Hi – I’m Maureen and I’m a hot mess. I guess, as a
twenty-something, I have a “legit” excuse for this and it’s completely
acceptable. However, there are many significant signs that this is not changing
anytime soon. What happens when I become a thirty-something? Do all the pieces
just magically fall together and I will somehow know exactly what I want from this
life? All logic points to a blunt and unanimous “no”…but hey, what do I know? I’m
just a silly, pretentious twenty-something. One might ask the obvious question:
“Well Maureen, why are you such a hot mess?”
There are many telltale signs that lead me to this
conclusion. One could be the fact that I haven’t had a boyfriend in over three
years. Or the fact that I never seem to have enough money in my bank account
for the necessities, yet I always have enough money for a bottle of wine. Maybe
it’s the fact that I have set the world record for “fastest human to change
into their PJs”, every time I walk in the door of my apartment. Or it could be
mirrored by my (increasing in frequency) Friday nights spent drinking an entire
bottle of wine and reading a book, curled up on the couch with my dog. Now,
please don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I actually prefer this to a
mediocre existence stuck in a humdrum relationship with someone that I don’t
love or constantly going out and partying with people I hardly know just to fit
into some sort of social norm.
After having an abundance of relationships in my teenage
years, ranging from 5 hours to 2 ½ years, I essentially became a
commitment-phobe. I went from being the girl that is always in a relationship
and constantly needs a man in her life (we all know one of those) to the girl
that would run at the slightest sign that a guy was interested in her, i.e.
Zooey Deschanel in (500) Days of Summer. Now, both of these types are extremes
on opposite ends of the spectrum. And three years later, here I find myself
wondering how the hell I got here. Maybe it’s that proverbial biological clock
that’s ticking inside of me. Or maybe it’s that my idea of love has changed.
Maybe it’s all of the attractive men that I have met (or hope to one day meet).
Maybe it’s Ryan Gosling. Honestly, I don’t really care why I’ve changed my mind
– I’m more focused on what to do about it. Where do I go from here?
This may sound senseless, but I almost feel as if the three
years I’ve spent running away from love were more like 30 years. And now my
time is up, there is no hope for me, and I am forever alone. I feel as though
these three years have aged me so dramatically, physically and mentally, that I
am no longer attractive to anyone worthwhile. Now, before you stop reading due
to my ludicrous “feelings”, I logically acknowledge that this is not true. But
whenever I start to think about dating and having sex and *gasp* kissing
someone, I feel like a 50-year-old divorcee that hasn't had a meaningful
conversation with the opposite sex in decades. Hell, ANY conversation with the
opposite sex. However, logically (again), I know this is ridiculous since I
have a lot of male friends and coworkers and guys I have met at bars, clubs,
and grocery stores. But when you put it into a different context – that I might
potentially “date” this person – I freak out. It’s funny how the human mind can
take one situation, put a different perspective on it and, voila, it feels like
a totally different situation.
Anyway, this blog is about the crazy roller coaster that is
my life. It is full of love and laughter, heartbreak and ridiculousness. Some
of the things I write on here may be trivial, yet some of them might be the
most significant and raw parts of my life. I vow to try my best to be open and
forthcoming, allowing you to glance into the deepest and even the shallowest
parts of my being.
