2011 - The Year of Un-doubt

A friend asked around for people's New Year's resolutions, and there were some very interesting intentions.

Not surprisingly, they mostly fell into the ideas to improve one's own happiness, and those to give more of one's time/self to others.

My own? To trust myself more. To not constantly second-guess my actions, not to over-analyze, and to believe that I am capable of making good decisions. And if I make a choice that doesn't have the hoped-for consequence, I promise not to be so hard on myself.

I have read a few self-help books that say that in order to forgive someone else, we may need to first forgive ourselves. This stuck in my craw, why would I need to forgive myself for someone else treating me badly?

But I am understanding this concept a little more clearly, now. I am not letting someone else off the hook - I am helping to let myself off. To forgive myself for making the mistake of getting into a relationship that was wrong for me, for misreading signals that could have indicated a potential friend was bad news...for just being human and falling into one of the many pitfalls that go along with that status.

It isn't that you *can't* forgive someone else until you forgive yourself...it's more that once you let go of any guilt *you* feel over a situation, the other person's actions loom less large. In the end, I've found that another person's guilt, or innocence, or negligence, is so much less important, once I've come to my own terms.

Parum Morsus' Tips To a Better Life. (Or How You, Too, Can Have Your Way Without Anyone Ever Being Mad at You)

I have decided that the world could benefit from my vast experience in unintentionally pissing people off and creating unnecessary drama. So, I am going to start giving FREE advice on how I manage to make it look so easy. (The method for intentionally pissing people off is patented.)

Every year, I make a New Year's resolution, although I rarely keep them. For 2010, I resolved to go to the gym more often. That one I managed to keep...barely. I went to the gym exactly four times this year, all of them in December. But that beat my 2009 count by exactly four times, so ...

For 2011, I decided that I would "take my own advice." In other words, when faced with a dilemma, or when i was uncertain what to do, I would ask myself what I would advise a friend to do, in a similar situation. Pretty much a WWJD with 100% less dogma.

On paper, this seems like a solid idea. When someone asks me for advice, I think carefully about the possible ramifications of each source, and give a thoughtful opinion. Sadly, more people do not actually take my advice, or my friends would all be living happier lives.

I think I've mentioned before that I have difficulty expressing myself; I don't want to be the one "making waves" or "rocking the boat." I get anxious when faced with conflict. But this position has not benefitted me in the past, so in preparation for the WWPMD? theme, I have decided to work on my communication skills.

The biggest problem with this plan was that I sometimes am so sure of myself that I don't think to ask myself for advice. In the past, when faced with an uncomfortable situation, my internal monologue went something like this:

"W.T.F. I can't believe he didn't call *again* after he said he would. Sure, his actual words were, 'yeah, I'll give you a call later,' but he has to know that I would be waiting by the phone, right? I cannot believe that once again, I am turning down other things just on the off chance he'll want to let me invite myself over to hang out and (bleep) him... if and when he EVER FRAKKING CALLS!"

And for those who don't actually know me, yes I really am in my late 30's and not 15.

Now, if someone else were to present me with this situation, I would probably say something about keeping yourself busy, not waiting by the phone, and I would likely toss in a "Never make someone a priority who only considers you an option." I might inquire whether my friend ever had an explicit understanding with the guy, and ask why on earth she would put her life on hold for one minute for someone who so obviously had a different view towards her than she had toward him.

So, a couple weeks ago, I was faced with this same scenario. He didn't call when he said he would, and after a few "where are you?" texts went unanswered, I decided that it would be best to send him an email, rationally asking him to explain himself.

That was the plan, anyway. In hindsight, it was like going to the grocery store hungry-you're going to wind up with a lot more junk food and impulse items in your cart. You don't send emails when you're angry. (Seriously...write that down...it's gold) Instead of a light missive, stating that I was disappointed, but hoped that there was nothing amiss, what I wrote was more along the lines of "What the hell is wrong with you?!? Why do you always blow me off?!? Aren't I good enough to even (redacted) anymore, cause I remember back when you used to beg me to (bleep) you, you (bleeping bleep)."

Ok, it might not have been that bad, but you get the gist. Shockingly, I did not get a response to that one. What I did get was a text while I was typing that said how sorry he was for the delay, and giving a very plausible reason for it. Yeah...I should have checked my messages before hitting [send] on that one.

So when presented with another personal issue this week, I was more careful. I waited two days, asked myself if I was still ticked off, and then carefully crafted an email that struck the right balance between "sane" and "psycho chick."

Now this was a slightly different situation, where I found myself upset about what a friend did to someone else. I spent an hour getting the wording right...aaaaand it bombed. Crashed and burned. It was a 4-11 fire with all units responding. What the heck?!? How could my carefully crafted email so miserably fail to help a person see the error of their ways?

I am still stinging from that fiasco. So, new rule...is someone about to die? No? Then keep your frakking mouth shut. If it bugs you that badly, write the other person off, but for the love of all that is holy, do NOT put pen to paper and lay your feelings on the line. Even if it is in a totally innocent way that any rational person would readily comprehend was only meant for the best.

I jest, but only a little. If you open a line of communication, you have to be prepared for the intended recipient to either 1) not pick up on their end, or 2) not agree that there was a problem in the first place, that is until you rocked the damn boat.

In evaluating these two situations (damn, I hate typing this on my phone...no access to a thesaurus to find another word for "scenario"), although the outcomes were not the ones I desired, and I may not have made my point in the most effective way, at least I can say that I stood up for what I believed at the time.

And really, I think that might be worth a couple pissed off people, now and then.

We are who we thought we were...sorta...kinda...maybe?

"We teach people how to treat us." Or so the saying goes. I can understand that concept - that if we allow people to run roughshod over us once, without adverse consequence, they will not have the incentive to treat us any better the next time around- but I have always felt this saying puts the blame on the someone for how other people act.

I am notorious for being unable to set boundaries. can't say "no" when I don't agree with people, and then I have had such guilt over how I let this happen over and over again. If no one can take advantage of you without your consent, what does this say about *me*?

I have trouble being honest with people when I think they have treated me poorly because I don't want to come across as a bitch, or a whiner, or - heaven forbid - a boat rocker. So I bite my tongue, or complain about the situation to everyone except the person who matters. I am incapable of just living in the moment

I was discussing this with a good friend of mine the other day, and she steered me to a book by Brene Brown, and then to some of her lectures that had been posted online:



Dr. Brown has advanced degrees in social work, and her primary work was in researching the origins of shame, guilt, and vulnerability. I cannot overemphasize how much her words resonated with me. I am so afraid of coming across as "uncool" that I keep myself guarded. It doesn't matter if the situation calls for me to assert myself or if I am trying to tell someone that I "like-like" them - either way, I am incapable of being open about my feelings.

I am looking forward to implementing some of the suggestions Dr. Brown makes. I tried a little bit in some correspondence to someone yesterday - tying to explain my feelings and asking for the person to explain theirs - but I don't think it went over very well, hahaha

The importance of being earnest

So, with the new gig starting next week, I have been trying to get more organized. I will be going from a boss who makes more mistakes and forgives more f#@$-ups than is legally allowed, to one who is the most anal control freak imaginable (seriously, today, he spent 5 minutes looking for one particular pen because he didn't want to sign a check with the black pen I offered him.) If boss #2 wasn't also a friend, I think I would shoot myself. That may still happen, by the way.

So, I am trying to get into the groove - first goal was to leave the house without having to go back inside for something I forgot. I know that this is possible, because I have seen other people do it on TV. And other people seem to be on-time with some regularity, so they either leave themselves an extra 30 minutes to go back and forth into their homes 10 times, or they are actually organized before they leave.

I was awesome this morning. I had to go to the post office and to the DMV. I needed to renew my license, and inform them of an address change. I remembered to find my lease, to show I really did move from number "60" to number "58" on the same freaking block. I had two things to mail, and since I can no longer swipe envelopes and postage from the office, I remembered to buy both things yesterday. I got everything all ready to go out first thing this morning. Yay, me!

Now one envelope was kinda important, but no big deal if it took a couple days to get to its destination. The second, however, was time-sensitive, since it had to be in the mail before this weekend. (I know, right? I cannot believe that I couldn't do it online). When I checked the fine print, however, I saw that the order had to be in their P.O. Box by 7am Thursday morning. WTF?

Luckily, the POB was just about 30 miles or so away, so I figured I would drive to that post office and have them just put it in the box. Rush hour traffic, snow, an effed-up mocha latte later, and there I was...10 feet from the place it needed to be by 7 a.m. (Side note - the post office's own bin said they only sorted mail from their box at 3 pm - why? It's not like they needed to drive to some remote area to pick it up! And they couldn't just put it in the mail box that was RIGHT THERE! Oh no, they insisted that it had to be sorted and processed. Ugh)

One chore down, I went to the DMV, where I was only about 30th in line and it only took 45 minutes to get a new license. I consider that trip a success, even if the lady at the counter asked me if I needed to change my listed weight (bitch), and I forgot to ask them to register me to vote at the new address. Oh well, I had the new piece of plastic, and it even has a better picture.

A couple other errands, and the fact that I was all done with my Christmas shopping, encouraged me to treat myself to a mani/pedi. I saunter back in my door about 7 hours after I left, all happy with my productive day.

I plopped down on the couch and glanced down at the coffee table. At the papers on the coffee table. At the order that was supposed to be in the envelope at the fracking post office, being sorted even now! Yup, I drove into the airport area at rush hour to mail an empty envelope.

But at least I didn't have to make a special trip back into the house for it!

Dancing with myself

So, I was just informed that I haven't written a post in a while. This isn't entirely true - I have actually written two this week, but I didn't post them because the idea fizzled out when I tried to put the words to paper, plus, I am getting a little tired of hearing myself whine, so I promised not to blog until I could have something funny to say.

Niki would laugh at a balloon with a mustache drawn on it with a sharpie (haha, oh, those crazy balloons!), but other people are more discriminating. So, while I have a few minutes while whitening my teeth (woot! girls' night out!), I thought I'd try again.

Yesterday would have been my Uncle Larry's 63rd birthday. No, wait! I promise this isn't sad! Since his birthday was always around Thanksgiving, when he and my aunt would come over for dinner, we'd celebrate his birthday, too.

My (ex-) husband and I had gone to Mexico in 1998 as a sort of pre-wedding honeymoon, and I brought back souvenirs for some friends and relatives. For my mom, I brought back a white lace tablecloth that some peddler assured me was hand-made (yeah, in Korea by a little old machine that only stamped these things out on Sundays). It was a pretty cover for the dining room table, though, and I was proud that mom brought it out for one of Larry's birthdays. (Mom will say this was for his 50th birthday, but that's impossible, since that was before I ever even went to Mexico - so pbbth mom)

Mom had the brilliant idea to put a candle for each of Larry's years on this earth on this little 9" round layer cake. There were scores of candles - at least 51 of them. The dining room was aglow with light - there was a gleam in Larry's eyes as he bent over to blow them out...

And away they blew - the flames leaped from the overburdened cake to the tablecloth, which had evidently been "handmade" out of the most flammable material known to postwar Vietnam or wherever. The damn thing was seven months old and it had a cake-sized hole in the cloth that was second only by the hole in my heart - a hole that could only be filled with a monumental guilt trip that I am just now dishing out 12 years later. Best served cold, baby...

(Did I ever mention that my parents seem to break EVERY gift I give them? Ask me about the picture I gave dad for Father's Day 1998 sometime.)

So, see? I actually can write a funny story about my past that is only slightly flavored with resentment!

Larry - we miss you terribly, thank you for the memories!

Waiting on the world to change

One of my favorite memories from when I was a kid was Christmas of 1984 (give or take). I would have been about 12 years old. My mother, my little sister and I went down to visit my aunt Jan and uncle Chuck, and their kids, on Christmas Eve. We must have stayed a little too long, though, because before we knew it, we were snowed in. The roads were way too bad to drive the 30+ miles back home.

We kids were devastated. How was Santa going to figure out how to find us? (Yes, I knew there wasn't a Santa by then, but still!) Any way you looked at it, there wasn't going to be a pile of presents under the tree for Sis and I. Oh the horror of having to watch our cousins open the gifts that were already waiting for them, in all their shiny glory.

Unknown to us, mom had called dad and asked him to try to gather up our presents and make the treacherous journey from BFE to my aunt's place. I don't know what time he finally made it down there (I have the impression of hearing him arrive, but it's kind of fuzzy).

The next morning, lo and behold! There were presents for everyone! Not content to have us suffer the ups and downs already gone through, my parents thought it would be oh-so-amusing to trick me into thinking that I wasn't going to get anything good, anyway. They had me unwrap presents in a certain order...the first thing I unwrapped was a set of leather straps. (get your mind out of the gutter! I was 12!), then a set of stirrups. Obviously, these are parts of a saddle and I was quivering with excitement.

"Don't get too worked up," they warned me. Times had been tough that year, and they couldn't afford the whole thing, so I would have to wait to get pieces here and there. (cue http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rWHniL8MyMM/">Johnny Cash )

Of course, they weren't really that cruel, they just liked me to think they were, I guess, and eventually the actual saddle part itself was brought out and happy tears abounded.

Oddly, their joke wasn't complete - they made me swear there was a Santa Claus before they'd let me have the whole thing.

Wait, why is this one of my favorite memories again? Seems more like psychological torture...hmm...

In this life

The second post in my "Shuffle" series is inspired by the country song "In This Life," by Collin Raye:

Let the world stop turnin'
Let the sun stop burnin'
Let them tell me love's not worth going through
If it all falls apart
I will know deep in my heart
The only dream that mattered had come true
In this life, I was loved by you

This is a romantic song, at heart, and it was actually the first song at my wedding forever ago. But the sentiments go beyond romance; they apply to any number of relationships that pass through our lives.

I commented recently about how common experiences aren't always enough to tie people together for very long. But this is about one of those relationships that stand the test of time and stress.

I have more acquaintances than really close friends, but among those people that know me the best (and love me, anyway) are my family. Specifically, my sister.

Sis is almost 6 1/2 years younger than me, and believe you me - the early years were rough. Circumstances beyond either of our control created some serious resentment on my part. I was positive that my parents loved more, wanted her more, and I still think they gave her an easier time, growing up :) I didn't like that I would have to come straight home from school to watch her. I hated that she didn't get punished for behavior that I was sure I used to be punished for. I have a lifetime of guilt built up for the way I used to tease her, tell her she was adopted, and all the awful things siblings do to each other.

It wasn't until I moved out of the house and got married that we started to become closer. We had a lot more in common by then - she was 18 and I was 25. But even then, I didn't consider her a "friend." I had my own life to focus on and I didn't spend much time thinking about her, and it wouldn't have occurred to me to confide in her.

Then a couple years ago, that all changed. I'm not sure exactly when, just suddenly she became vital to me, and not just someone I had to put up with at holidays. When she got sick, I was devastated, when she said that she was expecting, I was ecstatic. She was the first person I came out to, and the most understanding when I lost my baby. That moment, in particular, stands out...she didn't try to comfort me by soothing platitudes or that awful "it was for the best" that people say. Instead, she just crawled into bed next to me and held me. I don't think she even said anything.

We both have pretty busy lives, these days. She has work, her husband, and a two-year-old to take care of. But she drops me a text or two nearly every day (we love to exchange the funnier Texts From Last Night posts), and she send little messages on Facebook. She's the only person I know who sends letters that aren't included in Christmas cards.

I don't know what I'd do without you, spud. You make my life happier and you make it possible for me to get through some times when truly horrible things are going on in my head. I love you.

This is the story of a girl...

who cried a river and drowned the whole world...

I was tagged in a friend's note on Faceboook that asked the recipient to list (without editing for coolness factor) the first fifteen songs that came up when you set your MP3 player on "shuffle." It was a fun exercise and it occurred to me that it was an excellent way to come up with blog ideas.

I have a pretty eclectic mix of songs. Most of them were released at least ten years ago, and all of them were personally picked for a specific reason that meant a lot more to me back then. (Seriously? Taco?)

One of the songs that came up on my list was Nine Days' "Absolutely."

My interpretation of the song is that there is a girl whose lover makes false promises and makes her unhappy, but she insists on waiting for him, "wearing holes in the soles of her shoes," and crying rivers, but not doing anything about the situation.

"How many lovers would stay, just to put up with this shit day after day?" the narrator (who happens to be the faithless boyfriend) asks.

It is a valid question. What makes us stay in a situation that makes us unhappy? Why do we insist on a course of action (or inaction) that we would warn our friends against?

I fall under this category, myself. I am forever complaining about things that i have control over but am too much of a wuss to do anything about. So, my new motto is "WWMDISWGATSE" or what-would-Melinda-do-if-she-was-giving-advice-to-someone-else.

I recently got so fed up with the ineptitude of my boss and the utter chaos at my office that I quit. Without another job lined up. After years of trying to convince myself that having this job was better than nothing, I finally came to my senses. My sanity is far more important that making my boss look like a slightly better lawyer for the peanuts that he pays us. I would rather sleep on friends' couches than put up with the ungrateful skinflint for another month. My advice to myself? Leave and tell your boss exactly why you are leaving.

Naturally, the boss is in complete denial about why I quit and actually told me that has "six months" in the office pool about how long I last with the other attorney I am going to be doing some work for. Nice. Dude - I put up with you for the better part of six YEARS. I like my chances of putting up with someone else for six months.

But this principle needs to apply to other areas of my life, too:

• If I had a friend who bitched as much as I did, I would probably slap her.
• I spend way too much money on crappy food, then don't understand why I'm broke and fat.
• I spend way too much money on healthy food that then rots in my fridge while I order in.
• The disorganization in my home in no way helps the disorganization in my head.
• That whole "don't make someone a priority if they only treat you as an option" thingy probably has a lot to do with why I'm single and resentful.
• Get the eff out of the house, already!

I'll let you know how it goes :)

One is the loneliest number.

It seems to be a common occurrence that people who share a particular experience become closer...at least for a little while.

In high school, we are best friends with the people that we see every day. Once we graduate, we drift apart, and eventually the differences in our lives separate us, we just don't have much to talk about, any more. Sure, I consider myself to be friends with several people I went to high school with, but none of those relationships even come close to the "BFF" status that we used to share.

I don't have a single friend from college and my last close friend from grad school recently got married and I had to find out by seeing her post a picture of the happy couple on Facebook.

It's a fact of life that, well *life* gets in the way. A lack of common experiences or differences in our lifestyles inevitably interferes.

I am sure that there are exceptions; I bet hiding a body ties people together for a very long time. And most people remember "where they were" when events occur that affect a large group of people (assassination of JFK, 9/11, moon landing). Years, decades later, people will reminisce and the shared experience brings an echo of the original event.

Still, it is sometimes difficult for me to comprehend how an event that is powerful for *me* doesn't affect others in the same way. Have you ever started to tell a friend about this crazy thing that happened to you, only to be met with a blank stare? Granted, I think that this happens to me more than it does to most people (I swear I can hear my mother going over a mental grocery list when I'm on the phone with her), but still.

Yes, a little perspective is in order; something that only happened to me will obviously not move someone else to the same level. But if two people share an experience - be it good, bad or ugly - what accounts for the different ways in which they process and even remember it?

Several months ago, I had a conversation with someone about a situation we both went through last year. I am still pretty upset about it all, but he didn't even remember it. How was that even possible? Clearly, just because an event is important in my mind doesn't mean that anyone else would think so.

So maybe my first sentence is more wishful thinking than truth?

Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

Why is it so difficult to say what is really on our minds? I am not talking about the general bitching and moaning, but really telling expressing our emotions - good and bad.

I've said before that I am TMI girl. Ask me anything and I will tell you. Hell, I don't usually even wait to be asked. But even the most intimate details I share aren't expressive of who *I* am - just of what I do. I try my best to keep my emotions in check, not wanting to appear like some weak girl who - gasp! - actually has feelings.

What I have been working on, though, is eliminating the passive-aggressive behaviors that seem to go hand-in-hand with keeping my true emotions hidden. It is a behavior I abhor in others. If someone is upset with me, I would prefer to be told about it, than to have things said behind my back, or to have someone drop little "hints."

So, knowing all this...knowing that nothing will be resolved unless I state what I need from others, why is it still so difficult to do? Obvious answer is that I am afraid of the outcome. If I tell a friend that s/he has done something that upsets me, I am afraid to cause even more grief for myself. Or, if I have feelings for someone, I am afraid to say something in case it isn't reciprocated. Been burned a few too many times on that one.

So, if open communication is the way to better understanding of interpersonal relationships, how do you get past the fear of exposing yourself, emotionally?

As You Like It

I am crazy. No, don't argue - it's true. Just ask...well, anyone who knows me. I'm not crazy in a "let's get drunk and jump off a building" way, but I seriously think my mind just does not handle logic well.

This was a rough week for me for the simple reason that I was living inside my head too much and over-analyzing *everything.* Real example: "She said that she liked my shoes. What does she mean by that? Does she know that they came from Target and she's actually making fun of me?"

I am lucky enough to have friends who will not only put up with my neuroses, but actually try to help me work through some of them. Thanks to them, yesterday I realized what had been bothering me this week was that a certain event triggered some self-esteem issues that I have. Yay, problem solved, right?

So, this morning I am thinking even more and I came to the insane conclusion that I want a "significant other." This idea is crazy for a few reasons. First, I don't think I am a very good girlfriend (no, really, I have proof in the form of several crazy emails and social media posts from my most recent boyfriend). Second, I don't want the responsibility that comes from being someone else's significant other.

But most importantly, I have the world's worst taste in appropriate partners. I seem to find the people with one thing in common with me and try to build it into a basis for a meaningful relationship. Real examples: "but we both enjoy sex/football/Coen brothers films, why shouldn't we be together?!?"

It's easy enough to find an object of my affections (see above), but finding someone else who feels the same way about me is a challenge. (duh)

My sense of what a relationship should be does not necessarily jive with most contemporary norms. I don't want to live with someone else, I certainly don't want to get married. I don't like to be tied down and I have difficulty telling a partner that I *need* them. (I like to feel that I am too strong to *need* anyone else and besides, them knowing you need them gives them power over you, right?)

What I really want is someone to ground me, someone who will comfort me when I need it, reassure me when I'm low, but who isn't clingy or expecting more than the same from me. I've referred to it before as the "tether to my kite." I want to be able to flit about and explore, but still have a safe base return to. Selfish? Absolutely. But if you can't be selfish in what you want from a relationship, both people will end up miserable.

I am sure this feeling will pass...it usually does, but until then, I am going to read some romance novels and further develop my unrealistic expectations...

some self-reflective bullshit

I like to be valued. I can put up with a lot of crap if I think that my efforts are noticed. One of the reasons I am able to put up with my job is that I can see concrete, immediate evidence when I do a good job. Even if the final outcome of a project doesn't come for months or years, there are enough intermediate milestones along the way to give me some satisfaction. Unfortunately, the reverse is also true: I can get very down on myself when the smallest things go wrong.

The same thing goes in my personal life. I try to do things for friends, both intimate and social, that show that I care and actually think about them. I get more of a rush from finding the perfect gift, and seeing the recipient pleasantly surprised, than I do from receiving gifts. (Although admittedly, that's awesome, too!)

But I am not always thoughtful. I am notoriously late, even after someone sat me down and explained to me how insensitive it is to always keep people waiting. I am tactless. I have used sarcasm to make myself seem funny at the expense of other people. On more than one occasion, I have blown people off because I didn't feel like living up to my commitments. I feel bad when I think about it later, but damned if I can remember to be nice at the same point I am feeling cranky.

It is hard to come to a realization that I am not always a nice person. I'd like people to like me. I would like to be considered a cool, reliable chick. But at this point, I doubt I can change my inherent nature.

Parallax

Given two disparate versions of a story, the saying is that the truth lies somewhere in the middle. Someone seeking to know what "really" happened must consider the different sides and extrapolate the truth.

The process is further confused by the fact that one's concept of reality is not a necessarily a constant. A person's perception of the truth can change, depending on her point of view.

Hold a finger at arm's length straight in front of you. Close one eye, then the other. Your finger seems to move, shifting anywhere from inches, to feet away, depending on your focus. The phenomenon of an object apparently moving when viewed along a different line of sight is called parallax and in the example above, it is because of the spacing between your eyes.

Why the physics lesson, you ask? It seems to me that people are becoming more and more polarized about hot-button issues. The farther apart two people are on an issue, the more likely that both of them are wrong.

This came to my attention this week when people started commenting on blogs, social media sites, et cetera, about the seeming rash of suicides apparently caused by peer bullying. Specifically, young adults being "outed" as gay, bullied or teased by their contemporaries, and then these people killing themselves as a result.

There are many issues in play in these stories: bullying, non-hetero* attraction, and suicide - not to mention the media's playing up all three in order to create a buzz that ups readership.

This note isn't meant to comment on the right/wrong/other of any of these particular issues. But as someone who has had to personally come to terms with the ramifications of all three, I feel qualified to say that in this instance everyone is wrong when they impose their own point of view on another person's actions.

I have no doubt that some people who preach about the "sin" of homosexuality* actually do think they are helping. Likewise, I heard people comment on the "selfishness" of suicide. I do not begrudge them their opinions, I just realize that they are coming at this from a different angle than I am.

You cannot possibly know what is going through someone else's mind. Even seeing someone else's actions does not give you any special insight into what their intent was when that action was taken. Regardless of your personal opinion on sexuality, suicide or the role parents and authority figures should take when teaching children about the world...you can NEVER know what is best for someone else.

Even parents themselves can only "do their best" when making decisions for their children, and the implications of their decisions may never be fully known.

*(I used a binary sexuality for simplification of my readers, some of whom cannot fathom anything beyond "straight" or "gay.")

So...tell me about yourself

This has come up a couple times in the last week, and as I start sending out resumes and (fingers crossed) going on interviews, I expect that it will come up even more often.

Tell me about yourself.

The stats are easy: age, job, hobbies. Even the surface personality traits slip off the tongue. I am so used to being self-involved (read egocentric), and it seems like I talk about myself so much that you'd think this would be a simple request to fulfill. Hell, I have a blog where I tell the most mundane details of my life. I often consider myself an open book.

On further reflection, though, I realized that I don't tell the same things to everyone. I have friends to whom I tell sordid details of my love life, but I never discuss my hopes and dreams with them. I have others that I share my life goals with, but never tell them about the experiences in my past that helped to shape those goals. With each different group of friends, I present a different side of myself: there are professional friends, flirty friends, romantic interests, other damaged souls, kindred spirits.

So when a new acquaintance asked me to tell him something about myself that most people don't know, I was actually stumped. This person hasn't been categorized yet. I don't know what facet of myself I will present at future meetings. What if I start to treat him as an acquaintance with a common hobby and he turns out to be something else, entirely?

It makes me wonder if I will ever be able to integrate these different roles. The general fiction is that if you find a "soul mate," you should be able to be an open book and they will accept every part of who you are. ha.

And oh boy, the feeling that comes when you share some deep secret and you get (or at least feel) rejected for it...there's a reason they call that "heartache." Even writing this, I feel a tightening in my chest when I think of a recent conversation. Someone who had seemed to be so accepting of who I was, even encouraging, told me to stop telling them things because they were too disturbing. How do I not take that as a rejection of myself? How do I not, then, rehash everything I've ever told this person and wonder which parts of myself are being silently judged? Or even worse - openly judged.

A rejection of what I do is a rejection of who I am. I am the sum of my parts, but while some parts are appealing, sometimes the whole is a big ol' mess. So I compartmentalize myself. I keep up walls. It is a natural protective measure. And every "sling and arrow" adds another layer of insulation around my core, until the very thought of stripping down to my bare essentials fills me with panic.

My initial idea was to send this blog post to the new acquaintance, but I immediately started to analyze what the reaction would be. Will I be considered a drama queen? Narcissistic? Living too much inside my head and not enough in the real world? I imagine that his response would be "holy cow, I only meant something like 'I secretly hate cats.'"

So, instead, I will say something innocuous about how I had a job milking cows when I was nine. I will walk the line between being flirty and being funny, probably coming off a little flighty, and he will tell our mutual friends they were right: I am a fun person, with a breezy personality who doesn't take life too seriously (since that is the facet I present to this crowd).

And I'll throw on another brick.

Time Management

I have always been a procrastinator, like from birth. Seriously, ask my mom: I was three weeks overdue.

I spent some time yesterday cleaning...and by that I mean doing dishes and throwing away old junk mail. My bedroom is a disaster of clean, but wrinkled, clothes that were on the bed but now are on the floor. (How is it that I have so many clothes and never have anything to wear?) But as soon as I was able to clear a path through the mess, my enthusiasm was decidedly over.

I know there are people who clean up as soon as they are done cooking, never leave a towel on the floor, and whose floorboards are spotless. These freaks insist on cleaning and "getting stuff done" before they sit down to watch TV.

Me? The only reason I have clean spoons is because I canceled my cable last week and I'm tired of Vampire Wars on Facebook.

But are these other people any happier than I am? Are their lives improved? I used to be like them...back when I was married and felt I had to live up to the hype. But now...oh lordy, a nap is so much more inviting.

Runaway Train

I have had this song in my head for a week now: Soul Asylum's Runaway Train. This verse, in particular, has been resonating with me:

Can you help me remember how to smile,
Make it somehow all seem worthwhile,
How on earth did I get so jaded?
Life's mystery seems so faded.

I've written a lot of posts along the line of "Men make plans and God laughs." But how do you judge if your plans are successful in the first place? Some plans just ache to fail. (e.g. my marriage to someone so wholly different from myself, starting a company with no business plan or even a budget, eating half a bag of snack-size Hershey's Cookies 'n' Creme without throwing up...)

Other plans seem to fail, but really have unexpected benefits (being married to someone so wholly different from myself encourages me to go back to school for a little mental stimulation, a personal loss makes me reevaluate relationships and the nature of "want" versus "need.")

And then there are plans that haven't come to fruition, but haven't crashed and burned yet, either. (Now that I have a better grasp on what I need in my relationships, how is that going to impact my behavior, and what will the changes I am making mean to the friendships I've developed so far?)

It would be easy to throw up my hands and give up hope that any of my dreams or goals will happen. I freely admit that I do not have a knack for business, nor do I have that sense of purpose that seems to be natural to "successful" people. I see the failures that happened when I did try hard to accomplish something and I contrast that with the times that my lazy ass fell into something good, through absolutely no effort of my own, and I have to wonder what lessons I'm supposed to take from the past 37 years. Because, frankly, I sometimes think that I was more "successful" when I was seventeen.

But - just like when I am saved from my own mistakes by some happenstance - when I am getting close to despair, inevitably something will hit me that makes me realize that (a) I am not the only one in this boat; (b) there are just as many people worse off than me as there are better off; (c) I have friends and family that love me dearly, even when I screw up; and (d) there is so much beauty in this world if you just look for it.

I got this jaded by counting the crappy things in my life instead of the good stuff. So, without further ado, things that made me happy in the last week:

1. Amy's photo of a caterpillar;


2. My niece calling me "Kiki" and holding up her arms for me to pick her up;


3. A friend telling me that they liked making me smile;


4. Putting aside my social anxiety to make new friends;


5. Keeping my cool is an awkward situation;


6. That my fingers remembered how to play one of my favorite songs on the guitar;


7. Another friend taking a picture of me (that I think made me look like an albino hippo with a bad dye job) and saying how pretty I looked;


8. Running into old friends and getting to catch up;


9. Getting to explain a football term to a girlfriend and having her be all impressed, even though I just learned it myself and I'm pretty sure I got it wrong;


10. Finding gasoline for $2.65/gallon;


11. Being asked to make a cake for one friend's birthday and a pie for another one's;


12. That I will be able to quote Star Wars episodes IV, V and VI completely by heart because I canceled my cable and have been making do watching my old DVDs over and over (and over...)


and lastly


13. learning how to do numbered lists with html

Coda

SLAM!

Beth flew down the porch steps as the screen door crashed into the side of the single-wide trailer. Her stepfather, Frank’s, yells faded into the background as the nine-year-old ran to the next street and turned the corner.

Her heart pounding, Beth eased up, slowing to a trot before finally coming to a rest at a small strand of trees near the edge of the trailer park’s retention pond. The street lights that had come on at dusk barely reached this far out, but there was still enough light left to see the uneven ground. Beth flopped to the grass on her stomach, rubbing at a stitch in her left side while she caught her breath.

Stifling a sneeze from the tall grass and weeds, she wondered at her own brazenness at running away. She hated that her mom had forced her come along on this visit to Frank’s mother in rural Tennessee. Beth barely knew the woman; the old hag was scrawny and strict and smoked an endless train of Parliments.

But, the grown-ups had felt the need to show off Mrs. Kapinski’s rapidly swelling belly; a physical manifestation of the squeaks, moans and other nightly sounds Beth had been suffering through for the six months since her mom remarried.

Beth stuck out her tongue in defiance and flipped over onto her back. The grass was warm and only slightly scratchy. After a few minutes, the cicadas and pond frogs got over the disturbance her sudden appearance had caused and restarted their familiar noises. Soothed, Beth looked up at the stars beginning to appear in the sky above her.

She idly traced the blister that was forming on her right forearm; unused to the cheap twist-and-turn knob on the trailer's bathroom door, Beth had accidentally locked herself in earlier that afternoon. In her panic, she’d begun screaming and banging on the door to get out. Frank had to take the door off its hinges to get her out. As soon as the door was removed and Beth had seen his face, blurry through her tears, she’d known she was in for it.

Sure enough, Frank had grasped her arm and yanked her out of the tiny bathroom, smacking at her backside whenever he could reach it past her squirming. Beth’s mom quickly convinced him to take her for a ride in their old Chevy, leaving Beth alone with Frank’s mother. The witch had promptly put the lit end of her cigarette to Beth’s arm as punishment for upsetting her "father."

It was Beth's reaction to that term that led to Frank's mother calling her an ungrateful bastard - leading to another confrontation when her mom and Frank returned about 15 minutes ago.

Beth didn't want to think about what was going to happen when she went back to the trailer. Her bravado started to fade as she realized the enormity of what she'd done. She was hours from home or anyone she knew and now that she thought about it, she realized how hungry she was.

As if in concert with her growing fear, the insects once again fell silent, and a split-second later Beth heard the crack of a branch being stepped on. Something was coming through the brush on the other side of the pond. The deepening dark hid the intruder in shadows and Beth held her breath...

The one where I curse Michele for reminding me of freshman English class

A few months ago, I was whining about my dissatisfaction with my life, and my own lack of motivation. A friend challenged me to actually do something about it. I accepted the challenge and promptly sat back on the couch and forgot about it. She finally got sick of my excuses and told me to "[write] a story about what your perfect life would be if you didn't have any financial or physical limitations."

During my freshman year of college, in my English 101 class, I was given an assignment to write about my own personal hero. It was a purely subjective topic; who can say what makes someone a "hero" to another person? I wrote that I did not have a "hero," but that I admired my mother for the way she conducted her life. I got a C- on the paper. Not because of the writing style, or any technical deficiencies, but simply because the grad student who taught the class didn't like that I didn't follow the rest of the class in writing about Ghandi or Mother Theresa, or any of the other typical heroes.

He offered me the chance to rewrite the paper. I next wrote that while it was good to have people to look up to, it seemed that the public chose heroes based on a particular skill set (athletic prowess, charm, physical appearance, public works) and not on how a person handled themselves on a day-to-day basis. I criticized the assignment as short-sighted and superficial. I got an F on the rewrite, but I stood by my sentiment.

I look at my mother and I see someone who may not be satisfied with how her life turned out, but who is determined to wake up and meet her obligations every day. She didn't get a chance to go to college (I couldn't say if she ever really wanted to), began working at an early age, and then became a single mother. She married my father when I was young, had another daughter, and re-entered the workforce.

What hopes and dreams did she have for herself before her life changed? Did she even think that she had options beyond being a wife and mother and working at a pink-collar job until she retired? About 15-20 years ago, I asked her if she had to do it [being a single mom] all over again, would she? She thought a minute and said, "no." It hurt me deeply at the time - to think that her life wasn't satisfying enough and that she had such regrets that she never voiced. I understand her answer a lot better now.

It's not every day that you get the chance to truly help out someone else, in a spectacular fashion. There are unsung heroes in all of our lives. Not just the people who volunteer, or make massive contributions to worthy causes, but those who plod along their daily lives with minimal complaints.

So, although I can't turn back time - and really, considering the consequences to myself, I wouldn't - if I had unlimited financial resources, I would give my mother whatever she wanted. I expect that she would make different choices with this opportunity than she would have if she'd been presented with it 38 years ago. I expect that she would travel some, with or without the rest of us. She'd probably then buy a property somewhere where she would relax. She probably wouldn't settle too close to her family, if for no other reason than for a change of pace.

I suppose this isn't technically writing about what my perfect life would be, but then again I never was good at following directions. Besides, it would be worth it to see my mother get the chance to spread her wings, even this late in the game. And that would be perfect.

Paradigm Shift

After a year and a half of putting my soul onto paper through various diaries, journals and blogs, I am done. Although it has been therapeutic, it is also exhausting and at some point becomes nothing more than an exercise in "mental masturbation."

So I am shifting my focus to something more productive and forward looking. A dear friend has challenged me to put my money where my mouth is and to submit my writings for publication.

The title of this blog means "little bites" and was intended to be for short commentaries about my life. The title will fit nicely with the new focus of short commentary on the world that surrounds me, rather than that which lies within.

I will leave up the past posts for a while, and then remove them . They may or may not resurface ata later date and on a different forum.

Thank you all for your indulgence.

M

Great Expectations

EXPECTATION: ex·pec·ta·tion
Pronunciation: \ˌek-ˌspek-ˈtā-shən, ik-\
Function: noun
Date: 1540

1 : the act or state of expecting : anticipation
____

Time flies. Each day brings a new milestone, an anniversary, a turning point. Some experiences fade into memory, others seem as fresh as if they happened yesterday. One year ago I was wondering how I was going to cope with the difficulties ahead, but I embraced the challenge wholeheartedly. I counted each day with pleasure. I was proud of every symptom.

I started out ok today, but I am a master of "what ifs." I've waited for just one word of acknowledgment from the other person who lost something along with me. It isn't logical, but then again, emotions seldom are. I feel like I was robbed, that someone else is living the life I was supposed to have. I don't know why I still feel hurt after all that's passed between us. Water under the bridge deep enough to drown in. I walk the line between forgiveness and rage, acceptance and denial.

Then, just when I felt that I had a grip on things, I read about this:



According to the Chicago Tribune, Park Forest police responded to an emergency call from a six-year-old boy. When they arrived at the home, they found the boy unsupervised and an eight-year-old girl with cerebral palsy - harnessed and chained up, wearing a diaper and covered in her own filth.

Renee Dennis, the girl's aunt and the boy's mother, and the boy's father, Paul Coleman, have been charged with "felony criminal neglect of a disabled person and endangering the life or health of a child." Coleman is also charged with failing to register as a sex offender. cbs2chicago.com reports that "Coleman was charged in 1998 with aggravated criminal sexual abuse of a 6-year-old child. He was sentenced to three years in state prison, authorities said."

What kind of expectations did this girl have? Was she even aware that there was a world outside of her personal hell? And the boy who called the police - is this the only life he knew during his short six years? What kind of adult would he have become - assuming that he even survived his childhood with these animals?

Dennis, 35, was given a $3,000 bond. Coleman, 38, is being held on a $5,000 bond.

Yours truly, 37, looks back to Mother's Day 2009 - when she was full of hopes and dreams and great expectations for the future - and no amount of money can bring back that feeling. But one word would have gone a long way.

This space for rent...inquire within

Ok, y'all, it's official. I am smitten. No, seriously. I really mean it this time. And, he's smitten with me...so already he's ahead of pretty much everyone I've dated in the past 2 1/2 years.

This is really weird. He has seen me without makeup and still said I'm attractive, and I'm pretty sure that he meant it!

He is willing to come over for my monthly board game event and meet my friends. He cooked for me (and didn't ask me to clean up! yay!) We have a lot of the same outlooks on life and relationships. This is getting eerie...

There are only a couple hiccups that I can see - First, he recycles. Like worms and compost and environmental happy green stuff. And he eats healthy food. No red meat. The only time I ever gave up meat was when they butchered my 4-H project cow. And that lasted all of a couple days until Mom tempted me with bbq ribs. Some days the only vegetable I eat is the lettuce that comes on my burger. And recycling? Does reusing my CVS plastic bags as garbage bin liners count?

Thankfully, we share an affection for Taco Bell. I think that is a firm enough foundation to start from. Even if he gets meatless burritos.

Ah yes, we meet again...

Never let it be said that I use people solely for my own amusement...well at least, not without giving something in return ;)

You may recall about a month ago, when I posted about being spurned in favor of a child's talent show. Well, our schedules finally managed to mesh - no more family obligations on his part, no more tongue-in-cheek snits on my part - and we went out on Friday to one of my favorite places. A BBQ joint out by Mchenry County, near where I used to live.

Yes, BBQ on a first date. I figured if me blogging about him, and then him seeing me stuff pulled pork in my mouth, dribbling sauce all over, didn't make him run for cover, I would know I found a winner.

And what do you know? I had a great time, as (he tells me) did he. Plans are in the works for the second date.

So, M, thanks for being such a good sport :D

The lunatic fringe

I actually had a fairly upbeat post planned today - all about the joy I feel when the sun is shining, the flowers are blooming, the trees are budding and the birds singing...

But then I figured no one would believe that I wrote it.

This has been a weird weekend for me. I'm not sure how I could feel so many ups and downs in a 48-hour period, all without traveling more than a mile from my house and interacting with total of 4 people.

Spring is a time of awakening, but for many years now, it has been a time of flux for me. The spring fever combines with reality and I feel like a stranger in my own skin. The world seems so full of possibilities that I can't take advantage of. I feel frustrated and dissatisfied. I tend to withdraw from friends and family, preferring to lick my metaphysical wounds in private.

The ache doesn't really even want to be soothed. I nurture the pain, feeding it with memories of slights, might-have-beens and roads not traveled. I'm not fit company for man nor beast. Although I will consider getting a cat so that we can glare at and then ignore each other.

sigh

It will pass...it always does, but until then? Well, I recommend keeping a minimum safe distance of at least a mile.

...and the regular crowd shuffles in...

I am feeling old today. Not just from the general aches and pains of being in a late-30's body that's seen better days, but because I think I have become too predictable.

Even my quirks can be seen coming a mile away.

I will always set my alarm early, so that I can hit snooze several times before getting up. I will turn on the news while I check online to see if anything interesting happened in Facebook world. I will run through the insane list of FB games I insist on keeping up with, realize that it's suddenly an hour later, decide not to bother with my hair and rush out the door 10 minutes later than I'd planned.

I will probably decide to drive to work, instead of taking the el, because I am so late. I will hit a butt-load of traffic on Lake Shore Drive, curse myself once more for not getting my ass in gear, and run to the courthouse to my first call.

I will make it by the skin of my teeth, with no bad consequences - thereby not learning any lesson for the next morning.

I will stop at Au Bon Pain for the spinach and cheese croissant, read whatever paper someone left at the table, then trudge back to the office. Gab with co-workers, try to be productive. Fail miserably. Leave and go home to veg on the couch. More Facebooking. Go to bed.

Rinse and Repeat.

Once in a long while I will do something interesting. A couple years ago I took guitar lessons. I joined a gym (but rarely went). I joined a social club this year, that I occasionally hang out at. And I veg on their couch.

This is not the life of a single girl in the city! So, I need a plan, I need motivation. I need to get excited about something. But every time I come up with something, I just feel overwhelmingly tired.

I swear I couldn't make this stuff up

So, I have a busy few weeks ahead of me: many social obligations, plans with friends, my sister's birthday, my father's birthday, Easter, doctor's appointments, plus going back to work after being out of the office for a week with a minor knee surgery.

Now, I had plans to meet up with a guy. I thought the plans were for Saturday, so I kept Saturday free and made plans for Friday. Turns out that I had the day wrong, so I switched everything around, and made Friday available.

Then he calls me last night. We have a great conversation for about an hour. He told me about this amazing documentary he'd been working on, we discussed our lives' journeys, etc...the usual getting-to-know-you stuff.

Then he says that there is a reason he called. Of course, I am thinking that it is to firm up Friday's plans. But no, it was to cancel. Natch, cause that's been my lot lately. No big deal...plenty of notice. But it was the reason.

To go to his ex-stepsister's kids' talent show.

Folks, this is a new low. I was passed over for a child's recital.

Kidney shot to my ego.

lol

(cherry on top? "I hope this doesn't make it into your blog.")

Sorry, M...just too good to pass up :)

Happy Spring!

Ah, springtime in Chicago...70° and sunny one day, 30° and snow the next. An apt analogy to life in general.

I have talked to people from out of town who visit Chicago in the spring and summer, and without exception, they have been amazed at how the tiniest jump in temperature brings the locals out in shorts and flip-flops, when most sane people are still bundled up.

We are a hardy bunch up here, no doubt, and we know how to make the most of what we get. How can you really appreciate a 45° day in February or March, if you hadn't had a below-zero windchill the day before? And how else to explain why my mother insists on having a pool, even though she only gets to use it a couple dozen times a year?

And in the spirit of experiencing the nasty so that the not-so-good seems all that much better, I think I will go make snow angels before taking a shower with a broken water heater...

It's all about perspective.

Still waters run deep.

That phrase was tailor-made for me. I often appear calm and secure, but underneath is a torrent of emotion.

I hate to appear weak; I'd say it was because of the male-dominated career I am in, but truthfully I have been like this almost as long as I can remember...

Like every other person who is not a hermit, I have suffered my share of embarrassments and humiliations. I've always tried to avoid them by being guarded and keeping a close clamp on my emotional output.

The practical result of this is that I've cultivated many acquaintances and very few friends. I don't think there is a single person who has ever known more than a few facets of me. Some may know more than others, and some may know some of the deeper aspects, but I am very careful to avoid revealing myself fully.

All of these walls sometimes make for a lonely existence.

So I promised myself that I would put myself out there, try to be more open to new things, to having fun, to creating *real* friends and not just people I occasionally hang out with.

And the practical result of that, of course, is that I am getting hurt again. You can't put yourself "out there" without the jeopardy of stumbling. And sometimes others will see you stumble. And sometimes they will laugh. And most of the time that will hurt.

But how do you know you're alive if you never have the dark side to make the light that much brighter?

Cheers.

The care and feeding of Melinda

So, I had a great first date with a guy last Wednesday, with an even better follow-up on Friday. Ended Friday evening with a nice kiss, plans to catch a movie the next week and a promise to "call you Sunday" to firm them up.

Now given the fact that I am a human being with a life of my own, deserving of at least as much respect than you'd give your garden-variety dog walker, what kind of girl would I be if allowed him to wait until Tuesday at 7pm to ask me out for a movie on Wednesday night?

A girl with "doormat" written on her forehead, that's what kind.

Luckily for me, I have a mirror, so I double-checked and sure enough! Nothing written up there. Having verified that, I was confident in telling him that I was busy, but I could fit him in for a quick drink after work on Friday before my other plans, thank you very much.

:P

Change of pace

So, I actually had a fantastic week! There was no drama, no badness, no histrionics...

*Lucy did not remove the football at the last minute, and when I realized that she wasn't going to, the urge to run at the ball just dissipated. Mission accomplished and we went out for ice cream :)

*I had a great first date with an intriguing someone, and have plans for a second...

*A wonderful friend discovered that she is pregnant after a long time of trying...

*I ended the week with more money than I started it with...

Now, I am going to take a nap before heading out to hang with some friends. This week has reminded me of how easy, breezy life used to be.

Yay!

I only wish that I could write this well...

The following is not my work - I ran across it on another site, where the author prefers to remain anonymous:

***

How do you let go?

When you're convinced beyond anything else you've ever known that you've met The One, and suddenly, like that, they're gone...

How do you let go?

You just do.

You close your eyes one last time and fall. With the same faith and trust you gave to holding on, you let go. When you open your eyes, you realize that you're not falling, you're not floating, you are in fact standing. Standing tall and proud, yourself again.

You start to ask yourself the same questions, only this time, you hear them honestly. We loved each other like no one before, how can he/she just walk away? You begin to hear the truth that has been laying inside of the question the entire time... you didn't. He/She didn't. It wasn't.

IF the two of you truly loved this way, it would not have ended. It did. And murder/suicide love, while sexy, is not love at all.

I love you, it's over. I'll never forget you, I can not be near you, it's over. There will never be another, I love you more than you'll ever know, it's over.

None of this makes sense, it never did. It left you confused and holding on. It was suppose to do exactly that.

And you fell for it. Not to worry, we all do, at least once.

Then suddenly, it hits you. This need of you, this obsession with you, this overwhelming desire to possess every part of you that he/she always told you about... had nothing to do with you. Nope. You didn't even need to be there. If not you, it would have been someone else.

Because this person who sold you the moon and forever wrapped tightly (too tight) in angels and unicorns, is obsessed, needs to possess. This is just who this person is. They use words like: fate, destiny, kismet, "meant to be", if this were true, why was it such a struggle to remain? To be inside of? Why did it hurt more times than it felt good? Why did it always seem better after a fight? A split?

And your relationship wasn't really a lie, but it was hardly the truth.

Because you did love. You were honest. You gave all until there was no more give. When you got to the end of your rope, instead of just letting go, you tied a knot to hold onto... you hoped. You loved.

It's ok to untie that knot now. It's ok to let go. With this liberation, so too, goes the hurt.

Then, you forgive.

You must. Because in the end, you are free... they are not. They will have this "destiny" they seek. They are destined to repeat this over and over again. Because this is all they know. Because no matter how much you gave, how much you tried to make them see that real love does exist and romantic "kill me now" love is only skin deep, still, their eyes remain shut tight. While you walk away, they are stuck there within themselves, ever more.

So you forgive. With an open and honest heart, you forgive one last time.

You miss your friend, you always will. But the hurt is gone.

You let go.

Anatomy of a soon-to-be-failed relationship

(1) Girl gets introduced to Boy by friend. Friend tells Boy "you have a lot in common with Girl." Boy looks over Girl, shrugs, makes minor small talk and walks away. Girl hates Boy.

(2) Two weeks later, Girl is at the bar, looking particularly hot and wearing those eff-me thigh-high boots. Boy suddenly finds Girl much more interesting. Girl plays it cool and gives him her email address (*not* her phone number.)

(3) Girl waits. Boy becomes more intriguing the longer she waits.

(4) Boy emails! Asks Girl's schedule for the next week! Suggests drinks/dinner/talking! Girl eagerly emails back open days, sends phone numbers.

(5) Girl waits. Three effing days. Boy is now the most worthless piece of crap ever. He is the shortest, dorkiest old man ever, and just who does this lame Jewish boy think he is to blow off an amazing red-head with bodacious knockers?

(6) Boy emails, suggests a date two days from now. On a Wednesday. (?) Girl ponders whether this is normal these days. Her dating record has been spotty for a couple years now. Girl quickly clears Wednesday's schedule, vows to blow off everyone. Sends back acceptance of date...

(7) and waits...

And in a moment of forgivness...

Part of my recent (r)evolution has been to put the past behind me and finally move beyond past slights and hurts. I have been holding on fiercely to my high horse, certain that since (if?) I was in the right, I didn't need to forgive, let alone forget.

I started making a list of things that people had done that pissed me off. From little things (my sister "borrowing" and then "misplacing" my clothes when we were younger, lol) to much larger ones [examples redacted since pointing fingers is the exact opposite purpose of this post].

What really got my attention was this - for each line item, I realized that I still cared about the person that I was mad at. I dug a little further and thought about other wrongs that I wasn't as upset about. There were at least two that I would objectively consider as large an offense as the worst ones that upset me, but I wasn't really mad at those people. In fact, I hardly ever even though about what they'd done.

It was those I'd loved who had hurt me the most. In most cases, I had even professed to have forgiven them. But I hadn't really, not in my heart. Why is it so much easier to get over something if I don't care about the person who did it? Why is it so much harder to forgive someone that I love? And how do I bridge the gap...

I do see some hope, though. Oddly enough, one of my longest-running streaks of distrust and anger was recently ended through an event that echoed the original. The "offender" was around when I was dealing with a nearly identical action by someone else. With one well-timed gesture and the right words, I realized that I was a fool to hold a grudge for so long. The relief was almost overwhelming.

I have had such high expectations for the people I surround myself with. I expect them to always mean what they say and follow through with it, to always be there when I need them and to know what I need and want without me telling them. If I deign to love someone, dammit, they'd better be worthy of that love, otherwise, they are scum.

What a bunch of bullshit. No one can possibly live up to that level of stress. (Hell, I sure don't.) It is really a defense mechanism on my part - if I set the bar ridiculously high, then the inevitable disappointment is just that: inevitable. And I can look down on those that didn't live up to my unrealistic expectations.

So I'm climbing down now. It was getting pretty cold and lonely up there...

the best-laid plans...

I would be the first to admit that this is not how I expected my life to turn out: single at 37, with a part-time job and living in a one-bedroom apartment. I have a failed marriage, untold failed relationships, no children, and a stalled career under my belt.

But oddly enough, I am in one of the happiest periods of my life. The trials and tribulations have only helped me appreciate what I *do* have.

I have a wonderful family that has stuck by me through some incredibly difficult times. They have taken each revelation in stride, without judgment or censure, and made it known that I am loved.

I have a small, but incredibly important core group of friends that accepts my quirks with good-natured teasing, tempered with understanding and not a little bit of patronizing humor.

I have a career...period. I might not get paid much, but my education can never be taken away from me. "Knowledge is power" indeed.

I have had life experiences that have only strengthened my natural self-resolve. With the support of my parents, I put myself through college and law school - an achievement that I tend to overlook sometimes when I get overwhelmed with the emotional and financial cost of it all, but sometimes even I am in awe of what I've been able to accomplish academically with such an inherently lazy nature :)

I have loved and lost and not become a totally bitter person. Granted, I have my moments, but even then I can realize that each relationship has brought me something positive, and I am proud that to each person I have said the words "I love you," I meant it when I said it, and was able to walk away from each on a positive, note.

I have known the utter joy that comes from expecting to bring another life into this world, and the utter desolation that comes from seeing those hopes dashed...and I am able to see that the positive of the experience far outweighs the heartache that came with it.

And finally, I am able to sit back and appreciate what *is* instead of always focusing on what "might-have-been."

No, I am definitely not in the place that I thought I would be at this age...instead I am so much farther along the path of awareness and contentment. As my dear friend says, "more of *this.*"

Indeed :)

Charlie Brown never learns.

There's a legal concept that basically says that that if you have some good indication that the other person in an agreement is going to back out of a deal, you have the right to back out first.

(BTW - I have to tell you that the partner at my firm actually quoted Wikipedia in a motion for summary judgment last week. I kid you not.)

This comes up a lot more than you'd think. For example, this morning when I texted a friend about brunch today, I found out that she'd already eaten because I got back to her so late. No worries. Being absolute food whores, we agreed to just go out for lunch, instead. No harm. No Foul.

But what do you do when the agreement is for something a hell of a lot more important to you? It is devastating when someone places these hoops for you to jump through - fully thinking that you won't be able/willing to clear them all, or that you'll forget by the time the payment comes due...

It's like when your parents get tired of you begging for a puppy, and they finally tell you, "Ok, but first you have to get your grades up." So you get your grades up, and then there's suddenly another obstacle. "Well, I have to see that you're responsible, so let's start with a fish." The fish makes it a couple months, but now the parents remind you that a dog is a lot more responsibility...so you get a job walking dogs. Or volunteering at the pound. Or dog-sitting for the neighbors...

Every time you meet their goals, they move the posts on you. Now, it's been 8 months. You've done everything they've asked. It's time to put up or shut up. But, no one's said anything about the ultimate prize. No one has congratulated you on overcoming each obstacle. There has been no mention of a puppy.

And you're afraid to ask. Because you *know* what the answer is going to be. Not only that the promise will be broken, but that you've gone through all this trouble for nothing. Or worse than nothing, because each time you meet the goal and don't get what you expected, your heart dies just a little bit more. And you don't think you can handle one more effing rejection.

I know that I will never get my "puppy." I know that, even though I am *this* close to making it through that last effing hoop (new and improved! with flames!), there is no way there will be a "puppy" at the end of it. But still...I keep trying.

What's the "definition of insanity?" Yup. Me.

But I don't want to let the promissor get off easy, you know? I don't want to be the girl that guys think they just stop calling and she'll just go away. I want to make a scene. I want them to actually 'fess up and finally admit that they lied, that there never was a "puppy."

This time, I want to take a run at that football, and when it is inevitably pulled away at the last minute, I am going to drag Lucy down into the dirt with me and beat the living shit out of her.

Hee.

So Say We All

I really am not anti-Valentine's Day. Granted, I am a lot more "pro" February 14th when I am dating someone, but happy couples don't annoy me any more today than they do every other day.

What I do dislike are people who feel sorry for singles or who try to pair you up just because of the date on the calendar.

I had a friend ask me to join her and some friends for a movie and a beer this afternoon. What she failed to mention was that she had recently started seeing someone, and this was really a set-up. Yes - a surprise, blind, double-date on Valentine's Day.

Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. Who does that?

And no, it was not a pleasant experience. The movie was a bust, the dinner was so-so, and the companionship? Well, I really wish I'd stayed home with a BSG season one and some Advil PM. blech.

So, I think I just had a date-by-ambush

The weirdest thing happened last night...

I went to the pub across the street from my place for their cheap hot wing night. Brought my book, sat down, ordered a beer...and I was accosted by the local drunk (yes, there's more than one, but I'm talking about the obnoxious one that I mistakenly allowed to help me move some stuff and now he knows where I live and won't leave me alone).

Anyway, no, that's not the ambusher. While I'm ignoring Drunky Mcdrunkerson, a regular, who runs the bar's karaoke night, came in with a bunch of his friends. He waved at me, and came over to say hi, thankfully scaring away the creep. But then he stayed...and stayed...

...through my first beer, through my ordering my food, through my making a total mess tearing apart hot wings and scarfing bleu cheese...through my second beer, through all the rest of his friends leaving... Until I finally had to ask for my check, put on my coat and pointedly tell him that I was leaving.

He insisted on walking me the 100 feet to my building. And when I turned around to tell him goodbye, he kissed me. Awkward. I'd have said something snide and witty to him, but it was the most action I've gotten from a guy in months. I am pathetic.

Tabula Rasa

It seems that every TV show at some point has an episode titled "Tabula Rasa." It may be cliche, but there is something compelling about getting a clean slate.

Every few years, I do a purge: of old clothes, old habits (ha!) and old friends. I think that it's about time for one again.

Clothes: anything bigger than what I currently wear.
Habits: anything that makes me wear clothes bigger than what I currently wear.
People: who are not now, and quite probably never were, my friends.

Now, I have an extremely high tolerance for bullshit. It takes an awful lot for me to toss someone for good:

• There was the one who insisted on showing me a video of her sister's wedding...a week after my divorce was final. Even after I started crying, she insisted on fast-forwarding so that I could see "the cool thing they did with doves."
• The girl who invited me over for the weekend, and after I drove the six hours to get to her out-of-state home, had me doing household chores like hanging pictures, putting together a bookcase, and fixing a clock. (Did I mention that she already had a husband? A worthless philosophy grad student?) There was also the dog that she encouraged to hump a floor pillow, and the coup de grace: when she thanked me for "visiting," she said I was the only one she could get to come over. Nice.
• The guy who gave me an engagement ring for April Fool's Day. Oh wait. Technically, since I still married him and he ended up leaving me, that might not actually count...

There is one person who is definitely on the need-to-go list, and I've decided that Lent is the perfect time to do it.

No, I am pretty much the opposite of Catholic, but what the hell (pun intended).

Why order a taco when you can ask it politely?

No, my blog is not *always* going to be inspired by Taco Bell hot sauces. Promise.

Part of my new-found contentment has come from realizing that I don't have to be the strong, independent woman who doesn't need anything from anyone. I don't need to force the happiness if I just relax and accept who I am.

The best and worse piece of advice my mother ever gave me was "never settle." I always thought that meant I had to constantly seek out better things. Instead of "not settling," I never accepted the good things that were before me.

Well, "boo" to that. From now on, my idol is Popeye. I am what I am, and that's all that I am.

Aprons

An apron. I want one. Why? I've never had one before. My mother never had one. I don't cook enough to need one.

I think that it's more what the apron represents: home, comfort, a sense of belonging and purpose. I love being a hostess. Not the spongy kind with creamy filling, but the kind that has people over all the time and makes them comfortable. I want to create an atmosphere that people like to visit...where they doze off on my couch, or suddenly realize that they meant to leave hours ago, but they just totally lost track of time.

It all starts with an apron. Oh, and booze. And maybe odorless, tasteless sleeping draughts for the guests.

And so it begins...

As usual, I'm jumping on the bandwagon well after it has been abandoned by many. The idea: short, pithy thoughts on the world around me. I figure that I should be good for a couple amusing comments a week. If not, there is always this.