From 0-30: Notes From Some Kind of Ground

LESSON THREE: Write it Down

A list of "A Few" things I like. 

Please ignore the spelling mistake (though it kinda fits too).

The only thing worse than finding a page of scribbled notes that you don't remember writing is trying to remember the thoughts at all. This is why I try my best to take notes when I have a good thought.  The writer in me hopes that I can make them into something special, which luckily sometimes I am able to do, while the old lady in me just hopes that I can remember them at all. 

"I've always considered writing the most hateful kind of work. 

I suspect it's a bit like fucking, which is only fun for amateurs. 

Old whores don't do much giggling." - Hunter S. Thompson

I don't want to turn into some kind of paper hoarder, so I should really try to carry around one of the little notebooks I have and keep my thoughts organized. I some how manage to carry an umbrella most of the time, you would think a little mole skin wouldn't be so damn hard. Maybe when I hit 30 I'll get better at remembering that.  

From 0-30: On the Hunt

Flannery O'Conner said it best, a good man is hard to find. We all know it to be true, and for some dumb reason, we continue to date the losers, even when we know it from the start. But I'm not ready to talk about that... so I think I'll move on to the only thing harder to find than a good man.

LESSON TWO: A good pair of jeans.

Why is it so hard? I mean seriously. I probably only really like one of the seven pairs that I own, and I can't even wear them anymore because I ripped a hole in the butt. Which just might be the worst thing that can happen to a girl. You finally have the best fit - they don't stretch too much, they don't squeeze too tight - they fit everything about you juuuuuuust right. So, naturally, you wear them all the time. Then, one sad day, the denim gives and your entire ass is left to blow in the breeze. It is literally so depressing that I still haven't managed to threw the goddamn things out. I really do love them that much. Why not patch them and move on? Well, because I have a word to the wise - don't try to patch, it makes your butt look bigger, and who the fuck wants that.

You know what's not a good pair of jeans? These:

Pajama Jeans... they are about as horrible as the Snuggie. What you can search for instead: a pair of black flats; a really fabulous dress; a good, comfortable bra; and a great dildo. Happy hunting ladies.

From 0-30: Many Lessons in One

LESSON ONE: There are three things you should always put on...

1. A bike helmet
2. A seat belt
3. A condom

Safety first, people. Seriously.

From 0-30: A Learning Curve

It occurred to me recently that as I approach my 30th birthday, there are many, many lessons I have learned, disasters I have overcome, good fortunes I have become increasingly grateful for, and far too many inside jokes to ignore. And of all of those, there are far too many to include in one little post.

So, taking a queue from this hilarious post, I am going to post my 0-30 learning curve starting today and run it through my birthday, September 1. Some of these are going to be humiliating, some maybe sad, and some will be absolutely hilarious (in my humble opinion, as they sure seemed real damn funny at the time). So, let's get started.

LESSON ZERO: You don't know shit. 

Just when I think I know everything, I get smacked in the face with a big dose of reality in which I discover that I have no clue. This includes the following HUGE items.

My career. So what, I have a Masters degree. So what, I have upwards of 5 years of professional skills under my belt. So what, I like to write. Nobody gives a damn about any of that! Sigh. At some point, I will have to sit down and figure out what I want to do with my professional life so that the rest of my life will have a chance to get moving again.

My love life. Trust me, this topic will be covered in greater detail in a future post, but for now, let's just say, I've lived in a one horse town where the horse is dead; I now have more gay male friends in my life than straight ones (so much so that I even dream about them); and most of my awesome female friends are also single. WTF? I like being single, but I also like that feeling you get when someone looks at you and thinks your beautiful. Where are you?!?

My Living Situation. Tied into the above two items, I have no idea where I will be living in the next 6 months. Depending on what pans out over the summer, I could be anywhere on the globe (which believe me, already has my mother worried about how I will get home for Christmas). Hell, I could be on an island in the south of France! Unlikely, but possible... you just never know! It's exciting and terrifying, and certainly not what I thought I would be worrying about when I was 15, in love with Eric Brooks and dreaming of a life I would already have established by the time I turned 30. What a joke. Not that I don't love Brooks, but that crazy, hormone-filled teenager can go fuck herself.

Please stay tuned for more to come. Dear 29 year old Shelby, watch out!

Handful of Things

Close your eyes. 

Come one, do it. 

Actually, before you do that, put your purse on your lap. 

Ok, now close your eyes and reach in. 

Grab a handful of things.

Not one of those wimpy handfuls, I'm talking a hand full.

Without opening your eyes, can you already guess what you've got?

Yeah. I thought so.

Now, while your holding that handful of things, 

think about what it would be like if you reached your hand inside your heart.

What would you find there?

To be fair, I'll close my eyes too,

and think about my handful of things.

I came up with these.

Hot Showers

Fresh flowers

Kisses all over

Crimson and clover

Fingers in your hair

Lots of laughter

Scrambled eggs with toast

and fruit to boot!

Mix tapes and concert tickets

The big spoon if you like it

The small spoon if you like that too

A hug so tight you forget that you were you

                 (Oh wait, that was me)

What a way to be. 

Missed Opportunities of an Audiowhore

Maybe my timing is off, or maybe I'm not as brave as I like to say I am, but lately I feel like I am surrounded by missed opportunities. I don't really feel like going into the details of the boring job-related ones, or the near-misses of my academic life, so I'll just cut to the chase of my love life - or the lack there of. I know this will come as a surprise to you dear readers, as this has never happened to me before, but I have a crush on musician. I know, how lame. It's like I can't help but fall for their stupid nonchalance (even though I know deep down they are just as self-conscious and awkward as I am). Sigh.  


Anyway, my newest infatuation is with this guy:



No, not the one singing, though he's a totally nice guy, but the guitar player, Cody Votolato. (Isn't it always the guitar player?) How annoying. To make matters worse, he wears jewelry, which I hate on men about as much as I hate a goatee. This dude wears his necklace like we are still in 1996 Seattle (where he's from). I mostly ignore that part and look at the tattoos... 


So I've seen this guy in two different bands a couple of times here in DC. The first time was with Jaguar Love at The Black Cat back in 2008, and I was convinced he picked me out of the crowd because I swore he kept looking at me during the show. Yeah, I might have made that up in my head, but it was nice to believe at the time, because the dude I was with was not worth the look. It could be possible - the show was in the Backstage (which is tiny), there was a pretty dense crowd (it was sold out), and I was directly in his line of vision (standing on a little platform just above the headline of the people on the floor down front). It doesn't really matter if I made it up or not, because I thought he was cute then, and still do apparently. 


Proven by the next time he came through DC with Telekinesis in 2009 (again at The Black Cat Backstage), and then again a few weeks ago to The Red Palace. I even met him this time around. Sounds great, right? Wrong. For some reason, my dumb ass left H St NE nearly immediately after the show was over (and after shaking his and Bob Boilen's hand). I must have had my OCD panties in a wad about catching the bus home or something stupid. Whatever. The point is, I probably could have hung out with Telekinesis, and The Love Language too, but instead, I bolted like some jilted high school teenager too embarrassed to ask my crush to the prom. 


If I had hung out, I might have been able to shake not only his hand, but the now-consuming desire to make sure I get to see him again. Even if nothing had come of hanging out (aside from feeling like a huge dork), and I had left with my yearnings still un-satiated, I could have at least claimed to have tried. What a Missed Opportunity. I hope there is a next time, and when that comes along I grow a pair and say more than "you guys were awesome". 


What an Audiowhore.     

Friends Come in All Shapes and Sizes...

And some come with a benefits package.

Back in the Fall I decided that I wanted a Fuck Buddy. I had the perfect guy in mind, - well, that just sounds wrong somehow "perfect guy" for this type of relationship, but anyway - someone I knew and trusted that I could have great, and safe, sex with. Someone I wasn't emotionally attached to, but could feel good about being with.  Someone who would most definitely give me an orgasm, spoon me afterwards, get me a glass of water in the middle of the night, and kiss me goodbye.

Things were good for a while, we were seeing each other frequently enough to keep our mutual sexual appetites satisfied, sometimes more than that.  You know, a classic Friend with Benefits situation. What every single, sexually active girl can hope for, right?

Well, then things took an unexpected turn. Pillow talk became less about the sex, and more about ourselves. We started becoming actual friends and started to care about each other outside of the bedroom. I even started to have expectations, even though I promised myself (and him, in fact), that the only thing I truly expected was clean sheets. How naive of me to think that my usually high rate of expectations wouldn't apply to someone I wasn't interested in truly dating, but was intimate with on a regular basis. Back a couple of years ago we tried to date, but it just didn't work out, and still wouldn't today. Somehow, despite all that history, he got under my skin. Against my better judgment, feelings developed. I suspect for him too, though he'll likely never admit it to me.

For instance, if a random memory of a naked embrace popped in my head, I literally got hot and bothered and would smile suddenly. I started to look forward to the guarantee of an orgasm if I saw him out. I started to assume we would spend the night together if we ran into each other. I started to roll my eyes at myself and say "shit" a lot when I realized this was happening.

I decided to take a break, because I realized that being my FB was not enough. But not because I want more out of him, but because I wanted more out of someone. I wanted all the rest of it. The dinners at home, the making out in the street, the back rubs, the showers any time of the day, you know, the stuff you get when you date someone. The stuff you're not sure your entitled to when you're just sleeping together. Not to mention, when your feelings start to get hurt, it's suddenly not so easy to ignore the red flags you tucked under the bed.

So, after careful consideration, I've decided to fire my Friend with Benefits. Try to go back to just being exes who are still friendly so it's not awkward when we see each other out, which we will. In essence, I'm breaking up with him.

How ridiculous is that? Stupid emotions, ruining a perfectly good Fuck Buddy. It's ok because now I can go back to just being single, and hope that I don't go too long without meeting a nice man who wants some expectations from me.