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A Sudden Epiphany

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I’m Down for the Count

“Chris, my older brother, died four years ago,” Something happened starts. “He was 34, single, and living in Chicago. I just turned 35; I’m now older than he ever got to be.” Read the whole story. It’s touching. Maybe I relate to it because I’ll be 35 next year and I couldn’t fathom losing my sibling at this age. Maybe the story resonates because, though I now live in New York City, I’m originally from the same city as the piece’s author: Chicago. Or, perhaps I like the piece so much because — whether on the page or on film — I’m inspired when others share stories about painful loss, heartache and failure because it lets me know life isn’t always perfect and, therefore, it’s okay if I’m not either. Love is an amazing, and it’s most honest (and most truthful!) when we don’t ignore its sinister sister: heartache. It’s like that saying goes [not sure who wrote/said it]: “Every adversity, every failure, and every heartache carries with it the seed of an equivalent or a greater benefit.” So, THANK you to Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser for including me last night’s program, allowing me to share my “heartbreak story” with others. Now, on a cheerier note, my friends at YourTango just shot me an email with a bunch of links to Valentine’s Day-related stuff; so I thought I’d share the info with you. Full disclosure: The mag named me their blogger crush a short while ago and, of course, the love is mutual:

Video: 5 Worst Valentine’s Day Gifts
http://www.yourtango.com/200910139/5-worst-valentines-day-gifts

Video: What Men Secretly Think About Valentine’s Day
http://www.yourtango.com/200910667/what-men-secretly-think-about-valentines-day

Valentine’s At Wendy’s & Other Quirky Customs
http://www.yourtango.com/200910588/valentines-day-at-wendys

Why It’s Better Not To Have A Valentine
http://www.yourtango.com/20083562/5-reasons-its-better-to-be-single-on-valentines-day.html

A New Way To Celebrate Valentine’s Day: Keep Romance, Lose Hallmark
http://www.yourtango.com/200910507/reclaiming-v-day-keep-romance-lose-hallmark

Show Affection Without Getting Sappy
http://www.yourtango.com/200664/dont-worry-be-sappy.html

Romance On A Budget
http://www.yourtango.com/20086035/romance-on-a-budget

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Love Honestly, Truthfully

I thought he was a player. My snap judgments and gut instincts are usually spot on; I should trust them more often. When he initially gave me his little white business “card”, it had four things printed on it: (1) Name, (2) City/Country of origin, (3) New York City and (4) domestic & foreign cell phone numbers. Last summer, my visiting friend Anna-Scarlet said she’d never seen such a thing. “They’re player cards,” I told her. “Some New Yorkers actually get personal cards printed with just their contact info so they can give them out at bars.”

“Are you kidding???” Anna-Scarlet scoffed.

“Nope. They’re convenient when you wanna connect with someone, but you don’t really want them to know your personal information — like, where you work.” So, the dude gave me one of “those” cards. Still, I decided to reserve judgment until I got to know him better. Partly because I wanted to be wrong about him. Partly because I actually liked the guy. Maybe those two are the same thing? Over the next weeks, we went on dates: holding hands while strolling through museums; making out at bars; flirting across brunch and dinner tables; and, most importantly, talking about how much we mutually despised stupid games & lies people turn when dating.

Still, I was skeptical about his intentions. Instead of seeking honest answers, I mulled over tons of scenarios and came up with crafty solutions like 007 or Jason Bourne. Why did he have a player card? Why did he repeated tell me he was a “very private person”? Why did he refuse to friend me on Facebook though he contacted me through the site countless times — adding, “You can’t write anything kinky on my wall”? Why did he come on so incredibly fucking strong, then turn me down when I eventually suggested we go back to his place (e.g. “Um, we can’t. My apartment’s a mess”)? I wasn’t sure if we’d been on enough dates, and I didn’t want to feel like I was prying into his life. But, I knew this: if he’s not actively hanging around with other women (he said he wasn’t), at the very least, he’s hiding something.

Why are people so fucking careless with others’ hearts? It’s not worth explaining why the dude’s out the picture now, what went down and why our tale, this possible-love-story-in-progress, is now wasted on Manhattan’s streets — splattered on Midtown pavement like bird shit, run over with the clunk-clunk of a dump truck passing a pothole. It’s just, you know, over. Of course, I cried. Not for that specific boy; I’m just, you know, sick of the bullshit. What’s the point of lying to someone you barely know? When someone tells me “I’m not into games, I like honesty, I don’t understand why people date a lot of people at the same time, blah blah blah” THEN it turns out to be bullshit, it feels like a mind fuck.

When I meet a object of desire for the first time, I get really excited about it. “Ohhh,” I figure, “he’s cute! I really like him. OMG, MAYBE WE’LL GO ON DATES!!” So, when it doesn’t work out, I feel hurt, frustrated, irritated and saddened. And, everyone knows it. Sometimes I’m glad I have a blog because it’s cathartic to write about the shit I go through in the dating world. It helps me make sense of everything. Other times, it feels odd to be so “public.”

———————
Credit paid: “You Fucking Broke It” image appears on Chelsea Labsu’s Flickr.

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“Hearts Are Broken Every Day”

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Protected: I Wanna Go Home

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Protected: Sleepless in the City

According the “Those Who Know”, apparently I’m at a weird place career-wise. I’m definitely not entry-level, and I’m not really mid-career either. So, when I apply for entry jobs, I get the “overqualified” schpiel. They’re afraid that I would only stay there a year and then leave when/if a job that better suited my skillset surfaced. And, they’re probably right. BUT, because I’m in the fairly early stages of managerial/executive, I get the “not enough experience” bullshit from that end. They don’t want to go out on a limb and hand over their division or department to someone they don’t know. Where does that leave me? Exactly where am I now. What do I need? In a word: connections. People are waaaay more likely to give you a try if they actually know you. This is exactly the reason why people from Chicago keep calling me to offer me jobs back home. “Just come home,” they beckon. Thus far, I’ve turned them all down. And, now, after receiving yet ANOTHER tip about a really good job in the 3rd City just a moment ago, I’m really starting wonder.

I’ve been hanging on, but at what point do you decide that enough is enough? I love New York. This is my city. No doubt about it. Still, if I’m really honest with myself, the past year kind of kicked my ass. And, the past four months have almost knocked me out. I’ve tried to stay strong through it all, but everyone has their limits. In life, there are things that are difficult and then there are things that are simply unbearable …

I’ll be back tomorrow once I’ve had a little more time to clear my head. In the meantime, brilliant ideas and/or comments from people who have been in that more-than-mid-but-barely-managerial-limbo are especially welcome.

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Stolie 0, New York City 1

So, what happened with the job? I hadn’t been there for a very long time and I was still in that evaluation period during which they determine if I am a good fit for the company and I decide whether the company is a good fit for me. In the end, we mutually agreed that it wasn’t working out.

I took the weekend off to regroup. I cried. I prayed. I called friends (I love you guys!!!). And, now that it’s the start of a new week, I have to face the real challenges that lie ahead. I haven’t told my family (my sister) yet. We’re different. For her, life is about finding your safety blanket and wrapping yourself in it. If I were to call her now, she would feel really frightened for me … and she would tell me to move back to the Midwest. That’s not what I need to hear right now. And, more importantly, I don’t want her to worry.

Boy #2 has been unbelievably supportive. I’ve seen him 4 times since my first post about him 5 days ago. We now see each other and/or he calls me almost every day; he even cooked dinner for me. I’m not naïve enough to think that everything is fine with the boy because this is actually quite a horrible time to meet even the most wonderful person. I don’t know where things will go with Boy #2 but, for right now, I feel okay. Oddly enough, approximately 3 months ago, I said fabulously single New York women never seem to have all three at the same time: an apartment, a job and a boy. “Once I find [a] boy,” I wrote, “I’m totally convinced that I’ll probably lose either my job or the apartment.”

Life is so incredibly odd.

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2 OUT OF 3: Apartment. Boy. Job.

After much turbulence, my plane lands at New York’s LaGuardia Airport 52 minutes behind schedule. I leave the airport, get into the cab and tell the cabbie my address.

When I arrive at home, I slip the key into the keyhole and give it a turn. I open the door and I drag my luggage inside.

It’s good to be home.

Time to get comfortable. I remove my sweater from my body and kick my socks and shoes off. Now, I’m walking around barefoot in a t-shirt and jeans. That’s when I hear it. There is a noise in my bathroom.

“What the f*ck was that?” I wonder as I stand very still. Maybe I’ll hear it again.

rattle. rattle. rattle.

Yep. I hear it again. “Maybe that sound is actually in the apartment next door and it just sounds like it’s in my apartment,” I reason. I call Bro. I’m on the phone with her for about 15 minutes when it happens. Right before my very eyes, the largest f*cking mouse that every walked on the planet appears out of nowhere and charges toward me.

I scream at the top my my lungs and into the phone. “OMG, I just saw a mouse!!! I’m coming over.” While still on the phone with Bro (moral support), I grab my purse, my keys, my shoes. And, I run out of my apartment.

“You need a boyfriend,” Bro sighs.

For the next 24 hours I will be a refugee in the home of my absolutely lovely friend Bro until I figure out if I am going to either: (a) buy glue traps, steel wool and poison or (b) a cat.

PLEASE HELP!!! Does anyone have any advice or suggestions for getting rid of a mouse or, God help me, “mice” if there is more than one? I haven’t been home in over a week and I know that they are gutting the apartment downstairs. Years of living in Chicago taught me that renovations = mice. What can I do????

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Intruder in My Apartment :-(

I’m still in LA at the moment so I’m at the hotel. I lay my head on the stack of white pillows on the bed that overlooks the city. And, I think to myself, “why the hell am I here alone?” Yeah, I can already hear you: “Stolie, you’re the one who put yourself on the man diet!” But, really, you know what the man diet is all about? It’s about me letting go of the one thing you’re always supposed to hold on to: Hope.

If I truly had hope, I’d know that some really great guy is somewhere in New York just waiting to meet somebody exactly like me. But, experience tells me otherwise. So far, the choice has been about dating: a Stolie-hating idiot; an alpha-male, arrogant asshole; a whacked-out, panty-sniffing, drunk-dialing Irish Boy; a booty-calling-nowa-ima-gonna-disappear-lika-Houdini Italian guy; *OR* not dating at all. And, honestly, I’d rather not date. Take some time for me. Hence, the Man Diet. But, sometimes I get really pissed off about it; and, sometimes I feel lonely …

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Touch Me, I’m Dick