A Quarter Life Crisis

Under normal circumstances I am not a jealous person. I rarely ask The Spaniard who he was with or where he’s been. It’s not because I don’t care…well a little of it is because I don’t care but to some degree I operate under the system that any dirt that you do will eventually come to light. My battles with him come down to when I’m actually in his presence. He incomparable to any other knows how to trample my last nerve. And I’m not a violent person but I’ve wanted to, in the not so recent past, punch him in the face MMA style.

But yesterday I felt something odd. We were talking, just chatting really about nothing in particular. OK we were talking about nude beaches and if I agreed with him that they were a no go. In honesty I don’t care. My concern, be respectful. If a woman or man for that matter drops trou at the beach it isn’t for your viewing pleasure, this ain’t the sckrippa club. Don’t ogle some chick because she’s got a great body and cause Mr. Happy to get…you know Happy!

Sidenote I don’t have an issue with sckrippa clubs either, if you wanna pay for something folks show for free be my guest just don’t come to me afterwards smelling of rachet gutter butt hos or classy tramp perfume. Both will get you major side eye action.

He kept going on and on about men wearing shorts above the knee which he also considers a no go. I told him that if his inner metrosex sought my approval for such, he had my blessing. Considering his partial European upbringing I expect latent metrosexual behavior…it’s kind of a given. American men are overly masculine while the rest of the world, save for the Caribbean islanders, march the masculinity/femininity thin line.

Yes I know I just stereotyped men, whatever it’s my unscientific biased opinion so lump it.

None of this made my pressure rise or my antennae perk. But mid conversation just as one passenger left and another entered his cab the wind shifted. Granted the nude beach convo was going nowhere but I was just bored enough to continue with it a little while longer. There was a casual exchange between him and the rider, clearly someone he knew. Most of these people I recognize by name but not this one. I could hear her voice, soft, happy and young I’d bet money between 25-30 give or take a year or two. She asked him about his day, he answered in Spanish, mas o menos (rough translation alright literal translation more or less moving right along). Then this chick asked him to spot her some money to get lunch and he agreed, where they do that at??????

What did I listen to? Is this normal passenger cabbie talk or some other hashish that requires sleuthing? And I totally disapprove of the flirty Spanish talk. Anyway, antennae perked pressure slightly above normal I was at a loss for words. This never happens. Normally I am quick tongued but I immediately felt white hot with anger impeding my ability to talk. I kept turning the small but very telling conversation between this not so random passenger and The Spaniard around in my head. Then he awkwardly mumbled something like, I’ll talk to later ok, dial tone.

This is the same man who called me back angry after I accidently hung up the phone on him screaming about never ending a conversation with OK. He never ends any conversation even if he’s angry with me by saying talk to you later or OK. He always says I’ll see you soon hun or bye love…am I tripping?

Am I becoming one of those girls that sniff tests? Have I morphed into that girl? You know the one who sits outside of her boyfriend’s house/apartment when she knows he’s home and calls him to ask where he is to see if he lies? Did I just stumble into the realm of crazy jealous? Am I taking a brief conversation between casual acquaintances out of context? Is my gut right when it tells me to bring this up in random conversation to see if he stutters and if I get a whiff he’s lying about this bish chuck the deuces? See and there you have it I just called some female I don’t know from jump street a foul name at the hint she’s drinking my kool-aid.

I have no clue where jump street is and I’m not even sure where that colloquialism comes from. Not to mention I’ve declared ownership over The Spaniard, this isn’t 1815 as far as I can surmise slavery no longer exists.

This is weird crazy jealous woman hashish I know it is but I can’t stamp the thought out of my head. I’m obsessing about it a little. And you know what I blame this on, my current employment situation…if I were consulting busy my mind wouldn’t have a chance to over-process nonsense. Oh see the right side of my brain, you know the practical side that processes things logically, told me to stop this hours ago, but the left side, creative domain also known as drama girl central won’t let it go hence the blogpost.

So am I blowing this out of proportion? Side note, jealousy much like wool itches and is uncomfortable without a camisole. Me no like it!

This was the first Thanksgiving since Wander’s split from The Man Wander Married. I guess I should call him my dad but that would provide a level of respect for him that I no longer hold. Such as life! Initially we were going to spend the holiday with Granny SJ but hella typical of my mom’s family that plan changed. Granny SJ decided she didn’t want everyone at her house for the holiday and opted, as normal, to spend the day with Grannie Frannie and her clan. I don’t let my grandmother’s shows of favoritism hurt my feelings. I’ve chalked it up to the way things are, at least for my family anyway. I can’t say the same for Wander. Even though she says she doesn’t care, I’m not sure I believe that.

Side note can I still use hella sort of like can I still wear my Ugg Boots…not 100% sure about this. I’d appreciate if someone shed some light. Thanks in advance.

Since Granny SJ kicked us out of her festivities I opened my home for the holiday. I didn’t invite the Spaniard, (there’s no hidden relationship angst there but as noted he is devotedly Muslim and doesn’t celebrate any other holidays and at this point does he really need invites…yeah there’s hidden relationship angst there who am I kidding) but the Little Brother invited his piece of the moment. I shouldn’t disrespect his chick but I’ve yet to meet this strumpet so I can call her all types of off color adjectives until I put face to name. Honestly I doubt that she’s a slore, my brother is out of that phase…I think. Honestly I am the least of my brother’s worries. I’m the nice sister. It’s the little one that’s a handful. She’s super protective…as am I but in a different way. I allow everyone to make his own mistakes and then say I told you so…I kid…only slightly!

Sometimes I wonder how my brother feels being trapped betwixt two crazy sisters?

Of course I was on deck to pick The Little Sister up from the train station upon her return home for the holiday. I mean why wouldn’t I, considering my position within the family as the resident chauffeur and problem solver. As a result I pushed aside plans with The Spaniard. He rode the crimson wave about this all weekend with a little bleeding into the Thanksgiving week. In casual conversation I had to listen to how my sister/friends always ruin our plans. My rebuttal to this was simple, grow up! Clearly he missed the memo disclosing that he is not the sun so my revolutions aren’t always around him.

In my defense, not that I should have to defend myself, I did make it plain that my weekend and holiday week was zip-lock tight. Maybe he should consider compromise, rip his arse off his shoulders, and partake in the holiday season especially ones that aren’t religious in nature. Technically Thanksgiving is an American holiday. He’s an American the last time I checked, dual citizenship and hashish. Although some celebrate it with Christian overtones it is not technically religious. If he embraced his American-ness a little he wouldn’t have been the odd man out for the past few weeks…I mean it makes sense to me. Hell he doesn’t hear me complain about his inability to give me a hug during Ramadan or the fact that most Fridays he’s conveniently unavailable. Of course the line is drawn in the sand at the mosque. I’d give major o_0 (stank eye) if he ever asked me to attend then I’d politely decline. My compromising extent stops there.

But anywho, Pudding Pop invited us over to her place for Thanksgiving dessert. We never showed but I did let her know it was just a maybe, nothing definite. Wander was pretty exhausted after late night practice and rising early to sing in the Philadelphia Thanksgiving Day Parade. I rode her exhaustion to the bank. I just wasn’t in the mood to cram into my cousin’s apartment and play board games. Hey I’d been running around carting people here and there on top of cooking, cleaning and stroking The Spaniard’s ego. Like any normal human, I was tired.

In any event Thanksgiving dinner was fantabulous. It was very intimate just my immediate family. The Little Brother’s floozy made other arrangements. It felt like old times in that we laughed it up all night and I was happy. I spent the following day with The Spaniard toy shopping for his niece and nephew and my Godson. Toys r Us had relatively decent sales. We joked about going broke for kids that aren’t even ours…I held back a mini panic attack under the guise of an awkward silence and kept it moving.

The infamous apartment conversation reared its ugly head again. I don’t know another way to communicate No other than No. I’m not interested in moving in with him right now! Note the time reference, I’m not saying ever, just not now. I know I’m hurting his feelings, men are so fragile, but I’m not ready for co-habitation without real commitment. And if you read real commitment as engagement ring you’d be 100% right, not that I’m close to being ready for that either. Besides the Little Brother hasn’t been feeling well lately and well he needs me. And as sad as it sounds my brother needing me is more important to me than playing house with The Spaniard. My brother has never let me down…clearly I haven’t let go of the past completely. I’m a bottler so lump it.

On Saturday I planned on spending time with The Best Friend searching for updates to my Godson’s room. Can you believe he’s six? I can’t. Anywho we scooped up some good finds, posters and other little odds and ends. Pudding Pop was still insisting on spending some time so I cut out early on my bestie and headed back to the city to play board games with the familia. Added bonus, my cousin from Tampa was here celebrating my ex-aunt’s birthday and had left her kids with Pudding Pop. This was my first time seeing her two daughters and the last time I’d seen her son he was so shy it was like not seeing him.

Y’all know I’m allergic to children under age ten except my Godson, but the kids were cute and I actually had a pretty decent time. Awkwardly holding the smallest one wasn’t horrible and she had that scumptilicious new baby smell with pudgy cheeks, that’s how they sucker folks…not I! By 10:30PM I was beyond tired and had to call it a night even though the rug rats were wide awake. I have no clue what manufacturers put in those juice packs…probably coke of the snort-snort variety. Granted I’d been up since 4:00AM carting the Little Sister to the train station; yeah an older sister’s duties are never done.

It didn’t even seem like the Little Sister was home…could be because I didn’t let her stay at my apartment. Such as life!

In other news, The Man Wander Married ended up being rushed to the hospital. It seems his lungs collapsed and they needed to remove a bubble or something like that. Sounds eerily like cancer to me. Instead of calling my mom or having someone call one of us he opted to call his sister who in-turn had her daughter send me a FB message. Yeah you read that right, a FB message. Of all the random arse backward stupid hashish!

Mind you I’ve had the same cell phone number since 1999…WTF!

I feel torn about his recent health development. I mean when I was rushed to the hospital The Man Wander Married (TMWM) wasn’t even notified and even if he was he wouldn’t have shown, of this I’m certain. My brother’s been in the hospital several times this year and TMWM was ghost. When Wander called, because I didn’t see the FB message until much later in the day which is why FB is not a reasonable way to notify someone of an emergency, I thought she wanted me to drive her to the hospital. Luckily that wasn’t the reason for her call. She was just informing me, and had taken the stance since he didn’t call her there was no reason for her to show her face. I tend to agree. Of course there is a history here that’s not baked into this blogpost, but it’s already too long. Bottom line, I have daddy issues…not of the screw older men nature but daddy issues all the same.

And as much as I wanted to be fazed by him being rushed to the hospital I wasn’t. I felt worse when my best friend told me her grandmother’s husband’s back in the hospital battling cancer again. This probably makes me a bad person. I should care that my dad is in a hospital bed with an injury that kills people. I do care, don’t get me wrong. I’ve said a prayer for him every day since finding out but I don’t feel like I need to sit at his bedside faking tears, ruining mascara pretending we have a relationship. We don’t! And we haven’t for years. But he’s still my dad and has much as I dislike him, I once gave him a birthday card that read you’ve taught me how to love a person I don’t like, there will always be a part of me that smiles for him…albeit a very small part. Hell we share DNA, and that has to count for something, right?

The Spaniard almost got karate chopped in the throat for sideways insinuating my wrongness for not visiting TMWM in the hospital. Don’t worry I give out cyber chops too…I kid a little!

Anywho, say a prayer for The Man Wander Married that he gets better so he can continue to be the a-hole that he is….yeah I know I’m wrong #dontjudgeme!

Chello bloggers and blog-ettes I’m back with a little ditty I like to call the Week in Review.

When last we spoke I was battling Hurricane Spaniard. A surly storm that arrived on my shores a few months shy of two years ago. Sad as I am to say it burdens me still. As soon as I think I’ve out maneuvered the storm it loops the corner and hails all over my parade. In this case the Summer O’ Men…causing it to end just as abruptly as it started.

I agreed to have lunch with the Spaniard. After Wander made the waterworks the other week I felt I owed him and largely myself to put whatever we have to bed. Well much like fighting a pre-pubescent boy to shower and a toddler to sleep resolving our hashish wasn’t getting done over one lunch. We met at this quaint French spot that sells the most amazing crepes on 6th and Bainbridge. I can’t remember the name but it matters not.

Over a few savory and sweet crepes we discussed the relationship. A lot of our problems revolve around communication. In addition to him thinking I know exactly what’s going on in his head he has an issue with apologizing. Stubborn much! And granted I’m probably the most arrogant, unapologetically sarcastic person one will ever meet but for folks close to my heart I push those character flaws to the side, most of the time. I recounted the late for the train station incident where I got my ass chewed out by a banshee aka Spaz Manager. And still he didn’t offer an apology. Just coughed up an excuse, he confused the times. If assault weren’t against the law I would have hit him with my glass of water. He’s an asshole, sometimes! We parted ways that day with a hug and peck on the cheek.

Side note: When this man touches me I feel electricity run through my core…this cannot be a good thing.

Since we weren’t together I didn’t expect a gift for my birthday. Actually we’ve been conveniently unattached when my birthday rolls around. In any event I spent the early part of the day with Wander, Pudding Pop and Granny SJ. In the evening Wander took me shopping and I headed home relatively early, 10ish. Around 12 I get a text message from The Spaniard asking me to come downstairs. My first mind said to go downstairs and see what he wants but my second mind said total bad idea. Of course my first mind won this battle and I took the trip down the interior stairs of my apartment and was greeted by 5 or more bouquets of flowers, mostly lilies. Sometimes he’s not an asshole!

I was proud of myself that night because despite raging hormones amongst other things I kept my resolve and sent him on his way with nothing more than a Spank You kindly and a peck on the cheek….ok the lips but you get the point. I left most of the flowers on the doorstep. What was I going to do with 5 bouquets of flowers in my apartment?

After sharing the birthday flowers story with some of my close friends they were all somewhat surprised I didn’t give in. And The Best Friend, always a Spaniard supported was her usual self and told me I was dumb for not blurring the boundaries and taking a short ride on the ho train. Of course sex does not love make, so sometimes her advice is to be taken with a grain of salt.

But I digress.

Pretty Skin faded to the land of obscurity, also known as Never-Never land. By no fault of his own, well maybe a little, but with work and my see-saw appetite for The Spaniard I didn’t have the stomach to digest anymore of PS’ references to me as a man or his otherwise lack of genuine communication skills. I’m sorry I just can’t. Believe me there was no judgment here, I thought and still think some chiquitta will be hella happy to find and refine Pretty Skin. He’s a diamond in need of a little elbow grease.

PS did surface briefly this weekend. I quipped that I hadn’t been discarded to the do not call list. And his response was no but if you think it didn’t contain a man reference you’d be wrong. Ugh! Anywho I asked out of pure curiosity what he was up to this weekend. He responded that he had his daughter Saturday but would be free later in the evening. Clearly my conversation politeness was misconstrued. I told him that I had belated birthday plans with my cousin but I hope he enjoyed his weekend.

Was that rude of me?

Mailroom Boy to my utter surprise crawled from under his you got to be kidding me rock with a happy birthday salute. And believe it or not he was only about two days late despite having a phone reminder. His words not mine. Being late to everything but work is part of his je ne sais quoi…not. I was touched, don’t remember his birthday but that’s beside the point. Once I check out I check out, not that we had anything serious…please check the $14 incident that broke the camel’s back.

Since that time he’s been texting me on the regular. He even sideways mentioned that his daughter asked about me and she never asks about his friends. Hmm, I’m still not interested but am rather impressed that he’s getting his hashish together. Last we spoke Mailroom Boy was living in his aunt’s house, carless and working in the mailroom because it was easy. Now he’s taking classes to get his degree, driving his own car and living by himself. Not too shabby if I do say so myself.

Even Jon B. jumped back on stage for a small cameo in this show I call my life. I cancelled his performance before it could even start though. After the traditional how have you been what have you been up to chatter he asked if I ‘d like to come by on Sunday to “catch up.” Is that what the kool kids call it these days? Considering we’ve only known each other for roughly three months time and about a month of it we had no real communication I’m not sure we have any catching up to do. I mean in my book catching up is reserved for friends you’ve known for years but speak to infrequently because of schedules or proximity of course I could be wrong. Clearly his Kangol is too tight. I told him it was doubtful I’d be stopping by to “catch up.”

I’m seriously considering chucking up the deuces. I think Chris Breezy may have been onto something…all the bullshits for the birds…you judge it!

It’s funny I’ve been going through one of the rockiest emotional moments I can remember. I would say even rockier than when I finally lost the Future Ex Husband. And even though I’ve never told the story about the Future Ex Husband and it is a story I didn’t feel as much a failure as I’ve felt lately. With him I just felt numb. A long time passed before I rubbed the numbness out of my veins. It never occurred to me that we wouldn’t be married living as the modern day Huxtables even though our relationship was a seesaw of together and apart.

Failure is my greatest fear. Don’t try to break into any of my accounts because you now know one of my security question answers. I fight against failure every day. This is part of the reason I did so well in school and ultimately do well professionally. I refuse to do anything but well, I repeat refuse. This is not in a childish get mine before someone can get theirs type of thing I just put in 200% at all times. It has paid off very well for me. I have a work ethic that most don’t, in particular those of my generation, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. I delay personal gratification at the expense of excelling professionally.

And I do this intentionally. I deal well in a world where I can be emotion-less. Work requires attention but it doesn’t require vulnerability. It doesn’t have to see me stripped bare to love and ultimately reward me. With the Future Ex Husband I was totally exposed and open and vulnerable but in the end it didn’t work. And when it was over I played the What If game for years about what should have could have been. Eventually I accepted that in life you will have growing moments and losing the Ex was one of mine.

Losing the Future Ex Husband taught me a correct yet emotionally isolating lesson about love, in order to avoid pain you can’t get in too deep. And this lesson grew and took hold as the result of the groundwork paved by a troubled childhood that witnessed dysfunctional love. Every guy after the Ex, I held at a distance. It wasn’t necessary to divulge all things about me because I wasn’t going to be around long enough for it to matter. Whenever I bored or at the first sign of trouble I ended things…sometimes abruptly others with slow fades but never ever on someone else’s terms. I shielded my heart well and escaped those men painlessly and unscathed. Always looking back on my time with them as yet another life experience but never a true relationship. I’d tried a relationship and it didn’t work, mistakes are to be learned from and not repeated.

Not recently! The Spaniard caught me in the middle of a perfect storm. I’d just gotten settled into the consultant game. And by settled I mean figured out the circus and began falling into the petty politics. My family was in the midst of crisis...not uncommon but I was truly emotionally raw from losing my Pop-Pop. And to add insult to injury 21 Jump Street shattered a 7-year friendship and any hopes of a courtship with the live in girlfriend bomb. In the midst of that train wreck unassuming genuinely nice guy walks in and provides a much-needed outlet.

He wasn’t trying to solve any of my ish because that’s what I’m good at, solving ish. He was just there, if I needed to laugh or shout or naked mambo talk or whatever with no agenda. He didn’t want anything from me and that was a relief. It seems that everyone in my life wants something from me and it was nice for once that someone didn’t need my advice, time, money, car, opinion, guidance and the list goes on. I found comfort there.

And even though I outwardly fought against the idea of coupling up with him I took a tiny leap of faith outside of my comfort zone into a relationship with the Spaniard. It felt right at the time. But when it ended, it ended badly. I felt deceived. I felt abused and I felt like the person who originally didn’t want anything from me was a fraud. The one person who was supposed to above all others not want to hurt me stabbed me with a rusty steak knife and left me to bleed out in the streets. And as much as I wanted to gouge out his eyes for being a liar and a whole lot of other things I was more enraged with myself. Me, the person who writes people’s stories accurately within an hour of meeting him couldn’t see through The Spaniard’s veneer. Failure her name is Faith.

Or at least that’s how I felt. I masked that feeling most of the summer with the madness of dating random boys. It was fun but came tumbling to a halt with one text message. A message that unearthed those buried feelings of self-rage slapping them to the surface and forcing me to deal. My preference isn’t to deal. As I mentioned emotion-less environments suit me well.

They say the ones who hurt us the most are the ones closest to us…do you believe that?

But anyway it’s my birthday and I’m going to table this rambling for now…

Side note: Are you an emotion bottler or a wearer of your feelings on your sleeve?

After Wander and The Little Brother left church I was given the privilege of driving both them and myself to Uncle Mid Life Crisis’ barbeque. I didn’t mind. The more time I spent away from my phone the more time I didn’t have to think about how I feel. If you haven’t pieced the puzzle together me and feelings are on opposite ends of the picture frame. Besides feelings are for the winter, technically I can avoid this for a few more weeks, can’t I?

As I sat in the car with Wander contemplating how one lives with a bruised ego and a broken heart she offered this morsel, “You don’t have to go through this alone. I know you love him. Men are assholes but I have a feeling you will work this out with my future son-in-law. If you need to talk I’m here. I don’t always want to hear about the good things”

Speechless! Does she have some sort of telepathy? It must be some innate mother gene that allows her to sense my discomfort. I couldn’t even verbalize how I felt to her. I hate crying but I couldn’t hold it anymore. Crying ain’t sezy. Luckily it wasn’t one of those snot nose cries instead just silent tears ruining my mascara. Afterwards I felt a little bit better but I didn’t get any answers besides my mom’s inside my heart and I likes it.

Most days consulting frustrates the hashish out of me. Moreover when Senior Managers escape into the land of make believe expecting 20 weeks worth of work in 15 weeks I go apeshit (inside – hey momma needs her job and I just got me a raise). It’s even more frustrating when the managers sell this work and get clients to believe it’s humanly possible. Granted most clients think consultants are robots in human packaging but I’m here to say this is not the case, at least not for me.

In any event this Technology Senior Manager, The Hobbit, sold a piece of work that required at least 14 weeks of full time consulting for 4 resources. And when I say full time consulting I mean 60-hour weeks, as this is the typical schedule. Instead The Hobbit sold the project for 10 weeks with 3 full time resources. Clearly he missed a very important memo about true possibilities.

In addition to under staffing the project, the Hobbit also pulled in the absolute complete a$ backward resource to manage the project a butt spanking new manager to the firm, Stutter Step. With only 4-5 weeks of company experience under Stutter’s belt and no actual project experience, he was eaten alive by the client by the middle of the first week. The slaying performed by the client project manager, Russian Sorcerer, was of epic nature. Thank God, and I know this is going to sound shady as hashish, I’d already fully aligned myself in her graces because two heads might have gotten chopped. Hey consulting is 25% politics and 75% work…I’m just being honest.

In my defense as well as the team, we tried to cover Stutter’s mistakes and limit his interaction with Russian Sorcerer as much as possible. To his detriment he kept interjecting with ridonkulous questions (in consulting there is such a thing as a dumb inquiry). Additionally he kept starting, ending and throwing in the middle of every sentence the phrase you know or you know what I’m saying. Of course they don’t know what you’re saying because you haven’t actually said anything. Communication skills of all kinds, written and verbal, are absolute requirements to last in the consulting business

Attempting to mask Stutter’s incompetence the Hobbit brought in a second manager but this only helped to illuminate his lagging skills. In the end the client formally requested Stutter’s removal from the project. Bummer for him, it will not reflect well within the firm that he was removed from his first project in particular because it wasn’t just a personality conflict but an actual lack of appropriate talent.

On the way home from the client site I decided to return PS’ calls from earlier in the week. As it turns out Pretty Skin would be out of town for the holiday. I learned this after listening to him talk about nothing for damn near an hour on my drive back from Jersey, did I mention the client site is in Warren County NJ, which makes for a 2hr drive home. PS did mention he’d like to take a trip with me to Maine. I’d told him that Maine is nice if you like lobster and lighthouses and bed n breakfast-llike cities and stuff like that to which he replied that none of those things really interested him. Because I enjoy being stabbed in the eye with glass I asked why. To which he responded, “Man cause!” I didn’t have the energy to remind him that I’ve had no sex change in the past week and would appreciate not being called a man…it’s probably just his thing but I don’t like it, sorry!

Y’all already know I’m siddity, it’s a gift!

After a politically charged and extremely tense workweek coupled with mindless chitter chatter (I can’t really call it conversation) from PS I was more than ready to enjoy the summer’s last hoorah, barbecues. Fellow Traveler, Nurse Friend and Uncle Mid Life Crisis all tossed invites my way. Unfortunately my hair affair shattered any attempts of making Fellow Traveler’s but Nurse Friend and Uncle Mid Life’s were both still on the table and I felt like indulging.

Both provided a necessary distraction. I laughed with Nurse Friend’s family as if they were my own and I was given an honorary pass. I laughed with my family like old times with little drama. I mean it wouldn’t be a family gathering without a little ball busting and ribbing. And yes I needed those laughs to mask all the other emotional hashish (technical term) I was and am still working through.

If you haven’t guessed this has everything to do with the Spaniard. It’s funny I’m sensing a theme. I can’t shake him. Either I’m a lunatic or madly obsessively in love with this man, at this point I’m throwing money on both just to cover all bases.

Right before my pick up from the Best Friend to head to Nurse Friend’s barbecue I get a call from the Spaniard. In my defense all his prior calls and text messages since our last “discussion” I left unanswered. Everyone has her breaking point. For the life of me I don’t know why I decided to on the second ring just pick up the phone...here I go again with the glass shards in my eyes.

Me: What do you want?

On Tuesday instead of working in the office I opted to work from home because it gave me the opportunity to wear my pajamas all day long. It was great! That is one of the benefits of consulting. My office exists wherever I have Internet access. If ever I find a new position this will be one of the few things I miss about consulting.

If you recall I agreed to “chill” with Jon B on Tuesday evening. In the back of my mind I considered, strongly, cancelling but sometimes curiosity gets the best of me. As you know curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought her back.

I knew what this chilling would entail, hosh*t. Not that I’m above hosh*t because I’m not sometimes but I am somewhat feeling Pretty Skin and Jon B has done the major slide from grace. But who said liking someone was a prerequisite…

Remember that scrumptilicious text pic that made me even consider hosh*t with Jon B, yeah total angle shot but workable. Granted I didn’t really hold up my part of the bargain either, my enthusiasm level was on a 2 out of 10. We ended early and as I pulled away from his cul-de-sac block I waved goodbye and good riddance to Jon B. The feeling was way mutual. Our parting hug spoke for itself. It was one of those trying not to touch you even though I’m touching you kind of things, way awkward. Everyone doesn’t fit with everyone you judge it!

In even more depressing news, the Spaniard crawled from underneath his asshole rock. This is surprising and not surprising simultaneously. His message was true to his form.

Not sure if you tried to reach me or not but I got a new number since I came back home. I just wanted to say hi, see how you’re doing and let you know that I miss you.

Typical!

Let me dissect his message for the sake of running my head into a wall.

Not sure if you tried to reach me or not but I got a new number since I came back home… which actually means he knows I didn’t try to get in touch with him but he had to find a “logical” reason to get in touch with me. You know just in case I needed him for something I’d have to know he had a new number since returning from “our” vacation that he went on alone.

…I just wanted to say hi, see how you’re doing…, yeah sure! What he really wants to know is if I still have enough feelings for him to take a walk on the ho side of life. I don’t!

…and let you know I miss you. LOL. Of course! This is the panty dropping back up! He wants me to believe while he was gallivanting around Spain playing friendly with old chums and family he actually thought about me. Hmmm, I don’t buy it for one second.

I didn’t respond the first day. I couldn’t! Fits of uncontrollable anger welled up in me every time I thought about the text. The Best Friend said I should take the ho stroll, at least I’d be in better spirits…she thinks too physically. Sometimes a roll in the hay is more than a roll in the hay. Nurse Friend said ignore, ignore ignore. My decision was somewhere in the middle.

It’s funny how things change. You know the last time I saw you in person you were talking about marrying me. I’ve been really happy the past few months without you. I’d like to continue that level of happiness. I’m gonna ask you a favor, if there was ever a part of you that cared about me, please don’t call or text me again. I wish you the best.

After sending that text message and deleting traces of his new number from my phone, it felt final.

It was not.

He called…of course! I had the will power to ignore the first. He called again. My will power waned by that point. He asked something in Spanish. He does this from time to time; I used to think it was cute. When we were out, surrounded by groups of people he would speak to me in Spanish and even though I know tons of people speak Spanish it felt like he was speaking just for my benefit.

¿Por qué no me amas?

For those out of the Spanish loop, that means, why don’t you love me…I hate him for this. Cleary he doesn’t recall our last conversations/arguments before his departure to Spain. How I can’t count on him. How he doesn’t respect my feelings. How he doesn’t listen to my wants or desires…bottom-line how he’s a selfish a$$hole.

His selective memory fuels my anger. The argument that ensued was of an epic nature but I won’t go into the details for my own sanity just know by the end he agreed reluctantly to let me have my peace.

Shortly afterwards Jon B sent me a message via yahoo messenger. I was curt. Sometimes the messenger gets shot.

The rest of the weekend, way low key, I mean after that emotionally draining experience the last thing I needed was male female interaction. I hibernated with a few of my closest friends and tried to keep my mind off of the What If Game!

So I’m not even sure where to start with what’s been going on in the World O’ Faith. Ok well let’s be serious work has monopolized most of my time. But in between that monopoly life’s been storming. And when I say storming, I really mean storms people, but luckily it’s quieting down a bit.

There’s no better place to start besides my last entry. In my previous post I was still stationed in Sao Paolo. Question: Is it possible to age a year in 8 weeks time, probably not but I feel 30 and I haven’t even reached 29 yet! Don’t worry I’m planning on throwing a great big ole bash to bring in 30 and all of my readers (the 2 that are left) are invited. Anywho being so far from family and friends I started to feel like my life at home was just a dream. I know this requires some explanation.

All the characters normally so front in center in my life were puttering around still doing the things they do and living their lives with no involvement from lil ole me…vain much? Not that I thought their lives would automatically cease as I mounted a jumbo jet to Brazil but it was deflating to know that as important as I think I am people were getting along without me. That was a growing moment! The Little Brother was responsible enough to take care of home without my 1001 reminders or nagging. Maybe he didn’t do it just like I would but it got done, the absolute definition of having more than one way to skin a cat. The Best Friend navigated single-dome with the advice and shoulder of Nurse Friend. Male Nurse Friend went on his vakay and took pictures without my angles. My life was going on without me, a movie playing with my cast of characters but I wasn’t in any scenes.

It started to get a little depressing listening to my life instead of living it. I was an outsider amongst family. Faith was not a happy camper, although it was nice to hear from everyone sporadically it only helped to remind me that I was not there in the thick of things. My real life was a dream and the only thing to fall back on was work, not really a thrilling alternative.

Work equaled hell! There is no other way to explain it. For 8 weeks straight I worked 16+ hour days. We know I am career minded; however, at home I balance my scales. I work and play hard, point blank period! In Sao Paolo I worked hard and played not at all. It’s just that simple. And it didn’t help that we had a language barrier that stalled our project for close to two weeks. Given our overly aggressive schedule a two week delay only added to everyone’s stress levels. Not to mention that half the Brazilian team was green, freshly hired consultants with little to no experience. In addition all the deliverables (final documents prepared for the clients) had to be completed by Fellow Traveler and I. All I have to say is pressure busts pipes.

Leaving Sao Paolo was the happiest moment of my adult life to date, how sad is that? Unfortunately arriving in Toronto (for financial reasons we had to fly through Canada) brought the trip home way down. Most of that was due in large part to being detained by Canadian immigration and having my bag searched like a common terrorist. After that fantabulous ordeal I missed my flight back to Philadelphia to which the Air Canada staff replied, “Well it could be a lot worse at least there’s a flight leaving in a few hours.” Thanks, I felt a helluva lot better considering I’d been flying for the last 10 hours hadn’t had a shower, woke to an elderly man swinging his man parts in my face (for whatever reason Crazy Balls, as he was so nicely named, decided during the flight to unhitch his pants and free ball the flight back to Toronto. I didn’t notice any of this from my world o slumber until right before the plane landed waking to see wrinkled testes getting tucked into cargo pants….not a pleasant sight folks nope not at all) and still had 16 or so hours of work to complete that day. Sorry Air Canada you get the forever stank eye (o_O) even more so because the food on the flight to Toronto was a rat’s hair above prison fare.

Remember Canadians are known for hockey and that is all…this is me being a bit snide but Air Canada left a narsty taste in my mouth toward our neighbors to the North.

If it were hygienically safe to kiss the streets in Philly I would have. Considering the potential diseases one might catch I decided against it not to mention the streets were piled high with about 4ft of snow…but believe me I wanted to. Instead I relished that enthusiasm on the Spaniard who escorted me home…he comes in handy sometimes.

It was nice to take a shower in my bathroom and sleep in my bed (my being the key word here). Those single moments of peace were quickly interrupted by more work for the project and that thing we call life. Fellow Traveler and I picked up the slack (a recurring theme over the life of this project) while the Brazilians celebrated Carnival. It must be nice to enjoy a weeklong festival of hedonism right smack in the middle of a project…I wouldn’t know!

Snow jailed me to my apartment. The Little Brother watched as I took conference call after conference call with occasional bathroom breaks; notice I didn’t mention food or sleep. For at least a week I survived off of water and air. This is not the life I signed up for. My weekends were no better. Even when I did get away for Nurse Friend’s half a birthday celebration I was so overburdened with work I could barely enjoy myself. Things were nearing the breaking point.

In the middle of that storm, The Man Wander Married went off the deep end. Honestly that isn’t all that shocking considering he is a functioning lunatic (he’s my daddy and I love him but the truth is the truth). It’s a long story that I will sum up like this, Wander is relocating to an apartment until the papers are signed. Knife in the heart of my moving plans (did I mention that I want to move to San Diego)….yet again I take a backseat to all things family. At this point I can’t even say I mind because I’m so used to it, it just feels normal. And honestly it would be selfish of me to think of me first, right? At this time it’s best to deal with the uncomfortable-ness of parenting my parent until she is back on her feet. What will come of this situation; will be a happier, healthier Wander, of that I am sure!

To add to my confusion because clearly working like a slave and the walls collapsing on my parents already rocky marriage wasn’t enough my body decided to quit on me. Yup right in the middle of it all Fellow Traveler had to rush me to the ER! This will be the second time in 8 weeks time that Fellow Traveler sat in an emergency room with me. The first time I had to have my ear drained by a doctor who barely spoke English. Although he knew enough English to slide me his personal business card wink wink and tell me to call him any time day or night…ugh ugh ugh! If he hadn’t actually cleared the gook (technical term) out of my ear making it possible to hear again I might have reported his narsty a$$. Oh clearly I failed to mention that I got some kind of ear infection on the first flight to Sao Paolo causing me to lose my hearing for 10 days…not pleasant folks not pleasant at all. With the help of Inappropriate Doc I was back to myself relatively quickly. And outside of his behavior that ER trip was quick and painless.

In any event the recent trip to the ER wasn’t nearly as pleasant. Waves of pain ranging from 8-9 on a scale of 10 were hitting me every few minutes. Unfortunately I had to hop on a conference call with Texas before I could be escorted out of the office. Did I forget to mention how he ranted for about five minutes about not letting the stress of the job get to me before allowing Fellow Traveler to take me hobbling in pain to the cab, such a major queef! Yes I called him a queef!

Once at the hospital the pain was pretty much unbearable and threw me into fits of violent vomiting. Side note I never knew that pain could cause nausea, it appears you learn something new every day. Anywho in between spitting up bile all I could think about was the fact that this was the final day of the project and I needed to get the staffing model done before 5PM Brazilian time, clearly my priorities were in the wrong place. In addition to that thought I didn’t want to alarm my mother with my medical condition until I knew for sure what my medical condition was.

Finally, after an hour or so I was wheeled to the back. By that time my temperature was see sawing, one minute I was hot and the next minute I was getting chills. A technician came in to inform me that I wasn’t pregnant. Fantabulous, now figure out why it feels like a gremlin is crawling out the left side of my stomach. After about a half hour my temperature and blood pressure returned to normal….probably a direct result of the pain meds. Now the gremlin was down to a 2-3 out of 10 and the highlight of this day would be a pelvic exam, and I hadn’t even prepped!

And by prep I really mean got myself emotionally ready to have someone stick a duck’s beak somewhere it ain’t supposed to go.

Ms Pelvic went off without a hitch and all was good. I told Adolescent Doc, so named because she looked all of 12, that there was nothing wrong with my woman parts. She advised that since my pain was localized slightly above my uterus, a pelvic was a must along with a CT scan. After the violation of my downtown bonanza I was escorted to the scanning area. In between all of this fun I down played my pain with The Spaniard, Wander and the Little Brother. I mean there was no sense in getting everyone riled up if I wasn’t even 100 on what was wrong with me.

In the end it was just a kidney stone. It passed while I was in the hospital and I was allowed to go home with special instruction to follow up with my PCP just to make sure nothing else was wrong. That appointment is yet to be scheduled.

There’s more of course but this post is already too long so I guess this will be part 1 of a 2 part series. I must catch you up on the happenings of all things romanticals in my life…

When everyone heard that I would be traveling to Brazil for about a month they were all overjoyed. I however only saw trouble. Trouble in the sense that it would be yet another project with Texas, yes infamous Texas from Vancouver would be heading up the work in Brazil (mostly from the US, how I don’t even know). But not because he wanted to head the work but because the manager who was originally staffed and helped sell the project decided to move to greener pastures….lucky him!!!! If you remember anything about Texas, he’s not the best manager but I’m quickly learning that my company talks a lot about being the best however our people and actions pale in comparison. Ah the life of a consultant. Not to mention Texas is super anal retentive, with the most ginormous chip on his shoulder it’s hard to ride in compact cars with him…I mean I’m not complaining I’m just making a friendly observation (maybe not so friendly but you smell what I’m cooking).

Did I forget to mention that I don’t speak a lick, iota, not a word of Portuguese. Guess that didn’t matter to the all mighty powers that be…moving right along!

In any event the prospect of flying to Brazil just a few days after the holiday just didn’t sit well with me. Partially because I am in a bit of a funk about the whole going back on my word about the Spaniard, why do I do this to myself? Something is wrong with me I know. Maybe I really want to believe the lie. The little Faith inside keeps jumping up and down screaming you stoopid stoopid stoopid girl but I just keep ignoring her because sometimes the truth is a lie. Or sometimes we like believing the lie because it’s easier to digest. So my digestible lie is that he’s actually getting a divorce and hasn’t been with his wife for the last three years. I choose to believe this like so many other mistresses (sideways heifer…hey I call it like I live it these days) because it’s easier than admitting the obvious truth, that he’s probably slaying both myself and his wife (shuddering a little in the corner at the detestable nature of that last comment).

Man oh man how those morals they do fall.

And to add insult to injury you know because nothing in my life goes as planned, The Little Brother (TLB) totaled Juan. Yup you read that right; Juan is sipping mojitos in a land where good cars go after ridonkulous accidents on the ice. Before you try to hang me at the stake I made sure my flesh and blood was 100 (this is slang it means ok in this instance) before asking about the car. Believe it or not I haven’t yelled at The Little Brother once for the accident. (This is subject to change if I have trouble securing another equally reliable relatively similarly priced automobile.) TLB suffered nothing more than a bruised ego…too bad his bruised ego had to come at the expense of Juanino. Yet another expense I wasn’t ready for, much like my $600 cell phone bill from making calls in Vancouver on my personal cell, but I guess that’s why they call it life. If it wasn’t full of janky shit it wouldn’t be nearly as fun…or nearly as interesting to blog about.

Ah so back to this whole Faith you’re flying to Brazil thing. Anything that could have gone wrong with this whole trip did go wrong the first week. Let me just give you the run down in bullet point form because well I’m a consultant and we likes our bullet points because it makes us feel like we’re doing our job well. (I would bet half my paycheck there isn’t a presentation (we call them decks) that exists that doesn’t have some form of bullet point, ok I might be pushing this mundane topic too far).

What went wrong in no particular order:

• Told literally at the last minute to book a flight to Brazil at the cheapest rate possible which pretty much meant you’re flying coach unless you have status…ugh!!!!
• Totaled Juan…well I didn’t but TLB did
• Entertained some nonsense with The Spaniard (good and bad for me sort of like ice cream
• Didn’t get my Brazilian visa until the last possible minute (it arrived the Thursday before the flight on Sunday)
• Ignored two state-side text messages, one from Mailroom Boy and the other from the taxi driver (I use my cell as my primary number no I didn’t give my number to yet another random taxi driver) who mistook my friendly conversation for sexual innuendo
• Delayed in Philly airport (not surprising) causing me and Fellow Traveler to dart through Dulles Airport in order to catch the last plane smoking to Sao Paolo
• Saw my life flash before my eyes not once, not twice but three times while in flight on the monster jet from Dulles to Sao Paolo…literally I believe we dropped 5k feet out of the air at one point over the Amazon (children were screaming)
• Arrived in Sao Paolo (Fellow Traveler’s luggage wasn’t so lucky and actually never left Philly) with a serious case of bubble guts but I didn’t make it to the hotel for another two hours…y’all know I can’t do public restrooms
• Met Texas and all he wanted to talk about was how the Eagles lost to the Cowgirls…WHATEVER!!!!!
• Felt like the outer limits of hell traveling in the Sao Paolo traffic
• Expected to actually rush from the airport to the client site after a few minutes of “freshening up” clearly some stoopid ass man thought of this (sorry for any hombres in the audience but seriously after 17 hours of travel the last thing I’m thinking about is going straight to the office how about an actual shower, dirty ass bastards!!!!!

And before I forget why were there no washclothes in my room and why didn't anyone know what I was talking about when I asked for one at the front desk.

Oh yeah and happy new year folks!!

It feels so damn good to be stateside and not only stateside but in my right time zone. To add insult to injury I returned home stuck in PST which didn’t help much considering all the frigging work that I still needed and need to do for the project. Work never stops!!!!!

Enough of the boring sh*t already let’s jump into some of the fun or almost fun or should have been fun but aren’t fun things that have happened to me since last we spoke. Side note downtown Vancouver absolutely fantabulous, if ever I went back that way I’d take a boo and stay at the Westin, not that tore down piece of dung the client had us in to save costs. Did I tell you how the first room had a bullet hole in the carpet? Considering the niceness of most Canadians it probably wasn’t a bullet hole, but there was large piece of carpet missing at the door of my room. While there I went to the Vancouver Art Gallery which inspired my inner artist…I plan to get back into sketching.

But I digress!

Returning to Philadelphia was a task that started out all types of well. I arrived early to the airport, without my ridonkulous manager, Texas, getting lost. For whatever reason he thinks he can read any map and know exactly where he’s going…most times he does not. I can’t count the amount of times we were “lost” right around the corner from where we were supposed to be. He insists he asks for directions when it’s necessary…yeah right don’t feed me those lies as I sat for hours circling a residential block just three blocks over from our hotel at 2 in the morning.

Anywho I get to the airport with about an hour and a half to spare. I dip into a couple stores to grab trinkets for my friends and familia that I’d forgotten during the trip and pop over to my gate. No worries, I board the plane and actually get about 4 good hours of work done without any interruption. It was a good flight, even had breakfast, a fruit and yogurt parfait…scrumptilicious!

Arrived at ORD aka Chicago O’Hare Airport a few minutes before schedule only to turn on my cell phone and find out my flight to Philly was cancelled due to inclement weather. WTF!!!!! This couldn’t be happening the day before the holiday, stuck in a foreign city with no turkey or stuffing or Wanders sweet potatoes! But of course it was happening.

Luckily somewhere over the rainbow…oh wait that’s the Wizard of Oz…anywho by some type of dumb luck or God taking pity on my poor soul, knowing I’d worked through all my clean pairs of panties on the trip, there appeared to be an opening on an earlier flight. Of course it was about two terminals away and I’d have to get my Flo Jo on to get there but desperate times call for desperate measures. As I rounded the corner I heard blaring over the intercom the last call for me to make the plane. Glory be to Jesus, I was on my way to Philly, booyah!!!!!

Even the thought of returning to the awkwardness of my situation with Mailroom Boy or the dying slowly “friendship” with The Spaniard wasn’t upsetting. I was just happy to be home home home. Under normal circumstances I don’t get homesick but for whatever reason I racked up a lot of Faith phone home minutes this trip. Maybe it was the extended weekend.

So let me catch you up about Mailroom Boy. I’ve been doing the slow fade. As slow fades go I thought I was doing a pretty decent job until I received a text from him on a late night tip a week or two before I left this last time asking if he could stop by to keep me company. Let me see are we planning on playing yatzee or something otherwise I don’t really see a point of you “stopping” by my place at 1 in the morning. Clearly the lines of “just friends” are blurred, to which I blame myself. I need to learn to keep my lips to myself. In my defense I haven’t kissed the man since the $14 incident and we’ve only been out once since then and it was a day time bust it up with ya homie type of deal, at least I thought so.

To add insult to injury the night before I left to go to Vancouver he sent me this cryptic message that said something like, Faith what’s really good with you? Sorry friend I don’t subscribe to all slang all the time and whatever he was trying to convey was definitely lost in translation. A part of me felt bad about this and to not look completely out of touch I just ignored the message. He followed up while I was in the airport. I told him that I didn’t answer because I was out and didn’t see the message until the wee hours of the morning. This was in part true. I was out late but I saw the message and was puzzled. In any event he texted that he meant to say more but he was drunk and can’t concentrate on two things at once….OK great!

Shortly before I boarded the plane he sent me another text message that said we need to get more fimiliar (note the incorrect spelling). And yes I know this makes me an ass but for whatever reason I couldn’t shake the spelling error. Don’t get me wrong I uck up some grammar and my spelling well it leaves something to the imagination but I try, when sending messages to folk, to spell simple things correctly or indicate my inability to spell the word by inserting (sp?). Now I could definitely be reading that fimiliar wrong but I took it to me something sexual….oh wait that’s NEVER gonna happen. Clearly he didn’t get the we’re just friends memo!

On to not much greener pastures, I’m at my wits end with The Spaniard! He’s pretty much worked every nerve I have left in my body. He totally doesn’t understand why sometimes I’m just really not in the mood to deal with his sh*t and why I’m not willing to be in a “relationship” with him. How many times can you have the same conversation?

Did I forget to mention that I’ve heard no hide nor hair of the impending divorce since his 2 month declaration approximately 2 months ago…but who’s counting.

Anywho he did take me to the airport for the final trip. We had a semi argument…I actually was being quite the female dog in heat but in my defense Mother Nature had my uterus doing somersaults. And honestly I don’t even feel bad about telling him he’s a liar and I will never trust a word that comes out of his mouth. I followed that gem with it didn’t make any sense why he even wanted to be back in a relationship we me because outside of extracurricular exercise we had absolutely NOTHING in common. He looked sad but such as life.

He made it a point to text me every morning and send little messages during the day which was nice…but I’m not impressed and didn’t respond to half of them. I guess he got my message or actually took that trip to visit his brother who happened to get in a narsty car accident because I haven’t talked to him in about a week.

I decided to delete The Spaniard’s number from my phone. The Best Friend said I should do him one last time before I sever the ties but my gut tells me that will blur the lines of this “friendship” even more.

On a related but different note, randomly Mr. Handcuffs, a cop I was sort of dating a while back got in touch with me over the holiday. I don’t anticipate anything jumping off with him but I am sort of curious why he still has my number considering it’s been at least 9 months since I last spoke to him. He told me that he moved closer to my apartment…interesting!

And side note remind me never to go shopping on Black Friday because I almost caught a case, that’s slang it means arrested. Somehow a 32in television for $250 isn’t worth getting a criminal record. Also Wal-Mart is an absolute piece of sh*t store and I will never spend another dime there. Don’t worry I’ll give more detail during my weekly rant, consider this a precursor.

If anyone wants to know I wasn’t in Vancouver this week. I was in Chi-town booyah!!!! (Hella swamped with work with no ability or time to blog properly and for that I’m sorry.) Well not exactly booyah because I didn’t see anything besides the hotel room, the hotel’s attempt at a sports bar and the client’s office. Yes it’s depressing I know Chi-town is actually quite the swell happening spot…maybe next time.

If anyone wants to know Wander called me last weekend sticking yet another thorn in this here quarter life crisis by saying something to the effect, I hope you don’t end up alone with a whole bunch of cats. I really want you to be able to love someone. Do you want to go with me to Lord & Taylor to buy some boots? Uh yeah I want some boots but can we address the first part of your statement before we run off on a shopping spree?

Wander these sideways comments must cease…I mean seriously, you think I don’t already stress enough about the future of Faith enough! Would she prefer I settle?

This comment while I know has good intention somewhere behind it, I hope, implies I’m incapable of loving someone. And by default will end up on a porch somewheres knitting with two cats on my lap. Way to show your Faith in me Wander.

Couple that comment with The Spaniard and his you’re such a guarded person BS and you have the makings of a quarter life nervous break-down minus the Lexapro (that’s not a stab at anyone who takes meds responsibly because for some folk it is very very very necessary and for others well it’s a substitute for dealing with life’s ups and downs…I am off the soapbox, feel free to disagree). OK not really a nervous break-down per se but y’all know I loves me some dramaticals ( I get it natural see Wander’s comments above.) because it makes for better story telling am I right? Come on now you can tell me.

Alrighty back to the point…did I actually have a point…not sure this post is a bit of a ramble. Anywho I pocketed Wander’s gem along with Spaniard's half a gem and went on with my week. My super packed work week that is with nothing more than the morning stretch and scratch to serve as me time, yet somehow I managed to fit in reading a couple articles out of Glamour.

In my world Glamour is a more adult version of Cosmopolitan, don’t argue just go with it.

In addition to reading Glamour I stole a second or two, alright I stole like five minutes to check my comments from the prior week and respond. My blogging faithfuls and you know who you are dropped some serious knowledge. Since, as far as I know none of you have syndicated shows let me be the first to say y’all are better than Oprah I Swear for Jesus Winfrey! In truth I respect your thoughts more so than some of the non blog folk I see in person…you know real world people I interact with not via computer…scary right!

If I may paraphrase and I can because this is my house and I live here…hey isn’t that a song (Diana Ross)…I am so random today…must be the Friday bug.

Cardio Girl said (in my CG voice): Sweep the leg, Betch, either you gotta shet or get off the pot! I kid I kid. She really said as you grow and learn more about this thing we call life your perspective is gonna change. And it’s OK if it changes; don’t beat yourself up about it.

Reforming Geek said: Howdy, divorce happens make a damn decision already…no no that’s not what she said. She said if the only thing holding you back from something you want is a little snafu maybe you should give it some more consideration.

La’Tonya said: Honey don’t apologize for wanting who you want when you want him but make sure you’re comfortable with him and he treats you with respect! You’re young have fun, drink beer and be merry. Ok I added that last part!

Glamour Magazine said: Don’t apologize for who you are! Be happy in your own skin, emote confidence, demand respect and do it in a killer outfit.

Oh I must not forget my girl Diva! Diva told me a long time ago to play hard but be prepared for the consequences!


So I’m off to find shoes to match this killer outfit…deuces!

What is this life about?

Sometimes at night when I hug my pink and green blanket that was so nicely knitted for me by a friend’s girlfriend I wonder if I’ll ever have the perfectly fulfilled life of a modern day super woman: a career that pays the bills with extra to buy fierce heels and handbags as well as a comfortable home life with a sezylicious husband and 2.5 children. Granted I never understood how one has 2.5 children I mean either you have 2 or 3 but I’m sure you get what I’m saying.

During my scans of the blogger world I find myself most interested outside of folk who live stupenderful singles lives equally drawn to chiquittas who blog about family life (mostly stay at home moms). On some level I presume I want that too. It’s seems to be at polar odds with everything that comes out of my mouth but on some elemental level I want to be someone’s wife…I think.

Well at least this week that’s what I thought about. Believe it or not people I even gave serious thought to being an ahemmom! (Shuddering a little in a corner, didn’t come to a conclusion) Nope you didn’t read that last line wrong. I actually sat down and had a one-on-one with Faith and said damn it don’t you think you have something to offer the world? When I take the long walk I don’t want a headstone that reads there lays a chica who had great taste in shoes and helped every insurance carrier and self insured develop efficient and effective claim processes. That life is hollow and superficial and quite sad actually…not to mention lonely as hell!

Don’t get me wrong…I wouldn’t categorize myself as lonely. And before you run off to prescribe some type of Lexapro for me I’m not depressed….at least I don’t think so…no I’m not depressed, just pensive. And honestly if I wanted a body just for the sake of feeling another person next to me I could have my bed occupied. (That’s not me being conceited; this post isn’t about inflating my ego.) Finding a body is simple. Finding that imperfect person to suit me perfectly…quite the pill to swallow without a chaser and personally I’m a fan of chasers. Thought I had a leg up in the race considering that I know myself but knowing me isn’t enough for this test it appears.

I’ve always been a great student but for whatever reason I’m failing these classes…at least that’s how it feels.

Sadly I can’t tell you where all this is coming from. I did over the weekend run into one of my exes. He still has the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen…hazel grey pools that are easy to lose yourself in if not careful. He’s married with children now…but wasn’t with his wife at the movies. I guess this is the way of the world today. Married is the new single!

I’m noticing many a wedding bell tolled for a number of my ex tools. When dating them I knew they were of the marrying kind. Maybe on some level I wanted them to convert me. Definitely boys to bring home to mom…I never did because I knew I wasn’t in it for the long haul. Does that make me selfish?

Several posts ago I said I noticed that a lot of my exes are selfish but like attracts like right? On some level I too must have a selfish streak. It’s such an unsightly personality trait really but the first step is admitting a problem exists!

The Spaniard told me I’m cold. Granted he doesn’t really have a true say but it’s not the first time I’ve heard this from a guy.

Me: You haven’t given me a reason not to be. When I was trying with you I was wrapped in a lie. Not only that if you really knew me I’m the farthest from cold. Ask anyone who’s behind my walls.

The Spaniard: I want to be one of those people, but I guess I deserve this?

Me: As long as you realize how I treat you now is a direct reflection of everything we’ve been through we’ll be fine. Don’t expect me to run into your arms like some damn romantic comedy because you’ve tried to weasel back into my life under the guise of friendship. This ain’t the movies and I’m not stupid. I won’t be mean to you because that’s not my way.

The Spaniard: My behavior has to change I know. The divorce will be final in two months. I will do anything.

Me: Please don’t feed me lines I’m not in the mood. Look I have to go to the laundry mat.

The Spaniard: Sure…it’s almost 9…you can tell me if you’re going out…is there someone else.?

Me: Good night!

Regression…I need to stop torturing myself. In the past I would have called him an asshole and never accepted another call. I need that Faith back…where has she gone….she was a bitch though!

Side note on my way to San Francisco (lay-over) I sat next to this Cute Elderly Couple, probably in their late fifties to early sixties. During take-off I noticed Cute Elderly Wife get a little antsy. Cute Elderly Husband responded by grabbing her hands and she laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She stayed that way until we reached cruising altitude.

Maybe married isn’t the new single!

P.S. I’m kind of glad I’m going away for business…my mind will be so taxed with client work I’ll have little if any time to devote to this quarter life crisis.

Traveling to Vancouver every week is getting to be a bit much. Any semblance of a personal life has pretty much been wiped clean. Not that there has been much going on around those parts lately. But I prefer feeling my options are wide open not closed tight due to work obligations.

In any event while in Vancouver you’ll never guess who dialed my number or better yet sent a random feeler text my way….OK I know all three of you are in utter suspense….The Spaniard. Now now before going ape shit on me let me at least explain myself.

There’s been a little bit of a time gap (the anger boiled down to nil) since my last encounter with The Spaniard. And rightly so given the state of our disjointed union (something about finding out your quasi boyfriend having a wife can do that, go figure) but I presume he got an itch. For that I can’t really blame him. Side note: Someone needs to hold me back from myself because at the end of the day I’m truly at fault for entertaining his nonsense.

What is my weird fascination/obsession with this man?

My first mind said Faith don’t respond. Normally the first mind wins these conversations but the second mind said I wonder what excuse/lie/story he will tell in an attempt at mending the broken fence. Second mind continued talking and said you’re bored and in Vancouver with nothing but work to keep you company why not just see where this goes you have nothing to lose. With that guiding assumption, I bit the apple.

So after trivial I’m fine what are you doing these days how’s the family type of convo I basically started laughing. The Spaniard obviously didn’t see the humor surrounding the situation. I told him that I found it utterly hysterical that he could actually call me and talk to me as if yesterday we were bussing it up BFF style. As if nothing shy of two months ago I hadn’t learned, pretty assbackwardsly, that he is in fact married.

Silence….it was so quiet on the other side of the telephone I could hear hair growing. After a minute of nothing I said something like did I lose you in the titillating conversation friend! Fumbling with the precision of a teenage boy unfastening his first bra he began to ramble I’m sorry and how his marriage dissolved years ago but he needed to maintain that status in order to become a citizen. He has pretty limited dealings with his wife and they are in the process of getting a divorce. For all it’s worth this might actually be the truth. Ha ha I had to laugh at the ridonkulousness of that last line myself. It still doesn’t really explain why he lied from the beginning but I didn’t have the energy to play 1000 questions.

After providing that half ass story, blabbing about how he can’t imagine being with anyone else and he would do every and anything he needed for me to take him back he proceeded to explain how he’d been by my apartment a few times in the past month hoping to “accidently” run into me. I mentioned that seemed a bit stalkerish. He just laughed…OK I wasn’t joking though.

By the conclusion of a very long emotionally taxing conversation he asked two still up in the air questions…do I still care about him….could I consider being just friends?

These are interesting queries even in their own simplicity.

Do I still care about him…on some level I guess I still do care even though what and how everything happened made me extremely mad. Over the last month, I’ve moved past my anger yet underneath it lay the pieces of something. Defining that something isn’t as easy given the history of events. Not to mention regardless of his level of contact he is still in fact married. Married men, do not pass go do not collect $200, point blank period….right?

Are there shades of gray here…legally separated…no no do not pass go do not collect $200!!

Could I consider being just friends….not sure if that’s even feasible. It’s hard for me to imagine us chilaxing over old episodes of Law & Order without some tension. In general it would be rather difficult not to slip into old patterns of behavior with him based on our prior relationship. It’s only natural hence so many folk causally sexing their exes, don’t act like I’m the only one!

Sometimes it does just happen!

Not to mention my male friends are all up and between my dating life and I’m all up and between theirs with reckless abandon…this wouldn’t be an option given his admitted “feelings for me.” I won’t pretend I would want to hear his sloppy vagina conquests any more than he would want to hear about casual hook ups and bad dates. Something about it doesn’t hold water for me…and just seems all types of wrong.

Outside of him carting me to and from the airport for business travel I don’t see where our lives would ever need to interface. To be honest we don’t exactly play in the same sandbox professionally or personally. We had a chance meeting, an interesting borderline manic relationship and maybe that is just that!