Accepting the Other Half of Your Other Half

Being committed to someone – really committed – means accepting their good with their bad. Yes, we've all heard that before. But, make no mistake, 'accepting' someone doesn't mean spending the rest of your life with them. I 'accept' that my co-worker waits until the last minute to do every project then frantically pulls me in for help, I 'accept' that my insurance agent thinks email is an appropriate way to sell me life insurance, I 'accepted' that my ex-boyfriend was a chronic philanderer, but I certainly won't spend the rest of my life with these people. Everyone has a line. And it's important that we define it early on in relationships to prepare for situations like this:

My husband, Rick and I were freshly engaged when I had the second of many memorable meetings with his alter ego, 'Drunk Rick'. You see, Drunk Rick is the result of an avid beer drinker getting his hands on something much harder, say vodka, tequila, or – worse yet – whiskey. Drunk Rick creeps in quietly telling my otherwise well-meaning, level-headed husband  'pour yourself another...you can handle it'.  

On one evening in particular, we were celebrating the 20-something birthday of a mutual friend in the VIP section of a club with a steady stream of Grey Goose. Between songs, I noticed Drunk Rick stumble toward a table and clumsily pour himself a drink, having needed because he'd spilled two others before. I grabbed him explaining that it was "time to go." Drunk Rick followed drunkenly along behind me as I said good-byes on behalf of us both. Upon arriving at the coat check we realized that Drunk Rick lost my coat check ticket. The sign "lost tickets must wait until after closing to collect coats" glared down at me from its taped up position on the wall. An ocean of black Pea coats of all shapes, sizes, and materials spread out ahead of me. My favorite London Fog somewhere lost out to sea. It was hours before closing time and there was no way I could keep Drunk Rick in line during that time. As I turned to leave, livid over the ridiculous loss of a coat quite possibly right in front of my face, Rick grabbed at my shirt and refused to let go. Security quickly scooped him up and commenced to carrying him out as he yelled "do you know who I am" all the way down the two flights of stairs to the exit. Horrified, I retrieved my husband's best friend who would be much more likely to claim relation to Drunk Rick than me.

At that point, everyone in our party decided to call it a night mercifully sharing in my walk of shame. Outside security had Drunk Rick pinned against a gate while he continued to question, loudly, as to if they knew who is was and when they didn't answer replied "I'M RICK!". (Side Note: Rick had started working part-time for the same security firm that employed these guys a few weeks prior. The firm was owned by an alderman whose son was a good friend of Rick's, which is how he got the job. Apparently, he felt this gave him some clout. It didn't.) Eventually Drunk Rick's best friend managed to dump him into the passenger seat of my car. And when he leaned over the door to throw up I noticed, in all his rage, Drunk Rick had almost completely ripped the arm off of the Calvin Klein blazer he was wearing that I'd gotten him for Christmas the year before. Icing on the cake.

This wouldn't be the last time Drunk Rick showed his face; each time with its own flavor of ridiculousness or rage. Like the time he threw up in the coat closet because he angrily insisted he 'WAS in the bathroom', or the time he made a teary-eyed, but fake marriage proposal to me in front of our family and friends only to claim he couldn't remember anything the next day, or the time he started spitting on the floor of our bedroom because I wouldn't let him sleep in his shoes.

While these all make for hilarious stories (our friends and I considered getting shirts made that said 'do you know who I am' on the front and 'I'M RICK' on the back one year as a joke Christmas gift), they typically end in a hung over, regretful apology coupled with promises to never drink hard liquor again. Now, do I ever really think this will never happen again? Of course not! That's why it keeps happening. The point is that months before that embarrassing exile from a club we can never go back to, Rick and I got engaged (for real engaged, not Drunk Rick engaged) which meant that I love this a**hole enough to put up with Drunk Rick coming out every once in a while over an entire lifetime. I don't get any less angry and Rick doesn't apologize any less shamefully, it's just something that happens. In the voice of a Jehovah's witness on my front porch at 7AM, I have accepted Drunk Rick into my life. Because he carries so much good along with him.

So the question remains, how much bad are you taking with your good?

Maybe it's time to accept someone, but let them go. Or maybe it's time to accept someone and let 'it' go so you can love them anyway. Either way, 'acceptance' does not signify 'commitment'.

One Year Later

One year ago today, I woke up at 6am tired and groggy from a late night of girl talk and free wine. I had my hair and makeup professionally done while I let several mimosas go to my head. I employed the help of three other girls to put on a while ball gown adorned with lace, chiffon, and crystals. I got closer to my sister than I ever have when I realized that I'd forgotten to put on my something blue panties.

I paced the floor of the Knickerbocker lobby waiting for a limo driver that was thirty minutes late. The nerves subsided just a bit each time a tourist ooh'd, ahhh'd and asked to take a picture with me. I yelled at the sweet but late driver when he asked which route to take to avoid traffic "WHICHEVER ONE IS THE QUICKEST!". My chest began to heave as we approached the church and before I could speak my wonderful florist whisked out of the car and to my Dad in the bridal room. His eyes teared up as the photographer captured our Father Daughter moment.

I began to cry when I saw how many people were in the pews waiting to share our special ceremony. I kneeled longer than I ever thought I could and swapped one Maid of Honor for another when the first got light headed from it all. I smiled uncontrollably as the ceremony, kiss, and pictures went off perfectly. We arrived at the party we threw just for us bathed inattention and champagne. I was surrounded by waiters holding plates of flaky, bite-sized Beef Wellingtons and crispy coconut shrimp. Family and friends excitedly talked with just wanting a moment with the lady of the hour.

I cried at times I never thought I would (best man speech) and I times I knew I would (Father Daughter dance). We convinced people that we practiced our first dance for weeks though we'd been so busy planning we hadn't danced in months. We wowed our guest with a venue that most people hadn't been to in a decade, if at all. We hosted as ifmit were our own home and joined in the show whenever we could. I shocked when I arrived in a party dress

and even my grandmother, who walks with a cane, couldn't keep from getting down. The dance floor, like people glasses, were never empty and the party went on much longer than we could.

One year ago today, I walked into a suite similar to the one I'm in now and next to a man I knew I could never stop loving. And the next day I woke up the way I pray I always will: in the arms of my husband. Today we celebrate our one year anniversary and I invite everyone who celebrated with us this day one year ago to celebrate right along with us. We can't be there but please have a drink, share a laugh and a dance on us!

Sentimental value, like love, should be reserved for people not things.

The title of this blog is actually an original quote that I recently posted on Facebook.  It received several likes, which leads to believe that it's not to be taken lightly. This quote came to me during the time Rick and I have spent away from home. I miss home so much that it's thrown off many of the activities that I regularly enjoy, cooking a nice dinner, having a glass of wine (or two) relaxing on the couch, even exercising. I've tried reminding myself that home is what you make it and being anywhere as long as it's with Rick should feel like home. So it's possible that I created this quote as a way to convince myself of its validity. It was this quote that I said over and over again to myself as I walked through the darkened lobby of my company's Chicago Loop office last night to gather my things. I've accepted a position with another group - still within my same company - that will take me out to our west suburban office. I repeated this mantra to keep from getting "sentimental" about my departure.

Of course I'll miss the hustle and bustle of the city, but after close to 6 years down here I don't approach this change with complete disdain. I'll miss popping across the street for a happy hour cocktail, especially when it leads to an entire night of festivities hitting one hot night spot after another. I'll miss the fast-paced, no nonsense way in which the working class operates downtown. Knowing we're all here to achieve the same main goals - work, lunch, home - creates a kind of unity that is difficult to find among such diversity. Seeing the same people at 9 that you do at 5, even though you may live worlds apart is grounding. In the suburbs you see the same people because you work with them. You know where they're going, you know who they work for, and eventually you start avoiding them because if you have to grin through one more bout of small talk you might just claw your eyes out. Those things almost don't exist downtown. And here I go getting sentimental again.

Let me end this by saying that I've given myself permission to feel sentimental today. Not because I'll miss the silent strangers on the street, the gleaming walls of the office lobby, or even the happy hour options, but because I'll miss my people.  The people who have become like family to me because we argue, we joke, and even though we rarely hang out outside of the office when we do it's like we do it all the time. So it's the people, not the things that I'm getting choked up about. They may not know it because I certainly won't show it, but I'm smiling to hold back whatever emotions might actually show if I let them. Because even in a city as small town as Chicago, leaving the center is like moving to another planet.

All-in-all I believe the quote "sentimental value, like love, should be reserved for people not things" is meant to help me disconnect from things and recognize what is really driving the sentiment: memories, people, experiences, so that I can hold on to what's important and let go of what is not.

Not Always a Day at the Beach

The train is overcrowded for a Monday afternoon.  It's one of the hottest days of the summer, a time when emotions tend to run high. It's as though the sun's heat penetrates skin, muscle, and anything else in between to warm the very blood in our veins to a boil; so that any underlying emotion we're dealing with is warmed to unmanageable levels. The packed train pushes a young, attractive couple into the very last corner towards the front of the car. There are no seats, but that's OK because he leans against an emergency ladder and she leans against him.

They aren't speaking to each other anymore. It's been a long, hot day. Verbal communication is no longer necessary. They've been a couple long enough to know their limits. The day they had planned was one that would get them out of the house while he took care of some overdue business. A trip downtown would be nice. He'd straighten out his birth certificate and get a corrected ID while she window-shopped down State Street. They planned to end the day with a quick bite from McDonald's and a leisurely walk through Millennium Park.

The morning started off quiet, but as soon as they exited the underground Washington stop and hit ground level even the screeching of the train against the tracks was muted by the commotion. They arrived Downtown right around noon when the tourist and business lunch crowd was at its thickest. The crush of people caused them to unconsciously rush to the County building. A leisurely walk is difficult when everyone else around you is moving at top speed. To make things worse, little did they know lunch hour at the County building is one of the least productive times of the day. Lines are long and the only thing shorter than people's patience is the number of county staff. Two hours later they emerged from the well air-conditioned building almost wishing that the process had taken longer.

Meteorologists say that the sun's rays are hottest between the hours of 12pm - 2pm, but in Chicago in the summer it feels as though that two-hour period lasts all day. Window-shopping loses its luster in these temperatures, so they end up walking into any store that has something that even remotely captures her interest resulting in unexpected purchases that, of course, he picks up the way a gentleman should. He's annoyed, but money spent usually puts her in a good mood that will surely pay off later. By the time they make it to McDonald's substituting actual shopping for window-shopping has taken them well into the latter part of the afternoon. The after-work rush starts and they wonder if there ever isn't a rush in the Loop. She's lost her appetite, so he tries to appease her nerves with a overly sweet, iced coffee drink. Looking out at the heat and crowds, he's succumb by the same lack of hunger and cools down with an iced drink of his own. Time to head home. The Godforesaken rush continues onto the train which is where I find them, snuggled in a corner appreciating their proximity to the train car's air vents.

His arms wrap around her for both balance and sensuality. When the train car isn't jerking one way or the other, he uses a free hand to caress her arm, then back, then neck. Her tired eyes convey the enjoyment of his touch. Their frustration with the day dissipates as they get closer to their home stop. Other women on the train look longingly at their embrace. He's young, but tall, dark, and handsome all the same. She's a nice compliment even if her dress is cut a little low for the kids. They choose to avoid any overt PDA which leaves the rest of us to wonder what moves they'll make once comfortable in their own homes. Once two seats open up close to each other, our interest in their young love is dashed when they sit across the aisle from each other. They don't even leave the train hand-in-hand and he never offers to carry her bags. It was nice while it lasted though.

Among Strangers

Anyone who rides the el train in Chicago can tell you that there are many stories to be told about the characters they come across.  This is probably true for any public transportation, actually. Problem being is that you never really know what is going through the mind of someone, let alone some stranger on the train that you can't be any farther from knowing. That's when my mind begins to wander and because I can't know what is factually going on in strangers' lives I make up my own story lines based on surface perceptions. This is the start of a series featuring those fictional characters that I am able to develop from actual people.

The Infant Divorce

I have recently been made aware of a new phenomenon.  Well, maybe it's not new, but as with most of people when something is new to me it must be new because I alone am the center of the universe.  But I digress. This phenomenon is one in which people that I consider part of my generation marrying and divorcing at surprisingly young ages and in shocking numbers.  As a newlywed wading through difficulties far beyond what most couples deal with in their first year of marriage, I've become intrigued with the reasons why people too old to be in puppy love, yet too young to be so set in their ways that they aren't pliable to the compromises that marriage requires can't make it for the long haul. It's for this reason that I am embarking on a series of articles dedicated to the trials and tribulation of young, failed marriages mostly to help my understanding of why two people who go through the trouble of solidifying their union can't make it last and to help other young couples recognize the signs of trouble.

My hypotheses is that most young couples (1) are more fearful of splitting before they've tried marriage than divorcing shortly thereafter, (2) are still too young-minded to recognize and deal with relationship issues before going through with a marriage, and (3) don't have the full commitment to their marriage to work things out.

But I can't do this alone, so I'm asking young divorcees who are comfortable sharing parts of their story to help me prove or disprove my hypotheses.  If you were:

1. Married between the ages of 21 and 30 on or after January 2007, and
2. Divorced within 3 years of marrying

Please reach out to me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/enthusedfoodie or on Twitter @enthusedbeauty.

Corporate Junkies

Today on my train ride into work I got to see something I never see: blue collar workers.  I've been taking the Green Line "L" train to work because it's closer to the hotel Rick and I are staying at while our kitchen is re-done (upstairs neighbor, busted water heater, have insurance, long story - let's leave it at that). Because the Green Line travels East into downtown along more of the residential street route intead of directly down I-290, the way my usual Blue Line does, I am able to see people working. The Green Line passes all sorts of repair shops, factories, and warehouses where men in Carhartt overalls and steel toe boots plan out the day's work in wild hand gestures or over grease-stained clipboards. How revitalizing it can be to do something new and see something different. All I see riding the train down I-290 are other corporate junkies not lucky enough or smart enough to take public transport to work.  Some may think the term corporate junkie harsh. How dare I compare the white-collar, economy-driving, proud-parent-making, industry leaders of Chicago to common drug addicts?

Are we reallly that different? Most of us wish every day to be doing something more meaningful, more fulfilling than sitting behind a desk (or in a meeting) for 8+ hours trying to figure out new and better ways to fill the shareholders' 401(K) accounts. But we keep doing it each and every day. No matter how much we despise it - or ourselves - at the end of that eight hour day, we've become accustomed to what corporate life provides. We've done it so long we don't know anything else and most of us are just too scared to quit. What more than that can be said for your average, every day drug addict?  Do you think at the end of the day an alcohlic says - as they're coming off their bender - 'today felt really good. I'm glad I spent the past 8 hours polishing off more vodka than a Russian wedding reception."

There are still the social and health issues that come with actual drug addiction to which corporate addiction can't be compared, yet correlations exist. The stress that not only the job, but also the corporate environment has on a body can be similarly devastating as constant drug use.  And that's if everything is OK. Throw a neurotic boss, impossible client, or massive deadline into the mix and you're probably doing enough legal or illegal drugs on the side to be considered a true addict. Socially, corporate life is well accepted as compared to say - meth usage. But I'll tell you when in a social situation someone asks me about what I do for a living I'd almost rather be curled up in a closet boiling a spoon. Ok, now that is going too far. But the way "what do you do for a living" knocks the wind out of my sails can't be much different than what a meth addict feels when someone asks them what'd they do today ..."well I woke up around noon to find that I'd ground down the last of my teeth during the night then I spent the next 16 hours trying to find enough money to get high, getting high, then trying to find money again."  Ask me that same question on a Tuesday and if I feel like rehashing my despair I'll say something like,

"I snoozed my alarm for 45 minutes before convincing myself that I've taken enough mental health days this month, seriously considered finishing off the wine glass left from last night so I'd be aptly prepared to spend the day taking it up the rear from my clients while trying to respond to last week's emails and watching the ones from this week pile up. And I think my morning coffee substituted for any actual food throughout the day, but to tell you the truth I don't really remember because just like any other drug corporate life can make you forget to eat, yet not get hungry."

You see what I mean?  The similarities are uncanny. Others may argue that corporate life facilitates financial well-being while drug addiction destroys it. My counterpoint is that corporate life provides only a semblance of financial security. The steady income lulls us into a level of dependcy that keeps us coming back. How many of us spend money we don't have or do have but shouldn't spend because we tell ourselves we'll make it up next paycheck. Most of us - whether we realize it or not - are one pink slip or solemn call with HR away from destitution. Fearful of not being able to keep up our beyond-our-means lifestyles, we sucumb to the soul-numbing mediocracy that comes with being a corporate junkie.

Kudos to those that make it out and don't end up back; the restaurant or boutique owners, the art dealers, and antique shop keepers, the inventors and patent holders.  It's a fine line though because just like any other addiction it's hard to stay clean. The more successful you become once you're out, the closer you are to becoming your own corporation and creating the very prison that you tried so hard to break out of. We are a capitalist society, an open market.  Therefore, it is possible to become wildly rich and successful outside of corporate America, but it is almost impossible to do so without creating corporate junkies of your own.

So tell me, how is your addiction treating you? Do you work corporate, but insist you're not a junkie? Have you been there and broken free?  Like Scarface, did they drag you back? Please enlighten me...