Things Happen

This year has been a wellspring of new friendships, a renewal of some unexpected old ones, and the coffin for others. What a difference a year makes?!

Friends who come and go and come back are not new to me. When you move around as much as I do, it becomes almost second nature. Making new friends gets easier. Losing friends becomes easier too. And, when I occasionally check in on my net friendships, all seems comfortably in the Black. Until this year...

The last 12 months have seen some heavy hits. My sister and I continue to be estranged and some very dear friends of mine have exited my life, some in a painful way. Libras are notorious for obsessively craving popularity and acceptance. It is a trait I both loathe and love about myself. Validation by acceptance is a powerful high and equally sickening low. To be pushed away is devastating to me.

I've not been the instigator of this year's exodus but I have allowed it, as one should in my opinion. Perhaps it is because I too have required a relationship Ctrl+Alt+Delete. It is interesting and uncomfortable to be on the receiving end but I understand and respect the process.

Luckily, I strongly believe things work out as they should inevitably. Things happen. That's all they ever do.

Online Dating Vol. 3 - Furry Eligibles and Staying Up All Night

So you've sifted through the good, bad, and ugly of your local eligibles. You manage to not insult/bore/scare your suitors with email message clumsiness. You may even have had some clever banter going. Now for the terrifying part...you have to meet these people, face to face, and determine once and for all if they are as cute and interesting as you've talked yourself into believing.

And then you do it. And it isn't that bad.

Did I just have fun? Yes, yes I did. And I wasn't even drugged and chopped up into little pieces. Could it be this easy?*

Snark and pessimism are some of my most prized and evolved traits which is why I'm a little disappointed to admit I've walked away from nearly every date happy, even impressed. There are some nifty dudes out there! Sure, I don't sense a romantic connection with everyone. But, I'm incredibly relieved that such high quality men are out there, just waiting to be dated. I haven't been treated this well in years!


Ahhhh, this is what it's all about, folks

Hats off to you, sirs. I applaud your bravery and prowess and I appreciate your kindness, conversation, and cocktails. You have given me a newfound hope that indeed some men are the adorable, loving, furry creatures I've always hoped they could be. (And with the ferocity in which I have sworn off men in the past, this is a truly noteworthy accomplishment.)

It is wrong that I've had such luck casually dating that I kinda want to throw in the towel on an actual long-term relationship?

Nah...I kid. We all know my preference is one special person only. But, ladies and gents, 3 months of online dating is one of the best decisions I've made and I suggest everyone get on out there and date the shit out of your town immediately.

Unless, of course...

*Ok, full disclosure...I did receive a text message informing me that one particular date was off the market on account of his wife discovering his infidelity. Luckily, I hadn't met with this person yet on account of my, um...intuition. Dudes, if you're going to using online dating to cheat, don't leave your phone around for your wife to find (and use to end your electronic relationships herself). C'mon, elementary!

Online Dating Vol. 2 - Response Rates and LL Cool J

Communication, I think we can all agree, is one of the most delicate, beautiful, tragic, complicated, important, moving, poorly done human tasks. It is a wonder we have managed to populate the planet at such an astounding rate when very many in our midst are incapable of exchanging even the most basic information.

Particularly mystifying appears to be communicating with someone who interests you on an online dating site. Now, let's not forget that the whole point of online dating sites is to connect a person with another person and enable them to contact each other easily and efficiently online. In other words, this is a communication tool.

And it even takes a lot of the work out of it by restricting how you'll do it. You get to send a message. That's it. You don't get to use your expensive cologne, enchanting blue eyes, or syrupy voice. That LL Cool J head nod and lip pucker you've been perfecting since 2001...you don't get to use it. The best wingman in the world...nope, not gonna help you here. Peacocks have more to work with so you really need to make it count, ladies and gentlemen!

I worked hard to make my "homepage" welcoming and optimized for conversion, being sure to include little tidbits you may use to craft your message of introduction. If you ignore those tidbits, it confuses me and indicates how attentive you're likely to be should you manage to get my clothes off; two things that ensure my clothes are staying absolutely put.

I work as an email marketer and I know that statistically you have between 1-4 seconds to make an impact when a recipient opens your message. If your shit is beige, you're going into the deleted folder faster than you can say "WTF." If you have the good sense to use the only tool available to you, the gift of human prose, you might just get your shit read. And that, kiddos, is why you're wasting your time and mine on this site to begin with.

I'm sorry to report that 37% of messages I've received have been this: "Hey, how are you?" 

Really?! I just picked my phone all the way up and pushed the screen twice to read that P.O.S. Forget it, dude. No, not even forget it...fuck you for interrupting my life and making a piss-poor example of the male species. Your comrades should kick your ass.

On the other end of the spectrum, I've had a good ~30% of messages exemplify wit, intelligence, a careful read of my information, and genuine interest. Some of them have downright sex appeal! I applaud you, sirs. I respond to about 75% of them.

The remaining 30% is just uncreative crap about how we have a lot in common (we don't) and that they just want to find a soul mate (because it is JUST so easy) and it would be nice to make two sets of footprints in the sand on those long walks on the beach (these people all live in Cedar Park, have bad haircuts, and don't know what ACL stands for which means I'd rather die alone, bless their sad, lonely little hearts).

Only 1 message in about 150 said I was ugly. I kindly asked he remove himself from the gene pool. I also cursed him with the fury of 1,000 suns.

Honestly, I too found it a bit difficult to start electronic conversations with strangers, especially if they didn't offer up any of those nifty little morsels that can be used to make a meaningful connection in a message. It's damn hard to tap into the sweet, clever, panty-dropping poetry of Mr. Cool J or the confident sensuality of Sade. But, as a professional email consultant who advises paying clients on writing engaging, action-oriented messages, if I couldn't pull it off,  I'd really feel like an epic failure and would probably just join a nunnery. I must have managed to not look like an asshole because I have a 95% response rate. If only I could have that kind of success on the actual dates. More to come...

Online Dating for the notbeige Vol 1

The next couple posts will be a series on my personal observations of online dating. My 3 month trial was both exhilarating and educational. And I got taken on a ton of amazing dates so I consider it a wild triumph. I've always loved dating, however unsuccessful I've been at it...the thrill of something new; the funny little games we play with each other; first kisses. It is the comedy and the grief of the human condition at its finest. Also, I was tired of my usual dates and felt compelled to release them to the wild to find more suitable mates.

I've never been very picky when it comes to dating luckily which can been verified by the long list of idiots, jerks, and losers I've allowed to waste my time. So, I considered myself an ideal candidate for online dating. I had low expectations and high hopes, just like everyone else who puts their mugshot online for all the world to criticize. Surely I'd meet someone that rides my same wave.

My initial reaction was one of fascination with how people portray themselves and how I am meant to interpret them. Dating profiles are an amazing wonder to behold. You are trying to connect with a complete stranger based on their synopsis of themselves which is undeniably bias. As the "shopper," I'm obligated to browse sleuth-like, sniffing out biases, omissions, and untruths. One doesn't read an online profile like one reads greeting cards, with an open heart and a genuine curiosity as to what lies inside if the front of the card strikes your fancy. No. Instead, you read them as one would read an invitation from a pharmaceutical company to go on an all-expenses paid cruise to the Seychelles; with suspicion and incertitude.

I'm not buying your "sense of humor" or your "kind heartedness." These things simply cannot be qualified in an online dating resume. In fact, I'm not even buying your photos at this point. So, let's stick to the facts and I'll be the judge if I find your sense of humor notable, ok?

It was also an incredible exercise in how I portray myself. On my profile I tried to omit bullshit like laid back and fun (terms that every single man on Planet Earth looks for in a woman according to Match.com). I mean, who would admit to being an uptight, boring fun-hater anyway? And you know those people are out there whether they admit to it publicly or not.

Instead, I tried to give real-life examples that would allow the reader to decide on their own if they liked the sound of me. I have a Shih Tzu. I stay up late. I went to college. If you are a quiet, conservative person who is fearful of dogs and hates live music, we're not going to get along and I assume you'll come to that conclusion naturally. And if not, I'll just ignore you. This isn't hard.

Also, I had expert input from one of my smartest female friends. The best part was that after her and I completed my profile and answered a few of those bogus personality questions, the site rather presumptuously indicated that I'm a disorganized junkie which I took as a compliment.

One curious observation was that people often try to mask their insecurities and flaws with snarky humor. I did get a laugh out of some of them but I could tell they probably wouldn't make for good conversation in real life and probably have small penises and huge egos. Moving on but thanks for adding a smile to my search, fellas. Clever writing is infinitely sexy...in my very unbiased opinion.

Hi. I'm Crazy.

Giving my phone number to strangers is risky business. First, I rarely like anyone so being on the hook to respond to phone calls and texts is a massive chore for me. Second, most people are crazy.

Exhibit 1: Gave phone number to ok-looking male at neighborhood convenience store. He immediately texts that it was good to meet me. Now I have his phone number. Makes sense. He had also given me his card. Very professional and polite. I'll refer to said male from this point on as "Crazy."

Crazy: Why do you have a Colorado phone number? Ha!

My internal monolog: I realize some folks in Texas have a difficult time grasping that there are places outside of Texas from which someone might be. I also realize that many people in Texas find it very difficult to leave Texas. I do, however, feel a bit befuddled by the acute shock that I'm from another land so far away and exotic as Colorado. Furthermore, the fact that I have a Colorado number can really only mean one thing: I once lived there. Further furthermore, why is it funny?

My actual response: I went to undergrad at Boulder.

Crazy: I thought I'd send you a completely random photo of me and my friends at a burger restaurant that also sells cupcakes. Ha!  (I'm not exaggerating. He actually did this. I'd left the convenience store about 10 minutes ago.)

My internal monolog: Um, thanks...(I'm still wondering what is so goddamn funny.)

My actual response:

Crazy: Would you like to go to happy hour on Friday? (This is the morning after meeting at the store.)

My internal monolog: Yeah, probably, as long as nothing more fun comes up. I appreciate you asking a few days in advance. I'll respond when I get off work.

Crazy (a few hours later): Why are you avoiding me? Yes, I'm calling you out.

My internal monolog: You're effing crazy and I never want to meet up. I'll respond to your texts when I'm good and ready and not a second before, maybe not at all. And that's perfectly alright. So there. I hate that shit.

My response: I just got home and actually I think you might be a bit full on for my taste. Please lose my number.

Within 24 hours of meeting him I got 12 texts (compared to my 2 responses). The final few were comically insane. I was scolded for being adverse and unresponsive to so many texts when anyone else would simply find them friendly. I was also chastised for not using his business card to stalk him online. If I had I would have known that I was lucky to have received so many texts from him because he is such an upstanding citizen and generally awesome guy. Very kindly, his final text apologized that he had led me to so presumptuously think he was into me. He was just trying be friendly to a neighbor and hopes someday I'll be a normal person. Whew...what a relief?! Now Olive and I don't have to wear wigs and sunglasses to the convenience store.

If he's normal, I'm so glad to not be.

Lessons from Moving Day

I'm thrilled to be out of the glorified dorm they call Park Terrace and into my beautiful new condo. I've spent countless hours and lots of money trying to sleep soundly in the apartment I shared with my man and turns out, while the most expensive thing I've tried, all I needed was home-ownership. I haven't slept more soundly in over a year.

I expected Olive and I to sense emptiness. After all, we're back to living alone. Instead, it is the most calm and happy we've felt in a long time. The anxiety of our former roommate's unpredictable treatment is gone along with night after night of tears and yelling. There is absolutely nothing empty about quiet rain coming down while I unpack, rinsing away the hurt of the past year. I may never tire of it.

Living with a lover is trying. I don't think anyone can challenge that statement. People argue and lose patience, say things they don't mean and things they do. Love is made and love is challenged. Lessons are learned too, good and bad, proud and shameful. I've learned something each time I've done it and am better for it. I look forward to doing it again even, more cautiously of course.

This time around I learned about commitment. I committed to one year and in that time my will and tolerance were tested to their limits. But, I didn't give up until the very last hour, just before I had to turn my old keys over. And at that moment I realized that my commitment was meaningless. I learned that commitment doesn't get you all that far every time. In fact, sometimes it gets you nowhere. It isn't always the good thing it is made out to be. I will take that lesson to my next relationship...commit if committed to. Share if shared with. Understand if understood. Love if loved. And if not, walk the other way.

I heard a repetitive shout again and again this year that has now became a mantra: Move on. My commitment didn't let me do that very comfortably before now. Luckily, I'm a fast learner.

Sigh...

2 Atoms In A Molecule by Noah and the Whale


http://notbeige.blogspot.com

Take that woman down

My man works in politics. And not just any politics...Texas politics. And in Texas, politics are a strange obsession, simultaneously fiercely serious and unadulterated good times. For instance, the other day when Texas legislature was tasked with passing the state budget (an ambitious and noble task even for a tiny, poor, boring state) I decided to swing by beau's office to see the process in action. I had heard that most public servants around here keep whiskey in their desk drawers which I can now confirm.

We had a nip and watched the budget discussion on television. Keep in mind that passing the budget in Texas is serious shit, not like DC budget pishposh at all. You simply cannot shut down the government of Texas and get away with it. Texan constituents carry guns. You've seen No Country For Old Men. They aren't effing around.

The best part was that these folks had been at it all day and were predicted to continue with their "policy making" well into the night. However, the man with the gavel attempting to maintain order was giggling like a Cheshire cat and swaying dangerously on his little podium. He was not young. I feared for his hips. It was 7:30pm.

Around 3:30 am, I am home, sound asleep where I belong. I get a text message from beau asking if I cared for a swim with him and some fellow political staff members proud of a hard day's work. I could tell from the typos in the text that the budget was alive and well on Planet Texas. I never pass on a chance for middle-of-the-night mischief and I find it hilarious to see official-looking people strip off their suits and ties and do cannon balls into a freezing pool in a drunken stupor. Apparently, making law in this state involves three simple things: copious quantities of alcohol, a concealed handgun license, and an understanding lover.

I look forward to the day the 82nd legislative session ends with an urgency comparable only to waiting in line for the port-a-potty at an outdoor music festival after 9 beers. It just cannot get here fast enough. But, I have to confess that the conversations I get to listen in on entertain me wholeheartedly and I oddly appreciated the devotion beau and his comrades have for the hypnotic gypsy woman they all lust after called Texas Politics. But, in May, I will absolutely not hesitate to steal that woman's mojo hands and send her on her way, not to return for another 2 years.


Medicine by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals

Shockingly, I did manage to retain some information from SXSW Interactive. One interesting session I attended was how to choose and manage a successful team. I do not manage employees myself, but I've worked at an organization with absolutely no concept of team, teamwork, or management skills so I was intrigued.

One analogy that I particularly enjoyed was a spin on operating a motorcycle. Motorcycles, being fast, bouncy, windy deathtraps with no balance and terrible acoustics are typically of no interest to me. However, my Dad drives a Harley and I'm obligated to compliment it when I am in Nebraska. My Dad also likes analogies.

The presenter had taken the required riding course and used the instruction to "look not at what you might hit but instead where you wish to go." If you look at obstructions in the road, you will probably hit them. I guess that's how you avoid a head injury when driving motorcycles and be an effective manager. Charming.

It is easy to dwell on possible immediate threats instead of looking willfully to the distance. I actually used to be good at this but overdraft fees, 40 hours a week in a cube, and dating in Washington, DC beat it out of me. I look straight down or slightly to the side from now on personally. And you should too if you don't want to be a naively idealistic, chronically-unsatisfied doormat. I should give it another try though. Really, I should.

Along those lines (but mostly unrelated), I am moving in with a male later this week. It is equal parts terrifying and thrilling, shaken, then gently stirred, with a lovesick garnish. Luckily, he is truly amazing and he gets along with my dog. It is predicted to be the best thing in the history of cohabitation. If there was ever a time to look at where I want to be instead of what I might smack painfully into face-first, it is now. He doesn't have a motorcycle but he does have a truck so I think I'm safe.

Totally unrelated...there was an armadillo walking down the sidewalk outside my apartment on Friday. That is TEXAN!

http://notbeige.blogspot.com

Not so incredibly terrible and awful

The other day I ran into my ex. It has been almost a year and we have not spoken or seen each other.

I was dreading this collision in epic proportions. I anticipated choking on whatever had just been put in my mouth, making an ungraceful run for the nearest exit, start shooting doubles, and then call my mom in a drunken, teary panic at 1am. It didn't turn out like that at all.

First, I was out with another man who might believe I was sent to Earth directly from heaven. He is forever reminding me that I'm kinda awesome and deserve to be treated as such. May the universe shower this man with good fortune and happiness.

Also, I looked pretty because I had been on date earlier. I'm not sure how much good karma i cashed in to make this happen but it was so worth it.

I was able to walk right up, say hello politely, and then high-tail it outta there with minimal psychological/liver damage.

Strangely, and most importantly, I didn't experience the icky stomach flop expected the first time i unexpectedly see someone that i used to love very much. I felt a little shaken, but mostly I felt nothing. And feeling nothing without trying to is hard to do. Trust me. I've been trying to feel nothing about this boy for a long time now. Mission accomplished, evidently. What a relief?!

Saying "hello" and ultimately "goodbye" can actually feel kinda like a breath of fresh air; like a decompression of the weight that can sit on your chest as long as you allow it. And that doesn't feel at all like nothing. It feels good...damn good.

So Long Sweet Misery by Brett Dennen

Should have seen it coming

Just after telling a boy suffering from noncompliance to hit the road the other day, I was awarded a long, luxurious laugh…he retorted that he was only in it for Olive anyway.

I’ve always suspected the sly Shih Tzu would try to steal the hearts of my suitors. A face like that cannot be trusted.

:-)

I'm sorry

My dearest Music,

I'm so sorry for the nasty things i said about you the other day. I didn't mean it. I was just having a bad day. How about you come over later and let me make it up to you? We can have some nice wine, i'll get some Pierre Robert triple crème...we can make a night of it.

Also, to really demonstrate my unwaivering love, i've added a little of you back to the blog.

Let's never fight again.

rach

P.S. I Love You by Nellie McKay

Hard of Hearing

Not too long ago, I was listening to my usual collection of Pandora stations through the rose-colored headphones of a relationship. This week, after having my heart stomped on with boy cleats, all the songs sound differently. Just a few weeks ago cheesy love songs made me smile at my desk in the way only someone retarded in love can pull off. I now find myself skipping the sappy love songs, thumbs-upping the depressing, spiteful side of love music.

Only now can I even hear the lyrics warning me of playaz (Beyonce station), lyin’ cheatin’ hearts (George Straight station), and that boy in the front row (Toby Lightman station). Even Alice Smith’s Dream received an irritated eye roll and Mariah Carey’s Shake it Off suddenly makes sense. This is serious.

I clearly did not hear, let alone heed, the advice of a gazillion entertainers singing their poor hearts out about the red flags of letting yourself have feelings for another person. Clearly, I am hard of hearing.

On another note, Pandora seems to behave much like the weather this week: completely abnormal and crappy, grey, dismal, cold, depressing, and very, very unfair…all to match my situation, obviously. Thanks Universe, how clever!

If one more sad break-up song comes on Pandora, I may give up on music. Same goes for happy songs about people in love. No more! Isn’t there anything else to effing sing about?! Can’t someone make a song about how glamorous it is be single, gorgeous, and on the rebound? Or that feeling you get from slipping on the perfect pair of jeans…there’s a topic that is certainly as song-worthy as a sensual encounter with your man. Taking a walk around the city with a cup of coffee…another life experience on par with falling in or out of love. No one is singin’ about that, are they!?

Ok, Beyonce, let’s try just a bit more creativity if possible. That Halo song is making me gag.

Back to this impossible SEO document. As if this week didn’t suck enough already…

My Sweet Song by Toby Lightman

The more boys i meet...

Over the last week of emotional turmoil, I am again reminded of the blessing that is my dog. As I sulked around, feeling sorry for myself, she was there for me. Not in an overly happy, “Let’s go outside and play and get over it” kind of way; instead, she was appropriately subdued but ready with a friendly wag if I showed the slightest interest in a bit of fun. She was just cute enough when I was feeling sad and made perfectly timed gagging noises when anger filled our space.

In particularly difficult times, when even Gloria Gaynor couldn’t produce any hope, I would feel the gentle nudge of flat-faced Shih Tzu reminding me that everything would be just fine. There really is something about snuggling a pet that lowers your blood pressure and cheers you up.

Olive doesn’t just do this for me. When friends have come by to work through life’s troubles over cocktails, Olive generally occupies herself. But at the slightest of ocular dampness, she is at high alert. Her unusual ability to sense tears is truly amazing, like a shark sensing one drop of blood from 100 miles away.

Hopping off her velvet pillow at the exact right time, she has dried the tears of many with a gentle paw and uncanny ability to fit herself on any lap however closed off to the world the lap may be. She is always ready to do her only job… spreading smiles everywhere she goes and offering a bit of perspective that we humans often misplace, reminding us that the world isn’t really that bad. She’s in it, after all.

Thank goodness I never need to worry. I have my pack to protect and love me and make sure I get out of out bed every single day. One need never feel lonely when they have the love of a Shih Tzu.

The More Boys I Meet by Carrie Underwood

Sugarplums and other visions

A very wise friend of mine has been attempting to help me make sense of a very disturbing relationship dilemma in which i've found myself. Alternating between devastated and, well, devastated, the love i thought was "grown-up," real, and indestructible has turned out to be just the opposite. My girl has offered some sage explanations.
 
People (both men and women), it seems, sometimes create a vision for their life, complete with lodging, lineages, even transport. The stereotypical house, car, and kids is alive and well, i'm afraid. The plans are made, signed and sealed, and not up for discussion. And then the quest begins to find the right person, a soulmate i suppose, that you can plunk down in that dream life. This person matches all the decor and lives life by the same soundtrack. The person must have the exact same visionary life. That is how you know they are the one.
 
Now, i'm not opposed to dreams. I have them myself, of course. But my dreams are fluid, murky, without real definition and form. For instance, my future ideal family doesn't have a predetermined number of members, doesn't reside any one place in particular, and doesn't do certain things on the weekends. I've always thought that when I meet the person i'm meant to spend my life with, we'll work out those details together. Combining efforts seems way more interesting to me, not to mention sustainable as people's dreams change as they are sure to do. I like the adventure of it. I look forward to negotiating those details in true Libra fashion. Love is the binding force in my vision, not how well the person fits into my master plan of global diva domination. (JK...i don't really plan to take over the world with diva force...unless anyone is up for trying that with me.)
 
The love i thought i shared with my beau is in question. And it hurts. Turns out, he is unsure i fit in his vision. And that makes my vision (of an exciting life discovering even more about him and loving him even more) seem like it ain't gonna happen.
 
I could be wrong, but relationships of the past appeared to begin by finding someone you could stand and taking it from there. Love used to be all you needed. Identical plans is the new collaboration.
 
Shame, really. My vision was just starting to take on some lines and color. Not sure how this one will turn out because, as previously stated, it isn't up for discussion. Good thing my beautiful future is flexible like a yogi, taking on new positions even more challenging than before. Wish me luck though...this will be a tough one.

Don't Make Me

The other night I attempted to get dumped by inviting my beau to a folksy, estrogen-heavy performance by Toby Lightman. He usually reserves Monday nights for himself as a rule. He claims he is required by his laundry machine, though I believe he keeps his distance to avoid the inevitable CSI Miami episode. For this reason, it was particularly generous of him to drive me, in the rain, to Arlington and sit through equal parts acoustic man-bashing and sappy love ballads.

I was thrilled, giddy with her clever lyrics, thoughtful sentiment, and country/bluesy twang. He appeared to be ready to trade me in for a tattooed death metal drummer chick or throw himself from the nearest monument...i can't be sure which.

As in that weird movie Mating Habits of the Earth-Bound Human, i guess it is true that while dating it is not necessarily the activities we enjoy, but rather the company.

I did appreciate the company thoroughly. And for only a barbeque dinner in exchange, i think i made out like a bandit.

We joked that when the time comes for me to endure uncomfortable male activities, perhaps DC Meatfest or the National Beer Guzzling/Chest Beating Festival, he'll have an ace in the hole with which to convince me. In the meantime, I promise to only play the cd i bought last night solo so not to invoke any traumatic flashbacks.

Don't Wake Me by Toby Lightman

Notes from a Cathedral

I went to a fascinating lecture on Friday night by the author of the NY Times best seller Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert. I knew it was going to be great…first, because it was held in the National Cathedral, a place where I expected to feel uncomfortably awestruck (like an atheist who accidently ends up in an evangelical revival) but instead felt absolutely comfortably awestruck. It is a beautiful, beautiful place. Secondly, because Eat, Pray, Love is one of the best, most honestly written books I’ve ever read; a book that clearly touched the heartstrings of American women in a way they wish their men would (there were over 2,000 people in the audience, 99% women).

Gilbert is effortlessly clever, unrehearsed, and refreshing in her honesty. She didn’t talk much about the book that made her famous. Instead she talked about being a writer and being a woman. After her journey through Italy, India, and Indonesia to try to reclaim mental health, she predictably returned to the U.S. relaxed and confused by American’s sense of unnecessary urgency, relentless self-criticism, and exhausting work schedules. (If you’re an American who has spent real time abroad, you have returned confused as well, wondering how your own priorities got so off-kilter.) She smartly disclaimed that she didn’t want to come off as one of those people who spends 3 months in Bali and then asks all her neighbors in the U.S. why they are so stressed. But she did wonder why we feel compelled to “reduce stress” or “manage stress.” Why not instead “eradicating stress,” eliminating stressful thing altogether. Easier said than done, obviously, but it is a nice mantra.

She also talked about having kids, an issue that presented itself to me several times over the last few days. My beau’s sis had a baby, I found out my ex’s family are expecting a new member, I hung out with new parents who were grateful to have a night without the little one, among other events.

I’ve always been of the strong opinion that momhood isn’t for me. Kids scare me. They have big soft heads that bobble around, swinging dangerously towards objects like the corners of tables. Not to mention being prego for ages…your body is taken over by a sizable parasite, your hormones go ape shit, and you can’t even have a drink to calm yourself. All that work and what do you get for it? You get flipped the bird by an angry teenager and sucked dry of money. Then you get a mother’s day card. My terror of childbearing is real, however misinformed and dramatized.

According to Gilbert, 10% of women historically don’t have biological children. Though these women don’t leave a genetic legacy, they support those that do financially, emotionally, babysitter-wise. More than once an aunt has saved the day by sending money to an impoverished college student. More than once a godmom has been the understudy of the lousy babysitter who canceled last minute. It seems that those women who don’t have their own kids might be an evolutionary requirement, vital to the survival (or at least, the mental stability) of the species. That takes a load off me. Just in case I really can’t swallow the jagged little pill that is motherhood, I can still be a kick-ass godmom and Auntie Rach. It isn’t selfish and it isn’t abnormal. It is just a decision like any other.

Also, Gilbert said that she saw a study that said that women who don’t have kids are actually just as happy as those who don’t in their old age. Turns out, the things that really determine a women’s happiness in old age is poverty and health. So as long as I save for retirement and eat healthy, I should be fine either way, thank goodness.

Anyway, whether you’ve ended up on the bathroom floor in a puddle of your own tears before or not, I highly recommend reading Eat, Pray, Love.

Let me count the ways

My sister is getting married this Spring. It is all very exciting because her beau is rather charming and fits in well with the family descended from pirates. Sis asked me for some music recommendations. This was touching since we have very little in common and I had no idea she even knew about my lust for quality tunes. I was shocked she wanted my input on her most important of life events.

She said she wanted romantic, yet interesting…something more than the usual Shania Twain gag-inducers usually played at Nebraska weddings. I devoted myself wholeheartedly to the project, not only to supply this wedding some suitable slow dances, but also to impress my only female sibling (a difficult challenge, indeed).

I’ve been working on it for weeks, arguing with myself about just how cheesy I wanted Wedding Mix 2009 to be, adding and then removing tracks that in one hormonal  level sounded sweet and the next sounded revoltingly insincere. 

Below is a sampling.

Fresh Feeling by Eels
My beau shared this one with me recently and it makes me smile every time I hear it. My personal favorite...


Make You Feel My Love by Adele
Just so beautiful. I can imagine them dancing to this at the wedding (which will result in a Kleenex stock increase...there's your insider tip from someone who knows NOTHING about the stock market.)


Shameless by Garth Brooks
This is a staple at Casa de Pirate and country-lovers will rejoice.


You Turn Me On by Ugly Americans
Darn cute and heaps cheesy. I've loved this one since high school.


Dream by Alice Smith
Simple, honest, passionate...just how love should feel.


And, of course, the usual classics: Method Man and MJB, Sade, Harry Connick, Jr. I need to burn the disk and ship it off to NE soon, but i'm still taking recommendations. I figured after the recent Valentine snog-fest, someone might have a love song to melt the hearts of my soon-to-be-inlaws. Am I missing anything?

Basic Information

For the first time EVER, i took a deep breath, gulped, and updated my status on Facebook to “In a relationship.” I’m now having a glass of wine and some ice cream to calm myself.

I’ve always been shy about posting that kind of thing on a public website where my every move is sent presumptuously to all my friends on a mini-feed. My life really isn’t interesting enough to require urgent press releases and anyone who needs to know about my day to day already does because we talk.

Also, the problem has never been changing to IN. It has always been having to change it back to OUT that scared me. If I go in and then have to go back out, it hurts a lot more than the little broken heart icon next to my name suggests. I don’t feel the need to have my painful life events broadcast to my friends from elementary school.

Finally, I’ve never been “In a relationship” that I felt comfortable enough declaring to the world. In fact, I’ve been in relationships that lasted years and I only got as far “It’s complicated.” You have to be confident in your relationship to want to blast it out to the world and frankly, most relationships I’ve had included a fair bit of anxiety, mistrust, or lackluster.

I felt compelled to brave the relationship status dropdown menu for a variety of reasons. For one, I’m in a relationship…a happy, real, exciting, grown-up one. I’m totally smitten with this big shot from Texas and I’m gonna keep him, if I can. He has elevated my life to a whole new altitude (and attitude). He is simply fabulous. Also, he changed his and it seemed weird for him to be in a relationship and me to not be.

It is not that I don’t still worry about having to change it back to “Single.” I do. And it isn’t that Facebook is suddenly a replacement for having actual conversations. It is not.

I guess, for once, I kinda want people to know. I want my closest friends all the way down to random strangers on the internet to know that I’m taken and I like it. It is scary and presumptuous. But it is also genuine. (Not to mention that it is about effing time! *wink*)

Sorry to all my Facebook friends for the unsolicited mini-feed update. But, hey, I don’t send you annoying application invites or even poke you very much. Hopefully the shock of seeing that update come through from the previously accused Spiny Fish at least made you choke on your morning coffee (and then smile afterwards).

Halo by Beyonce

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Mix equal parts gin, walnut cream sauce, and good friends. Garnish with sleep deprivation. Shake well. Serve over Dean Martin Christmas music.

This delightful little concoction will knock you on your ass and make you wish you had a sugardaddy instead of a job at work the next day. Trust me.

Fascinating conversation though. The trials and errors of finding one's soul mate are one of my favorite topics, one that often pops up if you hang out with lots of 28-year-old single women, which i do. Last night's convo had a twist though.

There we were...three slightly toasted souls just trying to make sense of it all. The one thing we had in common was that we all came from long legacies of hereditary soulmating. What i mean is that all of our parents, grandparents, and for all we know Neanderthal ancestors, had found a life partner to love wholeheartedly and depend on really, truly forever. We had all seen it. We would all recognize it if it happened to us. Because we had been witness to it in our own families, we would accept nothing less than the genuine, the certified, the absolute real thing.

My grandparents ages ago.

This is cause for some concern. What if the kind of love and commitment we've seen doesn't even exist anymore? What if it just went away like dinosaurs or Vanilla Ice? What if expectations, roles, and responsibilities are just different now? What if the whole thing was a sham set up by our relatives to confuse us? Perhaps they thought it would be funny to watch us constantly search for love like a mouse in a mirror maze. Yeah, hilarious.

My grandparents after 50 years of marriage.

I'm clearly blessed to have had such amazing relationship role models. But, have they ruined me for the reality of modern dating? It is entirely possible that the ideal has become an impossibility and that pickiness will be my downfall. But, i'm not entirely convinced that pickiness is my problem. Hand in hand with my mid-week drinking partners, settling is simply not an option. My friend made a very valid point..."I'm not even able to BE picky. There aren't even any losers around to turn down."

Fair enough.

My two lovely companions, let's hope that our genetic pre-disposition for successful relationships doesn't end up being some kind of auto-immune deficiency. Let's not give up on history quite yet. It can be done after all. We've seen it.