The REBOOT

 Well....

Hello there, my old drinking buddies. Er, not old. But not exactly young either.  I like to call myself young-ish and in the same breath know that I have to acknowledge that I am old-ish. Like, "I'm not young, but I'm not old either. I'm young-ish and old-ish." It's a mouthful, but accurate.

So, it finally happened. After, 18 months of teaching virtually at home in my English basement seeing no one but my parents. After popping Zinc and Magnesium and Vitamin D and Vitamin C like they were skittles. After returning to hybrid learning and then in-person learning and then back to hybrid then in-person, well - you get it. After eating outside at a restaurant for the first time, after going to my first outdoor concert, after my book group returned to in-person ladies that drink bottles of wine. After 11, yes 11 first dates (10 from online dating apps, and 1 from a guy I met organically at a friend's party), it finally happened. I. got. COVID. Ugh.

And now, here I am. Yours truly, Hot Toddy. Sitting in my English basement. Seeing no one, not even my parents. And I'm in quarantine for Christmas. I hadn't even gotten a tree yet. I hadn't even put up a single decoration. I haven't mailed any gifts or baked any Christmas cookies. I'm just stuck here alone, at what used to me my favorite time of year, feeling sorry for myself.

Now, my mother, the gracious, supporting, loving angel that she is, when I told her that I felt sorry for myself said "Well, I feel sorry for myself too." "Really, Mom? Really? I'm fighting off an infectious disease that has invaded my body and I'm coughing so hard that sometimes I pee myself a little but um, what do you have to feel sorry about hmm?" "Well, so many people were worried about Omicron that I had to cancel my office holiday party. I was so looking forward to it." Mmmm-kay. mkay. (Maybe it's not such a bad thing that I'm spending Christmas alone after all). At any rate, this, was not helpful.

So, I called up my friend Alice. I've always been able to rely on Alice. To buoy me. To believe in me. When others - (such as ahem, mothers) - could not. 

"What should I doooooooooo?" I asked, in the most annoying, pathetic, I've given up, because I'm banned to a basement for the holidays whiny voice.

Without skipping a beat, Alice said: "You should watch all of Sex and the City." 

"What?" "

Yes, you should watch ALL of Sex and the City. Then you can watch the reboot."

BINGO.

"Yes. Yeeeeeeeees. This is the first good advice that I have gotten.

But -- I kinda recall the very first episode being about how all single women over 35 should just give up on men and shrivel up and die. Right? Which didn't bother me when it came out on June 6, 1998, when I was 15 years old! But now that I'm 38 years old, it's a bit of a tougher pill to swallow."

"I mean, yes I noticed that. But, the rest of the entire show is about proving that wrong. They swan around being fabulous."

"Yeah, I guess that's true. Besides, I need some inspiration for 2022. Newly divorced. Online dating (*shudder*). So, I'll give it a shot. To dating in a post-pandemic world in my late 30's. To online dating even! (*shudder* *shudder*). To best friends who still love you know matter who you date or what diseases you catch. Because isn't that what it's really all about?

So, let's do this dear readers, dear drinking buddies:

IT'S TIME FOR my REBOOT.

Is it also time for yours?...

Love and Bourbon,

                 Hot Toddy <3

It Could Happen

(Text messages):

Me: Did Jack ever call you back yesterday or today?

Alice: Ummm nope. Kind of pissed. Also confused. But I guess I don't want to be with someone like that anyway.

Me: Oh man. I'm sorry. That sucks and def is confusing.

Alice:  Yeah, he was coming on so strong. 

Alice: I don't understand what the point of that was.

Alice: I'm telling you.  The universe just wants me to be single forever.

Me: No it doesn't.  You've met two guys lately that didn't work out.  It's a numbers game.

Alice:  For some the numbers game takes waaay more numbers than others.

Me: Stuff takes time.

Alice:  I have tons of friends here.  The love situation is a whole different story. It's so hard for me to find it.

Me: Loves overrated. Live your life.  Have fun.  Love will find you.

Alice:  Not sure why, maybe there's something wrong with me that people aren't telling me!!!

Alice:  I am living my life and having fun.

Me:  Trust me.  Love will find you then you'll be sitting on the couch while Love eats his breakfast.  He'll be chowing down his food like an animal that hasn't eaten in 3 days .  Then he'll drop a huge bit of egg onto the couch.  He'll look around for it not that hard.  Not find it. Shrug his shoulders. Keep on eating and forget about it.  This is what Love did to me this morning.

Alice:  Hahahhaah. That doesn't sound so bad.

Me: Not so bad?? Are you kidding? He left a quarter size chunk of egg.  He dropped it somewhere.  Shrugged his shoulders and left it.  Ahhhhhhhhhh. Argh. It's so infuriating!

Alice:  Haaahahah gross. Annoying, maybe.  But a trade off.

Me:  Well you may think it's funny now, but you won't when you come over to our apartment in two months and it smells and you'll know it's because we leave perishable food in our couch and just leave it there.

Alice: Fine.  But that is still better than me being the creepy cougar at your and MT's house every Thanksgiving.

Me: You won't be a cougar.

Alice:  Hahha we'll see.  I would make a super hot cougar tough. I mean, I better be.  I'll have been doing Crossfit for 10 years by then.

Me: Look, you have to think about Missy.  She's older than you.  She's 31.  Can you imagine that gorgeous, kind girl being alone forever?  Because, I can't.  It's impossible.

Alice:  No, she won't be. 

Me: Well, that's how we see you.  You just have to see that for yourself.

Alice: Aw thanks!! I mean, I know my friends love me, so someone else should.

Me:  Listen, maybe the universe knows you are meant to be with like the hottest Jewish Australian Crossfit Coach ever.  So it is thwarting you now so that when you go to get certified or volunteer to referee a competition you'll meet him then. 

Alice:  Yes! that sounds awesome! That would be worth waiting for.

Me:  His name is Cort, mate.  And you'll be like, Jack who?  And he'll be like come over to my house tomorrow.  I'll throw another shrimp on the barby. And you'll be like thanks.  And he'll be like no worries.

Alice:  Hahah. yess!!! I do want a hot crossfit guy.  Or at least someone who cares about getting and staying in shape.

Me: And Aaron will be there.  But he'll fail his Level 1 certification exam because his stomach will make him unbalanced on handstand pushups.

Alice:  Hahahah. That's amazing.  But really his stomach seems to be almost gone.  Thanks to his like 2 days of paleo.  the jerk.

Me.  Yeah, it does.  But he'll fall off the wagon.  Because he realized he blew it with you and he goes into a deep depression.  Eating cupcakes and pasta and white potatoes...oh my!

Alice:  That's true.  He will.  Man I hope he realizes that. I would have been awesome for that kid.

Me:  Yes, but instead you're awesome for Cort and you open a box together. On the beach.  Called Crossfit Sunset.

Me: It could happen.

Alice:  I am in for that! It certainly could.  Anything is possible.

Me: See??? The universe knows best.  Have a little faith.

Alice: I'll try.

Some People Just Suck

Yesterday a woman spilled her hot coffee all over my arm when the train lurched forward on the Dupont metro platform.

"Geez, I'm sorry," she said fervently.

As I rolled up the sleeve of my now soaking wet work dress I said: "I appreciate that, but it wouldn't have happened if you didn't have your coffee on the metro. You know, you're not supposed to have coffee on the metro?"

She scrunched up her face at me and sourly retorted back: "It's tea. Not coffee."

"What?" I said incredulously.

"It's tea not coffee," she replied again, this time with smug conviction.

"Tea. Coffee. Okay-you're not supposed to have hot liquid or any liquid on the Metro."

"Whatever," she mumbled as she took a sip of her "tea" (glad we clarified that) and turned away from me disinterested.

Um, yeah....sometimes people just suck. My arm was wet all morning. My soul might be angry forever.

Rich Bitches

Why are women such bitches? And why does it seem that the richer women get- the bitchier? I mean, I could be completely wrong here and stereotyping. Maybe you are reading this and you've won the lottery or had family money or earned a shit ton through hard work and zeal and still you give money to charity and have fat friends and truly believe the best things in life are free. But for the most part- I'm not buying it. So here's what happened.... 

I'm vacationing on the West Coast with the bf. He's at a conference that work is paying for and therefore I get to stay at an amazing spa resort hotel that I couldn't afford otherwise. No complaints here. I have a view of the ocean from my room, a whole island to bum around on and all day to enjoy its treasures.  

I went down to the fitness center to take a Pilates class. As I waited in the aerobics room, they suddenly all appeared. You know- "them", "they"...those kind of women-"rich bitches." They were all in their mid-40s. But I don't mean normal people mid-western soccer mom 40s. I mean- Demi Moore, Jennifer Aniston 40s. About 8 of them. And they all seemed to know each other. All size 2 and blonde. Except for one who was brunette. But she was the hottest so I guess she got a pass to keep her hair color. Designer work out clothes, designer flip flops. Enormous rocks on their left hands. Gigantormous. All a little giggly. A little eyeing speculatively at me. How dare I invade their in-crowd with my Fila leggings and fat ass? 

They all talked throughout the workout. Whined when it got too hard. One woman left in the middle for her spa treatments. Another asked if it was time for a cocktail yet. Their hair was all down! And perfect! As was their make-up! Every one of these women were a bagillion times hotter than I have been or will ever be but they could barely do the work out. I was the only one who kept up with the instructor. And yet- I came to the end soaked in sweat, hair like a hornet's nest, makeup melted into ugly raccoon eyes. And they- we're unaltered. How do women do that? Is it magic? Are they modern day witches? It never ceases to amaze me. 

After we finished, I looked around for a bottle of sanitizer spray to wipe down my mat. I didn't see one. I always wipe it down at yoga and encouraged the bf to do so as well when borrowing mats from studios. But I didn't see anything. I didn't think it was all that far fetched that at a fancy place like this the staff wiped the mats down themselves after every class especially when attendance is small, classes are few and far between and the clientele elite. All the women were sitting around talking and something about being in their presence made me severely uncomfortable and antsy to leave. So I rolled up my mat, put it back in its cubby and left. 

That's when I heard them. "She didn't wipe her mat." "Eww that's so gross." "Well she was gross..did you see her...". By then I was out of ear shot. I wonder what specifically about me they found the grossest? Then I heard of barrel of laughter find its way up the exit stairwell. Reminding me of their presence. And power. And making me even more self-conscious. 

Why are rich women bitches? Why did they have to comment in me at all? Why couldn't the women who noticed have kept her mouth shut? Why did she need to share? To belittle me? And if it was so important to her that I wipe my mat why didn't she see that I had not and say: "Hey-did you need a wipe for your mat it's right here?" We're they mean because they were rich? Or hot? Or both? In theory you could assume that people like that-rich and hot-would be nice. They're the lucky ones. By the grace of god and genetics and who knows what else they've hit the jackpot. A life of being treated better by others (because studies show people are nicer to good looking people) and a life of ease and comfort and experiencing luxury. Trips, treatments, food, wine, couture. The list is endless. 

So why be mean to the poor, single girl with sweaty brown hair and big thighs? But it's always the way isn't it? Is it because they're rich or beautiful or both? In their 40s while I still have my youth? Because they're unhappy? Maybe they married rich 40&50 year old husbands when they were
 in their 20s and are now attached to wrinkly balls that work too much to show them attention so they take comfort in their tan legs and expensive jewelry? I don't have the answer. 

What's most concerning is that I cared. Really and truly cared. Looked myself in the mirror throughout the class finding myself wanting. Leaving the class feeling even more so and hoping I didn't run into them again. Cancelling a yoga class for tomorrow to avoid a repeat dose of humiliation. Guys don't treat one another like that. Complete cruelty and judgment. For cruelty and judgment's sake. To feed their own insecurities. Or at least not as much. Not to the same extent. And they don't care as much. Forgot to wipe down a yoga mat? Sorry-next time. He doesn't like me? Oh well I've got other friends. My mother likes me. I like me. Moving on...what were we talking about? I don't know why women are bitches. Or why it hurts so much. I only know that they are. And it does.

Falling Down

Yesterday, during a run, I fell down.  It was especially unfortunate that I took a tumble, since before that point, my outing had been one of the most successful I'd ever had.  The fact is - I'm not a very good runner.  It's not for lack of training, or lack of trying.  I'm just slow.  I always have been.  No amount of long-distance treks or track work has seemed to change that fact.  In twenty years.  Maybe it's because I have hips. Or boobs.  Or my right foot is slightly pigeon toed.  Maybe, despite the fact that I've been taught proper pose form versus heel striking, I still haven't mastered the technique that would excel me to greater distances and faster times. But still, I run. Slowly, but surely, from here to there. And some days, are better than others.

This was one of those days.  I started out up a decent sized hill, knowing that the majority of the rest of the journey would be down hill.  That if I could start out strong, I could finish with ease.  And there's nothing better than the first few runs of the Fall weather., am I right? Cool and crisp and clean and full of possibility.  It was just starting to get dark.  People moved about around me like shadows.  Home from work.  Out with their dogs.  Carrying their groceries.

I made it up the hill with little trouble.  And began to pick up speed as I turned the corner onto flatter, slightly sloping downward concrete.  I went faster and faster. My pony tail bobbing in the wind.  "I'm getting better," I thought.  "I can do this," I rejoiced.  I felt free.

I ran down three more blocks and then rounded a second corner onto a steep down hill stretch.  I might even have laughed out loud.  This was a great run.  A really truly great run.  When your legs fly beneath you without effort.  Like they aren't even attached to the rest of your body. But then it happened. I tripped on the elevated sidewalk and went flying in the air, somersaulting into the grass, and landing with a crash against the tire of a parked car. Thump.

A guy who must have been running behind me stopped to see if I was alright. "Are you okay?" he asked alarmed and concerned.  "Just go," I snapped, almost with contempt.  "I'm fine. I'm fine. Keep going."  And then instantly, in addition to feeling hurt and embarassed, I also felt like a shit head.  I'd been unnecessarily mean and short with a stranger who simply stopped to assist me.  To show some common human decency to a fellow person that may be in need. "I'm such an asshole," I thought to myself as I shook my head in disgust.

But - was I okay? Yes.  Skinned shin.  Skinned and barely bleeding forearm.  But I was fine.  It could have been much much worse.  Landing on my face or neck.  Or rolling my ankle or landing on my arm.  But no, I was fine. For some reason, I started to whimper anyway, then stopped myself.  "No crying, you're fine." I got back up on my feet and continued to run.  This time slowly, carefully, tentatively.  I was fine.  But really - I wasn't.

When I got back home, I walked into the apartment and straight into the bedroom.  "I'm just going to lie down for awhile by myself for a bit," I called to my boyfriend.  "Of course, honey," he said understanding.  (He's always understanding like that. It's almost annoying - since I never seem to understand anything.) I lay down on the bed on top of the covers, stuffing my face into the deep comforter and began to sob.  I cried and cried and cried.  And tried to comprehend why.  I mean - I just fell down. But I was fine. Truly. Why did I feel so awful? Because I suck at running? Because I've always been slow? Because I've always been clumsy and stubbing my toe or tripping on a run is pretty much par for the course? Because it's just scary to lose control?

My boyfriend called to me from another room: "Babes - do you know where the cell phone charger is?" "Didn't I say I needed to lie down alone for a bit?" "Yeah, but where's the charger?" (Sometimes its really hard to live with someone.  Time alone, is never time alone.  Especially when you really need it.) Something made me want to call my mother.  What is it about feeling vulnerable or sad or hurt and needing your mother?  I texted her.  "I just fell down on a run.  I'm fine but it sucks you know? How are you?" Was it not the greatest thing as a child to fall down and get a scratch or owie or booboo and have your mother kiss it all better? That is such a hallmark image of parenthood.  Comforting the shaken child.  Wouldn't it be great as an adult to be allowed to fall down and have someone always there to make things right again? And a peck on the knee actually made it all better?

Now, I'm not saying I couldn't have called my boyfriend into the room and told him what happened and he wouldn't have been there for me.  Told me he was sorry it happened. Offered to get me some water or tried to cheer me up.  But I just wanted to sulk you know? Feel sorry for myself. Be a baby. I did pick my self up off the ground.  I did finish my run and get myself home. I did wash the dirt off. Isn't that how the saying goes: "I get knocked down, but I get up again." Or how bout "brush your shoulders off?" But sometimes its hard to be an adult.  Get up every day. And go to work.  And feed yourself.  And pay your bills. And take care of others. And go to the dentist.  And the doctor.  And grocery shop. And find parking.  And be a good person. And fall down.  And mess up.  And fail.  And then have to pick yourself up again. And again.  And again.

I want to end this on a more positive note.  Something uplifting, but not cliche.  A silver lining in the cloud.  But nothing springs to mind.  I think I just want to honor the fact that we all try really hard.  And we don't always succeed.  And yet we keep on forging ahead. And its okay to fall down.  And feel really shitty about it.  Because it sucks.  Falling down sucks.

Now...brush your shoulder off...

-T

It Happens

I stand in the hallway. The kitchen light illuminating the darkness of the quiet, empty apartment. In a blue negligee. Its too big for me. Not too big for my breasts but what else is new. It displays them perfectly, but the rest hangs off me. Over my waist as if it didnt exist, or my hips, I never imagined them obselete. And are there legs beneath? You couldn't know. We were in the pouring rain earlier. We went for chocolate milk. Low-fat of course after our 5:30 Crossfit workout. Then we got groceries. Sweet potatoes. Asparagus. Salmon. Blackberries. Eggs. The streets were flooded. I tried to cross the street, but my sneakers were soaked. The wind was strong enough to blow my umbrella inside out. We watched an episode of Good Wife while we ate. He closed his eyes half way through. Sometimes he gets tired early on a Friday night and goes to bed. Sometimes he's a very old soul in a young man's body. Tall and lean and muscled. It used to bother me. It is still in our apartment. Except for a car alarm several blocks away. And the party going on two floors up. But in our home, it is peaceful. I think: my happiness has come. He's in the next room, sleeping. Breathing heavy. Already taking up my side with his never ending length and legs and limbs. The man whose hair spikes when out of the shower. Whose glasses are bent. Who tells me he loves me more than three fuckin tons. Every date was worth it. Every awkward first date. Bowling date. Drink date. Blind date. Fourth date. Dinner date. Group date. Regretful hookups. We just found each other. One day. Like any other. And the onset wasn't always simple. Or easy. Or sure. But now, loving him is so much- almost too much to bear. Being loved by him is like a gift I don't deserve. But I am grateful for it. I don't doubt we'll have our challenges. But here, alone, in the silent darkness, I know, my happiness has finally, finally, come.

The Express Lane To Romance

If you are a committed commuter like me, you just might ride the metro and/or the bus into work 5 times a day in and 5 times a day out. And then you might also have occasion to read the free edition of the Express paper during your ride. Today, I did, and it got me thinking - about HOW TO FIND ROMANCE!

Today's edition, was an especially full and interesting one, (If you have the chance go grab it at http://www.expressnightout.com/), and ran an article entitled "Occupiers Find Romance in Protest." It reports that: "a combustible combination of youthful energy, enthusiasm for shared ideals and tight living quarters has given rise to something else: romance. More than a dozen couples have merged after three months of outdoor living, including one pair who got engaged over the holidays."

It got me thinking....About-someone who commented on my last post, where I shamelessly gushed about happiness with my livin' in sin partner in crime boyfriend. This reader wrote: "You have what we all long for...cherish it." And it made me deeply sad to read those words. I remember longing for someone. Sometimes more than other times. And I know some people who want it so badly they can taste it. I wish everyone out there could find someone. And find someone now. And find that someone for ever.

And it seems like all my single friends are trying. Really trying. Online dating. And off-line dating. Meeting people at the gym. And people at bars. Hooking up and hanging out. Getting hearts bruised and broken and having to start all over again. They want it so bad - they get downtrodden and defeated. They feel lonely. They feel hopeless. A birthday party out in AdMo has lost its luster. One group of girlfriends singles out a member because every where they go she's always "looking" for a guy and not just being in the moment. Not just being around people that make her feel good about herself and just having fun for a change.

I've given a friend this advice time and time again and I think its obvious. And you've probably heard it before. And I know it sometimes hurts coming from someone who has already got a guy. "Easy for you to say," she says to me. But its absolutely true. And the occupier romances show us its true.

1. ENERGY

2. ENTHUSIASM

3. SHARED IDEALS

4. TIGHT LIVING QUARTERS

1. Live your life. Go out there and do the things you like doing. That you are passionate about. That you enjoy. That you find fun, educational, stimulating, worthwhile.

2. Be positive. Learn to like yourself and even love yourself. If you can't, it will be hard for someone else to. Besides, no one likes a debby downer. People want to be around people who are happy. People are more apt to like someone who is happy. So get happy. Single, and alone and mateless. Imagine, if you have to live the rest of your life alone - are you going to throw your life in the trash? and live through it sad and sulky and depressed? or are you going to find a way to make it full and interesting and be content?

3. YOU WILL FIND SOMEONE. I PROMISE. PROBABLY SOMEONE WITH SIMILAR QUALITIES OR SIMILAR INTERESTS OR SIMILAR FRIENDSHIP OR WORK CIRCLES OR EVEN "SHARED IDEALS." I found my boyfriend playing kickball. The occupiers are finding companionship through passionate political protest. Maybe you like salsa dancing or volunteering at a pet shelter or retirement community. Whatever it is - if you are 1) being energetic and active in your life and 2) being enthusiastic and happy with yourself and others - then you WILL run into the members of the opposite sex that are potential matches for who you REALLY are.

4. MEN ARE EVERYWHERE. I know it doesn't seem like it much of the time since the male to female ratio is abysmal in DC but I promise - they are there. At the kickball games. And occupying Mcpherson's square. They're at a Cafe Citron happy hour, where, for example, a man name "Craig" met his now wife "Allison" back in 2008. (Again, see today's Express under the engagement/marriage announcement section).

I know this is starting to sound like a lame ass pep talk. But I've been giving a lot of rah rahs lately to a lot of single friends. Male and female alike. I don't know how long it is going to take. I don't. I wasn't single between the ages of 14-23. Then I was single for 4 LONG YEARS between the ages of 24-27. And I haven't been single at ages 27 or 28. It's a mystery maybe. But I remember being busy and happy and finding myself between 14-23 and I never had trouble meeting men. After a terrible break-up during law school at age 23 I never seemed to recover. The doom and gloom overshadowed my love life and I believe - drastically hurt my chance to find someone new again soon. When I finally decided to be happy alone at 27 and made conscious and active steps to be satisfied to be single - I found one man immediately thereafter and then another only days after the first relationship fell apart. I was going to parties. And being with friends. And being myself. I was in the places I live and enjoy doing the things I find fun, with the people I find to be decent and kind human beings. Is that a recipe for romantic success? Perhaps.

Good luck out there. Maybe there is no Express Lane or Express Way to Romance. All I know is, there seem to be a lot of lucky ladies (and gentlemen) listed in the Express today who found someone special. You are next. I feel it.

Cheers,

T