Sex In San Diego – “Consequential Connections”

“Stop romanticizing people that hurt you.”

It’s pretty fucked up when you look back and realize some of the happiest memories you have are also associated with some of the most gut wrenching, bleeding heart moments you thought you would never survive. Oh, that universe really has a sick sense of humor and a twisted way of teaching us all lessons. Like my favorite line in Crazy Stupid Love – “bat shit crazy”…the universe is clearly there and looks to be trying to take the rest of us with her. I feel like I have been hit with some straight up,WEIRD ASS SHIT lately. The signs are not clear. Fuck, they aren’t even blurry. Pointed, for sure, but in Every. Single. Direction.

I like to think of myself as an “upper” (not to be confused with uppity) – like, generally my arrow points up. Where all the good vibes are. Optimism, hope, sheer fucking happiness for no reason. But shit is heavy all around me right now. People are struggling. MY people are struggling. And I have to admit, I am struggling. Struggling to answer questions I question as well. Struggling to explain how “everything is going to be fine” is in fact, still true. Struggling how to honestly give hope to someone when you are not even sure what really is out there. I don’t want to struggle with things I used to never doubt. I want to be healed. I want to be prepared. I want to be aware. And most of all, I want to be happy. And maybe happy starts with retracing some of the happiest moments and pulling the knife out of the proverbial wound so that can finally happen. So today, I will gingerly step into the last place I saw my heart in one piece in hopes that by going back, I can go forward.

Picture it – Many moons ago, at a pool in Vegas, a younger and potentially wiser (and much more scantily clad) Terri lay peacefully by a pool at the Aria, casually sipping a Michelob ultra (If you can picture that anyhow). Two men approach, which in some kinky fantasy, could be the start of a very fun night for me…insert naughty thoughts here. “Well, that one is tall”, was my first thought. Thirty minutes and a tequila shot and sharedx towel later, I decided they did not appear to want to Ted Bundy me, so I gave the tall one my number and left them at the pool, never to cross paths again the entire trip. I didn’t know it then, but that one small moment on a normal day at a pool in Vegas, would change the trajectory of my life as I knew it.

Connecting with someone is kinda wild. One minute you are casually messaging a total stranger you spent 30 minutes at a pool with, and next thing you know, it is 3 weeks of raunchy meme exchanges, witty banter, and sexual tension that has caused your panties to go MIA despite being thousands of miles away later. Just straight fucking bonkers. And then down the rabbit hole and onto the plane you go. And that is where life begins. And that is also where this story really starts (and for today will stop as I baby step my way into the existential crisis otherwise known as my life).

I have thought about writing this particular story for years and honestly, I am not quite sure words will do justice to the crazy monsoon of emotion it will bring. But it is necessary. The most amazing stories don’t always end in the fairy tale way, but man those moments in between They held SO MUCH GROWTH. And SO MUCH HOPE. AND SO SO SO MUCH LOVE. Even in the moments I struggled to breath from the pain it brought , there was some sort of beauty that came from it. And those moments make me sure that there is something better out there for all of us. And that is what I think we all need a little bit of right now. So off to Wonderland we go.

THIS CAN’T BE REAL LIFE

Sex in San Diego – “Sir-Please Calm the Fuck Down”

Having writer’s block with so much to say swirling around in your head is quite a connundrum. There are too many places to start, but along the way you realize how far off track you’ve strayed, and suddenly it feels like you’ve ended up in TJ wearing a sombrero and looking at strippers inside Hong Kong at 3 am on a Wednesday night and there’s no turning back.

So let’s metaphorically take that 12th tequila shot and roll with it. I think the real problem is that when I started to write years ago, dating mishaps and such were still hopeful funny. Like “Haha, this guy showed up 15 minutes late and drunk, then proceeded to dribble pho all over his shirt on our first date funny.” (And yes, clearly that happened). And now, here we are, 15 shots in – alone, confused, and a mess.

Dating is not easy for me. Mainly because I really despise it and refuse to do much of it. On a recent (and rare as fuck) date, the guy literally told me that “clearly, you go on dinner dates all the time”. And I laughed. And laughed. And then I laughed some more. He then also proceeded to tell me all about how I clearly have trust issues because after spending an hour together, I was not willing to commit to trips to Rancho Mirage, New York, and the Maldives with him…WTF? I have seen the Ted Bundy Files and I refuse to end up on The First 48…Or worse, on any of the Real Housewives series (let’s all be honest, if you know me, I don’t exactly meet trophy wife criteria. Give me french fries and watch me go). And for starters, you don’t even know my eye color considering my nipples are twitching in fear as your eyes haven’t left them for the last 59 minutes. And yet, I am somehow jaded because I am not about to get cozy in your 3-star hotel room bed? Sir – please calm the fuck down.

My friend recently got ghosted by a guy she had dated for a few weeks. She text him.. TWICE… after a what seemed to be a lovely last date and never got a response. But then one day, 3 months later and out of the blue, in the middle of an ordinary day, in an ordinary store, in the Peter Pan capital of the entire fucking country, fate would bring this random boy and random girl together again. And they lived happily ever after. No…nope that is not what fucking happened. I would love to tell you that she made a scene and called him out for the small dick energy he brings to the world. But she is nicer than me (chalk it up to my obvious trust issues brought to life by Ted Bundy). This clown proceeds to tell her straight faced, that he “must have missed both messages” and clearly SHE “should have sent a THIRD TEXT.” SHE SHOULD HAVE SENT A THIRD TEXT. Again. SHE SHOULD HAVE SENT A THIRD TEXT. One more time fo the people in the back. SHE SHOULD HAVE SENT HIM A THIRD TEXT. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I cannot even control my face when I think about this. Funny how when you wanted to get laid, you never seemed to miss a text..In fact, you were Simba, the greatest lion ever until your lion ass showed you were nothing more than scraggly ass Mufasa. Universally, we all hate Mufasa. What a dick. Sir – please calm the fuck down. Your dick is not big enough for that three way, I mean three text action.

My favorite dates though are the dates that aren’t really dates. The ones where the guys want you to be low maintenance to match their low energy. I enjoy Netflix and chill. There is no shame when I say I like both interpretations of Netflix and chill. I once had a guy ask me if I could “just touch it” before he left because he bought me a pizza before inviting himself over for Netflix and chill…..ON OUR FIRST MOTHERFUCKING DATE (that is a story for another time so you just stay tuned to when I get my humor back)! But seriously, I have to know why these dudes seem to think they should get porn star sex and have the audacity to even suggest that you should “switch it up for them”, because, you know, variety is nice. YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY FUCKING RIGHT. Hey there big boy, you tell me how I am supposed to show up to a restaurant with thigh highs and no panties for a game of sexy strangers when you are so proud of your penis that you can’t seem to leave the bed and find out what variety really is. Are there women out there really this thirsty for 4 to 6 inches of passed down penis that they are giving Jenna Jameson type blowies for an at home movie date……Girllllls, if this is you, the rest of us got you. Call us. We will not only drive you to the therapist, but treat you to a real movie and even buy you popcorn after.. The very idea that I (and we as women on a large scale) am being told that maybe I should mix it up. I need to mix it up. Me. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Please hold while I turn my place into a red room for your pleasure…Sir – please calm the fuck down. Your “mix tape from the night you lost your virginity in a Ford Pinto behind the Dollar General” is not even dry humping worthy.

And this my friends, is why I struggle to write. These are just the middle floor of the Metaphorical Tijuana trip we are currently on. The good stuff has to wait until I have been sufficiently traumatized enough again by the universe’s sense of humor, that I become my funny and sarcastic self. Until then, send help..And wine. And of course… Sir – please calm the fuck down.

THIS CAN’T BE REAL LIFE

Sex In San Diego – “Biguationships”

The first blog go round only a short decade ago, I was funny. I was a naivè twenty something, laughing without a care in the world about the what I then considered to be the most insane dating scenarios, thinking it could only get better. I was practically certain back then that IF (and that was a BIG if, if you knew me back then), and when I got my shit together, the right quality of men would be delivered promptly to my door in pristine condition. And instead, they invented UBER Eats.. Insert cymbal crash mentally here. Now I stand watching my thirties disappear under the mountain, err mountains…ok fine…a fucking avalanche of empty emotional support wine bottles we adults refer to as therapy.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT. Welcome to the future.

It really dawned on me last night where it all went wrong. Sex In the City ruined us. Every single one of us that watched that show – we spiraled on the highs and lows of Carrie and Mr. Big. We cried with her, hoped for her, romanticized the shit out of her bond with Mr. Big…and at the end of the series, we celebrated when they ended up together. True love had won. What chumps we were. Ridiculously beautiful, optimistic little chumps.

Wanna know what we really celebrated? Sheer fucking stupidity, wasted time, and the proof that narcissism more often than not overpowers common fucking sense.

For 6 years, we watched Mr. Big draw Carrie in and then let her down, drop her for the next best thing, reappear when she finally had enough cosmo’s and casual sex to move on….And we watched her fall for it every time, because deep down we knew. We just knew. They were “soulmates”. And clearly, a love that powerful has to make you cry at least a few THOUSAND times, blow $50K on shoes, and smoke your lungs black, or it just couldn’t possibly be love. And now….insert eye roll. THIS…THIS is where we all lost our fucking way. We called that shit a happy ending. What in the actual fuck?!

Time to pour that wine, mix that cocktail, put your best Samantha face on, and brace yourself for the big one. Take it however you want…Literally.

For me, it was my first time. I was a virgin, a baby, practically a vegetable based on how little my brain apparently functioned back then. I / we, as in an entire generation thought Carrie had “WON”. She finally got the man she loved for so long. He made the gesture. He flew to Paris for goodness sakes to find her….what a gem he was! After SIX years of fucking her over he had finally decided it was time to pick her. He PICKED her. She should only be so lucky. I know your brain wants to explode and ignore these thoughts. Terri, you asshole, you’ve killed romance. You cynical bitch. Fine, blame me. I mean, someone has to say it.

Terri. You dont get it. It was fate. Destiny really. He was just going through things. He needed time. Real love isn’t easy.

Harsh reality – What is meant for you, probably isnt going to leave you crying over and over for years. Or even months. Or even weeks. Or even days. For his best years, he did everything he wanted and there was never even an inkling of doubt in his mind that Carrie would be there. No matter what. He KNEW. You know why? Because she always was. And we knew she would be. But we accepted it, applauded it, we practically manifested her fate. We were the real assholes, cheering for a beautiful, successful, though albeit slightly neurotic woman, to end up with a man that never did a thing to keep her. The fucking audacity…of ourselves. We inhaled the narcissism like it was air and drank in every ounce of disrespect faster than a 21 year old frat boy can funnel a beer. And now, our generation stands at the corner of frustrated and why are they treating us like this. BECAUSE WE ATE IT RIGHT UP. And we romanticized waiting, and crying, and begging. I mean, if you don’t let someone fuck you over consistently, how on earth can you prove to them you are worth sticking around for?

HOLY FUCKING SHIT.

Looking back on the last “Biguationship”, and well, I honestly considered myself to be a smart woman. Wrong. Clown. That’s what I was. One of my biggest nightmares. A fucking clown. Nothing is scarier than a clown. Except realizing you had been one for a long time.

Every time I just knew it would be different. He had learned his lessons. Clearly he wanted to be with me. Why else did he come back? Why else was he calling? He missed me (I mean, in all fairness, who wouldn’t, but we can discuss my humility another time..side note, hoping no one forgot my sarcastic side outweighs everything). I was Carrie Bradshaw and I just knew I would get my so called happy ending – now would also be a good time to remind everyone after the show, BIG left her at the altar (she still took him back) and then he DIED on her….Literally, gave his best years to everyone BUT HER and then DIED!!! So many NOPES. Just straight up NOPES. He came back because I was there. People come back because we let them. And they don’t have to do a damn thing but show up. Mr. BIg just showed up. And Carrie let him. And WE CALLED IT MOTHERFUCKING LOVE.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT. The only thing I can say.

THIS CAN’T BE REAL LIFE

Terri J – The Unmasked Version

I keep meaning to write again – I have always found it to be my best outlet – originally it was more of using humor as a way to get through the bullshit of the day to day that most of my tribe was also going through. And then it got deeper and I just really wasn’t inspired by it – it was honest, but more watered down, maybe do to age, or just lack of really feeling the message I was trying to convey without the blunt irony of how I really felt. Welp, congrats mother fuckers, I am officially fucking inspired again (we know how much I love dropping the f- bomb after all). I’m going to try my best not to get too dark on you while dropping some real shit that some of you wouldn’t know what to do with any more than having a plate of sexiness served up to you and you only. Point here  – buckle up and get a clue.

I will assume most of you know a lot of what I went through – at least to the point I wanted you to. The part I openly shared. The happier side of the last few years of my life. Maybe some of you don’t and to you I am just the good time happy go lucky chick doing grape bombs at Molly Malone’s til 4 am, 3 nights a week (ah, the good old “Sex in St. Matthews days).

3 years and 2 months ago, I was immortal – yes, I had been born type ! diabetic, but I had never looked at myself as being “sick” or any different than every single one of you. I worked 2 jobs for most of my life, and aside from not being able to get health insurance back then, despite working 2 jobs, due to above mentioned pre-existing condition, and having the extra expense of paying out of pocket for insulin, lab work, and doctor visits (google the cost if you don’t know and I guarantee you might go into shock), I didn’t worry much about my health. I felt fine, I was active, I took my meds, and aside from my love of vodka and douchebags – I didn’t have any bad habits. I choose to still blame the douchebags. Hah. But that changed in one random blood test and doctor visit where I was told I needed a kidney. WTF…

I am not going to drag this story out too much – if you go back through my personal Facebook and my “A Kidney for Terri Jewell” page, you can see the best of times I had for almost 2 years. I posted about my travels, and my work, and my friends, and all the happy things I was doing. I hid the port I had attached to my chest for almost a year with clear tape my nurse would carefully apply, and the painful burn rash I got because I refused to use tape that anyone could see. You can see the scars in the pic I will finally share. I refused to get a fistula (google that too if you don’t know what it is), because I was fucking terrified of it, and decided keeping a chest cath that had a line running straight to my heart that could also easily kill me, was better, because it could be hidden and even more importantly, they didn’t have to insert a huge needle in my arm 3 days a week for 3 hours at a time. ..Never mind that showering was damn near impossible (luckily my nurses were amazing and I owe everything to them and several others as well). So 3 days a week, I got up at 4:30 am, got ready for work, drove across town to a dialysis clinic (it knows no holidays for that matter) \, and was hooked up to a machine for 3 hours a day. I still say I am one of the lucky ones – did it affect me – yes. Did I have it easier than others -100,000 percent. Others were too weak to do anything but sleep after – sometimes I didn’t feel like I could do much more – but every day I left, I went to work because I WAS ABOVE BEING SICK. Or so maybe I and a lot of you thought.

If you don’t know what dialysis here, the quick version, is it pulls the blood out of your body on a cycle and filters it back in. It also pulls the fluid your body isn’t able to get rid of due to your non working kidneys – based on your weight, your nurses do their best to make sure not to pull too much or too little off of you – too little, and you could easily end up in the ER with your lungs filled with fluid basically drowning, and too little, your muscles would cramp in a way that you wouldn’t think they could, and while trying to stand, you would find yourself passing out from the crazy drop in blood pressure, all while trying not to rip the port out of your chest. Scary shit and I rarely spoke of this with anyone. I was on fluid restriction (yes, someone told me how much liquid I could drink -I can hear some of you now – nobody is taking my right to drink water, right?), I had to eat the blandest diet known to man, and I didn’t get to pick where and when I got my treatments -if I wanted to live, I did what I was told by someone else that I needed to do. And some of you fucking assholes cant even be bothered to put a fucking mask on to walk through the grocery. So yes, I am flabbergasted and fucking over it to be blunt. Some of you “prayed” for me, and told me you admired my strength – well guess what – I wasn’t near as strong as what you thought. I cried – a lot, usually alone, because that is who I am. I didn’t want pity- still don’t – I am fucking blessed beyond belief. I didn’t want you to see the me that struggled once to walk through Chicago’s Midway airport, because I was carrying 25 POUNDS of water weight, and it was slowly filling my lungs. I didn’t want you to see the powerlessness I felt of knowing my body was attacking itself and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. You saw the me that told myself I would be ok, even when I wasn’t sure, because truthfully, that was the only thing I could do. You didn’t see me post about having to be sedated when they had to change my chest cath, the nuclear stress test, the anxiety I had, or the days when I was so lethargic, pretending I felt ok felt like running a marathon. So why am I telling you now?

Well, because as hard as it is to think back on it and actually put it into any words, much less publicly, some of you need to hear it. I am tired of being called a fucking “sheep” because I support people protecting people. People literally going above their own needs not knowing if it really matters, with the hope that just maybe, they can help someone else. For fucks sake, by your logic, Shelly jumping up on that operating table, not knowing if the transplant would be successful, would never have happened. You sit here and bitch about not being able to go to the fucking Target unless you spend 15 minutes wearing a piece of cloth over your face while openly mocking people for being afraid of death. All because you won’t be “controlled” – now listen up bitches – if you pay taxes and obey the law, then guess what – you already are. You just have an entitled sense of control. Yes, the entire WORLD just conspired to get Trump out of office. GTFOOH. Yes, masks are so ineffective and you know that by every random article you wasted hours of you life looking for and validating. GTFOOH. People are fucking dying. And yes, we are all going to die one day, and you saying you arent afraid of death…well, I like being alive. Despite everything, its a pretty good feeling, waking up alive. . I truly hope none of you ever experience the things I did, because you would not last 5 seconds in that dialysis chair. I may not have been as strong as I would like to look back and think I was, but I did what I had to do. My amazing donor, Shelly, did something she didn’t have to do, far beyond the means of wearing a mask, and she did it with all risk, no real benefit, to her. And yet, here you sit, bitching about a mask, The world needs more Shelly in it, because then, I would not even feel the need to write this. But here we are, reliving the days that while I don’t try to forget necessarily -I actually choose to think of them as the time where I learned the importance of living – because you are too fucking worried about disproving a fucking disease and want to tell me how you aren’t afraid. SMH.

I was you. Maybe had I not gone through this, I would still be you -thinking I was untouchable and not realizing I could have literally everything in the world, but the second my health was gone, so was EVERY FUCKING RIGHT you insist is more important. We are not the same. Some of you are so afraid of  being told what to do (temporarily), you’d choose to risk my kidney and someone else’s life in order to be right.  We are not the same.

So that’s that. Now you know a small glimpse into the dark side of shit that I have been through, and maybe, just maybe, the ones that need “proof” they could save my life by putting that mask on, this will give you a small look at why some people are afraid and would like to think their lives matter just as much as your precious non masked face.

THIS CAN’T BE REAL LIFE.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fine Lines I

Fine. You want to know what the problem with being fine is? It’s that it is not fucking fine. IN ANY WAY.

Fine is complacency, mediocrity, dullness. We accept it because it feels ok, doesn’t require us to leave our comfort zones, and is universally one of the biggest lies told without anyone questioning its validity.  Fine is a myth that we tell ourselves so that we don’t have to acknowledge the guilt we feel when we realize we are not living to the full potential we are capable of, but that we are just living.  JUST FUCKING LIVING. To be fine, is to simply exist. To be unremarkable. To be okay. To settle.

Fine is waking up one day and saying, hey – I accept the fact that I am choosing to place myself into the very center of a fucking mediocre and only slightly fulfilling situation. It is denying the greatness you could be and CHOOSING to be average.  Before you say anything, let me be clear – everyday is not gong to be unicorns and mimosas. Choosing not to be just fine does not mean that every single day will be like having mind blowing sex in a field of daisies while sipping champagne. Making a decision to not be held down by a life of fine, is in no way comparable to floating away into a fantasy land of unrealistic expectations.  It is just making a conscience effort to live the best life you can.

There are gong to be people that tell you by this logic, that you want too much. That you are expecting too much, that the feeling you have is simply normal and comes with time, and should you change things, it is a mistake. That everything in life eventually fizzles and becomes comfortable, and that it is FINE. Here’s the deal – let them live their lives filled with whatever mundane bullshit they tell themselves. You alone make the decision on what kind of life you get to have  – you have to fucking try to make it happen for yourself, not for them. Every aspect of your life. If you wake up and realize you are no longer satisfied in your career, even if it pays well, strive to do better and get fired up, or find a new path that makes you want to get out of bed in the morning. If your relationship hits a slump, either find a way to liven that old spark back up, or cut the cord – one of the best quotes I ever read was “Too many things in life are mediocre. Love shouldn’t be one of them.” TRUEST STATEMENT EVER. Find someone who thinks the sun shines out of your ass and puts a smile in your eyes. Find a job that gets your blood flowing. Put yourself around people who intellectually stimulate your brain juices. Do things that make you feel ALIVE, like really fucking alive, and not just FINE.

We are all guilty of trying to block out the thought that there IS going to come a day when we will be out of time. No more time for greatness, no more time to live the life we want, just no more.  And on that day, you will still be standing on that fine line looking at everything you coulda, shoulda, woulda done, or you’ll be standing on the other side, consequence and all, relishing in the attempt of all you did and all you tried to accomplish. Where will your regret lie?

 

THIS CAN’T BE REAL LIFE

 

 

 

 

 

True Lies

“I want to write a novel about silence. The things people don’t say.” – Virginia Woolf

Do you hear that? Right – I didn’t think so. That noise you aren’t hearing over the sound of your voice – that noise my friend, is the truth. So quiet it is almost deafening.  See, most of what comes out of our mouths is crap. I mean seriously, it is just utter and total bullshit.  We talk simply for the sake of talking and making things sound pretty, while the truth swirls around  inside of us, not to be heard.  The problem with the  truth is that it is so insanely fucked up in terms of what it is “supposed” to sound like, that no one would believe it anyhow. Here’s the kicker.The truth lies. Sounds ironic, right? But it does. It lies just below the things you do say out loud.

Here’s another truth. People lie. Out loud. Without a second thought. Every single fucking day. “I’m fine.” “Don’t worry about it”.  I love you”. Every single fucking day  people say these words. To convince people. To convince themselves. Because the spoken words are what we so desperately need ourselves to believe. Most of us are so concerned with how we appear to be – that the words we do expose, colorfully fly out, painting the pretty picture we have created with our verbal paintbrush.  We let people see what WE want them to see, hear what WE want them to hear, and essentially drown out the honesty that WE carry around, in a shallow pool of  spoken nonsense.

We have become masters at faking sincerity -explaining perfectly why we are a world full of endless possibility inhabited by lackluster people. Face it –  Some days, you’re not fine. You think someone should be worried about it. And no, you don’t love them – love only exists in the words rolling off of your tongue. But just because you don’t like the way it sounds out loud, that doesn’t diminish the validity of it.

So you want the truth – here it is. Omitting the truth, DOES NOT make it untrue. (Gasp) Yes, I said it. Out loud. Omitting the truth DOES NOT make it untrue. I don’t care how loudly the words aren’t spoken. The truth is still the damn truth. Let that sink in. Shocking, I know.  Another truth – swallowing the words won’t make the truth disappear. Instead it literally leaves you going through life, choking on what you don’t have the balls to say.

Most people spend their entire lives letting people down. People who have no idea that the smiling face they see is driving a silent dagger through their heart.  People fail each other every single day with the unspoken truth, offering a false security with each lie told.  It is hidden underneath emptiness that essentially becomes some kind of twisted reality that we trudge through. And sadly, most of the world is ok with this. We tell ourselves that it is for the best, because we cant handle the consequences that come with transparency of the words we can’t say. We leave our most honest statements heavily clothed in humor and sarcasm, or more simply, unsaid. We convince ourselves that what we do say outweighs anything that is never uttered out loud, no matter how far from the truth it might be.  People stay in unideal situations simply because the words “I love you” sound better out loud than, “This isn’t working”. And for every I love you said out loud, another one full of passion and meaning, gets buried underneath  “We are just friends”.

So lets just face it – we are fucking cowards, pretending to be badasses, pretending to be everything we don’t even want to be. Call a spade a spade.  Open your mouth, and let the fucked up fly out.

THIS CAN’T BE REAL LIFE

 

No Good in Goodbye

It’s not everyday that it is so hard for me to write, that I sit staring at a blank screen for hours. But today is one of those days.

When I was 18, I learned my first and very valuable lesson in life – that my heart could get broken. So for me, it is bittersweet to hear of the passing of the person who taught me that lesson. So many years have gone by, and most of the time, I don’t even recognize or relate to the girl I was back then. I was just a kid. But today, I feel like every detail of that time in my life and who I used to be, just occurred. Moments I haven’t thought about in years, and likely wouldn’t think about for many more, are as vivid in my head as the day they happened.

Life happens. We grow up, we move along, and we become distanced from so many things that used to be right by our side. People, places, things we thought we knew, things we thought we wanted – they all become a part of us that we almost forget about – until something brings us back to it. The things we learn and are taught, many of them, while seemingly devastating at the time, we later look back and realize how much better we turned out for having gone through it. He was a defining moment in my life, even though it is only in hearing that he is gone that I can actually see this.

I struggle right now to find the right words. I never imagined losing someone I hadn’t seen in so many years could have such an impact on my emotions. Back then, we were invincible. We were careless with our words and actions, and growing up seemed like a myth. And while we all know death is a certainty of life, it’s still a concept I don’t think any of us believe until it is staring us in the face. This isn’t the first person I’ve lost, but this loss is a unique one for me, and hitting me in a way that is hard to describe. So instead, I will focus on the life and energy he was so full of back then.

My favorite memory with him was a week before Christmas in 2001, and we sat up all night watching movies. Somewhere around 3 am, he decided he wanted to go deliver Christmas cards. We went mailbox to mailbox delivering each and every card personally. That behavior was very him – sporadic, with a lot of heart poured into it. It was one of those random memories that I will always look back on and smile when I think about it. It was so “who we were”.

Time and distance can never overpower memories. And some people’s impact, stay with you far longer than you realize.

RIP Richard McGaha – Thank you for the lessons you taught me, the start of my growing up, and the memories I will always have. God bless.

THIS CAN’T BE REAL LIFE

Ms. PAC-MAN

The sad truth about my generation? We have singlehandedly turned dating and relationships into a real life game of PAC-MAN. When something is pursuing us, we go the other way, and go straight for that blinking “prize” that we’ve had to take every twist and turn, risking ourselves in the process, to reach. And then, it’s just on to the next level of the game.

And so they created Mrs. PAC-MAN. Just as her male predecessor, she launched herself straight into the seemingly never ending game.

Hello, I am Ms. PAC-MAN. Along with most of the single female population over the age of 30. We didn’t always used to be like this. But times have changed, and with that, so did our mindset and our expectations of what a normal dating situation is.

Following the rules of the game, we tend to run when a man is actively pursuing us.

-“He must be a stalker.”

-“Why does he text me everyday? -We’ve only been out 5 times?”

-“Why is he so interested in my life?”

-“He sent flowers after our first date?”

-“He didn’t wait 3 days to call after we exchanged numbers. He must be desperate.”

-“He’s 35, has a job, doesn’t live with his parents, and opens the door for me. Something must be wrong with him to still be single.”

If you are a woman reading this and you’ve caught yourself saying or thinking any of these things, congrats – you made the cut and are stuck in the classic arcade game with so many others of us.

Face it – once these things happen, interest slowly starts fading away, you become less responsive, and you start going the other way. And the more he pursues you, the more determined you become to take every route possible to reach what a “normal” relationship should be. That glorious blinking banana that did not so much as move an inch to get closer to you. Er, well…..Now you see it don’t you? (Lightbulb appearing above head)

We have become so certain that in order to find the relationship we want, we must jump through hoops to get to it. The less something (someone) acts like they don’t care if we reach them, the more determined we become to make it happen.

-He schedules a date and bails at the last minute? We are free on a moments notice the next night.

-You catch him cheating? You convince yourself to text him 1,000 times about how much fun you are having so he can see you don’t need him.”

-He never asks about your day or anything important to you? You pretend it doesn’t bother you and make sure his needs are met. As long as he’s happy, right?

The more aloof he acts, the more you are certain he is the greatest catch ever.

They say the power in a relationship lies with the one who cares the least. The less effort made, the more the desire grows. It’s a shame how we can classify this as how it’s supposed to be. And having caught myself doing this too many times over, I have to hold myself partially responsible for the creation of the modern day version of the classic game.

But, If the game has taught me nothing else, it’s that maybe everything trying to reach us, isn’t trying to hurt us, even if it looks terrifying. (Unless it’s a clown of course!) It’s just convincing ourself to stop long enough and not be distracted by the normalcy of that illusive, blinking fruit we think we need.

As for Mrs. PAC-MAN, I can’t say. But I do hope that “GAME OVER”, really meant HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

THIS CAN’T BE REAL LIFE

Who am I?

Who am I?.

Who am I? Hi

Who am I? It’s so funny how such a small question can leave most of us scratching our heads for years trying to figure this out.

When I first started this blog, I was one of those, sitting, scratching my head, pondering myself, my decisions, the impacts, and trying to put all those little pieces back together. Inevitably, I couldn’t. You can’t fix what’s broken. And I, was most definitely, in shambles. But one day, even unbeknownst to me to me at the time, I became whole again. It was hard, painful at times, watching those little pieces of everything I thought I was to just disappear. Looking back, it’s hard to believe I didn’t see my new self growing out of the old. So who am I?

I am the girl who has made more mistakes than she would ever care to admit, and even though there are moments I wish I could take them back, I know they have only helped recreate me into who I am today.

I am the girl who after all those mistakes, isn’t really afraid to make another one for the right reasons. I’ve fallen before, and I can get back up again.

I am the girl who cheers herself up by trying to help someone else smile, because I know sometimes there really is no right thing to day.

I am the girl who knows she might not ever be the prettiest girl in the room, but still hopes to hear she is beautiful from someone who really matters to her.

I am the girl that cares to a fault at times, blames herself when things go wrong, and still sees the good in people, even when they fall far short of what they should be.

I am the girl would stand up to anyone who put down someone in her life that she cares about.

I am the girl who has come a hell of a long way from the jaded person she used to be.

I am the girl that has said a lot of goodbyes, but still thinks there is a hello out there that won’t come with one.

I am the girl who still finds it really hard to open up to people, so I use humor when I can’t muster the serious.

I am the girl who takes too many pictures, gets excited about too many little things, and has a hard time letting people and things go.

I am the girl who doesn’t mind working her ass off to have the things she wants.

I am the girl who is happier being surprised with a candlelit Big Mac meal than a dozen roses.

I am the girl who would rather lay in the back of a truck bed talking about life on a summer night, than being in a crowded bar.

I am the girl who wants to get up early and go to bed late, because I’ve realized how quickly moments pass by.

I am the girl who knows that hurting someone else because I’ve been hurt, makes me just like the other person. And in that, I know exactly who I don’t want to be.

Ultimately, I am just the girl, writing this, still defining who exactly I am. Some of you know me well, some of you you knew me, and some of you will know nothing more about me than what I want you to. I think some things in life you go through, just to be able to step back and reset your priorities, from what used to be. and while some of those shattered pieces might still be embedded deep in me, they won’t stop me from being who I am now.

THIS CAN’T BE REAL LIFE