Caught in Between

“Sure, I’ll have another!” I shouted to Melissa. Why stop now? I was having a fantastic time.
I watched Mel work her way through the crowd to the bar. I hadn’t finished my drink yet, but I would be done before she returned.
It was still early and the night had just begun.

If you’re in your 30’s and live on the East Coast you’ve heard about Dewey Beach, Delaware. The small party town revolves around going out, drinking, and meeting people in the hopes of hooking up. In your 20’s it’s a blast.
But why did I still love it at 32?

“Hey, you waiting for Mel?” a deep voice asked.
It was Will, Mel’s housemate.
“Yeah, she’s at the bar.” I replied.
“Great,” he said. Will was already handing the Jello shot girl a $20.
“Here you go- Cheers!” he laughed.
“Cheers! Thanks!” I chuckled back.
I was starting to feel the effects of my first two shots. This was my third- but I was having too much fun to stop. I sucked the red sludge down before finishing the drink in my hand.
Where was Mel? I didn’t see her at the bar.
“Hey guys!” Charlie shouted.
The music and the crowd were almost deafening.
Charlie was another housemate.
“Need a drink?” he asked.
Mel was still missing.
“Sure!” I yelled back.
“Coming right up!”
I stayed back in the crowd with Will. My words were slurring. I could feel it. Will looked like he didn’t notice. His words were slurring too.
Somehow we made it to the dance floor.
Charlie returned with drinks.

At this point I’m unsure if I was on the dance floor for 15 minutes or 2 hours. But a ticker inside my head went off. It was time to go home.
I circled the bar twice. Mel was nowhere in sight.
The house was only 3 blocks away. She must be there, I guessed.
And I stumbled out to find her.

This is the part of the night that gets fuzzy. I know I couldn’t find the house. I know I walked back and forth near the area, I know my eyes couldn’t focus.
What I don't know is how I got home.
I woke up Saturday in my pajamas in a bed next to Mel.
Mel said she never left the bar and that she was in the back room by the jukebox.
I must not have seen her in my drunken state.

In retrospect, the entire night freaks me out. Anything could have happened. I could have made front page local news. But I didn’t. And surprisingly, I went back to the bars the next night- this time I was far more careful.
But I find myself caught in between. It was a great weekend. Lots of new faces, places, and tons of action. At the same time, I wonder if I’m too old to be living and liking a weekend of drunken idiocy.
At what point will it no longer be fun? Will I be 50 years old sucking down shots at a busy beach bar? When will I be ready to grow up?

I’ve thought about it a lot. And I’ve concluded it’s not a decision I can make. I can only assume that one day Jello shots with drunken strangers will fall a distant second place to pizza and a movie with my boyfriend on the couch.

A Key Turning Point

When “what did you do yesterday?” becomes “what’s for dinner?” You know you’ve hit the comfort zone in your relationship. The assumed ‘together’ plan followed by the assumed ‘sleepover.’ It’s very secure- or at least it should be.

That’s my fault.

Every night like clockwork “Peter” shows up at the door with groceries in hand and we plan our evening. He usually calls first to tell me he’s on the way so I can listen for his knock. It sounds simple. But it's missing something small and critical- My key.

I’m terrified to give it up. The tiny crooked edges just beg me to hold on.
The truth is my key not only opens my front door- but it also opens me up to vulnerability. The simple offering is the ultimate sign of commitment and trust. It allows a partner to come and go at anytime. They can walk in at the most inopportune moment- or show up when you really want to be alone.
And don't forget the first thing anyone wants back from a break-up is the key. Always.

I had played every scenario at least twice in my head. Maybe I would wrap the key up and make it a gift. Perhaps I would slip it into his coat pocket and wait for a reaction. Or then I could sit down and have the long talk before handing it over. No matter what option I chose I knew I couldn’t wait much longer. Peter had given me his keys months ago….and I had simply responded. “Great, thanks.”
Back then I wasn’t ready to put my heart on the chopping block and wait to watch which knife he grabbed first.

But now it felt different. My key was no longer a solution to security- it was a burden.

I finally did it Tuesday morning as he left my house for work.
“Here it is- take it,” I blurted out.
I think I just wanted to get it over with.
“Your key?” Peter asked. “That’s okay, hold onto it. I can knock. It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. There were times he waited at my front door for way too long while I showered leisurely and unknowingly. Another time he beat me home and I found him sitting on the steps by my tree in the rain. We knew each other too well. It had been too long. I needed to let go.
And so I did.

I feel much lighter today. And it’s not the empty ring on my keychain. No question the missing key has opened me up to being vulnerable once more. But it's also reminded me that as frightening as taking the risk can be…I’m ready to try again.

The Ex Factor.

No doubt my gasp of shock and horror could be heard across the city. I was staring at an email from my ex. It had been over a year. The subject was “Hello”.
“Hello” is certainly better than “You’re evil and I hope you’re eaten alive by worms”.
But it can still be frightening.
I decided to double-click my way into the unknown.
Surprisingly, it was a friendly letter. It covered the basics about work, life, and family. David said a friend of his had seen me at a bar a few weeks ago and he wanted to say ‘hi’.
He said he missed me.
The words sat flatly on the page.
My mouth still gaped open.

“He what?!!! What’d it say?” Lily gasped. Lily and I had been friends for over a decade. She was part of the group of gals sitting at the table in a swanky DC restaurant.
“What are you going to do? Will you write back?” questioned Meg.
“Should I?” I asked.
Truth is, my response letter was sitting in saved mail. I was waiting for advice before hitting ‘send’.
“Do you want to see him?” Stephanie wondered.
“I don’t know. Should I?” I asked again.
“The fact is that you broke up for a reason,” Carla stated. “You’re never going to get what you want out the relationship. It’s a waste of time. Don’t do it.”
Carla is a friend that every girl should have. She always gives it to you straight, even if you don’t want to hear it.
Tonight I needed her.
“But maybe it would be nice to be friends, ya know-keep in touch?” I suggested.
“Nope. You don’t want to be with him or else you would.”
The vision of David and I holding hands skipping through daisies and laughing about old times suddenly vanished. It wasn't going to happen.
Carla was right.
Case closed.

I’ve saved the email. And maybe one day I’ll think about reopening it. At any time I can read over the letter and feel comfort in the update. But the fact is when it comes to past relationships there will always be loose ends. No email, lunch date, or phone conversation will ever offer enough satisfaction.
For me, it’s hard not to fix the past. But I know I’ll always get better results when I work on the future.

The Parking Ticket

“You can’t be serious!” I belted. “$58 bucks? For what?” I snatched the ticket from underneath the front windshield wiper. It had probably been there overnight.
“What a joke.” I grumbled. The meter maid had scribbled ‘Blocking a pedestrian walkway’ above her initials.
I took a second look at my car.
I didn’t see it. Not even an inch.
There was a walkway, yes. Was I blocking it? No.
I refused to be victimized by this $58 dollar lie.

So I suppose it was pride and righteousness that brought me to where I sat today.
-District Court in downtown Baltimore.
My hearing notice told me to arrive no later than 1:30. I arrived at 1:05 just to be safe.
The three guards beside the metal detector laughed out loud.
“Court starts at 2,” one snickered.
“It’s also alphabetical,” the older guard chimed. “I hope your last name is ‘Adams’”.
They all laughed.
“It’s not. Not even close.” I resigned.
I might as well be named Zelda Zoolanders.

Surprisingly, the wait flew by. I don’t know if it was the people-watching or the text message feature on my new cell phone- but before I knew it the judge was already calling R’s.
I was an ‘S’.

George Ruiz told the court that his plates really hadn’t expired- he just needed to install the new ones. He flashed a pink form in front of the judge.
“Not guilty. Dismissed,” the voice chanted.
Wow. Not too tough.
I started to rethink the ‘My mother’s dog is dying’ story that I had planned to tell.

Kisha Samson was called up next. Kisha explained that the meter had expired in front of her Social Services class at college. She said that she lost track of time while she was trying to find work programs for Baltimore’s homeless population.
“Good one,” I thought. She should probably change her major to creative storytelling.
“Not guilty. Dismissed,” the voice chanted again.

Uh, oh- I was next. This could be tricky. Do I stick with the outrageous original plan….or follow in George’s footsteps with simple and to the point?
I followed George.
I talked about parking near the corner, but not too close to the pedestrian walkway. I explained to the judge that I knew this because I was a former Girl Scout and would never overlook the importance of crossing the street safely.
The judge looked mildly entertained.
“Not guilty. Dismissed.”

I couldn’t believe my ears!
Really?! Was it that he believed me? Or did he like the Girl Scout part of the story?
I didn’t know. And I don’t really care.
I think in the 2 hours that I sat inside the cold and hollow courtroom I learned something about life:

If you stand up for what you think is right- with a reason- people will respect you.
No matter what the violation.

The Vitamin Shop

If you are female and in your 30’s you know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s the store that calls out to all women for the sure-fire solution to weight loss.
I’m convinced there isn’t a gal out there who hasn’t stared herself down in the mirror without thinking “What can I do to stop eating?”
The answer might be found in The Vitamin Shop.

“You want what?” says the pimple-faced 22-year-old standing on the other side of the GNC counter. The badge hanging off his Pearl Jam T-shirt reads “Steve.”

I know he heard me. I stare, and then pause. I’m hoping that if I wait a few seconds I won’t have to repeat myself in front of the two bulky men behind me shopping for FatZappers or steroids.
No luck.
I say it again. “Anything for weight loss. I’m feeling puffy lately.”
“Puffy? Are you doing anything differently?” Steve asks.
“Uh,” I try to look like I’m thinking but really I’m stalling.
Do I admit that I’m back on the pill in front of Hulk Hogan and his buddy Montezuma Man?
“Birth control” I whisper.
“BIRTH CONTROL?” he repeats.
Great, thanks.
“Yes, so what do ya got?” I’ve given up. Everyone in the store is here for the same reason I am. Why even try to be slick about it?
“Sure we got lots of stuff” Steve says.
He proceeds to tell me about the Water-Gone pills, BulgeBurners, Cortislim, and Trimspa.
Anna Nicole does look a lot better. But no, it’s not what I want.
“Anything else?” I ask.
Almost in slow motion Steve reaches down beneath the counter.
My heart is pounding. Could this be it? The ultimate solution to thinness forever and ever. I can’t wait any longer.
“I’ll take it!” I blurt out. Even before seeing the elephant-sized jar that he holds in his hand. The pills inside are even bigger.
But Steve has convinced me that this is the answer. Twice a day, without caffeine and no smoking.
I eagerly hand over my credit card.

On my way home I think about my latest purchase. Will it work? If it does will I be perfectly happy? I’m hoping to lose 10 pounds. If I lost it, would I want to lose 10 more?
Probably.
I know me. I’ll take the pills for a week. I might even drop 2 or 3 pounds. But then I’ll move on to something else. Something for my hair…or my closet…or my nails…the list goes on and on.
As I rethink my endless number of self needs I realize that lifelong satisfaction isn’t found in a jar.
But an afternoon and evening full of hope and anticipation might be.

The Bridal Shower. Barf.

I don’t think there is an event in the world any single woman despises more than The Bridal Shower. But for some inexplicable reason the tradition continues.
This weekend was the perfect reminder.

Sitting around the group of gals who somehow or somewhat knew the bride was almost unbearable. I feel guilty writing about it, because a few of them are great friends. But it still makes me want to barf.
Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.
“Ohhhhhh”, the bride-to-be squeals, “it’s a shower cap to match my slippers!” The excitement in her voice sounds almost real. I begin to wonder if I’m the only one who’s guessing that she’s faking it.
Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.
Oh God, I think. This one’s from me.
“Oh it’s beautiful!” She gasps. “A picture frame!”
I’m almost horrified that I remembered to write my name on the card.
“Oh look, it reads ‘Happiness is found in hearts that love.’ That’s sweet. Thank you Jan.”
I smile. I wonder if the entire room can see what an idiot I feel like. What was I thinking? Did I think the imprint was cute and romantic? Clearly, I wasn’t thinking at all. My only hope was that she would quickly open another gift. I couldn’t handle the pressure any longer.
My brain was suddenly consumed with finding an escape. The fire alarm dangling from behind a restaurant plant seemed like a viable option. It could be my chance. Now if I could somehow maneuver my chair closer and pull it without being noticed….I would be free. I could almost taste the fresh air.
As I continued to plot it occurred to me that I didn’t have to be there. In fact, I could have easily sent regrets.
But that’s the catch-all about bridal showers. By not going are you begrudging the joy that the couple expects to cherish for life?
I don’t know.
Maybe bridal showers offer something to a single woman in her 30’s that most parties don’t.
A tangible connection to an event that one day we all hope to celebrate for ourselves.