I’m sitting on a confrence call thumbing through a woman’s magazine and listening to the droll of the higher uppers. It’s one of those magazines that is supposed to teach you SECRETS OF A SEX GODDESS, FIVE MOVES FOR THE PERFECT ABS, TOO CLINGY – OR JUST CLOSE? , and my two favorite, SUPERMODELS KEEP IT REAL- BEAUTY TRICKS, A VICTORIA SECRET’S MODEL AT HOME IN BRAZIL. In Brazil? So the modeling gig is her day job?

Paging through the script of what the cultural norm is supposed to look like reminds me more of an Amazon genetic experiment gone awry. In all honesty, it’s pretty excruciating to think we should strive to be of a Perfect Nonsense like the models on the page. It’s like society is dragging us forward and hauling us backward simultaneously; as if I am living the moment when my divided loyalties are ripping me apart and taking off with their ripened halves. If I succumb to either the forward or backward, I’ll come out in all these messy pieces. I need a compass needle to find my way out of this one.

“Yes Boss, I’m here.”

I’m walking a mile in my head in the span of three seconds. I’m sitting on my porch staring at a tree opposite me aware of the way the rough ridges of its bark seem to wiggle where they lay in shade. My thoughts are fixated on recent events. Now I’ve never liked coincidence much, but I’m hating the sense it’s making now.

I’m considering having a nervous breakdown (or making a dash to the nearest shoe store). I could probably have a good one about how I can’t take the strain, that I’m doing my best to make sure my life doesn’t crash and burn. While half my brain is considering the nervous breakdown recourse the other half is considering if the fourth largest city is large enough for me. Or how it would be great to be sitting with the Ladies toasting champagne and waiting for the headlines: HIDE ANOTHER MISTAKE. Our correspondent, blah, blah, blah.

My imagination wants a needed strike, but that won’t be. This feels global because it’s my life on the line. But I feel nothing. I don’t even know why, I can’t explain it. But I can feel it, like you feel a stomachache or a cold coming on, or somebody’s eyes staring a hole in your back. Maybe it’s from traveling through the last two months without an ounce of downtime transgressing from one whirlwind to another.

And as far as my situation of being the mere sad inevitable result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, grow up Jess. What has kept me going so long is understanding that some connections aren’t real, they are a temporary tethering.

I want to laugh but can’t find the strength to do so. I want my laughter to be hysterical and not as a lead in to a nervous breakdown. I want to laugh till no sound comes out the way I do at “The Office” with my crew.

I want to find peace and move on with it. Whatever happens next. Whatever. I can only think about whatever if there is a tomorrow to think about in it. Right now today is enough. It has to be.

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“No we’ve met or I’ve seen you somewhere. Wait. Were you at the sushi restaurant earlier?”

“Yeah, we were there sitting by the bar, why didn’t you come talk to us?”

“I’m horrible with the bar pickup.”

I rolled my eyes hoping this wasn’t another mistake dressed in sheep’s clothing. I’ve really had enough of that shit lately. I was standing under the bright glare of parking lot lights waiting for two of the Ladies to make their way out of the bar. In true gentleman fashion he declined my efforts to send him on his way and leave me alone.

“I’m not leaving you out here alone, you see all these drunkards.”

He pointed to a guy I knew who was hitting on the closest piece of tail within his reach.”

Scoff. I nearly snorted reminding myself not to encourage him.

“That’s really nice of you but,”

Celeste walked outside, turned on her heel, narrowed her gaze, and wryly said “Yeah. You’re out of “IT”. I can tell. We need to get a cab. Let’s roll.”

Earlier at dinner while sipping on a martini I leaned across the table announcing, “I’m taking a break and removing myself from the game.”

Kim leaned in picking up her glass, she was waiting for me to elaborate.

“Why find another mistake?”

Not like we need to revisit my track record, I’ve been on a bender taking men for their word thinking this one’s different and ignoring the blatant warnings of my friends. I’m not one to entertain my past for long. I learn from it and carry on. But lately, my judgment has gone wiry. I’ve been the quintessential female wearing rose colored glasses ignoring what I already knew to be true. So Saturday night, I pulled the breaks after being bored with making the same mistakes and reopening the same wounds.

When I say revisiting the same mistakes, it’s a conscious effort that takes work and makes the challenge the fun of it all. Which, ya know, leads to deleting numbers from my phone. And as far as meeting someone in a bar? Years ago I made it a practice to never give out my number in a bar. Having never been good at following my own rules I’ve had two relationships start in bars. No, wait three…hang on. Jeeeze.

Now, I’m a lady with a healthy appetite for dating and know it’s not a sport where score is kept on a weekly basis. My desired style has always been to meet someone I like, decide if it works then start all over again. However, there’s still nothing I’d like more than to meet someone who’d stay for a while. I’m throwing in the towel.

Until, Thursday anyway.

M: “Oh no, you haven’t heard the best yet.”

I gasped in awe, “There’s more? Where does he get off…”

M: “When she grabbed him he smiled that,” she scrunched her face in disgust recounting all the times she’s seen him do it and blown it off due to her own insecurity.

J: “Yeah, I’ve seen that crooked smile.”

Mel and I have followed one another through our career path networking our contacts. We were sitting at our monthly lunch trading contacts and discussing our most recent relationship blunders.

Mel is tall and angular, studiously stylish, and naturally gorgeous. She’s the type of girl one is alternately jealous of and shocked by. She’s genuinely kind and captivatingly attractive but insists on continuously stumbling into poor choices of the romantic persuasion. And occasionally, the purely physical bad decisions. Her men must be tall, preppy, jocks, the eternal fraternity boy of the unfaithful blend. There’s plenty of this blend trolling around in Houston. Her latest had been injured while playing basketball. The petite blonde who tended to him in the emergency room was later seen cuddled in his arms in a bar that very evening.

Her ego was shattered once again, “Wasn’t I the one to play nurse?”

J: “She’s got a degree in it. You’re already at a disadvantage. Good riddance to that jack ass.”

I on the other hand continue to play tug of war, “Like Kendra told me, when you send something out; you expect a message in return. When the message isn’t returned I’ve got one of two options. Call bull shit and walk or sit and pine.”

“I know where this is headed.”

“With mud in my face?”

We’ve all made mistakes that are impossible to undo, but what if you did everything right the first time? In today’s Sex & the City Dating Space if you don’t fall flat on your face, have your heart torn in two and spit back at you; you’re bound to end up scrolling through dates like a rolodex. The only serial daters not making mistakes are the one’s who jump into each new relation with little risk and nothing to lose. Ah. Yes. Them. They’re the one’s not growing. If we continually move through life like a herd of cattle following the same path over and over listening to our gut with each new encounter, we’re stagnant. Mud becomes a temporary tattoo that simply won’t rub off leaving one to question how the hell did I wind up here? Again. Again. All the accessories, shoes, and clothes to boot the Galleria has to offer won’t disclose the growth process unless you take a break and understand what went wrong.

James Joyce said it poetically, “Mistakes are the portals of discovery.”

“Hey there, can I call you back? I’m in the middle of the hospital.”

The voice on the other end of the line wasn’t my Mother’s but it was indeed her cell phone.

“Ahhhhhh!”

In the distant background I could hear the voices of my mother and sister. They were prodding my niece, “Tell her.”

“I wuv you Jessie”

A lump formed in my throat as I shifted the items in my arms stopping to focus on the long distance voice. I slumped against the wall allowing the wall to support my weight and felt my own piece of personal earthquake.

“Aw,” I stated her favorite new phrase, “K. You Rock.”

“I rock.”

I wiped a tear erasing the over whelmed bad feeling of work stress immediately. It was the gesture that did it. That small act reminded me of how caring and supportive my parents and siblings have always been. Sure, they drive me a little batty, but my entire life I have never doubted that I am tremendously loved. As I’ve grown into another year I’m becoming increasingly aware of the rarity of such a feeling, which makes me all the more grateful for it. No matter what lay in store for me, they’re my advantage.

Not that we’re demanding of anyone except ourselves. No- we’re fun! Easy, laid-back. Ha. Ha. Yes. Fun. There is no reason for anyone to be nervous; the rules are for us only, they are never stated and never discussed. No Sir. We are truth be told in a you better learn to toughen up mode, exceptionally effort making, jovial, comfort giving, we don’t bend to entertain anyone other than one another often at our own expense. Everything is “relatively” low key in a Martha Stewart meets the New York Post manner. But most importantly, they’re accepting of me.

Yeah, I think it’s time I come home Sissy to visit; or we figure out how to move Jersey closer to Texas.

Saturday afternoon i was helping Ronda move I.T.L. Ron was exhausted from carrying boxes, he collapsed on the ground rolling over in the manner a man has after a hard day of work,

Ron: “I wasn’t built for this.”

J: “Neither was I, but we make it happen.”

Ronda kneeled on the floor next to him sweeping her eyes up his body and catching his gaze as she leaned in for a kiss, “That’s we do Baby. We make it happen.”

Preservation of the body mind and soul while you “make it happen” is my new mantra after this weekend.

There’s been a little bit of a storm running through town toasting to J.C.’s rising. The great thing about the Ladies is they are just the right amount of girly-guy who will sit on a patio Sunday afternoon drink a beer, eat French fries and crawfish, then dawn a mini skirt and heels to tear up the dance floor. In college I had lesser friends who would pretend to be interested in a night of catching up and then morph into giggly backstabbers at the whiff of Kenneth Cole aftershave – women who were lightning fast with the put down jokes or dismissive wave, whatever it took to seem more pretty or witty or larger chested to the nightly swarm of male barflies. But not The Ladies. They are loyal and genuine, not in an aggressively girl powerish way, but in a sane and appreciated one.

The next several days are going to be filled with a sense of secret purpose and focusing on my job. I’m becoming mildly alarmed at how much I enjoy the idea of getting into mischief and running around town like rock stars are on a one way train to extinction. Spring fever is alive and kicking. I’d always hoped I’d be motivated by something purer and more positive, but I can’t deny the excitement of getting into mischief if only for a weekend.

Back to Preservation

Sunday afternoon I cleared my throat. I honestly didn’t really know where to begin – there was so much information on the topic crammed in my brain. I decided to just dive right in and hope I didn’t hit my head on the board.

” All you can do is take it day by day and tread softly - who cares what anyone else thinks? I’ll always have the fun Messica side and you’ll always have the (insert party nick name here) but those girls are only allowed to come out and play every so often. Beyond that, it’s preservation and focus. You’re doing just fine as you ease into the new and improved version of you.”

Spring is in the air, new leafs are turning over while the old ones are laid to rest. Relationships are ending, friendships are forming, I’m starting new hobbies, signed up for classes, bonds are becoming stronger, new relations are beginning, and time is moving forward.

I might not have been built for this, but I’m doing the best I can to make it happen.

Yeah - yeah I already know. we will discuss the scandals that occured over the last week tonight. Right now, i’m out the door to earn my keep.

Love you all.

Happy birthday to my baby sister, Emily.

“Do you girls come here often?”

We glance at one another and I immediately hate myself for opening my big fat mouth.

“No this is our first time.”

“Where are you from?”

Cautiously Reagan and I look at one another.

“Cleveland”

We were in pain.

“I’m from Denvmerk”

“Where?”

“Denmark”

In my best dumb girl voice, “Oh is that near Russia?”

That should have been clue number one. I see my phone light up in a manner that tells me E.T. is phoning home knowing its Kristina and reach for the safety net. Grabbing Reagan’s knee I mouth, ‘I’m sorry, be right back.’ The return expression on her face says it all, ‘BITCH’.

Five minutes later I’m back at the bar listening to how the creep told her he could see he was making her uncomfortable and kissed her a goodbye on both cheeks.

“I’m done with dating and men like that.”

“We’re all done with men like that.”

“I just get so tired of dealing with guys saying stupid things out at bars. What’s the point?”

Not like we have to tell you, but we don’t exactly have the best track record with men. The one’s who have the most effect rarely end up being discussed. We get cagey.

I’ve never been one of those girls who follow the rules. If something is good and feels right I tread cautiously and know he’s bound to kiss my forehead and tell me what I need to hear. I’m always afraid of coming off to needy. I hate that word NEEDY. Needy should be a word reserved only for babies and toddlers. They need to rely on others. In the end, it’s not about feeling needy that brings me turmoil it’s finding that balance and the equality.

As far as being understanding of shady behavior; that’s a crock of shit. In the end there’s really nothing understanding about it. I’ve been the pin up model of the modern gal with a rough exterior shaking off the hurt and pain when shady sets in. In the end, I’ve ended up with a bruised ego and several three month relationships.

“The point is finding your equal.”

“Who walks beside you.”

“And not in front of you.”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine. I’m great.” I said loudly as I sucked down my drink, placed it on the table, and looked for the waiter to order a refill.”

I needed to get a hold of myself and I needed to get out of my head.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Even when Tony is being quiet, as most men are when a woman begins talking about relationships, I found that I was trusting him and valuing his judgment within the first five minutes of meeting him. He definitely seemed to be studying me and wasn’t sure what level of crazy he was going to place me on.

“I’m sorry, I can’t imagine what you think of me,” allowing waves of self conscious to take over me. I felt like bursting into tears in the middle of Katz’s Deli while I sat with strangers who invited me to dinner after a drawn out day.

Wasn’t it obvious? I couldn’t believe someone would ask such a softball question. Though having been hit in the face by a softball when I was younger I had firsthand knowledge of the misnomer quality of that expression. This doesn’t stop me from using the phrase, it just means that I always tack on that addendum, making it sort of a drawn out process. I could probably make things easier on myself if I stuck to adjectives like easy or bullshit.

“I think you’re a little confused,” he replied.

I felt taken aback. I hadn’t expected him to answer. I was rhetorical with my insecurity which was better left floating out there than pinned to the wall. Now I was confident with knowing he was not judging me, he was pitying me.

Even worse.

“Oh really, I said archly.

It was the day after the man I was dating pulled a Houdini. He and I arrived at my apartment around 3:30 am after an evening of festivities and were standing in my kitchen talking. Walking to the fridge I removed two bottles of water and was feeling little pain after two red snappers, several drinks, and not enough food. In the process of grabbing the water I knocked a tub of blueberries from the fridge and stood drunk watching them scamper across the kitchen tile.

“Ah, that sucks. I’ll get it tomorrow,” I stammered. He meticulously went to work and proceeded to pick up every single blueberry and place them in the sink.

Grabbing me by the hips and pulling me close he said, “I’m going to go home.”

Biting my lower lip and hiding my own disappointment, “Okay,” what was I to do, fight him on it? I think not.

After weeks of incessant text messages and random phone calls over the course of the day he pulled the Houdini and vanished. Two days later I was talking to my sister when she said, “Maybe he doesn’t like blueberries.”

Brilliant!

The text message was sent, “I was talking to Carlin and she said maybe you don’t like blueberries. I have to ask, is that it? Do you not like blueberries?”

His response pinged back within three minutes, “I love blueberries.”

I replied, “Phew that’s a relief.”

I already knew what his issue was. He was a Houdini, a Slim Shady, a Lack of Communicator. Even if he was thinking of communicating, he restrained based upon something he didn’t know how to deal with, the emotion of mass confusion. I was denying what I knew was good but not permanent. I plead the fifth knowing he clung to the idea of what and or who he needed me to be. Intentionally I kept my eyes closed a moment to long as we pulled away from a kiss like an “over dramatic actor”. Judge me if that’s what you need to do – but damn it – you’ve been there without knowing that’s where you were.

The Houdini is a common theme among my crew lately. You’re seeing a special someone for several weeks then in a “alla kazaam” they disappear leaving you staring down a cliff in hopes of hearing an echo of recognition. There’s nothing. No response. A text message is sent like a flare in the sky. When they finally do respond it’s an “I’m sorry I didn’t….. and the phone works two ways. You could have called me too.”

BLAH!

My childhood dog ran away when I was ten years old. I posted flyers on every phone pole and public bulletin board I could reach. My heart broke as my ego shattered because I didn’t know what happened to my friend. I shook in the dark with the threat of a spiraling panic fearing she was run over or worse, happier with another family. The uneasy feeling of a Houdini is no different.

My response, “When you do that, it’s like you pulled my pigtails and pushed me down on the playground.”

There’s a lesson to be learned here.

****update disclaimer - this was a long time ago

i didnt take any photos during the party - these are before and after in no particular order. And Sarah, what you said about the 4:00 am headache from La Strada…absolutely true.