I tend to see the world through an Ansel Adams photographic lens, that is to say, “black and white”. While I keep attempting to inject a wider spectrum of gray into my two toned, “right vs. wrong”, “love vs. hate” world, it’s been consistent uphill struggle.

I believe boundaries to be an important part of life. Comfort zones. Deal breakers. The disclosure of privileged information. Whether they indicate the point at which a relationship reaches the end of its emotional tether or simply the line that, once crossed, lands you swiftly in an Iranian jail and resulting in years of imprisonment followed by equally scary Lisa Ling interviews upon release – boundaries, if not clearly marked, can be precarious places.  

My therapist likened healthy emotional boundaries to the idyllic image of a house surrounded by a manicured lawn and bounded one each side by a picket fence. The fence is a clearly defined, yet semi permeable structure erected to keep undesirables at bay (i.e. negative pressures, cognitive trespassers, basically the in-laws of the emotional community); while still allowing for the option of admittance of positive emotions, constructive monologues and affirmative influences, (i.e. the puppies and kittens or free range hens romping about our mental yard).

After describing this Zen-like state of mental health to which she recommended I strive, she took a deep breath. Scarlett, at present your “house” is surrounded on the north, south and west by a 10 foot high brick wall, laced with barb wire. The east side, however, not only is void a wall, but any clear demarcation of property whatsoever. Moreover, you have posted a neon, blinking, “open-house” sign out front exposing the lawn to many an unwelcome trampler.

That is to say, either you go to inexorable lengths to keep people out, or you lay out the red carpet all too quickly, consequences be damned. A situation very much in need of modification.

I took issue with this image for a number of reasons not least of which being the necessity for an immediate change of setting from a suburban, “Leave It To Beaver” avec picket fence to one of a urban penthouse condo with a 24 door man. But that’s besides the point.

Whether we’re talking about 24-hour door men and alarm systems or brick walls and picket fences, both images denote unhealthy extremes, the hallmark of a black & white worldview. Either I’m walled up like Fort Knox, or I am constructing an emotional superhighway for which I have not even thought to charge a toll. More often than not I frantically switch between the two exhausting both myself and those around me.

All this to say, I met someone. He’s kind of great. I like him. Comfort zones have been pushed. Boundary lines obscured. Needless to say, I’m more than a little bit freaked out and those brick walls with their height and strength and ability to obscure look mighty appealing in the face of vulnerability. And so up and down I go in on the "he loves me, he loves me not", "I'm safe, I'm going to get hurt." yo yo.

Its painfully elusive, this emotional balance. Can a boundary line be redrawn once crossed? Do I permit him to wander unchecked about upon my emotional real estate? Do I change the locks just in case?

Or do I stand here and first let my eyes adjust to the newly emerging shades of gray?

Frankly,

It is in that hopeful spirit that the equation can, in fact, be solved that I am asking you, my readers, do YOU have the answer? Can you whisper the secret to a happily ever after in my ear? In short, what insight do you have to share, what advice do you have to give on the the subjects of dating or relationships?

I know that good advice, much like good champagne, don’t come cheap (at least not according to my most recent therapy bill) but apparently, I need it! Therefore I will give 2 off Broadway Tickets for the most sensible, shrewed, clever advice I receive over the next 12 days. The winner will get to spend an evening with NYC’s newest dating guru at “Miss Abigail’s Guide to Dating, Mating & Marriage,” now playing at Sofia’s Downstairs Theater, 221 W. 46th St., NY, NY.

The comedy centers around the story of Miss Abigail, the most sought-after relationship expert to the stars (think Dr. Ruth meets Emily Post), and her sexy sidekick Paco, as they travel the world teaching Miss Abigail’s "how-to's" on dating, mating and marriage! (contest rules and details below).

I’ll announce the winner on October 13th so put your thinking cap on and show me what you’ve got!

Frankly, you might even learn a thing or two yourself!

MY RULES

1. All submissions should be sent via the Comments, Contact Form OR Tweet it to ScarlettL with the hashtag #ScarlettChallenge.

2. Deadline: All submissions must be received y 11:59 p.m. on Monday, October 11th to participate.

3. Multiple Entries Accepted. Are you a smarty pants? Been in the trenches and have war stories and sage wisdom just dying to be released? No problem! Throw all of your wisdom at me! I can take it, I promise!

4. The winner will be announced on Wednesday, October 13, 2010.

5. The tickets may be used for the following performances: Wednesdays at 2PM, Thursdays at 8PM, Fridays at 8PM, Saturdays at 2PM & 5PM and Sundays at 3PM and 7:30PM.

6. The tickets are valid thru November 28, 2010. This date cannot be extended.

Good luck and I can’t WAIT to see what you come up with!

Confession:

I’m in love with my boss. Have I mentioned that? I am 100% crazy in love with my boss! And not the “I think he’s a great leader, role model type love”. No, the I want to do naughty naughty things to him type. Ya. Its bad. Before you ask the obvious – “No” he’s not married, nor has he ever been married. “Yes” he is single. He is 33 or 35 somewhere in there and…AMAZING…sigh.

However, he will only technically be my boss for about 8 more days because he’s a political and will be ousted come January 20^th along with half the Washington, DC workforce.

However, I haven’t quite worked out how to get from the “brilliant and attractive employee” to “brilliant and attractive girlfriend – or if not girlfriend, at least Saturday night fun date!” Someone suggested that on our ritualistic morning stroll for coffee I casually slip into the conversation that I’d like to marry him and have lots of sex and babies.

Anyone have any other bright ideas how to bridge this gap?

And before you go there - yes, I realize that I am the personification of Katherine Heigl circa 27 dresses sans hyper organization (she was even a bit of a redhead in that movie!). My brother was kind enough to bring this to my attention. Note he referenced Katherine Heigl - NOT Bridget Jones. All the disfunctionality...none of the cellulite!

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In other news.....

I learned this week – a blender does not equal a mini food processor.

While this may not be news to some...who are more profecient in the kitchen than moi....It was a bit of a failed culinary experiment.

I got a little too ambitious with a spinach cream sauce I was going to make in order to brighten up the whole wheat penne I was planning to have for dinner. I thought, well….recipe calls for the 6 oz of baby spinach, garlic, grated parm and goat cheese to be “food processed”. So, in all my redheaded brilliance, I (who do not own a food processor) thought:

“A food processor…has blades that spin. I don’t own a food processor. Unfortunate. BUT I DO have a blender! Blenders have blades that spin…therefore…blender = tiny food processor!"

Um…not so much. Lesson learned - not all kitchen appliances are created equal. So now we know...and frankly, knowing is half the battle.

Juliet was on my mind.

I wondered what she would have done if Romeo had left her, not because he was banished, but because he lost interest. What if Rosalind had given him the time of day, and he'd changed his mind? What if, instead of marrying Juliet, he'd just disappeared?

I thought I knew how Juliet would feel.

She wouldn't go back to her old life, not really. She wouldn't ever have moved on, I was sure of that. Even if she'd lived until she was old and gray, every time she closed her eyes, it would have been Romeo's face she saw behind her lids. She would have accepted that, eventually.

I wondered if she would have married Paris in the end, just to please her parents, to keep the peace. No, probably not, I decided. But then, the story didn't say much about Paris. He was just a stick figure a placeholder, a threat, a deadline to force her hand.

What if there were more to Paris?

What if Paris had been Juliet's friend? Her very best friend? What if he was the only one she could confide in about the whole devastating thing with Romeo? The one person who really understood her and made her feel halfway human again? What if he was patient and kind? What if he took care of her? What if Juliet knew she couldn't survive without him? What if he really loved her, and wanted her to be happy?

And what if she loved Paris? Not like Romeo. Nothing like that, of course. But enough that she wanted him to be happy, too?

If Romeo was really gone, never coming back, would it have mattered whether or not Juliet had taken Paris up on his offer? Maybe she should have tried to settle into the leftover scraps of life that were left behind. Maybe that would have been as close to happiness as she could get. 

Maybe I was reading too much into the story. Romeo wouldn't change his mind.
That's why people still remembered his name, always twined with hers: Romeo and Juliet. That's why it was a good story. "Juliet gets dumped and ends up with Paris" would have never been a hit.

I’ve been having dreams.

Mostly about Fuckhead.

In my dreams we talk. I’ve been asking him a lot of questions but I always wake up before I can ask him the one question to which I want to know the answer to: Do you miss me?

Last night was the worst of all. In my dream, he was married to the she beast and they had just had a baby. I cried (in my dream) and I cried and I screamed and I screamed. It wasn’t a fun night. That’s absolutely the last time I allow myself to fall asleep without some kind of artificial somnial enhancement to block such dreams from my head – Ambien being my personal drug of choice.

I assure you, this isn't some deep seated unconcsious desire for some kind of cinema-esque reunification. I don’t want him back. I don’t. I promise. I don’t want a pot smoking, un-motivated, emotionally dependent man still attempting to relive his frat boy glory days.

But I do miss being happy and completely in love – that kind of love that you read about, that you hear about, the kind of stuff that inspires tales such as “The Notebook” – emotions that you never thought possible until experiencing them; that love the brings along with it the possibility of all things and the strength to handle anything life throws into your collective paths.

I had that and it's dissapation has left quite a large hole.

Frankly, it's probably best that I don’t sleep long enough to hear the answer to that one question.

P.S. I'm thinking about starting to password again - what do you think? I just hate that the more noteable ex's in my life have access to these pages and I find myself holding back more often than I'd like to admit. So what's your opinion? Passoword or start a new blog all together?