Big weekend looms!

It's gorgeous here in Northeastern Pa.
Summer's looming.
Flowers are blooming.
And I've got a big big big weekend ahead of me.

The fella and I are driving out to Long Island to Meet His Parents.
We're going to eat seafood, play mini golf (or "putt-putt" as I like to say), hit the beach and a bunch of other things I am super excited about.

But the most exciting thing of all is meeting the people who shaped him into the guy I've been waiting my whole life to find.

{I just love love love this photo from findstuff22, don't you?}

"I want to know what love is."

The title of this blog is also the title of my favorite song from one of my favorite bands, Foreigner.
I remember hearing it as a youngster, how it swept me away, especially in its chorus:

"I wanna know what love is/ I want you to show me/ I wanna feel what love is/ I know you can show me."

and then there's this tasty stanza:

"In my life, there's been heartache and pain/ I don't know if I can face it again/ I can't stop now, I've traveled so far/ To change this lonely life."

Even during the handful of serious relationships I've had in my nearly 33 years, I still wanted to know what love is, which probably means I hadn't found the truest form of love, huh?

So what is love, exactly?
My Random House Webster's College Dictionary defines it as:

"a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person, esp. when based on sexual attraction. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection. a person toward whom love is felt. a love affair. affectionate concern for the well-being of others," etc, etc

Yeah, that really clears it up - not.

I think I'm ready to start defining love - my way.
- It's the way he looks at me.
- It's the way he holds my hand as he's driving, or I reach for his when I am.
- It's being so excited to see each other - every time we see each other.
- It's the way we're there for each other: to vent, to listen, to take care of, to be a sounding board.
- It's the way we make each other laugh.
- It's the way I feel when I'm near him, when I'm laying in his arms, when I'm looking into his eyes.
- It's hearing him tell me I'm beautiful, even when I don't feel it.
- It's him telling me how cute I am when I'm in my retched "Nikki-is-cranky-because-she's-hungry" mood.
- It's the smile I can't wipe off my face when I'm near him, talking to him or thinking about him.
- It's a million things that aren't going to make this list because there's not enough time or space on the Internet.
- It's hearing him say he loves me and having my heart swell every time.
- It's saying those three words and have them mean exactly what they're supposed to mean - for the very first time in my life.

Love isn't something that can be defined in a big old dictionary.
Love is a definition you come up with on your own - and it only took me 33 years to figure that out.

Happy Valentine's Day, friendos!

You know when, in a relationship that's in its infancy, you feel lit from within again for the first time in a long time?
Where you can't wait for your phone to buzz, for the doorbell to ring, for your next time together?

I'm in that phase right now, and it feels really good.
Like it's supposed to be.
He's chivalrous, kind, compassionate, just as affectionate as I am, hilarious as all get out, worldly and I daresay the first real man I've dated.

On this Valentine's Day eve, I wish you much love and affection - whether you're single or married, believe in Valentine's Day or not.

Thanks for reading Ramblings On.

Thanksgivings, early.

About two weeks ago, I was thinking about how different my life was compared to this time last year.

It was a sad little reflection for me as I recalled how happy I'd been, then, and how hopeful I'd felt about my future.

For the first time in my life, I could almost see that White Picket Fence, even if it was a little imperfect. For the first time in my life, I wanted that imperfect White Picket Fence.

I was so full of love for the first time in a very, very long time.
And it felt good.

As you've probably guess, those feelings and visions are gone - long gone. It was for the best, it really was, but I'm not going to lie and say that when I imagined this time this year last year {got that?}, I thought it would be different.

I'd been carrying around those thoughts, some Woe Is Me stress and burning the candle at both ends when I got some news that made all these things seem as minuscule as broken crayons.

Not that I wanted it, but it was a reality check I so desperately needed.

I needed it to remind me what's really important.
I needed it to make me thankful for what I do have in my life:
- an amazing, strong and beautiful mother who is always there.
- a kind and loving father who would do anything for us.
- a great big brother who is such a sage for me.
- friends who are supportive and caring.

Today, we got the news we were hoping and praying for.
Today, I give thanks for where I am in my life.
I wouldn't trade it for the world, or a thousand white picket fences, perfect, imperfect or otherwise.

Always a guest ...

Yesterday a very dear and beloved friend got married.
She was absolutely gorgeous, and it was so wonderful seeing such a happy couple.

But, my Fellow Longtime Singletons, isn't there just a tiny part of you that kind of dies inside with every wedding you attend?

I've been in two major long-term relationships and neither came close to The Big Day - something I am quite thankful for, believe me.

They just weren't the right fit for me, I s'pose.
{And honestly, they really weren't worthy.}
{Never mind that I maybe, just maybe, am sometimes too independent ... and maybe, just maybe, too opinionated ... and maybe, just maybe, set in my ways too much for a lot of guys to deal with, and I came to terms with that long, long ago.}
But I truly believe there's a man, a real, decent man out there who's man enough to accept the sometimes bad with the a lot good that's inside this Rambler.

But that doesn't mean I don't get a little wistful and have a sense of longing for The One sometimes, may Independent Women strike me down.

But, thankfully, I had the most fabulous date ever - Johnny - and my wistfulness was gone likethat .

We had so much fun - though my feet are killing me (and they want to kill him for keeping me on the dancefloor all night!). I felt pretty fabulous in my pretty party dress and know I've got a lot of wonderful things in my life already.

Now that's love.

My fabulous Mommalah.

"All that I am,
or hope to be,
I owe to my angel mother."
~~ Abraham Lincoln

Mommalah.
She is the most loving, kind and just downright incredible person I know, or probably will ever know.
It's a great feeling to know that you are loved so completely and so unconditionally.

Yesterday was her birthday, so we went to the fabulous Tunkhannock Rotary Harvest & Wine Festival.
We got our commemorative glasses and hit the grapes, falling in love with a few wineries, and the exact opposite with a few wineries - though you'd never know the latter from our always-empty glasses!

We got ourselves a nice little sunny fall day buzz before heading to the fabulously quaint Twigs for dinner. If you ever find yourself in Tunkhannock, you simply must eat there! Athenian chicken is to die!

I wanted so desperately for her to have a wonderful birthday, a day she's never really been too crazy about.
{Clearly my obsessive compulsive zest and excitement for my own birthday comes from the mailman.}

And she totally did.
And so did I.
I hope and pray everyone has as amazing a woman for their mother as I do.

"God could not be everywhere,
and therefore he made mothers."
~~ Jewish proverb

Ramblings on ... about love.*

At least once a year, I ensconce myself within the fabulously glitzy world of "Sex and the City."

It's that time of year, as I have been smack-dab in the middle of 2009's visit for the last couple weeks. Like "Bridget Jones' Diary," it's something I turn to when I need some reaffirmations about my life which is indubitably less fabulous than my favorite foursome.

I identify with all four of the characters.

Like Carrie, I, too, write for a newspaper, have too many shoes (though not expensive or ridiculously sexy as hers, but I get by) and shit luck with men. I can be narcissistic.

I am sometimes bitchy and cynical like Miranda and so used to being the strong one and taking care of myself that it's hard to let someone else in.

I have my days where I am sometimes brazen enough, or feel thin enough from a particularly good workout that I think I am as slinky and sexy as Samantha, who says and does exactly what she feels.

And at the end of the day, despite all the bitchy narcissistic cynicism I sometimes pander to, like Charlotte, I let myself be hopeful and optimistic about love.

That it's out there.
That I'll find it one day if I just stay steadfast.
I'll hold that hand.
I'll have that arm around me.
I'll have those sweet things whispered in my ear.
I'll be loved for all the things I love when I look in the mirror - not in the narcissistic way that'll drown me, dear heavens no because there's a lot I hate still when I look in the mirror - but what I see behind my Guinness-colored eyes.

"The most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you find someone to love the you you love, well that's just fabulous."
~~ Carrie Bradshaw on "Sex and the City"

Strength. An ability to love. An ability to laugh. An ability to enjoy life.
An ability to know myself. And like - even love sometimes - myself, just as I am.

"We are shaped and fashioned by what we love."
~~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I love my parents. I love my brother and "sister." I love my friends. I love my job. I love AIM toothpaste. I love mint ChapStick. I love blue PaperMate pens. I love my bedroom. I love music. I love food.

I love seeing people in love because it makes me hopeful.
Maybe I love enough. Maybe I've loved enough to last a lifetime.
Or maybe I just haven't loved the right person yet.

Yeah. I love that thought the best.

*The writer does apologize for the deep thoughts and heavy romanticism. She's been inundated with engagements and weddings in the world around her.

What else is a single gal to do when she can't afford Jimmy Choos?

The men I have loved.

I've only been In Love a handful of times in my 32 years, but I've been In Love With A Celebrity many times over.

Only three were serious:

{"The King of Cool" Steve McQueen whose blue eyes could make me weep. The license plate on the Bitch Pod is an homage to him and will someday be on a Bullitt Mustang just like he drove in "Bullitt," my favorite movie of his}
{Gerard Butler, who I named the Weekender's office plant after. He is the sexiest man that walks God's green earth methinks. And I know he will be mine someday, oh yes, he will be mine someday}

and
{Bret Michaels of Poison. What can I say? I'm a sucker for blue-eyed blonde boys. The above photo was my favorite of the 127 I push-pinned to my wall growing up}

Other men I've loved:


{Robert Plant, then and now, who I would let slap me with a mudshark any day of the week}

{Chris Noth, who will always be Mr. Big to me}

{Mel Gibson, because 1. He was my first serious crush; 2. I had my first sexual dream about him, and 3. He has McQueen and Michaels-esque blue eyes}

{Cary Grant because all woman should love a man like him, and all men should try their damnedest to be and dress half as debonair as him}

{Franklin D. Roosevelt. 'Nuff said.}

{Jack Kerouac because reading "On The Road" inspired me so much I went back to school to be a writer, thus changing my life}

{Dracula, because seriously, what's not to love?}

{And of course, the men who have always been there long after the others, my beloved older brother Michael and my beloved Papa. Long may the future men in my life try to live up to the standards set by the two of you}

Probably right, maybe wrong.

Had a most thought-provoking night thus far.
Whiling away the evening on my porch with "The Fountainhead," my skull-covered journal and my orange haiku/tanka notebook, I watched my neighbor and landlord working in their yards - and realized some things about myself.

And, when I came in and looked at the mail sitting on my desk - a cable bill and a booklet entitled "Bridal Bells" from a local jeweler - I realized some more things as I leafed through the blue book with shiny diamonds and sweet little sayings like:

"The icing to this perfect day"

and

"Sometimes love begins with a glance"

- I'll probably never be someone who relishes the feel of my hands digging in cold, fresh dirt, no matter how much I adore the scent of freshly-churned earth.


- I'll probably never feel the cold metal of a one-carat emerald-cut bauble I won't settle for less for.


- I'll probably never understand how people have a home they take care of themselves because they own it. (Clearly the words of a perpetual renter who can just call her landlord she affectionately calls "Mr. Roper.") (Plus, sometimes they feed me. Pizza. And sometimes ice cream cake.)


- I'll probably never be a really good singer. (This has already been proven true.)


- I'll probably never dance in my newly cleaned and spacious attic like I say I want to, despite taking ballerina lessons when I was 5ish, and clearly being a star Sugar Plum. (Nor will I ever be as graceful.)


- I'll probably never not paint my nails like a 5-year old.


- I'll probably never get tired of savoring a nicely chilled glass of bourbon whilst in complete and utter solitude in the midst of the noises of my neighborhood.


- I'll probably ... but maybe I'm wrong.

Sundays in the country.

Just around the bend,
is a place of truest love -
my home, sweet sweet home.
Surrounded by countryside,
it is the one place I'm me.

Lately, the strife in my life has made going home sweet home all the more sweet.
It's nice knowing I can go there and let the guard no one ever gets to see down, down.

Today was just one of those perfect days.
The sun was blinding as it reflected off the pond, as it dried my clothes out on the line, as it blasted into the orange kitchen brilliantly.
The wine, music, laughter and food were great (as always), and knowing I am loved unconditionally is a hell of a pick-me-up.

Last words.

My quote of the day e-mail included this nugget today:
"Good-bye. I am leaving because I am bored."
~~ George Saunders, last words

Gasp. That's just grand.
(PS - The short story writer isn't still alive and kicking, which is even more grand!)

Another last word morsel I've always been fond of is
"Don't let it end like this. Tell them I said something."
~~ Pancho Villa (1923)


But getting Saunders' "last words" made me delve into morbidity for a moment.
What would my tombstone (God forbid) say?
1. For one think, it would definitely have pepperoni on it.
2. Nothing, because I fully intend to be cremated.
3. Hopefully the memorial stone would have something quippy like the quote from writer/historian Hilaire Belloc:
"When I am dead I hope it may be said: 'His sins were scarlet but his books were read.'"

Or perhaps something along the lines of what my favorite poet said before cashing in:

"I've had eighteen straight whiskies, I think that's the record ..."
~~ Dylan Thomas (1953)

Either way, I'm not ready to have my words be ... final. I haven't even gotten them all down yet!

I'm nearly 32, but I don't even know who the hell I am yet. I know that what I do is, in some capacity, what I am on this planet for, but there much more I want to, and need to, do. Novels. Poetry. More writing, more, more, more!

As I read more of the fantastic last words at http://www.corsinet.com/braincandy/dying.html , there was some romanticism, even at death's door, and I'm a sucker for romanticism.

Such as:
"I love you Sarah. For all eternity, I love you."
~~ President James K. Polk to his wife (1849)

Or:
"Oh, I am not going to die, am I? He will not separate us, we have been so happy."
~~ Charlotte Bronte to her husband (1855)


I fell in love with the sweetest blog this evening and it made me feel kind of bad about how much romanticism isn't in my life. Which is a bit ironic, considering how much I love love and all its trappings.

Even that diminutive jerk* Napoleon had romance as the Reaper waited sickle poised for him when he said "Josephine..." before up and dying (1821.)

Bah. That, and all the morbid thoughts, are enough to keep this unfinished writer up tonight. At least I'll be able to keep trying to be quippy ...

"I should never have switched from Scotch to Martinis."
~~ Humphrey Bogart (1957)


* Nikki M. Mascali didn't know Monsieur Bonaparte personally, of course, but whilst researching for this blog, she kept picturing the Napoleon character in "Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure" hogging all the water slides at Waterloo.