Why I (Sort Of) Blog

I've always admired writers. Easily pulled into a story and the life of fictional characters, I often close a book feeling sad these characters are no longer "part of my life", imagining their future, somehow affected by whatever experiences they went through. I still have the rare skill/curse of reading a book cover to cover in a single sitting, ignoring all people and responsibilities around me. With this adoration for the written word, I always had a secret desire to be a writer. I sadly lack the creativity and imagination to create characters and a storyline, which is coupled with a shyness that would likely prevent me from ever attempting to publish a book, but I love writing. I find I can express myself on paper in ways I sometimes can't while speaking, allowing myself the time to think and edit words / thoughts before shared.

I've been lucky enough to land in a career that's evolved into a lot of writing and editing, which I find very fulfilling, but sometimes leaves me with the desire to write my own thoughts as well. Hence, the blog. I'm in no way a consistent writer; I write when the mood strikes, ideas are top of mind, or I just have something I'd like to share. Sometimes I start writing, stop, and never go back to the draft because my interest in the subject or mood has changed and I just can't get back into it (Clearly, I am not novel-writing material, but maybe there's an untapped Carrie Bradshaw type quality there - without the fabulous wardrobe and poor husband choice).

I recently came across an old journal - circa immediately post-college years. To be honest, I was a little scared to read it. I know those weren't my happiest years. I had no money, hated my job, a lot of uncertainty about life, was in a meh relationship, and I distinctly remember writing mainly out of sadness or frustration. Sounds like a riveting read right?

Since my curiosity won the best of me, I spent Sunday morning reading my 22 year old words. First sentence; first entry: "I am sad". Woof. The journal spanned two years and at times while reading, I wanted to hug younger me; she really was sad. I can vividly remember some of the boyfriend fights, work issues, and money woes, but I was shocked to find I'd sort of rewritten history a bit in my brain. This was pretty shocking because I am the girl who remembers EVERYTHING. I can tell you what other people wore 10 years ago. I'm really baffled that my mind played such tricks on me and I remembered things in completely incorrect orders or left out key details.

I also can't believe how trapped I felt at 22. (22!!) I was so scared of everything; leaving a relationship I knew wasn't the right fit (not one to preach, but don't move in with your boyfriend at 22. It likely won't work, you'll fight about things you have no business fighting about at that age, and you'll regret it when you're 29 and living with your Real Person and feel like you sort of robbed yourself of having this experience with him first), quitting my job, moving back home (the absolute right choice when you are drowning in bills. Seriously, fuck that it sucks being home. It's better than moving home at 30 for the same reasons).

The thing is, everything I was afraid of happened at some point. The relationship ended (I was fine; better for it and based on my entries, realized this pretty quickly thereafter), I moved home and paid off most of my credit cards (though still no savings. I'd advise 22 year olds to save money in addition to not living with boyfriends), I left my job (and the one after that, and the one after that), and I lived somewhere completely new (my mom moved back to her hometown when I was in college, so moving home meant moving somewhere I'd never lived).

This brings me to something I remembered a little differently. I remembered being lonely when I moved home; I do not remember being so lonely in my relationship. When I read those entries it was honestly painful - and really unnecessary. The friendships that were born or strengthened post-breakup were 99% with people that lived down the street from our apartment. Why did it take me moving two hours away to find them? I'm digressing a bit, but the message in my trip down memory lane was that things happened the way they were supposed to. It's corny, but Garth Brooks is right, thank GOD for unanswered prayers. I am not supposed to be in Newport (took me one more move to figure this out for good). I am not supposed to be dating that person who contributed to me being so sad. Who, by the way, was not a monster, but instead the sweetest boy. The thing is, he brought out the worst in me - brought me down instead of encouraging. Was complacent at a time when it was SO important to reach for goals and a future. Life was harder with him, and I learned a lot in that timeframe, but it was not what my life was supposed to be long-term.

I haven't kept a journal since that journal. Every time I thought about it, I thought about how sad I remember my thoughts being. It was interesting/ somewhat cathartic to read through, but I never want to read it or feel it again. What I've found with a blog, is that everything I write is fairly positive. I'm sarcastic by nature, so that's not disappearing, but I really try not to publish negative thoughts or energy. Part of this is just a karmic /The Secret type belief that you should put out to the world what you want to receive in return, part of it is the resistance to publicly post such personal negative feelings as I'd freely write in a journal.

The other part, which I knew, but maybe needed a little knock on the head to remember, is how much happier I am now. I literally have everything I so desperately wanted at 22 (and knew I would get by the way) - I have the job, with the much better paycheck; I own a house (still pinching myself on this one); I am with the person I am supposed to be with who drives me b-a-n-a-n-a-s, but is the perfect match to my personality and (usually) correctly handles my overwhelming, sometimes crazy, thoughts and actions; I have friends whom I love so much; and I know who I am. 22 year old me was really fucking confused about a lot of things, but she knew she wasn't happy and it was up to her to change that. I'm so grateful for the little pushes I received and bumps I stumbled over that made me make the decisions I did and landed me where I am now.

So, two days and I'm guessing about 3,000 words later, this why I blog. I don't know who reads this, it's not linked to any of my personal social media sites, I'd maybe even be embarrassed for some "Facebook friends" to see it, and I don't send out alerts when I've rambled on about something new, so this has literally been my journal for the last two years.  This entry turned into something I didn't expect, and I guess that's a weird benefit of writing too, but the point is, this is my outlet. This is me - random musings, the occasional rant about the opposite sex, stories about my dog, and recently, house updates my friends are for sure sick of hearing about in person. To anyone reading, that's pretty much all I've got.

i.am.old.

I think I am currently / still dealing with a two day hangover. From 3 drinks and 2 shots. That used to be called a pregame. Now it is my demise.

Reed and I spent Saturday packing. Or I packed and he watched Miss Congeniality. Whichever. We then got dressed like adults and went to dinner with his friend, where we discussed our new house,  his pregnant wife, friends' weddings, and how to lay hardwood floor. Very grownup.

Then we went to Down. Down is a nightclub in Boston. I looked like a conservative old lady in my maxi dress, sipping my drink and judging the 21 year olds in their belly baring outfits. ( Okay, I half judged, half wished I wore something sluttier.) Just as I thought I'd successfully survived a nightclub with one drink, peer pressure reared it's ugly head. Shots. I tried to walk away. I tried to drink a sip then put it down. 8 sips later, tears streaming down my face (Fireball is no joke when you have sinuses), and multiple gags, I successfully placed the shot glass back on the counter...where a much larger one was waiting for me. A Red Headed Slut. I can't. 5 more sips and a water later I got it down. And then we went home and went to bed. Because we were tired. And old.

I awoke Sunday to ready myself for a baby shower - because when you're 29 and accidentally hungover you without fail have an adult commitment that day - and thought I was okay. I quickly learned I was not. It took me two hours to get ready, drink half an iced coffee, and eat 3 bites of a croissant. I thanked the Gods when I learned our table at the shower was closest to the door (and bathroom). Mini golf with Reed followed, with me fat-girl style plopping down at every bench I could find, whilst internally debating whether a 29-year old in a pink dress should blame a hangover or fake pregnancy if she happens to puke in the bushes in front of all those families.  Fast forward 8 hours and I am STILL sick, in fetal position on the couch, unsuccessfully trying to keep down Goldfish crackers. Fast forward another 12 and I have a splitting headache while trying to get through a Monday at work, tie up loose ends for our mortgage closing this week, and attempting to wrap my brain around how I am STILL hung fucking over.

I am DONE with surprise hangovers. The bachelorette, wedding, birthday party hangovers are still awful, but at  least you see them coming. The random hangovers you didn't expect because you forgot you don't have 24 year-old-you's tolerance are brutal. I hate losing a day of delicious meals, nausea-free movement, and actual activities. I can't stand wasting a Sunday on the couch now, previously my favorite weekly pastime. I feel so old and I am so okay with that. Please God, let me be able to wake up tomorrow feeling like a human being capable of morning spin class, work, a little laundry, and dinner with my friends. These are the dreams of a 29 year old.

Something New

I haven't blogged in a while. Again. Whoops.

I'll just jump right in though...

I'm moving. Reed and I are buying a house. In New York (less city, more country). And I'm scared.

I'm scared of moving away from my friends. I'm scared of moving to the honest to God middle of nowhere (Fucking middle of nowhere was perhaps screamed by me in a recent "discussion", but we're feeling better about things so I've cleaned it up a bit.)  I'm scared of working from home full time, for both work and social reasons. I'm scared to be further from my family and closer to Reed's. I'm scared Reed and I will kill each other, together 7 days a week, without any besties in sight. I'm scared of mortgage payments, taxes, appliances that will break, and how to pay for the list of home improvements I'm planning.

BUT...

I'm also excited. I'm excited to buy a house. I'm excited to finally paint and pick furniture and make something ours. I'm excited for Murray to have a yard. I'm excited to pay my mortgage, not someone else's. I'm excited for this next step in our relationship.

And I'm hopeful. Hopeful we make friends (quicklyyyy). Hopeful my current friends will visit. Hopeful I can find a Barre class and a spin class. Hopeful I can deal with rivers and lakes instead of ocean. Hopeful Murray calms down and we can get him a friend. Hopeful we're making a smart investment that is indicative of more intelligent financial decisions in the future (adult, boring, blahh). Hopeful we're putting down roots, starting a life, and we'll look back in 5, 10, 20 years and just be incredibly happy.

So...my life is about to change for realz. And with that, I thought my blog needed an update. I'll no longer be a girl from Rhode Island in Boston. I'll be a girl from RI,  who loved her time in Boston, that's moved on to New York. And I think it will be okay. And I'm making this choice for love. It sounds so sappy, but that's what it all comes down to. Love really is life. Your family, friends, and your Person. That's your life. That's all that matters.

I'm thinking of doing #100happydays on my instagram when we move. I want to really focus on the positive and the new. I LOVE my life right now, and I am so sad to leave it, but I'm going to make a choice to love my life going forward as well. I'll take any positive energy from my invisible audience as well. As that fool Danielle from Real Housewives of New Jersey  said, "Love and Light."

I'm Heeeeeerrre

So. It's been a while. Somewhere along the way I forgot to blog and now it's been almost a year. I just spent the last hour reading through my posts (is that narcissistic? I can't decide) and it's amusing to see how things changed over a year. Here's a quick recap of what we missed:

I forgot to blog about Reed and I moving in together. Probably because I was busy trying not to kill him during the process.Or trying not to cry over leaving my Roombud Bestie to live with a smelly boy and smelly dog.

I didn't discuss the adjustment of moving a country dog to a city, having him nearly die first from eating non-food items, then learning he hates other dogs (especially the 200 or so in this building) and has the energy of a 6-week puppy when cooped up in a 700 square foot apartment. And I have to make him home cooked meals. And pay a dog-walker half a car payment to feed him and take a stroll twice a week.

I skipped over my brother's wedding. Somewhat of  a trainwreck (Think Teen Mom meets bad prom) that taught me I officially do want a small wedding, done right, with my besties and family to celebrate with. Roombud Bestie can officially rest easy that I won't disappear to elope one random Thursday.

And I failed to mention one of my best friends, Mick Bestie, having a Mick Baby. An unexpected occurrence that led to the first bestie baby and what I anticipate to be a beautiful new friendship (once I'm not scared of her anymore).

I think those are the highlights. Nothing else exciting to report, so I anticipate the blog entries to fall back to the regularly scheduled programming: Why are boys dumb? Why did Carrie pick Big over Aidan? Why can't I have a puppy?...those types of things.

Can I Get A Map Please?

Most non-shocking statement of 2012: I'm a control freak. I am always someone with a plan - or a planned plan at least - and it seems that currently, well,  I have no plan. I have everything I want - awesome job, amazing besties, fab BF, happy family that's juuust close enough to see whenever I want, but no idea how to squeeze everything in or how life will transition going forward. So.This is very different for me. Usually I am miserable or overly concerned about the progress in one or two aspects of my life, and have a wonderful plan as to how to become happy or fix what's causing angst. I mean, clearly, I'm a bomb little planner because I got everything I currently want (except a puppy - I still really want a fucking puppy), but now I'm trying to balance it all and not spend my life wishing for everything to be more organized, better planned, and basically wrapped up in a pretty little bow.

Not for nothing, but no one tells you about this part of life. No one warns you. No one tells you there is a short period where you just want to / get to have selfish fun with your friends. And that then you reach a time, approximately around age 27ish, where you start to worry that you're going to grow old alone (if you don't count the 14 cats you'll likely share residence with), so you walk a thin line between loving singledome and wishing to find your someone ASAP. And certainly no one tells you that once you found a someone, potentially your real someone, that you'll continue attempting a balancing act. You're not really choosing one person or thing over another, but there's simply not enough time to always fit friends, family, a boyfriend, and that increasingly demanding, yet rewarding career.

For the record, I am very aware that I'm White Whining all over the place, because these are not REAL problems. Being really happy is not a problem. I am beyond beyond aware that I don't have much to complain about (knock on wood).  I'm just...confused? What does one do without a plan and why doesn't anyone older and wiser have a plan I can copy? A road map of sorts? Just some suggestions perhaps? (I'm well aware few older and wisers read this blog, so I suppose that's a bit of a rhetorical question.)

Maybe no one warned me because not everyone gets this. Not everyone gets to have the awesome friend time in their 20s, mixed with career missteps, and an overall sense of non-direction, teaching you valuable life lessons and ultimately landing you in a position where you are surrounded by all the right people and things. Where you feel like you are finally doing EXACTLY what you should be doing when you should be doing it, but now you're not really sure what you should be doing next.

Since no one seems to have advice for this life moment, I guess I'll refer to my girl Carrie, who always seems to have wise input (except with boys, who picks Big over Aidan? Still not pleased about that) . . .

“Sometimes we need to stop analyzing the past, stop planning the future, stop figuring out precisely how we feel, stop deciding exactly what we want, and just see what happens.” 

I Want a Puppy and I Want Him NOW

I've decided puppies to me must be what babies are to other girls.

As was discussed previously, I'm not much of a baby girl. I'm not going to coo, I'm probably not even going to touch your brand new offspring unless you make me. I will say my hellos and probably do some awkward finger / handshake until I finally become comfortable around the munchkin or he reaches toddlerdome - whichever comes first. However, you saunter over with your brand new canine baby and I turn to mush.

Hence, my new jealous streak. EVERYONE around me is getting a puppy and I.Want.One. This has to be what the last single girl feels like when all her friends get married and have babies and she can't find her Prince Charming. I just want my Prince Fido. A (large) diamond ring and a condo are always nice too, but I'll wait on those and take the dog today, thankyouverymuch.

Sadly, much like the single girl who can't find a potential mate, force him to settle down, and make babies yesterday, I also cannot instantly morph my lifestyle into one that fits a new puppyfriend.

::Sigh::

In the meantime, I'll be borrowing / dognapping these little furballs who have recently entered my life:

Ladies, Ladies, Ladies

I have a quick fashion complaint, and it centers on the brassiere. Bra straps hanging out, bras under sheer shirts, bras as shirts? When did this become okay? I'm as big a fan of fantastic lingerie as anyone, but ladies... let's cover our ladies. And NYC, I'm not sure what you chicas are thinking, but  it is CERTAINLY NOT okay to walk around  topless .

Thank You Zuckerberg

Ohhhh Facebook...what a gift and a curse you are. Normally a fan of the good book - a wonderful forum to share  photos, videos, useless musings, and stay connected with friends -  I was unpleasantly surprised to find it bite me on the bottom recently.

This weekend was the wedding of two fab friends who are fab for each other. (Unfortunately, I find this is not the norm, but that's another post for another day.) Said event is also the wedding referenced in my previous + 1 post , to which I was elated to learn I could bring a date (further proof this couple is bomb). As someone who did not have a +1 in my life, I asked my friend Texy to join me and called it a day. Of course, in true Ally May fashion, I decided to get a boyfriendishness person shortly thereafter and complicate things. Not one to break a date (even with a friend), and certainly one to avoid introducing a new person to everyone from my childhood, I explained the situation to all parties involved and kept my original +1. There was some light teasing from Reed (probably easier than referring to him as my boyfriendishness person), but he knew it was poor timing and Texy was just a friend, so it was all good in the hood.

Enter Facebook. When I say this wedding was awesome - it was awesome. Like any normal 27 year old, when awesome things happen, I post them on Facebook. And helllooo, there was a photo booth. That's getting posted and tagged - STAT. Well, poor Reed, who lacks my enthusiasm for the book, was bombarded with questions .5 seconds after posting. And as a boy who tells me everything, he openly shared the parade of comments from his sister, college friend, business partner, etc.  I was quickly assured, "I'm not mad at you, I'm just annoyed I have to answer questions because of Facebook." What the Hell do I do with that? There's nothing to fight about so that's not the solution. Can't defriend his people, that's not a good look and I'm not trying to hide anything.

Bottom line - Not.Cool.People. Sneakiness rule #1 - If you're going to be shady, you don't post your activities on social media sites. In other words, I'm not being shady. We've got a good thing going here - we're honest with each other, we're making the long distance thing work, and we get.each.other. Please don't make the one time a day I get to see him be accompanied with a shmoopy face and a grumpy mood that I didn't cause and I can't fix. And it's really not your fault Zuckerberg, but you didn't help much here either.

Hakuna Matata?

Welp. Remember how I bumped into the boy from three hours away? In a bar neither of us ever go to? In a city where neither of us lives? And remember how I WAS NOT going to go down the "maybe this means something" path? And I was going to stand my ground and be realistic because he owns a business three hours away in the middle of nowhere, and I love my job and my city, so this can't go anywhere? Yeahhhh ...so I didn't actually do the whole "being realistic" thing. Instead, I think I have a boyfriendishness person (I think that's what grownups call it).

I blame Disney. My entire childhood was spent watching ridiculous love stories between mermaids and princes, beasts and beautiful book nerds, street rats and princesses, two lions for God's sake. I mean, talk about relationships that shouldn't work. But they live happily ever after. In a castle, most likely. Sounds fantastic to me.

It's a fairly well-known fact that I love a good story. Any situation becomes better if there's a good story as to how you found yourself there. Coincidence, intuition, fate, deja vu, karma...these are a few of my favorite things. So, when a boy you liked six years ago, whom you've had multiple missed connections with, comes up to you in an extremely random place and says "Ally May?"; you take notice. When you realize he has the same ridiculously random, sometimes awful, music appreciation; you take notice. Same over-the-top love of dogs? Notice. Same hippyish/somewhat snotty/pretty chill/sometimes uptight/doesn't make sense at all personality? Notice. And when you finally realize he's absolutely hysterical, you give up trying to fight it and just go with it. And all this, on top of a great six-year story.... I know what you're thinking. I didn't stand a chance. Silly girl.

So, a big thank you to the Wonderful World of Disney, because you have turned me into a very dumb girl, who believes in fairy tales, and now has a boyfriendishness person, and is completely ignoring geography.

Another big thank you to this guy, because you were absolutely used as bribery in getting this little long distance thing sparked up again.

+1

*Note: +1 has more than one meaning in my little circle of friends, which could really provide content for an entirely different entry, but for the purposes of this post, let's focus in on the traditional +1; "Please come to my party and bring a human of the opposite sex with whom you can enjoy a meal, some drinks, and whatever steps you still remember from the Electric Slide".

As a single lady, I am forever rather annoyed by the fact that I get wedding invites without dates. Before I offend my married friends, I do understand the logic behind it. I know what it costs per plate, and the battles You and Mr. You have had over the guest list, and that negotiating my +1 (whom you probably don't know) into the seating chart is the least of your problems. I totally understand that it's altogether easier to have us single girls just travel together, as a pseudo couple. Which is why I said I am only rather annoyed. Buuut for those of you going forward, who have a little extra in the budge, it would be nice to bring a date. Because sometimes it gets awkward to be the three girls at the wedding, dancing with their purses in the middle.

So, you can imagine my elation when wedding invitations arrived in the mail yesterday for Roombud Bestie and me, and guest. Like, we each get to bring one. As in, we're not each others' guest. Wahoo! Then I started to over think things. . . Who to bring? A potential love interest? (Let's just assume, for the sake of the blog, there is one right now) That's a lot of pressure. I really can't visualize any situation where bringing a not-quite BF to meet friends and family wouldn't cause more anxiety than enjoyment. Okay, so definitely bringing a friend. Which leads to a different set of potential concerns.  I have already successfully set up my semi-normal male friends with my semi-normal female ones - quite selflessly it seems, because now I am wedding dateless (goddamn my excellent match-making skills) - which leaves me with my remaining man-child friends. I'm not sure I've officially mentioned this, but the majority of my male friends, ie the single ones, are umm INSANE. Borderline not appropriate around adults, despite their ages creeping closer to the big 3-0. So, this is the pool of candidates I have to choose from to dress up fancy, stay quiet during the ceremony, and make enough of a good impression in front of the grownups that they forgive him when he's ripping shots, taking over the dance floor, and convincing the waiters that yes, he did order three plates of steak.

Luckily RB has the same quality candidates to choose from, so looks like there will at least be four of us single kids, proving to everyone else that yes, single is still fun at 27, so thank you very much for the four hours of free alcohol. One day we will repay the favor. And with any luck, by then the boys we choose to marry will be slightly more appropriate to bring around adults.

Wahhh

Okay, I know I said I'm totally against whiney blog posts, but I am going to have a mini little bitch sesh, then quickly follow it up with something that makes me very happy. So hopefully the blog karma Gods will forgive me this little transgression...

Why why why do I always always always like boys that live far away? Without fail. I'm not even saying I'm falling in love with them. But definite like. And for me, falling in like is still pretty hard to come by. Three of the last four boys I actually liked lived three hours away, and the fourth was an hour away so that's not much better. Is this subconscious? Is it me? Do I have an undying desire to complicate my life?

There is a source for this rant. I bumped into one of these someones from three hours away this weekend. BUMPED INTO. And he lives in New York. And this bumping occurred in a bar I haven't been to in three years. In a city he hasn't been to in five. Makes sense right? Fairytale Ally May went directly to the "maybe this means something" mindset, putting me right back where I started a year ago - In like with him, doomed to at some point come to terms with the fact that it doesn't stand a chance. Because I'm not moving. He's not moving. And I don't even know how much like is there since we've technically gone on three dates in six years. Oh and now he has a puppy. Which always makes a cute boy cuter. F.M.L.wahhhhh. grrrrrr.

Now that that's out of my system, and because I'm just so damned happy with myself and want to end with a smile, I present you with this: my little family basement find and now newly rebeautified desk.

I Held a Baby Today

I know I know. What's the big deal? The big deal is that they TERRIFY me. So breakable. Not sure what to do with them. Would generally prefer to avoid them. It's pretty common knowledge that if given the option between a baby and a puppy I'd choose the puppy 10 times out of 10.

Let me take a hot minute to defend myself for anyone that now thinks I'm an evil baby-hater. I will someday have babies because I LOVE children. Love love love, have to restrain myself from squeezing adorable children on the street, love. But babies? What do you do with them? I don't get it, never have. I've always assumed somewhere around age two is when the fun starts, and I'll just have to get through the baby stages with my own children. BUT today a seven month old made an appearance at work and I jumped right up to grab her and wasn't scared AT ALL. And I was very scared of her when she stopped by shortly after her birth. So, in summary, my future children stand a chance. Perhaps not a light bulb moment to the rest of the world, but to me these are some seriously big steps. In the words of Mick Bestie, "Good Job. Maybe by the time you have your own you'll be okay with a brandy new one!"

 

(Just a little unrelated baby humor for ya)

I Wanna Talk About Me!

Okay, that’s not 100% true, but I thought this lyric, borrowed from my boy Toby, was fitting for my first ever blog entry. That, and it keeps with my cool country lyric theme I’ve got going on and I love a good theme. So enough about that…onto me!

I’m from a small town in the smallest state, lil Rhodey, and I moved to Boston about a year ago. And ohhh if the transition were only as simple as that made it sound. Said transition was about four years in the making, with two jobs and three moves in between, before I finally found myself happily residing in South Boston with my roombud bestie. So here I am, 26-year-old girl, single in the city, with little to show for myself other than some pretty bomb friends, a kickass job, and a crazy family. I’ll take it. 

Refocusing. Rather than just chatting it up about me, this blog is aimed more at being a (hopefully) amusing compilation of everyday observations and experiences that add spice to my otherwise uneventful life (with a few moments borrowed from friends’ lives trickled in). I’ll try to avoid bitchy rants, because I’m a pretty big believer in karma but if I do fall into the bitchy rant trap, I’ll do my darndest to put an entertaining spin on it. So that being said….I’m not completely sure who my audience is here, but whomever you are, I hope these little snippets can bring at least half as much amusement to you as they probably brought to me. Happy reading!