Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Our looking glass

"Wow!" my little sister exclaimed," You two sound exactly the same!"

She was talking about my man and I of course.
And of course, I was appalled.

"What do you mean, exactly the same?"

"You have the same voice," she said. "And you make the same faces."

Maybe it was our mutual affection for all things small we seemed to find while shopping, or our common reaction to those very things, but there was no denying that my little sister was right.

We were beginning to mirror one another in ways I wasn't sure I was comfortable with.

From facial gestures to common laughs, becoming a "couple" unfortunately means saying goodbye to certain aspects of yourself that were solely yours and embracing unexpected changes.

Considering my closest girl friends and I have our own "hidden language," full of private jokes and euphemisms that no one else understands... I calmed myself with the acknowledgment that
it seems only natural for a guy-girl relationships to create their own personal imagery as well.

But while the relationship mirror continues to reflect our new found similarities, I have to wonder when sharing becomes changing...

And when that change means you're losing the one person that got you into this great relationships in the first place.

My Inconvenient Truth

It's easy to say we love someone when things are going our way... when our schedules line up perfectly and our days are spent without conflict.

But I've always felt that love isn't about the easy and fun.

Love is putting someone else before yourself at times when you may not want to.

Love isn't making dinner because you get home before your mate.
Love is making it even though you get home afterward.

Love isn't staying up late on Saturday night because you don't have to work Sunday.
Love is staying up late on Thursday despite your early work schedule because your mate needs your company.

The truth is that love is putting someone else first when other priorities loom. A truth that shows selflessness and compassion.

And yes, it's a truth that's inconvenient.

Monday, April 28, 2008

Timing is everything?

So what happens when your biological clocks are in different time zones?

While some women walk around acutely aware of their biological clocks and when they will cease to tick entirely, little attention is given to men with their own relationship time bombs likely to cause a storm.

Like, say... when he's older.
Maybe he's A LOT OLDER.
Maybe he has kids already and doesn't want any more.
Maybe he just never wants them at all...
Or maybe he wants them by the time he's 40, and you just so happen to be dating him at 38.

But if you're 25... whose time zone should you live in?

He's a grown up, for real and you're just getting there.
He's had 10 years to pay off his student loans and yours are still in deferment...

So what are you to do?

Is it better to rush yourself or slow h i m d o w n?

Where you used to think you had at least a decade before you even started THINKING about such things, suddenly his 4-0 is looming in the distance like a cloud likely to cause the emotional hurricane that could ruin your relationship.

But can you weather the impending storm of babies, marriage and a mortgage that you might not be ready for?

Or should you instead flee and hope it rains men your own age?

Friday, April 25, 2008

Handling love

You've gone and fallen in love and now it's not only written all over your face...

But you can see the evidence of it on your hips as well.

As we get happy in our relationships, we seem to spend less time out gallivanting and more time inside snuggling.
And where we were once trim, slim, and single, we find ourselves chubby and coupled instead.

But how do we avoid the expanding waistline that comes along with the expanding heart?

Regardless of how many times I've said, "I will not let this relationship make me chubby," 6 months and 6 lbs later, I give up.

I'm okay with the all that extra love and attention...

I'm just having a little trouble handling all the extra baggage that seems to come with it.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

A Price to Pay

I've given up my daily Starbucks.
I've said goodbye to my Pier1 hand soap and instead buy safeguard.
I'm in the process of canceling a cable service that doesn't want to break up with me and my lunch is usually found in a brown paper bag, sans cookies.

But in spite of all my attempts at downsizing my spending and expanding my wallet, there is one thing that could really make an impact worth noticing in my savings account...

Splitting that rent check in half.

I could breath a little easier.
I could visit my parents who live an hour away instead of complaining about the gas prices.
I could say Y E S when someone asks me to go out with them for a night of dinner and drinks.

But instead I wait.
I wait for the right time, the right reasons to get another roommate.
Because the next one won't be a chick who needs her own room, it will be someone who can share one with me.

Yet I know that gaining some extra cash comes with its own price.
The price of independence.
The price of space and time and things that are mine in a space that belongs only to me.

And while I believe that money shouldn't play a role in such life changing decisions... unfortunately it still does.

And so. A crossroads.
Right or left.
Alone or together.
Now or later.

Decisions, decisions.

Either way, the road will be bumpy...

Let's just hope there's enough cash to fill up my tank before I make a wrong turn.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Turn up the volume

"You look nice tonight," he said. "I like this more muted look."

Immediately, I touched my face, appalled at my how muted I must have looked and cursed my new pale shade of lip gloss.

"What do you mean, MUTED?" I asked.

"Just more natural than usual I guess... it's not a bad thing at all. I like it."

Great. I'd just spent an hour getting ready and my look was lacking vitality, intensity, and strength in spite of my voluminous hair.

But I wondered, if THIS look is MUTED then what do I normally look like??? Bette Davis???!!!

I spent the rest of our date second guessing my outfit, choice of make up, and overly styled hair. My muted look took forever and no amount of conversation could undo his "compliment" that was masked in more makeup than I usually found myself in.

"Why are you so quiet?" he asked me after dinner.

I wanted to tell him that his comment was offensive.
I wanted to tell him that a simple, "you look nice tonight" could have saved the date.
I wanted to tell him that certain words aren't meant for ladies, they are meant for television shows you choose not to watch.

But instead I just sat there, quietly.

"Come on! What is it? What did I say???" he pestered.

But I didn't utter a sound.
I kept my thoughts to myself and paired my muted look with an appropriate personality to match.

makeup your mind

After the wedding vows were exchanged, he brushed his lips against her petite ear and breathed words reaffirming that he was her true love... and maybe a little controlling.

"I like you better without all that makeup," he said.

I'm still deciding how I feel about his comment.

On one hand, he's expressing his attraction to her natural beauty. Bravo.

On the other, is he establishing some relationship rules now that she is his wife? Perhaps his ideal is to see her in an ankle-length dress, her hair styled like a cinnamon roll. Is this a sign that there are more "suggestions" to come?

M.A.M., men against makeup, offer explanations... see if you agree:

"i dont just want to see you embellish your good features, i want to see ALL your features - thats what stuns"

"why not skip the fake bit and get straight to being real?"

"I've also found occasionally, that some first dates don't have all the polish, and so the reality kicks in sooner and I can decide quicker whether or not a second date should happen."

"you shouldnt listen to what those airbrushed charicatures on the tv say"

"i think any manner in which we show love, care, attention and respect to ourselves is good. I think it should be in that fashion though, and not out of fear of judgement or criticism."

Monday, April 21, 2008

Take two

It takes two to make a baby sure... but does it take two in the actual delivery room?

At least one obstetrician in particular thinks that men should stay at home while their wives push their newborns into the world.

And while some may say it's because of the unnecessary stress that men may bring with them into the delivery room, others argue that once a man sees his wife as a blubbering, pain-stricken conduit for human life, he'll no longer consider her sexy.

Few deny how important an ounce of mystery is to a fulfilling sex life, that there are certain things we should keep private in order to assure that lust remains a part of our relationships...

But is childbirth one of these things? Is it fair for a woman to go it alone in order to preserve her husband's bedroom bliss?

I can't imagine a woman being all too concerned with her sex life in the moments, days, or even months after delivery. Her time will be spent without sleep, without time for primping, and all her energies should be encouraging her swift recovery...

So is it fair, that her husband remain absent during the "hardest of times" in order to ensure that he still finds her anatomy a mystery? Should a woman really be expected to edit the unflattering from her life in order to appease her man's "needs?"

I just wonder if the bigger risk for a new mother would be to endure the delivery alone...
Or to risk having two babies to deal with postpartum.

Friday, April 18, 2008

A walk

7 a.m. and I was up. Dressed in sweats, blueberry coffee in hand and awaiting my date.

The date I had with my girl friend.
A date that would begin at a time when only the best usually ended.
A date that would fill my mind with conversation and my body with adrenaline, and then the inevitable rush of relaxation.

We walked for over an hour, through a somewhat rough terrain.
We let our feet lead the way through the miles of sunshine and fresh air.

All the while knowing that we'd end up...
Right back where we started.

As our pace settled in, I couldn't help but think of how our walk reminded me of each and every relationship that I've ever had.

They're all a bit tricky to get started, but once you find your perfect stride, it can be entirely enjoyable.

But there's always the realization that at the end of every hill, is yet another one to climb.

So we climbed, never stopping.

And as we crested that final hill, and I saw my home in the almost reachable distance, I felt at once relieved and disappointed.

I wanted to be finished, to crawl into my bed and sleep the day away, only to begin the journey again tomorrow.

I wanted the beginning forever, the rush of accomplishment, the anticipation of next time.

Yet I knew that when I reached our destination and closed my door quietly behind me... That I'd have only me in the end.

But while I may have been alone and exhausted...
At least I felt good.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Not me, not now

Another 20-something celebrity is pregnant, and while Hollywood is busting at its maternal seams, I'll be the first to admit, that while plenty of women my age are walking around with a bun in the oven... There are more than a few reasons that I'll sticking to the low carb fad and just say no to baby.


1. MONEY: Babies cost A LOT of money. And in order to offset the baby cost, I'd have to move back in with my parents.

2. MARRIAGE: To each his own, but I think babies should come AFTER the nuptials and I don't see a marriage in the near future or a ring on my finger any time soon.

3. ANXIETY: I get nervous when I have an interview planned for the next day, I can't imagine the anxiety that goes along with having a LIVING BEING inside of me for NINE MONTHS.

4. "YOU TIME:" All that ME TIME would disappear and I'd suddenly be all about the baby. It would certainly run the household... (or my parents home at least, since I'd be living there again).

5. SLEEP: I don't get enough of it as it is, and I'm often guilty of sleeping in the ladies room for 15 minute power naps. I don't want to know what would happen if I were up every two hours each night...

6. BABY NAMES: I almost named my cat, Oprah Winfrey, I am obviously not ready to name a human being.

7. THE CUTE FACTOR wears off for me in about 10 minutes... "Oh, it's so small! And cute... and yep... small and cute. Here, take it back, I'm bored."

8. A CRIB: My crib, fits 2 people uncomfortably... and I'm not quite ready to trade in my papasan chair for a bassinet.

9. DIAPERS: I don't like the idea of disposable diapers, yet I hate the idea of washing cloth ones. I think I need to determine my GREEN FACTOR for parenting before I create my own little eco-enemy.

10. THE FIGURE: I've yet to achieve any fitness goals, ever. I think I should look my "best" at one point in my life before I give and and mark my belly with the "baby evidence" forever.

As if these reasons aren't enough, comment below and tell me why you're just saying no to babies... or perhaps why you are saying YES.

Monday, April 14, 2008

Continuing Ed

Our Boomer Gal columnist, Kathy Norton got me thinking with her parenting rant, "College Undergrads get dumb before they smarten up." I taught my mother a lesson or two my first few months as a SUNY New Paltz freshman. Here they are:

— Parent phone call hours are Tuesday, Thursday or Sunday, between 5 and 6 p.m. All other hours of the day are off limits, especially hours before noon, when I'm asleep. If you violate the phone policy, you leave me no choice but to rack up an outrageous long distance bill, and you will have to pay the balance, plus late fees, in order to stop campus administration from shutting down my tele service permanently... and to get my end of semester grades.

— I was looking rounded, not well rounded... and it wasn't the orphanage-quality gruel that is served in the campus dining hall. Go ahead, check my meal card. Still shinny and new, like an unauthorized credit card. There's two good reasons. 10 cent wing and $2 pitchers at Cuddy’s.

— When I told you I was being thrifty with my savings account, I meant that keg parties only charge $5 for a bottomless cup!

— Remember that money you sent for the mid-Semester Psychology textbook, the professor sprang on us? Well... thanks for buying my tattoo!

Did your mom interrogate your roommate? Call you at 7 a.m. Saturdays? Send you embarrassing care packages in the mail? Share your stories!

Rock of Luck

Last night Bret Michaels surprised us all when he chose "brains" over "booty" by saying goodbye to Daisy the stripper and hello to Ambre, the TV host.

After weeks of his open discussions about "physical levels" and "emotional levels" and his inappropriate use of the word "mediocrity" we found our answer to Reality TV Love part 2.

Brett ditched the girl that had hooked up with him "like, 500 times" (as she put it) and chose the chick who held out until a romantic night in Cancun, on an outdoor bed, that Bret would use the following evening for his other girlfriend.

But in spite of all the trash, and the bad highlight jobs, and the caked on orange compact for all involved, one part of last night's episode stuck out for me.

It wasn't the phony drama or the surprising way each woman looked sans make up...

It was Bret's excuse for dissing Daisy.

He mentioned their "physical connection" yet again, but he also pointed out that he was afraid she might "Need him more than actually love him."

And after an hour and a half of trying to figure out who he would choose, my friend and I were shocked at his choice, but more so his reasons.

We had thought he would choose Daisy for the very reason he dropped her.

Because she needed him.
She needed a knight in shining armor to rescue her from her prison in her EX BOYFRIEND'S apartment and into the arms of rock and roll luxury.

We both thought, that Bret would surely find this sexy and innocent and sweet. A woman to take care of. A woman who wouldn't leave, because he was all she had.

And for a brief moment, I liked Bret Michaels.
I liked that he wanted someone independent and smart and strong and his own age.
I liked that he wanted someone who wanted him and could fend for herself.

I liked that he proved my expectations for his behavior WRONG... by ditching Daisy and choosing Ambre.

But suddenly I was zapped back to reality(tv) and had to wonder.

What the hell is someone smart, independent, attractive, and successful doing dating BRET MICHAELS?

In the end, maybe he needs her (and her TV HOSTING job) more than she needs him.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Warning: Couples Only

There comes a moment in every relationship where we must do the "deed."

Ya know... go on a vacation together.

But if you're planning on still being together when you return, take the following advice as a warning...

1. Camping is not fun with people you don't REALLY like.
Face it, if you can't really stand being around someone in an air-conditioned home with all the necessities, it's going to be a lot harder to get along once it's only the two of you, some dirt, bugs, and the silence of nature.

2. Cancun is for couples and singles, but not for EXes.
A month after our 3 year relationship came to an end, we set off on our prepaid vacation to Cancun, just he and I for SEVEN DAYS. Watching the sunset with a man you used to love can only break your heart... it's better to forgo the trip and break the bank instead.

3. Driving anxiety is real.
I could drive across the country with one map and some Red Bull, but that doesn't mean everyone else can. Take into consideration THAT fact when you let HIM drive. There's nothing more unattractive than a panic attack on the highway when you miss your exit... or a man crying behind the wheel.

4. Leave your books at home.
If you're planning on catching up on some reading before bed, on the beach, or in the car, forget about it. This "trip" is about THE TWO OF YOU, so you have to do everything together. Sleep together, play together, eat breakfast together even when you're not hungry, shower "quickly" so you don't miss the metro. No reading, instead you must pretend to enjoy things you really don't so you don't "ruin" the trip and thus, "HIS vacation."

5. Trips with "HIS" friends are fun, but dangerous.
There are 12 people in one condo, and you all get along just fine after some cocktails. But that doesn't mean you should have too many and risk waking up, in the only free bed in the house, with someone who isn't your boyfriend. Regardless of how G-rated the sleep over was, expect to spend the next day crying on the beach and wishing you'd taken your OWN car.

In the end, you may end up with a few great pictures for the photo album, but my advice would be to plan that "GIRLS ONLY WEEKEND" soon after. You're going to need some good conversa-FUN, I mean fun.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Would you like your love for here or to go?

Hot and bothered.

That was my mood when C. and I took our first trip together. I made the colossal blunder of organizing a group to go away with us. They'd never been beach camping in Maryland whereas I had been many times before. Naturally, they had lots of questions, and naturally, they elected me as "Trip Buddha." Eventually tho, their questions — what do I bring, where do I go, what time should I get there — weighed on me like a elephant sitting on an ant.

By the third day, when we were deciding where to eat dinner, my psychotic, hormonal side took control. I didn't want to be Trip Buddha anymore, so I clammed shut, while sinking to an all time low. Everyone else just stared awkwardly at their hands.

Little did I realize at that time, that I was being scrutinized... AND I had just about FLUNKED the new relationship "first trip" test.

I couldn't believe I had lost sight of the importance of Love On-the-Go! It was a 2002 Caribbean cruise that fatally ended my relationship with A. — a sweet, but goofy, HVAC mechanic with a Ducati motorcycle. Our differences were as evident as our cruise cabin was bite-sized. While I took in some sun on the ship's deck, my man searched the boat for an appropriate (and "shady") place to burn up his own fun. We hardly saw each other, which was GREAT. In fact, I was going around to all the single women, trying to pawn him for a fruity beverage.

Why does the new pair bruise so easily
during the first trip? Why does travel
bring out our worst qualities?

Here's my thoughts:
Close quarters.
The lack of alone time.
The stress of unfamiliarity.
Inability to hide your recreational drug use :-)

(see Chrissie's post for some first trip advice)

Not good enough.

Some years ago, this thought — you're not good enough — pitched camp in my brain, as if on permanent vaca.

My word blows came from a belief inventory of what I thought I should be.

My belief inventory wants me to:
Speak articulately. Always think creatively. Make people laugh. Be original. Earn respect from co-workers/elders/family. Impress my boss constantly. Nurture. Put others first. Forgive the worst and move on. Hide any flaws. Never have a bad day. Be healthy. Hold onto my childhood. Let go of my childhood. Take dance classes. Exercise daily. Eat right. Look fashionable, without trying too hard. Be fiscally responsible. Give to the needy. Stay morally strong. Return favors. Push away jealous thoughts. Protect myself from harm. And on and on.

But isn't it kind of silly to judge yourself by the standard that evolved in your mind?

When you feel not good enough what are your options?
1. Spend endless hours measuring yourself up to unobtainable goals.
2. Hang out with underachievers until you feel better about yourself.
3. Eat a pint of Ben & Jerry's.

You tell me. Is having a belief inventory good or destructive?

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

The Marrying kind

"I would never marry a girl like that."

Whether it's her sexual past, her financial future, or her flirtatious nature, some women seem to possess the Bed-able not Wed-able vibe...

And where I'd gladly argue that chauvinism is to blame for such standards, I can't help but acknowledge them.

Men seem to want to marry the women they can bring home to mom, the women who will be the mother of their children...

Women, who by most standards is less than beautiful...
Women, who will fit their mold of what "wife and mother" should be.

And so which type of lady are you? Or which do you prefer to date?

Bed-able or Wed-able?

What if Ms. Wed-Able finds herself suddenly single, and making mistakes, does that forever plant her in Bed-able category? What if Ms. Bed-Able wants to change her ways and start fresh... will her past forever haunt her?

I'd hate to think that such restrictions force us to keep secrets and hide our more Bed-Able qualities, faining innocence in the face of men who want specific things from us... pretending to be more Wed-Able just to get "the ring."

For ages, women were penalized for expecting a "Knight in Shining Armor" to rescue them from their solitude...

But how different is that wish, from the one some seem to men have...

Their own wish for a one-dimensional, Wed-able woman to rescue them from their bachelorhood previously padded only by the Bed-Ables?

Poly-Pocket of Society

A quick scan of today's headlines tells me one thing... that my ex boyfriend wasn't the only advocate of polygamy!


And share your thoughts and ideas in the comments section.

Children and statutory laws aside...

Monday, April 7, 2008

A vow of Sobriety


Defined by the National Institute on Alcoholic Abuse and Alcoholism, not as a pot-bellied guy with a frig full of Bud, but as:

— young adults who binge drink occasionally (32 percent)
— young adults who drink (and do drugs) to loosen up and be more social (21 percent),
— and working adults in stable relationships with higher incomes who have 5 or more drinks every other day (19 percent).

SO, how do you tell the difference between good fun and a high risk for alcoholism? And, does marriage change people?

The NIAAA seems to thinks so.

"... assuming adult roles and responsibilities consistently curbs alcohol use. This reduction in drinking may be a result of limitations that adult roles place on social activities in general or may reflect a change in these young adults’ attitudes toward drinking.

"The data also indicate that becoming engaged (i.e., making a commitment to a relationship) has a similar but less powerful effect on drinking compared with marriage...

Being a parent also is related to lower alcohol use for both men and women, although a large part of this effect may simply be a result of getting married. Most women who became pregnant eliminate their alcohol use, although most of their husbands do not"

Is it unfair to assume that marriage should change a person?

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Jr. high school. Jr. sports. But not C. Jr!

Our most common reoccurring fight has everything to do with baby names.

C. wants to name his first born male in his God-like image. No middle name. Just C. Jr. (Gag me. Pleazzzzzzzzz.) Maybe it's the fact that I grew up with a Big Cliff and a Little Cliff, wondering why parents would do that to their little bundle of joy. Or the fact that Big Cliff lived up to his name — he was a big failure at all husband and fatherly duties. Or because the sound of his name stirs up bad memories of every kind. Or that bestowing the "honor" of passing on your name to only ONE of your youngens seems pretty unfair to me (unless you're named Clifford, then I'd feel lucky to be the second son named Matthew). Or that it seems pretty self-important.... Any of those reasons seem like good reasons to me not to have a Jr. baby.

If that's not enough, I seriously think that ANY and ALL children naming duties should be a privilege that the mother has right to. (Bring it on guys!) If dad wants to name the dog after Jeter, by all means, knock yourself out.

Just remember, it's the ENORMOUSLY pregnant Mom-to-be that wanders around the ER waiting room, praying her water will break because they won't admit her yet. And when it does break, in public, it's the mother who looks like she peed her pants. If fact, she did pee her pants a little, from the pressure in her uterus, like a Hummer vehicle making its way out of an ant hill. But she doesn't care. Because compared to the "GOD, KILL ME NOW" cramps she's experiencing at that moment, a little urine and a lot of public humiliation is the least of her worries. Pooping in front of her husband and a team full of doctors is at the top of her mind. So is the needle that goes in her spine and what level of vaginal tear she'll be when the baby's shoulders enter the world. (so I've heard).

Don't get me wrong. I LOVE old family names and I plan on choosing ones that honor distant relatives, with C.'s input. But ultimately, I am not having a C. Jr. I'll have a C Jr. and call him by his middle name. I'll have a ____ C. Jr. and call him by his first name. But NOT a C. Jr.

What do you think? Should the woman have more say in naming the child?

If "ITS" a boy

My favorites... and there will be no discussion:

1. Brody
Yeah, yeah, it's short for "Broderick" and that jerk from "The Hills" is Brody Jenner, but when I hear this name I can't help but picture a little cutie in a sailor suit.

2. Alexander James McLean
Okay, okay... we don't need the "McLean" but he was after all, my favorite Backstreet Boy. I love this name because Alex is cute for short, so is A.J. and "Alexander" will work as an adult when it comes to making moves, money and getting mommy into a nice retirement community.

3. Scott
It's my Dad's middle name, it's cute, it's short, you can't misspell it.


But the real discussion between me and my man will not be the baby's first name... it will be his/her last.

I think we should simply all change our last name to my middle name, "Lynn."

"Mr. and Mrs. Chrissie Lynn."

What do you think? Are names really THAT important? And what do you think of my choices?

Wednesday, April 2, 2008


Gone are the days of comparing our bikini-bodies to men's magazines and coming to terms with the fact that we're simply not "airbrushed to Hollywood perfection."

Instead, we're now bombarded with a social networking-world where the girl-next-door (and no, not Hef's girlfiend's) decides to put up her own racy photos via Myspace or Facebook.

In spite of all the talk of future employers checking up on our college escapades and drunken nights at the bar, some women are still using their profiles as their platform for a future in Hollywood, or at least at the local hooters.

But what I can't understand is why these girls can't see that they are propagating the ideas that women are just sexual objects and that skinnier, blonder, and tanner is better. Their "About Me" sections are laced with sexual innuendo and their 9 million friends all know what they look like naked.

It's one thing to tell your 8 year old daughter or younger sister that those "photos are just Hollywood and they don't represent real women."

And it's quite another to have to tell her that neighbor-Cindy-Lou just poses in that way "for fun."

Because what's fun for Cindy now, might come back to bite her in a few years when her body begins to sag and her face just isn't quite as pretty as it once was.

When she realizes that the only thing she has remaining from from her early 20's... is a reputation.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

The season of my dreams

Ah Spring. We've been waiting for you with such joyful anticipation.

I almost forgot how a thunderstorm makes sugar plums dance in my head,

how a warm breeze before a storm reminds me of napping near the ocean,

how a cooling rain pairs with an evening jog like wine with a meal.

It seems like yesterday, I was snapping shots of winterscapes.

While I rode in a heated car, bundled in a wool coat and fuzzy mittens.

But even then, Spring whispered it was near.

Spring said to me, what you've really been waiting for is almost within reach.



Spring is like the nice boyfriend who introduces you to the man you're going to marry.

Do you agree?

Spring cleaning

A quick look in my closet and you'll find all sorts of things that should have been thrown out long ago.

Flip flops that cost 2 dollars and no longer fit.
A box full of bank statements from when I was still in high school.
And don't forget the skinny pants of yesteryear... that fit when I was an adolescent and don't have a chance against my twenty-something hips.

But all of these things seem unimportant when you consider the other stuff in my closet.

You know... the downsized "EX" bins filled with old photos I could never seem to get rid of.

Yet, as the warmer air fills my solely-rented apartment, and I spend more time with a man who seems to fit perfectly inside... I think it's time for some serious spring cleaning.

Until now, I 've never wanted to empty that "1st Boyfriend Bin" before. I've never actually considered throwing away photographs of anyone, ex boyfriend or otherwise... but suddenly I want to start fresh in a way that's as new to me as this warm day feels after such a long, cold, winter.

I want to look into my closet and see the clothes I will wear again.
I want to find the flip flops that fit me and to say goodbye to a skinny I know I'll never feel again no matter how hard I wanted those jeans to fit.

I want to feel cleansed this spring.
To experience a fever founded in newness, not one tucked away in past passions.

And while I'm sure I'll keep all those old bank statements just in case...

Just imagine what I can do with all that new room I can make in there... for him.