Ten years. I honestly can’t believe it’s been ten years. Not that I’m not older (that is quite evident as my bedtime becomes earlier and earlier each year), not that I’m not wiser (though you wouldn’t always know it given my choice of boyfriends long past), not that I don’t feel like I’ve come a long way from the days of Demon pride and the high-kicking Demonettes. (Don’t ask…) But ten years…wow.

I’m helping to plan our high school reunion, a hefty feat once you think about the difficulty of tracking down 290+ students in a short amount of time. True, classmates.com and things of that sort are supposed to be helpful, yet I’ve started with the grassroots (read: ghetto) tactic of a mass email. Viral marketing at its best, I’m asking those people I stay in touch with to pass on the email to those people that they stay in touch with; the end result, hopefully, is a relatively robust list of long lost classmates.

But ten years. I know I’ve changed a ton, and from people who I have recently reconnected with, it’s safe to say that they have as well. We’ve lost that shiny varnish of youth, the innocent optimism that guided us through many a late night cram session (or, let’s be honest here, a pounding hangover during the next morning’s exam) and kept us going even when we realized our (former) boss epitomized the phrase “Scary Tyrant.” And yet, a little heavier, a little more forehead showing (at least for the guys), getting back in touch with people whose names I had nearly forgotten has shown me one thing:

I’ll be the only girl at the reunion whose maiden name is still their last name. Who knew that Ohioans got hitched so soon!?

It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, it’s just that it’s so easy to not say anything. What with the travel and the many, many days off and the pesky cold and its partner in crime, the pesky cough, I’ve been busy as of late. Busy doing very little, but oh so much.

I could get used to this not working thing.

Today is the last day of my very long, very extended vacation. I’ve found solace in my pj’s, enjoyed their velvety or flannely or cashmery goodness, convinced that a good set of pj’s has medicinal powers.

I’ve learned just exactly what my cats do all day, a big clue on why one of them is pushing 21 lbs. in all his darling voraciousness.

I’ve been inundated with nearly three feet of snow, and spent two delightful hours trying to clear off our driveway while it continued to fall. Despite it all, it really was beautiful.

And I’ve welcomed in the New Year with people I love (in a great dress, no less) and am excited to see what the next 362 days will bring.

In the midst of it all, I was greeted with the unexpected; surprises both good and bad, experiences that tested my assurance, my grace, my ability to act like the person I am proud of instead of the person who, at times, takes the road of regrets. These eighteen days ‘away’ from the norm have included a lot of thinking, some reconnecting with people I’m not sure I want to reconnect with, digging up thoughts and feelings and emotions buried long ago and bringing them into the forefront. These eighteen days, they were lovely, but they weren’t always easy.

Well, it’s here. 2005. I didn’t do a ‘Best of 2004’ list like I had planned (read: loosely considered) because, basically, I wasn’t feeling creative or introspective enough to list the things that were great (cute boys, super weddings, tons of laughs) and things that sucked more than a Dyson (jackass boys, to name a few.)

I had also thought about talking about the best music of 2004, and though I’m U2’s biggest supporter these days (if you don’t have “How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb”, RUN to the store RIGHT NOW and get it. I’ll wait.) and Damien Rice still makes me swoon, figured that was overdone and wasn’t in the mood.

Then, I could have talked about resolutions, but those aren’t yet resolved. I know there’s a few things I’d like to do in 2005 (besides making out with Michael Vartan, which again tops the list) but figured I’d keep those to myself for at least a while (or until I’ve accomplished a few of them, at which time I’ll of course brag.)

So, in the meantime, welcome 2005. I’ve got great hopes for you. Don’t let me down.

I mean, really…that about says it all.

This website, like my life, isn’t always linear. True, [some of] you read it day after day, and it seems to make sense; one day I’m bitching about some boy, the next, elated over the new one. Throw in a dash of wanna-be freelancing angst, some random observations, and yes, I suppose you could say it’s pretty linear.

Except that it’s not. Some of the posts (this one, in fact) are actually written long ago and just thrown in there when I feel I’m ready to ‘say’ those things or be honest enough to admit to feeling them. Sometimes, things get me so riled up or upset or are just too recent and raw to post; that doesn’t mean I don’t write about them, however. I just write, then wait, then post. When I’m ready.

It’s interesting – I kind of figured that I was somewhat unique in this practice, but apparently not. From the astute words of Sarah Hatter on her pseudo ‘About Me’ page:

DISCLAIMER: Not everything she writes on this site happens as she’s writing it. Some things she writes and sets away for some time and then publishes well after certain feelings have quelled. She does this because sometimes she has an emotional attachment to her words, and it’s easier to wait for that to desist before releasing them to the interweb and the thousands of moping teenagers who come here to validate their angst. But other words that don’t mean as much she publishes right away and rarely feels any attachment to them at all. Only one person has ever been confused by this lack of continuity, and he asked that Sarah clarify her writing patterns. She did, because she likes him a lot. Not likes him, likes him, but likes him nevertheless.

A website (or blog, as it may be) is unique in that your publishing is usually linear, or is at least expected to be, inherent of its very nature. Yet other forms of writing (books or even magazine articles) come with it an expectation of lengthy editing, and there’s a veil of secrecy on how the end result came to be. (Did you write the ending first? Did you do it in small snippets? Shh, we’ll never tell!) And yet with a blog, because it’s often a chronicle of one’s happenings or daily thoughts, is often perceived as a journal, and readers have been known to get confused and even perturbed when it doesn’t follow their logical sequencing. To that, I apologize, but I’ve learned through the years to hold my tongue in anger – though it’s not always best to hold the [electronic or otherwise] pen since those jottings often provide a window to your true feelings.

All I can say is thank God for the ‘draft’ feature on this site.

Sometimes you learn more from the silence than you do from the words.

There have been times in my life where I made concessions for others, allowed them to treat me a certain way, to do something, or – often – to not do something because I wanted them around. True, in each relationship there are compromises that are necessary, but when you find yourself bartering away the important things, that’s when you should take a step back. And it’s often in those absences of words or actions that you find that you’re telling yourself that it’s alright, that this dinner or that trip really didn’t mean that much to you when, in actuality, it did. You find yourself making excuses to everyone, yourself included, as to why something is the way it is. And little by little, these excuses, these concessions, build up and you think that you do, in fact, believe those things you find yourself repeating. That it’s ok if you haven’t seen him in a week; he’s busy. That it’s ok he’s cancelled again; something came up. That his inaction, that his ‘best intentions gone awry’, is the reality that you deserve.

When it’s not.

It’s not always easy to see, especially at first. We gals are so prone to going through relationships wearing the proverbial rose-colored glasses that we find ourselves being excited over the little things that should have been a de facto standard all along.

“He called when he said he was going to.”
“He remembered I had a tough day at work.”

I mean, really, are our standards so low that a phone call received can make our day whereas one not yet received can break it? Sadly, sometimes.

I used to spend time analyzing what he would say or do, when instead, I should have concentrated on what he WASN’T saying or WASN’T doing. It was only after meeting someone else who filled in those silences that I realized that before him, I was filling them in myself.

He wasn’t telling me I looked nice; I figured he thought it but just wasn’t good with words. He wasn’t telling me he missed me; surely he was. It’s only later now that I see that I shouldn’t have been filling up those silences with what I thought he should do or say; instead, I should have taken note of the very things that were missing.

Because really, there’s nothing wrong with silence if you don’t expect it to be filled with something you want to hear. Until, that is, you DO hear it, and realize what was missing all along.

What is it about the holiday season that makes it almost mandatory to overindulge?

One glass of wine? Ha! I mock you. Make that one BOTTLE, please.

One helping of dessert? Not for this girl, thank you very much. I’ll have the whole pie.

One game of pool? I think not. We’re going to shut down the bar – didn’t you get the memo?

We flit from fête to fête, wine in festive bag, with rampant widespread cheek-kissing more prevalent than the flu. Hello, Goodbye, Your tree is beautiful [though not as beautiful as mine], I love what you did with your hair, sorry to hear about the divorce, we’ll have to do it again soon. Then off to the next one. And somehow, in the midst of small-talk-land and lipstick-stained cheeks, we find ourselves a little tipsy.

Ok, a lot tipsy.

Whether it’s the glow of the lights, the aroma of freshly-cut pines, or the glow we’ve still got from our holiday bonuses, noticing how much we’re drinking, how much we’re eating, and how late we’re staying goes out the window faster than my teenage boyfriend escaping the wrath of my parents. “Oh what fun it is to drink…” is our evening mantra, whereas in the morning, there is NOTHING amusing about a hangover.

Woe. Woe, redoux. Woe of the most woeful woedom is me. Please don’t mention alcohol around me. Please help me pick my head up off of my desk, and while you’re at it, can you get me another bottle of Pepto? I finished the other two. And please, PLEASE be my witness when I sign my “I’m swearing off alcohol indefinitely” statement, to be posted on the wall for all eternity.

But you DO know that a synonym for ‘indefinitely’ is ‘until the party this evening’, now don’t you?

Like I mentioned the other day, this lovely little site is getting a makeover, both in terms of functionality as well as aesthetics. (I mean really, I’m no longer becoming less jaded every day, though I still DO believe that it’s easier to leave than to be left behind. But I digress.) Anyway, it’s long overdue, and though I’ve been so busy I haven’t even spent time over-analyzing the things I normally over-analyze (ok, I haven’t spent that MUCH time), it’s been on my personal ‘to-do’ list (along with spend more time freelancing, become famous, and make out with Michael Vartan) for quite a while, and it’s about time to cross something off. Until Mr. Vartan comes knocking down my door (which really may happen one of these days), I suppose I’ll have to settle for a nerdy website redesign.

Which, speaking of, is probably going to cause a little ‘work in progress’. First, the URL http://www.aubreysabala.com may not work for a couple of days. (Hopefully not that long, but honestly, I know SO little about the whole DNS thingie and content management system installation, it’s not even funny.) So, if you end up coming here in days to come, jot this address down in the meantime:

http://aubs.typepad.com

That will work (even when aubreysabala.com isn’t.)

Also, since the redesign comes directly from Aubs’ House o’ Ghetto Design Skills (read: none), please bear with me when it looks like my site is gray, ugly, and nasty. Because, trust me, it will. And while you’re being patient, why not send me some suggestions that you’d like to see on it? (Some things I’ve been contemplating:

• Links to my freelancing articles…you NEVER can have too much fashion advice.
• Picture of the day/week (though I’m not as consistent as I used to be, so this might not be possible
• Rotating header (though I have no idea how to do this)

What else? I’d love to hear your ideas – simply email it to me.

So that’s the scoop…thanks in advance for your patience, and I promise I’ll write more than I have lately, and that it may even discuss topics like:

• The difficulty of closing salutations
• My true thoughts on advanced degrees
• My top 10 worst “boyfriend” (and by ‘boyfriend’, I use that term VERY lightly) list

…and more.

See you around!

The end of a relationship, whether you’ve been dating eight weeks, months, or even years, is always hard – that’s why they call it ‘breaking up.’ It’s not only the separation of two lives formerly intwined, but it’s also changing your mindset on what the future will bring. It’s only natural for us to incorporate our ‘special someone’ into hopes and dreams…I wouldn’t be the first person to figure out my ‘future initials’ if one of my relationships were to become ‘official.’ (Any girl who denies this practice is lying.) But it’s not all that extreme…it’s birthday (or Christmas) presents, it’s weddings, it’s those subtleties that makes you plan for TWO people when you’re cooking, not just one. And, after a breakup, you find yourself dining alone again.

I recently watched that REALLY bad movie “Before Sunrise”, and – amazingly – Ethan Hawke has a great line in it. He’s discussing exactly this with his co-star Julie Delpy, and says:
“You know what the worst thing is about somebody breaking up with you? It’s when you remember how little you thought about the people that you broke up with and you realize that is how little they’re thinking about you. You like to think that you’re both in all this pain, but really they’re just ‘hey, I’m glad you’re gone.’ ” Sad, but true.

Time does heal all wounds, and I’m happy to say that feelings – both joy and pain – eventually numb. It’s human nature, self-protection, for us to be wary when new relationships begin…once bitten, and all. Navigating the post-breakup dating scene is precarious…you always wonder if you’re keeping your guard up a bit too much, or are taking past habits, issues, or assumptions unknowingly into this next phase of our life. Figuring out the balance is essential. And yet, despite any ‘baggage’, any unjustified assumptions or expectations, sometimes you have to trust yourself, your instincts, because even though the person has changed, finding yourself making the same excuses is harsh reality telling you that perhaps you’re right back where you started from.

My lovely little iBook is truly the cutest thing around. I’ve been sitting here on my couch, nursing a party-full-weekend-induced hangover, playing around with it and planning out some changes to my website. Granted, I’m still keeping my “Switching to the Mac” book right next to me, and have to find out answers to some “IP-based server access” questions (yeah, I don’t think I even know what that means!) but one of these days, you’ll see some fun new changes on the site. I promise.

In the meantime, the week ahead is chock full o’ goodness, and marks just four more days before I venture onto the “Holiday Travel-ganza” where I will be in 5 states (and one “District”) in 5 days. Before I go, I have two holiday parties, one kickboxing class (to teach), one karate class (to show off my BRAND SPANKIN’ NEW GOLD BELT! YAY ME!), two huge packages of gifts to assemble (and send), multiple others to ship as well, a 10-person cocktail party (to throw) and a little thing called ‘work’ to get in the way. It doesn’t help that I woke up this morning not just in the fabulous party clothes I wore last night (and, ok, also the shoes) but with a head cold that is quickly turning into one of those uber-annoying “random coughing fits” cold that will try and last for weeks to come. If I make it through this week even MODERATELY healthy it will be a gigantic feat.

And still, I love this time of year. It’s finally gotten cold here in Atlanta, and though I did drive with my top down on Friday (it was over 70 degrees!), that seems to quickly have changed into frigid-land, which reminds me – I need to build a fire when I’m done typing. I can’t wait to see friends & family near and far, and for once, have finished all of my Christmas shopping a few weeks back, and yes, the Christmas cards (both e-cards and tangible ones) have all been mailed. (I know, Type-A.) My mistletoe has already gotten a little workout, and I have every intention of leaving it up all year. I mean, really, a fire, mistletoe, an iBook and a lazy Sunday? What’s better than that?

(While you’re pontificating that thought, check out some holiday pics here. Feeling generous? Head on over here.)