The Lost Plum…

Here in one of the greatest cities in the world the majority of us commute/travel/get around via public transit.

The subway system being one of the most popular, it’s usually always there for you (usually). It gets you places, it provides entertainment and it opens doors.

You could say it is the most constant relationship I’ve had since moving to NYC.

SIDEBAR: We did have that 3-month break but that’s another story.

Yup, I think the subway is my true NYC boyfriend. He’s usually on time, he smells sometimes, he’s cool, and always has someplace to take me…. oh and he’s a fun big long thing to ride on!

However, if it’s my one true relationship I must project my fears and hang-ups that I usually foresee in men on my beloved subway boyfriend.

And I do. I’m scared of the subway most of the time. I stand back away from the edge (see above sidebar), I get disgusted by others my boyfriend lets ride on him, I make comments about his smell and appearance, I worry when he’s not on time, and I get pissed when he’s not there for me when I need him, yet he seems to be there for others.

But like all relationships I’m prepared for what might go wrong.  See the subway has its emergency plan. It is in ever car, on every line: The, “what to do in case of an emergency” procedure plan.

The emergency brake is usually right above this list of procedures. The list of what to do in case of fire, evacuation, illness, police emergency and so on.  What does one do? Not what you think. In fact you don’t pull the emergency brake.

In all emergency matters you never pull the brake.

The brake is like a false security. Much like the false security you have in a relationship. If something goes wrong you can’t just push a button or pull a cord and all will be ok. You can’t always walk away unscathed.

In case of an emergency you need to turn to the procedures to handle the situation in the right manner. You need to calm down and walk through step by step.

In relationships we aren’t always prepared for the “emergencies” we face but we can’t always fall back on a false security that things will be ok.  Something or in this case someone isn’t always there to catch you, isn’t there to save you, and in most cases just isn’t there fore you.

Although, subway emergencies don’t happen often, relationship emergencies happen all the time. Whether it is a real fire, or just an irate passenger we need to learn to just breath and take the right steps in making things better.

Now if only there was a manual for that…..

I’ve been thinking about High School alot lately. Not cause I miss it (well sometimes I do lets be honest) and not cause I want to tell you about some High School crush. (Oh my high school crush is so cute, I want to facebook stalk him all day) I been thinking more of the “idea” and more so the term “High School”.

It’s been coming up in discussions I’ve been having alot. And I was talking to one of my friends about it the other day and I have a theory.

But I guess we need alittle back-story, alittle “meat” persay.

This really good friend ended a relationship a while ago. Since then my friend has had hardships when it comes to behavior on the other persons end, especially when it comes to third parties. The ex doesn’t tell them about specific things but basically makes it hard for them to be friends with each of them. Ex basically says that “friend” is dead to them, but if you want to be friends with such a person that ok. Yes the picking sides argument. “What are we in High School!?”

Now to be fair I had a situation like this once. An ex and I shared an entire close group of friends and we broke up, and something along the lines of the following took place:

Plum: It’s not about picking sides.

Him: Well they all like me better!

Plum: Whatever, they were my friends first.

(And so on)

Again I say “What are we in High School?” But at that time yeah pretty much so. I technically was only a year or two out of High School. (But that does not make the above conversation expectable…or does it?)

So lets bring it back to today, and my friend, and my theory.

See here is the thing. My friend is older then I am. My friend has past 35 further then I am close to 35. And the thing is most people I meet that I want to shake and scream “what are you in high school!?” Are older then I am. By at least 10 years minimum.

So my theory, ready? These people are living the drama of High School and they love it! They love being apart of the ‘High School’ drama because it is actually for the first time present in their lives. And that excites them!

For the first time they have people to be petty with, have people to talk about behind their backs, get to fight over what to wear, who to date, and who said what about whom. It’s the first time for all these people to in a sense be (dare I say it) COOL!

See the rest of us who look at these 35-40-45+ year olds and want to look them dead in the eye and ask why on earth they want to be in High School should actual just turn around and not judge and let this phase pass.

It’s actually kind of sad. Cause while the rest of us are over those petty stupid drama games we have the right to be. We lived it when we were in High School.

But there were those that didn’t.

So let’s let them have there High School drama temper tantrums and bitch fits, and 16 yearold breakups. Let them get it all out and maybe then they can grow up like the rest of us and realize their behavior is all alittle too “high school”

Because let’s be honest. We all couldn’t have been the Prom Queen who ran student council, did 6 other extra curricular, and dated the hot older Varsity captain, now can we! Some of us were cool in high school and now we’re over it. And then some of us I guess are just getting “cool” now and maybe just maybe they’ll get over it.

It just sucks that we can’t all be grownup in the world of relationships and date like we’re all 16 years old again.

I was having a facebook chat session with pretty much my favorite man in the world, “Steve”.

And he ended the chat with a statement, a pleasantry, a signature, a farewell, that for once didn’t bother me but that’s cause it fit the conversation we were having.

I hate, loath, cringe when I see or hear the following:

“Ciao”

Seriously, ciao?!

You are picking that to end this conversation?

Ciao!?

* shakes fist at the screen *

I will refuse to contact/reply to guys who put this in their first contact email on any online dating site, or first email/text/call/ask to ask me out. I may stop talking to friends for a minimum of a week if they use it, and have even flat out called people out on it…./slash/ gone ape shit on them.

I don’t know why. But I do know that I find nothing about this word appealing, romantic or ‘international’.  It’s just stupid!

Do not ever try to date me if you like using this as your signature on an email, a chat session, or even worse you actually say it to people.

Unless you are Italian (like it’s spoken in your home as a 1st language or you are from there) OR we are actually IN Italy, do not I repeat DO NOT end with a  ”ciao” at me!

Ok that is all.

FACT: ‘Steve’ and I were discussing pros and cons of different hotels in Rome for an upcoming trip. Thus it was appropriate.

A while back I wrote about qualities that my next ex-boyfriend should process. All these were good things; I just have to find him right?!  Well like everyone I’m sure my next ex-boyfriend has a list of qualities his next ex-girlfriend should have. So I thought I’d make it alittle easier for him.

13 reasons why I’ll make a great next ex-girlfriend.

1. I love to bake. And I need someone to eat my creations. Baking relives stress for me. I think because it’s so methodical and precise, and my life tends not to be that way. So if a boy loves pie and pudding, I’m his girl.

2. I’m a terrible liar. I turn red, I fumble my words, and if asked in a serious tone I’ve been known to tell secrets. I’ve never spilled anything people have told me in confidence, but if it’s about someone I maybe when confronted tell. I’ve been to many a surprise party I didn’t even know where parties because I can’t lie if confronted.

3. I shower daily, if not more, and brush and floss more then I should. How is that not a desirable quality?

4. I’m exotic. And if you don’t think that is true you’ve never experienced a Canadian Shield winter or summer mosquitoes that can suck a baby dry.

5. I am close to my family (ok sometimes alittle too close, but not in a creepy Morgan Freeman way) and they mean the world to me.

6. I’ve had the emotional abusive, verbally abusive, and sometimes physically abusive boyfriends. If you’re nice to me I’m pretty much head over heels already.

7. I love sex. Nough said.

8. I have so many amazing groups of friends. You can’t not love at least 10 of them, and no matter what happens with us, they are all great at being diplomatic and guarantee they’ll still love you after I don’t.

9. I love watching sports, on TV and from the stands. And if throw wings and beer into that mix I’m even more fun.

10. I have a nice rack. There I said it.

11. I believe in equality for all. And if you don’t you can just move on RIGHT now. (me and my blog don’t want you here)

12. I’m always up for an adventure. Name it, I’m probably game!

13. I make lists. They will make your life more productive, and if nothing less interesting and they create things to discuss.

I’ve been surrounded by boxes and piles of junk lately, more so piles then boxes. I am doing a major clean and purge of my life “things” (I’m moving)

SIDEBAR: I love my stuff, and my junk but it’s just “junk” and it has had a great life with me, and will make someone else very happy, and stylish “to-boot”

As I’ve been in awe of my collection of things I have noticed something very different than in any other move I have ever made.  I don’t have any relationship outcasts. No boy leftovers, no guy junk, or man tokens.

Last time I went “home home” my closet was still filled with boy leftovers: teddybears, pictures, and all sorts of crap. And it seems like every time I have moved I have had lots of guy-junk to purge from my life, and this time: nothing.

Ok, that is a lie. I have three things.

I have a pile of CD’s from “bandboy”s band. Some are even unopened and by some I pretty much mean all of them.  I count this as one thing, although it’s more like 8 things. I don’t know why I have them, why I even keep them, and why on earth I’ve moved them to different apartments (even a different country).  Although, when he mailed me the latest CD I had a nice little pile to add it to.

And I have two shirts.

Now I know what you are thinking, that I must be one of those girls who takes things from guys. You know the ones who take sweatshirts and t-shirts: the girl who collects t-shirts from guys to sleep in.

FACT:  I’d rather not sleep in a t-shirt.

But thing is I don’t really do that. Why would I want someone’s dirty clothes when I have my own perfectly clean (and even dirty) clothes? But I sat the other night staring at two: a hoddie and a sweater.  Such ‘girl’ things to take from guys I know, right.

But the fact is, I didn’t really take them. I kept them.  I didn’t let them go when everything else went.  Last time I really sat down and cleaned out my life’s ‘junk’ I did it for two. It was mine, and it was his, and I cleaned out and flushed so much away.

Just like my giveaway pile now, I got ride of so much that was drenched in memories.

Now it sounds strange but I can recall memories with everything I have, unless I really have no clue where it came from. I know where “we” have been together: my stuff and me.

I remember the time I got my heel stuck in a sidewalk grate and walked almost a block without a shoe(the pretty black with purple top Prada ones). Or the green and pink Jacob solder bag I trekked allover France. Everything has a memory, a place, and a story.

And then I have these two shirts. I have no idea why I kept these shirts. It is a plain grey cotton sweater that even though I have grown in size I still swim in it, and a black (but really looks navy) hoodie with nothing on it, warnout cuffs and missing drawstring.

I have no memories attached to these items. I have no idea where they were purchased, or even when they were worn. Yet, these were the two things I decided would help me remember someone: the person who owned them.

Sometimes it isn’t “things” that we remember.  We remember an experience, a feeling, and even a sensation.

I remember France, and that trip, and the friends I was with, how much I laughed, and all the things we did. The bag didn’t give me that. I remember the great night out I had with an amazing friend when I happen to lose my shoe.

It’s never been about the shoes, the bags, the coats, and even the glasses.

And then…

I remember a boy that I loved, not the clothes that he owned.