Just Walked Away

I was prepared for the encounter on Friday.

I met w/ my therapist to discuss strategies to avoid an inadvertent slip and fall down the crazy staircase. I had my makeup professionally applied at MAC for some intense smokey eye/glowy skin action. I gathered a posse and I DO mean a posse of fabulously beautiful women that I knew I can count on for ANYTHING, to accompany me and serve as emotional linebackers. Donned a casual yet uber sexy dress, borrowed from Goldie giving me curves worthy of a Christina Hendricks Esquire photo shoot. 

I compiled a survival kit of prescription strength uppers, a bottle of Prosecco, and pout enhancing lip gloss in my purple patent leather clutch, and away I went: ready to face the monster in my closet and prove its non existence. Assuage fears and see the ex for the first time since he left me with a tear stained face, shivering in the middle of a Philadelphia train station platform over two years ago. 

And he didn’t show. The fucker didn’t even have the decency to show up long enough for me to torture him with aloofness coated in sexy and casual indifference dripping fabulousness.

Perhaps he simply was too much of a coward to face me. Perhaps he simply found a more enticing offer for the evening. 

Ironically though, while I was worried about this man walking back into my reality and giving myself a near ulcer over what this unsuccessful, unmotivated Peter Pan might think of my outfit, my waste line, my boobs, my hair, my smile, my eyes, my words - I saw three amazing bands, including my favorite, Atomic Shotgun - experienced the Red & the Black, a bar to which I had never been, and managed to make some new friends who found yours truly to be rather charming. 

Life truly happens when you’re making other plans. I’ll try to remember that when I’m spending time and emotional currency worrying about something and someone that truly means nothing and adds no value whatsoever to my world.

With that, I finally walked away.

Frankly,

And the Walls Came Tumbling Down

The Sunday morning sunlight streamed through my up tilted blinds penetrating my eyelids and casting halos of light over the characters in my dreams. I rolled over, trying to ignore the hopeful “mews” of my cats eagerly awaiting their breakfast, my arm landed on the left side of the bed. 

Tragically this side is normally reserved for male-type company and thus has been empty and cold for quite some time. This morning however, the description was not merely metaphorical. Cold. It was cold! And WET! 

I sat up in shock to see that the moisture was much larger than the spot on which I had plopped my outstreatched arm. The entire upper-left corner of my beautiful, queen sized bed was SOAKING wet. I shot up and looked around furiously for the offending feline. I was ready to shish kabob the kitty who I automatically assumed had decided to ‘mark their territory’ next to my head when a heavy, wet drop landed ‘kaploosh’ in the middle of my forehead. 

I looked up and there it was – my ceiling. Sagging, drooping and dripping all over my bed!

Quickly jumping out of bed, I pulled off the sheets, pulled on a few items of clothing and proceeded to move my lovely, but heavy bed out of harms way. I then called building management to inform them of the minor rainstorm brewing in my apartment. 

A woman, who sounded less than thrilled to be working on a Sunday, answered the line and after I explained the situation promptly informed me that the absence of of functioning ceiling did not meet their ‘emergency’ criteria, a requirement for dispatching maintenance on a weekend. Apparently, as long as I still had running water and a toilet, I could wait until Monday. 

I then pointed out to her that there was a snowstorm heading towards DC and unless they wanted to mop up the damage created after 6 inches of snow accumulation, they might want to think about redefining their 'emergency' standards.

After being assured that help was, indeed, on its way, I spent the majority of the afternoon standing over my rather soggy mattress with an industrial strength hairdryer trying to stave off mold and general mattress funky-ness. 

Help did indeed come. Long story short, they determined the best course of action would be to patch the leak with a piece of cardboard, secure it with duct tape for the time being and hope for the best.

Well kids, I’m not exactly Ms. Holly-Home-Repair, but I DO know that duct tape isn’t waterproof. I was skeptical that this 'quick fix' would really 'fix' anything. My suspicions were confirmed, at about 10:30 p.m. when the patch came crashing down bringing with it, a hefty chunk of my ceiling. 

So lets review: my ceiling is leaking; a rather large chunk of it has fallen onto my floor; my mattress has been dried with a hair dryer; my large bed is in the middle of my apartment on the verge of landing in my kitchen; plastic tarps and drop catching buckets now adorn my once fabulous apartment and now maintenance is telling me that they can’t fix the roof until AFTER the snow melts!

This is the problem with Snow in the District – either outside or IN, we just don’t have the infrastructure to handle it!

Frankly,

Insert More Uplifting Photo [HERE]

After much deliberation, and because today I feel like it, I have decided to start writing again. The thought of the poorly composed "pity party" scenario as my lingering size 9, designer stilletto clad, recently pedi'd, online footprint as too depressing to fathom. Therefore...

Sheepish wave "hello".

 

Remember me??

The Good Stuff

I have having thE most Fantabulous hair day I've had since the summer humidity hit in May! It's smoothed straight, slightly curled under, oodles of volume. So i decided to have a fantabulous face to go with it - got out the sandblaster (jk) and Ta-Dum! Perfect makeup, perfect hair, and I'm at my lowest weight since July.

Sigh - life is good my friends. 

Not ONLY is my hair perfection and my makeup flawless, BUT my apartment is clean! Organized, tidy, no dishes in the sink, no books and magazines strewn about the coffee table and couches - whether or not my life is in order, personal exterior and my apartment's interior are projecting that image. 

So that's the good stuff. 

On the flipside, its one day into the DNC Convention and, much like an Olympic Gymnast, I'm exercising amazing control over my upchuck reflex. Though I'm having nightmares of rabid donkeys chasing me and demanding more taxes from my paycheck - very disturbing.

I also cooked dinner on Saturday night using actual food that doesn’t come out of a freezer and kitchen appliances other than my microwave - equally disturbing.

Frankly,

Crazy Subsiding

Army has departed for the land of hurricanes and retirees and apparently, intel officers. 

And if you asked me how I felt about it, well…the less than straight answer you would receive would inevitably  depend on the time of day, day of the week and/or what sappy movie I’d watched recently (last night it was the Notebook – BIG mistake). 

So if I’ve been quiet, it’s mostly to do with that. 

It’s also to do with the fact that I was out EVERY night last week (a recent record for me). Taking advantage of the culinary wonder that IS Restaurant Week in DC, meeting up with friends and playing host to my little cousin en entourage amounting to  4 – 22 yr. old girls in my shoebox of an apartment on Thursday evening. Besides the logistical challenges of sleeping accommodations, it was a relatively easy hosting experience – I took them out for dinner and then pointed them in the direction of the Front Page Thursday Free for All, handed them the keys to the apartment and sent them on their way!

Friday found me home from work just after 5 with plans to meet a friend from high school for HH at 6. I came in, dropped my stuff, climbed into bed for a 20 minute power nap, then hauled my ass out of bed, quickly primped and rallied. 

When I got home around 9, I was LOVING being in my bed, curled up with my cats, a book and the Olympics. (I was out-cold asleep by 9:30). So thank goodness I had the trusty TiVo running and I got to see M. Phelps’ “Fingernail Gold” the next morning.

I have to say though, without a shadow of a doubt, the highlight of last week was drinks on Saturday night with Crazy Bitch at Fado, where the ENTIRE bar was watching the Men’s Medley Relay and M. Phelps’ historic 8^th Olympic god. Following the end of the race, the ENTIRE bar sang the national anthem. It was definitely memorable.

That’s all the update I can muster on this Monday morning, kids. 

Hopefully my life will be calming down a bit, but knowing me that prediction isn’t very likely. I will TRY to update more, but I make no promises.

Damaged

I’m a cancer survivor. Did I ever tell you that? Well, now you know and as GI Joe so wisely taught us...knowing is half the battle.

By way of background, I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer approximately one month before my 23^rd birthday. A 3cm malignant tumor was subsequently removed from my neck taking with it my entire thyroid gland. 6 weeks later, I was admitted to Washington Hospital Center’s nuclear medicine department for intensive radiation therapy for 10 days (I was no shit radio active – in complete isolation and posed was a severe danger to pregnant women and had the ability to killed small dogs). There is no family history and no one knows why this happened. 

Fun times. 

The up side – thyroid cancer is extremely slow growing and very treatable. The down side - unlike most cancers that officially go into remission after 5 years, thyroid cancer can come back at any time – 20 years, 30…it doesn’t matter. Therefore, diligence is key and annual full body scans are prescribed. 

Due to changing Dr.’s a number of times, insurance changes, my busy schedule…basically any excuse I could possibly think of …I haven’t had a scan since….2005. 

I’m overdue. Well overdue. 

Due to the relentless nagging of my parents….I made a call this afternoon to my Endocrinologist requesting she fit me in for a scan sometime soon. 

I’m scared. So scared. Scared of going through the treatment, the tests, the side affects again. Cancer took a two year chunk out of my twenties – I didn’t look or feel right for two years. I don’t know whether I’m strong enough to go through that again – and so I’ve put it off. Stupid. I know. I KNOW its stupid, but that doesn’t make me any more eager to know whether or not there are cancer cells still swimming around inside of me. 

I don’t look sick. I don’t feel sick and I’m not about to have my life disrupted again. That’s a great first date conversation starter – “so, I’d really love to see you again but if you put your dick inside me while I’m radioactive, it will probably fall off.”

 

I totally forgot how much guys dig a girl in a hospital bed. 

Don’t worry – I’ll go, I’m sure everything will be fine, I’m worrying about nothing, blah blah blah. But that’s exactly what everyone said when my Dr. felt a lump in my neck…and when they did the biopsy…

I’m just so unenthusiastic about hearing the results – good or bad. 

Frankly, just being in the hospital again makes me feel…damaged.

Black Chery and Hot

Well the ceiling situation hasn’t been completely resolved and I’m still sleeping in the middle of my living room but that’s neither here nor there.

I had a little home beauty budget disaster on Tuesday night. In preparation for spring and the two (count them) TWO dates I have this weekend, I decided to give myself some much needed highlights. Its been over a decade since I purchased one of these little chem. labs in a box – and I remembered why. What happens when you try to lighten red hair?? It TURNS ORANGE!!!

So I just spend $300 to get the color stripped and then re-deposited into my hair. But the color that was re-deposited…is NOT my color red. It’s DARK. Like black cherry dark! It’s crazy! I have DARK hair. Every 3 minutes I’m debating between thinking ‘I look like a bad ass bitch with dark hair!’ and wanting to use non color friendly shampoo then lather, rinse and repeat like its my job.

We’ll see. I need to seek some outside opinions on the matter.
I look like a bad as bitch with dark hair!!

Frankly,

Fat, Fat Tuesday

“I’m fat,” said Big Man on Campus (ex college boyfriend, still very good friend). “I’m loosing my girlish figure.”

“So am I,” I replied. “I’ve been working out like a fiend, cardio, weights, yoga but it does nothing to curb my daily cupcake/cookie craving at 3:00 p.m.”

“I’m lazy. I haven’t been working out, I haven’t been eating well, I’ve been drinking a lot. It’s the tri-fecta of lazy and fat.”

“Wow. Yep – that’d do it. Well, if it helps, I still love you!”

“I feel unattractive with my shirt off. Could you please pass the tater tots?”

"I'm not quite to that point yet. I still feel attractive with my shirt off. Mostly because my boobs are fabulous and I wear sexy lingerie."

(Waitress walks by) “Ya’ll doing ok?”

“I’ll take another Miller Lite draft and he’ll have another rum & coke”

“And an order of the Spinach Dip”

(Waitress walks away)

“I hate men”

“What's the reason this week?”

“Well – I had an AMAZING date with Irish Guy on Friday. At first, I thought ‘oh no! I’m being too much myself – being a little too honest, sarcastic, etc.’ but then he gave me the most amazing kiss ever!! Truth be told, we made out for a good 30 minutes – unbelievable! So I took that as a good sign.”

“Making out with someone for 30 minutes is never a BAD sign”

“I mean, you wouldn’t make out for 30 minutes with someone you weren’t attracted to, right?”

“Depends on how drunk I was”

(Scarlett starts counting the number of drinks ordered in her head…)

“I’m just kidding! I’m sure he was attracted to you. So what’s the problem?”

“Well, I didn’t hear from him all weekend and then I get a little email on Monday saying ‘how was the rest of your weekend? I went to an Oscar party last night but left early because I didn’t want to be a vegetable today’ so I replied, ‘A vegetable? Do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight?’ (ha. ha. cute, no?) and then I gave him a few sentences about my weekend, commented on the cold weather – asked him what he was up to this week and…NOTHING. No reply email. No “I had a great time and would love to see you again.” NOTHING. WTF?"

“Well, give him one more day to respond and if nothing, fuck him”

“It’s still frustrating.”

“I’m interested in a girl.”

“Really? Do tell.”

“She’s married”

That spawned a whole different conversation. As we walked out BMOC, grabs a few Mardi Gras beads that decorated the bar Tuesday evening and placed them over my head.

"You have to show me your boobs now."

"You've alerady seen my boobs."

"True. Well then consider those beads payment for services rendered."

"So noted."

Frankly,

Meet Scarlett - The Hot Mess

I’m a mess – I admit it. I’m a creatively scatterbrained, disorganized mess! To illustrate my point, this is how I left my apartment on Saturday. 

Yes, my friends – I walked all around Dupont Circle, Adams Morgan, Woodley Park and the gym enjoying the gorgeous weekend weather – WITH TWO DIFFERENT SHOES ON MY FEET!!! And no – it was NOT on purpose.

You can’t help but laugh. 

Disturbingly enough, this kind of crazy brained behavior has spread into my love life, which I am trying to jump start. So a friend offered to set me up and I decided to dust off the jumper cables. 

Friday afternoon, Mr. Lawyer and I traded several emails and we decided to meet today (Monday) for HH in Dupont. The plan was that he would call me on Sunday evening to confirm. Well, no call came on Sunday and so I shot off an email last night, very casually asking if we were still on for today. As of this morning I hadn’t heard back – and so was cursing the name of men everywhere trying to discern during what drug/alcohol induced haze I had the bright idea that dating would be a good plan.

As usual, I got myself entirely more wound up than I needed to be. 

Until I received a confirmation of our drink plans about 30 minutes ago. Any logical person would think - "good - all fears abated - dating STILL a good plan." However, we're taking about Scarlett - the hot mess.
NOW I’m dreading the whole thing – just knowing that I’m not going to like this guy. That he’ll be boring; or quiet or arrogant or unattractive or WORSE: that I’ll like him, which bring with it a whole DIFFERENT set of worries. What if I like him and he doesn’t like me; what if I picked the wrong shade of red to wear today; what if…..

UGH – see! Even my brain mirrors my mismatched footwear!!!!

Nevertheless, I will meet him this evening, jumper cables in hand and attempt to discover there is, if not a spark, at least a faint whisp of smoke.


Frankly,

Smile Like You Mean It

Obviously I’m more inspired to write when things are going bad than when life is moving along swimmingly. So here is a happy-healthy-non-neurotic-anti-obsessive post, just for fun.

After a looong day, I took the bus home, yadda, yadda, yadda – had a lovely and nutritious dinner consisting of whole wheat pita, hummus, and the salad I had prepared for lunch the day before. I then braved the freezing cold and dropping temperatures and met a friend out at the Russia House for cocktails. We had a LOVELY time, great conversation, etc. etc. I ordered one (and ONLY one) very strong cocktail, which was enough. A string of colossally debilitating hangovers have made happy hour a little less “happy” – and so one was enough. 

So I came home, checked my email (waiting for an email from Boss Man confessing his undying love…pathetic? Perhaps. More on those developments later) and when that materialized in nothing but a disappointed ‘sigh’, I turned on the TV to watch ‘American Idol: Hollywood Week’ – hot off the DVR.

Fantastically dramatic complete with the Flaming, yet cute boy CRYING, no SOBBING Hysterically over something that happened with his group. Quite amusing. But the event that truly warmed my heart to see, was ‘Bikini Girl’s’ unceremonious departure from the show. I was praying for Judge Kara to smack her back to season 1! Also, was she wearing yellow tights or was that self-tanner gone awry? Anyone?? 

Either way...ew. But seeing her miserable made me all sorts of warm and fuzzy inside.

So then, I climbed into bed and watched an episode of ‘HOUSE’. My new favorite drama. Despite the fact that the plot line revolved around a child dying of leukemia, I found myself truly Laughing Out Loud! The writing was so dry and hysterical - just up my alley. So I laughed and laughed out loud. Its something that hasn’t happened for awhile – it felt GREAT. 

And the best surprise of all, my little black cat – (who is tres fabulous and struts her feline aloofness around the apartment) – not only came up to snuggle with me in bed (an event in itself, but burrowed UNDER the covers with me and curled up in the crook of my arm, quietly purring. 

And as I reached that state right before sleep, with my cat purring by my side, that final awareness of your body before you drift off, I realized....I was smiling. Not, some huge, cheesy grin, but an involuntary, natural curve of my mouth. And I went to sleep comfortable…and happy.

Go figure.

Frankly,

The Road to Hell is Paved with My Day

I'm sorry for not writing - or more sorry for leaving up my last, rather depressing post.  So this is just a quick update so that I'll have posted SOMETHING this week and I'm tempted to leave it at that. 

Today has been a day filled with annoyances. In an effort to stick with me 'super crazy, my body is going to look amazing this summer if its the last thing I do' diet, this morning not only found me hitting the snooze button a total of 2 times (as opposed to the usual 10) but in the gym not soon after. After making the elliptical trainer my bitch, I ran back to The Shoebox, took a shower, was running ahead of schedule...all was good. Prepared my super nutritious, high-on-fiber-low-on-taste lunch (which involved chopping and cutting and genuine preparation as opposed to the usual tossing of a frozen entree into my bag). Hell! I even COUNTED out an exact serving size of 16 fat-free crackers into a zip-lock baggie. All sounds a promising start to the day, no? Well....wait for it.

So, I feed the cats, leave the Shoebox, walk down the stairs and leave my building with Natasha Beddingfield's 'Freckles' streaming through my ipod. The snow's falling, air is crisp and I think "this is going to be a great day" as I walk to the bus stop. So I'm standing there in the cold, waiting for the bus for about 10 minutes and all of a sudden it hits me: I left my fabulously and meticulously prepared lunch on the kitchen table!!!! Oy!

By this time, the bus is already running late so I think there's no WAY I have time to run back and get it. I'm disappointed that I won't have my calorie perfect lunch, but I shake it off. And then I just started shaking in general - because I was FREEZING! It took 30 minutes - 30 MINUTES before not one but THREE BUSSES pulled up caravan style to the corner. The inefficiency of the Washington Metro System never ceases to astound me.

So I get on the bus, sit down in an empty row and attempt to de-thaw my frozen limbs. No sooner do I settle in (10 minute lateness to work now an inevitability) then someone tries to sit down beside me.
NOTE TO ALLLLL MASS TRANSIT TRAVELERS: If your ass is large enough to blanket THREE Seats, DO NOT ATTEMPT to squeeze into a seat next to someone else!!!!

Arrived at work - where I promptly spilled coffee on my freshly dry cleaned and pressed suit and if ONE MORE PERSON tells me "You look tired". I am going to SCREAM!

Do I have dark circles? I don't think so - but I may have to nip over to Sephora for some heavy duty treatment of some kind because this is driving me nuts. I got a good night sleep last night, have been working out, eating right, drinking more water than I ever thought was humanly possible and I look  TIRED?? 

I started out with good intentions but DAMN. Frankly I'm just glad this day is almost over!


Frankly, 

Confessions and Lessons and Really Big Messes

Confession:

I’m in love with my boss. Have I mentioned that? I am 100% crazy in love with my boss! And not the “I think he’s a great leader, role model type love”. No, the I want to do naughty naughty things to him type. Ya. Its bad. Before you ask the obvious – “No” he’s not married, nor has he ever been married. “Yes” he is single. He is 33 or 35 somewhere in there and…AMAZING…sigh. 

However, he will only technically be my boss for about 8 more days because he’s a political and will be ousted come January 20^th along with half the Washington, DC workforce. 

However, I haven’t quite worked out how to get from the “brilliant and attractive employee” to “brilliant and attractive girlfriend – or if not girlfriend, at least Saturday night fun date!” Someone suggested that on our ritualistic morning stroll for coffee I casually slip into the conversation that I’d like to marry him and have lots of sex and babies.

Anyone have any other bright ideas how to bridge this gap?

And before you go there - yes, I realize that I am the personification of Katherine Heigl circa 27 dresses sans hyper organization (she was even a bit of a redhead in that movie!). My brother was kind enough to bring this to my attention. Note he referenced Katherine Heigl - NOT Bridget Jones. All the disfunctionality...none of the cellulite! 

***************
In other news.....

I learned this week – a blender does not equal a mini food processor. 

While this may not be news to some...who are more profecient in the kitchen than moi....It was a bit of a failed culinary experiment. 

I got a little too ambitious with a spinach cream sauce I was going to make in order to brighten up the whole wheat penne I was planning to have for dinner. I thought, well….recipe calls for the 6 oz of baby spinach, garlic, grated parm and goat cheese to be “food processed”. So, in all my redheaded brilliance, I (who do not own a food processor) thought:

“A food processor…has blades that spin. I don’t own a food processor. Unfortunate. BUT I DO have a blender! Blenders have blades that spin…therefore…blender = tiny food processor!"

Um…not so much. Lesson learned - not all kitchen appliances are created equal. So now we know...and frankly, knowing is half the battle.

Rebuilt

"We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year's Day.”

~ Edith Lovejoy Pierce

 

2008 made an unceremonious exit from my apartment. No fanfare, no Champagne and certainly no tears to heralded its departure. Much like the 2008 Michigan football team, for me, 2008 was a “rebuilding year”. For that is what one must do when one is seemingly left with nothing. However, when one has nowhere to go but up, it is amazing how far one can climb. 

Frankly,





 




P.S. As you may have guessed, I made it home for Christmas and a safe, if slightly delayed return to DC.

“For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice.”

~ T.S. Eliot

Trade Offs

Its AMAZING how much time one finds on one’s hands when one is NOT getting laid. The inverse correlation of battery purchases to lack of sex is ALSO astounding (energizer keeps going and going my ass!)

And so here’s what I’ve been up to to keep busy:

FOOD

Now lest you get an unpleasant image of Scarlett’s ass spreading out of control, let me assuage your fears. The food I’m referring to, is the food I’ve been COOKING. #7 on the list of phrases you’d never thought you’d see me write! (Sandwiched between “Don’t pop the cork on that bottle Veuve” and “Stylist, please make me a brunette!”)

So ya, Rachael Ray is my hero and Food Network is my new best friend (don't judge). Some of the especially tasty things I’ve made recently include: Pumpkin Penne Pasta, Gorgonzola filled meatballs in a red cream gravy and chicken marcella. On the sweet side, homemade caramel corn, white chocolate peppermint candy, beautifully decorated sugar cookies, kaluah chocolate cookies and candy cane cookies. 

Ta Da!! Impressed? I sure as hell am! 

ART
One of the many reasons the I have taken a posting hiatus – I reacquainted myself with an old friend – the stage. Yep! Cheesy though it may sound, in the middle of September, I tried out for a play! And amazingly enough, I got cast! And so for September and October, after working all day, I would come home long enough to feed my cat, put on a pair of jeans and run to the theatre where I would work for another four hours. In November, we gave 12 performances, Thursday – Sunday. Suffice it to say….I was a tired girl. But a tired girl who got a rave review in the Post!

Exhausting as it was, I have seriously not felt so good about myself or my life in a VERY long time!

WORK
Professionally speaking, I’m absolutely shining. I’m being recognized for my talent and ability by some of the most impressive and powerful people in Washington, if not the world. I’m truly living my Washington dream – and its everything I hoped it would be.

TRAVEL
In the past few months I’ve spent a significant amount of time in New York, Dallas, Chicago and my absolute FAVORITE: CALIFORNIA!! I never imagined that I would fall in love with the west coast – lord was I wrong!

Driving along the PCH with the top down on my rented convertible glistening in a color that can only be described as “fuck me red.” The mountains on my left, the ocean on my right. Then sitting, curled up in the sand on a beach in Orange County, watching the sun set over the Pacific…le sigh. 

Truly amazing.

LOVE
A very uninteresting topic for me these days – needlessly complicated – as my romantic endeavors usually are.  I’ll expound eventually.

There you have it. All in all…I think it was all worth the no sex trade off. 

Frankly a girl can’t live on ocean air, amazing home cooked meals, artistic fulfillment and copious amounts of self esteem alone. 

Then again……