Here is the link for Season Two - the new blogging adventure from moi....I hope you all follow me over there and enjoy round two as much as you did the first one! :)
http://thiswomansview18.blogspot.com/
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
The End.
Welcome to the season finale of Divorce Isn't For Sissies. In a shocking and abrupt plot twist, I am killing myself off. I know, I know...right now all you can think is "how is she going to carry on the blog for season two without herself?" I feel like Shonda Rimes right now. (who is supposedly killing off a major character on Private Practice next month?!? I am praying for Naomi, but fear that it is Pete. Sad, sad day) Unlike Shonda, I will be slightly more talkative regarding my reasoning and provide you with a little tiny bit of insight before dangling season two in front of you with an appropriate amount of mystery.
To put it most simply, I have outgrown my post-divorce rantings. Divorce remains one of the ugliest things to have touched my life and by no means am I saying that it is any less awful. But at some point in life the best thing to do with the ugly is to leave it behind and that is what I am going to do now. Sharing my journey with you when I was dating was fun - I got to mix my current stories up with my funny older stories. It was also cathartic. I benefited from sharing with you and seeing my stories through your eyes. Lately I have had to dig deep to find real angst to fuel new divorce stories though. I have pretty much run through my supply of bitter and bitchy.
I knew that it was time to end this particular blog topic after I finished spring cleaning my closet. In my closet is a hoard of sentimental, meant-to-someday-be-scrapbooked material that I hang on to like it is essential to my being. Like I will forget all my memories if I can't reach out and touch them from time to time. And by hoard, I mean....lots. Hallmark cards, vacation photos, my wedding album, old letters, dried flowers, movie date ticket stubs.....all of it. Boxes of it. And here is what I did with it all yesterday. I threw it away. All of it. I didn't keep one thing from any past relationship. And it felt.....amazing. Like I cut all the strings were left dangling from the past. Looking at all that empty, available shelf space made me feel free. All I can see is the future now - and I am so excited to explore that future with Chet that it leaves me with no room for my past.
So sadly, my semi-bitchy ranting on divorce has to come to an end. Season One. Complete. However, I love to write too much to quit blogging altogether. For any of you that want to still follow the random-ness that is my life - just send me your email address or post it on here somewhere and I will make sure to include you when I come up with an appropriate new blog title. (which I am taking suggestions for by the way) My blog, season two, is still working itself out - but I promise it will be just as irreverent and interesting as this one - only without all the divorce stories. Hopefully I should have it put together in May. Thank you all for everything - I have loved sharing this part of my life with you. I will leave you with these words of wisdom....
"Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO what a ride!"
To put it most simply, I have outgrown my post-divorce rantings. Divorce remains one of the ugliest things to have touched my life and by no means am I saying that it is any less awful. But at some point in life the best thing to do with the ugly is to leave it behind and that is what I am going to do now. Sharing my journey with you when I was dating was fun - I got to mix my current stories up with my funny older stories. It was also cathartic. I benefited from sharing with you and seeing my stories through your eyes. Lately I have had to dig deep to find real angst to fuel new divorce stories though. I have pretty much run through my supply of bitter and bitchy.
I knew that it was time to end this particular blog topic after I finished spring cleaning my closet. In my closet is a hoard of sentimental, meant-to-someday-be-scrapbooked material that I hang on to like it is essential to my being. Like I will forget all my memories if I can't reach out and touch them from time to time. And by hoard, I mean....lots. Hallmark cards, vacation photos, my wedding album, old letters, dried flowers, movie date ticket stubs.....all of it. Boxes of it. And here is what I did with it all yesterday. I threw it away. All of it. I didn't keep one thing from any past relationship. And it felt.....amazing. Like I cut all the strings were left dangling from the past. Looking at all that empty, available shelf space made me feel free. All I can see is the future now - and I am so excited to explore that future with Chet that it leaves me with no room for my past.
So sadly, my semi-bitchy ranting on divorce has to come to an end. Season One. Complete. However, I love to write too much to quit blogging altogether. For any of you that want to still follow the random-ness that is my life - just send me your email address or post it on here somewhere and I will make sure to include you when I come up with an appropriate new blog title. (which I am taking suggestions for by the way) My blog, season two, is still working itself out - but I promise it will be just as irreverent and interesting as this one - only without all the divorce stories. Hopefully I should have it put together in May. Thank you all for everything - I have loved sharing this part of my life with you. I will leave you with these words of wisdom....
"Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO what a ride!"
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Blog-ette
As the title suggests, this is just a mini-blog. Just a funny story that will be infinitely funnier if you know me. (My apologies to all you strangers, hopefully it is as least moderately entertaining for you as well.)
I can be a moody woman. When I get stressed, or tired, or overwhelmed....I sometimes morph into Psycho Stephanie and enter a world where facts are irrelevant and all that matters is how I feel and what I want. Thankfully, the older I get the less she makes an appearance. In my personal psychological evaluation of myself, my theory is that after the things I have been through it is harder and harder for me to get worked up over the small things because my priority scale has been reevaluated. The scale used to start with not returning phone calls within five minutes and ended up somewhere like forgetting my birthday. Now the scale doesn't even start until someone loses a limb or my hair is on fire. But just know, in the past I have been known to have a good tantrum or two...or ten.
About a week ago Chet and I had a crabby weekend. Nothing completely awful happened, but a bunch of little things just keep snowballing together until my bitch 'o meter kicked in. More than doing things that pissed me off, Chet was just doing things without thinking that were making me insecure - which in turn makes me pissy. Now Chet and I really don't ever fight. I like to think we are both so mature and wise now that we don't need to, but the truth is probably that we are still new enough to be on our better behavior somewhat. So the weekend passed without incident, I remained semi-bitchy until Tuesday, and Chet continued to let me.
Wednesday came and it was such a beautiful day that it was impossible for me to hold onto my bitchiness. I had the day off, spent the afternoon playing my best round of golf ever, and there was just no way I was going to be able to pull off crabby. So went to Chet's, had a great night, and we are cuddling up at the end of the night pillow talking when Chet brings up my weekend bitchiness. (Which was either incredibly brave or incredibly dumb - my good mood must have lulled his "look out! danger!" brain cells into a coma) We have a half hearted, half asleep post-mortem and Chet jokingly asks if our 'fight' is done. I laugh and tell him he hasn't even seen me fight or yell yet and his response was - verbatim - "you? yell? fight? yeah right" and then he rolled over and fell asleep.
I kid you not. He found the idea of me getting mad....funny. He doesn't think I have it in me to be really mean. So either I am way more well adjusted than I thought....or Chet is in for a rude awakening one day.
I can be a moody woman. When I get stressed, or tired, or overwhelmed....I sometimes morph into Psycho Stephanie and enter a world where facts are irrelevant and all that matters is how I feel and what I want. Thankfully, the older I get the less she makes an appearance. In my personal psychological evaluation of myself, my theory is that after the things I have been through it is harder and harder for me to get worked up over the small things because my priority scale has been reevaluated. The scale used to start with not returning phone calls within five minutes and ended up somewhere like forgetting my birthday. Now the scale doesn't even start until someone loses a limb or my hair is on fire. But just know, in the past I have been known to have a good tantrum or two...or ten.
About a week ago Chet and I had a crabby weekend. Nothing completely awful happened, but a bunch of little things just keep snowballing together until my bitch 'o meter kicked in. More than doing things that pissed me off, Chet was just doing things without thinking that were making me insecure - which in turn makes me pissy. Now Chet and I really don't ever fight. I like to think we are both so mature and wise now that we don't need to, but the truth is probably that we are still new enough to be on our better behavior somewhat. So the weekend passed without incident, I remained semi-bitchy until Tuesday, and Chet continued to let me.
Wednesday came and it was such a beautiful day that it was impossible for me to hold onto my bitchiness. I had the day off, spent the afternoon playing my best round of golf ever, and there was just no way I was going to be able to pull off crabby. So went to Chet's, had a great night, and we are cuddling up at the end of the night pillow talking when Chet brings up my weekend bitchiness. (Which was either incredibly brave or incredibly dumb - my good mood must have lulled his "look out! danger!" brain cells into a coma) We have a half hearted, half asleep post-mortem and Chet jokingly asks if our 'fight' is done. I laugh and tell him he hasn't even seen me fight or yell yet and his response was - verbatim - "you? yell? fight? yeah right" and then he rolled over and fell asleep.
I kid you not. He found the idea of me getting mad....funny. He doesn't think I have it in me to be really mean. So either I am way more well adjusted than I thought....or Chet is in for a rude awakening one day.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Man-clean
Women everywhere are going to nod their heads along with this blog and know exactly what I am talking about. Men who think they are the exception are going to protest and try and say they are the exception. They are wrong. All the other men will be offended, but don't worry...We aren't laughing at you....we are laughing with you....really.
One of the universal truths is that there is 'man-clean' and 'woman-clean'. This is most evident in single men households because married or cohabiting men likely have a woman going behind and making all the corners 'woman-clean' and the man just doesn't notice. However, if you were to go into a single man's home and venture that it needed a good clean he would likely be confused, thinking it is already clean. But really now...every man's house is simply waiting, begging really, for a woman to come take care of it.
Chet's apartment? No different. The walls whisper to me when I walk in, even lean a little my way like a kitten leans into your body when you pet it - that is how happy they are that a woman has walked in. They want to cuddle and purr on me. As I walk down the hall they offer suggestions; paint us a pretty color, please dust that crazy glass shelving unit, bring in wooden spoons and kitchen gadgets for the lonely kitchen....
Chet is actually, for a man, pretty clean. He understands that when he runs out of clean dishes he needs to wash them. He owns cleaning products and scrub brushes. He half heartedly makes the bed at least half of the time. For a while, he even met my anti-clutter standards. For a little while. So I was hopeful that if I brought home tools for him - he would use them. I set off for Meijers in high spirits on a sunny Saturday afternoon when Chet was at work. I smiled a little as I selected the full size cart because I could just see it full of home organization and heart warming cleaning paraphernalia. I may have even been humming the Mr. Clean jingle as I skipped along the home decor/kitchen aisles. The result of this shopping trip? A towel hamper and laundry basket for the bathroom in the hopes that dirty stuff would be sorted and contained. A dish scrubby brush and drying rack so that we can do dishes as we use them. Pretty, environmental friendly cleaning products - including disinfectant wipes that I go through like candy. (Aren't they seriously the best home cleaning toy invented this decade? Tell me I'm not wrong!)
So I happily loaded up my Jeep with my fun new purchases, headed back to Chet's apartment, and spent my Saturday afternoon cleaning and organizing - anticipating how excited Chet would be to see how smart I was, setting up this easy system for keeping things in the right place. This was the response I got once Chet got home and walked around the apartment for a few minutes: "ummmm....did you buy me a hamper?" Those were the words that were said but here is what they really meant: "ummm....did you really just buy this shiny, new rubbermaid thing and stick it in the corner where I like to pile my towels? It is hurting my eyes to look at it and I don't know if I can pee in the room with it watching me."
I did get a thank you for cleaning the apartment and then he went back off to work, probably grateful to get out before I exposed him to more new-tupperware fumes. Still, I held out hope that he would play nice and make friends with the new toys. Housewives everywhere are laughing at me right now, but I am an optimist. Laugh if you must. And it did half work. When I came over the next day the dirty clothes and towels were sorted into piles......two inches OUTSIDE their respective hampers.
One of the universal truths is that there is 'man-clean' and 'woman-clean'. This is most evident in single men households because married or cohabiting men likely have a woman going behind and making all the corners 'woman-clean' and the man just doesn't notice. However, if you were to go into a single man's home and venture that it needed a good clean he would likely be confused, thinking it is already clean. But really now...every man's house is simply waiting, begging really, for a woman to come take care of it.
Chet's apartment? No different. The walls whisper to me when I walk in, even lean a little my way like a kitten leans into your body when you pet it - that is how happy they are that a woman has walked in. They want to cuddle and purr on me. As I walk down the hall they offer suggestions; paint us a pretty color, please dust that crazy glass shelving unit, bring in wooden spoons and kitchen gadgets for the lonely kitchen....
Chet is actually, for a man, pretty clean. He understands that when he runs out of clean dishes he needs to wash them. He owns cleaning products and scrub brushes. He half heartedly makes the bed at least half of the time. For a while, he even met my anti-clutter standards. For a little while. So I was hopeful that if I brought home tools for him - he would use them. I set off for Meijers in high spirits on a sunny Saturday afternoon when Chet was at work. I smiled a little as I selected the full size cart because I could just see it full of home organization and heart warming cleaning paraphernalia. I may have even been humming the Mr. Clean jingle as I skipped along the home decor/kitchen aisles. The result of this shopping trip? A towel hamper and laundry basket for the bathroom in the hopes that dirty stuff would be sorted and contained. A dish scrubby brush and drying rack so that we can do dishes as we use them. Pretty, environmental friendly cleaning products - including disinfectant wipes that I go through like candy. (Aren't they seriously the best home cleaning toy invented this decade? Tell me I'm not wrong!)
So I happily loaded up my Jeep with my fun new purchases, headed back to Chet's apartment, and spent my Saturday afternoon cleaning and organizing - anticipating how excited Chet would be to see how smart I was, setting up this easy system for keeping things in the right place. This was the response I got once Chet got home and walked around the apartment for a few minutes: "ummmm....did you buy me a hamper?" Those were the words that were said but here is what they really meant: "ummm....did you really just buy this shiny, new rubbermaid thing and stick it in the corner where I like to pile my towels? It is hurting my eyes to look at it and I don't know if I can pee in the room with it watching me."
I did get a thank you for cleaning the apartment and then he went back off to work, probably grateful to get out before I exposed him to more new-tupperware fumes. Still, I held out hope that he would play nice and make friends with the new toys. Housewives everywhere are laughing at me right now, but I am an optimist. Laugh if you must. And it did half work. When I came over the next day the dirty clothes and towels were sorted into piles......two inches OUTSIDE their respective hampers.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Sex Addiction
Ok- this is a complete spur of the moment blog where I just read something online and wanted to share my opinion. Are you ready???? Here is what I read:
In Wednesday’s 14th season premiere of South Park, “Sexual Healing” (10 p.m. ET, Comedy Central), co-creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone address Tiger Woods and the phenomenon of sex addiction. According to the press release: “The nation’s top scientists come together to put a stop to the recent phenomenon of rich, successful men who suddenly want to have sex with many, many women. After extensive testing, some of the fourth grade boys in South Park Elementary are diagnosed as sex addicts.”
I am not a South Park follower, although it makes me laugh when people get all worked up over it. (It is a tv show people - turn it off if you don't like it! That is why God invented remotes!) However, it amuses me that they are going to mock Tiger's attempt to make entitlement become a medical condition by labeling it 'sex addiction'. It amuses me more because in my past there is a boy who used this exact same excuse for his cheating ways. Although he was not rich, nor successful.
Here is my opinion. Men who claim they are addicted to sex? They might as well just take a permanent marker and write 'weak', 'selfish', and 'stupid' all over their body. That is what is really the problem. It isn't a medical condition - it is a character flaw. The rest of us all learned in kindergarten that you don't get to do whatever you want, whenever you want - maybe they really have a learning disorder instead that kept them from understanding this? Men that claim to be addicted to sex just basically are living for the moment with zero self control, doing what feels good at the time - with no regard to the future or to anyone else. They are trying to justify their behavior with this stupid sex addiction label. Do they realize this makes them sound like bigger idiots? "Oh yeah...I am a cheater...but I can't help it, I'm addicted to sex." Seriously? So now you are a cheater AND an addict. Sweet. Let's just call it like it is guys. You are too weak to stand up to yourself and develop some moral character. You are too selfish to consider anything other than your pleasure for the moment. And you are too stupid to create a better excuse than sex addiction.
In Wednesday’s 14th season premiere of South Park, “Sexual Healing” (10 p.m. ET, Comedy Central), co-creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone address Tiger Woods and the phenomenon of sex addiction. According to the press release: “The nation’s top scientists come together to put a stop to the recent phenomenon of rich, successful men who suddenly want to have sex with many, many women. After extensive testing, some of the fourth grade boys in South Park Elementary are diagnosed as sex addicts.”
I am not a South Park follower, although it makes me laugh when people get all worked up over it. (It is a tv show people - turn it off if you don't like it! That is why God invented remotes!) However, it amuses me that they are going to mock Tiger's attempt to make entitlement become a medical condition by labeling it 'sex addiction'. It amuses me more because in my past there is a boy who used this exact same excuse for his cheating ways. Although he was not rich, nor successful.
Here is my opinion. Men who claim they are addicted to sex? They might as well just take a permanent marker and write 'weak', 'selfish', and 'stupid' all over their body. That is what is really the problem. It isn't a medical condition - it is a character flaw. The rest of us all learned in kindergarten that you don't get to do whatever you want, whenever you want - maybe they really have a learning disorder instead that kept them from understanding this? Men that claim to be addicted to sex just basically are living for the moment with zero self control, doing what feels good at the time - with no regard to the future or to anyone else. They are trying to justify their behavior with this stupid sex addiction label. Do they realize this makes them sound like bigger idiots? "Oh yeah...I am a cheater...but I can't help it, I'm addicted to sex." Seriously? So now you are a cheater AND an addict. Sweet. Let's just call it like it is guys. You are too weak to stand up to yourself and develop some moral character. You are too selfish to consider anything other than your pleasure for the moment. And you are too stupid to create a better excuse than sex addiction.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Vegas, baby!
Background Information:
1. Chet is away for the weekend with the guys. Apparently they do it every year - so this big group of guys is all up north to spend the weekend gambling, drinking, and telling lies about their sex lives. Testosterone fest - 2010.
2. When Chet drinks, he texts. No drunk dialing for my baby - but I get very chatty, usually sappy, texts from him when he is out drinking without me. He asked me today if they bug me and if he should leave his phone at the hotel - but I love them! They are almost always sweet, amusing, and/or complimentary to me. What is not to like?
With that said, last night I start getting texts around eleven o'clock. Because I am old and weary, I am already tucked into bed on this Friday night so I turn my phone volume way up so as to not miss any of the fun. They start out fairly tame with 'i miss u' and 'can't wait for Detroit' (we are going to Motor City next week) and they get a little sillier and sappier until they end with...."so I say we go to vegas and get married." Even for Drunk Chet, this one is a little out of left field.
Not that marrying Chet is out of left field, or even marrying him in the near future is out of left field. Eloping to Vegas is even just barely in the ballpark. But we haven't even talked about marriage - at all- to this point in our relationship. At least not to each other. My entire network of family and friends talk to me about it all the time, of course, because everyone loves Chet and I together. It is like there is this underground movement working to ensure we end up married. But as a couple, Chet and I just haven't had this conversation. So it is highly amusing, and completely sweet, that it pops up in the middle of a drunk text conversation. I love that he is sitting there in the middle of guy weekend, drinking and gambling with the boys....and thinking about marrying me.
1. Chet is away for the weekend with the guys. Apparently they do it every year - so this big group of guys is all up north to spend the weekend gambling, drinking, and telling lies about their sex lives. Testosterone fest - 2010.
2. When Chet drinks, he texts. No drunk dialing for my baby - but I get very chatty, usually sappy, texts from him when he is out drinking without me. He asked me today if they bug me and if he should leave his phone at the hotel - but I love them! They are almost always sweet, amusing, and/or complimentary to me. What is not to like?
With that said, last night I start getting texts around eleven o'clock. Because I am old and weary, I am already tucked into bed on this Friday night so I turn my phone volume way up so as to not miss any of the fun. They start out fairly tame with 'i miss u' and 'can't wait for Detroit' (we are going to Motor City next week) and they get a little sillier and sappier until they end with...."so I say we go to vegas and get married." Even for Drunk Chet, this one is a little out of left field.
Not that marrying Chet is out of left field, or even marrying him in the near future is out of left field. Eloping to Vegas is even just barely in the ballpark. But we haven't even talked about marriage - at all- to this point in our relationship. At least not to each other. My entire network of family and friends talk to me about it all the time, of course, because everyone loves Chet and I together. It is like there is this underground movement working to ensure we end up married. But as a couple, Chet and I just haven't had this conversation. So it is highly amusing, and completely sweet, that it pops up in the middle of a drunk text conversation. I love that he is sitting there in the middle of guy weekend, drinking and gambling with the boys....and thinking about marrying me.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Long Term Flaws
So if you have been faithful to my blog then you know that Chet and I are doing really well. We have met (and liked) each other's families, we have a somewhat regular weekly routinely worked out so we see each other around our crazy schedules, there is chick food and bubble bath in Chet's apartment, and we (dare I say it?) are pretty much happy and in love.
Now, while I am not ready to call an end to the fun, romantic first stage of our relationship yet - events partially out of our control did make us look for a moment somewhat seriously at the future the other night. Not that I haven't thought about the possibility of a future with Chet before now, but it has always been the kind of thought that is blurry around the edges and unshaped. There were no concrete details or plans or schedule. It was an optimistic thought - rather than a realistic, actionable thought. Someday. The other night just brought things into sharper focus for a little bit and made me, and I'm sure Chet, think for a moment about how that may look and what circumstances will shape it.
My gut reaction? I immediately feel a burning need to tell Chet all of my flaws, all of the reasons why he shouldn't want to be with me long term. The reasons why I am not a good bet for future happiness. I know this sounds like I am sabotaging myself, but there is a story behind it. Actually a book behind it. I finished that book called 'Committed' - the one that was about one woman's research and soul search about marriage. One of the things that I remember most was this story where she wrote down a list of all her most serious flaws, the kinds of flaws that she felt made her unworthy to be some one's partner. And then she gave it to her boyfriend. Her reasoning was that she loved him so much that she wanted to protect him from anything she could - even herself. Before they went through with their marriage, she wanted him to be 100% sure he understood how broken she was, so that there were no surprises and that he could protect himself from her if he so chose.
I feel like I need to do that, like I need to make sure Chet knows exactly what he is getting into if he looks towards the future. I don't want to continue the road that we are on and a year from now have him realize that I really wasn't lying when I said that I am awful at managing my money or that I have control issues. I have also been broken and not only do I want to make sure he knows that, but I don't ever want to put him in a position where he regrets taking a chance with me - so I want him to have all the facts straight up. With that said, if you were considering spending your future with me, here are the things you should know.
1. I really AM awful at managing my money, usually because I don't say no well. Need $20? Sure, here ya go. Having a rough night and need to go out for dinner and a bottle of wine? I'm in. It's your birthday/anniversary/wedding/new baby/monday blues day? I have the best, most amazing present for you. I promise. Now to give myself some credit, I am much better now than I was five years ago and I do for the most part have a budget plan that I loosely follow. I just can be talked out of it if you try moderately hard. When Brad and I were together he would get pissed at me constantly over things like this and instead of just handling our finances (which I was more than willing to let him do - I know that I need a handler) he was obsessed with trying to make me do it on my own and then being mad at me for my reasoning on why I did things the way I did. I am never going to be the responsible choice for running finances in a serious relationship. I have made my peace with it.
2. On the other hand, I like to run the house. I like to rearrange furniture on a whim. I like to organize cupboards, create homes for everything (many times with pretty labels so you don't get confused), pick out paint colors and redecorate as many times as needed until I am satisfied. Which may be never. I haven't reached that point in a home yet. I love to grocery shop, buy season appropriate candles for all major surfaces, and play hostess. I have a slight Queen of my Castle complex. It can be annoying to live with, but it is inevitable. Love me, love my neurosis.
3. My first reaction to any major life event or stressor is always, always going to be all emotional. This is something that is beyond my control. If you want to talk something out from start to finish in one sitting, then expect to have to help me work through all my feelings before I can think about it logically. This isn't to say I can't be rational, but my gut reaction is going to some kind of emotional outpouring that may or may not be based in fact or reason. I can be reasonable and handle life - but I just need my vent time first, without judgement. Typically this is something that men don't handle well.
4. I can be paranoid. This is an acquired flaw since my divorce. I really work hard at being trusting, but if you engage in behavior that is sneaky, or evasive, or strange...my gut reaction is always going to be that you are up to something. It is unbelievably important to me that my future partner understand my reasoning behind this and be willing to pretty much be an open book. I hate secrets, half truths, and pretenses.
5. It is important to pet me. I think that physical contact is really important in a relationship. If you are with me, then I believe that gives me the right to touch you pretty much whenever I want - and I am a frequent petter. I need to be connected. If you don't show me physical attention, I tend to get insecure and do crazy things to get your attention...like chop off all my hair or buy inappropriate clothing.
6. I need moments of peace and quiet. I can only handle so many days of chaos or activity before I become slightly crazy. I do not operate well when overbooked. I think of it like turning the 'off' switch on life for an evening every once in a while. Sometimes I just need to check out - from work, school, family, and even my partner. Let me do this.
Now, this is obviously not an all encompassing list of my flaws - but I think it is a pretty honest snapshot of the things that could impact a relationship, or things that make me slightly difficult from time to time. I also procrastinate, love to empty the hot water tank with super long showers, can't stand the smell or feel of raw tomatoes, and typically don't make the bed. So if you are an on-time, neat freak that hates to pay higher than normal water bills and loves raw tomatoes.....run.
Now, while I am not ready to call an end to the fun, romantic first stage of our relationship yet - events partially out of our control did make us look for a moment somewhat seriously at the future the other night. Not that I haven't thought about the possibility of a future with Chet before now, but it has always been the kind of thought that is blurry around the edges and unshaped. There were no concrete details or plans or schedule. It was an optimistic thought - rather than a realistic, actionable thought. Someday. The other night just brought things into sharper focus for a little bit and made me, and I'm sure Chet, think for a moment about how that may look and what circumstances will shape it.
My gut reaction? I immediately feel a burning need to tell Chet all of my flaws, all of the reasons why he shouldn't want to be with me long term. The reasons why I am not a good bet for future happiness. I know this sounds like I am sabotaging myself, but there is a story behind it. Actually a book behind it. I finished that book called 'Committed' - the one that was about one woman's research and soul search about marriage. One of the things that I remember most was this story where she wrote down a list of all her most serious flaws, the kinds of flaws that she felt made her unworthy to be some one's partner. And then she gave it to her boyfriend. Her reasoning was that she loved him so much that she wanted to protect him from anything she could - even herself. Before they went through with their marriage, she wanted him to be 100% sure he understood how broken she was, so that there were no surprises and that he could protect himself from her if he so chose.
I feel like I need to do that, like I need to make sure Chet knows exactly what he is getting into if he looks towards the future. I don't want to continue the road that we are on and a year from now have him realize that I really wasn't lying when I said that I am awful at managing my money or that I have control issues. I have also been broken and not only do I want to make sure he knows that, but I don't ever want to put him in a position where he regrets taking a chance with me - so I want him to have all the facts straight up. With that said, if you were considering spending your future with me, here are the things you should know.
1. I really AM awful at managing my money, usually because I don't say no well. Need $20? Sure, here ya go. Having a rough night and need to go out for dinner and a bottle of wine? I'm in. It's your birthday/anniversary/wedding/new baby/monday blues day? I have the best, most amazing present for you. I promise. Now to give myself some credit, I am much better now than I was five years ago and I do for the most part have a budget plan that I loosely follow. I just can be talked out of it if you try moderately hard. When Brad and I were together he would get pissed at me constantly over things like this and instead of just handling our finances (which I was more than willing to let him do - I know that I need a handler) he was obsessed with trying to make me do it on my own and then being mad at me for my reasoning on why I did things the way I did. I am never going to be the responsible choice for running finances in a serious relationship. I have made my peace with it.
2. On the other hand, I like to run the house. I like to rearrange furniture on a whim. I like to organize cupboards, create homes for everything (many times with pretty labels so you don't get confused), pick out paint colors and redecorate as many times as needed until I am satisfied. Which may be never. I haven't reached that point in a home yet. I love to grocery shop, buy season appropriate candles for all major surfaces, and play hostess. I have a slight Queen of my Castle complex. It can be annoying to live with, but it is inevitable. Love me, love my neurosis.
3. My first reaction to any major life event or stressor is always, always going to be all emotional. This is something that is beyond my control. If you want to talk something out from start to finish in one sitting, then expect to have to help me work through all my feelings before I can think about it logically. This isn't to say I can't be rational, but my gut reaction is going to some kind of emotional outpouring that may or may not be based in fact or reason. I can be reasonable and handle life - but I just need my vent time first, without judgement. Typically this is something that men don't handle well.
4. I can be paranoid. This is an acquired flaw since my divorce. I really work hard at being trusting, but if you engage in behavior that is sneaky, or evasive, or strange...my gut reaction is always going to be that you are up to something. It is unbelievably important to me that my future partner understand my reasoning behind this and be willing to pretty much be an open book. I hate secrets, half truths, and pretenses.
5. It is important to pet me. I think that physical contact is really important in a relationship. If you are with me, then I believe that gives me the right to touch you pretty much whenever I want - and I am a frequent petter. I need to be connected. If you don't show me physical attention, I tend to get insecure and do crazy things to get your attention...like chop off all my hair or buy inappropriate clothing.
6. I need moments of peace and quiet. I can only handle so many days of chaos or activity before I become slightly crazy. I do not operate well when overbooked. I think of it like turning the 'off' switch on life for an evening every once in a while. Sometimes I just need to check out - from work, school, family, and even my partner. Let me do this.
Now, this is obviously not an all encompassing list of my flaws - but I think it is a pretty honest snapshot of the things that could impact a relationship, or things that make me slightly difficult from time to time. I also procrastinate, love to empty the hot water tank with super long showers, can't stand the smell or feel of raw tomatoes, and typically don't make the bed. So if you are an on-time, neat freak that hates to pay higher than normal water bills and loves raw tomatoes.....run.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
There Is No Problem That Can't Be Solved With Office Supplies~
I am not a dependent, clingy woman. I do not need to hear my significant other's voice every single day. I do not need constant attention so that I can tell him everything I have done all day and everyone that I have talked to. I don't need regular updates with what he had for lunch, who called him last night, or that he ran out of toothpaste this morning and had to chew gum on the way to the supermarket. I am just not that girl. For several reasons. One, I really don't care about his toothpaste or his lunch, it is not groundbreaking news. (Unless it was unusually tasty and then I want the recipe - lunch, not the toothpaste) Two, I trust him to tell me if someone important is on the phone and I also trust him to make the right call if he is talking to someone that would make me uncomfortable. Three, I hate relationships where you are living in each other's pockets. I truly like my independence and no matter where Chet and I end up, I plan on keeping part of that and I wouldn't respect him if he didn't do likewise. However....
I can't handle not knowing what is going on. I don't care if the plan for tomorrow involves me or if he is going to go hang with his buddies or if he just wants a quiet night at home by himself - I just want to know what is happening. I am not offended with needing alone time or guy time. I need my own alone time and girl time, too. But this not knowing is making me feel like an idiot. Because here is what is happening. I don't think Chet has had to account for his time or his schedule to anyone for a while, if really ever. He just does what he wants, when he wants. Which is not the problem. The problem is that I keep asking what is going on because I never feel like I know and then I end up feeling like I am in the way. I don't feel like a valued girlfriend, I feel like Chet is eyeing my every move like I am trying to box him in. (For the record, this is not an accurate statement of how Chet feels - this is just how my neurotic post-divorce brain processes this kind of stuff. I am 100% aware this is my own problem) It makes me want to walk around his apartment and double check to make sure I am not leaving any trace of myself so that he doesn't think I am taking his space. It makes me feel insecure and idiotic and foolish - all things that I hate to feel. Especially since that isn't remotely the kind of girl that I am. Am I completely wrong for wanting to purchase a super sized dry erase calender and just leave it sitting on his table with a post it note on top that simply says....hmmm, I don't know what it would say. Something clever and witty that basically implies.... "let me know what the plan is. All I want is to know what is going on so I can stop being this ridiculous, paranoid version of myself and just live my life without constantly second guessing myself about where I am supposed to be and if you really want me around. I just need a plan."
Of course, I am not going to do this. (And even if I wanted to, that would all not fit on a post it note) But when I start thinking paranoid thoughts about all the things that could be wrong or all the things that could go wrong or all the things that are already wrong and I don't even know it....it comforts me to think about the dry erase calender and markers. Not because they necessarily represent a solution, but because I have a slightly unhealthy obsession with office supplies. And you don't get much more 'office' than an oversized, dry erase calender. Especially if I accessorize it with a full assortment of complimentary colored dry erase markers. Ahhh....I am starting to feel better already. An hour of walking around Staples debating the merit of ink widths (super fine or fine) and all will be right in my world.
I can't handle not knowing what is going on. I don't care if the plan for tomorrow involves me or if he is going to go hang with his buddies or if he just wants a quiet night at home by himself - I just want to know what is happening. I am not offended with needing alone time or guy time. I need my own alone time and girl time, too. But this not knowing is making me feel like an idiot. Because here is what is happening. I don't think Chet has had to account for his time or his schedule to anyone for a while, if really ever. He just does what he wants, when he wants. Which is not the problem. The problem is that I keep asking what is going on because I never feel like I know and then I end up feeling like I am in the way. I don't feel like a valued girlfriend, I feel like Chet is eyeing my every move like I am trying to box him in. (For the record, this is not an accurate statement of how Chet feels - this is just how my neurotic post-divorce brain processes this kind of stuff. I am 100% aware this is my own problem) It makes me want to walk around his apartment and double check to make sure I am not leaving any trace of myself so that he doesn't think I am taking his space. It makes me feel insecure and idiotic and foolish - all things that I hate to feel. Especially since that isn't remotely the kind of girl that I am. Am I completely wrong for wanting to purchase a super sized dry erase calender and just leave it sitting on his table with a post it note on top that simply says....hmmm, I don't know what it would say. Something clever and witty that basically implies.... "let me know what the plan is. All I want is to know what is going on so I can stop being this ridiculous, paranoid version of myself and just live my life without constantly second guessing myself about where I am supposed to be and if you really want me around. I just need a plan."
Of course, I am not going to do this. (And even if I wanted to, that would all not fit on a post it note) But when I start thinking paranoid thoughts about all the things that could be wrong or all the things that could go wrong or all the things that are already wrong and I don't even know it....it comforts me to think about the dry erase calender and markers. Not because they necessarily represent a solution, but because I have a slightly unhealthy obsession with office supplies. And you don't get much more 'office' than an oversized, dry erase calender. Especially if I accessorize it with a full assortment of complimentary colored dry erase markers. Ahhh....I am starting to feel better already. An hour of walking around Staples debating the merit of ink widths (super fine or fine) and all will be right in my world.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
The Demise of Jack...or The Night I Kissed The Old Guy
This weekend I had dinner with a couple friends who happen to be blog fans and they requested some scandal. Apparently my current happy state is not even remotely as entertaining as the insanity of my past. Imagine that. I am unwilling to create drama with Chet merely to amuse my readers, but luckily for all of you I have plenty of old scandal left to share. Here is my story of how I decided that I should quit drinking Jack Daniels when I went out. Enjoy.
For the record, Jack has been good to me for the most part through my sinning years. I am not a beer drinker, never have been, and Jake and Coke pretty much came along on all my single lady adventures. I am also not really a huge drinker, but singlehood is a time in life where I found myself drinking more - not because alcoholism and singles go hand in hand - but because I simply socialized a ton more than when I was in a relationship. Staying in and watching movies all weekend with a significant other while shunning the world = adorable and fantastic. Staying in and watching movies all weekend with yourself while shunning the world = antisocial and depressing.
Until about six months ago, Jack was always easy going down and smart enough to be gone the next day when I opened my eyes with no unpleasant aftertaste or headache. Then he started to turn. Originally, I thought it was simply a strange, random event. I never get hungover when I drink Jack....maybe I was just already slightly sick and partying brought the rest of it all on? Maybe I was really tired and it made me sick? Because I was certain it wasn't Jack, so certain that the thought never even crossed my mind that I was hungover.
The next strange, random event on Jack left me with memory holes. (Maybe Jack was just being good to me still and erasing all the bad spots of the night?) Unfortunately, I remembered enough to know I let a semi-stranger drive me home and abandoned my two other friends in a (very) misguided attempt to hook them up. Not my most shining moment. (But Mom, I promise I didn't let him in....no worries.) This time it was harder to convince myself that Jack was still being true to me. I made a half hearted vow to lay off the whiskey for a while until I learned how to behave. That was not entirely successful.
The crowning glory of my Jack Daniels saga starts with my friend......Sasha. Sasha and I are wine buddies. We like to go out to a local restaurant and commandeer a table for a few hours while we talk and drink a few glasses. Usually we are pretty good about having a few and then laying off before heading on our merry way home. Usually. This night does not fit that criteria however. About eleven o'clock or so, Sasha and I drained the last of our wine and asked for our checks. We had every intention of stopping and being good. Then a pair of men showed up at our table - men that had gone to school with Sasha and wanted to catch up.
Now, just as background, Sasha is much more my mother's age than mine - although you would never know it if I hadn't just told you. It makes no difference in our friendship, but it is relevant in this story because the two men we are chatting with graduated with her - making them in the same age bracket as my parents as well. And these two men have a very obvious wing man scenario going on from the moment they sit down. While Bachelor #1 tries to pick up Sasha, Bachelor #2 and I chat and I discover that he actually knows my best friend's dad. (One more icky connection that still haunts me) Guys being guys, they insist that Sasha and I need more wine....and Sasha and I are just happy enough to go along with it. A few glasses later and we all have a burning desire to go dancing.
Dancing. As in..Midland St. Pub dancing. Me and Sasha and the two Bachelors. Both, let me remind you, who are old enough to have played with my dad as kids. Of course, I can't drink wine at the Pub so Bachelor #2 is happy enough to provide me with as many Jack and Coke's as I can hold - and as soon as my hand is empty, it is refilled. Obviously, Bachelor #2 is no gem. I survive without serious mishap until last call - where we all decide it is way too early to go home, so we head for a local dive bar where Sasha bullies our way into the room and convinces the bartender to keep us knee deep in drinks for a little while. We continued to dance all around this dive bar and sing along loudly and obnoxiously to the juke box well after everyone else had left. At this point, I had lost most of my dignity, but the worst was still to come.
As we leave the bar, Bachelor #2 offers to drive me home. Keep in mind that I have a perfectly good ride home with Sasha - who actually has my stuff already in her car. I even go so far as to get in her car - just to hop out and join the Bachelors in their truck. Sasha assumes I know what I am doing and heads home. I deeply, deeply regret that I did not drive away with her in that car. Deeply. Deeply. Regret.
When I wake up the next morning, my memories from that point forward are a slide show movie. I just have flashes of memories. A string of picture moments in chronological order. Singing along with the radio at the top of my lungs in the back of the Bachelor truck. Insisting that I needed to use Bachelor #1's bathroom before I'd let Bachelor #2 drive me home. Kissing Bachelor #2 in my driveway- even though he is twenty years older than me and married and slimy...because he was smart enough to recognize that I was drunk enough to just want to be told that I was beautiful and amazing. Finally sending slimy Bachelor on his way, letting myself in, and deciding that my clothes were all of a sudden too restrictive so I walked around the house in my underwear from that point on, reveling in my freedom. Drunk dialing a few people that I shouldn't even have had in my contact list anymore. Waking up cold (from passing out in my underwear on the couch) and feeling like I had been beaten and juggled. And then all those slide show memories hit me like a Mach truck and I ran to the bathroom and was sick.
Now, I am going to say half of my hangover was simply because I was so grossed out and disgusted with myself that I couldn't get my stomach to stop rolling. But the other half was very definitely Jack. He had turned on me. Not only had he turned on me, but he had guided me into the wrinkly old hands of a slimy lecher. It was too much too bear. I had to let him go. Jack and I had gone from being in a fairly monogamous relationship to a fiery, spectacular breakup in the span of eight crazy hours.
Since then, I have only visited Jack once - on my first night out with Chet actually. However, Chet is fully capable of handling me on Jack and I was much smarter about my drinking timeline. And I am happy to report that when I woke up the next morning, there was a much happier ending....so now Jack and I have settled our differences. We can never go back to the way things were, our serious relationship is definitely still over, but we are going to be ok to be 'just friends'. It was nice to go out on a high note.
For the record, Jack has been good to me for the most part through my sinning years. I am not a beer drinker, never have been, and Jake and Coke pretty much came along on all my single lady adventures. I am also not really a huge drinker, but singlehood is a time in life where I found myself drinking more - not because alcoholism and singles go hand in hand - but because I simply socialized a ton more than when I was in a relationship. Staying in and watching movies all weekend with a significant other while shunning the world = adorable and fantastic. Staying in and watching movies all weekend with yourself while shunning the world = antisocial and depressing.
Until about six months ago, Jack was always easy going down and smart enough to be gone the next day when I opened my eyes with no unpleasant aftertaste or headache. Then he started to turn. Originally, I thought it was simply a strange, random event. I never get hungover when I drink Jack....maybe I was just already slightly sick and partying brought the rest of it all on? Maybe I was really tired and it made me sick? Because I was certain it wasn't Jack, so certain that the thought never even crossed my mind that I was hungover.
The next strange, random event on Jack left me with memory holes. (Maybe Jack was just being good to me still and erasing all the bad spots of the night?) Unfortunately, I remembered enough to know I let a semi-stranger drive me home and abandoned my two other friends in a (very) misguided attempt to hook them up. Not my most shining moment. (But Mom, I promise I didn't let him in....no worries.) This time it was harder to convince myself that Jack was still being true to me. I made a half hearted vow to lay off the whiskey for a while until I learned how to behave. That was not entirely successful.
The crowning glory of my Jack Daniels saga starts with my friend......Sasha. Sasha and I are wine buddies. We like to go out to a local restaurant and commandeer a table for a few hours while we talk and drink a few glasses. Usually we are pretty good about having a few and then laying off before heading on our merry way home. Usually. This night does not fit that criteria however. About eleven o'clock or so, Sasha and I drained the last of our wine and asked for our checks. We had every intention of stopping and being good. Then a pair of men showed up at our table - men that had gone to school with Sasha and wanted to catch up.
Now, just as background, Sasha is much more my mother's age than mine - although you would never know it if I hadn't just told you. It makes no difference in our friendship, but it is relevant in this story because the two men we are chatting with graduated with her - making them in the same age bracket as my parents as well. And these two men have a very obvious wing man scenario going on from the moment they sit down. While Bachelor #1 tries to pick up Sasha, Bachelor #2 and I chat and I discover that he actually knows my best friend's dad. (One more icky connection that still haunts me) Guys being guys, they insist that Sasha and I need more wine....and Sasha and I are just happy enough to go along with it. A few glasses later and we all have a burning desire to go dancing.
Dancing. As in..Midland St. Pub dancing. Me and Sasha and the two Bachelors. Both, let me remind you, who are old enough to have played with my dad as kids. Of course, I can't drink wine at the Pub so Bachelor #2 is happy enough to provide me with as many Jack and Coke's as I can hold - and as soon as my hand is empty, it is refilled. Obviously, Bachelor #2 is no gem. I survive without serious mishap until last call - where we all decide it is way too early to go home, so we head for a local dive bar where Sasha bullies our way into the room and convinces the bartender to keep us knee deep in drinks for a little while. We continued to dance all around this dive bar and sing along loudly and obnoxiously to the juke box well after everyone else had left. At this point, I had lost most of my dignity, but the worst was still to come.
As we leave the bar, Bachelor #2 offers to drive me home. Keep in mind that I have a perfectly good ride home with Sasha - who actually has my stuff already in her car. I even go so far as to get in her car - just to hop out and join the Bachelors in their truck. Sasha assumes I know what I am doing and heads home. I deeply, deeply regret that I did not drive away with her in that car. Deeply. Deeply. Regret.
When I wake up the next morning, my memories from that point forward are a slide show movie. I just have flashes of memories. A string of picture moments in chronological order. Singing along with the radio at the top of my lungs in the back of the Bachelor truck. Insisting that I needed to use Bachelor #1's bathroom before I'd let Bachelor #2 drive me home. Kissing Bachelor #2 in my driveway- even though he is twenty years older than me and married and slimy...because he was smart enough to recognize that I was drunk enough to just want to be told that I was beautiful and amazing. Finally sending slimy Bachelor on his way, letting myself in, and deciding that my clothes were all of a sudden too restrictive so I walked around the house in my underwear from that point on, reveling in my freedom. Drunk dialing a few people that I shouldn't even have had in my contact list anymore. Waking up cold (from passing out in my underwear on the couch) and feeling like I had been beaten and juggled. And then all those slide show memories hit me like a Mach truck and I ran to the bathroom and was sick.
Now, I am going to say half of my hangover was simply because I was so grossed out and disgusted with myself that I couldn't get my stomach to stop rolling. But the other half was very definitely Jack. He had turned on me. Not only had he turned on me, but he had guided me into the wrinkly old hands of a slimy lecher. It was too much too bear. I had to let him go. Jack and I had gone from being in a fairly monogamous relationship to a fiery, spectacular breakup in the span of eight crazy hours.
Since then, I have only visited Jack once - on my first night out with Chet actually. However, Chet is fully capable of handling me on Jack and I was much smarter about my drinking timeline. And I am happy to report that when I woke up the next morning, there was a much happier ending....so now Jack and I have settled our differences. We can never go back to the way things were, our serious relationship is definitely still over, but we are going to be ok to be 'just friends'. It was nice to go out on a high note.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
The Gateway Candle
I moved a candle into Chet's apartment last week. I bought it strictly for that purpose and I even bought a lighter to live there, too. I smuggled it in one night when Chet was at work and I was there puppy sitting. At the end of the night I just put it up on the table out of the reach of the puppy and went home. I deliberately contaminated Chet's man space - although to be fair I did pick out a manly color scheme of brown and cream. (Vanilla and mocha...mmmmm) I think there is a rule that says you can't force floral candles on them until you have been dating for three months or something like that...
Now all the crazy, commitment-phobic men out there will think that this is some sort of plot to take over his apartment. I am sure that there is a significant population of men that think we have some secret cult where we plan out our invasions. That's right, boys...you didn't really think we went to that many 'cooking' parties did you? (ok Betty...its week eight...time to place the potpourri sachets in his dresser drawers) To shoot down other theories about the candle placement.....this is not my way of 'marking' my territory, I am not trying to get Chet more in touch with his sensitive side, and I do not have a secret product placement deal with Glade.
Quite simply, I am a nester. Big time. I like to create my world around me to my specifications. (Some people interpret this to mean that I am a control freak, I think it just makes me particular in a fun, quirky kind of way) Not that Chet's apartment is a crazy bachelor pad or anything - he has real furniture, things on the walls, dishes that are not made of plastic or paper....but it is definitely the home of a man. No fluff. And fluff is kind of like comfort food to me sometimes, so as you can see....I really had no choice. The candle was necessary. Now that I spend a significant amount of time in Chet's apartment, it is imperative that I surround myself with my comfort fluff. And really, how dangerous is a candle?
In itself, it isn't too bad. But let's use a drug metaphor here just for fun. The running argument against marijuana use isn't that it is so dangerous in of itself, but that it is a gateway drug - opening up a Pandora's Box of all types of other, scarier, harder drugs. Marijuana isn't the drug problem, but it has all kinds of implications. This candle? This candle is my gateway candle. Chet doesn't mind the candle (it barely caused a reaction other than a what-will-my-mother/sister-think-if-they-knew-a-candle-was-here comment....which I thought was just straight out funny - I fully intend to tell them so I can find out what they think) but I don't think he realized the kind of door that candle has opened. Angel figurines are just around the corner!
The holy grail of my nesting is actually a recliner. I have mentioned about a dozen times to Chet that he needs a recliner for me to put my stuff on. Oddly enough, this did not spur him into immediate action and get me a chair...(sigh)... Now, I don't only want the chair for use as a gathering place for my junk, but its main function would be to house all of my girly paraphernalia. A girl needs a good drop spot - and there just isn't a good one for me yet at the apartment. What there is however is a great empty space at the end of a room that holds......absolutely nothing. Every time I walk past this space I itch to do something to it - it is practically begging for a cozy recliner to sit in front of its windows, holding hands with a boxy end table piled with a stack of books and even, perhaps, a cozy knitted afghan. If I close my eyes I can see myself curled up in it, lost in a good book while Chet sleeps away the morning....ahhhh....
Thus the candle. The flood gates are open and poor Chet's man-palace won't even feel it coming. On the agenda this week...a cozy sweater, pajama pants, peanut M&M's on hand. Coming soon....Chick food in the cupboards. Pretty, flowery Kleenex boxes on the bathroom counter. Feel-good message magnets on the fridge. Bubble bath. Perhaps even decorative pillows and oversized pink bath towels. All are little stepping stones leading me to my coveted, comfy reading nook. Unless, of course, I get impatient and just skip right from candle to recliner. The phrase 'it is better to ask for forgiveness than for permission' has come out of Chet's mouth on occasion. I wonder if he believes in it if he is on the other end???
Now all the crazy, commitment-phobic men out there will think that this is some sort of plot to take over his apartment. I am sure that there is a significant population of men that think we have some secret cult where we plan out our invasions. That's right, boys...you didn't really think we went to that many 'cooking' parties did you? (ok Betty...its week eight...time to place the potpourri sachets in his dresser drawers) To shoot down other theories about the candle placement.....this is not my way of 'marking' my territory, I am not trying to get Chet more in touch with his sensitive side, and I do not have a secret product placement deal with Glade.
Quite simply, I am a nester. Big time. I like to create my world around me to my specifications. (Some people interpret this to mean that I am a control freak, I think it just makes me particular in a fun, quirky kind of way) Not that Chet's apartment is a crazy bachelor pad or anything - he has real furniture, things on the walls, dishes that are not made of plastic or paper....but it is definitely the home of a man. No fluff. And fluff is kind of like comfort food to me sometimes, so as you can see....I really had no choice. The candle was necessary. Now that I spend a significant amount of time in Chet's apartment, it is imperative that I surround myself with my comfort fluff. And really, how dangerous is a candle?
In itself, it isn't too bad. But let's use a drug metaphor here just for fun. The running argument against marijuana use isn't that it is so dangerous in of itself, but that it is a gateway drug - opening up a Pandora's Box of all types of other, scarier, harder drugs. Marijuana isn't the drug problem, but it has all kinds of implications. This candle? This candle is my gateway candle. Chet doesn't mind the candle (it barely caused a reaction other than a what-will-my-mother/sister-think-if-they-knew-a-candle-was-here comment....which I thought was just straight out funny - I fully intend to tell them so I can find out what they think) but I don't think he realized the kind of door that candle has opened. Angel figurines are just around the corner!
The holy grail of my nesting is actually a recliner. I have mentioned about a dozen times to Chet that he needs a recliner for me to put my stuff on. Oddly enough, this did not spur him into immediate action and get me a chair...(sigh)... Now, I don't only want the chair for use as a gathering place for my junk, but its main function would be to house all of my girly paraphernalia. A girl needs a good drop spot - and there just isn't a good one for me yet at the apartment. What there is however is a great empty space at the end of a room that holds......absolutely nothing. Every time I walk past this space I itch to do something to it - it is practically begging for a cozy recliner to sit in front of its windows, holding hands with a boxy end table piled with a stack of books and even, perhaps, a cozy knitted afghan. If I close my eyes I can see myself curled up in it, lost in a good book while Chet sleeps away the morning....ahhhh....
Thus the candle. The flood gates are open and poor Chet's man-palace won't even feel it coming. On the agenda this week...a cozy sweater, pajama pants, peanut M&M's on hand. Coming soon....Chick food in the cupboards. Pretty, flowery Kleenex boxes on the bathroom counter. Feel-good message magnets on the fridge. Bubble bath. Perhaps even decorative pillows and oversized pink bath towels. All are little stepping stones leading me to my coveted, comfy reading nook. Unless, of course, I get impatient and just skip right from candle to recliner. The phrase 'it is better to ask for forgiveness than for permission' has come out of Chet's mouth on occasion. I wonder if he believes in it if he is on the other end???
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Theory of an Ex
Despite all the bad history between myself and Brad, I will always care about him. Same goes for John Black. I may not always be in contact or lunch buddies or bowling friends with them.....but part of me is always going to want good things to happen to them. Eventually. I would be lying if I said that I hope Brad doesn't first get slightly miserable, realize that I was right about everything in his life after all, and humbly apologize with just a little sheen of moisture in his eyes. Ahhhh....sweet vindication.....
To me, it seems more abnormal to hate an ex than to care about them. After all, this is a person that you were once in love with - you had to have seen something good in them at one point, right? And as much as we would maybe sometimes like it to be true just to feel better - all the good parts about our ex's don't just vanish because we aren't with them anymore. (I mean, of course, the best part does vanish - me - but there are still other good parts left) In my case, Brad and John Black were both people that I wanted to raise kids with, people I let into my life completely, people that I let see me in sweatpants with frizzy, just-washed hair....I don't feel that way about just anyone. If I once thought they had so many good parts that I would let them in like that, then how can I sit back now and say what an awful person they are and how I wish evil thoughts on them? I can't. I know that I poke at Brad quite a bit because he really has changed so much, but I am sure that underneath all that new, crappy attitude he is sporting...those good qualities are still there - and hopefully, for his sake, one day resurface.
This view has caused some friction in my life at points. Being friends with an ex can be uncomfortable at many points and straight up frustrating at others. It is strange to see them in other relationships at first and it just takes time to draw the new lines of what your friendship is going to be. It is a much more difficult process than normal friendship for a while, until you get to that place where you do see them as strictly a great friend. But it is so cool to end up with a friend that knows you that well - and it is nice to be able to look back on the past and fondly remember the good things because you have dealt with all the crap. John Black and I are still friends. Not hang-out-and-grab-dinner friends, but catch-up-on-life-every-so-often friends. And that is plenty for us. I know that if I ever needed him he would be right there for me - and I would do the same for him. Brad and I are friends from time to time, but we have discovered that the lines of our new friendship work best when we don't really talk. However, I also know that he would always be there for me if I really needed him. Neither one of them is someone that is going to be consistently in my life, but I find it impossible to hold on to angry, bitter feelings. Not only impossible, but unproductive. The only person I hurt with that kind of attitude is myself anyway if I let it fester. For me, clearing the air and getting some space from both of them helped me to see objectively. And now I truly do wish them both every shot at happiness that they can find in the future. I am sure that somewhere out there is the perfect woman for them. I am equally as sure that woman is not me.
To me, it seems more abnormal to hate an ex than to care about them. After all, this is a person that you were once in love with - you had to have seen something good in them at one point, right? And as much as we would maybe sometimes like it to be true just to feel better - all the good parts about our ex's don't just vanish because we aren't with them anymore. (I mean, of course, the best part does vanish - me - but there are still other good parts left) In my case, Brad and John Black were both people that I wanted to raise kids with, people I let into my life completely, people that I let see me in sweatpants with frizzy, just-washed hair....I don't feel that way about just anyone. If I once thought they had so many good parts that I would let them in like that, then how can I sit back now and say what an awful person they are and how I wish evil thoughts on them? I can't. I know that I poke at Brad quite a bit because he really has changed so much, but I am sure that underneath all that new, crappy attitude he is sporting...those good qualities are still there - and hopefully, for his sake, one day resurface.
This view has caused some friction in my life at points. Being friends with an ex can be uncomfortable at many points and straight up frustrating at others. It is strange to see them in other relationships at first and it just takes time to draw the new lines of what your friendship is going to be. It is a much more difficult process than normal friendship for a while, until you get to that place where you do see them as strictly a great friend. But it is so cool to end up with a friend that knows you that well - and it is nice to be able to look back on the past and fondly remember the good things because you have dealt with all the crap. John Black and I are still friends. Not hang-out-and-grab-dinner friends, but catch-up-on-life-every-so-often friends. And that is plenty for us. I know that if I ever needed him he would be right there for me - and I would do the same for him. Brad and I are friends from time to time, but we have discovered that the lines of our new friendship work best when we don't really talk. However, I also know that he would always be there for me if I really needed him. Neither one of them is someone that is going to be consistently in my life, but I find it impossible to hold on to angry, bitter feelings. Not only impossible, but unproductive. The only person I hurt with that kind of attitude is myself anyway if I let it fester. For me, clearing the air and getting some space from both of them helped me to see objectively. And now I truly do wish them both every shot at happiness that they can find in the future. I am sure that somewhere out there is the perfect woman for them. I am equally as sure that woman is not me.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
For Julia
I have a friend that is a few years younger than me that has followed a similar path to the one I've been traveling for a while. She had a serious relationship in high school and through college when everyone else was partying and being crazy. When that ended she started dating and all that goes with it - as a newbie. She is now been doing that for a bit and starting to feel like there is no end in sight. I can completely relate and wish that I could offer her more concrete advice than 'it will happen when the time is right'....but I can't. Everyone's time table is different and I am not going to pretend to be all-knowing. (About this anyway)
What I can offer is all the great things about being single in your later twenties. Even though it wasn't a cake walk, there were things that I loved about being single for a few years, things that I am sure will be hard to let go of as I enter into a new relationship. For me, it was the period in my life where I felt like I had the most freedom to try new things, express myself, (anyone else singing Madonna here?) and focus on just being the best 'me' that I could. So without further ado.....
Great Things About Being Single After 25
1. Time. You have so much more time to do the things that you want when you exit a relationship. You have even more time if you don't think about men AT ALL for a while. I gave up men for Lent last year (true story) and it was a great experience. I gave up flirting, dating, kissing, chatting online....all of it. If you weren't overflowing with estrogen then I avoided you for forty days. All of a sudden all that time you were spending talking to your significant other/man of interest, doing things he liked to do, running his errands, meeting up with his friends and family....all that time is now yours to do anything you want with! Even if whatever you want is simply to veg out on the couch in your pjs and watch Friends reruns all day without anyone giving you a guilt trip.
2. You get to make decisions without consulting anyone. This was a ton of fun - actually my Busia gave me the best advice about what to do when I became single. She told me to take advantage of being able to be independent and to travel like crazy. I didn't go crazy, but I did travel TONS more than before I was single. I went on two cruises and saw the Caribbean, Mexico, and Honduras. I conquered my fear of heights and went parasailing in Grand Cayman and it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I went to Denver, to DC, to Nashville, to Aspen...I spent more summer days than I can count in my bathing suit and a pair of shorts with a cooler and some sunscreen and no destination, just daytripping to whatever beach my Jeep ended up at....all with no one to answer to. I am unbelievably glad that I got to do all of these things. Busia - you were so right.
3. You (most likely) have more resources now than when you were younger to play around with. You don't have to enjoy yourself like a college kid following cheap draft night from bar to bar or living off the dollar menu at drive thrus. You can indulge yourself and have new experiences. If I were in a relationship and building a future with someone I would not have had half the spa days or wine trips or vacations. I didn't have to share my financial resources with anyone and there was no one to object if I went shopping on impulse or spent $40 on a bottle of wine.
4. You get the house (and more importantly, the bed) to yourself. Now, at first I didn't appreciate how fantastic this would be. At first, it just made me feel more alone. But as time goes on, it is amazing to leave the house and then come back later and find it in exactly the same condition as you left, to leave a yummy snack in the fridge and know it is still waiting there for you when you come home. It is awesome to be able to indulge my strange obsession with rearranging the furniture whenever I want without having to (pretend to) listen to someone else's opinion. It is fun to take a day off, lock the doors, close the curtains, and live all day in my ugly, comfy, ancient pajamas while eating all my meals out of an ice cream carton and shunning the shower. And now that I have had the pleasure of stretching out on my queen size mattress all by myself, I don't know how I am going to go back to sharing. (Ask Chet, he is less than fond of this habit.)
5. You get to focus on yourself. Don't underestimate this one, it was highly instrumental for me to get to the point where I am now. Not to sound like I am a saint here - but I am, by nature, a giver. If it is in my power to give you something that you need, I will. And for the people that are very close to me, such as a boyfriend or husband, that meant that if I had a choice to do something to benefit myself or them - I routinely chose them. On a regular basis I chose to not put myself first. Now, I am not whining about this or regretting the choices that I made. I am the person that I am, and I can live with all that. But once I was on my own, I didn't have to make choices like that anymore. The majority of my choices became all about my best interest. I began to take care of myself in a way that I never had....I got healthier, I kicked bad habits, I worked with causes and projects that were dear to my heart, I followed my gut and traded in a career path that has made me so much happier. I got to know myself and believe in myself in a way that has made me a better person. Like the Mastercard commercials.....priceless.
So Julia, while I know that this does not make you feel better about being single at this point in your life while the rest of the world seems to be pairing up and procreating.....you have an opportunity to have experiences that maybe would have been closed to you if you weren't single now. Instead of dwelling on all the things you are missing because you are on your own, look at all the amazing things you can do and fill this time with 'you' stuff. Enjoy yourself, pamper yourself, treat yourself like a princess or a diva or whatever makes you happiest. And if you are looking for a travel friend for some time this summer...I am sure Chet will be happy to share me for a girl trip or two! :)
What I can offer is all the great things about being single in your later twenties. Even though it wasn't a cake walk, there were things that I loved about being single for a few years, things that I am sure will be hard to let go of as I enter into a new relationship. For me, it was the period in my life where I felt like I had the most freedom to try new things, express myself, (anyone else singing Madonna here?) and focus on just being the best 'me' that I could. So without further ado.....
Great Things About Being Single After 25
1. Time. You have so much more time to do the things that you want when you exit a relationship. You have even more time if you don't think about men AT ALL for a while. I gave up men for Lent last year (true story) and it was a great experience. I gave up flirting, dating, kissing, chatting online....all of it. If you weren't overflowing with estrogen then I avoided you for forty days. All of a sudden all that time you were spending talking to your significant other/man of interest, doing things he liked to do, running his errands, meeting up with his friends and family....all that time is now yours to do anything you want with! Even if whatever you want is simply to veg out on the couch in your pjs and watch Friends reruns all day without anyone giving you a guilt trip.
2. You get to make decisions without consulting anyone. This was a ton of fun - actually my Busia gave me the best advice about what to do when I became single. She told me to take advantage of being able to be independent and to travel like crazy. I didn't go crazy, but I did travel TONS more than before I was single. I went on two cruises and saw the Caribbean, Mexico, and Honduras. I conquered my fear of heights and went parasailing in Grand Cayman and it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I went to Denver, to DC, to Nashville, to Aspen...I spent more summer days than I can count in my bathing suit and a pair of shorts with a cooler and some sunscreen and no destination, just daytripping to whatever beach my Jeep ended up at....all with no one to answer to. I am unbelievably glad that I got to do all of these things. Busia - you were so right.
3. You (most likely) have more resources now than when you were younger to play around with. You don't have to enjoy yourself like a college kid following cheap draft night from bar to bar or living off the dollar menu at drive thrus. You can indulge yourself and have new experiences. If I were in a relationship and building a future with someone I would not have had half the spa days or wine trips or vacations. I didn't have to share my financial resources with anyone and there was no one to object if I went shopping on impulse or spent $40 on a bottle of wine.
4. You get the house (and more importantly, the bed) to yourself. Now, at first I didn't appreciate how fantastic this would be. At first, it just made me feel more alone. But as time goes on, it is amazing to leave the house and then come back later and find it in exactly the same condition as you left, to leave a yummy snack in the fridge and know it is still waiting there for you when you come home. It is awesome to be able to indulge my strange obsession with rearranging the furniture whenever I want without having to (pretend to) listen to someone else's opinion. It is fun to take a day off, lock the doors, close the curtains, and live all day in my ugly, comfy, ancient pajamas while eating all my meals out of an ice cream carton and shunning the shower. And now that I have had the pleasure of stretching out on my queen size mattress all by myself, I don't know how I am going to go back to sharing. (Ask Chet, he is less than fond of this habit.)
5. You get to focus on yourself. Don't underestimate this one, it was highly instrumental for me to get to the point where I am now. Not to sound like I am a saint here - but I am, by nature, a giver. If it is in my power to give you something that you need, I will. And for the people that are very close to me, such as a boyfriend or husband, that meant that if I had a choice to do something to benefit myself or them - I routinely chose them. On a regular basis I chose to not put myself first. Now, I am not whining about this or regretting the choices that I made. I am the person that I am, and I can live with all that. But once I was on my own, I didn't have to make choices like that anymore. The majority of my choices became all about my best interest. I began to take care of myself in a way that I never had....I got healthier, I kicked bad habits, I worked with causes and projects that were dear to my heart, I followed my gut and traded in a career path that has made me so much happier. I got to know myself and believe in myself in a way that has made me a better person. Like the Mastercard commercials.....priceless.
So Julia, while I know that this does not make you feel better about being single at this point in your life while the rest of the world seems to be pairing up and procreating.....you have an opportunity to have experiences that maybe would have been closed to you if you weren't single now. Instead of dwelling on all the things you are missing because you are on your own, look at all the amazing things you can do and fill this time with 'you' stuff. Enjoy yourself, pamper yourself, treat yourself like a princess or a diva or whatever makes you happiest. And if you are looking for a travel friend for some time this summer...I am sure Chet will be happy to share me for a girl trip or two! :)
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Unanswered Prayers
I hated this song when my marriage broke up. Mainly because it was something I didn't want to hear. I can be (ever so slightly) head strong, and I didn't want to hear that things may have been working out the way they were supposed to be. I wanted God to immediately fix the little world that I had built. No questions, no discussions....I had suffered enough, let's get on with it already.
I had an extremely difficult time trying to figure out how letting go of my marriage and keeping true to my faith worked together. Was all this nonsense just a test that I was supposed to pass? Was God just seeing how faithful I would be? How willing I was to embrace the 'or for worse' part of my vows? It was hard for me to wrap my Catholic head around the idea that God would want me to let go and move on with my life. So I spent countless hours praying....for myself, for my marriage, for Brad, for answers. And rarely did I pray for things to just work out how God wanted. I prayed for my life to fix itself the way I wanted. All I wanted at that time was my life back. I didn't care if it was hard, or it was flawed. I meant my vows and I was okay dealing with the problems because that is part of marriage. So this Garth Brooks song talking about how unanswered prayers are best got me all riled up. I didn't want unanswered prayers with vague ideas of a better future out there someday. I wanted answered prayers, a remorseful and healed husband, and patience and faith for me to deal with what my life had become. I got none of those things. (In fact, I think God took patience away from me so I had less than when I started.) Instead my husband became worse, I lost complete control of myself and the situation, and my faith was completely shook up. However....
Apparently the song is correct. I think sometimes it is impossible for us to accurately judge a situation when we are right smack dab in the middle of it. Now that I am through the worst of it I am just thankful that God didn't answer my prayers, that I wasn't stuck in that life for the rest of my lifetime. Life is suddenly now opened up in front of me and full of possibilities that I had thought were long gone. Once I got over being terrified about being without a plan, it was amazing to think of all the things I could do now if I wanted. I could completely change my life to be something more representative of who I really am, more true to the kind of person that I really want to be. And I can do that with someone that values that about me, instead of merely tolerating it like Brad and John Black did.
I am not going to say that Chet is my future for certain or that things worked out this way just so we could be together. (of course, I'm not ruling it out either) It is way too early to be creating concrete plans. I still don't know what he likes on his pizza - and that could honestly be a major deal breaker. But if God would have answered my prayers back when my marriage fell apart - then I wouldn't have the chance to find out. I would've thought that my marriage was as good as it got and missed out on these fantastic last few weeks. Chet would have been just an old acquaintance from school that I ran into once in a while when I went out for a bottle of wine. And that would have been too sad for words. So I will take my chances on a less than certain future, have faith that God will put me exactly where I need to be, and maybe sing a little Garth in the shower tonight.
I had an extremely difficult time trying to figure out how letting go of my marriage and keeping true to my faith worked together. Was all this nonsense just a test that I was supposed to pass? Was God just seeing how faithful I would be? How willing I was to embrace the 'or for worse' part of my vows? It was hard for me to wrap my Catholic head around the idea that God would want me to let go and move on with my life. So I spent countless hours praying....for myself, for my marriage, for Brad, for answers. And rarely did I pray for things to just work out how God wanted. I prayed for my life to fix itself the way I wanted. All I wanted at that time was my life back. I didn't care if it was hard, or it was flawed. I meant my vows and I was okay dealing with the problems because that is part of marriage. So this Garth Brooks song talking about how unanswered prayers are best got me all riled up. I didn't want unanswered prayers with vague ideas of a better future out there someday. I wanted answered prayers, a remorseful and healed husband, and patience and faith for me to deal with what my life had become. I got none of those things. (In fact, I think God took patience away from me so I had less than when I started.) Instead my husband became worse, I lost complete control of myself and the situation, and my faith was completely shook up. However....
Apparently the song is correct. I think sometimes it is impossible for us to accurately judge a situation when we are right smack dab in the middle of it. Now that I am through the worst of it I am just thankful that God didn't answer my prayers, that I wasn't stuck in that life for the rest of my lifetime. Life is suddenly now opened up in front of me and full of possibilities that I had thought were long gone. Once I got over being terrified about being without a plan, it was amazing to think of all the things I could do now if I wanted. I could completely change my life to be something more representative of who I really am, more true to the kind of person that I really want to be. And I can do that with someone that values that about me, instead of merely tolerating it like Brad and John Black did.
I am not going to say that Chet is my future for certain or that things worked out this way just so we could be together. (of course, I'm not ruling it out either) It is way too early to be creating concrete plans. I still don't know what he likes on his pizza - and that could honestly be a major deal breaker. But if God would have answered my prayers back when my marriage fell apart - then I wouldn't have the chance to find out. I would've thought that my marriage was as good as it got and missed out on these fantastic last few weeks. Chet would have been just an old acquaintance from school that I ran into once in a while when I went out for a bottle of wine. And that would have been too sad for words. So I will take my chances on a less than certain future, have faith that God will put me exactly where I need to be, and maybe sing a little Garth in the shower tonight.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Chet...Part Deux
All of you clamouring for more Chet stories.....here ya go. To your benefit, Chet is highly tolerant of my blogging - which makes my life that much easier. First, because writing helps me organize my thoughts and emotions (highly important in a new relationship)and second because I want to share with you to the extent that I am able before it becomes highly inappropriate and I find readers camped outside my door like paparazzi.
The funny thing about my relationship with Chet is the timing. I have known Chet for seventeen years. Seventeen years, people. We went to high school together. In our junior year, we were actually each other's first real date. Now, that was a long time ago so I am not going to pretend that I remember everything. I do remember that we doubled with my friend and her boyfriend to go see the remake of 'Romeo and Juliet' and I remember that when he dropped me off at home he was quoting movie lines as I went in the house. Here is what I remember most though - the next day I was walking the school hall by myself (remember I am an insecure, angst ridden teenage girl) and his posse of friends accosted me wanting to know how it went, if he kissed me, if we were going out again, if we held hands during the movie.....I was mortified and that pretty much put an end to that. Life continues on, we graduate, and I don't see him for a few years. Fast forward to the end of my marriage, the infamous summer of sinning....
During a majority of that summer, Lola and I hung out with a group of Chet's friends. For reasons that I am not really sure of, Chet was only out with us on rare occasions - it was usually about four or five of his buddies that we would drink with and party with after the bars closed down. (These same guys would be the ones that lost repeatedly in chess actually) The funny thing about this is that every time Chet would be out with us, I would tell Lola that I was interested in him - but he was never out enough to do anything about it and I was, at that time, in need of someone that would give me lots of time and attention. Timing was wrong. End of summer of sinning comes, Lola and I stop playing with that group of friends....Fast forward to my thirtieth birthday.
Lola and I go out to eat before my birthday festivities at the restaurant where Chet works. We decide that this is our new adult hangout, primarily because we like being able to order a bottle of wine and relax all night. We run into Chet a few times a month for the last year or so. Every time we are there we discuss my attraction to him and debate whether or not I should do anything about it. We almost always decide that if Chet was interested, then he would do something about it. After all, he is a very outgoing, sociable kind of guy and we both thought it was fairly obvious that I was interested. (I don't do subtle well) So we conclude he really isn't interested and enjoy our wine.
I would love to explain to you how we got from there to here - but I don't really know to be honest. Nothing major changed in my life the last month, I didn't all of sudden get super gorgeous, I didn't start wearing new Chet-attracting perfume, I didn't stalk and trap him....life continued on the same way it has all along. I did grow my hair out this year, so perhaps it just finally got to the length he likes - I am uncertain. Lola has a theory that he was one of those people that thought I was flaky and all of a sudden saw the light when I started writing my tell-all blog. I think it more likely that a mystical, purple dragon told him I was amazing. I am still uncertain. But it doesn't really matter anyway.
Here is what I do know. This relationship with Chet has so much potential. More potential than anything I have been part of since my divorce. (Actually, in retrospect, much more potential than my pre-divorce life as well) I feel like he is one of the few people that I have met in life that I don't feel any need to compromise part of myself to make him happy. He gets that my life didn't begin when we started dating, that I had responsibilities and relationships prior to our first kiss. He doesn't whine when I go spend time with my family - he comes with me, harasses my little sister, and jabbers at my baby nephew. He doesn't complain when I am out with my girlfriends - he just tells me to have a good time. He doesn't get annoyed when I have a glass of wine (or three) too many - he acknowledges that I get to make that choice without being scolded. He respects my faith, my values, and the good girl/bad girl combination that is uniquely me. This is different for me because I feel like in the past I have lost myself in relationships trying to be everything my partner needed, trying to adjust my life to fit the kind of life that he wanted. I always wanted to mold myself into the person that my partner wanted me to be. Now I feel like I can just be me, in all my dorky glory. And that I am appreciated that way. It's fantastic.
I know there will be some of you that think I am in too deep, too fast. But it is different with Chet because we have known each other for so long and because we aren't twenty two year old kids that don't know what we are looking for or what we want out of life. Do I know Chet's favorite color? No. (But I guess blue) But do I know what kind of man Chet is? Definitely. And that is what is important. Also, I don't do things halfway. Ever. This is one of those personality flaws/traits that I am aware of, but love about myself. Does this get me into trouble? Oh yeah. I would be silly to pretend that it doesn't. I could throw myself into this and Chet could break my heart next week. But if I am going to do something, I want to do it all the way, I want the full-body experience, all or nothing baby! And as Chet would say.....God doesn't like a coward.
The funny thing about my relationship with Chet is the timing. I have known Chet for seventeen years. Seventeen years, people. We went to high school together. In our junior year, we were actually each other's first real date. Now, that was a long time ago so I am not going to pretend that I remember everything. I do remember that we doubled with my friend and her boyfriend to go see the remake of 'Romeo and Juliet' and I remember that when he dropped me off at home he was quoting movie lines as I went in the house. Here is what I remember most though - the next day I was walking the school hall by myself (remember I am an insecure, angst ridden teenage girl) and his posse of friends accosted me wanting to know how it went, if he kissed me, if we were going out again, if we held hands during the movie.....I was mortified and that pretty much put an end to that. Life continues on, we graduate, and I don't see him for a few years. Fast forward to the end of my marriage, the infamous summer of sinning....
During a majority of that summer, Lola and I hung out with a group of Chet's friends. For reasons that I am not really sure of, Chet was only out with us on rare occasions - it was usually about four or five of his buddies that we would drink with and party with after the bars closed down. (These same guys would be the ones that lost repeatedly in chess actually) The funny thing about this is that every time Chet would be out with us, I would tell Lola that I was interested in him - but he was never out enough to do anything about it and I was, at that time, in need of someone that would give me lots of time and attention. Timing was wrong. End of summer of sinning comes, Lola and I stop playing with that group of friends....Fast forward to my thirtieth birthday.
Lola and I go out to eat before my birthday festivities at the restaurant where Chet works. We decide that this is our new adult hangout, primarily because we like being able to order a bottle of wine and relax all night. We run into Chet a few times a month for the last year or so. Every time we are there we discuss my attraction to him and debate whether or not I should do anything about it. We almost always decide that if Chet was interested, then he would do something about it. After all, he is a very outgoing, sociable kind of guy and we both thought it was fairly obvious that I was interested. (I don't do subtle well) So we conclude he really isn't interested and enjoy our wine.
I would love to explain to you how we got from there to here - but I don't really know to be honest. Nothing major changed in my life the last month, I didn't all of sudden get super gorgeous, I didn't start wearing new Chet-attracting perfume, I didn't stalk and trap him....life continued on the same way it has all along. I did grow my hair out this year, so perhaps it just finally got to the length he likes - I am uncertain. Lola has a theory that he was one of those people that thought I was flaky and all of a sudden saw the light when I started writing my tell-all blog. I think it more likely that a mystical, purple dragon told him I was amazing. I am still uncertain. But it doesn't really matter anyway.
Here is what I do know. This relationship with Chet has so much potential. More potential than anything I have been part of since my divorce. (Actually, in retrospect, much more potential than my pre-divorce life as well) I feel like he is one of the few people that I have met in life that I don't feel any need to compromise part of myself to make him happy. He gets that my life didn't begin when we started dating, that I had responsibilities and relationships prior to our first kiss. He doesn't whine when I go spend time with my family - he comes with me, harasses my little sister, and jabbers at my baby nephew. He doesn't complain when I am out with my girlfriends - he just tells me to have a good time. He doesn't get annoyed when I have a glass of wine (or three) too many - he acknowledges that I get to make that choice without being scolded. He respects my faith, my values, and the good girl/bad girl combination that is uniquely me. This is different for me because I feel like in the past I have lost myself in relationships trying to be everything my partner needed, trying to adjust my life to fit the kind of life that he wanted. I always wanted to mold myself into the person that my partner wanted me to be. Now I feel like I can just be me, in all my dorky glory. And that I am appreciated that way. It's fantastic.
I know there will be some of you that think I am in too deep, too fast. But it is different with Chet because we have known each other for so long and because we aren't twenty two year old kids that don't know what we are looking for or what we want out of life. Do I know Chet's favorite color? No. (But I guess blue) But do I know what kind of man Chet is? Definitely. And that is what is important. Also, I don't do things halfway. Ever. This is one of those personality flaws/traits that I am aware of, but love about myself. Does this get me into trouble? Oh yeah. I would be silly to pretend that it doesn't. I could throw myself into this and Chet could break my heart next week. But if I am going to do something, I want to do it all the way, I want the full-body experience, all or nothing baby! And as Chet would say.....God doesn't like a coward.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Guest Starring......Lola
***Welcome to Divorce Isn't For Sissies newest feature....guest bloggers. While I was writing many of my different stories, I would think about the people that came on this adventure with me and all the different perspectives that they would have on these events. Sure, I tell you things how I experienced them...but other people may have a different take on how things played out or remember different stories that I could have completely forgotten about - like Lola's mention of the bathroom door, for example. Lola and John Black screamed so loud and so crazy that night over a box of Cocoa Krispies....it seems so ridiculous now, but at the time it was a monster fight through the bathroom door. Funny how time changes the way we view things, isn't it? Anyone else that was part of my journey that wants to share is welcome to as well - I'll even give you a fun alias! To start us off, here is our very first guest blogger.....Lola.***
_____________________________________________
I have been given the privilege and honor to write a guest blog for your entertainment…believe that I have some inside knowledge in the subject of said blog, and therefore some very juicy stories. But, alas I have been given guidelines which prevent me from divulging (and also from cussing) about certain activities including stalking, property damage and …er, nevermind… forget those last items…
I will never forget turning the corner into her drive soon after Brad f.., ahem, I mean, screwed up. She was hanging out the window of the kitchen ½ a story up smiling at me. This maybe should have tipped me off for the journey ahead. As I rounded the privacy fence, she poked out the window again with a large pitcher of water, and again a smile, and poured it down…onto an enormous pile of Brad’s most treasured possessions. I laughed and suggested we get the hose.
The series of debacles that followed were heartbreaking and hilarious at the same time. Although I openly objected to Johan Black and all he (didn’t) have to offer our jaded heroine, he did give her a lift of self esteem that was seriously needed at that juncture in her journey. Johan & I drove each other crazy. I remember episodes from when the 3 of us were living together involving bathroom doors (only one existed in the house), parking spaces (who wants the street?!?), groceries & animals where I could have easily committed homicide, hid his body, washed my hands & played dumb for the rest of my life. I’m proud of our heroine for not doing the same to both of us; sure we drove her nuts, too.
Johan withstanding, we had a lot of fun thanks to good friends, booze & boys in the months following Brad’s downfall. Dancing like idiots to burn off beer calories, outwitting unsuspecting boys in any game we knew we could win, making new friends & reconnecting with old ones…Lots of changes in the last few years have turned us from unsure, naive twenty-somethings into responsible, confident women. And it’s been FUN in spite of the so-called tragedies in between.
So…Chet. You have seen a good portion of this go down, you know what you are getting into. But if you f…um, mess, with my heroine your referrals will take a hit! Kidding, if you want to gum her collarbone (clavicle technically) it’s ok with me.
Love,
Lola
_____________________________________________
I have been given the privilege and honor to write a guest blog for your entertainment…believe that I have some inside knowledge in the subject of said blog, and therefore some very juicy stories. But, alas I have been given guidelines which prevent me from divulging (and also from cussing) about certain activities including stalking, property damage and …er, nevermind… forget those last items…
I will never forget turning the corner into her drive soon after Brad f.., ahem, I mean, screwed up. She was hanging out the window of the kitchen ½ a story up smiling at me. This maybe should have tipped me off for the journey ahead. As I rounded the privacy fence, she poked out the window again with a large pitcher of water, and again a smile, and poured it down…onto an enormous pile of Brad’s most treasured possessions. I laughed and suggested we get the hose.
The series of debacles that followed were heartbreaking and hilarious at the same time. Although I openly objected to Johan Black and all he (didn’t) have to offer our jaded heroine, he did give her a lift of self esteem that was seriously needed at that juncture in her journey. Johan & I drove each other crazy. I remember episodes from when the 3 of us were living together involving bathroom doors (only one existed in the house), parking spaces (who wants the street?!?), groceries & animals where I could have easily committed homicide, hid his body, washed my hands & played dumb for the rest of my life. I’m proud of our heroine for not doing the same to both of us; sure we drove her nuts, too.
Johan withstanding, we had a lot of fun thanks to good friends, booze & boys in the months following Brad’s downfall. Dancing like idiots to burn off beer calories, outwitting unsuspecting boys in any game we knew we could win, making new friends & reconnecting with old ones…Lots of changes in the last few years have turned us from unsure, naive twenty-somethings into responsible, confident women. And it’s been FUN in spite of the so-called tragedies in between.
So…Chet. You have seen a good portion of this go down, you know what you are getting into. But if you f…um, mess, with my heroine your referrals will take a hit! Kidding, if you want to gum her collarbone (clavicle technically) it’s ok with me.
Love,
Lola
Monday, January 25, 2010
Flaky
My sister called me flaky the other day. (I know! My own sister!) I would be more upset with her except I know exactly what she is talking about, even if I don't want to own up to it. She didn't mean that I am a flake as much as I act like a flake in certain situations. Actually, in a majority of situations. This is a new development since my divorce and my tumultuous John Black relationship.
For the record, I am not a flake. I am way closer to the bookworm end of the scale than the airhead side. I would be a life long student if I were financially independent because I want to know everything. Literally...everything. (Can you imagine how fantastic it would be to argue with someone when you knew everything? They could never win! You would always be right!) Facts are like my security blanket. Starting a new hobby I know nothing about? Research! Going on a trip to somewhere I have never been? Research! Looking for a slightly healthy version of pizza bites so that I can just eat more without all that guilt? Research! You get the point....I always feel better with more knowledge, thus my bookworm status. So having established that, why do I act flaky?
I think it is only natural after being hurt to want to protect yourself. With that said, I am definitely the kind of girl that wears her heart on her sleeve, pretty much the ideal candidate for getting my heart broken. And that really isn't something I could change. What I could change was how deep I let people in. So I did. It was easier to keep things casual, keep conversation light hearted and fun....rather than let people dig around in my emotions and prod me with questions I either didn't want to answer or didn't want to even think about to begin with. Letting people see that I was still sad or still lonely years later pretty much killed an evening out and it invited all kinds of people's opinions on my life - which I didn't really want either. After a time, it became habit to keep people distanced, to keep conversations bubbly and fun, to be lively enough to keep people from looking too closely. I wasn't trying to be flaky, I was just trying to be the fun side of myself and keep people at a distance at the same time.
And it works. I am sure that there are many people that think all I do is go out to eat, drink wine, and shop; people that think I am about as deep as a kiddie pool. And that is OK. At that time in my life, the most important thing was to protect myself as I figured out how to heal and move on - so the trade off was completely worth it. Now that I am (mostly) on the other side of it all, it is something that I will have to work on, trusting people again. I like to think that I am not bitter or jaded from this experience, but comments like Emily's 'flaky' comment make me stop and think of all the little ways that I have unconsciously armoured myself against getting hurt again - ways that I don't even think about anymore because they are so automatic. Letting go of those defenses is probably going to be a little bit like weaning a baby off of their security blanket I am sure. After all these years of comfortably settling in behind a social facade it makes me twitchy to even think about being vulnerable again to anyone - family, friends, Chet - but I am self aware enough to know that hiding behind the most entertaining part of my personality isn't going to do me any favors in the long run. It was a great trick to get me here, but I don't want to live my life with any part of my divorce hanging over my head or having any power over me - even if it is just evident in my unresolved trust issues. Thankfully I have a plan to make it easier on myself.....eating out, drinking wine, and shopping.
For the record, I am not a flake. I am way closer to the bookworm end of the scale than the airhead side. I would be a life long student if I were financially independent because I want to know everything. Literally...everything. (Can you imagine how fantastic it would be to argue with someone when you knew everything? They could never win! You would always be right!) Facts are like my security blanket. Starting a new hobby I know nothing about? Research! Going on a trip to somewhere I have never been? Research! Looking for a slightly healthy version of pizza bites so that I can just eat more without all that guilt? Research! You get the point....I always feel better with more knowledge, thus my bookworm status. So having established that, why do I act flaky?
I think it is only natural after being hurt to want to protect yourself. With that said, I am definitely the kind of girl that wears her heart on her sleeve, pretty much the ideal candidate for getting my heart broken. And that really isn't something I could change. What I could change was how deep I let people in. So I did. It was easier to keep things casual, keep conversation light hearted and fun....rather than let people dig around in my emotions and prod me with questions I either didn't want to answer or didn't want to even think about to begin with. Letting people see that I was still sad or still lonely years later pretty much killed an evening out and it invited all kinds of people's opinions on my life - which I didn't really want either. After a time, it became habit to keep people distanced, to keep conversations bubbly and fun, to be lively enough to keep people from looking too closely. I wasn't trying to be flaky, I was just trying to be the fun side of myself and keep people at a distance at the same time.
And it works. I am sure that there are many people that think all I do is go out to eat, drink wine, and shop; people that think I am about as deep as a kiddie pool. And that is OK. At that time in my life, the most important thing was to protect myself as I figured out how to heal and move on - so the trade off was completely worth it. Now that I am (mostly) on the other side of it all, it is something that I will have to work on, trusting people again. I like to think that I am not bitter or jaded from this experience, but comments like Emily's 'flaky' comment make me stop and think of all the little ways that I have unconsciously armoured myself against getting hurt again - ways that I don't even think about anymore because they are so automatic. Letting go of those defenses is probably going to be a little bit like weaning a baby off of their security blanket I am sure. After all these years of comfortably settling in behind a social facade it makes me twitchy to even think about being vulnerable again to anyone - family, friends, Chet - but I am self aware enough to know that hiding behind the most entertaining part of my personality isn't going to do me any favors in the long run. It was a great trick to get me here, but I don't want to live my life with any part of my divorce hanging over my head or having any power over me - even if it is just evident in my unresolved trust issues. Thankfully I have a plan to make it easier on myself.....eating out, drinking wine, and shopping.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Get Married? Again? Maybe....
I just started reading this book called "Committed" and it is the follow up book to "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. To begin with, if you haven't read the first one, go get it. It is a very touching, amusing, readable story of this woman's attempt to find herself after divorce. I promise, it's good. The first word of the book is 'eat' - how could it not be good? Any woman that starts her journey of self exploration with carbs is a friend of mine! Anyway....she just published this next one, and it is all about her study of the institution and application of marriage. She and her boyfriend, through circumstances they can't change, are getting married even though both are highly against the idea of remarriage because of their own previous divorce horrors. This story is her struggle to make peace with that.
This is the one issue that I have never worried about at any point in the aftermath of my divorce. I know that many people do, of course, and I completely empathize with that distrust of something that has caused you so much pain. In my case though, I don't blame marriage for all misery....I blame Brad. And to some extent, myself, for picking a partner so badly. (Although mostly Brad) The problem I had was the person I picked, not the circumstances. Nothing in our marriage vows caused our problems, the institution of marriage didn't whisper in Brad's ear that he should go boink a trashy waitress. No, marriage was not the problem. Brad was just not someone that could withstand life standing next to me - and I blame myself for not seeing that, for thinking that I loved him enough for everything to work out. Love may make the world go round....but love alone does not make a marriage work. Hard work, faith, shared values, patience, common goals, commitment, toe curling sex, and a little bit of love....those things make marriage work. And I picked a boy that couldn't see those things through.
So instead of questioning the institution of marriage, now I just question my judgement. I am not afraid of remarrying, I am afraid of picking badly again. What if it is me that is broken? What if I do this all over again just to find out that I am back in a relationship with a man that doesn't value me and my beliefs and my dreams? I love writing this blog but I do not want to be sitting here in three years writing about why two divorces suck worse than just one. I want to be sitting here sharing stories of how phenomenal my life is once I picked the right man, sharing my success stories.
My dating choices seem to reflect this inner struggle. I would date a rocker boy that loved to show me a good time, but that didn't know if he wanted kids and was estranged from his parents. Instead of seeing this as a sign to get out, I saw it as a challenge. Hmmm....how can I reunite him with his mom and expose him to kids so he sees that he really does like them but has just been repressing it for years??? (yes, I know I'm a fruitcake) Post divorce I was so afraid of being alone that I let many bad choices linger far longer than necessary. And, of course, immediately following that bad choice I would swamped with guilt and rage at my own personal stupidity - so I'd go hunt for a nice guy. You know, the guy your mom will love that is responsible and happy to sit for hours and hold your hand. That guy. They are out there. So I would find a nice guy and try to atone for my preoccupation with the previous bad boy by being everything this nice guy needed. Except...I would get antsy. If he was a fanatic about keeping his car clean, I would drop stuff on the floor to see if he'd yell at me. If he wanted to hold hands and watch a movie quietly, I'd whisper dirty stuff in his ear to see if he'd be shocked. I am just not cut out to appreciate a straight up nice guy. I need him to be a little bent.
So, while I admit to being a bit wary of remarriage, it is really just my own judgement that scares me. But I have to believe that as I get older, I get smarter about my choices and clearer about what I want out of life. Having a failed marriage just lets me see all the things that are important to have in place for another one. It's like I get an extra study guide on what not to do. I have to have a bit more faith in 31 year old me, than in 25 year old me. 31 year old me knows to say no to the bad boy and to say no to the nice guy. I'm holding out for the man that wants to visit my parents house for an afternoon - and still waits to catch me in the hallway to make out for a few minutes while no one is looking. When the nice guy with the wicked streak asks me - I won't be afraid to consider saying yes.
This is the one issue that I have never worried about at any point in the aftermath of my divorce. I know that many people do, of course, and I completely empathize with that distrust of something that has caused you so much pain. In my case though, I don't blame marriage for all misery....I blame Brad. And to some extent, myself, for picking a partner so badly. (Although mostly Brad) The problem I had was the person I picked, not the circumstances. Nothing in our marriage vows caused our problems, the institution of marriage didn't whisper in Brad's ear that he should go boink a trashy waitress. No, marriage was not the problem. Brad was just not someone that could withstand life standing next to me - and I blame myself for not seeing that, for thinking that I loved him enough for everything to work out. Love may make the world go round....but love alone does not make a marriage work. Hard work, faith, shared values, patience, common goals, commitment, toe curling sex, and a little bit of love....those things make marriage work. And I picked a boy that couldn't see those things through.
So instead of questioning the institution of marriage, now I just question my judgement. I am not afraid of remarrying, I am afraid of picking badly again. What if it is me that is broken? What if I do this all over again just to find out that I am back in a relationship with a man that doesn't value me and my beliefs and my dreams? I love writing this blog but I do not want to be sitting here in three years writing about why two divorces suck worse than just one. I want to be sitting here sharing stories of how phenomenal my life is once I picked the right man, sharing my success stories.
My dating choices seem to reflect this inner struggle. I would date a rocker boy that loved to show me a good time, but that didn't know if he wanted kids and was estranged from his parents. Instead of seeing this as a sign to get out, I saw it as a challenge. Hmmm....how can I reunite him with his mom and expose him to kids so he sees that he really does like them but has just been repressing it for years??? (yes, I know I'm a fruitcake) Post divorce I was so afraid of being alone that I let many bad choices linger far longer than necessary. And, of course, immediately following that bad choice I would swamped with guilt and rage at my own personal stupidity - so I'd go hunt for a nice guy. You know, the guy your mom will love that is responsible and happy to sit for hours and hold your hand. That guy. They are out there. So I would find a nice guy and try to atone for my preoccupation with the previous bad boy by being everything this nice guy needed. Except...I would get antsy. If he was a fanatic about keeping his car clean, I would drop stuff on the floor to see if he'd yell at me. If he wanted to hold hands and watch a movie quietly, I'd whisper dirty stuff in his ear to see if he'd be shocked. I am just not cut out to appreciate a straight up nice guy. I need him to be a little bent.
So, while I admit to being a bit wary of remarriage, it is really just my own judgement that scares me. But I have to believe that as I get older, I get smarter about my choices and clearer about what I want out of life. Having a failed marriage just lets me see all the things that are important to have in place for another one. It's like I get an extra study guide on what not to do. I have to have a bit more faith in 31 year old me, than in 25 year old me. 31 year old me knows to say no to the bad boy and to say no to the nice guy. I'm holding out for the man that wants to visit my parents house for an afternoon - and still waits to catch me in the hallway to make out for a few minutes while no one is looking. When the nice guy with the wicked streak asks me - I won't be afraid to consider saying yes.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Leg Rebellion
My legs are not happy that I am dating Chet. They used to be comfortable, only had to get pretty and silky once or twice a week - simply maintenance to keep my card in the girls club. No one was looking too hard for missed hairs or playing with my ankles and finding stubble. I would get lazy and let them slide on weekly exfoliation treatments, sometimes even letting them go weeks without a trace of sea salt or sugar. I would only drown them in lotion if it got really, really cold out and it became a worry that I might lose an entire layer of skin if I didn't medically intercede with shea butter.
Now they are expected to perform at their very best daily. No more showers just for soaping up and enjoying the hot water. Back to work.....lather, salt scrub, rinse, lather, shave, rinse......sometimes if I am neurotic I even make them reshave again just to be sure nothing escaped notice. Drowning in lotion is a daily activity. My top skin cells are very thankful and eager to be pretty, but the ones underneath are pissed off that I am not letting those top dwellers just die off so they can finally see the light of day.
And it is not only my legs. My make-up box is pissed when I wake it up every day, routinely spitting face powder at me. My curling iron had practically gone into hibernation, and somehow doesn't even fit my hand the same way anymore. My nail polish got so aggravated that it turned brittle and killed itself so I had to buy all new bottles - making me feel like the worst sort of betrayer as I gave them all a Hefty funeral. All of my bathroom cupboard bottles and jars are in an uproar that they are being worked so hard after being able to pleasantly collect a slight layer of dust while they mingled and drank the mouthwash, gossiping about Susie's bathroom bottles. The only thing breathing a sigh of relief is my collection of pony tail bands that finally get rest after performing day after day in mute exhaustion. Brave little soldiers.
Now, I am really not complaining about having to remember how my skin/body/face/hair regime works. After months of having most of my touches be from drool-covered baby fingers, it is nice to have a reason to exfoliate on a regular basis for someone that doesn't just want to gum on my collarbone. (usually) I even like that I look like a girl day in and day out consistently. I just don't remember it being this much work.
Now they are expected to perform at their very best daily. No more showers just for soaping up and enjoying the hot water. Back to work.....lather, salt scrub, rinse, lather, shave, rinse......sometimes if I am neurotic I even make them reshave again just to be sure nothing escaped notice. Drowning in lotion is a daily activity. My top skin cells are very thankful and eager to be pretty, but the ones underneath are pissed off that I am not letting those top dwellers just die off so they can finally see the light of day.
And it is not only my legs. My make-up box is pissed when I wake it up every day, routinely spitting face powder at me. My curling iron had practically gone into hibernation, and somehow doesn't even fit my hand the same way anymore. My nail polish got so aggravated that it turned brittle and killed itself so I had to buy all new bottles - making me feel like the worst sort of betrayer as I gave them all a Hefty funeral. All of my bathroom cupboard bottles and jars are in an uproar that they are being worked so hard after being able to pleasantly collect a slight layer of dust while they mingled and drank the mouthwash, gossiping about Susie's bathroom bottles. The only thing breathing a sigh of relief is my collection of pony tail bands that finally get rest after performing day after day in mute exhaustion. Brave little soldiers.
Now, I am really not complaining about having to remember how my skin/body/face/hair regime works. After months of having most of my touches be from drool-covered baby fingers, it is nice to have a reason to exfoliate on a regular basis for someone that doesn't just want to gum on my collarbone. (usually) I even like that I look like a girl day in and day out consistently. I just don't remember it being this much work.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Thank You
When I began this blog, it was purely for the entertainment value. I love to write, I have some funny stories, and I have a small circle of friends that like to giggle at my mistakes along with me. That was all that I ever intended this to be. But soon after I started, I began to get messages from extended friends and from strangers. I received stories from people that had made it through divorce and could relate to how I've come through. I had stories from people in the midst of the process that found hope from how I have handled it. And I have had questions and fears from people that think they are heading in that direction. I am impossibly touched by all of these, and hope that the process continues to be a healing one for all of you.
I think that there is still a stigma with divorce in society - which is surprising since so many people go through it themselves. Earlier in my divorce adventures I often felt like it wasn't something I should talk about or be honest about - it was something that was shameful and most of the time it made me feel like a failure. When you told someone that you were divorced or getting divorced, no one ever knew what to say. They always just got quiet and apologized - like you just told them you had cancer. It made me feel so hopeless. Or they offered sincere, but generic, comments like 'time heals all' or 'you'll get through this'.
Well, time does heal all. But before it does, you are going to make some really stupid mistakes and act in ways that may be totally against the kind of person that you are. And that is ok. That is the reason that it is so important to me that I am brutally honest in this blog. I want people to know that there is an utterly absurd side of divorce that most people don't even think about. And I want everyone that is in this process to see that is completely normal, you are not alone, many others have been there. I promise you are not the only person that has forgotten to get your trash to the curb three weeks straight or the only person to makeout with a completely inappropriate man just because it feels so good to be wanted by someone. All of these crazy mistakes that make you embarrassed to look at yourself in the mirror the next day are things that are happening or happened to many of us. And you are your own worst critic. Every mistake that you make reinforces all the insecurities that you have that make you feel like you don't deserve to be happy, that your spouse was right to not want to stick it out with you. Ease up on yourself, no one else is looking that hard or judging that severely. It does not make you a failure. The future is not hopeless. And you do deserve to be happy. I promise.
So thank you to all of my readers that are letting me share my voice on divorce. I am so touched by all of the support that I have gotten and I am so pleased that people are finding comfort, company, and/or amusement on my page. A few years ago I would never have imagined that there would be a positive outcome at the end of this process, but there is. Not only in the response to this blog, but also in my family, work, and personal lives. And it is my hope that it shows those of you in a similar position that there are possibilities out there for you as well. Just keep the faith.
I think that there is still a stigma with divorce in society - which is surprising since so many people go through it themselves. Earlier in my divorce adventures I often felt like it wasn't something I should talk about or be honest about - it was something that was shameful and most of the time it made me feel like a failure. When you told someone that you were divorced or getting divorced, no one ever knew what to say. They always just got quiet and apologized - like you just told them you had cancer. It made me feel so hopeless. Or they offered sincere, but generic, comments like 'time heals all' or 'you'll get through this'.
Well, time does heal all. But before it does, you are going to make some really stupid mistakes and act in ways that may be totally against the kind of person that you are. And that is ok. That is the reason that it is so important to me that I am brutally honest in this blog. I want people to know that there is an utterly absurd side of divorce that most people don't even think about. And I want everyone that is in this process to see that is completely normal, you are not alone, many others have been there. I promise you are not the only person that has forgotten to get your trash to the curb three weeks straight or the only person to makeout with a completely inappropriate man just because it feels so good to be wanted by someone. All of these crazy mistakes that make you embarrassed to look at yourself in the mirror the next day are things that are happening or happened to many of us. And you are your own worst critic. Every mistake that you make reinforces all the insecurities that you have that make you feel like you don't deserve to be happy, that your spouse was right to not want to stick it out with you. Ease up on yourself, no one else is looking that hard or judging that severely. It does not make you a failure. The future is not hopeless. And you do deserve to be happy. I promise.
So thank you to all of my readers that are letting me share my voice on divorce. I am so touched by all of the support that I have gotten and I am so pleased that people are finding comfort, company, and/or amusement on my page. A few years ago I would never have imagined that there would be a positive outcome at the end of this process, but there is. Not only in the response to this blog, but also in my family, work, and personal lives. And it is my hope that it shows those of you in a similar position that there are possibilities out there for you as well. Just keep the faith.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Chet
I have a short, mildly amusing story to share. I just posted a blog about a week ago about how dating is dead. If you haven't read it, then this post won't be half as funny so go back and read that one. (I'm waaaaaaiiiiiting.)
OK. Up to this point my blog has featured mainly stories from my past, littered with a few current stories about almost-strangers, people that I don't interact with on a regular basis. It has been fairly easy for me to say exactly what I want to say without worrying about what anyone would think of it. So I have been able to pretty accurately portray my life without having to really censor anything. And I like that about my blog. I like that I can sit her in my pjs and share with you - and that you can know that what I am saying is the straight up truth, exactly how it is said. It is important to me that you come on this journey with me as I go, BUT....
I had a date this weekend. Actually several semi-dates all kind of strung together all weekend with the same man. I had such a great time and I would love to dish to you all the juicy stuff BUT...
He reads my blog. (hi baby!) I have to admit that I never thought this situation would pop up really. I never expected to have this many people reading my blog at all actually. So my hands are slightly tied. It would give him unfair power in a new romance if he could read everything that I thought about him and I just can't bring myself to do it. Also, I am uncertain about his level of excitement about being in my blog on display for all of you. It is one thing for me to throw my whole life and psyche open for all of you - it is completely another to drag someone else into it. So I am going to aim for middle ground here. You will just need to be satisfied with the bare bones of my adventure here and the occasional funny story.
To follow my blog standards of semi-privacy, we are going to give him a funny alias. I picked Chet. (For the record, I did offer to let him pick his own but he is apparently happy with Chet - either that or he is merely humoring me.) Here are your bare bones facts. Chet and I have known each other for a long time. So I didn't meet him at an online site or pick him up in a bar or find him in line at the grocery store. For the most part, he knows me fairly well. He is acquainted with the majority of my baggage, has seen me at the worst of my post divorce moments, and still apparently wants to date me anyway. He is extremely clever, has a ridiculously gorgeous smile, and likes my family. He also meets my great shoulder requirement - which is obviously most important. I confess to being slightly smitten.
And here is the funny part. He completely acted on every bad dating principle that I mentioned in my previous blog to get us to this point. He social networked or texted me to get together, he bought me drinks and let me get frisky, he asked me out for a group setting that ended up being date-like. I spent all that time creating that blog to show men the right way to do it, he completely ignores it....and it works because here I am. If he ends up sticking around after I have tossed him into my blog then maybe I will have to go revise that previous blog. Or at least add that there are exceptions to my rules.
OK. Up to this point my blog has featured mainly stories from my past, littered with a few current stories about almost-strangers, people that I don't interact with on a regular basis. It has been fairly easy for me to say exactly what I want to say without worrying about what anyone would think of it. So I have been able to pretty accurately portray my life without having to really censor anything. And I like that about my blog. I like that I can sit her in my pjs and share with you - and that you can know that what I am saying is the straight up truth, exactly how it is said. It is important to me that you come on this journey with me as I go, BUT....
I had a date this weekend. Actually several semi-dates all kind of strung together all weekend with the same man. I had such a great time and I would love to dish to you all the juicy stuff BUT...
He reads my blog. (hi baby!) I have to admit that I never thought this situation would pop up really. I never expected to have this many people reading my blog at all actually. So my hands are slightly tied. It would give him unfair power in a new romance if he could read everything that I thought about him and I just can't bring myself to do it. Also, I am uncertain about his level of excitement about being in my blog on display for all of you. It is one thing for me to throw my whole life and psyche open for all of you - it is completely another to drag someone else into it. So I am going to aim for middle ground here. You will just need to be satisfied with the bare bones of my adventure here and the occasional funny story.
To follow my blog standards of semi-privacy, we are going to give him a funny alias. I picked Chet. (For the record, I did offer to let him pick his own but he is apparently happy with Chet - either that or he is merely humoring me.) Here are your bare bones facts. Chet and I have known each other for a long time. So I didn't meet him at an online site or pick him up in a bar or find him in line at the grocery store. For the most part, he knows me fairly well. He is acquainted with the majority of my baggage, has seen me at the worst of my post divorce moments, and still apparently wants to date me anyway. He is extremely clever, has a ridiculously gorgeous smile, and likes my family. He also meets my great shoulder requirement - which is obviously most important. I confess to being slightly smitten.
And here is the funny part. He completely acted on every bad dating principle that I mentioned in my previous blog to get us to this point. He social networked or texted me to get together, he bought me drinks and let me get frisky, he asked me out for a group setting that ended up being date-like. I spent all that time creating that blog to show men the right way to do it, he completely ignores it....and it works because here I am. If he ends up sticking around after I have tossed him into my blog then maybe I will have to go revise that previous blog. Or at least add that there are exceptions to my rules.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Timing
Monday is my birthday! Hip Hip Hooray! I am seriously an overgrown child when it comes to my birthday. And I am not even remotely embarrassed or ashamed of it. Hello?!?! It's the day when I came into the world! Of course we should celebrate! Princess tiaras, feathery boas...bring it on! Typically I over-indulgence myself for about a week or so. I plan dinners out, game nights, spa days, shopping trips....whatever floats my boat that year - and then I tell everyone they have to be there. For the most part, my friends and family give in gracefully and indulge me as well - and, of course, a good time is had by all.
This year is slightly different because I'm splitting my celebration in two. Also, my birthday is on a Monday, so people are less likely to agree that I deserve two weekends. Ideally, I like my birthday to be on Wednesday. That way I get a pre-birthday weekend, my actual birthday, AND a post birthday weekend. Monday is kinda killing it for me. So I am having a long birthday weekend and then at the end of the month, my friend Cindy and my sis and I are all going to have a spa day and night out to mutually celebrate our clustered birthdays. (I am a birthday diva, but I have no problem sharing birthday celebration, as long as we are still celebrating)
The other thing about birthdays, besides my relentless pursuit of enjoyment, is that it is always kind of the time where I take stock of life. (Ok, Stephanie, you are 31...what the hell are you doing? ) More so than New Years with its defeatist resolutions, my birthday is the time where I think about how I want to go forward, about what I want my life to look like, about the kind of person that I want to spend my life with. I am not even going to lie, several of my post divorce birthday conversations with myself were not so positive. And maybe on one or two of my birthday celebrations, the goal may have been get drunk and not examine it too closely. Sometimes it was hard to look past the heartbreak of the moment to keep perspective. But every year, regardless of what happens, my birthday rolls back around. And every year, I am in a new place - it just reminds me that time does heal, time does change things...and it changes me. Almost exclusively for the better.
The older I get, the easier it is to appreciate the timing in life. Sometimes it is about the timing of events....when is the best time to fall in love, go to school, get married, eat a whole box of donuts? (I went to Tim Horton's the other day and glaze donuts have been dancing in my head ever since, sorry) Sometimes it is the timing of people in our life. I know that I take digs at Brad fairly often - and make no mistake I think I earned that right - but for all he did wrong....at one point in time he was exactly who I needed him to be. He was right for me - in that time. Ditto for John Black. He was exactly the person I needed at that time. Both of them changed me for the better in many ways, but neither of them would truly appreciate the person that I am today. Time continues on. And I am sure that when the time is right again...I will meet a man that loves dogs, thinks I am sexiest when I am wrestling with my baby nephew, and wants to sit in a pew with me on Sunday mornings with my family. And every year he will give me princess tiaras and feathery boas for my birthday.
This year is slightly different because I'm splitting my celebration in two. Also, my birthday is on a Monday, so people are less likely to agree that I deserve two weekends. Ideally, I like my birthday to be on Wednesday. That way I get a pre-birthday weekend, my actual birthday, AND a post birthday weekend. Monday is kinda killing it for me. So I am having a long birthday weekend and then at the end of the month, my friend Cindy and my sis and I are all going to have a spa day and night out to mutually celebrate our clustered birthdays. (I am a birthday diva, but I have no problem sharing birthday celebration, as long as we are still celebrating)
The other thing about birthdays, besides my relentless pursuit of enjoyment, is that it is always kind of the time where I take stock of life. (Ok, Stephanie, you are 31...what the hell are you doing? ) More so than New Years with its defeatist resolutions, my birthday is the time where I think about how I want to go forward, about what I want my life to look like, about the kind of person that I want to spend my life with. I am not even going to lie, several of my post divorce birthday conversations with myself were not so positive. And maybe on one or two of my birthday celebrations, the goal may have been get drunk and not examine it too closely. Sometimes it was hard to look past the heartbreak of the moment to keep perspective. But every year, regardless of what happens, my birthday rolls back around. And every year, I am in a new place - it just reminds me that time does heal, time does change things...and it changes me. Almost exclusively for the better.
The older I get, the easier it is to appreciate the timing in life. Sometimes it is about the timing of events....when is the best time to fall in love, go to school, get married, eat a whole box of donuts? (I went to Tim Horton's the other day and glaze donuts have been dancing in my head ever since, sorry) Sometimes it is the timing of people in our life. I know that I take digs at Brad fairly often - and make no mistake I think I earned that right - but for all he did wrong....at one point in time he was exactly who I needed him to be. He was right for me - in that time. Ditto for John Black. He was exactly the person I needed at that time. Both of them changed me for the better in many ways, but neither of them would truly appreciate the person that I am today. Time continues on. And I am sure that when the time is right again...I will meet a man that loves dogs, thinks I am sexiest when I am wrestling with my baby nephew, and wants to sit in a pew with me on Sunday mornings with my family. And every year he will give me princess tiaras and feathery boas for my birthday.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
The Night Emily Tried To Be A Sailor .....and other short stories.
I am not a practical woman. Ask my sister Emily. Her and I are barely a year apart in age and sometimes I think that God put all the possible personality traits and qualities into a big ball and cut it in half. Emily got one side, and I got the other. We are polar opposites. You would think this would mean that we couldn't stand each other, but by some miracle we actually find each other amusing more often than annoying. Her analytical nature makes me giggle when she is trying to find her way through any kind of emotional situation and she rolls her eyes every time I try and explain that I made some decision because 'it felt right.' If Emily would have been the one to get divorced, she would have done it much better than me. She would have prepared for any eventual outcome and had a safety net in place. And when it fell apart, she would have stood up and walked away and got on with her life. Even though I handled it exactly the opposite, she stood by me and tried to steer me in as practical a direction as she possibly could. When that failed, she just joined me in my emotional roller coaster - even though it was way out of her comfort zone - but her company as I lived it up all summer was invaluable. Very few people will not only let you make your own bad decisions, but will join in, even though they know it is the wrong path to take - just so you don't need to go wrong alone. She is priceless. (LOVE YOU!!) In this process, we made a few really great memories that we will never, ever share with our children and that my mom (mom, if you are reading...stop!) should probably not see.
My favorite drinking story of all time with Emily is the night we met Brandon. Brandon is one of my best guy friends and we met him at the bar through mutual friends. Specifically, a mutual friend that we are going to call....Lucky. Lucky was a friend of my ex-husbands that I knew - that, frankly, I was trying to seduce as revenge on my cheating rat bastard ex husband. (Yes, I am aware this was not the best idea in retrospect...but at the time, remember I was making decisions on emotion and Jack Daniels) So Lucky and I, and Brandon and Emily, plus a motley crew of their other friends were dancing it up at the bar a little before last call when Emily got sick. In the middle of the bar. Now, I know it is my job to take care of her, but at the time I was annoyed because how was I going to continue my planned seduction of Lucky with a pukey sister in tow? Solution: Brandon. He offered to take Emily back to my house while I went with the other four guys to Taco Bell. Looking back it is funny, and a little frightening, that I handed my house keys and my incapacitated sister off to a stranger so I could go to a restaurant where I don't even eat anything on the menu and blow in Lucky's ear. (Yes, I am anti-taco) Thankfully Brandon was a stand up guy. During the drive home, Emily apparently had to throw up so Brandon pulled over to a curb and Emily proceeded to open her truck door to lean out - which sounds smart ...EXCEPT...she was still buckled in and she fell out, hanging in mid-air, suspending upside down by her belt. Brandon had to put the truck in park, run around to the passenger side, and lift her back in the truck. So funny! Eventually, I did come home and found Emily sprawled out on the sofa with her head in Brandon's lap and a puke bowl on the floor next to them. They stayed that exact same way all night - except for the time when Emily got up to pee....but walked to my microwave and opened it thinking she was in the bathroom....ahhhh Emily...so funny. Brandon has been an adopted part of our family ever since and Emily has learned to correctly unbuckle her seat belt.
During this same summer of sinning, Emily and I hung out with this group of guys that we knew back in high school. Some nights after the bar closed we would go back to their house and continue our merriment. There was the normal amount of drunken behavior in regards to Emily and I being the only females in the party and the men decided to try and trick us into doing things we didn't want to do (think like a drunk 26 year old male and I am sure you'll get the picture. If not, you need to move onto another blog because you shouldn't be reading this type of nonsense) Their trick was to get us to play chess. Now, to be fair, I am sure that most girls at the bar are not proficient chess players...so the guys really thought they had a good thing going here when Emily and I laughed and accepted. I think we played three or four games total and trounced them every time, despite the influence of alcohol. I have a mental picture in my head that will never go away of Emily playing them on the couch with all four of them huddled around trying to jointly debate their next move, while I just lay sprawled on the floor, completely trusting in Emily's ability to thwart them. They were amazed that I put this power in her hands for this particular game and didn't want to put my two cents in, while they all were taking like ten minutes for a single move because they couldn't decide on a strategy. What they didn't know was that my dad is a fantastic chess player - and he started teaching us to play chess as soon as we were able to reason. I think both of us probably had the fundamentals of chess down before we could even read. Both Emily and I could play chess almost automatically, it was that familiar to us. I think sometimes men assume that if you are out partying at the bar that you are automatically an airhead. These guys completely underestimated our brain power, and there was nothing Emily and I liked better than getting one up on men that tried to pigeon hole us as bar girls. We win.
One more! During the summer, after the bars close down there is usually a lady or two selling flowers, trying to pressure the guys into buying them and giving them to someone. Em and I were making our way to the back parking lot of a bar where we were meeting our ride home - one of my friends who was a bouncer. So as we are walking, we get intercepted by a trio of guys and one of them gives Emily a flower and starts to hit on her. Typically I am pretty patient with this kind of thing - it is the bar after all - but, for reasons I don't remember, this night I was just annoyed with them. I vaguely recall thinking this guy was using really corny, awful pickup lines and that Emily was just drunk enough to be buying it. So I started walking her to the parking lot...strange trio of men followed, still chatting up Emily...and we made our way to my friend's truck. I jumped up on the hood of the truck, ignoring them all until Emily called out my name and they all came walking up to me. This is what she wanted: These guys had invited us to come out on their boat with them. Drunk. At 2 in the morning. With total strangers. In the water. This was a no brainer, even for me with a few drinks swirling through my system. But Emily was insistent and continued to try and persuade me with the most non compelling arguments like "oh but it is so hot out, it will feel great on the water" and "think of what a great story we can tell tomorrow about being out on the boat at night" Yeah, great story to hear when our bodies wash ashore! Luckily, right about them my friend the bouncer came out and intimidated them, sending them scurrying on their way. I was grateful. But Emily pouted in the back seat all the way home.
We continued in this vein over a summer and pretty much until the snow flew that year, doing things that I am not proud of, but that I forgive myself for. When the whiskey haze had cleared and I looked over, there was Emily..clutching an empty bottle of Captain, burning all the incriminating photos. I had survived the first six months. Emily hopped off my crazy train and went back to her normal, practical ways. I reluctantly got off my crazy train and continued on with my emotional ways. And for the most part, it has served us well.
My favorite drinking story of all time with Emily is the night we met Brandon. Brandon is one of my best guy friends and we met him at the bar through mutual friends. Specifically, a mutual friend that we are going to call....Lucky. Lucky was a friend of my ex-husbands that I knew - that, frankly, I was trying to seduce as revenge on my cheating rat bastard ex husband. (Yes, I am aware this was not the best idea in retrospect...but at the time, remember I was making decisions on emotion and Jack Daniels) So Lucky and I, and Brandon and Emily, plus a motley crew of their other friends were dancing it up at the bar a little before last call when Emily got sick. In the middle of the bar. Now, I know it is my job to take care of her, but at the time I was annoyed because how was I going to continue my planned seduction of Lucky with a pukey sister in tow? Solution: Brandon. He offered to take Emily back to my house while I went with the other four guys to Taco Bell. Looking back it is funny, and a little frightening, that I handed my house keys and my incapacitated sister off to a stranger so I could go to a restaurant where I don't even eat anything on the menu and blow in Lucky's ear. (Yes, I am anti-taco) Thankfully Brandon was a stand up guy. During the drive home, Emily apparently had to throw up so Brandon pulled over to a curb and Emily proceeded to open her truck door to lean out - which sounds smart ...EXCEPT...she was still buckled in and she fell out, hanging in mid-air, suspending upside down by her belt. Brandon had to put the truck in park, run around to the passenger side, and lift her back in the truck. So funny! Eventually, I did come home and found Emily sprawled out on the sofa with her head in Brandon's lap and a puke bowl on the floor next to them. They stayed that exact same way all night - except for the time when Emily got up to pee....but walked to my microwave and opened it thinking she was in the bathroom....ahhhh Emily...so funny. Brandon has been an adopted part of our family ever since and Emily has learned to correctly unbuckle her seat belt.
During this same summer of sinning, Emily and I hung out with this group of guys that we knew back in high school. Some nights after the bar closed we would go back to their house and continue our merriment. There was the normal amount of drunken behavior in regards to Emily and I being the only females in the party and the men decided to try and trick us into doing things we didn't want to do (think like a drunk 26 year old male and I am sure you'll get the picture. If not, you need to move onto another blog because you shouldn't be reading this type of nonsense) Their trick was to get us to play chess. Now, to be fair, I am sure that most girls at the bar are not proficient chess players...so the guys really thought they had a good thing going here when Emily and I laughed and accepted. I think we played three or four games total and trounced them every time, despite the influence of alcohol. I have a mental picture in my head that will never go away of Emily playing them on the couch with all four of them huddled around trying to jointly debate their next move, while I just lay sprawled on the floor, completely trusting in Emily's ability to thwart them. They were amazed that I put this power in her hands for this particular game and didn't want to put my two cents in, while they all were taking like ten minutes for a single move because they couldn't decide on a strategy. What they didn't know was that my dad is a fantastic chess player - and he started teaching us to play chess as soon as we were able to reason. I think both of us probably had the fundamentals of chess down before we could even read. Both Emily and I could play chess almost automatically, it was that familiar to us. I think sometimes men assume that if you are out partying at the bar that you are automatically an airhead. These guys completely underestimated our brain power, and there was nothing Emily and I liked better than getting one up on men that tried to pigeon hole us as bar girls. We win.
One more! During the summer, after the bars close down there is usually a lady or two selling flowers, trying to pressure the guys into buying them and giving them to someone. Em and I were making our way to the back parking lot of a bar where we were meeting our ride home - one of my friends who was a bouncer. So as we are walking, we get intercepted by a trio of guys and one of them gives Emily a flower and starts to hit on her. Typically I am pretty patient with this kind of thing - it is the bar after all - but, for reasons I don't remember, this night I was just annoyed with them. I vaguely recall thinking this guy was using really corny, awful pickup lines and that Emily was just drunk enough to be buying it. So I started walking her to the parking lot...strange trio of men followed, still chatting up Emily...and we made our way to my friend's truck. I jumped up on the hood of the truck, ignoring them all until Emily called out my name and they all came walking up to me. This is what she wanted: These guys had invited us to come out on their boat with them. Drunk. At 2 in the morning. With total strangers. In the water. This was a no brainer, even for me with a few drinks swirling through my system. But Emily was insistent and continued to try and persuade me with the most non compelling arguments like "oh but it is so hot out, it will feel great on the water" and "think of what a great story we can tell tomorrow about being out on the boat at night" Yeah, great story to hear when our bodies wash ashore! Luckily, right about them my friend the bouncer came out and intimidated them, sending them scurrying on their way. I was grateful. But Emily pouted in the back seat all the way home.
We continued in this vein over a summer and pretty much until the snow flew that year, doing things that I am not proud of, but that I forgive myself for. When the whiskey haze had cleared and I looked over, there was Emily..clutching an empty bottle of Captain, burning all the incriminating photos. I had survived the first six months. Emily hopped off my crazy train and went back to her normal, practical ways. I reluctantly got off my crazy train and continued on with my emotional ways. And for the most part, it has served us well.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Is Dating Dead?
So this past Monday ABC aired a tv show called 'Conveyor Belt of Love'. I didn't actually watch it that night because I was shunning tv in favor of curling up on the couch with a good book. But I was told by several people that it was amusing in an OMG kind of way....so I looked it up online yesterday. The premise of the show is that a handful of girls get to sit on stools as a conveyor belt rotates men around every 60 seconds. The girls get to pick the one they want and then they go out on dates. My life was not enriched by this show, but I was mildly amused for the forty or so minutes it was on my screen.
Here is why it made my blog: One of the girls was explaining her criteria for a man in her little opening monologue and she wanted a man who understood what a date was, an actual planned out date with an activity and a definite start time. And I found myself nodding along as she talked about these men in vicinity of the 30 year mark that had no concept of dinner and a movie, or even the meaning of the term 'planning'. (Quick disclaimer before I get yelled at: If you are a 30-ish year old man that calls women up to ask them out (texting does not count)for a specific time and a specific activity and does not expect that date to automatically end in bed just because you paid for dessert....then you are exempt from this blog.) She was so frustrated by men that seemed to think that 'hooking up' and 'dating' were one and the same. I completely empathize with her. Here are the common ways that I get asked out.
1. This first one is a three step process. Step One. "let's meet up for a drink" Step Two. "of course you can have another, why not? You are a big girl, let me get it for you" Step Three. "let's go back to my place and watch a movie". I will admit to falling for this once...and getting labeled a tease for really wanting to watch a movie. Needless to say I haven't gone out with him again. Say what you mean boys. And trying to get a girl drunk enough to not think straight doesn't make you a player - it makes you a sleaze.
2. Via myspace/facebook/yahoo IM...."OMG u r soooo hottt...I was just looking for a friend of mine(uh huh) and saw ur profile. I am sure u have a bf but if u dont my # is xxx-xxxx. call me and i will show you a good time." Seriously. Here is what you were really doing - searching for single girls in your zip code in your age range, and then sending them all that same message and assuming we will all believe it and be flattered. Not true. Especially when it is in text language and you add multiple t's in 'hot' like you are promoting porn.
3. Through a friend of a friend...."my boyfriend's friend's brother likes you so we should all go out together in a big group and hang out" Really? Does this remind anyone else of mall rat teenagers? Isn't that how you learn to date when you are like fifteen? I might admit to being flattered by the attention BUT I am not going to take you seriously if you can't even pick up the phone and call me on your own.
4. Drunken attempts in a bar at the end of the night. Enough said.
Too many men say that they don't understand women. We are not that difficult guys. Really. Someone sent me an online forward that said, "Woman are NOT complicated. Just tell us we are beautiful and give us chocolate." That made me laugh, and while true, I think the answer is even easier. Make the effort. That's all. And it applies to everything to do with dating. I am impressed and appreciative if I can tell that a guy is making an effort. Whether it is planning a date, paying a compliment that is personal and not just a go-to line, actually listening to the answers we give to your questions....women can tell if you are genuinely putting forth the effort because you are specifically interested in us - or if you are just going through the motions and if it works out, then great...if not, oh well. Whether it is a first date or a fifth date, I want to know that you are there because you really wanted to be there, with me...not that you had a Thursday night free and I was the girl that was available. Of course this is only my opinion, and while I think that most girls will agree, I am sure that there are women out there that like the game and the chase day in and day out - I am just saying that I am not one of them.
At the end of the day, I have an old fashioned soul. I like the different roles of men and women - I don't agree with the theory of thought that says men and women should be the same and that I should do anything a man can do. I don't want to do anything a man can do. I love dating a man that understands this and that makes me feel female. This does not mean I need a man to pay for everything or treat me like I am incapable of making a decision about my own dinner. It just means that I appreciate the differences and enjoy things like having the door held for me. It doesn't offend me in the least. Thus why I am impressed by a man that takes the time to set up an actual night out. I like the anticipation of a good date. I like holding hands in a dark movie theater. I like good night kisses on the porch. I think that when you forgo all the steps like these that you lose the romance of an early relationship. I don't want to look back on how I met the love of my life and remember that we met at a dive bar while he was drunkenly celebrating his buddy's birthday and that his friend bet him he couldn't get me to second base before the night was over. I want more.
Here is why it made my blog: One of the girls was explaining her criteria for a man in her little opening monologue and she wanted a man who understood what a date was, an actual planned out date with an activity and a definite start time. And I found myself nodding along as she talked about these men in vicinity of the 30 year mark that had no concept of dinner and a movie, or even the meaning of the term 'planning'. (Quick disclaimer before I get yelled at: If you are a 30-ish year old man that calls women up to ask them out (texting does not count)for a specific time and a specific activity and does not expect that date to automatically end in bed just because you paid for dessert....then you are exempt from this blog.) She was so frustrated by men that seemed to think that 'hooking up' and 'dating' were one and the same. I completely empathize with her. Here are the common ways that I get asked out.
1. This first one is a three step process. Step One. "let's meet up for a drink" Step Two. "of course you can have another, why not? You are a big girl, let me get it for you" Step Three. "let's go back to my place and watch a movie". I will admit to falling for this once...and getting labeled a tease for really wanting to watch a movie. Needless to say I haven't gone out with him again. Say what you mean boys. And trying to get a girl drunk enough to not think straight doesn't make you a player - it makes you a sleaze.
2. Via myspace/facebook/yahoo IM...."OMG u r soooo hottt...I was just looking for a friend of mine(uh huh) and saw ur profile. I am sure u have a bf but if u dont my # is xxx-xxxx. call me and i will show you a good time." Seriously. Here is what you were really doing - searching for single girls in your zip code in your age range, and then sending them all that same message and assuming we will all believe it and be flattered. Not true. Especially when it is in text language and you add multiple t's in 'hot' like you are promoting porn.
3. Through a friend of a friend...."my boyfriend's friend's brother likes you so we should all go out together in a big group and hang out" Really? Does this remind anyone else of mall rat teenagers? Isn't that how you learn to date when you are like fifteen? I might admit to being flattered by the attention BUT I am not going to take you seriously if you can't even pick up the phone and call me on your own.
4. Drunken attempts in a bar at the end of the night. Enough said.
Too many men say that they don't understand women. We are not that difficult guys. Really. Someone sent me an online forward that said, "Woman are NOT complicated. Just tell us we are beautiful and give us chocolate." That made me laugh, and while true, I think the answer is even easier. Make the effort. That's all. And it applies to everything to do with dating. I am impressed and appreciative if I can tell that a guy is making an effort. Whether it is planning a date, paying a compliment that is personal and not just a go-to line, actually listening to the answers we give to your questions....women can tell if you are genuinely putting forth the effort because you are specifically interested in us - or if you are just going through the motions and if it works out, then great...if not, oh well. Whether it is a first date or a fifth date, I want to know that you are there because you really wanted to be there, with me...not that you had a Thursday night free and I was the girl that was available. Of course this is only my opinion, and while I think that most girls will agree, I am sure that there are women out there that like the game and the chase day in and day out - I am just saying that I am not one of them.
At the end of the day, I have an old fashioned soul. I like the different roles of men and women - I don't agree with the theory of thought that says men and women should be the same and that I should do anything a man can do. I don't want to do anything a man can do. I love dating a man that understands this and that makes me feel female. This does not mean I need a man to pay for everything or treat me like I am incapable of making a decision about my own dinner. It just means that I appreciate the differences and enjoy things like having the door held for me. It doesn't offend me in the least. Thus why I am impressed by a man that takes the time to set up an actual night out. I like the anticipation of a good date. I like holding hands in a dark movie theater. I like good night kisses on the porch. I think that when you forgo all the steps like these that you lose the romance of an early relationship. I don't want to look back on how I met the love of my life and remember that we met at a dive bar while he was drunkenly celebrating his buddy's birthday and that his friend bet him he couldn't get me to second base before the night was over. I want more.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Welcome 2010!
Happy New Year everyone! Here is my list of tentative, possibly achievable goals for 2010.
1. Research school options for child related careers and/or invest a ton of time, money and energy into daycare. I truly love kids and no matter what the pay scale, I know that it is something that I will be happy doing with my life. When you work with kids, you know that what you doing is really making a difference in our world - you are helping to create the next generation! And the smile of child has to be one of the purest things that life has to offer. I really want to try and find the right path for me into helping kids in the best way that I can.
2. Keep my Jeep clean. I know that this one is almost certainly headed for the 2010 Fail list BUT...I think it important that I give it a try. I feel like less of an adult when I open the back hatch and pop cans fall out. I am thirty years old, I should be able to put all my groceries in the back without having to juggle five coats, a set of golf clubs, seven books, about 23 different types of windshield scrapers, empty large, McDonald's Diet Coke (caffeine free!) cups, and a partridge in a pear tree. In 2009 I did manage to keep the front two seats and, for the most part, the back seat clean. I even consistently had a trash can...however it was too small to fit more than one of the aforementioned Diet Coke cups. If I can master the cargo portion of the vehicle I may be able to call myself an adult by this time next year. I am thinking of creating a laundry basket sorting system back there....
3. Ignore Brad for at least 75% of the year. This is a pretty attainable goal. I think I ignored him for a good 50% of this year, so I am just building on my previous good work. This sounds heartless, but here's the deal. Brad has crossed a very dirty, morally blurry line....and I am 95% sure that he is never coming back across again. Now, because I am Pollyanna I am going to leave that 5% loophole open in the hopes that he will realize what he is doing to himself....and that is also why I am going to give myself a 25% leeway to be there if he truly needs me. That is just the girl that I am. But for my own sanity, and because I hate to see him the way he is now....75% of this year will be Brad-free.
4. Use my elliptical machine. Notice that this goal is very flexible, very loosely worded. I don't like to set rules that I know I am going to break. My elliptical machine and I go through spurts where we are friends and when we are bitter enemies and when we are hooks to dry sweaters on.....actually that last part is just me. So the goal is purely.....get on the machine. Make it worth the money that I spent on it. Be healthy so that I can one day play tag with my grand kids. Provided that I have kids of course. This part is also important because Jen and I want to be polka-dancing, drinking Busias together when we are old. Thus I need prodigy to call me Busia. But that is a goal for a whole other year.
5. Blog daily and update my status twice daily so that everyone knows everything about my life. Ok - that one is purely a joke. Don't rush to delete me from your friends.
6. Be patient. I am so impatient sometimes for what tomorrow may bring that I am afraid I am going to miss all the stupendousness (spellcheck insists that this isn't a word. I respectfully disagree) that is today. I think that a lot of this is from being single. It is easy to feel like life is going to pass you by if you don't pair up and procreate - and being divorced just ups that pressure more because now I have to fall in love and marry twice while all my smarter friends are only having to do it once in the same time period. But I need to have faith that God has a plan for me. And it will all happen when it is supposed to, with or without my impatience. I might as well enjoy the ride.
With that said, this is my mantra for 2010, brought to you by the book of Jeremiah:
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.....you will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart."
When I am impatient and trying too hard to make a future appear now, on my time table....this is what brings me back to earth. Faith that God has a plan for me. That He has put things in my path that have purpose...for me, or for others...and that if I keep the hope that He has given me, all will unfold exactly as it should, exactly when it should. All I need to do is keep the faith.
1. Research school options for child related careers and/or invest a ton of time, money and energy into daycare. I truly love kids and no matter what the pay scale, I know that it is something that I will be happy doing with my life. When you work with kids, you know that what you doing is really making a difference in our world - you are helping to create the next generation! And the smile of child has to be one of the purest things that life has to offer. I really want to try and find the right path for me into helping kids in the best way that I can.
2. Keep my Jeep clean. I know that this one is almost certainly headed for the 2010 Fail list BUT...I think it important that I give it a try. I feel like less of an adult when I open the back hatch and pop cans fall out. I am thirty years old, I should be able to put all my groceries in the back without having to juggle five coats, a set of golf clubs, seven books, about 23 different types of windshield scrapers, empty large, McDonald's Diet Coke (caffeine free!) cups, and a partridge in a pear tree. In 2009 I did manage to keep the front two seats and, for the most part, the back seat clean. I even consistently had a trash can...however it was too small to fit more than one of the aforementioned Diet Coke cups. If I can master the cargo portion of the vehicle I may be able to call myself an adult by this time next year. I am thinking of creating a laundry basket sorting system back there....
3. Ignore Brad for at least 75% of the year. This is a pretty attainable goal. I think I ignored him for a good 50% of this year, so I am just building on my previous good work. This sounds heartless, but here's the deal. Brad has crossed a very dirty, morally blurry line....and I am 95% sure that he is never coming back across again. Now, because I am Pollyanna I am going to leave that 5% loophole open in the hopes that he will realize what he is doing to himself....and that is also why I am going to give myself a 25% leeway to be there if he truly needs me. That is just the girl that I am. But for my own sanity, and because I hate to see him the way he is now....75% of this year will be Brad-free.
4. Use my elliptical machine. Notice that this goal is very flexible, very loosely worded. I don't like to set rules that I know I am going to break. My elliptical machine and I go through spurts where we are friends and when we are bitter enemies and when we are hooks to dry sweaters on.....actually that last part is just me. So the goal is purely.....get on the machine. Make it worth the money that I spent on it. Be healthy so that I can one day play tag with my grand kids. Provided that I have kids of course. This part is also important because Jen and I want to be polka-dancing, drinking Busias together when we are old. Thus I need prodigy to call me Busia. But that is a goal for a whole other year.
5. Blog daily and update my status twice daily so that everyone knows everything about my life. Ok - that one is purely a joke. Don't rush to delete me from your friends.
6. Be patient. I am so impatient sometimes for what tomorrow may bring that I am afraid I am going to miss all the stupendousness (spellcheck insists that this isn't a word. I respectfully disagree) that is today. I think that a lot of this is from being single. It is easy to feel like life is going to pass you by if you don't pair up and procreate - and being divorced just ups that pressure more because now I have to fall in love and marry twice while all my smarter friends are only having to do it once in the same time period. But I need to have faith that God has a plan for me. And it will all happen when it is supposed to, with or without my impatience. I might as well enjoy the ride.
With that said, this is my mantra for 2010, brought to you by the book of Jeremiah:
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.....you will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart."
When I am impatient and trying too hard to make a future appear now, on my time table....this is what brings me back to earth. Faith that God has a plan for me. That He has put things in my path that have purpose...for me, or for others...and that if I keep the hope that He has given me, all will unfold exactly as it should, exactly when it should. All I need to do is keep the faith.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)