Drinking, dancing, and fantastic hair

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the homefront

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No sheep, cattle, or swine"

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next chapter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My JP Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next "cover girl"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Save the Ta-Tas

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

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

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

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

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

A neighborhood full of Wahlbergs....

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

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

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

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

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

Just for Today

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

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....

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

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"

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

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

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

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?

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?

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??

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

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.