So what if he doesn't have his shots?

You know how when you're driving down the street and you see a stray dog and you think "Oh no! Poor little fella! I'd better pick him up!" Then before you know it, you've taken him home, fed him, given him a bath and a warm bed and become emotionally attached to him? Yeah, I do that with guys. It's something I've come to realize about myself over the years. I've even given it the name: "Lost Puppy Syndrome".

There is something about a vulnerable guy... I could conceivably make a living out of helping sad, lost, down-on-their-luck dudes who are fresh out of relationships, get back on their feet and back in the game. I think perhaps all my nurturing, motherly instincts need an outlet since I don't have babies, but that's something I'll discuss with a therapist in a few years. Honestly, I've always been good at taking care of people and I enjoy doing it, even if sometimes it is to my own personal detriment. I am a "fixer" and as such, I am drawn to "fixer-uppers". I spent 3 years trying to "fix" my first serious boyfriend: an alcoholic; workaholic; ego-maniac, only to learn he had no interest in being fixed. Did I learn my lesson? Of course not.

I spent 4 years after that trying to mold my next boyfriend into someone he wasn't. I got up at 4 a.m. and drove him to work in the winter when his car wouldn't run and spent countless hours on the phone with his creditors, cleaning up his past financial mistakes, only to realize that no amount of help was going to make a difference. Four years in and he was still making the same stupid decisions and mistakes he'd made when he was 25, only now they were affecting me.

Then there was the young guy... We had the kind of relationship that only makes sense if we were in a movie where one of us was about to die. We had absolutely nothing in common outside of the bedroom, but I didn't care. I often joked with my friends that I was pretty sure I was using him for sex and he was using me for a comfortable bed to sleep in. He was such a mess that I regularly wondered if I should stop sleeping with him and instead, legally adopt him. But we got along really well and made each other laugh and genuinely cared about each other and let's face it... Colorado nights can get pretty cold.

The problem with all of these relationships and ultimately the reason I'm not still in any of them, is because never once did I feel "taken care of". I know I am strong-willed and independent and I probably wouldn't even know how to let someone take care of me, but the point is, none of them were even capable of trying. So what does it say about me that I consistently choose partners who are ill-equipped to provide me with anything I truly need? I'd imagine that's another question for my future therapist to tackle when I finally get around to hiring her. For right now, though, blog-therapy is waaaay cheaper.

Wait, werewolves exist, right?...

I just returned from a late Thanksgiving evening showing of Twilight: Breaking Dawn. Go ahead, scoff. Poke fun. Judge me. I care not. We all have our weaknesses, one of mine just happens to be bad acting and sparkly vampires. I had options as to how I was going to spend my night... eating and drinking way too much with some friends; hitting up some Black Friday midnight door-buster sales; watching the guys I work with play Skyrim for 10 hours.

While these choices varied considerably in their appeal, all I really wanted after 8 hours of slinging Mimosas and turkey to the decidedly UN-thankful masses, was to be by myself. I needed mindless entertainment that was pleasing to my senses. Enter: Twilight.

Now, I recognize that I am old enough to have mothered the characters in these movies (if I had been a really slutty 14-year old), and so I am on neither 'Team Edward' nor 'Team Jacob'. Instead, I took it upon myself after the first movie, to form 'Team Charlie' (who is otherwise known as 'Bella's Dad' for those of you who aren't hip to the Twilight groove). Not only is he handsome in a rugged, small-town way, but he has a good job, a nice, modest house and he's the strong, shy, silent type.

Perhaps it's because I'm all hopped up on "liquefied butter product" and Reeses Pieces, but since we're already on the train to the land of make-believe, let's keep riding, shall we? If I married Charlie and became Bella's stepmother, I would be hard-pressed not to grab that girl and shake her repeatedly. "What is the matter with you?!" I would shout. "Why don't you have any self-esteem, or a personality?!" I would say. "Why don't you have any goals aside from becoming a vampire so you can spend eternity with your dumb boyfriend?" I simply refuse to believe my beloved Charlie could have raised such a spineless dolt.

On the other hand, I've been 18 and I've been in that kind of love and no amount of shaking or screaming would've convinced me I wasn't going to be with that person forever. So, I suppose I get it... I definitely understand the vampire thing. It occurred to me tonight while watching, that Edward is the age old quandary of 'youth and vigor' vs. 'age and experience', solved. He is youthful and vigorous on the outside, yet he has the experience and wisdom of having "lived" hundreds of years. It would be like hooking up with the hottie you dated in college, minus the fart jokes, video games and binge drinking. But, I digress... Obviously, vampires and fictitious, small-town cops aren't a viable dating option, so back into reality I leap to try to figure out what the hell I am doing.....

What could possibly go wrong...?

A friend with benefits... what a seemingly simple, yet deviously complex animal. It always starts off so idealistically--I have an itch and I'd like someone to scratch it. I've always had certain rules in place with regard to these situations, to ensure things stay the way they are supposed to be: casual, drama-free and emotionless. For example, and these are just guidelines of course, choose someone you like, but with whom you can't really picture being in an actual relationship with. Also, put some walls up--don't discuss your feelings or do anything that makes you feel vulnerable. What I seem to have overlooked however, is:

a.) For every rule, there is an exception.

b.) Rules-as a rule-were made to be broken.

Because of this, it's become clear to me that all fwb situations have an expiration date. It can vary, depending on exactly how much time is being spent horizontally, but the reality is if you like someone enough to continue banging them for an extended period, chances are there is a connection there, or at the very least, a mutual attraction and trust. This is where it gets tricky... when you spend enough time entwined with someone else's body, you're going to begin feeling something (unless you are a sociopath or just completely jaded and dead inside). It's at this point, the expiration date begins looming. Once feelings are put on the table, I think you have two choices. You can either decide to tear down your remaining walls and see where things go, or you can call off the entire operation. I don't like these options, logical or not.

My most recent experience with this began innocently enough. We both had our walls firmly in place, in fact, we didn't even kiss for the first 2 months. When I asked him what his deal was (since I really enjoy kissing) he said it was a really personal thing for him. 'Okay Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman', I thought, but I couldn't begrudge his point since we were both pretty set on staying detached. However, as time went on (can you guess where this is going?), we eventually did kiss, which led to holding each other afterwards, which led to more kissing, which led to out and out spooning and before I knew it, I found myself seeing this boy as more than just the occasional itch-scratcher. Intimacy is such a slippery slope.

Together we'll break these chains of love...

It has been over a year now, since my heart was last broken. That scarcely seems possible, yet when I think about everything that has happened in this past year, it blows my mind even more. Said heartbreaker is now shacking up with the girl he ditched me for and although I am legitimately over him, there are still times when I feel a tug on the old heartstrings. I watch them kiss hello or hold hands and I think "at least he's happy" and I'm happy for him, but then I think "why haven't I been able to find the same thing?" It's as though he's moved on and so has everyone else from my past, yet I'm still kicking it in emotional limbo. My mind is still trying to tell me I don't want anything serious with anyone, but my body and heart are screaming for an outlet for my lust and emotions. (A healthier outlet than what I've been using, anyway-more on that another time).

Honestly, all it would take is for me to stop being an idiot and take a chance... Every Friday afternoon at work, I give myself whiplash looking out the window every 2 minutes waiting for a specific delivery truck, which has a specific driver (a.k.a. my future husband), so I can make sure I am the one available to sign for the order. The problem is, I have approximately 30-45 seconds each week to make him fall in love with me and I get so nervous, I end up sounding like a functionally retarded person with a stutter. Sure, I have a winning smile and an ass that won't quit, but one of these days I'm going to have to have a conversation with him. Then there's the cute bartender across the street, who unfortunately used to be pretty good friends with my ex. They don't hang out anymore, but I think it might still be a "bros before hos" situation. Of course, I'll never know unless I try, but I am too skittish to try.

The most absurd thing of all is I'm not sure what scares me more: rejection or acceptance. Rejection is a little easier to get over since you can't really miss what you never had. But, if something were to begin with one of these butterfly-inducing studs, I am afraid of what I would become. I don't always like myself in relationships. To paraphrase a quote from a movie I recently saw "...if we were in a relationship, I'd become this weird, scary version of myself I don't like..." I'd like to think I am far more self-aware now than I was in the past, but there is really no telling what I'm capable of given the right (or wrong) circumstances. My first serious relationship left me bitter, angry, resentful and mistrustful of most people. That man could ignite a rage in me I didn't know existed--to my knowledge, I'd never thrown a coffee table across the living room before meeting him, nor have I since leaving. My last relationship brought my OCD to new levels of weirdness. Since I felt so powerless in every other way, the only thing I felt I could control was my surroundings and they were spotlessly clean and organized.

Logic and experience tell me I would certainly spot the warning signs more quickly the next time and get out before getting too involved and falling in love, but I'm not 100% confident of that. Regardless, I'm going to start taking chances because if I don't find someone to snuggle with soon, I'm going to lose my shit.

Love the one you're with?

It has long been my contention that people can fall in love with almost anyone, given the right circumstances. I'm not speaking of the couples who meet, are attracted, realize they have various things in common, date for awhile and build a loving, lasting relationship together based on mutual respect. I'm talking about those who are tired of being alone, so they basically close their eyes and point. They decide (however subconsciously) to open themselves up to love with someone, not because that person is "right" but because they are "there". I've heard it explained with regard to men (though I think it just as easily applies to women) as the "Taxicab Theory". Men will go through life having fun, doing their thing, until one day they wake up and realize they want to settle down and get married, at which point they turn on their metaphorical "taxicab light" and whoever happens to hop in next, gets to be his wife. It's not a matter of who, but when. This depresses me to a point and would certainly serve to feed any feelings of inadequacy or low self-esteem one might already have. If I let it, this theory could make me the most paranoid future-girlfriend of someone ever. I would constantly be questioning whether he thinks I'm his soul-mate and can't live without me, or if he just really wants some babies and I happen to have good genes, a fine set of birthin' hips and, oh yeah, I'm standing in front of him.

But should it even matter? After all, isn't timing everything? I've often pondered whether certain exes and I would have worked out if only we'd met 5 years earlier, or later, or under different circumstances. If there is an attraction and commonality that is capable of growing into a lasting situation where both parties are happy, in love, and secure, does it make a difference that you don't see each other as soul-mates?

Last winter, I read an entire book on this topic. I read 2 books, back to back, actually. One called: Be honest, you're just not that into him either. The other: Marry him: the case for settling for Mr. Good Enough. Obviously, I blatantly judged these books by their covers and thought surely I would enjoy the hell out of the former and loathe the latter. Much to my surprise, Be honest... was cute and good for a laugh, while Marry him... had me thinking for weeks and recommending it to all of my friends as a thought-provoking read. The author basically states that most woman have this ideal vision of "the perfect man". They even make lists of qualities this person would and would not have and they refuse to even consider dating someone who doesn't fit their mental profile. (I do this. Although my "vision" is somewhat amorphous, I definitely have a list.)

She points out:

a.) How unrealistic it is to think you're going to find someone you consider "perfect".

b.) How even if you found this "perfect-on-paper" person, there is no guarantee there would be any chemistry, or passion.

c.) Who the hell are you to demand this sort of perfection from someone else in the first place, since we are all flawed and have idiosyncrasies.

I recently found myself fantasizing about how wonderful it would be if I could cut and paste things from all the guys I've known/dated and make a perfect little voo-doo doll of awesomeness. I'm sure guys wish they could do the same. Although my ex-boyfriends probably all enjoyed my odd sense of humor and my sweet ass, I am certain more than one of them wouldn't have minded slapping a pair of DD's on me, or removing my ability to belch/fart. The point is, perfection doesn't exist and "settling" is not a negative thing if you can find someone who makes you happy...lists be damned.

Home sweet home...

I have always wanted to live in a Pottery Barn catalog. The problem is, I'm always drawn to older homes that are "eclectic" and "have character". Oh, how strange that the bathroom sink is in the kitchen and there is a random door that leads nowhere, but look at that 1930's crown molding!! It's been a constant struggle to find a happy medium, until now. I recently moved for what is hopefully the last time for many years. I got out from under my previous landlord, who I am fairly certain has narcissistic personality disorder/bi-polar disorder (thank you web m.d.) and is clearly not diligent about taking medication for either. The weirdness began when I moved in a year ago and steadily escalated until he professed his love for me 4 months ago. Ick. As a Cancer and a woman, it's crucial for me to feel safe and comfortable in my home, something I never achieved living there. Now I have a cozy little cottage, tucked away in the trees, where I feel so protected I rarely want to leave. The best part about it, is not having neighbors on either side with nothing but poorly insulated, paper-thin walls separating us.

I've long believed that apartment dwellers know far too much about their neighbors' lives, often not by choice. I'll never forget a place I lived in years ago... It was a smaller rental house tucked between 2 larger homes owned by some middle-aged couples. It was on a quiet, side street near the mountains, so we got our share of wildlife in the yard from time to time-skunks, raccoons, the occasional fox. One night, however, I was lying in bed on the edge of unconsciousness, when an unfamiliar noise outside my window startled me into lucidity. I listened carefully--it was close by. It sounded like an angry bear stalking a frightened bunny. My heart raced and I strained to hear which way they were headed. When I finally got out of bed and peered cautiously out my window, I realized it was neither a rabbit nor a bear. It was my middle-aged neighbors having something resembling sex, very loudly, with their windows wide-open.

Then there were the hipster kids that lived below me at my next place. Now, I am a night-owl and as such, I try to be quiet and respectful of the fact that my neighbors often aren't. These kids enjoyed having "band practice" at 3 a.m., and when I say "band practice", I mean they would sit around with their hipster friends sampling old Atari and Nintendo music over guitar and keyboard tracks. I think I even heard a kazoo once. Ear plugs only muffled the nonsense and if I were a more confrontational person, I would have gone downstairs, slapped the clove cigarettes out of their mouths and smashed their Casio keyboard into a tree. Instead I suffered in silence.

Most recently, I lived in the middle apartment of a tri-plex. On one side, was a 20-something hippy dude who smoked copious amounts of weed, played excessively loud music and had a girlfriend who I feel confident was faking her orgasms. On the other side, was a quiet 30-something couple who likely hated me for similar reasons. I often wondered if, when I ran into them at the mailbox, they were secretly judging me for listening to nothing but Kelly Clarkson for 3 days straight. Then I realized I didn't care; Ms. Clarkson has the voice of an angel. It soothes me and I've had a rough year.

More from the "What-if" chronicles...

This week marks 11 years since I packed up all my worldly possessions and lugged them, my cat and myself, 2000 miles across the country to start a new life. As much as the "what-ifs" annoy me, they also provide hours of contemplative amusement. When I pulled into town over a decade ago, it was with an open mind and a hungry soul. My best friend had driven the U-haul behind me and stayed a few days to get me settled in before flying back east. We were a couple of carefree 22-year olds, making what was a somewhat bittersweet trip as exciting and fun as possible. (Doesn't everyone almost get arrested in Kansas??) After she boarded the plane to fly back home, reality hit as I realized I didn't even know how to get back to my new apartment from the airport. I burst into tears and although I found my way after an hour or so, my excitement had already morphed into fear, trepidation and regret. "What the hell was I thinking moving so far away from everything I've ever known?" Obviously, as the days went by and I became more comfortable with my new surroundings, I perked up. But that is a lot of stress to put on ones' body and mine reacted accordingly. Before I'd left home, I had sowed a few last minute oats in the spirit of closing that chapter of my life. One particular Oat and I had a condom-related mishap. It took me 2 weeks of settling into my new life to realize I was 2 weeks past due for a rather important monthly occurrence. Panic set in and I booked down to Walgreens to purchase my first ever pregnancy test. Clearly everything was fine and my life went on to become what it is, but waiting for that pee stick to show me a 'minus' sign was quite possibly the most intense 60 seconds of my life. When I look back now and play the "what-if" game, it is almost unfathomable that if it had been a 'plus' sign instead, I'd be sitting here next to a 10-year old child. How different would the last decade have been? Would I have met and fallen in love with either of my exes? Would I have gotten right back into that U-haul and returned home to deal with it there? The possibilities are endless. Not to mention, would I have told the father? I saw him recently at a wedding for the first time in 8 years and he has since married and had 2 or 3 kids with his wife... how different would his life be if I'd had to make that epic phone call?

Lately, much to my utter shock and chagrin, I've wondered if maybe I do want kids, or at least kid. I seem to have these nurturing instincts I don't really know what to do with. Don't get me wrong, when I hear children screaming at work I want to bang my head into the wall, but then they stop screaming and I look at their cherubic little faces and think "Hmm. Maybe." I'm clearly in no place to be seriously considering this, but the prospect no longer terrifies me to my core. I'd call that progress.

I really identify with you, so much....

This is not the first, nor will it be the last time I utter the phrase: "I don't get dudes."

Just when I think I've got some things figured out about what makes them tick, how they perceive things, etc., I am once again thrown into a pile of nonsense and left utterly perplexed. For example, why on earth would a guy, who a good friend of mine is pseudo-dating, invite me out while she's out of town, then proceed to also invite another gal he is apparently dating and allow me to witness them getting more than a little cozy on the dance floor at the bar? Do guys understand girls as little as we understand them? Do they think we don't talk, nay, text each other immediately when things like this occur? The question of the day then becomes: 'Drunk', 'Stupid' or 'Wants to get caught'? It could be a game show.

Awhile back I had an experience where I busted a guy I had hooked up with a few times. I was under no illusion that I was the only person he was sleeping with, yet he did try to make with the sweet talk. When a mutual friend and I discovered one night that he had also hooked up with her during the same time frame and eluded to her that she was the first in a long time, she was shocked and appalled. I was neither, and I decided to call him on it to see what he would say. The next time he came over, I said-rather offhandedly- "just so you know, I know you slept with so-and-so. I don't necessarily care, but she might very well beat you bloody the next time she sees you." I mean, really. So guys, allow me to give you a few tips:

1.) If you are cheating on your girlfriend, she WILL find out. In fact, she probably already knows, she's just waiting to see how many more lies you will tell her until she catches you red-handed. It doesn't matter how "careful" or "stealthy" you think you're being. That girl you saw across the restaurant while dining with your mistress- the one you couldn't quite place- was probably your girlfriend's secretary from her last job and regardless of whether or not they've spoken in 5 years, she WILL end up friend-requesting your girlfriend on Facebook to ask when the two of you broke up, at which point your gf will respond with "we're still together, why do you ask?".... That's the way it goes down.

2.) We always know when you're lying. Sure, some girls go against their gut and rationalize things for awhile because they're in denial, but deep down we always know. Don't kid yourselves.

3.) Don't tell us what you think we want to hear. As always, I don't pretend to know what all girls want, but as for the select ones I know and love, we always choose honesty over bullshit. If you aren't that into us, then for hell's sake, don't waste our time! If you like us, but want to keep seeing other people too, for crying out loud, make sure we are aware of this so we can make an informed decision whether or not we want to keep seeing you! Don't be a pussy, just tell us what's up.

Keep in mind, I say all of this after having just left a meat-market of a bar where I spent an hour convincing a bunch of drunk firefighters that I am an ice-road trucker 9 months out of the year. Of course, if any of them had shown any promise, I certainly would've come clean...

The What Ifs will kill ya...

When summer began, I had 3 goals: Find a new apartment; Find a new car; Have an amazing summer fling. While the first 2 are in the process of coming to fruition, the 3rd continues to elude me. I am here to tell you, it is slim pickins. When you work as much as I do and see the same people, day in and day out, the chances of meeting some exotic stranger to take up with for a spell is easier said than done. Clearly I didn't work out the logistics of this when I set my goals. Add to that the sheer exhaustion I feel on my days off and the fact is, I haven't been actively searching.

My girls and I were sitting at the bar of our favorite watering hole a few weeks back, when we noticed a group of good-looking fellas sitting outside. I had my eye on one imparticular and as he passed by us on his way to the bathroom, smiles were exchanged as well as a coy, downward glance on my part. When he came back by a few minutes later, he stopped to chat and invited us to join him and his buddies out front. He was yummy and he was a cop (I have an inexplicable preoccupation with authority figures). After he walked away, my friend turned to me expectantly and said one word:

"Fling?"

I paused for a moment and pondered. Sure he was hot and he certainly seemed interested, but it would take a lot of energy to go out there and be charming and witty and try to figure out how to get him back to my place without seeming slutty... Quite honestly, all I really wanted to do was go home, eat my leftovers and watch Season 2 of Buffy, which is exactly what I did.

There are those who say:

"What if he was your soulmate and you chose cold pasta and vampire slaying over a chance at happiness?!"

'What ifs' and the people who suggest them, piss me off. I don't like alarmist tactics. If I stopped and wondered "What if?" every time I made a choice about something, I wouldn't have a moment's peace. I instead choose to follow my gut, and if Hot Cop had truly been the one for me, I'm certain my gut would have told me to man up and go make it happen.

"What if the man of your dreams is on Match.com, just waiting to meet you but you are too stubborn and romantic to join and post a profile?!" Interesting point, to which I counter:

"What if the next Charles Manson is on Match.com just waiting to whisk me off to his secluded cabin where he can chop me into pieces and make a collage out of my hair and toes?"

You can't live your life stressing about whether or not you should have gone here or done that. You have to do what feels right at the time and have faith that things will fall into place.

"What if you never find anyone to marry and have babies with?!?"

Well God forbid...That would be a tragedy, wouldn't it? Not everyone needs babies to be complete. I'm in no way knocking those who decide to procreate, in fact, the jury is still out on whether or not I want to try my hand at breeding, but regardless, I'm not going to cry myself to sleep at night worrying that it won't happen. So I end up a spinster, big deal. I'll get 17 more cats and buy a big scary house that kids are afraid to go trick-or-treating to--it'll be fine. I know I am doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing, which is living and enjoying my life to the best of my ability and I feel okay about the constant uncertainty because how fun would life really be without the suspense?

Things aren't always what they seem...

When you are single, it's easy to look around, see nothing but couples and assume everyone on earth, except you, is having copious amounts of sex. What you don't see, is what actually goes on behind closed doors, which from what I've experienced myself and learned from informal research, often isn't much.

Quite a few years ago, a friend and I found ourselves simultaneously dating a drug addict and an alcoholic, respectively. Both of their "Mr. Hyde" personas were nice guys and decent boyfriends, yet as soon as their drug/drink of choice passed their lips, they became obnoxious, unbearable "Dr. Jekylls" who we couldn't stand to be around. She and I bonded as we masochistically rode that endless emotional roller coaster side-by-side and along the way, discovered we shared a dirty little secret: neither of us was getting any--even during the "good times". As 2 attractive, 24-year old girls, we were perpetually frustrated at having to beg our boyfriends for sex and as a result, began to question our appeal. Personally, my self-esteem was taking a huge hit. Obviously, in that particular situation, the addictions were probably playing a large role in their non-existent libidos, but after asking around a bit and talking to many other girl friends, I discovered we weren't alone. A few girls said it seemed like their boyfriends were always tired, or would rather play video games. However, one friend had a husband who wouldn't touch her, yet he had an internet porn addiction to the tune of $1000/month.

It's been suggested that some men have a disconnect with regard to sex vs. love (shocking, right?). The woman they love and who has given birth to their children cannot be thought of in a sexual way (at least not in a really dirty sexual way.) It's referred to as the "Madonna/Whore complex and I don't know all the psychology behind it, but I've heard it used to explain why guys get caught cheating with skanky trailer-trash, when they have a beautiful, willing, non-trashy wife at home. Perhaps the fear is that the woman they love and revere would be disgusted by their needs and fantasies, so rather than risk rejection or humiliation, they instead seek to fulfill their desires either with someone innocuous, or not at all, leaving everyone involved frustrated, angry and on the road to couples counseling.

Obviously this happens with women as well. I've dubbed the reverse phenomenon the "Provider/Player" complex. When a woman is in a relationship with a man, whether she wants to admit it or not, there is a certain amount of expectation that she will be protected and provided for in some capacity. This is a sliding scale depending on the woman, but at the very least, we typically require an equal partnership with some stability. If a man isn't taking care of his share of the bills, housework, childcare, etc., it's going to affect how the woman sees him. I've had guy friends ask me why it feels like they are always the ones initiating intimacy with their girlfriends or wives--that it feels like the women are completely apathetic, and only give in to the men's advances to appease them. I tell these guys to look at the big picture. The cliches of women not wanting sex because they are "tired" or "have a lot on their mind" could be more accurately translated as "How could I possibly desire you physically when I'm worried about the electricity being shut off because you haven't worked in a month?" It sounds silly, but speaking from experience, when you lose respect for/trust in your partner to provide simple comfort and reliability, passion goes quickly out the window. There is also the fear of being thought of as a whore if we share what we want (it goes both ways, you see) and it speaks volumes as to why I would let a virtual stranger tie me to a bed post, while rarely giving the love of my life much more than missionary...but I digress.

It all continues to make me ponder how anyone ends up getting together and even more perplexing, how anyone manages to stay together. I think I'll go read some Freud...

A Priest and a Rabbi walk into a bar...

...If only. That would certainly make my day a little more interesting. I have chosen a dubious profession as someone who dislikes: negative people; drunk people; and needy people. As a bartender, I spend my days and nights listening to the same sad people, talk about their same sad problems, none of which they are willing to take any responsibility for.

"Boo-hoo, I'm going to lose my house if I can't come up with the money for the back payments I owe."

Maybe if you didn't spend $50+ a day at the bar, you'd be able to pay your mortgage?

"Boo-hoo, I got another DUI--I think the cops are 'entrapping' me."

Maybe if you walked the 6 blocks home at night after you drank 6 beers, the cops wouldn't be able to 'entrap' you?

My life sometimes feels like the movie 'Groundhog Day'... I know exactly who I'm going to see and what they are going to say before they even open their mouths. I have 2 rules at my bar:

1.) Jeopardy comes on at 6:30, so if you need something you had better order it before then or wait for a commercial break.

2.) Don't complain to me about your woes unless you really want to hear what I have to say.

I know a few of my regulars are simply lonely people who don't want to go home to a big empty house at the end of the day. They come to me for liquor, yes, but also for company, solace and conversation. While I understand this, I am often at a loss to provide it since I refuse to shoulder their burdens along with my own by asking any probing questions and I ran out of things to talk to them about months ago.

Obviously, there are exceptions. One dude, a hard-ridden, pot-head biker with a heart of gold, who defends my honor against the other buffoons, tips well and brings me flowers and banana splits when I have to work doubles, always makes me smile. And I love my Sunday afternoons with another, older gent who I always have interesting and stimulating conversations with about traveling, life etc. Then there's the gal who comes in a couple times a week, who reminds me so much of my mom with her sassiness, and who laughs with me about all the shenanigans occurring around us. They are the people who get me through my week. It's the ones I refer to as the "lifers", who really get me down. I simply cannot fathom having nothing better to do with my life than sit at the same bar, day after day, hour after hour, drinking. Isn't there a movie you want to go see? A book you've been itching to read? Perhaps some sport you'd like to go watch live? It's sad, and although they are perfectly nice people, I find myself struggling to like them. One guy imparticular, has missed exactly 1 day in the 10 months since I've been tending bar... I was so worried, I almost called his house to make sure he was okay. That is a bizarre relationship to have with someone and though he is a hot mess, I've sort of accepted him for what he is and I think he is genuinely good, albeit completely lost.

I keep hoping, since I spend so much of my time there, that one of these days an attractive, single fella will breeze in and blow me away. There have been a few that showed potential, but they're usually just passing through on vacation or business and/or they're married and/or they start off charming then turn into a complete douche after 3 drinks. One dude, who came in every day for a month last winter, was presumably single and certainly not hard to look at, but dumb as a box of rocks. I was appreciative of the temporary eye candy, but ultimately, if you can't turn me on mentally, you might as well just do your jager shot and be on your way... it will free up your stool for someone new to give me hope.

Send me an Angel...

Recently, I have felt as though I am trapped in an M. C. Escher painting; everything is backwards and upside down and nothing is quite as it appears. I lust after people I don't love or even like and I feel love for people I don't desire. I am pursued by people I am uninterested in and I carry torches for people no longer interested in me. I pine for people who once loved me or might someday love me, while turning a blind eye to those who are real and present. I lead people on and wind up hurting them out of curiosity and I frustrate people with my apathy and trepidation. I yearn for people I know aren't right for me, but who I can't have regardless, making me ache for them more. Yet, those who are willing and able to give me everything I claim to want, I turn away and discard. I say I know what I want but when I get it, it's not enough. I long for some intangible feeling, but grow frightened the moment I feel it.

I will have to consult my hippie friends to see if Mercury is in retrograde right now... But seriously, it's been a long time since I felt like things were lining up. The last time I recall feeling love, lust, comfort and longing simultaneously for the same person, was in the first year with my ex. I'd been keeping him at arm's length since we'd met, all the while knowing I was falling into that crazy kind of love with him. The kind where it physically hurt when he wasn't around and when he was, I wanted to crawl inside of him and become one with him and my heart was so full of longing for him in every way that every second he wasn't touching me was madness. We had 'movie love' in the beginning, but it was fleeting. Our fire burned too hot, too quickly and soon enough we were left futilely fanning some embers that had been doused by reality, differing views on life and hard-headedness.

Even though that situation fizzled, I miss those feelings. It's scary and invigorating and it makes you feel alive. I'd like to know that passion again, if only for a moment. Lately I just can't seem to get it right. This leads me to believe that either something significant is right around the corner, or the Universe has simply given up on me and decided to have some fun at my expense. Well two can play at that game, Universe. Maybe I'll go be a lesbian for awhile...

I'm holding out for a hero...

Being a somewhat intelligent, independent gal, I tend to pride myself on being able to take care of business. If my toilet is broken, or my sink is clogged, I pull out my ultimate tool-kit and fix it. However, there are some things I just don't have the time or inclination to learn regardless of how much easier it would make my life. It's these instances when I have to seek outside help which fuel my unhealthy tendency toward 'Hero Worship'. Take, for example, my computer. I know how to screw around on Facebook and Youtube; how to send emails and type this blog. That is the extent of my knowledge of computers and their capabilities. This is why I tend to develop crushes on the pasty, level-9 dungeon masters that work at the Apple store, when they fix my problems and show me how to use Iphoto while passive-aggressively mocking me.

This is also why there are few things more attractive to me than "car guys". Mechanics, tow-truck drivers, or just dudes that know stuff, like how to change your oil. I tend to drive older cars; the one I am currently getting around in is possibly the crappiest car I've ever owned, yet it never gave me any problems until last week. On my way to work one day it died on me, so I had to call a tow-truck the following day to come haul it down the road to my mechanic. When the truck arrived and the driver got out, I was immediately smitten. He was bald, tan, had a goatee and was wearing the ubiquitous dark-grey mechanic pants and button down shirt, both streaked with grease/dirt. He was HOT. Though, if I'm being honest about this, he could have been overweight, middle-aged and covered in open sores and I probably still would've thought he was HOT because he was 'rescuing me', in a manner of speaking. I know it's silly, but I don't think I'm alone in this.

I have had crushes on doctors, policemen and most notably, veterinarians. People tend to find it off-putting when I compare their children to my cats, but I don't care. The fact is, I've had my cats longer than most of my friends have had their kids, so to me it's the same thing--mine just have fur. When they get sick, I panic because I don't know how to fix them. Thankfully, I have a wonderful vet, who not only takes great care of them, but doesn't judge or talk down to me when I am being over-protective and unreasonable. He is a big, hairy, manly, Italian-looking guy, yet he is unbelievably gentle and kind to my boys. There are times when I want to throw him down on that stainless steel examination table and ravage him, (once my cats are safely secured back in their carrier, of course). A few years back, my eldest had to have surgery to remove a tumor on his leg. I was an emotional mess the entire morning, until finally Dr. Handsome called to tell me everything had gone well, the tumor was gone and my baby would be just fine. I was so overwhelmed with love for him at that moment, I seriously considered leaving my boyfriend of the time to pursue this wondrous healer.

I know it's psychological, but is that so bad? People are attracted to other people for a plethora of stupid reasons, many of which are far more superficial. If someone falls in love with me for my cupcake-baking skills and trivial pursuit prowess, who am I to question it? Especially if they know how to lay tile or grout a tub.

just checking

This one goes out to the one I love...

There are few things in this world I enjoy more than listening to the radio. I think it dates back to when I was in junior high and although I had to be in bed by a certain time, my parents couldn't stop me from listening to the "Top Ten @ 10" on my town's local Top 40 station. The cool thing to do back then was call in and request songs, which of course I did from the landline next to my bed since this was before everyone had cellular telephones and the Interweb. A couple years later when I entered high school and developed a crush on a particular boy, I would lie in bed night after night calling in to request the same song:

"F.M. 97, you're caller #4, what do you want to hear?!"

"Hi! I'd like to dedicate a song."

"Oh. Hi Jess. 'Love of a Lifetime' by Firehouse?"

"Yup. Going out to Tim from Jess."

"Yeah. I know. I will see if I can get it on for you."

It was all so fabulously pointless. If I had thought things through, I would have realized the chances of him ever hearing one of my pathetic little dedications were slim to none considering he was totally punk-rock and would've rather driven nails through his head than listen to a Top 40 station.

Fast forward...my tastes have changed a little. I'm mostly a 'talk radio' gal now and while I love tuning in to hear 'Car Talk' and 'This American Life', as well as the nut jobs that are on 'Coast to Coast A.M.' every night, I also have a soft spot for the simplicity and purity that is 'Delilah after Dark'. You can find her on your local soft-rock radio station from 7 until mid-night, fielding calls from trailer parks all across this great country. She listens to peoples' happy, sad, tragic and inspiring stories then offers some gentle wisdom while choosing the perfect easy-listening song to play for their situation. Finding the right song is not something to be taken lightly, nor is it always an easy task, yet Delilah makes it seem effortless. It's evident she takes her job as the self-appointed "Queen of sappy love songs" very seriously. If you listen often enough, you can start to guess what song she is going to play, depending on the story from the caller. (I feel like there is potential for a drinking game here...) For example: whenever anyone calls to dedicate a song to their kid, it is almost guaranteed she will throw a little 'Baby, Baby' by Amy Grant up on the turntable, at which point I will get pissed off and change the station because that song makes me want to kill people. But I digress...

As much as I enjoy making fun of this particular radio show, I have also found myself balling my eyes out on the drive home because of an especially tender love story, or one I can identify with for one reason or another. I'm currently sorting through some feelings about various people in my life and I'm not gonna lie--there is a part of me that wants to give Delilah a ring, spill my guts and see what gem she comes up with for me...

It's been awhile...

Time and our passage through it, has always confounded me. I remember as a kid, having to watch the movie Back to the Future at least three times before I was really able to wrap my brain around it. Granted, I was 8 years old, but still. I suppose everyone experiences this to some degree. When you're a kid and the summer seems to fly by in the blink of an eye, while the school year drags on for what seems like ions, much like weekends in relation to work weeks when you're older. My dad always used to say "Punkin, once you graduate high school, you won't believe how quickly the years go by. You will wake up one morning and be 30 years old and not have any idea how it happened." I of course scoffed at this, since he didn't know anything and I was 18 years old and knew it all. However, since things panned out exactly as he said they would, my grown-up self has since commended him on his prophetic wisdom.

At this point in my life, age has become somewhat irrelevant. Three of my closest girlfriends are 23, 29 and 41 years old respectively and yet the views on life and common ground we share is staggering. My ex was 10 years older than I and it was never really an issue, although he used to jokingly ask "Why couldn't I have met you in high school?", to which I would reply "Because I was in kindergarten."

I was looking through photo albums at my mom's house yesterday and long forgotten memories began flooding over me with such intensity, I had to stop. I found pictures I didn't know still existed, of my first serious boyfriend here in Colorado and our trip back East for him to meet my family, which I had forgotten occurred. I look so young in the pictures and we both look so happy. It's bizarre when you can look at a photograph and know exactly what you were feeling or thinking at the time, even though it was a decade ago. As I gazed at us sitting side by side on the sofa, our arms around each other, I thought "I once loved this man. He was my world." Then to re-enter the present and wonder how feelings that were once so poignant and palpable could cease to exist any more? Conceivably, he has some of these same photographs in his possession, wherever he is, and I wonder if he ever looks at them and has similar musings.

I found photos of the wedding of 2 good friends who are no longer married and who are no longer very good friends. The fact that I am old enough to know people who have been married, had a kid or two, gotten divorced and are now remarried, blows my mind. It doesn't seem possible and it makes me question what the hell I've been doing all this time...

A friend posted an old photo on his facebook page the other day, of himself, me and another friend, circa 1997. We were posing in front of my 1st apartment, trying to look bad-ass, I suspect, but really just looking silly. I almost didn't recognize myself with my bad, at-home dye-job, ill-fitting clothes and hint of baby fat still clinging to my naive little face. Yet, upon further contemplation, I realized at that point in time, most of my friends were off at college; I was working full-time and spinning my wheels around town; and I was completely, over-the-top in love with my friend in the picture, who's feelings were not reciprocal, making my life a miserable, endless span of days spent simultaneously longing for him and berating myself for longing for him. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but I'd venture a guess it's worth at least twice that many feelings.

Should I stay or should I go...

As I've mentioned, I work in a restaurant. Restaurants, as a general rule, tend to employ a pretty transient portion of society. Hippies, felons and guys who are "taking a break from touring with their band", fill many a restaurant kitchen. The staff turnover tends to be high due to:

a.) People moving to another state/better restaurant.

b.) People getting arrested on drug charges/breaking parole.

c.) People being flat-out flaky and not showing up for their shift/showing up drunk and subsequently getting fired.

Last week, one of my co-workers (a cook) decided he was tired of living here, so he left a note and some cash for his roommate and hitch-hiked to Montana without any notice. My boss was understandably angry, but he couldn't possibly have been surprised. We're talking about a guy who rarely showered, thought he was a pirate and regularly slept under bridges and in parks when he was too drunk/tired to find a way home. He was a decent worker, but not exactly the model of reliability or trust, so the fact that he went thumbing off to another state, presumably to live in a tree and smoke pot all day, didn't shock me in the least. What it did do, was make me incredibly jealous.

There has always been a part of me, regardless of what my circumstances are at any given moment, that randomly fantasizes about taking off in the middle of the night without telling a soul where I am going. I have struggled with this for years; I am basically a walking paradox. There is one part of me (the responsible, common-sense loving Cancerian) that craves a home and all it's stability and creature comforts where I can establish roots and spend my time gardening and throwing dinner parties. Then there is the other part (the free-wheeling, devil-may-care adventurer) whose insatiable curiosity and wanderlust is so strong, it's practically crippling. I read a poem once called "The Double Life" that captured my plight perfectly. It spoke of "How very simple life would be, if only there were two of me...A restless me to drift and roam, a quiet me to stay at home...".

Whenever I visit my brother and his wife and see the great life they have cultivated for themselves, I find myself longing for something similar. He is 3 years younger than I, yet he has his shit waaaay more together than I do. He and his wife have "careers" and 401K plans; 2 beautiful little boys, and a dog. There is no white picket fence around their house, but I think that's only because their taste is slightly more modern. I like what they have together and witnessing it just drives home the realization that I am nowhere near where they are. I have a "job", 2 feline children and my 401K plan is to make it onto Jeopardy before I'm 40. What I do have, though, is the knowledge that because my life is simple and I'm not beholden to a husband or children, I have the freedom to go live in Spain for a year and work in a vineyard, or quit my job and back-pack across the country if I so choose. Having these options is liberating and I know no matter which part of me comes out on top, I will find a way to be happy with my choices just like I always have.

I always feel like, somebody's watching me...

When you are single and dating somewhat regularly, it's inevitable that you are going to run into an ex or a one-night stand at some point. In my experience, the one-nighters are usually spotted and subsequently avoided, at the same bar/club where I drunkenly picked them up in the first place. They are easy to dodge because often their memory of my face is as hazy as mine is of theirs. It helps that I am a bit of a chameleon--I tend to change my hair color and length fairly often and switch back and forth between glasses and contacts. This secret camouflaging superpower has come in handy more than once. However, no matter how many disguises and diversion tactics you employ, sooner or later you will be caught off guard.

Last year when I was waiting tables at a particular restaurant, I approached a table of 2 people in the usual manner, telling them my name and asking what they'd like to drink to start off. It was then I got a good look at them and realized they were on a date. It was also then, I realized I was pretty sure I had dated this guy, briefly, the previous summer. Awkward. I wasn't 100% certain though and although he wasn't really making eye contact with me (a dead giveaway, I assumed) he wasn't being impolite either. It was a complete mystery to me until finally, I brought them their bill and thankfully he paid with a credit card. The name on the card was not a name I knew.

A few weeks ago, my girl and I went out dancing for the first time in months. I like to compare us to a couple of beautiful tulips--we are dormant during the cold, winter months, yet once springs arrives with it's warmer temperatures, we emerge refreshed, with renewed vigor, ready to throw on our sassy dresses and heels and hit the club once more. Unfortunately, we had to vacate not 1, but 2 different bars due to not 1, but 2 different Creepers whom I had unwittingly spoken to/danced with many months ago and who were now lurking nearby giving me the eye. I ask you, is this any way to live? I am considering trying the "Twin Operative"...The next time one of them attempts to talk to me, I will say:

"Whoa, stop right there. You think I am Jess, don't you? I get this a lot, I'm actually her twin sister Becca. Guys are always coming up to me thinking I'm my sister--she sort of 'gets around' if you know what I mean, ha ha. Oh, no, don't be embarrassed, it's an honest mistake! You take care now!"

This could be the perfect plan, except I probably told half these goofballs that my name was Becca (or Monica, or Phoebe, or Miranda or Pam... I derive my cache of pseudonyms from whatever re-runs I happen to be watching on Hulu at the moment.) In any case, I shouldn't have to avoid anyone! I am always completely honest with people in every situation (except about my name, of course). If I go out with a guy and there's no spark, I tell him "Look, you're nice but I'm not feeling it. Good luck out there, and would you like me to pay for my half of dinner?" When guys ask for my number at the club, I tell them "No. I don't want you to call me and I am certainly not going to call you. Please go find someone else to dry-hump on the dance floor."

I guess I will have to deal with the ramifications of my past questionable decision making for awhile. Thankfully, I'm sure after a certain amount of time, most will simply become faces in the crowd and vague memories.

Ooh baby, it's a wild world...

When I was 26, I made the incredibly difficult decision to leave a somewhat abusive relationship with an alcoholic that I'd been involved with for over 3 years. I realized he was never going to change and unless I wanted to continue spending every night looking out the window, wondering when or if he was going to stumble home, I needed to call it quits and move on. I was young and had my whole life ahead of me and many oats to sow. Very shortly after, I started seeing someone who I thought was going to be an oat, but who turned into a 5 year relationship. When that didn't work out, something inside me clicked and I made the hasty, emotionally-driven and let's face it, cliched decision to swear off men completely. I actually found myself speaking the words: "I don't even like sex that much and I think I can live the rest of my life without having it anymore." Yes, at the ripe old age of 30, I was ready to embrace spinsterhood in all it's bitter, cat-collecting glory.

Then I went on an impromptu vacation to Vegas with some girlfriends. What began as a simple girls weekend involving spa treatments and lounging by the pool, turned into what is now fondly referred to as: "How Jess got her groove back." In the span of 2 hours, I went from crying into my champagne cocktail and complaining about my ex, to meeting a cute concert promoter in the casino and driving to the Hoover Dam to have sex in the back of his Mercedes. What was perhaps not the most intelligent decision in hindsight (since he could have been an axe murderer), nonetheless proved to be a catalyst toward owning my newfound freedom. When I returned from that fateful trip, it was with a renewed passion in my soul. I spent that first summer apart from my ex, sowing some long-suppressed oats and having the time of my life.

It was during this phase, however, that I discovered just how strange dudes can be.

Lesson 1.) Guys lie.

This is something that should have been obvious, but which I still find confounding, maybe because I don't lie. I heard things like: "My girlfriend and I broke up. It just wasn't working out and you are sooo awesome." The truth of course being: "My girlfriend is insane and I am an idiot. We break up every 3 days or so, and if she finds out you and I slept together, you might want to leave the country."

Lesson 2.) People misrepresent their intentions.

I'll never forget when I agreed to go to dinner with an old co-worker I hadn't seen in years, but who found me through the miracle of facebook. I was not attracted to him in any way, but thought it would be fun to catch up. I stated from the start that this was a "friend date" and nothing more, to which he agreed, yet he continually tried to kiss me over the course of the night. I don't like to be mean, but short of saying "If you try to stick your tongue in my mouth again, I WILL throw up on you", how could I have been more clear?

Lesson 3.) You never know what you're gonna get.

You meet a nice, attractive guy. You go out a few times and have a good time. Then you spend an entire afternoon cleaning and disinfecting your carpet because he is prone to sleep-walking and at 3 a.m. the previous night, he unconsciously thought your bedroom closet was the bathroom. Yes, it happened.

Dating is a gamble, and one I'm quickly losing energy and motivation for. It's experiences like these that make me want to expedite the process of moving to a cabin in the woods and becoming a recluse. Though if I did, I'm sure it would just be a matter of time before the grizzled old mountain man from the next cave over came knocking on my door with a jug of moonshine in his hand and a glimmer in his eye...

Too much information? Probably, but I don't care...

It's funny the things you have to consider when you start seeing someone after being single for a long time. Are my sheets clean? Is there anything weird lying around my apartment, like random tampons, or self-help books? Suddenly, thought needs to be given to your choice of underwear because someone besides yourself and your cats might be seeing it. Granny panties are no longer a viable option. You also have to think about your diet. Gone are the days of stuffing yourself full of pasta and garlic bread at dinner, unless you enjoy being very uncomfortable for the next 24 hours. Historically, I tend to lose about 10lbs when I start dating someone, simply from fear of eating anything offensive. My appetite, typically similar to that of a wildebeest, suddenly subsides when I realize I don't want to look 5 months pregnant later on during naked time. Last summer, I survived on a diet of wine, coffee and vitamin water for about 2 months. I looked great, but I was perpetually exhausted and sickly.

What's even funnier, in my experience, is once you are seeing someone for awhile, the opposite happens. When you get to a point in a relationship where you are comfy enough to fart in front of someone, all bets are off. When my ex and I first started dating, I was fairly uptight and prudish. I was also young and wholly uncomfortable with bodily functions. He on the other hand was older and had been married, so he'd seen it all and had no self-consciousness whatsoever about his body or anything it did. At first I was mortified by this, but after many a distressing morning of trying my best to wait until he left my apartment before I "took care of business", I broke down. I snuck into the bathroom, trying to be very quiet and stealthy, only to have him slip a note under the door a few minutes later that read:

"You are beautiful and so is your poop. :)"

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I did both. I honestly feel as though being that relaxed with someone was a huge step toward an intimacy I hadn't experienced before. It made me realize that if we grew old together (like we planned to), he would genuinely be there for me through sickness and health. If we had a baby, he would be in the delivery room waiting to cut the cord. If I drank too much, he would be there holding back my hair as I threw up and if, god forbid, I ever became an incontinent vegetable, he would bathe me and change my adult diapers. It was a comforting and reassuring feeling and something I had never given much thought to until that point.

On the flip side, when you're that cozy, it's easy to let yourself go--gain a little weight, stop shaving etc. Plus, it's not super romantic to "dutch-oven" somebody, let's be honest. So it seems like a happy medium is what is needed and desired. I guess that's probably what everyone is looking for, really. Someone who understands and accepts you are human but who you still strive to look pretty for and act respectful to, especially with regard to personal space. (Please don't drop a deuce while I'm in the shower...Sure it gives us extra time to talk about our respective days, but it's just gross.)

Are you there God? It's me, Jess...

I was raised Catholic. As such, I became accustomed early on to feeling guilty on a daily basis, for doing pretty much anything. Those of you who were raised within the boundaries of Catholicism can relate. I remember when I was around 13, my girlfriends and I decided to experiment with a Ouija board during a slumber party at my house. We also thought it would be fun to watch The Exorcist afterwards. Traumatized does not begin to describe what we were after this ill-conceived night. I, being a terrified adolescent who was certain I had summoned a demon into my suburban bedroom, ran directly to confession the following day and proceeded to sob uncontrollably to my priest and swear on bibles, rosaries and whatever else was available, that I would never do anything so stupid or sinful ever again if he could just please promise me I wasn't going to hell.

Fast forward to my rebellious teen years, when waking me up for mass on Sunday mornings became such an epic struggle, my mom eventually gave up. I had already begun questioning religion in all its forms and was far more intrigued by Wiccan spells and Voodoo rituals than by Hail Marys and First Holy Communion. Around this time I was dating "T", someone who to this day I refer to as my "first love". He was raised Mennonite, which was not uncommon where I grew up, and although I was vaguely aware that he attended church and was active in youth group, he rarely discussed it. Plus, he had a mohawk and a leather jacket; he listened to punk rock and wrote amazing poetry and was just all around dreamy. He and I were friends, as well as off and on boyfriend/girlfriend for years. He was the 'Ross' to my 'Rachel' and I always assumed we would graduate high school and get married.

Graduation came and went and we embarked on separate cross-country road trips. His lasted significantly longer than mine, but when he finally returned home 6 months later, we found our way back to each other and it was as though no time had passed. We spent many a late winter evening making out on my couch and talking about everything we'd seen on our respective trips. "This is it." I thought. So imagine my surprise when he arrived on my doorstep one night looking anxious and acting strangely. He came inside and proceeded to tell me that he was a sinner and had been for quite sometime and he could no longer live his life as such. He had asked God for forgiveness and was ready to walk the righteous path toward his savior Jesus Christ. At first, I thought he was joking. This was a man who:

A.) Didn't drink or do drugs.

B.) Was a virgin.

C.) Had never said a mean word about anyone the entire time I'd known him.

If he was a sinner, then I was one of Satan's minions. I was speechless, so he continued. "As for our relationship...", he began. He didn't need to finish-I wasn't dense- but I had never felt so completely blind-sided.

I haven't voluntarily attended church since I was 16 years old, yet I feel like I am finally okay with God again. I'm sure there are times when he/she is less than thrilled with my decision making, but for the most part, I'm a good person who leads an honest life. To say that particular experience wasn't pivotal and traumatic, however, would be a lie. Years later, I found myself with a massive crush on a cute boy who worked at the convenience store near my house. Every night after work, I would stop there for cigarettes so I could gaze at his beautiful face. As is my way, I had concocted quite an elaborate fantasy world involving him, even though the only words I'd ever spoken to him were "pack of Marlboro lights please". One evening, I had just finished pumping gas, when I looked up to see him leaving the store and getting in his car. I could see from where I stood, he had a bumper sticker on his back window. "We are totally soulmates" I thought, since I was quite a fan of bumper art myself. He drove past me at the pump and smiled--his brilliant, white-toothed, supple-lipped smile. I turned to read his bumper sticker as he passed:

"No Jesus, No Peace."

"Know Jesus, Know Peace."

Son of a bitch.

WWGD?

When contemplating a new beau, most people get nervous wondering if their family and friends will accept them. Meeting the parents is always a stressful time and if there are protective siblings in the mix, that too can be sketchy. I wouldn't say I don't care what my immediate family thinks, though I do find myself continually choosing guys they dislike for one reason or another. I do, however, care a great deal whether or not my dead Grandma would feel the same way. For some reason, I have it in my head that her posthumous approval is worth far more than any living person's opinion. Maybe it's because she and my Grandpa (also dead) were happily married for 60+ years when they died. I don't know anyone living that has a track record like that.

I made my peace with my Grandma's death long ago, since I felt like we were able to say our goodbyes before she passed, yet I've always regretted not being older and more mature while she was alive so I could have tapped into her wisdom a bit more. She was an amazing woman. She and my Grandpa were both retired school teachers who lived simply and traveled whenever and wherever possible. She was an intelligent, funny and mild-mannered yet feisty old gal who wore pastel-colored pantsuits and fabulous jewelry, which she collected during her travels. I would not say she was judgmental, but she definitely had strong opinions about certain things. Nothing pissed her off more than seeing a professional sports player (particularly a baseball player) with long hair or a scruffy beard. "Oh! He's such a handsome young man, why in heaven's name is he hiding behind that silly beard and ponytail?" she would say. She only ever met one of my serious boyfriends, Robert, and liked him well enough, though she didn't care for his goatee or 8-inch long ponytail. I didn't care for his alcoholism and emotional abuse, so I dumped him shortly after, making it a moot point. I think she would have liked my most recent ex, if for no other reason than he was intelligent, caring and genuinely interested in people and their stories. My Grandma and Grandpa had a LOT of stories. More than anything, I think she would just want me to be happy. That's why I wish I could sit down with her just one more time and ask her the important questions:

What made you fall in love with Grandpa?

What qualities did he have that drew you to him?

Did he ever drive you crazy? If so, how did you deal with it?

How did you know he was "the one"?

There is a chance my hopes would be dashed by her answers since things were very different back in the 1930's when they got married. People wed for more practical reasons and weren't so self-important and spoiled as they are now, to demand "perfection" from a partner when they themselves are flawed. I wonder if finding "the one" was even a consideration back then, or if you just got to a certain age and married the first "good man" you came across.

I miss her a great deal, but I like to think I am keeping her spirit alive to some extent, by wearing her jewelry every day and quoting her "Kitty-isms" as my mom so reverently calls them. I also like being compared to her for various reasons, like when I cry at television commercials. It makes me feel that much closer to her and who knows, maybe someday she'll get a wild hair and decide to haunt me or come to me in a dream and I'll have the answers to my questions once and for all.