Two Days In Paris

"It always fascinated me how people go from loving you madly to nothing at all, nothing. It hurts so much. When I feel someone is going to leave me, I have a tendency to break up first before I get to hear the whole thing. Here it is. One more, one less. Another wasted love story. I really love this one. When I think that its over, that I'll never see him again like this... well yes, I'll bump into him, we'll meet our new boyfriend and girlfriend, act as if we had never been together, then we'll slowly think of each other less and less until we forget each other completely. Almost. Always the same for me. Break up, break down. Drunk up, fool around. Meet one guy, then another, fuck around. Forget the one and only. Then after a few months of total emptiness start again to look for true love, desperately look everywhere and after two years of loneliness meet a new love and swear it is the one, until that one is gone as well. There's a moment in life where you can't recover any more from another break-up. And even if this person bugs you sixty percent of the time, well you still can’t live without him. And even if he wakes you up every day by sneezing right in your face, well you love his sneezes more than anyone else's kisses."

The Shade of Poison Trees

I wish I had something to blog about. If I could change anything, it would be my motivation.

I want to shop at Barney's in NYC. I want to smoke b&ms on a regular. I want to go to an Marc Jacobs show. I want a Topman beanie. I want to drink Bacardi Limon and green tea for the rest of my life... seperately. I want to cuddle with a boy. I want to paint my toes purple. I want to stop missing the new LA Ink episodes. I want Elizabeth+James gladiator sandals. I want to go to Panera again with Anderson, but remember to order the right thing. I want to watch 'Two Days In Paris". I want Scott to be back. I want to go to sleep.

In This Lonely Town

I've always been one to put my heart on the line.

I have nothing interesting to write about today... other than the fact that I am done trying. I've lost him and it was completely effortless. For the last two years, I have been lectured by friends time and time again about the whole situation. Even though I am completely aware that the words they spew from their mouths are nothing but the truth, I remain naive. I should have lied to him when he asked me if I trusted him, but I know then that I would be in her position. In a sense, I'm really fucking glad it was her and not me.

Okay, I'm not done trying. But I want to be.

I don't think I'll ever be able to give this one up.

I need to s & d terribly. Someone buy me a square.

Lilly & Sara

I always write when I'm upset.

I was on the plane home from Florida when it happened. I'm terrified of planes, and I remember thinking about dying as Death Cab blared in my ears. When the plane landed, I turned on my phone. I had eleven unread text messages and a voicemail. At that point, I knew something was wrong.

"Did you hear what happened to Sara?"

"Are you okay?"

"Did you hear about the wreck?"

"Sara is dead."

Quite honestly, I couldn't breathe. I looked at my mom and she knew. I tried calling several people before someone gave me the full story. All I really remember hearing is that Lilly had died, and Sara was in a coma. When I heard that Sara was in a coma, I was walking through the airport to get to the car. I had to get off the phone and sit down. My mother went to the restroom, and I sat nearly alone in the airport sobbing. A few strangers walked by, but all I could think about was seeing Lilly at the tanning salon a few months ago.

Her black jeep was in the parking lot, and I saw her sitting in the waiting area through the window. Her hair was pulled back and she had a headband in it. I recall her kind of smiling at me as I sat in the car about to go inside. Something about her struck me.

When my mother walked out of the restroom she hugged me for probably two minutes. At one point, Sara and I had been best friends. We practically spent every moment together one summer. Juvenile, yet somehow meaningful, we bought matching shirts that read "Twinkies Twinkies Twinkies" on the front, and on the back... "On My Mind" with a faded pink heart.

The last time I saw Sara was a few months prior when I went to her dad's house. We sat on her bed and talked for a while. Then we watched a movie and fell asleep. In the morning we ate microwaveable sausage biscuits, and I left shortly after. As I was leaving, we made a promise not to let another two years pass before we saw each other again. So it wasn't the most exciting night... but I had to know that she still existed and we were still close.

So many things went through my mind on the car ride home. I wanted to go to the spot where they wrecked, just so I could know it was real. I wanted to go to the hospital to see Sara. I thought about how pretty she was and how jealous I had always been of her. I wanted to put on my Twinkie shirt that instant. I thought about her mother and everything she had been through. I thought about her father and how he was always cautious about who she rode with and what kind of car they had. I thought about her brother Jake. I thought about the time when Sara and I walked to get smoothies from the coffee shop. I thought about the time when her brother's friend fell off of the hot tub. I thought about her bathing suit top that I still had in my drawer. I thought about how I had a pair of her bottoms too, but I coincidentally took them to Florida with me. I thought about when Toni and Sara and I went to Kings Island. I thought about kidnapping her from the hospital and driving her to Kings Island right then and there. I thought about the time I saw her and Lilly at Target but I didn't even say hi. I thought about Lilly's mom saying her name to get her attention and remembering exactly what it sounded like.

I had surgery scheduled for the next morning at six. When we got home, I sat on the kitchen counter as my mom started the coffee for the morning. I had a breakdown and almost decided not to have my surgery so I could go see Sara and go to Lilly's funeral. I barely slept that night at all. She was in bad condition and the doctors didn't expect her to make it through the night. I waited for the phone call to tell me that she had passed. I don't believe in prayer, but I remember pleading and asking someone or something out there to help her.

I got in the car in the morning to drive to the surgery center. I had received no phone call or text about Sara's condition. I suppose it was not knowing if she was okay or not that bothered me the most. When we got to the surgery center, I refused to get out of the car. I couldn't go into surgery without knowing whether Sara was dead or alive. If she had passed, I decided I would not have the surgery.

The next thing I remember is my mother's hand on my back guiding me into the building. I was crying so hard I couldn't put my gown on. The nurses gave me anxiety medication so I could stop crying long enough for them to put my IV in.

As I waited for the anesthesiologist to arrive, I overheard the nurses talking about the wreck in the other room. Once again, I started crying. I asked my mother to ask them to stop talking about it, and I plugged my ears so long they burned. I really wasn't sure if I would be able to make it through surgery. At that point, I would have rather been at the hospital with Sara.

I waited for news on her for what seemed like forever. A friend of a friend of a friend was giving me updates on her condition while I was recovering.

It still seems unreal. I often find myself looking at Lilly's Facebook to read what everyone says about her and wishing there was something I could say. I talk to Sara as much as I can just to know she is doing okay. I keep my Twinkie shirt on my bed, and whenever I drive I think about the two of them. The other day I was outside with my mom and my niece, and a butterfly flew around my waist. It reminded me of Lilly, and I almost hope it was her. I wish she knew how much of an impact not only her life, but her death has made on me and everyone else around her. It is amazing to me how many people love her and the capacity in which they do so.

I texted Sara tonight because I started crying. I know that she is suffering and it hurts me probably more than it should. I know that when I visit her within the next week, I will see pain in her eyes and be reminded of how unfair death is. I know that no one deserves to go through this, but I hope she will learn and grow from this experience. I know that she can get through this.

A part of Lilly will live on through everyone who loves her.

RIP Lilly Irene Martyn.

I love you Sara aka SaltShakaaa. Stay strong babygirl.

(I promise we will make another dance as soon as you get aalllll better.)

Up In 6 Hours

Last night I set three different alarms: ten fifteen, ten thirty, and ten forty five. My intention for waking up so fucking early was to get out of the house in attempt to avoid my soon-to-be hung over mother. She would smother me with questions (as usual) and we would bicker all day.

When I woke up this morning I checked my phone. It was one forty three. I had subconsciously listened to my alarms and hit dismiss. All three of them. I physically leaped out of bed, put my hair on top of my head, and threw on makeup. I then managed to make a phone call for a ride and fifteen minutes later I was out of my house. It's funny how lately it has been a goal to be at home as little as possible. I suppose I'm avoiding something I don't want to deal with, or maybe I have just dealt with it too much to do it anymore.

I spent the rest of my day remembering how to drive a car and what seemed like constant eating. I also decided to talk to someone I thought I never would again. Maybe we can start over and avoid what happened before... the six months of back and forth and never knowing what to do. I think at this point in my life the most important thing is being happy. I don't necessarily want to be where I was with him but quite honestly he has the biggest heart out of anyone I know. Having him in my life is a part of what keeps me happy.

Currently, I am frustrated that Limewire is being a dick and isn't working the way I want it to. I'm frustrated that I have to wake up in six hours to attend a drivers ed class that I really should have chose not to take. I'm frustrated because I am having severe cravings for a venti soy chai and dark chocolate. I'm frustrated because a conversation with someone I've had feelings for that took place last night didn't go exactly as planned. I'm frustrated that I can't drive yet and still need a ride to get a bread bowl at Panera with my best friend at some point this week. I'm frustrated I am iPod-less and have been so for several months.

Maybe I'll come up with something important and/or interesting to blog about sometime in the near future...

Blue Mind

I suppose the idea of California was something I had always longed for. So when he told me he wanted to go to California as well, and the college he wanted to attend was only fifteen minutes from mine, it seemed like fate. The plan to go with him had given me a little hope to hold onto since recently my life has been nothing but chaos and instability.

I went to Anderson's today expecting simply a venti soy chai and hopefully a good conversation. Not only did I leave with the aftertaste of cheesecake stuck in my mouth, I left with the knowledge that my life is going exactly where I want it to go.

The topic came up while laying on his bed listening to music (more than likely La Roux or The Bird & The Bee). We wound up researching apartment prices in West Hollywood so we could budget. We discovered the price range is about a grand to twenty five hundred a month depending on square footage and location. Then we took to mind bills, gas, tuition, and our expensive taste. The conclusion: we're fucked... and very very broke.

I don't recall exactly the moment when we decided to collect all of our money, but we did. I don't know how much of a contribution the eighteen (or twenty-five depending on if you count coins or not) dollars did, but it is a start. We put our money in a Toms shoe box and labeled it with a black sharpie. It read "Anderson and Rachael's California fund. DON'T MESS BIAS." Something about labeling the box made me realize it was final. We are going to California the summer of 2012.

I can't exactly explain how much or what kind of hope today presented me with, but I know one thing. If I could go to California and escape this fucking town. I would only do it with Anderson. Even if we have to sleep on the streets, sell our clothes, and give up Starbucks...

So here's to you, and my new favorite movie.

Inspiration

Her addiction. Her vulnerability. Her beauty. Her suffering. Her originality. Her fame. Her instability.

Her style. Her beauty. Her uniqueness. Her bags. Her husband&daughter. Her weight. Her shades.

Her clothes. Her hair. Her 'prune' smile. Her ability to stand out despite having a twin. Her money. Her body. Annnnd... Holiday in the Sun.

Her dedication. Her face for makeup. Her partying skills... along with every other model.

Once Again

In a casual conversation (via Facebook, of course) with a close friend, I decided to create another blog. I have had around five or six of these, but I can never stick with them. You can thank my mental instability for that. So here it goes again...

I woke up at 12:15 to a good morning text from a boy I have been spending a lot of time with. Naturally, I went back to sleep until three... considered taking a shower and decided not to. When I got home today the normal tension in the house was present. I have spent 3/4 of my day laying in bed relying on Twitter and Perez Hilton to keep me occupied. There have been few failed attempts to get my mother to take me shopping. For the night, I will watch VH1 in bed, text ten to twenty people, and crave a cig. Tomorrow I think I am getting my permit...and Taco Bell. And drunk.