During therapy this morning, S. asked about my 'date' with The Musician last week. I'm still puzzling over my feelings and trying to discern if it *was* a date rather than just hanging out. I really want to stay as far away as I can from the over-analysis that I am prone to in these situations (read: situations = social interactions with the opposite sex) and it was near the end of our session, so I kept my answer brief.

Then S. said, jokingly, "Please don't tell me that his name is M_______."

Um, it is.

I don't want to spoil anything before it's begun, but I don't have great luck with M_______s. First there was M_______Texas, who moved to Dallas without saying goodbye. Followed by The ARH, whose real name was M_______. And most recently M_______LawStudent.

And now there is M_______Musician. Damn. We're quite obviously doomed.

(Don't you see what a good job I'm doing of not over-analyzing????)

The flip side of this silliness about the 'curse' of a particular name is my tendency to step back from something that might hurt me in the future. For the past week, I've been tempering The Musician's positives with real and imagined concerns. But, at the same time, trying not to do that, as I believe that predicting negative outcomes will bring about the hurt feelings that you are trying to avoid.

Reaching out while holding back has never worked very well for me in the past. Isn't paying attention to something as trivial as a name just another form of making someone pay for your history?


Major Suckitude

My brother and I have been working on / joking about something called "The Warehouse Theory". The basic tenet is that you complete almost no training for a race, thus 'warehousing' and storing your energy so it can be harnessed during the event. (BC explained to me on Saturday that there is absolutely no science that would support this theory.) Well, I've been inadvertently 'warehousing' since the half-marathon. Here's how that worked out for me:

I ran a 10k yesterday.

Correction: I jogged/walked a 10k yesterday.

It sucked. Big time.

It was humid. I wanted to stop running less than a mile in. No part of the race felt good; I actually felt ill for most of the course. The only reason I didn't drop out was because The Peanut was cheering me on, and I couldn't think of a way to explain to a 3-year-old that I was quitting. My time was horrendous, and I wanted to hide my face when they announced my name at the finish line.

I think I'm still in for a marathon in November...but yesterday was all about showing me that a month of sitting on my ass doesn't make for a pleasant running experience. Time to turn it up a notch (or ten).


Good Times, Good Times

You know what's strange? Me. I am strange right now. Because I'm in a happy mood. I'm walking around smiling. Smiling. At nothing.

Things are going well.

Work is under control, and there's a 3 day weekend coming in a few hours. I've got some good plans in place, and fun stuff for next week too. I'm gonna pick up my new awesome pants from the tailor this evening, and those are sure to set the world on fire.

I don't think my positive mental state is from the externals, though. I just feel like I'm in a really good place. And I hope that this lasts for a while.


Small Victory

This morning, the cranky lady at the bakery remembered my order without me telling her.

I'm still working on getting an acknowledgment of my cheerful hello from the chronically irritated Russian barber dude on my block, but someday. Someday.


In Like!

New character alert:

I just got into work after a 2 hour walk through Brooklyn with The Musician.


Funny, intelligent, cute. Tattooed. Great speaking voice, great singing voice.

He's dreamy.

...and now back to my regularly scheduled workday.


In Love!

Yes, it is Springtime, and I have successfully rebounded from my Saturday night melancholia, and I can positively say that I am in love (or lust, take your pick).

I just got a new handbag from Banana Republic. I frequently find myself gazing at it adoringly, and I do believe I fell asleep last night clutching it in my arms.

My second (and at the moment, lesser) love object is the owner/proprietor of the new clothing store on the ground level of my apartment building. I was in there yesterday for about a 1/2 hour while JP tried on 'going out shirts'. Just before we left, he introduced himself, and his name is [something Italian which I wasn't really paying attention to, distracted by his green eyes and cute accent]. The downside is that he is quite possibly prettier than I am, and probably thinks that JP is my boyfriend.

I might have to stop by on my way home from work for some "clothes shopping". Unfortunately, the only thing on sale right now are bikinis.


Disaster. Di-Sas-Ter.

I went to G&E's wedding last night with one simple, attainable goal in mind (formulated with DJ on Friday while she was on the train to Maryland): find a cute boy to kiss. Not to date, and certainly not to marry. Just someone to kiss.

When I couldn't find a place card with my table assignment, I should have taken that as a sign to turn around and go home.

I think I was the only single person there. I certainly felt like the only single person there.

There was an extra place setting at my table, so at least I was able to 'joke' with other guests about my invisible date. By the end of the night, my invisible date had a whole storyline assigned to him. You know, how he didn't have much to say, but I really thought there was a lot of potential...how we met at our local produce stand while wrangling over the last of the papayas...etc.

The conversation about my invisible date got old fast...not on my end, because I can indulge in that sort of ridiculous all night, but it looked like my table-mates were getting a little uncomfortable.

I excused myself to call L&D, who pointed out that me making a 40 minute phone call to them didn't exactly indicate that I was having a good time, and urged me to pack it in for the night.

I returned to the wedding to find Bon Jovi playing, and I rocked out to that a little bit. (My invisible boyfriend likes them too, so we danced together. He's fun like that.)

And then returned to my table and sat next to Buzzkill, who asked if I was dating anyone, which led into a discussion about my bad luck, and then a recounting of my 'bad luck' when it seemed that she didn't really believe that I had had bad luck, which devolved into a conversation about JP and what his intentions are for their future.

I finally wised up and said my goodbyes when the song that would have been my wedding song was played, and even the chocolate fondant couldn't compensate for how shitty I was feeling.

No kissing, no cute boy. But on the bright side, there was also no inapppropriate drunkneness, crying, or comfort eating.



I am blogging maniac today!

2 quotes. The first one forwarded by The Lawyer, source unclear (she referenced both the Bible and Gilmore Girls. As far as I know, she is not an avid Bible reader, but who knows. Maybe she 'got religion' over the past week.)
"Furthermore, it was a drama played for laughs and speed, yet its greatest
theme was dead serious: Love is its own reward, but it can leave some of the
best humans unrewarded."

The second from the book I am reading for an upcoming book club. I want to be able to describe someone in this way. Candidates for this honor are welcome to apply through my email.
"...in the face very like a horse eating an apple through a wire-netting


  • Last night, I hung out with my friends Absolut Ruby Red and Club Soda. Later on, we were joined by Ben & Jerry. My old nemesis, Camel Light, was there, but I managed to ignore him.
  • re: Mystery Girl. I'm not sure she would even have a blog, because that would automatically render her less mysterious.
  • I have no plans tonight, other than a haircut. I am PSYCHED. Can anyone say Lost, Season 2?
  • I'm going to wedding on Saturday by myself. I will only know JP and his girlfriend, whom I've privately nicknamed 'buzzkill'. She kinda hates me. This should be a fun night.
  • Several friends have said 'But maybe you'll meet someone at this wedding!' with a kind of glee that should only be reserved for sappy 80's movies or romance novels. While I appreciate their enthusiasm, such statements ensure that I will be stumbling my drunk ass home alone on Saturday night.
  • Maybe I won't be alone. I can always rely on my old friend, McDonald's Extra Value Meal #2 to provide support and companionship.
  • I should probably start spending more time with other friends, like Fruits & Vegetables or Lean Proteins.


New Name

Due to some unintentionally wacky hijinks involving me at work this morning at o'dark thirty and an unlocked supply closet, I am currently being referred to by my co-workers as 'mystery girl'. (And I can't think of a way to explain this without a long, boring story about our key hiding 'system' along with the, ahem, rigidity of my colleagues, so I'll spare you the details. You can thank me later.)

I think I kinda like it. I wonder if it will stick.

And now I am going to mysteriously go to the gym. And mysteriously run 5 miles.


Vows of Poverty

I woke up this morning thinking about my finances. Specifically, that I am living paycheck to paycheck, and I really hate it.

So I lay in bed going over my expenses (sexy!) and came to realize that there is a very definite reason why I am struggling to get by each month (other than, you know, that I'm a social worker and I live in New York City, and I go out a lot.)

My stupid insurance company owes me $1600 in medical reimbursements from 4 months of out-of-pocket expenses! (And my ex-fiance owes me $28,000 - but that's a story for another time.)

I'm no math genius, but I believe that an extra $400 each month would surely make a difference in my budget. And so my mission of the day (directly after writing a grant that is due tomorrow, and seeing clients, and all that job stuff) is to harrangue and harass my insurance provider until I get paid.

And thus it is written and thus it shall be.


Help Me Help You

It is hard not to feel like the proverbial crazy lady as you are in line at the local Food Emporium, stuffing your groceries into your gym bag in an effort not to use any plastic bags so that Al Gore doesn't get mad at you.

Along the same vein, I could've had a hand in 'erasing' domestic violence (apart from my job, that is) had I managed to get my ass out of bed on Sunday morning.



On Friday night, after spending a very pleasant Happy Hour with DJ and B, a man ran up behind me and grabbed my ass as I exited the subway station.

And when I turned around and yelled at him about it, he tried to make believe it had been an accident, and that I was making a big deal out of nothing.

And when I refused to accept this fiction, he proceeded to follow me down the street, calling me names.

I don't know if I'm angrier at him for his behavior, or at myself for believing (at one point) that I was overreacting. Or mostly mad at myself that I'm mad at myself for an incident that was clearly all his fault.

The crazy thing is that, if I took a poll, I'm sure that almost every one of my female friends could tell a similar story of some kind of violation in their history. And it makes me wonder, despite the work that I am engaged in (which requires a fair amount of hope in prevention and change) if there is any possibility of ending this kind of entitled behavior.

I hate that I am still thinking about it this morning.


An Apology Of Sorts

Dear Body:

I am truly sorry for my eating habits over the past 2 weeks. In particular:

- multiple Boston Kreme infractions (Dunkin' Donuts)
- an entire 12" meatball parm sub (Sal's)
- pint of Chocolate Chocolate Chip ice cream (Haagen Daz)
- 12" cheesesteak, extra Cheese Whiz (Philly)
- pork fried rice, egg roll (Red Apple Chinese)
- fried platter: onion rings, cheese sticks, calamari, chicken fingers (Landsdowne)
- assorted Hershey's miniatures (office)

I am hoping the brown rice with organic vegetables that I just ate will serve as partial atonement.



Faith, Part III

My mission lately, other than pointless television or binge eating/drinking, is to put together the puzzle of my relationship history, in the hopes that a full picture will bring clarity.

A friend recently asked if I was dating, and when my response was non-committal, he asked if I even wanted to get married, ever. As if maybe I wasn't applying myself. Maybe I'm not. Maybe I keep picking the same kind of person on purpose. Maybe I'm missing the warning signs. Maybe I self-sabotage more than I realize.

I can't see it right now. I had some profound (deeply profound, trust me) thoughts when waking up this morning, related to a concept from Harry Potter and free will v. compulsion (oh yes, profound) but they disappeared somewhere between getting out of bed and my arrival at work.


Your Upper Lip Is Part Of Your Face, I Guess

As I discovered this morning, the people at Nair are not kidding when they warn that you cannot use that stuff on your face.

Television Is My New BFF...

...along with red wine and the gulping of the aforementioned red wine.

As of today, I'm all caught up with Veronica Mars (iTunes), Ugly Betty, Notes From The Underbelly, Brothers & Sisters (ABC.com), and Lost, Season 1 (Netflix).

Oh, and now I can actually watch shows as they are broadcast because I've finally figured out how to split the signal from my internet connection. (If anyone from Time Warner cable is reading this, I am totally kidding.)

My guilty pleasure of the moment is The Bachelor, which I cannot stop watching, especially since I attended grad school with one of the contestants. Seriously, it's just so cheese-tastic and awful, particularly when they show him tooling around in his I-have-a-small-penis sports car, or when they play "Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong" in homage to the 'Officer and a Gentleman' theme. Awkward dating situations/interactions are mighty fun when you're not personally involved.

If I put some serious effort into it, I can be ready for the new Grey's Anatomy tomorrow night, and get through Lost, Season 2 by Saturday afternoon.

See? I was all worried about goals and boredom and lack of direction and blah, blah, blah after the half marathon, but I'm going to be just fine. (I could probably lay off some of the 'celebratory' eating, but that's a post for another day.)



Friday night got a little bit ugly when MS, Groom and I found ourselves in a local sports bar, devouring a platter of fried food and mocking the nicknames on the back of a softball team's jerseys (for some reason "Clutch" inspired particularly virulent derision).

And then, in the midst of our ridicule, we looked over and realized that this was JP's softball team. Which meant that A. was there.

(Here's the A. summary that I provided for Groom on Friday night: 'Dated briefly, abruptly blew me off only to call three weeks later to explain that he had rediscovered his Judaism, and was already dating other women, but might be open to dating me at a later time, should his religious preferences change.')

Ugh. So I debated for a bit, knowing that it would be better if I made the first move, but also aware that I was 4 vodka-and-sodas in, and not entirely coherent. I also spent that time begging (in vain) for MS and Groom to not be so blatantly obvious in their attempts to check him out, having never met him while we were dating.

Finally, I just sucked it up and went to talk to him. Which wasn't as bad as it could have been, but wasn't entirely comfortable either. Let's put it this way: I was giving myself the internal 'shut up' command several times during the conversation, and there were lapses of silence, and maybe some not-entirely-covert looks exchanged among the softball team.

Between the J. situation, and the JP mess (which I can't even get into) and then this awkwardness with A. and the utterly bad idea of going out with MySpace guy - I think it's time to take a dating break for a while. All signs point to disaster.



Half Marathon Photos!

(Note: The clock on the second photo reflects gun time, not chip time. My actual finish time was 4 minutes faster.)

(I don't know why I felt the need to clarify that.)

Faith, Part II

Maria: Where the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.

Oh, I believe it. MySpaceGuy, who I've been crushing on for a while now, has asked me out for a drink next week.

Can I get an Amen?


The Case of the Disappearing J.

So, to turn our attention briefly away from the whole running thing...

I have not heard from J. in 12 days, and I'm thinking that's a pretty good indicator that we're not going to continue dating. (I know. I'm quick like that.) The last communication that I did receive from him was a text message that he was on his way out of town, and that he would call me when he got back. I'm still waiting.

Last Friday, I sent a short email asking what was happening, explaining that I really liked him, and that I wanted the chance to continue to get to know him. No response. And I knew on Sunday, when he failed even to send the barest acknowledgement regarding the race, that we were done.

I just don't understand why.

I'm not so much sad as I am frustrated. I felt myself getting closer and closer to him. I felt like I wanted to stop dating other people. And if you're not on the same page as I am, fine. But the utter lack of communication regarding the end infuriates me. Sure, breaking things off with someone is uncomfortable, but it's part of being an adult. You've seen me naked! Which by my rules means that you at least owe me this last conversation.

This is such a familiar pattern for me. Since I've lived in NYC, I've reached this point with every guy that I've dated - that space between casual dating and exclusivity - only to see the relationship abruptly terminate. Is it me? Or is this city over-populated with a particular brand of committment-phobic manchild?

All I know is that this kind of behavior got old in the 5th grade.



I just took the half marathon countdown clock off the blog.

It feels really strange not to have this goal in front of me. My planner, which has tracked my training progress for the past four months, has no required mileage noted today. I don't have to lug my gym bag to work with me.

I'm a little restless and a little bored. And the idea of the NYC marathon looks better and better.