An awkward concert

I went to probably the most awkward concert of my life. And it wasn’t bad at all…just awkward, but I’m kind of the Queen of Awkward, so…guess it wasn’t that much of a stretch for me. It didn’t really bother me, I just took note of it. I was excited when I heard Mary Lambert was coming to Dallas. She’s this brave, outspoken, not afraid to share pain, kind of girl. She also happens to be a lesbian. I put the concert on the meet-up concert group, I sometimes set up concerts for. There was only one bite: a lady who is much much older than me. Like older than my Mom. Which obviously wouldn't matter a bit if this was a group thing, but just us? Um no. Not happening. I was kinda mad because I didn’t want this to feel like a date. I didn’t want it to be just us, standing awkwardly next to each other…well I guess we would’ve fit right in, at this particular concert. But I was also like – “this lady’s gonna mess up my game!” The other lesbians in the room are going to think we’re together because she’s standing by me and talking to me! And so they won’t talk to me, and I don’t even know this chick!! Well luckily I was worrying for nothing, because not only did no one speak at this extremely quiet concert, but also she didn’t come, or she didn’t let me know she was there via the message board and neither did I. I got there really late, on purpose. I didn’t really care much for whoever was the opening act. When I got there she was already singing, but I managed to ask a girl that was standing there in the back how long she’d be on and she said that this was her first song. So, perfect timing. I was only able to get an hour in the parking garage because it was free and the only ticket it gave me, despite trying to pay for more hours, so I hoped she’d get in my favorite songs in that hour. She did. But I discovered that while she has an amazing voice and I love her whole “thing”- it’s extremely personal. Experiencing Mary Lambert’s songs is like being in her bedroom, on her bed with her as she cries about her recent break-up and I don’t mean that in a mean or negative way at all. It’s beautiful. But it’s heart-wrenching. It feels like you shouldn’t be there, you shouldn’t be hearing all this. It’s not your place, unless you’re her close friend. There were probably 50 people there. A few straight couples, one gay couple and many lesbian couples. And many single, presumably lesbian women standing all by themselves. If it hadn’t been dark and quiet and Mary hadn’t been doing a spoken word about her ex leaving her and not calling her after her own house burned down, maybe I would’ve spoken to one of them. Eh who am I kidding? I still probably wouldn’t have. I do find it ironically funny though, that as I was getting ready for the concert, I couldn’t figure out what to wear and I was convinced my face was not at all working and make-up wasn’t helping, so I texted a friend- “Ugh I don’t want to go, I’m so fucking ugly. But I guess it’ll be dark so it won’t really matter anyway.” It’s not just funny because I was right, about the dark part. But also out of all the artists I could’ve been going to see, she’s the last person I should’ve been concerned about how I look, when going to her concert. She even does a song about being ok with your body type, how you look, all of that. She’s very anti body-shaming and pro- YOU. She’s a bigger woman herself and she did a spoken word on it that very night. So I laughed to myself later on about how it was so silly of me to say that, particularly not at a Mary Lambert concert. I think she’s beautiful, by the way. So I moved around a lot that one hour I was there. I couldn’t find a good spot to stand. I was either behind an annoying straight couple embracing each other or someone smelling of B.O…oh wait, that was the same guy from the couple. I don’t think I’ve ever moved from the first spot I stood at on the SRO floor of a concert hall, so that was weird and awkward for me. So was standing alone away from people because there was a lot of open space. And so was that spoken word about her recent breakup. But I’d admire her so much for doing it. It obviously helps her tremendously to get it all out like that. It’s her outlet and I love that because everyone needs one. Mine is writing. Both this blog and my stories. After the heart-wrenching spoken word of her recent relationship ending, she sang my favorite song of hers- “When You Sleep.” But it’s such a deeply personal song to me, that I felt weird and awkward listening to it around people. I was like – “hey get outta my room!” It was still so beautiful though. All in all it was a great way to spend an hour. I had to leave for fear of being towed and they don’t allow you to come back in once you leave, so I left while she told a story. I was pretty sure she was almost done anyway. It was still nice to see her in person, to put a face and body to that incredible voice of hers. I’m glad I had the opportunity to go. There’s always something a little magical about seeing someone you’re used to hearing in your ears, live before your eyes. I think it helps you to connect to them even more, at least in someone like Mary. I hope she never stops making music. I’m sure it saves her, like my writings do…and even if no one listened to them, I’m sure she’d never stop making them.

Brave, weird, it’s all the same

I was thinking about all the “interesting” things I’ve done...that’s a nice way of saying- weird or crazy. I guess you could also say unusual or unique. Maybe not unique because it sounds like only you did it and that’s not true. Some of the ones that stand out the most are like when I went to a “Cuddle Party,” (which is exactly as it sounds). Or the weekend I spent at the Nudist Colony. I was the youngest person there by far but it didn’t stop me from enjoying myself. That was probably the freest I’ve ever felt in my life. I’m specifically referring to my nature walks alone in the woods with the wildflowers and only the birds to see me. I had purposefully picked an off weekend and most people hung out by the pool anyway. I also got a color tattoo of mountain peaks on my left arm above my wrist. Not necessarily unique, but it is when everyone thinks it’s just colored triangles on my arm, like I’m really into Geometry or something. When in reality I think I almost flunked that class and to this day haven’t a clue what the point of it was.  

I’ve done other brave things. Like I moved to Colorado not knowing a soul, just because I loved the mountains and wanted an adventure. I’m proud of myself for that. That takes guts moving somewhere all alone. I’ve gone on countless meetup group events, some where I find myself surrounded by senior citizens. Some where no one even shows up even though they said they were coming. I’ve gone on dating app dates to meet strangers. I go to hotels alone just for the fun of it. I’ve taken trips to cities like San Francisco alone, been to another country alone (Canada, but still). I rock out at concerts alone. There isn’t anything I haven’t done alone. I went to Vegas for a lesbian conference all alone. I went to The Walking Dead premiere event in L.A. alone and that was given out as “tickets for two.” I always try to talk to people, wherever I go, to connect. Sometimes I think there’s something there, but usually there’s not. And even if for moment there is, it’s not as real as I thought it was. Or the other party had a better offer come along. It is what it is. It still doesn’t keep me from doing all these crazy, weird, unique, unusual, interesting things. 

I’m still proud of myself for trying. Not everyone can do some of those things alone, or any of them alone. It takes guts to try. It takes a brave soul to be like- “here I am, like me or not, but I’m going to still have a great time wherever I am.”

Spoiled by Kristin Chenoweth

I don’t know how to be, anymore. I often find myself unable to move, paralyzed by an inability to live in this reality. In my reality. I want to hide away in my bedroom on my way too expensive mattress, and just melt into it. Just become one with it and let it wrap itself around me. Let it hug me, let it become me.
It’s very lonely being isolated like I am. It’s very easy to get lost. It’s easy to believe that no one in this world understands you or cares about you and maybe you don’t care about anyone either. Sometimes I want to shake people and be like- why don’t you like me? Why don’t you love me? Why won’t you give me a chance? Why won’t you let me love you and make you the most important person in my life?
But instead I just lose a fighting battle I have with myself over taking a trip, where I could be around new people again, because I just can’t believe that anything will happen, that I’ll meet anyone; didn’t the last 10 times, so why would I now? At least I finally made the decision. I was on the fence for so long that I was about to drive myself crazy, being so indecisive.
I’m not usually like that. If I want to do something, I do it. Whether or not I have someone to go with, scratch that, I never have anyone to go with, so usually I just do it if I want to do it! But this time I both wanted to go and didn’t want to go, so I couldn’t be swayed one way or the other. A big part of it was whether or not I could believe I could possibly meet someone that will mean something to me and vice versa, at said place. Whenever I take a trip or go somewhere I always think it’s a possibility, even if I say: ‘it’s definitely not going to happen.’ I most definitely try to talk to people and connect to them. But I just couldn’t talk myself into it this time. I couldn’t do it. I can’t do it. So I pulled the trigger by putting down the gun altogether, or more accurately throwing it away. I’m not going. But it is also Portland in January which it says online is the rainiest and coldest month. There could be ice and snow too, so not really beach and waterfall gazing weather. But it is also when The Walking Dead convention is being held, which is why I was going in January. There’s still Nashville and Chicago, so maybe I’ll go to one of those cities for it later in the year; because I do want to meet the actress that plays Tara. Even if it would be lackluster and not some amazing moment, like it was the first time I met someone I was a huge fan of. I was spoiled by Kristin Chenoweth. She was the first celebrity I stood in line to meet ever in my life and she was by far the best and most rewarding. I have the pictures to prove it. She was amazing. She was expressive and took the time to really talk to everyone. She acted/looked shocked and humbled when I said she was my favorite person in the whole world. She definitely was. Is. She helped me discover my true self, even if she had no idea what she did and I wouldn’t even know it myself for another 5 months, after meeting her. I’m so glad I have the pictures of her expressions as she talked to me. This was 6 years ago, before video on the phone, but the lady that took pictures for me, kept pushing the camera button over and over, so I have all these amazing pictures taken so if you were to print them out you could flip through them and see her move, like a comic strip. I love that so much. I’d like to thank that lady again, who took those pictures, because my mom would’ve messed that whole thing up if she had been the one to take it. She was there, but I think she was using the actual camera at the time. Ever since then, whenever I’ve met someone that I admire and love from her work, in my favorite shows, it’s just been…eh. But that’s how it goes I guess. Kristin is an enigma. She’s one of a kind. She’s special. She’s Southern and you see that hospitality in her. Also I just think she’s a happy peppy person for the most part, grateful for what she gets to do with her life, her love- music. I admire her and look up to her so much. I love how she went after her dreams full force and didn’t compromise. I love that she’s dedicated to it. I don’t know if she ever wanted kids, but she never had them and she’s not married and I hope she does have love in her life always, I know she has before, but it’s comforting knowing that someone else out there is making it work…all on her own. She doesn’t need a man, just like I don’t need a woman to complete me. I don’t need a better half, because I’m already an amazing whole.

 

 

 

 

 

let's do the math

It’s really hard for me to have any kind of hope anymore and that makes me sadder than the absence of that person I hope for in the first place.

I saw this post from 8 years ago. You know how Facebook does that. I quoted a line from Garden State, still one of my all-time favorite movies. I said, “You gotta hear this one song, it’ll change your life I promise you.” The song I was referring to was, “Hold Onto hope” by Amy Stroup. She has one of the most beautiful voices on the planet. These are the lyrics she sings over and over in the song: “Hold onto hope love I’ve searched high and low for you, for you. Each day gets closer so hold on stronger to me and you. Someday soon I’ll find you. Someday soon I’ll know you.” There was a time, and more recently than 8 years ago, where I could still do this. I could still hold on hope. But I can’t anymore and like I said, losing hope is the worst thing you could possibly lose. I wish I could have hope. But the fact is, I’ve tried to hold on to hope for 11 years and that’s just since my last relationship, I had to hold on for many years before that as well. Let’s just say since when I was 18, about the time I really wanted that first relationship. I’m 36, so do the math, that’s nearly 20 years. That’s a crazy amount of time to hold on to hope. Maybe I should look at the shortest number: 5. well 5 and a half if we’re being technical. That’s how long since I realized that I had been looking the wrong direction. That’s how long since I realized who I truly was. Who I’ve been my whole life but never knew. I’m into girls. Women. You get what I mean. So should I do the math and pretend I’m really 23? That’s 5 years from 18. So in lesbian years I’m like 23. And 23 year olds aren’t necessarily married off yet. Well most of my straight friends were by that age, but that’s neither here nor there. I can try to make myself feel better in saying it’s only been 5 years (that I’ve been looking in the right direction) but it doesn’t really make me feel that great because if we do the math again- if we get to my lesbian 36, I’ll be 49. And I don’t want to be 49 and finally find love. That’s too late. Maybe it worked for Ellen Degeneres. She was 50 when she married Portia, but let’s face it, I’m no Ellen. I guess it doesn’t matter in length of years you’re with someone, but in quality time spent. Man, if I had a girlfriend right now, we’d cram so much into our shortened years together. I have a long list of things I want to do with her and places I want to go. Pretty much everywhere I’ve already been. I want to do all those things again, but this time with the love of my life. I hated that I had to do it all alone. I didn’t want to. I wanted to GO to all those places and I’m glad I did, but they would’ve been a thousand times better if I had her to share those experiences with. Particularly the hotel beds.

But back to the hope thing. I mean, fuck. How can I be expected to have hope after all these years of waiting and trying and putting myself out there and putting my energy out there and believing that it will happen and going places and doing things with intentions of being open to anyone out there? Taking any connection and running with it, testing the waters, seeing if there’s anything really there with that person. I’ve done that. I have. A lot. I’m not saying I won’t ever again, but I can tell you the number has gone way down, like to single digits. I’m also at a loss and out of ideas too. I don’t know why this is so hard for me. I don’t know why it seems so easy for everyone else and I don’t mean maintaining a relationship, of course that is hard for everyone. But the meeting. The clicking, the dates to get to the point of relationship- that’s impossible for me. At least that’s what it seems. I literally don’t know what else to do, that’s why I do nothing. That’s why I don’t try anymore. That’s why I write stories of a reincarnated ghost lady coming down from heaven, gliding over the water at my lake to me, to be my soulmate. That’s why I write stories of being with characters from TV shows because they are all that I have in my life. Or even taking it another step further and writing stories of being with the actual actress herself. I do that to make up for the fact that as a human being supposedly being capable of connection-I suck at it. It’s like I’m not even human. I’m an alien. And I don’t understand the rules. At least that’s what people make me feel like. I do wish that friends would set me up with someone, but that’s never happened. Maybe they don’t know any lesbians but me or maybe they don’t think I’m capable either.

This wind out on this hill overlooking the lake is strong. So strong it feels like it takes my breath from me at times. It’s sucking the life out of me, like people do. My day job is 100% giving, compromising. And that’s fine. I get paid to do it. I couldn’t do that for free, at least not 40 hours a week. 90% of my job is compromising for others, rearranging and making it work for them. But that’s how it goes and I love what I do. So when I get home the only thing that fills me up and gives me what I need, is my cat sleeping on my lap and my shows. Seeing these characters that I either wish I could have what they have, or be them, or be loved by them, or in some cases they just make me feel better that I’m NOT them because the lives that they are portraying are 100 times worse than the one I live. THAT'S how I vicariously live.

Well, I’ve been pelted by leaves and acorns from the tree above me and I think the wind’s taking all it can out of me now. Gotta go back inside. Be with my people…and by people I mean my cat Mollie and my actresses. Let's leave the math lessons to the math teachers.  

poem from night hammocking

What if you could reach out and touch the clouds? And what if you could eat them and they tasted like cotton candy. What if you could pluck the moon right out of the sky and it use it as the big marble, rolling it into all the little marbles, watching them scatter across the floor.

And what if you were ok. What if you were ok with how your life is. right. now. And that if it remained exactly the same for the rest of your life, you’d be ok with that too. It didn’t matter what you didn’t have. It didn’t matter if you were alone. If you were ugly or broke or childless or homeless or loveless. You were alive. You could still choose to love others, even if it’s in the smallest of ways and even if that person you loved by smiling at them when most people ignored them, or held the door for someone who always does the door holding, or saying a nice thank you to drive thru attendant that gives you your food; even if they all didn’t even seem to care. What if that was enough. Not for them because you can’t control them and what they find as meaningful to them. But it was enough for YOU. It was enough that YOU chose to look up from your phone and love and spread something other than hate and bad vibes from behind that very phone. I’m not saying I do or the proverbial “you,” but some do...too many, sometimes.

What if you accepted life as it is and that it’s ok that it’s not what you thought it would be. It’s ok that it looks nothing like the thousands of women your very own age. But at the same time you can believe that anything is possible. That soulmate, that child, that Home, that love you crave. It’s both impossible and possible. 

Just like that cotton candy cloud and marble in the sky, you can both know that it’s impossible and yet hope in even the smallest of ways...that it is.

when you want it to mean something

I first heard this song, or more accurately- spoken word poem by Mary Lambert, when I was walking the streets of Hollywood. I don't know if that means anything or not, but I kid you not, just now, right now when I started writing that first sentence about this "song," it began to play on my shuffled music on my Amazon app! I always find it cool when little things like that happen. I used to think it was a sign, but I don't anymore. I still do find it pretty cool, though. Like how when I was writing my own version of Orange is the new Black and when I wrote the ending about my character and Poussey's life together after prison and how she met this old rich white lady named Fran who helped her when she first got out. And then when I did too, we helped take care of her when she was dying and she left us money for Poussey to open her own restaurant and then when we had our own daughter, we named her Frannie, after her namesake. Well when I was looking up the meaning of her name, wanting it to be something cool and special, that means something, I found out it did! It means "free one." And we were the free ones, being that we were out of prison and I had already talked about that and how we were raising her to be a free-spirit. It just feels so cool and weird when things like that happen. Almost as if your brain knows something that you don't. Your sub-conscious is SO strong that it tells you to do things you shouldn't know to do. I wish that when I went to places that sort of just fall into my lap and just how I go and do things and take opportunities that come to me, that it would mean something too! That because I went to L.A., a place I would never just choose to go to, but because I won tickets to The Walking Dead premiere; that it would just MEAN something. It would mean I went because I was supposed to meet someone important in my life. I was supposed to met THE ONE. The girl that would change my life forever. Sometimes I feel like I live in a movie or fantasy world, but then I look at all the couples around me and they met "the one." It's not a fantasy, it's not a movie, it's real life. They met someone that changed their life and that loves them so much that they can't imagine a life without that person. They are their whole world. And there's no better word to describe that it hasn't happened for me and I'm almost positive that it won't, than the word- "sucks." It fucking sucks. It sucks balls. Of which I hate, both literally and figuratively. It more than sucks but even as a writer, I can't find the word to describe what it feels like. I feel hopeless, but not in a sad way. I literally feel like there's no hope left of me ever meeting someone. And that's just a fact. It's not a depressing, sad thing. I mean I don't feel great about it, but I feel like I have to accept it and I do to a degree. Because I don't live my life locked away in my house just because I don't have anyone to do things or go places or take vacations with. I go everywhere and I do everything by myself and that's fine. I'm used to it. I know plenty of people that would not go practically anywhere by themselves. Certainly not a vacation. They would drag a friend who they haven't even been friends with for a decade, only to torture them with making them do everything that they wanted to do and not letting the other person just chill out at the hotel. No way. They couldn't possibly go have a meal or go to the zoo by themselves. Those people are actually the ones that probably will have somebody someday. Because they can't function alone, so they'll rope some lonely guy in who is just happy to be noticed. And THAT is what's sad and depressing. It's like because I'm so good at being alone, I don't get the option of having someone to love, to hold me to kiss me, to be there in that hotel room on my 10th trip alone. And that really really fucking sucks. Just because I'm good at it, doesn't mean I don't want that partner. That lover. That girlfriend. That wife. Man if I could have somebody that feels about me the way this spoken word poem song says... I could die. 'Cause I'd already be in heaven. I want to feel about a girl the way Mary Lambert does in her song, "Dear One."
"Where did you come from, bright star. What heaven did you leap from, dear love. How can I spell your name without the sound of Autumn underneath my tongue. Without acknowledging the lovers who bent me in half. Bless them for bringing me to you. How can I say your name without also breathing the words, 'my God, I found you.' How can I ever speak again with this mouth when it has found where it belongs. When you touch me I am a bed of calla lilies. I will make a house for you and fill it with evergreens. I will paint sunsets on every wall so you can only see beautiful things. How can I say 'love' without wanting to fold myself into you, like a thousand paper cranes, dear one. I was halved the moment I was born. The other piece of me is inside of your mouth. And I was found whole the moment you spoke."
Isn't that the most beautiful thing you've ever read? Its even better to listen to, so get on that. I listened to it over and over while I walked the streets of L.A. Passing the Grauman's Chinese theater and the tourists taking pictures of cement hands. Passing the constant smell of cigarette and pot smoke that fills the air that I walked through. It was chaos, but in my mind, it was peace. I was floating, walking in slow-motion past a blur of faces that I would never talk to, nor would they ever talk to me. I think I wanted the crowds to part and for her to be standing there. For once for this moment, of hearing this spoken word song for the first time, despite the whole album being in my music playlist for weeks, to mean something. For it to come true. For life to imitate art for once. For MY life to imitate art for once, instead of the other way around. Instead of me creating art from a life I want. A life I dream of. A life I see on TV even though it's not real. I could make it real. I wish for it to be real. But here I sit. Still here. Still alone. Still unable to reach out and touch anyone. I've always felt invisible. I've always felt different and out of place growing up, although I didn't know why at the time. I thought I was like everyone else. I thought I was going to be like all my girlfriends growing up. I thought I'd be just like them, marry a guy and have some kids, all before 30. But 30 is long gone in the rearview mirror and I'm not attracted to guys. I'm attracted to the life. The normal life of marrying your best friend, whom you love with all your heart and having a child that is a piece of both of you. But it's not what I'm given. It's not what I can make come true. To quote another Mary Lambert song, "I can't change. Even if I tried. Even if I wanted to." But the line I really want to come true is her next line in that song- "My love my love my love, she keeps me warm. She keeps me warm." That would be the best life I could ever imagine.
I know we all want to find meaning in things. It's a Universal Desire. We want things to have meaning. We want to know that our life, even when it doesn't feel like we are the ones making the choices, still have a reason. They mean something. I feel like in the last 10 years nothing has meant anything. Nothing has changed anything. No decision I made, no path I followed, no "going with the flow." Nothing. Nothing has mattered and nothing has changed for me. But it doesn't mean I sit in a dark room and do nothing. I still try. I still look for meaning. I don't know that I take signs seriously anymore or take them at all, but I still try. And that's all that matters. All that matters is that I still choose to live and I still choose to not sit in a dark room and no nothing. Everything else is up to... well, I don't know who, but it's up for grabs I guess! If only I could get my hands around it...

REAL

I need somebody to replace her. I need somebody real. She is a real live human being but she might as well be a unicorn. She might as well be a mermaid. Not real, but real enough for many many stories to be written about them. Or maybe Sasquatch or the Loch Ness monster. Real enough for many many people to claim they saw them. 

But she's not real to me and that fucking sucks. I even met her once. Face to face, but it's not like I got to really talk to her and it's not like it would've mattered even if I did. She wouldn't have fallen for me. She's got a girlfriend... I'm pretty sure. If I knew how to spell out a frustrating cry I would. I am so small. I am so stupid. I am so invisible. But I need someone to see me. I need someone to want me, for once in my life. For forever in my life. I can't go on liking unrealistic women. It's so pointless and not healthy. I need a girl to draw me out. I need her to pull me to her and make me forget about every unattainable girl I've ever desired, for whatever the reason. Every real but not real woman I've ever written into my stories, pretending that they fell for me, that they liked me and saw something in me that made them want to get to know me more. That didn't judge me on how I looked or how I dressed or how my hair color was or how my face was makeup-less. 

I feel like I'm a pretty normal person. Weird enough to be a little interesting. I have stories. I have trips and crazy little things I've done and weird places I've been to, and even ones not most people have gone to or done before. I'm not needy. I don't beg for attention . I'm perfectly content being alone...until I'm not. Until I need somebody to hold me to tell me they love me and kiss me and want me in their arms and don't want to let go. Want me to call in sick the next day so we can stay in bed together and binge orange is the new black.

I'm extremely independent. I go everywhere all on my own. I do everything all by myself. I'm not afraid. Well I get a little nervous sometimes, or I used to, but just like with anything, practice makes perfect and I am the perfect single person after more than a decade of practice. 

If I knew what to do, I'd do it. If I knew how to be, I'd be it. Is this really it? Is this all there is? Why are so many songs and shows and movies and musicals and books and commercials and literally everything to do with life, all about having someone? Someone to call their own. That is EVERYTHING. That's what it's all about. Not the hokey pokey; love. Connection. A partner or whatever you want to label it. That's it. That's all there is. That's THE THING. And I'm like some kind of alien, not from this planet, so I can't possibly have that. It's reserved for humans. I'm not compatible with it. At least that's what it feels like to me. I mean besides nuns who choose that lifestyle, is there literally anybody my age on the face of this earth that's been single as long as I have? I don't think so. I'd dare you to find somebody who is. And she can't have been in a coma for a decade either. It's just embarrassing at this point. It's like at this point if I did meet a girl who was really into me, if I told her how long I'd been single and how she was my first, there is no way she'd stick around. She'd find an excuse to leave. Why wouldn't she? It would freak her out. It's weird. I know. It's really weird. It's not sad; it's on a whole other level, that doesn't have a word for it. 

That's why I've given up. Not that I don't still have some hope left, buried deep down. Like I do before any trip or anything I choose to go to and be social at, a small part of me hopes I meet someone, anyone. A freaking friend, something. Anything that's real. Real is what I need right now. Real would be nice. But even if I try to not get my hopes up, a small part of me still does. And then nothing happens, I meet no one, no one connects with me, or I think they do but it doesn't end up going anywhere and I'm right back where I started. Giving up again and then another opportunity presents itself and the cycle repeats itself. I'm not going to meet a single person in L.A. At the walking dead premiere. I'm not going to talk to a single person. I'm saying all this now, so that I don't get my hopes up again, because even when I don't consciously think about it, I somehow still do. I still think I will meet someone that I connect with. Someone that lasts. Someone real. And if I can convince myself it definitely won't happen, then there's a chance I won't be disappointed when I'm right. And if I'm wrong, then I can be pleasantly surprised. Or more like a witness to a miracle. Because the parting of the Red Sea and Lazarus being raised from the dead is on par with me actually getting a girl to really like me. Like, like me like me. In a real way. Real is best, not fake. We all know that.