The Torture Test

This past weekend was a big weekend – or so I’ve been told. I brought the SO home to spend two days with my beautifully loud, chaotic family. I never really got nervous about it (minus the whole ceramics thing my mother insisted on making for him) though I was a bit anxious to see how he would hold up. The last time I brought a guy home for the parents, my freshmen year of college, we broke up driving down to see them. The family still hasn’t let me live down calling from a gas station bathroom carelessly stating “we just broke up so don’t be nice to him while we’re there.” Needless to say, that weekend (and that relationship) didn’t end so well for the poor guy.

But to really understand the demands of this weekend, you’d first have to understand my family.

My parents are getting ready to celebrate their 29th year of marriage. My sister and her husband just celebrated three years – after dating seven years since high school. My point being that my family is all about longevity in relationships and, well, my dating record of several light-hearted, painfully meaningless relationships thus far has cast me as the black sheep. It came to my attention this weekend that my family (mom, dad, sister and grandma) are incapable of speaking of relationships in the short-term. They would never dream to put pressure on me but they just simply aren’t programmed to think in terms of months instead of years, boyfriends instead of husbands. But you know what? I’m actually kind of thankful for that – it’s constantly kept my standards high.

So, after two days of playing too much golf and drinking too much beer, I’m happy to report that we left Florida with my mom and sister glowing with approval. My dad leaned over and told me he wanted to play golf with the SO again soon (which is his way of saying he approved, too). And grandma, well she’s just happy she has another boy in the family to brag to her friends about – those grandmas are really competitive like that.

And the best part? As we drove back home after a long, trying weekend – he still was able to laugh and hold my hand the whole way. I guess its going to take more than a psychotic family to scare this one away.

Bless His Heart

The Olympics have officially taken over my life and I’ve spent a better part of the past week curled up on a couch watching/crying/screaming for the USA (or really any athlete that has a good profile story). I’ve never been into the Olympics quite like I have this year but I've latched on to them with such enthusiasm this year. I’ve found myself up until the wee hours of the morning watching (note: they should really consider time differences when they pick host cities!).

I’ve loved making comparisons between different countries – the physical beauty, cultures and pride from each country is so unique and captivating. And, as you know, I wish I were a bit more worldly and less Americanized but it’s something I’m working on and seems to be improving. I became more confident in my progress the other night as I watched synchronized diving with the SO. The below transcript is not exaggerated nor changed for effect – it simply describes my delightfully simple, ultra-American, desperately southern boyfriend. Bless his heart.

SO: “I can’t believe how American they’ve made everything in China for these Olympics.”
Me: “What do you mean?”
SO: “Even the numbers are in English – look at the section numbers in the stands, they're clearly American.”
Me: (waiting for him to say he’s joking) “Honey – numbers are universal, they are just pronounced differently in other languages.”
SO: “So you’re saying numbers in, say, Germany look just like numbers in the US?”
Me: (Laughing hysterically) “YES! That’s exactly what I’m saying”

Like I said, bless his heart.

I love my job

Kelly [8:54 AM]: morning!
Kelly [8:54 AM]: coffee?

Ginny [8:54 AM]: dear lord -- hi
Ginny [8:54 AM]: Hold on -- I'm sorting out Vietnam issue

Kelly [8:54 AM]: hahaha oh dear

Ginny [8:54 AM]: Give me 3 minutes

PMS: An emotional tale

Every girl can relate to the time of the month where the universe shifts and you have no control, whatsoever over your emotions. Last week was said time for me and I fought back tears, anger and even plotting a murder (its extreme people) all while trying to live a normal, functional life. Since becoming newly relationed (yep, I just made that up) I can now see clearly two sides of the PMS argument in relationships.

One side: Poor guy. I’ve never had such an easy target for my emotions when they swirl uncontrollably as I do now with a SO (significant other, get with it people). Suddenly everything about this new love is obnoxious and wrong. He doesn’t care enough about me. He wants to spend way too much time together. He puts everything before me. He loves me too much. It’s expressed by short, snappy comments and an unexplained hatred that is soon replaced by irrefutable love. Poor guy – he’s probably second guessing this relationship as we speak.

Other side: Poor girl. As much as guys think this PMS thing sucks for them, I’d argue (quite aggressively in this state) that it is a million times worse in my head. I’m continuously trying to decipher between real emotions and hormone induced hatred. I over analyze for hours and tear myself apart with all that is messed up in the world. I am not a crier so having to fight back tears because I came across a YouTube video about an elephant reuniting with its long-lost circus elephant friend is just frustrating (I feel ya, Kate). Note: I did actually sob in my cube watching this the other day, ridiculous.

This all came to light yesterday as I ate dinner with the SO and his friends. Somehow this topic gets brought up and one of the guys says that he’s heard girls can start to get on the same schedule if they are around each other long enough (poor boys – they really have no clue). To which I chime in “Yes, its rather entertaining at my house when all three of us will cry at a Publix commercial.”

(Side note: Are those not the WORSE when you’re hormonal? The little boy baking that heart shape cake for his ‘girlfriend’ which in the end he really made for his mom!! Bring on the tissues.)

Anyway – the SO turns to me and says “Yeah, but why would you cry at that?” Having passed the dead zone a couple days before, I simply laughed and said, “we just can’t help it.”

Oh PMS – you really are a foul little devil.

I'm in love...

…with this guy. If it wasn’t so wonderful, it would be absolutely pathetic. I don’t even recognize myself right now.

As a single girl, I never understood how couples could spend so much time together and not get sick of each other. How do you have that much to say to each other? It can’t be great ALL the time, can it? Holding hands, giggling, kisses for no reason – give me a break. I guess I’ve always secretly hoped it would happen to me but I was too busy making sure that I was living up the single life that I didn’t even see this coming. Hello heels, welcome to my head.

I know I’m a total cliché of myself right now and that eventually this ‘honeymoon’ phase will be over but right now its simply fantastic.

The Great Escape of 2008

The day is finally here! Today my two best friends arrive in ATL to begin our road trip to Pennsylvania. I'm truly acting like a little kid on Christmas waiting for them to get here – its been too long since the three of us have been together (well really only a few months – but that's too long). I would sit here and tell you all about the adventure we have planned for ourselves (well – more realistically the adventure we don't have planned yet) but it really isn't about the trip. I'm just so excited to spend five days with the two people that have helped define me as a person.

We met in 6^th grade at church choir. I had just moved to our small town a year before and went to a different elementary school 'down the highway'. But middle school found the combination of both elementary schools together under one roof. Every Wednesday I would see Evan and Michelle (they've been best friends since kindergarten) walking to McDonald's and then subsequently standing in the choir loft a few rows behind me. In 7^th grade, I started taking church more seriously and eventually developed a relationship with Christ that my current friends just didn't understand – oh the drama of middle school! But Evan and Michelle did understand and so began our crazy friendship, based on the most solid foundation I can think of, our faith. Now, let's be clear – we aren't a bible beating, holier than thou type people -I have several memories of holding hair after too much alcohol to negate that fact – but the truth is that we've kept each other accountable and love each other with the understanding that despite all our mistakes, our hearts are in the right place.

Through college we didn't keep in touch as well as we should have. But, right when I thought things would never be the same I got a call from Michelle a few years ago. Her live-in boyfriend and she were having problems and she was unhappy. We of course talked to Evan about it too and when things ended for them, Ev and I jumped in the car and made our way to Michelle. Although Michelle will tell you that her breakup has been the worse experience of her life, I'd argue her breakup was the best for mine. It took something like that, something life altering for Michelle to realize how desperately we needed each other. Since then, we see each other every few months and talk frequently. Michelle and I went to France last year for a week after the break up and decided we'd do a vacation every year together (with Evan of course!).

So – today we celebrate twelve years of friendship. God bless Evan and Michelle. There are times when I truly don't know what I would have done without them. Their prayers, encouragement and occasional disappointment in me have kept me on what I hope to be the right track. Ironically Evan will soon be engaged and has moved back to our hometown. Michelle is now moving to Atlanta with me in August.

This trip will, no doubt, be full of memories and long talks in the car. Every time we get together I find a new sense of myself and get grounded all over again. It's a great change from the work and partying in Atlanta.

Happy Father's Day, Poppy!

My sister just wrote an incredible post about my dad in honor of Father’s Day. So good, in fact, that I sat in my cubicle and teared up just thinking about what an incredible dad we have – it's rare these days.

I’ve always secretly thought all the failed relationships of my past could all be contributed to the fact that no one could ever amount to half the man my dad is – fair or not, he’s the only consistent man in my life and I’m in no hurry to replace him. Perhaps the thing that I relate best to with my dad (that my sister and mom will never fully understand) is that he never takes life too seriously. He has a great way of taking life with a grain of salt – loving, living and laughing through it all.

My dad knows exactly how to rationalize with me and probably even more impressive knows how to tell me I’m wrong. As a single girl with very few people in my life to consider when I make decisions or get upset, my dad has always been an opinion that I actually listen to and need.

His family values are rock solid. Considering neither of my parents had the best family life growing up, this astonishes me. (It also pisses me off when people use the excuse of a ‘bad family upbringing’ for poor life choices) When we were growing up, my dad dove into everything my sister and I did with limitless enthusiasm. When I rode horses, he NEVER missed a practice or competition - always watching from the fence at every stride, every jump with beaming pride. When my sister and I took ballet he practiced pique turns with us in the kitchen and showed us how to point our feet correctly. When I was in 3rd grade and ran for class treasurer, he insisted (against my mother's wishes) on ordering me business cards - that's right a third grader with business cards, no wonder I'm career obsessed - complete with my "Save a Penny, Vote for Ginny" tag line.

.......

Now in my dating life, he’s always treated all my boyfriends as sons but I never, ever doubted that when my heart was broken he’d be there to pick up the pieces. Those conversations when I’m crying and hurt with my dad are the ones that mean the most – he never let’s me forget that I’m loved, unconditionally by him. His relationship with my mom is the reason (sometimes the ONLY reason) that one day I hope to get married. They are completely in love with each other and he would follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked. His love for my mom is simple, pure and uncomplicated. Not being with one another has never been an option and seeing one another through the tough times has only proven to create the strongest of marriages. I said it in my speech at my sister’s wedding and still believe it today – the two happiest couples I’ve ever seen have been my parents and my sister and Chris. It makes it impossible to settle for mediocrity in my own dating life.

So Happy Father’s Day, Poppy! I’ll always be your baby girl with big dreams and the family to help make them come true.

(Oh yeah and he’s also a great chef.)