Dear Cohen Family and OC Friends:

It was with a heavy heart that I said goodbye as you left my living room for the last time Thursday night. I have so much to say to you all and I feel so connected to each and every one of you. Please permit me to say goodbye to each of you in my own way. Yes, we cultivate and encourage a very healthy and active fantasy life here at TSL.

For the past 4 years, since the summer of 2003, and I remember that summer because I was undergoing surgery and radiation treatments for cancer, you came into my life. I must admit, I was first introduced to you by a beautiful 25 year old, resembling you, Ryan Atwood – but more of in a preppy, Luke-eque, water-polo player kind of way. I mocked him for leaving happy hour early on Wednesday evenings to spend it with the Newport Group. So naturally I needed to see what all the fuss was about as well as supplying the opportunity for easy discussion about our new mutual friends. But ya’ll surprised me. And I found myself more eager to spend time with you than him, which turned out to be one of the best decisions I could have made.

And when I entered the hospital, you were there to whisk me away to someplace sunny and beautiful. I had Seth to make me laugh and Marisa, lovely Marisa to remind me that I didn’t really have it THAT bad because I had so many people aroud that still loved me.

Sandy & Kirsten – if I ever have redheaded rugrats I want to be parents just like you. Young, beautiful, human, funny, understanding, trendy and compassionate.

Seth: You would have been just my type in high school. Nerdy, smart, sarcastic, eclectic, funny, artistic and a tad spastic in that ‘I’ve made one too many trips to Starbucks’ kind of way. I’m so proud of the way you’ve grown up and come into your own before our eyes. I look on you as I do my own little brother, as you remind me of him soooo much. You’ve had your growing pains, its true, but its all worked out, you’re the better man for it, and in the end…you got the girl.

Summer: Once seemingly the blaze cheerleader, you were, I think pushed by Seth to discover who you really are not dumb…just shallow! And really, who can’t respect that?? You, Summer Roberts are a sarcastic, bitchy, dry, funny, sensitive gal and I know, while we may never be able to share the joy of raiding each other’s closets, I know we will be friends forever.

Marisa “Coop” Cooper – may you rest in peace. You taught us all to count calories (and your ribs) as well as the valuable lesson of – no matter how bad things get, they can always get worse. You strong strong gal. Hardened by life and parental dysfunctionality.  We have missed you terribly and we know that in the end, Newport could no longer survive without you in it. Fear not, we shall meet again in that great big Keds commercial in the sky.

Taylor: Oh Taylor. How many times did I watch you with your ‘To Do’ lists, entourage of romantic yet-not-quite-right trysts and your endless ability to speak so quickly and for so long without stopping or even taking a breath (the Russian found out to his own detriment on Monday night, that I also possess this ability)…and then there was that flashback to second grade, with your coke bottle glasses, your hair in pigtails, wanting desperately to be accepted by the in-crowd. Sigh. Taylor – you have only to dye your hair ala Julie Cooper, grow a few inches (and a few cup sizes) and we’d be twins. Though for my sake, and the sake of those routinely in my company, I do hope I have mellowed out in the past few years making the connection a little less than blatantly obvious.

Ryan: Ryan (girly, dreamy smile comes over face)…..mmmm……Ryan Atwood. You satiated my bad-boy desires every week and sometimes more on DVDs. Your wife beaters showing off those gorgeous arms, that illusive smirk, your brooding, pensive nature. In fact, all of my bad boy crushes (note I said crushes, not relationships) over the past 4 years have actually BEEN about 5’9 with short blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes!  Huh. This is a pattern that I’ve never quite detected before…I believe this is the moment that therapists refer to as “the breakthrough”.

And last…but CERTAINLY NOT the least….Julie.

Julie Cooper: You put it best when you said ‘this town is only big enough for ONE manipulative bitch!’. And that, my dear…is you. My redheaded, socialite role model. In a fantasy world, you are my big sister and I want to grow up to be just like YOU, but without the lying…and the cheating…and the marrying for money (well…we can leave that on the list). But with the strength, and the survival instinct, which is not to be trumped by the FASHION instinct (see! Marrying for money has its perks!) and the general air of fabulousness. I was proud of you, sis. Yes, proud of you for choosing to find yourself over having a man in your life. Bravo, Red. Bravo! You always land on your feet – and wear expensive footwear when you do!

Goodbye, my friends. Goodbye to the colorful world of Newport Beach. As I look around, shake my head and realize that I am left with none but the doctors at Seattle Grey’s to try and distract me, from my somewhat colorless (at present) east coast life.

And I shiver, crawl back under my electric blanket, and dream myself back beside the infinity pool.

Yours Always,  

Honestly, after a week long hiatus, its so difficult to decide what to write about. So I guess I’ll go with the most noteworthy development.

When I was 18, my then boyfriend, Harvard (first love) decided it was time to take the next step in our oh so “serious” relationship: meeting the parents. Harvard was from Seattle – so I got myself on an airplane and flew out west.

A few quick things to say about Harvard – Harvard is an only child. Harvard is an only SON. Harvard is an ONLY, JEWISH, SON.

I was doomed from the time the flight attended warned us of the danger of shifted objects during flight. Oh I had done the prep work! I had read his mother’s published mystery novel, sent her a note telling her how much I enjoyed it. Even brought her a first edition of her favorite book!

Sigh. It turned out to be a hopeless quest. I believe her exact words to her son were “is she ALWAYS this perky??”

Since that day…I have managed to steer clear of the parents of significant others (mind you this involved a great deal of maneuvering and car chases that would make 007 take notice). That was until this past week.

Folks, I was too slow – and the Russian (WITH his parents) caught up with me. And these weren’t just any parents my friends….his mom was none other than [insert name of high profile political personae here]. Why, oh why, can’t I date a guy with a normal mom!? Like Donna Reed – whatever happened to HER son?

Um….ya…..frankly, Scarlett hadn’t been this nervous since she was forced to enter a Sigma Chi bikini contest during hell week her freshman year.  

As I was prepping that morning, on my third outfit, 5^th pair of shoes and second strand of pearls, I started thinking “what if she doesn’t like me” “what if this is just a repeat of the Harvard Mom?” “What if I get a run in my thigh highs?” “Why did I agree to meet them!” “And why THE HELL are my hands shaking!?”

That’s when it dawned on me….I was on my fourth cup of coffee in an hour and a half.

Now normally, I’m a girl that can hold my caffeine, but the adrenaline was already a pumpin’ and I was shaking like a crack squirrel on crystal meth. I then came to my senses and realized that a bloody strong bloody mary was in order.

Fear not, your Scarlett pulled it together at the last minute – and the Russian Rents adored yours truly.

Now the Russian needs to brave Sue Ellen and entourage. I hope he’s equal to the task! I think he so – you know what they say….with the right amount of alcohol, anything is possible.

The problem with the vicious cycle of relationships (or at least the ONE problem that has chosen to irk me today) is that the more dating you do….the more 'firsts' you loose.

For example – our first kiss.

Our first ‘time’…(thank god there's only ONE of those).

Our first love.

As we go from failed relationship to failed relationship these once novel occurrences tend to fade into not the mundane but perhaps the routine. This is not to say that your first date or first movie night or inaugural foray into the bedroom won't be incredibly special with your new someone because of course every relationship is different. But it will inevitably loose a bit of its uniqueness and to varying degrees.

For example, we may have had more than two dozen first dates in our lives, but only a handful of 'meeting the parents' moments; twenty-something first kisses, but only three proposals of marriage (hey! I've never said 'yes'!).

These past experiences will forever be a part of our history. Development. E-True Hollywood Stories.

We know their significance (or lack thereof) because we were there, lived it and moved on. For most of the 20-30 something dating world, they are par for the course. You go into these relationships thinking ‘you’ve dated. I've dated. You've been in a few relationships. I've been in a few relationships. You've had sex while flying an airplane. I’ve….wait. wha? huh?’

But what happens when your ‘firsts’ don’t exactly match up? I’m not talking about the fact that you’ve done ‘it’ at 30,000 feet and he has yet to receive his mile high membership card, I’m referring to the BIG ‘firsts’. 

First time living with someone. First engagement. First wedding. (the last two I hope will be not only firsts but only’s for me)

As is the case with most scenarios in which one partner is more experienced than the other, we all want to know – was it better the first time around? How do I make this time different? And if I’m not THE first – can I be the LAST ‘first’ they’ll ever have?

So then this problem really comes down to being haunted not by the ghosts of YOUR past but of theirs – which is far worse because you’re left to wonder. You’re left with the morbid curiosity, having not experienced the memories for yourself, of how the partner who is now yours was once….theirs.

Normally the concept of Ex’s doesn’t bother me. I’m a confident, secure woman and typically operate under the assumption of ‘he WAS with her and now he’s with ME (lucky him).’ However, in my current situation this is easier said than done I’m afraid. Especially when his past isn’t quite legally out of our present and harassing him daily for some kind of reconciliation, professing her undying love, the fact that they are ‘soul mates’, and that he’s making ‘the biggest mistake of his life’ by ending their relationship (gag!).

The Russian naturally give reassurance of his affection for and devotion to me daily yet I still find myself repressing this uncontrollable urge to fly out to Vegas and shut her up Jerry Springer style.

However, I suspect that after the embarrassingly large display of red roses delivered to my office from the Canadian on Wednesday, own my baggage isn’t exactly willing to store itself neatly in the proverbial overhead compartment.

In a slightly un-Scarlett like matter have come to a decision about this year's Valentine's Day. I have decided not to make gagging noises or annoyed gestures at the intertwined couples on metro trains, in restaurants or huddled together on sidewalk corners this year. And no, it is not because I find myself not all together single this February.

Instead I propose a celebration – of the people you do love today and the many ways in which you experience that feeling. So dear readers I encourage you to embrace the love around you:

Of your parents who will love you no matter what bonehead things you’ve done in the past or how much money you have recently borrowed after finding yourself unable to pay your phone bill post a trip to Atlantic City (sorry, Daddy!).

Of your friends who will take you home five minute after the New Year has begun and sit with you while you bawl your eyes out over boy living north of the border; who will make you laugh till you cry, validate your feelings, will take you to lunch and make you feel better about being you, and show you that you will never have to go it alone. I love you, my friends, from the bottom of my heart.

Of your pets who depend on you for everything and who love you unconditionally.

Of your brothers and sisters who despite family feuds, will always be there for you in the end.

Of your love of the written word, of books, and poetry, plays and blogs.

And most importantly, of yourselves. Knowing that none of us can be truly happy and whole in ANY relationship that Hallmark or Godiva may celebrate unless we are first whole ourselves. I encourage you to love not only the person that you are but the one you are striving to become.

Whether any of us will be fortunate enough to find that one special person to love us forever, in the meantime we should not ignore the love that surrounds us every day, celebrate it and embrace it.

This evening, for instance, I will be embracing my love of red wine, my love of  thin crust veggie pizza and my love chic flicks that make me cry and perpetuate the hope of single women everywhere in happily every after.  

Frankly,

Roommates have come and gone since I’ve been in this apartment. Some have been sane – others not so much. But I must say I’m on quite the lucky streak with my choice of roommates over the past year (knock on wood).

And I have been very very remiss to you, my readers, in not introducing my current roommate. Enter the ever inquisitive, uber sexy, friendly, bubbly reporter that lives in the room opposite me – Lois Lane. Who, I have recently discovered is also a very talented writer and newbie blogger – check her out at The Voice Over.

Below are her musings on living with Scarlett - notice how she omitted the story of our first night hanging out together which involved my ex boyfriend, open containers, Jager shots,and freezing our asses off while waiting for 4 drunken frat boys to pick us up (one of those frat boys was the Russian, btw - PRE lust)

So here it is-  my first guest blog post – I’m so excited!

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Dear Readers of TSL,

Life with Scarlett is a refreshing twist to my previous boring living arrangement pre-DC.

Two strangers separated by a quaint TV room and kitchen, it is quite interesting how Craig's List can bring two young professional women into each other lives. Though we both have our own sets of friends in the city, Scarlett brings a great deal to the table, and that is not counting cocktails.

When you live with someone, you learn a lot about yourself and others. In my case, it has been a fun two months, complete with high utilities, occasional pizza deliveries, and butt busting Pilates, it has been an easy moving adjustment. Not to mention residing with The Energizer Cat (you thought it was a bunny? it's not).

Aside from us having professions in the same arena, we share other interesting similarities. Our love of the Japanese language (hai. so desu.), our tutu wearing days of ballet (now over), and our intolerance to all technology (all responses to blog will be directly texted to my cell, email, and facebook account).

Can you tell neither of us are sarcastic either?

Scarlett is sharp, intelligent, sassy, and full of generosity. Our bubbly personalities mesh well, and that makes us good roommates.  Plus we are freakin rad.

Aside from doing each others hair and makeup, giggling through sexually explicit material,  and the occasional breaking of a glass (i'm SO sorry by the way), we mainly see each other on weekends.

We share our successes, low points, and (my favorite) our hilarious random happenings of our lives. This is when the Dominos Thin Crust has proven to be a key factor in strengthening relationships (I get no dough for this free publicity). For two young 20-something, professional, gym-attending, women, thin crust pizza brings people closer together. Especially in a crazy ever-changing world, girls need girls to talk to, it is how we get through (since males are so primitive but we love them for it).

Though we are entitled to one free day a week of guilt-free eating, (Enter dominos thin crust) where we don't count the calories.

This slice of life with Scarlett is definitely one to be documented.

***********************

Giggle. Thank you for putting up with me, Lois! OH – get the door – it’s Domino’s! 

Ahhhh divine exhaustion.

I’m so tired. But it’s a good tired. It’s a tired you can only feel after 3 days of an incredibly productive week, thriving under pressure, excelling  meeting deadlines, testing limits. Definite adrenaline rush. Somehow, the more I have to do, the more I get done. Is that odd? If I have no strict deadlines, easy days, my work piles up, I procrastinate, don’t work out, etc. etc. Perhaps that’s it! If I have the ABILITY to procrastinate, I will. If not – well….I guess it extends to my personal life as well.

I’m a freak – I know.

But the one problem with excelling at something is that I find myself  a bit less tolerant of mediocrity while I’m kicking ass, which leads to frustration. Frustration with the inability to proofread, format, meet deadlines, or be able to do ANYTHING without me holding your hand and walking you through it, 5 times. Yes! FIVE bloody times! I sh*t you not. 

 Ugh.

That’s all I’ve got tonight, people. Just working hard…chatting with the Russian…trying to avoid the chocolate in the heart, love, cupid, stuffed animal hallmark aisles at CVS fighting off a cold and savoring the evening of the best and worst of American Idol season 6 with a glass of red.

What can I say? Simple minds….

Fear not, I’ll come up with something entertaining to write about soon – on the to do list:

The introduction of the new roommate, my adventures at Playgirl Magazine, and my Singles Awareness Day plans!

XO