iPhone love and other drugs

Disaster has struck this Urban Cowboy.

That's the cool new nickname I earned while I was in New Mexico! I love it!

My iphone took a dip in the waterfall on our ranch. Yes, I know how cool that sounds: waterfall. ranch. I get it, but seriously! Hear me out! My iphone, my baby, the love of my life almost met it's maker today! Well, not really it's maker, but it almost went to the sad sad place that all dead iphones go when they've been submerged in water. Where ever that is.

I was working from the ranch house today, sleepily clicking away until my head could no longer stand the smell of urethane paint that my dad's employee was using to coat the new wooden stairs. I felt queasy, tired and irritated by the headache that had formed. So, I debated on whether to make the 20 minute trek to town to get some "real work" done or just go for a walk around the property. The walk sounded better. I'm a known workaholic. So, breaks have begrudgingly somewhat become a part of my daily routine.

I sauntered down our road to the lower pond and was enjoying the fresh rain smell. As I walked around the pond I decided to hike up the canyon and through the small waterfall that forms into a creek that feeds our pond. It's always been one of my favorite spots on the ranch-especially this time of year! The canyon rocks are covered with green moss, baby ferns and leaves from a plethora of oak trees that grow up like crooked necked old men, bending and hovering their low-reaching branches like withered canes. I was so excited to take it all in. The fresh air had never been more crisp. The water was getting colder and I imagined what it would look like when the snow comes again. The rocks were perfectly green and slippery. I took a million photos with my iphone, my baby, careful not to slip or fall over and let go of my precious. I popped my iphone back into my sweatshirt pocket and started further up the waterfall. But one precarious step was all it took. That's when I heard it. It's an unmistakable sound, the sound of plastic casing tapping against rock. To this Mac disciple, it's the sound of horror.

I felt around the inside of my sweatshirt pocket and said out loud, "What? No. No, that can't be. Oh my gosh. Oh crap. Oh no. OH NOOOOOO!" I frantically searched the craggy, mossy rocks and shallow pools of water first. "This can't be!", my mind raced. "This only happens to other people!" And that's when I started frantically plunging my hands and arms into the deeper parts of the wintry currents. Luckily, my first plunge was my last. I had found it! I had rescued my love from the icy grips of rugged rain water! If it were an option I would have administered mouth-to-mouth just to be sure it would survive. Instead, I desperately, but lovingly touched the little circle button hoping I could will it back to life. Success! It's eyes opened, flickering while I pushed the little arrow left to right holding out hope that I would once again see my home screen. Spotted with drops of water, I could still make out the basic apps of my sweet baby. It was going to be alright.

This is right around the time that I realized I was so far up the canyon that it would make more sense to cut across the hill to my left, through another canyon and hike straight up the hill to the main road rather than go back the way I came in. I simultaneously remembered that I was in mountain lion country. I was so busy being enchanted by my iphone and the nature that was its background that I forgot to be on the lookout for wild animals. (Hence the name Urban Cowboy.) But when love is on your mind you'll do anything to rescue, save, nourish or otherwise tend to the object of your affection. So, I tramped through the muddy fields, around fallen trees and down the steep and slippery canyon walls just to get my treasured possession to a much needed bag of rice. It was treacherous and I looked like a rag flailing in the wind as I tripped, slipped and bumped my way to the top of the mountain. Muddy, sweating and out of breath I made it to the main road, raced to the house and saved my dear iphone.

I may not be the best at living in the country. In fact, I'll be the first to admit that life on the ranch has me perplexed most days. But when the chips are down, the proverbial sh*t has hit the fan, and you need someone to git 'er done, I'm your girl!

Somethin' from Nothin'

Secondary title: One more time with feeling(s)!

I'm in New Mexico this year for Thanksgiving which is a far cry from Disneyland-my usual stop for this time of year. And while I wanted to be in Disneyland this year (like all the years before) I'm so glad I'm not. Since I got here I've been showered with praise from some of my very best good friends and I needed it oh-so-much! Although, I didn't realize just how badly I was in need of a boost.

Since losing the job I've had for the past 3 years, I've decided to stop trying to work for someone else. At some point it's not going to work out. Either they will let me go, because the economy will shift and people will stop advertising or I will once again long to be my own boss. In fact, I find that to be the reason more often than Scenario A. I love being my own boss so much that I end up scrutinizing how my bosses runs their businesses and how it can be done better.

So, when one more part of my life seemed to crumble away this month all I had to look forward to was a few projects from my own clients and one last adventure in the southwest. And let me tell you a little something about the southwest: it's the most visually barren and depressing place I've ever visited. It's also the only place I visited this year where I've laughed and felt so much joy and thankfulness every single day. Ironically, as my friend pointed out while I was here, I just traveled to a whole lotta nothin' to get a whole bunch of somethin'.

Christmas(mustache)time is here!

I absolutely, hands down, love Christmastime! And just because the funds will be a tad lower than last year is no reason why people can't still get awesome presents from lil 'ol me! So, here's what is on the menu this year: mustaches.

I sort of went crazy with a mustache theme this year. No reason for it. I just think mustaches are really funny and sometimes cool. The kiddos of the family are getting some awesome temporary fingerstache tattoos which you might think is an odd gift for kids, but not in this family. My brother (their dad) has a real fingerstache tattoo that he got to entertain the kids. And now it's their turn to entertain the dad! Whoopie!

Speaking of the brother...he and the wife just moved to a new house this year that has an AWESOME indoor bar and pool table area. (Pool table didn't come with the house. We just figured it was where the pool table should go.) So, what better to go with an indoor bar (aptly named The Funky Knuckle) than these kitschy, hand painted mustache shot glasses! Oh yeah!

The Coolest Sister of the Year award goes to...

And for everybody else, there will be a plethora of chocolate lollipops in the shape of a good old fashioned mustache! (The parents and grandparents will be enjoying a different variety of temporary tattoos, but that's a post for another time!)

So, while this "out of a job" thing may have cut back on the cost of fun I can afford it doesn't cut back on the amount of fun I can still have! Merry Almost Christmas, everybody!

I'd like to thank etsy.com, amazon.com and spoonsisters.com for their undying affection toward the mustache and ridiculously cool gift ideas.

The winds of change.

The last couple of weeks have been crazy. And by crazy I mean it feels like I've been tossed around inside one of those rickety carnival rides....like the zipper. I hate that ride.

I went up to Portland last week to fully check it out and make a decision about whether or not I wanted to live there. I do. Yippee, right? Yes, yippee indeed. Not only did everything seem to line up perfectly and the city sweetly welcomed me with open arms, but contacts were made and the beginning of a new time in my life seems to be happening. And to mark that beginning I was laid off from a job I've had with an agency back at The Beach for almost 3 years.

Wait. What?!

So, what was supposed to be my means for moving just got yanked out from under me. And rather abruptly, I might add. Although, if I'm supposed to officially be an Oregonian (with their overly colorful-some might say dorky-license plates and all) then maybe it's time I become fully employed by the state that I will call my residence. So, instead of feigning a panic attack for theatrical purposes which will accomplish nothing but an accelerated heart rate, I've decided to reinvent the wheel of my career. The moment I hung up the phone with the CEO of my former company I began to brainstorm wildly about all the things I could do while unemployed and how to put myself heads above the rest in the job hunt. It was crazy-carnival crazy-how I didn't feel that horrible sinking/stomach-dropping-out-of-butt feeling when my British accented boss swung the ax, so to speak. I felt relieved. Almost as if a weight had been lifted. I felt peaceful.

Finding your mantra

Is it possible to be scared and fearless simultaneously? There are so many scary moves to make in life, but is it a possibility that you can be fearless at the same time? Maybe even fierce?

Be fierce.

That's been my mantra this year. A little reminder to myself that I don't need to approach every opportunity in total timidity. I found myself holding back out of fear one too many times, when out of nowhere I heard a small voice tell me to "Be Fierce!" Words that I took to mean this: to be myself to the full extent. Hearing those two little words, I almost swerved off the road. Would've been safer to hear that phrase flash across my conscience while walking down the street, but c'est la vie!

Do you ever catch yourself holding back when maybe you should be letting go? You're afraid that if you put your whole self out there someone will think you're weird, totally nuts, certifiable? I'm pretty sure everyone has those moments.

Yeah...pretty sure...

Anyway, I was just curious: if you had to narrow down your life to a single mantra (for now, for all of eternity, for whatever season you happen to be in) what would it be?

Little Projects...

I hate to spoil a surprise, but I've been working on some gifts lately and I just want to show them off! So, if you're preggo or just had a little bundle of joy you can expect to see one of these arriving in your mailbox!

Oh. And did I mention how this was entirely The Country's doing? I don't know if it's all the fresh air or what, but instead of my usual gift card I had an overwhelming urge to sew. Go figure!

Lessons in Learning How to Rest, Part Three.

Lesson 3: The art of being alone.

It seems I got a little sidetracked in my Lessons in Learning How to Rest. This year went from epic meltdown to abrupt stop to putting my life back into hyperspeed mode, but with a hint of appreciation for the little things. And things were at least moving forward, but not at the highest quality of life. In other words, there was always somebody to check in with, talk to, be around, hold hands with, snuggle up next to, kiss. There was never a time without a boy. And while there isn't anything necessarily wrong with that, it maybe hasn't been the best thing for this city girl since most of these relationships have ended in heartbreak one way or the other.


So, now, having cut ties with all men, I am learning the art of being alone. Truthfully, it sucks. Optimistically, it's going to be really good for me since I can barely remember the last time that I was the only one who had say in what I do or where I go. In reality, I have no idea how to master this. I've finally come across a challenge that I have no idea how to tackle. However, in an effort to take a stab at it, I've been pushing myself to find or rediscover the things that I like to do no matter how girly or country bumpkinish, which include (but are not limited to): sewing, baking, cooking, watching endless episodes of Gilmore Girls, shopping, getting massages, painting my nails, writing/journaling, reading, lots of library visits, hiking, running, spur of the moment trips with the SB girls...

In theory, this all sounds great, right? Doing stuff that you like to do without having to consult anyone. But I got used to having someone else have an opinion that would sway whether I turned left or right and I miss it. I miss it more than I thought I would. The uber-independent girl who never liked being told what to do now finds herself lost and lonely without a dictating boyfriend. Oh the irony.

Hair Evolution

This year has been a big one for changes. Seems to be the common thread throughout all my days of 2010. I witnessed life being brought into this world, a handful of deaths of people who were family to me during my growing up years (as if those were actually over...), gallivanted around this country like I was on tour, made new friends, broke up relationships, dated various boys in various cities, learned things about myself (some things I liked, some I did not) and changed my hairstyle more times than Hillary Clinton.

The starting point.

I realized something the other day as I posted an album on facebook about my hair evolution: My hair has been my one thing I could control this year. The only thing, really. In a time when nothing is as it seems and everything around me changes in the blink of an eye, I've had nothing to hold onto. Every last thing I thought was predictable or under my control performed a circus act before my very eyes and contorted into something unrecognizable, unfamiliar.

New hair cut, take one.

So, what's a girl to do when her life has been glued to the ceiling and nothing is grounded? Well, this girl cut her hair. That's it. That was my big "I'll show you!" move. I cut my hair. And then dyed it. And then chemically straightened it. And then cut it again. There was some rhyme and reason to the first cutting. (I donated about 8 inches of my hair to Locks of Love in honor of one of the lives lost this year.) But after that, there was no semblance of common sense or thought put into the other actions. I only knew that I was determined–determined to do whatever the hell I wanted with what little bit of belongings I had with me at all times.

New hair cut, take two.

My hair currently looks like the edgier version of Julia Styles' haircut in the first Bourne movie. I'm happy with it. For now, anyway. And I like how with each new haircut I've either learned something or taken back a piece of myself that I didn't know was missing. This year has been a strange one, to say the least, and it's not over yet! There's still a solid 6 inches of my hair left. So, stay tuned.

Fighting for Fall

It's technically autumn in these parts. It rained the other day. The very first sprinkle of the season. (Eeeee!) And then the little red dot in my thermostat jumped right back up into the 80's. I only got to wear my new tights for two days.

Only two days!

I've refused to believe that summer is underhandedly trying to weasel its way back into my life. I've been ordering my lattes and sporting scarves in the early morning in protest of the current temperature hoping I will sway the affects of Mother Nature. That is until last Monday when I woke up with a typical fall cold, but not the proper weather to accompany it. And so, I've been working from home the last couple of days, no thanks to the cold that came up from behind me and ambushed my immune system like a ninja, with all the windows open until I can no longer stand the heat and am forced to close the windows and pump in what I like to call "fake air"; translated as air conditioning to rest of the free world.

Working from the house is never my ideal, but I'm enjoying the endless episodes of Gilmore Girls, the lack of pressure to buy another coffee to secure my table, the quiet and having the option to lay down whenever I feel like it. And every day I've had the same view from the kitchen table of a little maple tree at the end of the block that is turning red. All the other trees in my current neighborhood seem to be painfully unaware of the fact that they too should be fighting for fall and protesting the heat. Just the lone maple tree screams out with hues of amber and fire engine red. Unfortunately, it was planted in entirely the wrong location near the mountains and buried by track houses and is not ideally across the street from the lake. Traffic and onlookers have no idea what they're missing.

It's sad, really. The rest of this month will probably whip by without a moment's notice and the weather will finally turn cold in November if we're lucky. And that tree, looking beautifully out of place, will no longer have any leaves to its name or its appendages will begin their final descent turning an ugly hue of burgundy while all the other trees reflect shades of gold.

Such a waste of a perfectly good tree...

Stickin' it to the man...

Today I have a bit of an issue. An issue I wouldn't normally bring up so publicly, but I'm at a complete and total loss. All and any feedback would be greatly appreciated. And before your opinions get too far formed, you should be warned that this is relationship stuff. The kind of stuff that is sticky, awkward and where feelings are involved.

Here's the scenario:
It started with a whirlwind romance (in a city that will go unidentified). I felt like I was out of control. I don't usually jump all in with someone quite so fast, but this time I did. We talked and talked and found each other to be crazyamazingwonderful. Fast forward to the part where (for reasons I'm not sharing on a very public blog) we didn't work out. Although, dearest readers, you can feel free to point the finger of blame in any direction but mine.

Initially, remaining friends was in the talks, but I knew that could never happen. So, slowly I began to let him down and told him that would be a bad idea for me. Since then I've heard from him every day. And I do mean every day. We're talking twice a day, every day, for the last week or maybe longer. I honestly don't know how long this has been going on. I've lost all sense of time.

That part I attribute to sleeping on planes, blow-up mattresses, floors, couches, etc. 

Wait. Where am I?

Anyway, my dilemma has been in the let down. How do I get rid of this Stage Five Clinger? The idea of sticking it to him, all direct, blunt and no-holds barred has crossed my mind, but there's a good chance that that sort of approach is entirely lost on him. Ignoring him has clearly not been effective. I'm at a loss. Aside from the reason we're not together, he's a decent guy. And at some point down the road, maybe (and it's a pretty big maybe) we could be friends. But right now ain't the time.

Smitten. Not Head Over Heels.

In the trenches of a serious conversation with a recent flame the words "smitten" and "head over heels" was thrown into our mix of sentences. And it went something like this: smitten is not head over heels. And while he ended up proving my point for me, it was better said coming out of his mouth. And he was right. Smitten isn't head over heels. In fact, smitten is nothing more than being infatuated. Head over heels, however, is something to write home about. Scream from mountain tops. Soak up every second of and make a fuss about.

I have recently become smitten by (with the possibility of being head over heels for) a new city. I was smitten by The Second City, no doubt. However, since my latest road trip I think I'm about to be head over heels for a new city. A new city that could quite possibly become my new home by the spring. It was fun, kitschy, had amazing public transportation, beautiful and full of possibility. Essentially, it had everything I look for when I have city love in mind. And this time I may have found what I've been looking for.

Stay tuned...

Relationships...sinking ships?

Relationships are messy. A well-stated comment made by a friend about a year ago. If I had known then that she would turn out to be right in every way I would have advised her to charge good money for advice like that! I wish she could have told me that I would be on a giant adventure of self-discovery, too.

If I had known that I would have packed differently. Ha!

On that note, any relationship at some point will turn out to be both fun and uncomfortable. Horrifying and exciting. And any really "good" one will have some sort of extreme dip in the road. Which leads me to my point, I took stock this morning on how many relationships I've had–carefully sorting through all of them–and I started to wonder if the old adage of relationships being sinking ships was in fact true. I've had serious relationships and fun relationships, none of which I am currently involved in. (Well, almost none.) And I got to thinking...when did those relationships, fun in the beginning, become work and then the work became a reason for one or both of us to cut and run? When did that ship begin to sink?

Moment of honesty (drum roll please): I sort of unleashed my wild fun side yet again in the last few months and found myself not having fun so much as I was out for revenge. All those ships that sailed or sank have no idea of the fun I've been having and yet I felt that I was somehow throwing it in their faces, showing them just how much better my life has been without them. And then came my moment of clarity this morning: I have become a sinking ship without relation. I'm sinking all by myself. And I may not be tied to anyone right now, but I will be again someday. And while I've gotten pretty good at seeing the cracks before hopping aboard, some things just aren't discovered until after you've set sail.

So, how do you keep a relationship from becoming a sinking ship?

Right or Left? Up or Down?

I've never been more confused in my whole life.

A plethora of cities, a mish-mash of dates (some amazing, some not), and then trying to picture myself living in a new city with new friends and old. I'm baffled. There's no other way to say it. I don't know what to do next or where to go. Having all these options (really fun options) just makes my head spin.

I can have any adventure that I want. Which one do I choose?

A We that says I do.

My time in Beantown couldn't have been more fun and hectic! Being a bridesmaid (for the seventh time) I've become a pro at forging through an emotional, tense, hyperactive weekend. And this time was no different. This wedding was for one of my best friends that I've known since kindergarten. We go way back with a long and sordid history full of funny stories, embarrassing photos, and a plethora of memories that I can't even begin to remember.

Looking back, I can't really remember everything over the past three days, but I know that it was fun and went by fast! Although, I will say that one thing stuck out in my mind about this particular wedding: my lack of emotion. I'll be the first to admit that I am an animated girl. And that's probably putting it mildly. It's in my genes to be prone to histrionics. And for some reason, I just seemed to move through this wedding weekend unphased and sort of numb. I can't really say why. Even now, I'm still stunned. I teared up a couple times during the ceremony, but wasn't overwhelmed with emotion on the day of the nuptials.

When the bride's sister got married everyone was a hot mess. And I do mean everyone. The preacher, the bridal party (which included a puffy-faced, crying me), my parents and everyone else in the audience. But this wedding was fairly dry-eyed. Sure, people dabbed at their eyes now and then, but no major balling going on at this affair.

Which is just as well, now that the viral phenomenon of facebook has since swept the nation!

So, this morning it occurred to me why I was practically stoic yesterday. Partly, it was because a 10:30am wedding on the east coast is brutal and you're barely awake to make it through the ceremony as it is. And partly because I wasn't scared. I didn't have any feelings of panic like I have in times past; picturing myself taking the dreaded walk down the aisle. In fact, the walk wasn't even dreaded this time around. It was fine. I was fine. No sweaty palms. No racing heartbeat accompanied by shallow breathing. No hysterical feelings at all.

I don't know that I will want a big, ritzy wedding someday or an elopement somewhere in Europe. But I do know that I have finally comes to terms with being with someone for the rest of my life. The thought of checking in with someone everyday is no longer daunting. The idea of traveling with a partner by my side isn't depressing. I'm okay with being a part of a We. A We that says I do.

The terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

The visit to The Longhorn State was awesome! While I don't ever (and I mean ever) see myself living out that way, it will forever have a special place in my heart. If for no other reason than the people I met were amazing beings and the bbq ribs I devoured were fantastic! I've never tasted food quite like that before. My taste buds leaped inside my mouth. No joke, I could actually feel leaping in there...

Anyhow, my stay here in Beantown has been exponentially different. I woke up the first day with some itchy skin, but thought nothing of it and headed into town to get some work done and just soak up the wicked awesomeness of this city. And soak it up, I did! Day two rolled around and that's when life got interesting. And by interesting, I mean horrible. Everything that could go wrong, did. I woke up with itchy skin accompanied by little red dots all over my legs and arms. I called my mom for my first diagnosis. (Yes, I still call my mom when I'm sick.) She laughed at my misfortune. Not a chuckle, a full laugh, unstifled and barreling through my ears.

Of course, this would happen to me! If the apocalypse were going to strike only one person, it would be me.

So, concerned that I had been stricken with a flesh eating virus, I hopped on a million trains/buses and made my way to the doctors office where I waited for hours to hear that it was unidentifiable. Perfect. So, I took my forlorn face and itchy skin out to lunch where I ordered what appeared to be a very lovely, edible falafel salad. I was wrong. I ordered the could be hepatitis salad. The hair looked like my hair color, but let's be realistic. It probably wasn't mine. I'm not that lucky. And certainly not on a day like this one. 

After scrambling around the city, desperately seeking a wi-fi connection, I plopped down in Harvard Square and finally got some work done. Then I headed over to the Apple Store to see if I could doctor up my laptop. Apparently, the laptop feels everything I do.

Mac computers are so intuitive these days!

Exhausted and ready to go home I got a desperate email from the powers that be, demanding uploadsfilesfolderslinks! So, I sat down in the food court of the mall (my least favorite place to be on earth) and sat there until the sun went down. I plodded back to the bus station and waited. And waited. And ignored the Mormons marching in my direction, no doubt ready to convert my soul. And waited. And almost hailed a cab when the bus showed up, complete with a wailing Chinese man, which finally got me home.

And just when I thought I would burst into tears out of frustration from the day, I told the story to some new friends and ended up giggling so hard I'm almost positive that I burned all the calories and hepatitis from my falafel salad.

The End.

Happy Birthday to me!

So many new things learned. So many ideas had. So many days passed, but not forgotten. So many random coincidences and I have nothing to say. For once. I have nothing noteworthy to post.

I am in The Longhorn State this week and enjoying some much needed laughs with an old friend. I love this girl! She is funny, interesting, intelligent and one of the best people I know. I've had a hard time trying to decide what to do tomorrow. Tomorrow is, after all, a big birthday. The beginning of the last year of my twenties. No pressure here, but I think in about a year's time I'm supposed be wiser and more grown up.

I wouldn't put money on that.

In any case, I decided that I don't care what I do tomorrow. Aside from not having any preference of what happens this year, I just don't care. All I really want to do is have fun with my friend. If she is there then my birthday will be great. I just know it.

It's my birthday, I do what I want!

I have a birthday coming up in a couple weeks. I can't decide if I like birthdays or if I hate them. Either way, it gets a girl thinking. I can't help it. Every year I pull out my mental life chart: Where am I and where should I be? Am I where I thought I would be at this age? Usually the answer is no and whether I had been aware of it or not in years past, it added to my stress level.

I've decided that this year will be different. This year I will burn the mental life chart.

I will be in The Longhorn State, eating bbq and hopefully buying myself a sweet pair of boots. Boots I'll probably wear twice and laugh at every time I open my closet, but who cares! This year I will worry a lot less about what other people think I'm doing or should be doing. This year I will have fun no matter how old I am or where I live. This year I will live life the way it should be lived.

And I would appreciate it if you would hold me to that!

The plan is there is no plan.

I'm about to head out on yet another adventure in a couple weeks. This time to Texas, Massachusetts, New York and Oregon. And I'll be insanely busy while I'm out there with work to do, dates to go on, weddings to be in, and new people to meet. I'm excited to go, no argument there. I'm also curious about what will happen and with whom. I'm anticipating a few things and I'm nervous about the things I can't possibly know. And I find myself day dreaming an awful lot these days.


The question on my mind, while I housesit for a friend, has been, "Where will I find myself living next?" I noticed that it's become more of a fleeting question than a stress inducing thought. I've been poking around craigslist every now and then, looking at different rent prices in different cities. I gave the house buying scenario a shot, in hopes that buying a house would somehow sit right with me. And nothing has struck me as "the thing to do" just yet. I said it before and I'll say it again, I have never in my life been without a plandeadlinegoal.

I sort of gave myself a timeline though of when I'd like to have something figured out and/or started (October-ish), but I'm not making myself any promises. In fact, I'm not making any promises to anyone or anything these days. It's kind of nice. Having the chance to dream big and not feel like any of my choices are boxed in...it's most incredible feeling.

The Do's and Dont's

I recently made a list of dont's for myself. Not my usual list. Usually my lists consist of things I want to get done or aspire to accomplish. Some are long and may take a lifetime to achieve. Others are short and I race around all dayweekmonth trying to cross every last word off my little, yellow sticky notes.

All of this was brought on when I noticed that I have an insane amount of freedom these days. Teetering on ultimate freedom. I don't have a home. I have a job that affords me to travel anywhere at anytime. I'm single for the first time in years. I'm free. To do whatever. And it's kind of been stressing me out. I know. I know. It sounds great. On paper. But the reality is, not very many people want to be this free for long. I know I don't. But in the meantime, I refuse to be miserable during a time that could be amazing.

Without further ado, the list of dont's:

1. Don't get knocked up yet.
   (Can also be read: don't do anything that will get you knocked up.) Being single, this is highly unlikely to happen. But I thought it would be a good one to write down so that my new found freedom wouldn't go to my head! I'm free. Not invincible.
2. Don't spend money and time on things that don't matter.
   Having fewer expenses opens up a girls options, but I'm trying to be careful to not get sucked into anything that doesn't really need my involvement.
3. Don't be afraid of what could be.
   With any place. Or any person. Or any opportunity.
4. Don't be afraid to jump.
   I'm notorious for deliberating a decision to death.
5. Don't spend free time worrying.
   Such a waste.
6. Don't forget to say no. A lot.
   I'm a sucker for puppy dog eyes and stories of the heart.
7. Don't forget to spend time with the kiddos in the family.
   They grow up so fast. (Partial pun intended.)
8. Don't neglect the parents. They will be old someday.
9. Don't opt out of fun. It doesn't come around every day.
10. Don't forget: you're young.
    Sometimes (read: all the time) I put enormous amounts of pressure on myself to be great while doing great things with great people in great places. It's a little much. Plus, I just had a conversation with a good friend the other night about turning 40 and being alone with cats. I hate cats.

A list of dont's can be such a downer. It runs the risk of putting one in a box. And nobody likes to be told what to do-even if it's coming from their own Jiminy Cricket. But I think, for this city girl, my list of dont's is just right.

The run-away child

I love running. For so many reasons. I don't get to do it as much as I would like, but when I do finally have some time to run it's sacred time. I used to run for training reasons or to punish myself for eating cheesecake or to tone-up or just drop a couple lb's. But now...now I run, because my soul needs it more than my body.

I've noticed a new pattern in my running. It's steady and it's steadfast. It's become my therapy. This year started out rough and got even rougher as the weeks turned into months. Relationships (on all fronts) went crazy, too many people passed away, and the process of letting go became too overwhelming at points.

Soon I found myself running all the time. Running to get over relationships gone awry. Running to clear my head. Running to keep from crying. (Turns out if you need to cry bad enough, you can still do both.) Running, running, running...

There have been times that I had myself convinced that if I just ran harder and faster I could somehow speed up time or leave reality in the dust. Other times I felt like I was doing it for freedom's sake. Because I could. And then there's today. Today will be no different from all the times before. I will, once again, be meeting in my synagogue of solitude as my feet rhythmically pound the pavement. Racing forward to clear my head, to keep from crying while escaping reality and for freedom's sake.

Today, I run.

Best laid plans: Part Deux.

I realized today that I've left this post undone. Or rather, unfinished. The remainder of that day went something like this:

11:15am Make it to the other gate. You know, the one they didn't announce would be the actual place one would need to be in order to go home.
11:30am Get to attendant's counter to double check my confirmed seat. Am told that I don't have one. The flight is sold out and attendant is unsure why United would tell anyone they could go home. I tell attendant, fire burning in my eyes, to find me a seat.
11:31am Confirmed seat is magically found for me. Probably out of fear of being accosted.
11:45am Announcement is made that the flight is delayed due to mechanical problems. I anticipate an hour delay at least.
12:00pm Flight gets canceled. I laugh hysterically and start to resemble a state hospital patient.
12:05pm Wait for grumbling, exasperated people to clear the area and call United to rebook. Think to myself, "Those suckers are going to wait in line at customer service for hours. But not this girl! Hahahaha!" (More maniacal laughter.)
12:30pm Find myself in said line just to get my hands on a hotel voucher. Make friends with guy headed to Germany. Think he's funny. And gay.
12:45pm Discover short cut to said voucher. Make my way to the front of the airport and make sure I look pathetic, but agreeable at the ticketing counter.
12:55pm Get set up with a bitchin' hotel room for the night, warm cookies and a meal ticket to boot.
1:30pm Finally get a shower. Almost pass out from all the excitement of my current dream coming true.

The rest of the day was awesome (dinner, shopping, laughing with an old friend). And the very next day I did, in fact, make it home! It was the best feeling....Felt like I had accomplished something. Although, in reality I just showed up at another doorway and hoped it led me home.

Hott Mess. Two T's.

About 8 years ago one of my very best friends got married. It was a fairly surreal experience since all of us were only about 20 years old and while we all knew she would be one of the first ones to bite the dust get married, nobody really knew what marriage was about. Or what a serious relationship was for that matter. Suffice it to say, there were tears at this wedding, the likes of which I have never seen at another wedding since.

And now her sister (my faux sister) is getting married in about a month. But this time is different. This time we've all had a serious relationship or two, some of us got married, and for the most part we know what marriage entails. I thought I would handle this one better. I thought I would be a rock. I would be able to get through the wedding and toasts and sweet words just fine. I was wrong.

I had to make a toast tonight at the bridal shower and before I even had a minute to think about what I might say the tears beat my words to the punch. I was doing awesome all the way up to that point. And then, instantaneously, I wasn't awesome. Which makes me slightly scared for this wedding. I'm not the MOH, but I will be one of the girls up front crying her eyes out. Completely uncool. Not composed. Looking like someone ran over my dog.

Anyone know of a good water-proof mascara?

Best laid plans.

Getting from Point A to Point B has never been so difficult. Three flights to get from The Second City back to The Country is a bit excessive by any standards, but then to delay flights, miss flights, get bumped over to stand-by status and end up spending more time in the airport than on an airplane is just plain ridiculous. Capital R. And in true City Girl form, it was a highly dramatic happening.

I have now spent 1.5 days in three different airports, run through the current airport four times (a literal run with sweat. gross.) and spent the night in a strangers bed. I think it would best be summed up with this timeline:

8:00am Knock back tea so hot it takes off the first few layers of skin in my mouth. Leave friends apt and go downtown with her to her office. Meet her boss. Mention that Long Beach State sucks. Find out it's his alma mater. (Awesome.) Come to the conclusion I will never work for this company. Don't find him funny anyway.
10:00am Hop on blue line to airport.
12:20pm Discover I have left important items at friends house. Leave The Second City and fly to Middle of Nowhere, Oklahoma. 
2:30pm Arrive in Middle of Nowhere and find out my flight is delayed another 2 hours on top of the 2 hour layover I already anticipated. No biggie. Still going home today. (Or so I think.) Also discover they are cow tipping champs. They have the shirts to prove it. Make friends with a commissioner for the AFL and his gay assistant. Find it ironic that a gay man works for the AFL.
6:40pm Land in The Centennial State, home of the Rockies, race to the gate, almost cough up a lung, and learn that I just missed my flight home. Ok. Not ideal. Not going to worry though. I have a friend who happens to be gracing the area today and call her up for a good time.
8:00pm Go out to dinner with friend and live it up! See a good chunk of the downtown area and decide that if I were to live here I would perpetually feel guilty about not being a hardcore outdoorswoman. But love the fact that everyone rides bikes and owns a dog. Decide I might come back someday for a visit.
10:00pm Run through the airport at break neck speed and see that the flight was delayed another 20 minutes. Realize I will indeed make this flight. Correction: Realize I will indeed make it to the gate in time to get on the plane.
10:13pm Arrive at gate hot, sweaty, tired while waving my ticket wildly in my hand and announce, "I made it!" Look over to see that the door is still open and I have a chance.
10:14pm Flight attendant tells me she gave my seat to a standy-by flyer. I tell flight attendant that I'm here. In case, she was talking to herself, is blind, has multiple personalities and has confused me as one of them or refuses to see me standing there in the flesh all hot, sweaty and tired.
10:15pm Flight attendant doesn't care about my appearance or physical state. Hands me a ticket for tomorrow and a discount for a hotel and sends me on my way.
10:16pm I start to lose it. Mutter an obscenity under my breath and walk away. Send out angry tweet in hopes of the CEO of United discovering a disgruntled customer.
10:40pm Get picked up by friend. Rent a movie. Notice that house is slightly cleaner than gutters in India before eyelids begin their final descent. Don't care. Fall asleep in friends bed for the night while watching said movie. (Actually, it is someone else's bed. Friend happens to be sleeping in it.)

Next Day
6:55am Roll out of bed and head for the airport. Again.
8:30am Call airline and tell them of my woes and the tragedy that had befallen me the day before.
8:40am Receive free flight voucher from airline. Twitter about how all is right with the world again.
9:40am Get told I will not make the flight home. Get sent to the other side of the airport.
10:00am Near tears, I call the airline again and negotiate my way from stand-by to a confirmed seat on the next flight home.
10:30ish am Blog about injustice.

My hair is greasy, my clothes look like they past travel-worn about ten miles ago, I'm hungry (but refuse to leave this gate for fear of losing my seat again) and need a nap in the worst way. And as luck would have it, an alarm just went off at the gate next to mine.
Terrorist alert?
Fire?
Tsunami in The Rockies?
Bring it on.

Just the facts, ma'am.

Alternative title: Know when to say uncle taxi.

Fact: I am smitten. I really do love The Second City. It has me baffled, turned around, full of genuinely nice people, clean streets, cool architecture and has me wanting more. I've had a chest cold that sounds like walking pneumonia the entire time I've been here and every day I would step outside into the heaviest, loveliest humidity I've ever experienced. It was like walking into a life-size humidifier. The only thing that would have put this city over the top was if I were to get a personal rub down with Vick's every day by Chicago's pet, John Cusack. (I guess I can let that one slide.)

Second City: You have a chest cold?
CG: Sure do. And it's the worst!
Second City: No problem! Just step outside and we'll see if we can't get rid of that hacking cough!
CG: Sweet.Thanks!
Second City: My pleasure. P.S. I think you're cute. 
CG: *blush*

I felt about this awesome all week.

Fact: I almost never take a cab when my legs will get me to my destination just fine. That is until I walked about 15 blocks in the wrong direction the other day and fell prey to the heat of The Midwest. While I appreciate the thick air opening up my lungs and making it easier for me to breathe, the sweat that accompanies that kind of weather had become unbearable the day I got lost and found myself standing in front of Wrigley Field surrounded by a sea of hot, sweaty baseball fans reeking of beer and hotdogs. I finally cried uncle taxi and flung my tired hand into the air. I probably would have hopped into a strangers car at that point if I thought they had air conditioning.

Ironically, isn't that what riding in a cab is all about?

Fact: I'm dreading going home to the land of no cabs and a lot more dirt. Sometimes I wonder if The Country is my real-life nemesis.

Fact: I have two bucket lists. One for the single life. One for life in general. The life list is about a mile long while the single life list has dwindled down to just a few things in the last year. Seeing Wrigley Field (and later seeing a Cubs game) helped to cross of an item on both lists which just made this city even more amazing in my eyes.

If this beach bunny can hack living through a real winter then I will seriously consider moving here. Stay tuned...

I spy with my little eye...

Today I saw...

Two girls flaunting unshaved legs. One guy with a neck beard that looked like a fur coat. The pavement a little bit closer after I tripped on an uneven sidewalk. One guy carrying his laptop in a child's pink backpack while riding a beach cruiser. Buildings that looked like brownstones which reminded me of New York. Rain falling in the middle of July. One guy shouting talking so loud I could hear him through my headphones. Squirrels zig zagging through busy sidewalks. The neighborhood of an ex-governor. A teenage boy skip (very uncool) through a crosswalk. A little girl scream down a sidewalk wearing a tutu and Tinkerbell shoes. A farmers market that sold more bread than vegetables. A very unflattering reflection of my windblown hair and flushed face in the store window reflections. An eclectic book cellar, full of hippies, sporting a coffee and wine bar. A manboy so tall he appeared to be on stilts. More yuppies than I could count. A group of very excited foreign exchange students noisily chattering away. An army of children in various parks playing baseball in 87 degree weather with 100% humidity. For, what I assumed to be, love of the game. A sea of runners seemingly unaware of the heat. A flirty Puerto Rican waiter who offered to share a piece of cake with me. A smile from a good friend at the end of the day.

I think I like The Second City. Almost as much as The First.

Life in The Windy City

I'm in The Second City this time and still day dreaming about living in a bustling environment, again. After a long flight and a 45 minute delay on the runway, I finally made it to my friend's apartment on the south side and have loved every minute of my last 12 hours here.

So far I've observed a few crazy differences between this city and life back home:

• They breed in bulk in The Midwest. I witnessed armies, called families here, march through the airport at heights I've only seen on TV during March Madness. 
• The weather is a mix of heat/humidity reminiscent of Florida and the snow scene from The Shining.The lack of sunshine for half the year is very apparent in the skin tones around these parts. It makes me sad for them and happy for me. I've never looked so tan!
• I finally saw The Average Girl. She is a normal size with nary a bony limb on her healthy frame. She walks around in a size 10 outfit with a content look on her face. And she boldly wears shorts, blissfully unaware that there are places in this country where women are wrapped up in diet crazes so strict they confine themselves to a painful size 2 or smaller. Not to mention, these women would never dare wear anything as revealing as shorts if they thought an ounce of cellulite could possibly peak out below the cuff. 
• There is nature in this city. It followed me here. I walked out onto the deck this morning, coffee in hand, and inadvertently disrupted a squirrel's fresco breakfast on the railing. I'm not sure who scared who the most.
• I'm pretty sure meat and potatoes is the mantra in this land. The variety of produce is quite a bit slimmer than I'm used to. Makes me wonder what people eat all the time. Casserole? 
• Prejudice still reigns supreme. I was warned last night not to ride the train off the red line. Whatever that means. All I know is that if I stray from that illusive red line I could get beaten or worse by another race. I love people. All kinds. My mind can barely comprehend this concept. I'm tempted to ride off the red line and hug a stranger. 

Onward, ho!

Lately, this City Girl has been tossing around the idea of moving. Again. This time to destination unknown, but possibly further north. As of now, I have no plans. I had no plans even when I moved to The Lake. I've been without a plan and goalless for some time now. Very, very unlike me.

My blood pressure has dropped, too. Also, very unlike me. Ha ha!

I wouldn't say that I dislike life in The Country, but I'm not overly excited to go back to it either. I'm...in transition. So for now, the house buying shenanigans are still a possibility as is the prospect of moving to a city (a city!!!) and starting a new life there.

Stay tuned...

No place like home...

I realized a couple of days ago why coming back to The Beach was so easy; why it felt so right. I was (or still am) staying at The Little Apartment. A friend of mine moved into The Little Apartment when I moved out and now I'm staying at her place as a guest. When I first walked in it felt as though I were walking into a new house. New decorations were on the walls and a different aura surrounded the place. And yet it felt so much like coming home. And at the best possible time, I might add. A time when I desperately needed a break from my life.

And so whether I am in The Country or back at The Beach, there is no feeling like coming home. And no place like it, either.

Much better, thanks!

Thank you Rob Hardin for this photo. Who ever you are...

Every time I hit the road (or the skies) it feels like a fresh start. A new life of sorts, new beginning. A completely different chapter in my book with the same theme throughout. I'm still me when I travel. I'm the same girl wearing heels, getting out of a cab as the one who goes running on uneven back roads in The Country. Almost feels like a double life.

When I was a kid I went through a string of fantasy careers in my head. I always thought I would be some big corporate yahoo with a giant expense account, living in a fabulous penthouse on the top floor of a fancy high rise in the city. Or maybe I would be a doctor running around the ER, wearing scrubs, saving lives. Or maybe, just maybe, I would be a spy. A double agent. Someone who leads two separate lives. One highly dangerous, one feet-draggingly normal.

I still want to be Sydney Bristow oh-so-bad!

I may not have become a spy (although, I'll never tell!), but I did get my double life. One on the road, one normal. And every time I hit the road I can't stop my mind from wandering. And I almost always come back to the same thought: Oh man...life isn't going the way I planned at all. Thank God! This is way better!

Actually, a lot of days are like this...

Last night I drove back to The Beach with a good friend. And as we drove by the water I felt as though the car got sucked back into a bubble. The bubble I used to live in. And I have never been happier to see this place. The place I never planned on leaving had it not been for my "rock solid" plans changing. Although, if I hadn't left the bubble for my double life I never would have experienced all the amazing places I've been since.

Couple days at a castle by the sea, anyone?

Thank you austindara.com for this last photo!

Can I make that house payment in Euros?

I had an enlightening conversation today that made me wonder if I should rename this blog: City Girl Takes on Yet Another Adventure.

I miss my friends from The Beach. I miss them all the time. Almost every single day. I haven't been able to put my finger on it. Until today. I had been thinking this lately: Do I still miss them, because they're so much cooler than most other people? Or maybe it's because I just haven't found the perfect set of friends up here just yet. Or is it because I just simply miss them?

The answer is: not quite. I miss them, because they are the rowdiest bunch of adventure seekers I've ever met. There's no doubt in my mind that my motley crew of friends have an insatiable desire to constantly chase adventures the world over. That's our meeting point. The one thing everyone has in common. And everybody's adventure schemes always look different, but it's still the same underlying excitement of seeing new places, meeting new people and trying new things.

Jumping into bodies of water buck-naked? Check!


Anyway, the enlightening conversation went a little something like this:

E: "A friend of mine told me the other day, 'I can't wait for you to have your own house that you can decorate and settle down in.' Not one ounce of me has ever wanted to do that."
CG: "Me either! I had someone tell me the other day how I would stop traveling when I have kids. No I won't!"
E: "Yeah, I don't think I'll ever settle down like that."
CG: "I just always figured that when I finally do have kids I'll just buy another hammock. A baby hammock...for the treehouse we'll live in. Ha!"

The reason this conversation lit up my face and entire day was because while I want to buy a house, I've been sort of dragging my feet about the whole thing and feeling somewhat bummed about the idea. Almost like I was being pressured into living in a big house all alone. I couldn't figure out why. Why wouldn't I want to take the next grown up step? What's the big deal about buying a house? (A cheap house at that!) And it hit me....I never had plans to actually live in it. Everyone else around these parts buys a house to live in it. Raise a family in it. Have dogs running around the yard. I want to buy a house so I can rent it out to weekenders from The City. I have next to no plans of actually spending day after day in between those four walls, working from home and watching daytime TV. I want a house for completely different reasons than the average bear. I want something that pays me to go on adventures.

Can I get an amen!

Love bites.

I recently got half-eaten alive the other night by a surly spider. I woke up with one shoulder much larger and redder than the other which left me horrified and forced to wear nothing but sleeved shirts. Sleeved shirts during the summer in this neck of the woods is like wearing a bikini in Alaska during the winter. It sucks. And so I learned (once again) that living in the country requires you to buddy up with the skin-so-soft bug lotion. The bugs are literally everywhere! It's like nature is constantly in my face!

Yuck.

And then I was bitten by another bug the other day. The real estate bug. The inherent need to buy a house type of bug. I hadn't planned to revisit this idea again so soon, but I just couldn't help myself. I started looking again when I accidentally saw a decent sized house for sale for under $100,000. That's right. Multiple rooms. With a yard. In town. UNDER $100,000!

My city days were sweet. We're talking rent control sweet. The amount I paid each month for rent was unbelievable. Coveted. The apartment wasn't anything over-the-top special, but it was in the heart of the city, had running water, was in a safe neighborhood, and had the most easy-going landlord a girl could ask for. And in the seven years I lived there the rent went up a whole twenty five dollars. It was the very definition of an urban legend.

I can't say that I had plans to actually buy a house the first time around. I was thinking about it. And at one point I took those thoughts seriously. For almost a full 24 hours. But I never envisioned myself owning a house alone. I'm that girl. I've always had the same few thoughts circling my brain since I was five years old. I will get married, move into that house (you know, that house we just so happen to magically own when we say some vows?) and then we'll have kids. It's perfect, really. Although, I have yet to meet anyone that has actually played this exact scenario out. It's usually messier than this. More complicated. And so now I've resigned to the fact that life will probably never go as I planned. In fact, it may be the one thing I can consistently count on!

And I'm OK with this. In fact, I'm more than OK with this. I'm really looking forward to buying a house. To becoming a home owner. A home owner who could possibly end up paying less than six digits for prime real estate.

It's practically an urban legend.

The Ugly Truth

If there's one thing I learned while living in the city it's that everyone wants what everyone else has. You get up early in the morning to get the worm, so to speak, so you can have that "other" thing. The thing that everyone else seems to have that you don't. And you strive and you stress just to get it. (Whatever "it" is.)

I had drinks with an old friend the other night. We were discussing the finer points of life in the country versus the ins and outs of city living. Since I last saw her she has birthed a couple kids and a nice little mortgage. Meanwhile, I traveled the world, partied my brains out and started a business. Our lives couldn't be more opposite.

Then we got down to details: I told her how I've learned that according to the country folk, a girl my age hasn't lived life yet until she's gotten married. (As if that's the only thing she can do!) And she told me how she runs off to the city for a few days, sans the kids, every chance she gets. I was starting to think that I had it all wrong: I had partied and traveled my marrying days away. And here she was telling me that she wished she had more chances to live the single life.

Maybe it's time to cut that greener grass?

In any case, I will still be getting asked by everyone and their cousin why I'm not married yet. And she will still be grasping at her chances to live the single life again. It's the ugly truth. And it followed me from the big city to the back roads of the country. Everyone wants what everyone else has. Even in the sticks.

Zen in Oh Ten

A few years ago I had some roommates that claimed things would be great in '08. And they were right! After having a crappy go-around with 2007, the roommates decided to take the outcome for '08 by the horns and staked their claim that things would turn around. And wouldn't you know it, these feisty girls were right! Life took a turn for the better in 2008. And so we continued with this habit of rhyming an upbeat word with the following year. And as predicted, things were indeed fine in '09.

Since then we all went our separate ways. One by one we all moved out of the Big Yellow House we shared together for years. Some went on to other cities in this fine state while others went to cities in other countries. (And we all know what happened to me!) Talking to my old roomies in the past few months, we have the same thing to say: We're all trying to find the zen in '10.

Or Oh '10, as I like to call it. Ha!

As the world seems to be diminishing around everyone these days, people are striving to make something out of nothing. Life has given us lemons and everyone is doing their darnedest to make some stinkin' lemonade! In fact, I had a little chat with my mom about this very thing this morning. And the question she spit out in an exasperated tone was, "Man, everything is falling apart. When are things going to be fun again?!" To which I thought to myself, "Well, sometimes things are just going to suck. For awhile. But it's all going to be OK." I don't know how I came to this conclusion. I certainly have no hard evidence for this, but I have been making a point lately to take stock of the good things that have happened this year and am looking forward with hope that life will be good again for everyone.

So, my question for you, faithful readers (and lurkers), is how are you finding a little zen in Oh Ten?

We are family.

There's nothing quite like family. They might be the only people you'll ever know who will be there for you when you need them. And they will for sure be some of the few people in your life that you'll ever truly be honest with, vulnerable to, mean to, happy with, sad with, joyous with, grievous with, loving to, and otherwise crazy all around. I forgot all of this in the past few years.

The last five years I've managed to squeeze in a few trips home. A couple of trips here or there. But typically no more than 3 per year. This is not enough. In my mind it was the perfect amount. And all the trips were long enough to catch up, but not have to get too close or overly personal. I have shared many a moment with a roommate or good friend that could have (and sometimes probably should have) been shared with family.

Moving back up here amidst the crazy and dramatic that is my family, I realized today that I've needed them all along. Maybe I didn't want to be this close and maybe I didn't want to have to share my seemingly perfect and wonderful world with them, but deep down I always knew I needed them. I needed them close by. And as it turns out, they've needed me.

This horsey needs room to gallup!

Today I was determined to find fun things to do at The Lake. So far, I'm still a little stumped. I did find fun things to do for a few girls nights out.

Fondue anyone? 

And I did find a couple of cool tours that involve kayaks and wine tastings. I'm sure there's probably some clause about these two things being separate.

Some people just don't know how to have a good time!

But other than that, I've found nothing that's an every week/weekend sort of thing. So, now I'm revisiting an idea I had awhile ago: join the local co-ed softball team.

Little known fact about me: I love sports. In fact, there was a phase in my life where all I would watch was Sports Center and Sex and The City. I know. It's practically a split personality. And for anyone who really knows me and is reading this, you probably feel like I just threw you a real curve ball! (No pun intended.)

My days in SB weren't always spent shopping, going to parties and sleeping in. (Well, maybe the sleeping in part.) There were 3 to 4 solid years spent chasing waves with my surfboard, boogie board or anything that could float and let me ride on the crest of curled salt water. Then there were the years spent doing yoga. Although, I can't remember a time when I haven't kept that practice up. And then there were the last couple of years where I was the captain of an adult kickball team. That's right. I said kickball.

When I'm not on the road, I've spent almost every single day at the gym. It's not my first place to go to for fun, but it's been something to do. And now it's taken me 30 days to become completely restless to the point of going out on a field and hoping someone throws a piece of sports equipment at me. There's just something about running around outside and yelling and screaming in an umpire's face that just makes a girl feel alive!

Brace yourselves. My inner sports nut just might emerge once again.

Thoughts on being nice.

I recently found a bunch of old stuff. The kind of stuff you don't realize you still have until you move. Now for the people who move their futon and toothbrush to a new place every few months, they probably have no idea what I'm talking about. But for the rest of the free world that only moves when they absolutely have to (because they understand the total hassle of packing up and resettling) this stuff has probably surfaced for them at some point, too.

My stuff consisted of a letter I wrote to myself about ten years ago (which turned out to not be as interesting as it sounds), a few scrapbooks and the belongings of an old boyfriend. When it comes to old boyfriends I tend to throw out everything and anything that reminds me of them the day we call it quits. But this guy was a different story. He was my high school sweetheart. He asked me to marry him when we were just kids. (I consider most 20 year olds to be kids. Babies, really.) I told him I wasn't ready and with that we slowly drifted apart. Mostly I pushed us apart, because where else can you go from that point? But anyway, I found a box of his stuff when I moved. I couldn't believe I still had all those love letters and things from almost ten years ago. I also couldn't remember why I had kept them with me when I had first moved away from home. But c'est la vie!

Since we called it quits there were only a couple times that I heard from him through email and letters, but I still wasn't ready to be his friend again. So, I just let it lie. Essentially, I ignored him until he left me alone. So, it's no surprise to me that when I emailed him and asked if he'd like some of his stuff back I didn't hear back from him...except we're adults now. He's about to turn 30 this year, we're friends on FB, he just got a new girlfriend and I figured that he would have the politeness to just give me a yes or no. Apparently, I was wrong. I half want to be upset, but my other half understands. And it's not like I'm trying to send him a bunch of mix tapes. I have legitimate stuff! Things he earned! AWARDS, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

All this to say, this move didn't just force me to take a look at myself, but all the things that come with being me. Old me. New me. The me I'm working on today.

Moving is a messier undertaking than I had originally thought...