And so today ends a 30-day month where some of us made a promise to write everyday.  I would like the record to show that this is maybe only the second promise IN.MY.LIFE I have seen through to completion.  The first was that whole Meatless Month thing and after impressing myself with that, I vowed to complete NaBloPoMo for myself.  To say I was gonna do something and actually follow through with it.  Who the hell knew I could promise to the internets that I would live without meat AND promise to stranger friends that I would write every day and I did.  I actually did!  Surprisingly it was nowhere near as painful as I expected.  In October I felt I had to drag things out of me.  Days and days would pass without word from me.  Yet in November, my life grew horrifically boring and I still managed to write about it.  Lucky you.

These days I find myself having nothing of interest going on in my life.  No dates, no sex, no silly city-girl escapades.  Hell, not even any insect invaders in the ‘ol SFAH to report.  Such bore!  Sure there were weddings and Jews and friend drama but seriously folks, my life has hit an all-time low.  Booooring!

MP and I do this thing before bed where one of us whines to the other, “Tell me a story … Please.  Tell me a story …”  And for the last 13,286 times he has asked me this I reply, “I got nothin’ kid.  Nothin.”  At the end of my days he asks how my day was.  To which I reply, time and time again, “Good.  Busy, but good.  Nothin’ new.”  To which he begs me to tell him a sttoorryyyyy.  And in every one of these moments I reflect upon how fucking boring my life is.  I don’t know if it’s a mid-seasonal transition thing.  Where the red leaves have fallen and we’re waiting for winter to show up so we’re just doing this wait-and-see game with the seasons.  So we’re in the in-betweens.  Somewhere in a seasonal “taint” if you will …. waiting for some event to happen.  To talk about.  To share.

When that something happens, I promise you will be the first to know.

Waiting until the last minute to grocery shop on Thanksgiving is usually a bad idea.  A very bad idea.  However, considering our work schedules, MP and I had no choice.  So we headed out to the “Social Safeway” in Georgetown (where, rumor has it, if you’re there on Saturday nights you can find your way to a party or get yourself a hot date).  We were pleasantly surprised to see the place hadn’t been completely pillaged like the LA Riots had just come to town.  Our shopping list included cornish game hens with fixins, rice, salad goods, asparagus, mashed potato ingredients and of course, wine.  I can handle not making all the “traditional” things on Thanksgiving but it’s really not a meal without mashed potatoes.  Drat!  The man has no mixer so we were prepared to eat nasty pre-made or boxed mashd potatoes.  I wasn’t thrilled about it but it would have to do.

While passing by the meat section, I saw these orange patties that I assumed were salmon burgers.  Oh my goodness, they were not salmon burgers.  They were YAM PATTIES!  I had never seen such a thing but he suggested we whip them together, add some yummy topping and we’d be good to go.  It is important to note that this man has never eaten a yam in his life and generally does not eat much that wasn’t included in his Greek mother’s repertoire.  This was a big moment folks.

When it was time to start the dinner I unwrapped the orange goodness, praying to god they’d turn out as planned.  I placed all the patties in a bowl, added some margarine goodness, whipped ‘em together and spread them in a low pyrex dish.  In a bowl I poured brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, diced pecans, cut in some more margarine and then sprinkled that sweet goodness on top of the yams.  I baked that bad boy for 30 mins. at 350 and holy mary mother of god, they were amazing!  Even the picky ass Greek LOVED them!  We’ve got enough leftovers to last us 4 days and I can’t wait to sink my teeth into that sweet, but healthy goodness.  If you see these things in the market (made by Flanders Burgers out of Arkansas …. random), you must buy them.

They lied, they gossiped, they stabbed in the back.  They spoke in hushed tones, they judged behind my back and to my face.  There isn’t a chapter of my life unmarked by the ugly side of female friendships.

Growing up I had Michael, Michael and Kevin by my side.  Sure they farted and looked at my boobs and constantly had filthy detritus flowing out of their mouths in the form of jokes and sick stories.  But they never gossiped or judged or stabbed in the back.  I have been friends with these boys for 25 years and although we’ve had our drunken arguments and political screaming matches, never once have they made me feel the way women have.  And any person with a rudimentary knowledge of math would look at this equation and think, “Hmm, go with the lesser of two evils.”

And so I carried on in life, carefully skeptical of women in my life.   I tiptoed lightly, I watched and proceeded with caution and I am happy to report that the gaggle of girlfriends in my life has improved.  But the conflict is never far from reach.  Just when I think I am in the clear, I am swiped across the face with a pair of nasty women claws, sadly reminding me why I was cautious all those years.

DC has been good to me in the girl friend area.  I’ve met a handful of amazingly intelligent, caring, inspiring, supportive friends.  And alongside that group of friends was the MP.  With all male-female friendships came the questions, the hushed whispers, the assumptions and confusion.  “What’re they doing?”  “Are they together?”  “God they’re like the Costanzas, they should just get married.”  So he and I treaded lightly and shared in our “partnership” at a snail’s pace.  As we struggled within ourselves to define our relationship, doing so under the glaring, watchful eye of a dozen others certainly didn’t help matters.

Eventually we warmed up to taking the MP-LilSass show on the road.  The more comfortable we became in our own “skin”, we let others see the funny, quirky side of us.  We have been told on many an occasion how fun it is to be with us.  How damn funny we are.  And how great we are in the kitchen together and “Man, you really do finish each other’s sentences.”  Our relationship is solid.  Solid like a rock.  We are the best of friends and sure, it’s a bit more complicated at times because well …. yeah … we’re best friends in a male-female relationship who continue to be single and not seek out partners and only share and grow and trust within the context of our own relationship.  But as you know, I’ve grown a lot and am happy to have finally reached the “we’re never dating place” of my own accord.

Two weekends ago while in New York he and I were verbally accosted on the dance floor at the wedding reception.  Ya know, a perfect time for a relationship assault.  It went something to the effect of, “What are you guys doing?  I don’t get it.  You’re either together or you’re not.”  (Pretend you’re on Jeopardy …. “I’ll take awkward and inappropriate for 500 Alex!”)  While half-cocked he and I had to defend the nature of our friendship to one of our dearest friends.  One of our friends who was so completely filled with rage that her face and chest was the color of beets.  Our friend who clearly has some unresolved issues about a past male-female friendship of her own and apparently that evening, right there on the dance floor amidst the helf-nekkid samba dancer, was the time to tell us to FIGURE.IT.OUT!

I’m exhausted.  I’m tired of “defending” what this relationship is.  I am tired of hearing how “uncomfortable” it makes people feel (um, she took it upon herself to speak for others who apparently feel the same way.  The evidence (read: post-conflict interrogation of our friends) says otherwise).  So here I am with a bad taste in my mouth.  I have battled the demons that are our friendship.  I am so great with him being in my life.

It has taken me a long, long time to utter the words, “I have trust issues” and here I am being reminded why I can’t trust women.  Because if they’re not whispering in hushed tones behind your face, they’re drunkenly screaming at you on a dance floor.  About shit that is NOT their business and not their problem.  I don’t know how much more I have in me to give and love and support of women in my life to be thrown under the god damn bus time and time again.

~~~~~~

You can g’head and say, ‘never trust a woman with no female friends.’  And g’head and try to psychoanalyze why I am the ‘common denominator’ in said female conflict.  I am not wired like most women and quite honestly girls, I’ve got more of you on the interwebs than I do IRL.  I don’t get it and I don’t know if I ever will.  I am hurt and frustrated.  I am already skeptical of relationships (in all forms, apparently) it sucks to be reminded why I should just keep going this alone.

Today is the first post in a week that isn’t about religion! I transitioned from the election to all kindsa religulous. I’m sorry I really am.

So back to the election …

Picture it: Washington, DC November 4th, 3am (er, I guess that makes it November 5th). I had had WAY too much to drink (shocking, I know), had danced the electric slide in the street, hugged and kissed strangers, took plenty of photos and maybe cried a little. I left the party in the streets and made about 17 phone calls. I, ugh … have no idea who I called. Oh right! I called my sister (also called Sass) in California. While on the phone en route to the SFAH I saw at the end of a dark street, just like the commercial says, the friggin golden arches. Like any drunk frat boy, I really like bad food when I’m drunk (shocking, I know). Don’t judge! I am all excited and told Sass, “I gotta bounce. I’m bouts to get a double cheese no onion. Peace.”

So I walked into McD’s, “half-cocked” as MP says, and this place is a hot mess. This particular McDs is in THE.HOOD and should really only be visited during the daylight hours but c’mon, I was half-cocked, gimme a break. And there were no less than 14 cop cars out front which meant I was totals safe (riiiight). And uh, Barack just won so no one was gonna get all gun violence on a night like this.

So I was in line with a watering mouth and I started chatting with the lovely men behind me (shocking, I know). We’re talkin’ election yadda yadda. As the line moved forward and I turned around, one of the guys said, “Haha, I voted for McCain.” I whip my head around and scream, “WHAT?” *silence* (I think they were both shocked at my quick, rage-filled response.) To which I said even louder, “I will cut you!” The man to whom I threatened with a knifing was SHOCKED into silence yet again. The other started laughing. I look at him again, lift his chin up with my right hand and with my left swipe under his chin - you know, in a beheading fashion - and repeat, “No. I’ll fuckin’ cut you!”

Thankfully I have a mouth full of pearly whites and flashed them quickly. They both started laughing and the one (to whom I threatened) was all, “Daaaaaaaamn. You were bouts to cut me!” (Riiiiight, with the butter knife I use for hummus in my bag). “But c’mon I’m a black man. You KNOW I didn’t vote McCain. That’d be worth cutting if I did.”

I’m glad we all had a laugh about it but … um … did I just threaten to CUT.A.MAN 4 times my size, while intoxicated at a McDonald’s in the hood?

Yes I did, girl. Yes I did!

Six weeks ago I was suffering some pretty intense emotions. All of those emotions - sadness, worry, upset, confusing feelings of the unknown - were a result of MP’s father’s cancer diagnosis and the effects that would have on his (and my own) life. Being his emotional outlet weighed heavier on me than I ever expected. Upon his return to The District, I didn’t know what to think. Things between us seemed to have changed. With his graduation and all the time spent with his family, I didn’t know what the future would hold for us. Yes, we are only friends but friends whom rely on each other too much. Who confide in our every day, our every moment, our every mundane detail of life. With the turn of events surrounding his father’s health and his finishing of school, it felt that things were climaxing. And all climaxes lead to something - either an emotional orgasm if you will, or … blue balls. When you get to a fork in the road you’ve gotta take one way or the other, right? And for months and months and months I’ve wondered what fork we would take.

During his studying period, directly following the sadness, worry, upset and the unknown of his father’s diagnosis, he returned to life as normal. Studying all the time and being very stressed out about all of it. As “partners” often do, that stress was externalized onto me. Considering I was swimming with emotion before this and busy being his everything, I took my own fork in that fucking road. I had some sort of “Ah ha!” moment where I said, “No more.” Never again would I feel unappreciated. Never again would I be someone’s ups AND their downs without some sort of validation for it all. Things just got so intense and I don’t know if life chose for us or I took the steering wheel but today I feel clearer-headed because of it.

And then … Hot Ass Ben walked into my SFAH. Ben has been this fleeting little fairy in my life, sprinkling his fairy dust of joy all around. As I have mentioned, he lives in California and I am not bringing this up to say OH.MY.GOSH we’re gonna make this official or something. Rather, his simply being here and reminding me how great it feels to be loved; unconditionally loved and treated like a “girlfriend” was something I had completely forgotten. Having him here awakened a dead part of my soul. (God that’s so Emo. Barf!)

Something about him rolling over before his eyes slipped into REM and uttering, “I can’t wait to wake up next to you” made me feel alive again. We laughed and visited our old hangouts and caught up with friends and had nice conversations late at night and shared coffee and brunch. It’s been ages since I’ve been in a real relationship and being able to taste it again, even if for a short while, provided me some much-needed perspective.

Although I have felt confident for months-on-end when I say, “MP and I are just friends” to the 8 million people in our lives that ask about it, I also find myself dressing a certain way when I know I am going to see him. Without fail I make sure to change FROM my ‘transit shoes’ INTO my heels before I walk into his apartment. I always re-apply lipstick and make sure I look extra cute. These things never crossed my mind when Ben was here. Not a once. In fact, I think I wore a hat for 2 days he was here and he thought it was the cutest thing ever. I just threw on some leggings and put a hat on and we walked to breakfast, while he was quick to hold my hand and kiss me as we walked out the door.

I don’t know how this all happened - maybe it’s just a convergence of life’s events - but I am now able to see things clearer. Despite Ben’s want to come back and visit soon and his request for a “grown up vacation where we stay in a hotel” (his exact words), I don’t know if this is about him. Or about me. Or about MP.

But I feel myself feeling differently. Acting differently. Seeing things through such a different pair of glasses, and I have never been more hopeful. Having Ben here reminded me of the kind of partner I do want. The kinds of things I value, the way I intend to live my life, and things I hope for in someone else. Although MP and I have been each other’s everything, there is SO much of me, he hasn’t been. There are so many things he doesn’t know, so many places he would never go, so many things he’d never contemplate doing. Being reminded of just how different we are, maybe affirming that it would never work, has freed me from this. Freed me from the emotional prison I locked myself in.

I can’t think of a better season to undergo a wonderful revelation of sorts. As the weather is turning cold, as I am fishing my socks out of the back of the dresser, I am excited to see what may come of this. I have unlocked the shackles of expectation, wonder and hope. I am me now. Same ‘ol LilSass who supports and gives and takes care and loves him. But I am NOT the LilSass who waits and hopes for something she was ‘due’ a long time ago.

I have no doubt in my mind that one day he too will wake up and see things clearer. Though I am sure his “clearer” will sound more like: “How the hell did I let that girl slip through my fingers?” But I won’t be there to answer. He’s on his own.

His father finally had surgery on his liver yesteday. May your thoughts and prayers from August carry him through these next several months.

I am not going to try to claim for 1/2 a second that I invented the term “Don’t Get Me Started”. As we all know, the brilliant Molly Shannon invented this term in one of her most amazing SNL skits of all time. (If you haven’t seen it … um …. do you live in America? Do you really think this blog is a work of my own genius? Aaawww, thanks you naive little people. It is not).

If you do in fact live in a cave, here is Molly Shannon’s skit. Jeannie Darcy Says Don’t Get Me Started!

Now that we’re all caught up on that … those of you, again, not sleeping under a rock, know that McCain has ’suspended his campaign’ because he is pooping in his Depends with fear. This new ploy has zero to do with ‘fixing the economy’. Last night he was supposed to be on Letterman but he cancelled to ‘head to Washington to fix the economy’ (when in reality he went to talk to Katie Couric instead) . Letterman goes on and on about how fired up he is.

Here is the clip of Letterman getting ALL fired up and mentioning my blog 6 minutes in. Yeah, he totally did.

Wait for it …. wait for it ….