You're Just as Far In as You'll Ever Be Out

and other thoughts about growing up and looking back...

Sometimes my life of a single career girl isn't as exciting as I imagined when I dreamed of leaving my husband and having my freedom back.

For example, since my divorce I love watching "Grey's Anatomy" and not just in a "wow, it's a killer TV show way" but in a -- this is quite possibly the greatest day of my life because Grey's in on tonight way.

So the other night I'm hanging out in my cool single life waiting for "Grey's Anatomy", a re-run, to start and it hit me.

"It" being the stark realization that as great as it feels to be free, and grown up and in the big time -- "it" also blows big elephant chunks from time to time.

For example, not only am I dedicating an entire evening to a television show, but it's on fucking ABC.

This is a difficult transition for those of us of the "Friends" and "Seinfeld" generation.

You see, for as long as I can remember there were two types of people in the world, those who watched shows on NBC and people who were lame.

Now, one divorce, a few gray hairs and an affair later and I've shifted demographics. Between my nights with Grey and my Monday's with "How I Met Your Mother" on CBS, I've turned into the one thing I never wanted to be - completely fucking lame.

I first blamed this Neilsen shift on my understandable draw toward shows featuring Neil Patrick Harris and some sort of lax hangover from my Doogie Houser days. I mean who doesn't miss Vinny?

Next, I tried to justify the shift to the fact that NBC is no longer the hip station. I mean, although "My Name is Earl" has a good joke now and then it's really a little too NASCAR for me. And god knows I worship at the Church of the Office- but that's a british rip-off

Yeah, that's it, ABC and CBS are just better marketers, they've reached out to me and mine and carried us to cool when NBC could no longer do it.

I'm not lame - NBC is.

This was the perfect excuse right up until I realized that NBC wasn't the problem. I've been moving toward lamedom for sometime. My small town dreams of big city cool - never actually came to life.

But let's be honest - the actual Friends aren't really cool enough either.

Just look at it. Rachel's a scorned ex-wife who got dumped for a younger woman. Monica's the former fattie who finally found the love of her life had a kid and we never heard from her again. Chandler gets fat, goes to rehab and crashes cars, but never quite finds his way. And Joey - well Joey's the poor fool who looked like he'd finally made it when suddenly he was living back with his sister, unemployed and still trying to hang out in the cool places with the kids.

Seems like at this age and in this life - me and mine, we're a generation lost between "Party of Five" and "Lawrence Welk". We're too cool to be hanging out at the VFW, too old to put on a black sweater, blue jeans and poof our hair for a night at the bars, but we're ass up to dinner parties and day spas.

Being single, or a born-again single as I like to say only compounds the issue.

Three years ago today I moved into this one bedroom apartment I like to call my home. I bought a dog, a tanning membership and size 6 jeans and began the life I'd always wanted to live. But instead of ending up like Carrie Bradshaw I find myself stuck somewhere between Ramona Quimby and Murphy Brown. I can either act like a child and try and pass myself off for 22 or I can have a child and act like I don't need anything except myself.

Super.

The point is, I'm about as grown up as I'm going to get. And the "when I get older I'm going to (insert whatever lofty goal/aspiration I've ever had here) -- is here.

Good or bad. Fun or lame -- this is it.

There's days that's good. There's days it's not.

I realized this weekend I spend more time on average each week with Pomeranians than I do with people. The closest thing I have to a social life these days is snappy conversation with the hot 22-year who makes my mocha each morning. And the closest thing I have to sex these days is accidently bumping against the washer during the spin cycle.

Yes, Virginia there is a certain patheticness to being a 34-year old divorce.

I try and keep a positive outlook on it.

Sometimes I read this poem I have on my wall - I copied it off the desk of some lady I worked with at my first "real" job in the city -- after all the things that have changed since that job -- this poem keeps hitting it dead on.

DECORATE YOUR OWN SOUL

After a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand, and chaining a soul

And you learn that loving doesn't mean leaning, and company doesn't mean security;

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts, and presents aren't promises;

And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up, and your eyes ahead; with the grace of a man or a woman;

Not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build all your roads on today, because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans;

And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while, you learn that even sunshine burns, if you ask too much.

So you plant your own garden, and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

It just seems to me that once in awhile we all have to remember how to be comfortable all alone. You have to remember that the grass isn't always greener on the other side, and no matter what happens only one thing is certain - you enter and exit this world all alone - so if you're not comfortable there - you might not be comfortable anywhere.

So maybe I'm not Carrie Bradshaw. But I'm not quite Stephen King's version of Carrie either - so there's still hope!