Now I know that rose trees never grow in New York City

I'm starting to think I'm going to end up in a big city.
I've lived in a small town for the majority of my life, and I've never really felt like it suited me.
I like to always be able to leave my house and have something to do.
A wide variety of people, and a little something for everybody sounds so appealing.

The only really large cities I've been to are Los Angeles and London.
I pretty much loved both, and I think it's ashamed that I haven't seen New York yet because I feel like I would love it.

I would like to live in a really big place at least once in my life.
I feel like it would be years before I was bored again.

Clouds Up

One thing I'm figuring out more as I'm getting older, is that happiness is a choice.
I can't wait for my preferred circumstances.

I used to blame my unhappiness and years of depression on everything around me.
I was living under "the bell jar" for years. In case you haven't been under the bell jar before... I will just say it isn't easy to breathe under there.

It's up to me to break the glass and crawl out.
I don't go around looking for a boyfriend, and new dress, a piece of cake, or a bottle of pills to get me out of it.
None of those things work because I've tried them all.

I pull myself out of the bell jar with determination and the grace of God.

I choose to focus on things that make me happy and just BE happy.

Lipstick, coffee, singing, drumming, baking biscuits, coloring my hair red, Seinfeld re-runs, my dog Toby, wearing cowboy boots, talking to my chick friends, listening to the Beatles, watching Freaks and Geeks, reading a book, driving through the country.

These are the things I do now to make myself happy.

My grandmother lived to be in her 90's and I will always credit her longevity to her good attitude.
That's what I aspire towards.

(last photo from JaneAsherPhotoblog/blog title from "Clouds up"-Air)

Sometimes I don't know a thing

Almost Christmas and I don't even feel a thing.
I don't feel good or bad.
I can't feel any pain or any happiness either really. I'm at a place where I don't trust any boys or men. I like my friends and I like my family. I only think about music and saving up money for instruments. I'm going back to school in January.
Every boy I ever talk to bores me to tears.
I mean... it works out because I'm usually too weird for them anyways.
I just have too much passion and if I don't direct it towards a "boyfriend" or something along those lines I'll direct it towards music... or writing... or helping my friends... or even anger.
I have too much of it and I have to direct it at something or I'll explode.
It ends up coming out in my facial expressions and bright hair dye or too much make-up usually.
I'm a pastor's kid and I've lived under a microscope my entire life.
I don't feel like anyone who hasn't been a pastor's kid in a small southern town...where you aren't a bubbly blond cheerleader dating a football player... has the right to judge me.

I always watched as people would judge my older sister as I was growing up. She's 4 years older than me and was a normal person but dressed "alternative" I guess... so people were mean and dumb. When their own daughters were getting drunk and pregnant but LOOKED highlighted, bronzed, and sunshiny. All my sister did was play bass guitar and go to church.
It was complete bull crap.

So from then on I decided I never wanted to look like those girls. If looks were what you get judged on here(and everywhere I guess) I would dye my hair black or red and wear lipstick and crappy thrift store clothes or steal my sister's stuff.
I went to high school for about three months and hated it so much. I was too weird and quiet. I made good grades so my mom let me be home schooled and also enroll in the college... which was good because I was still in classrooms around people until I was 18 like everyone else.

Me and my friends were weird and no guys were into us. We had crushes on all the boys at hot topic I'm embarrassed to admit... I was 15 or 16 though and I'm about to turn 23 now. It was awhile ago.

I got a serious boyfriend when I was 17. He hated the way I dressed and told me my boots and tights "scared him". He encouraged me to throw all my tights in the retention pond behind the church and being so stupid and young I did it.
I was someone else for the next 4 years. Towards the end though... I started getting angrier and more depressed. I resented that I couldn't be myself. I would listen to all the screaming girl music I could find just to piss him off because he said it "scared him" too.
We got engaged, but I broke the engagement off. I was 21 and not ready for marriage... and we didn't match.

A lot of the after math of us breaking up is a blur but I remember I turned into an angry 16 year old again and wore all black and tons of makeup and home dyed my hair as dark or bright as I could get it.
I reverted exactly back to where I was right before we dated.

I still don't like to think about this stuff... but it's bothered me all day and I needed to get it out.
All I can say though, is that you never know enough about someone to judge them... There is usually pain behind the makeup.

I'm just sittin' on a fence

My grandparents pretty much had the happiest marriage I've ever heard of.



If I could be guaranteed this, maybe my stomach wouldn't hurt every time I thought of marriage.










Sometimes I'm terrified of getting married.
I mean really terrified.
I know this isn't a fun blog or anything... don't read it if you don't want. This is my blog though and I decide what goes on here.

Anyways... I don't want to stop having dreams, or not be able to dye my hair cherry red and wear wine colored lipstick without a man getting on to me for it.
I'm not sure if this even makes sense or not.
I think I'm still jaded from that ex fiance of mine who liked to tell me how to dress and do my makeup and hair... asked me to throw out all my tights and told me how much he hated boots on a regular basis.

I know there's a man out there who won't hate my outfits, lipstick, love of cowboy music and also love of 90's grunge... or at least a man who can name one Rolling Stones album.

I also don't want to lose my identity... It sort of seems like marriage does that to a lot of people.



I'm just sort of discouraged right now.

Don't think twice, it's alright

Yesterday something BIG happened. At my ripe age of 22 and 3/4 I saw Bob Dylan age 68 up close.
I was already aghast at the reality of getting tickets to his concert for Oct. 8, 2010 at the O'Connell Center in Gainesville, FL;
But when a week ago I dreamed that me and Trish met him in an elevator...that was that.
We had to get closer than our nosebleed section tickets would allow.
The concert doors were to open at 8p.m., but we got to the O'Connell Center at 4 in the afternoon. All for high hope of our master plan coming to fruition.
We parked and then set off on foot for what we had thought we saw parked behind the auditorium.
Tour Buses.
Everything was roped off with caution tape. We tried batting our eyelashes at the event staff but to no avail. Our fishnet tights, black boots, dark make-up and freshly dyed hair must have been more off putting than we'd hoped for.
We found a spot right next to what we decided was the fanciest looking bus.
Separated only by ten to twenty feet of pavement and some metal railings we waited, eyes glued to the bus.
The security team watched us like hawks, probably because we'd already tried to get back there.
We waited; Trish and I both holding our breath, and holding in our pee as long as possible(we drank too much coffee, of course). Two hours passed.
All of the sudden a small, thin man walks right in front of us wearing jeans, cowboy boots, a pullover hoodie and a beanie...with an Afro poking out of it....IT WAS BOB! MAYBE FIFTEEN FEET AWAY!
He walked slowly, didn't seem to be in a hurry or anything. Me and Trish couldn't breathe. We wanted to say something but we couldn't talk. Or move.
Bob walked onto the bus and his manager or whoever quickly locked the door and turned and glared at us.
We then yelled "THAT WAS HIM WASN'T IT!?"
The manager guy in dark sunglasses just smiled and nodded his head yes.
We then collapsed into hysterics giggling and yelling like obnoxious fan girl groupies.
We had seen Bob! A few yards away!
He looked cool as crap.
Shortly after this, we were somewhat politely asked to leave the premises.
The concert was amazing, me and Trish head banged and screamed and danced for two hours straight.
It was the Beatles at Shea Stadium for us.
It was one of the best days of my life so far.

Oh sisters lets go down, down to the river to pray

I love the story of my grandparents. Basically my grandma grew up in west Virginia, working in a factory from the age of like 14, while all the men went in the coal mines.
Her future husband(my grandpa, obviously) hitchhiked to bible college with his bags and saxophone. He became a pastor and met my grandma in church where she played the guitar and sang.
Though she told me before she met him she had tons of boyfriends and snuck out her window at night to see them. haha












They traveled around the country to different churches in this, from what I've been told.

On their honeymoon

She's the one in the middle, that stands out the most haha.

I'd love to grow up to be like her one day

Further along we'll know more about it...

People are probably getting sick of hearing me talk about my grandma, but I'm still having a really hard time. Especially the past few days.
This picture only makes me sad because I miss her; but it makes me laugh too.
Yes she is holding a pistol, haha.