Watching The Wheels

I think way too much sometimes.  I may appear all bubbles and smiles, but the gears are always turning.  That may be why I love yoga, running, and red wine - they all help to quiet my mind.  For the past few years I feel like I've been playing by other peoples' rules, struggling to keep the sand inside their sandbox.  If I do x, then I will get y.  Lost my job?  Well hurry up and find a new one!  After being praised for thinking outside of the box for so long, I've never understood why I should do the complete opposite in order to be a "good worker."   Being a part of corporate America made me feel like a frustrated, small child.

Look, I can play that game, but I tire quickly of it.  "The problem with winning the rat race is you're still a rat."  I think I tired a year or so into it, but the competitor in me said, "But look at her, she's climbing the ladder!  You can do it too!  You've been good at anything you've ever set your mind to, just do it!  [Arnold Schwarzenegger voice]  DOO EET NAHWAH!  Make more money!  Work harder!  Mush!  Mush!"  Two years later, here I am. 

Decompressing from that mindset is not always easy.  Thankfully, I'd started the checking out process a long time ago...but was always paralyzed by the fear of what to do next, not wanting to do the same thing again.  This summer has been one big, slow exhalation.  Letting go of my former life so as to make room for the new one. 

I finally had that epiphany I'd been waiting for.  [Yes, I am ending that sentence with a preposition.]  I still might be wrong, but at least it feels good right now.  It's like a crush.  After two and a half months of nearly constant travel, it came to me in the most bizarre of ways and I am really happy.  I realized that instead of trying to figure out what the perfect career would be (philanthropic and fulfilling? stimulating and challenging? ridiculously lucrative?) I realized I should work backwards - what kind of LIFE do I want?  So many times we are able to quantify what it is that we don't want, but in all actuality that really isn't the same as what we do want.  It helps narrow things down a bit, but it's not the whole picture.

I realize I've been focusing a lot on what it is that I don't want [being a lobotomized Stepford wife, raging bitch, Old Maid cat lady.]  What do I want?

I want the world!  I want the whole world!  I want to lock it all up in my pocket!  It's my bar of chocolate! Give it to me NOW!

My Type A-ness dwindled somewhere amidst driving around the eastern half of the country visiting family, house-sitting for my parents in the suburbs, auditioning for American Idol, running around the streets of Manhattan, frolicking at a bachelorette party in Florida, attempting sleep on a 13 hour Greyhound bus ride beginning at 3:05 AM, visiting my beloved cousin M's husband, then exploring Charlotte where I changed clothes and did my hair in a Panera bathroom [I'm like Superwoman,] then arriving in a dark, empty parking lot in Washington D.C. at 6 AM, running around taking inappropriate pictures with monuments, and finally jumping in a car with my college roommate's friend and her dog to go home.  [That might be my favorite run-on sentence of all time.]  Lots of red-eye bus rides, lots of ridiculous stories.  And somewhere during it all I started listening to my mind and body as to what truly made me happy - what I do want. 

Complete lack of sleep and having absolutely no clue what day it is apparently helps with this.

I came home primed and receptive to however the universe was unfolding before me.  I found myself sitting at a bar with an amazing man who had just spent the past three years teaching English in Ecuador, South Korea, and Spain.  He said that he wants to get a job where he can make decent money, find someone he can travel the world with, spend that money traveling the world with them, and have a family.

Finally, something made sense to me.  Right now, here's what I want:  I want to make my own money, travel, marry someone I love, travel with him, have kids, raise them when they're little, and travel with them.  In order to enable this lifestyle of never having to ask for a vacation day off ever again, I must eschew the modern confines of 9-5 that make me feel like a caged animal.  My present solution?  Insurance sales.  (No, not the kind where you hit up family and friends.  I am totally not comfortable with that.)  I know it's not sexy, but I sold payroll and bought my house at 25.  That's my kind of sexy.  Residuals for ten years?  That's my kind of sexy.  Autonomy, flexibility, independence?  Fuck me, that's hot.

Of course, the minute I realize that if I'm exchanging my time for dollars that I want it to be on my terms, I have two recruiters call me for sales positions.  I could not be less interested.

So here I am with my crush.  Even if this one isn't "the one," I at least feel like it's setting a new standard.

Easier said than done, but I'm working on it.

Strong Enough

The other day as I was getting ready for the New Kids on the Block concert, [totally worth the 20 year wait] I was crimping my hair in all my 80's glory when the power went out in half of my house from a storm.  I went down to my dark, powerless basement and flipped the switches in the breaker box to no avail.  I was going to be late for the concert and figured nothing could be done at the time, so I left.  Make that, tried to leave.  Dummy me, I wasn't thinking that my garage door needed power to open.  It was a picture worthy of Candid Camera - me in four inch heels and a hot pink dress dismantling a garage door opener. I returned home five hours later (after a glorious regression to my eight year old self) to an empty house with no power and a flooded basement. 

No exaggeration, I've come home to worse.  I pulled out my fridge and ran an extension cord to it from an outlet that worked, looked up the numbers for the electric company and my general contractor, and went to bed.  Woke up, called them both and had everything fixed by 9 AM.  Thank God it was the transformer and not something wrong with my house.

Getting my garage door back on track was a little more difficult.  I googled how to do it and it said it was a two person job.  The instructions didn't seem all that complex so I went out and tackled it.  More minutes later than I would like to admit, with the aid of a folding chair, I had a working garage door again.

I am awesome.  Take that, storm!  Make me sleep with no A/C for a night?  Child's play.  No power to my sump pump so my basement floods?  That's nothing.  Garage door needs dismantled and put back on track?  Fuck you, I did it in stilettos.

Cue "Rocky" theme song.

Fast forward to this past Friday night.  I had dinner with my best girlfriend from high school, C, and her wonderful husband.  We cooked a phenomenal meal, laughed, drank wine...and I listened to why they feel I am single and what I need to do to change this.  [We went through three bottles.]

This topic seems to be coming up a lot recently.  This fourth of July, after several margaritas, my brother and one of his best friends and I were sitting around the fire pit and the two of them started discussing why I was alone and what kind of a man I needed.  At the time, I thought my witnessing this conversation was some sort of tequila-induced hallucination.  [After all, we later snuck onto the golf course and hit gasoline covered, flaming golf balls.  Go America!] But just last week, my two sweethearts of roommates (my mortgage isn't going to pay itself) told me that they were talking about how they couldn't figure out why I didn't have a boyfriend.

Each time these conversations have occurred I have felt like perhaps I am having an out of body experience, or I have somehow acquired a superpower of invisibility.  Nope.  Apparently it has become fair game for my friends and family to publicly conjecture why I am single.  OK, maybe conjecture isn't the right word.  My brother and his friend, one of my closest friends of 12 years, and two women who live with me probably have at least a decent grasp on who I am...

Among other things, the recurring theme from all three:   I fix my own garage door.

I have two initial reactions to this.

1. I should not be listening to other people.  They are inside the box thinking, Stepford wife loving, sticks in the mud.  I am spontaneous and adventurous and free-spirited and sometimes slightly stupid.  They're afraid I'm going to do something and end up dead.  I'm afraid I'm not going to do something and end up dead.  When I mess things up the most is when I allow other peoples' fears to creep in to my world and influence my actions and decisions.
2. Are you fucking kidding me?  I'm alone because I don't seem to "need" a man?  Just because I'm perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet doesn't mean that I don't want to share my life with someone.  It doesn't mean that I am a badass all the time either.

There was an ad I cut out years ago about running that said, "I run to take out the garbage in my mind."  Apparently I need to up my mileage.

I've been reading a ton lately, thinking a lot [so what else is new?] and writing like a crazy person.  Reading?  Economics and correlations between perfectionism and procrastination.  Thinking?  Sex, love, relationships, career, new city?, risk-taking, travel, and what I truly want out of all of those.  Writing?  Fairy tales and how they don't relate to real relationships, and how I don't want to live in a romantic comedy.  Can there be two "alphas" in a relationship?  Also, wedding season - endless material.  All of these things combined have resulted in an absolute explosion of wordiness.

Brevity is not my forte.  While I try to pare down and focus my thoughts, here is all I can seem to come up with right now:

I'm fucked and not in the way that I want to be.

Welcome to the Jungle

This Independence Day, my thoughts naturally turned to what I was doing last year at this time.  It was the beginning of the end for XBF and me and I realized that it's been almost a solid year since we broke up.  A year of hilarious adventures in dating.  I think most people, including myself, look back and reflect on New Year's Eve/Day.  For me, as heartbreaking as it was at the time, my new year began once I was single again.

Prior to creepy Condo Guy and Buzz, there were four guys that I dipped my toes in the water with...so may God strike me dead, I am kissing and telling.  Given some of these situations though, I don't feel so bad.

FINISH HER!!!

I will never forget kissing someone for the first time after XBF and I broke up - I felt like I was cheating.  What was so funny is that it wasn't like we were in a Ross and Rachel from Friends situation and "we were on a break."  This was much more akin to Mortal Kombat and someone's skeleton had been ripped out of their body.  We were definitely over.

Enter cute Irish Catholic guy, closet film junkie, pretty eyes - I'll refer to him as Pac Man.  Innocent flirting led to a night out together with friends.  Totally non-threatening.  He knew all the right things to say to swoop in on the carrion post-breakup.  He "understood" if I "needed to take things slow" and he "just wanted to spend time with me and get to know me better" since he thought I'd been "under-appreciated."  I don't think it was his first time at the rodeo.

After some aww-isn't-he-so-thoughtful texts and calls, he was going to California for a wedding for a week and wanted to see me before he left.  Problem was, the only time that worked for both of us was right then, and it was getting late and I was on the couch in sweatpants and a cami clearing out my DVR.  But it felt so nice to have a cute guy want to be so sweet and see me before he left, so I gave in and said something to the effect of:  "I'm just hanging out in my sweats watching tv if you want to come snuggle up with me."

Side note:  I have come to realize that other women were either taught things or handed some sort of manual that I wasn't.  Other women apparently do a really great job of playing the ever-so-seductive game of cat and mouse.  They dangle the carrot and pull it back.  Then dangle and allow for a nibble.  I, on the other hand, am far too literal [awesome, honest, non-manipulative, and logical like a guy when it comes to this stuff which is probably reason number eleventy billion why I'm single] and say pretty much what's on my mind.  That means if I say:  "snuggle" I mean snuggle.  If I say something along the lines of:  "I want you now" - no mixed messages there.

He came over looking better than cute, and he smelled absolutely delicious.  [In retrospect, I think he's the kind of guy who keeps cologne in his car, which aside from being a good way to ruin cologne, is also probably an indicator of his "dating" style.]

How YOU doin'?

The episode of It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia on my tv [I sometimes feel guilty watching that show, the characters really have no souls] was quality background noise to flirty curl up on the couch together time.  I always enjoy getting out and trying new things, but I absolutely love curl up on the couch together time.  Then he kissed me.  After thinking I was going to be kissing one person for the rest of my life, kissing someone new was weird to say the least.  It was like always doing my cartwheels left-handed and suddenly doing them right hand first.

The lululemon manifesto (I read it online while I was looking up their yoga classes) says something about how we all grew up in different homes where different words had different meanings and we need to remember and appreciate that.  I had no idea what "snuggle" meant in Pac Man's world.  Yes, it was getting late that night, but does time of day completely undermine any words I use and simply equate to "let's fuck"?!?!  Perhaps if this is a repeat offense I can agree with that contention, but not if that line hasn't even come close to being crossed.  I digress.

I found out what "snuggle" meant to him as he put my hand on his crotch.  Dude, I'm a big girl.  I know what I'm doing.  If I want my hand to be somewhere, trust me, it'll be there.  I moved my hand away.  One life left, Pac Man.

His kisses continued down my neck, down my collarbone, down my stomach...and kept going...  Now I moved him away.  For crying out loud, the guy had better odds of winning the lottery.  What I loved most, though, was his response.

Pac Man:  "But I just want to make you feel good."
Me:  "I feel awesome."

Tactically speaking, not a bad angle, but given the circumstances and timing, fail.

As he continued his previous advances, "But I want to give you something to remember me by."

Thanks for playing!

I walked him to the door.  I'm no prude, but you've got to be fucking kidding me.  I certainly will remember him, just probably not for the reasons he was hoping.

For the next three, I have to swallow my pride big time and admit something that only four people know.  [Deep breath.]  I went on match.com for the three day free trial.  I felt like it had been long enough and I needed to get back out there.  My three day dalliance was overall quite frightening, but I left the world of online dating with three potential suitors:  Science Guy, Young Paul Bunyan, and The Russian.

Science guy was 34, worked in a lab, and was finishing his PhD.  As if being super smart wasn't sexy enough, he was very easy on the eyes, classically good looking.  Everything went downhill from there.  We met up at a nice sports bar where he drank one beer and dominated the appetizer we ordered.  At least offer me a chance at the last tuna and avocado roll!  Talking with him was painful.  Monotone.  We were at a sports bar and he's a guy, so I shifted the conversation to sports.  I am a ginormous sports fan and he was saying how he couldn't understand how people got so into it.  Granted, we live in a college town where our football team is practically a religion, but he had no desire to ever even go to a game and preferred to spend his Saturdays in the lab.  No professional soccer games?  No AAA baseball games?  Nothing.  Add to this the fact that he was pretty much dressed like my 50-something father with his braided belt and tucked in polo.  I think our server was either completely negligent or misconstrued my carrying the conversation for us having a good time, and what should have lasted maybe two hours was an excruciating three and a half hour long teeth-pulling session.  I actually had a headache when it was over.

Next was the Young Paul Bunyan.  Minnesota native, Northwestern grad, super outdoorsy, super cute.  I branched out and went on a date with someone younger.  He was 25.  Yikes!  He was adorable [I use that specific word intentionally] and we had a lovely time at dinner and grabbed a couple beers afterward.  I don't know whether it was his age, the fact that he is incredibly sweet and mild-mannered, or what, but to me he was adorable in the way that puppies are adorable.  There is no kind of adorable that makes me want to grab someone and passionately kiss them.

Then there was the Russian.  Criminal defense attorney, 29, Jewish.  A guy who I could talk to all day long, and we did for over a month.  He was someone who appreciated my outspokenness and shared my love of trying new things.  Two problems:  even though he said he wasn't, he was still very much into the club scene, and I wasn't really super physically attracted to him.  The latter was compensated for by the fact that I am very much a personality person when it comes to dating, not everyone is Jake Gyllenhaal, and he had a great personality.  But the club thing...  So we went on a couple of fun dates and I told him that while I used to be more into that lifestyle [when I was 20-23 and in college] it really had no appeal to me anymore.  He swore that he only went occasionally because they were clients and old friends and urged me to come with him one night and see for myself that it wasn't so bad.  So I went with an open mind.  [Tried to keep that open mind as I saw several members of my college's football team there who may or may not have been sporting tattoos and driving vehicles that later contributed to their entering the draft early.]  I couldn't do it.  I drank my free Goose to the point where I woke up in the Russian's bed.  Fully clothed.  Not just fully clothed, I mean, coat, scarf, heels, tights, dress, jewelry, the whole shebang.  How do I put this delicately?  If I've been dating someone for over a month, get drunk with them and wake up in their bed, I shouldn't still be wearing my coat.

I have spent the past year dating people who have turned out to be all kinds of wrong for me, but I'm glad I've put myself out there again.  I feel like I've learned a lot about myself, what I want out of a relationship, and reiterated the fact that dammit, blue-eyed, intelligent men are like kryptonite to me.  XBF called me to tell me he misses me and that he hasn't really seen anyone since we broke up and marriage/kids just might not be in the cards for him.  It made me sad for him, but it was a great reminder of why we should never be together.  No matter how crazy this past year has been, I still haven't given up hope that my future partner in crime is out there.  Hell, if Lil Wayne can release a ballad as a single, anything is possible.

Pretty good year.

Wildflowers

I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing right now.  I'm not speaking in hyperbole here.  For the first time in my life, in virtually every aspect, I am not sure what the next step is for me.  The good news is, after getting let go from my job two weeks ago, I have the opportunity and time to figure that out.  After feeling so trapped, paralyzed, and terrified of making the wrong decision, I finally feel liberated to get a little messy, make some mistakes, travel, try something new.  Seriously, as long as my mortgage is paid and Giorgio is ok, what's the worst that can really happen?

Unfortunately this does not bode well for my natural proclivity for over-analyzing.

So I jumped in my car, spent some time with God and my puppy, and visited family I hadn't seen since I took my piece of shit job (hereon out to be referred to as the POSJ.)  1,918 miles, 14 awesome relatives, 10 states, 7 days, 6 dogs (And 1 blue-eyed hottie who caught the garter at my cousin's wedding where I caught the bouquet.)

I set off on this trip anticipating that I would take some serious time to evaluate what it is that I'm really looking for in something that I'm spending 40-60-plus hours a week doing rather than being so focused on leaving my current job.  What I realized is that I'm probably no closer to that answer than I was when I set out on my trip, and now I have a whole new set of questions.

For starters, why exactly am I staying in this city?  Yes, it was a wonderful place to grow up and my family is here...but I don't feel like much else is, and I really think I'm just fine with a phone relationship with my parents.  I constantly feel like I'm searching for people who like to do the things that I do.  Or hell, just do anything outside of going to the same bars I went to in college, or get married and move to the suburbs.  It seems to be pick one of the two.  I want Option C.

I want to experience new places and activities.  I will see any live concert, go to any sporting event (ok, maybe not women's basketball,) attend any festival, trivia night, try any new restaurant or bar...but I had multiple people back out on me for Warrior Dash and can't seem to find people to go cabrewing/camping/board game night/paintballing/curling/putt-putting/play kickball.  How would I find these people, my brethren?  I'm beginning to think that being in a city with more like-minded people would help.  My first thought is someplace warmer with professional sports teams.  I could be wrong, but every brainstorm needs a start.

Although I have no problem doing this stuff by myself, all of these things would be fun to share with someone.  Would I perhaps be less frustrated in my love life if I could find more guys who like to experience life and try new things as opposed to just catching up on their DVR?  Dare I say that a year out from something uber-serious and a couple of duds and d-bags later, I'm open to the idea of something real again?  Open to, not looking for - two entirely different concepts. 

I do not want to aimlessly search for the next way to box myself in to something neat and tidy and corporate so that everyone can let out a sigh of relief.  "Oh thank God she's not unemployed!"  I feel the same way about a career/job right now as I do a relationship:  I'd rather be without one than in one where I'm not happy.  Right now, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing, but for someone who was "Most Likely to Succeed" in high school, and has always had a plan and high aspirations - embracing that is quite possibly the best I've felt in a long time.

S&M

I've determined that in different areas of life I have varying levels of tolerance for just how much bullshit I can take and still keep coming back for more. 

Throughout my life I have been praised for myriad accolades and leadership roles, and I had always assumed [obviously my first problem] that would translate well in the corporate world.  So far that has not been the case and I feel as though really what I should've been cultivating all of these years was more of a Kevin Bacon in "Animal House" attitude.

Thank you, sir!  May I have another?

Apparently I will put up with a complete lack of communication and professionalism, working every evening and weekend, and fighting for my commission that my sales partner stole - because I can't seem to find something I'm passionate about to go to right now, and moral objections or not, my mortgage isn't going to pay itself.  

While I seem to at times shoot myself in the foot by eschewing "playing the game" in my poorly managed company, if I'm really honest with myself I love "the game" when it comes to the opposite sex.  Don't give it to me easy.  Give me passion.  Give me fireworks.  Give me the pain - the exquisite pain.

I'm guessing Jack Kerouac didn't anticipate "On The Road" being published as a tattoo.

It's commonly most acceptable for people to say they are "drama-free," but really I think it's the drama that makes things interesting.  What they're saying by drama-free is really that they prefer to stay out of the ruckus.  Nothing wrong with that, the ruckus isn't for everyone.  There's also a time and a place for it.  Obviously people love it, it's the reason we watch television shows and movies.  I feel like there are two types of people:  those who are in the fray getting dirty and those who would prefer to stay clean.  From there, there are different kinds of dirty.

1. People who like to instigate and for whom the title "diva" can be used.  I think these people are often most successful in establishing fifteen minutes of fame on a reality tv show, or just annoying the piss out of me. 
2. People who acknowledge that in order to truly thrive and lead a non-superficial life, you have to dig deep and things can get a little messy.

Don't get me wrong, there are certainly types of drama I can do without [my past month of major appliances dying and a roommate absconding with two grand and verbally eviscerating me] but I'm a sucker for it when it comes to Buzz.  Is it because he is emotionally unavailable/relationship clueless and I see him as a challenge/safe because I won't get in too deep and get hurt?  Is it because we're soulmates destined to be together?  [Ha!]  Is it because work has monopolized my life and a little excitement, albeit at times borderline absurd, is a welcome reprieve?  I have no idea, all I know is that this has been going on for three and a half months and we each keep coming back for more.

Interactions [I felt the word relationships held too much weight here] like mine with Buzz are the sort of thing that inspire books like "The Time Traveler's Wife" to be written.  The frustration of emotional unavailability at its finest.  We go on a couple great dates.  Talk like crazy.  Then nothing.  Then we see each other randomly and we talk for hours and I call him out on everything and he says that he's never met anyone like me before and that he doesn't know what he's doing and he absolutely loves me (then says wait, you know what I mean, Freudian slip) and that he's never talked about relationships this much before and he's in this there are just a lot of things that scare him and he doesn't know how to balance everything.  Then texts.  Then a couple more days of nothing.  Then when I get his next text, I tell him I'm over him and I'm moving on.  I was surprised to hear from him, but I know he's competitive.  Then I upped the ante and returned his text with a call.  Phone tag.  Then tonight he called and we actually talked.  He's into me, but was ending a relationship.  I said all he ever had to do was tell me that.  I've been open and honest with him and put myself out there.

Fell asleep, woke up at 4 AM on the couch [bad habit] to the sound of a glorious thunderstorm.  My mind could think of nothing but our conversation and at 5 AM I donned my Drama Queen crown and sent the following message:

The thunderstorm woke me up and I started thinking about our conversation.  I call bullshit :)  I specifically asked you if an ex-gf was what was so complicated on St. Patty's and you said no.  You didn't not tell me because you "didn't know me that well."  You didn't tell me because you were having your cake and eating it too.  All I asked is that you were honest with me and I feel like you weren't - and I kinda feel like an idiot for giving you the benefit of the doubt.  If all you want is something superficial and great first dates, you should keep doing exactly what you're doing and please don't involve me in it.  If you want more than that and are willing to be honest with me, you know how to reach me.

I either just ripped off the Band-Aid or started a whole new mess of paper cuts.

On To The Next One

I feel so naked.  I left my cell phone at home.

God, my thighs look sensational.

In theory this would not be such a bad thing, however, I have a date this evening and

1.  He does not have my address.
2.  The restaurant where he wants to take me [one of the nicest in the city] appears to be closed on Sundays and I am not sure that he is aware of this since we changed our date from Tuesday.

I am inclined to just say, "Forget it, let's go grab a cocktail on a patio somewhere."  After all, it is sunny and gorgeous outside...but for one slight issue - I am still mentally tan-orexic.  It's not that I want to look like I belong on the cast of the Jersey Shore, but if I'm breaking out the sundress on the patio, I want to be looking my best.  Plus, in addition to teaching graphic design at the university while he gets his masters and bartending at a fabulous little downtown spot, my date for this evening also dabbles in a hobby about which I am still unsure how I feel in a potential suitor:  bodybuilding.

If you want to see a ridiculously confident woman start to feel a little uneasy about how toned and tan she is - have her go on a date with a guy with what seems like 0% body fat and a perfect tan.  Granted, in this case it helps that I don't find him insanely good-looking, but he is super sweet.  And, after continuing to play cat and mouse with the ever-alluring and oh-so-relationship-clueless Buzz, it was beyond refreshing to have a guy tell me that he wants to have the opportunity to spend more time with me and get to know me, so just let him know when I'm free because there's a table he'd like to reserve at this fabulous restaurant for us.  I will refer to him as "Martini," quite the misnomer, seeing as how there doesn't seem to be anything "teeny" about him from what I can see.

Simply put, Martini is not my usual "type."  Obviously my "type" 15 years of dating  hasn't been working out, therefore I am open to new experiences.  I enter this uncharted territory with trepidation for a couple legitmate reasons though.

Exhibit 1:  He has facial hair that is way too Purple Rain for me.

Exhibit 2 is slightly more controversial.

We're not talking a little symbol on the bicep here...I've dated that before.  I'm talking entire bicep, and full back piece.  I'm intrigued to hear the stories behind them.  Side note:  Barbed wire is always an automatic knockout. 

Either way, as my dear friend Gigi, dating aficionado, says, "At worst, it's free dinner and a good story." 

These are two things I certainly enjoy.

You know what else I apparently enjoy?  Cat and mouse for three months...until I got asked out by Martini and Buzz texted me a little while later and I finally bit the bullet and told him I was moving on.  I'm not exactly sure why that was as difficult as it was and I was admittedly probably a bit harsh on him - but his text messages don't keep me warm at night and they don't make an adult relationship either. 

[But I still haven't shaken him off completely, dammit.]

Who Are You?

This may piss a lot of people off, but where have womens' faces gone?  Of my 1,294 facebook friends, I have found that an alarming number of women are either experiencing a Curious Case of Benjamin Button syndrome and turning into babies, or their faces are not allowed to be posted without the face of the man in their life's also being displayed.  I want to scream:  "Ladies, you're beautiful (even after you've put on a few hubby/baby pounds) and I would like to see your faces!  I  went to high school/college/am friends with you, not an infant.  Yes, babies are miracles and yours is adorable, but your vanishing identity frightens me.  You have a name other than Mrs. or Mom and when I see that not a single recent picture (profile or otherwise) actually has you in it, it makes me sad."

The baby pictures are one thing, but the couples pictures crack me up as well.  To me, they say:  "Hey!  My eyes are closed, but at least you get to see him smile."  "I figured you'd want to see me sucking face with my boyfriend/fiance/husband."  "Why should he care that I post on all my girlfriends' walls about who the next Bachelorette is and that I'm excited for Dancing with the Stars with his face in the picture?"

Please do not mistake my feelings for jealousy or as a lamentation of being single and childless.  Let me be clear, I recognize and appreciate that not everyone is in the same place in life as I am right now.  I am more than happy to buy a great gift for the shower, be in the wedding, run amok at Baby Gap, hold and play with little bambinos, and hear all about the world of marriage and munchkins.  I am not happy that my facebook wall looks like babies have posted some frighteningly mature stuff.

If I am fortunate enough to have a husband and children someday, I know that that kind of love will be something new and wonderful.  "Mrs. So-and-So," I'm sure I'll want to practice signing my new name a thousand times.  Someday hearing my child call out for "Mom" will be music to my ears - but at no point in time will I feel that it is necessary to stop being Rachel.