If 2011 shaped up to be the year that I expanded my offline blog presence and met so many of the bloggers I’ve long admired from afar- joining the raucousness of Bloggers in Sin City, winning a spot at the 20SB Summit, and hosting a tweet up/ blog meet up in Chicago, as well as going so far as making actual business cards for Nic Narrates- where will 2012 take me? Back to BiSC? Back to planning more offline get togethers? Or off in new directions altogether?

And what of my love life? Last year will always be framed in my mind as the year I tried to live with a boy and failed miserably- both at living with him and hanging onto him. I take the blame. I am not without fault. And I accept that I could not fix it. I understand certain things that I never did before; how sometimes there isn’t that one thing that ruins everything, how you stop being able to talk to one another, how it becomes irreconcilable. As for what I do with that knowledge in 2012….well. You wouldn’t actually expect me to have that all worked out three days into the New Year, would you?

What I do know is this: from that failure I was given a unique opportunity. I was able to live with two of my closest friends and spend more time with them than I’d ever otherwise be able to. It was the kindest gift to not only have the offer of a place to stay for weeks at a time for both me and my dog, but to actually have been provided with it. Their friendships will forever stand apart for such graciousness.

Now that I find myself living on my own again in a new year, I’m forced to admit that 2011 shaped up to be wholly unexpected…it brought new friends, new experiences, an end to my relationship of over two years, and a new home. But in retrospect, I spent the greater part of last year feeling sad and uncertain in private.

I hope that 2012 will be a different kind of year for me. Personally, I’m not one for resolutions, but I will say that I hope to be more present in my life, to make more plans with friends both new and old, and to travel widely again. No matter what else this year may bring.

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While it is not happening to me, I care about the people involved and feel a gut-wrenching anguish and odd weakness in my limbs each time I think about it. I am reeling. Shell-shocked even.

Jaded as I am about proclamations of “forever” and “true love,” this sort of occurrence does little to dissuade me from my cynicism. In fact, it has me questioning why people get married at all. Where does it really get you? What does it give you that an otherwise committed relationship does not? And, do people actually still believe it will last when they’re exchanging vows? How?

The thing is, sometimes what you think you want isn’t really accurate at all- whether that’s marriage in their case or living together in mine. You think you want something so much and you strive with all your might to get there, but then when you do, it turns out it’s horrible. Suddenly, you hate it and the person you’re living with or married to. You’ve lost your way, you don’t want those things anymore, and maybe you’ve somehow lost a bit of yourself too.

I find mistakes, or perhaps I should say evolutions, of this nature anxiety-inducing. I literally feel sick inside knowing what I know right now, having watched as things unraveled in my relationship and theirs, seemingly helpless on both accounts to do anything to alter the outcome.

And it’s not just my relationship or their marriage. It feels like everything falls apart eventually, that no feeling of being in love lasts. For those who believe love does last, aren’t you simply neglecting to see that it will change/ already has changed into something else entirely? If not dislike or hate; perhaps companionship, complacency, or even apathy instead? I mentioned I was jaded, didn’t I?

Reflecting on these recent events of the heart, I can’t resolve if- given the odds- it’s better to simply ”opt out” or to just “try your best.” In the meantime, I seem to be unconsciously giving less and less of myself in each relationship I enter into…a cause or effect of  ”Post-Romantic Stress Syndrome?”

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After Wendy and I raised $1153 for PAWS Chicago (AMAZING- thank you so much, guys!) and walked in a very rainy and muddy 4K, we didn’t return home. Since that day, we’ve been “on the lam,” living out of suitcases, and most of the time quietly sequestered in the suburbs. I am lucky- more than lucky- to have friends who have not only offered to take me and my dog in, but have actually done so. I do not know where I would be without their friendship and support.

While I’ve spent the last two weeks ironing out the details of my future, I’ve become engrossed in the lives and routines of others even as my own has melted away…

I joined my friends for Rosh Hashanah (L’shana tova!) and learned how to make matzo ball soup. 

I saw a coyote taking a dump next to a retention pond after work one day and am now prepared to throw down each time I walk Wendy at night. I will take that fucking thing apart with my hands if it tries to come after my girl.

I marveled at the stars in the night sky. They’re still there, right where I left them before moving to the city over 6 years ago!

I cried in line at Ulta after making the mistake of asking how old the baby crying painfully in front of me was. The woman said they’d only just gotten her and that she was 2 months premature, born on cocaine, and is now 5 lbs. and approaching her intended birthday. Hormones maybe, but I stood there crying like a dumbass and wanting to nurture and wrap my arms around ALL OF THE CHILDREN. It just kills me.

I watched football (was made to) and The Amazing Race. I am now addicted to the latter and am quite concerned about the elderly couple. I mean, I thought they might actually die in Thailand looking for that damn clue.

Also, Hard Core Pawn. That show is so fucking trashy! Am I the only one who is continually confused by Les’ wearing of only two things: that white fluffly looking long-sleeved V-neck and, of all things, that black leather blazer?

Three words: beer can chicken. Yeah, it’s a thing. Apparently, you shove a can of beer up a chicken carcass’ ass and toss it on the grill. And then you eat the fuck out of some tasty chicken!

Carpool! Driving to work with my bff and “roomie,” Fancy (Yay! She’s not only talking to me again, but also keeping a roof over my head!), each morning and bitching about everything is very cathartic. All before 7 am! And then we come “home” and drink wine.

In a few weeks more, this “sabbatical” will be over and life will be changing for me again. Honestly, I’m more confused than sad right now.

The sadness will come later.

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The other day, someone asked me what I did over the weekend. After thinking long and hard (TWSS), I realized holy fuck. I had bacon on three separate occasions within 24 hours (on a burger, straight from the frying pan & sans eggs, and in my mac and cheese). I continued to think long and hard about whether to actually share this feat. Would it be worse to plead forgetfulness to hide my shame (“Oh, yeah, this weekend? I think I took a nap…or something?”) or proudly parade my inadvertent Bacon Fest 2011? Decisions decisions…

During the 20SB Summit, I found myself joking A LOT about being “grandfathered-in” to the community. Joking. But utterly serious. I belong dammit. Don’t you question me, you young whipper-snappers! Never mind that the term “grandfathered-in” bespeaks all things crotchety and old.

I now live in fear of the kidney stone redux that the Internet tells me I am 95% likely to experience in my lifetime. My fear is not so great that I will give up drinking tea or choosing soy milk however. 

I recently realized that I put my underroos on inside out. It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon. I shrugged and continued to wear them that way. I should add that this was the second time in a week I’d been bested by the challenges of wearing one’s clothing right side out. Holla!

During one of my awesomesauce insomnia bouts, I wound up googling “dog ate a silverfish now what” to find out if that’s bad. I went on to wonder if the presence (or previous presence as it were) of said silverfish on the tile floor meant that the dude and I are slobs who live in squalor. Are we “dirty people”? [BF: Yo, if you're reading this, don't answer that because we both know the answer but they don't.]

I am genuinely considering getting a red streak put into my hair later this week. Because, why not? I dye my hair brunette as it is, have for years, but am thinking it could use a little something. Like a streak of fire engine red! I mean, if you can’t dye a red streak into your hair at 31, when can you? #RedStreakFTW!

This conversation happened at work the other day…. Emo: “I can’t believe I showered for this.” Me: “Don’t worry; I didn’t.” And scene.

What can I say? This is what it’s come to….I’m clearly living The Dream. And my thirties? All they’re cracked up to be. Obviously.

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I went into the event with goals. GOALS!

1. Spend time with my fellow BiSCuits (Katherine, Bob, Doni, Jenn, Nico, Terra, Caryn, Jenny, and Tiffany).
2. Hunt down and meet Ben (hello, thank you for letting me ask you the question you didn’t want to be asked and for still being my friend anyway).
3. Network and hand out my fancy new business cards because I’m a dork.
4. Introduce myself to some of the local bloggers/ twitter folks I’ve been trying to meet (FINALLY met Phampants, Daniela, and Erini).

Not only did I successfully meet each of my goals, but I was also able to make new blogging friends (thank you for planning the event, Derek!), attend several very helpful and inspirational sessions (thank you Sami, Sara, and Jenna for yours in particular!), inhale offerings from the Pico de Gap taco truck, and of course pocket some swag for good measure!

If I think about it, this year has really become about embracing my blog as an integral part of my persona, exploring the boundaries of my anonymity, and meeting and befriending fellow bloggers. Now that the @20SB Summit is over, I can’t help but wonder what’s next. What is next? I want to meet more bloggers, want to hang out and play and chat and be a part of each others’ in-real-life lives too.  I want…more. More everything!

For as uplifting as the @20SB Summit weekend was, anyone else feeling a bit deflated now that it’s over? Yes, no, maybe so? Please don’t say the cheese stands alone.

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Many thanks to animalcrackers' circus for use of her photo!

Last weekend, I threw together a little meet up for some local bloggers, many of whom I’ve been reading for years and had yet to meet in person! With everyone’s busy schedules- especially over the summer months, there just never seems to be an opportunity to get together! So, I created one. Our own unofficial version of a Chicago Blogger Meet-up/ Tweet-up.

I created an Evite and sent it along to some local bloggers I’m lucky enough to already count as friends and to those bloggers and twitterati I’d been long overdue to meet. I admit, I checked the RSVPs religiously. And of course, I auditioned no fewer than six outfits, finally deciding on a $22 tank dress from Forever 21.

As the event drew near and in lieu of being able to secure a drink special or deal, I planned to give away a bottle of Mumm Napa sparkling wine (my favorite from Napa!). That afternoon, as my cab raced a Chicago rainstorm to Pops for Champagne, I was excited, yes, but nervous too. What if no one ended up coming? I consoled myself with a half-kidding, “Well, then I’ll just drink ALL OF THE CHAMPAGNE!”

Lucky for me- and for the champagne- the unofficial Chicago Blogger Meet/Tweet Up was larger than a party of one and included @SaraLang, Punch It In!, Dysfunction Junction, A Day in the Life, Full of Snark, animalcrackers’ circus, and @shefmeansflower (who we peer pressured onto twitter right then and there).

Together, we passed the hours drinking and talking. About, you ask? Well, we talked about Caryn’s recent engagement and cruise, our various odd illnesses that make us sound like a bunch of 80 year olds, the Field Museum and how their whale exhibit is sad because all of the animals are dead but the Shedd’s “whale encounter” is epic and financially taunting, we discussed Jeremy Wade (“biologist and extreme angler”) and how kickass River Monsters is- hello, they have episodes called “Man Eater” and “Death Ray,” and we laughed at the apparent hilarity that would be a notarized break up letter. Annnnnd that’s the extent of my “notetaking” skills as we broke into our second bottle! Ladies, what did I forget to include?

Thank you again for coming out in a rainstorm and for making my first ever Chicago Blogger Meet/Tweet Up a success!

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You cry and make ugly faces. You get angry and make even more ugly faces. You drink. You go into the day with the best intentions. You get your hopes up. You commiserate with anyone who will listen. You forget what has actually happened, have lost track of the “she said” and “I said” and then “she” so “I”s. You want to reach out again- maybe it will make the difference this time- but you respect her need for even inexplicable silence and space from you. You cry again when another day closes and nothing has improved. You drink some more. And there is no help for it.

Losing a good friend- when they’re a really good friend- is like losing a part of yourself. Some people cope with the loss, the process of “losing,” by pushing that friend even farther away. Some people “write the friend off.” Some people wallow and struggle to maintain perspective- Hi. My name is Nic and I am a wallower.

There isn’t much help for the sadness that prevails when you’re losing a friend. When you wash everything else away, strip the details down, focus on just the facts, and then not even those either. When you recognize that it isn’t a matter of pride, of being right or wrong. When you refuse to even stand on principle; the fallacy of being the hurt party, so how could you have also hurt her? When you bare your heart and feel only what it tells you. You love and you mourn. And, there’s no help for it.

I’ve lost friends before. I will lose friends again. But the loss of a good friend- even the apparent loss of my very best friend….I go quiet with the lack of words for it. I hurt inside. Keenly.

I remember the time we dressed up like Blair and Serena for Halloween and reenacted their cat fight at Yale. I remember bonding and sharing secrets over wine. I remember making up silly words and even sillier songs and giving each other nick names that no one else seems to understand or find hilarious. I remember our tradition of making Thanksgiving Turkeys. I remember our inability to ever rent an even half-way decent movie and how we continually outdo ourselves- in no particular order of cringe-inducing glory: The House Bunny, Year One, Bruno, It’s All About Steve, and When in Rome. I remember making hats for The Royal Wedding and going for afternoon tea.  I remember Igloo Technology. I remember traveling to San Francisco and Napa and drinking ALL OF THE WINE with you. I remember my earlier reference to wine in this same paragraph and pretend to be embarrassed by it.

More than anything, I remember the laughter, love, and support- real, honest to goodness support of the kind that hugs you even when you have Day Three hair and you’ve cried your make-up off and insist you don’t want to be hugged but you crumple anyway. Trite perhaps, but you can’t lose without first loving.

Fancy, I love you and miss you.

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