I'm on a blogation. I'll still be reading your posts through Google reader or Bloglines every few days so I can keep up with what's happening in your lives/head. As always, you can email me - shmeder at gmail.

I won't be coming back here.

Saturday, November 13, 2004

Create and Melt

Dali's Car

I can't sleep yet. For one thing, all of my bedding is in the wash. My blanket and sheets are in the dryer and my comforter is still in the washer. I had to wash them. All I did was practically sweat to death about four nights in a row earlier this week. My sheets were disgusting by today.

I was listening to Dali's Car as I was folding clothes. I realized that I don't know if I could ever be with a man that hated my music so much that I could never play it in his presence. That would just kill me. Music is too much a part of who I am. It's my past and my present. Most of my memories have some sort of music attached to it.

This past summer two men asked me (more like accused me) of being a Dave Matthews fan. Do I come off to people as that type of person? I am not even on the same planet as any of that man's music. I can tolerate it but that's all I do is tolerate and that's only long enough to get away. His voice, to me, is like fingernails sliding down a chalkboard. I cringe when I hear that whine of his.

Jeff, the property appraiser, thought I was a huge fan. Jeff is a jam-band kind of guy. Fine. I can date him and he can go to all the shows he wants to. I don't care. I'm not going to make him go to any of mine. I don't care that he listens to that and enjoys it. Whatever gets your rocks off is ok by me. The thing is, during our third date, I told him what I listen to and the kind of teenager I was. He got this weird look in his eye and looked me up and down as if to say, "OMG, you were one of THEM." Then he laughed at me. He never called again and if he did, I had no intention of answering. All he wanted was sex and he finally figured out that he wasn't getting any from me.

I have to stop now to listen to Dead Can Dance "I am Stretched on Your Grave". I stop and listen every time that song plays. Then I listen to it a few more times and just cry. I should get a copy of the Sinead O'Connor version. Back to what I was saying...

In August, Mr. (insert name) brought up the whole Dave Matthews thing too. He honestly thought that I was a fan. I just said something to the effect that we probably had more in common than he thought. In the morning, he put on his Social D t-shirt and he had no idea how fucking sexy that was to me. He was off to work in corporate hell with Social D under it all. Now that is a great fucking memory... thank you Social Distortion and thank you Mr. (insert name).

It just bothers me. TWICE in one summer... Eek.

I don't want to be a Dave Matthews type of girl or person. Have I lost that much of my individuality over the years? Have I lost my edge?

Will I ever find anyone that will let me be me? Will they all be like Jeff and look at me as if I'm from another planet when I tell them about my past? Will my luck be so bad that I fall madly in love with Dave Matthews' number one fan? Will I be able to tolerate his music or is it just impossible for me to fall in love with a DMB guy? Will he tolerate my music, let me listen to it and let me be myself? Can I do the same for him?

Am I this shallow?

Why the hell am I worrying about this tonight anyway? Gah.

I realize I may have just pissed off quite a few DMB fans. In all honesty, this is me being honest and I won't have my blog any other way. If you don't like it then don't read it. End of story.