Category

Being Single

Soulmate

soulmate
I could write a book about all the ways I love you…

I’ve finally found someone with whom I share myriad interests and passions.
We enjoy the same kinds of movies (horror and comedies- nothing that makes either one of us feel emotions).
We have the same taste in music (all over the place; much like my mindset).
Figuring out our food options is never an issue (sushi again? Sounds great!).
I think I’ve found my soulmate.

Continue Reading…

Ladies, Behaviors of a Man that you Deserve

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ladies, find a man who you deserve.

Find one who notices the goosebumps on your thighs, rubs his hands together and blows his hot breath on his palms, then rubs his warm extremities on your legs.

Find a man who is dependent on you in some respects, yet invaluable in others. You should both better the other.

… opens his eyes on a lazy Sunday morning, smiles sleepily, and kisses your elbow, because it’s the first skin he can get to, and he needs to touch his lips to you immediately.

… who makes you laugh uncontrollably and genuinely.

… who appreciates YOU: your sense of humor, your quirks, your un-made up face.

… who doesn’t even flinch when you storm in the morning, angry and ugly; pissed at everyone, pissed at life, pissed at the morning sun. He just simply says “Coffee?” (Bonus points for making it himself)

… who doesn’t lie.

… who doesn’t judge.

… who hopes that you’ll talk back, then truly LISTENS when you do.

Ladies, you deserve the best, as do I, though sometimes it’s hard to realize that. We make excuses, we try to change them.
Love isn’t supposed to be hard.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

P.S.- I compiled this list based on my son’s actions toward me within the past 24 hours.

P.P.S.- Before you all “aww” about his behaviors, please note that on the flip side he outwardly refused to make his bed and/or clean his room, smacked his sister on the arm, and made up a song with the chorus, “Girls are such stupid-faces, with dumb butts.”

Hot Mess

**Disclaimer: Poor language choices to follow. Perhaps it shows the extremities of my messiness**

 

I am a hot fucking mess.

There is sand stuck to my exposed skin, laced between my toes, and caught in my windblown hair from yoga class this morning, held on the beach on this cold and damp and EARLY morning.

A freshly penned speeding ticket sits in the passenger side of my Prius. I mean, come on, isn’t the trooper aware that my car is unable to maintain speeds past 65 mph without beginning to tremble? I’m not exactly a threat on the road.

I had no time to put on makeup before, so my blonde eyelashes look like the white falsies that a drag-queen might wear to a diva competition and my brows, almost the same overly-milked-oatmealish color as my skin, look nonexistent. I must’ve scratched the side of my face while I slept, because I noticed a red gash stretching across my cheek. I squeeze my eyes tightly, trying to recall the dream from the night before that caused my abrasiveness. No memories though.

My finger nail polish is chipped: noticeably so. My toes too. Crap. I look like a hot fucking mess.

I focus on myself internally. That’s what really matters, right?

Continue Reading…

“Vacationing”

Lemtrada treatments don’t make for the best trips…

Mom and I walked along Main Street in Nyack, desperately trying to find the little Italian bistro that served the gluten-free penne where we had eaten the year before. The biggest challenge was that we didn’t even remember the name, just that it had outdoor dining tables and a loud fountain that made me have to pee when I sat too close to it.

After a few blocks, my mom asked the stranger, who I could hear softly padding behind us, if he was from around here and knew of the restaurant.

“No, sorry, I’m just visiting.” He must have seen the hunger-induced desperation in my eyes when I turned around to look at him, though, because he went on. “But why don’t you try me?” Our horrible explanation and lack of name or address wasn’t very helpful. “I’m really sorry, wish I could help.”

Continue Reading…

Better Than Me

Everyone had expected me to be upset by my divorce- perhaps a little angry, definitely hurt. I was all of those things, but my reasoning actually just came to me. It bulldozed its way into my brain and then sat there: horrible, awful, and unpleasant, just waiting for me to address it. So here it goes…

Why I’m Pissed

I wasn’t on the search for my future mate by any means. At 23 years old, as can be imagined, I had a list a mile long: smart, funny, good-looking… (the classics). Also, I was enjoying the single life.

I could do whatever I wanted, go wherever I wanted, say whatever I wanted- within reason of course; I still lived with my mom.

The truth is, he chased me down, and I knew (or thought I did) that he’d always idolize me. Unfortunately, I’ve learned that when someone puts you up on a pedestal, eventually you have nowhere to go but down.

I loved dating him, and I was deliriously happy when we moved in together. It would be a lie if I said that I had any apprehensions when we finally vowed to love each other in good times and bad. For richer or poorer.

In sickness and in health.

Pissed

Continue Reading…

Misconceptions

Life is a series of misconceptions.

When we are kids, this is more direct: the belief in a magical fairy who creeps into our bedrooms as we sleep to take our old canines and slip a couple dollars under our pillow; a 6-foot tall rabbA misconceptionit, who hops around laying chocolate eggs and leaving baskets of candy and fake plastic grass, wrapped in cellophane and a giant pink bow; an elf who flies from the family room curtain rod to the bookcase in the den at nighttime, surveying our behavior in December in order to report it to the big guy.

Okay, perhaps these are less misconceptions, more like lies.

 

But, as kids, we also have misconceptions about the people we are surrounded by. That our parents are always perfect. That everything will always turn out okay in the end. As a parent now, I have first-hand knowledge that the former is not true. Not even a little bit true. I am admittedly flawed, yet I try to live up to the conceptions that my children have of me.

And, perhaps it’s a little naïve of me to think so, but hopefully everything will turn out okay in the end, or, at least, how it’s supposed to.

Continue Reading…

Nobody Likes New Year’s (the 1st of 2)

New Year's
Tick-tock, tick-tock…

Expectations.
Disappointment.
Expense.
Awkwardness.

The best one’s that I recall were those when I was a child; sitting cross-legged on the bed with Laura, watching Dick Clark count down the new year while our parents danced and ate and did adulty-things in the grand ballroom at Hôtel Le Chantecler. We were exhausted from a full day of skiing, but found it within ourselves stay awake for the big moment: a new year!

When midnight struck we yelled and threw homemade confetti all over the room. We found bits of ripped up colored paper tangled into our hair for days afterward, and it was beautiful.

As time moved forward we stopped going on our annual ski trips to Canada, and Laura and I parted ways on New Year’s Eve, to hang out with our respective friends. When I was a senior in high school, I went to a party at Melissa’s house. She was one of my best friends, so I had made arrangements to sleep at her place after the festivities.

Continue Reading…

First Date With a Friend (Segment D)

The Final Chapter: At the Concert

Segment A

Segment B 

Segment C

Concert

The screams of 50,000 ecstatic fans filled our ears before we even entered Shea.
“Glory Days!”
“Dancing in the Dark!”
“Born to Run!”

People at the concert kept yelling out the names of The Boss’s most popular songs, hoping they’d be played, not taking into account that the set list had been created and maintained throughout the entirety of his tour so far. Though I wasn’t the hugest Springsteen fan, the excitement of being in the stadium amongst the uproar of the people and in the presence of such a popular figure was thrilling. Chris and I walked (a little on the wobbly side from our earlier cocktails) to the doors and handed the man our tickets. I half expected him to say that they were no good, but he instead pointed out our seats, far closer to the stage than I had anticipated.

“One of my Dad’s patient’s gave him these tickets,” Chris said in a voice that was meant to sound like a conspiratorial whisper, but was instead a strange hushed-yell, attempting to be heard over the crowd. We made our way down and took our seats momentarily, then popped back up with the rest of the crowd to sing (shout out what lyrics I knew, make up others) and dance (what some might call convulsions on my part). We laughed and smiled and made googly eyes at each other. He was just a friend, but…

As Bruce performed his signature, “Born in the USA” for his second encore, I looked up at Chris, who caught my eyes in his own. I stood up on my tiptoes and I kissed him. I kissed my friend.

Continue Reading…

First Date With a “Friend” (Segment C)

Segment A

Segment B

 

When Maggie cargot home, nine minutes late, I was already in the car. “Get in,” I said through the open passenger-side window, sounding remarkably predator-esque.

“What?”

“Get in the car; I’ll explain on the way.” Now I was beginning to sound like a marauder who’d just finished off a bank heist. After a hasty explanation of the plan and a promise of 50% of the payment when I received it from the Morgans, I was on my way back home.

When I pulled into my driveway, my insides screamed. There, in back of my mom’s sedan, sat an unfamiliar silver Honda Accord. Shit! How long had he been here? Did my mom say anything embarrassing? Are there going to be baby pictures of me naked in the tub out on the coffee table for him to peruse? I took a breath, hoped that my face had returned to a normal color (rather than the fuschia-shade that it tended toward when I was flustered), and opened the front door.

“HeysorryI’mlateIwasdroppingmysisteroffattheplacewhereI’msupposedtobedogsittingIhopeyouweren’twaitinglongsosorry-” My mom, thankfully, cut me off from my nervous, incoherent rambling.

“No, no. Chris and I were just talking about your plans to see the concert tonight. It sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Yeah, I haven’t been here long. We should probably get a move on though, if we want to make it on time. Thank you Mrs. Anderson.” He was so freaking polite. I kept my mouth shut tightly this time and nodded, then kissed my mom goodbye.

We jumped in his car and were on our way. The radio was playing Kashmir. “Oh! I love Led Zeppelin!” I was thankful that my voice had toned down in volume and speed.

“Yeah- great song,” he replied. “I figured we’d stop at a liquor store on the way in to grab some drinks for our journey”

God forbid a couple of 23 year olds didn’t have alcohol while participating in an activity.

Continue Reading…

First Date With a “Friend” (Segment B)

Find Segment A here.

*************************

“Why? Is something going on?” I tried to lighten up the mood by feigning obliviousness.

“Um, yeah, I mean, kinda. I got these tickets to go see Bruce Springsteen tonight at Shea Stadium. We’d have to leave in, like, an hour and a half. I know it’s last minute, but I was going to see if you wanted to go with me. I remember you saying how much you liked music, so…”

How could I pass up a live concert?

“I’ll see what I can do and call you right back.” I knew that I couldn’t just blowoff dog-sitting, so I needed a plan. But first I had to call my best friend.

“Hey,” she answered on the first ring.

“Hi. Chris just asked me out.”

“Inevitable. What did he say? What did you say?”

“It’s for a concert TONIGHT. I told him that I’m not sure and I’ll call him back.”

“Well, do you want to go?” Such a simple, yet impactful question.

I thought about it for a second. “Yeah. Yeah, I want to go.”

“Then go.” She was always able to get to the answer in a quick, non-wishy-washy way that I appreciated.

“Okay, thanks. I need to hang up then so I can come up with a plan of attack and to get myself together.”

Continue Reading…