Sunday, August 30, 2009

Time Traveling

So last weekend my paintings were "stolen", missing or whatever when I got up the next day. I don't recall what happened to them, but thankfully my roommate informed me - as he heard the conversation from his bedroom (at like 5am). It took me the next 2 days to get them back. So I took it semi-easy this week and went out Wednesday for kickball and Saturday to a winery then the open bar for kickball. (I swear I do more than kickball crap.)

Despite keeping telling myself that I should put insurance on my new phone, I neglected to do so. So, what happens? I wake up this morning with everything in my purse - everything but my phone. God damned. But I don't remember that either - and I definitely took it easier last night than a typical open bar would suggest.

The day after drinking usually opens with a lot of sentences that start with "I remember...". Then I wait for people to fill in the blanks. It occurred to me some time last year that I have more than likely forgotten, or rather never remembered, a good deal of fun times in my life because of my time travel.

I got curious today about why this happens: "Alcohol induced amnesia". Sound serious. Lately it's more of a "time travel" where I remember bits and pieces, but I have lost entire nights from time to time. And apparently there are a number of people that don't believe that this actually happens; that people just don't remember events while drinking. Well, it happens folks. A lot. And no, Mom, it's not "serious" and I don't have a problem because I go out twice a week (sometimes more). I'm a "W.A.S.P.", which is half your fault, and W.A.S.P.s are suppose to drink, so lets move on. Back to the time travel, or blacking out, if you prefer, it's odd. However, I think if I remembered drunk me, I would never drink again. So I take this as a suggestion that God wants me to continue drinking.

Now I sit back and wonder how people can remember things when they drink (and why some don't); as this is a completely foreign concept to me. I also wonder how other people's memories work in general because I can't remember 90% of the past 25 years. So perhaps there's something wrong with mine? I'm unsure, I can't remember...

[Update: Phone found! : ) So I will be putting insurance on that.]

Friday, August 28, 2009


Open to the smell of sweet summer air. Fall creeps in: Leaves changing. Life is altering. Hibernation until the warmth and rain of spring re-awakens the flowers beneath the snow.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009


When I was little we used to play in the woods, catch salamanders in the crick and burn ants with a magnifying glass in the heat of the sun. Traipse around the waterless pond only to find out it was more of a cemetery for rotting deer carcasses than the pond sans water. (Did I mention we were barefoot?) We’d play hide and seek in the basement of the neighbor’s house on rainy days – and were small enough to fit in the old kitchen cabinets stored down there. And on a nice day we’d go swimming in the pool or take a hike through the acres of yard space, climb up on the deer stand and use the CB to tease truckers. (Did they really buy we were 20 and not 10?) Sounds just peachy, right? (Let’s go with that for now.) We lived there for 8 years. I was 13 when we moved.

When we moved out of the boonies – with two less family members – it was the end of my 8th grade year. I appreciated the country very much, but I was glad we moved so I could have a social life in high school. After visiting Boston and New York over the next four years, the desire to live in the city – a real city, not Pittsburgh – grew exponentially. After going to undergrad in Pittsburgh (which I miss dearly, but visits suffice), I moved to DC; a metropolitan area with increased job opportunities. (Not NYC big, but it will do.)

I think that it was this desire, the desire for city life that was the largest contribution to the fail of my most recent relationship; stick with me now, I’m just segueing.

I caught myself wondering if the shift in location and life direction caused abrupt changes – or is it that abrupt changes caused the shift in direction. While he wanted suburbia, I wanted city life. I have my whole life to live outside the city; but you can’t raise a family on the NE side of DC. It was my time to live where I wanted; to be in the middle of it all – he wanted trees and a lawn and shit like that. I wanted bars and bums and shit like that. I wanted to live where life was interesting enough to have stories for my (eventual) kids - all 4 of them.

That’s right: 4. I’m guessing twins. I used to think I wanted to be a young mother; my plan at 16 was to marry at 24 and have babies at 26. I just broke up with my boyfriend of 5 years and I’ll be 26 this October. You do the math. Now 30 sounds good: 32 for babies, because for now, I’m all by myself. I’m alone. And I’m okay with that.

I’m not nervous. I’m not scared. I don’t lack self-confidence. And while I’m stressed to my wit with money and life, I’m sufficiently content enough. But I’m waiting: Who am I? This was, and continues to be, a point of contention for me - A nagging little bug that I just can’t seem to find to kill. And as a point of contention for me, it was a point of contention for me in a partnership.

We were in college when we met. (And while I’m aware 50% of married couples meet in college, I’m also aware that 50% of marriages end in divorce.) I was freshly 21 and he was 20 when we started dating – and as much as I hate Beyonce, a comment she recently made kind of clicked with me. She said, in reference to waiting so long to marry (that doucheturtle) Jay-Z, “I really don't believe that you will love the same thing when you're 20 as you do at 30. So that was my rule: before the age of 25, I would never get married. I feel like you have to get to know yourself, know what you want, spend some time by yourself, and be proud of who you are before you can share that with someone else".

As much as I despise her (and her halitosis *giggle*), she has a good point. A point that made me stop and go, “Huh, could be”. As we age, we change – regardless of any extenuating circumstances. And while I’m certain some things accelerated or magnified the shifts (for me), they would happen with or without the fuel.

I now find myself in a personal limbo. Something that I feel happens to most people (women) after escaping a long relationship: Of a time in life of trying to re-figure yourself out: Of attempting to re-balance: Of re-structure: Of figuring out how to move along and do it for just yourself. I find myself in many limbos: between wanting nice things but not being willing (or able) to pay for them, between wondering if I even want nice things or just have whatever suffice, between being a feminist and questioning the absence of chivalry, between being independent and wanting something done for me…or even *gasp* bought for me, between being a leather strap or diamond encrusted watch girl, between loving the city and missing the country.

Is this interesting? Or possibly just eclectic? Or is it simply confusing?Perhaps I’m trying to push an oval personality into a square hole. Is this just part of the series of trial and errors that we call our “twenties”? Do we ever really figure out who we are? In life, what defines a person and how do they know when to stop looking? Is it when we stop asking introverted questions that we are self-aware? Or do we become self-aware because we start asking?

I’ll have to get back to you…


Thursday, August 20, 2009

Green Ladies

I’m well aware of the fact that I can be the best person you will ever know – or the worst. Behind every abrasive woman, you will find a slew of stories; of living through something and coming out on the other side…still breathing.

These women might be the Shreks of life: To get to the core of them, you have to peel back the layers. But once you do, the worth of their love, in particular, is insurmountable. For friends, for lovers. These women are the most loyal, honest and appreciative people you may ever know. Or the worst: Life has taught them defense...and well.

In love, the time and patience it takes to reach the true heart of a woman who has lived life is a test; but the reward is unlikely to be imagined by its conqueror. Until he peels her back - gently.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Newly Single

Newly single. Back in March, after a bit of good times, a bit of bad and a big lay off, I decided I needed a break for my salvation. Fast forward to July and I'm packing to move from Capitol Hill to Bethesda, MD and he's packing to move home to North Carolina (after 8 months of looking for a job to no avail).

It's an odd thing; letting go of something that's been there for so long; that made a city to city transition with you. An odd thing; but in the end, it is our salvation. In the end, while you can love someone completely - and hate them absolutely - being "in love" is like pulling the petals off a flower: Sometimes they just break in the middle. And you can't put them back together. The individual pieces are still just as lovely, but it just doesn't work. And to really kill an analogy: You can try to glue it, but the pieces of the petal will simply wilt and die. Time for a new flower, new petals. And a new analogy.

So, I now live in Maryland in an apartment I like, so far, with a guy I like, so far: An engineer. So let's clarify: I work with engineers. Friends with engineers. And yes, folks, I now live with an engineer. (However, most aren't the stereotype. Well, some.) Will I date an engineer? That might be overkill.

But dating. How foreign. At 17 I dated a guy who was 6 years older (my parents loved that). That was short lived, but started my spree of serial monogamy. At 18 I dated a friend for a few months after he and his friend made a deal - even though I would have gone for the other guy first: As we ended up dating for 2.5 years. We broke up. It broke my heart - he called me a fucking cunt - and now we're friends and I'm sure I'll seek dating advice from him. This is the definition of my life.

After that I made a mistake - or two - till a little over a year later I met the latest "ex", who I dated for about 4.5 years and lived with for 3. In that time I had moments of "this is so right", "is this right" and, eventually, "this isn't right". The time between the initial "this isn't right" (muddled with happiness in between) and actually getting the strength to say "I have to do this; to end this. For us, for me." was quite a bit of time. I found myself envying the strength of other girls who ended long-term relationships whom with they thought they were "the one". Eventually, with a growing group of friends and personal independence resurgging (today that's a word) and his depression darking, I knew what needed to happen. There were no more "this is so right" moments to put out the fire of "I hate yous" and hurt feelings. The relationship was over. But so far, we remain friends. I hope that lasts.

However, when I get back into dating after 4 years, I wonder: Can you truly remain friends? I also wonder: How the fuck do you date out of college? This is new to me. Like I said, completely foreign. In college, it's easy - you go to class, you go to parties, you go to dorms: You meet people. Now, I am an adult. However, I use that term very loosely: I go to work, I go out. There are other things in between, but that's pretty much it: Work. Friends. Eat, sleep, etc. How does dating fit into this? And what's a date? Is it dinner? Is it a walk in the park? And can someone please tell me we've matured past petty games of high school and college? Because I'm getting a sneaking suspicion that we haven't - and I'm kind of not okay with that.

If dating now can be like in kindergarten, that would be great. "I like you."
"I like you too."
"Would you like my pudding?"
"I sure would." And then hold hands through nap time.