the paper doll

Ask and You Shall Recieve

Ok Internet,

Fair enough.  I've been gone for what let's be honest here-a year?  I guess you do deserve some stories.  So without further ado here are some things that happened to me...that I should tell you about in more detail when I get the chance.

1. I joined match.com
2. I got hit on by several weirdos-a guy with a shoe fetish, a man who hate bombed me, another who wanted me to do very naughty things to him.
3. I also met an amazing man.
4. I quit match.com
5. I have a very embarrassing story that involves The Musician (who we now call the Crazy Stalker Ex-boyfriend, a guy named Yoga Max, and my period.  I'm not sure if I have to nerve to tell you the whole thing...but I'll try.)
6. I got several traffic tickets one of which involves #5.
7. I started training for a half marathon.
8. I completed my first year of grad school.
9. I wrote some dating rules for myself.
10. I made a lot of new friends.

-The Paper Doll will be working on these stories but wants to know what you've done

She said, "It looks like you're cleaning out your life."

And she was right Internet.

I AM cleaning out my life.

The Musician and I had "the talk."  It's not you it's me.  I still love you.  Let's be friends. 

And Antiplath was right, it wasn't fatal.  It was perhaps the most awkward breakup ever but it's done.  Kind of.  There's still the exchange of stuff and we do have mutual friends so it will never really be over over.  Plus he's a great guy, and I  hope eventually we CAN be friends.

Regardless, finally just saying all those things I had been holding back made me feel immensely better.  Like float to the ceiling click my heals better.

I had no idea how weighted down I had become.  It just wasn't working and I had been carrying that around with me for months.

Now, I can get serious about losing weight, getting back to yoga, and writing.  I feel like I have space to explore and expand.

And right now, that's exactly what I need.

XO,

The Paper Doll

Confession

Dear Internet,

We need to talk.  I haven't been honest with you.  Yeah I said I've been busy.  I started grad school.  I'm working.  I am busy.  But that's not the reason I've been mum here.

Things aren't right Internet.  They haven't been for a long time. 

And now that I am busy.  Now that I'm starting a career that makes you take a long hard look at your own shit I can't turn my head in the other direction.  I can try.  That's why I haven't written.  Really written.  Because with you I can't lie.  And boy have I been lying or trying to lie.

So here it is Internet, The Musician and I well...I don't even know how to complete that sentence.  We're limping along and I'm not sure I want to limp anymore. 

Just typing that makes me sigh. 

It's so complicated.  Isn't it always so complicated?

But it shouldn't be.  It should be two people in love.   Isn't that all you need?

As it turns out no.

You need passion.  And direction.  And attraction.  And goals.  And mutual interests.

And you need to know.  To know so deep down in your bones.

I only know on the surface.  I could be happy with him.  We could have a great life.  But my bones would always be saying what if?

And that's what makes you check into seedy hotels on your lunch break and do things you'll regret.

We've talked and talked and talked. 

As of now we're still together.  But I have to be honest with you and say I'm not sure how much longer that will be.

I want a ring and a family.

I want to know.

And I don't.

Ps-What does it mean that as soon as I hit publish the sound of settling came on my pandora?

Over the Counter (and Under)

Dear Internet,

Where to begin?

I had the crud most of last week.  You know those god awful commercials with the animated mucous people?  Yeah they took over my body and invaded my sinuses.  And made me collect my spittle in a cup for inspection.  Turns out other people aren't really interested in what you hack up.

In fact it's sort of nauseatingly gross to them.

I just thought it sort of a feat.  Who know my body could produce a substance of such color and slime.  I was proud of what my sinus cavity created.  The Musician on the other hand not so much.  I believe gag would more aptly describe his feelings about the matter.

So while I should have been gorging on eggs and chocolate I was huffing Sudafed and praying to the gods for forgiveness because clearly I had done something to anger them the pain in my throat, head, and nose was so bad.

Today I feel better.  Well better in body but not spirit.

See, when I tore out of work in a fever induced stupor on Wednesday I left my anti-depressants.  I spent most of Thursday knocked out.  So by the time I realized my error on Friday the building was on lock down for the Easter holiday.

I went 4 days without my meds and I could feel the difference.  Well not until the Musician hurtfully asked, Are you off your meds?

Aside from the dickery of the comment he was right.  I WAS off my meds.  I was a crying.  Short tempered mess.  He didn't handle it well.  I didn't handle it well.  It was perhaps one of the worst weeks of our coupledom.

I know there was a lot more to it than just not having the drugs in my system.  I was sick.  Easter is especially hard for me.  It was one of my mom's favorite holidays.  I bored.  Oh god was I bored.  And the University has completely screwed up my financial aid.

So I had a lot going on.

But it makes me worry about the future when I do go off my antidepressants.

It also makes me worry about the Musician and me.

I need someone who can handle me.  Meds or not.  And we barely squeaked by this week.

I did, however, make a decision about the couch.  I'm going with the white.  And the corner version. 

Once I got tired of Oprah and felt a little better I measured out my space and marked where the loveseat and couch combination would go.  And then I marked the corner couch dimensions. 

Results were overwhelmingly in favor of the corner version.  It'd just be too much furniture if I got the couch and the love seat.  And it would waste a lot of space.

So I'm putting in an order for the white corner Ektorp because ofcourse it isn't available in my local store so I'll be paying the 200 dollar shipping and handling fee.  Yay!

I also have a lot of house projects and things to up date you on.  Turns out when you're high on Sudaded you can get a lot of stuff done.

Pictures will be forth coming.

XO,

The Paper Doll

Madder than a one legged woman at the Ihop

Dear Internet,

Why are boys so stupid?

I know you shouldn't write in the heat of the moment but I'm so spittin mad (as my Nana would say) that I can't keep my fingers from the keys.  It's either post or open my office window and scream.

Seriously.

So last nite I came home from the gym to find The Musician putting up dishes.  He wanted to clean the kitchen and grill out ( I live in the South it's 70 degrees here). 

I begin by asking him where he wants this new dish contraption he got for Christmas to live.  It's huge.  Has a bowl in the middle for dip.  Trays around the edge to hold things to dip.  Plates.  Skewers.  And it was taking up most of the drying rack.

I thought this was a normal question since most of the dishes that needed to be put up were his and we were at my house.  Does is go to his house?  Under my cabinets?  In the laundry storage room? 

Little did I knowthou shalt not question his authority but do as he says, yes masser.

There was some yelling and stomping around.

Maybe even a WTF? under my breath.

I mean good lord I just asked the boy about HIS dish that were at MY house taking up the counter space HE wanted to use to make HIS burgers.

A simple put them over here would have sufficed instead of the blahbityblahbitygotohell response I was given.

Of course we spent the rest of the nite not talking.  He even one uppedme by not coming to bed until I was asleep.  Definite points for being the asshole that wakes the other person up.  But I retaliated by fluffing my pillow and huffing a lot. 

I figured this morning he'd tell me goodbye and how pretty I looked like he does every morning but nothing.  He didn't even roll over to my side of the bed like he normally does when I get up.

Obviously he wanted to fight so I wasn't about to give in.  He's the one that started the crazy and in my book when you start the crazy it's your job to end it.  Preferably, shortly after you started it.

So I wait for his routine on the way to work call.  Nada.

A mid-morning break.  No.

Perhaps a it's slow lunch time call.  Nope.

Nothing.

Instead I get a text message this afternoon that says, he's going to happy hour with his bff.

HAPPY HOUR WITH HIS BFF INTERNET.

The man starts crazy with me and doesn't talk to me all nite and day and the first thing he says to me is I'M GOING TO HAPPY HOUR!?!?!?!?

OH HELL NO!

I was ready to say oh it's ok when he called me but now-nada, no, nope.

The gloves are off!  And I'm fighting against every stupid thing boys nationwide have ever said and I'm going to happy hour ranks at the top of the list!

-The Paper Doll says you'll never win!

To Everything There's a Season

Dear Internet,

It's Monday.  Regular back to routine Monday.  Things aren't all that different yet.

I got a new haircut, joined a gym, locked myself in my room and wrote about all the things I want to forget or "leave in 2008."  I even went so far as to write, "what I want to manifest in 2009."

I don't really believe in resolving.  Flaws are good.  Resolutions are for when you get arrested or knocked up.  When things in your life really need to change.  When it's life or death.

Right now it's just complacency and a mild dissatisfaction.

The Musician and I have been talking about marriage.  He brought it up.  It's what I've wanted for the past two years but now that it's here sometimes I look at him and wonder.  I say to myself this is all there is FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!

I look in the mirror and picture a white dress and shake my head.  I'd look like a circus tent if I had to wear that right now.

And I haven't built the circle of friends I want, and where would A live, who would we invite, and on the invitation whose names would request the honor of your presence at our wedding?

Sigh.

I like back to the grind Monday because it means I don't really have to think about any of those things.

I can pretend nothing's changed it's just the same ole year.

-The Paper Doll feels like 2009 is going to be all about change

My Darkest Hour

Hi,

My name is The Paper Doll and I am depressed.

Instead of facing that fact I've been eating copious amounts of fatty foods (particularly of the fried carb version), not exercising, not going to yoga, and generally just wallowing around in bed watching bad prime time TV (I'm looking at you Wife Swap and Super Nanny).  This has been going on for about oh 9 months or so, when did posts start getting scarce around here?

I was forced to admit this in a very Jerry Springer like fashion on Monday when a strange man emailed me to say my boyfriend, yes the Musician, was having an affair with his wife.  HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH HIS WIFE.  Scream that about four million times, throw things, and cry until your face is swollen and you've got a pretty accurate reenactment of my Monday and Tuesday.

His allegations proved not entirely true, for those of you playing along at home.  But neither was the Musician a downy innocent either.

Hence, we had to begin dissecting the why and how could you and I was forced to admit that I haven't been the best mate in a long long time.

It's sort of hard to be sexy when you haven't shaved in ages and are gulp twenty pounds heavier than you use to be.  It's even harder when you slap your boyfriend's hand away because oh my god I must know how this rerun of House that I've already seen ends. 

Harder still when you tell yourself every day how crappy you look but you don't do anything about it.  You also don't acknowledge that your house has an very distinct funk. 

In fact everything is a distinct funk.

A big pot of swirling, black, funk.

One that I hope to tidy up in the next few weeks.  Calls have been made, blood drawn, appointments set.

For the first time in my life I'm admitting I can't do this alone.

Wish me luck.

-The Paper Doll is getting help and maybe some meds

Projection: It's a Beautiful Thing

Dear Internet,

I'm having Buyer's Remorse.  About my boyfriend. 

That's right-Buyer's Remorse.

I'm listing all the things wrong with him and sweating in my sleep about-him!  I'm picking him!  But he's not a supermodel.  Or famous.  Or rich.  He doesn't own his own plane.  He doesn't speak four languages and know how to prepare Coquille Saint Jacques.

He's my tiny boyfriend.  He wears jeans with holes in them and listens to Hank Williams, Jr. sometimes.  He has terrible table manners and doesn't know if he ever wants kids.

KIDS!!!  Imagine all those kids not being had by me!

Surely there are better models.  Models who went to Med School and have a house in the Hamptons.  Models who look sophisticated and swirl fancy red wine around in Riedel glasses.  Models who have read all the Classics.

Most of this I say to myself in a very high fast-paced whisper.

If it were a romantic comedy I'd be pacing, wildly flapping my hands, and picking things up.  I'd be stabbing the air.  Then plopping down in a hough at the feet of my best friend.

I'd have that look-that tell me I'm being ridiculous look.  And she would.  And then they'd cut to him and me together laughing, maybe eating, there'd be another kind of look.

And that's usually what happens.  He makes me laugh so hard it hurts and I forget he's not perfect on paper.  This is what matters anyway-us being able to make our own fun.

Except it hasn't been fun lately.  We've been at each other's throats.  Bickering.  Picking.

Having Buyer's Remorse.

Wikipedia tells me I have two options: a) continuing with the purchase, surrendering all alternatives, or b) renouncing it.

I want a choice C.

Something about learning to love it.  Or taking care of yourself before making a major purchase.  Or accepting things as they are.  Or learning that I do deserve love.  Or just shutting the fuck up.

Because really the Buyer's Remorse is about myself.  How could he want such a broken down, fat, old thing?

A boring bitch.  A control freak.  A melodramatic asshole.

Me at my worse.

I just pick on him because it's easier than picking on myself.

-The Paper Doll is a barrel of laughs

Under Pressure

Dear Internet,

I've been thinking a lot about marriage lately.  The Musician and I will have been together two years in October.  He's a great guy, we have a wonderful time together, and for the first time in my life I can see myself walking down the aisle with him.

But why?

Why do we feel the need, the desire, the pull to get married?  Why is it so important?  Why is it what we are always working towards or searching for? 

Isn't it enough to have him in this moment?  Why is the big white dress and marriage certificate necessary?  And why is it, in this day and age, that my worth as a woman is tied to whether or not I'm married?

No sooner than had I gotten my college diploma did the questions started coming.  Are you seeing anyone?  Do you think he's the one?  Are you married?

Never how's your job?  That's so great you bought a house at 23.  Congrats on that promotion.

It doesn't matter what I do.  How successful I am.  What I give back to my community.  All people care about is whether or not I'm married or in the process of getting there.

Sure I'd like to have the party.  Wear the dress.  Get married.  Often when I'm bored I find myself flipping through bridal pages on the net.

But aren't I so much more than that?

Can't I be fabulous and single?  Or fabulous and in a serious long term committed relationship but not married? 

I don't get it.

A and I had a long conversation last nite about whether it's nature or nurture that make us yearn for that life long commitment.

I think it's fear (among other things).

In an article I just happened to read this morning Lisa Gabriele writes:

Bertrand Russell wrote, "Religion is based, I think, primarily and mainly upon fear. It is partly the terror of the unknown . . . the wish to feel that you have a kind of elder brother who will stand by you in all your troubles and disputes." Today, most couples I know have turned their backs on God and religion. In fact, the last time they saw the inside of a church was probably the day they got married. But when you have no religion, no god, no spiritual practice to turn to for comfort, it's easy to turn your relationship into your altar, to give it the power to heal you, transform you and save you. That's why most relationships crack under pressure, I think — they're not built to fix us. We're supposed to fix them. If Russell is right that religion is the last place to go to if you're looking for God, then perhaps marriage is the last place to go to if you're looking for love.  n°

I think it's wise to say that until I fix myself I have no business donning that white dress.  And that's ok.   I can be happy AND in love without a wedding band.  And it doesn't cheapen me or what the Musician and I have.

Now if someone would just tell my biological clock that.

-The Paper Doll wants to learn how to live in the present

PS-Internet how do you feel about marriage?  Are you for it?  Again it? Why do you want or not want to get married?  Thoughts?  Feelings?  Ideas?

Rules of Dating Part 2: Lying

Dear Internet,

Could you be so kind as to pass the following message on to every creature that has something dangling between their legs.

Lying is rarely a good idea.

Yes, if your girlfriend, wife, mother, sister asks you if she looks fat you should say no.  That's not what I'm talking about.

I'm talking about when your girlfriend, wife, mother, sister asks you something and to cover your own ass and avoid some unpleasantness because you know the truth may anger her a little you go for the easy route and lie lie lie.

This never works.

SHE IS GOING TO FIND OUT.

SHE IS GOING TO FIND OUT THE TRUTH AND SHE IS GOING TO FIND OUT YOU LIED ABOUT IT.

And you are going to be sorry.

That bit of unpleasantness you tried to avoid by weaving a yarn.  Yeah that's nothing compared to the rage of WHY THE HELL DID YOU LIE ABOUT IT THEN?

Here's the way it works Internet, women are irrational.  Yes they get upset about stupid things.  And yes it seems like a good idea to avoid all that by deceiving.  And yes for a short time this makes you the hero because you told her what she wanted to hear.

BUT.

The universe is rarely generous enough to let you get away with it.

I don't know how it works, Internet, but the truth always comes oozing out.  It may be a week, a year, three months.  But eventually you'll slip up or she'll find something and Bam!  All hell breaks loose.

Why?  Because it makes us feel stupid to find out you lied to us.  We got taken.  We believed that you were prince charming and infallible.

Only to realize you are a weak smarmy ass hole.  And if there's anything unattractive on a man it's weakness.

Yes you say you did it to protect.  But it was to protect YOURSELF not us.  And no woman wants to believe her man is such a pansy ass wuss he couldn't just man up and tell her the truth.

Men are suppose to be strapping and fearless.

Not cowering weenies who are afraid of how their woman is going to react.

And then you have the business of, if it wasn't a big deal then why did you lie about it?

I'll wait while you come up with a good answer to that.

See Internet, you couldn't do it could you?

That's because there is NO GOOD ANSWER TO THAT.

Nope not that one.  Or that one.  Un-uh.  NOT A SINGLE GOOD ANSWER.

So instead of just having a little spat when the issue first came up you postponed a nuclear winter.  Because you have to have the original fight AND the fight about why you lied.  Which I've already established you had no good reason for.

It's two fights for the price of one.

So just save yourself many sexless nights and take one for the team up front.  Don't lie.  Man up.

It's better in long run I promise.

Plus it'll save you from having to hear the inevitable, "but I never would have done that to you," rebuttal your woman is bound to use against you. 

-The Paper Doll says what a tangled web we weave when we practive to deceive

Art Project

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

This is my latest project, a Valentine’s Day book for The Musician.  Although gifts like this, scrapbooks, framed pictures, cards, letters, are never for the man.  They’re gifts you wish he’d take the time and thought to give you instead of just picking up a generic bundle of flowers and the last card they had left on his way home from work.

This isn’t the final product.  I’m taking the pages to the printers this afternoon and will then bind the pages with pink ribbon.  Each page here also has a corresponding full-page picture of the two of us that goes with it but for the sake of anonymity I’ve left those out.  The pages seen here will be on the right and the photo on the left.

All of these pages were created in Photoshop using a variety of brushes, papers, and elements purchased from Little Dreamer Designs (which is an awesome resource for digital scrapbook stuff).  The text used is taken from Brian Andreas's StoryPeople (an amazing artist who writes the most poignant stuff).  The end papers are the lyrics from Paris 2004 by Peter, Bjorn, and John (a song that has significant meaning for The Musician and me).

Stacked Deck

Dear Internet,

The Best Friend says I crave the truth too much.  That little things should be kept hidden because they aren't important and do more harm than good.

And she's right.  They do stir up trouble.  But it's just my nature to want the whole truth nothing but the truth.

I want it in everything.  Work.  Life.  Religion.  My boyfriend.  Especially my boyfriend.

I am a searcher after all.  I want to know how and why and I want it pure even if it hurts. Because in the end I'll find the truth, and it's ten times worse when you read it on Myspace than if you had just heard it straight from the horse's mouth.

I know it's small.  But lies no matter the girth always make me feel like something deeper is broken.  Make me wonder-if you can lie to me about this what else?  And then my trust for you is like swiss cheese.  Everything you say drains out.  Has no meaning.

Your I love you doesn't matter.  Your kisses not as powerful.  Because under there I know you are hiding something from me.

Or you have the ability to.  The balls to look me in the face and tell me something that isn't so.

And to me that's the biggest turn off.  The biggest let down.  To know you have another life.  One I'm not privy to.  That you keep quiet.  That slips out when it's not suppose to.

It makes my stomach hurt. 

The Best Friend says she does it sometimes to protect.  Because she doesn't want to hurt. 

She says that's probably why he does it.

But I think that's a cop out.  I think he does it because it's easier.  Because he cares more about himself.  Because it keeps me an arm's distance away.

The truth always comes out, my Grandmother use to say.

And it makes me feel like I don't know him at all.  That I'm being played.  That in bars on weekdays they laugh at me as he takes another shot.  As he chats up another girl.

That they say, his poor girlfriend.

Nobody likes playing the fool.

And every time I find out you lied.  That's how I feel.

Stupid and used.

And I can't look at you the same.  Can't love you the same.  If all your cards aren't out on the table.

I want a pure deck not one that's stacked against me.

-The Paper Doll says know when to hold and know when to fold

*This post was in my Drafts.  Kerilyn's comment about being a searcher reminded me of it so I thought I'd post it.

returning from the abyss

dear internet,

i'm back from vacation. 

oh yeah-i went on vacation.

although a week long extravaganza with 22 members of my family, my boyfriend, two dogs, and an uncle who plays the bag pipes can hardly be called a vacation.  it's more like a chinese torture device.

these people don't openly drink internet.

and i had to share a house with them. 

at the beach. 

three houses actually because we can't all fit into one because there are so many of us.  so many of us who are over the legal drinking age but cannot partake of a cocktail on the beach least we get written out of the will.  and nana's got quite a large nest egg we all want a share of.

so like any mature adults we hide our booze.  in the bottom shelf covered up with bags of lettuce.  in the Styrofoam cooler with bottle water on top to act as a decoy.  in the closet under the spare sheets and beach towels (and my parents wondered where i learned this stuff when i was in high school).

then after dinner and a round of trivial pursuit when the grandparents retire to their house across the street we lock the doors, pull the blinds, and operate our own speak easy. 

as kids it never got old knocking on the door and pretending to be one of the grandparents.  seriously.  i had no idea you could hid 24 packs that quickly or make your mother turn the color of uncooked grits.

now it's not so funny because i'm one of the ones that must think quickly when there's a rap at the door.  and when you have a buzz on thinking quickly doesn't mean thinking smartly.  as in, i had the genius idea of hiding my full glass of wine behind a pillow on the couch and pretending to read a magazine.  luckily i was drinking white so it only looked like i peed myself when i knocked the whole thing over.

for two people who detest the drink my grand parents sure did raise a bunch of drunks.  the musician was mystified by our behavior.  you mean i can drink in front of your family?  even in front of your dad?

um?  who do you think taught me how to sink the lime to the bottom of a corona bottle?  dad.

or make the perfect mojito?  dad.

or drove when my mom and i were too tipsy to get behind the wheel?  dad.

and that doesn't even cover what i learned from my mom.  margaritas.  when to pee.  my limit.  getting served at 18.  just how many martinis it takes in order to re-see your dinner.  how to keep it between the lines after you've both had two bottles of wine at a wedding and have to drive your dad's prized jaguar home.  and most importantly how to macgyver a koozie out of any kind of napkin you have on hand.

so yes-you can drink in front of my family.  so long as the grandparents have their dentures out and their heads on their pillows.

aside from that it really wasn't all that eventful.  get up, lie around in you pjs, put on your bathing suit and four gallons of sunscreen, lie on the beach, swim, go to the pool, swim, shower, eat dinner, lock the door, get drunk, fall asleep on the couch, move to the bed.  wash.  rinse.  repeat.

how's your summer?

-the paper doll has a lot of new freckles

the closest i've ever come to punching someone in the balls

dear internet,

did you know that if you lock your car doors it creates a magical force field around your car making it completely unnecessary to roll up your windows?

yeah, i didn't know that either.  and apparently neither did the person who stole my digital camera out of the musician's car.

that or either they were a super hero and no force field could stop them from taking what was rightly *not* theirs.

yes i'm pissed about the digital camera.  i had a whole photo expose to show you about why americans are fat based on the plate of all beige food i consumed last night.  but that will never see the light of my flash-thanks super hero!!!

but what really makes me want to type in all caps is WHY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DOES A GROWN MAN LEAVE HIS WINDOWS ROLLED DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!

you know, internet, this is not the first time travesty has occurred because the musician has been too lazy TO ROLL HIS FREAKING WINDOWS UP.  he once had to leave an event we were at to go roll his windows up when the second flood came.  the windows of his car THAT WAS PARKED IN MY DRIVEWAY HALFWAY ACROSS TOWN.

luckily we're the same height so he didn't have to adjust my seat when he took MY CAR TO GO ROLL UP THE WINDOWS OF HIS CAR THAT WAS PARKED IN MY DRIVEWAY HALFWAY ACROSS TOWN.

because so help me god had i gotten into MY car,  my car that the windows are kept rolled up when not moving, and that seat had been moved so much as a hair i would have had to take a tire iron to his windows.  try and roll that up bitch.

the root of this problem goes to the very core of what causes divorces all across america and me to type in all caps.

the thermostat.

the musician does not believe in air conditioning.  let me type that again for you internet in case you didn't get it.  THE MUSICIAN DOES NOT BELIEVE IN AIR CONDITIONING.

let me also tell you we live in a city that has a trap door to hell.  a city where people don't even bother with makeup and no one cares if shorts give you a camel toe because it is just that damn hot.

so instead of running the air conditioning like most people, the musician rolls down his windows. 

do you know what it's like to drive down the interstate at 80 with four windows rolled down?  i'm pretty sure i'll never regain most of my hearing and there are families of bugs i haven't been able to pull from my hair.

also, when using this method of cooling city driving becomes problematic.  all the stopping and starting creates little air flow and your thigh fat begins to melt and adhere to the sizzling grill that which are the seats.

you know i could deal with this because most of the time i drive anyway (see above part where the musician DOES NOT BELIEVE IN AIR CONDITIONING).  but.  BUT.  if you are going to roll the windows down in favor of running the ac ROLL THEM UP!

i know it's a pain because he's the last person in the free world to still have manual windows (AND LOCKS!) but seriously internet ROLL THEM UP!  and DO NOT.  DO NOT tell me to make sure i lock my door when we get out of the car.  YOU LEAVE YOUR WINDOWS ROLLED DOWN ON A REGULAR BASIS locking the door is like feeding a tiger a chicken mcnugget.  it doesn't do anything.  the tiger is still hungry.  and now you've just whet his appetite and he'll reach through your window and take whatever he wants.  like MY DIGITAL CAMERA.

AND a majority of the time the musician's car is parked in a place where there's a man he and his fellow coworkers have nicknamed toilet.  a man named toilet who routinely digs through their trash can for christ's sake.

THIS IS NOT THE PLACE TO LEAVE YOUR WINDOWS ROLLED DOWN!!!

and he doesn't even drive a crappy car.  HE DRIVES A NEW CAR.  A NEW CAR internet.  not a new to him car but A REAL NEW CAR.  a 2007 right off the lot.

you know i would show you a picture of it but MY DIGITAL CAMERA GOT STOLEN.

-the paper doll says keep your seat belts buckled and your hands inside the ride at all times and ROLL UP YOUR FREAKING WINDOWS

won't you be my bff?

dear internet,

i'm pretty sure, via the musician's sister (hi musician's sister!), that the book what to expect when you're expecting does not tell you exactly what to expect.

i could be wrong.  but something about that carefully drawn lady on the front just says to me i won't be telling you about pooping on the exam table or when your boobs fall down to your ankles.  instead, i'll just tell you about how baby crap smells like roses and giving birth is as sweet as a wrinkled-up puppy dog frolicking in a field of daisies.  now come closer and let me hug you--you have no idea what a bitch this is going to be.

but this isn't about my fear of pregnancy or my lackadaisical attitude about whether or not i ever become a mother.

no this, internet, is about my lack of girlfriends.

i was so hard up for some female company that when the sister (which is now the musician's sister's new name because i am WAAAY too lazy to be typing that out every time) suggested a game night i went even though the musician had to work and wouldn't be there.

internet, you know you've reached all time lows when you're giddy about discussing breast milk and postpartum depression.

i was so over taken by the girlishness of it all i must have said the word vagina three hundred and sixty two times, because by god i could without making anyone's ears bleed or eyes roll so far back into their heads i'd have to pry them forward with a shoe horn.

in fact they were very gracious about the whole thing and didn't even bat an eye when i discussed vaginal dryness and yeast infections (and i wonder why people ask me these things? ).

the thing is internet, out of all the areas of my life friendship is the one i struggle with most. 

when i was in the sixth grade the required health class was taught by the gym teacher who happened to be this very round and hard to understand black guy who often pointed using his middle finger.

aside from coach cooper's unfortunate habit, the only other thing i remember is a two page color insert about the components of wellness (physical, emotional, spiritual, and social).  even at that young age i was aware of the area i struggled with most-social.

and it's true now.

good job-check.  nice house-check.  solid yoga practice-check.  relationship with god-check.  great boyfriend-check. 

but friends?

not so much internet.

the girlfriends i do have live far far away and while we do talk everyday there's nothing like being able to discuss sex in person and very inappropriately over cheesecake and wine.

there's only so much a great boyfriend can do.

and it's the job of your great friends to do the rest.

so until i magically sprout a horde of women that will indulge my every whim for girl talk and pedicures i'll just have to use the musician's family.

my mom always said i'd marry someone with sisters.

plus they don't mind if i talk about poop.

-the paper doll is very blessed

hoping for gold

dear internet,

i'm staying. 

he's staying. 

life is good and that's all i want to say about that.

right now at least.

somethings are just too sacred to be vomiting all over the internet.

-the paper doll will write more later

do i stay or do i go oh

oh internet,

where to begin?  why begin at the beginning and go on til you come to the end; then stop of course.

sigh.

but where exactly is the beginning?

the fight last nite?  the one two weeks ago?  some random tuesday last november?

how did i get here?

when you first start dating someone you don't really pay attention to their red flags because you're giddy and in like.  and if you do you don't really care because there'll be time for that later.

internet-it's time.

the musician and i are at the seven month mark and it's time to either screw up my courage or cut and run.

i know his flaws.  i've seen him wave his flags.

i've long been known to beat a dead horse.  to drag it around by its mane when it's fallen down and won't run the race by its own accord.

if i were to become a saint it'd be the one of lost causes.

i stay too long trying to breathe life into things long dead.

the only problem?  i'm not sure this time.

with all the rest i knew.  knew i should go.  knew it was time.  i may have keep atop the horse but i knew i should let it die in peace.

but with him.

i don't know. 

people don't just lay down their red flags.  i can't expect him to change.

but i don't know if i can accept him.

so whataya do?

try, try, try.  just to realize three years later it isn't going to work?

or quit and possibly lose one of the best things to ever happen to you.

love is not enough.

and right now i gotta figure out if we have enough of the rest of the stuff.

-the paper doll is lost and confused

worry walrus*

dear internet,

yesterday i made a list of all the things i'm worried about.  i made myself stop at 73 because that's as many as i could fit on one sheet of paper without having to use a magnifying glass to read it.

if i let myself i could probably fill a whole notebook.  one worry begetting another who begot another who was the father of another so the whole thing would wind up reading like an excerpt from the old testament (the only part of the bible the southern holy are allowed to skip-bless their hearts).

that's the thing about worry-once you let the walrus in he takes over.

suddenly the musician getting called into work is him cheating on me.  the pain in my breast-cancer.  the noise outside my window-a crazed woman raping madman.

the walrus grows and grows and suddenly you have a better relationship with him than anyone else because you spend most of your time nursing him.  and he's the only one you can trust.

the musician and i have been going through a very natural seven month slump.

but if you ask the walrus he'd tell you something different.

the musician is a cheater.  a liar.  someone not to be trusted.

instead of writing it out or calling the girls for clarity i handed the reins over to the walrus and let him drive me right into the ground.

seeing it all on paper yesterday made me realize it's time to bid him adieu.

i know he'll try to come back.  he'll sneak in during the lulls in our conversations.  with the moodiness that comes from being tired.  he'll do everything to turn nothing into something.

but this time i'll be ready.

because the best way to make him leave is to put him down on paper in black and white. 

not even i can argue with the absurd.

-the paper doll needs to remember to write even when she doesn't want to

*the worry walrus is a childhood creation of the best friend.

the southern rule

dear internet,

i just made a list that said:

things that are currently bothering me

*the weather

*the waistband of my pants

*life

i know writing is the very thing that will pull me out of this funk, however, the haze prevents me from hammering out a post least it deteriorate into whiny self hating dribble.  and really-who wants to read about that?

but wait.  isn't this a blog internet?  can't i write about whatever i damn well please?

no. 

i am southern.  i must put out sweet tea and crackers and properly entertain you.  all while smiling and wearing a perfectly matched outfit.

but i don't wanna my inner child screams.

and that's why us southerns take a shot of bourbon in our afternoon tea.

as a woman i'm constantly battling the "because that's the right thing to do" and the "but i don't want to."  throw in the accompanied guilt and you've got yourself a regular cocktail party.  wanna come it's fun.  wallowing self pity.  a shot of anger.  a dose of sugar to help it go down.  anyone?

my desire to please is why i smile at the musician's parents' house instead of politely riping his head off.  why i keep my mouth shut when abortion or gay rights comes up.  why i go along when my aunt suggests a dress i find hideous would look good on me.

it's just much easier to be the silently suffering one and you can always take it back if you keep the receipt.

i'm assertive when i need to be.  but mostly i stew over why i have to be the one.  why my parents taught me to just grin and let it go.

sometimes i want the world to revolve around me.  to be the one to have the last cracker and word.  what would it hurt?

with the musician i am simply because it's only in the comfort of your own home that you can drop the pretense.

fake smiles are reserved only for the neighbor and the couple you invite over for dinner.  agreement is only necessary with the checkout girl in public.

claws come out when you're alone with the one you love.

i've always thought that particular southern way to be some what odd.

be nice to the people you hate but mean to those you love.  charming and dashing in public but hell at home.

a funny perversion of the golden rule.

and one i'm very good at.

i get it from my mother i know.  who got it from her mother i'm sure.

i've watched at holiday parties as my mother poured on the charm just to sit tight lipped and arms crossed when we got home.

i blame it on my red hair.  my fiery disposition.  but i can't help but wonder if after all that faking if you just run out of gas?

if you use up your allotment of niceness where it really doesn't count?

why does it matter if the waitress likes me?  if the lady at church finds me funny?

if the one i love has had it with me?

i don't know.

which is why i'll just pour myself another vodka tonic and try my best to fake it until i make it all while hoping for the best.

cheers.

-the paper doll says it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks

counting my blessings

dear internet,

last night as the musician and i lay in bed i had one of my many fat breakdowns. 

often when the musician is being too hard on himself i make him say five nice things about himself.

as i was wailing about how ugly i've become he hugged me and said i'm going to make you do what you make me do. 

but there aren't five things i sniffled out.

yes there are.  there's more than five.  there's like 21 he replied.

being obstinate i said, well then name them.

and he did.  21 positive things about me.  and they were all good.

he even paused and let me get a notebook so i could write them down.

as he rattled off thing after thing i began to think about his good stuff.  and wondered if i could zip through 21 things like he could.

here's my attempt:

1-he's the cutest boy in the world

2-he makes me laugh until my stomach hurts

3-he listens really listens (and remembers everything)

4-he's incredibly patient with me

5-he doesn't hesitate to say he's sorry and makes an honest effort to change

6-he's a brilliant musician with so much potential

7-he appreciates the simple life and doesn't need much stuff

8-he's probably the nicest person i've met

9-he treats his mom and sister wonderfully

10-he's very selfless

11-he goes out of his way to do little things for me and lets me know he loves me everyday

12-he's unashamed to show affection

13-he's hard to upset and doesn't stir up drama

14-he's great in bed

15-he's good at saving and budgeting money

16-because he can sometimes be a man of few words you know he really means those words

17-he's a great worker and does well at his jobs

18-he's very loyal to his friends

19-he's willing to try new things 

20-he has good tastes in food

21-he's sensitive/perceptive

i remember

dear internet,

i remember when we were arguing about him not washing the dishes.  there was a crash and i ran into the kitchen screaming about my great grandmother's china.  i fell flat on my ass slipping on the water that had leapt over the sink's edge.  i wish i could say we started laughing and forgot the whole thing but i wouldn't let him touch me and i stifled my giggles.  it was only later, after we made up, that we rolled around until our stomachs hurt remembering what i looked like lying in a puddle on the floor.

i remember when we drew hearts and made paper airplanes while waiting for our food at the bar.  and how i fell in love with him because the way he wrote my name.

i remember when i first slept over at his house.  the next morning he left me in his boxers and an old t-shirt while he went to the grocery store.  when he got back i threw up and couldn't eat the meal he made for me.  it sat under plastic wrap for three weeks in his fridge.

i remember when we stood in my living room holding beer bottles our bodies close enough for me to see the gold flecks in his eyes.  i grabbed his hand cutting the tension by playing thumb war.  after i won we kissed forgetting our beer and letting it run out on the floor. 

i remember when he stood outside my office window waving.  how i wish i could have let my hair down for him to climb up.

i remember when i was drunk and i whispered in his ear that i wanted to marry him.  he replied but i haven't known you long enough to know what kind of ring you'd like. 

i remember when he asked me what my parents did and i had to tell him my mom died of cancer almost a year ago.  he squirmed around in my orange chair and apologized.

i remember when we unexpectedly went over to his parent's house for the first time.  we stopped and got pumpkins on the way for him to carve.  i worried over my turquoise not mommy proof shirt and he told me she'll love you.  he sat on the front porch with his legs splayed behind him like a frog doing a kick.  and he let me scoop out the slimy innards with my hands.

i remember when we made love for the first time in the guest room.  my work clothes a scattered heap and the light of evening pressing itself against the windowpane.

i remember when i went to texas and left the party tipsy so i could talk to him.  i closed myself up in the closet so no one could find me and opened up all the exparian red head's shoe boxes as my slurred words passed through the line.

i remember when we got in our first fight because i was jealous and he was being an ass.  how i turned away from him at the bar and took another man's last cigarette.

i remember when we made out in his car the glow of the radio aiding our fumbling lips.  and how i hadn't felt that giddy since high school and we didn't even touch anything below the belt.

i remember the fights and making up.  cooking and going out.  i remember the way his skin felt before he grew a beard.  i remember the color of his eyes.  what he looks best in.  i remember his favorite musician and the way he sounded as a kid on old home movies.  i remember his temper and the way he orders when we go out.  i remember his smell, things he's said, the shoe in target, and how he laughs.  i remember where we've had sex and the pin number of his bank account.

but what i don't remember is the first time i told him i loved him because it seems as if it's always been that way.

-the paper doll wants him to be the one

in it for the long haul

dear internet,

good god almighty.  i've written this post three times and deleted it.

all i want to say is i had an ah-ha moment after reading this.  i can't write when i'm mean to myself.

which is why i've been absent the past few weeks.

the musician and i rollercoastered right through a low point and i did not handle it well.

i thought i wanted to tell you about that and maybe i do.  but the real point is that when you love someone, when you really do, you're willing to admit it might have been more you than them.

do you know how hard that was for me to type internet?

gah.

but when you have a lover who says in response, "your sforzando i'm pianissimo and you can't have a symphony without both," after gagging into a trash can, it makes you realize admitting you were wrong is not only the right thing to do but the easy thing too.

-the paper doll has fallen ass over tea kettle

st. pain in my ass and a few of my favorite things

dear internet,

my mother thought cupid shot his arrow straight through your butt.  she may have been closer to how it really feels to be in love than the commonly accepted arrow through the heart.  which i'm sure doesn't feel that great either, but the image of an arrow in my backside pretty accurately describes how being in a relationship feels sometimes.  a great big pain in my ass.

a relationship calls for compromise.  and going out of your way to do things for your lover.  which seriously, internet, is there anyone out there who can honestly say, why yes i like driving out in the pouring down rain to buy ice cream at 9 o'clock at night?  i think not.  but you do it anyway because of love.  also, because it's a bigger pain in your ass if you don't because then you have to listen to my whining.  god help us the day i get pregnant.

and those are only my demands and vices.  let's not even get started with the musician's.  on how when you spend a great deal of time with someone that arrow thing sounds pretty good at times.

somehow though, amidst all the sucking being in love is apparently life's greatest prize.  hell, we created a whole day to celebrate it's goodness for christ's sake (which i don't particularly believe in for a myriad of reasons that i will not list here because there are far more eloquent things that have already been written about that).

while romantic love does bring joy it also brings fights, and annoyances, and that thing he does when we are in restaurants and he can't decide what he wants. 

the love i have for other more material things, however, doesn't require me to deal with any crap.  it's also always there whereas i've found myself alone with a carton of ice cream more times than i can count when my boyfriend was suppose to come through.  which is why on this great st. valentine's day i shall tell you about those things instead of carnal love. 

i'm reclaiming this holiday, internet.  making it one that does not boast relationships but flaunts those things that make you in love with life.  your secret behaviors, your vices, the things that you'll love no matter what even when they don't bring you flowers and candy.  those things, as my mother would say, that make your heart happy.

no more hearts and candy.  no sweaters with beads and cupid appliques.  this day will be about why i'm in love with being me. 

things i love that don't talk back:

1-that there's an expert on heart iconography

2-story people

3-that this always falls on my birthday weekend

4-the words this man finds to write on pages

5-the infinite wisdom found in my yoga class

6-down comforters and pink sheets

7-brie and cranberry sandwiches on lazy saturday afternoons

8-pomegranate izzes and miss stella jane in my backyard

9-the letters of the ex parisian redhead and the love of the best friend

10-this american life while lying in bed on sunday afternoon

11-reading my horoscope first

12-the fortunes i find while satisfying my sweet tooth

13-drinking a glass of wine and watching a good film

14-thursday nights alone

15-that i have the freedom to be goggle-eyed over such silly luxuries

-the paper doll wants to know not who you love but what you love

same old song and dance

dear internet,

in yoga they're called samskaras.  your grandmother might just call you pig headed or stubborn as a mule.

they're the patterns we create.  in our bodies.  in our lives.  habits, both good and bad, so to speak.

some we've done for so long they've become a part of who we are and we take little note of them any longer.

the way you answer the phone.  the shoulder you carry your purse on.  the bathroom stall you always use at work.

menial things often brought to light only because they annoy a lover.

others aren't so subtle.

how you find yourself repeating the same mistakes.  having the same relationship over and over just with a different face. 

the same fights.  the same hurt.  the same anger as you cry your eye balls out.  a needle stuck in a record's groove.

if walter taught me anything it was that you have a choice in regard to your emotions.  you get to decide how you feel.  how you react.  a concept lost on me at the time and one i've yet to fully master.

i'm making the relationship i have with the musician like all the rest.  i could blame it on someone else.  could say it's because i've been treated badly before.  but that's the answer i've always given.  my samskara singing it's tune.

i don't know how all this will play out.  if he'll be the one to nudge the needle over the worn and scratched out place so it sings something else.

old habits die hard but i'd at least like to give them that chance.

-the paper doll's shit has hit the fan and she has a choice to make

on a war path

dear internet,

if i were a man i'd be the musician.  funny huh?  that fate found it necessary to pair me up with someone who shares my evils.

along with procrastination and avoidance i've got flirting and jealousy down pat.  and so does the musician.

his phone is full of girl's numbers, as are most of his myspace friends.  he's nice and charming and waay too friendly.  he takes girls cookies for christ's sake and still talks to his exgirlfriend.

all things i've been guilty of.  before.

before i met him.

and because i know how i was i can't help but wonder about him....

those phone calls weren't always innocent and brushing elbows in a bar was often an open invitation.

i wasn't always honest and while i may have had a man on my arm it didn't mean i wasn't looking for another.

i know it's the nature of his work and that he's a likable guy.  i just don't want to be standing there trying to order my lunch when a woman hands him a gift.  some handmade bracelet like the ones i knotted in the 5th grade.

and i certainty don't want to roll my eyes and move to another counter just to have him tell her he's in trouble with his girlfriend.

and i most certainly don't want her to come over and begin discussing with me the nature of the exchange.  to ask did she do something wrong because she saw how i reacted.

and i most certainly don't want to have to choke back tears as i ordered my lunch from one of his female friends.

ah i know internet, what's that you say about karma?

-the paper doll hates being embarrassed and has gone to cry

the further tying up of loose ends

dear internet,

i got a myspace message from the writer.  an exboyfriend i've long had a love hate relationship with.

who the best friend says you couldn't pay her enough to stand in the same room with.

contact from him has at once delighted me and made my stomach boil.  unlike the southern gentleman, i never know what the writer might say.  much less if he even means a word of it or not.

but this time was different as i read his words.  i didn't hang on them like i had before.  didn't read between the lines looking for love.  for once i just accepted them for what they were and didn't care whether he meant them or not.  it didn't matter.

i legitimately complimented him back.  knowing that those keystrokes closed the chapter on us. 

no longer was it a game of cat and mouse.  i'd already been caught (and not by him). 

no longer a pursuit but an honest admission.  and our relationship was never based on that.

----------------------------------------------------------------

i sent out a mass email noting the big change around here.  i didn't much think about it until some of them bounced back.  out of curiosity i opened the failure to deliver messages just to see who else i'd lost contact with.

walter's address appeared.

i've long since deleted his numbers from my phone.  and while he remains one of my myspace friends he hasn't logged on since september.

i use to worry this city was too small for the both of us, aside from a handful of sightings he's not someone i often bump into.

it's almost as if he doesn't exist.  like i never even knew him at all.

those three long years fuzzy and gone.

----------------------------------------------------------------

so, internet, let it be noted:  my three most important men have been wiped away.

i've never subscribed to the motto the opposite of love is hate.  i've always thought indifference was better fitting.

if you were to ask me how i feel about those three i'd tell you i don't really care.

and you'd know what i really meant was that i'd found true love somewhere.

-the paper doll has had a blinding insight

double sextards

dear internet,

i have a little question for you.  why is it i'm expected to put out even when my arm's just been lopped off and i'm hemorrhaging blood everywhere, but men can refuse sex for the pettiest of things?

men are constantly demanding nookie.  breathing down your neck while you're talking on the phone TO YOUR FATHER.  grabbing you from behind when you dare pick anything up.  fondling your boobs while you try to read the new yorker.

if i had a dime every time the musician had a hand on one of my no no spots i'd be a rich girl.

yet-heaven forbid i do any demanding myself.

it's like his little solider just won't accept marching orders from a female drill sergeant. 

this morning when my alarm went off 30 minutes early i actually didn't mind waking up to wood.  in fact, i preferred it to the snooze button.  dare i say i wanted it.  which internet seriously.  heed a woman's desire for the morning rumpus--for it might very well be her last.

needless to say when the musician shrugged me off saying, he didn't feel well, there'd be hell to pay. 

HE DIDN'T FEEL WELL?!?

did he feel bad enough not to go to work?  no.  did he feel bad enough not toget up and start reading a book?  no.  did he feel bad enough to abstain from any other activities he preforms on a daily basis?  no.

well then my friend he didn't feel bad enough to opt out of sex now did he? 

because seriously, internet, let me tell you the number of times i've gotten down and dirty when i was a) on my period and bloated, b) running late, c) feeling fat, d) had a temperature, e) had just got done throwing up, f) wearing embarrassing panties,  and g) recovering from e-coli.

what kind of excuse is that-i don't feel good?

it's sex at 7 am-you aren't suppose to feel good.  now roll over and kiss my morning breath like i do every time you've ever tapped me on the shoulder.

seriously.

the things i've done because it's a lot easier to just fake an orgasm than to listen to their whining.  and the one time i dare request a little action myself-he's not well enough.

we'll see about that.

because what men aren't good at is planning their sex ahead.  and i internet, am going to be out of town for the next few days.

let's just see how well he feels about that.

looks like it was he who shot himself in the penis foot this time.

-the paper doll thinks she might not feel well when she gets back

tying a string around my finger

dear internet,

i was cleaning out my work in-box because lord jesus at the crap in there.  because some people don't ever bother to do this our system deletes emails every day that are three months old.  if you want to save your work crap then you have to archive it.  which seems like a good idea at the time but then you go in there months later and it turns out you never needed that stuff either.  and half of it refers to projects you can't even remember.

then there are the things you do remember, and they smack you in the face.

the mass email sent out when my mom died made it into my archive box and has been sitting just a click away.

i don't remember reading it the week i got back from bereavement leave.  but as i stared at its date the shock of time hit me.

two years.  this november it will be two years.  yet, as cliche as it is, it seems like yesterday.

i know november is still a distance away.  but my birthday's not and technically this will be the second one i've had since her death.

her death still seems strange to type.  like it hasn't fully sunk in.  and often when the spirit moves me i still shake and cry violently with grief.

i guess i say all this because as you get older time really does move faster.

and sometimes you need something to remind you how long it's really been.

so i'll never forget....

i graduated high school in 2001.

2001-2002 was my freshman year in college.  i don't remember much because this was the year of bands and dancing on bars.  the writer was in there somewhere too.

2002-2003 i was a sophomore.  part of the time i spent pinning over a failed relationship (see the writer) the other i got drunk (with my freshman girls because i somehow thought being an RA was a good idea).

2003-2004 junior year.  the year of walter and of france.

it was september 2004 when i got back in the country that my mother was diagnosed.

i was in what would be my last semester in college.

december 2004 i graduated early to spend the whole next year in hospital rooms.

november 6 2005 my mother died.

may 2006 walter and i broke up.

june 2006 i changed my life.

a few months later i met the musician.

-the paper doll is living in the past but just for a moment

when happiness is just too much

dear internet,

apparently today is the most depressing day of the year (don't you just love that someone calculated that?).  however, as i am nauseatingly happy you'd never know.

it seems i am doomed by love's prick to spend the rest of eternity all doe eyed and sappy.  or at least until i make myself so sick with joy i can no longer stand it and break it off with the musician for self preservation's sake.

gah.

i just can't seem to muster up any disappointment or hate.

the woman at target who rudely snapped at me didn't even get an eye roll.  and when i paid my car tax i wrote the check with a smile.  when little stella jane ate a whole roll toilet paper leaving several scraps strewn about my house i merely laughed.  and i didn't kick the pile of clothes covering my shoes this morning when i was running late. 

instead i've floated around bating my eye lashes and doodling on notepads.  little hearts and stars.  FLAMES crossed out using the letters of our names (apart which is sooo wrong).

luckily, i've got about 100 dollars worth of parking tickets to deal with.  hopefully, that will incite some rage.

because i don't know how much longer i can wear this silly smile across my face.

-the paper doll is dripping with enthusiasm

you can't have your cookies and eat them too

dear internet,

a bag of cookies.  a fucking bag of cookies.  who knew a bag a cookies could get me so riled up?  the musician, being the lovely man he is, takes from his first job to his second job a bag of leftover cookies. 

it was yesterday, that these offending bits of sugar made me realize i have no idea how to be in a normal relationship.

aren't things wrong when you trust someone?  when you have a great time together?  when  you don't fight that much?  when you enjoy each other's company? 

clearly, he must be cheating on me.  the bag of cookies it says it all.

he doesn't bring me cookies.  humph (arms folded across chest).

it never ceases to amaze me how irrational a woman on her period can be.  melodrama is something i've struggled with all my life, and often the straw that broke the camel's back in my previous relationships.  because, seriously, who wants to debate the ethics of a bag of cookies until 1 o'clock in the morning?

with all the others my penchant for what my father calls the, "you'd argue with a sign post syndrome" quickly escalated into, "you'd yell at the top of your lungs to a sign post."  because most of my former sign posts--they'd argue back.

not so much with the musician.  he mainly just lies there and fondles my boobs while i spout off my dissertation about the percentage of people who take girls cookies relative to the divorce rate and global warming.

i say this because i'm lucky internet.

and while yes, the cookies do color me a shade of green, they also remind me how good i have it.

because if he can take my scholarly opines about cookies, clearly my research on text messaging, girls as friends, and the norm for sexual frequency will be met with the same enthusiasm. 

and that internet is way better than some bag of broken ass stale cookies. 

i may be opinionated but at least i won't be fat.

-the paper doll says let them eat cake

recap

dear internet,

i was true to my word and did not spend new year's eve being the inebriates' taxi cab.  instead my father had the pleasure of schlepping drunk idiots around in his car.  namely-me, the musician, and the best friend.

that's right internet, we ventured out into the sticks to ring in the new year with people 30 years older than us.  and i can assure you the best friend and i grinding it out on the dance floor gave more than a fair share of my father's friends an eyeful.  but i never heard any complaints.

in fact, it was one hell of a good time country line dancing and sashaying my way into the new year as i drank my j. roget from a knock off solo cup.  and stifled giggles over the man in a cowboy hat.

it may have been my best eve yet considering all the people i love best in the world were there. 

as the best friend and i snuck a drunken cigarette the wind picked up.  and we both noted the change in the air.

our hair fluttering out of the car window and the tall grasses dancing to the dj''s spinning tunes.  goose pimps puckering up on our skin.

it was one of those fleeting moments beyond words.  a plastic bag, if you will, only beautiful if caught on tape.

no one much thinks of the wind as a force of change.  but had we been in the desert each grain would have been tossed skyward creating a whole new landscape.

and that's something we both deserve in this new year.

so i closed my eyes inhaling a final drag.  then blew 2006 out letting the wind carry it on its way.

-the paper doll is immensely blessed

 

mine eyes have been opened

dear internet,

you know why sex  making out in high school was so good?  because your little melodramatic heart thought nothing else mattered.

to you the person dry humping you in the backseat was the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with.  you were innocent.  unheartbroken.  and unaware how real life relationships worked.

all you knew was that between classes you were responsible for holding his hand and slipping him notes.  you were to wear his jacket and go to all his games.  to call him and spend hours talking about nothing.  to "watch" movies while making out on the couch.  and to know the best position for maximum body to body contact while simultaneously avoiding the gear shift when going to third in his car.

it was easy being in a relationship and you weren't self conscious about putting it all out there.  of saying i love you and of kissing.  of really kissing.

kissing without thinking about what you had to do.  of where you had to be.  of clothes that had to be washed.  of dogs that had to be walked.  of sleep that had to be had because you must get up early the next morning and go to work. 

because you didn't have any of those responsibilities you could just kiss.  you could throw all your passion and teenage angst into one single tongue propelled kiss that lasted for hours. 

people don't do that anymore.  don't just kiss.  now kissing is just a lay over on the way to sex that allows you to ponder the list of things you have to do.

since those days of making out with the gentleman in his 4x4 i don't think anyone has ever kissed me like that.  so freely.  so innocently.  so passionately.

so contently.

until last night.

and i have to say internet go right now to your car and put on a really great album and kiss.

it will be so worth it.

-the paper doll has chapped lips

holiday cheer and whatnot

dear internet,

there's a reason why your momma told you to always wear clean underwear, and to smell things before you eat them, and to never trust a man.

so i got food poison or some such nonsense that made it necessary for the best friend AND the musician to hold plastic bags for me to throw up in.  apparently when you're retching up everything you have eaten for the past 23 years it makes you incapable of thought or reason and your legs no longer work.  so, you sit in a chair in your living room throwing up into bags, and ice cream cartons, and plastic kitchen trash bags instead of moving your lazy ass to the bathroom and rightly throwing up where god intended. 

i owe those two for letting me throw up on them.  real gems i tell you. 

and internet, a side note, mayonnaise doesn't taste funny because it's fat free it tastes funny because it's spoiled.  and those yellow spots are not where someone stuck a mustard covered knife into the jar they're pathogens that can't wait to reek havoc on your intestinal tract.  just so you know.

as if that weren't bad enough while i was recovering friday the best friend called in a favor.  thinking i was just needed to shlept her lazy ass to the store to buy gasoline (twice this has happened now) i just rolled over, put on the first thing my hands could find, and called it a day.  yes a day.  a day of sitting in my car with vomit caked hair.  glasses covered in vomit reverb.  and shorts.  short shorts.  short pajama shorts with a period stain and daisies all over them.  shorts so short my crotch fruit was nearly flapping in the wind.  oh and unbrushed teeth and no bra.  so much for just shlepting to the corner store.

no.  no.  i'd be sitting in my own filth for four hours while we waited on the tow truck.  because this time she had actually broken down instead of just run out of gas.  bitch.

luckily all the men we encountered were missing some of their teeth so i didn't feel too bad about my state of appearance.

but next time internet just put some damn panties on before you leave the house because you never know what's going to happen out there.  your momma was right.

boy hidey we did have a grand ole time huffing gas fumes and eating stale m&m's though.  i tell you there's nothing like spending hours on end in a small enclosed space with your best friend.  i'm not sure what stunk more-my hair.  my breath.  the gasoline we spilled on the floorboard. 

god it was good times internet.

which really i am grateful she broke down.  ok so i'm not grateful she's been without transportation or that it cost her money or blah blah blah.  but it did get me out of this work thing and gave me more time to play martha stewart.

the combination of vomiting up my insides and sitting in a gasoline scented automobile was just too much internet.  how could i be expected to work?

and i of course need to thank the musician and friend for all their hard work nursing me back to health.  so i did what any good southern woman would-i threw a party.

a grand ole party that got the musician so liquored up he passed out by ten.  and there's what i mean about not trusting a man. 

you know how as women we get these notions about how things are going to turn out?  we fantasize about how he's going to say the right thing.  and kiss you under the mistletoe even though there's not mistletoe.  and how you'll dance together.  and how sex will be better because it's a party.  and love.  and snow.  and holidays.  and cheesy hollywood score and lights, camera, romantic comedy.

but how six glasses of maker's mark later you realize the only dancing he'll be doing is with the porcelain king and you get all testy because HE RUINED EVERYTHING.  and he gets all testy because SHUT UP WOMAN MY HEAD IS KILLING ME.

and there's lots of yelling and slamming things and the next morning he doesn't know why you're mad because he was totally drunk for the whole thing.

then you kiss and make up.  but still hold it against him every chance you get.

you know how we do that internet?

well it was kind of like that.

the musician passed out at my party and ruined everything.

but it's ok we made up.

so that's been my past couple of days.  how've you been?

-the paper doll is getting back into the swing of things

the man behind the curtain

there are certain things a girl expects when she's dating a guy who works just across the street.  namely that her afternoon coffee be free.

which normally it is.

today, however, my credit card was charged.

now some may say what's the big deal? a 3.50 bill?  small potatoes.

to them i say-nay.  to me-this is but one of many recent steps showing the musician's and my inevitable demise.

since our argument last week things have not been the same.

i imagine it's like what adam and eve must have felt.  one day things are perfect.  idyllic.  you're lounging around naked without a care, kissing in bars, and chatting all night.  then bam.  you catch adam chatting some other broad up and in a huff pull some forbidden fruit from a tree.  then you get kicked out on your face and can't stand the sight of his man bits flapping in the wind and the slightest thing is a struggle.

so you begin to cover up.  to look at him in a new way.  and him at you too.

suddenly there's an unspoken acknowledgement that we are human and flawed.  capable of wounds.  that this is real.  and the honeymoon phase is over as quickly as it came.

so that's where we are, the musician and i.  the place when you know a little tiff isn't going to scare them away so you quit putting on your best behavior.  you let your moods show through.  your annoyance and anger.

and you pay for your own damn coffee drinks.

-the paper doll doesn't want to know who oz really is

cat fight

dear internet,

the musician has a chef.  ok well i have a chef the musician just has a girl that's like my chef and i hate her.

the chef is a guy i've known since high school.  this one in fact.  at various times we thought we were in love.  we've had a bad drunken sex experience.  we've pretended not to have had a bad drunken sex experience.  he's met my parents.  he's cooked me dinner.  he's seen me cry.  you know he's the quintessential male best friend.

he also lives in new zealand right now and i haven't heard from him in ages because well do you know how much it costs to call new zealand?

ok so.

the musician has a chef and i hate her.

we got in our first real fight last night because of her.  well because of him.  well because girlfriends and chefs don't mix.  and they especially don't mix when they are sitting at the end of the bar ignoring you and talking to your boyfriend who is laughing at everything they say.

gah.

it wasn't jealousy i know the musician loves me.  just before she walked in we were discussing marriage (chill out i've no plans for a ring anytime soon).

and while attractive and witty she's got nothing on me.

ok so maybe a little jealous but it was more that no one likes to be the third wheel sort of jealousy.  the one sitting there who can't talk about that time in junior high when we skipped class and drove halfway across the world to hear some band play.  because hello i wasn't there.  i was with the chef.

so i sat feeling awkward and annoyed and bored.  good lord bored.  and mildly pissed he wasn't making an effort to clue me in.  it's his chef after all, we should become friends.  but as they talked and laughed and i was ignored i began to no longer want the musician to touch me.  and i fantasized about how i could kill she whom i hate with my salad fork.

which of course he took for anger and said to her perfect i've known him longer she whom i hate-well i'm pretty sure my girlfriend is pissed off at me now.

so then not only was i dull girlfriend who has nothing to say.  i'm bitchy girlfriend too.  complete with matching outfit and styleable hair!

i could have killed him.  and almost did.

because from there it escalated and turn to hell.  and i so told you that this was coming.  that this honeymoon thing doesn't last forever.

next thing i know he'll be sitting on my couch in his underwear with his hands down his pants.

we fought.  we yelled.  he apologized and rightly admitted to being as ass.

but no matter how much he said he was sorry it still stung a little because i saw what it would be to lose him.  saw each other screaming and mad and hurting each other for nothing.  and it made me think of walter and how much time i wasted being mad.  and for what?  for some girl he's had a history with.  who no longer even lives in this state. 

in the end instead of storming out like walter would have-he stayed and kissed me and told me he loved me.  even though i deserved an academy for overly dramatic bleeding heart.

but i still couldn't bring myself to kiss him goodbye this morning.  i kept imagining him picking her.  laughing with her.  talking to her.  kept reliving how it felt to be ignored.

but when my phone rang this morning just as i sat down at my desk and i saw his number, i knew things would be ok.  that even if he spent the night talking to her.  it's a lifetime he wants to spend with me.

-the paper doll has decided to let it go