i will not be first runner up

Awwwwwwwwwwwww haaaaaaaaaaaale nawww

I WILL NOT BE BACKBURNERED!

Backburnered. Is that word? Well it is now.

Let me start over. I have //whispers under breath// psychic tendencies. Since I’ve voluntarily committed myself to this online exposé, I might as well reveal that too. Yeah, I know, wth. No I can’t/won’t read your palm. No I can’t pick winning lottery numbers. No, I can’t tell you lottery numbers. No, I’m not a prophet or a fortune teller or Miss Cleo.

Cue the twilight zone theme...nahnahnahnah nahnahnahnah
Cue the twilight zone theme…nahnahnahnah nahnahnahnah

I don’t talk about it much. It’s weird. It’s one of those things that people just don’t understand. Heck, I barely do either. But what I do know is sometimes I know things. I just know things. I know when some things are going to happen. I get intense FEELINGS. I know how some things are going to happen. It’s hard to describe. It’s not like a clear face, time, place, type of knowing. It’s just a sensing. And sometimes, it almost feels like something from the past that you can’t remember in detail – like a foggy memory, but it just hasn’t happened yet. I have a slight obsession with metaphors, so I’ll try to illustrate it like this:

Like if you wake up in the morning and you smell bacon. You know its bacon; you recognize it. You know it is being cooked; you can feel the heat of the grease on the wafting scent. You know it’s coming from the kitchen because, well, duh, where else would it be cooking? You know someone is preparing it; bacon can’t cook itself. You can’t see the bacon; you can’t touch the bacon, you just know there is some bacon somewhere, probably the kitchen, being cooked by someone, probably whomever you live with. And you love bacon. Your mouth starts watering because you can’t wait to eat it. And you know what it tastes like; you remember.

It’s like that. Hopefully that did something for you.

Or, how about this; it’s like an intense dream you had that vanishes just as you wake up and try to remember the details. Yes, like that.

Whatever, I’m moving on.

So I knew KNEW Sir Crickets, introduced here and seen again here was going to reach out to me again. I knew I’d hear from him before the end of 2014. I knew it would be a holiday, although I wasn’t certain which one. Thanksgiving, maybe, but that had passed. I thought it would be New Years, but I couldn’t tell. Well, it was Christmas. Christmas morning, I get a text saying Merry Christmas beautiful…

So I’m all, I KNEW IT. No surprise here. So I reply, aww same to you, yadda yadda, nothing much more or less.

So The Professor introduced here and I are talking about past relationships over dinner one night, and he tells me about some weird noncommittal thing he recently went through, and I tell him about Sir Crickets. He is baffled by that whole drama, and asks to see a picture (which, I think is a man thing. Men like to see their –dare I say it—competition. They want names and faces. Me on the other hand, I don’t want to know. If you’re not all about me, good luck, don’t care.).

If you’re not all about me, good luck, don’t care.

So I pull up Sir Crickets on the ol FB, which I hadn’t seen in months after he stopped talking to me and I unfriended him to spare my sanity of all the ooo babe and you’re so sexy and we’re such a great pair comments by other women on his wall and photos (ok ok ok, now that I write that and read it, I know, I really REALLY should have known better, but until someone I’m seeing tells me I have something to worry about, I don’t worry about it.), and lo and behold, he is public relationship FB official with someone and has been since he went crickets on me! GASP! And also, LIGHTBULB.

Well, I’m like, cool good for him.

And then I’m like WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIT. If he’s had an official ladyfriend for two months then WHYNAHALE is he texting ME on Christmas morning?!

I WILL NOT BE BACKBURNERED!

I will not be the second choice! I will not be the back-up girl if Option A just doesn’t work out. Wow. I just…wow. He’s totally trying to keep me in his back pocket. No thanks.

Although, I have to admit feeling victorious that he misses me… It’s the little things…sneer/snicker

But all that stuff I said before about once you’re in you’re in, yeah, no. He out.

My spidey senses tell me that I’ll see him once more or hear from him once more, too. But that was before I wrote this and I’m not certain anymore. He might read this and change his mind.

Side note: that’s another thing with my “visions,” they can always be altered. People change their minds. And the visions change. That’s why it’s like…foggy…

I might still be struggling with my own self worth, but I do know that I’m better than the back burner. And I don’t need to be psychic to know that there is someone out there that is so so mindblowingly and obscenely perfect for me, that I just flat out will not accept anything less.

Right, I don’t NEED to be. But it helps. I’m holding out for a hero… of sorts. I’m already my own hero, but having a co-hero would be great.

He’s coming soon. Not sure who/when/where, or whether or not we’ve already met and just need to remeet. But he’s on his way. I can smell the bacon. And I’m so excited.

~OR

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happy new year from R2R. here’s a book…

I really threw myself for a loop last week when I reflected on how much had changed since last Christmas. My life doesn’t really know how to do “slow” so looking back on last New Year’s Eve was equally jarring. Let’s do it:


NYE 2013: I had been talking frequently to the same guy that took me to see DJ Cajmere on Christmas, which I wrote about last time here. Let’s call him…The Hobbit…which has nothing to do with his height, accent, life view, nor the amount of hair on his feet. He does indeed wear shoes – as a matter of fact, his taste in shoes is quite refined and his collection of them rivals any woman’s, including an impressive selection of watches—and he does not live in a hole (ok, great, now I’m reciting Tolkein’s description of a hobbit hole in my head. Cue theme song from the Rankin-Bass animated movie from the 70s, while we’re at it THE GREEATEST ADVENTUUUUUURE IS WHAAAAT LIES AHEEEEEEAD).

But I ramble. Let’s bring it home…

Yes, last NYE I was convinced The Hobbit wanted to celebrate with me. He told me several times he wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he would let me know and we would have a great time. Well, he vanished, as the fickle ones seem to do, just in time for me to panic about what the heck I was going to do for NYE. And I had to do something. HAD. TO. I love NYE. I was raised to party on this holiday. Not that it had to be big and drunken, but it had to be big and loud. Growing up, pretty much every holiday was go big or go home—then again, home had it going on too. It was a time to break out the spinney tin noisemakers, the paper toot-toot things, the bobbley headband antennae, the top hats, the oversized sparkly year-number sunglasses, and of course the champagne (or sparkling grape juice) in stemware (even if it were the plastic disposable kind) and a New Year’s kiss, even if it was for your mother on her cheek. It all had to be done. Go. Big.

For the duration of my marriage, I tried to recreate this tradition in our family. I tried to be somewhere or at least turn the party up at home. But the celebration usually ended up being a party of one. Or just in my head. And I ended up sighing heavily at midnight wondering when the magic was ever going to kick in.

Well in 2013-14, I sure as heck wasn’t going to be caught dead under the same roof as my almost-ex-husband, doing the same lame game that had become our routine. I was going out dammit. And I wanted to have a good time.

But The Hobbit stood me up. I wasn’t hurt. I was annoyed. Mostly with myself. I had forgotten what it was like to date and forgotten that when people aren’t married or in an “official” relationship, there is no obligation to be together on a holiday. I’m not one that is easily defeated (heh, AMIRIGHT), so I says to meself,

even if I go to some bar completely alone, I’m goin out. HEAR ME, WORLD? I’M! GOING! OUT!

Luckily, I wasn’t quite THAT desperate. I still knew people that weren’t connected to my ex. I mean, it might have only been like…two… but I knew people! I got a text earlier that day from an actor friend of mine that was hosting the NYE show at a comedy club. By the time I was certain I’d never hear from The Hobbit for several days, if ever, I responded.

Hey, still have tickets for tonight? I’m coming!

You bet – how many?

Just one.

Who goes to NYE parties alone? This girl. The same girl that will go see Pan’s Labyrinth alone in a deserted $1 cinema – ok, that decision, might have been a mistake because I had nightmares of the thing with the eyes in its hands for WEEKS and barely made it through the whole movie without running away from the empty theater—but this NYE was not a mistake. In fact, in hindsight, it was all part of the plan. You know, that Divine Plan. So I threw up my deuces, took a bathroom selfie, and hit the street.

nye2013
I was DONE with 2013.
#andshewillflourish

So off I go to ring in the New Year. It was a great show. I laughed. I laughed hard. I laughed fake sometimes and snuffed some tears. And sometimes I just smiled to keep the baddies at bay. And through my obnoxious grin, I was really saying

<<God, help me. How did this become my life – that I have no cash, no credit, no savings, no nearby relatives, no nearby close friends, no relevant work history, no completed graduate degrees, no job, no friends outside The Good Pastor’s network, no one but my own children that care whether I’m in my bed (and by in my bed, I actually meant on my couch) in the morning or have completely fallen off the face of the earth, no one to kiss at midnight, barely anything to call my own – SWEET JESUS, YOU BETTER BE ABOUT TO GIVE MY HEART’S DESIRES BECAUSE THIS HAND YOU’VE GIVEN ME CURRENTLY BLOWS BIG FAT CHUNKS.

That’s the most upset I’ve ever felt towards God, btw. And it wasn’t even anger. I rarely get angry. It was more like confusion. Like, really? This is what you have planned for me? Aight. I’ll just roll with it and know you will provide.

And provide God did. After the show, and after I toasted myself to 2014, I met my friend out front and awkwardly lingered as I told him I’m getting a divorce and moving out as soon as I can find a job to support me and the boys. He was like,

Oh. Well, hey, cheers to 2014 and cheers to divorce!

I laughed. And I meant it. Cheers to that, indeed. It was only upward from there, anyway, right? (I’m still telling myself this, don’t burst my bubble).

The incapable-of-standing-still-when-there’s-music-playing dancer that I am, I started grooving. There were only two other moving bodies near me, so I worked it over to them. Luckily, the two ladies were also guests of my comedian friend.

We introduced ourselves while dancing. One of the ladies’ birthdays is Jan 1, so we toasted to that, too. I was honestly enjoying myself. This going out alone on a whim thing, was actually turning out pretty daggone fantastic. Towards the end of the evening, we talked about dancing and how much I love it and miss it and never have enough of it in my life.

The birthday girl told me about her dance company – a dance fitness club that actually has a choreography-based component, for dancers like ourselves that have no outlet as adults outside of (not) going professional or translating our skills over to something like ballroom. I was sold. There was an open house coming up, but I was already in. I needed it. I was there. I was already committed. Thanks, God, I said. This is why I’m here. This is why The Hobbit ditched me. This is why I have a comedian friend that texted me earlier. This is why I knew I couldn’t stay back in the burbs that night. I needed to meet this woman to reintroduce me to dance.


NYE2014: I’m on the arm of a fantastic man. The kind of man that pretty much has it all goin on: great job, several letters after his name, solid values, positive disposition, a gorgeous face…and (tattooed) body <<insert my anime googley heart eyes face>>…and beautiful hair… let’s call him The Professor. The Professor and I met several months ago while I was traveling for work. It was one of those I-can’t-believe-this-is-how-we-met stories, but it was a good one.

…It was a Thursday night. The draft was on. I overhear him say “I love Dix” and I’m all, “I love dicks too” (I know. I know. WHAT. WHAT. WHAT ON GODS GOOD EARTH was I thinking?! I often have the sense of humor of a twelve year old boy and sometimes, I embarrass myself before I know what’s happening.) but the rest is history. We hit it off. We were all about it. All about each other. All about our future. We tried to date long distance but eventually that fizzled after about two months. I mean, honestly, we’re several states and a day’s drive apart, so we amicably simmered down to penpals and left it at that.

Well, The Professor surprised me with a spontaneous decision to get on a plane and come ring in the New Year with me. I was ecstatic. Although I knew our time together was temporary, I was flattered and thrilled that somehow, I meant enough to this amazing man to be worth it.

So, here we are, a year later; I’ve danced continuously with my new company, in various venues and festivals around Chicago, and made new and enriching friendships. I’ve found so many pieces of my soul on the stage, and danced myself in to wholeness – or at least closer to it – with every rehearsal and performance.

I finally had one of those NYE experiences that people rave about – the party, the company, the swank and glam of it all. And even though at 32 and 37-years old, The Professor and I sometimes felt more like prom chaperones than party guests at The Drake that night, and we came back home and ate Giordano’s deep dish leftovers and crashed to The Walking Dead marathon, the night – and the year-long journey to it – was more magical than I could have imagined.

…and talk about magic; I didn’t even tell you what the NYE psychic said to me yet! Oh lawd!!

To be continued…

Happy New Year

#andshewillflourish

~OR

why men go crazy around the holidays pt III

Omigosh. Emmanuel NAILED it! This is exactly what I’ve talking about! See Part I and Part II here…

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<div class=”fb-post” data-href=”https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=877813105572563&#8243; data-width=”500″><div class=”fb-xfbml-parse-ignore”><a href=”https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=877813105572563″>Post</a&gt; by <a href=”https://www.facebook.com/ThaaBoyyEmmy”>Emmanuel Matos</a>.</div></div>

~OR

What? No.

I knew I had to save these or no one would believe me…

IMG_7796.PNG

And PS don’t get bug-eyed…for anyone that knows me personally and is doing the divorce math, the Good Pastor and I had a discussion and after asking him several times if he was certain of divorce (are you SURE are you SURE are you SURE??) he gave me permission to start browsing the field while legally separated. Yes, I asked his permission. Why? Because. #thegoodwife

~OR

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