They say it takes half the total time you went out with someone to get over them. It took me one third. Two years and two months out of my relationship with M, I've finally gone numb to the whole experience. It happened rather suddenly, at least to my perception, but I really have no pain left to feel for that loss. It feels like three lifetimes ago, but on lonely nights it still caused a sting, until now. I realized it on the bus. I was listening to songs that normally would have made me think of him, but this time it occurred with such indifference in my mind that you would have thought that I was remembering an event I witnessed rather than experienced. It's strange, I'd let the heartbreak define me for so long that it was both sad and liberating when I realized it was over. I honestly no longer care. I no longer care whose fault it was. I no longer care why he cut me out of his life. And I've known for quite some time that I was never meant to end up with him anyway.

I'm reminded of an event that happened not that far from The End that now screams so loud with intuition that I can't believe I ignored it back then. It was my 23rd birthday. He has taken me on a vacation to the florida keys...paradise. We had been talking for almost a year about getting engaged and I was certain it would happen during the trip. So when he suggested a sunset cruise for the evening of my 23rd, I had a good idea of where things were headed...but something happened. Once on the boat, my entire Being started screaming that it wasn't where I wanted to be. I avoided eye contact, changed all subjects, and did everything in my power to keep him from pulling out a diamond ring. I even cried. When he asked me what was wrong, I blamed it on a quarter life crisis, worries that I wasn't doing what I was supposed to with my life...I even nearly convinced myself that's what it was. But it was all about us. I had had doubts for so long about us, but in the past year he'd nearly convinced me to put those fears aside...and for the most part I did, but there was still something in me clawing at the walls, needing a way out. It wasn't him, there was nothing wrong with the way he treated me...it was me. There was a me I didn't even know existed trying to climb her way to the surface. She was like a planted bulb desperate to bloom, but unable to because he was blocking all of her sunlight. Thank God he left me, or I never would have seen her flower.

Labels: break ups, enagements, relationships

Today I received a cat-call via myspace. The message's subject simply read 'You are gorgeous!' What was inside the message is inconsiquential, what caught my attention was that adjective: gorgeous. I realized that this seems to be a trend with the type of men that find me attractive; They all find me 'gorgeous.'

I'm not sharing this information as a brag, in fact I'm well aware of the fact that my beauty is an acquired taste and I'm not what you would call conventionally attractive. However, to the men that find me so it's never 'beautiful,' never 'pretty,' never 'stunning,' but always 'gorgeous.' That was actually a nickname given to me by a previous love.

This has to say something about the 'type' of guys that I tend to attract. So let us dissect it's meaning...

Webster's:

gor·geous
Pronunciation:\ˈgȯr-jəs\
Function:adjective
Etymology:Middle English gorgeouse, from Middle French gorgias elegant, perhaps from gorgias wimple, from gorge throat
Date: 15th century

: splendidly or showily brilliant or magnificent

Rather grand, wouldn't you say? Perhaps it shows that it takes a sort of intellect to find me attractive. I mean after all, it's not 'hot' or 'foxy.' These men have a larger vocabulary than that, which is promising.

The word also seems to make a throw-back to earlier times [of which I am a fan]. After all, it was Babs [Barbara Streisand] herself who looked into the mirror in Funny Girl and uttered 'Hello, Gorgeous' back in 1968.

So this information brings me to one of two conclusions:

1. the men who find me attractive are of a higher intellect than most and, like me, fans of vintage phrases, sayings and styles,

or

2. they're gay.

Interesting.

A year and three months post-trauma and I still feel the after shock of that war. It baffles me how I can feel so at peace and so much happier with my life without him and yet have these intense moments of grief. I know with every fiber of my being that I don't want him back in my life romantically. We fit together perfectly on an emotional level, but our lives were two pieces that couldn't be forced together. Staying with him would have meant that I'd never achieve the future that I wanted. Would it have still been happy? Sure. But ultimately, it wasn't what I wanted.

That being said, I think I've finally found out what I'm grieving over: the loss of his friendship. For whatever reason, no matter how hard I try, we'll never be a part of each other's lives again. I don't know if it's just too hard to forget the hurt or if his wife is simply too insecure and controlling, but I cannot find a way back into his life even in the most platonic sense. I'd love to say that we caught up at lunch once a month or that I could still call him with good news, but I can't. Even if he says I could, his actions speak otherwise. And that is what hurts the most of all.

I'll admit it, I do feel my loneliest when there's snow on the ground and no place to go.

These are the days I miss having someone to shared my bed. And I think I know why...because this is really the first time that's been missing. Winter seems to be the season that I attract love most. That sounds strange, but if a relationship is going to start up for me, it's usually during the holiday season. Actually, the longest relationship I ever had officially started in spring, but even that one's main flirtations began just before Christmas.

Last year was the sociopath [and no, that's not an exaggerated description] who literally came over to spend Christmas evening with me after only two dates.

This year's different. Quieter. Don't get me wrong, as seen in my last entry I actually enjoy it most of the time. But some days I find myself feeling the need to create something out of nothing just to have someone warm to wrap up with on a cold, snowy weekend.

That's all.

Oh, the holidays. From the first bite at Thanksgiving to that last piece of chocolate at Valentine's day, supposedly the winter months are the worst time of year to find yourself single. Common opinion would have any single girl desperate to find someone to share in all the festivities and family functions, regardless of who this companion may be. Not me. Frankly, I find myself reveling in my single status this year. I've never felt more clear in my thoughts or more loved in my life as I do spending this holiday season alone. And here's why:

1. Family
The main focus of the holidays is often overlooked while in a relationship. My past experiences in relationships have often even made my family the enemy, an obstacle to overcome in the quest for happily ever after. I'm not saying my loved ones were ever out and out opposed to my relationship, but their support has often wavered over the years. However, in the absence of that added holiday stress of defending my significant other, I'm able to appreciate the love that surrounds me on a daily basis year round. After all, family is Love's safety net; you may not always need it, but it's good to know that it's there.

2. Friends
While always a constant in my life, my friends are particularly important to me this holiday season. No longer are they my back up for events that the boyfriend is unable to attend, they are the loves of my life. And with no coupled obligation to shower each other with gifts, I am free to treat my loves with the presents they are worth.

3. Food
I love holiday food. Correction, I love my family's holiday food. This year, not only do I not have to share in any of these delicious dinners, but I also do not have to endure dinners of a foreign nature. I always hated the trip to the significant other's side of the family where the turkey was dry and everything smelled of cigarettes, yet I was still obligated to feign enjoyment. This year, my holiday season is flavored with only the comfort foods I know and love and no politely picking at lesser fare.

4. Presents
I know this is selfish, but last year's holiday season [my first single in many years] proved that the gifts for the single girl are bigger and better. I'm not sure if this is because my family takes pity on my solo status or if I'm simply seen as a child until marriage is rounding the corner, but whatever the reason I'll take it. Granted, last year was also coinciding with a move to a new apartment which explains a combining of gifts for both occasions, but I suspect that this year will be equally as plentiful. After all, no one's assuming the in laws will be giving me gifts as well.

I've always been a fan of fortune telling. Ouija boards, astrological charts, and Tarot cards were abundant at gatherings with girlfriends from the age of eleven on. Like most young girls, I secretly hoped that these pseudo-magical past times would lead me to love. Logically, even pre-teen girls realize that twisting the stem off an apple probably won't tell you your lover's initial, but it's still fun to try.

As I grew older, the obsession continued to grow into more expensive and 'professional' outlets. I paid to have my palm read, my tarot cards laid out, and even for a conversation with my angels. For the most part, these readings were dead on. Sitting across the table from these eccentric women, I've had crushes predicted, engagement attempts foreseen, and unplanned trips confirmed. All of these predictions were exciting, enticing, and unsettling all at the same time, but I never thought that a psychic would also be the source of the best advice I've ever received.

I didn't even like her. For years, I'd been stopping at fair booths and new age store fronts to pay strangers who would proceed to tell me all of my dreams would come true. This woman did nothing of the sort. I was on vacation in Australia and had left behind a rocky relationship with a boy whom I desperately wanted to believe was my soul mate. We had everything in common, complete with matching plans for a future living in New York City, but despite my best efforts, everything was going wrong. I needed hope. I needed to know that we would get past this and live happily ever after like my heart believed. So I went to a clairvoyant to have my needs met.

I'd barely sat down before she described the boy back home to perfection, right down to his crooked teeth and short stature. I became excited. This woman was about to confirm my destiny with my soul mate...

"It's not going to work out."

That's it. Six words, said with such cold realism that I immediately began to shut down, wanting to dismiss her every word. But thankfully, a part of me stayed open. She began to tell me that this boy was lying to me and that deep down I realized it [I did]. When I tried to change the subject to something I hoped would be more positive [my career, my friendships...anything] she said that nothing in my life would prosper as long as he was around [she was right]. I argued with her, told her that I wanted him to be the One for me and she said, with her trademark stoicism:

"You're acting desperate and YOU are NOT desperate."

And there it was. That statement took a while to fully sink in, but months later, after I'd gotten rid of the liar and started to sort my life out, it came back into my mind. I realized that this observation was not only true about that relationship, but about every relationship that came before it. I had a distinct pattern of feeling so grateful that anyone was paying attention to me that I never stopped to ponder whether or not they were worthy of my attention.

So now I do. Not just with men, but with everyone I consider letting into my life, I first evaluate their worth. I've surrounded myself with a select group of really amazing people so there's no need to be desperately grasping for every potential mate that looks my way. But one day I'll find someone truly worthy of a place in my life...and that will be the real magic.

I'm a fan of boys. Really, I am.

It's been easy to become a bit jaded over the past year towards the opposite sex, but the other night I had a small encounter that revived the girl in me.

It was nothing, really. An evening with a boy, whom I will probably never see again [and that's ok], but I was attracted to him. He's a friend of a friend of a friend and absolutely nothing remarkable happened that evening, but I'm simply excited that I finally found myself interested in someone, if only for the evening.

No, strike that, what I'm really excited about is that, despite my interest, I refused to resort to my normal desperation.

See, here's the thing, I'm a people pleaser. Parents. Teachers. Peers. Bosses. But especially boys I like. Which seems like it would be a good thing, but ultimately, it's not.

Here's the scenario [and it's happens every time]: I'm a shy girl, always have been. So whenever I find myself intrigued by a certain boy, my routine has been to try my hardest to get him to notice me without actually striking up a conversation. This little dance usually includes the overt hinting that I would be the perfect sort of girl for him. Now, I'm secure enough that I never out and out lie about my interests or capabilities, but I'm an actress, I give 'em what they want. If I can see they're more into the girly girl, I'll give them my girlish giggles. He likes his women low key? I've got that too.

To a certain extent, I think everyone does this during the courting dance. However, I've been known to do it to the point of exhaustion. I'll let one misjudgement of what a guy is looking for occupy my thoughts for hours, sometimes days.

But not anymore.

That's actually one of the glorious side effects of falling in love with your life [and with yourself], suddenly the opinions of others really and truly don't matter as much. AND the thought of having a boyfriend becomes a debate about whether or not said person is really great enough to give up your soul possession of the bed/remote/apartment/etc. Trust me, after almost seven years of sharing, you become rather selfish once you remember what it feels like to be in total control.

Anyway, back to the boy. He was cute, intriguing [even despite some rather unsavory boyish bragging] and my immediate reaction was to try to show him what a perfect girl I could be. To agree with him every time he spoke and to be fun and flirtatious. This, I did not do. Instead, I simply treated him like I would any of my male friends. I laughed when he was funny. I expressed annoyance when I felt it. And I ultimately stopped worrying about what he might think of me.

The result? I had fun. I felt comfortable. And even though nothing happened, I'm not still thinking about what I could have done to make him notice me. Either I attract your attention or I don't. End of story. Take me or leave me exactly as I am.

I have a cat.

Yes, I am that much of a cliche: A single, working girl, living alone in a city apartment [and I use the term 'city' very loosely] with a solitary cat.

In my better moments, I feel like Holly Golightly.

At my worst, I feel two kittens short of sad and crazy.

Tonight, I was perhaps a bit of both.

Admittedly, I adore my little Zooey cat. The single girl cliche exists for a reason, pets do help to ease the pains of living alone. When I'm bored, she provides entertainment, when I'm cold, she cuddles [probably more for her own benefit than mine], and when I'm sad, she comforts [or maybe that's the crazy talking]. Tonight, she taught me something.

It was because she wanted her food bowl re-filled. Having had a long day of lounging around the cozy, heated apartment while the rest of the world braved the brisk fall wind, she was understandably famished. She sought me out, stared up at me with those big, green eyes and let out a single meow. At this, I became overwhelmed with the urge to not just pick her up and hold her, but to squeeze her in a hug that stopped just shy of suffocating. I was suddenly the Abominable Snowman from Looney Tunes, I wanted to hug her and squeeze her and call her George. OK, so maybe not that last part, but I needed to hold her, simply because I could.

Isn't it funny how caring for something allows you to feel a sort of ownership over it? I imagine my urge to suddenly show affection to my cat is but a fraction of what a new parent feels looking at their child: the idea that you created this being and therefore should have every right to random attacks of suffocation. I know from experience that it's similar to the emotion felt in a romantic relationship.

That has always been one of the emotions that marvels and excites me, the idea that, once you've reached a certain stage of togetherness with another person, you can pretty much reach out and touch them whenever you wish. And I'm not just talking about the more intimate touches, I'm talking about even something as small as reaching over and touching their nose. Think about it, when else is it socially acceptable to feel you have the right to invade another human being's space as you do your own pet's? It still baffles me and gives me immense pleasure to know it is my right as the girlfriend to reach out whenever I wish and touch whatever I want [within reason, but honestly, how many guys would object to any of it?]. It is both disturbing and liberating, the rights we allow one another under the contract of love, but really, when you're sharing saliva on a daily basis what else is off limits?

It's that lack of inhibition and boundaries that I miss often as a single girl. The need to reach out and touch strangers or embrace my fellow Target shoppers in a hug simply doesn't go over well in polite society.

So for now, I'll settle for my cat.
Just shoot me if I get any more and start referring to them as my children.

My computer was acting like a depressive on an episode: the slow movement, the inability to complete tasks once started, the inconvenient and irrational shutting down of the entire system during the most crucial part of the day...I couldn't take much more of this.

It started simply enough, I just wanted to delete a few unnecessary programs, install a few new ones, upgrade my antivirus software. But once in the programs list, I began to realize that I had no idea what anything on my computer actually did. Much like my life, the screen in front of me was an endless list of choices that I only knew how to deal with by trial and error. Unlike my life, with my computer I wasn't willing to take that risk. Too much money had been spent to inadvertantly turn it into a paperweight.

Now here's where the irrational part begins. Sitting there, in front of my pink Dell laptop wondering what step to take next, I began to sob. Not a frustrated, pouting sob, but an all-out waterworks of pain. My heart was breaking over an inanimate object and I had no idea why.

And then it hit me.

It wasn't about the computer at all, it was about my last relationship...my only real relationship ever. It had lasted almost 7 years and had ended [badly] just over a year before.

He was a computer expert. So in the past, any problem that had occurred in that area had been quickly and efficiently dealt with in a matter of minutes.

Apparently, while I had made peace with the larger issues of breaking up [i.e. the loneliness, the hatred of the new girl, the confusion over why love just disappears...], I had also transposed all that was left over into seemingly unrelated and insignificant areas, like my computer.

And actually, I found it rather fitting. My computer, like my life, was about to take on new tasks. It was in some ways new, but still contained much of the old information and habits. No matter how many new programs I uploaded into the system, there would always remain a few crucial basics that allowed the machine to function normally.

Basically, I could change certain aspect of my life, as I had done for the past year, but there were other areas which were required to remain with me; not because I wanted them, but because, ultimately I needed them to continue functioning. I'd become fiercely independent over the past year in an effort to prove that I didn't need a man to survive, but there still remained a part of me that wanted to need someone. The romantic in me wouldn't die no matter how many viles of Romeo's poison I fed her. But maybe that was a good thing. Perhaps my idealist nature towards love was just part of my essential programing and without it, I would be nothing more than an expensive paperweight.

adventures in love & heartbreak with single girl
Alice She Helm.

October 2008, November 2008, December 2008, January 2009, December 2009,

Designer: infravermelho
Codes: mannequin}