Thursday, December 24, 2009

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time

After the insanity of the last several months, I am actually looking forward to Christmas. Mom and dad are flirting with the idea of reconciliation, my brother is in love and facing life as an adult, and I'm genuinely happy. Things aren't perfect, but who needs boring old perfection, anyway? I have a great job, amazing friends, my own little house, and presents under the tree.

I'm not concerned with the presents I'll unwrap tomorrow morning. I'm more fixated on putting my new attitude to work when I'm with my family tonight. My insecurity often holds me back from them, and I've realized that I can seem snobby. My cousins may not ever be my best friends, but they really should get to see the real me rather than the girl who hides. This is my Christmas goal.

I'll leave work around noon today and I won't return until January 4th. I am looking forward to this recharging time, but I'm also eagerly anticipating the plans I've made. Tonight is the Christmas party for mom's family, tomorrow is dad's crew as well as our nuclear family Christmas. Early next week is a gift exchange with my dearest local friends, and I have an exciting evening planned for New Year's Eve. I'll be honest - that last one has me all in a tizzy. I have a date. He's someone I met on my latest foray into the online pool and, wow, the water is warm. It's new, but I can honestly say I'm excited about him. Being with him is easy. There's no stress, no worry, just an honest enjoyment of being together.

For all of my complaints of roller coasters and buckets of tears, 2009 has been a pretty good year. Ugh. I'm rhyming. Hate it when that happens. Anyway - I salute you, third decade of my life, and I can't wait to see what 2010 brings.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

What's with all the water metaphors?

Oh, little blog, precious little nugget of loin fruit. How I've missed you. I've been avoiding posting here. In part because there is nothing new to say about my family insanity and in part because I've been afraid to post about one part of my life because I didn't want to hurt a certain reader. You know who you are, and I'm sorry if any of this stings. However, I've come to the conclusion that I need to be honest and authentic here, otherwise, I might as well delete the page and pretend BlinkBlink never existed.

S and I broke up - anyone who reads this blog knows that. We had our reasons, and the fact that we wanted different things from life is a biggie. Another reason, though, is that I didn't feel valued by S. I know he loved me, but he didn't love me the way I want to be loved. I didn't feel like I was a priority in his life. Therapy has helped me see that. And as I said one day on the doctor's couch, "I don't always feel valued by my mother. I'm sure as hell going to feel like I'm valuable to the person I spend the rest of my life with!" S didn't do anything wrong - we just didn't mesh on all the right levels in the end. I don't want to sound clinical, but I learned a lot from my time with him. I guess with each relationship, you learn more about what you want in the relationship.

I've decided to wade back in to the dating pool, and I'm trying to move slowly. I know how fickle the water can be.

Thursday, November 26, 2009


I'm thankful for my own little house - my port in the storm. I'm thankful for my friends, my therapist, and even my fucked up family. I'm thankful this day is almost over.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Hope Springs Eternal

I'm in therapy for the third time in my life. Therapist #1 was convinced my mother was the root of my problems and didn't address the underlying depression that tempted me to drive my car off of a bridge. Therapist #2 had good insight, but was inexperienced and not clinically trained. After our sessions, I left her office tired and slightly weighed down by all the thoughts bouncing around in my brain. She left the practice a couple of months after I started seeing her and I decided not to see another person in the office. Therapist #3 has his PhD and specializes in Medical Psychological Consulting. He's interested in the root problems rather than treating the symptoms. I leave his office feeling lighter than when I went in. I'm less angry, less scared, and a lot more hopeful.

I have a new song I want to cling to: I Hope by the Dixie Chicks.
There must be a way to change what's going on
No, I don't have all the answers, but
I hope - For more love, more joy and laughter
I hope you'll have more than you'll ever need
I hope - There'll be more happy ever afters
I hope - We can all live more fearlessly
And we can lose all the pain and misery

I want to cling to hope. I want to change so many things. I want joy.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Heads or Tails?

For my parents' twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, I collected quarters from each of the 25 years they had been married and created a custom art piece for them. Dad loved it. He raved about the creativity and thoughtfulness it exhibited to his friends and colleagues. Apparently, the number twenty-five stuck with him more permanently than the marriage it represented. My father has been having an affair for over a year with a woman who was born when he was twenty-five. She is my age. After going home last night and telling mom he wanted to try to work on things, tonight he revealed the affair.

I'm angry. So very, very angry. This man is not my father. This is not the man who raised me.


I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but dad moved back in last night. He and mom are going to try to work on things.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Siser Synchronicity

E and I share a birthday. Really. We were both born on the 77th day of the year. It's one of those things that links us - something that helps us in our brain-sharing pursuits. However, given the astrology of having the same birthday, we experience things at the same times; highs, lows, and funks all happen at the same time. We're in a low right now. Not in our relationship, but in our lives. We're both subject to strong forces beyond our control. We're both spinning and confused and scared.

Siser, I want you to know that even though I am seeming very-self focused right now, you are on my mind. I love you and want nothing but the best for you. Sending all the positive energy I possess your way as you prepare for the days to come.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Sing! Sing a Song!

I like music. This is nothing revelatory - most people (with the exception of Bella in New Moon) have an affection for some type of melodic noise. What I don't know is if other people hear music differently depending upon their mood or what is happening in their lives.

S and I have broken up, and So Hard by the Dixie Chicks has struck a new chord with me. It's a song about infertility, but the lyrics just hit me - "Back when we started, we didn't know how hard it was...I try my best to be strong, but you know it's so hard. It's so hard when it doesn't come easy...So hard...Felt like a given, something a woman is born to do - a natural ambition to see a reflection of you and me...Could you be happy if life wasn't how we pictured it? Last night you told me you can't remember how to feel free. It's so hard..." God, it was so hard to end it - to know that love wasn't enough to make us work. As I type this, Love is All You Need is playing on my iTunes. Ironic. And wrong. Love isn't all you need.

Things have just all around sucked lately. Week one - S and I broke up. Week two - found out M's drinking had gotten out of control and he's attending AA, that mom and dad were having problems, and that mom's best friend sees a disparity in the way mom treats M and me, proving that is not all in my head. Week three - dad has moved out. What's coming in week four? Plague? I need distraction. Fun. Something new to focus on. If you can get past the very sad ASPCA commercial it is used in (and the unfortunate Nicholas Cage connection), Angel by Sarah McLachlan is a perfect song for me right now. Forgive me, but I need to insert the entire first verse so you can understand...
Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There's always one reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight

I sat at home alone last night last night, patio doors open to draw in the cool autumn air. I'm sure the neighbors grew tired of hearing my faltering voice launch this song out into the night. I'm aching. I'm numb.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

24 Hours - UPDATED

My parents have called a family meeting for tomorrow night. In the almost thirty years of my life, we've never had a family meeting. In light of this week's revelations about that state of our family, I can think of two things that might be on the agenda.

1) With the economy the way it is, mom's job situation has been a little rocky. She's been fearing a lay-off and I guess that could have come to fruition.

2) My parents are divorcing. They've both told me it is a possibility.

Either way, this is not a good time to be out of Zoloft.

My parents are separated.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Murky Waters

I almost died when I was fifteen. I know that is a dramatic statement - even a melodramatic one - that can cause a reader to doubt the validity of anything I have to say, but it's true. I was fifteen and on a family vacation in Panama City Beach. We decided to take a boat a few miles off shore and visit Shell Island. Although I am a Pisces with a great love of water, I've never really liked the ocean. I don't like the sand and salt sticking to my skin and never knowing exactly what I'm stepping on as I ease into the surf. On this hot August day, my mom convinced me to play in the waves with her. We took a raft and bounced in the waves, with the undertow carrying us out further than we realized. A powerful dolphin watching boat rounded the rock cove that framed our swimming area, and we were pulled further out. Our feet could no longer touch the ocean floor and violent waves crashed over our heads. Although we are both strong swimmers, we were unable to fight our rapid progress towards the boat. We turned ninety degrees and swam towards the rocky sea wall. We reached the rocks, and tried to climb their slippery faces in a quest for stability. Mom grabbed my arm when she attained a perch, keeping a humongous wave from carrying me away. The waves surged towards us again, and I was lifted above the lowest rocks and deposited into a depression, jagged rocks all around me. The waves beat me between the rocks, tearing my swimsuit and the tender flesh beneath it. I had to move from this spot, yet mom wouldn't surrender her tether so I could climb. Another huge wave crashed over us, pulling me over the low rocks again, slapping mom after me, and loosening her grip on my arm. Mercifully, this wave shoved us towards the shore, and we were able to swim again. As we neared the shore, bodies bruised and bloodied, we tried to scream for help. Finally, people rushed out to haul us to the sandy beach. I remember the details of that experience so vividly, but the rest of the day is a blur. However, I do know a category two hurricane hit Panama City Beach that night. We had been on a small island in pre-hurricane conditions.

Even as I carry the scars of August 2, 1995 with me, I can't help but see it as a metaphor for my relationship with my mother. Mom only sees that I would have been lost had she not held on to me, whereas I know that at some point she had to let go so we could each be safe. It was out of her power to save me that day. We face the same struggle today. She wants to be my savior, and that's not what she's supposed to be. I have to stand on my own - be in control of my life. I've seen this dichotomy in our relationship for years, but I've started to see it in her relationship with M now, too. M spent a year in rehab. Three weeks after his graduation from his program, he got a DUI. Now, he's attending AA meetings to combat his drinking. I don't know if he's slipped up in other ways, because I'm kept isolated from the family where these things are concerned, but mom has again taken it upon herself to save M. Last night, she told me she has to help him, just like she had to save me on Shell Island. M has been drowning for years. The time for mommy to save him has passed. He needs to stretch his fins and swim on his own. Until he is accountable for himself, anyone else's best intentions are just paving the road to hell.

Friday, October 23, 2009


I've come to the following conclusion...

It doesn't matter how deep still waters run if they can't quench your thirst.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Down With Distance!

I am a fan of many things. I like Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Avocado. Movies. Rain showers. Long, girly, giggly conversations. Hugs. Good ideas. Well-orchestrated events. Jeans. The color aquamarine.

I have a list of things I don't like, too, though. I don't like fighting with my mom. Spiders. Crows. Crow's feet around my eyes. Dark lip liner. Lima Beans. Tracey on this season of The Biggest Loser. Tornadoes. Ponchos.

There is one thing that I need to add to the "not a fan" list. It's something I'd never given a ton of thought to until about six months ago. I don't like distance. Yes, S only lives an hour and a half away, but when schedules are as different as ours, it feels like we're a continent apart. I miss him. I miss threading my fingers through his and seeing the warm light that shines from his eyes when he looks at me. I can't help but worry that he thinks I'm being pushy when I tell him I want to see him more. I can only hope that he sees it as what it is, though. A declaration of my love for him and a natural gravitation towards something that makes me so happy.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Hanging By A Thread

My hands are sore from grasping my sanity so tightly. My mind is bruised from the force of her words. My eyes are unfocused, unable to see beyond the truth revealed to me. I'm twenty-nine years old, and my mother doesn't like me. She uses a creator's love to mask the hurt and to explain away her obvious preference for my brother. She is a flawed, maybe even damaged woman, yet I yearn for her respect. It's never given. I am never enough.

It's time. I need to stop judging myself through her distorted lens. She made me, but she's not me. I need to quit fighting for her approval and earn my own.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

S Called It!

Heather and her layers of black eye liner were sent home, as was Kristian. Damn. I was really hoping to see Kristian replace her competitors' shampoo with Nair!

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

More to Loathe

Okay, so I knew Fox was low-brow, but WOW. I just stumbled across the application for More to Love. Follow the link at your own risk. Yowza.

Peaceful, Easy Feeling

Modern medicine is an amazing thing. Two weeks ago, I saw my doctor to discuss treatment for depression and anxiety. I've been on medication since that day, and I'm already seeing a difference. It's in little things. When I say "I'm not going to worry about it" the statement is no longer tinged with desperation, but rather an ease in knowing I can let go. I can enjoy my happiness rather than waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know there will be days when things aren't so easy, but knowing I can handle the small stuff makes me confident I can tackle whatever comes.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

The Last Acceptable Prejudice

I am an admitted fan of The Bachelorette. I don't watch the show for romance or dreams of happily-ever-after. I watch it for the weekly train wrecks. I yell at the television and act as if the participants can hear me. I critique their clothing, correct their grammar, and express my exasperation at their idiocy. Fun times. I drew S into the madness this season and we watched it together each week. It was our standing phone date each Monday. I feared we'd lose that time together when Jillian picked Ed (coughlyingcheatingbastardcough), but we found an even more infuriating show to watch together. It's another Mike Fleiss creation, the ludicrous More to Love. To put it kindly, I am a curvy woman, and yes, I get tired of watching pencil thin girls who claim to love McDonald's (I'm looking at you, Molly) traipse across my television screen. However, I find it insulting for the show to insinuate that only a heavy man can be attracted to a woman of size. The show further posits that Luke (our non-hunk) is representative of other heavy men. Doubtful. In the premier, the usual "name/hometown/profession" tag was displayed in each candidate's interview. However, the evil geniuses at Fox also included the contestant's weight! Why? This show claims size is an unimportant factor in finding love; anyone watching the show can see that the women are not exactly petite. This monstrosity is supposed to be a dating show, not one designed for weight loss, so is there a purpose to sharing individual weights? Oh, wait. The show is on Fox - the humiliation comes standard.

As a long-time Bachelor viewer, I know a little about the ins and outs of the show. Chris Harrison, host extraordinaire, has revealed in the past that the day of the first cocktail party, production assistants visit each of the ladies to consult on dresses and hairstyles, insuring that the women look their best for the party. On the premier of More to Love, however, women arrived in ill-fitting, unflattering dresses and had obviously styled their own hair. More than one woman had her hair pulled back in a simple elastic band rather than the perfect coifs we've come to expect from The Bachelor. What does it mean that only glamazon women make it to Harrison's inner circle, yet model Emme's is comprised of women who not only can't find love but also don't know how to wield a flat-iron?

S and I have been watching the show for several weeks now, and he says the best part of the show is listening to me scream at the television. I've watched sheltered, insecure Melissa be sent home. I wish I could adopt her, if only to figure out why she went on the show. I'm waiting anxiously for Kristian to go ape-shit on someone - it will happen - or for Tali to be revealed as a transsexual. I think Malissa is the one who's going to surprise viewers with her insanity. Right now, I'm picking Heather and Mandy for the final two, with Mandy taking the win. If you can call a proposal from douchey Luke a win, that is.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Television 1, BlinkBlink 0

And unfortunately, I'm not referring to my Bachelor/Bachelorette addiction. On Saturday afternoon, I decided I wanted to rearrange some of the furniture in my bedroom. I have a five drawer chest in one corner of the room, and I wanted to see what it would look like on the adjacent wall. The chest is heavy and made heavier by the 20-inch television perched atop it. I reached up to pull the tv down, bracing for the weight that would drop into the cradle of my arms. I wasn't prepared. Gravity pulled the front-heavy appliance down fast and the screen solidly struck my left cheekbone. I staggered back, face stinging, and placed the television on the floor. I continued about the business of shifting the chest of drawers 90 degrees. Eh. Not as good as I had hoped, so I centered the chest on the wall. Eh. In total, I moved the chest four times, only to return it and the television to their original positions.

My face stung, then started to ache. I texted S, saying "I dropped a television on my face." After assuring himself I was ok, he very logically inquired if it would have killed me to wait until he was available to help me. Hmm. Interesting. You mean I really don't have to do everything on my own? Huh. I'll have to think some more about this after my face stops throbbing. On Sunday, my face had started to swell and still ached. By Monday, I was in pain. I was swollen from my left eye socket to the corner of my mouth. I could no longer breathe out of my left nostril. The pressure on my eye was so intense, I could not see clearly and my face began to tingle as if parts of it had fallen asleep. Having learned my lesson (HA!) from not seeking treatment for a broken arm for five days, I decided to go to the doctor.

I was poked, prodded, and x-rayed. I didn't break my cheekbone, but I did severely irritate the nerve that runs along it. I also had to explain to three different doctors that I really am that klutzy (mom and dad really should have named me after my grandmother, Grace), and no, no one hit me in the face. Hm. Unfortunate rhyme. Moving on. I'm taking OTC meds (when I remember my face doesn't have to hurt that badly) and icing the cheekbone when the tingly-twitches get too bad. It's feeling better - at least I no longer think the pressure is going to make my eye explode.

This morning while getting ready for work, I turned the television on to check the weather. That was when I saw it. The outline of my left cheek and the side of my nose smudged on the television screen. All right, tv, you may have won the battle, but gloating is very unattractive.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Like Thriller, only not

I am beyond sick of Michael Jackson coverage. I could not be more tired of speculation that his seemingly white children aren't biologically his. I am going to do my best to ignore the coverage of his memorial service today, even as I am bombarded with tales of the insane crowds descending upon the Staples Center. This ends my media coverage of the event.

Monday, June 15, 2009


It's no secret that I've read the Twilight books. At the moment, I find myself envious of Bella. Not the whole mortal (and immortal) peril thing, but rather I envy her for having Jasper. Jazz, for those not in the know, is able to influence the moods of those around him. When Bella is anxious or panicky, he can whitewash the tension to give her some breathing room. What I wouldn't do for some old-school whitewashing. I'm a wreck.

Work is tense, and although the part-time assistant I hired is a god-send, I grate at sharing an office, especially with someone whose mind doesn't work quite like mine. I work hard, but it seems like things pile up nonetheless. Things are always due at the same time, making me feel like a hamster on a wheel to nowhere. I really enjoy my job, though. I like the people, I like the assignments, and I like the freedom.

My brother returns from rehab in 11 days. I've spent years being manipulated by his addictions, and I'm scared of the co-dependence that could envelope me upon his return. He wants to be my roommate in my new house so he'll have a family member to keep him accountable without chafing against the restrictions of living with his parents at the age of 25. I've told him no, which makes me feel mean, but I really feel like I've earned the right to live on my own. I don't want to be responsible for him - I tried that for a really long time when mom and dad refused to see how far gone he was. It's time for me to live my life. I told mom last night that both she and dad have broken promises they made to M when he started his program, and I feel like him seeing that when he comes home will plant seeds in his mind that he can't really do this. One little slip, and he could fall back into his old patterns. I know it sounds selfish, but I cannot take that again. I will not allow someone else's addiction to rule my life. I'm finally happy in Lexington. I don't want to leave, but I will if I have to.

This is the tricky part to express since S reads this blog. I honestly don't doubt that he loves me, and I feel very secure in our relationship. At the same time, it scares me. It's big and important and different than anything I've ever had before. I fear my inexperience.

I'm buying a freaking house.

And I'm living with my parents until then. Speaking of which...

Dear universe,

Please keep my closing date on track so I can get out of my mother's house.

Hugs and kisses,

Monday, June 1, 2009

Pardon me while I gush

Oh my lordy, do I love my boyfriend. Friday night, he attended my parents' 30th wedding anniversary celebration, and was introduced fully to the insanity that is my family. I've known them all my entire life, and I can still find them overwhelming, so I wondered how he would react to them - and how it would affect his view of me. He was amazing. He actually enjoyed their nuttiness. He likes my mother, the woman my siser likened to a cobra, and actually admires her lack of filtration from thought to spoken word. I think I'm back to thinking he's a figment of my imagination.

We're taking a trip in September with another couple (he's willing to make plans months in advance!), and we'll be seeing P!nk in concert. I love her, and I'm very excited about the trip. I asked S last night who he'd most like to see perform live, and he replied that he doesn't really like concerts. I stopped for a second, then said "You're not a huge P!nk fan, and you don't like concerts - why did you say yes to the trip?" He answered simply, "Because I'll be with you." I melted into a little puddle of BlinkBlink, and I don't know that I'll ever be the same.

One last thing, then I'll end this sickeningly sweet post. I was dreaming of him this morning when my alarm went off, and my dream turned the ringing into a call from him. I woke up smiling.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Ernest Money

The offer is in for my first home. Again with the gagcoughvomit. The seller is to accept or counter by 10pm.



I'm a bad blog mommy. I've neglected this little nugget of loin fruit, and now I must make amends. Of course, I have good reasons (excuses) - a "vacation" I needed a vacation to recover from, that whole work thing, being in lurve with the fabulous S, and facing temporarily moving in with my parents (gagcoughvomit).

The Vacation
I journeyed through a fog of kamikaze bugs back to the homeland. Springfield, Missouri - third largest city in the state, mainstay of tornado alley, and buckle of the Bible belt. I saw friends, laughed a lot, and cried as I watched a friend graduate from college after a ten-year battle with higher education. I mourned the changes in the town of my youth, and reflected on the changes that have taken place in me since I left the town almost four years ago. I've grown up, moved on, and started to carve out my place in the world, but my roots are still buried deep in the Kickapoo Prairie.

Oh, lordy, do I work. Not right now, of course, as I am celebrating the fact that I haven't been here since Friday by writing this post, but in general, I work hard. I have a part-time assistant now because I'm the proud owner of a PUMA. Ask me what that means sometime when I'm not on my work computer. I've learned a lot from the great and powerful Dooce.

I Heart S
I have a boyfriend. Na-na-na-na-na. He really impressed my momma (a cobra for all intents and purposes). Mom denies that she told my brother S is very nice and extremely attentive towards me, but she also maintains her "allergies" are what caused her to tear up at my college graduation, so I don't believe her for a minute. S is meeting the brother this weekend, and I can't wait.

Moving in with the 'rents
I have a good reason, I swear! No! This isn't like neglecting the blog, I promise. This is the best and possibly one of the ONLY good reasons for a 29 year old to move back home. I'm buying a house! The lease is up on my apartment the end of May, and I can't close on a house until at least mid-June, so I'm going to crash at mom and dad's in the interim. I hope to put an offer in on the house today, so more info on that to come.

I'll be back soon, but in the meantime, check out S's blog at You'll be glad you did!

Monday, May 11, 2009


He liked them.

They liked him.

The dog behaved.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Him + Me = We

According to an online dream dictionary, to see a hotel in your dream signifies a new state of mind or a shift in personal identity. That's an apt description for where I find myself these days. S and I have made the shift to coupledom. We are, in fact, we now, and I marvel at what love looks like. We're infatuated with each other, sure, but it's so much more than that. S knows I'm not perfect; I feel no need to hide my imperfections from him. He sees me in the light and loves me as I am. He sees me as my friends do, and I can't wait for their worlds to collide.

He's meeting the parents this weekend. It's a time-honored and much feared tradition. It's a stressful week for my family - I'm looking at houses, my brother won't be here for Mother's Day, and we have a funeral to attend. I'm understandably worried about the meeting. Part of me thinks I should put it off, but another part of me needs to share him with my family. I know he loves me, but I need him to see who I come from. His family isn't like mine - few are, really - and although I may not always see eye-to-eye with my parents, they're always going to be a part of my life. So, as of right now, the meeting is set for Sunday evening. I just hope the dog behaves...

Wednesday, April 15, 2009


A new relationship is like an onion. No, seriously. There are layers to be peeled to get to the heart and no matter how hard you try, tears might be involved. Unlike the stinging tears of an onion, though, these are sweet tears. S amazes me. He's tender and funny. He tells me how he feels and my insides flutter.

We're alike in so many ways. He's a little anxious, gets a little stressed, and has some sore spots in his past. We're both trying to figure out what life should look like even as we learn to appreciate ourselves through the eyes of the other. My happiness means something to him - he seeks it, plans for it, and basks in it. In the midst of one of our lengthy phone conversations, I asked him what makes him happy. His answer, simply stated, was me. Me. With my insecurities and strong opinions. Me. That's all he needs to be happy.

I'm not a superhero, but I feel like I might be able to save him. I just hope he knows he's rescued me right back.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

I Heart the Internet

Or, how BlinkBlink got her groove back...

I tried the online dating thing years ago. I met guys hoping to cheat on their girlfriends, guys who were cruel, and even one guy who thought French fries were spicy (huh?). I was understandably reluctant to try again, but decided it was worth one more shot. Two weeks later, I've already deleted my profile. There were some really nice guys on the site, and my profile attracted more attention than I expected, but late Sunday night, I permanently disabled my account. When asked why I was leaving, I paused in appreciation before clicking "I've met someone." I have, and no one is more shocked than I am.

I feel like I've regressed to high school. We talk on the phone for hours, I giggle all the time, and our conversations often degenerate into "No, you're cuter!" territory (because I'm such a giving person, I usually let him win). He's affectionate, appreciative, and attentive. I'm protective of him and of the bond emerging between us. I don't usually believe there's such a thing as over-sharing, but I hope y'all don't mind if I keep him to myself right now.

I usually sleep pretty soundly. I don't toss and turn too much; I don't wake up in the middle of the night. Admittedly, I often have strange dreams but rarely do I have nightmares. Sunday night was an exception. I had a dream that shook me so badly I was jolted awake, panting and scared. It was one of those dreams where everyone abandons you and there's nothing you can do to win them back. I described it to him later, finishing the explanation by saying "I was scared no one wanted me." He closed his arms around me, brushed a kiss against the tip of my nose, and replied "I can promise you that's not true." I could have told ten different people about that dream, and not one of them could have given me a more perfect response.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Prepositions and Propositions

Can it really be that simple? Is getting under a new man the best way to get over the old one?

W is gone - to quote the awesome Grosse Pointe Blank, "if you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it's probably broken." Oh, W is broken all right. I dug in my heels and pulled out the duct tape and Barbie band-aids, trying to fix him, trying to make him the man he can be - the man I wanted him to be for me. But as anyone who's read this blog knows, I had to let it go. I turned in my nursing cap and turned him loose.

Oh, I ached. Somehow, I thought I'd be able to make up for the last ten years of his life, and (shocker alert!) I failed at the impossible. At the same time, though, I wondered if this flawed, needy man didn't want me, what chance did I have with the rest of the world? In a move that amazed me, I signed up for an online dating service. I completed a profile, keeping it as true to me as I could, and I cringed as I uploaded my picture, ignoring the taunting voices from my past. Within minutes, I had my first online suitors. A few more minutes passed and I had blocked the first one to send shivers (and not the good kind) down my spine. I don't know what's going to come from my foray into cyber-dating. Some of the guys send nothing but poorly spelled, not very imaginative propositions, but others have been really nice. I've been able to laugh and flirt and have real conversations that have nothing to do with my bra size. I'm thinking of this as training wheel dating. It will bolster my confidence and ease me back into the world. Just keep your fingers crossed that I can avoid any future Humpty Dumpties...

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Moving on

How do you move on? How do you let go of the memories? My method seems to involve replacing the old ones. Not permanently - there are many things I want to remember about W - but I don't want to know my last kiss was when he walked out my door the last time. I was so full of hope then; It hurts to recognize the awful finality without intention of that moment. I don't want to miss him. I want to know there is more out there for me. Maybe I want to prove to the world (and myself) that I am okay. And maybe I just want to prove I'm not a failure.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Land of the Lost

Damn. I did it. I feared I would, I did everything I could to keep it from happening, and I still freaking did it. I lost my self, and I wasn't even conscious of it enough to play the BlinkBlink version of "Where's Waldo." From day one, I started thinking "oh, I could move. It wouldn't be a big deal." Really? You could pack up and move to a city you know nothing about just because he is there? You could leave a great job, a job you've been waiting years for, to be with Mr. Damaged? And while all of this was going on, I was so proudly proclaiming my independence. It took ending things to see how dependent I was on him; how desperate I was to please him. Since I hit the "send" button and detonated the relationship, I've been me again. I'm disappointed in my loss of self, but I have no regrets. I learned a lot about relationships and myself, preparing me for the next great adventure. There's no sense beating myself up or wondering if I should have done things differently. After all, as Kierkegaard said "Life can only be understood backwards." Even Better? He continued, "but it must be lived forwards." Sound advice from a dead dude, don't you think?

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Life is NOT a Romantic Comedy

My life has far more dimension than a "meet cute" followed by misunderstandings, a run through the rain, and a cookie-cutter ending. I'd never get to be a leading lady on film; I'm the funny, chubby best friend type. My friends don't fit into typical Hollywood fare, either. They're as varied as their locations, ranging from proper Boston to Midwest Bible-belt to groovy Berkeley, and not one fits his respective stereotype. They love me in ways I can't comprehend, and it's in the light of their love that I know I'll never settle. When I find the male lead for the movie that is my life, he will be someone who will love the things they love about me - my laugh, my outlook, my flair - and he'll become a part of this group I call my family.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Cold Cold Heart

I've probably heard the song Cold Cold Heart by Nora Jones 100 times, but it wasn't until this weekend that it meant something to me. Sample lyrics: "Another love before my time made your heart sad and blue. And so my heart is paying now for things I didn't do." I've listened to the song over and over since Sunday afternoon, staring at the lyrics, singing it in the shower. It's my anthem. My heart is paying. I was so wowed by him, I was half in love before I ever realized I had started to fall. I honestly don't think it's that he can't give me what I need from him (respect, affection, communication), but worse, much worse, that he doesn't want to. So, after one last heartbreaking example of his lack of connection, I knew I had to end it. I asked him to call me, explaining it was important. Still nothing, so like Berger's infamous post-it to Carrie Bradshaw, I sent him an email. I regret the method, but not the sentiment. I felt no remorse for hitting "send". I don't want to be with the person he has become. The man he is right now is not the man I was so rapidly falling for. I cried and will continue to mourn for man he was; the man who was sweet and attentive. The man who told me I made him happier than he thought he could be. The man who stroked my hair and kept his eyes open when he kissed me, never wanting to miss my expression, always watching for what pleased me. I won't miss the distant, petulant, so determinedly closed-off man I've been seeing. I won't miss the man who can ignore my laughter and my tears. I'll remember the good. I'll try not to check my email too frequently, looking for the reply I'm sure will never come.

My anthem ends "The more I learn to care for you, the more we drift apart. Why can't I free your doubtful mind and melt your cold, cold heart?" I can't melt his heart. I can't free his mind, but I can free myself. I can be myself. And it's time I got started.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

The Movie Kiss

Why is it that you can go to a movie and watch a pair of characters for two hours, wondering all the while why they would be together, yet get to the big kiss scene and still sigh? I just cringed my way through Confessions of Shopaholic. The books weren't really my cup of tea, but I was invited to see it with potential friends and thought "Ah, socialization and distraction. Awesome." It seems the older I get, though, the harder it is for me to watch people in awkward situations. I didn't find Becky's antics cutely amusing, but rather embarrassing. And since she didn't have the sense to be embarrassed for herself, I felt it more acutely. I caught myself watching for continuity errors, something I almost always avoid the first time I see a movie. It could be a passing thing, given my current romantic situation, but I found myself rolling my eyes at filmmakers' attempts to make the audience see the connection between the leads. But I still sighed a bit over that last kiss. Why? Perhaps because even though the story was weak, I still want to believe in a love that doesn't make sense to the rest of the world.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009


Ah, Facebook. I joined years ago when a college friend insisted I simply had to see a picture of one our professors shirtless. Who knew historians could be so buff? After that, I logged in only when I received an email saying I had a friend request. I didn't even have a profile picture until last summer and that was only because a friend posted pictures of the two of us at a concert and I thought "Why not?" Since the summer, I've used Facebook more and more, but today, I'm convinced it's the tool of the devil. It's not a way to find old high school friends (honestly, if I cared to keep in touch with them, I would have) or a fun place to go to kill time when you're bored at work. Nope, it's a modern road to heartbreak. Being able to see the interaction people around me are having, knowing I'm not a part of it, makes me feel like I'm a chubby, awkward, high school girl all over again.

I'm faced with status changes as he updates the world on what he is doing, though he so earnestly told me he needed time and was ignoring all of his friends. I see posts that make my chest hurt and send the blood rushing to my face, and I know I'm on the wrong side of that thin line between being understanding and being a doormat. He knows I can see these things; we've talked about Facebook before. Hell, I've commented on his page before. Is he mean? Selfish? Is he really dense enough to not think I see and process these things? He's begged me not to read in to things and over-think his actions. We haven't spoken in days (I can't get him to talk to me); what else am I supposed to do but assume?

Can you hold someone accountable for promises they never should have made?

Monday, February 9, 2009

Throwing Rocks

I'm almost 29 years old. Is there a point at which the other half of the human inhabitants of earth start to make sense or am I just out of luck? Will I be 95 years old, being chased around a nursing home by my siser, screaming "Boys are dumb! Throw rocks at 'em"? Of course, E will be 101 when I'm 95, so perhaps our conversations will be a little less articulate than that. I just don't get men. Never have. My dad's a mystery. My brother is...erratic and impossible to pin down. If I can't understand the two who are a part of me, what chance do I have with the other men of the world?

There's one I want to understand (isn't there always). Just when I think I'm getting a grip, he shifts - slippery little sucker. Just when I start to think I'll never get him (tangibly or otherwise), he slides back in, giving me a glimpse, keeping me anxious to be a part of his life. There are things I do understand about him, but understanding the why doesn't make the reality of our distance any easier. So, I guess the question is: will he help me understand before I have to be the one to turn away?