Wednesday, December 28, 2011


I have a few blogs in progress: One reviewing the year: the good, the bad, the TRAVEL! (I know, I barely wrote about that and there was so much. Eek!!) - including the part where I went to NYC and on a whim saw a psychic in Chelsea (and another in Times Square), which I meant to write about a long while back - as suggested by my mother (and that may just be a copied chat --- why not?), but until then (progressing blogs to fruition), just now, in a moment alone, quiet, with everyone in bed (it's 2:24am and I'm back home for the holiday): My sisters, my brother in law, my parents and my three wonderful nieces (2.5 yr. and twins 5 mo.), I had a thought about the year in review:

I ran away from everything I didn't want. And towards everything I ever wanted.

And then a few more:

Never broken, but badly bruised.

I weeded out those who didn't matter, or mattered worse. Coveted those who held me up when I needed support. And gathered more, new fantastic characters who fill only that second category (reciprocated when I'm needed, of course). I am lucky to be so loved.

We are never given more than we can handle. And even when it feels like the weight of the world is on our shoulders, minds and, most suffocating, our hearts, it's only once we come out of if that we realize that aching hearts gain strength with struggle with strife and troubled minds mend with wisdom and time. If my 20s have taught me anything, it is definitely that "what doesn't kill us, makes us stronger" isn't just something that people say. And I have never been quite so certain of who I am (becoming) and the power that knowledge possesses.

I never need to be more than just exactly who I am - and who I want to be. And carry myself and my energy as such. Anything beyond that is my choice. And that choice - those choices - must be something really wonderful and rather fulfilling to have a place and purpose here.

I hated this year. From the start, I couldn't wait for it to be over. But it is now and I happy for that, but I'm also happy for the friends, wisdom, strength and composure I have gained through - and because - of it.

Time for Chapter 12. Be gentle. Please.

Monday, December 12, 2011


It was a whirlwind weekend. Fast and frantic and surprises and friends and amazing.

Exhausting. I could sleep for days and still be tired.

But Monday was okay. Waking up was effortless and pleasant. Monday at 8am was my favorite part.

Because you were there.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

'The Anti Cover Letter'

A few months ago when I was heavily considering moving to Nashville, a friend of mine asked a quick questions about cover letters in the middle of my contemplation on what on earth I really want to do when I grow up. I didn't have a short answer. And between my self-searching and her cover letter inquiries, I accidentally wrote what I have come to deem as the 'anti cover letter', with which I seem to be not very alone. In our 20s, I think everyone expects everyone else to have it together when we're still trying to find our way - yet suddenly armed with the knowledge of what we want and what we don't want, what we are good at and where we can improve - but still unwise enough to determine our own specifics. Not that I think I can ever use what I wrote, but the ideas were thought-provoking to me nonetheless; and what emerged from them is as follows:

Dear ----,Often I find myself reluctant to answer the question, in regards to career: What do you want to do? My hesitation stems from not wanting to limit myself. Former Coca-Cola CEO, Doug Ivester once said “Never let your memories be greater than your dreams”. I interpreted this as a suggestion that we were limited by dreams; that life shouldn’t exceed what one might dream. I would prefer that my memories exceed my dreams. I would prefer that my next position – my next career move – exceeds any expectation I may have for it. I don’t want to limit myself in a cover letter or the answer to a question, because what I want to do isn’t as simple as the question implies.

What I do what is to be constantly learning; and growing; and gaining responsibility. I want to be changing with the times and always on the forefront of what is new, upcoming and the ‘next big thing’. I want to grow my strengths; self-management, leadership, analysis, a love for social media, writing, communication, outreach, and creativity, while building on my understanding of people and what will engage and delight the public (and what will fall flat).

I want to challenge my weaknesses by seeing them as a potential for growth. I have spent the past four (plus) years after graduate school managing an entire marketing communications department. While I understand that some see multi-tasking as a possible weakness, I know it a strength: a focus and a drive and a challenge to be won. It has helped the company survive a recession and grow business back again in a niche market where a small company is easily forgotten. In my many accomplishments at my first full-time position out of graduate school, I have found myself filling a multitude of rolls, as opposed to one specific function. I have no doubt in my work, professionalism or work ethic, but I fear that my qualifications on paper do not elucidate my full capabilities. 

I fear the lack of one specific marketing or communications focus will be viewed as a potential weakness, but I disagree. I know it it as breadth and I hope to take this breadth and transform it into my next step’s strength. I spent four years running a company’s marketing, communication and graphic arts department to build my resume and to know that my confidence in my work is validated, while prepare myself for a fulfilling career. And while I didn't find the answer to the ever-looming question in these for years – not the one that people expect, at least – I can say what I want to do is be successful. I want to continue to proudly take full responsibility for my work. I want to be an integral part of a company. I want to work with the public and understand its stakeholders, while opening the lines of communication. I want to be multi-tasking every day; always busy; always efficient; always with the same standard of quality work. I want to work I an industry that interests me and fuels a passion. I want to fall in love with what I do. 

I want to be open to any position that offers me these opportunities. The world of communication is too broad and ever-changing to pigeon-hole myself into a position with a simple answer - or view a breathe of experience as anything but a strength. It is ever changing and I am ever-understanding of those changes. I want my career and professional desire to reflect that. 

I know, given the opportunity at the right company that I will be amazing (and modest).  I will be the indispensible link that has been missing – or may have just needed replacing. My work ethic itching for the next step and my mind seeking my next great challenge,  I look forward to speaking with you about the communication needs at your company. I hope that you agree that my education, professional background, and, most importantly, enthusiasm, make me the perfect candidate for the position of ----. You will not be disappointed. Thank you for your time. Sincerely, [me] 

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Vincent C. Whiplash

I have had this thought for a very long time now, as, while living on The Hill, the ex and I used to put the TV on mute during DC city council meetings and mock conversations - because, I'm sure people do that all the time. Mr. Gray and Mr. Graham - yes he always wears a bow tie - were favorites of ours: I favored playing Councilmember Graham, who we decided had to be Councilmember Gray's arch-nemesis...cause the man just looked like he was up to no good (and clearly Mr. Graham is a bow-tied angel). And then I realized why, so I finally created this:

Seriously though, I can't be the only one that sees this...right?

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Current Rotation

The past few weeks I've been slightly obsessed with the following songs. Don't know why, but I thought you should know so you (the public at large) can get on board and sing along so no one will notice that I can't sing either.

Britney Spears - How I Roll
Florence and the Machine - Shake it Out
The Naked and Famous - Girls Like You
Katy Perry - The One that Got Away
Silversun Pickups - Lazy Eye
Rihanna - We Found Love
Red Hot Chili Peppers - The Adventures of Raindance Maggie

Monday, November 28, 2011


The feeling of nervousness bubbles. 
It doesn't escape. 

It grows with each kiss. Touch. Caress. 
His hand moving over mind. Through my hair.

I find both comfort with his ease. 
And panic it my beats' reaction. 

Faster. "Take it slow."
But faster - and my breath escapes me. 

A moment to find it, I find myself lost in what was once a non-negotiable. 
Now open to negotiation. 

"Who is writing this movie script?"
It's too soon -- And suddenly I'm 17 again. 

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

August Revelations

I have been feeling particularly existential this week. Well, yesterday into today. Weeks start on Mondays, not Sundays.

After my whole “health” scare a few months ago – reaching a finality just yesterday - I am happy to report that I am back to normal. My hormones are back to normal. And everything is in proper working order again and I return to a full-functioning 28 year old lady (who one day hopes to create spawn). I will never go on NuvaRing again. That aside, I am fascinated with the resilience of the human body – and remain convinced, once again, that I will provide the first male grandchild for my momma, as my sisters only seem to produce girls. (She said she’s going to vacuum seal all the boy baby clothes she’s collected over the years if that’s the case, "so they don’t dry rot".)

I told her not to worry. I do think she is half-convinced I’ll end up an old maid, but at least she doesn’t think I’m an alcoholic slut anymore. Thanks, mom! (I don’t twist words. Me? Never.) And while I don't plan to be an old maid, I think my independence secretly makes her nervous.

Someone posted something on Facebook today that read something like: Let your past make you better, not bitter. And I found it fitting, having spent my past few days truly appreciating all of the grime I spent the past year (or five, really) dealing with. I’m nearly thankful now that I went through all that. It taught me so much. And, while thinking about it all, I realize some of it was deep-seeded things from my ex – as the pink elephant was my first crush after him. And to be honest, I crushed six months before the end (though the end started long before). He was the first person that showed me that there was someone else out there I found suitable to date. I got stuck. It was a vacuum. I sacrificed myself. I didn’t realize I was; but I did. He was the physical catalyst. I’m picky and he made me realize I had other choices, while everything was really starting to fall apart. I don’t know why I did that - why my brain made that connection - but I think that was part of it. Certainly not all of it, as we did get along very well, but I allowed myself to be put in a position where I excused how I was being treated and rewrote my own rules of love and lust and relationships to suit what I was in. I ignored my intuition. And scrambled to find a way out of something that made me cry…and nearly seek therapy. It became a revolving door. And I was finally flung out of it. (Thank you, Universe.)

It took much longer than I have previously realized to learn remember that I am happy. Just me. To recapture the first six months after moving out with my ex, before I started seeing the pink elephant - reminiscing the "youth" of those months. And now I know that if anything throws a wrench into that happiness, it isn’t welcomed in my life. The people that you “choose” to keep in your life are just that: Choices. We are blessed with friends. And we have the awesome power to “choose” this extended family we want to hold close to our hearts and share our most profound moments and life choices with. Friends are the family you choose: Isn't that what they say? And a partner is the most significant of friends.

The best friend guy that was confused when I was breaking in July and was wretching me more chatted me after a few months yesterday. It went like this:

A: what's up, stranger?
 me: whoa. hey.
  i miss you a little. but don't let that go to your head.
 A: awww.
too late. me: haha.
 A: miss ya too
[…talking about meeting up over thanksgiving] 
me:   i need to hear about your life.
A: I've just been super busy lately. […his business]
me: ah.
well, everything's good over here. kinda great. actually.
 A: yeah?
 me: *kow *
  ya. i'm almost thankful for the whole [pink elephant] fiasco now.
  i've grown. a lot.
A: go on...
 me: haha.
  idk what to go on about?
 A: how have you grown, I mean?
me: i realized i think that some of the [pink elephant] stuff was deep seeded [ex] stuff.
  but that's kinda irrelvant.
i just know who i am. and what i deserve.  and that my intuition is spot on.
  and that i can't listen to other people, but i have to trust myself.
  and thank god i'm out of that situation.
  anything that makes me anything other than smile in a relationship isn't something worth it.
i'm happy alone. i really am. and anyone that makes me anything less than that isn't worth a damn. A: that's awesome
 me: august revelations, we'll call them. lol
A: yeah. other people can't make you happy. only you can do that.
  lot of talks with the therapist about that.
me: ya. its true though.
  and i find it a very frustrating item in life that it's only when you're happy alone that people gravitate towards you and pair up.
  or at least that's my experience.
  cause now i'm like "ehhhhhhhh...ya. idk. i kinda like it just being me. thats all i have to worry about and i can do that"
 A: life's weird.

Yea it is.

And I'm moving forward. No walls. No bitterness. And no suppose-to-bes. Every bad thing that happens is probably just put there to teach us something we hadn't picked up yet on our own. So, are some people cursed with unfortunate luck? No, they're probably just stubborn.

This is my official resignation of my own stubbornness. ::crosses fingers:: I have learned so much. I am not bitter, but better. I am happy and healthy. My heart is whole and mine and forgiving. And I refuse to ever again accept anything less than exactly what I know I deserve. Which, to be honest, is a lot. Because when it comes down to it, all we really want is to pair up with someone that thinks we're as awesome as we think we are: Appreciation, I think it's called. Maybe it only comes with age...or the resignation of stubbornness, but it's going to take something really fantastic now for me to relinquish the "ehh, idk"'s of being just me.



Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Dreams 111011, 111311

I remember my dreams A LOT. And I always mean to write them down, but don't. I'd like to start. So here seems good.

So last week, Thursday night I believe. I had two dreams. One involved eels, I think, but that could have just been work getting into my head based on a project name I chose for the first project I'm managing since being asked to test drive being a program manager at work. Upgrade? Promotion, you say? Not so much, more of a lateral move, in addition to all the marcomm, web and graphic work I already do - but great on a resume. I'll take it!  (Plus, I get to boss around the engineers I've worked with over the past four years. Score!)

The second dream that night involved family. Not typical. It was me, my middle sister (I'm the youngest, but 2nd oldest sounds weird), my one aunt, my grandmother and my mom. We were running away from people - in war, maybe - outside in this field and we came upon a way out, but to get to the end we had to jump over about 8 lines of wire about 6 inches off the ground that was covered in razor blades. Everyone made the jump safely - everyone but me. I was tore up (from the floor up. what?). Everyone was trying to save me, the enemies were on us. And I took the time to look at myself, feeling terrified for what I'd see - I felt covered in blood. And I saw my reflection, which was harsh, but not nearly as bad as I was expecting. My mother was helping me and my grandmother and aunt were aside, watching. At some point my sister was back on the wires, behind me, but she wasn't cut or stuck like I was - perhaps she was delicately walking through them. I was panicking, trying to figure out how to get out of the razor wire, and the embedded straight razor blades out, without dying...then I got one out and it was simple. I started to pull myself free and instead of bleeding everywhere, they were coming loose so easy. I pulled myself away from the wires as my dream was ending (or at least what I remember of it). 

On Sunday night I had an odd dream. It was of my ex. (The real one, not the last reject/pink elephant I dated.) I was at his apartment and I"m totally unsure of the context in which I was there. He was wearing a blue shirt I discovered that his belly and back were completely waxed. (NOT the type.) We start heavy petting for approximately 20 seconds and I realize I don't want back into that. We stop. One roommate comes in. A few minutes later his second roommate comes in complaining about coffee and donuts. He works at a Starbucks and complains about it and how working at Dunkin Donuts was so much better. While eating a donut he said he got for free. This roommate was Dave Chapelle. My dream ends while Dave Chapelle roommate is talking about needing to find a new job and the ex is concurring that his part-time "professional" job needs supplementation too.

I guess my subconscious thinks Dunkin Donuts and Starbucks aren't great places to supplement an income...but the free donuts are probably great.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011


Meant to write this for a little while. Sixteen days, maybe.

Friday. October 28.  
Originally I was going to be in Vegas for Halloween, but the guy that was going to front me decided to go to Australia that Monday, so that was thwarted. He invited me to go to a house party, but he did so directly in the middle of a blonde moment, so I missed the actual context of the invitation. Suffice to say, I was left going to my other friend's house party. The house party in which I knew he was going to be at. With her (who has, apparently, decided to act like I don't exist). And me... dressed like this:

Normal. Totally normal. Nothing to see here, kids. He was a douche to both of us, lied to everyone and now she won't talk to me and she's here with him up her butt and dressed as a "sexy" children's book character and I look like this: 

And no one will make eye contact and every time I go in a room, they leave to another one. And the whole thing feels like this: 

Yup. Nothing to see here except three rather large neon pink glowing elephants everyone is pretending don't exist, while we all delay adulthood and look like this: 

My life is a sitcom. (I'm still giggling.)

Totally normal. Completely causal first encounter of the love triangle kind. Move along...

And I did. I went out to the bar that night after the house party; after they had cornered themselves in the back of the tiny kitchen just to avoid me and I leave chuckling under my breath that THAT ALL JUST HAPPENED. I have power? Cool! And then 800 people at the bar complimented my costume and that "other" black swan kept making awkward eye contact then looking away. It's okay, lady, I'm going for duality here: white and black, good and evil. Turns out, duality is lost on drunk people. 

Leaving for the night, I pass a girl sitting on the ground of the parking garage outside of the bar; bawling her eyes out and yelling at every person that asks her if she is okay, while dressed as pseudo-sexy Buddy the Elf. So, ever the pacifier and peacekeeper, I tell her not to yell at me and I ask her what's wrong. So here we are, 2am on a Friday, in a parking garage; two strangers: a fucked up good and evil ballerina is kneeling next to a sobbing Elf telling her everything is going to be okay until "Buddy's" boyfriend (whom was the cause of her tears) comes to pick her up. I giggle again. I go home, wash the evil off my face and prepare for night two. In which, the duality was again quite lost.

Saturday. October 29.
I lay on the couch most of the day, then share a bottle of wine with my roommate as she photographs night two of applying a painful amount of precise makeup. She takes more pictures; I leave.

I meet some girlfriends at a bar: A peacock and a flamingo. We get hit on. Free drinks. I see more Black Swans. The duality is lost again. The bar crawl gets crowded. We leave. We flee to a shit-kicker bar for cheap Jello shots and fresh popcorn.

I win a prize?


After a plethora of free Jello shots (since our bartender was also dressed as a peacock), we delay our plans to go dancing - although, in corsets, we can move little more than a slight wriggle below the hips and above the boobs - and head to her friend's house party a block down. A peacock, a flamingo and a (black and white) swan walk into a house party...

They proceed to drink. A lot, I think. Partial moral of the story: Popcorn does not absorb alcohol; so lets fast forward, because I lost my memory. I wake up the next morning. I'm on the wrong side of my bed and sleeping on top of my boyfriend, i.e. my five remotes. After a brief moment of what the hell am I doing, I look over to see a body in my bed. Whoops? (Don't worry, semi-chastity belt was securely fastened - despite what my mother tends to think at times. Hi, Mom.)  

We start chatting (which I later learned we'd done for a while the night before; empathizing with his situation and offering advice while perched on a kitchen sink...dressed as a fucked up ballerina) and out comes the fact he has a girlfriend. ::pause:: That he lives with. As casual as it was said, I figured he must have told me the night before (later confirmed). My response: "I don't think its working out"...followed by a burst of laughter. 

Suddenly, I realized that this story was becoming so much better than the sitcom scenario of pink elephants two days prior. I encouraged him to laze around with me and skip golfing. He did. After a couple of hours, he took off the largest t-shirt I owned - which was "fat guy in a little coat" tight, even though he wasn't fat - and picked up his weird Asian pajamas costume to head home. I told him to call me when he dumped his girlfriend, he left, and then I went to a bar to watch football with the friends whose house party I missed due to the blonde moment previously mentioned. Somehow all of this was not awkward, even though the house dog had burst through my door mid-morning - while we lay in bed, slightly snogging.

I texted the peacock and told her what had happened. She went and told someone else, who then told her he was actually engaged. She then told me. And then I decided it was most definately the best Halloween story ever. Trumping even the one where I made out with a guy at a bar - sneaking in at the age of 20 - dressed as a "sexy" gangster, because drunk me was convinced he looked like Hugh Grant. Then waking up the next day, opening my eyes and immediately saying, "Where am I and how did I get here?" (I was in my friend's dorm.) A few days following, I saw "Hugh" walking into class and he didn't look anything like what I thought he did while making out on a sidewalk next to a main street in Pittsburgh. Whoops?

Anyway, the peacock said I should be mad. I wasn't at all; quite the opposite, actually. And for whatever reason, I thought the whole thing to be fantastically amusing. And I trusted the random guy in a too-small tee-shirt with a girlfriend he lived with (later discovered, not actually engaged, which stole some story pzazz, but he did break up with his girlfriend the next week: added pzazz?), who happened to be in my bed, more than I ever did the pink elephant. Go figure. So all I could say to the peacock was "I get it". And I did. I do. I've been there and I get it. And the story was great. This is everything the psychic talked about in New York....

That reminds me, I have another blog to write. 

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Here's the thing

I was listening to the latest Coldplay album (which, again, I'm sad to say I was very underwhelmed by) and I had a thought; a Confucius moment, if you will. I posted it on my status and my mom commented that I must be feeling good again, judging by the positiveness of it (though I was more referencing the stories of others present). Perhaps, or perhaps it is just beautiful logic. I thought:

Here's the thing about a broken heart; it just marks the number of times you can fall in love again. 

Which is wonderful thought and sentiment, if I don't say so myself (which, clearly I do). Love is great and all and it's nice when it's comfortable, but that fall, the initial butterflies in the stomach? I would lay down my heart for that feeling forever. Infatuation turned real is impossible to put into words. Some people fill their time (and perhaps lonely nights) with people unworthy of those moments; I sit and wait in anticipatory excitement with the realization that because I'm alone, my great love is still out there somewhere. It makes my shoulders bounce at the idea, the to-be's and flutters abound. I am happy alone, you sly 28! So, for me, anything less than butterflies and a heart that makes mine beyond mend, and flourish and love more than what's broken it before, won't do. Wee! Time will tell if there's a person out there that can make me happier than I make myself; but I'm a hopeless romantic and happy to hold out - I believe in the stars.

Thanks for the thought Chris Martin. But if you could go back to the days of Parachutes, that would be great. Nothing has lived up to that so far...then again, I fell in love for the first time while that album was on repeat.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Element Transition

Ever present is the threat of progress – or complete lack thereof – sitting at her desk it feels static, stagnant. The world around her changes, her family grows and shrinks: people die and others bore.

I’m nervous to go and start over, but I know it’s time to leave.

I grew up in the country. I always wanted to live in a city. I have and it has been enjoyable and I spend time wavering if I want to stay or if I want to go on some days, but I fall back to my heart telling me it’s time to go. It is time to move on. It is time for a new phase. At some point, I need to put my light on.

I feel like when I go, I’m transitioning to an adult (-ish; I’ll always buy shirts with a panda holding a heart). This city has been my playground. My time to have my light off; no one to answer to but me; to date a guy I knew I’d never end up with; to fool around with boys I’d never have any interest in; and to sit in cabs with young foreign drivers for hours until the cops come accuse me of prostitution. (Please, I’d have a much nicer car.) My family moves along without me and I continue to collect my stories, unsure of when I want to stop, but aware that I am not willing to set up shop in DC. Aware that my husband (assuming he exists) would never be found here; and aware that while this city is fun to play in, it’s no place to grow up old. I know it’s time to go and I am so nervous to go alone and leave all the friends I’ve made, but this year has pushed me to look past time in just days and understand life in the future as years.

It has both fulfilled and drained me. It has given me stories of romance, intrigue and horror. I love balance, I seek it, and within the confines of the city I find myself, at times, balanced internally and missing the beauty of nature juxtaposed with the manmade; and other times enjoying the set while wavering between independence and a desire to love again. I want the combination of city and country. I want the balance of beauty and honor. I want to find both love and independence. I want a job that pays the bills and fuels my passion(s). I want to be a vagabond and a rooted homebody.

I plan to move to Nashville. I’m not sure why. The first time I visited nearly two years ago, I felt a pull; a pull I’d never experienced before. I stayed here because of my nervous nature and my uncertainty that I was finished in my playground. I’m still not sure I’m done, but I know it’s time to leave. If I have learned anything from this difficult year, it is to trust my gut, instinct, intuition and heart – it has not been wrong. Not once. Even ignored, or excused, or argued against my mind, it hasn’t missed a beat and, in hindsight, has been correct every time. I have to go because it’s time to listen. My life isn’t here. It’s somewhere else happening without me now. I wanted this time in my life to be selfish and collect my stories. I found the strength to stop a love story gone awry to do just that. But won’t stop collecting myself stories; I’ll keep shoveling them up and putting them in my proverbial pockets. I found the strength to live alone, now the scene requires change. No one wants to look at the same set for an entire play.

I moved here. I graduated with an MA. I broke up with my boyfriend. I moved in with a stranger; then three strangers. I made mistakes. I made friends. I collected stories. I have survived with just me. I learned a lot: About work; about life; about myself. I have grown. I have strengthened. Any more time and I fear I’ll be draining the well. I have loved it here; I have. It has been all I have wanted – all the good and bad and intriguing and horrific. And I’m nervous to go and start over, but I know it’s time to leave. With seven months to go, let the (terrifying) preparations begin…


Wednesday, October 5, 2011

The Beautiful Sound of Waves

I was asked to write this, (without much to say). People are moved by your majestically worded blogging wonders?! No, they’re just bored in warehouses and the rats stopped being entertaining.

Ratatouille where are youuuu?!

Not much of a fan of the animated film. That’s right, I don’t enjoy watching A Toy Story. I also don’t care much for cheese. Or bacon. Even Kevin. Although put me in a room with The Lion King, or Finding Nemo, or Pete’s Dragon and I’m like a rat stuck to a glue trap.

Two items stem from this previous statement: One: Pete’s Dragon; though only partially animated, it counts because it should count, is my feel good movie galore. How my sisters and I ever even ended up watching a half live action, half animated movie from the 70s starring Mickey Rooney, an animated dragon and unidentifiable broadway people is beyond me. It probably has something to do with Angela Lansbury. 

Note: Land Before Time and Bed Knobs and Broomsticks: What do these have in common you ask? My sister liked them, and as the youngest I got the bottom backwash of a shared can of coke and whatever movies my sisters wanted to watch. Land Before Time? Excellent choice. Bed Knobs and Broomsticks? I’d rather watch Murder She Wrote…

And two: Don’t use glue traps. I once used a glue trap and did you know mice scream? Because they do. And it is a heart wrenching noise, particularly when 1. You have cute little fuzzy ferrets, like overgrown mice that poop in a box, that attracted them in the first place and 2. You can’t do a damn thing to help them. You can’t free them from the glue. So what do you do? Throw the mouse, glue trap and all, in a shoebox – in a garbage bag – in the back yard. Also, the smell of rotting mice in your kitchen is gross. Also, when a potential landlord tells you the front door of the house is “over 100 years old”, while that may be interesting tidbit, read it as: 100 years ago people didn’t worry about drafts and holes mice can get in. Also: Old plumbing. Old  plumbing that falls through you kitchen ceiling. I digress, having since moved. 

Did this strike you as a free write yet? 

This past weekend I went to Savannah on another free trip. (<3) I learned that when the option is available and you are the slightest bit wavering, ALWAYS stay the extra day – and figure the rest out later. In life, there will never be enough days off; take them anyway and deal with it later. The story is always better when you stay for one more drink.

“Always stay for one more drink”, says Joe Odem in “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil”, which I decided to start reading the day before visiting the infamous Mercer House in downtown Savannah this past weekend. That’s when the stories start; when you pull back on being responsible, say “motherfuck it” and take the time to live a little – even if you don’t have the time off. Luckily, the next day, I unwillingly forced myself to go on a training run Monday night. Unintentionally, my run spanned sunset. It was beautiful and I didn’t want it to end. So in addition to staying a little after when you “should” leave, I learned to do the things you know you should do – and told yourself you would - but don’t want to; it ends up a beautiful sunset.

Also, during the trip, I found myself caught up in moments and idiosyncrasies and appreciating things moments after the fact. I learned I need to slow down, back up and breathe it in. There is a lot of shit going on in life, mine and yours and even Oprah’s, and it’s easier to let the whistling of someone’s breathing get to you than ignore what’s not perfect, but it is oh so stupid to focus on that when the beautiful sound of waves is crashing just behind it.

Besides, Pete's Dragon will always be there...just in case it goes awry. 

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

"At least you have your health."

I thought the worst of the year was over. DING! I was wrong.

I went off of Nuvaring in April. I took Yaz-B for the month of May. And then I decided that I wanted to remain celibate for a year - especially after all that shit went down - and decided to return to o'naturalle. One vein reason being that I thought I could lose a few easy pounds going off BC like I did the last time I went off of it at 22. For the fear of my fertility, I told 18 year old me I'd only be on it for 4 years. I decided to go back on it again when I started well, that whole story. Suffice to say I thought $70 a month would be cheaper than a baby. And I chose $70 for Nuvaring over $20 for pills cause I suck at routines. So there's that story, because I blame this all on Nuvaring. Once a loved novelty, I now wish I'd never used.

For a long time I was 142 to 145. While training for the half-marathon in spring, I averaged 146; muscle, I assumed. A month after going on off birth control - 2 months off of Nuvaring - I had put on 3 pounds. I was 149. I thought maybe it was because I'd stopped training for the half marathon; it was the heaviest I'd been since being fat for a minute after Christmas 2009 and going on a weight loss bet with my friend. July I was working out to get fit for Miami, but to no avail. I gave up, I went to Miami at 153. Something wasn't right, but I blamed age and lack of total rigor. (I used to be able to drop weight at the gym easy.) August rolls around and I'm 153. My pants don't fit and I've been wearing mostly dresses. The clothes that fit now are the ones that were transition from when I had gained 20lbs in grad school and was working towards dropping 30. At the end of August I start to train for the Army Ten Miler coming up in October. 4+ hours at the gym every week, plus a run every Saturday: 2.5 miles working up to 9.25 (and a mile to walk the dog: 10.30). I now weigh 156. For me, I'm huge. Disgusting. I don't want to leave my house. I'm tired now. I haven't had a period since June (exactly 28 days after the last pill). Initially I blamed it on stress from July, but I got over that. (Now I"m panicking about my health...and the health of my uterus.)

Last Friday, feeling fat still - the uncomfortable, fake kind; like bloating just before a period, I went out with friends. I let loose, had drinks and woke up the next morning with a belly that was seriously distended. It stayed that way for 3 days. I sent a photo to my mom (i.e. Personal RN); Before and afters (below), you know. She was convinced I was pregnant. Though, to be fair, I did look 4 months pregnant...and hadn't a period. "Impossible," I told her. After convincing her I didn't have a "night of unknown sex" (her words), she started to worry. Tumors, cysts, diabetes...  Between telling me she was going to have to put the family dog (of 15 years) to sleep that night and listing what might be wrong with me, she insisted I call the doctor (which sucks cause I have a high deductible plan and it renews on October 1st).  I thought I'd go in and they'd look at me and tell me to go on a diet.

"Has your diet changed?" he asked.
"Yes. I eat about once a day and it's always a grilled chicken salad...CAUSE I WAS GAINING WEIGHT!"

Luckily, they didn't just throw me out and tell me to diet: I'm tired, achy, retaining water, gaining weight (when I'm training and should be losing it), no period for months, thirsty, etc. He poked around and told me it could be any number of things: hypothyroidism, lyme disease, etc. etc. And if he has to order CT Scans or other scary there's-something-seriously-wrong-we-need-to-find-it hospital sounding things, they need to make sure I'm not actually, in fact, pregnant (though he was sure to tell me that he did believe me when I said I wasn't, but "didn't want to be mocked by the medical community for not checking"), so they're checking my blood for that too.

Perhaps my plethora of photos which I use to document my progress at the gym helped. Although he kept giggling at all the abdominal photos I kept making him look at "See, see! THIS is me..."

"And this isn't," I exclaimed, showing him my photographic evidence. So, they took 5 or 6 viles of blood; I can't remember 'cause I was too busy talking to the Polish phlebotomist again and trying to convince myself my hand wasn't tingling and I wasn't going to pass out. I get the results back tomorrow. I'm terrified if they find results and almost even more terrified if they don't. I don't feel like myself; I don't look like myself. This year is taking a lot out of me and between losing family members and family friends and others having strokes and family pets dying twice in the past two months and feeling like friends dropped me while a stupid boy was betraying me and car windows shattering and purses being stolen and being broke, I'm not sure how much more I can handle.

At least before people would say "at least you have your health". That's all I had going for me; and they were totally right saying that "at least you have your health", because I'd go through all that again to not be going through what I am right now. I thought: Everything is wrong and they'd say, "At least you have your health". Well, so what happens when that's gone?  I need something positive to grab onto now.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Goosebump Evoking

This is an absolutely amazing opus 71 years past its release. Must buy.

Our knowledge has made us cynical; our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness, we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost. The aeroplane and the radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions cries out for the goodness in man; cries out for universal brotherhood; for the unity of us all.

This speech speaks to me; gives me chills and goosebumps and hope. (And, as with all things, the music helps.) It reminds me that true greatness is never lost, but magnified with the truth of time. Here's to the hope that "the misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed".

You, the people, have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Goo-Ball Extraordinaire

This year has kicked my ass. I’m ready to turn another year older over in a few weeks. Last year’s birthday was amazing – with a terrible year to follow. This year I’m hopefully anticipating the equivalent of rain on a wedding day – with a rainbow and unicorn filled year to follow.

As a kid you are so excited for your birthday; what you could get. Where you’ll spend your $20 in birthday cash from the grandparents. The cupcakes! at school. It’s your day. (Sorry to any of the unlucky blokes that had to share it with some other kid in class.)

You get a little older. Maybe you get $25 now...but probably not. Birthdays become milestones: 13 for movies. 15 for a job; 16 for a license; 17 for more movies; 18 for “adulthood”; 19 for drinking in Canada; 20 you’re no longer a “teen”, and for whatever reason at the time, we were excited about that. At 21 we can be legally drunk. I mean…I totally didn’t drink before I was 21. Also, I’m still a virgin. Twice…

And then you get to the ones where you’re clinging to a milestone: 23 you can rent a car; 25: Your car insurance in lowered. And then you’re 26 years old celebrating the last of the true mid-twenties. And then you’re 27 and your mom is worried you’re dating an asshole and never going to get married. And then you’re 28 and you start to cling to your 20’s and jesus holy hell where did the 2 in my age go?! (And why am I still only getting $20?!)

I guess I’m clinging...but not really. The celebrations are gone: Sometimes it’s just another day; albeit, another day with justified ice cream cake. (Which, let’s be honest, is reason enough to celebrate.) Again, I gain a number. I did it, I’m here and I made it through another year. I’m the age my mom preached forever to wait to get married: I will be twenty-eight. Out loud it sounds so formal and constricting and, perhaps, even old. In my head, I’m 27, going on 23. I don’t want to be married right now – as my mother recants her advice, which she now says was to serve as a date in which to get married, not to wait to find someone you maybe want to marry. Oops? Regardless, her advice was poignant: She married young, before knowing herself and having the confidence to stand up for what she believed in; to stand up for her life. At 28, she had three young girls and a divorce…but she finally knew who she was; who she wanted to be. And she was is amazing.

I stand now, on the heels of 28. Where my mother was getting divorced (and re-married) and raising children, I'm training for a 10 mile run two days after my birthday - still mildly uncertain who I am or who I want to be…aside from an Army 10 finisher and, um, not homeless. But I have fallen down and picked myself up, collapsed with despair and regained my composure, melted into a goo-ball on the floor to later compose myself into a better, stronger, wiser, kinder, more humble person time and time again. Each time I learn something and each time I gain further perspective into who I am and what my mother raised me to be. I am 27 going on wise. I have no timelines for my life, but I am thankful for the life I have, the hard times I have endured and the lessons I have yet to learn.

Everything will fall into place, mom. I’m just not 'twenty-eight' yet.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Queen Belle

Few things make me laugh out loud, or, better yet, bring tears to my eyes as I try not to burst out laughing. (I have a bit of a boisterous laugh sometimes.) Watch this!

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Beginning to End: Soliciting Advice on Preserving Truth and Saving Face

This is the last I will say of this. However, I am actively soliciting advice. To begin the story, I wrote a note. (It used to be personal, now it’s just history. Show and Tell: Love Letter Edition!) It went something like this:
Sept. 19, 2010. 4:23am. 
 It felt good, a relief even, to finally have out in the open what's been making me so angry, nutty and not myself lately. I'm tired of feeling mean and crazy. The girl I've been as of late is just all the confused parts of me coming out in a horribly awkward and personally and cosmically unhelpful fashion. So I'm finally going to be honest. Tonight you showed me a side of you that I didn't think you had - and I kept myself shielded from what I thought wasn't there. And I realize now that I would rather regret what I did say, than what I didn't. (Because that's clearly flubbed me up so far.) So here goes (no laughing!): 
The night I met you, I was attracted to you instantly. Clearly that never stopped. Lately, I have made attempts to move away from the situation because it seemed really unhealthy for me; my emotions moving towards something I assumed I'd never have - cause you made it so clear that relationships and you were not friends (and my awful attempts of seeing if that were still true for me failed). Regardless, over the months that attraction has grown beyond the physical: You went from [last/nick name] to [first name]. And I started to adore all your silly quirks. And I started thinking of all the things I could do to make you happy and surprise you and realizing I couldn't weren't mine. And you didn't want to be and thus I shouldn't be invested. I tried to find interest in other people and still I come back to the frame of mind that, for me, in this moment, in music and movies and jokes and laughter and penguins (and everything I ever wanted), you could be perfect. Your spoon fits mine.

There were a number of reasons I never brought it up. Good ones, I thought; like the "asshole" I thought I could never trust...but they are kind of meaningless now. And I'm tired of lying to myself now. Of lying to you and sending stupid texts that say something ridiculous instead of "I'm falling for you. Fall back." Of talking about you with choice friends and convincing myself that I'm okay alone. well, I was. You made me want something more - regardless of me trying to thwart the thoughts in my head because I wanted to date and be single and yadda yadda (oh, you hate Seinfeld). Only, I can't find anyone that makes me want them as much as you do - even as much as some may try. My anger of late is passion displaced and confused and bubbling. I want to be passionate how I'm best at it - and you brought that feeling and silly ideas of hidden notes back to me that's been lost for years. 
I'm not a girl that writes letters. I'm the girl who gets letters written for her - and poems and songs (I kid you not). This is a first for me. And I my neck probably far too out there with these words and I realize there's a good chance I'll just end up disappointed - and I'm slightly terrified and completely anxious, but i think my theory on regret lies in the right place. Because I want you. And I just don't think it's possible for you to spend 6 months with me on road trips and weekends together and fellow nerdiness and entire days just laying in bed and not feel a thing. This entire series of mistakes and making such enormous attempts not to get hurt which fucked everything up and got me hurt, is a clear indication that I'm too old for games. 
That young booty popper at the bar isn't. Worse yet, she's not a good story. Getting locked in a stairwell; that's a better story. Starting out as something that was nothing and having it both make us go "oh, this makes me want something more", is a story. (Yes, I'm claiming partial credit for that; we're good together: we laugh and it works and it's not work.) She doesn't know you. I do. And I appreciate all the inside jokes, and dimple pokes and and awkward situations and the groove in your bed that pulls me closer to you. And your kiss. And your laugh. (And do you know how many little notes I could have hidden?!) I don't know if you know what you want. But I do now. And I hope that you realize it's a really good thing and that you let me show you that I'm really an amazing girl; I've been wanting to for months.
Let this end have a beginning: Have dinner with me?

[Sidenote: Coheed and Cambria is a favorite band of both of ours and “Every end has a beginning” is their tagline: I wanted to end our physical-only relationship and begin something new. See what I did there? Also note: The 'booty popper' was a random girl he I later realized he just used in front of me to make me jealous. Ridiculous, childish games...Clue 1. He never talked to her again.]

Cute, right? Only I learned thinking you could never trust someone isn’t meaningless – and it never can be. And by god, girl, trust your gut and don’t waste a year.  We dated and he was not good to me and then I tried to run away from him and he pulled me back in. At that same exact time he came to get me back, he was starting to date a friend of mine (ours). Or what I thought was a friend of mine. Now she looks at me with suspect eyes, assuming I’ll want him again – which prompts me to fight to urge to laugh and scream and feel sorry for her a little: You couldn’t pay me to care for him again. Or be attracted. Everything about him is ugly: I sit here now embarrassed I defended him and my attraction for so long. I was wrong. Now it's weird. 

What I wasn’t wrong about was her going back to him. Once someone tells a lie, tis only logical to assume another is to follow suit. In the days that followed me finding out, I listened to what he had to say. He said he was sorry: I believed it (then). He explained it to me in a way I knew was to try to make him look innocent if the other girl ever asked: A lot of "I don't know's" were offered. But you just don’t do those things if you’re “just friends”. My brain is larger than a pea.

I knew she would go back because (momentarily) stupid women went back to my dad all the time. And after he dropped me when I was falling apart after my grandmother passed away in January, I was that stupid woman – even dumber yet, for going back when he came back for me (when he was starting to see her. The timeline is not completely clear). In the days immediately following the fallout, I talked to him. And I listened. And I expressed that I really wasn’t sure what to do; my main concern being that if/when they started dating again, I would become a threat to her and our friendship would not be allowed. Two things: 1. He said “We’ll I don’t think that’s going to happen; she’s not even talking to me right now”, and 2. He said, “I would never let someone else come between our friendship”. (He later retracted the latter statement. To say I was at all shocked would be a complete and utter lie.)

I did not buy either one of these things. I wrote this "final" note - to end the story - about two weeks after and we had talked on and off, but never sent it because my horoscope told me not to (shut up, the stars are powerful beings!). I'm glad I didn't (cause only the sharp-tongued parts are true anymore):
August 2 2011. 7:21pm.

I'm sorry, but you are no longer welcome in my life.
I want you to know that I truly appreciate you owning up to the things you've done. But I realize it doesn't change them. And it doesn't change who you are or what you had and have become to me. Oe one level a horrible person that drug me through their mistakes with nothing to show for myself on the other side of it; And on the other, someone who has and could mean a lot to me - I take friendships with people I have become close to and shared stories with you like I have, very seriously. Casual conversation at a bar wouldn't be fair to me. Or you. I'm worth more than that in any type of relationship I have vested myself in (at any point in time). I'm not willing to be just another friend. I deserve more.
I was happy before you. You made me question everything about myself. I can't put myself in a position like that again, unless I know you've really changed. And I don't think you have...yet. I feel sorry that you don't seem to grasp that you need to understand the "why's" to change. And I need to understand why and know you understand to believe you will be the man you have the potential to be. And the friend I deserve to know.

I realize I cannot believe your ah-ha moment(s) of late because you are unable to identify what made you be that way. If you cannot identify what needs to change, how can you ever guarantee you won't be the horrible person you have been?
I can't put myself in that situation anymore. Your apology is appreciated, but it is hollow.

I suggested that you need to take some time to yourself and you asked if it was for me or for you. Honestly, I think you and your "best friend" dating is a horrible idea - especially on a foundation of lies and distrust. I have been right about many things and this will ruin your friendship - much like it has ruined ours. I think she was lonely. I think you I think you are afraid to be alone and terrified to be attached: It's a terrible cocktail that ends up hurting people I believe you truly care about, but don't understand how to navigate your own feelings. I think you need to take the time to work on that and it can't involve other people; it's not fair to them.
So, to answer your question, I was coming from a place of pure, selfless friendship when I suggested you work on yourself. I had taken myself out of the equation when I genuinely inquired about your life. It hurts my feelings that you would assume I would attempt to manipulate advice for my own gain. I gain nothing from that. Find yourself, then date her as the man she deserves to have in her life. I have good advice. The evidence of it spanning a decade. And if you were willing to take the time off to work on yourself, I might trust you have the right frame of mind for motivation to change and become the man you can be - but aren't (yet). I would be inclined to existential chats on sidewalks, but anything short of that won't work right now.
I'm a good person. I'm a strong person. Has this hurt? Like hell. And does it hurt to say I cannot have you in my mind, in my heart or in my life anymore? Like bloody hell. But I just cannot shake the feeling that you're going to end up being the same old you and I'm going to be right again when hearts break, friendships are unmendable and you are finally alone - and the true existentialism cuts like a knife through your chest. Because, I know you think it has, but it hasn't yet. I can't be part of that process because I know I will be cast aside (again). It's with love when I say: It's time to grow up; and when you do, I hope that I can be around the corner someday...waiting. Because you are a kindred spirit of mine and I'm going to miss you like hell. (I already do.) 
My tears glisten in the light of the street lamp.

I loved you: without the resistance of my intuition, I could have - but you never gave me the chance I deserved. And I'm still having trouble processing how you didn't care enough then, when I needed you, when I was supposed to mean more to you, but the prospect of just friendship now is worth putting up with so much. (If you find out the answer, I'd really like to know.) I think you were confused. I think you still are. And scared. And that there is sadness in many of your smiles you hope will preserve an image. It's not okay to be disingenuous: Or lie. It's okay to cry: And love: And hate. I hope you realize that. I hope you take the time to find yourself. And then come find me. [...] With present logic, I cannot risk myself again only to be turned away because of your mistakes. It's too selfish. And I'm too forgiving.
Find yourself, then come find me. I can't put myself in a position to keep you in my dreams anymore. They have become a nightmare.

[Sidenote: I remember a lot of dreams, he used to be in a lot of them and however random they were, I'd share them. That was that reference. The street lamp: Also a reference: During our existential talk on his sidewalk in late July, he thought he saw tears welling up in my eyes in the stream of the streetlamp. Thing was? I wasn't actually crying...whoa, that just got way more appropriate than I realize.]

Reading this now I feel embarrassed again. I was way too nice. ::chuckle:: That guy’s a dick! No, seriously, I read over this and wonder how I was so blinded. However, I did feel sorry for him - he is clearly a lost soul and a troubled child refusing to grow up. And it's going to hurt when he finally does. However, stepping away from sympathy, this person is so undeserving of my time. I say this now with the realization that my prophecy has come true and I think little has changed between the two, which means, nothing about him has changed. He's fed her lies. And he's the same old asshole, forgetting what it felt like to be sorry. Undeserving of even pity. I wouldn't wait for him now, even to hold a door. Clearly, whatever rose-colored glasses I had been sporting, have since fallen off. I have mourned my friend; he's gone (if ever existed). And I have nothing left to say.

What bothers me now is that we share many friends, and what she and they (the friends that lied to me and hid this all, or rather believed lies and didn’t confront me) think I am. I honestly don’t know what he told her went on between us: Whatever it was, was to save his ass, which means I look bad: Like I followed him around for months. Wherein people acted like this and he let me misplace blame. When the truth is: HE RAN AFTER ME. And even though I was foolish to go back after he hurt me in January, if I had found out he with someone the way he was with me while dating, I would have never taken him back. I can only assume she would be the same.

And thus, something is amiss. 

I so badly want to say: This is what really happened, because he clearly told you something else. What an awkward position this is: I don’t want anyone to think I’m trying to break something up or get in the middle. People’s mistakes are their own to make. But I want my named cleared. (And were I her, I'd hope the me in the situation would speak up.) How do I make that happen – and the truth be known – without creating controversy and upheaval? I don’t want that. I just want to be me and not these stupid stories – whatever they are – that have made people - who I never thought would treat me strange - look at me like a five-legged dog...and to the other girl, a superfluously-legged dog that wants to hump her beau’s leg.  I wouldn't want to hump that leg again, even if it was slathered in chocolate covered bacon and money. Please refrain your suspicions. I've done nothing wrong. I was wronged.

So, here we are. I want to say: I think you were lied to more than you think and I am no reason for suspect eyes. I'm innocent. How do I express this without controversy?

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Monday, August 29, 2011

The One Where My Window Shattered

Hurricane Irene came through this weekend...four days after experiencing my first earthquake. If the events of this year are at all telling, I might be inclined to state that you all can blame me for the once-in-a-lifetime natural disasters occuring in the DC area of late. Because then this story happened.

While trying to decide whether it was an actual cause for concern or just more bloated media inflating a story to sensationalize the weather for increases viewership, I decided to prep for the hurricane's worst possible scenario outcome with: buying: bag of onions, 4 apples, and tomato paste, making sure my flashlights worked and were somewhere easy to find, filling up 3 buckets (for flushing) and 2 gallons (for cooking) with water, and parking my car in an underground garage so that flying debris wouldn't break a window (like it did with my friend's car during a blizzard last year). So the storm starts. First, just rain. So, I go on a run, as I have begun training for the Army Ten Miler. (BEST. RUN. EVER. I smiled the whole time. Every run should be in the rain) Later, when the sun goes down and the winds come out, I go out.

Can we discuss how much I love my water proof jacket and five fingers? Perfect hurricane apparel.

Upon exiting the metro to my first destination, I come to find a blackberry sitting in the newly formed curb river on the road. I pick it up and try to text someone to let them know I found it and will return it if I can successfully dry it out - but the button to unlock it doesn't work anymore so I take the battery out, put it in my pocket and call the person whose house I'm headed to to ask if he has a bag of rice. I arrive and put the phone in rice. Head out and about for the night - witness a 30 something year old man who evidently invited himself to the girl's birthday party (classy), later throw up in cups that were laying around (also classy). The following day the phone worked and returned to it's owner. This is a weird version of fucked up karma, considering 8 days prior I had my phone stolen...I'm just sayin.

So I go home and - despite attempting to keep my food bills low in an effort to save money - decide to take a drive to the grocery store to pick up some ice cream. (My only really TRUE vice in life.) On my 8 block drive home (I drove so it didn't melt; don't judge me! ha) , I turn down a road a two blocks from my house when suddenly I hear a startling noise to my right. BAM! I look over and see this:

So, that's my car's passenger side window. You know, the car I had just taken out of the garage about an hour prior so the hurricane didn't damage it? That one. And it's about $200 to fix: MOST. EXPENSIVE. ICE. CREAM. EVER.  And I have NO idea how this happened: I didn't hit anything, the people behind me said they didn't see anything; I was in a super residential area in front of a house and when I got out to see if a rock had been thrown or something, all I could find was a penny...heads up. Irony?

This has begun to get to the point of severely bizarre now - windows instantaneously, inexplicably shattering. I'm left only now with the thought and singular explanation that the universe is trying to tell me something - and it's not that i'm not listening now, I'm all effing ears - but I don't know what it's trying to say. But it's starting to creep me out a little...

Monday, August 22, 2011

As Predicted.

So. As predicted, I was right about what would happen with that guy. I'm not surprised. I know people and situations. Perhaps then, my prophecies are less about a sixth sense and more about sensing the correct perceptions of situations.

I think people get older and they get lonely (and fat) and scared. And I think when that happens they all get eager to grab on to the closest thing they can find. And then have sex with it.

It's not difficult, then, to divulge, that if you started seeing someone due to this predicament, that you would do everything to see past their faults. The lady in the scenario we think was lonely. (I say we, because, as discussed, I am not alone in such a presumption.) And you think you can trust your friend and bang them and oh boy let's get married...Riiiiight.

Well, per prediction in the days following both of us figuring out he lied to the other, she wasn't speaking to him. No surprise there. Despite this I still said they will date again and ruin their friendship because of it. Why? Because a solid relationship should never emerge from loneliness and 2. Anything lasting can never begin on a foundation of lies.

While I'm sure he sweet-talked his way back to her, and, for whatever reasons she believed it, it makes me realize that he - not as previously stated - is not the changed person he claimed to be in the first days it all went down - which I previously suspected. She can't be that dumb: There's no way she would date him if she knew everything that went down. So whatever he sold to her was less than the truth, and I'm not willing to re-friend a person that has, no only not changed, but increased his douche factor by lying to that girl - as she still looks at me with suspect eyes (trust me, dear, that is never a place I would EVER desire to go again) - and telling her whatever he needed to to downplay his despicable actions. And thus, lying to me and changing his story to suit whatever it is he needed to appease her.

So I knew how the story with he and I would go, a year before it went. And I know how the story with she and him will go, before it ever started. And neither end up well. But, like the advice I ignored, you can't tell someone how to feel - she just has to figure it out on her own. Friendships don't grow into relationships - people just get bored of where it was and lonely with who they were - and then you lose everything.

The One Where Someone Stole My Purse

Yesterday I tweeted “You know how people have that one friend that lets them say ‘I know someone that happened to’? Why do I get the feeling I’m the friend…” Only to follow up an hour later with: “Well, my roommate and I just successfully dislodged my hedgehog, who managed to get himself stuck between the sink and the wall in the bathroom.”

I think I am that friend.

A few days before New Year’s Eve last year I said to the guy I was seeing, “I’m afraid for 2011.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because 2010 was so good,” I replied.

That fear was legit, 2011 has come to show. Again, I go back to where is the separation between self-fulfilling prophecy and just prophecy. E.g. My prediction of this terrible year. Or that guy I thought hurt me, lie to me, etc.– and he did.  That prophecy (or whatnot) was there the whole time. And then it came true. 

If it is self-fulfilling prophecies, I’d like to say: I’ll be rich, happy and healthy as could be in a year. However, I’m also a realist. And I realize that many of the things that have happened are out of my control: two deaths, two strokes and a dead cat this year. None of those were in my control, obviously. That idiot boy, my friends, whatever enormous hiccups, and any corresponding universal mind-fucks: Beyond my control. So how is that possibly self-fulfilling? 

I ponder. Anyway, back to the story at hand:

This past weekend I had another “feeling”. In the past I’ve had the feelings and signs I shouldn’t go anywhere and just stay home: Those are always the nights bad shit happens. Friday was one of those times, but I went and, in a rush, proceeded to drink more than I noticed till my sense of logic was a bit of a wash. Later, we went out to meet my girlfriend at the bar/club. Long story short: Some dick stole my purse: iPhone, debit card, credit card, newly funded SmarTrip card, license, house key, a whole $8 and…Purell. Look, I really liked that tiny little Purell bottle! Plus, you know, the purse that was my big ::sarcasm font:: splurge item I got in Miami last month. (You know, the Miami that was necessary for me to keep my wits since my whole universe was fucking with my head? That one. Ya.) I thought all the bad bullshit was over. Evidently, I was wrong.


And, unfortunately, while I usually passcode my phone when I go out, I forgot to that night. And when I called later that evening to cancel my card, the dicks had already used it at a bar on U St. Nice way to waste no time and promote stereotypes, kids. I also think they may have used my address on my license and house key to let themselves in Friday night, as my door was unlocked when I arrived home. Unnerving? You bet your sweet, sweet ass. Thank God for our house dog...and not much of anything to steal.

Luckily, when I go out, I only take essentials, so I have the other parts of my wallet, but everything else is gone. I spent the better part of the weekend trying to put my identity back together – and getting a dose of reality on the way: Walking to the Verizon store, I saw a girl coming out of a shop in a wheelchair and thought, “at least I can walk”. Talk about running into a glass door of Get the Hell Over It!

And while I am thankful for my faculties, I have to shell out $200 for a new iPhone (luckily I put insurance on my phone so it’s $200 v. $800). Meanwhile, I’ve been trying SO hard to save money: I lived on $16.57 worth of groceries for 35 days between July and August (more on Budgetary Mary later). Every time I try to start to budget/save, something like this happens and pushes me back and I get so frustrated and give up (which was the main reason for my bawling on the sidewalk outside the bar).

I’m not giving up this time. I think I left the girl that I was, sobbing on that sidewalk at 3am. It’s time to grow up. It’s time to finally, actually, really, outgrow my mistakes (seen here, here and here).This sucks, but I think as long as I learn something from it, it was an (unfortunate) experience worth having – and perhaps the necessary kick in the pants skirt I needed to see the error of my (drunken, gut-ignoring) ways. But man, is "responsibility" a four letter word.

Still, I hope whoever stole my purse gets hit by a semi and arrested for, well, anything. Then butt hugged a little by a man (or woman) named Bubba. Society, you really disappoint me sometimes; I’m sorry your mothers didn’t love you enough.

[Edit: After writing this I got a Facebook message from a rather attractive Jewish guy who lives near where my purse was stolen, informing me that he found my license on his 'garden' stoop. I contemplated asking him out, but decided against it on the basis of my non-negotiable of blue eyes and complete and utter awkwardness. I think he's also young. Speaking of Jews, my friend that helped me out that night told me that, while sobbing on the sidewalk, men kept hitting on me. Guys, weird. And that one homeless guy tried to say something and I was like "I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL. SOMEONE STOLE MY PURSE. I HAVE NO MONEY EITHER.". My retort to random guy hitting on me while losing my shit while sitting in the middle of a gum and gross laden sidewalk: 'Keep walking, just keep walking'. We are starting to laugh about this now...with most of my purse back together (now waiting on my license and debit card - which I found out they used to buy $98 worth of metro fare on - in the mail), I hope it's the end of the bad parts of this story.]