Nostalgia For Friendships Past

Nostalgia For Friendships Past

Thirty has been a surprisingly nostalgic year for me. I’ve chased the feeling with manic panic hair dye, 2003 throwback costume parties and concerts featuring my high school favorites. Alkaline Trio even catered to my sentimentality with their Past Live tour. Hell, the revitalization of this blog is probably a desperate attempt to hold onto the days of yore despite the fact that I now get my purple hair done in a salon, I can’t squeeze into my clothes from 2003 and Slug started dressing like my dad.

Douche Relationships — Everyone Needs One

Douche Relationships — Everyone Needs One

Adulthood is comprised of a series of rites of passage strung together until our final rite. Learning to drive. The first time your dad pulls you out of a ditch. Your first legal drink. The second time your dad pulls you out of a ditch. Your first legal hangover. An apartment all your own. The third time your dad pulls you out of a ditch. Running back to roommates after realizing living on your own is lonely and expensive. Running back to an apartment all your own after realizing the additional cost is worth it because Kelly just can’t remember to rinse her damn dishes. The fourth time your dad pulls you out of a ditch.

The Ring That Triggered Crazy

The Ring That Triggered Crazy

I’m not sure how he found out. I had shattered almost every possible connection: real-life, virtual and everything in between. Unfriending, blocking, changed numbers, filtered emails, useless restraining orders. You know, the ushe. I did flash my engagement ring to a mutual acquaintance after a few adult freeze pops (delicious, bastards) had loosened my lips one summer day a few weeks after the question had popped.

Therapy, I Swears By It

Therapy, I Swears By It

Know what’s amazing? Therapy. Know who needs to realize this? Everyone. I just got a message from a friend explaining how he unloaded six months worth of built up mental health concerns in one session. The result?  A prozac prescription. During that six-month period, he had gotten out of a tumultuous relationship with a bag of crazy, so the need for a little help from a professional was unsurprising.

Judgement from Swingers

Judgement from Swingers

I thought for sure after I had gotten married I would be rescued from the judgment of smug married people (SMPs) after all I’m in the club now. I’m an SMP! Huzzah! I can’t wait to be insufferable and offer wisdom-filled gems to the poor singles of the world, like “when you stop looking, you’ll find love” and “you really have to love yourself first,” and “you just have to open yourself up to love,” and “he didn’t deserve you.” Okay that last one is always dripping with truth, so I get a pass when I say that. 

Post Wedding Bliss or Blues

Post Wedding Bliss or Blues

A few weeks after I got engaged I was at the salon getting my hair did and swapping anecdotes about planning for the fabled “Big Day.” My stylist almost immediately warned me about the one terrible pitfall of the celebrations. It had nothing to do with the weird family dynamics. Or the fact that vendors are surprisingly unresponsive considering the thousands of dollars you want to throw their way. Or the glitter that will become more permanently embedded in your life than your spouse. 

Courtship Intervention

There comes a time in every young woman’s romantic journey when someone in her life thinks they know better than she does. He’s too this and not enough that for you. Your backgrounds are just too different. He seems like someone who may have a midlife crisis and leave you for his secretary 15 years from now so you should probably just call it now.

Blocked & Breakups

I thought when my relationship ended, so would my writer’s block. Well it never really was writer’s block, just more respect for the individual I was sharing my days with for awhile. But it seems to have just gotten worse. Maybe it’s because it’s not really over for me yet. (Yes I know. I’m stupid, crazy, deluded, enter similar adjective here.) Maybe I just need time to decompress. Whatever it may be I’m going to force a post in hopes of restarting the rusty word processor.