Work In Progress

Broken heart, broken dreams and a bottle of wine.

April 22nd, 2016

I’m currently sitting on my twin-sized bed with my unicorn themed lamp shining brightly on the bedside table. Justin Timberlake and the gang are staring back at me from the *NSync posters taped up on my walls. My purple dresser is scattered with Wet N’ Wild makeup and a bottle of Britney Spears’ Curious perfume. The desk on the other side of my room is bare except for a few R.L. Stine books and the entire Harry Potter series stacked neatly on top of it. This, in every form, is hell.

I suppose I should explain so this journal entry will make sense to my elderly, and slightly senile future self. Yes, I’m sitting in my childhood bedroom at the age of twenty-nine with a large glass of wine in hand because I live with my parents…again. They’ve preserved my room like it’s a museum exhibit open to the public for admiration.

So, how did I get back here? Well, it’s a funny story.

I’ll go back a few months to January 21st, 2016, my 29th birthday. Like most people, I was looking forward to celebrating. I wasn’t scared of being another year closer to saying goodbye to my twenties because I had a plan. I was one year away from achieving my goals and having it all. I had the job, the fiancé and even the realtor. And why are you speaking in past tense, Abigail? Just keep reading.

I woke up that morning with an extra bounce in my step. I was four months into my promotion as Bank Manager and six months from my wedding day. The fact that I was one month behind my projected schedule for finding a new home didn’t even bother me. No, I’d decided that day was going to be a good day but boy was I wrong.

Walking into what I thought was an early birthday surprise from my staff, turned out to be a catastrophic speech from management about cutbacks followed by a termination letter with my name on it. The bullshit part was that I didn’t even get a lousy happy birthday. Not even a crappy piece of grocery store bought cake. I’d been there five years and nothing. I was devastated.

I left the bank shaking, and as I rode the subway to Derek’s place,(That’s my fiancé. Well, was my fiancé.) I was ugly-crying my eyes out. The strange looks I got didn’t bother me. I’d never been let go from a job before. I felt so inadequate, but I knew Derek would comfort me. He always knew what to say to make everything better. Except for that day. No, that day he decided, as I had mascara tears streaming down my face, to tell me he couldn’t marry me.

WTF?! Apparently, he’d been planning all along to tell me…ON MY BIRTHDAY! The man I was going to marry, have babies with and grow Allie and Noah Notebook type old with was just a big, stupid jerk. How could I have not known? I was blinded by love, that’s why. I’d desperately chased the ideal of having a career, husband and family, like Kim Kardashian. I truly thought Derek was my Kanye but it turned out he was just my Kris Humphries. I was so focused on following the plan, that I ignored all of the signs that pointed out our failing relationship. But, more on that another time.

After that I found myself at home with a bottle of wine every night for two months. I still hadn’t found a job and I quickly learned that not paying rent on an executive condo suite in the city gets you evicted and out on your ass.

Fast forward to today, and I still have no job, no fiancé and no realtor. My savings are in the form of a ridiculously expensive designer wedding gown with a custom veil that I’ll never wear and I’m now down to my last credit card. Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be a Bank Manager. But Abigail, now you get to live at home and be spoiled by your parents again. What could be better than that? I should slap myself for thinking that.

While it was generous of my parents to take me back in, the past month has been so unbearable I scream into my pillow every night. I’m woken up at 6am every morning by the sound of a vacuum. Every. Single. Morning. I get to see my father take dramatic puffs from his inhaler each evening and my mother yell loudly in his good ear to take the trash out. I have no privacy and I won’t even get started about taking long showers. Those are now non-existent, like my dreams.

So why did I start this journal? I read an article once about how writing down your feelings is self-soothing to the soul. Similar to wine, but I thought maybe I’d try something that won’t leave me hungover in the morning. I am beginning to realize that I was only in love with love, or rather the concept of love. I’ve even been questioning whether I ever really wanted to marry Derek. This journal is basically to help me figure out what the heck I need to do to get my life back. I guess I will see how it goes. For now, my mother is yelling across the house for me to help her rewind a CD...



Follow your brain. Your heart is a moron.

April 29th, 2016

Well, another seven days have gone by since I took the plunge and moved back in with my parents. This week’s adventures included three trips to the pharmacist, a near death experience on the way to dinner with my dad, an embarrassing shopping trip with my mother who insisted on sharing a dressing room and finally, driving my parents to and from coordinating colonoscopy appointments. If I thought being cramped on the 5 o’clock subway during a heatwave with strangers pressed up against me was a horrible way to end the day, it’s clear I never thought I would have to hold my mother’s hand while a tiny camera showed us the inside of her intestines.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention. Susie was promoted to Bank Manager and she’s getting married. She posted it all over Facebook on Wednesday. What about those budget cuts and my position being terminated? Good question. Apparently, I was the only one let go at the time and Management lied so that my position could be temporarily terminated, only to be reinstated a few months later with Susie as the new Manager. The word ‘treason’ is coming to mind. This is classic Susie. Back when I started at the bank I thought her and I were friends until she told everyone I was eating Alanna’s yogurt cups. Which I wasn’t! It was Susie. Soon after, she started sleeping with the previous Bank Manager. When he retired and I was promoted, I knew she was jealous. She always assumed the position would go to her. Looks like things worked out well for good ol’ Susie. She took my job and is marrying the old geezer after all. Bitch. Okay, okay, maybe she deserves it. I know she doesn’t, but for my sanity let’s say she does.

Speaking of my sanity, I texted Derek last night. I mean, I had four glasses of wine in me. Hardly intoxicated, but I was certainly texty-tipsy. I wanted to sound calm, casual and cool. The three C’s of a good text. Although after reading it this morning I may have come across as desperate, delusional and drunk. The dreaded three D’s. If my jumbled words weren’t terrible enough, my pleas for him to take me back were on another level of pathetic. Needless to say, he hasn’t responded…yet.

I’ve been going over what I did that made him change his mind about marrying me. Was I too career driven? He told me once that he found it sexy that I was focused. Was I too demanding? He told me he liked my lists. It kept him organized. Was I not adventurous enough? He said my reserved side was what he liked the most. I really don’t understand. Was there another woman? No, there couldn’t be. Could there? No, no. I am not going to do that. I know Derek loved me and only me. He wouldn’t do that to me.

Change of thought….

My sister is coming to town next week. While that would be exciting for most families, I’m not looking forward to it. My sister is often judgemental and superficial. My parents dote on her because they left her at a park once when she was two and are forever trying to make it up to her. In their defence they’d put her in the car and she slipped out without them realizing until they got home. They found her climbing on the jungle gym, singing Strawberry Shortcake songs to herself. Hardly a frightened little girl. No, I’m not looking forward to her visit.

The only glimmer of my old life left is my friend Jack. He has been such a good friend through all of this. I remember in high school when I broke up with Johnny Cranston for the umpteenth time, Jack was there to pick me up. He was there to pick me up every time, except the last time when I caught Johnny making out with Jack at Lucy Linder’s graduation party. You’d think I’d call Jack a backstabbing friend, but really he was doing me a favor. If he hadn’t made a move on Johnny, I would have followed him to college and realized a year later that he was clearly just not that into me.

The one friend I haven’t heard from since the breakup with Derek is Lisa , which is extremely odd behavior from a best friend, if you ask me. I haven’t technically tried to call her. I did text her during the devastation on my birthday and she did come over, but she was acting weird. Like I was inconveniencing her by needing her support. I didn’t get it then and I still don’t now. That was the last time we spoke. I should ask Jack if he’s talked to her. I mean, not ONE text to ask how I am doing? C’mon.

OK, I am going to end here. I can hear my mother calling for me.

Until next time.

P.S. My mother was asking why the TV wouldn’t turn on when she was pressing the power button. She was holding my Wii remote…



Single and fabulous, exclamation point.

May 6th, 2016

Have you ever gone to the grocery store, list in hand, casually strolling through the aisles, filling your cart with your favorite foods, not a care in the world other than checking items off your list? Within a generous twenty minutes, you’re able to checkout. Make small chit chat with the clerk and with one tap of your debit card, you’re on your way to continue the rest of your day. Sounds reasonably normal, right? Well, this is no longer a reality for me but a distant, sweet fantasy.

Let me elaborate.

Monday morning my mother was franticly preparing for my sister’s arrival on Tuesday. She started vacuuming at 5:00am, bursting into my bedroom, mumbling over the roaring sound about bed linens needing to be changed and wondering out loud if she should hire a chimney cleaner for the fireplace.

Later that day, she instructed me to take her to the grocery store since my father was too busy painting my sister’s room. Yes, that is correct. The paint on my walls is chipped and faded, but my sister’s pending arrival is grounds for a complete bedroom makeover. When I dared to point this out I was quickly shot down by a gasp and a guilt trip suggesting that I be nicer to my sister since she has been through a lot (referring to her childhood Houdini act at the park).

Once we were at the grocery store, my mother took forever to pick out a cart that she felt didn’t have wonky wheels. Satisfied with her fourth choice, she immediately passed it over to me to push around behind her. She began picking out all of my sister’s favorite foods, stopping every ten steps to say hello to fellow bowlers or neighbors boasting about how her daughter from the big city was coming to visit. I should point out that my sister and I lived in the same city before I moved home. Standing there awkwardly as my mother avoided the puzzled looks from these individuals whose obvious onceover was enough to make me want to mic drop the whole grocery store torment and walk out.

Ninety minutes later, as I unloaded the cart onto the register belt, my mother proceeded to engage in a conversation with the clerk about anything and everything for fifteen minutes. Granted, five of those minutes were trying to remember her debit card pin code. When she finally figured it out, she loudly announced to me what it was and cackled to herself. Her laugh could clearly be heard all the way at the back deli counter and outside across the parking lot, I am sure.

At home as I unpacked the groceries, the phone rang and a shriek from my mother told me it was my sister. She wasn’t coming. This was how it always went. My sister would get my parents all excited about a visit and they would rush around getting things just perfect and last minute she would bail. Usually it was a work excuse, which I knew was code for so-and-so is having a party and she couldn’t NOT be seen at it. This time was likely no different even though she seemed to only postpone the visit this time. My guess is that my mother’s sobs were enough to not allow my sister to cancel. So, to be continued if she shows up.

Instead of staying home suffering from my mother’s disappointment, I went out for a fabulous night of drinks and gossip with Jack. He’s an assistant to a well-known fashion editor, so he knows all the juicy stuff. He filled me in on who just got their boobs done, who was sleeping with their twenty year old nanny and who just had a botched spray tan that left them looking like an oompa loompa at a red carpet event. All the right things to make me feel so much better about my situation. I knew I could count on him to cheer me up.

We cattily talked for hours about everyone we knew and probably I drank way too many mojitos. I shared my Susie gossip and Jack filled me in on his latest conquests. The only disappointment of the night was that he hadn’t spoken to Lisa in weeks either. He seemed to brush it off, calling her a shady bitch, telling me to forget her. A strange comment, really. She was never shady with me. Ever. And it really wasn’t like her to not talk to me this long. I’m getting worried that something might be wrong. I was glad he didn’t press me too much about Derek. I provided him with the Cliffs Notes and he seemed more content to talk about himself anyway. For that I was grateful and I bought a round of drinks for us. Or maybe six rounds. I can’t really remember.

Like clockwork as I sit here writing this, my mother is yet again shouting for my help. It sounds as though the gosh-darn fudging can opener isn’t working. And yes, I did paraphrase that.



Pack your bags, we're going on a guilt trip!

May 13th, 2016

It’s Friday the thirteenth at 3:15 a.m. and I am lying awake. Ever see Amityville Horror? You can imagine what is running through my mind right now. Aside from the fact that I am absolutely positive the closet door just squeaked open a bit on its own, I am certain there is a shadowy figure in the corner of my room just waiting to take my soul. As scary as that may sound, I am actually willing to allow said shadow figure to pull the life from me so that I can avoid the inevitable. In exactly four hours I am scheduled to get in a car with my mother for two and a half hours to spend the entire weekend at a retreat. In the woods. Without cell service. Sharing a room! Did I mention it’s called The Wondrous Woman Wanderer Empowerment Retreat for Mothers and Daughters? Excuse me while I hurl myself at the shadowy figure to end this night quicker.

Why, oh, why am I going? Because my mother is the Queen of guilt trips, that’s why. Let me name a few she threw at me: We never get to spend time together anymore; This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to get in touch with our womanly selves, why do you want to ruin this for me?; You know I can’t go by myself, what would people think? And my favorite: Your sister would come with me without a fuss if she weren’t so busy with work. Ah, yes. The sister-against-sister card. She would pull that golden ticket out at the most precise moments, times when she knew I had no other defense. It worked every time.

Of course, by now it is evident that my sister has not yet graced us with her presence. That, however, didn’t stop the episode of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition from happening in her room. Not only did my parents paint her walls, but they also bought her all new bedding, a new dresser and a charming chandelier light fixture. WTF? I can barely open my dresser drawers without flying across the room from yanking on them so hard. And my light fixture? Well, it’s just a light bulb. And it smells of burning rubber when left on too long.

Yes, the unbalance between my sister and I has been a struggle as far back as I can remember. When I had to skimp and save for my prom dress, my parents were all too delighted to pay for hers. She is after all, the baby. At least that’s what I’ve been told whenever I “fussed” about the unfair treatment. My only solace was that I’ve always had the good hair; luscious, thick, dark blonde hair. Mermaid hair, if you will. Of course, it has thinned a bit over the years and I had to cut it all off sophomore year of college when I tried to give myself natural, sun-kissed highlights with peroxide and some aluminum foil. Completely fried it. My sister’s hair, thanks to an expert stylist, now has extensions to give it some weight and length that I can only dream of having again. Why not get extensions, Abigail? Well, I tried…twice. The clip-ins gave me migraines and I could never match my color. It always looked a little, well, obvious. By suggestion of my sister, I went for bonded. That was a nightmare. After two months of being self-conscious that people could tell the difference and never being able to clean my scalp properly, I decided to take them out myself following the step-by-step instructions on a Wikihow article. Two glasses of wine in, I was getting the hang of using pliers to break the bonds. I was confident. Until my third glass when I became so frustrated that I began yanking, which basically left me with bald patches and uneven short hair. It took four months to grow back so that it appeared slightly decent. Needless to say, I have accepted my fate of thin, shoulder length hair. I suppose I don’t have the good hair anymore.

It’s now 3:57 a.m. Maybe I can run away? That’s a bad idea, I have nowhere to go. Fake sick? No, she will see right through that. I have no escape. I’ll just have to be in the car promptly at 7:30 a.m. with a smile on my face. Well, I’ll be in the car at least. That’s the best I can do. Now to get some sleep.

P.S. As I was finishing this entry, a banshee-like figure literally swooped into my room and I screamed. Of course, it was just my mother in her nightgown with her hair in a mess telling me to turn my light off as the glow can be seen from outside by potential lurkers, who of course would take that as a sign to enter the house.



If this week had a face, I would punch it.

May 20th, 2016

Did I survive the weekend retreat with my mother? Why, yes. We had a magical time bonding beneath the stars as mother and daughter. We braided each other’s hair, and talked openly about our fears, our feelings and shared secrets. It was exactly what I needed. My mother was absolutely right.

Can you sense the sarcasm oozing from my every word? It was a hot mess! Literally. My mother had about a thousand hot flashes and each time one began, she forced me to fan her as she stripped down to her skivvies in our shared room. The scheduled mother-daughter activities were bullshit. Who wants to be in a canoe in the middle of a lake with their mother in charge of directions? Or climb a tree and trust that your mother will catch you with her frail arms as you leap to the ground? Fully attached to safety lines, but still. Their Bonfires of Love made me want to hurl. The only thing that would have made the weekend slightly bearable would have been booze. But, it was forbidden. So I had to endure every second, of every hour, of each day sober. Stone sober.

When we arrived home, my mother was walking on air. Apparently her experience was much different than mine. That, or it was the fact that my sister is finally coming to visit next Tuesday. I hate to say it, but I‘ll believe it when I see it.

Aside from the weekend from hell, I also had the week from hell. Derek couriered some of my things in boxes to my parent’s house. I was not expecting that. He didn’t even send a letter along with my stuff. Nothing. It’s so cold of him. Like, it was MY fault we broke up. I still don’t understand. I thought for sure by now he would have confessed his wrongs and told me he made a horrible mistake and begged for us to go back to the way things were. Jack thinks I am crazy, but why can’t I hold onto this hope? It’s all I have.

In other news, this week Jack is dating a hot new beau (his words, not mine). Lisa is still MIA. Oh, and Susie is pregnant. Another huge announcement on Facebook, Instagram AND Twitter. I hope she has an alien baby. She deserves it.

Lastly, this week my parents told me I need to get a job. As if it is that easy. Well, apparently when you live in a small town and your father knows everyone, it is. I have an interview at Quik Copy on Monday morning. Yipee. My mother reminded me to iron my shirt and skirt of course, which she then took back and said she would do it rather than I try and her redo it anyway.



I can only hope next week bodes far better than this one. I will drown my sorrows in yet another glass of wine while watching Sex and the City reruns in anticipation of the new week. But before I do that, it seems my mother requires my help making three-dozen chocolate cherry balls for my sister’s impending arrival. As if she’ll even eat one.



And just like that, three became five.

May 27th, 2016

Monday morning was my interview. Dressed in my meticulously ironed outfit, I went into that room and spoke to the manager with confidence, as if the job were already mine. Which, it turned out, it was. My father is so highly liked and respected by Mr. Cruthers, the owner, that I could have walked in wearing a cape and a Spiderman mask and I would have still been hired. So, yes, I am the new copy girl at Quik Copy on downtown Main Street. I start next week. I currently have a bottle of wine open to celebrate this great accomplishment.

When Tuesday rolled around, it was like the Queen herself was visiting. My mother did everything to prepare but roll a red carpet out on the driveway. My sister waltzed into the house like royalty, leaving my father and I to struggle with the ten bags of luggage she’d brought with her. Nothing has changed since I last saw her. Except, well, she looks plumper. Like, maybe she gained five pounds or something. Doesn’t seem like a lot, but on her tiny frame it definitely shows. And even though it’s very odd for her to have gained weight, I couldn’t help but smile and do a happy dance on the inside.

When she was brought to her room, the common decent reaction would have been to thank my mother and father for working so hard to make it look so nice. My sister, of course, knows nothing about being decent and was quick to point out that she dislikes the new paint color and that the bedspread felt too scratchy on her skin. I could do nothing but roll my eyes as my mother was quick to shoot me a warning look informing me I should keep my mouth shut.

At dinner, she was no better. She complained that there was nothing to eat due to her strict dietary needs as she sulked at the table and dramatically pushed her broccoli around on the plate with a fork. When it came time for dessert, I guess all bets were off with her dietary restrictions as she scarfed down at least six chocolate cherry balls and a homemade milkshake my mother made for her.

I did my best to avoid being alone with her the entire day, and when my parents finally went to bed, I thought I had escaped. But then she slipped into my room and propped herself onto my bed while I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom. I know it shouldn’t make me cringe spending time with my sister, but having to listen to another exaggerated story about being whisked away to some obscure island by a billionaire’s son- or the billionaire himself in some cases- is just too much for me to handle right now. Also, I desperately did not want to have to explain to her what happened with my ex Derek.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, mentally preparing myself for at least five of her overdramatic tales or the twenty-or-so inquiries questioning what I did wrong that caused the end of my relationship, something happened. Something different. She was quieter than usual. This only made me more nervous.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity in silence, she broke her news. I almost passed out. She’s pregnant. Two months to be exact. My baby sister, the princess of the family that can never do wrong- is pregnant. And the father, although just a mere millionaire, is nowhere to be found. Her having stuffed her face with cherry balls started to make sense in that moment. Let me tell you though, I was speechless.

Apparently, she’s terrified of telling our parents and that’s why she kept delaying her visit. So she made me promise I would be with her when she told them- whenever that will be. Her plans to leave home seem to be non-existent at the moment, and for the first time, in a very long time, my sister actually needs her big sister. I realize deep, deep, deep down that she really is only human. How can I not be there for her? She’s my sister.

PS. My mother AND sister are currently both in my room as I am writing this entry. My mother is busily wiping down every piece of furniture around us, complaining of dust build up with her vacuum on standby. My sister is clearing out my closet, making snarky comments about every item of clothing I own. Surprisingly, instead of being reminded of the reason why I moved out as soon as I turned eighteen, I am reminded of something more familiar. This feels like home. And for once, I’m not mad about it.



Unless life hands you sugar and water, your lemonade will suck. But that's ok.

June 3rd, 2016

Let me start off by describing my first day of work this week. While I had prepared myself to be bored out of my mind, likely wallowing in feelings of total and utter failure, I actually enjoyed going to work. Everyday! I was up before my mother could burst into my room with her roaring vacuum and I even found myself not hating having coffee with my parents as they discussed the weather prediction for the day. Granted, the job isn’t anything more than photocopying boxes of documents for a variety businesses around town, but it’s better than nothing. In a bigger city, most offices would have their own copy and fax machines, but in a small town like this, companies tend to support the local businesses that offer all the basic copying needs.

My new co-worker, Josh, is hilarious and also Mr. Cruther’s son. He keeps things light when the copy machine breaks down and we have to wait around for the repairman to show up and fix it, which happened about seven times this week. He grew up here, same as me, but I don’t remember seeing him around much. We’ve never crossed paths and don’t share any mutual friends, which is probably because he’s three years older than me and moved away for college. He moved back five years ago when his father became ill for a short time, and hasn’t left since. Next week he’s going to show me how to change the ink cartridges. I have to admit, he is very good-looking, but he has a girlfriend so I’ll just take the friendly banter for now.

My sister finally told our parents about her…uhh…condition. They both cried- happy tears, of course. Well, after they understood why we were surprising them with a hamburger bun inside our oven. It took nearly twenty minutes of my father asking if we wanted him to start the BBQ and my mother telling us she hadn’t been to the grocery store to pick up anything for a BBQ before they figured it out. After they caught on, my mother called about ten of her friends to share the good news. My father is already drafting it in the family newsletter going out later this month. Needless to say, they are over the moon at becoming grandparents.

All of this makes me wonder if things had gone differently with Derek, if maybe we would also be announcing our pregnancy soon. Tomorrow is the day we would have been getting married. I should be doing last minute prep and steaming my dress, feeling giddy over the act of marrying my Prince Charming in only twenty hours. Instead, I’m writing this now and tomorrow I’ll be baby shopping with my mother and sister, trying my hardest to block out what the day could have been. Should have been. I still haven’t heard a word from him. I suppose I’ve become a distant memory to him by now. It’s like we were never what I’d thought, which is why he can move on so easily I guess.

All this time spent thinking about him and wondering what I did wrong, I’ve been starting to wonder if he just never wanted to be married from the beginning. To me, or to anyone. There were always signs. I mean, I practically forced him into proposing, but I just told myself that he needed a little push and that he truly did want to marry me. He had insisted on keeping his own condo and I’d always felt like I had to beg to leave any of my stuff there. I had to be sneaky about it, until he gave up and finally just let it happen. Now all of those things are in boxes sitting on my bedroom floor. There is no trace that I had ever been in his condo now.

Ok, Abigail. Knock it off. There’s no need to be crying into your journal over this jerk. He broke up with you – with no reason - ON YOUR BIRTHDAY! It’s time to move on. That’s why you asked your sister about potentially setting you up. Even just to get out of the house and be in the presence of another human, one to converse with.

P.S. BIG mistake getting my mother a cell phone this week. Even BIGGER mistake asking my sister to set me up. She spilled the beans and now I have my mother texting me from her bedroom with the names of all of her friend’s single sons. Shoot me now. And how she learned how to text so quickly yet still can’t figure out how to use a can opener is beyond me.



There's always a contest with an ex. It's called "who will die miserable".

June 10th, 2016

My good friend Jack texted me earlier this week to let me know he had heard that Derek was dating again. I would be lying if I said it didn’t bother me. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. Dating already? Needless to say I had my mother and sister ramp up their search for a suitable man to set me up with. I REFUSE to be the loser in this game. No way.

Wednesday night was my first blind date, lined up by my mother. As I was getting ready, I actually felt nervous. Almost giddy. It has been a long time since I’ve gone on a first date. The last was obviously with Derek. He had showed up at my front door with a bouquet of wild flowers and a bag of M&Ms. How could I not swoon instantly? Instead of going to some stuffy, overpriced restaurant, he had cooked dinner for me in my kitchen. As I watched him air flip a handful of sliced peppers in a pan, I knew he was the one. If only I’d known then how wrong I’d be.

At 7:00 pm sharp the doorbell rang. I tried to beat my parents to the door, but failed miserably. After my father grilled Brian (my date) with a few questions and my mother insisted on snapping a photo of the two of us, we were off. All I knew about him was that he had taken over his family’s lawn care business when his father passed away, and that our mothers played cards together once a month.

As we sat across from each other at the restaurant table, I have to admit, I was impressed. He had chosen a mid-range restaurant, which showed he wasn’t trying to overly impress me. I liked that. He was cute too. He had dark hair and hazel eyes. Well dressed, but not like he had just come from the office. He had slipped into our conversation that he was temporarily living with his mom, but explained the sole purpose was to make sure she was okay on her own. She had a difficult time after his father passed and was quite lonely. I actually felt it was very noble of him to step up for his mom like that.

Just as I was thinking I should send my own mother a thank you text for introducing us, it all went down hill. Mid-chew of his first bite of steak, he held up his hand and announced that he had a great idea. Before I could anticipate where he was going with this, he pulled out his phone and with a few finger taps, his mother’s face was on the screen. Apparently, his great idea was to FaceTime with her on our date. Yes, it seems he was a glorified mama’s boy. After an awkward five minutes of small talk where his mother complimented my choice of hair style and requested to watch me take a bite of my pasta, I politely informed my date that I had forgotten to turn my curling iron off and had to skip dessert.

Feeling slightly deflated, I gathered up the courage for my second date, which was lined up by my sister and ended earlier this evening. But, Abigail, why are you writing in your journal when you said your second date was tonight? Well, let me share with you the highlights of my evening.

For starters, I had to meet him at the restaurant. There was no picking me up at the front door, let alone flowers. He chose a diner, which I tried not to judge right off the bat. I was trying to be optimistic, but this place was no hidden gem. It was a dingy diner that you probably wouldn’t even go inside to ask someone for directions. Aside from that, his name was Hawkin. I can’t trust anyone named Hawkin. It’s not even a name! From all the decent names his parents had to choose from, they fell on Hawkin. He was destined to either be a computer genius or a douchebag. Unfortunately for me, it was the latter.

As soon as I sat down, he thought it would be funny to break the ice by telling me he usually only dates pretty girls because their less attractive friends are “easy”. I cringed as he cracked up laughing, insisting he was only joking. He then proceeded to tell me to only order from the “specials” section of the menu, as it was the cheapest, and he also shamelessly flirted with our waitress.

Our conversation mainly revolved around him and his struggle of becoming a Rockstar drummer. To top the night off, when the waitress put the bill on the table I could clearly see the digits of her phone number written in red peeking out from under her fingers. Beyond frustrated at this point, I stood up and walked out.



Then, when I thought I was finally in the clear, he caught up with me in the parking lot. To apologize for being such a jerk? To ask for a second chance? Nope. To ask for my half of the bill. I shoved a twenty at him and hopped in my car, vowing to kill my sister when I got home. Lucky for her she was asleep on the sofa with cheesy residue all over her face and leftover crumbs clinging to her shirt, which made up for the horrible date. After I snapped a quiet photo to use against her as revenge, I covered her with a blanket.

Conclusion of the week:

Maybe I should put dating on hold. For now, anyway.



The return of the missing best friend.

June 24th, 2016

I’m currently sitting in the living room with a bowl of popcorn and a shameful amount of peanut M & Ms. Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion is on TV and it seems fitting to end the past two weeks watching it.

It’s been a hot minute since my last entry. I’ve been focusing a lot on work, mostly because it’s just been Josh and I working together through the days. My nights are occupied being a personal servant to my pregnant sister. If it keeps me from having to go on any more horrible blind dates, I’ll happily suffer through cutting crust off sandwiches and picking out all of the black jelly beans from the bag.

Lisa finally came to see me last weekend. When I first opened the front door, slamming it in her face for not being there when I needed my best friend the most flashed through my mind. Instead, the anger I had melted away and we hugged, ugly crying and holding one another on the front step. She was extremely apologetic and I forgave her. That’s the thing about Lisa and I- we may fight or not speak for whatever reason but we always pick up where we left off. Just like Romy and Michele!

Did I ask her where she has been the past few months? Of course I did. It wasn’t the earth shattering emergency I would have expected to keep her away this long. She told she just didn’t know what to do for me and that she was afraid of saying the wrong thing, so she kept her distance. I tried my best to be understanding of where she was coming from, so I let it go. I’m sure I would feel the same if I were in her position. I think.

I convinced her to stay the rest of the weekend and it was just like it always had been, complete with a slumber party in my old room. I relayed all of the gossip Jack has been telling me and we giggled like school girls over it. I told her about being fired and how I made a wish every night that Susie would get so fat from baby weight she wouldn’t be able to fit into any wedding dress. I also told her all about my new job and how cute I thought Josh was. We talked for hours about anything and everything- except for Derek. She never asked and I didn’t want to bring it up. There was a strange feeling I had surrounding the topic. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it the whole weekend.

Alas, it was time for her to leave and we hugged and ugly cried once again at the front door. We promised to do better at staying in touch like before and then she was gone.

Still no word from Derek, but then again he’s occupied with his new girlfriend I’m sure. I have avoided drinking wine and holding my phone at the same time the past two weeks. The shock that he is dating again hasn’t wore off and it’s safer this way.

I suppose it’s time to finish the entry. My mother just informed me that she has recorded episodes of this week’s Wendy Williams show that she must watch, or else she will be the only one out of the loop at her card game tomorrow. Celebrity Hot Topics? I think I may stay and watch with her….



Ex-boyfriends are off limits to friends. That's just like, the rules of feminism.

July 1st, 2016

Have you ever felt like you’ve just been punched in the face, then immediately run over by a truck, followed by a kick to the stomach while you are down? And just when you think it couldn’t possibly get any worse- a dog comes along and pees on you? That’s exactly how I feel at this very moment.

Let me elaborate.

Remember how I gushed about my fantastic weekend with Lisa and reconnecting with her felt like we hadn’t missed a beat from the last time we saw each other? Well, it was all a sham. Let me refresh the memory that I kept feeling off about something and that she danced around the topic of Derek and I breaking up like it was the plague. I should have seen the signs. How could I be so blind?

Drum roll…..Derek’s ‘new’ girlfriend is in fact Lisa. Yes, that’s right. She isn’t even ‘new’ by any means. They were seeing each other behind my back for a year before he broke it off with me. A YEAR! I feel sick. How could she do this to me? Apparently, they fell in love at my twenty-eighth Vegas themed birthday party. I was Marilyn Monroe and Derek dressed as Elvis. Lisa showed up in a flashy (and skimpy) showgirl ensemble. I should have picked up on the way he couldn’t stop staring at her when she walked through the door. Or how they kept finding themselves in the corner of a room, alone, whispering closely. At the time I thought they were discussing how to surprise me with my gift. I was also six long island iced teas into the night before I passed out on the sofa. Who knows what they actually did after that! I shudder at the thought. This would never happen to Marilyn.

It was Jack who broke the news to me. He showed up on Wednesday night armed with a bottle of tequila and a small bag of limes. Three shots in he blurted it out and I threw up all over the kitchen table. Four more shots after that I was wrapped around the toilet, crying uncontrollably while he held my hair back. In all honesty, it was exactly the way I needed to be told.

So where do you go from here, Abigail? I have no freakin’ idea. Apparently I missed that day they passed out the handbook on what to do if your best friend is in a secret relationship with your fiancé. My mother has tried her best to cheer me up. And by that I mean she took me to lunch yesterday with some of her lady friends. The looks of pity and the constant reassurance that there was still someone out there for me was enough to make me want to hurl myself into the duck pond outside of the restaurant. My sister’s attempt was no better. Today she pulled me out of bed, brought me downstairs to the livingroom and announced the lineup of movies we’d be binge watching for the afternoon. Let me tell you, they weren’t thrillers or slashers by any means. I was in no mood to watch Bridget Jones frolic through life and still end up with her man. Nor was I up for finding out how Stella got her groove back.

All I want is for this to be a dream. This nightmare not to be true. I want to wake up and realize Derek is still beside me in bed and we are still planning to get married. This can’t be reality. It just can’t.



Life isn't Burger King. You can't always have it your way.

July 8th, 2016

If I had my way, as in if I could design my life the way I wanted it to be at this point, it would look a bit like this: Derek and I would be married, having recently announced our pregnancy of twins and hosting a house warming gathering for our new home; I would still be Manager of the bank and already gleefully fired Susie, who then would be promptly dumped by her old man boyfriend and be faced raising her alien baby as a single mom with six cats; my parents would be off on a cruise, far away for 30 days; Lisa and I would still be best-friends and none of this fiance stealing crap would have ever happened.

Life is not a fairytale, of course. The mess of my life is real and there is nothing I can do to turn back the clock. My life is not Back to the Future, unfortunately. There is no Delorean pulling up in my driveway anytime soon.

I will admit, the shock of finding out about Derek and Lisa hit hard. My co-worker Josh- bless his soul- was in the line of fire. And by line of fire, I mean the only person in sight that I could drag to the nearest bar and force to drink with me last Saturday night. Now, I don't condone drowning your sorrows in a glass of wine...or four, but it beats doing a drive-by egging at your ex's condo.

Yes, Josh definitely heard it all that night. And saw it all. I ugly cried about how my heart was broken, I yelled at the bartender for simply just being a man, I drunk texted AND called Derek as Josh patiently tried to pry my phone from my hands each time. Then to end the fabulous evening, I threw up all over the sidewalk outside the bar. It was not my finest moment. The next morning, to my surprise, Josh showed up at my house with coffee and advil. I thought for sure he would have been asking his father to write up a pink slip for me.

The entire week he let me drone on about Lisa the backstabber and how I will never love anyone as much as I did Derek, and that I am the one destined to live the rest of my life alone with six cats. Tonight he convinced me that instead drinking my weight in wine, he is bringing over a pizza and a few slasher movies.

PS. He has a girlfriend. A fact I have been reminding my overly excited mother and sister about the last four hours.



Didn't see that coming.

July 15th, 2016

I woke up Monday morning of this week feeling positive and ready to take on the World again. I no longer felt sad- or at least I told myself that lie. I had curled my hair, put on makeup, and as I glanced at my reflection in the mirror I could finally see a glimmer of the old me. Due to my recent unhealthy diet of wine and cheetos, I could actually fit into my sister's clothes (pre-baby weight). That morning I chose a tight fitting black pencil skirt and a flattering white lace top pairing it with black heels. Yes, watch out World!

Of course, in a small town when you walk down the street looking like you stepped out of a scene from Sex and the City, heads will turn. Unfortunately, not in the way I had hoped. I was suddenly aware I was being stared at as if I were an alien. Who does she think she is? was written across the face of a woman I had to pass on my way to Quik Copy. I tried to brush it off, but it was very apparent I wasn't in the big city anymore.

Josh nearly fell off his chair when I walked into the store and I couldn't help but giggle. THAT was the reaction I was going for! The rest of the week I toned it down a bit, so not to send an uproar through the local folk.

As Josh and I were closing up this evening, I learned just how powerful positive thinking can be. Or just how much of a bitch life is. That sounds like two different things, right? Keep reading.

I was just finished locking the front door and as I turned around, Josh stepped in as close as he could and kissed me. WTF?! Trust me, I was just as startled. My instant reaction was to pull away, but then I realized I was kissing Josh. Josh. My ridiculously gorgeous co-worker. So I let it happen. Eventually, we both pulled away and before I could get words out, he started explaining. Apparently, from the moment we met he had fallen for me. He was too nervous to say anything- and of course there was the issue of the girlfriend. Whom of course he dumped once he found the courage to pursue me?? Wrong! That part hadn't happened. Yet. He wanted to make sure I felt the same. I of course told him I did and we should continue kissing?? Wrong again!

I was trying to get my words together to tell him 1) as lovely as it was, he should not be kissing me if he still has a girlfriend and 2) Yes, I do feel the same but I am not sure what those feelings even mean. Then my phone buzzed with a text from Derek. Asking me to meet him tomorrow morning. To talk.

So, you can see where positive thinking has got me and why life is a bitch.



It's all fun and games until your ex-fiance's girlfriend gets pregnant.

July 22nd, 2016

What happened with Derek, do you ask? Had he made a terrible mistake and begged your forgiveness? Is the wedding back on?

If I learned anything from this nightmare, fairytales don't exist.

I knew if I was meeting Derek, then I would make sure I looked damn good when he saw me. And trust me honey, I did. But when I walked into that coffee shop, he didn't fall off his chair. He barely flinched. He greeted me with a firm handshake, like it was a busniess meeting. I knew instantly there was no hope of us ever being together again. I let it sink in for a moment as I sat down. Did I even want to be with a man that didn't fall all over himself at the sight of me?

If I think back to the beginning of our relationship, he did things for me. He opened doors for me and made sure to send flowers on special occasions. But if I really think about it, I only saw what I wanted to believe. What seemed like he cared was really just an act. He did what was expected. Almost like he read a book about What To Do In A Relationship, and then followed it word for word. The only genuine thing he has ever done for me was our first date, when he showed up at my apartment to cook.

Now sitting in front of him, he was a stranger to me. He spoke in a monotone voice, explaining what I already knew. He and Lisa fell in love and they were now living together in his condo. He never apologised for sneaking behind my back or that he hurt me. He wasn't sorry about the lying and wasn't sorry he broke my heart. Then he dropped one of two bombshells. He had proposed to her earlier that week. He was telling me this because he felt obligated. Obligated! The second bombshell cut a bit deeper. She was pregnant with his baby. He paused and sipped his coffee, as if this was a normal conversation about the weather. Then he proceeded to ask what the realtor's contact information was- our realtor! Apparently they decided his condo was no place to raise their new little family.

I abruptly stood up from my chair. I couldn't take it anymore. It wasn't even that I felt jealous. If anything I felt pity for Lisa, my ex best friend who I thought was there for me through thick and thin. She was going to live a life with this man. A selfish man that clearly has no emotions. I should be thanking her for saving me a life of misery and snapping me back into reality.

I stared at him a moment, thinking I might see something. Anything. But he only looked back at me with a blank stare. For all the tears I cried over him thinking I did something wrong, for all the sleepless nights and glasses of wine I drowned my broken heart in- I picked up the mug with my untouched coffee, threw it in his face and walked out feeling like a new woman. The woman I was actually meant to be.

And as I walked down the street feeling like I was walking on clouds, my mother interrupted my moment with a text asking me to send her a recipe for Squash Wellington. She had forgotten to bring it with her and now she was in the middle of the grocery store, having a hot flash and couldn't remember what the hell she needed to buy.



When something bad happens in your life, sometimes you just have to yell "Plot Twist!" and move on.

September 9th, 2016

For the past six and a half weeks, I have not once thought about Derek. I haven't dwelled on what could have been nor have I drowned myself in wine, asking if I should have done something differently. Our last meeting at the coffee shop showed me that he was not the Prince Charming I thought I had found. And I am OK with that. I am finally over him.

I'm sure you are wondering what came of Josh and the kiss. Well, nothing actually. He told me he made a mistake and decided to propose to his girlfriend...

JUST KIDDING!

He actually broke it off with her that same night we kissed. I felt guilty, knowing how she must have felt to think one minute her relationship is wonderful and the next her boyfriend is dumping her. Josh assured me it was for the best. They hadn't been a "couple" for a long time. I was skeptical of course until I saw her two days later making out like a teenager in front of the theatre with her new boyfriend.

After a few awkward shifts at work, Josh and I went on our first official date. He took me to the park at sunset, where he'd strung up twinkly lights between two trees and set out a blanket with a picnic basket. It was like a scene from a movie. As I sat next to him, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to run. Was he just another Derek? The evening was going too perfect and it scared me- until it suddenly started to rain and I could finally breathe. Instead of seeking shelter in his car, we stayed sitting on the soaked blanket and laughed about how ridiculous it was to have an outdoor picnic. From that moment I knew he was different from everything I thought I had wanted. Different from all of the things I thought I wanted in Derek. He has shown me what it truly means to be cared for and to be put first for a change. After only six weeks, he asked me to move in with him. On moving day, my mother cried. I wasn't sure if she was sad that I was leaving or extremely happy.

My sister is now six months pregnant and a completely different human being. It's amazing, really. She has gone from only thinking of herself to worrying about baby formula ingredients and what bedding is best to use in a crib. I can't wait to meet this miracle baby. She's going to be a wonderful mom.

I have even let go of my resentment toward Susie, her wedding and her alien baby. She reached out to me a few weeks ago, apologizing for ever doing anything that may have hurt me. Apparently before the pregnancy, she was a raging alcoholic. Lashing out and ruining people's lives was her way of coping. It's hard to hold a grudge once you know the other side of the story.

As for Lisa, we haven't spoken since the weekend she visited me. In some ways I am thankful we had that time to spend together, like nothing had changed. I have the memory of my best friend, not Derek's pregnant fiance. As much as it hurts, it's clearly for the best. Nothing will ever be the same between us. Jack has definitely helped me through it all and I am thankful he has been there for me. If it wasn't for him, I don't even know when or how I would have found out.

It's funny how life can be. Sometimes taking a step backward is the right decision to move forward. I don't know what the future holds, but I have a feeling it's going to be fantastic.

PS. If you are wondering, I still see my mother daily. We live on the next street over and many days I have woken to find her weeding out my garden or dropping by with cookies, which is only a facade to clean my house. But who am I to turn away free cookies?