SG is making changes (and resisting the urge to use Michael Jackson lyrics in this post.)

My mother called me on Saturday afternoon – very concerned.

“SG, do you think you might be having a midlife crisis?” she asked me in that really careful, quiet mom voice she uses when she doesn’t want me to get mad at her.

First of all, I am nowhere near the middle of my life. I’m 30. Life is not half over at 30, people.

Second of all … it’s possible. I guess. But I would call it more of a “reinvention” or a “makeover” than a crisis.

Or better yet, a revision. Because, at the core, I’m still me. I’ve just made some sorely needed adjustments – both in appearance and attitude.

The issue that sparked the question was that on Saturday I decided to get as close to my natural hair color as I’ve been in about 10 years – which is dark brown, not light, golden blonde. The change was pretty dramatic.

It’s true, over the last year I’ve made a lot of changes in my life, but to me they’ve all been for the better. I left journalism after eight years, I moved into the city and into my own place, I cut some toxic people out of my life, I finally got the tattoo I’ve been wanting for years. I’m looking at the hair as one more, granted superficial, step toward where I’ve wanted to go for a long time.

I felt like I got really far away from myself for a couple of years. I think it was a combination of moving to the plastic, bleach blonde land of $30,000 millionaires, going through the Big C, experiencing the Worst Relationship Ever, changing careers. A year ago today I could tell you I was feeling really lost in the world. Maybe that’s when I had this so-called crisis my mom is so worried about.

But maybe “getting away from myself” is the wrong way to think about it. Maybe we all need to go through these phases of change in order to grow? Wow. Too deep and pompous for a Monday. Forget I said that.

Right now, I feel really good about me, for realz. My life feels stable. I have hobbies that I enjoy. I have friends I love. I’m in fairly good shape. I have a new BF (although writing that just now made me realize it's not all that new anymore) who, I can honestly say, is the first guy I’ve dated in a while that makes me feel pretty darn good. And I look the way I want to look, not the way I think other people want me to look.

There is my little drinking problem, but …

I think there are more changes on the horizon.

I’ve been talking about moving a lot, and I think this is what really has my mom on edge. But I really only came to Phoenix for her and I’ve never really liked it here. It’s hot as Satan’s butthole and it’s boring (sorry Phoenixphiles) and far away from everybody but my mom and the friends I’ve made since moving here (and they are amazing friends.) It’s time for a geographic change. I didn’t get the nickname “urban gypsy” by staying put this long.

And I’ve been thinking long and hard about going back to school to get into a field that suits me better than what I do now.

And there’s that second tattoo …

A lot of people I know are on the brink of turning the big 3-0 and are dreading it. For me, I think it’s been a catalyst for ending my passive approach to life and finally doing what I want to be doing.

A co-worker told me this morning that my new hair makes me look more mischievous. That is perfect. I think the revised SG plans to get herself into a lot more trouble.

P.S. There was very low participation in Limerick Wednesday, which was a bummer, but I know, it was a lot to ask. Since only two of the four participants have blogs, and since they happen to be two of my favorites, I will be posting them in a loverly widget on my page for awhile. Thanks rs27 and Kellie!

It's Limerick Wednesday! Bring out your inner Irishperson.

I’m renaming today Limerick Wednesday.

I’m kind of sick of all the Wordless Wednesdays (although not Kellie’s Not So Wordless Wednesday), Music Mondays, etc. They’re getting boring to me.

Limericks are funny. And dirty. I’ve had nasty limericks I learned from the kids I hung out with when I lived for a brief while in Ireland way too many years ago stuck in my head for a few days.

It’s because I got turned on to the show Home Movies by VC while in Mpls this past weekend and there’s an episode where Coach McGuirk talks about writing one and it just cracked me up.

Anyways, I’m a bit moody and in need of cheering up, so entertain me with limericks people! I’m turning this space over to you! I made a lame stab at one below. Maybe I’ll try again later after I’m inspired by all your creativity and filthy hilariousness.

I’d make it a contest, but I don’t know what the winner would get. I’m terrible at contests. Just ask Bow Chica Bow Wow. She still hasn’t received her follower prize (Sorry! I’m the pits.)

Maybe the winner gets to have their limerick and blogsite in a special widget all their own on my page for a whiles. I know how GLAMOROUS! You know how bad you want it.

So here goes. Don’t be slackers people, I’m expecting this to be a sensation (that’s what she said):

SG is not a fan of Hump Day
And thinks it’s a misnomer anyway
She’s not getting any
Cuz her BF’s in Minne
She’s crabby and done with this workday

I come when called, I jump when you circle the cherry, I sing like a good canary

I’ve been listening to Exile in Guyville again for the last few days and it’s been hitting me hard. I think I actually started to tear up walking from the train to my office this morning with my pod on thinking “Oh my god, this is really my life.”

I didn’t really get Liz when I first listened to that album. I bought it to be cool and hang with those older kids who drank a lot and dyed their hair purple and hated their parents.

Now I’m exactly twice as old as when that album was released and I get it Liz, I feel your pain you bitch.

Saturday night I ended up hanging out with The Ex. I did not set out for this to happen. He called, I wasn’t busy. He wanted to get together. I'm an asshole. See post title.

One of the reasons me and The Ex get along so well is that we’re huge geeks who can spend the whole night playing XBOX360 and watching Hitchcock movies and be having fun. We stayed up until four. He has this amazing mancouch/chair monstrosity that isn’t a couch at all but instead two comfy recliners attached in the middle with a console and cup holders. It’d hideous. It screams “I spend entire weekends with someone’s sweaty butt perched here who is drinking cheap beer and wearing a uber cool headset so he can smack talk people in Georgia playing Soul Caliber IV.”

I haven’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in nearly three weeks because of this dumb arm and the manchair felt great. He asked me if I wanted to stay over. (And the award for person full of the most self-loathing goes to …)

He said goodnight. I thought he would go to his room. He didn’t. He lay down on the other half of the manchair. But I figured it was kind of harmless since we were separated by a pile of game controllers, remotes and glasses.

He put his hand out to grab mine. This was not unusual. We do an awkward hand squeeze thing from time to time, no big. But this time he held on and squeezed and did that thing where you rub your thumb up and down the side of the other person’s hand – you know, that thing COUPLES do!

It weirded me out. Then it felt good. Then it made me sad. Very sad.

We fell asleep like that. It was pathetic. I would have rather had sex. Sex I could have interpreted as just sex -- this felt tender and it was a huge mind fuck.

The next morning I asked him to take me home right away. I could feel the weepy stuff coming and I wanted to be out of there stat. This is when I crawled under the stinky dog blanket and stayed there for a few days.

Fast forward to today when he asked me to meet him for lunch. (Again, seriously, they should give out awards to people who clearly hate themselves and yet manage to walk among the rest of you as if life is peachy) He drops me back off at the office and I lean over to grab my purse and I say “Hugs” -- which is one way I say goodbye to people, not an invitation -- and he plants a long, soft kiss on my cheek. What the frack was that?

The problem with The Ex and I was that we never stopped doing any of the things that couples do except the physical stuff (and this was mostly because of him, not me – I didn’t know this was humanly possible until him.) We still went out, hung out at home for hours, saw each other's families, etc.

We broke up eight months ago after about two months of fighting. It was messy. We lived together. I found out he was keeping some huge secrets from me (big ones. bigger than you would probably imagine.). I freaked out but then decided to try to work it out.

I always say that he dumped me, because, in the end, he did – via text (yeah, text. Did I mention we were LIVING together and talking about getting married? I had packed a bag a few hours earlier and stormed out, but still …) but the truth is we were falling apart and both of us knew it. He was in a crazy place and he was making me crazy. News flash: two individuals with serious mental health issue do not make one sane couple.

What he’s asked of me since the breakup is terribly unfair. He wants to be my best friend but not date me. He may as well greet me every day by saying “Hey, let me be frank, you’re a hideous, stinky ogre but if I avert my eyes you’re a lot of fun to talk to.”

Needless to say, this relationship is not good for my self-esteem and when I’m being a sane person I recognize that and stay far away from him.

The problem is (get ready to groan and shake your collective blogging community head) I love his company. I’d say he’s hands down the one person on this planet that gets this big hot ball of mess called SG more than anyone. But what do I do with that? He doesn’t want to treat me the way I deserve to be treated. The mature part of me knows we make better friends anyway but every time I’m around him I just end up feeling like a lonely reject all over again. It’s like a wise blogger once said, “A martini …” No, that’s not it, oh yeah: “It’s not possible to really be friends with the ex.”

Ick. Must stay away. I need to be held accountable for this. Quick think of a promise I can make to all of you so that the next time I’m about to make a colossal mistake like this I can think again. Like I have to send you all life sized cutouts of movie stars like BWP did or I have to post really embarrassing drunk pictures (you know who you are, Kellie.)