Nothing Says Forever Like the Cold November Rain

The early edition of this blog idea started in November 2002 (sadly, those archives are long gone) – capturing my hilarious and shameful exploits of being single and living it up as a 20-something in Cleveland. That means that I’ve been blogging about the life, liberty and pursuit of your boyfriend (and sometimes, husbands) for ten years. TEN YEARS.

It’s been a long fucking decade.

Obviously, the last few years of this blog have morphed from one of loneliness and drunkenness to that of happy companionship and pictures of my cats. Writing from any-and-all of those angles has been eye-opening (especially when going back to read said archives), cringe-worthy, life affirming and fulfilling — on both a personal and creative level. Blogging is what provoked me to pursue a passion of writing professionally full time (that, too, has its own ups-and-downs) — I even named my company after my identity here. Blogging has made me invaluable friendships and connections. It has also been the source of some really awesome life experiences. Hey, I even made some money out of the deal!

It’s seen three different platforms, some 2000+ posts, and an immeasurable number of pictures. There’s been So.Many.FuckUps., two European adventures, at least eight jobs, an engagement, a canceled wedding, the acceptance of my sexual identity, a reconciliation with a high school boyfriend, three baseball players (and one coach!) and an irreplaceable Arrogant Bastard.

But just like some of those heartbreaking downfalls of Relationships Past, I’ve made the wrenching decision to Pancake my blog. At least I’m TELLING YOU FIRST INSTEAD OF HAVING YOU GUESS WHAT HAPPENED FOR THE NEXT 6 YEARS. It’s me, not you. I’m bored. I grew up; you didn’t. I’m just not that into you. And… there’s somebody else, err, a new project, that is. You’ll find it soon enough if you’re looking, I suppose.

I’ve tried walking away from this blog so many times, but I could never stay away. But I think I’m ready now. Ten years was a good run for POYB. Even in the embarrassment all those penises, I’m proud of it.

This is NOT a sex & the city blog.

I don’t know why I get so annoyed by someone describing this site as a “sex in the city blog.” Which, AND not IN, amiright, ladies?! But it really makes me bonkers. First off, Sex & the City was not a blog. Also, I haven’t really written about my single-something dating life in, well.. four years of my no-longer-single relationship. Our baby projects and stories are individual and personal to our own life experience. And I did NOT start this blog to “be the next Carrie.” (I’m totally a Samantha anyways). Ultimately though, wanting some experiences to be kept personal is the reason why I killed the blog. This isn’t a dating project anymore. Lifestyle blog, maybe. SATC, no. But it’s not even a blog because I have no desire to post or update regularly. Thousands of you still come back every day to make sure.

And that’s why I’m posting. TEN YEARS LATER. Because there’s still yet some life to suck out of here. SATC lasted, what, 6 seasons? And that last one was a total mess.

So, I’m reading this book about sex toys right now. The history of the sex toy, really — and its inventors, testing subjects and physiologists doing secret research about human sexuality. The 50s and 60s of last century. Infamous (and apparently, urban legend) motorized pumping devices. The days before the fleshlight. Or any sort of sexual revolution. Perhaps there was one for some people, but these test subjects were considered the heathens of society. Most of the research was under a cloak of anonymity or desensitized with BIG MEDICAL WORDS.

The topic has once again captured my interest in studying sexuality and identity. There’s a great discussion made in the book about where the lines of studious passion and personal deviation blur. People, generally speaking, are still in this holding pattern of being really shy, uncomfortable and awkward talking (and listening and reading or watching) about sex — especially if it’s a reflection upon their own lives. But this is NOT a blog about my sex life.

Know this though: If you’re a stranger talking to me about my “sex in the city blog,” you’re just creepy.

City Farmer on Duty. Heh. Duty.

My neighbor has chickens and bees. I love the concept of the rural life in the city. Unfortunately, our courtyard is exposed to the street, and our only outdoor living space, so it’s not an ideal setting for us. But amazing for those who can and do have the area to do so. I think it’s awesome that Pittsburgh as a city allows for this kind of thing (I remember the fight in Cleveland to change the city laws when I was still living there).

Anyways, we are conscious of sustainable living — always looking for more ways to recycle, reuse things, use less energy, and learn how to grow our own food. I love the concept of composting, but not sure we are that diligent. There’s also the worms. I’m a serial unplugger, by the way. You know the type: unplugging all the electronics, appliances and cords when not in use. The boyfriend used to HATE when I did that to the coffee pot every morning. Now we can’t because the plug is behind the cabinet — near impossible to reach (and the furniture we purchased online was total crap, so you can’t move it without feeling it’s going to fall apart at any moment).

Our community garden plot yielded really well results for us last year (lots of strawberries and greens!), and I’m hoping to do even better (really hoping for peas and carrots to come up) in Season Two. I definitely need some refresh tips on gardening, however (mostly because I couldn’t do any gardening last year with the cast); so I’m always looking for advice. I’m also really looking forward to purchasing a potters bench for my birthday gift because I hate when all those tools and dirt come inside the house. I’d have the boyfriend make one if I thought he could handle having a saw. He needs his fingers to continue to make the bread. And my dinners. I also really want a citrus tree just because… well, because they are pretty, but the boyfriend doesn’t think the plant could work in this climate. I’m willing to try (even if the trend this last season was a REALLY long, cold winter). Maybe even put one in the house. Want, want, want… I know. I’m the worst. Alas, I don’t know that any of this necessarily categorizes me as a farmer.

But y’all know how terrible I am with indoor planting. Seriously. We just don’t have the appropriate amount of life for anything. And I’ve now killed my second bamboo plant. *sigh* I will do better. Just, outside.

Are you hip to the urban farming trend? What steps are you taking to live a more sustainable life?

Anticipating a long winter.

Like a yogurt commercial talking about gut and digestion issues, ain’t no probiotics that are going to aid this discomfort. It’s time to rebalance and talk about women stuff. And good bacteria.

I’m not deficient in magnesium, but there’s definitely more that I can do to supplement my healthy eating habits. And while I’m no Jamie Lee Curtis, it’s time to share the support for healthy immune system. I need to listen to my body more — especially about what has been destroying my insides, inducing my anxiety (really) and… well, wreaking havoc on my hormones. See also: hormone regulation to keep my dang skin clear.

You ARE what you eat. Seriously.

I want Twinkies. Really.

Have you ever looked what is IN those things? I can’t even look at a box of Fruity Pebbles — once my favorite cereal — without feeling nauseous over all the artificial dyes and ingredients.

But I digress. Certain vitamins are good for different functions, and as a mentioned, these macrominerals help out with metabolism. Here are a few reasons I take them: healthy appetite, prevention of muscle cramps and weakness, insomnia (I wish I could take all of the things to help that) and the right amount even helps out a bit with daily mood. Well, at least I can tell when I’m seriously deficient.

Are you using supplements? Have you caught onto this crazy health stuff with bodily functions?

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True Story: I was one of “those girls” who gave you the wrong number in the bar, when I didn’t really want you to call me.

That number was either: a) a quickly made-up number, b) a pizza delivery number (seriously, thanks Pizza Pan!), c) the local police station (even truer story!) or d) an old cell number (it was easy to remember!). I was also that girl who went out and purchased a second cell phone used to cheat on her boyfriend with a guy from the bar that I DID want to call me, but that’s not here-nor-there. OK, it’s there, and it was stupid and shitty and immature, but it happened, and I can’t take it back.

Before the days of social media and reverse phone lookup — and, sadly, this blog’s popularity — I could get away with these despicable acts of dating.

Awkward? Meh, not really. Or at least not until I saw you again and discovered the usefulness in that second phone. Difficult? Yes. Who is this again?! Necessary? Abso-fucking-lutely.

But having a second mobile number probably would have made dating a little bit easier back in my game-playing days.

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