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There are songs about all of them, Part 2 March 15, 2006

Posted by charmingbutsingle in Backstory, Dating, Friends, Men, Random Musings on Life, Songs I Can't Get Out Of My Head, There are songs about all of them.
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Note from S: The first “There are songs about all of them” is here.

Today, I was doing a quick count of some of our marketing materials. I was alone in the storeroom, so I flipped on the radio while I took some notes.

The last person there had the radio on a country station and I hummed along to the background music.

Pens. Check.

Mugs. Check.

And then a simple guitar strum over the radio stopped me dead in my tracks.

“You always had an eye for things that glittered / but I was far from being made of gold.”

I stood still and let the song wash over me. “Just To See You Smile” by Tim McGraw. Damn B and his country music. The cheesy country music that I now love.

I stopped my work and thought back, escaping for three minutes into a world of heavy hearts, sleepless nights and fighting back the kind of tears that sting when you keep them in your eyes.

We were at a little hole in the wall with a country-heavy jukebox one night a few years ago. B and I picked over songs – letting him lead because I was solely out of my element. We’d played George Strait (B’s favorite) and probably some Johnny Cash.

“Tim McGraw.” I read off the track list.

We settled on “Just To See You Smile,” a sad little song about setting free the ones you love.

“When all is said and done / I’d never count the cost / It’s worth all that’s lost / Just to see you smile.”

As we hit the climax of the song, when Tim’s let his love go away because that’s what she wants, I’m feeling raw and exposed. Heartbreaking for anyone who’s ever loved someone and had to let it go. Because when you care about someone, you sometimes know that you’re not what he wants. And all of the unrequited love in the world isn’t going to change his mind. (Or yours.) You’d just as soon bang your head against a brick wall, because you can’t force someone to love you.

Not that you realize this at the time. Because if you did, you actually WOULD beat your head against a brick wall. No, you delude yourself into thinking that if you let him go, even only in your mind, he’ll come back. “Someone has to be the bigger person,” you tell yourself, justifying your choice through silent tears. And as soon as you have dealt with the emotion, you forget it. (This is the only explanation, because if you actually remembered how it feels to want to vomit up your soul because you are so heartbroken, would you ever love again?)

“When you said time was all you really needed / I walked away and let you have your space / Cuz leavin’ didn’t hurt me near as badly / As the tears I saw rollin’ down your face”

I was sort of lost in this song. B was singing along in this low twang he has – boy can do a good country tune. He made me a country convert those months, during the time when I wanted him so badly that I learned to like the things he did.

“And yesterday I knew just what you wanted / When you came walkin’ up to me with him / So I told you that I was happy for you / And given the chance I’d lie again”

B pointed out that this song pissed him off. I questioned his reasoning.

“If I were this guy, I wouldn’t smile and lie,” he said. “I wouldn’t lie and say I was happy that she found someone else.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“No, I’d be pissed and I’d say so.”

“No, you wouldn’t!” I argued. “You wouldn’t say that to someone you cared about! You’d be gracious.”

“I would say that, S,” he paused. “I wouldn’t just wimp out and pretend to be happy for someone who hurt me.”

“Then you’ve never actually been in love, dear.”

There are songs about all of them February 7, 2005

Posted by charmingbutsingle in Backstory, Men, There are songs about all of them.
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It may be slightly immature, but for every guy I’ve ever been hung up on, there is a cheesy melodramatic song, if not a cheesy melodramatic playlist. I’m a music-loving kind of girl. It relaxes me and helps me focus and energizes me and dredges up old heartache and warms my soul with fond memories. Some of the music I listen to is very good and some is not, but all of it speaks to me. (Whether it says anything important is neither here nor there.)

I put my music player on random and let it cycle through my library tonight. The first few songs were bland and spoke to me as great background music. Then a song that I haven’t listened to in years, “Be My Downfall” by Del Amitri, came on.

There are songs that can stop you dead in your tracks, not necessarily for their musical genius (because, I mean, I love me some Del Amitri and all, but we’re not talking about the Beatles or anything), but for their ability to take you back to a time in your life. “Be My Downfall” is one of those songs.

A long time ago, we were friends. He was older and had a very serious girlfriend and I always felt like a little kid from hickville around him. In my head, I knew things were never going to go anywhere. Sure, I had my pop psychology about why we spent the majority of the workday IMing and why he’d almost slept with me. “He’s unhappy with his girlfriend,” I told myself. “He’s going to see that he’s using me as an escape.”

“But you will be my downfall tonight / Be my downfall be my great regret be the one girl / That I’ll never forget / Be my undoing / be my slow road to ruin tonight”

And so “Be My Downfall” became his song. I don’t quite remember why I own Del Amitri’s Greatest Hits (oh yes, they have greatest hits!), but I do and I was listening to it one day when the song came on and I just wanted him to feel that way about me. It was so silly. The song is so cheesy and not deep or nuanced or musically interesting. But for some dumb reason, the damn thing spoke to me. And I put it on every mix cd from that year of college and I can’t bear to delete it from my computer. My subconscious won’t let me delete it, because I’d rather revel in the silly sadness and laugh at myself than give it up totally. (I have given it up 99 percent. That one percent, I keep it just for me.)

In case it hasn’t become abundantly clear, I spend a lot of time deluding myself into thinking the guys in my life share my sentiments. This has caused me immeasurable pain and probably hindered any chance of having normal relations with guys who ACTUALLY like me. I never see the ones who are interested because I’m so in love with those who aren’t.

And so, I wanted so badly to be his downfall, when in reality I was a plaything and escape from a reality that he felt stifling. He was bored with his life and my life was boring, so we met in the middle.

I have this rule. I never tell boys what their songs are. It just makes things too awkward if you’re sitting at a bar and then HIS song comes on and HE KNOWS its his song. With this guy, I broke my rule — I told him that “Be My Downfall” was one of his songs and he said he’d never heard of it. He never looked it up or downloaded it. Truthfully, he never mentioned it again.

Heartbreak comes in bits and pieces in different moments all throughout your life. But sometimes, for about three minutes, it comes all at once.

Buckets o beer January 22, 2005

Posted by charmingbutsingle in Backstory, Dating, Friends, Life, Men.
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Thursday night was fun — I went to a favorite bar of mine for a night of low-priced beer for law students. (One of my dear friends and regular drinking partners is in law school. This works out well — I’m currently screening applicants for the position of “my friend from med school” and “my friend the publishing maven.” Always thinking about the future.)

My friend is kind of “seeing” a fellow law student who happens to be quite well connected in our mid-sized Southern city. (Side note — “seeing” is one of the many euphemisms us chicks use because we must label things, even when it’s probably too early to do so. “Seeing” means you’ve been on at least one formal date and informally spent time with a guy. “Dating” means you’ve been on several dates, but aren’t yet using a possessive term, such as — gasp! — “boyfriend.” This causes much unneeded confusion and stress.)

Back to the boy — he’s attractive and charming and very smart, the kind of guy who can go from discussing various aspects of pending current events to telling you a stupid, yet funny, joke with ease. Great for discourse. And cute. And has good taste in music. And drives a nice car. Of course my friend thinks she’s not good enough for him. “Out of my league,” she told me when he left to use the restroom. (Mind you, the boy clearly digs her, is flirting like a madman and casually finding reasons to touch her. The latter is, in my mind, one of the most telltale signs that someone’s interested. Maybe that’s just me.) I’m more than a little bit jealous of this great guy, but she’s a good friend and well deserving of a good man. (Also, it’s too early to be terribly jealous. He’s got plenty of time to screw it up.)

So we had fun. Buckets of beer for six bucks. We smoked too many cigarettes, almost always the sign of a good night.

Unfortunately, none of our other good friends came, which made me the extra girl. I don’t mind being the extra girl on really fun nights, but it tends to make me feel like I must perform. When you’re the extra girl hanging out with one or more couples, you’re constantly aware that at any moment the others may decide that they could just ditch you and have special happy adult alone time.

Luckily, I’m quite accustomed to being the odd girl out in these situations. It’s a role I probably fill too well. I pull out funny stories and jokes, and act goofy and funny. Secretly, I sort of hope that this not-quite-over-the-top jester role will net me something useful, like an introduction to a nice male friend of one of the couples involved. Not so on most occasions, although I do have quite a reputation of being the fun-loving gal pal who gets along with her friends’ lust objects, which I guess isn’t bad. Also, I get a lot of free drinks this way.

And free drinks ain’t ever bad.

Some backstory January 19, 2005

Posted by charmingbutsingle in Backstory, Bio, Blog, Dating, Friends, General Clumsiness and Related Stupidity, Men, Random Musings on Life, Really. Bad. Habits., Single Girl Cliches.
7 comments

The past few years of dating have been interesting — I spent most of them either genuinely not wanting to be attached or lying and saying I didn’t want to be attached. There were also a few moments (or days or weeks or months) when I actually did admit to myself and others that I did want to be in a relationship, but those times were few and far between.

Oh yes, I was in love. I fell hard into that kind of consuming love that takes over your body and makes you act like a fourth-grader on smack. At first I thought it was lust (and at first it probably was), but what started as lust and curiosity became true affection. I couldn’t control it, but it ruled my life. I spent months attempting to ignore it and never actually called it love until much later, but I am certain that is what it was.

How great to be young and in love, right? The lightness in your heart, the bounce in your step, the churning in your stomach; it’s simply too much.

The problem with my love was typical and tragic. I was (and probably am in some small way) in love with someone who didn’t (and doesn’t) love me. At all. I used to kid myself and say that he loved me in his own way, but I’ve moved past denial and onto truth.

Call him B. He was a close friend of a girlfriend of mine. One night she and my then-roommate ditched us at a bar for a few hours. B and I got along swimmingly. We talked for hours. He actually listened to me when I talked. I flirted and he flirted back. We shared a few pitchers of beer. Meeting B was crazy. I physically felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of me. At the time, I was one of those college girls who frequent the same seedy bar three times a week, partying and hooking up with different boys all of the time. So, when I told a friend about B, she immediately assumed I wanted a hook up, and was a bit taken aback when I said I wanted to get to know him better.

A few weeks went by and we saw each other in group situations. I almost always orchestrated him getting an invite out with my group of friends. I did this so that I was prepared to see him. I wanted to look, smell and feel my best whenever he was around. No amount of preparation helped. As soon as he walked into a room where I was, I would start to sweat and my stomach would flip and churn and I would stumble on my heels and words. I was smitten.

Long story short, we made out a few times. I decided that I was going to go after him, and then I was told that he had a (largely fictionalized) girlfriend. (I call her “largely fictionalized” because he overstated their relationship many times. Sometimes, I think he genuinely thought the were dating. Other times, I think he just didn’t want to deal with me.)

Didn’t want to deal with me? That’s right. We became good friends — we could stay up for hours talking. We flirted all of the time. All. Of. The. Time. People constantly thought we were dating. I’m not the hottest girl in the world, but I’m not leper either. To this day, I don’t know why B didn’t just give me a chance. I’m not sure he does either.

B has these pretty stupid rules about who he won’t date. He won’t date anyone from his work, which is a common and reasonable rule. He also won’t date one of his friends, which is also common. Here’s where the rules get stupid — all he does is work and go out with the same people, either coworkers or good friends. He isn’t out trolling for new women. My friend who introduced us used to always joke that someone would have to throw herself on the hood of his truck to get him to notice her. I follow that joke up with, “Doesn’t work. I tried that at least three times.” Rimshot!

Thus, my love became tragic and drama-filled. We’d go out, get drunk and flirt. Then I’d get all attached and mushy and he’d realize what was going on and blow me off. Then I’d get mad, and then upset. Sometimes I’d argue with him. Sometimes I’d ignore him. Almost all of the time I cried — a few times in front of him, though most of the time I made it home, or at least waited until he was gone before I turned on the waterworks.

It’s embarrassing to think about how crazy I was back then. It’s amazing B and I are still friends. I actually don’t know why we hang out together — we have very little in common. Since I’ve known him, I’ve felt a connection with B that I can’t explain. I won’t even try to explain it. It is what it is.

I know he had felt it too. I used to think that he’d come to his senses and get his shit together and decide that he was a fool and that he did actually love me.

Not. Gonna. Happen.

(An old therapist of mine, after listening to me spew about B, said that she wished the movie “When Harry Met Sally” was never made. “It’s not going to happen, S,” she said. “He’s not going to suddenly realize after all of these years that he loves you.” She is entirely right about B. However, I still love “When Harry Met Sally.”)

That brings us to now. I could vent about B for pages, but I’ve covered the highs and lows. I am at a place in my life where I can accept that he doesn’t love me and that we’re not going to be together. This is HUGE. It’s taken at least two years to get here. I still relapse sometimes, but I do it quietly and in private.

I don’t think you ever stop loving some people. I think your love for them changes and fades a bit, but at your core, there are some people you will just always love. That’s how I feel about B. As much as my love for him was one-sided, it was love and it was great at times. We did and still do have fun together. The fact that I was in love with him has been put away, but it lingers just under the surface. We’re both aware of it. I joke about it sometimes, because self-deprecation is at times an excellent tension-cutter. (Other times it is just awkward.) He maintains an even-temperedness about me at all times. Me, I fake it really well. (He scorned me, you know. I’m not crazy. I harbor both love and hate of him in my heart.) But I get the impression that B’s never faking it, which drives me insane.

So, you can imagine my surprise when B got a little huffy about T, a guy I’ve hooked up with and would like to date, if he’d ever call my ass. Before I left a New Year’s party with T, B and I talked about him. B noted that, “I have more hair than he does” and “I hope I age better than he has.” B isn’t normally catty in that way, so I interpreted his comments as jealousy (regardless of his actual motivation) and made a huge spectacle of hanging (and making) out with T at the bar, before the two of us left together.

This was not very mature of me, but it sure was fun.