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?