I am a mom, entrepreneur, occasional blogger, and creator. I recently launched Here Comes the Apocalypse, a self-paced disaster preparedness system with a dark sense of humor. My team and I make up Artsy Geek, a top-ranked Bay Area branding and digital agency.
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I’ve begun to think of love in terms of absolutes. (Given some abstract definition of love on which we all agree.)
Either…she loves him. Or, she doesn’t love him, she just thinks he does. There’s no “in between” on this one.
Of course it goes the other way as well.
And, the question remains… (as it always does)
…do I love him*?
p.s. Apparently, I’ve been dancing with the devil as of late. Today I learned to spit in his face.
*or her. Let’s keep this sufficiently general.
1. Wash the sheets.
2. Put the old pictures back in their frames.
3. Change your friendster status back to single. Again.
4. Debate which ex to call for rebound sex.
5. Pledge drastic life and/or hair style changes.
I recently found these notes from the end of a short but sweet love affair:
Hi ____…I can’t go out with you…I can’t date you…so I need to cancel our date.
I got a little drunk and acted like a fool, but I didn’t mean to act like your girlfriend.
I thought it would be really fun to get to know you. I really enjoyed going out with you when I did.
Part of it is I know that I’m going to be working with you and seeing you professionally
mixing that.
I feel like I may have started leading you on & I didn’t mean to. Sorry.
but I can’t date you. So I need to cancel our date tonight.
I’m really looking forward to working with you in the future, I’ve seen shit go down with other people…
So I’ll see you at work.
I think I forgot to mention it. Anyway, it’s a great job. I really like it.
But it’s review time. I’m facing the Tyra of my office. The “congratulations, you’ve made it this far! And look how much you’ve accomplished!” followed by three pages of constructive criticism. How will I take it? Will I cry and blame my sister’s success for my own ineptitude? Or my parents recent divorce. Will I make the semi-finalists, or will I be cut from the running?
Cut from the running of life. My heart is in my throat.
1. Never try to brew kombucha in a pot that isn’t glass or stainless steel.
2. Sparkling white wine really does sneak up on you.
3. In order to timer record on a Toshiba SBV-393 VCR/DVD, you have to press the button on the remote labeled “Timer Record.”
4. Apple sauce collects mold remarkably quickly.
5. The new trend in frozen cookie dough doesn’t require you to shape the dough into balls yourself. Such a convenience, but at what cost?!!
…you kiss someone and it’s as if ten years have collapsed into nothing…and then you realize that perhaps you were wrong. but said conclusion has few, if any, undeniable consequences.
I talked to a friend today who is moving out the country for good, presumably. He was short with me, and I was offended. I realized, finally, that I am one of fifty. A friend, but not intransiently.
(as a corollary.) sometimes, you realize that you just gave someone terrible advice. And that they believed you, but now it’s too late. It’s like smashing into a parked car in your dreams. It rudely wakes you up, and the rest of the day is consequently tumoultuous.
you feel like you’re always starting over…but somehow never getting anywhere.
“and that’s all you can do about some things.”
Jane has an article this month on fifteen boys you’ll dump before you’re thirty. I wanted to see how I measure up (in rough chronological order):
1. The Religious Fanatic. Yep, we didn’t last very long. He used to read the Bible while our parents drove us around to the movies or whatever for our dates. Yep, didn’t last very long.
2. My First Love. Well… it had to end sometime.
3. The Brit. Or did he dump me? Better keep the count at three to be sure.
3. Internet Boyfriend. I swear he was gay.
4. Psycho-Romantic-Asshole. God, I’m lucky I got rid of that one. He used to torment me by pretending my giant stuffed turtle Oliver was a verbally abusive Englishman named Thomas. Poor Oliver. Poor me. I was a sucker for the romance though. I almost carved his initials into my torso on his request.
5. First guy I met at a college party. He read me his mediocre poetry on our first and only date.
6. The Third Wheel. We hooked up on ecstacy, and he thought it was love. Love! Ha! As if there were such thing. Sad though; he meant well.
7. The Pisces. Water puts out fire, you know.
8. Ahh…Drunk #1. Replaced with Drunk #2, who broke my heart for the first time.
9. The Musician. He wrote me a lovely song. I don’t really remember why it didn’t work out…oh yeah! He caught me in bed with another woman. Better keep the count at nine then.
9. The Self-Proclaimed Virgin. I left him for the Love of My Life, as I know it (the second, third, fourth, fifth,…, most recent times my heart has been broken).
10. The Southern Pothead. Sigh. Those were the days.
11. Cokehead Rock Star. I never called him back.
12. The Swedish Millionaire*.
13. Karaoke Guy. I never called him back, either.
14. The Australian. Oh, I wish now I had called him back.
The Prognosis: I’m sure to hit the fifteen mark by thirty. I’m normal**!
*This claim is as of yet unsubstantiated.
**According to Jane Magazine.
I got cable.
I say, let’s utilize it!
