It don't snow here; it stays pretty green.

We watched Lost in Translation last night at Fort Awesome and I am still feeling...ways about things. I'm in a relationship now that is similar to Bob and Charlotte's so watching the movie was both sad because I miss him so much and moving because so many scenes were familiar to me.

We met last spring. April, to be exact. I was feeling reckless, drunk on my newfound power and decided to prankcall a friend of mine. He did not answer the phone but someone else did. I didn't know at the time how important the someone else was going to be to me. I was just mad because he foiled my plan.

The night after that, I was late for the party and SE found me. He gave me a pass and I went backstage and it was magical. He made me laugh so much that night. The fact that I was drunk off my ass helped, too. It was the same the next night, except I got to see a side of him that few people get to see. I went home, with his email address tucked into my pocket. Then eleven days later, I joined them again. That night I began my pattern. Instead of walking up to the man guarding the door and announcing "I'm on the list," which terrified me because I'm immensely sensitive, even to low-level wonks on power trips, I began to call him on my cell and cry like a mewling kitten for him to get me. Hey, he did it once and now I'm spoiled.

We saw each other once more after that in Atlanta before a prolonged separation. It wasn't so bad. We talked on the phone or via computer almost every day.

Shortly after that last time in Atlanta, I was with my boyfriend when I answered a call from him. When I got off the phone, I didn't have a boyfriend anymore and that...was okay. I had Someone Else. I had the rest of them. They circled the wagons around me and I became absorbed into the hivemind.

I didn't see him again until the Dead played Atlanta. He had been to Japan the month before and had brought me back a lovely handkerchief with a geisha on it. But the kicker was the bus fridge. I had brought my sister, who doesn't drink beer, and he had stocked the fridge with drinks she does like. I was so touched that he remembered something like that. Then he took her onstage to watch the band. Of course, later in the night he dumped a metric ton of Red Bull on her head accidentally but they were cool before that.

He went to the UK after that. Soon after, a package arrived at my house, packed with wine gums, Wispas, and Scrumdidlyumptious bars. Hey, they can get anything in England. I must take this moment to point out that he did not send me Walkers Crisps. I know, I know--they're common. And the Limey says there are better crisps that I should have asked for. I don't care! I want my Walkers ketchup crisps. Catsup? Ketchup. Is there anything the Heinz-Kerry family can't do?

The next trip, he got to see a part of me that I rarely show--the weak part, the fragile piece, the part that cries. We found out two things: 1) I can tell him anything. 2) Oh, sweet Lord, does he dislike it when I cry. But I got better. You guys posted some really sweet, supportive stuff on here and I was far too degraditated to respond at the time but oh gosh, did I appreciate it. Thank you all. Even if you couldn't think of anything to say, if you thought about me, I appreciate it. In addition, I had my beautiful new friend, Traci, who uttered "Fuck. Him." with such venom that I couldn't help but collapse into a paroxysm of laughter. And he and they were all there saying the same things they always say--"Why do you care? Forget about it." And I did forget about it. They played so well that night. "At a Siding" stopped my heart and I daresay that if the swooping guitar part doesn't tug at something in your heart, you are dead on the inside. Hmmph.

Then, he was my guide to New York City, where our story definitely looked like LiT. It wasn't a different country, true. However, it's a bit unsettling to go from the property here in a town of 3000 people where you can't buy alcohol or Playboy to New York City, where you could buy a kidney if you knew the right people. It made me seasick and lonely. I will admit I spent time staring out the window of my room. However, then I met up with him. He took me out for all-night Polish food and way too much barcrawling. When the night finally ended, I felt dizzy and ecstatic. I didn't want to leave. That was a drawback to taking a flight. My car enables me to leave when I want. But I had to leave when Delta wanted and I tried not to think about what I was missing.

I thought that was it indefinitely but then they looped back to me to culminate the world's longest roadtrip. That was perhaps the best trip yet. We went shopping for things that made us laugh, he mocked me for reading Gossip Girl [Shut up! It was very educational and I pretended that the pretty girl that all the rich bitches were jellus of was princessm516], and we got to spend a lot of time just hanging out. Then, again it was time to go home.

I wish I could say that he whispered something in my ear, something that made it all better, just like at the end of LiT. But the truth is, he's been doing that almost every day since I met him. Just the act of talking to him itself is enough to shake me from sadness. I'm so thankful to have him. God, even writing this--I started writing this feeling melancholy and in the process of talking about him, I cheered up. The truth is, I feel a lot like Charlotte most of the time. I second guess myself constantly, wondering, Is this what I really want to do with my life? I get so scared sometimes. But he's always there. And oh, my God, am I so glad he's back from Mexico.