I'm a mess. I lie in bed tonight, jaded from too many emotional blows that have come too quick together. One after another. A friend told me today that maybe things are happening too quickly. I don't understand how that's possible when these things keep happening. Interesting people come into my world, and me being me, I want to know more. I want them to be a part of my journey; I want to learn what they have to teach. It's not like I sit on the street corner, asking random people to be a part of my world - but please, only stay for a little while, and please, please, leave me feeling helpless, confused, and slightly more jaded than the last person to be let in.
Therein lies the problem, you see. I open up. I am a walking emotional liability. I trip over my own heart sometimes. People have recently advised me to be more like a man - able to turn off my emotions like I'm turning off the lights. And, for a moment every time I'm left in my own emotional dust, I have entertained this thought. However, when it comes down to it, I'm me. That's all I know. And, that means I'm compassionate and loving - but very emotional and passionate, too. I wear my heart on my sleeve everywhere I go. The world is my playground, and I love running from the slide to the swings to the see-saw. I love that rush. I just hate when I get excited about jumping on the other end of the see-saw only to find out it's reserved for someone else. And, sometimes, like in this most recent case, it isn't reserved for anyone. It's just sitting empty until he learns how to share again.
Or, you could be so hurt after loving someone for so long, and so intensely, that you just want to take everything from them that you can - even if you know it's too late - that those words you're finally hearing can't make the difference. And yet you still fight the same battles. Both because you're scared to be alone and because you need to be validated. Isn't it so sad when we need someone else to validate the way we feel about ourselves? Even though we know it's wrong, we all do it at one time or another. I find myself desperately fighting that cycle. I'm losing that battle. And because of that, I lie here crying and wondering why someone can't sacrifice a night of basketball and NBA playoffs for me. It's a sad state.
I was going to remove my last post tonight, as it really doesn't apply anymore. I know what you're thinking - it took that one no time at all. I have to believe it's not me or I'll go crazy. I have to believe it's someone else's issues at play here. Anyways, just about the time I hit the delete button, I realized that's impossible. Sure, I can hit the delete button and that particular blog post would disappear from the massive Internet universe. But I can't hit delete on my life. That experience happened, and it happened the way it did for a reason. I don't know what the hell that is, but it's out there. And hitting delete doesn't work to make the confusion or frustration go away. It only aids the denial process. And I hate denial. Now, all I have to do is hit the play button, and brace myself for the next ride. I know lately I sure have been busy pressing both the fast forward and rewind. Neither of which are healthy. And for all of you TiVo junkies out there, I can't fast forward through commercials either. And, after this latest experience, I have a feeling there's gonna be a lot of them.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
Thank God for the Brits
Okay, so I haven't been so great about posting this week. I have been crazy busy, and have just not been able to find the time. Please forgive me if you suddenly feel lost. I doubt anyone really cares, but I'll put it out there just in case.
I'll provide a brief recap. On Thursday I took the street funk dance class I've been talking about for weeks now. It was AWESOME! They actually teach you an entire routine during the class. I fell in love. I think it's something I will be doing on a weekly basis. It's an incredible workout, it's so much fun, and if I stay with it, I could end up being scouted for a Justin Timberlake video. Who would wanna quit with that possibility out in the universe!?! Don't laugh...it could happen...
I need to back up a little. Thursday afternoon the HR guy at work asked me if I wanted to meet his friend who was stopping by the office in a few minutes. "Is he a drummer?," I asked. With a very strange look on his face, he replied: "um, no, he's a British scientist." "Okay, then. I'd love to meet him." So a few minutes later, he walks over with a very handsome man, who, as soon as he opens his mouth, becomes instantaneously sexier. I think I also need to mention here that he has salt & pepper hair, which is kinda a weakness for me. He says hello, introduces himself, and they leave. The HR guy makes the comment that he's trying to get "Brit" to join us for our weekly happy hour on Friday.
Fast forward to Friday. I am wicked busy at work, as I have secured a TV shoot for my client which takes place tomorrow. VERY exciting. Brit comes to happy hour. I, of course, try to secure a second opportunity to get to know this International hunk. As I'm doing this, I learn that he's moving. To Kansas City. On Saturday. That could put a damper on things, huh? He mentions how bored he is, and I offer to keep him company before he leaves, if he'd like. He says he will definitely take me up on the offer. We exchange numbers. I am thrilled.
We spent the afternoon together yesterday. And we're having drinks after work tomorrow. I had such a wonderful time with him. He's both smart and funny, mature and quirky. He can carry on a conversation, and is interested in what I have to say. And, at this point, that's really all I can ask for. I am not scripting anything here, like I usually do. I'm just enjoying my days, and seeing where things go. Maybe that's nowhere. Maybe not. Who knows. All I know is that no matter what, I am having a GREAT time. I am loving where my life is taking me. After a wonderful afternoon, I walked through the door, smiled at roomie and said "thank God for the Brits."
I'll provide a brief recap. On Thursday I took the street funk dance class I've been talking about for weeks now. It was AWESOME! They actually teach you an entire routine during the class. I fell in love. I think it's something I will be doing on a weekly basis. It's an incredible workout, it's so much fun, and if I stay with it, I could end up being scouted for a Justin Timberlake video. Who would wanna quit with that possibility out in the universe!?! Don't laugh...it could happen...
I need to back up a little. Thursday afternoon the HR guy at work asked me if I wanted to meet his friend who was stopping by the office in a few minutes. "Is he a drummer?," I asked. With a very strange look on his face, he replied: "um, no, he's a British scientist." "Okay, then. I'd love to meet him." So a few minutes later, he walks over with a very handsome man, who, as soon as he opens his mouth, becomes instantaneously sexier. I think I also need to mention here that he has salt & pepper hair, which is kinda a weakness for me. He says hello, introduces himself, and they leave. The HR guy makes the comment that he's trying to get "Brit" to join us for our weekly happy hour on Friday.
Fast forward to Friday. I am wicked busy at work, as I have secured a TV shoot for my client which takes place tomorrow. VERY exciting. Brit comes to happy hour. I, of course, try to secure a second opportunity to get to know this International hunk. As I'm doing this, I learn that he's moving. To Kansas City. On Saturday. That could put a damper on things, huh? He mentions how bored he is, and I offer to keep him company before he leaves, if he'd like. He says he will definitely take me up on the offer. We exchange numbers. I am thrilled.
We spent the afternoon together yesterday. And we're having drinks after work tomorrow. I had such a wonderful time with him. He's both smart and funny, mature and quirky. He can carry on a conversation, and is interested in what I have to say. And, at this point, that's really all I can ask for. I am not scripting anything here, like I usually do. I'm just enjoying my days, and seeing where things go. Maybe that's nowhere. Maybe not. Who knows. All I know is that no matter what, I am having a GREAT time. I am loving where my life is taking me. After a wonderful afternoon, I walked through the door, smiled at roomie and said "thank God for the Brits."
Friday, May 23, 2008
Four's NOT Company
I have been pulled into the strangest of all dramas. It's crazy because I just feel like this is normal - that life is always like this - stories about old man clients groping you, falling (quickly and intensely) in and out of love with crazy musicians, randomly making out with Croatian boys, dealing with gay drama, etc. But every time I tell one of these true-life encounters, people comment about how interesting my life is. And that I am always involved in something. Now, I ask you, could this simply be because I tell stories in a way that's more colorful than someone else? Or is it really because I lead a very interesting life?
I actually got my answer this week. Long story made short, the guys decided they want me to stay in the apartment and, thus, needed to tell the other one he couldn't come back. As you can imagine, this conversation does not go well. I was excited, of course, that I was going to be able to stay here with my favorite roomies ever. But, then shit hit the fan. The absent roomie threatens a lot of things. Says they can't do this. Everyone kind of looks at each other, trying to figure out what to do. After a bunch of what I have come to refer to as "gay drama" we decided we're going to all stay together, and move out of this apartment. UGH! This is okay, though, because the bathroom in this apartment sucks. Seriously. You can't take a shower standing up completely because the ceiling is so low. It is a challenge every time I decide to shave my legs. And, the way I feel about it is that it's uncomfortable and annoying enough to have to keep them smooth - I don't need any additional roadblocks or challenges.
Back to point. We are all really excited now at the thought of a new apartment. So, the roomies and me are going to see a new place tomorrow and then another one on Sunday. We're talking about having a house warming party - with candles, flowers, hors d'oeuvres, a DJ. And if you're wondering, none of this was my idea. Roomie. Gotta love him - I know I do! :) So we'll see what happens. I know it will all work out, and we'll end up much better off, and there will be no lingering smell of cat urine. Which could only mean good things for the future.
Now as I sit here so late and write this story for everyone to read, I realize that my friends and co-workers are right. I live a very interesting life. And yet I wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world.
I actually got my answer this week. Long story made short, the guys decided they want me to stay in the apartment and, thus, needed to tell the other one he couldn't come back. As you can imagine, this conversation does not go well. I was excited, of course, that I was going to be able to stay here with my favorite roomies ever. But, then shit hit the fan. The absent roomie threatens a lot of things. Says they can't do this. Everyone kind of looks at each other, trying to figure out what to do. After a bunch of what I have come to refer to as "gay drama" we decided we're going to all stay together, and move out of this apartment. UGH! This is okay, though, because the bathroom in this apartment sucks. Seriously. You can't take a shower standing up completely because the ceiling is so low. It is a challenge every time I decide to shave my legs. And, the way I feel about it is that it's uncomfortable and annoying enough to have to keep them smooth - I don't need any additional roadblocks or challenges.
Back to point. We are all really excited now at the thought of a new apartment. So, the roomies and me are going to see a new place tomorrow and then another one on Sunday. We're talking about having a house warming party - with candles, flowers, hors d'oeuvres, a DJ. And if you're wondering, none of this was my idea. Roomie. Gotta love him - I know I do! :) So we'll see what happens. I know it will all work out, and we'll end up much better off, and there will be no lingering smell of cat urine. Which could only mean good things for the future.
Now as I sit here so late and write this story for everyone to read, I realize that my friends and co-workers are right. I live a very interesting life. And yet I wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Will you be my friend?
So when I moved to Boston I knew that I would have to work at making friends. After all, it's not easy when you move to a place where you know no one. Below you will find an example of every conversation I have had with someone new:
New person: I'm (insert new person's name here)
Me: Nice to meet you. I'm Kristin. I just moved to Boston.
New person: Wow, that's exciting. What made you move to Boston? A new job?
Me: No, I just decided I wanted to move to Boston. So I did.
New person: Do you know someone here?
Me: Not one person. I literally just picked up and moved. So, I'm looking to meet people - quickly. Um, would you like to be my friend?
Okay, so the conversation isn't EXACTLY like that, but it's close. I know most people have a hard time meeting new people, and especially asking new people for anything. I have come to realize that if I'm going to make any real friends, I have to throw those fears and beliefs out the window. Basically, I have to beg. When you find yourself alone and scared, you become desperate. And, even though I have yet to find myself in that place just yet, I don't want to get there. It's like I'm a squirrel preparing for a long winter. I want to make sure I have plenty of acorns shoved in my mouth in case the season lasts a little longer than expected. (For those who did not understand that analogy, I want to meet as many people as I can as soon as I can, just in case things get a little tougher down the road, and I find myself alone and wanting to grab a drink or something).
To do this, I find myself going on what I refer to as "friend dates." These are the "having coffee with a friend of a friend" type of meeting. And, these are funny things. In my opinion, these types of meetings are even more nerve-racking than a real date. What am I going to wear? I don't want them to think I'm trying too hard for our first meeting. Will they think I'm a little bit desperate because I have to meet people like this? What if I say something wrong? Will they never call/text again? Should I swear the first time we meet? Or save that til later? You see, there's more at risk here than on a date. On a date, if you blow it, you're losing one potential person who would probably just end up being an idiot anyways. Sorry - I'm jaded, remember? Anyways, with a friend date, if you blow it, you're ruining your chances for meeting the friends of a friend of a friend. Get it? With one friend date, you could be filling your social calendar for at least 6 months. Blow it and you're back to the beginning. Nerve-racking. I told you.
What brings about this fascinating post you ask? I had a friend date this weekend. We met for coffee at JP Licks, the local ice cream shop by my place. Turns out she's a fellow JP'er. She's a friend of a friend who graduated law school and found herself back in Boston. Her year (literally, on January 1st) began with the termination of a 6 1/2-year relationship. Needless to say, she's found herself in a bit of a transition. A transition, you say? I might know something about that....
We hit it off right away. She's awesome. And not in the Croatian-boy type of awesome. I mean really awesome. Wicked cool, if you will. As we're saying our good-byes, she says to me: "I am so glad you moved to Boston. Will you be my friend?" We both laughed, as the tension finally eased. We both passed the test. There will be friendship. I can see my calendar filling up with coffees, parties, bar outings...
We hugged, she gave me directions, and walked away. And, I thought "this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship"...thank God I chose to wear the pink shirt. I think the outcome would have been very different had I worn the green.
New person: I'm (insert new person's name here)
Me: Nice to meet you. I'm Kristin. I just moved to Boston.
New person: Wow, that's exciting. What made you move to Boston? A new job?
Me: No, I just decided I wanted to move to Boston. So I did.
New person: Do you know someone here?
Me: Not one person. I literally just picked up and moved. So, I'm looking to meet people - quickly. Um, would you like to be my friend?
Okay, so the conversation isn't EXACTLY like that, but it's close. I know most people have a hard time meeting new people, and especially asking new people for anything. I have come to realize that if I'm going to make any real friends, I have to throw those fears and beliefs out the window. Basically, I have to beg. When you find yourself alone and scared, you become desperate. And, even though I have yet to find myself in that place just yet, I don't want to get there. It's like I'm a squirrel preparing for a long winter. I want to make sure I have plenty of acorns shoved in my mouth in case the season lasts a little longer than expected. (For those who did not understand that analogy, I want to meet as many people as I can as soon as I can, just in case things get a little tougher down the road, and I find myself alone and wanting to grab a drink or something).
To do this, I find myself going on what I refer to as "friend dates." These are the "having coffee with a friend of a friend" type of meeting. And, these are funny things. In my opinion, these types of meetings are even more nerve-racking than a real date. What am I going to wear? I don't want them to think I'm trying too hard for our first meeting. Will they think I'm a little bit desperate because I have to meet people like this? What if I say something wrong? Will they never call/text again? Should I swear the first time we meet? Or save that til later? You see, there's more at risk here than on a date. On a date, if you blow it, you're losing one potential person who would probably just end up being an idiot anyways. Sorry - I'm jaded, remember? Anyways, with a friend date, if you blow it, you're ruining your chances for meeting the friends of a friend of a friend. Get it? With one friend date, you could be filling your social calendar for at least 6 months. Blow it and you're back to the beginning. Nerve-racking. I told you.
What brings about this fascinating post you ask? I had a friend date this weekend. We met for coffee at JP Licks, the local ice cream shop by my place. Turns out she's a fellow JP'er. She's a friend of a friend who graduated law school and found herself back in Boston. Her year (literally, on January 1st) began with the termination of a 6 1/2-year relationship. Needless to say, she's found herself in a bit of a transition. A transition, you say? I might know something about that....
We hit it off right away. She's awesome. And not in the Croatian-boy type of awesome. I mean really awesome. Wicked cool, if you will. As we're saying our good-byes, she says to me: "I am so glad you moved to Boston. Will you be my friend?" We both laughed, as the tension finally eased. We both passed the test. There will be friendship. I can see my calendar filling up with coffees, parties, bar outings...
We hugged, she gave me directions, and walked away. And, I thought "this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship"...thank God I chose to wear the pink shirt. I think the outcome would have been very different had I worn the green.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Boabom, salsa, and croatia?
First I have to ask for everyone's forgiveness that the title of this blog is very similar in style to a previous post. However, after you read this you will understand why I had to do it.
It was a wonderful and hectic Saturday. I woke up excited about the yoga/martial arts class roomie signed us up for. As often happens in Boston, we got slightly lost, drove around the very long way when we could just have gone straight, but we made it to our very first boabom class. I know that everyone is wondering what the hell this is. And, the only way I can describe it is part relaxation and meditation, yoga, and martial arts. It was awesome. It took a lot of concentration and focus which doesn't come naturally to me. We loved it, and are going to sign up for a month-long course. Watch out, Boston! Anyone tries to mess with me, I'll boabom their ass! Oh - and if you're interested in learning more about this form of whatever it is, this is the only boabom course offered in North America. Wicked sick, huh?
Last week was swing. This week was salsa. I have to tell you that as I sit here in bed and write this post, I have the worst blisters on my feet. I haven't sat down all day (in between boabom and salsa I kind of had a date) and now physically cannot walk. Word to everyone wanting to try salsa dancing for 4 hours straight: don't wear heels the entire time. It doesn't feel good at the end. Trust me. They teach us the beginner stuff when we get there, and then set us free. Right away I saw him - a very hot guy working his way across the dance floor. I couldn't stop watching him. I knew I needed to dance with this guy and get to know him a little better. A few dances (and some damaged feet) later, he asks me to dance. "Um, yeah, baby, I'll dance with you" (don't worry, I wasn't THAT obvious)! He opens his mouth. He's got an accent. I found a foreign one. What good luck I was having! Cute, has rhythm, and an accent! Jackpot! He's from Croatia. And he's funny. I think I'm in love (a little drama here for added storytelling effect). We dance to something like 7 songs, and then part ways. But I know I need to cross paths with this hottie again. Later in the night we reconnect. It's hot. We're salsa-ing. It was a good time. I didn't even care that my feet hurt. Then we went outside for air (this was not just an excuse to hang out with this guy - it was like 100 degrees in there!) I'm gonna skip a few details here, but say that he invited me home. Obviously, judging by the fact that it's 3:00 am when I'm writing this post, I did not go. When I went to leave, I asked him if he wanted to grab coffee sometime, and he said no. Ouch. At least I found that out BEFORE I went home with him, huh?
Lesson learned: stay away from smooth-talking Croatian men. They have one thing on their mind. The good thing is, I think this only takes out like 3 men in the whole Boston area. I look forward to sacrificing myself for all the ladies out there - I am sure I will have plenty of opportunities to weed through the remaining douche bags. Just keep checking back. At the rate I'm going, few groups will be left with any credibility. We already know how I feel about drummers....
It was a wonderful and hectic Saturday. I woke up excited about the yoga/martial arts class roomie signed us up for. As often happens in Boston, we got slightly lost, drove around the very long way when we could just have gone straight, but we made it to our very first boabom class. I know that everyone is wondering what the hell this is. And, the only way I can describe it is part relaxation and meditation, yoga, and martial arts. It was awesome. It took a lot of concentration and focus which doesn't come naturally to me. We loved it, and are going to sign up for a month-long course. Watch out, Boston! Anyone tries to mess with me, I'll boabom their ass! Oh - and if you're interested in learning more about this form of whatever it is, this is the only boabom course offered in North America. Wicked sick, huh?
Last week was swing. This week was salsa. I have to tell you that as I sit here in bed and write this post, I have the worst blisters on my feet. I haven't sat down all day (in between boabom and salsa I kind of had a date) and now physically cannot walk. Word to everyone wanting to try salsa dancing for 4 hours straight: don't wear heels the entire time. It doesn't feel good at the end. Trust me. They teach us the beginner stuff when we get there, and then set us free. Right away I saw him - a very hot guy working his way across the dance floor. I couldn't stop watching him. I knew I needed to dance with this guy and get to know him a little better. A few dances (and some damaged feet) later, he asks me to dance. "Um, yeah, baby, I'll dance with you" (don't worry, I wasn't THAT obvious)! He opens his mouth. He's got an accent. I found a foreign one. What good luck I was having! Cute, has rhythm, and an accent! Jackpot! He's from Croatia. And he's funny. I think I'm in love (a little drama here for added storytelling effect). We dance to something like 7 songs, and then part ways. But I know I need to cross paths with this hottie again. Later in the night we reconnect. It's hot. We're salsa-ing. It was a good time. I didn't even care that my feet hurt. Then we went outside for air (this was not just an excuse to hang out with this guy - it was like 100 degrees in there!) I'm gonna skip a few details here, but say that he invited me home. Obviously, judging by the fact that it's 3:00 am when I'm writing this post, I did not go. When I went to leave, I asked him if he wanted to grab coffee sometime, and he said no. Ouch. At least I found that out BEFORE I went home with him, huh?
Lesson learned: stay away from smooth-talking Croatian men. They have one thing on their mind. The good thing is, I think this only takes out like 3 men in the whole Boston area. I look forward to sacrificing myself for all the ladies out there - I am sure I will have plenty of opportunities to weed through the remaining douche bags. Just keep checking back. At the rate I'm going, few groups will be left with any credibility. We already know how I feel about drummers....
Friday, May 16, 2008
New Kids on My Block??
Let me just say that it's been a long, wonderful, emotional, and exhausting week. I slept for 2 hours last night because rather than getting the rest I so desperately needed, I was re-opening old wounds and going in reverse down the road to healing I have already gone down at least several times before. Congratulations, Kristin, you've actually managed to stare peace and closure in the face and choose the path to unrest and worry. Is it possible to get dumber as we get older? I am always hearing everyone talk about getting older and wiser! Shit - I must have missed that bus...must have happened about the same time I missed the "don't get married when you're 23" and the "if he tells you he's been waiting for you his whole life after one day, run" bus. But I digress. My somewhat questionable decision-making as of late is not up for scrutiny tonight...I'm much too exhausted and fragile for that...
So I fell asleep early tonight while catching up on recent episodes of my favorite show, The Office, on my computer. I woke up to the familiar buzz of my cell phone, freaking out that I had overslept, and unsure exactly where I was. Before you criticize or make fun, I think we have all had those moments! Anyways, it was my girlfriend calling to tell me that she had just finished watching the New Kids on The Today Show this morning. While being interviewed, they said they were just a group of guys from Jamaica Plains in Boston. EXCUSE ME!?! Back that wicked accent up just one second...JP!?! So, basically, what this boils down to is this. I live in the same neighborhood where the New Kids grew up. Maybe on the same street. Maybe I take the same T they did. Maybe I shop at the same store. Maybe I've passed their mothers on the street. This is too much for me to wrap my head around right now. This is huge.
I will say this, though. I remember being like 12 years old, praying that I would give anything to meet Joey McIntyre. And, if I did, I promised that I would make him fall in love with me - and would never ask for anything else ever again. (Let me pause here to say that I'm glad God has been around the block enough to see this one coming and not hold us to this promise - every teenage girl would have run out of prayers before she even hits puberty). I know all of you are reading this thinking I'm crazy. But you all know you thought it too - don't you judge me! :) So I am slightly worried that God (or whatever/whoever you may believe in) was on a slight time delay back then, and is just now getting around to making that dream come true. That, yes, I may actually get to meet or run into one of the boys. After all, maybe they lived in my apartment. Or next door. Maybe they did their laundry at the same laundromat. Regardless, and I don't want to seem ungrateful here or anything, but they're like 40 now, and are married with children. And they can't really sing as well as they used to. Or, at least sing the same songs as well as they used to. I still love them, don't get me wrong. It's just that I wish I would have known that my life and dreams would have come full circle. That the dreams I dreamed when I was 12 would possibly come true when I was 28. I may have edited them. Maybe I would have tried to plan things out a little more. I was too young - I didn't quite imagine Joey as almost 40. At 12 that probably would have creeped me out a little. A lot, actually.
My point here is this. Pick your dreams carefully. God's busy and is probably back-logged. It might take 16 years for Him to get to your request. You wanna make sure before you go and make any silly promises to the guy upstairs that when you're dream comes true, it's not the sad reality I'm facing: the possibility of running into Joey McIntyre at the local Stop and Shop while he's shopping with his wife and kids. That's just not how it was supposed to be for us.
So I fell asleep early tonight while catching up on recent episodes of my favorite show, The Office, on my computer. I woke up to the familiar buzz of my cell phone, freaking out that I had overslept, and unsure exactly where I was. Before you criticize or make fun, I think we have all had those moments! Anyways, it was my girlfriend calling to tell me that she had just finished watching the New Kids on The Today Show this morning. While being interviewed, they said they were just a group of guys from Jamaica Plains in Boston. EXCUSE ME!?! Back that wicked accent up just one second...JP!?! So, basically, what this boils down to is this. I live in the same neighborhood where the New Kids grew up. Maybe on the same street. Maybe I take the same T they did. Maybe I shop at the same store. Maybe I've passed their mothers on the street. This is too much for me to wrap my head around right now. This is huge.
I will say this, though. I remember being like 12 years old, praying that I would give anything to meet Joey McIntyre. And, if I did, I promised that I would make him fall in love with me - and would never ask for anything else ever again. (Let me pause here to say that I'm glad God has been around the block enough to see this one coming and not hold us to this promise - every teenage girl would have run out of prayers before she even hits puberty). I know all of you are reading this thinking I'm crazy. But you all know you thought it too - don't you judge me! :) So I am slightly worried that God (or whatever/whoever you may believe in) was on a slight time delay back then, and is just now getting around to making that dream come true. That, yes, I may actually get to meet or run into one of the boys. After all, maybe they lived in my apartment. Or next door. Maybe they did their laundry at the same laundromat. Regardless, and I don't want to seem ungrateful here or anything, but they're like 40 now, and are married with children. And they can't really sing as well as they used to. Or, at least sing the same songs as well as they used to. I still love them, don't get me wrong. It's just that I wish I would have known that my life and dreams would have come full circle. That the dreams I dreamed when I was 12 would possibly come true when I was 28. I may have edited them. Maybe I would have tried to plan things out a little more. I was too young - I didn't quite imagine Joey as almost 40. At 12 that probably would have creeped me out a little. A lot, actually.
My point here is this. Pick your dreams carefully. God's busy and is probably back-logged. It might take 16 years for Him to get to your request. You wanna make sure before you go and make any silly promises to the guy upstairs that when you're dream comes true, it's not the sad reality I'm facing: the possibility of running into Joey McIntyre at the local Stop and Shop while he's shopping with his wife and kids. That's just not how it was supposed to be for us.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Gratitude
This post is written with utter humility. Humility because I am the most blessed person on the face of the earth. I like to think that I never take anything or anyone for granted. That I try my best to show those people in my life that I love them, and am grateful for them. But, I know I'm only human, and that I am a long way from perfect in my quest to be the best person I can be. But, for some reason I was blessed with the most beautiful people - as my friends, as my family, as my colleagues. Yes, for some reason, my life is filled with such beauty and grace.
Today is my 28th birthday...and I could not be more grateful to be alive, and a part of this amazing life. I don't know what I did to deserve the people who make up my life - the old, the new, the just beginning, and the yet to be - but I am so thankful for each and every one. You all know who you are - I know I sometimes can be too sappy and tell you I love you too much, but I do. I know I dream of writing a book someday, and making it to the New York Times Bestseller list, but none of that would mean anything without all of you. Your constant, unwavering support of every one of my decisions is incredible. The way you have all stood by me this past year will never be forgotten.
I know I am far from perfect. But I hope you all know that you make up my heart and soul - all that I am and will be is because I have friends like you. This year is going to be amazing. I can feel it in every part of my being. I look forward to sharing it with each of you. For those who have recently come into my life, or have found me again after many years, thank you. Thank you for including me in your journey. I am so grateful you have - and are - a part of mine.
Today is my 28th birthday...and I could not be more grateful to be alive, and a part of this amazing life. I don't know what I did to deserve the people who make up my life - the old, the new, the just beginning, and the yet to be - but I am so thankful for each and every one. You all know who you are - I know I sometimes can be too sappy and tell you I love you too much, but I do. I know I dream of writing a book someday, and making it to the New York Times Bestseller list, but none of that would mean anything without all of you. Your constant, unwavering support of every one of my decisions is incredible. The way you have all stood by me this past year will never be forgotten.
I know I am far from perfect. But I hope you all know that you make up my heart and soul - all that I am and will be is because I have friends like you. This year is going to be amazing. I can feel it in every part of my being. I look forward to sharing it with each of you. For those who have recently come into my life, or have found me again after many years, thank you. Thank you for including me in your journey. I am so grateful you have - and are - a part of mine.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Nothing but a 'hag'
So, I'm sitting with my roomie tonight catching up on the happenings of the past weekend. Alright, I know, you're wondering why the hell we're just talking about the weekend now. It's Wednesday. Well, you see, there was this boy who came to visit for the weekend. Not me, my roomie. And he was only gonna stay the weekend. But after some boy drama, he kinda just stuck around. So, with the exception of a few whispers here and there, I didn't know what the hell was going on. Until tonight. I got the whole scoop. It's so refreshing to be able to talk to a guy who knows EXACTLY what it feels like to have boy drama! Because this is my blog and not his, I'm not gonna get into the story. I will just say this - ladies, they're all the same. Gay. Straight. Bi. They're men. UGH!
A slight detour here to say one thing. I have a female neighbor on the 2nd floor (we're on the 3rd) who has been hitting on roomie for months now. Finally she comes up last week and is touching herself scandalously and so blatantly hitting on him. Disgusted with this unsolicited attempt at flirtation, he blurts out: "I'm gay, okay. I like guys." The female neighbor then slumps against the door, puts the phone to her mouth and replies: "oh, you're gay. That's a shame. Is there a cute girl that lives here?" Roomie: "yeah, she just moved in." Neighbor: "cause I'm bi, you know." Roomie: "I'll make sure to let her know."
Sorry for the detour, but that's some funny shit, ya'll! Anyways, we're chatting up a storm like we always do, and he says to me: "I'm going to NYC next month for the gay pride parade. You wanna come with me?" Me (jumping up and down): "Um, yeah! The gay pride parade. In NYC!?! That's a dream come true!!" Roomie: "you're such a hag!" Then I signed up to be a volunteer.
Seriously. Does life get any better than this!?!
A slight detour here to say one thing. I have a female neighbor on the 2nd floor (we're on the 3rd) who has been hitting on roomie for months now. Finally she comes up last week and is touching herself scandalously and so blatantly hitting on him. Disgusted with this unsolicited attempt at flirtation, he blurts out: "I'm gay, okay. I like guys." The female neighbor then slumps against the door, puts the phone to her mouth and replies: "oh, you're gay. That's a shame. Is there a cute girl that lives here?" Roomie: "yeah, she just moved in." Neighbor: "cause I'm bi, you know." Roomie: "I'll make sure to let her know."
Sorry for the detour, but that's some funny shit, ya'll! Anyways, we're chatting up a storm like we always do, and he says to me: "I'm going to NYC next month for the gay pride parade. You wanna come with me?" Me (jumping up and down): "Um, yeah! The gay pride parade. In NYC!?! That's a dream come true!!" Roomie: "you're such a hag!" Then I signed up to be a volunteer.
Seriously. Does life get any better than this!?!
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
"Saving Fritz"
I have to share this right now, because writing helps. It helps me get it all out. It helps me to make sense of all these emotions. It helps knowing someone, somewhere might read it and be moved, and that I might not have to suffer alone.
I am, and always will be, an honest person. I wear my feelings, and share my experiences with those in my life. That's what this blog is about. My life - the good, the bad, and the worst. I can't edit my life; therefore I don't edit what I say on this blog.
I have to come to terms tonight with something that's so painful I don't even know if emotions or words exist to describe it. I have to come to the sad realization that I might lose someone I care about very deeply. To addiction. Someone I fell in love with. Someone I watched make the decision daily that substances meant more than love. Than family. Than friends. Than life.
It's so scary, addiction. It takes over someone's heart and mind in a way that's incomprehensible to the outside world. I think even to the addict. I never thought I would know anything about addiction. I always thought I was "above" this disease. Then I realized that no one is above it. It is just like a tornado, destroying everything in its path. It destroys trust. It destroys love. It destroys life. It drains the addict - and those who love them - of their life and happiness.
We all hear about "tough love", and everyone watching the cycle from the outside thinks it's so easy to do. But it's one of the hardest things ever. How do you just walk away from someone who you love so deeply? How do you just let them make these horrible decisions?
I fought the battles. I waged the gruesome, bloody war. Addiction won every time. I have had countless promises broken. Countless calls go unanswered. Countless sleepless nights wondering if he's alive. I have done all I can do. I am waving the white flag, surrendering to this disease I can't control. It manipulates. It doesn't discriminate. Anyone can suffer. Anyone. And everyone.
I decided a long time ago that the relationship was over. But that doesn't stop the pain of what seems to be inevitable. The possibility that someone who changed my life in ways I never thought possible could die from this. Die. And I can't do anything to stop it. As I sit here tonight, I realize this life - his life - is out of my control. It's a piercing pain that will never go away, but that I hope one day will allow me to live in peace. I know I did all I could do, and I have no regrets. Not one. I have so many questions, but I don't think I'll ever find the answers. I can only move forward knowing I can't go through the rest of my life "Saving Fritz".
I am, and always will be, an honest person. I wear my feelings, and share my experiences with those in my life. That's what this blog is about. My life - the good, the bad, and the worst. I can't edit my life; therefore I don't edit what I say on this blog.
I have to come to terms tonight with something that's so painful I don't even know if emotions or words exist to describe it. I have to come to the sad realization that I might lose someone I care about very deeply. To addiction. Someone I fell in love with. Someone I watched make the decision daily that substances meant more than love. Than family. Than friends. Than life.
It's so scary, addiction. It takes over someone's heart and mind in a way that's incomprehensible to the outside world. I think even to the addict. I never thought I would know anything about addiction. I always thought I was "above" this disease. Then I realized that no one is above it. It is just like a tornado, destroying everything in its path. It destroys trust. It destroys love. It destroys life. It drains the addict - and those who love them - of their life and happiness.
We all hear about "tough love", and everyone watching the cycle from the outside thinks it's so easy to do. But it's one of the hardest things ever. How do you just walk away from someone who you love so deeply? How do you just let them make these horrible decisions?
I fought the battles. I waged the gruesome, bloody war. Addiction won every time. I have had countless promises broken. Countless calls go unanswered. Countless sleepless nights wondering if he's alive. I have done all I can do. I am waving the white flag, surrendering to this disease I can't control. It manipulates. It doesn't discriminate. Anyone can suffer. Anyone. And everyone.
I decided a long time ago that the relationship was over. But that doesn't stop the pain of what seems to be inevitable. The possibility that someone who changed my life in ways I never thought possible could die from this. Die. And I can't do anything to stop it. As I sit here tonight, I realize this life - his life - is out of my control. It's a piercing pain that will never go away, but that I hope one day will allow me to live in peace. I know I did all I could do, and I have no regrets. Not one. I have so many questions, but I don't think I'll ever find the answers. I can only move forward knowing I can't go through the rest of my life "Saving Fritz".
Kristin's Corner
I don't know if anyone has ever visited the website overheardintheoffice.com, but if you haven't it's definitely worth checking out. One of my very best friends in Tennessee actually posted something on this website, which still remains up today. Because it has been one of the highlights of at least my professional career, I will share it here before moving forward.
Boss #1: So, you will be gone for the next 2 weeks for your wedding and honeymoon, right?
Employee (aka my friend): Yes, that's right.
Boss #2: And, when she gets she will no longer be a virgin.
And, with that statement, dear readers, my friend's sexuality hung over the table like a dark black cloud for the rest of the seemingly endless, uncomfortable meeting. So now you understand the premise behind this website. Check it out for hours of endless laughs and disbelief while you should be being productive at work.
Today I was sitting in my new office with my new colleagues at about 5:30, and a conversation began that somehow brought us to the topic of "who we have been told we resemble". Two of us with naturally curly hair (and I have to believe this is the ONLY reason it was said to me - at least that's what my mom told me) have both been told we looked like Chelsea Clinton. Enough said. Another was told she looks like a young Hilary Clinton. Again, enough said. No need to belabor these brief points of already dangerously low self esteem in our pasts. Our small conversation continues, after a few of the girls walk away. I continue with this enlightening conversation, pointing out that one time I was asked by an African American woman if I, too, was of that descent. I took this is an extreme compliment, and thanked her feverishly, but had to say that, no I am not. I am about as white and awkward as they come.
Of course, it was right at the point where I was talking about being asked this question that the other girls overheard the conversation, and commented that it seems whenever I join the conversation, it tends to take an interesting and unexpected turn. Well, ladies, I do what I can. The sad thing about it is, these are all true stories. No exaggeration or drama here....just true tales.
So, it seems that each day we will be gathering around my desk for story time, or what my co-worker has termed, "Kristin's corner". Future topics of "KC" will include, but are not limited to: why not to date a musician (or, more specifically, a drummer); my "Will & Grace" life; how to successfully get a man to go on a crazy rant about marriage and relationships; and how to politely remove yourself when your client grabs your leg and says he wants to take naked photos of you. Syllabus and coursework to follow.
Boss #1: So, you will be gone for the next 2 weeks for your wedding and honeymoon, right?
Employee (aka my friend): Yes, that's right.
Boss #2: And, when she gets she will no longer be a virgin.
And, with that statement, dear readers, my friend's sexuality hung over the table like a dark black cloud for the rest of the seemingly endless, uncomfortable meeting. So now you understand the premise behind this website. Check it out for hours of endless laughs and disbelief while you should be being productive at work.
Today I was sitting in my new office with my new colleagues at about 5:30, and a conversation began that somehow brought us to the topic of "who we have been told we resemble". Two of us with naturally curly hair (and I have to believe this is the ONLY reason it was said to me - at least that's what my mom told me) have both been told we looked like Chelsea Clinton. Enough said. Another was told she looks like a young Hilary Clinton. Again, enough said. No need to belabor these brief points of already dangerously low self esteem in our pasts. Our small conversation continues, after a few of the girls walk away. I continue with this enlightening conversation, pointing out that one time I was asked by an African American woman if I, too, was of that descent. I took this is an extreme compliment, and thanked her feverishly, but had to say that, no I am not. I am about as white and awkward as they come.
Of course, it was right at the point where I was talking about being asked this question that the other girls overheard the conversation, and commented that it seems whenever I join the conversation, it tends to take an interesting and unexpected turn. Well, ladies, I do what I can. The sad thing about it is, these are all true stories. No exaggeration or drama here....just true tales.
So, it seems that each day we will be gathering around my desk for story time, or what my co-worker has termed, "Kristin's corner". Future topics of "KC" will include, but are not limited to: why not to date a musician (or, more specifically, a drummer); my "Will & Grace" life; how to successfully get a man to go on a crazy rant about marriage and relationships; and how to politely remove yourself when your client grabs your leg and says he wants to take naked photos of you. Syllabus and coursework to follow.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Indian, chocolate chip cookies, and flowers
So I know you are all wondering what the heck these 3 things have in common. And, that's a very good and relevant question. Let me explain. I love this city. I am so happy I am here - it seems like it took me forever, but now that I'm here, it feels like I've been here for years. Like I've been at peace for so long. It's such a welcome feeling!
I am all about the small things in life. A phone call to say hello. A little note to say "I'm thinking about you". A flower. A rainbow. The ocean (which, I guess if you really think about it, is actually quite large). It is these small things that get me through - and have gotten me through - so many hard weeks and months. I often think that if you're looking for only the big things to happen in life, you're going to be constantly disappointed, because the big things don't always happen. There are small miracles waiting around every corner, every decision, every chance meeting. But you have to pay attention or you miss them.
So, some would say I get excited over really small things. And they're right. But it makes like so much more fun! Yesterday I took the T to Cambridge, where Harvard University is. I have been wanting to visit the campus since I was a child. There was just something about seeing Harvard. It was a beautiful day - the sun was shining, and people were out walking around, so I decided it would be my "Harvard" day. It turned out that it was Mayfest on Harvard Square, so there was tons of food, dancing, music, and shopping. SO COOL! Okay, so I'm totally going to be a girl here for second. I found these adorable dresses, and paid $32 TOTAL for 2! Get this - they were originally $180. EACH! That's quite a deal, huh? I know I was wicked pumped people! I have to wait until it's warmer to wear them, though...UGH!
After Harvard Square, I went to meet an old friend and his girlfriend for dinner at an Indian restaurant downtown JP. It was awesome! The food was fabulous - the service not as good, but the good company and great Indian food made up for it. When I came home, I stayed up late helping my roomie prepare for a job interview as a floral designer. Lots of talk about flowers, design, and STARs (it's an interview technique). I went to bed exhausted, but so fulfilled after a long day of walking/experiencing the city.
So, today, I went to grab lunch at the Pru. I decided that I would hit up the same place I had last time, because it's convenient, and they have the BEST chocolate chip cookies. EVER. I bought 2. One for me, and one for roomie to celebrate his interview. It was Heaven in every single bite. I'm not kidding. These cookies (Paradise Bakery) are soft, chewy, chocolately goodness. YUM!
I am heading into my second full week at my new job and in Boston. I have met some awesome people so far, and have already made some unforgettable memories. So right now, I seriously don't think it gets any better than this - Indian, chocolate chip cookies, and flowers! Oh yeah - Happy week of my birthday! YIPPEE!!!
I am all about the small things in life. A phone call to say hello. A little note to say "I'm thinking about you". A flower. A rainbow. The ocean (which, I guess if you really think about it, is actually quite large). It is these small things that get me through - and have gotten me through - so many hard weeks and months. I often think that if you're looking for only the big things to happen in life, you're going to be constantly disappointed, because the big things don't always happen. There are small miracles waiting around every corner, every decision, every chance meeting. But you have to pay attention or you miss them.
So, some would say I get excited over really small things. And they're right. But it makes like so much more fun! Yesterday I took the T to Cambridge, where Harvard University is. I have been wanting to visit the campus since I was a child. There was just something about seeing Harvard. It was a beautiful day - the sun was shining, and people were out walking around, so I decided it would be my "Harvard" day. It turned out that it was Mayfest on Harvard Square, so there was tons of food, dancing, music, and shopping. SO COOL! Okay, so I'm totally going to be a girl here for second. I found these adorable dresses, and paid $32 TOTAL for 2! Get this - they were originally $180. EACH! That's quite a deal, huh? I know I was wicked pumped people! I have to wait until it's warmer to wear them, though...UGH!
After Harvard Square, I went to meet an old friend and his girlfriend for dinner at an Indian restaurant downtown JP. It was awesome! The food was fabulous - the service not as good, but the good company and great Indian food made up for it. When I came home, I stayed up late helping my roomie prepare for a job interview as a floral designer. Lots of talk about flowers, design, and STARs (it's an interview technique). I went to bed exhausted, but so fulfilled after a long day of walking/experiencing the city.
So, today, I went to grab lunch at the Pru. I decided that I would hit up the same place I had last time, because it's convenient, and they have the BEST chocolate chip cookies. EVER. I bought 2. One for me, and one for roomie to celebrate his interview. It was Heaven in every single bite. I'm not kidding. These cookies (Paradise Bakery) are soft, chewy, chocolately goodness. YUM!
I am heading into my second full week at my new job and in Boston. I have met some awesome people so far, and have already made some unforgettable memories. So right now, I seriously don't think it gets any better than this - Indian, chocolate chip cookies, and flowers! Oh yeah - Happy week of my birthday! YIPPEE!!!
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Happy Mother's Day!!
Okay, so I realize this post is coming a day late. I apologize to those mothers out there. I started writing it last night so it would actually be relevant, but then I helped my roomie get ready for his big interview today for a floral designer position (he rocked, by the way!!!!) and we were working until after midnight. At that time I didn't have any more energy to write anything. Please forgive me. You were all in my thoughts.
I have to say that I have some wonderful mothers in my life. I have my own mother, of course, who has been the most constant and wonderful source of support I have ever known. There have been times - recently - where I have questioned that relationship in ways I never thought possible. I have said things that were extremely ugly and hateful, and was forgiven. No matter where I move, what decisions I make, or what I say, she seems to love me unconditionally. There's never going to be a love in my life that rivals that kind of love, and for that, I am extremely grateful.
I have several friends who are mothers, all of whom inspire me each and every day. It's an amazing thing to see someone become a mother. To watch them grow and develop a love for another human being that ascends all else. I see them struggle with everyday life struggles, just like the rest of us. After all, they're only human. But they put their children above all else. They love unselfishly and unconditionally. I watch their children grow and feel so blessed to even be a part of their world. They make me realize that the decisions I make today in my life ultimately affect the person I will be tomorrow - and the mother I will be. I am grateful for the chances and opportunities I have to grow and learn so that (hopefully) one day I will be able to share them with my own children.
To all of you (and you know who you are), thank you for being such an incredible inspiration to me. Your endless love and sacrifices for your children amaze me, and help me see that you don't need to look very far to find happiness and peace.
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!!
I have to say that I have some wonderful mothers in my life. I have my own mother, of course, who has been the most constant and wonderful source of support I have ever known. There have been times - recently - where I have questioned that relationship in ways I never thought possible. I have said things that were extremely ugly and hateful, and was forgiven. No matter where I move, what decisions I make, or what I say, she seems to love me unconditionally. There's never going to be a love in my life that rivals that kind of love, and for that, I am extremely grateful.
I have several friends who are mothers, all of whom inspire me each and every day. It's an amazing thing to see someone become a mother. To watch them grow and develop a love for another human being that ascends all else. I see them struggle with everyday life struggles, just like the rest of us. After all, they're only human. But they put their children above all else. They love unselfishly and unconditionally. I watch their children grow and feel so blessed to even be a part of their world. They make me realize that the decisions I make today in my life ultimately affect the person I will be tomorrow - and the mother I will be. I am grateful for the chances and opportunities I have to grow and learn so that (hopefully) one day I will be able to share them with my own children.
To all of you (and you know who you are), thank you for being such an incredible inspiration to me. Your endless love and sacrifices for your children amaze me, and help me see that you don't need to look very far to find happiness and peace.
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!!
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Closure is a journey...not a destination
Has anyone ever wanted to hear something from someone - maybe someone they're in love with - so bad? Maybe it's that they love you, or you changed their life, or they really don't want you to go? Maybe you've even stayed somewhere longer than you think you should, just waiting to hear those words. Because you think if you stay they'll realize they should say it. Or feel it. Sometimes they never come, and we are forced to make our way into the future, finding our own peace and our own closure. And sometimes, just when you think you've crossed that divide between sadness/anger and peace, you're pulled back. And suddenly, just like that, nothing seems clear anymore. The memories come flooding back. All the ones you have put in the "do not touch for at least 5 years" section of your brain. The "try to forget" part. The "please not again, not now" folder. Yes, just like that, it seems so easy to file away or temporarily lose the "you hurt me so badly" files.
I heard those words tonight. The words I waited for so long to hear. That I deserved to hear. That I stayed up night after night wishing I would hear. The "please don't leave me" words. The "I love you" words. The "our story's not over" words. Please don't say our story's over. Please. What did I do, you ask? I sat there, completely stoic. Absolutely stunned. In disbelief. Why now? Why when I'm feeling so strong, so carefree, so at peace? With myself? With the relationship? With what was, what is, and what should be? Haven't I been through enough? Haven't I been tested enough? Have I not proven my strength? Have I not shown my character? What more do I have to do?
I have been telling myself for so long that I just wanted to hear those words. And I could move on, knowing that I made my mark. Knowing I meant something to someone. To him. I thought it was a right of passage - that closure is right behind that next door (God knows I've walked through enough other ones). But I'm learning that closure has nothing to do with the other person, and everything to do with you. There have been times in my life - very recently, as a matter of fact - that I have prayed for nothing more than closure. That knowing the answer to "why" would escalate me to a place of peace and freedom. But now it seems that those words - that answer - complicates things further. It takes me deeper into the past. Deeper into those feelings I have been pushing back in order to move forward. It brings down my walls and makes me feel vulnerable all over again. Those few words I have been waiting so long to hear. Those few simple words yield so much power.
I'm still not sure how I feel about this whole thing. I know I feel numb and pain all at the same time. I feel confusion and clarity. I feel tired. Exhausted. I feel like I've fought the battles, and given such a great fight. I waved the white flag, and am now being ambushed. And that's not fair in war. That's not how war is waged. But, I seem to have forgotten something in all of this. It's not war. It's love. And that's the difference.
I heard those words tonight. The words I waited for so long to hear. That I deserved to hear. That I stayed up night after night wishing I would hear. The "please don't leave me" words. The "I love you" words. The "our story's not over" words. Please don't say our story's over. Please. What did I do, you ask? I sat there, completely stoic. Absolutely stunned. In disbelief. Why now? Why when I'm feeling so strong, so carefree, so at peace? With myself? With the relationship? With what was, what is, and what should be? Haven't I been through enough? Haven't I been tested enough? Have I not proven my strength? Have I not shown my character? What more do I have to do?
I have been telling myself for so long that I just wanted to hear those words. And I could move on, knowing that I made my mark. Knowing I meant something to someone. To him. I thought it was a right of passage - that closure is right behind that next door (God knows I've walked through enough other ones). But I'm learning that closure has nothing to do with the other person, and everything to do with you. There have been times in my life - very recently, as a matter of fact - that I have prayed for nothing more than closure. That knowing the answer to "why" would escalate me to a place of peace and freedom. But now it seems that those words - that answer - complicates things further. It takes me deeper into the past. Deeper into those feelings I have been pushing back in order to move forward. It brings down my walls and makes me feel vulnerable all over again. Those few words I have been waiting so long to hear. Those few simple words yield so much power.
I'm still not sure how I feel about this whole thing. I know I feel numb and pain all at the same time. I feel confusion and clarity. I feel tired. Exhausted. I feel like I've fought the battles, and given such a great fight. I waved the white flag, and am now being ambushed. And that's not fair in war. That's not how war is waged. But, I seem to have forgotten something in all of this. It's not war. It's love. And that's the difference.
Pahking in Bahston...
Or, a better title for this post would be "no pahking in Bahston" - a much better description of the situation in this city. So, I mentioned in my last post how I went down to little Rhodie (for those unfamiliar with the geography and vernacular of the east coast, that would be Rhode Island) for a "mini intervention" on Thursday night. Well, when I finally made it back to my apartment Friday morning after driving aimlessly around Boston for an hour, I was running extremely late. So, rather than look for a parking spot on the street, I parked in the convenient Stop & Shop grocery store's lot across the street...I bet you all see where this is going. Of course by now you know I went out for a fun night of "swinging" last night - and those swingers know how to party! I was making new friends (surprised!?!), and started talking about driving to different places along the coast. It is at that moment, talking about driving my already over-the-miles-vehicle, that I realized it ran the very good risk of being towed, as it was past 11:00. I say my good-byes, walk briskly to the subway (at this point I am exhausted), and pray the entire ride home that my car is still there.
You know what I realized? No one is above the parking lot gods...they come in quickly and quietly in the dark, taking any vehicle hostage - it doesn't matter the make, year, license plate - nothing. No, to them, any car parked past that magical "towing hour" is game, and puts $110 right in their pockets.
What have I learned from this experience? That I'm scared shitless to pahk in Bahston, that's what. Now I never take any spot for granted. Come to think of it, I think I'll just park and leave it until I decide to move again. Yeah, that sounds about right. But, then again, I wonder what the bird poop situation would be like after 3 years...probably not good.
You know what I realized? No one is above the parking lot gods...they come in quickly and quietly in the dark, taking any vehicle hostage - it doesn't matter the make, year, license plate - nothing. No, to them, any car parked past that magical "towing hour" is game, and puts $110 right in their pockets.
What have I learned from this experience? That I'm scared shitless to pahk in Bahston, that's what. Now I never take any spot for granted. Come to think of it, I think I'll just park and leave it until I decide to move again. Yeah, that sounds about right. But, then again, I wonder what the bird poop situation would be like after 3 years...probably not good.
I'm sorry...did you say "swing"!?!
Well, as a matter of fact I did. And, no, for those of you wondering, I did not go with my roomies! For the first time since moving to Boston, I stepped out of my small local comfort zone of JP and Back Bay and went across the river to Cambridge to swing dance. Now, I have been wanting to try some different forms of dance for a while now, but I was still a little skeptical when a friend at work mentioned swing. This skepticism stemmed from a variety of reasons. One, I didn't think people actually went swing dancing. I imagined it would be a group of 15 people tops who all get together and attempt to do what, in my mind, I see as swing dancing. Two, if it really is the swing you see in movies and that I have in my head, don't you need to, I don't know, um, have one iota of a clue as to what you're doing!?! I couldn't imagine someone just stepping out on the dance floor and swinging.
Let me back up here for just one second, though, before I continue my swinging story. I am sitting here in my room, cross-legged on my bed, eyes half closed and glazed over because I am exhausted past the point of recognition. Last night I staged what I will refer to as a "mini intervention." For anyone who's wondering what that is, let me explain. A friend (an ex if you want the truth) is struggling right now with a severe addiction problem. It was bad while we were dating, and has escalated beyond anything I could ever have imagined. It's so sad watching someone you care so deeply for continue to harm themselves intentionally. It's one of the worst kinds of pain anyone could ever experience, I think. But, that's a whole other blog in itself. He had locked himself in and was, I think, just going to drink until he ended it all. So, in one very last ditch effort to help him help himself, I "intervened" with the help of another friend, and asked him to check himself into the hospital. He said yes, to our relief. Because it was so late, and I had to drive to little Rhodie, I decided to stay there and drive back home in the morning. Dumb idea. Has anyone ever experienced Boston rush hour...are you kidding me!?! Once I got into the city (around 7:15, so I had PLENTY of time to park my car, finish my make-up and get to work), I managed to get myself lost for AN HOUR downtown! That was not fun. I woke up at 4:3o to make sure I'd make it back in time, so by the time I got to work, I was ready to go back to sleep...and stay there for at least a 12-hour period.
Ok...back to swinging. Clearly, I'm exhausted and think there's no way I will make it. Boy was I wrong! I took the beginners' "class" when I first got there, which taught me the basic steps. About an hour later, people started arriving, the music started playing, and people just hit the floor. It was incredible. It was like a scene straight out of a movie. People kept asking me to dance, and every time I would give them what I like to call the "watch your feet, face, and any other extremity you have a particular affection towards" warning. "I am new at this...this is the very first time I have ever stepped foot on a dance floor to swing dance." I mean, it's not exactly the style of dance you bust out when the DJ puts "Apple Bottom Jeans" on! And we all know I can crunk it up to that one. Okay, I know, I need to stop the street talk. Or the attempt at street talk, anyways. But, seriously, these people just get down to it. It was incredible. People did not let me sit still for 3 hours - it was a constant flow of awesome, incredible dance partners. Most of them had a lot of experience, and would literally just throw me around the dance floor. I met so many wicked cool people. I did not stop smiling the entire time I was there. I can see why so many people show up each week - it's like an addiction.
So, as I sit here exhausted reflecting on my hectic and wonderful first week in Boston, I find I have already learned something very valuable. Try something new - even if it scares you a little. No - especially if it scares you. In the process you might meet new people or find a new hobby. Or, if nothing else, you might have a sequence of time where you do nothing but smile. And, sometimes in life, that's all you can ask/hope for. Now with that, I'm putting my over-tired, over-extended body to sleep.
Let me back up here for just one second, though, before I continue my swinging story. I am sitting here in my room, cross-legged on my bed, eyes half closed and glazed over because I am exhausted past the point of recognition. Last night I staged what I will refer to as a "mini intervention." For anyone who's wondering what that is, let me explain. A friend (an ex if you want the truth) is struggling right now with a severe addiction problem. It was bad while we were dating, and has escalated beyond anything I could ever have imagined. It's so sad watching someone you care so deeply for continue to harm themselves intentionally. It's one of the worst kinds of pain anyone could ever experience, I think. But, that's a whole other blog in itself. He had locked himself in and was, I think, just going to drink until he ended it all. So, in one very last ditch effort to help him help himself, I "intervened" with the help of another friend, and asked him to check himself into the hospital. He said yes, to our relief. Because it was so late, and I had to drive to little Rhodie, I decided to stay there and drive back home in the morning. Dumb idea. Has anyone ever experienced Boston rush hour...are you kidding me!?! Once I got into the city (around 7:15, so I had PLENTY of time to park my car, finish my make-up and get to work), I managed to get myself lost for AN HOUR downtown! That was not fun. I woke up at 4:3o to make sure I'd make it back in time, so by the time I got to work, I was ready to go back to sleep...and stay there for at least a 12-hour period.
Ok...back to swinging. Clearly, I'm exhausted and think there's no way I will make it. Boy was I wrong! I took the beginners' "class" when I first got there, which taught me the basic steps. About an hour later, people started arriving, the music started playing, and people just hit the floor. It was incredible. It was like a scene straight out of a movie. People kept asking me to dance, and every time I would give them what I like to call the "watch your feet, face, and any other extremity you have a particular affection towards" warning. "I am new at this...this is the very first time I have ever stepped foot on a dance floor to swing dance." I mean, it's not exactly the style of dance you bust out when the DJ puts "Apple Bottom Jeans" on! And we all know I can crunk it up to that one. Okay, I know, I need to stop the street talk. Or the attempt at street talk, anyways. But, seriously, these people just get down to it. It was incredible. People did not let me sit still for 3 hours - it was a constant flow of awesome, incredible dance partners. Most of them had a lot of experience, and would literally just throw me around the dance floor. I met so many wicked cool people. I did not stop smiling the entire time I was there. I can see why so many people show up each week - it's like an addiction.
So, as I sit here exhausted reflecting on my hectic and wonderful first week in Boston, I find I have already learned something very valuable. Try something new - even if it scares you a little. No - especially if it scares you. In the process you might meet new people or find a new hobby. Or, if nothing else, you might have a sequence of time where you do nothing but smile. And, sometimes in life, that's all you can ask/hope for. Now with that, I'm putting my over-tired, over-extended body to sleep.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
The Right Stuff, Baby!
Okay. It's after 11:00 and I'm exhausted. I haven't slept well in weeks - moving to Boston, boy drama, life drama...ugh! So, what the hell am I still doing up!?! Great question. If I had the answer to that I'd be rich - I would sell it to every person across the country tossing and turning right now, unable to catch some desperately needed shut eye because their minds are racing with everything they need to do, people they need to save (which, in some cases, is themselves), bills they have to pay, etc.
But, I digress. And that's because, despite the fact that I have so many things to catch up on here, the only reason I am blogging right now is to share some amazingly exciting news. Brace yourselves here - this is some seriously big shit. If you are a female between the ages of 26 and 34, you might wet yourselves. I know I almost did. Here goes: I have tickets to see New Kids on the Block. In Boston. Their hometown. OMG (hehe...)!!! That's right - the awesome boy band that started it all with hits like Please Don't Go Girl, Hangin Tough, Step by Step, The Right Stuff (such great talent....the list just goes on and on). I have never stopped loving these guys, who, by the way, are all like 40 now. I used to dream that I would marry Joey. Actually, the "dream" (which was really a fantasy I lived in my head during normal daylight hours, which is totally scary now looking back) was that I was Jordan and John's sister, and that's how I got to know the other members. Wicked crazy, I know. I have been praying for a reunion tour since the day they broke up, and it's finally happening. I'm already planning my wardrobe...torn, baggy jeans, a tee-shirt with a big yellow happy face, a top hat with the top cut out...maybe even a fake rat tail to make it truly authentic. I even have my old pins and posters. Hard to believe, I know.
I have more than 4 months before I see my favorite band live and back together again. Until then, I'll just be hangin tough, taking it all step by step. (Okay, cheesy as hell, I know - but it's 11:30 and I'm talking about the New Kids for goodness sake!)
But, I digress. And that's because, despite the fact that I have so many things to catch up on here, the only reason I am blogging right now is to share some amazingly exciting news. Brace yourselves here - this is some seriously big shit. If you are a female between the ages of 26 and 34, you might wet yourselves. I know I almost did. Here goes: I have tickets to see New Kids on the Block. In Boston. Their hometown. OMG (hehe...)!!! That's right - the awesome boy band that started it all with hits like Please Don't Go Girl, Hangin Tough, Step by Step, The Right Stuff (such great talent....the list just goes on and on). I have never stopped loving these guys, who, by the way, are all like 40 now. I used to dream that I would marry Joey. Actually, the "dream" (which was really a fantasy I lived in my head during normal daylight hours, which is totally scary now looking back) was that I was Jordan and John's sister, and that's how I got to know the other members. Wicked crazy, I know. I have been praying for a reunion tour since the day they broke up, and it's finally happening. I'm already planning my wardrobe...torn, baggy jeans, a tee-shirt with a big yellow happy face, a top hat with the top cut out...maybe even a fake rat tail to make it truly authentic. I even have my old pins and posters. Hard to believe, I know.
I have more than 4 months before I see my favorite band live and back together again. Until then, I'll just be hangin tough, taking it all step by step. (Okay, cheesy as hell, I know - but it's 11:30 and I'm talking about the New Kids for goodness sake!)
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Three's Company...21st Century Style
So, if you're anything like any of my friends, you're asking yourself, "what would a 20-something female moving to Boston who knows no one, do about housing?" And that, my dear readers, is a fantastic question indeed. Much like the decision to move to Boston, the process of finding housing kept with true "me" fashion. I immediately started scouring craigslist for apartments, only to find out very quickly, that I could not afford anything in the city. Seriously. I remember the moment I began panicking. I was in the car (as a passenger - the driver will remain nameless, faceless, and useless...hehe) and it just hit me like a ton of bricks. For a moment, albeit a brief one, I thought I was going to be the poorest, lowest paid person in Boston. I mean, how in the world could anyone afford anything if they made anywhere close to what I make. It's impossible. I tried so hard to stop them, but the tears just began streaming down my face. Friends suggested a suburb with a 40-minute commute time. Now, that's just stupid. Why the hell would I get so excited about moving to Boston only to live in a lame suburb that's closer to Providence than Boston!?! I wouldn't.
No sooner had the tears cleared up from that episode did they start falling again. Apparently, or so it seemed, no one in New England allows dogs in apartments. It's like everyone in America has a dog - except for the people living in New England. Quite frankly (and, since I don't really know a ton of people in this region, I'm going to go out on a limb here), I don't believe that for a second. Actually, as I'm typing this now, I have an image of a snooty New England dog, sporting an L.L. Bean raincoat. There must be dog lovers here. I refuse to leave my poor dog (who has already had to suffer through a friendly, yet nonetheless traumatic custody battle and a year with my parents and their crazy dog) for another one of my escapades. I was determined to find a dog-friendly, affordable place to live.
Fast forward to the Saturday before I move. NE boy calls at 8:30 am and wakes me from a desperately needed slumber. "It's been a long time. Glad to hear you're doing well. Oh, you're moving to Boston. Congratulations, that's great." With what I'm sure was a sheer look of sadness, terror, anger, and confusion, I hung up the phone. I turned over in bed, and went on to my trusty friend, craigslist. I find a posting for a room to sublet in the city. Gay friendly. SIGN ME UP! Anyone who knows me knows about my absolute acceptance - and celebration - of this lifestyle. I make the call. It's all set. I am going to be the "Jack Tripper," 21st century style.
Now if only we could do something about that lingering cat urine smell...
Monday, May 5, 2008
Trying to make my way through life with a smile...
I wish, for the sake of this blog, that I could remember the exact moment I decided to move to Boston. I think it would make for a better, clearer story. However, since it's my story, it only makes sense that there is an underlying tone of ambiguity and impulsiveness. I can't quite remember the exact moment, but I can tell you what led up to it.
As with so many of my story beginnings, I fell in love with a boy. This boy lived in New England (NE). So, I spent several months of my life living out of suitcases, commuting back and forth between NE and Philadelphia. I think all it takes is one summer in the northeast and you're hooked. The ocean. The sunshine. The food. The air. There's something here. Something that makes you lose all your senses. In a good way. After filing for divorce at 27 and getting kicked out of my apartment in Philly (owners foreclosed), I realized that I needed a new start. But I didn't know what that meant exactly. Or, more important, I didn't know where. As I would not recommend anyone reading this blog does, I moved back in with my parents. In Michigan. In the winter. Again, not recommended. I only ask that you don't judge me based solely on this particular decision-making experience. I have a history of nearly impeccable decision-making. This was simply a blemish on an otherwise clean record. Anyways, I spend months in a whirlwind, trying to figure out where on this vast planet I would like to move. Maybe Paris. Maybe San Diego. Maybe Knoxville. Yup, if I could have earned frequent flyer miles based on thoughts alone, I would be able to fly round trip to Australia. Twice.
Okay, so now it's February. On a last attempt to hold something together (in the relationship), I fly to NE to visit the boy for his birthday. After a wonderful visit to Newport, I decide that I want to live in New England. Since I knew that I could never settle down at this point in my life in a small town, the only logical answer, then, was Boston. See - that made total sense!
As in typical "me" fashion, I packed up my car, set up a job interview, and hit the road. 13 hours later I found myself in New Hampshire. Then Maine. Then down to Rhode Island, and back to Massachusetts. Job interview goes incredibly, surprisingly well. Things with boy, not so good. I drive to Philly and fly to Kansas (cousin's wedding). Then back to Philly, and then Rhode Island. The next part of the story will be revealed only when my book is published (this could take a while, as I have yet to write the first sentence). I will tease you this - it involved impulsive hearts, laughing, leaping, rain, music, singing, and Subway. But that ended as quickly as it began, and I'm not okay to talk/write about it yet. Nor do I think I should. During this week, I am offered the job and accept. In 3 weeks I would be in Boston. Permanently.
The next 3 weeks were a whirlwind of packing, traveling, organizing, crying, consoling, and fighting. On April 29, I packed my car and headed east. Alone. I sang. I laughed. I screamed. I was scared, yet excited. Lonely, yet fulfilled. It was incredible. I played the song "Boston" about 35 times on my way out of town. I knew it. I felt it. This was the beginning of something amazing. My life. I was in control of what happened next. And I loved it.
I arrived in Boston on April 30th. I woke up that morning, remembering a dream where my grandmother wrapped her arms around me and held me so tight. I knew in that moment I was not alone. I had a whole cheering section. Everyone is cheering me to victory. I was not scared until I pulled up in front of the apartment I would be living in for the next 2 months. I would be renting a room with 2 guys whom I had never met. All of a sudden I thought to myself: "what the hell are you doing!?!" I entered a room that had the overwhelming scent of cat urine, and almost cried. But, I didn't. And each minute got better. The cat urine smell was taken care of, and I started to unpack. In Boston.
The first night was full of excitement, tears, anxiety, fear, sadness, loneliness...I wished so badly for someone to call and welcome me to Boston. But the phone sat silent (with the exception, of course, of my mother and best friend). I realized, this is my life. This is it. It's good. It's bad. It's full of passion and energy. It's who I am. A Sophisticated Mess.
As with so many of my story beginnings, I fell in love with a boy. This boy lived in New England (NE). So, I spent several months of my life living out of suitcases, commuting back and forth between NE and Philadelphia. I think all it takes is one summer in the northeast and you're hooked. The ocean. The sunshine. The food. The air. There's something here. Something that makes you lose all your senses. In a good way. After filing for divorce at 27 and getting kicked out of my apartment in Philly (owners foreclosed), I realized that I needed a new start. But I didn't know what that meant exactly. Or, more important, I didn't know where. As I would not recommend anyone reading this blog does, I moved back in with my parents. In Michigan. In the winter. Again, not recommended. I only ask that you don't judge me based solely on this particular decision-making experience. I have a history of nearly impeccable decision-making. This was simply a blemish on an otherwise clean record. Anyways, I spend months in a whirlwind, trying to figure out where on this vast planet I would like to move. Maybe Paris. Maybe San Diego. Maybe Knoxville. Yup, if I could have earned frequent flyer miles based on thoughts alone, I would be able to fly round trip to Australia. Twice.
Okay, so now it's February. On a last attempt to hold something together (in the relationship), I fly to NE to visit the boy for his birthday. After a wonderful visit to Newport, I decide that I want to live in New England. Since I knew that I could never settle down at this point in my life in a small town, the only logical answer, then, was Boston. See - that made total sense!
As in typical "me" fashion, I packed up my car, set up a job interview, and hit the road. 13 hours later I found myself in New Hampshire. Then Maine. Then down to Rhode Island, and back to Massachusetts. Job interview goes incredibly, surprisingly well. Things with boy, not so good. I drive to Philly and fly to Kansas (cousin's wedding). Then back to Philly, and then Rhode Island. The next part of the story will be revealed only when my book is published (this could take a while, as I have yet to write the first sentence). I will tease you this - it involved impulsive hearts, laughing, leaping, rain, music, singing, and Subway. But that ended as quickly as it began, and I'm not okay to talk/write about it yet. Nor do I think I should. During this week, I am offered the job and accept. In 3 weeks I would be in Boston. Permanently.
The next 3 weeks were a whirlwind of packing, traveling, organizing, crying, consoling, and fighting. On April 29, I packed my car and headed east. Alone. I sang. I laughed. I screamed. I was scared, yet excited. Lonely, yet fulfilled. It was incredible. I played the song "Boston" about 35 times on my way out of town. I knew it. I felt it. This was the beginning of something amazing. My life. I was in control of what happened next. And I loved it.
I arrived in Boston on April 30th. I woke up that morning, remembering a dream where my grandmother wrapped her arms around me and held me so tight. I knew in that moment I was not alone. I had a whole cheering section. Everyone is cheering me to victory. I was not scared until I pulled up in front of the apartment I would be living in for the next 2 months. I would be renting a room with 2 guys whom I had never met. All of a sudden I thought to myself: "what the hell are you doing!?!" I entered a room that had the overwhelming scent of cat urine, and almost cried. But, I didn't. And each minute got better. The cat urine smell was taken care of, and I started to unpack. In Boston.
The first night was full of excitement, tears, anxiety, fear, sadness, loneliness...I wished so badly for someone to call and welcome me to Boston. But the phone sat silent (with the exception, of course, of my mother and best friend). I realized, this is my life. This is it. It's good. It's bad. It's full of passion and energy. It's who I am. A Sophisticated Mess.
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