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I Never Liked Country Part II

Read Part I here

It kind of felt like learning to walk again when I left. I felt exhilarated by my new-found separation from such a shaping relationship and simultaneously a little lost. The good kind of lost. The kind of lost that makes you feel like you are teaching yourself something new. Sure, I had pangs of homesickness, because he was what I considered home for as long as I could remember. But missing familiarity eventually turned into embracing change.

I met new people. I dabbled in new relationships. At first, it felt right. Like making an A on a test makes you feel right. Which felt good. New relationships were accomplishments in moving on, but not much more than that. After all, GPAs don’t matter much in the scheme of life. Nonetheless, the new relationships were fun and easy. I could feign attachment without skipping a beat of my own agenda. I almost fooled myself into thinking I was anything but detached. I liked it that way.

I strategically and forcefully changed all of my radio stations; a subconscious attempt at moving on. It was working splendidly until DJ Heavy Metal decided to throw in a little Tim McGraw for shits and giggles. My new guy quickly reached out at the exact moment as me… only he was reaching out to turn the station, and I was reaching out to turn up the volume. “I never liked country,” he said.

As I looked around, it was as if everything suspended for a brief moment, and in that moment, nothing looked right. Something shattered in me, and I immediately thought of him.

After that, I began to shell up even more. I would steam up the bathroom to mimic the humidity we used to bask in. I would pour a little too much on the rocks. I started cooking those savory meals again, and found myself seeking solace in my headphones, blasting nothing but country. I tried to transfer all of the things I loved about him, into my new relationships.

I’ll never forget the moment we reunited. The radio must have been on our side, because the perfect songs trickled in as we sat on the tailgate together in the damp air. I didn’t say anything, I just breathed him in. I never believed in the saying, “you never know what you have until its gone,” just as I never liked Country. But sometimes you just have to admit you were wrong. And that’s why I went back.

I missed you, Louisiana.

This two part post was inspired by A New Orleans Love Story by Joey Albanese about New Orleans.

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I Never Liked Country

The one that got away. Do we all experience it? That one ex that you didn’t know completed you until you left?

The longest relationship I have ever had took years to build and only two to demolish. All of the memories, the places, and the laughs. Our relationship was fickle and tumultuous, but extremely passionate.  We would bitch endlessly over the thermostat one minute and then bask in the balmy humidity the next. We loved to savor our food together and never shamed each other for drinking a little too much.  Occasionally, I would grow tired of lazy ways and become jealous of friends that were driven away, but then the radio would come on. Everything was butter. I never liked Country. The songs never sounded good with anyone else.

You see he wasn’t like anyone. He was one of a kind. And not in the cliché kind of way that people might describe a cheap pendant on QVC. He owned the phrase one of a kind, and he knew it despite the fact that I sometimes didn’t.

He loved the water, and even looked great covered in moss. When I was in his presence I felt I belonged to something special. We were our own little secret club. It’s weird though, because we never really had a honeymoon phase. As long as I could remember we had always just been together. There was no one before him.

Regardless, I knew ultimately something would happen to our smooth cruising. We eventually began to take each other for granted. This would be the beginning of the end. The more possessive and predictable he became, the more indifferent and unimpressed I was. I convinced myself that his simple ways were holding me back.

Eventually, I started refusing to go out on the water. The special meals we cooked tasted bland, as if my taste buds had become tired of the repetition. We didn’t drink together anymore, but I drank alone. I had built up so much resentment, though he really hadn’t done anything wrong. Then my eyes began to wander. I would leave town for weeks and see other people. I didn’t even try to hide it. Funny thing is, he must have known but didn’t seem to care. Maybe he secretly knew I was too far gone. He was intuitive like that. And one day, sure enough, I was gone. For good.

Read Part II Here

Blogger Interactive is next weekend! I can’t wait to meet everyone who is coming. You can keep up with all the festivities by following us on Twitter, Facebook, and now Instagram (@bloggerinteractive)! Be sure to use the hashtag #BI2013 for posting! 

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Blogger Summit Update #2

Nine days. It had been nine whole days since I had so much as looked at the “add new” post button before I wrote my blogiversary post yesterday. Nine days in internet time is equal to about nine months in real-time. I could have had a blog baby for all you know. Don’t get any ideas, I wasn’t off making blabies. What I was doing was visiting with an incredible blogger from the Motor City. You probably know him as Adam from My Right to Bitch, The Artist Formerly Known as My Right to Bitch, or more recently Live From Motor City or maybe just that hilarious drummer dude that I was lucky enough to virtually drink fake sake with that one time.

Adam and Jack

All shoe laces are belong to Jack.

That’s right, he drove himself insane all the way down here to Louisiana to hang out, help me fix my poorly assembled bar stools (ten cool points for anyone who remembers this old ass post), drink beers with me and introduce Jack to the joys of chewing gum. The experience was well deserving of an Adamesque rock hand  \m/  to say the least! And, in case you were wondering, he is just as attractive in person.  Read the rest of this entry

Meet “Z”

Some friends just stick. Sometimes those friends actually live outside of the computer screen. “Blasphemy!”. I can hear you thinking it already, but it is true.  This post is testament to that. When I first met Z, I was convinced that he was going to set our classroom on fire. Marketing 101. College.  His head phones and blaring Tech N9ne were essential to his wardrobe and my uneasiness. Little did I know, he wasn’t actually a murderer but one of my future best friends

25tofly friend

Some friendships are cosmic. He paid me in beer to say that. Part of the deal was also for me to give him some of my spotlight. So without further ado, meet my friend “Z”…

Well hello there! Becky (editor’s note: fuck you) has asked me to step in and fill in some space due to her recent episode of writer’s block. I offered her a couple hits of acid and the leprechauns that do my typing for me, but she refused. I’m not sure why she denied my offer though. Those four creepy little dudes have kept me employed the last three years and even earned me a 2.31 GPA throughout college. Fancy, I know.

Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Z. Well at least that’s what she named me on here a few times anyway. I’ve been called worse. I am originally from Smackover, Arkansas. Dead serious. Google it. It sucks, I know. But before my recent relocation to the great shit hole of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, the two of us shared roughly 572,890 pitchers of beer together.

I shared with her my knowledge of billiards and was even the third wheel through the entirety of a yearish long relationship of hers. If it wasn’t for her, I would probably be sober. Yes, my life would suck if not for this lovely blonde! (editor’s note again: redhead now dumbass).

Up until recently, I didn’t even know her blog existed. For some reason I had to stalk her on Facebook just to learn this hidden writing talent of hers. But now I understand why we have always texted and only ever spoken on the phone once  in our multi-year relationship. And that was more awkward than some random non-blogger dude making an appearance on some chick’s highly popular blog.

When she first asked me to write a guest post, I will admit I giggled with a slight evilness. I thought, “How witty can I be?” and “Oh the people I can piss off with my political views!”. Then I realized she would just delete my post and ban me from the internet, which would cause a riot with the leprechauns. Not worth the risk.

So instead, I must confess to the masses how blessed each of you are to sit right where your rear is currently placed and enjoy reading the very thoughts and ideas that I have been graced with throughout my friendship with Miss Long Johns herself since some time in 2009. I check for new posts quite frequently now, due to the lack of our shared time together. It’s all I can get. She won’t come visit me anymore. Thanks to y’all.

I think I have babbled enough, and her head is probably slightly swollen after reading these kind words. It’s been a pleasure occupying roughly 3-27 minutes of your time. Who knows, maybe one day she will allow me to post something witty and political. Maybe not political but at least witty.

P.S. Her cats are evil. Between Ace, Jack, and my cat allergy, I am surprised I never woke up cross-eyed after drunkenly passing out on her couch all of those nights. Then again, it could have been those three-month old leftovers I always took off of her refrigerator’s hands. Who knows…

Stay tuned tomorrow for the recap of the LaLaBec New Year’s Eve bash. Because you know you don’t remember. Please leave a nice comment for Z while you wait. My writer’s block thanks him and you. 

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25toFly 2.0

2013 banner

Photo by Lane Pelissier

Hello and welcome to 25toFly version 2.0. It is finally 2013, which not only marks a new year for clean slates but also my second year in blogging. It also marks the year in which I originally planned to move away from Louisiana. Thinking back upon the birth of my blog, I started to realize how much it has evolved over my first year. What began as an inspirational blog about moving away, quickly became a humor blog on everything from travel and frogs to the sexual encounters of my dear friend Mr. OB.

How I have evolved has also changed over the course of that year. My goals are different. I am different. What I concluded from all of this was that writing this blog was what I needed more than a uHaul. I just didn’t know it at first. I don’t know where I will end up by this time next year. I haven’t ruled out a move, but the urgency for moving away that I felt at the beginning of 2012 has subsided. Just like the many blog posts here that began without the slightest idea or outline, I know I will figure it outAnd it will be good. Just keep doing.

Now that my blogging induced awakening has been shared, I can get back to what I have come to love to do here: write stuff that I think is funny and hope you think it is funny too. Here are some updates for the new year. Read the rest of this entry

Emotions: How Do They Work?

I don’t know if it is all of the lovely comments I received on yesterday’s post, the fact that Le Clown tried to help my wasteland Facebook page last night, or the fact that I stopped killing people with fiber wire for a few days, but I am a tad bit… emotional.

First, I heard about this story this morning on the radio.

dr. house it's not cancer

Word

If you are too lazy to read it, the gist of the story is that a principal gave two boys the option of holding hands for a while or suspension in response to their misconduct of fighting. I missed the first half of the story on the radio stating what the boys were in trouble for, so initially I couldn’t help but think, “Well that sounds like a punishment pulled right out of the homophobia jar”. It made me feel a bit dejected. Then I caught the full story and felt all merry and stuff. The boys were fighting. I believe that holding hands wasn’t a punishment, but  rather an opportunity to teach the kids a lesson of humanity. A kiss and make up kind of thing. Whether or not I am right or wrong, I will be running around with the can’t-we-all-just-get-along sentiment for the rest of the day.

Then, as if my eyes weren’t already swollen shut, the radio station announced an opportunity to see real snow here in south Louisiana where I am still wearing shorts and an ankle bracelet in the middle of December. Yes, they are apparently going to fill a part of town with “real” snow. I mean, I was wigging out with happy because of the snow on WordPress, but now they are manifesting the real stuff in the middle of my seventy-degrees-and-sunny town. The logistics of this event are still baffling my sensitive little mind, but who cares about logic when there is poorly frozen precipitation?

After I regained composure, and arrived to work right on time, then and only then did I promptly realize that my pants were ripped in a not so subtle area. It was too late to go home and change. Naturally. Sheer coincidence or life’s impeccable comedic timing? You tell me.

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Christmas in September

thechive meet up new orleans

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG .. etc. etc.

I am going to try not to have an aneurysm and/or vomit glitter right now. If you have been around since I began this blog (a little over six months ago *distant cheering*) you may remember a little something about me. I am heinously obsessed with theChive.com and their sister site theBerry.com. Over the past year I have watched like a caged kitten two feet away from his pals playing with a laser light and waiting ever so impatiently for theChive to have a meet-up that is close enough to Louisiana for me to attend. Well, they did even better than close to Louisiana. The meet-up is in Louisiana.

I can proudly say that today is the day. I shall finally get my wish. I am purchasing my ticket for theChive meet up in New Orleans this Friday!! You know I am truly excited when I use two exclamation points, or when I use an exclamation point period. That’s some serious punctuation that is not to be toyed with. I simply wanted to share my elation, and explain my absence this weekend. Here is what is coming up on 25ToFly:

  • Remember how I promised to tell y’all a story involving a cat lady, alcohol, and a sexual fetish? Well, it’s still coming (seriously, no pun intended).
  • If the article I attempted to pitch to Cracked.com bombs (at this point I am certain it already did) I am going to finish it and post it here. Yay for rejection and submitting you to my failed writing attempts.
  • Something about the shit that goes down at my nail salon. Sounds intense, right?

Some other things are in the works, but I’ll leave you with those three for now. You may also remember a while back I mentioned I was starting a second blog. Well, I did. I launched it last week, but I decided that it shall remain anonymous due to the content containing mainly personally incriminating information.

Oh, and if I do not return on Monday, it is likely I have run off to stalk the editors at theChive. In this case, please alert the appropriate people, like no one.

Here is a grumpy cat too. Are you entertained yet?

grumpy cat

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Cordial Holiday Meals With The Cords

mad thanksgiving cat

I am the savage one. You might want to check your yams for cat-eye crust.

Well, well, well. It looks like Blogger Idol is allowing us peons to play along from the loser’s bench. I sound a little sour, but truth be told I think it is a great idea. I also like the challenge of having a topic provided for me to write about. The topic for this week is Family Traditions. You might need a cocktail for this one.

The holiday season is inevitably rushing towards us. I have to keep reminding myself of this, because in Louisiana it feels like summer throughout the entirety of this thing they call “fall”. I am not quite sure what that word means. The first in the string of holiday festivities for my family is Thanksgiving which then leads straight on into Christmas and ends with New Years. I know you are grateful for that uncommon knowledge I just provided.

I present to you a play-by-play of all three holiday dinners in my household, as they are all identical if you swap a ham for a turkey in December. The predictable behavior that repeats year by year is the tradition in itself. Your play-by-play stars myself, my mother, my father, and my brother. Action! Read the rest of this entry

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