In the Stars
Ode to he who will become my future mate, my other half, the Han to my Solo. This is for him (whomever HE may be):
Let’s get something straight right off the bat. I’m not perfect. Neither are you. So now that we have that cleared from the air, you need to understand just how awesome I am and how awesome I’m going to treat you because of who you are.
Who are you, you might ask? You are my other self. You are me possibly in male form. You are what romantics call my soul mate. Was it love at first sight? I surely hope so, but at this point in time, until I have the ring on my finger and I’m telling some handsome devil ‘I do,’ I don’t know who “you” are exactly yet.
Still…I know how wonderfully I’m going to treat you.
Pizza, beer and football? You got it. The occasional surprise shower buddy? I’m all over it. Letting you have your guys night? Me and my girls have a few place to head ourselves.
Tell me your favorite meal. I’ll cook it at least once a month, just the way you like it. Every time I go shopping, I always keep a sharp eye for that certain color that brings out the color in your eyes that I love so much, and when I find the perfectly colored shirt, you better know I’m going to bring home to you. I want my honey looking good!
As can be expected, if I’m treating you this wonderfully all the time, the favor is expected to be returned.
Another thing to clear from the air? I have high standards. Having high standards can sometimes mean I’m pushy, slightly hysterical, and nit-picky about the tiniest of details. If you don’t notice my hair cut, new dress, or kiss me every once in a while just because, I’m going to notice and probably get a touch upset over it.
I may cry. I might yell. I might swear up and down I’m going to end everything between the moment you step out that door. It’s possible I might call you 95 times in order to make sure everything is okay between us after a major fight.
However, I will never go to bed angry at you. Even if I am angry at you when I roll over to close my eyes, I’ll still kiss you good night and tell you how much I love you. I’ll still pour you juice in the morning, and pick up a copy of your favorite magazine when I know you have nothing planned for you Sunday afternoon.
“That’s what I love you for: your inability to perceive all my hideous flaws.”
I couldn’t sum it up any better than Audrey Niffenegger, novelist, in The Time Traveler’s Wife, already has.
The point is, I will love you through everything. I can only hope and pray that you’ll love me through it all too; the serious and the silly. The Star Wars marathons, the endless nights where I struggle to figure out the next plot point my one of my many novel plots, the menstrual cycle induced ice cream binges. Real down and dirty fights, the ups and downs of trying to get pregnant, temptation from others (let’s face it, we’re both going to be amazingly good-looking), losing the baby weight, keeping our love life spicy, and growing old together without breaking a hip.
I want it all. As Noah said in The Notebook, “Well that’s what we do, we fight… You tell me when I am being an arrogant son of a bitch and I tell you when you are a pain in the ass. Which you are, 99% of the time. I’m not afraid to hurt your feelings. You have like a 2 second rebound rate, then you’re back doing the next pain-in-the-ass thing.”
I imagine that’s exactly how we’ll be, and I don’t want it any other way.
Ode to my future mate, my husband, my lover, my best friend: I will love you to the ends of the earth and back.
You know that feeling of watching a movie you were once so obsessed with that you were watching it every night of your life because it was SUCH as good movie, and then you don’t watch it for months because you’ve worn yourself out with it, but then watch it again after all that time…and you remember how freaking great a movie it is?
Three words: Black Hawk Down.
That is one movie that continues to blow me away every single time I watch it. There’s so much I love about that movie…the actors, the story, the themes of brotherhood and leaving no man behind, the real-life heroism displayed, the historical content, the artistic direction, the fast-paced action, the display of what it means to be Delta Force. I could go on and on about this movie, but it’s surely one of my all-time Top 5 movies.
I’ve only had this reaction to one other movie, and that was The Mask of Zorro. Such a fun, fast-paced movie with its moments of serious talk and chuckle worthy cockiness. I certainly can’t leave out the swoon-worthy appeal of Antonio Banderas wearing the black mask of a bandit, or the way he handles his swordplay. The action towards the climax of the film always gets my blood racing. It was this film that pushed me towards my first gender-bending role of my childhood. It was on Halloween and I dressed the part of Zorro. Black boots, sword on my hip, and my mom painted black grease make-up on my chin and upper lip to complete the look. I had longer curlier hair, so once I had the mustache on my face, I could pass for a very young little Banderas wannabe.
Trust me, I was a cutie. Although when I smiled really big, it threw the whole look off. Zorro is a stern guy…no smiling allowed (unless it’s a sexy smirk.)
Anyways, my slight military obsession was reignited after my viewing of Black Hawk Down. There are certain moments in that movie that will always, always, always bring tears to my eyes and make me hold my breath, and I’m pretty sure I’ve watched the film like 88 times. Maybe even 188. There was a Christmas (and yes, this is going to sound slightly depressing) where I watched that movie twice a day. Around Christmas time! I fell in love with the movie, and I never turned my back on it.
Watching this movie only spawned a million and one thoughts to go off in my brain. It conjured up memories of a novel I wrote while I was in high school. The more I thought about it, the more and more I fell back in love with the initial idea I had while writing it. If I went back and reread the words I penned more than 5 years ago, I probably would cringe. I used to be a very romanticized writer, and sometimes I catch myself slipping back in the vagueness of it. I like detail, being real with the descriptions. Those end up being the fun ones!
“Women have been taught that, for us, the earth is flat, and if we venture out, we will fall off the edge.”
Oh, not with the way my mind works. Those sorts of words, Andrea Dworkin, a women’s studies staple, are what drive my main female characters. My female protagonists are fighters, and they are tough. They are me amplified by 20, and put into situations I could only dream of experiencing.
Anyways, the basic idea is this: The first women has passed all rigorous and most difficult physical, mental and strategic tests the military can throw at her. She has surpassed everything the fatigues can throw at her, and she always comes out on top of any male competitor. She takes no bullshit, tells you like it is, is fearless, tough, and wants nothing more than to fight for the good of the world and for her country. We’re not necessarily talking America here. This is where I get vague. It could be sometime in the future, it could be in the past…hell, we could be on a different planet for all I know.
And the whole Ranger/Delta thing? Simply inspiration for the level of military involvement this force operates.
So, this woman gets to the hot zone and the story becomes about how she survives it. The conflict comes into play when the enemy they are fighting strongly believes a woman warrior is committing a crime against God himself. It’s against everything they believe in, and any country/planet that allows her to fight in their name, is damned to death. They become quite the enemy, let me tell you.
There’s action, there’s hot sexual tension (come on, these boys haven’t been around a female in ages! It’s bound to happen), there’s battle of the wits and of morals, there’s a small love story (but not what you’re thinking!), but most of all, it comes down to camaraderie.
When I wrote the initial start to this idea back in the good ol’ high school days, it was a great idea and there’s a few parts that only need a bit more fleshing out and it’s solid. The rest of it? Sadly, it needs to be entirely reworked. That’s the way it goes when you’re a writer. 80% of the first try is tossed out completely.
Why am I hanging on to an idea that I put to paper half a decade ago? Women are still fighting for equality in every respect of the word in this day and age, and that is a theme I will always gravitate to. It’s who I am. You can’t change what gets your mind buzzing anymore than a hummingbird can stop flapping its wings.
I’ve been reading into home improvement projects, digging around for crafty home-maker to-dos, and sifting through cookbooks for recipes that make my mouth water just reading them. With the Black Hawk Down mindset still alive and well in my brain, it makes me wonder why a single woman should dream of living in her own apartment, and that’s where the dream ends. Why can’t a single woman own her own home (and let’s pretend money isn’t a problem here for anyone. Couples, rich folks, home inheriters…you get the idea)?
If I am not married or going steady with a significant other at a certain point in my life, I’m not going to want to live in a small, crummy apartment for the rest of my life. It’s the American dream, isn’t it? To be a home owner, and I plan to be one in my future years ahead of me.
So..when that day comes, I’m going to be quite the home improvement maniac, and here are the seven reasons I (and any other woman who can’t put down her wrench) deserve to win the HGTV Dream Home:
2.) The only thing your garage-door opener works on: the TV.
3.) You have two sets of pots: one for cooking, the other for catching drips on a rainy day.
4.) To prevent blowing a fuse, you have to turn off all the lights before you blow-dry your hair.
5.) Your stairs creak even when nobody is walking on them.
6.) You try to pass off the water stains on the ceiling as “modern art.”
7.) Your plumber has his own key.
Now, darlings, this isn’t to say we’re going to be bad at our own home repairs when we’re living in OUR house. It just never hurts to have a back-up plan…or five.
And like the Jedi Order, know that no matter what barrier is put before you, nothing is impossible. Things only become impossible when we deem them to be so. Solution? Don’t think it’s impossible. Because it’s not.
There’s an answer to everything, and the Force will guide you to it.
Dating. I’ve never had such a nasty taste in my mouth after saying a word.
Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to be in a committed relationship. I’d love to have someone to cuddle and call whenever I was feeling blue. I would more than certainly love to have someone to say “I love you” to at the end of every phone conversation. But the road I need to take in order to get there? Yeah, I may need a breath mint right about now since this taste in my mouth is getting worse.
Maybe I’m at a point in my life where I’m content and need to focus on me. Or, like many other women, I’m sure, it’s scary to think about dating. But, wait…what about those dates I went on with New Guy, and a few other chosen males in the past year or so since my ugly break-up? What about New Guy’s Best Friend who keeps things interesting with he occasional text here and there? About the gushing cries of “omg I really like this guy, oh man I can’t wait to go out again?”
Yeah, I think I was still in a phase of the break-up. They were all very nice guys, the ones I went out with (until they pulled a very douche bag move and made me change my perspective on the male race entirely yet again.)
There are nice guys out there. I know this. Everyone knows this. They’re not just going to pop out of the ground like gophers and say, “I’m a nice guy! Date me!” No, I’d certainly be in a fantasy world if that were the case. I think I’m tired of looking for them. Come on, what sounds better? Sitting on the couch, watching the TV show YOU want to watch, eating an entire bowl of extra buttery popcorn without having to share (and no one poking your waist, giving you a hint to watch the caloric intake), and the fact you look like crap with your hair up in a loose ponytail and a large, polka-dotted headband holding the loose hairs out of your eyes? No one cares! Your roommate might say something, but hey, it’s your roommate, and we’re friends. Tell her to go eat another Ding-Dong and get back to your show.
Then there’s the primping and the prepping for who knows what kind of night. Will you go to a nice restaurant? Will he pull a 180 and take you for a walk instead? Is it just a coffee date? If it’s dinner, what do you order? Not a salad, because let’s face it, we all know I like to eat. But not a steak or a burger…too messy. Hair up? Down? Jewelry…too much could be a bad sign, but not enough could show you might not care at all. Plus, you have to shave your legs, tweeze the eyebrows, gloss the lips, and make the eyeliner perfect. Perfume can’t be too heavy, but it shouldn’t be too light so he literally puts his nose into the crook of your neck to try to catch a whiff of something other than B.O. and sweat.
Attractive, isn’t it?
“Dinner is a waste on a first date, because you don’t want the guy to se how much you can really eat. He’ll find out soon enough I can put my entire head in a Haagen-Dazs tub.”
I love your words of wisdom Maryellen Hooper, a professional leg puller. Seriously, what is considered the “right” thing to eat when out on a first date? It’s a question I don’t think any one person can truly answer with definite confidence. Maybe Cosmopolitan magazine, but sometimes I wonder if they test their own advice. Buffalo chicken wings on a first date? Um, no thank you.
The date isn’t over yet, meaning the panic should only be setting in. You’ve made it through dinner, he’s walking you to your door (or maybe you’re still sitting his car!) He reaches a hand over, places it on your knee. You turn to say good night face-to-face. Omg, is this the part where he kisses you good night? What if none of this stuff happens and there is no kiss good night at all? Multiple reasons could be true, but if you had a good time and he’s cute, you’re not going to think logically at this point in time. Instead, you will be calm, cool, and collected on the outside (like any great woman would be), but on the inside, you are screaming, crying, smashing your purse against the door the minute it shuts behind him….Lots of crazy action no one should ever be privy to.
Dating is a lot of panic, a lot of heartache, and a lot of waiting. It’s so much easier when you’ve known the person, and suddenly, it’s not dating. You’ve just become the couple you’ve always felt like you were. There’s no more questioning, and it gets to be fun saying, “I have a date tonight!”
I haven’t had a night like that for some time. Know what? I’m okay with that. I need to figure me out in so many ways yet. If Mr. Wonderful should pass me on the street and ask me out, I won’t decline the offer. You never know, he might be my Special Someone. He could be the next on the long list of guys I’ve been out on a date with. You just never know.
The Force likes to keep us guessing…or it likes to remind us that relationships aren’t exactly the Jedi Way. But if I can successfully hold a steady relationship with Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, I can certainly keep a steady relationship with the right guy.
In the meantime, I’m enjoying the start of fall and the month of September, and here are my fave things about this month:
– Autumn Leaves
It’s hard to believe this month is practically over already. That’s what happens when you’re having fun…and pinpointing all the possible ways why I am still a single woman in this day and age.
HA! I know the real reason. Men are scared of me, plain and simple. I know I’m a lot to handle, but you know what? If there’s a guy out there who can handle me without thinking he can tame me, we’ll get along just fine. I just have to wait for him and I to cross paths.
In the meantime, this Jedi is going to keep being real…and that means eating what I want in whatever quantities I want.
Salmon sounds good for dinner, doesn’t it?
Here’s to the husbands who’ve won you, the losers who’ve lost you, and the lucky bastards who’ve yet to meet you.
Well, what do you know? It’s another Friday, and is it sad to say that I’m sort of dreading it? My work day isn’t going to be all that bad. I have the office all to myself again, and I have an event in the middle of the afternoon where mostly I’ll sit, wave, and clap to those walking through a Welcome Line. The I return to my office to finish up a few things, head out for the day to home and throw a few clothes and my toothbrush into a duffel, jump back into my car to head off to my part-time job. When that is done, I jump back in my car to drive 3 hours down to the cities because tomorrow I am getting my day at the State Fair.
I can taste that deep-fried candy bar already. Mmmmm-mmmmm good!
While I know that one food indulgence takes care of my calorie count for the entire week, I don’t care. It’s the State Fair. You’re supposed to consume more than three times your normal food intake, feel terrible about yourself, and then go home and rave about all the things you ate.
I don’t feel guilty about it at all. In fact, I’m officially joining a gym on Tuesday, so I’ll be raring to get those extra 2000 calories off my behind and sweating onto the gym floor.
I do have to share this one little funny story. It’s kind of ironic considering the state of bliss I was in after being swept off my feet by Josh Groban in Dreamland the previous night, but my sister and I stopped at our old apartment for the last time. A desk I inherited from her previous roommate free of charge still remained in my old bedroom and it needed to be moved out to the dumpster yet. After tipping it every which way to find the best carrying position for it, we managed to rip it apart more than a little bit. If you’re thinking about buying a desk, one thing to keep in mind: How hard it is going to be to move? This particular desk was not well-thought out. Awkward, heavier than heavy, and none of the doors stayed shut (maybe why I got it for free?).
Us two girls managed to get it out to the trash and shoved into a dumpster ALL MY OURSELVES! (Hear us roar!!!!) I must not have dusted the thing ever. Once it was in the dumpster and out of our hands, I looked down at my sweatpants and there were streaks of gray and fuzz all over the place. (Not going to lie…dusting furniture is not always a #1 priority with me.) Anyways, we continued to get the last few things moved out and I was carrying the top compartmentalized portion of the desk (which we managed to rip off…YES!) This was no small piece of shelving. Not that it was heavy, just slight cumbersome.
I’m struggling to get the door and miraculously do not lose my footing walking down the steps, and start walking to my car. Suddenly, I look up and a nicely dressed guy is grabbing his bag out of his car. A small buzzer goes off in my head, saying, “You know him! You know him!” He starts walking in my direction, and his face lights up when he sees me. He greets me rather enthusiastically, and I respond in kind. “Hey hows its going?” “Hey there! I’m doing pretty well!” We go out separate directions.
The entire trek to my car, I’m asking myself how I know him and from where. Then it dawns on me. He’s the guy I met randomly at a bar about a month back while checking out a band with a work friend of mine. He’s the one who approached me and tried holding a conversation with me when the band was blaring so obnoxiously loud, and I couldn’t hear a word unless he literally stuck his lips on my ear and spoke. So freaking loud! After awhile, he bought me and my friend a couple of rounds of drinks and eventually we left where we were sitting so we could actually talk elsewhere in the bar. I didn’t know at the time if I thought he was attractive because of the tequila I’d been downing or if I genuinely thought he was cute.
Anyways, after getting back to the house, I just had to text him to see if it was him. Sure enough, it was and he had recognized me, too. We chatted for a bit, and I brought up the fact he had asked me for drinks about a week or two ago, but I had never heard from him since. If I remember correctly, he was out-of-town one week and then seemed pretty swamped with work the following. But whatever. I never heard from him, and just assumed he lost interest or was really busy. I could deal with that. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve also been swamped.
But we have a potential date for next week. He’s no Josh Groban, but hey, it’s a date, isn’t it?
“Don’t waste time trying to break a man’s heart; be satisfied if you can just manage to chip it in a new place.”
The tempting words of Helen Rowland, a modern maximist.
I can’t say I left him drooling and dazzled at my charm yesterday enough to make him regret not getting a hold of me sooner. I was covered in dust fuzzballs, gray chalky dust, make-up smeared, and hair half-thrown back hazardously. In my professional opinion, not cute at all. But that’s my opinion.
Sometimes, I tell myself to stop trying to figure out life. The Force will guide me one way or another, but it will not steer me wrong.
Trust in that. Trust in that.
And because I’m now obsessed with this song….Happy Friday!
Dreams are always too delicious.
I didn’t want to wake up this morning. I did not want to get out of my bed. What I really wanted to do was slip back into slumber and return to the ah-mazing dream I was having before my alarm clock decided to be a total party pooper and rouse me from dream world AKA what should be my reality.
“They were kind of dirty looking pebbles. I didn’t know. I’m used to seeing diamonds shiny and in a box. These are the kind of diamonds I am used to seeing.”
I have to admit, I think Naomi Campbell, the supermodel, makes herself sound more than a little silly here, when asked about accepting the gift of diamonds from an African dictator. But, if we think about diamonds here as if they were dreams, I would have to whole-heartedly agree with her.
Some dreams suck. More than suck. They are downright frightening and terrible.
Others? They make your heart soar higher than any caffeinated beverage ever could.
I love dreaming. Not just in the fantastical sense, but also in the REM sense. They are so interesting. I’m a firm believer our dreams are the gateway to what is happening in our live. They make us look at ourselves in a new light and force us to confront what we refuse to when our eyes are wide open in daylight. I’ve learned a few things about myself through the interpretation of my own dreams, and it’s utterly fascinating.
In other words, yes, I am that nerd who will be found looking at dream interpretation books at Barnes and Noble (although I have to admit I find Freud to be incredibly frustrating when it comes to dream interpretation. Just because I dreamt about a blue Laz-E-Boy chair does not mean I have a repressed sexual urge of any kind.)
You know what? I don’t care if you see me. I like what I like and there is nothing you can do about it!
So, what was this dream that made me momentarily hate my real life? Let me tell you…
Myself and a few unknowns (but I felt their presence about me, so I knew I had friends with me)were attending a rather intimate concert of none other but Josh Groban. So, he is up on his stage, sitting on a bar stool of sorts and doing his thing. He finishes his song, and he starts talking tot he audience. He asked us, the audience, to shout out the reasons we decided to come to his concert that evening. Much closer to the stage than I had earlier thought, I jumped up with my hand in the air and shouted, “It’s my birthday! I tweeted you about it. Did you see it?”
His reply, “You also sent me a card, didn’t you? For my birthday?” I nodded quite vigorously (I must have been nodding in my sleep, too, because my neck is just killing me this afternoon!) He smiled that boyishly charming smile of his, and told me, “I thought so. I actually kept the envelope, so I knew how to find you.” Ever so coy, I tucked my hair behind my ear, and said, “Well, I’m right here. Guess you found me.” He held out his hand to me, and I took the stage with him where he wrapped me in the warmest hug I have ever experienced. (Seriously, I am getting goosebumps just thinking about how great that hug was!)
Next thing you know, he’s leading me by the hand backstage, out the door, into his limo, and we’re back at his hotel suite. His room quickly became the gathering ground for his fellow band mates and they soon were creating new music for us to listen to. What were we doing? Cuddling on his bed, listening to his friends create new music on the spot. Very much an improv music session. We sat and listened to the music for a short bit, but then after a short time, while a sweet looking dude with long Jamaican dreads started tapping away on his metal-topped drum, he whispered in my ear, “I have something to show you. Let’s sneak out of here.” No one even looked up when we quietly stood up and slipped out the door.
Still holding hands, we walked quickly down the hall, stealing glances at each other and giggling the more and more we walked (honestly, this part reminded me of the scene in Titanic when Rose and Jack quickly duck out the back door of Rose’s stateroom after Lovejoy decides to stop by and try to crash their party, and they quickly, but calmly, walk down the hallways in the opposite way of Lovejoy’s soon-to-happen discovery of them.)
Anyways, he whisks me out the hotel’s front entrance, despite rampant staring from people in the lobby as we passed. We escape the rotating door, and like he can’t resist a moment longer, he grabs me around the shoulders and waist, and pulls me in for a deep, deep kiss. (Siiiiiiiiiiigh!)We pull apart for a moment, start to laugh….
And that’s where my dream ends. Do you understand why I didn’t want to return to reality? I mean, I was making out with Josh Groban! That’s a dream come true in so many ways.
Good thing I have my Josh Groban station going on my Pandora.
Thinking about it at this moment really makes me wish I had a guy to run home to and kiss until the sun set. (In case you haven’t noticed, I am a hopeless romantic…and yes, my heart is pitter-pattering at the recalling to mind of this dream.)
I have a feeling I know what Freud would say about this dream, and I would really want to tell him to shut it. Yes, a relationship is always at the back of my mind, but at the same time, I just don’t know. Currently, my love life consists of seeing a cute guy at Barnes and Noble or at a work reception, I smile, lower my eyes, and scurry past as soon as my legs will carry me.
There’s no hope for me…but there is for you and I hope you grasp those opportunities with all the muster and might you can with both hands. In case you need a little uplifting, here are my weekly words of encouragement to lift your spirits:
– Every dream starts with a first step.
– You are someone’s hero.
– Easier times are ahead.
– Give yourself some applause.
– Love will fill your heart if you let it.
– One positive thought can set a whole new future in motion.
– You’re a star. Let yourself shine!
Do you think Mr. Groban will appear in my dreams again tonight? I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
Until I find myself getting ready for some deep shut-eye, this little diddy will have to do.
“You’ve got a friend in me.”
Name that song. If you don’t know it, you are almost pretty much dead to me.
Nah, I’m just kidding. It’s the theme song from none other but the orignal Toy Story, and the song was written by the wonderful Randy Newman. In case you don’t believe me when I say he’s wonderful, also check out “Strange Things (Are Happening to Me)”, also found in the first Toy Story movie. That is certainly one movie I will love with all my heart until the day I can no longer sit in one place for the duration for the entirely of a 1.5 hour movie (Let’s face it, the bladder is going to lose function at some point during my old age.)
Woody the Cowboy and Buzz Lightyear. Whoever thought they could become friends, let alone the best of friends? They come from two entirely different backgrounds, and they live in opposite settings of each other. A ranch versus a space ship. Moon boots versus cowboy boots. Yee-ha versus To Infinity and Beyond!
You get the picture. But when they got past that original sense of hesitancy about each other, they not only had amazing adventures with each other. (The scene I’m thinking of…”Buzz, you’re flying!”, “This isn’t flying. It’s falling with style.”, “To infinity and beyooooond! Hah hah hah!”)
As other holidays rolled around and Andy grew older and older until it was time for him to go to college, Woody and Buzz remained best of friends through all the changes taking place.
I can only hope I can say the same about some of the people I’ve befriended in the past year or so as new changes not only rock my world, but theirs as well.
For instance, I’ll be leaving the job I’ve worked for the past 1.5 years, and I’ve gotten to know pretty much everybody on the staff here. Some are friends, others mere acquaintances where we say ‘hello’ and ‘good-bye’ when appropriate while making other polite small talk. A handful of others I would say have become good friends of mine. Be it a good work friend or an actual We-Talk-About-The-Big-Stuff sort of friend, we’ve connected on a level that goes beyond work mates. We’ve hung out, we’ve called each other to vent, we’ve done lunch/drinks/dinner, we’ve started drinking in the middle of the afternoon and continued well into the night, we’ve seen movies together, and we text more often than we should.
How much do you want to bet most, if not all, of these things will change the day I start my Big Girl Job?
“Friends are just enemies who don’t have enough guts to kill you.”
You’re words ring too true in my current state of being, Judy Tenuta, a lethal lampooner.
One such friend, upon learning from me that I got the job I’ll be starting next week, she had very specific words for me: “I want to be happy for you.Really, I do. But I’m going to be mad at you and hate you instead.”
This is also the same friend who bailed on grabbing drinks on my the eve of my birthday because she needed to “go home and bake. Yes, I’m an old person. But I don’t want to be tired in the morning.” I’m sorry, but it was 9:00 pm and you could have had water with lemon, especially after promising me for the entire previous week you’d come out with me. Or, how one night we decided to go out for drinks after work because we wanted to catch up with each other, but then she decided a beer on her porch would taste better. Instead of even doing that, she then agreed to go out with other coworkers for beer instead of going for a drink with me (which could have been a beer. I didn’t care what we got, I was just excited to spend time with her. Guess I was wrong again.)
From that point on, all I’ve received is attitude from a handful of reasons. When I voice a concern or make a comment about how I can’t do something because I have a handful of tasks to do, the response I most often get is, “No one cares. You’re leaving, anyways.”
Again….thanks so much. Don’t complain about me then when I never make an effort to call or text to try to get together. If you didn’t care about me in my last days as a coworker, you’re sure as hell not going to care about my well-being if we’re actually friends outside of where we work.
I’m sorry I’m moving on and making changes to my life after complaining about my current situation. Get off your butt, and make things happen instead of waiting for them to happen because you “deserve it.”
I’ve deserved a lot of things in my life, but did I get them? Not every time. Did I take it out on my friends? Maybe at first with a few sarcastic remarks, but if what happened (or didn’t happen) wasn’t related to them in any way, shape, or form, I didn’t bother them by taking it out on them. I’m sorry life isn’t what you wanted it to be like at this point in your life, but I, nor my friends, had any part in that.
Don’t burn the bridges before they’re capably built.
It doesn’t help that about an hour ago I caught the ‘Friends’ ultimate finale on TV while eating dinner, and watching them all say good-bye to each other on the show (and in real life, as the show was ending its 10th and final season) made me tear up more than once in 10 minutes time. They were all moving on to new chapters in their lives, and now, so am I.
With that in mind, I want to spread a little Vogue-spiration that bears this thought in mind:
“Want to know a secret? Obsessing about your age, and your “flaws,” is never chic. Don’t-give-a-damn is the most fashionable quality ever known. A seventeen-year-old from East L.A. with a strict budget and a stellar sense of self can be just as fabulous as a 36-yeaer-old Parisian style-maker with a charge account at Colette. She knows how to fully embrace this self, this day. She knows what shade of turquoise or amber brings out her eyes.
In this Vogue-spiration, we give you: One thirteen-year-old wise to the ways of the Chanel atelier. One 96-year-old in a leather jacket. Four 20-something cousins with shoulder-high legs and a penchant for Mugler. Mega-sequins and shearling for the under-30s; mega-sequins and shearling with an over-30 spin. Two hundred and twenty-eight pages of inspirations that span the generations.
Age? Sure, it’s just a number. But that doesn’t mean you should pretend you’re a number you’re not. Dressing like a club-hopper when you’re a woman of substance undermines your own power. Being a conformist when you’re in your 20s would be a sin.
When we write about dressing through the decades, we’re advocating that you embrace the individual. Take possession of your unique personal style. Because how many women can be you?”
To sum it all up? Seize the day. I can’t help it if my friends don’t reciprocate when I reach out an invitation to get together. If they deny the chance, I can at least say I’m doing my part in this friendship. See, that’s the tricky thing. Friendships are two-way streets. Don’t complain to me about how I’m going to be the one “too busy” or “too whatever” to have time to hang out or see you.
The more you put the blame on me before it’s even happened, the less I want to put in the effort.
Seize the day. Pick up the phone, and stay in contact. On both ends. Be the woman (or man) you’re meant to be.
As Mufasa would say, “Remember who you are. You are my son, and the one true king. Remember who you are…”
Raise your hand if you’ve turned into a snarling, drooling, foaming at the mouth addict to the Summer 2012 Olympics taking place in London at this exact moment in time?
No one? Anyone? Are you sure?
No, my hand isn’t in the air, either.
BUT…I have become a total Olympics Junkie since the opening ceremony took place last Friday evening. And, yes, I didn’t capitalize the word ‘junkie.’ It’s only fair I pay my dues to what I have become and wear it like a patch on my sleeve with pride.
One of my friends commented the other day about how watching the Olympics makes them feel more patriotic than any other time of their lives. Watching members of our country compete against our rival countries (like those dang French in the swimming competitions who knocked my beloved Ryan Lochte out of medaling yesterday and pushing him into 4th place…just shy of a medal. Dang you, Frenchies!!), it really does lift something in the spirit.
As I watched the women’s gymnastics team achieve gold for the first time since the Magnificent Seven, I felt a different sort of pang resonate through my chest. It was a pang of longing.
I miss competing. Plain and simple. I miss the rush of adrenaline that let me know something exciting was about to happen, and the result totally rested on my shoulders.
At that point, I could only hope I’d trained long enough and hard enough to face my opponent. Tennis, once again, pops into my mind. That sport, for me, will always hold a special place in my heart. My high school was small, and barely had a sports team of any kind. Somehow, we managed to amass enough students every year. Well, upon my entering high school, I knew I wanted to play basketball. Tennis, on the other hand, was something my cousin convinced me to try out the summer before I entered official high school status. It didn’t hurt that my sister also played on the team for a few years prior to my entry into high school, so naturally, I wanted to follow in her footsteps (but discreetly. No one likes to admit they did something because their sister made it look cool!)
A long story short, I was hooked after my first summer lesson. So when “try-outs” for the team came up later in the summer, I got a call from the coach asking if I wanted to see what a couple of practices would be like, and make my decision to be on the team from there.
You should know up front that there as no C-Team or JV squad for this tennis team. When you joined the team, you were playing at the varsity level immediately, and for someone who had never touched a racquet prior to that summer lesson, it was slightly terrifying.
Even more terrifying? Being placed at 3rd singles for my first match ever. I was playing opponents who had been playing for 5+ years, and literally would kill me if I got in the way of the ball without my racquet to deflect its speeding orb-like self.
I won’t lie. It sucked at the time. I knew I wasn’t the best of players, but I also knew I was better than what my scores reflected. I considered it a victory when my side of the score cards shined with a game or two in my favor, and not big fat zeros. 6-0, 6-0. I never hated a score total so much in my life.
Like I said, it sucked at the time. But I was too young and dumb to acknowledge the training and skill sets I was picking up right away from playing opponents way beyond my skill set. As I grew older with the sport and my own personal skills began to expand, the tides were turning. I was suddenly that player other teams hated to play. My years of being pounded into the tennis pavement paid off. I became one of the best players in the conference. It took a lot of patience, a lot of practice, and a lot of beatings to reach the skill set I eventually entered the season with my senior and final year of high school. Now, to say I was undefeated that season would be a total lie. I was beaten a handful of times, but the beautiful part is that it wasn’t by complete shut-out.
I made myself a promise when I advanced to the 2nd singles position: If I was bound to lose, I would win at least 2 games every set and not go down with a shut-out. It kept me swinging, that’s for sure. When I assumed the 1st singles position, it became my goal to shut out players the way I had been shut-out all those years ago.
You know what? I achieved that goal a number of times. My time had come, and I wasn’t about to forget it.
“It’s straight from the horse’s mouth.Not that I’m saying I’m a horse.”
We only like to tell it how it is, don’t we, Victoria Beckham, the erstwhile “Posh Spice”. She may have been talking about her autobiography with those words, and I guess in a way, so am I. Tennis is a part of my life, so consider this a fleeting story in a long, long, not-even-close-to-being-completed autobiography about, well…me!
So, how does this tie in with the Olympics?
Like previously stated, I miss the competition. I miss the mental preparation needed prior to the event. Seeing the athletes sitting and watching/cheering on their teammates with their ear buds tucked safely in their ears…I used to do that. I needed ten minutes of “me” time before stepping out on the court. I miss the routine. I miss the physical and mental discipline.
I need to find myself an adult sports team. Now that I have a Big Girl Job and everything, I have my evenings to train, and a fighting spirit that just don’t quit. I’m always looking to prove myself. Maybe I could be on the national tennis circuit yet.
I think it’s okay for me to hold on to that longing, the want to be a part of a team again, the want to be disciplined enough to take the reins on my own but also have a bigger picture in mind. SO…with that in mind, I realize it’s been awhile, but here’s my latest installment of ‘Hey, It’s Okay’s”
Hey, It’s Okay…
… If all your future baby names come from celebs. Cate? Shia? Adorable, right?
… To know what only four out of the 12 keys on your key chain actually go to.
… To still be forwarding people that ridiculous “Talking Twin Babies” YouTube video. Funny on the first or the dozenth viewing.
… To pretend you’re getting in shape for your wedding even when there’s no ring on your finger. Really, whatever motivates you.
… To make everyone else turn around, walk 10 paces and sing cheesy Bon Jovi songs while you attempt to pee in the woods.
… If one hot dog is pretty much never enough.
… To ask him to kick in for your birth control pills. More than OK!
… To look up, realize you and your significant other are both on your phones and totally feel like those people.
… Not to have the foggiest idea how to talk to a three-year-old.
We still have a lot of summer left ahead of us, and I intend to fully grasp each day with a new fervor. It’s amazing how knowing I have a new job starting in a few weeks has totally changed my perspective on things. I go to and leave work totally smiling, and it’s incredible.
One nice thing? Soon, I’ll be buying myself a new laptop, so when I get home from work, pop a beer and snack a little bit, I can sit down on my porch, open my computer, and blog away, be done in like 1.5 hours, and still have time left in the evening to go out and do a few things yet.
How nice will that be?
Until then, I’m glued to this schedule and to my TV. Every glimpse I can have of Ryan Lochte these days, I’m taking it. Damn, how someone can look so good in a swim cap and swimming trunks is beyond me.
Mr. Lochte, you keep doing what you’re doing, and I’ll keep watching and cheering from my living room. You’ve got a fan in me, sir. (And half the country’s female population, I’m sure.)
But they don’t really count 😉
While everyone else was out to the theater’s to watch the midnight showing of The Dark Knight Rises, I walked in to see a different movie which has been garnering great critical praise: Brave.
Brave introduces us to the first Disney Pixar princess, and I have to say, I fell in love with her. Probably because I could relate to her in every possible way. But, I fell in love with that fiery red hair, those dazzling clear blue eyes, and her sassy Irish tongue. She is a girl I’d be friends with, even if mostly we wanted to kill each other.
It was a traditional story of sorts: A young woman born into the royal family of her country (in this case, Scotland) is slightly be forced by the powerhouse mother of her’s to give up on the way she’s been living her life (carefree and wildly unacceptable by princess standards) to assume her title, but not before being betrothed to the one of the 1st born sons of the fellow Scottish clans which make up their great kingdom.
Her name is Princess Merida, and she is your typical tomboy…if tomboy was even a title back in the day of the Scottish brogue living in giant stone castles. She’s one of the boys. No, scratch that. She’s better than all of the boys put together! Merida is my kind of gal. Her bow is the most prized possession she could ever own, and when her mother forbids her from ever shooting a single arrow ever again, I honestly felt my heart-break. It’s the same as my mother telling me to go put my lightsaber away and never speak of Star Wars again.
It would be unheard of, and I most certainly would rebel.
It’s takes a strong spirit to be able to look both your parents in the face and say, “I’ll be shooting for my own hand.” Basically, no man is ever going to be good enough for me until I decide he is, so back off and I’ll choose my lifetime lover when I’m darn good and ready!
It’s going to take quite the special man to steal this heart of mine to being with, anyways.
“A grown woman should not have to masquerade as a girl in order to remain in the land of living.”
I love these words spoken by Germaine Greer, a screed writer. I hate this idea that the older we get in age, the more “respectable” we have to be as women.
Now, let me get one thing straight. I believe a woman should possess a certain amount of qualities. All the great ones do, anyways. She should be charming, know how to dress for her body type, have “her” particular scent/perfume picked out, have an opinion on one (if not more) major issue of her current times, be able to laugh at herself, have a drink of choice when out with the ladies, know what she likes in bed, and most importantly, not give a damn about what people think of her when she’s purely being herself.
Why should all these things change once we hit a certain age? Age ain’t nothing but a number, right? (When it comes to most living situations…not all dating situations, however, but that’s a different topic for a different time.)
The reason I like this so much? The mother in Brave is a criminal of Greer’s words. She passes herself off as one thing in order to be accepted as another. In all honesty, she gives up on her girlish nature because she’s worried about what’s considered “acceptable.” Yes, she is a queen of a larger and powerful nation. But she also has a daughter who is bound to follow a different path than she.
Could you imagine if Kate Middleton tried to walk down the same exact path and Princess Diana or Queen Elizabeth herself? My mind can’t even handle thinking about it. Yes, Kate Middleton entered the role of Duchess very gracefully and with much dignity, despite a few minor mishaps and scandals along the way. But even she had her “wild” days. Umm…the infamous see-through dress that she modeled in her friend’s fashion show where Prince William supposedly leaned over to his friend and whispered, “Kate is really hot.”
Or something like that.
Regardless, I don’t think our current Duchess of Cambridge gave up that daring and sassy side of her life once William became interested in her, and if she did, I may lose a tiny bit of respect for her.
Going back to Brave, the mother does come to realize it’s okay for girlish tendencies to be held onto. They make us who we are. If I went home and didn’t jump around on the round hay bales like I’ve done for 15+ years of my life, my family might think I’m insane. If I still didnt’ run around in my High School Musical t-shirt when it came time for me to put my pajamas on, they’d wonder if I hit my head on something and if brain damage of a result, even with the shirt now being a touch too small and with it showing off my bellybutton.
Just the other weekend, I came running down the stairs for coffee with my sisters before getting ready for the day, and I came downstairs in little booty shorts and a tight baseball tee. Hey, when I’m asleep, I like knowing if I have to jump out of bed I have clothes on without fear of them getting caught on anything as I dash out the door! (It’s a Jedi thing.) But, my oldest sister, who is 11 years ahead of me in life, looks at me and instantly says, “Go put some clothes on!”
I just laughed at her and said, “If I’ve got the body now, I’m going to show if off while I got it.”
The point is, I really hope I can hold on to this attitude. Not an attitude of carelessness, but of one that bares the air of “I don’t give a F*ck what you think of me.” Yes, it is easier said than done, but if I can hold on to that as I enter the older decades of my life, what a wise Jedi I am determined to become.
As always, it is Friday! Hallelujah and not a day too late! Although I don’t have a forseeable day off in sight, I am ready to have a few lax days to just get to be me for a while. I have big Saturday night plans….with myself. Sharing my Fabulous Friday’s with out is one of the ways I like to hold on to my younger self, while at the same time, starting to meld it with the maturing adult I hope I’m becoming. There are moments that call for a certain level of maturity. This is something I understand.
But there are also moments where you should be so blown out of proportion silly that no one can look at you straight without seriously considering how much alcohol you’ve consumed (PS – The big secret? You haven’t had a single drop!)
Here’s my Fabulous Friday —
Fabulous Midsummer Material:
Fabulous Summer Polish Shade:
Fabulous Start to the Morning:
Fabulous Reason for an Iphone:
Fabulous Accessory Every Girl Needs:
Fabulous Turn On:
Fabulous Crush to Share with your Mom:
Hope you don’t get too crazily out of control this evening, and remember, no one likes to see you running around with your pants off. Unless you’re at the lake. Then, by all means, if you’re taking your pants off, at least jump in the water.
Keep that inner girl fighting alive in everything you do. Mine always thought she was a Jedi, a warrior of sorts. Now it’s up to me to discover what I’m fighting for.
The lovely website I often use called Dictionary.com defines Trouble in the following ways:
1.) “to disturb the mental calm and contentment of; worry; distress; agitate,”
3.) “to cause bodily pain, discomfort, or disorder to; afflict,”
4.) “to annoy, vex, or bother,” or
Now my question to you is…what draws us to trouble? Specifically, why do I (me, myself and I…the writer of this blog) continually walk into situations i know will not turn out in anyone’s best interest? Why do I keep letting my feet lead me to this point of no return? Why do I always think it sounds like a good idea at the time?
Why am I not smart enough to say “No” due to previous experience?
Because I’m young and dumb and don’t know any better.
It could almost be called the Bad Boy Syndrome every girl goes through at one point in their lifetime. We know the boy is all wrong for us…we know he seems to let his world revolve around you for the time being, but eventually, he is going to break your heart. It’s something we acknowledge the minute we pursue this Bad Boy…the thrill of the chase, however, overcomes our senses of logic. Our hormones get all out of whack and we simple think with everything BUT our logical side of the brain.
It all comes down to hormones, people. Biology can go to hell.
“I have wallowed with the vermin, so I know men’s minds.”
Perhaps its the day and time of our current era that has me doubting the actions of each and every single male I meet, but Mary “Mother” Jones, the uppity unionizer, has a point. Once you meet one bad apple, you’re bound to meet another. When you meet another after that, you start to assume all apples are bad. I may be alone in this, but I’m holding out hope for a good, juicy apple which tastes sweet upon the lips and is sweet throughout its entire being. There’s a good one amongst the entire bushel. There’s probably more than just a single good one. There’s bound to be a handful…patience is key here.
It’s intimidating, sifting through the good and bad. It’s even harder when you find a good one, but discover the chemistry simply isn’t there. He’s bound to make another girl out there unbelievably happy. But, until I stumble upon my apple who’s going to prove gravity exists in my life, I’m going to continue to be attracted to these No-Good, Bad-For-Me candied apples.
Am I boring you with this metaphor yet? 🙂
Truthfully speaking, its tough on the heart and soul to continuously put yourself out there. To try to make a connection with someone. Every so often, you do find a connection. Whether it’s short-lived or long-term is to be decided in time. When you find out its fizzling in short-term territory, that’s when it hurts. Maybe I’m too sensitive with this stuff. I know a fair share of women who have a new guy on their arm days after a semi-serious relationship ends. They’re perfectly okay with it, too. Playing the field, as they say. Seeing what’s out there…Keeping their options entirely wide open…
I guess I’m a One Guy kind of gal.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve tried my hand at dating multiple men at one time. Not only is it incredibly time-consuming, but it takes very strong organizational skills if you’re living as busy a life as I do. Between classes, hobbies, family and friend outings, a little me time, the occasional rehearsal, and whatever else life throws at me, squeezing in three dates a week with three different guys is incredibly trying. Although, pat yourself on the back if you see two of them in the same night. Not because you’re manipulating anyone…but because the stars aligned for it to match up that way. Makes it easier on the woman with the incredibly full weekly planner weighing down her purse.
How about the nights where Guy #1 calls when you’re in the middle of a date with Guy #3, and you don’t want Guy #3 to know about it? You can only ignore the phone calls and text messages for so long. Again…maybe I’m a pushover. I could simply take on the attitude of “I have a life outside of you, go away while i enjoy it away from you!” OR I can answer his calls/texts in a vague way.
You’re right…I’m way too nice.
Regardless, it tired me out, and I started to think about how pissed I would be if I found out a guy I really liked was seeing two other women on the side outside of me. I totally understand the whole exclusive idea, and no one ever brought that up. So, technically, we were all able to be seeing more than one person, and maybe these guys were. But I also know two of them really, really liked me despite the fact I wasn’t ready to commit singly to either one of them.
In the end, I learned aggressive dating wasn’t for me. I like to focus my attention on one guy, and one guy, only. Not only does it allow me the chance to discover is Vermin Rate much sooner, but it also allows me a chance to get to really know them other than worrying about how I would keep this information away from Guy #2. I also wouldn’t sit there and compare them all in my head. It hurts your brain trying to rate three different Pro’s and Con’s lists in your head all the time.
Is this typical behavior of women in the dating pool in this century? Believe it or not, I still consider myself slightly old-fashioned when it comes to dating.
Ah, well…it’s Friday everyone! So, if you’re going out on a date tonight, enjoy every minute of it. Every woman deserves to be wined and dined occasionally, and remember to give the sucker a chance (unless he’s already proven to be a total douche in the first 10 minutes of the date…then just order the most expensive thing on the menu and get your free meal in exchange for putting up with him in a public place where *GASP* your friends might see you with a total jerk.)
Whatever your dating style, rock it out. You’re only young once. Heck, even if you’re in your 50s and dating (to which I applaud you! Way to get back out there!)The only requirement I demand? That he treat you like the princess you were born to be.
Don’t undersell yourself, ladies. A Jedi knows her power and strength.
No man can ever take that away.
For the first time in my dating history, I walked through my door, set my purse down on my bedroom floor, sat down on my bed, and just sat. I didn’t have a ridiculous grin on my face. I didn’t have butterflies ransacking my stomach. Instead, I grabbed my planner to check the time I’m scheduled to work tomorrow morning, and proceeded to my kitchen to grab a glass of water.
I’ve been really thirsty all night long for some reason. Dehydration, probably.
On top of that, I just want to pull my contacts out of my eyes and settle into the couch for a few episodes of The Office (a new season has been put on Netflix so I can catch up on another new season and get my Dwight fix.)
What is wrong with me? I should be jumping out of my skin with this one. It’s not that it was a horrible date. In fact, it was a really great date. We were out and about several beaches with his dog. I can’t tell you how much I love and miss my dog. Leaving my dog behind once again when I left home this past weekend broke a small piece of my heart, like it always does.
Since my last dog, I’m reminded that every time I leave home, I might not come home to my dog again. Rest in peace Titan. I miss you so much, buddy. Even when you chewed on my barn rubbers if I forgot to put them up on the porch railing over night. I still miss you, my sweet little puppy.
I got to be outdoors. I got to jump from rock to rock on the shore like I was a crazy woman, like I was a kid playing on the rock pile. Skipping rocks, playing fetch with his dog, and sitting with my feet dangling in the cool water while talking to my date. It was gorgeous out, and I had a cute guy sitting next to me.
Then, we kept driving up the shoreline because there were a few places he wanted to show me because I had mentioned on previous dates I had never been to these places. So, basically a mini road trip.
After that, we didn’t turn off on the road we should have to return to his place. Instead, we kept going straight and I asked him what we were doing. We were going to pick up pizza from his favorite pizza place in town.
What more could I ask for?
It continued to be a pretty wonderful afternoon while we watched Family Guy, Wipe-Out, and talked about new movies coming out we both really want to see. Savages, Brave, The Dark Knight Rises, and a whole handful of others. It really was a sweet afternoon, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Then, why when I come home from said date, do I sit down on my bed and wonder why I feel like nothing happened between us? Like, there was no spark or something? He did kiss me good night, and we have tentative plans for tomorrow evening/this weekend…so it went well. Right?
Then, why do I feel this way?
I’ve been finding myself in a funk a lot as the week has progressed. It may be a small depression after my party-throwing this past weekend. I was looking forward to the Bachelorette Party for so long, now that it’s over, I don’t know what to do with myself sometimes. My main duties as the Maid of Honor are half over. A huge part of it is throwing these two parties for the bride. Until the big Game Day, I simply help her with whatever preparations she needs help with. Then, on the wedding day itself, I sort of run the show and make sure everything behind the scenes is running smoothly so the bride and groom don’t have to worry about anything but getting their vows right.
“The last hundred years of my life have been filled with new things.”
It doesn’t take a genius to know I’m not 100 years old, or ever over 100 years of age. But, in the years I have been blessed to walk on this earth and to have lived through the experiences I have experienced, it’s a beautiful thing. Lillian Postman, a woman checking in at 108 years old, probably knows a thing or two about life that I would love to hear.
I wonder if she was married…
With dating and life eternal with that one special someone locked in my brain at this moment while watching The Office, I am reminded how freaking cute Pam and Jim are on this show. Why can’t I have a romance story like that? Why can’t I find a Big Girl Job, meet the coworker who will become my best friend and confidante, let alone the love of my life, go through a big messy ordeal, then finally have him propose to me so we’ll live happily ever after in our suburban home with our 3 kids, our Mini Cooper, our dog, and a small screened in porch where we have brunch every Saturday and Sunday morning (where he does the cooking and I have the time off away from the kitchen.)
Why can’t I have that? Perhaps I will in my future, but since I don’t know if I will ever have that. I’ll beat myself to the ground wondering.
I do. More often than I would care to admit.
I need to find myself a hobby. One that requires discipline and focus. Maybe I should take up meditating in one of the places I was introduced to this evening, and really take my study of the Jedi arts far more seriously than I have been thus far. It’s one of those things where some days it’s pretty hard-core, and others I forget to think a Jedi-ist thought.
I’m in a funk, people. I need to find my way out of this.