Nikki Yeager

As you all have probably noticed, I'm blogging very little lately. So little, in fact, that you might have given up on me all together.

Which is OK because in the end, I think I may have reached the end of this blog for a while.

When I first started to blog I had a dozen and a half reasons for doing so. I like to write. I wanted to stay in touch with my family who is scattered all over the world. I needed to share my life with the general public because I had no consistent companion to share it with.. my friends are rather transient. I liked the idea of making my life, my art and my adventures public. Oh, and I had a crap ton of stuff going on.. why not share it with someone, anyone??

But somehow many of those reasons have faded. For the past year I've been a pretty boring human being, which I say without regret. I've had responsibility-type things to worry about during that time... paying bills, saving money, finding a companion, etc. Now I've jumped most of those hurdles and I'm about ready to go back to my old self: adventurer and wanderer. Slightly eccentric but with more than a few good stories to share. Energetic and curious and hard to pin down.

But I'll be doing it without the intense blogging. I'll be doing it without being alone.

In the past, I've always prided myself on being independent to the extreme. I've never travelled any way but alone. I've never made a decision while considering anyone else but myself (which has led to some of the best decisions of my life). I've followed different paths with no regard for other people's arguments or concerns. Always pursuing life for nothing but enjoyment.

I still plan on following those random paths that shoot off to foreign countries and unexplored territory but, this time, it'll be with someone by my side. Two years ago I set out to "find myself a man!" and after countless dates, I did that. Little did I know that I'd find the person who (in the undeniably cheesy words of The Adjustment Bureau) would "be enough". I've found the person who became my journal, my shared memory and my long term companion. I found the person who makes it unnecessary to share every detail of my life with the general population.

Why? Because I can share it with him.

He loves that weird sponteneity I just can't shake no matter how many people think I should outgrow it. When we imagine our lives together, we imagine deciding to go to Europe on a Thursday and leaving on a Friday. We imagine living in Thailand for no reason than because it'd be a change. We both get antsy when in one spot too long but always plan on returning to NYC between adventures (I found someone who shares my obsessive love for the city). And some day in the future, if we ever take that leap and get married or have children... well, neither one of us considers "settling" to be something stagnant. We consider a "settled" life one that is stable but international, easy but adventuresome. We would like our children to be worldy and multi-cultural, multi-lingual and experienced.

And throughout all of those adventures I've found someone to not only tell about it all but to actually share it with. I've found the person who doesn't only put up with me grudgingly, but admires my oddities. Basically, I've found everything I ever dreamed I could find in one person.

Most importantly, I found someone who prizes me as an individual. And I, him.

One time an ex-boyfriend asked me: "So, Nikki, when will you finally let someone tie you down?"
And I answered: "The right person won't want to."

And for all the people who never understood that, Daniel does. Which is how I know I've found my person who is, and always will be, "enough".

For New Year's Eve I had the pleasure of spending a long, fun filled evening with my boyfriend's Russian family. 

Very Russian family. 

After a few cups of champagne for good luck, I begrudgingly hopped into his parents' car and let myself be hauled off to his sister's house. 

10 minutes later I was ushered into an apartment by his little niece and nephew. And then, suddenly, I was in the middle of Russia. 

Surprise!

The center of attention was a huge flatscreen in the middle of the living room playing some incomprehensible New Year's Eve party scene complete with Cossack dancers, perpetual streamers and lots of people in ball gowns. 

And apparently it'd already been going on for hours. 

Which is when I thanked my lucky stars I had a few glasses of cheap champagne before braving the unknown world of foreign holidays. 

Next came the food. Like Mexican, all Russian food seems to be a mixture of the same 4 ingredients: beats, cabbage, sour cream and fat. Some of those combinations are perfectly delightful. Some, not so much. 

So his family chattered on about a million things I'd never understand in a language I'm totally unfamiliar with while I pushed a few items around my plate and actually ate the others. 

Then a look at the tv- Suddenly there was a full grown man with balloon-boobs (literally) shoved in his yellow pantsuit dancing on stage while a fifty year old woman crawled seductively across a cardboard table. Then the balloon-boob man put a big shiny tin-foil star on his head and continued singing to Russian music. 

Cut away to an army of bunnies. I kid you not. About 40 men were dressed in head to toe bunny suits and dancing in the background. 

No one else seemed to find that odd. 

I focused back on my plate to discover about 6 more items that his mom kindly added to my already full dish. She means well, but I really hate when my foods touch. And let me tell you this - there was a very large, unsanitary, food orgy happening on my plate. Most of it with things comprised of beets. Beet salad. Beet salad on top of fish. An egg with cavier on top and some sort of unidentifiable sour cream substance... all running together in a sticky, icky mess. 

His mom took a look at the t.v. for a split second and I snuck a few scoops of food to my boyfriends plate.

He rarely notices when I do that.  Lucky me. 

Then back at the t.v. All of a sudden there was a woman opening a champagne bottle and fluffing her carrot-orange wig. Then came the Santa-Man Number. 

Oh. My. Lord. 

The only black person in the entire show (and the entire venue) took stage in a modified santa costume. It was somewhere between a mix of elf costumes, santa outfits and harem pants. 

Don't ask, I can't make sense of it either. 

In the background similarly dressed men switched from ballet to cossack dancing and back again. Then came a cutaway to the same orange haired woman drinking her champagne, a quick view of the dancing bunny army and then back to the Santa-Men. 

The number came to a grand finale with lots of champagne toasting, the dark skinned man doing the splits and the background dancers pairing up in risque poses. 

Then - BAMMMMM - a fresh batch of streamers fell from the sky and everyone seemed oh so happy to have streamers fall inside their champagne glasses. 

And I giggled while everyone else watched without the slightest hint of amusement.  

....And then continued speaking in Russian while the strange pantsuit man with the tin foil hat took the stage once again. 

Before Daniel and I made that huge life decision to combine our worlds, our precious storage space and our crappy Target furniture, we got plenty of criticism. He got constant digs from his friends, "why don't you just marry her then" (as if marriage is the end of all life as we know it) and I got constant questions from family, "are you sure it's not too soon?" 

Well it may have been sooner than logic deems responsible, but I haven't stabbed him in the face with our new set of knives yet. So that's probably a good thing, right? 

In fact, living with a boy is.... dare I say it? Nice. 

And here's why in one word: Negotiations. 

I like to think I'm a darn good negotiator. It turns out that if you know what you're doing you can opt out of litter box duty, 90% of grocery shopping and refilling the laundry card. How? Clever negotiations. 

For example, I don't mind doing the dishes. Daniel on the other hand, views dishes as little gifts from Satan. The leftover crumbs make his skin crawl, the idea of spending an extra five seconds by the sink after consuming enough sushi to feed all of Japan is completely foreign to him (for a small boy, he can eat a surprising amount of Japanese food). If I bring up the fact we've had the same plates sitting in the sink for a month he looks at me like I'm speaking Greek to him. No idea how to solve that problem. In fact, the problem itself is incomprehensible.
"Dishes? What are those?"

On the other hand, I despise cleaning the litter box in the same way I despise being run over by garbage trucks or getting bamboo shards shoved under my finger nails.

However, Daniel seems to be oblivious to the fact that our cat farts out Chlorine Gas - one whiff and I'm convinced I'll die before my next exhale. That cat makes my eyes water, my throat close up and my nose want to commit suicide. And let me just say, no matter what goes into that cat (a piece of Indian food I dropped on the floor, a surprisingly large lint ball , a piece of kitty litter from between his toes or, on occasion, actual cat food from his bowl), it comes out the same- Chunks of semi-watery death wrapped in a sulfur cloud. 

Anyways, I've managed to get out of cat duty for the rest of my life by offering to do the dishes. 

Little does Daniel know how horrendous that litter box becomes after just one use. He's still in the honeymoon stage with our little Macaroni Cheesy Doodles. He's convinced the cat poos flowers and sunshine.

But someday he'll figure it out... and it'll be too late. The handshake has already happened, the deal has been sealed. 

Which is precisely why I love living with a boy. I can talk myself out of all the ickiest chores there are. 

I set out to do 21 things I've never done. I decided to run a marathon. Write a book. Go to Spain, go to India. Try my hand in the real art world. Surf. 

A thousand things that I consciously decided I would do because they're things I've always wanted to try. Things that make my world go around and make my days a little brighter.

And I set everything aside to do them. Art show after art show. Associate Director of Marketing. Terrible guitar playing. Places and things I could have imagined growing up are now the places and things I have. Things I set out to get and made mine in a gush of concentrated effort. 

Amongst all my firsts there's one I didn't expect. One that I'm almost against, one that I rarely admit and hide without obvious effort. 

I've given up the singular 'me' in search of a 'we'. And while I'll always be the independent, individual girl I was since I was old enough to say "I", there's something different. A domestication - the word itself almost an insult, but an insult I secretly love. 

No one says it wth admiration like they say "weren't you afraid?" No one looks at me and says "oh living with your boyfriend, I wish I could do that!" Not in the way they say "Cambodia? Alone?" or "I'd never be brave enough". No on smiles at a story beginning "my boyfriend and I did..." like they do when I tell them about my near encounter with a shark or the time I dove out of a plane over Long Island. 

And it's odd because I've always fancied myself a die hard adventurer. Afraid I'd never find a reason to settle down. Terrified my eccentricities, while enjoyable for friends, would drive every decent boy away. 

But here I am in Brooklyn. In a one bedroom apartment with an hour commute. A 9-5 job and a kitten that requires as much energy as a child. And when I get in bed it's rarely a fitful sleep that I surrender at 3am with a burning desire to paint. Now it's become a sort of blissful collapse. Instead of journaling I've taken to pouring my thoughts out to the ear next to me. Instead of getting up and roaming the streets well past midnight just because I can, I've settled in watching movies with my closest friend and playing with kitty. 

Friend after friend has come up to me, disillusioned, "I always thought you were...." 

To which I can only reply: I am. 

I still am adventuresome. I'm still driven, motivated, energetic. I still have a love for nighttime and a distaste for stillness. I still go after the things I want and even if it seems impossible, I find a way to get them. 

I'm still Nikki Yeager. I'm still 'me'. 

But for the first time in my life I've become something more. I've become a partner. I've become a half to a whole, a girl who pays only half the amount rent should be and worries about only half the responsibilities (how convenient relationships are!). I'm a girl with twice the social circle, with twice the happiness and twice the security. Sure, I have someone else to consider when making certain decisions but someone else considers me, too. And that someone would NEVER restrict me from reaching higher than reasonable. Even if it meant inconvenience and annoyance. Even if it meant taking time for myself halfway around the world or locking myself in a room with nothing but art supplies and an idea for days at a time. 

And he's the person who will make sure I always stay true to the 'me' inside our 'we'. 

The only person I want to live with for the rest of forever. 

And if that makes me despicably domesticated so be it. I'm still every bit a crazy girl. Still the same firecracker I was in Cambodia and the same fearless girl from Japan. 

I'm still me, but a happier version if you can even imagine such a thing. 

The night I posted my craigslist ad was a good night. It was the single turning point in my dating life when i decided to proactively change things from "what if.." to "let's make some magic happen". Putting the post up was not only fun, but it was liberating. Like dating should be.

I looked at my well crafted ad and I thought to myself "Here comes my husband."

A few minutes later my inbox was popping up with response after response. I was excited, I was nervous.

Most of all, I was confident. This would be the moment I found love. In fact, I was ready to have so much passionate, enjoyable love in my life that I'd be overwhelmed with boyfriend prospects and have to start turning people away. After all,how could such a liberated, confident girl not end upwith a wonderful man. A wonderful man who, preferably, wanted 2 or 3 kids and a wife within the next 5-7 years.

Oh yes, I was on a roll.

So I opened the first email, smile on my face.

Until I read this. Here's email number one without a single alteration or deletion:

AYOAO OAOYOAY GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

…………..,-~**~,…………,-`. _.`~,……………………………………………

…………/’(.===),\``\....,-``|. .(===).|…………………………………………….

…………\. `~~~`,-l::\--/::::\. . `~~`./-,……………………………………………

………….`-,. ,-``:::::::,-~~-,_`~-~`::::`-,…………………………………………..

…………..,-`::\\:://:::\: : : : : : :`````: : ::\………………………………………….

…………/: :\:::::::,-~`: : : : : : : : : :l`""-,.\...........All Glory To The Hypnotoad!

………,-`: : :`-~`: : : : : : : : : : : : : :\:::::`| \''\,…,…………………………………

……<,`,,__,,,,,,----~~~~----,_: : : : : `~~’..|:::\: `-,-~-,,…………………………

………….\. . . . . . . . ,,,__. . ``~--\: :,: : ::/../:::::\:_: : : \……………_,………..

…………...`-,. . . . . . . . . . ``. . . .,-`,-`: /.../-,:::::::::`~-,: :\.....,--~``::::::`~-,……

……………..\. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . `-,,,-`.,-`: :\::::::::\`~--`: :,.:::::::::::::::::::::`-,….

…………..,-``,~-,. . . . . . . . . . . . ,-~`,,-`,: : : :``~-,/: : ,-,,,/:::::::::::::-,,::::::::/…

……………\: :\`-,_`~----,,,,,,---`\\....,-`. . .|: : : : : : : : :\::::::::::::::::::,-``,,,-~`…..

…………….\: ,-\: :``~--,,,,,,---~```: . . . . .|: : : : -,: : : : \::::,--,._,,--`::,-`……….

……..,-----``,-`: : \:. . . . . . . . .`-,,-`. . . . .|: : : : : : `-,: : :`-`: :/``:::::,-`………….

……...``---,: : :’’’’’`-,`--,,. . . . . . . . . . . . . /``: : : : : : |: : : ,~`::,-~```,,_```~,……

……………``/: ,^,:<~-,_,-```~~<``,,```~~`: : : : : ,,-~````./::i~~-,,::`-,..``~--`……

……………./: /…`~,`~-,……,-~~``,--,-: : :,-~````……..`,,,/…….``-,::`,……….

…………….``………`-`…..`---```..,``,-~``…………………………..`~`……….

erm

20 years old

...............................................``` .................................................. ....

Which is why I don't [normally] date 20 year olds. I just don't enjoy kissing frogs.

Read Craigslist Chronicles: Volume 3

He's an investment banker. My second investment banker ever. But instead of the first one who had a "did it for money" mentality, this guy loved his work. Oh, and he was Indian.

I'd like to say that I didn't pay attention to the fact he was Indian. But, well, I like Indian food. It's probably the one thing I like more than happiness. Indian food trumps all goodness in the world.

So yes, being Indian earned major points in my book.

We met at a little Italian restaurant. It was dark inside, I was wearing my brown dress that looks like  peacock threw up on it because it was laundry day. Somehow he still thought I was pretty.

I asked the waiter for a food suggestion, we ordered wine and started talking about the little details of our lives.

I had a glass of Pinot Noir as we talked about his family and his education. He grew up in India but has been here for ages- entirely Americanized. He asked me about my family, I told him they lived in Texas and my mom's a nurse.

I had another glass of wine.

He was so very nice.

Suddenly I couldn't shut up. I asked him about women in India, I told him about Cambodia. I told him he spoke perfect English. I slurred my words.

Why is the world blurry?

I had another glass.

Darn this wine is good.

Our food came and I ate. I dropped something on my lap- he didn't notice (thank god!). He asked me about school (I think), I told him all the intricate details about my future novel... in the least comprehensible way possible.

Did I eat today?

No. That's what it was, I hadn't eaten. And I was drunk. On a first date, intoxicated.

Why doesn't he notice that I'm drunk?

He smiled at me and told me he had a great time, then picked up the check like a true gentleman. Then I asked the question I needed to know above all else:

"OMG DO YOU COOK INDIAN FOOD?!?!"

Stupid question, Nikki.

"You know... since you're... Indian and all..."

Well, unfortunately he's not a big chef. BUT he did walk me to the train and ask me on a second date. Needless to say, I've stayed away from the wine since.

Oh, the things I do...

Read the Craigslist Chronicles: Volume 2

Craigslist Date Number 2 (not posted in any particular order, chronologically or otherwise) happened to be a lawyer. His email response to my personal ad actually made me laugh. Out loud!

I saw your ad looking for someone who isn't a psycho killeror crazy stalker and thought to myself "Hey, I'm neither of those! Maybe I should read the ad." So I did. And now I'm replying to it, so apparently my fancy has been tickled.

A happy lawyer who made me giggle- a winner from the start.

So I met him out and he may not have had the "Fabio-esque" body he told me about, but he was cute. And smart. And behind his lawyer-y glasses he had a wonderfully relaxed face.

By the way- I really like smart. My brain likes brains that are bigger than mine. I can't help it.

It was a pretty normal date all together. We got a coffee and talked for a few hours. He was a history buff in school and I've been around the world- pretty typical first date chatter for me. But I loved the fact he was a lawyer for the purpose of helping the good guys and condemning the bad. He's on a mission to save the world- one criminal at a time. Super James (his name isn't really Jameson... or James... but remember, this is anonymous) talked to me at Starbucks.

After it was pretty late and my conversation bone was pretty tired, we got up and, like a true gentleman, he decided to walk me home. All the way home. I like to walk, lot.

So we only had 25 or so blocks to go and I wasn't about to hope on a train. We stood up to leave, and a scraggly looking man at the table next to ours stood up and leaned over:

"Hey you dropped this."

So I grabbed the paper he handed me and walked out. Sometime after I opened the door I opened the piece of paper, confused where it could have fallen from.

This is what I read (verbatim, with misspellings and all), out loud, to James.

" Dead Friend,

Here's a man destined for bringing out the best in you! Bright mature humble Proud of his upbringing: All the features to make his love, his princess, trully one happy woman.

That he treasures you is tangent! that he adores you: how obvious he is seizing you up at the juncture; what he is weighing is that you are operating, reacting to him with barriers somewhat; for certain: if you're not serious, I beg: Play not with his kind heart this man is quality and deserves nothing but the best. If you willing to at this of your life please let him know it!

A humble onlooker: Joe

P.s. I must say the two of you look great together"

Well, once again I found myself laughing at the strangeness of it all. No little chuckles but crazy, uncontrollable laughter.

What just happened?!

After that I didn't know what to do. So we walked. All 25 blocks to my house and here I am, posting this note online, several weeks later.

Read the Craigslist Chronicles: Volume 1

First story first, let's call him Darren. Why? Because that's the guys name who's sitting across the room from me in Starbucks.

So Darren is the only person I picked out of the 40 or 50 emails that was under 27. He answered all the necessaries in my post. Most importantly he answered my need for passion in life ("you have to be passionate about something, even if it's just taking the trash out every day. I need someone who loves life").

He responded "I am passionate about many things, the most important being financial markets."

He knows how to use a comma.

"But words like financial derivatives, treasury yields, and futures make me smile."

He knows words that I don't know.

HE SMILES!

I think I'm in love.

The next week we met for pizza. Me and the boy who's my age. He was charming, smart, witty... confident to no end.

Then he tried to be a gentleman and serve me a slice of pizza.

The flaming hot cheese fell onto his hand and I tried to stop it- but I couldn't. The laughter just exploded out of my mouth.

Poor guy with the burn and me, laughing at his misfortune. I'm such a kind hearted girl sometimes.

I apologized and we moved on, but I still felt a little awful for laughing. I tried to make it better by telling him about my habit of running into large objects like walls and doors. He just stared at me with a grimace on his face. I thought it was a "you're so mean" grimace so I overcompensated by laughing a little louder. Being a little manic. Talking too fast.

Then he finally called a waiter over.

"Can I have some ice.... I uh, burned my hand..."

I belive he blushed, but I can't be sure.

So me, being entirely socially competent, started laughing again. Loudly. I'm pretty sure it didn't help the pain. Oh, man- that pizza kicked his rear.

I gave him a hug before he dropped me off but the burn lasted weeks.

Read The Craigslist Chronicles

So there are many stories over the past month that have been neglected on my blog due to common decency. Sad face for all of those long ignored events.

But I'm going to start posting them because it's finally ok to do just that! See, I was having a hard time figuring out who I wanted to date, if I wanted to date and how seriously I wanted to date. That was until I had the "no more booty" conversation with my ex-lover.

I took it well, he took it well, we moved on. I posted an ad on craigslist. Dates were booked. Life sped forward and many dinners were had.

Yes, you read that sentence correctly. I posted an ad on craigslist. The ultimate playland for all people crazy and creepy.Yet, I managed to cut out the stalkers with a should-be-award winning personal ad title "Not a psycho killer or a crazy stalker! Yay!"

It's the happy fun "yay" that enticed men to read on.

Anyways, I had about 10 dates and I'm going to post them (with permission and anonymity) one by one over the next week. So be ready for the 20 year old with a 30 year old life, the investment banker who actually likes his job and the guy with a 'pick up artist' website. All details will be divulged.

Just you wait. That story about me stabbing someone in the eye was nothing!

Craigslist Chronicles: Volume 1

Craigslist Chronicles: Volume 2

Craigslist Chronicles: Volume3

Craigslist Chronicles: Volume 4

I'm writing this out of lust and love and a mixture of emotions that I've been tucking underneath the surface for a good 3 or 4 months. Because although I've been around the world and have been running a mile a minute for years on end; I realize I still have a 12 year old adolescent girl writing crappy poetry and wishing for love living inside me. And it sounds stupid to say, but I let my imagination run away with you again.

And I'm sure none of you want to read this. It's just the ramblings of an overly emotional night complete with cousins, wine and really awesome food. So you can leave. This one isn't great. And to be honest, it wasn't written for you. It was writen for me, selfish and needy and missing the guy who just abandoned me for dead.

But if you're 'you', if you're the guy this blog is about... keep reading. Because soon you'll think I'm crazy and it'll probably make you squirm in your pale and beautiful skin. You're probably sitting there considering my sanity and thinking about the next girl you'll see.Maybe it's 3 am and you just left work. Maybe you're drinking a no-name beer with an awesome metal-hooky-top-clasp. And then you'll see this and you'll know it's you. Maybe you sit your drink down and consider every sentence from here on out.

So sit you're drink down. Here I go.

Because this is exactly what I need. If you know what's going on inside my head you'll be too terrified to ever come back. And that's the only way I'll move on, if you stay gone forever.

So here it is, the unrational stream of consciousness that happened sometime after you asked "when will you be leaving me?" It was really only a weekend trip, but when I fell into your bed I knew I never wanted to get up again. The comfortable blankets and the colors of your room. The way you moved a mile outside of town yet your bed was still identical. A shrunken carbon copy of your room, without a towel out of place or a wire missing.

And I wanted to tell you the truth- I'd never be leaving you.

Then you said you'd come skiing with me this winter. Goodness how I love the snow! And I decided right then it was ok to let myself dream. Oh, how I've been dreaming.

In my head we had those 8 kids you always joked about wanting, and we had an unconventional wedding full of hilarity and laughter. Our honey moon was backpacking across Europe, lavish hotels in Spain, hiking outisde of France. And we ate and we laughed and when I told you I loved you, you told me you always had.Oh boy, how I believed you always had.

Don't forget the holidays. In my imagination they were never the same again. Because my mother loved you (let's be honest, you'd fit right into my little nuclear family) and because Mel smiled when she saw you in the seat next to me. They could all see it in my eyes... that look reserved for no one but you.

Yes, it was overly ambitious to dream those dreams.. But I guess that's what I'm known for: unrealistic expectations. And those crazy ideas of mine can only come true 99% of the time.

So you never answered about my art show. And you never showed up even though I lit the room with my smile and danced about the crowd; the world was mine for the taking. I half expected you to show up and half expected a text. I never imagined it was really the final point, the moment I was actually alone.

Never realized it was the first accomplishment in a year I couldn't call and tell you about.

Now I say goodbye. Goodbye. Now you're sure to think I'm losing my marbles. Maybe I am. Obsessed, that's what you must be saying to yourself. Not the with-it girl you always adored, but some looney bin lover from afar.

And I guess I should've realized how much you meant to me before letting it all fall away.

Next time I'll know better. Yes, next time I'll know better.

But unfortunately next time it won't be you. It'll be some other crazy fish in the sea.