Reticence on the subject of your relationships, or lack thereof

 Why can't we just shut our big, fat mouths about our coupledom?

It's a particularly pertinent question for a journalism student who, taking every job offered her no matter the pay, took a position writing about relationships for HOSTAGE magazine. Five posts a week means you've got a lot of material to create and as has always been my modus operandi, I turned to personal experiences for the bulk of my posts -- even when it's just a little anecdote to open a piece about a post by another writer.

What does this mean for my relationship with Chris? I've never asked specifically if he minded being written about, I guess I figured he should expect it as a fellow writer and, honestly, I was scared he'd say no. Then what the hell would I write about? I've sort of made it a rule not to disclose very personal matters -- and I stray as far from personal sex stories as humanly possible -- and I like to keep stories of whispered sweet nothings and impromptu slow dances to myself.

I'd like to think I succeed at writing Carrie Bradshaw style by relating personal experiences and those of friends to diatribes about overarching themes -- and I seek to answer questions and solve problems most people might encounter in their own relationships. See, I feel relationships are a huge part of who we are -- whether they're familial, friendly or of the romantic nature -- because we spend so much time surrounded by other people. Of course, our relationships with ourselves are majorly important as well -- and that's what I try to focus on in this blog.

So, I turned to CB for her thoughts on the matter. There's an episode in season two of the fabled TV series where my hero just can't shut up about her failed relationship with that unicorn, Mr. Big. "Really, I pity him," she says a little too emphatically before her three girlfriends launch an intervention ("[S]top her before she obsesses again," as Miranda says). It's not about the state of their relationship -- or that it's ended -- the thing is Carrie always talks about Mr. Big -- and Aidan, and Berger, and Petrovsky -- to her girlfriends and to readers in her weekly column.

When they intervene, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte suggest a therapist. Carrie asks why she needs to pay someone when she's got them. "Look, we're as fucked up as you are. It's like the blind leading the blind," Samantha responds.

What really sparked my investigation into this topic was Lesley Dormen's article "Secrets and Lies" in the August issue of ELLE magazine. Dormen, a happily married woman for the past 14 years and obviously a writer, encountered a very similar question. "When is it okay to talk about your marriage, when isn't it, and who decides? Is privacy a trust issue, a loyalty issue, or more about context and intention--invasion of marital privacy versus lunch with your best friend?" Dormen wrote.

Further on, she wrote, "Why is marriage so determined to close the door behind itself? Are we ashamed of ourselves, of our messy married lives? What is it we're hiding? Or protecting?"

I've been guilty of invading married privacy out of curiosity. As a young person who has been in only a handful of relationships, I'm always wanting to know how marriage works. I've read that in order to help your relationships, it helps to talk to your married friends. And when one website listed the ten things every single person must do, on that list was "Talk to someone your age who is married."

It seems human nature to talk to at least our girlfriends about our relationships, writes Dormen. "The freedom to exchange private information about boys is one of the first ways we declare our independence from parents. We learn early on that boy talk is a social lubricant."

Even Drew Barrymore, cover star of ELLE's August issue isn't immune to boy talk with the girls. "I talk shit with my girlfriends, and it can get dirty."

If everyone does it, is it so wrong? Why do we do it? Is it that boy talk is one of the oldest ways of fulfilling our desire to be seen and heard, a desire so prevalent in today's reality TV obsessed culture? Is it that boy talk is the only topic everyone has an interest in and that everyone has something to say about?

Are all guys as reticent about their relationships as Dormen's husband? I know Chris asks guys at work for advice about sex things... the nature of which I won't divulge here. But how much does he tell buddies about me? He's often professed how differently he acts at work. So is he more talkative or more quiet? Who knows.

Because of popular movies and such, most women have a concept of men as vulgar pigs on the subject of sex (Barrymore said in ELLE, "In a lot of ways, I feel like I have a little bit of a dude inside me--except mine happens to be a 13-year-old boy, not a full-fledged man.") but what about the regular stuff?

In the end of "Secrets and Lies," Dormen writes about the benefits of sharing your marriage with others. "The telling," she writes, "lifts the veil from no one's eyes but your own." Producing a narrative surrounding your relationship, she says, whether to friends or in writing, helps the sharer to better understand him or herself and their partner. The pulling away actually brings you closer Dormen states.

For now, I'll continue doing what I've been doing, writing about us without delving too far. Because as Dormen writes, "for me, as for many writers, private life is my material."

(The above image is a closeup, shot by me, of a token card and tickets from Dave & Buster's at the Franklin Mills Mall where Chris and I played skee ball before seeing a movie.)

Further notes on mission impossible

In my last post, I wrote about how, no matter how hard I try, I can't be perfect. The one thing I realized that night, along with that, is the second you think you've got yourself figured out, the second you think you've worked through your issues, new ones crop up and you've still got something to learn.

I am not complaining -- I actually find it comforting to know that life won't (maybe ever) hit a wall and never change. It's nice to know that everyone can continue to grow and change without having to force it.

It gives our interactions with others more dimension, as well. And in terms of romance, who wants a static relationship?

Perfection: Mission Impossible

I apologize for the rambling that was my last post. I'll have to edit it a bit. But when I posted it, from my friend's iPod Touch while on Percocets after my wisdom teeth extraction on Wednesday (all four and they were impacted). I believe you'll understand even if it kills me to not write perfectly -- at least to my usual standards.

Speaking of aiming for perfection, readers who've been with me on this journey for a while probably know how I want everything and want to do it with poise. If you're a newer reader, I've now told you (instead of showing, oops, another writing boo-boo).

Yesterday was the height of this. After a night with very little sleep -- I'd slept from 11:30 p.m. till 4:40 a.m. waking once in between time and as 5 a.m. approached, my dad turned on the light in the living room where I slept and after that, I couldn't sleep a wink -- I accompanied my dad to a surgical checkup. See, five years ago, he had bladder cancer. It's back and this checkup, the second with a month's time, was to see how bad it is.

So I went to the hospital with him and when he was back from the recovery room, they let me see him. He didn't look good. He was shaking and they'd had to leave a catheter in with a bag to collect urine. I got scared. He said they'd had to take a good deal of tissue. He started to grow perkier and he smiled even though we all knew he was in pain -- the most he'd ever had after one of these surgical checkups -- and my nurturing instincts kicked in.

When we got home, I made sure he had what he needed. Because I can't drive yet, I had to wait for Chris to get off work so I could go to a grocery store and CVS to get his prescriptions filled. But it wasn't very long and when Chris came and got me we headed to the CVS.

Of course, I sucked at directing him where to go. We found a route that was pretty quick actually and not really out of the way but it wasn't the way I normally go. And when we got there, they wouldn't fill dad's Percocet prescription because the doctor didn't put his name on it. I almost had a fit although when I called my dad he was calm about it.

Then we went to ShopRite and because I rarely ever go grocery shopping and they keep changing around the store, I had no idea where anything was. I ran around like a chicken with its head cut off. Thank goodness for Chris who helped tremendously.

When I was almost done, I realized I hadn't placed my order for seafood -- dad wanted shrimp (although I was a tad nervous in his condition) and that I'd now have to actually stand around waiting for it. To top it off, Chris was tired and ready for bed and I wanted to get done so he could go to bed.

I was a mad woman last night. Of course, after stopping at Wawa to get cigarettes and coffee for dad and Chris, we got home and brought the bags in (or should I say, my boyfriend the HULK, who did it in one trip). There I realized we'd forgotten to get the prescription.

On the way to CVS again, I realized something. I was trying to be my mom who has always been so put together, doing everything for everyone.

It's impossible to be Wonder Woman. I try. But it's impossible. I just have to come to terms with it.

Absense made me feel lucky

This weekend I spent time with my family -- my Grammy, Aunt Cindy and her husband Ed -- down in North Wildwood. This meant I was away from Chris for just about the longest we've been apart in the two months we've been together. We were going out of our minds being apart. Every phone call we made, we said a thousand times how much we missed each other. A couple times I actually felt physically ill!

I couldn't wait to get back to his arms and kisses. Still, I was almost scared by how much I missed him because the other thing his trip threw into sharp relief was how I rarely feel like I'm surrounded by people who see the real me. It worried me that I feel I have so few friends (there's Ashley and Michele but that's about it). I then told Chris that I was terrified of becoming the girl who only has her boyfriend.

I think this offended him a tiny bit but then he said something that made a shitload of sense. He said that the only difference between a boyfriend and a best friend is that you kiss -- and do other stuff with -- your boyfriend. Suddenly I realized how right he was and that I should be thankful because I've got a relationship that other girls would kill for. I'm kissing my best friend. It doesn't matter that we don't know each other's every story yet but we're happy and comfortable enough to tell each other anything.

I'm so thankful to have the few great friends I've got and I now know how lucky I am to have
boyfriend who is in my corner. I'm happy he's not the only friend I've got but I know I'd be lucky to have even just Chris.

Impressions

Last Saturday was spent in Atlantic City with the family of one of my best friends. Ashley and I have been friends since we met in 8th grade at Conwell Middle Magnet School here in Philly. We were both part of the Principal's Leaders Academy and were stationed at the ladies room, patrolling the kids. Most of these periods were spent working on my valedictorian speech, which I was chosen to deliver at our mutual delight. Then we went to the same high school and through ups and downs, we've always come out of it together.

Then, last weekend was only the third time I'd seen her since we went to separate colleges. She's at the University of Pittsburgh's Bradford campus while I'm still here in the City of Brotherly Crime.

On Saturday, a major theme of our conversations was how glad we were to have left high school behind. She told me how one of her former teachers -- who I'd never had -- was talking to her on Facebook about who she had stayed friends with from high school. There were, like, four of us, she told him. He asked who. When she got to me, he said something about how I'm a girl that's going places.

I was surprised he even knew who I was. In retelling their conversation, Ashley said that our freshman year English teacher had told this other teacher that she and I were his favorite students.

It's funny how you can leave impressions on people you had no idea about.

(The above image is of me and Ashley on my 17th birthday. 2008.)

Home isn't just a Glee episode

Yesterday, Michele and I had a conversation about our favorite Glee episodes -- yep, your favorite blogger here is far from immune to its musical pleasures -- and mine were Wheels and Home. Probably because both episodes touched on major themes or experiences I've had. The former is pretty obvious but maybe not the latter.

The thing is, for longer than I'd like to remember, I have felt out of place in the various living situations I found myself in. When I was fifteen years old my parents separated and my mom moved me and my sister to an apartment roughly a half hour from our childhood house.

Then out of the blue, she had a serious boyfriend. And quite quickly, I felt really out of place. They played his reggae music really loud and turned sporting events so loud that I couldn't hear the movie I was watching. To my eyes he was treated like a king, while she acted like his handmaiden.

I made it clear that I disliked the situation -- and him -- and I was the one who was ostracized. I spent whatever time I could in my room -- whichever makeshift room it happened to be at the moment -- and hoped for someone to rescue me. 

A story that needed to be told

A while ago I was reading Melissa Blake's Psychology Today column Disabled and Thriving and left a comment on her "Disability 'Dating' Rules?" about my experience dating someone with a disability. She loved my story so much that she shared it on her personal blog as part of her Tales from the Trenches feature. The story received nine comments before I saw that she'd reposted it and everyone seems touched by my story. As a write whose aim is to inspire, inform and entertain the public, knowing that my story has touched them is the greatest compliment of all.

Click here to see the full post on So about what I said...