Lola's Last Night~

It is here. The big, tell-all bachelorette blog. Are you ready????

First things first. The ladies all need aliases. It is mandatory. Also, it is fun. Last night at dinner my blog was brought up and apparently aliases are crowd pleasers. We had some discussions about possible aliases, but no hard decisions were made. Probably because the alcohol was messing with our ability to stay on topic for very long. With that in mind, all my ladies have a few days to request an alias change from what I am about to give them if they so choose.

So this is our cast for the evening....myself, my sisters Lola (the bachelorette) and Leah, my sisters-in-law Fiona and Olive, my friends Sasha and Stella, and four new blog characters. Actually, I am lying. One of the 'new' characters is actually my friend Cindy, who has been mentioned in this blog many times - but always as 'my friend Cindy'. I repeatedly think of aliases for her and then forget what I picked. Starting today, she gets to be....Charlotte. Our three new blog inductees are Lola's best friend that lives out of state and is pretty much an honorary sister at this point, and two sisters that Lola and I know from high school. Lola's best friend gets to be...Hot Mama...and one of our sister friends really wanted to be known as MacGruber - so by default her sister gets to be MacKenzie. One brief note before moving on to our tale. We seriously have the best girl group ever. There is nothing that makes you feel better than a night out with a group of women that just get you. There is major power in a group of strong, fearless females - and ladies, I am proud to call you all members of my wolf pack.

So we kick off the night at a local restaurant that we all know and love. Partly because they have good food, but mostly because we like to go drink wine there. Hot Mama made us all adorable wine glasses - leaving us no choice but to fill them. We had a brand spanking new server who told us it was his first night on his own. And the poor kid gets a group of eleven shameless, noisy, wine drinking ladies looking for mischief. He held his own fairly well and we kept our harassment to a minimal level. We ate, we drank, we made Lola open lingerie in the dining room, and we had a man at the next table start unbuttoning his shirt for us. (We tried to talk him up onto a chair, but he demurred.) We took a gazillion pictures, laughed like idiots, had Lola pretend to be a waitress at a nearby table, and pretty much probably annoyed anyone that was looking for a quiet dinner out. Thankfully, the waitstaff is mostly familiar with us and fairly tolerant.

Having done our damage there, we migrated out into the neighborhood on foot, wine glasses in hand. We hit a handful of downtown bars for fill-ups and continue making Lola earn pretty thongs by doing things that would have been embarrassing when we were younger, but as mentioned before- we are all pretty much shameless now. Here are a few highlights from our walk:

• Olive and Fiona trapping a man in the bar on his way out so that we could get a picture of them holding onto his suspender straps. This was really funny in person and he was a good sport.


• Lola using the waitress to get a condom. This is only hysterical because she got it off the kid working the bar, but he made the waitress promise to keep it hush hush because his dad was in the bar and he didn't want him to know he gave her a condom. hahaha


• We went to an outdoor bar on the river and there was some Jamaican music being played....so naturally Lola and Olive went to the dance area and Lola played the bongo on Olive's pregnant belly for the bar. I laughed so hard I cried, but that may have been the whiskey leaking out my eyeballs.

And this was the tame part of the evening....

We all found our vehicles and the designated drivers herded us all together and we headed over the bridge into our city's little bar district. We started out at the martini bar, where Lola was supposed to find a guy that would give her his underwear. Instead she found a man that ripped off his underwear TAG for her. (He wears Tommy boxers if you were wondering) Then she had to sing a song to someone - so naturally we picked one of the band members that was on break for maximum embarrassment. She did good, although I still have no idea what song she was singing. We danced there for a bit to the decent cover band and then progressed to the pub up the street. I am going to admit that at this point my detail recollection is going to get fuzzy. By this time we have had wine, whiskey, martinis, and are back to whiskey. No one got messy drunk, but we were definitely all feeling good. I remember lots of dancing, lots of singing back at the band, searching for a bald head to kiss, (which never happened because the one guy we found was too sweaty - Lola refused) and at some point Lola opened up her last pair of panties - which Hot Mama thoughtfully made granny panties.

Right around then, we decide to go to the bar across the street where, let's be honest, we are considered the old people. It is the bar where you are most likely to be propositioned in disgusting ways or have drinks spilled on you. It is the bar with the biggest dance floor - which worked well for our party. It is also the bar that Lola and I used to frequent during the infamous summer of sinning. We lose Stella to a guy at the bar and head to the dance floor, periodically sending someone to check on her and make sure she didn't want to be saved. By the end of the evening the guy started saying profanity every time one of us came over, proving our theories about this bar, but Stella enjoyed him for the moment. We closed the bar down there, spending the last part of the night with a trio of wet behind the ears 21 year old kids who thought we were the coolest thing since sliced bread. One of them was so cute I wanted to stick him in my pocket and make him my pet - in a completely non-sexual way. He was adorable. He was completely agreeable to the plan, but I don't think I have the energy for caring for an overgrown boy laced up with hormones and beer. When we left him he was dancing around proudly wearing Lola's bright pink bachelorette sash. Stand up kid.

All in all, a fantastic evening. And most of us even stayed awake long enough to have last call. Although I wouldn't be lying if I said that we spent most of the last hour complaining about our heeled boots and trying to hold back yawns. Everyone had a great time, got home safe, and the story almost ends there. However, my phone rings off the hook at nine the next morning. Five minutes late my mom pulls in my driveway frantic that I need to go pick up my Jeep before they tow it. Apparently 911 dispatch called her to let her know my Jeep was parked in a parking lot that was scheduled to be re-paved that morning. What are the odds? Apparently, I should have answered my phone. So at 9:30 the morning after, I get dropped off in front of an group of construction workers in my pajama shorts and a tank top. Not the best way to heal a hangover. Just in case you were wondering.

Congrats to Wallace and Fiona~

Today, a little after midnight, our heroine's baby brother Wallace and his pretty new wife Fiona had their own baby boy. He is not even twenty four hours old and I am here to report that he is going to be a serious heartbreaker. He is, in a word, spectacular.

New babies always make me incredibly happy and incredibly jaded at the very same time. I have a niece through my marriage to Brad and two of my brothers have each given me a nephew. There is one more gender-fuzzy child in utero, to be making his/her debut in December. (I was not lying when I said my crazy, circus family was in expansion mode.) During all my time with said children and during all the fun baby events and hoopla - I am, for the most part, thrilled to be in that moment. Going home to a child free house at the end of all such hoopla - I am, about half of the time, frustrated at my own lack of prodigy.

I am not a career-minded individual. I have never dreamed of advancement and fulfillment through a job. I worked hard at whatever I did, believing that it would help get me to the point in my life where I could focus on what I thought was most important - starting and raising a family of my own. At the hospital last night while we waited for the appearance of our newest nephew, Lola and I were talking with a few other people about how it takes all kinds to make up the world; about how perfect it is that there are some people that feel a calling for working with the eldery or teaching or management or whatever - because then everyone that follows their passion plays a vital role in our world. I have always felt like my passions in life are all secondary to having the kind of family that I was raised in. I want to create that kind of enviroment for myself and my future kids.

The issue with this is that it is not something I can make happen on my own. Which frustrates me to no end. In life, for the most part, I have been able to achieve whatever I want. I am not afraid of working hard, I learn quickly, and I am willing to put in the effort to get where I want to go. Over the years this has earned me success in my career and in my lifestyle. If something is firmly in my control, then I can make it happen. Families and relationships are not like that. It was a hard lesson to learn when I was with Brad. It didn't matter how hard I worked, how much effort I put in - my marriage couldn't be fixed by myself alone. Having kids is a very similar kind of adventure.

Could I raise a family on my own? Probably. Do I want to? Not really. But the older I get the less I am willing to wait for someone that I think is worth building a family with. I feel like every birthday that passes I stop and evaluate the delicate balance of my life and whether I am ready to risk doing it all along and forever changing the course of my life- or if I should just be patient.

Time shall tell....

Peeing With the Door Open~

I think it is inevitable that after a breakup you tend to indulge in postmortem analysis of everything the came and went during your relationship. You get pissed all over again at all the slights and faults of your partner. You think about all the sweet, quiet moments that you don't get to have again and grieve. You play the 'what if' game and try and second guess your actions and wonder if any other outcome was possible..or if God/fate/karma just meant for things to happen this way. I am probably more likely than the average Joe to indulge in this backward thinking. I won't go so far as to say that I enjoy wallowing - but I am comfortable in my emotions. I had a fantastic Wednesday night wake for my failed relationship - complete with wine and American Idol - alternating being sad and being angry. I am still uncertain which one wins. I suppose it depends on when you ask me still.

In the course of this wallowing, I thought about if it was possible that I could have acted in a way that created a different ending. If I could have adjusted so that Chet and I were still annoying Cindy (hmmm...still can't remember her alias) with our cutesy facebook chatter. Without even thinking really hard I could come up with things I should have handled differently or moments where I should have talked something out instead of glossing it over - but nothing that would have changed the path we were on. Just typical duh moments that happen in all our relationships - platonic and non - that we wish we could revisit for a moment. So if I asked myself if I could have changed something concrete, the answer is no. Despite my mistakes and flaws, I always gave an honest representation of who I am and what I was looking for. I was exactly who I said I was, who I have been all along.

However - here is what I would change. Peeing with the door open.

Bear with me here for a moment and (for most of you) this will make sense shortly. When Chet and I started dating, we pretty much ran head first into this relationship. It was hard not to really...we already knew each other so there was no getting-to-know-you dating lag time. He had met my family weeks before we even kissed, so family was already involved. And people were just so freaking happy for us. Don't get me wrong - I loved the support and the enthusiasm. At first it was fantastic to have everyone be so excited. But what happens when you hear "oh-you-guys-are-perfect-together!" over and over from all your friends and family? It creates this strange, invisible pressure...to be perfect and to get it right. And I think it made us rush to this place where we were almost old-and-married....when we should have been still looking for dark corners to make out in like randy teenagers.

Enter....peeing with the door open. Chet's apartment has old doors that don't like to stay shut. Chet also has a very curious puppy that doesn't believe that you are allowed to go into a room if she can't go, too. So before we were even dating a few solid weeks, there were two choices. Play with the door forever like an idiot and jump up mid-pee to protect it from the invading puppy or surrender gracefully and pee with the open door. I am not a squeamish, shy kind of girl. The literal act of peeing with the door is not what is the point here. But there is an intimacy in sharing a bathroom. An intimacy that typically comes from time...and the sharing of sweatpants and toothbrushes. We just were not to that point. (I actually don't ever like to share my toothbrush - one boyfriend borrowed it once and I just went and bought a new one.) Of course this didn't automatically doom us, but it is just the early precursor to our habit of skipping ahead. The event that swung the tide, for me, was Vegas.

Vegas was.....awesome, fun, exhausting, and stressful. We went for Fiona and Wallace's wedding and we really did see some very cool things. We also came home with all our belongings and even some of our cash, so all in all it was a successful trip. But Vegas amped up all this pressure that was there. Now, of course, keep in mind this is my viewpoint and how I feel. If you ask Chet he may very well tell you that he just couldn't take my candles or snoring any longer. I don't know, because frankly we just don't talk well. So you will have to go to him for his side. But for me, Vegas made everything feel....hmmm...I don't even have the word for it really...'heavy' maybe? Weighty? Serious? Not because we took a trip together, but because is was ...Vegas.

So in the weeks leading up to our trip, and when we were there, and when we came back...all we heard was "are you getting married?", "did you get married?", and "when are you going to get married?". It wasn't even just one person that kept on about it - there were just so many people that liked us together or were happy for us....which is a great thing, don't get me wrong. It made me feel confident in my decision to be with Chet when all our friends and family were so certain that we were good for each other. And Chet and I were not blameless. We played it up sometimes to mess with people. It felt good to have people be excited for us and it was fun and cute....at first. But it began to pile up and create expectations - and I am a people pleaser so I began to worry and stress about expectations. I would not be exaggerating to say that I probably had about fifty conversations with curious people about where Chet and I were in regards to getting married - and we had been dating for two months at this point. It was so much pressure to place on a fledgling romance. Too much pressure. And in the last home stretch here, I really felt like I was pulled so thin that nothing was getting my best effort. Not Chet, not my family, not my home or my puppies or school. I felt like I was losing bits of my life under this pressure to be as perfect and as serious as everyone thought we were. I began to feel like a regular dinner and a movie date was my new holy grail.

So if I had to go back and do it again, I wouldn't change myself. However, I would have slowed everything down. I would have not done his laundry or taken care of his dog every night. I would have spent that time shopping online for naughty underwear and sent him texts of my favorites. I would have made him ask me out for dinner and a movie instead of meeting him at his house in pajama pants with take out. I would have stayed in that dating stage as long as possible. Instead of trying to be everything he needed - I would have just been the girl he went out with 2 nights a week and dreamed about for the rest of them. I would have resisted the urge to jump ahead. And I would have bought a heavy duty stopper for the bathroom door.