I (heart) you.
I was estranged from Dallas, Texas, for about 2 years.
It's always been one of my favorite cities, particularly my three favorite destinations and some points between them: NorthPark Center, Z Gallerie and Cafe Brazil, specifically the one on Cedar Springs.
But as I made a quarter-baked decision to go on a blind date in Big D immediately following one addiction, it led to heart break on Feb. 14, 2005 -- and, quite immediately after, yet another addiction that could've killed me.
The guy I was long-distance-dating broke up with me on Valentine's Day morning in his apartment, then drove me to the airport two hours early, where I dry-heaved in a bathroom stall before boarding, flew home on a cramped plane and THEN went to work. Consequently, I called it quits with Dallas for 2 years and three months, until a Sia concert came to the House of Blues. It was the most delightful closure I've ever experienced.
Seriously, though, I've told a few friends that story today, and I did a better job with the delivery because, thankfully, it made me laugh each time I told it. Not this time, but I think that's just because I'm ADD, and I can't type, laugh and listen to the Ting Tings at the same time.
Whatever, I have a love-hate -- or hate-love, if you will -- relationship with Valentine's Day. For example, I mostly refer to it as VD, which is quite fitting because the word "venereal" is derived from Venus, the Greek goddess of love. See? VD is precious, at least until you get that call from the health department inviting you to pop in for a visit.
Anyhoo, it's not that I'm bitter -- I prefer seasoned with less sugar. Which is ironic, depending on whom you ask, but let's move on.
If you're among a seemingly growing contingent of people who, at the very least, seem disenfranchised by the holiday due to divorce, death or whatever reason, consider finding something to laugh about where the source of your disenfranchisement is concerned. That may not always be possible, so I suggest a professionally prescribed regimen of pharmacology and therapy.
Otherwise, pick yourself up, dust yourself and try again. That's what Aaliyah keeps singing to me, anyway. And it's stellar advice.
Seriously, wallowing in self-pity doesn't burn calories, it's not productive in any sense and it gets REALLY boring after a while. So tell someone your worst (i.e., hopefully embarrassing or humiliating) break-up story, and you'll probably get a laugh -- and that's a good thing.
If I think of any other embarrassing stories related to VD (the holiday, that is), you know me well enough to know I'll share. But please feel free to share yours! I'll laugh along with you, never at you.
Peace, love and Sia concerts ... XOXO
Today's non sequitur: Here's one of my favorite Sia songs, had to share -- and it has a message to it!
