Misery Romance Theater 3000

Friday night; date night.  I was resolved to lying on my couch all night long, taking a couple Tylenol PM around midnight and sleeping hard until work Saturday morning.  It's not that I don't want to go out, Lord knows if I had an endless supply of money I would be out every night, everywhere.   But I can't afford to leave my house, and fortunately I am really beginning to appreciate my own company.  So, a Friday night in, which used to seem like the most depressing thing ever, is now actually borderline enjoyable.  I made myself an early dinner, turned on Courtney and Kim take New York (or whichever Kardashian marathon was currently playing on E!) and shut off my brain.  Until my sister called.

Now, I love my friends to death.  But I don't think there is a single one of them that could have gotten me off the couch this Friday night.  But when your little sister calls and is in need of some sister time, there is no refusing.  I got in the shower (which was against the spirit of my lazy Friday, but retrospectively the best decision I made all night) and we headed to Oswego's finest Kendall 10 Movie Theater to catch Ryan Gosling looking all sexy in "Crazy Stupid Love".  I was having a great time, I was actually happy I dragged myself into daylight for a few hours and to go see a movie I was anxiously awaiting the release of.

My sister and I were giggling about previews and movie theater candy when her jaw dropped, and her face turned white.  I was so confused by her reaction that it took me a minute to even turn my head in the general direction of whatever was causing her that much shock and surprise.  I scanned everything from my sisters face, across the face of a redheaded girl that looked vaguely familiar, and then directly onto the face of the ex. THE EX. The BIG one.  The 'stole my heart at 19 and then dragged me through the most dramatic, unstable, intense, passionate relationship of my entire life for 2 years' one.  It was ANDY. Motherfucking Andy.

Now, the last time I had physically seen my ex was almost 3 years ago.  I was living in the Plainfield house.  We had gotten back together for the 100th time, and I started cheating on him with a server from Biaggi's.  The relationship ended, technically, when he realized what was going on and finally walked away.  But I claim to this day that the last time we started dated was a mistake, and I knew we were toxic together and shouldn't have continued trying to fix that which was beyond repair, or I would never have cheated in the first place.  Maybe that's just a cheater's mentality, but I believed if we were good, and if I were happy it would have never gotten to that point.

3 years ago, we said goodbye finally and by a mysterious act of God have not once run into each other.  I've never seen him walking out of a Target (Jerod), or dealing blackjack at a casino (Dan), or ran into him at a family party (Erik).  We have successfully not been in the same room as one another in 3 whole years.  We have talked a few times here and there.  A couple late night conversations after one too many glasses of wine, which always ended up with us talking about how great our sex life was and making plans that neither of us would ever keep, to get together and see if that spark was there one last time.  In fact, the last phone call from him was while I was dating Charlie back in February.  He called me from a gas station at 5am because he was drunk and stranded. 

Now seeing him with the girlfriend was heart wrenching,  no matter how nonchalant I try to be.  It was Andy.  My Andy.  He sat down directly one row ahead of us, directly in front of us, and the next 2 hours was like watching an emotionally draining episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000. But instead of quippy commentary between man and robot, it was silhouettes of hand holding and making-out.  I nervously giggled through most of the film, and bolted for the door before the first credit reached the top of the screen.  Not exactly what I imagined my first run in with Andy to be.  I do take solace in knowing between me and my sister's very distinctive laughs, he must have been equally as distracted by my presence as I was his.

I wish I could say that this run-in was easily brushed off my shoulders, but it definitely put a damper on the rest of my weekend.  Not because I want to be Andy's girlfriend again, far from it.  In fact that cattiest thing that came out of my mouth, audibly, through the whole movie was that I hope she was enjoying my sloppy seconds.  I wouldn't ever date Andy again.  He's as lazy and unmotivated in life as he was when we broke up so many years ago.  But in the midst of dealing with the Charlie breakup (one that my therapist and I revealed was a lot bigger than I could have anticipated it to be) it was just another reminder of someone else I could make a romantic relationship hold with.  Which is discouraging and depressing for anyone, especially for someone who resumed their position on their couch Saturday night after work and has remained there until now when I got up long enough to blog.

With this being said, I'm feeling better now.  I am trying not to make a mountain out of this molehill, it was bound to happen.  And if anything it's a dry run of the awkwardness that will ensue the next time I run into an ex with their next girlfriend.  I just hope the next time that that happens I am either on the arm of Patrick Dempsey or 15 pounds lighter.  Neither of which will be easily accomplished from my couch.  But then again, neither will another exboyfriend run in.  One more tally in the argument for staying on the couch column.

...But I Should Come With a Manual

It's a beautiful night for a blog.  And I can't help but reflect on previous blogs after a very enlightening session with the new therapist.  More specifically my highly regarded (by me) blog about how "Boys Like That Should Come With a Warning" and my desire to have a basic definition of a person laid out in front of you before you make the crucial decision of whether or not to let them into your life.  I'm starting to wonder if that would even come close to being enough information about a person when we go through so much of our own lives knowing so little about ourselves.

The scariest thing about therapy, I'm learning, is starting to realize I don't actually know myself as well as I've always thought I had.  I have spent most of my life self-diagnosing because I believe I am educated enough about people to label myself one way or another.  I come from the school of thought that I am a product of certain things that I have done, had done to, or experienced in 24 years, so this is why I am the way I am.  And though my theory is spot on, I think I have been connecting the wrong dots to one another for some time now.  Things are not as black and white, or cut and dry as I felt them to be about the reasons I am the way I am.

So as I am slowly making the correct connections, and starting to take in the bigger picture, I'm noticing that this would've been incredibly good information to have, I don't know, say, 5 years ago.  It wouldn't be fair to say I would do anything too much differently, because there is still a learning curve.  But what if you knew the things I was completely blind to, and just now beginning to see?  Would you have put on the brakes and reevaluated getting to know me?  Or better yet, would it have changed our interactions?  Would you have said things differently, or more, or less?  Would you understand why somethings come really easy to me, and others are far more difficult?  These questions can be applied to every single last person that is in, or has been at one point, my life in any degree.  And I feel I know you all well enough to know who would be exactly the same, who would have never said more than a word to me, and which would have treated me like an entirely different person.  But hell, I'm probably far off.  I have lived with me for 24 years and it turns out I don't know too much about me.

I am excited about this new chapter in my life.  I came home today feeling like I was hanging out with a new friend.  I think all these realizations will truly, over all, and after a lot of time, make me a healthier happier person.  But these realizations also come with a heavy responsibility.  It was one thing to make stupid decisions and choose wrong over and over again, but once you know - once it's pointed out to you and you see it, you can never go back.  It's not something a bottle of wine will fade the image of.  It's there forever, and you can't keep being a shithead.  You are responsible to learn and recognize the dumbest, saddest, coolest, bad-assest, worst and most undesirable things about someone you've been too afraid to actually meet for a very long time.

...But maybe that's just me.

Love Blog For No One

In order to gain some perspective on my most previous romantic relationship, I sat myself down this past week to do some real thinking.  I turned John Mayer's 'Love Song for No One" on repeat, chain smoked a pack of cigarettes and gently sipped on a glass of cab while I sifted through old love letters, mix cds, and pictures from the many men I have "loved" before.  This was overall a positive experience.  Because it forced me to evaluate my heartbreak more closely, to realize that although my heart is hurt and broken, I will recover from this too, just like the 100 times I have before.

 

But then the bigger question was raised, why does my heart keep getting broken over and over again by what, over time, seems to be some pretty insignificant relationships.  I found my answer pressed between the pages of a book I once wrote called "Pie".  Now, I will leave the recipient of this book's name out of here, because he knows who he is.  But at the time in my life that I wrote "Pie" I was head-over-heals madly in love with this guy.  It was a chest crushing love that only a 15 year old girl could truly feel.  And for page after page that I flipped through, and wanted to crawl out of my skin about, I noticed that I've always really wanted one thing: to be in love. I love love.  I love the idea of having one person who you can't stop thinking about not being able to stop thinking about you. 

 

This book with filled with these grandiose plans of a budding relationship that I knew in my heart was never going to materialize.  But I had such a clear idea, even at 15 years old, of what I was looking for.  And it has never been as simple as wining and dining, or a beautiful wedding dress on a warm summer day.  I wanted to hold hands and walk through the city. I wanted to travel the world, and stop at small diners in every town along the way to eat apple pie ala mode like Jack Kerouac.  I wanted to sing songs loudly in the car together, and spend nights wrapped in each other's arms watching old movies.  I wanted Ewan McGregor, Heath Ledger, and Clark Gable to become one person that would then become my boyfriend.

So my 24 year old mind, which should have evolved past this maybe just a little, still feels the same.  Of course now wishing that person ends up being a little bit more like Patrick Dempsey and a little bit less like Heath Ledger (for obvious reasons).  I know that I am looking for something so real and so passionate.  And every man I date gets held up to this expectation of what I've always thought to be perfect love.  Maybe this why my relationship with Charlie was doomed from the start, because as close as we were to obtaining that love I had hoped and dreamed of, he never really saw the point in a relationship doing or being those things.  And you can't be in that kind of relationship alone.  No matter how much you may want it.

 

At this point in my life I am not ready to let the fairytale be a lost dream.  I still think it's out there for me.  I think it will happen when I find that person that is just in much in love with love as I am.  And spare me all the cliched 'love will find you when you least expect it' or 'no one can love you until you love yourself'.  Yeah, I know.   I get it.  And I am going to continue working on my life in the interim.  But it was a nice reminder to myself this week that no matter what my actions may reflect me as, I am truly a big romantic at heart.  And my intentions are good every time I let myself fall for the wrong guy.  So I try to be more calculated about it, protect my heart a little bit better, but as long as I am breathing I am going to be wishing and hoping that the next time I fall it's for the one that counts.

I Won't Be Mad If You Bring Flowers To The Party In My Pants

I've been technically single since Easter.  And though Charlie and I played the back and forth game for the past 3 months, I have been exploring other avenues romantically.  Seeing as though Charlie and I have ceased all communication in the past month, I have fully allowed myself to start seeing other people.  Fresh off the heels of this breakup, I know that I am not ready for anything too serious.  But at the same time I can't kid myself into thinking I am capable of being casual about, well, anything.

 

I had a fabulous conversation with an old friend last night about our shared inability to not over analyze every aspect of our lives, specifically romantically.  I know this about myself, yet with feeling so broken from my previous relationship I desperately want to enjoy the company of other men without getting attached.  I want this because I need to be reminded now more than ever that Charlie is not the end all and be all of men on this here God's green earth.  There are many levels of a relationship you can share with a man - but anything that includes a physical aspect for me will always go hand in hand with an emotional response.  No matter how nonchalant I may attempt to be.

 

My therapist (this is a very new development, because as much good comes from me sharing feelings here, something tells me I need a little more guidance on putting myself back together) and I touched briefly in our first session about how I have constantly searched for validation for myself in between the sheets of some guy's bed.  This isn't something I am proud of, but I am very aware that I do it.  It is a product of many different experiences I have had with men over the years.  You know, the ones that really fucked me up in the head for everyone to follow.  I am going to slowly learn how to break this cycle.  And even while cognitively aware of what I have been doing, it hasn't stopped me from creating a little bit of a mess in my own head with the new boy toy.

 

I have been very casual about it on the surface, not just to him, but everyone around me.  He's hot.  Why complicate that?  Well, because I'm Katie MFing Keller.  And that's what I do.  When I remove myself from the relationship, and evaluate what is actually there between the two of us, it's not fireworks.  It's not that same connection that I shared with Charlie, Andy, Jerod or Erik.  It is fun, we enjoy hanging out, but if I never saw him again it probably wouldn't crush me all that much.  The problem is, now that we have entered a physical relationship my needs have increased tenfold.  Because that second the physical relations end, I am wondering why he hasn't called/texted.  Which I shouldn't be, because I don't really care that much.  It's just another form of rejection for my already clouded head to wrap itself around.  But, low and behold, once I get my mouth on another guys mouth, that feeling of rejection is instantly stifled for a short period of time.

 

Now, what in the world can I expect this kid to do?  Because, first of all, he is kid.  Second of all, he didn't sign up for all this crazy.  Especially when I have been the one, since the beginning, "calling a spade a spade" and making sure the relationship stayed casual.  We joke around all the time about how I am 'using' him.  And I guess in a way that joke can still apply, but I don't think he knows the extent of how deep my "using" men actually is.  I know that I should probably end this relationship.  Because even if there is anything good romantically that could ever exist, I've probably already done enough damage in 2 weeks than could be reversed to ever have us function as a couple.  My concern isn't for this specific relationship, but for all the ones to follow.  The ones I can sit here and say I shouldn't be having, but at the end of enough lonely nights in my house alone, become a lot easier to justify.

I am going to try really hard to focus on myself for the next few months.  And I think having someone to hold me accountable to that will be a good thing.  I will keep on keeping on.  And creating messes along the way.  Until one day I wake up and have it all figured out.  And hopefully that will come before a baby or venereal diseases.  Just kidding, Mom.

 

In closing, Steph - though I had no real idea attached to the blog title when it was chosen at dinner, I would say that worked out nicely, wouldn't you?

Empty Chairs at Every Table

I was really hoping to sit down and write a happy blog about Patrick Dempsey's dimples, or how in love I am with the newest Panic! at the Disco album.  But unfortunately this is going to be one of those wordy sad "what does it all mean" things, to quote Charlie Nichols.

Curtis and I have had a complicated relationship since we met 5 years ago.  But, unwaveringly, he has been one of the closest people to me through all the bullshit I've been through for each day of those 5 years.  When my dad got diagnosed with cancer this spring, Curtis held my hand through many nights of tears, questions, fears, and hopes.  He would, without question, jump in his truck at any given moment that I needed him to be there no matter how big or small my crisis was.  And has been my rock through what's going on with my dad.

I got a phone call on Saturday night that in my half-asleep conscience mind was Curtis calling to say he was on his way back from the clubhouse, and to see if I was still up.  Because that's what normally happens.  I rolled over and went back to sleep.  I have never in my whole life felt so bad about going back to bed than I do now.  When I woke up on Sunday morning, and sleepily held my phone to my ear to retrieve the night priors' voice messages I heard the sound in Curtis' voice before I even heard what had happened.  My heart fell to the bottom of my stomach, because I realized what Curtis has been keeping me strong through the past 5 months about came barreling into his life at 1:30 in the morning as he watched his father pass away in front of his eyes.

I only had the pleasure of meeting Curtis' dad once.  And it was just a month ago when we stopped into the club house after the Q101 Jamboree.  He was a great guy, with a firm handshake, and he made brief banter with me as we both stood over a tray of hot wings.  But what I know about Curtis' dad has nothing to do with that night at all.  What I know about him is represented in everything that Curtis is as a man.  Every great and awful quality that he has from his loyalty, passion, and humor to his pig-headedness, invincible attitude, and sarcasm.  Without meeting him more than once I know that the world lost someone very amazing.  And someone I have to thank for raising the strongest guy I know, and my best friend.

It's unreal how much I have been forced to learn about life and death this year.  And the only thing I have been able to figure out, is that it doesn't make any sense.  People die, and get sick.  And other people lose parents, and friends.  And sometimes it happens right in front of them, and sometimes it happens too far away from them.   There is nothing easy about it, it has nothing to do with who you are as a person - the good and bad energy you feed into the world.  It is all out of our hands.  It will never make sense to me,  And I will constantly question why bad things happen to good people, and the opposite of that seeming to always be true as well.

If you know Curtis send him all your love and support.  It's going to be a rough road for him for a while.  And more importantly, say I love you to everyone you love everyday.  I am going to work on this myself.  I am going to start by answering my phone when it rings, most of the time.

The New Adventures of Old Katie Keller

It's been a very long while since I have written a blog.  And it's been weighing on me because this blog has made me hold myself accountable to writing regularly.  I find when things in my life are pretty low key, and without too many points of interest worth writing about, I can find more to say, making mountains out of molehills.  But then when things in my life start getting real, and there are things that I should be getting off my chest and writing about, I tend to shut down and keep them in.  This is normal for me.  But I need to push through, I need to get some thing new on this blog.

 

In the past 30 days I have been living alone again.  It's been a while since I have had my own place.  In fact, for those of you who have followed my life for a while, it was the apartment by the dome, or the marshmallow as Andy would call it.  Ever since I have been hopping from houses with roommates, apartments with crazy roommates, occasionally making residence at Mom and Dad's for a few weeks until we realized (collectively) for the 4th and 5th times that that particular living situation is good for no one.

 

I was slated to move into a beautiful apartment close to work at the beginning of June.  I spent weeks packing my belongings into boxes, a very grown up thing for me considering all 300 moves prior I had the habit of dumping everything I own into garbage bags and loading them into friends cars the day of.  But not this time, I was going to be responsible and ready for another home and another chapter of my life.  It was exactly a week to the day I was supposed to move in when I received a text message, a text message, a MOTHER FUCKING text message from the gentleman I was subletting from informing me that he wasn't moving out after all but he was very very sorry. 

 

(Sidebar. MEN: It is not okay to communicate important information through a text message.  Texting is fun and good for banter and insignificant pieces of information.  I am not going to get broken up with, or made homeless from a text message ever again.  I will no longer hesitate to respond to your text messages by driving to where ever it is you are and tearing off your balls.)

 

At the time that this happened, I was furious.  Since I have managed to make everything work out, and for the better I believe, I find it more comical than frustrating.  But I have begun to pick up some of my single-girl-living-alone habits again.  It's in an episode of Sex and the City in which the girls talk about their weird habits from living alone for so long.  Carrie claimed she ate Saltines naked in her kitchen while reading fashion magazines. 

 

I have a few odd habits that are coming to surface.  For starters, first thing that happens when I come home from work is my pants coming off.  I hate pants.  If it were up to me I would wear tops and underwear for the rest of my life, and nothing else.  Also, if you are ever by my house around 11pm, you can probably hear me singing with my ipod loudly as I sip on red wine and smoke cigarettes (imagine Cameron Diaz in 'The Holiday').  I love it, though.  I spend all my time home now, watching 'The New Adventures of Old Christine' and falling asleep on my couch.  I talk to my cat way too much, and at some point that will probably make it impossible to get a boyfriend, but for now it's good (and completely sane) company.

 

Speaking of boyfriends, and I hope I can write about this here and that new boy-toy isn't smart enough to find my blog; I've met someone.  I guess you can say I have been looking around the past few weeks since Charlie and I stopped beating a dead horse and walked away from our toxic, drawn out, waste of time relationship.  I am on the dating site I have always resorted back to, which is filled with creeps and losers.  But this new guy popped into my message box at the beginning of the weekend, and because he was good looking enough, and wrote to me with good grammar, I decided to give it a go.

 

He is the perfect fit for my life right now because after spending two very enjoyable evenings with him, I have come to realize that he is gorgeous and funny, and great company for a two hour movie.  But I am not about to start up a relationship with this kid.  He isn't the type of guy you have a relationship with, he's the type of guy you drink beers with, make out with, and don't mind when they stop in and you aren't wearing any makeup.  It'll be fun.  Until it's not anymore, and then we move on.  Because I'm 24, and work really hard to have a nice place to call home, and take care of myself.  And truth be told I am still suffering from a broken heart.  So I don't have much to give of myself, emotionally at this time anyway.  But the distraction is nice.  And have I mentioned he is gorgeous?

 

I suppose that's all I have for now.  I will be more interesting the next time around, I was just desperate to get something in my blog before it slipped away from me.