Hey! Wait! I’ve got a new complaint.
Ok, I don’t really have a new complaint, but I’ve had that Nirvana song stuck in my head for the better part of the last 24 hours now. And yes, I know the song is Heart Shaped Box, not heart shaped rocks, but I found a bunch of heart shaped rocks yesterday, and that’s where my 90% song lyrics and movie quotes brain went with it. Let’s back up just a little bit though, and get to why this is even something I’m bothering to get my blog therapy on with.
Sometimes I feel as if Urban Dictionary hit the nail on the head when they described the tiny little town that I live in like this: “A little hell hole of a city in Utah where 98% of the population are close minded hicks or Mormons. The weather ranges between freaking hot to freaking cold. There’s a point system to how many prairie dogs you can hit on the way to Colorado. The school system is run by the not German Nazis. The shittiest city on earth to attend high school in. A black meaningless void of which you’ll never escape once you’ve set foot in it. A geographic anomaly in which everything is approximately 3 and half hours away.” In all fairness though, everything is approximately 3 hours away, and 2 1/2 if law enforcement and wildlife cooperate.
Living in this little geographic anomaly tends to make things particularly difficult for the girl who prefers anonymity and generally only dates in those areas 3 hours away. It’s nice, because then nobody knows your business (including the guys, who don’t realize you’re not really worth the trouble…), but here’s the catch 22: sometimes this shit actually works out, and then that 3 hours is a huge pain in the ass. Case in point: I was kind of, sort of dating this really awesome guy a couple of years ago. Then life got in the way and the 3 hour commute was a bit much for either one of us. Ok…full disclosure: we were totally cockblocked by Mother Nature one winter when the relentless witch decided that mountain passes were going to be impassable without 4WD every single weekend he didn’t have his kids. Anyway, he started dating someone else without the 3 hour commute, and I went back to business as normal in the geographic anomaly where my social/dating life is a giant black hole. We stayed friends though, because we’re adults who can handle shit like that.
Skipping forward a couple of years, this guy and I are still great friends. He gets me, I get him, and he has this uncanny ability to contact me when I’m having THE worst day. It’s the best really; if I had it all to do over again, I’d get friend-zoned by him again without even thinking twice about it. Come to think about it, I’d happily get friend-zoned again by literally everyone Tinder has made me cross paths with. But back to the story. Life has been a GIANT douche to this friend of mine lately, and when I talk to him about it(OK, text, because there are like 12 ways of contacting me on my phone, and none of them require me actually using it as a phone…..but also because I can text while at work), I like to throw in the not so subtle message of #MoveToVernal. We both realize this is a scorched Earth option. It’s 3 hours away from his kids, although, I also joke about befriending his ex-wife and then convincing her to move here, so then his kids will be here too. Realistically though, none of that is going to happen. It didn’t stop the talks about this #MoveToVernal option from getting just a little bit serious over the past little while though, and I hate how much I liked the thought of that.
So what’s to hate about the thought of one of your closest friends moving to the same town you live in? Well….there wasn’t any problem with it, until I saw a picture of him with his kids this weekend. They were all so incredibly happy. He is seriously THE best dad, and my first thought upon seeing that picture was “there is absolutely no way he can be 3 hours away from them,” and I felt like a giant asshole for even suggesting it. My next thought was “What in the hell is this crushing feeling in my soul?” That was coupled with the reality that it was feelings. Gross right? I walked right in to the damn things.
Yesterday, my BFF and keeper of my secrets invited me to go to the lake with her and some of her friends. I needed some sun, water, and friends in my life, so of course I went. At one point we decided to jump off the boat and wander around on the beach. We were walking on some wet sand, when all of the sudden we sunk almost up to our knees in the wet, muddy sand. While the kids were laughing about it, it was poetic justice for me really. That damn muddy sand was a whole hell of a lot like those feelings I had fallen right in to for a minute. I was just walking along the beach of life, and then *bam* stepped right in to feelings.
We pulled ourselves out of the mud pretty easily and washed off in the lake, then continued on along the beach looking for cool stuff. One of the girls we were with found some sweet sunglasses, and I found a plethora of freaking heart shaped rocks. I skipped right over the first few of them, but then I had an idea. I kept 4 of the heart shaped rocks and took them with me on the swim back to the boat. Only 3 of them survived; the black one that I joked was a replica of mine broke in 2 pieces in my hand as I swam back to the boat. Turns out it was a little more fragile than it looked. (Mother f wording symbolism there!) As for the other heart shaped rocks, I waited until we were in the deepest part of the lake and threw them overboard, because hearts represent feelings, and feelings are overrated, and just a little bit lame.