Falling in love with/in Skagway

As I now find myself in the midst of my longest stretch of singlehood in Skagway (up until recently, the combined total of 5 and a half years in Skagway was about 2 months single), I've been reflecting on relationships (and lack thereof) here and how everything has fit together for me in the past.

I remember reading one of those magazines where girls write in with their dating problems. One girl wrote in about how all these men turned out all wrong for her and/or broke up with her. The advice columnist bluntly responded by saying "the only constant in these relationships is you." Pretty obvious, but not always relatable when you're in the middle of a situation.

I've been thinking about that column lately (as i always do after epic relationship fails) and, while I've drawn a lot of conclusions about myself and life as a result, I've also been wondering (as so many of us do) if my little town is really the best place to seek out and pursue romantic relationships. A summer friend told me that I should get out and go somewhere that has a bigger pool to pick from. I'm inclined to agree, and if I ever decide I want long-term romantic relationships again I may do that.

My decision that Skagway is not a good place to find a suitable partner for myself was highlighted by a delightful soundtrack including, most recently, Pink Floyd and Def Leppard. I loudly proclaimed that all the men in my past were "just another brick in the wall." Yes, i know that's not what the song actually means, but that was my interpretation after "i don't need no arms around me." (Which, for the record, I don't.)

I had a pretty good spread the other night with a few of my favorite things: While my dog camped out at my feet, I enjoyed a shepherd's pie (unfortunately it was out of a box), a Rolling Rock (once again unavailable at any bar in town), a puzzle (this one is cheesy - unicorns and rainbows) and a classic rock hit list (Def Leppard's greatest hits). Not surprisingly, I was really feeling "Love Bites" to the extent that I pulled up the lyrics online and listened to it over and over again. After exhausting that track to its max potential, I switched over to my personal favorite, in the same vein, "Bringin on the Heartbreak."

It's one of my favorite songs to sing at karaoke because of the inherent sexiness of it. Sadly, most karaoke guys don't have it in their collections (in my experience) so I only get to rock out to it with the original track. As I assembled pink and purple fragments of unicorns on my dining room table I turned the speakers on my computer up as loud as they go and sang to my heart's content - over and over and over. Because sometimes when you're really feeling it, that's what you have to do to express yourself and get it all out of your system.

Drowning my bitchy mood with Rolling Rock and the occasional cigarette (even though "i don't need no drugs to calm me") I was caught off guard when I heard my phone ringing. The music was so loud I could barely hear it. Sadly, in spite of the mood I was in - down with love, men are assholes, etc - when my phone rang there were a number of men who jumped into my brain as being people I would love to be calling me in that moment. That irritates the hell out of me.

It was not actually anyone from my binder full of men calling at that moment. What caught me off-guard was that it was Katie. She and I communicate primarily via text and facebook message when we're not talking in person (when we're in person we communicate primarily via sarcasm, innuendo and bad lip reading). Phone calls are rare and usually warrant worry that an emergency is imminent.

"Did you get my text?" Katie asked. She sounded excited.

"No," I said, explaining that my music had been too loud to hear anything and that I barely even heard my phone go off.

"Well," Katie continued, "I sent you a text asking if you wanted to see a picture of our first Christmas tree. We just put up our first Christmas tree so I was going to see if you wanted to see a picture of it. But then instead of sending you a picture of our Christmas tree I was going to send you a picture of my engagement ring."

And there went Def Leppard.

There went all of it, actually. There went my Alanis-Morisette-circa-Jagged-Little-Pill mindset, there went my recently held belief that anyone getting married is an idiot, there went my cynical exterior and anger toward the institution of romance itself for what it's put me through. And suddenly the soft gooey center was back out again.

I used to cry in movies whenever anyone got married. Whenever I watched the Grey's Anatomy episode (yeah, shut up) where Alex and Izzie get married I always cried, every single time. Anytime anyone went up the aisle or even got engaged the waterworks were on. Since May, when my own wedding was cancelled (another one), and particularly since that robot stage of grief started in September, movies don't do that for me anymore. With the exception of a very weepy Ashley during the end of "Father of the Bride," weddings mean Jack Schitt to me nowadays. Since I decided to no longer plan on getting married it just hasn't been that meaningful.

But i freaked the hell out when Katie announced over the phone that Jim had proposed. They've been planning on it for a while, like most people nowadays before the official rigamarole with the ring and the knee and all happens. But for some reason, the ritualistic action of making it official in their case turned this grinch's heart three sizes bigger. I turned giddy on the phone, hardly able to contain my excitement. Finally it dawned on me and I told Katie : "I've been so cynical about relationships lately, and hate this kind of stuff, but I'm actually really happy for you guys. I'm not even faking it because I love you guys so much."

Well, I guess that settles that. Skagway, as it turns out, may be a decent place for other people to find relationships - just not so much for me. Which all comes back to that advice column. If the constant of Skagway isn't to blame... then the only other constant is me.

At this point, it doesn't really matter, I guess. Now that I'm no longer looking for long-term relationships of any kind, let alone the kind that end effectively with a white dress and a life sentence (shit, sorry, did i just say that?), it's not really important to me to figure out what I've done wrong across the board. Actually, that's not entirely true. What I've done wrong across the board has been a pretty simple act: what I've done wrong that's helped result in choosing the wrong partners has been my age-old Disney Princess desire to do nothing in life other than get married. Ironic, I guess.

All of that aside, there's nowhere better to fall in love than Skagway. The first time I fell in love in Skagway it was concurrent to falling in love WITH Skagway. That was a simpler time. I sometimes wish that I had neither fallen in love in Skagway nor with it. If I had just spent a summer here and moved on, things would have been so much different. A year and a half of my life (or 3 years of my life, if you include the prison time that resulted from our relationship and until the end of which I wouldn't really be free of him) was wasted on Allen and, one could argue, five and a half have been wasted in Skagway. What have I really gotten out of it? Not much that's tangible. A lot of grief over a lot of shit hitting a lot of fans. A lot of attachments that broke apart just as suddenly as they formed. A lot of scars that run too deep to erase, that i'll carry with me for the rest of my life.

Hey you, out there beyond the wall, breaking bottles in the hall! Can you help me?

Today an ex from many, many years ago dropped by my house to bring a box full of my things over. He and I did not end on good terms, in any of the numerous times that we broke up. It's only been recently that we even acknowledge each other's presence with a head nod or smile. I couldn't believe it. My favorite dress. My favorite jacket. My watch. A lot of other articles of clothing. It baffled me that he brought them back. I had just assumed that, after us not ending well, he'd tossed them in the incinerator. But no, he told me, he didn't want to do that because he thought there might be some sentimental value in something I'd left at his house so many years ago.

I'm still wondering if there is any sentimental value in any of it - the clothes I got back from my ex, the memories I've made in Skagway, the five-and-a-half-year's worth of notebooks of memoirs I've compiled in living here since 07. Was any of it really worth it, in the long run? Skagway, just like this enigmatic entity known as "love", has given me some of the best and worst times of my life. They've both had me walking on air and they've both drawn and quartered my spirit. Every rose has its thorn, but is it really worth cutting your finger so many times just to have something nice to look at for a little while til it dies in the vase?

I guess when I start to forget about all of that, there's people like Jim and Katie to bring me back.

The fact that I'm listening to "The Wall" as I write this may make it a little disjointed, disconnected, and I'm fairly certain it all comes together in my head a little tighter than it actually does on your computer screen.