Here's to Hope.

Hope. There’s a little part of us that yearns for the type of love that shakes us to the core…the type of love that is dangerous, witty, affectionate, sexy, compassionate, funny , honest and warm. If love is what we hope for, is the grass always greener on the other side once we’ve found it?…Or does it mean that we haven’t even found our great love in the first place? Puff.
Sure, being single has its perks. You’re free to leave the kitchen cabinet open as long as you please and if you want to use the softest toilet paper on the market because it feels good on your toosh…you can do that too. But at night, we are are all alone with our thoughts, regardless of who is next to us (or not next to us) in our bed. We are left with the thought that this…is…my….life. Puff. And then you wonder, “Am I settling? Is there something better out there?” In my case, I’ve dubbed myself the “runaway.”Does this mean that I’m scared of commitment? No. Does it mean that the next poor fella that decides to date me is destined for a dramatic departure from yours truly…No. It mean that I refuse to settle. Puff.
I want to smile and laugh. I want to look across the room at a Christmas party and say, “God I love that man.” And so far, that has not happened for me. I’ve loved, and I’ve been loved, but have not been so in love that I can’t picture my life without the other person. Puff. Perhaps I’m destined to be a cat lady and devote my time to charities and feeding local strays. Puff.
And how, how do we keep ourselves from being attracted to the same type of person? My nail lady said in her Vietnamese accent, “Go fo geeky. Geeky good. Hot no good. Hot man hurt you. Geeky man tweat you like preencess.” Her name is Jenny and I adore her. Is that the truth? Do we have to completely change what we “look” for!? Some of us are addicted to musicians... A LOT of us are attracted to the guy we can fix (those are fun! Ugh!)…so how do we STOP ourselves from being drawn to them like sad little magnets? Puff.
For now, though, in the midst of my recent singledom, the only thing I will settle for is chocolate chip over peanut butter or Mexican over Thai. And maybe, just maybe, hope will follow through. Depuff.

Puffer Fish Unite!

Once upon a time in a little place called friendship, girlfriends were created, and they are quickly taking over the shoulda, woulda, coulda’s of the world. “I knew you would come back here after talking to your girlfriends and feel all high and mighty. They probably told you ‘you can do it! Don’t settle!,’ and you listened.” This…was actually said to me. Puff. Often, our boyfriends, husbands, whatever…think that we don’t have a mind of our own and that we are all Sex in the City clones who are attached at the hip and can’t even wipe without our girlfriends present. Talk about misunderstood! Puff.
Sweet little ignorant boys (they’re all boys until proven otherwise)… not only do we have minds of our own, but often times, we are lucky enough to find a gal, or a handful of gals who are just as sassy…just as smart and just as outspoken as us and that…intimidates…the shit…out of you. Puff.We can drink a bottle of wine and dance around to Britney Spears in our undies and laugh. And then, we can encourage the amazing women that are our friends to look in the mirror and see what we see, and to never settle for anyone who doesn’t see that. Puff.
“I don’t even like your friends and I don’t care if they like me.” A tell tale sign that said boy in question is not right for you. You see, women may seek their opposites in a mate, but when it comes to girlfriends, we seek a kindred spirit. We look for ourselves in a friend. We look for someone who will bring us up when we are down, someone who will make us laugh when our cheeks are mascara stained and someone who will find a bathroom for you when you reallllly have to go. We look…for our soulmates. Boys will come and go, but a friend is a soulmate who comes into your life, sometimes just for a season, and always makes us appreciate who we are and why we do what we do.
So in the end, my response to the beginning statement of this puff…my response to the boy who “ACCUSED” me of listening to my friends…my response was “You bet your ass I listened to them!” Depuff.
…For my soulmates

Puffy Gut

In life we’re told to “listen to your gut.” I listen to my gut when I want Mexican food or when a brownie sundae is calling my name, but I have severe issues with listening to my gut gut…the gut, the whisper inside of you that says, “Wooohoo, helllllew, this is wrong!Abandon ship!” That gut…Puff. I’m finding it hard to believe that there is someone for everyone and if there is, I just get skipped right on by by Cupid, and get crapped on by the dysfunctional relationship gods. Call this a pity puff, but damn you gut, why!!??? Puff.
There are times in a relationship where you say to yourself, RED LIGHT, RED EFFING LIGHT, but you pass it off as a “flaw” in their personality and justify it because you love them. Is someone supposed to change for the other person, is that what makes relationships work? Should you have to alter your thoughts and chameleonize yourself just so you can say, “So and So and I believe that…?” So you can be a couple…a union, who believes and feels the same things. No thanks. Puff. And herein lies the problem, you can’t just go around dumping people just because they do something you don’t like. It’s about learning from them and appreciating them for who they are, and you take the good and that bad. But once again, you have GOT to listen to your gut. Puff.
Someone once said to me, “You’ll know as soon as you make your decision if it’s the right one.” The relief that comes with reclaiming your independence and your singlehood is bittersweet. In general, it’s a miserable experience, but if you’ve listened to your gut, and the bastard said, “Time to say sianara sistah!,” then you know you’ve made the right choice. And then, if you’re anything like me, you feel like thee most douchetastic bitch on earth for actually being honest with yourself and the person you love. Puff.
In the end, it is YOU that matters. It is the girl who still listens to New Kids on the Block, the girl who shares ice cream with her dog and the girl who can’t help but go with her gut…it’s that girl that matters. Ship Abandoned.Depuff.

A Puff for the Dumped.

A waste of time? “Seven years, four months and three days down the effing tubes.” The common response to the perfect, or so you thought, relationship that just blew up like grenade right..in front…of your face. Puff. Does it happen in a day, a month, a year maybe? When does the dumper decide.. “I’m done.” And the more disturbing question, how long do they wait until they actually get the balls to tell you how they feel? I think we’ve all been in both scenarios and it sucks either way, but man does it craptastically suck when you are the one being dumped. Puff.
When do you become strangers…roommates even, and when do you go from being IN love to just loving the other person? Did our grandparents, who were married for sixty years to each other…were they REALLY in love for the ENTIRE time, and if so, where the hell do I sign up for that!? Puff. Whether you’re the dumper or the dumpee, ending a relationship is never easy. It takes two to effing tango and If you’re the only one dancing…and you’re dancing in circles around the other person…it WILL NOT work. There’s a fine line between wanting to make a relationship work and letting yourself be walked all over like a freshly mowed lawn. Puff.
Granted, every day in a relationship is not filled with puppies and buttercups, but for the love of all things LOVE, can it at least be at least be a little fabulous.!? Puff. Sometimes, you don’t think about happiness in relationships until you’re sitting at a restaurant…looking at all of the couples around and you think to yourself, “Hmmm, they’re actually talking…having a full out conversation about something.!” There’s laughing and flirting, and touching and loving, and all you’ve got is a half eaten bowl of salsa and simultaneous facebooking at your table. Puff.
Often we mistake our reaction to their reaction as our own emotion. You dump them, they cry, you take them back because you think it’s the right move, but really, you just…feel bad…for them. And don’t forget, you love them…but you’re not in love with them. And by the way, hearing that statement come out of anyone’s mouth is like taking a bullet. A big fat “YOU’RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH” bullet. Puff. You break up, you cry until you can’t cry anymore and eventually you stop crying.
The point is, we HAVE to make ourselves happy. And whether you’re the dumper or the dumpee, it just means that that relationship just wasn’t the one for you…and you’ll be ok.Depuff.
For BT

Grab some puffs...

The first time I saw my ex husband after we had separated was FAR from graceful. There I was…at a bar…with my party girl cohort, and we were ready to celebrate a night of singlehood. I walked in like I owned the joint…huge smile, huge cleavage and a huge…HOLY SHIT…out of all the bars in this cheesy beach town, why, out of all bars does HE have to be here!? My girlfriend shreaked as if she had just seen a rat and quickly ushered me under a stair well, but not before I was spotted by the ex and his scantily clad and beer chugging entourage. I immediately left feeling defeated.Puff.
In retrospect I should have walked right up to him, said “Oh hi, fancy seeing you here,” and walked away, flaunting my post divorce hot bod for all to see. But NO! That is NOT the way the real world…or a girls world works! We don’t want to say hello! No! We want to run and hide and probably cry and maybe even vomit! It’s so easy, once we see them…or hear about them, to remember the good times and glorify them, so that by the time we get back in our car or we sign off our computer…we want to cry, and probably do…and then we watch The Notebook and cry even more! Boo effing hoo!Puff.
We certainly don’t want their beer guzzling, porn watching, non sensitive, immature ass, so then WHY do we become so mortified and upset when we see them or hear that they’ve moved on, even if we, moved on before them!? I think the reason is simple. As women, we put ourselves back into our old shoes and try to figure out WHY that wasn’t us. Why is new girlfriend/wife good enough to take on trips and I wasn’t? Why does she get to be the mother of your child and I, who spent a bajillion years with you, am not? We love the “what if’s?” Ugh. Puff!
So what has worked for me? Crying…crying usually works. Kidding, I’m kidding! Listen to some good chick music, look around your current world and be proud of how you got here. Thank said ex for teaching you what you don’t want, and maybe even some things you do want. Take a deep breath, grab a piece of chocolate and move…on. Depuff.

Chameleon.

I remember standing in Home Depot the day I left my husband (now ex-husband). At that point I was still trying to make thee hardest decision I’ve ever made….little did I know I was just a few hours from leaving everything behind. I stood in Home Depot picking out paint colors for my new home with my husband. While I was being instructed as to which colors HE liked and HE wanted in the house, my eyes drifted to the Disney collection of colors on the far side of the wall that would soon represent my life. I saw a vibrantly awesome shade of hot pink. I picked up the paint swatch and said to my best friend, “This is me. I’m hot pink. I lost that part of me. Where’s the hot pink!? I am NOT camo green!” It was at that moment that I realized that I had changed….for a man and for a life I thought was what I wanted. Puff.
There are times in a relationship where we step back and have a moment of clarity, an “ah ha” moment where we ask ourselves, “Do I actually enjoy this? Or do I do it because HE enjoys it?” This…is a tough question. We all know girls who are chameleons. If they date a guy who’s into sports, the girl suddenly knows everything about said boys favorite players and sports teams. She invests in cute pink sports jerseys and indulges in Sunday football with the utmost enthusiasm (this is usually the point where I want to punch her), when months ago they were complaining about how much they hate football season. So where is the line between Chameleon and Adjustment. At what point are we changing ourselves to coexist with the other person rather than just partaking in a few of their interests? Puff.
Sometimes, like in my situation, it blindsides you and before you know it, you’ve lost yourself, or who you used to be. I HATE camping and I found myself pretending to enjoy it because my husband liked it. I slept in mildewey tents and peed outside (which I am MISERABLE at doing!) all because I had convinced myself that because he loved it, and I loved him…that I too, loved camping. I did not. I do love singing. And dancing. And writing. I love going to bookstores. I forgot who that person was until the week after I left my husband and my best friend put a journal on my desk at work with the simple inscription, “Hoping you find your inspiration.” I have NOT stopped writing ever since. So, is it the guys fault or is it our fault for letting ourselves get so intertwined in someone elses life that we forget what WE actually enjoy. I’ll often people watch, especially at parties or social gatherings, and I’ll watch the girl, sitting loyally next to her fella, nodding at everything he says. She laughs when he laughs, rarely speaks and certainly never asserts her opinion. I often wonder what she’s like when she’s with her girlfriends, or alone in the car. Puff.
I still write in my journal, and nestled inside the front cover is a taped Hot Pink Disney paint swatch reminding me to never lose the hot pink that is me.Depuff.

Jabba the Puff.

"Wow, you were definitely smaller then!" The older I get the more I realize that I will NEVER look the way I did when I was 19....ever again, and THAT, is depressing. We look at ourselves everyday in the mirror and typically think that not much has changed since our carefree days of college. And then you see it, a picture of yourself in college, and you think to yourself..."Wait, I can't be wearing shorts in that picture, I don't wear shorts." And then he (as in your sensitively retarded boyfriend) says, "Look how small your legs were back then!" Puff.

Not only do I now want to put a lifesize snuggie over my entire body, but I immediately look down at my legs....then at the picture...then back at my legs, and realize that not only was that me, but "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY EFFING LEGS AND WHAT THE HELL DID I EAT THAT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE JABBA THE HUT NOW!?" I retort with, "I don't look that much different!" knowing full well that I probably have eaten my weight in the skinny bitch that was me ten years ago....and then some. And then they alllllways say, "But I like you the way you are now." Right. Why don't you just give me a fat kid pity pat and give me a snack pack!? Ugh. Puff.

Getting older is not fun, and I'm not even 30 yet. When did I go from being a petite college chick to being a "thick" (for the record I hate that word!) professional woman...whenever it was, I want that time back and I want to tell myself to wear every tube tob, every junior size and every pair of shorts I possibly could because I will never look like that again. Wow....talk about a proverbial smack in the face, which by the way is now showing its first sign of wrinkles. Puff.

But I will say this...Although my pant size has grown and I've gone from "chicken legs" to "softball legs," I still get carded for Rated R movies, and I still get whistled at when I go running, and I still have a birthday every year...which in itself is a blessing. DePuff.