On Our Way To Crazy

I had a hard conversation today with someone who is kind of a giant in my life. It was personal and emotional and I went in mad and left feeling defeated but also potentially hopeful. Not actually hopeful, but hopeful about being hopeful.

Turns out when you let little hurts pile up and anxiety creep in and both parties choose gossip and sarcasm and bitterness over honesty and openness, things get ugly. And you can’t flip a switch and make it all better. I think I thought I could.

Is anyone out there a dream interpreter?

Lately I have been having dreams where normal stuff from my life is taking place, no big deal, except it’s all happening at my parents’ house. Staff meetings, youth group, dinner parties with friends… all going down in my mom and dad’s living room.

It’s throwing me for two reasons. One, I don’t think my parents are there, so it’s not like I just relocated my entire life to be closer to them. And two, the things that happen in my dreams aren’t real, but they seem super real. I’m not reenacting things that have already happened, but the things that are happening are totally normal things that would happen in my every day life. I’m having necessary work-related conversations with people at my mom’s dining room table in my dreams. Then, when I wake up, I can’t remember what is real and what isn’t. This afternoon someone emailed me a question that I SWEAR we have already discussed. And we did. In Texas.

This is a problem. I already spend an inordinate amount of time each morning trying to remember what day it is. (Does anyone else do that? Seriously, every morning I have to think about the day before and figure out what I’m supposed to do that day. Side effect of not having the same schedule every day, I guess.) But now I also have to think through what is real and what isn’t? That’s a long process. I may just stop getting out of bed, just to be safe.

Well, here we are again. Awesome.

Last time I spoke up. I stood up for myself and my family. And you know what? It sucked. It sucked a lot.

This time my hand is being forced a bit. I am being asked not to get involved, not to participate, not to speak up. So I’m not.

But, oh, how I want to.

It amazes me how easily selfishness comes for you. How you don’t even see what you’re doing or how badly it’s hurting the people who should be closest to you. How those people are cutting their emotional ties to you to keep from being hurt. It amazes me how you can take something that is meant to be sweet and meaningful and fun and make it ugly and awkward and unpleasant.

But this time my attitude is different. If you’re okay with ugly, then so am I. I’m not fighting for peace anymore. I’m not going to be the mediator. I’m not going to work with everyone to make everyone happy and put a ton of stress and pressure on myself. No one else cares. So neither do I.

That’s a lie, of course. I do care. We care. But we have to stop letting you hurt us. The difference between expectations and reality is disappointment, and this time I refuse to be disappointed. So instead I will lower my expectations. To none.

Maybe you will surprise me. But I doubt it.

I have had it with Counting Crows concerts. For real this time.

Tuesday night we went to see Counting Crows at the Ryman. Counting Crows! At the Ryman! My favorite band at my favorite venue, AND it was the day after my birthday. It was meant to be.

I have seen Counting Crows live at least five times. And at least five times, I have been disappointed. You’d think I would learn. And I will! This time! I mean it!

There were three bands on the bill – Michael Franti and Spearhead, Augustana, and Counting Crows. Emphasis on COUNTING CROWS. You know, the headliner. The band we bought tickets to see. The one that gets the butts in the seats. So we get there, the curtain comes up, and we see… everyone. All three bands in their entirety are onstage. They do Rain King first thing, right off the bat. We are all on our feet. It is awesome.

And then? We are subject to an hour and a half of Michael Franti and Augustana. Adam Duritz is on stage, singing along and taking pictures, but there are no Counting Crows songs to be found. Then we go to intermission.

OK, we’re thinking. That was fun. Kind of confusing, but at least it was a more interesting way to do the first two bands on the show than just us sitting and staring at them. We get drinks, stand and stretch, and get excited about the Counting Crows portion of the evening that is surely going to start any minute.

But start it never did. The curtain comes back up, and guess what? ALL THREE BANDS. Again. Sometimes one of the bands would go off stage in order to let the others have the spotlight. Which would have been great if the band that left the stage wasn’t always Counting Crows. You know, no big deal, we only paid a gazillion dollars to see them play.

All in all it was a four hour show split evenly between the bands. It was a triple-headliner. Michael Franti, while very cool, only has one quasi-hit that you would only know if your town has a triple A radio station that you listen to constantly. Augustana, who was much cooler than you would think, has maybe two songs you’ve heard if you’re not a big fan. They were great choices for OPENING BANDS. I sat for four hours and heard maybe ten Counting Crows songs.

Here’s what I don’t understand. Counting Crows makes great live albums. GREAT. Which means, somewhere, at some time, for some audience, Adam Duritz gets it together and plays an amazing show. Has he only done it a few times, when he knows it’s being recorded? Am I just in the wrong part(s) of the country? Why does he always do this to me?

No more, Adam Duritz. You have burned me for the last time. I shake my fist at you. I bite my thumb at you. I fart in your general direction. Next time I will just sit at home and listen to Across a Wire. GAH.

My Three Biggest Driving Pet Peeves
*based solely on driving around Nashville yesterday

1. When the windshield wipers are going faster than the amount of rain falling necessitates. That scrapey noise of wipers on a dry windshield makes me want to stick bamboo shoots up my fingernails.

2. When people start rolling forward at the stop light before it changes. Are you really going to get where you’re going that much sooner because you covered those six inches? I think not.

3. When people ride in the on-ramp lane for as long as humanly possible before merging onto the highway. They just ride along, the lane getting narrower and narrower, six inches of car in the lane and the rest on the shoulder, milking that lane for all it’s worth.

WOW, I feel better now. Yesterday was a frustrating driving day for me. If you find yourself cruising around Nashville, keep an eye our for a little black Saturn with a broken headlight and make sure your wiper blades are moving at an appropriate speed. Thank you.

Today is your lucky day, my friend. I have had an amazing string of good luck over the past few days, and I am going to share the wealth. Do you have a cause? Want a boat? Need some retirement funding? Have you been worried about how to make ends meet? Well, worry no more. I’ve got you covered. Get ready.

Since Thursday, I have been the recipient of the following:

• 3.75 million dollars, again from Ghana, this time from Dr. Korman Cofi, who doesn’t want a problem and is afraid I might have double mind;
• 12.5 million dollars from an international fund manager who is skimming the money off the top of his company’s profits and just needs my help to get the money into the U.S.;
• 891 thousand pounds from the United Kingdom National Lottery;
• in a strange coincidence, I won another 891 thousand pounds from a lottery done by the Camelot Group;
• 1.3 million dollars from the Foundation de France not only has a huge prize for me but can also hook me up with prizes fro my friends if I can get them the appropriate bank account info;
• 12.5 million dollars from Mr. John Mensah, the regional manager of a bank in Ghana because I am an honest, reliable and trustworthy person who is advanced in age;
• 8 million dollars from the former accountant of the ministry of foreign affairs in Ghana, who will personally fly here to meet me as long as I keep our deal SECRET and CONFIDENTIAL; and
• 6.8 million dollars worth of pesos from Mrs. Doorie Smith, who only speaks Spanish and who potentially called me an elephant.

So! Clearly I am rolling in the dough. The international dough. I’m just gonna sit back and wait for the checks to roll in. Let me know if you need anything.

I almost had a heart attack the other day. And Ticketmaster is to blame.

I got word that Flight of the Conchords had a show coming up at the Ryman. Flight of the Conchords! At the Ryman! Could anything be more perfect? Ever? No. It could not.

I started digging around. I got the presale password. I was online at 9:50 before the tickets went on sale at 10:00. Everything was ready to go.

Then! I got tickets! In the balcony! I took them, clicked purchase, and was on my way.

That’s when things got ugly. Apparently the card I usually use on Ticketmaster had expired and I needed to update my info. No problem, right?

WRONG. There was nowhere to update my card, and then my time ran out. Boo.

But hope was not lost. That was just the presale, right? I could totally still get tickets when they went on sale to the general public.

I updated all my card info and was ready to go. I knew I had to be on top of my ticket-buying-internet-wielding-card-charging game. I knew I had to take whatever tickets they gave me. There would be no second chances. My ticket selling brother-in-law had informed me that this was the hottest ticket in the country. (He, of course, did not see that coming and could not help me out.)

10:00. I am in. I have seats. They are terrible, but I am buying them. I click purchase. I check my purchase info. Everything is good. I confirm.

And then. THEN. Ticketmaster asked me to re-enter my personal info. Which I did. Then it asked me to do it again. So I did it again. And again. And again. I am confirming my name and address over and over and over and over… and then my five minutes ran out. My tickets were gone. The show was sold out.

I don’t know what Ticketmaster has against me. I have been a faithful customer for ages, paying exorbitant services fees for tickets to shows all over the country. So why, for this one FREAKING AMAZING show, did it turn on me? Why did it decide to break my sweet little heart? Why don’t I get to hang out at the Ryman with my friends Bret and Jemaine? I know they would like me. We need to be friends. I know all the words to Hippopotamus vs. Rhymenocerous!

I wish I could quit you, Ticketmaster. But you know I’ll be back. Ben Folds is coming in April. You have won the battle, but you will not win the war!

Disclaimers: Obviously, I knew it wasn’t going to be great. But I have a high tolerance for cheese, especially in chick flicks, and I still thought it sucked. Also, there are no spoilers in this post, as everyone who has seen the trailer knows exactly what happens.

REASONS WHY BRIDE WARS SUCKED

1. It would never ever never ever never ever never ever happen. Ever. Twilight was more realistic.

2. There is no such thing as ‘blood orange’ colored tanning lotion. Spray tan doesn’t come in colors like that. It comes in intensities. It’s not paint.

3. Blue hair dye would at least have a blue tint in the bowl. The hair guy would have noticed that. Also, just because your hair turns blue doesn’t mean it also falls out. Also also, blue hair is kind of awesome. You should just go with it.

4. A wedding planner like that would not ever set them up for that situation. Nor would she be able to magically produce two June dates at the Plaza on three months notice.

5. Even if all that stuff could happen, they wouldn’t put those two weddings on the same day. They were booked first, and the girl who got the other date would have to switch.

6. Twenty-somethings who teach public school in New York do not live in apartments that look like they came straight out of Domino. Not even in movies.

7. No one would have their bachelorette party on a weeknight when they have a big presentation the next day.

8. Anne Hathaway’s parents don’t show up until she is already dressed and ready to walk down the aisle. That is not how it works. Her mother would have been in there with her all day long, she would have noticed how unhappy she was, and she would have figured the whole thing out, preventing the part where she decides to charge down the aisle and tackle Kate Hudson.

9. Kate Hudson’s outfits were not cute enough for a chick flick lawyer. And Anne Hathaway wore the same outfit twice! That does not happen in young girls in New York movie land.

10. The ending was lame and cheesy, even for a movie as bad as it already was. AND they both had short haircuts. Because we all cut our hair off after we get married.

Ok, people. We need to talk about facebook. Because facebook? Is freaking me out.

It was all fine and good when it was all people I am close to and kids in the youth group. Then the whole world found facebook. People I knew in high school but was not friends with. People I haven’t seen or spoken to in over fifteen years. Siblings of ex-boyfriends. It’s getting insane.

I don’t mind being friends with these people, generally. I am not afraid to unfriend you if you are an annoying facebook user. But I could really do without people who do the following:

- update your status every five minutes with things like “Barney is doing the laundry” and “Barney is watching TV” and “Barney is going to bed”. We all know you do those things. Everyone does those things. It is not interesting.

- update your status every five minutes to make sure we all know how awesome you are. You got up at 4am to workout and it was SO WORTH IT! You work 24 hours a day because that’s the kind of person you are! You love to cook and play guitar because you are an independent woman! No one cares. Also, you are a tool.

- publish notes and comments all over the place stating your opinion on politics/tv/music/religion and how anyone who thinks differently about politics/tv/music/religion is clearly an idiot who has never really thought about anything ever and is obviously going to hell.

Annoying as they may be, those people are easy enough to deal with. Unfriend, ignore, unfriend, ignore, etc etc. But what do you do when someone with a little more… pull from your past shows up? Maybe someone with whom you had a serious relationship, and then never talked again? Someone with whom your last interaction was both really unpleasant and ten years ago? AWKWARD.

It’s one thing to casually be in touch with someone like that. It’s entirely another to allow them access to your entire current life without having any kind of conversation with them first. There’s no way to prepare yourself for that notification that says “SERIOUS AND DRAMATIC EX-BOYFRIEND WANTS TO BE YOUR FRIEND” with no note attached. No discussion of past events. Just an updated picture and the knowledge that they can now get in touch with everyone you know.

I don’t know. I need a bigger buffer zone, facebook. A way to ease into this kind of thing. A way to not click on their profile and see that they’ve been discussing me. Something that forces them to be the one that speaks up first. Something that forces my hand to click DENY and let my desire to live privately win out over my voyeurism.

Facebook is freaking me the heck out, y’all.