Flecks of Gold

I read once that “love means that you care for another person’s happiness more than your own, no matter how painful the choices you face might be”, I call bullshit on that one Nickolas Sparks. 

I look at where I am and where I started, it is like gazing at a Rorschach and a Pollock, not even comparable. I realize that my past relationships had to end in order for me to find the right ones. I realize that leaving my fiancé and calling off our engagement was the best thing I could have ever done for myself and for him. It wasn’t that he didn’t love me, he did, but he could not accept who I was and I could not love him for that. I think in any relationship it takes finding out what you don’t want before you can ever find what you do want.

So when the right person comes along, he lights you on fire. Even when he tells you point blank, “I am fully committed to (insert thing of choice here)”; you are still taken back. You respect his honesty, and are completely cool about it. Instantly this man has produced profound changes in you. Like he blew a breath of air into you. You feel like a different person immediately, like someone turned all the lights on, the colors are clearer the noises louder. How am I supposed to act like I am not taken back by acts of oddness, style and smarts. Always the boys we can’t seem to blow off casually. Always the ones we want to see more than they care to see us. He was honest, and suddenly I am left wanting more. I am left with wanting more and not quite sure where I might find it. Rare occurrences create these tiny pockets of insane connections and intertwining. He’s a kooky dude but I totally adore his oddness, his oddness turns to eccentric and soulful. He’s got style, opinion, passion, they don’t make men of this caliber today. And although he has an air about him it is not always arrogance. He’s stoically jokey in his own quirky way. And I have no idea what he really thinks about me, if at all. But where can this go? I find myself saying “Who cares “as I grimace because apparently I do. Care.

He comes over, we catch up over 2 bottles of wine, we cover the “what you have been tos”, school, work, exchange in random information, new books, articles, music. Then we have sex. The mind blowing, I lost count sex that we had over the course of 33 hours. We linger in bed, napping, spooning, and running around in our undies, ordering pizza and watching Seinfeld reruns. We drink some more cocktails, talk some more. He reads Dorian Gray to me while I shower. He watches me get ready start to finish. As I’m about to leave the room he grabs me, totally undresses me, undoing what I have just spent the last hour doing. Hot. We leave to go out, where he will then totally engage my friend in witty banter and we have so much fun. After he is gone, all I can do is think of that day, it’s reminiscent in my mind always. It’s like that every time he is here. It’s electric and then poof he’s gone. My need to control starts to resurface. I like him but do I like him because I know I can’t have him or because he’s that neat of a person? He is without question the most interesting man I have met since I moved to Chicago. I’m interested. Hooked? Not completely. It’s hard to get hooked on something you barely know. He’s very good at keeping is walls up but does open up about one particular topic, (his cheating ex girlfriend, that tore out his soul). I have just never met anyone like him, EVER. Self made so far, head strong and pretty damn self assured. For the meantime all I could do was leave the door open for him to come or go as he pleased, that I am at least willing to do. I will remember my moments, however limited, with him always. They will be the tiny pieces of gold sand locked away as a keepsake, for it is those tiny moments in life that give me hope. Hope at the idea of love, loving someone for who they are or what they promise to become. It’s these tiny flecks that make putting one foot in front of the other, no matter how hard you fall, that much easier. And realizing, that even if, I never experience that connection again, at least I had it once in my life.  Stay.Live.Love.Jump.Run.

Guns and Gossip.

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“Do you what YOU love”, words from an 18 year old character in one of the most funny and moving films every produced, sound tracked and awarded (Little Miss Sunshine). Honestly, think about it? Are YOU happy? Do you like working, working like a 3 legged dog for someone/ thing/ person? Otherwise, what are we working like dogs for; to scrape by (energy wise not monetarily), to be taken advantage of? Shouldn’t we be fully aware of our value as each one of use seeks our own personal versions of happiness and, of course money? Forevermore, I will do exactly what I want (no shocker there). I know that seems like a bold statement for some of you to comprehend, but when are you going to stop over booking yourselves, over committing your lives to your companies, selling your self short and making your self crazy? Are we so willing to work for people who who so willing and quickly put a gun to your head? I say, no fucking thanks, and so in the weeks that I was ready to shrug, a slight push forced me to Shrug hard and dive nose first over the edge of the cliff that I have been standing on (March 2011), teetering on. Not worrying about what or how I might land, just knowing that I would. (There’s an Atlas Shrugged note in there for you Ayn Rand nuts).

 “When a door shuts a window opens.” Or in my case keeping a door open - can open a window, close the window, lock it and swing the door ajar all over again. Confused? Yea so am I am, confused and just about as stress free as I have ever been. I am happy to say I have a whole lot of nothing planned in the weeks and months that are ahead, with the exception of running, yoga, sleeping in, snow boarding and international travel--- that’s it. Isn’t it amazing to see where someone's moral compass is set? Where they sit and where I stand are galaxies apart, I guess that’s what separates us. For once in my life, I am not worried about being miss planney- planner-son, miss put together, always on time, always in control. I feel as though a hundred million tons have been lifted from my shoulders. Shrugged. Why, you might ask? Simply this: why not, why not let go, even if just for a little bit.

If you sit and truly think about your life, and what you want, is this what you imaged it would be? Is this “As Good as it Gets?”  Each of us alone, are the only ones who can determine our lifes caliber. When will you all realize your value, your self worth. My friends, I challenge you to sit and think; What could I really be doing, if I weren’t working in my current field, what did I always wish to become? “If we all did what was in our hearts, the world would grind into a halt” – My So Called Life, Episode 3, Guns and Gossip

Written and Published - March of 2011

30inthe312 ...the root

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When I was a kid I wanted to be an actress, for the sole reason of people being able to make out with lots of other hot people and it not be considered “cheating”. Seriously. And also because I knew I could get designer clothes, shoes and purses for free…

When I was I freshman in college I thought I’d be a teacher…I then substitute taught 25 snot nosed five year olds over Christmas break that year, and immediately changed my major after Christmas break. Plus, Becky and my neighbors were sick of hearing me practice the recorder, not kidding.

So mid freshman year, I thought I’d go Pre-Med and become a doctor, a child psychiatrist…..right…. One and half semesters later, during my first day of organic chemistry I realized I was going to be stuck in my bedroom memorizing shit every Thursday night when all my friends were out getting drunk at the Delt, Fiji or Lambda Chi house. Thought number two was; I wouldn’t make any money until I was in my 30’s. I closed that book and headed out with my friends, the next day, hung over no less, I dropped my Pre-Med status and decided to just stay with Psychology. It was a good fit. Four years of my own therapy that I paid handsomely for: my diploma.

If you had asked me when I was 18 what I was going to do, I would have said, ‘I’m going to go to Law School and then see where to go from there’. Turned out I was the brilliant one because they all said; ‘it was smart of you to take a year off, because we are all so in debt from two semesters that we have to stick it out’, (all three of them have very successful law careers). So I took a year off, worked at three very prestigious law firms and at some point realized I didn’t want to be slaving away for years making $30K, before really litigating (I’m good at arguing), making money and enjoying life. I took the LSAT, I did okay. But me not going to law school was the best decision I made in my 20’s, hands down.

When I was younger my grandfather had told me to ‘make a life in alcohol and gambling’ because they are recession proof’, he was damn smart man.

So at 24 I got a random gig, working some odd and ends jobs in gaming; installing and servicing Class II machines, running cat 5 wire under the raised floor at Choctaw’s Pocola Casino, setting up servers, running promotions at the then 5 largest casinos in Oklahoma. handling satellite operations for a table games company; driving a forklift and delivering highly sensitive decks of cards and chips (paper and plastic, the equivalent of money); to eventually becoming the youngest sales rep on the entire International sales team at Bally Technologies at the age of 26, and one of 2 women. (Cough, cough boys club). Having everyone ask; ‘who’s this new dude Andy, anyone met him’ right in front of me was very amusing (Pat, Bates, Whalen). And as I got older I managed to get a few other aspects of the business under my belt as my career grew. Sure, I’m good at selling slot machines and high-end system solutions; it’s just not what I am really passionate about. <Nor am I that funny at work >

When I was in my mid 20’s my earnings were 4 times what my friends made, so at that point I realized I had an addiction; to my job (and J.Crew). I was addicted to making money, working long hours, driving EVERYWHERE in Oklahoma; work become my best friend, or as some would say; my spouse. I ate, lived, died, never turned off my blackberry, only drank red bull, smoked, breathed work. The carrot that dangled was big and only mine to fuck up. So sitting at home every night putting together sales proposals was more important than drinking seven (7) nights a week. Even though Amber and I were coined as the merchants of death at every bar in Tulsa (she was a liquor rep).

Then I met the guy that would become my fiancé during a concert at Cain’s ballroom (Thanks for the free tickets Stair). All I can say is; later I changed my expertise from slots to financing to be supportive of his career as a resident; future doctor. That is a decision I regret. Two and half years later the conversation went like this (I asked for a long engagement – shocker):

Me: ‘hey, Mark just asked me if I would be willing to re-locate to Chicago’?

Him: ‘NO’

I’ll never forget the conversation; or lack there of, I was standing in my third closet in our 3-bedroom rental house in Columbia, MISERY (Missouri). And all I could say was:

‘Are you fucking kidding me?!’

It wasn’t even a discussion; he didn’t hesitate to put his career before mine (even though he was still a resident and hadn’t even interviewed for a job yet).

That was the deal breaker. I got un-engaged that fall, told him I would pay rent until May (to not leave him high and dry), traveled for months at a time (I was gone the entire month of February) and in May moved to Chicago. Here I was, 29 and making a life change, no biggie. People always asked, ‘why Chicago’, my response to this day is always ‘why not’. Best decision of my late 20’s, hands down.

Towards the end of 2009, I realized that when I died, I didn’t want a sentence of my death write up in the paper to contain “25 year sales executive”. I know to some people in my industry that may seem like a harsh statement or inappropriate, but hear me out, it is in no way a slam or any indication of how grateful I am to have the job I do and work with the people I do, who are brilliant. But was that was all I was good at I asked myself? No, not really..Am I good at selling things, I think yes. Am I passionate about it? I say ‘no’. Do I love my job yes, am I in love with my job, no.

Every boss I had ever had said; ‘work cannot be your life’ (except SS.) and I always thought they were full of shit, until my current boss told me to lighten up and not be so hard on myself, he is right. I did believe my dad when he said ‘find something you love to do, and you’ll never work a day in your life’. And yes I do love my job, but I am not in love with my job, see again the difference.

Why do I love my job? For instance: different shit happens every day. First of all I don’t sit in a cubicle for 12 hours (I’d rather poke my eyes out with a Number 2 pencil), secondly; I make my own travel schedule and appointments. Thirdly, I get to do a lot of cool shit: like go to Thunder / Lakers games and sit behind the Lakers bench, golf, eat nice steaks, drink a lot of beer, talk sports and most of all make money. From day to day I could be driving hot, deep dish pizza to clients in Michigan, sliding through snow storms on the back roads of Wisconsin, flying to places like Bemidji, spending a week in Vegas, hanging out on ginormous boats, sitting in the Cadillac club for a Bears game, flying on private jets to St. Croix and in little planes with my CEO, which she pilots (badass). Work is pretty damn good. Life is what you make it; it should be amazing. Again, two separate things.

I’m not sure when I started to turn the page and realize that work could not be my life, so I started to write more. I have been writing, journaling really, since my early 20’s (and trust me there is some funny shit in there). Every year or so I find it, write in it for a few months and then put it away. When I find it again, I re-read it and laugh hysterically. I’m funny (Tim/Jill).

So in my head I can say, ‘I’ve been writing for years’, I have been, I have twenty moleskins to prove it, just no one knows about it.

I began to wonder if everyone else thought I was as funny as I thought I was on paper. There was only one way to find out, write a blog. It didn’t cost me a dime and if it wasn’t coming across the right way, someone would say so. (My friends are very blunt and that’s why I love them).

Not an instant success (my readers were my 12, 30 something girlfriends I was writing about). But as I kept writing, my hit list grew (all the way to Alaska). I even began to have closet male readers (you know who you are). Then in one week, nine people had asked me about my blog, and by then the status had dwindled when I quit writing for a year. So here I sit almost a year since I re-started my blog, not hanging out with my favorite guy eating Jimmy John’s on a Friday night, but sitting alone, eating Jimmy John’s on a Friday night with my dog. Such is life.

So there; that is the real revelation of what has become 30inthe312. It’s not about being an actor, teacher, doctor, lawyer or a salesperson. It’s about me becoming who I am really suppose to be, whatever that is. $

Best Friends....

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She was brilliant, not to mention beautiful. A guys girl in red lipstick. Skirts and converse. College for them was always an “in between.” They would hook up in between boyfriends and girlfriends and the occasional date party. She always wanted more. He never ever did. She never pushed the issue. They were friends for 11 years before they slept together. She wanted more, he didn’t. To this day I don’t think she could ever really put her finger on why she liked him so much, he was quite frankly, a complete pig headed asshole. But she knew he was picky about his friends, and she knew he saw something in her, to be part of that circle, an un said compliment. He didn’t get her, know anything about her other than she was honest and cool. He had no idea, her allowing herself to be vulnerable with him was a feat of epic proportions.

They didn’t really see each other for a few years after college but happened to run into each other when he was in town for his grandmothers funeral. He had funky hair, they kept up on Myspace. They reconnected at Gray Snail one summer night, he was moving back to Tulsa and she was happy to have him in her life a way she never had before. They talked once a week, shared music. He answered on the first ring every time she called, would call when he was in the airport and always allotted for at least an hour for them to catch up. He always called her back and never left her hanging, he communicated. She didn’t really know how to process all of this, to her, those were all things she couldn’t get the men she was dating to do. It was the most perplexing thing ever, her best friend was sick of hearing about it. She said he was gay just to not have to listen to it. When he finally moved back to Tulsa, they went out a lot, drank a lot and smoked entire packs of cigarettes. But he didn’t want her that way. He never even went there. What had gone wrong. What had he seen in her in person that made him change his mind. To this day, she doesn’t know. She does know that he thought about it, but it was just a thought.

One Friday night they had planned to catch up, order in, watch a movie and just chill. Not something for a twenty something single people to do in Tulsa unless in a relationship. The drinking led to spooning and then a make out and then a sleepover which resulted in the two of them sleeping in their clothes but never falling out of touch with each other through the night. The next day she went on a date with a man that would become her fiancé. That same night he met the girl he would go on to date for two plus years. He had said he tried to call, she had given up. Was that just a sliding door? Timing? Life. She hated his new girlfriend, and as fake as the girlfriend tried to be in befriending her, it just didn’t jive. She was also insanely jealous because she couldn’t figure out what was so cool about this girl, cooler than her. Baffling. She eventually got engaged and moved. They tried to stay in touch, but she could see him pulling away, and they both new the girlfriend was not exactly happy that he was friends with a girl he hooked up with all thru college.  The dislike was mutual, as much as she tried to be happy for him, she was dying inside.  She wanted him. He didn’t want her. Or did she. Was he just the sembelance of the kind of man she wanted to be with? Because her fiancé and he were so different? Was he a representation of the type of man she craved, needed had to have, had to have? He was. He was her equivalent, he respected her, he understood her work ethic and honesty. He got her. When he and the girlfriend finally broke up, she was relieved. She was sad that he was hurt but knew he’d be better off. One night over dinner, they had a vent session about their relationships. After dinner they had drinks. By the time the bar closed they were making out at the bar. She was engaged. He didn’t care. Neither did she. What happened that night made her wake up and realize that he/ someone like him was/ exactly what she had resigned herself to the idea that she could have. What she deserved. Three weeks later she called off her engagement. He flipped out, pushed her away, and she pushed right back. Again, he still didn’t want her that way. Was it a mistake? WTF was going on? She let it go, all these feeling bottled away, where they had always been. Then he wanted a “break”. What kind of fucking friends take “breaks”. Well they were on one. They reconnected for this 30^th just in time to see him make out with some skank and see him text messaging his ex. La freaking de dah. The talked on the phone, talked about furniture design, music, whatever came up.  He came to visit a few times in Chicago, he had moved back to Dallas, he was miserable. She was really happy. The happiest she had been in awhile.  She couldn’t help but to think, he always just took advantage of her. Like she was an idiot. Was she? She was beginning to think maybe she was. They happened to be in Vegas for work at the same time. Putting them in a place where there was never a last call was a bad idea, always. They stayed out late – late. He kept dropping hints about making the cut for her up coming Hawaii trip. She thought he was mentally insane for even suggesting it.

He was not the reason she called off her engagement – what had happened allowed her to see that she was not with the person she was meant to be with and she was in fact miserable. He told her that she was one of his closest friends, that she knew him the better than anyone he had ever dated and that he thought there would always be something between them. What did that mean? She was royally confused. She cried, they drank and then when he asked her up to the room, she went. He showed her some designs he had done on the plane on the way into Vegas. They made out, she stayed over but she explained to him that it was 13 years of nothing and she couldn’t keep pretending that it would be and that them sleeping together certainly would not help. That she loved him, but she just couldn’t keep getting her hopes up for nothing. He woke up on the opposite side of the bed. She always thought that crushed him. She would never know, he quit speaking to her a week later. She didn’t understand how such a revelation of a relationship could evolve and then poof be gone. She was crushed. Maybe that was his way of hurting her. It worked. No longer best friends. The End.

Beautiful Little Fool

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For fifteen months I had lived a breathed the man who I thought was my game changer. Turns out, that wasn’t the case at all. After some struggles and having to overlook the dissolution of his marriage, he decided to cheat on me before we broke up. He broke my soul. I never thought that someone who claimed to love so deeply could deliver such a devastating blow. I am not a sappy, heart on my sleeve kind of woman. I am guarded, I am harsh, I am bold, and I protect my heart. I suppose when I was younger and my mother broke my heart, I never quite got over it, and it made me close up and close off so I would never have to feel that kind of pain again. Because in life, when the people you depend on for true unconditional love and nurturing betray you, it is nothing you could ever expect to feel from a parent. So for as long as I can remember, I could not really open up myself and be vulnerable enough to let someone into my heart or to see the real me, to have the ability to take advantage of the love I have to offer. This man was my world; there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him, he told me I was his reflection and I thought he to be mine. Now, he has become the kind of person no one wants to be reflection of. And being the selfish person that I am, that is saying an enormous amount about what I was led to believe was the best thing that ever walked into my life. Our light burned bright, we were pretty little lights, I suppose if you leave them burning 24 hours a day, seven days a week; eventually they burn out. Burn out and become cracked bulbs with lots of glass that cut to the bone. He is now living out a pseudo relationship on Facebook with a 41-year-old mom of three that lives in Oklahoma. What hurts the most is that for the past five months he has been dragging me through the mud, he could have chosen to be honest, but he wasn't. The intent for the break up was to take some time for us to work on ourselves, and for him to deal with the emotion of the end of a 12-year relationship he had never allowed himself to grieve, then he wanted a break up (my dad said it was because he wanted to sleep with someone else, turned out he was right again). So while I am carrying sheer devastation and sadness around for months trying so hard to figure how to be strong, he is what he calls; “texting with someone from out of state”. I realize now that he has cheated on every woman he has ever been with including me and then even on her - with me. When I finally found out the text-ship, I was done. If I had only known months ago, I could have moved on. But instead of being a man, he decided he would drag me along because he knew he could. He was selfish – and betrayal is something I do not take lightly, at all. We will never be friends and all our memories together will forever be tainted by the fact that this man that I thought I knew, was a man I really never knew at all. Is this love? Dare I say no, it is more like being dragged through the depths of hell and being asked to survive while the person dragging you is drinking water and Gatorade. "I hope she'll be a fool - that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool...You see, I think everything's terrible anyhow...And I know I've been everywhere and seen everything and done everything. That's the best thing a girl can be in this world, A Beautiful little fool." Beautiful little fools still survive and live and love, as will I.

Women are Women - 2014

Since starting this blog well over 3 years ago, I continue to struggle with how to make 30inthe312 fun, witty and enlightening - all while keeping my existing closet male audience cracking up, making sure my aunts are in stitches, and capturing new followers. After going it alone in Paris, (aka the "summer of Andi"), watching my Sooners go to the Fiesta Bowl and falling into the proverbial hole called love (Circa 2011-2013), I think I re-imagined an un-nauseating middle ground that doesn't consist of puppy dogs and ice cream. Trying to write about my life after transitioning from a raging, weekly traveling girl, who was simultaneously trying to date in Chicago - to the person, I quieted down to become, was nothing less than challenging. That went full circle and back to me being the weekly - raging traveling girl who couldn't wait to touch down on Thursday nights and head straight to the UG to dance my blues away. At present not much has changed/ and everything has changed all in a matter of days. NYFW was one for the books, and a grand welcome to NYC definitely happened.

However -- Don't jump to conclusions, I AM still rowdy. I haven't abandoned my friendships, stopped going to Underground entirely, donated my dancing shoes, cancelled ESPN or permanently deleted my Facebook. I've just come to seriously enjoy a 5pm bedtime on Friday night eating a LRG Thin Crust pizza from Dag's and or a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie next to my favorite guy, Buck. 

While searching for the perfect re-emergence topic months ago (years ago, original publication of Women are Women - 2012), I spotted a thought-provoking article in The New Yorker. Margot Talbot's article "Girls Will Be Girls", (p. 39) revisits the sexual revolution and educated women, not to be considered as mutually exclusive. It is these topics mushed together that I find most intriguing and appropriate. For instance: "is sexual freedom good for women?" I can't but think, how could it not be? I didn't realize how bad the past was for women’s sexuality until I finally watched it unfold with my own eyes on an episode of Mad Men (I know I'm behind the curve on this one). So let's explore: why wouldn't the sexual revolution be good for women? Why has it been and continues to be socially acceptable for men to have multiple partners? Why was “continual use of birth control” called "mis-use"? Considering most of my friends, myself included, have been popping birth control since high school, I think it's been empowering, liberating and child free, at least for me. It just doesn't add up, the last time I checked, the only place 2+2=5 was a Radiohead lyric. 

Modern day example of this- Tiger Woods vs. Madonna. Who is seemingly perceived as less of a person, having been judged for their sexual choices when considering all the hoopla on both parts; Tiger with his sex scandal and Madonna with her public entourage of lovers and current 20 something boyfriend? The sad truth is: we still live in a world where perception is everything, where we are judged on our reputations (and number of sexual partners), especially if you are a woman. Even as Madonna publically chose to air her sexuality, Tiger’s inner sex god locked in a hotel closet went virtually un-ridiculed. He still stands Scarlet "Slut" free. Even though it is 2012 and the sexual revolution is over, it doesn't quite seem "revolutionary." It seems nowhere in life is it okay for a woman to be sexually free, some people (men and women alike) still choose to believe that women like Samantha Jones (SATC) do not exist, sort of like a unicorn, as one male friend coined it (Thanks Coffey). On the flip side, today's men think it's okay to ask for anal on a first date (according to an article in GQ), that's if they even ask you on a date at all (Porn has A downside). In a society that was created for freedom and equality, why is sex still taboo?

Another intriguing note in Margaret Talbot's article caught me for a re-read, "no one in America seriously worries that higher education spoils a woman anymore." WTF. Higher education thought to be toxic and spoiling? I can't imagine living in an era in which learning to knit, bake and drive were the end of my world or height of my intellect; and neither could my Grandmothers. The pioneers of my lifetime: Grandma Long, with her humble beginnings, less is more, red lipstick only, never unpolished nails taught me about equality at the age of eleven when she handed me a copy of "Uncle Tom's Cabin." She did have it all, even if it was controversial; married 50 years, a full time surgical nurse and mother of four if you include me.
Then we have Miss Panama City circa 1960 - Grandma Johnson who to this day does not cease to amaze and inspire me, visited Paris in the Spring with Bill, her love and companion of 20 plus years. Before tossing conventional expectations to the wind, she too married, and raised four kids. At 65, she graduated with her associates degree the same day I graduated with my Bachelors, not to mention her brave immigration from Panama in a sun dress arriving in Kansas in the middle of winter! 

Grandma J is determined to live past 100 and is working on her memoir. She emails, has an iPhone, texts me internationally and has a Facebook account --- she is UNwilling to be left behind in a world constantly changing.

I am eternally grateful for my grandmothers and their courage to buck trends throughout their lifetime, both of them in their own way, seeking a better life; have made me who I am. But had I been born an ethnic mutt (I'm nine different nationalities) in the Mad Men age, I would be considered an outsider: sexually repressed and possibly even uneducated. And so life then becomes a question of choices and drive; not judgments. 

What happens in life shapes that we become and the choices we make result in us becoming who we want to be. I seriously couldn't be happier to be an educated 30 something, who doesn't believe in an organized religion, who believes in thought, logic and ability, who chooses not to be married and chooses to work as a sales executive in one of the most male dominated industries on the planet. Furthermore, I am ecstatic to live in a time where women can participate in organized sports (Fresh2Death!LeagueChampions), sweat and "mis-use" birth control; not to mention the ability to do as I choose, buy $700 shoes, drive a car that seats 7 passengers even when there are only 1.5, scalp Bears tickets and make my own way. Buckley ridding shot gun no less.

I'm sure most of my readers want to judge me for being so open, writing seemingly "controversial, racy" topics but this is a conversation my friends, male and female, gay and straight have over a glass of wine, a beer or a shot of Patron XO. I know judging is psychologically "easier," I have a degree in that mumbo jumbo, but sadly most don't think and so that is what they do, they judge. I sincerely hope we can all open our square minds and create some piece for our own origami. I'll be honest, if my 79-year-old grandmother can read my blog and not judge me, then I would hope that most of my readers have a mind open mind expansive enough to follow her lead. And so when generations from now I am quoted as saying "be who you are, anything else is a lie," I mean it. 

In closing, I apologize a tiny bit for my MIA status these past few weeks. Once in a great while you find someone to fall off the grid with and you just have to hope you don’t need your parachute this time, well I am getting smarter these days and am fully equipped with three not - one parachute and an extra passenger air bag to boot. All lessons - All learned - All noted.

Where I am I going with all of this? I have no idea. So, go be sexy, get a library card and be who you are because random topics and 30inthe312/212/918 are back in full throttle.. XOXO

Go it Alone!

I know, I know ---It has been 21 days since my last post and you are dying for some hysterical nonsense to read, right?. Recently, I have been outside of the 312 exploring life elsewhere. Paris, oh Paris, quite frankly my new favorite place, was absolutely lovely. Not only because EVERY man on the street can and is dressed to a T but, because the lifestyle is so laid back, laissez faire, so chic, historic and so mini motorcycle driven. I arrived in Paris on a Thursday morning, exhausted from having changed my body clock a few days earlier so the jet lag would be minimal, I must admit I wasn’t excited until I picked up my body bag luggage from the carousel and whisked off to the cab line. Grabbing a cab was easy, the hour and forty minute ride from the airport to my hotel seemed unnerving, but shit happens, so my first 1:40 in France felt just like being trapped on 90/94 in Friday rush hour traffic, no biggie. Speaking to the cab driver wasn’t difficult either. I am not sure how it happened, but the Spanish in me just came out. The minute I needed to speak a foreign language, French was not the first thing to come out of my mouth, Hable Igles?, then English. It seemed a great way to bypass people thinking I was an American or a dumb one at that, so for the rest of my trip, Spanish it was. oui? no. dios mio, si!. My days in Paris were glorious, sunny, 70 and a two block walk from the Champs Elysees (shopping and people watching mecca) and across the street from the Arc de Triomphe. Paris lived up to its expectation and then some.  

What still puzzles me is that for eight (8) months, I caught flack and second looks for my European Vacation. I didn’t understand why more people weren’t generally excited for me but were mostly dismal about finding out that I was “going it alone” across the pond. WTF. As excited as I was, I found myself keeping my trip to myself, like a hickey I was embarrassed about and had to hide. The part that irked me the most was I had to explain myself, defend myself. “Oh Paris”; people would say, “who are you going with?” – it’s the equivalent to “what house are you in?” during college introductions. You would have thought I had just popped a third eye out of my head or said I bought a one way ticket to Mars, the responses were fucking annoying not to mention disheartening. Hey no worries, just take the wind out of my sails, thanks for making me feel insecure because you can’t eat alone.  And not only had I decided to do one insane thing, someone informed me, (run a marathon) but to do it alone in another country according to them, was mental institution worthy. Of course, I visualized dumping them into the Chicago River and never looking back. Even when my own father asked me why, my reply was simply this: ‘for the last 15 years of my life, I have been waiting to go to Europe -- “with someone”, to explore, experience life outside of America, ride trains to different countries, see the world…and guess what, this year I turn 32 and I’m not waiting for “someone else” to be present for me to experience those things. I refuse to wait any longer.’ The next day my father phoned to inform me that Paris was getting bomb threats and that I should cancel my trip immediately, it was August and he didn’t get it.

The marathon, the inspiration behind Paris entirely, full of it’s own challenges (Race Day: ear infection from hell, out of water AND power-ade at mile 21 and 23, HFS and the 73 degree scouring heat), I did manage a personal record, a sun tan and therefore a success. Paris a la Solo, will always hold a special place for me. It came at such a time in my life, full of change and inquisition and for that I will remain forever, soulfully grateful. For those of you who were positive, thank you for seeing the other slice of life. For those of you afraid to “go it alone”, even to the movies, I suggest you stop being so afraid of what others think, you might surprise even yourself.

HOLD ON

Sports are a lot like like dating, I’m a total jock. I don’t however date well, fuck, I don’t even like the word dating, it gives me hives. I don't like the word. "hanging out" either (ahem). It should be more defined by ‘time”. Spending time with someone. Communicating with someone. So why with the opposite sex, do my girls always want me to define it, the spending time with someone part, or in my eyes limit it? Are you dating, fuck buddies, hanging out, bfgf, almost dating, making out naked, serious, like each other, yada, yada, yada. Being a “guys girl”, I adhere to the no drama, work alcoholic, sports addict, jock, no pink wearing, scotch on the rocks drinking, Guinness, dominating, type A person that I am. Sure I rub people the wrong way, I am not everyone’s cup of tea. I don’t mean to be blunt, I was just taught that honesty is always the best policy. So that’s how I work. I suppose since my father raised me since age 10, all on his own I learned how to do a lot of “boy” and I have  an androgynous boy name to boot. I can change a tire, load and shoot a gun, throw and catch a football, probably run faster than some of you, snowboard, ski, water ski, bike, wire speakers, run cable from the attic, hot wire a light fixture, drive a standard, drive a fork lift, bait a hook, weed eat, fix the mower over the phone, count cards, cook, grill, chop wood, and belch. One thing my dad was very careful about was letting me be emotional in my own right but also to not let anyone take advantage of me, to stand on my own two feet. It made me hard and as much as I try not to wear my emotion on my sleeve, that is who I am. My dad, just yesterday, said; “you damn women, you get too emotional, take the emotion out of it and think with logic, think like a man, think like Samantha (yep my old man watches SATC)”. And so for the most part I do, I see coral every now and then and consider buying it, I can do a triple Pirouette, a Grand Jete, bake, do a smoky eye, rock the red lipstick, wear 4” heels and sew (just buttons).
So what is on the flip side odd? If I am spending time with my girl friends (which I do a lot) I don't say we are "dating" or "hanging out". If you are spending a lot of time with someone of the opposite sex that you are not just friends with, then there is always this big question lingering out there in the balance. . . is there potential? Chemistry. When you think about, it the periodic table is pretty damn big, so the combinations are endless. Dr. John Gray, “proclaims there are four stages of Chemistry: Physical, Emotional, Mental, Soul.” Physical is always the first and I feel like most important.  I am a visual person, I am never going to really fall for the guys who's clothes I don't want to rip off. Aside from buttons flying, I really have to have fun with someone before I can decide if I like them, and if you are negative or cynical (PASS), that's the beginning of the emotional. Then there is the mental chemistry, my renaissance man, who can camp and wear a tux with converse and pull it off without a flaw, (My ex couldn’t read a real map and didn’t own a drill, I did) I love music, movies, books, art, getting dirty, black tie, Lollapalooza and the ballet. Those are types of mental chemistry I truly want, it’s the organic chemistry equation I haven’t been able to successfully solve, each attempt to get the right answer gets me a little closer to that A+. The fourth chemistry is Soul chemistry. And the way I interpret this is when you have physical, emotional and mental chemistry together, you feel so aligned with someone, it could allow you to fully experience a kind of unconditional love, which is your soul connecting with that person's soul (a little cheesy even for me). And the feeling generally you have at that time, is "I want to share my time/life experiences, I want to go places with this person. Whether they are eternal friends or friendly soul mates, defining a “ship” should never stop us from hanging on to the good people in this world. "Because that soul is the eternal part of us, it's eternal". So you get this feeling of, you know, you want to be with them forever. My friends I want until I die, and someday a man by my side until I die or for however long it feels right and good, down to my bones. “I’ve got Soul but I’m not a Soldier” but I'm HOLDING ON.

Bay of Pigs!

I am not referring to the Cuban invasion, Fidel Castro take over, “Bay of Pigs”,  I am quite honestly referring to today’s men, who without hesitation see no harm in trying to get into your proverbial pants: whether they are married, in a relationship or sleeping themselves thru the city. This comes on the heels of a recent publication in the Wall Street Journal “Where Have The Men Gone” - Kay S. Hymowitz, Not only is the article spot on, it's a f-ing scary. So with that and having been indecently propositioned by a married man myself, I have to ask, why? Where are the good ones? I mean the really good ones? And why do the ones that seem good turn out to be just complete scum. Do married/ taken men, think we are “three ways from Sunday Stupid”? So my burning question leads me to this; why get married before 30? Why get married at all? I’m not cynical,  no. Not cynical. I just don’t get it. Today’s marriages are based on what exactly? Why can’t I have the same sort of commitment without a piece of paper and, an absurdly overpriced “keeping up with the Joneses” wedding? You can have love without marriage, and marriage without love, so why are they seemingly viewed as mutually exclusive? We don’t marry to merge empires anymore so what’s the need? Why can’t partnerships super cede marriage?  They say death and taxes right. Not marriage and death and taxes. Another valid point arises: all of my friends reside in a tax bracket as a single person that being married does them no tax credit justice. I ask my accountant every year, “where is my University educated, over 30, financially responsible, debt free, not married, no kids,” tax credit? Why does one-third of what I work like a dog for go to people like Octo-Mom? This world has bred a society to not think, not try and therefore a society that thrives on looting the system and my pocket book. That’s really a whole other blog entirely, solely dedicated to citing Ayn Rand.
I know being married is often seen as a basic foundation for having a family but I personally feel, that having a family is more of a commitment than a marriage, (hesitate to cite Brangelina but you know they make you go hmmmm). I honestly feel our generation of 30 somethings is fielding a social revolution where not being married is the norm. Ask me 16 years ago what I thought about marriage, as I was sitting in AP English, practicing my married signature with my high school boyfriends last name (and even then with heavy hesitation because it didn’t sound right) I would say, I thought I would get married. I’m sure a large part and parcel of my thoughts on marriage stem from my parents “high school sweetheart” marriage that disintegrated, simply because nobody knows who they are at 18. My father said to me, “12 years with your mom, I thought I knew her, but we changed and grew as people and, in the end you never really know anyone.” That statement scared the living shit out me and is probably why I remember it verbatim. Jilted again at 30 to hear a family member has been married to man of cheating mystery for the past 20 years. Again, why? Cruel and unnecessary. He “seemed” like the nicest guy on earth, committed to his family, to her; turns out he is a total dirt bag. I hope that each one of my loved ones and friends in marriage are blissfully happy, they deserve to be. I must say though, my 76 year old grandmother has successfully had a boyfriend for the last 20 years, they travel, they have a life together he is part of our family and it works. That is impressive. For now, I will continue to walk on my dream and stick like super glue to my idea of being married to myself. It’s only when you are whole in yourself that you are able to see outside your selfish being and field the idea of sharing your world with someone else. Anything else is not a dream but a nightmare. Why not draft a new regime, striving not to be married but perhaps happy and whole.

Swimming in a Sea of Singles

It's 2:30am, and I can't sleep. It happens on occasion, usually because I haven't: run, practiced yoga or written, all part of my sanity routine. As I navigate the net at this hour, I start with the running to do list in my head: ordering snowboarding gear (that I find on sale!), finalizing plans for NY in March, checking travel dates for Denver or Tahoe, emailing friends, updating my Facebook page (and stalking), looking at a map of Europe totally perplexed about what I will do between the Paris and London legs of my trip in April.... and I find that I am not particularly privy to writing about anything specific today.Then, I recall a conversation from just a few hours ago, "Andi, you and your friends are the type of women that have the smallest dating pool to choose from. It’s as if you are standing in the hot tub while all the other senseless girls are buoying in an Olympic sized pool." His point was that our dating pool was much smaller to select from and an entirely different temperature all together. Damn.

What an idea, the hot tub, so small. I don't know if this was the burning thought on hand or because I just so happened to browse thru Today's Chicago Woman; 50 Singles issue, only to feel like I had just wasted another minute of my life scouring for decent looking single men, (aside from the networking article featuring P.O.S.H events, pg. 34) OR that ALL my singleton friends (boy and girl) should be featured in this issue, but whatever the case I couldn’t shake the comment. I am fully aware that I have selectively and purposely chosen to make my dating pool small. All of my close friends know about "the 15", that being a 15 item checklist I look at, on or about someone before I will even contemplate hand gesture or conversation. Yes, it’s a bitch quality, but I am about efficiency and time management at this age- I know what I want and what I don't. I go shopping for specific things, not to browse the sale rack or returned items table. The same tenacity goes with men. If it doesn't fit, I don't buy it. If I simply have to have it, I consult my tailor. If I buy it and don't wear it in a week, I know I don't like it and never will, and then I'm off to return it.

One of the things I refuse to look past is a man’s style (Affliction T-shirts and jerseys are not style). Do you check the stitching on expensive shirts and coats before purchase? A minor detail, but a total reflection in the quality of work (thanks Dad). If not, you should because sometimes the details in the fabric are just as important as what's underneath. This is a high conflict topic with me and my ladies. Some women a) don't care, b) are okay with helping field ideas, c) like picking out outfits or d) have high aversion to men in bad clothes. I know, I know, it is a terrible area to be picky about. But per my zodiac sign, I am very vain in nature and therefore, I do care about what I put on my body and so should the man I choose to be seen with. My friend BAB says I'm going to end up old and alone, and he could be right but if I like salty and crunchy don't make me eat sweet...right? If I am to look for someone equally cool, they must have style. I certainly appreciate anyone's sense of it, as long as it's a reflection of them, style can be quirky just so long as you rock whatcha got.

Everyone has their own lens in which they see prospective mates, and for me, if you are a male over 29, in cargo shorts and Jesus sandals I won't even stop when grazing over you (bad shoes are a deal breaker, yep I said it). I bring this up because it can be a trivial trait in finding a date for me or for anyone, not to mention we haven't even made it to item 3 on "the 15". Poor guy could be dressed bad or drinking a "light beer" and I'm already re-adjusting the lens to focus on something else. Is there anyone else out there who has a list of "must haves" and "not so important items"? I'd love to hear what they are? Viola, it's 6:15, so I'm off to yoga.