Category Archives: love

On Valentine’s Day

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Personally, I’m not the biggest fan of Valentine’s Day. It’s stupid and commercial.  But, then again, it provides us with the opportunity to really examine our own lives and the love that’s in them. And that, dear reader, is something that we should all be immensely grateful for. Love is the best part of this journey.

Lamely, I included the same message in my cards to my mom and grandmother. I don’t even know that I was quite able to express the sentiment, and am hoping that when they read this entry, they’ll understand that “you’re such a wonderful example of love in this world” means that I’m in awe of their ability to leave such a positive imprint wherever they go. Both my mom and my grandma are serious badasses. Sorry for the language, but I’m actually not sorry at all. These are two of the strongest, most capable, generous, hilarious women that you’ll ever meet. They’re unconventional, they’re sweet, they’re kind, caring, humble, understanding, and again, funny. I’m lucky to come from such people.

Anyway. In honor of Valentine’s Day, I’m going to make you suffer through me recounting my favorite instances of love (romantic love, just for today):

1. Aunt Jan and Uncle Mike. Their love is the kind of love that Nicholas Sparks writes sappy tear-jerkers about. They met on a blind date and were engaged shortly thereafter. I once asked Uncle Mike about it and he responded, “Sometimes you just know.” Every time I think about that, I smile. It’s incredible. And I bet they’re going to make adorable old people (some day very far in the future).

2. Grandma Mary and I used to go to Southglenn Mall (when it was still a mall) for our shopping trips. We were there having an Orange Julius, and I watched a very elderly (hey, in all fairness I was like ten years old, so anything above sixty was very elderly to me at that point) couple order a milkshake and then share it. With two straws. It’s funny to me that the image of them with their milkshake and two straws in a suburban mall is the image that I think of when I think of romance, but to be honest, it was one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.

3. I was at the store buying my Valentine’s Day cards (me and half of Denver, apparently), and the man in front of me at the checkout line was buying a vase full of roses and all the extras. The cashier asked him how long they’d been married and he paused and then said “63  years.” The cashier proceeded to chat with him about it and he said, “She’s a very special lady.” I love that after 63 years of marriage, they’re still in love. And I hope that they have many more years together.

Love isn’t perfect. It’s not all storybook endings and romance novel covers, although I do wish it was, just a little – those dresses!  You’d do well to read NPRs “Dark History of Valentine’s Day”. But first, this, also from NPR. It’s a story of romance between a nun and a brother. It made me cry (but then again, what doesn’t?). You’ll love it.

from NPR: 

A Brother And Sister Get Married (And Later, Their Son Tweets It)

by Clare O’Neill

As comedian John Fugelsang recalls, all in life was dandy until one fateful day, at age 6, he noticed an odd motif in some photos: “In every family picture … my mother was wearing a habit.”

Last August, he tweeted his parents’ unusual love story — with photos — on the one-year anniversary of his father’s death. In a series of blurbs 140 characters or less, he tells it better than I ever could: (click on this link and go view the slideshow – I cried while going through it)

Credit: Courtesy of John Fugelsang

Fugelsang, who has hosted America’s Funniest Home Videos and consulted for Rosie O’Donnell, among other things, explained more in an interview.

Not only had his mother, Peggy, joined a convent after an abusive childhood, taking the name Sister Damien. But his father, Jack, had become a Franciscan monk after high school. The two met in Brooklyn when Jack — or Brother Boniface — had become ill with tuberculosis.

“From all accounts I heard, he fell madly, desperately, insanely in love with this Southern nurse in a nun’s habit that he knew he could never have, and had sworn to God he would never want to have,” Fugelsang says.

Brother Boniface did the only thing he could do. He held a secret torch for Sister Damien for some 10 years. During that time, he expressed his love through platonic letters. She had been sent to Malawi to care for people with leprosy. And every week, he would write. He kept her — and all of the sisters — apprised of the latest: of L.B.J. and M.L.K. and everything else U.S.A.

Then, her father died. When she returned home to take care of her family, Brother Boniface found out and intercepted her — showing up at the hospital where she was working and professing his love. “She was appalled,” says Fugelsang.

But eventually, Boniface won her over. They broke their religious vows and made new ones — to each other. As Fugelsang says, it was their first love and second marriage, the first being a marriage to God. They dropped their names and became Jack and Peggy again. They had kids and lived happily married for decades, from what Fugelsang recalls.

“I can honestly say that my father’s love only grew as he got older and as they aged,” says Fugelsang. “The romance didn’t slow down for him at all. He was someone who was completely unable to separate his devotion to God from his devotion to his wife.”

Well into his 60s, Jack’s heart thumped at full force — emotionally and spiritually. But then, two heart attacks had doctors shaking their heads, saying there was nothing they could do.

“So he just began telling everyone that he wasn’t going to die,” says Fugelsang, “that he was going to live on because he was too in love. And he held on longer than any of the doctors thought he could.”

A risky stem-cell treatment in Thailand afforded him a few more years.

“It was amazing seeing how even in the last days of his life, the love just got deeper and deeper. I have photos of him in his hospital bed looking at her with a kind of naked, calm love that I’ve seldom seen on a man’s face.”

Jack died in August 2010.

“You know, we live in a culture where men are not really celebrated for love,” says Fugelsang. “And so for me, the most defining personal dynamic in my life has been watching a man madly in love with his wife.”

“And now I’m going to be a dad for the first time,” he continues. “[And] the fact of the matter is, my kid gets to grow up in this beautiful, complicated world because many years ago, some guy in Brooklyn chose love.”

Last year, Fugelsang retold the story in tweets. Today, he’s telling the unabridged version in a solo performance, Guilt: A Love Story, currently touring the country.

On Embracing “Cat Lady” (but not actually embracing it at all)

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Two years ago today, I went to the animal shelter in Chicago with my friend Becky just to take a look at the animals.

Two hours later, I walked out with a very grumpy pit bull-panther mix (I believe we should shorten that to  “pitther” or “panbull” or “pittpan” – all ring equally of faux-pretension and violence, which suits him perfectly).  At that time, he was named York, but he would later spend nearly half a year being called simply Cat (put your best Borat accent on it and you’ve got it halfway right). And now he is Carlos, AKA Mr. Beast. That cat adoption was simultaneously the stupidest decision I’ve ever made and also the best. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

My two favorite things about Carlos (besides his eyeballs) are his half ear and his snaggletooth. Adorable!

But honestly, I have a cat with as much personality as me, and that’s not something you find every single day. We’re a good match and I hope that the life he lives now is so much better than the life he had before. They told me he’d never survive a major surgery (at the time, it was a selling point) but he’s gone through two and come out no worse for the wear. He’s tough as nails. He’s fiercely protective and insanely ballsy – I wish I had a video of him attacking Ely’s golden retriever, Archie. (Archie was okay in the end, just a little scared.) He’s also a wonderful snuggler, a serious investigator, a lover of shower curtains and clean sheets, and usually very hungry.

My favorite stories are the butter story, the glass of water, and the night before I moved away from Chicago.

Quickly, because I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s nearly impossible for anyone who doesn’t own that particular cat to love it and therefore none of you care (I don’t like any of my friends’ cats; I don’t like any cats I see on the street; I just like Carlos):

The night before I left Chicago, we had people over. At the end of the night, I opened the back door that led to our back  porch and down the back stairs and there was Carlos, sitting patiently outside the door. I have no idea how he got out. I have no idea why he didn’t run. But I am eternally grateful for the fact that I got to bring him back to Denver with me the next day. Let me tell you, cats love spending 18 hours in a car. Just love it.

John always used to have a water glass with him. When he’d come visit, he’d leave his glass on my desk. Carlos loves to explore – there’s nothing you can bring into a house that he doesn’t want to investigate. So he had his nose in the water glass and John yelled at him to get away. Carlos looked directly at John, and then swirled his paw around in the water, shook the paw off, and walked away. It was brilliant.

And there you go.

I’m going to be stuck with this small monster for a very long time, and I’m okay with that. He’s the best.

On Valentine’s Day

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I’m starting to panic.
What am I going to do for Kevin for Valentine’s Day?
I have zero good ideas.

I realize that Valentine’s Day is a whole bunch of crap, but we’re at a really good place right now and I’m excited. Things are bright; life is beautiful; and I want a way to let him know that I appreciate him. I’m also hesitant because I’m worried that whatever I do will be super lame.

 

 

On thinking about love, a little

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(Denver in snow)

The capacity for emotion is one of the most beautiful parts of being human, but it’s also one of the absolute worst. Relationships are a funny thing. It’s not like you can compartmentalize your life so that something ends neatly, with all the loose ends tied up. There is really no such thing as a clean break. What your heart feels isn’t 100% or nothing. There is a lot of love that happens when you’re busy loving something else.

It is my firm belief that you never fall out of love with anybody. You never stop loving someone that you once loved, not entirely. Those feelings can shift and grow, shift and change, shift and decrease, but the impact of that love leaves deep grooves on your soul. If you’re loving properly, then you’re loving with your full self. Just because that relationship, that affair, that whatever may have ended doesn’t mean that your heart understands that. It doesn’t think in finite terms. It thinks in moods, in experiences, in memories.

Love is the best part of being human. For me, it’s the ultimate in life experiences. It will change you. It will shape your paths, your mindsets, your beliefs. And at the end of the day, it will either leave you sated or leave an indescribably empty hole.  You keep feeling it until you don’t feel it anymore.

It’s also curious to me how timing plays such a large role in all of this human-emotion-loving that’s going on. Sometimes, things align. And sometimes they don’t. I often wonder how many great relationships never came to fruition because of bad timing. Of course, you can sit here and say, “If it was meant to be…” but that’s not always true. There is no one right person for you, and if you’re lucky enough to find someone who matches that description, you’ve been handed an incredible gift. The rest of us have to muddle around until we figure something out.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what constitutes a good match lately. I’ve been analyzing how my own relationship fills my needs. I remember speaking to someone once who talked about how two out of three (emotional support, intelligence, looks) needed to be met in order for someone to have a functional relationship. I think that I have that triangle but then another laid on top of it.

(This is where i tried to draw a diagram and failed sort of miserably….)

So here’s how it goes:  You need two out of three of Intelligence, Emotional Intelligence, Physical Attraction. And for me, you also need probably two out of three of Energy Level (Willingness to Adventure), Motivation (this usually means having a job), and a weird combination of Tolerance, Morality and Are You a Good Person? to round it out. So that’s sort of difficult to find because I’m not a two-dimensional human being. I need you to be smart enough to call me on my bullshit, caring enough to love me even when I’m being weird, and semi-good looking. More than that though, I need you to love something – that’s your motivation: I need you to have a strong work ethic, a sense of responsibility, pride in what you do, etc.; I need you to be willing to try new things and travel new places; and I need you to be a generally wonderful person – open to new cultures, new people, kind-hearted, giving, etc.

This is the challenge set before every single person who desires to someday have a mate: Find someone who matches you on your requirements. I was thinking about all of that this weekend, because I was doing some serious analyzing (and embracing some serious happy).

(Denver Art Museum: free every 1st Saturday. Worth it!)

I spent the entire weekend with Kevin. We worked from home quite happily on Friday. There were laptops and papers and cords all over the living room and the two of us were on the couch watching the news. It was perfect, except for Carlos walking all over Kevin’s keyboard a couple of times. We tried new restaurants (eggs benedict twice for me, and fried pickles), we went to a bakery that we’ve never been to (delicious lavender-infused, lemon, red velvet, and coconut cupcakes…I’m hooked), we ran errands, we went to the Art Museum (briefly), we hung out with my family for the Super Bowl, we argued about politics (finally!), and we had plenty of down time. It was wonderful. It made me feel incredibly positive about our relationship – which apparently has been going on for quite awhile. It still feels new sometimes. It’s comfortable. It’s secure. It’s real. And I can dig that. I have someone who adores me, respects me, and genuinely enjoys spending time with me. These are all good things. I am a very lucky girl.

On Ranting, as usual

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oh there’s some hardcore liberal bias here, so don’t think I’m trying to represent any position but my own and don’t be too upset if we disagree – it’s bound to happen:

I’m getting myself super worked up about this whole Komen-defunding-Planned-Parenthood deal. It’s not a big deal. It doesn’t directly affect me. But seriously? I’m never going to participate in, donate to, or eat another Komen-labeled anything. Not that I actively chose their products in the past (I am not the best eater of yogurt nor the biggest fan of pink), but now I’m consciously going to avoid. And perhaps I can flex my nasty letter writing muscles and do some direct complaining. They also spend a ridiculously low amount of their actual funds on research. 20%-ish?

I’m probably going to get breast cancer some day (from what I know about my medical history – which isn’t much – my birth mom, biological grandmother, and several of her sisters have all had it/died of it/have it right now). Of course I want a cure, but we’re silly to think that cures come from organizations.
The backlash against the Komen foundation has been insane. Donations to Planned Parenthood are way up. If I wasn’t broke as shit, I’d be all over that. I decided many years ago that when I finally get enough money to be generous with it, it’s not going to my alma maters, it’s going to Planned Parenthood, because they are absolute rock stars at what they do. I’m so sick of hearing about how horrible they are.

I hope that young women everywhere are able to continue to access care that their primary care providers may have denied them; I hope that young women of all colors and religions and income levels can continue to access healthcare including cancer screenings, STI-testing and treatment, and birth control, especially when they don’t have access to a primary care provider like I do.

Why? Because it’s important. The work that Planned Parenthood does isn’t just abortions (do I actually need to repeat myself again? Only 3% of their services go to abortions. That’s roughly 300,000 abortions per year. But guess what? That’s only about a third of the total number of abortions provided in the US. Where is everyone else having those?).

The reason I bring this up is because I was reading a Catholic website (trying to get all sides’ opinions) and they had huge charts about how 96.3% of services provided to pregnant women were abortion-related. Okay, I’ll take that. Yes, there is a disparity between abortion numbers and adoption numbers. I’d argue that that’s pretty consistent with the rest of the US as well. But does this Catholic website take into account the other forms of adoption such as from government agencies (41% of adoptions in 2008), kinship adoptions, foreign adoptions, etc? Probably not.

And how many un-pregnant women and men and people are using Planned Parenthood to access other resources? 3 million people go to Planned Parenthood every year. 3 million is a lot more than 300,000. By providing resources to the community including contraception, Planned Parenthood is helping to ensure that there will be fewer unintended pregnancies and thus fewer abortions as a result.

Here’s why I support Planned Parenthood 100% – and this has absolutely nothing to do with the Komen debacle. It’ll all blow over. Komen will continue to be the shining pink face of breast cancer walks everywhere and Planned Parenthood will continue to be the source of so much distress for  conservatives the uninformed everywhere:

[I’m sort of uncomfortable about posting this story online – to be honest, I think I’ve posted this before but can’t find it in the archives, and at the same time, I’m even more uncomfortable knowing that people perceive Planned Parenthood to be this horrible, evil organization that exists solely to kill babies. So this is why I’m putting this out there.]

I wasn’t quite 18 yet, which means I was somewhere between 16 and 17. I wanted birth control. When I asked my pediatrician’s nurse practitioner for a prescription (without telling her why I wanted it – Was it heavy periods? Was it hormonal reasons? Did I just want to take hormonal birth control because everyone else was doing it? Was I having sex?), she told me that doing so would put her “between a rock and a hard place.”

What she was referring to was my father, who has always been overbearing and inappropriate at the most inconvenient times. As soon as I started high school, he became convinced that I was having all sorts of sex (I wasn’t. I didn’t kiss a boy until I was almost fifteen) and consequently, had been squawking about it to anyone who would listen and making it nearly impossible for me to date (this, of course, backfired horribly and led to me putting myself in dangerous-ish situations on more than one occasion: sneaking out, hanging out with undesirables, etc).

I was well aware that Colorado law allows minors to consent to a prescription for birth control without obtaining parental consent or having to even notify a parent or guardian about it. When she told me that no matter what I said, she wouldn’t write me a prescription for birth control, I was furious. I still am. I never went back to that doctor’s office, even though I’d been going since birth.

That’s why, even to this day, I do not stand for doctors of any sort denying women information or care based on their own personal beliefs or fears. I also do not believe that doctors and providers (including nurses, etc) should be anything but professional. I had a friend go to her gynecologist and ask for routine STI testing only to be asked, “Why? Have you been exposed?” I told her to immediately find a new doctor. Call it overreacting but I call it ridiculous that you should have to answer any sort of seemingly-accusatory questions. I have doctors who I absolutely adore. They respect me; they don’t question me when I say, “Hey, throw an HIV test onto my blood work!” They respect that I’m active about my own health – regardless of whether it’s ADHD, STI-testing, the sniffles, the cut on my finger that should have had stitches 16 hours ago….(the last one was a joke…that was me not being proactive and facing the consequences).

I went to Planned Parenthood. I did it after school one day when Mike had practice so I knew I had some time. I was terrified. I was not getting the prescription so that I could have reckless, unprotected sex. I was not pregnant. I was just looking for something that my own doctor was unwilling to give me, but something that I knew I had a legal right to obtain and use.

My experience there was absolutely amazing. The staff was so nice to me. I think they absolutely understood how scared I was (I’ve never been good at hiding my emotions) and I think they went the extra mile to make sure that I had the most positive experience possible. I got my prescription. I got birth control. And it was in a no-stress, no-judgement, no-pressure situation.

My mom eventually found out that I was on birth control. She was furious. But she wasn’t mad that I was on it; she was mad that I had gone alone. She was mad that I was paying for it all by myself. She was just as mad at my doctor’s office as I was and she helped me to become a part of the practice that I currently attend (do you attend a doctor’s office? visit? reluctantly stop by sometimes?). I think that a lot about that experience helped solidify our relationship. It was a little bit rocky during high school – think ages 15-17. She was open and willing to talk about issues that I’d never realized I could talk to her about. She never judged me or criticized my opinions or decisions. She supported me so much then and continues to do so today. I honestly think that without those frank discussions, we wouldn’t have the relationship we do now. It’s stronger than it’s ever been and I’m so grateful to know that I can call her and tell her anything. She may not agree with it (she’ll definitely tell me when she doesn’t) but she’ll listen. And knowing that she respected me enough back then to know that I was making informed decisions about my own health is something that still makes me incredibly happy.

That’s why I love Planned Parenthood. I have only been there maybe twice in my life, but those two times were the most positive experiences I could have had. I’m grateful that they were there for me, and even though I hope my children will never have to go behind my back to get access to care, I hope they’re still there, just in case.

On Remembering

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I found it! I found the poem I was looking for!
It’s unedited, exactly as it was when I wrote it.
I just absolutely love love love this poem. It’s so apathetic. It’s everything that seventeen-year old me was. The ending gets me every time. Pause as you read it. Pause and really let the end sink into your soul. (Maybe it won’t work for you; I don’t know. But just try it.)

I need to remind readers that this poem has absolutely nothing to do with my current romantic partner situation.

Oh man, now I want to find the “Still Life” poem. I just spent like ten minutes digging through my old journal. It’s funny how much I’ve grown, and funnier still how much remains the same. I became friends with a girl who’d gone to Mullen, although she was much older than me, and she became my biggest supporter during those awkward teenage years. She believed in my writing and I’m so grateful for that, because without her positive input, I may not have had the courage to keep doing it. We keep in touch on facebook now, and I don’t know that I’ve ever been able to really tell her how much it meant to me that she read everything I wrote. She’s off getting her doctorate and living a wild and beautiful life in Australia, but it’s funny how much we are still able to share even if it’s just through “likes” and comments.

“Remember”
originally posted January 11, 2006


I remember you.
I remember the first time
you said “I love you.” 
I had forgotten
until today.
Sitting in the park last night, 
on a shadowed log
amidst the winter grass
while she remembered 
memories she should’ve never had
I flashed back. 
I took a picture of the spot
where I was standing
when it hit me
late that summer night
and I first felt the sensations 
roll over me.
but enough
I’d like to leave it there.
Later, not long forgotten
we were side by side
tangled in a sweet release
and you kissed my forehead
in that way 
that you knew drove me crazy 
and you whispered it.
I tensed
as silence filled the room
what was I to say
to someone I didn’t love?
I sighed 
and kissed your hand
and rolled over
and let you hold me
until it was over
and I didn’t have to say 
anything anymore.

On Friendship

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Friendship is a strange and beautiful thing.
It comes and goes in waves of necessity; there’s no stopping it. You are, for that singular moment – or perhaps many moments – engulfed by the overwhelming nature of it all. And then it slowly recedes, softly, slowly at first, before there’s nothing but a whisper, a soft lapping at your toes. But when you least expect (or by now you should see the patterns), it comes over you again. Quickly. Sweeping over your head without warning, leaving you breathless.
And it goes on like this.
A calculated tide.
A beating heart.
A deep breath, a long sigh.
That’s what love is.
True friendship is love.

Last week, after an accidental evening at the PS Lounge, Jacob and I walked through the park. I was overflowing with respect, with gratitude, with contentment, with love. Some of my favorite times are my walks with him. We find ourselves in City Park after dark, wandering, staying close to the edge. I never expected to know him. I certainly never expected to be able to call him one of my closest friends. But he is and has been. It was instantaneous. It’s as though he’s been a part of my life forever. And I would like to have him in my life forever. I value his honesty, his opinions, his thoughtfulness, his vision.

Katie is the same way. I met her my first day of high school. I remember thinking, “One of the cool kids just said hi to me!” I had no idea that I had just met my other. We’ve been through ups and downs (more ups than downs, obviously), but there is no one that I would rather have near me than her. Last Friday, she came over and it was like all the stress was melting away from me. It’s unconditional. It’s not difficult. I can tell her anything; confide my deepest secrets, hopes, and dreams. She will still love me. And I will still love her. I still get those butterflies sometimes, the kind you feel when you’ve got a new crush (do people still get those feelings?). I will never marry someone who doesn’t make me feel the same way. She’s funny and beautiful and so incredibly smart. I love her.

Heidi and I had dinner last night. After sushi and sake and some sort of delicious pineapple dessert creation, I felt sated. Her presence alone was enough to lift me out of the funk. It’s funny to me how intertwined life can become. I was sixteen and working at Dairy Queen. We were sent out to work another store when they went out for the day and I was carpooling with this gorgeous blond college girl (talk about intimidation!). Then it happened: we were in the car and a man cut us off. All of the windows were down, and without even thinking, both of us reacted the same way. We screamed a choice expletive at him and flipped him the double bird. Looking at each other, shocked, we both started laughing. And we’ve been friends ever since. She told me last night that she will love me, flaws and all, forever. God, doesn’t that just feel great?

I was talking to Kevin last night about a situation that has recently developed. Someone who I’ve been friends with for a long time said something that really offended me. And suddenly, I was done. My tolerance is quite high for these things. You can push me pretty far before I break, but once I’m broken, may someone have mercy on your soul because my anger can be quite a terrifying thing. I stopped trying to mend our friendship and started analyzing it. I realized that it was not a friendship built on mutual trust and love, and was instead built on passive aggressive behavior and my various attempts to deal with that behavior, but my underlying inability to tell her the truth about her behavior and assumptions. As I’ve concluded, I’ve realized that I’m not angry. I’m not mad. I’m just frustrated. And all I need for that friendship to begin again is an apology and an admission.

I told him that no matter what happens to a friendship, I need closure. I would much prefer to have a friendship die of natural causes than a friendship that ends in anger. Tension stresses me out. It happens, of course. It’s a part of life. But I would like to minimize it as much as possible. I very much dislike having people hate me/dislike me after really knowing me. I find that a lot of it stems from misinformation and untruths. That’s really how conflict begins and grows, anyway. I could care less about people who don’t know me. If you don’t really know me, you can’t really love me.

I’m very excited: my roommate in college and I did not end on the best of terms. But time has passed. We’ve re-friended each other on facebook (monumental, of course) and are planning to meet for a drink when I’m in Chicago. I’m thrilled. I can’t wait to pick up and continue. It may never be the friendship that it once was, but it can still be what it needs to be. It can still be good.

On Future Plans

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What do I do when things get weird? Well, there are a few responses, but most of them include a serious increase in wild adventures and questionable decisions.

I always think of Mike whenever these things happen. He’d tell me one of two things (they both come from our favorite movies):
      -When life gives you lemons, say “Fuck the Lemons!” and bail.
      -or… Rule #72: No excuses, play like a champion.

I have a feeling this is one of those Rule #72 moments.

So, in keeping with those traditions of panic and drastic life-altering adventures, I made plane reservations. Be glad that I can’t afford tickets to Kenya; my roommate from South Africa, Margaret, is turning 50 this year and spending it doing work with women there. She invited me along! Perhaps I’ll start pinching pennies and try to make the trip out there before she leaves her year-long post.

I’m going to Chicago in February to spend a weekend with my old friends. Swisher will have just had ACL surgery, so he’ll be needing some care. (Not that I’m going to be proficient in providing any sort of care. I’m more of an errand-runner.) I haven’t seen Anne’s face since I was out there in July. And I would love to be able to snuggle with Maddie and Patrick. (Patrick remains my all-time-number-one-wingman for the incident of the Irish and the whiskey. I will love him until I die.)

The best one, though?
March. New York City. The Katies.
Katie has an interview out there and wanted someone to go along. So I am lucky enough to be her traveling companion. I am beyond thrilled. I am so grateful for this opportunity. I can’t even begin to tell you how bright this spot is in my otherwise complicated life-situation. We are going to spend four days being wonderful and wild all over New York. I dug around in my purse for my thank-you notes to send to her father, who graciously picked up my plane tickets, but found them to be covered in blush and the envelopes unusable. So I still sent him one – minus the blush – (in my excitement, I just want to say “Thank-You!” right away!) but included a note apologizing for the janky nature of the packaging (regular envelopes, not the cute ones). He’ll understand.

There are still adventures to be had. Life isn’t over yet. It never is. One thing that I do love about my workplace is the support. We’re mostly women, and since I’m the baby, I get the coddling that I sometimes really need. Today, I needed it. My lady boss, who I respect like nobody else, told me that I was going to be fine and that life is just one set of ups and downs after another. I realize that you can hear that said twenty times, but for some reason, I’m always ready to listen to her advice. So I’m letting it stick. This is just a down. There will be other ups.

On Upward Mobility, at 23.

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[this is a really pathetic post. If you’re not in the mood for serious self-pity, please don’t read any further…]

It has been a rough few days. Right now, I feel like the part of me that feels anything but that strange apathetic misery has disappeared.
I’ve been prone to bouts of tears. They come at random times.
Last night, Kevin brought home Chinese food (I’d been camping out on his couch, feeling sorry for myself and watching Mission Impossible) and I cried. So that was awkward. For a man who has no idea how to deal with the waves of feminine emotions, it might have been too much to handle.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” he asked.
Well. About that.

But let’s rewind.
5pm Friday.
I was seriously excited to see Katie, who was in town for the weekend. We were going to meet up, grab drinks, and meet up with her/our friend Mark after he got off work.
I’m driving home. 6th and Colorado (I always get held up at the light.) One of my Gmail accounts dings. Mail. I open it.
UCD rejects me swiftly, before the light changes.
I catch my breath. Humiliation sinks in. Shame.
I had considered many scenarios. Many. None of them included being rejected. Flippantly, I’d been saying that if I didn’t get into grad school, I’d have no idea what to do with my life. But those statements were made with the underlying assumption that I’d get in.
What?!?!? The email said that while they couldn’t tell me why, blah blah blah, something about recommendation letters. I may have ignored one of their requirements that I have two letters of recommendation from former professors. I had one. It was a beautiful letter, but I neglected to get the second, and instead used a family that I babysit for.
Idiotic move, in hindsight.
But regardless of my disregard for the stated process, I am still not good enough for UCD. So, wow.
Of course, I handled it incredibly maturely and proceeded to get absolutely, ridiculously drunk. Classy, I know. Sloppy. And to make matters so much worse, I wore heels.
Now, if you’ll remember the incident in Chicago in mid-2010…the one where upon being denied entry to a club due to my status as a “liability”, I told the bouncer that I wasn’t drunk, I just had double-jointed ankles that prevented me from walking straight. (I actually do have double-jointed ankles, for the record. Should probably stay away from heels any time my BAC is above .08.) It was basically like that.

I’m now a walking failure. Just completely lost. Doomed to pull a tiny salary for the rest of my life. I’m so upset. I can’t even tell you the last time I felt this lack of optimism. (Actually, I can. The last time this happened, I got a cat. So about two years ago. But don’t worry, I have enough cats [one is always enough cats] and I don’t have the cash for anything wild.)

I know that life is a funny place.
I get that.
But watching everyone else around me find contentment and success professionally, personally, romantically, academically…it’s all just too much.

I’m just in a position in my life where nothing is going right. When Heidi Klum and Seal announced their divorce last week, I was uncharacteristically shaken. If they can’t do it, who can? My own relationship is shaky, at best. It’s not meeting my needs, and it’s frustrating. I so badly want it to work. I don’t think he’s willing to meet me halfway. I don’t think he quite understands what I need and I’m not sure how to tell him. My job is fine. I love my company, I really do. But it’s hard to see a future where I still only pull $1800 month after taxes. It’s hard to make a life like that. I want to own a home. My future is uncertain. I hate that uncertainty. That’s the worst part.

And don’t start with the “but you’re young” bullshit. I’m almost 24. I get that I’m young. But when you were 24, did that seem so young? No. It’s that precarious time where the shedding of our adolescent predilections is finalized and our adulthood settles in. I was out with a friend and he started in with the “you’re young” business. Well, I’m not young enough that you can’t take me home with you, so don’t patronize me. I can and will play ball on your level. You just need to realize that your level is the same as everybody else’s.

I get that I’m foolish and full of thoughts. But I don’t think that those stem from my youth. I think that some of us are eternally doomed to steep in our emotions, in our thoughts, in our heads. There are plenty of people at all ages who are just as lost as I am right now. And there are plenty of people at all ages who will never have the qualities that I have. At my core, I am a beautiful person. I know that I’m fiercely intelligent. I’m open to new experiences; I’m polite (situationally, of course); I’m beautiful; I’m funny; I’m kind-hearted; I’m sarcastic; I’m an excellent maker of French toast; yes, I’m hyper-aware of my emotions – it’s the greatest gift and ultimate worst curse. I’m constantly growing and changing, becoming more and more the person that I want to be. But at my core, I’ll always be a little wild. And I like that.

I’ve been making a list of things that I can be instead of a therapist, because the door just got slammed hard on that one. But I won’t list them here, because they’re basically the primetime lineup for A&E and History channel: logger, pawn shop owner, swamp person, etc. (I’m way too much of a girl to be a swamp person, just for the record. And I refuse to eat squirrel.)

And please don’t think that I’m not grateful. I may be wallowing (I need a few days to really embrace the depths of the sadness before I can kick my way out), but I’m still aware of the blessings in my life. Sort of. Mostly. Maybe.

On Mr. Beast in the Morning

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I’m way too busy at work right now to even think about posting something legitimate. But I’ve been having some serious thoughts, so be excited.

Anyway, for your viewing pleasure, my son Carlos.
Dear lord, I love him. February 10th will mark our two-year adoption anniversary!