Category: Big D: Dallas
Bright lights, big city.
Welcome to the shit show
“I thought you were a shit show the first night we hung out,” he laughed.
‘He’ was a guy I’d met while out drinking with friends probably three years ago. ‘He’ (let’s call him Baxter) was also someone I hadn’t seen in well over a year and had ran into while out listening to a band recently.
Not going to lie, it stung to hear him say that. But then … I reflected.
Last year I was in an affair and had my heart very publicly broken. I was also banned from a bar, along with my friends. I gave my friend a black eye (self defense .. have I told that story?). I lost all my belongings to bed bugs. And then found out my dog was dying. Shit. Show.
The night ‘Baxter’ first met me I was out with a group of my girlfriends. We met him on lower Greenville then drug him to our next bar to keep chatting him up and during the midst of that, I decided to sneak away to see the guy I was falling for … THE guy who later broke my heart and banned me from his bar. The guy I’ve written more than a few blog posts about. The guy who I was later in an affair with. Ugh. However, that fateful night, three years ago, we were only just … talking really. I was dumbly and naively crushing on him, thinking it was all very harmless.
While talking to this tall, bearded total RED FLAG, my friends came in to drag me out. One friend in particular … the one who I later had the *cough* altercation with … was being incredibly bossy and in my drunk state I got upset with her and decided to just go home. I’m sure it looked like I was being a brat (I was). I’m sure it also looked like I was being a terrible woman talking to this guy in general and I’m definitely sure it looked like I was a total shit show.
So… fair statement, Baxter.
I have been/can be/might continue to be a bit of a shit show. But I don’t see that as a bad thing.
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Good right now: Or how I found my bench in the sun
It is amazing what can happen in a month.
At the end of March, I moved to a new home, started a new job and embarked on a new chapter in my life. I saw these moves as really positive … and a way to start cultivating better habits. Out with the old, in with the new, right?
What I didn’t take into account was how much the change would actually have on my emotional state. Though the new place was bigger and in a better neighborhood, though my new job is exactly like something I would’ve killed to have been in for the past few years, all this change was draining on my heart. My routine was different, my patterns all off. Most of this was for my good. But even though I might know that on a head level, it didn’t stop my heart from silently panicking and getting overwhelmed. I forget that change … even good change … is really hard for me to handle.
Recently all this change came to a head while I was on a trip in Mexico. I had one of those ‘dark nights of the soul’. Are you familiar? Maybe you’ve had them too. It was, of course, spurred on by alcohol. But every fearful, anxious thought I’ve been trying to squash with talk of positivity and how great and promising this new chapter in my life would be, finally came rushing to the surface. And it brought me to my knees in anguish and tears and a feeling of utter hopelessness.
Memories of my ex, guilt over every loss that was my fault, deep feelings of loneliness and unworthiness, fears that every new good thing will also be taken because so much has, heart ache over unrequited love. A deep pervasive sadness in my soul that seemed too unbearable to overcome. A weight in my chest so heavy it was hard to breathe.
When these dark nights happen (and they don’t happen all that often), they are quite terrifying. I know it’s an emotional response. I know it’s likely sheer emotional exhaustion. It’s temporary. I know this truth on a deep level and yet when I’m in the middle of it it feels as if there is a wall between my heart and this truth. And all there is is swirling darkness and an abyss so deep I can’t fathom ever being able to climb out. And nothing I can do or say seems to soothe me. My only choice is to survive it.
And I did.
Carrie Bradshaw, mohawks and neck tattoos: Or how I found where I belong
I’ve come to the conclusion that Carrie Bradshaw and I would likely have not been friends. (gasp)
This has been a tragic, upsetting realization as I adore her and her friends and that lovely show which inspired the name for this blog. And quite frankly, inspired my life. But I’m starting to think Carrie and I are two very, very different people.
And that’s not a bad thing.
I began to realize this the other night while out with some gorgeous, fabulous women in an area of Dallas known as ‘uptown’. This is a part of Dallas I rarely venture out into. It’s filled with posh night clubs and upscale bars and young 20-30 somethings completely glammed out. Their eyebrows are on fleek, their skin glows, their cheeks are contoured, their eyelashes … lush.
It’s not that I do not like these people. I applaud them for their ability to look like a walking Instagram filter. I’m kind of envious too. It’s just I don’t feel like I … belong. Ever. No matter how much makeup I slather on, no matter how sassy and cute my clothes or how high my heels, no matter how hard I’ve tried to fill in my brows (I still do NOT know how to do this well) .. I feel like a fraud. An imposter. Like a kid dressing up in way-too-mature-for-her clothes … and it’s all the wrong size and I look like I’m playing a part in a tragic play and I know none of my lines.
The Dating Apocalypse: Or how dating in your 30s is a lot like the Walking Dead
His face is haggard, his eyes tired, but he misses nothing. His body, though broken, is strong and poised to strike at a moment’s notice. He is sizing up this stranger to see whether or not he’s a threat.
“How many walkers have you killed?” “How many people have you killed?” “Why?”
If you’re familiar with The Walking Dead, you know that when Rick Grimes and his crew meet new people they might want to bring into their group they ask them these three questions. These questions are loaded and heavy and quickly cut to the heart of a persons character. And they MUST be answered before he’ll even consider bringing a new person into the fold. It was while watching him ask these questions on an episode recently that I had an a-ha moment.
Rick Grimes and I are basically the same person. Yup.
His character is trying to survive the wasteland that is America after the zombie apocalypse happens. I am trying to survive the wasteland that is the dating scene in Dallas in my mid-30’s.
IT IS BASICALLY THE SAME THING. Just kidding … but, no really … kinda the same. Let me tell you why.
This is 35
I drank way too much last night.
It started out with dinner with a good friend. We had wine and some incredible mediterranean food and got into some deep discussions. I love those. The kinds of discussions where it’s food for the soul and you leave feeling sated and full in spirit. I love the safe spaces friends can provide where your burdens become suddenly lighter because you’re carrying them together. I love emotional transparency and vulnerability. Gah. It really was beautiful.
Then I ubered to meet two friends at another bar, more deep discussions (though I must say they started to get a little gibberish-y towards the end cause… vodka). Then ubered to karaoke, sang a song (killed it), then ubered to yet another bar for last call. I don’t even know how much alcohol I consumed. Wine, vodka, whiskey. Oof.
This is 35. For me.
Chickens and Dancing: Thoughts on being single
The greatest part of being single is the chicken. Hear me out.
When I was married (and then in subsequent relationships), I would often buy those yummy delicious rotisserie chickens from Kroger for dinner for us. They are quite literally one of my most favorite things in the world. The first time I bought one of those whole chickens as a single girl I legit rejoiced. BOTH drumsticks were mine. BOTH wings. All the best parts of the chicken. And I didn’t have to share it with ANYONE. I swear I could hear the trumpets sound.
As I sit here in the aftermath of yet another failed attempt at a thing (I mean, can we even call three months a relationship?), there are a lot of things I’m pondering. It’s easy to get caught up in the blame game. Usually this is the point when I start really beating myself up and obsessing over every little mistake and each anxious outburst, but that’s not helpful. The good news is that this time I have finally found a few resources that are helping me discern what actually happened as it relates to me. And it’s giving me tools for any future relationships. I have homework, I have some takeaways and for that I am truly grateful.
Yes, there is work to do. And yes, I am doing it. But for now … for now, I am single. And there are SO many things to rejoice about. For starters, the chicken. The WHOLE chicken.
As a woman who once broke it off with a guy who ate food off her plate (multiple times without asking AND while using his bare hands), I cannot stress the value of this enough.
Dating with Anxiety (Part 2): Or how I’m learning to give myself a break
Last time I talked about some painful things. My anxiety and how that has really become a burden while dating and embarking on a new relationship.
One of the biggest things I’m learning is how to have compassion for myself. And to see things in a clearer perspective (vs the nagging negative voice that has repeatedly told me I’m too much of a burden for anyone, I’ll never be able to have the life or love I truly desire, etc etc).
Four years ago I walked away from a safe space. A marriage and a home with a man who I might not have been in love with, but someone who I did care for, who cared for me (well, most of the time) and who was my partner. I shared everything with this man – my ups and downs, good and bad. It might’ve been unhealthy, unkind, even indifferent but it was certain. I, a person with very intense anxiety, walked away from a very certain and stable future. Did I mention I walked away from a HOME? We had this beautiful home we remodeled. It had a yard. And vaulted ceilings. Sigh. I had safety and security but emotionally we were totally empty.
Walking away from the stability was GD scary. There were moments I was worried I had a brain tumor. My whole self, my entire identity (to a degree), was shifting. I was … becoming me. It was a rebirth in a sense. I knew it had to be done and yet there was a vast amount of time spent going WTF is wrong with me.
