12.12.12

Thirteen years ago today, I woke up on a Saturday morning, feeling just a little off. Brian was still working at the jewelry store, and had opted not to wake me before he left for work early that morning, as he was deep in the throes of the Christmas rush that once consumed our lives from Black Friday to Christmas Eve. When I finally heaved my heavily pregnant and virtually unrecognizable form out of bed, I was already running behind...my dear friend Jamy was getting married in Okarche that afternoon, and I was excited for her. I shrugged off the strangeness that I couldn't quite place. After all, two weeks before your due date, everything is a little strange, right?

I lumbered into the shower of our one tiny bathroom, and opted to forgo shaving my legs to make up the lost time. My dress was a long blue column shape, so I instead touched up my ankles and calves and figured I would get to the rest later. I had bowed out of bridesmaid duty, though I had been honored to be asked...my due date was just a little too iffy, and I had been afraid of leaving Jamy in the lurch. I had promised to help with the reception and whatever else I was needed for the day of the big event.

Brian arrived home around noon, and stopped short."Honey, are you okay? You don't look quite right..." he tells me uncertainly. I shrugged off his concerns, told him I felt a little strange, but I was fine. I wasn't missing this wedding for anything! Just before we left, I got a somewhat unexpected call from my parents, who were still living in Iowa at the time. They were en route to Oklahoma, 3 days ahead of schedule. My father was clearly perplexed by this, but being early makes him tremendously happy, so he hadn't argued with my mother's fierce insistance.

"She will be born on the 12th," Mom told me matter-of-factly. I laughed and shook my head, dismissing the idea. I still had nearly two weeks to go, and first babies aren't early! Everyone knows that! So I told them to drive safely...they were planning to spend the night in Ponca City at my grandmother's house and would head to the city in the morning. With everything squared away, we set out for Okarche, a 45 minute drive consisting primarily of bumpy country roads.

We arrived shortly before the ceremony, and I went in to give the bride a hug, determined to hold the smile on my face in spite of not feeling well. Our good friend Becky was a bridesmaid, and threw her arms around me in greeting, but stepped back quickly, giving me an odd look. "You okay?" she asked. (Becky was a nurse in an obstetrician's office at the time.) "Fine!" I said, smiling. I filed into the church and took my seat with Brian.

Soon, the big show began, and I was caught up in the ceremony. I've always loved Catholic weddings, and today was no exception. With an Episcopal background, it was easy to follow along, and during the first prayer, I pulled out the kneeling bench beneath the pew. Brian looked at me in alarm as I lowered myself to pray. When it ended, I stood...and as I did, I felt something trickle down my leg.


Nooooooooooooooooo.....!


For the remainder of the ceremony, every time I raised myself from a kneeling position, it happened again. Finally, the priest joyfully intorduced Mr. and Mrs. John Purdue, and as the newlyweds walked out, I was hot on their heels, making my way to the bathroom. I stopped and grabbed Becky's hand, pulling her in with me. I made sure the door was closed securely behind us, and hissed, "I'm leaking something!"

Although I'm sure she was amused by my 23-year-old naivete, she patiently explained the possibilities to me. (i.e., either you're leaking amniotic fluid or peeing on yourself.) She felt my belly, and when it tightened slightly, she frowned. "You might want to go to the hospital...I think your water has probably broken." She explained that the baby's head was probably blocking the way, preventing a big rush of fluid.

I processed this information slowly, weighing my options. I was in no pain, and had promised Jamy I would help with her reception. Plus, there were so many people there we both knew, and the last thing I wanted to do was steal the thunder of this beautiful bride. Quickly, I decided. I was staying. "Don't say anything," I warned Becky, as we walked to the reception. "Even to Brian."

In the reception hall, I joined the table that seemed to be unofficially designated for Pharmacy Co-Workers of the Bride. We chatted for awhile, and at one point, my boss's wife, Kristin, asked me if I was feeling okay. "Fine!" I assured her. When it was time to cut the cake, I made my way to the cake table and was greeted by the caterer. "You're Shannon?" I nodded numbly, and accepted the knife and server she handed, and began slicing and handing out groom's cake as guests went through the line. I was starting to cramp a little, but was able to ignore it as I watched the bride and groom cutting up on the dance floor. Everyone was having a blast.

When the last of the guests had been served, Brian came up and took my hand for a slow song. I shuffled clumsily on the floor, unable to gain my bearings. I finally whispered that I thought I was in labor. For those who know him well, Brian isn't exactly one to have a big reaction...to anything. "Should we go?" he asked, barely raising an eyebrow.

It was announced that the bride and groom would be heading to the getaway car soon, so I agreed to duck out a few minutes early. I went and gave Jamy and John a hug and congratulated them, apologizing for leaving a few minutes early, and claiming total exhaustion. We made our way to the car. It had just gotten dark. "So, are we headed to Mercy?" Brian asked.

I looked at him incredulously. "No way! I'm going home to get my bag first...plus, I still have to shave my legs!" You know, of course, that's exactly what we did.

It was nearly 8 pm when we checked in to Mercy, where the nurses confirmed I was dilated, contracting, and that my water HAD, in fact, broken. Once I got settled in, I called my grandmother's house, and by now it was almost 9 pm. "So, it turns out I'm in labor," I told my mother.

"I KNEW IT!" she shouted triumphantly, while simultaneously telling my dad to put the suitcases back in the car, because they were driving to Oklahoma City. They made record time.

Emily Kathryn did NOT. She joined us at 8:18 Sunday morning, December 12. Just like Nana said. (I DID call Jamy that morning to congratulate her on a beautiful wedding and wish her well on her honeymoon. "Oh, and by the way, I had a baby.") I have never forgotten her anniversary.

That morning, I began the greatest adventure of my life...and now our little wild card is becoming a teenager on 12.12.12. Happy Birthday, Emily! You've come a long way, baby!

Sick Chicken

Sara has been at home sick for two days...actually, today marks her third day of captivity. No fever to speak of, but she has a wicked, wheezy cough, runny nose, and transient ear pain...which means that although she isn't functioning at 100% and nees her inhaler to get through a long sentence, she basically feels okay, and is simply bored and impatient with all of this rest. (However, there is a bright side for her: "Oh, well...if I can't go to school, at least I don't have to wear pants!") It also means that I have been treated to a host of her wonderfully quirky musings and questions, and I have to say...damn, my kid is COOL. Obviously, I don't wish for her to be sick, but it seems as though while I have mandated rest for her little body, her imagination has been on a fabulous sort of overdrive.

First of all, I don't know that it's exactly healthy or normal to have an 8-year-old girl who is hooked on Hitchcock, but it certainly makes things interesting. She has been watching The Twilight Zone on netflix for the past few months, and has really been getting into it during her convalescence. Sara has always been the more wildly imaginative of my girls...I strongly suspect there is a writer or an actress trapped in there. Thankfully, she is also soft-hearted and thoughtful...like me, the thought of intentionally hurting someone is appalling to her, and it's equally hard to see anyone get hurt. (I just hope that she learns to be a little more selfish...maybe then she'll be better prepared when someone hurts HER than I ever was) But it has occurred to me that her flair for the dramatic and her keen, sincere interest in the people and events going on around her could be a dangerous combination without her kind spirit and generous heart.

Sara is a classically trained Little Sister. Emily is by far the most fascinating person in the world to her, and she goes to great lengths to--ahem--be well-informed of her sister's actions. Emily's first boyfriend is a source of profound curiosity. This morning, I was asking Em a few questions--for example, whether she and Fargo had any plans to try to get together in the coming weeks, and how often they talked. (Hey, Due Diligence is my JOB).

"Mostly we text, we don't talk on the phone much...but we text several times every day," she tells me...and they're going to try to meet up and do something next weekend. (Hmmmm...I have to say, in the first boyfriend department, having your daughter find one that does NOT go to her school and is unable to drive is kind of a parent's dream.) My inquiries led to the following exchange:

Sara: So, Mommy?
Me: Yes, honey?
S: Did your boyfriend go to your school when you were Emily's age?
Me: Actually, no...he didn't.
S: When did you see him?
Me: At Cotillion, and at the movies on weekends.
S: Did you text every day?
Me, chuckling: There wasn't any texting.
S, perplexed: Oh......so did you PictoChat on your DS?
Me, laughing: No, love. We didn't have that, either. He called me on the phone every day after school.
S: Your cell phone?
Me: No, my bedroom phone...I had my own number.
S: (Pauses) I don't even know what you're talking about.

A long conversation ensued about adolescent dating in "the old days," with landlines, handwritten notes, film cameras, and no facebook...she was clearly intrigued by this simpler time, and wanted to know more.

Sara is a little sponge, one who is both hilarious and wise beyond her years...last night, Michael and I took the girls out to look at Christmas lights after dinner, and as we drove through the Chesapeake "campus," Sara pipes up from her booster: "This is where we saw Santa!"

Indeed we had, two years earlier...we had been driving through looking at the beautifully decorated trees when we saw Santa Claus ride past us in a horse-drawn carriage. (Apparently, the City of Chesapeake offers all sorts of services...?) Sara promptly rolled down her window, shouting at the passing Kris Kringle, "Santa...it's me! I want a pony! 821 Richmond Road!"

The truth is, I have two bright, funny, sweet girls...and I am thankful for them every day. I'm also thankful that my life is at such a place where I can just sit back and enjoy them. Yes, I'm busy as ever, but I'm also happy and contented in a way I never have been. Everything this Christmas looks a little shinier, tastes a little sweeter, and sounds even more lyrical...even endless silly questions from a bored, sick little Chicken. I think maybe I just need to join her for a pajama day and throw all of my errands out the window. :)

American Horror Story

Shit. Well...it seems my daughter is turning thirteen. Of course, I knew this was inevitable, and it isn't so much this in itself that I find horrifying. Sure, in the grand tradition of thirteen-year-old girls the world over, she has very little use for me...this is to be expected. She's smarter than me in some ways, which can be a little intimidating. I can no longer help her with her math homework, as she is taking high school-level algebra in the seventh grade, and, well, I just don't really remember that crap...or care to...but it has been okay, because Brian is kind of a Math Nerd by design. (At least both girls inherited some practical intelligence--you know, the kind that will allow them to one day support themselves--along with a dose of my love of books and snarky humor. They are undoubtedly more well-rounded then I will ever be.) She is practically glued to her phone...just as I was at her age, I suppose, only mine was plugged into the wall in my bedroom, so I couldn't be on it at the dinner table. No, none of this is especially horrifying...

But let me tell you what IS.....


She has a boyfriend.


YEAH.


I know, right??!!


Okay, okay, I get it...it was bound to happen. Girls get boyfriends, usually sometime around this age. But MY thirteen-year-old happens to look about sixteen. She's 5'6 and has this supermodel body thing going on that terrifies me...the worst part is, I think she's figured out that she's kind of hot. (While Emily is generally a really good kid and a straight-A student, she's always had this air of obliviousness about her that could, at times, be quite refreshing...certainly in the sense that I always felt like I was at least a few steps ahead of her.) Last week, I vetoed the off-the-shoulder shirt she was wearing, then later caught her trying to smuggle it out of the house to the ice skating rink wrapped inside a sweatshirt...not okay.

The Ice Skating Rink...let's discuss. The Ice Skating Rink is to 7th-graders what Kickingbird Theater was to us in the early 1990s. It was here that this boy--Dakota--asked her for her number last month. It's where she wants to meet up with him next Friday, after he gets back from California. (Hmmmm...awfully worldly for fourteen, isn't he?) Hopefully what's happening at the ice skating rink is far more benign than anything that was going on in the back row of Kickingbird Theater in the 1990s...but you know, I'm pretty sure Eric wasn't calling me baby back then, either. Ick.

So, my daughter has a boyfriend. His name is Dakota, and he calls her baby and tells her she's amazing. Okay, then...I'm not freaking out...much...

It doesn't hurt that my own boyfriend can certainly sympathize, as he's already been to that rodeo more than once. (Holy Monkey...are there really HALF A DOZEN children between us?! Better not think about that right now...) On the other hand, the idea of being in a relationship with someone who doesn't have kids and doesn't get what it's all about seems pretty ridiculous to me now...but hindsight is always 20/20, right? How often do we not know someone is wrong for us until we find someone who's right? I mean, isn't that what Emily is starting to do, in her own way? Testing the waters is what it's all about, really...even if his name is Dakota (North or South?) and he calls her baby. Seriously, ick!

I admit, it also doesn't hurt that I don't feel all that far removed from where she is...granted, I had her at 23, so I'm on the young side and can actually remember thirteen quite vividly...but I've also been there pretty recently, and the Adult Dating Spectrum doesn't always look much more refined than the Early Adolescent version. (People are fairly ridiculous. I'm just saying.)

So, my daughter has a boyfriend. Okay...she's also got me. And while she may not have much use for me in general, she tells me enough that I feel like I can trust her, and she seems to trust me. I guess that's the important thing, right? When she stops talking to me, I'll worry...

Until then, I'll watch...

Like a freaking hawk.

Election Musings

So the Question of the Day for TODAY is simply: What are your thoughts about tomorrow's election?

First of all, let me preface this by saying I have no intention of giving away who I'm voting for tomorrow...those of you who know me well already know, and your view of this post will likely be clouded by your opinions, because let's be honest...that's what we DO. I would guess there are approximately four actual undecided voters in this country tonight. Most of us have known for quite some time which candidate we would be supporting, and thus, we have likewise chosen which brand of media to consume based on this knowledge. I would venture to say some people knew what side they were voting for before primary season had even really begun and a party nomination was determined. I can say with some pride that I am NOT one of those people.

I can also say, in all honesty, I try not to vote that way. I'm not always successful, but I try...as I'm considering the various issues and proposed policies, I make a concerted effort to see both sides of an argument and consider not only how individual issues would affect me personally, but how it would affect the country as a whole, and choose my candidates based on who I feel represents the best interests of the majority of Americans. Far too many people cast their votes without giving any thought to the greater good. I want a President who belongs to everybody, and will work across party lines. Social issues can be sticky...at the end of the day, you have to be able to sleep at night, so obviously a certain level of emotion is going to play into choosing a candidate. I just feel too much emotion can sometimes cloud good judgement.

As far as this campaign goes, I am disappointed with both candidates. Both ran negative campaigns based largely on information that was either misleading, taken out of context, and in certain cases, an outright fabrication. I'd much rather hear about your experience--your successes, yes, but also your failures and what you learned from them. I'll have so much more respect for someone who demonstrates to me WHY he's human, instead of pointing out the flaws of another.

All of that being said...I have little to no respect for someone who doesn't even try to educate themselves on the issues. Living in this country is a privilege, and responsible citizens should take full advantage of their rights. Do a little research. Watch the debates. Ask questions. Check facts. Voting a straight-party ticket is lazy, and I hate the fact that the option still exists, at least in Oklahoma. Educate yourself, because it's your responsibility. Especially if you have kids. For the love of God, set them a good example.

Tomorrow, I will take Sara with me to the polls before school starts, so she can watch democracy in action (sort of). Tonight, I made a traditional Election Day yeast-risen cake with my kids, and explained the history of the tradition. I answered my daughters' questions about the candidates as honestly and impartially as I could--with the understanding that I'm human. I have not come out and told them who I'm voting for...not yet. I would never bash either side in front of them, because I want them to have respect for the Office of the President, no matter who it is. And you know what, folks? We don't know who's going to win yet.

I'm thankful I live in this country, where I have a say (sort of), and I hope my kids learn to take full advantage of those rights and responsibilities they have as citizens.

A Seemingly Endless Parade of Ridiculous People...

Okay...I'm not usually one for jumping up on a soapbox...but today was exactly that. It's a holiday. I couldn't squeeze a swimming pool invitation out of anyone I knew to save my soul, and I quickly discarded my fleeting idea to use my ex-boy's apartment gate code to borrow his pool. (Probably not the best example to set for your children, right?) I admitted defeat to the girls and cheerfully offered a movie and a trip to the mall...although disappointed, they perked up and off we went...to the MALL...on LABOR DAY...because for a smart girl, I can be a little bit stupid sometimes.

We are, of course, cutting it a little close on the movie time, because Emily has to apply full makeup before she can possibly appear at the mall...but we got there, no problem, and started making our way through the throngs of people to the theater downstairs. Of course, we immediately get behind a group of people doing what I call The Oklahoma Shuffle.

This is a large group, both in number and in size, that spans the entire length of the mall corridor and shuffles along at a snail's pace, oblivious. There may or may not be a Fat Person on a Scooter in this group...and there is frequently a guy in a wife-beater among them, as well as a number of children who seem to be generally unsupervised, in spite of their relatively close proximity to their parents.

When not wandering aimlessly, you may find this group at a table in the food court with a super-sized Value Meal. Or, like the family in front of me in line at the movie concession...who ordered two pepperoni pizzas, an order of nachos, 3 hot dogs, a large popcorn, and 3 DIET COKES. Meanwhile, I'm missing half the f***ing movie waiting to order the medium popcorn that the girls and I share, an iced tea, and two bottled waters. (Occasionally, I add a bag of Skittles for us to split.)

It would be one thing if they were only feeding themselves this junk, or if it really WAS an occasional treat...but we live in a state where 25% of the children are overweight or obese, along with one in three adults. I'm not perfect...I've struggled from time to time with the scale, and I'm sure I will again. I really believe that healthy comes in a variety of sizes...the girl in size 12 or 14 jeans may actually be in better shape than the girl in a 2. But I've yet to meet anyone in a 26W that was the picture of health...I haven't met a kid or adult who couldn't remember the last time an actual fresh fruit or vegetable passed their lips who was in awesome shape. I've never come across someone whose diet consists primarily of convenience foods (all processed, all the time!) that didn't struggle with weight and/or health issues. And yet, these are all too often the people I hear complaining about their issues....their weight...their joint problems...their kid's ADHD...their diabetes...and my favorite, how much all of those meds cost them every month.

If I didn't come into contact with them every day...if I didn't write a healthy family column for a parenting magazine...maybe it wouldn't annoy me so much. I do a good job of remaining politically correct for my jobs. But why is it so hard for people to use a little common sense when they feed their children? Include all the food groups, in reasonable proportions...put a little color on their plates...give them fresh fruits and vegetables, and do it EVERY day...and maybe set a good example. It's your JOB. Don't obsess, no one has to be perfect...but make dessert an actual TREAT, not a regular occurrence. Don't take no for an answer. Don't let them become those people who think every single thing they eat has to be something they LOVE, or who go to a friend's house for dinner and don't eat anything, because it isn't frozen pizza or macaroni and cheese. And for the love of God, do NOT turn around and feel sorry for my kids because they make an effort to eat something green every time they sit down, even if it's just to make me happy. Because you know what? Eventually, they'll do it on their own...don't feel bad for them because they don't gey dessert every day, or because there aren't hot dogs and lunchables in our fridge. I promise you, they're okay. They OCCASIONALLY get junk food, too. It just really IS occasional.

I joke about stereotypes, but I understand them. Sometimes, they're honest. I was the 185-lb 12-year-old who was never told "no" and had no idea how to eat healthy. That was back when it was a whole lot less common to be overweight at such a young age, and people genuinely WEREN'T as educated about healthy eating. It was a fairly shitty existence, though. I watched my parents yo-yo from one fad diet to the next, and I existed on large portions and processed food. I've never again weighed as much as I did then, and I knew I wanted different for my kids, so I've done my best. They're healthy, they're smart, and they're well-behaved. Do me a favor, and don't see them as deprived. And maybe speed up, or at least get out of the way so we can get to our movie on time? Thanks...

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Dear Autocorrect...

Okay, look...I know you mean well. But you can't change me. I really do swear like a sailor, so you might as well accept it and stop trying to clean up my act. When I type hell, I can all but GUARANTEE I didn't mean to say jello. When I say fuck, I don't mean duck. Shit is really supposed to say shit, not shot or shut...and I've entered these words into your vocabulary so many times, you should remember them on your own. Stop giving me the benefit of the doubt already....THIS IS WHO I AM! You don't have to protect my friends from my potentially offensive texts. They know me and accept me in all my foul-mouthed glory...why don't you?!

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Makes Sense to ME...

As a rule, writers tend to be a little on the crazy side. Forgive me for generalizing...it's just an observation I've made over the years. If it helps, I include myself among this slightly-crazy population. It isn't necessarily a bad crazy...in my opinion, the more intelligent and creative a person is, the more potential there is for crazy. How can you know all the shit you know about this world--which is, let's face it, a little f***ed up--and NOT be a little concerned about where we're all going to end up? Creative minds often wander into strange territory. You just have to be smart enough to manage it.

I think I got off fairly easy in the crazy department. When I'm being irrational, I am fully aware of said irrationality...some people aren't so lucky, and I'm grateful for this discernment ability. I just think sometimes my filter operates on a slight delay. Obviously I KNOW not all of the shit that runs through my brain is appropriate and rational. I just can't always keep it in there. However, in most cases, I am fully functional--even moderately successful--in social situations. When I am being irrational, there is a very good reason for it, and usually the only people who are going to see it are those who are closest to me. Not everyone can plan their crazy...certainly not to the point that they're apologizing for it almost as it's happening. Would it be better if it didn't happen at all? Sure. But do I still feel like I got off relatively easy in the crazy department, all things considered? Absolutely.

I've worked in HR long enough to know that some people don't even come with a filter mechanism. It can sometimes feel a little like being a high school counselor...but that's okay, because people have always fascinated me. Obviously--I got a psych degree for a reason. In the past month, I've come to the conclusion that I really should be using it...even if it's only to help people so they don't become quite as messed up as I am. So I applied to OU's MHR program, and was accepted...I can sit for my LPC exams through this program. I can also learn how to be a better HR person. Either way, maybe I can help someone moderate their crazy before they turn into a total train wreck. Maybe I can even learn to manage my own train-wreck moments. I've had more of them than ever in the past couple of years. It's time to pass that baton. Wish me luck.

Emotional Hermitry...

Before you ask, since this is my blog, I get to make up whatever rules or words I want to as I go along, and you as my public are expected to just roll with it...I haven't written much lately. You may have noticed...or you may have all forgotten about this damn blog months ago, and who could blame you if you did, as it is mostly just me rambling through a bunch of bullshit that's been bouncing around in my brain when I can't sleep--which is most of the time. I swear, you people probably think I'm on drugs...but anyway, I haven't written on account of my emotional hermitry...interestingly, it was me commenting to a friend and fellow writer that SHE had been rather quiet of late that coined this little gem of a phrase...and left me thinking, "yeah. I totally do that, too."

I've been in a funk for the past month or two, one I've had a hard time shaking. I'm behind at work, had a falling out with a friend, got my house beaten all to hell in a hailstorm, and finally figured it was time to come to terms with the fact that it wasn't that N didn't want a girlfriend...he just didn't want ME. At least, not as his girlfriend. However, I've racked up yet another guy friend whom I adore, and I'm beginning to think my future lies mainly in being the inappropriate female sidekick to guys the world over. (On the other hand, what do you really expect from the girl who, on our second date, leans over and whispers that the visibly sweaty and uncomfortable residents in the opening scene of Hitchcock's Rear Window are "a bunch of pussies" when the thermometer flashes across the screen showing 90 degrees?) It's not like anyone is ever clamoring to bring me home to meet their mom or anything...not unless your mother is Chelsea Handler...

But emotional hermitry isn't really an excuse...I should be talking, because hiding is easy and it's a cop-out, and it has never once proved helpful in the past. The thing I didn't expect about letting go of the idea of that possibility was that I would feel somewhat relieved...like the pressure was off and I could be me again. All I had been was anxious for weeks, and it had stopped being fun...but because of the feelings I had for him, I wasn't ready to let "us" go, not completely. That's the way it is, I guess, with the first guy you fall for post-divorce. And I have to tip my hat to him...I can be a handful. He hung in there and STILL somehow sees some good in me, even though he's had the misfortune of seeing me at my absolute worst. For that, and for so many other reasons, I know that whatever it was, it was right. It was right that we met, it was right that we clicked got to know each other as well as we did, and I'm glad. I'm glad to have him, however I have him.

And since we hadn't been exclusive for months, and because I do tend to land on my feet more often than on my ass, I'm already seeing someone else...and I'm kinda excited, in a way I haven't been excited since N walked onto the scene last September. And trust me, I've gone out with a couple dozen that DIDN'T make the cut. I know what I want....I want to laugh so hard I'm in danger of peeing on myself. I want intelligent conversation, and someone who shares my tastes and sees past my appearance. And having Chelsea Handler for a mother sure as hell would be a bonus. Otherwise, I'm just the girl your mom warned you about. Granted, she probably never mentioned I'd be so much fun!

I cast thee aside, Emotional Hermitry...go ahead and bring it on!

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Honeybabysweetiepie 101

As a lifelong resident of this great (?) state, I am no stranger to the use of Terms of Endearment as Regular Pronouns. On the other hand, I'm smart enough to know what's acceptable here isn't necessarily okay...oh, anywhere north of the state line, and I adjust accordinly when I travel. And while these rules have never been committed to writing (so far as my extensive--and by that I mean zero--research indicates), I am always amazed that there are even fellow Southerners (and Middlers like me) who do not observe these unspoken rules. Therefore, as a courtesy to my fellow man, please allow me to enlighten you.

First of all, let me offer a disclaimer: Oklahoma falls into that gray area I like to call the Cowboy South (because it sounds more flattering than most of the other descriptors that spring to mind.) Southerners do not claim us. Texas is our closest neighbor and our fellow residents of the Cowboy South, as their landscape, resources, and lifestyles most closely resemble our own. However, Texas would kind of prefer to pretend Oklahoma does not exist...it's like we're a hat they've forgotten they're wearing. This determined nonacknowledgement gets pretty difficult during football season, when we've stolen their most promising recruits and the Red River Rivalry is looming large...but I digress. My point is, the Cowboy South and the True South have similar rules when it comes to the use of Endearments as Pronouns. Consider the following User's Guide:

Honey:
For Females:  This is the go-to term in Oklahoma. Girls and women of all ages can and do use it liberally with both genders with little fear of being considered inappropriate, with the following exceptions: students should never address their teachers, nor should children address their parents in this manner. Additionally, avoid using it with members of the clergy. Pretty much anything else is fair game, though. "Honey" in the Deep South may be liberally interchanged with "sugar," "darlin," or "sweetheart," all of which mean the same thing coming from a female. While these variations are less common among Oklahoma natives, they are usually considered acceptable, especially if they are delivered with a Dixie-laced accent. Now, you may be wise to make geographical adjustments as necessary. Is my largely accent-less self going to respond "thanks, honey!" to the sweet-faced server who brings me a drink in Chicago? Probably not unless it's a guy and I think he's hot...

For Males: While it is generally permissible for women to address men as "honey" regardless of their relationship, this rule does NOT go both ways. For simplicity's sake, I will use my 35-year-old self as an example. The following people may call me "honey" without fear of being considered in any way creepy:

• women of all ages, regardless of relationship
• gay men of all ages, whether I know them or not
• men with whom I have an established platonic friendship, such as the husbands of my close friends.
• any man whom I may be regularly making out or sleeping with presently, as well as SOME of the formers, excluding my ex-husband. (Those of you among this population probably know who you are, because I still wish you happy birthday and do not refer to you as "fucktard.")
• men over the age of 65.

Other Helpful Hints:
--If you are attempting to get a date with me, and there is an inappropriate use of such terminology, I can pretty well guarantee it won't happen, with me or any other intelligent, attractive woman in this state. Please use caution.

--If you are trying to sell me something and these guidelines are breached, you just lost your commission.

--If you are going to be doing work on my car...please...for the love of God...JUST. DON'T. DO. IT.

Baby:
General: Whiile far less common than "honey," it is not completely unheard of for women to occasionally refer to their closest friends (again, of either gender) as "babe." I will also accept "babe" from male friends, provided I have known them a good decade or longer, as well as guys that I am legitimately dating, even if it isn't particularly serious. To go full-on "baby." however, generally implies that the person whom you are addressing either A) is someone you gave birth to or in some way contributed to their DNA makeup, or B) has recently seen you naked, and it wasn't in a locker room. Otherwise, let's keep this one tucked away in the Sooner State, shall we?

Sweetheart (or Sweetie):
General: For the most part, the same rules apply to these terms as apply to "honey." It's simply less common here and more common in other regions. Again, some leeway may be given at the listener's discretion based on accent. That is, if you can actually make out what they're saying...there's a guy I've been dating off and on for the past 8 or 9 months, and I still can't understand him when we talk on the phone to save my soul. (He's from the Memphis area.) Texting just works better in such cases, followed by face-to-face conversations.

Other General Tips:

--You may use "bless her heart" as a broad-spectrum disclaimer for virtually any disparaging comment that precedes or follows, i.e., "Bless her heart, she won't be winning any beauty contests any time soon." Or, "bless her heart, her Mama never taught her how not to be such a nasty bitch."

--Y'all is a perfectly acceptable contraction for "you all."

--We have relatively few colloquial slang terms...more of a tendency to run our words together without any attempt to enunciate. For example "jeet jet?" translates to "Did you eat yet?"

--Please never, EVER use the movie or the musical Oklahoma! as a translation reference...or just don't refer to it at all. That would be great...

And to the random guy in the silver Corvette who called me "honey" yesterday, I dedicate this post and offer the following message: NOT IN THIS LIFETIME.

Dear You...

One day, I will find you...you will look at me and think I'm the most beautiful girl in the world. You'll listen to what I say, so you'll know that I'm smart. You're going to find my quirks endearing...you won't care that I swear a lot and you'll think my tattoos are cool...you will both love and envy my energy. You'll appreciate my culinary abilities, and when you see me with my children, you may kinda want me to be the mother of yours, too. You won't care that I have a little baggage...in fact, you'll carry it for me from time to time. But don't worry, I'll return the favor when you need me to.

You won't care that I keep the house a little bit chilly, and you will build me a fire even if it's only September and it's still in the 50's, because you will think it's cute that I'm so excited about fall. You won't be offended that I sleep curled into a ball by myself instead of cuddling--if I sleep at all. You will remember to take pictures at parties, because I always forget. You will love loud music, and will observe my sudden urges to dance it out in the kitchen with an amused grin. You will understand my jokes and be strangely attracted to my sarcasm. You will make fun of me when I'm wrong, or when I'm acting like a complete brat. If you make me cry, you will help dry my tears.

In return, I will bake you a cake for your birthday...and sometimes just because. I will make you laugh, which won't be hard, because you totally get me. I will watch football and basketball games with you even if I don't care about your team...or maybe I'll really care about your team, because you'll be mine. I will dress up when you take me out, and I will make sure my heels don't make me taller than you...well, unless you like that. I will let you go out with the guys, and I won't ask for too many details when you do. I will kiss you hello and goodbye every time I see you...and I mean REALLY kiss you. And I will rock your world on a pretty regular basis.

I know you're out there. I may even already know you somehow...but if I do, it's okay that I don't know it's you yet, because I'm probably not quite ready for you...but when I am, I promise to be one of the best things that ever happened to you.

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Happy...

You know it's for real when it has nothing to do with anyone but yourself...I don't need to be someone's wife or someone's girlfriend. I'm happy enough being someone's mother (two perfect little someones) and everyone's friend...well, most people's, anyway...unless you're one of those general assholes, in which case you can piss off.

It may not be the one I planned, but it's a pretty great life, and I'm making it for MYSELF. I have two amazing girls and a nice place to live, a job that pays my bills, and a ton of people I love that make me laugh...and it occurred to me today that I can't think of a single need that isn't being met...even most of the "wants" are being covered.

As for the guy, everyone asks, and here is my answer: Who knows when I'll find him? Maybe I already know him, maybe I don't...either way, I have something to look forward to...and you know what? So does he! I'm fun at a party, and I'm not bad to look at...and in spite of my penchant for sarcasm and a few minor quirks typical of writers and creative types, I'm a really, really nice person in general...so come on, don't be shy! Come and get me! Or DON'T...I'll be just fine on my own...

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Funny the Way It Is...

Tonight was one of those nights that makes me forget about all of the bullshit the has been the norm for the past couple of years. It didn't really start out as anything remarkable...I got off work, picked up the girls from their father's, and decided to take them out for pizza. Pretty standard, right? I thought so. First, we stopped at home to feed the cats and drop off their stuff...Sara and I were waiting for Em in the kitchen, sneaking a few pre-dinner Cheetos, when Sara suddenly asked me in her matter-of-fact way:


"Mommy, do you really kiss better than you cook, like the sign says? Because I think you're the best cook in the whole world!"

How does a responsible parent answer this question?! Well, who knows, really...but here's what I said:

"Well, I don't know, Sara...I guess you'll just have to ask around on both counts..."

This made her giggle...and me, too...and it was a good preface to the evening to come, as Em finally emerged from her room and we headed to the Othello's...I know I've mentioned it before, but O's is kind of my place. One of my best friends, Nancy, is part owner and general manager, and I know most of the staff. The girlfriends and I used to go there every other Thursday to catch up...until I went and got a divorce, and now I have my kids on Thursday nights, putting a damper on the Thursday Girls Club. But we still make it there on the occasional odd (non-Thursday) night, and about once a month, when the kids are craving a pizza, I take them there now.

I was happy to see Nan working tonight, along with several of the servers I know pretty well. Once we were seated, Nan came and hung out with us for awhile, and we ordered our pizza. Angel and Katie and Hannah all stopped by to talk to us, and business was steady, so we were having a good time. Nan left for a bit to check on our pizza, which had been entered incorrectly, and in the meantime, Sara quietly put away three loaves of bread dipped in olive oil and balsamic vinegar...we didn't care that the food was a little late. We were having fun.

A single guy had come in and been seated at the table next to us with his little boy, and I could see him trying to catch my eye. Before long, he turned around and introduced himself. His name, of course, is Brian...like my ex...and like one of the guys I've dated off and on over the last few months. We made idle conversation for a few minutes, and he excused himself to take his son to the bathroom. I see Emily looking at me with a smirk on her face, and as soon as he's out of earshot, she said:

"Uh, Mom, that guy is TOTALLY flirting with you, in case you're not aware...and for crying out loud, do you really need ANOTHER Brian?!"

She's a smart girl, that one...

Nancy and Angel were telling the girls some of their stories about the restaurant building, which, by most accounts, is haunted. It's around a hundred years old and served as the city's first hospital, and several servers, bartenders, and other tenants of the building both past and present have reported hearing strange things, like the sound of a little girl laughing in what used to be the morgue, and a mischievous teenage boy who likes to cause trouble. They were eating it up at the table...and of course, now they're snuggled into bed with me...which, honestly, might be the perfect end to a great night. I need more like these, please! They remind me what's important, and how much I already have going for me.

Understanding the Post-Breakup Reassimilation Process

It's been more than 8 months since I made the decision to get a divorce. While it hasn't been all unicorns and rainbows, I've done alright. I've also discovered there is a natural system in place when it comes to getting back in the proverbial saddle, and if you follow it, your chances of successful reassimilation are far more likely...deviation is strongly discouraged. There are THREE mandatory Reassimilation Phases that MUST be completed before considering monogamy again, plus an optional fourth phase for the SERIOUSLY self-destructive. They are as follows:

1. The Rebound: This term is usually reserved for the first person you sleep with* (who ISN'T a one-nighter) after a divorce or the end of a long-term relationship. Particularly impressionable individuals will convince themselves that they are in love with this person, and then all hell will break loose...for all of you REALLY codependent morons (you know who you are), you may enter into a serious relationship or even marry this person. This relationship will end badly. I promise. The advice I was given--both by friends who have been there and by a qualified therapist--is to steer clear of serious relationships and major decisions for at LEAST one year post-breakup. This seems like sound advice, because while I get better every day, I'm still not 100% over the hurt and anxiety I felt as things finally crumbled. (On the other hand, I have the half-assed girlfriend routine down to a science at this point. See below.)

*In a handful of cases, you will not sleep with your rebound, but the two of you will make out like there's no tomorrow, and you will feel attached to him/her. It's still a rebound. There is NO loophole.

2. The Angry Recluse (Optional): This optional phase may occur at the conclusion of your Rebound Relationship, depending on just HOW badly that ended, or in between Half-Assed Relationships...not all people will experience it, but this period may involve any combination of the following:

• heavy drinking
• depression
• crying
• cake-throwing
• swearing and/or name-calling
• careless one night stands
• hooking up with an ex
• binge eating

This phase, if experienced, may last anywhere from a few days to months on end, depending on just how bitter and angry you are...please note that some of this anger is probably residual from your marriage/former relationship, not just from the immediately preceding breakup. Relapses are common.

3. The Dating Whore: During this period, you will go out with almost anyone who asks. (Or, if you're a guy, you will ask everyone who shows the slightest bit of interest in you...or who looks in your general direction, even if there's a giant TV behind your head.) This process will be of benefit in a number of ways. First and foremost, it will allow you an opportunity to learn The Rules, which do not remotely resemble the rules that were in place the last time you dated. In addition, you will learn valuable communication skills, such as How to Blow Someone Off. For some, it will be a crash course in Conversation 101, particularly if you had reached a point in your relationship in which you seldom spoke or engaged only in small talk. Enjoy this phase. Drag it out for awhile. It won't hurt anything, and you'll only get a better idea of what you're really looking for. I would, however, refrain from sleeping around at this point, as you are most likely to catch something icky during this period than any other.

4. The Half-Assed Girlfriend/Boyfriend: After you have successfully (?) completed The Rebound and The Dating Whore stages, you will arrive here. At some point during your Dating Whore adventures, you will meet someone that you genuinely like, and want to hang out with all the time...okay, no, more like some of the time...as long as they don't cramp your style too much. You will probably not pledge this person your undying love and devotion, but you may care about him/her very much. You might even think about the possibility of a future with him/her. While the odds of your half-assed relationship having actual staying power are somewhat limited, this is a healthy step in the recovery process, as you are allowing yourself to at least think about the possibility of commitment again. In many cases, two people who are in this phase at the same time can have a successful half-assed relationship almost indefinitely. You may have two or three of these before you move on to an actual relationship. Casual dating outside of your half-assed relationship is permissible in most cases. Again, do what feels right to you..I have been pretty happy in this stage, and am considering setting up camp here for the forseeable future...

5. The Actual Girlfriend/Boyfriend: Congratulations! You have completed the necessary Rebound, Dating Whore, and Half-Assed Relationship phases, and may now proceed with monogamy, provided it has been at least one year since your breakup. If you are attempting to convert a Half-Assed Boyfriend/Girlfriend to the Real Thing, please be wary of the Wandering Eye, as it is far more likely to occur in these situations. If you are STILL stubbornly trying to convert your Rebound Relationship into an actual relationship, well--you're kind of an idiot...but hell, you're not going to listen to me, so good luck with that. Finally, remember to proceed with caution...don't go planning a wedding or moving in together or getting yourself knocked up. Give it a good 6 months to a year and see where you are. Enjoy!

Love and The Help...

Spent this evening at home with my sweet girls, curled up on the couch watching The Help...its effect is still surprisingly profound, even though I read the book well over a year ago and saw the movie in the theater. The girls love it, too...by its conclusion, all three of us had cried a couple of times, Emily had downloaded the novel onto her Kindle and quietly begun reading, and Sara had adopted a Deep South accent, started calling me Mama, and developed a keen interest in the Civil Rights movement...she simply couldn't understand why anyone would treat someone differently just because they looked different or lived in a house that wasn't as nice. The notion is completely and wonderfully foreign to her...which seems to be a good indication that her dad and I have done a few things right. When Sara told me I reminded her a little of Skeeter, the single, independent writer who spearheaded the project, I was secretly thrilled.

If there's one thing I've really figured out in the past couple of years, it's that everybody deserves to have someone who is on their side...someone who believes in them and roots for them no matter how they mess up or who they hurt, or how bleak things seem. Skeeter knew that. I've learned it the hard way...and it doesn't always work out the way you hope...but I'm still trying to teach my kids that lesson, too. It's one thing to get pissed off when people are treated badly in a movie. It's another thing to put yourself out there for someone in real life...but nights like these make me think I'm doing a decent job. I've got two amazing kids to prove it. :)

One Hundred Things...

It's no secret that I've been feeling a little blue lately...or maybe most of the last 2 years, I guess, would probably be more accurate. Those major life stressors they taught us about in school when I was getting my silly psychology degree? I've hit most of the big ones...divorce, buying a house, moving, dating...plus the two sorta-pseudo-relationships I've had (as close as I've been willing to get to the real thing, anyway) have been a little disappointing, to say the least. It's no secret I've been struggling...when your nurse practitioner walks in for your six month thyroid check and takes one look at you, sits down, and says, "Honey, you have to eat and sleep," you know you're about to get in trouble...I did what I could...saw a counselor until I could no longer afford it, spent time with my friends, loved on my girls..and it's helped. I'm getting there...I still have doubts about myself. I struggle with anxiety and anger sometimes, and I tend to turn it on myself so I don't hurt anyone else. Whether that's better or worse, I don't know.

I've been reading the blog of another woman my age, going through it all just a little ahead of me. While of course, no two situations are exactly alike, the number of parallels between us is almost eerie. So far, it seems like what I'm feeling is mostly normal...I've behaved badly sometimes...been angry and irrational and kind of a hot mess. But I've also discovered a lot of strength that I didn't know I had. At times, I've even found humor in it all...I know, right? Me, using humor and sarcasm to deal with the hard stuff? Imagine...

Recently, she posted a list--100 Things that Make Me Happy. I couldn't think of a better way to spend a sleepless night, and soon found myself giggling as I typed, and when I was finished, I finally fell asleep for almost TWO lovely hours. Props to Jenny for a great idea...here is mine, in no particular order:

100 Things That Make Me Happy

100. There is always a cool spot on my sheets, because the whole bed is mine.
99. My bookshelves are filled with actual books, not just pictures and knickknacks.
98. Open windows in the springtime. (Add Claritin for best results.)
97. The sound of Sara's snoring.
96. The movie Sliding Doors...it's like instant therapy.
95. That nervous, excited feeling when you realize you're really into the guy...only had it happen twice since the divorce proceedings started last summer, but there may be a third one is on the horizon. ;)
94. When a new recipe turns out well.
93. When I go by to talk to Kristin for a few minutes after lunch and end up spending the day with her.
92. A really good first kiss.
91. Uno marathons with the girls.
90. The ceiling fan in my bedroom can stay on high all the time now.
89. When a book grabs you in the first few pages and doesn't let go.
88. Cheesecake...I finally bought a springform pan.
87. Yoga...I need to get back to it.
86. Running...see also #87.
85. When someone tells me I'm beautiful and means it, because he likes me.
84. Changing out my Scentsy.
83. The smell of a bookstore.
82. Good vodka and a freshly opened bottle of tonic water.
81. Fried chicken...sweet Jesus, I love it...I could eat it every day.
80. Size 6 long jeans...which is why #81 only happens once in a blue moon.
79. The farmer's market on a Saturday morning.
78. Getting up in time for church on Sunday. (Sorry, Fr. Mark...I'll do better.)
77. Ryan Reynolds without his shirt on.
76. Brunch.
75. A good thunderstorm.
74. Seeing a movie and loving it so much that I immediately go buy it on DVD.
73. A nice bottle of wine.
72. Stopping by O's and knowing half the people sitting at the bar.
71. The fact that my car is paid for.
70. My illicit on-again-off-again affair with Hulu Plus and Netflix.
69. Tehehehe....
68. Nick, for inspiring The Macaroni and Cheese Project...which led to the recent discovery of the Chicken Bacon Ranch Macaroni and Cheese recipe. The girls and I will never be the same...
67. Good grammar.
66. My crazy mix of friends who make sure I'm never alone unless I want to be.
65. Adele
64. Lisa's babies...and Audrey...I don't love all babies, mind you...only those that belong to people I love.
63. Finding out that Nancy has secretly threatened every guy I've dated that she's met.
62. Jane Austen...time for a reread.
61. Breakfast at Tiffany's.
60. My fireplace...although its days are numbered until the fall...
59. The first-bite look on Sara's face when I cook her eggs in the bacon grease.
58. My kitchen counter. :) :) :)
57. My daughters' vocabularies.
56. A hello text from someone I'm not expecting to hear from.
55. Pinterest...enough said.
54. Hanging out with my brother...especially in our "original" hometown. Gotta love Norman.
53. John Ford...he is one of the coolest, nicest, most genuine people I've ever known, who never complains or even seems put out about serving as my "loaner hubby" when something breaks. He's also funny as shit...
52. The sound of a street full of kids playing outside.
51. The Wedge's Truffle Shuffle pizza...kinda makes my eyes roll back in my head a little.
50. Awkward Moose.
49. Sitting on the patio by the fire at Deep Deuce Grill...especially if I'm sitting in someone's lap...
48. When I remember to take my thyroid.
47. Sara sneaking into my bed at night.
46. Caprese salad.
45. Holding hands.
44. When having a drink at mom and dad's becomes a party in its own right.
43. Family dinners.
42. Cooking for someone special.
41. Emily's grades.
40. Winning Words With Friends.
39. Baking/cooking experiments with the girls.
38. Thinking about football season...
37. Realizing that sometimes, it really isn't me, it's them.
36. Dinners sitting at the bar with Nancy.
35. Hair appointments with D.
34. Chinese takeout with the kids.
33. Getting ID'd, then seeing a look of surprise in their faces at the year.
32. A nice, clean house...even though there are some that will swear I never make a mess in the first place.
31. Hugs from Emily, especially when I'm expecting an eye roll.
30. Mushrooms in everything.
29. When the guy opens the car door for you...only one of these so far...
28. Smiles from strangers.
27. Half-price pizza night.
26. Downy Wrinkle Releaser, because ironing is bullshit.
25. A new home, free of ghosts from my past staring me in the face all the time.
24. Making new memories in it with my girls and my friends, and maybe someone else...
23. When I can remember that I can't control everything...like when I meet the right person at the wrong time and place.
22. Knowing that even at my worst moment, I'm actually about ten times stronger than anyone realizes, because no one else knows the whole story.
21. The grace and maturity Emily has shown the past few months...and she's TWELVE.
20. Gelato in bed at 10pm.
19. Girls' Movie Nights...even when they choose another damn Twilight marathon.
18. Alliteration.
17. Knowing that seeing me in a relationship is the last thing they need right now...that's one thing that has become obvious to me the past few months. It's not just me, THEY aren't ready...especially Sara. Another reason I'm tiptoeing...
16. Thursday afternoons.
15. Music...couldn't live without it, especially right now.
14. Okay, come on, let's face it, people...dating can be hilarious.
13. Impromptu tea on a Friday afternoon with a friend.
12. Creative energy, especially when I can direct it where it needs to go...I'm not sure writing this at 4:30 in the morning because I can't sleep anyway qualifies...
11. The prospect of camping...at a wedding...on an alpaca farm...
10. Live music.
9. People who don't smoke.
8. Six consecutive hours of sleep.
7. When my daughters' friends greet me with hugs and smiles.
6. Being a big enough person to love someone anyway, even though they hurt and disappoint you...
5. Memory foam.
4. Laughing through tears.
3. Champagne.
2. My people...the ones who have held my hands and walked me through it, and held me up when I felt like quitting, each in their own way...especially Kiki, Ash, Nan, Lisa, D, Bethie, Krystal, and E.
1. Emily and Sara...I am better simply because they exist.

FAIL

Dear God, it's me, Shannon...

First, let me thank you for my life, my beautiful children, and all that I have...even this unbelievably sucky day week month past two years, which I'm sure is meant to teach me something, but I haven't exactly figured out what it is yet. (While we're on the subject...any idea when you'll be making your point? I know you're only supposed to be giving me as much as I can handle, but are you SURE you're not overestimating my ability to bounce?)

But seriously, I'm going to have to throw in the towel...I had nothing but the best intentions. I really did. But Easter is a long, long, loooooooong way off...and things sort of suck right now, pretty much in the general sense...and I really have no one to talk to the past couple of months--well, except for you and my journal...everyone is so busy and they have their own lives. A girl can only handle so much...but enough excuses. Let's not mince words. We're just going to call this what it is:

LENT FAIL.

I'm quitting, and I'm sorry. I rather hope, under the circumstances, that this will be overlooked...historically, my record is spotless. But I've given up enough this year...I'm learning to live without SO much already...and I'm certainly learning a lot about myself and my relationship with you in the process...and isn't that the point? I'm asking you to cut me some slack...I'd say "just this once," but come on, let's get real...you know me better than that...

Too Good to be True...

Last December, I met a guy…and he was easily the hottest guy who had ever asked for my number, so I gave it to him. After several giggly phone calls with this genuinely funny man, I agreed to meet him for dinner at a trendy little restaurant downtown that I suggested. When I got there, we ordered the same drink, and I smiled inwardly. Over the next hour and a half, we ate, talked, and watched snippets of the Thunder game on the TV near the bar. So far, so good...

We seemed to have a lot in common, although there were obvious differences, too…at first glance, and in many ways, I am very girl-next-door. Enough people have told me that I’m pretty that I’m starting to believe it, even if it took me a few decades. But I have a wild streak in me that not everyone gets to see…I have a few tattoos—I know, no big deal in today’s society—unless you don’t have any and the idea never even crossed your mind. The indie and alt-rock I listen to is not to everyone’s liking, I can drink most girls my size under a table, and I have been known to drop the f-bomb in casual conversation…okay, okay, I do that pretty much daily…but I’m still a Genuinely Nice Girl. I don’t hook up with random guys, I care about people’s feelings, and am one of the most loyal people you could ever meet, and I go to work, earn a paycheck, and support my kids.

S, on the other hand, was much more straight-laced than I am. First off, he’s ridiculously good-looking AND he’s a lawyer, so the fact that he was still single should’ve tipped me off that maybe something might be amiss. Although we were the same age, in the 90s, his feet were probably outfitted in Cole Haans while mine were in Doc Maartens. Some of his taste in music was good, but he was puzzled by some of the bands I loved…("I don’t know Incubus...funny name!") Hmmmm…okay…well, we were still having fun, and things were going well, so we moved on to a small bar a few blocks away. It was bowl season, and he was impressed that I actually understood football. That was the moment I knew I had him hooked, in spite of my “quirks.”

I don’t usually kiss guys on the first date…but after spending five and a half hours with my Hot Lawyer, when he leaned in, I didn’t protest.

I should have.

He instantly had his tongue so far down my throat that I had the immediate—and absurd—instinct to want to cry for help. His lips engulfed everything from the tip of my chin to the tip of my nose, and I feared drowning was inevitable if this went on much longer. I struggled in vain, and when he finally broke away, I literally GASPED for air.

I was crestfallen…the cutest guy I’d ever been out with was also the World’s Worst Kisser? What kind of cruel joke was this? In a daze, I climbed into my car, and consulted several girlfriends on the drive home. Is it possible to teach a 36-year-old man how to properly kiss a girl? The consensus? Not likely…but I was determined…so determined I dated him for another month and a half before I decided that they were indeed correct…which also gave me ample time to discover a few other less than desirable traits.

For example, he’s such a shitty tipper that I resorted to flagging our servers over when he was in the restroom and handing out extra cash. “He can’t help it!” I would whisper. “He’s never waited tables before!” A knowing smile would be exchanged, and I would get excellent service for the rest of the meal, while his glass remained largely neglected…once, when we were trying to decide where to eat, I told him I was in the mood for something different. “Oh, I know!” he exclaimed. “How about Ted’s?” It took everything I had not to get out of the car right then.

So what did I learn from S? Some things are, in fact, too good to be true…if your first kiss is bad, it may be a good idea to pack it in and wait for the next one.

Stars Align...

The other day, one of my best friends sent me a text. She was in the midst of  Sex and the City marathon on her day off, and it suddenly dawned on her that something "seemed very familiar." And then it hit her...Carrie was rather "Shannon-like...a loveable hot mess," which she quickly assured me she meant with great affection. "Her self narration is like a conversation with you!"

I don't earn Carrie's paycheck...I mean, let's face it, look where she lives...on a WEEKLY column for the New York Post? I don't think so...nor do I have her shoe collection...but I have her sass, a little style, and I'm gaining more and more insight into the intricacies of single life every day...but with an important twist. I have offspring to boot...

And then it dawned on me...where is the column representing ME? A busy, working, involved, loving, half-crazed single mom trying to relearn everything she thought she already knew? Well, after a quick collaboration with my favorite editor, the answer was obvious. The writer is right here. And the story is coming soon, so stay tuned...and to my dear Lisa, thank you for the inspiration!

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Where the f*** is my funny bone, anyway?

Where did it go? So my life got turned upside down...the old me would have found more humor in it...I miss her. But just when I think the funny girl is gone for good, she pops up unexpectedly...

She doesn't always learn from her mistakes...as evidenced by the decision to date L not just once, but twice...I mean, come ON! Like it didn't end badly enough the first time? Did I think maybe if we tried hard, we could actually top it?! Oh, and did we ever...what a f***ing mess...

The current boy is also a bit of a mess...as am I, of course. So who knows? At least we seem to be the same kind of mess, while L was a totally different type of screwed up. I am also dating more than one person, so that makes things extra interesting. But I also knew I liked this one the minute I met him...we just clicked in pretty much every way...mess and all.

Speaking of mess...I wish he would actually hit the toilet and stop peeing on the floor in front of it. Doesn't he realize only girls live here?!

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Lessons I'm Learning and Other Random Musings...

I can be free-spirited and adventurous...sometimes even a daredevil...but I didn't ask for THIS adventure, and it isn't nearly as much fun when someone else makes the decision for you.

I know myself well...I know what I like, and whom...if I tell you that it's YOU, how about you do us both a favor and just give me the benefit of the doubt?

I am not a coward...I don't run from the things that scare me...but that doesn't mean I don't want to. I'll tell you I'm not scared, but I'm probably lying...and if I start making smartass comments, you may as well consider me terrified.

I may be cautious by nature, but I've learned to roll with the punches...some punches are just more surprising than others. Just give me a chance to recover, and I'll be okay.

I follow directions well...it's why I can cook...but there is no instruction manual for this. I'm making it up as I go along, so please be patient and don't judge me.

I'm smarter than you might think. Don't underestimate me.

I'm loyal to a fault...I know because it's bitten me in the ass more than once. There are some people that you simply don't need in your life...it's okay to love them, it's okay to care...but do it from a distance and save yourself some grief.

I'm stronger than I look. Yes, I HAVE lost weight...probably too much, but I know it, so please back off. I'm not going to blow away. Yes, I'm tired...yes, I get frustrated. Yes, I make the wrong decisions sometimes. Yes, I know you're worried...but I'm the only one who knows what this feels like, so let me handle it in my own way and just be there when I need you.

He probably doesn't deserve me, and I know that...but I'm going to let him have me for awhile anyway. Running away because the timing and the circumstances aren't completely right is a cop-out. Sometimes you have to wait and see what happens, because if you don't, you'll always wonder.

I will give everyone I care about a second chance...but I almost never give a third.

Losing Myself...

This week I ran away...and it was one of the best things I've done for myself in awhile. I went by myself...I drove...A LOT. I needed to clear my head and get away. Between the packing and cleaning, finalizing the divorce, the headaches that come with buying and selling a house, and a couple of issues that cropped up with the two guys I've dated, I was so far past my breaking point, I couldn't even see it. So when Brian picked up the girls, I took a couple of days off work and took off...a few people know where I was, and that's the way I'll keep it...but I'm feeling better.

Not that things are perfect. My new house isn't going to close on Thursday, thanks to a glitch with the second appraisal that the lender is requiring. It was ordered late, and with the bank holiday on Monday, the odds of even being able to close on Friday are probably not awesome...so as of 4pm on Thursday, I am effectively homeless. That's a shitty feeling, but I am lucky to have a lot of people that love me and are willing to put me up for awhile. I'm praying for a Friday closing, because I'd like to take my girls HOME...last week, that news might have put me over the edge, but since my impromptu getaway, I can ALMOST take this setback in stride.

Thursday is a big day. We have the decree ready to go. We go to have it signed at 8:30, and it's finished. At 3:00, we close on our old house...and I know it will be liberating to close that book. It would be nice if I had a new book on hand, like I planned...but I'll manage. And I will be free as a bird, like I was when I ran away...

All Things New...

Well, it's a New Year, and I'm not too sure about it yet...that happiness of which I spoke? Kind of fleeting, really...I guess that's the way it's going to be for awhile. Not that there aren't things to be happy about, mind you...for example, we sold our house in record time, after only 2 weeks on the market. I have a contract on a beautiful little house of my own, and am hopefully moving in next week. But there is much still up in the air with the divorce decree being finalized and the closing happening on time, and I probably won't know for sure whether or not it will work out until the day before closing...pretty frustrating stuff. Makes for a lot less sleep, that's for sure, and in someone who kind of sucks at sleeping as it is...well...it's been tough. And then there's the whole reality that if I screw this up, it's all on me. That's hard to take...explaining to the girls why we need to move, and how our budget is going to change a lot is no picnic, either, though they've taken everything in stride, just like they always do.

Oh, and N? That was Nick. He could be pretty selfish when push came to shove, and he hurt me. The worst part is, I bought it all, hook, line, and sinker. I know he was just a silly almost-boyfriend, and there will be others...but how do I overcome the loss of respect for myself? I know I needed to learn this lesson...but so soon after what I went through at the end, when I'm still dealing with the fallout of THAT nearly every day? It hardly seems fair...instead, it just seems like the mountain of shit I'm supposed to conquer just keeps getting taller and taller, and I'm not making ANY progress in climbing it...N taught me not to trust...or he reinforced it, anyway. Now I'm so afraid to open up and put myself out there, I'm starting to think I may as well just join a convent...

Little blessings have popped up in unexpected places, though. I realized some people are better friends than I ever imagined...and also a couple of people who maybe aren't as good as I thought. I am slowly but surely learning to be content with myself, just as I am...but am still secretly hoping that Mr. Darcy is out there waiting for me somewhere...Mark Darcy would be okay, too...since the others turned out to be more like Daniel Cleaver. I am trying to learn how to JUST BE STILL, like a good friend once told me. Just be still, and wait, and the answers will come.

That's all well and good, but could someone give me an idea of when I might expect them?