Remember when you were a kid, watching the snowflakes fall during the evening and praying to the Big Man above for them to cancel school? Though it took a true blizzard for us to get a snow day in Cleveland (at least for the non-parochial schools…they seemed to have a day off every week for one obscure saint’s birthday or other), we still awoke, flipped on the news, and watched the scrolling ticker, desperate to hear that our city or county’s school had been cancelled.

Welcome to my life today.

Yes, snow has hit Atlanta, though I must say, it’s a pretty paltry amount. They’re calling it “Winter Storm 2004”, complete with the ominous music that should instill the fear of God & Mother Nature into each one of us Southerners, and nearly every school system is closed. While I do have about an inch of wet snow on my deck and skidded into traffic while trying to get to work, it’s nothing like the snows I remember from my childhood. Into high school, we embraced the snow, taking our cars to the high school parking lot and intentionally doing donuts while our friends cheered us on. “More! More!” we cried, as the car would fishtail here and there and we felt like a NASCAR driver-extraordinaire.

And here I am, smack dab in the midst of a 1″-caused snowday. 1/2 of our office has chosen to work from home, myself included, since my beloved Saab-alamobile isn’t what you’d call a “Snow Car.” So with my cats batting at the cursor on the screen as I manipulate yet another Excel spreadsheet, I’ve only got one thing to say:

Nyah Nyah, I’ve got on my PJ’s and you don’t!!

I’m loathe to consider myself materialistic, and yet every now and again, I act otherwise. In a funk? Well, why not treat myself to a pair of jeans, courtesy of my Saks gift card? Got a big date? This red sweater – on sale, no less – will look fabulous with my suede shoes. Realized that everyone in the whole wide world seems to have an iPod? Gosh darnit, I want one too. And so I began my obsession with ebay and found a great deal on a 20GB iPod that is currently on a FedEx truck, en route to my waiting, loving arms.

Now, I know that possessions can’t buy happiness or love, and that turning to retail therapy isn’t necessarily a healthy way of de-funktifying one’s self. Further, I’m not a label whore by any means; my Tar-jhey sweater is folded nicely next to my TSE Cashmere wooliness. And yet the lure of the iPod; well, let’s just say I couldn’t deny myself something that perfect.

I am beyond elated for its arrival, can’t wait to catch a glimpse of its perfect white plasticness with sensitive touchpad controls and the ability to hold basically every one of my MP3 CD’s that are presently sitting on my Darling Roommate’s desk (in case he wants to add a Damien Rice tune to his currently in-progress Heavy Metal Ballad Mix.) I can’t wait to pontificate “The Weight of the World” with The Samples, increase the level on the elliptical machine while jamming to “Friday I’m in Love” (especially on a Friday) and put the top down on my beloved Saab-alamobile while iTrip beams “Red Red Wine” into my stereo. Oh, Joy! Oh, Jubilation! Oh, iPod Goodness!

Music has always been a mainstay in my life, something I attribute to my family. My Grandfather shared his beautiful baritone with the church choir every week, my Dad’s band was featured in Time/Life Magazine, and my Mom is constantly coercing me to join her in a piano duet when I’m at home. Music has always come easily to me; I could play a song by ear on the piano after just a few tries and (please, no “American Pie” jokes) I was first chair in the middle school flute section. And yes, I went to band camp.

I’ve always coupled music with different events in my life; “Go Your Own Way” was in constant rotation when I was feeling sad about my Lacrosse Crush taking up with someone else, I was a lowly seventh grader who always wanted to dance with the most popular boy to “Love Bites”, and “More than Words” played on a tape single when I kissed my first boy. And today, when hearing these songs, they invariably evoke the feelings associated with them from days gone by.

But back to the iPod! I feel like an expectant mother, anxiously awaiting the big delivery, counting the dials & functions instead of fingers and toes to ensure that it’s healthy. I’ve prepared for its arrival, getting a protective carrying case, iTrip to increase its breadth, and the superduper wonderfulness that the earbuds will bring. Yes, I am counting the minutes until I can welcome my delivery! In fact, consider this an announcement of the newest addition to the Sabala/Darling Roommate/Cats family.

And I couldn’t be more proud.

I’ve started no less than 3 posts today, each one trying to discuss my thoughts on true love, on happenstance, on synchronicity, on happily ever afters, and how things have a way of working out for the best, whether you really believe it or not. I wanted to somehow tie into how absolutely amazing “Sex and the City” was last night, and unlike other season finales (“Jack & Jill”, “Roswell” and “Dawson’s Creek” to revisit some of my more days-gone-by juvenile tv show obsessions), this one left me fully sated, elated that Carrie ended up with “Big John” as the tears streamed down my face. (Yes, I’m a girl. A girl who had a hangover, a big fat new television where I could easily see the Tivo guide, and a dinner of Kraft Shells & Cheese and brownies. I’m ALLOWED a few tears after that delicacy.) In the midst of my never-ending workday, sending me to the very depths of my tolerance and using every iota of patience I have to not literally bang my head against the wall, the concept of true love is firmly planted in the upper-left cerebral cavity of my oh-so frazzled head. As is the notion of just how small this world really is.

On any given day, in any given city, at any given time, I somehow find myself only a few degrees separated from someone I’ve just recently met. More often than not, you’ve probably dated my old roommate, went to college with someone I had a crush on in high school, or possibly met me a few years back only to call me once but never again (an apparent hint for me to practice my phone-conversation skills.) Whether I’m in DC, San Francisco, Sydney or here in Atlanta, I invariably find myself running into someone that either knows me, knows my family, knows the first boy I kissed, knows the last boy I kissed, or something of the sort.

The problem with starting no less than 3 posts today, this one being the fourth, is that there’s a very strong chance that this one is also going to fall into the sub-par category and get deleted. In fact, if I had more brain cells that were synapsing, sleep received last night, food eaten for lunch or patience (now and ever), I’d probably hit the backspace key with a lot of furvor. But I can’t – I don’t even think I have the time to spellcheck this so please, refrain from telling me that I can’t spell or I used the word “supposebly” because, well, you’re just going to have to cut me some slack today. This is all I’ve got right now, so please, be kind.

He stands with his back against the car, wearing an optimistic smile as the song plays lightly in the background. Our hearts miss a beat as we realize that he’s here for her, that the underdog has finally won a round, even clothed in purple chiffon with a wreath of flowers adorning her head. Of course, she can’t believe that he’s actually there to see her; after all, things like that only happen in movies, not to nearly-flat-chested girls who have crazy grandparents, an asshole little brother, a doped-up sister and parents that see her more as a wallflower than the granddaughter who has “blossom[ed] before [their] very eyes.” And though we know that yes, this does only happen in movies (this being one of them, after all), we watch the closing credits with a new optimism that maybe one day, our prince really will come. If it happened to Samantha Baker, then it could happen to us.

Of course I’m talking about “Sixteen Candles”, that 80’s phenomenon of a movie that put “Long Duk Dong” in our vernacular and taught us NOT to take muscle relaxers on our wedding day. We felt Molly Ringwald’s pain as the geeks paid $5 to see her underwear, we knew someone like Joan Cusack who had the unfortunate requirement of wearing a head guard during the day, and we identified with the high school angst where the jock dated the homecoming queen cheerleader while we watched on the sidelines, forever feeling tragically uncool. Aaah, those were the days.

I’m not the only one who thought our Jake Ryan could be right around the corner; Hank Stuever of The Washington Post recently postulated that “Real Men Can’t Hold a Match to Jake Ryan” and, well, I agree with most of what he says. (Note that you may have to register for this site to read it, but I promise you, take the 2 mins. and do so. It’s a fabulous piece of journalism.) And though Jake Ryan poses as many girls’ überman, I’d have to say I’d take John Cusack any day.

Now I’m not talking about the John Cusack of “Sixteen Candles” fame, where he portrayed the geeky friend and Poloroid-wielding, undies-displaying conspirator of “Farmer Ted”, aka Anthony Michael Hall, I much prefer the John Cusack of “Say Anything…” Whereas Jake Ryan may be the überman, Lloyd Dobler holds an unequaled place in my heart as the geek we can’t help but love. He likes kickboxing, sport of the future. He gets ridiculously nervous on phone calls, telling Diane Court’s father (of latter-day Frasier fame) that “she’s pretty wonderful”, stuttering in that self-conscious way that lets you know that he just blurted it out as teenagers are apt to do. He’s more Samantha Baker than Jake Ryan in many ways, what with his longing for a person who he deems as both perfect and unattainable, even if she did break up with him by giving him a pen, and it’s for this reason that we adore him, since we not only identify with his longing but know that it’s up to him to make it happen. Whereas Samantha Baker gets tongue-tied and slumps in a heap upon being in the same coatroom with her crush, Lloyd Dobler is able to act on his feelings, albeit nervously and being anything but smooth.

Hank Stuever poses the theory that we love Jake Ryan because for one shining moment, the average beats the extraordinary. I say that we love Lloyd Dobler because while he may not be the name that we doodle on our notebooks, he’s the one we want to grow old with, imperfections and all. You can have your perfect teeth, well-coiffed hair and Porsche-driving Jake, I’ll stick with the jalopy-driving dreamer that knows there’s more to life than spending your Saturday night at the Gas & Sip, and that making a girl laugh may just be the best thing for her.

You came here expecting a new post, now, didn’t you?

Looking for some witty banter, ex-griping, amusing anectdotes involving alcohol and/or mysterious love letters? Come on. You KNOW you did.

Well, sorry, but this is what you get for now.

My usual banter has been replaced by ridiculous amounts of work – like 4 people’s work undelicately put on my already close-to-toppling-over plate. It’s fair to say that I’m more than a bit frazzled. So, while I tweak my creative juices by writing a lot of ad copy for many clients that make products that I have yet to comprehend, I’ll leave you with this:

I really, REALLY wanted the tagline of my site to say: “aubreysabala.com – still optimistic after all of these asshole boyfriends years” but the system didn’t allow it, damnit. Until I can teach IE to integrate html codes, thought I’d ask y’all what YOU think my tagline should be…

I’ll refrain from telling you what my darling roommate suggested…

Be careful what you wish for – sometimes, I forget how good this advice is.

In life, we often choose to ask difficult questions without actually contemplating the answers. Then, when we hear something we don’t like, we find ourselves both shocked and upset. We could have saved ourselves some pain by weighing the possible consequences before we asked the question, yet too often we rush into things without this step. For once, I’m actually taking my own advice.

There’s little less unsettling than not knowing. People regret things they’ve done as much as things they’ve chosen NOT to do, and finding the balance between the two often seems like an impossible compromise. We don’t have a crystal ball or an oracle that Greek heroes consulted before charging into battle, and don’t know the plan that God has for us just yet. As such, we find ourselves stuck in a quicksand of indecision, trying to figure out the best course of action. So I ask you, when is it time to leave it well enough alone?

I find myself in the midst of this now, with my longing for answers precluding my ability to put it behind me. There are situations in my life that are unfinished, lacking the proverbial closure that sometimes we need for no other reason than to be able to move on with full understanding. Yet there comes a defining moment where we have to choose to sink or swim; is it worth it to open Pandora’s Box and seek the answers I need, knowing that I risk what those very answers may say? Or is it better to throw in the towel, accept that I may never know the truth, and learn to proceed without it?

I’m inclined to say the latter, though coming to terms with this is difficult. With a quick email or short letter, I feel like I could put to rest many of these questions, and I think I’m even willing to risk WHAT these answers may be. Yet on the flip side, why is it important? It doesn’t matter anymore, and I could as easily just walk away from the whole situation and move on. In fact, I’ve done so. Still, I have the irritating habit of not letting sleeping dogs lie (or cats, in a literal manner) and refuse to spend more effort on something than it deserves.

And so I remain in my quicksand, weighing one side against the other, trying to figure out what’s the best course of action to take. One thing I know, however, is that I’m tired of standing still.

One unidentified flower delivery, sender known only as “Your Secret Admirer”.
One unidentified sappy love letter, sender known only by the postmark on the envelope.
One unidentified “Happy Valentine’s Day” quasi-sappy email, sender known only by the reference to my website.
One additional delivery of flowers, sender known.
Two additional Valentine’s emails, senders also known.

All in all, I’d say it’s been a pretty good day, and I still have over 6 hours to go. Lord only knows what is still to come, but whatever it is, I have a feeling it’s gonna be interesting…

I hate Valentine’s Day.
HATE.

If anyone needs me on Saturday, I will be making up new synonyms for the word “hate” just so I can use it to describe Valentine’s Day.

RETRACTION OF RETRACTION:

The day has gotten a WHOLE lot better. Whoever is my Secret Admirer, THANK YOU for the beautiful flowers!!!!!

We all have our ‘types’ – mine is a dark, curly-haired non-goateed scruffily-bearded (or at least 5-o’clock shadowed) lad who finds me incomparable. Why this has come to be who I usually gravitate towards is beyond me – I’ve dated the blonde, straight-haired demi-Gods that are what I SHOULD want to have blonde straight-haired kids (what I DO want) and for some reason, I keep returning to the darling dark-haired dudes.

Kerry made a list of the qualities that make up her “must-have” list, and I can definitely identify with many of them (especially #5 & #6 – oh hell, let’s be honest, #4 as well…) I’ve been asked this question many times in the not-so-recent past from guys, girls, my Mother, my Father, the postman, the lady behind me at the grocery store, and a talking dog. (Ok, am exaggerating, but you get my point.) What I want in a guy has become a oft-discussed topic of conversation, and started me thinking. After all, I can easily list what I don’t want in a guy but when it comes to saying just exactly what I DO want, it gets tricky.

I’ve dated a lot of people in my past, if by “dating” I mean “went out with once or twice, maybe smooched them but nothing more.” As for serious relationships, those can be counted on one hand. And while the former category contained tall, short, thin, not-so-thin, dark, light, American, non-American, smart, not-so-bright, straight, curly & receding varieties, the serious relationships, with one ill-advised choice, all were relatively dark with relatively curly hair. Is this a subconscious trait that I can’t overcome?

Genetic theories discuss how animals choose their mates, with one such theory saying that without realizing it, an animal (human included) will choose a mate whose genetic makeup will compensate for any abnormalities in their own. For instance, if I had a recessive gene making me prone to cancer later in my life, without ever knowing my own karyotype, I would subconsciously choose a partner who didn’t have this gene to allow our offspring to have the best chance of survival. Correspondingly, despite my insistence that I DO want little cute blonde children, I’m nearly guaranteeing that my forthcoming little-ones will have dark hair.

I’m straying from my point here, and let me add the disclaimer that any healthy child of mine will be perfect no matter how they look, but I do want to get into my own list of “likes” and “deal-breakers, ahem, dislikes.” So without further ado (and with the additional disclaimer that y’all aren’t allowed to tell me how crazy I may or may not seem to you), here’s the official Aubrey Attraction List, circa February 12, 2004:

To be considered dateable in Aubrey-land, you must, in no particular order:
1. Care about your friends and family
2. Be intelligent
3. Be comfortable being the center of attention, yet comfortable when I am
4. Understand how important my writing is to me, and be supportive of it
5. Want children, eventually
6. Have a skill or talent or cause you’re passionate about (props to Kerry for that one, but I’ve always said that)
7. Be lighthearted
8. Be open-minded
9. Think marriage is important, to be respected, and not something to be entered into lightly (again, eventually. I’m in no rush.)
10. Make me laugh

See? Not too bad of a list. Doesn’t cut into the 900,000 single men that are apparently hiding out somewhere in Atlanta (according to Atlanta Magazine) TOO much.

But now the deal-breakers. A friend of mine and I were talking about this during an evening full o’ Vodka Sodas + 2 Limes on what he considers a deal breaker and what I do. He brought up nipple hair (BIG deal breaker for him) among other traits, and inquired about mine. Apparently, I’m a bit more flexible than I had thought. (In the deal-breaker arena; in the true meaning of flexibility, well, trust me on this one, I know where that stands.) So I give you the Aubrey Un-Attraction List, also circa today:

1. Back hair. Sorry, neanderthals of the world, just get that shit WAXED. And don’t tell me about it.
2. Close-minded & judgmental. Had that. Don’t want it again.
3. Unfaithful. See reason #2 above.
4. Current drug problem. I’ve lived through a quasi-alcoholic denial, and it scares me. Don’t want to go through that again.
5. Goatees. Sorry, please shave it, and you’ll be in the running.

Now, I’m sure there’s some more on each of the lists, but I’m interested in hearing from YOU. What is on your must-have list? What do you consider a deal-breaker? If you want to post anonymously or under a fake name, go for it, but I wanna know.

Comment away.

Friendships, like relationships, go through different phases. Sometimes you’re the best of buddies; other times, you’re lucky to get in a call even once a month. People come in and out of our lives at different times, and while it’s unfortunate that we can’t keep the same friends forever, it’s also not realistic. I’ve discussed this before in one of my posts and despite the fact that I was able to successfully sever ties with this person, I found it’s not that easy. Like that Krispy Kreme you couldn’t resist or the Jello shots from the previous night, friendships past inevitably come back to haunt you.

I suppose it’s the same way with relationships, but I can’t really say since I’ve rarely had the situation where you still find yourself having to hang out with your ex. You can draw pretty clear lines when you break up – the return of the t-shirts, DVDs and the separation of friends goes a long way, and eventually it gets easier. Yet with a friend that you’ve broken up with, those lines aren’t so clear.

As I’ve said, friendships come and go. My breaking point is trust – when I find that I can no longer trust a friend, I try and avoid interactions as much as possible. It’s a shame, really – I give everyone the benefit of the doubt, often more than I should. Yet there comes a time when Occam’s Razor must take effect; i.e., the simplest explanation is the one most likely to be correct, and after hearing a dozen or so “likely stories”, it just gets old. REAL old.

Still, it’s not that simple. You were friends at one time, and though you chose to end it, there is often a feeling of guilt associated with it, especially if you don’t come right out and say the reasons why you’re “breaking up” with said friend. As in relationships, there’s two ways out: the coward’s way, which is just the non-returning of phone calls, eventually drifting apart without explicitly stating a reason, and the harder, yet more valiant method, having a heart-to-heart and telling the other person what’s on their mind. And though I frequently chastise an ex for pulling the coward’s way on me, I am loathe to admit that I’ve done the very same thing when it comes to breaking up with a friend.

And so we find ourselves in one uncomfortable situation after the next, wondering who was right and who was wrong, feelings hurt and someone always feeling like they were justified in their actions. Apparently, NOT all’s fair in love and war, especially when it comes to friendships.