Because He Needs Me

Last night I had a dream about someone.

No, not that someone! The person I dreamt about was someone I have never met, talked to, or had any form of contact with, ever, in my entire life….

Yes, you guessed it, it was a celebrity!

But it wasn’t dirty. Which is sad. (Honest to God, I remain a virgin, even in my dreams! Something has gone terribly wrong…)

Anyway…. in my dream, I was in a large, white room, which was crowded with people attending some sort of function. I have no idea what the function was, nor did it ever occur to me to ask. (As it happens, I’m pretty sure my dream self was none too concerned with the goings-on around her… which is so unlike me… clearly!) At some point or another, I managed to find myself standing next to none other than aforementioned celebrity. But I was like, cool as Le cucumber, of course, because in my mind I know that celebrities are just people and really nothing to scream about (especially as said screaming would probably frighten them) no matter how hot they might be.

I suppose I should tell you who this celebrity was, but I don’t want to. Oh, all right…. it was Robert Pattinson(!)

Seriously, you can stop rolling your eyes now, I can see you from here!

So there I was, standing next to Robert Pattinson, who was gazing off into the distance with a vaguely worried look on his face…

(Now to give this dream some context, I do sympathize with this person in real life… if you have ever seen an interview in which he is asked to answer several questions whilst hoards of teenage girls scream the entire time, you know that he doesn’t exactly get to have a normal life. Some guys would view this as just about the best thing ever, but he doesn’t seem to be too fond of it… plus, the paparazzi’s a bitch, we all know that! )

Sooner or later, I managed to negotiate putting my arm through his… which could have honestly gone over semi-badly considering that we didn’t know each other. But he seemed fine with it… more than fine actually, he seemed to appreciate, even encourage it! I let my hand rest on his sleeve, as he gently twisted his arm up, cradling my arm with his… my hand slid tenderly to the bare skin of his wrist, and the heat of his body was so intense that it shocked me… but not enough to move.  We stayed like this, arm-in-arm, side-by-side, for who knows how long… him, staring into the distance… and me, standing beside him, steeling glances at his face, silent, strong, and supportive.

At one point, another girl came up to him hoping for an autograph. He declined, politely, and continued his steady gaze past her, at no conceivable person, place, or thing. Soon it was time for him to go, and the reason for his morbid concentration became clear.

A huge, garage-like door opened up, and a monstrous crowd of screaming, hysterical girls was revealed. Robert was ushered out of the building and through the crowd, never to be seen by me again.

There had been no exchange of names, no attempt at conversation… and though I suppose I didn’t exactly want for him to go, it never really occurred to me to be sad about it. I had given him what he needed… that strong, wordless support of someone who didn’t require a thing. Someone who understood… if only in theory.

Now, writing this, I had intended to cap-off the dream re-telling by saying something like:

Seriously, what the hell? Why in the world am I having dreams about being a strong, silent form of support for a hot, brooding, famous man?! I should be having dreams about hot, sweaty sex… about taking the world by storm…. about anything rather than hour-long hand-holding!

But now, having written the whole thing… and consequently seeing it in a new light… I think - Why not?

Maybe this isn’t just about being the support for someone else…

Maybe this is about wanting someone who can be the support for me…

Maybe this is about needing someone to provide that strong, selfless form of companionship; who can simply stand there and take some of the weight off.

Or maybe I just have a crush on Robert Pattinson, and want a good reason to hold his hand in my dreams!

Because, clearly, he needs me!

Slutty Sundays

Today is Sunday, a day which I love. (Unless I have work, then it sucks.)

Sundays are days when, for some reason or another, it becomes acceptable to stay in one’s pajamas all day long, watch TV in the afternoon, and just be generally lazy and loafish (not that I don’t also do this on Tuesdays, Thursdays… basically any time I don’t have to be anywhere before 2… but today it is socially acceptable that I do so!)

However, there is one thing about Sundays which I have always felt I am missing out on…

For some reason or another (probably pop culture, as with most things) when I think of Sundays, I picture happy couples in their big, white beds, having continuous, languorous sex. I know this is probably not accurate, but I don’t care… it is in my mind!

So, in honor of this particular fascination, I have decided to add a new weekly installment to Confessions of a Weirdo:

Slutty Sundays

Slutty Sundays will involve the picking of an off-beat celebrity to play my boyfriend (feel free to offer any suggestions!)… a semi-detailed list of “ingredients” (things to set the tone for the combined me/celebrity sluttiness) and a brief excerpt of our time together (dialogue should be interesting!)

Stick around… this is going to be fun!

The Addict

Just to be clear, I wrote this poem a long time before any of this crazy Blog Crush stuff!

And for those of you who are wondering why in the world I’ve gone so moody, there will be laughter agian… there will, I swear! Just give me a second…

My Only Hope (written December 15th, 2008)

It’s too much, but it’s not enough

The addict and the favored drug

I take you just to get to sleep now

I can’t sleep without you

But you go away when I enter the night

The meanigful things with their wings made of wire

And I just pause to imagine your face before leaving

A one-way  train with a one-way thought

I’d rid my mind of you if I thought it would help

But you are the only hope I know so stay here

And you will die tonight like so many nights before

I will keep a candle lit for you

I will miss you when you go

and greet you back with wary arms

My heart is too selfish to know of love

It shuts you out before you come

But you still hang around

Oh, whisper some sweet melody

Hold me in your fragile arms

Comfort me with vague old words

Be my only hope

Tonight, tonight

Turn out the light

Meet me in the blindness

Force the truth to out itself

Goodnight my love, goodnight

Come back to me sometimes

Love Stinks

I think the Blog Crush may have gone off me (read: stopped liking me) a bit since I wrote that rather long-winded post (now embedded in my mind as The  Epic Mistake post!*) Which is sad. But also great! Because it adds some much needed context to this video….

And to think I’d almost forgot about the genius that is this song -

Update: The Blog crush and I have broken up. Don’t ask from what. I really couldn’t say (because I really don’t know!)

Also, I’m very sorry the video cut out before you could see Adam Sandler get punched in the face. It’s very cathartic.

And yes, I will post a real blog again soon. You know, one with some actual content? I Promise.

* I have since re-named this post from “Good Luck Reading My Mind, It’s a Real Piece of Work” to “The Epic Mistake Post.” It just fit better!

All you need is love!

In this life, I am always Christian (Ewan McGregor), only now I sing to no one!

Okay… but really, I just like this song!

Sorry for the abrupt ending!

(Why do I always wind up being the boy in these scenarios? Surely not just because of my short hair…)

The Big Blog Set-Up

This coming weekend I will be exposed to one of the more risky aspects of dating… The Terrifying Set-Up.

Okay, really I am not terrified at all. I already know where we will be going (karaoke – score!), what I will be wearing (casual black tank, dark-wash skinny jeans – laid back and hot, if I do say so myself… which incidentally I do… obviously) and how I will be feeling (impossible you say? maybe, but I do tend to rise to the challenge of a good first-impression!)

I do not, however, know very much about The Guy. Except for, you know, the really important things… like

- He’s Italian (hot)

- He has a job (though I can’t remember what it is, which probably means it sounded boring)

-And last, but certainly not least, he looks like Justin Long (YES)

Now, under any normal circumstances, I would most likely recoil at the thought of being set-up with some working-stiff-office-type-who-I-know-very-little-about, but this time is a bit different (although honestly, I’m not getting my hopes up… really, I swear!)

I am more than willing to at least meet this guy for a few reasons (other than the fact that he is rumored to look like my favorite stand-in for Mac computers),  one of them being that I might actually have had a bit of a mental growth-spurt over the last couple weeks (no, seriously… that wasn’t a joke!) Also, the fact that I have been harboring “feelings” for someone I have never met before (the Blog-Crush) has led me to reason that perhaps I should start getting out of the house more often.

I have been set-up on only a couple of occasions in the past, and neither of these went off very spectacularly to say the least.

The first time was by my mom’s friend (and she swears this wasn’t a set-up), when she introduced me to a cute British boy who was staying in the area for the summer (although at this point the summer was almost over… shotty execution in my opinion). We were introduced in a movie theater, right before a showing of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (mom’s friend had an extra ticket, plus it’s possible I am obsessed… just possible I said, don’t give me that look!)

Luckily, watching said movie called for silence, because I seriously doubt we would’ve had anything to talk about. (This theory, incidentally, was pretty much proven correct once we were out of the theater, waiting for the rest of the group to get out of the bathrooms, and found ourselves with almost nothing to say.)

Still, he seemed impressed with me (I have a killer walk) and he later asked my mom’s friend if he could have my e-mail address. I gave it to her to give to him (LAME) but he never used it (Lamer). And to be honest, it wasn’t much of a loss when he didn’t. Sure he was cute, sure he was British (and yes, the accent was good), but he still somehow just wasn’t my type. He was… a boy. (As in, very young in demeanor) And, as far as I could tell, not much with the jokes. ‘Nuff said… right? (For what it’s worth, I know first impresions are hard! No judgment, I swear.)

Fast forward to this past December (I think) and the same friend tries to set me up with another guy. Only this time it’s different… this time:

a) She fully admits that it’s a set-up (actually tells me, “Now before you do that Amber thing and roll your eyes and give me that look…” at which point I’m thinking, “Shit, people can tell when I do that?”)

b) She’s not the only one trying to fix me up with this guy (unbeknownst to me, it’s actually a whole clique of women who think this would be a good idea. Probably because they are all married, and imagine that their younger, single selves would want to date this person.)

So I meet him. I think, why the hell not? It’s not as if I’m obligated or anything… And actually, it’s not as if I even have to meet him in any date-type-situation, because when we’re introduced, it’s at an event full of people… which is pretty fortunate, because…

I don’t like him. Almost immediately after shaking hands and exchanging names, I can tell I don’t like him. But, for a moment, I’m not sure why. There is a bit of  suspense, and then he says it…

“So, do you go to any fellowship groups?”

“Umm… no, not really.” I say, casually, trying not to laugh, etc.

“Why not?” he asks me, very earnestly, and then proceeds to invite me to his fellowship group, which meets every week and blah-blah-blah. I’m no longer listening, just wondering when exactly is too soon to leave this kind of conversation gracefully. Luckily, his sales-pitch hits a lull, and I excuse myself to go do some fake, nondescript thing that I can no longer remember. A few minutes later, my mom’s friend eyes me from across the room and cocks her head as if to say “what happened?” I shake my head in a just-violent-enough manner to let her know that I am not having it, and that my decision is non-negotiable. She pouts, and I move on.

(To be frank, I don’t have anything against the religious set per-se. I used to be religious. And it’s all good… that is, until you look at me like a project or use the word “fellowship” to describe something other than Tolkein’s work of fiction, or the film that followed.)

I am hopeful that this set-up will not be like either of the two that proceeded it, and especially not like the latter one, but I remain realistically skeptical. I am intrigued, but not necessarily excited. (I remain un-excited on purpose because I find that I am nicer to people when they haven’t just crushed my hopes into oblivion.)

To cap off, I would just like to say that I have recently become aware of my snobbish tendencies (and am currently wondering if it has anything to do with my “wait until you meet the exact right person” upbringing), as well as my relative inability to give anyone a second chance (unless, of course, I have already decided that I like them.) So going into this, I am making a wildly revolutionary idea to be more… you guessed it… open minded!

If nothing else, I will meet someone new… and if that falls flat, at least there will be karaoke!

The Perfection Conundrum

Lately I have been thinking about what exactly makes someone a perfect partner.

(Something about having been single for forever, reading a lot of Jane Austen, and this post.)

Now, we all know that making a long list of “must-have traits” is bad (and by long I mean more than 5) while keeping an open mind is good (just so long as you close your mind when it comes to obvious creepers and morons.) And while we all know that perfection, quite frankly, does not exist, there are certain things that make a person perfect for us.

However, as these traits can often be  so hard to define (I find that my list will almost always change depending on who I’m attracted to), many of us resort to rather vague ideas about what it is that we NEED from our person. In the following list, I will address the inherent wants and needs of the GIRLS out there (or maybe it’s just me, let me know!):

1. You want your man* to be attentive, but not clingy… a little obsessed, but not pathetic or needy. He should call you when you want him to (at least once a day), but he shouldn’t, say, call you at 3am wanting to talk because “he can’t sleep.” You SHOULD, however, be able to do the same to him.

2. You want him to be confident, but not cocky. It’s up to you to decide how awesome he is… so he should just shut up about it… but also, you know, be nice and well-adjusted.

3. You want him to be concerned about the problems you face, but not to feel the need to get involved every time. Just the times you want him to. And you’re not necessarily going to tell him when those times are… because he should just know… right?

4. He should be a little dirty, but not perverted. It’s important that he want you in a way that your parents would not approve of, and to worship regularly at the alter that is your body… but he shouldn’t be nasty about it. He should always remember the importance of eye-contact, and leave you alone when you’re just  ”not feeling it.”

5. You want him to be romantic, but not corny. You should also be able to know, without a doubt, that he has never been so sweet to anyone but you… ever. “Smoothness” is not acceptable… unless, of course, you aren’t aware of it.

6. He should be smart, but not arrogant. If there is something (or lots of things) he knows more about than you do, he should realize that there are plenty of things you know that he will never understand. But that shouldn’t discourage him from helping you out with whatever he does know.

7. He should be well-groomed, but not vain. If he takes more time getting ready than you do, something’s wrong. This DOES NOT, however, excuse sloppy dressing!

8. You should always be his first priority, but he should not expect the same from you… because, well, you have a life.

And so ends the list. (But not really, I chose to edit.)

I know girls are like this because I am a girl… and because I am a very good listener… and my friends are very good talkers. I also know that these things can sound a little harsh, and if this isn’t you… good, you make the world a better, more rational place!

Listening to my friends talk about what their boyfriends aren’t doing, the traits they wish they had, or the habits they wish they didn’t, can often times be frustrating and exhausting (but worthwhile, don’t get me wrong… I listen because I want to!)… but then again, tracking my own thought-process about what I want, don’t want, and am annoyed by, can also be frustrating, exhausting, and at times  – laughable. But the fact that we all dream of perfection, perhaps even come to expect it, remains intact.

When you think about it, perfection is not only impossible (hello - are you perfect? I didn’t think so…) it is also a major contradiction. If someone were perfect, what little quirks would you admire? What flaws would you come to accept, or even love them for? What in the world would you do when you realized that they were perfect while you, admittedly, are not? Who’s to say you would even like perfection?

I guess what I am trying to say is, no one’s perfect. But that doesn’t mean you should have to bend over backwards to accommodate every single little imperfection, simply that you should learn to realize that those imperfections may not be going anywhere. It also doesn’t mean that you should fancy yourself compatible with every single person you will ever meet. Some people are just better suited for each other, and some people aren’t.

Some people, when they meet, and after spending all kinds of time together, will come to realize that they are “meant for each other,” and that no one else will do.

And for all of us –  as singular, free-thinking individuals – we must remember that although we are not perfect, we are the ONLY ones, ever, under any circumstances, who can be… us. And that, my friend, is something worth celebrating! (Too corny? Well hey, I told you I wasn’t perfect!)

* I realize that some of you girls are not attracted to men. I don’t want to offend, it’s just that saying the word “person” over and over can get a little wearing!

The Big One: In Which Twilight Makes Me Famous

This weekend was the release of the epic Twilight DVD.

As a fan of said movie, it was thus my time to come out of the shadows and join with the crazies as we revelled in all our collective fandemonium (see words fan and pandemonium). We convened at a local Borders, a wild luster of anticipation and excitement in our eyes, as we waited for that pivitol moment when the clock would strike twelve and our craziness would be rewarded.

My favorite part of the whole evening was not, however, finally claiming my copy of the DVD, as I had already pre-ordered mine online (it still hasn’t come … Silly Rabbit). Instead, the night reached its ultimate climax when my answer for “favorite movie moment” was pulled out of a hat (was it a hat? I really don’t know.) Sensing a prime opportunity for subversive behavior, I had written down my actual favorite moment in a way that would undoubtedly make me sound like a total bitch, or like someone who didn’t really like the movie at all…

Unfolding the little piece of paper, None-too-impressed employee #1 began to read the 9th answer out of what had been mostly sappy, obvious responses. Me and my friend Alana (who had also won for an answer with some actual originality) were crossing our fingers. It was going to be too sad if mine wasn’t picked. It just had to happen.

“This person’s favorite movie moment…” she began, with feigned interrest, “was… when Bella was dying.” She deliverd the line nice and slowly, a true professional with a flair for the dramatic pause, and laughed. Smiling to myself at the sheer comedic genious that is me, I made my way up to the front of the crowd as girls cheered, laughed, and one woman said something like, “That’s terrible!” in a very dissaproving tone. Once there, None-too-impressed (until now) employees #1 and 2 smiled appreciatively and handed me my prize. A dinky picture of Emmit in his backwards baseball cap. Lame. But what did I care? Clearly, the real prize here was the glory.

Later, as I perused the Writing Supplies section and waited for Alana to purchase her DVD, a girl of about 12 came up to me, said “I liked your favorite moment!” and ran away. Satisfied in having passed on my morbid sense of irony to an impressionable youth, the night was thus complete.

However, that was two days ago (okay, technically one day since it was a midnight release party) and my DVD still isn’t here.

 Note to shipping companies: when I pre-order something that is said to come out on a specific date, I mean business… let’s not tempt my sanity into deteriorating anymore, shall we? We both know it’s not the end of the world… but come on, if you had done this to the Harry Potter people, they would have had your ass on a plate. Just sayin’.

Day and Night

Lately, I have a tendency to make everything in life appear light and sunny:

 I practically dance my way down the street (good music can do that for you), I am a well-spring of girlish peals of laughter (seriously, I’ll laugh at anything), and I have become completely useless to my friends (but in a good way… I hope.) This happiness is aided by such things as: any music that makes me want to dance (unfortunately Katy Perry is now included in this category, don’t mock me!), my blog (!), and things that are hilarious (i.e. the video at the top of the page, no joke).

At certain times, however, it’s important for me to let the darkness in, admit that everything is not perfect, and become truly dissatisfied with my life. In these hours of darkness everything changes: dancing to Stevie Wonder turns to walking alone to the eerie sounds of  Portishead, laughter turns to silence, and solitude becomes a necessity.

Some people would call this bi-polar disorder. Then again, some people are idiots.

Being happy will always be more fun than not being happy. But for me, it’s important to feel both the light and dark aspects of my personality. Both sides have a unique purpose in my life, and the enjoyment of one does not necessarily indicate a lesser value of the other.  Going through the dark phases can be a bit depressing, and should definitely not be carried on for any  great  period of time (where it can be avoided), but experiencing this darkness also teaches me things that happiness cannot. For example, feeling dissatisfaction over the way things currently are in my life ensures that I never simply “numb out” and settle – it communicates something unfulfilled, and reminds me to reach for me.

Light is amazing, but we all need the night.

** Too serious? Just  watch the George Michael video again! Trust me, it’ll take the edge right off. **

The Big Blog Crush*

(*Damnit, does this mean I have to start referring to him as the BBC?)

There has recently been a rather shocking development in the land of The Weirdo (i.e. me)… one with so much inexplicable importance that it simply MUST be documented. This phenomenon, as it is now like to be called, is nothing other than a very big BLOG-CRUSH. That’s right, you heard it here first… blog-crush mania is sweeping the nation (as well as all the other nations, I assume) and I have been unable to escape its steely grasp! Finally succumbing to the inevitable lure of a love that dare not speak its name (no, not that love, the other one… no, not that one either… Ah, forget it!) I have found myself imprisoned in the chaotic mess of my own head…. again.

But wait a minute, didn’t you just have a fake relationship?! Like a second ago? Didn’t it end badly?! Yes, yes I did… and it did. Basically yes to all three. But wait! This is different! And here’s why:

1. I do not know the BBC in real life (Ack, terrible! Sorry, British Broadcasting Corp!) This means that,

a) I cannot make a total fool of myself by making inappropriate advances in inappropriate places (not that I ever did that, I swear)… I can however make inappropriate advances on Twitter… which I do, like, all the time. (No valley-girl jokes, please!)

and

b) There was never any real need to decide whether or not I should tell him… So, I “told him” right away. I mean really, what’s going to happen? Worst case scenario – he’s totally creeped-out and I simply stop Twittering. (Did that make anyone else think of the word “twitterpated”? No? No one has seen “Bambi”? Okay…)

2. The fact that all the flirting will lead to nothing is already well-established, because… well… he lives really far away! Also, the flirting has been relatively tame. Which means that,

a) We don’t have any fake children… yet. (Fake children are disastrous for many reasons… but mainly I’m just glad not to have to carry around that fake diaper-bag anymore. God, that thing was monstrous!)

and

b) I feel absolutely no need to decipher between flirtatious texts (i.e. “Does this mean the usual makeup sex?”, etc.) and the probability that he actually wants to go in the back room and make out. Wonderful.

I know what you’re thinking,

Right, having a blog-crush is fine. But you’re clearly insane. Do you realize there are other live humans right outside who you could actually… I don’t know… have a conversation with?!

And yes, I do realize that…
I realize that I am cultivating an attraction which can only go to waste;

I realize that if, in reality, we ever did meet, the chances of us both being attracted to eachother are very slim (because really, human chemistry is so un-predicatble);

And I realize that yes, I am incredibly lazy and should probably attempt to meet more people who are more easily accessible… ones that say, live within the same state, or hey, even the same city!

I realize all these things, and yet, I can’t help but like someone I barely even know, someone I’ve never actually met.

So what is my problem? Am I just so fed up with being rejected that even thinking about getting to know someone else is exhausting? I don’t really think so…

But maybe, just like so many other girls with their romance-novels, or sappy movies, or… umm, Twilight anything… I simply wanted to experience something fictional for a while. To believe I was falling for someone who could be (nearly) perfect, if only for the reason that he did not exist in my real life. Maybe it is easier to fall in love with someone when you don’t have all the facts… when you don’t have to deal with/adore all their little idiosyncricies… when you don’t have to learn to communicate with them in a way you can both understand… when they can’t see you, and all your finer flaws. Maybe, just maybe, fake love is a viable way to exercise real passion… a passion that I quite honestly have no other outlet for.

But then, wouldn’t it be nice to be able to kiss someone I could actually feel?