I am hurting; I am grateful.

Words, lyrics, poems, pour out of me like music lately, and yet, I feel as though I can barely carry a tune on my own. Gone to me are the days when I sang for the worship team for the church across the street. Now it is little more than a brick wall that faces my apartment in the same way so many brick walls both real and imagined now stand in my way. Now, I'm just one of the 2,000 voices at McLean Bible's Frontline, and yet, it's in my time of despair, when I feel so anonymous, that I seem to hear my own voice so clearly. Why has there always been so much creativity in suffering for me?

I believe I've blogged on this before.

When I was younger, I remember the sounds of screaming - dogs barking, walls banging, dishes sometimes breaking - and I remember how I drowned it out only with the words I poured out on the pages of my notebook. Waves of creativity washed over me so often, it was a wonder that I was first published at age 10 and that the story that won my admission to Duke University's Creative Writing program at age 15 was entitled, "These Walls."

In this, my suffering is a blessing, even though it brings me back to such dark and deep places. I no longer feel numb. I no longer feel devoid of creativity. I am hurting.

I am grateful.

Couldn't Sleep...

Don't usually like to post two poems in a row, but I woke up and had to jot this down... (freewritten again)
.....................................................................................

In The Wake of This
-------------------------------------
I wake and it's not to your face
though in vain I search the darkness
with slow heavy eyes
though I feel through the black of night
with numb unsteady hands
I will never reach you again, will I?
Your smile will never again wait
for me to wake
And in the wake of this
my heart beats like a funeral march
And I am dead without you
though you live and life goes on
for you so cruelly
I'm burried by the memories
heaped upon my shoulders
like so many handfuls of dirt
6 feet under, barely breathing
in this dark place I cannot sleep
If dreams could bring you back again
If the night could just take on your shape
and wrap around me like your loving arms
once did
I swear, I'd stay in darkness
I swear, I'd wish to never wake...

I Go On... (freewritten)

Excuse me while I backslide
but you don't pardon me
from the images that haunt my dreams
and fill up my nights endlessly
the empty spaces in between the days
once occupied by you
Aside from stay awake, what can I do?

Told me I was too destroyed
still, I'm moving steps ahead
after every leap back,
after every misstep,
after everything you never said.
And I'll get there if I try
was never one to give up anyway
was I?

Forgive me for caring too much
for wanting more for you than I did me
sorry my foolish love was not enough
I gave you my heart carelessly
And though you hold it in your grasp
everyday your face, your voice, disappear for me
a little more
each day brings you closer towards
the past for me
I'm already yours.

Excuse me while I move on
you may think it's just pretend
someday you'll realize what you gave up
though I'm now lost, it's you that loses in the end.
And though the loss is all I feel
there's much more to believe in
Just give me some more time to work it out
I'll get past this point of grieving

My heart doesn't hear but my head knows
you're already too far gone
and I'm backsliding constantly... yet, somehow,
I go on.

Back to Life

I lost the month of July. August is nearly gone to me. The summer that once promised to be the best summer ever never was. I saw none of it. It passed me by. And though I was content to escape the DC summer heat, I lost precious months that I can't ever get back. Fortunately though, I can move forward. And I have.

Somehow, I've managed to claw my way up out of that dark place I found in July and fell so deeply into in August. Though the healing comes slowly, it comes, and that's all that seems to matter. What a difference a little bit of hope can make. I guess the saying is true - that it only takes a little spark to start a fire. And even when the pain flares up and the tears fall - as they surely will again - it will not be extinguished.

The scars I've gained along the way may never be gone, and I may always be haunted by the memory of certain things, but I'm living; I'm breathing. Life goes on, and though it went on without me for a little while, I take comfort in knowing that while I've lost so much, I've also gained, and now I'm part of it again. And while that may seem minimal at best, it's something to hold on to.

And I do.

Wrong Lesson, Nancy

“So what lesson did you learn from all of this?” he asked, pressing his fingertips together and leaning forward as though to pray.
“Not to ever let anyone get close to me again?” I shot back without looking in his general direction.
“Wrong lesson, Nancy.”

I smirked. Something about the sour look that stretched across his face when I said this made it seem all the more amusing to me, though on some level, I was entirely serious. Perhaps, I’m becoming cynical, or maybe I just choose to see things as they present themselves to me. And why shouldn’t I?

Why do people always assume that there is only one lesson to be learned from any given situation? Doesn’t perspective factor in anywhere into the assessment of an issue or experience? When did we start taking the value of our own unique perception for granted?

Perhaps, on some subjective level, he was right. Maybe that wasn’t the primary lesson or immediate response I should have given, but if it was my ultimate conclusion was it necessarily wrong simply because it differed from his? Wrong or right, some things are true whether you choose to believe them or not. Even so, can anyone ever really convince you of your own mind? (They can surely shed a little light.)

As I struggle to let go of the past, it keeps its hold on me. Who can tell me to forget it and move on before I’m ready? (Many have.) Yet, because my response has not been an immediate abandonment of all I’m feeling ("OK, I'm over it - Thanks!"), I’ve been perceived to be “dwelling.” I’m simply dealing. I’m simply recovering in the only way that I know how – as best as I can. And while I've been fortunate to have so many people looking out for me, in the end, it can only happen when I'm ready. (As I've been told.)

Shaken as I may be, I’m still aware of my own strength; I still have faith – that hasn’t changed, though the reminders have been helpful. I’m still the same girl and I still know my own mind (however crazy I may be at times). It’s my perspective that needs changing, and I know that time – and God - has quite a way of taking care of that. Eventually the tears will stop, the pain will subside, and the lesson – whatever and however many there may be – will have been learned. In the meantime, I’ll be learning.

The Logic of "I Love You; I'm Leaving"

"I love you. I just can't be with you." How many times have these words been uttered, and how many poor heartbroken souls have grappled with them? But to what frequency or degree of honesty has their logic really been questioned or considered?

What kind of Love allows the option of leaving? The answer came to me suddenly this morning as I lay in my bed wondering whether N was equally disturbed by the loud noises coming from outside our building. Knowing his morning routine so well, I knew he was undoubtedly awake, though no longer here with me. There is only One form of love that provides an Exit Option, and it's the form that people are often most comfortable with: Love of Self. In many ways and for many reasons, this can be chalked up to Self-Preservation.
"I love you, but I can't take this anymore," which can be broken down logically to:

Desire to avoid conflict/Desire to ignore painful issues > Love for the beloved

or

Desire to protect self from getting hurt > Potential that beloved will be hurt

But is that true Love, when we know that love is not supposed to seek its own? What good is Love that is "unending" if the end result is that we leave behind the people who love us most to their own devices? Is that Tough Love or is it Counterfeit?

Undoubtedly, there is a great deal of pain one must take upon themself in administering any brand of Tough love, and where Self Love trumps Love of Another, a hedonistic approach will ultimately be preferred - one in which pain is minimized for the Absent lover and consequently maximized for the lover left behind. The equation - and results - becomes tougher on all parties involved. But how do you really quantify Love?

"I know he still loves me, even though he left me," I said as I gripped my knees with both hands and looked into his eyes as though I had all the confidence in the world in what I was saying.

"I don't know that you know what you think you know," he said.

This was Thinkspeak, undoubtedly designed to rob me of my conviction in the matter or to force me to question my own assumptions, however ill-conceived or comforting they might be to me. I just stared coldly back. I did not realize then that he was only applying cold logic to what I'd said. I decided to revise my statement, "I know he loved me as much as he was capable of loving another person." He seemed satisfied with that -- though I'm sure it's only because in the end he got me to admit on some small level that N's love was tainted or that I had been deceived. (A hollow victory, if you ask me.) Still, his words followed me long after our time together had ended and gnawed at my vainly concealed discontent throughout the night.

Why did I need to believe that N had loved me or might love me still? What purpose could it serve any longer? Was it a matter of a pride -- needing to be reassured that I had not been deceived? Was it a matter of having something from the past to hold on to -- a time to look back on and say "I was really loved?" (Surely for me, that is no small matter.) Or was it just a means of avoiding the unalterable truth: that in the end, whatever the logical breakdown or equation, N left me. Logically speaking, given the end result, saying he still loved me was little more than a parting gift. Maybe that's what I've been avoiding. Has my faith in his love become a poor justification for my own love? In any case, the further I break it down, the more I realize, that justified or not - and whether or not I ever have it "all figured out" - nothing changes. If all I have left is the Love in my heart, I have something, and what have I to lose by clinging to it? Peace of mind maybe? But that's a whole other equation... and I'm weary of logic this morning...

Sometimes, there is no sense to be made. Sometimes the only logical choice is to hold on to what is real for us even when there is no justification -- until we better grasp the truth. Eventually, we'll lose our crutches, and hopefully when that happens we won't be crushed by the weight of them when we fall... we undoubtedly will again. At least I'll do so knowing that I fought to hold on -- as illogical as that will surely sound to anyone who hasn't loved with utter disregard for their own heart. The love I have, unrequited as it may surely be, is still my own. There's strength in that.

Everyone Leaves

Everyone leaves, even the tears run
down my face, tracing the paths your fingers once made
leaving no retribution, they wash nothing away.

And yesterday's words pale to emptied intentions
poured out in pages you've crumbled or lost
and your withheld confessions and misplaced affections
are depriving no one but you...

(And these lines that cut so deep,
these scars that are clinging to me,
are the only thing honest
And I'm not afraid of the truth.)

Don't need to drown you down, or search for peace of mind
at the bottom of every empty bottle
not even in the shattered glass is there salvation to be found
though I can't remember the taste of you now...

Soon I'll forget your face,
the touch of your skin, your pale green eyes
and the words that you whisper again in my head
will all be replaced
by broken memories, by unkept promises,
the lessons derived from your poisoned truths,
the unintended lies

Poured myself out for you to see
can't say you don't know what you left behind
Sorry I was too broken for you,
and too content to drag you down with me,
too weak, but too willing to make your demons mine

And after all of this...

And after all is said and done...

Nobody stays,
that's what I told you once
(you were mistaken)
Everyone leaves...
Even the tears run.

The Way It Is

If I’ve learned anything in my 23 years of life, it’s to never be surprised. When you let your guard down to the point that something another person can say or do can shock you, you know that you’ve missed a step somewhere along the way. How often do we project our rationale onto other people and expect that their thinking follows the same operating principals we live by only to wake up and realize that we’ve had it wrong the entire time? We rack our brain over and over again trying to figure out “how” someone could do something they’ve done because “we would never” do it, but we fail to realize that their abilities in this area might differ from our own. How often have we been thrown by the actions of others because our feelings clouded our ability to really perceive them or our hoping against hope has led us to the delusion that we can really “change” another person? I guess the frequency of incident isn’t as relevant as whether or not we’ve learned from them.

You cannot ever expect to get an orange from an apple tree. That is what I told my mother today as she went off on another long and drawn out tirade regarding my father about how “shocked” she was by his recent behavior. I wasn’t shocked at all. Sadly, I’ve come to expect certain things and it appalls me that after 20+ years, she has not accepted the way he is. (She is still reaching for oranges.) Instead, she chooses to tear herself up, wondering “how” and “why,” while all the while it’s been clear that whatever the reasons are, that’s the way it is. (This is why I chose to forgive him today.) There are certain things in life that we won’t like – certain things that will tear us up regardless of whether or not we accept them willingly – but the important thing is to make peace with those things, to realize that we are in no position to argue with “the way things are,” and to resign ourselves to making better choices.

Choices are that which we have control over and it’s those very choices that define – or destroy – our lives, if we let them. Choosing to accept is not always the easy choice – nor is choosing to forgive that which we cannot understand – but it’s in our hands, and it has the potential to set us free from the chains we place upon ourselves and give us a peace we would not otherwise find.

To love another person you need to really see them. To accept someone for what they are you need to really know what they are. Yet, at the same time, you can’t take anything for granted, because – as I’ve learned – things in life can come along to blind us or distract us from certain truths. I’ve accepted certain things; I have hope in my heart. There is peace in that.

A Lesson Upon Waking

The rain was crashing down again outside the window, but the world outside would never be the same. I’d been given new eyes, and the nightmare that so abruptly, and almost accurately, materialized, took shape in everything surrounding me, to the point where there was nothing in me, nothing in my life, that it didn’t touch.

When I got home from the hospital on Saturday night and saw the blog that I’d last posted, it sent a cold chill down my spine. I’d never imagined when I wrote that Friday morning - a week and a day before - that by that night, before I could even close my eyes to sleep, the world would change in such a similar fashion - only this time, I wouldn’t have the red blanket to draw near to - though I found myself reaching for it so many times in the night over the course of my stay. Something about that color, that blanket, that reminded me of the full red moon I witnessed unlike any we had ever seen before, that recalled for me how cold my skin had been against the chair up on the roof and how soft it felt against my legs. In one instance, those nights were lost to me, and even though I couldn’t see the sky for so many days, I knew it would never be the same sky again, that nothing would ever again seem as beautiful, and the fact that I was unable to get outside did not matter as much as the fact that the world I knew had disappeared, much like a dream upon waking, in spite of what a wonderful dream it had been.

We often can’t control our dreams, but when we sense that we are dreaming and anticipate that we’ll be woken, we cling to the images, we try to stay longer (as I did this morning), and it’s seldom our fault when we wake and the dream is lost and we cannot remember. Sadly, in life, there are choices we make; we can choose, whether it’s our intention or not, to shatter the very dreams we build, if we try to hold on too hard. I wish that I had believed those words when I first heard them, and while wishing does precious little to turn back time, I learn from them what I can now, I carry them with me; I don’t forget.

Is it EVER Really "Different?"

When does the past cease to be a lesson? The correct answer is never, but all to often, we forget to remember that. Why do we feel the need to define every relationship as being "different," anyway? How many times have we used this as the end-all excuse in trying to explain away our feelings or justify feeling a way that others may not understand? "I'm telling you, I can't explain it, but THIS time, it's DIFFERENT." Who are we kidding anyway?

I suppose that if I knew the answers, I wouldn't be writing this blog. Most likely, I'd be richer than Oprah and selling more self-help books than Dr. Phil, Joel Osteen, and Rick Warren put together. But although we don't profess to know all the answers -- well, most of us don't, but this is Washington and there are many people here who firmly believe that they fully grasp the truth -- does that mean we shouldn't ask the questions?

How many times have we really taken the time to examine the pieces of our shattered pasts? Have we really considered the causes or extracted the necessary lessons we should have learned? Or have we been content to repeat them, believing that eventually we'd learn our lessons, resigning ourselves to the notion that we really only learn the hard way anyway?

Sad to say, but true, this is often the case, and it is often this willingness to forgo deep "dwelling" over the past that safeguards us from becoming cynical in the face of new possibilities. "This time it really WILL be different." But has there been change? Have we really come away from the past with anything of substance to aid us in the present or possibly carry us through to the future? Or have we accepted the vicious circle that our lives have become, throwing ourselves without caution into relationship after relationship in the hope that eventually the madness will end?

I'm learning daily that love is a rollercoaster with downs as intense as ups, and that, no, it does not get any easier. Whether we accept how clueless we are, or are convinced that we have it all figured out, we are still being educated. Only now, we risk being proven wrong or foolish -- but do so in favor of extracting all the joy we can from the moment, because the moment may be all we've got and is the precious little we can really hold on to.

Why do we - who've healed after having been hurt - continue to play Russian Roulette with our hearts? Probably because the pay-off is so great -- and the game is so exciting.

Isn't that what it's all about anyway?

Moo-ving up In My Career

Just when it seemed that my professional creativity was going the way of the dinosaur, along comes a project that not only re-energizes me but allows me to do what I love to do more than anything – write, more specifically, blog! – in a professional manner. And, better yet, it involves moo cows, which anyone who knows me knows I LOVE!

While the issues surrounding energy, the environment, telecom, and regulation may not be entertainment to everyone, I’ve certainly found it amusing to some degree. In what other job have I had the opportunity to sit and ponder jokes about barn-yard animals that might make for a witty analysis of “milk order marketing mandates?” Wasn’t that fun to say? Say it with me now…

So today - unlike the family farmers who stand to be crushed by this regulatory burden - it was very easy for me to see the glass as being half-full -- especially now, as I await the posting of my very first blog to the organization’s website! You know you want to read it… I mean… what could be more exciting than USDA regulation concerning regional pooling and pricing provisions? For me – only having the opportunity to employ an abundance of milk and cow-related puns – and “publicly” call government rule-making “stupid!”

On days like this, I love my job.

iPod in Pain

After waiting one month for it to arrive, I have finally joined the cult of NOVA yuppies who ride the Metro and wander DC fashioning the tell-tale white earbuds that fill their heads with streaming music. I am now a proud iPod owner, and aside from the fact that my ears are clearly too small to accommodate these earbuds (clearly made for giants only), and the fact that listening to music is not only a source of constant entertainment, but physical pain for me, I am very pleased.

It goes without saying that at this time, I am very much regretting having pierced my tragus a year ago. For those of you who do not know what a tragus is, calm down, it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m referring to my inner ear - the cartilage that extends from your face to where your ear begins – supposedly, the most painful part of your body to pierce. (It has continued to hurt ever since I got it.) If you don’t believe me, I dare you to try it, or better yet, squeeze your finger nails gently into both sides of the cartilage and see how much of that you can tolerate. I kid you not. In any case – I clearly digress – given this, you can only imagine how uncomfortable it has been for me to jam these super-human-giant-sized earbuds into my ear every five seconds when they fall out. In fact, my tragus – which is now nearly purple from the abuse it’s put up with since I got my iPod - has been the cause of many a conversation with random strangers on the Metro who’ve inquired about how I manage to comfortably use earbuds given my obtrusive piercing. Obviously, I don’t manage. It’s horrible.

Nevertheless, I love my little turquoise iPod -- little and compact, just like me. Every so often, I spot another iPodder who gives me a nod or a smile and I wonder how I managed to get by before becoming a member of this digital music fraternity. Every so often, I spot some poor misguided soul, still stuck in the past, wearing huge earmuff style headphones and holding a 5lb CD player in their hand, and wonder when they too will be enlightened. As I wander through the streets of Arlington, Virginia, blasting The Used or listening to the lead singer of My Chemical Romance scream his freakin head off into my ear, I am content to have a soundtrack to my life.

I’ll be more content, however, when my new (midget-sized) earphones come in next week. Hopefully, before my tragus falls off! Either way, as long as the song remains the same, I’m sure I’ll be content…

…<3

Loster than Lost... AGAIN

As anyone who knows me knows, if I were to walk outside of my apartment, close my eyes, and spin around three times, I would probably not be able to find my way back to the door. For these and other reasons, I've often considered investing in a portable GPS tracking system, and have taken heart in the fact that I don't now, and never will, drive.

God knows that I've been on many adventures that involved being lost. (I wasn't nicknamed "Lassie" for nothing!) I mean... who could forget "trekking cross-country" from New York to DC (I'm not too good with maps either!) with Re a couple of years ago? It's still hard for me to not to laugh when I think about how many times we accidentally found the same ditch somewhere in Virginia (I'm still not sure where) 3 times! Or how we stopped 5 cars and asked for directions, each time getting more hopelessly and irevocably lost. My favorite instance, however, had to be on the morning we headed back.

Re and I had been lost for some time by this point, and being that I don't drive, I was content to go through a Pottery Barn catalog (imagining I could afford anything in there) while she tried to figure out where we were going. We stopped a couple of strangers who actually had great directions. Re spoke to them -- she seemeed to know what they were talking about by the way she was nodding her head in between her intermittent giggles that she is seldom able to control when she's nervous -- so I just continued circling and checking off items in my catalog. When the couple left, Re rolled up the window and drove off before turning to me and asking, "Where do we have to go?" I, of course, had no idea, and must have been so preoccupied that I didn't realize how bad what I'd say next would sound. "Didn't you write it down?" she asked frantically. "Write it down? What do I look like?" I blurted out. Fortunately, after being "on the road again" for so many days (being lost in the same 5 mile radius of our Crystal City hotel), Re was prepared for this from me and instead of fighting, we laughed and mused neurotically until we found another couple to give us directions, that we ultimately used... to get more lost.

The memories from this trip were not far from my mind on Tuesday when, much in the same fashion, my inability to drive or pay attention to directions, caused me and my best friend Em to get loster than lost -- ironically, in the same 5 mile radius of Crystal City that Re and I spent 3 days navigating.

Em and I were on our way to a cookout. Em was starting to get cranky as she always does when she is unbearably hungry, and I, of course, had no clue where we even were. After driving through the winding and inexplicable maze that is Crystal City, we gave up and decided to go home before it got dark. Little did we know that on the way home we'd somehow end up in Prince George's County (famous for having the highest murder rates in DC), North Capitol, and almost in Anacostia (another stellar area). Nor could we have imagined that we'd finally find our way back to Arlington, only to miss our exit and end up in Springfield, Virginia. Unfortunately, Em was not as amused by my directional/attentional deficiences as Re was, but that did not stop me from laughing about everything from the way in which Em locked the doors everytime a car with six people pulled up alongside us blasting gangsta rap, to the blinding lights in the tunnel which caused me to put my sunglasses on in the middle of the night. No, sadly, Em was not amused, and as we drove deeper and deeper into the ghetto, suddenly my sense of humor started to wane as well -- up until our car was filled with toxic fumes from the gas leaking out of a beat up, stripped down chevorlet riding along side us, when I announced that we should look on the bright side, noting that we hadn't spontaneously combusted.. yet.

Fortunately, we escaped unscathed, with no bullet holes or muggings to mention. Sadly, Em never got her hamburger or beer that night, but what she did get was a lesson: NEVER EVER EVER assume that Nan has the faintest clue as to where she is... EVER.

Perhaps investing in that GPS tracking system isn't such a bad idea afterall...

...<3

EBay Listing: My Life, Good Condition, Slightly Used

In spite of my Tiffany jewelry and Coach bag and wallet (none of which I actually purchased myself), I've always considered myself to be a girl of simple means and tastes (OK, so maybe not with clothes!). But with regards to the so-called "finer things in life," I can honestly say that I've never been known to be materialistic. Yet, in 2 short days, I've learned: In spite of whatever preconceived notions you have about how much you have, it's a strange and scary thing to sit down and look at the things you value, only to realize of what little value they really are.

Yesterday, I found out that I lost my editing job (aka my livelihood). This job was the only reason that I was able to keep my [$400k] apartment [that is being ripped out from under me as Ballston slips further and further into its imaginary role as MANHATTAN] and not move into a cardboard box on the corner of Fairfax Drive when my rent was raised by $200 in April. This would also explain why I've been able to live in such a great little corner of Arlington while working a public policy/non-profit (aka I make no money) job without slinging plates anymore at the local pub and grille, as I did before. And it got me thinking... how much does the value we assign to the things we value translate in the outside world?

So sadly, yesterday, after receiving the upsetting news, I set about to search my apartment for anything of any value that I might be able to sell on EBay. Very sadly, the list of things worth value included some antique vases that I'm not permitted to sell should I wish to remain in the family, my Apple iSight which I no longer need now that X is out of the picture (now filed under EBay Listing#...), and... well... that pretty much sums it up! As for things that I've bought and do not want, the list falls short at a poorly chosen John Mellencamp CD (what was I thinking? I know!) and a Velvet Revolver CD I recently bought but was unimpressed with. Yeah... that should NOT be too helpful in regards to making rent.. huh? Do you think anyone would want to buy X's old t-shirt or a stuffed frog I won at a street fair?

So, as I continue to examine the contents of my very humble little life, I realize that although I do not have all too many possessions, the things I value are those that others would not appreciate...

And that gives me a much greater appreciation for the things I have...

...<3

Bella's Monthly Quotes (2)

For those of you who followed my previous blog, you'll recognize this as my monthly update on the ridiculous exchanges I've partaken in over the past month (I've taken the liberty of separating them into neat little sections this time):


WOST PICK-UP LINES OF THE MONTH and OTHER FLIRTATIONS:

"You're not a princess! You're a Queen" - some weird guy at Legacy (NY)

"T-I-G-E-R Tiger! Rarrrrr!... Cat eyes" - some weird guy at the Georgetown Waterfront - who was actually serious!

"If you didn't come up here tonight, I was going to start knocking on doors on the 2nd floor asking for sugar."

"You have a boyfriend? Sorry you have that problem. Let me know if there is anything I can do to fix that for you" - at the Georgetown Waterfront



STATEMENTS MADE BY MEMBERS OF JENN'S FAMILY AT HER GRADUATION PARTY

"Dance with him! He likes big-breasted women" - eloquently put by Jenn's dad

"When you dance, it's like, You are shaking everything." - another of Karim's insights

"Cyn, I think Nan's more Arabic than us" - Christina commenting on my belly-dancing



RANDOM INSIGHTS

(on Coldstone Creamery)
"Nan, seriously, it's so good, I want to lay down and roll around in it," - Em
"I want to wash my hair with it." - N

(on driving)
"This guy's riding my @ss like he's getting paid for it" - Em, with another of her well-put driving observations

(on pedestrians)
"What are they crossing the border?" -Anonymous

(on the row of 6 beauty marks I have trailing from my face to down my shirt)
"Oh, I see where this is going." - N

(on affectionate behavior resulting from alcohol consumption)
"She's not drunk, she's amorous" - a stranger at the Wine Festival

(on shoes)
"Right now my pinky toe and my big toe feel like they are being held for questioning... 'I swear I don't know anything'" - me to Em on our hunt for the perfect shoes (see "Footing the Bill")

(on dinner)
"Em, dont be 45 minutes late this time, otherwise I really will eat my shoes and then we'll be running around 3 malls this weekend looking for new ones."
"Don't you eat during the day?"
"No. I'm trying to save up for the mall(s)."

(on inside jokes)
"I love the Alien"

"That's why I make the big bucks!" - :/


BEST ADVICE

"Nan, seriously, you really need to learn to draw the line"
"Yes, I clearly need lessons!" - an exchange between Jenn and I after a night that has been banished from my memory
(The follow-up statement a few days later: "Isn’t it sad that after everything that happened this weekend, I’m most inclined to write about my shoes?!")

"Be careful. I can't tell you to be good, but I can tell you to be careful" - My grandma (Ma) before I got off the phone with her to go upstairs to Nick's


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Footing the Bill

As the saying goes: "If the shoe fits, wear it." So today, after much resistance, I reluctantly strapped on my new beige sandals that I swore I'd burn before I'd ever wear again and stepped out for the first time this weekend. You see, this is how girls are, we search and search for the perfect shoes - much in the way we do for the Perfect Man - and then, we succumb to the sad reality that they do not exist - or that they are not all they were cracked up to be - and end up paying dearly for our inadequate misjudgment. In the case of my beige strappy sandals, my pinky toe bore most of the burden.

So today, in my most uncomfortable new addition to the corner of the closet set aside for the shoes I'll most likely never wear again, I set out to not one, not two, but THREE shopping malls in search of the next "great pair." Now, this is not to say that I did so blindly. I, of course, had M to lead my way – and, much like my stance on relationships, I knew exactly what I was looking for.

My love affair with these shoes started much in the way of old time movies. They caught my eye a while back and I was filled with deep regret after having walked away from them. So for the past three days, M and I set out on a state-wide manhunt (shoe hunt) in search of the Steve Maddens that had captured my heart not too long ago.

With so many desperate singles turning to the Internet for hope, why did we not try the computer before we decided to set out on such a long and hard fought journey –in stiletto heels?

To make a long story short, after trekking across Fair Oaks, Tyson's Corner, and Dulles Malls, M and I resigned to her parent's house where we undertook a world-wide (Web) search for the shoes that had eluded us all weekend. And there we found them. They were, of course, at a much higher price, but I suppose there is a high price for everything in life.

Today, my feet paid mostly.

Playing Games (Breaking all the Rules)

As little kids, we loved playing games: hide and go seek, Chinese manhunt, spin the bottle (maybe loved that one a little too much), freeze tag, etc. As we became older, we found other ways to enjoy ourselves, yet, even so, we never learned to let go of the game-playing.

Take for instance the infamous 3-day call-back rule. Heaven forbid that a guy should call a girl he likes BEFORE the 3 day waiting period! He’d be called “obsessed,” “desperate,” or other unkind words that I will not state here. While this rule may work for guys who are not altogether interested - allowing time for whatever they said to gradually be forgotten, thus making it easier for them to sink back into oblivion - girls have not fared so well. Not only do we have 3 excruitiating days of anxiety when faced with the prospect that we’ll never be hearing from our latest prospect again, but our sick imaginations are allowed to run wild: “He lost my number,” “My cell phone must have gone out of service when he called,” “He just didn’t want to leave a message,” etc. Who are we kidding anyway? This in itself also leads girls to do stupid things like start up a national MANHUNT so they can find out exactly what went wrong. "Maybe I shouldn't have signed up for the Do Not Call Registry... what was I thinking?" Poor things.

Has "He's Just Not That Into You" helped our situation or worsened it by reinforcing these self perpetuating myths?

Interested guys are also the victim of this self-imposed torture, which causes girls to think that if the guy doesn’t DISOBEY the rule it means they aren’t interested. And there are even guys out there (Dare I say it?) that think if a girl doesn't call THEM it means they don't want them to call either! This, in turn, can lead them to forgo calling, which brings us back full circle to one party or the other behaving badly. If he calls too soon, he likes us too much. If he doesn't call soon, he doesn't like us enough. If we never hear from him again, he clearly is searching to the ends of the earth to find our misplaced number or it is time for us to change phone companies because Verizon CLEARLY is conspiring against us! So no matter what a guy does, he is basically wrong, right?

Who started this nonsense anyway? I’d like for someone to give me THAT person's number!

Yet, while we all know about the immaturity and stupidity surrounding the 3-day call-back rule, have we abandoned it?? In my case, we’ve embraced the NEVER call-back rule, which may make me unfit to even be writing (or ranting) about this!!! Maybe it’s something that makes us feel younger, you know? A 30 year old might feel youthful and carefree playing these games; it may show him that he’s still got his stuff. ((SWOON)) I’m so impressed…

If there’s one thing I’m tired of right now it is traditional GAME playing. If I wanted to play a game, I would go in the closet and take one down... not prey upon some poor, unsuspecting, and otherwise naïve male and draw him into this web of contradictory relationship rules where he ultimately loses. Why are we all so keen to just accept these rules without questioning? (We didn't even accept the rules in our childhood games!) So much for adult non-conformity!

Aw well, I guess that makes me a rebel. I’m just breaking all the rules, aren't I? ;)…

Lost Soles RIP

Maddens, Steve, 3 years-old, survived by loving partner Nunzia who took great care in repairing numerous injuries even when crazy glue was required, will be sorely missed. Remains have been scattered at Union Station.

I am not superstituous, nor do I believe that Friday the 13th holds any special powers. However, on this Friday the 13th, I had the WORST luck.. when I was parted from the most loving sole(s) I've ever known... my favorite black strappy sandals!

For 3 years, and in spite of any new emerging trends, I refused to trade my beloved sandals for more modern models. Year after year, twisted ankle after twisted ankle, I crazy glued the straps back on and strutted around in them as though they were Manolo Blahniks. Some of my fondest memories include sitting at the Inner Harbor watching X glue my shoes back together before we could go to the aquarium... and then gluing them again in front of the aquarium when we were too late to be allowed admission. Black cat or not, these black shoes had nine lives.. and promised to have more. What went so tragically wrong?

Well, on Friday, as I walked towards the train (I was headed back to NY for the weekend) just minding my business, I suddenly went flying out of my shoes as the entire top tore off. Aside from the fact that I was mortified to have soared out of my shoes in such a crowded arena, I was devastated that the long journey I had walked in those shoes had come to a bitter and unexpected end. We would neve take another step together... what a sad realization.

Standing there, mouth open, wearing only one shoe and being watched by the many people who witnessed me go flying (as gracefully as an ostrich), I begrudgingly opened my bag to remove my uncomfortable 6 inch black heels - my only other black shoes - which will now have to fill.. err, replace.. those shoes... hard shoes to fill, in any case. I bitterly crammed my abused feet into the inferior taller replacements.

Sadly, I dropped my beloved, departed sandals into the garbage pail at Union Station as I continued on to my destination, hoping that no one witnessed this improper burial as I hobbled onward at new and terrifying heights, clacking all the way...