The Scarlett Letters

HOGMANAY

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 15:28:22 -0600

Hogmanay

No – its not some itchy, tropical sexually transmitted disease.

Wikipedia defines “Hogmanay” (pronounced IPA: [?h??m??ne?] as: the Scottish word for the last day of the year and is synonymous with the celebration of the New Year in the “Scottish manner.” It is, however, normally only the start of a celebration which lasts through the night until the morning of New Year’s Day or, in some cases, 2 January.

In other words – it is the term for the longest, drunkest, craziest, most fun New Years Eve party on the planet….AND I’m GOING TO BE THERE!!!!

[Scarlett does a little dance]

Not to mention that I’ll be surrounded by cute men with accents – swoon! Could there be a better way to ring in the New Year??? I think not!

And so I have decided to drag my Celtic heritage laden ass to Scotland. The land of Braveheart, kilts, Scotch, Sean Connery, Mary Queen of Scots, Gerard Butler!

Jersey and I will be leaving DCA the afternoon of December 29, arriving in Edinburgh on December 30^th (via Detroit, via Amsterdam, not the most direct route, I’ll grant you but…). We'll arrive just in time for the “Night Afore” festival, which is essentially a New Year’s Eve EVE celebration!

Will, of course post more info soon – just thought I’d share! If anyone else feels like freezing their arses off on the Royal Mile the night of December 31^st, please join the fun!

Frankly, I cannot WAIT!

Pulling the Plug

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 08:55:00 -0600

I’ve been dumped.

After a certain age…say…14...I’m guessing we all have.

Via email, phone call, Post-It or just the failure to respond to communication. These methods are easy, distant, avoidant and thus preferred. Let’s face it, the last time you probably broke up with someone in person was in the 2^nd grade cafeteria because they wouldn’t trade their Little Debbie snack cake for your carrots.

But in the end, its all the same thing - Rejection.

The statement either declared or implied is “I just doesn’t want to be with you.“ For whatever reason, in whatever context - it is always a bit of an ego blow. Because, let’s face it: more often than not, it is, in fact, you and ultimately, you’re not what they want.

And it’s fine - or at least it will be 3 glasses in.

After all, it’s the boring ones, the safe ones who never put themselves out there that never get hurt or know how to deal with the rejection, which is, admittedly, a useful life skill.

It’s a life skill and an art form that I, perhaps not so proudly, have mastered. I am the queen of the ’move on’. Being possession of such a cultivated talent you’d think I’d be able apply it more readily. Utilize my experience in a constructive manner. You would be wrong.

Sadly, and with much frustration, I seem unable to initiate a drama free break up. Then again, does such a thing even exist?

Case and point, my break up with Army in July - disaster. In fact, so disastrous that he recently de-friended me on Facebook along with an email containing the explanation that I’m a commitment phobic, heartless bitch and he never wants to hear from me again. Lovely.

On the receiving end, I was seeing LAX, off and on for a little bit…at least he had the decency to write me an email explaining why he hadn’t been in touch. That he’d met someone else and it had “progressed quickly” - my translation, she slept with him on the second date, whereas I had not so much as permitted him to steal second base after date 6ish??

So why am I so bad at the break up? Men seem to have it down to a science. I have no hesitations about not returning a phone call or even escaping out the back door if a blind date makes me wish I were back in that 2^nd grade cafeteria purely for the sophisticated conversation.

Rejection after the first or even second date leaves no scars, only minor bruises. But it’s the not calling or not picking up the phone after the third date…or the fifth. When you’ve gotten to know someone just enough to care whether or not you hurt them, even if you can’t see a future with them in it.

Because at that point, the rejection isn’t ‘we have no chemistry’ or ‘I don’t like the wine you ordered’ or whatever other petty reasons we find to dismiss someone within the first 5 minutes. By this point, its more personal, it goes deeper.

So how do you do it? What is the most humane? The adult approach - be straightforward? Leave no doubt? Or are you a fan of the disappearing act? Stop picking up the phone, change your phone number, possibly your address? Hide in your apartment and pretend no one’s home until the big, bad, scary relationship seeking man goes away?

Personally I’m a fan of the fizzle, which lets the relationship die a kind, slow death. The fizzle takes the dying relationship off life support and basically lets it go peacefully, quietly without any drama, fuss or ceremony.

The problem is that this approach doesn’t work so well on the persistent types of men. And frankly sometimes, even when the relationship is diagnosed as terminal, I’m not always ready to pull the plug.

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??

Pity Party

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 09:52:14 -0500

I wouldn't recommend reading the below. It's whiney and self indulgent. It is the blog equivalent of a horribly constructed grammatical pity party. If I were you, I'd hit the "back" button now.

So what do you do when you're so intellectually unstimulated on a daily basis that you are burgeoning on numbness and the one glimmer of hope on the horizon has turned out to be ....well...falling about a continent short of expectations. Cryptic? My apologies.

I'm not going to bore you with the details lest you too run the risk of intellectual paralysis, so tedious and uninteresting is the subject matter. Let's just say, I had my heart set on something (some-THING, not some-ONE) and basically, I didn't get what I wanted.

Go ahead and laugh at the silly little girl who wants to cry at her desk (and actually has for the better part of the morning - don't worry, I'm away from people - no one saw). I know its silly, I know I just need to suck it up and deal - but I was just barely not all out hating life when I woke up this morning and right now - I'm not so sure.

I'm sure this has SOMETHING to do with the fact that I haven't refilled my antidepressants in a timely manner. I'm sure it has SOMETHING to do with the fact that my attitude in general seems to suck, every person i come into contact with finds some new and exciting way to annoy the crap out of me, i feel utterly directionless, lacking momentum and focus....UUUGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!

Can I just sit in a room and cry for no specific reason at all? Is that allowed?

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.

Let's Talk About Sex, Baby!

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 09:05:00 -0500

Yesterday’s Oprah….yeah – that’s a phrase I never thought I’d see myself write…was about sex. Not totally surprising in and of itself.

But it was about how to talk to your teenage daughter about sex and the right age to being talking about it. These conversations, they advised, should not cover just the mechanics but should also “touch on” (pun intended) masturbation and oral sex.

I was fascinated.

A mother talking to her ten-year-old daughter with diagrams of both the female AND male genitalia. Showing her the ovaries, etc. all your basic hot spots AND explained what the clitoris is and the fact that many women find it “pleasurable” when touched. Are you KIDDING ME!? I even learned a few new things!

I was in awe. In amazement. Thinking, this lucky little girl. Her mom is explaining in a very clear and matter of fact way that a penis gets hard when aroused…that sometimes men and boys get rejections for no apparent reason. The only anatomy lesson I ever received was in the front seat of Joey B.’s Mustang on a back country road.

When I feel in love for the first time with Harvard in 1998 and the “world wide web” was still in its infancy – I used it as a resource to figure out where exactly my “clit” was. I didn’t even know I had one! Harvard didn’t know what or where it was either, but he told me that we needed to find it so that I could have an orgasm. At one point I just gave up looking and figured some girls had them and some didn’t! Obviously I ended up figuring out the great clit mystery. Oo la la.

The show encouraged mothers to talk with their daughters about making “smart” sexual choices. About self esteem, respecting their bodies and to have enough confidence in themselves to know when they’re REALLY ready for physical intimacy. To tell the difference between being ready and wanting a boy to like them.

It was an enlightening to say the least.

I love my mom. She’s great. I can talk to her about anything…now. Only after a tortuous struggle with my guilty sex-laden conscious did I confess that virgin white was no longer my color. In the Wallmart parking lot of all places. Talk about an intimate setting. I was positive, so sure that she would disown me. That she would be so ashamed of my choice to have premarital sex because. And why shouldn’t she? I was ashamed. Because no one had ever told me what was normal and what was OK.

The truth is…because I didn’t feel OK about it the first time…yes, I was in love…but not ready…and that’s not the same thing. I felt damaged – like I had nothing else to offer the world. Like …I wasn’t worth much after the fact…and I acted accordingly thus perpetuating the vicious cycle.

I’m not blaming my mother’s lack of comfort with this topic for my choices, but I can only imagine what an open, honest conversation with her circa 1996 might have helped me to understand my body and gain some kind of…I don’t know…perspective?

I would have liked her to tell me much more than “When two people love each other and are married and ready to have a baby…the penis goes into the vagina”. Which is about all the information I got.

I would have liked to hear:

This is what a period is….

This is a diagram of a woman…of a man…this is how this works…blah blah.

But also something along the lines of:

I know you’re feeling a lot of conflicting emotions right now. None of which you want to discuss with me, I’m sure. You’ve grown into a beautiful and attractive woman and I’m sure you’re getting more attention from guys than you used to. That attention can feel liberating, wonderful and a bit overwhelming. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t express your feelings in a physical way when you’re with these boys – while of course I’d like you to stay my little girl forever, this is a very exciting time in your life and I want you to enjoy it. However, I hope that you realize what an incredibly special and beautiful person you are and you should treat yourself that way. Don’t waste your love and/or physical affection on anyone who’s not worth it and no one is worth it who doesn’t respect your decisions to wait. Always hold on to what you feel is right not what someone else wants. It’s scary, and its exciting but it’s also very serious and important. All forms of physical intimacy can be wonderful and are a normal part of life and its OK to experience them but they should never be taken lightly. Always know that you are a wonderful and valuable person and I am here for you if you ever need to talk.

Or…something like that.

Its amazing how some of the choices a girl can make when she’s so young and so…uninformed…and unsure….can linger on even a decade later when there’s no one to give you that talk but yourself.

Because you could wind up a clueless 27 year old still wanting to know the answers.

A little too much information? My apologies.

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.