Sure, when I was shopping for new clothes my head was in cute professional mode – kinda. Really what I was often thinking was “Ooooh! This Brooks Brothers button-down will look great with a black pencil skirt and my 5″ zebra and pink heels when I’m walking through the airport on my way to who knows where” and not “I really want to look nice and professional when I walk into a financial advisor’s office to audit his/her branch.” My bad.

So it hit me. I’ll be doing actual work, too. I will have a job and not just be the official yelp reviewer for various restaurants around the country. Oh, yeah. I won’t just be having glasses of wine in the hotel bar in the evening, checking in to random places and meeting other travelers from near and far.

Oh. Yeah.

And as I sat here reflecting on the fact that I’d be doing actual work – work I’ve never done before – I realized that I haven’t thought much about that because after 14 years in this industry, and a well-rounded career including many different positions within it, I know my shit. I have the utmost confidence in my ability to do this job and do it well.

Hell, that’s how I sold myself in the cover letter that pretty much guaranteed I’d be hired. So much so that when I met with my new boss he barely had any questions for me and took the time to praise said letter, saying he’d never seen anything like it in his life. I knew it was good. I’d been pleased when I’d finished it and sent it off. But I also wasn’t just looking for a new job. I’d waited – very patiently – until THIS very specific job I wanted opened up and then I gave it my all.

I should go back and read that cover letter now in order to offer more insight and some tips into the cover letter writing process, but I’m a wee bit too lazy for all that. I do remember one of my main points in the letter, though. I’ve held many different positions in this industry and each one has taught me a lot, but the most valuable thing I’ve learned over the years is that you can teach pretty much anyone to do any job and what really matters in the end is personality. Being comfortable interacting with c-levels, financial advisors and operations personnel equally and – most importantly – leaving each one with a smile on his/her face at the end makes me valuable.

It wasn’t fluff. It wasn’t bullshit. And I fully believe my interview was just their way of confirming I meant and could back up every claim in that letter. And I did. I was genuine. I didn’t tell them what they wanted to hear, but instead the truth. When the VP asked me a question I couldn’t answer I thought for a very brief second and then said “You know what? I can’t come up with that answer right now. I’ve been out of that position for 6 years and I’m sure I could if we sat here for a lot longer, but right now I am drawing a blank.” And he accepted that and moved on.

One big thing I’ve learned in my career – and life – is being genuine and honest is ok. People can relate to it. Surely that VP had interviewed people who could make up answers on the fly and had the “right” answer for everything. And surely that VP can read through bullshit just as quickly as you and I. Being able to admit when you don’t know something, but selling it properly in the “I don’t have the answer to that, but I’ll find out and get back to you” fashion has saved me many times. People are ok with you not having the answer every time and it takes a confident person to admit that, I’ve realized.

Follow through. My unofficial offer came to me less than 2 hours after I sent a heartfelt thank you to the head of the department. Yes, I asked for the job in the end. But in my email I also made sure to express – genuinely, not blowing smoke – how refreshing it was to me to meet a compliance professional with such a dynamic personality who could surely teach me a whole lot. Again – not blowing smoke. I knew when I met him that I’d learn a lot from him in the next few years.

As an experienced professional, I don’t approach job interviews the way many do. I don’t have the rigid, scared, give-you-the-right-answers attitude. I always see an interview more as me interviewing them. Do I want to work for this guy? Will I learn from these people? What will this company do for me? BUT – this is important – I don’t present it in that arrogant way. I feel it out. I evaluate. I ask questions that help me find out if I could work for the person and what I’ll gain from the experience. My background sells me, so I get to look to the interviewers to sell themselves. I don’t want to work for an Old Uncle Marvin. But Former Boss? I’d work for him again in a heartbeat. And I knew that from the interview with him.

I didn’t set out writing this post as such. Really, I was just reflecting on the fact that I’d forgotten I’ll be working as I’m venturing out into the world. But since landing this great job I’ve had many people ask me for advice. They have asked for my cover letter – or for me to help them write theirs. And as I’ve thought about it these were my thoughts. I can’t give you MY letter because it’s me. It’s not you. I can’t help you write yours (yes, I can proofread and offer suggestions), but in the end if what you say doesn’t match who you are in the interview you won’t win. Period.

I work in a very uptight industry. My personality and therefore my cover letter and interview persona are nothing even close to rigid. I was ok with that because I didn’t need A JOB. I needed a new place to add value to and a group of people who respected me as the individual I am. Would my approach work for everyone? Maybe not. I recognize that. But – and I say this not to be arrogant, but because it’s true – I’ve gotten pretty much every job I’ve interviewed for in 10 years. When I interviewed for my last job the HR Guy told me I’d be successful no matter what I wanted to do for one reason – my personality.

The lesson? Connect with people. This is natural for me, so it doesn’t take work. I thank my dad for teaching me about people and honesty. Two things a lot of people don’t understand. In the end you sell YOU. Not your skills. Not your resume. But as I told the friend who recently asked my advice on her career – become well-rounded! I’ve held so many different positions over the years that you can’t question whether or not I can learn something new. Anything new you’re asked to do? Do it. Learn. Listen to everything that goes on around you and suck in that knowledge.

When I was 21 I worked for a woman who was in a position I wanted to be in. She told me during my first week “I listen to everything going on around me. I just listen and process. And learn from it. Listen to everything.” I wish I could find her now to tell her how much this little piece of advice did for me in my career.

I’ve gotten every single license my companies over the years would pay for. Industry certifications (in my industry) are a big deal and I jumped at every opportunity. You want me to take over a department I hate? Sure! It’s all learning.

Ok, lecture off. Point is – make yourself marketable. Become well-rounded. Be genuine. It pays off in the end unless genuine for you is total asshole and then you need to work on yourself ;)

In two days I board a plane to Chicago with someone I’ve never met. I don’t know anything other than the time of my flight. I have no idea who my travel companion is, what he looks like, how to find him once I get there. But am I nervous? Nah. It will all be ok.

When I was 16 I boarded a flight from O’Hare bound for Rio de Janeiro with nothing more than the “guarantee” that some random family I’d never met would meet me at the airport. It was my first time on a plane and I was alone and a little scared. I didn’t speak Portuguese (yet) and I had no idea what would happen once I got through customs in Rio.

This? Patty-cake compared to that. And since I survived that I’m fairly certain this will be no big deal.

So Monday morning I will again get on a plane with no idea what will happen when I arrive. I’ll also be writing in a new blog – one that I’ve created to capture the stories of my new adventure. I hope you come along for the journey, but please do leave your judgments behind. If you can’t? Well, I invite you to not join me in this new adventure.

“Please,” I said as we were leaving lunch. “When you hire someone to replace me do something to protect that person from him. Or hire a total asshole who will put him in his place.”

But after today I will never have to think about that old man again. And that’s probably one of the main reasons people have been telling me all week that I’m glowing. Well, that and this great tan makes me actually glow.

I will also never have to see Creepy Insecurity Guard again. Probably the same age as OUM – damn old – but way creepier. To not have to plan my day around not going to certain parts of the building while he’s there?  Will be glorious. And this week, since I’ve seen him at least 100 times, I’ve allowed myself to not feel bad about saying “good morning” and shutting the small talk down. But after today I won’t have to shudder knowing he’s trying to look at my hot legs in the skirt I’m wearing or watching me walk down the hall. Eeek. So disgusting.

I’ll never have to get stuck in the conversation with Debbie Downer, who is a very nice person, but reminds me of eeyore. I’ll never have to awkwardly excuse myself from those conversations. I’ll never have to hope I don’t run into her.

Or the Indian woman who tries to be really nice, but is actually one of the most annoying people ever. She hugged me yesterday and I was taken aback. I’m not a hugger. And we weren’t cool like that. Why she wanted to hug me?  Beyond all I can even imagine, but I guess I’m just a likable sort.

There was a last-ditch effort by my first work crush. Apparently he thinks that me leaving the company cancels out the fact that he’s married. I do wish he weren’t so hot, but the hotness is cancelled out by something called HIS WIFE. Shut that down again.

I did give my phone number to my super secret work crush yesterday…last ditch effort, I suppose. Not sure why I decided it would be ok to be so bold when I’ve spent 2 years tryig to flirt with him and getting nothing back. But hey – I got bold. And I didn’t die because of it. His response? “Is this business or personal?” I may or may not have looked at him like he was crazy.

In all honesty there’s not much I’ll miss about that place. A few people, but the ones I really like I can stay in touch with. I won’t miss the Amway-like structure, the politics that exceed those of any corporation I’ve ever worked for, the suggestions of random people on how to run my business. I won’t miss the strict time schedule or the question “Do you have any cupcakes today?” when I hadn’t brought cupcakes to give away in over a year.

I will miss my JC Starbucks.  My baristas who were just down the street when I needed a break from the bullshit.  I’ll miss seeing them three times a day.  I won’t miss Creepy Shoe Guy there, though.

Hey!  When I start on Monday I can totally reinvent myself. Nobody knows anything about me, so I can make up whatever I want. Maybe I’ll do just that.

I’m excited to close this chapter and open the next. I’m happy to say goodbye.

And yet – really? Chicago? For my first trip? This time of the year? Why does the universe fuck with me so?

Sure, I love Chicago. Adore it. I’d move there if snow and cold didn’t exist in the winter months.

But what most people don’t know is that 4 years ago – in October of 2007 – I was positioned to move to Chicago. And it wasn’t just an idea in my head…it was my reality.

In 2007 I created a company. A brilliant idea that was sold to a major company in 2007. My idea? My brainchild? It was made into a reality by The Heartbreaker – who is now the CEO of the company I created. After we broke up in February 2007 he ran with my idea, kicked me out and now runs this company with the backing of…yes, a major player in the employment industry. In essence he stole my idea and made it work for him. Ever tr salesman, he sold it, won it and kicked me out. He fucked me over.

And this time 4 years ago he agreed with me that I should have a leadership position in said company. At least that was what he told me as he flew me to Chicago 3 of 4 weeks in October, took me to the corporate office and introduced me to his co-workers as the person he was bringing on to help run the company. The company that was MY idea. The company I helped create.

I fell in love with Chicago. Perhaps it was partially due to the fact that I was wined and dined while I was there – who doesn’t love that?! I was in my Ex’s 34th floor condo downtown having amazing sex and being lead to believe I was about to have the opportunity of a lifetime…to be part of something I’d helped create. I’d envisioned!

In the end the motherfucker screwed me again and that’s my fault. I never should have trusted a liar a second time, but I truly believed he wanted to do right by me after all he’d done…after all he’d taken from me.

Alas, I was wrong. My belief in the greater good in people shattered. Jut as he’d shattered my trust of men forever more.

Now…I’m going back. And while I love that I’m going to a place I adore I can’t lie and say I haven’t thought about the fact that he is there. I can’t lie and say it doesn’t freak me out thinking that I could run into him in a city of millions because since our traumatic breakup I’ve seen him in the most random of places…when I’ve least expected it and when he certainly shouldn’t be there. I mean – he lives in Chicago! Why the hell would he be in random places I am in…in Atlanta?!

Still to this day I feel hatred for him. There was a time when I tried to forgive and what it really was – in hindsight – was me loving him more.

When I met him I was carefree, trusting, open an honest. He killed all of those things. Now? I’m scared, semi-bitter, jaded and untrusting. Because if anyone in the world could make you believe he was great…it was my Heartbreaker. He was the master manipulator. He fooled me, my friends, mt family. He even fooled Ex-Husband, who was an original partner in our business plan and ended up voluntarily leaving after he saw how badly The Heartbreaker fucked me over.

He destroyed all of my innocence.

I let him. I had the utmost trust in him and he killed all that was kind an giving and open inside of me.

So while I’m excited to visit a city I totally adore as part of my first adventure on this new journey, at the same time I’m nervous not about how well I will do at the job, but about how I know I will be looking over my shoulder at every turn. Every corner. Every street I walk down. I’ll be looking for him. Not because I want to see him, but because I sooo don’t want to see him an yet he always appears. Because I know he enjoys fucking with my head so much that he will surely try to find me and just be there.

Because don’t we all havethat one person we look back at who fucked us up so hard yet we still feel nostalgic about? The passion. The feeling that he was “The One” even though everything we know post-relationship totally screams FUCK NO!!!

I let go of this situation in September 2008 when I was supposed to travel back to Chicago to see him. A few days before I was to leave on my scheduled flight The Canadian and my sis-in-law had a come to Jesiis meeting with me. When I returned to Atlanta two days later I called and – through real tears – told him I couldn’t come and that we could never speak again. No emails. No texts. No calls. And I wouldn’t be making that flight to Chucago in two days. It was one of the hardest things I ever did.

But……it was the last time we spoke. I stayed true to it. I refused all texts. I didn’t answer calls. And 3 months later, while I was thankfully home with my family, he showed up at my Starbucks with a birthday gift and card for me. Bastard. That card stayed in my Jeep…on the console…until the day two months ago when I sold the jeep and threw that card in the trash.

My baby Buddy? My sweet, precious pup I loved so much? A gift from Rhe Heattbreaker. I can’t tell you how many times while Buds and I were chilling on the couch in my new life that I looked at my sweet baby dog and said “I hate your daddy. He fucked me up.” I can’t tell you how many times Buds tried to lick away the tears The Heartbreaker left me with.

Now, four years later, I haven’t thought about Rhe Heartbreaker in any kind of nostalgic way in years. I pulled myself out. I got over him. I stopped wishing he’d realize he loved me as I did him.

But still – four years later – I’m jaded by men. I’m scared. I don’t believe much of anything and I don’t trust. I’m not sweet. I’m sarcastic and hard-seeming. I’m so fucking scared to be hurt like the again.

So to be going back? Yeah, it raises emotions in my head that haven’t been here in years. Literally.

But not because I still love him – I don’t. Because I can’t stand how much he shaped my life and I wish he never had.

I’ll get through it. I’m not reduced to tears, dwelling on it or even dreading it. But I will look at everyone’s face and try to find him in it while I’m there. Not because I want to, but because I honestly think he’ll always be just around the corner waiting to fuck me up again.

I’m glad I no longer long for a love I thought was real, but in actuality was the biggest bullshit I’ve ever experienced. But when you truly love – with all your heart and without any reservations – it becomes something you want again. Even when you become too scared to submit to love like that again.

Of course, in hindsight I see the problems, the red flags. In hindsight I don’t, however, see the love of my life fucking another woman in my house and in my car. But that’s neither here nor there. All men are not My Heartbreaker. All men are not evil. All men aren’t trying to break me. I get that and while I’d never fall for that kind of bullshit again (I hope) I do think he ruined me from being able to let go and trust and truly believe true love can exist.

And so next week I start yet another new chapter. One I’ve wanted and worked hard to get to. I’m excited. And at nearly 35 years old I’m also a little scared. I’ll get over it – I promise! But it still weighs on me slightly.

Universe? If you’re listening? Please don’t let me run into My Heartbreaker. I want peace.

That’s all.

Sent from my iPhone

 I got these…

And these…

Unfortunately, the second pair was too tight.  One size up was WAY too big and they didn’t have a ½ size, but I was so in love with these shoes that I had to buy them and try to stretch them.  This morning as I walked around the house in thick socks (which did work a little) I realized that there was pretty much no way I’d be walking through the airport in these bitches. 

Because yes, I do believe in wearing skirts and heels in the airport, ok?

I went on the DSW website this morning and found a similar pair that just so happened to be $20 cheaper and there was one pair left in my size.  I snatched them up with a quickness. 

I also got some great jewelry and some cute clothes.  All around I’m happy. 

You mean you don’t have a candy buffet in your home for your guests?  Hush now.  Yes, there are also labeled cellophane bags and hot pink twist ties.  What?  People like candy.  Fortunately I’m not even the slightest bit tempted by any of this.

On Friday I met The Bourgie Baker for lunch in Atlantic Station, where she offered me my first experience with food trucks.  Was a tough decision, but in the end I had this:

I’ve never been a big pizza fan, but lately I really want it.  This was *good*.  And the pop – it was good, too, but I think people hyped the King of Pops up a little too much for me.

Chocolate Sea Salt pop

Seeing Bourg was very nice.

Only 3 more days at this office before I’m done.  I could not be happier.

Today I was chatting with a woman in the office about my new job and she whispered to me “How old are you?” When I said I’ll be 35 this year she just about fell to the ground.  “I thought you were around 28!”  I love when people say this. 

And last, but certainly not least – I’d kinda like to slap all the people who told me I needed to try risotto after I said that I don’t like rice.  Umm…am I wrong or is risotto just semi-creamy, flavored rice?  I totally expected it to be completely different from rice and it’s not.  I wasted some calories on that crap.

It looks so peaceful as you approach the northwest coast where Mt. Christoffel lies

The thing is this – I am a girly girl who really wants to be good at outdoorsy things line camping, hiking, playing sports and getting dirty.

That's Mt. Christoffel - the highest point of Curacao

Today I discovered that while I enjoy the outdoors, enjoy camping (even sleeping in tents) and like hiking, I’m not cut out for anything terribly strenuous…like say climbing a very rustic path up the side of the highest mountain in Curacao. We were less than 1/3 of the way in to this serious climb up when I declared to JP that I would NOT be going to the top. I didn’t say this so she would encourage me; I said it to warn her. So that she wouldn’t get all pissy when, after the next 1/3 of the climb was done, I would declare I was also done.

I can't believe I was still smiling. Inside I was dying.

The views were amazing.

You want to keep going? Great!  Have fun!  There are plenty of people on this trail you can join up with. Hell, make yourself a friend. I don’t give a fuck. “But we’re so close, Korbs!”

“I don’t give a fuck.” I’d practiced those words in my head knowing full well I was going to have to adamantly refuse or I’d get some kind of begging, prodding, etc. And I don’t like that kinda shit. When I’m done I’m done!

So in a way it kinda seemed like a blessing that moment I lifted my left foot up over a foot high to the nearest rock and while my right leg was easily following it smacked dead into a rock.

Knee v. Rock

“FUCK!!”

JP was about 10 feet ahead of me and thought I was just bitching again as I looked down and saw the blood beginning to trickle down from the cut. Nice.

Immediately I thought of Keyalus and how her dumb little tough ass would NOT be whining over a minor injury like this. And then in my head I heard “Fuck all that. You aren’t Keyalus!”

This was one of the easier parts of the trail. Can you even call that a trail?

I looked down at the blood getting ready to drip down my leg and sat down on a nearby rock directing my back right into a thorny plant, furthering my resolve to quit this shit. “My legs look too fucking good in a short skirt for me to risk fucking them up further,” I thought. “Sorry, JP. I’m done. This was it for me.”

She went on ahead after giving me the car keys and assuring me she would join up with another group just ahead of us. And I headed down the mountain alone.

Now, while we were going up I knew it was going to be difficult going down, but I underestimated how hard it would actually be. It’s nice not being out of breath from climbing up, but your feet are a whole lot steadier when you’re going up. You can grab rocks above you to pull you up. Going down you have to rely on your feet, cutely bound in your favorite running shoes that are now getting dirty – damn it!!, to not slip on the rocks covered in the water dripping down the trail.

And you have to seriously train your mind to not reach out and grab something when you start to slip, because 90% of what is available to grab on this “trail”, if you can call it that , is cacti. And you obviously don’t want to grab them.

heading back down

steady those feet

About 1/3 of the way down I felt an uncomfortable rumbling in my stomach.  ”Oh, fuck no,” I thought to myself as I found myself clenching my ass to keep from shitting myself. Here I am on this trail, with people coming up toward me AND coming down behind me. What the hell was I going to do!?

For the next 25 minutes I begged my body to cooperate. “Please don’t let me shit myself. Please don’t let me shit myself.” I repeated these words over and over while trying to concentrate also on making sure my feet didn’t slip and further damage my legs while also concentrating on not reaching out to the cacti to steady myself when I’d slip. I just wanted to get to the bottom. I was so over this whole idea.

But it became apparent about 20 minutes before the end of the trail that I had to find a spot off the trail to go or I was going to certainly ruin these pants and my pride. And thankfully, less than 5 minutes later I found a spot. Never mind the fact that I had to wipe myself with the pretty pink thong I was wearing. I felt infinitely better and pushed on.

15 minutes later I reached the end and I couldn’t have been any happier. I got to the car, turned the a/c on full blast and wrote this blog on my iPhone while it was all still fresh.

And now I realize that while I may have always thought I wanted to be an outdoorsy type, I really am way better at being a girly girl in a pink dress and heels. I’m not ashamed of that.

But I am dreading when JP gets back and starts her whole spiel about how much I missed and how awesome it was and how it wasn’t really that hard at the end and blah blah blah. I’ll bite my tongue and tell her I’m glad she did it and all that. Then I’ll suffer through the rest of the day of non-girly girl activities like lying at the pool with a cocktail being lazy.  And I’ll try not to bitch about it, but shit I won’t be doing anything but dreaming about my pool day tomorrow before we leave.

Except it didn’t turn out that way. Shortly after I finished writing the last paragraph I looked up and saw JP huffing and puffing, drenched in sweat as she approached the car. She hadn’t made it to the top after all, but had given up at the vertical climb. I was not surprised – and not because I doubted her, but because that shit was truly hard and battling it alone nearly impossible.

I'd rather just stay in a place like this all day, thanks.

Before the ceremony Ex-Husband had rummaged through my jewelry box until he found the gold ring with my birthstone that my parents had given me for my 16th birthday. Eight years later this seemed like a viable option for our fake wedding, it seemed. Later that day he put it on my finger as I purposely refused to look him in the eyes while saying the meaningless words most people call vows. I remember it like it was yesterday.

On the way back to my apartment I played Amel Larrieux’s song “Make Me Whole” because it was the song I dreamed of having at my wedding back then. Ex-Husband grimaced. I got lost in the words.

What few people know is that 3 years before this I was planning an actual wedding. Trying in dresses. Wearing a ring. Looking at venues. Picking out flowers with my future MIL. And that was the most ridiculous thing ever. Not just because I was 21, but because I was with someone I now can’t even understand how I vaguely liked.

But on April 17, 2001 I knew I loved that man. And I knew he didn’t yet know that he, too, would love me some day.

Four years later when we decided to really be together for real, for real, I wanted to have a wedding. The first vows weren’t vows, so I’d wanted to have something real. But I never dreamed of anything grandiose or extravagant. I wanted a small private ceremony in our BFF Couple’s backyard. I didn’t even want a real dress.

When I met The Heartbreaker I just knew he was The One. Yet I still never wanted a big production of a wedding. I didn’t want flowers or cake or dresses. I just wanted the two of us and some close family and friends. Nothing more. That’s been my vision ever since. IF I ever get married I wanted something simple. Very, very simple.

This summer I did cupcakes for 5 weddings. All beautiful. From the gorgeous, elaborte Middle Eastern wedding with all the bells and whistles to te simple elegance at the club in Buckhead. All bringing me the emotion of “I hope I get married some day”, but not for the wedding – for the husband. Never once did I think “I wanna do this.”

But today when I was setting up for the 5th wedding it hit me like a ton of bricks. I noticed the flowers. The table settings. The place cards. The candy buffet. The picture of the bride and groom in the lobby. Every single little thing made me teary. And as I stood there setting up their cupcake display all I kept hearing in my head was “I want to have a real wedding. Like this.”

Forget the ideas that I’ve always used to justify why I didn’t want a wedding – I’m not a planner, I hate details, I can’t be bothered with traditional productions, I don’t like posed pictures. All of these thoughts went out the window. All I could think was – I want to do this, too. I want to have a wedding.

This was – without question – the easiest wedding I’ve ever done. 2 flavors. The bride built the stand herself. Only 110 cupcakes. Easy peasy. But I realized it was what I want. Eventually.

I want to have a wedding.

I’m just gonna need someone organized and detail-oriented to plan it because I’m neither. And I can’t be bothered. Seriously.

Some day I will have a real wedding.

And here is the display for today’s wedding… As I said, the bride made the cupcake stand and it looks crooked to me, but no matter how much I, along with a bridesmaid, tried to adjust it we couldn’t get it straight.

Sent from my iPhone

I’ve been blogging now for 6.5 years and I’ve moved my blog for secrecy purposes – and thus leaving behind connections I’ve made – at least 3 times over the years. Each time was to keep The Heartbreaker from knowing about my life and each time he found it again. Talk about anti-Christ. But the blog has been here on wordpress for 2.5 years now and while I kinda want to start fresh when my new adventure begins in 2 short weeks I have made some connections this go-around that have turned into actual friendships. Sure, there are people who read who I kinda wish wouldn’t read anymore, but for the most part I’m cool with being transparent here.

But a new chapter is about to begin. One that is so new and exciting and something I’ve wanted for so, so long. And to me – in my heart – I’m no longer Barista. In fact, I haven’t been a barista in years and while that period of my life was a defining change for me, it’s not at all who I am anymore. Things have seriously evolved.

And what stands out most? Probably the fact that for the past six or so months I’ve stopped dating to concentrate on myself like I never have before. As a result I have a beautiful new home, I’ve lost 17 pounds with very little effort, I’m financially secure and have a decent savings account, I run a successful business, bought a new car, I’m taking a vacation i only dreamed about last year and I’m about to start an exciting new job. It’s paid off! And while at times I’ve thought it would be nice having a man by my side, in the end I learned that when I work really hard and put the effort into ME instead of 4-7 dates a week I get results that are mind-blowing to me. I got exactly what I wanted when I stopped the nonsense and put my mind to it.

I’m happier than I’ve ever been.

Every single thing has come together.

Except, I suppose, love. But not stressing it and concentrating on what IS good makes me feel better than any amazing first date with Secret Crush ever did.

I also know that because I’m so happy and so comfortable with who I am that love will come. It will happen. And when it does I’ll be more ready than I’ve ever been because the rest of my life is exactly how I want it. Because I’m content. Happy even!

And that’s a big, big deal in these woods.

Because it’s all come together.

Sent from my iPhone

Coincidentally, I also look pretty damn cute.

I finally found the suitcase in which I’d packed my business skirts.  Thank you, jesiis.  I really didn’t want to wear pants today. 

Honestly?  I hate pants.  Hate. Them. If I’m not in jammies or jeans I’m likely in a skirt or dress.

I can’t decide if I’m more annoyed with OUM now that my days are numbered or if I was before.  Difference is – now I know I have the pleasure of looking to the future when he and about 9 other people will never be part of my life in any way, shape or form again.

At my new job I’m going to try not to be so nice to people who could potentially turn out to be so annoying. 

Speaking of the new job – I just got an email from the guy I’m traveling with my first week and he told me we’re going to Chicago that week.  Do you know how much I love Chicago!?  I LOOOOVE Chicago.  So super excited!

I can’t wait to go fall clothes shopping. 

Woman in my office, upon hearing about my new job, said to me, “Oh, that’s just fantastic!  I bet you’ll meet a man in the airport and have a hot affair!”  I thought it was hilarious to hear from this middle-aged woman, but I can only hope she’s right. 

I purged so much crap during my move that I actually had to call 1-800-GOT-JUNK to come haul it away.  Piles and piles of accumulated nonsense.  And that’s in addition to the 5 bags of clothes, 7 boxes of dishes and other household goods, 2 dressers and a large hutch I am having picked up for donation.  I feel so totally free not having that stuff anymore.  This will not be happening again.

It annoys me so much when I give people cupcakes (FOR FREE and when they haven’t had them before) and they don’t call later to tell me how much they liked them.  They always tell me the next time I see them, but for me – if someone goes out of their way to do something like that for me I’m going to make sure I make a point to thank them.  Just sayin.

Ahhh…back to dreaming about Chicago in the fall.  I’m so excited!

And I was actually totally cool with everything until he started acting like a fucking fool this week and very quickly I remembered why I had ended things before. When we’re around each other he’s great. But the minute something doesn’t go his way he’s picking fights with me and throwing jabs. Yeah, that is not something I will ever entertain.

It started, seemingly innocently enough, with him practically begging me to let him come help me pack. A super sweet gesture, but with ulterior motives and complications. Because, while I would love to have had someone helping me if it were a straight forward move, it wasn’t a straight forward move. There was a serious purge going on and I couldn’t point anyone in any direction with packing because I needed to go through pretty much everything. Th ulterior motives he had were just to spend time with me – which I’m not mad at even slightly, but when I politely thanked him and declined the request he was all “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t offer.”. Really?! It was that serious?

Ummm…no. It wasn’t.

Strike two came the day I finally got the job offer. I hadn’t spoken to many people about the job – just posted on twitter and said random things here – so he didn’t know anything about it. When I told him the good news he congratulated me at first and then started in with “Why would you want to travel so much? I guess I’ll never get to see you.” Ummm…really? No. No fucking way.

In all honesty had he at least waited an hour after I delivered the news I was positively ecstatic about I probably wouldn’t have cared so much. Instead, he tried to bring me down when I was excited and I wasn’t having that at all. But instead of being the bitch I should have been, I just calmly explained that this was something I’d wanted for a very long time and I was very happy about it.

I was done, but still remaining friendly. Not being an ass, not exerting any effort into the situation. I was done.

But then yesterday, after I’d spent the day working my ass off he started in on me again via text and I just lost it. I wants to cuss him out, but instead I just made a smartass comment and stopped communicating. And hopefully he got the hint. I can only hope because I don’t want to have to be rude, but I will be if it comes to that.

And that page has been turned.

I have a second bedroom here, so while I have less square footage than I did in my one bedroom it feels bigger. It has a way better layout. The second bedroom is right off the kitchen, which makes it a perfect cupcake room. All of my supplies and tables and such can go in this room to keep my world from being all-consumed with sprinkles and powdered sugar and boxes.

Speaking of cupcakes… Friday’s wedding was held in an old courthouse. The cupcakes were set up on an old piano. Not my favorite display ever, but I am sure the guests loved them.

wedding cupcakes

Saturday morning I got up at 545 and went into serious packing mode. I’d planned to do it over time and not stress at the last minute, but alas I am one of those people who kicks into serious go mode at the last minute. I managed to pack everything and take a shower before the movers arrived at 10. It took them 3 hours – which is excatly what I had estimated – and then I had to sit around and wait for the Uverse guy to come hook up my tv and internet.

This was me while the movers were unloading the truck...

By the time he left t 430 I was exhausted, but I had to go shopping.

After killing my bank account at Pier 1 and Target, I came home to relax, drank a couple glasses of wine and knocked out by 9. And I woke up to this…

-16.8 -- oh yeah, baby!

Ummm…YAY! Love. It.

Today I’ll be unpacking and trying to find a pink shower curtain and going back to clean and get some other items from my old place. Another long day – I’m sure – but it will all be done this week and I’ll be on a plane Saturday morning to this place…

ahhhh.....

Yes, I’m very much considering letting the guy come help me pack.  I have so much to do and I just know he’d be helpful.  Hell, he’d probably do it all while I’m at work and I’d be super relaxed.  I guess I’ll have to give him a name at some point.

I’ve given up on the j-o-b.  It’s been ages since I interviewed and I am fairly certain I’m destined to be forever tortured by OUM.  This makes me sad, but I am a true believer that everything works out the way it’s supposed to in the end.  I’ll be good.

Tomorrow I get to see my apartment.  I hope those colors I picked look good.  Once I can see an empty place I can decide how much of my furniture will be donated to the Salvation Army.  Right now I’m thinking it’s going to be a crapton of stuff they’ll be picking up.  Originally I planned to re-furnish as soon as I moved in, but now I’m thinking I’ll take my time to make everything perfect.  All I need is cupcake supplies and a bed, really, since I don’t do anything but bake, eat Greek salads and lounge.

While I did manage to stay in bed until 530 this morning, I didn’t sleep well.  I had some weirdass dreams, too.

1. The Canadian (who is 31) was 16 and told me she’d tried pot and was having sex.  I went on a campaign to get her birth control.
2. I was in Vegas and met a super geeky boy (exactly what I like!) who was also an athlete.  Interesting.
3. I was trying to get a job at the Visitor Center in Tennessee.  Umm…yeah.

I am not feeling well at all today.  I think it’s the lack of sleeping, the lack of eating and the stress of all the packing I need to do.  If I mention this to The Guy he will certainly be at my place tonight making me lie in bed while he cooks me dinner and packs.  Thinking about that right now kinda makes me want to marry him.

Hopefully I’m not getting sick.  I’m starting to think that could be it, because I’m feeling really bad right now.  That would totally blow.

6 – the hour in which I woke up, which is infinitely better than the 4 I’d been waking up at for 3 straight weeks.

3 – the number of married men who came at me hard last week

23 – the age of the 2 boys who came at me just as hard last week

11 – the number of orgasms I had Sunday night before I stopped counting

5 – the number of boxes I packed this weekend

27 – the age men generally seem to think I am

826 – the number of boxes I have left to pack

34 – the number of minutes I managed to remain un-annoyed with OUM this morning after arriving at work

0 – the amount of patience I have to deal with bullshit today

2 – tylenol popped by 9:05am

11 – the number of days before I leave for Curacao!

Not long after I’d had my first drink I was spotted by this rather good-looking dark brown man.  He was soft spoken, but aggressive.  Friendly, with a nice smile. And he did nothing to hide the fact that he had been interested the minute he saw me.  I flirted, then disappeared – I’m not the hook up in the club type and to me there was no other reason to meet a man there other than to hook up.

Two more drinks later I ran into him again and he tried changing his approach.  “Let me take you to dinner.  I want to know you,” he’d said and I’d laughed, but I certainly was flattered.  While this was in the height of my serial dating days, I’d still met most of my 4-6 dates/week online, so I was unfamiliar with this approach.  I liked it.  I gave in.  I was that girl making out with a random dude in the club.

We went on our first date a couple days later and had an awesome time.  He was better than I could have imagined.  Very sweet, yet with a serious swagger.  He dressed nicely, could hold a very intelligent conversation, was affectionate and most of all – was completely enamored by me.  I was smitten.  The date ended at Piedmont Park, where I took him to my favorite hill and we sat looking at the skyline of Atlanta while he kissed me softly.

This was just the beginning.  I cooked for him, he cooked for me, we spent afternoons on blankets reading books in the park.  He was everything I thought I wanted.  I turned him into a Starbucks lover and he’d sit on the patio with me and my friends and won over their hearts as well.  He was great.

Looking back I can’t quite remember what it was that made me break things off with him.  Perhaps it was the place I was at in my life and knowing he could easily become something totally permanent and that was scary?  Perhaps it was  my immaturity and wanting to run around with my friends and not commit to anything.  I don’t know.

I started getting gamey.  Cancelled on him when we had plans and avoided his calls.  I justified it to Jen on the Starbucks patio by saying that “I know it can’t be right if I’d rather be sitting here drinking coffee with you than out with him.”  That was enough right then.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I told him and it was obvious he was crushed.  He kept trying to find ways to see me and went as far as to show up at my Starbucks one day when he knew I’d be sitting out there on the patio with Jen.  I was livid.  How dare he invade my space!

After that I got a little mean.  I wasn’t very nice in my text responses to him, but he persisted until 2 months later when he asked if I wanted him to leave me alone and I said yes.  He did just that.  That was three years ago.

Over the past three years he would randomly send me messages – “hope you are doing well” or “Happy birthday”.  Things like that.  I always wondered how he remembered my birthday, so that made me a little happy, but I brushed it off.  I’d entertain the texts until he’d ask to see me and then I’d cut it off again.  I couldn’t go there again.

Logistically we are a nightmare.

Four months ago he sent me a text and I must have been bored or lonely, because I entertained it and eventually agreed to meet him for a drink.  In the end I knew he was still way too into me and cancelled last minute.  The texting was sporadic after that.  I’d respond, but tried not to give him hope.  I didn’t want to be that girl.

Part of me wondered if something could be there.  I mean, he was always fun.  I enjoyed being around him.  He was very good looking.

But I continued to push him away – asking him to please stop texting me again.  And he obliged.  He never pushed unless he thought I was breaking down and then he was all about seeing me.

And then Friday night.  Oh, boy.  I’d had a couple glasses of wine and ended up sending him a message.  And then he called.  And then I found myself agreeing to dinner on Sunday.  Oh dear.

In my heart I knew I didn’t want to play games with this man – and he is a man at 43 – but at the same time I knew opening that door could be dangerous.  But I had agreed to go and hell…it’s not like I had anything better to do.  So I went.

I’d forgotten how good looking he was until I was standing in his living room as he finished getting ready for dinner.  And he was so happy to see me I felt like I was jesiis coming for my sheep or something.  But it wasn’t over-bearing or annoying.  It was kinda nice to feel special like that.

Still, I was unsure about the whole thing and wondering why I was there.  Why bring up the past?  Why put this man in a place where he could be hurt by me?  That’s a lot for me to carry.  I’m used to being hurt – I’m not used to hurting people and I just plain can’t stand it.

Dinner was great, but the conversation was slow.  I felt like he was looking at me like he was in awe and I don’t do well with that kind of attention.  I wanted it to be easier and it was…well, kinda scary still.  I just didn’t want to be the bad guy.

After a couple glasses of wine I found myself lightening up, enjoying and just taking it all in.  He told me at least 147 times how much he loved and had missed my smile.  I blushed every time.  I wasn’t just feeling liquid courage good, but I was wondering why I’d let such a good thing go over some silly little details that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Of all the men I’ve dated since him nobody has ever been that open and honest when there’s been a connection.  Nobody has been that consistently good.  He was.  He always was and I saw last night that nothing changed.

But, as I said earlier and as I told him last night, dating him is a logistical nightmare.  That’s part of what holds me back.  He lives in midtown, I live 30 miles from there in the middle of suburban hell.  He’s on the road a lot.  He’s 9 years older and not really making the kind of moves I am in life.  He’s content in his tiny midtown apartment within walking distance of everything while I’m working 80 hours a week trying to make things blow up financially.

So on paper – he’s 50/50.  I always have said that I don’t care about the details.  I don’t care if you make 200k and can wine and dine me ala The Heartbreaker if you treat me right.  And with him – I know without a doubt he’d treat me right.  He would never lie to me or fuck me over.  He thinks I’m gold and that’s such a nice change from what I’m used to.

But….

I just don’t know.

Lined up on paper we’re a total mismatch.  It doesn’t work.  Sitting there next to him last night, though…well, it worked.  I love honesty with feelings.  I love that he wants me to open up about things I don’t like opening up about.  I love that he thinks I’m amazing.  But is that all?  Because notice I didn’t say I loved anything about him other than how he treats me.  That surely can’t be enough.

Against my better judgment we did have sex.  And telling him on the phone the other night that part of the reason I was unsure about us was the mediocre sex definitely made him step up his game.  My walk of shame this morning was more of a walk of pride, as I’d had a great night.  Better than Mr. D could have given me despite Mr. D being the best sex ever.  There’s something to be said about sex with someone who thinks you are the end all, be all.  It was great.

And then part of me starts thinking about Secret Crush.  SC who has been so fickle and flaky.  Why would I ever want that over someone who has been consistently good to me?  Someone who thinks I own the world and just wants to give me more?  How is that possible?!

And why do things like this have to be so hard?

Let me make this clear as a damn bell:  NOTHING. HAPPENED.

We had a great dinner. 

I realized I’ll probably never stop loving him.

He asked if I was ok to drive. SN: I was not even tipsy, just very, very tired.

I stayed the night.

Hugged him in the morning before I left.

THE END.

How will I proceed?  Who the fuck knows.

Will I eventually succumb to the power of the dick and give in?  Quite likely.

Is it possible I’ll get hurt again?  Yup.

Do I know that going in?  Absolutely.

Has a final decision been made either way?  Nope.

Have I been thinking about it pretty much constantly since Wednesday night?  Why, yes.  Yes, I have.

Do I hope something else comes along to take my mind off it?  Si.

I’d never admit this to him, but I was so looking forward to seeing him. It had been 4 months and while it was a much-needed break for me, I missed the familiarity of my great friend. I was longing to feel those big arms wrapped around me by noon Wednesday.

But s-e-x wasn’t on my mind…too much. That is, until I was speaking with Bourgie on twitter and she encouraged tapping into my Best Sex Ever. Then it became an option. An encouraged option. A scary option. One I wasn’t quite sure about.

Because, as we all know, there is a shit-ton of emotion attached to Mr. D. Emotion I have worked hard to overcome and know could come flooding back in a heartbeat. Since it had been so long since I’d seen him I was successful in demonizing him in my head again (the uj)…the way I make the fact that we aren’t together and never will be somewhat tolerable.

I met him at his place and it was just like normal really. Nothing monumental. We chatted like we’d never stopped talking as we drove to the restaurant and it wasn’t until we were sitting on the bench outside waiting for our names to be called to feast that I touched his leg and said, “It’s so good to see you.”

Truth is, I was dying to touch him, but I’m very unemotional when it comes to him. On the surface, I mean. Inside I was dying. I wanted to grab him and kiss him and tell him how much I’d missed him. Instead, I squeezed his knee. I played it off as we talked about how sad it was watching the Crackhead beg everyone sitting outside for money.

When we finally got a table I was happy to be sitting across from the man I love with all my heart. I mean – my friend. There was 3 months worth of shit to catch up on and we got right to it, my voice cracking as I tried to talk over the loud music and obnoxious drunk dude behind us.

Really, I just wanted to take his hand in mine across the table and declare my undying love. But…well, yeah. I’m not that bold.

I ordered a glass of wine and loosened up some. I could feel the heat rising in my thighs, but tried to pretend like I was just having dinner with my buddy. And that was all fine and good until the subject of why we’d stopped talking came up and I got animated. These were the emotions that were supposed to stay inside, but my Mr. D has a way of pulling them out.

I ended up knocking over my glass and it became half-empty quickly.

We argued about it a little. As usual, I brushed it all off. I didn’t want to tell him the truth, thereby acknowledging that I couldnt handle our friendship. He didn’t need to know that I was hurt. I played hard.

—-

I woke up this morning next to Mr. D. His sheets smelled like him and I was turned on. Hell, everything that man does turns me on.

Sleep eluded me as I tossed and turned all night, wanting to be bold and cuddle up next to him despite my non-cuddly ways. But all I could think about was the way his hand had run over my bare ass when he thought I was asleep. I’d completely frozen when it happened – scared of him and the possibility of falling back into him. Yet, at the same time, dying to feel him.

—

On the drive home he’d played some song that was all sweet and shit. He’d touched my hand while it was playing and I’d tingled. Then he touched my face and I jerked back, swatting his fingers away like he’d stolen something. Like my resolve. It was pure bliss in the moment even though I knew it couldn’t be.

I would never, ever stop loving this man.

And later – after he’d loaded all the music I wanted to a jump drive I’d certainly throw in my purse and forget about, he sat leaned over as I lounged back in the recliner trying not to fall asleep because I wanted him to tame the tingling in my inner thighs. He touched my arm. My hand. And my thoughts were racing. This wasn’t a friendly thing. He knows how much I love him. Why is he doing this to me!?

I pushed him away. I tried to act playful. But the truth is/was I wanted him. I wanted him to – for the first time since we’ve known each other – to take it. Me! Take me! I wanted him to kiss me and fuck me all night long.

But I knew better.

I knew he wouldn’t initiate anything because that’s his way of staying honest with me. He wanted me just as badly as I wanted him as we sat across from each other. The sexual tension filled our air. But he would never admit it. He would never take that lead because he knows that if/when I do it’s all on me. He wants it, but he won’t let it be known.

He doesn’t want to be responsible.

So instead of hot passionate sex like we could have had, we lied in his bed inching closer to each other as the night went on, but without touching or creating or doing. Just being. And being last night was just shy. And shy is stupid.

He wanted me. I wanted him. Seems like a no-brainer.

But when I woke up this morning I just wanted to touch him, so I did. I ran my fingers over his delicious arms. His back. I tried to sleep. But really I just wanted him to roll over and give it to me deep and hard. Like only he can.

“Are you awake?” he asked and I winced.

Well, duh, i thought. Wasn’t I just touching you?

“Yeah.”