In between

A number of terrible things tend to occur at the age of 26, a.) you get booted off your parents health insurance and b.) occasionally, you don't get carded at Trader's anymore. Obviously because of the named reasons, me and  26 have this sort of love/hate relationship going on. Oh, but instead of love, replace that with  lukewarm, potentially platonic feelings. It's just a strange age really. Nothing is concrete ... and all of the major pillars of my life are in that awkward pre-pubescent phase still. 

What do I mean by 'Concrete'? The official crossover into adulthood, so....obviously:
1.) Having a dog
2.) Having a lifelong partner (whether that person has the title of husband or not doesn't concern me)
3.) Having a slow-cooker

Half of my friends are of the married variety, Home-depot strolling, coupon-clipping and all.... and the other half-they're still out scribbling their numbers on beer coasters and cyber stalking potential suitors. Ahhh, the good ol' days. Some of us have careers, other's-struggling to reaffirm that they're getting a masters, and accumulating debt for the right reasons (to avoid working, duh).

Then there's me, doin' a free fall with slurry of alternate futures to my life on either side of me. Sandwiched between all the possibilities. Braving the unknown, but hoping the sand castles I've built along the way somehow magically gain real architectural integrity and don't fade away into the shore on me.

That's the problem with 26, too young to be consumed with making everything permanent and too old to be casual about anything anymore. And definitely too old according to your parents to not have some things working in the pipline, such as grandchildren. I want to grow, but growins' a tough without a rapid succession of "character building" mistakes. Yea, that's it....all the mistakes I've made-simply a facilitator for this concrete life of adulthood. Sounds sensible. How else do you expect me to gain a grown-up disposition? Baby steps people: Step 1: Finishing this cup of noodle I made for dinner tonight.

Valentine's Day Version 2.0

What is this epidemic that has plagued mankind when it comes to Valentines Day? You mention it to a single person and they act as though they were just told they're getting death by electric chair-"ohh god, please don't remind me." And people who are in relationships complain about it being a corporate created holiday that has no meaning behind it. Just another way for hallmark to manipulate $4.99 out of our hard earned cash for a cheesy card filled with recycled musings from some writer's post-it notes. Shouldn't we reward these writers for having to communicate our most intimate feelings for us since most of us are emotional quadriplegics? I mean when they're writing "you light my soul on fire" they're thinking "FML FML FML..."


And as the over complicating creatures we are, instead of using Valentine's day as an opportunity to express how we care about the people in our lives, romantic or not(because duh-we need holidays/special occasions to remind us to do that)-we use it for everything else. We start using it to gage our self worth and measuring the success of our last few Valentine's Days as if it were indication of our character or our likability. We can't help it-from a young age we've been conditioned to seek validation from boxed chocolates and candy hearts.

If you've been alone the last 5, you start contemplating going gay or marrying the childhood friend you made a pact with in High school-the one you have absolutely nothing in common with, except that you agreed if you both weren't married by 28-you'd marry each other. Couples in relationships start over analyzing the state of their commitment, some conclude they want to break up, but obviously after Valentine's day...cause they'd rather spend it with someone they're unhappy with then spend it alone. It's not just "singles awareness day"...it's also "miserable couple's awareness day."

Maybe that's the real epidemic. Collectively, as a group, we are soo ME centered nowadays. Completely self serving and self pleasing, the universe and stars gravitate around us. How less stressed would these people be if they put the same amount of energy into making someone else's day versus toiling over what being alone on Vday reflects about them or leading someone else on until the convenience has worn off? It always seems to me that the second I stop worrying about myself, and thinking of other people, the weight is lifted off my shoulders. So maybe that sentiment is just as equally selfish considering I feel I get more from giving-but hey at least that means someone else out there is having a better day too. It's like a 2-for-1 deal. Can't beat it.

My current boyfriend and the one before him both refuse to take me out ON Valentine's day. Rude. LOL, but I get it-the crowds, the fixed menus and the inflated prices are not appealing. I'd be totally happy with spending it at home, drinking a beer and watching some Lakers. Maybe some intense spooning to close out the night. Cause all that other stuff is not the point. The point is letting people you love know that you do. Whatever form that comes in. Yes, a new pair of Louboutins screams "be mine!", but so does cooking someone dinner or giving them a massage after a long days work. So good idea right? Making Valentine's day about someone else for once? Such a foreign concept. What's this giving and kind gestures you speak of?? Just remember thoughtfullness trumps dollar amount, everytime. That is-unless we are talking about the shoes named earlier;)

I'm bringin' un-dependant-on-social-media back...yeah!

Remember when you were a kid, and your parents put TV restrictions on you? How they wouldn't let you watch the shows you wanted to, like Married with Children? And to kick you while you were already down they'd even limit your tube time to 2 hours? Sometimes I think I need that kind parental control nowadays, maybe not so much for TV-since like everything else we have limitless access to, it lost it's lustre and we've moved on to the next form of addiction worthy media. I need it for everything else that has monopolized my time and attention without me even noticing it. That includes facebook, twitter and everything else that falls under the umbrella of "total time-suck." Just because we disperse our time across 4 new forums of entertainment, doesn't make them any less harmful, and just because you can check it while grandpa Jo is paying with coupons and coins in the grocery line or waiting at the DMV doesn't mean it takes up any less brain storage.

And it's garbage most the time-do I really need to know what so and so is eating for lunch??! Or learn for the 8 billionth time that "Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away"?! I knew that already, I knew that back when everyone had it as pictures under their 'about me' on MySpace 5 years ago. Not only that, its these false relationships that face book and the like renders-people we know only through their braggin' or their ranting and almost nothing in between. No real connections, just vast and endless flow of useless information. My head might explode at any given moment, and instead of meaningful memories of my life or insightful philosophies about the world....my headless neck would be spewing viral videos of puppies chasing their tails from YouTube and pictures from some fraternities latest kegger. That's not what I want going through my head in my last moments on earth, and my brain capacity is extremely limited as is. I feel as though that space should be saved for something that contributes to society more like the cure to cancer or the piece of evidence that would prove OJ did it.

An even worse side effect of constant "connection" is that we begin living our lives through comparison and only adding to this collective dysfunction of trying to keep up with the Jones' were subjected to anyway. What's real is me, and what I'm going through today, and not what lavish vacation Ms. Goldigger was just taken on, or what success Mr. Entrepenuer just found. While I'm perfectly happy for them and their good fortunes, "powering off" every once in a while and disconnecting, helps me redefine what the corresdponding version of my own happiness is, and working towards that. No offense, but I want to live and die by my own definition of fulfillment, not yours or anyone else's. You should do the same. So that being said, lets work on not letting this social media stuff spiral wildly out of control and start deluding what our idea of reality is. And now if you'll excuse me, I have some Real Housewives of Beverly Hills to catch up on.

Hugs and Kisses and lots of Kleenex, 2010

So the start of a new year begins, and naturally I start re-evaluating just what the last 365 days were made of. What have I learned, how have a changed? Please god, tell me I grew somewhere-SOMEHOW, and hopefully not just in the waistline. Now I definitely would never label myself as the glass-half empty type, but to put things mildly, I recall 2010 as being cruel. Sometimes life has a way of "putting things into perspective" for you, meaning you didn't volunteer or want it, but life's gonna go ahead and be asshole anyway. And hey, if you can handle it-meaning you don't do a downward spiral into over indulging prescription pills or alcohol, and end up holding a cardboard sign on the side of the I-5-eventually things begin to look up.

My first memory of last year was waking up in an apartment I had just moved into after having to move out of the place I shared for a year and half with my then boyfriend. I'll spare you the details, but it ended abruptly, and it wasn't what I wanted. I woke up, not realizing where I was for a minute-I didn't recognize my room, and yet there I was, most of my belongings still in cardbaord boxes surrounding my bed. When it finally registered, I remember breaking down into tears, not just a few-where a couple run down your cheek,slightly smudging your mascara, that you can tenderly wipe away and gather yourself together. No-the floodgates had opened;red nosed and snot producing-full blown hysterical bawling. And all I could feel was the weight of my sadness crushing my heart-physically. I just wanted to be back in our apartment, in our bed, watching our dumb boxed dvd sets of 24 or 30Rock. Time traveling skills would have come in handy then. The life that I loved, and cherished and wanted forever was gone as I knew it...pulled from underneath me like a table cloth in one of those tricks where, you know, the guys pulls it really quick and none of the plates topple over. I remember trying to go back to sleep, just so I wouldn't have to face the pain of being in reality. It was truly the most profound sadness I'd ever felt in my 25 years. If there were an acceptable, non-selfish, non-religiously condemned way to find eternal sleep, I would have chosen it at that moment. I despised being awake for the next 7 months. And for a girl who governed her life looking for the silver lining, I couldn't find one.

I've never known how to outwardly express unhappiness, so people thought I was fine. That it was your run-of-the-mill break up and yeah, you hear about them a million times a day-but for me, I had lost my purpose for being here. Me. I was repulsed and ashamed of myself. I had invested too much, whole heartedly and now I blamed the end of a relationship for destroying my life, when it should have never made my life to begin with. I had NO desire to date. I went into spinster mode, most Friday nights were spent in over sized sweats steaming artichokes and watching Law and Order reruns. Detective Stabler became my pseudo boyfriend.

My life imitated the directions on a shampoo bottle, except it went like this: work, cry, sleep, repeat. There was never a light bulb moment where I was like "I'm great!", it was more like days and days and days passed. And I learned to be okay, and eventually I was okay. I started going to church, it was the only place I felt sane. I know church isn't for everyone-but anything that makes me feel like I'm not the biggest thing in the universe, and there is some greater call to being here then living at the whims of people I date-made me feel better. I re-focused my career, started writing again, spent time with close friends and laughed. And laughed and laughed. Like in the spring, when all through fall you had nothing but grass, and one day you walk outside to notice a little yellow flower growing that you hadn't seen before. I emerged, everyday a little happier and a little more okay than I was yesterday. Phewwww, I really didn't think I was gonna make it there for a while.

I guess what I learned in 2010, is that even when you've hit rock bottom, on your hands and knees, completely broken and desperate and you think you can't go on one more day. Guess again. Cause unfortunately, like your happiness-your sadness is just as fleeting. And if you can hold on, one day you've got a good chance at finding it again.

Its the Holidays! Where's my Prozac?

Seasons a changin' again. Leaves of gold are fluttering gingerly across the pavement. Christmas jingles subtly making their annual debut in malls and elevators. The smell of Pumpkin Spice lattes snaking its way to your nostrils and of course-Olan Mills style family portraits that validate your play-boy bunniness and parenting mishaps:



There's something about this time of year that leaves me teetering precociously between this warm cozy feeling of safety and unbridled happiness(that undoubtedly was etched into my mind through good childhood memories of holidays spent with family) and bitter, BITTER depression. I could probably be diagnosed clinically bi-polar during the month of December (which could possibly explain my roller coaster relationship with chocolate and all members of his extended family, brownies included). Maybe it's the fact that we're reminded of all of our shortcomings of the past year, hence making unrealistic "resolutions" that always flounder and then we're just sad, still-five-pounds-overweight masochists. But damn it, we swear we're gonna read more, drink less, and finally take those salsa classes come the 31st every year, like clockwork.

Or maybe its answering to family. After all, Christmas is the DUI checkpoint of holidays. Except your family is the disapproving officer who smells the Jager on your breath and sees your poor decisions that span the length of a year. They're the ones gauging your accomplishments via a conventional timeline. Have you married? Started your career? I mean, who likes being held accountable for the healthy progression of their lives? And on the metaphoric Breathalyzer, I just blew a .999.

I know what it is. Apparently, I do have an internal clock.

Although it's not your run of the mill asking-my-first-date-if-he's-ready-for-marriage-and-kids- internal clock. It's quite the opposite. Take that picture I posted at the top. Is that what my future looks like?(minus the polos and questionable husband) Is adult life just one giant schedule? Are we doomed just to become creatures of habit? Every year, jumping through the same hoops, throwing the same dinner parties and making the same small talk to that neighbor who's lawn decorations are just 'soo cute!' I think that's what simultaneously makes me adore and loathe the holidays. It reminds me that every year, there's a steady, reliable source of love that's there for me. And my fear is that the same thing that brings me this sense of quiet, dignified joy now, will bore me later. I hope someday, a holiday season of ill conceived sweaters, baked goods and botched gift ideas makes me as happy as it does now. After all, keeping things in perpective, Christmas isn't about me-it's about ruthlessly siphoning off the generosity of extended family. Oh, and also, celebrating the birth of Jesus.

EHarmony, Facebook, Myspace, & Roomates.com are interchangeable words.

So I've always fared on the side of caution when it comes to meeting people via the internet. I pretty much assume every guy that's contacted me has some fundamental flaw. Like a Unibrow or a penchant for kidnapping women into windowless vans. And reasonably so I thought, I mean, why wouldn't these guys just meet women at the club? Or at church? Or in the bathroom stall where it said to be there "for a good time at midnight". To be fair, we're never true representations of ourselves on the internet. No matter what social media we're using. Listen, I'm a culprit myself. Amongst my friends, I'm a notorious "de-tagger". During the brief time I was single and actually interested in male interaction, versus wallowing in my own misery and steaming artichokes on a Friday night, I looked into creating a profile for Eharmony (because I wanted to meet someone special today). I was off the market for a combined four years, I turn around and all of a sudden, prowling the internet for dates while pant-less at your desk was no longer creepy, but collectively, the most viable way to meet a new partner. Hi Martha, welcome to 2006.

Maybe its my idealistic heart, or secret hopes of being able to tell my kids the adorable story of how I met their father at the dog park, when his dog bit me in the butt. It just sounds so much better than 'he cyber poked me and sent me 'icebreaker' questions as procedure before investing further time in getting to know me". So inorganic. Then as I went through my romantic Rolodex I realized that I had become somewhat of a FREAKIN' POSTER-CHILD for it. My 3 last boyfriend stats goes as follows:

Current-Facebook
Previous-Roomates.com
Previous before that-Myspace(R.I.P (Myspace that is, not him))

So then I had to re-evaluate what my issue was with dating-specific websites, when clearly I've not only dabbled, but done a nose dive, head first into the non-specific dating internet abyss. I guess it's because I always thought of myself as this unassuming, innocent bystander on the road of social networking. But in reality, everything on my profile was calculated. My photos went through a strenuous screening process before posted. Criteria included but not limited to: sexy but not slutty, fun but not an alcoholic. All the quotes and likes I had should reflect how cultured, worldly and life affirming I am. So perfect, I should just tie a pretty pink bow and send it to grandma. In actuality, I love Jersey Shore, I'm on a Hot Cheetos & Redbull diet and today is laundry day so I'm wearing boy shorts. And that's how its is, all day err day. So I guess I found my issue with online dating within my own hypocrisy; Everything we put out there about ourselves went under one giant red "Edit" button before anyone got their shameless,voyeuristic eyes on it!

Maybe someday, should I find myself single with a lost appetite for artichokes, I'll jump on the bandwagon. For now, I appreciate the gift of being able to judge a man the ol' fashioned way: through my own personal prejudices, filters and biases, based on his actual dysfunctions and not some manufactured porcelain version of himself. Cause, you know...that seems fair.

SMILE; it'll make you feel less horrible when you leave the grocery store

This post will be short and sweet-myself;manifested in a blog entry. But, the other day, as I was checking out at the grocery store, I noticed the bag boy looking at me. In my non expert, VERY assumptive opinion, I think he was mentally challenged by his demeanor and his gestures. Gestures-being the way he put my eggs at the bottom of the bag, underneath much heavier things such as a quart of milk. Or the gourmet bacon that hypnotizes me with her sweet spell every time! There's always a chance that he was just inexperienced in the bagging arts. So I don't know the official classification for it, but I am definitely not using those phrases insultingly, I mean them literally. I think at the very least maybe he might have had a social disorder? In any case, he smiled and naturally, I smiled back. But, in that very nervous, awkward manner. Sort of the smile version of the laugh you'd give when drunk Uncle Mike starts saying inappropriate things around your girlfriends. Then I immediately looked down, waiting to swipe my card as to avoid any further eye contact. In my peripheral, I could see he was still looking at me, waiting for me to catch his glances again. Every beep of the register slow-mo'ed...beep...beep..awkward...creepy...I did everything in my power to avoid this. Grabbing my bags, head hung and tail between my legs, and walked past him without even the slightest acknowledgment.

As soon as I got through the sliding glass doors, this feeling of guilt and sadness consumed me. There he was, this innocent guy, who's probably shunned and avoided by most society, women in particular, looking for a millisecond's worth of validation with something as simple as a smile. And I didn't give it to him. Yup, that's me, Captain Asshole right here *Raises hand*. All of a sudden in my mind, this guy's entire self worth fell precociously on my shoulders. And I destroyed it. Of course, I'm just flattering myself, cause' that's kinda what I do. But I couldn't get it out of my head. Not smiling means one thing to the recipient. Smiling is open for interpretation. And I'd rather give that misinterpretation than the alternative. So lesson learned, I'm smiling every time now. And why not? Time to exploit the braces I had in High school! You never know what it could do for someones day. And if you could change someones day, you might change their week, and their life and who knows, maybe next time you won't end up with 3 cracked eggs.