From the Bedroom: Early Sunday Morning

The snow is stuck to my window screen, blocking the magical view of the city I love to gaze at from my bedroom window. The wind swooshes past the windows sending shivers through the old wood of the apartment building. It's winter in Boston.

I joined "date night" with my friend and her husband last night. Mo at the convenience store told me I looked nice when I stopped in for a bottle of wine to bring home and sip after dinner.

Sleep is at a minimum again these days. I'm longing for another trip, but New York City will be the next escape.

Debating laying in bed a little longer, or admitting defeat to the night and braving this cold, windy and snowy Sunday...

You Know You've Had Too Much to Drink When...

• You have to ask "who left the lights on?" when you wake up in the morning, and you live alone, and there is no one else in the apartment.
• You don't remember where you put your pants, but you can swear you walked home with pants on.
• You wake up laying diagonally across the bed with no pillows and only one sock on your foot, and wonder why you can't move your neck.
• You want to throw things at the guy downstairs who is shoveling the snow because every time he hurls the snow to the curb, the sound hurts your brain. (thank you, nice man, for shoveling the snow.)
  
• You wonder where the extra $20 came from, and then decide it's better that you not know.

p.s. Good news: I found my pants. They were in the bathtub... which is an entirely other problem, I presume, but I'm in no shape to work through that problem today.

The Meat of the Matter

How else will we connect if we don't put ourselves in the position to connect? That is the question my friends have posed to me since the announcement of my new crush.

My friends have explained the importance of making myself noticed by the butcher. So today at lunch, I walked with Bail down to the butcher shop to get meat. Bail and her husband are meat lovers and welcomed the opportunity to help me meet the meat man. We walked into the butcher shop and stood among at least a dozen people, also waiting for their meat. After about 15 minutes we thought it might be better (and more to my benefit) to come back later.

Back at the office, I was informed this plan is due to fail. Why would Bail go in for her own meat when I can get the meat for her and meet the meat man? One problem: I don't know the first thing about meat.

We busted out the Great Meat Book and Bail made her list:

- One rabbit cut into five or six pieces.

- Two lamb shanks.

- Four pounds of stock bones/joints.

- A single marrow bone split down the middle.

- One hanger steak

I stood staring at this meat list and thought, "Who can eat all this meat?" But I don't know from meat, so off I went in search of the meat.

The meat market was empty, save for the owners and one patron. I walked in and the meat man greeted me,

"Oh, you came back?" he said.

"Yes, of course." I said.

"What can I get you?"

I rattled off my list.
Rabbit? Yes. Lamb shanks? Yes. Stock bones/joints? No. Single marrow? No. (screw the hanger steak, I thought).

Off he went to prepare my meat.

He did not address me by my name. He cut the meat, he wrapped it up. He said, "Can I get you anything else?"

(you can get me a few things, lover, but they aren't found in that freezer)

"Nope, I think that's it."

He calculated the total.

"Anything else?" he asked again.

(think, quick, witty, something)

"Nope." I said.

"$42" he said.

I handed over my money. He said 'Good to see you,' and off I went with my bag of meat.

Home now... thinking of all the things I should have said...

So it got me thinking? Why do women wait for the signals before acting on their impulse? What would happen if we just acted and hoped for the best? Who is to say what the right signals are? If we wait too long, do we miss them?

How Did He Know My Name?

I've lived in the neighborhood for 11 years. Same apartment. Same landlord. Same neighbors. This block is one of the last dying breeds in the 'hood.

For 11 years, I've said hello to the man who owns the fruit stand, the family who owns the coffee shop, the cooks at the restaurant, and the butchers next door. Admittedly, I look forward to saying hello to the butcher next door.

For 11 years, the response has been "Hi, honey," "Hi, sweetheart," "Hi, dear," - it depends on who is doing the hellos, and it's very old-school Italian. I would find it insulting if an average Joe off the street greeted me with "sweetie", but from him, I don't seem to mind. For 11 years, it's never bothered me.

Finally, after 11 years, he greeted me with my name. Instead of "sweetheart", "cutie," "love," or "dear," I was me. It stopped me in my tracks. Not only because the sound of my name sounded perfect from his mouth, but also because I have no idea his name!

In 11 years, I've never walked into the butcher store. I don't have a problem with meat. I just don't know how to order it. Or what to order. Or what to cook. Or how to cook it. So, I never went in to the store. For 11 years I walked by, and was always greeted with a hello. Now, it's personal.

How did he know my name?

Vacation Day 1

6 a.m.: Woke up and reminded myself I didn't have to go to work today. Extra points because it's raining outside, so I didn't have to get out of bed to walk in the rain.

8 a.m.: Moved from the bed to the sofa to watch the news in HD. Coffee on. Laptop booting up.

9 a.m.: Read the online news and blogs; checked email. SCORE: The Huffington Post commented on the travel report I've been working on for the past month. Had a few proud, gloating moments to myself before researching the travel news of today.

10 a.m.: The Sound of Music-themed hotel in Salzburg has been put on hold. This put a damper in my day. I am one of "The Sound of Music" fans who was actually considering a trip to Salzburg just to stay at this hotel.

11 a.m.: Off to the dentist to get a cavity re-filled. Not a new cavity, thank you very much, but a crack in the current one.

11:30 a.m.: Big needle in mouth. Hate. This. Part.

11:35 a.m.: Cannot feel my mouth. Tongue numb. Ears tingling. Numb. Nice lady in blue scrubs gives me dark-colored glasses to put over my eyes so random tooth pieces don't go flying into my eyes.

1:00 p.m.: Home from dentist. Still numb. I don't think I have a tongue. Ears still tingling. Novocaine numbed entire right side of my face. Numb, numb, numb...

----

Waiting anxiously for Novocaine to wear off. I hate this part - I hate feeling "not myself." This is likely why I never got into drugs, although I suppose the feeling I get from a good bottle of wine could be considered a good high.

Dinner tonight with a co-worker at one of my favorite restaurants in Boston.

The Loneliness Myth

My New York magazine arrived today. The lead story, "The Loneliness Myth." Apparently, more people live alone in NYC than anywhere else in the world, but research shows that New York is one of the least-loneliest places on Earth. Still I have to wonder...

Is living alone so taboo that it warrants research and studies about human behavior? Is it a disease that can be cured with magical matchmakers or Dr. Phil philosophy? And why do people assume that by living alone, you must be lonely?

I've lived alone in the city since 1998. There are undoubtedly times that I wake up wishing 'he' was here to make me coffee or share the newspaper with. Still, even the mornings that I wake up with 'him' here, it's not soon enough before the place becomes my own again. And while there are certainly no commitments in the near future, does that make me lonely?

I find comfort in things my way. I wish for the same things that other people have, but there is a safe place in my home that only I know. Is it fair to label a city with more than 1 million single people 'lonely', or is that city on the verge of a major psychological break-through: the power of one.

The Rally

I was 12-years-old when I participated in my first political rally. My Mom packed me into the gold Oldsmobile Cutlas Sierra and we pulled out of Penwood Court on a mission: we were headed to Jefferson City to support the pro-choice movement.

Political rallies and sit-ins were nothing new to Missouri's capitol city - throughout the 20th century, Missouri's placement in middle America made it a stomping and standing ground for civil rights and war protests. On this day in 1987, Mom and I were going to be part of an equally important movement: women's rights.

We arrived in Jefferson City early that morning. I'll never forget walking toward the grey slate steps of the Capitol Building. The streets and sidewalks were lined with protesters -- pro-life and pro-choice. A sky of picket signs blanketed my view and people were shouting at each other, but I wondered if they were listening.

"What's in the jar, Mom?" I asked, pointing to an erect card table on the sidewalk that held six glass jars, sitting at even lengths one next to the other.

"It's an unborn fetus," she replied.

"What?!" I gasped. I couldn't stop staring, and at the same time I was completely captivated by the display. It's as if jars of pickles were being put on display for a first-prize ribbon. "WHY would someone put an unborn fetus in a jar?"

"It's their way of telling women that having an abortion means killing a child."

"Well, isn't it the woman's right to chose, Mom?"

She looked at me and smiled. At that moment, I think my Mom knew she had made a difference in my life.

Good Morning, Wednesday!

From the bedroom...

Today was the first day in four days I haven't woken at 1:37 a.m. Today, I am functioning on a solid four hours. Thank you, bed.

It's amazing what a few extra hours will do the body. Even though it was raining on my walk to work, and my umbrella flipped upside down, and I almost tripped on a pothole, and I spilled some essential morning coffee, there was a little skip in my step.

I think I can... I think I can...I think I can...

Matters of the Heart

The 30-something-singles of the world have a tragic feat ahead of them -- we spent a majority of our 20s focused on getting out of our parent's shadow, making it on our own and finally finding a financially-stable place in this downward-spiraling economy. Look around the restaurant the next time you're out to eat -- it's likely the majority of the people dining out are those who fit this mold. We're confident, successful and we spent over a decade saving up for the next great depression. This core group of us didn't focus on marriage or children, and now that we're successfully stable we've turned our desire to the bedroom, and we secretly envy our married friends who were smart enough to do that years ago. Alas, here we are... and to those 30-somethings who still have a spark left in them I'm here to tell you: Dating is so complicated.

One friend put it perfectly: Dating today is more like a job interview... there is no romance in meeting someone new. It's an interview process that focuses on three questions: 

1. Are you smart enough?
2. Are you pretty enough?
3. Will my friends think you're smart and pretty?

Answer "no" to any of the above and the interviewer has moved on to the next candidate. Don't mistake me, ladies -- we do the same thing. The older we get the more focused we are on the things we have already mastered ourselves, and we're looking for someone who can match that inner-intelligence. 

If my friend set me up with you, you must something of a worthy individual, because my friends are exceptional people, which by default makes you exceptional in your own right. So if we can't connect what does that mean? You don't think I'm attractive enough for you? You don't think I'm smart enough for you? You don't think your friends will think I'm attractive or smart enough? 

I look around the table at my single friends and I think to myself, "I wouldn't even fix any of them up with the men I've out with!" I have one man friend who's been in my life for a while and he has described our single group of friends as "intimidating" and "unapproachable." Well, to that I say, if you've dated the men we have you would be slightly picky, too.

I've dated just about every man on the spectrum. The playboy, the druggie, the hippie, the dreamer, the clueless, the dependent and the one who got away. What I've learned through all of this is that with each date, I learn more about myself. But for God's sake... I know me! I've spent 33 years getting to know me! Just once, I want a date that doesn't feel like an interview. I want to sit across the table from someone I've emailed thanks to set-ups, who claim to be one person and turn out to be that person. What's with the front? Why do people - both men and women - put on a facade that they think will attract the opposite sex?

So what is it? What makes women and men today so complicated? Are we really complicated, or do we just have a better understanding of what we want, and we aren't willing to negotiate? We didn't negotiate when it came to our education, our careers, our finances. So does it make sense that we don't negotiate when it comes to matters of the heart that happen in the bedroom?

Bedroom Secrets: New Bedding Makes for Better Sleep

Those who know me best know of my random insomnia - it comes, it goes, it sucks. I've had this problem since college - back then, the solution was weed; today it's Nick-at-Night. Regardless, it's an unfortunate effect on my mid-afternoons. The focus drains from my brain and I find myself reading a sentence two to three times to understand its meaning. This isn't every night, mind you, but once in a great while the nights go on forever.

This was my past few weeks, until last night...

My friend The Missus and I took to a day of shopping in Kittery, Maine. I had high hopes for fall fashion, but instead left the clothing stores with two silk shirts and one fall jacket. As we worked our way around the Premium Outlets, we stumbled upon Linens & Things. I walked in, went to a bedding and immediately felt the urge to sleep. Maybe it's because it was a bed, or maybe it was the soothing patterns of brown sea flowers on a crisp white background. Of course, it was one of the more expensive items in the store. I debated it for a bit... is it worth the money? Do I need new bedding?

It had been years (I won't tell you how many) since I had purchased new bedding so that was an easy answer. I walked in circles around the store trying to find a bedding that was comparable to the one I fell in love with at first sight. My friend the drunk Missus walked around the store with the rolling ladder -- I think she was hoping I would find something I loved on the top shelf so she could climb the ladder. Turns out there was nothing I wanted more. I took the comforter, bed skirt and pillow cases to the checkout and cashed out. The total of this purchase was more than the other purchased combined from the day, but I couldn't wait to get home.

I tore the bedroom apart last night and put together my new bed. I crawled into the comfort of my new comforter around 11 p.m. and for the first time in years, I hit "snooze" when the alarm went off at 6 a.m. and slept soundly for another hour.