I Did It Again!

With everything going on, I forgot to post on my poor neglected blog!

And yet somehow six people found it today. Curiouser and curiouser. Hopefully it’s not the dreaded ex and his family (since I did start this blog with THAT farce of a relationship in mind).

So I guess to anyone who lands here, I should catch you up with everything!

1. We went back to New Orleans for Jazz Fest!

2. While in New Orleans we saw this guy:

3. We walked in the Strut Your Mutt Fundraiser for the Texas SPCA (which helped to raise over $150,000!):

4. We saw this guy:

5. We started a new business! You can find us on Twitter at @2930Creative

6. And next week, we’ll be heading out to Cleveland for my little sister’s wedding! Here’s a picture of her and her fiance:

 

So as you can see, pretty busy! I think I’m living proof that you can date a horrible person, lose that person and still come out ok. In fact – better than OK! So chin up and know that the best is yet to come!

 

Cohabitation and Other Things

With my new change in employment status rapidly approaching there are a few things that I am looking forward to doing a lot of. One of them is regularly updating this blog. Yeah, yeah – I get it: Everyone has a blog and everyone does it better than me. That’s fine. But I’m going to continue to do it anyway whether you like it or not. SO THERE.

Many things have occurred since Poverty Week at the beginning of December. For one, I decided to leave my job as a social media manager. But prior to that, Chris – aka “Manfriend”- I moved in together. It was something that I was reluctant to do, but once my mind was made up – I had to. He’s the best roommate a gal could ask for: does laundry, cooks dinner, and is the perfect host for parties. He’s also an incredible Ikea assembler. I know this because he build all of the furniture (bed, shelves, desk, couch) that sits in the spacious 1122 square foot “loft” we call home.

Christmas came and went, it was much better than the Christmas before it. Of course anything would be better than crying my eyes out for three weeks straight. It was quiet – I didn’t go back  home to Cleveland. I spent it with Chris’s family and some of my new Dallas friends. I think it was the necessary move after the pain of the previous holiday season.

I’m not sure what comes next. My little sister gets married in May, which means I have to lose about 20 pounds between now and then. You can join me on Katy Trail. I’ll be walking/running/jogging/crawling there a lot. I also might pick up swimming again, so you could probably find me at the nearest indoor pool. I’m not sure where that is yet.

That’s it, no mystery or drama. Just a girl quitting her job and taking a break to figure out some things. Boredom will ensue -won’t you join me?

Team Big Taco Needs Help!

Once upon a time…

About six years ago, I was feeling a little down. To cheer  myself up, I took a trip to the closest animal shelter to our home. After walking around the kennels a couple of times, my eyes caught a little black ball curled up in a corner. I sat down on the cold floor of the shelter and slipped my hand below the door. The ball stretched out to the form of a lean black lab with sad eyes. He got up, moved slowly over to where I was sitting and laid back down. He sighed as if to say “I’m not sure if I can do this anymore,” and part of me knew exactly how he felt. Due to an accident, his back left leg did not work properly. Instantly I knew that  no matter what, I would make it work. I would figure out a way to bring this dog home and protect him and give him a better life. That was the day I met Lucky

Since then, he’s truly been the most faithful companion I could ask for. Good times and bad times, all he’s ever asked for is a pat on the head and a bowl of food at night. He gets nervous when I get upset. He curls up with me when I’m cold. He licks my face and rests his head on my shoulder to say he loves me.

Last year, after quite an adventure that included the help of friends and family, Lucky joined me here down in Dallas, Texas. Without cold and snow, he spends a lot more time outside. First on the ranch, and now living the high life in the city. He’s an Uptown pooch – no doubt about it! Life here has been great, whether it’s walks on Katy Trail with the Dallas elite or looking at Mavs fans from the Magnolia Station dog run. Lucky also now has a full family that includes his new “little” brother Harry (pug/chihuahua mix) and dad Chris.

I’m telling you this because not all puppies get a chance like Lucky did. Many shelter animals do not find homes and are euthanized because of lack of space and resources. The SPCA is a wonderful organization that not only rescues animals in need, but places them in homes. However, pet overpopulation has become a problem – especially in places like Dallas. Nationally, it is estimated that 3-4 million dogs and cats are euthanized every year because they can’t find homes.

On April 28, Chris and I will be walking in the SPCA’s “Strut Your Mutt” Walkathon. If you can spare a few extra dollars, we’d love for you to contribute. You can go here: http://sym2012.kintera.org/bigtaco to donate or set up your own team! Help Dallas become a no-kill city. Your money will benefit SPCA clinics that perform spay/neuters for low-income households and shelter maintenance.  Do it for the ones who weren’t as lucky (no pun intended) and the ones that still have a chance! Or just do it because you don’t want to have to feel bad when you watch those Sarah McLachlan commercials anymore. You can also track our progress here at clevelandboop.wordpress.com!

Goodbyes.

I’m about to have my last day at Splash Media, my first job after a brutal layoff that lasted well over a year. My position as social media manager was my first job down here in Texas. It’s been an incredible year, and the transition I am about to make is nothing short of a little nerve-racking. We’ve had our fair share of ups and downs, but in all fairness – the team of SMMs and listeners (and production, too!) were my family away from home. I’m not sure what’s next, but I am sure that I will miss a lot of things at 5048 Addison Circle. There will always be a bond between Splash people – one that elicits smiles when someone mentions the Lion & Crown, the Mucky or Polka Dot. Or the Reef. Or Sidewalk. Or Pastazio’s amazing alfredo pizza by the slice. Or one that elicits groans and eyerolls like explaining Twitter to clients or Monthly Reports. It was my first job in social media – hopefully it won’t be my last!

There were many times that I wished I could have  been completely candid about this job on an outlet like a blog. However, as I’ve learned many times over from friends and bloggers I admire – you probably shouldn’t regale the blogosphere with office tales. I will say there were great things here, accompanied with times of accomplishment and huge highs, and there were some not so great things here. Maybe I will tell some of these stories after I have had some distance and time to let my mind rest.

I will miss you all so much, and you all have bright futures ahead of you.

Endings.

I first starting reading Dooce as a Junior at Miami of Ohio. My roommate, Alanna, often read her blog and started sending me links and talking about how cool this person Heather Armstrong was. That was 7 years ago. 

I continued to read about the trials of parenthood and marriage as experienced by Heather, Jon, Leta, Marlo, Coco and Chuck throughout the years. I felt, as many others like me, as if they were part of the extended family. It was Dooce that inspired me to start blogging. It is Heather Armstrong who continues to inspire me to blog. 

Recently, Armstrong announced her separation from husband Jon in a blog post so heartfelt, I found myself moved – eyelids aching from anticipating the release of tears. I have no insight to the situation other than to send them love. Love to strangers I have never met. 

There is something about the honesty in a blog – whether it’s a Mommy blogger or a snarky Beltway insider blogger – that makes this world feel a lot smaller. True, we are all strangers that probably wouldn’t know what to say to each other IRL (in real life). However because of this great platform, we are able to interact with people we may have never had the opportunity to meet otherwise. 

I do sincerely hope that Heather and Jon find the resolution they need – though that might be a long and painful road ahead of them. I hope Heather continues to share with the community that loves and supports her so much, as long as it is not at the expense of her health. 

Poverty Week!

Poverty Week: It's a Thing!

When we got back from New Orleans, it didn’t take much longer than a trip to the ATM to realize we had overspent. REALLY overspent.

“I have no money,” I said, feeling the excitement and romance from the trip drain from my voice. “I literally have no money.”

I added in my head how this could have gone wrong, but somehow every time I tried to do the math I was brought back to the voice of my grandmother. Actually she wasn’t saying anything as much as she was shaking her head at my irresponsible spending habits.

The bright side, and there’s always a bright side- even when your account balance is in the double digits, was that my rent and monthly bills had been paid. So I didn’t really owe anyone anything and nothing was going to be turned off. However, it also meant that we couldn’t go out or do anything for a week- no movies, no dinners, no mini golf, no batting cages- until we were both paid on the 15th.

My initial panic lead to a very, very quiet ride home from the bank as I scrambled to make sure that I didn’t have any unexpected expenses that would be coming out of my account. Experience had taught me that there was little worse in this world than overdrafting with a corporate bank like US, Chase or BoA. No, I finally decided, there were no expenses coming out. I was ok, just… broke.

The sick feeling remained as we returned back to my home. I felt hot but cold, my palms were clammy and I had that not quite nauseous feeling. I kept reminding myself that the trip was worth it. Those memories were worth it. That food was worth it. I was going to be paid in a week and a half. Things were going to be fine. I went into the bathroom, splashed some water on my face and came back out.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “We are fine. I am fine. We’re just going to eat really cheap for the next week and stay in and watch a lot of DVDs.”

And that’s what we did.

While fancy dinners are nice and always appreciated, over the week I realized that a “Dollar Menu” buffet could be just as intimate. We found a McDonald’s we liked and sat in the parking lot giggling about our current state. Dinner for two for 8 bucks had never been better. We watched DVDs that were collecting dust on my shelf. We hung out with our families, looked at old pictures and watched home videos of holidays past. We picked up old furniture for free from a friend who had recently moved and laughed as we tried to set it all up in my tiny apartment.

Poverty Week, as we had dubbed it, wasn’t that bad.

“Hey we should do this EVERY year!” I proclaimed the day Poverty Week ended. “Think about it! A week without spending anything! It’s awesome. EVERYONE SHOULD DO IT!”

I’m not sure he was quite as receptive.

And I sure as hell loved the fact I got to have a big sushi dinner that night.

Think about it though. How much of this world lives on even less than what we spent in during this week? I think the final total came out to under $70 in the end. How much of this country lives on less than that, with children and pets to feed? We were lucky that no bills fell into this week, but what if they had?

So I close with this. Why  not have a poverty week every December- or maybe just a poverty weekend- where you and your loved ones stay in and eat cheap? Where you talk and watch movies and home videos? A weekend you remember what’s important and what’s not, and have gratitude for what you actually do have. Be thankful that you don’t have to live in constant Poverty Week like so many others do.

Having been broke and unemployed for so long last year, I hate to hear people say “All you need is love,” because you really do need money and clean clothes and food and shelter to survive. But I will say this, and it’s something that was even clearer to me this past week, Love certainly makes Poverty Week a hell of a lot easier to bear.

Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans? (PART 3)

At some point on the Ghost Tour, my suitor proclaimed “This place is crazy!” A vampire had just walked by him heading east, while a horse drawn carriage parked beside us pointing west. Already that night we had run into pirates, been in a voodoo store and seen drunk 40somethings stumbling around at 7pm.

Indeed, no matter what your goals for your New Orleans trip are, there is always something to see. Forget expectation and just keep your eyes open. Also your ears. Ever the musical city, this trip was no exception. While I would have loved to finally see Preservation Hall, we skipped it to see local musicians play in tiny jazz clubs while we sipped on vodka tonics. We ate beignets and drank mocha while street performers serenaded us. We shopped to the sounds of “When the Saints Come Marching In.”

At the casino, we tried our luck at blackjack and on the slots. On a quarter slot, I won $30. I would have been fine with that but SOMEONE suggested I keep playing because “It’s the house’s money! You have nothing to lose.” Only I now had 30 dollars to lose. But I kept playing anyway, because we were in New Orleans and this was fun. I played blackjack, but learned that unless you’re willing to go big, it’s a slow burn of a game that really levels off over time. Yawn. We left the casino up, I’m told. So, no harm no foul.

Sunday we went to the Garden District. While not as frenetic as the craziness in the French Quarter, I fell in love with the big houses and southern front porches. Manfriend and I walked around and pretended that we were house shopping, looking for just the right fit. We ate lunch in a tiny diner- a local favorite named Slim Goodies- that served pre-fab cheeseburgers to hundreds of starving Katrina survivors. I had one and I must admit, it was a pretty good burger to have had in the wake of disaster.

We shopped in the small boutiques, stopping in a used music store and then a vintage clothing store. I found a gift for my sister for her wedding- a white beaded purse from the 60s. I found a gift for my mom in a novelty store (I can’t say what it is yet because she reads this).

On Friday, we said goodbye to our little house on the corner. Truth be told, I would miss the holes in the wall and the treacherous clawfoot tub. Or the random records and mystery novels gracing the shelves in the second bedroom. Or the fact that the shower curtain stopped 4 inches short of Manfriend’s head, leading to awkward showers and curse words.

Really, no matter what kind of a trip you have, New Orleans is like no place else in the country. It’s a mix of indulgence and culture. It caters to your most base desires, and that’s its specific magic that lingers long after you’ve gone home. We were exhausted and broke from the trip, for sure, but it was worth it for the new memories of our first trip together.

I can’t wait to go back.

Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans? (PART 2)

Old Towne Inn

It was early on a Friday morning in Dallas when we left. I couldn’t get to the gate at Love Field soon enough. “Aren’t you excited?!” I asked him. He was excited, he said. But also tired. So so tired. “SLEEP ON THE PLANE!” I exclaimed.

When we finally got to the Crescent City, it was chilly and cloudy but much better than the weather we had just left in Dallas. The cab driver took us to our little bed and breakfast in the Marigny district. (The Marigny, as it is called by locals, is a bohemian area with a lot of artists and musicians-very local if you want that kind of thing. However, do not stay in the Marigny alone. There are few street lights and not many people. Exercise caution. Travel in groups and never walk around by yourself at night.) Our hotel was called the Old Towne Inn, a mom and pop boardinghouse a few blocks from the French Quarter.

What would be the first thing we did?! While checking in, I grabbed a bunch of brochures from the front desk. Haunted Tour! Haunted VAMPIRE Tour! Haunted Vampire Tour in the Garden District! Garden District Ghost Tour! Garden District House Tour – With Extra Trent Reznor and Fewer Ghosts! Casino! Aquarium! Riverfront! Riverboat! Casino Riverboat!

So, naturally, with all of these options we checked in and took a three hour nap.

After waking up, we spent our first afternoon in New Orleans looking at otters and penguins at the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas. There’s nothing cuter than an otter playing with a toy while it floats on its back- except maybe a boy who owns an otter shirt watching it in childlike amazement. We also made some new friends in Sting Ray Bay.

Have you ever had a sting ray eat food from your hand? They suck it up like a vacuum. It’s gentle and quick, and aquarium staff makes sure that you are in no harm. All of these are things I wish I could have remembered as the herd? flock? pod? of winged fish swarmed around my hand. I heard my manfriend laughing over my shoulder as my nervousness gave way. But seriously- feeding one of any animal is fine. It’s trying to feed one animal when twenty other ones want the same thing that gets a little precarious. Yes I was aware that two three year olds did it without problems right before me.

That night, after walking around the riverfront and having our first round of fried seafood (as well as our first casino trip), we decided to go on one of the haunted tours. Our guide was a local- born and bred- named Rene and with him was his beautiful black German Shepard named Lucky.

Rene told us about the city’s fires and about lost loves. Not so important was the actual ghost stories themselves, but the stories about the history of the city. How it survived fires, floods and hurricanes and still remained as entrancing as it had ever been. Halfway through the tour, we stopped at a little tavern. Apparently it had been owned by a pirate- ahem, privateer- back in the day and, despite its blacksmith shop facade, was used as a place to house bootleg items. We had a beer in the dim room and listened to a Piano Man sing Elton and Billy covers while patrons sat around him.

If the place was haunted, all of us were either way too drunk or way too happy to care…

Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans? (PART 1)

To start this story, you should probably know the prologue. When I was a junior in college at Miami of Ohio, some friends and I decided to take a trip to New Orleans, Louisiana for our Spring Break. (Mom, I’m sorry for the story I’m about to tell.)

Despite the fact that my birthday would be only a week after we came home, it was still necessary that I procured a fake ID. One of my friends’ sorority sisters was generous enough to oblige. So for six days and seven nights, I was Miss Suzette Pike of somewhere in Pennsylvania for all interested parties. It’s important to know that I went through both high school and college up that point without one.

The trip was somewhere between inconvenient and disastrous. It started with a hotel room in the wrong part of town, with no natural light coming in to our room and a malfunctioning air conditioner that left our clothes and bedding with a damp, mildewy feel our whole trip. My friend, Bridget, had both her purse and wallet stolen on Bourbon Street. I think I remember a total of 3 hungover hours of the whole trip; the rest has been washed away in drunken memory. What’s notable is not what happened during the trip (although Bridget getting robbed ranked pretty high), but the words I said while waiting to board the plane at the airport.

“I hope this whole city gets washed away.”

Cut to fall of 2005 as I watched in horror while citizens of New Orleans were airlifted off of their roofs to escape rising floodwaters.

Maybe it was my guilt of saying such a horrible thing, maybe it was the spell that New Orleans puts you under, but in the years after Katrina and Rita I followed the progress of the city as it rehabilitated itself. I donated money sometimes, and I read about it and its mysterious history. So when Southwest Airlines had a recent sale, I jumped at the idea of returning to NOLA. Luckily, my manfriend was game.

To be continued…

My Electronic Display of Affection

I learned the hard way not to share too much about your personal life on a blog last year. It’s a lesson I should have learned from blogger friends before me. I thought maybe if it could work for life after a breakup (my first blog), it would work for life during a relationship. The result was disastrous and left me feeling over-exposed and having to explain myself over and over again. Social media didn’t destroy my relationship, it just made it more embarrassing.

And yet, here I am again. Posting pictures, tweeting EDA (electronic displays of affection- though not too bad, he just happens to appear in a lot of my tweets) and yes, even writing a blog post about it. But it’s different this time.

For one, this blog is now about me. It’s not about the guy I used to date. It’s about becoming the person that I want to be. A girl who isn’t attached to a silly idea of romance, but one who took the necessary time for herself to find out what SHE wants. Out of herself, out of life and out of love.

So here it is. The story of us.

I had been down here in Dallas for almost nine solid months. I had tried dating, but realized I no longer had the stomach for it when every guy reminded me of the mistakes I had made before. I was at work, sitting at my desk, pretending to be focused on something but not really. Either that or it was Report Week and I was trying very hard not to concentrate on anything in particular lest my brain would explode. (No, really. It happens. Brains explode.)

I got a message from a former coworker. “Do you know who Blackstar is?” I did but I wasn’t a huge fan, so I said yes. “Would you want to go to a show with my coworker Chris?” The one with the girlfriend? “Yes.” Um, sure. I guess. If he wants to. 

He emailed me and we traded numbers. “Sorry if this sounds rapey,” he made a point to say.

So I wrapped up the day, got on the 183 toward Downtown and sat in traffic while he texted me his location: At work. At the pizza place across from the concert venue. Inside the concert venue. I ran home and found a cute but not sexy and definitely not alluring outfit, save for a little bit of exposed shoulder.

When I finally arrived, I scanned the room at House of Blues. There were couples, there were groups. I was looking for the guy standing there alone. What I found was a dorky looking kid in a grey sweater with pink stripes and messy hair. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember we hugged. It might have been awkward. But as the night went on, I found myself looking at him. Saw him looking at me. Maybe my hand touched his first, as he says it did, or maybe it was his knee leaning into my leg.

At the end of the night, I started to walk home (I live only a few blocks away). He offered to drive. I offered him a drink on my roof (which has an awesome view of the AAC). We talked for a few hours. About life and exes and scars and tattoos, and all of the other battlewounds that brought us to where we were at that moment.

We stood on my roof looking out to the thousands of lights below us. I felt his face over that exposed shoulder as he leaned in to point out where he lived. A kiss. Another kiss. OK. I was now in trouble.

A moment that could have been lost forever was saved the next day when I received a message. “Hey, I think I left my wallet there.” I checked my couch/futon/bed- yep, it was there. A tiny square piece of leather wedged between the cushions. That night after work, he stopped by to pick it up. I wore the least cute outfit I could find: a long-sleeved college shirt with baggy jeans. He never left my doorway and looked down a lot. He was wearing an otter shirt.

I wanted to kiss him right there, but he had a girlfriend. So I said goodbye.

There was some texting and such, and I played it cautious not to be the third point of a triangle. But on Saturday, he left a message asking me out and explaining that things were over with his girlfriend. It was sweet, genuine, real. It wasn’t overly romantic, in fact it seemed more like a friend asking to hang out sometime. And I said yes. The following Monday would be our first date.

Except I went out with a bunch of friends and a few drag queens (had a few bottomless mimosas, too) that Sunday and demanded he come over that day anyway.

I hope things last forever, but I know to take it one day at a time now. I know not to put myself out there for public display, or put my relationship up on a pedestal. I know that I love him and I know that everything that’s happened this year and everything that happened the year before lead me to where I’m supposed to be right now.

And I couldn’t be happier.