face to fake

Today, I found myself in the oddest position of giving advice to a girl over a boy that has played her like a fine violin.

It was just SO bizarre! Because I could just see myself in her, feel her pain, understand every bit of confusion she was feeling. Because I was there, you know? For a year, I was in that zone, wondering, planning, debating. It's a tough maze to find your way out of.

"We can call it anything we want," I told her as we walked back to her dorm room so she could show me the profusely apologetic Facebook note he wrote her. "We can say we've been played, we're cynical, whatever. But deep down, it's simple - our feelings have been hurt. It doesn't matter that we're in college or 21, our feelings are hurt and it sucks."

I think you have to acknowledge these things before you can move on. I think that accepting that god, sometimes your heart just hurts for no logical reason is a step you need to take before moving on. That though it doesn't matter in the world, in the grand scheme of things, it matters to you, however tiny and insignificant you are. It matters.

I've been down the road she's looking at - wanting to make contact. Trying to phrase messages so clearly and calmly. Wanting to believe those pretty words, wanting to give someone the benefit of doubt, wanting to believe the past four months weren't a waste.

"We need to have a face to face," she said.

"Face to fake is more like it," I replied, thinking of Kevin.

he took his straw, unwrapped it, and plunked it in my water

I'm a week out from Spring Break. And no, it does not escape me what I was a year ago.

I've got this book that's pretty much the most emotionally unhealthy item a girl could ever own - it's a large, black sketchbook that is filled with skeletons from relationships past. There are four chapters for four boys that each left their own mark on me, took their own little piece of me.

Yes, I look at this book when I'm frustrated and bitter and cynical. Yes, sometimes it just gives more fuel to the fire and keeps my depression burning. Sometimes it just makes me sad.

But really? Most of the time, I look at this book when I'm desperate to remember. Because life goes so quickly, and I can forget the details that I once worshiped. This book is filled with the tiny moments that one thinks aren't worth remembering because they're so easily collected - and then when they're gone, you wish you had just stuffed your pockets with one or two more for the road.

The details and memories keep me company. I like knowing them, I like being able to run my fingers over the artifacts and not be cut, just warmed by their existence. They are mine, you see, only mine. No one else (especially the boys who left them behind) will ever be able to touch them. That satisfies me, selfishly I admit, but it's such a rare treat for me to have something entirely for myself.

This life moves so quickly, changes so hugely, that these details are my most treasured items. In my memory, they will never change - I replay them over and over and thank God that for some reason I am able to recreate these snapshots of time frozen. I can't even begin to tell you the insignificant, ridiculous things I have collected in the most desperate cry for things to REMAIN THE SAME while I fight the most obvious losing battle in the history of the world.

Whether it's denial or courage, you can be the judge.

And despite my best attempts, my pockets are still only half full.

the perfect guy

When I was younger, various literature told me it was wise to make lists of the qualities and characteristics that were necessary to your soulmate so you wouldn't settle. I, being the sheep I am, followed that advice. In some ways, I honestly think it helped me (though not for the obvious reasons). I wish I could look at one of those old lists and see what naive!Traci thought her perfect guy would be.

I'm not saying all these qualities must be present in someone I date. But this list features personality traits- not interests, careers, physical features. These are, in my opinion, fundamental pieces of simply being a good human being and one who is worth giving up my singleness to embark upon a relationship.

(And yes, these are all qualities I've experienced/should've experienced/wish I hadn't experienced. If you're really up for a challenge, match these items to the corresponding male who inspired them from the previous post.)


The perfect guy won't be afraid. Of me, of the relationship, of the future. He will be the one that is ready to explore, conquer and triumph, convincing the reluctant me that this is worthwhile.

The perfect guy won't make excuses. He'll accept no BS, mine or his. He'll own up to mistakes, he'll kindly correct those that are wrong, he won't cop out when he feels it's getting too tough.

The perfect guy will commit. I will not be a choice for him, a supplement for whenever he pleases. He will be there when he should be there, emotionally, physically, mentally.

The perfect guy won't play games. He won't make me jump through hoops to find him. He won't fuck with me just because he can. Instead, he will be honest and say what he means to say without hidden agendas.

The perfect guy will fight. For me, about me, and even at times with me. He's not going to lay down and let anyone (me included) make stupid decisions without having an arms race.

The perfect guy will respect me: as a woman, as a human, as the capable, strong, impossible, insecure being that I am.

The perfect guy will be able to look at where he is and be content.

The perfect guy won't hurt me to remember.

The perfect guy won't be in my head.

The perfect guy knows he isn't.

the important ones, in chronological order

It looks a lot like the Friday Five, but don't be fooled. Satan comes to you in many disguises. We're doing profiles in class, I figured this would just get me ready for the graded assignments.

1. The First. He really was the first, in so many ways. My longest "relationship," especially if you count the years I yearned and he ignored. I sort of feel like he should go back on the list at the end since that was a very different relationship than the first, but... that's just a waste of space.
Best Moment: When we went to W&M to see his band play over last spring break. The whole experience was fantastic - I think the best memory of that trip was coming back and stopping at that old, torn down prison in Lorton on a whim. We took pictures and I had that little rose in my hair... I haven't looked at those pictures since that week.
Lesson Learned: I am good at being single.
Odd Reminder of the Relationship: Waltzing. Our first "date," we saw AU's musical, "Do I Hear A Waltz." We then waltzed outside in the moonlight. Later, I took him to my special spot, and we took pictures of us dancing again.
The Fallout: We don't talk. He's dating someone new.
Song: Walking By, by Something Corporate.

2. Mercutio. Cast as said Shakespearean character when I directing Juliet and Romeo. This one was a lot of fun, but after the break, it became very difficult to keep my cool during rehearsals.
Best Moment: Running around in his basement, doing nothing at all.
Lesson Learned: Boys who only spill guts when they're drunk are no bueno.
Odd Reminder: Firefly. I remember the good days of our little trio sitting and watching Firefly on his incredibly comfy couch, musing over which character we would be.
The Fallout: We're actually pretty good friends, believe it or not. It doesn't escape me that out of all of these, he was probably the least important and yet, somehow, he's the one that lasted.
Song: You and Me, by Lifehouse

3. Batboy. Without a doubt, the shortest "relationship" of this list. Most everyone that knows him thinks that he's secretly gay and just way, way deep in the closet. I'm not surprised.
Best Moment: Sitting in the hammock, his arm around me, just relaxing in the summer air and hoping that for once it might work out.
Lesson Learned: What weed smells like - I had no idea until him.
Odd Reminder: Nutley, or whatever that damn road is that goes over 66. I can still see him driving in front of me, his foot sticking absurdly out the window in that amazing summer air.
The Fallout: I wrote a damn good song and a poem from that emotional mess.
Song: The Origin of Love, from Hedwig and the Angry Inch

4. The Asshole. Oh Connecticut, how I loathe thee for the amazing piece of work you churned out. He wins the award for the most destructive of all relationships with the title "The One Who Wouldn't Stay." I don't know what I'd do if I had to deal with another one of this magnitude.
Best Moment: It would be a lot easier to pick the worst moment. We had a lot of times that I was sincerely happy, believe it or not. But I guess the best would be the night we went to the playground by Sovey's house and sat talking, and he ended it with holding me (I just thought he wouldn't let go so soon).
Lesson Learned: ...Verdicts still out on that one, kids. I'm still looking for that silver lining.
Odd Reminder: God, no way to pick just one. Um. That barrette I wore the night we got caught kissing behind the Mclean Music and Arts store.
The Fallout: I'm still a virgin.
Song: Gravity, by Sara Bareilles

5. The Boy Scout. The first relationship post-Kevin, which was a huge deal, and it was an even bigger deal because he was the first to break the musician stereotype I had been chasing since age 15.
Best Moment: Hearing that he went off on Ashley (a cast member of South Pacific) who had a party and invited literally everyone but the smelly kid, the mom and me.
Lesson Learned: If a boy hasn't grown a pair by 24, he's probably never going to get them.
Odd Reminder: Cinnamon in scrambled eggs with orange juice.
The Fallout: Saw him once or twice down at the Susan, but I ended things pretty harshly, so I don't expect we'll ever be bosom buddies again.
Song: Cailin, Unwritten Law. The obvious choice would be Younger Then Springtime, but I sort of would hate myself if I actually wrote that as the defining song.

why i am single part one: musicians are cancer

In honor of Valentine's Day, I'll be trying to post every day this week with some thoughts on relationships and the experiences I've had over the last five years. I had hoped to make this a round robin sort of deal with other bloggers, but me and my last minute ideas sort of shot that one. Sorry guys, it's just me this time.

The story starts the same way, almost every single time. There's a boy, a musician. The hair color generally changes, but not much else. He's funny, charming, brightens my day with his nonsensical and/or sarcastic and witty sayings. We embark on a relationship, things go sour, and I turn bitter. I'm left to ruminate on my mistakes for several months to a year, and then the cycle starts again.

I think the easiest way to describe this pathetic demonstration of insanity would be likening it to cancer. I wish I could take credit for this analogy, but it was from a friend the night I sat waiting for the Missy Higgins show to begin last summer. Pez thinks it would make a fantastic song title (specifically, for a FOB-esque song that doesn't actually feature the title in the lyrics). I sort of can't help but think of my brother every time I swear by this mantra.

The reason I am single is because musicians are literally cancer to me. I have no immunity built up to them; my t-cells will never make a comeback. Their witty words, bashful honesty and tortured souls are the poison that both exhilarates and harms me. Their moments of greatness that they deign to share with me are the disease and the cure. When I'm sick, there's nothing that can cure me like a brush with their artistic selves. Likewise, when I'm well, nothing can suck the life out of me like a glimpse of one of their unfortunately all-too-familiar faces.

I look at people who have been in remission for long periods of time, and I wonder if their feelings about their cancer are similar to how I feel about mine. The days that you're feeling good are really, really good. There will always be those rough days when you're weary and the medicine just doesn't seem to be helping. And there are the days where you're just hanging in there, living in the status quo, not quite recovered, but not sliding backwards, either. In some ways, those are the days I fear the most.

Most of the time, my days are in the good to middling range. Every now and then, though, I do get a bad one. I recently had one of those while going back to some old stomping grounds. And that tale will be told at another date, in 'why I am single, part two.'

friday five

Actually posting on Friday? Amazing.

Top 5 Things Every Girl Needs

1. A planner. I love these things so much that I have two of them. For me, writing in my planners keeps my sanity under control. But the flipside is that any time I'm bored/waiting/trying to look important, all I do is pull out my planner and start scribbling and taking notes and boom, problem solved.

2. A secret. Don't ask me why, but it seems a girl with a little mystery is always way cooler than one who seems like she's playing the game with an open hand. In my opinion, the secret should be something potentially exciting, not just what you and your cat ate for dinner last night. I think when you've got something to play closer to your heart, things are just a little spicier.

3. A good strapless bra. I know wearing one is basically as fun as going to the dentist, but a really good one is legit worth its weight in gold. It's difficult to find one that's supports, doesn't diminish your cleavage and won't leave bruises from where the boning digs into your flesh. If you do manage to discover one, hold it like you'll never let it go.

4. A hobby. Be it cooking, knitting, photography, drinking, writing, painting or pole dancing, I firmly believe a hobby is essential to your happiness in life. Without hobbies, it's so easy to get caught up the the spin of work, home, dinner, bed. But a hobby- one you love enough to make time for- will break that cycle and give you a relief from being a normal work drone. Hobbies give a sense of camaraderie and accomplishment that I think most humans- especially women- need.

5. The One Who Got Away/The Heartbreaker. Why do we need such a depressing thing in our lives? Because we need to know our limits. Having a man that, for whatever reason, left such a huge handprint on our hearts (in a less than positive way) shakes a girl out of her security and reminds her that nothing is for certain and sometimes, there's absolutely nothing we could have done to change the ending. Almost every single woman I know that has had such a disabling pinnacle in her life can now speak of it and give it its emotional heartache due, but more importantly, speak to the lessons she learned and how she remembers those principles daily. At least, that's what mine did for me.

if dreams are like movies, then memories are films about ghosts

Life does not imitate art.

I've decided, instead, that art imitates the life we wish we led. Think about it. All successful art is based on the premises of practice and planning. And how are those ever really relevant in life? It's not like you get a test run of this being alive thing. You've got one shot! Sure, there are sometimes second chances, but it's not like in, say, a sketch that you can work on it, draft after draft, before finally releasing it. We, as humans, are published from day one.

And planning. I could talk forever about this illusive "planning" some of us strive so hard to accomplish. But really? Other than a lunch date here, a college there... how much are we really in charge of? SO LITTLE. What's even more frustrating is that we can do all the planning we want, and life will still come in and serve us something totally different. Think about art. What art is possible without months, sometimes years of planning? Look at movies, albums and theater. All of these are only feasible with considerable planning, and the ones that go on without - take Pollock for instance - ...well, they speak for themselves.

So art and life. Close- but not the same. Instead, I think that art is reflecting the level of perfection we as humans cannot attain because of our inability to plan and practice the game of life. If we did have a do-over? That's art. Think about how movies are scripted, costumed and scouted. Everything is so close to naturalism, but in the act of sitting and deciding, "I'm going to write about this," we've immediately changed it from life to art (hello, Heisenberg principle). I can sit on a bench and read a magazine while waiting for the bus. That's life. In a movie, I'll sit on a bench, reading a magazine, and the bus will either never come and I decide to walk to my destination and then meet the love of my life, or I get on the bus and we realize we're the targets of a terrorist organization that has a bomb strapped to the bottom of the bus that requires us to go a certain speed or we all DIE.

That's not life, guys. It's life the way we'd like to imagine it. It's life if we could plan excitement, romance and success just the way we like it served. Unfortunately, that's not the way the chips fall.

Every now and then, you meet someone that makes all that lack of planning and practice totally worth it. You start to hope that maybe life is better experienced without a trial run. You couldn't have planned it any better, and all the practice in the world wouldn't have prepared you for how the shit is going down.

Or maybe that's just what I tell myself as consolation that I have no idea how I ended up here, and I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.

I would cover myself in you

I love this song.

He said something when I interviewed him that really struck a chord with me.  We were talking about relationships, and while comparing that struggle to the fight with the record industry, he said, "You think that 'when I date someone that's amazing, beautiful and cool, it'll make me beautiful and cool.'  It's going to fill in all these places that aren't full."

I think that is one of the most beautiful sentiments ever crafted.

I think, deep down, I know that I wanted to date Kevin to fix myself.  I wanted to date him because he was so new, so different.  So unlike anything I'd ever seen, let alone had the chance to touch.  To mean something to.  He made me believe I was beautiful, and that's something I still haven't (and perhaps never will) believe.  He made me believe that out of a sea of people, a boy could pick me.

Maybe, in a way, I was looking for validation, but it was more a search for that missing piece of yourself.  The Origin of Love.  You think you recognize a part of yourself in someone else's eyes, you think that maybe if you could just communicate and find that soul-shattering love, it would all be okay.

I suppose that's what he was talking about.  What this song is about.

But I learned that the soul-shattering love isn't all that it's cracked up to be.  It hurts, it strangles and it leaves you so impeccably broken.  I learned there are some people the soul can never forgive.  I learned that even though there are days that I've realized I've made it through without thinking about Kevin, I will never repeat that experience.

I learned that he was right, and I was wrong.