Call me Grace

One of my childhood nicknames was Grace.  According to my parents, I was always on the go.  I was constantly running around the house, falling, hurting myself, bruising in the oddest places, and scraping my knees.  It’s no coincidence that by the time I was 10, I’d broken both of my arms, multiple fingers, had several trips to the ER for concussions and one for a hair brush in my throat (I fell down the stairs with a comb in my mouth).  To say it’s amazing that I made it to see my 11th birthday is an understatement.

 

With age, I’ve grown accustomed to my clumsiness.  I try and handle these things with a bit of grace and humor.  I’ve learned to laugh at myself when I do things like miss three steps while walking out of a bar, do the splits in the aisle of a CTA bus, fall in a crowded bar and spill my drink over a cute boy, and walk into glass doors.

 

It should come as no surprise that a few Saturdays ago I hurt myself.  Again.  I spent a really enjoyable day with my friend Speacher.  We started at 8 a.m. with a trip to Chicago’s Green City Market and gathered the makings for a large batch of cauliflower curry and an apple and cranberry crisp.  After a short nap, Speacher and I reconvened and cooked our hearts out and cracked open a bottle of wine.  Later, our friend Legalese came over and ate with us.  As is customary when we get together, the music was blaring and we began one of our infamous and impromptu dance parties in my living room.  At 7:30 p.m. on Saturday night, glasses of wine in hand, Legalese, Speacher and I danced around my living room holding little back.

 

As soon as were in the groove, a new song popped on the radio and we all let out a little screech of joy when the opening notes of Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance were heard.  If we weren’t already at the top of our game, we cranked it up and began dancing even harder.  I jumped up and down, swinging my hips left and right when suddenly I felt my left hip pop out of its socket.  And that’s when the dancing stopped and the pain started.  Legalese helped me wobble to the couch.  For a bit, I thought the pain might actually stop.  I told Legalese and Speacher, that I was going to be fine in a few minutes.

 

Of course, after a few minutes the pain got worse and a tingling sensation began in my leg.  Thankfully my friends are much smarter than I and insisted on taking me to the ER.  Naturally I live on the third floor of a walk-up building which means there is no elevator.  With the strong arm of Legalese I finally made it down the stairs and into Speacher’s car.  We arrived at the ER and checked in pretty quickly (note: tears in the ER help make the process move faster).  I was whisked away to get all my vitals taken by the nurse on duty.  The nurse told me it was pretty likely that an X-Ray or two would be in my future and in preparation she needed me to take a pregnancy test.  After attempting to insure her that I was not pregnant, she said I HAD to take a test, which meant peeing into a cup.  Great.

 

So Legalese and Speacher pushed me in the wheelchair to the lobby bathroom.  If I didn’t already know what terrific and amazing friends I had, it was quite evident as they helped hold me up while I attempted to pee into a small cup.  Carefully I tried to hand the half full cup to Speacher for her to cap.  Once again, Grace appeared and I dropped the cup.  Half full of my urine.  Without a cap.  And my friends cleaned it up.  Yeah, I have amazing friends.

 

After the clean up, my friends wheeled me back to my room where I was met by a resident who evaluated me.  The resident started by asking what I was doing when my hip popped out of place.  I answered, “I was dancing.”

 

“Are you a professional dancer?” she asked.  I am not sure the relevance of that question or if she was trying to see if the money in “dancing” is better than in medicine, but my friends and I thought it was hilarious.  I told her, with a not-so-straight-face, that I was not, in fact, a professional dancer.

 

After a few x-rays and making friends with a nurse, I was told by the doctor that there was nothing broken or torn and I most likely sprained my hip.  I was given a prescription for pain meds and a set of crutches.

 

It’s been about three weeks now since the incident and while I’m still in a bit of pain and am severely limited in physical activity, I’m definitely getting better.  Much to my great surprise there were no “Grace” moments while I was on crutches.  Maybe I can outgrow my clumsiness?

 

Still, every time I hear Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance I can’t help but begin to dance.  Of course, it’s a half-limp, one-legged hopping around kind of dance.  I guess I could start calling my self a professional one-legged dancer.

 

Some people just never learn and I am going to raise my hand proudly as a member of that group.

Breaking and Entering

Never ever let it be said that I do not have amazing friends.  During my online dating experience, my friends have been my greatest cheerleaders and supporters.  They helped me create my profile, craft responses to emails, and given terrific advice.  They also lookout for me and truly have my greatest interests at heart.

 

When I had a string of first dates, my friends requested that I give them the contact information of my date as well as the location of our date.  This way, God-forbid, if anything should happen, my friends would know where to go to find me.  The protocol is that when I get home from a date, I text two of my friends that I have arrived home.  Additionally, we developed a “code word” that I always text so that they can be assured that it is in fact me texting and not some psycho who’s got my phone.

 

One evening, I had a date with a guy, The Egyptian, who I’d been seeing for a while.  After work, I went over to his house and we made dinner together and watched a movie.  The evening wore on and after having a few drinks, we lost track of time.  Of course, I neglected to text my friends at all and my phone had been turned on silent.  Late into the evening, The Egyptian’s door buzzer went off.  We looked at one another a bit surprised to hear it ringing so late.  For a fleeting moment I thought it might be my friends, but that thought quickly vanished.  As he got up from the couch, The Egyptian said maybe it was his downstairs neighbor who frequently locks himself.  Suddenly I heard two voices I distinctly recognized as belonging to my friends, Legalese and Law Student.  I blurted to The Egyptian, “Holy shit, those are my friends.”  I reached for my phone in my purse to see no less than ten missed calls and five new text messages.

 

The Egyptian looked at me, surprised, naturally and I quickly explained that I had not texted my friends in a long time and when I had, I neglected to use the “code word” to tell my friends I was ok.  He laughed and threw open his window yelling down to my friends, “Hello!”

 

My friends asked if I was there and was I ok?  I leaned into the window and waved, “Hi guys.”  They laughed and said they just wanted to check to make sure I was ok and then turned to leave.  The Egyptian, however, insisted that they come up for some wine since they had come all the way over to check on me.

 

Introductions were made and The Egyptian, as charming as ever, poured generous glasses of wine for all of us.  My friends began telling the story of how they now came to be sitting in front of us.  After trying to contact me via text messages, multiple phone calls and even Twitter and received no response, Law Student called Legalese wondering what they should do.  They even called The Egyptian’s phone but alas, got no response (turns out for AT&T customers, of which the Egyptian is, his condo is a cell phone Black Hole).  They decided that the best course of action was to come and check on me in person.  So off they went, Legalese even grabbing a broken 2×4 and stuffing it into her purse if the need for immediate protection arose.

 

When they arrived at The Egyptian’s building, they were met with a locked gate, about eight feet tall.  Not ever meeting something that can’t be conquered, Legalese, a lawyer by day, climbed the gate to let Law Student into the courtyard.  After letting Law Student into the courtyard, they found The Egyptian’s name on the downstairs and hit the buzzer, which we heard.  Thankfully The Egyptian found this story to be ridiculously hilarious.

 

After saying a final round of goodbyes, they left the two of us to and The Egyptian turned to me and said, “I hope you know that I’m going to tease you about this for a long time to come.”

 

Addendum: Because the voice mails I received that night are too hilarious not to share, here they are:

 

From Law Student: Girl in 3k, this is Law Student.  I’m literally walking out of my house right now and coming over there and picking up Legalese and her brother so we can be protected.  Call me if you’re ok.  Ok?  Bye.

 

From Law Student 20 minutes later:  The Girl in 3K, this is Law Student.  We’re outside the Egyptian’s building and we need to know that you’re ok.  We’re dialing his number now.  Ok, we’re in!  We’re coming in!

Changes to my Bucket List

Some days I am happily content with my life; happy to go about doing what I’ve always done.  Some days it worries me that I’ve settle for “just enough”; that I don’t work harder for more.  Then I sit back and realize that no, I didn’t settle, I’ve worked hard to create a life in which I’m very happy. I’m in my favorite city, surrounded by amazing and creative people that I’m proud to call my friends and colleagues. 

When I was younger, I made a list of things I knew I wanted to do.  It was my first Bucket List.  At this point, I know there are items on the list that I used to deem important; things like act in a movie or meet ten famous people, or jump from an airplane.  If I were to make my bucket list today, I’m sure many of the first Bucket items wouldn’t make the cut.  In the last few years, I’ve sort of poo-pooed the idea of creating a new Bucket List, yet recently it’s started to surface.

This past spring I decided I really needed do something different with my workout routine and really work on getting into shape.  My dad has been a runner his entire life; at 52 he runs at least three days a week, on average about four miles, but usually fits in a six to eight mile run on the weekend.  My brother is also a runner even running for his college’s track team.  I have always had a deep respect for runners; the endurance, the training and the pain they put themselves through.  To be honest, I respected but didn’t truly “get” the hype or the desire, until this spring.  I’ve really developed a passion for running and I think I’m ready to add some races to my bucket list.  In fact, this weekend, I’m running in my first road race since I was a kid and ran in several one-mile fun runs.  I’m excited and nervous.  Mostly excited, though, at having started something with trepidation, worried that I wouldn’t last, only to have developed a love for running.  Some days it boggles my mind.

Yet another item has popped up on my list recently.  Though I don’t have my original list I made in middle school, I’m almost positive that at least one item on that list is about living overseas.  I had every intention of studying abroad in college; I researched programs and decided on a program in Ireland.  In fact, the tuition for studying overseas was less expensive than at my private college.  However, at the time I was researching all this, I landed an internship.  I started at the bottom and eventually worked my way up to a really great position.  As the time neared for my application, I decided not to apply; I decided the experience and opportunity that I had at my internship was too good to give up.  Some days I regret that decision, but then I think of the work I did and the good time I had my last two years at school. 

 

Today, I received an email from my boss asking if I would be interested in a position in our London office.  I hesitated a bit before responding.  My life in Chicago is great, better than I would have ever imagined.  I would love to have the experience of living overseas, but what would I have to give up if I left Chicago?  There’s the possibility that  I’d miss milestones in my friends and families lives: births, deaths, and weddings are just a few things that immediately come to mind.  Would things ever be the same if I decided to return to the States or to Chicago?

Yet I realized that it’s all speculative.  What would I be missing if I said no.  I mean, if it’s not right now, when WOULD it be a good time to live overseas?  I have very few obligations right now: I don’t have a mortgage, I don’t own a car, I don’t have kids and I don’t have a significant other (although I do have three first-dates within the next week. Playa.).  If I replied and said no, it meant I was making a statement that living overseas just wasn’t for me.  I wasn’t ready to shut it out of the picture.  So I responded and said yes, without question, I am interested.  I still don’t know what the job entails or if they want to interview me, but they know I’m interested. 

 

I still don’t have a complete Bucket List, but I’m getting closer and I like the surprises that keep getting added.

And one day, fall arrived

I’ve come to the realization that summer is sadly over. Summer, without question, is my favorite time of any year. I love hot summer days that stretch into long nights, being able to sit outside and enjoy the warm weather. This summer, however, unlike any summers I remember, lacked those hot days. Yet it’s one of the best summers I remember.

My friend Speacher and I were reminiscing about summer. We decided that if there were an award for taking advantage of all things summer in the city, we would win. This summer has included so many activities like: Italian Fest, Greek Fest, weddings, Taste of Chicago, numerous trips to Ravinia, beach volleyball, bachelorette parties, BBQs, Gay Pride Parade, flip cup tournaments, Saturdays at the farmer’s market, Blues Fest, sailing on Lake Michigan, dinners in Chinatown and on Argyle St, Beer Olympics, al fresco dining, Old Town Art Fair, movies in the park, concerts at Wrigley Field, weekly lunches at Daley Plaza, Oyster Fest, dancing in the park, drinks at Trump Tower, Cubs games, and impromptu dinners on patios that stretch into the morning.

I don’t know what it is or if I am the only person who does this, but I look for signs that indicate that the season has in fact changed. For me, that indication usually arrives after experiencing a certain smell, seeing a seasonal food in the grocery store, or purchasing new clothes for the impending change in weather. Fall and winter are the hardest seasons for me. I dread the long cold winters in Chicago and typically put off declaring that summer has ended. Yet today I find myself declaring that fall has arrived. Part of it, I think, is that I am so exhausted from summer. It was terrific in so many ways, but I’m afraid that if I keep up with the pace that I had this summer, I’ll die before my next birthday! Today’s indication arrived after I cooked a meal for the second time this week with squash. Clearly, with the arrival of squash it’s fall. I also purchased three new clothing items today, items that I’m so excited about: a fabulous pair of camel colored boots, skinny jeans and a beautiful purple and orange paisley scarf.

Try as I might, I have a hard time loving crisp fall days; but this year, I’m determined to enjoy the season. I’m looking forward to combing the farmers market for great fall produce like squash, pumpkins, apples and cider. I’m determined to make the Bears my football team. I want to enjoy the smell of the leaves turning and relish the sound of leaves crushing under my fall boots. I want to enjoy walks along the lake, bundled in a warm sweatshirt. I want to cozy up around a bonfire, sip a glass of red wine and reminisce with friends. I’m getting excited at the prospect for an excuse to stay inside all day on a Saturday, curled up in my front room with a book. Mostly, I’m looking forward to enjoying a season I’ve too often ignored.

Annoyed

I’m a bit annoyed today.  There are more than a few things that have tipped me over the edge.

First I’ve realized it’s fall.  Now I know that many people love fall and that’s great, but fall and I have never gotten along.  I’m a summer gal.  The hotter the weather, the better.  I’m working on becoming better friends with fall, but at the end of the day fall leads to winter, and winter downright makes me cry into my oatmeal.

Second, I’m annoyed with myself.  Sometimes, rather than dealing with the present, things I know I should do NOW, I put them off.  For instance I should have bought a plane ticket for Thanksgiving two weeks ago when I was talking about it.  Yeah, two weeks ago when tickets were less than $200 round trip.  But, alas, I didn’t.  Now a round trip ticket is $250 plus.  Sweet.

I am also annoyed at this cough I’ve had for over a week.  One trip to the doctor last week and a Z-Pack later, I still can’t shake it.  Thankfully the only symptom I have is a lingering cough; it doesn’t seem to involve the sore throat or runny nose that many people have.  Still it’s a hanger-on, this cough.

Finally, the biggest annoyance in my life is this online dating thing.  I attempted online dating because I was tired of the dating scene I was experiencing.  I was tired of meeting guys, talking with them and then nothing.  Or not even meeting guys at all.  Mostly I really wanted to cut through the B.S. that I’ve experienced.  For example, the guy asks for your phone number and never calls; the random late-night texts that lead nowhere; the makeouts that remain just another makeout.  I thought online dating would get me closer to what I was seeking.  Sadly, it’s not.  Whether in real life or online, boys will still be boys.  A friend mentioned I should write more about my online dating experience, but I told her I wouldn’t call it online dating at this point.  A more fitting name for what’s going on would be “online interviewing” or “emailing guys with no balls.”

I’m a modern gal and a proud feminist, but a part of me wants to be courted and swept off my feet, butterflies and all.  The other part of me knows that this isn’t going to happen.  Yet I can’t help but feel great disappointment in what I’m finding as “date-able material.”  There are countless email messages or IMs that end with “Here’s my number.  Call or text me!”  Or, “Here’s my GMail address.  Add me and we can IM.”  Even today I had a Match guy add me to GChat; I hit ignore.  Not two hours later, he added me again.  I know that I’m making a statement by initiating dating online, yet I don’t want another GChat buddy or a texting buddy or an email pen pal.  In my dating experience, I’ve found that relationships typically DE-volve when a majority of the communication is over IM or texting.

I’m at a loss for what to do next.  Do I keep up with emailing these guys, only one of whom I seem to be somewhat interested in, and hope things materialize?  Or do I just stop?  Oh, life.

My experience in online dating

About a year ago, I ventured into the world of online dating and met a couple of cool people and after a six month hiatus I recently decided to give it another try. While I will not profess to be an expert at writing my own profile (I enlisted a few bottles of wine and a couple of friends in writing mine) I noticed more than a few quirks about some of my potential “matches.”  My first adventure into online dating was via e Harmony where I collected and compiled some of the descriptions that I would see on potential “matches” profiles.  Some are downright hilarious and disturbing.

Here’s one guy, describing his passions in life.  While spelling is certainly no passion of mine, I at least know what the ABC icon in a Word Document does.

I am pasionate about succeeding in life so I can do the things I like, one day provide for a family, travel, and give some money to charity, buy awesome shit. I like to take things litely, never get too freaked out. I am also pasionate about experiencing life, wether that be traveling, or trying new restaurantes, or enthic food, or doing something I haven’t done before. I am also passionate about learning.

Later on, he says that he always uses Spell Check because he’s a terrible speller.  Really?  Is Spell Check the name of your dog who can’t read? 

Here’s another guy who I am guessing misspelled the first word in the second grade spelling bee: 

The last book B read and enjoyed:

The last book I read was Angels and Demons by Dan Brown. This was a mistery about some antimater and a plot to use it to distroy the Catholic church. This book appealed to my puzzle solving nature. I kept trying to figure out what was going to happen next.

I have a feeling this guy is a hugger.

The one thing J is most passionate about:

I am passionate about anything that touches my feelings.

This guy is so passionate that I would imagine a first date with him might involve nothing more than staring into each others eyes.  I mean, he’s. Just. So. Passionate.

The one thing p is most passionate about:

passionate about plenty of things’ couldnt type into words sorry ….

I have a feeling this guy would go to the bathroom on our first date, catch his reflection in the mirror, and never return to our table:

The one thing T wishes MORE people would notice about him is:

Tough question… Well, growing up I was always skinny. Over the last few years I have been dedicated to working out regularly and eating “fairly” healthy, so I do appreciate it when someone notices my muscles or that I’m in good shape. Health and fitness are very important to me.

The one thing P is most passionate about:

Friends, family, intimate others, music and learning–all in that order.

K typically spends his leisure time:

I enjoy going out to new places. Not meaning bars, but rester aunts, festivals, and such.

Also, don’t use derogatory terms.  For example, this genius says: 

This is strange; people I meet for the first time say they like my accent, but I am from the suburbs of Chicago and clearly don’t have an accent, and my close friends will quickly tell them they are retarded because my close friend don’t hear any accent….. but it happens at least every month.

After reading this guy’s response, I couldn’t close the match fast enough.  If I can’t talk about books, we might not have much to talk about.

The last book W read and enjoyed:

I’m an engineer, i.e. I don’t read too good.

Come on.  Best foot forward, people!

Pictures are so important, too.  I strongly believe in physical attraction.  If I can’t see your picture, it makes me feel like you’re hiding something and honestly, that’s a risk I’m not willing to take.    What’s with guys who put pictures of themselves with three girls?  I don’t care if you label it “Me with two of my best friends.”  I’m not interested in dating your girlfriends and frankly, you probably harbor a secret love for them.  Next, please!

And what’s with you putting up one picture of yourself with two other guys and not saying which one you are?  Are the three of you trying to save money by just creating one profile?  Or do I get to pick which one I want to date?

Another thing, don’t include a picture in which you have a cigarette in your mouth and say, “I swear I don’t smoke.”  Why the hell would you put up a picture of you with a cigarette in your mouth?  Closed.

Seriously, why would I be interested in communicating with you if your About Me section contains very brief descriptors of who you are and you have zero pictures.  Really?  Come on.  Even my friend’s dog likes music, walks and food.

I’ll be back to update with more interesting stories of online dating.  There is an entire post coming about the guy with a VHS collection.

Summer storms

In a rare event, my air conditioner has been turned off for the last few nights.  Typically, once mid-June hits, my air conditioner is on full blast each and every night and while it’s nice to sleep in the cool air, the noise of the unit drowns out summer storms.  One recent morning my alarm went off at 5 a.m. signaling that it was time to get up and hit the gym for a bit.  Not five minutes later, just as I was dozing back to sleep, I heard the loud clap of thunder and rain start to pour outside of my window.  I leaned over and reset my alarm so that I could enjoy the storm from the comfort of my bed, rather than from the elliptical at my gym.  As I reset my alarm, I realized that it wasn’t long ago that I really didn’t enjoy storms; they scared me and caused many an unpleasant summer nights.

I grew up in Kansas also known as the Bible belt, the Midwest, and Tornado Alley.  While we enjoy mild winters and little snow, spring and summer are the seasons when Mother Nature shows her wrath.   As most homes in Arizona understandably have air conditioners, most homes in Kansas have basements.  Well, except my parents.  We lived in a house on a small street with just three neighboring homes, all of which had basements.  Every tornado drill that I participated in during school said to go immediately to the basement or find a secure location in the home: a windowless bathroom or interior closet.  My family took the opposite approach: we ran outside to the neighbors.  I mean, makes sense right?  Um, not so much.  There were many summer nights when I slept with my tennis shoes on so that at a moment’s notice, I could jump out of bed and run outside into the safety of my neighbor’s basement.

We lived just far enough from the nearest tornado siren that when the wind was blowing at 75 plus miles an hour, we couldn’t hear it.  So instead of waiting to hear that piercing siren, I listened for my own warning sounds.  One of those was a wind chime, a very heavy clay wind chime that we inherited when we moved into the house.  It very rarely made a noise because it was so heavy, but during strong storms and often when we had to take cover during storms, I could hear the faint noise of the wind chime.  That was my sign that the weather was bad.  And because we lived just far enough not to hear the sirens, a good friend would call us when she heard the sirens in town.  To say that I didn’t get much sleep in the summer is an understatement.

As I’ve gotten older and moved farther north where the threat of tornadoes isn’t as great, I’ve been able to relax a bit more when the sky darkens.  Don’t get me wrong, my stomach still churns a bit when I hear that first clap of thunder but it’s much less than it was when I was a child.  I’m finally beginning to understand the beauty in a bolt of lightening and what great sleeping weather a thunderstorm can produce.

A year older and quite possibly a bit wiser…

It’s been a little over a week since my birthday and I’m a bit behind in recapping what a terrific birthday I had.  Since my birthday fell on Tuesday,  I started celebrating the Thursday before and didn’t finish until this past Sunday.  I might have to see if I can arrange for that kind of celebration every year!

My birthday week started off with a trip back to Minnesota, specifically the Twin Cities where I went to college, to attend the wedding reception of my best friend from college, KitKat.  It had been over two years since my last trip back to Minnesota and although I haven’t seen my three closest friends, all of whom still live in Minnesota, more than once a year in the last four years, it was like little time had passed at all.

On Friday, my KitKat and I went off to see our old stomping grounds.  KitKat is actually employed by the university, so it was really just like another day at work for her, but she indulged me and we wandered around campus, reminiscing about the things we did four years ago and catching up on the latest school gossip.  During the last two years of school, I spent most of my on-campus time in the Student Activities Center with KitKat, working with the Student Government.  As we walked through the building, I caught myself looking at the reception desk looking for the familiar faces and voices of my classmates, but by now, of course, they’ve all graduated and moved on to new places.  We were able to see one of our mentors and spent several hours that day sitting in her office catching up on life.  It was a great walk down memory lane.

Saturday night was the reception where I saw many old friends from college and made a few new friends.  I had an absolute blast even though I was the only single girl.  Seriously, the only single girl.  Actually, in retrospect, maybe that’s why I had so much fun!  Regardless, I drank my weight in red wine, flirted with a few of the single guys, played rock, paper, scissors (or as someone called it paper, rock, scissors), and boogied on the dance floor.

Surprisingly, I was quite spry on Sunday morning.  However, the same cannot be said for KitKat’s husband.  KitKat and I relived our college days by climbing into her bed, eating junk food, and watching Lifetime TV.  We also laughed quite a bit at her husband as he moaned and groaned and dealt with his hangover.  Thankfully, he takes the teasing pretty well. 

As an added treat, my parents happened to be in the Twin Cities for the weekend visiting some cousins, so I grabbed dinner with them and enjoyed some tasty cocktail my mom “whipped up”.  I really got a kick out of the fact that my mom suddenly turned into “whipping up” drinks.  Her choice of drink is typically a vodka on the rocks, so it’s no surprise that this drink was ALL vodka: raspberry vodka, cranberry juice pre-mixed with vodka, tonic water, and finally topped with vodka soaked raspberries.

My final day in the Twin Cities found KitKat and I perusing the shops of Grand Avenue with a lunch stop at an all-time favorite, Punch Pizza.  Seriously, if you are in the Twin Cities, this is a must stop for wood fired pizza.  As I headed to the airport with a full belly, I realized how great it was to visit and catch up with old friends but how happy I am in my current life in Chicago.

Later I’ll post the second part of my birthday-recap: Elton John and Billy Joel in concert, plus steaks and cupcakes (a girl could used to this!).

Calendars

I feel like I’ve been on a bender.  Life is exhausting these days but it’s the kind of exhausting you get from having too much fun and doing too many activities.  It’s the feeling that there’s just not enough time in the day to do all the things I want to do.  BUT, I’m happy, deliriously happy, actually.  Four years ago if someone had told me that I was going to be this happy, I may have smiled a bit more.

I remember my first few months in Chicago and how utterly lonely I was.  My days were filled with nothing more than the routine of getting up, going to work, and coming home.  I moved to Chicago just a month after graduating from college with a job, a lease on an apartment and a U-Haul full of belongings.  Outside of a few co-workers, I knew no one.  To say that I was bored and lonely would be an understatement.  My job was undemanding yet I dreaded the weekends because they brought two days of pure loneliness and little human interaction outside of small talk with my doorman.

Tucked inside my purse those days was a green faux-crocodile leather calendar which I carried in the hope that the pages would be filled with those activities I had dreamed my new city life would contain: happy hours and shopping trips and museum visits, all with my new fabulous city friends.  However, the pages in my calendar mocked me with their pure emptiness.  Each day had six lines which could be filled with appointments and reminders of dinner reservations with friends.  I was lucky if I could fill a single line.  No longer able to stand the white starting back at me, I wrote in smallest details of my days.  Some days, the calendar would remind me to make a phone call to reconnect with an old friend or if a co-worker invited me to join her for lunch, I would carefully write the lunch in the calendar as if to tell myself I had been busy that day.

Slowly, I met new people in Chicago who turned into friends.  We made plans for happy hours and museum visits and soon my calendar begin to fill.  There were even days when I had to object because, wow, had I really over scheduled?  These days, there is no calendar tucked into my purse because I’ve moved into the digital world of Google Calendars and Blackberrys.  My calendar is filled with activities with people who didn’t exist in my world four years ago.  I no longer dread my weekends because of the forced alone time; I dread weekends because I know I’ll never be able to fit in all the fun activities and all the people I want to see.  Most importantly, though, my full calendar brings me the kind of joy I always knew I could have.  This is the kind of bender I can handle.

I am not writing as if to say that my life is more exciting than anyone else’s, but as a reminder to me that life gets better. 

The kind of woman I am

The About Me section of my Facebook profile is a quote from one of my all-time favorite shows, Sex In the City.  SJP’s character, Carrie Bradshaw, says it so well, “I will never be the woman with the perfect hair, who can wear white and not spill on it.”  I chose this quote because, while I try to keep my clothes white and my hair close to perfect, it just never happens.  That got me thinking: What else describes the kind of woman I am?

I am the kind of woman who buys her shampoo at Walgreens, the cheaper the better, but who won’t buy sheets with anything less than a 500 thread count.  

I am the kind of woman who makes small talk like it’s my job, but as soon as I feel like we’ve developed a connection, I have no hesitation in telling you about the last time I puked my guts out.

I am the kind of woman who reads three or four books at a time, but three weeks later, I won’t be able to tell you the plot of a single one.

I am the kind of woman who knows very few words to songs but will sing along making up the words as I go.  I will also sing at the top of my lungs and, in my own opinion, I really don’t have a great voice.

I am the kind of woman who drinks gin and vodka straight up, with a twist.  I will never be a fan of fruity drinks, other than sangria.

I am the kind of woman who will eat a dinner consisting of chips and ice cream.

I am the kind of woman who says she likes to camp, but secretly hates the thought of sleeping on the ground.

I am the kind of woman who goes on vacation and brings twelve books and finishes all of them.

I am the kind of woman expects the best from everyone and hurts terribly when I’m let down.

I am the kind of woman who falls frequently, runs into furniture and drops things all the time.  And, I am also the kind of woman who laughs at herself when this happens.

I am the kind of woman who turns bright red when she is complimented.  Slowly, I’m learning to accept compliments.

I am the kind of woman who fears that she will end up alone.

I am the kind of woman who fears that she has accepted things being just-good-enough for far too long.

I am the kind of woman who has a subscription to Real Simple but secretly wishes it were People magazine.

I am the kind of woman who will turn the air conditioner on high just so I can wrap myself in my down comforter at night.

I am the kind of woman who will kill bugs without a second thought, but is afraid that every dog I encounter will attack me.

I am the kind of woman who makes lists but never crosses anything off the lists.

I am the kind of woman who was raised in a church but struggles daily with what to believe and whom she should believe.

I am the kind of woman who is extremely loyal to friends and would do anything that they ask of me.

I am the kind of woman who drinks her coffee black and eats french-fries with no ketchup.

I am the kind of woman who loves city living but misses the darkness and solitude of the country.

I am the kind of woman who prefers dress and skirts to pants and shorts.

I am the kind of woman who, without fail, will fall asleep during a movie while insisting that just this once, she’ll prove you wrong by staying awake.

I am the kind of woman who believes that if you put good things out into the world, you will receive great things back.