A tree-less tree

Christmas time is quickly approaching and I'm very prepared. Almost all of my presents are bought and packed away for transport when I head home for Thanksgiving, my travel is more or less planned, and my decorations are within arm's reach as soon as an acceptable moment arrives.

That will likely be next weekend.

But putting up a tree in a relatively small apartment is pretty tough. I'm unwilling to not have a tree, but I did some looking around at ideas for alternatives just in case, and stumbled upon this idea, which I think is brilliant. A tree created on your wall with lights and nails.

Do it.

Christmas is coming

If you think the title of this post sounds like crazy talk, you're right

I'm fanatical about a lot of things, and one of them is giving the perfect Christmas ornament to people as a present. This passion-slash-obsession is rooted in the conviction that one's holiday decor should be a reflection of the life she's lived. My ornaments, I like to think, could be a biography of sorts.

So I've already started hitting up stores that have their ornaments out and thus far, I have one for my mom, for my sister, for one of my nephews, and for a recently engaged friend (it's a ring!). Just two more to go!

I like to imagine my nephews unpacking to put up their first Christmas tree in whatever lives they set out to make for themselves. They'll unwrap the ones that I've given them, noting how I took care to add the year and their name to each and every one. Pressumably, they'll think something like "my aunt has amazingly good taste" and they'll tell everyone in the room how awesome I am. And, most importantly, they'll have this way of understanding the love that we lavished on them when they were too little to remember.

Pick something.

Months ago, I started a painfully chicky piece of chick lit called Love the One You're With. I knew that it wasn't self-help in nature, but I sort of wanted something that was. Buying such a book, though, is pathetic, and I absolutely wasn't going to Google something. So I searched my bookshelf for something already in my posession that might sort of do the trick, and Emily Giffin was all I had.

I ended up not able to finish it because I was all girly and emotional and ridiculous, but the dust has long settled through all of that, so I picked it back up a week ago. The story's protagonist is torn between two men. One is a man she dated once, and with whom she had a relationship that was desperately unhealthy and also interesting and dangerous. And the other is her husband, whom she loves dearly, but whom finds boring. Life brings her to a crossroads where she must choose what she's going to do, and she comes to this understanding:

Love not as a surge of passion, but as a choice to commit to something, someone, no matter what obstacles or temptations stand in the way. And maybe making that choice, again and again, day in and day out, year after year, says more about love than never having a choice to make at all.

That's how I feel about it. Not that have to pick between two men, but that love, while it's a feeling, shows itself everyday in the choices we're willing to make for someone.

I told a friend that recently and he told me that my perspective was decidedly unromantic, though I must say I feel exactly the opposite. Committing over and over again to the same person by making his favorite dish or hearing out the latest stupid problem that's tearing her apart, or driving with the windows down even when you know it's going to ruin your hair just because you know he loves the feel of the wind. Those things are love. And all that makes me think that the who isn't nearly as important as the making of the choices.

Broken hearts

A friend shared some sadness with me this week. He is a caring and strong men, and he has parted ways with the woman he has loved for half of his life. He's at peace with his choice, but torn to pieces over the pain that she's in.

It's a feeling we can all relate to, or at least I think it is. The one where you're stuck between what's easy in the short term and what's best for your heart. Where you're sick from pretending to be in something that you know you're halfway out of, but positive that saying it out loud will tear apart someone you love. There's something fundamentally human about that torture and hurting that it's hard to not sound trite and cheesy in writing it.

I long to never feel like that again, but I also know that feeling that way means I'm loving with conviction; you've got to hurt, right?

Falling in love

Abuse of the word "love" has long upset me. Like when I was at a Britney Spears concert once, and she told all 30,000 of us that she was loved us; that just seems wrong. But I've also just watched the finale of The Bachelorette and am myself a recent bachelorette and there's something I feel strongly about that I don't say often, which is a bit in conflict with what I've just said. Here it is...

Falling in love is easy.

And I don't mean the trivial way. I mean the real thing. If you forced me to estimate, I'd say that about once a week, I meet a person whom I honestly can't forget, who compells me to give something of myself. It's not always romantic--in fact it almost never is because I'm practical about such things--but I don't think that really matters.

Take tonight, for example. I had drinks with a friend that I feel so lucky to have in my life. We met years ago through work. She's strong and reminds me every time that I talk with her that I am in control of my life, and that's a reality that I should laugh at. She always has something to say that makes me feel smart or funny or pretty, and when I need it most, admired. I knew when I met her that there was something special there, not because I wanted her, but because there are pieces of our lives that simply fit together.

I know that love can come quickly, but its representation on reality television shows doesn't quite seem right.

PS I love you reality television.

Hey there, karaoke

I've got awesome friends who are better at keeping my mind busy than I am. Recently, I confessed that Whitney Houston's "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" is my go-to song for karaoke, and within minutes I had a request in my calendar for a song-filled outing as soon as a group of us were both free on the right night of the week.

Probably, though, I need a new song. Obviously, I will start with the safe song that I feel confident in, but what's gonna be #2? If I were a combination of more spontaneous and less prideful, I'd figure it out in the moment, but I feel the need to test and practice and make sure that I won't embarrass myself before I pick up a mic in front of a room full of drunk people who will sing over me. Lots at stake, there, folks.

So I Googled it and got this list of mostly obvious songs. Here are my picks:

• #19--"Bohemia Rhapsody" because I sometimes feel the need to belt it out
• #23--"Satisfaction" which reminds me of my awesome French horn solo on the same tune years ago
• #6--"Don't Stop Believing" which has its own magic, but is overdone as karaoke. I could be convinced to do it in the right bar, though

I'd add that #1, "Sweet Caroline," isn't challenging vocally or drunkenly, so it seems like it's inappropriately ranked. And I hate everything by the Beatles.

I'll let you know what I go with!

This woman disgusts me

A recent "Dear Abby" column from the Chicago Sun-Times has me pretty upset. The writer is asking for advice in dealing with her sister's open admissions of infidelity. Here's the low lights: "While making plans to visit me for a few days, she asked if I could 'hook her up' with any guys...A few days later, my sister informed me that her “boyfriend” had broken things off with her."

she goes on to say that she's "disgusted," and that she wants to "handle the situation" that "finds offensive."

She hears back a simple answer: "Handle it by telling your sister exactly what you have written to me. That should get the message across succinctly."

I'll tell you what, though, I want to add more. There's absolutely no way that I would let anyone use a trip to my house in such a way, and to even ask to do so is disrespectful to me and to her husband. We often end up in situations where we aren't as happy as we wish we were, but anyone with an ounce of character would communicate that info to their partner rather than violating the promised made in the relationship. You simply don't do that to people you care about.

Not a Good Choice

I've been meaning to by the new Adele album but hadn't gotten around to it. And a while back I'd started a book by Emily Giffin. With all the not sleeping I've been doing lately as I wrestle through if I made the right decision to end a relationship, I bought the album and picked back up the book.

Poor choice on both counts. And I mean that insofar as the both have been making me sob.

In the conversations since we broke up, I've learned just how wrong I was about how devoted he was to me and how much he wanted to give me. I'd connected a set of events to tell myself a story that he didn't care in the way that I needed him to. And I couldn't have been more wrong; as we talked he reminded me of the good things, the times when my heart raced and I was so happy tears were in my eyes. I know now that the piece that was missing--the one that would get me to that place more often--was me telling him what I need in order to give him a chance to give it to me.

I'd created a debate about committing to me in the long term, when what I really wanted was for him to love me in the moment in a way that I knew it. I'd been longing for the times in our courtship when I knew every minute of every day that he was mine and that he wanted me to be his, and I felt that I couldn't settle for not having that. And now, as he fights through his hurt to try to figure out what comes next, I want so badly for him to remember how he felt then as well.

So take these lyrics from the first song on 21:

But don't you remember?

Don't you remember?

The reason you loved me before,

Baby, please remember me once more,

Gave you the space so you could breathe,

I kept my distance so you would be free,

In hope that you'd find the missing piece,

To bring you back to me,

Why don't you remember?

Don't you remember?

The reason you loved me before,

Baby, please remember me once more,

When will I see you again?

The song is about begging for forgiveness for cheating, which couldn't be further from what happened to us, but that feeling of willing someone to remember what you can do for each other and how recently you were able to do it is still there.

Ultimately, I don't know if we can work. But I do know that we are two people desperate to love each other and care for each other. And I believe he now knows how hard I've been fighting all this time, which I hope helps him understand how I've much I'm willing to put into this and how hard I can fight for it.

I'll be really clear: What I want more than anything is for him to take a bet on me, that I can get better at telling him what I need, and that I believe in him and his ability to give that to me the way that I did months ago, before I let the fear shade my ability to see all that he does for me. I don't want to talk about marriage anymore, I want to talk about today.

Don't worry, Simon's real

I love the Housewives franchise and, in general, I'm a big fan of reality TV. But my biggest pet peeve of the shows is how much people talk about "realness." It's like none of them ever watched someone else on a show make an ass out of themselves doing it.

Simon Van Kempen, though, has taken it to a whole new level with an absolutely terrible song about how real he is. That's right. The only saving grace is that it's not a real video per se. It's just a picture of him with the lyrics, so you don't have to see him try to dance or anything. Thank God.

One of the guys

A friend from college came into town for some hockey this weekend, and because I love reunions, I met up with him and some of his buddies who were all strangers to me. By 10:00, I found myself in a familiar situation: a girl out with a bunch of guys telling crude jokes and laughing till I cried.

Last week, I had a drink with one of my girlfriends who grew up a guys' girl just like me. She remarked that it's easier to be friends with boys, or maybe "safer" is the better word. Her point wasn't about women being catty, but about the ease of conversations that don't require emotional investment and the lack of pressure one feels in those relationships. Last night was a case study in how true this is.

Take this for example: we meet, I introduce myself, we shake hands, and then I mock their outfits (stupid Caps jerseys), and they laughed. I didn't have to pretend to make nice to try to get things started on a good foot. We were already on a good foot, because guys tend to roll that way.

Before the night was up, we spent time inventing drinking games and then inventing new rules for the invented games, competing to spot the drunkest mess we could at closing time and inventing a hashtag to share the best ones with the world, and I almost peed my pants three different times.

In the long run, I'm sure that those kinds of friendships, casual in nature and generally lacking is support, aren't enough to sustain me, but it's pretty nice to have them!