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?

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,

Last night, I met Barbie #3 out at a Dupont pub for our weekly Wednesday night outing.

It was a lovely evening, with our lovely bartender that we know and love, who knows and loves us and pours us beer. Thus further cultivating the love with alcohol.  It is always something I look forward to. Not only was it lovely, (wow, i used 'lovely' a LOT just then) as always, to catch up with one of my beloved Barbies, but some interesting people/freak watching is always entertaining. As we drank and talked, and tried our best not to be annoyed when people reached between us to grab drinks without so much as an ‘excuse me’ (we were sitting at the bar). DC happy hour tends to bring out a particularly heinous breed of man – the ‘notice my expensive suit’-‘I’m too sexy for my tie’-‘please hand me my scotch’-‘oh and by the way, I’m waaaay better than ANYONE in this room’ kind of guy. Shudder.

Last night, I encountered such a creature. (I swear, DC bars are like an episode of Wild Kingdom) It is my contention that these specimens thrive most especially in the annals of law firm and government hallways – tucked away for days and nights, eroding any capacity they once had for normal, considerate human interaction. Not only did this man REPEATEDLY reach in front of me, over me and behind me, but then he tried to sign his credit card slip on the 2 inches of bar to my right, leaning against me, bumping into me (again, without so much as an acknowledgement that I was there!). Is THIS what awaits me upon my reintroduction to the DC dating scene after Army’s departure?  You reach in front of someone, you BUMP into someone, hell, you fucking TOUCH someone sans express invitation – you say ‘EXCUSE ME’, or some other generic apology. RIGHT? AM I RIGHT? Sigh.

So while I was made to be a virtual a human speed bump at the bar, I noticed a much cuter, beer drinker, red shirt, sitting opposite me. I can hear the judgment now dear readers: “But Scarlett – what about Army? Why are you noticing other men when you have a boyfriend!?” To which I respond:

“Granted, I’m slightly attached…not dead. And just because I’m on a diet doesn’t mean I can’t look at the menu”.

I digress. So while cute, red shirt man was sitting alone, presumably waiting for friends (?) I watched the following scene unfold:

Girl walks up to the bar, leans over, orders a drink. She’s cute but not in a ‘just out of the sorority house – not a brain cell to be found in my bleach blonde, size 2 head’ kind of way. She looked mid twenties, cute, Lisa Loeb-esque glasses, and had obviously just come from work. She received her requested drink and started chatting with red shirt guy (big smile, very flirty). She eventually removes her glasses, and put them in her purse, removes the clip from her hair and shakes it out.  A very crafted ‘good girl with glasses by day/bad girl by night’ transformation. I applaud this strategy, figure she’s on her way and I turn my attention back to Barbie and working to avoid more bad-mannered alcoholic drive-bys.

After we had spent much time laughing, analyzing, and reaching the same conclusion we usually arrive at – that the majority of men are idiots, I did a visual check up on red shirt guy and secretary/stripper girl.

To my dismay, the sparks were no longer a-flyin. He had turned and was engrossed in an alternating conversation between two girls of the afore mentioned ‘fresh off the sorority, bleach-blonde farm sans a healthy brain cell between them’ variety and a group of men. Secretary/stripper girl was left sitting alone, pouting into her beer.

Sigh. Love comes and goes so quickly in Dupont. Better luck next time, sweetie.

I had a bizarre little weekend….and it started like this.

There is no more accurate a method of self-reflection than that of reliving your formative years through the eyes of someone who knew you long ago, and if they happen to also be your ex, so much the better.

And no, I am not referring to Fuckhead – for once. An ex was in town this weekend…well, maybe ‘ex’ is too strong a term. Allow me to elaborate. JD was my first ‘crush’, back when I was introverted and could barely justify wearing a training bra and his head had yet to grow into his ears. He was my first kiss, my first….well – as the years went by, spending time with him became more of an educational experience than a romantic experience. Ironically, as time has worn on, I believe I’m the one who eventually received an instructional diploma in sex ed where he has yet to graduate. 

And so it was in high school, and winter breaks in college throughout the years our tradition has continued. Nearly every Christmas/New Years we would see each other, have dinner and then make out on my parent’s couch like it was 1996 – not particularly because he had become so much better looking in his old age, or that I was irristably drawn to him. It was because this is what we did – this is what we’ve always done, this is what I was obgligated to do.

And this Friday, he was in town. Having dodged our annual encounter back in December for a lack of emotional social acceptability, I was actually looking forward to seeing him. I was a bit nervous – as I had never even seen this boy outside of our hometown. How does one make reservations if I don’t know if he likes wine, beer, Italian, Mexican….so I chose a truly unique spot, for the ambience – Bistro du Coin. Perfect choice.

I won’t bore you with the details of our evening of catching up and reminicing other than to say that the man has certainly learned how to charm a lady over the years. Oh – and I WILL mention the most AMAZING bottle of wine I’ve ever had in my life.

The end of the evening came, he walked me home, he came up to my apartment. He kissed me goodnight. It was a good kiss. However, I informed him that he would not be going any farther. I told him I couldn’t. And that I wouldn't. Thankfully, he bowed out gracefully. He was gracious enough to accept my decision without complaint, sans typical horny boy pouting. I thanked him for a wonderful evening, and he left.

In the nearly eighteen years that I have known this man, I have NEVER said no to him. He was my first ‘un-getable man’. He was the boy I pined after, obsessed over in diaries, and when he finally noticed me, finally paid attention to me…well, I didn’t want him to STOP liking me (pathetic, I know)….so I never said ‘no’….until Friday night. I abandoned my feelings of obligation. I broke the cycle. I didn't do what I didn't want to do. And I went to bed alone. And it felt good. And I kept something that is slowly becoming an increasingly valuable possession….myself.

Frankly, I don’t know if that makes any sense…but I still thought I’d share.