thank you, thank you

From Mr.Sisters:

I really enjoy chatting with you too. I actually get excited to be able to read what you type, but it's weird because I don't feel this way about conversing with anyone else. Hence, you're a very special person who is funny, thoughtful, caring, nice, and entertaining. Considering that along with your beautiful personality and attractive looks, I would be crazy if I didn't want to date you. Of course, we'd need to meet each other in person first. That's at a later time, when we feel comfortable enough to do just that.

That's what I'm talking about. I mean, really, he can glean these things from a series of email conversations and it taken me 27 years to get to the point of just STARTING to see these things in myself? You're right, Mr. Sisters, I am a very special person. Furthermore, I AM funny, thoughtful, caring, nice AND entertaining. And yes, you'd be crazy to not want to date me. Geez, how did I miss these things in myself for so long, and how are you able to notice them so quickly?

Now, don't get me wrong, this doesn't mean that I am guaranteed going to date this man based solely on the fact that he realizes what a great catch I am. But, I am going to spend some time contemplating the fact that he sees something in me that I really haven't seen in myself for a very long time and that my past relationship (nickname to come soon), never saw? Or if he did, he rarely made it known? Crazy.

I have to move beyond the point of feeling like I have to hold up this picture of all of the horrible decisions I have made in the past as a reminder and continual conversation with myself saying things like "Here, look at this picture. Study it. Know it inside and out, upside down and backwards.Make sure you memorize every detail so that you don't ever make this same decision again." What's unfortunate and what I'm starting to realize is that if I continue to focus on the picture in front of me, I'm going to miss all of the other stuff going on around me and probably trip over my own feet or a little bump in the road. However, if I memorize the FEELING, and learn to recognize it quickly, maybe I won't. If I memorize the fact that, like Mr. Sisters said, I am a very special person I won't make the decision to put effort into someone who doesn't recognize that as gospel.

So, I don't know if this makes sense to anyone else, and I don't really care. Its in the universe, enjoy if you choose. Comment if you have insights. Or don't. Doesn't matter, I'll be memorizing what it feels like to realize just how funny, caring, nice and entertaining I am.

a few more thoughts for the evening...

To the girl at barnes and noble very obviously on a first date... you don't have to laugh that loud, at everything he says in order for him to know that you think he's funny. Really! We all now know that you think he is funny, too.

To the woman on the phone in barnes and noble... the person on the other end may believe that you're mad, but, we don't. That is because approximately 64% of the customers in the store can hear you telling him all the reasons the decisions he is making are wrong. If you have to talk that loud, you're probably more upset than you're letting on.

To the biker boy from eharmony.... I'm bored already. And I haven't even met you yet. You don't need to consult me on how much facial hair you have "just in case we get into a relationship". I know that my last relationship was a hot mess and full of issues, but, talking to you is starting to feel like 3pm at the nursing home. zzzzzzzz.

To mr. sisters from eharmony.... your questions and answers are intriguing. I will continue to talk to you because I feel like you will help me on my journey of finding myself. I apologize in advance if you end up feeling used in this process. Unfortunately for you, the journey your questions are leading me on may result in taking a path that doesn't lead to you. But, thank you.

Another thought I had this evening: "Thank God they sell wine at Target." The sad, sad plans I have for my evening I'm sure were nothing but obvious to the cashier, however, if I had bought my $5 bottle of Chardonnay at a grocery store, with no other sustenance, I would be looked at as an alcoholic. Because I purchased my $5 bottle of wine with a sappy book about getting over a lost love at Target, I'm just a woman.

Now, onto my pathetic plans for the evening... Right after one more bowl of that delicious tortellini soup...

if you were in my head...

I've decided that I really wish that other people could experience the thoughts that go through my head on a daily basis. I think they're funny, sometimes twisted, but nonetheless entertaining. I've decided I should start recording them. So, for my two followers out there, there may be several more short entries. Maybe that's the secret to blogging. If you do short entries, it doesn't feel like a chore? Ok, onto my thoughts...

I realized today that my diet for the last two days has consisted of only the following: tortellini soup (i'm on my fifth meal of tortellini soup... in three days), toast, and coffee. That's it. literally. I think that's pretty impressive.

I wonder if Max get's embarrassed when he is doing his business in front of me because I've noticed he has a tendency to avoid eye contact during the act. I know I would be embarrassed.

I amaze myself with my lack of productivity. I literally haven't taken a shower in two days. I keep telling myself its because I'm going to go to the gym. I'm sick and can barely breathe the gym is not in my future. Rationalizing the lack of shower is a work out in itself.

I really, really, really love Ellen. I'm seriously considering writing to her show to tell her how much I like her. And use my unemployment as a means of pulling on her heartstrings to get there.

I think I might hate Christmas. Or at least the crazy shoppers.

I'm getting to the point that I am so bored, I try to think of crazy things to do to fill my time... like falling on purpose in front of busy stores, just to see if anyone will help me. Or, being ridiculously obvious in flirting with someone, just to see if they'll notice. Apparently I have attention issues? That's a real time realization right there. Quality.

Two Sides

I recently have spent time contemplating many things (thanks to life), but in particular, the duality of so much of life. For example:

1. The the way that the sun has a particular way of shining and offering warmth when it is frigid outside.

2. The way that it feels to support someone who is experiencing some amazingly positive thing in their life when you are going through something that feels amazingly un-positive (and how those two things seem to be, quite often, mutually exclusive).

3. The strength in finding joy in sorrow.

4. The sorrow that truly seems to come when you least expect it.

5. The feeling of freedom that comes with forgiving yourself for not having all of the answers.

While each day is precious, that doesn't mean easy. At this moment, I'm exhausted, but inspired. It is difficult to feel tugged in two different directions by your own head and heart. Usually, my heart wins out. I'm a sucker for feelings, what can I say. Lately, I've been trying to let my head win.

Life Changes. But I feel the same.

Ok. It has been a while. Just an update... I got engaged. However, I refuse to become a "bridal blogger." While I appreciate some of their ideas they post, I cannot stand they way that they use acronyms for words that really don't require acronyms. Some of my favorites:

1. STD... No, not those sneaky genital infections that create misery and horror, Save The Dates. That's right, let's use the same acronym for those pesky infections of the southern hemisphere, as the cards we send out letting people know that those pesky infections didn't stop us from loving each other and wanting to spend our lives together... really?

2. FI... as in, FI-ance. I'm assuming this one is because for most of the women who would choose to actually use this acronym, fiance is a far too difficult word for them to spell.

3. MOB... Yes, that stands for Mother Of the Bride. Ironic? Yes. Necessary? Probably not.

In attempt to continue to use this as a cathartic means of expressing what I'm actually feeling, while hopefully injecting a little bit of humor into the process, let me be honest. PLANNING A WEDDING IS OVER-RATED.

That's right. I said it. Out loud. Sort of, if typing somewhat anonymously onto a blog which only my best friend is a follower of counts as "out loud." Nonetheless, the sentiment is the same. I'm almost a month in to being engaged and have not set one single stinking plan into stone. My favorite attempted wedding planning moment thus far was when Randy got frustrated that we hadn't picked a site yet and then stated in the same breath that he doesn't like to look at them online. Only to be followed by "Its about the marriage, not the wedding for me. I don't know if its the same for you... look at all the time and effort you're putting into planning the wedding." I laughed. Out loud, again.

It was in that moment that I knew that I must love him because there is no way that I could have restrained myself from using the bridal books and magazines that were strewn about our living room to beat him until he didn't know which way was up if I didn't. I then explained to him (calmly, of course, thanks to the beer I had earlier) that I was putting in all of that effort as a means of wanting everyone to know how much we love each other. Publicly. Again, with the out loud stuff, I know.

Regardless, we are going on round two of wedding site searching this weekend. We'll see how this turns out. I feel hopeful that it will be a better outcome. That almost made me sound like one of those "bridal bloggers" so I think I better stop typing now. Out loud.

And Auntie Makes Three...

So, I think the focus of my blog is going to take a little turn, for my sanity. I had originally intended for this to be a funny, running history of my stupid dating stories. But at this moment, I feel that I truly need to blog for its cathartic, therapeutic, getting it all out there (without the subjects you're speaking of necessarily knowing) type of benefits.

In the midst of closing up shop at one job and getting ready to start another, I'm moving in with my boyfriend (who is pretty great, by the way). Several months ago, it was decided that his Aunt Kathy would need a place to live, and well, our place ended up being the big winner. Lucky us.

Let me tell you a bit about Aunt Kathy. Mid 50's, single, no kids (which may ultimately be reason for my demise because she spoils Randy like a grandma spoils a two year old), used to live in a camper in the middle of nowhere for approximately eight years. She loves horses and has a crazy, overly hyper german pointer named Zinda. Aunt Kathy has all the answers about anything related to the home, cooking, gardening, the weather, neurobiology, astrophysics, the animals, ah yes, and whether or not I will be warm enough.

It took me several months of positive mantras and therapy to get to the point where I could say one of the following out loud when someone asks me about the move:

a) "It will be fine. It will really help us with rent."
b) "Its not forever, it just means I have to readjust my view of how Randy and I would start our life together" Or,
c) (my personal favorite) "Its great to be with a man who loves his family so much. It makes me feel very hopeful about our future." blech. I know.

On Monday when my dear, sweet, boyfriend went to her house to help her move "a few things" to get the ball rolling for her June 1st arrival date, "a few things" resulted in the following text message being sent to me:
"well i guess aunt kathy is staying at our place starting tonight... i got here and her bed was loaded... sorry... i didn't know she was starting early. I'm sorry hun... really."

Seriously.

At the present time, she has not acknowledged the fact that she moved in two full weeks early. Furthermore, she sees no problem with us having two coffee makers on the counter, and her boxes everywhere, while she sits in the recliner and crochets. Good, I'm glad she has time to invest in her hobbies instead of picking up her crap.

Its ok, though, I've taken to a new little stress reliever. Everytime she says something that makes my skin crawl such as "I think you should put on a jacket, you'll be too cold" or "Junior (what she calls Randy), do you want a sip of my coffee" or "What's the score for the Mariners?" (when the score is right there, on the screen, for the entire game), I have taken to hissing, under my breath, just loud enough that I can hear it. And feel the make believe venom shooting out of me.

I think I may market the hissing thing as a stress management technique. I think you all should try it. The next time someone says something that makes you want to scream, vomit, etc., try hissing. Childish? Maybe. Effective? Definitely.

I don't do that....

Rather than trying to create the stories in the order that they happened, I'm going to tell stories in the order that they come to me. Today, I am feeling....care free. I don't know that I necessarily have any carefree stories that would fit my mood, or at least none that come to mind. So, I will attempt to just tell a story, period.

I had gone on two dates with Mr. "I don't do that". The first was really more our meeting, followed by some quality time alone. This evening, we had gone to a mexican restaurant. A horrible, cheeky, playing into all of the stereotypes type of mexican restaurant. We're talking pinatas as the main source of decorations. I immediately started drinking. Not in excess, but, to somehow prove to myself that following a dis-engagement and long term friend with benefits style encounter, I was ready to be dating. Somehow dinner with drinks equaled a heart that was put back together, in my mind. He didn't drink margaritas. Or beer with dinner. Or beers that didn't start with "Coors" "Budweiser" or "Miller". More for me.

Backing up a bit, I should have known that it wouldn't go well from the second he walked up to my door. Maybe someday Ill learn to stop a date before it starts when he shows up in a t-shirt and sneakers and i'm all dolled up in heels and my hair done. Maybe I'll learn to say "I just don't see this working out" before I step out of the door. But, where's the sense of adventure in that? So, nonetheless, I stepped out in my heels in the middle of the midwestern winter, conveniently needing to take his arm to avoid falling on my ass (a well laid plan, I know, so much forethought for so little return).

Over dinner, given that we were in a small midwestern town where heels were worn only for weddings and a bright red belt must have translated to something similar to "hooker", I was thankful for the small table in the corner. The conversation flowed, minus the parts when I kept thinking that I was in some sort of mafia movie because his midwestern accent somehow started to sound like he was from Brooklyn and about to go see the Godfather. I don't know if it was the margaritas or I actually thought I was interested, but, I invited him back to my place.

My well laid "I'm wearing heels" plan once again prevailed and allowed for some flirtatious "slips" between the car and my door. A few awkward minutes passed before we started kissing. It was like we both knew that the sooner we started kissing, the less time we would have to spend actually trying to come up with some sort of topic worth talking about. The kissing turned to clothes coming off, which led to my discovery of his insulin pump. There's a new one to work around, and he was no help in that endeavor.

I like to consider myself a giver. So, I gave first. I gave first and gave well. So well, in fact that there was no warning when he was going to fully receive my gift. No tap on the head. No "hey, head's up". No hair pull. Nothing. This lack of warning resulted in my gift being regifted back to me, out my nose. I suddenly became a victim of the walrus. Both nostrils full of the fruits of my labor and no offer of kleenex.

I rebounded quickly, not wanting to loose my appeal or chance at receiving a gift myself. When I told him I was ready for my present, he responded with "I don't do that". So matter of fact. I responded with an "I'm sorry?" Again: "I don't do that." I just gave you a gift, got a walrus and you don't do that? I didn't know what to say. My bluntness, often to a fault, resulted in my response: "Well, I don't date people who don't do that. Maybe you should leave." And he did.

Lesson learned: I don't do that makes for a short evening and sinus infection.