Re-dedication (T-Minus 325 Days)

When I started this whole thing 175 days ago, the last thing I meant for it to turn into was yet another blog by a reasonably successful and independent yuppie single woman who has nothing better to write about than forays into online dating, tales of steamy hookups or complaints when neither of those worked out. This blog was (and is) supposed to be about said woman trying to find her groove and a state of happier-ness by sorting through the three categories of live, life and love.

In other words: work, play and someone to makeout with after doing both.

Somewhere along the way, I think I decided the last thing would be the easiest facet to control, and that is what I concentrated on, albeit halfheartedly. After nearly six months, all I have to show for “love” is a discontinued match.com membership, a perpetually-positive mono blood test and a completely impractical crush. I never put my heart on the line, or my pride, and the lack of risk is probably proportional to the lack of reward.

What is even more startling, however, is the lack of effort put into figuring out the rest of it, at least until recently. I have spent more time than I care to admit patrolling job websites over the last couple months, but I have been more successful finding future jobs for friends than making any headway in figuring out what I want my next step to be. Or how I want to make a means to “live.” The same could be said for figuring out where and what kind of “life” I want to lead.

I got nothing.

There is something about being back at my parents’ house, where I just so happen to be this week, which puts everything in perspective. This is my first visit here in about nine months and I have spent the last two days simultaneously wondering how I stayed away so long and contemplating why on Earth I would bother coming back. This place is obviously a large part of making me who I am, but that is the largest role I ever want it to play.

I love my parents, and my brother and sister, and we are fortunate to remain an intact family through nearly 34 years of marriage and three kids aged 22-31. In fact, on the surface, we’re a highly-functional and nuclear family. Suffice to say though, things are not always what they seem and you can learn a lot from analyzing your own family dynamics, even if it’s realizing they are the complete antithesis of what you hope to someday build on your own.

The relationships within my familial unit have long been a point of contemplation and accepting the reality of them has not only revitalized my zeal for wanting to find my groove and build my own life, but once again made me appreciate the fact I am in a position to be fortunate enough to question it.  

I also have realized I need more finite guidelines to get me through the next 325 days because “figure out life; find groove” is kind of a broad idea to practice on a daily basis. My penchant for lists has already been established and I think this is a case for yet another. Inspired by my current book of choice, The Happiness Project, I hope to come up with a concrete list of goals over the next few entries, eventually crafting at least a framework for potential success and outlining a set of personal commandments to live by in the process.

In the meantime, any updates with Sparks will still be passed along with alacrity and self-centered stories of dumb boys, hot makeout sessions and bachelorette parties in Vegas will still be relayed in a timely manner with sarcasm-laced wit. It is my hope, however, they will be intermingled with a little bit more self-exploration, and more importantly action. If for no one else but me. And for no other reason but to find happier-ness and sanity.

Inbox Inspiration (T-Minus 327 Days)

Random thought for the day: if you like to mix things up in the bedroom (or wherever), then I highly recommend subscribing to daily dose emails from Women’s Health (http://www.womenshealthmag.com/). Today’s email: “The Best Sex Positions You Have Never Tried.” Now I dare not open this email while at work because I’m pretty sure a red light would go off down in the IT office and they would have someone up here before I could think to myself “they want me to do what with my legs.”

Plus, I have been on their sh*t list ever since my computer caught a virus after Google-ing a Saved by the Bell reference two years ago. My apologies for needing to prove I was right by saying Zack and Kelly were dressed up as Romeo and Juliet for the uber-intense breakup episode.

Anyway, I digress, I also dare not open because who wants to see exactly what they are not getting?

Every day, I hover over the unsubscribe link and try to remember how these ended up in my inbox to begin with. I don’t think I ever purposefully signed up to get said emails; I probably just left all the optional boxes checked when I joined. Or maybe it’s something I elected to receive while I was on the road for those eight glorious days in March when I thought it would actually be useful information. Now, however, it’s just a slap in the face of what is waiting for me in a city seven hours away.

Hmmmm, seven hours and a time zone change away, I could be there by dinner. I wonder if the email has flash cards …


P.S. Also in my inbox this morning: RachaelRayMag.com email with a phenomenal-sounding recipe for turkey burgers. Now also on my list of things to try.

Karma is spelled m-o-n-o (T-Minus 331 Days)

Yeesh, the last three weeks have flown by. Time got away from me while I was, quite literally, sleeping for days on end.

You may have heard this one before, but Karma can be a bit of a bitch. I knew hooking up with someone on the road, while still seeing someone back home would come back to bite me somehow. It had to; what goes around comes around. I just didn’t see this one coming.

On April 4, I was diagnosed mono.

No, I’m not 17-years old and making out with boys under the bleachers after lacrosse practice. Been there, done that and somehow came through unscathed. I am a self-respecting 29-year old professional woman … with the kissing disease.

I had been battling what I thought was a quality nagging cold for a few weeks now and I thought it would go away once work calmed down a bit and I wasn’t gone all the time. Turns out the adrenaline was the only thing keeping me going and once I stopped my body shutdown. It wanted no mas.

I’m not sure I have ever felt as miserable as I did that week. Or slept as much. Everything, quite simply, hurt, ran, pounded, hacked, swelled or was, in some way, gross.  

The added factor to fuel the misery was of course having to tell, not just one, but two, guys they were exposed to something they probably haven’t thought about since Backstreet Boys and N Sync were duking it out at the top of the pop charts.

Turns out The M-P had it already, so he wasn’t too stressed and checked in throughout the week to see if I needed anything. As sweet and thoughtful as ever. Of course.

Sparks was a slightly different case. I mean, it’s not exactly something you tell a man that inspires the feeling of wanting to make an effort to be seen again, especially not sooner rather than later. He took it in stride though, asked what he should be on the lookout for and, of course, wished me well in my recovery. But man, nothing like a communicable disease to kill the flow and momentum and a potential budding relationship.

In the last couple weeks, we have rebounded from the weirdness and have broached the semi-awkward topic of if we want to see each other again. Planners have been pulled out and flights priced. Once a few more things shake out on the professional end, a weekend can be picked.

Until then, I’m feeling pretty fantastic for the first time in almost a month and a half and looking forward to everything spring has to offer – in all aspects of life.

Closure (T-Minus 352 Days)

I met The M-P last night for drinks. He wanted closure and I wanted a couple free beers. I judged him for the last week after he asked if we could get together to talk about things because I have simply never understood guys’ need to hash things out after a breakup. What’s done is done and I feel like it doesn’t need to go any deeper than one person does not like/love/value/appreciate the other as much as vice versa. In my experience, it’s usually because one person needs to feel better about things and somehow explaining how feelings fell apart, or why they should still be there, ad nauseam accomplishes the goal.

Despite this frigid bitch outlook, I genuinely care about the guy and want to build a friendship with him, so I went with it. Until he chose the site of our first date as the location, and then I just started to judge again.

And I continued to do so as the night went on and we shot the breeze about sports and the weather and other inane conversation topics, clearly avoiding the elephant in the room. After 2.75 beers and a walk to my car to add change to the meter, however, I finally said “you have one-third of a beer to ask me whatever you need to ask me.”

And so, we hashed it out. I was honest about my activities on the road and my lack of feelings for M-P. I cushioned the blow by explaining my occasional unhappiness with work and the geographic location, knowing he was not willing to leave and thinking it was better to end things before they went too far.

By the end of the night, however, I was the one in tears on the drive home. Still 100 percent convinced I had made the right choice, but sad because part of me wished I didn’t feel that way. The M-P is a wonderfully sweet and thoughtful man, but he is clearly not for me. Our lives are headed in very different directions, not to mention the whole complete lack of chemistry. Apparently he did not see those things though. Or was willing to ignore them.

­­Buzzed and sad, I lay on my couch at home texting friends and telling myself watching the new Grey’s Anatomy was probably not the best decision in my current emotional state. One of the wise and wonderful women I have the pleasure to go to work with every day, then reminded me via text “No need to drag it out. Feelings won’t change, right? You need the spark – no fun without it.”

And, for the moment, I was content.

As a sidenote, I recently received a CD by an artist named Jenn Grinels as a gift. I had not had a chance to listen to it yet, but threw it in on my way to meet The M-P and was absolutely mesmerized by the fourth song. Grinels’ voice is hauntingly beautiful and this song struck a deep chord. I must have listened to it five times. I brought the CD into work this morning and noticed, for the first time, the title of the song. LISTEN HERE and enjoy the irony.