"You can't live your life like the stories you write."

This blog's theme songs: Here We Go Again -- Demi Lovato, Wish You Were -- Kate Voegele

Hello again.

Today's rant, you might ask? My non-existant love life, and the idiot boy who made it that way.

Short backstory on said idiot boy (whom, henceforth, shall be known as Army Boy -- because he's in the Army. Duh): I met him my freshman year of high school (I'll be a senior next fall) in my Chemistry class. Ironic, no? We acknowledged our feelings for each other. Right when I thought something official was going to come about: Bam. He tells me "it's not working." So, we give it a little while and decide to start over. Official? No. He starts liking my ex-best friend. My tenth grade year comes up and at the end of the year we start talking again. He leaves for Basic Training and we write each other. He gets back...and apparently we never had anything going on. It was allllll in my imagination.

That brings us to this round. Round Four, to be precise. Something about him I'm just addicted to. We have some very intense chemistry, I do believe. And he knows how to say just the right thing to make you swoon. It was totally fitting my whole "make my life a movie" plotline. Again, we decide to try something. I met with some friends to eat two weeks ago, and my friend Cathy said that Army Boy had been texting one of my friends, Anna (who, for the record, clearly knew I was trying to have a relationship with Army Boy) saying that he wanted to hang out when he got back. I hadn't heard from him at all.

I was doubtful at first, not wanting to ruin my perfect plotline and all. It was going to work between us this time. It had to work this time. However, when text and asked, he plainly admitted to flirting with her. A lot of other things were said last Sunday and it upset me. A lot. I cried on and off the next few days, which really shocked me.

Like I said, I'm a firm believer in being strong. A boy doesn't want me? Fine. His loss. I'll forget him and move on very quickly. I'd never cried for more than five minutes over a boy. Ever. And I'd never pushed myself into a depression over a guy. I didn't like feeling like this.

He could only text once a week, so in the middle of his questions of "Why do you always come back to me?" he said the conversation would be continued next Sunday (yesterday). I gave myself a lot of reflection over that week. And I got very mad at myself. Why was I stupid enough to put myself back into this cycle over and over? The heartbreak only got worse each time. He always chose someone else over me. I was never good enough. So why would I believe that we'd actually make it through the next time? As some random country song sung by someone I don't know the name of says "Shoes don't stretch and men don't change."

So when I found out he was texting Anna and not me yesterday, I was instantly mad. He wanted another chance, he wanted to talk. Yet he didn't start anything. More things were said and I ended up driving around town for over an hour blaring my break-up playlist, crying, and screaming. He told me "he never built romantic relationships" which only succeeded in pissing me off more. What the heck were we doing then? Why was I wasting my time?

So finally I said I couldn't take it anymore. My heart couldn't take it anymore. Whatever had drawn me to Army Boy in the first place, the thing about him I was addicted to, was only making me angry. He was still trying to make everything okay between us, and frankly, I just don't think it can happen anymore.

His last text to me yesterday was "Don't make this decision with me so far away." I think him being far away was a good thing. It left me my own room to think and clear my head. I made this decision with a clear mind. I know this is what I have to do. No, I don't like it. No, I don't want to give him up, but I have to, for the sake of my sanity, if nothing else.

I woke up this morning (not only exhausted from getting probably a total of five hours of restless sleep) with a heavy heart. Army Boy was the only true hope I had ever had for my happy ending, but I think that was more my heart and mind making him into that than him actually being that guy. So yeah. I'm upset more because I'm so terrified of ending up alone.

Yeah, I'm independent, and I'm strong. But who really wants to go their whole life alone? Right now, maybe I do need to spend some time alone to myself. My friend told me yesterday in a brutal reality check/heart-to-heart about the situation that I couldn't live my life like the stories I write. And she's right. I can't dive into the most dramatic thing available thinking it's all going to end up with me riding off with my prince into the sunset.

It's the hardest advice to hear, but the best given. Life isn't a romance novel or a romantic comedy. It's life. And right now I have to learn the difference.

Well...I think that's enough self-discovery for one day, hmm?

Mucho love.
MA

Hola, Aloha, Howdy, Hello. Whatever language you speak.

Hello internet community.

I'm Mary-Allyn (which is pronounced Allen) but for this little blog o' mine, a simple "MA" will suffice. I prefer it anyway. It sounds kinda cool, don't you think? My friends haven't picked up on it yet.

Let's just get a few warnings out there for you guys, hmm? I'm about six different people all mashed up and crammed into one body. I'm the dreamer, hopeless romantic, cynic, pessimist, lonely, loud, shy, insane, bitter, sarcastic girl. Of course, thankfully they don't all come out at once. One day I may be the loud, funny, bold girl, and the next I may curl up in my bed and be bitter about everything in the world.

I also tend to ramble and rant, quote songs and movies without warning, change subjects quickly and unlogically and...I guess you could just call me a little ADD.

I'm a writer. And I don't mean that lightly. I'm absolutely addicted to it. I also act. When you put a writer and an actor together, it makes for a quite interesting combo; especially when I sit down to write. I become the characters, which makes for rather embarrassing moments. I get extremely emotionally attached to movies and stories. I cried four -- I repeat four -- times during UP. Yes, the children's movie.

Music is my therapy -- when I can't seem to get the motivation to write. I have playlists for any and every mood. Give me a mood and I can call up about 80-90 songs just from my own music library to fit the mood. I will listen to anything once -- except rap and folk. Sorry, I just draw the line there. Rock, R&B, Country, Alternative, Pop...I listen to at least a few songs from almost every genre. In my opinion, iTunes was like, the best invention we ever got.

I should also forwarn (is that the right spelling? Hmm...) you that my mood fluctuates daily. The thing about being the dreamer hopeless romantic is that when my pessimist reality hits me, I fall hard. Being the writer/actress I am, I've always been trying to make my life into a movie. I've been trying to find the prince riding in from the horizon, the adventure that happens to the bored girl to make her life what she's always wanted, but all I've ever gotten was a harsh dose of my pessism showing me that it just isn't going to happen.

I've finally recently come to terms with the fact that I have to take charge of my own life and make it the movie (which is always complete with the soundtrack from my trusty iPod touch, Hubert.) Sidenote: I should mention I like to name inanimate objects that are important to me. The list, as of now, includes my car, cellphone, and iPod. Back to the topic! Though I know I can make it happen, that it's meant to happen, my heart is still trying to fit this into a movie.

I go through depressions, and you guys may see some angsty stuff written in these blogs, especially coming up in the next few days. Ew, boy troubles. (I'll post more on that later. Trust me, I'll want to vent it all out later.) I've never been technically diagnosed. My parents never believed me. I act every day of my life. I'm strong for my friends. I don't think I've hardly ever cried in front of them before. I pretend to just write it all off (such as heartbreak) and that I'm fine the next day. I hope in their eyes, I look invincible. That is very far from reality. But, let's not depress everyone with that story today, shall we?

More quirks about MA! I've been called Grammar Nazi (by my loving gay best friend/back-up husband Gregory. More about him another post as well), I tend to get angry if numbers aren't even or ending in five (you should see me at gas pumps.), and if you do not close a door COMPLETELY, I will yell and make you come back and shut it the last half-inch. I know random phrases/words from my two years of Spanish class and occasionally throw a random Spanish word in the sentence. You may want to open your translators! I kid. I procrastinate majorly and call most of the people I love "losers." If I call you a loser, don't feel bad. I love you! :]

Okay, enough of me for now. I hope you return and see how much more insane I get. If not then...well, I'll miss you?

Mucho loves.
MA.