...since I haven't done a stitch of work in two days. it's been full frontal personal life dealings, OPD (Other People's Drama), and the like.
hi. I live here.
and on that note, sometimes I like living here. I'm in love with new haven and the way it sings to me. and while I'd like to move, and while I'm sorting through wanting to move and not wanting to move and why and wherefore and all of it, I've realized one very important thing: that I need to put it all down. all of it. Let Go. and when I'm ready, like kristin promised, I'll know.
she read to me the other night, about waking up and becoming alive and the smile that spread from ear to ear when seattle began to beckon. and I want that, I want what she has - I want to shift and know and have it come to me. as much as I'm sure of things that I want, or think I want, or need, or think I need, it's all a far cry from Knowing.
I'm being told I'll know. actually, I'm betting on it.
so I should talk about tom brosseau, as it was a week ago now that I had wandered into work still high from the time spent with him and mary - but first, to catch up on the mean girl stuff: so there were these girls, and they were like, being mean. and they got caught out talking about something. and upon confrontation and inquisition and all those jabbing uncomfortable itions, they threw me under the bus.
it's fun. you should try it sometime, this being under the bus business. I'm told it builds lots of character. and you know how much we love building character.
so, cue a few things: me feeling sorry for myself, what with all my hurt feelings and bruised ago. me getting a call from a boy at 8:30 in the morning to see how I was doing (which was the fun part), and a bunch of semi-snotty text messages throughout the day (which was the part where I wanted to react really, really bad and didn't). I love how drama junkies all of a sudden "can't believe what a big deal you're making out of this" and how they "don't have time for stupid petty bullshit" when the drama involves them. it's funny how it happens like that, every single time. anyways, I whine and complain and take walks and by that evening I am in the car with my sponsor, on my way to hear her speak at a meeting.
now, less than twenty-four hours after said event, I have become The Most Grateful Person In America. suddenly these things don't matter - not like they ever did, in the grand scheme of things, but there's a huge difference in someone asking you to look at how important something isn't, and having something snap in your head and realizing how important something isn't. like the whole reading the book about the ocean versus standing in the ocean thing. I mean, I've stayed sober through some pretty serious shit, and people that I don't really know too well making assumptions and judgement calls about me - well, it's just not that big of a deal.
and until you hit that wall with it, it's easier said than done. what other people think about me is none of my business, don't make decisions based on fear, you can be content knowing that you've done the right thing - that's all easy to practice when nothing bad is happening. and to go from zero to distraught to gratitude in under a day is just a testament to my growth as a result of what I have learned in the context of the twelve steps. I am taking what I've learned, applying it into other areas of my life, and evolving.
by the end of the night, the worst thing I was dealing with was coming to some form of acceptance for how these girls are handling these things - instead of trying to understand how they were being the way that they were being. because I'm not going to. because I don't get it. or, more accurately, they don't get it.
I just amaze myself sometimes.
so, on to tom... the gorgeous, tall, sweet, wonderful talented tom brosseau. as usual, I'll start with a blow-by-blow, and probably wind up discussing every single second with you. but we'll see.
so last tuesday I leave work in the afternoon and head out to tweed. and for me, there's a degree of famousness involved - I mean, I know I'm not going to pick up mick jagger or anything, but it's that tangible thing that goes on in my world where I meet the wrens and talk about the concept of "break a leg" with luke temple and cary brothers asks me to come and check out his set in brooklyn.
and in this case, where tom brosseau sleeps on the floor of my apartment, after refusing to take my bed (without me in it) for about an hour.
so I'm in my new favorite hoodie that I'm wearing every day it seems, it's olive green and has these beige and blue flowery things crawling up part of it and it says "rock city" in big gothic letters on the back. erin and I found it in forever 21. who knew - so I'm in my hoodie with the sleeves pulled over my hands, with a little striped scarf and my new york sneakers. and I'm waiting, and I'm pacing, and all of a sudden mary jones and tom brosseau come off of the plane and through the entryway (and by the way, if you've never been, the waiting room at tweed is the size of my living room - there's about ten chairs and a rental car chick - seriously). and I'm all, omg, you're tom brosseau! hands over mouth as I try to sort of hold it together to remember that we need to walk to the car. and tom hugs me and mary is giggling and off we speed in my teeny little car, now filled with carry-ons and a band guy and his manager and a '63 martin in a hard case. it was total bliss.
so we listen to the decemberists and stop at sound check, where I proceed to hear a few teasing parts of songs I know off of "what I mean to say is goodbye" and that's when I'm really blown away. his voice is like a bell, and the space is empty, and he's onstage going, hey victoria, did you get yourself a snapple there? and I can't help but go, um, he's talking to me, you're talking to me, yes, did you want one? and he's giggling and all, no, I'm good, and mary is smiling at me because I'm freaking out, and it's just too good to be true. I'm in the space. with tom brosseau. and his manager. talking about snapple and where we want to eat dinner. in new haven. 'cause they're like, going to get back in my car and stuff.
!!!
so they do (get back in my car) and we tumble up the stairs to my apartment to drop off gear, and then back down to go out for dinner. I decide to take them to miya's, since you've got to do miya's, or mamoun's, or the pantry, or thai taste - just some kind of new haven staple - if it's your first time here. the conversation is easy and the lighting is dim, and we eat family style off of big plates with our shoes off cross-legged on the floor. drew takes care of us and we wind up leaving miya's with a $30 tab - unreal for the amount of eating we've managed to do. a quick stop back at the apartment, some wine and some postcards and much brushing of teeth, and we're back at the space with twenty minutes to spare.
donna and sal have made the trek from branford, and we all stalk one of the front row couches as the last two open mic performers finish up. some boys in local bands I believe, who really pulled off some gut wrenching stuff. and steve comes up to tell us a bunch of stuff about the space - and then there's tom. ambling across the stage, tuning, tall and blonde and sweet... he opens with a song about yodeling and donna and sal have been won over instantly, smiling and happy and curled up with me - socks and cups of tea and goodness.
tom plays for a good forty minutes, with stories and dedications and explanations and smiles. he played the first track off the cd for me, going "this one's for you, vic" because we're long lost friends now. vic and tom bombs (a nickname for a tom at our office, fondly re-adapted to suit our performer). I shoot away and he leaves us wanting, but happy nonetheless, and as the set finishes we wander around taking in the scene. every time you've been to the space there's some new thing on top of some other thing, like an army figurine on top of an old lunchbox behind a new painting on a piece of cardboard under a string of evil doll-head lights.
so the first part of our evening comes to an end, complete with soundboard recordings and poster stealings and strangers with cake (and later, a loaf) and we all pile back in the car to head back to my apartment. it's at this point I realize that they may want to go out or something, but they seem quite content to don soft socks and fill their wine glasses in my kitchen - and that's what we do. everyone settles in and checks emails and putters around and points at the things on my walls... mary's working, and tom and I are writing postcards. then tom is blogging and I'm taping things up on my walls - flyposting, as mary calls it. andrew bird and the barsuk compilation take us through the night, and there's showering behind plastic fishes and picture perusing and finally dim pink christmas lantern lights and soft rain lulling us to sleep.
I cannot believe, as my photo gallery says, that all of that actually happened.
the morning comes and everyone's smiling and rested, even me, although I've spent the night waking mid-dream and realizing that tom brosseau is asleep on the floor about two feet away from me, and it's like the night before christmas when you're small, where the anticipation just keeps you from going to the restful sleepy place. we dodge the monsoon and break bread at the pantry, where I've done a good job of pimping the california eggs benedict (for the fat kids: that's regular eggs benedict with avocado and grilled tomato in there, super delish!) but we all opt for lighter fare and brave the rain once more to get back to the car. I proudly serve up the willoughby's and taxi over to union station, where we spend about a half an hour trading addresses and emails and phone numbers - yes, PHONE NUMBERS! I hoped for emails at best, but much to my amazement, I was treated to tom's home mailing address and a cell phone number. which he apparently doesn't answer much, but still. and we're joking and laughing and I'm going, so I could just like, call you, if I wanted, and he's all, actually, I'd be dissapointed if you didn't! not in the boy-girl way, just in the new-friends way. and as luck would have it, tom just might be playing the week I'm in seattle in december with kristin and steve - which was met by grins and hugs of approval.
and then the all aboard call came, and suddenly everyone was gone.
so this catches you back up to the morning last week, where I came in fresh from the station, and we've got the pictures to prove it.
next up: the bliss of the frames at irving plaza in new york city. yum.
and perfect guitar-neck photography for all,
~vvb
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