This is my sixth go at the beginning of my memoir. It’s become like changing clothes multiple times before work and in this case, I have no mirror. I’m not looking for “Bravos!”, just for constructive criticism. Yes, the truth can hurt but it would hurt way worse after printing 1000 copies. Thank you! CHAPTER 1 “I don’t want you to go”, I softly tell him. This kind of talk is premature. Maybe. We’ve gone on exactly one date. Officially one first date prompted by my need to fulfill a year-long dating experiment where I have challenged myself to meet 50 prospects. I affectionately call it “Project 50”. A year…

Labor Day Weekend is approaching and I will be joining a Labor Day tradition as a +1. In lieu of a winter gathering for Christmas, my boyfriend’s family takes advantage of the long Labor Day weekend for their annual holiday celebration. It’s Labor Day. It’s Christmas. It’s… Labordaymas. And to entertain themselves, they pack the weekend full of activities and more specifically competition where points can be gained and victors can be made. For me this weekend isn’t just two holidays, it’s two movies– Meet the Parents and Hunger Games. The thought of being trapped in a large group of people I don’t know is the stuff of nightmares. Even…

I always thought I’d be a mom. There was never any doubt. Though if experience was necessary for the job, I was screwed. I’m the youngest with two older sisters. Essentially I grew up with three moms. And I was mom to no one. Not to younger cousins, though I did some babysitting. Not to neighbors, friend’s siblings or even my sisters’ eventual kids. I am not a mom type, I guess. My arms don’t instantly conform to a cradle position when infants are present. I see children and have no idea how old they are. And even when I find out, I don’t remember what that means for their…

“Relationships are hard” they say. “I’m determined to do it right this time” I say. A few years ago I was in a relationship that absolutely depleted me. I could say it was because he took and took. But more importantly, I gave and gave. “I can buy you groceries.” “I can come to YOUR house.” “I can wait for you to be free because I know how hard it is for you to plan.” I thought if I gave extraordinarily, I could force it to succeed. But that’s crazy. And it ended. And I swore I would never give so much again. Then I dated a man who gave…

It started with a receipt. Then a wristband. A cork. A note. A postcard promoting a play we did not attend but that we got on a night I told a story at a fundraiser. Remnants from nearly every plan we had together began collecting in a box. I had made a similar box with one of my closest friends. She and I packed our memories into a wicker basket- cards and ticket stubs and photos. We would revisit it each year and re-live all these fun times. But he has no knowledge of this box. It is a renegade box. And it defies the normal behavior I try so…

I’m in the best shape of my life, or maybe just the strongest I’ve ever been. I’m seven months into Crossfit and it’s not only changed my body and schedule, but also my dating preferences. All suitors must come with a workout regimen and interest in lifting more, pushing further, moving faster or a combination of all three. My new Okcupid interest du jour is only 27 years old. Even worse, he could pass for a teen. However, he has an adult sounding career as a business owner, an entrepreneur. A public speaker. A personal trainer. He’s got big goals. He’s also a body builder. I do what most women…