Three Di·vor·cés, Part Two of Three

So here we are: A guy from my past coming back: Psychic calling one out much? The psychic said ignore it; “leave the past in the past”. But I was growing ‘bored’ and beginning to develop again that desire to have a partner. Sure, it smells a lot like fate - but what does that mean? Because I do think everything happens for a reason, but the reason is different to each person depending on where they are, where they’ve been and where they intend to go. Perhaps this is the definition of falling in love: The elements align.


Allow me to welcome you to my analogy: Remember the slot game in Original Nintendo’s Super Mario 3 that required you to line up three boxes with the same flower, mushroom or star and would reward you with more lives depending on which you lined up – only you could never line them up? But from time to time you’d hit all three and I’ll be damned if the journey through each level each time wasn’t totally worth that one time in a countless many that you got those 1-up’s. Love is like that 1-up: Going through all the levels until you reach that one moment where the stars align.

This wasn’t one of those moments.

He saw three stars lined up where I saw a Goomba with a broken heart I couldn’t just leave behind. And yes, at first, to be honest, I was intrigued again. This guy I had this chemistry with all these years ago popped back in again. And then Potato – the rental car formerly known as Melon  - was keeping this cleverly masked Goomba at bay until I saw that heartbreak reach the surface.

It was HG and his Shiny New Object (SNO) syndrome all over again: You are happy. You are better than my ex. LET ME IN YOUR LIFE!

Oh, another wounded bird? No. Been there; not going back. Sorry kids. This isn’t the love story you wanted (even though is one that was predicted).

So this is how the story really goes:  The first night we ran into one another again, he slept on my couch, we spooned and – oh how long it had been. It was nice. The cuddles! But soon – oh, so so, soon - the situation turned into three stars versus a flower and two mushrooms. The following weekend they began: The drunk texts. They quickly escalated into SNO symptom type texts. I was out with GFC who understood as little as I did what exactly was happening that first week out. Later that same evening, I took home Potato - who just “happened” to end up at the bar next to ours (Yeah…right.) – after some serious karaoke and a love affair with Fireball.

Completely irrelevant to Goomba, I called Potato stupid so much that 1. GFC renamed him Potato (the aesthetic likeness becoming just a lucky coincidence) and 2. That scantily clad and messing about, he stopped me to tell me, quite sternly, to stop calling him stupid. Apparently – no matter where the leagues stand and how uneven the fields are, you can’t stand in the Majors and diss the Pony League. Noted.

Anyway, weeks pass and eventually conversation with the Goomba turn into how amazing it is that we meet again eight years later. SNO confessions are thwarted with increased frequency. Bruised hearts and confused souls say weird things fueled by vodka – I know this better than anyone. Really. But this was getting uncomfortable. However, I couldn’t leave him there; he needed me. He is a friend. And he needed someone; he’d left everyone 200 miles away to be with his (now separated) wife. Plus, he's a good guy.

So at the same time I was encouraging him to stop apologizing for his drunk messaging, I was assuring him that he had a friend near to help him through his divorce; at the same time I was encouraging him to begin the proceedings. Their relationship was broken and his staying in it was making him a sad soul for sure; as someone who has been there, as well, I can recognize it. And it was time for him to move on.

I am not the answer. I am not love, nor the solution. You need friends; support? You got it. But hope comes from within, my friend.

A few weeks later he called his wife. They met for dinner. They agreed to a divorce. And I will continue to make room for him in my life as his calms down a bit. Evidently, I am the help.

Meanwhile, I otherwise kept myself occupied with running (three halves and a ten miler, to be exact) and drunken socializing. It was during this time that in walked a guy who - on a Sunday at the bar, after I ran my second half-mary of 2013, and after semi-ironically staying at Goomba’s the night before (since he lives near the starting line) - for what appeared to be no reason, called me a whore. I made him cry. And then we banged.

 Enter Divorcé number three.

There One Where I Almost Had My Smile Slapped Off

This weekend I planned on spending Memorial Day going to PA to visit with my twin nieces family, which instead turned into a completely impromptu trip to Nashville to visit friends – one of which I have grown up with all of my life and haven’t seen in a year on account of him having been living in Antarctica and his sister, whose baby I hadn’t seen since he was three weeks old this past Christmas. The generosity and United FF miles of GFN allowed me to fly there quite cheap. And another friend, to extend my stay because were having a such a great time and they (and I) didn’t want me to leave yet. So I switched my flight from Monday AM to Monday PM and ended up having to catch a layover flight in Newark. This is where this story begins.

At Newark, there was this girl who was boarding the plane. She was yelling into her phone dropping f-bombs left and right as she entered the cabin. Turns out, there is someone more annoying than that crying baby or the temper-tantruming two year old. I found her and she lives in New York. 

Appropriately enough I’m sporting a shirt with a Pegasus on it because my seatmate, I later learned, was a gay guy going to visit his new boyfriend for a few days. He originally hailed from Rhode Island, was from Brooklyn and had been drinking the past four hours while waiting on stand-by for a flight after missing his 5 o’clock. So his filter wasn’t quite on, which became an interesting fact once once this girl sat down in the row behind us and her argument with the other side of the phone didn’t stop. He said audible but lightly, "Leave the ghetto in Harlem, girl," and then giggled.

Once I realized she didn’t hear him, I began to allow my internal laugh to become audible and said, “You just said what everyone was thinking. But I’m not getting in the middle of this fight.”

He laughs. And then each time she got a little more ornery we both giggle. She hangs up. Evidently, she had heard us laughing while she was carrying on her conversation, because she begins to talk at her mom: "I DON'T LIKE WHEN PEOPLE BE SMILIN AND LAUGHIN’. THAT'S RUDE. I'LL SLAP THE SMILE OFF OF THEM. LAUGHING IS SO ANNOYING."

My seatmate turns around to address her: Why would you want to stop people from laughing? Laughing is good for you. She responded – and I’m not verbatim, but this is as close as I can recall, "EXCUSE ME. I DON'T LIKE WHAT PEOPLE BE LAUGHING ABOUT. IT'S RUDE DEY LAUGHING AT PEOPLE." Something. Something. She continues to talk loudly to her mom about how rude other people are.

So he puts his headphones in cause she still goes on about how rude it is. Not long after we’re told to turn off our portable electronics. And while ascending he starts his hat that had fallen off of his knee. He was feeling under his chair and when he found it he brought it up and it and goes "Here it is!" He took a moment to look at it goes, "This isn't mine"

I realize this is one of those ‘you had to be there’ things.

So ten minutes later we're still giggling about how stupid funny it was and that it was a total you had to be there moment. I said something like "What are the chances that someone else has a hat under your chair?" 

In response to my talking to him, she leans up to my chair and says "I hear you sayin’ somethin’ about a hat under a chair. We have hats under the chairs. You got a problem with that?!" I think she wanted to cut me.

Immediately we both began to explain what happened: It was funny because he picked up the wrong hat thinking it was his. She immediately recoiled: “Oh". And then in an unexpected turn of events, I think she began to think that when we were laughing at her earlier, and when she started talking about slapping off smiles, that we were laughing about something else. So, win for Row Five, Seats A, B.

I kept my smile, guys. Home again, after a great weekend visiting friends. And they say that you are the company that you keep, so I guess I'm pretty fucking awesome. 

Three Di·vor·cés, Part One of Three

Three blind mice run after the farmers wife. No. No, no. Three divorced guys walk into a bar. No. No, no. Three divorced guys walk into my life. All of them - within three months of one another.

It appears we’ve rounded that corner into our twenties heading into early thirties where people start getting divorced. I tend to have single friends and the ones that aren’t just got married or are one their way. So as of the start of 2013 I didn’t know of anyone who was divorced that I was aware of, aside from a whoopsie here or there on facebook – but out of 500 “friends”, I really know about 100. Okay 50 - at least enough to pay attention to divorces; and none of them are – wait, one, but he doesn’t count: That was just a fake out.

Then came College Chicago. College Chicago is this guy that I once made out with sophomore year of college. We lived in the same dorm and he was a pseudo-swatter I fooled around with in the dark a time or two after the guy I was with for two point five years broke my heart early in the semester. I didn’t see him much at all after sophomore year, so when he pinged me in February (eighteen) via Facebook, it was really random nine years out of the blue. And the start of the conversation went exactly like this:

CC: hey
Me: hola.
CC. long time
Me: indeed. How’s life?
CC: it’s good. I moved to Chicago. Sans wife. How’s DC?
Me: you moved without your wife?
CC: We’re getting a divorce.
Me: oh wow. I’m sorry to hear. I thought you just got married.
CC: it’s cool. I did. Haha. We were married 1 blissful year. And then it all went to shit.
Me: can I ask how so?
CC: we had been struggling for about 3 years. And we thought getting married would solve our woes. And we thought a ring and a ceremony would make us closer. But it just drove us further apart. It was all very mutual. i needed to get out of pittsburgh and she is really happy there. so my company moved me to chicago.
Me: your story is the kind of thing why I want to write a book. […] I want to write about your (the royal you) 20s.
CC: yes. It’s been an intense decade
Me: it takes us 10 years to realize we’re allowed to admit mistakes. And be alone.
CC: the 20s are a crazy time.

And so on. That's one way to cut straight to the chase. We continued to chat - for weeks – on the daily. And he reminded me a lot of myself after The Ex. I could relate. Empathize. And did. He needed someone to talk to and it was then that I really came to appreciate that fact that I don’t have to have my mistakes on paper – though I choose to here, I suppose - because, as I’ve learned, we are allowed to admit them. And then I felt a little celebratory for that; that I realized my mistakes before they became major enough to have some stigma towards them. Are we allowed to celebrate the fact that we only failed a little where others took the plunge? I'm still not sure. But I continued to try to talk him though it. It's a rough world out there...especially in a new city, all alone. But it's so worth it!, I assured him.

He seems to continue to struggle with his struggles, but don’t we all? When it comes down to it a broken heart, it's all the same whether or not there’s a paper trail behind it. I offered advice and suggestions, and I hope it helps. Although he thinks people will, I don’t attach any stigma to people who are 29 and divorced. In fact, I admire the attempt at trying, and even more, the brevity it takes to admit that you failed.

This, a lesson that would soon come in handy when, out of the blue, one night in early April (six) a guy I had met in 2005 commented on a Facebook check-in and, soon after, was at the bar I was at: The vodka had run out at our bottle service and I needed some more. And as is the first rule of being broke: Never spend your own money. Once there, he ends up revealing that he has be separated from his wife for the past year. They were married a couple of years ago – he met her shortly after I met him and, were I not freshly dating The Ex at the time, I quite likely would have dated him. We had a good chemistry and banter that was quite visible as a friend asked back then, “What’s going on? Aren’t you with [The Ex]?” They met on match.com; when I saw that whole thing happen via the Internets, I thought, 'this will never last'. But when I invited him to buy us drinks hang out that night, I didn’t think it was going to be that short of a not last. But it was. And so, he ended up on my couch that night because GFN informed Melon (later renamed to Potato by GFC) she had custody of my bed that night as Potato was trying to get into it via text while I was in the middle of the dance floor licking the tongue of some separated married guy whose pool I'd skivvie-dipped in eight years prior in a city 230 miles away...or so I'm told.

This was the start of something. I had no idea what. I would soon find out.

To be continued...

psychic reads v.2.4.13

Looming over me – or rather my blog – has been this entry right here. I haven’t written because I wanted to get down what a bunch of psychics said before I moved on with what’s been happening, which is another reason entirely why I’ve been so scant with my writing: A lot has been happening. What the hell happened to just being bored?!

So this is the part where I pen down shit so I can see where it goes...

Back on February 17, GFC and I went to a psychic fair. They offer 15 minute readings from a handful of people and varying skills for a huge discount. I had four readings: A Reiki master named Valerie, a tarot/numerologist named Larry, a lipologist/handwriting analyst, and guidance intuitive. The latter of which I misunderstood and didn't care for – she’s actually supposed to give you guidance with questions you have. I prefer to sit down and let them read. So let’s just skip over that one. From written notes (even if some of these seem nonsensical, I’m leaving them, as in the future it may make sense):

Valerie: Even sinuses; flowers and spring bother them. Not afraid to say what I think. A heavy heart; whiplash in romance: I must let it go. Sturdy knees: Lots of support from people here and family who have passed. I have determination on the path that I’m on; like a balance beam moving forward with determination. Exiting a path: Opening to a row of houses (real estate?).

Larry: High priestess (card): People came to me for advice in a past life and it carried over into my current life. People come to me for advice, but be careful of “energy vampires”, especially those who are not aware that they are doing it. Life number is 2: Very rare life number. Year number is 5: 5 is variety: I’m independent and have a busy life. The person that I end up with has to understand that. They have to be a partner that contributes – monetarily and otherwise. They have to understand that I need time away to do my own thing and can’t constrict me. Of 2013, ended up with number 2: To him this represents relationships: One of the future and one from my past who has yet to come to pass (again). The past guy comes back first, but should be left there: It’s up to me if I leave the past there, but advises I should let it be. The future guy hasn’t been met yet: He saw me shaking his hand. I will meet this guy in the 2013 calendar yet. Tarots: I have enough money in this life but not a ton; if I do I am very generous with it. I need a partner who is equal and would contribute monetarily.

Ariana: 

And then we went to another fair at the same place on April 14th, with (mostly) new readers. Louise, a clairvoyant/tarot reader who has worked with the DoD as a remote viewer, Larry (again), Mike, an intuitive and Allyson, a psychic medium who is mildly famous.

Louise Dellafiora: I am intuitive. June – August there will be money coming in (July = money). March/April, 2014, I will be making money off of my creativity; success: There is money in writing for me. I need to write. There is (good) karma in DC for me and I should not move yet; I will move next summer. In August 2013 I will find my love – right now I’m not ready for a it yet. The angels will bring him to me through a female friend. Next year I will make a big purchase. I will have a job change around July-October of this year. The Arch Angel Raphael is protecting me. I have two females (friends) around me supporting me. I have an old soul and was born with wisdom. I have a strong body and health. Everything is in divine order.

Larry: Lifepath 2. High Priestess. I must live for me. My energy is out in the world versus person. The right relationship: balance, independence, reliant spirit. In year 7. Start of 22 year cycle: The Chariot – move forward, okay to be cautious; don’t be reckless. Fool child: Travel card: Trip of day to take person from comfort zone. Run towards something, not away. If I run away, it ends up not ideal. 10 of Swords: Putting off decision to not be stuck. It is better to be waiting than stuck. I will be starting over in the future. 9 of Pentacles: relaxed and comfortable in life; it’s up to me to if I end up with another person. Right now, relax, enjoy life. The universe will bring change. 30 is a strength year.

Mike Brazell: [He started by having him place my hands below his; you could feel the energy move through our hands] I can handle chaos well. I work well in controlled chaos: I move through it, but focus and fixate on little things. (And stop it) I have strong intuition; I can see through things immediately; I zero in on them (the truth). I am an experiential person. And I can help people. [It is at this point he asked if I were creative; I said nothing, he went on you paint, or draw…or write. He paused. “You write.”] I need to write because I have a story to tell. He told me I need to write a book and was very adamant about it. He said once I write it a publisher will come along; he didn’t see me having to self-publish. He said it will be popular and would become a series [to which responded OMG THAT’S THE IDEA!]. But he [also] knew I wasn’t writing. He said it was because of fear – what fear he didn’t know, but that I needed to get past it and start writing because it would be successful and people needed to hear the story I had to tell. It would help them. He offered advice on how to write it and keep going and get it done [no fear, stop writing it on a screen and write it on paper and was so focused on this book that it took up 30 minutes of a 15 minute session].

Allyson Walsh: As soon as I walked in and sat down she said “OH MY GOSH! We could switch places and you could read me!” She said I am extremely intuitive; I am clairvoyant and clairsentient; I just know things. These abilities are in my family. [We briefly chatted about it and I admitted that, yes, things like that have been discussed in passing but not with my grandmother because as my mom would later reveal she’s told my mom a thing or two but nothing beyond that because she doesn’t want anyone to think she’s “crazy”.] She said that there’s a “Mar” name in the family and she had it too – she watches over me. [I said there was no one with a named starting 'Mar'. She was certain though and told me to look into it. Afterwards I talked to my mom and she looked back and found out my grandmother’s grandmother was a Mary.] She said asked if I used to see things. My “abilities” will get stronger as I get old; don’t ignore them because they’re not going away. By the time I’m 38, I’ll start to hear things. 

Right now I’m not ready for love/relationship. She said my husband/love will come in 2014. When I advised her that many other psychics said 2013, she was unrelenting on the year, but she conceded that maybe we may meet in 2013 but it won't really get going until 2014. When we meet I’m very stand-offish [she used body language that I would completely use – and in retrospect, have before - were I telling a story of a guy needing to pump the breaks]. I’m guarded a bit, but he is very into me even though I’m not so sure about him. I warm up to the idea. He can dance – like club dance, not ballroom. “He can move,” she said. The engagement will be quick (3-6 months), “barely enough to consider it an engagement”. My wedding will not be a typical church wedding. It will be a destination wedding. Very relaxed. [And I was like Oh! I want to rent out a beach house and have it in the backyard. Like a potluck BBQ. She was like "Yes, that". I mean, of course she was, but that's in impressive pull.] She ended telling me she saw me going to LAX – there is a Hilton hotel there she got a vision of just before she let me go.

Whew. Okay. We may now continue with our regularly scheduled programming. I wanted to document for curiosity sake. And I am quite curious to see what comes to fruition…and more importantly, the how. Stay tuned, kids.

Pressure makes a diamond, right?

What if all of this beauty is wasted? Wasted on those unavailable;  unwilling;  unworthy; wasted on saving others; wasted on waiting for the one for whom it's no longer wasted?

Only so long do I want to be admired by those I don't admire or are an apparition of admiration I hear about in passing or past tense.

I used to wonder - when it all ends, will I miss it; the catcalls; the attention. I used to want the stories of dating and infatuation and intrigue. And I got them indeed. But often now I feel like I just sit by wondering how others can so often and quickly find lust, infatuation and (what they think as) love - and I wait. Calmly waiting. Pushing against it. Mostly apprehensive. Scared. Unwilling.

I'm here now, but for wrong reasons, I wonder. I feel as though I spend my time saving others; helping them; pushing them in the right direction - my beauty both outside and in, so easily mistaken for what some think could be love. Or hope; a small light in their moment of darkness. But soon it becomes a weight - one in which I bear all my own, all too often. And I begin to wonder then, when it's my turn to be saved.  But am I willing now to love? Or just to lighten the load? As is most things in life, I find my disposition, my laughter, my free will, my independence, my lust for life, and my lure, to be both a blessing and a curse. I am willing to help, but I am not the solution.

We must learn - first and foremost - how to save ourselves. I need to spread the word. There are no saviors. No angels of Earth. And a love of another only works if you love alone first.

*[an hour passes]*

Each person is their own piece of coal. I am not a glimmer of hope. Everyone gets to keep hold of their own damn shovels; find your own way outta the mine.

[How's that for an hour's difference?]