What’s a girl to do when the entire (original) impetus for her blog has been eliminated?  For those of you who have followed The Anomalous Life from the beginning, you know the basic, underlying reason for my musings.  In fact, you might even recall the origin of this blog’s very name.  Think about it…The Anomalous Life.  It was a name coined after one of many encounters with fine folks who could not, for the life of them, understand why (their words, not mine) “an intelligent, attractive, seemingly normal woman” (ha), could find herself single while staring down the latter half of her 30s. 

This fairly consistent barrage from perplexed (but mostly well-meaning) souls finally spurred me to combine my love of writing with a deep seated need to prove to the world:  I may be single, but I am happy, fulfilled, and doing just fine on my damn own.  And the stories.  Lordy Lou the stories only a single woman of a certain age can pass on (with very little exaggeration).  It was an endless well of blog fodder.  And then…out of the blue…with no forewarning….

WHAM!

I met him.  I’ll spare you all the details of our first encounter (I do have male readers), but suffice to say, there was no “trial period” of dating…no questions of feelings…no games to reel one or the other in.  We met.  We fell.  Done. 

It all sounds quite romantic, doesn’t it?  For the most part, it is pretty sweet.  For those of us who have been in love - we know of the roses, sweet cards and sore smile muscles, but we also know the other side…the reality of day-to-day life.  Has it been too long since I called him?  God, I hope he fixed the low water pressure in the kitchen sink.  It’s been two days since I put on make-up.  He looks best when he rolls out of bed.  I, on the other hand, do not.  And for the woman who made a name out of staying single, I sometimes mourn total independence.  When I have three zits and monster menstrual cramps, I want to be alone.  I want to spend 45 minutes in the bathroom (with the door open) attacking those nasty blemishes - without concern that my boyfriend will call 9-1-1 when he catches a glimpse of me and fears I’ve come down with some horrible pox disease.  And sometimes I wanna wear my grandma panties.  Don’t act like you don’t have them.

Here’s the kicker.  These issues…they’re all my concerns.  With absolutely no merit.  Stephen is kind and caring, he adores me when I’m decked out in a hot dress and rockin’ heels, and he adores me just as much with greasy hair and yoga pants with a hole in the ass.  If I have an overwhelming need to put on a face mask to clean out my pores, he does it with me.  And then we make funny faces at each other, howl with laughter, prematurely crack the drying masks, and as the tears stream down our faces (creating a creepy clown-like effect), he gives me a kiss and asks what I want for dinner.

When I was single, after another encounter with someone more concerned with my dating status than I was, a good friend said to me:  “You know Nikki, I don’t worry about you.  I know, with you, when it happens, it will be right…it will be good…and he will be amazing.”  She was right.  I think it’s something I always knew myself, which is why I was (for the most part) so unconcerned with my sometimes uneventful love life.  But it was still an adjustment.  And after a year, I seem to be getting the hang of it.  Much of this semi-smooth transition has to do with the understanding, patient man at my side, but it also has to do with me.  I stuck to my guns.  I held out for what I deserved.  When I feel that familiar twinge of total independence knocking at my gut, I now realize - I have that.  No one is holding me back.  No one is forcing me to stay in this relationship.  I’m here because I want to be.  And if I want to spend some time away with the girls, he pushes me out the door, kisses me goodbye and then later, welcomes me home with open arms and a fully-functioning kitchen sink.

I used to worry that a committed relationship meant boredom.  What I’ve found is that the interesting, new, sometimes challenging and ever-exciting times in my life have doubled - if not tripled.  Stephen is a musician.  He is passionate, driven and full of life.  Our life together is fulfilling and full of promise.  His band is good.  I mean, really good.  Let’s be honest, they’re great - and I’m holding back here.  Things are happening.  Likely big things.  This will mean weeks, maybe even months at a time without him.  In my wildest, pre-relationship dreams, this would have been my best-case-scenario.  Time together, time alone.  Independence within a relationship.  How can you beat that?  Well, if you love someone, and you want to be with them, this could prove to be challenging.  I will likely handle it better than most, but I know I will have my moments.  There will be tears and longing.  But there will also be appreciation and time will be made the most of.  And there will be stories.  So many stories.  Stories that I believe you will enjoy just as much as I will.

My point is this, concern about blog fodder, or the lack thereof, is silly.  There are endless moments I could have shared with you during my long hiatus.  But I didn’t.  There are many more to come, and I will no longer keep you in the dark.  I will again bring you all the craziness that surrounds my life, along with some everyday moments that we all share.  I hope you will join me often and pass on your own little stories and anecdotes to life’s little challenges.

On another note, I just wrote a little freelance article for a great new Houston website called “The Loop Scoop” (www.theloopscoop.com).  It’s on one of my favorite musicians, Ian Moore.  Take a peek at it…I think you might enjoy the little ditty on how I originally “discovered” his music.  And keep heading back to The Loop Scoop often. It’s a wonderful site for those living in Houston, or visiting, and looking for something fun to do.

Thanks for coming back to see me and affording me time during this interesting transition period in my life.  I hope to see you again real soon!

Okay, so, we all know the definition of irony.  The classic definition (or at least dictionary.com’s 5th defintion):  “an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected”.  But, in each of our lives, we have our own personal theories related to events we’ve experienced.

My most recent definition could not-so-concisely be represented in these words - “when a 30-something single woman decides to embark on a new writing project chronicaling the trials and tribulations of her solo life, and then, out of nowhere, meets a man.  A good man.  A sweet man.  A hot man.  A creative man.  And her life is turned upside down.”

Many of you are aware of my latest life twist.  Via Facebook photos, or word-of-mouth, a phonecall or even a face-to-face meeting with the man.  And I’m sure you’re hoping I open up a massive can and spill all the details (Bill S. - I’m talking to you).  But the thing is, single women beyond a certain age have learned a few key life lessons.  And one of those is:  shouting new, exciting experiences to the world in an untimely manner (especially related to dating) can have devastating consequences.  You know what I mean, don’t you, ladies?  Let’s take, for example, a recent re-meeting of mine…with my Navy pilot from the past.  We (he and I) cooed of our new refound love to the world.  Family members rejoiced.  Premature wedding plans were hatched.  The quintessential love storyline buzzed through phone lines and cyberspace, and, in the end, it freaked us both out to hell.  Because, the reality is, no matter how exciting the circumstances, grasping coupledom after years of independence can be a scary prospect - even in the most solitary of circumstances.

So…because I do understand the pain of waiting on juicy information, I will reveal some snippets.  This new man and I met at a sports bar (or so we thought).  That’s confusing, isn’t it…the “or so we thought” comment.  And I would try to explain it, but I’m not sure either of us fully understand the reality of what happened.  But, let me just say, this very blog was a catalyst to our meeting.  I knew it was good for sumthin’!!  Okay, okay, I’ll try to elaborate.  Here’s the deal.  Stephen (yes, that’s his real name) is in a band.  I didn’t know this when I met him, but something tells me a few of you (or more) reading this are not surprised by this reality.  I like me a creative man.  But, no offense to my fellow creatives, most can be a little, well, interesting, possibly difficult.  So, finding someone passionate about what they do who isn’t a raving jackass can be, well, damn near impossible.  But it appears the good ones do exist.  It appears you can stumble across creative, passionate, driven, responsible….and sweet.  Jackpot.  Or so it seems.  Time will have to prove that one way or the other.  Hence the need to hold back a bit.

Alright, so back to our meeting.  My belief is that I randomly met him watching football at The Tavern.  Reality - or so we’re trying to uncover - is that the lead singer in his band (along with his crafty girlfriend), found my blog, read it and decided that the two of us should meet.  And so they made it happen.  Somehow.  We don’t know how.  But it happened.  Of course they deny it all (with suspect smirks on their faces).  So, it’s possible there’s more to this story.  Regardless, it’s a good one, and whether we ever find out the real truth or not, it resulted in our meeting.  And I’m happy for that.

All is going well.  Goo, goo, gaw, gaw, and all that good stuff.  I saw Stephen’s band a couple of weeks ago, and was blown away.  Really…I’m being as completely unbiased as I can be here.  They were - UNBELIEVABLE.  And it appears they are on the precipice of something.  Which, to be honest, is a bit scary to me…but I’m up for rolling with the punches.  They deserve it.  Check out their MySpace music site when you get a chance…I think you’ll understand what I’m talking about:  http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewProfile&friendID=80721565.  If this link doesn’t work, just plug “pale band houston” into Google, and it’ll bring up the MySpace link.  The name of the band is “Pale” and my little punkin (I know, I know) plays bass.

It’s possible you might have concerns about my book project.  Will she put it aside due to recent events?  Is the whole thing now null and void?  Absolutely not.  In fact, I feel these realities and unexplained happenings are what life is all about.  For early marrieds.  Perpetual singles.  Or those inbetween.  The book will press on.  It just may have a more interesting ending :) 

Talk to me, people.

(P.S. - Still having trouble uploading photos into blog posts, so you’ll have to go to the Paparazzi link to see a pic of the boy)

Alright, ladies and gentlemen…it’s time we had a chat.  So, put down that Blackberry, take your hands off the computer keyboard and finish up that email draft.  We’re gonna talk about technology - all these ‘new-fangled’ gadgets - and how they’ve changed our lives.  And specifically, how they’ve changed how we communicate in our personal lives.

Let’s hone in on one ultra popular form of communication…one which has now penetrated the masses (when your sixty-something mother joins in - that’s the true definition of market saturation).  I’m talking about ‘text messaging’.  This relatively new (in the big scheme of things) communication tool has exploded in popularity in the past five years, and brings with it, I believe, new rules for social communication. Like it’s sister technology - instant messaging - text messaging is considered much more ‘casual’ or ‘conversational’ than traditional forms of communication. A new abbreviated language even popped up around the two. It all just makes me LMAO. U C?

The downside of text messaging is the ability for someone (i.e. a horribly fearful or not-so-well-intentioned man) to thumb their nose at more traditional, and personal communication outlets.  Like the good ole voice to voice phonecall.  If said man fears rejection, or would like to throw out several baited hooks, or feels more comfortable suggesting a late night rendevous via text messaging, he can do so without fear of in-your-face disgust.  He can press ’send’ and hope for the best. Doesn’t work out?  He’s none the worse for wear.

For social planning (’any plans 2nite?) or a joke between friends (’U smell’), or even a quick note to a new romantic interest (’gr8 mtg u last nite’), text messaging is a thing of beauty.  But when it is misused to keep things at arms length, or to toss out a drive-by comment, or as a wall to hide behind, we fall into the trap of new technology pulling us, as humans, even further apart. When a man no longer picks up the phone to call a woman…when asking someone out takes on the form of hieroglyphics (’Ure hot…drinks 2nite?’), we’ve taken this “safe dating” thing too far.

Bottom line, don’t allow your ‘gentleman callers’ to pull you into the text messaging trap.  Play with it a bit, sure…nothing wrong with that.  But if the boy is serious about getting to know you, let it be known that ‘this old-fashioned girl’ still likes the man to do a little work.  This ‘old fashioned girl’ would actually like to know the sound of your voice before we hit the town.  And this gal would like to revel in the excitement of those first phone calls…you know what I’m talking about…the nights you spend, soar ears pressed to the receiver, finding out about each other: your favorite soup, or his most frightening childhood experience, or a detailed explanation of what each of you look like without the confines of clothing.  You just can’t do that on a cell phone key pad.

Am I right, or am I right?  Let me hear your thoughts.

The Navy gave Tom two choices:  accept the assignment to helicopters and serve out his seven year commitment as a pilot, or drop out of pilot training and serve three years as an officer.  Not surprisingly, leaving the Navy altogether was not an option.  Tom accepted this reality and chose (against his parents wishes) option two.  Seven years flying an aircraft which - in his mind - provided no training for the commercial airlines, was simply unacceptable.  To be quite honest, I didn’t blame him.  But I was in the minority.  His superior officers - men who had likely never imagined questioning a Navy directive - were none too pleased.  And Tom’s next assigment would reflect their disdain.  The orders, however, would not come for several months…a period of time we spent, almost exclusively, together.

Less than a year had passed since meeting my confident, quick-witted pilot.  But our lives had changed dramatically.  The perfect Halloween costume and weekend plans with friends no longer topped our list of responsibilities.  At 24, Tom was making decisions that would dramaticaly affect his life…decisions that went against the beliefs of those he respected the most.  At the same time, the economy was showing signs of recovery, and I’d decided to launch a new job search…pursue a career that better reflected my passions.  What would that be?  No idea.  But I prayed it would no longer include purchasing butterfly valves for projects in Uzbekistan.  And more importantly, for the sake of my social life (and possibly the quality of my work output), I vowed to turn down any position that required me to be at the office before 8:00 a.m.  A girl must have boundaries.  And three years of 7:00 a.m. - 4:00 p.m. workdays had taught me mine.

Tom’s extended downtime allowed this thinking man to think some more, or, dare I say, overthink.  Stress tore at his confidence and chipped away at his childlike wonder.  His bond with me became all-consuming, and, at times, suffocating…his happiness (or unhappiness) intricately connected to my every move, my every comment.  I loved him dearly, but I began to miss the self-assured, happy-go-lucky Tom of yesterday.  And, as much as I tried to quiet it with memories and denial, that little voice…the one deep down that we often try to squash…became too loud to ignore.  “Is this how he handles stress?”  “Will you always have to be the strong one?”  “What are you really attracted to?”  “DO YOU STILL LOVE HIM?”  I couldn’t answer that.  Not yet.  Tom needed me.  I was all he had.  Must stick to memories and denial.

Ironically, as Tom’s career spun out of control, mine seemed to take hold.  After months of waiting, I was offered the position of Assistant Account Executive in advertising giant, Ogilvy & Mather’s Houston office.  I was ecstatic.  Finally.  Finally I could put my untapped creative mind to good use.  Tom was excited and supportive, but I sensed an awakening…the beginnings of truthful acknowledgment.  He knew, as did I…our days were numbered. 

Two weeks later Tom received his assignment.  He would be placed on the oldest carrier in the Navy’s fleet and shipped out to the Indian Ocean…indefinitely.  On the morning of his departure, I was heartbroken and deeply concerned about Tom’s fragile emotional state.  But above all, if I’m completely forthright, I was relieved. 

I spent the next couple of months exchanging daily emails and an occasional phone call with Tom…keeping up the charade, for his sake, that our relationship was strong.  But it wasn’t.  My life was moving forward, my career was exciting and promising, and my connection with Tom had become an obligation.  It was time to move on…for his sake and mine. 

Tom was on shore leave, in a small hotel room in Japan when I told him the news.  Although he was sad, I sensed he also felt relief.  He knew, in his heart, I’d been hanging on for him…and underneath the new veil of insecurity, Tom was still a strong and proud man.  He made it easy for me and I promised to be there for him, whenever he needed a friend.  I meant it.  When I hung up the phone, I was surprised by my feelings…I’d assumed relief would be the overriding emotion, but there was something else.  I also felt confused.  Part of me knew, if we’d been older…more mature and less selfish, things could have been different.  Part of me knew, someday, this would be one of the biggest regrets of my life. 

Tom emailed regularly and his initial acceptance soon turned to anger - not an uncommon occurrence in situations such as this.  I made the decision to cut us off completely.  He gathered his pride and accepted my decision.  For more than ten years, we had no contact.  No calls, no emails…nothing.  Until the day a brief note in an airline mailbox changed everything.

The dim light of the early morning sun is peeking through the dusty miniblinds in Tom’s Corpus Christi apartment.

“Wake up, babe,” he whispers as he kisses my forehead.  I begrudgingly roll onto my back, eyes still closed.

“Aaaargh…what time is it?  Where are you going?”  My voice is dry and raspy.  His fellow pilots-in-training kept us out late last night.  They fed us multiple beers and groaned sufficiently at the sappiness of our newfound love.

“Flight test today,” he smiles.  He thinks my morning grumpiness is cute.  He thinks all my little quirks are cute, which scares the hell out of me.  “I won’t be gone long…go back to sleep.”  And he brushes a matted lock of hair from my cheek.

It’s been several months since our first meeting at the fabled Aquarium Lounge.  Tom waited days to call, maybe a week…it felt like a year.  But I held strong.  I also went out every night inbetween - to prove I didn’t care, of course.

I’d successfully avoided a serious relationship for two years now…the ending of the last had been too painful…an unexpected suicide bomber who’d climbed down my throat and exploded my heart.  It had taken at least a year to return to normal.  Well, not normal in the truest sense of the term.  But a “new” normal.  The kind that hides fear with band-aids and brick walls and biting humor.

I rub my eyes and raise a hand to guard them from the increasing sunlight.  He’s in his uniform.  His hair is shiny and clean and smells like heaven…or at least what I hope heaven smells like.  He grabs my hand and kisses my palm.  A knot forms in my stomach.  I’m in love.  And I’m scared.  But I’m not leaving.  I can’t imagine ever leaving.

“I love you,” he says.

I pause.  Intimacy is not easy for me…not anymore.  “I love you, too,” I finally whisper.  His fingers graze my arm as he rises from the bed and leaves the room.  I turn onto my side.  A tear rolls down my cheek and onto the beige sheets.

Tom has been flying for years.  His father was in the Air Force and is now a pilot for United.  It’s in their blood.  It’s all they know.  Because of Tom’s prior experience, he’s been placed in the Navy’s advanced pilot training program.  It’s an unexpected adjustment.  The Navy has their own way of flying…and Tom is having trouble breaking old habits.  His friends, novice pilots, are scoring higher on flight tests and it’s a tough pill to swallow.  He’s a proud man - extremely smart and a gifted pilot…but the Navy is hard on him.  They know how to break men.  It’s a tactic they’ve used for years.  Take the strong-willed and break them down to build them back up…mold them into proper soldiers.  Tom didn’t particularly want to join the Navy, but he passed the difficult entrance exam and was admitted into the program.

“So few have this opportunity,” his father said.  “You can’t pass this up.”  He respects his father, so he does as he’s told.

I can’t go back to sleep.  My brain is on fire…I’m barraged with dueling thoughts, fighting for space. 

“You can’t do this!”

“What if he’s shipped away?”

“This will not end good.  It never does.”

“Maybe we’ll get married and have babies and travel the world.”  I force myself to rest on this one.  The others are too painful to consider.  And, at this moment, I choose happiness.  It could happen…

Months pass.  The Navy is at the end of their fiscal year.  Money is tight and decisions are delayed.  Tom and I are able to spend weekends, sometimes even full weeks together…mostly in Houston.  He likes to get away.  Our connection is electric…roots grow strong and deep and grab hold.  Tom, a lifelong bachelor - previously adamant about avoiding relationships - is in love.  He handles it well.  He is sweet and kind, thoughtful and loving.  He is adored by my parents, friends…the whole lot.  I, on the other hand, am waiting for the other shoe to drop.  And on a rainy afternoon in Corpus, it does just that.

“I just got my assignment,” he says, the official paper still in his hand.

“And?”  I know he wants the big cargo plane…the P3, I think.  It’s good training for the commercial airlines.

“Helicopters.”

“What?  Helicopters?  I didn’t even know that was an option.”

“I can’t do this, Nikki,” he says as the paper falls from his hand to the ground.  “It’s seven years of my life…seven years.”

“We’ll figure something out,” I say - not fully believing my own words. “It will be okay.”

“No.  It won’t.  I’ve got to get out.  I have to find a way out of the Navy.”

Sneak Peek:  As you may suspect, the Navy doesn’t take kindly to those who want out.  Tom is determined.  But Uncle Sam has other plans…it’s the first time, I begin to suspect, that something hasn’t gone Tom’s way.  And he doesn’t handle it well.  In the meantime, my career is moving in a new direction…a good one.  How will these things affect our relationship?  Tune in to find out.