Here We Go

It's the eve of my 28th birthday and I have no one to celebrate with except my cat...who is currently preoccupied with her dinner and couldn't care less about celebrating the day I arrived on this earth. Such is life.

27 has been strange. More ups and downs in the past six months than I could ever recall in years prior. I keep telling myself you need the bad to appreciate the good, but the bad hurts sometimes. And lately, it hurts a lot. It's a dull, lonely pain that stings most when I am alone. Which these days, is a lot.

I shouldn't be so mopey. I'm incredibly lucky to have a home, a car, a family, some money in my savings account, a job, travel plans booked and ready for take-off. And while all of that is great and wonderful - none of it matters when you don't matter to anyone. Or a particular someone.

I think about him every day. I dream about him every night. It's not on purpose and I feel like a but of a psycho but it's not that kind of thought or yearning or obsession. There's no particular thought or feelings that accompanies his presence on my mind - he's just there. And I'm not sure why.

I'm a little nervous for 28. It's the first year in a loooooong time I am entering alone -  I'm not sure I'm ready for the trek but here we go...such is life.

Summer Pains

It had to happen this way. The seven year itch stung me hard and I threw my inhibitions to the wind on a gamble I knew wouldn't end well. Now I'm stuck in a torturous replay of the past 60 days, recounting every mistake I made and realizing how my own shortcomings made me end up alone.

I'll back up a bit so you can catch up.

I've always been in a relationship. I'm just that kind of girl. I meet a boy, I like a boy and boom - my life is devoted to that boy. Not solely devoted mind you - I'm still a very independent person with my own job and finances and family life...but I've always found myself in a relationship. A security I didn't realize I held so dear until my boyfriend of seven years and I split. My choice, my mistake.

There had been waves of unhappiness throughout the years. Me wondering if there was someone out there I would have more passion with. A deeper connection with. My relationship was fine. But fine wasn't good enough for me. I bought into the idea of true love and couldn't settle for "fine". I wanted more. And then I met a coworker.

I wasn't particularly attracted to him at first but somewhere during week two on the road I was smitten. He was so debonair I had to have him. We started texting and flirting and he called me his "set girlfriend". A joke that had truth to it as we both liked one another and wound up in each others hotel rooms getting acquainted. He knew I had a boyfriend and we both knew it was wrong to carry on the way we were but we let temptation get the best of us.

It was amazing to like someone like this again. The fresh excitement of a new relationship was a drug I couldn't get enough of. I was ready to run off and marry this man and we'd work out the nitty gritty details of life along the way. Mistake number one.

I got ahead of myself. And I'm fairly certain it scared him away.

Wanderlust Wonderland

Sometimes I think about selling my possessions and traveling abroad for months on end...But then I snap back to reality and realize that is a ridiculous thought. 

What would I do for money? How would I afford such a lifestyle? Who would take care of my cat? Once those realities set in I reconsider the insane thought. 

But the other day I came across Albert Einstein's definition of insanity. 

"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." 

Suddenly I realized, maybe ditching my life for an adventure wouldn't be so insane after-all. What's truly nuts is the mundane routine of my life. 

- Wake up at 7am (ish)

- Tidy up the apartment 

- Shower 

- Put on makeup, fix my hair 

- Pick out an outfit (A.K.A. Wardrobe Typhoon in my room) 

- Pack a lunch 

- Love up my cat before heading out the door 

- Drive in ridiculous traffic to work (Seriously Los Angeles, invest in some decent public transportation!) 

- Work 

- Drive home in ridiculous traffic (See note above) 

- Run 

- Make dinner 

- Love up my cat before heading to bed

- Bedtime 

BORING. 

While I have a few vacations to look forward to in the coming months, I can't help but wish I was brave enough to ditch the comforts of a normal life and live day-to-day as if seeing the world was my full-time job. 

It's exciting and dangerous (in a good way, not the fear for my life kind of way) and something I think would make me very happy. 

But then another reality sets in...the awareness that I'm not that kind of person. I don't often throw my inhibitions to the wind. I like having a plan. I like knowing a paycheck is coming. Though there's nothing wrong with that (I'm bias, of course) I find it depressing to know how much solace I take in routine.

I will continue to lust for adventure. And someday...I will continue to tell myself. Someday I will be sane enough, and brave enough, to do it. 

Not My Type.

When I was growing up there was simply skinny and fat. Sure over the years fat became preamble to a myriad of configurations;  plus size, chubby, curvy, obese, voluptuous, full-figured, etc. But skinny was skinny. Or so I thought.

I never realized how many versions of skinny there was until I moved to Los Angeles. And even then, it took me nearly two years to realize I'm not skinny.

We've created so many categories for our bodies that I don't know what I am. In fact, "skinny" might be an extinct word at this point.

Triangle? Tall? Pear? Hour-glass? Straight? Let's just shout out random shapes, fruits, words and objects and see if your body looks like it! That's basically what body-typing has become.

According to my boyfriend I am "athletic". Which for a 5'10" woman who prefers jeans to skirts and struggles daily with being feminine is the exact opposite of what I want to hear. Being athletic is not sexy, it's not dainty, it's not girly. It's muscular and masculine...and a quick google search showed it also means I have no butt and no boobs. Great. I don't want to be athletic. I want to be skinny!

I don't even know how I got this body-type. Genetics I suppose, though neither of my parents (or extended family for that matter) are very sporty. We like being outside, but no one is out running marathons or participating in tournaments. I'm not a fitness nut. Two miles is about my max for a run. And though I try to eat healthy, you certainly won't find my in the aisles of Whole Foods or on a weekly juice cleanse.

I used to love my body. And sometimes I still do. In fact, most of the time I don't mind it until I start comparing it to the tiny people in my life...and again, being 5'10"- there's a lot of tiny people in my life.

In a world (and a city) that works hard to define you...I've forgotten to define myself. And once I did, I was amused and invigorated by my discovery:

I am strong. I AM skinny.

A Modest Realization

I had a realization the other day that explained so much of myself...to myself. You see, I'm the type of person who likes to be good at everything. Not just good, the best. I bust my butt to think harder, do better and excel above any competition seemingly in my way. For the most part I think it's a good trait, though in this latest self-revelation I find perhaps it's working negatively in some aspects of my life.

I have strong opinions on NOT getting married and NOT having children. I generally attribute that line of thinking to being raised as an independent career-focused woman. And of course I'm sure there's underlines of emotional damage from my parents divorce [but who doesn't have a little underlying parental damage?]. I digress...

I realized perhaps part of my hesitation for a nuclear life is the mass competition I face. There's no way I would be the best wife or parent. I will inevitably fail in some way. There's just no working around it. And then I realized, maybe part of being a good spouse or a good parent is accepting failure; from myself and from those I love.

It's a tough pill to swallow - but I bet some modesty will help the medicine go down.

Options Without Answers

I didn't realize it until now, but I am lost.

I've spent the last few months in a whirlwind of work. It's in my bones to never say no to an opportunity, especially if that opportunity pays the bills. Now don't get me wrong - I am careful with my decisions; you won't see me on the street corner...at least not in the foreseeable future. What I mean is, so many doors of opportunity have opened for me and though I feel incredibly lucky to have such fortune, I am also starting to feel discontent in what I am doing here.

I have a goal and am trying my best to stay on track with said goal. I want to be something specific but I am still a few steps from where I want to be. I have no answers or google-map navigation to the correct path and I'm starting to feel overwhelmed with all the options.

I am at the point of my journey where every step I take matters. Each decision I make will take me down a different path that could be the right one, or it might be the wrong one. And as you might have guessed; only time will tell which choice was the right one.

I suppose all of life is this way. Everyone's choices are half chance.

At times like this I try to remind myself that there is a bigger plan, a plan I am not directly involved in. And I simply need to trust that plan and make the best possible moves in this game called life.

Your move.  

Decisions, Decisions: The Temptation of Options

My profession is very much like one of those choose your own adventure books. I am often faced with decisions that can only be made by me. And I hate that. Despite my yearning, wishing, pleading for a sign from the universe on what to do; nine times out of ten it comes down to me making the final call on my own life. A blessing and a curse in it's own right. I am lucky to be able to do with my life what I please, but sometimes it would just be easier if someone else would do it for me.

I made a decision this afternoon that I had been queazy about for two days. I made the call, accepted the offer and instantly regretted what I had done. Now I am stuck with the remorse and realization that I may have chosen the wrong path this time. My only choice at this point is to make the best of it.

I hope I did not make a mistake. But when life gives you lemons (or a job offer through August for a major cable network) you take them and make something great, right? Cheers.

A Domesticated Affair

I heard the other day that cats are the only domesticated animal that would revert to their natural instincts if released back into the wild. I'd like to think of myself being that way. That if for some reason this whole relationship thing went awry, I'd easily find my footing in the wilds of single-dom. [And based on the dating tragedies I've been exposed to over the last two years in this city; I would guess I'd be in it for the long haul.] 

The thing is, my boyfriend mentioned something along these lines awhile ago that made me profoundly sad. He said that if we were to break up - he thinks I'd move on just fine. Why is it I think of myself as a survivor yet hesitate for others to think the same of me? 

Is this a survival method in itself? To be exposed is to reveal my cards in this game called love. Do I want him to think I need him or do I really need him? Is it possible that I would be just fine without him? And if that's the case - why am I with him? For now I'll enjoy the luxury of our relationship, much like a house cat enjoys a day laying in the sun. [Pass the catnip, would you?] 

Familial Battleground

Each family member plays a role. Sometimes several, sometimes one. The most unfortunate of these roles of course is the role of the middleman. I have a lifetime of experience in this role as I'm sure many out there do. It is a sad role; one you can never truly be detached from for the part is played among the most fundamental of convictions - family.

It's impossible to describe to the fullest extent the pain it has caused me personally. And it would be stupid of me to offer advice on how to how to play this role for I, myself, have failed it miserably. The middleman's job is to be the intermediary, the go-between, the peacekeeper; and while I have perhaps prevented a few wars I find myself with no peace...and rather in a mess of confused pieces.

My role has shifted across the years. No battle less painful, no circumstance easier than the other. And while the situations and the scenarios and the settings change, I find myself permanently stuck right where I have always unintentionally landed.

I didn't ask for this role. Most wouldn't. Truly I don't think anyone wants to be a middleman. It's the hardest job and the most mocked. The least appreciated and the hardest fought. And while the sides of each perpetual feud exit the scene, they leave the battle scars behind. In the middle ground, in the middleman. A mess, scarred and torn. Sewn up, but never the same innocent quality as before.

Bending Pieces That Still Don't Fit

I spent the majority of my 25-year-old self feeling alone amongst those who surround me. As I enter my 26th year, it seems nothing has changed. I still don't fit, I still don't belong. These thoughts plague my mind and I can't seem to find that sense of belonging so many others hold with ease. I'm lonely. This is not what twenty-something lives should be.

Our twenties are our best years. (Right?) It's when we have the best times with the best folks and drink the best drinks and dance our asses off at the best bars. It's like college - but better. (Right?) This is the expectation I had and yet here I sit in my noisy lower-class neighborhood apartment in my ratty sweatpants listening to mopey 90's pop music because I can't find a job in my career field and I could only find a seasonal job I am overqualified and under trained for. Great. I'm sure Mom and Dad are proud.

I'm embarrassed of myself. I am ashamed and feel like a fool for believing life in California would be such a breeze. I was determined for success, prepared for the higher cost of living and ready to manage the small paychecks until I was able to move up to bigger things...but no paychecks at all was not part of the plan. The dream started off so great but now I am surrounded by the reality of dwindling hope.

This is about the time where your friends realize you need some help and swoop in to cheer you up, distract you from your misery and encourage you that things will indeed get better. [crickets chirping] Ah, yes. Friends. I don't have very many of those and of the few I have, I have few things in common with them anymore.

The old friends from high school years have all moved on to marriage, bills and babies. No thank you.
The new friends are hard to keep for long. They drift in an out depending on schedules, work location and dating status.

There is a big group of folks down here in Los Angeles we call our friends. Truly we all just share a few simple facts in common: We're originally from Washington State and we went to the same University...that does not a friend make. It's taken me awhile to realize the difference between friend and person-who-seems-like-they-could-and-would-be-a-friend-but-are-not... and with the help of multiple non-invites to events this group holds together, its fairly clear I am not their friend. We are friendly to one another, but not friends. There is a difference.

No one calls, no one texts, heck - they barely respond to Facebook events I try to plan. This is a new low - a very lonely low.

I can't blame them completely for the lack of interest in me as a human-being. Perhaps I'm not that interesting. I'll watch sports but I could care less about the stats or the 30-bomb of cheap beers on the coffee table that should be chugged upon touchdown or score. I don't like overly crowded places and I HATE having to circle the block eight times to find the cheapest of the overpriced parking lots. I also don't like staying up past midnight for no good reason...if nothings happening, I'm going to bed. Basically I am a 70-year-old woman trapped in a 20-somethings body (though I'm most certain the old woman would take much more advantage of this 20-something body than I currently am).

I don't know what I would rather be doing, I just know the above events don't interest me. I want to do grown up things with people who are genuinely nice. The group of LA folks are straight of out Mean Girls (I'd hate to see my page in their burn book, I'm sure it's not flattering). At this point, it's not even that I feel I don't belong, it's that I'm not even invited to the event where I will feel like I don't belong.

So there it is. Maybe I feel like I don't fit in simply because I don't.
Perhaps I am better matched with the 30-something crowd...or at least the 70+ crowd. Bingo! 

Humble Friday

I found myself thumbing through memory lane this evening as I organized photos from years gone by. The memories and curiosity led me on a massive online hunt for two friends I haven't seen or spoken to in about twenty years.

The first, my best/only real friend from kindergarden through maybe a few years of grade school (...the timeline is foggy). We weren't in the same class but we lived near each other and we'd often get together with our dad's for fun weekend outings.

The second, my best friend from middle school. We had a lot of fun and got into a little trouble together as we sorted our way through puberty. I admired her and looking back; I was definietly her awkward sidekick, though I didn't feel like it at the time. She was beautiful and cool and all the boys like her, plus she shopped at places like Nordstrom and always had the best name brands of clothing and shoes.

With a few memories like parent names and the area they lived - oh, and the Nexis account I still have access to for another week, I set out to track them down! My search results were limited...both women have all but zero existence on the internet and social media sites, google, linkedin, etc. This instantly had me thinking, "Was it me?" followed shortly after by, "No personal information available online, how DO you do that?!".

The few facts I was able to uncover saddened me greatly. I have no idea where or what my kindergarden pal is up to now but I did find that her mother passed away in 2005. One year before my friend would have graduated high school. My middle school friend has a mug shot listed with a few arrest records for multiple possessions of a controlled substance and DUI's. I don't know what happened to these women, but I hope they are OK.

I can't help but feel guilty that despite all the circumstances, the scenarios, the accusations whispered from others that I was the bad influence because I came from a broken home and the doubt placed upon my mother that her children would never amount to anything because we are "products of divorce"; how did I make the cut?

How am I the one that is OK?

It's an aha moment, that's for sure. I am so lucky. So blessed. So amazed that I somehow turned out OK- more than OK. I called my mother to ask her how we got so lucky...prayer, she said. I am so humbled the Lord protected me from what could have been. I don't deserve this good fortune but I am so grateful for the honor.

The Friend Fight

Last night we got into a fight. I instigated, he withdrew. And now I find I'm more confused about this relationship than ever before. We're changing, or at least one of us is. I'm not sure about us anymore...but to be fair, I was never sure about us. And I don't know how he feels because he is an empty heart.

It's funny I get upset with him for not being an open and honest book to those around him when here I am, keeping my feelings hidden from view because I don't think he'd understand and I'm scared to take the chance. 

The Dilemma: He's not the man he advertised himself to be and I'm not willing to settle for who he is now. 

I believe a man; a partner...should be connected in a way no friend or foe can break through or take away from. Last night I was shown I am not with THAT partner. Instead I am with a man...a boy really, who would prefer to make a mockery of my feelings with our mutual friends. That hurt. It hurt that he threw me under the bus and it hurt more to see the text messages and laughing at my expense. Mutual friend no more. 

I feel betrayed, ridiculed, sad, confused.
I can't wait until these feelings pass and I feel nothing. 

Confessions Of An Introvert

I was invited to dinner tonight but I said, "No, thank you" and then I have the nerve to come home, turn on some sad music and feel sorry for myself. I realize now this depression is a product of my own creation...but I can't help myself. 

It's odd how you can feel yourself slip in and out of moods. I feel myself diving into a sad puddle of solidarity and while I like to tell myself I should shake it off and be happy, there's something about going to a deep, dark place that I secretly revel in. It's me being 100% with me and it gives me a moment to think and be who I am verses who I think I am and who I think I need to be. 

Truth: I don't where where all my friends went. 
Honest Truth: I thought I was a social butterfly but come to think of it, I'm in bed by 9 and I'm probably not that much fun to be around anymore. 

Communication between one group of friends is almost entirely via my boyfriend. They are the sports watching, beer drinking lot that I enjoy...but not for every sporting event known to man! Communication with my old gang of friends from home has been interrupted by a continued (and seemingly never-ending!!) flow of children and marriages and lives that I simply can't identify with. I struggle to find things to talk about and can't stand when their children interrupt our conversations. (RUDE!) Work friends don't count, they're like family...kind of forced upon you. Not that I'm complaining, I enjoy most everyone at work and in my family. 

I don't get invited to many things anymore...and I don't blame anyone because after all, it's ME who's denying dinners and outings left and right. I wouldn't ask myself to go anywhere either. Part of my reasoning for the denial is I'm feeling broke...four hundred something bucks a week is tough to hang on to in this city of exorbitant monthly rent and bills. The other part is, I'm lazy. I'm tired after a 10-hour workday and don't have the energy most nights to do anything but feed my cat. I am the oldest 25-year-old I know. And yes, I do watch Jeopardy when I'm home in time to do so. 

....to be continued. It's sweatpants time. 

I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

I've spent my life trying to fit in with the stomach quenching feeling that I just don't. No matter how many blissful interactions occur between myself and my family, friends or coworkers...I can't escape the notion that I just don't quite mesh. Am I the only one in the world who feels this way? In some ways, I hope so. In others, I hope not. 

I am riddled with an anxiety that my insecurities are transparent to my external shell. Most of the time I keep it together and play along with whatever the majority rules but some days, like today, I crack under the pressure to be social when (gosh darn it) I just want to go home. 


As I grow older I find myself conflicted with settling for "who I am" OR making changes to be the "best me possible". Society doesn't help with it's conflicting campaigns for both. 

Who am I? What do I want out of life? I feel lost and I feel nothing all at the same time. 


I guess that's the curse of my indecisive nature. I will always play both sides of the fence. I will always question if the other choice would have been better. I will always overanalyze what I've said and think of the dozen ways I could have phrased it better or a clever joke I wish I had thought of fast enough. 

I am a mess. And for the sake of fitting in, I hope I'm not the only one.

Aging Disgracefully

I don't know her anymore. That girl who was first to plan a party and loved to dance the night away with friends, I don't know her. Suddenly I feel like an outside to my own self. 

Who Am I? 

The past few months I've felt like I've had a serious block in my brain, my personality, my life. My creative spark is gone. My zest for life is merely a memory. I can't seem to shake this dullness and I have no idea what it is that's causing this. Sometimes I think it's a depression. Sometimes I think it's my careless partner dragging me down into his dreary abyss. Sometimes I'm convinced it's just that time in life called "getting older".

I don't like my aged-self.  I want my old self back. 

Undesirable Candidate

Is it me? It has to be. 

I've applied for countless jobs and apparently am not right for any of them. I spend hours each week scanning position openings and perfecting my cover letter only to get the same old response: NO. I either do not receive a response or I open my inbox on a gorgeous Friday morning to read an email saying I've been [once again] rejected. There goes my good mood. 

At first it was disappointing but now it's getting depressing. 

I have a University degree and am working toward a second; I have several years of experience in my field PLUS a steady list of employers since 2007...why am I such an undesirable? 

I am unhappy with my current job. I feel stuck here and having no other option doesn't make it much better. These days (and with my control-freak mentality) it's tough (and frankly, stupid) to just pack up my things and move elsewhere, hoping I find something. I am grateful for the opportunities I have at my current workplace, but like all things, we must move on and I feel like it's time.

Apparently my future doesn't. 

The Art of Conversation

The world is full of talkers. They talk about anything and everything (and mostly themselves) and they can talk A LOT. Unfortunately what's been lost in the blah blah of this talking noise is what I'll refer to as, the art of conversation. Rarely do I find a person in my generational category who can carry on a decent conversation and it seems to only be getting worse. (As if that were possible.) These days its all about one-upping one another with a better story than the previous.  Or worse, it's listen to me, me, me talk about me, me, me and all the wonderful, amazing, *insert verb*, things I do. Me, Me, ME! My, my, MY! Blah, blah, BLAH! No questions, no comments- just right on to talking over whoever was brave enough to try and say something. It's a Darwinian-scheme of whoever can talk the loudest and the most, wins and quite frankly I threw in the towel before the starting gun even fired. 

A conversation, per my definition, is a shared discussion. Person A makes a comment where then Person B accepts the comment, adds a sentiment and shares another piece of commentary thereby passing the conversation back to Person A and repeat. The Merriam-Webster Dictionary backs my ideas about conversation  with it's definition: (1): an oral exchange of sentiments, observations, opinions, or ideas. Please note the word "exchange"; i.e. share. Passing the conversation back and forth and round and round we go. This my friends, is where my generation has completely missed it. We're not exchanging anything anymore, we're simply talking for the sake of warding off silence. 

Is silence our forbidden fruit? Because to be honest, I savor every moment of silence I can get in this busy, buzzing world and I suggest you do the same. 

To continue my point (and also negate it somewhat (...the irony)); I often find myself completely zoning out the majority of what someone is saying once it goes past my 30-second listening limit. I only offer the obligatory "oh"'s and "uh huh"'s to fake the person into believing I actually care what they're saying. And it's not that I'm above it....I just have no interest in whatever words you are throwing at me just to prove you know how to use words...and lots of them. 

My point is, if I'm zoning out on someone else's monologue then most certainly they are zoning out on mine. Why not just save everyone some time (and boredom) and just savor the silence. 

It's been one week and it still doesn't quite feel real.

Our family Patriarch passed away quietly at 2:50 a.m. on Sunday, December 11th and I'll miss him forever. He passed away from various health complications but kept his sharp wit and independent will right up until the end. He was a fighter, but the exhaustion caused by weeks of sleepless nights convinced him otherwise. He was a great man and I am grateful he was a part of my life.

I'll always remember or try to always remember:

1. His big ears. I remember as a child being at their home on the lake and they always had a bag of  Lays Original Potato Chips. I'd pull out the biggest chip I could find and he'd make a joke about that potato chip being as big as his ear and that, " I got his ear!". It made me laugh, and I still think of it often when I find a large Lays chip in my hand.

2. Tonic Water. They also always had tonic water for the traditional Vodka Tonic beverage everyone would enjoy...being only pint-sized I was only allowed the tonic water. But I loved it, and still do. Last week I was able to take home one of the cups that I have many tonic water memories in. It's a silly item to want but it's sentimental value is priceless.

3. Doctor Sicky. When I lived in my childhood home in Federal Way I recall Granddad picking me up to take me to see "Doctor Sicky" as I suppose I was feeling ill. I only saw that Doctor that one time and for years and years I thought that Doctor's name was actually "Doctor Sicky" until the light bulb went off  that Granddad was joking.

4. Christmas. He always wore a red or green sweater and they always wrapped their gifts with plaid wrapping paper--always making sure the lines of the wrapping paper met up with one another properly.

5. The dining room at the lake house is where I have many, many memories. Birthdays, dinners, BBQ's....all centered around that room. We drank from Grandma's crystal stemware, always raising a glass to toast someone or something and if it was a birthday, you could count on cake and ice cream.

6. Gingerbread Men. Grandma used to always give us a gingerbread man cookie when we said goodbye. It was a special treat and I've only once tasted a cookie that was similar to the ones she gave us.

7. He always said, "on the thing", as a filler. He also said "take care, "bye-bye", "Hello Dear", and once called Katie Holmes a lush. He liked to keep up on the celebrity gossip.

8. The white Mercedes. I don't know where we went but I have a memory of Granddad and Grandma D. picking up my brother and I and taking us down Pacific Highway in their white Mercedes. I remember I liked the back seat cargo holder because it was like a stretchy net.

9. The Station Wagon. Granddad always drove a Station Wagon...until they traded in the Wagon and the Mercedes for a HUGE Cadillac with heated seats, a 12-CD changer; the works!

10. Spearmint Lifesavors. When I was younger I remember Granddad always had a pack of Spearmint Lifesavors--I used to not like them because the were so strong they left a burning sensation in my mouth.

11. His rings. Grandma D. gave him a big gold ring with his initials engraved on it-- D D O. He wore it on his left pinkie finger. He also wore his thin gold wedding band and never ever took it off in the 50+ years he was married.

12. His hands. He had strong hands and I was lucky enough to hold them for over an hour on Saturday, December 10th while we all gathered around his bed and said our tearful goodbyes. He squeezed them so tight but I didn't let go. I wanted him to know he wasn't alone in that hospital room. We told him he was surrounded by love, that everything was OK and that he'd done such a wonderful job with his life.

I Kiss & Tell

P.S. Eleven years ago today I recieved my first kiss EVER. It was the most perfect kiss. And don't ask how I remember these oddities---I guess I just have a good memory for the very important details of life.

The Funkiest of Funks

Help! I'm trapped in a funk and I can't get out. Normally these "funk" moments last maybe a few days until I'm distracted by something and move right along with my life. Not this one. I can't pinpoint the source of my funk--but I think I need a major life change to free myself of this never-ending-bad-mood.

A big source I guarantee is my job. Lately I spend more days annoyed at it than loving it. It's not what I want anymore and even the parts I do like about my job are taking WAY too long to happen. I want the adrenaline rush and the panicked cursing of being in real television production--not the bureaucratic week-long wait to get an office supply order approved for the TV station.  Yes the bright side is I'm in TV but there's nowhere to go in this office but where I am. There's no likely promotions or exciting projects or award nominations---heck, I don't even get mentions for what I DO accomplish here. It's a thankless job and though I feel guilty complaining, I know that if I ventured out into the "real" world of TV...AKA Los Angeles...I would really make something of myself. So what am I waiting for??

A sublet.

Yep. I'm tied down in a 12-month lease and unless I can find a sublet I am stuck here. That's not to say I'm stuck here forever. Just until I find a sublet OR until March comes around when I could afford to pay rent on two places if I had to....and also if I STOP shopping.

Another source of my funk is the ever-dying passion of my relationship. I just don't feel any excitement or lust or desire. It's depressing. And he doesn't have the motivation to light the spark. And that's a turn-off. I'm not sure what to do--are we over? Am I sure? I pray a lot for a HUGE OBVIOUS sign about what to do. But that answer has yet to arrive. I hope it works itself out because as mentioned before--I am such a weenie!

And no one likes/loves/wants a weenie-in-a-funk, or is it a funky-weenie? Meh, tomato, tomatoe.