Single in Saint Louis: Broken Engagement

Preserving the Dress

Wed, 02 Jul 2008 23:02:12 GMT

They say the dress chooses the bride.

“I don’t want a dress with tulle, a dress that is too princessy, a dress with too long of a train. I just want to keep it simple.” The bridal store’s wedding consultant looked at me. My mother rolled her eyes. As I walked away I overheard my mother say to the consultant, “grab something princessy off the rack.”

Of course wedding dresses are made to make you feel fatter than you are. A normal size 6 is a size 10. I squeeze into a size ten slip and try on dresses.

Dress one: A big elaborate poufy dress with silver embroidery, beading and a large poufy tulle skirt. Seriously, princess in every way. I walk out, look in the mirror and look back at Mom. Mom looks astonished. I feel like a 26 year old woman playing dress up. “I love it! She exclaims!” I look down and in the mirror and at the train and “I hate it.” I squeeze back into the tiny dressing room, which is more filled with dress than me.

Dress two: An A line dress of organza fabric. More my style. Simple and pulled together. I like it, but it seems like something is missing. The bridal consultant takes the dresses back to the racks. I yell after her. Just bring me something simple and elegant.

She shows back up with pouf.

Dress three: I stand staring in the mirror unable to take my eyes off of myself. I just stand and stare at a beauty I have never seen in me. When I morph back to partial reality, I realize I am not the only one staring. No, the entire store has stopped to stare. A group of bridesmaids trying on dresses for another wedding, three other bride-elects, two flower girls, my mom, and all of the wedding consultants. It is like the entire world around me just came to a complete halt to look at me, and it was nothing I did.

For years of being single, I fixed up went out, and could turn a few heads on occasion. I had always enjoyed walking into a room and being admired. Here, standing in this bridal gown, things had gone to a whole new level. I had gone from being a sexy single, to every girl’s dream, every bride’s hope, and every man’s quintessential daydream of who they want to marry. Classic and elegant. A leap from Marilyn Monroe to Audrey Hepburn in one 5 minute change.

The dress encompassed everything I despised about weddings. The poufy princess look, the large tulle skirt dotted with sequins, and a tight beaded bodice with a simple white beading design that together made me look like a ballerina, princess, and fairy all in one. The design of the dress had an element of whimsy like Alice in Wonderland meets Cinderella. I should have hated it. I should have hated every bit of this dress, but instead, I loved it. I loved every curve of the whimsical skirt, every detail of the classic bodice, and every pouf of the poufy ridiculous tulle.

“You want a short veil I assume?” The bridal consultant clipped one in my hair. It didn’t seem to flow. “Bring me a cathedral length veil.” Everyone stood shocked. I stood in shock. I stepped down from the store pedestal and began to walk. The dress flowed around me floating as I walked. I didn’t need an aisle.

And with that, single was gone, and there stood me, not so single, in a poufy white dress, thinking of a wedding I would never have, and thinking about how this dress had chosen me. Was it for him or me? He was supposed to be my last boyfriend. I wanted it to be for him. I prayed it would be. I pretended it was. I said it was. It didn't feel like it was. Not a second in the dress felt like it was to be worn for him. It was to be worn for me.

At the end of the months of turmoil, it was the one moment of wedding planning that was purely mine. It was one moment of myself as I was swept away into the sea of a family rules I did not know. As I was dragged through a culture I did not understand, as I slowly lost myself. I learned to walk on eggshells, my last moment of beauty, confidence, and bliss came and went in that bridal shop that day, and wouldn't return until my engagement had ended. It was from that moment the relationship went downhill. It was the start of the end, but I still had this beautiful dress and a beautiful memory to go with it. A dress that didn't feel like it was for this groom. That was perfect, but not right now, not with this person, not in this place. I should have known when the dress violated my ex's adamant rule of no squigglies that things were not meant to be. This was definitely the dress. It definitely was squigglie. It wasn't definitely the right groom.

It came today preserved. Yes, I am keeping my wedding dress. It would probably be different had I worn it, but I never wore it. There is no wedding day to associate it with, just a moment where I felt absolutely beautiful. I see nothing wrong with keeping it. Some superstitious people may think I should sell or toss it, but I have never really been one for the silly little traditions of things. I love the dress. The dress chose me, and maybe, someday, there will be a groom and a reason to wear it, and if not, I will find a nice couture event, a halloween party, or a night drinking wine on my couch with girlfriends where it will be appropriate.

Healing

Mon, 30 Jun 2008 23:51:03 GMT

I spent the weekend alone. It gave me plenty of time to do two things, 1) Laundry and 2) Think. The laundry was the easy part. There are many things that go left unsaid at the end of a relationship. They will never get said. There will never be that moment where you see the other person and say, "This was for the best," and they understand. That is hard to grapple with when you have years worth of memories with someone. You have to get past your history, the acquired habits, the person you have become, and essentially, in the words of a good friend, become whole again.

As I pile my loads of laundry into the washer I realize this is the first time in a long time I have done my laundry without something of his in it. It doesn't make me sad. I do not sing the song of a lamenting phoenix or break down in the middle of the basement floor. I do not shed one tear. No, I feel something larger, regret, but not 'missing him' regret, but mistake regret. My mind wanders to a world I have successfully kept it from going for more than a month. Why did I stay? I knew it was wrong. I am not a stupid girl. What made me stay? How did it get this far? How did it get so far that I was planning a wedding?

I begin to fold my towels as I pick up the phone to call Mom. I ask Mom my questions. She has no answers, but reminds me quickly of the reasons it ended. "How did I not leave? I tried to leave many times? How did I not go?" "You think you might have felt a little left out from everyone else's life? All your friends were getting married, having babies. You might have been vulnerable? You had just hit a rough patch in your career when you got back together with him. You were really in a rut." I hang up with Mom. She was onto something. I sat and thought for an hour on my couch staring blankly at an empty television screen and a pile of folded towels.

My apartment is clean. I have finally unpacked from Cancun, put away the piles of stuff everywhere, done my dishes, cleaned my bathroom, and done everything but sweep. It is time to sweep. I have no clue where mom put my broom when she came to help me clean up post break up. Vulnerable. I hate that word. I don't like thinking of myself as such, but when I think about it, when I got back together with my ex-fiancee I was at the most vulnerable point in my life this far. My career was a mess, my personal life was unstable, and I had no direction. I was just sitting at that train station waiting. He reached out and offered just enough emotional support that he drew me in, swept me up into his life, and let me forget my own...only what I really wanted was my own life.

I call mom again with a random call and told her about a news story, "Why are you really calling?" With that I stopped running and let out the sad, the angry, the pain of being in a one sided relationship. I listened to Mom and Dad comfort me and give advice as best they could having never been in my shoes. By the end of the conversation, I just needed to sit more, think, and put away my towels. Sweeping can wait.

That is exactly what I did. I sat and thought, and thought some more, and slowly I began to feel better, then worse, then better, then even better than the previous better. By Sunday afternoon, I started to feel myself healing. Finally. I began to think about my friends both old and new. The places that in the last month I had traveled. The life I have chosen for myself that is beautiful just the way it is. I thought of the memories of the last couple of months. The new memories that have sufficiently begun to replace the old. Then I thought of the work that needs to be done to get back to whole. There's quite a bit of work. No better place to start than now.

Rejuvenation: Thoughts from Mexico

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 14:55:16 GMT

There is no place I feel more connected than here on this beach in Cancun. Some people might come here for a wild nightlife, I come for rejuvenation. There is just something about those bright blue waves crashing into the shore.

Rejuvenation. the last several weeks have been such a whirlwind. Whirlwinds are how I deal with difficult situations. I throw myself into life then at some point I will be far enough away with enough memories stored that I can look back and think, Wow! I made it through that! Look how far I've come. From an engagement to singlehood, a settled job to a new business venture, from heartbreak to healing, recklessness to rejuvenation. This has been a life changing transition, and as with every life changing transition I have ended up on the beach in Mexico listening to the familiar waves crashing onto the shore, feeling the sweet saltwater breeze. This is truly my happy place.

As usual, things have changed on this beach. There have been a few hurricanes. There are rocks exposed, the sand is eroded, the waves are rough, but the breeze, water, and sun are the same and always will be. It is here, at twilight, where I feel completely connected. Last night, I stood watching the tide rise for hours. My green dress was whipping in the sea's wind blowing away memories of the past and bringing in memories of the new. Just like the tide below was refreshing the beach. No footprint or heartache was left after standing there. Today was really a fresh new day.

I can feel the salty sand sticking between my toes. Although it is not my favorite feeling, I love the feeling because I love this place. The salsa girls and I woke up early to get to the beach by 7am. This is my second favorite time on the beach before the families and drunken college students get ahold of sand and margaritas respectively. At 7am it is just a beach. A new beach. With new sand and shells. There is a peaceful quiet as the sun starts to rise. It is here at the shoreline just barely beyond the reach of the waves that I find myself whole after a month of tumult. It has been years since I felt this at ease with life.

I think of my new companion Fish. I am in his territory now. There are waves fish could ride. I think of him swimming in his bowl at home on my coffee table. I hope he is still alive. I left him in the care of my newest friend. I trust he will be taken care of.

There are no waves like the waves of the Caribbean. Nothing as crystal blue and serene. The secrets they hold splash on shores around the world and span the history of time. How can you not feel one with something larger while laying here, on this beach at the intersection between old and new, past and present? Is that not where we live our lives? Constantly at the start of the beginnings of ends and ends of beginnings. The ends bring the waves crashing to the shore, and the shore is rebuilt until the next wave. How beautiful are the beginnings of ends and the ends of beginnings! These are certainly the two things to thank God for, each has their purpose.

Salsa girls one and two are reading. One a historical romance novel, well suited for her, and Two is reading a biography of Shakespeare, well suited for her. Stowed away in my bag while I write is my book, The History of Love, a gift from a friend for my birthday. At first I was skeptical about reading it. Maybe this isn't the best time, but I did anyway. It is about precisely what I am dealing with right now, the intersections of life.

I can't tell you how. It jumps around and is difficult sometimes to follow. However, that suits the book so well that I can't tell if the author is brilliant or confused. It is not a love story, but it is a love story. It is the book I have been looking for. I am glad someone wrote it.

My thoughts wander to my newest relationships in life. My new friends, the way the old friends have resurfaced in the last month as if they were patiently awaiting my return like a wave crashing into the shore and carrying sand with it back into the ocean only to crash back into the shore and gather some new sand. Life's a Beach.

Learning to Trust

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 04:58:05 GMT

There is someone who has peaked my interest. I am intrigued by him. He is a question I want to answer. Who is this person? What is the role of this person? Why has he entered at this opportune time? Why is it that there is nothing he says that I disagree with and if by happenstance he does say something I can just skirt past it and not feel the need to argue? What is this whatever this is with him? Why him, why now, why? I know there is a reason. There are reasons for everyone. In the same regard, I am still guarded in some respects.

I went for a walk with him, and was feeling like listening. I love talking so listening moods come rarely and I am always freaked out when I feel quiet both inside and out. I always feel like someone is going to think I am not myself or something, but I am, there is just a quiet side to me that doesn't show up very often. In all my years of dating only one guy has ever tried to figure out the quiet mood. Most just think I am in a funk, having a bad day, or something is wrong and they caused it. But one found my quiet moods fascinating and got a rise out of trying to detect when they would arise. He was successful. If I am quieter than usual, I am thinking and far more involved in what you are saying than I would be if I was talking more. I am observing where usually I feel a need to entertain. There are only two times when I am quiet. Either I am shy with meeting someone the first time and observing a dynamic, or I am really listening intently, trying to hold on to what is being said in my memories. Tonight I was listening.

After getting to know him some more, and listening to some fantastic stories from another person's life, I made a conscious choice to trust him. It was funny how it had to be conscious. It has been a long time since I took someone at face value. I don't know where if anywhere this rendevous will lead, but it has definitely led me to believe I can trust. Which made me observe more. I have not been inherently trusting in so many years I can not count them. How is it that I am finding it so easy to just decide to trust him? He hasn't given me reason to or not to. I guess I have no other choice but to choose. As I reeled over this concept I thought of the consistency with which I have always chosen not to trust someone. I decided to take the other road this time. It had to be a conscious choice. What happens when you just choose to believe someone? No matter how amazing the story? You end up believing in the other person. You see, this is where it starts. If I don't trust now, I never completely will. Even if it just grows into a friendship, which I feel it is too early to tell, I owe it this little bit of trust.

Bringing Sexy Back

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 23:07:51 GMT

I knew I had successfully "broughten back the sexyness" when I was in the Bellagio hotel Conservatory. I looked across the jumping waters to the other side of the conservatory to see a beautiful Romanian man pointing at me and saying, "You!" KT looked behind me. "Is he pointing at me?" I whispered to KT as I looked over my shoulder. "No. You!" He said pointing again. I pointed back. He came rushing around the hydrangeas and dancing waters, "You are most beautiful woman." After a short conversation with the Hottest Romanian man to ever walk the Earth, KT laughed. "That kind of stuff only happens in movies." I laughed, "Yes, well evidently it just happened to me."

Then we were off to cirque du soliel. I found my passion. For years as a dancer I had reveled in artistic passion, a passion I had completely lost somewhere about a year ago when my relationship picked up and my dancing died down. There, watching others dance and move in the most intricate and beautiful forms, I was inspired. On my way out, a statue of a dancer in attitude caught my eye. Just by looking at the figure I could feel the move in my body. My leg stretched behind me, my arm soaring above my head. The connection between bone and bone and muscle and muscle. The stretch, the pain. Everything that goes into that move, captured in that one statue. For a moment I felt a connection with the world around me I hadn't felt in years. It brought me back to a place where I indulged in those things I enjoyed. My glow grew, my happiness grew, my spirit soared, my passions rekindled, and there in the Bellagio, post cirque du soliel, I found the inner fire of my spirit blazing. And that is when it all came together. The trip went from amazing to WOW, Oh my God!

I wish I could tell you about the star studded celebrity treatment, but what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. From the hottest nightclubs to just small talks with my newest friends, it was incredible. It is certain now that I am not one of those starstruck swooners. I have never been the type to freak out in celebrity presence, and there was plenty of that this weekend to test me. It really just doesn't phase me. My life is just as incredible minus the photogs. However, it does make for great stories. Stories I am definitely not going to tell on this blog. If you want to know about it, then read People magazine or something. There are other people who are paid to stalk celebrities.

Instead, I will tell you about how awesome it was to spend a weekend with KT who I hadn't seen in ages. I have never had so much fun in my life! We danced, we sang, we shopped, we were beautiful, and we made new friends. We did each other's hair and borrowed clothes. It was definitely a best friend outing. There is nothing I could have enjoyed more. Most fun was the motivation to walk into a room and make heads turn. We fed off of each other. Who could be most beautiful at any given moment, only it wasn't a competition, it was a group effort. And we both won. That is what I love about KT. She was crucial in letting me live again. In just letting me be with who I am, how I am, and doing what I like to do. Lucky for me, she likes the same things.

When she suggested this trip, days after breaking off the engagement, I scheduled it not knowing the impact it would have. I figured seeing KT would be fun and it would be nice to get away for awhile. I didn't know the crucial role this trip would play in my healing process. It brought my sexy back. Where better to be sexy than Las Vegas. I got dressed up every night and flitted around in a bikini all day. I did my hair and make up, and with a little help from KT was able to restore my sexiness to pre-relationship status. I was able to glow from the happiness I felt from life. I was overrun by love. Not of a particular person, but of life. I was open and filled with life. I could take on the world. I want to keep the glow. It's most important. To everything. It is in essence, happiness at its purest.

What is love?

Fri, 30 May 2008 14:20:41 GMT

What is love?

I have had some type of enlightenment from this entire situation. An enlightenment that many of the divorcees and I in the immediate aftermath had discussed without me realizing. I have found that there is more to love than love alone. There are layers and layers of showing someone you love them, and one layer is not enough to get married, not even two. You must have them all. It isn't so simple, and you can't just stop showing love because you think the other person should just know you love them. The entire idea of love is an ever expanding gray area of life. Love is constant, persistent, ambitious, and pro-active. A ring on a finger doesn't mean that you love someone. The size or shape doesn't mean anything. The grandeur of the proposal or a storybook romance means nothing.   What ultimately matters, at the end of the day, more than anything else is that you make each other happy, you want to be together, you trust one another, and you want to share your life's little details with the person you love. You want to do that so much that you are prepared to sacrifice everything to do it. Everything means everything and you are willing to give up everything completely if needed. Everything includes but is not limited to family, friends, fears, daydreams, hopes, fairytale weddings, pets, cars, careers, and freedom.

There is a common misconception that if you truly love someone, then you should never ask them to sacrifice any of that. What the divorcees, some happily married, and I now know is that it isn't that you never ask, it is that you shouldn't have to ask.   The other person should be so devoted that those things get sacrificed as needed naturally to make you happy, and from that everything else flows.   If you can trust someone to sacrifice when needed and then tell them you need them, they will find a way to do fulfill your needs, even to suit the most irrational feelings. It should not become an argument, and you should not need to use spiteful tactics or temper tantrums to be heard.

There should never be a give and take. As a friend of mine once blogged, it is about the give and give, and giving without regard to your own losses. There should not be a scoreboard brought up in every argument of what I did for you and you did for me. Love is not a competition to see who can do more for the other person, nor is it a way of using guilt to make the other person do what you need them to do. A real, loving relationship does not have competition but encouragement, and guilt is not a word synonymous with love, but something that actively works against love as insecurity. Love has no demands, no expectations, no obligations, and no set itemized calendar of when it occurs, with whom, at what point in your life.

There should not be high drama. There should be a quiet stoicism, constant underlying peace even in an argument, and even in the more intense moments, an inherent trust, You should know that the next morning you will wake up, unpunished with a new day ahead and no conceivable notion that the argument will extend past the end of the day even though the hurt might. You should never fear talking to your significant other about an issue that is bothering you for the fear that it will cause an argument. You should never have to hold back, but sometimes do so to comfort the other person. Mistakes should be looked over graciously, maybe even laughed at, but not at your own expense. Mistakes should never be brought back up as weapons. Forgiveness is not given gratuitously but generously.

You should wake up in the morning and be the exact same person you were the day before, but feel better about it because you are loved for who you are. It doesn't mean you don't encourage the other person to be better, but it means you are you and they love you for you, not for who you could have been or who they want you to be. There should be no pressure. No pressure for a title in the relationship, no pressure for anything except to let that relationship grow on its own. You should not feel the urgency to be with someone, but miss the joy of being with them when they are away. That being said, and maybe this has something to do with a cultural thing, you should not mourn them for too long. Mourning is selfish and needed but should not be done forever because then you are disregarding the love that person had for you by not getting out and celebrating the life they have left with you. Someone you love should bring out the best in you, not the worst.

After weeks now of thinking and thinking some more that is how I know I made the right decision. That is what allows me to sleep at night. I know I gave my all to my relationship, but at the end of the day we just wanted/needed different things. It was broken. "Love" didn't look like love, and if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and talks like a duck, it definitely isn't a Swan.

The Wednesday Celebration

Thu, 29 May 2008 13:20:12 GMT

The best part about this break up is that I am not going it alone. Salsa Girl 1 also just broke up with her fiancee and we have a spectacular time running amok for one another in an effort to keep busy. It has bloomed a wonderful friendship far deeper than our Salsa nights.

My phone is vibrating off the couch, I catch it before it hits the ground. It's salsa girl 1 texting again. "Dinner tonight?" Usually, This is code for my ex has been calling, texting, a presence, or I need to get out before I start thinking about all this too much.   "Sure." I text in return. And four hours later we are at Barcelona Tapas munching on Empanadas, tiny steak things, and drinking Sangria, while listening to acoustic live Latin influenced music.

As we sit checking out the various men around us, I mention, "Do you remember when you could go out and hit on the waiter?" Salsa Girl 1 laughed, "Yes, they are all so young now." I look around. She is right. "Now we are out for hot guys that might meet our new more grown up standards, you know ones with nice cars, desk jobs, and who are more established in life." We look around. Most are on dates, with wives, or haven't taken care of themselves in years. Welcome to our new dating pool.

Salsa Girl 1 looks at me puzzled, "When did this happen? When did we go from wanting to attract the cool college guy to responsible businessman?" I smile at Salsa Girl 1 and drink some more Sangria. "About the time we started talking about investing in order to be able to shop for the rest of our lives without worry." Salsa Girl 1 looks at me, "I have a 401K and a desk job." I looked at her compassionately, "I own a business." That did it. We had grown up.

Then in the corner a group of business men sit down. One is pretty good looking. "He looks foreign, I will peg him as Italian or Spanish." I exclaim and jokingly add, "I could use a nice Spanish man." Salsa Girl 1 laughs, "I have him pegged as Middle Eastern, maybe Egypt or Iran, Indian." We both turn and look without being noticed. Then move tables to a table directly across from them, moreso to hear the music and sit outside than to check out the guys. We sit talking for awhile. Salsa Girl 1 leans over, "He's staring at you." I lean back over, "Do I have something on my face, or am I making a jerk of myself in some way." Salsa Girl 1 leans back over again, "No." I turn and smile at him.

Salsa Girl 1 gets teasingly aghast, "Single, are you flirting?" I laugh, "I guess I am." It was the first time I had really flirted intentionally since the break up. "I feel like a cat on a scratch post sharpening my claws thinking about when I start to go chase mice again." Salsa Girl 1 laughed.   Her laugh caught the man's attention and he smiled at us, smiling a little longer at me, and then he spilled his drink. All over his table. We had a stack of napkins in the middle of ours. "Here! I say and lean across our table handing him the entire stack." He says, "Thank You." And there was the accent. Clearly Spanish.

"He's Spanish." I turn to Salsa Girl 1. "Like Latin?" She inquires. "No, Spain."   As the men are leaving he gathers his things and comes to sit by us for a second. "What is your job?" I ask. "I sell plastics to big companies. What about you?" We both look at eachother, "We are attorneys." He looks at us both, I think he thinks we are lying until Salsa Girl 1 pulls out her blackberry and sets it on the table. "So why are we here tonight drinking Sangria and listening to music?" He looked at us both. Salsa Girl 1 exclaims, "We are celebrating Wednesday!" He looks perplexed, "What is this Wednesday? Is it a holiday?" I smile, "No, it's just Wednesday and it seemed like a good day to drink Sangria and celebrate." He laughed, "Ahh...I like this idea of celebrating Wednesday! It seems very much like something that does not happen in this country often." We both say, "It should!"

He looks at Salsa Girl 1, "You look Scandinavian. What is your heritage?" She explains Polish. "What's yours?" Salsa Girl 1 asks. He says , "Spain." and goes on a few minutes about areas of Spain I have never heard of except for I did understand one word, Vineyards. I understood the types of grapes that come from Spain from my wine drinking excursions. There are two main types. They translate into several different types of wine. I know Spanish wine country, and because of that, I know where to place this man in his home country. I can also carry on an intelligent conversation about Spanish wine.

He turns and looks at me, "You look..." He stares puzzled for a second. I just smile, as he flatters me with the adoring stare. He pauses a second longer staring at my face and whispers, "beautiful." I smile. I love being adored. Oh, the romance of men from everywhere but America. I am not sure an American could have pulled that off as smoothly.   It has to be the accent. I am almost goo.   Then his blackberry rings. He clearly does not want to leave, but says "My client needs me." And goes taking with him a phone number in case we want to meet up later, but we can't. It is too late by the time he calls, and it is Wednesday. Wednesday celebrations only last until 11:00pm because of work the next day.

I sit on my couch at the end of the night with Salsa Girl 1. Discussing our Spanish man and I am glad to have her there. I am glad to have such a good friend who will celebrate Wednesday and make life exciting even while suffering from break up.

Phoenix Rising

Mon, 26 May 2008 12:56:51 GMT

The phoenix is a mythical and sacred bird that is known for re-creating itself. It's mythology has transcended nearly every religion and belief system from Judaism to Christianity to the Spiritualists and everything in between. It might have, at one time, been a real bird. Maybe it laid and egg and then spontaneously combusted or something leaving a new baby bird flailing in it's nest of cinnamon sticks. Maybe it was as incredible as it is in myth. Who knows. In Judaism and Christian traditions it is the only animal not banished with Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden and is the predecessor teacher of resurrection pre-Jesus. In most other cultures it is a sign of rebirth, re-creation, rebuilding, and a fresh new start. A Phoenix burns itself and in the place of it's ashes a new baby phoenix is born. The new phoenix is destined to live as long as the previous phoenix if not longer. It is constantly challenging itself to be better than it was last time. It is the bird of second chances, forgiveness of self, and starting over. In this regard the phoenix is the embodiment of life. All life is, is a series of second chances, starting fresh, and starting agains.

It has been too long that I have been consumed by the negative energy from my relationship. It is funny how in the last year or so my entire life has come full circle to where I was my very first day in Saint Louis. The people who have appeared and disappeared, those who have resurfaced in the last few weeks to help me manage through this difficult break up. It seems everyone I have met in the last few years, even the guy I went on the worst date ever with, have played a significant role in my life in the last month. As I was burning myself in order to rise again, these key people reminded me through the pain of the fire that I was going a wrong direction and helped me find my way back to my right path. Now, I am on the path, and I needed a second chance, a fresh start, a start again. I got it.

I have always said that my home is a reflection of whatever is going on in my life. If it is messy, life is messy. If it is clean, life is clean. I set to cleaning my home in honor of my fresh start.

It starts with my clothes. I cleaned out my closet. No, really cleaned it out. I took 7 bags of clothing and 2 bags of shoes to Goodwill. I was left with five little dresses three of which are my new ones, a sprinkling of shirts, and my business suits. Probably thousands of dollars in clothing I had collected, gone. Even shoes. I took my business suits to the dry cleaners. I then went through my house tossing useless things I held connections to. My mother and father, in town for the weekend, took it upon themselves to help my cleansing ritual. They were ecstatic to get rid of the junk. I was ecstatic to clean up my life.

Then as we sat watching television, mom suggested a shopping trip. We bought new clothes. New clothes for Viva Mexico 2008, new clothes for my trip with KT to Vegas, clothes for work, and everything but shoes. I don't need any more shoes. I have plenty enough even with the two bags I just sent to Goodwill. By the time we left, I had a full new summer wardrobe. There was nothing there influenced by anyone but me. It was completely my style. I did not stop to think about how someone might perceive me (except for the work clothes where I was determined to look like an executive). I did not do anything but find clothes that fit me, that I liked, that I looked good in, and that suited my personal style. I found them. Now my once empty closet is full.

My apartment that has not been completely clean in months, is now sparkling in all its tiny glory. I have fresh flowers, not dead ones, on my table in the dining room. My fridge if full of all my crunchy granola preferences for food like hummus and healthy organic vegetables. My dishes are washed and put away. My kitchen sparkles. My bed is made. My office is organized. My living room is not filled with boxes or clothes. My laundry is folded and in drawers. My house is clean.

By the end of the weekend I felt different. I sat on my couch reading more about investing in the current risky market. I had an entire new wardrobe that looked like grown woman clothes in my closet. The wedding dress I was supposed to wear is being taken to Oklahoma to be preserved in case I ever find someone. The dress chose me, not the groom. My packed personal schedule was back on track and my time management skills even in the last week had jumped back to where they used to be. I had a whole new set of lessons from love, which oddly, have not translated at all to baggage. Everything had just fallen into place. I am a woman. Like I said, my house is clean.

So from the ashes, or should I say laundry, I have risen again. Happy, fulfilled, and done with mourning my pasts. Even the worst moments of those pasts have come to fruition and turned into something beautiful in my garden of life, and every day is a new flower springing up from the ground.

Replacing the Pictures

Mon, 26 May 2008 12:25:31 GMT

I changed the pictures of fiancee to pictures of close friends I have had over the years.

The replacement picture of the first fiancee picture was of my roomate from college. A firey redhead who was by far the best roomate I ever had. I have many happy memories of my time there, and she deserves to be sitting on my shelf. The picture was from my 21st birthday. We had gone shopping together and were getting ready to go out that night, or should I say midday, it was college after all. The guy from the apartment next door took the picture.

The second replacement picture was of my Urban Family. My Urban family is the first four women I met in St. Louis. H, C, L, and Me. I had been excruciatingly lonely, not knowing anyone in town. Then we had a fateful power outage and gathered outside with beer and wine to celebrate in darkness and meet the neighbors. The dry cleaners screwed up my little black dress. C, is the person who hand beaded the design to cover the dry cleaner's mistake, making my dress far more valuable than it was to start. In fact, it is so special to me that it is the fourth dress that remains in my closet. H, who is now newly engaged, was my friend who introduced me to Brennans, my favorite wine bar. She was also my sturdy rock of a friend who took no crap from guys. She had a knack for knowing when wrong was wrong. My final friend was L. L was incredibly evangelical Christian, and she served to not let me forget my spirituality in anything I did. She also was the first person to wear the little black dress after C's new design. We would get together every week to watch Sex in the City with hor douerves and drinks. It helped me through my first treacherous year of law school in a strange new town.

The third replacement was with my family. A picture taken when my nephew was still in a carrier and gurgling and smiling. We were at lunch together on Christmas. It was such a happy day! Especially after my nephew's stellar acting debut as the Baby Jesus in his church Christmas pageant. He should have had an Emmy for that one. He even reached toward the light as if on cue when it shined down on him. He didn't cry. He just laid there very babylike in his swaddling clothes. He must have been practicing for months on how to act like a baby. It was spectacular for a four month old.

The pictures on my fridge and Valentine from this past year were taken down by mom and replaced with pictures of my Goddaughter. She is like a second niece. I will never forget getting the call the day she was born. I booked a flight and was home by noon to be with my best friend and meet the little one. She is so precious, and just the thought of her brings a smile to my face.

I continued the pattern of replacing the pictures of him and I with pictures of important friends and family, but I did not throw his pictures away. I put them in a book as a passing part of my life.

It's Always Sunny in the World of Single.

Fri, 23 May 2008 11:56:07 GMT

A few weeks ago I was a little unsure of this train I had just jumped onto. I didn't know where it was going or what it was doing. I was half hoping it was the "right" train for me to get on. For various reasons some of my vibrancy was squashed, and there were sporadic thunderstorms. I jumped on this train at the right time, in the right place, and now it's always sunny in the world of Single.

In the course of the last three weeks, I have jump started my law firm, learned about investing money and started investing, cleaned my apartment, been out on crazy salsa nights, run amok with friends, am in the process of paying off the credit cards and school debt, and have planned not one but two trips, one to Vegas and one to Cancun. Next year or perhaps the next depending on how things go, I am saving for a French wine tour through French Wine Country or maybe an Italian wine tour through Tuscany. This train is amazing, and my life is on it.

My needs in a relationship have become crystal clear, and they aren't what I thought they were. However, I am not looking to have them fulfilled. I am looking at living my life. Life may not be all sunshine and roses, but it has certainly been raining for long enough that I wholeheartedly welcome the sunshine when I get it.

Accidental Ex Sighting

Tue, 20 May 2008 04:12:37 GMT

I saw him tonight. It was an accidental ex sighting.   My heart began to race. He turned and ran toward his car. He refused to walk past me. I could see the pain on his face. I have hurt him so much. I know it, but it had to be better than how much I would have hurt him had I stayed. It hurts me to see him hurting. He looks nice in his yellow shirt. He was so unexpected. No time for anything but raw feelings to arise. He just turned the corner. I saw him, he saw me, and my evening was spent in tears. I could see the heartbreak on his face.

At least I had salsa girl 1 with me, ready and willing to hand me a kleenex, rub my back, and remind me this was for the best. He had no one. I naturally wanted to call to comfort him. Unfortantely, I was not the one who could comfort him. I would only make things worse. I didn't try to call him. God, seeing him I wanted to talk to him, I wanted to turn to him for comfort. I can't. That just makes it all hurt worse.    Salsa girl 1 started to remind me that I wasn't me in that relationship. I was someone else. I had lost myself. I found myself. Then, he didn't fit with me. You can only bend so much. You can only try so hard. At some point, it is over.

I am grieving. The first couple of days were denial. I laid on my couch and expected him to call, to come back, to be there. The next were anger. I could think of every thing he had ever done wrong. He had abandoned me. He had injured me. I became a victim. Then came bargaining, I will find someone better, this was the right thing because there will be someone better in return. And now, depression. I am sad. I have lost him. I saw him and it all came together. I am in stage four of the grieving process. All that's left is acceptance, and that could take awhile.

I suppose all in all that isn't too bad for a week. I am steps away from recovery, from acceptance from everything is going to be ok. Who knows how long it will take. I may sit for weeks waivering between anger and depression. It all might be over tomorrow. Grief. It is a funny thing.   It might come creeping back up when I least expect it. It might just swing around a corner and start walking toward me. I don't know what to do with this grief but let it pass, hope it turns and runs toward it's car avoiding me like I avoid it. Unfortunately, grief is not as nice as ex.

Grief likes to come up, talk, and stick around awhile. Sometimes it pops out from around a corner just to scare you. Sometimes it just shows up when you are sitting still doing nothing to invite it in. It is all a part of the process of mending a broken heart.

Happy Frickin Birthday, Volume 3 "The Return of the Salsa Night"

Mon, 19 May 2008 12:29:22 GMT

Salsa Girl 1 here, adding my sage commentary to Single’s . . .

The return of the salsa night

With this upcoming birthday, I was, once again, as my mother had joking declared during a dating dry spell – the undate-able “blemish” on society. Or perhaps, as a good friend from grad school so recently joked – one step closer to an old maid cat lady. I have two cats, a fact which greatly amuses that old friend. Recently single, I now had my first broken engagement to add to my list of lifetime events.

So, the day of our combined birthday celebration dawns and I am excited. My birthday is over a week away, but we have decided to make this our official birthday night. Salsa dancing again! I LOVE salsa dancing. It is far and away my best “sport,” as I have no natural talent for any sport requiring aim and precision. It is also one of my few “interesting” hobbies, the rest being too dorky to mention. I have so missed salsa dancing.

The rain begins midday and I nervously send out a “No Cancellation Policy” email. Single immediately responds and Salsa Girl 2 follows – we are going out, rain or not. As with all fantastic evening plans, the work day threatens to get in the way. 1:30 – bossman declares that I must be at the 2 pm conference call. A 45 minute conference call and 4 pages of notes later, I have more work to do than I’ve done all week – ASAP! But “I don’t care,” I tell my secretary, “I should stay late to work on this, but I am not missing salsa tonight.” “Oh, do you take a class at the community college?” she responds in her mother voice. “Ha! No, I go to a bar. The men teach me all the steps.” Since she is one to declare that her son moved to Brazil to ‘co-populate’ (referring to his 3 Brazilian baby mamas), she knows that the latin beat can be fun.

So, an hour later than I wanted, speeding through the side streets, I call Single, fretting that I will be late to dinner. Luckily, Single and Salsa Girl 2 are running late too. I get dressed and work on a fun hair style that has no hope of surviving the lingering humidity. “To our birthdays!” we declare, over the first round of the evening at dinner. Single looks fabulous in her new little black dress. Salsa Girl 2 looks great in that red dress which Salsa Girl 3 and I helped her to pick out.

After a rushed light fare dinner, we head to my favorite salsa club. I’ve been to others, but I like this one best. It’s not the charm of the building (for there is none), the ambiance of the dance hall (which is sadly lacking), or even the song selection. Maybe it is the regulars, which come to this club religiously to do real dancing. This is a club for adults, not for the young college kids. That time in life passed me by without notice, but I don’t belong at that trendy college club anymore.

After the free lesson, which is really just a refresher for the three of us, Salsa Girl 2 treats me to a mojito, my favorite and a specialty of this bartender. We watch Single dancing with a stunning latin man. “She looks happy” we observe, and she is. Even in these past few days, she has gained back some of the vibrancy that she had when we first met her. Salsa Girl 2 has to leave, but hates to leave me alone to guard the bar, as it were. The club is slow yet and I don’t shine nearly as bright as Single that that new sexy little black dress, so I am not dancing. Salsa Girl 2 departs and Single returns with a gifted margarita big enough for three.

Soon I am on the dance floor, with the help of a pass on from Single. But I dance every dance I want for the rest of the evening. You see, for a Plain Jane in a sparkly dress, my appeal is my dancing. I love to dance and it shows. And, the interplay and intricacy of the latin dances suits my style and skill. It is that personal flair, that passion, and perhaps that uncontrolled temper which is so much a part of my creative side that has been stifled of late in my personal life. But, the caged bird sings gloriously tonight.

Home at 2 am, up 4 hours later packing for a trip, it was still worth it. Definitely too many gifted mojitos. But an equally important portion of remembering who I am and why it is so important to find the right life mate. For right now, it is those two cats, who wink at me through their sleepy eyes as I write this. Single and I have formed the ‘No numbers’ pact, but eventually we’ll find our way back into the dating fray . . . after we have had enough fun just being single.

Gos finds yourself a sugga daddy.

Mon, 19 May 2008 12:28:53 GMT

I was talking to an old friend, Mr. Tabasco, on the phone yesterday, explaining again, that I was no longer engaged. He, having been through a rather rough divorce a few years ago, was reckless in reminding me that being married isn't all it's cracked up to be, well...based on his own experience. His sarcasm, which I happen to know firsthand is merely a front for very real and very hurt feelings, was welcome. It made me smile.

"You're in a tough situation Single." His southern Louisiana drawl mosied through the phone. "You see, you are going to need a man who is strong enough to let you be free with your life, but who also has the social graces to treat you like a lady. You need a guy who has it all. You are a girl, who essentially, has it all. You will never need him, in a love sense, but you will want him, and that has to be enough for him." Mr. Tabasco's cell phone shifted.

"It takes an exceptionally strong and confident guy to deal with that, but he also has to be respectable. I think that is hard to find. The problem is that you are perpetually independent." I could almost see him tapping a pen and scratching his head as if he was solving a problem. "Not independent in a bad way, just rather opinionated and happy with your freedom. It takes a special type of guy to love women like you." I must remind you that Mr. Tabasco is a Southern man. Born and raised in traditional dating dynamics, and who has a history of bucking that system, but sees value in it.

"You see, as much as men love independent women, until we are at least 35 we really don't know what we want. We don't see value in independence like yours. We see your independence as a lack of compassion or need for us. Really, it isn't until we are much older that we realize there is more to this whole view of the independent woman. To make a long story short, don't ever date a guy again who is under the age of 35." I laughed. Mr. Tabasco laughed too.

"Not sure age is really that much of a factor, but you should really watch out with the younger ones. I'm serious. We men really just don't get it, and then one day we wake up and things just kind of click. We think, crap, we're alone. Crap, why are we alone? Oh, we're alone because we've been living in a woman's world as men, expecting women to cater to us, and claiming that's not what we are doing. No wonder all those girlfriends I've had feel lied to. They were, but not the way I thought they meant when they said I lied. They were talking about a more metaphysical lie. A lie to myself and in turn, to them."

Mr. Tabasco sighed, " We can't admit anything we might have done wrong because then we think you would see us as weak, and in dealing with a strong woman like you, the bar for being seen as weak is a little higher. We feel we have to compensate. The ones who usually do are jerks because they are arrogant and into themselves. The nice guy just feels like you are disinterested in him and argumentative." Mr. Tabasco sat for a moment in silence.

"It is why independent women are jerk magnets. Why nice guys always feel they finish last. And in today's world, there are a lot more independent women. We men claim we want to tame that independence, and spend our entire twenties trying. We would be so much more successful if we just made women our friends and not our excursions. Eventually, we get to our thirties and forties and, whether married or alone, look back at our lives with these "tamed" women, hate our lives, hate our wives, see our mistakes, have a midlife crisis, and find a nice twenty year old to spend our life with." Mr. Tabasco's smile radiated through the phone. "Lucky for you, you are still young. Go find yourself a sugga daddy."

When it all becomes Real

Mon, 19 May 2008 04:00:10 GMT

I don't really know what happened. I was fine. Sitting on my couch. The breeze was blowing swiftly through my windows. I was contemplating getting a little time on the work clock by organizing some stuff for the firm. Then I suddenly panicked. I was alone. I was alone where a few weeks ago I had been very much not alone. It was a conflicted feeling. Half happy, half sad. I have waivered back and forth between the two all week long. Today at 4:30 I settled onto sad. I missed him. I know my decision was the right decision. I am not doubting my decision. I wish I was. It would make this easier. My only doubts arose last Monday, and I haven't had one since. It was best for both of us to break things off. Today, something about the wind, something about the air, something about the reality of life moving on hit me square in the face. I will never be with him again. I will never speak to him the way I did. I will never be his ever again. The tears start to well in my eyes. I feel the hurt. The fact that this break up is definitely the best course of action is no solace. I cry. I call my divorced friends. They whirlwind me to dinner. It is much harder to cry in public. By the end of dinner I felt more relaxed, but still a little down. I had hoarded french fries like no tomorrow existed, drank four glasses of Dr. Pepper, and was running on caffeine, but I had found some other things to think about. I come home to Fish. He has made me a bubblenest. It is his third one. He is a good bubblenest maker. Bubblenests are the betta way of picking up women. It is the fish way of saying, "Hey, I can care for you and your children." I thank Fish for the vote of confidence. I tell him he has me and can have some more food. The Salsa girls called one by one to talk so I didn't feel so lonely. I threw myself into television, then when my mind calmed, work. I let the pain pass. It is fleeting. It will not last. I have felt the pain of loss before, and I am confident it will fade. It is just still all so fresh and new, and the reminder of the reality of everything, well, I am just not ready for that yet. I will be. Just not yet. Right now I need to stay swept up as far into life as possible. I need limited time to think. I need time to just be constantly moving. It is time to flow with the water not stand with two feet on the ground.

Beautiful Day

Sun, 18 May 2008 13:53:12 GMT

Grief is a funny thing. Sometimes it lets you go freely and other times it holds you back like a leash. Today, I wasn't going to let grief keep me back although I could feel it's empty presence on the inside. I refused to stay in and away from the places fiancee and I used to go. I refused to avoid life due to grief. Not that I had avoided it this week by any means, but I also hadn't been to many of the significant places we went as a couple either.

Saturday was my first real day alone since the very first day of the break up. I busied myself with things to do. There are plenty. It is easy. I wake up, build a website for my law firm, then go grab a bite to eat and head to get my hair did. My hairdresser is fiancee's hairdresser now too. We both love him. I double checked to make sure fiancee was not in today before I went to get my hair done. I don't want to accidently run into him, accidently confuse myself, accidently start having second thoughts because I see him. Not to mention, I don't want to accidently hurt him more than he is probably already hurting by having him see me. I just don't want it. So I ask my hairdresser buddy,

"Is fiancee coming in today? We broke up, I don't want to be there at the same time." He is understanding, "No. Come on in at 1:00. I need to hear what happened!" That is the thing about beauty shops and hairdressers everywhere. They are really therapy. It has nothing to do with your hair. You go to them to talk to the person who does your hair and the people who sit around chatting while you are there. A good salon is the equivalent of group therapy in an environment where you are the one being made to feel beautiful. It is why you go to salons and drop money to have someone cut your hair when you could have it done at home.

I buy a cupcake on the way to the hairdresser. It is strawberry. My favorite. As I wait to be called back into the salon, I devour my cupcake under the watchful eye of the owner of the salon who is being protective of the white couch where I am sitting. Then I see hairdresser. "Come on back! Tell me what happened." I am, quite frankly, tired of telling the story, but the downside to everyone knowing you are engaged is telling everyone you are not. I decide to defer to Barbara Striesand and begin singing, "You don't bring me flowers...you don't sing me love songs." He laughed. "No, really." I generalize to get through the conversation. "It just didn't work. I loved him. He loved me. We didn't go together. We just had differences in our views of life that held each other back." That was enough. I remind you hairdresser knows us both. "You were always an interesting match. Single, you seem to have strikingly different interests than him, I mean I am sure some overlap, but definitely not most. You are both wonderful in different ways."

Hairdresser then proceeded to tell me his stories. I was glad to be past the conversation. I was glad he understood without me having to go into more detail. I was glad he was only giving my hair a trim and that I did not go off the deep end and dye it red or purple or something insane due to breakupitis.

After my hair was done I left to go sit and attempt to write in Forest Park. I parked my car and sat on art hill on my yoga mat and could not think of anything to write. I was too taken by the beauty of the day. Too captured by the peacefulness that surrounded me. The bright blue sky and sun shining. The clouds floating aimlessly. The cold green green grass I was letting my feet play in. It was purely beautiful. In order to fight the urge to get down on myself by watching bridal party after bridal party come here for pictures, I laid on my back and stared at the clouds and let myself be at peace. Salsa girl 2 called during my deep meditative state. "Zoo?"

An hour later I met her and mattress man and headed to the zoo. The zoo was a hard place to go. It was one of the places fiancee and I used to love to go. It was our second date ever when we sat and watched as hot air balloons from St. Louis's annual balloon race floated over our heads at the zoo, and the same trip where I got peed on by an otter, but that is another story. However, going there with someone else left me with a new memory to help put the old ones behind onto my little shelf of memories.

I grabbed a couple of corn dogs and some dippin dots. Salsa girl 2 went for some frozen lemonade. As we walked through the zoo, everyone seemed coupled. Even the animals. Except for the black necked swan. Sitting there, floating prettily alone amid couples of ducks. She floated with such confidence though, that regal little swan. She outshone all the coupled ducks. Striking, in her little black neck. "There has to be some divorcees running around here with their children. I cannot be the only single person at the zoo!" Salsa girl two laughed. Mattress man laughed. Salsa girl replied, "I am sure you're not."

As we walked I thought of Disney World, of Animal Kingdom, of all the animal related places I had been with fiancee. It was a battle. I threw myself into my dippin dots. I would not let the grief win. I especially would not let it win in the middle of the zoo. Then in the monkey house we found the single people. All of them. The monkey house is apparently single parent central. I have no clue why. It is like "It's [daddy's or mommy's] weekend! Lets go see the monkeys!" Every ringless single father and mother in St. Louis was lurking in the monkey house with strollers and children. Only the children, who usually crawl on everything and cause a lot of drama are exceptionally well behaved for the day. After the monkeys we saw the big cats, the antelope, and the birds, then the zoo closed.

I was a little sunburned from the day in the sun, but I had made it through a step to recovery. I had just gone someplace that used to be an "our" place as a "me" place. I got home and washed the salt from sweat off my sunburn. Changed Fish's water, and sat on my couch for more Sex and the City. I could feel accomplished. I had made it through my first day alone, and it was a beautiful day.

Dates with selves

Sat, 17 May 2008 06:40:41 GMT

It was a beautiful night. I didn't want to stay in. My friends were on dates. I have no date for the first time in a long time. Not feeling too bad about it though. I am still living by the rule no phone numbers, no dates for a few more weeks, or maybe months as things go. I decide to take myself on a date with myself.

I head to Majestic. It is my favorite gyro place in Saint Louis. Nestled in the heart of the Central West End it makes for excellent people watching. On my way there I pass Pick, my favorite flower shop, where the owner asks about wedding planning. I tell him I called off the wedding. He gives me a white and pink rose, on the house to brighten my day. Then I find an acceptable table at Majestic, order a gyro and a Dr. Pepper, and settle in for a night of feeling the cool breeze on my face and people watching.

Everyone at the restaurant is a couple. Next to me is a couple, probably in their fifties with a little dog sitting under their table. They are talking about silly things. On the other side of them is a far more interesting couple a very old man and a very young woman. Definitely not a father and daughter. More like sugar daddy and lady friend. She laughed heartily at him while he talked astutely about classic novels with a look on her face like she was on the Anna Nicole plan. A family sat across from me. Clearly tourists. The man wore overalls and the wife and daughter had on St. Louis monogrammed shirts. I turn to my gyro and munched away.

About two thirds through my gyro I look up to see a guy with blonde hair and blue eyes walking alone. His button up white shirt is tousled a little, the sleeves rolled up, the neck open, wearing khaki shorts and a pair of flip flops. He looks distinctly sad and a little shy. I give him a smile. He smiles back, and takes a table across the restaurant, opens a newspaper and begins people watching more than reading, and eating a gyro.

I order baklava so I can observe him. He is a doctor. You can tell by the attire. Only doctors can pull off that tousled look and make it look good. It is notable. I text Salsa Girl 3. "On date with self. Cute guy also on date with self." She texts back. "Go make a friend." I text back. "No numbers, no dating." She texts back "Friend."

I close out my bill and walk past his table "You are alone do you want company?" He looks up shy at first, "Sure, here," and points to a chair. I sit. I was right. He's a medical resident. "Why alone?" I ask. "Recovering from a break up. How bout you?" I smile, "Same." We talk briefly about the break ups, and get to know one another a little. Then we talk about medical malpractice, and the other obvious places that law and doctors overlap. You know, like at gyro joints. We talk about fun things to do in Saint Louis. Board and Bar exams, etc. I find myself waiting to see him smile in between his straight face look. I count the smiles. Then begin to lose count as he begins to relax and smile more.

Then at the end of the night I get up to leave with a handshake and a nice to meet you. A hope I see you around again. No number, no dates, and I have a hunch that if he is as recently broken up as he claims, he was probably about as no numbers, no dates as me.

I walk back to the car, wondering about whether or not the last few nights are just a product of a general happiness and ease I am feeling. Either way, I hope I made a new friend who I see again somewhere.

My Happy Freakin' Birthday Too! by Salsa Girl 2

Sat, 17 May 2008 05:29:00 GMT

Guest Writer Salsa Girl 2 (Who Single introduced to Mattress Man)

I wasn't quite sure what I was getting into as I perched on the edge of Single In St. Louis's bathtub. She reached into an eye makeup bag the size of a small trunk and giggled. "This will be very dramatic," she said. She applied sparkly black eye shadow to my upper eyelids and stopped to admire the effect. She cocked her head and reached for the Ladybug Red lipstick. "This goes with your red dress!" she gushed and brushed color over my lower lip. I'm not the sort of girl who dons a red, sparkley, low-necked salsa dress lightly. Or often. Single In St. Louis and our other two good friends, Salsa Girls 3 and 1, have said I have a bit of a sexy librarian thing going on -- attractive, but in a buttoned-up, held under the surface kind of way. But, it's my birthday too this week, and even librarians need a night away from the check-in desk.

Single in St. Louis finished her makeup ministrations and sighed. "Hair next," she declared, and reached for a handful of bobby pins. That's what I like about Single in St. Louis -- she's not afraid to be bold. Adventurous. Put on 4-inch heels and salsa till 2am with a guy she's never met and then get up at 7am the next morning and go practice law. But the 2am thing still a few hours down the road. I wiggle my toes inside a pair of borrowed high-heel shoes. Not sure how well I'll do spinning, or even walking, in these shoes. Just then, the doorbell rang -- my knight in shining armor, the Mattress Man.

The nickname is kind of out of date, but Mattress Man was a mattress buyer for a chain of department stores when Single in St. Louis first pranced her high-heeled shoes over his ceiling several years ago. He came up and banged on her door and a friendship was born. Since then, he's left retail, they both moved, and her neighbor turned into my Mattress Man. Tonight he's being a good boyfriend and dropping off my raincoat, since it's raining (again, we're 9" above normal in rain for St. Louis) and right now I've got nothing between me and the rain except a sparkly red slip. I toddle to my feet and out to the living room. Mattress Man strides in the door, coat in hand -- and freezes. Looking at my face. He snickers. "Wow," he says. Aaaaaand my self-confidence deflates for the evening. Single in St. Louis, being a loyal girlfriend, shoos him out. "Jealous!" she declares, as we head out for dinner.

There's something about birthdays that make you take stock of things. Mattress Man, in one of his gentler moments this week, has told me that I shouldn't worry about this birthday -- "you're just one day older than you were the day before!" But, birthdays are milestones. Moments when you can't help but compare things to The Way They Were A Year Ago.

I can't deny that my life is better than last year -- 12 months ago, I had just been laid off from my old firm. I was stuck in an impossible relationship. And was saddled with several thousand dollars in credit card debt. Now, the debt is nearly gone, I'm with a guy who makes me homemade chocolate chip cookies and is a very good kisser and I've just passed the one year mark at a better job. Still, the other milestone is nagging at me. I am turning 33.

This is not where I expected to be at 33. I don't own a house. I barely have a single paycheck's worth of cushion in savings. Not married, no kids. Single in St. Louis is trepidacious about turning 27 and moving into her late 20s? I'm holding onto my early 30s. And still with self-confidence fragile enough that a stray comment from my boyfriend can send my self-confidence crashing.

The girls and I pull up for dinner at a trendy bar. The other girls look radiant, but I feel self-conscious. And my feet hurt. My feet don't have the years of dance training it takes to wear these shoes and make it look good!

That's when it hit me -- part of getting older -- one of the great parts -- is learning to feel comfortable in your own skin. To recognize what makes you happy and act on it. We headed back to the car, drove to our favorite salsa club, and I hung back for a minute before I got out of the car. "Go ahead in," I said. "I'm going to change clothes." Back into my slinky jeans, black boots and a black top that shows a little cleavage. Not as fancy as the other salsa girls, and a little more likely to blend into the background, but hey, that's me.

The girls waited for me at the bar. We strode onto the dance floor together, and it was like we had never left. We hadn't been dancing in months because we'd been wrapped up in other things -- in work, in our guys. But we have re-dedicated to making time for the girls. For ourselves. The music started. The steps seemed to come more naturally than they ever had before.

I danced for an hour or so. I had a great picture taken with the girls -- we all have great smiles. I headed home to get plenty of rest for work the next day. I felt like I was missing out on the party, but leaving at 10pm was the right thing for me -- getting enough sleep means getting in more hours at work, which means more money, more savings, wiping out the debt, and getting another step closer to a house.

I called Mattress Man on the way home from the club. He picked up on the first ring. "Hey, I'm sorry for the way I reacted when I saw you," he said. "I just wasn't prepared for it -- I like the way you look normally. Simpler. My girl next door." Warmed my heart. I told him to come on over. It was a good birthday after all.

Happy Frickin Birthday!

Fri, 16 May 2008 13:58:06 GMT

There was once a time when my birthday in this town consisted of me, a half frozen Pepperidge Farm cake, no phone calls, and a few tears. That was a few years ago. Five to be exact. This year my birthday had all the markings of a day that would be worse than that very first lonely birthday in town. One week from the biggest break up in my life and still mingling with moments of pain. Having to work all day, my legs were sore from a little too much personal training, and I hit the late twenties marker. I am officially counting down to thirty now. Sounds fantastic. With no significant other to celebrate my birthday with, I thought the day was destined to be a disaster. Surprisingly, it was one of the best birthday's ever.

I was anticipating the night the entire time I was at work. Scared the salsa girls would back out on me. They have never backed out on me. It is usually me backing out on them. Usually for some excuse like, "Well, fiancee wants to stay in tonight." Tonight, I didn't have that excuse anymore. I was going out. I treated myself to a chinese buffet lunch with Salsa Girl 1 and Nice Guy.   Salsa girl 1 just got through with a break up like mine.

"There will be no rebounding tonight. Just fun. No phone numbers. Nothing. Just being the hottest girls in the club. This night is for us." Salsa Girl 1 was laying down the rules. "Ok, I will have one of the other salsa girls collect numbers for me. Technical compliance." Salsa Girl rolled her eyes at my untrue and rather creative method of getting around her rule. "Funny. No seriously, neither of us needs to be getting numbers right now. Not until we have recovered a little more from our tragic weeks."

The truth is I wanted to heed Salsa Girl 1's rules. I needed the recovery still just like she did. This is no time for a rebound relationship. No time to go off the wall nutty about guys like I would have done at 21 or even 23 for that matter. This was serious. I needed to live for awhile as myself before jumping back into a relationship with someone else. So this was a no numbers night. This was my birthday and it was about me.

Post-work I headed home to prep for the night. There on my doorstep were flowers from my brother, daisies, with a balloon and a note that said, "Happy Frickin Birthday!" I blared Miley Cyrus's song See You Again from my computer in my back room. I danced around as I got ready. I called my upstairs neighbor to help me choose between potential dresses, eventually settling on the New Little Black Dress. It is "deadly."

Salsa Girl 2 showed up a little later. Also carrying two dresses. No shoes. She borrowed my best pair. I did her hair and make up. My upstair's neighbor locked herself out of her apartment. So my tiny "eurochic" apartment was a full house until the landlord got there. Then a knock at the door.   It was a tower of chocolate from Linz complete with a chocolate Hershey cake and candle. I set the card with the other birthday cards on the shelf. Set the chocolate on my table and grabbed a piece to munch on. Salsa Girl 2's boyfriend mattress man, my former downstairs neighbor, dropped off her coat and made her ever so slightly self conscious of how good she looked. "Jealousy, upstairs neighbor said when he left. He doesn't want other guys looking at you, and they will. Because you look hot." The truth is, her make up was a bit strong, but it needed to last through the sweat of salsa, and dinner.

I was in full salsa gear, as was Salsa Girl 2, and upstairs neighbor was wearing fuzzy slippers when the landlord showed up. The landlord seemed shocked to see such a full house. He waded his way through my apartment and up the stairs to let upstairs neighbor into her apartment. Then we headed out. The three of us met at Bar Louie first for a quick something to eat before drinking margaritas all night, although Salsa Girl 1 and I did start our margaritas and mojitos at dinner. Then to the club. We walked in during the intermediate salsa lesson. Three guys stood alone. The instructor called us over, and was shocked to see we knew what we were doing.

Oh yes, we do. We are only here to brush up our skills before Viva Mexico 2008 (to be discussed later). The club was a little slow at first, and Salsa Girl 2 left early, citing work the next morning and other things spawned by boredom. Salsa Girl 1 informed me she has to fly out early the next morning but planned on staying out all night to celebrate our bdays as single ladies. We stayed out until the club was almost closing.

My black dress did it's duty. I felt like a spanish princess, and would for the rest of the night. I got danced with more than ever before by more people than ever before. I had an offer for every dance, and eventually had to start turning people down because my feet hurt. I didn't have to ask anyone to dance with me all night. Salsa Girl 1 had just as good of luck once she hit the dance floor. It was flattering when the bartender called me over to give me a birthday margarita that I had not paid for, but it was from a guy who, while we were dancing, I had informed I was the birthday girl. I shared with my Salsa Girl 1. The bartender kept asking for Salsa Girl 3 who had not made it out tonight. He was disappointed. She is his favorite. He remembered her from last summer when we went out.

After a long conversation with an Indian guy I had danced several dances with, I got up to dance again. Let me explain that this Indian guy was a complete gentleman to me all night it is one of the reasons I kept dancing with him. He didn't boister himself at me, and was at first kind of shy to even talk to me. He was completely understanding when I explained that I was not accepting phone numbers. He was nice and this type of attentiveness is not something I am accustomed to. It revived my spirits about eventually finding someone else out there. Nice guys still exist. Maybe I will eventually be able to date again. But not yet. Not for awhile.   We talked about yoga and college football, and he was clearly trying to make some friends, not searching for someone to a) take home or b) spend his life with. It was refreshing. He has been in St. Louis about a year. I remember that trying to make friends thing. I sympathize. I understand breaking into a clique, finding a group, meeting new people the way this guy is, and I was glad to meet him. You could tell he was nice by the way that he danced. It was respectful.

At the end of the night, I met Salsa Girl 1 in the bathroom for a debriefing and status. "Too many mojitos." She said with a Spanish accent and laughed. We sat on a chair in the bathroom talking about how awesome the night was, how we can't wait for Viva Mexico 2008, and how we love life. After a long while, a girl popped her head in because the Indian guy I had been talking to wanted to make sure we were ok. Evidently, he had been waiting to See Me Again, and maybe steal one last dance. Instead, he walked us to the car.

Both of us, sober now, were grateful for the escort even though there were still lots of people out and a security guard at the lot. Our new friend bid us goodbye, and we crawled in the car still talking about how awesome the night was. As I pulled up to my environmentally friendly "eurochic" apartment, I realized I had just had one of the greatest nights of my life. I haven't had this much fun in years. Literally, and I have had a lot of fun in a lot of years. My birthday was a far cry from the Pepperidge Farm cake and tears of my first year in St. Louis. And as I crawled into bed I said with as much enthusiasm as had been written on my card from my brother. "Happy frickin birthday!"

A New Little Black Dress

Thu, 15 May 2008 02:24:32 GMT

I stood in the dressing room holding nine dresses over my arm. One of these is going home with me today. It will be my new little black dress. The old one, as loved as it was, doesn't fit me anymore. It was a juniors dress and now I have curves. I grew up. I need a more grown up dress. I peeled through aisle after aisle to choose the top nine. Some to skimpy, some to tight, and nine just right. The Supreme Court of little black dresses. All of them are now on my arm.

The younger girls in the dressing room are trying on prom dresses. It makes me laugh. I remember doing the same thing years ago with friends. They are twirling and giggling and talking about boys. I try on dress number one. There is absolutely no way I am walking out in this dress. It hugs my hips, it is too short, and I look like a grandma wearing lingerie. Not happening. It just didn't fit. Dress two. Perfect.

It was exactly my style only upon closer inspection I realize it is navy blue. The lights in the dressing room are playing tricks on me. Dress three. Even better than perfect. the spaghetti straps crisscross in the back, I have always loved that. It is flattering to my waist. A line. Flowy skirt. And best of all, it sparkles just enough to show off my silver heels. I feel like a woman in this dress, the way I felt when I tried on that wedding dress I will never wear a few months ago. I feel like the most beautiful version of myself. Only in honor of my singlehood this dress is black, short, and sexy.

I walk out. I walk like a woman to the mirror where the teenagers are twirling to see how the skirt flows. Two moms pipe in, "Wow! You look hot!" I'm sold. It's on the to go rack. Then I hear the mom's explaining to their teenagers why the dress looked good. I couldn't help but laugh. It really seems like yesterday that was my mom in the dressing room explaining to me the difference between dressing like a woman and dressing like a girl. It is really quite simple. It has nothing to do with the dress. It has everything to do with the person in it.

I try on the other dresses, just for good measure, and on my way out see a blue dress that looks a little like I could salsa in it. I walk back into the dressing room and put it on. A new group of teenagers now. No moms. I stare in the mirror. It looks good, striking, and this bright blue looks good with my skin. I look at the price. It's on sale, clearance, for one of those prices I cannot pass up. I put it on the to go rack with the little black dress.

And then I see the last dress I would walk out of the store with. You see, my friends and I have been planning this outing to the Sex in the City premiere for a few weeks now. We are getting all dressed up, being girly, drinking martinis and going to watch the movie. In our appropriate Sex in the City attire. Only, I am running low on appropriate fun funky dress attire. Everything I own is a business suit or belongs at a business function. I try on the funky dress. It pushes my limits but is fun. Again the price is nearly negligible so I buy it.

I carry them up to the register. "I wish I had places to wear three fun dresses like these. Why three new dresses? Where are you wearing them?" The cashier informed me as she took an additional 50% off the already marked down clearance prices, much to my surprise and happiness. I explain, "I broke things off with my fiancee, and needed some new clothes. The little black dress is precisely that. The blue dress is for salsa dancing. The funky dress is for the Sex in the City premiere." She smiles and gives me my total. I smile. And leave the store.

Not so Married

Thu, 15 May 2008 01:52:53 GMT

Ok, so evidently I am on the MSN homepage as being married! Well, maybe not so much. Actually, the engagement was broken off last week for a host of reasons and it is no ones fault, we just didn't work. But seeing as how this blog is Single in Saint Louis, not Married in St. Louis, I'm cool with going right along writing as a single person! lol! Thanks MSN. You might want to change the tagline. : )

Fish

Tue, 13 May 2008 13:56:29 GMT

I wonder what the world looks like from inside that fish bowl. I mean, at a certain angle, my newest friend looks as big as a shark as he swims in a circle. He swims spreading his red, blue, and white tipped fins. Sometimes up to the glass to take a look at me, I must look really strange from the other side. It is nice to have the company. I am happy that Fish is now a part of my life. I've decided not to not to give Fish a name other than Fish. The reason I named him Fish is partly due to my love of Breakfast at Tiffany's. The second more pragmatic reason is because, if my track record suits me, he will probably die in a week and it will be easy to replace Fish with another Fish. However, I would prefer that he not die. I have taken a real liking to Fish. It is nice to come home to the little guy swimming on my coffee table. He is calming to watch. As his tank cycles his water looks a little murky, but I can see him floating inside, unharmed, disinterested in anything but blowing little betta bubbles at the top of the tank. There are red and gray rocks in the base of his bowl in homage to my high school colors, and I have planted some water plants to help clear up the water as they grow. The tank is a large bowl. It looks like a tumbler. It must be like an ocean to Fish. He has been living in a little cup at the pet store for probably a week. He jets around the tank until he wears himself out and has to sit at the bottom for awhile. But oh, he is pretty. I have never seen a betta with such interesting color. His body is blue and it fades to a purple which fades to a red which fades to a white tip on the edge of his fins. His fins are full and when he swims they dance in the water like ribbon. His little tail flutters as he blows his bubbles in an attempt to cover the entire top of the tank. He is low maintenance. I clean his bowl once a week and put in a few food tablets before I leave for work each day. This is my type of pet. He isn't noisy, he prefers to not be bothered, and he is always just happy floating in his bowl getting fed. Fish is awesome.

Trains and hangovers

Mon, 12 May 2008 12:22:59 GMT

For the last few years things in my life have felt...well...stagnant. I was waiting at a train station. Sitting watching others get on trains, hoping the next one that would pull into the station would be mine. I tried to get on a few only to be told I had the wrong ticket. I would just go back, sit on my bench with my little travel bag and wait. Fiancee was on the bench with me. We talked, made nice, and built a rapport out of being on the same bench in the same station. We fell in love on that bench. He proposed, and as long as I was on the bench it was ok. Then I got off the bench to walk around the station. At first he wanted to stay alone, then he came and walked around the station with me. Then I saw my train. I called out to him to come with me. I told him how to run and jump and catch the train. I tried to reach out to lift him to my side. He tried to reach out to pull me back to the station. I didn't want to go back. I had been waiting on this train for so long. I wanted him to come with me. To experience this next step in life together. He wanted to stay on that comfortable bench waiting for his train. He didn't want to join my train. I didn't want to go back to the bench. And there is where we were.

It all happened at once. My career went to the next level. I got an office. A real one. I feel legit. I have a receptionist that answers my phone. A chair that swivels. An office with a window. It was like here I was at the next stop of life and there behind me was my fiancee, not willing to jump on the train with me. Running alongside, but not willing to jump, and wanting me to jump to his side. I knew that if I jumped to his side I would miss my train. I would miss the direction I wanted to go in life. If he jumped on the train he would miss his. Not wanting to make that last little effort after making so many efforts so many times before. Maybe we had no more energy. Maybe we couldn't jump. Maybe we weren't willing to try. Maybe I was just ready to move ahead.   One way or the other, we were both in different spots. I was alone on a train. He was alone running beside. No team effort there. I was tired of making striding efforts to lift him to my side. He was tired of making efforts to get me to run alongside him. It just wasn't the right place, the right time, or the right thing.

When the engagement had been called off, I felt a disconnect. Like a part of life I had just experienced had just faded away.   It was bitter. A hard cookie to bite into. It wasn't easy to let go, only it was. Because honestly, we have been letting go for awhile. Weeks. We have been pulling apart argument after argument. It is like that one puzzle piece that almost fits but doesn't quite. The one that is at a slightly different angle than the other. Each of us was a puzzle piece. We had been trying for years to slam the two together, but at the end of the day, they might fit, but they fit at a funny angle, and don't fit with the big puzzle.

Where are we now? Apart. I am saying I am not getting off the train, and that means that he is not going to be on my train right now, and maybe not ever.   That was a choice he made, just as much as me. We made it with every choice to hold onto resentment and hurt. We made it with not being able to fully forgive and forget. We made the choice to stay separate, not lifelong companions. It was a group effort. As a result, there is no one to blame.

So what do you do? What is there to do when dealing with big heartbreak that only kind of hurts and doesn't hurt nearly as much as you expected it to. What do you do when you wake up in the middle of the night thinking of all the little things you could have done differently and didn't because that wouldn't have been you? What do you do when you think of all the stupid things you did and situations you put yourself into? What do you do when you can feel that trickle of heartache from the wound that is now left on your heart? You find a friend, take a step to move on, and then sleep.

I spent the first night talking with my yoga instructor and making origami cranes. I had never really been able to master that little piece of paper well enough to make a crane. I lacked the concentration and motivation to fold it and fold it again. I had been trying since sixth grade. Last night, in an effort to get my mind off of things I successfully made two. I watch reruns of Sex in the City. Carrie and Aiden. How appropriate. Couldn't have asked for a more appropriate episode. Then I went to bed early, and slept late today. I felt, for the first time, a life hangover. Not a hangover brought on by a little too much wine, but a hangover brought on by a little too much life.

The next day I slept a lot. I was exhausted from the emotional upheaval of the last several months, the constant drain that my personal life had become. I slept it off. I met with my divorced friends who knew exactly how to reach out, where to talk, what not to say. We went to lunch, they made me laugh. They had been here before plus some. They knew the drill. They brought out a side of me I had forgotten, and slowly I started to feel more like myself than I had in months. It was evident I had gotten lost in my relationship. I was glad to be back.

The third day I returned the ring and engagement gifts. It was hard to see him hurting. It was hard to know that I was hurting too. That we had done this too each other. It was even harder when he left. I called in the reinforcement girlfriends. We planned the month. We talked about a vacation, the Sex in the City movie, and salsa dancing. We talked about making new memories to replace the old. One took me to dinner, gave me a kleenex, and was completely understanding when the Cheesecake Factory appetizer menu started to bring tears to my eyes.   Late the third night I had my first doubts. I called Mom. Mom who was careful not to tell me what to do, but to remind me why I had called it off.

Should I have escaped? Was it what I wanted? Was it not what I wanted? I don't know, but there are too many questions to have stayed. I don't know isn't enough to get off at a stop and commit yourself to staying. I wonder what life will be like without this hangover. What it will be like without the constant turmoil of relationship. I wonder what life will be like now that I am on the train. Who I will meet, what I will do, where we will go. I wish fiancee would have come with me. I wish he was riding with me to share in this excitement, but he wanted stillness and I wanted to move. And there was no compromising that.

This morning the train is moving, with me and my life hangover on it. I can feel it moving again. Where I used to be stagnant waiting at a station now I am definitely moving. I don't know where it leads. I have met my fellow female passengers who will take this ride for at least the next month. I am alone in my little cubby area looking in a mirror and thinking about the loss of the life I just escaped.   Relief, the relief I felt in the first day is growing larger. I feel more complete. I feel more like me. I thought he would be the one to make it. The one to jump with me. The one who was supposed to be catching my train. He told me we had the same ticket. He gave me a ring to prove it. But he never came. He never jumped, and I wasn't strong enough to pull him on.   It wasn't him. He wasn't "the one."

So for now, I am Single. Just like I have been Single before, and I loved being Single before. I will love it now, in a few weeks I will be swept back up into life. Getting dressed up with the girls, buying new shoes, and being me.