W.W.C.B.D.?

In life, I find myself wondering "What Would Carrie Bradshaw Do?"

Today is no exception. I'm facing a possible Mr. Big situation. As in I may know who my Mr. Big is. And I'm not sure how to handle it.

For those of you who don't know what I mean, "a Mr. Big" is someone who comes in and out of your life because you will never be over them. Some would say you were fated to be together. And I think I know who I should be with. It seems the universe is telling me this is true. Even my best friend Nicole, the cheerleader for love that she is, is telling me I should get back together with O.U.A.T.B.

And earlier, O.U.A.T.B. and I were chatting on Yahoo! IM and he was flirting and I wasn't not flirting.

But there are things about him that drive me crazy. Like we don't have anything in common -- I love to read, he can't spell; I write, he doesn't read what I write; and most importantly, I want to be single right now. I've got too much going on to be in a relationship. At least a long distance one.

And despite what Nicole says, there are some things that I don't think love can overcome when nothing else has changed. Distance would still be an issue. And I don't know if he'd be better at keeping me in the loop. I just don't see where it could really work.

Plus, and I repeat, I want to be single. I like not having to report to anyone. I like that I can look at all the boys in my class and not feel guilty for staring at the really cute ones. I went to an all-girls school for high school and I don't want to have to be a nun in college because my boyfriend doesn't go to my school.

God... and the flirting. It was fun flirting with O.U.A.T.B. today but I don't know how to make sure he isn't getting the wrong idea about what I want. It actually made me a little nauseous, worrying that he wants to get back together.

Carrie could tell me what to do. I'm convinced of it.

(The above image is of Carrie Bradshaw dining in Paris from an episode of Sex and the City.)

Once upon a time, masochism, moments

"He your boyfriend?" Dominique asked.

"Was," the young co-ed said with a wistful smile at the guy in question. "Once upon a time."

"Once upon a time," Dominique repeated, watching while the once-upon-a-time-boyfriend, leaning forward, rolled closer to the young woman. The young woman leaned into him, their foreheads almost touching as they stared into each other's eyes.

What Dominique didn't know was this was the first time the two kids saw each other since that tearful phone conversation that ended their brief, but undoubtedly intense, union.

What she also didn't know, but which you should know, is: the young co-ed was me.

And the once-upon-a-time-boyfriend... well, I still present-day love him.

I do. It's sick and it hurts.

It's like my masochistic consumption of dairy products. As much gas and nausea as I get after I eat cheese, I shovel in mega fries like I'm leaving town for a place that doesn't know to top potatoes with two kinds of cheese and yummy bacon...

That's kind of how I feel when it comes to boys. Even the best ones end up making me feel miserable.

But today, the first day I saw my once-upon-a-time-boyfriend (hereafter to be known as O.U.A.T.B.) in over 2 months and all of those feelings I had for him which have laid unresolved, the algae on the fish tank of my heart, bubbled to the surface.

I've been crying all day since then... Mostly spurred on by a certain television show which seemed to have messages for me in every episode. That's the thing... Today the universe seemed to be delivering a message I'm not sure I liked.

Even in O.U.A.T.B.'s mother's minivan after his basketball game ended, the radio seemed to telling me that I should take this player off the bench and put him back in the game. First was Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance" and who can't take a hint with the delightfully outlandish performer sang "I don't wanna be friends"? Then there was Gym Class Heroes' "Cupid's Chokehold" about a wonderful girlfriend, which I know I was. Then, and boy was this the kicker, there was an ad for some club event for which you gain free admission if you bring a picture of your hated ex to shred onstage. I laughed nonstop.

It was so easy being with him... It always was. But the thing is, when we weren't physically together, it wasn't so easy. And that's why it eventually ended.

What would be the point in trying it again if the circumstances haven't changed?

But boy, it felt so good when he put his hand on mine, his fingertips touching mine. I wouldn't let him hold it the right way because I knew I just might burst into tears if he did.

Now I wish I'd let him so I could sustain myself on the refreshed memory.

Oh, gosh, here come more tears.

Then there was the offer to go back to his house, when his mom wanted us to abandon our lunch plans because it was starting to snow. Only I couldn't because I have an interview first thing in the morning to be an RA next fall. I'm thinking it was a blessing in disguise. If I'd have gone with them, and if he'd have shown any interest in being "us" again, I would have said yes.

The truth is, I've been really happy on my own since we broke up. I'm more independent, I've taken drastic steps towards making my dreams happen. I have become so much happier with myself. And I like it this way.

But while sometimes it seems easier not to be attached to someone or make the effort to share my life with someone else, I miss those happy times I shared with the only really special guy I have ever dated.

Today, for a brief moment we had it again, and although it makes me cry, I'm glad to have had that moment.

(The above is an image of Sarah Jessica Parker as Carrie Bradshaw and Chris Noth as Mr. Big in Sex and the City: The Movie.)

Here's to my really special ones

Yin yang.

It's a Chinese philosophy that states "opposing forces are interconnected and interdependent in the natural world, giving rise to each other in turn." That's according to Wikipedia.

My creative writing professor, Jeff Bender, said it is the concept that in our lives, we are looking for or are meant to connect with someone whose strengths make up for our weaknesses.

Bender offered up his one-time professor Walter Kirn's novel Up in the Air as an example. He explained how the protagonist's goal was to earn 1,000,000 frequent flier miles, while his need was to make a connection. Bender even quoted the tagline of the lauded feature film starring George Clooney which reads like this: "The story of a man ready to make a connection."

This all circled back to this yin yang theory of life, or of connections or of romance.

Bender asked for further examples and my classmate Jake rambled on, his bony hands flailing around and occasionally coming together like a steeple, about some work he'd read where the main character was so good at everything that he failed at relationships.

This, Jake said, was an example of the yin yang theory.

Bender agreed with this assessment.

And so I sat there listening to this discussion -- me, the girl who has never had a boyfriend on Valentine's Day -- worrying that I would fall victim to this yin yang theory... That I, who want the world and which I seem to possess by outside estimation, would end up alone because I had no weaknesses.

It's just about the shittiest feeling -- like you've suddenly aged 30 years and can feel the only other living thing in your life weaving in and out of your legs, purring for attention.

I almost purred for attention right there in room 1123 of Anderson Hall.

(Note to self: Never own your own cat. Don't even cat-sit for friends.)

I don't understand it. And by it, I mean two things: (1) that a life can feel so meaningless when there wasn't a second life committed to it and (2) that seemingly everyone could be so single-minded about the measure of a life's worth while bashing singles.

It's not that I cannot connect with others. Just this week, I had the chance to converse with two of my inspirations (Abigail Bruley, music and fashion editor at two.one.five magazine, and Tim Whitaker, former editor of Philadelphia Weekly and current executive director of the non-profit Mighty Writers) and engaged in intelligent, friendly conversation with them.

And other good things have happened to me. I have gotten assignments from two magazines and I have just had my first fashion column for The Temple News published. Plus, my relationships with my family members are going swimmingly. Ooh, and I've got at least two good friends and a plan to meet for coffee with a new girl who very well may become a good friend.

Everything I could hope for seems to be happening to me... except making a romantic connection.

I could be totally content with that if the GODDAMN universe would stop telling me that I'll end up a lonely spinster for an ever-changing list of reasons.

Watching Sex and the City tonight -- my not-so secret Secret Single Behavior -- I couldn't help but scrawl on a Post-it these words: "The fact is, sometimes it's hard to walk in a single woman's shoes. That's why we need really special ones now and then. To make the walk a little more fun."

Carrie Bradshaw really gets it.

Maybe slipping on a pair of really special shoes will cure my blues.

Avoidance

"You cannot find peace by avoiding life" -Virginia Woolf

I'm not really sure if I agree. Then again, I guess it's easy to confuse avoidance with acceptance.

Push comes to shove

So I have another little dirty confession: I'm lusting after a taken boy.

I know, I know. It's so wrong.

But he's the one who took to calling me by the nickname my family uses -- without me telling it to him -- and he's the one who smiles, real big, every time he sees me on the elevator or in the dining hall.

Therefore, can I really be to blame?

I guess the thing I can be blamed for is wanting to give him a gentle push toward a friendship -- and maybe one day more should he ever lose the ball and chain -- and for almost acting on that urge.

I do this.

Even with Mr. Athlete, who probably still doesn't remember my name.

Almost every time I see a glimmer of a romantic possibility, I get the urge to nudge, needle and push the boy toward liking me, toward making a move. And it almost always bites me in the ass.

Because while a guy who rarely or never receives encouragement rarely or never makes a move, guys seem to be really touchy about how much of a push you can give them. But they're hardly ever clear on where a girl is supposed to draw the line.

I mean really, when does push come to shove?

From now on, in the case of Attached Boy, and in most every other case, I'm going to try not to even nudge. You can push and shove all you want. From now on, if a guy cares enough about me, he can make the moves!

(You'll have to pardon the picture of Charlotte York and Harry Goldenblatt from Sex and the City, which was totally self-indulgent on my part since they've got nothing to do with this post. I've just been watching the episodes when they first started dating.)

The Law of Ex's

I have a dirty little confession.

I don't know how to be friends with an ex. Or even a we-were-barely-together-so-you're-hardly-my-ex-ex.

I've never had to be. The first boy I ever even came close to calling a boyfriend broke my heart so many times that I blocked him on every social networking website in the World Wide Web.

The second -- and he was bookended by the first clueless jackass -- dumped me after two and half days. By text message. For his ex-girlfriend. After the pictures of him and her kissing were put up the same day, and my sister helped me craft a deliciously wicked letter for him, it was cyanara, sucka! This one once attempted a friendship and I couldn't carry on with it. It disgusted me to look at his Facebook page.

Since him, another flame -- this one, weak, at best -- who I dumped because I just wasn't feeling him (especially given that he was given to talking about 'our' future and 'our' future made me want to vomit), did call me months later on my birthday to wish me a happy one but a few months after that, was tonguing my ex-best friend. Yeah, no meaningful friendship there.

Hmm, well the next one on the list... Him I want to be friends with. I need to be friends with him. When we were together, he was my best friend. I honestly, even if it was foolish, thought maybe, just maybe, I might actually marry him someday...

But how do you do it?

What are the rules? If you broke up with them, are you allowed to initiate conversation? And even if he starts it, do you need to watch what you say -- being careful not to brag about how great your life may be or having to hide just how bad it is sometimes because you don't want him to gloat that you didn't choose him and you got the short end of the stick?

And even if you're regularly holding friendly conversations -- and this is an 'if' cause it's never happened to me -- do you have to be careful to not write or say "you must catch me up on what I've missed" since you broke up with him and if you really cared about his life wouldn't you be part of it like you once were?

Seriously. Am I over-analyzing?

Instead of the theory of relativity, why couldn't Einstein have come up with the Law of Ex's? Someone just give me a concrete formula to follow.

God, then again, what about those times when you don't want anything to do with the other person, but he or she does and you're too chicken to just be honest? That's the worst I find -- only made more troubling by Facebook. I'm starting to believe that Facebook was created by someone who wanted to haunt an ex-girlfriend. Even when you're minding your own business, playing FishVille, and you decide to send your 20-something cousin a corral reef as a gift, you see his face. The face you're not sure you want to see.

And you can't delete him off your friends list because he's got your AIM screenname and he'll probably just IM you and ask why you deleted him. God, and you can't delete his phone number from your cell because what if he calls or texts and you answer unaware and yet you've got to see his name every time you scroll through your phone.

In one of these cases, it's simply the problem of being afraid to be mean but wanting to be. In the other, it's the case of worrying I'll look like a snobby bitch and really not wanting to. Don't look at me like that, like I just repeated myself. They're different scenarios, I promise.

Wonder Woman's plight: Loneliness

Wonder Women -- girls who, like me, want a lot (successful careers, meaningful friendships, satisfying family and home lives) and have every capability of making these things reality -- essentially set men up to fail. How can any guy measure up to Wonder Women, being as smart, sexy and funny as we are? They can't. And we're lonely because of it.

Maybe I just need Dr. Melfi

What if the thing you're supposed to want (i.e. a relationship) is at odds with your very personality? Unless its just that not having it has made it feel unnecessary...

Truly, I do sometimes wish that I had someone in my life who would help me shoulder my burdens -- even just temporarily -- by supporting me, listening when I need to talk it out, offering advice that would be beneficial to me. It occurred to me as I sit here, writing this, that I just described a therapist, but for the longest time, I've plastered the word "Boyfriend" above that description.

There's definitely something wrong here.

(The above image is of James Gandolfini as Tony Soprano and Lorraine Bracco as Dr. Melfi in The Sopranos.)

Stop drinking. Be thankful for what you had.

I got to thinking today about beginnings and endings and those things that time and emotional distance make us forget: the middles. Most things start well, most end unpleasantly if not badly or bitterly. What should determine the tone of your memories is the middle of the thing. This has given me a kind of peace tonight.

Advice I could have used a long time ago

At the end of the Lipstick Jungle Pilot, Nico Reilly (Kim Raver) says to Wendy Healey (Brooke Shields):

"You are not a loser. You're an extraordinary person. You are funny and you are scary smart and intense and gorgeous and larger than life and you deserve to be loved because of those things, not in spite of them."

I finally found the answer to my question

Early this morning, before I'd even gone to sleep, I lay in bed, wide awake with the realization that I shouldn't be sad. This came, of course, after a marathon viewing of What About Brian. Here's what I decided.

My life is not a tragedy. Sure, things don't always go the way I wanted or expected them to; my life is not what I had imagined as a little girl... But it isn't all that bad. I'm intelligent and I have dreams. Not only that, but I'm constantly taking steps to make my dreams happen. I'm in college, a place to which some never make it, and I'm doing well.

I'm going to be fine because I am a person who cares about others. People can make snap judgments about me and decide they don't like me or even accuse me of being judgmental, but the truth is, I'm a loving and forgiving person. I know not all people are perfect. Trust me, I know this. And I don't expect anyone to perfect. I of all people know how hard it can be to live up to others' expectations and I couldn't put that pressure on others. And there are people who love me. It may not be a perfect love and maybe sometimes I feel alone but the truth is, I'm OK with that. There is no one on this earth who never feels lonely. I just have to remind myself of that.

Also, because I am a forgiving person, I'm going to forgive the one person I've been hardest on lately. My mother. I'm going to stop talking about her and how much I hate her boyfriend, cause let's face it, I do. But that's not the point. The point is, she's making her own choices. And while they do affect me, I'm not going to let them bother me anymore. I will learn from her relationship -- I will take away from it the knowledge that I want something better. I don't mean to sound rude, it's just the way I see it. And that's the thing -- I'm not saying that what I see is the absolute truth and so I will from now on stop worrying about it. My mother can live her life and include me when she wants to. In the meantime, I'll do other things to entertain myself.

Speaking of love, I realize that love, true love, at least the kind I envision for myself, doesn't come along every day. And I shouldn't beat myself up that it hasn't because some day, at least I hope, I'll find what I've been looking for. I'll find love with someone who will work with me on our relationship, someone who will support me as much as I support him, someone who is driven in his own life so that he can understand my drive. He'll come.

He'll be tall, and kind of muscular, and he'll like to read -- at least he'll read what I write -- and he'll watch football with me without getting upset that he has to explain some of the rules again and again, and he'll watch romantic comedies with me even if he refuses to admit it to his friends. Most importantly, he'll love me just the way I am and will make me a priority. We'll be partners but he also won't be afraid to take care of me now and then.

He might not be here right now, and maybe he isn't even right around the corner, but somewhere down the road I'm on, there he is. And the thing is, I know I don't have to do all the work to find him. I'll take chances, follow the signs, and someday, there he'll be, just as great as I'd imagined him to be.

I finally think I get it. Who I am, I mean. It's so much more simple than I used to think. I am Rosella Eleanor LaFevre. I am a human being. I am fallible and I am beautiful. I am someone with dreams and the drive to make them reality. I am passionate, in all meanings of the word. I am a highly emotive being, and that's not something I need to apologize for. I am a caring person. I love my family and my friends. I am a giver. I love taking care of other people, I love helping whenever possible. This doesn't make me weak, as has been suggested. I do it because it makes me feel good, not because I seek the approval of others. Oh, and that's another thing. I don't need others to validate me, to tell me I'm a good person. I know I am. I am someone who loves to write; it being my favorite thing to do. I love a good book, and a good movie, and a good TV show. I love being someplace I feel comfortable and can't wait to have my own home someday. I am more of a homebody than anything else. I love good food. I realize life is short, and I refuse to make excuses or apologize for doing what I want.

I am all these things and more. That last rambling paragraph may not sound so simple, but the truth is, I've been those things all along. That's what made it so simple. I can't believe I never really realized it. I kept expecting that the meaning of "me" was something lofty... It isn't. I am defined by the things I do, the way I act, the things I keep in my heart. That's the truth and that's the answer to the question I've been pondering for so long.


One last thing:

Life, I've discovered, is messy. But that's what makes it beautiful. We all make mistakes. We learn, we grow. Sometimes we repeat our mistakes or lose track of where we're headed or what we want. Sometimes we need to slow down and think things over, but neither should we be scared to race full speed ahead. The only thing worse than living is dying. And I don't plan on doing that for a really long time, so I'm just going to plunge head first into the deep end.

Forgotten like Sam, but with no Jake Ryan to make up for it

My new boss replied to one of my emails tonight (er, last night?) pretty much saying he wondered why I wasn't out having fun. Um, that would be for two reasons. For one, no one invited me to a party or even just to hang out this New Years Eve. Two, because New Years Eve has never meant 'fun.' Well, last NYE was kind of fun. I was with my Grammy and watching Ryan Seacrest and Fergie host Dick Clark's New Years Rockin' Eve. But I felt about as alone as I do this year.

Lately, my mind has been solely on a previously mentioned quarterback. I know I'm being ridiculous, worrying about some guy who doesn't even know I'm alive. Trust me, I really do realize how Sixteen Candles it is of me. If only my Jake Ryan were plotting, unbeknownst to me, to "get together." Why would he though? I'm the sorry loser who sits here blogging about how much fun she's not having because no matter what, she's always out of reach of her dearest dreams. There's nothing attractive about that.

I know I should probably hold out hope that 2010 will be the year -- the year Mr. Athlete notices me and pulls me from oblivion into his world which I find so fascinating -- and a little part of me does, but the larger part is yelling that I cannot expect it to happen, that this year will be as much of a disappointment as every year before it.

I wish this (below) were outside my door tomorrow morning (er, later today), making up for the fact that I spent my New Year's Eve with my dad watching Marie Antoinette and eating Chicken-flavored Ramen noodles and drinking Artic Splash iced tea while everyone else I know was out getting drunk if not having a good time. And let's face it. Getting shitfaced would have been a lovely option given the circumstances.