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!

On family

I've been debating breaking up with my (now ex-) boyfriend for a couple of months, and what finally put me over the edge was thinking long and hard about the family that I one day hope to have, and the dating relationship on which I want to build that family.


After searching to know something about us in a meaningful way, here's where I came down on things, which ultimately led me to make a tough choice:


1. There's commitment between us, but no plan. I don't know if my desire to have one is fair or realistic, but I know that I'm no longer comfortable not having one. We started off with a lot of grand talk about the future we were blazing, but we never really started moving toward it, toward a shared life.


2. Due largely to the facts in #1, I started to become a crazy person in the way that only a woman can; I was doubting myself and picking fights and doubting him and being really, really angry. Not only do I really not want to be that person, I don't want to subject him--as someone I care about--to that person. And, honestly, if it kept up, I was surely going to get dumped for being that person.


3. There were a lot of wonderful things about our relationship and a million great things about him, but at the end of the day, I don't think that what bonds us respect for each other and passion for the life we might have together. Most importantly, though, I don't think that we were a team; we're two people who love each other who frequently share meals and time together. We don't challenge each other to meet goals, or try to explore new things together. In short "we" don't really have a story, we have two stories share that events, but nothing is "ours."


4. I don't want the relationship I described in #3 to be my love life and I don't think that it's a solid foundation for a family.


5. I want a family that's the kind I envied as a kid. One where people communicate well more often than not and do crazy things for the sake of the memories. Where the both people in the couple get up in the morning eager to find a new way to make sure the other knows how much they're adored. And one day, when they have kids, it'll be a tough adjustment, but they both will be so well-practiced in loving deeply and sharing it, that there's overflow in the house. And if I can't have that kind of relationship to build family on, I'd rather build a similarly passionate and exciting and motivating set of relationships (in the non-romantic sense) that give me a sense of satisfaction that is hopefully a good second.


6. So, while I started out mad that there wasn't a plan, I'm glad that dwelling on the lack of one gave me a good opening to think about all this other stuff. Because, I ended up at the point where I didn't see one either.



At first I thought that it sounded crazy to say that I care too much about my dream family to stay in a relatively stable relationship with a man I really do care about. But the more I turned the thoughts over in my head, the more I realized that it's because I care about family that I have to break up with him.

it's work

You know what love-related theme Disney should take on? It likely doesn't surprise you that I have an opinion, right?

Well my answer is simple: the reality that love takes work. And, like, a lot of it.

For example: when was the last time you woke up, interacted with a teenager, and thought "thanks for making it really easy to love you today." Never, right? Because people don't do that for you. I fight every day to earn a passing grade as a friend, supervisor, sister, daughter, girlfriend, aunt, cousin, sort-of-passive-facebook friend, employee, ex-girlfriend that wants to be encouraging of the 'it's not me it was you message,' compulsive wine consumer...actually...I think that's about it.

If I were, say, Jasmine from Alladin, I'd wake up at noon, put on some oddly bulky pants, wrap a bra-like shirt around my oddly large rack, and, while I combed my hair, my father would walk in adoring me--in part because of my absent mother that he wants to make up for--and pepper me with presents and compliments. And then men would do the same, including a sort of homeless street vendor whom I treat disrespectfully until he takes me on a ride on his magical carpet.

Would I wonder what I did to earn such a delightful adventure? Would I fight to prove to him that I was always crazy? Would I try to redeem myself in the eyes of his oddly conversational monkey? Nope. I'd brush my hair for the millionth time that day while looking at myself in the mirror and singing a song about how lovable I am. Maybe direct my notes at a tiger or something. And it would all be true because I said it aloud.

The truth is that it doesn't work that way. Not even animals love you without conditions, and you know that I'm right if you've watched an episod of Animal Planet's Fatal Attraction.

You have to make the decision that a person, and thus a relationship, is worth it. And then you have to dig in and fight for it from dusk 'til dawn. At least that's what I beleive.

Home

This post won't be as sassy as most, but it will show you my inner housewife. Few things make me more happy than when someone walks into my apartment and tells me that it feels like a home. Making it that way has been an odd combination of exhausting effort and the easiest of finds. Maybe because my mother's pretty much a hoarder, which makes me half hoarder, which means that my house never has a shortage of little somethings.

I get asked often how one might make one's own shabby 20-something city apartment into a home.

Here's my advice: Fill your living space with things that make you happy. For me, that's colors, pictures, shoes, and books. Totally normal, right? Rather than tuck my shoes away in a closet or under my bed, I've got them on bookshelves in my living room. Right next to shelves of books organized by color (a tip I picked up from the nice people at Real Simple that makes my shelves look less cluttered while still making me look smart). And photos are everywhere, photos of wonderful people and wonderful moments.

Nothing is better than color. I know I sort of covered that above, but I really stand by it. There's no real need to limit yourself to a two-color pallet. For example, I went with jewel tones in my living room; there's green, purple, teal, pink, and blue. And I love it. Sure, it doesn't work for everyone, but it's awesome for me. The trick is to have a balance of each color such that it looks intentional as opposed to hand-me-down. But there's a particular charm in hand-me-down, so don't weed it all out.

Nothing beats a good tv. I don't care what those hipsters say. Invest in quality entertainment.

And for the love of God, take out the trash and keep your kitchen counters and eating surfaces clean. I'm shocked at how many people let their disdain for trash removal take over their home. You go outside every fucking day, take a bag of trash with you. I mean it. When people come over, you want it to be easy and effortless to pull up a chair, pour a few glasses of vino, and let the conversation flow. You don't want to have to brush aside a big ol' mess that includes dishes from a week ago. It's just plain gross.

On the lives of good men

I feel very strongly that there are few good men in this world. I use "men" in the general sense, which includes women, but "good people" just lacks weight, and I think it's important to pick heavy words when talking about serious things.

It's true, though, that we all long to be good. Or at least I hope it is. So why is it that, with this longing in all of us, so few hit the mark? Still working on that one.

Good men seem to never know that they are good; have you noticed that? They're full of searching and hoping and longing and so much damn work to make themselves better. I'm jealous of them, though. Because their quest gives purpose in a way that seems really satisfying to me.

hey big spender

I've spent the majority of my life worried about my finances and behaving with extreme caution. These days, it's not that there's no real need to worry, it's just that the immense threat of losing everything no longer looms over me. So if I see something that I want, and it's not really sensible, but not really outlandish...well...I buy it. Like seriously, 60% of the time, I buy it every time.

Don't worry, my credit card debt is less than 4% of my annual income. It's just that my savings is about the same amount. But you should see my collection of shoes, lingerie, and beautiful picture frames filled with smiling faces and memories. The first one and the last one are all over my apartment. The middle one I tuck away.

The reality that this isn't a good long-term strategy is clear to me and I'm slowly changing my tune. Why's that so hard, though?

Comfort

I'm not really one for routine, but I have to admit that there's a certain kind of safety that can only be found in the familiar. Right now, for example, I'm curled up on my couch in a t-shirt that I've had since 8th grade and listening to the thunder roll in, just like I did as a kid on my grandparents' porch. For dinner, I went with wine and my absolute favorite dish that my boyfriend's mother cooks.

My stomach's full, my brain's a little dizzy, and I'm winning every game of Words with Friends that I start.

And I'm home. Not in the way that's a specific building or a place, but this sense that everything's right and I belong and I'm happy in the realest of ways. It's awesome.

Short List

Spotted online today...

DEAR ABBY: When my husband is mad at me, he will recite all the good things he has done for me, but “forgets” all but one or two things I have done for him.

I try to be considerate and caring every single day, and when I can’t recite the list of the good things I do, I end up feeling low and unworthy.

Shouldn’t kindness be given just because you love and care about someone? Am I wrong to feel bad because I can’t summon up at the drop of a hat every little thing I do all the time?

Why should I even have to point out these things in the first place? Your opinion would be greatly appreciated. — It’s a Short List

DEAR SHORT LIST: When a person is being berated and adrenaline is rushing through her system, it’s not surprising that she isn’t capable of a long oration. The instinct is probably to run for cover.

What you have said is right on target. So, please, take a few minutes (or more) while you are calm and make a list of all the good things you do and have done for your spouse. Then make about 100 copies. And when your husband starts that lecture again — and you know he will — hand him one.


Let's be clear: this person made her name "it's a short list" because she doesn't do much. I know exactly what I do to tell my man that I love him, because I focus hard on trying to love him right and to show him the way that I want him to. Remembering is easy not because I'm keeping tabs, but because I think through my emotions and the gestures that give them voice. Loving and caring comes naturally, but expressing them takes a concious effort.

Step up your game.

Seriously?

Did this really need help from a journalist?

Dear Abby: I am a 50-year-old gay man. On New Year's Eve, there was a block party on my street. My neighbors, "Marie" and "Tim," are a good-looking couple in their 30s.

I was watching the fireworks when Marie sat down next to me and said, "Tim and I would like to get to know you better. How about we drop by for drinks some night after we put the kids to bed?" She said it while stroking my upper thigh with her hand.

I find the idea of being intimate with her husband appealing, but I have never "been with" a woman and I don't think I want to be. How do I avoid offending or embarrassing one of my neighbors?

- Caught In the Fireworks, Houston

Dear Caught: Does the neighbor know that you're gay? If the answer is no, just thank her and tell her you're not into threesomes. Because it has taken you so long to give her an answer, she probably won't be surprised. If she does know, tell her with a wink: "Thanks for the offer - I'm not into threesomes. But you can send Tim over anytime."

Recipe secrets and cupcake lies

There's a controversy brewing at the Kansas City Star over the sharing--despite promises to do otherwise, mind you--of family recipes. You can read all about it here.

It's no secret that I like a tasty treat from time to time. Especially if it contains cheese, chocolate, or jalapenos, but you're not going to catch me taking any secrets to my grave. Far be it from me to steal the joy of a delicious meal from anyone.

Red lipstick

Make up is kind of strange; we get up in the morning and paint our faces. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that there are things I can do to make myself look better. Men, who don't have the same socially acceptable norms with eye liner and concealer, are stuck with the face they've got. I can always get better.

but there's one make-up trick that's always eluded me: the red lip. Luckily In Style had put together a fool-proof guide to helping you find the right color for you. And since I have to head to CVS today anyway, I'll be picking up my dream shade.

Part 2!

Just didn't want this post to get too long. Check out the first half here.

8:30 Ahhh! Emily jsut admitted she was in love with Allison (she's the maybe-dead one). And says she likes "ballsy women." I can't take the punniness!

8:33 In a quest for emotional intimacy, Hannah's opening up to Caleb about her issues with weight. If they all start revealing their secrets in consecutive scenes...well...I don't really know what. But it seems like it's too easy.

8:39 It's wierd that Mr. Creepy is sleeping on top of his bedding right? But I'm glad everyone is getting some. Spencer curled up in Creeper's bed. Hannah's boning Caleb with a condom, so don't worry. Emily is making out in a bar parking lot, and cheating on her girlfriend. And, finally, Aria put on something slutty to go make dinner for her teacher. Not that I was a saint in high school, but damn.

8:44 Maybe I spoke too soon. Aria's date night was chock-full of questions about the crazy blind girl, Jenna. Advice: Act like a grown woman and communicate.

8:54 Hannah's mom is getting all passive aggressive SLASH actually aggressive on Caleb. Advice: Don't enable your daughter's hormonal rage. Maybe find a different place for him to stay? Prediction: She gets hot for him. Because she's gross like that.

8:57 I can't stand it. Who did Caleb call saying that he was quitting?! Does he really love her?!?

9:00 There's a god afterall: the preview reveals that it was Jenna. Who I will remind you is blind. Who Hannah slaps for it. Love.

And now, for something completely different

Pretty Little Liars is an absolutely terrible/awesome show on ABC Family. Tonight, I'm going to give live-blogging a try as I share with you the deets of the latest episodes.

8:00 Important backgrounds. They're all sexually confused and accused of something bad pertaining to what may or may not have been the death of a girl who may or may not have been a good friend.

8:03 Spencer just admited that she lied to the cops. And then they all confessed that they did the same. The cops have been asking a lot of questions about her brother-in-law who's the suspect in question. It also turns out that she hooked up with them, which all the girls just lied about. And now their old cop friend is being enlisted to turn on them.

8:04 That opening is confusing. "'Cause two can keep a secret if one of them is dead," the closing line, is ominous,but then also inconsistent with the facts that form the basis of the show: five best friends caught in a web of lies, the meaneast one's dead/disappeared, and now an anonymous/ominous person is leveraging the dirt she had on all of them. There are five people, a gagillion secrets, and it's not even clear if one of them is dead. But they all look really pretty and have awesome hair.

8:09 Spencer, now appearing a bit suspect as her accusations for her brother-in-law blew up in her face, is being encouraged to enter therapy by her parents. Advice: Maybe talk with your damn kid.

8:10 Oh! Look, we're in a locker room was some hot, sexually confused high school girls. Wonder what might happen? Advice: Let's all face our demons, this time with more passion and some first-base action. Thx, ABC Family.

8:14 Hannah's been sneaking a boy in her basement. Like living there. And making out and stuff. Her mother doesn't seem to have a clue because she's an uninvolved and self-absorbed idiot.

8:16 It makes me uncomfortable that Aria's name is so close in pronounced so similar to "area"--like the zones on a girl's body that her high school English teacher shouldn't be touching.

8:22 Really? A blind girl sneaks up on her? She's carrying a walking stick and tapping it on the floor. #notbuyingit.

8:26 Hannah's busted, but is "we don't lie to each other" really the best her mom can do as a punitive line? She was perfectly willing to lie when she stole $50K from a customer at her bank.

Continued here.

sunday funday

The Oscars are tonight and I've pretty much seen none of the movies that were nominated in any category. Except the animated ones. In honor of the occasion, I've decided to get a manure and pedicure, the watch "The Social Network." And cook something g delicious. I know the nominees wouldn't do that last part, but I'm no starlett.

Marry Me

I first I thought the Bruno Mars track that bears the name of this post was a sweet little love song. It's upbeat, and with the opening lines, you can't help but fall back to memories of feeling young and a little stupid and a lot too in love.

It becomes clear that he's talking about being a bit drunk as well. And hey, I'm not gonna say that I haven't been there, but here's where he loses me: "If you wake up and you wanna break up that's cool/No I don't blame you/It was fun, girl."

Come on, buddy, let's have a little more commitment, huh? Like not openly endorsing a morning-after annulment in the same breath as the proposal?

Don't know the song? Check out the lyrics here.

Femme Fatale

Britney Spears has a new single that I can't get out of my head. I'm not sure that this means anything abuot the quality of the music, but I just like to jam, so quality's really not a dealbreaker for me. You can check it out here.

Want my opinion? Of course you do. There's something a little to GaGa about the whole thing. And the videos of her old hits playin gin the background is just a little too strange, in large part because I miss that Britney. You know, the "naughty or not?" one.

But I'm content to have something new to jam to for now.

Loving right

Once, when I was in the early stages of a relationship, the part where you stay up late and talk about all the things that you'd never say without the cover of darkness, I was asked what I was afraid of. Without hesitation, I answered.

"Not loving right."

Let's be honest, I probably asked him first in hopes that he would ask me so that I could say exactly that just to make sure I got to unveil that little bit of crazy in a safe, dark room. That's a chick for ya.

My father had this amazing way of showing my mother he cared in exactly the way she wanted to see it: presents. For the nearly 30 years that he was alive and married to her, he got her a present every month on the day that they were wed. Not too shabby, right? I won't regale you here with the tales of how he made it happen, but it's pretty impressive.

Much later, I learned about Gary Chapman's love languages. Those would be: words of affirmation; quality time; receiving gifts; acts of service; and physical touch. I'm not sure if I think it's a bullshit theory or not, but it gives validity to this notion of crazy that I've been carrying around for forever, so I'm gonna go with it for now. I'll also unveil that mine is words of affirmation. Just in case you, dear reader, later fall in love with me and are searching for the best way to make it clear.

It only takes a few moments for me to care deeply, but I have rarely let myself take the real plunge. Here's the tricky thing about love--and I'm not telling you this because it's Valentine's Day--it's that the people you love don't always hear what you're telling them. I can stand on rooftops or mountain tops, pick your cliche, and scream and yell until I'm red in the face, or blue in the face, or whatever color people turn when they're trying really damn hard (again with the cliches). But sometimes they can't hear you. You can slave over meals and kiss him for no reason at all and search for moments to look him in the eye and smile and buy lingerie and curl your hair. And even put on lipstick. Did I mention kissing him for no reason at all?

But if that's not what they're looking for, they don't see it. I feel this weight to make it known to the people that I love that there's this spot in my heart that will never be filled with anything but the way that they make me feel, a smile that I don't let anyone else see. And then there's the conflicting pressure from reality that there's no way I can ever make it clear enough.

It's like a tug-of-war that we're all destined to lose. But I'll be damned if I'm not going down without a fight.

Change of scenery

My mind plays tricks on me. See, it picks a mood, and all of the sudden, the same thing that was wonderful just moments ago becomes miserable. Here's an example:

Yesterday, I took a bit of time in the midst of Saturday errands and cleanings-up to curl up in my bed a read mindless chick lit. And it was awesome. I reveled in how smooth my sheets are and how uninvasive the soft light from my lamp is. Originally, I'd intended to read only a chapter, but I lost track of things and went on and on. And when I was done, I was in such a good mood that I settled in to do an ab work out, which left me feeling skinny and triumphant.

Today, though, I've just had a fight with my boyfriend after yet another disappointing date night (he seemed aloof, which made me sad, and I after worrying myself into a stomach ache that wouldn't quit, I passed out early, which reinforced his notion that I'm no longer attracted). Now, I'm curled up in bed reading Something Borrowed to pass the time and I noticed that there are definitely crumbs in my bed, the only sound I can hear is the steady stream of my upstairs neighbor's peeing (why is soundproofing between bathrooms so terrible?!) and the weak light from my lamp is giving my an eye strain headache. Did I mention how pathetic I feel for reading chick lit?

How is this possible?

Unclear. But I'm pretty sure that I'll find the answer a few chapters in, so I'm going to bear down and try to lose myself in the pages of the book.

On support in relationships

In the Real Housewives of Atlanta finale, producers tortured us through 90 minutes of "is she gonna go through with it?" drama. Worse, throughout the whole season they subjected us to the emotional roller coaster of dating Peter Thomas, her now husband.

In anticipation of the finale, Peter did an interview that nailed one of my biggest relationship pet peeves: that to be supportive, you have to encourage your partner's every whim. I should add, though, that I hate many things about this man as we've seen him on TV and this is only a drop in the bucket.

Here's the line: "If I need her to do something for me again, she better step up. That's part of her duty as a wife...It's my duty as a husband to provide whatever support to [help] her go forward."

False. And, as a failed entrepreneur, I feel like he should know the value of learning as soon as possible that his ideas are shitty. You know what supportive people do? Tell the folks they love the honest truth, even when that's bad news. Further, people who try to assert that the only way to support them is to tell them that they're right are self-centered and, I'm willing to push that further, remiss in loving their partners appropriately. There's a baseline assumption that Peter's making here: his ideas are always categorically superior to Cynthia's. It's gross.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Oy

You know what I just did? I bought a new computer. Which means I won't have to blog from the office anymore. Which means that I can write without being worried about how appropriate my content is for work.

Maybe, expect more from me in the coming weeks.

You're welcome.