Deal Breakers

Okay, so... I’ve got a confession.  I am sick.  I am tired.  But mostly, I am SICK AND TIRED of being asked ‘WHY ARE YOU SINGLE?’  Umm, hello, nice to meet you.  Because, CLEARLY, if you’re asking me that question, you don’t really know me that well.

I recently had a conversation with my good friend, Cher, about how the majority of people settle down so quick.  They settle with someone they think they can “make it work with”.  MAKE IT WORK? EFF THAT.  I’m awesome.  I’m not lookin for someone to make it work with.  What the hell does that even mean?  

Ahhh. Why can’t people just be real?  I don’t get it.  I must have a disability or something, because I am literally incapable of being anything but what I am and who I am.  This is not the norm, I’ve been told.  Most people act differently at first, try to be whoever the other person wants them to be.  Yeah, I get that to a certain degree, but it seems like this is a trend that lasts weeks, or even months.  Don’t you get tired of being someone else?  Sounds exhausting to me.

I am SO glad I didn’t jump from one thing to another.  I ALMOST did, but looking back now, god am I glad.  Singledom isn’t awful.  Sure, it’s lonely sometimes, but is lonely all bad?  It’s when you’re alone that you learn the most about yourself.  Like, I’m talking authentic realizations.  So, you’ve been scrambling your eggs everyday for the last 6 years.... now you discover, you like overeasy eggs.  You don’t even LIKE scrambled eggs.  They’re too wet and awkward and hang out in mouth awkwardly too long like that creepy religious neighbor who always tries to convert you.  Just leave, please.  Would you have been able to discover that with your partner?  No.  WHY? Because you were stuck in the comfortable world of scrambled eggs.  No challenge there.  Just pop em in the pan, stick a spatula in there and eff em up a bit, then BAM. done.  But overeasy?  Oh, those suckas take effort.  

  

So, I decided to create a nice list, for those that are curious of DEAL BREAKERS and DEAL MAKERS for ALL of my future relationships.... friendships included.  

Deal Breakers:

1. Improper grammar.  Their, they’re, there... there’s a difference.  Oh, and spelling too.  Seriously? You can’t even spell “insane” right?  chances are, you’ll annoy the hell outta me.  Sorry, I need a little bit of intellectual stimulation.  I’m not talking rocket science here, just common knowledge, maybe a bit more.
2. Hoes in different area codes.  If your life resembles lyrics from pretty much any ludacris song = deal breaker.
3. Baby Mamas. Don’t get me wrong, I love kids, however, I’m at the age where I need to start asking “do you have any children?” Because pretty much every one is popping kids out left, right, and center.... but mostly center.  If you’ve got kids, that’s great! Awesome for you!  But I’m not really ready to be anybody’s stepmom.  So, unless there is a reallllyyyyy good reason as to why you have a child/aren’t with said baby mama, that’s currently a deal breaker for me.  
4. Crazy ass.  Yup, dealt with crazy stalkers that tracked my whereabouts before... and the truth is, I’m still recovering.  Honestly, if you are THAT insecure in yourself and/or our relationship that you have to stalk the livin bejebles out of me.... done. DEAL BREAKER.  

Deal Makers

1. Hilarious: I’m talking a combination of Adam Sandler (the late 90s Sandler), Chris Farley, Dane Cook (total perv= must), Noah Fielding, and Peter Griffin.  Stacked.   
2. Confident: Have confidence in who you are and what you’re capable of.  If you don’t believe it, no one else will.  Confidence is the sexiest trait in my book.  If you want something, go for it.  Be as great as you are.      
3. Challenging: Challenge me.  Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. But mostly physically.  Hahaahahhahaha. But for real.  What good is a partner if they don’t encourage you to be the best you can be?  Isn’t that the point of having a partner in life?  Oh no, that's right.  It's scrambled eggs.  Put your fork down.   
4. Suave.  If you’ve ever had a REAL conversation with me, you know who my dream man is, Denzel. Mmm.  He’s just so suave, so smooth, so perfect.

Yes, I am aggressive.  That’s a turn on for some, a turn off for others.  Some like submissive girls.  Sorrrrry. Not my style.  I know that I am a damn good wife.  If I love you, I’d do anything for you, not because I have to, but because I want to.  If I love you (yes, I’m talking to YOU), you know my language.  I’m not playing this game.  And those of you that are, what a waste!  Why waste your time, your energy, and your love on someone who isn’t even a good match?  Ahhh. So frustrating.  

So, what happens when you meet someone exactly like you?  Someone who thinks like you, shares the same views religiously and politically, who is on exactly the same page you’re on (even if you’ve skipped a few chapters)?  What happens if you meet someone who challenges you, yet values you?  Someone you share ridiculous inside jokes with but whom you can also share the fears and depths of your soul?  Someone who brings out the best in you.... someone you look forward to hearing from?  What happens then?   

Someday I’ll find someone that loves me for everything I am.  Who knows, maybe I already have? Hmmm.... guess we’ll all find out someday.  But no rush. What is meant to be will always find its way... but you’d be crazy to think that I’m just gonna sit back and assume it's gonna happen.  Silly rabbit.   

The Backstreet Boys called...they asked you to quit playing games with my heart.  Just sayin’.   

Penitent

So, I had a bad day.  Wish I could pin point it, but I can’t.  My job gets to me sometimes... I love the people I work with and the company I work for, but my job still annoys the hell outta me sometimes. I get so stressed, so invested.  I got bad news today that I wouldn’t be able to go to a concert with one of my friends in NYC because of halloween at work. So of course that pissed me off.  The clients were particularly finicky this afternoon and my usually supportive best friend ignored me all day, which you KNOW is gonna piss me off too.  WAHHHH.... 

Anyway... I came home and wined to my roomies who listened, because they are friggin angels.... no, actually, I take that back.  I think I bring excitement to their lives.  Who needs Grey’s Anatomy when you can relive all of my dramatic moments?  Oh boy.  Oh well.  They love it, I’m pretty sure.  

When I’m stressed, I either workout, cook, write, or eat.  I already had pumpkin ice cream with Becca and the gym closes at 8, so that really leaves one other option: write.  So, I decided to finish a story I started a while back.  All writers write from what they know... well, much of what I know is pain and confusion... and trust me, this story did not deviate from those feelings.  WHY AM I SO DEPRESSING YOU ASK!? Well, if you’ve met me in person, I’m actually a happy-go-lucky, pretty fun girl!  But I’m not retarded.  I’ve lived a rather interesting life full of complete and total crazy drama... it’s like a lifetime movie, no joke.  ANYWAY... every experience, whether good or bad, has taught me to be more thankful for each moment, because life is short, time is precious, and memories are beautiful reminders of a life LIVED.    

anyway... the following short story (wicked short, might I add) is based on an inner battle fought by children of prisoners.  It’s a careful articulation of the feelings of shame, guilt, and remorse felt and experienced from the “other side”.  

Penitent 

I didn’t stay in contact with him as much as I should have.  I’d make excuses about how my life was so busy and I couldn’t possibly find the time to write or visit.  But that wasn’t the truth.  How long does it take to write a letter?  Five or ten minutes?  Not even a quarter of an hour to let the man know I was doing okay.  I knew how much prisoners coveted letters.  Then why?  Why did I not take time to reassure him of my happiness?  

Was it shame... or fear?  Perhaps both.  

He wasn’t the only one that suffered at the hand of the .22 that night.  Because of his choices, we all suffered.  I was the one there holding the family together, when all he did was tear it apart.  I held my mother’s hand at my grandmother’s funeral.  I walked my sister down the aisle.  I taught my little brother how to throw a baseball.  It could have been him.  It should have been him.  At ten-years-old, I became a man. I took his role, not because I wanted to, but because I had to.  

How could I forget the torture my siblings and I endured at school?  Kids can be so cruel.  I’d hear them whisper ‘that’s the crazy man’s son’ as I’d walk by.  One little asshole even got the courage to challenge me.  “What are you gonna do, kill me like your daddy did?”  I laid that fucker out.  He never bothered me again.  None of em did. 

I glance up at him.  He’s dressed in the suit he wore to his sentencing twenty years before.  It’s gray.  Not the dark and sophisticated gray business men appreciate, but a dull pewter hue you’d see peddlers on the street wearing.  Regardless of his 

archaic attire, he looks good.  The puffiness and redness from years of alcohol abuse have long since descended from his cheeks.  Forty pounds down with chiseled arms and a salt and pepper beard, he looks like a completely different man.  So much so, that if I saw him on the street, I may not recognize him.  But today, I know who he is.  I know what he is.  And regardless of the years I’ve had to work it through my mind, I still don’t know what to make of him.  

It’s frustrating.  It’s embarrassing.  Why am I even here?  When I was 8, I got suspended from school for kicking another kid between the legs.  He started it.  He told me my ninja turtle t-shirt was stupid.  Poor kid didn’t stand a chance.  One kick and down he went.  Of course, the teachers didn’t appreciate my t-shirt either, because I got suspended.  And where was my father when I was crying in the principal’s office?  I have no idea, because he never came to pick me up.  He left me to wallow in misery alone.  Other fathers would have turned this situation into a learning opportunity, but not mine.  Instead, he just acted like it never happened.  I could have followed suit when it came to him, but I didn’t... and in this moment I’m not sure why.

For years, I acted like nothing even happened.  I was fatherless, but it was okay.  I didn’t talk about him.  Much to my mother’s dismay, I didn’t go to therapy to discuss my feelings.  It wasn’t real to me.  None of it was.  

The only photo I had was of him holding me as a baby.  I kept it in a shoebox under my bed.  When I was 10, it was hidden under soldier figurines and comic books.  Years later, it was wedged between Playboy magazines and college acceptance letters.  It made it with me to my fraternity house and somehow made it out as well.  It was there with me as I worked my way through medical school.  As the phases of my life changed, the photo stayed the same.  I never replaced it with updated photos he’d send me from cultural days held at the prison or other photos my aunt would forward along.  Keeping the other photos would be admitting the truth.  The man in that photo was a father.  The man he was after that was not.   

The judge orders him to stand.  It’s finally time... the verdict.  After twenty years and two failed parole attempts, the time has come.  Parole granted.  Five years of his sentence diminished.  He’s free.  I can feel the color drain from my face.  This has to be a joke.  I watch as he stands, his lawyer shakes his hand, then he turns toward my direction.  I look away.  What do I do?  I can feel him looking at me as he makes his way across the courtroom.  When I finally get the courage to look up, he’s in front of me.  Our eyes meet and he smiles softly.  The wrinkles around his eyes are deep and defined.  Although he lookers harder than ever before, there’s an air of gentleness about him.  

“Son,” he says.  I hesitate with a response.  

“Dad,” I reply in acknowledgement.  I examine him carefully.  After several long moments of pause, he clears his throat.  He’s nervous.  He reaches out his hand as if he’s greeting a complete stranger, which doesn’t deviate far from the reality of our current situation.  

“Thank you,” he says as he takes my hand.  His words cut through me, stinging the taste buds of guilt and shame on my tongue.  I am without words.  I nod at him and release his hand, then turn to walk away.  With each step I take, I can feel the sense of relief ascend from underneath years of built up pain and  resentment.  As much as I want him to stop me, he lets me go.  For the last time, he lets me go and for that I’m grateful.

What I Love About Fall

Evidently, I know how to throw a party.  

Friday, September 30th, I celebrated my Independence with 35 incredible people.  Wahooo.  Yes, I threw myself a party... because I’m an independent woman and I can do things like that. But yeah... it was a really, really, really, really good time.  If anyone didn’t have a good time, it was because they were either being responsible for someone else, or they weren’t invited. Ouch.  But I had a great time!! WAHOOO. Thank you to all of those that came. For real, y’all are so much fun! LET’S RECAP.  Dinner with some of my favorites.  Then taking over Three Tides “We’ve heard of a Sonja...”.... yeah, that’s never good. hahaha. Thanks to my bocci partner for setting it up so I won! You’re the best! Thanks for all the drinks that were bought for me (and stolen by me, sorry Eb, I had no idea) as well as all the dance partners and escorts on the walk back (I wish I knew who Scott was, or I’d bring him to you...ahahhaa).  Oh, and my little brown baby that keeps creepin on me. 80s Dance Party at the Lookout. BAHAHAH. Who knew Belfast could be so much fun?! And a special thanks to my roomies, bestie, Bee Eff Eff, and favorite neighbor for putting up with me at all times, even when you don’t want to.

Needless to say, Saturday and Sunday were very low key.  All I did was sleep, read, write, cook, shop, and clean.  Oh, I went for a run too! 5 miles! BAM!  Now I’m listening to country music, which explains my mood... VERY low key.  Normally I’m bustin out the dirty rap music to get me pumped for the week, but not today.     

What I Love About Fall

This is my first fall in Maine since 2008! Holy mother lover, that’s a long time.... at least it feels that way.  Let me tell ya, I love Maine in fall.  I kinda love summer too.  Actually, if I could live here from June through October, that’d be perfect.  I know, I sound like a little old lady.... With my activities the last two days, you would think I’m about 70 years old....   which I’m actually really excited for... wheelchair races, switchin people’s teeth, wearing bright spandex pants and no one judges you.... livin the dream.   

OKAY. Back to my top 10 reasons why fall is perfect.  Becca, my FAVORITE ROOMIE (sorry Dr. Phil, but you know its true), helped me out with this one. SO. LET’S GET IT GONE.

Comenzar con el número diez. 

10. Football. Okay, so, let me explain myself.  I don’t even understand football.  But both of my little brothers play football and I try really really REALLY hard to understand it.  I finally understand what “First Down” means. TRIUMPH! So even though I don’t understand it (kinda like poker, yet my Dad plays professionally), it’s one of my favorite parts of fall because I like watching my boys have a good time. 


9. Fall scented everything.  Sweet baby buddha, fall smells delicious.  I love it all, but my personal favorite are candles: autumn leaves, spiced pumpkin, macintosh apple, cloves... I could go on and on... mmm.  


8. CHRISTMAS IS COMING. Need I say more? 


7. Fall Shows! Wahoo! All my favorite shows are back!  Including Grey’s Anatomy, Modern Family, The Office, Community, House, and CSI. But my FAVE, Lie To Me, was cancelled!? SAY WHAT!? Tim Roth is incredible. How does that happen, yet ANTM is on it’s 17th season?! (btw, Laura’s got it this time). Oh well.  Now, if only Game of Thrones was on this fall, my life would be complete.  Who am I kidding. I can barely follow a single one of these shows. Between work, gym, cooking, blogging, and dancing around my apartment, I barely have time for tv.... but I like to have the option. and boy oh boy do I. FINALLY. Drama that is not my own, right Derek? ;)  


6. Skeletons, ghosts, bats, witches, uh, HALLOWEEEEN. DUH. I’m a retarded girl.  I HATE scary movies because they scare the shit outta me.  HOWEVER, I LOVE WATCHING THEM.  Why, you ask? God, I don’t even know.  But halloween is exactly the same, but It’s so much fun. The grim reaper, haunted houses, fog, big scary trees, monsters, vampires (that don’t sparkle, please), and dressing up like pirates, bumble bees, and the cast of mario kart. What ISN’T there to love about halloween?          


5. The Farm. Apple picking and corn mazes!!!!! Apple Cider. Hay Rides. OH.EM.GEE. I know I’m 24 and I shouldn’t enjoy these things, but I do.  Don’t judge.  Actually, go ahead and judge, doesn’t really bother me, because I’ll be off riding ponies through the field having a dandy time, while you’re sitting here hanging out with your grandma, playing checkers drinking metamucil before bed. 


4. Fall clothes.  Fall fashion season is my favorite. Jeans (flares are back, friends!!!), boots, light sweaters, blazers, leggings, little hints of lace.  Not to mention that Native American styles are SO IN for fall 2011 (that means I default to being awesome just because I have brown skin, NICE), as are plunging necklines and sexy leather harnesses. MEOW.  


3. PUMPKINS.  Becca LOVES pumpkins.  As a matter of fact, she grew pumpkins this year, which is pretty amazing! I’ve never cared too much for gardening, but I pretended for Becca’s sake.... but I have to tell you, it’s pretty rad to watch stuff grow. ANYWAY... we love pumpkins. Carving them, eating, them, looking at them, lighting them on fire, throwing them at cars. Pumpkins are awesome. 


2. Food. Baking. Cooking. Oh dear lord. Thanksgiving. Turkey. Pumpkin pie. Stuffing. Cranberry sauce. Mashed potatoes. GRAVY. Green bean casserole. Sweet potato pie. Turnips. Squash. Parsnips. Ham. Deviled eggs. Those little onions Bob Dow likes. nom nom nom. OH BOYYYY. 

AND TIED FOR Numero UNO.....

1. Foliage and the tourists leave.  Yes, I said it.  Tourists.  What the hell are you doing in Maine anyway? I know we have awesome lobster, moose, and patchouli that seems to bring y’all by the boatload, but please, if you visit, at least PRETEND you aren’t a complete and total weirdo.  And goooooood lord, learn to drive. and walk. and pronounce.  It’s BANG-OR, not BANG-ERRRR.  ANYWAY.... back to the list.  Leaves die in the fall.  Watching those mofos suffer is a joy to behold each fall.  For real, there’s nothing like fall in Maine.  Racking leaves, jumping in them, then having to rack them again...(why don’t I ever remember this BEFORE I jump in them... idk).  But really, one of my favorite things to do during the autumn season is drive around, blasting michael jackson and looking at the changing colors.  It’s such a good reminder that although one thing must die to make room for something new, it’s still beautiful amidst the change.  Kinda like life.

That’s all I’ve got, kids. Let me know what you think!  Thanks for tuning in!

I’m starting a new trend at the bottom of each blog.... here it is:

Obsessed: Jenna Marbles and “Fancy” perfume by Jessica Simpson

Chef: Black Eyed Peas, Green Bean Casserole, and Rice Krispy Treats

Jam: “Dedication To My Ex” by Lloyd & Andre 3000