Everyone who works the standard Monday to Friday, nine to five job knows that the last hour of the day can feel like the longest of them all. Recently I was talking to a friend of mine who, much like myself, sits in front of a computer all day long in an office full of other people who sit in front of computers all day long.
We often send each other emails throughout the day as a means of counting down to the sweet, sweet freedom of 5pm, as well as to regale each other with the ridiculous interoffice happenings that only we would find hilarious. It’s a cheap form of entertainment but it keeps us both from hanging ourselves with telephone cords or using our staplers as hunting rifles to shoot mass amounts of staples at our co-workers.
My favorite email to send is the one that says “ONE MORE HOUR!” in all capital letters just like that because I am literally screaming it with excitement in my head. I sent my friend that message at 4pm yesterday and her response was one of the best things I’ve heard in a long time. It went something like this:
ME: ONE MORE HOUR!!!
Friend: THANK GOD!! As my boss likes to call it, it's power hour!
ME: Power hour? seriously? LOL!
Friend: HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA! I know.
ME: As in, power through the last hour? or what?
Friend: LOL! I have no idea!
ME: Hahahahahahahhahahahaha!!!!!!!!
Friend: Your reaction is the best though! Haha! Just what I was thinking in my head the whole time!
ME: Omg, that is so funny! I'm totally using the whole "power hour" thing now.
And believe me, I did. The very next day I sent out a mass text, email and tweet at 4pm saying “Whoo hoo! It’s power hour!” I would post the various responses I got but quite frankly, they were pretty inappropriate and my mom reads this blog, so I will spare her.
Your gross negativity won’t derail me though. My fierce sense of endurance will make sure the Power Hour phrase perseveres. So don’t be surprised when your phone goes off at 4pm today. Face it people; Power Hour is the only hope we have of pushing through to the freedom of 5pm. Embrace it.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Tick Tock to 30
I went for a drive today because that’s what I do when I don’t know what else to do but I know I need to get up and move. I hate being stagnant for too long.
I pulled up to the stop sign at Rhody and Kingwood streets where a little Scientology church sits on the corner. I was right on time with my windows down and my music cranked up to see a couple of little old ladies walking to their cars, wearing little old lady dresses and bright white sneakers.
I screeched around the corner so they could hear the roar of my Dodge Ram. I smiled as I imagined them shaking their heads at the poor heathen, “Damn kids these days.”
I laughed to myself, thinking they probably had no idea I’m almost thirty. Then it hit me. I’m almost thirty. And on a Sunday morning I’m driving around town disturbing little old ladies walking out of churches.
I mentally sat myself down for one of those intense life conversations you usually have with your parents, mid-way through your freshman year of college after they find out you’re failing every course but Human Anatomy.
Is this really what I thought life would be like at this point? Living in a two bedroom apartment with another almost-30-and-single-girlfriend, working for the weekend, selling insurance in order to fund said weekends?
The only thing I have in life right now that I’ve always really wanted is a truck. And it’s a pretty badass truck. My parents always laughed at my desire for a truck and talked me out of it on a couple occasions. That stubborn streak finally came through for me though and I reveled in the joy ride I took them on in that truck when they visited a few months ago.
But I digress.
What exactly did I think my life would be like at this point?
I guess I honestly expected to be living in a house with my husband who had a great corporate job, our two children, a dog, a I of course would be writing my own syndicated column from home. And that, my friend, is the problem with expectations. They are usually wildly unrealistic and always carry along a heavy dose of disappointment.
Is that really what you wanted? Because quite frankly, you had that option a long time ago and you opted out. So maybe you should rethink a few things. (I realize I’m talking to myself here but that thought came out of no where.)
Well I suppose a few segments of that ideal are what I want. I mean, I have been telling myself for the last ten years that’s what I want.
But maybe that was never really my dream, so much as someone else’s dream for me. And maybe I opted out of all those things ten years ago because I realized that none of those things were worth sacrificing my own happiness for. Maybe happiness is what I’ve always wanted and whatever things or people bring that into my life is what I chose to surround myself with. And maybe that looks more like a wildly colored picture and less like the stark black and white photo of life I was handed.
That’s a whole lot of maybe. But that’s the thing about life; it’s full of maybe and possibility and uncertainty. We never know what’s right around the corner.
And when I don’t know what else to do, I jump in my truck, roll down the windows, turn the music up, and drive. I don’t know where I’ll end up or who I’ll see. But I’m always better for having taken the ride.
I pulled up to the stop sign at Rhody and Kingwood streets where a little Scientology church sits on the corner. I was right on time with my windows down and my music cranked up to see a couple of little old ladies walking to their cars, wearing little old lady dresses and bright white sneakers.
I screeched around the corner so they could hear the roar of my Dodge Ram. I smiled as I imagined them shaking their heads at the poor heathen, “Damn kids these days.”
I laughed to myself, thinking they probably had no idea I’m almost thirty. Then it hit me. I’m almost thirty. And on a Sunday morning I’m driving around town disturbing little old ladies walking out of churches.
I mentally sat myself down for one of those intense life conversations you usually have with your parents, mid-way through your freshman year of college after they find out you’re failing every course but Human Anatomy.
Is this really what I thought life would be like at this point? Living in a two bedroom apartment with another almost-30-and-single-girlfriend, working for the weekend, selling insurance in order to fund said weekends?
The only thing I have in life right now that I’ve always really wanted is a truck. And it’s a pretty badass truck. My parents always laughed at my desire for a truck and talked me out of it on a couple occasions. That stubborn streak finally came through for me though and I reveled in the joy ride I took them on in that truck when they visited a few months ago.
But I digress.
What exactly did I think my life would be like at this point?
I guess I honestly expected to be living in a house with my husband who had a great corporate job, our two children, a dog, a I of course would be writing my own syndicated column from home. And that, my friend, is the problem with expectations. They are usually wildly unrealistic and always carry along a heavy dose of disappointment.
Is that really what you wanted? Because quite frankly, you had that option a long time ago and you opted out. So maybe you should rethink a few things. (I realize I’m talking to myself here but that thought came out of no where.)
Well I suppose a few segments of that ideal are what I want. I mean, I have been telling myself for the last ten years that’s what I want.
But maybe that was never really my dream, so much as someone else’s dream for me. And maybe I opted out of all those things ten years ago because I realized that none of those things were worth sacrificing my own happiness for. Maybe happiness is what I’ve always wanted and whatever things or people bring that into my life is what I chose to surround myself with. And maybe that looks more like a wildly colored picture and less like the stark black and white photo of life I was handed.
That’s a whole lot of maybe. But that’s the thing about life; it’s full of maybe and possibility and uncertainty. We never know what’s right around the corner.
And when I don’t know what else to do, I jump in my truck, roll down the windows, turn the music up, and drive. I don’t know where I’ll end up or who I’ll see. But I’m always better for having taken the ride.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Right Around the Bend, a compilation of times past
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent... and the not so innocent.
I guess when it’s over, it’s over and I’m just left to pick up the pieces and move forward. But instead I am sitting here like I don’t know what to do with myself, like I have never been here before. I mean, honestly, you’d think I would be used to it by now. But here I am, hosting the train wreck of dating awards and winning in pretty much every category.
It is a long but distinguished list that paves the wretched road of my dating career. And I certainly didn’t waste any time getting in the game.
Chapter one: In the beginning…
David was lucky contestant number one. He was the Asian kid who lived down the street from me. His parents were fresh off the boat Asians and had chickens and corn stock in their backyard.
David and I were in the same fifth grade class at school. Our whole class went on this mission to set all of our friends up with each other. So they set me up with David. I pretended that the whole thing was incredibly childish and that I couldn’t care less whether or not he wanted to hang out with me at recess. I was thrilled, however, to sit next to him on the soccer field the day we magically became boyfriend and girlfriend.
We would sit next to each other at recess every day and just stare across the soccer field. We wouldn’t say a word and everyone made fun of us because we wouldn’t even hold hands. I got bored pretty quickly though and broke up with him, heartlessly stating that “I never wanted you guys to hook us up anyway. You guys are so dumb. I didn’t even like him.” I was incredibly relieved when David’s family moved out of the neighborhood at the end of that school year.
Then there was Jay, or was it Jay then David? I forget. My fifth grade year was so riddled with heartache that it all blurs together.
Jay was my big brother’s best friend. I was in fifth grade and he was in seventh grade. He was so cool; the real popular, funny, skater boy that everyone wanted to be around. One night he stayed over at my house, you know because he was my brother’s friend and all. After I went to bed, he threw a note into my bedroom asking if I liked him. The mixture of sheer thrill, nervousness, borderline embarrassment (mostly that my parents were in the next room) and surrealism made me nauseous. Literally.
Jay and I became boyfriend and girlfriend but mostly we just walked around and I would keep my hands in my pockets so he wouldn’t try to hold them. We had a real knock down break up fight. My brother gave him the heads up that I wanted to break up with him (turncoat), so he beat me to the punch. We exchanged a series of break up letters that said real mature things like “you’re an idiot and I never liked you anyway” and “you’re a girl who needs to stop dressing like a boy in your brother’s clothes!” You can take a stab at who said what there.
I took sixth grade off of the dating scene. There was this amazing black guy in my class though. His name was Devonte and he was the fastest runner in the class. I was very into running that year, and I swear it wasn’t because of Devonte. I had taken up track and if I don’t say so myself, I was pretty damn fast. Since I was the fastest girl in my class and he was the fastest boy, I figured it might work out. One day at recess we had a race. I won. I still think he let me win. But its okay, I thought it was sweet.
Chapter two: Reoccurring patterns…
Junior high was a pretty happening time in my life. I was in loooooove with Jesse. Everyone in the world knew it, except him. He was Mr. Popular and all the girls swooned over him. My googly eyes went totally unnoticed. I had been deemed the “little sister” of our group of friends so there was no way he would ever be looking my way. Oh well.
Michael enters the picture in the spring of my seventh grade year. My friend Matt brought Michael to youth group one night (ah, where all the good hook ups start…. Church). I can still remember the moment I saw Michael walk into the room. It was a total slow motion moment and I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing as I watched him enter the room, kick up his skateboard, and take a seat with all the other cool skater boys.
Over spring break shortly thereafter, we all went on a trip to Mexico with our youth group. That’s where the blessed connection was solidified and we became boyfriend and girlfriend. We were a couple of tortured souls, finding solace in each others wrecked embrace. God, we were so dramatic. I definitely let this guy hold my hand. He got a little too “emo” on me though, so I bailed.
My freshman year of high school was pretty epic. Jesse was a year ahead of me, so by the time I got there, he had already set the stage for me as his “little sister” (God damn that title!). At least it was an instant “become popular free” card. Being new and instantly popular with the fellas had its positives and negatives… like accidently dating two best friends.
Enter Sean; a stocky, well built, cowboy looking, blond haired, blue eyed stud. I saw him across the hall from my locker one day. All I said to my friend Melissa was “who’s that?!” She quickly responded, “Oh my god, that’s Sean! He’s like my best friend. He’s so cute! You guys should totally hook up!” Off she went before I could even open my mouth to respond. Soon enough, I was Sean’s new girlfriend. He was sweet, soft spoken and very gentleman-like. He walked me to Spanish class one day and kissed me at the door. I walked into class, sat down and thought “Oh my god, I just had my first kiss…. With some guy… in front of my entire Spanish class….. fabulous.”
Two weeks later I decided that Sean was just not exciting enough. Okay, he was straight up boring. Plus there was this other hottie named Scott who was much cooler. So I called up Sean and broke it to him gently, “I just don’t think this is a good idea. I’m sorry.” Click.
Scott was taller, with the “I played football last year but am kind of slacking this year” physique. But he was really funny and totally popular, which apparently is what I go for. After a few days, I noticed that Scott and I were quite the conversation piece at school. When I finally asked what all the fuss was about, my friend politely said, “Everyone thinks you broke up with Sean for Scott.” To which I innocently responded, “So what if I did? I don’t like Sean, I like Scott.”
“Yeah, but Sean and Scott have been best friends since they were five.”
Oops.
In the end it was all for not anyway. Scott was too big of a flirt with every girl he came across. When I tried to break up with him on account of his out of control flirting habit, he argued that both of his parents were natural flirts, so really he can’t help it.
Michael and I came full circle that year, once again going to Mexico on a trip with our youth group over spring break. As it turns out, in our time apart, he had tried to commit suicide, apparently on account of the heartbreak my departure inflicted on him. Why I thought it would be a good idea to hook up with him again after that is beyond my understanding. At any rate, we jumped on the relationship bandwagon once again. In a strange twist, I found myself falling for him. It was about that time he fell for someone else. To whatever depths a fifteen year old heart can feel heart ache, I felt it for the very first time. I decided right then and there that I would never ever fall “in love” again.
Chapter three: Never say never…
I decided I would never ever fall “in love” again. Until, of course, I was sixteen. My family moved from a small town in central California to Los Angeles, California, where I met Daniel. It was a picture perfect scenario. Seriously, we should have been called Ken and Barbie. My dad was the Pastor of our church, his dad was an Elder, they went golfing together, our moms would get together to paint and do all that artsy crafty stuff, our families spent holidays together, the sun was always shining and rainbows were perpetually hanging above our heads. He, of course, was incredibly funny and popular and charming.
Almost five years later, I had a ring on my finger. But the sunshine and rainbows were gone. His humor and charm had turned into manipulation and narcissism. It was all together wretched and to this day, I am not sure how I made it out alive. I wasn’t heartbroken though. It was more defeat than heartbreak.
Somehow, I had stumbled out of my teenage years and was fumbling around in adulthood when Vince took center stage. He was the knight in shining armor who was going to rescue me from all of my tortured heartbreak. He battled with my commitment issues for years before I finally let him in. For a moment, it was fabulous. It wasn’t sunshine and rainbows and all that jazz. It was real and pure and could only be what I had imagined love was. But we were both far too fragile to withstand our own stubborn battles. We defined “hot mess” and wore it proudly like a badge until it killed us.
I didn’t walk away from that relationship. I just laid there and watched it slip away from me for a few years. Eventually, I picked up the pieces and carried them with me as I walked on, at which point I accidently stumbled across one of the most amazing men I’ve ever met in my life. But I was ruined and hopeless, so I didn’t say a word. Until he started dating my roommate. I quickly put the last brick on the wall I was building around my heart. I went on a couple random dates with some random hotties to distract myself before packing up my life and moving out of state.
Chapter four: Nothing new under the sun…
A new state, a new life, no boys allowed. I was hiding away in this little town to focus on school and move on with my life. This little town, nor anyone in this little town, was going get to me.
Then I met Arrie. There was a faint flutter in the back of my heart the day we met. I don’t know if it was because he complimented my beer selection as I came stumbling into the house with a case of Mirror Pond or, well actually, that’s probably what did it. At any rate, I took the faint flutter as a warning sign and ran the hell away.
I ran right into Kevin and accidently started dating Arrie’s arch enemy. I am not known for my smooth moves in romance. Anyway, Kevin was fun and cute but in no way able to distract me from that stupid heart flutter at the mention of Arrie’s name.
And just like that, Kevin was gone, Arrie was back, and that brick wall I had spent so much time building was coming down faster than Larry Craig in a Minneapolis washroom (thank you, SNL). I’m still not sure at what point I decided that allowing anyone to knock down a wall I had worked so hard to put up was a good idea. I am a mystery, even to myself.
At any rate, I now stand surrounded by quite a huge pile of rubble. I hope the next Mr. Right is a good hiker; he’s going to have quite the mountain of bricks to climb over to find me.
The End, sort of…
Afterword:
It figures that the Pacific North West has some pretty good hikers. His name is JJ and he literally came out of no where, like just dropped from the sky and landed in my lap. Neither one of us had the emotional energy to hike over the mountains of rubble we both had blocking our view. But somehow we ended up standing right in front of each other.
He was everything I had started to think didn’t exist. Yeah. He was THAT guy.
Who knows why or how our paths crossed. My hope was that they weren’t crossing, so much as merging. But who am I to direct the traffic of this life? He went left, I went right.
I feel like I made a wrong turn, but I don’t feel like I really turned at all. I feel like I just pulled over. Every since I moved to the Pac North West, I’ve really lost all sense of direction.
And so back onto the road I merge, not really sure of where I’m headed but enjoying the journey as I go. Because you never know what, or who, is right around the bend.
I guess when it’s over, it’s over and I’m just left to pick up the pieces and move forward. But instead I am sitting here like I don’t know what to do with myself, like I have never been here before. I mean, honestly, you’d think I would be used to it by now. But here I am, hosting the train wreck of dating awards and winning in pretty much every category.
It is a long but distinguished list that paves the wretched road of my dating career. And I certainly didn’t waste any time getting in the game.
Chapter one: In the beginning…
David was lucky contestant number one. He was the Asian kid who lived down the street from me. His parents were fresh off the boat Asians and had chickens and corn stock in their backyard.
David and I were in the same fifth grade class at school. Our whole class went on this mission to set all of our friends up with each other. So they set me up with David. I pretended that the whole thing was incredibly childish and that I couldn’t care less whether or not he wanted to hang out with me at recess. I was thrilled, however, to sit next to him on the soccer field the day we magically became boyfriend and girlfriend.
We would sit next to each other at recess every day and just stare across the soccer field. We wouldn’t say a word and everyone made fun of us because we wouldn’t even hold hands. I got bored pretty quickly though and broke up with him, heartlessly stating that “I never wanted you guys to hook us up anyway. You guys are so dumb. I didn’t even like him.” I was incredibly relieved when David’s family moved out of the neighborhood at the end of that school year.
Then there was Jay, or was it Jay then David? I forget. My fifth grade year was so riddled with heartache that it all blurs together.
Jay was my big brother’s best friend. I was in fifth grade and he was in seventh grade. He was so cool; the real popular, funny, skater boy that everyone wanted to be around. One night he stayed over at my house, you know because he was my brother’s friend and all. After I went to bed, he threw a note into my bedroom asking if I liked him. The mixture of sheer thrill, nervousness, borderline embarrassment (mostly that my parents were in the next room) and surrealism made me nauseous. Literally.
Jay and I became boyfriend and girlfriend but mostly we just walked around and I would keep my hands in my pockets so he wouldn’t try to hold them. We had a real knock down break up fight. My brother gave him the heads up that I wanted to break up with him (turncoat), so he beat me to the punch. We exchanged a series of break up letters that said real mature things like “you’re an idiot and I never liked you anyway” and “you’re a girl who needs to stop dressing like a boy in your brother’s clothes!” You can take a stab at who said what there.
I took sixth grade off of the dating scene. There was this amazing black guy in my class though. His name was Devonte and he was the fastest runner in the class. I was very into running that year, and I swear it wasn’t because of Devonte. I had taken up track and if I don’t say so myself, I was pretty damn fast. Since I was the fastest girl in my class and he was the fastest boy, I figured it might work out. One day at recess we had a race. I won. I still think he let me win. But its okay, I thought it was sweet.
Chapter two: Reoccurring patterns…
Junior high was a pretty happening time in my life. I was in loooooove with Jesse. Everyone in the world knew it, except him. He was Mr. Popular and all the girls swooned over him. My googly eyes went totally unnoticed. I had been deemed the “little sister” of our group of friends so there was no way he would ever be looking my way. Oh well.
Michael enters the picture in the spring of my seventh grade year. My friend Matt brought Michael to youth group one night (ah, where all the good hook ups start…. Church). I can still remember the moment I saw Michael walk into the room. It was a total slow motion moment and I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing as I watched him enter the room, kick up his skateboard, and take a seat with all the other cool skater boys.
Over spring break shortly thereafter, we all went on a trip to Mexico with our youth group. That’s where the blessed connection was solidified and we became boyfriend and girlfriend. We were a couple of tortured souls, finding solace in each others wrecked embrace. God, we were so dramatic. I definitely let this guy hold my hand. He got a little too “emo” on me though, so I bailed.
My freshman year of high school was pretty epic. Jesse was a year ahead of me, so by the time I got there, he had already set the stage for me as his “little sister” (God damn that title!). At least it was an instant “become popular free” card. Being new and instantly popular with the fellas had its positives and negatives… like accidently dating two best friends.
Enter Sean; a stocky, well built, cowboy looking, blond haired, blue eyed stud. I saw him across the hall from my locker one day. All I said to my friend Melissa was “who’s that?!” She quickly responded, “Oh my god, that’s Sean! He’s like my best friend. He’s so cute! You guys should totally hook up!” Off she went before I could even open my mouth to respond. Soon enough, I was Sean’s new girlfriend. He was sweet, soft spoken and very gentleman-like. He walked me to Spanish class one day and kissed me at the door. I walked into class, sat down and thought “Oh my god, I just had my first kiss…. With some guy… in front of my entire Spanish class….. fabulous.”
Two weeks later I decided that Sean was just not exciting enough. Okay, he was straight up boring. Plus there was this other hottie named Scott who was much cooler. So I called up Sean and broke it to him gently, “I just don’t think this is a good idea. I’m sorry.” Click.
Scott was taller, with the “I played football last year but am kind of slacking this year” physique. But he was really funny and totally popular, which apparently is what I go for. After a few days, I noticed that Scott and I were quite the conversation piece at school. When I finally asked what all the fuss was about, my friend politely said, “Everyone thinks you broke up with Sean for Scott.” To which I innocently responded, “So what if I did? I don’t like Sean, I like Scott.”
“Yeah, but Sean and Scott have been best friends since they were five.”
Oops.
In the end it was all for not anyway. Scott was too big of a flirt with every girl he came across. When I tried to break up with him on account of his out of control flirting habit, he argued that both of his parents were natural flirts, so really he can’t help it.
Michael and I came full circle that year, once again going to Mexico on a trip with our youth group over spring break. As it turns out, in our time apart, he had tried to commit suicide, apparently on account of the heartbreak my departure inflicted on him. Why I thought it would be a good idea to hook up with him again after that is beyond my understanding. At any rate, we jumped on the relationship bandwagon once again. In a strange twist, I found myself falling for him. It was about that time he fell for someone else. To whatever depths a fifteen year old heart can feel heart ache, I felt it for the very first time. I decided right then and there that I would never ever fall “in love” again.
Chapter three: Never say never…
I decided I would never ever fall “in love” again. Until, of course, I was sixteen. My family moved from a small town in central California to Los Angeles, California, where I met Daniel. It was a picture perfect scenario. Seriously, we should have been called Ken and Barbie. My dad was the Pastor of our church, his dad was an Elder, they went golfing together, our moms would get together to paint and do all that artsy crafty stuff, our families spent holidays together, the sun was always shining and rainbows were perpetually hanging above our heads. He, of course, was incredibly funny and popular and charming.
Almost five years later, I had a ring on my finger. But the sunshine and rainbows were gone. His humor and charm had turned into manipulation and narcissism. It was all together wretched and to this day, I am not sure how I made it out alive. I wasn’t heartbroken though. It was more defeat than heartbreak.
Somehow, I had stumbled out of my teenage years and was fumbling around in adulthood when Vince took center stage. He was the knight in shining armor who was going to rescue me from all of my tortured heartbreak. He battled with my commitment issues for years before I finally let him in. For a moment, it was fabulous. It wasn’t sunshine and rainbows and all that jazz. It was real and pure and could only be what I had imagined love was. But we were both far too fragile to withstand our own stubborn battles. We defined “hot mess” and wore it proudly like a badge until it killed us.
I didn’t walk away from that relationship. I just laid there and watched it slip away from me for a few years. Eventually, I picked up the pieces and carried them with me as I walked on, at which point I accidently stumbled across one of the most amazing men I’ve ever met in my life. But I was ruined and hopeless, so I didn’t say a word. Until he started dating my roommate. I quickly put the last brick on the wall I was building around my heart. I went on a couple random dates with some random hotties to distract myself before packing up my life and moving out of state.
Chapter four: Nothing new under the sun…
A new state, a new life, no boys allowed. I was hiding away in this little town to focus on school and move on with my life. This little town, nor anyone in this little town, was going get to me.
Then I met Arrie. There was a faint flutter in the back of my heart the day we met. I don’t know if it was because he complimented my beer selection as I came stumbling into the house with a case of Mirror Pond or, well actually, that’s probably what did it. At any rate, I took the faint flutter as a warning sign and ran the hell away.
I ran right into Kevin and accidently started dating Arrie’s arch enemy. I am not known for my smooth moves in romance. Anyway, Kevin was fun and cute but in no way able to distract me from that stupid heart flutter at the mention of Arrie’s name.
And just like that, Kevin was gone, Arrie was back, and that brick wall I had spent so much time building was coming down faster than Larry Craig in a Minneapolis washroom (thank you, SNL). I’m still not sure at what point I decided that allowing anyone to knock down a wall I had worked so hard to put up was a good idea. I am a mystery, even to myself.
At any rate, I now stand surrounded by quite a huge pile of rubble. I hope the next Mr. Right is a good hiker; he’s going to have quite the mountain of bricks to climb over to find me.
The End, sort of…
Afterword:
It figures that the Pacific North West has some pretty good hikers. His name is JJ and he literally came out of no where, like just dropped from the sky and landed in my lap. Neither one of us had the emotional energy to hike over the mountains of rubble we both had blocking our view. But somehow we ended up standing right in front of each other.
He was everything I had started to think didn’t exist. Yeah. He was THAT guy.
Who knows why or how our paths crossed. My hope was that they weren’t crossing, so much as merging. But who am I to direct the traffic of this life? He went left, I went right.
I feel like I made a wrong turn, but I don’t feel like I really turned at all. I feel like I just pulled over. Every since I moved to the Pac North West, I’ve really lost all sense of direction.
And so back onto the road I merge, not really sure of where I’m headed but enjoying the journey as I go. Because you never know what, or who, is right around the bend.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Rerun: Flashback to 2009
Post Valentine’s Day Hang Over (circa 2009)
“Hey… so… I was wondering… if you want to… um… do anything for… uh… Valentine’s Day?” I’m so nervous. My hands are clammy. My heart is pounding. I hold my breath and bite my lower lip as I wait for his response.
“Why? I don’t get Valentine’s Day. It’s a bunch of hype and no one really knows what it’s all about anyway, like where it came from and stuff.”
“Right. Okay, yeah, that’s cool.” My eyes are darting from one object to the next. My mind is racing. Did that just happen? Seriously? Why am I with this guy again?
Girls, girls, girls. We sacrifice so much to hold on to so little.
It seems we have always been this way though. In my quest to really understand what Valentine’s Day is all about, I found some disturbingly humorous information.
Apparently it all began in Pagan Rome when February 14 was a holiday honoring Juno, the Queen of the gods and patroness of marriage. On this day, the names of girls would be written on scraps of paper and put into a jar, which guys would then draw from.
The couples would be paired together for the duration of something called the Lupercalia festival, which began the following day, February 15.
The Lupercalia festival supposedly began with an animal sacrifice; the men would slaughter a goat, then take the bloody skin and run through the streets whipping women with it.
The punch line? The women actually LIKED it because it was supposed to increase their fertility in the upcoming year.
Who knows how much of that is really true. Don’t believe everything you read on the internet, kids. But given the behavior of most women, self included, these fables don’t sound too far fetched.
Don’t be discouraged, women. We have come a long way since Lupercalia. We have gone from bloody goat skin to things like cards, candy, and flowers. And we are taken on romantic dates to candle light dinners and chick flicks.
Whoever caused that shift in celebration is a very rich man. I mean seriously, the card industry would fold without Valentine’s Day. One word – Hallmark. We’d all be SOL if we had to write our own love messages on a piece of paper, fold it in half and stick it in an envelope… right?
Then there is the film industry. “Confessions of a Shopaholic” and “Two Lovers” have strategically scheduled their debut for February 13.
The biggest culprit? Definitely the floral industry. A red carnation that would sell for a dollar on a good day is suddenly ten dollars extra.
Somewhere in our celebration of love and romance, the bandit Lust crept onto the scene. He’s a sneaky one.
I found him on the corner of Artesia and Inglewood Boulevard one bereaved Valentine’s Day. Whatever sweet innocence I had left at the age of 18 regarding love and commitment and romance was definitely tarnished for life on that corner at J’s Flowers.
It was my first job out of high school and I had high hopes. After all, my favorite movie was “Bed of Roses”. A flower shop was exactly where I was going to find true love.
We spent weeks gearing up for Valentine’s Day so I was eager to help him when he walked in and looked lost in a sea of pre-made arrangements. His golden wedding band was gorgeous. He must be a real romantic. My heart stirred as I approached.
“Can I help you with anything, sir?”
“Um, yeah… I’m not really sure what to get here.”
I pointed out a few of the really nice arrangements, highlighting the red tones, which were of course very romantic.
“You know what, just pick one out that you think she’d really like.” He seemed a little rushed.
I picked up one of my favorites – red and pink roses with just the right amount of baby’s breath interspersed, “Your wife will love this one!”
Almost with a chuckle he says, “Oh these aren’t for my wife.”
Being the hopeless romantic that I am, I automatically thought they must be for his mother or maybe his sister. Those dreams were halted when I read the note affixed to the arrangement.
“Wow. That’s some love note, sir.” Was all I could stutter out as I watched him fill out the delivery address and toss the receipt into the trash can.
“Thank you.” And he walked out of the shop with my romantic ideals stuck to the gum under his shoe.
What does a girl do with that? I have spent years since then asking myself that very question. Through all the relationships, dating mishaps, car wreck blind dates and the broken hearts, wounded pride and fractured dreams… through it all I have lost hope, found hope and lost it again. It’s a roller coaster ride I can never escape.
So when it comes down to it, what have I learned? What is the trick? What do I do?
I wait. I wait with hopeful expectation of the best. Which is ironic because I’m not known for my optimism on most days. Something within me is deeply affected though when my heart gets involved. That inner sense of drowning I usually dwell in disappears and a part of me becomes miss little ray of sunshine. Even now I think it’s pathetic. But still there’s a part of me that hears the little girl who just wants everyone to be happy. Happy and in love. And that part of me deeply believes there is a little bit of hope inside of everyone.
“Hey… so… I was wondering… if you want to… um… do anything for… uh… Valentine’s Day?” I’m so nervous. My hands are clammy. My heart is pounding. I hold my breath and bite my lower lip as I wait for his response.
“Why? I don’t get Valentine’s Day. It’s a bunch of hype and no one really knows what it’s all about anyway, like where it came from and stuff.”
“Right. Okay, yeah, that’s cool.” My eyes are darting from one object to the next. My mind is racing. Did that just happen? Seriously? Why am I with this guy again?
Girls, girls, girls. We sacrifice so much to hold on to so little.
It seems we have always been this way though. In my quest to really understand what Valentine’s Day is all about, I found some disturbingly humorous information.
Apparently it all began in Pagan Rome when February 14 was a holiday honoring Juno, the Queen of the gods and patroness of marriage. On this day, the names of girls would be written on scraps of paper and put into a jar, which guys would then draw from.
The couples would be paired together for the duration of something called the Lupercalia festival, which began the following day, February 15.
The Lupercalia festival supposedly began with an animal sacrifice; the men would slaughter a goat, then take the bloody skin and run through the streets whipping women with it.
The punch line? The women actually LIKED it because it was supposed to increase their fertility in the upcoming year.
Who knows how much of that is really true. Don’t believe everything you read on the internet, kids. But given the behavior of most women, self included, these fables don’t sound too far fetched.
Don’t be discouraged, women. We have come a long way since Lupercalia. We have gone from bloody goat skin to things like cards, candy, and flowers. And we are taken on romantic dates to candle light dinners and chick flicks.
Whoever caused that shift in celebration is a very rich man. I mean seriously, the card industry would fold without Valentine’s Day. One word – Hallmark. We’d all be SOL if we had to write our own love messages on a piece of paper, fold it in half and stick it in an envelope… right?
Then there is the film industry. “Confessions of a Shopaholic” and “Two Lovers” have strategically scheduled their debut for February 13.
The biggest culprit? Definitely the floral industry. A red carnation that would sell for a dollar on a good day is suddenly ten dollars extra.
Somewhere in our celebration of love and romance, the bandit Lust crept onto the scene. He’s a sneaky one.
I found him on the corner of Artesia and Inglewood Boulevard one bereaved Valentine’s Day. Whatever sweet innocence I had left at the age of 18 regarding love and commitment and romance was definitely tarnished for life on that corner at J’s Flowers.
It was my first job out of high school and I had high hopes. After all, my favorite movie was “Bed of Roses”. A flower shop was exactly where I was going to find true love.
We spent weeks gearing up for Valentine’s Day so I was eager to help him when he walked in and looked lost in a sea of pre-made arrangements. His golden wedding band was gorgeous. He must be a real romantic. My heart stirred as I approached.
“Can I help you with anything, sir?”
“Um, yeah… I’m not really sure what to get here.”
I pointed out a few of the really nice arrangements, highlighting the red tones, which were of course very romantic.
“You know what, just pick one out that you think she’d really like.” He seemed a little rushed.
I picked up one of my favorites – red and pink roses with just the right amount of baby’s breath interspersed, “Your wife will love this one!”
Almost with a chuckle he says, “Oh these aren’t for my wife.”
Being the hopeless romantic that I am, I automatically thought they must be for his mother or maybe his sister. Those dreams were halted when I read the note affixed to the arrangement.
“Wow. That’s some love note, sir.” Was all I could stutter out as I watched him fill out the delivery address and toss the receipt into the trash can.
“Thank you.” And he walked out of the shop with my romantic ideals stuck to the gum under his shoe.
What does a girl do with that? I have spent years since then asking myself that very question. Through all the relationships, dating mishaps, car wreck blind dates and the broken hearts, wounded pride and fractured dreams… through it all I have lost hope, found hope and lost it again. It’s a roller coaster ride I can never escape.
So when it comes down to it, what have I learned? What is the trick? What do I do?
I wait. I wait with hopeful expectation of the best. Which is ironic because I’m not known for my optimism on most days. Something within me is deeply affected though when my heart gets involved. That inner sense of drowning I usually dwell in disappears and a part of me becomes miss little ray of sunshine. Even now I think it’s pathetic. But still there’s a part of me that hears the little girl who just wants everyone to be happy. Happy and in love. And that part of me deeply believes there is a little bit of hope inside of everyone.
Monday, January 03, 2011
Today's Resolve
I felt like I was shot out of a cannon today, forced to hit the ground running, ready or not, it’s a new year… ready, GO! I didn’t even get time to set.
I tend to be the proud leader of the stress cadets as it is, so starting a new year with all sorts of new goals at work, including new systems and programs and a team of people all trying to figure it out at once, was seemingly too much for my feeble mind to keep up with. Add that to my never ending list of personal goals and I find myself crouched at the bottom of a very high mountain (why crouching, I never know).
And this isn’t the sort of thing I usually write about. (Add to the list of things I don’t usually do; begin a sentence with the word and.) Apparently this is the day for absurdities.
So here is the resolve to my day. Take from it what you will.
David writes in Psalm 3 (Yes, the Bible and yes, I read chapter 3 because today is the 3rd. I’m not that complicated)…
Anyway, David writes in Psalm 3 about how many people are against him, about the tens of thousands who come after him. Not that I have incredible enemies and as such am taking this to be quite the vividly painted picture of words, but I felt today like many odds were against me, dare I say “drawn up against me on every side.”
Though the circumstances are clearly different, the feeling is the same. It was daunting and overwhelming and maybe I just wanted to cower in a corner and cry. Maybe.
David’s response was to cry aloud, although maybe not curled up in the foetal position as I might have been, but to cry aloud to God nonetheless. And in such, finding and acknowledging that “I lie down and sleep; I wake again because the Lord sustains me. I will not fear the tens of thousands drawn up against me on every side… From the Lord comes deliverance.”
Something about those words gave me a profound sense of comfort and freedom tonight that I wished I had realized this morning. It is the Lord who sustains me. I don’t have to subject myself to fear and stress and worry; my deliverance is found is something greater.
That’s all.
I tend to be the proud leader of the stress cadets as it is, so starting a new year with all sorts of new goals at work, including new systems and programs and a team of people all trying to figure it out at once, was seemingly too much for my feeble mind to keep up with. Add that to my never ending list of personal goals and I find myself crouched at the bottom of a very high mountain (why crouching, I never know).
And this isn’t the sort of thing I usually write about. (Add to the list of things I don’t usually do; begin a sentence with the word and.) Apparently this is the day for absurdities.
So here is the resolve to my day. Take from it what you will.
David writes in Psalm 3 (Yes, the Bible and yes, I read chapter 3 because today is the 3rd. I’m not that complicated)…
Anyway, David writes in Psalm 3 about how many people are against him, about the tens of thousands who come after him. Not that I have incredible enemies and as such am taking this to be quite the vividly painted picture of words, but I felt today like many odds were against me, dare I say “drawn up against me on every side.”
Though the circumstances are clearly different, the feeling is the same. It was daunting and overwhelming and maybe I just wanted to cower in a corner and cry. Maybe.
David’s response was to cry aloud, although maybe not curled up in the foetal position as I might have been, but to cry aloud to God nonetheless. And in such, finding and acknowledging that “I lie down and sleep; I wake again because the Lord sustains me. I will not fear the tens of thousands drawn up against me on every side… From the Lord comes deliverance.”
Something about those words gave me a profound sense of comfort and freedom tonight that I wished I had realized this morning. It is the Lord who sustains me. I don’t have to subject myself to fear and stress and worry; my deliverance is found is something greater.
That’s all.
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