This morning, I stepped out into the light, breathable air and fished around my purse for my sunglasses and the early morning sun was peaking through the buildings on I Street.

<deep breath>

<sigh>

What a gorgeous morning!

I was born and raised under that Austin-esque philosophy that well bred little girls wore dresses, matching ribbons in their hair, and patented leather Mary Jane shoes with matching hats on Sunday. They didn’t get their hands dirty or climb trees or play in the mud. They said ‘yes, ma’am’ and ‘no ma’am’ and ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and understood the value of being seen and not heard. Yes, I had rebellious childhood phases, and jumped on my horse bareback one day when I was ten (I was promptly thrown off, broke my arm and was lucky I wasn’t trampled). And that was the end of that.

By the time I reached the 8^th grade, the mantra was the well bred young ladies were ‘accomplished.’ Meaning – they were not only learning their geography, geometry, American history, etc.; but they were well rounded. They played at least one instrument (the piano for me), took voice lessons, learned to sketch, paint, sing and dance (ballet, tap, jazz AND ballroom – good god I was a busy kid!)

So my parents chose a school for me that embraced this way of thinking - the convent school I transferred into mid-7^th grade (notre-dame prep). And it was on mornings such as these when 15 giggling girls, in their plaid skirts and training bras, would run from morning prayer, out into the crisp spring air and down the sidewalk to the Art Annex – a greenhouse-type, glass enclosed, studio-style structure and we would take our seats at one of the artist/architecture tables arranged in a rectangle shape around the room and begin to work on our semester projects. Whether we were sketching our hands, arranging still-life subjects to paint or practicing watercolor technique, there was always some kind of artistic movement to be expressed or inspiration to be had.

However, it was on mornings such as this that we would go out onto the grounds of the once mansion - turned convent - turned school. We would grab our sketch pads, our charcoal and grey gum artist erasers and sketch out one of the wistful statues contained within the 10-foot iron fence surrounding our campus. We then focused on the negative space in the folds of marble and chatted/gossiped about all those things near and dear to an eighth grader’s heart. What those topics were I’m sure I don’t recall. An impending Latin or science exam? The Spice Girls? Heck if I know!

It was very serene though and lovely to be out doors after a winter cooped up inside with the nuns. However, sitting there in the early morning we never managed to get very far on our sketches. Distracted by our polyester plaid skirts as they became damp despite our efforts to find a patch of grass where the dew was already warmed and dried by the morning sun or the slight breeze compelling us to pull our navy blue cardigans closer around our bodies. Nevertheless, we attempted to fully capture the way in which the sun illuminated the marble, the far off look of a woman suspended forever in stone, or the folds of an angle’s robe as the sun moved an hour’s worth of distance from the eastern horizon.

So apparently your Scarlett has been nominated for DC’s Best Oo-La-La-Messy Relationship Blog.

I won’t pretend that my relationships have NOT been messy since I began my little internet tirades over a year ago – however I didn’t think they’ve been THE messiest in the DC metro area.

Nevertheless, I suppose the following entries may qualify me in some capacity – even reading over them just now got me thinking ‘holy sh*t! It’s been a busy and slightly Aaron Spelling-esque year!'

My random thoughts on men and dating:

·                     Yes, I tried to hook up with a priest

·                     Fending off married men at the office

·                     Further proof that men love bitches

·                     The universal appeal of the 'Bad Boy'

My own drama both recent and not so recent:

·                     Final interaction with a player

·                     Breakup: 12:03 a.m., January 1, 2007

·                     More men than I can handle?? Never!

·                     Relationship Issues: past and present

If you’d like to vote for yours truly or any of the other fabulous bloggers nominated, please do so here!

So sorry I’ve been silent as of late. Work, life and PMS have left me verbally uninspired and pretty much void of creativity.

Ok, enough excuses.

But you’ll be happy to know that I’m feeling good – about life and its forward momentum. However it is tempered with the usual personal demons of self-doubt and the challenges of getting my life together financially, physically and spiritually, but I have been dealing with ghosts of Scarlett past as well.

I am coming to terms with…for lack of a better explanation…ME. There are certainly many things that I love about myself and there are certainly chunks of time where I strut down the street, usually to the rhythm of an Indie rock song blaring through my Cherry Chocolate phone, thinking ‘God! I LOVE being ME!’ And for the most part, I do.

But with the advent of my 5 year college reunion, I have been overly nostalgic as of late. I am definitely looking forward to going back, but I must say I have mixed feelings about my college experience. I enjoyed myself to be sure but I suppose most of my memories and consequently, my regrets stem from my senior year and I must admit, while my first semester 2001, was the best academically by far, the spring semester left much to be desired in terms of grades, involvement in campus life, social life and friendships.

I regret the fact that I was in such a hurry to get out of school, to abandon the precious tree lined quad and end my stint of living with 60 girls in a house with only 8 showers. I regret the fact that I didn’t take more pleasure in researching and writing my 80 page thesis. I regret I haven’t made more of an effort to keep in touch with college friends. I regret the fact that I was so preoccupied with the fact that I was essentially done with school that I neglected my sorority functions. And I think I’m a bit apprehensive to go back more because I’ve convinced myself that still 5 years later, people will remember me as the gal who didn’t go to the little sister ceremony her senior year because she was working on her thesis!

But as I write this I find myself thinking about who I want to see when I go back. And what I remember about them. And I must admit, I don’t remember the bad things so much. I know my little sister and I lived together for two years – and while we fought…quite a bit near the end, I can’t even remember what it was about. I can’t recall who was at which sorority functions or who was absent. I cannot recall the petty arguments that went on amongst silly sorority girls – no doubt the result of too much estrogen, hormones, over exposure to daytime tv and usually incited by a combination of cheap wine, beer, jungle juice or ‘yank me crank me’ (a popular concoction consisting of vodka, seven up, beer and country time lemonade).

I do believe I have spent the last 5 years kicking myself for sins of relatively little consequence. What I do remember also – are hugs at parties accompanied by enthusiastic ‘I LOVE YOU’s of late nights smoking outside on crisp nights. Of road trips. Of laughter.

And so I can only hope that is what will come to the minds of those girls and boys now turned women and men as we see each other again after navigating life more singly than we did before. That they once laughed, cried, bitched, sang, drank, confided in and danced with the redhead with the big smile who was certainly never perfect, but always strong.

 Deep breath. Thank you for helping me prepare to walk down memory lane – also known as main street.