ink

after five very long and over-contemplated years, i got my tattoo today. okay, i really don't know what the hell i'd been stressing out, seeing as they're just three little letters (my initials), and it wasn't that painful, nor did it take half as long as i thought it would. i think i was lying on that table for a total of 5 minutes.

Sleepless in fucking Montgomery County

first, some random, disorganized thoughts:

1. I'm pissed with Elise because she's being a bit of a piss of a friend.
2. I wonder if there are steps of relationship withdrawal and getting over someone that are similar to those of alcoholics. I've already recognized that I have a problem, but now I've resorted to blogging at 1AM. Maybe it's because I'm all hopped up on music from Banana Republic.
3. Speaking of which, I need to figure out how I can hone my career as a professional music listener and mixed-tape (haha, I said "tape) maker.
4. Are you allowed to put periods if they're numbers? Or are they not supposed to be there, like when you use bullets? Can't remember. Will continue to puncutuate.
5. Is it also odd that I get strangely offended if a song that I want to buy from iTunes isn't "wildly popular?" Especially since I'm trying to find songs that are not supposed to be popular at all...I guess that's what happens when you're taking song suggestions from music piped in at Banana Republic.

Marc sent me a message tonight. It wasn't anything but cold. He told me his friend could sell me tires for $180 each. I feel like he feels the same about me as I feel about Shawn. I literally feel my heart breaking. I want to say that I've felt this way before about him, but I really can't remember now, and that just makes me pissed at myself because I realize that I haven't done enough documenting of this relationship.

Thien sent a stupid fucking email that was supposed to be all reflective and shit. I think it affected him, and it's probably one of the causes that he said what he said. I KNOW that I shouldn't care and that I should get over him anyway, but FUCK...is this what the year is amounting to?

For some reason, whenever I try to look at the bright side of things, my instinct is to think of something's material value...why, I'm not sure. So, when I think..."Stephanie, you and Marc are over," I jump to thinking, "hey, at least you got 25 roses and a box of Godiva dipped strawberries out of it." A whole fucking year, and that's all I got. Even more sad? I don't even care. I don't care that for a year he practically got me jack shit. I care so much more that he doesn't feel the same way about me anymore, and that it's so sad that it took him to decide that he didn't like me for this horrible fiasco of a relationship to end. Cheating? nah. Lying? ah, everyone lies. The fact that he's probably in a terrible financial state, completely selfish and thinks that he can give himself as a gift, hasn't graduated college, doesn't like my friends, my parents don't like him, he's treated me like backup shit? who cares, right? I mean, isn't love enough? God, I don't even like hearing myself talk like that. I'd like to think that that whole "love can get us through" stuff would be enough, and that it would be great to come back to each other every time and things would be like they always should be. I know it's not. Nothing is going to change that.

Another thing that pisses me off is that I can't even relish in the "angry breakup" music that is plentiful in the iTunes realm. Oh, no...I'm a sick sick girl that would rather listen to Feist's "Let it Die" and EBTG's "No Difference" instead. Songs that just make me sadder. Songs that I wish were somehow (sort of like at Banana) piped in the background when he saw me and they mirrored both of our emotions. But that's not how it is, now is it? Nope...it's just awkward silences and reading away messages. It's slowly slowly realizing that it's really not worth the trouble anymore. It's realizing that I have to focus on all of those other non-love goals that I want to accomplish.

I get really sad sometimes when I think...I want to die in love. Like, I'd like to think that when I part this Earth...that I'd be in that really blissful state you're in when you think you're madly in love with someone. It's not, "I'd like to die knowing that I've made a successful contribution to society," or that "I've given life to someone" (either by giving birth to a child or even being an organ donor), but instead..."I'm leaving this Earth happy because I love being with the person I'm in love with." I know it's morbid. I know it is. I even play out this whole scenario where the other person (who is also madly in love with me) is throwing himself at my grave because he's so sad that we're no longer together. I don't think of Shawn when I think of this scenario, but I know that he'd do something like that, or at least feel like doing it, because I know he'd be sad. Marc...the person I want to be blissfully happy with...I think he'd be watching SportsCenter. OK, not that bad. But he wouldn't be doing much more than wishing he had at least told me that he loved me back before I left. Or at least, I'd be thinking that.

I don't really want to go to a therapist. I'm hoping that when I finally feel sleepy and drift off and wake up in the new day...I'll feel the same way about him as he does about me. That I'll attain some semblance of closure.

I keep wondering tonight whether or not I should write him a letter. I keep talking myself out of it because I realize that maybe I don't want to salvage it anymore. I really want to get over it. I know that I want to be with him and blissful more, but I'm really slowly beginning to realize that that's impossible.

I remember one time when we were driving, and he was identifying all of the different artists that were coming up on my CD of favorite songs for always. He knew Dashboard. I thought I was going to die I loved him so much at that moment.

Now I want to write him a letter that tells him of all of the times that I was in love with him. I want to tell him that I'm glad he made the decision to end it, because he's right...it never would've worked out...but wow, we had some really sweet times.

ah-ha, so that's what having your own laptop is like.

So, I've finally purchased my first post-college computer. Took damn long enough, seeing as I graduated in 2004. I decided that it was absolutely necessary in order to get my life straight, since the cost of it isn't half of what I spend on completely gratuitious purchases from the $1 bin at Target. OK, so maybe I'm exaggerating, but it's definitely not half of what I spend on the completely gratuitious purchases at Target in general. Per year.

Now that I think about it, I probably could've been able to justify going all out and getting a pretty MacBookPro had I not picked up that Hello Kitty . I was informed by all of my geeky IT friends that I "didn't really need it because you'll probably only use it for your pictures and for music and maybe a blog or something gay like that." Whatever. I guess I do like this little Toshiba machine. It doesn't say TOSHIBA all the way across the cover, and while it doesn't have the neato magnet closure or camera that I wouldn't use, it doesn't offend me--the correct buttons are right there, and the speakers aren't ugly, and I don't get fingerprints all over it, since it's nice and matte.

I was actually pretty pleased with myself when I actually made the purchase, since I had already managed to have two mini-breakdowns at Best Buy at the previous visits with Peter. When we finally selected this laptop during visit #2, Patrick (the Best Buy guy) did a stock check to find out that the only one left was the floor model. This was absolutely unnacceptable. Not only was it missing the letter "S," but the thought of hundreds of grubby hands touching something that I'd be practically living with for the next two years (at least) made me want to vomit. I think I scared Patrick...it must've been around the time that I muttered, "I never want to come back to this godforesaken store ever again." Peter performed his due diligence in explaining to the unassuming salesperson that it "wasn't him, it's her...she's kind of stressed out." Either way, he scurried off to make a copy of the model number, price, etc. tag to give to me, and pulled the other locations that had stock.

Naturally, there was nothing in the 20 mile radius, and since Patrick seems to suffer from Maryland syndrome (uh, duh, DC and VA are right THERE, and they're clearly superior to this crab-crazed state), he didn't really know how to work the system to pull information from the other Best Buy "districts." As a result of his fear of me, he allowed me to take the reins of the system, and I found it in the lovely Arlington Potomac Yard Best Buy. Phew.

Gabe from Potomac Yard was competent and obedient, and even better, he gave me a discount. I bought it all on my own, and even managed to use my feminine wiles to take $25 more off. Victory.

Now that the laptop saga has been documented, I can now begin the main drama; that is, my rants over everything, my complaints over nothing, and my endless questioning of what it is I'm doing with my life.