A Sophisticated Mess

Parenting is rolling with the punches (so throw out the expectations and learn how to duck)

2012-02-11T11:46:00.000-05:00

We had a lovely weekend planned. Jand I were going to take M and “Little J” to Portland for Disney on Ice and afun stay in a hotel. This was an “experiential” Christmas gift we gave “LittleJ” since she receives far too many presents each year to really appreciateeverything she has. And, what kid wouldn’t love a chance to see Disney onIce!?! All of us were really looking forward to the opportunity to get away andenjoy some time as a family. We should have known better.

Around midnight I received a textmessage from “Little J’s” mom that she had been throwing up for an hour, withno stopping in sight. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that we wouldn’t beable to take this sick child for a 2 ½ hour car ride to Maine. J started topout, visibly upset that the expectations he had set for this trip got trampledon. And me? I was surprisingly calm and accepting. When J asked why, I realizedit’s because I’ve been re-setting expectations since the day I became a mother.

Don’t get me wrong – life isgood. It’s just that, when doing anything where a small human is involved,there is always an element of chance. Will they be napping? Will they get sick?Will they throw up on your clothes as you are walking out the door? All of thesethings hang over your head, teasing you every time you want to leave yourhouse. So, sure, I guess I can say that my predisposition to createexpectations for every situation has been, well, neutralized. I still getexcited, but there’s always a small bit of doubt that we won’t be able to pullit off. And that small bit of doubt saves me from throwing myself on the floorin a rage of disappointment, and helps me see the opportunities that existwithin the wreckage. Unfortunately for J, those opportunities include a lot ofhands-on housework.

Come to think of it, maybe that’swhy he was so upset.

Parents are crazy (at least I admit it)

2012-02-10T16:04:00.009-05:00

It amazes me that being a parent makes people so crazy. Men and women have been having - and raising - babies for thousands of years, and we continue to hold the rather insane view that despite that, we know what's best. I mean, sure, we are the ones that know our child(ren) the best. We have likely been there from the very first moment of conception, their arrival into this world, and are the ones who are at the center of their world. However, I refuse to be naive enough to believe that I am the only one who can care for my child. I for one truly appreciate that my son has the opportunity to spend some of his time at daycare where people discipline differently than me, are not able to give him constant attention, and likely hold different views on the world than me. I personally feel that exposing him to different people and opinions will make him a more well-rounded person.

I don't read baby books. I don't reference dictionaries with lists of thousands of foods to find out at exactly what stage my son can have an apple. Rather, I let him soothe himself back to sleep at night. And observe him to see if he's ready to handle a steamed apple. I believe it's my responsibility to help him become a strong adult who can handle life without someone holding his hand. Will he fall down? Of course. But the sooner he learns that he can fall and get back up, the more confident and independent he will become. Hard falls? I'm there in less than a second. Soft falls? I let him know he's fine and that he can get himself back up.

I recently read an article that had my head spinning about the difference between French and American children: http://on.wsj.com/wpkb7J. I found myself applauding the writer for pointing out some of the things that have been driving me crazy about parenting for years now. I have constantly been amazed that children are allowed to scream and run around in restaurants, disrespect their elders, and decide whether or not they want a haircut. I thought these things were just a given, and that parents were supposed to teach their children manners, and handle the decisions that children are simply too young to make. At nine months, my son is learning the meaning of the word 'no' while I play on the floor with him. And, while he is still learning, I am happy to report that most of the time when I speak with authority, he listens.

While parenting philosophies and principles are very personal - and should be - I do admit I find it hard to handle when children grow up to be poor-mannered adults and the rest of the world is responsible for dealing with them. More and more it seems like young adults are walking into a new job with an air of entitlement, and are completely clueless that coming to work after just having rolled out of bed is a BAD IDEA.

Now that I am a mother, I constantly worry about how to handle situations as my son grows so I can foster his creativity and individuality, while teaching him manners, respect and love. It's a scary thing, being in charge of another human's experience. At the core of it all, maybe that's why parents get so crazy when they talk about parenting issues. Because, deep down, no matter how confident we feel about the decisions we're making, we are all scared shitless that we're going to mess this up. And when something - someone - you love so much is on the line, it's impossible not to get so passionate.

Who Am I?

2011-11-19T21:55:00.004-05:00

Funny thing, I thought I knew. Or, at least I knew who I was prior to having a baby. I was married to the love of my life. Made hard - but brave - decisions that got me to this point. Was spontaneous. Independent. Had breasts I was proud of. Stayed up late, and slept in on the weekends. With my husband. I had friends who called. And that I called. Friends who were there at my darkest moments. And my best.

Reading this description of myself now makes me sad. Because I don't know where she went. Or if she's coming back. I hope she comes back.

I know being a mother changes you. I knew I was in for sleepless nights, body changes and a significant change in priorities. What I didn't know was that I wouldn't recognize anything about myself. In just 6 short months, I have found myself in a life that isn't mine. Or, rather, it wasn't. But, I guess it is now?

My job is different because I worked for a company that not only did not respect - but actually hated family values. Work was supposed to be your first priority. And, if you had time left over, you could dedicate it to your family. Hopefully you could make bedtime so you could at least see your baby's eyes open that day. As long as you were on email.

My marriage is different. We are exhausted. We snap at each other. We don't look at each other the same. Or, at least in my head we don't. Our life has become about to-do lists and action items. Maybe sex would be more likely if we added it to the list? We have moments - fleeting moments - when we are those two people who loved each other passionately, touched each other for no reason. This man is my life. My soul mate and best friend. I know I can't expect our relationship to be exactly the same as it was before we added another member to our family. But sometimes I miss it. The way it was. When we would stay up late together. And sleep in together. And go to Starbucks and talk to each other. I know it's still there. But that doesn't stop me from missing it.

Friends are different. And too busy. Kids and work and husbands. Changes in life mean changes in friendship. And distance. There is a lot of it between me and most people I care about. I made this move...so is it just the price I have to pay for creating that distance? My post partum fog makes it harder for me to remember to call anyone. Even remember there are people to call. I worry I will wake up one day and too much time will have passed, and this, too, will look very different.

There is joy with the changes. M's laugh. I swear I am moved to tears every time my kid laughs. Or, even better, when J makes him laugh. I can't believe I can love another human so much, and yet feel so exasperated with all the change he brings. Every day brings a new emotion. A roller coaster. It's good and bad. Mostly, it's just different.

I liked my life before I was a mother. Actually, I loved it. And, I love my life now. For significantly different reasons. I just hope I can learn to love it the same. Or, at least for some of the same reasons.

April 27, 2011: Our birth story

2011-10-20T15:04:00.000-04:00

I thought about calling this post "my birth story," but soon realized it does not belong to just me. So, it is ours.

On Wednesday, April 27, 2011, I was 10 days past my due date. I weighed 128 pounds and was all belly. I had been in and out of doctors' offices and ultrasound appointments to make sure the baby inside was still healthy, despite the extended gestational period. My mom, dad and mother-in-law were in town, anxiously awaiting the birth of their grandchild (at that time, sex still unknown). My father-in-law had to leave on the 24th after 9 days of watching, waiting and consuming numerous bottles of wine (not alone - he had plenty of help).

We had discussed induction, and decided it was time. On Tuesday, J and I went to the hospital for the "ripening." I immediately started contracting. As my midwife was about to discharge me with instructions to return once full labor began, the baby's heartbeat plummeted. This, of course was normal, but they had to keep me on the monitor to ensure our Munchkin remained safe. We walked around the hospital, got lunch all while experiencing minor labor pains. Finally, we were discharged, with my midwife confident we would return in the middle of the night in full-on labor.

We called our parents, let them know the update, and asked that we have an easy, early dinner, watch a movie followed by their departure to their hotel so I could get the rest I would need to get through labor. Throughout the evening, I progressed normally and naturally. The contractions continued to get stronger, and remained a few minutes apart. J and I fell asleep on the couch together. He awoke at 2:30 a.m. to check on me. The contractions had stopped. Just like that. We called the hospital, only to find out that is normal, and we would have to come in for the induction after all in the morning.

We arrive the next morning a bit later than originally planned due to the excessive amount of babies that were being born that day. I pace back and forth, trying to bring back the contractions. Nothing. They finally check me, and tell me I can't stay, because they don't have a room for me. We leave. Again. We walk through the door to find soon-to-be-grandparents looking as tired of the waiting as we are. I announce that I want to wash and straighten my hair and then grab something to eat, throw a left-over chocolate Easter egg in my mouth and head upstairs.

As soon as I enter the bathroom, it hits me. A never-before-in-your-life, what-the-hell-is-this kind of feeling. It lasts for about a minute. I get on my knees, turn on the tub, and start washing my hair. These "feelings" come every 4 minutes, making me stop everything to focus and breathe. Finally, J and my mom come upstairs to time them, and help with my hair. The midwife calls, and tells us to come back at 6:00. I let her know I don't think I can make it that long. She says to call her back in an hour. Every 4 minutes, for 1 minute I am bent over the back of a dining chair. It's the only thing that would provide comfort. I couldn't talk. I couldn't walk. I couldn't keep my eyes open. I was in the zone. In the meantime, my mom and J are exchanging looks and comments (as well as some expletives) about when I should be taken to the hospital. Mom thinks NOW. J thinks: "let's wait it out a bit." Mom wins.

It's 4:30, and we are hitting rush hour traffic on the way to the hospital. I am holding a pillow and keeping my eyes closed. I start feeling pressure. J tells me we're close. We walk in - the staff greets us because they know us so well now - and are seated in the waiting area. I am convinced they don't know just how in labor I am. We are taken to a room to be checked. I feel a contraction coming and some serious pressure. I tell J and the midwife, and the next second, my water bursts all over the bed (like a scene out of a movie). (Looking back, I am so grateful I was not at the mall or a restaurant.) It's 5:20. I give my midwife and J a serious but friendly look when I say: "I know I planned a natural birth, but I would like the epidural, and I would prefer we don't discuss it, please. And, I'm sorry." I am told I make the decisions, and know what is right for me. Then they put me in a wheelchair and take me to my delivery room.

The doctor with the epidural couldn't arrive fast enough. She asks me if I knew my spine was curved, and all I think is: "does that mean I won't be able to get the drugs???" She finds the spot, pokes me, and tells me in 10 minutes I will be feeling better. And, just like that, I was. For about 10 minutes. The contractions are still coming a few minutes apart and lasting about a minute. My sweet nurse tells me that I shouldn't be feeling them the way I am, and the only time the epidural won't help is when the baby is ready to come. She says: "But, since you're going to be at this for probably 12 more hours, we need you to be comfortable." "Right," I think. "I will die before then. I will never make it." She hits the "more" button, calls the doctor back, and asks the midwife to check me quickly. After a brief exam, my midwife looks up and says: "you're dilated to 10. Would you like to try pushing?" Just then the doctor walks back in, and we send him out of the room. No more epidural needed...this baby's on the way out! It's 8:00 p.m.

The next 48 minutes are amazing. On the first push we can see the head. It feels like I was born to do this. Every push is progress. We have to sit a few contractions out because the baby's heart rate kept dropping. A few massages from the midwife, and it went right back to normal.

The midwife turns to J and asks if he's ready to catch. He doesn't even have time to suit up. At 8:48, the baby arrives, and J catches him under his arms. He picks the baby up at just the right angle for us both to see that it's a boy. J sweetly places him on my chest to meet me. He has a healthy set of lungs, and beautiful eyes that stare at me. It's like we've known each other forever, but are finally meeting face-to-face.

After a few minutes of bonding and smiling, I ask the question I had been waiting to ask for the past 3 1/2 hours. "Can I have something to eat....please????"

A new last name

2009-11-02T22:16:00.003-05:00

I never had any desire to change my name. My name has been my identity - who I was, how people knew me, what they called me. The thought of being something - someone - else frightened me. I always thought I'd be one of those women who marched to their own drum - a loving mother and wife, but one who just couldn't adopt someone else's identity through the old-fashioned "tradition" of taking a man's name. It's funny how time changes us.

Friday night, "J" was to pick me up from work on our way to a romantic weekend in Vermont. Those who have been following closely know that our relationship was really written in the stars the last time we took a trip to this state. Needless to say, we were both very much looking forward to our weekend away together. We arrive around 10:00 to a note on the back door of the Inn, with directions to our room (the inn keepers go home at 9:30, so they wouldn't be able to show us). I open the door to a lovely sitting area with 2 chairs, a table, a single cup coffee maker and some books about Vermont. I turn to the left and walk through a small entryway into the bedroom - a four-post bed, 12-foot ceilings, fireplace, balcony. "J" did good. Not overlooked is a vase full of gerber daisies and a plate of chocolate covered strawberries. Apparently there were a lot of people working behind the scenes to make this a wonderful weekend. We turn the fireplace on, pour some wine and settle in for a cozy evening.

He pulls out his guitar and starts playing some chords. Nothing unusual, as he often does this around the house (one of the MANY things I love about living with him). I am aware that there may be a marriage proposal in my future, but am confident it will not be tonight - we had just arrived, and I was sure there would be something up his sleeve for Saturday night. It just seemed like a better night to propose.

KP takes some pillows off the bed, puts them on the floor next to "J" and lays down. She is looking up at him, lovingly.

"J" looks down at her, smiles and says: "would you like to hear a song I've been working on?"

"Of course," I said. "I would love to." All the while, expecting him to play a few lines and stop, because the song wasn't finished.

A melody - clearly learned - comes from the guitar. Lyrics begin.

"Five minutes gone, and I already love her. Five minutes gone and my whole world has changed. She's the one, the one I want to have babies with tomorrow. Have a big family, the old fashioned way. Baby, if I asked you, with only myself to give...baby would you have me? I'll give you everything you need. Will you marry me?"

My reaction? Shock. Disbelief. That this was really some Matt Nathanson tune that I hadn't heard and he was just playing some cruel joke on me to see how long I would play along. The song continued, and he asked me about 5 more times to be his wife. When the song was over, I realized what this meant. I am pretty sure I said "YES"!

We laughed and cried as we both realized what had just happened. In those simple words - in that exchange - we just made a promise to each other that we want to spend the rest of our lives together. Raising a family. In 5 minutes, both our lives changed. In the best way possible. He is going to be my husband.

Gerber daisies, chocolate covered strawberries and my own personal song (hey - I don't "require" these things...but they are DEFINITELY a bonus!), and I am suddently ecstatic about the idea of taking his name. I am proud that I will be able to share the name of one of the most beautiful people - and families - I have ever met. I look forward to the moment I change my name to his - in one move creating a new family with its own traditions, beliefs and legacies. I am looking forward to the first time he introduces me as his wife, and he as my husband. I love the sound of those words, and look forward to the many years we will be able to use them. There is no one on this planet I would rather share my life with, of this I am certain.

As we take this next step together, I look back upon all the years my name has given me a certain identity with pride and nostalgia, and look forward to the many years ahead with my new identity. No regrets from the past, and only hope for the future.

I have a feeling I am about to embark on a beautiful journey with my (soon to be) new last name. WOO-HOO!

Letter to "Little J"

2009-10-24T23:49:00.005-04:00

While I enjoy the process of writing anything - prose, stories, blogs - the thing I love the most is to sit down and write a letter. I love that I have the ability to tell the people I love how much I love them - in something written and permanent. I love sharing my feelings in a way that allows me to think about them. Feel them. I have thought of one day being able to write the story of my life - or at least sharing it with my children/grandchildren - through the many letters I wrote over the years. They are windows into my heart. They tell stories of love and heartache. I love to receive letters. Nothing makes me happier than reading words of love, support and friendship. Letters allow us to keep people with us, even after they're gone. These words ease pain, provide hope and express love.

Tonight I sat down and wrote a letter. Just the same as a blog post would do - if not even more - this letter expresses my feelings. It was inspired by the events that occurred today - the simple, everyday events that took my breath away, and made me so happy to be in this life.

Dear "Little J":

I remember when your dad told me about you. It was on our first date. I was so excited to meet you, to be a part of your life. I thought of all the time we would spend together. The memories we would make. Meeting you for the first time was such a joy. I immediately fell in love with you. Immediately. I remember the responsibility you automatically took on at 4 years old – understanding (but not quite sure why) the challenges adults with children face when dating. You wanted to know if your dad had told me about you – if I knew he had a little girl. I remember thinking about the incredible burden that must be at four – always wondering about your parent’s choices, the people in their lives and how you fit in. I wanted to be in your life starting from that moment, always making sure you have nothing but love surrounding you. The more time I spent with you, the more I loved you. And your dad. I had an instant “just add water and stir” family. And I loved it.

Then I got scared. I was scared of the future. Of playing a role I didn’t know that I could play. Would I be able to be the strength you will need as you grow up and experience life? What will I say when you get your heart broken for the first time? How will I react when you say the inevitable “you’re not my mother” line? My heart was breaking just thinking about the future and all the possible, hypothetical heartache. For a moment, I lost sight of all the happiness, love and friendship we would most definitely experience. For these fears – and letting them grab hold of me – I am sorry. I will always be sorry for the moments in your life you experienced anything but love and acceptance from me.

I love your capacity to love. From the moment I met you, you have been opening your heart to me. You immediately accepted me as part of your life. Without question. You trusted me. Each and every time I see you, I find a new reason to love you for who you are. I find myself excited to see the woman you will become, and the choices you will make. I also get nervous and scared, knowing some of those choices you will make may cause you deep pain. And there will be nothing I can do about that pain.

I hope I can be the friend you will need. I hope you will always feel my love, and always know I am here for you. I hope you will always know that you and your dad are my family, and nothing will ever change that. I will make mistakes. And you won’t always want my friendship or my advice. I hope you know that no matter how much life changes, you will always be our priority, and will always be loved. You took a piece of my heart the very first time I met you, and have been taking little pieces ever since. No amount of fear will ever change that.

Thank you for the love you bring to my life. For the happiness. And the laughter. For showing me a side of your dad that only makes me love him more. I look forward to our life together – every single moment.

All my love,
K

KP’s Comin to K’ville!!

2009-05-15T12:46:00.001-04:00

As I write this post, I’m on an airplane headed to Knoxville. For weeks “J” has been keeping plans for my 29th birthday a secret – I had no idea what I’d be doing, where I’d be going or who I’d be seeing. My destination was only revealed to me upon check-in. I think I was the only one in the airport cheering because they got to go to Knoxville, Tennessee.

I came home from work on Monday evening to find a card waiting for me. It was a “Happy Birthday week” card from “J” who had left that morning for Houston. Honestly, I thought he would have forgotten my tradition of celebrating the ENTIRE birthday week. But, then again, every time I think “J” might not live up to the image of him I have constructed in my mind, he exceeds all expectations. While putting my clothes away that same night, I realized he placed another card in my closet and labeled it: “Open Wednesday evening”. Of course every ounce of me wanted to tear it open right then and there. But, since I love surprises and appreciated the lengths to which he had gone, I left it right there. When I finally read the note, he had instructions for me: “Pack enough clothes for the weekend, bring a bathing suit just in case and prepare for medium-to-warm weather.” My mind started REELING with the places we could be going…

For years I have always said my dream is to spend my birthday with my friends who have been so far away for so long. Secretly I hoped “J” had planned to take me there…to see my “family” and introduce him to my life before Boston.

For days people have been asking me where I’m going, what I’m doing, what clues I have and if (take your inner voice to a whisper here) I thought “J” was going to propose to me. Wow, thanks people. That thought hadn’t even entered my mind – now I have THAT to think about as well. (For those of you reading this who have just gasped, no, “J” is NOT going to ask me to marry him…female friends just can’t help but think in those terms). I have been a ball of nerves for days wondering what awaited me this weekend…

So, now I’m on my way. I know where I’m going, who I’m going to see and not quite what I’m doing just yet. As I was laying on “J’s” shoulder a minute ago, I remembered back to this very night one year ago today. I was in my rented room in JP, had just started a new job, and was fighting a losing battle with addiction. I remember how sad it felt thinking I would be spending my birthday alone in this new place. Now a year later, I’m on a plane sitting next to a man who has literally made my dream come true. I don’t even need to know what awaits me tomorrow or next week or next month. I already know this is going to be an amazing year. What a way to end my 30s, huh?

He even gave me the window seat.

Just add water

2009-04-27T22:11:00.003-04:00

I have "adopted" an instant family. Or, better yet, have become part of one. Without even knowing it - just woke up one morning and voila! There I was in the middle of it.

When I started dating "J", I knew he had a daughter. He told me the night of our first date. Shortly after that night, I met "Little J" and fell in love immediately. I knew he had a daughter. I saw the pink coat. The princess room. The tiny shoes by the door. The pictures that covered the walls. I mean, I got it. "J" + "N" = "Little J". Biology, right? If only it were that simple...

With it being school vacation, we had "Little J" for an extended weekend. Thursday night - family dinner and some catching up with my mom and best friend (sidebar - SO GOOD!). Friday night - first softball game. Saturday - a WONDERFUL afternoon spent in Rockport, Mass climbing rocks and picnicking. Sunday - Barbies and "Little J's" first soccer game of the season. Just a typical weekend with the family...

So, despite the fact that I know "J" has a daughter, it hit me this weekend. "J" has a daughter. She's not just some kid who stays at our house every other weekend. It's not just playing house. This is real.

I couldn't love that kid any more than I do. She's amazing. And brilliant. And loving. But she's his. And not mine. She'll always be his. More importantly, she'll always be his first. At the beginning that wasn't such a hard realization. We were at the start of something wonderful, but had no idea where it would lead. "Future" was a word we used lightly. Now "J" laughs as he talks about what our future will look like. Together. And I (admittedly selfishly) realize that someone else shared that "first" with him...

I hate myself for even thinking this way. I know it's probably a normal reaction - but I hate "normal reactions". And I hate even more that "J" always has to be working to protect the people he loves...

For now, my life will consist of watching "J" be the dad he loves to be. It will be weekend soccer games and occasional Sunday morning Mickey Mouse pancakes. It will be falling deeper in love with this little girl that fate brought into my life.

Yes, for now, my life consists of my "just add water and stir" family. But after the AMAZING weekend we just had, I think I'm pretty lucky to have my "instant" family. Even if it is different than what I had imagined...

Wait!! My WHOLE LIFE is different than I imagined...and that's a pretty GREAT thing...

Sigh.

Meet "J"

2009-04-20T23:15:00.005-04:00

I'm scared as I sit here in my bed writing this post. I've never been so scared to post anything here. It's ironic, huh? Of all the things I've said here, shared here - this is what scares me. The reason what I'm about to write scares me is because there's always a chance in life something won't work out. Won't be happily every after. If that happens - if I wake up one morning to find myself alone and heartbroken, I'll always have this post. These words. These emotions. This reminder. That's a chance I take every time I write. That these words will live on forever and inevitably so, too, will the emotions. But, since I'm too honest - and too much of an optimist - I'm going to take that chance. I'm going to share these words - these feelings - despite the risk.

I realized the other day that most people who read this blog know me well. My thoughts, fears, weaknesses and strengths. You know my laugh and my tears. But, despite the numerous posts that revolve around him, most don't really know "J". And, since he's so quickly become such an important part of my existence, I thought it only made sense to properly introduce him.

The first time I met him, it was his passion. His laugh. His smile. His blue eyes. He listened to me. Wanted to know me. Really know me. As I got to know him, I quickly saw how much he loves his family. With everything he has. Despite the pain and imperfection. They are part of him, and that's all he needs to know. Seeing them altogether is like nothing I've ever seen before. The love. The respect. It's something I long to achieve with my own family - both living and yet to be born. The first time I met "Little J", I saw a deep love I'd only known from my own parents. She feels safe with him. He is so proud of her. It's a mutual respect so precious. He trusted me from the very first moment we met with the most precious thing he will ever know. Maybe he saw the way I fell in love with her within 5 minutes. Maybe he didn't know what else to do.

He still listens to me. He can read my mind and know what I'm thinking before I say it. He loves my family. Despite the pain and imperfection. He has helped me see things in them I forgot existed. Goodness and strength and love that were hidden by pain. If for nothing else, I am grateful for that. He wants to protect me from pain and will go to whatever lengths it takes to prevent me from feeling any of it. I swear if he could he would take it all for me.

He makes me laugh. He tells terrible jokes. At inappropriate times. And I crack up. He makes himself crack up. Which makes me laugh that much harder. He still surprises himself every time he realizes he's funny. He recently started to snort when he laughs. My boyfriend snorts. Sigh. He's not afraid to sing out loud. He even likes when I sing (to clarify, quietly to myself). He makes me face my fears. I both hate him and love him for that.

He makes me dinner. With music and candlelight. He lets me steal the covers and bury my bum into his body. Without complaining.

He loves my friends. He's interested in their stories. Their kids. Their dates. Their beliefs. He wants to know them. And me through them. He wants to spend time with them and never complains about the countless stories of "yesterday" we tell. He doesn't know the names, places, emotions - but knows it is important to me. So he humors me. And I love him for that.

He's my very best friend. He calms me when I am out of control. And makes me smile when I'm sad. And holds me when I'm feeling hopeless. Or just for no reason at all.

Right now I'm sitting in our bed as he's watching sports downstairs. You can't pull him away from his sports - no matter what the emergency. I even love that.

I'm going to drift off to sleep now. I feel better knowing the people I care most about will have at least a snapshot of this man that has changed my life forever. Who knew that less than a year ago he was just waiting for me to move in across the street?? I like to think that even if we did, neither of us would have done anything different.

Building a future on the past

2009-04-15T22:26:00.006-04:00

We moved into the new place on Tuesday, March 31st. By Friday we had guests. "J's" dad was on the same continent for work so he wanted to "swing" by and see the new place. We also had "Little J" for the first time in the new house. We spent Thursday night organizing her room so it was perfect when she got there. I only wish I could have seen her face when she saw it for the first time.

"J" had to leave for work on Saturday, so I agreed to stay with "Little J" and host her mom and baby sister for a few hours. I know it might sound weird to people outside the situation, but I like "N". She's a great mom and a good person. But, I think I also like her because she's never posed any threat to me. There is no history. No relationship. Nothing for the imagination except one night - and even when I TRY, I can't get that to bother me.

However, something about this particular visit just didn't sit right...

I ordered a pizza as soon as she got there, knowing I couldn't spend the entire afternoon visiting because I had a limited amount of time to spend on unpacking the seemingly endless number of boxes we had between the 2 of us. Bathrooms needed to be cleaned. Laundry done. Pictures hung. I sat on the couch in a puddle of my own anxiety as she spoke at me, wishing I could be alone in this mess so I could get lost in it. I wanted to be alone in MY new house to enjoy the things I hadn't seen in years. MY things.

The conversation was strange, to say the least. We talked about "Little J". We talked about "J". We talked about our first marriages. Photo albums. Letting go. Then we started talking about "J's" ex-girlfriend. This particular ex-girlfriend, "L" decided to end the relationship after 4 years because they wanted different things. He wanted a family. She didn't. "Little J" is still in pain, wondering what happened. Wondering why "L" suddenly disappeared. She brings this up with her mom, but is scared to bring it up with "J", worried she'll make him mad, or me upset. That is an insane burden for a 5-year old to bear, isn't it?

"N" continues by telling me that she recently told "J" when "L" left him, she didn't leave him because she fell out of love with him, but because she knew it wasn't fair to continue in the same direction when they both needed to ultimately go separate ways. I listened. I engaged in the conversation. I felt...out of control. Alone. Like a stranger.

I was sitting on OUR couch in OUR house, and this woman was telling ME about my boyfriend's past. About a time I didn't exist. I'm new. "L" is old. She experienced things I will never know. "Little J's" birth. Her first words. Seeing "J's" face as she took her first steps. And, she's still in love with him. I felt like an intruder. In his past. In his life. In "Little J's" life. I felt the painful pull of "L's" longing for it to be different. I felt the pain she must have experienced when she read about me. The look in her eyes as she saw the man she used to call hers. That I now call mine. How must he have felt when he heard "N" say those words: she's still in love with you?

After several hours, "N" left and I got busy cleaning. I didn't think much about the conversation that took place here. I knew I felt weird. For a moment I looked around and didn't recognize anything around me. They were someone else's memories. Someone else's life. Mine is in boxes. My memories are scattered along the many miles I've traveled over the past 2 years. And lining the walls of places from which I have run.

"J" called me that night to talk about what happened after we exchanged several text messages. He got angry. I cried. I didn't even know I was upset. The tears just started to fall. I wanted to stop talking about the past. Talking about a time I didn't exist here. He wants to protect me. From his past. From the pain. From the baggage he brings. The thing is, I bring baggage, too. Mine is just hidden. And silent. Mine doesn't come into his house and tell him about my life before him. I love him for caring so much about me to want to save me. And, just as the realization is setting in that this "baggage" is here to stay, I no longer seem to care. All that matters is what we have - and what we're building. Just because I'm not a part of his yesterday, doesn't mean I won't be a part of his tomorrow. (I like to think a very important part, at that).

My next challenge is setting my own boundaries and keeping to them. I need to be aware of my feelings, and give them a voice. I need to tell "N" when I'm not comfortable with where a conversation is headed. "J" wants to protect me so it will never come to this. But I love "Little J" and him too much to shy away. Loving "J" means embracing this situation. ALL of it. And, if that means faking "comfortable" in the midst of conversations about the past, then so be it. After all, it's MY future that's among these walls that have been built on the past.

Just another post...

2009-04-14T21:46:00.003-04:00

So, I have been getting it from several friends lately about my lack of posts to this blog. The truth is, I totally deserve it. I'm actually angry with myself because this is my way of documenting my thoughts and feelings about all the events in my life. My apologies to my friends and myself - I have been working far too much and not putting in nearly enough effort into the things that make me happy, like keeping this blog.

I have been sitting at home - in my new home - for hours staring at the screen, trying to come up with the right words for this post. I wanted to - err, feel like I should - tell the story about moving into my first home in more than a year with the man who has made my reasons for moving to Boston almost a year ago crystal clear. Instead, I find myself without the words - feelings - needed to tell that story. So, rather than writing what I have really been feeling 3 hours ago, I sat and tried to force something fake. Something I thought other people would want to read. Wow - EXACTLY the thing I promised myself I would never do. Since I have never claimed to be a quick learner (except on job interviews, of course :)), I am just now sitting on our bed writing this post about how I'm really feeling right now - and not what I think anyone will want to read. (Don't worry...the moving story is just on hold for another day)

So, how am I feeling right now? Hmm...frustrated. Angry. Sad. Exhausted. Lonely. I have had several people ask me already (why wouldn't they, after all?) what it's like to live with "J". I mean, of course it's only been 2 weeks, but inquiring minds and people who care want to know, right? Every time I get that question I have to laugh. My response? "I don't even know - he hasn't been home since we got here." This is a slight exxageration, of course, as there has been a few days he has been home. If I counted, I think I would come up with 4. Those days are wonderful, I tell them. And I'm sure as they happen that they will continue to be wonderful...

He's traveling again right now. There are still pictures to be hung and things to be put away. Despite the fact that I want nothing more than to have this place put together, I can't bring myself to do it. I just don't have the energy to do it alone. I'm too tired...too worn down from exhausting days at work. After 12 to 14 hours, hanging a picture alone just doesn't seem like fun. So I wait. I have him for a week - a whole week - starting on Thursday. I'm betting on those days being wonderful...

I haven't heard from him today. I don't know what his day was like - if it was good or bad. I don't know the drama he had to sort through yesterday. And I haven't been able to tell him about my awesome review that happened yesterday. I think that's what I miss the most while he's gone - those trivial little moments that connect you with the person you love. The only person who really cares to hear those every day, mundane details of your life...

I'm not at all angry with him. Or his schedule. Most of the time when I even feel a hint of sadness while he's gone I get angry with myself for sounding like a "female". I don't do this - I don't wait up for someone to call. I don't need someone to be there when I walk through the door. I moved to Boston alone, dammit. And when I got here, no one had any idea who KP was. The problem is, I have come to realize, is that now someone does. And I like it. So, all that talk is just coming from someone who was/is scared to be hurt and to be left alone...

My mom is angry with me. Sigh. She has a problem with irrational fears - if she calls once and doesn't receive an answer, she calls again. Immediately. A second time and no answer and my phone is blowing up. Alternating calls and text messages, elevating from the normal: "please call me" to the ALL CAPS: "KP!!!!!!!!!!!" The problem is, she tried calling the night "J" came home after a week being gone. I am going to save everyone the details here, but just say that it would have been highly inappropriate for me to answer the phone. Apparently, in my mother's book, that's not the correct way to act with her. You see, rather than it being her responsibility to learn to control her irrational thoughts, I have to cater to them. Because of that, I'm being punished with my calls and text messages going unanswered. Really!?! She's the one who's ALWAYS there when I'm lonely. I can't help but wish she wasn't acting this way right now...

That brings me back to my bed. It's far too late for me to be awake. But, I feel acutely better knowing these feelings no longer reside in my brain where they will keep me awake all night. I promise to tell the story of moving into this wonderful new house, and mine and "J's" amazing trip to meet my family/friends. But, despite the fact that I can't imagine life being any sweeter, I just don't feel that right now. And, as you all know, I don't edit what I write here - no matter how much I sometimes wish I could. I have started to enjoy and appreciate the beauty in the imperfections of every day life...

KP's blow-up mattress chronicles: Part 2

2009-03-02T21:07:00.002-05:00

Scene opens to KP sitting on her blow up mattress, sniffling. Still by Matt Nathanson is coming out of the computer's speaker. The same sheet covers the window. Clothes from the work day have been tossed on the bed's corner.

It's been a long day. I have spent the majority of it at the office, where it appears I will be spending much of my time over the next few weeks/months. On Friday afternoon I was pulled aside and told I was being added to another account. It's a "broken" account that we are working to "fix" before it's too late. So, with no other options, they chose me. I'm flattered. And scared. The fate of my job - of all of our jobs - could rest in this one account. Holy shit. The reality is terrifying. So, I am being infused with all the knowledge possible to bring me up to speed as quickly as possible. Who knows how this will play out. I have to admit I'm kind of looking forward to the challenge...

KP flashes back to last week when "J" was on her blow-up mattress next to her. She smiles.

"J" and I decided we needed a night alone before he left for Europe. Again. So, last Wednesday he left his mom home with "Little J" and we had a date night. It's crazy to me sometimes that 2 "single" people have to plan to see each other the way we often do. Seriously. It took SEVERAL text messages to plan an evening together. We decided on dinner at a fabulous restaurant in the South End, followed by some Port in the North End. Dinner was amazing. We talked about how hard it is to be apart constantly like we are - and to stay connected to each other. I was upset. Scared thinking about the implications that often come when one person is always gone, and the other is always waiting. Come to think of it, I'm still scared.

We left dinner and drove to the North End. After looking for a parking space for quite some time (and eventually finding one), we decided to just head home and spend some quiet time together. I laid on my bed going through emails for a client interview I was setting up. "J" laid behind me and let me rest my head on him. He looks at me with the sweetest eyes and says: "I love you, KP." He apologizes for not always being the perfect partner, but promises that just because he's not perfect at showing it doesn't mean he wants anything less than to be that person for me. With tears welling in my eyes, I capture that moment in my mind. I think this is my favorite moment.

The next day we have dinner with his mom and all head to pick mine up from the airport. Within minutes, we had both mothers in the same place - both from different continents. Crazy. We took "J's" mom home and continued (finally) to the North End for some dessert, wine and good conversation. It continued to our hotel where we visited for several more hours, until I was falling asleep mid-conversation. I walk "J" downstairs, kiss him and wish him a safe trip.

On Friday, after finding out about my new account and my impending stress, I call "J" before he boards his plane. He tells me about the newly uncovered issues with his citizenship struggles. UGH! Please, God, I think, don't take this away from me. Don't tell me this is too good to be true...

"J's" still gone. We are trying new ways of staying connected while we're apart. I think we're doing okay. Mom left this afternoon, which always makes me a little sad. No matter how long I'm away, or how old I am, I still miss being close to her. No luck so far convincing her to move out East. Emotional from these goodbyes and lack of sleep, I check my voicemails. I come across the first message "J" left (after the woman prompted me that it was about to be erased) and start to cry at the sound of his voice. I think to myself: is this normal? (I still don't have the answer). I left work to have dinner with one of my dearest friends. She talked about her plans to leave Boston within the next 3 to 6 months. I took the bus home with all of my luggage from the weekend with mom and came up to my room, where I sit now.

I have left so many places and so many people. So much of me is scattered across different cities and states...and even countries. But, I sit here and wonder...is life always about saying goodbye? I have to think it's not, because if it was, people would stop taking the time to say hello.

Scene ends with KP sitting on her blow-up mattress, exhausted after a long day. The Story by Brandi Carlile is now coming from the computer's speaker. She smiles thinking of the nice day she had, and the wonderful people who shared it with her.

KP's blow-up mattress chronicles: Part 1

2009-02-22T23:34:00.002-05:00

My mentor and good friend told me that I should write a series/sitcom where every episode starts out with the main character sitting on her blow-up mattress blogging about the things that happen in her life. Picture Sex in the City meets Mary Tyler Moore meets Dear John.

It's sad how very true it is. Me sitting in the dark punching away at the keys, surrounded by nothing but space, a sheet-covered window and an old mirror. I thought that I'd give that a try tonight as I sit, well, you've already got the picture...

My apologies that I'm about to take you back a week. Last weekend "J" told me he made an appointment to look at an apartment for rent a few blocks away in Southie. He said it was to "get in the mode of looking for a place". It was Monday and I had the day off. We slept in, threw some clothes on and drove up the hill to see our first potential apartment together. We walked in and fell in love IMMEDIATELY! HUGE kitchen. TWO decks. TWO floors. THREE bedrooms. TWO bathrooms!!! We told the owner a little bit about us and left with the rental agreement in hand. Then we drove to the grocery store. Standing in the produce aisle, "J" looks at me and says: "Let's just do it. Why the hell not. It's AMAZING. We both love it. It's just what we're looking for. Let's go for it." I look at him holding a package of red leaf lettuce and say: "Yeah, okay. Let's do it."

"J" calls and tells them we want it. The application process follows. References. Credit checks. We make an appointment to bring "Little J" today to give her approval. After all, we can't just make a big decision like that without getting her input.

I call my mom to tell her we found a place. With excitement in my voice, I tell her all about it. How AWESOME it is. "I'll have a closet," I tell her. "I can FINALLY get my things and put them in MY HOUSE. I'll have a home, mom." With little enthusiasm in her voice, she manages to say: "That's great." A few moments later, after a comment I make about the ex-husband, she says: "I think I'm going to go visit him in Philadelphia." Excuse me? I don't think I heard you correctly. The connection must be bad. I thought you just said you're going to visit my ex-husband. I don't think him OR his fiance would be comfortable with that. But, sure, call him and see what he thinks about it.

Funny thing - she hasn't mentioned this in 2 years, and the day I tell her my boyfriend and I are getting an apartment together, this is what she says. Issues, anyone???? I quickly realize that my mother's issues aren't with me and "J" moving in together at all, but with her own issues dealing with change. She has to get to know someone new. It will no longer just be us when she comes to visit. Someone else is important in my life. Someone else is my family. Loving me. Supporting me. Taking me away from her. As much as I sympathize and understand those feelings a parent experiences when faced with letting go, I have lost all patience for it. I believe a family is there to support, love, accept. Mine seems to be excited on their time and when it suits them. They don't like confronting their own demons - it's so much more fun to supress them. But, and maybe I'm crazy here, I think family should be more than talking about the weather.

Anyways, the week continues with little contact with my mom. I am working a lot and starting to get nervous to meet "J's" mom who was coming in this weekend.

So, heart pounding out of my chest, I met her yesterday for the first time. I was FREAKING out. The whole birthday situation left me scared to meet the woman who created and raised this AMAZING man I love. Hmm...maybe I shouldn't have been so tense. Haha! It went smooth - just as predicted. She is WONDERFUL. I can't even believe I was nervous. What an idiot!

Today we took mom and "Little J" to see the new apartment. We asked "Little J" to give us her opinion. As she walked down the stairs, she said to me and grandma: "My opinion is: WE SHOULD LIVE IN THIS HOUSE!" "J" and I smiled from ear to ear. We were so pleased to have her approval. It suddenly felt like home. We signed the lease, shared a family hug, then went to Burdicks in Cambridge for the best hot chocolate in the US to celebrate.

It's funny. "J" and I met on a random Thursday night. Our courtship has been fast, intense, and amazing. Just a few short months after meeting him, I felt this crazy feeling. It was something I had never felt before. I couldn't put my finger on it until this weekend. It's family. He feels like family. His daughter feels like family. I moved to Boston alone and confused 10 months ago. I now have a family here. A home (as of April 1st). It goes to show that family isn't always about blood. It's where home is. And my home is here. In Boston. In Southie. With "J", "Little J", 2 bathrooms, 3 bedrooms, a HUGE kitchen, and the INSANE amount of visitors who will inevitably be coming to stay.

I am now looking forward to cleaning bathrooms, doing laundry and fighting over the amount of junk left on the counters. Life is crazy. And SO GOOD!

Hope...anyone?

2009-02-09T22:01:00.004-05:00

I don't want to come across as unhappy, ungrateful or a pessimist for I am none of those things. I know I feel a lot of things, and since writing is my outlet, those often fleeting feelings are expressed the moment I feel them. So, please forgive me if this post is less than cheery - because I feel anything but at this moment.

I woke up this morning excited it was Monday. I actually like going to work. I LOVE the people I work with, and love my clients. Working gives me a sense of accomplishment and purpose I have yet to find in other avenues. I had a busy morning - making sure I got my car from Southie to JP as to not incur any more parking tickets. Then it was off to the office where I would have to get my week started and log my time - which is something I loathe more than anything else - EVER! The tedious task of going through my Outlook calendar and email to piece together how I spent every 25 minutes of my work week - UGH! But, as usual, I digress.

I walk into the office, happy to see my fellow co-workers and friends - and I get to work. I help one of them distribute a press release that had just crossed the wire. It was a good start to a good day. OH! And I made plans to have dinner with "Little J" and her mom this week while "J"'s in England. How awesome is that!?! I sat on the phone with her for an hour last night as she told me the story of her and "J"...and I thought to myself that no one could have ever made me believe I'd be having this conversation about the man I'm dating. It was surreal. I had to stop myself from asking the "we're-girlfriends-now-so-we-share-everything" question: "was it as good for you as it is for me"???? Haha...shit. Digressing...

So I run down to grab some lunch with my awesome friend. We get back and there's a calendar invite that starts in 15 minutes - a call with the GM. Uh-oh. This is NEVER good. We pile into the conference room. All of us but one. I know right away why she's not there. He starts by telling us what a great job we're all doing, but the state of the economy, blah, blah, blah...He finishes by dropping the bomb that each office will be losing one employee. We all sit silent. What can we say when one of our "family" members has just been told to pack her things and leave? What will it be like when I walk in tomorrow and she's not there? She was my friend. Everyday. For 10 hours a day she sat next to me. Now her desk is quiet. I wanted to do everything I could to save her from the pain of being "the one" to have to walk out alone. I know that feeling. I've been that one. I hated that for her. I wanted to be sick. We all sat there in silence. Disbelief. No one could talk as she packed her things. When she left, awkward laughter. My boss looked like a ghost. We all did. Truth is, no one knows when this will happen again. 3 months? 6 Months? Who will be next? Is it going to get any better? Is anyone safe anymore?

I came home, lit a candle and laid on the couch in the dark. Thinking about my friend who now has no healthcare or paycheck, while I prepare to get up for work again in the morning. The same feeling she had yesterday. I wish we could have all taken a paycut. Made some sacrifices to save her job. To keep her at the desk next to me. I'm sad - and I'm going to continue to be sad. I wanted to be comforted by people I love...to know there are still good things. Hear a familiar voice on the line. Talk about my fears. I know that there are 6 other people in that office who feel the exact same way I do, and understand these emotions. But no one wants to talk about them as they just invoke more fear, angst, sadness.

So, I sit here alone tonight, writing to try to vent my sadness and my fear. Not only for me, but for all of us. For my friend who needs to start over. For all my friends who have found themselves in this same position. I'm wondering when this will end and people will start smiling again. I miss people smiling. My once happy and sunny office has turned dismal and depressing - probably like a lot of offices around the country. But I do have hope because I can't imagine this lasting forever. We can't survive like this. We have to bounce back. We have to be happy again. We will be telling our children stories like those our grandparents told us - while we sat there listening in disbelief, unable to fathom a world without, well, everything.

I apologize if I don't sound happy tonight. My head hurts and my heart is heavy. I am going to miss my friend. And I am going to feel both guilty and grateful that I am still one of the lucky ones who gets to complain about getting up for work in the morning.

Speaking of which...I need to get some sleep...

Never a Dull Moment

2009-02-07T00:27:00.003-05:00

I'm going to set the scene for a story I think everyone will enjoy. I don't want to set expectations too high, but this post will be full of twists and turns - just when you think there has been enough drama for one year (but took place in one LONG day), something else will happen that you simply cannot believe. But rather than continue to build suspense, I'll just get into it already.

Opening scene: Tuesday morning: Scene opens with KP on the #11 bus on her way to work. Sound of cell phone vibrating. KP looks down at her phone. Ex-husband. She answers it and says hello. The conversation continues throughout the duration of the bus ride. They talk about the economy and the changes being made at her company. Several old friends have lost their jobs. And their houses. KP exits the bus and begins to walk towards her office, still on the phone. After about 35 minutes of conversation the conversation takes an abrupt turn.

Ex-husband: "Well, it's been good catching up with you. I hope all goes well with the job. Keep me posted. I'll talk to you later. By the way, I'm getting married. Okay, we'll talk about that later. Have a great day."

KP (a look of shock and surprise on her face): "I'm sorry. Did you say you're getting married!?! And you just throw that in there at the end? No - we're going to talk about this now. When did this happen? When are you getting married? What about the annulment?"

Ex-husband: "About a month ago. I wasn't ready to tell you. But I don't really want to talk about it now, so I guess we'll talk about it later. No worries on the annulment. I'm not gonna go through with it."

KP: "Well I'm happy for you. I'm really happy for you. Thank you for telling me at least."

KP continues on her way to work. She walks into the office. The first words out of her mouth are: "'M' is getting married." Her co-workers look up shock and in unison chime: "Oh my God. Are you okay?"

End scene.

The first 3 people I call do not answer. I need to make sure I document this. Get it out. Tell my friends. My mom. How do I feel about this? I don't even know. I feel weird. Numb. Am I happy for him? I have no reason to be angry or sad. My mom calls me back. I tell her. She falls silent. I begin to cry. Oh. So I AM going to react to this. Hah. I knew something would come out eventually.

The next few hours are a blur. I walk through the office somewhat like a zombie. I don't know how I'm supposed to react. I think this is normal, but this is totally new for me. Mostly I can't believe it. I can't believe after all those years I was the last to know. But I guess that's what happens when people split up, huh? I mean, he's not the first person I call anymore. So why would it be different for him, right?

A few hours later "J" pops up on my IM window and asks if I'm busy. As a side note, I told him almost immediately about "M"; he too asked me how I was. Okay, back to the IM. "I want to talk to you about something." Oh, geez, I think. The last time he used this phrase we ended up arguing about how bad I was to offend his family. Just as I'm reading this, my client calls me with an issue that needs to be dealt with immediately. I'm on the phone with him telling myself NOT to read the IM message from "J" that's flashing, calling my name at the bottom of the screen. I do it anyways.

"I was thinking that I know why I was having these crazy dreams. It's because I need some space. Not because I don't love you like crazy or because I don't want you around. I do. It's just this place is small and I need to just be here. I love you madly...and still want you to spend the night here with me. I just need a little time alone."

I read this and start shaking. Shaking. I hang up with my client. I stand up as calmly as I can and proceed to the bathroom. I unlock the door, walk into the first stall and collapse against the door. And begin sobbing. A flood. Can't breathe. Walls closing in. Want to run. Far away. Home. To the one home I know. My family. Friends. I need them. Now. Why does this hurt so much right now? Why did he say this now? Today. He must know how hard that was for me to hear. Does he not care about how I'm feeling? That I couldn't wait to run home to him but now felt like I wanted to be anywhere but there. The place where I was suffocating him?

I collect myself, splash some cold water on my face and return to my desk. I send an email to my friend with this conversation, begging her to read it and respond. I need you, I say to her without having to say the words. Just then another message from "J".

J: "Oh my God. My dad just called. My grandma died."

At this moment, I looked up to the sky and say, "really??"

Of course now everything he said previously is null and void and he wants me to come home to be with him. He needs me. Meanwhile I'm sad. Angry. Feeling like I don't belong anywhere. But I know I can't address this tonight because his grandma had just died. I need to be there for him. I need to suck up my feelings and be strong. For him.

I cried my entire walk home. Sobbed. I needed to feel my pain. Validate it. I walk in and give him a hug. Hold him. Tell him I'm so sorry. I hate his pain. And mine.

We ended up talking that night - that's the way "J" works. Nothing goes unsaid or unsolved. I love this about him, but loath it at the same time. I wanted to be alone in my feelings. Unselfish in the way I supported him. He explained his side and I cried. And told him he picked a shitty day to tell me that. He was selfish when he should have been supportive. I was angry because I just wanted support. To be understood. He realized he was wrong and should have "listened" to what I was telling him. Through my voice. My responses. My avoidance.

The night ended with us laying on the couch together - both in pain. But together. And in love. Knowing it sucks. But sucks less when you have someone willing to hold your hand through the pain. And suckiness. I fell asleep thinking to myself: just when I think my life is starting to "settle" into a routine, I'm suddenly reminded that nothing in KP's world will ever be boring.

My eyes puffy from crying, I fell asleep in the comfort knowing my life will always be, well, my life. Strangely, I found a lot of comfort in that.

What I Do Have

2009-01-29T21:20:00.003-05:00

It's not even 10:00 on a Thursday night and I am EXHAUSTED! I'm sitting here on "J's" couch with a re-run of The Office on mute (which, by the way, I thought was NEW) in a daze. I am tired after a week of long and stressful days at work. I am tired of the cold and snow that make it impossible to enjoy fresh air and the feel of sun on my face. And, most of all, I am tired of hearing about how bad the world is getting and how miserable everyone is.

It's so weird. People have been talking about a recession for a long time now, and we've heard rumblings of lay-offs in different cities across the country. All of a sudden, though, it seems to have hit home. And it seems to have come out of nowhere.

I feel like the past 2 weeks have been more stressful at work than I have ever experienced before. My boss is a walking zombie. He was the reason I took this job with this company - his compassion, his character, his attitude. But something has changed that. He still cares - but no longer has time or energy to show it. Everyone in my office has become painfully aware of this reality and has consequently stopped smiling. I used to love going to the office and now I dread it. It has become a constant reminder that the world we used to know is no longer.

This makes me angry. It makes me angry because I like that world. I like when people smile and have hope. I like when people talk about traveling and babies and marriage and new beginnings. I feel like all anyone is talking about right now is endings and misery. No one is talking about the good times - what's ahead, what was, and what is now.

I was texting with my best friend last night when I told her about something I heard about my own company. She immediately asked me how I was and told me she's praying for me and she loves me. During our conversation I was washing the dishes with the lights low, candles lit, and music playing. Afterwards I climbed into bed where I was joined a while later by "J", who kissed me softly and told me he's the luckiest man in the world (I think this is just a line to get, well, you know.) I rolled over, smiled, and fell asleep in his arms.

I walked to work this morning listening to Eminem. I saw people everywhere trying not to fall on the ice. I had a GREAT client call. I talked to my best friend who's planning on spending Valentine's Day with me in Boston. I emailed with an old friend I miss terribly. And made plans to see my old roomie tomorrow night at my favorite bar.

I realized that all this really sucks. And it's scary. And there will be moments I will be sad and angry. But, I have so much. I think we all do. I just think sometimes when we're all wrapped up in what we don't have, it's so hard to see - and be grateful for - the things we do. That's a tight rope to walk, as we often lose those things if we don't hold on tight enough. So, despite the fact that I'm a little sad, and really frustrated with the world right now, I can't let it kill my energy or my spirit. It has been trying, and there have been moments this week that I've given in to it just like the rest of the world - but life's just too good to complain about it.

So in a few minutes I'm going to crawl into bed and fall asleep to some soft music and wake up tomorrow to finish off this long week. And, I'm going to be grateful for the stress because it's better than unemployment stress! And then I'm going to enjoy a weekend of sleeping in, late breakfasts, good-looking British men (or, really, just one), SuperBowl parties and vegetarian chili. If my life stays like this, I don't see one reason to complain!

My soundtrack

2009-01-22T22:46:00.002-05:00

I love music. I know a lot of people say that, but I REALLY love it. I spend my entire day immersed in lyrical goodness - when I get ready in the morning, on the bus on my way to work, with my headphones on at the office, on the bus on my way "home". When I get "home", whenever possible, I put on my favorite music videos. I can't even imagine a day without it. It is simply a part of who I am.

I love to learn new music. Be introduced to new artists. Hear their stories. Listen to their lyrics. Create my own plot. I love when a song is so good you disappear into the melody, swept away by the rhythm and flow of the words. When the beat makes it impossible to not play the air drums. (Yes, I really do this at my desk). When a song is so sad you cry because you can feel the pain through the music. Or when a new song takes you by surprise when it reveals a painful truth you might have missed.

As I (attempt to) write my book, I often think about what songs I would choose as my story's "soundtrack" should A Sophisticated Mess ever make it to the big screen (hey - a girl can dream). Since this is preliminary and just a pipe dream, you cannot hold me accountable should this list change between the time of this post and the movie premier. I just thought I'd share a few of my favorites, in case anyone else loves music as much as I do and wants to expand your music library.

Sugarland: Already Gone
This is actually my "theme" song. I first heard it in the back on my parent's car driving home from dinner with my grandpa. I only heard the last verse (about her leaving with her boxes packed as he stood waving), but sat sobbing silently in the backseat. I went immediately to Target to buy the CD. I put it in my car and listened to it over...and over...and over. And just sobbed. It's my life. Every verse.
Taylor Swift: Cold As You
Rascal Flatts: Movin On
Saving Abel: Addicted
Rascal Flatts: My Biggest Fear
One Republic: Apologize
Augustana: Boston
Duh. Haha! I think I played this song 100 times when I moved out here. I still get chills.
Eminem: Shake That
Whenever I hear this song, I see myself as the star of my own sitcom, walking down the street to this beat (think 21st century Mary Tyler Moore)
Elton John: Tiny Dancer
Usher: Love in the Club
Awesome story of going to a gay club with my old roomie and being FLIPPED upside-down
Keith Urban: Got It Right This Time
Ray LaMontagne: Can I Stay
Brandi Carlisle: The Story
Dixie Chicks: Lullaby
Led Zeppelin: ANY
Bon Jovi: Never Say Goodbye
Kris Delmhorst: Words Fail Me
Carrie Underwood: Starts With Goodbye
Flo Rida: Low
Sugarland: All I Want to Do

There are so many more. This is just a sampling of some of the songs that would HAVE to be included on a soundtrack of these past few years. Of course I didn't include any NKOTB in there (which I'm listening to as I type), but I think that goes without saying.

I hope you like this sampling. May listening to these songs bring you as much joy as it has me. And, if anyone has a favorite song they'd like to add to my library, I'm always open to musical suggestions!

"Let's Go To The Movies"

2009-01-21T23:47:00.000-05:00

I love going to the movies. I love that I get to just disappear into someone else's story for two hours. I love everything about the experience. However, last night's movie left me feeling less than warm-hearted.

My office had Monday off to celebrate MLK Jr. Day - an awesome thing! So, we all got back into the office yesterday after a long weekend, and starting recapping our activities. Two friends mentioned they went to see this movie called "Revolutionary Road", and that it was definitely worth seeing. One of them has a very similar story to mine - married in her early twenties, divorced, moved to Boston, found the love of her life. She tells me that I have to see this movie, but for people like us - people who have made the hard decision to leave - it's very emotional. "You have to see it, but you will cry," she says to me.

I immediately message "J" and ask him if he wants to see a movie after work. With extreme excitement, he said he'd love to after reading the movie's description. We began messaging about the feelings of guilt I have been experiencing towards my own past, and I warn him that I might be "a little emotional". We both agreed it would be one of those movies that sparks awesome conversation and insight into the human psyche. Well, we were right about that.

First of all, this movie is amazing. The acting is phenomenal. The story is intense. I highly recommend it as a movie to be seen. However, if you have any fear about relationships, settling, making a bad choice, being stuck in a place you despise - any one or all of those fears - you will have a very rough time watching this film. After a million tears we left the theater in a daze and walked over to grab dinner at my favorite place, Panera. We walk up to the counter to order our meal and can barely speak. We were so wiped out. So exhausted. Emotionally and physically. This movie was not only a depiction of what could happen if you aren't true to yourself, but also of a couple trying so desperately to figure life out in the context in which they were living.

I've lived those fights. I've seen that look of utter sadness. Hopelessness. I think we all have. That's why it was so gut-wrenching. We have all been there. We have all settled - made choices because they made sense. This, my dear friends, is my worst fear. Being somewhere I hate. Miserable with who I have become. Deceiving - and being deceived by - the person you love and trust most in the world.

We walked out and talked about what happened to them, and how to ensure that doesn't become of us. How to make sure you listen to not only the person you're with, by yourself. Staying true to that person. I'm not sure we solved the problem of unhappy couples around the world, but we did promise to always talk. About our feelings. Our fears. Our needs. I don't know that there's any better solution. But I do know that love drives this world, and we'll never be without it. And, I also know that because this tragedy happened to Kate and Leo doesn't mean it's slated for me.

Right now, though, I know I'm exhausted and want to go to bed. So, that's what I'm gonna do. I'm going to dream of wonderful things and true love. Or Leo naked. Whatever gets me through the night...(I'm totally kidding, by the way)

A place to belong

2009-01-19T01:25:00.004-05:00

Okay, so I'm going to continue my posts of "personal searching" - looking for peace and answers through writing. I find that after getting it all down, I feel unbelievably better, and that I understand even more about myself, my feelings, and my fears.

I feel more and more like I'm searching for a place to belong. A place to call home. I feel that the longer this continues, the more likely I am to be locked up as certifiably insane for eternity. As this thought is not terribly attractive to me, I realize I have to make some decisions. I have to take my life into my own hands, stop talking about how horrible it makes me feel, and do something about it. The only problem is, I don't know what that "something" is.

I think it's important here to note how awesome "J" is about the whole thing. I have been practically living at his place for the past few weeks. He tells me to call this home, and treats me as though this is as much my place as it is his. But, the reality of the situation (and anyone who has "lived" with their significant other without really living with them knows) is that it's NOT my home. I am a guest, and consequently act as though I'm a guest. I respect this as his home. I respect him as both my boyfriend as well as someone who has opened his heart and home to me. He is - and has been - wonderful.

Now, I know everyone is wondering why we're not getting ready to move into a place of our own right now. After all, it was the subject of a past post where I was spewing "excited" and "giddy" onto the computer screen. Before anyone panics that things in "KP/"J" world aren't as blissful as I let on, we ARE planning on getting a place. It's just that there are timing issues - priorities - that prevent that from happening right now. These issues are - and should be - the focus of his time/energy right now.

So, knowing and understanding all of this, I'm still sitting here on his couch at 1:45 in the morning, feeling awful for being in his space. For becoming this burden. For putting him in the position of being in love and still wanting to be alone. To have his time. I've become the person he loves having around, but wishes he could really long to have me around. He wants to miss me.

I understand this in a way that's painfully clear. I understand that for both of us, it's better for me to not be here all the time. Despite that, it's so hard for me to want to be in an empty room with an air mattress. It just doesn't make any sense for me to bring my things for something that's so temporary. I hate that no answer seems clear.

I don't even know where I was going - or where I was hoping to go - with this post. All I know is that a man I love is sleeping in the next room as I type. I look forward to crawling in next to him shortly and (hopefully) getting some sleep in order to quiet down all these thoughts running through my head. Maybe I'll find some sort of solution tomorrow when my head's not so clouded with exhaustion. I look forward to that solution, and to someday soon feeling as though the place I go to sleep will not be filled with so much anxiety, guilt and frustration.

But until then, I'm going to close my eyes and enjoy sleeping next to the man who makes it so hard to be angry or frustrated about anything.

Moving On = Letting Go

2009-01-18T01:23:00.002-05:00

We all have pasts. And those pasts are full of happiness, pain, anger, joy, sadness, regret, guilt. They made us who we are today. The good. The bad. We have all made choices that have guided us to the present moment. If you're anything like me, you are grateful for those decisions because you know the life you know now - the life you were meant to live - would be so different if you had done anything different. But, you also feel the effects of those choices. The guilt. The change. No choice - not even the right one - is made without consequence.

It's strange, the way I've been feeling lately. I returned to Boston after spending 2 wonderful weeks with friends and family. That, as I mentioned, is always hard for me. It's hard to come back to a world that's still uncertain. Still unsettled. To leave my comfortable chaos. But after a few weeks back into my "normal" schedule, I feel like that was a year ago, and am back to being okay so far away. I miss everyone immensely, of course. But, having been gone for so long, that feeling is a part of who I am. "Missing" is a emotion that runs through me regularly. I wouldn't feel like me without it.

"J" and I have gotten into a routine as much as we can. I have been staying here with him since we returned from our respective holiday celebrations. I come "home", we make dinner, and fall asleep together. It's nice having a routine with someone you love. It's comfort and excitement all at once. We both laugh when we realize we haven't known each other for years. "Our" life feels so natural. So right. So meant to be. It's crazy to think that just a year ago he wasn't even in the same zip code...

Despite the fact that life is seemingly perfect (with the exception, of course, of the whole lack of a home thing), I've been struggling a bit lately with emotions that seemingly came out of nowhere. These emotions actually "crippled" me earlier this week. All of a sudden I was feeling sad. And I couldn't understand why. I hate not being able to figure myself out, so I focused all my energy on trying to solve this personal emotional riddle. And, just like usual, the answer slapped me in the face while I was (of all places) in the bathroom. I was holding on. To the past. To the pain. To the guilt. It suddenly hit me that as "J" and I talk more seriously about, well, being serious, the more these feelings affect me.

I am in love with this man. Wholly. Without a doubt. I am not jumping ship on him or this fabulous relationship. But, no matter what I do today or plan on doing tomorrow, I have done things - and loved people - in my past. These people shaped who I am, and helped guide me to this place. To lying on "J"s couch at 2:00 am.

I realized I need to find my peace with those people. The decisions I made. And the way I handled them. I need to apologize for my wrongs, and for the hurt. Only now that I am where I need to be can I see the pain I caused. The lives I changed. I took faith, trust, love - and treated them as though they don't mean anything. When in reality, they mean everything. Everything I am and believe in is made up of these things.

What does all this mean? It means I need to say I'm sorry. To let go of the guilt that follows me. With every step I take. I need to look to the future without seeing the past. Let go. Of everything. Forgive the wrongs. And cherish the good for what it gave me.

Life is so good. I wouldn't give anything to be anywhere else. But moving on means letting go of the decisions we have made, and basking in the awesomeness that is the consequence of those very same choices.

Mars...Venus...Really?

2009-01-06T21:44:00.004-05:00

This whole notion that men and women are so different...where did it start? Who was the first person to realize that the way we think is so totally opposite of each other?

So, since writing helps me regain my sanity, I'm going to vent here for a few moments. And, since I often discover things through my writing, I might even be able to solve this age-old problem...

Let me start on Sunday. I had to leave Michigan. This act is ALWAYS hard for me. Now, I have been away for years and have adjusted to having "distant" relationships. But, being back with my amazing friends and family, I fall right back into comfort mode. I immediately feel comfortable knowing they are right down the road should I need to escape. Should I need them. It's like no distance or time has passed at all. So, leaving that all over again - every time - is so tough.

This particular trip was especially tough for me as I have been "displaced" so many times over the past few months, that I felt as though I was coming back to living out of suitcases. I find myself constantly frustrated that this continues to be my existence - living like a nomad. It's no one's fault but my own, I realize. But still tough. I just need to settle soon. I just found it so hard to leave the one place I can still call "home"...

Last night "J" came back from his trip home for the holidays. It was so great to see him for the first time in weeks. The reunion was everything I had hoped it would be. Now, I enjoyed my time at home in Michigan so much - visiting with friends, re-kindling old friendships, spending time with my family. But I missed him on Christmas. And New Year's. I would have loved to ring in the New Year with him.

We stayed up late, and of course I had to get up early for work. My friend (who just saw her boyfriend for the first time in 9 months - he left yesterday morning) asked me if I was interested in having dinner with her tonight. As much as I have missed her and love having dinner with my friends, all I wanted to do was spend a little time with "J" alone since coming back to Boston. I have missed him. I am still a little sad after leaving everyone back home. I was so excited to get back into our groove together. Unfortunately, "J" was looking to get back into his groove with his friends. I understand this. I really do. I hate even being upset over this. To make matters worse, I developed a terrible infection that has left me feeling terrible, sad, vulnerable, and emotional. And I sit here in his bed alone - all those feelings swarming. Needing to sleep, but knowing I can't until all of this is off my chest.

Ultimately, I know that I'm a VERY lucky person. I am in a VERY good place, and a VERY good relationship. I just wish that sometimes there were smaller differences between men and women. That men understood it's simpler than they think to love us. Attention. A little affection. Cuddling when we are sick. We love our men and show it well. We like to feel the same.

I know we are wired differently, and they can't be blamed for the way they're built. But, neither can we. So, I wonder if we will ever get to the place where we "get" the opposite sex. Where we can anticipate the way they will react to our actions, and vice versa.

Really, I think that we'll always be like this. And that we, as women, will just always turn to each other to complain about being left alone when we want companionship. Not getting a kiss when we need it. Not enough communication. And, my guess is that they will continue to complain that we are too needy, too emotional, and hard to understand.

So, my dear friends, it seems I have indeed solved this age-old problem. We just need to accept these differences, get angry when they affect us, talk about them, but then let it go. Because at the end of the day, there's nothing better than falling asleep next to the person you love. Or waking up next to the person you can't imagine your life without.

Mars vs. Venus? I don't know. But if there's a magnetic field holding these two planets together, then sure, I can see it. Because there is definitely some sort of "force" at work when he's next to me...

A bittersweet ending...

2008-12-31T00:28:00.004-05:00

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

2008-11-25T22:40:00.002-05:00

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

2008-11-25T19:36:00.003-05:00

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

2008-11-20T20:19:00.002-05:00

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

2008-11-16T15:03:00.003-05:00

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!

2008-11-05T21:37:00.003-05:00

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???

2008-11-01T14:16:00.006-04:00

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"

2008-10-23T22:32:00.005-04:00

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"

2008-10-13T21:45:00.003-04:00

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...

2008-10-12T22:23:00.002-04:00

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...

2008-10-06T22:01:00.004-04:00

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...

2008-10-06T00:53:00.002-04:00

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!?!

2008-09-14T22:31:00.004-04:00

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...

2008-08-25T03:05:00.004-04:00

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

2008-08-25T02:19:00.002-04:00

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!!"

2008-08-24T01:30:00.003-04:00

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?"

2008-08-13T22:07:00.002-04:00

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"

2008-08-04T23:47:00.003-04:00

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

2008-08-01T00:32:00.004-04:00

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

2008-07-28T23:08:00.003-04:00

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

2008-07-17T18:41:00.002-04:00

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"

2008-07-16T00:42:00.002-04:00

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

2008-07-12T01:00:00.003-04:00

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

2008-07-07T22:54:00.005-04:00

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"

2008-07-06T22:00:00.009-04:00

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

2008-07-05T21:53:00.003-04:00

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....

2008-06-30T22:38:00.004-04:00

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.

Just for Today

2008-06-28T01:16:00.002-04:00

It's so late, and at the end of such a long week, I should be in bed. However, I am sitting here with so much energy, so excited about my day. And tomorrow. And the millions of possibilities it holds.

Let me back up a little. I am sure if you keep up with this blog that you're curious about what happened last weekend. I posted a tribute to a relationship that seems impossible to make work while one person remains in the throws of addiction. It's not him I hate, but the addiction. It's not him I've been dating - it's the addict. I went down and stayed Saturday night with him. You know, one more night of "normalcy" - one more night with someone who has consumed so much of my thoughts/time over the past year. We both deserved that. On Sunday he woke up and made me pancakes and fake sausage (yes, fake, because I don't eat the real stuff). We went to the driving range. We got in several tiffs over stupid stuff. When I left, I recommended we take some time to ourselves to think about things, about us, and about what we each need to do to be fair to each other (and ourselves, of course). There were tears. Mostly mine because I kinda knew what that meant. I drove away and sobbed. I sobbed for us. I sobbed for the "us" that could have been. I sobbed because I was walking away from someone I love who needs help, regardless of my acceptance of the fact that I cannot be the person to give that to him. That was so hard. These words don't do justice to the pain of that moment.

I made it through the week just fine. I had my moments where I wanted to get in my car and drive south to Providence. Yeah, I had plenty of those. But I kept myself busy. I helped a friend pack her kitchen. And I hung out with Bode Miller. And went to Jazz AND street funk. Anything to keep my mind off of the raw emotions of what was happening. Then something hit me last night. As I struggled with the fact that, despite having the BEST friends in the whole world, no one understands this disease. Unless someone has cried all night out of fear, wanted to break every bottle of alcohol in every liquor store within 50 miles, or held onto someone so tight because you weren't sure if it would be the last, you don't understand. No one could possibly know the fear. My best friends, who I love with all my heart and soul, see this as black and white. You walk away. And shut the door. And never look back.

Because of this, I have stopped talking about a lot of my feelings, and a lot of my fear. I have stopped talking to most people about my plans, and when I'll be seeing him next. It's just easier to save myself from that discussion. But I hate being that person. I hate being alone in this. It's such a lonely disease. So, in keeping with my problem-solving personality, I decided to do something about it. I got to work this morning and searched for Al-Anon meetings in Boston. And found hundreds. It just so happened there was one in my neighborhood tonight. I wanted to drive down to Providence, but went to the meeting instead. It changed my life. The strength. The friendship. The acceptance. The non-judgment. It was amazing. I walked out of there with dozens of names and numbers of people I can call when I don't know how to deal, or when the pain gets too tough. People who told me I had so much courage to come tonight and speak. Parents. Spouses. Siblings. These people all knew the pain. The frustration. The anger. But they also know the joy. The hope. The love. I admire these people for their commitment to themselves, and their loved ones. I am grateful to them for the open arms they welcomed me with, and the inspirational words they offered me.

I walked out of there tonight with so much hope. Not necessarily hope that he will find sobriety (although this is always a hope, obviously), but a hope that I will continue to see my own strength, and find that courage even in the moments when it seems impossible. They helped me realize that if I made it this far, there's nowhere I can't go. And, thanks to my big heart, and the wonderful person I have been able to share it with, I will go to those places with so much more strength, courage, love, patience, and love than I ever thought possible.

...and that was just my first meeting!

Even the best fall down sometimes

2008-06-26T18:39:00.002-04:00

My life changed drastically 4 years ago. I remember it as though it was yesterday. I was driving my car in Michigan, on my way to turn in my sister-in-law's final exam. I was visiting for a few days while I was in between jobs - I had just left the television station where I was a reporter/anchor, and didn't start my new non-tv job for about a week, so I headed home. About a week earlier, I had received some horrible news - a friend from college had been in a terrible car accident and was in the hospital in a drug-induced coma.

I have to say something here, in order to be completely honest with myself, and you. He wasn't just a friend. I had been in love with him for years. There was something about him. About us together. Everyone saw it. Everyone commented on it. And, one time years before, something happened. And then it stopped as quickly as it began. You see, there were reasons that "we" wouldn't - couldn't - work out. Obligations and boundaries he needed to respect. Consequently, our friendship became severed and we lost touch.

I never stopped thinking about him, or wondering. If I had a nickel for everytime I said the words "what if", I'd own a house along Ocean's Drive in Newport, Rhode Island. I saw him once after college. At a friend's wedding. The same smile. The same look in his eyes. That would never fade away. That fire would never die. Just thinking about it is painful.

So I'm driving down 696 in Michigan, when I get a phone call from a friend. I comment on how I heard he was doing better, and how wonderful that was. She fell silent. "Kristin, I'm so sorry. He died." I hung up the phone and screamed. I screamed as loud as I could. I cried. I yelled. I tried to understand the words she just uttered. Dead. Dead. It didn't make any sense. How can he be dead? He can't be dead....

That was 4 years ago. I have since come to peace with what happened. A very slow peace, albeit. I have realized a few things since that awful tragedy. Always tell the people you love that you love them. Even if it scares you, and you're not sure how they'll react. Tell them anyways. At least you won't wonder what would have happened if you had. I realized that I held onto that for so long in order to realize I needed to let go of other things. For example, my marriage. I recently realized while visiting his grave that I loved the person I was when I was with him. And I want that again.

I wrote his mother a letter and dropped it in her mailbox before I moved. She called me. She told me it brought her hope. That people still remember. That people still grieve. That people still love him. That's something she never needs to worry about.

Eric, I have no doubt that somewhere, someday, somehow, you and I will collide once again. Until then, I will be missing you, and trying to find the person you showed me I could be.

You've got to be kidding me....

2008-06-26T18:10:00.002-04:00

Okay. I'm going to start this post out by saying: this type of thing could only happen to me. Seriously. Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed at night, or when a friend makes a comment about the amount of drama (or funny stories) in my life, I like to think that God (or in whatever/whomever you choose to believe) has a sense of humor, and just likes to watch me react to these situations. And, maybe more importantly, likes to see me share these stories. So, here's yet another one for the old "KP Files".

For your enjoyment, it's written like a play, so you truly get the full effect.

Scene I opens: Tuesday morning around 7:45. Kristin's bedroom.
Kristin is frantically trying to figure out what to wear to work. It's going to be warm, slightly rainy. But, she needs to lose a few pounds, so wants something that's not so revealing. A dress. Perfect. The pink one. GREAT! Oh, but she wore this exact dress the day she met Brit boy. "Come on" she says to herself. "People re-wear things each week in the office. I can handle wearing something 4 weeks later! Plus, I don't know if you remember, but Brit boy moved to Kansas City. There's no way you'll run into him wearing this dress." Kristin puts on the dress and walks out the door to get to work.

I am going to interrupt here, and say that I do realize assuming he would even remember a particular outfit I wore is giving him (i.e. a man) a lot of credit. However, it's a bright shade of pink, I wear it with white leggings - it's the sort of outfit he wouldn't be able to describe probably, but would recognize if he saw it again. Play continues.

Scene II opens: Boston, Massachusetts (this is important later), outside Kristin's office.
Kristin enters scene on cell phone with important person (the identity of whom can not be revealed here due to certain professional circumstances). She's walking back and forth. While immersed in conversation, she notices a very handsome, tan man walking towards her, on the other side of the sidewalk. White button-up shirt, khaki pants. The look is very familiar. She gasps. This can't be. I'm wearing the same dress. NOT TODAY...NOT TODAY...she panics. While trying to pay attention to the phone call, she starts to do the look-but-don't-look-like-you're-looking-look. She turns to face the other way, while continuing to walk with a bounce in her step, appearing to all passers-by as a not-bitter-very-happy-my life is going amazing, confident-young woman. He passes, smoking a cigarette. She looks. Gasps again. Starts shaking. It's him! Brit boy! And he's walking towards her office. Kristin, all the while keeping her composure, brought her focus back and finished the important conversation.

End scene.

Again, realize how important to note the location of Scene II. I had to make sure several times that, indeed, I did not unknowingly in my sleep get on a plane and end up in Kansas City. I was, in fact, still in Boston. And, so was he. Does anyone else see where I'm going with this!?!

There are several lessons learned. One - I have a sixth sense that scares the shit out of me. I knew not to wear that dress. I knew it. Two - don't trust a British man who says he's moving to Kansas City and still lives with his ex-girlfriend. No explanation needed. Three - weird, ironic, crazy shit is never going to stop happening to me. So I have to deal with it. And then write about it. Because at the end of the day, if I'm not laughing (although I usually am), someone else is.

My very own fairytale

2008-06-20T22:00:00.002-04:00

Warning: this post is going to be deep. Proceed with caution.

You see, I'm coming to a crossroad in a relationship that has been going around some curves (to say the least) and over some bumps for a long time. Most of you already know - whether because you've had to endure hours of tears and talks or because you have read previous posts and know I have been involved with someone who isn't really capable of true love - about this particular individual and relationship. We all hear a lot about tipping points. Many of you probably use that term in a conversation once a week. I've had friends tell me "you'll let go when you're ready - when you reach your tipping point." I think I'm there. No, correction. I KNOW I'm there. I realized it was time when the pain I was feeling outweighs the joy like 100 to 1. And yet, letting go just isn't easy. It's a struggle. At times seemingly impossible.

As always, I have been thinking a lot about this, and trying to understand it. You all know I can't just make such a huge life change without reflecting on what it means, why it's happening, what I've learned, etc. And so I think. And hopefully come to conclusions. I find peace in conclusions. In closure. Without closure, my brain freaks out. See: drummer. But I realized something last night that both scared and released me. Allow me to include an excerpt from a letter I wrote to "F," the boy under discussion:

"I'll take full responsibility for creating the "us" that's in my mind...I know the reality is this is nothing more than an over-simplified fairytale my heart has created to protect itself from being alone..."

Translation: I have been living and existing for a very long time in something that I created - that doesn't even really exist. I created what I wanted to see, what I thought could be, and held the relationship to those standards. I became a martyr, doing everything without expecting anything. And I hate martyrs. Everyday I wait for the changes I know are coming. Only to be disappointed all over again. Because those changes are never coming. How can they when they're only a fictitious piece of a fairytale that doesn't exist anywhere but inside my heart. My head doesn't even believe it anymore. But, my head never did believe that a woman could live with her gazillion children in a shoe, either. It knows better. So, when exactly did I make the decision that I would be able to create something from nothing? That, my dear readers, is something I don't think I'll ever have an answer to. I think there are always questions we'll never have answers to. Actually, I think that's what life is all about. Struggling, loving, living, breathing, existing, trying to find the answers. But stumbling upon other questions along the way...

Tonight my heart bleeds for all those who went before me, and all those who will go after. Those who have to walk away, into the unknown, in search of true happiness and true love. Comfort is often easier than not knowing. I have chosen comfort for far too long. Now it's time to take the plunge. Into true singledom. Into what will become Saturdays and Target trips alone. Waking up and going to sleep alone. Thinking only of my own happiness, and what I will do/did that day to achieve that. Kind of invigorating, huh?

Before I sign off, I need to say something. I love him. I always will. That's not something that will ever change. I wish him nothing but happiness and peace. I learned so much about myself through him. I saw generosity and patience in myself that amazed me; and weaknesses that infuriated me. I've seen the person I want to be. And for that, I am truly grateful. I will forever be grateful. I am letting go of the rest. The pain will slowly fade. And I will wake up each day a little easier, and sleep a little sounder each night. We meet people and fall in love with people for a reason. And with each one we leave a piece of ourselves behind. Or several pieces. Pieces we will never get back. Some people think that's a bad thing. I think it's amazing. Knowing I am made up of not just me, but all those people who have come and gone, and those who have stayed around to see how it all will end. I read a quote the other day that sums up my existence: "I left parts of myself everywhere... the way absent-minded people leave...Gloves and Umbrellas"

Thank you, "F", for taking a piece of me, and for leaving a piece of yourself. Not such a bad ending to our fairytale.

"It's because of the hair"

2008-06-18T22:54:00.004-04:00

Okay, so I know it's been forever since I last wrote. I have had people emailing and calling me to make sure I'm alright. Thank you for the thoughts and for checking in. I am fine. A little hectic. A little crazy. A little scarred. But, still fabulous. And still waking up smiling every morning in this amazing city.

So, for my first blog in a very long time, let's focus on something exciting, that will have you on the edge of your seat, hanging on every word: my hair. Hehe....that's right. I did it. For the first time in a VERY long time, I took the plunge and decided to trust someone else with my hair. Anyone who knows me at all, just gasped in complete shock. And got a little nervous. And, probably, for a slit second, reached for their cell phone to call me to make sure I'm okay after such an experience. But, intelligent as all my friends are, you each decide to wait to finish reading this entry, knowing I would never leave you hanging with something as important as this.

Here's the back story (you know I ALWAYS have a back story). I drive down a few weeks ago to Providence (and all of you who tell me to stay away from Providence, RELAX...I was going to pick a friend up from the airport). My friend and I went to eat at a really awesome restaurant right down the street from you-know-who's condo, called LF's. The food is good, but the atmosphere and ambiance is what makes this place. Everything is so intricate and delicate - it's great to just sit there and take it in. So, naturally, I thought it a great place to take my friend. Our waitress comes over, takes our drink order, and walks away. I turn to "C" (friend) and say: "Oh my God. I need to know where she gets her hair done. I have to ask her." Yolanda (of course I learned her name) says: "I'm so sorry, but I don't get it done here." Great, I think. Another person so obsessed with great hair care that they drive 600 miles just to get it done. What are the chances!?! She continues, "I get it done in Boston." Well, I just about jumped out of my chair. "I LIVE IN BOSTON!!!!" This is amazing. Tell me where. Tell me who. Tell me EVERYTHING. She just so happens (this is no joke) to have the woman's business card and gives it to me. I have hit the jackpot.

Fast forward a few weeks. I hold onto the card, still not sure how I feel about going to someone else. After all, I haven't had the best experiences in the past. However, even the best hair stylist can't keep a cut from growing. And mine did. Fast. I couldn't put it off any longer. I had to take the plunge. Believe me. This took me some time to come to grips with. I canceled the first appointment. I just wasn't ready. I mean, I'm starting over. I have a million opportunities ahead of me. I'm making new friends. Meeting new boys. (Well, that's been put on hold slightly. But that's another blog - or 10 - in itself!) I simply cannot risk a bad hair cut. But I was desperate. I spend the last few days convincing myself that it'll be okay. I will be fine. It's only hair. (Anyone who knows me knows that was only something I told myself to get through this first time. I don't really believe that.)

I left work later than I should have, and arrived late to my appointment. Probably my subconscious telling me something. But, I made it. I meet Kathleen, who shuffles me into a smock, and whisks me away (making sure to comment, of course, how we are now short on time). I get my hair washed by some poor girl who wants to be a hair stylist, I'm sure, but for now is stuck washing and massaging people's heads all day (which did not go unappreciated, by the way). Kathleen comes, basically tells me I need new "life" to my hair. I got somewhat defensive, sensing she was putting down Annie. And I don't let anyone talk that way about Annie! She starts chopping. Not the nicest or chattiest person in the world, but to be fair, my standards are set pretty high in this category. After a few snips on wet hair, many once it was dry, and $115 (the most expensive hair cut I've ever had, thank you), she's finished. I was covered in hair - inside of my shirt, my face (this includes eyes, nose, and mouth) - everywhere. But, my hair looked wonderful. I feel human again. Like I can walk down the street, and when people look at me (probably only because my outfit looks like something out of an 80s rock video or I have something in my teeth), I can once again sigh and say: "it's because of the hair."

Press play

2008-05-27T23:37:00.003-04:00

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.

Thank God for the Brits

2008-05-26T20:10:00.002-04:00

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."

Four's NOT Company

2008-05-23T23:56:00.002-04:00

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.

Will you be my friend?

2008-05-19T21:54:00.003-04:00

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.

Boabom, salsa, and croatia?

2008-05-18T02:55:00.002-04:00

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....

New Kids on My Block??

2008-05-16T23:54:00.003-04:00

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.

Gratitude

2008-05-15T22:47:00.002-04:00

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.

Nothing but a 'hag'

2008-05-14T21:58:00.003-04:00

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!?!

"Saving Fritz"

2008-05-13T23:52:00.004-04:00

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".

Kristin's Corner

2008-05-13T19:48:00.003-04:00

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.

Indian, chocolate chip cookies, and flowers

2008-05-12T20:11:00.004-04:00

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!!!

Happy Mother's Day!!

2008-05-11T22:41:00.003-04:00

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!!!

Closure is a journey...not a destination

2008-05-10T23:33:00.005-04:00

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.

Pahking in Bahston...

2008-05-10T13:27:00.002-04:00

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.

I'm sorry...did you say "swing"!?!

2008-05-10T00:36:00.005-04:00

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.

The Right Stuff, Baby!

2008-05-07T23:17:00.000-04:00

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!)

Three's Company...21st Century Style

2008-05-06T18:10:00.000-04:00

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.

I meet my first roomie, who we'll call "John." He is awesome. He's got an amazing spirit, is working hard towards becoming a designer, and thinks I have a good fashion sense. I don't think you have to know me to know that immediately won my heart! My other roomie, "Andrew", is super quiet and keeps to himself most of the time. I was here for at least 2 days before I even met him. We had an informal meeting in the kitchen last week, and they told me how much better it is now with the other roomie and his stinky cat gone. So, it seems like we're just one big, happy JP family.

Now if only we could do something about that lingering cat urine smell...

Trying to make my way through life with a smile...

2008-05-05T22:02:00.000-04:00

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.