Moxie in the house

Today I went food shopping for the first time in almost 7 months, and there should be a law against something as mundane as food shopping making me as happy as it did. Being in Trader Joe's was a little weird. I felt nostalgic at times, especially when I was buying things we used to buy together--my beloved chicken nuggets, chocolate covered soy beans, chicken sausage, mixed greens. There were a couple of times when I felt like Glenn had just stepped around the corner to grab a bottle of wine, and if he'd turned up next to my cart I wouldn't have blinked an eye. Sometimes, even as I take steps forward on my own, it feels like nothing has really changed and this whole thing is just a bad dream.

BUT. I loaded up the car with my food bags, ran some more errands and then went back to MY apartment and did some more unpacking. As I sorted through the boxes, I found lots of reminders of where I used to me. A pile of notebooks full of my job hunting notes, notes to Glenn, his old training schedules. I threw them out. I found the photo albums from my bridal shower last April and I didn't cry. They feel like they're from another life, another world--I looked so *happy*, so clueless about what was to come. I found photos of me and Glenn, and my gut didn't heave. I know he's in town today, and that he's going out to Springfield to be with Josh and Rose, and that's sad to me. I know he will sleep in the guest bed alone, the bed where we first hooked up 4 years ago and that fact will not phase him. I am no longer a part of his life or his thoughts.

I finally threw out my keys to the LA apartment, and added the ones to my new place.

Break on through to the other side

I did it. I got through Christmas and our anniversary without melting down. In fact, I spent the whole weekend moving into my new apartment and getting settled. How fitting that I spent what would have been our 4-year anniversary embarking on a fresh start. My father and A came out today to help me move a few pieces of furniture and it started to snow right as we finished up. The snow turned into the first blizzard of the winter. J came over and we mushed through the snow to an Indian restaurant around the corner. We toasted to new starts over dinner--he's moving to Atlanta later this week.

I feel so good--and it's not just the wine. I am deeply, genuinely happy in a way I don't remember feeling in a very long time. Am I on the right path? I hope so.

That damned ugly head rears itself

Yoga is getting me in trouble. The other day I did a master class at On the Mat with Rolf Gates and it was great, but at the end I found myself cycling through some difficult emotions--sadness, grief, heart pain. I cried all through shivasana and on my way home I called Glenn. Bad idea. He sent me an email last week asking if he could see me and Scully when he comes home for the holidays, and I haven't replied because I don't think it's a good idea. But of course I want to. He was curt and preoccupied on the phone, and he got irritated with me because I held back from sharing my feelings with him because I could sense that he wasn't in a conversational mode. The call ended badly, and I was really taken aback at how insensitive he'd been, in part because I felt like I should have anticipated it and I brought it on myself. So yesterday I replied to his email and said that I didn't want to see him, especially after our phone call. He wrote back and said that he didn't want to communicate with me at all anymore. He was harsh and cruel in his wording, and I just cried at my desk for the rest of the day. While I struggle with the urge to call him and try to patch things up (why? to accomplish what?), I'm realizing that he did what I could not do--cut the cord. It's the only way I'll be able to really let go and move on. The fact is that I am still in love with him and I cannot have him in my life. I miss him every day, miss the life we had together here and in LA. But he will never be the person I need him to be, and he'll never be able to give me what I need in any kind of relationship.

I feel like I'm constantly processing so much of the past year. Once I'm in the new apartment, I can truly have a fresh start. Rob is coming for New Years and he's the only person in the world that I want to be around right now. He's the only person I know who I can be totally silent with and he will never make it awkward.

Tunnel vision

Up and down, up and down. Busy with work and yoga and friends. Avoiding the holidays as much as possible. Thankfully, my family resolved to only do one gift per person, which made my shopping a lot less stressful, but I have a list of people whom I owe gifts, and I'm enjoying the fact that I can afford to be generous. My friends have buoyed me through the past 6 months, and it feels good to give back.

I found an apartment and I move in right after Christmas! When I went back to look at the studio near Porter, one of the residents was sitting outside on the stoop, and she asked me if I was looking for roommates. Figuring why not, I said sure, and she took me inside and introduced me to two women in a lovely 2-bedroom on the second floor. They're both grad students in occupational therapy at Tufts, and one of them is graduating and moving down to New Jersey. The space is really lovely--hardwood floors, big windows, large sills for Scully to sit on and look longingly at squirrels. So it's a done deal--I guess the universe didn't want me in a studio all alone. The girl I'll be living with is very cool, definitely the most normal person I've met in the apartment search. I don't even care if we end up being good friends because I'm happy with the fact that I think we'll live together well. That's all I can ask for.

Work is great. The people are incredibly nice, and I am enjoying the actual work that I do. When I took the job, I felt sort of like a traitor to journalism. Writers who take corporate jobs are seen as sell-outs, and I don't feel like I sold out. I interviewed for 13 journalism jobs before I took this one, and none of them felt right. I enjoy the lack of deadlines, the support of the staff, the fact that I can finally put my business and technology experience to work in a real way. It's great to stretch my wings outside the confines of the inverted pyramid or the carefully crafted feature story. And for the first time, I feel like I'm helping people in an everyday way. My gut tells me that I'm doing exactly the right thing at the right time, and considering how rarely that feeling comes along, I'm going with it.

I'm sure there's a 12-step adage for getting through the day that would fit here

Sometimes the minutiae of daily life feels like burden, and at other times it's a blessing. Right now it's the minutiae that keep me busy, and every day that I can pack full of activity, even if it's stupid, brainless errands, is a triumph. I still feel like a loser when people ask me what I've done lately and I don't have anything to say, but the errands help me feel like I'm standing on my feet in the world again.

The weather really has me down in the dumps. Every day is cold and gray and the sun goes down so early that it feels like bedtime in the late afternoon. I've been running as often as possible because the fresh air perks me up, but I've also been abusing the guest visitor pass at the swanky gym near my work. They never check at the door, and so my pass has lasted two weeks instead of one. Score! They have good cardio equipment and it's never that crowded. The pool is spectacular but I cannot imagine getting into a bathing suit in this temperature. The last thing I want is to get wet!

I crashed at Carmen's this weekend just to get out of Sudbury. She wasn't there, so I ended up sleeping for almost 12 hours. When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I went for a run around Fresh Pond and then went shopping at Bloomingdale's for a dress to wear to the company Christmas party. With the credit I have from returning the silverware, I managed to get a gorgeous BCBG black handkerchief dress that looks smashing on me. I'm going to tear this party up, baby. This morning, I went to the 9am class at On the Mat, this little yoga studio out in Concord. The instructor is hot, but he's also a very good teacher. I took his class one evening last week, and today he really encouraged me to take the next step in my backbends and arm balances. I felt challenged for the first time since I left California. It felt great to work on some new, tough poses.

Lately I've been remembering my dreams again and it's a mixed bag. Forgetfulness can be a gift.

A nice, round number

Six months today. And tomorrow is--or was--our engagement anniversary. I hate December. If I had my way, I'd fast forward through this whole month. It's full of anniversaries and other emotional landmines. Work is GREAT--it's my salvation. If I didn't have this job, I would get in the car and do a month-long roadtrip just to escape the specter of December and the holidays.

I'm depressed and lonely and hurting. After work, I go to the gym or go for a run and then watch movie after movie on TV. This summer, all I wanted to do was get out of the house and be around people. Now, I want to hide on the couch and not interact with anyone at all. I talk to my family as little as possible--I just want to be left alone.

"Sideways" was good. And yes, Miles and Glenn could be blood brothers in the way that they behaved, but that wasn't what made me melancholy. The scenes of LA and Santa Ynez just made me realize that I will never live in southern California again. That part of my life is over. No going back. I went to all those vineyards with Glenn at this time last year--he wanted to buy wine for his family as Christmas presents. So we did a day trip up, and hit about 10 vineyards. He must have tasted 35 wines over the course of the day, and it was the only time I ever saw him drunk. He was so cute and happy and funny--on the drive home, he sat in the passenger seat and drunk dialed every person in his cell phone.

I looked at a great studio tonight after work. It's right between Harvard and Porter, across the street from ATA. I'm going back tomorrow to make a decision.

The housing conundrum

In my rush to get out of my parent's house, I never stopped to consider the emotional and logistical implications of moving out of my own again. Not just the issue of rent and location and pet-friendliness, all of which are important, but the larger question of whether I want to venture back into the world of roommates or live by myself.

When I went out yesterday to look at apartments and interview with people who are looking for a roommate, it struck me that I feel like I'm moving backward instead of forward. This is just another part of letting go of my former life, and it's painful. I was so ready to be done with the roommate thing when Glenn and I moved in together. I'm used to sharing my space with a significant other, not a total stranger. And finding a decent roommate is such a crapshoot. The places I saw yesterday were just awful--dingy tenement spaces that are all converted bedrooms and no windows or natural light. Some of the women were nice, but most of them seemed just a little bit desperate to find both a roommate and a new friend. Who knows--maybe most of the people they've interviewed are just as weird as the people I've met, and they are eager to find a normal situation, too. But it overwhelmed me.

I'm going to be 30 and I think I'm done with the roommate thing. It's just time. Yes, I have some hermit tendencies and that scares me a little bit. Roommates are good company and it's nice to have someone to say hello to when you come home at night, or someone to grab a beer with on the weekends. But it reeks of single girl world. I'm not 23 and fresh out of college. I want my own space. I'm used to decorating my own space and not having to worry about whether I'm taking up too much room in the medicine cabinet, or if someone's going to get mad if my dishes stay in the sink for too long.

So I'm going to look at studios. They're pricier and more remote, but the idea feels so much better to me. A studio is a step forward, a fresh start, a room of my own--literally. Who knows--I could get intensely lonely, but it's an opportunity to determine my own world.

Tonight I'm going to see "Sideways" with Carmen. My mother told me not to see it because one of the characters behaves like Glenn, but I'm not made of glass here. Santa Ynez is one of my favorite spots in the world. I'm going to see the stupid movie.

My working week, my Sunday best

First day at the new job. I didn't actually do any work--HR had three of us new employees in a conference room, and we learned about how to use the time sheet software, and how all the departments interact. They gave us huge manila legal binders full of documents to fill out so they could add us to the health insurance as fast as possible. It was quite efficient, actually.

Documents. Beneficiaries. I didn't anticipate the whole having to pick someone's name to put down thing. The first time in years that I couldn't just put Glenn's info there and be done with it. He is no longer my "in case of emergency" person.

The other two girls in the orientation are going to be in the HR department. They immediately bonded over the fact that they have boyfriends. As if that sums them up completely as people. I zoned out while they had the whole "What's your boyfriend's name? What does he do? How long have you been together?" conversation. It reminded me of the time in college when I (briefly) dated a rugby player and he introduced me to his teammates as his girlfriend, not as Moxie, and I was like, "Hello? I'm a person here, not just a space filler you can call your girlfriend." Neither of them were wearing rings and I got the distinct impression that both of them wanted rings very badly. Their conversation was a sort of sociological study in oneupsmanship, a kind of "We're moving along in our relationship and that makes it okay that we're not engaged" dialogue. One of them asked me if I had a boyfriend and I said "Nope," and they were like, "Oh. That's okay!"

Grrrr.

They gave us lunch and at the end of the day, they took us around the office and introduced us to people. Everyone seems nice. There are a lot of cute, young consultant types--always a plus. I'm so happy to have landed at a good company, to have a place to go every day and feel like a productive human being again!

Will shill for food

Or tickets. Either.

Tonight I volunteered for the Boston Ballet, handing out buttons at the Nutcracker. And I got myself some free dancing fun. It felt so good to get out and give back a little after months of being needy. Sadly, the show is not up to its normal glory now that it's been relegated to the Colonial Theater instead of the Wang Center. They tried. Maybe next year.

Still, ballerinas in pretty tutus and shiny toe shoes can do a lot for a girl's mood. I came out of the show twirling on the tippy toes of my boots (no one else was in the hallway).

I give thanks for Ativan

Thanksgiving sucked.

My last night at Kripalu, I got inspired by Deepak Chopra's book, "The Path to Love," and I meditated hard on opening my heart. Open sesame, heart. So open it did, and I found....grief and pain. I burst into tears and sobbed for more than an hour. I wanted to talk to Glenn because I still feel so much love, and I don't know how to not share with him. The term, "broken heart," is so literal.

When I got back to Sudbury after a 3-hour drive in the pouring rain, I called him. I went to Kripalu because I felt like there was something I needed to do, something that needed to be processed or completed. I still can't put my finger on what it was, but I feel like I did it while I was there, and I think talking to Glenn was part of that process.

The holidays are hard. Particularly the first holiday of the being single.

Today I endured Thanksgiving with my dysfunctional family. No one in my family knows how to communicate. My mother is a know-it-all and my father is arrogant as all hell. They walk around exuding this bizarre sense of entitlement.

I am 13 again and embarassed by my horrible family.

On the drive to my aunt and uncle's, my brother did not sit still for more than 5 minutes--I counted. He fiddled with the window, with the air vents, with the radio, his shirt sleeves, his book, his fingernails, his hair. He talks loudly and incessantly, and he takes everything we say to him as a personal insult. How am I going to make it through two more weeks here?

One word. Drugs.

A complete inner 360

"When you feel love, act on it. Speak your heart. Be truthful. Remain open."--Deepak Chopra

At first, I came to Kripalu because I needed to work on myself. Now, I think I need to focus on learning how to reconnect with others.

There is such a thing as being too emotionally isolated from people in general. And it's easy to do when you have this endless well of grief inside you. At the sharing circle this morning, I started crying and couldn't stop. So maybe the best thing I can learn from all this is how to let people in again. Because there are so many barriers around my heart now.

So instead of going to the yoga core strength workshop this afternoon, I went to the massage therapy workshop and met two great women who are old school friends. They got me to open up a bit and we spent the hour and a half laughing. It made me appreciate the power and the gift of touch. These two people I'd never met before took my hands and feet and made me relax. It's weird how difficult it is to let yourself be taken care of, even for a few minutes.

Then I went for a long walk. It was a glorious sunny day, and I climbed the hill leading to the labyrinth that's just past the road. Who knew a silly path of small stones could be such a meditational experience? I walked it slowly and as I worked my way out from the center, I realized why people find the labyrinth so powerful. You can only take one step at a time and you can never tell when or where the path will curve out of sight. You can't see what lies ahead and you have to trust that, even if the path takes you out when you think you should be going in, that you have to trust you're heading in the right direction. And even though your progress isn't always visible, you are constantly moving forward, through, in the right direction.

I have never wanted a Snickers bar so badly in my life. The food here is amazing but there is nothing sweet to eat except homemade raspberry jam. Must. Have. Chocolate.

Silence is nirvana

When I'm dreaming, there is nothing scarier than being chased by the creatures from Alien. They're unbeatable, immortal, everything that frightens me to the point of paralysis. Last night I had my first alien escape dream in months. Am I running away from my fears in my sleep as well as in my waking life?

The day began with two hours of meditation. Then yummy vegatarian food for lunch. I haven't said a word to anyone. Suddenly I understand why whole orders of monks took vows of silence. It's amazing. And no one has batted an eye. Here, you can do your own thing and no one thinks it's weird or introverted or awkward.

The good feeling I've been nurturing? I'm finally coming to terms with myself. And now, at the risk of sounding like one of those horrible, Stuart Smalley-inspired motivational posters that vendors sell on college campuses, I will say that I like myself for quite possibly the first time in my life. What's the point of worrying about what people think of me or my choices? As long as I'm fine with who and what I am, nothing else matters.

This afternoon I did the Danskinetics class and then went for a hike up to Monk's Pond.

I haven't felt lonely once since I got here.

Jai Begwan

Spur of the moment trip to Kripalu. I felt the need to get away and do some processing before starting the new job. Starting the new start. There's something in me that says "mark the transition between phases." I can't explain it but I had to come out here. And it feels great--I'm here taking care of myself.

When I arrived, my room wasn't ready yet, so I went for a long walk around the grounds, which were designed by Frederick Law Olmsted in 1893. Somehow I wound up along the road to Tanglewood. Mist hovered over the concert green and I felt like I'd stepped into another world. I was reminded of that scene in "Sense and Sensibility," when Marianne goes for her long walk to the point overlooking Willoughby's estate. There was nothing but trees and grass and fog. My breath hovered in the air. Solitude has never been so sweet.

Off to yoga in a few minutes. Then there's dinner and a Thai massage.

Working Girl

*drumroll please*

I GOT A JOB.

I'm going to be a copywriter for a management consulting firm. It's light years away from journalism but you know what? I don't care. I've had 17 interviews for journalism jobs over the past three months and not one of them felt right. This feels right. The people are nice and the company treats its employees well. The work looks interesting and to be honest, I can't wait to get away from ball-breaking deadlines.

Plus, they're paying me what I'm worth. This is a first in my life. And they're giving me a signing bonus! Hallelujah!! My Visa card can kiss my patootie. When I got the call, I wanted to sing and scream. I wanted to share it with someone, but realized I didn't know who to call. No SO to share it with.

I start on December 1st. Now I can start looking for an apartment. There is light at the end of the tunnel--only a little while longer in the hell that is my parent's house.

I'm going to be a normal, working person again. The prospect of being a desk jockey never felt so good. I am so ready to be back in the world, contributing to society (and a 401K). For the first time, I feel like things will be okay again.

A Bloomies moment

Today I went to Bloomingdales to return a set of flatware that Glenn's mother gave me for my shower. It's very nice stuff but I know I'd think of Glenn everytime I used it, and I'd rather not do that. So I brought it to the counter and the saleslady, an old salt type, asked me, "Do you need any pieces to complete your set?" I said, "No, thank you, I called off the wedding." She looked up at me in surprise and said, "I'm sorry." "Don't be," I told her, "I'm not." And I MEANT IT. She smiled and said, "Well, as long as you're not sorry."

After she was finished printing up the credit form, she handed me the receipt and said, in a very sincere way, "Best of luck in *everything* you do from here on out." I smiled and thanked her. She looked at me and said, "I'll see you back here soon, don't you doubt it."

It made my day. What could have been an emotional event turned into an empowering moment, and I left the store feeling completely happy. As I walked out the door, I realized that I AM completely happy. I am happy in myself and I am happy being single--I have wonderful friends and family, a great cat and a good book to read. I feel whole in a way that I haven't felt in years.

Winter is here

First snow of the season today. From inside my nice, warm office, I watched the ducks in the pond behind my parent's house flapping along as the snow came down. It made me want to curl up in bed with a book. As soon as I stepped outside, I wanted to hop the next plane to California. I've become a winter wuss!! Snow is heavy, cold, wet and gross, and it keeps me from going running as regularly as I want. Give me NoCal anyday. Yes, I know I need to let it go.

On Wednesday, I went to see the Art Deco exhibit at the MFA with a friend. Growing up in Boston, my mom took me to the MFA al the time and I remember wandering around the galleries while she sketched paintings and sculpture. I walked through the galleries and it was like seeing an old friend who you haven't seen for years. The John Singer Sargent room, the Canalettos, the Northern European Renaissance collection. Each room is wonderful and familiar. Sadly, the Art Deco exhibit sucked--definitely not worth the exhorbitant $22 admission fee.

MMmmm, fish

I may be unemployed, unengaged and living with my parents, but the upside is that I'm learning to cook. Cooking never appealed to me before and I've spent years being taunted by relatives about my infamous inability to cook more than pasta. Okay, there was that baked salad incident and I did once forget to boil macaroni and cheese, but I maintain that I am not a bad person because of it!

To my credit, I successfully broiled a chicken last week and no one died of salmonella poisoning. The cats even scarfed up the scraps and they are the most picky, spoiled felines on the face of the earth. Tonight I baked salmon fillets and they turned out to be rather tasty. I can just hear my grandfather telling me that I'll never find a man if I can't cook or sew. Well, now I can do both, so bring 'em on.

Setbacks of the minor variety

This weekend was a bizarre mix of great and horrible. On Thursday I finally bit the bullet and, Kleenex in hand, ventured into my parent's basement to sort through all the boxes that G and I put into storage before we moved to LA. It pretty much sucked as much as I thought it would, which is why I put the whole mess off for five months in the first place. For anyone feeling remotely masochistic, sifting through your ex-fiance's belongings ranks right up there with surgery sans anesthesia. Among the books, pictures and boxes of slides (the shithead was a photographer) were the little finds that felt like swords through my middle--the catnip mice he brought to bribe my cat during his first visit to the east coast. Scully ignored them (such a smart girl) and we ended up using them as Christmas tree ornaments. There was also an old journal of G's that I couldn't help snooping through, and in it I found old lists of things he wanted to do before he died, as well as several pages devoted to what he desperately wanted in a relationship. He wrote about how he wanted to find someone who loved him completely, with whom he could be totally open and at ease. He had that in me, and we did so many of the things he wanted to do when we were together. Somehow it wasn't enough and it takes all my strength not to wonder what I did wrong.

I gathered all his things and left them for his parents to pick up on Saturday. It takes a real man to leave that kind of mess for his mommy and daddy to clean up. G, you are now officially a walking cliche.

Saturday night I went to a kickass dinner in the South End with some friends. For anyone who like shellfish, I highly recommend B&G Oysters. Look for the signs that say "Bivalves and Weiners."

My friend had a Pampered Chef party this weekend. It was sort of like a modern day Tupperware party, except it felt more like hell on earth. A room full of minivan moms oohing and ahhing over cookware and screaming children--I almost threw myself out the bathroom window. Thankfully my friend J called and we went for a great run on what was probably the last sunny, warm day of the year.

Currently addicted to: the Garden State soundtrack

A voice for change

Chiztiz has started a blog challenging all of us to do one thing a day to change the world. OK, the blog is actually meant to chronicle his and other people's daily efforts to improve our country and the world one day at a time--that's a better way of putting it. But don't let me put it any way--check it out for yourself. He's totally right on. There's no point in crying over Bush's re-election. Now is the time for every person to stand up and take action to protect civil rights, the environment and abortion rights, and to stand against legislated bigotry. It's incredibly frustrating to have volunteered, donated to the anti-Bush cause and voted, which is supposed to be the strongest voice each person has in determining the future of the country, only to have nothing change for the better. Rather than sink into apathy, we have to dedicate ourselves to the kind of activism that will be necessary to stand against Bush over the next four years. Pick a cause. Do something about it. Post it on Chiztiz's site.

California on my mind

I do not miss LA. But I do miss things about LA, particularly as it gets colder here in Boston. There's the weather, of course. Nothing beats wearing flip flops in January while reading about the latest snowstorm to clobber the Northeast. Endless sunshine aside, here are some of the things about LA that continue to stick with me:

1. KCRW Sorry, Boston, but FNX doesn't stand a chance here. KCRW plays the best, most cutting edge indie music out there and my day is not the same with Morning Becomes Eclectic. Even if they do like to say "Polyphonic Spree" just a little too much. And so I listen online...

2. Bryan Kest Still the best yoga I've done anywhere, and that includes Sacred Movement, YogaWorks and all the other great yoga studios in LA. For some reason yoga in Boston really sucks. And it's not just my west coast bias. The other day I bumped into some people from New York while we were waiting in line for class at Back Bay Yoga, and everyone felt the same way. There's something about most of the studios here that lacks the intensity, focus and purpose of other cities. Baron Baptiste, take note: You may have launched a cult of personality but your instructors are robots. FYI--yoga practice is not a performance, so why does everyone have to clap at the end? And stop reading to me in shivasana!

3. The stairs. It's hard to explain why I miss pushing myself to the point of puking on a set of wooden stairs, but I do. The stairs were free, outside and a total scene. Even though it was the same up and down every time, it never got boring and my legs have never been in better shape. The only comparable thing I can find here is running stadiums at Harvard and it's just not the same. Plus, it's hard to run stairs once it starts to snow.

4. The hiking. It's close, it's steep and it's spectacular. Temescal, Topanga, Paseo Miramar, the Backbone Trail, the Mishe Mokwa, Malibu Creek--they were all so close and such great hikes. Never mind the horrible case of poison oak I picked up doing the Nicholas Flats trail. It still beats the crap out of driving for 3.5 hours to the White Mountains, which are lovely but lack the ocean view and have a tendency to accrue snow.

5. Poquito Mas. Actually, this one includes the entire burrito culture in LA. Somehow Baja Fresh has found its way to the east coast, but they have the weakest Mexican takeout of the bunch and they are still a magnet for the trendoids. My taste buds yearn for one of Poquito Mas' grilled chicken burritos or the fish tacos at La Salsa. Delicious grilled goodness and healthy to boot. I refuse to hate it even though Glenn introduced me to it.

6. Craftsman architecture. When I first got to LA, I thought it was all post modern pre-fab awfulness, but the Craftsman houses are amazing.

Thoughts on loss

Higgypiggy has started a blog on the concept of loss. It's pretty powerful, especially for anyone who's suffered the loss of a parent, loved one, job, or even the death of a dream. I wonder what Buddha would say to John Kerry today?

Making preparations for hari kari

In the words of W.H. Auden:

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

As much as I'd like to say I'm surprised by Bush's win, I'm just disappointed. I'm a fervent Kerry supporter and while I won't denigrate his decision to concede, I really wish he'd held out until all the votes were counted in Ohio. A few more days of indecision is nothing compared to what Bush will do to this country over the next four years. As a liberal and a woman and an environmentalist, I shudder at the knowledge that Bush and his cronies will bulldoze through an agenda that does not reflect the fact that they won by the very slightest of margins. This country is incredibly divided and there is no question that our president will ignore the voices of the half of our country that did not vote for him. Maybe that's how elections work, but Bush inspires a dread cyniciscm that I've never felt before.

Back in the saddle

For most of the past 3 months (Halloween excepted), I've had absolutely no desire to write, draw, sew, sing or do anything remotely creative. All I did--all I could do-- was cry and work on putting my life back together. I'm still living with my parents while I look for a job. In the meantime, I'm temping and doing some freelancing writing. It's no fun being 29 and living at home again but I'm grateful that I could come here and recover. As winter approaches, however, I'm definitely ready to be in my own space and get back to the working world!

I never would have made it without the support of other women who have called off their weddings. When everything fell apart, I thought I was the only one going through that kind of experience.

Today's election day and all I can do is pray that the momentum from the Red Sox world series win will carry over and help John Kerry win the day. God, it would be nice to open the paper in the morning and not get fumingly, righteously, punch-a-hole-in-the-wall angry over the latest dumbass move by the Bush administration. Not that Bush will go out in style. The man and his minions are doing everything they can to bully voters, obstruct justice and basically steal as many votes as possible. Thank god for the legions of Kerry and DNC volunteers who are out patrolling voting stations.

Currently living on: harvest pumpkin soup from Au Bon Pain. Can't do without it, baby.

Happy Halloween

Ingredients for the best Halloween in recent memory:

1. Rebound guy comes to town. Issues invite to party at a club in downtown Boston.
2. Said rebound encourages the wearing of trashy Halloween costume.
3. Party like it's 1999
4. End up in the Presidential Suite of the Long Wharf Marriott (the only room they had left). There is no fun on earth like the fun had by two drunken people discovering that they have a grand piano, a full kitchen and dining room, two bathrooms and a jacuzzi at their fingertips.
5. The biggest king-size bed EVER.
6. Room service and fluffy bathrobes.
7. Not having to foot the bill because rebound guy is a gentleman.

There's nothing like doing the walk of shame on the morning after Halloween. Especially when your costume involved go-go boots. There's just no way to get around the fact that you're wearing last night's clothes.

Mix in a large bowl and bake until done.

The truth comes out

There's a certain amount of triumph in receiving the drunken phone call rather than being the one to make the drunken phone call. He called last night at midnight, drunk and feeling sorry for himself. The self-involved bastard. I sat on J&K's stoop and listened to him talk about how screwed up he is, how he doesn't know himself anymore, how he doesn't know what he wants or why he did what he did. He admitted for the first time that he'd had sex with G--he'd denied it to my face over and over again since June, denied it to the couples counselor, lied to all his friends about how far things had gone. But even though he said they had just messed around, I knew at some level that more had happened. In the two weeks before we called off the wedding, I started closing the bathroom door when I took a shower, and wearing my towel into the bedroom afterward because I didn't want him to see me naked. I couldn't fall asleep in bed with him so every night I'd fall asleep on the couch and go into the bedroom at like 3am. The intimacy was gone. I felt like I was living with a stranger.

Then I asked him whether he'd worn a condom with her. And he said NO. No apology, no nothing. Just, "What can I say? I wasn't thinking straight." If I hadn't asked, he never would have told me. The coward.

It's one thing to break my heart and dismantle my life. It's another thing entirely to mess with my health.

I don't know what to say. The only thing I can do is get my ass to the OB/GYN as soon as I get back to Boston and tell them to test me for every STD known to man. I know where Glenn's been but god knows how many other guys the trollop has fucked without protection.

What kills me is that Glenn and I had sex--really great sex--TWICE after he slept with G. And he never said a word. Tonight on the phone, he tried to make me feel better by telling me how much better in bed I was than G. "I was so attracted to her and then you just blew her away," he said. "When I was with her, I kept thinking that it was no better than anything I'd had before. But you're on a completely different plane."

Thanks, Glenn. That makes everything ALL BETTER.

He wants to see me when I go to San Diego for L's wedding. As if.

Stepping up

NPR had one of its reporters profile the Santa Monica Stairs. Poor guy, it sounded like he almost had a coronary. He's right on the money about the meditative aspects of the stairs, though. Once you get past the searing pain and the urge to hurl, the zone is a very calm place to be. Just don't get in anyone's way. Check out the photo essay that goes along with his report.

A random collection of stairs links follows. If I were still living in LA, I'd start a stairs blog and save whoever reads this one from having to read any more of my obsessive ravings on the topic.

A picture of the stairs looking down.

An article on the stairs and the Manhattan Beach sand dune.

The Travel Channel takes a short look.

FunkyFresh jumps on the bandwagon.

Swimming with sharks

All week I've had rebounding on the mind. I've been racking my brain trying to think of guys I know who wouldn't kick me out of bed for eating crackers. Desperate? No. Well, maybe. I just want to feel beautiful and sexy and confident around men again. I want to have some fun. If I were a barfly, I'd be picking up men left and right.

Instead, my friend L and I braved the MFA First Friday, a notoriously active singles scene that goes on in the MFA's courtyard during the summer. L is a new friend and she's a total man magnet--she looks like the innocent girl next door, but there are some sharp edges lurking under her blond ambition.

We walked into the courtyard and men descended from every corner. Young, old, hot, ugly--we talked to them all. Whenever we did a lap around the courtyard, men pulled out chairs and tried to get us to sit down. They bought us drinks and offered phone numbers and asked us out for food after the cocktail hour. When we stood talking to one guy for more than a few minutes, we could see other men circling behind them, waiting their turn. After a while, it stopped being an ego trip and started to get a little creepy. There's looking for a rebound and then there's feeling like prey being stalked by a predator coming in for the kill.

We left sans men, went to the Cambridge Brewing Co. and got some dinner by ourselves.

Breaking all the rules

TGTB advocates the No Contact rule--no contact with the ex, no matter what. But things ended with Glenn and me so abruptly that there's still a lot that needs to be said. We have been talking pretty regularly over the past few weeks and though I usually end up melting down the day after we talk, I feel a lot better communicating my feelings than keeping everything all bottled up for the sake of propriety. When we spoke earlier this week, he actually apologized and took responsibility for everything that happened. "You didn't deserve the way things went down," he said. I know that, but it felt good to hear him say it.

Today I returned a bunch of bridal shower gifts to Crate & Barrel, Williams-Sonoma and Pottery Barn. Glenn hated the whole concept of registering and he fought it tooth and nail. I saw it as building our home and future together. We fought over the registry more than any other aspect of the wedding. We just couldn't see eye to eye or find a middle ground on the topic. But seeing all the couples walking around today with digital scanners in their hands, I realized that I want a man who wants to be a partner in building a life, not someone who digs in his heels and refuses to compromise on anything.

All those eyelash wishes down the tubes.

Living the life of V

The SciFi channel is rerunning "V," that series from the 1980s about aliens disguised as humans who want to take over the earth. When the aliens go from childhood to adulthood, they go into a gross little cocoon and metamorphose in some kind of amniotic jelly. They writhe around inside the cocoon as they go through the growth process. Sometimes they scream--I think we're supposed to know that it's a painful event.

Right now I feel like a metamorphosing alien. All my juices are mushing around and reprocessing, and it definitely hurts a lot. Who knows when gestation will be complete? All I know is that I'm totally inwardly focused right now and I'm not very good in groups. It's all about comfort and safety and being with friends and family. I'm hiding in a way, but then I feel so raw inside that I can't imagine taking any bold steps or conquering the planet. All I can handle right now is putting one foot in front of the other while I hope I'm not about to walk off a cliff.

Keeping the faith

My first temp assignment is at the temp agency itself--I'm filling in at the front desk, answering phones, processing paperwork and organizing files. The temp office is on the second floor of a converted mill building in Natick. It's a small, beautiful space filled with light. The windows overlook the Charles river. All the employees are women and they are all friendly, empathic, warm and undemanding. And married. No one expects me to do anything amazing or particularly intelligent, and it works well because I'm still having moments of complete emotional paralysis but at least this way I'm not trapped in my parent's house when they happen.

I've started applying for jobs in Boston, Washington D.C. and San Francisco.

Today I made my travel arrangements for L's wedding in California. I decided not to go to LA. Instead, I'm spending about 10 days in SF, Sacramento and then San Diego for the wedding. The only time I'll be near LA is during my hour-long layover at LAX.

I also got in touch with my dressmaker in LA and made arrangements for them to ship my wedding dress out to my parent's house.

It felt good to set some small goals and accomplish them.

After work, I went to the AMC new member's potluck in Boston. Years ago, I went to one of the potlucks with my college roommate and I remembered them being pretty lively, but this time it was in a dark room filled with a lot of socially awkward 40-somethings. Conversation was strained and the food was eclectic. Maybe I'm just not one for organized groups like that.

There's a big orange thumbnail moon hanging in the sky.

Dialing back the Wedding Channel

Goddamn those wedding websites. Yesterday I got a lovely email from Wedding Channel titled, "Congratulations on your one month anniversary!" It felt like all the air got sucked out of the room and I couldn't breathe.

Last night I went to my best friend A's birthday party at her house out in central Mass. I was hoping for an innocuous evening of fun and socializing, but instead it was a house full of couples and their kids. Or couples with kids on the way. Or just couples. Other than the sullen 12-year old sitting on the porch, I was the only single person there. It was worse than Bridget Jones, worse than any episode of Sex and the City.

I hid in the bathroom and cried for 20 minutes.

Glenn used to be my partner in crime at those types of things. We'd snicker behind our hands at the people who gave up their lives and their sanity to focus entirely on their kids. He shared my irritation and annoyance with screaming children and the doting parents who spoiled the crap out of them. We were both ambivalent about having children. I had to bite my hand to keep from calling him to commiserate.

Even if we had wanted kids, I'm light years away from being part of a married couple or coming close to reconsidering the whole parenthood thing again. I'm so behind the curve now. This is not where I wanted to be at this point in my life.

Sometimes size does matter

The thing with temping is that you can't show up to work in a T-shirt and shorts, which is what I've been living in for the past month and a half. Since my stuff is stuck on a truck somewhere in Kansas--the movers said it won't arrive until early August--my mother took me shopping for work clothes at Frugal Fannie's down in Westwood (MA not CA, though I get confused sometimes). Retail therapy is a great thing. First comes the new clothes, then the new life. The really scary thing is how small I am right now. Right before I left LA, I was probably about 105Lbs. and I was in the best shape of my life. I haven't weighed myself since I got back to Boston--I don't want to know because I don't want to have that weight as a goal once I start eating again--but I've gone from a healthy size 4-6 to a size 0. I have never been this thin before, even when I was anorexic my sophomore year in high school, and it's frightening. I stood in front of the mirror in the changing room and for the first time I saw how emaciated I've become. This thing has eaten me up from the inside out. I want to be fit and healthy again. I want my appetite back!

When I got home, I put the clothes in the closet. And then I unpacked the pile of suitcases that's been sitting in my room for over a month. I guess I've come to terms with the fact that I'm not going to hop a plane and go back anytime soon.

Thinking

"The true test of character is not how much we know how to do, but how we behave when we don't know what to do."--John Holt

Despite my skepticism, the support group turned out to be pretty good. We met in Coolidge Corner, a place that still holds a lot of memories for me from my college boyfriend, but is extremely vibrant and full of activity. There were 9 people there, of different ages and professions, and in various stages of relationship trauma. Most of them were married, or are currently married but are in the process of getting divorced or separated. There's one other woman there who ended an engagement. It was so nice to be able to talk about feelings, thoughts or reactions with people who have been through the same thing and can relate. Hence the support.

I stayed at C's again last night. We stay up late watching TV and I read while she plays online. It's nice to share space with someone who doesn't need to talk all the time.

Tonight I'm going to run stadiums with J at Harvard. The stairs there aren't the same as Santa Monica, but if I can manage 20 or so sets out of the 37, I'll be in good shape.

I'm in such a quandary over what to do for my friend L's wedding next month. She's getting married in La Jolla and there's no way I'll miss it. I can't wait to go back to California. With my frequent flier miles and complete lack of a job, I can go for a good, long time and see as many people as possible. I will go spend some serious time in SF with my friends there. J and K, who are like my surrogate older brother and sister, have been my rocks through this whole ordeal and it will be great to see them. But I'm torn over the idea of going back to LA. I really want to see my friends in there, most of whom I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to before I fled last month. Still, I'm not sure I'm ready to go back. I don't know if I can go there and NOT see Glenn. I don't know if I can go back and not go home.

No, it's not a girdle

I found a post on Craigslist by someone who's putting together a support group for people going through a divorce, separation or the end of a long-term relationship. So I pinged her and we're having our first meeting tonight. I've never done this kind of thing before--going to a support group, I mean. I'm a little skeptical but I guess we'll see. What do I have to lose?

In between self-help books, I'm reading "Comfort Me With Apples, " by Ruth Reichl. She's a good writer but her life story is pissing me off. It's just too perfect. Even when things get hard--her marriage ends, she changes careers--she never actually has to struggle with anyone. A series of new lovers shows up and she gets these plum freelance writing gigs that send her to France. Cry me a freaking river.

Whenever I go through some sort of emotional crisis, I migrate toward contemporary women's fiction. It's just comforting. Some of my favorite crisis authors: Alice Hoffman, Elizabeth Berg and Anita Shreve.

One thing R. Reichl wrote that resonated with me: "Sometimes even your best is not enough. And in those times you have to give it everything you've got and then move on." I feel like I did that with Glenn. One person can't make a relationship work--it takes two. I gave that relationship everything I had and, when that wasn't enough, I moved on. Or I'm trying to.

Not in a lecturing mood

Someone told me about this book called "There Goes The Bride" and so I ordered it from Amazon. It's written by a woman who called off her wedding because she realized that her fiance wasn't the guy for her. There's a certain amount of comfort to be had in reading a book that examines almost every aspect of the exact experience I'm going through, but a lot of the time I just want to tell the author to shut the fuck up. She left her relationship because she had an epiphany and now she's telling me to look at this as an empowering experience. I left because I HAD to. I had no choice, really. And at some point I know I'll get to a point where I can see that Glenn wasn't the man for me, but I'm not there yet. Even when your brain understands the logical side of something like this, you can't make your heart catch up. And you can't make yourself fall out of love with someone in the space of a month. Plus, I don't have a job to throw myself into. I'm a total social alien!

There is some good advice here that I'm trying to keep in mind: Put one foot in front of the other and just get through each day the best you can. Do what you need to in order to process what's happened. Know that it will get better. Take deep breaths.

Last night I went for a great 5-mile run in the rain with J. We went to Fresh Pond and did two laps. The air and rain and adrenaline were exactly what I needed to wake up from the daze I'd been in all day. Then I crashed on C's futon. We stayed up late eating Greek food and watching E.!.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, eat your heart out

If my friends tell me to get angry one more time, I'm going to scream. I've read the Kubler-Ross grief manifesto and let me just say that when you're actually going through the grief process, it isn't as linear as you might think. Glenn sent me a weak-ass email yesterday and I was angry for all of ten minutes and then the crying started again. Emotional consistency is a distant memory, something you have that you don't appreciate until it's long gone.

Right now, as I write this, I am FURIOUS. How COULD he have been such an asshole?? This is the guy who moved across the country to be with me, who programmed his cell phone to say "Heads-down determination," our little motto while we were dating cross-country, whenever he turned it on, who cried when he proposed to me. What ever happened to heads-down determination? How did I end up doing all the work while he wussed out?

Well, Glenn, you can buy another TV and another computer to replace the ones that belonged to me. And you can distract yourself from what's happened by training for a million triathlons or whatever, but you can't run away from this, no matter how hard you try. You made certain choices and you've lost me because of them, and you have to deal with the consequences of your actions. You can talk to a million people about this looking for support and validation, but deep inside you know you fucked up. You know you've absolutely devastated the person you were closest to in the world and claimed to love. That's something you have to live and deal with. Don't be a guy, Glenn. Be a man. Face up to what you've done. You may not realize it for years, but you've thrown away the best thing that ever happened to you because it got in the way of your going for a good ride. What does that say to you?

Mental cocoon

I went and signed up with a temp agency today, just so I can have something brainless to do that will let me earn a little money. It'll also get me out of the house during the day. Otherwise I'll sit here with nothing to do but THINK all day and that will drive me insane. The breakup is a learning experience, I know, and I want to deal with it in every aspect so that it doesn't get compartmentalized in my head and end up biting me in the ass years down the road. I want to feel all of it in its ooky, despairing, tumultuous badness and get it out of my system. But right now the pain and sadness are all-consuming and there's only so much blackness a person can process on a daily basis. I'm hoping salvation lies in the occasional secretarial job. It's an introduction back to the normal everyday world and as much as I'd like to throw myself in headfirst, I need to take it step by step.

Anyone who's ever experienced a major loss knows that you walk around feeling like someone's peeled off your skin and then dunked you in acid. Just *being* in the world is intimidating, overwhelming, occasionally dangerous. I feel flayed, raw, incapable of dealing with the most minute details of routine existence without breaking down. Every foray outside the safe confines of home is like a recon mission. The mall is a minefield. Starbucks is a proving ground. The gym is an obstacle course. I feel like an exile from the easy, day to day life that everyone around me seems to take for granted. Even though I know in my head that I need time to heal, I feel like I should be fine already and that everyone is secretly fed up with my fragility. All I want is to be clear of the pain, but there's no way to speed up the process and that can be incredibly frustrating.

Going out means that I have to consider things that never occurred to me before, like whether the place I'm going will have music playing (see the Shania Twain post). The radio is off limits unless it's the classical station and even that can be a crapshoot. I have to think twice about movies--will the movie make me cry, and am I having the kind of day where seeing a ton of couples on date night is going to plunge me off the deep end? The only thing I watch on TV is Sex and the City and whatever Jane Austen movie PBS happens to be rerunning.

I can't bring myself to read the newspaper or go to any of the Web pages I used to read every day. As horribly selfish as it sounds, I have too much to deal with in my own head to process the turmoil that's going on in the world right now. I've never felt so isolated before. The universe has me in a corner, it seems--no distractions allowed, only introspection. I am a world unto myself.

Give me some therapy with my therapy

Right now I have more therapists than I know what to do with. I'm doing phone sessions with the couples counselor that Glenn and I went to see right before we called it off, and I'm seeing my old shrink from high school again. Twice a week. My COBRA is LOVING me.

It's a good thing, too, because in addition to being the emotional disaster from hell, my brother moved back home about a week ago and his presence in the house makes life incrediblhy stressful. M has ADD and he's a compulsive slob. In the course of a few days, he's managed to crap up both cars and every room in the house with the exception of mine. He's nocturnal and he cooks up these incredible meals at 3am and then leaves the mess for my mother to clean up. And my parents totally tolerate his behavior. It's insane. It's insanity-making. Sometimes I just have to close my door and close my eyes and pretend I'm somewhere else. In my own space. In a good place, emotionally and physically. Maybe if I visualize it often enough, it will come true. And if I click my ruby slippers, I'll wake up and the nightmare will be over.

Shania Twain is the anti-christ

This morning I woke up very early and went to yoga at my parent's gym. I was so hoping they'd be playing techno or something completely unemotional on the stereo system, but no--as I sat on my mat waiting for class to start, they played that Shania Twain song, "You're Still the One."

Meltdown. In public.

Will I be considered a total social pariah if I walk around wearing earplugs until this gets less excruciating?

Yesterday I went into Boston and went for a walk on the Minuteman Trail with a couple of friends. We had dinner in Harvard Square and I dropped a distressing amount of money on self-help books at the Harvard Book Store. First up, a Thomas Moore book called "Dark Nights of the Soul." God, could I be any more of a drama queen?

My wonderful friend C gave me keys to her apartment so I'd have a place to escape when I need to get away from my family. Bless her heart. She went through something like this years ago, so she can listen to me bawl and she doesn't wonder where my self-respect has gone. There is no way I will ever be able to repay her.

Walking through the fire

My car arrived today. I got in and found a playbill from the Mehtro dance recital on the floor of the back seat, the one where Glenn met the trollop for the first time. That was lovely. My car is a time capsule of my past.

My friends D and D got married this weekend. Their wedding was at the Colonnade downtown, and it was lovely. Our college crowd is great. Everyone is engaged or married but that's par for the course. The ceremony was short and beautiful. D and D are so right for each other that there was no need for tears of any kind. They make *sense*. The reception was a little rocky. I saw no reason to hold back at the open bar and proceeded to get completely smashed. The steady flow of alcohol distracted me from any sappy music that was played so I could stay focused on the food, which happened to be excellent. I only melted down once, when they played that Etta James song, "At Last," which had been my vote for Glenn's and my first dance. My friends M and A shepherded me to the bathroom and handed me warm towels until the crying subsided. No judgement, no criticism. I LOVE THEM.

Someone asked me today how I could have subjected myself to a wedding after what happened. But I'll be damned if I let Glenn get in the way of my happiness for my friends.

More ranting and raving

Glenn told me yesterday that he hates being alone. Well, suck it up, buddy. As if he's in any shape to be with anyone right now. As if EITHER of us should be thinking about that, but he's a guy and nothing scares him more than solitude. I am so not going to make this easier for him and apparently neither is the trollop. Good for her. I'd respect her if she hadn't fucked him while we were still together.

He cheated on me and lied to me about how far things went with her. Maybe he thinks that's beside the point, but it's an absolute breach of trust and imtimacy and it's absolutely a part of what's going on now. How am I supposed to believe anything he says to me from now on? How am I supposed to believe he didn't sleep with her more than once? I don't know that I can. I don't think I can ever trust him again. The thought of him being intimate with someone else makes me physically ill. I hate him for that. HATE him for shattering the trust and rapport we had. HATE him for leaving me with mental images of him and her, of leaving those messages for me to see, of rubbing it in my face. He was so shocked about what Jenny did to Tom and he just did almost the same thing. And somehow Tom, the only one of Glenn's friends who's actually called Glenn out on his actions, is the only person Glenn refuses to listen to. Glenn spent months telling me that he didn't care about the wedding, that he only cared about being married to me. Was that a lie, too?

It's clear from everything Glenn's said to me that he hadn't wanted to be with me for a while, but he never had the balls to talk to me face to face like an adult. And now he wants us to stay friends. How can I be friends with someone who's treated me the way he has? There's no respect there, only selfishness. As a famous Benedictine priest once said, the only sin is selfishness. He never even asked me how I got through our wedding day--it never occurred to him. Glenn has the guts to yell at me about taking the ring back, but maybe he should have considered that before he CHEATED on me two weeks before our wedding and LIED about it. If the positions were reversed, he would have told me to go to hell.

And what's the deal with putting 400 miles on my car while I was home in Boston, after everything that had happened??

He can go digging for reasons why things didn't work out, but the fact is that he didn't WANT them to. Glenn walked away because things got hard and complicated, instead of being adult enough to deal with the issues that are part of any serious long term relationship. Remember the episode of Sex and the City when Big marries Natasha instead of staying with Carrie because Natasha is less work? It'll be the same with anyone he bothers to date seriously in the future--eventually he's going to have to learn how to be a partner and not just a taker. It's a pattern with him--all of his ex-girlfriends left him because he couldn't step up or grow up. I should have seen that as a warning sign a long time ago.

Open letter to Glenn's trollop

The email I never sent but had to get off my chest:

G,

Believe me, I'm well aware of how this letter will come across, and I have questioned whether to send it more times than I can tell you. But there are some things I need to say. From what I've heard, you have your head screwed on relatively straight, so none of this will really be a surprise. It's up to you whether you read this, delete it or send it straight to Glenn.

First, I want to thank you. Your affair with Glenn forced him to show his true colors at a crucial moment and I'm grateful that I found out what he's really like before I married him rather than after. He lied to me about your relationship, and whatever did occur between you happened while he and I were still together, so that makes him a cheater and a liar. What you may not know is that even after we called off the wedding and I told him I couldn't be with him anymore, he was going on about how this was just a postponement and he could see us getting married in a month or two. If I recall correctly, he wanted a small beach ceremony. He keeps asking me what I feel in my gut about our future together, which says something about his true commitment to "what he sees as a genuinely good thing" with you. Even though he did ask you to start a relationship the day after we decided to call off our wedding.

He told me that you just ended a long term relationship yourself, so I'm sure you can understand why it's better to know someone's a cheater before rather than after making a commitment. In some ways it sounds like you and I have a lot in common. I never thought I'd actually say that, but it's true. We even look alike. And now we're both mourning relationships that, at least for me, I'd hoped would last a lifetime.

But I also blame you for helping to break us up. At the cast party, you knew he was engaged and you pursued him anyway. And then you slept up with him even though you knew he was still taken. I've been to enough cast parties to know what they're like. Weird things happen at cast parties. Maybe it's because performing creates this strong sense of intimacy between the cast and crew. I knew when he called that night that something weird was going on, and I knew it was with you. I thought he was a stronger person and would be able to deal. You should have known better, particularly since you'd just had your heart broken. Thanks for helping to break mine, too.

Really, it's Glenn's fault that any of this happened. He and I had our problems, but it was his choice to go to that cast party, his choice to stay up flirting with you til 4am, his choice to get in that hot tub. It was his choice to email you and call you and have coffee with you. It was his choice to sleep with you, just as much as it was your choice to chase him like a cat in heat. Some of that has to do with the problems he and I were having at the time, but it really comes down to Glenn's fundamental lack of self confidence, maturity and good sense. Again, I thank you for helping me to see that about him before I took the plunge. You don't need me to call you any names--I think you know exactly what you are for doing what you did,

Last I heard, you were refusing to see Glenn because you didn't want to give into the attraction you both felt for one another. At least that's what he told me. I'm not sure if that's supposed to make me feel better. Frankly, if you want to have a torrid affair with a 35-year-old narcissist with a Peter Pan complex and the kinds of issues that Glenn has, that's up to you. He's fun to be with as long as you don't have any needs of your own and as long as you don't intrude on his cycling time. If you want a guy who can't commit and is really just looking for a cheerleader who will provide regular sex, go for it. It sounds like you know you deserve better than that, though. But if you want to take on the winner's curse, it's your choice.

I don't know if he told you, but one of the things that made me move out is that he left all your emails and all his letters to you on the desktop of my computer for me to find when I came back to LA. Thoughtful and considerate, hmm? Imagine for a second what it would have been like to find that sort of thing on your ex-boyfriend's computer, to know that he'd cheated on you and lied about it, to know he was already screwing someone else while you were stuck crying 50 times a day. You might begin to understand what it's like to be left with those kinds of mental images, to wonder if and when he's still talking to you and whether you'll give into his libido. Except Glenn and I were living together for 3 years and we were about to get married, so it was that much more of a shock, a betrayal and a punch in the face.

Again, it comes back to a degree of thankfulness. Glenn is a good guy at heart but he's really confused about who he is, what he wants and whether he's willing to do the work necessary to maintain a serious relationship. So many people have come up to me since our breakup and said, "Well, we didn't really want to say anything before, but we always thought he was a bit selfish and immature." I never saw it because I was so in love with him, but I see it now, courtesy of you. So thank you for saving me from a life of sacrificing my needs to someone who isn't capable of being a true partner. I deserve a lot better and, quite frankly, so do you. Who's to say he wouldn't do the same thing to you.

S

PS--Kest was my favorite yoga studio--don't know if he shared that with you when he told you to go there.

No escape

Every single little thing reminds me of Glenn and our life together. Someone called today and I had to search for a notebook on my father's desk to write down the message. I want to be at our desk, where I had notebooks conveniently stashed. Our desk, where all our papers were mixed and nothing was a secret. Rummaging through the freezer, I found a bunch of chicken sausage that made me think of the chicken snossages from Trader Joe's that we ate all the time. A Radiohead song reminds me of the fact that I don't have that CD anymore because it was his and our collection has been separated.

I wish we had called off the wedding when we moved to LA. Maybe he never understood that I felt pressured into doing the big wedding thing, that it wasn't what I wanted, either. Having to plan a wedding I didn't want on top of adjusting to LA and looking for a job drained me so much emotionally and spiritually that when things got bad between us, I couldn't react or deal. In the past, the only way for me to protect myself from men who didn't know what they wanted was to leave. I know I made the absolute right move by calling off the wedding, but I don't know what to do about the relationship. I didn't feel done with it or Glenn when I left, but he was pushing me away as hard as possible and telling me in every way he could that
he didn't know what he wanted anymore, and I didn't know what else to do. I feel like I made the call but Glenn forced my hand on that front. It took reading his Gina messages for me to really feel like things were getting final.

But I'm still so torn. I spent years being absolutely sure that Glenn were the one, and now I'm not sure at all. How could I have been so wrong? I still feel a deep, deep love for the person he was before all this happened, but I can't stand the person he is right now. This isn't him--some weird alien breakup creature came down and took over Glenn's body. The funny thing is, I've never felt more clear about who I am and what I want than I have been over the past month. I've spent a year focusing on Glenn's needs and it's a relief to focus on my own needs now. If I can focus on anything--I can't seem to see straight half the time.

Abyss walker

So many thoughts. My mind is on spin cycle and the only time it calms down is when I've finished a crying jag and am about to fall asleep.

I can't claim that everything was peachy with us before the very end. Besides feeling like I lost my voice in the relationship and feeling like Glenn lost interest in me as a person, I stopped liking who I was around him. I am not the mean mommy that I became over the last few months, especially about the wedding planning. I have never had ANY desire to play a mother role in our relationship and I hated and resented being put in that position. Maybe it all comes down to crappy communication. As Glenn withdrew, I kept trying to bring him back in by nagging him to get involved and that just pushed him away further. I AM a happy person at heart, but we were in a terrible situation. How could I be happy when my fiance was leaving me gradually and I felt alone and abandoned?

I went to my friend K's baby shower this afternoon and had a complete meltdown in her driveway. Did I do the right thing by leaving LA? What if we could have fixed things and I ruined it by making an impulsive decision? Why does he make it sound like everything is my fault?

After the shower, I somehow managed to make a trip to Target for new yoga clothes. They were playing "Clair de Lune" over the loudspeaker and all I wanted to do was dance with Glenn through the store. I feel empty and hollow, as if I'm walking over a gigantic abyss that has opened up underneath everything I see and know and think and feel.

Scully is running around the office meowing. She misses Glenn. She misses our little family.

See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil

I hear the same advice from every corner:

It's not my fault.

I did nothing wrong.

I'm doing everything right.

I'm better off.

Better now than later.

Give it time--it will get better and I'll find someone better.

Everyone means well, but what they don't want to say is that no one can say or do anything to actually make it better. I can't see past the pain. I've never felt so incompetent in my life. Being alone is excruciating-- for the first time in my life, I want to have someone around at all times.

Right now I'm a zombie, a zombie who wears her wedding band on her right hand to remind herself of strength, courage, promise, possibility.

Whirling around an emotional black hole

Every day is a sprint to the finish--how can I get as far away from the pain as possible? Surviving from one minute to the next is an effort of will. An hour takes a year to go by. It's wrenching and eviscerating to the point where I sometimes can't get from breath to breath, and I'm nauseous all the time. The hardest part is that the person I love most in the world is the one who did this to me.

Looking back, I see ways in which I was unhappy with Glenn a long time ago. He told me so many times over the past week that I didn't love him for who he is, but I disagree. I loved him completely from the first weekend we had together. But if loving him for who he is means having no needs of my own and being okay with him leading a completely separate, independent life that barely intersected with mine, than no, I don't. When things were good with us, he never hesitated to make time for me and our relationship, and I did the same for him. For some reason that stopped after a few months in LA. He never seemed to have time for me and that was at the root of my unhappiness. I came to LA of my own accord, but on the assumption that Glenn would be my partner and that he'd support me through the transition. When he began to withdraw this winter, it was excruciating--he left right when I needed him the most. If he loved me for who I am, he would have stayed involved and treated me better. If he loved me for who I am, he wouldn't walk away because we had issues. My happiness in LA was very dependent on our partnership. I did a great job of making a successful life for myself there, and I was becoming more independent, more of the person he remembered from Boston. It's ironic that he bowed out right when I
was really getting it together.

The Tour de France is going on. I actually understand it now, though we always watched it together at Tom's house in Mandeville. All the cyclist's names are familiar but they are all Glenn. My phone is silent and my heart is in pieces and I still can't bring myself to unpack my suitcases because it means I'm really here and not there. It would mean that there's no going back to you, to our apartment, to our life together.

A world apart

This morning: two major crying jags. The first came after finding that Glenn has changed the voicemail password on the apartment phone. The password used to be our anniversary. That killed about an hour of my morning. The second came after the mail arrived and I opened a wedding card with a check made out to Mr. and Mrs. Glenn XXXXXX.

A change of scenery was in order. I can only stand being in my parent's house for so long, especially since all I do there is grieve. My college roommate is home from Germany and she invited me to spend the night at her grandmother's house in one of the more swanky suburbs nearby. Being with T and her family has helped me see outside my tight little world of pain. They are so happy and stable and blueblooded. T's grandmother's house is a turn of the century Victorian perched on a wooded hill. The place is saturated with happy memories and it's full of family photos, old silver and books. The room where I'm staying was T's mother's room when she was growing up. The twin bed has a horsehair mattress covered in very old linens, and the whole thing is held up by ropes. It's a totally different world, almost a storybook world in some ways. It gives me hope!

Little white shadow

There are good days and awful days. The good days are where I can sort of coast along in denial, or where I can stay busy reading or seeing friends. The awful days are, well, exactly that.

As soon as I woke up this morning, I started crying and pretty much didn't stop all day. Deep, wrenching sobs. I cried in the shower, in bed, on the phone, on the porch, in the car, on the floor. A lot of the time it hurts so much that I just want to scream at the universe. It's amazing how much emptiness can ache.

Somehow I got myself up for a short walk and then I took a nap.

Thank god for Scully. She follows me around the house and makes sure I'm never by myself.

Exit stage left

Well, it's done. My stuff and my car are on their way back east, and Scully came back on the plane with me. The past three days are a haze of shock, pain, panic and anger. Everyone keeps telling me that I will be fine, that I will be stronger and wiser for this experience but you know what? Fuck you. I AM strong and wise and courageous. I dropped everything to move across the country and I made a life for myself in a place I hated. I don't need this, too.

I am also uncertain, crushed and totally bewildered. How did we get here?

Something deep inside me says that I dodged a bullet. Now I won't be stuck with Glenn's horrible last name or his vast credit card debt or his narcissism.

Getting up in the morning is an act of sheer will when you know that the next few months are going to be a long, slow slog through hell.

Un-wedding day

Well, in an alternate reality we'd be standing in front of our minister getting married at this very moment. Instead, I'm in my parent's house trying to ignore the minutes ticking by as my former future disappears down the drain. For some reason I thought that Glenn would call today, just to see how I'm doing, to say "isnt' this weird?" to acknowledge the leap our lives took off the high dive. But no--that would be owning up to the consequences of his actions and that's too much for Glenn to handle.

Want to know where he is right now? PLAYING GOLF. His parents couldn't get out of the house rental they lined up for the wedding so they decided to throw a family reunion instead. Resourceful, yes, but can you say BAD TASTE? He is literally teeing off the 12th hole while I am sitting here in a puddle of tears. How his family can be celebrating right now is a complete mystery to me. If your son had done what he did, would you throw him a big party? I hope he's uncomfortable and miserable and completely aware of what an asshole he is.

Thank god for my friends. Instead of throwing a wedding, my parents threw a BBQ on our back porch and all my Boston friends came out to the suburbs to help me make the day go by. They're downstairs right now, drinking beer and doing their best to behave like this doesn't suck. My college roommate said something to me when she walked in the door. After giving me a huge hug, she said, "This is not your wedding day, so don't be so sad. Your wedding day is still to come." I can't even wrap my mind around that yet, but it made me feel less like going upstairs and popping an entire bottle of Ativan.

I had to quit my job today. My boss was so understanding, but it was still very difficult. I shed blood, sweat and tears for 7 months while I looked for that job, and I loved my company. I'm letting go of everything and I don't know what will be left.

My parents and I are going out to LA this week while Glenn is on the east coast for what was supposed to be our honeymoon. We're going to pack up my things and ship them home. When he comes back to our apartment, I and Scully and all my stuff will be gone and he'll be alone again. Part of me hopes that the harsh realization will make him realize that he's lost me. Buit what I really want is for him to be lonely and unhappy and to miss me terribly. Our little family is kaput. I am not getting married today.

Poking around the home turf

Seeing as I'm camped out at my parent's house with nothing to do but cry, I've been revisiting a bunch of my old middle and high school hangouts in a not very movie-worthy reunion tour. The old high school is about to be torn down--sadness! The takeout pizza place is still serving greasy food. Everything seems smaller and slightly worn down. But there are still beautiful old farming fields that have defied development and gorgeous 17th century Colonial houses whose owners are maintaining them beautifully. This is still the place where I learned to drive fast on narrow country roads and went skinny dipping in the local river before it got polluted, and I'm glad to be back, even if it's just for a little while.

Up and down

Still in Boston. Feeling marginally better. I have good days and bad days. On the good days, I can't wait to get out of the house and see friends. On bad days, I can barely get out of bed and don't even want to venture as far as the porch. The crying jags continue, regardless of how good the day is. Last night I drove home from seeing a movie with friends and could barely see through the tears.

In the week and a half since we called off the wedding, G and I have only spoken a few times. It's easy to be uncharitable, particularly because I know he isn't having as hard a time with this as I am, but I know he's hurting, too. The longer we talk, the harder it gets. How do you break up with your best friend, the person you talked to 4 times a day for three and a half years? As Boromir said in The Fellowship of the Ring, "How did it come to this?"

My friends and family have totally rallied around me and if the only thing I get out of this is to see what excellent friends I have, than I'm satisfied with that. God knows it's not easy dealing with someone who alternates between being a silent lump and a crying mess, and they have been nothing but supportive and wonderful.

Down the hatch

Still no appetite. Why does grief leave me so not hungry? With all the crying and tension and hurting, you'd think I'd be ravenous but instead I look at food and it's like looking at a piece of ugly furniture. I'm down 10 pounds and I was never very heavy to begin with, so it's noticeable. I'm playing with the idea of writing a book about this because it's the most effective dieting regimen out there. I'd call it "The Breakup Diet" and judging from how popular diet fads have become, I'm sure people would voluntarily break off their long term relationships just to reap the dieting benefits. Screw Atkins and South Beach! Put yourself in excruciating emotional pain for a few weeks and watch the pounds melt away.

On the verge

My day so far consists of the following: sleep, read, sleep, cry, sleep, cry, read, cry, talk to friends on the phone, cry while talking to friends on the phone, sleep some more, read some more, fall asleep for the night while crying. I've dragged a couple of chairs around on the porch so that I can read and stay in the sun as the day goes by. I wander around the kitchen because I know I should eat but my appetite is gone and food isn't going to fill the hole in my middle.

I miss Scully horribly. I wish I'd flown her home with me instead of leaving her with Glenn for the time being. He's taking good care of her, I know, but every time I go to bed I miss her warm weight on my legs. There is nothing more comforting than her purr and the sensation of her head resting on my foot. I don't want her there with him. He doesn't deserve her affection. He doesn't deserve anything.

I tried to call Glenn three times today but he never answered. Either his phone is off or he's up at Tom's house in the canyon where there's no cell reception. Or he's out with the trollop, getting clarity and making sure we're absolutely over. He went from needing a weekend to get his head together, to needing two months to think, and he wants me to stay in LA while he figures it out. But I'm through waiting for him to get his act together. I'm finished cleaning up his mess. It's time he deals with the consequences of his actions.

Last night I went over to my ex-boyfriend J's house for dinner. We dated for 2.5 years, right up to the day before I met Glenn, but we've managed to stay friends and running buddies since we ended things. He made me a yummy dinner of grilled vegetables, which I was crying too hard to eat, and he listened to the story of what happened with empathy and a complete lack of judgement. And as a confessed selfish male, he gave me some insight into Glenn's behavior. But it doesn't help to hear that it wasn't me that caused the problems. That means I have no control over what happens next. If it was partly my fault, at least that means I have something to work on.

Devoted to Kleenex

Everyone wants to know how I'm doing, if I'm okay, what I'll do next. And I have no idea how to answer any of those questions. I'm hollow and what there is left inside me hurts so badly that I stumble through the day like a zombie, except zombies don't usually walk around clutching handfuls of damp tissues. What do you do when the life you had and the life you expected to have vanish in the space of a day or two? Suddenly I understand what it must be like to lose a limb and have that phantom limb thing happen. I keep reaching out for him without thinking, and every time it's like passing your hand through thick fog. My ring finger feels so empty and the emptiness is the most constant reminder of what's happened.

Being in our apartment was so painful but the worst part was that he wasn't there anymore and even if he walked back through the door, nothing would be the same. So I ran away. I took the red eye home to Boston and have secreted myself away at my parent's house to nurse my wounds and try to get my head together. But there are reminders everywhere. Our wedding invitations are still sitting on the hutch in the dining room and there's a bag of shower gifts that were supposed to come up to the wedding with me. Then there's the pile of gifts that has to go back and I don't know how to do that. I can't even look at them. Today one of my cousins sent me flowers and I can't go near them. I don't want anyone's pity. Those flowers are more dangerous than anyone might think. I walk around them warily, as if they're about to bite.

No more bride-to-be

We called it off. I called it off. He just decided (or just decided to admit) that he's not ready to get married and he's not even sure he wants to marry me.

I moved to LA with him because he was dying to come back here and I needed a change. The past year has been the most difficult of my life, trying to make a life for myself in a city that feels completely alien in every way. And I started to succeed--I found a good job, I made friends, I started volunteering. I made a life for myself. But apparently it wasn't enough for him. He couldn't be patient with my transition or support me in any way that wasn't actively supporting his own goals. So here we are. I'm trying to wrap my mind around the fact that the life we had and the life we'd planned to have is gone. I feel like such a girl--I'm so shattered. I don't know where to turn or what to do.

Little house on the lawn

Sadly, this is about as close as Glenn and I will ever come to owning a house in California. Unless we opt for linking up a couple of those extra-large sheds from Home Depot. That's our plan B.

Wedding belle blues

As the wedding expenses pile up and I watch my bank account dwindle, it occurred to me that things could be worse. After all, the only thing more expensive than being a bride is being a bridesmaid. Or, in some cases, a wedding guest. It's disgusting how pricey weddings have gotten. All we wanted was to have our friends and family get together in our favorite place which, for the record, is not some farflung tropical paradise. Still, people are forking out and while I'm really happy that they'll be there on the day, I feel terrible that it's costing them so much. I admit it--I bought into the wedding industry hype. I have the piles of Martha Stewart Weddings to prove it. If only I had Caitlin Flanagan to advise me when we got engaged. Not that anyone's listening to her advice these days.

Quick question

I saw "Mean Girls" over the long weekend and I just want to know one thing: who's driving the schoolbuses in that town?

Dinner dilemma

Last night was the night of scrounging through our alarmingly empty kitchen, fruitlessly searching for dinner makings and coming up empty. Bless me father for we have sinned. It's been weeks since our last trip to Trader Joe's and my dining options came down to a handful of frozen chicken nuggets and the last remaining baby gouda, which rattled around in the dairy drawer crying from loneliness. I couldn't bear to put them out of their misery, so I got takeout faux sushi from the new place up the street. Half California roll and half tempura roll---mmm mmm good. Then I watched "28 Days Later" for the umpteenth time. I'm so obsessed.

Glenn likes to tease me because I never cooked when I was single. When left to my own devices, I cobbled together meals from whatever I had in the house-- a handful of almonds, a piece of cheese, some Lipton's rice leftovers, the ever trusty PB&J. Before we moved in together, he'd come to visit and find no food in my kitchen. Cooking is just a pain in my ass. I want instant gratification on the food front, and if a meal requires more than ten minutes of labor I'll happily pay someone else to do the work. This is why Glenn usually handles the cooking. We eat a lot of steamed veggies, pasta with meat sauce, salad from a bag, Trader Joe's chicken sausage cooked to tasty perfection on the George Foreman grill. Then I ignore the dishes in the sink for as long as possible before giving in and cleaning to my heart's content.

Ruminations on a cloudy day

A cloudy, cool day today--very unusual for LA. Believe it or not, I'm glad that the sun is taking a break. It's funny because when I lived on the east coast, I learned to appreciate good weather and make the best of bad weather. Here, I appreciate the bad weather and make the best of good weather. OK, the ratio of good to bad is totally skewed between the two coasts. It's cloudy here about once a month, whereas winter in Boston means six (and sometimes seven) straight months of rain, sleet, snow and cold. I love the sunny weather here and am still not used to the fact that I can hike, run, walk and do the stairs anytime without having to factor in weather concerns because it rains here so rarely. The sunny weather here is fabulous, but the cloudy days are almost a relief, an excuse to stay inside, read a book and make a pot of soup. Part of me misses the coziness that bad weather nurtures, and the odd cloudy day is the closest thing we have here to seasons.

The home stretch

Song in my head: "Red Umbrella" off Kostars' "Klassics with a K.".

T-minus four weeks and counting until the wedding. It's great and exciting and weird and hard to believe. We've been engaged for a year and a half, and have lived together for 3 years, so it doesn't feel like things will change very much, though our married friends say that everything will be different. How? All I know is that I can't wait for the planning part to be over. Why we decided to get married in Vermont when we live in LA is beyond me. Vermont is wonderful and we both love it there, but planning from 3,000 miles away has been a challenge to say the least. My relationship with my mother and my two best friends has suffered because coordinating the planning hasn't been easy or fun for anyone. The whole thing doesn't feel quite real, even though we're rounding up the last unanswered RSVPs and spending disgusting amounts of money on ties and rings. The other day I went in for my last dress fitting and I felt like I was standing in for someone else, as if it wasn't my turn yet. I know I'm supposed to be ecstaticly happy but right now I just feel worn out.

On a totally different topic, there's a great article in this month's New York magazine about the 9-11 widows and how they're moving on with their lives. More power to them, I say. Even though Ashcroft (or as my friends prefer to call him, Asscraft) would prefer for us all to live in perpetual fear since 9-11, it's good that the people who were most directly affected by the terrorist attacks are paving the way for the nation to move forward.

And in other news, it's thrilling to hear that vegetables are being put to musical use and not in the beano kind of way.

Sayonara Nomar

Considering how little he did for the Red Sox last season (hello? He hit the ball twice during the World Series), Nomar should consider himself lucky the Sox still want to overpay him. He might not be so lucky next season.

Pince me, please

Forget terrorism, poverty and environmental degredation. The world is now afflicted with ugly lobsters.

I'm reading online to distract myself from the fact that Glenn is in San Francisco for the weekend. The wedding planning is beginning to wear us both down. I wish we'd just eloped. Moving to LA took so much effort and energy for me, and the wedding planning on top of the long job search and the freelancing--I've never felt so drained in my life. I can't wait to have a week in Vermont with nothing to do but sleep and hang out.

Take your Hard Tail home, trixie

Open letter to every yoga trendoid in LA:

Get a clue. Please. Yoga class is NOT ABOUT retail oneupsmanship. No one cares about your new Fred Segal yoga outfit with the perfectly color coordinated thong and yoga mat. No one cares if you have fat-free thighs or big, round boobies. No one cares if your LuluLemon pants match your earrings. You may think you look hip and trendy but you really just come off as clueless and shallow. As my favorite yoga teacher says (often, because his class is packed with these nitwits), "Don't come to class if you're not here to do the class." If you spend half the class picking at your new pedicure while you're in down dog, this means you.

Yoga trendoids are ubiquitous in LA. They're a breed unto themselves. They twirl, they preen, they wear makeup and jewelry to class in a vain effort to catch themselves a mate. You can generally find them driving their Mercedes SUV to class and bending over whenever a hot guy walks by.

For anyone tending toward the anthropological, the best environment in which to find said trendoids is at Maha Yoga on 26th and San Vicente, or at the vile Zen Zoo Tea around the corner. Your gag reflex will warn you when they're nearby.

You can't put a movie in the freezer

What a bizarre weekend. I stayed out late both nights and am now completely exhausted even though I had not a single drink. I'm old! Old and cranky. All I want to do is stay in bed and read my New Yorker. Yet somehow I dragged my ass to the stairsand flogged myself for 11 sets. The stairs are always good entertainment. Everyone is sweaty and in pain, and they all want to go at their own pace, which is hard when the place is crowded. Sometimes people are chatty but for the most part everyone keeps their heads down (unless, of course, they're gasping for air.) I always wonder what the zillionaires on Adelaide St. think of the schvitzing hordes that loiter in front of their homes.

Saturday night I met friends for a late dinner at Rocca on 4th St. (Celebrity sighting: Jamie Lee Curtis and Christopher Guest on their way out of the restaurant as we came in. Jamie Lee looks *great* and was very nice.) Excellent food! There's nothing like good gnocchi. South Beach diet be damned--pasta is yummy shit.

Sunday I went to Amoeba with Higgypiggy. After browsing the music racks, we hit Toast for lunch. Talk about scenes! Toast is the perfect place to eat diabetes-inducing cupcakes and watch actor/actress-wannabes mingle with Hollywood wives whose expensive plastic surgeries didn't turn out as well as planned. If you're in the mood to be snarky, Toast is the perfect place to go.

Fans of "28 Days Later" will understand why I am now terrified of going in my building's dark, dank laundry room. I made the mistake of watching the movie while I was home alone (the cat does not count) and doing laundry. Note to self: do not watch scary movies when home alone. Should have learned that lesson when I read The Shining by flashlight during a thunderstorm. BAD IDEA. It makes me think of the episode of Friends where Joey puts gets scared while he's reading The Shining, so he puts the book in the freezer when he's not reading because the monsters can't get him if the book is in the freezer. BRILLIANT.