I've read it takes thirty days to make a habit and I suppose I did get into the habit of writing here everyday. But that doesn't mean I'm not excited today is the last day of the month. However self-imposed it may have been, I needed the pressure of other people knowing I made the promise of daily posts. Funny, I've never been great taking pressure from an outside source, but then when I turn it on myself, I still need to be checked up on every once in a while. 

In the past, when I've set a goal for myself, I would often keep it to myself. The embarrassment of possible failure kept me from sharing it with anyone. Lately I've tried extra hard to talk openly about my plans (when I have them) and I've realized what a great idea that is. Not only does it help me stay accountable, it offers me encouragement as well. Getting a message or a phone call about something I've written gives me a little thrill. Even if it's just from my mom.

So, will I continue to post everyday? No. But I will make an effort to share what I'm thinking more often. And I'm renewing my resolution from New Year's Day, too. Remember the "wake up with a positive attitude" thing? Yeah, I pretty much forgot it too. Here's to February 1st and fresh, new hopefulness. Thanks for reading.

So, I think there are two schools of thought about how to handle an illness. There's the suck-it-up-and-keep-going school and the hide-in-bed-for-three-days school. Obviously, not every ailment is suck-upable. And not every sick person has the luxury of wallowing in bed for three days. But the way I see it, I have these options and I think the reason I'm still suffering is I haven't chosen one or the other.

When I had a job to go to everyday, when I felt things couldn't work without me, I would stock up on nasal spray and grit my teeth and get through the day. I rarely called in sick and often wouldn't even mention I wasn't feeling well. That was just a false sense of indispensableness, I suppose. Or a way to not seem weak. Whatever the motivation, I believe there's something to "fake it 'til you make it". Pretend you're just fine and sooner or later, you're fine!

Since I don't have somewhere to be on a daily basis right now, I've tended more towards the wallowing. But I haven't fully committed to it. I lie in bed for a few hours and then feel guilty I'm not looking harder for a job and get up and start working on applications and writing samples. Then I swig some cough syrup and crawl back under the covers and try not to swallow. But then I remember I'm supposed to make dinner and be somewhere, so I force myself up and into the shower and out the door. 

Yesterday was the first day I spent fully focused on getting well. I kept myself doped up and sleepy and rarely got out from under my covers. My goal was to not feel pain and I managed to get pretty close. 

Today I rallied for a birthday party and I'm glad I did. It did me a world of good to get out and see new faces. And tonight, my bed feels all the better because of it.

Chills. Fatigue. Swollen throat. Clogged ears. Menstrual cramps. Putting myself in a nyquil coma until it all goes away.

D

More talk about surprising friends. Well, one friend. I literally picked this one out of thin air. One hot summer night, while scrolling through names and faces on facebook, searching for a man with a couple of particular characteristics, I came across D, but he was a name without a face. I decided to go out on a limb and shoot him a message. When he immediately answered back, I got excited and when I saw his photo...let's just say my excitement didn't wane. 

In the end, D and I only saw each other twice before he left New York to return home at the end of the summer. That second night we hung out will be etched in my mind as the craziest and some of the most fun I've ever had. Ever. Never did I imagine we'd still be talking to each other.

Across an ocean and a not insignificant time difference, not only have D and I maintained contact, but he now feels like my close confidante. Ours is a friendship forged almost entirely online, but now D may have a chance to come back to the States and I've found myself getting psyched about having him closer. I'm anxious to see how he's held up over the last, very rough 17 months. He deserves some good luck and hopefully, it's headed his way right now.

Today chatted on line with two different men (well, more, but only two of them are relevant to my story), read the blog of a woman (which I check everyday for a new post) and had dinner with another woman. What do all of these people have in common? They attended middle school with me. (R, M, K, B-respectively)

Never would I have imagined I'd be spending this much time communicating with people who saw me wearing braces and making unfortunate eyeshadow choices. B and I have always stayed in touch, so it's not surprising I still know her. But now that I'm living near her, we seem to have settled into a regular visiting schedule. We have a good time together, just like we always did. And I adore her husband and kids. I like having a constant in my life. Especially one in the form of a non-family member, someone you doesn't have to tolerate me.

Reading K's blog has been an inspiration to me, not just to write more, but to think in a new way. The more I read about her, the more I want to know more.

R and I lost touch for a while and he isn't a consistent presence in my life, but I'm always happy to hear from him and get an update about his life.

And then there's M (who doesn't believe I'm actually writing about him tonight). He was a facebook find and has quickly become a near daily touchstone.

What does it say about me that I have all of these people in my life again/still? The negative part of me would say it's because I've regressed. But I'm not listening to that part. Instead, I'm choosing to believe I was good judge of character at 13 and I still am.

***This was all typed up last night, but when I went to post it, the blogger server was down and I thought I'd lost it all. After a hefty dose of nyquil and a decent night's sleep, I found a portion of this entry had been saved; I finished it up, again, this morning. It counts as yesterday's post. It counts!!!

On The Mend

Disaster averted. I honestly started thinking about all the horrible diseases I could have contracted. And I wasn't looking forward to that kind of doctor's visit. But I woke up this morning to sunshine and a less painful throat. BIG improvement over yesterday.

So motivated was I that sheets were changed, dirty clothes were laundered, floors were vacuumed. Hope was restored.

And then I heard from my boring date from Sunday. Asking me out again. Clockwork. I have an actual, honest-to-goodness excuse for not being able to meet him tomorrow night. Now to figure out my next move. I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing to hang out with him again, he's perfectly nice. But he suggested our second date be in his home. It's not that I'm worried about him trying anything, just about sending him the wrong message. As in, "I like you and want to hang out at your house.". Ugh.

Posting only out of obligation. Nothing to report. Not feeling well. Again. Still. Ugh. 

I really hate whining. Listening to it as well as doing it myself. But I feel super whiney. Why can't something go my way? Why can't anything be simple? 

That's all I can dole out for now. Knowing how much actual suffering is happening out there in the world makes me feel extra pathetic for complaining.

Four dates this last week with little potential. I wish I could take a hiatus, but I'm not interested in a break. I prefer to play the odds. If I keep this pace, or close to it, I'm bound to find someone I wouldn't mind seeing again, right? One that would also like to see me again? 

As unromantic as it sounds, there is something to the idea of boyfriend shopping as a numbers game. The more you play, the better your chances are. And the playing is fun, for the most part. 

So, I'll carry on like this for a while. Maybe until I get burned-out. Maybe until I find a better way to spend my time. Or maybe (!) until I actually find someone to stick with for a while. Crazy talk!

Open Letter To Potential Dates

Dear Sirs,

My charm and charisma can only carry a conversation so far. I am very happy to do most of the talking, but I don't want it to seem like a one-woman show. 

It's okay if you need me to ask most of the questions, but you really should try to come up with answers containing more than two words. 

I understand you may feel a bit uncomfortable at first. That's not a big deal; we're strangers. But I am in no way intimidating and I might as well be spinning plates with all the effort I'm expending to put you at ease. 

Finally, you are allowed to not be into me. If I'm not your cup of tea, I can deal with that; I'm not for everyone. But please, please don't say "I'll give you a call". We're both adults and we both know you're not going to give me a call. A simple "thank you and good night" will suffice. 

Sincerely,

Most Likely Not Your Soulmate

B

Damn. It's like he can sense it. When I'm starting to let go, all of the sudden I hear from him. If he weren't so wonderful, I'd call him cruel. Damn.

Tired

This week felt very long. I was sick. I was waiting on boys to call me. I was not finding a job. All adding up to make extra long days. 

There was the one very fun night. Repeatable? Remains to be seen. I can live with it being a stand-alone event (sounds so much better than "one night stand"), but ultimately, that's not what I'm after.

There was the fun evening I assumed would have at least a few follow-ups. I'm sort of not okay with the way things turned out, because it means either I'm a terrible judge of a situation or I'm not as wonderful and charming as I assumed myself to be. That man actually stopped in the middle of our conversation and told me he was "having a blast" and asked if I felt similarly. Then the brush-off. Oy. I'm too tired to try to make sense of THAT. But even with a good night's sleep, it will never make sense to me.

There was the guy who flaked on me tonight. Basically. He asked me out numerous times. I make plans, check train schedules. He flakes. J suggested he was in a terrible accident. I can only hope so.

I'm trying, here. All I can do is keep putting myself out there, stay positive and keep perfecting my eyeliner application. Not to mention the job applications...

Snooki Revisited

Oh, my poor, little Snookers. Can't find a date and getting rejected by the boy on whom she's been crushing. (Make that SEVERAL boys.) Unlucky in love; I feel for her. 

My current boy situation:

-blown off by a seemingly decent guy who seemed to like me.

-pursued by a man who is possibly inappropriate in several ways, but enjoying it.

-pursued by a man who is possibly too young for me and, for some reason, not enjoying it so much.

-appreciating the fun I had last night while realizing I may very likely never hear from my date again.

-readying myself for a date tomorrow night with a man who uses the word "basically" with alarming frequency. C says it's a deal breaker, but I'm gonna give him a go.

-crushing (still. always?) on B, although he could very well have forgotten I exist.

Sigh.

Mixed Drinks

My date the other night, who I very much enjoyed getting to know, politely gave me the brush-off today. Why does this happen so often? The men I would like to see again don't call and the men I wish wouldn't call always do. 

Are there crazy mixed messages being tossed around? I'm friendly, but I certainly don't pretend to be into someone I'm not. And I'm not stupid. You'd think I would sense disinterest. Is this all a case of wanting what we can't have? I really hope not, because I'm going in there again tonight, trying out yet another boy. And with what most likely is a sinus infection, branching out from my ear. Dayquil and vodka are a bad mix, right? Wish me luck.

Someone I love very much decided to start a blog, partially (I like to think) inspired by mine. This particular blog is private, closed to anyone but the author. And I think it's a fantastic idea. 

Writing down my thoughts and feelings has been good for me. Forcing myself to write down my thoughts and feelings everyday has been even better for me. It's made me stop and think about what's on my mind. The process of committing it to (virtual) paper serves as a way of getting that stuff that's IN my head, OUT of it. Even if no one were to read about that stuff, at least it takes a load off my mind.

That's why I'm glad this loved one of mine took the step s/he did. Nobody should live inside his or her head. Certainly not as much as I used to. Or as much as I think the newest star in the blogosphere sky does. So, welcome! And keep on bloggin'!

Last month, C and I were at a party at our friend J's house and we met T, a man J had gone to school with years ago. C and I both liked T, found him cute and funny. As we inevitably do, we started asking questions. Okay, so maybe it was more of a grilling. But he had a clear interest in J and we wanted to know what was up with him. 

It didn't take long to touch on a subject he was uncomfortable discussing, I believe the topic was his father. But we found more. He tried to laugh off his unease, but it was clear we were hitting nerves. At one point I looked at him, only half-jokingly and said, "T, let us KNOW you." T and C both laughed, but I kept my composure and repeated myself. I tried to explain to him what I'd been learning for myself, that the only way to connect with another person is to let that person know you. T was not ready for that particular advice, but I do hope he'll remember it. 

I think some people get too invested in their privacy or trying to emit an air of mystery, thinking it will make them more intriguing. It might. But only to a point. Eventually, someone is going to look that person in the eye and say "let me KNOW you." If that person isn't willing to let him/herself be known, that someone is going to give up. But, hopefully, someday the someone will say those words and that person will want to be known.

Funk

As in, the one I seem to be in right now. It would seem my new year's resolution has already been broken. I am NOT waking up with a positive attitude. Instead, I'm waking up with an ear infection. And a lousy mindset.

I need to get outside more often. I need to meet new people. I need a job. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. I need to brush my teeth and go to bed.

To Do

S & J are away for the weekend and D is busy with work and friends. I've gotten used to having people around and I'm feeling lonely. Even though I spend my weekdays by myself, I have found I look forward to having company each evening. I got the first sense of this when I was staying with C; we both agreed it was nice to have someone to come home to. 

For so many years I'd lived alone and believed I enjoyed it. And I did, some of the time. I treasure privacy and quiet, perhaps from growing up in a busy, full house. So, maybe I've had enough alone time? That would mean I need to find someone willing to live with me. After I find a job and a way to pay for a place to live, that is. I'll start a list: 

-job

-home

-publisher

-boy. 

Quite a checklist.

Hey, It's A Post!

I never used to have ethical dilemmas. Because everything was so black and white to me. What does it mean then, do you think, that I've started having a few? 

Have I changed my ideas of right and wrong? Was I wrong then? Is it even a matter of right and wrong? Maybe I've just changed my mind? 

I still believe in the golden rule and use it as my one, true commandment (shout out to Eddie Izzard), so does that mean I don't need to worry about any shades of grey I find myself seeing?

Snooki

I really, really, really wish I didn't love The Jersey Shore as much as I clearly do. Don't misunderstand, I'm not ashamed to admit I like trash tv, but for some reason this train wreck captivates me like no other. I'm watching it this very minute and frankly, I'm not paying much attention to writing. 

Normally, I get upset about the intelligence that seems lacking on most reality shows. As far as I can tell, no one at The Jersey Shore is intimidating their fellow shore dwellers with their smarts. 

Uncalled for violence usually makes me cringe. So why was I waiting with bated breath for Snooki to get punched in the face?

I'm not attracted to juiced-up, tanned guidos, but I can't get enough of The Situation. I don't think the explanation is as simple as the old "train wreck" theory. Perhaps it's a combination of all those awful things that blend to create an unmissable televised event? Let's go with that. 

Quiet, now! Paulie D is saying something undoubtably wise.

A portion of my day was spent making a dinner for B's family and I was reminded of when I was a nanny and preparing dinner was one of the most enjoyable parts of my day. The chopping and shredding and measuring and stirring: it's not difficult work, but it requires consideration and care. And cooking truly is an art that involves every one of the senses. There're rules to follow, but room for creativity. Not to mention the tangible (and hopefully tasty) result. Even if it's not one a four year old will relish. At least she liked the dessert.

It's not as if I haven't cooked since my nanny days, but there was something about doing this for a family with children which made it different from my other recent forays into the kitchen. At one time, C was suggesting a career in the culinary arts for me. I've thought about this path, too, but in the end, I'm not a very adventurous eater and I just feel as if the passion is missing. Isn't cooking an activity requiring passion? 

Maybe my old thoughts of preparing dinners for my family in a spacious kitchen while little ones bang on pots with wooden spoons at my feet haven't quite left me. But for now, I'm perfectly happy to do it for someone else's family. Especially one I love so much.

Just got back from seeing Eddie Izzard with K (up from New York) (must explore why so many of my friends have a K or C initial)and her family. There really is something special about watching a person you know from one context in another. K and I hung out a bit in high school and hang out a bit now. We get dinner or go drinking, usually surrounded by friends. She's charming and quick and always has good stories to share.

Tonight, I got to hang out with her , along with her mother and brother. They're charming and quick and have good stories and I very much liked them. I suppose a person who didn't have such a lovely family wouldn't be so willing to hoist them unto friends, but sometimes one doesn't know one's own family isn't lovely.

I've always found that people who speak well of their families are, in general, people I like. There are a few exceptions, but I do get a bit worried when someone doesn't have anything positive to say about his/her kin. I've written plenty here about my own family and how fond I am of the people who comprise it, so I'll skip talking about them tonight for fear their heads will swell. And because I just made it under my deadline!

What to do? What to do? A man told me he is in love with me and it feels a bit as if he thinks his claim is staked. While his declaration was a surprise to me, we have known each other for a while. I'm fond of him. We seem to talk easily with each other, about our families, our opposing political views. I find him attractive. He's generous. Did I mention he said he's in love with me?

And then there are the cons: the biggie-we live in different states. He smokes. We tend to piss each other off on a fairly regular basis. Did I mention the opposing political views? He says I'm pushing away from him, whether from fear or low interest. Both? Both.

As to the low interest, did I mention we live in different states? We're not going to live in the same place any time soon; this really makes things difficult. I have an idea of how a relationship should look and for me, it includes being in the same room with a man at least several times a week. 

I can't up and move for someone with whom I don't have that tangible experience. I almost did that once and it would have been a disaster. It would be really nice to have learned a lesson from that. And I think I have. It really is difficult to conduct a long distance relationship when I know there are men nearby with whom I could be giving it a go. There's a balance I need to find for how much time and energy I can put into something that's so difficult to imagine happening.

The fear. I do have a fear of commitment. I do tend to push away when I sense interest and cling to the tiny scraps thrown my way from a man who no longer shows much interest at all. Not investing in someone means less chance of being hurt by that someone. Sad, but how my brain works. Sometimes I think I'm pushing this away because I'm afraid it could actually work. And then sometimes, as C pointed out, what I'm actually afraid of is not having ANYONE, so I keep things like this possibility alive because there's SOMETHING there, no matter how small or strained it may be. 

L-word guy (a different P) is not going to like this post. But it's honest and as much thought as I can put into this for now. 

Leaving New York today hurt less than the last time. And not because I don't still love and miss it. Spending time with C and talking to M just confirmed how much I want to be back there. Maybe I'm just resigned to being away for awhile. Maybe I was relieved to make it onto the bus with 13 seconds to spare, even if it meant not being able to stop at the store for some chinese grocery items. And missing the no-pants-on-the-subway fun.

Then, at the exact moment I was stepping off the bus, hurrying to the train station to catch the commuter rail, I got a text from the L-word guy. (Happy, P?) That was the start of a stressful evening of arguing through texts and eventually over the phone. I need to figure out this thing. Soon. 

Honestly, lying on C's sofa, laughing with him over trash tv and ice cream is the highlight of my year so far. Man, I love that man. Why can't it be this easy with a straight man?

Remember everything I wrote yesterday? Forget it. After spending the better part of today in pajamas on C's sofa, drifting in and out of consciousness, a case can be made for the wonderful feeling of NOT having to make oneself presentable. But, the fun I had last night was worth the trouble.

Just being out in the city with friends is enough to make me happy. Even in the bordering-on-bitter cold, the energy of an unfamiliar neighborhood and a hidden little speakeasy under a nondescript spanish restaurant can excite me. Add a few friends, a few vodka&sodas and a cute boy and it's a real party. 

Before the aforementioned boy and I left the party, I had a chance to talk with M. She's a wonderful woman I met last year when I crashed her boyfriend's birthday party. Both of them are fantastic people; the kind who make you feel at ease and interesting and an essential part of the conversation. Also got to hear about J's budding romance: proof one's life can look completely different from one week to the next. Dancing to Blondie and The Vapors was icing on the cake. 

More fun to be had tonight; time moves too quickly for my taste sometimes.

Ablutions

There was a time, not too long ago, when I was "going out" quite often. It was a busy, fun time and I always enjoyed the process of getting myself ready. Of course, if I was rushed or particularly nervous over WHO I was going out with, it wasn't a wholly pleasant experience. But I still liked the idea of washing up, of attempting to look my best, of presenting my best self.

As I began preparations this afternoon, I lamented the lack of occasions I've had lately which would warrant going to the trouble of leg-shaving and hair-curling. I suppose a lot of people believe it's too much effort, especially the effort expected of women. But I honestly take pleasure in getting ready for, well, what amounts to a date.

I suppose after a couple of drinks, I won't be too concerned about the color of my eyeliner or the smoothness of my legs, but I care about it now. It feels good to go through these painstaking efforts, because it makes ME feel good. I'm at my most confidant with some mascara on my curled lashes and an inch or two boost under my feet. I should try to make the effort a lot more often, just for myself. Even when there isn't a boy waiting. But I'm excited there'll be one waiting tonight.

Here's what I'm looking forward to this weekend:

-Listening to a book on CD recommended by O. It came up in a discussion about marriage and wondering whether it would be a good idea to reevaluate the marriage contract every few years.

-Spending time with C.

-Celebrating K's birthday.

-Drunkenly making out with M.

-Hopefully, a dinner with N.

-Streets that will make me feel brand new and lights that will inspire (me).

-Having some stories to tell!

They Can't All Be Gems

This whole day has been spent on my computer, getting very little done. Jobs were applied for, boys were flirted with, cousins were consulted, V was heard from (I won't be seeing him this weekend, either. Sigh.), new music was downloaded. I even got dressed before 10am. But I'm not feeling terribly inspired.

C (as well as K and the other C) think I need to start another blog, under a different name, where I can write about some things I don't feel comfortable discussing here.  There have been times I've censored myself a bit, thinking about my youngest reader (yet another C). And I DO have a few things on my mind that I just don't want everyone reading. 

So, this is the point I'm at right now. I've been proud of openness here. Anyone who knew me two years ago knows what an accomplishment this is for me. While my mother may not be comfortable with the level of sharing, I do think she appreciates how beneficial it's been for me. However, I'm beginning to come around to the notion of taking back a bit of my privacy. At least on some topics. Sharing (and shocking) is still too much fun for me.

This entry has been on my mind for over a week now. So much so, I nearly forgot it wasn't yet written. 

I woke up one morning, not so long ago, and the first thing i saw when my eyes opened was the small tattoo of a red apple on my wrist. And the first thought to pop into my head? I like it! Making it the first time in the five months since having that small, red apple tattooed on my wrist I've had that thought.

First of all, I wasn't drunk. I was dead sober and had planned for it, specifically for nearly three weeks, and in a more general sense, since I was 16. Maybe earlier. But I know for sure I wanted a tattoo at 16. It was a henna-ish sunburst I'd seen on the top of a model's foot in a magazine. I think it was Sassy. But I was afraid of the pain and very much concerned with what my mother and future children would think. Not to mention I was 16.

Over the years, the sunburst would be replaced several times in my mind. But the fear never left. During that time, my little sister got a tattoo. My nephew got a tattoo. My MOTHER got a tattoo. And still I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Until one hot night, last summer.

C and I were walking along St. Mark's Place, having come from dinner, I believe. As we passed one more seedy tattoo parlor, I suddenly knew exactly what I wanted and where. The only thing standing in my way was C. He told me I was crazy and made me promise to talk to friends of ours who'd already been tattooed. (C wouldn't think of marring his "pristine canvas".) After the initial disappointment wore off, I did as I was told and consulted M and K.

In the end, no matter how stupid he believed me to be, C accompanied me to the tattoo parlor, was very supportive and didn't call me "trash" until it was all over. He's good like that. 

During the process, when there was pain, I didn't regret it. In the days that ensued, when there was scabbing and peeling, I didn't regret it. And even in all the months that came after, when people would ask me about it and I would tell the story, I didn't regret it. But I didn't like it. 

There was a sense of pride, knowing I'd jumped in and done something a little crazy, if not so spontaneous. But most of the time when I caught a glimpse of that apple, I would cringe a little. Just a little, but enough. I wanted to love it. To be excited by it. 

And finally, I am! And I think I even know what I learned from this one! As adaptable as I like to think I am, sometimes I need time to adjust to change. Even self-initiated change. I need to give change time to sink into my skin.

Cousin O said it was mean for me to say what I did about my date, T, implying he might benefit from dating lessons. In my defense, T admitted upfront he was an awkward, clumsy dater. And if you need further reason to not think me too harsh, here it is:

During a drunken (high?) call very late Saturday night, T rattled on about how much fun he had with me and what a great gal I am ("gal" is my word, not his. I WOULD love to be called a "great gal" though, just in case anyone was wondering). It was all positive, even if it was under the influence, until he implied, in a quick-passing sentence that maybe I was the kind of girl who didn't need to be taken on a "proper" date. 

I called him on it. Pointed out he'd just insulted me. Also pointed out I WAS NOT that kind of girl. Not for him, anyway. He began saying more complimentary things, but I wasn't done being upset. When I reminded him, he apologized and then seemed to not even remember the offense. That's when I decided not to hold anything he'd said against him, hung up and sent off an email, telling him just that. And adding a bit more about me being able to decide, from date to date, exactly what kind of girl I'll be. Haven't heard from him since. What have I learned from this? Seriously, I'm asking.

On to bigger and better. And I mean that in every sense of the words. 

My PSA for the day: If you wish to make an hour last really, really long, watch The Secret Life of the American Teenager. Yikes. (that's for you, S, D, M and K)

EVery Day?

Lots of snow in Massachusetts and it's had me fairly housebound for the weekend. Can I piece together a compelling post about shoveling and Yahtzee!? I won, if that makes a difference. Also, I got a new shovel for Christmas, so that's pretty exciting.

  

I went clothes shopping a few days ago; that was new. Full disclosure: when I was in Los Angeles, I bought a dress, but I was just tagging along with my friend R and it was on supersale and I was looking ahead to job interviews. And it was the type of dress I never pictured myself in and it looked decent in the dressing room mirror. Fairly impossible to pass up.

But this trip was premeditated. My niece, D and I stopped at the store after her doctor's appointment; I was looking for a cute top for my date the next day, and using a gift certificate I'd been given. Cute top was found (and worn on date), along with a sweater. 

So, what's my point? Hmmmmm. Well, it was kind of a big deal to me, to purposely go out looking to acquire new things. Having more stuff makes me worried I won't be able to pick up and go at a moment's notice. Mind you, I'm not going anywhere right this moment, but I like knowing I can. But I realize I need to be practical and have more than 3 outfits should I ever actually get a job. 

Now, if one of these write-at-home-in-your-pajamas type of jobs comes my way, I'll go back to feeling guilty about the new clothes. Or not. A girl DOES need cute tops if she's to have a date every so often. Please, let me have a date every so often! 

Date update tomorrow...

Never Cross A Girl With A Blog

I finally heard from the "no action" guy last night. It just so happened I was on a date. When I checked my texts while my date was in the restroom, V's name popped up with an apology. Two weeks late. What does it say about me that I'm willing to overlook his quirks in order to see him again? Can "inconsiderate" be considered a quirk? Let's say, for now, that it can.

My new experience for the day was fogging up the window of T's car while it sat in the driveway of my sister's home. That doesn't really happen in Manhattan. But it did with V. Of course, it was in HIS car which would be double-parked outside my building. My first date with V was a revelation. I'm not going to recount the whole story here, because I've already written about it in another forum. Will it be enough to say that date became the stick by which I measure all others?

This is a guy who knows how to date. Which of course must mean he does plenty of it. That's okay. I don't want to marry him. But I would love for him to teach a class or something. I have a list of guys I'd like to enroll. I am NOT including last night's guy on that list. Yet. And not only because I made the mistake of giving him this url.

Newness

I remember cutting confetti out of scrap paper and getting a sip of cheap champagne on New Year's Eve when I was a child. There were a few scattered years I spent with friends, at small parties or out in the city. And for the last decade, I celebrated in a variety of hotel rooms with crowns and horns I'd packed in my suitcase. Of course resolutions were made, but I can't remember most of them and I certainly can't remember keeping any of them. 

This year, I was with family again: talking, playing games, eating chinese food and sneaking away from the party to phone a boy. It was familiar (they're my family, after all) and strange at the same time. When last I was with this crowd, most of the kids hadn't even reached teenagerhood, some  of them hadn't been born. We reminisced about that night, the cusp of a new century, which I spent in my sister's basement, coaxing kids into creating a play to perform for their parents. They were an unwieldy crowd hyped up on soda and cookies, but we managed to put on quite a show.

Last night, several of them were joined by a boy/girlfriend and could legally toast the stroke of midnight. Most of the older ones didn't even stick around, having better offers from friends. It's exciting, watching these people I knew as babies at the beginning of their adulthood and wondering what this year holds in store for them.

Speaking of NEW, yesterday, before the festivities I visited B in the hospital in order to see her day old baby boy. He's tiny and sweet and wrinkly and gorgeous. I held him and checked out his fingers and toes and stared into his face. There's no denying the hope a newborn baby can inspire. The idea of a whole new life; oh! the possibilities!  She'll be bringing him home today and it's impossible not to think of the excitement of starting this new year as a bigger, happier family. Shouldn't every new year foster such hope of a fresh start?

And that's the thought I'm going to try to keep for the day, and for the year. My resolution for 2010 is to work at taking advantage of fresh starts. I've always wanted to be the type of person who wakes up in the morning with wide eyes and an optimistic attitude. I have not been that person. But everyday SHOULD bring new hope. There are infinite directions in which one's day can go; why not start each with a positive frame of mind? 

Here's hoping this resolution sticks. Cheers!