Things I Loved About Being Single

As I start to pack up my apartment and move into a new stage of life, I’m anticipating a lot of new things on the horizon. But, as always, there are things I leave behind. And one of them is my swingin’ single sort of life. So today, I will honor that life with a list. A reminder to myself of why this was good, and hopefully a reminder to others of the positives in a situation we so often find to be negative.

Things I Loved About Being Single

• Living alone – I’ll admit, I wasn’t so thrilled about this at first. And it certainly does have some downsides. But overall living alone is kind of awesome. I can walk around naked whenever I want and wear ratty comfy clothes without wondering how they look to someone else. I can eat weird nutritionally unsound meals and there’s no one to judge me. I can have ice cream for breakfast without funny looks! My apartment is decorated exactly how I want it and is perfect for me, and no one ever complains about my pictures on the walls, or my area rug, or why they can’t have their couch/desk/hideous floor lamp displayed. I am the master of the thermostat and no one ever complains about it. I only watch what I want to watch on TV and I never have to go into another room to watch it. I don’t have to be quiet when I get up in the mornings. I can turn on every light in the place at 5 AM. I go to the bathroom with the door open. I shower with it open too. My bathroom never gets humid and gross. And I never have to collect anyone’s dirty socks or underwear when it’s laundry day.
• Sleeping arrangements – I have never slept better in my life. I have a whole glorious queen sized bed all to myself. I don’t wake up in the middle of the night because someone’s snoring too loud. I don’t feel anyone shifting about in their sleep. There’s no other alarm to go off and wake me up when I don’t have to be up yet. The covers are just the way I like them. And I sleep like a rock every night.
• Social Obligations – The only social obligations I have are my own. I make plans without asking anyone. I don’t have to worry about someone else’s schedule or preferences. I don’t have to decide if they’ll be too bored. I don’t have to give anything up because I didn’t have to go visit Uncle Joe last year. I don’t have to make nice with anyone else’s co-workers (because frankly making nice with my own is quite enough sometimes). I don’t even have to make plans at all if I don’t want to. I can plan ahead by as much as a I want or as little as I want. I can accept last minute invitations if I feel like it, or refuse them without feeling like a stick in the mud.  And if I want to make a date with my pajama pants, my couch, and the Lifetime movie channel, I can do that without anyone passing judgment. In fact, I can do it without anyone even knowing.
• Disgusting habits – I can clip my toenails in the living room. I can sing off key in the shower. I can pick my nose. And if the urge comes upon me, yes indeed, I can pass gas. I don’t have to apologize, or excuse myself, or even look around to see if anyone noticed. And if I deny doing it later (because I’m a delicate flower and I certainly never do any of that) there’s no one to call me a liar.
• Meals – I eat when I’m hungry. And when I’m not hungry? I don’t. And I have whatever I feel like having. And no one shakes their head, or complains because they don’t like it, or whines about being starved to death.

I could go on, but I’ll stop here. And yes, there are things I was not so fond of as well. But there is so much to be happy about and grateful for. So much so, in fact, that I almost didn’t want to give it up.

But in the end, all things must change and I am embracing new adventures. Hopefully they’ll live up to my expectations.

Bugging me – Again

Ask and ye shall receive… the second story of the attack of the giant beetles inside my apartment.

A week or two after the first incident, I had finally stopped looking for beetles around every corner. I decided that the giant life threatening beetle referenced in my last post was merely a coincidence. A one time deal. After all, my apartment is not especially prone to bugs. So my blood pressure had returned to normal and I could once again sleep at night without excessive scratching. Of course, this is where the story will go horribly wrong for me.

I was once again sitting on the couch and enjoying a quiet night in. Early in the evening, I heard some rattling of the blinds on the blacony door. Nothing serious, just sounds like they were shifting slightly. It was hot outside and the AC was on, so I decided that must be the culprit. A tiny voice in the back of my head warned me that this was a new noise and having the AC on was not a new thing. But I ignored it. No need to be paranoid, I told myself.

An hour or so later, the beetle found his way to the wall above my TV. That’s right, the exact same kind of big nasty beetle. I did not scream, although I admit I did dance and scratch a bit. But I also sighed and went in search of something I could use to reach and kill the nasty thing. After some careful rooting around, I spotted my black ballet flats. Triumphantly, I snatched up my new weapon and turned back to the wall to do the dirty dead.

But the beetle was gone.

One frantic search later, I located it on the vaulted ceiling of my apartment. Like 18′ up in the air. I waved the black ballet flat at the beetle in a menacing fashion but he seemed unimpressed. He didn’t move. We were at an impasse.

The real problem here was that I needed to go to bed. But now my blood pressure was elevated and there was a beetle on the loose. Clearly sleep was no longer an option until the beetle was dead. I mean, he could fly into the bedroom and land on me in my sleep! Seriously!

The beetle and I were clearly at a standoff, so I did the only thing I could really do at the point. I upped the ante. I threw my shoe at the ceiling. That’s right. I threw my shoe at the ceiling. Hit it too. But alas, I missed the beetle. He remained uninterested in me or my airborne black ballet flats. But now that I knew I could hit these high ceilings, I kept trying. I got close to the darn thing too, but never quite hit him.

The beetle tired of my game and took to the air, only to land on another spot too high to reach. Lather rinse repeat… my shoes flew once more. Then it happened. On one trip to retrieve my ballet flats, the beetle moved and I lost him. I stood in the kitchen in a panic brandishing my weapons of choice and deperately trying to locate the offending insect. I finally found him and he’d made a fatal mistake. He was within reach.

I approached the wall carefully, like a hunter stalking it’s obviously deadly prey. The beetle sat still. I drew my arm back slowly all while trying to stay as calm and still as possible. I locked eyes with the dirty giant beetle. And then I smacked him!

He spiraled off of the wall like a crashing airplane and I jumped back and screamed. And danced. And itched. But I had lost him. I knew it wasn’t a direct hit but I also knew he was wounded at the very least. Still I could not locate the beetle. I spent the next 15 minutes or so convincing myself that he had to be dead or dying somewhere. I finally went to bed.

And finally, I knew I had to ask for help. A few days later, when I had finally stopped skulking into the living room like a nervous deer, I had a friend come over to get rid of the bug. Yes, it’s true. I, Jane Wonder, called someone to dispose of a dead bug. And it was indeed dead… died right where it landed that night after I smacked it. And now it is gone.

Hopefully I won’t ever see another one of those damn things again.

Bugging Me

Let me paint you a picture of the totally glamorous life of a one date wonder on her own. Actually, let me not paint it because that would be gross. Because the picture is of a giant beetle in my apartment.

The first time it happened (oh yes, it’s like that) I was sitting on the couch minding my own business watching TV and surfing the internet on my laptop. I had a drink on the coffee table, I was relaxed, and all was right with the world. Apparently my mistake was blinking. I blinked, and then it happened.  There was a giant beetle right in the middle of my laptop screen. Seriously. A beetle.

I did what any normal single gal would do when presented with the situation. I screamed and shoved the laptop off my lap. It hit my drink which spilled all over the coffee table, snapped shut, and fell to the ground. I had already jumped out of my seat and was doing the crazy itchy screamy bug dance over by the front door. And then I had to decide… what was more pressing? Saving my coffee table from water stains or locating and eradicating the giant life threatening beetle now trapped inside my laptop?

The water stains won. I mopped them up and then kicked the laptop into the middle of the room. Armed with a wad of paper towels the size of my head, I jerked the machine open and found…… nothing. Cue the itchy screamy bug dance and a frantic search for the beetle. I found him on the couch in the end, which caused more dancing and a final kill. Unable to deal with the buggy corpse, I took the entire wad and threw it out then went to bed with visions of beetle bugs dancing in my head.

The next morning I was puttering around the place and threw something out in the kitchen trash. My hand brushed something crunchy on the outside of the can so I picked it off without thinking anything of it. A split second later my caffeine deprived brain registered the fact that this crispy bit may actually be a giant crunchy dead beetle and I dropped it. You know what comes next. That’s right, I did the dance. Upon confirming the fact that there was now a beetle corpse on my kitchen floor, there was not a hot enough shower in all the land to calm me down. I don’t know how I finally got the courage to grab a paper towel and dispose of the body, but somehow I did. There may or may not have been screaming involved.

Don’t even get me started on the second time. I mean, unless you really want to laugh at me some more.

Fear

My memories of him are dappled in sunshine and washed in red wine. They are bright things in fun places. They are exciting. When I look back over them, I already know what a life with him would be like. I know the challenges and I know the rewards. He offers me no less than everything.

Down another path I can’t see clearly. No memories are made yet. There are whispered talks of what could be, what would be. There are offers to make these things happen. But I linger slightly behind them, afraid.

I’m not afraid to be alone. That is no longer the fear that drives my decisions. I can see a future on my own too. I see it full of friends and family. I see building a life I want on my own. This doesn’t scare me.

But I am not without fear. These days the fear that drives me is the fear of making another mistake. The fear of picking one path or the other and finding, several years down the road, that I made a bad choice. The fear of getting so far in that I don’t know how to get out again. The fear of getting divorced again. The fear of screwing up.

This is the fear that paralyzes me. I stand at this fork in the road and I’m simply frozen. I know the fear itself is keeping me from letting go. I know it will take away my chances to be happy with someone else. This fear will lead to me being alone every time. Not just here and now, but always.

And I have no idea how to let it go.

Spilling the beans

At the end of last year, I had a revelation. For me, it was one of those fundamental “Ah ha!” moments you have sometimes in life. If I were actually a cartoon character, a little lightbulb would have lit right over my head. Still, I did it quietly, and I hesitated to share because, well, it doesn’t paint a very nice picture of me. Not even in my own head. But lately, I’ve noticed maybe one of my friends could benefit from the same “Ah ha!” and then I thought maybe other people might to. So in the interest of full disclosure, and amusing my dear readers, I will spill the beans.

It happened at the end of last year when I was seeing LC and still juggling Big quietly in the background. I did it without really talking about it here because that too was shameful. But I did it nonetheless. And I realized I was pushing and poking and prodding Big for commitment, for more, for anything at all really other than what we were. He knew I had more emotionally invested in him than he had in me. And he would throw me a scrap now and again but he would never offer me more than that. And what was worse is that I knew he never would. I would tell anyone who listened that we would never be more than we were. I’m pretty sure I said it here too. And yet I soldiered on.

In contrast, I had LC. He was willing to go away with me, to meet my family and friends, to introduce me to his. He accepted me into his life and eventually was willing to say we would just be with each other. Sure he doesn’t know what the future will bring, but to be fair neither one of us owns a crystal ball. Still, he is willing to give me himself and to throw himself in. And even after that point was clear, I held him at arm’s length.

So why was I chasing after Big who would never want me, but holding LC back when he did?

And here is the moment of truth. I did it because I was in the habit of only throwing myself into a relationship when I knew it wouldn’t work.

No really, go back and read that again, I’ll wait. It sounds ridiculous doesn’t it? When put into print and vocalized that way it makes me seem terminally insane. I’m not a crazy loon most of the time, but there it is. I was so afraid of getting hurt by someone I cared about… so afraid of being blindsided, that I only let in people who would never take me up on it. Before LC there were three of them. Big was the huge one… the shining example of what is wrong with me. Then there was the guy I never named. And to a much lesser degree (because I wised up much faster with him) was Zombie Guy. All men I would have let in, and all impossible situations with people who would never have returned the favor.

I was so afraid of getting hurt that I thought I was protecting myself. But here’s another horrible truth about my flawed philosophy: By doing that I only ever guaranteed I’d be hurt more and more often. I was outsmarting myself and creating the very monster I was afraid of. And then it becomes a vicious circle in which I would continue to get hurt. And each time I got hurt it was another reason not to let people in. So each time I got lonely I would turn to the wrong guy. Then I would get hurt again. Then it was another reason.

I was cheating myself. I was cheating myself out of happiness. And this part of it, this part of the loneliness… it was my fault. I did this. I own up to it now.

I don’t promise I won’t do it again. I don’t claim to be reformed. But I’m trying. And I’m hoping that maybe… just maybe… if someone sees a little of themselves in this they will break the cycle too. The one thing you all have taught me is that I’m rarely alone in my feelings or reactions. So I hope that some of you can get some worth out of my very large mistakes.

Not Fair

Apparently I am not as cool as I wish I was. I mean, I thought I was cool. I was calm. I didn’t lose my head or anything. I am so over this, right? Oh sure. And that’s why one of my closest friends pointed out to me this weekend that I have told her my ex is engaged every single time I’ve seen her since it happened.

That’s right, my ex is engaged. And I’m not taking it well.

It doesn’t seem fair, you know? I have two ex-husbands now. Two of them. Not to imply that I’m a perfect angel, because I’m not. But both of them did something pretty terrible to me. So it seems like in some karmic way I should come out on top, right? Of course.

Except ex #1 is married to the girl he slept with while we were married and they have a son now. And ex #2 has hauled off and gotten engaged to the girl he was dating while he was trying to get me back. And what of me? That’s right, I’m living alone without a boyfriend or even a cat.

Singlegal reminded me today that I’m not the only one. That I’m normal. But that doesn’t stop me from joining her in her virtual temper tantrum. Or from thinking that it’s simply not fair.

I was the one who was wronged. I was the one who was hurt. I was the one who did the right thing. And I’m the only one who’s still alone. So you see, it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that I’m also the one who goes to bed alone every night. That I’m the one who is starved for human touch. That I’m the one who still cries themself to sleep some nights. That I’m the one who is starting to think I’m meant to be alone and never meant to have children.

Ironically, I don’t want either of these men. I am happier without them, and that’s not a line. I don’t regret leaving in either case. I’m not sorry.

But still, it’s not fair. And I want to be over it. I want to be ok with this, but I’m not. I’m not fine. I’m not cool. And I haven’t been able to let go yet. And that makes me angrier than their newborn son or their engagement announcement. The fact that I can’t let go is what weighs on me now. I want to be over it. I want to be done. So why aren’t I?

Yesterday as I laid down for a nap I dreamed of ex #2. I dreamed he sent me pictures of his new apartment with his new fiancee. I dreamed he told me how he was doing things right with her even though he didn’t with me. Then, in my dream, I somehow let myself in while they weren’t home, and looked around. It was a beautiful place. What I might have wanted with him once upon a time. And just as I went to leave, he came home. I ran and hid and then abruptly woke up with my heart pounding.

I wish I were a bigger person than this, but apparently I’m not. I wish I were over this, but apparently I’m not. I wish I were better than this, but apparently I’m not.

And sometimes, life just isn’t fair.

This one’s for the boys

Today I would like to abandon all obsessing about boys past, present, and future, and instead discuss something very serious. Indeed, the topic I have in mind is one that weighs on me heavily, as it does on many of my peers I am sure. I am talking, of course, about nature’s cruelest joke of all… the unsynchronized nature of men’s and women’s sex drives.

Boys, if you will… imagine yourself at 18 or 20. You were probably pawing madly at whatever girl you were with at the time. Your nearly every thought was consumed by the devil in your pants. It clouded your vision basically all the time. It would be easier to discuss the times you were not thinking about, plotting, or wishing for sex. Because the times you weren’t, well… they were few and far between if they existed at all. And that girl, the one who was the object of your lusty affections? Was probably wondering why the hell you couldn’t just keep your damn hands off her already. And by the way, don’t you ever think about anything else? (The answer, for the record, was no. No you didn’t. But you probably tried to lie about it anyway.) The point was, we totally didn’t get it.

I’ll admit to my part in this little drama. I was that girl. I mean sure, we liked all that stuff. But we wanted to not always be naked and grabbing at each other, you know? We wanted to feel like more to you. And it’s not like we never gave it up. We just didn’t do it as much as you apparently wanted us to. And we really didn’t know why on earth you were behaving like that anyhow.

That is, until we turned 30. Most men at this age have gotten some degree control over their trouser snakes and are living a more balanced existence. And hooray for you. Our 18-year-old selves are pleased as punch. Unfortunately our 30-year-old selves really wish you’d take off your pants and make yourself useful. I mean, don’t get me wrong here. We love that you take us out for nice dinners and really enjoy spending time with us. We totally realize that you see us as whole people now and appreciate who we are. But, you know, we really kind of wish you could do all that while naked and on top of us too please.

Ironically, at 30 most of you are a bit less amused by the idea of going at it three times a day*. A couple times a week would do you just fine. And you wish we’d see you for more than a thrill ride and really appreciate who you are as a person. We, on the other hand, spent years evaluating who you are. We are glad we took that time too. I mean, we’re still totally interested in that. But there’s no reason we can’t learn still more about you while also separating you from those pesky boxer briefs that seem to always be in the way. And if you need a break in that area, we totally understand. But, you know, there are other ways to meet our needs. Just ask… we’d be glad to make a list for you.

Men, I’d like you to know that we are deeply sorry about how we acted when you were 18. Truly we are. It wasn’t actually our fault though. You see, nature has a cruel sense of humor. Back then, we didn’t know what it was like, and nature just totally failed us on that front. With every birthday I start to think she’s actually kind of a cruel bitch with one twisted sense of humor. But that aside, most of us are more than willing to atone for our former sins. All you need to do to receive our apology is… well… to take off your pants. I promise, it’ll totally be worth your while. I mean, some things really do improve with age.  And for the right man? I’m more than happy to demonstrate.

* If you actually still do want it three times a day? Please send your number. I know someone who would love to meet you.

Confession of an Increasingly Mis-named One Date Wonder

I have a confession. You see, it’s not that I don’t want to be half of a couple. I still do. I miss that kind of security and safety and I definitely miss the human contact. And no, this is not all about the sexy time… I just mean the, you know, contact. But these days whenever I get even slightly close to the R-word, part of me completely wigs out.

Here is how it goes down. Boy makes it clear he wants to be with me. The right boy in the right way. Roughly three quarters of my cold black heart turns into happy mush. But not all of it. No no, one quarter of my heart manages to shrivel up even further (who knew that was even possible?). That one quarter riots and fights. It stages a full on mutiny . And it starts to infect the happy mushy three quarters. The longer I’m left alone the worse it gets. And this is even before any talk of long term commitment has been brought to the table!

This is how I imagine I’m protecting myself. By always holding partly back. By not completely letting go. And yes, I know… by sabotaging chances at happiness. This is how I rightfully earn my self-deemed title of One Date Wonder. I find reasons to run before I even have anything to run from. It’s what I do.

There is a whole page full of reasons why LC and I are really kind of good together. They are based on the real things that women always tell you they want in a man. They are not just what shows up on paper but the other stuff too. The intangibles that never make anyone’s list. But if I’m left alone long enough, I will come up with a page full of reasons why I need to run too. Ranging from the fact that my inseam is longer than his (inconsequential) to the fact that I don’t want to be a rebound girl (totally consequential).

So right now I’m trying to turn a new leaf by staring down that black twisty piece of my heart. That’s right, I see you over there in the corner. Trying to infect my chances at happiness. And while I recognize that there is some truth in what you say… I could very well get hurt again… I also recognize that with no risk comes no reward. So I’m going to let this guy flirt with me. And we’ll just see how it goes, ok? Ok then.

I’m totally serious about the inseam though.

It’s Over

It is time for a confession.

I have an incredible soft spot for anyone who can sing. Looks are secondary, personality is even somewhat secondary. Just….. sing to me.

Having said that, you will still surely judge me for this next confession. Still, I can’t help myself. It’s true. And since you don’t actually know who I am, I feel safe telling you this.

Once upon a time, in a far away place….. Clay Aiken was my secret boyfriend. So secret in fact, that he was unaware of the situation. We were happy for a time you see. Until tonight.

Dude is in Spamalot. And he’s BLONDE. Our relationship had its ups and downs, and we’d been struggling lately since he’d been so quiet. But after this revelation, I had to break up with him. I’m sorry to say, he may never recover.

In fact, I predict he will turn to men now, as I have clearly ruined him for all other women. That is all.

Without a Fight

Now I see it again…. the consequences of two divorces and 30 years of failed relationships. What happens when you don’t have a single good example to look to in your life. The natural reaction of someone who has watched all of her friends settle into happiness while all she could ever settle into were some broken dreams.

It’s not that my life is so bleak. It’s not that I’m so unhappy now. I mean, I’m aware of what’s missing, but I’m grateful for what I’ve started to build too. I have finally reached a place where I feel whole again. Where I feel ready to find someone else to build with too.

And yet. The bottom line. The one consequence I can never seem to outrun, is this: When someone says they would like something long term and committed? I panic. I start looking for reasons why I should run. I race for the exit and get my hand on the door before I can even slow myself back down again.

What is wrong with me? If I am finally face to face with what I want, why do I do this? I once had a friend chastise me for planning a breakup before I even had something to properly break up. We were talking about Mr. Big in fact, and I was telling her all of the reasons why I should never put stock in a relationship with him. (A notion that seems increasingly intelligent, by the way.) Why it would never be, and how I would have to leave in the end. And she interrupted me and told me to stop planning my break up before the relationship even started. To stop looking for the exit.

I don’t think it’s necessarily about the combination of me and the man in this situation. I think it’s about all me. I think it’s the reason I continue to meet men who don’t want to commit. Not because I’m repellent, but because subconsciously I am making a decision of some sort. I want to be committed, but something in me is still so very scared.

This is all navel-gazing for me at the moment. There is no man offering me commitment. But it’s something I have been realizing for a while and that was brought into sharp relief by that brush with Mr. Big this week. This morning I am just trying to stomp down the irrational panic. The fear of another breakup that looms before I even have a chance to just be happy for a bit. The tiny voice in my head that can sometimes be such a roar.

One of my new favorite artists is Edie Carey. This is from her album Another Kind of Fire and you should totally check her out. And while you’re at it, check out the lyrics below. I feel like maybe she has been in my head for a while. It’s eerie.

WITHOUT A FIGHT:
How do you do it?
I don’t get it
How you get so angry
And then just forget it
How forgiveness comes so easy to you
Maybe I’m just crazy
How I get so shaky
But what if happy just means lazy?
What if leaving is the only thing
I know how to do?

When will I learn
It doesn’t have to burn to feel good again?
I wanna know how to love you right
Without a fight

So I flirt with freedom
Think “maybe I don’t need him”
I’ve been saving up my reasons
Why I’m gonna break this little silver thread
Watch me go off the deep end
Smash the dishes again
Throw the suitcase on the bed
I’m just a hurricane of appetite
And empty threats

When will I learn
It doesn’t have to burn to feel good again?
I wanna know how to love you right
Without a fight

But the farthest I can get
Is one hand on the door

It looks so much like passion
And it hurts sweet like love
I think I’m finally understood, finally…

Without a fight, without a fight

-Edie Carey