As of late:

~ In my worry about having to supplement my wardrobe to serve the transitional stages of my weight-loss, I remembered that I’d stashed a lot of clothes back at my parents’ home. This morning, I gleefully restocked my wardrobe with pieces that I haven’t been able to squeeze into for years, including (most excitingly) a jean skirt that I literally have not worn since the day I took my freshman-year school pictures. This is encouraging news to me.

~ Not usually a fan of graphic novels-turned-movies, I went with my husband to see “Watchmen” out of sheer intrigue and found myself absolutely loving it. (We have the graphic novel here, so I may be enjoying that as my next literary conquest.) I liked a number of elements to the film, including the idea that they casted many unknowns (except R.D. Jr, of course) to give the tone a level of evenness where stars weren’t busy trying to outdo each other and the audience could become fully immersed in the character development instead of presupposed ideas of what the actors have previously portrayed. However, if I had one complaint, it would be that the main female character was found to be rather flat and superficial compared to the others. While she was undoubtedly beautiful, I felt that she was just another stereotype of a stock female superhero figure with vague emotions, typical struggles, and unoriginal sexuality. It was a bit disappointing.

This being said, there are a couple sex scenes in the movie that trump anything I’ve seen in the last few years, including outright pornography. I found myself squirming mercilessly in my seat and clutching my husband’s hand in restraint to the point where he leaned over and gently whispered “Easy there, killer.” (which, I’ll admit, was yet another turn-on.) Seriously, one specific scene will have nerds everywhere saying “Princess-Leia-Gold-Bikini who?”

~ I have two friends who recently have been coming to me for a listening ear and my input and who have, in turn done the exact opposite of what I repeatedly recommend.

The first is a woman who is still reeling in the aftermath of a recent breakup and is filling her time with dragging herself over the coals of her pain ad nauseum. When she is not damning his name and angrily regretting the time she spent with him, she is flinging dignity and self-respect by the wayside to clamor after him, pestering him for answers and resolution and stroking his ego as if there’s nothing wrong. Despite my gentle encouragement to create a clean break in order to recouperate from her obvious torn sentiment and start making the imperative baby steps forward, she continues to belabor the drama and pain of a broken relationship, seeming oblivious to the fact that it is only digging her hole deeper and creating more recovery work for her in the long run, when all of this self-perpetuated chaos eventually fizzles into nothingness.

The other is a young man who continues to make the same unhealthy mistakes that, after more than a decade of this habit, has transformed into a complete lifestyle that he seems not to notice or recognize as a fault. Like a recovering alcoholic who continues to return to the bottle in hopes that “this time will be different”, he dives headfirst into repeated bad decisions of the same familiar unsuccessful relationships over and over, fueled by his distorted idea of love that, in reality, is neither obtainable nor maintainable for the healthy, long-term relationship that he claims to desire. One would think that someone with a decent cognitive capacity for deduction and [at least the claim of] routine self-evaluation, he would realize the error that has continually found him unhappy, unfulfilled, and ultimately alone. The mirror images of his series of broken relationships that are continually exhumed for further belabored drama and pain is blatantly apparent to any person watching from the outside and yet, he arrogantly, proudly continues to hurl himself back into them in the name of what he interprets as love.

Now, admittedly, neither of these people’s immediate situations has anything to do with me whatsoever. As an objective third party, I am obviously playing the mere role of an unbiased spectator in the grand scheme of things, exactly like my relationships with anyone platonically involved with my life. As a recovering addict, I came to terms with my desire to control everything and everyone around me many years ago and have been able to maintain a healthy distance between both of these situations without feeling myself becoming terribly emotionally involved or allowing them to interfere with my daily life or mental state. (To be honest, the realization that I have no control over anyone in the world was a MASSIVE relief once I got used to it. Being able to detach emotionally from the dramas and perils of others’ lives gave me more energy and free time than I could possibly know what to do with. I digress.)

However, despite my uninvolvement with their personal situations, there’s been something rather demeaning about constantly offering support and advice and finding it disregarded and flung to the side. I don’t necessarily hold my opinion or standards to a superior role than theirs (or anyone’s, really), but I’ve begun questioning the validity of my words or the value of my presence in general. Again, I know that this isn’t something I should take personally, that a person will be driven to act any way he/she desires regardless of the warnings or advisement of others, but it’s caused me to recoil a little into my shell and refuse to advise or counsel other friends or relatives who have come to me for it. And, to an extent, I’ve begun to feel a touch worthless to those who consider me a friend, like I’m not so much kept around for my specific personality or any possible positive attributes on my part, but more like a faceless warm body, a pawn, used to fill a predetermined role at a designated time.

Makes me wonder what other parts of my self are disposable.

~ Nine Inch Nails are getting together with Jane’s Addiction for a tour and I’m. So. There. The initals spell out “ninja”, so they’re calling it the NIN/JA tour. I never thought I’d say this about NIN, but how cute is that?

~ In two weekends one of my best girlfriends is having a weekend getaway  for all her co-mother/housewife friends. She’s planned an itinerary of barbecues and cocktails and bike rides and movies and I’m so excited I’ve already started packing.

~ Last night my husband and I went out to see a movie and have a really nice dinner, just the two of us. We strolled hand-in-hand with goofy lovestruck smiles plastered foolishly to our faces all evening and clung to each other at every possible opportunity that arised. We were more disgusting than any of the numerous packs of teenagers that littered the mall in their weekend expeditions and, without so much as a minute’s thought, we did not give a single damn nor shit about the blinding idiocy of newlywed bliss we exuded.

As we gazed disgustingly into each other’s eyes over a candlelit dinner, I took Greg’s hand and repeated [yet] again how unbelievably grateful I was to have him as a pillar of strength, calmly walking me through my personal storms and waiting patiently to welcome me on the other side. I promised [yet again] to provide him the same unconditional, unwavering support when he will inevitably need it in the future and reveled in the understood realization that these blissful moments between the chaos and inner dramas of our shared lives were absolutely worth every minute of braving the storms together. These moments of carefree love and unadulterated pleasure steeped in memories and knowledge of trust and unflinching support were realities of a healthy, slowly-growing relationship that I always believed to be an unrealistic ideal of the institution of marriage.

I get it now. I was wrong.

Greg’s eyes suddenly filled with tears [that he quickly dabbed away in embarrassment from crying in a public place] as he told me how wonderful it was to see me back to my normal, happy self, how much of a relief it was to have me back carrying my half of our marriage’s inevitable stressors, and how much hope and joy he was experiencing with the gratitude of having married the perfect woman for him.

I am lighter than I have been in years. For the first time in months, I have been singing along with the radio today, taking time to put on a little makeup. And I have wept all day with exuberant tears of relief and this returned joy.

Please, God, let it stay for a while.