She'll tell you it's the only way to be

"You're a relationship person," a well-meaning friend told me a few months ago. "It's what you do."

In perhaps the ultimate example of cognitive dissonance, I disagreed. "No way. I'm always single. I was single ALL of high school- remember?"

In case you haven't realized it yet, I have an issue with remembering that I am no longer 20. After I rebutted my friend's theory, I quickly remembered that it's been five years since I graduated high school and I spent four of those years in relationships or exclusive flirtfests. Self-identification FAIL. I hate it when that happens.

I think I have a hard time remembering my dating history because once a relationship ends, I sink so easily back into my old single habits. Grateful for the guilt-free time with my friends and family, I relish every opportunity to see them. I spend full Saturdays with a cup of coffee and a book in my sunporch, leaving my cell phone upstairs because I won't need to be answering any emergency queries like "What's that one Wedding Crashers quote? From when they're in the kitchen?" Instead of wondering what our plans are for March, I enthusiastically respond "YES! I'm IN!" to reunion emails from old friends.

I guess I'm saying, that even in the most non-committal relationship, autonomy dissipates quietly as the months pass. This isn't a bad thing- compromise, trust, and even the reluctant acceptance of dealbreakers can take the place of your single freedom. All of these things, along with the intermittent mornings of waking up next to someone you care about, make relationships worth that sacrifice. However, if the love fades and the bed is increasingly empty, there is definite comfort in knowing that to be single is to give yourself allowance to indulge on whims, be unapologetically selfish, and generally spit in the face of adulthood. One lesser-known perk is that you can earnestly sing the second verse of Ruby Tuesday- with feeling!- in your car at 7:15 in the morning.

That isn't to say that I've been sitting at home like a nun, thwarting off all advances because I so enjoy being unattached. I'm tentatively re-entering the dating pool, one adorable stranger at a time. I guess, if I'm committed to using that tired analogy, then I'm actually sitting at the edge of the deep end, unsure if the water is warm enough to jump in. I'll stay here for awhile, I think, until I see a bright shiny quarter seven feet down. Then I'll knock some bitches out of the way as I dive in headfirst, goggles on the prize, arm outstretched as the bubbles rise from my nose to the surface.

Runnin On Empty

The jig is up- my life is in shambles. My beautiful yoga retreat in the north woods was wonderful, but it set me up for failure in the real world.

For one, I'm a bag lady. I leave my house when it's dark, carrying a purse that most would consider an overnight bag, enough food for 3 square meals, a bag of dance clothes, my work computer, and, this week, a bag full of art supplies for some kickass projective team-bonding exercises. At work, my brain is on the dancer who looked upset the day before. At dance, my mind is on the project at work that has been sitting in a secret pile under my desk for the last month. I've taken to brewing coffee around 3:30 because I'm so tired that it doesn't even keep me awake at night anymore (I'm BACK!)

Last week, after spending 3 weeks trying to get ahold of TMW, we finally scheduled a 9 PM phone date. I woke up at 4 AM, fully clothed, with a book on my face, and realized that I had fallen asleep even before our call was to take place. I rolled over onto my stomach, underwire digging into my ribcage, turned off the light with one swift motion, and passed back out face-first into my pillow. When I woke up 2 hours later to my alarm, I was certain that it had all been a dream - until I put my feet on the floor and saw that I was wearing jeans, a high ponytail, and my makeup rivaled Momsen on her way to a big performance:

On my way to a wedding this weekend, I grabbed a clutch on the sprint out the door. When looking through my huge purse for stuff to put in the clutch, I found:

• a back up server from work
• 4 DD batteries (?)
• phone charger
• a broken iPod Shuffle
• a 10K running schedule that I printed in July and never could locate afterwards
• 2 full Aquafina water bottles
• 4 different sets of keys (work, car, other car, other work) - none of them on same keychain

At a dinner with friends at Fuddrucker's last night, I took a dessert bar out of my bag and offered it up for sharing. Mid-chew, I informed them that a nice woman in the elevator had given it to me that day. Bob looked like he might vomit as he slowly swallowed his one bite. No, I didn't have the brainpower to discern that I had possibly fallen victim to the adult version of "Strangers With Candy". Yes, I finished it. It was delicious.

My "workout" alarm goes off every morning at 5:30, and I've actually just started laughing at it. Today, I mumbled "Good One" as I turned it off and rolled back over.

Mercifully, no one has staged an intervention yet. Don't worry- I have a plan. I'm grounding myself for all of Saturday. I plan on throwing out half of my closet, including but not limited to my impressive Hanes White Tee collection that I have been working on since freshman year of college. I am terrible at getting rid of stuff, but my plan is to get so caffeinated that I actually black out a little bit and just toss with reckless abandon. From there, I'm combining my four calendars (oh, and keychains) into one so that I don't lose my damn mind cross-referencing them in my head. If this doesn't work, I think I might have to get a stupid stupid smartphone. Nothing makes me angrier than knowing that I'll never return to my free 2003 Nokia, so that's definitely a last resort.

In sum? I'm not complaining. I just know I need to get myself in check, lest I have a nervous breakdown at work because I left a full bag of perishable groceries on the table again (totally hypothetical). At the end of the day, as my mind is racing with planning, pirouettes, and presentations, I am mostly thinking about how lucky I am to be have 2 jobs that allow me to showcase different interests and talents. One year ago, i was job-less (and slightly hopeless). What a difference a year makes when you finally land where you belong.

Old Enough to Repay, Young Enough to Sell

I ended up spending the first day of my 24th year in a place with more stars than sky, and and more canoes than empty beer bottles... quite of character for an indoor/party gal like me. At the last minute, J asked me to help her work a women's retreat at a camp near the Boundary Waters. While I was initially a bit hesitant (I have way more than enough female bonding during the work week), I am so happy that I took her up on her offer.

On Friday afternoon, I perched on a bench overlooking Burntside Lake, the crisp fall air turning my nose and ears a shade of pink makeup companies try to manufacture, but can never recreate with only a compact and a set of brushes. I sat with a cup of freshly brewed coffee and meant to open the amazing book I've been putting off for a week or two. Instead, I watched five kayakers ease across the lake in varying shades of fleece and winter headgear. The lake churned over itself, the waves growing until they eventually lap up onto the foundation of the cliff on which I was perched. Hikers across the lake marched triumphantly up the well-beaten paths etched into the rock by thousands of like-minded adventure enthusiasts before them. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace, which doesn't happen to nervous nellies like me very often.

Each day, Jenna and I rose for yoga as early as we would for work, eager to get to our mats where our instructor implored us to "awaken the sun with movement" and "breathe in the day's grace with each inhalation". I laughed, knowing that I am neither zen nor open-minded enough to fully participate in each activity. By the final day, I surprised myself by holding a position that I used to fall disastrously out of each time. Later that day we groaned in pain as we realized that our over-confidence had created a series of knots in muscles that hadn't been tested since the 4th grade gym class rope climb.

Realizing one afternoon that I had three hours to kill before the next meal in the dining hall, I excitedly put my running shoes on and hunted through J's bag for her MP3 player. I was not at all surprised to find exactly 2 songs programmed in, and I spent the next 40 minutes flying up and down the rocky path listening to a twangy Jennifer Nettles cover Matt Nathanson. On repeat. I had been hoping to get a fix of fall color on the jog, but the unseasonably warm September weather meant the leaves were stubbornly stuck on their August green. To entertain myself I imagined them being painted red orange and yellow as I bolted past. I am the autumnal paintbrush, I think as I wheeze down the path, except that I am covered in dust being kicked up from the road that has adhered itself to my sticky skin. When I reach a halfway point, I turn and run back, and see that the trees are perhaps even greener than they were before I tried to paint them with my wicked speed. It was worth a shot.

J the nature goddess tells me that her fellow camp counselors used to refuse to use flashlights on the trails at night, instead allowing their developed night vision and the light of the moon guide them. This seems like a romantic plan so I agree to it. We are so focused on staying on the path that we walk with our heads down, deep in conversation. By the grace of God, we look up to see a dark figure looming towards us and realize after a few confused seconds that it is a black bear (and not, as I posited, one of the larger women at the retreat). We clutch onto one another and stare it down, trying to discern the best protocol for a situation torn from someone else's book. Jenna finally says, "run" and so we do- bolting down the path without a hint of grace or self-consciousness. I refuse to look behind us, but have a vivid picture in my head of the bear bounding silently down the path until he reaches us the entire time. We flag down the car of our yoga instructor and dissolve into a fit of nervous giggles as we realize that we are alive in the back of a sedan and not in the hands of a hungry bear trying to gather the last of the summer berries before he curls down to wait out the winter. Once in the car, we creep down the road and see him meandering slowly down the trail and back into the woods where he quietly remains for the rest of the weekend. I wish I could say that we were able to scare off the mouse in our cabin in the same way, but he was a little more stubborn.

My birthday included a solid amount of nudity, as everyone's should. After some wine and a great concert by a talented Mpls artist, a group of us sat in a 200 degree wood-burning sauna placed right off the lake. I breathed in the overwhelmingly thick air for as long as I could muster and then, when my lungs feel like they might implode I leapt up and ran out, shouting "Coming Down!" to no one as I sprinted down the ramp and launched myself into the cool but inviting water. I stand in the bubble of warmth that I have created in the shallow lake, my upper body suddenly chilled as it becomes exposed to the dark sky. Women whoop and sing 80's classics loudly as they come down the ramp to join in on the fun.

On the drive home, our car is filled with both Taylor Swift sing-alongs and the sweet smell of our homemade peppermint soap drying in the backseat.

On Saturday, I broke unofficial camp protocol by reading all the text messages from well-wishing friends. One of my oldest and wisest friends wrote,"Welcome to 24. In my opinion, it's the best year yet."

If this is how it started, how could it not be?

I gotta be in love or sumthin like that

I received a flashdrive of music in the mail from an old friend this summer. It had nearly 25 albums on it, and I was extremely grateful that he had put the time and energy into giving me such a wonderful gift.

However, this overload of music also caught me off guard. I'm still only halfway through it because I'm not used to getting so much all at once. Having been born before the digital age, I remember when sharing music was a slow process and the 2nd gen audio-cassette copies you received weren't always the greatest representations of the music you had wanted.

Cue the Wayne's World flashback sound effects...

to the mid-90's, when I first started taking an interest in music. Back then, Amy Grant and Toni Braxton were all I wanted playing on my Fisher Price boombox.

Until, of course, TLC's CrazySexyCool came out. My older brother somehow got the parental advisory past my parents and soon I was stealing the CD every chance I had. Eventually he caught me red-handed and like all brothers do, went ballistic and threatened me bodily harm if I ever touched his stuff again.

He apparently didn't think this tirade was enough. The next day, he scotch-taped a sign on his door advising trespassers to KEEP OUT.

Below the main notice, in ominous red letters, it stated without a hint of irony:

Prosecutors will be violated.

One day, when the jonesing for my daily fix of "Diggin on You" was just too much to handle, I snuck into his room one last time and removed the CD from its case.

I crept (just keep it on tha down low) back up to my room, closed the door, stuffed a towel under the gap between the floor, and found a blank cassette. I put it into my TalkGirl and sat silently for about an hour as the music blasted from my CD player into the girl-version of Macaulay Culkin's device of choice.

I carefully skipped Red Light Special, knowing that if my mom came in while that was playing she would know that I had somehow accessed contraband. The final result was muffled, and included me sneezing over the 2nd track, but it was MY OWN.

I'll never forget my cousin Lauren coming over later that week, the two of us listening to that tape on repeat while we played dress-up. We discussed how dumb people were for only liking "Waterfalls" when there were so many other great songs on the album. (First moment as a music bitch? I think so.)

Later, Lauren and I made her a tape-to-tape copy on her dad's "high-tech" music station in their basement while we babysat her younger brother. This was how music sharing used to be. Time-consuming, emotionally exhausting, and hardly worth it.

Oh, analog technology. I hardly knew you. I love the memories of working the system, but hate that I don't know the full second verse to Creep to this day.

To me, it will always be "the 23rd of loneliness and KERCHEW!"

And the archer split the tree

Being the good liberal that I am, I am a diligent Vanity Fair reader. For two hours a month, it makes me feel like my obsession with celebrities and pop culture makes me a renaissance woman in search of the truth, rather than a shallow entry-level worker with a lot of time on her hands. (If any Vanity Fair editors should come across this, I think it's high time you stopped running stories, interviews, and pictorials featuring Levi Johnston. It makes me feel like I bought STAR instead.)

Anyway, every month a celebrity of some sort answers the "Proust questionnaire", a tweaked version of the original personality questionnaire created by the French writer. Every month, I find myself staring at the questions wondering how I'd answer them if I were asked. So... because I'm taking a mental health day despite technically sitting at my desk, here are the answers I just came up with:

What is your idea of perfect happiness?
A full table of my favorite people at Amy's, cliche classic rock playing in the background. I have stolen bar signs in my oversized purse, and I'm double fisting vodka sobes as my friends and I laugh hysterically at things we won't remember in the morning.

What is your greatest fear?
Settling for less than I deserve

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
I'm bad at living in the moment

What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Entitlement

Which living person do you most admire?

My mom is the most genuine person I have ever known.

What is your current state of mind?
Bogged down by insignificant details

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
Chastity. I feel really bad for Republicans because they haven't figured this out yet.

On what occasion do you lie?
When I'm caught in another lie

What do you dislike most about your appearance?
It'd be sweet to have a torso.

What is the quality you most like in a man?
Independence

What is the quality you most like in a woman?
Confidence

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
Insane. Amazing. Fabulous. I'm one giant hyperbole (see- I can't even be just a hyperbole. I have to be a giant one)

What or who is the greatest love of your life?

Tie for first: Soy lattes with a sprinkle of raw sugar, and Caribou Cold Press with a 1/2 shot of white chocolate

Which talent would you most like to have?

To sing without people around me wincing.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
I'd occasionally make decisions without worrying about everyone else's feelings.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Surrounding myself with a great support system. My friends and family are loyal, supportive, compassionate, and kind. I'm so lucky.

If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?

A cherry blossom tree in Library Mall. Not at all symbolic, I just love that place in the late spring.

What is your most treasured possession?
A necklace my grandmother left to me. I think it has special powers- good things always happen to me when I wear it.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

Thinking more negative thoughts than positive ones.

What is your favorite occupation?
I'm taking this as dream occupation, so- Director of a non-profit centered around preventative reproductive healthcare and sexuality education for adolescent girls. Clearly, I've never thought about it before.

What is your most marked characteristic?

My mouth is the size of a five year old's.

Who are your favorite writers?
Audrey Niffeneger and Kaye Gibbons for the characters, James Joyce thematically, Dan Savage and David Sedaris when I need to laugh.

Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
Fern Arable. Dinah as written in The Red Tent.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Bobby Kennedy

Who are your heroes in real life?

Beyonce. Deep down, everyone wants to be Sasha Fierce.

What is it that you most dislike?
A tie between the Literal interpretation of the Bible, and pickles

What is your greatest regret?
Not majoring in Spanish in college

How would you like to die?

While napping, after walking my dog around the lake, coffee in hand, and realizing how wonderful and lucky a life I've led. (Yes, every answer I came up with to this question made me sound like I was living in a Nicholas Sparks novel)

What is your motto?

"The Secret of Life is Enjoying the Passing of Time" - One Mr. James Vernon Taylor

"The sharpest criticism often goes hand in hand with the deepest idealism and love of country." - Bobby Kennedy

Do you like CSI? And Miller Lite? Okay, proceed.

A few weeks ago, in a dive bar across the city, I found myself in a situation for which I wasn't quite prepared. I was there to send a friend off to school for the year, and was the only single gal in a group filled with single guys. It was... confusing. Okay, it was wonderful. Being an opportunist, I decided to dive right in; being an enabler, my friend Bobby handed me a liter of beer to get my flirt juices flowing.

For a while, I was really working it. I chatted one up, got bored, moved on to his friend. They were just like the guys I always seemed to be attracted to in college- great conversationalists, a complete lack of fashion*, sarcastic to a fault, and open to talking to a laid-back chick who was wearing a cardigan and Converse even though one of the other girls at the bar had on $150 stilettos.

I drained my liter, and waited patiently for my new friend to do the same. We began talking about a trip to Duluth I was taking with Jenna the next day. As I described our grand plans, I mentioned that we would be touring Glensheen. It's this great old mansion on the lake, and if you don't know the story behind it, you should read about it here. You should also read this book.

Anyway, as I detailed why touring this estate is actually quite cool, I began rambling and eventually ended with "so basically, I think it's like you tour this crazy old blood-spattered mansion".

BLOOD. SPATTERED. MANSION. Wave the crazy flags, nut job is coming fast out of the blocks. Her breaks appear to be cut.

Up until that point, I thought that my complete lack of interest in a new relationship was what had kept me single for the past few months. Now I realize that I haven't flirted with a sober-ish guy in years, and so I have an inability to filter out graphic depictions of real-life Law and Order scenes. Solution? I either need to start luring in alcoholics or true crime fanatics. Oooooh, an alcoholic who reads non-fiction murder mysteries. Brilliant.
__________

*If my romantic life were an SAT analogy question, it would read- Gina : free beer t-shirts :: Moths : Flame

The unlocking and lift away

I woke up yesterday, saw sunny skies, and quickly put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to run some errands before meeting an old classmate for coffee. I got into my car in a closed garage, and when I stepped out of the car at Target, I realized that it was fall. Overnight, really. The summer breeze was a brisk fall current and the air felt lighter and more crisp. Even the sky, which had deceptively determined my warm-weather attire only minutes earlier, seemed to look less blue as I realized that I was extremely underdressed.

For a fleeting second, I was disappointed. Then I decided that I'm ready to bid farewell to this season in favor of my favorite one. I love summer, but I feel it has too many expectations. Especially in Minnesota, where we feel that we must accept the 3 months as a peace offering, and cram every possible activity while the sun shines on our lakes and yards.

Fall has long meant the return to school, which I (as a perpetually nerdy student) looked forward to. A new backpack, a sturdy pencil case with extra lead tucked next to my new mechanical pencils. I liked the return to responsibility that fall represented, the return to a schedule and all of your friends in one place. For me, it also meant the beginning of a new dance season. Front and center was only a tryout away, and I would lose sleep as I wondered if somehow I had 'lost it' over our three month break.

Fall is here, and that still means responsibility. Between a crazy work life, dance starting, and friends, I've been feeling stretched thin in a great way. The lazy nature I accrued in Madison has slowly dissipated as I remember how wonderful it feels to have a full day and night of activities. To sleep soundly because your body knows you deserve it, and that it will be tested again the next day.

My only big regret is that I've stopped running lately. I didn't really mention it but I'd been attempting to train for some (very pathetic, small distance in comparison to other impressive friends) races this fall. Life got busy, my knee retaliated, and my iPod broke after one particularly intense run in the rain (hiding it in your sports bra when the torrential downpour comes is apparently not enough protection. Who knew?) After hearing that Emily ran 18 miles on Saturday in preparation for her marathon in a few weeks, I realized that I need to man up. I'm not getting any younger. Or thinner. Did I mention that I was so hungover I had bacon twice today? Well, I did.

Yes, this whole post was a rambling attempt to disclose my bacon obsession. It's back and it's going to need to be curbed immediately.

Overall, though, it's going to be a busy day, a crazy week, and a great return to the over-stretched person I've always been, and am probably supposed to be. Fall, I've never been so ready for you.