The Problem with Friends

I'm blessed with many good friends, and a handful of tight friends. Very tight friends. I'm also close with both of my parents and have grown closer to my sister over the past few years. There is no doubt that I have a solid support network. I'm lucky.

However, I've found that this support network can be both a blessing and a curse. Here is what I mean: I share a lot of my journey with my friends. They are invested and really want things to work out for me. When things don't work out, I have to go back and update all of my friends. If I don't, they eventually call me for an update. This is great when you have good news to report, because you get to report the news and relive the victory a dozen or more times. This is not so great when you have bad news to report, e.g. a miscarriage, a second miscarriage, your parents' separation, a break-up, or a failed embryo transfer, because you get to report the news and relive the pain a dozen or more times. As an added bonus, you also get to see the person who loves you get upset, feel bad for you, and then feel like shit because she can't fix it. Its like pouring a 1/2 cup of salt into an open wound - not fun.

So now I'm trying out a new strategy: what happens if you just keep everyone in the dark about what you're really doing and pretend nothing is going on? I'll get back to you on how well this works. What I have noticed is that you can only keep yourself in the dark for so long. Case in point: you wonder why you're eating everything that doesn't eat you first, and why your ass and thighs appear to be spreading like wildfire. Ah ha! its because you are pretending that nothing is going on in your life right now, and so instead you're eating your way through your pantry. Not pretty folks.

Kinahurra

In lieu of New Year's Resolutions, or a detailed, catalogued review of everything that went wrong/right in the past year, in 2009 I'm trying something novel. I am planning for 2009 to be a fan-freakin'-tastic year. (The Jewish grandmother in me worries that this is a kinahurra, but I'll spit over my shoulder and hope to be excused. )

To achieve this goal, I'm borrowing a little trick that I've used in my professional life for years, with great success. This trick is called 'faking it', and it goes a little something like this: show up, dress the part, act the part, people will buy it, and you eventually become it.

So far this year I've been playing the part that I'm irresistible to men. Its almost like I'm emitting a pheromone that makes men flock to me. Its raining men. Hallelujah. Sounds silly, right? Well, it is kind of silly, but I think there may be something to it --- I will report back when I have more data, but so far I've snagged an attorney and a contractor. I'm throwing both of them back, but the bait seems to be working.

The next trick in my book is that I'm expecting my career to take off in new, exciting, and highly-paid directions. I'm actually serious. Rock-star directions. I recently bumped my consulting fee up to $300/hour and was rather surprised when someone actually paid it (and this wasn't an Elliot Spitzer-type consultation - for that I charge at least $350/hour)

When you expect great things to happen, it almost seems like everything that happens is great. If not great, than maybe a step toward greatness. Rose-colored glasses again, I know. But really, wouldn't you rather peer through rosy glasses than sewer water?

Happiness on the Drop Down Menu

I've decided that happiness is a decision.

Sure, we all have bad days, bad weeks. Hell, I'd be willing to say that the last 18 months have slapped the hell out of me. And there are certainly some events that are hard to spin brightly, even with the best mix master at the wheel. But for the most part, happiness is a decision.

Case in point: the sister of a friend of mine always views her glass as half-empty. And the remaining liquid contains curdled milk. She had her dream wedding a few years ago, followed by her dream honeymoon. Then she and her betrothed took 3 months off (what??) and traveled across the country in an RV. Now to me, that sounds like hell on wheels, but to each his own. They then decided to have children and, BANG!, got pregnant right away with a healthy, beautiful child. They wanted to have more children soonafter and, BANG!, pregnant with twins. All decisions she made. And yet, she isn't happy and complains about having three children under three.

I realize that everyones' life looks clean and bright from a distance, particularly if you're standing outside looking in and can't hear the kids screaming, the dog barking, and the fat husband snoring. But at the same time, life is about making informed decisions and then throwing everything you have into making that path work. Looking back over your shoulder at the life you just passed will only contribute to making you very unhappy, while driving smack into the tractor trailer in front of you.

This week I had to put my adorable, stolen cat to sleep. It broke my heart and I bawled like a 10 year old girl in the vet's office and all the way home. Call it self-preservation, or call it choosing happiness, but I've decided to focus on the good things. I had that cat for three years and he was warm, safe and loved for those years after being in an abusive home. I knew he had kidney disease and he lived for two really good years after his diagnosis. It sucked rocks putting him to sleep, but now he isn't in pain and is hopefully in a better place. The coppers never caught me for cat-napping and I didn't spend any time in the slammer.

I bought myself a pair of rose-colored glasses and I plan to look through them as often as possible in 2009.

Red 22

I'm not a fan of uncalculated risks. I don't ride motorcycles. I always wear my seat belt. I floss every day.

However, and perhaps ironically, I am a big fan of calculated risks. I once quit a great job because my boss was not fulfilling his promise to find me adequate office space (he let me quit, and then called two days later and said he'd found the space). I've been para-sailing, scuba diving, and canopy swinging. I've boldly taken jobs I didn't know how to do, and moved to new cities where I knew not a soul. I've been on dozens of blind dates. I consider myself gutsy, but not stupid.

Many of these risks push me outside my comfort zone. And although I know and love my comfort zone, I also realize its important to step outside the padded room and take a healthy, calculated risk with a good chance of return now and then. I consider the inability to take the plunge when the cards look good a major liability in life.

Talk is cheap, but I had the opportunity to put my money where my mouth is recently. My mother was in town shopping for a condo near me in which she would reside part-time. This second residence would allow her to have a home near me and my sister, and would allow her to see and (let's be honest) help raise the grandchildren which are hopefully soon to come. Not what she ever thought she'd be doing at age 71, and not what I thought I'd be doing at age 39, but here we are.

We looked at several overpriced, underwhelming condos and were both disappointed. Then our realtor told us she had a nice ranch for us to view, and asked us to meet her at the tail end of an Open House the next day so she could walk us to the ranch.

We arrived at the Open House with 15 minutes to spare and it was immediately apparent that this property was all wrong for my mother -- lots of stairs, views of the ocean, not appropriate for a part-time property. And yet I was mesmerized, "This is amazing. This is amazing. This is amazing." The realtor slyly suggested, "You could always buy this place, and your mother could buy yours."

Ding! Ding! Ding!

But I'm not in the market for a new property. But this place has lots of stairs. But I never thought I'd shell out money for a water view. But I'd have to MOVE!!!

And yet, it just felt right. I could picture myself in this new condo. My mother was more excited about living in my familiar space than in a new condo she didn't know. This was a one in a million opportunity. And, although I like to squirrel my money away like acorns for an eternal winter, I could afford this place.

When a great, calculated risk comes along -- be it a relationship, a job, an investment, or a new home --- and it offers a substantial chance of gain, you've got to take it. Its uncomfortable, its scary, and its terribly exciting. At that moment you have to take all of your chips, put them on Red 22, and spin the wheel. And that my friends, is why I just purchased a new home.

Skeleton in the Closet

I've been on many a date with a guy who pulls a skeleton out of the closet that knocks my socks off. This usually occurs at precisely the moment when I'm thinking, "Wow, this guy seems really normal." It is right then that the floor is pulled out from under me and I end up in the dunking booth. Again.

I've heard everything. Guys who claimed to be single admit they're divorced. Guys who suddenly remember to mention that they have a 12 year old daughter. Guys who find this the opportune time to tell me they're married (after kissing me on the mouth). Guys with ultra funky penchants for demonstrating how far certain bodily fluids can fly (no, not kidding). Oh yes, my friends, I've met more skeletons than you'll see at on Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean.

And now Ladies and Gentlemen, stand aside, for a delicious twist of irony: I've got the biggest skeleton in the graveyard. Try these bones on for size: I'm trying to have a baby on my own. And I'm using a surrogate.

Insert deafening silence here.

I pulled this bag of bones out of the closet this spring after dating a guy for about 2 months. He was 41, said he wanted children and a serious relationship, and had dated women with children in the past. So, I said to myself, if anyone can handle this, its this guy.

After telling him the news, he was shocked. I know this because he kept repeating, "Wow, I'm shocked." He took the time to have an extended make out session with me (more on that later) before burning rubber out of my parking lot.

He took two weeks to 'think about' how he felt about my situation before calling to say it was over. He explained that although he was 41 and dating a 39 year old woman, wanted to have children someday, didn't mind dating women with children, and would welcome dating a 'single mom by choice' - my situation was too much, too soon. Okay, fair enough.

He shared that he wants to date a woman for several years before having children. I pointed out that if he wants to subscribe to this action plan with any woman over the age of 32, he had better select someone who flunked biology.

As soon as we got off the phone I realized that this relationship was never meant to be. Nice guy, but I can only talk about American Idol and plasma televisions for 12 minutes before slipping into a coma.

Its never fun to get dumped, but I must admit it was truly amusing to be the person hauling a deep secret out of my closet. Can you imagine how fun it must have been for him to tell THIS story to his buddies? My skeleton wins. Rock on.

White Bean Soup

I'm not a man-hater. Or a man-eater (although I must admit I really do love that song, esp. when my instructor plays it in spin class).

In fact, I like men. Not all men, but a lot of men. Then why have I made it to age 39 without marrying one of them? Well, thats a long story (which is another way of saying, "I have no idea").

I was talking on the phone to my mother today and saying that I'm grateful to be going through this fertility journey solo, rather than married to my 'Close Call' -- who we'll call Glenn (get it?). I explained that Glenn would not have been supportive and would have made me feel defunct because I can't carry a pregnancy to term. "And that", said my mother, "is exactly why you're not married to Glenn." Mom always comes up with the good points.

A few weeks ago I was at the Farmer's Market sampling an organic apple when suddenly I heard someone call my name. I turned around, with my mouth full, to see a guy who used to date an old friend of mine. They broke up after dating for 10 years and she moved away and married someone else. And divorced. And remarried. He also married someone else. And is now getting divorced. It was clear that he was going through a hard time and needed to speak to an old friend ... so we went out for a drink.

I spent several hours listening to the intimate details of his relationship, marriage, and break-up. Like most stories of this ilk, it was painful. He paid for my drink, walked me to my car, and we promised to get together again soon. As friends. I drove home thinking how nice it is to have a male friend with no strings.

A few weeks later I got an e-mail from him on a cold, rainy Saturday afternoon inviting me over to his house that night. To eat white bean soup. In front of a fire. Saturday night + homemade soup + fire = could it be?

No. Of course not. I'm imagining this. I called my friend Debbie to get her read. She hummed the theme song from a generic porno film. This is not a good sign. She then asked her husband who said something like, "Yeah, he wants sex".

Ah, transition sex. An understandable desire, but not one I can grant at the moment. It would be one thing if he was serving lobster bisque, but I certainly don't put out for white bean soup. A girl has to have standards.

Prom Queen

I've been thinking about my life a lot lately. Maybe its the holidays. Maybe its because I'll turn 40 next year. Maybe I've been reading too many O magazines.

What I've realized is that up until the last few years, I've been living on easy street. I wasn't the prom queen, but a lot of things were handed to me on a silver platter: loving parents, a close family, plenty of money, good health, good grades, good friends. I always fit in, made the cheerleading team, had a boyfriend and a date to the prom, and got into a good college. I got good grades, had good times, found my calling, went to graduate school, and landed a job in my field. Of course, at the time I thought I had all sorts of problems; but in retrospect, I had it much easier than many of my peers.

A few years ago I dated a guy who never wanted to see his relatives or friends from the past. He hated the holidays, family gatherings, and most of all --- answering questions. I didn't get it at the time, but looking back I realize that he wasn't happy with himself or his life. This made updating people on his progress thus far pure torture.

Now I kind of get it. Its harder to speak to old friends and acquaintances when the newsflash is that you're parents have separated, Mr. Right turned out to be Mr. Wrong, you're trying to have a baby on your own and are even struggling with that.

And so, many of us answer the question, "What's new?" with the much easier and less honest, "Not much."

When I was in high school I thrived on rebellion and irony. I wore hiking boots to school with my cheerleading uniform, ripped the label off my Guess jeans once the brand became popular, and ate lunch at the counter of Woolworth's with my friend in hopes that someone would see us and think it was zany. I need to channel my 17 year old rebel self and find the strength to view the path less traveled as unique and beautiful. I need to be the Prom Queen with a nose ring and a smile.