Dudes, I just reread my entry from last night, and I feel like I didn’t accurately represent my feelings. I am intrinsically an optomist, and I really do believe that things are going to be okay for me soon. But goddamn, it hurts real bad right now! I think my entry yesterday was all smug and “I’m so at peace with the universe.” It’s just not as tidy as that. I am hopeful and relieved, and disappointed and sad. Also sheepish, embarassed, resigned, and in-tact. Got any other adjectives? Fill them in here. I think writing about Jake makes me feel so vulnerable that I gloss over my actual feelings, which is antithetical to my Perfect Heart mission. So, uh, sorry.
A word about mean commenters. Some cyberfriends have assumed that I know these dudes, and they are giving me some weird tough love or something. Not the case. My feeling is that the meanness stems from one commenter, using pseudonyms and fake email addresses. It could be a stranger, but the paranoid lady in me thinks it’s probably some scorned-lover from my past just being an anonymous jerk. In my younger days I hurt some feelings (thus the heartbreak karma), and there are a few men out there who hate my guts. Anyway, just so you know.
*******************************************************************
I feel the need to insert a funny story here. My last few entries have been sorta dark, so hmm… let’s see…
Oh, okay! Here is a classic Willow Makes An Ass Of Herself story. A couple of nights ago I went for beers with my high school friends Kelly and Marissa. (I fucking love those ladies, by the way.) I noticed that this business-y looking dude in a light blue button up shirt and drinking a bottle of Bud kept staring at us. I figured it was because we were such a handsome trio, right? I never looked him fully in the face because to me the shirt said it all. So many lawyers and Wall Street dudes I knew in NYC dressed like that, and they were super sleazy. Plus Budweiser? Puh-lease. (Okay, I actually drink Bud myself, but you get the idea.) So finally Blue Shirt man comes over to us, and says my name. Marissa says I gave him this intense death look before I realized that it was our old friend Zack from Open School! Zack who smoked a lot of pot and drank coffee with me at Village Inn for hours and hours on end and made me laugh like no other. Whoops! Shit. Of course I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Once I’d hugged him I went into this lengthy expanation of why I hadn’t recognized him- the shirt, the Bud. “If you’d been in a green striped tee shirt and skater pants I would have spotted you in a second!” I told him about the Wall Street sleazes and how he looked just like them. Then I felt bad, because I’d basically just insulted him, and apologized profusely. He and his friend joined us, and it was great to catch up (Zack is a lobbiest now!), but I still couldn’t stop with the shirt stuff! Even when I hugged him goodbye I felt compelled to explain that “I don’t think YOU are a sleaze! Just people who dress like you! No, wait! That’s not what I mean! Shoot! I’m sorry! You look great! Ugh!” SO awkward. Hopefully he’ll think I was just drunk.
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willow,
i hope you didn’t think my comment on previous entry about how well you seemed to be dealing with stuff was a snarky random anonymous dude posing in a bunch of pseudonyms…or maybe you weren’t referring to me.
i was being serious and honest…and had the warmest intentions in posting that… i didn’t think you sounded smug. you just seem to have a good grip on life and your feelings and it’s interesting to read. without knowing you.
sorry if my comment creeped you out.
Willow, I have been totally weirded out by the mean commentators. You are literally one of the last people I would expect to attract random hostility! It seems like you’re doing a great job working through your life transitions.
Matthew! No!! Not you at all! Your comment was so nice, it made me happy all day. I’m thinking more of “jamie cashin” and that other mike who have been telling me I am a shallow child and stuff.
Hoppock = really nice dude (even though I don’t know you)
Losers using pseudonyms = losers using pseudonyms.
Sorry about the confusion!
I’ve got a stolen warhead here that I was going to use to extort A LOT of money from the UN, but I think I’ll launch it Jamie Cashin’s way instead. I’ve always got Project Red Harvest to fall back on.
dear willow,
although i do not know you at all, i wanted to say that reading all these words that you are writing seem to be helping me a lot during a similarly heartbreaking time that i have been having. it makes me feel like i would like to call you up on the phone and have girl talks, which is maybe a little weird, sorry, and maybe just a little bit awesome.
please keep on keeping it real.
Hi Willow,
I’m reading your updates and eating cheerios like a baby. You give me a warm fuzzy feeling with your Denver & Making and Ass of Yourself stories…
As far as smugness and at-peace-with-the-universe-ness goes, I think that right after the phone call that took away the pressure of not knowing exactly what was going on, you probably DID feel at peace with the universe. And it actually wasn’t smug.
Thanks for the total transparency!
Sonja
PS: I now posted a real email address. Yippie for me!
Oh. I rambled.
Man!
You guys are awesome. I felt so nervous writing these last couple entries. Thank you so much for seeing past my rambles and qualifications and supporting me.
*Dr D.- So glad to have you back! Where have you been? Thwarting heroes? (Thanks for the missle offer. :-) )
*Allison- I don’t know you either, but damn, girl, call me up! We broken hearted need to stick together!
*Sonja- You’re totally right. The phone call gave me clarity, which I mistook for peace. Please ramble all night with your awesome insights.
*Matthew Hoppock- I’m still worried that you think I don’t like you. I do! I visited your site the other day and I can’t wait to listen to your songs! I think you are nice!
i think you are nice too. a firm, yet warm handshake for you.