The Heather Chronicles

Welcome, my friends. It's been many moons, but I am back...at least for tonight. Life has been busy and consumed by studying, but tonight...tonight is about this.

There comes a time (hopefully) in all our lives when we realize who we truly are. As I exist for the third round of life in my homeland of Seattle, I can't help but be in awe of the things that have changed this time around. Many friends are buying or settling into their first homes, many are married or now engaged, many are pregnant or raising children...basically, many are acting like adults.

This new path definitely changes some, alters others slightly, or some it stays the same simply with a new accessory in their life. This is typically what happens when you grow up, so I don't resent it or disapprove of it, yet I'm just not there. Or I guess I should say I've been there, but am now far past that phase of my life and seem to be regressing, perhaps? I bought my first house at 24. I got married when I was 25. I got divorced when I was 29. Now here I am two months from 36, changing careers and my life by myself for the umpteenth time, and am strangely happy. I feel like each year I know myself more and more, and recently I feel like despite my constant changing of mind, I know who I am. I am a strong, loving, honest, fun, slightly overdramatic, blatant woman who is okay with not "fitting the bill".

I am the girl who can't figure out where the hell she wants to settle down, wonders IF she wants to settle down somewhere, changes her occupation every year or two, can't accept she is the age she is, wants love, wants a baby, doesn't want marriage, doesn't necessarily want to buy a home again (this equals commitment to location), wants to have fun, has somehow unintentionally earned herself the title of a "cougar", wants to write a book or show that makes people laugh, wants to travel yet hasn't explored outside of the country or its neighbors, is in a war against the body's demise with age, will tell it like it is, and has a very nil social filter. I am a contradiction of the want for the American dream, and the freedom of a vagabond. I don't get me. I don't understand me. I don’t necessarily live my life the way many think I should be, but I think I'm pretty awesome for the most part, and am surrounded by a lot of love, which you can’t go wrong with.

There's been many eye-opening experiences along my path, and many since I've moved back home. Tonight's revelation? I act like a kindergartener. Why, you ask? Or maybe you're simply nodding.

A few examples:

*I think poo is funny.
*If I laugh too hard, I pee my pants.
*I still think that nothing is more calming than coloring in a coloring book.
*I know the Ewok song.
*Playing like a kid still heals my soul.
*I have no qualms about making a fool out of myself or having a moment of what can only be teretts.
*I LOVE Play-Doh.
*I make sound effects instead of words.
*When I REALLY like a boy, I apparently hit him.

The last statement of kindergartener symptoms is what leads me to this blog tonight. You see, I was out tonight for our intern's going away gathering. At first it was just me, my boss/friend, and the intern. So because the intern is leaving, it is revealed by my boss to the intern that I am in smitteness with a coworker. He apparently didn't know.

"Do I act like I like him?" I ask.

"Uh no," replies the intern.

So before the object of my crush and my other coworker show up, Monica and I launch into the details of my likey-likey for the object of my crush. I've liked him for months; despite the fact I've dated and hooked up with other men, I've held my torch for him. Despite the fact we work together, I think we could act like "fucking adults" if something didn't work out. And now…I've started hitting him. Not abusive hitting, but like Elaine from Seinfeld hitting. The "shut up" or “no way” open-palmed smack to the arm/chest/back. I excuse it by saying that I hit everyone so it's no big deal.

Monica looks at me. "You've never hit me."

"I haven't?" I ask.

"You've never hit me," states Louis.

I turn to him, "Really?"

So I apparently hit boys I like...like a fucking 6-year old. Great. This is why I resort to brief flings and one-night stands. I can act like a chicken. Will I ever tell him? I don't know. He's younger (this is not intentional despite the fact everyone just thinks at this point that I like younger men), we work together...and he's so frickin' nice, and cute, and nice, and fun, and nice! I just don't think I have a chance in hell. Oh, and his friend referred to me in a question about old women. So yeah, I doubt there's a chance in hell. Thing is, it makes me kind of sad because this is the first time in years I've had a real, honest, goofy crush on someone I like too much to tell or attempt some drunken make-out session with. I like him more than that.

So until my crush manifests, dissipates, or switches to another, I refuse to live like a nun or a hermit. I'll have my little flings and the rare one-night stands with visitors from other countries. I'll laugh. I'll cry. I'll continue my rants about poop. I'll love the amazing people in my life and laugh my arse off with them….and I’ll apparently smack around the boy I like.

I'll keep on playing, but a little wiser, and not eat the Play-Doh this time.