the paper doll

Confession

Dear Internet,

We need to talk.  I haven't been honest with you.  Yeah I said I've been busy.  I started grad school.  I'm working.  I am busy.  But that's not the reason I've been mum here.

Things aren't right Internet.  They haven't been for a long time. 

And now that I am busy.  Now that I'm starting a career that makes you take a long hard look at your own shit I can't turn my head in the other direction.  I can try.  That's why I haven't written.  Really written.  Because with you I can't lie.  And boy have I been lying or trying to lie.

So here it is Internet, The Musician and I well...I don't even know how to complete that sentence.  We're limping along and I'm not sure I want to limp anymore. 

Just typing that makes me sigh. 

It's so complicated.  Isn't it always so complicated?

But it shouldn't be.  It should be two people in love.   Isn't that all you need?

As it turns out no.

You need passion.  And direction.  And attraction.  And goals.  And mutual interests.

And you need to know.  To know so deep down in your bones.

I only know on the surface.  I could be happy with him.  We could have a great life.  But my bones would always be saying what if?

And that's what makes you check into seedy hotels on your lunch break and do things you'll regret.

We've talked and talked and talked. 

As of now we're still together.  But I have to be honest with you and say I'm not sure how much longer that will be.

I want a ring and a family.

I want to know.

And I don't.

Ps-What does it mean that as soon as I hit publish the sound of settling came on my pandora?

Under Pressure

Dear Internet,

I've been thinking a lot about marriage lately.  The Musician and I will have been together two years in October.  He's a great guy, we have a wonderful time together, and for the first time in my life I can see myself walking down the aisle with him.

But why?

Why do we feel the need, the desire, the pull to get married?  Why is it so important?  Why is it what we are always working towards or searching for? 

Isn't it enough to have him in this moment?  Why is the big white dress and marriage certificate necessary?  And why is it, in this day and age, that my worth as a woman is tied to whether or not I'm married?

No sooner than had I gotten my college diploma did the questions started coming.  Are you seeing anyone?  Do you think he's the one?  Are you married?

Never how's your job?  That's so great you bought a house at 23.  Congrats on that promotion.

It doesn't matter what I do.  How successful I am.  What I give back to my community.  All people care about is whether or not I'm married or in the process of getting there.

Sure I'd like to have the party.  Wear the dress.  Get married.  Often when I'm bored I find myself flipping through bridal pages on the net.

But aren't I so much more than that?

Can't I be fabulous and single?  Or fabulous and in a serious long term committed relationship but not married? 

I don't get it.

A and I had a long conversation last nite about whether it's nature or nurture that make us yearn for that life long commitment.

I think it's fear (among other things).

In an article I just happened to read this morning Lisa Gabriele writes:

Bertrand Russell wrote, "Religion is based, I think, primarily and mainly upon fear. It is partly the terror of the unknown . . . the wish to feel that you have a kind of elder brother who will stand by you in all your troubles and disputes." Today, most couples I know have turned their backs on God and religion. In fact, the last time they saw the inside of a church was probably the day they got married. But when you have no religion, no god, no spiritual practice to turn to for comfort, it's easy to turn your relationship into your altar, to give it the power to heal you, transform you and save you. That's why most relationships crack under pressure, I think — they're not built to fix us. We're supposed to fix them. If Russell is right that religion is the last place to go to if you're looking for God, then perhaps marriage is the last place to go to if you're looking for love.  n°

I think it's wise to say that until I fix myself I have no business donning that white dress.  And that's ok.   I can be happy AND in love without a wedding band.  And it doesn't cheapen me or what the Musician and I have.

Now if someone would just tell my biological clock that.

-The Paper Doll wants to learn how to live in the present

PS-Internet how do you feel about marriage?  Are you for it?  Again it? Why do you want or not want to get married?  Thoughts?  Feelings?  Ideas?

Fishmonger

Dear Internet,

There's a saying, "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results."

This article would argue that's, "the stupidest thing ever said by a smart person," and no indication of insanity whatsoever but of experimentation.

I, then, am not smart nor have I been conducting a very successful experiment for the past year.

I have been doing the same thing over and over with The Musician, with my life, with my work.  And here I am.  No new results and half insane.

I feel like I did when I was a child trying to fit my yellow Playskool triangle into the rectangular hole.  Whine as I might it just wasn't going to go.

I have a habit of picking up men that need to be saved, much like that hokey but true little story about the starfish thrower.  Men that are squares when I need circles.

There was the Southern Gentleman who I nursed through his knob year.  There was the Writer I got into college.  Walter who I found a new job for.  The Fling who I got his high school sweetheart back for him. 

And now The Musician.  What shall I do for him before tossing him back?

I know it's not saving the world but damn I've made some mighty fine catches out of otherwise useless fish.

But this is getting old.  Repeating over and over again the same ole thing.  I'm ready to hook one for good instead of running up and down the beach breathing life back into the ones half dead and rotting.  The ones no one else wants and stink to high heaven once you pick them up.

There's a reason they're flopping around on the sand.  Leave them to die and jump in the water for Christ's sake.  That's where the healthy fat ones swim.  The ones that have both eyes and fins.  The ones that don't need nursing before they become perfect men.

My relationship with The Musician has begun to stink.  And habit tells me this is when I throw him back in the water for some other girl to keep.

But if insanity is doing the same thing over and over, why throw him back?

(Which is not at all what I set out to write to you but here it is-squired out on the page.)

Why throw him back?  Why keep him?  Why do anything with him at all?

Which is what I originally set out to tell you.  That I don't know what to do.

That I must decide whether or not to be insane or alone.

And both options smell like dead fish to me.

-The Paper Doll can't believe she just wrote a post comparing her problems to dead fish

trial separation

dear internet,

this isn't working.

it's not you.  it's me.

i think we need to take a break.  i'm not saying break up.  just spend some time apart for awhile.  see other people.

i just feel like i'm undergoing a change and i'm not sure you fit with me anymore.

i mean, i started this site because my mom got sick and i wanted a place to catalog my fears and vent about the hospital system.  then, i wanted a place to wade through my grief and sketch out memories of her.

but i haven't done that.

instead, i whine about my boyfriends.  i know you're sick of hearing it.

i'm sick of telling it.

i think we can work this out internet, i really do.

i just need sometime to figure out how.

-the paper doll is looking for a change

do i stay or do i go oh

oh internet,

where to begin?  why begin at the beginning and go on til you come to the end; then stop of course.

sigh.

but where exactly is the beginning?

the fight last nite?  the one two weeks ago?  some random tuesday last november?

how did i get here?

when you first start dating someone you don't really pay attention to their red flags because you're giddy and in like.  and if you do you don't really care because there'll be time for that later.

internet-it's time.

the musician and i are at the seven month mark and it's time to either screw up my courage or cut and run.

i know his flaws.  i've seen him wave his flags.

i've long been known to beat a dead horse.  to drag it around by its mane when it's fallen down and won't run the race by its own accord.

if i were to become a saint it'd be the one of lost causes.

i stay too long trying to breathe life into things long dead.

the only problem?  i'm not sure this time.

with all the rest i knew.  knew i should go.  knew it was time.  i may have keep atop the horse but i knew i should let it die in peace.

but with him.

i don't know. 

people don't just lay down their red flags.  i can't expect him to change.

but i don't know if i can accept him.

so whataya do?

try, try, try.  just to realize three years later it isn't going to work?

or quit and possibly lose one of the best things to ever happen to you.

love is not enough.

and right now i gotta figure out if we have enough of the rest of the stuff.

-the paper doll is lost and confused

the further tying up of loose ends

dear internet,

i got a myspace message from the writer.  an exboyfriend i've long had a love hate relationship with.

who the best friend says you couldn't pay her enough to stand in the same room with.

contact from him has at once delighted me and made my stomach boil.  unlike the southern gentleman, i never know what the writer might say.  much less if he even means a word of it or not.

but this time was different as i read his words.  i didn't hang on them like i had before.  didn't read between the lines looking for love.  for once i just accepted them for what they were and didn't care whether he meant them or not.  it didn't matter.

i legitimately complimented him back.  knowing that those keystrokes closed the chapter on us. 

no longer was it a game of cat and mouse.  i'd already been caught (and not by him). 

no longer a pursuit but an honest admission.  and our relationship was never based on that.

----------------------------------------------------------------

i sent out a mass email noting the big change around here.  i didn't much think about it until some of them bounced back.  out of curiosity i opened the failure to deliver messages just to see who else i'd lost contact with.

walter's address appeared.

i've long since deleted his numbers from my phone.  and while he remains one of my myspace friends he hasn't logged on since september.

i use to worry this city was too small for the both of us, aside from a handful of sightings he's not someone i often bump into.

it's almost as if he doesn't exist.  like i never even knew him at all.

those three long years fuzzy and gone.

----------------------------------------------------------------

so, internet, let it be noted:  my three most important men have been wiped away.

i've never subscribed to the motto the opposite of love is hate.  i've always thought indifference was better fitting.

if you were to ask me how i feel about those three i'd tell you i don't really care.

and you'd know what i really meant was that i'd found true love somewhere.

-the paper doll has had a blinding insight

the end of an era

dear internet-

you know how there are some numbers you have in your phone or scratched out on a leaf of paper that you rarely use but you just feel better having them.  knowing that if you ever needed them they'd be there-somewhere.

the southern gentleman was my high school sweetheart.  and probably the only person whom i've ever had such a palpable chemistry with it could peel the paper off walls. 

the best friend said if she were my current boyfriend you couldn't pay her enough to stand in the same room with him and me.

after we broke up my senior year in high school we stayed in touch.  doing the we're in college drunk sex thing a time or five (there's a story in there about purposefully burning my neck with a curling iron once but that's for another time).

point is-over the years we've fallen out of weekly touch.  he's got a girlfriend i'm sure he'll marry and i my own pursuits.

however, we do occasionally shower each other with a phone call and keep in touch via our small town gossip mill (mostly my nana tells me what she's heard about him and asks me if i've talked to him recently-i don't think my family's yet realized we broke up).

most of the time i'm calling to say i'll be in his town and doesn't he want to meet me for a drink with his girlfriend in tow. 

before he even answers i know what he'll say.  yet we still make the effort once in a blue moon because it's comforting to know some things really don't ever change.

i reached for my phone on friday to give him the call, as i was to make the two hour drive to his town, but while scrolling i realized i wouldn't find it there.  my old phone taking all my numbers with her to her grave.

and since the one i have scribbled out in my address book is long gone and the email one from college the southern gentleman and i are officially over.  a mere eight years after we began.

it's probably the longest break up in history i know.  and one that never would have happened had i not gotten drunk and broken my phone.

i wish i could say i know he'll call but i know him well enough to know he won't.  his manners and our chemistry prevent him from rightly doing so.

*so i'll have to be content knowing that ship has sailed and maybe one day when we're old and gray it will make one last call for port.  and if i'm lucky i'll be there to answer its call.

no matter what i'll always know i'm better for having him even if it wasn't always on speed dial.

-the paper doll feels a little sad

*just in case the southern gentleman is reading this--i'm holding you to your word.

perspective

walter and i met for coffee on a tuesday morning in november.  and from that first moment i knew there should be no more.  no kisses.  no hand holding.  no second dates.

but fifteen minutes later our fingers were intertwined.  in an hour our lips. 

and in a week i found myself sleeping with him.  in two spending every night together.

three years later we were breaking up

and everyday in between?  a struggle.  because no matter how much i fell in love with him (and i did), no matter how much he did or said the right thing-there was always a voice i couldn't quell.  one that told me he wasn't the one, to leave. 

he often told me he loved me (maybe too much) but it wasn't enough, and i never managed to truly believe.

the musician rarely says the words but i see it in everything he does.  in the way he looks at me.  in the way he touches me.  the way his eyes light up.  in our conversations and mornings spent in bed.  he doesn't have to utter what walter so heavily relied on because i knew that from the very depths of him i'm exactly where he wants to be.

and maybe in three years time the musician and i will meet the same fate and we'll be saying our goodbyes.  but at least i'll never have to doubt a moment i spend with him. 

babies or not he's where i want to be right now and right now is all that i need. 

so this time i choose to listen when that voice says don't throw this away, because for too many years i ignored what it had to say.

-the paper doll with deal with the consequences when she has to

un utero

"god kids can be so obnoxious sometimes."

"oh don't worry i don't want any children."

and there it was-the deal breaker.

the thing i had been looking for these past six weeks.

i use to believe i wanted a whole gaggle of kids.  a brood to mother around but honestly i'm not that maternal.  and it wasn't ever really my ideal anyway but someone else's.  my mother's.  my friends'.  society's.  what i'm told to desire.

but to have the card taken completely off the table is something my ovaries can't agree with.

i want the option even if i never exercise the right.  because to forbid something is to make it all the more attractive.

and yes.  i'm putting the cart before the horse.  but how long do you stay with someone when you already know how it's going to end?

walter left because he couldn't wait any longer.  couldn't wait for me to be ready for marriage.  couldn't wait for me to decide about children.  but there were other problems there too.  my indecision just opened the door for him to walk through.

now it's my turn and i don't know if i can wait.  wait to see if the musician will change his mind.  wait to see if my heart will get broken because he won't. 

i know what hope does and it doesn't have the power to change other people's minds.  just to keep their wheels spinning.

it'd be easier if it was like walter and me.  but there are no underlying problems.  no other reasons for me to walk out the door.

but a deal breaker is a deal breaker, right? 

and that's just part of dating?

-the paper doll is thinking things over

four letter words

the g-word.  girlfriend.  i use to wear this banner proudly.  desired it.  couldn't get enough of it.  always had it hanging round.

but now?  the musician uttered its name and i was ready to head for the hills.  or vomit a little into my mouth.  i flinched internet.  i flinched when a cute, normal, fun, available man aired his desire to tack that onto my name.

a man whom i've spent most every night with since our meeting.  a man who cracked my cast iron skillet.  who i saw a shooting star with.  who i think is the most adorable thing in the world.

A NORMAL WONDERFUL CANDIDATE WHOM I SHOULD BE DOING BACK FLIPS FOR BECAUSE HE WANTS TO MAKE THINGS OFFICIAL.

so why internet?  why?  did my stomach come into my mouth when he said it?

ummm?

damn can't be satisfied either way can i?

i bitch about never finding another man and turning into the fat crazy cat lady.

but.  but.  but (my favorite three letter word).

the g-word makes me want to claw his eyeballs out and say why for the love of god would you want to do a thing like that?

seriously.

i totally understand men's beef with us, the supposed fairer sex, because here i am spouting things out of both sides of my mouth.

but here's the thing internet. 

it's going well with us.  too well.  perfect.  idyllic.  dreamy.  gaggingly romantic and giddy.

and then i remember how this is just a phase.  a honeymoon phase where you're enamored with everything including his spit.  then you pass into togetherness and people start throwing things and screaming and all hell breaks loose and you pee with the door open and gah why do we couple up at all?

see while i've always been a girlfriend i've never been a great girlfriend.  that word totally recircuits my brain and the sane cute girl falls out the window to her death.  and the jealously and possessiveness and desire to be totally adored swoops in.  i can be hard on men.  too hard.

and for once i know this.  i know this internet.  and i don't want it to happen with the musician and me. 

i also know i'm in a much better place now.  that i've grown and changed and become a lot more balanced and am finally coming from a place inside myself that i believe will allow me to be a sane normal mate.

but i'm afraid internet.

i'm afraid of things going awry like they always have.  of this perfectness turning into a rancid thing that's no good any more.

i'm afraid because this one.  this one i could really love.

truly.

-the paper doll is a cowering weenie

clarifications

as you know internet last week i had many dates.  dates that for the most part went well and up until saturday night i wasn't real sure who had the lead-the editor or the musician.

but the events of saturday (that will have to go unnamed because i don't feel comfortable writing about a man who went behind my back and found my url) and definitely yesterday (see the part about went behind my back and found my url) sealed the deal and by a whopping landslide the musician has won the race.

if for no other reason than you gotta be a pretty big shumck to seek out my site after i asked you not to.  then.  THEN, send me an email saying you had read it and hoped i would go easy on you.

seriously internet.

does the man have two brain cells to rub together because what person admits to someone yeah i did this thing that i know bothers you.  ha.  ha.  hope you aren't too mad.  ha. ha.

really.  men never cease to amaze me.

if you are going to read my site after i asked you not to then for the love of god at least have the courtesy to deny it.

because if you can so easily breech my trust about a dumb blog you have boyfriend material written all over your face, let me tell you.

a real winner internet, that's what we have.

so, needless to say the editor has been booted from the runnings.

taken off the ballot for indecent behavior.

and i.  i have learned a valuable lesson about keeping my trap shut.

so, that's the story.

had some dates, talked about my blog, got bitten in the ass.

men 3,437.  the paper doll 0.

-the paper doll sometimes wishes she was just asexual

the golden rule

"don't let me make out, hang out, go home with, give numbers to, ditch you for, shack up with, ride with, leave with, a guy.  no matter how much i try to convince you-don't let me.  pinkie promise?"

"pinkie promise."

~~~~~~~~~~

there he was exboyfriend number two (of recent past acclaim).  i turned to the best friend as i made my way over to him-"remember that pact we made?  it's off."

looking down the bar she nodded knowing there were only three men i was allowed off the hook for and he was one of them.

and he was giving me a full on mouth greeting.

~~~~~~~~~~~

as usual he said all the right things-you look beautiful, i miss you.

every friend that came to speak, especially the males, was interrogated.  who are you?  how do you know the paper doll?

he stroked my hair.  we danced.  he bought me drinks.  we laughed. 

i planned our wedding and named our children.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

when he disappeared mid song i remembered a game i use to play in college.  my friends and i would pick a guy at evening's beginning and by night's end he was buying my drinks and sometimes if he was lucky i was giving him more than just my number.

and it worked every time.

surely not?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"there you are.  where did you go?" after finding him hovering at the far end of the bar.

"look you should just go back to your friends.  the thing is the girl i'm dating-she's really great."

surely so.

~~~~~~~~~~

the hot wave of disappointment and stupidity that comes when you realize you were nothing more than a pawn washed over me.  and all at once i knew how those men must of felt when i escaped out the back door while they paid my tab or when i never returned their call.

~~~~~~~~~~

the next morning my phone rang.  i didn't recognize the number and let it roll to voice mail.

"hi.  this is imac boy.  we met last night.  i was just calling to see what you were doing tomorrow.  anyways, here's my number."

~~~~~~~~

and the cycle continues. 

surely so.

-the paper doll is creating her own bad karma

less than fairy tale

dear internet,

unless a man falls out of a tree onto the sidewalk in front of me i'll never meet him.  on second thought,  not even that will work because i don't walk anywhere that has sidewalks.  better fall out of a tree that's planted in my front yard because that's the only place i ever go.  to work.  to home.  to yoga.  to home again jiggety jig jig.

seriously internet i know i have loads of irrational fears but i'm one month away from becoming the crazy cat lady who wears red sweat pants i can just feel it.

note the evidence-

i've been single close to five months.  in those glorious months i've been on a total of 4 dates.  FOUR.  with two different men.  TWO.  and i've had sex with someone who wasn't either of them.

my idea of a great saturday night is painting my toenails and playing hide the toy unfortunately not in the metaphorical sense but in the very literal sense with my dog.

i've considered very seriously going to church just to meet men.

i'm one click away from joining eharmony dot com and changing my myspace profile to read here for dating.

and any time someone brings up a man in the course of a conversation i always interrupt with ooh how old is he and is he single.  co-workers have stopped talking to me internet.

i've become quite pathetic.

where are all the single men? clearly they aren't at yoga or in my refrigerator because i've looked there.

what's a smart attractive brilliant woman gotta do to get a date around here?

probably leave her house but i've always kinda had a thing for a knight in shinning armor riding up on a big white steed. 

i'll be the fat girl, wearing red sweat pants, sitting in front of the tv, eating icing.

-the paper doll needs your help

hodge podge

dear me internet things are quite rosy today.

the air has that perfect crisp to it, the new cottage living was waiting for me when i went home for lunch, and autumn melons have begun to infiltrate the super market.

sigh.

things are just perfect.  and yet not.  which makes me being able to say that they are perfect all the sweeter.

still no word from walter.  no email.  no returned phone call.  didn't i tell you, internet, i phoned him?

ah.

it was after i came home on that retched snake day.

ok.

so i called the best friend because in times of crisisi she may keep you waiting for three hours but she'll always show.  and she, after having been bitten by snake when she was a wee tot, was the only person i know who doesn't fear the vile creatures.

i of course sat in the driveway in my car waiting for her because it was the only place i knew for sure the snake wasn't.  when she hadn't showed after 45 minutes i surveyed the walk and made a mad dash through the front door.

she found me sipping my third glass of wine holding a broom and hovering atop my couch.

she gladly poked around in the backyard and didn't laugh when i made her check my pile of dirty clothes.

no snake.  and a perfectly fine puppy.

i on the other hand was drunk by 6.

insert phone call here.

but i know like the snake whatever the fate-to stay or go-it will happen and no amount of my worrying will change that.

so i'm going to enjoy my new magazine, the chill in the air, and the season premiere of grey's anatomy.

all while stopping to check my voice mail on the hour.  every hour.

-the paper doll has found a small piece of bliss

my double mint conscience

you know how when you're four and you pinch a pack of gum from the supermarket because you don't know any better.  and your mom tells you that's not something "we" do, and is embarrassed, and makes you go in and apologize, and tries to teach you the moral implications of your actions.  and how you never felt guilty for it because the concept of taking wasn't one you had yet mastered.

my sex romantic life use to be like that internet.

bars were my grocery store and men my packs of gum.

i never felt guilty.  or used.  or hurt.  i never thought of it.  just sort of  picked one out on my way home.  then, tossed him away the next morning because he'd lost all his flavor.

but now, internet, i'm no longer capable of downing a few cocktails, opening the foil wrapper, and satiating myself for a few meaningless hours.  because there they are the next morning stuck to the bottom of my shoe or wadded up in my hair.

and that voice my mother wanted to create in my head about stealing from the IGA- it's made its way into my more hefty moral dilemmas.

there's guilt internet.

guilt if i falsely flirt with a guy to get a drink.  guilt if i sloppily kiss one while dancing.  and most definitely guilt if i partake in the greatest of sin.

because now i need something a little longer lasting.

and that's not something for sale or that can easily be stolen.

-the paper doll made many a mistake

an upDATE

first off, hey all you guys from the GG-this is my website.  please don't tell my dad or anyone i work with ok?

in fact let's pretend this doesn't even exist, ok?

good.

now-

internet, guess what?

i got his phone number.  after a bottle of wine, a carton of ice cream, and notting hill i called a mutual friend and now i have the za za zoo's number scratched out on the back of a bill in my drunken loopy handwriting.

now whether or not i actually pick up the phone and dial cette number remains to be seen.  i'm resisting the urge to ingest any sort of wine or spirit before i make the call because i know i'll regret the free flowing speech of tipsy.  but i know in order to make the call i need a nip of said forbidden beverage.  so really it's a tight spot.  a vicious cycle.  a catch 22.

who am i fooling? i won't call him internet i won't. 

fate's much better at this sort of thing-i'll leave it to her.

and rumor has it he's attached anyway.

-the paper doll apologizes for being brief but she's got bigger fish to fry

the elusive ONE

i walked into the bar an hour late, annoyed, and ready for a drink.  i wanted nothing more than to get buzzed and dance.

the universe, however,  had other plans because there HE was--my za za zoo.  and i knew there'd be no dancing as long as he was there.

he'd grown his hair out since i'd last seen him and let his five o'clock shadow turn into a full beard.

our eyes met and we smiled knowingly.

he guided me to a booth where we sipped our vodka tonics and caught up.

he's teaching a class now.  working towards his phd.  writing is going well.

i fumbled over my own life avoiding the major pot holes glossing over what i've done.  what i'm doing.  trying not to let the sheer joy of our serendipitous meeting show all over my face.

my za za zoo does not know my phone number.  or where i live.  he doesn't make plans with me and i'm only moderately sure he's unattached.

i met him almost four years ago when i was a sophomore in college.  we were both back early for RA training and he saw me through a classroom window.  later that night he found me and introduced himself because he had to know who i was.

our official romance was brief and never consummated.  and since then he's resurfaced hundreds of times and always at the most appropriate of times.

our attraction is palatable and after knowing him for only a few hours i called my mom and told her i just met the man i was going to marry.

he doesn't just have za za zoo he IS my za za zoo.  i'd be lying if i said i don't really like him.

i live for the moments fate puts us together wondering is today going to be the day?  am i going to see him?

but to turn this attraction, this desire, into something real and tactile means i could fuck it up.   means he'd see all of me, not just the manicured and well behaved of our random meetings, but the dirt and grit that makes me human.  i prefer not to fall.  so i don't give him my number at the end of the night as he's climbing out of my car.  i don't kiss him.  i don't make plans for tuesday.

i let him go hoping the universe will be kind enough to bring him back to me when i need it the most.

after all that's what she's done thus far and who am i to tamper with fate?

-the paper doll is a bit of a coward and totally foolish

and the raven said nevermore

during my recent unpacking i found my seventh grade journal.  as i leafed through it i remembered one of the many lists i had made.  this particular one in question was of all the qualities i wanted my husband to have (it's sick how early we begin).

i flipped to the back 16 pages and reread my yearnings.  it's scary how perceptive my young heart was.

it's also hilarious.  must like tropicana orange juice? wtf?

one of the things i've been working on in therapy is relationships.  mainly how i suck at them and how i leap frog from one to another.  seriously internet, i do not exaggerate when i say i have never been single in my life.

my recent response has been the vow-the club for relationships (patent pending).  but my counselor (that has such a better ring to it) thinks that's just crazy because we all know if you fall off a horse you don't vow never to ride the thing again, you get back up.  which i do know internet, because i once fell off a horse and broke my arm and before anyone would drive me to the hospital i was forced to get back on and ride the vile thing back to the barn.

so the horse thing i got and i agreed to hear her out.

she thinks my problem is not with my never being single but my ability to turn any crappy date into a long term relationship.  to sell myself short for a whole myriad of reasons i will not go into here.  she, in fact, thinks i need to date-A LOT.  date so much i have to practice saying no.  no i do not like you.  no i do not want to date you.  let's just be friends.

then i keeled over and stopped breathing because hello you want me to say what?  do what?  i'm hyperventilating just thinking about it.

she suggested i make a list of 5 nonnegotiables to make it a little easier for myself.  that way i won't be able to rationalize away that little voice in the back of my head.

i'm not kidding when i say these were lifted straight from my seventh grade notebook, albeit with a little tweaking.

1-must be free of any addiction to cigarettes, drugs, alcohol, or sex (coffee and croissants preferred and the others in moderation.  i've just dated too many men with too many problems.  i'm out of the fix it business).

2-must have a meaningful job (i don't mean saving orphans or feeding the hungry-i just mean if you are a smart capable man don't be slumming it at burger king.  now if you find no greater joy than the joy of flipping burgers then that's fine.  it just has to be meaningful to you.  you also must be able to support yourself with this job.  mama don't give no hand outs and she likes it when you can buy her a drink.  comprendre?).

3-must be cultured (i know, i hate that word-so prickish.  but i couldn't think of anything better.  read the paper, know what's going on, have opinions, and taste in music, read books, challenge me).

4-must have a good relationship with his family (after all you know what they say about how a man treats his mother).

5-must have a sense of humor (this makes fighting so much easier and it's also a plus if they recognize my brilliant wit of course).

i say all this because, internet, yoga boy and i broke up.

let's just say he didn't pass number one with flying colors if you know what i mean.  the man's seen phish 45 times, do i have to spell it out for you?  which is fine, i went to art school for christ sake, i throw no stones.  but he's 31.  everyday?  seriously?

and it's one of my nonnegotiables.  i don't have to apologize or feel guilty.  that's the beauty of the list.

and yes i tried to wheedle out of it by saying but the other four!  he has the other four!  but my therapist swooped in and kicked my butt and we practiced what i was going to say instead. 

after i broke out into hives and lost my voice and refused to dial his number.  avoidance!  it's the best strategy!

he called me.  seems my nonnegotiable just might have been the opposite of one of his and we both agreed we're better off friends.

my exact reply-that's rockin because i'm in no place to be in a serious relationship with anyone right now anyways (rockin internet?  i said the word rockin.  can you now understand my paralyzing fear of the oh let's just be friends conversation?  hummm?). 

the only thing that hurt? my ego because i wish i had been the one to say it first. 

but alas maybe next time.

after all i do have a date tonite...

-the paper doll is making real progress

the vow

"keep the promises you make to yourself."

i chuckled noting god's humor.  his decision to communicate with me via small red foiled wrapper. 

i nodded-smart man.

the message wasn't lost on me either.  i knew exactly what he was alluding to i even repeated the words again to myself sighing knowing what i'd eventually have to do.

but not yet. 

yet would come later.  after the lake, after the beers and liquor and sunburn.  after the fun.

because right then i was just and insolent child hell bent on disobeying her maker.

so i crumbled up the message and tossed it away.

--------------

after walter and i broke up, and my life fell apart, and all my friends moved away, and i was bouncing around rock eff-ing bottom, something shifted in me and like a good little obsessive compulsive i made a list and a vow.

yes internet a VOW.

no sex. 

no relationships. 

for one year.

ONE YEAR (this is when my best friend threw herself on the ground with laughter).

because i am a girl who's drowning in failed relationships.  who swims in them while hell freezes over and doesn't notice a temperature change.  who can doggie paddle and do the backstroke and turn flips.  whose skin has more wrinkles than a raisin and who isn't put off by a little algae or scum.

i had to make the vow so once and for all i'd haul my ass out of the pool and see what it was like to dangle my legs solo.

i started yoga, and therapy, and lists, and a social life without boys oh my.

i quit drinking (as much), i stopped bring guys home (there was only one), and answering the past's call (ok so i slipped-but once is a much better number than ghosts of my broken up with past).

i read eat, pray, love.

and i changed.

-------------

i found that wrapper today crumbled where i had thrown it weeks ago.

i smoothed it out and tucked into my rear view mirror renewing the vow i made to myself.

refusing to lose the message this time.

-the paper doll hasn't told yoga boy yet

the long awaited part deux

"i have a date.  a date.  a real live date.  saturday night.  we're going to brew in the zoo.  OHMYGOD a boy asked me out.  i have a date with a boy.  i have a-"

her voice mail cut me off before i could reach a higher decibel of excitement, but i still bounded around my house shrieking as i hung up the phone.

i then flipped open my closet did a quick mental check of the dirty clothes hamper and realized i didn't have a thing to wear.  and my house wasn't clean.  and hadn't i made tentative plans with my dad.  and what about my vow.  and OHMYGOD a boy asked me out and i have NO idea how to do this.  it's too soon i'm not ready.

what do i talk about?  what do i wear?  do i kiss him?  when do i tell him about my mom?  what if i get tispy?  what if i fall down?  what about the silence?

i picked the phone back up and hit redial, "we really have to talk about this."

"no burping, no farting, no dirty words, no talking about sex, don't bring up your mom-that's a third date topic, steer clear of walter, keep it simple, keep it light, if you do fall just brush it off and laugh-unless you're hurt-if you're hurt well just don't cry that much, wear something comfortable, don't show to much skin, don't bring up religion or politics, don't be bitter, or too sarcastic, keep the conversation going, ask about his family if you get stuck, don't talk soo loud, don't get drunk, seriously you CAN NOT get drunk, don't kiss him-not on the first date, let him come to you, don't pry, flirt, but not too much, and definitely most definitely whatever you do-DO NOT SLEEP WITH HIM, oh and have a good time and don't worry you'll be fine."

sigh. 

"so it's that easy huh?  i just go out with him.  but i still don't have anything to wear."

"a cute dress, your lace up flats, a great necklace, and one of your bolero jackets."

"right."

my mind was swimming don't what?  do what?  when did this become so complicated?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

6:32

"where is he? do i sit in the living room?  but he can see me from the driveway if i sit in the living room.  here i'll just sit here and read this book.  calmly.  i am not looking at the clock i am reading.  the wild geese, by mary oliver..."

6:34

"ok he's late.  he's not coming.  what if he doesn't come?"

6:37

"maybe he left me a message i didn't get.  no voice mails.  what do i do?  he's so standing me up.  ok i'm not going to look at the clock again i'm reading poetry while i wait for my date.  wild geese, by mary oliver."

6:38

"oh my god that's his car what do i do?"

"hi-come in.  i just need to put my shoes on."

"i love your house."

"thanks.  you have to excuse the mess i just moved in."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

by 6:50 we were discussing politics (he's not happy with either party).

at 7:15 i said the first curse word (shitty).

a few beers later we were on to religion (catholic).  and by the end of the night my mom and sex had both graced us with their presence (awkward and cute).

i did ask him about his family and childhood (one younger sister, grew up in mississippi,  shot bottle rockets at cars but would never throw rocks at them), his job (structural engineer), and his taste in music (he's seen the string cheese incident 25 times and has a framed bonaroo ticket in his living room).

i was sarcastic, a touch bitter, and slightly tipsy.

-----------------------------------------------------------

"well i had a good time."

"yeah me too."

"are you going to be in yoga tomorrow."

"yeah i'll be there."

"well i see then."

"yeah.  great.  have a good nite."

i slammed the car door unlocking my front door alone.  a rare occurrence when boys and beer are involved.  but as i crashed into my bed and reflected on the night  i was glad to be sleeping solo.  glad i would wake up to a whole day all my own-no boyfriend to consider-yet.

(plans have been made for next week).

-the paper doll gave you what you wanted 

firsts

"so...what are your plans for the weekend?  do you maybe want to hang out?"

an innocent question hanging in the humidity between us.  i turned it over in my mind.  do i want to hang out? 

i knew it was coming.  he had stretched his yoga mat next to mine too many weeks in a row for it to be coincidence.

finally out there between us and the parking lot, his question was a heavy thing waiting for my reply.

"my friend's moving this weekend and i promised to take her out for one last night on the town."

not a lie, only a half truth.

"oh well ok.  umm why don't i give you my number and you..."

"but i'm free saturday."

ah there she was, the whole truth, as i scribbled my number out and he fumbled with my last name.

"then saturday? i'll pick you up around 6:30."

"yeah.  great.  see you then."

and that, internet, is how i discovered that the blades in my razor were rusty, and that i had nothing to wear, and that my single bed isn't so lonely after all.

-the paper doll will tell you the rest of the story later

the ole bark and prowl

are you sitting down internet?  good.  okay.  i have an announcement.

i'm a lesbian.

no really.  after the overwhelming success miss stella and i had picking up chicks on our afternoon stroll i think i'll convert.

i couldn't keep the girls off me.  it was mildly embarrassing how they flocked to me and my little pooch.

it's like people were saying-now there's a girl who must be great because she's out walking her dog.  i could tell they were looking at me slightly different than they do when it's just me, my fat thighs, and sweating upper lip.

a smile would break across their panting faces and an immediate hi, oh, aww, she's so cute, how old is she, ahh, oooh.

which did give me faith that i might after all one day be capable of meeting a man some other place than a bar.  but that was until i noticed that most, more than friendly fellows, were of the female kind.

then it just got annoying and sexist. 

after all, i was not out cruising for babes i was walking my dog.  i don't want to talk to you.  i don't want to make eye contact and smile and have some 15 minute conversation about my puppy and where i got her and what kind she is and blah my heart rate has just plummeted and i'm going to have to walk another half mile because of your chattiness blah blah.

these people don't know me.  i could be a serial killer, a drug addict, a crack whore. 

note to those above and others who wish evil and harm-just get a damn dog and walk it out in public and your victims will be falling all over themselves to talk to you.

seriously.

i wish i was back in france where no one spoke to you and you could just let your dog crap on the sidewalk.

that or either i had the nerve to actually switch hit.

-the paper doll says buy dog get a girl

the road to damascus

i had some long weepy metaphorical post hammered out about seeing walter on my way to work this morning.

and while i did have an epiphany of sorts i guarantee he's not pining over why i was going where i was going.  or why i was wearing what i was wearing or why anything.

because he's a man and men don't do such things.  and if they do, they sure as hell don't admit it to their ex-girlfriends.

but because i'm a woman i'm made to be sick and cry and eat a tub of ice cream when jilted.  to whine and cry and wait for the one to come sweep me off my feet.

after all there's a whole industry devoted to our collective misery and yearning:  sex and the city, this book, this website, this person.  the list goes on and on and on.

but i'm done with it.  i'm putting the kibosh on my chromosomes.  over coming the need to over analyze, over wonder, and cry.

we spent some time together, we loved each, and it didn't work.

IT DIDN'T WORK.

there's no point in crying over spilled milk, don't put all your eggs in one basket, all's well that ends well, boys will be boys, don't box me in.

so no more.  no more mention of him.  or walter.  or the boyfriend or whatever nom de plume i choose.

he's no longer mine and like me he has a new life.  and he'll drive anywhere he damn well pleases, and he'll wear whatever he wants, and he won't ask me.

and there's nothing i can do about it.

so from now on this open book is shut.

and my pen poised for the next big thing.

-the paper doll grew a pair

turning over a new designer label

well it happened internet.  i saw HIM. 

ok so i didn't actually see HIM per se but i did see a car that looked like his parked outside the convenient store where he buys his american spirits while i was making a left hand turn in rush hour traffic yesterday.

i've never been punched in the stomach but i imagine it's a similar feeling to the one i had as i was yielding to the oncoming traffic.

i burst into tears and sobbed my way home.

how could he be doing something without me?  he's suppose to be at work right now.  why isn't he at work?  has his imagined schedule changed?  does he in fact have a new life without me?

in order to silence the demons and dry the tears A suggested i meet her and her cute young college boy roommates for trivia at a bar i hadn't been to since i was doing body shots and singing girls just wanna have fun while flashing my 18 year old tits.

my new single status has put me in quite the quandary about what to wear.  and forced me to hate my wardrobe and the fat thighs it covers.

so i pulled my hair back because He loved it that way. 

i slipped on my "stripper" shoes because an old possibly new guy always found them delightful.

and my black shirt?  because a stranger might enjoy an ample view of my collar bones.

i looked in the mirror to evaluate my handiwork, and while i could have melted every underage frat boy's heart i wondered what i was wearing for me.

so i took it all down and traded it in.  opting for something that satisfied my own comfort and taste.  that allowed them to stare at my loud cackle and biting humor instead of getting distracted by an accidental tara reid. 

i didn't have a damn clue as to what product joe dimaggio was famous for promoting but i wouldn't have had i been wearing anything else either. 

i did have a damn good time drinking 4 dollar pitchers and turning in sans bedmate which is more than i can say for what my other outfit would have done.

my feet even thanked me.

and isn't this what it's really about anyway?

me.

-the paper doll felt a little like mrs. robinson

confessions of an addict

ok internet i realize i owe you a little more than the 5 minute lack of detail post i hammered out and threw at you.  and truth be told i have about another 30 minutes at work to kill and really couldn't think of a better way to fritter away the time.

so the truth is i miss being a girlfriend.  that' right internet i miss being in love.

and shut up it's not the sex because i'm capable of walking into any establishment downing a few cocktails and taking any man i want home with me.  i'm not being cocky i just can i've done it before. multiple times.  hence number 27 on my list. 

i have a bad habit of going on a free for all to mend my broken heart when a significant relationship comes to an end and this time i swore to myself that a) because i am no longer in college and this is not appropriate behavior and b) i respect myself a little more now and c) i'm not getting any younger nor or the notches removing themselves from the ole bed post and who knows how much longer i have to be single that i would not rush to the nearest bar and bed the first acceptable man.

so far so good.

so it's not the sex i miss.

it's the love internet. 

and i'm not afraid of being alone so sit on your hands with that one too.  i can take care of myself.  i have no problem entertaining myself or being alone.  in fact i quite enjoy solitude and i've had a long standing love affairs with books that always gets me through.  the quiet does not bother me internet. 

really it doesn't contrary to what some of you may say.

i just miss having a boyfriend.  i miss the energy and stomach flips.  i miss the way only a man you love can make you feel.

and i'm not into having a relationship just to have a relationship, that's not it either internet.

i'm in love with love.

that's all.

i was simply made to share my life.  to be in love.  to be a good woman and mother (eventually).

so you see that crap about missing him wasn't totally honest.  i do miss him-he was good to me and i deeply cared about him. 

but i'd miss anyone i loved. 

because it's really the love i miss.

ok, and maybe the sex too.

-the paper doll says you can be a feminist and a wife too

betty crocker

when faced with an overwhelming task instead of buckling down and grabbing cette task by the horns and wrestling it to defeat-i clean, or cook, or clean and cook, or just get drunk.  i once cleaned and reorganized walter's entire kitchen one night because the thought of studying for my mid term gave me the hives.

he claims there's an actual name for this condition, and it does not start with pro and end in crastination mind you.  but the preferred psycho babble escapes me at this point.

i, however, like to think of this affliction as creative distraction.  as in who needs to pack when i have all these other more pressing tasks to see too.  like baking cupcakes and sorting and labeling all my digital photos.  how are people suppose to know these pictures are from my birthday party and not christmas if i don't label them right now?

and cupcakes internet.  they fix everything.  they're clearly more important than packing your whole entire life up and heading across town.  cupcakes, vital sustenance on the long half mile journey ahead. 

they are especially important when your best girl A is there to help you pack lick the bowl and eat the icing straight out of the tub.

i could wax poetic about the side hurting laughter.  could recount the dropping of six fully iced specimens on the floor and my desire to just scrap them off and re-ice them.  i could tell you that no alcohol was involved yet we still kept each other in stitches.  i could relay A's proclamation, "does it bother you at all that we are completely sober yet approach problems the same way as when we're drunk?"  i could tell you i rigged up a transporting device using scotch tape, half a box and some old birthday candles.  i could share the jokes, and silliness, and tears.

but it wouldn't matter to you.  you couldn't possibly understand.

because a night spent with your girls escapes all literary devices and can only be experienced first hand.

you wouldn't love me more if i told you.  you wouldn't fall for her the way i have. 

and trying to convince you feels cheap.

all i can really say is- i realized just how much i've missed this.  how empty the last few years have been without the joy and love that can only be shared between women.

and i vow that no matter what man the good lord brings i'll always make time to lick the spoons with my best girl friends.

-the paper doll is eternally grateful

a whole smattering of unrelated topics woven together in one incoherent narrative

where to begin internet?  i've had a most eventful weekend full of insight, drama, and drunken debauchery.

i will now wow you with my inability to seamless weave these tales together.

for the past oh two and a half years my social life has been on a bit of a huge steep crashing incline like those in the winter olympic skiing events.  the boyfriend, nay walter and i-we rarely left the house.  so little in fact, i think i've developed an aversion to the sun and can no longer breath in others' presence.  but i've realized my own four walls do little in the way of offering companionship and else drive myself bat shit crazy i must get out.  so out i did get.

we started the evening in a respectable jazz bar drinking martinis.  classy.  sophisticated.  but at 3am when i found myself line dancing in the saloon i realized i'm much too old for the red bull and jager of my youth.  and that most of the plaid clad crowd drinking their bud lights out of mason jars were in fact under age.

i guess msn was right after all-a bar is not the best way to meet men (see how i effortlessly transitioned right into my next topic).  most of the time these articles are complete hooey, yet as i read "how to meet other singles" i found a small crumb of truth nestled deep within its recommendations.  i buy toilet paper, i go to the grocery store, i like sunday brunch, i go out in public.  yes.  yes. yes.  partially on their advice and partially because well it's my damn routine, i dropped by the grocery store after work yesterday. 

msn you're full of crap.  not only do singles head by the store to pick up dinner after work so do young poorly planning couples.  six.  six couples i had to weave through.  12 blissfully happy people.

and the one possibly single guy was buying a case of miller lite.

although i guess the bottle of wine and cartoon of ice cream in my own buggy didn't say much for me either.

you know what else doesn't say much yoga.  i mean you contort your body in virtual silence for 2 hours (ok so not as good as the other but i tried ok).  sundays used to be our day.  we went to lunch with his family, we made love, we listened to this american life, we went to yoga, we made dinner and watched the simpons.  it was easily my favorite day. 

now.  now i loathe and despise that laziest of days.  despise so much i worked myself up into a stomachache and gave myself the diarrhea.  i couldn't bear seeing him at yoga yet i couldn't not go to class.  then the good lord granted me relief from my gastric pain when walter didn't show up.  i've speculated as to why but have tried to quiet that part of my brain.  we are no longer we.  and sundays aren't our day anymore.  and i know if he had come i would have been tempted.  would have been self conscience would have been a million things that would have defeated the purpose of going to yoga in the first place.  and as always it was just what i needed and the great emptiness was replaced by a shining knowledge of the goodness to come.  and the goodness that always is.

it also prevented me from packing nary a box.  that's right internet i get the keys to my new house friday and not one thing has been wrapped in newspaper and stowed away.  the heavens even knocked the power out in my office building yesterday saying, get thee to thou house and packeth.  the message was a little muddled though, because what i heard was get thee to target and spenth money on thou houseth. 

so nothing's packed but i do have the cutest new bedspread.

and that internet ends my smattering of unrelated topics woven together in one incoherent narrative. 

not as bad as you thought, huh?

-the paper doll will be here all week

movie star ideals, real life results

i have flaws internet.  bad habits.  i listen to my music too loud, i fall for a romantic comedy every time, i like happy endings, i'm a wee bit moody...

so it shouldn't surprise you that as part of my ongoing therapy the best friend brought over a bottle of wine and "the notebook" a few nights ago.

and while i understand that this is fiction, i couldn't help but be reminded of my own love life and what it is i'm searching for as alley jumped into noah's arms.

the boyfriend and i could have had a good life.  he was a great man and good to me.  we enjoyed each other's company.  we had similar interests and blended well with each other's families.  we loved each other.

but he was no noah calhoun.  and at 23 i'm not ready to give up on the idea of one great big passionate love.  not ready to put the idea of "the one" on the shelf.

and maybe that makes me an idiot for so easily giving up a good man.  for letting something go that, aside from some pretty normal bumps, was a sure thing.

the saddest part?  that i'm certain if we hadn't both been so afraid we could have loved each other like that.  he could have been it.  if we had let our guards down.  thrown down our stubbornness.  stopped the hurting.

he could have been my noah but instead i turned him into a lon. 

and we all know who gets the girl in the end.

if only life imitated fiction.  *sigh*

-the paper doll wants a happy ending

thrown for a loop

so i admit internet i haven't been on top of my game lately.  due oh i don't know to the events of say the past year.  and often when i'm tossed into the great yonder and left to figure things out on my own i think of paris.

specifically the last two dreamy weeks i spent with a man who we lovingly call, the duke.

the duke wasn't just some paris fling.  he was the pinnacle of french excitement.  the perfect gentleman and charming.  and good to me.  and i think we loved each other in that fleeting way you can when you only know someone for two weeks and one of them is leaving the country never to return.

we've emailed sporadically since my arrival state side and i've thought of him often.  never regretting the hurried whorishness of our relationship.  because the duke was the perfect casual lay.  he made you feel like the sexiest woman in france.  the most charming and beautiful.  and it was never cheap.

and i should stop singing his praises because at one point in time he was reading this site.

the point is to say.  when i think of paris and this man and the fabulous time i had.  i do not think of diapers.

and now internet when i'm laying in bed at night and conjuring up forbidden affairs and sexy foreign flings i will now imagine pacifiers and bottles.  because the duke.  the duke is married and his wife with child.

it's not so much that i thought he'd roam the city pining away for me for all the ages to come.  it was just nice to think that shall i ever find myself in paris again i'd know just the man to take me out on the town.

i guess now we'll just have to find a sitter.

the real punch in the gut though, is that this is testament to time's inevitable ticking.  and my lack of ever catching up.  i'll always be an hour late and a spouse short.  it scares me the most because i know it will the boyfriend's email i open one day to find that he too has left me behind.

but c'est la vie, non?

-the paper doll prefers fantasy

how to charm me (in a pathetic kind of way)

wear a crisply pressed khaki suit with pink shirt and coordinating pink checked tie.  don't wear socks with your loafers.  remind me of a guy i dated once who eventually went to the citadel.

meekly stand before my desk and tremble out a question.  then walk self assuredly to the correct office.  chat for a bit (with the right person) while stealing glances at me through the door. 

walk out of cette office.  blurt out your name followed by, "and you have pretty hair."  scamper off.

so not my type, but my heart turns to jelly when the southern boys pay me a compliment.  i just feel so sorry for them.  i mean the poor man was wearing loafers with no socks.  how could anyone successfully hit on someone clad in that getup?

-the paper doll is stifling laughter

number 5

birth control.  number five.  birth freaking control.

i don't even have the energy to be snark about this one.

-the paper doll is admitting defeat

who am i kidding this sucks

that's right internet i'm giving in.  i'm playing the, oh woe is me i'm a pitiful woman whose boyfriend broke up with her, card.

you wanna know why?  because it sucks internet.  it does.  and i tried to have a head held high attitude.  i tried to take the moral high road.  but really i just want him to hurt as much as i do.  i want him to come back and hold me while i cry.  i want him to come back and water my plants.

this sucks so much i've made a list of all it's suckiness-

1-all my house plants will now die the slow death of dehydration.  because he.  he was the one that so lovingly took care of them.

2-my clothes.  they are now going to rot with the stench of filth because i have no washer and dryer access.  the laundry mat?  been there done got chat up by the mexicans and one toothed men.  it is not the singles market i thought it was.  in fact.  no singles.  ever. 

3-now who's going to move all my crap?  couldn't he have just waited?  i mean we were so close to making it past the big house move.  what's a few more weeks of suffering between friends?  right?

4-i'm going to have to declare bankruptcy because now i have to shave, pluck my eyebrows, buy new clothes, keep myself manicured, and lose weight.  and this.  this is not cheap internet.  oh no he gets to resume dating with little financial out put.  me on the other hand-i suppose those yoga pants and t-shirts i've become a custom to aren't going to cut it in the dating world.  neither is the 15lbs of extra love i'm carrying around either.  a fee.  i should demand a break up fee to pay for all the crap i'm going to have to do to get back in top dating shape.

5-there was a number 5 internet i swear.  but i've forgotten it.  probably because i'm doing everything i can to erase all memory of the suckiness.

so let's recap.  i hate sundays.  and being broken up with sucks.

oh and also i can be a wee bit selfish and often displace my anger.  chances are i'm just really pissed because yesterday was mother's day but what fun would that list be?

1-i have no mother.

2-having no mother on mother's day sucks.

3-my plants are still going to die and i still have no mother.

see not nearly as funny internet.  so i'm sticking with my story.  i hate boys, this sucks, and i want to throw rocks at him.

-the paper doll has her arms crossed and is stamping her feet

i take it back msn

http://lifestyle.msn.com/MindBodyandSoul/PersonalGrowth/Article.aspx?cp-documentid=432605

admissions of a broken heart

when he nodded, yes, and choked out the words,  i'm breaking up with you, i was at an impasse.

i could chase after him screaming no don't, don't, you can't.  you can't leave too.  and make him stay. 

i could slam the door and collapse into my own private grieving.  beating myself up for all the things i could've done.  the ways i should've changed.  carrying the cross of blame on my own two shoulders.

or i could stand firm and accept it, gracefully.

truthfully, i've done a little of each.  channeling my anger and hurt into one swift smack on the back door knocking the blinds off their hinges.

i sobbed for a moment.

i wished ill things of him and desired him to suffer, to regret the decision, to call and make amends, to call so i can reject him.

i wallowed for a second.  listing all the things i should feel sorry for myself about: lost mother; end of an almost three year relationship; a best friend who no longer speaks to me; mother's day; unfulfilling job; no finality on my house loan; dead great uncle, aunt, grandfather, two dogs, and a horse; a grandmother with lung cancer.

then it was over.

and i realized that this is a good thing.  and it doesn't make me callous that i didn't get a pint of ice cream and sob.  that i didn't suffer and agonize for weeks.  that i haven't called. 

what makes me callous is that i didn't do this a long time ago.  that i didn't severe the ties that were bleeding us both dry. 

that i didn't love him enough to set him free.

i miss him.  and i'll always regret that i couldn't be the woman he needed.

but he couldn't be the man i wanted no matter how hard i tried.  you just can't fit a round peg into a square hole.

and now both of us-we can find that thing that fills us up.  that allows us to honor the essence of who we are.  tbat celebrates our flaws.  that loves us just the way we are. 

and that's a beautiful thing.  that's the true love we just couldn't quite find in one another.

wrong time.  wrong place.  but infinite possibilities for us both.

walter-if you're reading this, i wish you all the best and thank you from the deepest part of my heart.  our time together has truly made me a better person.

-the paper doll WILL BE ok

oh yeah and walter-could you please not get a girlfriend before i get a new boyfriend.  and could she please dear god not be hotter or better than me.  thanks. 

dating advice for the masses

can i get a head count of those of you who use hotmail?  ok now keep your hands raised if when you log out you get sucked into reading some glib article slanted towards those of us with ovaries.  you in the back i see that look on your face, i know you're guilty.

because every freaking time i click on the article marked, why do we fall in love?, 9 great non dinner dates, how to get in bikini shape.  and on and on and on with the brain cell killing articles that tell me exactly what i'm doing wrong and how to do it better.  how to whittle my waistline down to a zero and score the man of my dreams. 

like i'm going to take the advice of some woman whose credentials are her favorite date is pie for dinner.  well duh, who doesn't like pie for dinner?  but does that mean i should take love advice from this woman because according her all i have to do is meet and reject 12 people then pick the next best that comes along.  this sounds more like boyfriend roulette than sound dating advice.  just think of what you might get stuck with.  well you're number 13 so it much be true love.  have i been out of the dating scene for so long that we no longer need insight and reason just algebraic equations to tell us who to marry?

and if i really want to impress these 12 men i'll take them to pick our own produce or to an amusement park or to one of the 7 other fun dates listed in the how to wow your mate column.

as romantic has spending the day frying in the sun while lugging buckets of strawberries around sounds i'm pretty sure i'd win over no man's heart while doing this.  first off is attire.  i can't imagine what cute little ensemble would be appropriate for a day down on the farm and never have i heard a man utter, those ratty tennis shoes and old t-shirt sure do flatter you, i just love the way those jeans fray at the bottom and have a hole at knee.  then there's the location.  i don't really know you but would you mind rubbing me down with sun screen otherwise when we take these strawberries back to your place to make a pie i'll sort of look like them.  then on our next date i'll be peeling.  oh and could you spritz some bug spray on my neck doesn't it have such a becoming odor?  and i'm pretty sure picking things off vines requires bending over and that certainly does not accentuate the positive people.  my whole wardrobe is based around camouflaging my backside and then on the first date i'm just going to stick it out there for him to see in all its large glory?  clearly the woman who wrote this has flawless tanning skin and not only read the, be in bikini shape article, but followed it.

whatever happened to putting on a slutty outfit meeting him for drinks and having a wonderful evening getting drunk for free?  have we become so advanced that a little dinner or a drink is passe?  now i have to act charming without the aid of a little liquid libation.  i have to perform manual labor for god's sake just to win him over then dump him because he's not number 13.  because if this is the case i'm going to suck at this dating thing.

but hey, at least i'll always have the advice of msn.com to fallback on.  and if that doesn't work, i'll just meet mr. 13 on eharmony. com.

-the paper doll is rolling her eyes

history of a broken heart

ben was the first.  accepting my sky blue colored apples and construction paper hearts.  spending his time in the reading cubby snuggled up to me on the tie dyed bean bag. 

then he left me for anna, who's rendition of see spot run was apparently the stuff dreams were made of.  my little kindergarten heart retaliated by stuffing the box marked with his name with notes and pleadings.  and when that didn't work, i took up with another who appreciated my southern drawl and mispronunciation and really it was just down hill after that.

grade school brought several victims.  there was matthew my one true love, who i pined for in games of MASH.  travis who all the girls liked (i think it was the bottle of LA looks he used to expertly spike his dark brown locks).  two bens, a chris, and russell.

the development of breasts and an interest in the flute led eric to kiss me in the band room between classes in the sixth grade.  when those trysts became boring i moved on to:

russell again, craig, back to eric, and i think a boy named roger.

i lost my virginity to a boy named tony (i know, and he wasn't even a hot italian mechanic), i couldn't decide between chris or josh, curtis taught me the finer points, and james.  dear james broke my heart the worst of all.

and that just takes me up to my sophomore year in college.

which really, must i revisit those years?  because people.  beer, bars, and suppressed urges.  i think there was a nick and maybe a justin in there, but really i can't be sure.  oh and a jon, most definitely a jon.

and let's not even open up the time spent in paris.  because that was on a whole nother continent and clearly exempt from this little game.

so you see internet i'm a whirlwind of broken relationships.  a virtual buffet of boys gone wrong.

the latest episode with walter (yes that's the boyfriend's real moniker) unsurprising.

yet every time, my lungs collapse and i see stars because i feel certain that i will become the fat cat lady unworthy of anyone's love.

which brings me to my point (see internet there is one).  all these years i've been stuffing myself with other's love.  just look at my rolling list of names.  depending on them to deem me acceptable and whole.

and yes i'm terrified, and sad, and crushed, and a little bit nauseas, but i'm ready for a list that just has my name on it.

that says loved by me. 

so i'm getting a dog and knitting a sweater.  and not adding a single more name to the list.

-the paper doll is taking a hiatus

ps- has anyone tried internet dating because how the hell am i suppose to meet someone now that keg stands are no longer appropriate?  just kidding internet see knit one pearl one. 

evaluating the damage

when faced with a horrible catastrophe that leaves one maimed burned and near death they say that the first 24 hours are the most critical.  and if cette person can make it through the nite chances are they'll survive.

well if the past 24 hours are any indication of how all this is going to turn out-then, i say i have nothing to worry about.  i'm going to be just fine.

1-heard sequence of songs on radio pertinent to my current situation.  their lyrics included: just breathe, reality won't hurt, i know you're scared, and many others that felt like signs at the time but that i can no longer remember right now.

2-managed not to call, write, email, drive by, stop by, or stalk The Boyfriend.

3-did not check my voice mail 3584378 times or call alltel to see if i was still receiving service

4-stumbled across this by shear accident-i'm not one to read the archives of my favorite blogers but i felt led yesterday

5-have acquired a secret admirer whom i'm fairly certain i know the identity of

life is good

ps-secretly wishing The Boyfriend is reading my blog