Saying Goodbye to an Old Friend

Ooohh I’ve been with you now for almost 4 years, but I realized that this blog started as reflections on my college years and all the crazy adventures I accumulated that were tied to music and memories. Then in the last couple years it became more of little wisdoms on life, observations and random things I was thinking about. I don’t want to delete this blog fully because it’s a part of me, a part of my story, but as a new chapter begins in my life I realize that that cycle of my life is over. Maybe as I fully integrate into this new adventure I will delete this blog anyways because I have a habit and a fond appreciation for letting things completely go.

As a good friend once told me, “close the door, you don’t live there anymore.”

Thank you everyone that’s been with me on this journey of self growth and expansion šŸ¦‹


How to Be a Heartbreaker by Marina and the Diamonds

This memory has been floating through my mind space for the past couple of weeks. I don’t even know how it happened, but alas, this song correlates to the events leading up to it all.

“You’ve gotta have fun…”

14 hours in theĀ Madrid airport, free wifi, 6AM boarding pass, goodbye email to Guapo, leaving the last month in Spain behind, slumbering travel excursion, a tour bus in another city,

“Don’t get attached to somebody you could lose…”

a passing thunderstorm, writing postcards to past lovers, the number 42 lingers above the door frame, the electricity in the air is apparent, the doorman across the street appears distraught, the air thickens as he passes, I disappear,

“Wear your heart on your cheek…”

Exit the metro, the doorman descends the stairs, our tongues common language is lust, our eyes link followed by our bodies, we are entranced in seduction, a flirtatious devil-dance, his lips meet mine, a whirlwind romance, time is spinning around us, he catches the next train, I am left to my own vices: giggling wondering how this always happens to me, I love the universe in these moments and it’s coquettish ways,

“Gotta be lookin’ pure…”

March 31, the Englishman in the bar, he buys me a beer, I tell him about my adventures, he’s intrigued, an invitation to his room, modest declination, visits to my own room find me two Brazilian boys waiting to party, the caveĀ beneath the hostel, a club rager, the tall blonde man has been eyeing me up since I arrived, he goes in for the kill,

“Leave him wanting more…”

He is Russian, gentle caresses as he traces my hip line with his fingertips, we dance and kiss all night, happy birthday to me!, the club closes, we spill out onto the street, a nighttime stroll, “You must come with me, I will buy you anything you want!”, “I’m not interested in things that can be bought”, he pulls me closer, I lay on top of him in the park square, his body warm and inviting, I get off quickly, “I have to be up early to go back to Paris.”, “I must see you again”, we walk back to my hostel, he gives me a keepsake and tells me he loves me, “How do I see you again?”, I enter, smile ever-so-slightly, “You’ll find a way”, the door closes behind me,

“This is how to be a heartbreaker…”

Guys Like Me by Eric Church

The radio situation escalated in Mamaro’s car last night when I tired of all the band CD’s and craved a mix CD, anything for a plethora of various songs and artists. I chose the orange one, because I get that feel good notion when I see it. I forgot I put it in last night, I turned on the car this morning and this song cued up.

“‘Cause guys like me drink too many beers…”

The guys, Becca Gass, mudding, the P-Dub, the first ride in the Samurai, watching the road pass under us through that janky hole in the floor, the shop, wild summer nights, smell of the fresh Wisconsin air after all the wild flowers blossom,

“On Friday after work…”

The walker of doom, the clean bill of health, popping a couple of vicodin and calling it a day, mudding in the woods, “I can’t believe I got in a car accident a month ago and now I’m in the backseat of a truck pinned between two trees”, “WHAT?”,

“So rough around the edges…”

The black and white tie affair, a 19th birthday party, das boot, Corey Zorn, oreo balls, we’ll find out later that 30 minutes after we left it got busted and everyone got underagers, getting kicked out of the third party, that stolen rainbow windsock,

“You went to college…”

St. Patrick’s Day party the same night, Betsy’s recycle can regurgitation revolution, “Good, let it all out!”, the photos of Brandons that linger on in memory, making it rain Apples to Apples cards, Touchy Feely Helen Keller, green Vegas style drinking cups and the elongated straws we always seemed to lost, mysterious photographs from mysterious nights in Doug’s basement,

“Only God knows why…”


The Mariner’s Revenge Song by The Decemberists

The adapter that plays music off of my phone in my mama’s car broke the other day, so I’ve been listening to the radio a lot more lately. Hearing the same five songs on repeat becomes boring after awhile, so I put in random CD’s that happen to be in the car. Originally I put in Taking Back Sunday’s ‘Where You Want to Be’, but alas, I saw ‘Picaresque’ peaking out through the stack. I decided to put it in to go along with the college memory theme that happened to be lingering throughout the day. I skipped every song on the CD and went straight for track 10.

“I guess we have some time to kill…”

That early morning drive to Stevens Point, fall orientation, November, the lavender tank over that white shirt, the infamous black leggings, those white fucking boots, the last of the Kia Optima,

“but I remember you…”

Sneaking away, thoughts cross my mind, “I must find a reason to talk to these guys”, scanning, the radio kids, Jarad Olson, the curly red headed kid, “nice shoes”, a social invitation over three pairs of moccasins,

“and I will relate to you…”

A studio tour, the melody drifts across the airwaves, the words billow out of my throat and I dance to the beat, “Oh yeah, you’ll fit in just fine here”, a new found confidence, a place I belong before belonging, a plethora of attractive men,

“how our histories interweave…”

Selfies before relevancy, my dad’s reading glasses sans lenses, long, straight, dark chocolate wisps pulled back to the tails of ponies, a coming of age story.