Ok, so I haven’t written. Is this because:

a) I have nothing to say worth writing?
b) I’m boycotting the internet?
c) I’m swimming in busy-ness where I don’t even have time to write?
d) I wrote something fabulous, but the site encountered a ‘problem’ and lost it all?
e) C & D

You’re right, the answer is "E". First, my type-A ness has prevented me from just listing my Christmas wish list until it’s written up in prose-like fabulousness. I had this whole darling little tongue-in-cheek wishlist written up that made me look semi-humble even as I selfishly asked for the following things, and alack & alas, it vanished. So I’ve left my pride at the door (complete with mistletoe, of course!), and present to you what I salvaged from the  never-posted yet written post entitled: My Favorite Things: A Not-100% Complete Wishlist by Yours Truly

Screw raindrops on roses, and while whiskers on kittens are fabulous,
neither are topping my wish list this year. Instead, I’m all about some
glitter, some gadgets, and some gorgeous gifts sure to delight even the
pickiest shopper amongst us (read: me.) So, without further ado, I
present you with

Aubs’ Annual Christmas List

This sweater. (In ivy)
This sweater too. (In heather blush)
Or maybe even this sweater.
These would be fun-ctional (in blue).
If it gets cold (or when I get lazy), these would work.
My tootsies would thank you for these.
And this? Totally would make my iPod (or iBook) super duper.
A little black dress goes a long way.
(As does a little blue box.)
I’m currently digging this.
Though I’ve been known to call a plumber, this would help for future endeavors.
Feeling saucy? What about these (in pink, of course)?
This would help me be the hostest with the mostest…
You know, I DO travel a lot (though when I’m home, I should pack my lunch more often.)
And no matter how your day is going, you need to have a sense of humor.
I’m turning into an oenophile, but this would help.
Amazon & Froogle have gotten a few of my suggestions.
These – holiday or otherwise – would just make my day.
But remember – Diamonds are a girl’s best friend. (Though garnet can come a close second.)

Not nearly as witty, but much more verbose. 

So peruse (read: Shop!) away, and I’ll be back in a day or two to monitor your progress  talk about fabulous North Carolina trips, Holiday parties, Thanksgiving  party insanity, reconnecting with friends far & near, teaching my first kickboxing class, testing for my Gold belt, and darling boys that unknowingly win huge points for calling me on my work phone when I’m at work. I mean, really…who would have thought it would be that easy?

OH MY GOSH, I’m SO moving to Australia.

Brilliant – if only they had this in the US, it would honestly make a killing.

I know, I know…it’s been a while. Things have been busy busy busy here, what with dog-sitting, cute Moms in town, meals on the go, shopping, donning my inner Martha Stewart when decorating my house (it’s definitely well-adorned these days), cleaning, dating, soiree-ing, and – the most exciting for little ol’ nerdy me – trying to figure out how to use my fabulous new iBook.

Oh yes, it’s a brave new world here in Aubrey-land, trying to discern how to take a screenshot that saves in a format that I can upload. (You’d think it would be easy, and while it probably is, I’m still on page 50-something of “Switching to the Mac – the Missing Manual”. (Mac tips, anyone?)

But I digress – the Holidays are upon us, and my three trees (yes, 3 – like I said, WELL-adorned!), my wrapped presents, and my small, twinkling lights have me in a festive mood. Much to my father’s dismay, I’ve still not yet completed my Wish List (it’s coming! It really is!), I’m still in mid-kickboxing training, and while I have more ‘party’ food than one would know what to do with, It still seems like there’s nothing in the house to eat. (Lunch outing, anyone?)

The days & weeks ahead are getting fuller by the minute, and trust me, I can’t wait. I LOVE seeing my little calendar (iCal, as of late) get filled with parties, soirees, and even out-of-town client appreciation dinners. (And we wonder why so many diets start in January – you literally eat your way through December!) I’ve officially toured my ‘party dress closet’ (yes, I actually have one of those) to figure out what the various options are for the fetes forthcoming. There’s nothing better than getting all dolled up, donning your dressy duds, and hitting the town. (Holiday party, anyone?)

Because, really…the Holidays are all about good food, good fun, and good friends. Must go – must go hang the mistletoe.

My Dad uses them, in excess.
My Grandmother did too.
My Mom would, if she knew what they were.

Emoticons. They’re EVERYWHERE. Formerly advised against in business communication, I’ve received them in messages from even my most prestigious clients, and (though I’m loathe to admit it), found myself colon-parenthesis-ing right back. You’d think I was a teenage chat-room groupie.

And yet, while actively struggling to keep these annoyingly ridiculous little doodah’s out of my emails, I’ve noticed that I don’t use it to be cute; quite the contrary. I find myself using emoticons (smiley faces, especially) to mitigate what I really want to say, to lessen the blow from my true intention that may not be kindly received.

Have emoticons become EmotiContradictions?

Perhaps. In much of my business, and even personal, email communication, I inevitably have to say something bordering on the edge of strict or even rude. To say that someone is "TOTALLY a PR person" – while true – may be received as somewhat scathing and, though I wrote it for a reason, my initial instinct was to add a smiley face ":)" after the comment. Cheezy, I know, but for some reason, I think society allows us to contradict our true intentions by adding this two-character mitigator.

Why do we do that? Are we really so afraid to say what we want to in this overly PC world? If the girl is annoying, why not say it? Why, instead, do we say that "she’s more than a bit persistant. :)" It could be the converted Southerner in me, where insults are covered in sweet molassas, only discovered days later that you’ve been told off. It’s the "Bless Her Heart" syndrome in reverse, where whatever comes after the heart-blessing is sure to be some sort of jab at the person; with emoticons, the insult lies in what comes before.

Because, seriously, these days it’s become a twist on the old adage.

"If you haven’t got anything nice to say, add a smiley face. :)"

Practice makes perfect. At least in some areas. When it comes to dating, however, I tend to doubt this theory somewhat.

That’s not to say that dating isn’t beneficial; on the contrary! You learn a ton about yourself, about who you are, what you want, and – more importantly at times – what you DON’T want. Still, dating comes inherent with habits from ghosts of love past – the catch phrase-y ‘baggage’ that everyone is looking to avoid. And despite your best intentions, despite learning from your (and others’) mistakes, some of the ‘residuals’ are impossible to avoid.

Take expectations. If someone was dating, let’s say, a guy who was non-committal, ANY instance of commitment in a new relationship is going to affect them one of two ways: either they’ll find it a refreshing, fabulous change (imagine -a guy who wants to see you! Wants to spend time with you! Calls you when he wants to talk to you!) or else they’ll run in the other direction. (Thankfully, I fall into the former group, but that’s not to say that I haven’t found myself in the latter in years – and relationships – gone by.) Or if you were dating someone who wasn’t clear with his intentions – or emotions, for that matter – which caused you to become more overly analytical than even your typical type-A nature provides, you may end up taking this into the next relationship and over-analyzing even the most innocent of comments. And that, my friends, is where the true concern lies.

There’s no real way to separate past experiences from current (or future) ones – who you are as a person is highly a result of your life and experiences thus far (the whole ‘nurture’ in the nature vs. nurture debate.) It’s these very life lessons that provide you with the wisdom, the strength, the determination to go after what you’re looking for, to avoid repeating mistakes made in the past. And yet there are times that you wish you could turn off your mind, turn off the over-thinking, the ‘should I call?’, ‘should I email?’ sort of thoughts that make you feel like the very success of this – or any – relationship is actually dependent upon this solitary action. As if this decision is going to determine whether or not this goes anywhere, or ends up again in the ‘been there, kissed that’ barrel.

Take a step back.

We’ve already discussed my thoughts on fate or destiny or whatever you want to call it today. Regardless of the moniker, the fact is that I truly believe that things DO happen for a reason, people come and go, and things really DO turn out the way they are supposed to.

So really, instead of concentrating on what COULD happen, what you COULD screw up, how this MIGHT affect everything, wouldn’t it be more fun just to enjoy it while it’s happening?

I say yes.

There’s been so many things running through my head lately that I’ve started even jotting them down on my ‘things to do’ list. Pathetic, I know, yet somehow reassuring that one day, when life settles down a little, I’ve got a few great topics to discuss. They range from me actually starting to write my book (though I don’t think I’ll end up finishing NaNoWriMo as I had hoped) to how excited I am about the holidays, to various mid-day thoughts that involve "deep" thoughts on whether or not terms of endearment are also recycled with new relationships. Regardless, somewhere herein this makes sense in my little type-a head, and for that – and for a lot of other reasons – I’m content.

Fall has finally come to Atlanta, at least in the evening. It’s nearly pitch black at 5:30, when normal people leave work and when I begin wishing my workload was more the range of normal those aforementioned ‘normal’ people. I’ve gotten into the routine of the season, when karate is not attended as much as I’d hope, though the intention is there. When cooking dinner happens a few days a week, with delightful dinners on the town alternating with the not-so-delightful leftovers the other days. When I’ve gotten really used to being ‘on the wagon’, and am surprised how easy it is to not drink (and, to that end, to stick to a diet when not drinking) when you finally put your mind to it. And as I sit here, flanked by my adorable animals who are lazily contorting their kitten-bodies into flexible, curled-up-ball shapes while they nap on the couch, my roommate switching between playing online poker and watching Las Vegas (obsessed, perhaps!) and the first fire of the season is burning in my fireplace. I realize that things are progressing. Life is going on, after the sadness and complications and surprises and stress and all the things I spend too much time concentrating on, are really the small things that we use as a crutch because, too often, it’s easier to fixate on what’s not perfect than the few things that are.

Like my new flannel sheets.
Like the housekeeper coming on Friday.
Like being out of debt.
Like being able to be generous to loved ones this Christmas.
Like knowing that, after it all and despite the current and before the rest, it’s all looking up.

And that sometimes, you don’t need the surprises and the flowers and the candy and the new clothes and the clean house and the good dinner. Because sometimes, all it takes to be content is a night at home with your pets, your roommate, and a roaring fire.

(Though, if anyone’s asking, there’s nothing wrong with flowers…)

When a relationship ends, you inherently end up in a time of transition. Besides relegating all the ‘happy time’ pictures of you two to the back of a drawer (regardless of the circumstances, I refuse to throw them away – you never know when you need them as a reference to your ‘asshole ex’ or something equally bitter) and forcing yourself towards new trains of thought (i.e, no longer is he the person you call when something big or exciting happens), there are other, less obvious changes. Of course, yes, your bed may be empty where it once was occupied & your cell phone bills decrease, but I’m talking about those latent transitions that happen weeks or months later that make you wonder, ‘hmm, how do I handle THIS situation?’

Such is the case with evening attire, and no, I’m not talking about formal gowns. More of the "Vicki’s Secret", "On Gossamer", and "Cosabella" variety. Since my ‘transition time’ is somewhat recent, this dilemma plagues me as of late, as new opportunities are arising (cheeky pun somewhat intended.) Let’s be blunt – what does one do about lingerie purchased for, or by, an ex when the tables have turned and a new romance enters your life? Unlike jewelry, is lingerie a one-time, one-guy, one-situation deal, or is it one-for-all, all-for-one?

Now, of course we’re not talking of anything too tawdry; more of the nightgown(ish) variety. I just find it somewhat wasteful to let those beautiful, lacy delicacies go unworn in my lingerie drawer when they could be enjoyed (and certainly highly appreciated) by someone new. Yes, there are a few that may have more of a memory attached to them, but for the most part, I’ve always been a fan of slinky little bedtime numbers (within reason, of course), mostly because of my predilection for sleeping with a down comforter year-round. And, as you may know, down comforters are HOT, and wearing as little as possible is only prudent, temperature-wise. But is it poor form to ‘recycle’ your evening attire?

I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.

It’s a rare occasion, at least for me, to wake up before the alarm starts blaring. I’m usually lackadaisically enjoying the last few minutes of slumber, most likely engaged in some ridiculous "morning dream", the ones that make absolutely no sense yet are amusing in their own right. I love sleeping, and not only because I’m a high-thread-count sheet whore or need a new duvet cover fix once every few months. Sleeping is a luxury I don’t often get to sample nearly enough.

Still, there’s something about bounding out of bed, in a good mood, ready to start your day. Not sure to what to attribute the proverbial spring in my step; I went to bed at the normal "hour-late" hour, had to work late and thus missed karate, and besides a truly delightful conversation with a truly delightful young man last night, it was pretty status quo for me. And yet here I am, the sun is shining, and so is my mood.

Every now and again, you just feel like a million bucks. I wouldn’t go that far just yet, but I’d say a couple hundred thou, perhaps. It’s one of those days when your hair does what it’s supposed to (a daily struggle as of late since my coif is a bit persnickety most days), when your makeup looks professionally applied (instead of  the actual "in-your-robe-under-the-covers-because-you-slept-with-the-window-open-last-night" application), when your adorable skirt that you just bought a few weeks ago is loose (!!), a lovely gift on any day. Yes, it’s those type of days when you find yourself strutting down the hall, saying ‘hello’ even to those coworkers that annoy you most, sashaying in your fabulous fur coat that just screams "style." Yep, today is one of those days, and they’re not to be wasted.

Who wants to take me to lunch?

It has begun.

The malls have promoted it for weeks now; no matter where you go, red & green are prevalent. My holiday calendar is quickly filling up, with tree trimming parties (mine), birthday parties (others’), charity events (cute date), and the like being penciled (ok, stylused) into each tiny electronic square in my Clio (which, incidentally, I’ve yet to really figure out how to use.) It’s exciting, it really is, and despite my aforementioned hectic schedule, I can’t wait to don my dressy duds and hit the town.

There’s something special about the holidays – even in the midst of a twinge of melancholy that I’ve felt as of late, things somehow seem lighter. My mind, my heart, is lighter. Perhaps it’s the gold threads in my holiday skirt, or perhaps the chiffon in another. Maybe it’s the brown faux fur coat I got the other day which will match perfectly with the smokey topaz dangling earrings that Pam made me for my birthday. Or it could be good times, good (and new) friends, good spirits. I’d probably liken it to a combination of all of them, and yet whatever it is, I’m embracing it. I’m ready for something new, for some excitement, for some cheer, holiday or otherwise.

Because, really, I just ordered some mistletoe, and I’ve got a feeling it’s going to come into good use.

It’s not something I think about too much, or so I thought. It’s happened, it’s the reality, and I suppose it’s for the best. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

My friends support me in this, are surprised at the way I’ve handled it all. They think I’m strong. I used to agree.

I haven’t been sleeping well. My subconscious apparently has something to say. In the waking hours, I’m fine. I’m ridiculously busy, getting home only to sleep, balancing my work with my freelancing with my karate with teaching kickboxing with my social life with my love life with my exhaustion. Somehow, apparently, it works. Yet when I finally do get to sleep, an hour later than planned every evening, I find myself mulling over the very things that I avoid during the day. I’ve always been a vivid dreamer, but have been able to separate my dream-time dramas from reality, only occasionally having that ‘pit-of-the-stomach-post-dream-angst’ that happens after a particularly perilous dream.

It’s now become the norm.

What I hate most, besides the unsettled feeling in my stomach that I can’t seem to escape, is the inconsistency of it all. I’ve vacillated between anger, hurt, loneliness and sadness, only to return confused as to how I’m supposed to be feeling. I want to tell my subconscious to stop it, to pick one, because I can handle that. I know that the sadness will abate. I know, too, that the anger does me no good. I know that the loneliness is easily remedied, and the hurt? Well, that will pass too. In due time. But all at once? It’s somewhat overwhelming.

I awake from these dreams feeling predominantly ashamed. "I’m stronger than this," I think. "Even my friends can recognize it. I should be past this." And I’m nearly there – I firmly believe that I am. After all, the decision was partly mine, and I don’t see things changing anytime soon that would make me happy to the extent that I deserve to be. Prolonging the inevitable doesn’t help anyone in the long run, and I – for some reason – held my tongue too many times in the midst of it all; continuing that pattern is only going to lead to further disillusionment and unsatisfaction. Really, Aubrey, it’s for the best.

And yet I remain in this struggle, the battle between what I BELIEVE I’m feeling and what, apparently, I truly am. I’ve feigned apathy, employed the "fake it ’til you make it" rule that, 9 times out of 10, somehow works. The public acknowledgement of the truth here, on my website, is only fostering my vulnerability, and could perhaps be a huge mistake in judgment. Yet it’s the only outlet I can think of, the exposed shedding of my pride, to acknowledge that truly, this IS the way I feel.

I’m still angry.
I’m still confused.
I’m still hurt.
I’m still sad.

The language of loss is surprisingly succinct.