A Letter to Myself a Year Ago

Dear Year Younger Me,

I'm sure you have realized by now that you always have high hopes for a "New Year" and it never lives up to those (Great) Expectations. You bet your "Dickens" this year is no different. But you will be happy to hear, the year is not going to be a total bust after all. That is, if we are looking on the bright side.

First, you are going to get a chance to relive high school. I know what you are thinking: Like I need to relive THAT phase again. But one day you are going to log into Facebook to look at who you might know (some might use stronger language like "stalk") with no intention of actually being ON Facebook. But by the next morning you will be “friended” five times by people you haven’t given a rat's ass about since high school, or even, elementary school. This will force you to post your picture, get Mav to join in on the fun, and start snarking status updates. In one month you will be knee deep in high school insecurities again. You will stress about why this person hasn’t friended you and so on and you still don't get asked to prom.

But your colossal insecurites are worth it because there is an upside to the re-connecting. You will re-connect with people that you actually end up liking a lot. Like the guy from elementary school that you will trade writing samples with. You will meet up with two high school girlfriends in NYC in October, all who happen to be single, and you will commiserate on this lonely fact and paint the town 99 shades of red. You will dance all night long literally in the Meatpacking district with some guy, who turns out to be married. You only learn this the next day while recounting the events of the nights before over hungover burgers and looking through the photoroll and seeing the blaring gold band on the man's finger. The symbol you don't notice the night before as you soak up the attention to get you through your "man" dry spell.

Speaking of men, you will spend 4th of July weekend at the beach with Hollywood, Shamrock, Disco and his wife and some extremely hot guy. You will have to share a bed with him and the first night will find you making sweet punch-drunk love but you will spurn his advances the next two nights not to mention totally shut down and turn into they shyest person this way come because of the morning after awkwardness that you can't shake. This will sink you into a depression for a whole month later stewing over why you couldn't muster the cute and the witty.

I'm sorry to say, the guy situation will be more of the same of prior years. You won't have a serious boyfriend for three years running. See making sweet punch drunk love above. You'll take it where you can get it. You're just kind of over it already. You'll get the memo, "He's just not that into you" for the millionth time over the course of the year.

But you want to know what is going to be great about this year (and I'm giddy thinking about how you don't even know it yet)? You are going to travel! Of course there is the trip to Chicago to catch up with your oldest Bestie, Martini. You will go to Lollapalooza as it has become something of a tradition for you two. You will rock out to Love and Rockets who will re-assert themselves to your personal Favorite Band lineup.

You will go to Aruba with Mav, mini-Mav, and Pierre. Mini-Mav will threaten to shove her binkie up all your asses all the time. Lots of laughing will take place. You will scuba dive for the first time and love it. And Younger Self? I am currently looking into getting you - us - certified.

You will go Ireland all by yourself. I know you are probably shocked by that. You have always hated the pseudo-Irish Americans who hijack drunk for all themselves. You have always hated Irish jigs, Celtic music, American Irish bars. But this trip kind of falls into your lap and you think it is a good time to get outside your comfort zone. So you go. And you fall in love with the country, the people, the music, the Guinness. But you know who you don't fall in love with? The tour guide. He will sexually harrass you until the cows come home, even begging you shack up in his hotel room with him.

So hold tight and take this year for what is worth, my dear.


Signed,

Year Older Me

For the sake of a story...

January 2008, I pulled myself up by the elastic Juicy terries and said to myself, "No more. I'm not looking for love in all the wrong places, looking for love in too many faces. (Or that was a karaoke dream.) But essentially the message was this: "I'm on hiatus!"

And so it was. I had good intentions to pursue creative and athletic goals and I have sort of pursued them, if you count paint-by-numbers and Wii. You know, the pop psych momma advice to "immerse myself in myself" and not pay attention to the menfolk. No, I wasn't popping in 1990's Lillith Fair tapes, reading Simone de Bouvoire, and running to California to get hitched, but you know what I mean.

And this little plan worked. No dates since 2007. Unless you count the purely textual relationship I have with a boy from my morning metro ride to work. We were "strangers on a train" for 2 years, until we saw each other out of context. (Our usual context being my face implanted in his armpit as the morning train twists and turns and jerks out of Courthouse. Or him stalking me on the platform, waiting for me as we board the train in silence for 3 whole stops while admiring his Hugo Boss and Varvatos wardrobe.) But we had to run into each other in a bar one night and then another night. All of a sudden our context was the local Tavern. He had to go and ask for my number as homo sapiens with opposable thumbs and conversational lust are wont to do. I gave him the digits with the promise that he wouldn't "go calling me all the time, in fact don't call me, just text me. " And he took that to its literal grave. Texting me all the time, yet not asking me out. So we proceed to "get to know each other" on text messaging, as much as you can get to know someone that way. (How ws ur day? good....out of town...what r u doin? watching TC, etc.) We are going on six months now.

So between only having texting relations with the opposite sex and totally losing my shit when forced to spend Fouth of July weekend with a hot guy, I realized that it was time, Internet. Time to get back into the dating pool, if only for the stories, and this was my plan:

Saturate the Market Place

Part one of the dating game forthcoming...

Inching Along One Flower At A Time

I have never had a boy send me flowers. And you know what that translates to? I have never had a boy send me yellow tulips. I'd even settle for white. Or a dandelion. Buehler?

Heh. You'd give me the one already blown out, right?

Story of my life.

This is not to say that the Real Love Of My Life, as opposed to myriad Posers, never showed up on my doorstep with the random greenery picked from the neighbor's lawn or the carnations from the local Giant. Stolen flowers have more meaning? Because nothing says "I love you" more than a five finger discount. Bonnie and Clyde built a relationship on it.

My office is plastered with pictures and drawings of flowers. I actually had to take some down because it became a little overkill. Shrubbery.

I also spray lavender in my office a lot. As a panacea to Job Stress, a remedy according to the Feng Shui, Hippies Are Dope, Mercury Rising, Moon in Jupiter, Chakra Kundalini Express bus. It's a short bus that safely transports me througout this life. But I wish the bus driver was a little nicer to me.

One of the partners at work does actually give me flowers. On more than one occasion. He also gives me Thanksgiving presents. One of the few people who actually take the literal meaning of the word "thanksgiving." He also give mes Starbucks and iTunes gift cards. Alas, he doesn't give me anything for Arbor Day, so take your head out of the flower patch.

I am just in love with floral teas. White peony tea. Chamomile. Lavender jasmine. Honeysuckle. Yerba Mate. Hell, I even get Hibiscus sorbet. I am dying to make lavender scones, I just got to get my hands on some edible lavender. I think those would be just tasty-cakes.

Now I am into painting flowers like a Georgia O'Keefe rip-off artist.

Flowers, flowers everwhere.

Now, I just need a Garden Boy for watering purposes. Bring your own hose.