A bittersweet ending...

I know I haven't posted in a long time, and for that I apologize. Life seems to get crazy sometimes and takes time away from the things we love to do - like writing. I promise TO TRY to be better in 2009.

So, I feel like since there's only one day left in 2008, it's only appropriate to reflect back on the year that has held so many changes for yours truly. No better place then to start at the beginning, right?
Hmm...I rang in 2008 in Knoxville with some of my very best friends in the whole world. If I remember correctly, there was drinking, dancing, laughing, games of dirty Jenga, and torn fishnet stockings. If I don't remember correctly, I'd like to keep my memories the way they are - because in them I had a blast!

Despite the wonderful company and fun I was (clearly) having, I was also in the midst of a lot of pain as the clock struck midnight. Only 2 days earlier, I found my dad slumped in the living room after (we later learned) having suffered a stroke; I was grieving the loss of a relationship that was doomed from the beginning, as no person or relationship has a fighting chance against an active addiction; and I had recently found myself living back home in a place that held more pain (at the time) then happy memories.

I remember hoping...praying...wishing...for a better 2008. I woke up in the new year so grateful for the people in my life - those who have stuck by me and loved me when it was seemingly impossible.

2008 was a great year! I discovered a new level of love and compassion I didn't know possible. Within me. Within my friends. I became acutely aware of the AMAZING people in my life, and how with every moment that passes, and every breath I take, I can NEVER take them for granted. I realized that "family" doesn't mean "blood". At some point this past year I lost count of the numerous times my friends surpassed human levels of acceptance and love - and realized I am forever indebted to each one of them for that.

I think if asked, most people would describe my 2008 with one word: "moving". I don't know if I could count the amount of times I have packed my things and moved them from one place to another. I feel like it has been forever since I opened a dresser drawer to get a pair of socks, or laid on my couch watching movies all day. I vaguely remember what that feeling is like - that feeling of security. Being settled. Home. I waited for so long for that feeling. I'm still waiting.

2008 also brought love. Great love. Amazing love. Of family. Of friends. It brought me to Boston, which is a place I am starting to call home. With a job I love. And friends. And "J". And a life. I'm building a life I LOVE.

I am excited to see what 2009 holds. I woke up this morning and said goodbye to one of my very best friends after a WONDERFUL night of laughing, talking, and catching up. My heart is always a little heavier when I say goodbye to her, knowing it will be another 6 months before we have this opportunity again. Knowing I would give anything to have this time with her every month. Knowing I feel that way about so many people - wishing we could be closer. That I wasn't always saying goodbye. But also feeling incredibly grateful that I have people I love so dearly. And who love me.

I spent the day reflecting on changes I need to make. Relationships that need healing. I am still searching for those answers, and think I will continue to search through the new year. But I am confident I will find them.

I am looking forward to the new friends I will meet. The home I will make. The places I will see. The love I will share. Looking back on all the changes - and even the pain - I am so grateful for every moment of 2008. All of those moments brought me to this moment. And I LOVE this moment. I love thinking about ringing in the new year again with my family in Knoxville, and making new memories.

For 2009: I hope I laugh everyday. Love without fear. Make new friends. Connect with old ones. I hope I can be a good friend. And daughter. And sister. I hope to finish my book.

I hope my friends and family find peace. Happiness. I hope all of you have something to smile about everyday. With no exceptions. I hope to love each one of you the way you have done me. Unconditionally. And without judgment.

I am a little sad to say goodbye to this year that I called "the year of KP" at this same time last year. But, I have a feeling 2009 will be even better. With all of you, I don't know how it couldn't be!

HAPPY NEW YEAR! May it bring everything you hope for...

All my love. Always.

The next step

Okay. So I return home after the "I have been thinking about suggesting we get a place together" comment and can barely sleep. Is he serious? Are we ready? Will he bring it up again? Is this the "right" time? What is the "right" time, anyways? Who makes that call? These questions plague my mind as I drift off for what will only be a few hours sleep.

I wake up the next morning excited, coaching myself over and over throughout the day that I can be the one to bring this up again. That I can be brave. That I can fight all my female insecurities that tell me to wait until he brings it up. I script the conversation perfectly in my head. Yes, I'm all set to make an appearance as the rarely seen (but often aspired to) assertive and confident KP.

He picks me up from work and takes me to my place to grab some clothes for today and then drives me home. I settle on the couch to read. He runs to the store for wine, and then starts making dinner. Salmon, risotto (he makes the BEST risotto), and vegetables. He's talking to me from the kitchen. About his day. About our upcoming trip to Philly. He starts telling me about his friend's documentary: "I want to see my friend's documentary I was telling you about. It looks so awesome." KP stares at "J" with blank a look on her face. "J" realizes he hasn't told me about this particular film yet. "You know, this wouldn't happen if we had more time together or if we lived in the same house."

Shortly after the SECOND mention of us becoming roomies, we sit down to dinner. There's romantic music playing in the background, candles lit, and wine has been poured. We sit and talk. And then he asks me: do I freak you out when I talk about these things. Like the future? Moving in together? Marriage?" I smile. I answer with a resounding NO! I mean, sure it's scary to be so vulnerable. But, something in my soul tells me this is right. We are right. I can't explain it or rationalize it. But it's SO GOOD! His face now is so close to mine I could feel his breath, see his dimples and myself in his dreamy blue eyes. He says: "so what do you think? do you want to live together?"

Yes. Yes, I do.

And with that we decide to start looking for a place after Christmas. Our place. Just the sound of that makes me smile in places so deep down inside. I will have a home. A HOME! I will unpack my make-up and my suitcases - and hang pictures. We will have a dining room table and a bed and dressers...and a bathroom to clean!

We spent the rest of the evening talking about the future. Our future. And smiling (we tend to do this a lot when we're together). It was magical. And scary. It's a new chapter. And new chapters are always a little bit scary.

Given this new level of vulnerability, I convince myself (with no particular evidence to support this next statement, of course) for a few short moments today that he regrets his decision and is kicking himself for ever suggesting it. I mean, who would seriously want to move in with me!?! I am obsessive-compulsive about my towels, take long showers and sing in my underwear. Constantly. Just then, my almost perfect boyfriend (yes, I have down-graded his status slightly so that I can better manage expectations...like when he leaves his socks on the floor or something...hehe) sends me the link to a house for rent in Brookline. Just then I realize that maybe - just maybe - there's someone out there who DOES want to take this next step with me. Imagine that...

And as scary as it might be for both of us, I'm so excited to wake up next to his smiling face everyday. And, yes, even his socks on the floor.

Healing, fate, and new beginnings

So, this past weekend comes and I'm looking forward to spending some quality time with "J". We make plans to have dinner with my best girl, "D" and her boy Friday night. This will be the first time I'm meeting this boy I've heard so much about - and vice versa. We ended up at The Alchemist Lounge in JP for some of the best drinks, food, and company I've had in a long time. We heard some crazy stories about the medical field (see: prolapse) and "J" and I doled out some relationship advice. All exhausted from a long week, we left relatively early and headed home where "J" and I finally had some quality time together. We even got to sleep in a little Saturday morning! It was a small slice of Heaven.

Now, since "J" and I are heading to Philadelphia for Thanksgiving weekend, he had "Little J" this weekend. He invited me to spend the weekend with them. Fighting my desire to have this time with my favorite boy and his gorgeous little girl, I tell him to enjoy Saturday alone with her. He hasn't had any time alone with her in weeks - and they needed some daughter/daddy time. They had lunch, went to the movies, chilled out at home. It was everything he needed. Now, since I am not that selfless, I spent Sunday hanging with them. We played store and tic-tac-toe, colored, dressed up, and had the city's best hot chocolate.

Now, this next part is BIG! On Saturday, "J" told me that I had been invited to "Little J's" house to meet her mom ("N"), step-dad and sister. He asked me how I felt about this. Honestly, I felt fine. I was actually looking forward to meeting her mother. It would help me continue to connect the dots of his life - something I rather enjoy. So, our Sunday is planned around this first meeting.

We arrive after stopping at the store to pick up dessert. From the second I walk through the door, I feel comfortable. Like we're friends. We look at dresses in her closet. And talk about having more babies. And watch The Little Mermaid. And have dinner and drink wine. It was incredible. I would be friends with this girl. Later that evening - when I should have been in bed - "J" and "N" are in the kitchen having a very serious discussion. I am talking to her husband (me with the baby in my arms, of course) in the family room. I overhear "J" tell her that he's sorry for the way he treated her when she found out she was pregnant. At that very moment, my heart smiled - he's finally getting the opportunity he's waited years for. Finally getting to say the words he's felt for so long but never had the courage or opportunity to say. He's making amends and starting to build something with this woman who has dedicated her life to raising her children. I knew at that moment this dinner was fate - and that we were all a part of something wonderful.

When we finally leave (after hugs, of course), "J" tells me in the car about his amazing conversation. About the tears. And the hope. And the healing. She was grateful for his apology. He was grateful for her sacrifice. They both developed a love for each other that was non-existent before that moment. Now they both have an admiration, respect, and love for each other as they raise their beautiful daughter. What a gift! "Little J" might just be the luckiest girl in the world to have so many people who love her so deeply. And purely. That differences don't seem to matter. And the past can be forgiven.

We drive home, both exhausted but in awe of such an amazing experience. When he drops me off at my car, I tell him I miss him. I miss not living across the street. I miss it being so easy to sleep in his bed. He sits silent. I ask the obvious question: do you not miss living so close to me? He pauses for a moment. "Yes, I do miss not having you so close. I miss you being able to sleep in my bed and go across the street to get ready. I miss it so much that I have been thinking about suggesting we get a place together." I am paralyzed. But I manage to smile. Then he kisses me. And I get out of the car and climb into mine. And drive home. Smiling.

Erasing the past

I'm sure we all have moments in our lives that we wish we could take back. Those that are attached to feelings of regret, sadness and anger. And, although most of us say if given the chance we "wouldn't change a thing", no one really means that. The irony is that no matter how much we wish we could, none of us can erase the past.

I was working feverishly at my desk earlier this week when I got an email from my ex-husband. This isn't unusual, so I thought nothing of it. The message is cordial - says he has a favor to ask of me - could he call me at work? Without hesitation, I tell him to go ahead. A moment later, the phone rings.

Nothing is out of place. He begins by telling me a funny story about his mom. Then tells me his new girlfriend is going home with him to meet his family for Thanksgiving. I tell him about my plans to spend the weekend in Philadelphia with "J". We joke about how funny and weird it would be if the four of us had drinks together. Then he does the awkward, now what was I saying? What was I going to say? Oh, yeah. The favor. Yes, the favor. Could we please get to it?

So, I'm gonna go ahead with the whole annulment thing, and need you to agree.

Excuse me. I'm sorry. But, did you say 'annulment'!?!

Now, our divorce was final a year ago next month. A year. And now you want to talk about an annulment? I tell him that I will agree to do that for him - that he just needs to tell me what to do. Will I have to sign something? Fill out a form? He tells me in not so many words that it's his new girlfriend's idea. That she wants the annulment. Of our marriage. One word, three letters: Our. We hang up. And I begin crying at my desk.

At first, I was confused by this reaction. Why would I be so upset about this? The divorce was done a year ago. I moved out long before that. Why the tears? After some serious thinking and talking about this request, I realize that I am upset that he wants me to agree to erase our past. Erase me. After 12 years, he wants to sign some papers and erase everything. Like it never happened. Once it's done, in the eyes of the church, we will never have been married. Maybe I shouldn't be the one to judge since it was me who walked out on our vows. I reneged on that promise. And, if I could do that, shouldn't he have the right to try to erase the hurt?

I fundamentally disagree with this. I don't regret my decision - to get married or to leave. I am proud of who I have become through these decisions and experiences. "J" knows all about my past, and loves me more in spite - or because of - it. I have such a hard time thinking about a new person coming into my ex-husband's life - which I shared for so long, and asking him to erase me. I am even more furious that he is agreeing to it. Is he ashamed? Is it because he can't say no? Is it because he can't move on with any parts of me still remaining? The guilt I feel as I write these words is overwhelming. That's why I said yes. That's why I didn't fight. Because I know that I made a decision that altered the course of his life forever. And as hard as it is for me, and as much as I disagree with it, I feel like it's one small thing I can do to help him move on. To find closure.

There is no erasing the past. The memories remain - in my mind and in photographs. I was a different person back then, as was he. I am grateful for the things I learned through him. Maybe he's still hurting from the things he learned through me. Maybe this will help him forget the bad times. I guess a part of me is scared that he'll forget the good. Maybe I'm more scared that I've become someone who can simply be erased.

I wonder if that's how he felt when I walked away.

A new address...again

I am sitting right now in the Junebug cafe - my favorite place in JP. That's not far off from what I'm doing every week, as I often find myself here for several hours at a time, disappearing into my thoughts through writing. This time, though, is slightly different. First, I sit here with one of my best girls, "D" who wanted to try her hand at writing, and was looking for some inspiration. Second, and obviously what this post is about, is the fact that I now live only a few blocks away from this place that has quickly become my book-writing mecca. I am at peace in this moment as I type away at my computer with my friend beside me and a passion fruit bubble tea on the table. However, as much as I am at peace in this particular moment, I feel my insides ready to explode from the torture I have subjected them to with my nomadic lifestyle.

I was dreading yesterday. I hated the thought of packing my clothes. And moving them. Again. I hated the thought of not being across the street from "J" anymore. I had become so accustomed to walking across the street at midnight to crawl into bed with him. Waking up in the morning, leaving him there to sleep while I went home to get ready for work. I loved our life. It was like living together - light. I was dreading this move, knowing it would require more planning and effort when we had become so used to impulsive and easy. I left his apartment on Friday night with a very heavy heart and headed back to my apartment in Southie for the last time.

I woke up yesterday morning and started the process. I was miserable. Through some amazing self-therapizing, I realized that moving has become synonymous with anger and disappointment, as the last few times have been laden with those emotions. I also realized that the reason moving is so depressing for me right now is because I am moving into yet another temporary situation, where I will not hang any of my pictures, put away any of my dishes, or have the ability to take a shower any time I want. No, these are luxuries I gave up a long time ago - and I have been going "backwards" ever since. I have been talking to "J" about my feelings toward moving for the past few weeks. I found it impossible to hide these emotions from him. I wanted him to be a part of this move. I wanted him to be the security I was searching for. The comfort that moving always left me longing for. Moving meant lonely. And I was tired of that feeling.

As I sit here today I wish I could say that yesterday was different for me. That it didn't leave me feeling those things. That I walked into my new place and felt "home". Instead, I packed up my car and drove out of Southie alone, and pulled up at the new house and started unloading my belongings. I carried my blow-up bed to my room where I sat and watched missed episodes of The Office. And cried. Because I miss that feeling of falling asleep on the couch. And of making breakfast un-interrupted. And leaving my coat on the back of the kitchen chair. I miss the feeling that comes with a home - no matter what kind of home it is.

I am still upset. And I'm trying so hard not to be. I wish that it had gone differently, and that I would be able to finally look at moving in a positive way. But I'm not there yet. To me, moving means temporary and sad. It means living with strangers. It means another undetermined amount of time where I will only feel comfortable in a small section of a house. But, it also means new friends. And I am really looking forward to building relationships with the kick-ass girls who are my new roomies. When no one else was there to welcome me home, they did. With smiles and hugs. And, you know, that alone is more than I have had during any of my recent moves. So, it's already looking up. I have a good feeling about my next move. That it will be a place I can call home. And hang a picture. And FINALLY put my Christmas present from LAST year on MY fridge (thanks, KB!). Yeah, I'm slowly getting there. In the meantime, I will learn what I can from this experience, and keep notes for my next book. I am glad knowing that when a friend comes to me in the future, and is feeling unsettled, I can offer my experience as a small amount of solace - and hopefully they will be able to find some peace from my struggle.

But, if "struggle" means every weekend walking to the Junebug and sipping on bubble tea, I think I'll be just fine.

Yes We Can!

I sit here tonight so inspired and amazed. Just 24 short hours ago the fate of our country was still undecided - who would lead us at this time of change and tension? Would America step up to the plate and elect change and hope that was written in a different color? Or would we continue to elect what we know, scared of change?

I sat and watched the coverage with my roommate because "J" was out of town. I was walking home from the bus stop when I received a text message that Obama had won Pennsylvania. I cheered out loud while walking down the street. That was a HUGE victory! I got home and was immediately glued to the television. I watched as every state came in. When he took Ohio I knew we had it. He had taken it. Ohio usually isn't good for much - but they sure did come through in a BIG way!!

At 11:00, life as we know it changed forever. We sent the message to the world that we are willing to change - that we're not happy with the way things have been running. We hate this war. We hate this administration. Race will no longer cripple us, but unite us. We are no longer white, black, Asian, Hispanic. But people who want something different.

I was jumping. Screaming. Crying. People who lived through the civil rights movement. People who experienced it. They are able to dream of greatness. For themselves. For their children. America will stand behind them. We will not shut the door any longer.

I woke up today with a renewed faith. I read what the rest of the world was saying. About Obama. About America. There is a new light that shines. A new hope that exists. Nothing could get me down today. This is too good. We have made history. My children and grandchildren will read about this moment in history books years from now. And I will tell the story with pride. I was here. I was a part of this. I felt the hope. Saw the tears. Wrapped myself in the joy. They will not understand this moment because they will not have seen a world as divided as we have. They will listen to our stories with interest, but no clear understanding. The world is so different now. We have changed it forever. And for so much the better.

I am so proud tonight. So inspired. So amazed. I hope that the next 4 years brings as much hope as this past day has brought. If it comes anywhere close, we are in for an awesome journey.

Love is like diving???

So yesterday was an interesting day. I was supposed to be driving to Michigan with my dog - a plan that got changed about 10 times Thursday night. Instead, I ended up sleeping in late with "J", writing a press release which contained no news value whatsoever, hiding in the bathroom crying, and ended with a trip out of state.

And the only thing I had planned was writing the release.

"J"s birthday was this past week. I LOVE birthdays. I love buying presents. Planning surprises. I should celebrate birthdays as a profession. I had been scheming for weeks, trying to ensure he had a memorable day. You see, "J" also loves birthdays, but is used to planning his own celebrations. He's not used to - or okay with - giving up the control. Several times along the way I was close to throwing my hands up and allowing him to plan everything himself. But, I kept plugging along. In the end, he enjoyed a wonderful birthday, and I earned his trust. I think it was a good compromise.

Somewhere along the way, while trying to plan what I thought would be the perfect gift, I offended his family. I had no idea. "J" comes over yesterday to talk about "something". I, of course, start freaking out because these conversations are not something I'm comfortable with. I was raised where you deal with things in a passive-aggressive manner - expecting someone to know what you are upset about through non-verbal clues and strange verbal jabs. This never works, so I'm not quite sure why so many people still employ this age-old technique. So "J" explains what happens, and I end up feeling terrible. Somewhere during this honest discussion, he also manages to offend me greatly. Given my personal sensitivity, this is not terribly hard to do, I admit.

Nonetheless, the afternoon was spent wondering how someone I love - and who says he loves me back - could not know the fundamental things that make me me. I was pretty devastated.

A later discussion finds that the whole thing was a huge misunderstanding, and that we're both incredibly happy and slightly scared with where this is going. Happy because it's amazing and "perfect"; scared because it's always hard to let yourself go completely. And we are. He is looking for my "voids" to fill and I'm loving him in a way he's never known. But we're learning. Together.

I needed a break and a chance to clear my head, so I headed up to Maine late last night. When I arrived I had a long chat with "K". During our talk, something became clear. I have found something amazing. Something that doesn't require me to give - or take - everything. I get to do both. I get to love "J" the way I know how, and he gets to love me back - in his way. There's no losing myself. Rather, it's finding a me I've been searching for. A happy, balanced KP.

It's like this: I am daytime diving. A LOT to see. FULL of excitement. A constant burst of energy. Loving BIG. "J" is like nighttime diving. Amazing and beautiful and focused intensely on what's right in front of him. He takes his time to study it, learn it, love it. Loving consistently and slowly.

Yeah, it seems like a "perfect" match. Without being too presumtuous, I'm gonna say that I think we are going to be very happy. For as long as we are lucky enough to have it, that is.

"Even if we had terrible sex I'd still love your feet"

So, life's interesting as always here in KP's corner. It's great, because I don't even have my first book written and I've already started on the content for the sequel! In my mind I am going to be very wealthy someday with the books I plan on writing. For the sake of making myself feel good after a long day, I'm going to say that counts for something.

Let's see...where to begin. This past weekend: my mom came to Beantown. Just writing that sentence launches a nervous twitch across my body. My mother. In Boston. 4 whole days of passive-aggressive bonding. And she was going to meet "J". The last time she met one of my boyfriends, the meeting (in a snapshot) entailed a spilled glass of wine (on the passenger's seat of a car), an embarrassing self-choreographed dance, a country song, and a now infamous line: "I am who I am". As much as I enjoy "J" and want him to be a part of everything that is "me", I wasn't sure I was ready for him to become familiar with any of the characters in the "Story of Nancy". But, nonetheless it was inevitable. The first meeting, at "J"'s apartment went well. His daughter was there, and everyone acted as normal as possible. It was wonderful. When we climbed into the car my mom's best friend immediately asks me: "what's wrong with him? He seems perfect. No man is that perfect - something must be wrong." Since she's a self-proclaimed man-hater, I decided to just be happy with my perfect "J" and expect that life will always be this good. I don't see a reason to think any other way...

The weekend continued. We went to lunch on Saturday with "J"'s friends from London, and then went to get pumpkins with his perfect little daughter. It was a wonderful afternoon, and mom participated without being overbearing or passive aggressive. A major (but not often experienced) success these days. After the orchard, mom, "K" and I headed north to Portsmouth and "J" headed out with his friends.

Because I didn't want to leave Ella at home with my crazy living situation, she had to come with us. Everywhere. That meant every hotel we stayed at, we had to stuff the poor little puppy into a bag and smuggle her in. By the end of mom's visit, she got so used to being put into a bag she would just climb in. So sad, really. But, she was a good sport, and got to see lots of new things. Important for any dog's existence.

All in all, the weekend was an extreme mix of emotions. Mostly I began freaking out when I realized my roommate was going to let a criminal live in our apartment with us. I, of course, am extremely uncomfortable with the fact that a man who goes around beating peoples' heads in with bats is going to be living with us. Or, rather, will be anywhere near me. I knew immediately that I needed to start looking for a new place to stay. And, after more than a year of instability and moving from place to place, this is the last thing I wanted.

Basically this past week has been filled with work, spending time with "J" and looking for rooms to sublet. The process can be grueling - trying to find a room with people you like, getting Ella back to Michigan, and figuring out where to stay in the interim...

So, more or less that's been the past couple of days. Always good. Always interesting. Always exciting. And my perfect boyfriend continues to be perfect. After my mom made a comment about my ugly feet, he said to me: even if we had terrible sex, I'd still love your feet. Now if that's not perfect, I don't know what is.

"I'd like to check you for ticks"

A little more than a year ago I was at a Brad Paisley concert the night before I left for my best friend's wedding in Mexico. On the way, I dropped my entire collection of underwear off at the laundromat to be washed so that I could pick it up afterwards and make my 6:00 am flight the next morning. Once the concert started, though, I started to re-think the idea of leaving early just to get my underwear. I distinctly remember turning to my friend and saying "he hasn't even played Ticks yet!" And, with that, I decided to stay at the concert and went to Mexico with no underwear. I mean, who needs underwear in Mexico anyways, right?

This morning I awoke to the sleepy blue eyes of a very handsome British man looking back at me. Despite my exhaustion and desire to remain in bed with said boy, I got up with a smile on my face, re-playing my wonderful weekend in my mind. With sleep in my eyes, I kiss him goodbye and wish him a wonderful day - I head home and he heads to Home Depot. I barely make it up the stairs, stumble to the bathroom and turn on the shower. Not very efficiently due to lack of sleep, I grab a clean towel, put toothpaste on my toothbrush, apply facewash to my face, get undressed and climb in the shower. I follow the same routine I do everyday. Wash face. Rinse hair. Brush teeth. Apply shampoo. Lather up. Rinse. Apply conditioner. Rinse. All the while singing and dancing to the uplifting lyrics of Sugarland's All I want to do. It's a wonderful and celebrated experience every morning. Except this morning something happened that didn't fit into this routine.

As i was rinsing off - just before turning off the water - I realized I had an itch on my thigh. I scratch it. It continue to itch. So I look down. A bug. Gross but no big deal. I flick it off my skin. It doesn't move. I flick again. It still doesn't move. "Oh. My. God. This is not a bug. It's a tick." I immediately go into panic mode. I start pacing. Freaking out. Panting. Crying. Hyper-ventilating. All of a sudden I become acutely aware of the creature that has attached itself to my body and is sucking my blood. My blood. Sucking. I dry off. Still shaking. I start pacing. "I need to figure out what to do. What do I do? I cannot pull this thing out of my own skin. Simply cannot." I send "J" a text message. If it's at all possible for a text message to convey hysteria, this one did. I made sure to use the appropriate punctuation and caps to ensure he understood I. WAS. FREAKING. OUT.

He calls me. He tells me to get some tweezers and pull gently. I try to explain as calmly as possible that there is no way on this green earth that I can possibly pull this thing out of my own leg. Within minutes, he's in the apartment ready to perform an extraction. We go into the bathroom and shut the door. He sits on the tub, me on the toilet. I drape my leg over his and turn the other way. About to pass out, I try to focus on anything except the feeling of him pulling at this thing that has buried itself under my skin. I am going white. I can feel the blood rushing from my head. I can feel the food I've consumed over the past 3 days coming back up with a vengeance.

I realize at this very moment - with my leg draped over the tub, hair soaking wet, hysterical and about to pass out from the trauma of this situation - that if this guy stays with me after this, it must be love. He never loses patience or his cool. As I am freaking out, he's kissing my knee, never letting go of the tick. He's gently pulling, trying to coax the tick to let go of my skin. What seems like a lifetime later (partly because as he pulled harder, I could feel the tick latching on, reluctant to let go) he got it out. And I immediately stumble to the couch, lay down and put my feet up in the air to prevent myself from losing consciousness. I was that close.

I took my time and got ready for work. I called the urgent care and went over to be tested for Lyme disease. It was everything a Monday should be.

A few hours later as I was sitting at my desk, the Brad Paisley song comes to my head (thanks to my best friend in Kville). I start to laugh as I remember the lines: "I'd like to walk you through a field of wildflowers. I'd like to check you for ticks." Maybe that's what "J" had in mind when he suggested a 20-mile bike ride through the woods of Vermont...

A little piece of Heaven...

I have just had the most amazing weekend EVER! It was a perfect and extended period of time where everything in the universe was in alignment - everything worked out just the way you think it should. Let me explain.

I have been wanting to see the leaves change color ever since I moved out east. Timing, distance, and just pure circumstance kept me from making the trip from Philly to Vermont to experience this annual event. Until now. I made a promise to myself when I moved to Boston - no matter what, I was going to see the leaves change color this year. Alone. With a friend. No matter what. How perfect was it, then, when I met "J" and mentioned this was a dream of mine, he said it was one of his, too. Right then and there, we promised each other we wouldn't have to fulfill this dream alone. No, we would live this dream together.

We started planning late, as "J's" schedule is constantly changing. It's like an amoeba - it has a life of its own, morphs when it needs to fit inside any environment, and can change at any given second. It's kind of exciting, though because it gives him a level of intrigue that he otherwise would lack as the totally open, honest, wear-your-heart-on-your-sleeve-brit that he is.

We check every bed and breakfast in the state of Vermont. No rooms. Anywhere. Committed to sleeping in the car to make this trip happen, we finally come across what appears to be the last vacant hotel room in the entire state. It's in a town called Killington, which is 30 minutes away from our destination of Woodstock. I book it immediately, and we start getting excited.

We left Friday night after work and headed up. Several hours and wicked traffic jams later, we made it to the hotel - a ski lodge up in the mountains. Starving and exhausted, we found the only local place still serving food. We ordered some drinks, fried cheese and onions, played some air hockey, pool, and arcade games. We even met some friends with whom we shared shots and games of pool (we won each game, no thanks to "J" - I had to clear the table myself).

Saturday we slept in, woke up to some fantastic Zeppelin tunes, got ready and headed out for a day in Woodstock. We grabbed a late breakfast at a cute little cafe in town (I got quiche!!!!), made some Canadian friends, and headed to pick up our bikes. We mapped out our 20 mile trip and, with lots of ill-placed confidence, started peddling. And peddling some more. For about 4 hours we went up a lot of hills, and down a few. We saw covered bridges. Beautiful leaves. Empty fields. Cows. Horses. The gorge. It was incredible. We stopped to take pictures. And to fix my bike. And shop for glass. It could not have been more perfect. I take that back. If I was able to at all feel my legs at the end, it would have been more perfect. Because I seriously thought "J" was going to have to do the whole ride-on-the-handlebars maneuver with me. It's nice knowing that he would have, but that he didn't have to in the end. Although it was a close call.

Afterwards, we bought some wine, cheese, crackers, maple syrup candy and headed back to our hotel. We rested, got our energy back, and celebrated a relationship milestone. High on life but low on energy, we headed to dinner at an adorable New England-style inn. We had the best butternut squash soup ever. We had a wonderful dinner of salmon and conversation, followed by a glass of port and the Red Sox game. The night was amazing - a perfect ending to a perfect day.

We woke up this morning to the sun shining brightly through the window of our hotel room. We were hesitant to leave this wonderful place, but excited to drive to our next stop, Brattleboro. We stopped and had breakfast - pumpkin pancakes with pure Vermont maple syrup - at a cute little diner nearby. Our waiter was straight (and I don't mean sexual orientation) out of The Sopranos. We had a totally appropriate conversation that to an outsider would sound like anything but, and cracked ourselves up thinking about the poor conservative couple sitting next to us, trying to enjoy their eggs.

Brattleboro was awesome. Total granola town with hippies, no bras, unshaven armpits, liberals, and artists. We loved it! We enjoyed lots of coffee, reading, tree climbing, and movie-making (make sure to check out "J's" facebook page for my debut role as the granola secret agent).

All-in-all, it was an amazing weekend. The drive back was all about sharing personal experiences (some of which were very uncomfortable (i.e. mine)). I will always be grateful that I was able to share this dream with "J" - the feeling of peace and happiness is one that I will not easily forget. I hope that I will have many more just like it. Yeah, the universe is a pretty awesome thing...

You seriously won't believe this...

Welcome, everyone, to the exciting chronicles of KP. Please, drop everything you're doing, forget everything bad that happened today, and come with me for just a minute. I promise you won't regret it.

So, we just went to the New Kids on the Block concert. And it was amazing. We wake up the next morning high on the drug that is our youth reincarnated. We threw on some clothes and walked up to Broadway for another round of good 'ole DD. Gotta love some french vanilla goodness on a Saturday morning! After breakfast we decided to spend some time with "J" and his amazing, beautiful, intelligent daughter who has me wrapped around her little finger. As any 4-year old would want to do, we put on a Hannah Montana concert. We jumped and sang into hair brushes and cooking spray bottles. We had a blast. Sadly, though, as much as "KB" and I tried to convince "Little J" that we should try singing to New Kids, she wasn't budging. It was Hannah. Over and over and over....

We decided we were going to hang out in Cambridge. Despite the never-ending rain that began the minute her plane touched down (and didn't stop until her plane took off on Sunday). We had a wonderful afternoon - a fabulous lunch at Z Square, the BEST hot chocolate on the eastern seaboard at Burdick, and a walk across Harvard's campus (and for those few minutes we were on site, they reported a significant drop in the overall IQ...).

Soaking wet and exhausted, we went home to get ready to go out with my old roomie. That's right. We were going to the gay bar! We spent lots of time making sure we were ready for this particular excursion. We definitely needed to make a good showing! We had a blast. We danced for what felt like 30 minutes, but turned out to be 2 1/2 hours. We danced on the stage. On the platform. There was no stopping us. We were hot!

The night ended, we said our goodbyes, and collapsed into bed. We were so exhausted. We said goodnight like a sexless lesbian couple would, and went to sleep. Until 4:30 am when my phone went off.

A text message from a number I didn't recognize said: "Hey stranger". Curious as to who is texting me from Rhode Island in the middle of the night, I, of course, ask the obvious question: "who is this?" Answer? "Drummer".

Now, most people who read this blog are familiar with said person. Some are not, however. A brief summary: I met drummer through my relationship(s) in Providence. A friend of a friend. We spent some time together - about a week - before I moved to Boston. Before I left to drive back to Michigan, "drummer" said some things that made me believe I would see him again. After about a week back home, all calls and text messages just stop. Completely. No explanation. No freak out. Nothing. Just totally MIA. That was almost 6 months ago.

So, you can understand my surprise, then, when at 4:30 in the morning, I receive a text message from him. After several attempts to try to get an explanation out of him, I receive the best text message ever. "Well, why don't we put the past behind us and send each other some dirty pictures." I. ALMOST. DIED. Um, I'm sorry, it's late/early, my eyes must not be working correctly. No one could really expect that I would just agree to this. My response: "There are several reasons why the answer is no. Not the least of which being I am not alone in my bed." He doesn't stop there. So sad. So pathetic. I end up giving it to him straight: "look...I have much more self respect than to do that. If I did send you pictures, it would imply that I have been waiting around for you to call me. And I haven't. Plus, and most important, I have found someone that will do all those things for me. I don't need pictures of you for anything." His response: "I guess it was silly to think you would send me pictures." SILLY!?! Yeah, I don't know that 'silly' would be the first word that came to my mind, but if that's all you can come up with...sure. We'll go with silly.

None of this is made up. It all really happened, and I have the text messages to prove it. I love how things have come full circle. I love that he came to me, and I shot him down. I love that I have found a wonderful boy in "J", who understands we all have pasts, and forgives me for all of my 'mistakes'. Most of all, I love that I now have this story to add to my arsenal. It's the one I'll whip out when a girlfriend calls me and says: "You won't believe what just happened to me..." Because, after this, I'll believe anything.

Still Hangin Tough...

I'm not even going to apologize for the lack of posts right now. I'm simply going to dive in like I haven't been gone at all...

So last weekend was probably the best weekend of my life. Seriously. There were so many things that make that statement true. First of all, on Thursday night, my best friend flew in from Knoxville. I hadn't seen her in at least 5 months, since before I moved to Beantown. Now, that might not seem like a lot of time to some people. However, I was used to seeing this particular friend at least once a month. I would travel down to Knoxville for work, stay with her and help her with her 2 wonderful children. Sometimes for a week. Sometimes more. We became a sexless lesbian couple - her husband is always out of town, so when I was there, we would run the house together. One gets the kids. The other gets dinner. We've been stuck on the couch with the flu together. She's become someone I simply cannot live without. I missed her terribly.

Before I went to pick her up at the airport, though, my new boy stops by the apartment to say hi. He begins to tell me about his day - about something he realized. After a lifetime spent loving women who need him, he was finding it hard to fall in love with me. Because I don't "need" him in the way he's used to. He realized, though, that love isn't based on filling someone's voids, but rather about sharing your strengths. He said he couldn't wait to run over and tell me all of this. That he's ready. To let go. To love me. That it's so clear to him now. That this is right. I smiled. And laughed. And felt something incredible move deep down inside. I was so glad he told me this. So happy he realized this before running away out of fear and the unknown. He kissed me - and ran off to the store. I stood there for a moment, unable to stop my world from spinning on all axis. This must be what pure happiness feels like.

Hmmm...still in a daze, I pick "KB" up from the airport and we immediately start cramming for the New Kids concert the following night. "Summertime", "One Song", "2 in the morning", "Don't Cry" - all of their new stuff that I needed to learn. We picked "J" up and went to a local Southie bar for some drinks, food, and karaoke. Good times were had by all. He even got up and did a little Eminem for me (I told you, he's perfect)!!!

The next day "KB" and I walked around Boston, bought some new clothes for the concert, laughed, got soaked in the rain - had a WONDERFUL day! But, all of that is nothing compared to what happened that night. The concert. We had to drive because the wait for a taxi was over an hour long. As I often do, I got lost in Boston. "J" was wonderful enough to talk us through getting there (this is definitely his strength over mine...). We find a spot to park and enter the TD Banknorth arena, which has never in its existence seen this much estrogen at one time. Women were wearing their old buttons, ripped jeans, high tops, side pony tails - it was awesome! Some were pregnant, all were close to our age - it was thousands of grown women who left their husbands at home with the kids. This equation always makes for a good time!

When the boys finally came out, we were holding onto each other and jumping like little school girls. I was immediately transformed to 4th grade when I was in love with Mark Sarzynski. Yes, Mark, you totally blew my mind that time! For 2 1/2 hours this madness continued. We danced. We sang. We cried. It was INCREDIBLE! No other band could - or will - ever be able to make me feel the way they do. We walked out singing the songs, dancing through the streets. We treated ourselves to some good 'ole DD for the ride home, got in the car, and turned up the New Kids.

Nothing could have brought us down from that buzz. Nothing still can. We are grown groupies and proud of it! WE LOVE YOU GUYS!!!! Donnie, Danny, Jon, Jordan, and Joe - you guys definitely still have the right stuff! Thanks for making 2 women feel like giddy little school girls again. It's something that neither of us will soon forget.

Does it ever get any easier!?!

I know, I know, I know. A blog is supposed to be updated. Geez. I have gotten it from so many people lately. "So, now that you've got a new boy in your life, and he's read your blog, does that mean you're not going to post anymore????" Let me answer with an emphatic: NO! I just have been so wrapped up in said boy - and work - that I simply haven't had time. But, when I find I do have a few minutes to sit down and write, I am simply too exhausted to write and make any sense. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. For the very few people who actually care! :)

Okay, there's so much to catch up on. And, even though I know a blog is supposed to happen "real-time", I have a few older posts that I have written down and will post this week. That way you can all feel as though you are up to speed on everything that's taken place over the past few weeks. Until then, I'm going to post like I have been all along.

I have been working like an insane person. I think there was one day this week I got to work at 6:30 a.m. and didn't leave until 7:00 p.m. It is just so busy around the office. I'm not complaining - but it has left me incredibly exhausted. Which, would beg the question why I'm up writing right now and not laying in my bed sleeping...

Anyways, back to the story at hand. I come home on Friday night totally exhausted, barely able to think. I'm in a great mood, though, as it's Friday and my weekend has officially begun. I am excited to spend some quality time with my new boy who started his insane travel schedule this week (post to come). I stop by his place on my way home to drop off the movies I rented for a quiet evening in. He's in a strange mood that I haven't experienced before. Just kind of "blah". I leave the movies and head home to change and take the puppy out. After that's all taken care of, and I chatted with roomie about her day, I head back.

I walk in, and he's waiting by the door, and greets me with a kiss. His kisses are always so nice. He pulls me close and tells me he knows why he's been feeling the way he has been. It's because he freaked out. That we're moving too fast. And we need to slow down. Give each other a little more space. "Okay," I say. Just like that. "Okay."

Now, I have to say here that I don't disagree with him on this. I like "me" time. I like to be with my friends and family and not have to worry that it's going to piss someone off. I'm totally independent, and don't see this being a character trait that ever changes. On the other hand, another character trait of mine is to always take everything very personally. So, this conversation, when put through the "KP filter" sounds like: "You have been moving too fast. And it's scaring me. You are going to need to pull back." See the difference there? And how this form of insanely unhealthy communication could cause problems in any relationship?

I immediately do what I do best in these situations - recoil and internalize everything. Every feeling. Every emotion. Every thought. I get angry with myself, and begin to go through every conversation, trying to find where I misread things. Funny thing is...I can't seem to find where I had. So, I internalize some more. It's a vicious cycle.

A few somewhat uncomfortable hours later, "J" asks me if I'm okay. At this point, I can no longer internalize what I'm feeling, because he's actually calling my bluff. He wants to talk about it. He wants to know what I'm feeling. He has seen an immediate change in me, and wants to understand it. I start talking. I tell him that I don't feel I've misread things, and that I was just keeping up with the pace. He says he understands, and apologizes if he wasn't clear earlier. The only thing he was trying to get across is that he loves where we're at, and where we're headed (wherever that may be). But he doesn't want to lose "him" while we're doing "us". So he has to make sure he pays attention to that. I laugh. "Um, duh. If you think I'm going to let any guy take 'me' away from 'me', you've got another thing coming, dude. I love my friends - and spending time with them. That's something that's never going to change."

The conversation (although wicked uncomfortable) was great. I have never had such an open and honest conversation about the way I'm feeling about a relationship. I've never had anyone who wanted to know exactly how I was feeling about something, either. Or, who told me how he was feeling. It was exhilarating. I realized that he is just as excited as I am to see where this goes. And is willing to step outside his comfort zone to make sure we give it the best chance possible to become something more. After a year of trying to internalize the way I felt about everything, I'm stepping into a whole new, and somewhat terrifying territory here.

Scared shitless, I'm also so excited. Openness. Honesty. Communication. What concepts!!!

After this deep and exhausting conversation, we turned on some Led Zeppelin and eventually went to sleep. Open communication. A cute British boy. Led Zeppelin. I'd say that's a pretty awesome end to a very long week.

I did NOT just do that...

So, of course the new boy knows I write. He knows about the blog, and about the book in the works. Since he's so amazing and wants to know everything about me (scary, I know...he's already been warned), he says he'd love to read the blog. I explain to him that people I get involved with on a personal level aren't allowed to read this...that they will inevitably end up here, and I can't have those two worlds collide. I don't ever edit what I say here, and I don't want to start now. I also don't want to have to down play my excitement over a new something I think is really great. It is just too messy.

However, in a gesture of introducing him to my writing, I send him the very first post in an email. I am excited that he'll be able to get a taste without biting off too much. I feel good about this decision. So I hit "send" and watch my message disappear somewhere into the WWW universe.

Later that same day, I receive a text message thanking me for trusting him with my blog. I remember thinking to myself: "wow, he sure is grateful to be able to read one of my posts. What a swell boy I've found."

I get home from work and take Ella out. He meets us by the beach and walks with us, and then we walk back and sit on the front porch, chatting about our days. He compliments my writing, saying it's both intuitive and humorous. Then, he makes a reference to "Brit boy." I immediately feel sick. How do you know about Brit boy, I ask. "It's in the blog," he replies. I know I looked like a deer caught in the headlights. This Abbott and Costello routine continued for a few more minutes, until it's finally revealed that the post I sent him was hyperlinked. To this blog. To all the posts contained here within. About addiction. About croatians. And Brits. I actually wrote: "I wish someone would've warned me the Brits were coming." He read that. All of it. I was mortified. AND HE'S BRITISH!

The good news is that he says he's even more attracted to me after reading such candid accounts of my life. The bad news is...everything else. He read it...all. I have no guard. It's all down. It's been stripped. He knows my weaknesses. I lay totally vulnerable. Exposed. My emotions are on the table like a science experiment. Only this experiment has gone horribly wrong.

He's been awesome, promising to not read what I write here. To take a hiatus. In the back of my mind, though, I know. He knows. And with a click of the mouse, will continue to know. What I think of us. Of him. Of my past. Of my future.

Coming to these conclusions, I thought I would be more upset than I actually am. Truth be told, I am more honest with him than anyone I've ever known. He knows how I feel about everything. He knows my past. And I know his. So, with that in mind, I will continue to write here like I always do. And, hope he continues to feel the same way. And, if not, I guess he'll have a really easy way to find out!

Too late for I'm sorry

I feel like I've been through this before. Where I want to have my emotions, my fears, my pain validated. For the past year. For loving unselfishly. For living through addiction. For surviving.

The past year saw tears and pain; anger and sadness; frustration and humility. It has created chaos and destroyed peace. It has left me lonely. And yet made me strong. I used to pray that I would find closure. For me, that meant one small moment of clarity. Of gratitude. For what I sacrificed. For my patience. For not judging. But, of course, these moments rarely happen in addiction. After all, if addicts experienced these moments of clarity, recovery would have much higher success rates. And it doesn't. Addiction is the opposite of clarity. Realizing this, I accepted that the past year was mine alone. I was the only casualty. I had to accept it as a loss. That it would only exist in my mind. My memory.

I was sitting at work the other day, smiling from ear to ear, awaiting a text message from the new adorable boy I'm crushin on, when my phone lights up. My heart skips a beat, wondering what wonderful message "J" is sending me now. I go to my text messages only to find a number without a name. A Rhode Island number. It reads: "I'm sorry for the way I treated you while we were together, and that you never got to know the real me." My heart stopped. What the hell had brought this on? Why now? Why this morning? Because I'm curious, I ask that exact question. Through a series of text messages and one awkward phone call, I learn that he's been diagnosed with a failing liver. This diagnosis has left him re-evaluating his life, and the people he's hurt along the way. Um, hurt doesn't even begin to describe it. And, a text message apology? Seriously? That works well if you've accidentally walked off with a person's pen. Or forgot to say good-bye. Not when you've sucked the life out of someone.

I have to interrupt for a minute. I know there's a history here, and that history and comfort sometimes cause us to make decisions we wouldn't normally make. Or decisions we know are wrong. But, I don't make decisions for comfort anymore. I make decisions for me. And happiness. The entire time I was talking to him, I only had one thought. I want to be happy. I want freedom. From the past. I want to see where this goes with "J" - without anything standing in the way.

He invited me to have lunch this past weekend, so I could meet the "new" him. I graciously declined, explaining that although I am grateful for the apology, I have moved on. And will continue to move on. Because after all the pain and obstacles, I made it. To the other side. And happiness is a sweet, sweet victory. And I don't like to lose, so I think I'll stay right here. And take whatever this journey brings.

Looking forward, it appears as though it's gonna be an incredible ride...

"I MET A BOY!!"

If you're one of my close friends, you recently received a text (or several) with the above message. And, I'm not complaining here, but that message didn't seem to garner much interest. So, for those who like to keep up on my Boston life through this blog, here's the amazing story that has had me smiling from ear to ear for the past week...and doesn't seem to be fading anytime soon.

My new roomie had a crush on our new neighbor. And, despite my immediate "he's gay" reaction, she spent a night at the local bar with him, only to discover that I was indeed wrong. The next day, he sent her a text message asking her to bring me and come over to his place for wine, and to meet one of our other neighbors. We didn't feel like going out, so the tactic was to simply ignore the message. Two minutes later, our bell rings. Due to some awkwardness, I answered the door and invited them in. I was pleasantly surprised when I saw this new neighbor, not expecting a young, attractive man to be visiting our apartment that Thursday evening. This is particularly because I had gone running that night, and was sweaty and gross. Fortunately, he didn't seem to mind. As we had already decided we didn't want to go out, we invited them to stay at our place for some wine, and they accepted.

Within minutes, "J" and I were engrossed in conversation. No lulls, no silence, no awkwardness. Just amazing conversation. The best part about it? He's British. Hehe...what are the odds!?! As usual, though, I digress...

They stayed for a few hours and then walked us out with the dogs. I invited him out with us the next night to JP, and gave him my card. The next day at work, I found myself thinking about him quite frequently, hoping that he would, indeed, decide to join us. Every hour that passed I convinced myself that I had read the signs wrong, and he wasn't interested in me. And then, around 2:00 in the afternoon, I got the text I'd been waiting (and hoping) for. He said that he enjoyed meeting me, and that he wanted to grab a drink with me after work at the local bar. Um, ABSOLUTELY! I proceed to tell everyone about the cute British boy I met, and how excited I am that I might get to see him that weekend. I rush home and start rummaging through my closet for the perfect outfit. I can't go too dressy because it's the local southie bar. I can't go too casual because it's me...and it's a date! My roomie had a terrible day at work, so we decide to skip our outing to JP, and just head up to the Quencher.

"J" and I hit it off immediately. For hours, we just sat there and talked. Flirted. Leaned in close. Laughed. Smiled. Seriously - it was like we were the only 2 people in the bar. At around 1:00 (roomie had already gone home), we decided to leave. He invited me over to his place. He made me hot chocolate with marshmallows, and we sat and talked some more. And then he kissed me. There are no words in the dictionary to describe the way this kiss made me feel. He walked me home around 3:30, and kissed me again. I came up to my room and crawled into bed, exhausted, but unable to sleep, thinking about this incredible boy that had just appeared in my life from out of nowhere.

"Are you single?"

I apologize for the lack in posting here. Life has been a little hectic lately - new job, new apartment - I never do anything small. So, needless to say, I've been busy.

I am now living in Southie. For those unfamiliar with Boston, that's how locals refer to the area of South Boston. Think Good Will Hunting. The bar where they hang out in the movie is only a couple blocks away. The people here have wicked Boston accents. It's a little rougher around the edges than Newbury Street. They say things like "pahk," "cah," and "hahvahd." It's like a whole other culture here. And I love it.

Our place is one block from the beach. There are always people running, playing volleyball, having picnics, and walking their dogs. Which is where this story begins.

I'm out with Ella one of my first nights here. And, since the ratio of guys to girls in Southie is like 10 to 1, I'm always paying attention. (For the record, the ratio of good-looking, sexy guys to not is like 9 to 1 - you do the math). Anyways, I'm walking Ella and bump into a guy walking his dog, LuLu. We start talking, and I mention that just moved to Boston, and that I was even newer to the neighborhood. He starts telling me about pizza places, cool neighborhood bars, local stores...then asks me a crucial question: "are you single?" I may have come across too desperate here, when I answered with an exuberant, "YES!" In retrospect, this may have been the problem...

He begins telling me about his fiance, and the upcoming wedding. He proceeds to tell me about his single brother who treats women like shit, and his attractive friend, Dave, who lives across the street from me. "He's the good-looking guy with salt-and-pepper hair that drives the blue BMW"...my ears perk up. "Salt-and-pepper hair, you say?" We walk around several blocks and stop in the local store that gives treats to all the neighborhood dogs. He buys milk and a box of cereal. He tells me about his job. And his fiance's job. And how they got LuLu from the local animal rescue. And that Dave just moved in with his girlfriend. This conversation takes us to his door, where he finally introduces himself. I do the same.

He says it was nice to meet me, and that he'll see me around. I walk away. Stunned. Not only did I walk away from this conversation without the name of a good Chinese restaurant, but now my relationship (or lack thereof) status is going to be a widespread joke at the local bahs. It'll be under the heading "how to get out of an awkward conversation with an overly-eager single midwest girl"

I have yet to see my new friend again. He must be busy with his "fiance". Just like Dave is busy with his "girlfriend". But, that's okay. I've been busy with my courses at Hahvahd anyways.

"There's no puppy in here"

I'M BACK IN BOSTON!!! It feels like forever since I have been in this city I now call home - it feels wonderful and overwhelming all at the same time! I will be so happy when my car is empty, my furniture is in my room, and I can officially call my new apartment home.

I have to say this, though, as I sit on the couch posting this blog tonight. I miss my boys. I miss going home to the roommates that so quickly became my friends. I may not have had a couch. Or gas, cable, or air conditioning. But, we had a wonderful friendship. But, then again, sitting on a very comfortable couch watching Seinfeld with my sweet Ella (puppy), I realize that we can still be friends over coffee, dinner, and nights out at the gay clubs. I rather like this life of "comfort".

The drive back was as interesting, if not more, than the drive to Michigan. Let me set this up. As you know, I brought my dog back with me. So, on Sunday morning, 'K' and I pack up the car with all of my belongings, more of hers, and leave a nice spot for Ella on the back seat. Without any room to spare, and tears in my eyes, we take off. It's about 30 minutes to the Canadian border. We pull up into the line and get our passports ready. We are confident that we'll make it through without problems. Just then, 'K' gives me a look that could only mean "Houston, we have a problem."

"You DO have papers for Ella, right?" she asks me.

My face turns stark white. I don't even know where her papers are. We are 3 cars away from the border patrol.

We decide to just test fate and see what happens. The agent looks at out passports, asks how long we'll be in the country, and lets us through. Without even noticing the dog in the back seat. I let out a huge sigh.

"The problem isn't getting into Canada," says 'K'. "It's going to be getting out."

Here we are, 2 grown women, afraid to drive 1 mile over the speed limit because we're afraid of being pulled over by the authorities. Of course the dog issue wasn't the ONLY drama of the trip - that would simply be boring! After making it through border patrol, I suddenly realized that the notebook I left behind at my parents' house had my updated proof of car insurance. The one currently in my glove box is expired. Nice. And, don't forget the unpaid speeding ticket in New York state. And the expired license plates. And, now, a dog without the proper papers.

We crawl through Canada at about 10 miles per hour. It was brutal. We get to the last exit before the bridge to the U.S. and pull off. I run in to use the bathroom at one of the hundreds of Tim Hortons along the way. I am 6th in line. It's finally my turn. I walk in to see toilet paper all over the floor. And a fly. And the worst thing possible to find in a women's bathroom: those little, thin, toilet paper sheets. You all know exactly what I'm talking about. And you haven't seen them in like 20 years. But, you know the drill. You can NEVER use too many, and it takes forever to "collect" them for use. My tactic? Just start pulling and collecting. I finally finish (thanks to the extensive "TP-collection" time), wash my hands, and exit what I now refer to as 'Hell'.

'K' and I begin re-arranging the car. We move everything from the floor to the seat. We hang the bags of clothes from the driver's seat and drape them onto the seat. Then, we put Ella on the floor and shut the door. You couldn't even see her! I make 'K' drive. I am simply too nervous to be the driver in this particular situation. We pull out of the parking lot and drive towards the bridge. We pass Niagara Falls. Breathtaking. We carefully choose the lane we will be going through. As we pull up, the man in the next lane over is opening his trunk. I begin sweating. Naturally, we start talking about sex, orgasms, and celibacy. It's our turn. The man asks us our citizenship, and why we're in Canada. We explain that I'm moving to Boston, which is the reason for all the clothes. And shoes. He laughs and asks if we have a lot of purses. "Of course," we answer in unison. He then begins to explain how to move furniture and other items through Canada - the forms you need to fill out, how much time it should take, etc. We were talking with this man for about 8 minutes. The entire time, Ella was silent as a mouse underneath mounds of clothing. He lets us through. We cheer. Now, we just need to get through New York.

15 hours after we left my parents' house in Michigan, we arrived in Maine. As we pulled into the driveway at 2:00 in the morning, 'K' turns to me and says: "you must be destined for great things, Kristin, because God sure has been saving your ass a lot lately..."

Laughing...until the end

There's a place a heart goes to when it's been broken. It's a strange place - you can't laugh or cry - you just kinda 'survive'. When you're in this place, the relationship becomes a blur. You're filled with impossible-to-answer questions. Confusion. Disillusionment. Sometimes, you look in the mirror and don't recognize the person staring back at you. For so long, you were defined by someone else. You were part of something. Now, you're just you. Alone.

There's no time limit for this relationship 'purgatory'. It lasts as long as it needs to. To help you heal. To help you find your way out. To help you see the light that's in front of you, and the darkness that's been left behind. To help you say goodbye - both to what was, and what could have been.

I went to visit my best friend this week. Before I left, though, I received an email from Providence boy. I had asked him a question about something I needed to include in the book, and we exchanged a few, short email correspondences. In one of his, he mentioned he was coming to Michigan for his annual golf tournament. I responded, laughing, telling him that I, too, was in Michigan. How ironic, huh? The next email was an invitation to spend the morning with him - pick him up from the airport, have breakfast, and then drop him off to meet his friends. I read the email and literally stopped breathing. Then I started cursing. Screaming. I don't know how to say 'no' to this man. For the past year, I have been saying yes, afraid of what would happen if I didn't. That he would start drinking. That he would walk away. Most of all, afraid that I would no longer be the martyr he came to know. I was terrified.

On my drive to her house, I called my friend. Hyperventilating. "WHAT THE HELL DO I DO!?!" After a very restless night's sleep, and relentless discussions with her, I knew what I needed to do. Actually, I knew right away. I just didn't want to admit it. I responded, telling him how badly I wanted to see him. To see that he's safe. To see his smile. To know he's okay. Alive. I've spent the last 12 months holding my breath, hoping he's still alive. But, there's too much pain still. Too many memories I need to let go. Too much hope. I need the distance. I need to say no.

His response was anything but pleasant. Unfortunately he's not capable of understanding my feelings. He cannot even begin to process the pain and anger I justifiably feel. As a last resort he uses his 'recovery' as an excuse. Always has. And, until he chooses sobriety, always will.

I read his response. And I got angry. For a brief moment. And then, surprisingly, felt peace. And relief.

I drove back to my parents' this afternoon. And, for the entire 2 hours I was in the car, I laughed. I sang. I thought about the ending to my book. I felt proud. In that moment, I realized I did it. I emerged from this place - not only smiling, but laughing. Loud.

And I'm still laughing. It feels good. No, it feels great!

Drinking, dancing, and fantastic hair

So, I'm in Michigan. Still. Currently I'm sitting at my parents' kitchen table watching Will & Grace re-runs on Lifetime. I could delve deeper into that last statement, but to save myself any sort of further humiliation or self-loathing, I'm going to move on.

Last week my mother and I took a trip to northern Michigan for a few days of relaxation, bonding, wine tasting, golfing, and kayaking. I am relieved to report that after 3 days of the aforementioned activities, both of us returned home alive. There were many moments I thought this would not be the case.

When we returned Friday night, I experienced the highlight of my trip. If you keep up with this blog, or know me at all, you know how much I love getting my hair done. Since a childhood friend was getting married on Saturday, and I would be seeing lots of people from my past, I needed to get my hair colored. Desperately. My hairdresser being TOTALLY AWESOME, fit me in at 11:00 Friday night. How amazing is that!?! She colored me, trimmed me up, and sent me home with some products and a smile - well after midnight.

The wedding was beautiful - my friend (who I have known for more than 20 years now) looked like an angel. I actually went to my first New Kids concert with her. Ahhh, the memories. So many familiar faces were there - people I expected to see, and some I did not. Days later, the reception is something of a blur. I know there was a lot of meat (which, when you're a vegetarian is unfortunate), a lot of alcohol, 3 hours of straight dancing, an abundance of sugar, and bouts of uncontrollable laughing.

I sat with my date (don't get excited...she is my best friend who lives in Chicago) and our grade school friend (who, you will be interested to know, was my first "serious" boyfriend in 8th grade) and his wife. We also sat with a wonderful young man who unfortunately hasn't come to terms with his sexual orientation yet. He was wonderful and so much fun...and added a lot of life to our evening! I believe at one point I laughed so hard that my drink came out of my mouth and nose simultaneously. I could be wrong, but think that when liquids are extracted out of a person's facial cavities, a good time is guaranteed.

I forgot how much fun I had with these people. We danced and laughed and reminisced all night. It was like a dream. I drank too much and didn't stop dancing. I believe body parts were exposed at some point due to the street funk-like dance moves I was doing. A family friend even told my mom that if she were gay, she would definitely be attracted to her. And, that pretty much sums up the evening's activities. All sorts of inappropriate things were happening - and they only got worse as the night progressed. Fortunately for my friend, she will be able to watch them over and over again on her wedding video. There could probably be a lot of blackmailing done for that tape....

It was a blast. I woke up the next morning (after not sleeping at all) feeling horrible. It was totally worth it.

But, the most important part of the evening came very early. Ready for this one? I was voted best hair! With that simple compliment, the fact that I was lonely and single at the wedding (the Priest actually prayed for people like me during the ceremony) no longer mattered. I took my sexy hair and danced my single ass all over the floor that night. $100 is a small price to pay for some superficial self confidence...

On the homefront

So, here I sit - hot, single and swine-less in Michigan.

It's always the same thing - I get really excited to come home, visit, and spend time with my family. Then, after a day (or less), I'm ready to leave. I can literally feel the crazy setting in. I start looking for somewhere to run. And I want to get there fast.

There are several reasons for this. First, I get bored so easily. I like to do things. Run. Go on bike rides. Enjoy people watching. There are not many opportunities for these things in the suburbs. It's the same people, driving the same cars, going to the same Panera every day. Oh - and a lot of chain restaurants. I have been so spoiled living in cities...

Second, my family is going through a transition right now. Actually, I'd say it's much more than a "transition", but since I'm simply posting a blog and not lying on a therapist's couch, I'll leave it there. This makes being home extremely uncomfortable. It's very strange, especially because this has always been a safe and comfortable place for me. And now it's anything but.

But, again, I love my family and friends. So, I'm filling my days spending as much time as possible with all of them. And writing my book. I have been writing quite a bit, and am pretty happy with the way it's turning out. It's strange, though. Writing about my experiences brings up emotions I haven't had to deal with. Right now, as you all know, I'm dealing with the loss of my latest relationship, but writing about the beginning. I've got so many conflicting emotions - reading through old emails, imagining our first kiss, remembering that new love feeling, and then hearing the words "demolition derby". But, I have to admit, I feel lucky that I'm not so jaded I can't write about all the good times.

Tomorrow I'll be hanging with my 6-year old cousin at her pool. Recently my dad was quizzing her on some math problems, and asked her what 15 plus 15 is. She replied 35. He said, "Actually, it's 30." Her reply? "Huh...they must have changed it then."

I would be lying if I said I'm not looking forward to spending an afternoon acting like a 6-year old. But, then again, it's not too far off from the way I spend most of my time...

"No sheep, cattle, or swine"

For those of you who have never been to Canada, a word of caution. You may not bring any of the above items into - or out of - the country. You can thank me later when this post saves you the trouble of hooking up a cattle and transporting it to the border only to find you're not allowed to take it across. You are very welcome.

If you're wondering, I drove from the east coast to Michigan today. My mom's best friend, "K" is staying out with her family in Maine, so I drove up there last night, and she hitched a ride with me today. We left this morning, and about 13 hour later pulled into my parents' driveway.

I immediately ran in the house to be greeted by my little white angel - my puppy, Ella. She has been staying with my parents for the past year, because my job had me traveling so much I just could not keep her myself. And I was NOT about to lose her in the divorce. So I have come and gone, and each time she watches me with sad eyes, wondering when she's going to get to come with me. Well, my friends, Ella is about to be introduced to Boston. Or, should I say, Boston is about to be introduced to Ella? Her superior, large and in-charge attitude makes me lean towards the latter.....

But, like usual, I digress. Back to the main story here...when "K" called this past weekend to ask if she could ride with me, my immediate response was YES! I'm so used to driving all alone - it would be so nice to have the company. And, she'll even be riding back with me to help move my stuff from Philly to Boston. How awesome is that!?! But, before I drove up yesterday, I did warn her that my license plates are expired, so we had to be very careful (don't worry - I called State Farm and they're working on getting me registered in Massachusetts). She didn't seem too worried. When I arrived last night, I said, there's something else you need to know before we drive home. I received a speeding ticket in the state of New York a few months ago, and haven't paid it. There could possibly be a warrant out for my arrest. Her response was simply, I wish you could have told me this BEFORE I agreed to ride with you. She quickly forgave me and put an extra credit card, checkbook and bond card in her purse. Just in case.

We had such a great time. The weather was beautiful. The company was even better. We talked non-stop the entire ride. Well, we did stop briefly to sing along with "We've only just begun" by The Carpenters. Good times. I mean, who doesn't love the sweet, harmonic sounds of The Carpenters on a Tuesday afternoon?

You can all be relieved (probably obvious since you're reading this post) to know we made it without any hitches. No tickets. No arrests. Although we did have to ditch the swine we were carrying in the trunk. That was a close call.

The next chapter

So, I can FINALLY write about something that's been going on in my life. Now, I know that I have said I don't edit what I say here, but since this was about my career, I had to be careful who read what.

My first week here I met some awesome women at a networking event, and we became friends. They work at another agency in the city - one of our competitors. A few weeks ago, one of them (who is a director at the agency) sent me an email and asked me if I would be interested in working with them. I love these 2 women, and thought there was no harm in learning more. Well, one interview turned into 2 and a presentation in front of the agency, and then a job offer. I was floored. And flattered. The offer they made me is a considerable amount of money more than I was currently making, and I fell in love with some of the people on the team. So, I accepted.

Now, I know I have only been at my current job for a short time. But, after talking this over with several of the people I consider my "mentors", I decided this was the best decision for me. This is where it gets interesting.

The current agency does not handle people leaving well. Since I started, 2 people (in addition to me) have left. Both were messy, and neither were fun to watch. Needless to say, I didn't sleep for days before I had to put in my notice. I wanted to give them plenty of time, to be as respectful as possible. I chose yesterday afternoon.

A very long and messy story short: they asked me to leave immediately. I cleaned off my desk, and then sat down with the HR guy in his office before leaving. I have to stop here for a moment. I LOVE this guy. Him and I have developed a special bond, and I knew leaving him would be excruciating. But since I didn't work with him on a daily basis, it wasn't like that could keep me there. Point to note: he is the one who introduced me to Brit boy. I start to cry. This was brutal. We are both so upset. He tells me some awesome, wonderful, and humbling things. I tell him for the millionth time how sorry I am, but that I feel this is best for me right now. And that this was such a surprise to me. He walked me out, gave me a hug and a kiss, and I walked away.

But, here's the signature - and best - part of the story. While I was talking with him in his office, the management was telling the rest of the agency that it would be my last day. I'll give you a moment to digest that. I will repeat. WHILE I WAS STILL THERE. They (for some strange reason) decided not to wait until I had left the building. Apparently, they wanted to make it as uncomfortable and awkward as possible. Mission accomplished. I walked out of the office to stares and whispered "congratulations" and "we'll miss you". No good-byes. No account transitions. Nothing.

So now I have some time on my hands because I don't start my new job until August 6th. I think I'm gonna head down south to visit my best buds, and party Knoxville style, which is always my favorite way to party. Then I'm going to spend some time in Michigan with my family and friends. I should take this as an opportunity to re-connect with those people far away that matter most.

I spent today taking it easy. Oh - and I took my first hot shower in over a week! That was AMAZING!!! It sure is the little things in life that make all the difference....

It's crazy. I feel like I'm starting over again, even though I just did. I have a new apartment (which will be equipped with air conditioning, hot water, gas and cable - at all times). I have a new job. I am single. I have started writing my book. I'm settling. And - the incredible part about it - I'm not freaking out. It feels good. Actually, amazing. It feels fucking amazing. I'm starting a new chapter now - and it's all about me. I think this one's gonna be the best one yet!

My JP Life

This morning was yet another installment of "KP's JP Life." Let me draw a picture for you, please.

I set the alarm for 5:00 am, as I would like to get up and do the elliptical before work. This accomplishes two things. First, obviously, I start off my day with a good work out. Second, though, is probably not a popular response people fill in when they sign up for a membership at the local gym next to why are you interested in a membership with our facility? No, for me, the second reason I want to wake up at 5:00 and work out is so that I become so sweaty I can't imagine doing anything but taking a cold shower to cool down. That, of course, is because I have no hot water. Correction: we have no warm water. The only thing we have is ice cold water.

As is usually the case, I cannot get my body going at 5:00 due to the lack of sleep. So, I hit the snooze over and over, until it's time for me to wake up and jump right in the shower. Now, this takes some preparation. If only someone were watching this. It's hilarious.

First I apply my face wash. Then I brush my teeth, and rinse off my face. Next, it's time to shave my legs. Clearly, this is unfathomable in frigid water temperatures. So, this requires me to lather them up and shave in the sink. Once this is done, I turn on the shower, all the way to hot, just in case there's a small amount left in the faucet. Hey - I'm an optimist, what can I say? But, to clarify, there never is. I turn the shower head away from me, towards the wall and step in. The bottom of the tub is already cold, and it makes me shudder. I take a deep breath, turn the shower head, and arch my back all the way so that just my hair is getting wet. On a normal basis, I'm pretty fussy about making sure my hair is fully soaked before applying shampoo. But, under these circumstances, I don't have that luxury. I turn the shower off, leaving the water running out of the faucet. I shampoo my nearly-numb scalp, and wet my loofah. Now, I have to stop and laugh at myself here. Most people wet their cleansing utensil of choice in order to get it warm before applying the soap. With cold water, however, this isn't possible. And yet I proceed to complete this step. Every morning. I wash up. I turn the shower back on, and arch my back. I quickly rinse the shampoo out of my hair, probably leaving remnants from the past 5 days. But I don't care. I can barely breathe by this point. I'm shaking and thinking of how nice the warm, humid air is going to feel on my frozen body. I turn the shower back off, and apply the conditioner. At this point, I need to give myself a little pep talk to make it through the rest of the exercise.

It's okay, Kristin. People all over the world don't even have the luxury of a shower, let alone a warm one. Be grateful for what you have. It's only 5 minutes your day. 5 very cold minutes....

I rinse the conditioner so quickly from my hair that I can't imagine I'm not walking around a Pantene Pro-V test lab. I remove the shower head and rinse the rest of the soap. Again, not enough, I'm sure. I go by the "if you can't see it" rule...

I turn the water off with shaky hands, and wrap myself in a very warm towel. I run to my room, and immediately turn off the air conditioning as I sit and tremble for about 2 minutes. But don't worry. That all wears off really fast once I start to blow dry my over-conditioned, under-rinsed hair.

Oh well. This just adds to the things I can tell my kids I had to endure "before they had it all..." It's right up there with walking to school in the snow - up hill both ways!

Funny thing happened when I got home today. The cable was turned off. So, it's like 100 degrees in the city, we have no gas, hot water, or cable. Roomie and I are sitting at the June Bug Cafe in JP, working on our computers, watching wacky asian game shows and drinking bubble tea. Just another night in my JP Life. And I'm loving every minute!

The next "cover girl"

Happy Sunday! I have to say, this holiday weekend sure went by quickly! I wish I could extend it by a few days and just hang out and explore...there's so much to do around here!

Okay, so first things first. Many of you received text messages throughout the day, saying something to the effect of: "I did it! I told him it was over!" And, my dear readers, that's exactly what I did. Most of you are probably confused, thinking I did that a few weeks ago. And, I meant to. But I find I leave things vague and unclear, never really sure myself what I mean by the words that actually come out. So, I end up at the same place, day after day. Knowing I deserve better, and WANT better, I had to make some changes. And stick with them. No matter what. No guilt. No looking back. Just ahead. So many possibilities.

I was planning on giving the relationship the respect it deserves, and tell him in person. He was going to come here for dinner today. Maybe even spend some time walking and talking around JP Pond. But, I knew what today meant for us. It meant goodbye. For good. Yesterday I even deleted his phone number. I knew if I wanted this to stick, I needed to take some desperate measures. Completely let go. Not allow for those lonely and sad moments. When I say I was ready, I mean it.

He calls at 9:00 this morning and wakes me up. "You're going to hate me," he says. "But I totally forgot I had tickets to the demolition derby today, so I won't be able to make it for dinner. We'll do something later this week." Um, the DEMOLITION DERBY!?! ARE YOU SERIOUS!?! Now, I know there are plenty of people out there that like this sort of thing, but come on! I couldn't believe what I was hearing. To give you an idea of who we're dealing with here...this is a guy who wouldn't even allow country music to play in the same house he's in because he think it's so redneck. THE DEMOLITION DERBY!!!!! I do have to say, though, that I never thought I would have lost out to the derby - especially demolition. I think I've officially hit a new low...

Now, because I have gotten used to disappointment, I made the decision last night that if he came up with some excuse as to why he couldn't make dinner today (although I NEVER expected the excuse I DID get!), our goodbye would happen no matter what. It's time for me to take my life back completely - in every aspect. I tell him not to bother. That I've waited long enough. Played second long enough. He says something to the effect of "I knew this would turn into a competition." No, it's not a competition when I am never even a contender.

We hung up the phone, pretty angry. I cried for 2 minutes (give or take a few seconds). I decided that no matter how much I wish he would, he probably will never realize what he just let walk away. He will never realize how good he had it. But, there's nothing I can do to change that. I have no regrets. That's all I need to know.

I decided to go on a bike ride. I followed the Minutemen trail that goes from Bedford to Cambridge. It's almost the same trail Paul Revere rode along warning citizens that the British were coming (speaking of which, I wish someone would've warned ME that the Brits were coming...hehe). I spent 2 hours riding the trail, about 20 miles. I felt amazing. And, on my ride there, I realized that someone out there is waiting to meet me. And is going to forever be grateful for the day he does. Just as I will be. In that moment, I realized saying goodbye to something so wrong isn't as hard as I thought it was going to be. It was actually pretty empowering.

I called my new roommate. I told her what happened, and how excited I am about the next chapter. And, I told her to do whatever she needs to do to get me a personal meeting with Donnie Wahlberg. Who knows - maybe I'll be the next girl to be on stage for a live performance of "Cover Girl". Only this time he won't have a rat tail or torn jeans...and I'll be doing much more than simply holding a rose...

Save the Ta-Tas

Happy Independence Day...a day late! What an AWESOME day in this AWESOME city!

Let me back up a couple days. It's Wednesday. I wake up, tired after a very busy week with little sleep. I start the water for my daily shower. I love my shower. I look forward to this time every day. It's my time. My chance to think. And plan my day. And reflect on the day before. And sing. It sets the tone of my whole day. And I always love it. Except today. Unlike every day prior, the water stays cold. I have no choice. I have to do it. Curly hair is NOT meant to be worn a second day. Trust me. I shake. And can hardly catch my breath. But my hair gets clean. I go to work, and don't stop all day. I go to Target for props for the next day's company outing. I don't get home until 8:30. I turn on the stove to make my pasta. It doesn't work. Are you following? Cold water + no gas stove = OUR GAS WAS TURNED OFF!!!!! I was NOT happy. How could this happen you ask? The answer is simple. The genius I'm renting the room from ignores the utility bills rather than telling us to pay them. Then they get shut off because they don't get paid. And I get pissed. I drive to Providence to eat dinner at 10:00 and take a hot shower.

The next day is the company outing. 95 degrees, outside, work people. Enough said.

Knowing I am going to have to take cold showers for several days, I wake up yesterday and work out for about an hour and a half just to work up a sweat. I did. But it didn't help. It was just as cold, just as uncomfortable. But, I'm not going to let that ruin my day. When I meet my friend "T" at noon, it's drizzling. Yuck. She has on a long sleeve white shirt over a pink tank top. She says: "I hope I don't offend you, but I have a tank top on underneath that I bought when I did a walk for breast cancer. Whenever I wear it, it always seems to get some attention." I tell her nothing offends me, and we continue on our way to do all the cheesy Boston tourist things. We walk the freedom trail. We have lunch by Feneuil Hall, and dinner by Fenway Park. We watched the best fireworks show ever, and listen to live music from Rascal Flatts. We saw some interesting people, and the smartest little almost-3-year-old boy ever. We bought fresh fruits and vegetables from a local farmers market. We had a blast. For 12 straight hours, we enjoyed everything our new city had to offer.

While we stood and watched the fireworks, I realized just how different my life is this year than it was at the same time last year. I know the theme of the 4th is freedom, and that word means different things to different people. To me it means freedom to be me. To be able to sing in the shower. To play New Kids on the Block loud and proud. To laugh. To love. To celebrate the good things in life - everyday. After all, there are always good things. But most of all, freedom means being able to walk through the streets of Boston on the 4th of July, wearing a shirt that reads: "Save the Ta-tas".

A neighborhood full of Wahlbergs....

You will all have to forgive me for a quick moment. I have neglected to post something very important here. I am moving. Calm down...not out of Boston. When I say I love it here, I mean it. I'm moving into a new apartment. How this all came about is just another story that could only come from an installment of "KP's corner"....

So a few weeks ago I secured a placement for one of my clients on the local television station. In the PR world, this is pretty wicked awesome. Especially since I had been at the company for like a whole 3 weeks when it happened. This particular client is a marine electronics company, so it's all about boating. The agency has been trying to get them in some mainstream media for a while, without much success. I got lucky, I guess. So right after Memorial Day I got to spend the day out on the boat for the shoot. It was great! In typical Kristin style, I started a conversation with the producer, and we immediately became friends. It doesn't hurt that she's a fellow midwesterner and a huge New Kids on the Block fan, either! When she told me that she's working on a pilot reality show for the Funky Bunch's reunion, I knew this chick was cool.

The story aired a few weeks later, and it turned out great! The client was so excited! Anyways, we kept trying to get together, and finally were able to a few weeks ago. We were gonna go to a cool local bar or something, but she got a new puppy that day, so we ordered pizza, watched a movie, and watched the 9 month old pug sniff and chew on everything in sight. I mention I'm kinda in the process of looking for a new place, due to the drama of my current situation (of course this has nothing to do with my best bud, but the guy whose room I'm renting). She just happens to be moving into a place with 2 bedrooms. And air conditioning. And in-unit laundry. I realize all of you living in the suburbs take small luxuries like this for granted. In Boston, you don't take anything for granted. She even said Ella (my puppy) can move in. YEAH!!! I swear....things just fall into place in life, huh?

I left there totally stoked. Oh yeah - this is the best part. It's in Southie (aka South Boston). I still haven't even been down there. But, the apartment is 2 blocks from the beach, and a block from the local bar, The Quencher. The best part. It's crawling with good looking men. With Boston accents. It's like a whole town of Donnie and Mark Wahlbergs. Accents. Hotties. Boston. Beach. Did I say accents!?! I have been told once I'm in Southie, I'll never want to leave.

I'm guessing if it's anything like people have said, they're absolutely right. Can you just imagine what these posts will be like!?! I'll have enough content for 2 books in just a month's time! Oh...I'm wicked stoked. Now if they open my door before they pahk the cah, I'm never leaving Bahston. Ever.