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.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
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.
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