Better to Lose Someone Else Instead of Yourself

As I have told y’all many times before, I have spent much of my life trying to please everyone else.  I would base my decisions on what would make the most people happy.  The problem with that was I would end up doing a lot of things I didn’t want to do, and feel guilty if I disappointed people.  I have also realized that so many of the people in my life who I worry about pleasing have never cared if they disappoint me.  I am learning to be more assertive in my choices, my wants, and my needs.  The hardest part about learning this lesson is realizing that I will have to let some people go.  The realization that some of your friendships are unhealthy is a very hard pill to swallow.  I am doing my best to actually make decisions that make me happy.  That can be as simple as staying in on a Thursday, to walking away from a friendship, to not texting a ridiculously good looking guy because I know his intentions are not honorable (and I deserve more than being someone’s backup plan).

Going to therapy makes you very self-aware, and I’ve learned the feeling of my inadequacy runs deeper than I thought.  I have to constantly fight the voice in the back of my head that says I am too fat, not smart enough, nothing special, and I don’t deserve for people to care about me, my thoughts, and my feelings.  I have to fight the voice that says I am not worth loving or I am not good enough to be someone’s priority.       

The holidays, for some reason, seem much harder.  It is a time for giving, but I have to remember not to give all of myself.  Last year I forgot that; last year I gave my heart to someone so very undeserving.  There has to be a balance, a way to be a caring person and to keep yourself.  I sometimes envy people who can just say what they want and not care about the consequences, about how it will make other people feel.  Though, I suppose I did that last year, when I told D that I loved him, but the only person it hurt was me.  

I used to think I was strong enough to get through anything, but I was wrong.  Back then I was neither strong enough to walk away, nor to stand up for myself.  But now, I am stronger and I will continue to become a stronger person.  Settling for what someone is willing to give instead of finding someone who can give what I deserve is no longer an option.  I will not be guilted into neglecting my own needs to please the whims of others.  

#TBT, Cocktail Party Hatred

This is something I wrote before the Capitol Confessions ever existed.  It is actually one of the ramblings that made me think a blog might be a good idea.  Even though the circumstances of my life are very different from when I wrote it, there is still a lot of truth to it.  Thought I would share it with you on this Throwback Thursday.

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Do you ever find yourself loving something you typically hate?  You know that thing that you always tell your friends you cannot stand.  Then, there is the exception, that moment when you actually enjoy the object of your typical loathing.  

For me, it is making small talk at a cocktail reception.  Don’t get me wrong, I love happy hour and cocktails.  Specifically, the situation when you are stuck in mindless conversation with people about whom you couldn’t care less.  After working all day, happy hour is supposed to be a release, not a stressor.  A big part of my job is fake smiles in-person and sweet reassurance over the phone.  When I am at work, I am “on” all the time.  When I leave, I just want to cut the bullshit and be myself.  I don’t want to fake interest for someone with whom I neither want to be friends nor sleep with.  Plain and simple, cocktail parties are the bane of my existence.  

Then, there is the exception to this.  There are times when I feel irrelevant.  Work is making me feel like the size of a pea.  I need an ego boost, a reminder that I can work the room.  There is an adrenaline rush to knowing only half the people at a party, a surge of confidence that I have not felt in quite sometime.  Nothing is better than finding a personal win when I corner the guy at the party who is avoiding me because we made out in college. I feel even more ecstatic when I realize he got fat.  

I then begin to think that I am the master of the cocktail party, and my party persona rules all.  So, I RSVP “yes” to another event.  I wear the perfect outfit, and head to work all vamped up for another boost.  Then, you get to the party after a long day at the office.  The same satisfaction I had at the last event just isn't there.  The wine doesn’t taste as good; the conversation bores me, and I wonder why I am wasting my precious free time with a room of practical strangers.  I suddenly hate being at cocktail parties again.  Loathing overtakes me and the natural order has returned.  

Why? I don’t need my ego stroked at this time.  Someday, I will despise my lack of importance more than I despise a room full of uninteresting people.  The time will come that I will need to be the life of the party, even if the party sucks.  Until then, I will go around telling all my friends how much I hate cocktail parties, and I will not let them drag me to one.  

Nerd Alert! ..... The Doctor is In!

I do not try to hide the fact that I am a gigantic nerd.  A well-dressed nerd, but a nerd nonetheless.  I often have nerdy obsessions, and my current one is Doctor Who?  It combines my obsession with everything British with my obsession with sci-fi and the supernatural.  Add a quirky good looking “doctor” in a bowtie, and it becomes irresistible for me.  Man, I do love a good bowtie!  The Doctor is clever, fair, and just a little bit lonely.  Even though he is an alien, there are parts of him that are so distinctly human.  His love for humanity, his need for companionship, his demand for justice, all add to his ever complicated character.  The Doctor is still a mystery even though viewers have learned different tidbits throughout the extensive run of Doctor Who?  I am by no means a Doctor Who? expert, but I am now a huge fan!  

This week marks the 50th Anniversary of Doc Who? and I can’t get enough of the marathons and specials.  I asked for TARDIS socks for Christmas, I swear the color copier in my office is a Dalek,  and if I was ever to get a tattoo it would be “Dreamer of Impossible Dreams.”  The Doctor represents hope, the idea that caring is important.  The doctor once said, “  You know that in nine hundred years of time and space and I’ve never met anybody who wasn’t important before.”  I find beauty in the idea that everyone he meets is important, that every person that he encounters in life has some significance.  People matter to him.  In a world where I often feel irrelevant, the idea that I matter is a comfort, to be brilliant is a challenge.  

If you were to ask me who my favorite Doctor is that would be a difficult question to answer.  I have an equal love for the 10th Doctor, David Tennant, and the 11th Doctor Matt Smith.  I love them for different reasons though.  

Tennant, of course is funny and quirky, but he has a strong commanding presence about him.  He has a confidence about him, and he knows his doctor is very clever, brilliant even.  There is also something kind of mad about him, something that can snap if pushed just a little too hard.  Death hath no fury like a scorned 10th Doctor.  He also loves and does all he can to protect his companions, and Universe.   

Then you have Matt Smith, the eleventh Doctor, the dream boat.  Young, quirky, full of life, and even just a bit odd in the most charming way.  The 11th doctor sees the wonder and possibility in the world, the good in people, the power of love.  The way he believes in people with such desperate hope is both heartwarming and heartbreaking.  I would love for the eleventh doctor to take my face in his hands, look me in the eyes, and tell me that I’m brilliant like he so often does with his companions.  I want to marry Smith’s Doctor (Sorry River Song), or really just Matt Smith himself!  Maybe it is just the bowtie, you all know my weakness for a good bowtie.  I also happen to like the fez he wore from time to time.  But it is not the bowtie or the fez, it is the light in his eyes, it is the way that he has a direct line to my emotions.  That is why I fancy him.  For those of you not as obsessed with everything British like I am, that mean I have the hots for him.  

Doctor Who? is always changing, evolving, and every doctor is his own man with his own adventures and companions.  That is why it stays exciting, and keeps people engaged.  I love sitting on my couch exploring the Universe with the Doctor, going on grand adventures, and losing myself in the magic of the TARDIS.  

Geronimo!   

What I Should Have Written Instead of Hiding ...

I keep saying I am going to stop going MIA on all of you readers, but then I find myself sitting in front of a blank screen waiting for my fingers to make words.  I wait for the words to flow, to find humor or tragedy in some minute detail of my life.  I look for something to entertain you, warm your hearts, or bring tears to your eyes.  The trouble is I can’t.  

I should have written some great post about the Halloween party I went to despite how huge I felt in my costume.  I should have painted this haze of a picture that involves 2 different boys kissing me that night.  Talked about how I wasn’t really sure I wanted to kiss either of them, but it had been too long and felt too good to stop.  I know I should have talked about the Texas boy creeping closer to me while we talked, leaning in and taking me by surprise when his lips touched mine.  I should have written about my quick escape when I realized we were making out in the middle of the party, and how my neighborhood bar seemed like the perfect haven.  How I saw the signs when buff boy number 2 pulled me into his kiss, and how I didn’t refuse it.  I should have talked about my lack of shame that night.  When boy number 2 walked me home I didn’t let him stay, and I was proud of myself.  I could have invited the boy I didn’t care about up to my bed to end the dry spell, to feel wanted, but I didn’t.  I should have written about that, how it made me feel, how proud I was of myself, how lonely I felt.    

I should have written about my winery adventures with Chloe, Elle, Connor and crew.  I should have written about the wine, the laughs, the cute dogs everywhere.  I should have written about brunch with Hadley, and how it turned into an all day affair.  I should have written about my date and how he split the check, how there was no spark, how it left me feeling lonelier than ever.  

More than anything I should have written about starting therapy.  I should have written about how my breakdown got to be too much for me to bear.  I have been going for two months now, and it is helping me find an inner peace.  I am working on my issues that keep me from being a happy person.  I wanted to tell all of you, even though you probably already know, that I have been drowning in my self-consciousness.  I am learning to be more assertive and to eliminate definitive words like should and must from the way I think about my life (upon my Therapist's Suggestion).   

I should have written about a lot of things, but I just didn’t know if any of you would want to read them.  More than that I think I wanted to hold something for myself after finding out about D.  I have made so many of my deepest darkest moments public, by choice, especially my relationship with D.  I was embarrassed that he could still hurt me, and I just wanted to heal in private.  I have been trying to heal the same way I always do, I guess: kiss some inappropriate boys to prove I can, surround myself with friends, and drinking LOTS of wine.  The only thing different this time was I wasn’t sure I was ready to share it with the world.  

Fool

Sometimes, life slithers up when you least expect it and snaps at your heels; it strikes and the venom of that moment’s poison spreads.  I thought I was immune to D, that there was no way he could hurt me anymore.  I was wrong.   

Over a year ago, when D and I sat down in a Starbucks and talked everything out, I asked him a question that was very important to me.  I ask him if he had ever cheated on his girlfriend before me or after me.  He told me no.  He told me it had just been me.  For some reason, this was a comfort; it let me keep up my illusion that D was a good man.  It made me feel special, like there was something about me from which he couldn’t just walk away.  I didn’t see the facts - if I was special, then why didn’t he leave her for me. It doesn’t matter because I wasn’t special at all.  

I found out that he had cheated before, or during, the time we were whatever we were.  I don’t know the timing, but I do know I was not the only one.  He lied to her too.  He strung her along, made her feel special.  I don’t know why I am surprised by his lying to me - he had before.  I had just grown to trust him.  That day we were supposed to be completely honest with each other, laying it all on the table.  He looked me straight in the eyes and told me what he thought I wanted to hear.  Really, I just wanted the truth.  

I realize that I never really knew D, I fell in love with a lie.  I thought that he had so much good in him.  We were two good people that found ourselves in an impossible situation, but really I don’t know if either of us are good.  He isn’t.  There is no good in D at all.  How can he play with so many peoples’ emotions for his own amusement and still have any good in him at all?  He intentionally hurt me, and he intentionally hurts his girlfriend over and over again.  

I feel sorry for her.  She is in a relationship with a stranger who has no regard for her or her feelings.  I used to wish everyday that their relationship would end.  I can’t be that good of a person because I wished that pain on her.  I now wish for the same thing but for different reasons.  I wish for her to be free of D, to move on with her life before it is too late.  No one deserves to be with someone that dishonest.

I really don’t know how to express what I am feeling.  I feel like he ripped my heart out of my chest and crushed it into dust.  I feel so stupid, so very stupid, for ever trusting him, for ever loving him.  Here I am doing the thing I promised I would never do again, crying over D.  My tears aren’t really for him though.  I am crying because I lost myself for a person I never really knew.  I am crying because I was a fool, an absolute and complete fool!  

      

Married Off

No one knows how to build you up or tear you down like your mother.  She can be your biggest cheerleader and your greatest critic, especially if you are Southern.  I am blessed with an incredible mother who encouraged me to move to DC with just a suitcase and a dream.  She has helped with rent so I don’t have to worry about getting stabbed every time I leave my apartment, and she buys a plane ticket when my homesickness gets out of hand.  She also does not hesitate to tell me that something used to fit differently (aka you have gained weight), I would look “disgusting” as a redhead, and if God wanted my hair curled he would have given me curly hair.  All out of love, or course.  

Since I turned 26, she has begun a new type of criticism mixed with guilt.  When we were talking the other day, she decided to bring up a guy from my hometown.  This guy is great, it is true, but my mom has been trying to get me to date him for a full decade.  He is now doing his residency post medical school.  Now, I will admit that I did try to date him in college, but he just wasn’t into it, or more accurately, oblivious to my efforts.  The rest of the conversation went as follows:

Harper: Mom, stop trying to marry me off!

Mom: You know I used to never understand those parents that tried to marry off their children.  Now I get it!  I just want you to be married.  I think a wedding would be fun!

Harper: Mom, yes a wedding would be fun.  You think I don’t want to be married?  It is not that easy.  I first need to find someone to date me.

Mom: I just don’t want your nieces to be my only grandchildren.  

It’s not like I don’t put enough pressure on myself for not being in a certain place in my life.  I do want to find a partner to spend the rest of my life with.  If I could will that to happen, I would be married already, but I can’t.  I have to let life run its course.  When I am ready, when my soulmate is ready, everything will fall into place.  Until then, I will have to deal with my mom trying to marry me off to the next “great catch” she discovers back in Mississippi.  

Her guilt trips sting more sometimes than others.  Last week, I found out that my high school love Daniel got engaged.  Daniel is, to this day, the longest and most serious relationship I have ever had.  Two years we were together, and I loved him.  He loved me, maybe more than I loved him.  I broke his heart twice, so it is only fair that when I fell back in love with him right after college that he broke mine.  I told him I loved him right before I was supposed to leave for DC.  I would have stayed if he had asked me to, but he told me to go, he told me we would only ever be just friends.  

I have loved a few people in my life, but Daniel is the only one of them who ever loved me back.  He loved me when I didn’t deserve it, and his heart broke at my hand.  I was young, scared, and didn’t appreciate the simple kindness of his love.  I often feel cursed, that I broke my first love’s heart, and therefore, every love after him will break mine.  Maybe he is the only person who will ever love me, the only person who will ever open their heart to me.  Now he is marrying someone else.  What if your person chooses someone else?  What happens then?  How do you survive if the only person that will ever love you chooses to stop loving you?  How do you move on from that?  

Maybe my mom is right for trying to marry me off.  Maybe I will never find love on my own.  It is quite possible that at 16 years old I threw away the only real love I will ever have.  

I am happy for Daniel.  I will always love him, and I am so glad he found his happiness.  I just wish I could find my own.

Bama Boy with a Texas Name

Hi strangers!  I am coming out of blog hibernation and have so much to share with all of you!  I am sorry for my disappearance.  I have been completely wrapped up in work, but do not fear.  I am back, and I have stories to share.  

I could tell you all about being a bridesmaid in my younger cousin’s wedding, and how Conner saved me by being my date.  Or I could gush about road tripping to Miss America with Lisa, Elle, and Lilly.  The ups and downs of friendship is another topic I could go on about.  I could tell you about my nervous breakdown, and how I am trying to overcome it.  But instead I am going to talk about something so much more exciting.  I am going to tell you about the new boy, well, man really.   

I am smitten.  This guy is the most beautiful boy who has ever been interested in me.  He is classically good looking, with a strong jaw, gorgeous blue eyes, and a little bit of gray starting to peek through around his temples.  His southern accent could melt butter with it’s warm smooth tone.  I could listen to him all day.  

We met a few weeks back at a Thursday night happy hour.  I was about to head home when a casual acquaintance of mine flagged me down from across the bar.  I had already noticed the tall, broad-shouldered, handsome friend he was talking to.  I made my way over just to be introduced to Houston.  Houston had asked for the introduction, and I have never been so flattered in my life.  Flirtation came easy between the two of us, and the way his lips curled and eyes lit up, I knew it to be genuine.  

He just moved to DC from LA a few months ago, but he grew up in Alabama. There is something about Alabama boys.  They are more beautiful than Georgia boys, and a 100 times sweeter than Mississippi boys.  They are still Southern, so of course they are trouble, but Alabama boys are never truly trouble on purpose.    And if they are, it is the good kind of trouble, the sexy pull-you-into-a coat-closet kind of trouble.  

Well, Houston got my number the night we met but hadn’t used it since.  I had been busy so with work and the trip to Atlantic City, so I hadn’t really noticed.  Okay, that is a lie.  I had noticed, but I wouldn’t have been able to do anything even if he had asked me out.  

This past weekend Bee, my college roommate and best friend, made a last minute trip to DC.  It was her first time here, even though I have been in DC for almost 3 years.  I was so excited to show her my city, introduce her to my friends, and most importantly, just get to spend time with her.  I took her to my Thursday happy hour after she landed, and I struggled through my Friday at work while she watched Netflix at my apartment.  Friday night we hit H Street, and Saturday, toured the monuments and the Smithsonians.  Saturday night I took Bee to a late dinner at Cava Mezze, one of my favorite places in the city.  While sipping drinks and gorging ourselves on delicious food she convinced me to send Houston a text and see what he was up to.   And so the fun begins.

He responded promptly, and I could have floated away due to the butterflies in my stomach.  He was watching SEC football, like every good Southern boy does on a fall Saturday.  He asked what our plans were and I told him we were still trying to figure that out and asked if he had any suggestions.  Bee and I ended up at my neighborhood bar because the rain was just too nasty to venture very far.  Just when we were about to call it a night my phone buzzed and it was none other than Mr. Houston wondering if we were still out and about.  

As he and his roommate made their way from Glover Park to meet up with us my nerves started to kick in.  What if I am not what he remembers, or if he likes Bee more than me? It took ages for them to show, and they walked up as we were getting shuffled out of the bar.  I invited them back to my place to hang out with us, a decision Bee and I had previously agreed on.  Damn, he looked good in his perfectly worn jeans and ostrich skin boots.

I played bartender as we goofed off, telling stories and getting to know each other.  Houston interrupted the conversation at one point to say that hadn’t told me yet, but I looked really pretty tonight.  SWOON!  He also made several comments about thinking my voice was incredibly sexy, saying I could tell him bedtime stories.  Funny thing is I feel the same way about his southern drawl.  His roommate was macking on Bee hard, and she really wasn’t feeling it.  I have never seen her half-ass flirting the way she was.  It was hilarious, to me at least.  

Somehow we came to the decision to head up to my roof.  I said I would meet everyone up there so I could use the restroom.  Houston stayed too and the moment the front door closed he grabbed me, pushing me against my closet door, and kissed me roughly and passionately.  I was almost dizzy from the heat between us.  We made out like teenagers, but better.  Teenagers don’t know how sexy it is to pin your arms above your head, or that passion doesn’t have to be sloppy, but blurred lines are the best kind.  

Every time he touched me, it was with hungry hands and hungrier lips.  It didn’t matter if it was waiting for the elevator, in the elevator, or pushed up against the door leading to the roof where our friends were just on the other side, it was steamy.  My imagination goes wild thinking about what, how, and where things would have happened had our friends not been there.   

Unfortunately, Bee and I had to send them on their way around 5:30am.  My studio can’t hold 4 people and Bee had more than fulfilled her best friend duties of taking one for the team.  Houston said we would hang out again soon, and I am crossing my fingers and toes that I hear from this one.

Bee and I had a great rest of the weekend.  We met an old college friend at the zoo, I cooked dinner, and we watched the Emmy’s (Best and Worst Dressed to come).  It was great having her here, and my apartment felt so empty when she left.  Everything with Bee is so effortless, we never get sick of each other, and she knows me better than anyone in the world.  Now that she is done with law school it has crossed my mind to move home.  We could live together again, and it would be like nothing has changed.  But everything has changed, maybe not our friendship, but I have.  So much has happened to me over the past 3 years, good and bad.  I have a life here, and although I am not always happy, I know home would never be enough for me ever again.  I can’t run away because things get hard here, or I get scared.  I am right where I belong, and who knows, maybe this new Bama boy will be another reason to stay.  

Roller Coaster of Emotions (The Sequel)

Last week was a whirlwind, a roller coaster of emotions*, if you will.  After a birthday party to end all parties on Saturday, I found myself in kind of lackluster mood.  I don’t really know how to describe it.  It was like I knew my actual birthDAY would not be able to live up to my party.  At the same time, I knew that was the point of the epic birthday party, to go all out - because my birthday was in the middle of the week.  

When the day rolled around, I was swamped at work, and 5pm could not get here any faster.  I had dinner reservations at Cava Mezze, one of my favorite place in DC.  There were 8 of us, and dinner was so much fun! We talked about TV, dating apps, and everything else under the sun.  I then went with Chloe to Meg’s house so we could watch Pretty Little Liars and The Vineyard (So obsessed, reason why to come in a different post).  It was great just spending time with my amazing friends!  

I once again was pushing my twitter campaign to have Rob Lowe wish me happy birthday.  Again this year, it did not work out, but my favorite Good Morning America anchor, Josh Elliott, came to my rescue again this year.  Thank you, Josh, for making my birthday so much more special!   

The real shocker of the week was my run in with Liam (See The Many Loves of my Life).  Well, if you can call seeing him at a bar and walking in the other direction as running into someone, then that is what happened.  I was at a place downtown that I never go.  Katie and I were there for a going away party for one of the boys, Mac, who is leaving for Officer Candidate School.  Of course, Mac is incredibly late for his own party.  I had just ordered a drink, was turning away from the bar to talk to Katie, and right over my shoulder I found Liam’s roommate Michael.  I used to really get along with Michael back in the day, so I felt the need to say hi, not even thinking that it probably meant Liam was also there.  Sure enough while we are exchanging pleasantries I see Liam from over his shoulder.  I kind of freeze and instead of saying hi to him, I tell Michael it was good to see him and walk away.  

I felt like I had just seen a ghost.  I had forgotten how tall he is, and I immediately regretted not having heels on.  I was so glad the loud music covered the booming coming from my chest.  I needed to breathe, and find a way to go say hello.  I had thought about this for months now, ever since I saw him at the metro.  I just knew we would rekindle our friendship if we just ran into each other.  Except the shock of seeing him again made it feel like friendship is not an option.  I don’t know how to talk to him anymore, or if he even wants to talk to me.  When he left 2 years ago I gave him a note that said, among other things, that I would always be there for him if he ever wanted my friendship again.  He hasn’t.  

When I finally got the nerve to go say hello, he was gone.  I missed my opportunity.  A gchat or email will never have the warmth needed to help choose to give someone another chance.  Looking someone in the eye and trying to remember why you were even mad in the first place, that is how you realize you're over something.  I walked away from my chance to get over him, or to be forgiven for whatever grave offense he believes I committed so many years ago.  

In many ways I am glad it happened this way.  For two years I have been holding on to a glimmer of hope that one day he might love me.  Months ago, when I spotted him at the metro, I feared that we might always be strangers in a crowd, now I know we are.  It is a painful reality.  I had hoped that seeing me might remind him of the amazing times we had as friends.  

My mother likes to say that Liam is a flawed man, but surprisingly, I don’t see it that way.  Although he shut me out, I know that Liam is a good man.  Good men are hard to find, and that is why knowing once and for all that our story has come to an end is so painful.  It hurts to have a good man choose to walk away, choose not to talk to you, and choose life without you.

Although this hurt, hurts, I still feel blessed!  As depressed as I got about turning a year older, I came out of it with a few very important truths about myself.  I am absolutely blessed with wonderful, caring friends who make me laugh, are there to talk, wipe my tears, and know when a cocktail is needed.  These people that fill my life are my family, and like family they love me for all of my quirks.  Also, I remembered the most important part, I am who I am and I love me for it.  My thighs will probably always rub together when I walk, and my arm may always wave back at me, but that is okay.  I do not need to change me to please other people.  The man that I am meant to be with with will love me exactly how I am.      

As you can see, last week I came full circle.  I know I am not always the most upbeat person, and on this blog I am very honest, and self-deprecating.  I do want all of you to know that I may not always be comfortable in my own skin, but I am getting there.  Thank you for taking this journey with me, and being apart of one of my many blessings.  

*Roller Coaster of Emotions(The Original)

18th Amendment ... the End of an Era

When most people here 18th Amendment they think of Prohibition.  For me 18th Amendment has another meaning.  I think of a bar on Pennsylvania Avenue in SouthEast DC.  A bar that I am sad to say closed its doors this weekend.    

18th Amendment is hallowed ground.  It is where so much of my first years in DC were lived.  For a long time, it was the place where every exciting moment of my life took place.  Every Thursday many Hill staffers made their way to 18th to sing karaoke and drink cheap Miller High Life.  Many of my friendships in this city were made at 18th Amendment over a song, a High Life, or a late night shrimp poboy.  It used to be great, I used to be great when I hung out there.  

The Harper of 18th Amendment was bold, sassy, and empowered.  It was in those walls that I did some of my very best flirting.  I made out with several cute boys there.  I danced even if no one else was because I wanted to.  I sang many terrible songs, with groups of friends, and didn’t care that my voice can make cats cry.  This is where I learned to shoot Jameson like a pro and realized that it was sexy to do so.   

It wasn’t all cocktails and good times.  Life hit me pretty hard a few times while sitting in that bar.  We were at 18th Amendment the night D told me he had a girlfriend.  After shit hit the fan, I sat at the bar and drowned my sorrows with Vicki and Deek.  The night several months later, when D got jealous, and told me he didn’t like seeing me with anyone else, the conversation that ruined our functioning friendship took place at 18th.  When I lost my job, 18th Amendment is where I went to drink away the disappointment.   

I haven’t been by in months; I don’t think any of the old group has.  Somewhere along the way, life happened.  We got more responsibility, and we had to give things up.  People grow apart, and the places you used to go together lose their luster.  I have thought about stopping by a million times, but something always seems to come up.  Never did I think that there would be a day that 18th wouldn’t be there. In my mind, Vicki would always be ready to pour me a shot and tell me that all my problems lie in my poor taste in men.     

I want to pay homage to one of the places that helped shape me and my life in this city.  If the walls of 18th Amendment could talk, I am sure they would have some great stories to tell, and several of them involving me.     

Birthday Blues

How is it possible to love your life and be so sad at the same time?  I guess it is the birthday crisis setting in.  I am going to be a year older next week - 26.  I love my life, but then I see the lives of people with whom I grew up or went to college, and their lives seem great too.  Completely opposite, but wonderful still.  They are getting engaged, married, having babies: what I always thought I would be doing at this time in my life.  

Living in DC, I wouldn’t want to be married right now, but you step out of this bubble, and you see people all around you moving forward in life.  In DC, we move forward with our careers, but our personal lives are stuck in college.  We are all stuck in a dating cesspool, where people hook up and have “complicated things”, but it is rare to find something real and lasting.  I chose to build a life in a city where everyone postpones love to a more convenient time.

Somewhere in the last three years, I have evolved into something about which I am not sure.  I have allowed myself to morph from this Marilyn sex symbol that I was proud of to “Momma Bear”.  When did I become the sensible, put together one?  When did my life become nothing worth writing about?  I have struggled over the last several weeks to come up with something to share with all of you.  There have been no exciting stores of sexscapades or outragous nights.  There have been no new crushes or the potential of falling in love.  I have become uninteresting.  

My reality at 26 is that I have 4 different dating apps on my phone, and yet not been on a date with anyone from them.  I haven’t been in a serious relationship in a decade, haven’t had sex since Valentine’s Day, and haven’t had good sex since Stefan.  

There was a time when I was vivacious, confident, and unwavering.  When I left college I had found a comfort in myself, and in many ways it is still there, but the voices of the frat boys are creeping back in.  I hear them calling me “Bee’s Fat friend” all over again.  I was thinner back then.  I would kill to be that small again, and yet I let so many boys define me in such derogatory terms.  I let my own self worth be based on a bunch of drunk frat boys who wanted to keep me their dirty little secret.  I tried to leave that behind me, but even my relationship with D painted me as the dirty mistress.  Keeping me at arm’s length, and playing my own insecurities against me.    

One of the biggest things I can be proud of in the past year, besides getting an amazing job, is walking away from D.  Looking back on my Quarter life Crisis (my birthday last year), it was predominantly because of my relationship, or lack thereof, with him.  It was like coming up for air for the first time in a year and half.  What I didn’t realize was, that as long as I was hiding behind my feelings for D, I didn’t have to face the reality that I was become less desirable.  I am the kind of pretty that only gay men and other women appreciate.  Well dressed, hide my flaws well, hair and makeup always done.                   

As I prepare for my birthday party, I continue to worry about all the details.  My private party in the basement of my favorite Hill bar now carries the burden of being epic.  I need it to be epic.  I need the excitement.  I need to be reminded that I am not irrelevant in peoples lives.  I have decorations, a playlist, and Anna is making the cake.  My dress is picked out, I am getting my makeup done, and my crash diet is underway.  Even though I am sharing the night with Chance (against his protest), and most people are coming because of him, I want a moment to remember.  

Birthdays used to be one of my favorite things in the world.  It is the one day (or week) that the whole world has to celebrate you!  I loved getting older!  I couldn’t wait until I turned 30.  Now I see them for what they are - milestones of broken dreams.  A reminder of all the things you wanted to do but haven’t been able to.  A warning that you are getting older but you aren’t getting any smarter or (insert adjustive of your choice).  I never thought I would have the birthday blues.  

I know that Saturday will be fun, not because I need it to be, but because all the people that care about me will be there to help me celebrate.  I will be surrounded by love and lots and lots of shots.  Yes, I might not be the sexpot that I used to be, but I’m not 22 anymore either.  And that is ok.  It is ok to age gracefully, and to do a little growing up along the way.   

   

Caring: How to Stop

We spend so much of our lives worrying about what other people think.  I know I make myself physically sick sometimes worrying how other people perceive me, or thinking that I did something unpleasing to those I care about.  I worry about what the world thinks; I worry about rejection, sometimes so much so that the anxiety is overwhelming.  

I worry when my hair is not in place, and I don’t leave the house without makeup on.  I squeeze into Spanx everyday to make my curvaceous figure more appealing.  I worry that the number of men I have slept with is too high, and I also worry that no one will ever want to sleep with me again.  I worry that every time a boy kisses me, I am going to be added to his list of mistakes - the fat girl who he is ashamed he hooked up with.   

I worry about hurting my loved ones’ feelings, or being unable to please them.  I am a people-pleaser, so when someone rejects me, I look at it like I am unpleasing, I didn’t do what I am supposed to do.  As a Southern woman I feel that it is my job to make everyone feel welcomed, comfortable, and happy.  I want to be well-liked.  Not really out of ego, but out of anxiety.

Part of me has started to realize that I can’t please everyone.  I am human, and I make mistakes.  In trying to please the world, I have forgotten to please myself.  I am not saying I won’t take responsibility for my actions; I will apologize when I misbehave.  I just can not dwell on things I can’t change after an apology has been made.    

There is this movie that Anna and I are obsessed with caled “Bachelorette”.  (Spoilers to follow, kind of) It is a dark comedy starring Kirsten Dunst, Rebel Wilson, Isla Fisher, and Lizzy Caplan.  I have found my current life motto from this film.  If you know anything about the movie you might be like, “Really?”  Once you get past the cocaine, strippers, and outwardly fucked-up friendships/relationships, there is something deeper.  Really, it is the friendship between Kirsten Dunst’s character Regan and Rebel Wilson’s character Becky that brings about my new motto.  

At first, you think that Regan hates Becky, and you don’t realize why she is her maid of honor.  Becky (Rebel Wilson) is a heavier woman, and she is getting married to a smoking hot man.  It is obvious that Regan tries to be perfect, and her attempts come off as a cold hearted bitch, or maybe she is a cold hearted bitch.  She feels like she is the one who should be getting married, for several reasons that are not relevant here.  Then there is this moment when Becky catches Regan trying to purge because of stress, and you realize Becky and Regan share something much deeper.  They have a history.  In high school, Becky covered up for Regan’s bulimia and got upset when people spread rumors that it was her who was bulimic.  Regan had told her to “Fuck Everyone” and that was what Becky was telling her to do now.      

Right before Becky is about to walk down the aisle, she freaks out and says she can’t go through with it.  She looks at Regan and says, “Everyone thinks I am too fat to marry him.”  Regan grabs her by the shoulders, looked her dead in the eyes, and says “Fuck Everyone!”  

That’s it.  That is the key to finding my comfort and happiness - Fuck everyone!  Fuck the stupid jackass who, after weeks of flirting with me, told me he didn’t find me physically attractive.  Fuck the people at the state society picnic who looked at me like a leopard because I have put on 20 pounds since college.  Fuck D and the cloud of darkness he brought to my life for a year and a half.  Fuck the supposed friends who have alienated me, leaving me to feel unwanted and inadequate.  I have struggled with when to stop fighting to keep them and when to walk away.  Now is that time.  Too many people do want me in this world to focus on the ones who don’t.  Fuck the people who have or will ever call me fat.  I have spent too much time caring what the world thinks.  Too much time letting everyones’ opinions of me dictate who I am going to be.  Now is the time to worry about me - my wants, my needs, and what makes me happy!  Because I deserve to be happy.  I have not always thought that I did, but I know now I really do.