Single in Saint Louis: Everyday Thoughts

Shaken and Stirred

Sun, 20 Apr 2008 22:24:29 GMT

I wake up. My bed was rattling, the floor beneath me was noticeably shifting. The windows shaking. I was pretty sure this was one of three things A) my neighbor has a new boyfriend, B) my neighbor has a meth lab that is about to blow up (compliments of a dream I was having when I woke up), or C) I had a little too much wine at bookclub last night. I laid in my bed waiting for the shaking to stop. After about ten seconds I realized it sounded like a large truck was parked outside. I peaked out the window. Holy crap! Everything outside was moving too. That means A) my neighbor is having a really good time, B) the meth lab is huge, or C) I really had too much wine at bookclub last night.

I set both feet on the ground and walk through the apartment. My wine glasses are rattling. A pen falls off of my desk. Wild. What kind of dream is this. It reminds me of something...Oh! It reminds me of that thing at the Omniplex, the Oklahoma version of the Saint Louis Science Center. The little earthquake thing where you stand there and the ground shakes. I was afraid of that when I was a kid. Then reality hits. This IS an Earthquake. A real one. It took a full twenty seconds to figure it out and I was still figuring it out once it was over. Relief overwhelmed me. A) I was only going to be kept up one night by the banging and rattling because it was not being caused by my neighbor. B) I am not going to die from an exploding meth lab. C) I am not drunk, this is just surreal.

Congratulations! I survived. Thank goodness it wasn't larger. Had it been larger I might have still been laying in bed cursing my neighbor as my house fell down around me. I ran to the computer and looked it up online. Nothing was posted yet. Was it all a dream? I went back to sleep. Hoping this wasn't a foreshock. People have been predicting the demise of Saint Louis by earthquake for about twenty years now. I awoke the next morning groggy and checked online. "Saint Louis has 5.2 Earthquake at 4:37am." The headline boast itself, and honestly, this is one of the cooler things that has happened in awhile. No one was hurt but we can all go to work and talk about sharing the same experience of waking up at 4am to a shaking house.

I check my email, "My bed was rattling last night. Did we have an earthquake or am I going nuts? Love, Bar Exam Buddy." I quickly shoot back, "Yes, Earthquake. I think we deserve a day off of work for this. My pen fell off my desk and it is going to take me all day to pick it up" My favorite Earthquake memorabilia are the pictures people sent in online. Give or take a few houses with broken porches that probably weren't structurally sound to start with, There is a picture of a shot glass that almost fell off a counter. I mean we are talking a huge earthquake here. Massive. Between my pen and that shot glass, the federal government should really declare us a disaster area. No. Really. lol

I just hope we don't have the big one anytime soon.

How the Biggest Loser Commercial Ruined my Night

Thu, 17 Apr 2008 03:01:12 GMT

The sun was beating hot on my back as I stood there in my chic black skirt suit that I did not eat the night before so I could fit into it for a job interview today. The interview is over and debriefed with KT, and our conversation changes topics, "I am so excited to meet this personal trainer. She sounded so nice on the phone." KT understood the want for a pre-wedding PT. "I have to fit into my dress next year. It is not going to fit if I keep my current exercise regime of yoga every few weeks when I get the time and eating Baby Ruths and Kit Kats like I own stock in the company." KT laughed again. "Where's the trainer?" She asked with the best of concern. "I dunno. It's only thirty after now. Surely she is just running a little bit late." I check the door. No trainer. The office is not open. I wait. Fifteen minutes pass. I was forgotten. After a quick dramatic woe is me my PT just stood me up, and a quick wallow in feigned sorrow. KT and I hung up the phone.

As I walked back to my car disappointed, I thought the best part of the situation is that I really don't have to work out and be all immobile like I was last week after my three sit ups, and, now I can go home an order a pizza and sit in front of my TV and watch American Idol. I believe that is the exact opposite of working out and even though I did not actually work out I did think about it seriously. And since working out is the opposite of Idol + TV that must equals life balance...right? And that is exactly what I do.

I crawl into my favorite sweaties almost as soon as I hit the door, make a few long awaited phone calls. Turn on the TV and watch some idol while I wait for the pizza man to deliver my double cheese, pepperoni, ham, beef, green pepper, and onion pizza with two Diet Cokes. Every calorie of the diet coke negates one calorie of the pizza. I am sure this is scientifically proven somewhere. I grab my pizza and plop on the couch. Then as if someone was trying to tell me something, I look at the TV. A Biggest Loser commercial, and I am well on my way to reality TV. I start to think about the fifteen pounds I have gained in the last year. The four sizes of clothing in my closet. The amount of work I have to put in just to maintain my weight because I spend everyday sitting in an office chair staring at a computer screen. I really need that PT. Maybe it was just a scheduling problem. I forget things sometime. Surely, we can reschedule, and anyway it is just an initial consultation anyway. And one little bit of thinking leads to another, as usual.

And see that is the problem with thinking. When you spend all day thinking and then you come home and think some more there is just an over abundance of thinking that is exhausting. Too much time to think means too much time to sit around and freak out over things that really don't matter while you are watching American Idol, like doing the dishes and job searching. That means I just get overwhelmed and don't do anything I am thinking about and am hardly enjoying my pizza, my diet coke, or my television show. Nothing has my focus. All this thinking is really just a waste of energy. So, by 10:00pm I am exhausted with a slice of pizza in my right hand and a diet coke in my left hand staring at the nightly news and wondering where exactly my night went and what exactly I had just sat and done for four hours. And I blame The Biggest Loser. Had it not reminded me of the approximate 10,000 calories in my pizza slice and that I could have worked out or done something other than sit idly on my couch, I would not have just wasted my evening.

i-pod

Thu, 10 Apr 2008 13:55:02 GMT

I swear I am the only person on the planet that does not own an ipod. I have also grounded myself from buying an ipod until everything in my house and my finances are in order. But I feel so left out. Fiancee has an ipod. Does anyone else NOT have an ipod? Please let me know. I want company.

A Sure Sign of the Apolcalypse

Sat, 05 Apr 2008 13:35:30 GMT

So many people have been sitting around waiting for the end of the world. There are people in caves, people in churches, people just hanging out on street corners, and each of these people holding their handmade signs, and waiting for impending doom keep finding "signs from God."   Signs like traffic jams, global warming, large earthquakes, tornados, big rainstorms, flowers blooming, and smiling happy people. You name it and someone thinks it is the end of the world. Then, I saw the first real sign, on the Today show. To itemize the book of Revelations, there will be some trumpeters, a beast, some red calf or something, peace in the middle east, and the New Kids on the Block will get back together.

First, I was never into NKOTB as a kid, I thought the girls who walked around with the little dolls and swooned were just stupid. I still think they are kind of stupid. I was never very starstruck. I wasn't one of those teenagers who hoarded paparazzi inspired magazines or Teen Beat.   The only reason I read them now is because I am amused by another person's life and the only people whose every second is documented on anything other than a blog is celebrities. I couldn't tell you the name of anyone famous until I was at least twelve. Twelve was two years after the NKOTB phase of my friends. For that matter, I still can't name famous people when my fiancee tries to play the "name the famous person game" while we are watching a movie, and he always ends up staring at me like "What? You didn't know who George Clooney was?" The answer is no, I did not because I feel like George Clooney is just a dude that does his job like anybody else. He might be the best actor in the world, but you don't see paparazzi chasing the best lawyers, or Scientists, or schoolteachers, or real estate agents. I mean where are the hoard of cameras when Bill Gates walks through the airport? I have just never been starstruck, and never really swooned over a band. If the Beatles existed today, I wouldn't have been the girl passing out on the first row of the concert. You can obviously see that this whole boy band? man band? thing was not my cup of tea, or coffee, or cafe mocha, or latte, or hold on, I need a Starbucks trip.

Ok, I'm back.

However, today, I couldn't help but stare awed at this boyband? manband? that girls in my fourth grade class had swooned over, carried dolls of, and danced around while we "hanged tough."   I believe more shocking is their new found professions. One is a real estate agent who was cracking jokes about the real estate market that only the grown ups in the crowd would get. Another an actor. Then it hit me. This was a brilliant idea. They have just created a boyband? manband? for people over the age of 25. That real estate agent is just the type of guy some random adult woman would like. He has a stable job, he has some type of artistic ability, he can dance and isn't afraid to do so on stage, and he can crack jokes about the real estate market. I mean the band has a type for every adult woman.   I actually keep thinking Joey is cute, which given my general nature and feelings about startstruckedness makes me want to gag. In all seriousness, these guys were guys I would date if I was still single. These guys were guys for that little part of women that always stays fourteen years old to swoon over, legitimately, and without fear of being made fun of.

Then the MOST brilliant idea. They should tour with the Spice Girls. Oh my god! That would be so awesome and I would totally buy tickets! I mean it would be like a girl group? woman group? with a boy band? man band? That would be like the coolest thing ever!

And at that, I realized the end of the world was coming.

Ebb and Flow

Thu, 03 Apr 2008 12:59:34 GMT

I truly believe that no one pops into your life for no reason. Everyone serves a purpose, to teach, to hold you accountable, or to make you hold yourself accountable. Some people are there for you to love. Some are there for you to resist. Some are there for you to not love, but to learn from or teach to. Nobody is expendable, and everyone plays a role. Even the worst situations, people you encounter, and failures are important. The bad is equally important to the good. Without bad, there would be no good. Without good there is no bad.

Lately, a lot of old friends have popped back up in my life via IM. Some I loved, some I didn't, and some both. I keep asking why they are coming back now? Why are they chatting with me when it has been years since I have seen them, heard from them, or even known what was going on in their lives? The answer is they are friends. They came into my life during a time while I was defining myself and becoming who I am today, and now as friends, they have a duty to remind me of that person when I lose sight of who I am. Only it isn't all about me. It is about them too. They want to talk with me to remind themselves of the aspects I reflect in them. How much more important can people be?

Not to mention we are all constantly reinventing ourselves, redefining who we are, and you ultimately make a choice what traits you carry with you into the next phase of your life. Friends are only written off when the trait that held you to them in the first place is extinguished during some life transition. This does not necessarily mean that they won't pop back up during another life transition later on, unless of course you choose to never revisit that trait. This is ultimately why friendships ebb and flow like waves. Sometimes they may crash into your shoreline and sometimes they may be far out in the ocean from you crashing somewhere else. Every once in awhile a new wave may show up and crash into you bringing with it a new trait. Friendships are all about the ebb and flow.

Each one of these friends (waves) embodies an aspect of myself. They are my friend because they reflect me. This does not mean that they are exactly like me, but they share something with me, some sense of commonality. There is something in our personalities that is the same. The combination of the whole of my friends reflects me to me, and I reflect some part of them to them. The strongest friends, the lifetime friends, reflect more traits of you to you most of the time. These people are rare, and highly valuable because they will truly make an effort to be with you in every life transition, and you with theirs. I can honestly say I have three or four of these friends, and I am blessed to have each one of them.

The same idea goes for enemies too. Your enemies are no different than your friends. They reflect a part of you you do not like, or you reflect a part of them they do not like. The only evil people in this world are those repelled by goodness.

Digging from the clutter

Tue, 01 Apr 2008 22:43:37 GMT

I just can't manage this disorganization any more. I was going through some old files from before law school and I suddenly realized that, as organized as I am now, I was 300x's more organized then. I want to get back to that place I was then. My first apartment in this town was virtually spotless all the time. I had a planner that was planned down to the minute with my various activities. The hard earned money sucking bills I pay each month were neatly arranged in a cute little folder, which makes them much less threatening. Now I have entire weeks where, not only do I not have time to clean, but I don't have time to see my apartment. It is only a matter of time before those money sucking bills get lost in that big pile of junk mail that really needs to be in a trash can. For a job with no traveling, I sure spend a lot of time in my car, at a desk, away from home.

Ok, so I realize that I had a lot more time pre-law school to organize things. In fact, before law school I had entire evenings. Now I have about half an evening, sometimes. Half an evening sometimes is just really not enough to organize and take care of yourself. You can say, "make time," but that is really a ridiculous notion. If people could make time, lawyers wouldn't charge for it. Time is your most valuable asset, and all this disorganization is killing my personal time. I mean secretaries everywhere get fired for this type of mess everyday. If I was my secretary, I would fire me. In fact, I am firing me. Single, You're fired.

Ok, now that I fired myself, I feel like I need to give myself another chance to pick up the organizational mess that is my apartment. Saturday. I am setting aside Saturday morning for my excursion. I will make a list of what I need to get organized and I will continue to organize every Saturday morning until I am completely organized again. Not that I am wholly disorganized now, just not up to my organizational standards.

And for the love of Pete, if I get one more piece of junk mail I am going to scream. I am so tired of junk mail. I get like fifty pieces of junk mail a day. It is like when the telemarketers got the do not call list, they started sending letters instead. I'm ridding myself of junk mail too. I am putting a trashcan next to my mail slot. It is a whole new level of ridiculous and is 99% of my disorganization problem.

So, that's it. I am digging out from the clutter of bar exams and law school and first jobs, and I am reorganizing my life.

No Bonjour pas

Wed, 26 Mar 2008 12:29:26 GMT

Something about France sounds incredibly exciting to me right now. I really just want a weekend away, someplace far away. Where I don't speak the language, and can get my head about me. So am I off to France to take a guided tour of the wineries or check out the Louvre? No. Which just angers me more. I looked it up online and it costs entirely too much money for me to go to France. I suppose I might be able to swing a trip to Quebec at least they speak French there, but it isn't France. Maybe I could trade working somewhere in France for the experience of going to France. I really want to go to France.

I don't have the desire to travel to Italy or even Japan that I have for France. I feel like France is someplace I have always wanted to go. I think this is primarily because I love the word Boulangerie and want to say it to someone. I am sure if I did they would look at me like I was nuts. I mean it isn't often someone goes about exclaiming the word "Bakery!" I feel like in France that is something you could get away with. I imagine they love their language so much there that it doesn't really matter what you say so long as you are saying it in French.

I've always wanted to be fluent in French. I can read French, and speak it some, but I am far from fluent. The best way to learn a new language is submersion, right? So, what better way to learn to speak French than traveling to France.

But I am not going. I should reconcile my disappointment now. There will be no foreign travel for me.

Fresh Rain

Sat, 15 Mar 2008 13:29:44 GMT

A gentle cool breeze flows into my new "eurochic" (tiny) apartment and I can feel it just cool enough to chill my toes. A little bird is singing somewhere in a tree. The breeze smells like the sweet rain smell that only early spring can bring. Fresh air and cool breezes drift through my window and are welcome strangers after this winter of snow. The littler bird has just summoned a few bird friends to sing and call with him that somewhere tree. I feel refreshed even though last night was another sleepless night.

I am enjoying the lack of voices. The peace and tranquility of early morning. I get tired of hearing people's voices sometimes and I just want to sit and hear the natural noises of life, without talking. It seems anymore that everyone has something to say. Myself included, and in the peaceful tranquility of the early morning most everyone has found their quiet. It is the only untainted time of day anymore. The time of day where the body rests and the spirit wakes. It is the only time your spirit can get a word in edgewise from all the hustle and bustle of the day. It is like it creeps up from my warm cozy bed and taps me on the shoulder and whispers in my ear, "Wake up. Pay attention to me. I have things I need to tell you, remind you, and make you see about yourself. You are wearing yourself down not listening to me, now wake up and listen for just an hour, or two, or six."

Early morning is when everything catches up with me. All the ease and struggle in life is sitting as if it is looking at me, and demanding that I face it. Only I am tired. It is only 4am, and I struggle to not look. I want to know what my spirit is telling me, but it is all just a little too much for 4am. If I look I will be up all night, just like I was last night and the night before, but I have to look. How do you accept yourself when you cannot even take a good long hard look at your own spirit? I don't even know what I am looking for, I don't know what is bothering me. I know my spirit knows. Why won't it just tell me. I go to sleep frustrated only to do the same thing the next day.

This morning is no different than every other morning. My 4am wake up call comes creeping up, tapping me on the shoulder. "I want to talk with you about ignoring me, your recently acquired inability to love, and about Mr. Blank." I stop dead in my tracks. Mr. Blank. After three years of successful avoidance of Mr. Blank, he has appeared in the last few days to haunt me with some of my biggest mistakes. Mr. Blank, is no one person, but a series of people, and all who have surfaced within the last week. There will no longer be any avoiding them, and so I personify them as Mr. Blank. Blank because they are significant nobodies in my life. Mr. Blank spent years torturing my spirit. Now, my spirit has some demands to make. In good spirit form, it makes them at 4am, in threatening whispers.

"You must figure out why you let Mr. Blank torture me. You must help me heal. You must learn to trust. You will start listening to me. You will learn to love again the way you are loved by others. You will love me. It is up to you to figure out how to do that. I am tired of trying to tell you. It is your turn to get to know me. I have spent my entire life getting to know you. I give up, your turn."

With that, I have experienced tough love from my spirit. I become entirely focused on the Mr. Blank in my life. I must know my enemy before I can defeat him.

Mr. Blank is complicated like a well mixed drink. He is one part my career, one part my love life, two parts my own mistakes, and one part everything else. Only he makes one big drink, Mr. Blank. A drink I have been drinking everyday for a little too long. Time to cleanse the spirit. I try asking him to leave. Mr. Blank holds on. He is far to complicated to just leave, and he has left scars. Mr. Blank is someone I have to reconcile with to put my spirit at ease. To ready myself for real love, something my spirit already knows how to do. I begin step one of my conscious transformation of my chi. I have recognized Mr. Blank, acknowledged him with a sheepish wave somewhere low where no one can see unless they are actively watching, and it is time to get into his head, so he can get out of mine.

It's been awhile

Sat, 08 Mar 2008 19:02:12 GMT

It's been awhile dear blog. I have missed you so. I have run and fled from your presence in my life, and here I am, with my fingers to keyboard writing again. Well, you knew I wouldn't stay away forever. I'm glad to be back. Apparently, MSN is a lot more spiced up than when I left. We will just have to see how this goes. I missed reading comments like in the old days. So, I am here, until I leave again, but this time oh so much has changed...Single is not so single anymore. There's a whole story about that. It is far to complicated to tell, yet phenomenally simple at the same time. Sometimes life just flows at you and you just ride the wave. That being said, let me give you the brief version of the story for those that didn't read the other blog.

I broke things off with exboyfriendthingymathing, I got together with anonymous him for awhile, then exboyfriendthingmathing called because I had quit my job and failed the bar in the course of one week. I was in a very vulnerable position, which he fully took advantage of by calling me and then "coaxing" me into a conversation about how much everything had just fallen apart. I then began the long drudging process of trying again, which took about six months from my life, but the whole time I had this feeling like everything was supposed to happen this way, like it was a part of something larger a new and different direction, a street I had not seen, a...enough a's, it suffices to say it was just different. Everything changed in the course of a week, even my perspective on life.

I realized I was still in love with exboyfriendthingymathing and vice versa. As if it is any big surprise at all, we started dating again, only this time things were different. They felt different. There was an aire of normalcy in everything we did, and then came bar exam 2.0. Bar Exam 2.0 was the easiest test I have ever taken in my life. It was totally not worth the hours I spent crying on exboyfriendthingymathing's shoulder, but it was worth the golden flashcards that have been used by bar passers for many years. Exboyfriendthingymathing, gave them to me lovingly, and then post exam, took me to Disney World. The next month I found out I passed with flying colors, and was admitted to the bar. I immediately joined the ranks of the "contract attorney" which isn't so bad, and after growing bored of constant pointing and clicking and staring at a computer screen and several consecutive third interviews where I was the second choice candidate, I started my own law firm in November to pass the time until I find a firm where I fit or make one of my own, whichever comes first. And that brings us to Christmas, where everything started to change again.

After years of getting used to myself being single I was thrown into a world of coupledom FOREVER. It is quite possibly the scariest thing I have ever done. So, with a host of new friends, new experiences, and a new direction in life, I am back, I am blogging, and I am getting married.

New Years Day

Tue, 23 Jan 2007 11:09:31 GMT

I am just not 21 anymore. By 12:30 I was dragging, by 3 am I was exhausted. I admire the 21 year olds and remember what it was like to party all night without a care in the world. Finals from college are over, and you are all that is left to ring in the new year. It was a happy time in life. This year I felt old. I will turn 26. To some that might not seem like a reason to feel old. To others, that is ancient. To me, surrounded by 21 year olds, I felt old. New years resolution number 1: Find friends that are older than 21.

Not that 21 is bad. By all means. It is a good year. I basked in it nearly 6 years ago. I had a laundry list of friends or sorority sisters to call at the drop of a hat to go out and party, shop, stalk, giggle, or whatever else. I had men literally knocking on my dorm room door, and window for that matter. There was always someone around when I was 21, and if no one was around it was easy to find someone to be around. 21 was a great year. I drank for the first time, legally. I was kidnapped by Drenimal in the middle of the night and dragged out into the bustling Stillwater, Oklahoma nightlife. I was honored by a homemade, half eaten minced pie with a candle in it. Compliments of my group of college friends. A few weeks later I was honored enough to drink a white russian in a little bar in Kansas City in the presence of celebrity. It was a happy year. A year of champagne and goldschlager. Celebratory drinks.

21 was not as lonely as 22, as family fun as 23, as romantic as 24, and certainly didn’t launch me into the quarterlife crisis of age 25. Looking back, it was a major landmark in life. I loved it, but the truth is, I am now a good six years past it. My age was evident among the party goers new years eve. Which brings me to a funny thought. Where am I now? Absolutely not where I thought I would be at 21, if I thought much of anything at age 21.

In fact, I am not near where I am headed or anywhere I want to be. Quite the contrary. I am stuck in life purgatory at age 25. Which makes me want to read my horoscope for the year. Maybe there is hope in the stars. Apparently there is. As a taurus, “it will be a year of financial growth.” I can’t help but laugh. Anything other than having mom and dad support you while you retake the bar exam has to be considered financial growth. “I will be lucky in love if I am willing to accept the changes that are about to come.” That one actually scares me a little bit. I think I am going to scarf down some more black eyed peas to compensate. (Black eyed peas on new years are supposed to bring good luck.)

Then I remember the old saying that what you do on New Years day sets the tone for the rest of the year. What did I do on New Years day? I was tired, dragging from my one night of 21 year old fun. I just want to sleep. I receive a “HAppy New Year!” phone call from my parents. It makes me miss them.

I go to Exboyfriendnowboyfriend’s house, but I am not really in the mood to entertain or be entertained. I just want to kind of exist. I turn on the Tournament of Roses Parade. I have lots of fond memories of it. I point out how much I enjoy it. Exboyfriendnowboyfriend is completely disinterested, not one for parades. Then the band that looks like Star Wars characters marches past and George Lucas appears. He takes interest for a few minutes then falls asleep. I get bored. So I play with his hair, while watching the parade and wishing I had someone to share it with. He wakes up. Exboyfriendnowboyfriend wants to talk and play. I am not in the mood. He pouts and plays a video game. There is a limited fare of melodrama mostly caused because I am bored, but too tired to really want to do anything. I accidently hurt his feelings in my melodramatic boredom. He takes off outside to smoke a cigarette which annoys me. I huff and puff about it, and make an attempt to leave. I take a nap on his couch. I awaken to a piece of Pizza and a glass of water, compliments of chef Exboyfriendnowboyfriend. I eat. I complain about being bored, but he has tuned me out, and I don’t have the energy to fight to be heard. So, I watch some movie reviews on Exboyfriendnowboyfriend’s TV commenting occasionally about how I think that the movie looks good. Inevitably the movies I like he doesn’t. Except for “Rumor Has It...” I am pretty sure the reason he wants to watch the movie is Jennifer Aniston. I have already seen it. I daydream about messing around on the internet. I am getting restless being at the Exboyfriendnowboyfriend’s house. I say I want to leave. He looks heartbroken. All I can really think about is a bubble bath, yoga, a nap, and some blackeyed peas. Only not my blackeyed peas, I want Gram’s blackeyed peas and stew. I figure my ultimate reason for wanting to leave is that I miss my family. I try to convince Exboyfriendsnowboyfriend to leave his house and go to mine and eat blackeyed peas. If I can’t have my family maybe he could serve as a surrogate. He isn’t interested in leaving his apartment. For fear of being lonely, I stay a little longer at Exboyfriendnowboyfriend’s. About an hour later, I say “I am restless and tired of being in the same place for so long.” It is completely true. I need a change of scenery. He looks up potential dates online. Some sound fun, but nothing for tonight. I suggest coffee. We go to Starbucks. However, I realize I have to drink decaf tea since I am reducing my chocolate and caffeine intake. Which is kind of disappointing. We sit staring at each other as we drink our Starbucks. Nothing really to say. Each of us tries to start a productive conversation, but it doesn’t work. So we just sit and stare at one another having a conversation that an outsider would inevitably think was a bad first date conversation. I take him home. Then I drive home. Sleepily.

I remember something about sleepy drivers being just as bad as drunk drivers. Being that I am not a stellar driver anyway, this overly concerns me. I am extra cautious. I pull up to the loft. Go inside, and feel relief about being home safe. I call to let Exboyfriendnowboyfriend know I made it home safely. He doesn’t answer so I leave a message. I look around and make a New Years Resolution to clean the loft. I chop my veggies and make as close of a version to Gram’s black-eyed peas as I can. They are not Gram’s. It is not the same. Disappointed I sit on my couch and flip through television. Again, disappointing nothing but reality TV reruns. I check my voicemails from last night and return calls to my friends who called my home phone and not my cell phone to wish me a happy new year. I call a few friends to wish them Happy New Year. I have an entire crock pot of black eyed peas and I don’t know what to do with it. My neighbor comes up to see if I have any Bisquick and to tell me to stop stomping on the floor. I apologize for stomping and for not having bisquick. I offer him blackeyed peas to go. He accepts. The girl across the hall sees the blackeyed peas and I give her some too. I still have half a crockpot. I put it in tupperware for tomorrow. I will have a week of blackeyed peas. At 9:30 I finally get the bubble bath I had been daydreaming of. Exboyfriendnowboyfriend calls and texts a couple of times wondering where I am. At first I don’t answer, then I remember that text messages annoy me and I am still being charged for them. I call him back. I crawl into bed, and prop up with Simon. I play on the internet for awhile. I fall asleep. I am not entirely sure I like the tone of my New Year. Maybe the old wives tale is just a superstition. Maybe whatever your New Years day is like the rest of your year will be the opposite.

But I do hope 2007 will be exciting and fun, not painfully boring and filled with stuff that is almost, but not quite what I want.

New Years Resolutions

Tue, 23 Jan 2007 11:08:53 GMT

On my list of favorite holidays, New Years is somewhere near the top. It ranks well above Christmas which I never much liked because I hated waking up on Christmas morning. Even higher above Halloween, because although candy and dressing up are nice, I am a complete wimp and hate the scary stuff. And it certainly is well above Valentines Day which is possibly the worst holiday ever concocted. It doesn’t quite reach the level of Easter or the Fourth of July, which are my two favorite holidays, but it is up there on the list. New Years is a time for refreshing, ridding the woes of the past, starting anew, and cleaning the slate. As a person who doesn’t much care for grudges, I bask in the New Year every year, and I take great care in my Resolutions. I have listed them below: I would love to hear yours. Feel free to email and I will post them in the Next Comment Entry.

1. Be Happy

2. Study Hard to Pass the Bar Exam

3. Stay Healthy by eating well and working out

4. Embrace Change

5. Live life to its fullest

6. Find Beauty in Little Things

7. Smile at Strangers

8. Stay organized

9. Overcome Discouragement

10. Find Love

The Blues

Tue, 23 Jan 2007 11:07:25 GMT

They aren’t the greatest hockey team in the league. In fact, quite honestly, I know a few little league hockey teams that might be able to hang with them. I do have to hand it to the Blues though, they are the one Saint Louis team, that as a non-native St. Louisan, I have been able to fall in love with wholeheartedly. It all started about a year ago at my first Blue’s game. I went with a group of friends. We yelled and screamed and checked out the hottie hockey guys. We tried to make sense of the game. It was some strange mix of golf, football, soccer, baseball, and figure skating. The arena was cold and icy. There were tackles and fights. It didn’t matter if the Blues won or lost the game, so long as there was a stick broken and someone lost an eye. And that is the beauty of hockey. So, to report on tonight’s game against the Blackhawks as if the Blues are good for nothing would go against my very sense of self and some of the beauty of the game would be lost. I mean, really, a stick did get broken. The only sign that the game didn’t go so well is that nobody got hurt. Here is the play by play, from the point of view of someone who knows absolutely nothing about Hockey, but loves it anyway.

1. Star Spangled Banner.

2. People come out and skate around on the ice and hit the little puck type thing. (def. “puck type thing”: hockey puck, the little black disc thing that slides around on the ice, the black thing that is like a golf ball but bigger and flatter, the thing they hit with the sticks.)

3. Everyone goes to one end of the ice. (repeat)

4. Everyone goes to the other end of the ice. (repeat)

5. The teams hit the puck type thing back and forth.

6. The Teams slam each other into the big thingies that are clear and go up really high.

7. Nachos. mmm..good.

8. Everyone cheers “Lets go Blues!”

9. Everyone cheers because there is a power play. (def. Power play: a bunch of the team people group together and hit the puck type thing a lot with the sticks.)

10. Goal for the Blues! (Plays the Saints go marching in...I think because it is a miracle that the Blues made a goal!)

11. Three Goals for the Blackhawks.

12. One goal for the Blues!! (Two miracles in one night)

13. Crazy dude throws towel.

14. They review the last goal for like 20 minutes. Blues get a point even though someone “might” have used a method other than stick hitting pucklike thing to get the puck in the goal. 15. Search for chocolate, only to find all concessions have closed. Still craving chocolate.

15. Last minute of game, those who have not left already, leave. Wasn’t that exciting! You feel like you were there! I know it! GO BLUES!!

The Journals

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 22:16:36 GMT

I whipped out the journals again. Oh, yes, the journals. They are the things I turn to while searching for myself. There are piles of them from my entire life. They are filled with half written stories, little memoirs of the days of my life, and poetry. They make me laugh, cry, or remember old friends and goodtimes. At the end of the piles I always find a new sense of self. Writing. I have been doing it for years.

One journal dates back to grade school. I talk about my grade school crush on a boy named Chris Johnson. He was the smartest kid in the class. I talk about birthday parties, how I want a puppy, and playing with my friends. I made myself write something everyday. Even if it was just one sentence. At the end of my grade school journal it tells a loathsome tale. In sixth grade, my teacher became very concerned because my friend Beth and I decided to write a spin on the old tale of Hansel and Gretel. Instead of the children we used the three little piggies. Instead of eating the piggies in the end, the witch was eaten by the piggies as ‘just desserts’ for treating the piggies badly. As I read it now, I see this as probably my developing sense of justice. I think maybe I should sell this to PETA? I laugh.

Then comes the mass journaling. 11 journals in 10 years. 11 years ago, shortly after my ballerina/concert pianist phase, I was bent on being a writer. I wanted to write my way through life. I would sit at home and start novels that I would never finish. I kept a series of journals with the hopes that, someday, I could publish when I was famous. Everyone could read about my woes of jr. high, my new purple vinyl skirt, my feather pen, my Mary Janes, those early years of dating, and of course, I cannot ever forget, my spectacular jr. high poetry. Sometimes I would sit in my closet and pretend I was like Emily Dickinson. Emily Dickinson, a recluse who sat and wrote deep meaningful poetry from her room, and who watched and lived through observation. I would write my poetry then. Poetry that I wrote dramatically because I was a drama queen. Sweet love poems that all ended with someone either, dying, quitting, or leaving. When I would write poems for school, I had to write about happy things with happy endings, only I didn’t think endings should be happy. At the time I was too young to see the beauty and drama in happy. I thought drama was reserved only for Romeo and Juliet situations.

I loved writing. I loved the way I could play with the order of sentences and make words rhyme. I loved playing with the words and making them mean things they did not mean. I read magazine articles and critiqued. I hated misspelled words. I loved writing even if it meant one of my English teachers was going to take a red pen and mark all over my paper. I embraced the opportunity to be corrected in English. It was the one core subject that I actually really wanted to learn. I loved poetry even more because I had grown up around it. I knew it. My father wrote it. My father had a stack of poems not unlike the stack of journals I am sitting in the middle of right now. Poems about everything under the sun. Poems about the people he loves and the places he’s been. I used to love to read them when I was a girl. I would pull his big book of poetry out of the closet and sit for hours reading it. There were even some about me. One of the poems my father wrote about me is stuck inside my old journal. Folded in half on paper from probably 1982. “I love the little darling, with rice chex in her hair…” I read it now. I am reminded how much and for how long my daddy has loved me. My daddy, my poet.

When it came time to really decide what to do in life, I think I was ill equipped. I was not ready to make that decision. I wrote about it here in the journals. ‘I wanted to be a doctor. Only I didn’t really want to be a doctor, I actually wanted to go in to public relations. Only there was a friend of mine that I didn’t like who was going to go into Public Relations, which made me not want to go into public relations. I wanted to do something that would impress my family. I mean my brother was an engineer. I had to do something at least as impressive as my brother. Of course, going to college and majoring in Public Relations, English, or Journalism, would not have compared to being an engineer.’ I laugh at my own immaturity. At the way I was selling myself short to do something I didn’t really want to do, just because someone else was doing what I wanted to do and I didn’t like them.

I wanted Mom and Dad to think I was smart. Not that they didn’t already think I was sort of smart, but I was not nearly as accomplished as my older brother. I felt like the dumb kid. The dumb kid feeling among siblings has nothing to do with actual intelligence and is entirely relative to the intelligence of the other siblings. In other words, if you are crazy smart and your sibling is a genius, you still feel like the dumb kid. I think for a second about all the decisions I have made because I felt like the dumb kid. I never once focused on the fact, that I was really the creative kid. How many journals does my brother have? It isn’t that I was dumber, it is that I was different. If only I had realized that years ago. My whole life could be different.

I stop dead in my tracks. My eyes gaze down the page. I realize reason one of many reasons why I got a law degree. Which brings me to my ultimate question. What do I do now that I have shown everyone I was really the smart kid too? What would I do if I was not pigeonholed into being an attorney, and if money was no object? What would I do. Not what does everyone else think I should do. I asked the wrong questions when I was younger, I am asking the right one now. I do have endless possibilities spread out before me. I look at the piles of journals around me, the books I have started and never finished, the hopes and dreams of my life when I was a little girl. I look at each one of them. Questioning my decisions and laughing at my mistakes (and my poetry for that matter). In this strange little jut of reminiscing I have inspired myself. I sit down to write.

Urban Crawling

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 22:14:05 GMT

“Viper, why am I at the mall again?” I stared aimlessly at the vastness of potential shopping in front of me. “You are here because you need to go to the Apple Store to ask about that html stuff.” “Oh yeah, which way?” I’ve been to the mall a million times. I even bought my lovely computer, Simon, at the Apple Store. I should know where it is, but I am still lost. Viper points right, “Over there.”

We head that direction. All of a sudden I get a whiff of the most pungent odor I have ever smelled. “It smells like....like...teen spirit.” Sure enough. There to my right is a teeny bopper clothing store. Only that isn’t the smell. The smell is the teenager standing braces and all in the doorway. He reeks of cologne. For the first time in my life, I show my age. “Viper, that teeny bopper smells like he just poured an entire bottle of cologne on.” Viper gives a disgusted look. “I wonder if his mother noticed? How could you let your son out of the house smelling like that?” Viper chuckles, “Trust me, it smells better than teenage boy.” I try to remember teenage boy smell. I didn’t think they smelled too bad when I was a teenager, but I could be wrong. Maybe, it is just kids these days.

We round the corner to the Apple store, in all its glory. I wait in line for someone who knows something about html, while Viper wanders through the store daydreaming of ipods and Macbooks. After I get my html fiasco handled by an Apple Genius, we head back out of the Apple store toward Urban Outfitters. As I wander through the Urban Outfitters store, I can’t help but feel a bit nostalgic. There was a time when this was my style. There was a time when I had a dorm room with Abercrombie catalog models on the walls. A dorm room at a college where my style so closely resembled Urban Outfitters. I had a glimpse of a person I used to be. The strange part is that I don’t relate to myself as that person anymore. That person, is happily a memory. I’ve grown up. As I walked past a stack of books on how to make cocktails. I chuckled. I remember learning that. I remember learning to mix margaritas and martinis in my very first apartment. I remember college parties, late nights, dance clubs, and a whole world I have been removed from now for almost three years. Happy memories of good times and friends. As I scan through the store, I see sparks of memories I had almost forgotten. A fuzzy rug reminds me of a friend of mine’s place. A pair of boots that reminds me of KT’s party boots. Plates, blankets, and mini cocktail glasses. All perfectly suitable for that special time in life called college. Linz once told me that what was most important about a college degree was not the major but the experience. She is absolutely right. Which made me want to ask...What is your favorite college story? I will post with the comments at the end of the week.

Bedazzled Wifebeaters and Barry Manilow

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 22:12:40 GMT

“VIPER! I cannot believe I am touching a $50.00 wifebeater! This is absurd!” I yell across Nordstroms. Under no circumstance should a wifebeater cost any amount over $10.00. I believe at Wal-mart and Target you can get a pack of 5 for $5.00. I am appalled at the price tag. “Is it bedazzled with diamonds?” Viper yells back with a laugh as he shows his wifebeater through his shirt. “It should be bedazzled with diamonds for $50.00. Do you think some unsuspecting soccer mom would buy this one off of me for $100? The sweat stains could easily pass as a new fad.” I laugh at the thought. “I know you are trying to make a profit off of unsuspecting soccer moms, but maybe one of them will think you are hot and buy the wifebeater just because you touched it.” I laugh. “I think that a $50.00 wifebeater is equivalent to buying one sock for $40.00.” I can’t bear to be in the store any longer. Viper, O, and I pack up and head out into the mall. I can’t buy anything. It is painful. Like pulling teeth. No, worse, a root canal. I pass Ann Taylor’s 70% off sale with a sigh. I also pass Ann Taylor Loft with a sigh and a reminder comment, “Hey, guys, I can’t go in either of those two stores, ok.”

I was reminding myself, not my shopping buddies. I indulged a little in the little morsel of yummy goodness that is chick-fil-a with polynesian sauce, but that is all I buy. No steady job, saving for two months of no job during bar exam study time part deux, means no shopping. Stupid Bar Exam version 2.0 has put a dent in my shopping life. Oh, the sacrifice I am making to pass this time around had better be worth it. As the three of us wander aimlessly through the mall we pass a bridal store. Given my festive mood for the last month, I comment on how it makes me want to puke, as do all the happy little people in it. Then O makes a comment I cannot get past. “There are two reasons people get married. Either they are lucky or they are lonely.” There, in that one little sentence was everything I have ever wanted to say on the subject of marriage. The Lucky: They find someone they connect with, love, and could actually stand being around for the rest of their life. It isn’t about the marriage it is about the companionship. They could get married alone in a desert on the back of a donkey wearing togas, it wouldn’t matter. The engagement ring could be one of those little halloween spider rings. It wouldn’t make a difference. Ultimately they are the Lucky. 1 in 4 of all the marriages in the US are of these people. The Lonely: The lonely make up 2 in 4 couples. People get married because they are lonely when they are single. The natural way to be unlonely is to find someone else who is lonely and get married so that no one is lonely. Less to do with love, more to do with being unlonely. Love might grow in these relationships, I have no doubt that can happen. Just that the basic starting premise is loneliness. Which means these marriages would be starting on ever so slightly shakier ground than the marriages of the Lucky. I suppose the only other reasons people would get married are religion and money. Although these two reasons are questionable they make up 1 in 4 marriages too. So, perpetuating my bitterness at life onto the happy bridal store peoples, I think to myself, “how sad, that they aren’t buying togas.”

It might be irrational to assume that everyone in the store was lonely not lucky, but it made me feel better. It also made me glad I was not selling myself short and getting married out of loneliness. And that was my weekend. So, naturally, today, as I was filling out the barbri repeater application, and making sure I don’t get charged a book deposit for books I already own. I had a fleeting thought of throwing everything to the wind, having a torrid affair with Barry Manilow, convincing him to marry me, then getting a divorce and taking half. Which made me hum, “Strangers in the night.” and the humming lifted my spirits. When I got in my car for lunch I belted out “Copacabana”, then “Sometimes when we touch.” Who knew Barry could be so influential. Maybe I really do love Barry. (In that nonstalker fan type of way.) I met the ex for lunch. We sat and talked about other opportunities for lawyers than being lawyers. My suggestion, “Marrying Barry Manilow.” His suggestion, “Becoming Dirk Diggler.” (Notice the striking difference between the male and female mind here.)Then came the bar exam talk. He asked how I was doing. I felt the tears start to well up in the bottom of my eyes. He noticed. “Hey if you are down there is nothing like Lionel Richie and Stevie Wonder. It will lift you right back up.” All of a sudden I understood my ex’s interesting CD collection. I thought again about Barry, who over the course of the day, I decided I am now on a first name basis with. We did share that moment of a screeching high note in my car. The power of good music. Barry is classic. As are Lionel and Stevie. Classic. Hopeful. Spirit Lifters. When, work was over, I tried something new. I drove home, plugged in my itunes, and belted out every Barry Manilow song I own. Followed by Eminem’s “Lose Yourself” then Petey Pablo’s “Show me tha money.” For the first time in weeks I felt better. Like a little ray of sunshine was finally breaking through my gloomy head of clouds.

Groceries

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 22:11:24 GMT

I head to the Farmer’s Market early. It is easier to avoid the crowd in the wee small hours than at 9am or 10am. It is harvest season so there are a lot of new different vegetables. On my walk to the market I feel in need of refreshment. I relax. For the first time in weeks. I am slowly calming. My karma is repairing. I am surrounded by pumpkins. As I walk through the market I feel at home and worldly all at the same time. It is nice to think about how something as small as buying vegetables can connect you to other people in the world. Everyone buys veggies. All around the world on any given morning someone is in a grocery store buying a vegetable of some sort. And we should eat veggies for precisely the reason that they are the ultimate connection to everyone else. However, I am starting to think that veggies are a strong influence in my personal roots too.

I think of home. Oklahoma. The wind comes sweeping down the plains and knocks you into next september. It isn’t like Chicago wind, no, it is stronger and not as cold...most of the time. I think of farmers, and vegetables and the way they are just a higher quality when you are in a state which exports the vegetables. I remember my Grandma’s garden where she grows cucumbers for homemade pickles and peppers. The kind of pickles so good that Claussen cannot even compare. I even think about homecooked meals that I didn’t cook. Grilled steak, chicken, and even zucchini. The stuff that I don’t get to eat living in the heart of the city. I get homesick. It doesn’t happen very often, anymore. I have learned to live on my own, but every once in awhile I want home more than anything. Right now is that time. I want my mommy, daddy, my brother, sister-in-law, and little Luke, my grandparents and aunts, uncles, and cousins. I am homesick, this time less for Oklahoma and more for my family. This kind of homesick is far worse than the last kind. I find myself considering moving home for a few minutes. Then I think about the outpouring of support from all these people in the last few weeks. The flowers, cards, letters, and threats to move me home. I know somewhere when I was telling them all summer that I didn’t think I would pass, they didn’t believe me. Something in them kept telling them I would be fine. I

I am fine, just a very different kind of fine, and now they know that I can fail. It helps most to know they love me anyway. I walk into my apartment. A card from my Gram sitting on my table. Not a sympathy card, but encouragement. Flowers from my mom, bright yellow daisies in a little woven basket, “when life gives you lemons make lemonade.” Bouquets from single mom, and ballerina boy. A chocolate basket from my friend who I studied all summer with, and who has called me every few days since my life fell apart. In my freezer are two Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream pints. Chocolate brownie and Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. Comfort food from Anonymous Him. Even the ex called to make sure I was doing alright. All of a sudden I feel like the luckiest woman in the world. I pop one of those Chocolates from my study buddy, put away my groceries, and move along to dance.

Feeling Stupid

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 22:10:19 GMT

Today, around lunchtime it hit me. That big wave of remorse, sadness, and anger that comes with the delayed onset of life’s worst moments. I felt stupid. Yes, that is right. I finally had sped far enough away from the flunkie vigil, the quitting of my job, the karmic rollercoaster that has been my life for the last three weeks, to realize it, only to find more life karma waiting around the corner.

Lately, my life has read so much like a TV drama similar to the OC, that I dare not write about it. If I wrote about it, someone might steal my life and broadcast it on prime time. I have had the excitement of a million lives in 3 weeks, and all I really get from it is the stupid feeling. It isn’t a feeling of stupid like “I am stupid,” but a feeling of stupid like “you know all that stuff that happened and all those choices you made...yes, well here they are, and they are looking straight at you, and you now have to deal with them. Congratulations, go set your karma on the right path.” kind of stupid.

A series of coincidences, none planned by anything other than higher powers, and all leading to life choices dealing with faith, integrity, strength, and honesty. Testing my purest values. I am tired of making life choices, but I see this stint in life for exactly what it is...a period of personal growth. We are not given challenges for any other purpose in life. Challenges are the very essence of growth. It takes a brave person to walk with faith, hold herself with integrity, be strong in the face of adversity, and guide herself with truth. Even though I am feeling down. My values are still intact. The person I am is ever so much the same, and sitting shame filled in a holding pattern circling over the rest of my life waiting to land. 4 months and counting.

Having it All

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 22:06:50 GMT

I opened my email yesterday to some of the happiest news I have ever heard. Bride Linz, the bride who launched my blog to fame, is pregnant. I was so happy for her I leaped from my chair and immediately sent a reply, Congratulations email! I started to rummage through my mind, hoping it would be a girl because I want to buy girl stuff and I can’t exactly buy girl stuff for my nephew.   When the initial high ended, I was watching yet another rerun of project runway.

All of a sudden the reality of how different my life is hit me like a semi truck. I felt a loss. It isn’t the first time I have felt that loss. I felt the same loss at Linz’s wedding. I feel it sometimes when I am watching my friends raise their children. It is a feeling of disconnect with their lives. An unrelatability that I am not sure truly exists, but the differences between my life and my friend’s lives are so great right now, that I feel ever so slightly left out. And at the same time ecstatic because they are living the lives they have dreamed of too. The ultimate in confused feelings. There are certain times when I am struck hard with the fact that my life is completely different from that of some of my friends.

My choices have been different, and I have done things they have not done. Usually, these times strike when they are doing things I have had to forfeit for the title of lawyer (assuming I pass the bar). I would be lying to say that I never daydream about white dresses, flowers, children, and family. I do. I have a bridal catalogue placed strategically in my magazine rack for those moments. I rummage through magazines looking at engagement rings from time to time, even though no one is a real option for buying me one. I love baby clothes shopping for my nephew. I love hanging out with my friend’s who have children. I love coloring with kids at work. Going out with the kids I babysit for and watching them pick what ice cream flavor they want by what color it is. I have domestic instincts. Just because I am a professional does not mean I lack domesticity. I am still a woman and I still want those things. I just am not ready for them yet, and when I notice what I am missing in other people’s lives, I have to do a quick reality check to remind myself, that there are things in my life they are missing too.

We are different. There is no normal life process. No logical steps to life. Life does not exist in a plan where you move from school, to marriage, to children, to retirement, to happily ever after. Most people’s lives don’t work like that. There are breaks and lulls in that process. Married or Single, with child or not, there are responsibilities and growth. Those opportunities for growth and responsibilities may be different, but they exist in both lifestyles. And no matter what, if you are living one lifestyle you are missing out on the other. That is the nature of our choices. I need validation for my thoughts. I call Mom. Sometimes mom is helpful. Today, not so much.

This is one of my life situations Mom doesn’t understand, but is trying really hard to understand. I talk to her about it and get a sense of the other track. She mentions her single friends and how sometimes she wishes she didn’t have to pour money into children so she could retire more comfortably. (I am ever so grateful for her picking up the check on half of those student loans.) She mentions the lives her single friends lead as if they carry no burdens. I know, from personal experience the burdens they have, and I also know the perception that single people have no burdens. Mom has hit the tip of the iceberg, but doesn’t know it because she has never led a single life. I can’t fault her. There are many things I don’t understand about her life. The married with children track. She reassures me it is different, that there are things she feels like she had to sacrifice for her choices, inadvertently reminds me that Linsey is just being normal, and that I am too picky with men. The me being too picky thing has always been an issue. We disagree on if I am too picky. I just haven’t found anyone yet. When I find someone I promise I will stop being picky. And for that matter, Linz was the pickiest human on Earth. She found someone. Picky is hardly the problem.

Picky is just a term imposed on older single people to describe why they haven’t found anyone yet without really delving into actual reasons, if any exist at all. It is for those who believe there is someone for everyone, when in all honesty, there is not. I hang up with mom, not really having the reassurance I need. I call KT. KT will make it all better.

I was right. KT who has made virtually all the same choices as me in life, has the same domestic tendencies, and is also currently hobbling about on one leg and has plenty of freetime seeing as how she is job searching again. As she discusses with me her refusal to sit in a wheelchair except on Tax Free Day at Kohls, I get a visual image of KT struggling with the phone and crutches. I tell her my dilemma with the domesticity issue, and how happy I am Linsey is pregnant because she has always wanted to be a mom. KT fully understands. She understands how we forfeited our life for awhile to go to law school, and then to start a career. She understands how eventually we still want that life. We just aren’t there yet. She tells me the latest in happy smitten couples of friends who are getting divorces. The entire saga of how the divorces came to be. The legality of how difficult getting a divorce is, and how I know this because I do this stuff everyday. And then makes a striking comment, “I feel like my choices may actually be protecting me from the saga of divorce.” I think about KT, and her family. The trauma she has been through. I understand her choices. I have come from the quintessential Leave it to Beaver family. I wonder why I made mine?

I have never really thought about it before. I know I went to law school for a reason, and that I felt guided to come to St. Louis. I just don’t know why I have made the choices I have made. Then it strikes me. I have always wanted to have it all. I have spent my whole life figuring out ways to have it all. Learning extreme measures in time management. I want the career, the family, and all the little aspects of life along the way. I have been grounded in reality enough to realize they do not all happen at once. Each area of having it all has to be separately nurtured. Each has to have time and care of its own. And in the scheme of my life I am certain I can have it all. I can also handle it all. I have strong and definite priorities. I think of my life now. I am right where I want to be.

I live the life of the perfect girl in the city novel. I have a great apartment. I have a career. I have dates and dead end relationships. I have friends and family who care about me. To have it all, I have to build it all. From the ground up. I chose to build my career before my family. I had an option to do it the other way around. I chose my career first because I have seen friends struggle with young relationships and eventually end up divorced or unhappy with a host of regrets. I do not want the regrets. I do not want to have to trust someone with my livelihood. I want to know that I can leave if I choose and can survive on my own. I don’t want to need a man, I want to want a man. I chose to go beyond what I needed for a career to have the reassurance that I can be picky. That I could marry a prince, a pauper, or no one at all and it wouldn’t matter because I can support myself, and I have an expectation that a man should also support himself. I have chosen my path so I can have the freedom to demand to be treated as a princess. Not a high maintenance princess who requires being showered with gifts, but treated like I am important to someone. I will not settle for being second in importance to work and the dog. I have chosen my path so I can feel free to love for love’s sake, and not because I am required to love. And as for now, I am right where I need to be.

Why I Love my Mother

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 22:03:48 GMT

The relationship between a mother and daughter cannot be captured in words. It can however be seen in glimpses of everyday conversation. I was driving home from work and giving my mother a call while, for the umpteenth time, thinking about the way I feel St. Louis manners stink, and then quickly justifying that a Midwestern City should not be expected to have the social graces of a southern state. A justification I often make when people do not smile while working at their jobs, or when there is a mass indiscretion to which most people are oblivious. It is like many people think they deserve more, and cannot possibly be happy with whatever it is they are doing. I do not think it is a bad thing, I think it is a major difference between where I have come from and where I have gone. (And yes, St. Louis is a midwestern city. That is why northerners think it is southern and southerners think it is northern.) An example of social indiscretions: An old man was behind me at the grocery store the other day. He left his basket for a minute to get a soda. He was hardly walking, so naturally it took him a little longer. A girl walked up behind him and asked whose stuff was in the basket. I told her an old man, he will be back in a minute. She proceeded to ask the cashier if she could move his stuff, and then moved him to the back of the line at the cashier’s approval. I was appalled! This is precisely the type of thing that would have everyone in line at a southern grocery store ready to beat you up. In fact, it is probably perfectly ok in some southern states to actually beat someone up for something like that, no one would hold it against you. You just don’t disrespect elders like that. There is also the opening the door for ladies thing, the thank you thing, the hello thing, and a course of other breaches of propriety that I expect, but do not exist here. It is ultimately the remnants of my culture shock. Interestingly, those manners exist in Chicago, but not in St. Louis. I have yet to figure that one out. It isn’t a big city thing. It has to be cultural, and from that perspective, the breaches are interesting. I digress... “You’re a fish out of water there sometimes.” My mother is right. The weird part is that we must have connected on some level of ESP. She knew what I was thinking about. It sparked the entire conversation about manners. Sometimes I do feel like a fish out of water here. Most of the time, actually. I am not so incredibly sure that I wouldn’t feel that way anywhere. Even at home I felt different. My social graces are below average for Oklahoma. Well above average for St. Louis. Average for Chicago and possibly Kansas City. And lets all hope I never go to Alabama where I will be way below the standard. There is a rumor that in Alabama you are expected to send a thank you note for compliments. Enough about manners. How does my mother know me so well? Is there some weird genetic bond where even if I don’t say anything, even if I am 500 miles away, without any inkling of a facial expression, or even the slightest hint to how I am feeling. She knows. How does she know? I feel comfort in the fact that someone knows me so incredibly well. Like a very special best friend. One who can read your mind, and of course, who is stunningly beautiful like yourself. It is a person who knows nearly every tear you have cried in your life, and every smile you have smiled. Smiles you didn’t even know you smile. My mother has raised me well. Raised me not to judge when someone is not just like me. That what I think is right, may not be right to everyone, and somewhere in there I learned to bask in the beauty of life’s differences. Thanks Mom. I love you.

Who Says Lawyers Can't Upholster?

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 21:59:52 GMT

My fingers are bruised. My back is aching. My head was throbbing. I can’t help but feel relieved. I couldn’t take another minute of looking at the disgusting red burlap carpet like awful office chairs I inherited at the office. As the law clerk you get the rest of the office’s leftovers. These chairs were exceptional. They are the kind of chairs you look at and know immediately, why they are leftovers. The chairs are something from 1972. I am sure they were the height of fashion then. Long before the pads inside of them began to crumble and get moldy. Long before I was even born. Luckily, before the boss skipped town for a few weeks I got free reign over my office space. “Do whatever you like.” And I have. the whole place has become an oasis. I actually like being in the office. This love of my office is probably a good thing considering word on the street is that for the next year or two I will be spending and exceptional amount of time there. Only the horrendous red chairs stand out like a cow in a chicken coop. I couldn’t take it anymore! As I slowly chiseled the fabric away from the metal underneath of the chair, (yes I said chisel), the pad began to disintegrate into tiny little mountains of foam sand. By the time I had taken the entire chair apart, my office floor looked like a construction project. With the help of one of the secretaries, I placed a new foam pad onto the chair and began glueing. By the time I had finished glueing, my hands were covered in glue. I thought about how much fun it used to be to make fingerprints in glue as a kid. Slowly, I peeled the dry glue off of my fingers into the trash can taking a peak at my fingerprints. Then covered in chair soot, I looked up to see a client. Laughing of course. “I didn’t know lawyers did upholstery.” I laughed. “We have hidden talents. This is not one of mine.” He was swept away into another office of Attorney 2 who has actually been admitted to the bar and can do something other than upholster at work. God bless the secretary who sat in my office with me. Listening to every word of profanity as I screwed my finger into the chair, hearing every exclamation as I tried to figure out what I was doing, and helping with every cut so I could round the corners of the chair with fabric. I don’t know what I would have done without her. In fact, I don’t think I know what I would do without her every day. She really does rock. The chair is now beautiful. Not that it would have taken much to be better looking than the red carpet ewe that it used to be. I just sat and stared at it for the last 30 minutes of work. I felt a great sense of accomplishment. Yeah chair!

Going Home

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 21:58:34 GMT

Sometimes what you need is a trip home. A trip to a place where people love you and care about you and might iron your clothes if you are really nice and promise to do the dishes. Aside from being very anxious about meeting my nephew for the first time, I feel like maybe this is a much needed trip. Even before the nephew was in the picture, I had planned on going home. Sometimes it is nice to be small town for awhile instead of big city. Sometimes I enjoy walking into 7-11 and seeing an inadvertent high school reunion. There is something homey about it. Lately, I have been feeling a little need for the country. Not that I will be going to the country, but home in general is more country than Saint Louis. Almost packed. I have the books I am reading sitting waiting with a boarding pass. A suitcase almost full of freshly cleaned laundry, and oh yeah, I need to call the old friend I am meeting up with in town tomorrow to remind him of our date. Not that he forgot. I think the reminder is more for me. That is right, I am sick and tired of going out with people I have to get to know. Having to dish out meaningless chit chat about the weather. Having to ask, “what do you do for a living?” Even “What is your name?” I am tired of the stupid questions. So, I am going out for fun with an old friend, who I don’t have to ask any of those questions. Problem solved. I don’t think this feeling of being tired of meeting new people will last. I tend to be a pretty friendly person. I think the problem is that I have been overwhelmed with relationships lately. I am not quite ready to bust out of the cocoon of break up saga and fly. I would rather just kind of sit on the cocoon and let my wings dry for a little while. I have all the rest of my life to flutter about. The A game is back, but I’m not in the mood to swing the bat. In an effort to dry those wings and maybe even consider swinging a bat (just in case that A game brings on a homer). I think I need to just go home. I need my family. Somewhere I can be myself without having to worry about all those stupid adult obligations that adults have to worry about. Somewhere my mother can hug me, and I can hold my baby nephew and watch my brother (probably scared to death, which is strangely satisfying for a little sister) learn to be a dad. I need home.

Laundry

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 21:58:03 GMT

There is a large pile of multicolored fabric laying in the middle of my floor. Somewhere in it is a few high heels, a notebook, and a desk calendar. I really really need to do my laundry. I make a mental note. That has been the pattern for the last three weeks. All of the excitement of having my single life back has overwhelmed me, and my laundry has been neglected. I’ve had so much else to do. I have had to rework my A game in the dating scene. I had a blogfest with a new friend. I have had drunk dials from the ex to listen to. There was ice cream to be eaten, wine to be drunk, netflix to be watched, work to be done, and old friends to regain contact with! I have even had dinner with my nemesis. Proceed with caution when making your nemesis your friend. My boss is on vacation, and it is just me and attorney 2 at the firm. Our duty to hold up the fort has become an ordeal surrounding software, and quite the ordeal it has been. Thus, why my laundry has turned into so much more than laundry. With a trip just around the corner to go meet the new man in my life (Luke) I have to do my laundry. I need to do the mundane job of folding socks and towels. I refuse to iron. I have high hopes I can talk Nonna (formerly known as Mom) to do it for me. Then I remember that today is a special day! Today, is my father’s birthday. With Luke the newest addition to the family as the present from my brother, there is nothing I could get to even compare. Not even a new power tool can beat a grandson. Although, it might come close...depending on the tool. I am not even sure a whole set of brand new golf clubs would work. Perhaps, I will take my daddy to the store when I come home and make him pick out his own present from me. I mean, what have I got to lose? I can’t one up my brother this year. Well, if I am going to the store I will need clothes. Which means I have to do my laundry. Starting my first load in five minutes.

Starting Over

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 21:56:55 GMT

Sometimes, I miss him. It would be a lie to say I do not. If I did not miss him sometimes, I would be worried. My break up would not be normal. My relationship with him would have meant nothing, and for everything in life, there is meaning. There are reasons for every person we meet, and every person we forge a relationship with. There is an interconnectivity between people that transcends human understanding. Within every human is an incredible spirit, and this spirit guides our lives. It is the spirit that forms the bond with other people. It is the spirit that chooses what lessons we learn from our relationships, and that reserves the lessons for future reference in other relationships.

I do not believe in baggage. All “baggage” really is, is a pattern recognized by your spirit. A negative or positive pattern. It is what forms what we like and what we don’t like. The baggage that everyone complains about after a break up, is the very thing that allows you to start over. Today, was a start. I knew I was starting over. I noticed it for the first time while cleaning my desk at home. I ran across memory after memory, feeling no nostalgia. I remembered the memories, I remembered them vividly. I remembered where the picture was taken on the beach, the giant lizard, the ex going into the water for the first time. I even remembered the smell of the air. I remember what it felt like to be held. But it seems like a memory and nothing else. Nothing spectacular. Nothing like I remember it being, and in that is my sadness. It is not the loss of the person, but the loss of the connection with the spirit. The loss of the connection with a spirit which taught me so much and grew with me for several years as both a friend, exboyfriendbestfriendsortaboyfriendthingy, and boyfriend.

I do not feel a void. It is more a feeling of a power line dangling from high winds in a storm. The wire is still there, but there is no connection. That, is ultimately what you get used to after a break up. You get used to someone’s spirit’s connection with yours being disconnected. And that is what makes me so amazed with humanity’s resilience. We can survive that disconnect, recover, and revive our own spirits. Our greatest friend is father time, and we give him no credit. There are few wounds that can heal without time.

At this point, where I am ready to start over. I don’t think I am ready to dive into the dating scene head first. I haven’t had enough time for that. That is a long way down the road. Right now, I am ready to stick my toe in the water. Baby steps. First, I must become myself again. I must rebuild my spirit. Focus on what I love, who I am, and what I need. I must re-become me. That is step one. I am there. Took approximately 1 week. Luckily, I had not lost too much of myself to the relationship. Ahhh...yes, valuable baggage. Not losing yourself to another person. Not becoming who another person would like you to be so that your relationship will work. A very valuable piece of baggage indeed. I

t was so much easier to meet the first step this time around. Easier than ever before. Then, I must be alone for however long my recovery takes. Not alone in that lock yourself in your room in utter solitude sense, but give myself some time to get to know myself again. Be with friends and family. Make new friends, reconnect with old friends. Only after this will I be able to fully give of myself again, or recognize when the opportunity to love again arrives. There is always an again. Love and Hate are the two things of which the world never runs short. Then, I will be ready to get out there again. It could be a week, it could be a day, it could be an hour. This entire process could take the next five minutes or the next ten years. But as of today, as of this very moment. I have started over, and am well on my way.

It seems it is not only my love life that is starting over. It is my entire life. Everything is changing, and with change, comes more change. I have always believed it is best to just embrace the change, walk fearlessly through life even when you are deathly afraid of what may be around the corner. I have no choice but to follow this dearly held value. I have to embrace my change. As life changes, I change. It is as simple as a reaction. Newton had a point, “For every action there is an equal an opposite reaction.” That is the nature of everything. As I scanned some old blog entries with a new friend last night, I couldn’t help but realize what a change has already occurred.

I am truly not the same person I was in December of 2004 when I first started blogging, in fact, I am not even the same person I was a month ago. Isn’t that the beauty of life? The fact that for the entire course of life you are in a constant state of change. Constantly growing, rebuilding, renewing, and becoming who you are. My piano teacher once told me that life ended when you figure out all you need to know from it. When you are done starting over. There are no more starts. Which only begs the question, I wonder how long life lasts? But I suppose that question is for religious scholars and philosophers to banter about. Not something to concern me. I am sure I have plenty of starts to start over left. There is so much left to know from life. There are so many people to meet, to form a connection with, and to learn from. May every minute of every day be a chance to start over.

A Night out with the Girls

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 21:53:23 GMT

I hear the pimpstress mobile’s breaks studder as I rear to a stop while strategically picking a grocery store in order to avoid Prince Charming....Just in case he was at the grocery store. I settle on Dierbergs. Schnucks is his more likely choice. As I pull into the parking lot, I begin to think of my list. Soda, Green Tea, a bottle of wine, and a bottle of Welch’s Sparkling grape juice. Welch’s Sparkling Grape Juice. I have so many fond memories. I remember New Year’s Eve celebrations with my girlfriends, long before champagne was an option. We would drink Sparkling Grape Juice from champagne glasses. I honestly believe there were times when I was drunker off of Sparkling Grape Juice than I have ever been off of wine. We would stumble through the streets singing songs at the top of our lungs, flirting with boys, and feeling like we owned the entire state of Oklahoma. Sparkling Grape Juice was at certain slumber parties as a staple, along with strawberries, chocolate, and Seventeen and YM Magazines. As I found a bottle on the shelf I couldn’t help but remember all those beautiful moments spent with my favorite girlfriends laying around talking about everything from first loves to high school gossip. All of a sudden I missed my girls. I call my mom. “What?” mom answers knowing it is me and I have already called her 8 times today. “Whatcha doin?” I reply. I feel like I am interrupting something. I am. My mother had lunch with her girlfriends from high school. I feel a little pang of jealousy, and then am happy for her. She has what I wanted right then. Obviously, she wanted it too. I connect with my mother, and quickly get off the phone. I wouldn’t want a long conversation with my mother if I catching up with my girls. I look at the grape juice bottle in my hand and place it in my basket. Another happy memory stored away. Then I realize the accomplishment in the moment. For 5 whole minute that happy memory of my girls erased him completely. And in that moment, I knew the importance of girlfriends, even if you haven’t seen them in awhile, or even years. I look at my watch. I have to get home. A friend, SingleMom, and her two girls are coming to dinner. Then the four of us are headed to the Muny. After dinner, while waiting for the show to start, the younger of the girls decided I needed a new hairstyle. It wasn’t long until the older of the two girls agreed and wanted to also contribute to the new hairstyle. Then I heard a familiar phrase again, “Can I play with your hair?” Again, a thought of my girlfriends. We braided and ponytailed and scrunched and curled. Female bonding at its finest. I tell the younger one, “Sure.” Singlemom chimes in “You’re brave.” I think to myself, It is probably karma from some pretty bad hairstyles I have given in my life to friends. I take my karmic hairstyle. Oh, yes, it was karmic alright. I was immediately told to flip my head over, toss all my hair forward, so I could have a ponytail front and center on my head. I resembled a maltese fresh from the groomer. But the look on the little one’s face as she finished was classic. “Oh! It’s wonderful!” She exclaimed. I laughed. Then the other one’s turn. My hair, flipped over, tossed, and put again, in a really high ponytail, only she didn’t pull it all the way through. Only halfway. I had a poof on top of my head. “It’s actually not too bad.” She said looking at my giant head poof. Again I laughed, and mentioned the maltese, but decided to leave the hair. It was off of my neck, and cool in the hot night air. Which again reminded me of home. A night with the girlfriends, hair in sloppy buns, cruising around town back in Oklahoma. This time, I was blessed with a whole 4 hours of not thinking of the ex. Again, the importance of girlfriends. But then a sneaky memory slid into my head. A memory of a wedding dinner we went to at the Muny theater about a year or two ago. A happy memory. Immediately, I began the rush of “the list.” The list is what I made at the time of the breakup to remind me why we broke up. I let the list run through my head . I remember the feelings, the way the relationship just didn’t work, and soon, I remember where I am again. I watch the play. I’m sitting in my bed. 9:25am, recovering from break up. I throw myself back into the website for a quick recovery. I look at the pages, flipping back and forth between the old and new blog. I gain a sense of myself again finally. I am Single.

Distractions

Mon, 31 Jul 2006 11:36:37 GMT

When dealing with matters of the heart sometimes it is best to have a distraction. Wow, do I have one. I have been putting off finishing the Singleinstlouis.net website until after the bar exam. I had no clue what an ordeal it would be. However, I am totally enjoying designing this website. (The current singleinstlouis.net is just a teaser.) It is a pleasant distraction from the break up, and it gives me something to do with my time so I am not just sitting around sulking. In fact, it is something I can actually get really excited about everyday. I look forward to it like I used to look forward to his phone calls.

I must say, I am really excited. This is my first real website that wasn't powered by a template. It has been so much fun to make. I love it! I hope you do too, but I still have a long way to go before I post it. There are pages to be made, pictures to be placed, and distractions to distract me. So off I go to build the site. It has been a long week. Hopefully, the last for awhile.

Michael's latest Blog

Fri, 28 Jul 2006 15:06:44 GMT

My plant has a new blog entry. Check it out. Michael the ALoe on my list of faves!!! I have to coolest plant ever!!! Michael Rocks!!!