this may be why i'm single.

The official what I want in a man list. (To be added to at any time.)

1. Be funny. I don’t care if your jokes are corny. In fact, the more better to run in stride with me. But laughter? Laughter’s key. I love to laugh.

2. Like the outdoors. I don’t mean you should regularly use a latrine or holler at me “hey baby let’s go camping every damn day.” I want you to like it. In a conventional sense. Don’t be a lazy dud. Like the prospect of hiking. Tennis and golf. Football.

3. Yea, let’s get this straight: must love football. MUST. College football specifically. I don’t care what team you cheer for but cheer on. And none of this “southerners think too much of their college football teams.” I don’t want to hear it. Love it. And go to games with me. And drink beer. Mmm.

4. Respect me. Not that you can’t slap my ass when you want. But I want respect. As in, listen to what I say. Don’t push me. Don’t take my feelings and toss them aside. And don’t be a jerk to me in front of others. Or in front of anyone. When I’m thirsty in the middle of the night and I say “water, please”? Please for the love of God just get it for me.

5. Respect your family. I once, about a year ago, sat at dinner with a guy who told me about how much of a slack ass his brother was and how trashy his brother’s girlfriend was and yada yada yada. And you know what? It didn’t matter about anything else he said. Because it was not a friend talking casually to another friend about the same old shit. We were on a DATE. A first date, no less. And dating someone means dating their family. (Kind of. You know what I mean.) And he was just losing in all sorts of ways.

6. Respect my family. Because I can tell you all sorts of stories – craaaazy stories – about my brothers, but you should know above all else that I love them unconditionally. And there’s a fine line to draw between sticking up for me when I’m in a verbal disagreement with my mother and making sure you don’t ever say anything negative about my wonderful mom. So I would start practicing tightrope walking now.

7. Be accountable. This is big. If you say “let’s go to dinner next week”? Best take me to dinner next week. If you say “let’s slow down”? Best not mean let’s stop this dating-like game we’re playing and I don’t ever want to talk to you again. I am not a mind reader. And I don’t like having to overanalyze situations or read between the lines. With guys I want to take things at face value. So just freaking be accountable, be someone I can call so I don’t for the next 20 some odd years bug my brother in Gvegas when I might potentially have a nail in my tire or am running out of gas and need to find the location of the nearest Exxon. Or maybe don’t know what temp the thermostat can reasonably be on because I’m freezing and the roommate’s out of town. Be accountable to me. Please.

8. Don’t drink too much. I mean, drink, and if you want to get drunk atleast be a fun drunk. Because there’s nothing worse than a guy with an alternate bourbon personality. Sketchiness while overindulged? Totally entertaining. Knowledge of what wine I should order or beer I should venture to equals an added plus. Also, the 5 to whenever happy hour? Big fan. Not every night, though. Particularly on the random weeknight.  Lots of points if you support this desire.

9. Dance. Dance. Dance. Because I’m going to totally need a guy to lead me.

10. Have your head on your shoulders. I’m really not into that “ooh I’m still coasting my way through Midlands Tech” guy. Or the one that wants to meet up at Sharky’s. Nor the guy that thinks I’m eager and willing to meet him at a friend’s house for a bonfire 30 minutes away from where I live every Friday and Saturday that he asks. And I mean EVERY. Nor even the guy that each time he sees me tells me about all his prospective job opportunities and how busy busy he is at work. Because I really don’t care all that much. Or – oh my – the ones that seem to think I give a damn that they know or work in some fashion with my father. Really, that’s awesome that you think he’s so awesome but he is my dad.  NOT IMPRESSED.

11. Please be able to atleast grow facial hair. That is all.

12. Understand my need for J.Crew and Anthropologie as a part of retail therapy. And the occasional high Target expense. Which is why right now I am restricting myself from Target. As well as Barnes and Noble. Too bad I can’t seem to restrict myself from online shopping. Damn computer.

13. Have religion. Because, and just personally, the whole apathetic/agnostic/atheist stuff does not go far with me. I’m not requiring you to pick a political party (though small judgements can be made if you favor certain politicians over others). But I do think, that for a relationship’s sake, I’m going to have to ask that you love sweet baby Jesus. And no, you best not expect me in church every Sunday morning.

14. Take my good with my bad. Take my insecurities with my sometime edginess. Take my bad clothing combinations with my great outfits. Take my need for Pizza Man alongside my love of Mr. Friendly’s. Take my laughter with my tears and my increased volume with my silence. Take my love for romantic comedies right up there beside my total obsession with the Bourne Trilogy and Superbad. Take the fact that sometimes I don’t want to leave the house and would prefer to watch movies, order in, and play games and love it just as much as the day when I have decided TONIGHT I AM GOING OUT. And I will be overserved. And then blame it on the bartender. Or perhaps you.

15. Be able to safely get me home. Then I can get my mom to quit saying, “Kristin, you have to be more careful when you go out and drink than I do because I have your dad to look out for me.”

16. Appreciate the people around me. Because the people around me are, well, not all that much like me. I want a guy that can hang out with my married best friend in Charleston and her infant baby and great dane, go to Greenville and visit my insanely crazy turned somewhat settled college friend who is soon to elope with her live in boyfriend, go to the least classy college bar in Columbia to say a quick hello to a lunatic childhood friend who gets drunk in under an hour and has the most unholy hookup history, take a trip to Atlanta with me to visit my old bible study leader and her husband, have a drink with my boss, dinner at my grandparent’s, and never once question why they’re all in my life for keeps.

17. Let me win. For the longest time I would have said “fight with me.” I was feisty once and I would have said “I want a guy that likes to argue.” Um, scratch that. I want a guy that doesn’t argue. At all. That when I say, “No, never met them,” doesn’t say, “Yes you have.” And doesn’t say “I told you so” when I call and say, “Actually, you were right I have.” Just says, “Yea, I know.” And smiles. Pretty simple. Let me win.

18. Do not have vanity issues. I could care less if you have a receding hairline. Don’t be that guy (I actually know) that drinks special nasty smoothies his mother gave him the recipe for that are supposed to help with hair growth. Also, I will break up with you the instant you touch hair gel to your head. Be able to throw on clothes without thought and make my heart melt in whatever they are. Be able to dress for yourself and buy for yourself (and me) just like my father does for himself and my mom. Know that I don’t spend a whole hell of a lot of time in front of the mirror and therefore you should spend way less. Be easygoing even about yourself.

19. Have the normal family thing going for you. Not that my family is normal. At all. But normal by my standards. Um, please keep in mind that when dating I not only judge you, I also judge your family. And I want someone whose family is fun! With fun family traditions! (Perhaps so I can someday make them my own. Oh well.) But I want someone that maybe believes in and knows what love is just as I do. Because I can see it in my parents. I sort of kind of want someone that has that too. Bonus: I used to also say that the guy I ended up with needed to have a sister. Weird, maybe. But Gvegas brother once said to me that having me as a sister really helped him understand where his now fiance was coming from a lot of the time. And I really think there’s a lot to be said for that. Also, how cool would it be to finally have a sis?

20. Be my friend. My best friend, really. Let me be able to tell you anything and everything I think and still just love me. Unconditionally. Be my friend in a way that I have always been searching for. The person to whom I can say the first thing out of my mouth to before I can even think it through. Miss me when I’m out of town. Miss me even if we’d never met. Tell me you wish I were with you when you’re gone. Want me on the driving range by your side, out every now and then when you’re with your guys, there with you when you’re nervous or anxious and especially when you’re your happiest. Kiss me in the morning even with our unbrushed teeth. Want me. And love me. That’s all I ask.

dear abs, where did you go?

It is January. Freaking JANUARY. And all I can think about is June. And July. And heat. I actually want the humidity back right about now. Gasp. (I realize 40 degrees to some people is really not all that frigid.)

One of my albeit many resolutions this year (or more so a necessity) is to actually get back in shape. Not to be able to run again without death closing in. And not to lose some pounds. Been there, done some of that. But to actually achieve that I know I can’t be a freshman in high school again but I’m a version of that. With hips. (Well, some.) Duh. And I think even slightly bigger boobs. Maybe. That makes me laugh.

Last night I went to Publix (and was somewhat disappointed by their limited Kashi collection) and gathered up some oatmeal to replenish my work stash and some lettuce to use for salads for lunch.

When I came home, the roommate had returned from work and was ready to launch into a discussion about how I go on a kick and then I exhaust myself and then I’m over it for a couple of weeks. And then I start anew. And how she’s lived with me through these and so “all things in moderation, Kristin.” She also routinely calls my mom “crazy” and reminds me that I have “food issues.” But I digress.

Her point was what again? I don’t think it’s that detrimental to my overall wellbeing if I feel like getting up and being at the gym at 5:30 am right now, and not, say, next week. I mean, that’s between me and my resolution contract. (Oprah once said to sign a diet and fitness contract with yourself. Tried that. Broke it. Didn’t feel guilty. Not signing my resolution contract.)

Moving on, last night I sat on my bed, totally enraptured by Bromance, and went through my collection of Self magazine. For what, you might ask? Perhaps an elixir to make either my thighs disappear or my abs reappear. That I sadly did not find.

But I’m sure I can find some new magazines to go through tomorrow.

the high lows.

High: Making it to the gym at 5:30 am on a Monday. And running 2 miles in 20 minutes while there.

Low: The roommate waking up and walking into the kitchen as you tie your shoes and her looking at you and saying, “What are you doing up?” with attitude.

High: Getting to work 30 minutes early. LOVE being in the office when no one is around.

Low: Being at work on a Monday morning 30 minutes early.

High: Eating oatmeal for breakfast.

Low: Coworker that I do not like asking me questions about my personal life and having to dodge them Vince Vaughn style.

High: Feeling relaxed and put together with freshly painted nails and a newly pressed blouse because you made yourself productive yesterday afternoon.

Low: Having had to deal with the roommate coming home last night at 10 pm after 10 hours of drinking, ready to pick a fight because you didn’t call and let her know you weren’t going to come and meet up, when you never knew you were supposed to. And hearing you were “disengaged” at lunch. Disengaged = you were not fun.

High: Still enjoying the boss’ Friday words to mean coworker. “I got your email and yes, you can help with this project but KRISTIN IS THE PROJECT MANAGER.” Watching coworker pout out of his office and having him look at me, smile, and say “thank you”.

Low: LA best friend having to fly back to the west coast last night.

High: Getting to spend an exorbitant amount of time with her. That distracted us both.

Low: Realizing that now that she’s gone, things are going to start to get really boring and really lonely. Once again.

to tomorrow.

Watching Oprah right now as I clean up in my room before showering I heard her say, “You can do unto others all that you want to. It’s already gonna be done unto you.”

I began listing my resolutions last night, in the car with my mom, as I drove the way back from Charleston, from seeing my best friend’s baby girl, from great luck in J.Crew, from the long day we’d had.

No drama, I said. Mom concurred. Drama. I HATE drama. I always AVOID drama. But somehow? It seems to find me. To magnetize to me. To AFFECT me. No no no more.

Less stress, I added. Oh yes, Mom agreed. I stress a lot. Always have. You can see it in the writing on my face and probably, honestly, nowhere else. Because, amazingly, I remain pretty calm. (I blog it all out.) But I dislike it. Quite a lot.

Talk less to others, I thought to make a change on my increased verbosity in recent years as today I sat, mostly in silence. For 3 hours in silence as my car got fixed and I turned the pages in my book. At the Ford dealership as the recall I’ve known about for over a year got taken care of. At the car wash. Talking less is good. Talking less is helpful. Talking less, while it means I’ll have a whole lot of more mess going on in my head than I (already) do, might be good for me. Might be exactly what I need. So people, please start expecting a little silence out of me face to face, email to email, phone to phone. If you want me? You want to amend anything with me? In 2009? You’re going to have to want me. And maybe the truth will hurt [me]. But the truth it will be.

In 2009? I’m hoping for a lot.

Cheers.

did i mention i need a vacay?

I am excited to have finally remembered to bill my editor for the past 4 months for a number of reasons. Most notably this one:

I am happy the weekend is over because I am hoping the next one will be better. Maybe it will be in Charleston. Maybe I will have to stay here. In any event it will not consist of work or dog sitting. If I can help it.

I am tired for reasons that I don’t understand. I thought the whole “exercise gives you endorphins” thing Elle Woods talks about in Legally Blonde would be working on me. I think it’s working the other way.

I am irritated for a number of reasons, I think. A few of which I can put my finger on. Some of which are work related. Others which result from a weekend without enough rest.

I am pleased there appears to be a storm brewing. Yay for a little free water.

I am wanting to see The Dark Knight, honestly. Funny thing is, it’s making me start to realize I wish I had a guy to see it with. Because I’d probably get scared. Really.

I am amused that I had to lobby around the office for 25 cents so that I could afford to get a Diet Dr. Pepper. And that I found someone willing to go find that quarter for me, and bring it to me. And that when I went to procure my soda, I saw Mr. Beat coming, said “hi,” and turned my back and went on my merry way. Like a grown up.

I am looking forward to saying that I may have gotten out of my whole predicament with Cute Boy by telling him, when he called a short while ago, that I have to be at one lake on the Friday he asked about and at another lake the next day. And I’m really not sure how much free time I’ll have that evening. Done and done.

I am wishing I had been reading more in the last couple of weeks. But I think that’s what happens when I am not ecstatic about the book club pick. And then I get stuck on it. And then that’s that.

I am ready to go home.

breathing.

This morning I opened the back door of the house to head down the steps and to my car. I looked around at the leaves strewn about, the damp ground, the morning sunlight cutting through the trees. I was reminded, suddenly, of summer camps in Asheville. Of the days of early to rise. Of the dew on the ground. The granddaddy long legs. The quiet times and the hikes.

It brings back a feeling of nostalgia to have these moments. To remember middle school so vividly. To still feel those same passions, those same frustrations and feelings. To look at a picture of that boy from carpool and think, “Yea you’re cute now, at 24, but there’s just something about you.” Something you don’t like because of a memory. Or to pull out a pair of pants from your closet and think, “These would have been cute way back when.” Or to always have a dislike for glasses on yourself because of those red Fisher Price ones your mom made you wear.

But I’m not in middle school anymore. I’m not at camp. I’m not careless and fancy free. I’m almost weighed down. Burdened and trying to go on in spite of that. And, on top of this all, I am having a moment. Have you ever had a time in your life when you were just annoyed by certain friends?

It gets frustrating, often enough, when I feel like I’m running but that I’m still tied to some [brick] wall, constantly pulling me back towards it as I fight to set myself free. I have been out of school 2 years. I have been out of school 2 years and feel like, while I’ve been working my ass off, I have friends who have bought houses, who have boyfriends, who can afford this luxury and that. And I’m sitting at dinner thinking, I probably shouldn’t have this glass of wine. It costs $8. But I work. 2 jobs, even. I don’t have a car payment, though that’s probably not too far on the horizon seeing as my SUV is in want of constantly falling apart on me. Can I help it that in my calm, I am screaming out that IT’S JUST NOT FAIR?

I graduated college on a Friday. On Monday, I started my job. Full time. 40 hours a week. I was living with Mom and Dad. I was making very little above minimum wage with this real world college degree requiring job. But I’m doing it. I’m not complaining [much]. I’m working. I’m not soul searching. I’m paying rent. For 6 months, a friend of mine has been avoiding the life I’m living. Is it because it’s just not something to admire or respect or aspire to? Is it because she’s scared for herself? I have a 401k. And a lease. And health insurance. I don’t have that luxury now that she has. Maybe I’m jealous. Maybe I’m frustrated that people actually believe that a city makes the experience when I think it’s the people, the job. Not necessarily the landscape. And you’ve gotta start somewhere. Make some roots. And then, a couple of weeks, months, a year? Move if you’re not happy. But you’ve got to start sometime.

In these years since I graduated, in the years that preceded that date, I have yet to have a date. A real one. A boyfriend. A guy slightly interested past the hangover. I have yet to have some nice guy (unassociated with a single political campaign) that is seemingly interested or interesting. I have yet to meet anyone remotely possible. Sitting across the dinner table last night with the roommate, I said to her, “Have you even, over the past 2 years, met a guy you could see me dating, even someone that seems cool and level headed?” And her answer was an emphatic no. Because it hasn’t happened. Is he hiding? Or is it me. Is he dating a bimbo somewhere or soul searching himself? When my West Coast Best Friend calls me as I sit at work on a Tuesday afternoon, I hate to hear her upset. I hate that she just ran into the last guy that meant anything to her while in Vegas last weekend for a girl’s weekend. I hate that he told her how he’d missed out and how now, she wants to text him to see if he really meant that and if he is still planning to come out there in September now to see her. I hate that she holds on like that and that she thinks that she doesn’t have a chapter in any guy’s life but they have so many chapters in hers. I hate it because sometimes, what I’m really thinking is, I don’t have a single chapter in mine.

And I can’t say that to her because that’s selfish. That makes me sound like I’m not listening and I’m not sympathizing. It takes away the words that I say to her. You’ll get your chapter. You’ll get your guy. You’ll find someone when you least expect it that finally realizes how wonderful you are. All these other guys? Warm ups. They’re the screw ups that make you recognize when you meet the right one. And you will. Maybe not this year. Maybe not in LA. But soon enough.

And all the while there I am, sitting on the other end of the phone, saying these words, and thinking all by myself, “Do I really believe?”

all good things.

Today I am wearing a dress I haven’t worn in about 4 years. It’s my pre- grown up, grown up dress. And while it once, undoubtedly, looked better on me – it still fits.

I’ve been feeling a bit on top of things – despite the fact that I’m quite a bit behind on things. I’m a little overworked, but I’m dealing. My desk is in disarray but it’s making progress.

I think, in part, attitude really is everything. Though we hear that tune our whole lives, you never truly live it, feel it, until you have a reason to.

I’ve got a reason.

That conversation I had with my dad? It was like he was lighting a match under my butt.

Think positive. Be positive.

Take time to realize.

can't take the heat?

This weekend it was evident that the furnace that is Columbia, South Carolina kicked on for 2008. If it is any indication of what the next 3 months will feel like, it’s not looking good.

And, on top of that, the roommate and I picked this weekend to move into our new apartment.

At first, we thought the heat was a direct result of us keeping the doors open to move in furniture, etcetera, etcetera. Then, we learned that that was indeed not the case.

It’s so hot I can’t unpack. So hot I can’t take the clothes piled on my bed and decide what to do with them, where they can go. It’s so hot I can’t move, can’t get dressed, can’t cool off with ice water because we have no ice, want to stand outside in that heat to talk on the phone – hot.

Last night I drove over to my Mom and Dad’s at around 9 o’clock to shower the muck off of me and get a good cool night’s rest. I sat there, teary eyed with frustration before them as Dad worked at his desk and Mom, half watching some western on television, talked on the phone to my oldest brother.

When she hung up, the onset of my tears had cleared and she asked me about my very responsive landlord. I mentioned his name and the familiarity of it led her to wanting to feed the desire to flip through her high school yearbook. It’s kind of amazing to sit with your Mom, who could go through her high school class and point out my oral surgeon, the owner of a popular chicken restaurant here, and of well known cleaners, and infamous political analyst Lee Atwater. Even Jimmy Buffett‘s current wife Jane Slagsvol. She could also point out those who had died. Lee Atwater of a brain tumor in the 90s. This person and that person of suicide. This guy of a aneurysm at his first college football practice when he had so much promise. She also went to school with the namesakes of 3 Columbia high schools – A.C. Flora‘s grandson (also named A.C. Flora), C.A. Johnson‘s daughter, and the Keenan boy.

Will our own classmates makes this much of an impression on our city and our society?

I had this strange feeling as I looked at these faces, more so than I do at any moment looking across my own annuals. These handsome men, these beauty queens. Almost 40 years later, you’re looking into the face of someone entirely different.

“Miss Junior of that year is on ETV a lot,” Mom said, glancing over the picture in her own sophomore yearbook. “She’s old and heavy set.”

“Old as in a year older than you,” I responded earnestly.

“Yea, but she just looks old. Sometimes I turn on ETV to see her and think – do I look like that? Then I go play with my wrinkles.”

It almost makes you wonder who it is and when it is people will start making something of themselves.

a line item veto in life.

Today I sit at my desk working, just as I have every other Friday for the last few weeks. I have already attended a 3 hour meeting on taxes, in which a committee member asked a legitimate question. “Are containers for which we use to store bull semen exempt?”

I numbered, as I sat through their discussion, the things I have to get done, both at work and at home.

1. Finish paintings for coworker.
2. Purchase canvas and do Father’s Day painting.
3. Call so-and-so back. Email a reply to Dr. Somebody.
4. Make new files. Immigration. TPS Committee. Lobbyist Disclosure.
5. Get transcript from Clemson.
6. Complete President’s Circle letters and mail out.

On and on it went.

I cleared off my desk when I returned, almost with a swoop of my hand, in preparation for today’s Legislative Newsletter to fill the empty spaces.

I thought – with both trepidation and excitement – about my move this weekend. A new apartment. New walls. A new yard for which we are responsible. A new bill we’ve never had to pay before. New neighbors.

Breathing heavily at my desk, in the now quiet office (long since having been emptied by my coworkers off to do work on their respective farms), I divided my time for the evening. This is what I want to get done. This is all I want moved so that I will not be overloading my father when he comes to my house at 8 am tomorrow, pulling a trailer, to help with furniture. These are my goals.

A coworker’s birthday celebration tonight? Can’t make it.
The Sex and the City premiere? I’ll shoot for Sunday.
Painting? Not if your easel is packed and ready to go.

I thought about how relaxed I usually am in the evenings. In the evenings I think clearly. Sometimes I dance through the house, just as I skip down the hall at work, but with more freedom, more joy. Sometimes, though, I get angry. I get this feeling of clarity and it angers me. I want to tell people what I think. In the new day, I think, I will speak my words. Angry and rejuvenated. I think back over the day, the things I missed, the moments I will not remember. Just before I go to sleep, as my head rests on the pillow, I have my best thoughts. My most clear ones. The ones I have when I have nothing to write them down with.

This evening I will do none of this and I will do all of this. I will pack. I will not allow myself to stress. I will think back over the day. I will not get angry, I will not think mean thoughts, I will not be wistful. I will be calm. I will be hopeful. I will have clarity, once again, and it will be wonderful.

“There are 2 things I remember best, she said. Beauty & all the times people insulted me, so getting older has been kind of a roller-coaster ride.” storypeople.

me me me.

I laughed earlier. It was a simple text message I sent to my 25 year old brother around noon. “Do you know what today is?”

He responded. “Mom’s birthday! Crap!”

And I laughed again. “Hahahaha. Some things never change.”

I came back to my office from lunch. I sat at my desk, cluttered with obligations. I sat checking my work email, then my gmail. I checked facebook, and then some blogs. I let my mind wander. To my work. To my dad. This past weekend.

“Kristin, don’t let people see your struggles, your weaknesses,” he had said. “Don’t tell people how bad your day at work has been. Put on a happy face. Be the girl that everything is dumped on, that everybody can see is getting the short end of the stick, but that goes with it, gets it done. Flying colors and all. Be the girl that doesn’t let it get to her. Be the person everyone else wants to be.”

I thought of Grey’s Anatomy. That episode where Christina looks at Lexie and tells her, “Have some fire. Be unstoppable. Be a force of nature. Be better than anyone here, and don’t give a damn what anyone thinks. There are no teams here, no buddies. You’re on your own. Be on your own.”

Be unstoppable, I thought again. Be.

How much do I want to just be? Successful. Happy. With direction.

I thought about words of advice from the roommate. How sometimes, hard as it is, you have to let things go. You have to move on to get the good. You have to allow yourself to put what’s holding you back behind you before you can move forward and look ahead. I thought about that advice, the same advice I gave a friend last week. How you have to realize who you are, what you deserve, and see that it’s not what was in your past.

Reading Love the One You’re With, I feel absolved in the truth of it all. In the idea that your past can still haunt you. That you have to make conscious decisions, with your mind, to leave it there.

What’s that they say? “Always make new mistakes.” (esther dyson.)

I thought about the season finale of Grey’s Anatomy. About Meredith’s words and how great they must have felt. For her, her character. “I’m still mad at you and I don’t know if I trust you. I wanna trust you, but I don’t know if I do. So I’m just gonna try. I’m gonna try and trust you. Because I believe that we can be extraordinary together rather than ordinary apart.”

Hope? Yes it’s there. Fear? Uh-huh. Eagerness? Yep.

A future?

Bring it.