Come Fly With Me

Today my brother turns 25 - I could not even begin to imagine life without him.  BD [as only I have called him for as long as I can remember] was born six days before my third birthday, blonde [well, now it's more dark blonde] with crystal blue eyes and a perfect nose - I initially thought he was very cute, but boring.  Like probably every other little girl, I thought I wanted a sister.  I thank God for showing me the error of my thoughts.  Instead of a sister I have a brother who is one of my best friends on the planet (and my cousin, M, four weeks my elder, who is effectively my [which one of us is the evil?] twin.)

BD has always had the bigger heart out of the two of us.  When he was little, he drew a picture of whales in one of his art classes that our mom kept for years, it said, "I feel sorry for the whales."  When our neighbor pushed my brother down in the middle of the street in front of our house, I broke his nose.  My brother and I have developed almost a twin-speak between us.  Honestly, he can say something like, "Remember that time with the guy?" and I know exactly what he's referencing.  It helps that he didn't always talk much and we agree that I pretty much spoke for both of us for most of his childhood.  Having a confidante while growing up in our oftentimes tumultuous home made things a lot easier.  I bought him his first beer and his second.  When he had a party and trashed our parents' new house, I told them everything was fine when they called from Jamaica.

As we have gotten older, and he has gotten progressively bigger than I am, our roles seem to have reversed at times.  Unfortunately, this can be ridiculously aggravating particularly when it comes to my dealings with men.  He always says he wants me to join a "nunnery."  [I would do anything for my brother, but I won't do that.]  When suddenly I was the one in need of a cheerleader, he was Mr. Positive.  Sure, he can be an asshole and we fight - it's not always sunny.  But I think it all boils down to this:  after watching an episode of Law and Order: SVU [so good] one day with him where the cops trick someone into flipping on their partner because the cops claimed their partner already flipped on them, I turned to my brother and said, "You know if anyone ever said that I flipped on you they'd be lying, right?"  I would know to never believe them either.

The other night when I was adroitly dodging condo guy's questions left and right, he asked me:  How many kids do you want to have?  I have never set any kind of finite number on that important of a life decision (condo guy wants five, by the way.)  I was a nanny for twins, which I felt gave me an entirely more realistic perspective [highly effective method of birth control.]  Let's face it, I don't know for sure if the whole get married then have babies thing is in the cards for me, and even if the first part happens, what if we can't have kids?  I would adopt in a heartbeat - ever since I was little I have thought if I could swing it, that would be really incredible.  All that I would pray for is a healthy baby.  As for my answer when condo guy asked me?  Anything but one.

Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life

I've toyed with the idea of giving up swearing several times over the last decade.  I feel that I have an extensive enough vocabulary that I shouldn't be confined to four letter words [or four letter boys] and I agree that it isn't the classiest thing to hear come out of a woman's mouth (or anyone's, for that matter) but in the end, my love of saying the word "fuck" always seems to win.

Noun, verb, adjective, amplifier - oh the versatility.  It says so much, allowing me to be uncharacteristically succinct.  I just love it.

Carrie: Have you?  Mr. Big: Have I what?  Carrie: Ever been in love?     Mr. Big: Abso-fucking-lutely.

Of course, thoughts about the "f-word" would not be complete without sharing the wisdom of Monty Python:

"Perhaps one of the most interesting words in the English language today, is the word fuck. Of all the English words beginning with f, fuck is the single one referred to as the "f-word." It's the one magical word. Just by its sound it can describe pain, pleasure, hate and love. Fuck, as most of the other words in English, has arrived from Germany. Fuck from German's "fliechen" which mean to strike. In English, fuck falls into many grammatical categories. As a transital verb for instance, "John fucked Shirley." As an intransitive verb; "Shirley fucks." Its meaning is not always sexual, it can be used as an adjective such as: "John's doing all the fucking work." As part of an adverb: "Shirley talks too fucking much," as an adverb enhancing an adjective: "Shirley is fucking beautiful." As a noun; "I don't give a fuck." As part of a word: "abso-fucking-lutely" or "in-fucking-credible." Or as almost every word in a sentence: "fuck the fucking fuckers!" As you must realize, there aren't many words with the versatility such as the word fuck, as in these examples used as the following words:

- fraud: "I got fucked"
- trouble: "I guess I'm really fucked now"
- dismay: "Oh, fuck it!"
- aggression: "Don't fuck with me, buddy!"
- difficulty: "I don't understand this fucking question"
- inquiry: "Who the fuck was that?"
- dissatisfaction: "I don't like what the fuck is going on here"
- incompetence: "He's a fuck-off!"
- dismissal: "Why don't you go outside and fuck yourself?"
I'm sure you can think of many more examples.  With all these multi-purposed applications, how can anyone be offended when you use the word?  Use this unique, flexible word more often in your daily speech. It will identify the quality of your character immediately. Say it loudly and proudly:  Fuck you!"

Several things have transpired since my last post:

1. Went on a date with condo guy.
2. After yet another bizarre text message, called ex-BF *with the grace of a woman* and gave him a piece of my mind.
3. Buzz has not left the building.

We'll begin with condo guy.  After some getting to know you/confirming for our date/you like that band too?  texting, we met up for drinks at a dive bar.  [I am a huge fan of hole in the wall bars, but this place is definitely not first date material - more like a sausage fest.  However, it is relatively close to my house and I assumed since we were meeting at 7 (dinner time!?) that after drinks we would go someplace else to eat.  Nope.]  He wanted to pick me up and I told him I'd meet him.  No, this is not some Gloria Steinem power play, I believe in chivalry - I simply like to have an escape on first dates, and for good reason.

Brief synopsis:  For starters, he is much better looking head on than from the side profile angle that I endured all night.  He was a psych major in college, got his masters in clinical psych, then post September 11th was inspired to become a firefighter.  Sounds good, right?  WRONG.  I think he thought my bar stool was a psychologist's couch.  He proceeded to ask me the following questions:

• How many kids do you want to have?
• Have you ever been in love?
• Did you ever see yourself marrying someone that you were with?

And my personal favorite:

• How long do you think it'll be until you're my girlfriend?  A couple weeks?

Listen, Mr. I-Wanted-To-Be-Married-Yesterday, at least buy a girl dinner first!  What the fuck?  (noun)  And those were just the highlights...let me tell you, this guy gave me gems.  I owe him a "Thank You" card for sure. 

I ended the date with an ass-out hug.

Once a month I get together with my 14 year old, quasi little sister.  Our families have been friends since forever and I have babysat her since she was an adorable little baby who loved watching Mary Poppins.  Her father has incurable cancer and I feel it's important that she has someone to talk with her who isn't a parent.  Over dinner, manis, and pedis, he regales me with tales of boys who get upset because she won't "sext" them, cheerleading competitions, and bulemic girls.  Last month she sent over 20,000 text messages.


When I get text messages from ex-BF, I pretty much think of him as a 14 year old girl.  He certainly helps that image with the level of maturity of said texts.  So I called him and told him that he was allowed to contact me for two reasons and that was it:  if he would like to have lunch like adults, or if he was in the depths of despair and on the verge of harming himself.  It felt good to say things to him that I don't think I realized I wanted to say.  Things like:

• I'm not in love with you anymore.
• I realize that you think sending me texts is funny.  Just because I don't, doesn't mean that you can turn it around on me that I don't have a sense of humor.  I find them pointless and annoying.
• I can say whatever I want to you.  I'm not constantly worried about you being OK anymore.
• I messed up and I take full responsibility for the fact that I thought I could fix you by being the best girlfriend in the world.  In doing so, I neglected myself and I learned a lot from that and don't ever want to do that again.  
• I am moving forward in a positive direction in my life and you are contributing absolutely nothing positive to it, so I don't see the point in childish text messages.  If you would like to speak to me as an adult, you can call me.
• When it was good, it was the best, but when it was bad, it was the worst.  I truly believe that things can be that good for both of us again, but not with each other.

I wished him well and we ended the conversation amicably with him apologizing and taking ownership for the fact that his reminiscing/flattering had been inappropriate.  I am not to be fucked with.  (intransitive verb)

I must say, I'm feeling quite good.  Oh wait, there was a number three, wasn't there?  Buzz has not left the building.

Fuck yeah.

Comfortably Numb

Remember No Fear shirts?  There was one in particular that to this day resonates with me...damn my love/hate relationship with my perfectionism.

If you didn't own one of these shirts in 1994 - you were also a loser.

Last night my team [I] came in second place for "Name That Tune" at a local Irish pub.  For it being my first time ever playing, I was quite proud of my finish.  [Pretty sure I would've had to identify a Fantasia Barrino song in order to win.  I consider it a moral victory.]  The rest of the night, however, not so hot.

We'll start with the group of guy friends I met up with for "Name That Tune."  I beat the boys there, so I called the one I'm closest with to see how far away they were.  He informed me that we were also meeting up with some girls that I might know.  Awesome!  The more people on our team, the better our odds of winning.  I secured a corner booth with two tables - more than enough space for the six or seven of us.

Maybe if you ate something you could keep up.

The boys came, hugs all around.  Turns out the girls were already there having a glass of wine at the bar.  One of them was a chick who I had just seen in the womens restroom loading on some more eyeliner.  After coolly introducing themselves, they proceeded to sit down at the table adjacent to the booth area I had claimed...then spent the remainder of the evening, no joke, pushing their iceberg wedge across their plates and nursing one glass of wine.  [I am all for healthy eating and drinking, but it almost would've been better if they simply stuck to wine.  Hello?  Irish Pub!]  As if this was not rude enough, there was absolutely no effort made to engage with the group.  Instead, they chose to talk to one guy at a time and create their own "Name That Tune" team, only apparently they didn't understand the rules and had to forfeit part of the way through.  So my night out with the guys was spent trying not to be annoyed by uneducated bitches.

I had sex with you last year!

Enter part two of the evening:  guy with whom I have had an ongoing flirtation/occasional hook up for the past eight years.  I'll call him Medical Device Boy, because he is quite successful at selling them.  He has been badgering me since New Year's Day to hang out with him, and after my aggravating evening, I caved.  We spent the evening like we usually have for the past eight years:  witty repartee, snuggled up for a funny movie [Best In Show is hilarious by the way] then on to super fun making out and me not letting him do anything to me.  The thing is, since I'm so fed up with his broken record of how fun/hot/smart/awesome he thinks I am and never doing anything about it, I decided to use him as a little experiment.  Oh, Medical Device Boy, you want to tell me how super fantastic I am and lament that your ex-girlfriend of the past two years was "Satan" and never blew you?  Fine, but I'm going to call you out:  Why have you never dated me?  I'm sick of the games.  I'm a big girl, just tell me.  Why is it that we can have great chemistry both verbally and physically, yet you date the frigid bitches???

First the stupid, rude girls monopolize guy night, now here I am with a guy who can't stop talking about how freaking fabulous I am and how badly he wants me (I said, of course you do, I'm female and breathing, tell me something original) but when I ask then why not date me his response is "What do you want, a proposal?"  ARGH!  No!  I said I would just like for a) someone to recognize that I am more than just fun and b) explain to me why so many men that I know complain about these horrible, sexless relationships, but when they find someone who allegedly meets all of their criteria for a super cool girl (ME, duh!) it just doesn't seem to work.  What ever happened to "we want a lady in the street and a freak in the bed?"  [Yes, I am quoting Ludacris from an Usher song.]

So I asked the million dollar question:  "Medical Device Boy (and I used his middle name,) what exactly do you want?"  His response:  "I don't know."  I thanked him for the most honest words that he has ever said to me.

Did I mention that Buzz, who had been MIA since late night drunk texting me post-date canceling on Saturday, texted me while Medical Device Boy (hereinafter to be referred to as MDB) and I were hanging out?  "Hey sorry for being such a drunk ass on Saturday night.  I effed up."  I hate that I feel like I could be drawn into conversation with him.  That was a benefit of having MDB around - kept me from engaging in a back-and-forth with Buzz.  Couple of quick, eloquent texts where I tell him he sucks and should man up.  He responds with excuses and then tells me what a great girl I am and how much fun he has with me.  Whoopdyfreakingdoo.  Sound familiar?

Enter fucktard number three.  My ex-boyfriend texted me to apologize for a bizarre text he had sent on Monday night:  "Am I allowed to comment on how fucking awesome your calves look in your (facebook) profile pic?" I get the lovely follow up, "Sorry about the calves comment the other day, out of line."

Honestly, I don't care about him, it's just the cherry on top of a sundae of ridiculousness with boys...boys who are all 29 years old...  Ohmygoodness, Buzz, MDB, and ex-BF are all 29, successful, intelligent, blue eyed, tall, confident, funny...and emotionally unavailable/fucked up/clueless.  Wow.

If I'm being perfectly honest, MDB and ex-BF don't get to me as they once did.  I've had the gift of time to heal any wounds and allow logic and reason to take over most of the tugging at the heartstrings.  Buzz...he's still fresh.  Fresh and quite frankly, seemed to have potential to be even better than the others.  I feel weak for saying it, but given the right approach, he could still have a chance.

So you're saying there's a chance...

Regardless, with all of these guys there is a common denominator:  me.  Perhaps I need to make some changes.  I realize these changes probably need to start with me...what they are I am not exactly sure.  A date with a 35 year old, brown eyed, hottie condo owner might not be a bad place to start.  What I will say for him, is so far he hasn't made me feel like I'm in second place.

Let's Dance

The receptionist in the sales and leasing office where I work quit in October and the company I work for determined that we were just fine without a new one.  Granted, that is largely because I have since taken it upon myself to create hybrid role of doing my sales job plus being a receptionist.  I actually don't mind it because it means I am able to interact with people a lot more, it helps out the office, and since that desk is away from everyone else I can write my beloved little blog.

Golly gee!  Good thing I went to college!

The other day a tall, dark haired and dark eyed [I usually prefer blue, but I'm working on being more open] surprisingly attractive guy in gym shorts [hello, calves!] came in for a package.  Upon returning with said package, he informed me that he had misplaced his fitness center/pool pass.

Me:  Did you lose it lose it, or is it just misplaced?  Because if you go through our corporate headquarters, they'll charge you $25 or $50 for a new one.

Hottie:  Pretty sure it's lost for good.  There's no way I can get another one here? 

Me:  Nope, sorry.  I know it's a pain, but you here's the number for the condo property manager.  Like I said, she'll probably charge you $25.

Hottie:  That's fine.  How much for your number?

Me:  [disregarding the sudden weakness in my knees]  A lot more than that.

Hottie:  Do you have a boyfriend?

[Is he in sales?  First the ballsy question, now the overcoming-the-silent-objection second one?] 

Me:  [now is not the time to use your stock response for old/toothless/ugly men] No, but I don't think you can afford me.

Hottie:  (laughs) Well you don't have to give it to me if you don't want to.  Do you live here?

Blah, blah, small talk while I write my number on a post-it.

He texted me later that day and we are meeting for drinks this Saturday at a hole in the wall bar near where I live.  Not exactly sure how I feel about his venue/activity choice just yet, but I believe in giving him the benefit of the doubt that he didn't want to lock into dinner unnecessarily and knows that place is in my neck of the woods.  Naturally, I googled him.  [He gave me his full name and address so I could get his package for crying out loud!]  I'm not sure whether to be deterred or encouraged by his lack of presence on the internet.  All I could seem to find was his age - 35.

Enter the judgment and scrutiny.  35 and single...  Ex-wife?  Or better yet current, crazy wife hidden in his attic a la Jane Eyre?  Is he a commitment-phobe?  Player?  Body is covered in barbed wire and Tweety Bird tattoos?  Too busy making his millions?  Has five kids by five different women?  Tiny penis?

I'm through with being scientific, why don't we just poke him and see what happens?

I have already found one fatal flaw:  his name.  No, it's not a four-letter boy name.  Worse - my brother's name.  A wonderful, masculine, strong, classic name [and he even spells it correctly] but he needs a nickname immediately.  How can I ever even imagine having a future with someone where, if I screamed out their name in bed, I would spontaneously projectile vomit?

He texted me again last night while I was succumbing to my irrepressible curiosity about the new judges on American Idol.  Good job guys, you roped me back in. 

Hottie:  Any good pickup lines today?  Or am I still in the lead?

Me:  Prior to you there have been several funny ones... Day off today - third interview, got an offer, don't think I'm accepting it.

Hottie:  Um...interviewing for?

Me:  Sales for a recruiting and staffing firm.  Rephrase: not accepting it.  Do anything fun today?  Pay for any numbers?

[I may lament my current job situation, but I'm being proactive and interviewing shamelessly.  I'll be damned if I leave the frying pan for the fire.  I will leave for something fun (wine & spirits sales perhaps?) and/or a lot more money, duh.]

Hottie:  Lol @ rephrase.  Ur funny.  Nope, nothin too fun nor did I pay for any numbers.

[I'm going to try to overlook the fact that he texts like a 13 year old girl.]

Me:  Sounds thrilling

Hottie:  I see somebody has a little spunk to them.  That's good.

[I cannot help but think of Joe Pesci in Goodfellas.  Funny how?]

Me: Hahahaha, and you?

Hottie:  Hmmm...what do u think?

Me:  Verdict is still out

Hottie:  Haha well there had to be a reason u gave me ur number.....since Im sure ur asked for it daily

[That's right, because I'm sure no one has ever told him he's attractive before...oh boys...but he has been stroking my ego, (in our previous conversation he called me a "natural beauty,") I'll throw him a bone.]

Me:  Nice calves ;)

Hottie:  Hahaha...so ur saying I would have left numberless if I was in long pants?

Me:  I'm sure that happens to you a lot.  At least now you know why.

Hottie:  Lol...which part?  Gettin numbers cuz of my calves or not gettin them cuz they're hidden?

[With every "lol" I feel less bad about giving him a hard time.]

Me:  I'm guessing not getting them - without those puppies, it must be hard with your face ;)

Hottie:  Omg lmao...wow

[In spite of the massive overuse of texting acronyms, I decide to have mercy on him at this point.  The guy is buying me drinks on Saturday after all and I'm getting sleepy.  Plus, J Lo is too nice to everyone on this show and really needs to have a serious talk with her stylist.  Thank God for Steven Tyler.]

Me:  You know it wasn't the calves.  But they are quite nice.

Hottie:  Ha, well thank u.  But don't worry, I'm not fragile.

Put on your red shoes and dance...

When I Was 17...

I had a good laugh the other day.  I was thinking about what I thought my life now would be like when I was younger.  I had it all figured out.  After graduating from The Ohio State University Honors College, I would accept a position as a lobbyist for a major non-profit organization like The American Red Cross.  I could live in San Diego and fly to D.C.  I'd have weekend trips with my girlfriends in New York, and my amazing husband (who I met in college, just like my parents did) would watch our big [awesome] dog when I was away on business - and someday, if I continued to make more money than he did even though he would be successful in his own right, we are a power couple after all then he could stay home with our kids.  Or maybe I'd banked so much money pre-munchkins, I stayed home with them, became president of the PTA and volunteered a lot.  Once the kids were all in college, I'd be running a non-profit full time wearing Chanel suits and Manolos.  Piece. Of. Cake.

I am still a bit unclear as to how exactly I went from there to here.  To me, it's important that I am not complacent and continue to strive for something better, but be happy in the meantime.  I just need to determine what that looks like.

I was passenger in a serious car accident my senior year of high school, sustained a traumatic brain injury, and had to sit out and repeat my senior year.  During that time I had this incredible positive attitude that I feel I've been lacking a bit of lately.  I used to write daily in my "Grateful Book."  (Which I felt was very appropriately a tie-dyed little journal.)  Good days: I had a lot to write.  Bad days:  I am alive.  I have opposable thumbs.

I've been thinking a lot about leaving my job and volunteering somewhere.  Habitat for Humanity actually has projects in Fiji.  I figure, when else am I ever going to get to Fiji?  Haiti is still reeling from the hurricane.  I just want to feel more fulfilled, get the passion back in my life, feel that sense of gratitude again.

To be fair, it's not as though my life is gloom and doom - far from it.  Oh no!  My wallet's too small for my fifties, my diamond shoes are too tight!  I have a lot to be thankful for today.

• House - My 100 year old little gem that I gutted and renovated picked out stuff and wrote the check.
• Car - My darling S.S. Awesome and its 338,000 + miles...thank God it turns on and it's paid off.
• Family - Close by, but not too close - we certainly put the fun in dysfunction and I love them for it.
• Friends - Quite fortunate to have such a high quality VIP list.
• J.O.B. - Albeit mind-numbingly under stimulating with shit pay, still employed.
• Dog - Kicks ass.

[There's a movie called 28 Days with Sandra Bullock (it's a comedy about rehab) and they talk about how if you can keep a plant alive for so long, then you can get a pet, if you can keep a pet alive for so long, then you can have a relationship.  I couldn't care less about plants, but I have managed to keep my dog alive and happy.  That has to count for something.]

Giorgio as a baby - he's ferocious

My precious rat terrier, Giorgio, will be four years old this month.  I've had him since he was seven weeks old and he has a huge, hilarious personality and is my constant source of joy.  My little dude tips the scales at a whopping 12 pounds, but dominates my brother's 75 pound German Shepherd mix.  Never in a million years did I think that I would own, let alone adore a small dog.  I have always had a soft spot for dobermans and pit bulls, and I wanted a big dog that wasn't yappy.

Right now, I am a small dog owner.  I never imagined that would be the case, but there are bonuses I hadn't anticipated:  he's portable, doesn't leave big puddles of water when he drinks, and it's much easier to pick up after him.  And someday, if I still want to, I can adopt a big dog brother or sister for him, and wear Chanel suits and Manolos.

Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls

It's official.  I have tired of analyzing "Buzz" as he shall be called from now on.  Come on, it's a four-letter boy name.  Aren't they all interchangeable?  Matt, Mark, Mike, Sean, John, Josh, Jeff, Joel, Jack, Brad...same difference.  I am writing him off by telling myself he was either only looking for a hook up or he has the dating IQ of a twelve year old - the answer is probably a combination of both.  The way I see it, I already have one pussy and it's fabulous, I don't need another.

Repeating this title over and over to myself.

My house certainly tells the story of last night.  Like Mrs. Havisham from Great Expectations, it was as though time (and my efforts to clean before Buzz's arrival) stopped once I got that gutless text.  My slip-covers are clean but not back on the couches, the kitchen counters are clean but the floor is in dire need of a wet swiffer, and my bedroom is still showcasing a few dust bunnies as well as my childhood stuffed animal.  The good news is, I didn't stop all of the clocks at 5:31 and I'm not sitting around in a wedding dress.

On the subject of weddings, I was on the phone with my beloved cousin, M, this evening.  I told her I loved her wedding dress and how instead of being magnanimous as usual and donating it, she should just have kept it for me to wear someday, duh.  Her response:  "It would be a shame to waste an ass like yours in an A-line dress."  Yes - yes it would be.

So here's to form-fitting mermaid wedding gowns, men with emotional intelligence, and fabulous friends who always seem to know precisely what to say.

Cheers

Did I Shave My Legs For This?

Text message received at 5:31 PM - "I can't hang out tonight, I'm really sorry"

At least make up a lie of a reason why:

• I'm not feeling well
• My friends from out of town surprised me
• Car broke down
• Hang nail 

Truly, any of those would have at least made me feel like even though I was getting fucked, at least he had the consideration to use a little spit.

 When did my life become an episode of Sex and the City?

 

He broke up with me on a Post-It.  "I'm sorry.  I can't.  Don't hate me -"

Now is the time to start finding and focusing on things wrong with him:  like how he kindof looked like Buzz Lightyear.

And how when he used the acronym "OMG" in capital letters in a text message, I thought to myself, are you some chick on a VH1 reality series?  Also, he likes chardonnay.  I have now determined that a man drinking chardonnay is unforgivably egregious and reprehensible.
 
Nevermind the fact that I am crestfallen and feel like an idiot, or the fabulous new BCBG sweater I purchased for the occasion - tomorrow is another day...and tonight I'll be out drinking with my girlfriends.

The Song Remains The Same

In third grade I had the biggest crush on my classmate Kyle Sullivan.  Bright blue eyes, perfectly coiffed dark hair, and oh so cool.  His mom let him have not only the new MC Hammer cassette tape, but also Vanilla Ice.  I know.  Stud.

Somewhere in our ongoing flirtation amidst the tire swings and sharing Cool Ranch Doritos at lunch, Kyle passed me a note in class.  Oooh what would our teacher, Miss Maggie, have done if she caught him?  I've always liked 'em ballsy.  The note was the timeless classic:  Do you like me?  Check YES or NO (with corresponding boxes of course)

I wrote "maybe" and handed it back to him - then spent the next two decades playing with the boys.

Generally speaking, I feel like I've always gotten along with men better than women.  Speculation as to why exactly that is is a topic for another day, but suffice it to say that it's all been in good fun...until I met one that was more than that.  Don't get me wrong, I'd had sincere feelings for people in relationships before, but this one was different. 

Note the "was."

So here I am now on the other side.  Older? A little bit, but I still fit in the same jeans, so who cares? Wiser? Most definitely.  Ready to go out and play some more?  Ummm...

I never really cried much my entire life.  There were times when I would have to watch a sad movie just to induce a much needed catharsis.  (I have always cried watching movies, starting with "All Dogs Go To Heaven," a pernicious film about an orphan whose only friend is a dog.  Dog saves her life and dies. Cue waterworks.)  Ever since my grandpa passed away my freshman year of college, I have felt like a light switch was flipped inside of me and suddenly I can cry.  Still not sure if that's a good thing or not.

Well, ever since actually experiencing what it's like to really share your world with a partner in crime, good, bad, and ugly - suddenly play time just doesn't cut it.  Apparently there's more than one flipped light switch in there.

With that being said, I am certainly not on a man hunt.  I do not believe in looking for someone to simply be a warm body that fills space.  So I've gone on a few dates.  I feel like I should send some of these guys "Thank You" cards for the amount of absurdly hilarious material they've provided me.

And then you have tonight:  a date I'm actually excited about (in spite of serious efforts on my part not to be and to keep expectations to an absolute minimum.)  Not only am I excited because I find him really really really ridiculously good looking, he loves wine, enjoys traveling, and is one cocky SOB.  Did I mention pretty blue eyes and perfectly coiffed hair?  Some things never change.

Sail on Silver Girl...

I love photography, capturing the beauty in our everyday lives.  This is one of my favorite pictures I've ever taken.  The lotus flower - out from the mud comes something beautiful.

For as much as I love to photograph others and make silly faces for the camera, the shots I plan/edit the most are the ones of myself.  So here's me with no hands up, no moving for better lighting, no searching for better backgrounds - just me.

I swore I would never succumb to the perils of egocentricity:  blogging, tweeting, facebook status updates, etc. and yet here I am.


I've been doing a lot of thinking, per usual, and I figure it couldn't hurt to share.

My thoughts of late have been surrounding career uncertainty, the dichotomy of  the "good girl" and the "wild child" that are both alive and well inside of me, approaching the arbitrarily determined age of 28 and how I'm astonished at the number of gray hairs I have acquired, and how as I have gotten older I really love the color of my hair and don't want to dye it.

Also, if starting a relationship the right way fails, does that mean that trying to start one off of a drunken one night stand could have a chance at working?

Should I leave my dead-end, unfulfilling job and go volunteer in hurricane-ravaged Haiti for a couple weeks, then come back and start over with a fresh perspective of gratitude? 

Would I be inspired to actually cook more as opposed to ordering out/eating out/defrosting if I purchased the fabulous apron I just saw at Anthropologie last night?

Welcome to my world :)