single in your 20's

There comes a point in every single girl's life that you start to wonder whether you're single by choice (like you've been telling yourself all these yours) or if you're actually some sort of freak. You put yourself through college, find a job, start saving, and then one day realize that you put your love life on the back burner. Then you start to get nervous that you've ruined your chances of one day being in a functional relationship. You don't want to give up your indepence to just any schmoe off the street, but it's possible that all the good guys were snatched up while you weren't paying attention. But the thing is that there's nothing wrong with being single in your late 20's, or even into your 30's. In fact, people who are married generally envy the fact that you can do whatever you want, whenever you want. But try telling this to some raving lunatic that's just had her heart broken. There's usually a singular episode that sets off this spiral of depraved thinking, and it always ends in disaster. Girl's ex-boyfriend gets new girlfriend. Girl thinks she will die alone. Girl, determined NOT to die alone, starts dating absolute freaks to prove to herself that she's still got it. You get the idea...

I think I'm going to take the exact opposite approach and stop dating entirely (not that I date that much to begin with, given the fact that I made that conscious decision to put my career goals first). See, a few weeks before my surgery I found myself the star of my own bad romantic comedy... I started drunk-dialing, as I do every weekend, and decided to call the guy that ripped my heart out many years ago. I know that sounds like a disaster waiting to happen, but I haven't spoken to him in about 2 years and I genuinely wanted to see how he's been doing. When he called me back and informed me that he's engaged to his ex-girlfriend with the frizzy hair and the 1980's fashion sense, I was rendered speechless. I attempted to sound happy for him, but it's hard to be happy for the guy who couldn't commit to me, but could commit to someone with such poor taste in clothing. Hearing that an ex is engaged is a serious blow to any woman's ego, so I immediately felt sorry for myself and cried into a pint of Ben and Jerry's all night. OK, so it was 2 pints. Don't judge me.

Anyway, done feeling sorry for myself, I refuse to start dating losers just to prove to myself that I won't be found dead one day, eaten alive by my 12 cats. I'm not going to put some sort of ridiculous timeline on myself that I have to get married by the time I'm 30 (mostly because this is impossible unless I want to run away to Vegas one night and elope). I'm going to re-write this Shakespearean tragedy that I call my love life, I'll let you know how it ends...

Ah...physical therapy

So I started physical therapy this week....although it's totally painful, at least it's an excuse to get out of the house. I'm on short-term disability from work right now and there is nothing fun about watching bad tv all day. (There is only one good tv program on between 9:00-5:00 everyday: Ellen.) I can't even lift my own leg to put my socks on, much less go outside and do anything productive. I'm frustrated at my inability to do the things that we take for granted day to day. Getting out of bed and moving to the couch is such a production, it takes about half an hour. It's only about a 12 foot walk, but I can't carry my ice, my prescriptions, my books, etc. I feel helpless for 95% of my day, which is like hell on earth for someone who likes to think of themselves as independent.
I'm actually very excited about physical therapy. It's amazing to me the kinds of things they can do to help you recover. Right now I cannot flex my quad muscle at all, so they hooked me up to a machine to stimulate my muscle with a slight electric shock. It feels weird, but it's necessary. My therapist also gave me hope that I will have a speedy recovery since I'm reasonably young and was in good shape prior to the surgery. They also taught me how to walk on my crutches without my immobilizer on. Yippee! I also got my stitches out and my scar doesn't look like it's gong to be too bad. Obviously only time will tell, but overall I'm pretty hopeful about how my recovery will go.

Post-surgery- Day 3

So my ACL reconstruction surgery was on Tuesday, and I was feeling extremely lucky about how it went until about midnight last night. My anesthesiologist had given me the most amazing pain killer/nerve block/shot thing that was supposed to last anywhere from 12 to 48 hours. I thought that it had already worn off and that the pain wasn't going to be too bad. Then last night when the shot actually wore off I realized that I was going to have to deal with excruciating pain. This is hands-down the worst pain I've ever felt. It's like a constant throbbing, stabbing, burning pain. Not to mention that I have an immobilizer on, so it's just extremely awkward to have your leg straight and elevated at all times. The pain killers are doing absolutely nothing for me except making me pass out every few hours. I have no appetite. IT'S ONLY DAY 3! Seriously, how long will I have to deal with this pain?

Surgery woes

For those of you who haven't been around for the past ten years: I have a bum knee from a freak cheerleading accident in high school (and by "freak" I mean I was dropped and am still bitter about it). For all these years I've learned to deal with the pain and have been dancing on it. I fought the pain and continued cheerleading that year, as well as playing soccer. I fought the pain when I was dancing 6 days a week for my college dance team, and I still deal with the pain now when I teach dance classes at night. After a while it actually doesn't hurt anymore.

Unfortunately, your body develops the pain response for a very good reason. Rather than listening to my body, I chose to take the advice of a doctor who didn't think that my injury was worth taking an MRI and ignore my physical symptons. Long story short, I should have had my ACL in my right knee repaired way back then. My doctor now, who realizes that knee pain deserves at LEAST a little investigation, has advised me that if I don't get my ACL repaired now I will have debilitating arthritis by the time I'm in my early 30's. Oh, and since I didn't get the surgery all those years ago, I've also done irreparable damage to my meniscus. Guess who's getting double surgery!!!

So my surgery is going to be Tuesday... I'll be out of work on short-term disability for a few weeks. I'm obviously going to be in a lot of pain. Crutches for a month. Hideous leg brace for an who knows how long? Physical therapy. Gigantic scar. On the bright side, after about 6 months to a year I will be as good as new! Well, almost like new. But definitely better than I am now.

"HAVE YOU FOUND HER" by Janice Erlbaum

After reading Erlbaum's first novel ("Girlbomb: a halfway homeless memoir") I had high expectations. A few chapters in, I didn't think this second book would measure up. Oh, how I was wrong.

At fifteen years old the author spent time in a homeless shelter in NYC, running the streets and expirimenting with drugs. Somehow she managed to get her life together, dispelling the myth that all homeless people are a lost cause. Almost 20 years later, she decides to go back to the shelter where it all started. Immediately she is drawn to a young woman she calls Sam, who is on the run from an abusive, drug-addled childhood. Erlbaum quickly realizes this is no ordinary teenager. Not only is Sam street-smart, she's an incredibly gifted writer, piano player, skateboarder... you name it. Ignoring the advice of counselors at the shelter, she develops a friendship with the girl that she doesn't know how to cope with. She was warned that Sam could have severe emotional problems that she is not trained to handle, but how do you stop yourself from falling in love with someone? Like romantic love, maternal love knows no boundaries, which Erlbaum learns the hard way. She supports Sam through ups and downs; drug treatment programs, hospitals, and psychiatric facilities. The love she has for her pseudo-daughter is unselfish and unwavering. She wants to make a difference, but in the end gets more than she bargained for. As it turns out, Sam could possibly be a genius. Unfortunately, Sam's vast knowledge makes it easy for her to deceive both the author and many health care professionals. This girl knows how to work the system for her own benefit.

This memoir will keep you guessing, and give you a whole new outlook the next time you see a homeless person on the street. Honest. Compassionate. Heart wrenching. Definitely a must-read.

First-date Fiasco

I haven't written in a few days, so I thought I'd dip into the deep recesses of my memory for a salacious dating story...


As someone who doesn't date much, I guess I just don't know much about first date protocol. However, I do know a little bit about common courtesy. If I am going to go on a date with someone, it's usually because I think they are nice. Possibly respectful. Probably NOT going to berate me for everything from my political beliefs to my favorite sports team. But every once in a while my judgement is not on point and I might end up on a date with someone who doesn't live up to these very simple expectations.


Let's flash back to the fall, shall we? I met this guy, we'll call him Harry, when I went out with my friend and her work colleagues. After stalking me relentlessly for a week I decided I would meet Harry one Thursday afternoon for drinks and possibly dinner. The only problem was the Yankees were playing in Game 1 of the series that night, and I obviously needed to watch. I email Harry to let him know and he responds with "I'm a Mets fan". Um, so? I fully realized that people in New York were still bitter about the Mets getting knocked out before the play-offs, BUT CAN'T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG? Always optimistic, I let him know that I didn't mind him being a Mets fan as long as it didn't ruin my night. So he suggests we meet at some place with a nice rooftop bar. It was unseasonably warm that day, so I was sweating by the time I got there. Nothing puts a girl in a worse mood than humidity. My hair was destroyed. Anyways, the date starts off well. A lot of "get to know each other" conversation, and I'm pleasantly surprised at his maturity... until 7:05 pm. As soon as the game started I saw a side of Harry that no girl should see on a first, or even a TWELFTH date. He immediately let me know that because I'm a female I obviously know nothing about baseball. That may be true about a lot of sports. I don't pretend to know anything about rugby, or golf, and my football knowlege is definitely not where it should be, but baseball I know. I have been to baseball stadiums all over this country and was not about to let this guy tell me I didn't know anything about baseball.

Playfully, I egged him on about the fact that my team was in the play-offs and I would really enjoy watching the game without his commentary. He started asking me ridiculous questions to prove that my baseball knowledge was sub-par.

"What happens when the ball bounces over the wall?"

"What happens when the ball hits the foul pole?"

"Who just hit that ball?"

That was where I had to draw the line. Even if I didn't know who hit that ball (which I did), it would have popped up on the screen in 30 seconds. Now he was just being rude. Our date came to a close shortly after, and I was hoping to never see his face again. Unfortunately we both had to catch the same train. As if the verbal lashing over drinks wasn't bad enough, he decided to ask me about my political views in the train station. I'll spare you this conversation, but I just need to mention that nobody should ever get into a debate about abortion on their first date. But what do I know?

A week later, after the Yanks were sadly knocked out of the series, I got an email from Harry gloating about our loss. When I reminded him that his team got knocked out of the series before mine did he felt the necessity to tell me "You wouldn't understand because you're a girl". That was interesting. I promptly told him my opinion on this matter and he told me "Call me when you get over it". I hope he's not still waiting for that phone call.

dear construction workers, landscapers, pool boys, and many others

Gentlemen,
I seriously don't understand the appeal of whistling/honking/cat calling at a woman walking down the street MINDING HER OWN BUSINESS. Do you honestly think said woman is going to turn around and run into your arms? Do you think that you are exactly what she's been looking for her whole life? Let me just clear something up for you... the majority of women don't like being beeped at. They also don't like being propositioned with any of the following phrases: "ay yo", "hey baby", or anything in a language that she doesn't speak. This is particularly upsetting if a woman is in her PJ's at 7-11. Equally upsetting is when she is walking to the train at 7:30 am. If you see me walking down the street with my Ipod on, sunglasses on, hood up, and head down that probably means that I don't feel like striking up a conversation at that point in time. That's all. Thank you for your time.