No apologies

An unsettling number of people who I know in real life have made their way to my blog lately.

My ex mother in law, which frankly doesn’t matter to me one bit.

And some others who after hearing that they read my blog made me stop and think for a minute.

Do I really want the things I write in this safe, supposed to be ‘uncensored’ part of the world being read by coworkers, ex relatives, current relatives, real life friends, prospective employers, could be boyfriends?

Do I really want it to be out there for all to see?

How will this affect my everyday life?  Being found out.

Will those I love and those I hate think less of me, view me differently, be offended by things I write?

Maybe.

At some point almost positively.

When I wrote anonymously I wasn’t as worried.  There was no real way to know it was me, unless you knew the very personal details of my life and were able to somehow track down my blog and deduce that it was, in fact, my blog.  Which my ex husband did.

Still, it was, for the most part, anonymous.

I made the conscious decision to go public, so to speak, start blogging under my real name, post pictures of myself from time to time and not hide the fact that I write.

I maintain a degree of anonymity for the people I write about.  I do not use real names of those I date and there’s really no way you can know who those people are.  Someone reading this that knows me will obviously know who my ex husband is, even though I’ve never said his name.  Readers that read this and know me probably know who J is.  Really no one knows who Tiny, Joel, Bruce or JJ is, I feel good knowing I’ve protected them while allowing myself to write what I need to write in order to feel better.

I wonder sometimes if this blog has affected my relationships with men.  To my knowledge the only person I’ve dated that regularly read my blog was Joel.  I know JJ read it at one point, I don’t think he read it regularly.  J certainly would have been able to find it and read it if he wanted to, but I don’t think he ever did.  And the others I don’t believe have read it.  If they have, fine.  So I wonder what impact it has had on those relationships, the relationship with Joel specifically since he read often and from day one.

Had he not been privy to my innermost thoughts would he have given more time to learning who I was by spending time with me?  Would it have made a difference?  Did he make a decision to end our relationship based on my obvious ‘issues’ he had no way of discovering without reading about in my blog?

If I knew that to be the case would I regret writing this blog?  Would I resent the blog?

Probably, yes.

So the line of thinking goes that I should stop blogging.  Because it is damaging relationships or has the potential to damage them, cause undue stress in my life and ruin opportunities for my future.

Obviously for those reasons I should stop.  I should retreat and buy a beautiful leather-bound book that I can write my thoughts in and keep it tucked safely under my pillow.

A lesser person might do that.

I started writing this blog because I was confused and alone and I wanted to reach out to others feeling the same way and hopefully in return, they would reach out to me.  And you all have.  In so many ways I have been blessed because of this blog.  Because of this blog my life has opened up to places so much bigger than this little town in Illinois.

I’m scared that a potential employer may run across this blog, or my boss, or my mom, or any number of other people.

I don’t want to get fired because of this.  I don’t want to lose the potential love of my life because of this.  I don’t want to cause my ex husband undue hardship because his mom doesn’t know she should go read the newspaper instead.  I don’t want this blog to cause problems.

But if I lose my job, or love, or inconvenience my ex husband, it will be because I am who I am.

This is me.  These words I write are what I feel.  Sometimes I’m funny.  Sometimes I’m obnoxious.  Sometimes my beliefs are different from my readers beliefs.  Sometimes I am happy.  Sometimes I am very sad.

But it’s always who I am.

I spent many years of my life apologizing for who I am.

I can honestly say now that I am not sorry for who I am.

I am one of the most genuine people you will ever meet.  Sure, if you know me in real life, I can be quite different from what I write on here, I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve at all times, I don’t speak about it when I feel hurt, or sad, or heartbroken.  That is why I write.  I write what I cannot say.

But it is always coming from the heart, it is always honest.

I won’t stop being who I am on this blog because I am worried it will change how people look at me in my neighborhood or at work.  It’s all me, it is all who I am, real life me and the me in this blog are the same person.

I am a person with feelings, a whole lot of them, this is my blog.  I hope what you read here touches you, makes you laugh, makes you cry or makes you think.  If you don’t like it, I understand, I suggest you don’t read it.

But please understand that this is me, I am the same person you know in real life, I am the same person you always knew.  Just because you can now read the words written from my heart does not mean I am someone who you do not know.

And I don’t apologise for being me.

Preoccupation

Its my last week of classes, I have final papers for each of my 3 classes due tomorrow by 11pm.  I went into the weekend knowing I had 2 papers, I thought the other was due a week later, but I was wrong, 3 papers, all due by Tuesday.

The first paper was going to be easy, no research involved, I had it written in my head, I just needed to put it to paper.  The second paper was going to be tough and I knew it.  I read and re-read the assignment.  I know what I am being asked to do, yet I cannot nail down a subject that I want to research and write about.  The instructor gave us examples of cases studys we could use but she encouraged us to think of our own rather than using one of her examples.  Which says to me if I want her to take my paper seriously I will come up with my own.  So I set it aside.  Hardest for last, lets just get the easy one out of the way first.  Then I discovered the third paper that was due, during the writing of the first.  Fine.  Breathe and know that you can do this.

Exhale and panic.

Breathe again and feel completely overwhelmed.

Deep breath, let it out, oh yes thats right, this can all be tracked back to my love life somehow.

I have that tendency.  To blame it all on what I do not have.  Place the blame in the things I have yet to achieve, thats I why I cannot achieve everything else.

Because if I had someone to bounce ideas off of.  Or someone to knead the tension from my shoulders.  If I had that, these papers wouldn’t be an issue, they wouldn’t be stressing me.

The things I tell myself.

As if I wouldn’t still put so much pressure on myself to perform.  As if he could keep this from happening.

I always tell myself I am not good enough.  I will always criticize my work before I’ve finished it and I will always try to do it better than my instructor expects.

Because thats where I live.  Thats where I feel alive.  Always on the edge of the unattainable.  Never quite having it within my grasp because just when I think it’s a goal that could be reached, I have to set the bar higher.

Pursuing a masters.  Too easy.  Lets shoot for a doctorates.

Buying a house.  Anyone can do that.  Buy the crappiest one in town and make it better.

Moving to a new city. How about a city I know no one in.  Away from my family.  Lets make sure it’s not an easy move.

Looking for work.  How about a job that skews toward my least experienced areas of ability.  Maybe one with higher pay.  Lets convince someone to hire me for a job I do not seem qualified to do.  Why would I want a job I know I can do?  I want one I know I will have to fight for and fight to keep.

Finding love.  I don’t want you to love me.  Too easy.  I’ll leave you.  I want to have to make you love me.  I need the challenge.

Writing this third and final paper.  Why write about something I know I can easily find research to support.  Why spew pages upon pages of information already found ten times over.  No.  I must write about something the research for will be difficult to attain.  It must be unique.  Inches from my reach and just barely grasped in time.

I suppose thats where the excitement of life lies for me.  In the unreachable.  The unattainable.  The seemingly impossible.

In a relationship I will need someone who can give me everything I want, but still find a way to challenge me everyday.  Anything less will have me restless and looking for more.  Anything less will have a hard time holding on to me.

I still wonder how writing a paper leads me back to talking about my love life.

Its because its the ultimate unattainable thing.  The one I’ve not come within miles of reaching.  This paper?  Its nothing compared to him.

And this paper?  Will never get done if I keep thinking about him.

Now hiring

I must vent about all things school related.

I am in week 9 of 10 in my semester (er… term?) (I don’t know what they call them).  So, I’m almost done, then I get a week break then start 3 new classes.  This being my first term, semester, whateverthehellyoucallem, I was unsure about how scheduling my next set of classes would go.  So I had an appointment with my financial aid advisor Tuesday evening, while I was there I found my admissions advisor and asked her the procedure for signing up for my next set of classes.  Was someone going to call me? (not likely) Was I supposed to call someone? (duh) Who? When?

So she tells me that I schedule my classes with my academic advisor, and usually around week 5 they call me and set something up.  Ok fine, well I’m in week 9 and no one has called and clearly this is my fault, I take full responsibility for not being proactive.  So I ask who my academic advisor is, because I have no clue.  So I have the lady’s name.

The next day I called her and left a message asking her to call me so I can schedule my classes.  In the meantime, my admissions advisor tells my academic advisor to call me and help me schedule my classes.  Instead of calling me she just schedules 3 classes and emails me my schedule.  1 class is on a day I can’t attend, 1 class is a math class I am not required to take and the other class is a composition class that has a prerequisite that I haven’t done.

Fail.

So I called her on Wednesday and left a message saying I needed to make some changes to my schedule and asked if she would please call me.

I hadn’t heard from her by Thursday morning so I called my admissions advisor who said I should be hearing from her Thursday afternoon.

Still nothing.

So I called and left another message for her this morning saying again who I was and that I needed to make some changes to my schedule and I was concerned with the time line and the upcoming semester start date and the fact that I have no classes at this moment scheduled.  I asked that she please call me at her earliest convenience.

Mind you I am mad as hell at this point but I used the coolest, calmest, tone possible and I was super polite, because I was totally aware of my feelings toward her.

She finally called me back and said “Ugh, so now your schedule is wrong?” in a super snotty voice.

I’m thinking look woman, you didn’t even bother to return my first phone call, you scheduled classes for me without knowing when I was available and what classes I needed and now you finally call me and you are all pissed off because I don’t want to take unnecessary classes and I want to be scheduled in classes that I can actually attend?  So fucking sorry. Pardon me for existing, I’m obviously in the wrong here.

But I didn’t say that, I calmly explained the situation and she was all “Ugh, well, I’m gonna have to call you back, this will take a while.”

Ok, call me back then Academabitch.

I’m still waiting to hear back.

So, I have final projects due next week for 2 of my 3 classes.  Basically 2-1500 word papers.  I’ve been working on them for 2 weeks now because I knew this was coming up, but I feel that I’ve not gotten very far since I am still doing my regular schoolwork at the same time, plus working 2 jobs and trying to have a social life.

So this weekend I need to finish the papers.  Fine.  Totally can do.

This is where I wish I had a boyfriend or at the very least I wish I lived with someone.  I need to bounce ideas off of someone, or break up the monotony of 2 days worth of paper writing with some conversation or dinner breaks or something so I don’t go insane.

I’d like to hire a weekend boyfriend, all he has to do is hang out, talk to me from time to time and maybe proofread my papers.

I should have advertised this position on Craigslist.

Once this week is over I have one more week of classes, then my week break before the next term starts, which means the first week of my next term begins while I am in Jamaica.

Vacation fail.

I will have to attend 3 classes and do home work while I am on vacation.

Still, I can’t complain about doing homework when I am doing it from a poolside lounge chair with a Mai Tai in my hand, right?

If you would to like volunteer for the weekend boyfriend job send me an email.  Kthanks.

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I want to work at McDonald’s

I applied for a job yesterday at McDonald’s.

I know, weird right?

I used to work at McDonald’s, it was my first job, unless you count the job I had for 3 weeks where I wore a poodle skirt and roller skates and took food to cars while my boss, who was an Elvis impersonator, was banging his head waitress in the back room subsequently causing me to have to quit before I got fired because he told me I was adorable in front of his waitress/girlfriend who immediately decided I was the Antichrist, proceeded to make my life a living hell, then I spilled an entire milkshake on her and decided just to quit because I was about to get fired.

So if you don’t count that job, McDonald’s was my first job.

I had so much fun working at McDonald’s.  My brother worked there, his girlfriend worked there, and one of my bestest friends worked there.

It was awesome.

Then my friend had sex with the manager, who was, like, 20 years older than her.  But smokin’ hot.

It was still awesome after that, except that he got fired and had to go work at Burger King.

Still.  Awesome.

McDonald’s is where I learned the 5 second rule.

I’m kidding.

Or am I?

No, really, I am, they don’t serve food thats been on the floor, unless thats a new practice, they didn’t when I was there.  It was discouraged.

On Friday nights Aaron and I would wash the balls in the ball pit.

Yes, they actually wash the balls in the ball pit.

I know!  Who knew!

So, we’d use the food trays like little shovels and scoop the balls into these net bags, then put them in the back of his pickup truck.

He had a pickup truck.

Love(d).

And we would drive the balls down to the car wash and wash them.

In the car wash! I know!

Aaron liked Method Man, so when he asked I was all of course I like Method Man, Duh!

(Who the fuck is Method Man?)

He’s a bad rapper BTW.

Seriously, he was no Vanilla Ice, so….

Anyway.

There was this guy Jon who liked Metallica, and I looooooved Metallica.  After work one night we sat in his car and listened to the Load album, it had just been released.

So obviously I was in love with Jon, because we listened to Metallica together.

Jon joined the Navy and left.

Whatever Jon, what kind of name is Jon anyway.  I can totally do better than you.

What’s that?  I already had a boyfriend?

Oh.

Anyway.

Then there was Bob.  Bob was dreamy.  I mean like Bob was hot, hot, hot.

Ahhhh, Bob.

So Bob had a girlfriend, Stacy.  Bob and Stacy had been together for over a year, so you know, they were basically married.

Well one day when I came into work everyone was all did you hear about Bob and Stacy? I’m like oh no, they got married didn’t they?

No.

Bob and Stacy broke up!

They. Broke. Up.

Cue Ronda.

So, Bob and I flirted, a lot.

One day he told me that my ass looked hot in my Bongo jeans.

Then one day he smacked my ass in those Bongo jeans.

I pretty much knew that Bob was in love with me and of course I was in love with Bob.

Bob and Ronda 4-evah.

Bob had a Chicago Blackhawks Starter jacket and I had a Chicago Bulls Starter jacket.  One day Bob ‘accidentally’ took my jacket instead of his.

Aw wasn’t that cute!

Then he returned it and it smelled like him.  Drakkar no doubt, or something equally cheesy.

Then one day as I was waiting in the vestibule for my ride to pick me up, aka my boyfriend, Bob said so when are you going to break up with him so we can be together?

ohmygodohmygodohmygod!

And I said I couldn’t do that to him, he would be sad if I broke up with him.

idiotidiotidiot!

Fast forward 4 years, Bob and I have gone separate ways and the ex husband and I are at a local bridal fair when we run into Bob and his fiance.

Why couldn’t Bob have gotten fatter?  Instead he was taller and handsom-er and more-er of everything.

damnitdamnitdamnit!

Bob now lives 2 blocks from my brother with his beautiful wife and 2.5 kids.

Puke.

Frickin’ Bob.

Anyway.

I applied for a job at McDonald’s and I really want it.

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Crossing a line

The weekend after I found out I had HPV, I went to see Joel.  I asked if I could come see him, because I needed a distraction, and I wanted him to be that distraction for me.

I could have fallen to pieces that weekend, I felt that I might, which is why I wanted to see him.  Instead, I learned, I dealt, I picked myself up, dusted myself off and forged ahead.  I learned things about my body, my health, and my ability to handle crisis on my own (not good, by the way).

This past weekend I had plans to see Jim Gaffigan, a hilarious comedian.  I bought 2 tickets to his show in Chicago, when I was without a boyfriend, without a real plan for who I would take, I figured I would just figure it out or go by myself.  Then I met Joel, we started dating and I figured he’d go with.  Then that ended, but as I had decided to try the ‘let’s be friends’ thing, I asked if he would still like to go.

He had plans the weekend of the show, but he offered his sister up as my date, since I really didn’t have other options (asking my friends to go to Chicago is like asking them to fly to Hong Kong for the evening, its soooo far away).  Then his plans were cancelled, so suddenly he was available.  So the 3 of us had dinner, his sister and I went to the show then Joel and I had drinks after.

Then he and I went back to his place, where I stayed the night.

I would have to say the idea of meeting his sister for the first time over dinner then going to a show with her just an hour later was far less daunting than the idea of staying the night at his place.

Driving to dinner there was a discussion that nearly became an argument, in the parking garage there was an argument, over dinner things were fine and over drinks there was silence.  The drive back to his place was silent as well.

By the time we got back to his place I was thinking the night was close to disastrous and this would probably be the last time I would be seeing him.

There was the issue of sleeping arrangements, his apartment has one lone piece of furniture, a futon, while he awaits delivery of more furnishings.  After enduring nearly 2 hours of indifference from a man who makes me want to kill him and kiss him with every word that comes out of his mouth, I was prepared to be relegated a spot on the floor.

When I laid down next to him, my back to him, as close to the edge as possible, I was aware of what it means to be so close, yet so far away.

There was small talk, he corrected the words I chose, he is a constant critic.  I wanted to both wrap my arms around him in appreciation for who he is and wrap my hands around his throat out of pure frustration in who he is.

We fell asleep, he on his side, I on mine.

In the morning,as I struggled to find my way back to sleep, I put my arm around him and buried my head in his neck.  Because that’s where I wanted to be all night.  And I slept.  The unspoken boundary was broken, his arm around me, my legs, his legs, my hands, his hands, until I finally kissed the back of his neck.

He is the one I’ve made an exception for, the one, given the chance, that I would willingly toss celibacy aside for.  My body knows his touch, his responds to mine, my legs remember how they used to wrap around his waist, my fingernails dig into his back just like they used to.

When I got ready to leave, we parted with a friendly hug.  I have no delusions about what happened, no regrets, no further expectations.  There is no let down, no sadness because it is nothing more.  The act is separate from the hope I have.  Getting one does not mean I am any closer to getting the other.  And frankly if sex were the way to his heart I am sure I would find his heart unworthy.

He is a beautiful man.  I am captivated and frustrated at the same time, by his mind, by his need to reason, categorize and place everything just so.  I want to show him things he has never seen and help him feel things he believes are not within him to feel.  Thats the only disappointment I feel, that I don’t have the opportunity to do that.

While it is a profound disappointment, it is separate and independent of any physical relationship we have, which in itself, is quite lovely.

As always, I find myself going back and remembering this when I am met with an impossible relationship:

I need to come to realize that he’s just a guy, a special one, maybe, but he’s not mine. I don’t need to do things to make him love me. If he wanted to, he would.

He knows how much I love a man in a suit.  He shows up at my door dressed to impress.  Mission accomplished.

A pre-dinner glass of wine is what I need to take the edge off.  I invite him in by tugging on his tie, coaxing a kiss out of him.

I pour us each a glass, he takes a seat.  I’m never sure whether to pace or sit.  Sitting on my couch in a cocktail dress seems strange.

I decide to sit.  He pulls the hair away from my neck and gently kisses the curve above my collar bone.  I can feel his warm breath, he pauses there for a moment.  I close my eyes and breathe in the wine, his cologne, the anticipation.

“I’ve missed touching you, and kissing you.  I’ve missed this.”

I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, I look to the floor and smile.  I’m not sure how to respond.  He has a way of making words catch in my throat.  It’s as if anything I could say would never stand up to the perfection of his words, his tone.

It’s all been said before though, it won’t be any different this time.

I just want to enjoy this moment.

*********

After dinner he helps me with my coat.  His finger traces the curve of my neck again, down across my shoulder, until his fingers meet and intertwine with mine.

I know exactly where this night is headed.

*********

In the morning as we lay in bed, neither of us says anything.

We exchange kisses, trace the outline of each other’s bodies with our fingers.

I resist where is this going and settle for here and now.

I run my fingernails down his back, up again, around and in a pattern that forms an I love you.

I do.

********

When he leaves I lay back down, bury my head in the pillow he used, smell his cologne once more, wrap myself in the warm blankets.

It had been too long and it hadn’t been long enough.

I wonder if he will ever come back, I wonder if he will ever stay.

I strip the sheets from the bed, wash away any sign of his presence.

And my heart breaks.

5 tough months

Yesterday’s post got a lot of attention.  The comment section was almost a better read than the post itself, which is why I love my readers so much.  So, thanks so much for the blog love, now back to our regularly scheduled programming….

There are 5 months in the year that each hold a significant event for me.  They are all right in a row.  November, December, January, February and March.  At the beginning of November each year I take a deep breath, close my eyes and just hope for the best.  When March is over I finally exhale.

These 5 months are always tough on me.  Each year, I am reminded of why I hate those 5 months.  First, its cold.  I hate cold, then on top of that, the misery that is the holidays is piled on, followed by New Years, followed by Valentines day, followed by my birthday.

Lets break it down month by month, so I can explain to you why these months are so tough on me.

November: November brings Thanksgiving, which in itself is great.  I mean, food, a holiday centered around eating.  Cool beans.  My parents divorced when I was 8.  My dad had us every other weekend and every other holiday.  This became an issue at Thanksgiving and Christmas, because my brother and I didn’t want to spend either holiday without seeing my mom’s parents.  If it was my dad’s holiday that technically meant we would have to miss the holiday at my grandparents.  Not cool.  So it became a battle of who got the kids, who would give in, give up or just not give a care.  It was a huge fight, always, that left my brother and I feeling as if we had betrayed or let down one side of the family or the other.  We couldn’t be everywhere at once, and no one was understanding about that.

When I got married, it got worse, because now there was a whole new set of relatives that wanted my time and a whole new set of people to disappoint when we couldn’t make it.  Then there was the whole “you like their family better than our family” guilt trip.  Eventually, my husband and I started hosting Thanksgiving at our house.  This still meant we didn’t see everyone, because my mom and dad refuse to be in the same building with one another, but it meant we weren’t choosing any family over the other, all were welcome and if you didn’t come that was your problem, not mine.

But then I got divorced.   So, I was back where I started.

December: December gives us Christmas.  Christmas has all the same complications as Thanksgiving but adds in the stress of gift buying.  Who do you buy for?  Who is buying for you?  How much do you spend?  What do you get?  It is a huge financial burden and I feel the spirit of giving is turned into more of chore.  My brother comes out with this list every year in September, his birthday month, and it is to be used as his Christmas list as well.  The list is nothing more than a glorified shopping list, it tells me what store to go to what aisle to go to and what shelf to look on, or he provides links to items I can buy on the internet.  That’s not gift giving, that is me running errands for him.  This has eased a little in the past couple of years, we no longer exchange gifts on my dad’s side of the family, and we draw names on my mom’s side.  So each year I have to buy gifts for 3 people; my niece, nephew and whoever’s name I draw.  Still, there’s the whole issue with trying to be everywhere at once and pissing everyone off when you can’t be in two locations at one time.

January: January has the whole New Years Eve/New Years Day thing.  This has been ok with me until the last 2 years.  Post-divorce New Years Eves have been pretty bad.  The year with J was spent crying myself to sleep because he left town to boff another woman for a week.  This past New Years I worked at the bar and was in bed by 11pm, on the heels of a break up, once again alone.  So, you know, there’s room for improvement next year.

February: February is a nightmare for many single girls.  Valentines Day was always a nightmare for me.  I started dating my ex husband when I was 14 years old.  He never did acknowledge Valentines Day.  Some years I would just let it go, some years I would remind him over and over that it was coming up because I worked in an office full of women and dammit I did not want to spend another entire day watching florists parade in bouquets of flowers to every woman in the office but me.

I remember one year, he was in college and driving home for the weekend when he realised, rather the radio reminded him, that it was Valentines Day.  So he stopped at a gas station and put a quarter in one of the machines in the vestibule.  He was hoping for a plastic ring or something that he could pass as a thoughtful, bought on a college budget, gift.  What he got though was something called “Bucket of Fart.”  It was a small plastic bucket, a little smaller than a shot glass, filled with a putty like substance that when you pressed your thumb into made farting noises.  Instead of rethinking the gift and buying me a fifty-cent candy bar instead, he went with it, gave it to me and hoped I would laugh.  I did laugh, because my other option would have resulted in a long prison sentence and I was too pretty for prison.

Most years Valentines Day was ignored.  My friends would always say “Doesn’t that make you mad?” and I regurgitated the same line every time: “He is so good to me every other day of the year, I don’t need him to buy me something just because the calendar says so.” Lie and lie.

The year with J was fine, he took me to a really nice hotel, we saw Joel McHale perform, ate at a really cool restaurant.  He did it out of obligation, I could tell, he wasn’t thrilled to be doing something special for me.  I put way too much thought, and money, into his gift.  I told him that I loved him, he told me that he ‘cared very much for me’ and I went about life pretending that was fine.

This year, I am single.  I am scheduled to work a trade show booth the entire weekend, which means the hours of 10am through 5pm on Valentines Day are likely to be spent sitting in a booth watching the people of my community stroll by wearing crocs and denim suits.  There will be no flowers, no dinner, no hugs, no kisses, nothing.

March: Which finally brings us to March.  My birthday month.  I normally don’t make a big deal out of my brithday.  When I was married we would maybe go to dinner, but other than that we didn’t do much.  My ex wasn’t a gift buyer, an event planner, a surprise giver.  He was more of the ‘you make the plans, I’ll show up’ sort of guy.  One of the reasons I did not want to commit myself to him for the rest of my life.

I have a hard time with getting older, much more so now that I am single and can feel my uterus drying up.  Also, since my pool of dating candidates that have no children already is drying up just as quickly.  This year I will turn 30.  I had a hard time with 29, but I kinda felt like I might be remarried or at least engaged by 30, so I was ok with 29.  I was on my way to something.

Last year J had ‘a class out of town’ code for ‘I’m boffing someone else that night, sorry ’bout your luck’ so I had dinner with my brother, sister-in-law, mom, other mom, Carrie and Violet.  It wasn’t a bad birthday, though it could have been better.

30 is a big HUGE deal to me.  I don’t want my birthday this year to be low-key.  I certainly don’t want to be alone.  I’ve had fantastic day-dreams about planning a weekend party in Chicago.  I could reserve a block of hotel rooms, reserve a VIP lounge somewhere, drink lots of wine, dance, laugh and smile like I mean it.  Sadly, most of my friends would not be able to come to a fabulous party in Chicago.  I fear I would drink wine alone in a VIP room and cry.  Not what I had in mind.

I imagine if I was in a relationship with a really great guy; he would plan a special evening for us.  We would go to a show, have an intimate dinner, he would bring me flowers, hold my hand, we would find a quiet place to hold hands and watch the stars.  I would think about how awesome my 30’s are going to be and how exciting the years to come will be with him.

I pretend that one of my friends will be thoughtful enough to plan a surprise party for me.  They could contact all of my Facebook friends and tell them its a surprise, then I’d show up and everyone I’ve ever known would be there and I’d be mystified about how they knew who all of my friends were and how they managed to pull off such a great surprise.  There would be a DJ and we would dance all night, take pictures, I would laugh until my cheeks hurt and I would collapse at the end of the night, my last thought as I fall asleep would be about how blessed I am to have so many people who care about me.

Reality is that I am not in a relationship, and I don’t have incredibly thoughtful friends.  Chances are I will struggle to find someone to spend my birthday with, it will end up being my mom, and I will go home alone and upset about the state of my life.

I fear my birthday will be the culmiation of months and even years of disappointment.  I fear it is pretty out of my control to make it anything else.  I want to be overjoyed on my birthday, I want be surprised that someone put so much thought into it and took so much time to make it special.  I want to look back at my 30th birthday as the one to top.  Mostly though, I think I just kind of want for it to be over, like having an appointment to get my blood drawn, I know its gonna hurt, I know exactly what day I will be hurt, so lets just get it over with so I can heal.  Let the bruise darken then fade until there’s no sign of trauma left.

Once a cheater?

April 22, 2008.

That was the first time I had sex with a man who was not my husband.

I had asked my husband to move out the week before, I had seen the man for about a month and a half already.

I’ve read and heard many opinions on cheating, tendencies to cheat and whether people are just not made to be monogamous.  Since I’ve cheated, I feel I’m allowed my opinion.  Also, because this is my blog.  Great how that works, huh?

I have been asked, more than once, if I feel that it was inevitable that I would cheat because my dad cheated.  My answer to that is always no.  Which is why I don’t buy the excuse “it’s just how I was raised” when people try to explain why they cheat.

You see, I cheated not because my dad cheated, not because my brother cheated, not because celebrities cheat, not because it is something that is common.  I cheated because I chose to cheat.

That Tuesday evening, while my husband slept on his friends couch, wondering what was happening to his marriage, I breathlessly said the words “tell me you have a condom.”

I knew what I was doing.

People ask me now if I think I’m bound to cheat again because I cheated once.  My answer to that is no.  Of course not.  It is a choice.

I dated someone who more than once said to me that he felt he had a propensity to cheat.  I say bullshit, it is a choice.  You choose whether you will do it, you choose whether to do it again.  You choose.  So, I assumed he was setting up an out for himself, saying he knows given the right circumstances he would cheat, and when he did I couldn’t claim I hadn’t been warned.

I say cheating is a choice.  Claiming otherwise is a cop-out.  It is the easy way out of a tough situation, it is not owning up to your mistakes, if you feel it is a mistake.

To say that I did not have the choice, that it just happened, would be a lie.  I am in charge of me.  I choose whose penis goes in my vagina.  Yeah.  I do.  I decide.  I decided that night and I continue to decide every day of my life whether I will do this or do that.

I can’t imagine why anyone would want to claim they do not have self-control.  I had complete control of my situation.  I have complete control of my body.  No one forced me to cheat.  No one told me I had to.

Cheating is a situation you put yourself in, it is an opportunity you give yourself, and in the heat of the moment you either show strength or you show weakness.  You show character, morals, values or lack of.  Thats it.

I chose weakness, I chose impatience, I chose to see if the grass was greener.  Guess what?  In my case, it was.  I can’t say I regret doing what I did.  I regret hurting my husband, I really do regret that, but I do not regret cheating.

I enjoyed myself.  I enjoyed the risk, the temptation, the urgency of it all, the newness.  I was there in the moment, and each moment after that, choosing to do what I was doing over and over.

Don’t mistake my lack of regret for some sort of pride.  I have no pride in what I did.  I destroyed an innocent man’s trust, I took away the feeling of security that is hard to regain, even in another relationship, and I truly hurt someone who I love very much.  I am not proud of that stuff, but I don’t regret the relationship I entered into.  I don’t regret getting a divorce and I don’t regret the path I took.  I chose it, I walked every step, I was present in every moment, from the first time we had sex to the hundreds of times I denied being cheated on by the person I cheated with.

So, I’ve been on both ends.  I’ve been the cheater, and I’ve been cheated on.

Will I cheat again?  I don’t know.  Probably not, because I intend to choose wisely the next time I marry.  If I do cheat again it will be because I decide to do so, not because I am doomed to repeat a cycle.

I’ve tried to explain it to friends like this: If my parents raised me as a Catholic, does that mean I have to be Catholic?  No, I have a choice to study other religions, or have no religion at all.  I would have a choice as to how I wanted to do things with my life.  The same goes for cheating, just because I was raised in a home where my father cheated does not mean I am destined to repeat the cycle.  I can choose whether or not I want to cheat, or be faithful, or be celibate.  I choose, always.

There are people in this world that pride themselves on having self-control, sense of self, tenacity, strength and commitment to occupations, education, activities, relationships, etc.  Those same people will claim that cheating just happened, or was beyond their control, or was something they were predisposed to.

If you do not have control over what you do with your genitals, what do you have control of?  Nothing.

It is a choice, it is a decision that you make.

To anyone that has been cheated on, I am sorry.  It hurts and it can destroy a person if you let it.  Don’t let someone tell you that it was beyond their control.  It was not beyond their control.

To anyone who has cheated, if you make the choice, own it.