Rain on Sunday is even better. Thunder, lightening and everything else on a day when you have nothing else to do is about the best feeling you can get.

However, my love for real rain differs from metaphorical rain.

You know, the life kind of rain. As in bad news, bad luck, overall just bad. The past week(ish) has been a time of life rain.

I’m actually pretty adept to handling crisis situations. I react calmly, logically, rationally. Did someone just saw their arm off? I can help!

It’s the small stuff that seems to get me all bent out of shape. Small…super small…as in fleas. (Literally) overnight my apartment became an infestation of the nasty little critters. With indoor cats, I’m not sure how or when they started making their home my home, but it was bad. Over the past couple of weeks I took the normal precautions when I noticed my cats scratching a little more than normal. Flea baths and sheets washed, house cleaned, I felt pretty good about the situation clearing up.

Little did I know, the peak of my infestation was about to reign its ugly head.

On Thursday I got a phone call. It was my mom and she was calling me after her colonscopy appointment. She was whimpering as she told me they found something during her procedure and it doesn’t look good. She used the word “cancer” but said they won’t really know until the biopsy comes back. My crisis situation self kicked in, and I comforted her, made her laugh and told her we shouldn’t say words like cancer until the doctor does.

That evening after the “cancer” phone call, my apartment became inhabitable. I was mortified. I grabbed my cats, a few things, and headed over to Mr. M’s. We checked the cats, they were fine since I was keeping them under control. Mr. M and I headed to Wal-Mart to gather flea killing supplies.

The fleas are on their way out, but not dead yet. 9 flea bombs, and 3 deep cleanings later, I am almost rid of the little bastards.

Now I must wait and see. Wait for my mom’s results. Wait for the fleas to all die. Wait for rain to stop pouring.

Yours feeling impatient,

25swf

I wash my sheets once a week because I live for this feeling. I also get grossed out thinking about what’s growing in the foot of my bed. I’ve seen shows about those critters, and ew. Especially if you are doing it in your bed and not washing your sheets regularly, double ew. Maybe I’m neurotic but I think about this if I’m getting my sexy time on…the thought squeezes itself in there, “Are my sheets clean-ish?” Can we say mood killer?

This weekend I washed my sheets AND shaved my legs. I crawled into bed after a long weekend and it was like peacefulness washed over me as I took a big whiff of the soapy leftover smell of crispy cleanliness–all was right in the world (if only between my sheets). It was so overwhelmingly wonderful I started to think about all the small things we take for granted. It’s a popular (ahem, cliche) topic, I know…but I want to start calling those things out and saying, “HEY! You! Thing I take for granted…I love you…”

Let’s all vow to be grateful more often.

Tell me! What are your clean sheets and shaved legs equivalents?

So what do I want to talk about after 30 days of silence? Something very big. VERY, VERY big.

As of this weekend I will no longer be 25.

26 is rearing it’s ugly head, and when I say ugly I really mean sexy. 26 is going to be sexy. I can feel it. It’s one letter off, six. sex. six. See? 26 doesn’t need reasons why it’s the shiat. It knows it is and just saying it makes it enough.

So who is going to be 25 single white female? I still am. Mostly because I bought the domain name, and I’m not really single anymore (unless I fill out a government form, and I still am)…so whatever, it’s all a mess. That’s the way I like it.

Speaking of the way I like it…some things are cookin’ in the proverbial kitchen but I can’t quite talk about them yet. Just let it be known, some serious changes may be coming down the way. And (as always) I will be taking you all with me. And hopefully Mr. M, too.

Yours waiting on an email,

25swf

I have been cultivating my lone wolf status for SOME TIME NOW.

That’s me, bitches. I howl at the moon, alone, and I even LIKE it. ALONE!! In fact, a few months back, I discovered that I could actually give myself a back massage. That’s right.

The ultimate sexy time maneuver, performed sans lusty oily man fingers, by little ole’ single me. You know you want to try it. Because it feels great. And because it’s pretty much one of the single most “single” things you could ever do.

Guess what else rocks about being alone? Going to sleep when I want to go to sleep (even if it’s only 9PM), taking long baths, having epic Bones marathons… and when I’m feeling really rowdy, I even combine the baths and the Bones. It looks a little something like this:

Sometimes I even take naps in the middle of the day on a weekend. On a mountaintop. No, really. (…)

And I absolutely look that cute when I’m napping too. Just FYI. (OR FYPI!! Shout out to 25swf! …man, inside jokes do NOT work on blog posts. Sorry. I would explain but it obviously wouldn’t be funny.)

Sometimes I eat at 3 in the morning, or drink an assload of tea and then pee a lot, or lounge around unshowered after a workout. Or eat peanut butter crunch and potstickers* for dinner. ALONE.

Yep. This old lone wolf sure enjoys being alone.

But you know what else is kinda great about being alone? The fact that you can SO easily/quickly get used to not being alone. But, you know what’s really freaking SCARY about not being alone? The fact that you can potentially go back to being alone again SO easily. Conundrum.

What follows here, is, I tell you that I met someone. A fellow lone wolf. Who is now dating me. And we’re like, the cutest little wolves you ever did see. We’re like this:

Aren’t they (we!) CUTE?!?!

Here is where I officially stop posting wolf pictures. And tell you straight up, that even though we’re super cute, this shit scares the shit out of my shit. Or, more eloquently, the possibility of letting my wolfish guard down makes my heart speed up and my hands sweat a little. Isn’t it absurd?

I mean, Wolfy came over to my place when I was home sick, made me soup, told me he liked me, asked me to be his Valentine, and then brought me a flower. And since then we have painted pictures, gone bowling, made dinners together, bathed a stray dog, set off fireworks in my apartment, started to choreograph a 70s dance, and planned out wizard characters in Skyrim. And he’s a friend of the animals. And we have fake karate fights that end in… well. Anyway. Someone musta given him tips on how to woo me, because it is WORKING.

And I say again, it’s terrifying.

So I want to solicit advice! You can quote some song lyrics, or poetry, or John Wayne, or Han Solo, or just tell me I’m stupid. Whatever you think I need to hear. What do you do when you’re in those beginning stages and everything is so new and scary and you’re balancing between trying to stay cool/take it slow, guard yourself from being potentially hurt, and also not push that person away? Any tactics for guarding your heart, or do you just go for it, balls to the wall, and sink or swim?

*Disclaimer: I don’t actually have the eating habits of an 8-year-old but I just have both of those things in my house right now. And I would definitely eat them together if the opportunity arose and I wanted to pretend to be an 8-year-old.

Okay, just one more. Sorry. But they’re so CUTE!! Oh wolves.

-1foot

Hey y’all friends!  Firstand25 comin atcha! Let me begin with how I came up with the name… firstand25.

1) I’m from Oklahoma, went to the University of Oklahoma, and as every sooner in the state of Oklahoma KNOWS, we love football…even if you hate football.

So, I was watching football, and BOOM, inspiration.

2) I just turned 25.

3) Last year was a year of MANY firsts for me. many many many.

Now we add them all together.

Let me explain.  

When a team is playing football they get 4 downs to go 10 yards, this is the standard. When this team gets penalties, they keep going backwards, often times this may not result in a loss of any downs, but just in yards. So, I feel like I made some mistakes, nothing too serious, but maybe I’m a bit behind the standard and starting with 25 yards to go. Ya get it?

Anyway.

As I was saying.

My life is full of what the internet calls “first world problems.” Thank god too, imagine I had to worry about more than whether or not I want to sleep in and miss Gilmore Girls, or get up before 10….I shudder!

In any case, last year I quit a good job because I was spending too much money and had to move home with my mom, I moved across the country…twice, I had sex for the first time (I KNOW, right??), I had my first same sex love interest (I KNOOW! its getting GOOD),and I had my first ONS (one. night. stand.)… the latter two things are separate occasions.

I’m sorry I laid that on you so abruptly, but its just too good of a story to relay gently.  But seriously, you guys…last year was interesting for me.

Lets start with the moving in with my mom stuff.

JUUUST KIDDING. Everybody always wants to hear the good stuff first.  Yuh babies.

So yeah, my first time wasn’t until I was 24, just about to turn 25.  I thought it was gonna be all, “WOOOOOOOOO!!!!”, but it was more like, “oh….I could have guessed that.” GUYS…I had NO idea that sex had been totally over hyped my entire life. Nobody told me this.  I mean, when I was in high school I dated a few guys, but we never did the deed because I was a total goody-two-shoes and thought for sure only “sluts” had sex at such a young age. GAAAWD.  seriously I was like that.  Also I was obsessed with softball and basketball.  More on this later.  I probably didn’t even blow a guy until I was in college.   And by probably, I mean, I KNOW I didn’t blow a guy until I was 20. And hello, I had been in college for 2 years at that point.  Where was all this experimenting and going crazy, super debauchery-type shit I was supposed to be doing??  Not in Traditions West.

Back to the first time.  I was drunk. He was drunk.  We had dated before and we are good friends now. He was actually the first guy I ever loved, but at the time of intercourse, we were 3 years and a child (his. I KNOOOOW) past this said love, and it was purely companionship at this point.  We were in a trailer, I had my shirt on, and neither of us came.  It definitely wasn’t a “bed shattering, vampire baby making, Bella-Edward” type moment*. I in no way regret it though, because honestly, sex is so not a big deal. I’m coming to the realization that I’m seriously monogamous and probably will never be one to have sex with tons of people (I REALLY wish I were though, I WANT to be that slut now!), but still, not as serious as I thought.

Don’t get me wrong, I think sex can be great, I still believe in its intimacy, connection, and blah blah, but I had put that shit on a f’n pedestal.  A pedestal y’all. Which brings me back to this whole “virginity” hoopla. I thought being a virgin was something so specific when I was growing up, and I thought having heterosexual intercourse would fix that problem (the “being a virgin” problem, that is..). Now…I definitely won’t claim to think I know about…well…anything, but I feel like a big part of me is still… um…virginal. What? I know. I have heard several super enlightened people say that you “just know” that you’ve lost your virginity.  There are great articles and books about what constitutes losing your virginity (The Purity Myth by Jessica Valenti is the most notable I think), and from those I’ve read, there are still parts of me that weren’t completely “popped”. I may be getting to some kind of existential type shit here, but emotionally I’m still very much a “virgin.” There are things I haven’t done that I believe will help me realize my true self. What these things are, I couldn’t exactly pinpoint, but I know they’re out there.

I believe I am going through a real life changing point of time in my life. Its really fuckin scary, but I’m ready. So come along!! …it should get even better. That’s what I’ve heard anyway.

[pictures courtesy of the...uh...internet. If this is bad, or illegal or whatever, then arrest me, that's ridiculous.]

*Did you guys SEE that shit????  Don’t even get me started on those movies/terrible books. UGH.

-firstand25

This is a post about some texts that didn’t do any of that.

My relationship with my dad is one I don’t even quite understand. I’ve accepted that over the years. And I know he loves me, but sometimes I forget. Our interactions are so few and far between that it’s easy to forget I even have a dad. I’ve mentioned him a handful of times on this here blawg.

That is, until Valentine’s Day and he sends me a floral bouquet of tulip love to my work. Upon receiving the floral love, I texted a “thank you” to my step-mom, half-bro. FYI, I have NEVER texted my dad before, but it felt right.

He texted back, and the conversation that ensued MADE MY DAY (it actually did more than that). We didn’t chat about much, just made stupid jokes. But it was fun! Later that afternoon he called me and we caught up a little bit. I asked if he can get pictures on his phone, and he can. Now my plan is to send him a picture a week! Something random, that is kind of like a slice of my life, because he really has no idea what it’s like. And vice versa.

It’s amazing what technologies can do. Like make you feel loved. Really, really loved. Thanks texts!

Yours texting her dad (ps. wordpress says texting is not a word…however, it also says wordpress is not a word. wtf)

Your texting and wordpressing,

25swf

a pillow note from Mr. M.

I’m tellin’ ya…ladies love notes! Random notes of affection and appreciation go further than you would think.

It wasn’t all pillow talk during my week of a compromised immune system. Mr. M and I had to have a real heart to heart about how I need someone to take care of me when I’m sick. Normally I’m all I-am-woman-hear-me-roar, but when I’m sick–all caution is thrown to the wind and I become a big baby. Just scoop me up because I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. It was a good opportunity for him to learn something about me. He felt bad after not living up to my previously un-relayed expectations and came home the other day and said he had been thinking. He decided that writing a manifesto to protest his desire and commitment to taking care of me was in order.

The L-word crept into my mind as he mentioned the manifesto. Who are you? Why do I get to keep you? After 2010, the year of heartache and angst, it’s really unbelievable that I made it out alive and then there was this guy.

Mr. M. Nobody is perfect. But I wasn’t looking for perfect anyways. I was looking for this guy.

Thanks Universe,

25swf

Lately I’ve been on a serious binge of reading. I have just been gobbling up any and all material related to writing, writing for the web, and content. I believe I’ve found a new calling. Writing for the World Wide Web. Mostly because I enjoy alliteration more than most normal people.

During my latest web reading and link clicking (one said click seriously leads to 10 or more finds) I found a treasure of a blog post. This guy.

The author takes us through his own journey to find the creative energy to write well in the face of the information overload.

As I sat here reading this post I excitedly right clicked “open-link-in-new-tab” more than a few times. One of the links sent me off into a Psychology Today article that talks about how to have more insight. As I read on, I made a connection to my own search for answers. AKA insight. This very blog is my own public way of searching for insight. Up until now I’ve just thought of it as something I liked to do. But nawwww. There is SCIENCE to back this mofo up. I LOVE IT.

“Having more insights is fun and engaging. It gives your brain a great lift of dopamine from the novel connections. It helps energize you to get things done, and helps people unlock some of life’s toughest puzzles. The trouble is, we have to get used to letting our non-conscious brains do the work. Relax, let go, and you might find a whole world of new insights emerging.”

My other open-link-in-new-tab discovery led me to a New York Times article about our brains much needed access to downtime. I kind of already knew this though. I mean, you can physically feel it when your brain has had too much. Your eyes start going crossed; your body feels heavy. But the part I never thought about was this, “when people keep their brains busy with digital input, they are forfeiting downtime that could allow them to better learn and remember information, or come up with new ideas.”

OK, so what SCIENCE (love it) is telling us is that in order to be better, faster, stronger we have to give ourselves a break. And by “break” we’re not talking about absorbing yourself in the latest and greatest episode of Bones. We are talking about a break from media, information bombardment, things-with-screens.

So translating this to life in general. I have also figured out that when I feel annoyed or angry about something (or someone) sometimes I need to stop thinking about it. Put it out of my head. Because it has proven to be the case that the next day, when I’m daydreaming or chatting with a friend, I put the pieces together. They float together like they always made sense, but it was me that was missing the point. And then, like a mini-ephiphany, it all seems so clear. Thanks science.

One of my favoirte dames, Bette Davis, "Without wonder and insight, acting is just a trade. With it, it becomes creation."

Yours loving insight into insight (and science),

25swf

I recently stepped down from a leadership position of a group I helped start. It was bitter-sweet, but mostly sweet. I’m so happy to see where it goes from here. And I’m happy to think about how I’m getting part of my life back. It’s been a great ride, but I was ready to stop talking. As the leader of a group, you talk a lot. Maybe I just talk a lot. Let’s be real…we know I talk a lot. But it is something you have to do.

Sometimes while I’m talking I hang outside myself and I’m just saying to myself, “Blah, blah girl. Get on with it.” It’s sad when you are telling yourself to get to the point. My new goal is to get to the point.

So that’s my point here (did you notice this is a super short post?)…I’m tired of talking. I need a break from all the talking. And I just got it (I’ve been sick all day). But then again here I am. That didn’t last long.

Yours trying to shut up and listen (It’s not working),

25swf

My personal resume boasts a graduate degree, stable income and independence, an awesome rack and quick wit. All of which make me a pretty damn good catch if I do say so myself… add in my photographic memory for every article and tip I’ve ever read in Cosmo magazine and voila, DREAM BOAT!

Also, my over educated mind has created this fantasy picture that defines a healthy relationship as one that consists of two individuals with equal responsibility for providing the “good stuff” and yet here I sit, completely smitten over someone who could NEVER fit into that mental image.

Sad, right? But seriously…. I know I’m not alone in this one!

We all know him…he may be our kid brother, or bestfriends ex-boyfriend or…if the guy who, despite your better judgement you bend over backwards for and cant help but get butterflies when he writes you from the county jail.. (well, it hasn’t gotten that bad…yet).

Why are guys who are bad for us, the ones we enjoy the most!? I mean..I’m not living in my momma’s house anymore, this isn’t an attention seeking thing. I’ve had too much therapy to still blame this on a “daddy complex.” So what then? Maybe my fear of commitment finds safety in the direct contradiction with “ideal,” keeping me from ever having to commit? Maybe the internal social worker in me, just wants to fix him? Or maybe its the muscles… After all, robbing banks, and running from folks takes a lot of athletic ability! Yeah, I think its the muscles.

My current bad boy is 4 years younger then me, goes to a community college, delivers pizza for a living and sleeps on his sisters couch. While all of these attributes are less then the stable maturity I’m bringin’ to the table, I can explain most of them away with his age, and optimistically say that all of these situations can improve with time and the completion of a college degree. However, the “off-and-on girlfriend” he has but forgot to mention to me until she posted a heart on his Facebook wall, coupled with the time he attempted to drunkenly beat up a security guard because he couldn’t make the hostess move faster, and Mr. Bad Boy may have some character flaws that are far less then negotiable.

I spent a lot of time trying to balance the negatives against the butterfly feeling I get when he calls, and his awesome back rubs, and washboard stomach and decided that I’d be smart to take advice from some very knowledgeable musical lyricist who’ve helped me over many an emotional hurdle in life…

Now, I realize that this may not be helpful for your personal experience and it definitely isn’t the advice I would offer to my daughter or any other young girl in this situation but for me, in this instance, I’m choosing to listen to the douchebag extraordinaire Kanye West, and stick by his side ‘cuz “he got that ambition baby. Look in his eyes, this week he moppin’ floors, next week its the fries.” …and I’m going to allow the all knowing Mary J Blige to sing my story loud and proud until i’ve figured out how to overcome my affliction, and exclaim proudly that Me and Mr. Wrong got a good thing going on!

Sing along with me, wont you???