File under "Things that guys think are funny...but in fact really fucking are not."

Just four days after my 30th birthday - the (28 year old) boy pulled back while kissing me, looked deep into my eyes, smiled, and said...

"You're a cougar now."

"Like dirty...wit a 'thir'..."

Lots to do in the next 12 hours...so of course here I am.
Sometime in the 16 days since last I wrote, I turned 30. It's still a little strange to see that number. I've been too damn busy to put any real thought into it. I had to talk a friend in from the ledge today who is facing the switch tomorrow, but there really isn't anything to say. No, your life doesn't look like you thought it would at 30, but good news! No one's does. Unfortunately, as women we face a brand new set of pressures, especially those of us who want to become moms. It's ugly and real and you can either face it while working on becoming the best version of yourself...or you can sit on your couch in your pjs, stuffing your face with birthday cake, and talking to your cat.
Oh. Just me?
As I mentioned, I've been busy and tomorrow sees the end of the flurry of immediate deadlines I've faced lately. So tonight you can find me doing the above, avoiding this effing paper, and administering my first facial peel.

Conversations I still need to have...

I have no business being on here with the amount I have to do this week.
SO. Instead of procrastination-writing, I will share a post from Stephanie Klein. She lives in Austin and I wish we would just bump into each already and become instant friends. Or at least that she wouldn't think I was crazy when I blurted that out to her...because I totally would. "OMG you're Stephanie Klein and you are an awesome writer and I have curly hair too, see? and your kids are freaking adorable and how's Phil feeling these days and can we please go get cocktails and no I'm not following you to your car, that's not what's happening at all."
Yeah. I think it would be kinda like that.

Happy Halloween, folks.

This isn't really my holiday at all but I am dressing up for the first time since college so I can inject a little fun into what will be a hellish two weeks. Thankfully, the end of this hell brings my birthday and some of my favorite peeps, so I am trying to keep that in perspective while I want to cry over PowerPoint slides.
Of course instead of working, I am on the internet but I'm about to stop. For real. I swear. Maybe.
I have recently discovered the correlation between going to bed early and not wanting to stab your eyes out when the alarm goes off. I know. I'm a quick study. I've already accomplished some of the things on my list for today and got in an hour walk at the lake. Sleep. Who knew.
Now I must go accomplish the rest of my list so I can join the other slutty what-have-yous in the festivities tonight.
Boy update another time. I'm neither a full-blown testosterone case nor am I a crazy bitch...but some of his actions lately have awakened the dormant Pimp Meeks. It does not bode well for him. I just had a long talk with Christopher who, despite our now-hilarious past, knows me better than most people. I relayed the latest and he, after he stopped laughing, didn't give the boy very good odds. He knows that once I refer to a man as a pussy, it's generally downhill from there. But...fingers crossed. I still like him. He just needs a little training.
Hand me my whip.

Uncharted territory

I find myself in a bit of a quandary and it's all very unfamiliar. So...I had relations with the boy. And I don't really want to talk about it. Which is clearly not my modus operandi (see: the past three years worth of posts).
It might have something to do with the fact that I am now totally confused and don't know what to do with myself. The two sides of Meeks are in an epic battle and it's wreaking havoc all up in my brain.

Side A:

The more masculine side of me caused an instant drop in interest level upon consummation. I am fairly convinced that instead of that bonding/attachment chemical women are supposed to release after sex...I release testosterone. Exhibit A - The text message I sent Nicole at 5am, immediately after he passed out...all up in my side of the bed, I might add.

There's a reason you're supposed to wait til marriage...it's known as Lower Expectations. Yeah. I said it.This early morning text is brought to you by the number "it doesn't matter one fucking bit how long you wait" and the letter "meeeeh"...paid for by the corporation of stop snoring in my fucking ear.

I mean. I know it's harsh but I do think it's some of my finest work, especially considering I was far from sober.

Side B:
After the testosterone ebbed a little (read: after I forcefully pushed him back on his side of the bed and told him to stay there), the girl side came a-ragin'. I have less experience with this side and am traumatized by the sheer craziness of it. Y'all. Chicks are CRAZY. I have talked myself down from the bad place but still...this chick in my head needs attention and reassurance and BLECH. Get a grip, bitch.

I am a lying bitch.

"Avoid sleepovers" apparently translates to "drunk-text-invite-myself-over late night." I'm awesome. Yes. I spent another night with the boy. It was fun and hot and, most notably, still sexless! Of course this had nothing to do with my willpower and everything to do with my uterus having impeccable timing. But hey. No sex is no sex. Although...I'm kinda ready. I mean, I'm always READY. Hello. It's me. I've been ready. BEEN. READY. Been.
But mentally, I'm comfortable enough with him to go there. And emotionally, I trust him, which is really the key component. I haven't mixed emotions and sex in a long time - since the Married One, actually - and well, you can see how well that turned out. While I'm being honest, I'll just go ahead admit that I've never had emotions involved the first time I've slept with anyone. You read that right. It has always been sex first, emotions second...if ever. So you can imagine how positively terrifying all this is.
~~~
In other news, and in an attempt to discuss something other than him, I had a great night celebrating a friend's birthday! Which is where the drunk portion of last night's evening begins. It was a night for which I had low expectations but it ended up being super fun. Mostly because it involved karaoke. And my new go-to song is apparently "If I Could Turn Back Time." Sans crotchtacular outfit and ass tattoo, of course. But I do give it my all.

Blinded by the light

Yes, for those of you who actually visit the site...I give you a new background. I have been meaning to do some remodeling because I know the white-on-black can be a bit painful to read, especially when I ramble on for multiple paragraphs. But, you know, I'm lazy and couldn't be bothered...until Jamie emailed me and was like, "Dude. For real. That shit is ridiculous." To paraphrase slightly. So I spent about 30 minutes fucking around with colors and fonts and backgrounds and realized that there is a reason I didn't go into graphic design. Or anything related to color coordinating. So TaDAAAA! Thank you pre-fab templates.
It's also quite symbolic of my new attitude...or at least my attempt at altering my attitude. Moving away from the darkness and "living in my light." This is not to say that I don't embrace my dark side...because I most certainly do. I would, however, like to spend a little less time in there and a lot more time feeling the sun on my face. Both literally and figuratively. Which is why I would like to thank the weather for sending me two beautiful days of sunshine, normal temperatures, and no humidity. My hair thanks you as well.
I had one of those perfect days yesterday - catch-up lunch with a friend and then almost 2 hours at the lake. I walked, listened to music, and sat for about 45 minutes on a bench in the sun. Watched the lake, watched the swans, watched the breeze in the trees. And got some color, which is key. Finally tore myself away, finished my walk, and drove home with the windows down - for the first time since I bought my car. Like seriously. The first day it was normal enough to put the fucking windows down. I might have also been singing "Fancy" at the top of my lungs. Maybe.
Did multiple loads of laundry, flipped my big honking mattress all by myself (almost killing the cat in the process), and spent some quality time with the boy. Movie, cuddling, slumber party...and a roundabout discussion about why I'm scared to give it up. I feel more vulnerable than I have in...um...ever. Instead of going on the offensive by putting up walls and fucking other people, which I usually do, I am embracing it and being honest with him. It's interesting. And terrifying.
And I really want to have sex with him. Like. A lot. But I'm waiting until I can't take it anymore. Which feels like right effing now but I will take a cold shower and compose myself. Ugh. How do you people do it? I think I might have to avoid the sleepovers until I'm there but we actually sleep well together, which is rare for me, and damn if it isn't nice to wake up to that warm body next to you. And the boy smell on the pillow the next day? Killer.
Fucking hell. I need to go take that cold shower right now.