Every Crazy Wish Come True

I wouldn't have dared wish for the fiancé I actually got. I would have sounded like a crazy person.

If I had made out my wish list, it would have read like this:

"I wish for a man who's handsome. And I mean that in an Eddie Vedder sort of way … you know, long, curly brown hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones. He should look strong, and wear a beard very, very well.

Please make him a musician, who likes Pearl Jam. Actually, can you put him in a touring Pearl Jam tribute band, so I can go from city to city with him and sing along to all the songs? That sounds really, really fun. Thanks.

And can he be smart -- smart enough to give me advice, but gentle enough to deliver it the way I need to hear it? Make sure he can call me out when I need it, but not in a way that hurts my feelings. This is tricky but critical.

Can he be funny, too? I'd like to laugh a lot.

And a good kisser. Mmm. Definitely.

This is important: please make him like animals. He has to be compassionate -- with an extra soft spot for Beagles, since I have one who needs lots of love.

Speaking of extra love, please make sure he's affectionate, and extremely attentive, because no man has ever been able to give me as much love as I require.

Can he smell good? Whether fresh from the shower or salty and slick from a night onstage, please make him delicious.

And I hope he likes coffee, and sleeping in on Sundays. I hope he's a good cook, and that he always offers to bring me a glass of water when I'm laying on the couch feeling thirsty. I hope he likes dancing in the kitchen.

I wish for him to be hard-working but also silly.

And I want him to value a really good meal.

I wish for him to understand Seinfeld references, and I wish for him to be nice.

And I wish for him to love me too."

Is that too much to ask?

Apparently, to my utter surprise, it wasn't.

Because I found him.

I will never let him go.

Single-Shaming and the Unmarried 30-Something

When you’re female, over 30, and unmarried, being single becomes part of your personality. At least, according to other people.

Strangers make assumptions about you – some worse than others. They might decide that you’re not ready to leave your adolescence behind. (You’re immature.) You can’t settle down with another person. (You’re selfish.) Or maybe you can’t find anyone who will date you. (You’re crazy.)

Especially if you like cats.

This is my cat.

By the time I was 32, I started making jokes about my spinsterhood. I did it to cut people off at the pass. If the topic of my being unmarried came up, which it too often did, I didn’t want to look like I was sad about it. Instead, I made jokes about being undomesticated and proud.

But somehow, my being single was a topic that everyone seemed to have an opinion about.

A younger woman asked me why I didn’t just marry my boyfriend. I didn’t tell her that it was because I suspected he was lying to me. (He was.) A man I worked with stopped into my office after every holiday and coyly asked to see my ring finger. “Do you seriously think people get engaged for EASTER?” I demanded, the last time he did it.

But the worst instance of single-shaming came the day before my 33^rd birthday.

I had to work late to attend a meeting. During that meeting, I volunteered a suggestion … helpfully, I hoped, and in complete earnest.

But my boss used that moment to shame me. I guess she thought my suggestion was strange, or less relevant than I thought it was. So in front of our Board members, my peers, and the staff who reported to me, she joked,

“And that’s why you’re still single.”

I felt myself deflate. Her words stung like a slap across my face. I sat there, shocked, angry, and embarrassed, and waited two hours for the meeting to end so I could slip away. I went home to my empty apartment. 

My boss had no idea why I was 32 and still single. It wasn’t because I couldn’t get a date, or because I was picky (as she would later claim that she’d meant). It certainly wasn’t due to any lack of trying to find someone who would love me.

I was constantly trying not to be single. Growing up, I took it for granted that I’d fall in love and get married. But instead, I met guys at bars, through work, on Match.com and OkCupid, and it never worked out. I dated rich guys and poor guys. I tried a long-distance relationship, I lived with a man for a year. I let friends set me up on blind dates. I went out with guys in Mercedes, guys on motorcycles. Younger guys, older guys, dads and drug addicts, artists and accountants. I was trying my hardest.

But I was still single.

The day after that meeting, I turned 33. My mom and our friend planned a nice birthday for me, with lunch, presents, and a walk around a pretty lake. I smiled in the sunshine, but something dark and sinister lurked behind every thought. 

Now you’re 33 and still single.  

…

As it would turn out, the very next day, everything changed. I met a man who would quickly become my best friend. A blissful year after that, he proposed to me, and soon I'll join the ranks of the married. (I also ditched that job and boss.)

But I feel a greater solidarity with my single sisters than the wives of the world.

Because I know amazing single women who both want and deserve love. Women who are more interesting, creative, and self-assured than plenty of married people that I know. These are women who have used their time alone to take art classes or write books or rescue animals. They teach, they travel, they’ve mastered the delicate art of going to a party by themselves. They may develop rich friendships, or become devoted sisters, daughters, aunts, or even mothers. Or maybe they use their time to read, cook, get strong, or dream. These are some of the world’s greatest women.

There are also plenty of amazing women who don’t want -- or need -- love. Like their more hopeful counterparts, they are becoming more and more awesome while they get better and better at being single. 

So if you encounter a woman and find out that she’s not married, don’t ask her why she doesn’t just fall in love and get married already. 

Ask her what she likes to do. Where to get the best meal or glass of wine in town. If she loves her job. Where she’d like to go on vacation. Ask her what she’s excited about. 

She’s going to have something to say.

How I Fell So Hard, Part 2

To be brutally honest with you, I always wanted love more than anything else in the world.

But that kind of longing can take a toll on a person. It made me take chances on strangers. It made me give my time and trust to people who didn't deserve it. After a while, it made me feel hopeless, unlovable, and bitter.

The hardest part was that even though I was constantly searching, I was also holding out for someone extraordinary.

I knew that if I found him, he'd have to dazzle me immediately. He'd need to be sharp, and funny, and stand out from everyone else. He'd have to keep me guessing, because nothing turns me off faster than ordinary chatter.

(I hoped he'd be handsome, too.)

And somehow, if I found that man, he'd have to do something to keep from scaring me off.

Thankfully, my friend Jessica saw it from afar -- my perfect match was actually out there. She introduced me to her friend Billy. (See: How I Fell So Hard, Part 1)

Billy is incredibly handsome, and wickedly smart, and I have absolutely no idea what is going to come out of his mouth, ever. But he's also doting, and gentle, and he wears his enormous heart on his sleeve.

And that's why his blue eyes and rock star cool didn't scare me off … because he spent our first date just making sure that I was happy.

And he's spent the past year doing that, too.

But here's the best part.

It was July 5. Billy's band was playing. Everything was exactly as it was a year ago … the guys playing my favorite music at the Hard Rock Cafe, my friends singing along and pulling me to my feet to dance.

But everything was also different. Since that first show last summer, Billy moved in with me. Now, I try to put myself to bed at a responsible time but I always end up lying awake, giggling in the dark at his jokes. I wake up in his arms. I come home to his amazing cooking. I watch him take care of my pets, and I see how happy he makes them. And I learned that even when one of us is being exhausting, the other one will always say something to make it right.

But anyway. The band was playing. They stopped halfway through the show to pull raffle tickets for pairs of tickets for the upcoming Sublime show.

When Billy gave me my raffle ticket in advance, I thought, "I don't want to see Sublime." But low and behold, his friend Brian pulled my number, and I won the second drawing.

And when I went up on stage to collect my winnings, the love of my life got down on one knee … and asked me to (please!) marry him.

Yep. I'll marry him.

And then, the band asked me what I wanted to hear. I picked "Alive."

Since then, a few friends have done really sweet things for us. We've received cards, well wishes, and celebratory dinners. I feel guilty accepting their congrats. I already got what I always wanted -- a dazzling, talented, kind-hearted man. And a perfect diamond ring too!

All things change.

Let this remain. 

xo

What's left to figure out

Last night

This morning I woke up in Marietta, Ohio with my very own rock star. 

Then we found exactly the kind of breakfast place I like to find in a small town … one with a counter for side-by-side sitting, good coffee and simple folks.

Breakfast at the "Busy Bee"

My weekend was so perfect, it played out like a fairy tale. It has me thinking.

A year ago at this time, an acquaintance asked me what I wanted my life to look like in six months.

A said voice inside my head immediately yelped like a banshee: "I WANT TO LOVE SOMEONE!"

But I didn't say that. Instead, I shrugged and replied, nonchalantly, "I guess I'd like to be a better blogger."

But being single was making me kind of crazy. I had a huge amount of love to put somewhere. It manifested in all kinds of ways -- rescuing animals, worshipping bands, being a devoted friend and daughter. But no one was pushing my hair out of my eyes for me when I rolled over to kiss them on Sunday morning.

Longing for that kind of love was starting to consume my every thought.

Now it's a year later and I'm blessed with a boyfriend who loves as large as I do. It's all encompassing in exactly the way I wanted it to be.

I found it!

So …

Now what do I want?

It's a big, scary question. Not what to I want to buy, or what do I want to have. But what do I want, next, in life?

I know it will involve making him happy, making our life together, and making myself and the people I love happy. It will be about figuring out a life in terms of two.

But what else?

It's very liberating to think about what comes next.

Right this very moment...

At this moment, I am sitting in my gorgeous hotel room in a new city while the love of my life and his band prepare to play downstairs. 

Soon, I'll go downstairs and dance while they play my favorite songs in the world, and afterwards, I'll race back upstairs to sink into our bed and his arms. And even though I'll have spent the whole night watching and adoring him, he will make me feel like I am the amazing one. 

I am aware -- and appreciative -- of the fact that I am present in a rare window of time. Right now, everything is perfect. I love my boyfriend, and he loves me too. I love my family, and best of all,  they are healthy and happy. I have the cutest dog and cat in the world, the sweetest and funniest friends, a nice place to live, a brand new car, and a job that pays me well to write for non-profits. 

It's as though every box is checked off. 

"Are you happy right now?"

"Strongly agree."

I've been through just enough to understand how how rare and fleeting these moments are. 

And I am so grateful to be right here, right now. For however long this lasts, I will be forever grateful. 

How I Fell So Hard

I met a man named Billy. 

But it felt more like I recognized him. As soon as our mutual friend introduced me to him, I thought, "Finally. There you are."

I watched him play guitar in his band that night. I stared at him for hours, right up until the moments when he looked back at me, and then I got embarrassed and looked away. When we parted ways a few hours later, I was counting on Billy to find me again, and he did. 

Billy and I stayed up late every night that week to talk to each other. After what seemed like forever (probably three days) he finally asked me out. 

So, we went on a first date. I tried not to get too excited about it. I hate first dates. I always pull out the same stories. I always force the same laughs. I almost always get the guy to like me, and then, to my chagrin, I have to let him down gently or else psych myself up for a second date--which is always much worse. I hate the whole awkward routine. 

But then I had my first date with Billy. 

He was waiting for me at the bar, with a water and a straw carefully angled towards my empty seat. I sat down on the bar stool--facing him. Without even meaning to, I stayed that way all night, leaning in to him, eagerly telling him things and taking in every word he had to say. 

Our date was perfect. Billy is gorgeous, but nervous enough to convince me that he doesn't know he is. He's funny, and appreciative, and doesn't bother making idle small talk. We talked for hours, and when I realized that I kept leaning closer and closer into him, I apologized. That's when he put one hand under me and pulled my stool up against his. We were almost intertwined. I felt dizzy. 

Billy took me to my car and kissed me goodbye, and when my knees started to buckle, he caught me. 

His band was playing across the state the next night, but we kept in incessant contact until our second date the following day. We went to dinner, bowling, and finally, because it was very late but neither of us wanted to go home, we went to Sheetz and to Wal-Mart, where we picked out food for Billy's cat and had a pillow fight. 

That second date was an exercise in polite restraint...going through the ritual of getting to know each other despite the fact that both of us knew we were all in. He made me feel exhilarated, adorable and uncharacteristically fearless. All of this means that I finally got to be myself -- my undiluted, starry-eyed self. 

A day or two later, Billy and I walked my dog through Frick Park and sat down at a sidewalk table in Regent Square, where we ordered dinner. At dusk, we started walking home. I held on to my adorable little Beagle with one hand. Billy took my other hand in his and folded me into a long, sweet, mid-summer kiss. For a second, I stepped outside of myself and tried to really see what was happening to me. That girl, on the sidewalk, with the Beagle she always wanted and a man who made her feel so perfectly adored, was me. It seemed like I was watching myself from inside a dream. 

Billy and I have not left each other alone since we met. Since that night, I've discovered that I sleep the soundest when I'm in his arms, and that no one else can entertain me as well as he can. I love watching him interact with other people, and the friendly, gentle consideration he shows them. 

When he talks, and moves, and plays his guitar, I feel like I am drenched with delirious adoration. And when I remember those early dates, I can't believe that -- as excited and hopeful as I was -- I didn't even know him yet. I would come to find that he is even kinder and more loving than I could have possibly imagined.

I can't wait for each new day with you, Billy.

Apparently, I'm a lot to take. (Alternative title: I will be your light.)

Here, play this song while you read this entry. (Is that blog torture? Bad blog etiquette? Or is it a neat idea? You don't have to play the song, but today was the first sweet, sunny, chirpy-bird day since winter hit and I had so much fun playing this tune in my car with the windows down. Is it universally agreed upon that that is the best way to listen to music? I can't be the only person who thinks so. Playing loud music in my car with the windows open washes me in a euphoria that I feel all the way to my belly. Euphoria, incidentally, is one of the topics that we're going to be talking about today. Anyway, here's the song.)



Hi there!

Yesterday, and my friend and I took my new Beagle to our favorite coffee place--the 61C Cafe. My friend is good at lots of things, but picture-taking, not so much.

Thanks. 

Beagle picture Take 2.

Then, I went to my best friend Madge's house in Mt. Oliver. I didn't take any actual photographs there, but I sealed one into my mind at the most perfect moment: when I was laying on her couch and she was playing with my hair, and if I opened my eyes, I could see, upside down, where her peachy-colored wall met the ceiling, her chandelier that looks like it's made out of Jolly Rancher candies, and her sweet face as she earnestly told me things. I felt so happy and so lucky, I almost couldn't speak.

Today I'd like to talk about being happy. When I revived this blog this winter, I thought I was going to write a lot about depression and recovery. But much to my relief, it turns out that I'm a very buoyant person. My recovery period was mercifully short.

Nonetheless, I was sick with depression this winter. I call the illness "depression" because I couldn't stop sobbing, and the crying and hopelessness interfered with my ability to work at my desk, go to meetings, eat, sleep, get out of bed, socialize and have any quality of life. I turned my illness into my project, though, and got myself everything from therapy to a chiropractor to a dog.

The scene at my house, right this very moment.

Now I'm me again. And being me has always included bouts of random, delicious, dance-inducing euphoria.

My mom and some of my closer friends have compared me to Grover Monster, because it manifests as something like this:

I get very, very happy when I go on vacation, or see a band, or get to taste something new and amazing. Or at random times, like when the world reveals just how beautiful and exhilarating it can be. Like when the winter gives way to spring and the daylight has a golden glow and the flower buds start to push out of the mud and the air feels electric on my skin. I feel the whole burst of renewal swell up around me---the birds feel it and tweet their little lungs out, the dirt starts to smell like baby plants and every breath makes me want to grin or break into a run. I feel it in my very core.

I remember when I went to Cedar Point for my 32nd birthday. Every time I got off a roller coaster, I felt  so happy and refreshed that I felt like could run a lap around the park. It was like my brain had hit a "reset button," finally relieving me of all the burdens I had been carrying around: work deadlines, board meetings, office politics, headaches, my uptight and over-critical boyfriend, etc. I actually had to reign myself in, because 32-year-olds don't run around for no reason. Stifling my complete joy was exhausting.

For me and my (then) boyfriend.

And that's the recurring theme of my life right now. My family and friends seem to appreciate my Grover-esque ecstasy. They seem to because they want to be around me, and they want to make me happy. But not everyone can deal.

In December, a man broke up with me (VIA EMAIL. TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS) when, to my blindsided bewilderment, he could no longer "keep up the pace" of being in love with me.

Recently, another man walked out of my life, although this time, I had something to do with it. He described my personality as "happy, bubbly" and "a lot to take."

WHAT.

The first experience devastated me, and the second just pissed me off for a couple days. What is with these guys?

It took me a long time to learn to get to here. I wasn't ready to forge bravely into 2013 when it rolled in. I worked at healing and finding the light at the end of my depression. But even more so than that -- I wasn't always like this. In my teens and twenties, I was much more anxious. I was timid and self-concious and thought life's small worries were much bigger than they actually were.

Over time, I learned a couple things. I learned that everything and everyone is temporary, so we need to relish every good moment before it's gone. I learned that I am, in the best possible way, invisible -- no one is watching me being a goofball because everyone is the star of their own life. They're too worried about themselves to worry about me, so I can scream my lungs out on a roller coaster and dance in the grocery store if I want to. And I learned that there are a hundred ways to die. Letting this world pass you by without loving it, loving others, and finding joy, is waiting to die.

It's work. For me, it's work because I didn't get everything I want. I wanted to be married by now. I really thought I would be. I wanted to have a baby. I want to be able to take my family to my parents' house on holidays instead of showing up, every time, by myself. I wish my job situation was different. These things can be soul-crushingly disappointing if I let them be.

Or I can realize that I live in a beautiful, exciting city with a whole cast of clever and sparkling characters who will gladly go on adventures with me. I can teach my dog a new trick, or get dressed up and taste champagne with my friend Line, or I can stay home writing all day. I can pick Madge's brain over brunch, or I can go see Soundgarden, or I can pick through treasures at a flea market with James, or I can brainstorm new projects with Jessica. I can make out with a handsome man or I can stay home and watch Netflix with my cat or I can eat a delicious meal that my mom made. Such wonderful things!

I didn't get everything I want, but I don't have to wait to die.

So, fuck you if you think I'm "a lot to take."

I'm going to work on being like her. This lady can barely walk, but the broad can dance. 

Recipe for mending a broken heart in 50 days

If someone comes along and devastates you--ruins you for what will feel like the rest of your life--you will feel very lucky if you can do the following:

Find good friends. 

Cry to your mom, if she'll hear it. Schedule dinners and brunches with people who love you, even if your limbs feel too heavy to pull out of bed, even if you know you're going to cry in front of them and come home feeling soggy, drained and bruised. Let a very good friend tuck you into their bed and hold you while you weep. 

Find a professional.

He or she will probably say the same things that your friends are telling you, like, "It's better to know about this now than later" but somehow it will sink in differently. 

Find someone who's worse off than you are, and help them.

Maybe a sick, abused dog who no longer trusts anyone either. You can learn to trust each other.

Find good things.

Be relentless about this. Feed yourself good food. See doctors. Exercise. Get enough sleep. Get a haircut. Buy a new couch if you can. Make crafts. Try Zumba even if it makes you feel feel like a flailing muppet in a sea of mermaids. 

Find the holes in your story.

Why is your heart so broken? Maybe the story you were telling yourself was never true. Maybe you weren't as happy as you wanted to believe you were. Maybe now you can finally stop walking on eggshells all the time. 

Find out what you've been overlooking.

Maybe, just maybe, the sweet, deadpan guy you never seriously considered is flirting with you. And maybe he's secretly funny. Maybe you should let him take you to an arcade. Be nice to him, even if you're still trying to quell the banshee inside. He might be just what you need. 

Awesome things that happened to me this weekend:

I went to Kennywood, my beloved amusement park, to ride roller coasters with my friend Krista, her boyfriend Denny, and my amazing boyfriend. My boyfriend is still new enough that I am totally not over him and the cool shit he can do. Like how he can win carnival prizes like a champ. 

He WON me these! Be still, my heart. 

So, yes, the very best moment of my weekend was when Krista and Denny pulled over and sat down with a corn dog and fries and I was all, "We're going to go play games and come back with a giant stuffed animal." And then A MINUTE LATER, my amazing new boyfriend wailed a beanbag at some bottles and they just exploded, and I got the big-headed giraffe I had been earnestly coveting all summer. 

Apparently, this is not the sort of thing that drives all 32-year-olds wild. But, it sure works on me. 

Also, I gave in and ordered an iPhone 5. This is huge news because I've been loyally toting around this brick for a couple years now:

It's not even a Blackberry. It has a slide-out keyboard. Why yes, it was free with the plan.

That retro-looking gadget is called the LG Cosmos and it has some good qualities, like: I once washed it with a pair of pants and it didn't even blink. Also: I drop it, constantly, and just piece it back together like three legos.  So, we had a good run, that Cosmos and me. 

Then today I went to work, which was kind of a drag on account of it being Sunday and all, but there are way worse ways to pay the bills. Today I got to help my staff host a kitten shower, which is like a baby shower except it's to find homes for orphaned kittens.

The staff's genuine enthusiasm for our kitten party was completely contagious. And. to make it even more fun, I got to take pictures of the kittens being kittens and post them on our Facebook to entice people to come in. AND we sent 17 cats home, including one that was FIV+, so it was a good day.

Also, I got to go see my mom and dad and their big dog Winnie.

And finally, the cat and I are being 100% awesome right now, parked in front of 30 Rock.

"Everything's better when we're home alone together. Break up with your boyfriend and be with me always."
                   - all cats, everywhere

So, it was a really great weekend, and my heart swells with love. The end!