Day 55: Compromising Compromise

What rockin jeans these are. I like the idea of dressing in all black, though I'm not sure I've ever done it. I'm not sure why really. It just never occurs to me when I'm getting dressed. I also don't own black jeans, and black slacks seem way too formal for having fun. And a black dress doesn't really count as dressing in all black. It's just a black dress. So I had better add black jeans to that ever-growing list I have going. I also love the look of nude shoes with dark clothing--well, nude shoes in general. I think they are incredibly sexy. Ones with sparkles? Even better. We'll call this one, "Anything But Basic."

So, I've been a little MIA lately. The store opened. The last time I posted was after one of our busy nights. Since then, I have switched over the morning shift, getting up at 5 and being to work by 6:30. Next week, I'll have to be there at 6. Yippee. Actually I have found the opening shift to be infinitely better than the closing one. During the latter, I nearly had a breakdown, as you read about. When I open, I don't. It may just be as simple as that. I think it's that I've already been working for four hours--half of my day--by the time customers walk in the door. While there are tons of things to do in preparation for 10:00, they don't involve explaining to the 10th customer in a day why the line is so long and saying thank you very much for being so patient. But I also get to interact with people--and before their work day is done and they decide to shop till they (or we) drop. The traffic is usually manageable and nobody's hungry. It's the little things, after all.

"A squirrel is just a rat with a better outfit." Carrie

Okay, SATC. The next two episodes deal with two big issues. The first is asking for and accepting help. The second is compromising. For independent, headstrong women, it is not surprising these are big issues. Miranda's mother dies, leaving her feeling alone and embarrassed to ask for emotional support. Carrie's computer crashes, erasing all her previous columns. Aidan buys her a new computer and a back up hard drive, but Carrie has a hard time accepting that she needs it. Later, they go to Aidan's cabin in the country, even though Carrie hates leaving the city. She decides they can compromise by spending some weekends in Manhattan and others fighting bugs and squirrels. Charlotte and Trey continue to try for a baby.

Both of these issues are interesting, and really they aren't that different from each other. When a person is independent and has a hard time asking for help, the independence also makes him or her less interested in compromising. So really the issue is independence. How much is too much?

Here's where I get to talk about my dear mother. Perhaps one of the most endearingly in-your-face independent women I know, she can silence someone with a stare and get people to do almost anything she tells them to. Though my dad always made the big decisions when I was growing up, my mom slowly emerged as the power behind the wheel--literally. She was the one who sped down the highway and argued her way out of tickets. She did what she wanted when she wanted, which included everything from having children to hitting a garage sale. When she and my dad had been married for about five years, she said to him one day, "I'm ready. Let's do it. And I want three girls." Of course, being the woman she is, she got them.

Now, I am very, very proud of my mother's independence. And I am glad I inherited it. She went to medical school at a time when many women were still afraid of being too "masculine" by working outside of the home. She defied her family by marrying my dad, a country boy with no east coast family ties and no money. She wasn't afraid to ask men, including my father, out first. Above all, she rarely takes shit from anyone. I am glad she instilled in me and my sisters a healthy dose of feistiness and mistrust of authority, and the expectation that we are just as good (she would say better) than just about anyone.

The good news is that she raised natural leaders. The bad news is that, naturally, some real-world problems arise with this kind of woman as your role model. Well, they aren't problems so much as obstacles. The first is a tendency to not respect your superiors in work situations, especially when they have less education than you and when you can do their job equally well. At least you believe you can because of what your dear mother taught you (and because you were History Graduate of the Year). Yes, when you see flaws in a system, you have a very hard time keeping your mouth shut about them. That can be bad. I bite my tongue every single day of work.

And speaking of keeping your mouth shut, a certain degree of self righteousness pervades my relationships at least in part due to my upbringing. My mom earned her paycheck just as much as my dad earned his, and she always felt she had the "right" to spend it on whatever she wanted, even if it was more than she could afford. I would have no idea about this problem at all. April fools.

Seriously, the issue of independence has come up so much in my romantic unions, that it causes me to wonder sometimes whether I am even capable of compromise. It's like I get in a zone where I can only see why I deserve what I deserve and how I am capable of working for it all myself thank you very much. You (whoever that is), in fact, have done nothing at all to help me get to where I am right now, and I would probably be better off without you. In fact, maybe I should be without you, since all my ideas are clearly better than yours and I know what's best for both of us. What do I need you for, really? Problematic? Nah.

My mother is not the first nor last independent woman out there. (Heck, she has us, her three daughters.) Actually there are bunches of us. And the funny thing is, in the end, what my dad says goes. When we were little, if he didn't want us to go to a party, we didn't go. Now, if he wants to sell the car, they sell the car. My mom may put up a fuss, but she will lose. And she knows it. My dad may not fight for much, but when he fights, he fights to win. I am somewhat similar. I don't want to compromise (let's face it, who does?), but if the person on the other end is strong enough, I will. After all, I have moved a lot for boyfriends and have made a lot of personal sacrifices to keep relationships going (which is not saying that I liked doing it). But it's almost like I have to be forced into submission.

So considering I am an alpha female with at least a semi-beta male (sorry, Hank, but you know it's true), what does compromise look like? Well, maybe it's letting Hank pick every other movie, which we started doing a few months ago, and I mean really picking, as in I have no say in the matter. It sounds ridiculous that I wouldn't do this already, but you have no idea how convincing and cute I can be when I want my way. Usually men just capitulate. Only when Hank told me how hurt he was that I rarely asked what he really wanted to see that I realized I was neglecting his needs in the relationship and that I better listen up. As a result, I've been watching a lot of war movies lately. If you need suggestions, let me know.

However, there is a fine line to compromise. I don't want to over-compromise, because that would be BAD (at least that is what that piercing little voice inside of me says). Hank is pretty convincing too, especially since I started giving in a little. So I have to harden myself against feeling sorry for him enough to do everything he wants. Maybe this is a normal dynamic in relationships, maybe not. But it's how ours works. When people realize how they can get what they want, they usually do more of it.

For example, yesterday Hank was upset at me for planning a girls night out with some coworker friends on Saturday, "the only day" this week we could have date night. He failed to take responsibility for being gone for the last four nights of his spring break, which he spent drinking with his school friends, and for already having plans with two other friends the night he got back, even though it was the night before I had a day off (tonight, actually). It was a war of wills last night, to say the least. Ultimately, Hank said he just wanted me to think of him more, and I said the same. We agreed to try. We figured it was the best we could do.

Compromise is hard. The lack of it causes warfare on small and large scales every day. No one wants to give up on what they believe is right or fair. But compromise isn't impossible, and sometimes (most of the time) it's preferable to fighting. I don't know how you know when you're compromising too much--when you're compromising your beliefs to a degree that makes you a pushover. I would like to say that you can never reach this point--that it's best to try avoid conflict--but I can't. I believe there does come a point when you need to stand up for your truth even if you're the only one standing and refuse to compromise. It's just really hard to know when that point is with anything--a job, a relationship, a political alliance. In the meantime, if you're not sure, perhaps it's best to just give a little and see how it feels, especially when you really care for the person/people on the other side (or care about keeping your job). It keeps the peace, encourages further discussion, and sometimes, it's just the best you can do.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 54: Where the Action Is

I love that this tank can function as a party top or as a vest over just about anything. The skirt, shoes, and skirt come from J. Crew. The Michael Kors bag (my current lust, since the LV one is completely unattainable for now) is a great addition; I love a neutral-colored bag for spring/summer. We'll call this one, "Shiny on the Inside and Out."

It's 12:40 am. This work schedule has me coming home at 11 pm. I'm so high on music, caffeine (from dinner, to get me through the evening), and adrenaline from working in such a go-go-go environment that I can't even begin to settle down until now. Plus, Hank is gone on a ski trip, so I'm back to my old night owl ways. Calming down tonight has been especially difficult since one of my co-workers pissed me off by saying negative things about the job I and another coworker have been doing, even though our managers have been telling us just the opposite. I ignored her first five or so comments and called her on the next, saying that if she had a problem with me and the job I was doing, she could take it up with our manager. That shut her up. Though I have an internal feistiness, I really don't like confrontation (does anyone?), and my pulse has been racing since that conversation. I even had a beer and watched an episode of SATC when I came home to no avail. So I'm sitting here with Bela and Sophia, a dog I'm watching for a friend, one on either side, both drifting off to sleep. And I can think of nothing to do but write.

In the last episode, Aidan and Carrie got back together. I'm sure other things happened, but I can't remember them. I don't think they were that important. The big question was, "Do actions speak louder than words, especially in relationships?"

I know I have to be writing more, and I know that I won't finish before the movie comes out. There is a sadness in this, even though my goal is such a silly one. I had a project--a long-term aspiration--and I'm not going to be able to meet it as is. So maybe I have to revise. Maybe the new plan will be to write about every two episodes. I don't want to do this, but otherwise I'm afraid it will take me another six months to get to the end. So let's just say that's the new plan. I'll write about every two and just pick the most intriguing subject.

Okay then, the next episode deals with forgiveness. Can we ever really forgive if we can't forget? After hearing Big leave a message on Carrie's machine, Aidan in effect tortures Carrie by acting passive-aggressively and flirting with cute women. Carrie calls him on it, and he asks her never to see Big again or even talk to him. She says she can't do that, but that she will never cheat on him again. They call a truce. Charlotte quits her job to be a stay-at-home mom, even though she's not yet pregnant.

Today got me thinking about career moves and personality more than anything. I'll be honest, I always thought I would have a high-powered career and be making good money and achieving important things by the time I was 28. After all, a good friend told me in high school that I was the most Type-A personality person she knew. I got great grades and in general people liked me. All of my teachers have always thought I would be really successful. I have a way of leading people to action, and I figured that would make me even a better candidate for success.

However, as the years go by, I realize that I have spent more time forming relationships than anything. That has always been more important to me than getting ahead or even proving myself to superiors. I may have the skills and brain power to do well, but I lack a little in the ambition department--at least I have until now.

Maybe it was seeing an episode about a woman quitting her job to "lead a quiet life." It renewed a fear in me that's always been there--that I would wither away into a passive female who doesn't cause waves and just does what's "right' (not only that, she teaches her kids too), even if she doesn't really know, in her heart of hearts, what right is. Maybe it was the experience today, of coming face to face with myself again and seeing for the umpteenth time that I am not okay with taking flack from anyone, especially if that person has no more power than I. I am just not that person who stands quietly by and watches. I am the person who speaks for that person when she or he has no voice. And I am proud of that. But it has its costs--like not really being able to slip by unnoticed and not being able to not take action when it's needed. So I better use my spunk for something good.

I don't know what all of this means. I know it means something. I'll keep you updated. I am so tired of feeling on the verge of discovering or creating my meaning in life only to feel like it's not quite clear yet. When does it become clear?

Well, I'm finally getting tired. Heavy self-analysis at 1 am will do that to you. Plus the dogs just look so peaceful. By the way, as for Aidan and Carrie getting back together, I have no comment (for once--this is a big moment). It seems ridiculously hard, but hey, if they want to put the work into the relationship, who am I to say that's good or bad? After all, we all have to put work in, and there's no book telling us when the work is too much or not going to be worth it in the end. That's the hard part about life: you can think and analyze and wonder all you want, but sooner or later, you just have to take action, place your bet, and let the chips fall where they may. It's the only way to really know about anything.

I hope you'll be back (in two episodes). I will. And hopefully with more sleep.

Day 53: A Mid-Week Haunting

So there you have it: "Purple Pump Power." Here is an example of a casual outfit made chic by these simple but rockin heels. And that ends our saga: formal evening, formal day, and casual day all taken care of. And whether we mixed the shoes with colors or neutrals, it still looks right. Besides, who wants to wear black pumps all the time when you can wear purple ones? By the way, I am convinced everyone should own a pair of skinny black jeans. I'm working on that.

"Miranda, I'm still asleep. How can you have had an emotional mini-drama already?" Carrie

Today's episode deals with the ghosts of relationships past. Miranda gets invited to the opening of Steve's new bar. At about the same time, she starts hearing strange sounds above her apartment and decides it's a ghost. Carrie also gets an invitation to opening, only to find out that Aidan is Steve's partner in the bar venture. When Steve tells her that he invited her, not Aidan, she decides to go anyway and meet Aidan for the first time since their split. When they see each other, Aidan has gotten a hair cut and started smoking, and though he's cordial to her, he keeps things brief. Charlotte, having recently moved back in with Trey, confronts his mother's overbearing influence on their interior decorating choices. And Samantha is learning to talk about her feeling with Maria--a little too much for her liking. When men from Samantha's past keep popping up and Maria can't cope, the two go their separate ways.

Well, I have to post today. It's 9:55 the night before our store opens, and I need to post again tomorrow before work. I have lost track of how many episodes I need to watch before the movie comes out. I'm just writing, hoping that it all magically works out in the end. But I'm just guessing that I would need to write at least every day, and I don't know if it's going to happen. Well, as long as the I watch the movie, I guess I don't have to watch review it until later, right? Right? I can' t hear you.

The most interesting thing about this episode for me is one of Carrie's lines. Talking about Aidan she says, "I'm just afraid that how I treated him will haunt me for the rest of my life." Maybe we all have those people from our past--the one with whom we didn't quite share the best versions of ourselves and with whom we wish we could have experienced things differently. Perhaps it was a relationship that went south because of something we directly did or a friendship that ended because of our actions or words or lack thereof.

For me, that "ghost" is Jorge. I'm not sure why it's him more than any other person. I didn't treat him poorly while we were together, and I don't know why I feel solely responsible for everything. But I part of me thinks I made him waste an entire year of his life and put him through an emotional spin cycle to boot.

After all, it was I who asked him to show me around a city while being on the rebound. For much of our first months together, I still thought about Billy daily, which was unfair to Jorge. It was also because of me that Jorge quit his job in Cusco to move to Lima, so that we didn't have to worry about Billy stalking us. Then, because I wanted to go back to the States to finish my music degree, I asked Jorge to move with me. Even though it meant leaving another job and having to work in a golf club parking cars outside of NYC (which he hated), he came with me.

And I'm not done. Because I thought we should get married in order to get Jorge's visa to stay in the States, he asked me. But later, when I decided I wasn't ready for marriage, I convinced him to end it. By this time, I had introduced him to all of my immediate family and most of my childhood friends, who had all accepted that we were going to get married. He was calling my mother, "Mom," which was extremely touching because he no longer had parents of his own. Finally, though we were fighting a lot and Jorge got a great job offer in Argentina that he wanted to take, it was still I who thought we should break up. He was willing to work things out no matter what. Just to show him I was serious about wanting to end things, I slept with a coworker. Lovely.

It's during times like these that I feel like pulling down a book about Ivan the Terrible and reading a few passages about how he killed people in a giant frying pan. It's the only thing I can think of that would make me feel better about myself. I have hurt other people in my life, but none quite as repeatedly and carelessly as Jorge. I should have been alone during that time, not trying to make us into something we weren't and then throwing him out when I finally realized that it wasn't right. I was selfish and mean.

The worst thing about your "ghosts" is that often they don't hate you. Somehow, though you are certain you treated them worse than anyone ever deserves to be treated, they still think you're the cat's meow, or at least not worthy of public whipping. The two men I have treated the worst in my life--Travis and Jorge--are the ones I was closest to in friendship after we broke up. Go figure. It's like they're further punishing you by forgiving you, so you're left to inflict all the guilt alone. It's so much easier when someone else is against you besides yourself.

Anyway, I don't think I'm a bad person. I don't think I'm a good person. I'm a person. And we all hurt other people. I also know that Jorge made those decisions himself, in full recognition of our situation and my past. It's not like he was a puppet or dog. He was a person, and he did what he did out of love. I was also trying my best at the time. It just so happened that my best sucked.

Well, maybe it's time I forgive myself for how I've treated my ghosts, not because I have a real reason to, and certainly not because I deserve forgiveness, but because I no longer can think of a reason not to. I can't take anything back, and feeling bad about myself probably doesn't help anyone, including me. If the wise saying is true, that we should all be our own best friends, maybe part of that process includes letting go of disappointment with ourselves--giving up the ghosts from our past. Maybe only then are we really ready to move on. But it ain't easy.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 52: Not So Simply Sex

Mixing colors may just be one of my favorite things to do in life. That may seem pretty sad, but it's true. For instance, right now I'm wearing my faded pink jeans with a coral tank top. I love red with pink and green with blue, though some may say they clash. To me, there really aren't any off-limits color combos. Anything can look good if you do it right. It helps that this dress has a million colors in it anyway. Here, I'm pretty much using them all with a different accessory. I'm not actually sure if there is purple in the dress, but it doesn't matter. We'll title this one, "Purple Heels Go to Tea."

Sex. It's so complicated. Today, the women question how much of a role sex needs to play in a relationship. After a few dates with jazz guy, who seems to have ADD issues, Carrie is no closer to learning anything about him, though they have "mind-blowing" sex. At first, that's enough for both of them, but eventually Carrie realizes that she wants to know more and jazz guy gets bored. Miranda gives up sex altogether. To cope, she turns to chocolate. When she finds herself eating cake out of the garbage, she decides to stop torturing herself. Charlotte and Trey make love in their old bed for the first time...and second time and fifteenth time. Charlotte wants to broach the subject of moving back in, but Trey doesn't seem interested. After a huge fight, Trey re-asks her to marry him and come home. Samantha waits to sleep with her girlfriend, Maria, saying it's not all about the sex. When the two finally have sex, Maria teaches her how intimate and emotional the act can be. Samantha announces that she's a lesbian to her friends, leaving them stymied.

It's time I came clean with something. There is one relationship that I have not written about at all, and it's about time I did. Up until now, I have been scared to, because it might come as a surprise to some people. However, in the end you have to write for yourself, meaning you have to write about what's important to you whether you have readers or not. If I hide things in a blog, I'm not being honest with anyone--including myself. I also firmly believe that the fewer secrets a person has, the less neurotic she will be. And I need all the help I can get. All of this aside, when an episode like this comes along, it's pretty hard not to mention anything about this past union. So, here it is.

I, too, once dated a woman. Her name was Emma, and we were together for three months. We met through my first lesbian friend at college, who knew Emma from work. Even before I met her, I told myself I was going to give a same sex relationship a shot, much like Samantha does in the episode. I really wanted to experiment with my sexuality--to at least try everything once that came my way-- and being with a woman was part of that. I thought, "Well, the gorgeous women in German cinema and Angelina Jolie do it. Why can't I?"

But I didn't really know what I was doing, nor what it meant. I also didn't know where it would lead. I was just curious. I was excited to try something new and to go a bit against societal norms, like having a threesome (which I haven't done) or dating an alcoholic (it's a joke, people). I know I'm not alone in being curious about sex with the same sex. I don't think songs like "I Kissed a Girl" would exist if it wasn't something at least a few women could relate to (even though I wish with all of my music-snob being that the song didn't exist). But I also felt scared, like Columbus sailing off to the end of the world. I knew my sexual experiment would have mixed responses, and I didn't want to hurt anyone, including Emma, my family, and myself.

Sure enough, it created quite a stir when I told my family. Growing up in a tiny town in Montana, gay people either didn't exist or they kept their sexuality to themselves. If we hadn't had friends in Seattle and relatives in San Francisco, I probably wouldn't have known what "gay" meant until college. When I broke the news that I was dating a woman, my family thought I must be a lesbian. My mom started crying about the grandchildren she would never have, and my dad didn't really say a word.

I was confused. Did it have to mean that? True, I was dating a woman. But I still liked men. I did like Emma a lot, and the three months together were pretty nice. We were both into art and music and poetry. It certainly wasn't all about sex. But I wouldn't hold her hand in public, and I felt guilty for not feeling the same way she did. She had only ever seriously dated women and said she was falling in love with me. I told her I still wanted to marry a man someday and couldn't wrap my mind around believing I was a lesbian. When her ex came to town and things got intense, I was glad to be moving away to Washington for summer school. We talked some on the phone and remained friends, but we decided to break it off. A few months later, I met Arnold.

For a while after ending things with Emma, I was really confused about what I was supposed to do next--date women or date men? I was attracted to men, but I didn't know if this relationship had to define me for the rest of my life. I kept wondering why there had to be labels at all. To gain wisdom, I talked with a good older friend, who had dated a woman for 11 years before marrying her current husband. She didn't think people had to choose one sexuality or another, or even consider themselves bi-sexual. It all depended on the person and the situation.

And that is what I have lived by. Well, that's the first confession. The second is that I, too, have eaten cake out of the garbage, and I don't recommend it. Call a friend or buy a vibrator, but don't let yourself stoop that low. It means something is being seriously deprived, and I'm not one for deprivation. It only leads to bad things. Ask Catholic priests around the world.

That's all, folks. I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 51: The Ex: Friend or Just Ex?

I love these shoes. They're amazingly versatile for being plum-colored. Often times, people think the most basic shoes are neutral colors, and that's generally true. However, solid colors can also serve the same purpose, and they're a heck of a lot more interesting. These heels, for example, would look equally great with a bright-colored dress or a busy patterned blouse and jeans. And, of course, they look amazing with basic-colored ensembles as well. Just to prove their versatility, I'm going to use them with three different outfits...just wait. I'm calling this one, "When I'm Going Out, I Shall Wear Purple."

So, employee shopping day was successful, I would say, even without a credit card. I bought one pair of designer jeans for myself (dark Mek Denim with contrast stitching), two pairs for my sisters (oh, how very good I am to them), an occasion dress I've been dying to try on since the day it came in, and two basic cowl-neck, long sleeve tees for $15 each. All in all, the price tag hovered around $230--not bad considering I bought one pair of jeans last year for the same price (never again).

In a stroke of amazing fortune, we got $100 of free career wear, and you bet I used every penny on two work dresses and a cami. I didn't go near the shoes--partly because what I need these days (shoes I can stand and walk in all day) isn't what they sell, and I would find way too many fun pairs. I also stayed away from the Michael Kors totebag I've been eyeing for weeks. I figured it could wait--at least until this Wednesday (yep, another employee shopping day).

Today's episode is freakin funny stuff. Carrie is "hanging out" with Big a lot, but they aren't getting physical nor are they defining their relationship. On one of their nights out together, Carrie gets asked out by a musician and accepts. The cab ride the three share is reason enough to add this season to your Netflix queue right this minute. Big tries to get Carrie back by dating a supermodel. Samantha tells him to back off from Carrie, and he does. At the same time, Carrie realizes that her interest in the musician means it may finally be time to move on from Big. Miranda (shortly) dates a man who thinks going to the bathroom in front of her is normal. Charlotte and Trey are having sex everywhere. Trey can't seem to get enough of exciting, public sex but shies away from the bedroom. Charlotte wants to figure out where they're headed as a couple, and the two decide to try a happy medium--sex in their old bed AND sex in a cab. Samantha meets a passionate, lesbian, Latina artist who becomes interested in her. Though not the type for relationships, Samantha finds herself interested too and decides to give it a go.

So many things here. But I'll talk about the obvious one....the defining (or lack there of) of relationships that seem like they should be over romantically but aren't. The fragile time as post-girlfriend/boyfriend but not yet friends is one of the trickiest points in any relationship. Do you hang out together, even though the feelings are still clearly there? Or, do you cut each other out of your lives, just to make the transition period easier? The biggest question of all is this: can exes be friends? The second biggest: should they?

When Billy, the first Peruvian guy I dated, told me he wanted to break up, I lost it. Here, I had moved to a third-world country for him, and now I had no one and nothing to be there for. Where was I going to live? What was I going to do? When I expressed this to him, he said that I could still live in his apartment, and we could even sleep together. However, if he wanted to see other women, he could. That was the last straw, and that day I moved out.

He really didn't understand what was wrong with his suggestion. He figured I would be okay being acquaintances who occasionally had sex and talked but who had no romantic loyalty to each other. Even though I felt lonely and felt like I needed him there, I knew that accepting his offer would mean a loss of my self respect. I just couldn't do it.

But in the weeks that followed, I still saw him every couple of days. We would meet for coffee or to talk about what had happened. Then, we decided that we wouldn't talk about us but just try to be friends. I went on a date with a guy from Australia who was visiting Peru, who told me he was falling for me (after one date) and wanted me to move to Australia to live with him (yeah right, buddy, don't even go there). Billy called nearly every day to see how work and life was going. He helped me pick out a plant for my new house. I gave him suggestions about his paintings. Once, we slept together. It felt strange to go from living with him to never seeing him, but it also felt horrible to be with him, like something was unfinished and very unhealthy.

Then, I started dating Jorge, who I eventually got engaged to. Billy went crazy, calling me names and refusing to see me. Then, he became obsessed and wanted to see me every day, pleading for an explanation of why I wasn't returning his calls and why I no longer wanted to be together. He put up the pictures of us he had taken down, saying he stared at them for hours a day. Two days later, he smashed them all and left them on my doorstep, along with cds I had made him and magazines I had left there. The next day, he asked me to move with him to a different house, where we could start over. By this time, not only did I not want to be with him, I also never wanted to see him again, and that's what I told him.

I'm not sure what the point of all that was in relation to exes being friends. I have had some relationships that have ended on very good terms--Jorge and Travis especially--but I still don't talk with them. With Travis, his new girlfriend (who is now his wife), became extremely jealous of our friendship, worried that Travis wanted to marry me and we would have stayed together if I hadn't cheated on him. Maybe she's right. Maybe we would have broken up eventually anyway. Either way, I decided to just stop responding to his emails. We never said goodbye; it just seemed natural to phase our friendship out.

With Jorge, I figured that even if we didn't work as a couple, I the least we could be was friends. To me, that seemed to be what we always were most of all. After we broke up, I insisted he still spend Christmas with my family. His mom had died around Christmas twenty years earlier, and since his dad had passed away too, and his family was scattered, he would otherwise be spending it alone. It was a depressing holiday for him as it was, never mind just having broken up with someone while in their country, even if the breakup was mutual.

Christmas wasn't awkward really, and I could imagine us remaining friends, me traveling to South America sometimes, he visiting me in the States. It seemed like a natural conclusion to our story. We always wished the best for each other and talked about wanting the other person to find his or her perfect mate. We were thankful for our time together and what we had learned, and we thought being friends was the best thing we could be.

It was only when I met Hank, though, that I was able to see that Jorge was a friend, true, but he was also an ex. It made Hank really uncomfortable when I wrote long "catch-up" letters with Jorge, despite my assurances that there was nothing romantic going on. So I stopped. I know Jorge is okay, because my sister is still friends with him and keeps up with his life. But I have chosen to keep my life ex-free. It's just simpler. There are enough issues in a relationship without exes entering the picture.

My way isn't the only way. A good friend had every single one of her four exes and her current boyfriend at her graduation. They all had met before and at least pretended to get along. If her boyfriend wasn't okay with it, he sure didn't let on. I think that's great. In a way, I wish that's how it could be for everyone, including me. I like the thought of continuing relationships and staying friends, because I hate saying permanent goodbyes to anyone. It's like a death.

But sometimes something has to die to make something else live. Maybe that's what Carrie is getting at when she realizes that her current relationship is defining her past ones. She is more interested in making the current one a good one than she is with keeping up something--friendship or whatever--with her ex. The fact is that contact with exes makes my relationship with Hank harder, and I don't want it to be hard. I want to put my current relationship first, and if it hurts Hank, it's going to hurt me and us. Bottom line? Maybe exes can be friends, but I'm not sure they can be friends without complications. And isn't life complicated enough?

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 50: Good Ol' Self

Despite the fact that gold and blue were my high school colors and thus invoke a certain puke factor for me, I still love this outfit. I love that yellow jeans and a strange, striped cardi can be glamourous (thanks to the earrings and heels). In fact, I've been wanting to pair this top with something for months, but could never quite figure out how to do it. Jeans was easy, and the right skirt never seemed to come along. Initially when picking out this ensemble, I had a orange tee. It looked good but lacked a certain je ne sais quoi. When I tried the sweater, it all clicked magically into place, and the heavens parted.

I don't know why, but I cut up my last remaining credit card three days ago. I was reading something on yahoo's homepage about credit card horror stories, and the next thing I knew, I was taking a scissors to my little platinum scapegoat. Maybe it was that my story was about as bad as the ones they were highlighting. Maybe it was that I've been thinking lately that it's time to start investing, and I can't very well do that if my interest rate on my visa is more than anything I would earn on stocks in a year's time (thanks, Dad, for explaining that one). For whatever reason, I no longer have ANY fallback payment device. To heck with making "no shopping" resolutions. These are desperate times.

They are also tempting times. Employee shopping day is upon me, and have an entire internal map of where to go once it's my turn. I've been eying, ticketing, colorizing, and sizing these clothes for weeks, and I'm ready to try them on, dangit. I don't know whether not having a credit card is a good or bad thing. We have two days where we get 33% off, and part of me is kicking myself for not waiting until after this week to purge my life of credit. On the other hand, I could do some serious damage. All in all, I have to believe (no matter if it kills me) that things are going exactly according to some greater cosmic plan that has my best financial interest in mind.

Today's episode deals with accepting oneself. Carrie gets chosen to be a "real person" model in a fashion show. Though she does it mainly for the clothes, it becomes an opportunity to conquer her insecurities about being pretty, skinny, and tall enough. Miranda dates a man who thinks she's sexy, which she finds hard to believe. Just when she starts to flaunt her inner sex goddess with him, he bolts, telling her she's too conceited for his tastes. Samantha gets nude photos of herself taken and framed in the hopes of capturing her youthful beauty forever--at least on camera. Meanwhile, Charlotte develops a gynecological condition that requires her to take antidepressants for her vagina. Her friends decide that part of the reason that area may be "depressed" is that Charlotte refuses to accept its beauty. Having never before seen it up close, Charlotte grabs a mirror and takes a closer look.

The show is starting to border on cliche. ("Border?" you may ask.) What's worse is that the next couple of episodes don't seem to hold anything exciting in store. I hate to ruin the suspense for you and myself, but I had to peek. Maybe this way I can push through them. I like the romance, and when it's not there, neither am I. But I'm trying.

Of course, good issues are raised here. The best part of the episode is (I won't lie) when Carrie falls flat on her face on the runway. I say this not really because I like to see people humiliate themselves (though, don't we all just a little bit?) but because it's a moment we all know too well--that one time (or, in my case, hundreds of times) where you made a fool of yourself, and there's no covering it up. What you do in those moments builds mega character, sorry to say. They become those stories in your mind that you fall back on to prove to yourself that you're tougher than you think.

The first of these moments that I can vividly remember happened in 5th grade. My best friend at the time (who I later disowned--not really, but we did lose touch over the years) dared me to fart with her on the count of three in health class. Maybe it's because we were kind of the guy-girls--you know, the ones the guys don't date but like to ski with--but for some reason, we were under the delusion that farting was cool. Stupid me, I agreed. So, we counted. On three, she either didn't fart, or it was an awfully silent one, which left me letting a loud one rip on my own. Mortifying. That's usually the point where these kind of stories stop, but what happens after is almost more interesting. That's when a person comes face to face with how he or she deals with being mortified, and it's a good lesson to learn.

So, what did I do? I started laughing with everyone else. I'm not sure it was a conscious decision, but it was the only thing I could think of. I will always remember the look our teacher gave me, like "Oh my, should I be mad? Should I laugh...no, I can't really do that. Oh God, I don't know what to do, so I will stand here and stare at you stupidly." Luckily for my reputation, a week later on the playground one of my good friends' pants ripped open at the crotch, and that made my farting old news. I felt sorry for her, but, hey, that was her moment to deal with, and she could learn to laugh, by golly. I had.

There have been others moments, of course, and I have not always laughed. Once, during a college piano recital with all of my friends, family, teachers, and fellow students watching, I had a memory slip on a difficult piece of music. For the first twenty seconds (which felt like a lifetime), I committed the cardinal sin of performance: I kept starting over. Of course, with my heart beating a thousand and two beats per minute and my hands starting to shake, I never made it any further than the try before. Eventually (about a hundred years later), I decided it would just be better to make up stuff until I found a place I felt comfortable with and could jump start my memory. That was interesting. It sounded awful, but I never stopped. I was so checked out mentally, that I was actually having a full conversation with myself in those decades of horror. It went something like this:

Me: "Okay, holy shit. What the hell are you doing? What are you playing? That's not right! Oh my God. Oh my God! You are lost, and everyone knows it."

Me: "Fine, I'm lost. So what now? I'm just going to keep moving my fingers. I suppose I could stop and leave the stage. Yes, I could. Maybe I should. Oh fuck, everyone's so quiet. No, I have to stay! I'm playing another piece right after this. Oh fuck! I'm fucked."

Me: "Pull yourself together. You love this piece. Now play the damn thing. Just keep jumping ahead if you have to, BUT DO IT FOR GOD'S SAKE. Do it fucking now. NOW."

Me: "Fine, fine. Okay, I think I have it...yes, I have it from here! Hallelujah. Oh, this is just so messed up, but fuck it. I'm just going to play with everything I have from this point on. Fuck it. Fuck. It. I love this piece."

True life. I went on to play the rest of my program nearly flawlessly. So, you know, whatever gets you through. At the reception, people who knew the piece I had botched laughed at my great improvisational skills (some, sadly, hadn't notice I'd been playing random notes), and my professor smiled and gave me a hug. "Well, the ending was fabulous." I was traumatized for months, but I eventually made it back on the stage. Now that some time has passed since that event, even though I still get nervous performing, I think, "The worst has already happened. If it happens again, I'll survive it again." Like with a bad breakup, when you've been at the bottom, there's nowhere to go but up.

So, here's to humiliation and self discovery. May it not always be painful. But if it has to be, let the pain not last too long.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 49: The Business of Souls

Since it's the classy take on boring business attire, I'm calling this one, "Takin' Care of Business." For night, lose the jacket, sub the purse for a cute, sparkly clutch, and kick up your heels.

"I like the word "soul." I like the word "mate." Other than that, you got me." Mr. Big

This is the first episode of season four, and it's such a--pardon the pun--soulful one. I say soulful, because while it's definitely serious, it's not particularly sad. The subject is soul mates--whether or not they exist, how you know if you've found one, how you know when you haven't--but the larger issues is how we all deal with being alone.

Carrie is turning 35, and she has started to receive flyers for singles' gatherings. Samantha and the girls decide to throw her a party, but they all get stuck in traffic on the way there, leaving her waiting at the table alone. Later, she meets up with her friends, who decide that they can all be soul mates for each other. On her way home, Carrie sees Big, fresh off the plane from London, waiting at her curb with balloons and best wishes. The rest of the clan also deals with loneliness in one form or another. Charlotte realizes that her marriage with Trey is falling apart. Miranda wonders if there really isn't a soul mate for everyone, since she doesn't seem to be finding hers. Samantha forms a crush on a priest whose vows keep him from returning her advances.

As I write this, I'm listening to Olafur Arnalds, whose music seems to match the mood of the episode and topic. Music has always held such a special place in my life and in my soul, and I think it's largely because it reminds me of the human condition--the place we can all find ourselves in when no one else is around, the place that reminds us of our mortality and unique experience of life, which can sometimes feel awfully lonely.

I have to say that on this one, I'm completely in Big's camp. The idea of a soul mate seems so wonderful and, in a way, so right. I mean, if we can all relate to feeling lonely and wanting meaningful companionship, doesn't there have to be that one person who will never let us feel lonely again--a person who "completes" the parts of us that seem to be forever elusive?

I think there are definitely companions to our souls. These people make us feel alive and hopeful. They help us feel like we're not alone in the experience of life, because they are on our same page. If we're lucky and fortify those natural connections, we can find lifelong friends and partners--people who will cry when we cry and rejoice with us, because they feel things with us. But this is if we're very lucky.

I do think that the idea of one, pure soul mate, who compliments you in every way and makes you find a lasting peace with the crappy parts of life is not entirely realistic. Maybe for some it is. I cannot speak for them. I can only speak for myself and what seems to be the case for many people. While most find a person whom they love and feel content with, having this person in one's life doesn't, unfortunately, mean the end of feeling lonely. I do believe that, in the end, we are all very much alone in life. We have each other and all share in very similar experiences, but when we are sitting in our quiet houses, free of the distractions of the world and the sounding boards we are used to (friends, family, partners, dogs, TV), we are very much alone with our memories, our thoughts, our issues. No soul mate is ever going to take that loneliness away.

And frankly, I'm not sure I'd want to live without those "soulful" alone moments. When I'm listening to a beautiful piece of music, for example, I enjoy the company of myself and my subjective experience of what I'm listening to. It is something I will never share with anyone, because it's my experience. It is like a private conversation between me and life. No amount of talking is going to adequately explain how I feel in that moment. Even if someone knew exactly what I know about that piece of music, we would not hear it in the same way. We would not remember the same things, have exactly the same impressions, or even hear the same lines.

There is something sad about this realization, because it means we are truly alone in some deep sense. But to me, it is more honest than thinking that we are completed by one person or even several. We are complete in and of ourselves--or rather if we need someone to complete us, we may never feel complete. Others simply enrich our lives and make them beautiful.

This all is not to say that we may feel romantic completeness with one person--feel as though we can stop searching for a mate, because we've found someone who just "gets" us and makes us feel not as lonely. But that person will never be able to keep us from loneliness altogether, because there will always be things that we still have to do solo--fight off illness, feed our bodies and minds, follow our passions. These are things we can try to share with people, but never as closely as we experience them ourselves.

So, this is all coming from a hopeless romantic, who has believed in soul mates for as long as she can remember. Maybe it's my age. Maybe it's having been disappointed before. Maybe it's just feeling like, as I forge through life and learn to trust myself and my experiences, the need for someone to complete me isn't as strong. But for whatever reason, I've decided it's just easier to believe in myself and in friendship and love for what they are--really nice things. We don't have to complete each other for our relationships to be extremely deep and meaningful. We can take the pressure off of each other and just enjoy what we have.

Besides, if we need someone to complete us for us to feel okay, then we don't feel okay with ourselves alone, and I don't like that idea. It's better to be whole and come into any partnership as such. That said, I still like the word "soul" and the word "mate." And maybe soul mates exist--but not as people who complete us but people who face the world and its loneliness with us, eyes and heart wide open.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 48: The Best Advice

Since we went skiing this past weekend for the first time all year, and since we just switched to Daylight Savings Time, which always reminds me of spring, I thought I would do some tributes to winter (actually, this may be my first one). I'm calling this one, "Show Me the Hot Toddy and Fireplace."

"Miranda, only you and I can ever really know what happened between you and I." Steve

"Don't listen to me. I have no idea what's right for you and Big." Miranda to Carrie

So, this is the last episode of season three. It deals with men and women and how we obsess over our past relationship failures. Miranda and Carrie get in a big fight over Carrie accepting a lunch date with recently-divorced Big. Miranda doesn't want her to get hurt, but Carrie thinks she's being judgmental. The two make up. Carrie meets Big, and it goes well (if you call falling in a pond together going well). The two realize this may be the start of a great friendship. Newly-separated Charlotte can't help thinking of Trey and their marriage. Trey can't either, and stops by for sex that actually happens (a first). The two discuss how they maybe married too fast and for the wrong reasons. Samantha fights with noisy transvestites on her street. She decides to call a truce by throwing a party and inviting them.

The message of this episode is priceless. I really don't have much to say besides that, except that I feel the need to write the message a thousand times so everyone (including me) will remember it: No one knows what goes on in a relationship besides the two people who are in it. No one knows what goes on in a relationship besides the two people who are in it. No one knows what goes on in a relationship besides the two people who are in it. Okay, I'm done.

We all think we know what's best for other people. I'm certainly guilty of this sometimes. When a sister or a friend calls and asks for love advice, I'm always ready with a judgment or saying or piece of wisdom I've probably read in a Glamour issues somewhere. I think it's good to give advice. We all need to hear it from time to time. If every time I went to someone in a crisis I heard, "I don't know; do what you think is right," I would feel like shooting myself. No, I'm an opinionated gal, and I appreciate opinions. I probably couldn't write if I didn't.

That said, there is a place in decision-making where other people's opinions don't mean jack. I didn't really understand this until the last couple of years. Before that, anytime I had a problem in a relationship, I went to someone for advice that I thought I had to take. I would call my mother or a friend or try to research it online. Once, I even called in on a radio show.

When I canceled my wedding six years ago, it was the first time I went against what other people thought was good for me, and it nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought I was disappointing everyone, and I think I was as worried about that as I was about how I felt about Arnold. I didn't realize that listening to my opinion was something I should have done two years earlier. That experience taught me that maybe I could make my own decisions.

Three years later, I went to Peru against all of my loved ones' best judgment. Everyone knew Billy was an alcoholic and just an all-around not-very-nice guy. They knew he had a daughter with a woman he no longer talked to. They knew for obvious reasons that he was the kind of guy to sleep with a drunk foreigner with a boyfriend (not that I don't share half of the guilt). They knew he was an artist with no income.

During the weeks I was preparing to move to Peru, my family and friends nearly disowned me. One of my good friends, who had seen me go through two breakups already, said she didn't approve and didn't want to hear anything about it. My sisters would call each other while I was with one of them and talk in code, saying things like, "Oh, um, I'll need to talk about that with you later." One of my sisters, who had kissed and hung out with Billy herself and thus knew him pretty well, wouldn't talk to me about it at all. To this day, I don't if she was more angry at me for starting something with him or scared for me because of the kind of guy he was. My mother just said she would come (alone) to the wedding if there ever was one. My dad stayed quiet, except for one outburst about how financially irresponsible I was being (he was right). When I left for the airport, he just said, "I love you. Guard your heart."

Somehow, I still thought it was a good idea to go. Actually, if I'm honest, I, too, thought it was probably a train wreck waiting to happen, but I felt it was important to go. There was something about it all that no one else could understand, and going was something I needed to do alone. Of course, everyone was right about the outcome, but it still wouldn't have been right to listen to them and not go. Those seven months were very likely the most important of my life, just not for the reason (love) I first predicted. I learned more about myself from that relationship, the breakup, the time on my own, and working and living in a foreign country than from any other one event in my life. And no one else can ever understand that the way I do. Not really.

Now, I really don't ask for love advice. I complain, and sometimes if I'm really stumped, I put my predicament out there. It's important to hear what people have to say; after all, you can't learn everything the hard way, and sometimes it just helps to hear another person's calm voice. But, in the end, I don't take people's advice about love as something I need to follow or even listen too closely too, for the simple reason that it's me who decides. Only I can. You have to trust yourself above anyone else, and only you know what goes on between you and your partner. Only you know what's good for you.

I hope you'll be back. I will.