the time I woke up to greet my birthday, I knew I was definitely sick.

I spent most of yesterday hiding behind my desk. I cringed each time the phone rang because the last thing I felt like doing was talking. Had my boss not made me a homemade strawberry cake, I would have called in sick. But even with the sick thing weighing over my day, so, so many people wished me a happy birthday. And I know I've said this before, but I swear I only know like three people on the planet. One of my friends bought me the famous Miss Muff'n strawberry cake as well. But because of my puny state, I didn't have any. I even postponed birthday celebrations, including the gift opening, which is my most favorite thing to do--get things. I spent the night on the couch in a somewhat delirious state of consciousness. I did recall the phone ringing a lot, but there wasn't a muscle in my body that responded or a brain cell for the matter. I did wake up to a slew of messages on my machine with more birthday wishes. All I have to say is that's it's nice to remembered and remembered well. So, thank you!


8 Showers in 3 Days

That's my title for my weekend. That's how many showers I actually took since Friday. It would be nine if I counted this morning, but Monday isn't really part of the weekend. I went to Music Fest, and my eyes are burning from sleep deprivation, and perhaps they are a little irritated from other elements as well. I have to say that there is something about Music Fest that brings out a different side in me. I managed to get all the way to the very front to see Fuel, Live, and Foo Fighters. I was pretty close to Saliva as well. But I get totally starry-eyed at those events. On Friday, I was pretty nervous about getting trampled in the mosh pits. By Sunday night, I was cool with it, and learned how to use it to my advantage to capture the front row. I, unfortunately, was separated from my party on Sunday, and (unfortunately) had to indulge a stranger in polite conversation, which was really more of him asking me too many questions and forcing me to have things to say. I don't endure hot temperatures, freezing cold rain, mud, smoke, weed, beer, sweat, body odor, more mud, mosh pits, stupid teenage boys, mud slinging, bottle throwing, pushing, fighting, invasions of my personal space, and have I mentioned the mud?, to be hit on. I let guys touch me in ways that most dates don't get to all in name of body warmth. See what I am willing to do for the rock stars? And I have to say that being five feet away from Brett Scallions was totally worth every bit of it. And seeing Kevin Miller's bare ass only sweetened the deal. He is, by far, the hottest drummer I've ever seen.

P.S. I see a distinct resemblance between Ed Kowrlczyk and the character of Bullseye from Daredevil.