These Things Happen...

Layoffs, cramps, and minor car accidents.

These things happen.

The layoffs at my job this week were extremely terrifying to put it succinctly. People with whom I exchanged emails and attended meetings on a weekly basis were no longer employed. How was this happening? Our company was untouchable. We weren't bankers. We weren't building Chrysler's. We weren't shipping mail. We were a viable entertainment company with growth in 2008; on the path of knocking out our top two competitors. Again, how was this happening?

They say the last one in is the first one out. I had only just started in December. On top of that, I just recently moved into my own new place and was already living beyond my means in preparation for my birthday. Please don't tell me my beloved little job is in jeopardy. Please, just don't even imply it.

What's most unsettling is that the company made these cuts as preventative measures. Come to find out we're not even struggling (comparatively speaking). We were taking the necessary precautions to ensure we didn't fall flat on our faces later on down the line. I understand that. It's a business after all... but man. It's like coming to school one morning to find a few of your friends had moved away... in the middle of the night... with no forwarding address.

They weren't even poor employees, which makes me even more nervous. It makes me think that, even if I'm doing a kick-ass job right now, it might not even matter. If the company president believes my boss can hit his financial goals for 2009 without little ol' me, then I'm gone. Out in the cold with nowhere to go. Even typing those words sends a tiny little shiver down my spine.

The layoffs seemed almost arbitrary, though I have enough faith in our leadership to believe that they weren't. But, honestly, I mean, these people were working hard. I knew, because I was emailing them every day on various projects. They weren't slacking. They weren't cutting corners. They weren't rude, disrespectful, nosy, politically incorrect... nothing. And yet, for whatever reason, they were the ones who got cut.

Indeed, Tuesday was a hard day.

Today was no better. My friends' pheromones were throwing me for a loop, thus my scheduled monthly visitor would be popping up whenever she felt like it this time... After accepting this tiny annoyance, I made my way through the rain to my old apartment complex for last minute cleaning and to pick up my mail. As I was leaving the mailboxes to head back to work, it occurred to me that I might need to make a quick trip to Dollar Tree. I needed a few random things for my new apartment...











WHAM.

...and I'm screaming. What just happened. Why is my car - wait, where did that car just come from. Who is this man?

I collect myself. I open my door, and step out into the drizzling rain to survey the damage. "You didn't see me coming?" he asked. "I had the right-of-way!" I said, trying to hold back my anger. "No... I HAVE the right of way," he argued. "You hit me. You. Hit. Me." I state. He's already on the phone; pacing back and forth. Shit. Bits and pieces of his fender litter the apartment complex pavement. There's a huge dent right above the front passenger wheel, as well as a superficial scratch that can't be rubbed away. Great. Another expense. ANOTHER EXPENSE!

I get back in my car to call the insurance company. Concentrate, Michele. You're calling AARP Roadside Assistance, and you should be calling State Farm. Calm down. Wait. Call 911 first. Relax.

Deep breaths. An officer is on his way already. Deep breaths. Our family insurance agent walks me through the process. The officer is knocking at my window. "License and insurance," he says. I hand it to him. "Can you explain what happened," he asks. I'm calm. My voice is steady. I tell him what transpired.

He walks over to talk to the guy. I'm starting to feel bad. Was it my fault? No. I was creeping along, when he hit me from out of nowhere. Slammed into me... to the point that his front right wheel doesn't even appear to be properly positioned on the car anymore. He had to have been speeding or something. Neither of us had a stop sign. Does that mean neither of us had the right-of-way? Was this my fault?

The officer is at my window again. "Because this is private property, I cannot assign blame in this instance." I let that sink in. "Call this number on Monday, and you can pick up your police report in one of the following locations," he says handing me the paperwork. That's it. That's it?

It occurs to me that I need to exchange information with the guy individually... but evidently, he wants no part of that. He hops into his car and attempts to drive away. I'm back on the phone with our agent for follow-up instructions. Breathe.

"You didn't exchange insurance information?!" the agent asks. "It's on the police report," I reply, calmly. "Well, what kind of car does he have... what's his license plate number?" That information is easy to give him, because the guy hasn't made it far away. His front axle is completely ruined, and his car can't even make it over the speed bumps to get out of the complex. I feel bad. But... he hit ME! He HIT me. My car is driving fine. The alignment is fine. There are no noises... nothing weird happening. He had to have been speeding.

I make it out of the complex, and the rain begins to fall a little harder. I make it to a gas station... and the monsoon begins. I'm bawling. "M-mom," I stammer. "I got into an accident."

I hate making mistakes. I hate when things go wrong. I hate when things beyond my control take place. My mom manages to soothe my nerves. Though her initial reaction was less than warm (::semi-audible sigh:: "what happened?"), my explanation of the situation reassured her that it wasn't my fault. He hit ME.

I hadn't been blasting my music. I hadn't been talking or texting on my blackberry. I hadn't been eating; I hadn't been speeding; I wasn't drunk. I had been paying full attention, peddling along at what had to have been 15 miles per hour. I- I hadn't been distracted! And, I'm ALWAYS distracted... I'm the classic "accident-waiting-to-happen" on any given day of the week. And yet, this is how I ended up in a car accident. Not a scratch on my body; no real damage to my car. The Lord works in mysterious ways.

I went back to work. Shaken. Sad. Stressed.



Sometimes, these things just happen.

Tiptoe to the Sun

...and do things I know you like...

It's two-week-old news, but Valentine's day was amazing. To be honest, I might still be reeling off the natural high of it all. All my craziness had finally calmed down, and lucky me, he had managed to overlook most of it anyway. I hopped in the car Friday afternoon amped to see Dionne before she headed to her hometown for the weekend. The rest of the three-day weekend would be spent with him.

Upon my arrival, Dionne, her law school friends and I pre-gamed for what seemed like forever, then headed out. After a relaxing time at a hookah bar, we tried to see what other mischief we could get into. Unfortunately, the small, southern college-town had little else to offer that night. We ended up in Jimmy John's for late night munchies, when none other than the boy and his roommate walked through the door.

It was all smiles and fireworks from there. Though I had promised Dionne I would spend the night at her place that night... I just couldn't. She understood though. Bridesmaids are good for that sort of thing...

"What do you want for breakfast," he asked the next morning. "Today is 'spoil Michele' day, so you better rack up," he said. "Eggs... and fresh fruit," I smiled. And to the grocery store we went. We walked arm in arm, sharing headphones to his iPod as he shuffled through his favorite Bob Marley songs... picking up whatever I wanted as we made our way down each aisle. "Mimosas?" I asked. "Absolutely," he said, brightening up. I'm sure it was 5 o'clock somewhere...

The weekend passed with food, television, naps, and coloring. It was blissful. I didn't have to lift a finger the entire time. Of course, I helped out here and there, washing dishes, organizing his room, and doing other non-girlfriend like things... but Saturday night was the best of all. "My mom told me I should know better - because I knew you were coming, and I didn't make reservations anywhere," he said. "I don't care," I said, meaning every word. "Honestly, I'm not even hungry."

We ended up at the bar of PF Chang, which was perfect because the All-Star Weekend Slam Dunk Contest was on. He and I took turns flirting with our female waitress over a bottle of Saki. "I'm spoiling her today," he said again. Man. Where has this person been all my life?

The pinnacle of the weekend, however, took place shortly afterwards. Full off of Chinese food and Japanese wine, we ended up at a local bar (my favorite of the city) for drinks galore... and a much needed heart-to-heart.

"Do you feel like you benefit from our friendship?" I began. "Of course," he said, "nobody else knows about me running for city council, or how I'm preparing to run for Mayor in a few years... or how much I've really changed from college," he said. "You know me better than anybody else right now."

We touched on the relationship-y elements of our friendship. "I love how fluid it is," he said, "and that you're cool with it." Hm. I had never thought of it that way.

And if I dated other people? "Who knows when we'll be living in the same city again," he said. "You're not moving here any time soon, and I can't say I'll be in New Haven two to three years from now." He was right. "But, if I woke up one morning and decided we should get married, then that would be the L. And, whoever you were dating at the time..." he trailed off. Whoa. Marriage? Really? I had to run with it. "These would be my bridesmaids!" I exclaimed counting fingers and naming names. He laughed. The groomsmen? I guessed correctly on about 4 out of 7. Not bad.

The conversation went on and on. Every so often he'd get up and request a song for me, or order another drink... We talked about our futures - individually, and potentially together. He reminded me how much I admire and respect him. He reminded me how much I had missed this... The warmth of our cozy little nook, in the midst of the loud bar, might have looked like something out of a movie.

It was sooo comfortable. It was such a relief, and so calming, and reassuring, and just... perfect.

It was perfect.

"Do you want anything? Are you comfortable? Are you hungry? Do you need something?" was all I heard all weekend. He was concerned. He was warm. He was open... as was I.

Mmm.




I think I'm in looooove again...

Down Here in Hell (With You)

I really love it when
Love it when we make mistakes
Because once again
It gives me a reason to complain
I love the battle lines
Battle lines we draw and cross in the mud
Ooh, I love it when we fight
Standing on the verge of breaking up
Or making love

What would I do if we were perfect?
Where would I go for disappointment?
Love without pain would leave me
Wondering why I stay

I think of saving myself
But with nothing to complain about
Up in Heaven
What would I do?
I think of saving myself
But I really want to work it out
Down here in Hell, with you

Magic carpet ride
It don't have to last forever
I know we shouldn't fly so high
But the closer to sun we go
The better
See I want to make you feel the fire
Wanna burn you with my bad days
Ooh, I want to be unsatisfied
So, you can feel the heat coming from me, baby

What would I do if we were perfect?
Where would I go for disappointment?
Words without hate would leave me nothing left to say

I think of saving myself
But with nothing to complain about
Up in Heaven
What would I do?
I think of saving myself
But I really wanna work it out
Down here in hell, with you


I think of saving myself, but with nothing to complain about
Up in Heaven...
I think of saving myself, but I really want to work it out
Down here in Hell...

The BIG Issue

I was chatting with Cece over drinks the other day about why I've been an emotional wreck for the past week. We were trying to get to the root of the problem, even though I already knew what it was. It's the relationship thing. I don't get why he doesn't want one. But I don't want a relationship either... so why can't I just chill the ufck out? "It's because you're not in control," she said.

Ta da. She's right.

"He's your 'Big'! You know you guys will most likely end up together, so just relax for now... Stop trying to control the situation, and just go with it," she soothed.

He's my "Big". That's cute. He's the guy whose path I will continuously cross until we end up at the alter... or one of us dies. He's the guy who will continue to take me on this rollercoaster - unbeknownst to him - until both of us eventually break down and decide to commit. You know, sometimes I felt bad for Big. Carrie would have some unrealistic expectation of him, she'd dissect the problem with her girls, write about it, and maybe spend excessive money on a new trinket to calm her nerves... and all Big wanted to do was watch the game! I mean, c'mon Carrie. It's not that he didn't want to talk - or do whatever you wanted - he just wanted to do it later. You know, after the game?

Other times, though, I didn't feel so bad for Big. HE was the reason Carrie ruined a perfectly amazing relationship with Aidan. Well, really, Carrie was the reason, but you get what I'm saying. Big was the source of the problem. It was because Carrie couldn't get him out of her system. They were star-crossed lovers or something, destined to be together. They were soul mates. Blah blah blah.

So, the boy is my "Big". Does that mean that I'll meet an arguably more amazing guy, with puppy dog eyes, and a kind heart, and a gentle soul, and a peaceful spirit... and then ufck it all up so that I can be with "Big"? I'll just spit in the new guys face, even though he hasn't done anything wrong, and doesn't deserve the heartache? That sucks, man. And, I hated Carrie for doing that.

Hm. So, where is he? Aidan? Where are you? Come on and ask me out so I can break your heart and go back to the guy I really, deeply care about. You're probably better for me, but there's just something about my "Big" that I can't let go of. Something I can't quite put my finger on. Something about him that makes me smile... that comforts me... that keeps me warm.

Come on, Aidan! Let's go ahead and get this over with...

What Is Love?

Maybe I am foolishly
In love with someone that is
Not exactly on the same page
That I am on

Well, all my friends keep telling me
Stop walking 'round so blindly
But when he calls, they're not around
To ever remind me

Maybe this isn't love
But if it isn't love
Then really, what is love?
Maybe I will never really
Know what's love
'Cause when he's around
He's got me feeling
Some kinda way

Maybe this isn't love
But if it isn't love
Then really, what is love?
Maybe I don't need to know
What's really love
'Cause when he's around
He's got me feeling
Some kinda way

I guess I kinda noticed
He don't always act so kindly
But that doesn't stop my hunger
Hunger for his heart

Now should I listen to those
Who think that I should move on
Maybe what they see as drama
I see more as art

Maybe this isn't love
But if it isn't love
Then really, what is love?
Maybe I will never really
Know what's love
'Cause when he's around
He's got me feeling
Some kinda way

Maybe this isn't love
But if it isn't love
Then really, what is love?
Maybe I don't need to know
What's really love
'Cause when he's around
He's got me feeling
Some kinda way

Can't seem to get past
How he makes me feel
May not be love
But it feels so real
Can't go with what they say
Must follow my heart
But now is that
Even being true to me

Maybe I'm happy
Truly content
Maybe this is
As good as it gets
Do I have faith
In my confidence
Or am I just
Thinking all hopelessly

Maybe this isn't love...

The Saint Must Die

I’m putting a hit out on stupid-ass St. Valentine.

Die.

He has me acting all kinds of crazy and irrational for absolutely NO reason at all. That stupid, stupid Saint. My morning began nicely enough. Standard weekly 9:00 am staff meeting, followed by a little gchatting with Anisa and the boy. I had some work that needed to get done, but I had all day to do it. No biggie. Little by little, however, I began to feel more and more compelled to speak my mind. There was something bothering me; a little bug nesting under my skin that was starting to make me itch – uncontrollably. I tried to bite my tongue… I really did. I had hoped that I could maintain enough self control to preserve the next two weeks, and potentially enjoy a nice, romantic weekend with the boy. I had hoped that I could suppress these unyielding feelings of contempt, irritation, frustration and bitterness. I had done so well. I had hidden the small voice in my head that constantly sought to yell “WHY AREN’T WE TOGETHER YOU SILLY, SILLY MAN?!” I had rationalized, and theorized and come to accept that what I wanted from him – what I sometimes felt I needed and deserved – was tabled for the moment. It wasn’t to say that we would never be in relationship… it just wasn’t an option for now.

Basically, I was good.

But today, for some odd, strange reason, I couldn’t keep it to myself. I was restless. Agitated. And, I needed to get it out. So, in classic passive-aggressive mode, I began a gchat conversation (of all things) to address the issue. A mere two weeks before Valentine’s Day. I was putting my “romantic weekend” at risk as well as this friendship-like-thing… or whatever it was. But I didn’t care. So I went at it.

Unfortunately, the more he pushed me for answers as to why I felt the way I did, the fewer I could come up with. Hadn’t we been through this multiple times? Yes. And, the fact that he wasn’t in a position to be in relationship right now had nothing to do with me. The fact that he dated that other tramp - eh, i mean girl - had nothing to do with me either. He had been in a different place at that time, just as I had. We hadn’t even been on speaking terms at the time… what did I expect? Was I delusional? No. My feelings were merited. They were valid. But, so were his. By the end of the brief conversation, he abruptly told me he was headed to lunch. Lost and annoyed I made myself “gchat invisible” and tried to sort out my feelings with Anisa for duration of the afternoon. The thing is, if a guy had done that to me, I probably would have reacted the same way. I can’t stand pressed guys as it is, let alone those who come off as insecure, always needing validation and reassurance. Please.

In the heat of the discussion I felt tears aching to roll down my face. Unfortunately I was at work, and in no position to break down crying over a three-year-old “friendship”. I had things to do and bills to pay. Now, I just feel silly. Why did I do that? What was the rationale? And, what am I going to do next Saturday night? If it was the middle of August, and there weren’t thousands of billboards, commercials and late night commentaries about love, would I be acting like this? NO! I’d be planning a trip for Labor Day. This sucks, man. All Saint Valentine is good for is the economy. Hallmark, Necco and Zales make a killing for two weeks and then everything is back to normal. Meanwhile, frustrated single ladies like myself unnecessarily complicate already-complicated relationships and jeopardize their questionable VDay plans. Couples already have their nice little lovey-dovey rituals… they don’t need a freaking holiday for it. Single people don’t need the pressure. It’s hard out here…

So, I move to KILL Saint Valentine. I want to break that damn bow and arrow. I want to pick apart his wings.

Who’s with me?