A wise (and I might add, beautiful) woman once told me “you have to put out positive things into the universe in order to receive positive things in return.”

Unfortunately, I haven’t quite been able to implement this piece of advice, which I know to be good and right and the very recipe for healthy and normal self (just add a pinch of Martha Stewart sunshine and stir). I've tried! And I smile, and the anti-depressants kick in and life is good for an hour or two.

But, I do still cry. I can’t help it. There is usually music involved, something about love, or loss or….trees(?). It really doesn’t take much. But I HAVE erased all traces of DHT, Corrine Bailey Rae and Gabriel Mann from my iPod. That’s got to give me a FEW sunshine points, no?

I’m sure you’ve all had images dancing in your head of your darling Scarlett staying in night after night with no one but Ben, Jerry, Van Gough (bottle half empty) and the cast of the OC (still alive and well on my TiVo) to comfort her. And while, on the surface, this ensemble could be construed as a rather…lively… way to spend an evening, it's not QUITE an accurate description of my daily routine.

Fortunatley, the universe has its own rosey colored plans for me, dispite a lack of deposits its 'positivity' accounts weighed against a hefty portfolio of doom and gloom.   For starters, I’ve gotten some wonderful, quality friend time in recently! Barbie time, XO & G time has been wonderful if slightly emotional and intoxicating. I’m hoping our encounters in the near future will take an upturn turn ala the sunny spring weather!

Job is great – I’m busy, which I love. Kicking ass and taking names – what I do best (professionally anyway)! And since the federal government has deemed me fit to handle super secret stuff, I'll be starting my new position in June after a much needed vacation. So that's DEFNITELY something to look forward to. 

And then there’s Army – who is nothing short of perfect. He’s gotten the friend thumbs up, the very decerning cat vote, and even my father thinks he's brillant. Our relationship is insanely open and honest, and sickenly healthy. Weekends on the Eastern Shore, hiking, movies, grilling, drinking, dancing and all around general fabulousness.

And sometimes it feels right. And sometimes I’m happy and I laugh. And sometimes, I forget, and I let myself start to care, but then I stop. I stop because I’m scared. I stop because he’s leaving. I stop because I’m not quite whole.

Maybe he won’t turn out to be the Sandy to my Kirsten, but right now, he's definitely the Zack to my Summer**.

But here's a question: how do you fully enjoy the Newport colored sunset when you know it will eventually disappear? And puh-lease don't tell me 'live for today', because that philosophy only REALLY works in Jonathan Larson musicals.

 Frankly,

*If you get this reference (and no - I'm not referring to the case of South African Zin delivered to my apartment yesterday afternoon), give yourself cool points for the rest of the month! You're set!

(Written on Saturday.....I may take it down again)

How do you let go? How do you finally say goodbye without saying a word? How do you just mentally release when your thoughts and anger are the only you can cling to at night, even when there’s someone else sleeping right beside you?  

How do you drop your memories, your feelings, everything you know in your heart to be true? How do you just walk away? How do you stop your tears from falling even on the most beautiful spring morning you’ve ever seen? 

How do you stop wondering if it will ever REALLY be OK? If you’ll ever be THAT happy again?

Why, after knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that you deserved better, do you still want what you know is so wrong? And why, when you’ve changed your life for the better, given it renewed momentum , a green light for progress – you want nothing more than to put it in reverse?

Yesterday, I was elected, via popular vote plus an almost unanimous bid from the super delegates (Britney Spears and Michael Jackson pulled two votes each) the sole party candidate for the Presidential election of Crazy Town. I am currently attempting to withdraw my candidacy effective immediately, but the locals keep pulling me back in with bribes of happy pills and bottles of wine.

I have severe reservations about disclosing the exact events and/or circumstances under which I earned a VIP seat on the Express Train to Crazy Town (which bypasses Obsessive-ville, goes way beyond Nuts-o City and stops just short of Lunatic Junction) yesterday afternoon. Let’s just say it was a very, very low point that did no one (least of all ME) any good. A low point, a cavern if you will, which ultimately left me sitting across from Barbie #3 at a Dupont bar last night recounting my ride to Crazy Town whilst tears streamed from my red, puffy eyes that I tried to mask oh so cleverly behind Jackie-O sunglasses.

Thankfully, by the time my second Guinness was delivered by what had the be the WORST waiter in the history of food service, the tears had abated and I had re-applied my eye makeup, the evening took a decided turn for the better. By the end of the night, life didn’t seem quite so hopeless, and while I was still VERY crazy, at least I was laughing at my own insanity.

I will spend this weekend waiting to purchase a one way ticket back to the realm of sanity while I try to forget the fact that my friends are at my alma mater without me. And that despite his undeserving behavior, Fuckhead will be with them and I will not. I will try not to remember last year’s reunion and look, instead towards to future and concentrate on the present.

I have a beautiful weekend planned with Army to be spent on the Eastern Shore at a little Bed & Breakfast with sailing, shopping and sea food. Frankly, it sounds infinitely preferable to fraternal drama, substance abuse, and feeling significantly older than my 21 year old, undergraduate counterparts.

So continuing with the more positive, upbeat attitude (at least I’m trying to fake it), I accepted the challenge of Michelle in the City. I doubt any of my silly joys and obsessions hold very much interest for you, dear readers, but here they are and I encourage you to do the same! What do YOU love?*

I love coming out of cold movie theatres into warm summer nights. I love the smell of suntan lotion. I love the feeling of silk pajamas on my skin. I love wearing my hair in pigtails. I love the smell of fresh cut grass. I love swinging on swing sets. I love Cowboy hats. I love hearing my cat purring next to my head. I love waking up to freshly fallen snow. I love the crunching sound of my shoes as I walk along a dirt road. I love my bed. I love the smell of pine trees on my family’s farm.

I love seeing babies smile. I love key chains. I love the fact that I have six toe rings. I love angry girl music. I love InStyle magazines. I LOVE hot hot showers. I love the sound of rapidly typing on my keyboard when I have fresh, new ideas to share. I love road trips. I love mixed CDs with no rhyme or reason to their song choices. I love the colors red, yellow and pink. I love blogging. I love driving even though I don’t own a car. I (unfortunately) love to worry about things over which I have little to no control. I love glitter. I love my red hair. I love Facebook ‘Flair’.

I love classical music – more specifically, especially anything by Mussorgsky. I love party dresses. I love rediscovering how many stars are really in the sky when you’re away from the city lights. I love the smell of lilac bushes. I love the grainy feel of sand between my toes. I love falling asleep on the couch. I love sleep masks. I love dark nail polish on my toes. I love Subway’s seafood subs on wheat bread with vinegar. I love books on tape/CD/mp3. I love red wine. I love the large fountain in the National Sculpture Garden on Friday nights when they have live jazz.

I love Christmas trees. I love playing the piano. I love my high school. I love to sing in the car. I love the fact that I have volumes of journals dating back to 1994, they’re a record of my growth, my life, experiences, hopes, dreams and loves. I love long, passionate kisses. I love getting caught in misty rain. I love music and lyrics from Dar Williams, Tori Amos, Ani DiFranco and Diana Krall. I love phone calls that last for hours. I love musical theatre. I love all books written by Jane Austen and Elizabeth Wurtzel. I love Michigan football. I love Texas football. I love IMAX 3-D movies. I love my hometown with its one traffic light.

I love leopard print high heels. I love Potbelly’s skinny chocolate malts. I love Washington DC monuments illuminated at night. I love history books. I love Sudoku puzzles. I love Marilyn Monroe and Bette Davis movies. I love oysters. I love kicking ass while watching Jeopardy (even if there’s no one there to notice). I love traveling. I love skimming across the water in speed boats. I love the smell of salt water. I love Hugh Grant movies. I love reading books about classical history. I love the first sip of beer on a Saturday morning during football season. I love finding hole-in-the-wall restaurants with great food. I love catching all the metro trains at just the right times.

I love the smell of spring. I love Opera. I love walking barefoot in the front lawn of my parent’s house.  I love stretching after a hard workout. I love Riesling. I love rubies. I love funky t-shirts. I love giving people presents and watching them get excited. I love waking up next to someone I love. I love lacy boyshorts (and the way my ass looks in them!). I love collecting Owls. I love listening to talk radio. I love Goat Cheese! I love singing all the lyrics to Kid Rock's 'Cowboy'. I love the way my cats follow me around. I love the smell of clean laundry. I love falling asleep to Wyndham Hill cd’s. I love grilled cheese with cheddar and tomato. I love hot tubs. I love sitting around campfires and eating s’mores. I love flavored coffee with skim milk. I love bubble baths.

I love the way my legs look in heels and a short skirt. I love flirting. I love yellow jellybeans. I LOVE red lipstick. I love itty bitty kittens. I love walking down the street with music that reflects my attitude singing through my headphones – as if my life has its own soundtrack. I love fresh strawberries. I love ribbons. I love my Cherry Chocolate cell phone. I love crossword puzzles. I love friends that you can sit in silence with and still enjoy the company.  

Frankly, With Love,

*I challenge you to make your own list or leave a love of yours in the comments. The only catch? You can't include a single person you know on your list. No "I love the way my husband laughs" or "I love hearing my little girl call for me." It'll be tough, I know. But this particular little exercise is about stripping away everyone who defines you and figuring out what you (not his partner; not their mother/daughter/sister/friend) love.

I have a few posts brewing in my overcluttered, hyper-analyzing brain at the moment, some more thoughtful, some more angsty than others. However, as I berated you with angst last week, I’ll pick a topic from the more positive end of the spectrum to give you a brief rest.

As many of you know, the strains of work, life and love have been wearing on me over the past month. Moving on while desperately trying to leave the past behind, dwelling in possibility and trying to cope with the reality that I do not, in fact, have complete control over the world around me. Ultimately I cannot even control my own heart. I cannot tell it to stop loving someone bad, start loving someone infinitely better, or even to let go and trust someone one more time.

I never did get together again with the Canadian. Although we did talk and the thing he said that resonated with me the most was – ‘I love you. I want to give you a real relationship. A proper one.’ Those words have stuck with me over the past few days.

My affection for this man has ebbed and flowed over the past five years, hoping and praying that he’d ‘change’, that he’d give me what I want – namely, a ‘proper’ relationship. And in all fairness, he has changed, as well all do from the age of 25 to 30. While openness and communication issues still arise – the mere fact that he invited me to meet some of his friends last week, while it may not seem all that significant, is a big deal. I know he loves me. What form that love takes or whether we’ll be able to hammer out our issues and eventually get our romantic ducks in a row in anybody’s guess.

Frankly,

Thus proving that money can't buy taste!

Blondes May Have More Fun, but Brunettes Could Have the Last Laugh - they have a much better chance of bagging a billionaire

Experts checked the hair colours of the worlds 100 richest men and found that 62 percent were brunettes.

Only 22 percent of the worlds biggest billionaires was married to a blonde and 16 percent a raven-haired woman ... none were married to a redhead.

Sam Kayum, director of Lycos who commissioned the research said: 'It begs the question whether Carla Bruni would now be the first lady of France if she was a blonde.

"Perhaps Sarkozy felt that, as a brunette, Bruni would be taken more seriously by the voting public."

***********

Brunettes Bag the Billionaires, Blondes get the Barmen

#1. UUUGGGHHHH - Canadian is pissed because of yesterday's posting. PRECISELY MY POINT! It appears that he's not speaking/txting/iming me...a very mature approach to this situation. Especially when he's in town. Very productive. Very mature. Bravo Mr. Legal Genius!

#2. I just ate a sugary doughnut and now I feel miserable.

#3. I'm still fretting over my security clearance prospects. Though the massive amounts of alcohol I've been consuming on a nightly basis does tend to help. (If you're a govt. official reading this, I'm kidding! It was a joke!)

#4. Every time I think I'm really starting to like Army, I do something like get my knickers in a twist over the Canadian, or obsess about fuckhead's troll-esque girlfriend  other stuff, thus fraying the emotional connection I'm trying to build. Perhaps its a self-defense reaction as he IS leaving in 3 months. For Florida. And then I can start the hurt and single process all over again. There was a time I would have approached the situation with an attitude of 'who cares?' and 'tomorrow will take care if itself', 'live and love today', but I think my heart was much stronger then.

#5. I've been having dreams about being pregnant. Disturbing to say the least. I'm getting the feeling that while my biological clock isn't 'ticking' necessarily, someone has definitely taken it out of the box.

#6. I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. I am now 'friends' with people I seriously never intended to speak to again. And that prognosis didn't bother me. Who knew we'd run into eachother again via social networking after our middle school graduation!? What are you supposed to say?? 'How are you? What's new? Did you finally get over that glue obsession? or I see the acne cleared up nicely. Congrats. how about: So, are you STILL as big of a bitch as you were in middle school? May I point out that I'm, in fact prettier than you now. I guess sometimes the smart girls DO win.'

#7. I'm hungry and i don't know what I want for lunch.

#8. It's really pissing me off that the Canadian hasn't returned my txt or emails. We're supposed to have drinks tonight - and if I get stood up, I'm going to be SEVERELY pissed off (So, if you're reading this...).

#9. I was seriously kidding about #3, Mr. Govt. man!

#10. My college alumni weekend is coming up. People are excited, getting ready to come into town. Making plans. Asking me what I'm doing. And i can't go because fuckhead will be there!!! Sure, I could drive down, and live one of the following scenarios: #1. See him, burst into a mess a tears, becoming an absolute inconsoleable mess for my friends to deal with. or #2. Climb up on a chair and punch him, most likely break a nail (if not a finger) doing it, and causing an even bigger scene with the gushing blood and all. Basically, I cannot go without putting my emotional stability and dignighty on the line, and I'm not a big gambler. I'm just disappointed I'll miss the chance to see everyone.  

Ok, I'm done venting now.

Frankly,