Category Archives: boy

On Monday

Posted on by
Reply

Spinster, by Sylvia Plath


Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious April walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the birds’ irregular babel
And the leaves’ litter.
By this tumult afflicted, she
Observed her lover’s gestures unbalance the air,
His gait stray uneven
Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower.
She judged petals in disarray,
The whole season, sloven.
How she longed for winter then!–
Scrupulously austere in its order
Of white and black
Ice and rock, each sentiment within border,
And heart’s frosty discipline
Exact as a snowflake.
But here–a burgeoning
Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits
Into vulgar motley–
A treason not to be borne. Let idiots
Reel giddy in bedlam spring:
She withdrew neatly.
And round her house she set
Such a barricade of barb and check
Against mutinous weather
As no mere insurgent man could hope to break
With curse, fist, threat
Or love, either.












Flights to and from Chicago have been cancelled. 
The future of that adventure is no longer certain.
I finally did what I’ve known I needed to do for a long time. 
And with a heavy heart, it’s been ended.
Of course there are loose ends, the tired scraps that guilt leaves behind. 
Now there will be great stretches of silence. Of misplaced habits. Of euphoria. 
Eventually there will be memories. A city destroyed. 


But on the plus side, I have $200 in plane fares to anywhere Southwest flies. I want to get away. 

Sublimation. Or the Gray Area I Call Home.

Posted on by
Reply

When you’re younger, the answer is always easy.

Second grade math problems are just like all others: there is only one answer.
You’re either right.
Or you’re wrong.
You learn the opposites. Hot. Cold. High. Low. But you never really learn about the states in between.
Adulthood is a great languishing.
Of course, there are highs and lows and hots and colds. But mostly, there’s a lot of nothingness. It’s the kind of nothingness that stems from the fact that you thought it would be all hots or colds. Or highs or lows. It’s not always a bad nothingness, not at all. It just is. There’s certainly room for debate, for argument, for decision making (steak or chicken? reply today or tomorrow?), for progressive thought. All of these are followed by fits and starts of manic activity (sometimes solely contained within the still hopeful mind).
The melancholic side of the nothingness brings about the inevitable introspection, which leads to planning, which leads….back. And sometimes, a little change is enacted and you’ve suddenly reverted from melancholic nothingness to that blissful nothingness, where everything is calm and smooth and beautiful.
For a time.
Alas, we’ve arrived back in the gray area.
There are no answers.
There exists no right, no wrong. We’re all waging war against opinions.
After pining and creating this odd little relationship (that isn’t one, he’ll be quick to add), everything has fallen into place.
Or out of place, perfectly.
Whichever is a more apt statement.
He came this weekend.
He met Mom and Dad and Mike and G and AJ.
I met his friends.
He stayed at my house five nights (all except for Friday) – which was something I definitely did not expect and something that wildly pleased me.
He told me he wasn’t going to be with any other girls.
I smiled.
We began to think ahead (a bit), based on the thought that he may end up back in Denver as soon as January. Would I be his girlfriend then?
The cracks appeared, began to show and spread.
With my detective hat on, I began putting clues together.
It’s a minor incident, but it may very well be the deal breaker that ends it all.
It’s seriously little better than an episode of the children’s show Blue’s Clues.
Clue #1 was a chance glance, a peek. Too bad I’m an incredibly quick reader.
Intrigued but not irate, I put it aside.
Clues #2 and #3 were more tangible. A story of a meeting, an incorrect name. There it was again, my brain flagged it. And three pushed me over the edge.
What’s wrong? he asked me as I sat slumped, nauseous from the ill-advised blood donation without any food. I guess he gets points for discerning anger through nausea.
We talked. He told me she was a girl he knew in college.
I’m no moron.
Our night continued with his promise of some modern form of long-distance fidelity.
After he left, I spoke to one of my co-workers, a woman I have mad respect for, who told me, “Honey, let me tell you something. They never grow up. Trust me.” Great.
I spoke to one of my dear friends in Chicago. “You need someone who impresses you. Who gets you. Who respects every single inch of you.” I asked her why it is that I have such terrible taste in men. She laughed. “Daddy issues. You can totally blame it all on him. I certainly do.” We commiserated over the fact that there are so few intelligent, mature, responsible, fun, adventurous, adorable, assertive-yet-not-an-asshole men.
I called him on it last night. I told him that it wasn’t the other woman (but it is, and we all know that) but it was the lie (that’s a serious violation for me. I don’t lie, cheat, or steal, and I expect the people I associate with to do the same). The words “trust” “respect” and “honesty” dominated my appeal. I remained calm, collected and clear (odd, right?). I laid out the situation. I laid out why I was angry. I listened to his responses, called him on his bullshit, and told him I didn’t know how I wanted him to fix it. I told him I was too angry with him to cry. I pushed him. I’m glad I did.

Frustrated and tired, I told him I had to sleep. Of course I didn’t. I stared at the dim screen of my laptop while it played reruns of 30 Rock.
Today, I woke up numb and even more exhausted, if that’s at all possible.
Dragging through the morning, doing my very first support bit – eek! I’m going to have to start handling technical issues with our product, and as exciting as it is, it’s really scary, too! – and then it came. The buzzing of my phone. I didn’t look. Three more buzzes lead me to believe something catastrophic may have happened or that I’d just received a novella.
It was in fact that latter.
A novella of contrition. Of admission. Of (his) understanding (of the situation). A little bit of my anger melted away when he admitted that he’s been taking me for granted, and that last night made him realize how much he stands to lose if I bail. (duh, I’m Katie Barry)
I’m still hurt, still annoyed, still frustrated. But it’s salvageable, I think. We spoke again at lunch today, a soft, quiet conversation. But positive. Communication is not a bad thing. But my bullshit meter is on high alert (threat level orange).
And while I am well aware that this may be one of my more fantastic mistakes, I also think it’s a fantastic adventure. Sorry, Mom, I know you’ve tried tactfully to hide your disapproval, but it’s going to be awhile before this is over.
Welcome to life in the Gray Area (I’m imagining that it must be something like the Twilight Zone, although I’m not entirely certain).

The Weekend Wrap Up: Nightmares and Expectations

Posted on by
Reply

The twins that I babysit for always use “sleeps” as a way to countdown to things, like the next time you’ll see someone.

Two sleeps until S comes! I’ve been out of sorts (and in my head) about this whole ordeal for the past few days, and it will be nice to reset all of that.
Ready for last night’s real live nightmare?
I was at G and G’s house – but it was all dark, just like you’d imagine a dungeon. And M, Dad, and I were all sitting stiffly at the table. I had my hands clenched in my lap.
We were talking to G and G and there were Christmas decorations everywhere.
Then, she told us the reason she’d invited us. She spread her arm out, bent at the elbow, sweeping toward the living room.
Our heads turned in unison.
There, in the living room, were the scattered remains of their Christmas celebration. Papers, boxes, plates of food, all glinting under the eerily twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. She’d invited us over to clean it up.
I woke up breathing heavily, convincing myself it wasn’t real.
It’s not real.
It’s oddly telling, though.
I wish my brain could stop chewing on it, though, and just swallow it so I don’t have to taste my own bitterness every day.
*breathes deeply, thinks inner peace*
On a positive note, I went to IKEA this weekend! Emily and I woke up early on Sunday and headed out there before they opened (good call – no lines, parking, etc.). We went into the cafe to have $1.99 breakfast and .50c coffee, then somehow ended up going through IKEA backwards. But it was lovely. I got a new duvet – white with gray flowers on it – and new gray sheets. I also picked up wineglasses so I won’t have to serve guests in my everyday drinking glasses anymore.
It was fun and busy.
I really enjoy all of their odds and ends and kitchen things more than I enjoy anything else.
$5 for 6 wineglasses will get me every time.
I was at Mom’s house yesterday doing my 1800 loads of laundry for the week, and we were chatting. It’s nice to have someone so wizened to bounce ideas off of. I came away from our conversation reminding myself that I’m 23. I think I forget that sometimes. It’s not so much that I’d like to be older, it’s that I measure myself against people who have five or ten years on me and wonder why I don’t match up. So for today, I am trying to embrace 23, however one embraces something intangible like that.
I also came away from our conversation very curious about what other G has to say about S.
But let’s save that for after his visit – I can only imagine how this going to go. He’s meeting Dad and J on Wednesday, and I haven’t told him that yet. And then he’s meeting Mom on Thursday. Ah, well, surprise surprise!

Odds and Ends. Weekend Edition!

Posted on by
Reply

Oh Friday, the promise of a weekend that will fly by too quickly, that sense of release building in your body, the way your mind floats around, outside, like a lost bird.

I imagine that prisoners must start anticipating their release date months in advance, and I can only imagine the immensity of the first footfalls outside the gates.
That is overly dramatic, but that is how I feel on Fridays.
I’d like to have a quick chat with you, dear reader, about sacrifices.
Because right now, I am considering myself god-like. (And by god-like, I mean Jesus-like – it’s all part of the holy trinity, so I’m technically correct. Full of hubris, of course, but correct.)
I am missing the ONE concert I’d like to see at Red Rocks this year to go to Barney’s Birthday Bash live at the Pepsi Center with three small children. I love them dearly, but I’m so creeped out by things in costumes. Like mascots. And giant purple dinosaurs and their primary colored friends.
So creeped out.
Don’t know I’m going to explain why I’m covering my eyes with my hands and peering through my fingers.
Ah, Slightly Stoopid and Shwayze – I’ve been dying to see you. I guess that want will have to slowly simmer inside me until next year.
I already have the “I love you, you love me, we’re a happy family,” song stuck in my head.
In future news:
I’m excited. S will be here in a week and a half (ish)! And he’s meeting Mom. I think he’s more scared to meet Mike. I told him that I’ll do way more damage to him than Mike ever will. And I’m not wrong.
I’ve not been this twitterpated since, well, the college boyfriend. I mean, that ended poorly, but it was fun while it lasted, which was a good long while. Someone was asking me about my past relationships, and it was weird to think that I spent most of college in monogamous relationships – there was D and H, both of whom lasted between a year and a year in half. For someone with my attention span, that’s remarkable.
But this kid is driving me nuts. Usually in a good way. Ugh. I secretly don’t like this vulnerability, although it’s kind of nice. There I go, reinforcing gender stereotypes. Don’t worry too much, I’m not going to go all soft on you.
Not yet.
I hope you’re eagerly anticipating the Barney recap. I know I am.

"That that is just the person that you are."

Posted on by
Reply

There are moments, usually quiet moments in the dead of night, when the world shifts. I found myself relaxed, calm, anxious for my phone to buzz with the continuation of the nightly conversation that I look so forward to.

I sat and heard her start to tell me a story. I wasn’t all there, my mind drifting off to Chicago while maintaining some semblance of concentration.

What she said broke my reverie and brought me swiftly back to my body, sitting on the steps staring across the darkened street.
No, what?
And there it was.
The reasoning, his version of the truth, conveyed to me via her. The nerve of this slimy coward. To later tell a mutual friend that it wasn’t his fight to fight, yet to have never even told me about it.
It.
Allegedly.
Apparently, it – that alleged indiscretion – happened on the fourth of July. Happened when I, the sober driver, was saying goodbye. Well here’s a sweet goodbye for you…
It was an anger I have not felt in some time. My jaw clenched, my eyes narrowed, I was, in that moment, comprised solely of steel and tingling fingertips.
Untruths!
Annoyance filled my steel-skeleton, and I drove home in a concentrated rage. I grabbed my phone and sent a message – abrupt, rude, sharply displaying my acute disapproval.
I did not expect a response, but when I saw it, my anger flared past steel. I am molten iron now, white hot.
I still am. It’s been some hours now, edging toward twenty four, yet I cannot break the script from my mind.
“…everyone conceded that that is just the person that you are.”
What am I?
I have lists of occasions I could reference, all to refute this claim that “that that is just the person that” I am.
But they fall far short of the damage I wish to inflict.
Self-control serves me well, but in all honesty, I am so hurt by this assertion, this accusation, the untruth of it all, that if we come face to face, I won’t hesitate to show him just what kind of person I am.

The Chicago Trip

Posted on by
Reply

I didn’t blog about my Chicago trip last time, either.

I didn’t take any pictures this time, which I’m kind of bummed about.

I think it’s because I never know what to say. I don’t want to say too much, but I feel like saying too little would damage the experience.

It was perfect.

S picked me up at the airport like a gentleman. He was right on time, too. I misread the text directing me to a quieter pick up location, so he had to do an airport loop to fetch me.

Saturday included a grocery store run, sushi and BLTs for brunch (don’t ask – it made me very happy), a softball game – I forgot my sunglasses and nearly died in the heat, and his dad’s birthday party. I was determined not to be stressed, and so I wasn’t. (That’s worked twice this weekend, but failed miserably once. So I’m shooting 2 for 3 on mastering stress.)

It was a very lovely evening. I spent it eating chocolate cake and talking to a million people. I reminded his grandmother that we’d met previously – when she told me she wanted to trip a 4th grader at a basketball game. It was great. I really hope that the consensus was solidly in my favor at the end of the evening.

Sunday was a calm day. I made that watermelon salad and headed to a friend’s BBQ. I forgot how hard it is to park in Edgewater (just south of Rogers Park!). The BBQ had been moved inside, thank g-d, because it was miserably warm outside. I went outside to inspect the new grill, stayed outside for about five minutes, and came directly back in.

Then we headed to his mom’s for dinner. His mom is also wonderful.

After one too many White Russians, I declared that we need to leave “now!” And so he took me home. That’s when, overwhelmed by my own emotions, I began to cry. Such a noob mistake, I can’t believe I did that. At least I made it back to the safety of his house so I won’t be known in his house as “the girl who cried” for the rest of my life.

Upon missing my flight and spending the morning laying on his couch, sweating in the blistering AC-less heat and sipping a Gatorade, I realized that perhaps the night before hadn’t gone so terribly. And by “hadn’t gone so terribly,” I mean exactly the opposite.

In the end, it was nice to have some time to chat about it. Being able to talk things out before you fly a thousand miles is really helpful. I informed him that I am indeed a girl, I do cry sometimes, and that it doesn’t get any worse than what he witnessed (drunk tears are so attractive, let me tell you – nothing says “I’m a great girl, I swear” like puffy, red eyes, frizzy lion hair, and rings of mascara).

His response? “You were mad at me for things I hadn’t even done [yet]!”

Ah, welcome to life with the opposite sex, my dear.

I had forgotten how much I love that city. I love the intensity, the illusion of calm, the people, the nights. I didn’t get to the lake, to the Bean, anywhere, really, but I went everywhere I needed to go. The nights slipped away from me, standing on a rooftop overlooking the city – lights all around, never-ending noise. And the mornings broke beautiful, warm, sensational.
I felt so alive.

Relationships

Posted on by
Reply

This article in the New York Times is well worth your time.

Dan Savage is an advice columnist whose columns deal primarily with sub-cultural relationship problems. I don’t always agree with him, but his advice is generally pretty solid and backed up by a wide knowledge base.
This particular article questions the point of a relationship: stability rather than monogamy, perhaps? Everyone does it differently, but I think it’s important to realize that people have different needs. 
I’ve been spending a lot of time lately thinking about what makes a relationship and what kind of relationship I’d want. (I can see you rolling your eyes right now. It’s fine. I rolled mine when I started writing this and rolled them again upon re-reading.)
I’ve been more or less single since my last serious relationship came to its natural conclusion in January 2010. So a year and a half. I’ve had plenty of dates, and semi-boyfriends, in the months since, but no one has ever materialized as potential-long-term-partner material. 
I’d desperately wanted freedom. I found that, and have loved it immensely. I love being able to fall asleep knowing that I don’t have to move my computer, or the stack of books I share a bed with. 
And yet lately, I’ve been starting to really question the idea of “partner.” Through that questioning, I’ve begun to crave it. But perhaps with age comes selectivity, because people aren’t managing to hold my attention as they should, or as I’d like them to.
The biggest test for me is errands. I find it romantic. I want someone who I will enjoy going to Costco with, someone who makes buying a blender exciting, or at the very least, less mundane. 
Of course, there are the few that manage to keep reappearing in my life. From a December party, at a friend of my then-boyfriend’s apartment until now, we’ve maintained this strange and delicate relationship. It began with harsh words, thrown out off-handedly, then my answering, equally harsh lecture, then Mexican food, then this or that and a few other things. Flash forward to this January, actual consumption of Mexican food and then the strange events of that evening and Englewood. Then to April. I flew off to Chicago with few expectations, no presumptions, and came away tear-stained and puffy, joyous and fulfilled, hauling a backpack full of clean clothes. It was wonderful and terrifying because the glimpse of what I could have had screamed of normalcy. Here I am, off again, to walk on the edge of expectations and to figure out if my future lies therein. Is that the normalcy I’ve been seeking?
But what am I getting myself into? What is this? What will it be? We can’t answer these questions because we’re not sure if that’s even where we want to go. “We”? Is there a we? Could there be one someday? What if it fails? The phone conversations are growing in length, in depth. What do I want? What does he want? I fall asleep with tired smiles on my face. I feel like he shares that (unless he doesn’t, so that’d be awkward). It’s weird to be on the same page, to have somehow gotten lost and landed there, separately. 
Jesus, this is ridiculous. 
But I like it. 
So I guess it’s going to be alright. Or at least an adventure.

Ten days.

Gay

Posted on by
Reply
Gay is many things, but mostly homosexual. (It still always makes me think of the Village People, so that probably needs to change.)
This post is inspired by Pride Week, during which people of all sexual orientations celebrate the movement toward equality, recognition, and respect.
This week is Pride in Denver. From the Denver PrideFest website: “The mission of Denver PrideFest is to create a fun, safe and empowering space to celebrate and promote the heritage and culture of the LGBT and allied community in Colorado.”
I’m an ally. I have gay and lesbian friends, straight friends, and bisexual friends. I love them all equally.
I don’t really care how you stand on homosexuality. Because really, there is only one way to stand. And I’m not saying this because I want you all to share my thoughts, my political leanings, or my social theories. I’m saying this because every single human deserves the same rights.
Who cares if they get married?
Imagine not being able to visit your spouse in the hospital because you’re not considered family. That’s seriously fucked up.
It’s like that commercial with Justin Long that ends with “…make them get married. Like the rest of us.”
People of different races have fought for equal treatment, been awarded it by law, and yet are still persecuted for something they cannot change. Throughout the world, they are profiled, brutalized, enslaved, mocked, underpaid, overworked, disrespected, stereotyped, marginalized, and undermined. Laws are made to question their legitimacy, even in a nation built on the backs of and with the blood of immigrants from all over.
Women have struggled for the rights to their bodies, for the respect of men, for education, for freedom from familial obligations, for equal pay, for the rights to work and make the same as their male counterparts. They, too, have had to fight against all types of social injustice. Our work remains undone.
Change has happened, slowly. Perceptions have changed, slowly. But it’s not finished. It never will be. In a world where victims of rape are criticized for their clothing choices and where poverty is more prevalent among people who aren’t white, it’s obvious that some of our well-intentioned policies are nothing but fluff, a big talk meant to quiet the outspoken yet leave the status quo unchanged.
Gay isn’t something that just happened overnight. The gays didn’t just materialize from thin air. They’ve been here all along. They’ve shared your drinks, eaten at your dinner parties, managed large companies, created and maintained traditional families. You work with them. You sit next to them on the bus. They’ve been a part of your world since you were born.
Gay makes some people uncomfortable.
It’s understandable. Gay people do weird sex stuff, right? Well, newsflash, the straights are doing weird stuff, too.
Gay people will touch my children, you say.
Wrong. I mean, maybe a few. But so do your priests. So do teachers. So do people meant to protect our children. It happens, but it’s not directly linked to gay.
Gay people have the HIV.
Actually, they’re not the ones with the highest prevalence of new HIV infections these days. That heroin needle you’re holding is probably more dangerous. Besides, you can’t get HIV/AIDS from being near an infected person. Didn’t we all see “Philadelphia”?
Last night, I was out with two of my dear friends, one gay, and one Katie. After having dinner with Mike, we met up with a new friend of mine and went to a Denver gay bar. Wednesday is drag queen bingo, and we caught the tail end of it.
My new friend was uncomfortable.
I understand that men particularly are afraid of gay bars. He told me that he didn’t want any of his clients to see him and think he was gay.
What’s wrong with that? I thought. I was annoyed by his behavior. He didn’t want to get hit on. He didn’t want anyone to think he was gay. He didn’t want this, or that. He kept looking around nervously.
He never got comfortable.
Maybe it was the rainbow banners decorating the place? Maybe it was the drag queen standing by the door? Maybe it was the loud, shrill bingo announcer?
We ended up leaving.
It hurt my friends’ feelings and I was rude to them because I wanted to placate the new friend.
What I should have done is smacked him and told him to man up, politely.
This behavior is typical. It reminds me that even the most educated people with degrees from liberal institutions of higher learning can come out of those hallowed halls without having learned anything about what it’s like to be a human being.
It reminds me that people think that “the gays” are all sex-crazed monsters who will fuck anything that moves and is a man.
Not true!
Walking into a gay bar is just like walking into a straight bar (which is basically every bar) except there is more hair gel and better muscles, if you’re into that sort of thing.
But there’s also personal melodramas, bar snacks, shots of vodka, relationships being made and dismantled, laughter, tears, pictures being taken. Basically, it’s like every damn bar you’ve ever been to.
Later, new friend was telling me he was struck by my intelligence. (I was drunk at this point, and drunk me loves compliments.) I was flattered and completely blind to my opportunity to remind him that perhaps intelligence includes willingness to adapt to unfamiliar situations. An open mind, humor, and humility. He reminded me that intelligence isn’t something you can only get from As and good grades, that 4.0 and long-winded papers. I should have reminded him that intelligence is a continual real-life process, something you can only have if you’re willing to think about and experience emotionally challenging things.
I am ashamed that I said nothing to him. “The gays” are a very important part of my life. My friendships mean more to me than anything else.
Part of living in a diverse and beautiful society is understanding differences. Part of it is realizing that people are born the way they are and embracing that. And who cares? I have a weird elf nose and people still hang out with me.
I didn’t choose to be born a woman (although I’m glad that’s the way I came out – thanks Mom!). And no one chooses to be gay. There’s been a lot of discussion about this, and recently, a lot of suicides because of how hard it is to be gay.

While I generally hold that our children aren’t getting the social support they need, and consequently are taking drastic action that’s really stupid, I completely disagree about our discourse on taboo subjects needs to change. There’s not enough of it! We wait until someone dies, or something kills someone else, and then we say, “oh, we could’ve, should’ve, wait, next tragedy.” Nothing changes! Let’s dialogue until we’re blue in the face with our kids about a whole bunch of topics. Let’s show them that it’s okay to ask questions. Let’s show them that families come in all different styles.

No one chooses to be part of a marginalized subset of society. No one chooses to be gay. It’s a difficult life. It’s also really fun, too. There are cheap drinks at X Bar on Tuesdays. It’s normal. It’s natural. It’s really lovely. Just because that’s not how you roll doesn’t mean you have to hate on it.

Having gay friends doesn’t make you gay. Trust me on this one. Still a hetero here. People won’t think any less of you if you hang out with gay people; you won’t be any less of a man. So get over it! Stop freaking out about gay and start embracing it.

Or, if you’re still uncomfortable, start with baby steps. Gay is not always the stereotype. Remember that.

Gay makes good parents. Gay makes good teachers. Gay makes good thinkers, good bus drivers, good politicians, good postmen, good database administrators. But mostly, gay makes great dancers.

This week, reach out to your gay, lesbian, queer, questioning, and straight friends and remind them how much they mean to you.

And if you’ve got the time, head downtown this weekend and be a part of the celebration.

Breakups, the beautiful things that crush our souls. (Kidding)

Posted on by
Reply

There are those moments in life where nothing happens as you might have expected that it would.
And then there are the moments where everything goes like you thought it would and it’s entirely underwhelming.
Beneath the small struggles that encompass our daily lives, there are something bigger and more beautiful at work.

To quote Ryan, who took me out for a wonderful dinner last night: “Maybe I have it all wrong and you are just some ruthless asshole that just roams the earth hurting 39 year olds.  But I don’t think so.  Behind that tough facade I know you are very sweet…You are a shining star amid a crowd of 40 watt light bulbs. You seriously are an amazing individual.”

I laughed when I read this, becuase he signed his email with a typical rude Katie Barry sendoff.

This weekend brought the end of the biochemist. We tried (perhaps valiantly) and failed. We both knew it was coming, but he brought it, and deserves credit for it.
I had announced the impending breakup (can you break up with someone you weren’t actually with?) to several people, and so feel quite fulfilled by my ability to feel out my hunches.

I cried like a small child, much to my embarrassment. I later told him that the unleashing of cathartic tears was 80% the result of wine consumption and 20% my wounded ego.

I’m not sure that he understands that I was not solely involved with him and therefore am not as devasted as if I’d lost my house, or had my bike stolen again, or if my cat was run over by a truck. This registers at, “Damn, I spent that $20 I was going to save.” on the emotion-scale. Upsetting, annoying, but entirely survivable.
By the way, that might be the worst analogy ever, but I am sticking with it. The more I read it, the more I’m alright it. And the more I want to check my wallet to make sure I have that extra $20.

I am slowly realizing that there are people who will not adore me. (Surprise, surprise. Something we’ve known all along but can finally catalogue for posterity.)
I realize that two people, no matter how lovely individually, can be perfectly wrong for each other.
I am realizing that perhaps the parting of the ways should happen after the 3rd bad date and not after the 20th.

I am young, free, and quite content to wander for awhile.
I know what I want. The problem is that it’s in Chicago and needs to get its shit together.
I’m kidding – that’s the most perfect non-relationship I’ve ever been it. I hope it only changes for the better and never for the worse. We’ve known each other for a year and a half, and in that time, there has been so much miscommunication and craziness, but also so many really wonderful moments.
I hope that my July visit is either as good as the April one or better.
And contrary to popular belief, I did not go to South Africa because of him.
(Just so we’re clear on that.)

Ha.

Here’s to the waning (and wonderful) days of my beautiful youth.

(I’m going to read this when I’m still single and 45 and have a lot of cats and thick thighs and quite possibly an addiction to TV dinners and not laugh at all. But for now I think it’s funny. All of it. I am a walking episode of Seinfeld and I’m alright with that.)

Posted on by
Reply

Ferocity.

Something I’m learning from Carlos.

Act preemptively and base everything on your gut.

Your past guides you more than you think but shouldn’t affect anyone’s future perceptions of you.

I’m hurt; I’m annoyed; I’m angry.

No one should make me feel like I’m less than a human being, whether it’s intentional or not.

I am Katie Barry and I do what I want.