Changing Colors

It's getting to be that time again, where fall seems to be filling the air. The smell of leaves, the fires burning in the distance, the crisp cool air, and the days that seem too short to bear. I love fall, and it is not quite here -- but it's coming, and I am so glad. But, each time that air changes and with each leave that reddens, it makes me miss Lexington all the more. There is no greater place to be, in my opinion, than my beloved former hometown in the fall.

I still remember the way September felt - warm, with some of the best sunshine you would find in the year. It's the time when students started to find their groove, traffic made you pull your hair out, and the air was still hot enough to make you curse. It was the time of year where I was the busiest, preparing for that annual conference that made me lose sleep and peace of mind, the month when I could swear the Hobbit House felt like an oven. It was the month you were forever changed when those planes hit the World Trade Center, Pentagon, and that field in Pennsylvania. The month you got an EKG and the month you started your job at that beloved company you used to call yours. It was September that you could love because it ushered in all that the next few months would bring, but the month you inadvertently loathed because in so many ways it always felt like hell.

As the last days of the September summer melted away, Lexington prepared for her finest month of the year, October. Glorious October. It was the time where you looked forward to Keeneland and UK football, tailgating at Commonwealth with a wealth of your friends. Where you would hear "first down Kentucky!" over the loud speakers from the open windows of your bedroom, and the month where you would walk by Henry Clay's house and let Abby run in the fallen leaves. It was the month when sweaters made their annual debut and the time of year that you were finally able to start making soup again without being asphyxiated by the heat of your dome shaped kitchen. It was everything in the rain and the sun, the warmth and the cold, the way the days looked, the air smelled, and the nights when the stars were at their best. October was the month you moved into your first apartment, the month you started dating again, the month your heart melted, and the month when you always felt most alive.

And as you lived in that familiar fall bliss, October's grasp would loosen and the cold air would sweep in and give way to November. November, when you knew fall was in its prime and there was no trace of the warmth of the sun that shone so brightly only weeks before. It was November when you would walk to your car and shiver for the first time. There, when the crisp, cold mornings left frost on the pumpkins and where everywhere you turned you instantly had a craving for Uncle Chuck's turkey and dressing. It's November when your Saturday's were spent at Shamrock's, watching football in a favorite sweatshirt, protected from the cold...the place where your stomach would tie up in knots on the third Saturday of the month when The Ohio State University ritualistically played that team up North. It was those days of Irish Nachos, Miller Lite, and phone calls to Columbus to savor the exictement and pride you'd feel when they beat those Wolverines. It is November that you remember to be the month that your heart was stolen via text message. It will always sadly be the month where your greatest champion's days came to an end, with you standing beside her, hand-in-hand for her final moments and last falling tear. It's the month where you've never felt more numb because of the sadness that came from losing her.

I feel all of that now, each time I step outside and smell the air and see the signs pointing to fall.

Remembering with rock-solid affinity, and unyielding certainty that each year the calendar turns it's page, no matter where I lay my head, I will close my eyes and be transported in an instant to the life I lived and loved in Lexington.

Transported back to the magnificent ease that was.

When You Need To Be Reminded of a Miracle

Here are two.

The Quote I Found In Paris

It spoke volumes to me. I could probably write an entire post on this, but perhaps will save that for days meant for remembering.

159 Days And Counting

He looks quite proud of himself for being a total flippin' moron.

perezhilton.com

Il y a longtemps que je t'aime

Whenever I go on a trip I can't help but get nostalgic.

It's almost as if the waiting in the terminal to depart, the hours seated next to a smelly teenage boy 40,000 feet above the earth, and the inevitable exhaustion that is soon to set in, brings out my most sentimental side. Just as much as the tangible rituals play out, the sentiment for my former travels seem to have their way with me as well. For example, in the couple of times I've flown through the big ATL this year, I get this inexplicable teary sentiment that I just can't help from welling up in my eyes, and in my heart. I find myself playing over and over the dozens of trips that passed me through its gates during my 14-year tenure in Lexington. I never loved that airport or Delta so much as when I no longer knew their familiarity. Maybe it's something about the journey I have been on the last 31-years, or maybe it's the solitude in the eyes of all those strangers. Whatever it is, the bittersweet nostalgia never fails to grip my heart.

Leaving for Paris was no different. It came upon me in the remembrance of the times before that had come and gone, the sadness and the hope I had felt at different times when I returned to her open arms.

I always remember the way it felt the first time, like being a fish out of water, tongue tied and girlishly shy, the time in which it should have most been a ride on a cloud. Instead, it was the time that felt the most heavy, the most laborious, just days after marrying the husband formerly known as mine. Just as we walked around her streets, and navigated through the unfamiliar, it was those days spent in the city I'd always wanted to be in when I think I first realized I had made a terrible mistake. That's what Paris felt like the first time.


When I returned to her four years later, almost to the day, I went towards her with the eyes of a broken spirited woman, glad for the solitude, scared of the inevitable reminder. I remember that the moment I touched down I felt the relief that comes from independence and of reinvention. I know that I re-entered that magnificent city with eyes ready to be opened, sadness ready to be lifted, I was ready for something great to happen. What it gave me was an opportunity to make a friend, and to be apart of an international business community for the first time. The remnants of that journey left me with people I call my friends, one in particular who four years later I can still laugh with delicious ease, and smoke cigarettes and drink champagne with on the Champs Elysee.

The third time is the time when I returned and was healed from all the scars and all the pain of the past. Somewhere in those beautiful days of March I finally learned that I still had a heart. It was that time that I looked forward to Paris the most, because it meant spending a few days with one of the most important and influential person I have ever come to know. It was our shared sadness and the secrets behind our eyes that in the months before our last meeting had formed a bond so tight I'm quite sure it can never be broken. It was he, who held the keys to a journey of the most amazing sort, who taught me how to follow my dreams, and how to see the world through eyes wide open. It was he who I fell in love with at the base of the Eiffel Tower, and who to this day doesn't understand that it's because of him that I had the courage to be here.

When you have taken certain journeys, no matter the sort, there is always one that you know leads you home. It was this time when I stepped off that plane and into the arms of the man I call my best friend, my souls perfect mate, my love, I knew that I had finally come home. It was there in my favorite city that she lured me ever closer to her with a sublime and perfect ease, a blatant familiarity, a contentment like I had never known--welcoming me in a way unlike any of the times before. It was this time that magnificence of the Eiffel Tower sealed a bond, where I looked in his eyes and knew there was no other place I would rather be than right there in his arms, in his city, or in any city as long as he was there. It was there in Paris where we made memories walking along the Seine, took a nap on the grass, ate at his favorite (the most unlikely and amazing) restaurant, binged on croissants, and dreamt of days still to come. It was the fourth time that I went to Paris when I learned the journey is really only beginning and where I left the ghosts of the past only to whisper in the shadows.

For it was this time that this dreamer of a girl awoke into a perfect reality of what Paris is, what it should be, and all that it has yet to become.

Why Summers Aren't Made For Blogging and Why Paying Attention During Those 9 Years Of French Class Might Have Been A Good Idea

Well kids, its that time again when the N.A.T. goes on her merry way and gallivants in countries far and wide. This time the FBF and I are returning to his Motherland (well, he's already been there for something ridiculous like 8 days or something poor guy...everyone feel sorry for him now by joining me in a completely unsympathetic waaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh). Anyway, I leave on Thursday and will be joining him in my favorite city for the weekend. No, sillies. Not LexVegas, not even Columbus, and not DC. Guess that means my favorite city across the Atlantic, the most wonderfully romantic and delicious place of all...yes, I'm going again. I AM SO FREAKING LUCKY!

It's been a year and a half since the last time I stood in the City of Lights, and its been beckoning me ever since. The first time I went to Paris, I went with a man I had just married but never really loved. The second time, I had just left that man, and I went alone but made a friend. The third time, I went with a man who taught me to live again and who showed me how a city can make even the most deadened heart fall in love. The fourth time, I think I will see Paris with brand new eyes. Because this time, when I arrive I will be with my best friend and my soul's perfect mate...I think it will be more than I have ever known it to be.

On Sunday we'll head to new territory for both of us and we'll explore BarTHAlona for a few days. I'm pretty much looking forward to swimming in the Mediterranean and drinking Sangria. The FBF will probably have me on 20-hour a day tours because vacations were not meant for rest, but made to explore endlessly until you're so tired you beg to go back to work. He is a man made after my mother's own heart. She's the only other person who turns into more of a slave driver away from real life than he does. Oy. So after he's made me a certifiable BarTHAlona tour guide, we'll head a couple hours East, to a small town on the Southern coast of France to visit FBF's parents. This is why I should have paid attention to the grammar Madame Brill tried to beat into my drunken brain at GC. It's times like these when it MIGHT HAVE COME IN HANDY! I'll just probably spend a lot of time saying "oui," "merci," and "cette une probleme," because that's about all I remember at this point. The nerves are really unsettling. Wine usually helps that.

So, I am pretty sure I won't be blogging before I go. Most likely not while I'm there (unless to shamelessly gloat about how great my life is at that precise moment in sweet vacation bliss), and probably a few days after I get back and well, given my current blogging habits, probably not before I manage to buy a house - which in my situation will likely be never. Oh, I pulled the offer off of the green monster. It'd been 3.5 months. It was just time to be done with it. When I get back, the FBF and I will look for a place to live. Maybe somewhere swanky for a year or so. Like, somewhere above the 2nd floor of a deluxe apartment in the skkkyyyyy. Hell yeah, we're movin' on up. You know I finally got a piece of the piiiiiieeeehhhhhaaahhhhh.

This is why I need a vacation.

Witty rhymes just aren't that cute unless you're in my tired twisted brain to enjoy them.

Until I'm back again, remember to put your kids in a foreign language class early!

Mucho love-o from BarTHAlona! A bientot from Paris!

Cheers friends,
N

Checked Out

But I probably need to check-in somewhere. Somewhere where the candle doesn't burn at both ends, and where a heavy dose of sleep is a must. I've not only been a bad blogger, I've been a bad friend, and a bad daughter, and sister, dog mother, and well you get the point.

It's pretty much been the crux of hell for me at work lately. Yeah, okay, I had a five-day hiatus where I took time off to go to the every-three-years family reunion in New Hampshire and spend a few days in Quebec with the whole family. Somehow, it didn't feel like a vacation and I came back exhausted and apathetic - only to bust my rear getting ready for an impending sales event that left me in Miami for the better part of last week and weekend. Miami is great. When you're not on your A game for 17-hours a day. When you are, and when you times that by 5, you not only get perspective on the number of alcohol units your colleagues forced you to consume, but the number of hours you are deficient in sleep, and the number of times you think to yourself, God, I just wish I could take a break. I am so tired right now I don't know what to think. I've also been working on budgets, revisions of budgets, cutting more just a weeeeeee bit more, and then a weeeeeee bit more again, while intermitently training a new employee who was here for just 2 days before I set her out to conquer an entire worldly region on her own. SHEESH.

Also, I don't mean to be redundant, but it was 3 months ago today that I put an offer on the townhouse I will begrudgingly refer to as "the green monster." And the answer would still be NO, I still don't know if that damn house is coming to mama or not. Freaking bastards. There is no joy left.

I'm tired and I'm neglectful of all of my most favorite people and I swear, I wasn't always this bad of a friend. I don't think I was, anyway? Oy. I don't even know anymore.

because i need you to know

rebekah and gavin,

you are two people, cut from the same cloth, who are the greatest blessings in my life. i think of you every day and i wish that we were closer in the number of miles between us. i love watching you as gavin's mother, and i could have never expected to fall in love with anyone the way i've fallen for him. seeing you this past week, and talking with you on saturday...i don't know why i haven't told you more often how wonderful you are and how much i love you. i am with you in every step of your journey...

FBF,

thank you for being my best friend, and for loving me the way i was meant to be loved. i am so thankful for the last six months, and for the day you unsuspectingly walked into my life (even though you dressed like you were 45). you make my heart overflow with love and joy and happiness and high-maintenanceness and princessness. thank you for knowing me like i know me, for your stupid nervous laugh, and for those damn dragons. you are my balance and my center of gravity. i can't wait for paris, for barcelona, and for all the places our dreams will take us. bisous mon bubba.

I Think About You In The Summertime

I don't know if it's hot where you are, but damn, it's hot here.

You know the kind of hot that takes your breath away, the sweltering humidity that fills your lungs with a thick heaviness that leaves you feeling like you've gained 20 pounds within an instant. It's the kind of hot that makes you want to avoid going outside, ever. Where lemonade and iced tea become more of a remedy than an icon of the South, where sweat develops in places you never knew it could, and where the sun feels like it's going to burn your skin right off your body.

Summer has arrived with a fierceness usually reserved for July or August, not early June. Alas, it must have been my expressed thankfulness for the unusually cool, unusually long spring that ushered in the beast. A reminder that perfection is never long achieved.

Funny how her arrival always triggers the same faded memories. Kate wrote about it, so I know I'm not the only one who feels it. But feel it, I do.

I drew pause as well this weekend while at a local farmers market, and then sitting beside a pool for relief. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I ate strawberries that tasted like strawberries. They smelled and tasted as sweet and as familiar as childhood. The pool with it's chlorine and oily suntan lotion film, felt like the same cool water I dove into summer after summer all those years before. The blanket of heat, the thickness of the air, wrapped around me so tightly this time. It's made me yearn for days gone by, for simplicity, and for the heaven that is 12-weeks off in a row. Ah, the forgotten vacation...where in my youth the only thing I had to care about was whose house to play at and who to play with. Then the summers where I was minimally tasked with stalking certain boybands and determining the precise time Slimy and I would begin our day of shopping and eating at McDonald's. And finally, by those too few precious summers spent in freedom, scattered around Columbus landmarks with the "Biddy Posse" and the boys who stole our hearts.

Yes, the summer is unofficially here.

How I long for a vacation, for a reprieve of responsibility, for lazy days that stretch on into the weeeeeeee hours of the night. It seems that summer sweetness has triggered something in me that makes me miss my friends like crazy right now. A feeling reminicent of the last day of the college semester where we'd have to say goodbye to the comfort of each other, and go home to our different towns and cities for a few months, inevitably, alone. Today, I wish for nothing more than to be with the four of you, again. Somewhere in a place where the summer holds us tight...sitting around an umbrellaed table, laughing, swapping stories of our lives, reminiscing about the people we used to be, blissfully unaware of all we have become. Sitting here today, longing to be collectively together with you again, on the beach, this time as better prepared 30-somethings, all in different places, some in different stages, just happy to be as we are, just thankful to be together.

Summertime, where pilgrimages to New England with Nana & Johnny were the norm, and the Kangamangus Highway meant swimming in cold, crystal clear water...where I can still see the green and feel the thickness of my Grandparent's well-manicured lawn and feel the sway of the Olentangy bridge to Whetstone Park on the 4th of July...Simple, peaceful, wonderful summertime.

For today, I just wish it was a little less "summer," and that we all might have (had) a little more time.

Did It Sneak Up On Yours?

Happy Friday. I'll try to get off my giant ass soon, and update this here blog of mine more regularly than it seems I have been. Right now I'm thinking that I need to end this hellaciously long week with a nice cold draft beer. That's all I'm thinking right now. Nothing else, except the fact that I am still waiting to hear about a house. Bygones. More reason to have 2 draft beers instead of just one. BUT NOT FROM THE COMFORT OF MY OWN PATIO. There I said it. I can go now.

Cheers,
NS

All That I Wished For, More Than I Need, Right Where I Want To Be

It was one year ago today that I said goodbye to that beloved employer. The day I mostly spent in a hot apartment, crazed and overwhelmed as two Russian immigrants begrudgingly packed my stuff into the back of Penske moving truck. No one could have prepared them for the stairs up and down to the Hobbit house. Three, or was it four, were there, to share a last lunch with me. Domino's pepperoni pizza, and a 20 oz. Coke. Standing in that small kitchen, sharing what would be the last of our daily ritual I had come to cherish so much. It was so hot on that day...Twenty degrees or more than it is as I write this. It was the day of the last happy hour at the place they knew my order upon arrival. The last time I would be surrounded by the colleagues I had come to call my friends and the wives who joined them. The night where the tears would follow and minutes would pass too soon. That farewell hug from English Andy, the smile and laughter of Steve-O's wife, the Chocolate Martini that Michelle always ordered. Saying goodbye to J.P., and even the Beej. It was there in that place, that I stood in the presence of so many people who a year later I can only help but wonder if they still think of me. I spoke with the husband-formerly-known-as-mine that evening. Telling him that in the morning I would be leaving, that it was finally time for me to follow my dreams. The conversation, just as the thousands before, went from pleasant to accusatory before all was said and done. Unable to be spoiled, it was a night that would go down in true N.A.T. fashion. An impromptu party on Amer's deck, in the house I shared in the first few month's of my fleeing. Nan. J.D., the boss who became my friend, K.L. who brought us 46 Taco's. We partied hard, and we partied well into the night. I still remember, even in my intoxicated haze, the way the sky looked and the way Lexington held on to me one last time.

I arrived in Northern Virginia on May 24, 2007 and in the year that has now come to pass I have had a million moments that look suspiciously like an ordinary life...however, this year has been anything but ordinary.

I learned how to be nothing but who I am, and to be it well. I grew more than I can ever try to convince you to believe. I cried, a lot. I fulfilled a dream. I did it, mostly, by myself. I started to heal, and finally to let it go. I had hard conversations, confronted the past, and took steps to forgive, to be forgiven, and to move forward - a direction that I now realize is so much better suited for me. I felt the wind around me, the sunshine on my face, the smell of the earth, and the wetness that is the rain. I felt alive again. I drank a million bottles of Shiraz, smoked seven million cigarettes, and tried to piece it all together. I took a lot of baths, on Sunday's, in a tub filled with lavender. I read. I watched movies. I longed to go home. Longed for friendly faces, for laughter, for understanding. I lost tens of thousands of dollars by four freaking weeks. I visited a best friend in the hospital when she had her daughter, and celebrated her son's birthday. I got to know my cousins who I now call my friends. I walked around the same block twice a day for 364 days. I made a friend. I received flowers, in abundance, for my birthday. I met a Frenchman who became my best friend. I joined the dub dub, again. I enjoyed being 45-minutes from Perfectville. I got swept off my feet. Fell madly in love. Rode a bike. 17. Freaking. Miles. I ate well. I made more money than I ever thought I would. Visited 100+ townhouses, made 4 offers, and continue to wait for one of them to be mine. I shopped at Trader Joe's, and bought great cheeses, $3 wine, and found the world's most perfect yogurt. I enjoyed the company of my parents, in my hometown, on multiple occasions. I took a road trip to Columbus, and fell in love with him even more. I smiled. I smiled. I smiled. I talked politics and became a champion of Obama, trying to convince anyone who will give me a chance to feel the same. I walked the Mall on a crisp night in November. I reconnected with college friends. I dreamt of worldly travels. I went to LexVegas, three times. Went to Keeneland, and laughed with my twin souls. I went to the Zoo and was told of TL's arrival. I went to Cancun and talked about CC's arrival. I went to work on the anniversary of my grandmother's death and learned Elizabeth had given me a new reason to smile on an otherwise hard day. I rejoiced for their births, and for the women my best friends had become. I became an aunt. I witnessed true selflessness. I cried. I cried. I cried. I had weird and haunting dreams. I reconnected with friends long since lost, via Facebook, and felt life coming full circle. I learned to stop listening to the fear, and to start listening to the the Peace. I witnessed the miracle that is the NKOTB reunion. I counted my blessings. I said an abundance of prayers. I quit smoking, mostly. I got promoted. I was given a second chance at a happy life. I learned who the other woman was. In a roundabout kinda sorta way became the other woman. I witnessed the celebration of two women who committed to each other to live a happy life, to be each other's partner, in good times and in bad. I let memories live in the past, instead of ruling the present. I said I was sorry. I witnessed my sister fulfil her destiny. I didn't go to Europe. I accepted reality. I let myself be happy. I heard the sound of my nephew's cries, I saw his face, I became perpetually starved for more. I believed, again, in true miracles. I started living a life better than I ever thought possible, one with a fantastic man standing with me, arm around me tight to share our journey towards the unknown. I began to live a life fully of laughter, with a bounty of hope, with dreams that are reality, and one most definitely destined for a fairytale ending.

I don't regret any of it.

This year has been anything but ordinary. It's been a year where everything was renewed. Where the fantastic did happen. A date on a calendar that is now an anniversary I will always cherish, that I will forever celebrate. The year where I lived. The year that I laughed.

The year that above all, I finally learned to love myself.

Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh

Did you see them? Well I sure hope you were tuning into the Today Show this morning because if you were relying on me for photographic evidence this probably would not clue you into the fact that my beloved NKOTB are in fact, now middle aged dancing superstars. I swear to you, this is one of the happiest moments in my young 31 years. It all came back! Jon still looks painfully uncomfortable, and Joe/Donnie/Jordan are now even more heavily competeing for the sole spotlight. And then there's sweet Danny. Yeah. Anyway, every die hard fan feels the same sublime wanderlust as they did 17 years ago when they first stole our hearts. OOOH how I can't wait for September 26.

Pay no attention to the double chin.

Ya, That's Right, I'm Not Always A Nice Girl

On my way to the ladies room this afternoon I was once again caught off guard by another person of the female variety in front of me. Now, being that A) this happens a lot and B) that there is no special context here, this shouldn't have come as an alarming event. But what I saw in front of me has inspired me to start a new series on the dusty ol' blog of mine. That and I've seen a more comprehensive collection here recently. This might just solve my inability to blog when the inspiration is in front of me. So, because of today's event, I will now now actually use that handy little label feature and I will lovingly call these tidbits: Stuff That Really Annoys Me. And I vow to try to get photographic evidence when possible.

Stuff That Really Annoys Me: #1 - Khaki Pants and Visible Panty Lines

All I ask is dear Lord, why?

First issue: Khaki pants that are too tight on your butt isn't my problem, however, you have invited me in and made it my problem because you are showing me your unsolicited under garments. I did not ask for this. I did not want to know. I'm sorry that you have not understood that pleats aren't for anyone over a size 0. I'm sorry that the pockets fell off the back and therefore it make your butt look bigger, more heartshaped, than it probably is in real life. Please. For the love of humanity. If you must wear them, wear the full butt panty to avoid the bikini brief-I-see-the-lines-situation. Wear a thong and we eliminate the panty line issue all together. It's one issue we can resolve.

Second issue: You are beyond say, size 6* and you still wear them. I sincerely encourage you to learn directly from a from a former khaki wearer who has seen the error of her ways. These things were simply not made for you and me. I know, I know, a denim jacket and black tee are simply divine paired with a nice stone-khaki hue. Sometimes I am still lured by their charm, trying them on as if I might not be defeated this time. But alas...I do not wear them because I take pity on humanity, I take pity on the woman walking behind me on the way to the ladies room so that I can avoid her look of utter disbelief and disgust. And let's just face it, I do it because my ass, just as your ass, is never going to look good in them. EVER.

*This issue does not apply for women who have no ass (NB-C) because the material cannot cling to the bumps, valleys, or as I so lovingly refer to mine - the divots.

Just In Case You Were Wondering

The answer would be "no," when you ask me if I had yet heard back on either of the two offers I have out on a townhouse. Let me restate for you that it's been approximately FIVE weeks on the first, FOUR almost FIVE on the second. Again, I say...foreclosure homebuying is for the birds.

FBF and I went on a hellacious yet oddly gratifying 17-mile bike ride on Sunday. That is perhaps the last time I don't clarify where and for how long we're going again. Monsieur JF sure has a persuasive nature about him with the gentle reassurances and positive reinforcements. Quite the sly guy he is, you find yourself eight miles from home, with only a prayer and two wheels to get you back to where you came from. It's a good thing I didn't die. Clearly he hasn't quite realized I'm not that into physical activity.

The mama and the papa are coming to the big town this weekend. Well, it's because fantastically fabulous cousin is graduating from William & Mary on Sunday, so we're heading down the devil's highway (aka I-95) to Williamsburg. The mama and the papa are also staying in my 700-sq feet of high rise living on Saturday night. Abby will be delighted and not sure who she should sleep with so that maximum doting and belly rubbing can ensue. I'm not sure 700-sq feet sleeps 3+ dog very comfortably, so that should be interesting. You know, IF I HAD A FREAKING HOUSE OF MY OWN THIS WOULDN'T BE A PROBLEM.

Oh, and I finally got my hair cut last night. It's a weeeeeee bit shorter than I would have liked, seeing as I've spent the last nine months without cutting it, but I am digging it. Went significantly lighter this time because I will not rest until I can finally lay rest to the age old claim that blondes really do have more fun.

Did I mention Slimy, her BFF Erika, and I are going backstage to meet New Kids On The Freaking Block on September 26 in Boston???!!!! Let's just say, we're 31 and we still needed her dad's credit card to make it possible...and it was as frustrating as it was when we were 13 to get the tickets. We've got some bitchin' seats in Chicago too that we could probably sell ya for a cool $400 a pop. Ah, it's good to be a groupie with buying power.

Just two weeks until heading back to Gulfport to visit Vee. NB-C and I are making a quick trip to the hottest place on earth and to see the little one and I finally! get! to! meet! little! TL!!!!
NB-C's latest obsession, Bret Michaels, of Poison fame (evvvverryyyy roooossse has its thhhoorrnnnn) just happens to be playing in Biloxi that same weekend. I wonder if NB-C will show her t*ts? Little CC will be so proud. (Now isn't that great, she named her daughter after CC Deville!)

That was probably a little over the top.

Cheers!

Today Is The Day That Will Forever Remind Me to Make Good Choices

Take it from me, kids. Good decision making and critical judgement skills are two of the most important things your parents ever teach you. My advice is to think long and hard before you marry someone who seven years later you look back and can say nothing more than "what the fuck was I thinking?" Be sure to arduously weigh the pros and cons, and if there is even one con that exceeds the list of pros, run for your life. Save yourself. Though you may not be able to see it now, those parents of yours sure are right when they tell you not to ever settle for less than what you want, deserve, hope, or dream of. From someone who knows, life is too short to get married just so you can eat the cake.

The Battle of Tippecanoe

You remember a few posts back I was all gushy about how much I loved this area, and how I put an offer on a townhouse, blah blah blah? Yeah. Well the short and skinny of it is, I am still a pending homeless person. My lease is up in 25 days and while I can go month to month, I really would like to know if I'll be living in a deluxe apartment in the sky, or a tri-level townhouse 10 miles further West of here. Dealing with short sales, 3rd party approvals, and weeks upon weeks without word whether or not your offer to buy a home will be accepted is nothing less than agonizing. I am the kind of person who wants to be rewarded immediately for making large decisions, purchases, or life altering events. I want nothing more to be self gratified, and to immediately reap the benefit of said event. You know, like buying a car, and taking it home. Buying a lot of clothes, and taking them home. Buying a home and well, calling it MY freaking home. It should be easy. But easy is the furthest thing from what this crappy home buying process has been.

I wish I would have counted the exact number of houses I have looked at. My guess is that we're close to 100 now. My realtor must think I'm a total spaz. Thank God he's wonderful, because if he were like most any other man (not like you honey), my non-decisive nature would have scared him a long time ago. Well that, and he's getting paid, and his wife is a friend of mine from college and I'm quite sure she'd beat him into submission if he weren't. You know, just sayin'.

Anyway, I currently have two offers out on two different houses. You're not really supposed to do that but you know what? I'm pretty sure it should be illegal to ask people to make an offer on a house and then being the nice bank that you are sit on those offers for multiple weeks, just cause, you know, you can. I am pretty sure that by waiting and waiting it out, your hair falls out en masse and you find yourself in former homelands and cities that are now-not-too-far, drinking excessive amounts of foreign and domestic beers just to dull the voice in your head that incessantly screams, "where is the self-gratification that I so desperately need?" FFS. Why won't that bank respond and tell me that the home I've been looking for so diligently is now mine?

This is nothing less than a battle. A battle of wits. A battle of wills. A true testament to one's character.

You lucky bastards who haven't had to deal with the short sale and foreclosure process have no idea just how lucky you are. And those of you out there who think I'm getting a freaking amazing deal just because I'm trying to purchase a short sale/foreclosure...let me tell ya. When you're paying an arm, a leg, and a future unborn child just to live in a townhouse that costs more than most 5-bedroom homes in your former city, one in which has emerald green carpet throughout THE ENTIRE HOUSE (that you will have to fork over another 10K to replace just so you can paint the walls to not clash with said carpet), and a kitchen your inner Julia Child says "ewwwwhhhhh" too, it's not such an amazing deal. It's called less than perfect and totally obscene.

Ahhhh, the joys of home ownership. Home sweet home.

Damn it!

It's about time that I be able to say that!

I Want To Be Friends With This Guy

Awesome.

Life Is Good & My Writing Today, Yeah. Not so much.

I love this picture (thanks Crackberry phone) of little miss CC, taken this weekend while in LexVegas. How happy is she? Seriously, arms up, yayayyay! Smile away, yayayyayay! Tounge out, yayayyayayay! Love her, love her, love her.

Had a blast in ye old hometown. I don't really know what to say about it, other than it was a great time. The sunshine, the rain, the old friends, the new addition, it all added up to perfect harmony. We drank and ate, a lot. I'm serious when I say that it's quite possible I had 25 beers in 2 days. Pints of draft beer, not bottles. NB-C and I were basically like a British/Irish pub crawling/Horsetrack junkie duo for like, 48 hours. Good beer, bad beer, the whole weekend was fantastic. I got my three weeks of missing potatoes and fried food goodness in, also. Oh my, how I love a good waffle fry from Shamrock's. They always ever so tasty. Got to see my wonder twins Nan & H.O., which was awesome. I love these girls like old friends, even though they are relatively new friends. They are just like a second self. Saw a couple friends from college who I hadn't laid eyes on for what seems like years, and it was so nice to reconnect. Gotta say, it was good to be home.

The weekend was so fantastic, in fact, I weighed a dreaded 6 pounds more on Monday morning than I did when I left on Friday. Woops. I chose the "get out of jail free card" this week at the DubDub. Back on track, and I've lost 4 pounds of that since. Thank God.

Anywho, I'm really not into writing today, this is an admitadly bad post. I'm so bored of it that I'm not even going to re-read, edit, or obsess before hitting the "publish post" button. Amuse yourself with my pictures.

College friends! Me, LC, MB, NB-C

Two of my favorite BITCHEZ Nan & H.O.

Life is Good.

Yay! I love Keeneland, too! Where people watching should be a sport of its own.

In 14 years, this was the first time I ever saw a race from this close! Look! Real horses! You know! Racing!

Six words: "I need to go inside, now."

Going Home

Heading to LexVegas in a few. Can't wait...

Still waiting on the bank to respond to at least 1 of the 2 offers I have out right now. Foreclosure home buying isn't exactly what I call "fun."

Down 7lbs thanks to the WW. I'm pretty sure I'll recapture half of that this weekend. Rode my new! green! bike! two times this week, thanks to the reassuring peer-pressure of the FBF. I hope smoking cigarettes and over indulgent drinking doesn't derail this train completely...

Anywho, back with evidence of the fun I'm sure to have on Monday.

Cheers!

Onto The Living Part

When I moved last May, I wasn't sure what would happen once I got here. You know, would I like being a NOVA transplant? Would I adapt/fit-in/like living in this area? Would I make friends, and would I have a vested interest in staying? Eleven months later (has it been that long already???) I am able to answer that question with a resounding answer: Yes.

For as hard as it was to leave LexVegas, for as long as the days went on without my friends, for as long as the miles seemed to keep us apart, I am still glad that I moved. I am thankful everyday to know how far those miles have really taken me. I am happy here. I am the me I was screaming to become. It's a beautiful and bittersweet parodox, of losing so much in order to gain so much more.

I miss my friends every day. I miss being able to call NB-C to go to the tanning bed, to have my best friend in the same city. I miss the ease and familiarity that city had afforded me. The traditions in April and October, the "First Down Kentucky!!!" blaring from Commonwealth on game day. I miss my work people, who became so much more than just that. The smell of the Jif plant roasting peanuts, or the grandeur of the horse farms right within my distance. I miss the small town feel, the Nicholasville Road traffic, and the shortcuts through neighborhoods I had become so familiar with. I miss laughing with people who knew me for me, who cared about me, who were always kind, and who loved me. I miss the ease of I-75, that straight shot that led me to my hometown. I hate knowing that 3-hours is so much less time to spend than the 7-hours it now takes to get there. That what is there now is a little man who I fear will never know his aunt the way I'd like him to, who captured my heart more than I knew was possible, and who won't know how hard it is to not be with him as he grows up.

Yet what I've found here, allows me to take comfort in knowing that it's all still there, and that it's mine for the taking anytime I want to return.

I am happy here, because when I look out the window I see a future instead of a shackle. I can't describe what it is that makes me love being here. What gives me this vesting, what envokes me to stay. I just know that I love it here, in a very different way than I love LexVegas. I love it for what it meant to me to get here, for what it's afforded me in my career, and for the people I've come to meet along the way. I love that the open air and the blue sky often give me a glimpse of being home, like the day sneaks up on you and wraps its arms around your soul. I love it because it led me to him, and to the happiness I had almost convinced myself would never happen. A comfort in having a best friend so close, her children to love, family members even closer, and for the first time having all so close at the same time. I love it because what it means to me is that I began living my life, for me, because of me, and in spite of me. For learning who "me" is. And for growing up. As for what's left, I can't even begin to express how much I love having so much to do, all. the. time.

I left Lexington because I knew I had to let go in order for the fantastic happen. And I'm pretty sure it has happened to me. I feel this ease and this burst of satisfaction and I know that I have much to look forward to, in a place I look forward to being. It just feels nice. To really be happy. To leave all the strife behind, to deal with new challenges, new drama, new possibilities, and for good or bad, to do so by myself and without any pre-concieved notions of who I should become.

I wish I could say the irony would not befall me this time, but the vortex is whirling again. Thrusting me into a collision of both worlds this week...

I will go home to Lexington on Friday. Back to the arms of the friends I miss so deeply, surrounded by the sublime presence I so long to feel. And today, I took the first step in securing my place, here. I made an offer on a townhouse. A place to call home, a home to grow into, something that is totally my own.

Home.

A place, that took me a very long time to find.