Out with the Old and In with the New

It's 11:02pm on New Year's Eve and I'm sitting cozy in my apartment with Sophie at my side. Yes, it's not the most glamorous way to celebrate the new year - no fancy dress, champagne, fireworks or kiss at midnight. But I've decided this is the perfect foray into the new year. I'm quietly stepping into 2012 with the grace of a lamb, only to steadily grow and transform throughout the coming year into something more.

I'm finally in a place that I truly feel is a home to me. And I can't wait to celebrate my first full year in Charlotte. I'm embracing my new life in the south and it's as sweet and quenching as the tea in my glass. Now that I'm settled in a place I love, I can finally work on the little things. Making friends, getting healthy, quieting the questions and contradictions - I'll be consistently bettering myself. And why? Because I can.

I look forward to taking on the new challenges that await me. I look forward to growing more familiar with a city I now gladly call home. It's time to say good-bye to 2011 and the transitions and questions. 2012 is going to be an exciting new year.

What a Difference a Year Makes

A year ago I had no idea where I was going. I was in Pennsylvania with no job, my life was in boxes, and I saw nothing ahead of me. A lot has happened in a year. I've moved back south, have a lovely job, new friends and fresh start in a wonderful city. I've clawed my way out of my shell finally and learned to embrace my life as it is.

Time has gone quickly. I moved down to Charlotte in February of this year, nervous but hopeful. I was standing at the head of a new, refreshingly unexplored path. I remember sitting with my parents this time last year and feeling I was perched at a crossroad. I knew it was time for me to make a decision on where my life was headed. Was I going to continue to sit back and watch my life pass by? Or was I going to suck it up and put myself out there again.

Well I did it. I may not always be happy with myself, and it's a struggle every day to put myself out there and meet people. But I do it. I feel I have grown exponentially this year. And it can only go up from here. I'm anticipating the coming year and hope I progress even more. This was a tough year, but worth every tear and bruise and worry. Bring it on 2012.

How Old Am I? And Other Unanswered Questions...

I had the most enlightening conversation with my mother today. This is surprising considering most of our conversations end with her insulting my size, my personality, my lifestyle, my fine choice of shoes, etc. I recently disclosed to my parents that I am on an online dating site. In an interesting turn they sucked it up and only said, "Be careful." I appreciated this considering I'm 36 and it gets ridiculous when your parents think you can't take care of yourself. I have for many, many years. That being said, it started as a small comment my mother said at Thanksgiving that set the next conversation in motion. Sitting with my sister and I, she decided to explain to me that she felt I needed to meet an older man. A much older man. With grown children...This struck both my sister and I as off and we disagreed. Why? Because most men in their 40s and 50s remind me of my father, and that's just not cool. They also don't have the same likes and dislikes as me - they like Friday night high school football and I like weird sci-fi shows; they like hanging with their kids; I like not hanging with their kids. You get the idea.

And then today, two weeks after the initial conversation she brings it up again. Yes, I went out with a lovely yet eccentric college English professor the other night and had a good time. He was 33. Another of my "guy friends" is 30; another is 26. I'm enjoying my life as a singleton at the moment. And that's it.

My mother begins to expand on why she feels the way she does. "Heather, you're never going to be first in the lives of these younger men, and these men with children. You spent so many years being second to drugs and alcohol with your husband (that's for another blog post), you need to be first. And these men can't give it to you. I mean, have any of these guys not wanted to go out with you again?" "Yes, mother they have. It happens. Sometimes you don't connect, and that's it." So my mother continues, "You need to grow up. You need to understand that you're not young anymore and you need to be interested in these grown-up things. Stop trying to be younger than you really are."

Hmmm. I don't think I can do that mom. Yes, I'm 36, but I'm independent and responsible and have a great life. I do it all myself. I have a lovely life...and I do it all on my own. I don't need a man to pay my rent or car payment. If I want jewelry or flowers, I buy them. I like weird indie music and strange ethnic foods. I go on dates, and sometimes guys don't like me. But that's okay...that's life. I'm 36, but apparently a young 36. Why should I have to change for some ideal of what a man my age or older would want? I'm not going to do that. I'm unique and goofy and an acquired taste, and I love that. I love that I can sit in my cute apartment in this amazing city and know that I'm okay. Yes, I'm 36. And yes, I was treated less than stellar for a long time. It has taken me 4 years and a lot of tears to understand that it's time for me to be who I was meant to be. It's time for me to spread my tattered, healing wings and fly. It's taken me a long time to spread those wings. And I'm not going to stop now. Why can't my evolution involve younger men that are unattached to children and ex-wives, and look at me like I'm a goddess? Why not? Is it not time for me to feel like a goddess...to feel like I deserve to feel?

So for now the conversation with my mom has just settled with "agree to disagree". She may never understand who her child really is. Even if she thinks she knows me, she still has a lot of questions to answer. And so do I. My life is too short to decide that it's ended before it's begun. I've waiting too long to answer those questions I've had and it's time to uncover all that I need to. Until then, who knows what will happen?

Thanksgiving - The Aftermath...This Time It's Personal

Thanksgiving is over and I feel like I ate enough food to feed a small African country. I fear Sally Struthers is going to show up in my apartment with a tiny malnourished child and start telling people I'm the reason little Shakabibu is starving.
So as of tomorrow I'm back to my normal routine: eating healthy, working all the time (at least that's how it feels), yada, yada. I really need to get serious about being healthy. I mean, I'm not getting any younger.
At least I enjoyed myself this holiday. It was wonderful seeing my sister and her family. My nephews are so wonderful. They're just so funny and personable. Since I have no children, it's comforting knowing I have them in my life. And spending time with my sister was amazing. Although we hadn't seen each other in about a year, we always have so much fun together.
The Thanksgiving holiday for the most part was a success. I was able to appreciate and enjoy my family. So often I forget how important my family is. I'm alone so frequently I've learned to embrace loneliness. Evenings for my involve my dog and my thoughts. And I've become comfortable with my solitude. It's almost blissful for me. This is obviously not a good thing if I ever want to have a serious relationship. So I need to phase out of this, and being around my family this past week helped.
And this means in addition to me getting back to my normal routine, I'll be working on my personal growth and pulling myself out of my comfort zone. We'll see how that goes. And hopefully little Shakabibu won't have to worry about me eating all of his food again.

Time for Thanks and Stuff

It's almost Thanksgiving here and almost time for the Great Pumpkin to rise from the pumpkin patch and give...oh, wrong holiday. I mean it's time to give thanks for all that we have and all that fun stuff.

So here is my list of thanks, not in any particular order. I'm thankful for:

My dog and her unconditional love;

My family and lovely friends;

My sense of humor, and the fact that I still have it;

My ability to bounce back, and that I have the opportunity to do so;

My cell phone;

My quirks and eccentricities, good and bad;

My love of red wine;

My comfortable bed;

My finally finding the city I'm meant to live and love;

And finally, my independence.

So really, my life is good. I often get down and wonder about the "what if's" in my life, but I shouldn't. I should embrace my life and treasure it. And I'm going to try to do just that.

Stronger Yet Farther From Reality

I had one of my best friends post something on here Facebook status that hit me hard. It said, "EVERY woman deserves a man who calls her baby, kisses her like he means it, holds her tight like he never wants to let go, wipes her tears when she cries, doesn’t make her jealous of other women, instead makes other women jealous of her, is not scared to let his friends know how he really feels about her, and lets her know how much he really loves her..."
When I read her status it evoked emotions in me I didn't want to express. I got weepy and wanted to hold my head in my hands. I could feel the ache crawl up my body and into my core. All I could think was, "There are no men out there like that."
Wow. How sad. How horribly sad that I don't think there is a man out there that would be and do that for me. But it's true. How did I get so incredibly cynical? How is it, that the first reaction when I see a statement about a loving man, I shut down and become the ultimate pessimist? What happened to me?
My father is the best man I know. He has loved my mother unconditionally and given everything up for her. So good men do exist out there. But for me? I just don't know. I used to think everyone had a soul mate, and now I think that's a fairy tale. My life is not reliant on a man and I treasure that. I'm proud that I'm independent and strong...stronger than some men I know. But does that make me untouchable? Maybe so. So for now statements like the one my friend posted will continue to be stuff of fairy tales. Am I farther from reality, or closer to the truth and more aware than those wearing rose-colored glasses? Only time will tell.

The Anatomy of a Kiss

There are so few things in the world as simple as a kiss. Two separate entities touching lightly, holding briefly and beautifully in an instant. Then separation. And it's over. So simple and pure. So many things can go right in that instant. In a simple second a life can change with a kiss. All things can shift and life as you know it can transform. Just with one kiss.

The past few weeks of my life have been strange to say the least. I've been putting myself out there, and while it is interesting seeing the responses of men, it is difficult. I've met one or two lovely men since the inception of my project on OK Cupid, and then I met Rob. He was snarky and condescending. And was perfect for me. He and I have hit it off, but it's quite a rocky road. He's just out of a marriage and has two small children; I'm four years sober of marriage and very comfortable with single life. Haven't had a boyfriend in years and not sure I want one. And here this geeky, awkward dad of two that's unfamiliar with how to live in a this dating realm enters my life. It spun me uncontrollably.

And there comes the kiss. Just one kiss. So what's the fascination with the kiss? Everything. So simple yet so personal. Everything you ever wanted in a touch from a man, yet more. So who wants these kisses, and who needs them?

A man that can kiss is a prize. It's amazing how many men out there think that a kiss is trying to swallow your face. You feel like you need a bath afterward. But a sweet kiss from a man that likes you should be gentle, simple and warm. Evoking all emotions that aren't shown are expressed. That's a real kiss.

So, ultimately, when will I receive that one kiss. That kiss that starts with a simple touch and moves through my soul? When will I feel that warmth and feeling? When will a man hold me and kiss me with the love that is felt through any bond?
We will see.

All Joking Aside

It's 10:30 pm on a Tuesday night and I'm drinking red wine. Lots of red wine. It's my birthday - my 36th - and I'm not taking it well. I had a wonderful reception to it; friends, Facebook friends, co-workers and family all contacted me with well wishes. I felt so special. So many people - so many friends, said "happy birthday". It was so lovely.
And as the day passed I came home and opened the door to an empty apartment. Granted, my Sophie was there to welcome me. Lovely, happy and innocent. Always treating me like it's my birthday.
So I'm tired, but grateful that I have so many friends.

The Beginning of a Weekend and Bacon Jokes

What could be better than the start of a weekend, a payday and bacon? Each one of these things creates the perfect day, and the day has been close to perfect. My studies when it comes to my online dating experiment, has been far from perfect. Since joining OK Cupid with my more than honest profile, I've received more than 200 messages and 300 page visitors. I'm a bit overwhelmed by the entire concept. It's very sweet to have so many people show an interest in my profile, but it makes a girl wonder what exactly these guys want.
The youngest - 21 years old -simply said, "You're so pretty." The fact the I'm 15 years older than him is quite disturbing. I have several single men and even a few married men, which when I ask why they are on a site like OK Cupid they simply say, "I'm in a loveless marriage and lonely." Wow. Do their wives know that their husbands are online looking for companionship? How would I feel if I were that wife? How horribly sad. One guy said he and his wife were in a loveless marriage and were together solely for their children. This entire process is exhaustive. I can't believe this is how couples these days choose to live their lives. Sad and lonely and looking for love that can never be accepted. I'm so incredibly lucky not to have children and in a situation where I feel they will be emotionally scarred with every move I make. I am, in fact, very lucky.
So far the week-long experience with online dating has been an interesting journey. It's obviously not something I can say is for me. But who's to say it's not for someone else? People I'm sure have met their soul mates online. I just don't know if that's possible. Then again, I'm not sure finding a soul mate at all is possible.

Project Honest Hook Up - Day 2

As my experiment in the online dating realm continues to its second day, I've become intrigued at the concept of meeting people online. After creating my profile on OKCupid last night and posting blatantly honest information in it, seeing the responses coming in are fascinating.
In the last 24 hours I've received more than 30 messages, each one very unique. Some sweet, like "I Like your smile" and "Great profile." And some well, not so sweet. Some younger men asking if I would like a boy toy. Nice. Some just sending their phone numbers. Wow.
Ironically, tonight I watched the film "Catfish". For those that don't know, it's a documentary about a man that meets a girl on Facebook, only to find out that she isn't who she said she is. Nothing is as it seems. Sadly, the context of why the woman on the other end of the story lied is heartbreaking. But the film shows how the Internet has become a facade that hides a person's past and present. You can be anyone and anything you want, or wanted to be. No strings attached.
So, out of the men that contacted me, who was truthful? Really, what person is who they say they are? Are these profiles just a character these men are playing? Someone they've always wanted to be but couldn't because of life? So how accurate is a dating site that only measures what people say they are and not what they really are?
Gone are the days of old fashioned romance, of being swept off your feet. Welcome to online characters and fun, fake stories. Time to accept that what you may see isn't what really may be. Welcome to the 21st Century.

I Love Making a Fool of Myself...

I really don't, but I do love experiments, and I'm beginning one tonight. So after an odd week of posting my experiences with a particular spider, I told my Facebook friends - rather jokingly - that I was going to post a personal ad. It was blatantly honest and sarcastic...and I loved it. So my friends commented, "OMG you have to do this." "Please let me know if this gets responses" and "You have to put this on an online dating site and see what happens". So I have, and I'm going to document what happens during my online dating experience.
Let me preface this by saying I'm not a fan of online dating sites and feel like people that do it aren't necessary honest. So this is particularly interesting to me considering the personal profile (see below) is brutally honest.
So we start tonight. I went to OKCupid, since it was free, and I'm totally not paying for an online dating site; and created a profile using the information I had posted on my Facebook page. Here it is:
"Willing to kill bugs, open jars and go into the "creepy" storage room; share love of bacon, laughing at people that trip and fall, and a good bottle of scotch; will appreciate my quirkiness, eccentricities and humor; be extremely passionate, yet understand I don't want to see you 24/7; understand I make my own money, support myself and don't want to support you. Politicians, egotists and technophobes need not apply - I don't want to talk about your job, how great you are or have you ask me to fix your pc. It's preferable if you live far enough away so I don't have to see you often, but close enough if I can't open my pickles; Must have impeccable grammar and be familiar with Firefly, Felicia Day and Albi the Racist Dragon. No smokers or men in jean shorts."
So, I posted this information, and answered almost 100 questions honestly - I mean really honestly. That was roughly 2 hours ago.
So since I've uploaded my information, I've received in less than two hours:
8 emails and 6 quivers (not too sure what those are)...See what I get tomorrow.
So, this experiment will prove what's important when posting an online profile, brutal honesty or white lies. I'm intrigued. Are you?

Who is this Blog for Anyway?

It didn't take me long to decide on a title for this blog when I created it. I knew I needed an outlet for my thoughts and for me writing was cathartic. I knew I shared similar emotions as many people out there - the older we get the more lonely we feel. Life passes quickly, and people travel down separate roads. Marriages, children, jobs and faith transform friends into acquaintances. Time becomes more of a commodity. The luxury of sitting back, collecting your thoughts and taking a breath is rare. There's little time to ever enjoy the tiniest bit of solitude in your life.

That said, the title of this blog is not just obviously stating I feel like the only single girl in America. It's a declaration of my life; proof that I'm so much more than just a girl, existing on her own.

Who is to say someone may read this blog and feel an inkling of comfort that I'm here experiencing the same feelings, alone, unsure, and yes, a little bit scared. See, this blog helps me explore my sadness and light, but it also allows me a chance to feel I may have touched someone or made them think.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not on an intellectual plight to prove a point or substantiate my self worth. This blog isn't going to facilitate the cure for cancer or ever be nominated for a scholarly award. I'm not here for that. I don't think like that. I picked up a pencil when I was five and wrote my first short story. I filled my first three notebooks of poetry by age 10. Still hidden in my apartment is an old spiral notebook filled with stories, pages stained by age and tears, only shown to a select few people. My life is words, scattered and nonsensical.

I'm often misunderstood and laughed at. I'm clumsy and awkward. I say some pretty stupid things. But I'm not dumb. I see everything. I hear everything - every comment about my lack of children, my age, my being alone. I hear it all. And I keep those words with me, hidden in my chest like tiny daggers.

I know there are people out there like me. People looking for relief from the pain. Awkward women that are too smart to be arm candy; lonely men that think women are looking for a superhero. I know you're out there and this blog is for you. All of you.

The Final Hour of Friendship

I met Bob Zipperer when I was in college. I had gone to visit my parents, who had just moved down to Kingsbay, Georgia for my Dad's job. Bob - or Zip as my Dad called him - had just stopped in to say hello. He also wanted to meet me. As I shook this kindly little man's hand he said, "I have been waiting to meet you. And my, what a pretty smile you have." How sweet he was. Zip worked with my Dad, and they had grown fast friends in the short amount of time they had known each other.


Over the years while my parents lived in Georgia I saw Zip, always smiling, and always complimentary. Zip was always sort of there in the background. My Dad would talk of him in passing, and I would occasionally see him when I visited. Every time he talked to me he would mention my smile, how much he loved his daughter, and how special my Dad was to him.


And then time started passing so quickly. I got married and moved away. My Dad retired and my parents moved too. But Zip was still there, always checking in. I occasionally received a kind Christmas card or birthday card. He and my Dad always talked on their birthdays. Zip would call my Dad just to check on him, and to check on me. When my marriage ended, my Dad told Zip, and he would call just to make sure I was doing okay.


And life went on. Zip was older than my Dad, and over the years his age caught up with him. A little while back his health began to deteriorate and his heart stopped functioning. But even in poor health, he still called my Dad, and still asked about me.


About a week ago my Dad received a phone call. It was Zip calling to say good-bye. He was in Hospice and wanted to talk to my Dad one last time. He told him how much he meant to him, and how he had been his best friend over the years. He wasn't sure how long he had, but wanted to make sure my Dad knew just how special he was.


And then came yesterday. My Dad just had a feeling. He told my Mom, "I'm gonna call and check on Zip." And he did. Zip spoke into the phone with little strength, and said, "I'm so glad I got to hear your voice." They briefly talked and Zip told my Dad he loved him. And they hung up. An hour later Zip's wife called to tell them he'd passed.


My Mom told me tonight and my heart hurts. How wonderful this man was to show how he cherished my Dad until almost his last breath. And how beautiful a friendship that is.


So, to Zip - thank you for your wonderful gift. You were always so kind and giving, and showed my family the utmost respect. Thank you for loving my Dad and being a friend to him; for calling him even when his own brothers would not. For being the kind of friend that I can only wish to have. And for always making me smile.

The Rain Keeps Falling Down

The past day or so it's been raining. Not just a little bit, but the rain has been ever-present and harsh.

It's typical to hate the rain, but I love it. It's a powerful change after so many hot dry summer days. It's cleansing and refreshing, and gives me a renewed perspective. A feeling that sometimes life is rough - an arid desert of normality and nothingness. But when the rain begins to fall more than the sky opens up. It's almost as if every pore in my body expands. A rush of warmth overtakes me and I can feel the lovely pulse of earth on my skin.

It's wonderful to know life is cleansed by a crisp rain. When you think all is lost, and hope has gone, something amazing happens. The sky darkens, the clouds draw near, and beautiful, sparkling drops of water fall to the ground. It's nature's way of saying, "It's okay. It's time to start over. Time to accept that even the earth needs to reboot."

Life Comes Full Circle and Other Strange Occurences

I went out last night and met up with a friend that I haven't seen since high school. It was surreal. We weren't friends in school - we hung out in different circles. Life was so different then. But the last 18 years have changed us, and after re-acquainting ourselves through Facebook we learned we lived parallel lives. And meeting confirmed this connection. How beautiful it is to meet a kindred spirit.

And it made me think, what makes a person change? Time? Loss? Location? It's everything. Time allows you to grow into your true identity, and whether that's a wife with a family and a suburban agenda or an independent spirit always free and chasing a dream, that's what time has made you. Everyone takes different paths in life, and sometimes a path less taken is often defined as a misstep. The things that occur in your life - good and bad - define you. It shapes everything about you - from your demeanor to every small line on your face. It molds you and creates a strong persona. You're supposed to have a family and a stable life by the time you're in your 30s. But are you really supposed to? Or is that something ingrained in us from a time past the really should be reconsidered? My friend said last night, "I'm 36 and never thought I would not know what I want to do at this age?" Well, I've always known that writing was my calling, but I don't know if I'll ever be sure of what it is that I am supposed to be doing in this life. I honestly don't know if I'll ever know if I am doing the right thing with my life. But that's growing. That's what life is about.

And it's comforting to know that there's someone out there that understands my plight. Funny, 18 years ago I would have never thought this was where I would be in my life. But now that I'm here, I wouldn't change a thing. My life has come full circle. The awkwardness and curiosity that I had when I was 17 has returned. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

Time to get back to what's important....

It's been months since my last blog and it's time to get back to it. A lot has happened in the past five months. I've packed up, moved from north to south, settled in and become accustomed to life in Charlotte. I love my life here. Work is challenging and I tend to be tired a lot. But I've finally found the city I am meant to live in. I love it here: the culture, the convenience, the southern hospitality. It's perfect for me.
It's refreshing knowing I'm happy here. It's been a long time since I've felt like I've been home. The air here smells like the south, and every time I walk outside I can smell the pine needles, the air and the soft scent of childhood. It's like living in my hometown but not having to go back. It's a lovely contradiction.
There are so many things I love about the south that I missed. Funny thing is I never realized how much I missed it until I got back down here. It's amazing how when it rains the drops are large swollen drops that soak the very thing it lands on. People are friendly - no matter where you go someone is happy to hold a door, say hello, excuse me or thank you. The food is spectacular - slow-cooked, well-thought out and delicious.
Life is good. But something is still missing. What? I don't know. It may take me time to figure it out, but I'm willing to take time to learn more. I can't wait to see what I find. 

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful?

Really?

I was looking through some old photos of myself the other day and started thinking. I was a pretty girl - fairly thin, blond and always smiling. Then something occurred to me. I never thought I was pretty. I never thought I was thin. I always had some sort of issue with the way I looked. And almost nine years later I can barely look in the mirror. As a matter of fact I don't have a full-length mirror in my house. I have a hard time accepting the way that I look now. And this is horribly sad to realize that I've had this poor self image for as long as I can remember. Possibly as early as middle school. Maybe even earlier.

Thinking about this also made me wonder, since my perception of "beautiful" is distorted, what does everyone think? Yeah, I know beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but society has created a definition of beauty. Media has perpetuated it. Women on television are waif-like and air-brushed with make-up, spray tan and hair extensions. Advertisements are Photoshopped so women are even thinner than their natural tiny frames. Blemishes are buffed out. Wrinkles are smoothed. And this is beauty?

I always associated thin, tall and leggy as "beautiful". I'm 5'3" and not the thinnest person; therefore, I never thought I was beautiful. But how did I get that way? How did I come to decide what was beautiful? Was it the media's subliminal programming? Was it my deep yearning to look like my Barbie when I was a child? In all honesty I have no clue. It didn't even occur to me that my perception was so off-kilter until I was at my therapist. She thought it was peculiar that I could say other women that were not tall, thin and leggy were pretty, but I couldn't say it about myself. Why do I see beauty in others but not myself? I am very self-confident in other aspects of my life - my personality, sense of humor and intelligence - but my appearance has always been a weak spot.

So I guess I'm questioning if other people feel this way? If so, why? And what do other people consider "beautiful"? Do you think beautiful people get farther in life? Are they ultimately happier?  

Yes, I'm Weird...You Wanna Fight About it?

So one of my childhood, hometown friends that writes a blog began an interesting task today - to write a new entry a day. Her first entry was to post a recent picture and 15 facts about herself. Okay, I'm not going to agree to a new entry every day, let alone a new picture of myself (I'm allergic to cameras). So, I'll divulge 15 little known, or well-known facts about me. Here they are, not in any particular order:

15. I have never been to Europe, although I often feel European and break out into drunken British gibberish.

14. One of my favorite channels is the BBC (see above).

13. I love red wine, and drink it often - like right now.

12. I love scotch - and once had a glass of Johnny Walker Blue label - and thought I had died and gone to heaven.

11. My dog, and all dogs in general, are my best friends. They are kindred spirits.

10. I have a shoe fetish and love heels - the higher the better.

9. I am the clumsiest person ever...see above.

8. I love indie music - the stranger the better!!

7. I have lived in South Carolina, Georgia, Florida and Pennsylvania, and soon to be North Carolina - I'm a bit of a gypsy.

6. One of my favorite movies is "Anchorman" and I often quote from it - and people look at me like I'm a freak.

5. I have flown in the Budweiser Blimp, and it was glorious.

4. I'm am horribly afraid of clowns and carnival workers; therefore, you will never see me at a circus or carnival.

3. I love the smell of Vick's, nail polish remover and gasoline - yes, I'm one step away from huffing the can of air I use to clean my computer.

2. My minor in college was film history and criticism, which gives me no experience for my future endeavors and is a completely pointless minor. But it allows me to be the one person that knows absolutely everything about obscure, weird films - and all films in general.

1. Poor clothing choices drive me insane. If the world ends and Jesus comes down here and finds you in a pair of Mom jeans and cotton candy pink Crocs, I think he's going to let you descend down below, solely on your clothing choice. Because Jesus is classy...yo.

Anyone Seen My Muse?

I haven't been updating my blog and I'm ashamed. Writing used to come so easy to me. It's why I started this blog, afterall.

While packing up in preparation for my move, I found a small, black moleskin notebook. Just seeing it evoked memories for me. I used to carry it everywhere and scribble down thoughts. Ideas on books, pro and con lists, general bitching and moaning, the typical day-to-day rantings of, well, me.

I hadn't looked inside my little notebook in years - three years to be precise. As I peeled through the pages one-by-one, the evolution of the past years became clear. The first entry in the book was simple, dated December 25, 2004, and said, "It's a beautiful day, and I'm truly blessed." The more I page through, the more I see it. The exhaustion, the frustration, the sadness. On several pages, I see sad, single lines or simple poetry expressing a need to breathe. It was like I was holding my breath in some entries. Even my handwriting became sloppy and nearly unreadable.

The small book chronicled 4 years in my life. Beginning with my second year of marriage, to my life in Florida, the purchase of a house, the selling of a house, the migration to a town up north that I had never laid eyes upon. Each page was filled with the contents of my head - from loving that I was leaving Florida, which I hated, to hating that my husband was becoming more distant, "working" more, not speaking, and acting odd. I knew what was happening. I just didn't have the breath to say anything. I sat back and watched - I watched it all unfold.

I watched his "relationships" grow. First, percocet, then oxycontin, then methadone, all the time "supporting" these relationships with alcohol. I watched as a $150 week alcohol habit and $200 a day pill habit began to form (this, of course, I didn't realize for a long while). I took a second job, working from 8am to almost midnight 7 days a week. I thought it was the mortgage that was breaking us, then after selling the house, I thought it was my spending - groceries, bills, lunches, etc. I just couldn't understand how we could be living paycheck-to-paycheck with the salaries we both made. I just couldn't "see". I didn't want to.

As the pages progressed, so did the years, and I came to my final entries. As I read each entry my stomach tightened. My eyes began to water. There it was, the sickness. I read the entry I wrote the night after I found him unresponsive next to me in bed. The entry I wrote while sitting sleepless in ICU waiting for him to wake. Shaking penmanship and teardrops stained my entry as I wrote, "Am I dreaming?" The ink had faded and run down the page. I had saved him, and in the process lost myself. I continued to read, through the pages detailing his time in detox, rehab, and the sleepless nights holding him as he shook and screamed. All the while my light - the muse that had helped me write with such openness and intensity, with humor and heart - began to fade. My eyes began to dull. And breathing didn't quite seem needed anymore.

And then there it was, my last entry made on March 2. Three weeks after it all came to a head. My handwriting - never the greatest being left-handed - had turned almost illegible. It said, "He left. I can't breathe. Oh God I can't breathe." The end of my little book - or so I thought.

It, of course, wasn't the end of my story. So much has happened in the past three years and I've learned to breathe again. I realized that not only had I lost my breath through my relationship with him, I had also lost my identity and my voice. Never one to shy from anything - I shied from him. And that was wrong. I feel lucky to look back on my past and realize how fortunate I am now, but there's still something missing. That light that once glowed so brightly within me is still dim. I'm hoping to get it back again and thinking this blog is helping. So for now this will do, and I'll just be happy to sit back and take a breath.

Oh what a hermit I could be...

I know it's a cheeseburger.
 I'm hungry and dieting.
Give me a break.

I used to wonder why I never met men in this town, and it slowly became evident the longer I lived here. I can't meet people when I never leave my house.

Did I expect to find the perfect guy hiding in my pantry behind the Pirate Booty and microwave popcorn? I guess not. But at my age going to bars has lost its excitement, and other venues just don't seem to be the "right" atmosphere for meeting people. My mother used to say, "You'll meet someone at the gym. There's lots of men there." This comes from the woman that used to compare me to Style TV reality star Ruby and say "She has a boyfriend...I just don't understand why you can't get one." Awesome, but that's another blog and therapy session entirely. When I go to the gym I'm there to work out - no make-up, hair pulled back and flailing around in Zumba class like an drunken maniac. Yeah, no guy is gonna look at me and say "Wow, she looks so hot tripping over that kettlebell!"

So, I've decided being a hermit may be my life's calling. I could totally do it: get a nice little cottage under a bridge somewhere and throw rocks at young whipper-snappers that pass by. Oh the joy of not having to shave my legs, or put on make-up, or worry about my appearance. I would have my privacy, my dog and sole possession of the remote. I could watch hours of crime TV and food TV and never have to worry about road rage, stupid people, douchebags or bitchy co-workers. Sounds ideal, I know. But sadly not possible. Granted, I do live a semi-hermit lifestyle now. But alas, a hermit I am not. Now to get myself out of the hermit "funk" and leave my comfort zone.

Soon this will happen as I pack up and move from the apartment that I acquired just a week after my husband - yes husband - walked out on me three years ago. Yes, I am in fact a "single girl squared" (single before, then married, divorced and single again). I've been through so much, holed up safe in my little apartment. And now, I'm about to leave my little cottage under the bridge and set out on a new adventure in a new city, new home, new everything. The hermit in me is terrified, but the survivor in me is stoked. I hope it's worth shaving my legs for.

Photo Note: I know it's a cheeseburger and this blog has nothing to do with cheeseburgers, sadly. But I have had a huge craving for a cheeseburger today and decided while I write my blog I can at least enjoy looking at this scrumptious, cheesy, meaty slice of heaven. Now I that I'm done I can go eat my veggies and hummus...son of a bitch.

Water, Water Everywhere...And Now I Have to Pee.

I have this recurring dream: I'm traveling on a highway over water. Miles and miles of water surround me and the road is getting steeper with every forward motion. I'm neither driving or riding, and I'm traveling at such a high speed all I can see is the blue of the water and the blur of the pavement.

Suddenly I'm flying through the air, unable to stop. I plunge deep into the water and continue to travel as if I'm flying through the cold, dark abyss. I'm horrified and can't breathe, but I keep my eyes wide open so not to miss any second of it.

Then I wake up. So yeah, I'm not a therapist or anything but I'm thinking that's a pretty symbolic dream. About what, I have no idea. I can gather it's about change, or fear, or passion - or something like that. I can see how it could be a fitting symbol of the past 10 years of my life. I totally get that. I now understand why I have to pee every time I have this dream.

I'm alone in the dream - the last single girl - but I know that's not the case. I know there are many of you out there, looking for an explanation of your singledom. Regardless of being the "last" or one of many, sometimes you just feel alone and treading through cold water.

This is the beginning of a blog that is mostly for my benefit - to purge some of those "lonely single girl" emotions through writing. But for anyone that finds it of use, or entertainment, I welcome you. It's going to be a bumpy ride. I'll pull over if you need to pee.