Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend

Hi All! Long time no blog, eh?

Something huge happened recently. I'm talking 2 carats and a platinum setting huge.

My engagement ring finally sold!!!!!!

I know some of you may be wondering if I feel okay about it or feel unsure if you should be happy for me or sad. And honestly, I'm over the moon.

I don't mean to come off callous at all. That is the furthest from my intentions and I'm sure I'm going to catch some flack for it, but, whatever. I struggled with the decision to sell my ring because I loved it. It was so different and it was such a personal decision for Chris. But, after I found out about all the other stuff, it just hurt. It represented something that would never happen and I didn't want to hold on to something that I wasn't even sure if it meant what I thought. So, in October I took my ring to a huge Tacori dealer in Virginia. I felt that I would get my money's worth and this ring would go to someone who would love it as much as I did.

And ooooh girl was that trip a t-rip. The gentleman that I worked with at the jeweler was very nice and didn't ask why I was selling. So he took the ring and told me that he was going to dismantle it to weigh it and make all the inspections to make sure things were up to snuff. Well, he came back in and sat the carcass of my engagement ring on the table. I'm talking the thing was in two pieces- diamond separate from the setting. Head and body in pieces. I actually had to stifle a gasp just because it was so pretty and so broken. Ha, kinda ironic, huh? The gentleman, J, asked if I was okay and if I wanted to move forward, which I appreciated. But, I was solid in my decision. Even though it was hard to let it go.

Months passed and having that loose end undone was hard. I just wanted to be finished with everything and this last piece of the puzzle was keeping me from doing that. Finally, I got the email that it had sold. I was elated. I am elated.

I. am. done.

I can't explain to you what this means to me. Hell, I don't really know what it means yet.

All I know is, is that I'm free.

And I got my Loubs.

If you know anything about me, you know I love my shoes. And I love Louboutins more than any other shoe in this world. When I decided to sell my ring, I made a promise to myself that I would buy my first pair, for two reasons.

1. I've always wanted a pair
2. Chris would have wanted me to

I'd like that think that Chris is happy with my decision to do this for myself. Because- guilt be damned- I fucking deserve it. I always feel guilty saying it, but, it's true. I've had a year from hell and he left me a gift of sorts that can help me do things for myself. So, thank you Chris. I get to start my life over in a beautiful pair of shoes!

Damned If I do. Damned If I don't.

For realz, dudes. This shit is ridiculous. But I'm getting ahead of myself...

Saturday was the anniversary of Chris' passing, what I've affectionally re-named "The Bad". And let me tell you, it's been pretty bad. All last week my feelings were up and down and I'm still stuck in more of the down side of things. Everyone's been really great and supportive and I apologize if I haven't been the nicest or the most positive.

I had a nice weekend. Friday was pretty rough- I lost it at work and had to go home early. But I got to hang out with my friend W and he always makes me feel better. We pretty much spent the weekend together, which was amazing. But, I feel like I somehow procrastinated my feelings. I had entertained the thought of going to Arlington to finally visit and say goodbye, but I couldn't fully commit to the idea. You're going to laugh when I tell you why.

All this time I've been saying how I just want to be done and move on, but, now that the time has come to be done and move on I feel like I don't want to. That I was sad to say goodbye. I mean, how do I feel now? What do I talk about? This whole year has just been about getting through and surviving. Well, I've survived- now what? How do I feel now? What do I feel now? What do I talk about on this blog? What do I talk about with people? I've had this crutch for the past year and now I feel like it's too hard to let go. It's like I'm letting go all over again.

But hadn't I let go? Didn't I let go when I decided to not let this whole thing hold me back?

I've always been the type of person that after a year anniversary passed of someone's death, I didn't really hold vigil for it anymore. I move past it. I mean, why continue to mourn and focus on the negative? Now I feel like I'm being such a hypocrite by feeling like I don't necessarily want to let go yet.

But seriously, what am I holding on to? Nothing. And yet, it feels like everything. Everything that I've been for this past year. I'm scared that I'm not allowed to feel sad anymore or have days when I'm kind of down in the dumps. Or I'm not allowed to silently resent the couples I see getting married. I have to be normal now and I don't know how to be.

I'm still so angry. I'm angry that I can never be that normal girl anymore. I'm angry that I have to figure everything out all over again. I'm angry that he's gone. I'm angry at what he's done. I'm just....I just hurt.

But at the same time, I don't hurt. I have moved on. I don't silently resent the couples. I'm already normal.

AHHHHHHHHH THIS IS SO FUCKING FRUSTRATING!

A Journal Entry

I was writing a new entry in my journal when I came across this one. I want to share it because in a strange way I'm proud of it. It's a bit wordy but, I don't care. When I read it, it takes me back to the very day that I wrote it.

I'm telling you now, chill out. Stop before you even start commenting on the link when I share this on my fb. Just. Chill. Out.

I'm fine. So here it goes...

November 17, 2012

Cry In The Bathroom

I don't know why I always have my good cries in the bathroom. I'm talking basic, guttural, fall on the floor type of cry. The type where you dig your fingers into your skin so hard that you hope that you're able to rip at least one memory out. The type that you're afraid your soul will fall out in one of your sobs.

My bathroom is a small one. Perfect for just myself. Black and white tiles cover the floor, as does my hair, and there is a white carpet runner down the center. I can't tell you how many times that carpet has been my solace. Actually, you probably can by looking at all the battle scars that are the mascara/tear stains that mix with its fibers. I don't know why I find it so comforting, but, every episode here I am: in child's pose or sitting like Buddha, turning to stone. Either waiting for emotional enlightenment or for the carpet to fly me away.

Today is the first day I've cried since I found out he cheated. After I found out it was all a lie. For a while I felt so good. Feeling like myself. The anger of it all pushing me to sanity, while being slightly unhinged. I mean, I laughed about it for Christ's sake.

Looking back this week has been a bit of a doozy emotionally. I'm tired, I got rid of my engagement ring, I've been constantly rejected and there's been too much visual presence of love. Oh, and lest I forget, remembering the lovely memory of discovering another girl's earrings in Chris' shit IN FRONT of his family.

Typically, the rejection from the likes of B would not affect me. I mean, it WOULD, but not to the level of achievement it's currently receiving. The thought that keeps assaulting my brain/heart is that once, just once, I want someone to love me enough to think of me. To choose me. To realize that the only answer is me.

I'm starting to resent a lot of things about myself. I hate that I'm considered pretty. I feel like I'm punished for it all the time. I hate that I give too much of myself. I hate that I care. I hate that I put other people before myself. I hate that I'm not good at one particular thing. I hate the way I make decisions. I hate the way I think. I hate that deep down I want to believe the best in people. I hate that I don't trust myself enough to make big decisions.

These are the thoughts that occur after the tears have stopped and the breathing has slowed. As I sit slightly slumped on my bathroom floor. These thoughts are intermingled with noticing how the texture in the paint is slightly raised and feeling the pain creeping up my back from having horrible posture, post-breakdown. Recognizing the ringing in my ears, despite the dingy bathroom silence. Noticing my heartbeat in the pools of tears that have yet to make their escape. Feeling the sensation of one tear losing itself, as it managed to remove itself from the others. Noticing that I'm holding my hands just so, that I'm cradling my naked ring finger. Wondering if it is Chris hauntingly guiding my hands to a soothing position.

And then I soberly remind myself that I do not feel him. I have not felt him at all since he's been gone. I do not feel the numbness of losing an appendage- of losing a piece of myself. To feel something missing. I am reminded ever-so of the gripping reality that I am pain-stakingly in the repsent. The searing, murderous feeling of being ever present in the here and now. The hard, cold truth that I am sitting on the floor, crying in the bathroom. Alone.

Anniversary

Hey stranger!

How goes it? Good? I hope so. Long time, no blog, eh?

Things have been going well. Every day I settle in more and more with my "new" life here. And I'm having a lot of fun. But, if you saw the title of this entry, the anniversary of all the hard times are coming.

Two weeks ago was mine and Chris' dating anniversary; May 15th.

I had been feeling a little wonky when the month started and I had actually started a blog post about it, but, never finished. It's funny...I'll feel all these feelings and then once I voice them, I feel better. But still the feelings are there, whether I want them or not. Which I don't.

I was in an Excel class all day on the 15th, which was probably the best thing for me. Subject matter that was in one way stimulating my mind and in another way, numbing it. I couldn't really focus on what that day meant or what I was feeling or thinking. But when I got home, I was making dinner for myself or something (I can't really remember what I was doing) and I just sat on the floor and bawled my eyes out. I hadn't cried like that in a really long time. And poor Beau, he just stared at me with this sweetest, confused look on his face and walked over and just laid on my lap. He tried to rub his face on mine but I was covering my face with my hands. And there was sat, just like that, for about 10 or 15 minutes. My friend, MM, came over later and brought me some wine which meant a lot. I felt okay the rest of the night. The next day, however, was a different story.

I woke up and it felt impossible to get out of bed. I was lethargic, anxious, just everything and nothing at the same time. And that's the worst feeling ever. You're absolutely REELING but feel like you weigh a ton so neither feeling is coming to fruition.

I sat down at my desk at work and just lost it. I told a few of my coworkers what was going on, when I was able, and they understood. But it got to the point that I really couldn't sit there anymore. I got up and went out to my car and called my mom and just sobbed. I was right back to feeling where I was last summer. I can't believe I felt that way for months. I don't wish that on anyone. It's awful. And I don't want to feel that way anymore. Any time I put my mind back there, the way my body physically reacts is...there are no words.

It's June 1st. In 14 days is the anniversary of what I have started calling The Bad; the day that my life changed forever. I'm terrified. I don't know how I will feel that day but I'm glad that it's on the weekend so I don't have to worry about work. I've contemplated going to the cemetery since I've never been and I want to have closure. I want to close this wound once and for all. A friend of mine told me that I don't need to physically be at the grave to have closure, but I like to stand on ceremony. For me, I need to physically be there. His....remains...if that's what you want to call them, are there. "He" is there. If I get to the cemetery and I'm blocked like I was last year, then I'll take that as a sign that I don't need to do it. But, I want to be done. "He" needs to "hear" what I have to say. And I don't feel him around so how do I know that he has "heard" what I've said at this point? I'm still so angry and hurt and I just need to release this for my sanity.

I hate that I have to do this. I hate that I'm not the person I was and will never be again. I hate that he took that from me. I hate how this entire process has happened. But, while I hate it, it is what it is. And I'm better for it.

If you haven't seen "The Great Gatsby" (uhh...you NEED to....), there is a scene where Gatsby is telling Nick the truth about his life. When he is talking about when he met Daisy, he says something that really resonated with me. He says, "I could have been a great man, Nick. I could have done great things, if I hadn't fallen in love".

Amen, Gatsby. A-freaking-men.

The Cat Brag

I judge me for my lack of blog updates. Eventually I'll stop having to apologize for my not keeping up on a timely basis. But, until that day arrives, I'm sooooooooorry!

I got a cat! An adorable, handsome, cutestlittlethingyou'veeverseenthatyouwannaeathisface cat!

Everyone, this is Beau.

Couldn't you just die? Ugh. I die so hard.

I had been considering getting a cat for a while but I was hesitating because of a few reasons:

1. I was worried about still being able to have a social life
2. Money
3. Caring for another living thing

The biggest thing holding me back was my dog, Sophie, whom I had while I was briefly living in North Carolina. I was unable to bring her with me back to Maryland and that devastated me. But, she went to a really great home and I still miss her. It's a pretty safe bet that I have some residual guilt from that situation. But, I the past is the past and the future is best, right?

Right!

So a few weeks back, I was on FB and a friend of mine had shared a "Second Chance" post for a cat named Ziggy at BARCS (Baltimore Animal Rescue Care Services). And I gotta tell ya, whoever writes their posts must have taken some SERIOUS creative writing classes because his description tugged my heart strings right to the shelter. I had to see the little guy and maybe save him from his cage.

I get there, visit Ziggy and he was just terrified. He was curled up all the way in the corner of his cage and was very leery of my presence. After a little time he let me pet him but that's it. We didn't really connect and my hand was COVERED in black hair. I have all carpet in my apartment and that really wouldn't have been ideal. I felt bad, but, I decided to browse. I met another kitty named Fancy Kitty and she was a talker. She meowed the whole time and basically laid her head in my hand. I liked her but I asked the girl to show me some of her favorites. She goes "Umm...." and kind of scanned some of the cages in the room we were in and she pointed to a cage with a cat named Tiger McLamb.

That's right, Tiger McLamb.

Mr. McLamb was taking a little nap, but, when he realized we were there to visit, he calmly got up and waited for the cage to open. The girl helping me picked him up and he immediately perched on her shoulders. She was telling me how calm he was and she always felt it was a good sign if they perched on you like he was. So, she passed him over to me and he immediately laid on my shoulder and purred. He was completely content and didn't want to get down.

"Uh-oh..." I thought. I knew I was in trouble.

I started to shift to put him back down and he wrapped himself around the back of my neck, almost like he was hugging me to say, "No. I want to stay".

I died.

I tried to stay as detached as possible. I hadn't 100% made up my mind yet about committing to getting a cat. But I knew I REALLY liked him. It actually turned out well for me because it was too late to adopt him that day. But I wouldn't have any way. I told the girl I wanted to go home and think about everything before I adopted him. So, she kindly put a 24 hour hold on him for me.

I went back and forth about it the rest of the night and all next day. I literally hadn't made up my mind until I walked into the shelter. Could I handle the commitment? Did I want the responsibility? What would I do if I had to go away? Luckily I have wonderful friends who helped me argue both sides. My personal favorite was my dad's response, "Kid 18 years, Cat 15 years. Get a Furby". BARCS definitely made sure this is really what I wanted- I had to wait for 2 hours to get Beau, formally Tiger McLamb. They were busy, then they had to get him ready, then we had to have a cat class, it was pretty legit. But, I stuck it out. I wanted my little man; My Beau. And I got him :-)

Right out of the box

I didn't make a sound in the box as we were driving home. I thought that was pretty amazing. And when I took him out, he immediately was all over me. He climbed up and he put himself on my shoulder like a little baby. I was hooked.

He is wonderful. He makes me want to come home at the end of the day and spend time at home. Actually, he's made this apartment really feel like a home.

Don't get me wrong, he still has the Cat-itude when he feels like copping one, but, he is still really mellow and loving. And funny! Boy, he cracks me up.

Let me tell ya 'bout muh best frand!

ugh. i can't.

"Kitty Dans la Ville"

I'm officially at Cat Lady status. But, can you blame me? He's so photogenic and awesome!

Ugh. I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

A Month In

As of Saturday, I have been a Baltimore resident for a month. So far the following things have happened:

- I reconnected with friends from back home and have been introduced to their fabulous friends
- I enjoyed myself so much that I fell down the steps at Max's Tap House
- I've all but forgotten that I DON'T have to give my number to everyone who asks for it
- My car was towed and it cost me $300. All because I didn't want to pay to take a cab. In the end, I still had to take a cab to go pick up my car
- I have gotten lonely
-I have worked until 11:30 pm
-I've had a near breakdown in FedEx/Kinkos
- I've kissed an Indian Lawyer
- I've kissed a BEAUTIFUL freshly turned 21 year old
-I've seen an amazing performer SO CLOSE that I could smell her perfume
- I've taken my stepmom and her bff out on the town
- I've cried in my bathtub
- I have eaten incredible food
- I have danced my ass off
- I have received a letter for jury duty for my first time EVER. For the court system in La Plata
- I have finished reading a book and started another
- I've hated living alone
-I've loved living alone
-I've made lovely new friends
-I've missed my friends from back home

As you can see, I've been all over the place, haha. To say the least. Not to worry, I'm still going strong. I'm just still getting comfortable and adjusting. The most difficult part of this whole journey, so far, has been the living alone part. I've never lived 100% by myself before. Even when I was out on my own before, I always had roommates. Twice I had roommates who moved out about a month before our lease was up, but that was different. That time was spent packing and getting ready to move. I didn't really have to time to sit and realize, "I am by myself". But, I have had plenty of time to sit on my couch and think, "I am by myself". It's weird.

It can be kind of scary at times because I'm a thinker. I literally think of ev.er.y.th.in.g. I go over every thought, situation, feeling and over analyze. Then I worry that I'm becoming neurotic. And then I worry that I'm going to have a Hannah-sized freak out and jab a q-tip so far in my ear that I live in a giant t-shirt for 3 days. God that episode was horrific.....but I digress.

The worst part is that I wonder if I made the right choice by moving here. Work, in all honesty, has been challenging. It's not bad, it's just different. It's a whole different thing being back in the corporate world. And to be in the corporate world doing what I went to college for, which I haven't really touched since 2009, is scary. When they say it's a $40 million deal, IT'S A $40 MILLION DEAL. It's not hypothetical. It's not for a grade. IT'S FOR $40 MILLION FREAKING DOLLARS! Now you understand why I would have a breakdown in Kinkos.

I hate that I do this. I hate that I question my decisions. But I can't help it.

See what I mean about my neuroses?

I know that it will get better. I know that I will hit my stride. It just takes time. You all have been with me long enough on this journey that you know I have a difficult time with patience. It is truly a virtue that I have to work on a daily basis.

I just miss the familiar. I miss knowing what I'm doing. I'm uncomfortable with all of this inner examination and thorough look-over of what I'm doing and where I'm going and how I'm going about it.

Everything will be fine, I know it will. And really, it already is. I'm just being silly. BLAAAAHHHHHHHH.

And here's hoping that I'm about to get out of jury duty...

Age Old Question

Picture this:

It is a beautiful Sunday evening. You decide to walk down to the city harbor to get out of your apartment and peruse some shops. You stop to get your favorite tea on your way back. As you're walking back to your apartment, you see a line of boys and decide to avoid them, being that you are by yourself. Then you hear them yell "YO GIRL! WHY YOU WALKIN' THAT WAY? LET ME SUCK YOUR P***Y".

Yes, I am serious.

Yes, I stopped in my tracks.

Mind you- there are about 20-25 other people standing around there, waiting for the bus. It took every fiber of my being not to turn around and go off.

I don't even know where to start. Who talks like that to women?! Who talks like that period?! Where the hell do you learn that that's okay?!

I've dealt with males saying stuff to me my entire life. I have no problem answering their stupid ass  remarks with bitchy retorts. But why is it that it tends to be younger African-American boys that think they can talk like that? The most APPALLING things have been said to me by boys who are probably between 16 and 22 and I'm just walking down the street, minding my own damn business.

When I lived in this city before, I would discuss this with some of the African-American ladies that I worked with. And by discuss I mean trade horror stories. I just don't understand what it is about the African-American culture that makes it okay for males to talk to women in such a way that is both infuriating and degrading.

It makes me angry.

It makes me sad.

It makes me want to punch a mother fucker in the face.

It just makes me feel like that we, as women, just can't win. We're regarded as both trash and treasure no matter how hard we work. I mean, c'mon guys, without us you wouldn't exist. You need our baby-cookers to be able to create life. And let me tell ya, yelling "YO LET ME SUCK YOUR P***Y" is not what a lady wants to hear. That isn't what ANYONE wants to hear.

I love living in the city, I do. I can handle myself and these dumb asses who insist on being stupid. But we really need to take a step back and really examine ourselves as a culture. Both the "men" who insist on treating women like crap and the women who don't stand up for themselves.

End rant.