A Dear John post (because):

1. I have to move that two-posts-ago post down even further. Ew.
2. I need somewhere to word-vomit, and my Twitter isn't good for that any more because I have professional-types following me. They don't want to hear about silly cute boys.

Dear John,

You just called me. Just to chat. I was at work. We mindlessly chatted a bit. You told me you just had a lot of thoughts about "us" you wanted to tell me. I said I'm nervous! You said, don't worry, it's good. I said I can't concentrate at work and I'd call you on my walk to the train. You told me that's fine.

Now I'm nervous and jiggly and glancing at the clock every three seconds.

And hoping that this post will let me stop thinking about it and actually accomplish some work.

Love,
Heart

Like, oh my i/denti/tee

I found this site via View from the Bottom (who I follow on Twitter @thegirlRiot, who I found because I was looking to follow fashion-tweeters? I think? Can't really remember!).

The point is, it's a pretty neat-o idea. There's music, there's fashion, and there's crowdsourcing. All good stuff I'm slightly obsessed with.

(That and keeping this blog updated. It's been a busy week for all of us - building-pass adventures for OhMyDrama and I, graduating college for OhMyGoodness (yay!!!) and workity work work for those other two amazing business women. But I do want to keep our awesome NaBloPoMo stream flowing steadily.)

I added to their database "I found a city love" from John Mayer to their database. I felt like I had a ton more in me, but couldn't think at the moment.

What would you want identitee to print on a t-shirt? There's definitely a difference between an awesome lyric and a witty tee, but they can live in harmony for sure. (heh, get it? harmony?)

Check out i/denti/tee, submit your idea, and let us know here, too!

What is the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach?

Oh, yeah, it's jealousy.

OMG. Seriously. I'm about to write an actual coherent post on LOMB, but I had to get this out first.

Dear John,

I am so grossed out with myself right now. Let's see if I can describe this concretely, like I was trained so well in poetry class to do.

It started in my stomach. Butterflies isn't right, and it's also cliche. And "nervous" isn't concrete. But everyone knows what nervous feels like, right?

Well it started as nerves, in the outer film of my stomach, but seeped deep and rose high to my throat really fast. Except once it was in my throat, it sort of felt feverish. My eyes blurred a little bit, and I got a mini-chill.

I wanted to throw my laptop at the wall. But instead of moving the offending thing from my eyes, I kept clicking through - looking at picture after picture.

I'm talking about Facebook stalking, of course. Of you. On a "semi-formal" sort-of-maybe date. With another girl.

Well, duh, of course it would be another girl. And technically - technically!! - this is a-okay. Perfectly acceptable. Definitely encourageable, actually! I, of course, tried to rationally tell one of my other girlfriends this when she was apalled at her ex's Facebook pictures with other girls. "It's his right! You broke up with him!" I told her in a text message. She did not text me back. I wonder why.

Because she had this god-awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Because even though she (we, totally we, especially me) - because we're hott and girls and selfish humans and OH SO WORTH IT - are allowed to date, flirt, and otherwise online stalk other boys...our exes are SO not.

Because even though I traveled to Philly for a sleepover date, made out sloppily with a hottie mchotterson in public on Halloween, was surprised I didn't get a kiss at the end of my date last night, and am actively flirting with like 20389471 different guys, YOU, of course, are not allowed to do any of these things.

Because even though YOU broke up with ME, you obviously must be pining away over me. On the other side of the country. Like an a-sexual being. Because any woman after me is just a mere girl. Or something.

Well this is just silly. Because I am a 21st Century woman. And I love you (in all definitions of the word). And I am above all these games (sort of). I am mature with high, but realistic expectations about our "future" and our "relationship." We're on the freakin opposite sides of the country, for cryin' out loud, and we're human.

So I won't point out that she's not that cute (well, actually, she's adorable, but I could make up stuff I don't like her if I wanted to). I won't point out that we had a fantastically away-message leaving conversation over the weekend (barf). I won't point out that you broke up with me because you didn't know how you felt about relationships.

(Oops.) Instead, I'll blame it on Facebook, and how I jump all over conclusions and get all upset for absolutely no reason.

And I'll take back my thought process I had last time I was dancing with a cute boy. Because we had mutual friends there, and those mutual friends were taking pictures. Of me. Being dipped. By said cute boy. Tons of fun! And I thought, "I hope they put this on Facebook. And I hope Dear John gets jealous."

I take back that thought process because I really don't hope that. Jealousy is rare for me, and now I know why it's a deadly sin. It feels horrible. I wouldn't wish this uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach on my worst enemy (my poetry teacher would be really annoyed with how many cliches I've stuck in here). And you're not my worst enemy. Far from it.

Much love,
Heart

(I just wish I did know what you are. Not that it should matter. Just like not that I should feel jealous. Should, should, should. Blah.)

Lyrics

Dear John,

There are a lot of good breakup songs. And there are a lot of different styles to them. And I've learned recently that most of the ones written by girls - even really talented ones, like the Corrs - end up sounding super whiny. And as I and my cohort have started writing awesome lyrics ourselves, I am very conscious of sounding too whiny.

But I keep listening to a ton of music in general and I keep realizing how many of them are breakup songs. Especially those by John Mayer (my fav). Now, I am convinced that like 90% of his songs are about Lydia (who I named my GPS device after for some reason), but that's another story.

This story is about Split Screen Sadness, and how I think it's the closest a breakup song will come to our situation. Every situation is unique, of course, but every breakup does involve well...heartbreak. So it's always easy to relate. But John hit me hard just now:

One hand on the trigger of a telephone
Wondering when the call comes
Where you say it's alright
You got your heart right

Now that we chat - i mean, uh, have super-deep conversations via AIM. Really? AIM? Yes. I mean, I guess I'm blogging to you, so I can't really complain about textual conversation channels - occasionally enough, I sort of crave talking to you more. I am always tempted to call, but don't know if that's...."allowed."

One of my friends and I were commiserating literally the day after our breakup, and he said something like "Oh yeah, do not call him. I called the SHIT out of whatsherface when we broke up. It just doesn't look good." I just think that's a hilarious way to put John's beautiful telephone-trigger image. What is the best way to use that weapon? When will you use it to your advantage? Will you use it on me?

All you need is love is a lie cause
We had love but we still said goodbye
Now we're tired, battered fighters
And it stings when it's nobody's fault
Cause there's nothing to blame at the drop of your name
It's only the air you took and the breath you left

These lines are the worst for me, because I - and I know you too - are a huge believer in "all you need is love." My definition for that though must be shifting to sort of a general "love your neighbor" love, not romantic love. The same way I think 1Corinthians 13 is taken out of context.

It is so easy for my girlfriends to blame each others' exes. And bitch about how lame and ugly they were. And I know it is all to build up the girlfriends. But, just to let you know, I fought with them this weekend for you. I yelled at them, explaining your virtues and kindness and love. Because really, our breakup wasn't either of our "faults." It was distance. And it was timing. And it is confusion and definitions and maturity levels and life changes and exploration and youth.

"If I could I would punch timing in the face" is the little ditty-saying I had stuck in my head for a month after our breakup. It's being replaced by other tweet-ables, but it still makes sense. We share the silence.

Love,
Heart

Possible reveal

I've been watching too much HGTV, mostly because it's all my mom watches. All the designers in their little Disney Channel-esque interludes (remember those? "Disney Channel stars are just like you!" except they are famous actors. No big deal. But anyway!) between shows talk about how they love "the reveal!" Anyway...now that the possibly witty intro to this post got butchered by too many asides...

Dear John,

I gave you the link to my other blog tonight. In a differently related context. And maybe you're curious enough to wander over to this one. Maybe you're not.

If you are here - hello! I had played with the idea of giving you this link all along. And I'm not really ashamed of any of my whinings. And sort of proud of my growings, not in a small part to this blog/other journal entires/lyrics I have written.

If you do not come by, it's just as well.

And that brings us to the age-old: if a tree falls in a forest...

Love,
Heart

Shopping therapy

Dear John,

It's taken me five weeks, but I finally shopping therapy-ed post-breakup.

I went in to DSW for a pair of shoes for the wedding I'm going to this weekend, but I came out with three pairs of tights, two handbags (one was free though and for my mom), a pair of sneaker-flats (that you would think are indie-rad, probably), and a pair of wedding-appropriate shoes.

I call that a success, even though I tried on a bunch of cute winter-y hats and I couldn't make my puffy hair look good under them.

Remember when we went shopping together? I think I had more fun than with you than I have had with many of my girlfriends. It's probably because my gfs don't try to sneak into dressing rooms with me and act on thinking my outfits are sexy.

I still want these Toms boots, and I love-hate that you introduced me to the do-good Toms brand.

Love,
Heart

Vegas

Dear John,

When I invited you to come see me this weekend - still a good four hour drive from where you are, but probably the furthest West I'll be in a good, long while - I never expected you to come. I told myself I was just being playful.

Though you said you probably couldn't, you at least feigned interest and that surprised and delighted me!

But today, when you officially told me you couldn't make it, but seemed so disappointed about it, it hit much harder than I expected -

Especially when I walked through a beautiful photo gallery and all I could think of was the West and the outdoors and watching Planet Earth and wanting to share it all with you.

Especially when I ate at the Hard Rock and every band on the walls and on the video screens reminded me of the amazingness of music, which reminded me of you ("And I'd give up forever to touch you" may be the best opening lyrics of a song ever. Goo Goo Dolls? I'm not even that crazy about them. Those lyrics just stopped me in my business in the bathroom at Hard Rock though).

Especially when I walked the Strip and all I could hope was that this wasn't everything. That not everyone was satisfied with merely gaudy distraction.

It hurts the most though right now - in the form of sniffles and stupid tears on my stupid cheeks - in a cold hotel room (which I love! Truly!), attempting to substitute at least "one" more night of you holding me with a hoody and fluffy socks. It's not warm enough.

Love,
Heart

P.S:

I fear air conditioning.

Even though I feel so lonely, and I'm cradling my phone in my hand, knowing how lucky I am to have so many people who would pick up and talk to me, no matter how late it is on the home coast, I only really want to talk to you. What does that mean? Love? Lust? Fear? Intimacy? Loneliness?