I'm not gonna write you a love song

I am Sara Bareilles.

Well, no not really, but dude...how did she get into my head and write the most perfect song?

I learnt the hard way/That they all say/ Things you wanna hear/ My heavy hearts sinks deep down under/ You and your twisted words/ Your help just hurts/ You are not what I thought you were/ Hello to high and dry/ Convinced me to please you/ Made me think that I need this too/ But I'm trying to let you hear me as I am/ I'm not gonna write you a love song/ Cause you asked for it/ Cause you need one/ You see, I'm not gonna write you a love song/ cause you tell me it's make or breakin' this/ If you're on your way/ I'm not gonna write you to stay/ If all you have is leavin'/ I'm gonna need a better reason/ To write you a love song today.


Boys. Bleh. They're never worth the love songs.

I'm done.



Free LEGAL download here (until Tuesday, June 26th): http://freeitunessongs.blogspot.com/2007/06/music-sara-bareilles-love-song.html

By the way, I saw her live in concert, and I absolutely adore her. She's great.

Daddy's little girl

My dad and I had a strange relationship while I was growing up.

Oh, we had our fights. I was rebellious, and he was determined to make sure I turned out all right. He was adamant about my 9PM curfew, and I was always trying to test it. He disapproved of my guy friends, and I hated how he would give every single guy who called my house the third degree - "Who is this? What do you want? Why are you calling my daughter? Don't you know it's rude to call during dinnertime? Well, maybe some people eat dinner at 8PM..."

One time, he even asked, "Are you one of those gangster boys? You have spiked hair and baggy jeans right?"

I could have died. I hated how he was so protective. He was so gruff and stern. A typical Asian father, if you will. He never expressed his emotions - unless it was how disappointed he was in my grades. Nothing I could do was good enough. And he never told me he loved me.

And then I moved to Chicago to start undergrad. My dad made the trip out to orientation week with me, and I fully appreciated it. I needed someone to help me bunk my bed, help me buy my books, and set up my home away from home.

He was scheduled to fly back to California on my first day of class. I remember coming back from my very first Chem 171 class - wide-eyed and apprehensive (how in the world was the entire freshman class that smart??), and then I realized my dad was sitting at my desk. And then I realized he was teary-eyed.

My daddy had come to say goodbye before he left. And in that instant, I knew he loved me. Knew he always had. I started crying too, and we were both a mess, as I told him how scared I was, and he told me that he had faith I could accomplish anything.

Six hours later, my mom called to let me know that my dad had arrived back in California safely. "Hey kiddo, your daddy is still crying," she said, as she laughed and mocked him in the background.

My parents are the absolute best. I've always been closer to my mother, but no matter what happens, I'll always be my Daddy's little girl.

I have a very strong memory of my family driving back from Las Vegas. My dad and I were the only ones who were awake in the car. I was, maybe five years old. Anyhow, the moon was pretty low that night, and I nonsensically told my dad that I wanted it. "More than a pony?" he asked. "YEAH! MORE THAN A PONY!!!" I replied ecstatically.

And so we drove and drove and drove (in the wrong direction, mind you), trying to catch the moon. I finally fell asleep and my mom must have woken up and chided my father to get us the heck home, because when I woke up, I was in my own bed again.

Out of all the girls in the world, only I can say that my daddy honestly will do anything to bring me the stars and the moon.


Happy Father's Day, Daddy. I love you.

Satellite (100th post)

I find it strangely ironic that 100 posts later, everything has come full circle. And I am still the same girl. Still searching for a place to lay my anchor down. Still wishing on satellites. Still drowning in my insecurities. Still blindly trying to fall in love.

So much for wanting to change. To become better. To be un-phased by heartbreak, disappointment, and inevitable bad hair days.

Oh, I talk a good game, but trust me. I get phased.

100 posts ago, I wrote about giving up my once upon a time. No more Prince Charmings, I swore. Goodbye Sandra Dee. Hello love cynic. This was the time of my life and I was a hot commodity. Hello, I'm a young twenty-something in Chicago...a young twenty-something training to become a medical doctor, no less. This was no time to search for my elusive lobster, when I could be dating just for the heck of it. Emotions, splotions. I could be your future Sugar momma if you wanted it. If I wanted it.

It's so much easier to say than do. I know. I spent 100 posts trying to convince myself that I could do it. And minus a couple of so-called relapses, I really thought I could. I could become Samantha. I could laugh it off when ex-boyfriends ran away from me. And time would heal all difficult breakups (even the inconclusive spring flings).

To be truthful, I still want someone to love me for who I am. Flaws and all. Yes, there are a lot of them. Oh, 100 posts have shown me just how bright those flaws glare in hindsight. And after 100 posts of trying to get rid of them, I'm just now trying to accept myself completely as is.

After being told so many times about my flaws by various so-called loves, I'm done.

Done.

I just need to find someone who will love me. Will put me first. Someone who can't wait to see me at any time of day or night. Someone who would be perfectly happy - contentedly happy - if it were just me, him, and a couple of Cubs games on a deserted island. Someone who's not afraid of really committing to me. 100%. Because my flaws? Regardless of how huge that number might be, they wouldn't be flaws to him. They're personality, and only occasionally very very very mild annoyances.

That's my list. Gone is the height requirement. The dimples. The Taiwanese heritage. And the musical upbringing.

He just needs to love me. All of me. And that he, whomever he might be, will be my Prince Charming.

After all is said and done, I want him. I need him. I know that there's a chance he might not exist, but damn it, I'm gonna look for him.

I'm done settling and pretending that Mr. Right Now is what I actually want, right now. Right now, tomorrow, and forever, I'm going to want my Prince Charming. Settling is for my 100,000th post. When I'm gray and old and just need to get laid.

I'm done pretending that it doesn't hurt like the dickens when I'm so easily cast aside for others. I'm done pretending about not caring. I'm done being insincere. I'm done using cynicism to hide my insecurities.

I will wish on satellites, impractical as it may be.

But that's me. I'm impractical and idealistic and a hopeless romantic. I hate asking for help because I'm insecure and I want you to love me. And if you don't, well... 100 posts ago I would have said oh well, your loss, next!! But now I'm completely able to tell you that even if you don't love me - which hurts, no lies - I am convinced I will find someone who does. And oh won't you be sorry.

Oh yeah. I'm vindictive too.

The song starts with "black and blue, I found my way." I've been battered and tossed around in this game called love. I am more damaged than so many people I know. But it has to say something about my spirit, my tenacity, and perhaps, my stupidity, that I'm still willing to go out there and get completely whacked over the head by love. I will find my way.

I'm just starting to accept myself. Flaws and all. Love me anyways. And if you do, please remind me every once in a while.

---

All in all I fare the same wishing on an aeroplane as it's calling stars by name. A lonely song of freedom rings in hope of someone listening, and so I send my feeble flare through the silent arctic air, heading anywhere until at last I've finally found a place to lay my anchor down. Satellite, save my life - I'm wishing on a two-way radio. Love might be just like me - jaded, waiting, all alone, a whisper on a two-way radio. You never know never never. Heaven help me - I'm drowning and I can't save me. Send some salvation to keep me alive...

Here comes the bride

Okay...so I have some more possible toasts...


The best story of all is the one you'll write together...and "Happily ever after" is how it begins.

Two hands joined in friendship, two hearts joined in love, two lives joined as a beautiful part of God's eternal plan. Bless you both, now and forever.

Dance on moonbeams, wish on stars, feel a happy glow...Catch life's magic in your hearts and never let it go!


Truth: I was just in Walgreens and read every single Congrats on your Wedding! card they had.

Do you think my older sister will appreciate a Hallmark-sponsored toast?

Wedding March

All right friends. I need to write the best gosh-darn maid of honor wedding toast ever. It needs to make my sister laugh and then cry, but not be so sad that her makeup starts running (because I'm pretty sure she'd kill me for ruining her $500 face). Oh and it needs to be in simple enough English so my parents understand what's going on. Ready, set...critique!

----

When I was in eighth grade, I entered an "important woman essay contest". Some people choose famous women like Elizabeth Blackwell, the first female doctor, and Britney Spears - remember, this was before she went crazy and shaved her head. Me? I wrote about my older sister, Annie.

And ten years ago, I must have done a pretty good job because I won that essay contest. See? But tonight's not about me.

Annie cracks me up with her "you know what's funny" stories, pushes me to do my best, and is always there with a hug when my best isn't good enough. She looks out for me - saving books for me to study, loaning me Monopoly money when my dad makes me pay my million-dollar-rent on Park Place, and fiercely takes my side whenever I get in a fight - even if I started it. She's led the way for me, showing me what to do, such as getting A's in school, and what not to do, like staying out past curfew or attempting to parallel park. She is my role model, my confidante, and my friend.

When I was going through my awkward years - and by that I mean high school and college and just last week - I'd go to her to complain about everything...school, parents, life, being thirteen...but mainly to complain about boys. To which she always had the right answer. Boys suck. Boys are stupid. Throw rocks at boys.

And wow! Here we are. She's found one boy who doesn't suck. Who isn't all that stupid. She's found one boy that I'm glad to welcome into the family. Ever since I've met Tim he's been the older brother I always wished I had. Beating me at burping contests, teasing me and calling me names like michi shi-ru (which is a play on miso soup), and refusing to concede even ONE point in Wii Tennis even though he has a thousand points and I only have a hundred. But when it's important, Tim's always there for me with a hug...or his manly muscles to help me carry in the groceries.

Annie and Tim, I'm so glad you found each other, because you both deserve nothing but the absolute best. And that's what you are. The best.

So please raise your glass with me and let us toast my fabulous sister and my fantastic new brother-in-law.

To Annie, my gorgeous and intelligent sister, and her new husband Tim - the luckiest guy alive.

Just friends

I like making other people happy. It makes me happy.

So it was my best friend's birthday last Wednesday, and after all is said and done, he treats me pretty well - he feeds me food stolen from random lunch meetings, draws me cute cartoons guaranteed to brighten up the stormiest of days, is always willing to be my plus one to even the girliest of events (though he sometimes agrees begrudgingly), and doles out the best hugs ever.

Oh, and he's our class president. Which means that while he treats me pretty well, he treats the entire class even better. He takes meetings with deans, sets up mock anatomy practicals, emails out cute cartoons of our class mascot defeating those unit exams of death, and takes important class issues to senate (such as our smelly bathrooms and our need for a coffee maker in the student lounge).

He's a good person.

So for his birthday, his number one fan and I decided we wanted to do something really spectacular for him. As a thank you for everything that he has done for us individually, and our entire class of 2010. And because I like making people happy - and I knew he'd love it.

We made t-shirts. Invited all 170 students (and some teachers by accident). Decorated his apartment with streamers, balloons, post-it love notes. Bought lots of pop, alcohol, and the best birthday cake a grocery store has ever created. Made him cheesecake and cookies. Wrote birthday poems for him. And surprised the bejeezus out of him.

Now I can't dodge all the questions people have been throwing my way.

People, please. It's quite possible for two friends to be just that.

Tale as old as time

You know how whenever you have a really close group of friends, you start placing bets on who's gonna get married first? And you always think you know who it's gonna be. Whether it's for romantic reasons, religious reasons, or no reason at all - you always know who's gonna be the first one to get hitched. Oh it's gonna be Chris; she's been dating her boyfriend for 6 years! Or, definitely Caroline, because she's only in college to get her MRS degree. Or, duh, Jefferson - he's Mormon!

A week ago, the day before my friend Jefferson was to leave for Japan, my group of friends and I were all sitting around having lunch. At Chipotle. And about twenty minutes into my burrito bowl, Jefferson told us he wanted to show us something. Fishing around in his pocket, he turned to me, and pulled out a box. A little black box.

Then he opened it. And there it was. The biggest diamond a student loan could afford. It was tiny, but gorgeous.

No, he wasn't proposing. Not to me, at least.

But the next day, he was on a flight bound for Japan. Bound for Engagement-Land.

And for the past couple of weeks, all I can think is, holy crap, how did we get here already?! That game we played is slowly turning into a reality. My sister is walking down the aisle in less than a month. Facebook photo albums are now entitled So and So's Wedding, or Presenting Mrs. [insert new husband's last name here]. I had lunch with one of my friends last week, and she's already getting set up with eligible men right and left. She's only 23.

You make guesses about who's going to get married first, but marriage always remains this far-off destination - the rest stop right before you head into Happily Ever After land. Marriage, for me, has always been something I promised I'd think about after my career was stable, but not one minute before. And so, while I might joke about finding my Prince Charmings and knights in shining armor, I'm firmly stuck on the page right after "once upon a time" and one singing mob, two beasts, three enchanted forests, and four wicked witches away from a wedding of any kind.

But now, I can't help wondering. Could I be engaged myself within the next four years?

Wow. That is scary.

Scary because I couldn't see myself marrying any of my past boyfriends. Scary because I don't know anyone I can see myself marrying, even in the most bizarre of worlds. Scary because I'm dating just for fun. Just for the heck of it. Not because they're necessarily someone I could put down roots with. Scary because I feel like we're still way too young - we have our whole lives ahead of us. And scary because I know the longer I wait, the more likely I'm gonna end up using match.com in twenty years. Have you been on that site? Dude, scary. I want to find my own love of my life. I don't want some computer generating love formulas to find me my so-called Mr. Perfect.

I might end up an old maid. With lots of cats. Even though I'm kinda allergic to them.

I don't know if I'm okay with that. And that's what really scares me.

These words