Because a sense of humor is essential

So, I may have mentioned a time or two about my tendency to worry about my health. This, I am sad to say, extends beyond my own health and also includes the health of other, inanimate objects in my life... for instance my car. This past year has been a rough one in the land of vehicular transportation.

About two and a half years ago now, I bought my very first car (with the generous support of my mom, grandfather and summer job savings account). I opted for the ever reliable 2002 Honda Civic 4 door sedan, dark red, and I love her. She is spunky, and great on gas, and in theory, built to last. Despite this however, the past 12 months have not been kind to my baby. She had both front struts replaced, a new CV axle on the right side, her driver's side mirror knocked off (by a friend's, roommate's boyfriend... there is a story there to be sure) and just recently the replacement of four tires. To say that my meager bank account suffered under the strain of so many car repairs is something of an understatement. So when I got in my car one rainy day not so long ago, and began to smell burning rubber, my mind traveled immediately to the possibility of yet another costly repair. To be exact, "Are you f-ing kidding me?!" (or some other, equally frustrated and pissed off phrase) whizzed into my mind and remained there each time I went to get into or out of my car that day.

Toward the end of the day, I called my father, and stood outside my car with the hood open, and inspected belts, areas for potential leaks, smoke emitting, nothing. Of course, all the while I was on the phone my language was uncharacteristically effusive and more in keeping with truckers and local bar goers during a Yankees/Red Soxs game. I was getting myself worked up and more pissed with each thought of "what the f is wrong now".

My father tried to calm me with words of the fatherly sort, "Relax Trina, there's no sense in getting stressed out until you know there's really a problem to worry about." To which I thought to myself, "Yeah, that is what you said right before I had to shell out $700 to get my struts fixed." I may not be a mechanical genius, but I like to think that I am handy enough to know when there is something wrong, and a strong smell of burning rubber never leads to anything good. Self-diagnosis not withstanding however, I had no choice but to continue running my errands and deal with the rubber smell later when the mechanics were open for business.

I mentioned earlier how I first noticed this smell of burning rubber on a particularly rainy day. Being the practical and prepared girl-scout type girl that I am (excepting of course when fashion and looking "cute" take precedence, ie. on dates, before big meetings, and when I am trying to impress people with my fashion savvy), I wear the appropriate footwear in in-climate weather. The rain called for boots, big ones, of the yellow sort. (I can wade through puddles up to my knees when I sport these bad boys.) I should also mention that it was rain in January- which equates to fricken freezing rain so cold it might as well be snow.

The reason I bring up all these seemingly unrelated points about yellow boots, freezing rain and burning rubber you ask? I'm getting there.

So I went into Target, pissed about my car, but still needing to pick up some new hair ties. I patrolled the aisles in search of ouchless elastics. When I finally found them, they were on the bottom shelf, and so I knelt down to reach them. "Hmmm... it smells like burning rubber down here. That's odd." I stood up. "It doesn't smell like that up here." I walked to the toilet paper aisle, and again bent down to pick up some Charmin. "Huh. Burning rubber..... uhhh....no way.... I am not that dense. " So these big yellow boots, yeah definitely made of rubber. And that freezing rain, definitely requiring heat blasting on high. Is anyone following me here? Yes. I was that much of an idiot. I was stressing and bitching, and stressing some more about what was wrong with my car, when in fact, I was just melting my boots with the heat in blowing out of the floor vents making it seem as though burning rubber was blowing in off some soon-to-overheat car part. Brilliant.

Not one to hide these sort of things in shame (obviously) I called my father who had borne the brunt of my ranting, and laughed my way through the explanation of why I knew there was in fact, nothing wrong with my car. Sometimes, all you can do is laugh.

My cyber-haven explanation

I know it has been almost a month since my last post. My hesitancy in posting is due in part to the fact that spare moments these days are few and far between, but also because I have felt uncertain about how to pick up where I left off. It's one of those things where the longer you wait, the harder it becomes.

This place, of all places, is one where I don't want to feel pressure. There is too much pressure in my life as it is. Granted most of it is self imposed, but every once in a while, a girl just needs to have a space to vent, when and if she cares to. I don't want to follow strict rules- a post every day, every three days, once a week. I don't want to follow the rules of proper sharing- nothing too detailed because "so and so" might be reading. If I post I post, if not, the world will go on spinning.

These posts are my own, and though I love sharing stories and experiences, and I love hearing what people have to say about my sometimes foolish antics (so please, keep posting comments :)) ultimately, this is my space. A haven where I can, as my younger sister says, "put it all out there" I don't expect everyone to understand why I do it, or to be comfortable with everything I need to share, but this is as much an exercise in keeping me sane, as it is a great way to share common experiences.

So thank you for reading, and check back every once in a while, because you never know, there may actually be a new post. :)

A little elaboration...

To all my loyal readers out there, my pre- New Year post, I'll admit, was something of a tease. Sorry about that. It hinted at an unraveling of composure, very out of character for me. I have thought long and hard about whether or not to elaborate on this. I have started a couple different posts which go in one direction or the other, and what I have finally decided, is that providing a little more information is only fair.

To start, I should first say, I have come to a point in my life where I have realized I need to stop trying to make everything ok, stop trying to make Trina the constantly happy go-lucky, smile on her face, never misses a beat girl I have tried so heroically to pageant for all the world to see.

Without going into all the tricky and tearful specifics, my Christmas Eve meltdown happened because I keep the keys to my heart too deeply buried and the protective walls surrounding it far too fortified. It happened because I hardly ever allow anyone to see the bruises I hold close to my soul, the unsightly emotions of sadness and loneliness, of self-doubt, uncertainty, and confusion about who I am and what the future holds for me.

I don't share these things, not even with close friends and family. If I do happen to say something regarding areas of my life that are less than perfect, I do so in an intellectual or humorous way. I remain detached from it, because one little drop of emotion would break the flood gates and scare off a lot of people. "That Trina, she's kinda crazy huh?"

I rationalize this by telling myself it is not good to dwell- what can it possibly accomplish but to depress me. And so I have put on my happy face, made the most of what I do have in my life. I am learning however (through nights like the one I just had), that to hide half an emotional life, to smother complicated feelings because they will only make things uncomfortable for myself and those around me is equally dangerous.

Please don't read this as "Trina is miserable and really good at feeling sorry for herself" I am not miserable, far from it. And although I do occasionally feel sorry for myself, I try to work through it and move on. I really am a happy person most of the time. My cheery disposition, it's genuine, I promise. It is my nature to see the best in every situation, and in every person, to strive for continual betterment of myself and the world around me. What I am trying to say I guess, is that there are parts of my life that suck, and I am learning it is not a failure to admit that.

It is no secret that I have had my struggles in the dating arena. Perhaps "struggles" is not the way to phrase it, complete lack of interest by any "y" chromosome would be more accurate. Despite this however, I have tried really really REALLY hard, to be ok with it, because deep down, I know I am a worthwhile person. I have blamed my perpetual singledom on circumstance- the fact that I went to a college where the male female ratio was 3 guys to every 7 girls (not great odds), and in high school, I can honestly admit that I just wasn't ready to date. But in the time since college, I have held this vision of coming into my own. The people around me would magically realize I had arrived. A year has gone by and nothing. Nothing at all.

I have known my entire life that I am not a hook-up kind of girl. Not only does it have absolutely no appeal for me as a form of fun, but I am just incapable of it, even if I wanted to be that person. I feel far too deeply to randomly choose some guy to keep me entertained until I find one worth keeping. My heart is too valuable to be given so freely, and so instead, I have waited. Waited patiently. Waited hopefully. But you can only wait so long before the inevitable darkness creeps in. You begin to wonder if the damage caused by a lack of heartbreak is not more enduring than the alternative. You fear becoming damaged goods not because you have been beat up, but because you haven't, you have just sat on the shelf until your expiration date has come and gone without one person noticing.

So what's next? I suppose my next step is trying to solve this problem. I am not exactly sure how to do that, (advice would certainly be accepted in this matter). I am not asking for sympathy, this is more a chance for me to get things off my chest than anything. I suppose at some point I should allow other people to take care of me. As hard as that may be for me, it would probably help in the long run.

Oh, and PS I promise my next post won't be such a downer, I have a good story cookin' that has a pretty comical ending I think you'll enjoy :)