Day 2: Silencing those who blame

As a sexual assault survivor, there are numerous negative messages that play on my head on repeat. “It’s your fault. You could have done something to prevent that from happening. You are broken. You are damaged. You aren’t worthy of love and respect.” Every day, they haunt my thoughts and dictate my actions.

What’s been even more damning, though, is the confirmation of those thoughts by outside parties.

During an intake appointment with a social worker, I told her that I was just beginning a graduate school program for counseling. Her response was, “Do you really think that’s the best career path for you, given your history?” Somehow – and I’m pretty sure this was divine intervention because I’ve never been one to respond well under pressure – I found the strength to reply, “I actually think it would help me to be more empathetic toward my clients.”

To have a mental health professional – someone who is supposed to “do no harm” and treat all clients with the empathy and respect – tell me that I am too broken to achieve my goals completely debilitated me for a while. I wondered if I had made a mistake in going back to school and changing careers. I thought maybe I was kidding myself in trying to move on with my life, and that I could never be anything more than what the person who violated me saw – a piece of garbage that can be used and thrown away.

Then – and this probably devastated me even more – I once had a significant other make repeated remarks about my recovery and how I didn’t measure up to his preconceived guidelines. I wasn’t affected by what he thought I should be. “X is a trigger for you but Y isn’t? That doesn’t make any sense.” And the fact that I chose not to report the attack bothered him so much that he told me it made him sick my attackers were still out there, free to do that to other women. In essence, I felt as though he was holding me culpable for another person’s (and a criminal’s as that) actions.

I thought this person loved and supported me. And when he made those comments, I began to feel like he saw me no differently than I often saw myself. The negative self-talk that pervades my psyche became truth in those moments, and the part of me who believed at least one person didn’t find me responsible was shattered in an instant. Not only that, I wasn’t conforming to some ridiculous mold of what he thought my recovery should look like. Even as a victim, I was failing in his eyes.

Sexual assault advocates would probably refer to these instances as victim blaming. The ironically screwed up thing is, I probably blame myself more than any other person ever could. That’s why I think it’s critical to validate and honor survivors. For me (because I can’t speak for anyone but myself), that would mean patience, understanding, tenderness, kindness, compassion, and love. Since it often seems impossible to give those things to yourself, it’s even more critical to be surrounded by those who can offer it to you.

I’m still trying to figure out how to silence those thoughts. It’s a process, and a life-long one at that. I just know that I want to be happy, and not let these events define who I am and who I’m capable of becoming. 

Day One

This little blog gets used in super sporadic spurts. I used it regularly for a couple years when I was booted from my only paying professional gig as a writer and since then, it’s been pretty neglected.

I’m giving it another go, for a couple of reasons:

1. Self-care. Writing is one of the ways I’ve always been able to cope and make sense of things. I can’t remember the last time I sat down and wrote anything, much less hit publish on this platform. But almost every self-care list suggests journaling, and since I know the written word is so therapeutic to me, I figure writing on a more regular basis can only help me come out of one of the darkest periods of my life.
2.  Awareness. I’m choosing to go public about such deeply intimate aspects of my life in effort to connect with others experiencing similar situations and help spotlight an issue that is often seen a sign of weakness. In the past few years, I’ve been diagnosed with a cocktail of mental illnesses. It’s gotten to the point where I have a hard time determining which one is the most accurate while also telling myself that my identity isn’t solely compromised of a medical professional’s diagnosis. Compound this with our current technological age, and the mediums that are supposed to help us more easily connect with others. Ironically enough, scrolling through Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, etc., ends up amplifying the feelings of depression, isolation, and loneliness that comprise a majority of my day. It’s so easy to look at snapshots of people’s lives and conclude that their days are filled with sunshine, trips to the beach, rainbows, marital bliss, butterflies, and cuddles with their babies. I want to offer an alternative perspective – a glimpse into my own spiritual journey of self-growth, as I try to pull myself out of one the darkest periods of my life. If my story can reach just one other person, it’s worth the rejection I could potentially receive from others.

Here’s to day one of a life in which I can forgive and love myself more easily, care less about pleasing others, and strive to find light in what can often feel like an endless tunnel of darkness.

Irrational (?) Fear

It’s been more than six months since I turned the big 3-0, and I have to say, so far it’s not so bad. The Buzzfeed articles are pretty spot on: I’d much prefer brunch, complete with bottomless mimosas and a few of my nearest and dearest to downing shots of Goldschlager while gyrating to the latest Pit Bull song and actively avoiding douchebags trying to grab my ass. (Actually, that’s a lie. I still enjoy the occasional shot of Goldschlager. At home. In my PJs. While watching Netflix.)

This new decade of my life has ushered in an influx of friends reproducing like jack rabbits. Apparently your twenties are for weddings and your thirties are for popping out babies. At least among my group of compadres.

About the time I attended my fifth wedding single and dateless, I started to feel like I was enduring a cruel and unusual form of punishment.  It almost felt as if I were being repeatedly taunted and continuously reminded that I was nowhere close to that milestone. And then of course, my irrational and emotional side would take over and convince me that I would never get married – that I was destined to life as an old maid with nothing but a horde of Pomeranians and cats to comfort me.

Now, as more and more of my friends take on the role of mom and dad, things seem even more complicated. For starters, I’m no longer single, but still nowhere close to getting married, and even further from feeling ready to reproduce. Actually, I’m not sure if I ever want to have kids. And that thought sometimes makes me feel like a failure as a woman, like I’m abandoning some pre-ordained life role. I worry that I won’t be accepted or have anything in common with my friends who do have kids. I’m terrified that I’ll be left behind, stuck in everyone’s dust as they progress further through this journey called life while I continue to buck societal norms, albeit not always intentionally.

Will my friends, as well as society, continually reject me for being a single, childless woman? And will I have the confidence, backbone, and grit to write them off should they do so?

As with the conclusion that I am doomed to a life of solitude, I know these fears are in many ways irrational and unfounded. But, such is the curse of having a vagina. It makes you worry. It makes you blow things out of proportion. It makes you freak you the fuck out when those close-knit bonds with your girlfriends seem much more delicate than they used to be. That extra X chromosome makes those qualities run rampant. It’s just science. 

One in Four

As a freshman at JMU, I learned a startling statistic:

One in four women will become the victim of rape or attempted rape by the time she graduates.

...little did I know I would actually become part of that statistic.

I've never really said this aloud. These thoughts have been relegated to the ink of my personal journal and the etchings of my soul, so to type it makes it even more real and terrifying.

But I remember that night like it was yesterday.

A guy I had known for years wanted to see me. I was so excited and told him to meet up with me. I danced with him, flirted with him, and told him he could stay the night at my apartment.

Once we got to my bedroom, everything changed. I remember immediately feeling like he shouldn't be there. His heavily alcohol-stained breath became nauseating and over-bearing. And he became...forceful. I started shaking - my legs were trembling, uncontrollably, but he was oblivious to it all.

Horrified, I was too scared to say anything. I lay motionless, willing it all to stop, imagining I was someplace else. Finally, it became too unbearable and I told him, "No."

He laughed. Literally, laughed in my face and taunted me, asking me if I was too good for what he wanted. I thought to myself, "Yes, I am too good for you", but I was too scared to tell him that. So instead, I let him continue until he finally passed out and I could move to the sanctuary of my living room, ten feet away from the person who had just stolen every ounce of my dignity and worth.

When I got there, I didn't call out for my roommates or dial 911. After all, I had invited him over. I had flirted with him all night. It was his word against mine.

I felt....ashamed. And like I brought all of it on myself. So I curled into a ball and pretended like it never happened - deciding it was best to erase it from my memory and will it never to resurface. The only problem was, I quickly found out, it would never fully escape me. Images of that night still haunt me, eight years later.

I tell this story not for sympathy. I'm telling this story for the other woman at JMU who encountered a brutal sexual assault that made me sick to my stomach. For this woman who had to drop out of school because she had to face her attackers everyday. Fortunately for me, my attacker went to another school. I still saw him, but it was few and far between.

I'm telling this story because I'm tired of being silent. Sexual assault is NOT okay. As a graduate student studying college student development and counseling, I'm making it my life-long goal to erase this statistic. No woman should ever become part of a statistic when it comes to sexual assault - or have her integrity, choice of wardrobe, or number of sexual partners questioned if she ever becomes a victim of rape or attempted rape.

The administration of college campuses needs to start empowering victims of these crimes and sending the message that the safety of their students - regardless of gender or race - is of utmost importance. There should be a zero tolerance policy for sexual assault, and I hope my alma mater, who I hold dear to my heart, adopts such a policy.

To my fellow victims: we can make a difference. Stay strong, and know that you are not alone.

I hate THESE blurred lines

Okay, so I have to admit...I kinda like Robin Thicke's "Blurred Lines." Sure, it has severe misogynistic undertones, but I find the song to be extremely catchy and Mr. Thicke to be quite sexy, regardless of his duet with Mileybird. And yes, I'm aware this may make me a traitor to my gender but I'm accepting full responsibility for my complacence to this song.

HOWEVER, I do think it would be pretty kick-ass if there were a female version written regarding the blurred lines emoted by straight males. Most men will tell you that they are completely straightforward and there's no need to over-analyze or dissect anything they say or do, but I beg to differ.

Of course, there are some things that could be passed off under "Boys 101." You know - the "wait three days to call or text rule" after a guy gets your number so he appears aloof. Or those guys that strictly text after 10 p.m. on a Saturday night that you can immediately file under "he just wants to get to know me between the sheets". Embarrassingly, I fell for that one a few times during my undergrad years. Now, it seems so freakin' elementary. But when you are young and blinded by a cute guy who seems interested in wanting to hang out with you...well, you jump at the chance...

...And sometimes, I still do to some extent. Although I've learned to weed out the booty texters, even if I still feel like something is off with a guy I'm talking to, I'll give him second, third, and maybe even tenth chances. Text messages and in-person conversations will be dissected with my friends in Shakespearean-like analytic precision until we come up with some viable reason as to why something just isn't adding up.

But obviously, if it warrants that much analysis, there is probably some underlying message the guy is sending, and it's more than likely along the lines of "I'M JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU." But time and time again, I hold out hope that it's different. That I'm just being ridiculous. Or over-anxious. Or reading too much into things.

And asking the guy for clarity is absolutely out of the question. I've found if a guy isn't straightforward about his feelings, it's absolutely essential to appear lackadaisical and uninterested. Any sort of questioning as to a guy's intentions and you risk appearing desperate and/or needy, sending said Romeo running to the hills (hills meaning the next cute blonde).

It kinda sucks feeling so powerless, and like you're at the mercy of another person. And I'm sure guys have felt the same way to some degree before. But I just feel clueless in how to navigate these mixed signals. Should I start turning the other way the moment I sense them? Or do I keep giving people the benefit of the doubt, while holding out hope that one day, it might be different?

Pain vs. Indifference

One of my favorite songs has to be “Stubborn Love” by the Lumineers. It’s one of those songs that gives me goosebumps no matter how many times I hear it.  I’m actually listening to it on repeat while I write this since it’s the inspiration for this post.

There’s a lyric in it that goes: “It’s better to feel pain than nothing at all…the opposite of love’s indifference…” When I hear that, it cuts me right to the deepest part of my being. A hopeless romantic, my heart swells like a giddy school girl whenever I watch a cheesy rom com, and makes me believe that true, soul encompassing love might just exist, even if it’s just for those 90 minutes before my cynical mind takes over and reminds me of my past, and present, reality.

And as much as I sometimes wish my mind would completely overpower my heart and render me indifferent, there’s still a part of me that believes that this love that writers have written about for centuries and musicians have composed so brilliantly into their own personal mantras might actually exist. Hell, I even permanently inked the word love on my wrist because at the end of the day, I still think it’s one of the most important things on this planet.  

I know my experience is not unique. I’m not naïve enough to believe that I’m the only one who has experienced heartache and despair, but I often wonder if I’m being a sadist for continuing to put myself out there. Lately, I’ve been questioning if there’s a way to make myself emotionally vulnerable while still treading cautiously. Like some hypothetical shot of emotional Novocain I could inject when even a small portion of me starts to develop feelings for someone.

I’ve thought about this a lot since my last relationship ended a few months back. If there is even a miniscule silver lining to that experience, it’s that I’ve learned the importance of pumping the breaks. I’m such a relational person, that it’s difficult for me not to make decisions based on my emotions. But I’ve learned how sacred and fragile my heart is, and I’m not willing to wear it on my sleeve so freely anymore.

So as great as it is that I’ve recognized all of this, now I’ve got to figure out how the hell to actually be more emotionally cautious. It would be really amazing if a doctor could invent some actual emotional Novocain, but that’s probably not happening anytime soon. So until then I guess I’ll just have to figure it out through trial and error. Will there still be pain and heartache? Absolutely – I’m counting on it. But as the song says I guess I’ll just have to keep my head up and keep reminding myself that pain, no matter how deep, always outweighs indifference.  

Holy Shiznit I'm About to Turn 30!

As I type this, I have about 12 days left in my twenties. Embarking on a new decade has never felt so daunting, terrifying, and yet, incredibly freeing at the same time. I don’t think a ten-year span has brought quite so many life changes while shaping who I am and affirming who I want to be as a person.

Since turning 20 I have:

-received my bachelor’s from JMU (Go Dukes!)

-relocated to a city only that was only two hours north of my hometown but seemed like light years away in terms of cultural differences

-accepted my first full time/big girl job, complete with health benefits and a 401K package (and actually learned what the hell things like an IRA meant)

-moved into an apartment that didn’t have beer stains all over the carpet, a balcony that could potentially cave in, a sketchy landlord, and hoards of college students surrounding me (okay, maybe some of those things were still present)

-got laid off from a job I loved

-bought, well…financed a car and paid it off

-had my heart broken, and broke a few myself

-recognized that no matter how well you think you know a person, sometimes it turns out you never really knew them at all

-lost touch with some friends I thought I’d always be close with, but at the same time gained new friends who I couldn’t imagine life without

-mourned the loss of two grandfathers, who I think about everyday

-discovered that what I studied for four years in undergrad did not have an abundance of job opportunities, and decided to completely switch career paths

-realized how much I love my hometown, and moved back after spending six years in D.C.

-started graduate school

-watched countless loved ones get married and start families and began to increasingly wonder not only if that will ever be me, but also if that’s something I even want

-gained confidence and more assurance in who I am

I’m sure this list could span at least 10 more pages, but I think those are the some of the most important. I feel like my 20s could be more aptly titled the decade of fucking up and falling on my ass…and then brushing myself off and facing the next year a bit wiser and more prepared.

I guess I thought by 30 I’d have achieved some monumental milestone. I’m not quite sure what I envisioned, but maybe that I’d be a writer at some hip magazine, or have a book published, or maybe even just a passport full of kick-ass trips around the world. What I know for sure is no part of me imagined I’d be single, living with my parents, working two part-time jobs, plucking gray hairs that have just started to surface, and fighting dark, baggy circles under my eyes from spending countless all-nighters in the library.

Sometimes I feel like I’ve just been a spectator to everyone else’s successes, cheering on my friends while they accept promotions, buy their first house, get married, and start families. While I am truly happy for each and every one of them and honored that I could share in the celebration of such monumental events, I sometimes selfishly (and self-pityingly) feel stuck on the sidelines.

Recently, I’ve had to ask myself if I really want all those things, or if I want them because I think I’m supposed to want them. Here’s what I do know:

-I want to finish graduate school and focus on establishing a career. I want to continue writing, even if I never get published.

-I want to get my own apartment in downtown Richmond.

-I want to buy a piano and start taking lessons again.

-I want to travel. All over the world. I want to meet new people and learn about different cultures and soak up everything I can about a place when I visit, so that I feel that I’m leaving with a part of it.

-I want to hike every fall, ski every winter, start running regularly every spring, and go to the beach every summer.

-I want to help people, and volunteer more often.

-I want to care less about what people think of me, and become reliant on my own sense of self.

-I want someone to share this crazy life with, but I also know it’s not the end of the world if that never happens. If I’ve learned one thing from my 20s, it’s that it’s toxic to force anything, especially relationships.   

As much as I’m dreading leaving my twenties behind, I definitely feel a greater sense of peace and clarity as I think back on the last ten years, and a sense of excitement for what lies ahead. It sure as hell won’t be all rainbows and sunshine, but isn’t it more fun that way anyway??

 

Renewing my Writing Vows

My grandfather told me when I was ten years old that I was a talented writer. He's hands-down the most intelligent person I've known and someone I always strove to make proud, so I took his suggestion to heart. It's what fueled me to pursue a degree in journalism and begin a career as a writer and editor. 

This past May marked seven years since my college graduation date (holy shit that sounds like a long time!!), and since then, I've enjoyed less than 15 months of profesionnal work as a writer or editor. 

It's been easy to blame the economy, the failing journalism market, and tell myself that maybe I lack the talent to be a profitable writer.  

But here's the thing...I do have the physical, mental, and emotional capacity to write. And thanks to technology, I have this nifty little blog to publish my thoughts on the interwebs. So that fact that my last post was in November is pretty freaking ridiculous. 

I know myself well enough that I know I feel broken and incomplete when I'm not writing. And damnit, for it to be close to a year without me producing any creative content is just plain ridiculous. 

It's hard to know exactly where to begin and what the hell to write about. A lot of crazy ish has happened and sometimes I just feel the need to work vomit everything out, but then what should be a short post turns into five pages of incoherent rambling. 

I'm pretty the next string of posts won't be chronological, and it will probably take me a while to find my voice again. But for the sake of my sanity and the creative portion of my soul, I know that I need to start blogging regularly again. So hello again, blogging world...it's good to be back! 

I am...

...a daughter
...a sister
...a friend
...a writer
...a poet
...an avid reader
...a graduate student
...a hopeless romantic
...a believer in fate
...an animal lover
...a tattoo enthusiast
...a Christian, though I am starting to see myself as more spiritual than religious
...quickly approaching 30 and growing increasingly terrified that I'll never get married, but I refuse to let a guy or a relationship define me
...an extrovert, though I also believe solitude is an essential part of life
...torn deciding whether tiramisu, key lime pie, or pumpkin bars with cream cheese frosting is my favorite dessert (three-way tie?)
...just as happy at the beach or in the mountains. Both are equally comforting to me.
...flexible and able to go with the flow - sometimes plans change, and that's where the beauty of spontaneity comes in
...unable to feel dressed up unless I'm wearing heels.
...horrible with make-up. Eyeliner and mascara are really my only everyday essentials.
...convinced that a glass of Malbec a day will help me live longer
...obsessed with JMU and Steelers football
...a firm believer that music speaks to your soul
...sometimes a little too impulsive
...chronically late, but trying to be better about that
...too concerned with what other people think of me
...afraid to be assertive and say how I feel
...a people-pleaser
...going to start focusing on my self and what makes me happy
...tired of apologizing for who I am

2012 has been a tough year for me. I've made a lot of mistakes (some might say the biggest of my life), gone through some major transitions, and grown a lot as a person. The hardest part of this journey has been realizing who my true friends are...who to distance myself from and who to draw closer towards. But if people can't accept me for who I am, flaws and all, then I don't need them in my life.

On Time

Time is money. There's no time like the present. Time flies when you're having fun. 

Seriously, how many idioms are there about time? 

But, time is an important concept, especially when you consider it in terms of a significant other. 

We don't want to be wasting our time and energy with someone who doesn't truly value us. And I think the amount of effort and thought a guy puts into planning dates is a strong indicator of that. 

I dated a guy the past few months who considered drinking beer on his roof top patio a romantic evening. As much as I love beer and roof top patios, I need a little more flair now and then. Take me to a picnic in the park, or a concert, or a walk around the canal. I don't need to eat at a five-star restaurant once a week, but I do need to feel appreciated.

Tried as I could to explain how I felt, I don't think it ever sank in, or that he was capable of actually making an effort to let me know I was important to him. 

Whatever the case may be, we parted ways, and I soon thereafter reconnected with a guy I'd known since middle school. He actually asked what type of food I liked, researched restaurants, and made reservations for our first date. Talk about swoon. After five months of Coors Light and bar food, he had me eating out of the palm of his hand. 

A few dates later, and I was still receiving daily texts, but no suggestions of hanging out. Maybe I've read He's Just Not That Into You one two many times, but I knew something was up. 

I'm used to just being phased out by no longer hearing from a guy. This concept of daily texting with no follow-up on future dates was completely foreign and confusing to me, so I asked him if he was just trying to move things into the friend zone. First, I got the "I just got out of a relationship" excuse. Understandable. After all, I'd just got out of one, too. Not healthy to jump from one to the other. But, when I asked him if he just wanted to be friends for now or still casually hang out, he responded with, "We can hang out, but I'm going to be super busy and unavailable the next two months." 

Did the writers of HJNTIY actually use him as a case study? Because those sounded like direct lines from the book. 

What's worse, I gave him an easy way out, and he still kinda beat around the bush. Maybe he was trying to spare my feelings, or maybe he wanted to keep me at arm's length in case he decided he was interested, or maybe he doesn't know what the hell he wants. 

Doesn't really matter the underlying reason, because his message was clear: He doesn't want to make the time to hang out with me. 

After all, if something or someone is truly important to us, we MAKE time for it/him/her. 

Maybe third time will be the charm (ha! see - another time idiom!) ... 

 

Home, Sweet Home

Sunset view of RVA

I'm pretty freakin' excited to be back in my hometown after six years in D.C.

Richmond is definitely a smaller scale city, but there is still plenty to do. And it kinda makes me feel like I'm in an eternal episode of Cheers, where everyone knows my name. (Or even if they don't, they still smile and say "hi".)

I grew up in the suburbs of RVA, so I was a bit sheltered from downtown life.

Things I've discovered:

-Downtown is not nearly as scary as my mom made it out to be. There are not rapists lurking around every corner.

-St. John's Church. I stumbled upon this gem while stopping to see if this old house was a historical marker was some sort of museum (don't ask me why, but I have a fascination with old homes). Patrick Henry gave his "Give me liberty or give me death" speech on the stairs of this church. How did I not know this??

-A bounty of parks with idyllic views of the James River. Hence why Richmond is affectiontely called the River City.

-Concerts. I feel like I'm constantly finding new local bands to follow.

-Museums. Yes, I lived in the museum capital of the country, but do you realize how crowded those got?? I can actually view artwork and have personal space/breathing room.

-Kick-ass cuisine. I grew up going to TGI Fridays, Applebees and Olive Garden. While I love my never-ending salad and breadsticks, there's just something so much better about family-owned restaurants. 

-More space and cheaper rent. I think I can actually afford to live on my own now. Hell yes!

But really, I feel more content than I have in a long time. There's something ridiculously freeing about experiencing Richmond through my own eyes and on my own terms. It's like I'm finally forging a life of my own in a place I've always considered home.

Breaking the dead airtime...

A communications professor I had once told me that more than five seconds of dead airtime on the radio can be detrimental to a station. In the blogging world, I'd equate that to a week at most. So, I'm guessing it's unlikely that I have many people following this anymore. But nonetheless, I'm giving RFL another go.

If you're wondering where the hell I've been the past six months, it's a long-ass story so I'll just say that my life has been a bit of a whirlwind. But, here are some key, abbreviated points:

-I began an extrememly volatile relationship where I hit the fast forward button, let the guy talk about marriage, devoted all of my heart, soul and energy, and became severely depressed. Our relationship barely lasted three months. (Good thing, too, because I don't know if I'd be here writing this if I had allowed myself to continue on that way.)

-I quit my job, left D.C. after calling it my home from six years and moved back to Richmond.

Getting into all of this right now would take up at least 10 pages single-spaced, and I'm not sure I'm ready to write about it all yet, so I'll spare you from all the nitty-gritty details for now.

But, after months of restlessness, I'm finally feeling at peace. I'm getting back into things that make me, me, and that includes writing.

Sure, making a professional career out of it has been a bit of a challenge. I've thought about throwing in the towel a million times. But writing is part of who I am and what I know and I can't just give up. (I had a psychic reading with an intuitive life coach last week and she told me to start writing everyday, even if it's just for 10 minutes. She has to know what she's talking about. Slightly kidding, but not really.)

So, I'm back. With renewed energy and spirit. I'm still figuring out who I am and what I want out of life, but at the end of the day, aren't we all?

Being single sometimes makes you feel like...

This

and/or

this

Being Alone Can Be Scary as Hell

This past August, my grandfather passed away. I was fortunate enough, a month earlier, to spend his 80th birthday with him at a surprise party planned by my aunt. About 100 of his family and friends showed up for the occasion.

The next day, I was at his house, and he kept talking about how normally during the days it was just him and his dog, Buddy, a Doberman the size of a small horse. My granddaddy’s second wife passed away a few years earlier from breast cancer, and progressed macular degeneration left him legally blind and unable to drive for the past decade. He lived with my aunt and uncle, who both worked full-time, 9-5 jobs, so he was often alone during the day, except for friends that stopped by for lunch on occasion.

He must have commented that he’s alone a lot at least five times during my visit. And it suddenly hit me – my 80-year-old grandfather is afraid of the same thing I am as a single 27-year-old. Being alone.

With each engagement and wedding, I’m elated for my friends, but also reminded that I’m nowhere near that milestone. And with each passing year, I wonder if it’s ever in the cards for me.

But, my grandfather taught me an important lesson before he died. This thing I’ve placed on a pedestal, and think will bring me life-long companionship, is fleeting. Marriage can end in divorce, or in my grandfather’s case with his second wife, death. As with everything in life, there are never any guarantees.

I write this not to come across as a crass, bitter bitch, or give off the notion that I no longer believe in love and finding a soul mate. Quite the contrary.

It’s a reminder that this fear of being alone can persist no matter what the circumstances. A reminder to be thankful for what I do have, instead of focusing on what I don’t. A reminder to tell those in my life I love them, and maybe call or write them more frequently so they’re aware how much they mean to me.

My aunt said that as she held my granddaddy’s hand while he drew his last breaths, he seemed at peace. I hope he passed from the physical world no longer fearful of being alone, but thinking of all the people he had impacted throughout his life. Those 100 people at his surprise party were just a small percentage, I'm sure.

Hey, if the shoe fits...

Last week, I finally went to the doctor after my co-worker noticed my left foot was so swollen it was double the size of my right one. Hello, Shrek foot.

Diagnosis: stress fracture

No cardio of any kind (besides swimming) for two weeks.

No running for six weeks.

AND, I get to rock this awesome looking orthopaedic boot.

Here's a visual (not my actual foot, but you get the idea):

I don't know what's hotter - the shoe or the fact that I walk like Frakenstein when I wear it. I keep trying to adapt some sort of pimp/thug life strut but I'm unfortunately not baller enough to pull that off.

In the meantime, I'm trying to think of some really crazy story to tell people when they ask me what happened. You know - one that would make me look super heroic and badass or even just hilariously idiotic.

Chasing after Ryan Gosling and saving a teacup poodle from oncoming traffic are currently my top contenders. Suggestions welcome.

Seriously though, I'm going through major high heel withdrawals. I stood in front of the Nine West store for a good five minutes during my lunch break today salivating like each pair was a fresh-out-of-the-oven Krispy Kreme donut. Yeah, I'm that pathetic.

And I'm totally burning this orthopaedic p.o.s. as soon as the doc says it can come off...while dancing around in my favorite heels, of course. Fingers crossed for next Wednesday!

A not-so triumphant return to the world of online dating

I took a pretty lofty hiatus from online dating during the spring and summer months. Much like every exercise routine I try to follow, I just didn't feel like keeping up with it anymore.

Then I saw $60 deducted from my bank account in August for my match.com subscription and figured I should probably attempt to utilize a service I'm paying for. And oddly enough, the online dating sites seem a bit more active during the fall/winter months. I think the most likely reason is at first hint of cool air and the start of football season, us single folk realize that the holidays are right around the corner, and the thought of spending another holiday season alone thrusts us into desperate means to find a mate. So, I updated my profile, added some additional pictures and have resumed life on match.com and okcupid.com.

I had my first date since the account update last week. Unfortunately, I can't say that much has changed.

I met King Charles at an Irish Pub close to both of our apartments. I was about 5 minutes late getting there, and when I got there, he was already seated at the bar with a beer in hand. When the bartender came over to take my order. I selected a Sam Adams Oktoberfest (one of my favorite aspects of fall) and started fidgeting for my wallet. King Charles made zero attempt to put my beer on the tap he clearly already had open, so I quickly realized I needed to actually take out my credit card.

Strike one.

Sadly, it got worse. Or better if you count the story I got out of it. King Charles owns - you guess it, a King Charles Spaniel. Not only that, but when explaining the breed he added, "You know, the same kind as Charlotte had in Sex and the City."


To be fair, he probably gets tons of comments while walking his dog or talking about his dog. It's not exactly the type of dog I'd imagine straight, single males owning. So I'm sure the first jab people throw at him is that he has the same type of dog as Charlotte York. But for the love of God, on a date - a first date at that, I'm not so sure your knowlege of Sex and the City is something you want to flaunt.

On Falling in Love with your Best Friend

I'm going to go ahead and blame Julia Roberts for making it popular to enter into marriage pacts with your best friend if you aren't married by a certain age.

It didn't work out too splendidly for her, so I should have known it would crash and burn for me.

Essentially, in the past couple of months, I realized that I'm in love with my best friend.

It only took me 12 years.

I met J my sophomore year in high school, but we didn't really become close until our college years. When I was 20, single and slightly bitter, I told him that I was going to wind up as one of those single, crazy old ladies with a bunch of cats. It was then he suggested that we get married at 30 if neither of us had taken the plunge yet.

The thing is, J has always made his feelings for me known to everyone. In front of our friends, he referred to me as the love of his life, woman of his dreams and future wife. I always knew I deeply cared for him, but I pushed it aside as deep love for a friend and considered him along the lines of a brother.

It never occurred to me that I would ever see him differently. That is, until I realized that the feeling I get in my gut when I'm around him is unlike any I've felt around anyone else.

So, I pretty much pounced on him a couple months back when I found out he was back on the market. We kissed, among other things, for the first time that night, and it just felt...right. No awkwardness, no feeling like we shouldn't be engaged in what we're doing. I just kept wondering why it hadn't happened sooner.

That was two months ago. We've been on a couple dates, sent some cute texts back and forth, and had a couple other rendezvous. But I know things aren't where they should be.

So finally, I broke down and asked him where we're at. And I got some roundabout answer, interlaced with a lot of bullshit. He said he's always liked the idea of us, but the timing is off.

When he started throwing out the standard excuses I knew all he really needed to say but didn't have the balls to tell me was: "I like you, just not enough to date you."

And it sucks. I feel like I've been suckered punched. Or at least I did when I finally accepted the reality of the situation.

Because I can handle it when a random guy screws me over. I expect it. It doesn't phase me anymore.

But when it's someone who I've been friends with for years, who has taken care of me when I'm sick, picked me up when I'm drunk and emotional, was by my side at my grandfather's funeral...

...let's just say that I thought that I meant a bit more to him.

So I've done what I've done best - injected myself with a heavy dose of emotional novacaine.

Because it's easier. Easier than facing the sting of rejection. Easier than reliving the fact that his feelings don't match mine. Easier than realizing that I may lose one of my oldest friends.

But I guess that's the risk you take when you try to take a friendship to the next level. Things will never be the same between us.

And God damnit it sucks.

Though this reality - harsh as it may be - is infinitely better than the alternative: staying in limbo and waiting and hoping for that one day when he decides that he's ready to be with me. We've known each other 12 years. If he doesn't know by now, I don't think he ever will.

Words of Wisdom

"Don't be afraid to be single. It makes you stronger, and your relationships of the future will be stronger, too." - My therapeutic-as-a-glass-of-wine friend who has helped me keep my shit together the past 12 years.

He said this to me via Facebook im while he was in Austrailia for graduate school and I was airing my worries to him that I would never find anyone. I wrote it down and have kept it on my desk at work ever since. When I'm having a "Woe is me...I'm going to be alone the rest of my life" day, it gives me a kick in the ass to stop throwing myself a pity party.

The New 30 - 60 Day Rule

Is it just me, or is that stupid 3-day rule guys follow increasing exponentially?

I'm not talking by days, or even weeks. I'm talking MONTHS.

Seriously, under what realm of logic do men (at least, the ones I've had the pleasure of befriending) think it's completely acceptable to contact a girl in thirty-to-sixty day increments?

I don't know if it's the warmer temperatures, budding flowers or just the fact that women are now rocking tank tops, skirts and sundresses, but I've received texts from THREE different men in the span of a week who I haven't heard from in at least a month.

And frankly, I'm pretty pissed about it.

Not because I still care about any of these losers, but because it makes me wonder what vibes I am giving off to suggest I'm okay with this type of treatment?

For the sake of a few laughs, let's review the "love notes" I've received over the past week.

Bachelor #1

Quick overview: Personal trainer at a local gym. Met at a bar. Exchanged numbers, texted and talked on the phone the night we met for an hour. Hung out a few days later. I invited him to my apartment, told myself I would not sleep with him but we all know what ended up happening. The next morning, he said he would call me later. That was April 5.

On May 6, I received the following string of texts:

B1: Psst...

An hour passes.

B1: No?

Another hour passes.

B1: Psst...

I wanted to text him back and say: "Look dude, I know I slept with you the first time we hung out, but I don't want to be on your booty call list." But then I thought that would make it look like I still gave a shit.

One of my friends said I should just respond with: "Who is this?" Tempting, and somewhat gives me the upper hand, but that would just instigate futher communication. And I do not want anything to do with this guy.

I should have known he was bad news. His first name is Damion. You know what image comes to mind when I hear that name? That sadistic devil-child from "The Omen."

Bachelor #2

Quick overview: From Texas (that's about all I can remember about him). Met at a bar. Talked for a while before I called it an early night. Exchanged numbers. This was on April 16.

On May 14, (Hey - look at that! He wins the prize for least amount of time lapsed between contact. Only 28 days! Maybe he's a keeper...) I received the following text at 7pm:

B2: Hi Katherine!

I didn't save this guy's number back in April. (I never save a boy's number until I start receiving regular communication from him. This saves me from a) wasting storage space in my phone and b) being tempted to text him at 1 a.m when I'm wasted.) Obviously, I had no clue who the hell was texting me, but I assumed it was the guy I had met this past Saturday night, so I responded.

Me: Hey how's it going?

B2: It's going good...how r you? What r u up 2 tonight?

(For the record, I DETEST this many abbreviations in a text. You are a GROWN MAN, not a 13-year-old girl. B2 was already losing major points, but I was also hoping I could figure out who the hell he was.)

Me: Not too bad, just getting off of work. I'm going to a house party in Arlington. What about you?

B2: Gonna go to a bar in Arlington.

Me: Oh nice. You know which one?

One hour later, at approximately 12:45 a.m...

B2: Spider Kelly's

(Aww...where we first met! How poetic.)

B2: Come!

Unfortunately for B2, I didn't check my phone while at the house party so I could not join him on the lovely rendezvous I'm sure took him weeks to plan.

The next morning when I sobered up enough to think with 1/4 of my brain capacity, I was able to confirm his identity by checking my call log from a month ago.

I wonder if he'll wait another 28 days to contact me...



Coincedence that both these douches have connections to horror films? I think not.

Bachelor #3

Quick overview: You may remember this charmer from this post a while back. Even after that horrendous date, I continued to repsond to his texts and calls, which were still frequent. Problem was, he never initiated coming up here to visit and take me out. He always asked when I'd be back in Richmond and wanted me to drop everything to hang out with him. I was annoyed, over it and relieved when he didn't text me for almost two months.

Then, two weeks ago, he sent me this:

B3: How is it going?

Four days later...

B3: Really?

That was sent after midnight on a Friday night. I didn't get it until I woke up at 9 a.m. Saturday morning. The same time I saw the texts from B1. Needless to say, I was was not in the mood for his nonsense.

Me: I'm not really sure what "really?" is all about, but after not talking to me for 2 months, you really shouldn't expect a response.

B3: I wasn't ignoring you. I haven't heard anything from you either...

Me: Just kinda felt like things fizzled out. No harm, no foul. But please don't randomly text me once every couple months and expect me to respond. I need and deserve more than that.

I won't bore you with the rest. But, I basically got a bunch of shit excuses as to why he waited so long to contact me, while also blaming me for not rearranging my schedule every time I was in town.

Then, he asked if we could hang out again.

I didn't respond for a few days, hoping he'd get the hint, though this guy has the intelligence of a pile of rocks so I should have known he wouldn't. A few days later, he kinda reamed me out, saying that he thought we were at least friends and I shouldn't ignore him.

After shaking my head/banging my forehead against my desk a few times/laughing my ass off, I essentially told him that we were never really friends and I got that feeling that he was going through a dry spell and wanthing to rekindle our hookup sessions, which I was not interested in.

After all that, he still asked if he could treat me to dinner.

Wow...just wow.

And the best part about all this is, he couldn't shell out $30 to buy me food and drinks when we were kinda/sorta dating, but now that I will barely talk to him, he suddenly wants to take me out?

This guy is either the biggest douche in the world or really just that stupid.

Have no fear, though - I still got to see B3 again. I'm not sure if it was just a weird twist of fate or the dating gods just wanted a good laugh, but I ran into him at a bar in Richmond on Sunday afternoon.

Of course, he sauntered on over and tried to talk to me. I made zero effort to carry on a conversation and leaned as far back in my chair as I avoid getting too close to this dude. Then, I downed about three shots because it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

Hello, Sunday funday!

Unfortunately, I don't have no horror movie to compare him to (his stupidity, is laughable, not frightening), but he does remind me of this little guy:

Why my phone and my purse are BFFs

I've stopped trying to use Jedi mind tricks on my phone.

There were times where I've waited by the phone for a guy to text/call/facebook message/e-mail me.

Then, I got to the point where I felt so desperate staring at my phone screen, willing it to ring/buzz/light up, that I've started keeping my phone stashed in the confines of my purse. You know, so I'm not tempted to stare at for hours on end.

I actually think some small part of me believes that the guy of the moment is more likely to call if my phone is out of sight, out of mind. I also don't want respond to the call or text right away for fear of seeming too over-eager and available. I have to appear busy and that I have a life of my own, afterall.

So I play this ridiculously juvenile game, all the while pissing off my friends who can't get a hold of me because I'm too busy playing the invisable phone act.

It's stupid.

AND

...it doesn't work. Obviously.

Case in point: I hung out with a guy last Monday, and when he left, he told me he'd call.

I definitely didn't expect him to call (since when do guys contact you when they say they will?) And I haven't been proven wrong. He even had me download this stupid HeyTell app to my droid so we could talk more easily. (It's kinda like a walkie-talkie.) Yeah, um...we can't talk more easily if you aren't going to make an effort to talk to me at all, genius.

Sigh.

You know, what I think it really boils down to, is that I'd rather not have see "no missed calls" or "no new messages" slapping me across my face every five minutes.

Yes, the bottomless pit known as my purse is a much better spot for my phone, buried beneath my color-coded planner, wallet, old movie ticket stubs and last month's cable bill I keep meaning to pay.