The best/worst Breakup

First of all, my dear apologies.  My lack of posting anything new is a little embarrassing for me.  But in my defense, its been a long couple of months…  Huh, maybe I’ll tell all you guys and gals about it.

I think I will.

 

It all began with one word.  Just one, simple noun that flowed out of my mouth.  To me, this word was nonchalant in nature, but at the same time did not lack sincerity and truth.  To my boyfriend at the time, this word I spoke signified something completely different; something scary, unsettling, and means for panic.

“Forever.”

“I want to be with you forever.”

Little did I know, the beginning of the end had just broken ground.  About five weeks later, it was over. 

Its amazing how people interpret words so differently depending on our past experiences, or future aspirations.  Based on what has happened in my past, wanting (and knowing) that I want to be with someone forever is a huge means of comfort, security, and another step in the stair-cased pattern of a relationship.  Also, growing up in an atmosphere where many of my relationships with people were conditional based on your own personal beliefs and outward behavior, being with a man that never judged and, for lack of a better term, “just got me,” was one of the most liberating and loving relationships of my life.  So, finally getting to the point were I knew that I truly wanted to be with him for as long as possible meant that I could give him and I no better compliment that to say it out loud. 

However, this could not be further from the truth…

There were many things that I left out of the equation.  “Forever” does not always = Chase’s expected outcome.  Chase does not = Peter.  Now, before I continue, I want to make it clear that I do not regret sharing my feelings for this beautiful man.  Honesty, openness, and vulnerability are three traits which I live by, and which I believe foster true unconditional love for one another.  But if you truly love someone, you must also recognise the needs of the other.  I did not take into account that his past experiences where completely different, as was his future aspirations.  Unlike myself, he had already been in long term relationships, were untangling the lives of two was nothing short of heartbreaking.  Unlike myself, he grew up in an abusive and alcoholic home, which he still must deal with on a daily basis.  And the views of a successful relationship for the future was also different in his eyes. 

Its now been six weeks since I have seen him.  It was the best breakup I have ever had because we did it in love, and still love each other to this day.  It was also the worst breakup I have ever had because of the same reasons.  However, its allowed me to forcefully grow.  I say “forcefully” because there is no way in hell six weeks ago I would have made myself go through this if I had my way.  But the implications of the past weeks have taught me a lot about unconditional love.  Unconditional love does not always get its way.  Do I want to be happy?  Of course I do.  But when I say that I unconditionally love Peter, I am saying that I am placing his happiness on par with my own.  I am saying that understanding what he needs and essentially is, is inconsequential.  I just love him.  And sometimes not being in someones life in a certain way or role is the best way you can show someone else your love for them.  Taking that back seat can be painful, but remember what that pain really is: your own selfish desires.  Trying to convince someone else that it would be better if things worked out between both of you is not love.  Love does not need your help or your logical arguments.  And if you truly love someone else, than nothing but wonderful things can happen between the two of you in the future.  Regardless of whether the two of you ever are together again, you will always know that you are there for one another, you can be honest with one another, you can share each others pain, you can just…..love.

Has it been hard?  Its been one of the hardest things I have ever been through.  But I see it now as getting rid of more of my selfish traits, and taking another step toward truly loving others.  And that my friends, is a good thing.

 

Love,

CAH

So why all this blog hoopla?

I have spent the better part of a year trying to convince myself not to have a blog.  I find them cliche.  And why?  Why do I need to blog when I have Facebook, MySpace, multiple emails, and a plethora of networks in which I could just “put it out there?”  And who really cares?  Who gives a rat’s ass about my life, thoughts, opinions, cares, sorrows, and passions?

Well, after some consideration, I have been able to answer all the above questions previously prohibiting me.

Number one;  I can be a snobby pompous asshole:

To say anything is cliche just means that you think you are better than something or someone else.  You somehow think you can “up” the current standard or stereotype by creating something better.  Well, I have yet to come out with “Blog: Version Chase 1.0,” so I am gonna go ahead and get off my high horse about blogs and just blog my pompous ass off; and that’s a lot of ass.

Number 2;  Facebook, MySpace, and all the others are not blogs.

They are social networking thingies.  Yes, some have blogs.  But seriously, there is no way in hell that I could write an excerpt about anything without getting constantly distracted with pokes, profile updates, and top friend picks.  And don’t you all worry, I will contribute a whole post to that monster later on.

Number3;  If you have passion and care, others do too.

I have found that many things that I truly care about in life have been the direct result of other people’s passions.  Its been people’s passion to share their experiences and opinions; to share things with me that I have never before considered.  And how could you not share such wonderful acknowledgements about yourself and the world around you with others? 

 

 

Finally, the last and most important reason for this blog;  it is the greatest lesson I have learned in an entire year.  I find that the most simple lessons are the most profound, and this is no exception:

Do not argue.  Do not debate.  Do not fight.  Only consider.  For that is how we grow.

Love,

CAH

Sunday Fundays = Shitty Mondays

Ok I’ll go ahead and just say it…I love Sunday Fundays, and I am not the only one.  I find that most socially mobile twenty-thirty somethings use our blessed day to stretch the weekend out for as long as they can before their ass is dragged back to the mundane hole of the inner week.  It is such a beautiful day…filled with mimosas, oversized sunglasses, day old makeup, and more queens than you can throw a Fendi tote at.  Of course any day were it is socially acceptable to drink before noon is a good day all by itself.  However, I have started to become wary of the Sunday Funday.  Was the concept invented for our pleasure, or our demise?  And by the way, who the hell came up with the idea of Sunday Fundays?  I find that if we as a society are going to declare a particular day filled with alcoholic brunches that turn into late-night
clubbing, we should at least have the common decency to give ourselves a day to recover before Monday hits us in the face.  I, for one, am tired of coming into work on Monday dehydrated with blotched out skin and sore legs from dancing the night before.  Are we just that desperate that we must grab on to the weekend with such brazen force that we do not let go until Monday morning?  Well I have news for you, trying to hold onto the weekend is like holding on to your own totter…the harder you hold it, the less pleasure it gives and more pain it causes.  Let it go, Friday night will be here the same time it has always been, waiting for you with open arms…one holding a martini, the other a beer.  So, go buy that new outfit for this weekend, confirm the evite to that party, and go ahead and get a head start on your water intake, because you own this weekend.  Just always remember this… “Save a Monday, kill a Sunday Funday.”

Open Your Eyes to the Wizard of Oz

Well, it was all farts and giggles for me a few nights ago.  For one, I had absolutely nothing to do, which is always a mental “fondle your crotch” moment.  And to top it all off, the Wizard of Oz was coming on television.  How awesome is that?!  So, a quick visit to the store for some sauvignon blanc and a refreshing salt-scrub bath later, I was set in front of my TV prepared to jump into the wonderful land of little people with impeded vocal cords and flying monkeys who all apparently had bad hair days.  As I finished the show, I realized that it was just as fantastic as it had been when I was a little tot.  However, I noticed some things about the movie that really did not make sense.  I felt the need to share these with you all.

Ah, Glenda, the good witch.  I love it when she glides in on her pretty pink bubble.  I also love it when everybody in the movie points at it as if they have never seen their pepto-princess conduct her reappearing act…but whatever.  As you watch the movie, it is painfully apparent that she is the heroin that will watch over Dorothy and crew as they make their way to the Emerald City.  I guess you could call her their “go-to” girl.  And that is all good and well.  However, has anyone ever given thought to why the hell she made all of them go on that agonizing little hike?  Think about it.  At the end of the movie, when all hope is lost that Dorothy will ever get home, Glenda appears in her glazed-over scum bubble to inform her that all she must do is click her heals together to get home.  I swear, if that was me, I would have slapped that bitch so hard her glued-on glitter would have flown right off.  Where the hell does she get off making that poor child trek through haunted forests and drug induced meadows (in heals no less) just to see her Aunty Em?  I am so sick of narcissistic premodonas making people go through shit just to teach them a lesson.  Just send the poor girl home.

What a scary creature the Wicked Witch of the West is.  Green skin, over-draped clothing, and nails in grave need of a manicure at a Saks salon…not to mention her evil laugh makes my penis shrink to the size of a kosher sausage.  You immediately want to hate her for wanting to harm our poor Dorothy.  But upon closer inspection, she really is not the worst character in the film.  Think about it.  Some naïve pig-tailed overgrown waif just comes along and drops a house on her sister.  She drops a house on her sister….    I don’t know about you, but I would be pissed as hell if someone dropped a house on my little sister.  And on top of that, Dorothy steals this gorgeous pair of ruby heals, which are no doubt a family heirloom.  Who does this midtown redneck think she is?  Toward the end of the movie I was just praying that the hourglass would empty out before Dorothy was saved so she would get was comin to her.  But of course, Liza’s mother wins in the end.

I hope we all learned something from this.  All the Witch of the West really needed was a good exfoliant and a trip to Barney’s and she would have been in ship-shape.  Dorothy should have kept her ass at home instead of chasing after her rabie-induced dog.  And Glenda just needs a check-up from the neck-up and a few days to untwist the wand she has tangled in her fairy panties.  The Wizard of Oz, a good movie…but take it with a grain of salt.

Love,

CAH