The Scarlett Letters - Scarlett

A New Home

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 12:28:03 -0600

Dearest Readers,

I've moved to Scarlett's Letters. Please visit me, as I my last chapter has yet to be written. Looking forward to seeing you all there.

I remain frankly yours,

Kindred Spirits (Part One)

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Thu, 14 Oct 2010 14:04:58 -0500

"I wonder what Piglet is doing" thought Pooh. "I wish I were there so I could be doing it too." ~ A. A. Milne

I was told that I blog too much about sex, relationships, soulmates, not having sex, dating, bitching about how I’m not having sex, or social commentary relating to any and/or all of the above subjects. But as Carrie Bradshaw and her cohorts so wisely taught us - sometimes your soul mates really can be your friends. This past year that very concept has rung true more than ever.

I met my best childhood friend on the swing-set outside of the red brick pre-school building on my first day of formal education. I sat there swinging next to her, gauging the height and overall swinging prowess and sizing it up against my own. She must have passed muster for I immediately jumped off the swing, ribbon adorned pigtails floating behind me, turned around and said “will you be my friend?”. The rest is history.

I met my best adult friend on a park bench bordering the National Mall while taking a break from our kickball game one hot August afternoon. She likes to say I was “sizing her up” (Apparently an MO of sorts before determining someone to be befriendable). A week or two later, our relationship blossomed over a night of crab dip, a chain-smoked pack of Marlborough lights and more than one bottle of Pinot Noir.* The friendship was sealed over the impulse purchase of airline tickets that would take us on a New Year’s adventure through Paris, Amsterdam and ringing in 2010 surrounded by kilts, whiskey and Scottish brogues in Edinburgh. .

I don’t know what she saw in me initially - but I saw in her a social, sarcastic, intelligent, independent woman adjectives I would eventually discover to be horrifyingly inadequate.

Its been quite the year for both of us. For me, its been a year of rebuilding, self discovery and above all, friendship. For her its been a year spent regaining her voice, making tough choices and landing on her feet.

I’ve held her hand during a nerve wracking medical procedure, she held my hand while I got a tattoo. She wheeled my crippled ass through Charles De Gaul airport and enjoyed the advantages afforded too a handicapped individual and their escorts. We’ve danced at rock concerts, shared the most honest opinions and the snarkiest of comments, hugged after romantic disappointment, yelled over misunderstandings, cried at movies, hashed and then rehashed the absurdities of life, scoffed at the impossible and consumed more mimosas and filthy martinis than I dare count.

A friend knows everything about you and loves. you. anyway. She loves me in spite of my aversion to traveling to her local venues in Old Town, my chronic lateness, the painfully slow pace at which I read books, my incessant need to fill a silence, my routine deletion of at least 75% of the pictures she takes of me, my ability to completely demolish a hotel room within 5 minutes of check-in, my thoughtlessness, my big mouth, my love of the outdoors & camping, my tendency to over-share, my horrific singing voice on road trips and my obsession with all things Harry Potter.

She’s a musician. She’s a teacher. She’s a student. She’s dedicated and fiercely loyal to her friends. She keeps secrets. She calls it like she sees it. She doesn’t smile until the P.M. hours. She’s known both abuse and loss and has come out stronger on the other side. She knows when to walk away. She has performed her original music at the legendary CBGBs. She loves horror movies but hates being scared. She’s up for anything as long as it doesn’t involve sleeping in the great out of doors. “Drinks? yes!” “Oysterfest, sure!” “Edinburgh via Amsterdam & Paris - why not!?” She’s, in equal measure, a lover of Opera and Ani Difranco. She’s unapologetic. She may take time to warm up to you but you’ll find that time well spent. She has a temper to rival that of any redhead. She has a guitar shaped tattoo on her shoulder. She hates eggs. She refuses to waste her time on people who “aren’t worth it”. She has an uncanny radar to detect the insincere, the hypocritical and the duplicitous and summarily shuns all such offenders. She prefers Converse All Stars to Vans. She has no idea how beautiful she is on both the inside and out.

She’s my Bestie and for that I am grateful.

Frankly,

*That was the last time either one of us smoked.

Admission of Guilt

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 08:30:00 -0600

Darling Readers!

I'm so sorry, but I'm just NOW realizing and reading all the comments and posts that you've left for me over the summer months expressing concern, and noting my absence. I'm so so sorry I haven't returned the favor!!!

The comments went into my 'spam' folder and I haven't been on the blog at all to see if people were writing - I just needed a break - thank you for not abandoning me as I did you.

But thank you SOO much for the notes! I'll be responding belatedly but shortly!

Frankly and with affection,

Rusty

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 10:52:29 -0600

By way of update - I've been sans personal computer for almost 2 months now and, as you might imagine, its a little difficult pouring my heart out onto a work computer which is currently my one and only gateway into the blogosphere but will try.

Currently trying to dust off, lubricate, de-rustify and re-build what remains of my writing skills....

Frankly, much like my leg muscles and their current lack of familiarity with the elliptical trainer, I'm afraid it may prove to be a painful though ultimately worthwhile process.

Insert More Uplifting Post Title

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 09:53:26 -0500

After much deliberation, and because today I feel like it, I have decided to start writing again. The thought of the poorly composed "pity party" scenario as my lingering size 9, designer stilletto clad, recently pedi'd, online footprint as too depressing to fathom. Therefore...

Sheepish wave "hello".

Remember me??

The Cut Off

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 10:24:45 -0500

I’m a lousy blogger, I know I know.

But you’re not going to get much out of me today either. Allergies are making my life miserable right now.

I had a date on Friday with a boy (and I’m purposely using the term ‘boy’- 26) who showed up looking like he just rolled out of bed: hair messy (and not in a sexy, controlled messy way – just plain messy), clothes completely rumpled …. Didn’t offer to buy my drinks!

Is anyone in favor of reserving the right to say five minutes into a date “I’m very sorry, I don’t think this is going to work out” and just leave? That was the course of action suggested to me post mortem by Sue Ellen. If he hadn’t been the little brother of a friend of mine…I would have. This is why I draw the age limit at 28 and even that may be pushed up at some point. Maybe I should just swear off boys in their 20s. What do you think?

Seriously – all I want to do today is lay in bed and moan.

Blue Brown Eyes

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 09:00:00 -0500

Do you ever have those days or weeks where for no particular reason, you just feel….blah??

It started last week – no particular reason – just a general …haze of monotony settled over my head. All of a sudden DC feels too small and leaves me feeling as though I’ve dated every man in it leaving me much less than impressed. General dislike of my apartment, my job, my hair, my skin – the only thing I AM liking is my ass as I’ve been trying to cure the boredom with excessive exercise.

I feel like my life is at a standstill – no direction – no momentum. The same food. The same bars. The same…everything. Not to mention that anyone within a 5 yard radius seems to have developed an amazing ability to annoy the crap out of me with alarmingly minimal effort.

And so I tried to shake things up – for instance, I went to my first opera at the Kennedy Center last week, which was lovely despite the fact that I went by myself which is less than ideal. Its no one’s fault, mind you – I didn’t ask anyone – but then again I didn’t anticipate the lack of variety in attendees and thus making for ho hum people watching. Geriatrics and hooker-fied 22 year olds on the arms of barely legal boys. Quite the combo.

I scored AMAZING DC United tickets for Saturday night – something I’ve never done before, which had pick-me-up potential. Until…wait for it…EVERY SINGLE ONE OF MY FRIENDS was either out of town, or busy, had people in town or was otherwise engaged. I even went to THIRD TEIR friends! (note: if you actually KNOW me and you're reading this blog, you are NOT a third teir friend). The prospect of going to yet another event sans friends and surrounded by strangers was a little too much.

And with this extreme lack of joie de vivre, obviously I feel as if I have nothing spectacular with which to entertain you, dear readers. Which makes me sad as well and the prescription meds aren’t exactly filling in boredom, self-pity cavity I seem to have carved for myself.

Ugh – what a truly depressing post. Hopefully I’ll pick myself back up and be back to my generally chipper self!

*Cheers* <clinks glass> Here’s to hoping!

Damaged

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 09:00:00 -0500

I’m a cancer survivor. Did I ever tell you that? Well, now you know. And as GI Joe so wisely taught us...knowing is half the battle.

By way of background, I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer approximately one month before my 23^rd birthday. A 3cm malignant tumor was subsequently removed along with my entire thyroid gland. 6 weeks later, I was admitted to Washington Hospital Center’s nuclear medicine department for intensive radiation therapy for 10 days (I was no shit radio active – in complete isolation and was a severe danger to pregnant women and could have killed small dogs). There is no family history and no one knows why this happened. Fun times.

The up side – thyroid cancer is extremely slow growing and very treatable. The down side - unlike most cancers that officially go into remission after 5 years, thyroid cancer can come back at any time – 20 years, 30…it doesn’t matter. Therefore, diligence is key and annual full body scans are prescribed.

Due to changing Dr.’s a number of times, insurance changes, my busy schedule…basically any excuse I could possibly think of …I haven’t had a scan since….2005.

I’m overdue. Well overdue.

Due to the relentless nagging of my parents….I made a call this afternoon to my Endocrinologist requesting she fit me in for a scan sometime soon.

I’m scared. So scared. Scared of going through the treatment, the tests, the side affects again. Cancer took a two year chunk out of my twenties – I didn’t look or feel right for two years. I don’t know whether I’m strong enough to go through that again – and so I’ve put it off. Stupid. I know. I KNOW its stupid, but that doesn’t make me any more eager to know whether or not there are cancer cells still swimming around inside of me.

I don’t look sick. I don’t feel sick and I’m not about to have my life disrupted again. That’s a great first date conversation starter – “so, I’d really love to see you again but if you put your dick inside me while I’m radioactive, it will probably fall off.”

I totally forgot how much guys dig a girl in a hospital bed.

Don’t worry – I’ll go, I’m sure everything will be fine, I’m worrying about nothing, blah blah blah. But that’s exactly what everyone said when my Dr. felt a lump in my neck…and when they did the biopsy…

I’m just so unenthusiastic about hearing the results – good or bad.

Frankly, just being in the hospital again makes me feel…damaged.

Black Cherry Hotness

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 07:30:00 -0600

Well the ceiling situation hasn’t been completely resolved and I’m still sleeping in the middle of my living room but that’s neither here nor there.

I had a little home beauty budget disaster on Tuesday night. In preparation for spring and the two (count them) TWO dates I have this weekend, I decided to give myself some much needed highlights. Its been over a decade since I purchased one of these little chem. Labs in a box – and I remembered why. What happens when you try to lighten red hair?? It TURNS ORANGE!!!

So I just spend $300 to get the color stripped and then re-deposited into my hair. But the color that was re-deposited…is NOT my color red. It’s DARK. Like black cherry dark! It’s crazy! I have DARK hair. Every 3 minutes I’m debating between thinking ‘I look like a bad ass bitch with dark hair!’ and wanting to use non color friendly shampoo then lather, rinse and repeat like its my job.

We’ll see. I need to seek some outside opinions on the matter.

I look like a bad as bitch with dark hair!!

And the Walls Came Tumbling Down

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 14:09:03 -0600

The Sunday morning sunlight streamed through my up tilted blinds penetrating my eyelids and casting halos of light over the characters in my dreams. I rolled over, trying to ignore the hopeful “mews” of my cats eagerly awaiting their breakfast, my arm landed on the left side of the bed.

Tragically this side is normally reserved for male-type company and thus has been empty and cold for quite some time. This morning however, the description was not merely metaphorical. Cold. It was cold! And WET!

I sat up in shock to see that the moisture was much larger than the spot on which I had plopped my outstreatched arm. The entire upper-left corner of my beautiful, queen sized bed was SOAKING wet. I shot up and looked around furiously for the offending feline. I was ready to shish kabob the kitty who I automatically assumed had decided to ‘mark their territory’ next to my head when a heavy, wet drop landed ‘kaploosh’ in the middle of my forehead.

I looked up and there it was – my ceiling. Sagging, drooping and dripping all over my bed!

Quickly jumping out of bed, I pulled off the sheets, pulled on a few items of clothing and proceeded to move my lovely, but heavy bed out of harms way. I then called building management to inform them of the minor rainstorm brewing in my apartment.

A woman, who sounded less than thrilled to be working on a Sunday, answered the line and after I explained the situation promptly informed me that the absence of of functioning ceiling did not meet their ‘emergency’ criteria, a requirement for dispatching maintenance on a weekend. Apparently, as long as I still had running water and a toilet, I could wait until Monday.

I then pointed out to her that there was a snowstorm heading towards DC and unless they wanted to mop up the damage created after 6 inches of snow accumulation, they might want to think about redefining their 'emergency' standards.

After being assured that help was, indeed, on its way, I spent the majority of the afternoon standing over my rather soggy mattress with an industrial strength hairdryer trying to stave off mold and general mattress funky-ness.

Help did indeed come. Long story short, they determined the best course of action would be to patch the leak with a piece of cardboard, secure it with duct tape for the time being and hope for the best.

Well kids, I’m not exactly Ms. Holly-Home-Repair, but I DO know that duct tape isn’t waterproof. I was skeptical that this 'quick fix' would really 'fix' anything. My suspicions were confirmed, at about 10:30 p.m. when the patch came crashing down bringing with it, a hefty chunk of my ceiling.

So lets review: my ceiling is leaking; a rather large chunk of it has fallen onto my floor; my mattress has been dried with a hair dryer; my large bed is in the middle of my apartment on the verge of landing in my kitchen; plastic tarps and drop catching buckets now adorn my once fabulous apartment and now maintenance is telling me that they can’t fix the roof until AFTER the snow melts!

This is the problem with Snow in the District – either outside or IN, we just don’t have the infrastructure to handle it!

Frankly,