"Without Music, Life Would Be A Mistake" -Nietzsche

SARA BAREILLES

BASKET CASE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PmS6gJ8hGp0

The first time I heard this song, I was in a serious relationship and very much in love. I also knew that very relationship was falling apart at the seams and no matter how much I was killing myself trying to save it, it was slipping through my fingers even though they were clutched as tightly as humanly possible.

I'm a big fan of buying CDs as opposed to just downloading music, so as I was on my way back from Best Buy, I slipped the disc into my car and pressed play. When this particular song started, it grabbed me immediately and as Sara Bareilles began to sing, I found myself instantly tuned into the lyrics. And the very first thing that came to my mind was, "God I hope this song never applies to me."

I was surprised at how insistent this feeling was, and listening to the song became almost painfully addictive. I loved the song so much but every time I heard it, I had this looming feeling of things to come.

Two months later, the relationship was over and I haven't been able to listen to the song since. Which sucks. It's a great song.

I know music affects people in different ways, but if you're anything like me, almost every significant event in your life has a soundtrack. I mean, I could write an entire list of songs that you could listen to if you're happy, broken-hearted, hopeful, devastated, terrified. But who am I to tell you how certain songs should make you feel?

The point I'm trying to get to is that I really do think it's amazing that musicians in any capacity (vocalist, guitarist, lyricist, etc) are able to evoke legitimate, powerful, sometimes life-altering emotions in people. When I was 15, I was battling some pretty bad depression because of reasons that don't really matter at this point. But there was one song, John Mayer's 3x5, that literally saved my life. I don't know what it was, but something about how he sang and what he sang and how the instruments blended in with it all struck me. And that's when I realized the power of music.

I've made friendships over a mutual love for a certain artist. At weddings, couples have their first dance to a 3 minute jumble of beats and melodies that encompass their entire relationship. Songs have made people cry, made them angry, made them unable to stop smiling. And, if we're riding the honesty train, that's pretty fuckin incredible.

I think that's part of what is so appealing to me about this whole music thing I'm doing. It means there's a possibility that I can touch someone's gut the way that other songs have touched mine.

I dunno, just something to think about.

My Most Pointless, Self-Indulgent Blog Yet

The other day at work, a few of us were talking about what kind of guys we like. Two of the older women half-jokingly said they would find a group of guys to screen so they could find the best one to set my friend and me up with. I also half-jokingly said I would make a list of my ideal man and bring it in the next day for them to use as a template. But then I got to thinking, hey, what's the harm in making a disgustingly detailed list and throwing it out into the blogosphere for someone to stumble upon? Maybe one of you fantastically faithful readers knows someone that fits my fancy.

So, without further ado, here it is; Alexis' idea of a perfect man:

Let's start with physical features because, let's face it, that's what you notice first and what usually supplies the initial attraction:

* I like my men tall. 6' and up. I myself am 5'7", so I want to have to stand on my tippy toes to kiss him, or be able to bury my head in his chest if he's hugging me while I cry for absolutely no reason. Also, on the rare occasion that I wear heels, that boosts me up to 5'10"-5'11", so I need my man to still be taller than me. Because yes, I have thought about my wedding, and no, I don't want to have to bend down to kiss my groom.

* As for age, I like them old. Not geriatric, but at least 30. I'm not and never have been into the whole 'Let's go out and party every night and then go home and play video games' mindset. I suppose I could go as low as 27 if the guy was really spectacular.

* While we're on the topic of video games, if you own an Xbox, you absolutely, positively, will never get in MY box.

* Ok, let's see... body shape. I like lean guys, the kind that have just the right amount of natural muscles. I don't care if you have a six-pack because you go to the gym 6 days a week. I'm not interested in your protein powder or how much you can bench. I would actually take a guy with some meat on his bones over a jacked up body builder any day.

* I love glasses. They're sexy as hell. And if you do have glasses, I will steal them and walk around the house in them because I've always wanted a pair of my own.

* Eye color doesn't matter too much, but if I had to choose, I would prefer blue or green.

* I don't trust blonde guys. There's just something about them. The very few times that I have gone against my instincts and dated one, they have just proven my point that they kinda suck. I like super dark hair, either practically black or dark brown. Or light brown. I guess anything but blonde. I also, for whatever reason, think it's weird to see two blondes dating each other. It's kinda like when Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie got together (I know they're not blonde, but just go with me), everyone was like, "Holy shit, they're kids will be gorgeous." Have you seen their kids? I'm not impressed.

...ok, that example worked a lot better in my head than it came across here...

* Facial hair facial hair facial hair. If you're a dude, never ask my opinion on whether or not you should shave your beard. The answer is no. Never, ever shave your beard. Ever.

*I've got a thing for left-handed fellas.

* I know this is going to make me sound like a teenager, but I think tattoos are hot. No face tattoos though. And I'm not a fan of leg tattoos. But if you're covered from your neck to your waist, call me.

* Earrings are fine as long as you have at least two. Not a fan of the single earring.

* No me gusta jacked up teeth.

Ok, now that the shallow part is out of the way, I'm just gonna throw a bunch of random things out there:

* I would prefer you went to college. It doesn't make you a bad person if you didn't, it's just that if two very similar guys were standing in front of me and one went to college and the other didn't, I would pick the one with the degree.

* Please have a job and subsequently know how to handle your money. Not because I want you to spend any of it on me, that's not my style. I make my own money, I'm good. But because I'll be damned if I have to spend another weekend in the dark because someone chose to spend their money on beer instead of bills.

* Parents love me. So it'd be cool if you have a good relationship with them so I can then swoop in and charm their pants off.

* When you find out I was an English major, do not ever ask me if I want to be a teacher and who my favorite author is. The answer is, I would sooner die and I don't have one.

* I'm sarcastic and have a filthy mind and I think burps and farts are hilarious. So if you can't take a joke, don't want to hear "That's what she said" after everything, and want a girl who drinks martinis instead of beer and eats salads with low-fat dressing instead of massive amounts of chocolate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I'm not your gal. I also don't exercise so don't waste your time asking me to go to the gym with you. I've got important tv to watch instead.

* If you don't love my dog, I don't love you.

* Super nice, polite guys make me nervous. Find a happy medium and we'll be good. If I look pretty, tell me. If I'm being a giant twat, tell me.

* You have to be willing to hang out with my friends just as much as I hang out with your friends.

* I'm 100% done with being the one that drives to the guy. You can come pick me up.

* I hope you don't still live with your parents. Especially since I like guys in their 30's.

* I'm not at all religious and I don't know if I could date someone who was.

* Wouldn't it be swell if we could carry on a conversation? Like, every time we talked, not just the first few dates?

* I snort when I laugh and I sometimes break into song and dance for no reason. Hope that's ok.

* Please, please, please use proper English. Seriously. Please.

*Don't think that just because I write about sex means I'm down for the rodeo. I'm actually super modest and traditional when it comes to all that stuff. So yeah, sorry to disappoint.

So, of course I'll never find someone that fits that whole list. The whole idea of a list is pretty silly, actually. I'm feeling kind of shallow right about now... But the whole point was to write down all of my unrealistic expectations and then hope that I can find someone who possesses at least a few of them. Because if you're awesome, I'm not going to run the other way just because you have brown eyes or didn't go to school. The only thing that's a deal breaker is the Xbox. Homegirl wasn't fucking around about that.

Moist. That's Right, I Said It.

"You know what word I hate? 'Moist'. And 'Panties'! And if you put them together? Moist panties? Oh my god! I could throw up!"

I DESPISE listening to this conversation. And I hear it ALL THE TIME. Look, people are entitled to have a slight adverse reaction to a word, but is the term "moist panties" really going to ruin your life that much? If you don't like the word moist, use damp. If you can't stand panties, then put on underwear every morning. They're just words that happen to make different sounds. There are much worse things in life to worry about, like "murder" or "bankruptcy", or "a sudden trip to planned parenthood".

Despite my sour feelings towards the whole idea of hating aspects of the English language (which if you think about it, is an amazing thing and should be greatly appreciated. We have been provided with letters which make up words which allow us to have actual conversations. We have the ability to say things like "I love you", "Thank you", and "If you don't leave right now I'm going to slash your tires", instead of simply making sounds like "Uuuuhhh", "Errrrr", and "Nrrrmph"), there is one word that turns my stomach a little bit:

Naughty.

This word makes me cringe in any situation, but obviously it disturbs me the most in an intimate setting. The following phrases should never, ever, EVER be said out loud to another person:

- "Mmm, aren't you a naughty boy/girl..."

- "You're naughty, huh? You like that?"

- "Wha-"

...wait. I can't even finish the examples. It grosses me out too much. Does anyone have any moist panties they can throw my way to ease my stomach?

Here's the thing that gets me. The word naughty was originally reserved for children who were misbehaving. Therefore, it's strange to talk to the naked chick next to you the same way you talk to your 2 year old kid. But now, the word has almost developed a bigger association with sex, which makes it even more awkward to hear a mother calling her kid in a stroller a naughty boy. I just- I just don't get it.

I know that people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, and me hating the word naughty is really no different than someone hating the word panties, but it's my opinion and I'm sticking to it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go close my window. The humidity outside is making the room feel a little moist.

Remember That Time The Most Self-Deprecating Human Being Alive Crushed My Last Remaining Shred Of Confidence?

The other night I had a dream that Louis C.K. told me I was bad in bed.

For those of you who don't know who this particular comedian is, please Google him before you read any further so you can grasp the exact severity of this situation.

Fortunately, I know where the basis of this dream came from. Actually, the whole thing is kinda my fault. Before going to sleep, I had been catching up on the latest couple episodes of Louie. While doing so, I had the same thought that crossed my mind every time I watched his show: "You know what? I would totally sleep with him."

Now before you judge me, let's get a few things straight. First, my sporadically occurring crush on Louie C.K. is not so much based on looks as it is on our mutual outlook on life, which is roughly somewhere along the lines of, "I'm sorry, what?!"

The second factor of my attraction has to do with the fact that anyone who knows me knows that if a guy was born in the 70's and has a face overgrown with facial hair, I automatically dig him. In fact, I nearly gave a friend of mine a heart attack when I told him that I had been hanging out with a guy who was under the age of 30.

But all of this still doesn't give Louie the right to gallop into my dream and tell me I'm bad in bed. Let me just lay the whole scene out for you:

I was sitting on a chair in, no bullshit, a dark room with the exception of a single hanging light bulb, and to my left was this guy that I had apparently just slept with. I recognized the kid as someone I knew, but I couldn't for the life of me tell you who it was. He's sitting there and, I assumed, talking to me, but as he said "Yeah, you're not that great.", I noticed he was looking somewhere past me. So I turn to my right and there he is, in all his red-headed glory and that damn brown suede jacket that he wears in every episode of his show, sitting on a chair to my right, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, she's pretty bad, huh?" Louie the Traitor said while nodding emphatically.

"What??" I interjected, shocked at the blasphemy that was being force fed to me via my own subconscious.

Louie then turned to me and spoke, half towards me, half towards the other kid that had apparently just had the awful, terrible misfortune of adding me to their list.

"Yeah," he said, "I've been meaning to tell you actually. Like, I knew you were going to be bad before anything even happened, I just didn't know how bad."

As I sat there, glancing back and forth between the two men with a look of total shock and 'what the fuck' on my face, I woke up. And I then had to go through an entire day with Louie C.K.'s matter-of-fact face pounding in my head all day.

So here's my question that arose after this whole debacle: How do we honestly know if we're good or bad in bed if no one tells us?

I mean, I've been in some situations where I would have loved to just stand up and scream, "What is wrong with you?? Please don't ever put another human being through what you just made me endure! For the love of god, what you see in porn is not what girls want in real life!!!"

But of course, it's simple sex-etiquette (sexiquette?) to keep your mouth shut and try and rectify the situation by taking control and making sure your moves overpower the culprit's moves. On the other hand, I wonder just how satisfying or soul-crushing it would be if after two people slept with each other, they sat there and gave a verbal report card. I mean, you know you're lying if you don't lay there sometimes and wish you knew what other people thought of your talents (or lack thereof). Are you exciting? Boring? Sensual? A dead fish? Is it better if we never know and just wait until we find our soulmate who has been waiting their whole life for a partner to act like a deceased underwater sea creature in bed?

Perhaps this is just one of those situations where no news is good news. Or not. Actually, probably not. Let's all just assume that if they come back for seconds, you're in good shape.

And just to save any hope for me getting a date in the future, Louie C.K. doesn't know what he's talking about.

Taking Control

I'm starting to forget the way things smelled.

The way we would walk into the house with the dogs running ahead of us, straight up the stairs to fight over toys as you and I were hit with a wall of sauerkraut and kielbasa, wafting from the crock pot that was always waiting for us. The way the shampoo smelled in the outdoor shower, mixed with saltwater and the aroma of the garden. The way my room smelled of suntan lotion and laundry detergent rising off of the bed sheets. The smell of the car mixed with ocean and sand and wet dog.

I hate that these memories are becoming less tangible to my senses.

The other day, I found something I had written, about you. I remember sitting in the glow of a single lamp, feeling numb with happiness. I wrote:

He has this poster hanging on the wall of his dining room in a glass frame that reflects the light coming from the kitchen. I like to sit in the far corner of his couch and watch his tall, thin silhouette moving from the fridge to the sink. There's something comforting about it.

I find it interesting the different ways that people thumb their cigarettes. He taps his so that just the right amount of small red sparks float delicately to the bottom of the ashtray. I flick. I flick and ashes go flying everywhere, no matter how hard I try to hit the tray. I flick and black specks hit his perfect white sheets while we're lying in his bed.

"Shit, I'm sorry." I say as I anxiously try to clean around me without rubbing black into the fibers of the bedding.

"It's ok, I have to wash these anyway." he says, even though I know he has just cleaned them the day before.

My favorite thing is when we're next to each other in his bed, a pillow each propped messily behind our backs, in the dark. You can't see anything until one of us takes a drag and a small tip of fire illuminates the room and, if we're lucky, a split second of our eyes.

That was one of the last times I remember feeling truly happy about us. Those first 6 months when I couldn't even believe that you had chosen me.

Jil says never to let anyone compromise the way I deal with things. While I know people understand why these past nine months have been hard for me, I don't expect anyone to fully grasp the reasoning behind the fact that it's still as agonizing today as it was on that night in November. If not more so. So I'm just going to keep feeling what I'm feeling and let this run its course, even if it takes nine more months or nine more years.

I've dated people since our ending, but their best and worst flaw are always one in the same: They're not you.

I will never be happy for you, because what you did resulted in everything I have lost. But I will be happy for me. Happy that I left that horrifying situation in order to take the time to find something real.

"What'd You Do Last Night?" "Uhhh, I, Um, Crocheted. All Night."

"I have an idea for a bar. It will be brightly lit and it will be called 'Doggy Bag', so everyone knows what they're going home with."

This is the little burst of genius that spilled out of my friend's mouth the other night. Like most things in life, it took me a second to catch on, but once I did I was totally on board. I mean, think about it: the rate of beer-goggle-induced one night stands would plummet dramatically. There would be a shockingly wonderful drop in the feeling of "Oh my god, I hate myself right now" after you wake up in the morning and roll over and see the monster you're lying next to. We would no longer have to lie about what we did last night.

Here's my question though- are beer goggles a legitimate free pass, or are they just the last shred of an excuse that we're desperately clinging to, in hopes that this can be the time that doesn't count?

If you think about it, the whole idea of being ashamed after sleeping with someone that isn't exactly attractive by social standards kind of makes us all dicks. I mean, who are we to think that we're that fuckin hot and spectacular that we're actually too good for someone that might have a little extra chub on them, or jacked up teeth, or wasn't exactly popular in high school? Here's a little secret: Everyone who was considered a "loser" in high school is now approximately 10 times hotter and more accomplished than the "cool" kids. It's called karma and it's the greatest thing in the whole wide world.

I guess this is another one of those entries that I'm torn about. On one hand, I don't want to judge someone just by their looks, but on the other hand, that's unfortunately the nature of the beast. We all want to end up in bed with a person we're attracted to. If it's just a one night thing, who cares if they're a total asshole. Although 9 times out of 10, the more attractive a guy is, the worse he is in bed because he's never had to work for it. The same goes for the size of their pogo stick. The smaller they are, the more they aim to please. Ask any girl who has experienced all sizes of the scale, I guarantee you she'll agree.

Well I've gotten so off track that I don't even know how to get back to the original concept of this entry. So let's just sum this all up: If you get wasted, you might end up going home with someone that you wouldn't have if you were totally sober. But next time this happens, when you wake up and roll over to the big, hairy man snoring in your ear and drooling on your pillow, replace your initial thought of, "Wha- oh. Ohhhh no....no no no. Shit shit shit" with, "Hmm. Maybe he rescues puppies in his spare time. That's sweet".

Cause what's cuter than a puppy?

Why Are You Freaking Out? All I Did Was Call You Pretty.

Don't call me cute. Don't call me cute, don't call me pretty, don't call me hot.

Cute is what you call a baby, a puppy. Basically anything that is under 15 pounds and can't wipe its own ass. Hot is what high school girls with self-proclaimed social superiority and closeted self-esteem problems strive to be called every time they squeeze their underaged beer gut into an eighty dollar tube top bought with daddy's credit card. And pretty can best be described in the following conversation:

Girl: "Hi! My friend Suzy thinks you're so hot! What do you think about her???"

Boy: "Uhhh...yeah. She's, um, pretty I guess."

Translation: Suzy's a fuckin wildebeest.

So what should you call a gal? Call us beautiful, call us gorgeous, call us breath-taking, stunning, perfect. And when the mood is right, call us sexy.

But fellas, please mean it when you say it. That's the difference between calling a girl "cute" and calling her "beautiful". Calling us cute means you don't really mean it. It's just something you're throwing out there the same way people tack "lol" onto the end of every text. It's basically an insult as this point. Now, if you call us beautiful, chances are you mean it. Cause even guys are smart enough to know that calling a girl beautiful is going to reel her in for the real deal. When we're called gorgeous or stunning or any of the other words I mentioned as desirable adjective for a lady, we're assuming you see us as something more than just the average girl on the street. And we like that. A lot.

I guess there's not a whole lot more to say on the subject...oh, except that we girls can also tell when you're calling us beautiful just cause you think it's what we want to hear and you can get in our pants that way. In fact, just assume we know everything :)