Just Like Dolly Parton!!

I have this week off work, and it seemed like a great opportunity to really recharge for the upcoming new year - I have spent the past few days organizing my new apartment, getting settled, purging unnecessary drama from Facebook & Instagram, and doing a lot of thinking. 2016 was a difficult year in, like, literally every way possible, but here we are with just a few days left. I am looking forward to 2017 for many reasons - some big, some small, some I'll share here, and some I'll keep to myself. But in any case, I always appreciate a good blog challenge, and this one struck my fancy as a fun way to ring in the new year! 

Day One: A song from your childhood

When I was little, I was obsessed with Dolly Parton.

Literally fascinated. 

And my mom bought me these amazing glittery, bedazzled, fring-ey cowboy boots that I don't think I probably took off until my feet wouldn't fit in them anymore. When I opened the box, I gasped and said, "oh my gosh, they're just like Dolly Parton's!!!" 

Like I said. Obsessed. 

Yesterday was Christmas, and this year was probably the quietest my holiday has ever been. I got up in the morning and took Grandma to church, which was as pleasant as always. Everyone who came through the door was so happy to see her, complimenting her holiday broach, wishing her a Merry Christmas, and giving her hugs & kisses. As much disdain as I have for the Catholic church, I do actually enjoy taking her - I even sometimes pay attention instead of scanning the room for cute boys. 

After church, Grandma and I went to my parents' house for breakfast and presents. I did't get any new Dolly Parton boots (dammit), but I was just about that excited about the Costco shopping trips gifted to me by Santa...being an adult is so lame. 

My mom and I drank mimosas, and I headed home mid-afternoon, where I spent the evening drinking more mimosas, watching Netflix, and organizing closets in my new apartment. It was quiet and mellow, and a bit of a reminder as to why Christmas isn't my favorite day of the year anymore. It felt mostly just like any other Sunday, which isn't a bad thing by any means - just didn't feel like much of an extra celebration.

I think next year I'll ask Santa for some Dolly Parton boots! 

#500wordsaday: The Only Love I Chase, is the Love of the Cat

1) A time you lied
2) A time you were hurt
3) The last time you were happy for a week straight
4) Family
5) How you wish you started your day (and then why you aren’t doing that already)
6) Your most authentic moment
7) When you really loved yourself
8) When you were scared
9) Why you long for love
10) Something about you that you’re hoping people don’t notice   / Something about you that you’re hoping people do notice

500 Words a Day: Why you long for love.

Why do I long for love? 

Um. Doesn't everyone? Isn't love a basic human need? 

Am I doing that thing where I look at things in too simple of a light? Like, I probably need to just dig a bit deeper into the prompt...which has been the case every day for the past 8 days? 

You win, blog challenge; you win. 

I long for love from my family, because it's out of reach.

I long for love from my friends, because they feel more like my family.

I long for love from Juno the Cat, because she only gives love when she's in the mood - and I want her to be a snuggly love bug all the time, dammit! 

I long for love romantically, for a lot of reasons, on a lot of different levels.

I feel like the word longing, implies that I am chasing something I can't have - but I don't feel like that's the world I live in. I'm not chasing love from people in my family who don't have love in their hearts for me. And I am not chasing my friends down to love me - they just do. And while I'm not in a romantic relationship, I do also find love from boys - granted, not always the best choices, but still. 

I'll admit I chase the cat.

I had brunch mimosas with a friend from high school recently, who told me the story of a terrible date he'd been on with a girl who had said she wasn't registered to vote (I realize this may not ruin a date for everyone, but for those of us who are in our mid-thirties and single, I think we grow pickier by the minute). As I listened to him talk about how he'd gone total dad-lecture status on her for not being registered to vote against Trump in the upcoming election, it occurred to me that this is the crap people our age deal with in attempt to find the love we're apparently longing for.

Which then made his point make total sense; why bother continuing to date in hopes of finding someone, when all of these people tend to disappoint?

Which then made me feel completely cynical.

Which then led me to wonder...am I actually cynical?

Upon review, let the record show that despite temporary cynicism that comes in waves after every shitty date or every douche bag dude who has a secret girlfriend hidden somewhere...I am not a cynic. Quite the opposite, in fact. When no one is listening or paying attention, I am actually quite the romantic. 

Don't tell anybody; I don't want it to get around.

I'm definitely a girl who loves stories about people who went to junior high or high school together, who then met at random for booze 15 years later, and wound up together (I am actually talking about a girlfriend of mine, I'm not dating the aforementioned bachelor). I love that my best friend and her husband took 20 years to end up married to each other after keeping in touch from when they were neighbors as kids, after each marrying someone else first. I love hearing those gushy stories about people who went through horse shit and came out the other side with the love of their life. Those stories warm my otherwise chilly little heart. 

I can relate, however, to the bachelor noted above, and all of the reasons he's jaded enough to have basically sworn off love forever. I hate the phrase, as we get older, but I also can't think of a better one, so, bear with me here. As we get older, we deal with more and more bull shit. We deal with more and more experiences with people who jade us. People hurt us more often, and for far more ridiculous reasons. It's almost like, the more we get fucked over by people, the more we use that as an excuse to fuck over other people. Like how people who get cheated on, end up cheating on someone else later on. It doesn't really make much sense. When you really think about it, it seems like baggage, or the hurt other people have caused you...should teach you how to treat people better. 

Am I wrong?

I mean, the more boys who dump their epic bull shit on me - their drama, their fear of commitment, their ability to not engage with their emotions, their baggage - the more I should be shutting down. The more it seems I should be swearing off men forever, refusing to date, accepting my fate as a forever bachelorette. 

But I'm not like that. I have this uncanny ability to shake off the shitty treatment I get from the boys I date. Can't be open with me? That's your loss. Can't be faithful to me when I'm ready? Hash tag bye now. Don't want to talk about your feelings? Not my problem. I don't own someone else's baggage. I'm the girl who is patient and understanding and completely open - but not when you can't give me the same vulnerability in return. 

When someone comes at me over mimosas with, I'm never going to date again, my initial response is never to run, but rather to question. I ask, literally millions of questions. Some people aren't into my investigative nature, but those who are, always find a way to be a little more transparent with me than they may be with other people. And maybe that pays off for me in the future. Maybe I date that person because they finally let their guard down and realized that not all women are evil. Maybe that person just has someone else in their corner, or a bit of reassurance for the future.

I don't find myself pining away for the love of my life, upset that Prince Charming hasn't rolled up on my doorstep yet, so I feel like longing for love is completely the wrong phrase. I have immense love in my life, and am in no way, longing. 

Besides, I'm too busy chasing the cat around the house, trying to make her love me. I certainly don't have time for that when it involves humans.

#500wordsaday: Just Picture Them All Naked

1) A time you lied
2) A time you were hurt
3) The last time you were happy for a week straight
4) Family
5) How you wish you started your day (and then why you aren’t doing that already)
6) Your most authentic moment
7) When you really loved yourself
8) When you were scared
9) Why you long for love
10) Something about you that you’re hoping people don’t notice   / Something about you that you’re hoping people do notice

500 Words a Day: When you really loved yourself

Women aren't really predisposed to love ourselves; society prefers we focus on our faults over our successes, the bad over the good. It took me a frightening amount of time to think of a time I could say I last really loved myself. Like, such a lengthy amount of time, I am writing this intro still unsure of the answer. 

The last time I really loved myself.

Do women really do that? Love themselves?

Fast forward a day-and-a-half, and I still don't really know the answer to this question. What's scary, is that I can think of countless moments where I've taken time out of my day to hate myself. I can think of plenty of moments where I have hated on my body or on my life or on my choices; I could write a whole book on times I've hated something about myself, physically or otherwise. 

We have to fight against the thigh gap and the bikini bridge; without those things (which are impossible goals), we can't possibly love our bodies. We have to fight against rape culture, which continues to blame us or what we're wearing when we're assaulted or raped. We have to fight against sexism and wage gaps in the work place, disrespect in athletics in both high school and college. You name it, women are waging an uphill battle against it. 

And I feel like that's how most women I know, would answer this question. I am not the only one wading through times I've been negative about myself, looking for a brief fleeting moment of a time I may have had a loving moment. I honestly can't think of a time in my adult life that I have loved my body, and I make a lot of choices I'm not super lovey-dovey about either. 

I had to dig really far to find a way to write this post.

Recently, I was asked to speak for 5 minutes at a training in our corporate office. This likely seems like not such a big deal to a lot of people, but for someone who gets nervous when speaking in public for 5 seconds, 5 minutes in front of all of our company's regional managers and directors, is a big deal. 

Big.

Huge.

Before I said yes, I almost passed out at the thought. But of course, I know that in order to move in the direction I want, this was a great opportunity, and one I should be proud of having, as only two of us were invited. So, it was a big deal. One I should have been (and was, once the overwhelming terror wore off), proud of. 

I had no idea what to wear, and probably tried on everything in my entire closet the night before - keep in mind, this was taking place at 8:00am the day after my birthday, so I kept dinner very tame, only had one beer, and was home in bed by 10:00pm; I was not taking any chances at this not going well. In the morning, I walked into the corporate office with my coworker, a complete ball of nerves. We'd spent the drive nervously gossiping, trying to convince each other this was no big deal, knowing full well that it kinda was. But, with all of my nerves, I did it. I got up in front of the room, talked about my team and their awesomeness, and about all of the things I was asked to speak about. 

And I didn't die or faint or anything!

I was certainly proud of myself in this moment, and felt a huge sense of accomplishment. I did something I was terrified to do, and I did a great job - I received several amazing follow up emails confirming that I didn't fail miserably at life, nor could anyone tell I was so nervous I was practically hyperventilating internally. I did great. And I was so proud. 

I would say that those things - pride, accomplishment, the ability to pat myself on the back - equate to self-love. I left the meeting with this sense of confidence that I don't often feel, and I think that is self-love as well. 

Starting this post, I felt like I needed to uncover a moment where I loved myself physically; for some reason "a time you loved yourself" instantly felt like I needed to dig through all of the nasty things I have ever said about my body to find a moment I liked it. But in reality, self-love doesn't have to be physical. It doesn't have to be a time I felt great in a dress or noticed myself losing weight; it doesn't have to equate to body image, because body isn't all I am. Self-love can exist in other ways, including pride for accomplishing something or overcoming a fear. 

There are a lot of things I don't love about myself, but the reality is most of those are external. And the reality is, most of them are stupid and irrational, and almost all of them are things I need to work to get over. It shouldn't take so much thought and bewilderment to come up with something I actually love about myself. 

But this exercise made me do that, which I clearly needed. 

I love that I'm ambitious, and that being afraid will never be what stops me from going for what I want. My passion and drive, both personally and professionally, are a force to be reckoned with, and while I often lack confidence, I am just as often driven forward on stubborn, hard-headed passion alone. I like that about myself. 

You could even say I love it. 

#500wordsaday: Maybe Next Time I'll Wear a Dress

1) A time you lied
2) A time you were hurt
3) The last time you were happy for a week straight
4) Family
5) How you wish you started your day (and then why you aren’t doing that already)
6) Your most authentic moment
7) When you really loved yourself
8) When you were scared
9) Why you long for love
10) Something about you that you’re hoping people don’t notice   / Something about you that you’re hoping people do notice

500 Words a Day: Family.

Oh boy.

It has taken me a long time to learn the lesson that genetics, does not mean family - that just because someone is related to you, does not make them family. And even more, that that's okay. I have only recently been able to accept that not everyone in my genetic family will always love or protect me, and that not everyone who loves and protects me, will be genetically related to me. 

And that's fine. 

I thought for a long time about how to approach this prompt - do I talk about who my family is, where we came from, what we've been through over the past 10 years? Do I vent about my frustrations or feelings of abandonment, or perhaps talk about who has become my family in the absence of my 'real' family? 

But, to what recourse? At what point does being upset by these things become useless. It won't change. My fate is sealed. I'm different; I stand up and speak out, and because of this, I "can't let things go." So why continue the uphill battle?

No. Instead I focus on what's great about my family; I focus on the moments that fill me with joy to be a Whitmore. I focus on the parts of me that are wholeheartedly Whitmore - the stubbornness, the passion, the dramatic emotion (both good and bad ), the deep-seeded feelings, and the ability to express them passionately. These are things that I possess, just like my grandma, just like my aunts and uncles, just like my cousins; these are things that we all possess that make us who we are, and that's fine. It's fine that we scream at the TV because our team is losing. It's fine that we laugh loudly and that we gesture expressively while telling a story.

It's all just fine (mostly). 

So instead of groaning at the family prompt, I am choosing to focus on a positive family moment. While they may not be as common as the negative ones anymore, they do still come around, and I do still have them. And I think they are often overshadowed by all of the negative. 

Last month, I took my grandma to mass at her church. 

I should preface this with, I hate going to church. I am not a Catholic, nor do I believe in most of what the Catholic church preaches. Going to mass makes me incredibly uncomfortable, and in my jeans and tee shirt I certainly stuck out like an awkward non-believing sore thumb in the middle of the building. For 2 hours I was fidgety in my seat, unsure of when to stand or sit or kneel or do cartwheels (those Catholics, man, they really keep up the cardio during all those prayers). 

Anyway, I wanted to spend some more quality time with my grandma, so I called her and told her I was coming to get her for mass. She was surprised, but pleasantly. I have made a commitment to spending more time with her, and I don't always want to just chill down in her apartment to do so - taking her to mass was a nice way to get her out of the house.

By the way...things no one told me before I picked her up, that would have been nice to know: Grandma is a greeter, so she gets to mass an hour early! 

Awkward.

So here I am, in jeans and flip flops, standing next to my grandma in the front door of a church, greeting every Catholic in Milwaukie as they come through the door. It was hilarious on every level, as she introduced me to everyone as "one of my many lovely granddaughters," as I awkwardly shifted in my sandals, saying hi and being introduced to all of them. 

The best part was, she was IN. HER. ELEMENT. I have never seen my grandma so in the zone, so happy, so excited, or smiling so big. I've never felt so loved or valued by her, as I did as she proudly exclaimed to all of her church ladies that I had called to tell her I wanted to go with her to mass. It has been many years since I've seen her thriving like she was that Sunday morning. 

Side note: The old, single men at St. Johns, are all about my grandma. She's their queen, and they adore her.

I tell you what, she was called beautiful by so many old men, I about died. All of them with their hugs and cheek smooches, and then the you're just as lovely as your grandmother hand shakes. My oh my, was she the prom queen of the 10am mass or what?! Every one of them asked about her son, who was dying of cancer, every one of them asked who my mom and dad were, every one of them offered her a hug, a kiss, a prayer, a million dollars. It was amazing. 

It is really easy with family - and especially with mine - to focus on the negative, to get caught up in fights and drama, to let the bad overshadow the good. But for me, the resolve is that my grandma will know, until the day she dies, that I love her, value her, and appreciate her. I have never claimed to be the perfect grandchild, but I have made a promise to myself that no matter anything else going on, I will spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with my grandma - wherever that may be - until she's no longer with us. In my family, that may require some uncomfortable conversations and some moments at a dinner table that feel similar to sitting in a Catholic Mass, but I don't care. None of that matters as much as having a positive and memorable relationship with my grandma. And I'm prepared to make any necessary amends in order to maintain that with her. 

Family isn't always easy; in fact more often than not, it's really challenging. It's a lot of people with like personalities, trying to coexist with all of their feelings; with my family, that means a lot of highly passionate people who all believe they're right all the time. That's hard. 

But for the grin on my grandma's face when I dropped her off after church and taught her how to take a selfie, it was (and continues to be) worth every challenging speed bump along the way. 

Do You Love to Hate, or Do You Hate to Love?

Maybe this is why I'm single.

Maybe this is why I don't have very many long term relationships under my belt.

Maybe this is why I've never been married. 

Maybe this is why I'm not bitter, why I don't have a laundry list of "must-have" qualities in someone.

Maybe this is why I can still see the good in people, why I can take someone at face value.

Or maybe I'm just completely, one hundred percent right, and the rest of the world is wrong.

Whatever the reason, I just really, truly think that relationships should not be this difficult. 

Period. If you're working too hard to be happy, you're not with the right person. Your lobster would never require this much effort. And I think you should be able to be with your lobster.

Day One of my 30 Day Blog Challenge: Thoughts on Your Current Relationship, or of Your Current Single Status.

Nobody should be putting so much work into their relationship that it doesn't bring them any happiness. I know so many people who work harder on their relationship than they do on anything else; they put in so much effort, it's exhausting even to watch from the outside. They are constantly fighting an uphill battle, trying to force things, trying to find middle ground or compromise, just struggling to get it together with the person they're with. 

Why? Why are you doing that?! What is the payoff for putting in such a dramatic effort on a relationship that probably just isn't the right one for you? What kind of sadist are you? What is it about this person that makes you think you have to make it happen. that you have to force it to be successful?

Am I the only one in the world who would rather be single and wait for the right guy, than be in a forced, unhappy relationship just to be sure I always have someone around?

I know relationships take work; don't get my message twisted. I know that all relationships (and friendships, and family relationships for that matter) take compromise. And sincere effort. And selflessness. I get it. That's not what I'm arguing. I do know, accept, and understand that it's not always sunshine and butterflies in a relationship, and that there are moments and times that are hard. And that for the right person, you'll fight hard through those tougher moments and come out better on the other side. That happens in the duration of life with someone. 

I'm talking, though, about the people who are ALWAYS fighting to make it happen. I'm sorry, but if your relationship is more work than fun, more bad times than good, more stress than satisfaction...you are not in the right relationship. Just let it go and move on; you're annoying everyone else on Earth who already sees this going down the shitter.

At what point, when you're looking at your partner thinking of ways to destroy them so you can be happy, do you stop and think that perhaps you could do everyone (the two of you included) by just ending it? When does one arrive to the conclusion that a relationship should bring you at least some slight spark of joy, and that you haven't felt joy in so long you forget what it's like? I mean, people do get to that point, right? So why does it take so long? Why does it take so much fighting and energy? I just don't get it. It's like, before you can end you miserable, destructive anything-but-a-healthy-relationship, why do you have to destroy yourself from the inside first?

Hang on, we'll break up once we've both lost all hope for anything successful in the future.

It appears that it may just be me, but I would rather be single than date someone who hates me. I'm not sure at what point any of us were convinced (or who it was that convinced us) that a relationship need not bring joy or genuine happiness, but that as long as someone is waiting for us when we get home, that'll be good enough.

Good enough is absolutely not good enough!

Good enough should never be good enough. Not with a meal, not with an apartment or a place to live, not with a vacation, and certainly not with a relationship! Why do people think that's okay? Why do you think you have to settle? Why can't you let go of what's good enough in pursuit of something incredible?

You can.

I can.

In fact, I have.

Gone are my days of settling for something good enough, when I know there are men out there who do actually know how to make a woman swoon; how to really make someone tick. That's who I'm after. I feel like that's what we all should be after.

If you're with someone who doesn't make your heart beat faster, or who doesn't make your breath catch when they touch you, then what are you wasting your time for? If your partner can't understand you, appreciate and value you, or give you one hundred percent of themselves, then why are you wasting your energy? I remember one time my mom said to me, a relationship is not 50/50, a good one is 100/100. And that's so true. Do you give yourself a hundred percent to someone who gives you back the same hundred percent? If not, you're wasting your time. If not, you're selling yourself short. You're cheating yourself out of greatness with someone who will.

Relationships are hard.
They take work and energy and time and commitment.
They take communication. They take openness and honesty. They certainly take effort.
But, if a relationship feels like work and doesn't leave you happy at the end of the day, you're not in the right one.

Keep it moving.

The Friendliest Lobsters Have the Worst Breath

I was told this week that my relationship with one of my closest male friends is comparable to Ross Gellar and Rachel Green (from Friends, in case you were raised under a rock). Initially, I didn't see it and laughed it off; Ross and Rachel are an on-again-off-again couple, who break up and get back together countless times over the course of, what, ten seasons, before figuring it out. 

It didn't make sense initially, because we've never broken up and gotten back together. We've been friends for far longer than we've ever been romantically involved; we tried that briefly and it didn't work. We haven't had any knock-down, drag-out fights, nor have we had passionate moments of making up like Ross and Rachel repeatedly have throughout the show. We've dated other people, we've gone weeks without speaking...Ross and Rachel never spent a full day apart. And then eventually, they got over themselves, fell in love, had a baby, and that was that.

Bliss.

Love. 

Lobsters. 

So at first? Nah, I don't see it. 

That said, I let myself keep thinking about it these past few days. Between a function with our company, an after-hours work project, a movie, and a sleepover, I've spent a number of hours with this fella this week. And while we are friends, and while I appreciate that invaluable friendship, I am also smart enough to see the boundaries that we cross, the lines that we blur. We're definitely mutually guilty of that.

We had a too-drunk-to-drive-home sleepover at my place last night. We didn't have sex, didn't even kiss - we didn't cross any of the physical lines we've put in place for our relationship. But we shared my bed, we held hands, and we cuddled close all night long. We then laid in bed together this morning watching TV while spooning, snoozing off and on, and sharing the quiet. 

The question is, where are the actual boundaries? Where do you draw lines that separate you from being Just Friends, to dating casually, to hooking up, or to being in a relationship? Life used to be so easy, where if you made out with someone, you had crossed a line. But now here we are, 30 years old, and the opportunity to blur physical boundary lines are prevalent. I wasn't allowed to have boys spend the night at my house when I was in high school, so those boundaries were just always in place. That's no longer the case. If I have too much to drink, I often crash at a friend's house, and the same goes both ways. So, where are those limits? What boundaries do you have in place to protect you heart, guard yourself from accidentally catching feelings you are not prepared for? When you parents aren't there telling you to be home by midnight or to make sure there is never a boy in your bedroom, how do you decide what will keep you from getting hurt?

My best friend texted me this morning, jokingly asking if I'd made a "good or bad decision" last night; meaning...when we all parted ways after the movie, did I go home alone or with company. I was sharing a warm, clammy cuddle at the time - the kind of cuddle that fits with a hangover. A looming headache, morning breath, makeup in the corners of your eyes. We laughed when I read the text aloud, responded that I'd made a good decision but that I was not alone in bed...

"Mmmmmm...I feel like just sharing a bed together is way more confusing than straight up having sex." 

Touche??

Again I ask, where do you place boundaries with your friends of the opposite sex to keep things on a platonic level. How do you maintain a friendship more like Joey and Phoebe as opposed to Ross and Rachel? When you are determined to be Just Friends, how do you make sure that it works that way, stays that way? 

The reality is, when you start seeing all of the ways that your relationship is, in fact, similar to Ross and Rachel, you also start to see that Ross and Rachel are really not friends. They are two people who have deeper, non-platonic feelings for each other, who take years to realize and act on them, but who fail at other attempts at love in the mean time. Ross and Rachel have a chemistry that can't be avoided, they blur lines and cross boundaries that they don't cross with their other friends. And that's because Ross and Rachel were never Just Friends in the first place. 

Again, not Just Friends.

Because, Lobsters. 

There isn't really any rant or rave here, nor am I attempting to make any real point; I am mostly just looking back over the past year with this amazing fella in my life, trying to remember at what point he became this vital to my world. Trying to think back to the moment that we transitioned from casual friends to two people who know each other better than anybody else. At what point he became the person who knows what I'm thinking before I even realize it myself. At what point he realized I was one of the few people in his life who can interpret him, as opposed to the people who just know him on the surface. There was a moment just a week or two ago that he told me he was looking back (probably the same way I've been doing today) and realized that he and I are, as he put it, cut from the same cloth. We understand each other's weirdness, the way we each tick, what we like and what scares us. I'm grateful for it. don't get me wrong. Every complicated blurred line, every ignored boundary, every emotionally charged conversation is a reminder that he isn't going anywhere, that we get each other, and that we need each other. 

If you remove the television drama, the marriage in Vegas, the accidental daughter, and some over-the-top details, Ross and Rachel are really just two friends who know each other better than anyone else. I mean outside of the fact that they are secretly in love with each other and take ten years to figure it out, I suppose we're a bit more like Ross and Rachel than we thought. They're two people who have each other figured out, who can be a friend, a therapist, a guide, or who can just be there.

And I couldn't appreciate that any more than I do. 

Even (maybe even especially) when I wake up to the smell of stale Corona and unbrushed teeth, after falling asleep in a complicated, confusing, comfortable cuddle next to the fella with whom I share a fear of what's most comfortable.

Let's Be #JustFriends, Just Because

A few months ago, I wrote a blog about whether or not I believed men and women could be friends without sex complicating the relationship; It sprung from the movie When Harry Met Sally, and Billy Crystal's belief that men and women cannot be friends.

At that point, I wasn't sure whether I agreed or disagreed with Billy Crystal. Because at that time, I was falling in love with one of my friends. It was complicated and confusing, and it was also intense and gratifying. I'd never felt love like that. It was the kind of love that makes you realize you never loved anyone you'd previously believed you had. I was lucky in that my friend appeared to be falling in love with me too; I wasn't alone in the feeling that my heart could explode every time I saw him. I was head-over-heels, elated-and-over-the-moon, horny-all-the-time, in L-O-V-E for the first time.

And, of course, our friendship was effectively destroyed.

Not because anything bad happened, and not because there was a fight or a falling out, but just because, once you fall in love with someone, can you really consider them a friend? When they make your heart burst, when they light up every morning, can you really turn that off? No, not so much. So, despite our individual issues with vulnerability, and despite the prior relationship baggage we were both lugging around with us, I found myself in a relationship with my friend. A friend I'd spent the last several months falling in love with while simultaneously attempting to deny it.

As you know, it didn't work out. It doesn't really matter why; he and I know why, and our respective therapists know why. What matters is that, after experiencing my first real love, I then experienced my first real broken heart. And, fuck that. It fucking sucked. For the first time, I knew what it was like to not want to get out bed, to not want to eat, to not want to even turn on the lights, brush my teeth, or wash my hair. All I wanted to do was lay in bed with my cat, sleep all day, and cry until my eyes burned. For the first time, I had pain in my chest that radiated through the rest of my body. I'd never experienced anything like it, and I wouldn't have wished it on anyone else...except, I did hope he was feeling it too, honestly. I hoped I'd been as important to his heart as he'd been to mine, and I knew if I was, he was likely in his own bed with his own cat, not eating or sleeping or showering, or doing anything but existing there.

For the record, as it turned out, he was. Because I was important to his heart, and because breaking up fucking sucks.

After we broke up and a healthy amount of time had passed staying away from each other's Facebook pages and snap chats, one of us struck a casual conversation, and we made a mutual effort to repair the incredible friendship that our romantic relationship had dug a grave for. We decided to try. And honestly, it took a little bit of thought; was it worth the potential awkwardness or any potential hurt later on? We mutually agreed that any other feelings aside, this was a friendship worth salvaging. I missed him; I missed the way he listened intently when I spoke, and the way he was always thinking outside the box. I missed his quirkiness, the way he instilled confidence in me even when his own was lacking, and the way he made all of my bad days, good.

We've been spending a significant amount of time together in the past several weeks, and I am reminded of everything that drew me to him from the day we met. All the reasons I wanted to be friends with him in the first place, the things that truly attracted me to him as a person. It has been refreshing to spend time at his dining room table, drinking wine and having the same real, meaningful conversations we've always had, as if we hadn't skipped a beat. As if the complicated messy parts never got in the way of a genuine connection. I've been happily messaging him throughout our day, talking over beers about work and family and life, in a way that makes me feel like we didn't fuck it all up just a few months ago. It feels like I have one of my best friends back, and how does that not make me think, yes, absolutely, men and women can absolutely be friends?!

Because, jealousy. Because, attraction. Because, tension. Because, wine.

If your friend mentions someone else they're interested in, or someone else they may be dating, and you feel jealousy radiating through you...you're probably not just friends.

If you're physically attracted to your friend, in a way that distracts you, in a way that allows you to pull her closer to you on the couch, or in a way that makes your cheeks warm when he smiles at you...you're not just friends.

If you and your friend have sex, if you kiss goodnight, curl up under the covers together without pants on, stay the night in bed together, and wake up next to each other...you're not just friends.

The wine speaks for itself. Wine is just, wine...

I wrote my original blog six months ago, posing the question, is it possible for men and women to be friends without complicating everything with sexual tension and mutual attraction. And I honestly still don't know. I still wonder if he and I are truly just good friends, with some history of attraction that is stirred up by drinking wine, or if our friendship is an impossibility. Are we fighting an uphill battle in which one (or both) of us will end up hurting all over again, or are we capable of a true friendship that doesn't crush our boundaries? Can you be friends with someone you've shared your whole heart with in the past, or is your friendship from this point forward, somehow tarnished? I really don't know; surely time will tell in this instance. Time has a way of doing that.

And in the mean time, the best thing to do is to continue to enjoy having an incredible friend back in my life, in whatever way that happens for the two of us. Because what I've learned about good friends, is that it doesn't matter how a relationship looks to anyone else; it only matters that your friends fill your heart and you fill theirs. That you're there for each other with love and support, that you're available, reliable. That you bring a sense of calm to their otherwise overwhelming world. That they find the way to make you feel comfortable and safe. It only matters that you're both there, with honesty and communication, for each other. Whether you're best friends, close friends, good friends, great friends, or just friends...it all boils down to, how much does this person matter to your heart?

If you're in each other's hearts, the rest will work itself out.

Because, love. Because, support. Because, encouragement.

Because, you want it to.

50 Shades of Kinky Fuckery

So, I just got home from a movie; a handful of my girlfriends and I went to see 50 Shades of Grey. And it was pretty good. I think we all enjoyed it - and not just because it was 20% sex scenes (that didn't hurt, of course). The books were certainly written at an easy reading level, and there were a few too many descriptions of Anastasia's vagina, but they were a quick, fun, easy read - and we were all enticed to see the film adaptation.

There has been a ton of hype surrounding this movie, and a ton of criticism as well. Specifically, I've read several articles about the ways that this movie's portrayal of the dominant/submissive relationship glorifies domestic abuse. There is no shortage of people writing blogs in protest of the film, because of all the different ways Christian Grey is abusive, controlling, and manipulative, and all of the different ways he is violent toward Anastasia.

Umm. Nope.

As someone who has been abused, I can speak from personal experience that in no way does this movie glorify, support, or encourage domestic violence or abuse in romantic relationships. Because a desire to dominate someone in the bedroom does not a violent abuser make.

The plot line to 50 Shades of Grey - in case you were born last week and haven't already heard - is that of a dominant/submissive relationship in a young couple. She's a virgin, he's a head case, he wants to dominate her, they eventually fall in love and the story goes another route. Your basic Disney romance, with some nudity and bondage scenes. But of course, no one can just watch a movie, enjoy it, and go about their day. We all have to analyze it, critique it, and tear it to shreds about all of the underlying meaning and all of the wrong messages it sent to the young women out there.

#BARF.

First of all, there is a huge, HUGE difference between a dominant/submissive relationship and an abusive one. Key differences? Trust, love, and respect.

In dominant/submissive relationships, there are boundaries. There are safe words. There are rules and hard limits. Also, there is love. There's respect for your partner and a desire to give each other pleasure. The relationship is not about control or torture, or wanting to cause pain to the person you love; it's about causing pleasure. And maybe it isn't what you're into in the bedroom, but that doesn't make it evil or bad or wrong; that doesn't mean it isn't erotic or passionate. And it certainly does not make it abuse.

In an abusive relationship, on the other hand, there tends to be a lack of trust. And certainly a lack of respect for your partner. There are no boundaries, no safe words, and no rules. With abuse, there is not love and respect and a fair partnership. Abusive relationships are not about pleasure, they're about control. Abusers are manipulators who need to be in control, who need to be in charge and making decisions. Abusers don't respect the people they're abusing. Abusers don't care about your hard limits, your desires, or really about you at all. Not. The. Same.

In watching the fictional relationship unfold on the movie screen, it was clearly very much about two people who cared for each other, expressing their feelings and desires, satisfying each other sexually and, eventually, emotionally as well. In living a real life domestic violence scenario, there is no healthy expression of feeling and desire. Sure there's sex. It'd be unrealistic to think there wasn't. But there isn't healthy, romantic, passionate sex. It's obligatory sex. It's sex because you have to, because it's expected of you; it's sex with the lights off because you've been told repeatedly how unattractive you are and how awful it is to look at you. Sex in an abusive relationship lacks passion, lacks romance. You do it when you're asked, you don't enjoy it. You don't even have orgasms, so you're certainly not exploding with pleasure while blindfolded and handcuffed to the headboard. Sex with someone who abuses you often ends in a fight because you did it wrong, or because you said the wrong thing, or because you tried to say no. Sex with an abuser is quite the opposite of a dominant/submissive sexual relationship.

Repeat after me: Sex with someone who loves and treasures you and respects your boundaries, is nothing like sex with someone who controls and manipulates you, who criticizes your every move and belittles your existence.

50 Shades of Grey was a book-turned-movie that has gotten a lot of play (see what I did there?) because of the erotic language and juicy sex scenes, and because it gives light to a form of sexual relationship that people in general may not consider the norm. Repeatedly throughout the script, even the main character asks why her love interest doesn't have sex "like normal people." However, just because it's not the norm, doesn't mean it's ugly or abusive. Some women (and some men, really) aren't into anal sex, but some are - that doesn't make it gross or ugly, it just makes it a personal preference. Sex - what you like, what you don't, what turns you on - is all personal preference.

As long as you're with someone who respects you, respects your limits and boundaries, and understands that sex should make you feel safe and satisfied, it's not wrong, no matter what it looks like. You can be into the kinky fuckery with someone who loves you, cherishes you, and protects you. Or you can have vanilla, quiet, "normal" sex with someone who controls you, forces himself on you, and puts you in danger more often than not. It's not bad because it's kinky, nor is it good because it's vanilla.

It's not black and white.

It's grey.

What it really comes down to is, it's not about the type of sex you're having, but rather the type of person you're having sex with. Nothing else is relevant, so don't let other people influence what feels good (or bad) to you.

Even if that means you ask someone to blindfold you and smack your ass with a riding crop.