Having a hard time getting it up for the blog these days. February 21, 2008

I had a chat with myself recently, in the shower. I told myself that it was okay to not post every day, to not post every detail. Okay to maybe not want feedback. Okay to feel less inclined to read other blogs and leave comments. Okay to think that maybe I’ve outgrown Clink, just a bit. And - somewhere between the shampoo and the shaving - I realized that it was okay to take a step back.

And so I have.

I’ve still been writing - I started a public blog and I’m also writing for a website that is paying me real, actual dollars. To, like, type words. On a screen. In my own voice.

I know. I’m shocked too.

I just don’t feel the need to dissect my life anymore. Not because it’s perfect (see: starting a fight with M while driving back from the Hamptons because his phone was off; it wasn’t even about his phone being off, it was about me needing attention because he’s been so fucking busy lately and hi, I’m High Maintenance, nice to meet you), but because it’s…full.

A friend of a friend recently told me - after about four drinks - that she thinks I have everything.

I told her that, of course, I don’t.

But I do think I have enough.

And at least for right now, having enough means that I don’t need the blog nearly as often. That’s actually a nice feeling, to be honest. The blog was a bit of a crutch for so long, but now I feel like I’m fully healed. Like I can stand on my own.

Of course - because I am the universe’s most favoritest plaything - this could all go to shit tomorrow and I’ll be back to needing a place to exhale, to release some thoughts, to get some feedback.

In the meantime, let’s consider this a little hiatus.

But, before I go, thank you to the thousands of you who have been supportive and withheld judgment, who have read and commented or read and not commented, who have made me feel less crazy, who have made me feel more loved. The universe may like to fuck with me, but not even the universe could deny me some kick ass freaders.

Open Letters: Cranky on a Rainy Wednesday Edition February 13, 2008

Dear People Who Think My Life is Perfect/I Only Write About the Good Stuff:

Ha.

Hahahaha.

Go back and read a little. This place is chock full of shit about my life that I haven’t even told some of my closest friends. There’s good, there’s bad, and there’s ugly.

There just happens to be a lot of good at the moment. I’ve worked hard to get to this place, this place where the Crazy doesn’t consume me and I’m okay with my body and I have a job that pays my bills and then some and I’m planning a wedding that is going to be one fucking awesome party.

If I want to write about all that good, I think I’ve earned it.

Just don’t think you’re getting everything. That’s just…foolish.

Love,

Bitchy McBloggerson

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Dear Wedding Planning:

Sometimes you really fucking suck.

I’m sorry. I know that you are window dressed in icing and tulle and all things romance but underneath, you are a minefield.

And occasionally, shit - like, say, who is paying for the rehearsal dinner and whether or not they think the place we chose is too expensive and fuck it, I swear to god, I will whore myself out in the Bronx and pay for it myself if it means I don’t have to deal with a whole lot of passive-aggressiveness - blows up.

Luckily, you’re worth it.

Excuse me, I have to go tip-toe around some more issues now.

Yours in jacked up prices and family tension,

The Bride

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Dear New Job,

Four projects. FOUR FUCKING PROJECTS.

I know. I know I asked for this. I asked to come back “home” but I didn’t realize that “home” had gone and gotten all kinds of huge and important since I left.

I’m working consistently from 9am until well into Daily Show time. And the thing I am most pissed about? You are infringing on my work outs.

Huh. I never thought I’d say that.

Love,

Grateful, but overwhelmed in NY

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Dear Miami,

12 girls. 3 days, 2 nights. Loews Hotel. My bachelorette.

Consider this your official warning.

Love,

Clink

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Dear Comments,

You are off indefinitely.

I don’t know. It’s just what I’m feeling lately.

Love,

The Proprietress

Gushy McGusherson February 11, 2008

I felt like I was going to vomit as the train pulled into the station, but it wasn’t from the two mini-bottles of wine I had along the way.

Typical first date nerves, where you’re simultaneously worried about your hair, your breath and whether or not you’ll have anything articulate to say.

Meeting Molly was the light at the end of a very long, stressful tunnel: hardly any time with M all week (thus feeling disconnected), a brutal and relentless new job that requires of me more hours than there are in the day (thus feeling stressed and overwhelmed), wedding planning in high gear (enough said).

I was ready to leave it all behind and meet the person who had helped me get through it.

I tend to work myself up over absolutely nothing and this was another one of those times: there was no reason for the nerves. The minute I saw (a very blonde! very pretty! very tiny!) Molly, the minute we created a scene at the train station, the minute I hopped in the monstrous SUV, I knew that there had been no reason to worry.

It was like seeing and old friend, exciting and comforting at the same time.

I would love to recount minute by lovely minute but I’ll spare you every last detail (you’re welcome; I have a feeling the internets don’t find this nearly as interesting as Molly and I do) and just give you the highlights:

-Molly’s town looks like a movie set and her house looks like a dollhouse and her dog and I are in love. We even peed and showered together. Perhaps next time I will be able to actually look Kodiak in the eye while I am sitting on the toilet. Baby steps.

-Michael is tall and handsome and absolutely awesome. I mean, duh. They are clearly so in love with each other. He actually reminds me a lot of M: two rational, quiet, steady men marrying two energetic, gabby, spunky girls.

-If you keep putting bubbly berry and pound cake martinis in front of me, I will keep drinking them. If I keep drinking them, I will claim not to feel their effects. If I claim not to feel their effects, I am clearly in denial/delusional/a liar. See: the next morning.

-Also, if you keep putting bubbly berry and pound cake martinis in front of me, I may break the glasses. BY CLINKING THEM TOGETHER.

-Molly and I are both college educated and, by all accounts, bright girls. So why the hell did it take us an entire day to figure out why Molly’s finger was bleeding at the bar? Because, um, clearly it was the above (as opposed to her zipper.)

-BossMike is the kind of guy that you want to sit and talk to for hours. I’ve met him exactly twice now, but I feel like I’ve known him forever. He’s whip smart and quick to laugh and totally a 25 year old girl, but in the best way. (No really, BossMike! It’s a compliment! Even if I’m no longer officially your Blog Crush.)

-Lunch was delicious but entirely too short. It was capped off by dessert courtesy of PB&Razz and Dear PB&Razz, My future wedding dress does not thank you for the chocolate yummies, but my mouth sure does. Holyomigod, thank you. Love, Clink (& Molly & BossMike & whomever at Molly’s house gets to eat the rest of them).

-It was nice to talk blog with people who get it, as my only other option is discussing things with M, who clearly does not. Considering my increasingly “meh” attitude towards blogging, talking with BossMike and Molly helped remind me why I started doing it and why I continue to do it.  They are what matters; all the rest of it does not.

-Molly’s reception venue is unbelievably stunning. It’s so her and I know it’s going to come together perfectly. I cannot wait until October.

-There were no “we just met so we should be on our best behavior” formalities. By Saturday afternoon, we were both spread out on Molly’s soft-as-butter leather couch, watching bad reality television and sustaining a running commentary on everything from True Life to Air Guitar Nation.

-I knew she was my soul mate when she suggested pizza and more bad television (Sleeping With the Enemy. Julia Roberts + creepy guy who does not blink + overacting = gold) in lieu of getting dolled up and hitting the town.

-I packed entirely too much. To the point that I had to recruit buff men on the train to help me lift and lower my suitcase from the overhead racks. But I think my shoes passed muster with the Shoeru herself (her closet = droolworthy).

-Driving with Molly was my favorite part, because it gave us a chance to talk without distraction. Every conversation was further proof that we just get each other. It was amazing to see our online relationship (I shudder at that phrase, but hey) translate so seamlessly into real life.

I adore her, just like I knew I would. She’s one of the best things to come from this whole blogging experiment. In fact, I miss her already and I wish she lived only three blocks away, instead of three hours. I’m already mentally planning many future trips to Rhode Island, stretching all the way to when we have kids. They can play in the sand and we can lay on the beach and discuss Rock of Love 25 while soaking in some rays.

I can’t wait.

You know you’re going to visit Molly when… February 8, 2008

…half of your suitcase is filled with shoes.

Dear Rhode Island, You will never be the same. Sorry bout that. Love, Clink.

It’s like she was reading my mind or something. February 1, 2008

One of the most amazing parts of this line of work is that I get glimpses into the lives of people that I would mostly likely never come across otherwise.

Like, say, a psychic/witch/medium soccer mom. You know, for example.

In a last stab at saving my reputation at this place before I pack up my things and trek back to my comfort zone, having seen a distant land and found it entirely uninhabitable, I have thrown myself into a certain project and this certain project has turned up the individual mentioned above.

My friend turned coworker about to be turned just friend again and I met her for coffee yesterday and, in the middle of a Starbucks, she offered to give us a reading. My friend was much more hesitant, all “gah, I don’t know if I want to know anything about my future!”

And of course I was all “gah, TELL ME EVERYTHING.”

Because, as you well know, I am a narcissistic bitch.

And by the end of the reading I was actually shaking, and not because of the caffeine.

She started by saying something to the effect of “sweetheart, your relationship is near-perfect. It is strong and he loves you and please stop trying to mess it up. You’re only hurting yourself. You’re bringing all of this on yourself…for no reason. Just believe in it.”

I wanted to respond with, “oh, you mean stop doing things such as turning something as simple as a missed call into him cheating on me? Oh, okay.”

She just…knew. She just knew that, at times, I can start building a destructive wall that closes me in and keeps him out. And I need to stop doing it. Pronto.

We moved on to wedding stuff. She said she felt a low-level conflict between me and my mother that happening recently or was currently happening. Which, fine, she could tell by the rock on my left hand that I was getting married and who doesn’t have some sort of low-level conflict with their mother during wedding planning?

And then she said - I shit you not - “the brown is a good idea, you will be happy with it, and your mother has accepted your decision. In fact, she respects you for standing your ground because, in a way, it reminds her of herself.”

My friend looked at me with wide eyes because just recently I had told her about the fight I had with my mother about brown being a “FREAKING FINE COLOR FOR SUMMER, MOM” and how I hated that this disagreement between us was bothering me so much.

Also, she’s right about my mom. My mom is a Leo and she is stubborn and strong-willed and never quite understands why I can never make decisions or why I let the opinions of others influence me. She always says I am my father’s daughter but, in standing my ground against quite a few people telling me they weren’t crazy about my choice, I think she was ultimately happy to see that a piece of her made it into my DNA.

The psychic wrapped up the reading by grabbing my hand and telling me to take care of myself. “I mean it.” She said she kept hearing fast clicking noises and that the pace of my life is gaining momentum and that I need to take care of myself before I can take care of others, otherwise I’m headed for an emotional breakdown (me? Perfectly stable and in control of her emotions me? Naw. Couldn’t be.)

“Kind of like when, on an airplane, they tell adults to put the oxygen masks on themselves first before assisting the children.”

And then, because she went and brought up an AIRPLANE and how could I not, I mean, I’m going to both Vegas and Miami in the span of three weeks in May…I asked her if I was going to die in a plane crash.

Most of you will be happy to hear that the answer is no. That is not how I am going out.

I think I am a bit too willing to believe in this stuff and I know that when I tell M about it he’s going to be all “those people are all sheisters, it’s essentially one big magic trick.”

To which I will reply something along the lines of “I am the yin to your yang, darling. Our energies balance each other, thus making us a perfect match” or something else that will further piss him off. Because he’s cute when he’s annoyed.