Serendipitous Freelance Writer

It's not a tumor!

2012-02-11T06:27:00.004-05:00

I can't remember what movie that is from but I do remember that it was Arnold Schwarzenegger who said it. I finally went to the doctor yesterday to discuss a lump in my neck that's been there over a year. It's not something that bothers me and though Ashley has been after me for a while insisting it isn't normal, I just kept forgetting to bring it up because when I am at the doctor, it is for something acute for which I am probably loaded up on meds and not exactly on point during the visit. I like this doctor because she's not one to freak out but she's still all about getting to the bottom of things and ruling out the worse case scenario so I will have the lump removed, etc. I anticipate the prognosis to be good and the diagnosis to be that I think too much and one of my thoughts got stuck. Perhaps a thought about a ninja encounter or a small well of haterade pooling for quicker retrieval.

It's truly not a big deal, but it's one of those things that I really want to skip to the end of quickly. I just want to know for sure what the deal is so I can deal and plan. For now, I've decided not to tell my parents which is hard because I tell them almost everything and we talk often. It's been a hard year and I don't want them worrying for no reason. The upside of the worst case however, is not going overseas to stand guard for 2 years every time I go out to walk the dog for fear of a stray dog encounter. That's kind of a big upside actually. Not sure what outcome I'm rooting for. No one gets out alive after all, right? I think that is funny but I suspect at least 2/3 of you won't find it funny at all (that's literally 2 out of the 3 actual people who read this).*

Moving on...

There are a couple of people with whom I enjoy a shorthand dialogue. There is no preamble to our conversations, it's like our minds have compatible wavelengths. I don't have to explain myself. I can and have actually begun conversations with statements like 'I've made a huge mistake.' They don't stop me so they can understand what that means. They just let me talk. That is such a gift. They don't really ask questions unless you count, 'What, Seriously, Holy shit, WTF?' Unless I ask what I should do, they don't really offer advice and they don't ask me what I'm going to do. It's hard to explain but it's more important for them to listen and commiserate than it is for them to understand specifically what is going on in my life. This would-be tumor business, they won't be after me seeking updates, they will wait. They won't call to see if I want to talk about it, they'll let me talk about it or about not being able to find the yogurt I like. I don't doubt for one second that they care.

In other news, I think people underestimate just how much time I prefer to spend alone without obligations or plans. I have a massage today and it's kind of stressing me out because I really want to take a nap right now and I still need to walk the dog and shower. Being unscheduled and free to move about on a whim is also a great gift.

In still other news, my mother who could not even blow her own nose 9 months ago, played Just Dance on Nintendo Wii with me a couple of weeks ago. I was soaked in sweat to the point I actually caught a chill. Her upper lip didn't even get a mist of sweat. I keep looking at her just marveling and hating the doctors who had given up on her. My dad marvels too. He sent us a text the other day telling us that he loved us and was touched by how we came to help when my mom was sick--"not enough to say thanks, but I *am* touched." Love my family. We are so, so, blessed. That was an awful time.

Stupid massage appointment. Have to get out of this warm bed and walk the dog so I can be ready. This is why I hate making plans.

*Seriously though, everything is okay and there is no need to freak out. I don't need anything, won't need anything, and don't have anything else to say about it because I a: don't want to talk about it and b: don't actually have anything to say.

I want to get there, I just don't want to go in

2012-02-04T00:58:00.003-05:00

Sometimes when I arrive at my destination, I sit in the car and take a mental coda before the next movement. I'm not sure why I do this, maybe I want arrival to mean that I've finished something, or that arrival by itself is enough.

Griffin House and magical thinking

2012-01-30T20:57:00.008-05:00

500 Days of Summer captured the feeling I had last Thursday night better than I think I will be able to do here. If you've never seen the movie it's a love story for the way things usually work out which is not good but in a cosmic way, for the better. There is a scene with two screens, one with the way the protagonist imagines and hopes the way the night will unfold, and the other with the way the night actually unfolds.

Before last Sunday, I had never heard of Griffin House. I was poo-pooing around the house, streaming music on Pandora, moving stuff around but not really getting anything done and this song came on. I loved it instantly and stopped what I was doing to look him up. When I did, the first link was for his show. Enter magical thinking. Between the mood of the song and the happenstance of the link, I just knew it had to be a sign. I beat myself up from time to time for being a bit of a hermit, feeling like I need to be in the mix and bring myself more often to the places that I like so I'm more likely to meet someone like minded. But I really like my house and I wish he (whoever he is) would just come here and hang out with me. Then we can go somewhere zany and crazy or maybe just Target.

So anyway, it just seemed like an invitation from the universe and if I didn't go, I would never end up sitting next to that guy that was going to turn everything on its head and make everything make sense. I would finally know who I had been waiting for and would also know at long last if I was waiting for anyone at all. That's a lot of pressure for a small concert at a suburban coffee house, no? I know/knew it was a ridiculous thing to think but I just *love* a good story and wouldn't that be a pretty neat 'how we met' story? Girl who never leaves her house, randomly goes to show and meets her Mr. I know, I should be embarrassed. The cynics are the ones who want to believe the most, even though they have the most evidence that what they want to believe in doesn't exist.

But it got me out the door and parked just in time to sit on the floor behind a table of middle aged white women and 2 old white guys while eating a microwaved pretzel and drinking a crappy beer out of a plastic cup like I was at a frat party. I left during the first encore with a headache, likely the consequence of awkward body positioning as I readjusted each time one of my limbs fell asleep. My ticket said seated show but apparently that meant I could sit, not that I would have a chair. There were about 150 people there. Just like my adventure with Dan Aykroyd, I was amused that I pictured a sparsely attended event instead of a premium grab for the best floor space that allowed you to still see the concert.

Me and an old guy who looked like he wandered in from the VFW lodge were the only two black people there. I'm not sure if he was there for the show or was waiting for his family to find where he had wandered off to so they could pick him up. He just hung out by the door and didn't appear to be listening to the music. But that didn't bother me. Still holding on to hope, I was still the only *female* black person there which meant I would be easier for Mr. to spot. Ha. Even I am amused by myself sometimes.

It was a very diverse group age wise. Most of the crowd was solidly in their 20's but a third of them were at least 45 and still rocking their work blazers. There were at least two young white kids rocking the dreds and both of them made eye contact with me in what appeared to be a check to see if I would give them some sign of approval for their look. Didn't happen. Neither did anything magical. The show was fine, good even but the high point for me was when I got clever and left the club to use the bathroom at Petco (where the pets go and where smart concert goers who don't want to wait in the long-ass intermission line at the concert do as well). Even bought some doggie poo bags for Baloo. Score.

With Spanish subtitles and crappy video quality but the best I could find after looking for a full 3 minutes. Enjoy. :-)

Jungle Fever in Eastern Europe...aka how internet search terms bring weird people to your blog

2012-01-28T10:45:00.002-05:00

Since the prologue to my sure to be best selling debut memoir/guidebook, The Black Person's Guide to Eastern Europe, I have been getting some weird traffic on my blog. Any traffic at all on my blog is happy-dance town to me but this traffic is particularly amusing because of how people arrive here. I'm not sure if I just noticed it or blogger has always done this but you can view stats on your blog and get a sense of how people find your blog if they aren't just entering your site directly through a bookmark or reader.

Particularly interesting are the Google search terms which I optimistically hope are an indication someone is more likely to assist me if I'm set upon by a pack of wild dogs and less likely to have set the pack of wild dogs upon me. For example, "black american girl in eastern europe" which I swear on a puppy paw is verbatim what someone in Croatia was looking for. Now maybe that was a black man or woman in Croatia looking for the other black people in Eastern Europe so we could get a support group going but maybe that was an English speaking local who is trying to find out where the sistas are. I can not divine intentions from Google queries and between us adults, that was probably an adult oriented search but it does appear the person lingered on my blog even though the only ebony beauty on the site is Baloo. Probably a function of how long it took them to figure out in their second language that this was not the site to find what they were looking for, but food for thought and amusement anyway.

Some random things I'm tired of on Facebook

2012-01-27T23:18:00.008-05:00

Facebook postings on Fridays talking about Friday. It's Friday people. It comes every single week without fail, why do you post about it EVERY SINGLE WEEK?

Facebook status updates with one side of an emotional argument with an anonymous person.

Status updates on any social networking platform that discuss your attempts to conceive with details like ovulation or updates which convey your disappointment that your husband will be away when you're most fertile.

Updates inspired by something the poster read in The 7 Habits of People who Buy Books Like This admonishing or encouraging the masses to some level of greatness they may have never reached but for their status update.

It's been covered at length by so many people, all funnier and better known than me but for the love of all the kitten whiskers and puppy noses, please, please, PLEASE stop providing a blow by blow narrative of your day; e.g.

0810: The kids are up. Coffee time!

0820: Sara doesn't want to wear her warm sweater but she'll thank me later!

0830: God it's cold! Good thing I'm wearing gloves!

1000: I wonder what movie the kids will want to watch tonight. Maybe Finding Nemo.

And social network friends of this serial spammer, STOP LIKING AND/OR commenting on inane status updates.

And for our couples on Facebook; Facebook PDA is kind of weird. When you post on each other's wall how much you love each other, it makes me wonder if your relationship is in trouble. Maybe if I had love like yours, I would shout it from the top of the internet but I'm thinking that I would probably just call them at work, text them, or tell them since they are just downstairs in the basement paying bills. It's one thing to share with the world how you feel about someone, it's another to post to your feelings to their Facebook wall when you see them everyday.

A Black Person's guide to Eastern Europe

2012-01-26T16:56:00.000-05:00

Last week as our class was wrapping up, I struck up a conversation with the professor of the incoming class. He is black, I am black so naturally we needed to talk. Why is the subject of another post. He asked me in Spanish how I was (not sure why since he teaches ESL to a Chinese woman), I responded in Spanish (mistake) and he naturally began asking me additional questions in Spanish that I started answering in a combination of English, Spanish, and the language I'm studying. He corrected my Spanish (unnecessary) and then we (finally) began chatting in English.

I told him I was heading to Eastern Europe. He laughed and said I was in for an education and warned me about the racism in Eastern Europe in a way that suggests I will long for the sublime discrimination of the United States. Then he gave me the brief which most older black professionals give to younger black professionals. It's hard to describe it but it's parts cautionary tales, part mentoring, and part pat on the back for still being one of few. But that was just for my job and the good old U.S. brand of discrimination he had observed at my employer over his decades of work with them. For the Eastern European brand of racism he would only hint at the delights in offense I was sure to experience.

I would ordinarily categorize him as an angry black intellectual. He had some over the top name like LaFontaine Higginsworth, greeted everyone in Spanish though it was clear we weren't studying Spanish, and had the social ineptitude to correct my Spanish when I was just playing along to be polite. Unfortunately, every guide book I have read about this country has a section on race and it's never a good news story. One in particular recounted a story about a stray dog that mortally attacked a foreigner. The natives sided with the dog. The author noted it was partly because their culture loved dogs but also partly due to racism. Wow. A dog living on their streets deserved more consideration than the visiting businessman? A dog *they* aren't even taking care of? Wow. Just wow.

Another noted that if you were black specifically, you can forget about dating anyone local because it was just too much. Well shit, then. Guess I'm going on a 2 year fast which in my dating world is nothing. Essentially it's situation normal. Still it's weird that total legit travel guides (e.g. Frommers, Lonely Planet) would make a note of race like they have. I'm skeptical. Just as it is in the U.S. I think gender matters. Minority women of all creeds move differently in society than their male counterparts. I also think in a foreign country as a representative of the U.S., being American matters. I'm American before I'm anything else which will make me wary on the local dating scene anyway. Women aren't the only ones running the seduction for green card schtick. Most importantly though, all of these guides have been penned by white people. I'm not sure if they ran a Soul Man experiment or just kept meeting random locals who talked about how much they hated black people and foreigners in general. Aside from the anecdote about how foreigners stack up against stray dogs, there wasn't much in the way of explanation.

So...I think while I'm out there, I shall pen a guide for the brown people who randomly have this area of the world on their bucket list of places to see because I'm confident I will have experience there that completely discredits the notion that not being from around there means that if I'm attacked by a mangy stray, the locals would be rooting for the dog. But if it does, after I heal, that shit is getting written down too and they will be off my Christmas list FOREVER.

Opening Act: I bought a ticket

2012-01-24T16:23:00.006-05:00

I went today after class to buy a ticket to the next object of my Teen Beat affection. The venue is a coffee house in a strip mall between a Petco and a hardware store deep in the northern Virginia suburbs. The number of signs warning customers not to park at the Petco (towing strongly enforced-Petco is not effing around) may outnumber the number of actual band posters. Gotta feel like a rockstar when you're the headliner at this place. If I'm the traveling band man, maybe I look at the red/blue Petco sign and all the other signs on my venue door warning me about Petco and I think maybe I missed a turn somewhere on the way to my dream.

I was the only person in the place which was staffed by three college aged kids, predictably wearing all black. One of the guys was sporting the required obnoxious slouchy knit cap. The girl was wearing the small hoop nose piercing of a person who is straddling the gap between looking like someone who recycles, likes PBR, obscure bands, and Russian literature, and having something they can take out when they want to interview for a real job one day. Pretty sure there was some strong parental resistance with that nose ring and she has to take it out for church on Sunday. Didn't spot a tattoo on any of them which means their parents probably pull in at least 200K a year. I've been to the 930 club in D.C. and it's an intimate space but it feels like an authentic venue with authentic homeless people waiting to stab you after the show. It's amazing how quickly the neighborhood turns as you get within a half block of the club. It went from chit chat with my girlfriend to a quiet, brisk, situational-awareness stride. No signs about parking at the Petco at the 930 club and the staff is authentically alternative and not angling for that congressional internship anytime soon.

So we shall see.

Words, words, and more words

2012-01-22T19:10:00.002-05:00

If nothing else is left of me, there will at least be this. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of little letters to me, to you, to strangers, sharing my whiny angst, my rage, sorrow, joy, amusement. I write because I need to, because I want to. I like to know people laugh when I'm trying to be funny and intrigued when they laugh when I didn't think something was funny at all. I write to connect. I write to be heard. I write to create a community of like minded people and to attract the challenge of dissent; both kinds of discussions are enlightening. I write to sort it out. I write instead of talking but sometimes I talk instead of writing; the latter I do with very few because so few have that kind of time. I write while stalling dog walks in unpleasant weather. I write until I decide what to make for dinner. I write instead of folding laundry.

I write because I want people to read. I want people to read because I want to be known. I'm not sure if I want to be known in a 'face on a bus' way or just known to enough strangers to believe that what I'm writing is good. Not sure why I feel popularity would be validating in a culture where Snookie is a celebrity and I reluctantly know more about the Kardashians than I do about my own extended family. Maybe everyone wants once in their lives to be celebrated for something; Gatorade cooler over the head, carried on someone's shoulders to bring them even closer to the sky. Could just be me.

Sometimes I feel an urge to get my house in order. It might just be that I've been watching too many Investigation Discovery spouse-murdering marathons but I'm reminded that I'm not going to be here forever and I don't know how much longer I've got. It's a little macabre to consider but it's also healthy for a person like me-maybe people in general-to consider. It's the frame of mind in which I'm considering going to a concert Thursday night. It's a school night, it's winter, it might not be any good, it's not super close to the house, I'm getting over a nasty cold.... But I love music, I'm a sucker for a drippy white boy in a t-shirt and tousled hair singing his journal poetry about some girl he loves the way I wish someone would love and write about me. Especially if my monthly event is taking place at the same time as his dirty hipster acoustic poetry about love and at least one war protest song (which only bugs me because I'm pretty sure none of these guys have ever even been in JR ROTC).

The other lameness that figures into my decision matrix is my tendency to pine after seeing t-shirt acoustic guitar boy. It's one of my least favorite things about me. I can't just admire their hooks, melodies, pick work, arrangements, vocals. No, I want to have their children. I want to leave everything and just be around people like that all day. People trying to turn their inner visions into something accessible to them and relatable to the rest of the world. So I'm miserable and inspired for weeks after I see someone I really like live.

Tickets are $15. A steal for what is sure to be some kind of blog fodder. I'll keep you posted.

In that kind of mood

2012-01-22T16:34:00.002-05:00

This. Woman. is. a. ninja

2012-01-22T00:36:00.000-05:00

This woman killed a professional killer. With her bare hands. She choked him out, grabbed the hammer he tried to kill her with and ran to a neighbor's house to get help AFTER he attacked her and hit her repeatedly with a hammer in the face and head. I hope never to know how I would react if I were surprised in my home by an assailant but if I were I hope my story ends the same way. This woman is a professional badass. She actually said out loud that she wasn't going to be killed in her own home. I love how her mind works. I can just imagine her walking in, thinking 'hmm, darker than normal in here. Guess I didn't let up the shades....HOLY SHIT WHO THE FUCK IS THAT? IS THAT A HAMMER? OMG HE JUST HIT ME IN THE FACE WITH A HAMMER, OH MY GOD HE IS TRYING TO KILL ME, WHAT. THA. FUCK?! I'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE. OH SHIT, I CAN'T GET AWAY (and then)....OH HELL NO. I WILL NOT BE KILLED IN MY OWN HOUSE. I AM GOING TO KILL THIS MAN OR DIE TRYING.

And you know what? She is so freaking amazing and lucky she actually tried to let him live. She told him if he told her who sent him, she would stop choking him. She let him breathe and he tried to flip her and resume the attack so she went back to choking him out with her arm until he stopped moving. The first choking was with her hands. Seriously, this woman is my hero. Not only did she have the presence of mind to mount a defense to a surprise hammer attack, she went back to live in the house she was almost killed in. Yea, she rolls hard, son. She made herself work through the horror of having to end another person's life, of being attacked in your home. Her husband went to jail for hiring the hitman and she got back into the ryhthm of life being an ER nurse and doing the occasional seminar on the importance of learning self defense. Amazing.

In Memoriam

2012-01-19T16:14:00.000-05:00

9 February 2011, SGT Patrick Ryan Carroll was killed in Afghanistan by an IED during patrol. January 10th 2011, about 4 weeks before he was killed, he was stateside on home leave and serendipitously stranded for a few extra days in the U.S. because of a snow storm, and he commented on my blog. He went by the screen name The Misguided Prodigy and when he was stateside and able to, he commented frequently on my blog. I don't know how he found me but I was always glad to see his comments (as I am to see any at all). He was an ardent fan and so encouraging and complimentary of whatever nonsense I had to say. I wondered today if he was still down range and checked his blog and learned he had been killed. God, what a world we live in. I didn't even know your real name until today Patrick but I hope you have killer internet connection speeds up there and have some time now when you aren't helping your loved ones heal to tap out some of those posts you had bubbling up inside you. Rest in peace blogger friend. Thank you for your service, I so deeply regret your sacrifice.

Vignette

2012-01-19T14:34:00.000-05:00

This is my favorite time of day. The sun is streaming in through my crappy aluminum blinds and heating up the apartment. Baloo's eyes are amber in the light and she alternates between resting her head on the window sill and napping in a sun pool on the carpet. The end of the couch is bathed in light and when I lay my head there, it's like taking a nap on a quiet leather sunny beach.

What I would tell me

2012-01-17T22:01:00.001-05:00

If you haven't seen it, the premise of this show is to go through a box of the guest's mementos from childhood. It's interesting, sometimes insightful, and completely relatable as we've all been there. Most times near the end of the interview the host hands the guest a childhood photo and asks what they would want to tell the kid or young adult in that photo. I found the clip above to be particularly touching.

I would tell past me nothing. That girl had to be who she was and struggle with life a little so I could be who I am today. If you've got halfway decent parents with even an 'nth of perspective, they are telling you the same things the future you would tell you about how there will be other boys, new friends, bigger things, a bigger world than the one you occupy as a child and young adult. That everything will be ok because everything you are worrying about then will be okay by the time you are 30. A lot of those things will be ok 30-45 seconds after high school and/or college graduation. That's the moment when you are dipping your first toe into the current that will carry you so rapidly to 35 you'll feel like you were pining to be 25 so you could rent a car on your own the day before yesterday.

I'm not sure I would have made it if I told that girl what was in store. That girl imagined the fairy tale as her destination; having children, making a home, going to church on Sunday, being a kick-ass mom, writing bad poetry. What I'm doing now would not seem cool to her at all. And it's not cool really. It's just interesting enough to keep me showing up for a paycheck and give me something to care about to break up the time I would otherwise be completely absorbed in me.

I'd like to talk to future me instead. I would tell her that I can't believe what we've made of this. Whatever it is, I feel fairly certain it will exceed my current imagination since everything up until now has. I'd like to tell her that I think that means good things but I guess there have been some incredibly bad and low times too I never imagined so I would congratulate her for weathering those storms. It's good that we can remember but somehow still forget enough to not be in a constant state of terror or mourning. I would tell her I think she should always have a dog and that I cried about Baloo 10 years before because I knew she wasn't forever and 10 years after. Damn dog.

I hope future me still has Soul Twin and if we haven't bought that piece of land and settled into our non-lesbian lives together then I hope we still empty the dishwasher together from 2000 or 20 miles away, consult each other on random purchases, counsel each other though minor meltdowns due to poorly timed romantic comedy viewings or bad dates, and unscrew each other from the ceiling as needed. Maybe we won't get our happy ending in love but at least we have something to look forward to if it doesn't work out.

I hope future me is an aunt and that my brother and sister find good souls to build lives with. I hope my nieces and/or nephews really get to know their grandparents because those are some great people to know. I hope to hold babies in my arms and then give them back to their parents. I would tell me to keep investing in myself, whether it is a personal trainer or a monthly massage because I deserve a treat for putting up with myself 24/7. I also hope future me gets to a HBCU to see one of these in person:

and one of these (go 'head Becky's! that routine was awesome)

and this

and isn't this adorable?

But seriously, none of those can top this.

Really?

2012-01-17T17:39:00.000-05:00

What is it like to be asexual?

By Lucy Wallis BBC News

Jenni is in a relationship with Tim, who is not asexual

Continue reading the main story

Twenty-one-year-old Jenni Goodchild does not experience sexual attraction, but in an increasingly sexualised society what is it like to be asexual?

If I were a stand up comedian, I would have a field day with this. This is group of self-identified people who define not having sex as something other than celibacy, chastity, whatever. They have a sub-categories, romantic and aromantic which means exactly what you think it does. They also have gay and lesbian asexuals. I can barely type for the number of times my eyes are rolling back up in my head with bemused annoyance. The young lady featured above is 21, barely old enough to pick a career and clearly not yet committed to a hair color but she's going on the record as asexual. I think she could safely describe herself as a virgin or celibate since "It is not known whether asexuality is something a person experiences for their entire life or for a period of time." I don't know, I'm guessing we don't know because being asexual is not a real thing. It's just called not having sex. But maybe I'm wrong. I just thought I just wasn't having sex but maybe I'm asexual. If there is some kind of additional sub-category of minority I can fit in by claiming that label, I'm in, at least long enough to get some scholarships or something.

Just to be clear, I don't have anything against people not having sex for whatever reason; faith, lack of interest, discipline, safety. But to make not having sex into a group of people akin to hetero and homosexuals, that's just horse squeeze to me. Rainbow Bright had this to say regarding how she could know she was asexual when she had never had sex: "Well if you're straight have you tried having sex with somebody you know of the same sex as you? How do you know you wouldn't enjoy that? You just know that if you're not interested in it, you're not interested in it, regardless of having tried it or not."

Fair enough, I feel the same way about brussel sprouts. But I wouldn't start or join a group of people who don't like brussel sprouts and create awareness of our community of people who are doing nothing but not eating brussel sprouts, being in relationships with people who do. This is a group of people NOT doing something. What. the. fuck.

But I'm all for the bandwagon. Let's catalog the human condition until everyone has a group, especially if you are a group of people who are *not* doing something. I think the following things should become defined groups with forums, lawyers on retainer to file discrimination suits, and advocacy/awareness activities.

*Kids and adults who don't do their homework (I suggest ADHD and non-ADHD chapters)

*People who insist on driving in the left lane with cruise control no more than 3 miles above the posted speed limit and very often at least five miles *under* the speed limit. Their voices must be heard and the discrimination, middle fingers, curses on their family, and abrupt cutting off to make them have to tap their breaks and reset their cruise control just has to stop.

*People who don't pick up after their dogs

*People who don't watch popular movies until at least a year after everyone stops talking about them and often not at all

*People who have never seen Casablanca and have no interest in doing so

*People who don't wear makeup

*People who don't like socializing but don't consider it a disorder and are perfectly ok with it

*People who don't collect stamps/beanie babies/antiques

*People who don't bathe (this is a group with possibilities, I've smelled them everywhere)

*People who don't kill other people (a silent majority whose time has come to have a voice)

A federal holiday wouldn't hurt either. We've got some room between March and May that could use some paid breaks. Also, here is my new dating profile:

I'm asexual because that is a thing you can be now. I want to get to know you and spend time cuddling and kissing you if the asexual chemistry is there. I think you people call it dating but look it up, it's a thing now.

PSA: Stay home if you have really bad gas

2012-01-11T22:49:00.000-05:00

I think if you have terrible gas, you should be allowed to take a sick day. You don't have to have food poisoning. Everyone knows sometimes there's a disagreement, it's perfectly natural. But we can smell it and we're really conflicted about pretending we don't. And to the person who lights up the elevator--that is some bold shit. You make everyone who rides that elevator until the smell clears culpable for that smell to everyone that gets in the elevator after them. Just wrong.

What is Love

2012-01-07T16:15:00.001-05:00

I know I can't define it or even really describe it but I've been marinating in romantic comedies the last few days and with each formulaic ending, I get sucked deeper into the quicksand of thinking about what fantasy fuels the plots of all these movies and how it influences our expectations in relationships. I don't know anyone whose romance resembles any movie I've ever seen about love. When it does, we swoon. And you know what? Without exception the guys with swoon-y gestures and beautiful prose didn't work out. I don't know if that is a phase with guys where they see if they can be that guy or if they use it as a means to an end because women love living in love like the movies. The only woman I've seen on television whose romantic life I even remotely identify with is the Liz Lemon character on 30 Rock (*moment to non-lesbian girl crush on Tina Fey*)

What people need from love is less individual than fingerprints but more specific than one size fits most. There is something in most of us (men and women), deeply encoded and constantly running in the background, that wants to couple. Be it for sex, company, material wealth, most of us would like to get the best two out of three combo we can manage and get off the dating grid. I don't think people hate dating because dating is bad. Dating just takes a lot of energy and resources and for whatever you are in it for (sex, company, money...etc), it has a low return on investment. Locking it down with a nice guy/girl and not telling the story of your life for the 90th time makes sense for most people.

Sooo.....

We meet someone. Of all the random strangers we've both encountered, we forge some kind of connection. That counts for something with me because we beat the odds already. I can't help but find magic in the things that have to work in harmony for two people to meet and actually become a significant part of one another's life. I even feel that way about my friends. I am very sentimental about how and when we met. It's the part of the movie where you know these two people are going to be very important to one another but they don't know it yet.

We're dating, it's a bona fide relationship of some kind. Neither of us are scanning the horizon but at least one of us is end gaming the relationship, trying to figure out if they can identify the things that will bother them in 10 years and whether the things they love about you/us right now will offset those things. Fine, we all do that. The biggest mind screw to me when it doesn't work out though is 'I love you but I'm not in love with you.' Love can not even be defined but there is some nuance in our expectations that makes a distinction between loving someone and being in love with them. I think anyone who feels that way is really saying, "I love that you love me, that is my favorite thing about you. I do not feel the same way but I really love being loved. That is what I mean when I say I love you; I love you loving me." Any romantic comedy that uses this plot device (e.g. You've Got Mail) shows a perfectly normal and loving person who dagnabit, is just *boooring*. The person they can't get out of their head is usually someone who is different, gets under their skin, brings upheaval but somehow *gets* them in a way their wonderful dependable boring significant other doesn't. So according to the movies, I should go for a guy who deceives me, buys out my business, but really means well.

What is so unappealing about being with someone compatible? What is wrong with the relationships where someone is more demonstrably emotionally invested than the other? Why do we tell the devote they deserve to be with someone as into them as they are into you? Why do we think that is true? Being loved is powerful and assuming there is physical attraction, why would that be a bad life? Just like I don't believe you can sleep with the same person without some kind of emotion creeping in, I don't think you can be loved by someone and not be changed or affected by it. You may think you aren't into them but if they cut you off...I can't figure out if it's worse or the same as losing love outright. I think it feels worse.

I think part of the dilemma in relationships is figuring out how we want love to feel, what love should and should not do to us and for us. Even when to make a declaration of love is a milestone. The postmortem on failed relationships often leads to a conclusion that what we called was love was something else altogether. Kind of useless to conclude a relationship was lacking love or "real love" simply because it didn't work out. A car doesn't stop being a car simply because it won't start. Just because English only has one word for it (love) doesn't mean the concept doesn't have the range to include our attempts at happily ever after. How we test and measure love changes over time I think, as discernment drives us to consider how love is demonstrated instead of how it is expressed. The purest, most emotionally consistent, and sometimes overwhelming love I have experienced is for my dog. My heart swells at how simply she makes me happy. Love that unfiltered and heart swelling I think is only for babies* and animals. Everyone else is a challenge. I've answered no questions, but I think I have cleansed my brain. Rom-Com break for sure.

*(making a very deliberate distinction between babies and children. Children are short people who can and do get on your nerves and can be very challenging to love as they age)

Watching too much TV

2012-01-05T19:26:00.000-05:00

Wondering if I can get away with not walking the dog tonight. The way she is eyeballing me suggests I will be shagging my ass out the door in the near term.

I've decided the next time I feel bad about myself to watch TLC. Is is just me or is that network becoming trainwreck central? And do these people understand that they are not part of the joke, they are the joke? Hoarders is jaw dropping-ly amazingly awful. I don't claim to be an expert on the show but it certainly seems that hoarding is to white women what serial killing is to white men. What. the. hell. I can not do it justice so here's a clip from the episode I watched last night.

It was awful. She was a trash hoarder.

A. trash. hoarder.

She hoarded *trash*.

Sorry, I just can't get my head around not throwing away trash. There was a foot-and-a-half pile of used sanitary napkins in the bathroom. There were roaches behind the pictures on the wall and *in* the refrigerator which was described by the exterminator as an "incubator." They had pets, two teenagers and that woman living in the house. Feeling a bit overwhelmed because those dishes from Monday are still in the sink and you are behind on laundry? Watch an episode and you will feel like the most together person. You'll look at your turd-free floor, roach free walls, floors, ceiling, and appliances and think, yea, I can work with this.

But I wasn't done feeling superior so I tuned into an episode of Toddlers and Tiaras. I do not understand the stunning lack of self-awarness in so many of the parents on the pageant circuit. I can not believe they sign releases. This mom was even breeding multiple personalities for her 6 year daughter by encouraging her to leave her 'real' self in the car and keep her pageant alter-ego on deck for the duration of the competition. Ho-ly crap.

And this girl needs her own show. And someone to start a college fund for her.

Well Baloo just assumed her station directly in my line of sight so she can begin staring at me until I take her out. She is brutal.

Peek-a-boo

2012-01-03T14:23:00.000-05:00

'I'm really too old for this game', I thought this morning in the shower. Things don't go away simply because I close my eyes or hold my hands in front of my face. My backslide pattern is familiar to me now; staying up late doing nothing, insomnia, dread of the morning, fervent prayers for time travel to absolve for all the lost time doing the above, bargaining with the morning light, borrowing all day from the future where the unaccomplished are rearranged but not addressed. I'm officially freaking out. This will be the ebb and flow of 2012 I predict. Upheaval of moving, personal and professional preparations for the same, random moody stuff, life. I know everything is better with a good night's rest and an early wake up. I know this. But I still slide into the funk and let the weight of the undone insulate me from happiness. I don't want to leave my house. But I must and I shall. Soon I will not have the luxury of time to fret so I don't worry really that I will be in this place long. Still, I'm really too old to hide under the covers and wish the world away.

Addendum: we are all just passing through

2011-12-31T23:50:00.000-05:00

Grateful. I have said this word over and over again in the last six months as we went from watching my mother slip away to moving slowly back over to the place of grace where we part ways casually, assuming again we will see each other soon. It's a strange space, knowing everything can change in an instant but still living in the grace we've been given. Many acquaintances and friends have seen their loved ones on the precipice this year and they are mourning for the passing of their loved ones. My father reminded me last week that we are all just passing through but it doesn't matter how long you get to stay, there is always someone sad to see you go. There is just never a good time to say so long.

Keeps me coming back for more

2011-12-31T23:29:00.002-05:00

*Cue predictable retrospective post*

It's nice to start the new year out clean and organized, launch into a new year as your most ideal 'you.' I won't be starting this year that way and I'm actively working to not freak about it. In a few hours it will be 2012. Ok then. Since this isn't a Disney movie, nothing magical happens at midnight, I will just hopefully already be in bed. I don't have to resolve to start or stop anything, I don't have to set goals. I realized that part of why I don't set goals for fitness is I don't want a finish line, a number to achieve from which to advance and retreat. I just want to keep getting stronger and feeling better.

This was one of those years that reminds me of how life can surprise. There was darkness, uncertainty, and struggle in this year that at times made me feel like I'd seen all I wanted to see in this life. But there was also intrigue and that's what keeps me coming back for more. What I know of next year already has its share of challenge and worry; language testing, moving, transporting Baloo overseas, wild dog encounters. But the system has already started gearing up for my departure so while I remain in semi-active denial that this time next year I will have one Eastern European holiday season under my belt, that may well be the case. The imagination station in me daydreams about a circumstance as random and unexpected as the circumstance I'm already in to rescue me from the things I most dread in the coming year. Whatever happens I hope I can revisit the perspective of this year when obstacles in the coming year make me wonder if anything on the other side of the pain will seem worth the hassle.

Tumbleweeds

2011-12-31T07:01:00.000-05:00

I think it's because I have nothing to say. There was a time when the words came to me with the urgency of someone about to soil themselves. These days, I don't hold on to thoughts long enough to expand on them once I can write them down. I sit down to write and fall asleep. I censor myself. This is mine and I can do whatever I want but sometimes the adage 'you should always tell the truth, but the truth doesn't always need to be told' applies. I don't want to create something here that I have to deal with out 'there.' This is supposed to be my room; the place I can leave underwear on the floor and coffee cups on the nights stand and it only bothers me. But it's not my room because I made it with glass walls and the act of observing changes the observed.

It's New Year's Eve again. What. a. year. Again I am tempted to venture out into the noise to confirm again that it's not my scene. In an ideal world, I would meet up with some folks and hang out with them long enough to germinate a post. Being in places I don't want to be brings that out in me. I just want to escape somewhere and write. I would leave well before midnight and hang out in my bed under the electric blanket and bring in the New Year writing about the passing one. In an ideal world.

Maybe I'll see you tonight. One can hope.

Self portraits at unflattering angles

2011-12-11T11:53:00.001-05:00

I have a picture of IBC and me taken the weekend he invited me and his friends to his family's cabin in West Virginia. A few years back he asked for a copy of the picture and I told him I didn't like how I looked in the picture. His response, 'I know what you look like.' No matter what the camera said on that day, at that angle, in that light, IBC knew what I looked like to him.

This blog is a collection of self portraits at mostly unflattering angles. They are not the best of me or of my experiences. They are me, but they are like the pictures you take of someone while they are eating or somewhere on the way to a smile, they are on either side of a normal potentially flattering picture but that particular mouth-wide-open moment isn't how they go about their daily life looking.

My life is near perfect as is. If I am honest, I don't really envy or desire anything my friends have. I know their lives have their own specific burdens and that each of our lives have very few truly idyllic moments. I find most of mine are sans people. Sunsets, sunrises, beautiful moons, autumn foliage, leaves crunching, brisk sunny days, naps in the sun, a burst of creative energy, leaving something good behind, waking up with no pain, a great cup of coffee, having nowhere to be, figuring out something mechanical.

Watching babies or animals sleep or observe the world rates right up there in my idyllic moment index as well. I could watch Baloo sleep or sniff the air all damn day. The idyllic moments with people are the happy accidents of life. The time my girlfriends surprised me with a visit, the marathon lunch I had with a dear friend, screaming tears of laughter with my brother and best friend from college during a time of great sorrow, playing Wii with my Mom and Dad, that random trip to Panera and Best Buy with my Dad where we listened to Coldplay, all the random e-mails and phone messages my Dad sends on a whim when he's thinking about me, my Mom playing with my hair.

This moment, with the sunlight streaming through the blinds and resting on my hands, dog napping with one paw extended on the periphery of my monitor, this is a recipe for a sun nap. On my date with the married man, we were talking about how we both liked being alone surrounded by people. It's funny when two people talk about how much they like not being with other people but people who feel that way understand. I hear the world outside so I know I'm not alone but I'm very glad to be left alone.

On dating

2011-12-10T21:56:00.001-05:00

So I love that e-Harmony is using real people in their commercials. Real people. Like 'Hmm, I can see why you might be single' real people. Makes me feel better about not being on the internet. These are the people who made the cut to be a part of a nationwide ad campaign for their service. So yea....internet dating hiatus still in effect. Thank you e-Harmony.

I have a sexy walk aka my week in review

2011-12-10T13:37:00.001-05:00

Sexy Walk

At least according to my language instructor who dropped that random compliment on me earlier this week. Who knew? I certainly didn't. I don't know if this is one of those cultural things but no one has ever said anything about my walk before. She also told me some months back that she thought I was pretty. I don't get it. I know she's a unique person with very specific and unconventional views on a lot of topics but in cases like this, I'll take it. Especially because this week I started to suspect that I may indeed be a....

Bitch

I don't know though. It may be that I have a man's personality which tends to be more direct and less emotive. I don't like to get distracted with how I feel about problems, I like to focus on solving them, extracting myself from the situation, or getting over it. Problem solved, problem staying solved. Love it. Let's move the fuck on. I have feelings, crushes, irrational thoughts, blues, despair. I have volumes of terrible poetry and aimless blog posts on these things. I'm not a robot. But I've really moved away from talking with friends about these things. Lots of reasons but chief among them is the basic human condition; a homeless man does not seek the ear of a rich man to commiserate on his condition; a fat person does not want to flesh out their body confidence issues with a skinny person, even if they used to be fat or poor or whatever you are that you don't want to be. If you want to talk at all, it won't be with those people. On balance the best ears for discussing problems without solutions (if you don't have a blog) is a guy. They usually say something like 'that fucking sucks, that guy/girl is a d-bag, sorry that happened,' and then we laugh. They don't conduct follow up questioning, I can not remember a time they asked about my feelings, and they show they care by making me laugh. But in general talking about my problems (real or perceived) doesn't usually make me feel better, it makes me feel worse. But that's just how I feel about *my* feelings. A topic of moot discussions at best and an irritating distraction at worst. But that's probably because I am also...

Militant

I don't have the energy for lots of things to be important to me. Like how someone I do not know or care about feels about me. I don't need people to like me, I just want them to know I am competent. When I get amped about something it's usually when I think someone is treating me like I don't know what I'm doing or they clearly don't know what they are doing and it impacts me or someone/something I care about. I don't want someone to dislike me but I don't control how other people feel me so I actively try not to worry about it. I know my intention, I know what I mean, and I know that communication is fraught with misunderstanding no matter how well I do it. I also believe that time on target tends to increase understanding of motives and intention. Lastly I believe in the adage, 'show, don't tell.' So no, I don't want to go to happy hour or dinner at the boss' house. I don't want to be friends. People get it twisted when they think you are friends. Let's be what we are first; co-workers. If we end up friends, great, if not, great too. Maybe it's easier for me to feel that way because I have very low threshold for....

Socializing

It. is. exhausting. Once in a while I buy a random trash magazine that I started reading in the check out line at the grocery store. You know, the ones with '5 Sexy Moves You Can Try Tonight!' (with the boyfriend I don't have), '10 common diet mistakes,' and endless quizzes to tell me who I am and horoscopes to tell me when to ask for that raise and which Hollywood men I'll never meet have compatible star signs. There was some quiz in the back about what kind of party girl I was. I scored 'Sorta Standoffish' and was warned that I had no idea what kind of bitchy vibes I was unintentionally sending off. I'm actually pleased if the vibe comes across as bitchy instead of terrified. Makes me feel less vulnerable. This was a revelation to me when I was 25 because I didn't know that my shyness and dislike of socializing in large groups came across as stuck up. Now, I just avoid it when I can and roll with it when I have to. I probably won't make friends at the party but if I do, it will probably be with someone who also does not want to be there. Within 30 seconds of conversation commencement, I'm trying to figure out how to end it gracefully and go be by myself somewhere before I'm pulled out the dance floor or offered a shot or anything else that prolongs interaction with people I don't know (and reflexively don't trust).

So this week, I'm a pretty, militant, bitch with a sexy walk. Not bad, not bad.

Junk Mail

2011-12-05T00:30:00.001-05:00

This is filler, junk mail until I come here again with more intention and less anger. I've been so intensely angry the last few days that I can't even have a normal conversation without descending into a tirade of expletives and empty threats. I am outraged and exhausted with rage. I want incompetence to be punishable by death. I want people to feel they are literally taking their own life into their hands when they are fucking with the substance of other people's lives. But who would want to work for government then, right? Where would we be without a disenfranchised and disinterested clerk at the DMV, Social Services, every other government office we need to navigate the hoops we are charged with jumping through if we want to be law abiding citizens? Complete and utter bullshit. Instead of thinking about the holidays, I'm busy adding people to my 'dead to me (and kind of wish they didn't exist)' list. Open letter to the unethical fuckers I'm dealing with right now: In my version of It's a Wonderful Life, people would be getting paid, no one would arbitrarily dick around with my money and a competent person would be doing this job instead of you. Every time a bell rang, another incompetent person would be replaced by a competent one. It would be a wonderful life indeed. You would be homeless and yours would not be a sad story of a person down on their luck, you would very much deserve your station in life because you are not smart and you lack moral conviction and common sense. You are awful. Just awful.I feel I am really really close to completely flipping my shit at work...baby Jesus help me.

If

2011-11-24T12:10:00.003-05:00

'If' is a funny word. All conditional words (maybe, if, perhaps) when used to convey intention without action are. Like all that is keeping me on the other side of the thing I might do is an external circumstance. It's totally appropriate in the sentence, 'if my ankle was not broken, I would walk without a cast' but not appropriate in this sentence, 'if my ankle was not broken, I would have run that marathon,' like all that was holding me back from a marathon was the unfortunate broken ankle thing. In real life, I've never really wanted to run at all, much less a marathon. Running a marathon would go on a bucket list of things that don't matter to me but are much ballyhooed by others, but not a real thing I want to do before I die.

But I do want to write a book. Or something more than this. I don't even know what it is but I want it. I want my voice in book binding. In something that is one of something, not just sad soup and the occasional funny story on the interweb. I've been using 'if' and 'when' as a stall, like something other than me is responsible for working through the process of creating this thing without knowing what it is, how long it will take, or even really why I want it. I see through 'if' and 'when' when I hear others use it the way I've been using it on myself. If/When I have time, I'll work out, When I have time, I'll take care of myself, If he/she did 'x', I would do 'y'. The truth is, I have time to write. Time is finite and I do have obligations but I don't think I'll be getting a blank check of unlimited minutes for life anytime soon. My father, finally retired talks about all these things he would do but still there isn't enough time. It's not really all about the time. It never has been. It's a good reason, a significant variable, but it's not the real obstacle or reason why so many dreams wait. Often it is fear that something that really matters (to you) might not work out; that there is a devastating shoe waiting to drop. Sometimes it's a trade; security for uncertainty, daydreaming for reality, ignorance instead of disillusionment (for the record, it is not a bad thing to lose your illusions, to trade mythology for fact). For me, it is all of those things and the challenge of Newton's first law.* I do rest real well and my momentum is easily sidetracked.

But I do want to write a book. This morning I started composing the acknowledgements page of my book in my head, thinking of all the people I would thank, scripting the prose in my head, amused with myself that I was creating an acknowledgements page in my head for a book that doesn't exist. Oh well, have to start somewhere right? Happy Thanksgiving all (three of you)!

*Object that is at rest will stay at rest unless an unbalanced force acts upon it. An object that is in motion will not change its velocity unless an unbalanced force acts upon it

I know you're there God, please stop screening my calls

2011-11-20T09:04:00.001-05:00

I knew the storm was coming. I knew the disgust and adrenaline of Wednesday night would wear off and then I would just be in a funky mood. And so it has been this weekend. I know this will pass but right now I want to be mad and sad at the Universe, at God, at cheating men, and the energy it takes to tuck my hope back away somewhere in my head that it doesn't bother me everyday. I am happy alone and I don't care to be jerked around with the alternative which in the beginning is ridiculously intoxicating. That is not a good feeling. I was lacking nothing and then my head was spiked with heroin and then left to withdraw. Asshole. I watched this thing on TV last night about a woman who called herself Miranda who formed these very close relationships with celebrities on the phone. She would cold call them and somehow engage them in conversation and it would build from there into a very intimate relationship. She would describe herself as an attractive leggy blond which kept the men's interest but then she truly hooked them in by mining their souls and building a very deep bond with them. One of the men interviewed insisted on meeting her and said something that went through me like a hot iron. He said he hoped she was what he wanted physically because he knew she was everything he ever wanted in every other way. I don't have the prose to sort that out right now but it spoke to me. It was every boy in high school I ever wanted who didn't want me back that way. He would share his dreams and fears with me and give his love to someone else (such that love in high school resembles love at all). He (all of them) just never saw me that way. *Sigh* So that's what we're having today, sad soup.

Random

2011-11-18T22:12:00.001-05:00

It's funny to me to have a conversation wherein we both talk about how much we hate people in general and don't like socializing. I guess the 'except with you right now' is implied but it's still a funny conversation to have.

Post-date epilogue 1

2011-11-17T21:53:00.001-05:00

Last night was a flurry of text messages and phone calls one of which came from a dear friend of mine who struck the perfect balance of outrage, support, and humor in the dark hilarity of my life right now. Before my head even got a chance to go there he told me it wasn't my fault and I wasn't a homing beacon for assholes and philanderers. He has a sensitivity to him that makes him an ideal man girlfriend. When life is ridiculous, he has often been someone who just makes me giddy with laughter in a ridiculous conversation. I'm lucky to have a constellation of friends to lean on and I'm lucky to have so many great married men (who until yesterday I just called friends) in my life who haven't asked me out or tried to sleep with me. Totally took it for granted I guess since I'm not generally a hotly pursued woman by anyone much less a married man and haven't run into the issue before. But this is a year of firsts so why not this too. Why not indeed.

It was awkward today. I was initially inclined to avoid the common areas for fear of running into him but then I reminded myself I had done nothing wrong and I didn't need to hide. I rounded a corner and (of course) ran into him, said hi and kept moving. He followed me into the breakroom. I couldn't believe it. I did not speak to him and avoided even looking in his direction. The last thing he said to me before we parted ways last night was that he would ask me to coffee again and I told him he could do what he wanted, my answer would be no. As time passes and I process this event, I get increasingly agitated with having to use my energy to nut up and get sub-par coffee from our shitty breakroom because this asshole won't accept no for an answer. As a general rule, I don't like to waste time being angry with people who don't matter to me because it's an emotional investment they don't deserve. But if he is going to insist on remaining in my field of vision, he might find himself caught up in a perfect storm on a day when the nuclear option is on the table and I feel invested in fucking his shit up.

It's easy and not incorrect to see this cheating mofo as violating the sanctity of his marriage. He's masquerading as a single man and in pursuit of single women. But I think it's probably more common for infidelity to occur between people who know each other; ex-boyfriends/girlfriends, co-workers, friends within your couples network... Further I don't think any relationship is fully immune to the threat of infidelity. Not because of some bullshit evolutionary theory on how men aren't built to be monogamous but because relationships are hard and it's near impossible to get everything you wish for in a life partner packaged in one person. And we do take relationships for granted once we are in them, forgetting how hard it is to find someone you can live with that has enough intersections on values, goals, attraction, and temperament to make a go of it. Hell, it's hard to have a roommate, much less someone you sleep with every night.

Not unlike the stock market, you can be in a relationship recession for a good spell and things are real tight and almost totally devoid of the starry-eyed fun that got you hooked. For years. Riding the volatility of the market is not easy and if you take the short view, it's almost impossible not to take your money and run. Based on what I've observed of my parent's marriage and other marriages, those playing the long game are fairly matter-of-fact about their commitment to one another, not really mentioning words like 'happy' or 'fun' like their commitment to one another is terribly vulnerable to how either one of them feels on a particular day. We're married for life, the end*. That's not to say everyone makes good decisions on who to spend their lives with and many, many people could stand to cut their losses or just go the scarf knitting/cat collection route (as I plan to). I think marriage is a commitment but it's not jail so if you are unfulfilled enough or unhappy enough to actively pursue other people, nut up and cut bait or shut up and get to working on your marriage.

*I am assuming these are marriages without extraordinary circumstances (i.e. physical/emotional/sexual/drug abuse...etc)

(Shit) Bucket List

2011-11-16T20:07:00.001-05:00

What a relief. Now I can cross going on a date with a married man off my list. What a night. I suppose I could have jumped up and walked off after he told me but that's not me. I can take a punch like a pro. It's only later that I get introspective and fucked up in the head over it, wondering what the hell is wrong with me that I'm the magnetic north of douchebags. (btw, I just spent five minutes figuring out if I spelled douchebags correctly). If he hadn't been married, it would have been right up there in the top 2 of the 3 dates I've been on in my life. It was surreal. I would be dishonest if I didn't admit a part of me enjoyed denying him and having a very calm, cordial matter-of-fact discussion about how I really was never going to go out with him again. The man expected a fucking ribbon for being honest on our first date. I told him I would have preferred he not ask me out at all. How does he think admitting you are an asshole who cheats on his wife is a redeeming quality? "Hey, I told you I was married instead of lying to you so...can we go out again?" A part of me wants to be offended for being picked as someone presumably stupid enough to reward his honesty with continued contact. But whatever. My suspicions of something being amiss were validated and that's not bad either. I don't hate men, I'm resisting hating them anyway. I'm just fucking over them right now.

Just a little bit racist

2011-11-15T22:23:00.001-05:00

The guy who asked me to coffee is Arab--or possibly Persian--he's taking Arabic (different dialect than what he speaks) but the point is he's not from around here. Or maybe he is. With the exception of the Native Americans, I guess we're all not from around here. I started thinking in the space between the invitation and when we actually plan to have this coffee and that is never a good thing. This is why I hate making plans; space for things to change, time to create expectations that will be dashed, time to become increasingly spastic. I'm not nervous really but I just wonder what his story his and why he just asked me to coffee like that. It was so matter of fact the way he asked me, I wonder if it might be something other than what it appears to be. I mean who does that anymore? Just asks a girl out for coffee in a public place like a perfect gentleman? I've only ever seen it like that in a movie. Weirdo.

I (naturally) considered that he might be interested in me and then I wondered all sorts of ignorant things; does he already have a family overseas and looking for another wife? will he find my dress offensive? will he consider my liberal use of curse words when driving (or whenever) disgusting? is he a part of a sleeper cell? would he have a sense of humor about that last question? am I going to have to be on the DL about Jesus and stuff? Yes, I know he asked me to coffee but I just don't understand why. I've seen him maybe two times and before Monday, the most I had talked to him was in the elevator when he asked if there was parking in the building. 45 seconds tops. Weird, weird, weird. Guys are weird.

I'm really showing my (racist, ignorant) ass here reader(s) and I know it. I thought back to a conversation I had with a guy in college who didn't believe in interracial dating and I remembered how disgusted I was with his nonsense rhetoric yet here I am before even sitting down to have a conversation with this guy being a complete idiot. I thought I was open minded to the point of actively seeking someone different but turns out, it's way easier when you don't have to bridge a cultural gap. It's also way easier when you don't get 2 days to think about something. To his credit, he was on point today waiting around for me so he could confirm a day for us to get coffee. I was willing to leave it up to chance but he was having none of that. It was cute. He seemed a little nervous. Tomorrow I hope to get a sense of who he is and whether there will be anything beyond coffee followed by a couple of weeks of awkwardness in the breakroom after he bails or I bail.

When I wasn't being just a little bit racist, I thought about his kind eyes and wondered if it was possible this could be completely lovely. Then I freaked out some more because I wasn't sure if the made up relationship in my head was worth the freedom I would be ceding to it. Yea, he would do well to not get tangled up in this mess but he is also presumably single so wonder what his deal is. Does he think I'm a rap video girl? Is he just looking for a girl with good birthing hips? Is he just a player? Is he an idiot like me? More to come....wish us luck. Or just wish him luck.

I come by it honestly

2011-11-14T22:09:00.001-05:00

I was asked out to coffee by a fellow language student today. It was nice to be asked out by someone who wasn't homeless, driving, operating, or otherwise affiliated with public transportation, or on street sweeping detail. It was nicely executed and seemingly spontaneous but unmistakably about expressing interest in seeing me somewhere other than the break room. During our brief chat we talked about the challenge of getting a good picture of the moon and I mentioned I had been out over the weekend trying to do just that and he said 'you'll have to show me those pictures.' I understand now, thanks to Ashley that I should NOT bring my pictures in. He is not actually interested in my shitty amateur night time photography of leaves and bright white spots that I wish looked more like a moon and less like a headlight. But before I talked to her I was actually working out in my head whether I would print one out or just bring my camera in. I had already said in jest I would bring them in and he could pretend to be interested in them but I still actually had a genuine interest in discussing my unremarkable photography. Silly girl. Not long after that conversation, I got an e-mail from my dad with pictures of their backyard. The sun was breaking through the trees in a beautiful starburst and I recognized I come by my tree photography obsession honestly. Yes, an apple-tree reference occurs to me but I'm trying to show some restraint.

In other un-related news, my instructor showed me her bra today. Like really showed me her bra and gave me a description of the matching underwear in lieu of a showing. In the classroom. I'm close to tapping out on being incredulous when it comes to her wildly unpredictable nature but this just seems worth mentioning. I'll chalk it up to a heady combination of personality, culture, and her apparent lack of girlfriends to share that kind of stuff with. Sometimes I wonder if she's trying to see if I am gay or bi-curious or something. It's just weird. I'm thinking they have some pretty classic gender roles there and being Liz Lemon-esque (cerebral and not overtly sexual) means you probably like girls in their culture. I don't know. Guess I'll find out when I get there if it's just her or if all the women there will be strangely inappropriate. Should be fun for all.

Working theories

2011-11-07T20:30:00.000-05:00

I hate most new things

I have a hate reflex and it's for most new things or people I encounter. That's not a 100 percent true, I'm polite but wary with everyone and go from there, usually landing on indifferent, aware of why we're not friends but not spending any spare time thinking about it. Just like everyone, I do instantly click with the occasional person but that is very occasional. I rarely 360 on many things I don't initially like but with people in particular, I've been pleasantly surprised with what I learn to like about a person I initially hated when forced to deal with them. Maybe it's Stockholm Syndrome aka 'love the one you're with,' or maybe I need to dial down the volume on my haterade. I think it's the former; my haterade has kept cray-cray out of my life and the people I didn't like initially, informal polling suggests many other people don't like them for the same reasons I initially put them on my dead to me list. This means my friends get to poke fun at me after I become BFF with someone I explained at length all the things I didn't like about them but let them have their fun. Haterade makes everything taste better.

What a difference a church makes

I saw Corey on Sunday. He was in a suit and on his way to church. I don't know why that threw a kink into what I wanted to think about him but it did. I don't know what difference it makes but I do know it makes a difference. It's just so weird to see a man going to church alone. Makes me wonder. It doesn't make him more attractive to me, it actually makes him less attractive to me which kind of makes me sad for the woman I used to be. That woman would praise the Lord that a church going man moved in next door. This woman wonders where the bodies are buried. Oh sweet innocence, I miss you so sometimes.

He may not always know but he's never in doubt

Speaking of haterade my would-be boss is an irritant before he even speaks. I'm so over him already. Maybe I'll come out on the other end liking him but he is not baseline likable.

Morning person

God help me, I have become a napping fool. I'm up around 5 am, no later than 0545 and it doesn't matter if I go to bed at 7 pm the night before, I get home from language class and I feel like I'm walking with weights strapped to my legs. Nap time.

I'm glad no one's here

I love being alone. A lot. Maybe it's just reflexive after sharing a small space for a year with Ashley but I get why it's harder to chose someone to spend the rest of your life with when you are older. For someone to be special enough to allow your life to be tossed into chaos is something.

It started with the boots

2011-11-04T23:05:00.000-04:00

I bought the best pair of boots last week. They were fairytale boots, I didn't think such a comfortable flattering pair of boots could exist in my universe yet they did. Today in what appeared to be karmic vandalism, there appeared a split in the thin suede that instantly darkened the sky around my eyes. I'm not sure what I was getting comeuppance for but for the only pair of boots I have actually loved to split in an unstressed area less than a week after I purchased them just feels personal in a way that has me wondering how I might have angered the shoe spirits.

Happy Hour, e.g. Familiarity DOES breed contempt

God why do they call it that? It's just people drinking before dinner. I attended a mandatory one today with my future bosses and assorted other people headed for the fair isles of wtf-izstan. My gut, which had I listened to, I wouldn't be learning tenses that don't exist in English, told me I am going to hate these people, especially the people I work for. One is arrogant beyond description and dripping with irony with gems like insisting we take cabs if we get shit faced with the locals overseas after tucking into his 4th beer with a clear intention of driving home after the happy hour. The other reminds me of a cross between Niles Crane from Frasier and Niles Crane from Frasier. Boy-ish frame with a very young face that belies his age, crosses his legs in a way I find unsettling for men, swims in his shirts, very clean and smartly pressed. I get absolutely no sense of who he is. I suspect he will be a nervous ruthless type; he'll bother you with minutiae when he's not confident in your ability and bury you if you dismiss him and anything goes wrong.

I hope I'm wrong. I'm not always right about these things and in this case, I want to be really wrong.

Catching up

2011-11-02T22:20:00.000-04:00

Seriously blog, I really didn't think I would spend less time with you but I guess that's what I get for thinking. I'm not sure if it's because I have less time alone and I tell other people the things I used to write here or I always have homework to do which makes me feel like I shouldn't use my mental energy writing, or it's just a dry spell. I come up with things on my walks with Baloo that perish before I can get inside to write them down. Vignettes will have to do.

Corey

Corey moved in last week while I was ovulating. Ovulation is a woman's beer goggles and in my advanced childbearing years, I swear on a puppy paw I've noticed a difference in how I look at men when I'm being drugged by my body to consider mating. Corey has an action figure body and the first time I talked to him at length was in the elevator. He was wearing combat boots, black cargo pants and a holster and I totally drank him in from the floor up. It was almost harassment. I kept running into him that night and by the time I went to bed, I had already texted my sister, e-mailed a friend, and wondered how he kissed. I was on fire in class the next day, full of that radiant heat of possibility. My teacher said whatever he was doing to me, it was definitely good for my head. Less than a week later, he's dead to me and I couldn't be more pleased with myself. If he's not the first guy, he's the first guy I can remember ever forcing out of my daydreams into my real life. I'm an awesome daydreamer so naturally he didn't stack up but I still invited him over for dinner and got his number. I got semi-dissed in that he stopped by for a plate only and didn't return the plate for 3 days but that's all good to know. He made the dead to me list because of what he is, not because I imagined him out of contention. And I lived even though he's not interested in me.

Babies

Is there anything better than someone else's baby? I guess if you have kids of your own you might choose them over someone else's baby but since I don't have kids, someone else's baby is where it's at for me. I love the potential of infants, the knowing them before they know themselves, the stupid joy that comes from seemingly figuring something out like their bowel movement face versus their about to get upset face. They are an enigma wrapped in a riddle and they are tiny terrorists, bringing full grown rational accomplished adults to weeping and gnashing of teeth all before they are even aware they exist. Babies are horrifyingly powerful and frighteningly fragile. I'm sure if I ever have children, they will be a tremendous time suck and I will miss my life before them at the same time I become overwhelmed with how much I love them and how nothing in my life matters like the tiny non-person person who looks like me or their father torturing me through sleep deprivation and the mindless worry that plagues a fatigued mind. That day may or may not come. I've been passive on the subject of children as my biological window narrows. If I'm honest, I'm probably distrustful of what God would allow/send if I forced the issue with reproductive medicine. My sister is strangely bothered by my attitude. She thinks I should have kids. She's offered to carry them for me if I can't even though I never asked or expressed an interest in forcing the issue if nature's window closes. That messes with my head a little bit every time she says something like that. But sitting here, thinking through my to-do list with only me stuff on it, this is okay too.

Random

It angers me that Burn Notice is still on the air when no one I know has ever watched the show. Saturday Night Live even did a sketch on it:

Ava Sweat

2011-10-25T17:05:00.001-04:00

Would be my name if I were a hip hop artist. I'm just starting to realize how physically uncomfortable social situations make me. I sweat. A lot. I went to deposit a check at the bank today and I was completely amped because one of the employees showed me how to deposit via their ATM's. Armpits, groin, upper lip, check, check, check. I wasn't passing bad checks, I'm not in default, there was no reason at all to be anxious. To him, I probably appeared gregarious and at ease, delighted to finally have a branch nearby. I was delighted with being able to deposit the checks but I also wanted to get the heck out of there and end the conversation. I forgot to get money while I was there and was unwilling to go back because that would mean more social engagement and more sweating. Parties are just a soaking pitt fest of short conversations and early departures.

I was sitting outside in the warm sun with Baloo on this beautiful fall day sweat free and feeling I could really do alright in a world with just the two of us and my friends. Even then, some of my favorite memories don't have people in them at all; walking Baloo in the forest one sunny Christmas day, taking pictures of iced berry branches during a bitterly cold night, every single day it is warm enough to nap directly in the sun and having a spot to do so away from the hustle, watching Baloo watch and sniff the world. I have been known to watch her sniff for 10 minutes at a time. It's a very zen thing, watching her nose move back and forth, pinch to hold a smell for evaluation, begin anew, the occasional head raise when she catches something interesting. I'm sure my blood pressure is in near coma stage while I watch her. When it comes to down time, it doesn't take much to make me pretty happy and content (clearly). It's nice to go somewhere new and see new things but if we could do anything at all, I'd rather be outside chatting and napping in the sun and if it's too hot or cold, inside watching people or watching a fire. No sweat.

I had it pictured differently in my head

2011-10-24T20:14:00.000-04:00

I had it all pictured differently. This language study, my love life, my dog. In my head Baloo was a beagle named Doozer. I even had an engraved tag with that name on it. My would-be husband and I would be well over a decade into an amazing partnership; we would be perfect for one another but flawed enough that I didn't worry we were so perfect it couldn't be true. The first week, it seemed language would be challenging but fun. Now in addition to navigating my studies, I'm navigating the volatile and emotionally immature waters of my non-teaching instructor and falling asleep at 8. I will figure out a way back to you blogger.

Sucky Suckerson

2011-10-17T15:39:00.000-04:00

I'm getting a lot of stuff done while in language for sure. It's like being a full time student with half a day of study hall. Problem is, I was never really good about studying in study hall or at all. That's what class is for. I study what I need reinforced from class. In this class, that doesn't work. We had the talk, it didn't change anything, and this week that's a problem. We're moving on the second way to conjugate verbs in the future (of course there are several ways, why wouldn't there be) and she makes a point of drilling that the first and third person singular are conjugated the same as the present indicative blah, blah, and I told her that is no help to me when I can not conjugate the present. Basically, she is telling me this is the same as the other thing I don't know. Not helpful. She told me I needed to go back to the present and learn the conjugations. Yea, that was kind of my point in the 'I'm freaking out because we are moving on before mastery' discussion we had last week. Not news to me that I have a lot of shit to memorize and kind of pissed with your vacillation on recognizing a) I speak ENGLISH and only ENGLISH; b) I've been studying your language for 4 WEEKS; and c) I speak ENGLISH.

This is a week where the bottom falls out (again) and even though I know it's going to be that kind of week, it doesn't make my attitude any less shitty. Just once I think, I would like to be that person making yummy noises while eating a shit sandwich, going on about the journey, the growth, the privilege etc...lying to myself and others as a mind over matter exercise. I guess the reason I'm not, aside from genetics, is those are the people in my experience that truly come unglued when they are ready or are forced to acknowledge that shit is nasty and they are not happy eating it. It's a fine line I guess between being a 'Sucky Suckerson' as my language teacher calls me when I'm being contrarian and the bad kind of shit eating grin person. Still, I wonder where the time goes everyday and struggle to prioritize my study when we are moving so fast that we're already building on beginning skills and concepts that I haven't even begun to recognize much less master. It frustrates me, it angers me, it makes me want to become a language teacher so I can teach language the way I would want to learn it.

I've decided the reason I'm doing this is not for God and country (when is it ever really only about that), it's not for the money I save living overseas, it's not for career-I could stay here and do better. It's because I'm curious. How I got to this point has all the makings of a great story where the ending holds the great love I sometimes hope for or the life changing career moment--like meeting Tina Fey and starting a career in writing--or something equally awesom. It's for the stories--I can't imagine I'll get out of eastern Europe without good stories, it's for the oddity of speaking a completely useless language and the trivia it will be good for. It's for the bragging rights. It's for the experiences that enrich my empathy for the experiences of others and inspire me to want to be better because of the hardship I don't want others to endure. The schedule isn't bad either.

It's not that I can't, I just don't want to

2011-10-13T16:42:00.001-04:00

These next two days will be it I think. As Gob on Arrested Development would say, 'I've made a huge mistake.' I'm totally unglued. I slept most of today and now I'm right back here at 10 o'clock still not done with yesterday's homework and head thick with anxiety and escapist fatigue. I was not getting my life errands done on the afternoon schedule but the morning class thing does not work for me. It works against my brain rhythm. I am not good for this kind of stuff in the morning. Morning is my thinking time, not my reading out loud in a foreign language time or conjugating words I don't even understand time. Something has to give. I will need to be medicated for a year, I will need to muster the courage to quit, or something fairy godmother third option has to materialize. Before the end of the week. I'm happy to pay for this experiment out of pocket for two weeks as a mea culpa for wasting everyone's time, beyond that, I will feel compelled to stay. I've had that 'what have I done' feeling before. It's practically the story of my professional life, maybe my entire life. But it gets harder with time, not easier, to put myself through the paces of another random challenge. I just want to be left alone.

My instructor is a trip. I always find people who declare themselves to be good at something like dancing or singing amusing. I don't get it. I would rather say I'm an awful dancer or even that I just like dancing rather than provide an assessment of my talent to near strangers. Just not sure what I'm supposed to do with that information. She's a snappy dresser and knows her way around a stiletto. Prototypical hyper feminine and well credentialed woman. I think the difference between me and many women are they like attention from men; they like to be appreciated physically, like to feel/look sexy, etc. I don't. I don't want to be attractive to or noticed by men in general; I want to be noticed by one man. But one can not have it both ways so here I sit, alone rocking the soccer shorts while my instructor puts on her makeup in thigh highs and stilettos.

"Somethings gotta give with the way I'm livin'

Seems I'm gettin' down every day.

The more I strive, the less I'm alive

And it seems I'm getting further away."

I haven't been this heartbroken about something in some time. Hot, unspent tears behind the eyes troubled in my mind. Frustrated, sad, mad at myself for choosing this and fairly certain that if I chose to stay the course, it will only get worse. I'm am exhausted from fighting myself. Exhausted. And it's still a draw. I can't keep seeing how I feel by the end of the week before I add my own addendum to quitters never win; quitters know when to cut their losses and go on to something they can win at. I don't want to match wits and be verbally wrestled in a foreign language. I don't want to want to choke out an instructor who amubshed me in the coffee room. I don't want to talk about myself more in a foreign language than I do in English. I don't want to make up plans for my weekend because it is unacceptable to say I don't have any. Again, I just want to left alone.

----
I started this post two weeks ago. The third option has not materialized but I have had 'the talk' with my instructor which served only to go on record as being an unhappy camper as she didn't plan on adjusting how she teaches to suit my learning style. In her words, 'I'm sorry boo, but that's just the way it is.' I'm not sure if she calls me 'boo' because I'm black or just calls everyone that. So there is still suffering but it is no longer in silence. Brave faces are overrated and there is just too much to absorb to bother with one during this process. Seems most if not all of us are dealing with the same emotional roller coaster as well. Nothing in academic language study prepares you for the hell of one on one language. It doesn't even matter what language, the bottom falls out of your world every 2-3 weeks. I came in today to see my colleague (and future boss) had illustrated this process by drawing stairs with long plateaus. The plateaus had giant gaps which we all fall through and seemingly start from scratch. So this is language and this is my life for the near future. I knock on wood but I think I've come in from the window ledge and committed to seeing this ridiculous through. God help me. Seriously, God, sincerely looking for an assist here. Would love that beautiful, smart, funny man if that can be managed as well. You know who I'm thinking of.

Nevermind

2011-09-27T17:14:00.000-04:00

I know what I said a couple of posts back about not questioning the journey once the challenge has been accepted but sometimes I'm wrong. I'm over it. The only thing I like about my life right now is the ability to get stuff done during the day because I'm not at work. Everything else is a lonely frustrating verb conjugating, gender/article/number agreement hell. I'm full circle back to America, fuck yea, speak English. When you become the center of commerce and science, we'll speak your language. Until then, I've got a smart phone with internet and Google translate. You'll probably speak English; I'll get by with Google when you don't.

So this post won't be about growth and accepting professional dares because they sound cool or you're bored. It will be about the courage of quitting. Of letting yourself down and letting others down and realizing nobody dies when that happens.

Street Fair

2011-09-24T11:16:00.001-04:00

'If I see you again, I'm going to attack and harass you.' Might be the best thing anyone has said to me since I moved here. I was a little worried when I left Philly I was leaving all the kooky fun and random encounters with strange people behind. Not so. That gem of a line above came courtesy of a visiting construction worker from New York who insisted even though he said 'attack' and 'harass' instead of 'say hello' or 'ask you out', he meant me no harm and my ninja would not be necessary. Per Ronnel, that's how they say it in New York and it does not mean I should get some pepper spray in anticipation of our next encounter. Phew! Glad he cleared that up for me. How awkward would that have been? He'd be trying to rock his attack and harass mac and I would be bear-macing him and screaming. I know I was sending somewhat mixed signals because I was smiling so broadly during his awful alarming pickup attempt but I just couldn't help it. It was that awfully good. Even better, this was after I told him I had a boyfriend. Thanks Ronnel. You were even better than the white lady with a little white dog who commented when Baloo barked, 'Well you know, big black dog, little white dog...' and trailed off like I knew something about the race wars between (colorblind) white and black dogs.

When I was a child, I spoke as a child

2011-09-24T02:07:00.001-04:00

And shortly after I turned 36, I returned to speaking like a child. I never thought learning a language would be so emotional. I never thought I would get frustrated like a child just starting to talk. Every child has to cross that bridge between gesturing, sounds that mean words they would say if they could, and actual words. There are tears on that bridge, meltdowns when a parent guesses wrong and the kid screams bloody murder because they are frustrated that they can't get their point across. That's how I feel right now. I can't be me in this language. I can't say what I would say, I can only say what I know how to say and naturally after just one week, my repertoire consists of robot phrases; good morning, good night, thank you, the weather is ____, the date is _____. Almost every piece of electronics I own can say or write these things. In at least 2 languages.

I'm feeling constrained both by my lack of vocabulary and ability to communicate but also by my imagination. I can not conceive a day when I can even count in this language. Wish I had the 3 years to learn that I had when learning how to count as a kid. This process is like being introduced to numbers on Tuesday, doing a couple of multiplication tables on Wednesday, long division on Thursday, and Calculus on Friday. Every night I want to sit down and figure out numbers to some level of mastery but I also feel a pressure to keep up with the Calculus because we are for sure moving on to theoretical physics. I'm having mini-freakout meltdowns on the regular and it's only been a week. So that's what this will be. An emotional and educational journey. Tantrums are to be expected. After all, this process is taking away my words.

Some random false starts...

2011-09-20T23:14:00.000-04:00

from a few weeks ago that I felt like publishing....unfinished and unlikely to ever be finished but I wanted Lodo to at least know I wrote him an open letter.

14 September

Forgotten but not gone

I've missed you blog. This move has been especially disruptive for writing which is a shame because I'm frankly constipated with all the shit I've been wanting to sit down and sort out. There was the joy of camping out on the air mattress after the movers came, the final messy disjointed Beverly Hillbillies Clampett-loaded car roll out of Philadelphia, the initial separation anxiety over the culture shock of returning to the D.C. metro area, the unpleasant spade work of searching for a place to live, the move in, the power outage, the Soul Twin departure, and today, the 6 hour road trip to Philly and back to tie up that last loose end.

On the subject of today's road trip, I didn't want to do it. I was a little emotional about it really last night when Ashley texted she couldn't unscrew the coax cable on the modem I forgot to return with my cable box. It was my issue and my fault for overlooking it. Still I hoped to get some pay it forward return on investment for all the things I think I do for people just because. *Cue self-righteous martyr mode* Maybe I'm not as considerate as I think I am and only hear what I want to believe about myself but if what I spend my time thinking of is any indication of my priorities, professionally, I obsess over how to get things done and how to help people get things done. That does not seem to be the case for most of the acquaintences I made in Philly and it certainly isn't the case for my family.

Though it's not good material, I have a desire to vent and be vindictive about it. Moving is stressful and I'm off for sure. I feel vulnerable and sad and alone and then I feel strong, amazing, proud and fully capable of taking care of myself. I'm sure my Prius can tow, but it's not built for towing and it will take its toll. That's how I feel today about not coupling. I look at lovely Baloo and her confident well mannered and balanced approach to life; she isn't afraid of anything, she's wonderful and predictable with people and children, she considers every open door to be an invitation. Except as it concerns other dogs. She is anxious around them and projects aggression as a means to protect herself. She grows tall, fur stands up, posture is erect, and she is about the business of letting the other dog know she's in charge and won't accept them as dominant. It they want to test her, she will flip out, say some nasty things in whatever language dogs speak and commence the mount and/or stealing of toys/warm visitation with the owner of the other dog. I look at her and I see myself. Minus the mounting and taking of toys.

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Dear Lodo

I keep composing this in the car or in the shower or while out walking the dog or doing anything that prevents me from writing this down when I know what I want to say and how I want to say it. I addressed this post to you because you are the person with whom I've had the most consistent dialogue on here and you are the only person I don't know who reads regularly. Not only is that encouraging because someone who has no sense of personal obligation/relationship to me is reading, but also because I admire your talent for storytelling and insight. It is hard to tell a good story and you do a great job.

It's been a long month Lodo. I moved, then helped a friend move. I wallowed in a bit of a sad sack feeling not at all helped by my abandonment of exercise and the routine I had going. I'm up late, up early, I'm watching hours of TV, it's spiraling into a full out funk. It's an act of will to bathe. I can't sleep until I do and I won't do it until I'm so tired I ache. I've been thinking a lot of the guy, the guy from over a decade ago who isn't really a guy anymore. He's more a representation of what I thought that had the potential to be. I think he's somewhere in the D.C. metro area and I keep bracing to run into him. I haven't run into the same person twice in the apartment complex I'm living in right now, not sure why I'm bracing to run into that guy.

Challenges: Abstract and Actual

2011-09-20T22:48:00.001-04:00

There are many things I believe I'd like to do someday. Having children, rock climbing, writing a book, a safari, visiting Alaska (during a Palin off-season), skydiving... It's not quite a bucket list, I wouldn't be devastated if most of those never happened but if the opportunity presented, those are some of the things I think I would like doing. Learning a language was on that list too. Something about being in on the secret, being an insider to the code of communication somewhere outside of America has always appealed to me. Old Boss would be on the phone sometimes with his parents speaking his mother tongue and I just loved it. I loved it but it also frustrated me because I wanted in. I wished there were some way I could understand what he was saying. Now I have that opportunity and it's daunting. I was thinking this evening about the big talk before the expedition on every documentary ever made; the thirst for knowledge, exploration, good of mankind...blah, blah. Then the journey begins and there's suffering,unexpected challenges, setbacks, pain and exhaustion, worry. Then the questions. Is it worth it? Why are you doing this? What are you trying to prove? But none of that matters once the challenge is underway. The challenge has been accepted. I can still ask those kinds of questions but they are completely irrelevant now. Now it is time for choices. I can chose to forge ahead, I can chose to quit. I can chose to spend precious energy lamenting that the one language I chose to study is the only remaining romance language with three genders or I can devote time to learning them even though I not so secretly think if you're the last language standing using three genders for nouns maybe you hold on to dying trends too tightly.What I will say is that it takes a special kind of person to teach a language. Not only in skill but in patience. I could not listen to an adult learn how to read English slowly and deliberately, sucking every word and ever sentence dry of its meaning be-ca-use e-ve-r-y l-e-t-t-e-r is r-ea-d l-i-k-e t-h-i-s. Stay in school kids, stay in school. Literacy is a gift.

Transition

2011-09-16T10:33:00.000-04:00

I have a Soul Twin. She was the only person in my life who had near unlimited time for me; no kids, no significant other. The person you could always count on to call back the same day. I don't resent other friends with their spouses and kids and hobbies (i.e., lives) but I know they don't have time to hang out with me on the phone while I pick out my clothes and walk my dog or browse the internet virtually with me while I look for shoes and clothes. Soul Twin did. Soul Twin also picked my brother up from the airport when my mom was in the hospital even though she had never met him and watched my dog even though she had two cats and a concussion. Until last Saturday, we talked almost every single day and often several times a day, sharing funny circumstances, consulting on purchases, passing the time while stuck in traffic or cleaning house. As is her custom when starting a new job, Soul Twin has completely fallen off the radar. If she were a plane, it would already be a search and rescue mission as there has been no sign of life since I talked to her as she was boarding her flight. It might be one of my least favorite things about her but no one is surprised to have not heard from her.

Now I have oceans of empty space where there was once conversation and no one to talk to. At least not with the intimacy that comes from long conversations about everything from the random text I got from some guy to when I'm finally going to schedule that surgery I've needed for years. Old Boss and I have been keeping up fairly regularly but there is a part of writing him that makes me sad and frustrated. I don't want to be good friends with married men while I'm unattached. There is nothing untoward about our friendship. It just frustrates me because what I have with Old Boss and all the other guys I'm friends with, I want in my own boyfriend. Doesn't mean I'll stop having men as friends but I want the first person I want to share something gut busting with to be mine. I don't want to derive my joy in life from a random e-mail from Old Boss or a text message from a friend. It is bratty to reject the places I mine for joy since joy is completely optional in life but I can and I do. It's not enough. I want more. I needed this nothing buffer before I got busy again but it's clear my mind is not healthy on idle. Doesn't help I haven't been to the gym either.

Being back in D.C. has me a little messed up in the head right now as well. Last time I checked in an ill-advised late night reckless Facebooking incident, 'the one that got away' was now residing in the D.C. metro area. D.C. is a place you run into people you haven't seen in decades all the time; in the hallway, in the metro, in a meeting. It's the seat of government, it's the Headquarters for everyone. If your past will meet you anywhere, it will meet you in D.C.. Right before I left 3 years ago, I ran into someone from college at the grocery store. They had been living down the street from me. I ran into someone I last saw as a teenager on the escalator of the Metro. That's the D.C. metro area. The potential exists. I don't know if seeing him again would wreck me or heal me but in the idle thought space before starting language, I wonder about it everytime I leave the house. Good thing language starts Monday.

My philosophy remains that transitions suck. I don't anticipate ever savoring the journey and the space between broken and healed, the chaos of trying to organize your old life in a new space, it's just not me. But I think I will keep forcing upheaval into my life, pulling up stakes, throwing my life into disarray simply because for me, it is more interesting than sitting still. If I were to indulge myself and sit still, I think it would be my undoing for sitting still is my default. If I didn't have a dog, I could easily not leave my house for days. Speaking of leaving the house, the lab is moments from silently guilting me with her intense brown eyes to use my opposable thumbs for good and take her outdoors where we have mutually agreed is the best place for her to use the bathroom. Thank God for her. I would be 500 pounds and even more socially isolated were it not for her.

Jon Benjamin Has a Van

2011-08-16T23:13:00.001-04:00

And he makes me smile with nonsense like this:

http://vimeo.com/27177331

Optional vs Obligatory

2011-08-07T10:48:00.008-04:00

I've been thinking this morning on the stress of commitment and why the older I get, the less I want to commit to anything optional, even something as benign as lunch. It's becoming a thing with me, a 'quirk' which is a nice way of saying an irritating personality trait, that I need an escape hatch for any social/optional activities and I avoid making those kinds of plans if at all possible. Before I stopped making social plans or commitments, it wasn't unusual for me to flake on them, canceling at the next to last minute. Most of the time it was because it didn't seem worth the trouble and I felt I would get more satisfaction from attacking my to-do list than I would from hanging out. That felt terrible and pissed off my friends so I just decided it was better for us both that I just not make plans. Nobody expects me there so no one is disappointed. Or maybe now they are just disappointed that I don't make plans with them. Being friends with me is disappointing one way or another. I am however, good for the spontaneous adventure. If I don't have time to dread it and the moons are just right, I'm your girl. Again, not understanding why I have any friends at all and why the friends I have are so incredible. Probably takes someone exceptional to dig all that is Ava enough to put up with the extra delightful stuff like rare visits and inability/unwillingness to make plans to do the same. Having my girlfriends (most of them) on the east coast has been awesome because I don't have to plan. I just jump in the car or on the train. I can decide that morning.

I didn't grow up making optional trips so it's not something that comes naturally. The one vacation we did take when I was growing up was a shopping trip to Korea which wasn't really a kid vacation. I got some knock-off sneakers that fell apart and smelled like death after I wore them in the rain and my mom bought a lot of shoes. Before we left on that trip, our neighbor's plumbing backed up into our tub and it felt like a sign we should have never planned to leave the house. The only other family trip was every 3-4 years we would spend 30 days sitting around and eating in the stifling sticky heat of a Memphis summer shuttling between grandparents. Understandably my point of reference for vacation is the misery of the journey compounded by a stressful un-fun destination. The destination never seemed worth the journey.

But I chose my nomadic lifestyle because I want to experience new things and places and I know that I need an obligation to force that into my life. I love the feeling of being forced into something new; the sense of adventure and possibility, the potential, the people, the experiences. But I know I'm not the person who will endure the cost, discomfort, and disruption to see the world on my own time and on my own dime. There is a part of me I think that needs to abdicate some of the responsibility for my own happiness, that needs a fall guy for my misery or an excuse not to try to have fun and I get that through obligations. The must-do is my security blanket from the potential disappointment of could-do. Maybe I expect too much from fun or as Lodo has pointed out, think other people are having a much better go of it than I am. There is always an obligation or a task on the to do list that seems like a good enough reason to not go to some faraway place that might not even be fun.

Maybe I'm more delicate and sensitive, so the stress of the journey bloodies me more than most. Maybe I'm just lazy. I just know all misfortune encountered during optional excursions feel like punishment for being somewhere I didn't have to be. Misfortune encountered during obligatory trips doesn't really distress me as much, it's part of the challenge of getting through a task and it's not optional so I don't have any sense of 'if only I hadn't come to this place, if only I had booked this earlier, if only whatever...' Everything I experience outside of the mandatory reason I'm there is lovely. Some of my favorite moments are on the margins of obligatory trips. Walking the beach in Savannah, GA (training exercise), the sunrise on the beach in Florida on my birthday (training), napping in the sun in San Diego (conference), visiting Michigan (training exercise), having diwaniya (kind of a picnic kind of gathering) in Kuwait (deployment), the Grand Canyon (work trip). When my mother visited me in Arizona, we didn't go to the Grand Canyon because it didn't seem worth the drive. I know it sounds ridiculous to be within hours of one of the great wonders of the world and think, eh, it's 5 hours away and it's only one thing, how grand could it be? Worth a 10 hour round trip drive? Probably not. I come by my vacation calculus honestly.

Even the lovely of this time in Philadelphia has been during the exercise of my obligations. Walking the dog and running into a street fair or parade, having to find restaurants for meetings and discovering a lovely place, being forced to work with people I would never hang out with and making a great friend. I do however have a spirit of adventure in me; I've accepted a position in a developing eastern European country. There is no good reason for me to go there, I don't know anything about it and I will definitely be a stranger in a strange land. But my job is paying my freight and giving me work to do so I get to live somewhere I would definitely never ever visit. There will be some misery, both of a new place and of whatever developing nation blues there are to be had (brownouts, lack of produce, quality brands...etc) but it will be a great no pressure adventure. I have to be there, anything fun or good that comes of it is a bonus, anything bad just has be be dealt with. I like that. I think I'm much better at making good of a shitty situation; earning my happiness, appreciating the simple gifts, than I am at enjoying the things touted as a traditional good time.

Late Bloomer

2011-08-03T23:54:00.002-04:00

If I'm lucky, I will live a long healthy life. I need the time because I arrive at the best things years after everyone else has been there, done that, and long since given away the t-shirt. I arrived at blogging after it peaked, I'll probably rejoin twitter soon just to stay behind the curve, I've not been in a grown up relationship just yet but still rocking the high school crushes like it's 1999; though I was long out of high school by then, sadly my love life was/is not. Motherhood, if it comes at all, will probably make the record books at least for whatever town I live in at the time. I have thought as recently as yesterday that it wouldn't be so bad if I had a short life either because the future could just be a long wash, rinse, repeat of what I've got going on right now and I'm already largely over it. If soul twin locks it down with someone, I will be on the periphery of every important relationship in my life and I've frankly had my fill of three wheeling and of one of the two wheels telling me I need to get over being a third.

I do wonder though sometimes. Really? I'm that bad at connecting with men or rising to a person of interest? I connect with homeless guys on the regular. What's the magic I'm working there and with other random people I don't invite into my life? I was walking in the mall a week or so ago and made passing eye contact with a guy who turned around, grabbed my arm, hugged me, held my hand, and asked if he could go home with me before I could even process what was happening. I told him I didn't know him, asked who he was, and all he had to say to me was 'can I go home with you?' When I said no, he politely kissed my hand and walked away. Seriously, eye contact can not possibly explain that can it? I make eye contact and even say hello to the various cute men of the neighborhood and most don't even return my greeting. Why only the crazies and the homeless Lord? Why are they dialed into my station and the rest of universe is only aware of my existence enough to avoid running into me on the sidewalk?

I was sitting in the window of a frozen yogurt place last week. I was people watching and occasionally the favor was returned with a 'I noticed you glance.' Then this white girl came in and she was right out of a classic (white) American beauty J Crew catalogue. Casual but well put together and seemingly crisp in the wilting heat. She ruined everything. I had been happily imagining myself as a cute girl having yogurt in the storefront window and this chick showed up and I got to watch 8/10ths of the men who walked by do double takes at her. Now I was just a chubby chick with crazy hair eating next to a pretty girl. I left in a foul mood. As I walked up the street sweaty and wilted with crazy hair, I again made eye contact from across a street with a likely homeless man. I didn't look at him again hoping to get past him when I crossed the street without being hit up for money or a strange and aimless conversation. Didn't work. He yelled at me as I walked past, not making eye contact, that he liked my hair. Jesus. Really? I told him thank you and kept walking while I'm sure people thought, yea, you've got to be crazy to like that hair buddy.

Maybe I hope now for a short life with good stories. Less time alone, more assumed potential had I lived instead of the 'wow, made it all the way to 90 without ever having a significant other or doing or being anything different that you were at 35, 25, even 15.' Yea, I'm liking that; good stories that will remain novelties because they can't be repeated and scores of great things that could have been had I lived longer.

Just wanted to let you know

2011-08-01T00:04:00.003-04:00

That I'm up too late again and tomorrow will suck accordingly. I also wanted you to know I am sowing bad karma by being cold to the new girl because she's like a nervous overcompensating unpredictable puppy. Since she isn't actually a puppy, I don't think she's cute and she doesn't get the same latitude I would give an actual puppy. My demeanor with her can best be described as permanent newspaper to the nose. Lord help me avoid her mistakes and help me strike that tone that says we're not friends but I don't hate you. Keep her from wanting to braid eachother's hair and confess all her hopes and fears but still not being shitty to her in a way that makes her feel alone in a new place.

I have the house to myself now and it's wonderful. I believe the last of Ashley's things are out and now I have the privacy and space I craved. Ashley is creating her space and I think she is happy too. I miss some of the boundaries she forced into my life, like how long I could stay up watching useless T.V.. She also distracted me from thinking about men by taking up my mental energy on being irritated with her artifacts (hair, spills, messy room), and through her presence making it impossible to have anyone over. So now it's just me by the sea and I do wish I had a hand to hold. Philly has not turned out to be the place for love I hoped it would be but when has any place ever been that place for me?

Three weeks and counting, the Philly adventure will conclude. I didn't wring out the towel on my Philly experience; a stone's throw from the theater and I never went to a play or concert, a comedy club. I met some new and different people all of which I expect I will keep in touch with as often as I do people from high school via the occasional comment on Facebook. I think I will miss more the sense of community and of being known and knowing. Knowing where to go for dry cleaning, for groceries, for walking the dog, all the little things you have to learn anew every time you move.

Somewhat related, I have already mentioned my lack of interest bordering on hostility for the obligatory going away and I just remembered that I also have a birthday coming up--double terrible. I am really becoming crotchety to the point of rudeness as it concerns suffering acquaintances seeking to celebrate milestones with me as friends. We really don't have to go out for my birthday, it makes me sad to celebrate something like that with people I don't otherwise really hang out with. I feel like I did my senior year of high school. I only went to the school I graduated from my senior year so it was kind of a tough transition. I met people and made friends but they weren't forever friends. At the end of the year, I remember someone writing or telling me that they knew I missed my friends from my old school but they hoped I had made some good friends there too. But really, I didn't. That connection just didn't happen and it wasn't anybody's fault. Same here. I spend more time on the phone with my Soul Twin than I ever spent in the company of anyone here. When it hits the fan, the people who have my back don't live here. Truthfully I'm not even around the people here enough for them to even notice I'm splattered in shit.

Which is all to say, a goodbye thingy isn't called for here. We were friendly but we weren't friends so let's not force this moment. Same goes for work. The only person in Philadelphia who I would have been hurt had he just shook my hand and wished me well has already left (Old Boss). I realize it may be a diss for anyone (if they exist) who will miss me to essentially tell them they don't matter to me the way I matter to them. I don't think that is the case here, I just think people reflexively insist on luncheons or whatever regardless of how they feel because that's just what convention calls for. Age is definitely finding me less flexible or interested in pleasing people or accommodating optional shit. Just wanted to let you know.

Things I won't miss

2011-07-26T01:11:00.003-04:00

I love her. I miss her. But here's what I don't miss.

The Foul Towel: Ashley loves her lotions, potions, and body washes. 3-5 can be used in the same shower session (the results of which are the topic of another thing I won't miss). Ashley however is stridently against the clean rinse and wring of her washcloth. The result after a week is a cheesy smell that hits me once the stall heats up and the moisture activates and lifts the scent of her washcloth towards my nostrils. The morning I met this novelty and discovered its source was one where I wondered how long before she found her own place.

Death by moisture layer: As noted above, Ashley loves the potions and lotions and applies all generously throughout her hair and body. She often spends a few moments after her shower combing out her hair soaked in leave-in conditioner. The result of her post shower-in shower grooming is a moisture slick which has bruised my inner thigh and almost daily ended my life in a mangled naked shower tragedy.

The Hair, oh God, the hair: I would entertain a conspiracy theory that she keeps extra hair in a bag and just leaves chunks of it throughout the house. In the kitchen, in the hallway, in Silkwood exposure quantities in the shower, just every damn where.

Judge Judy/Joe Brown/Real Housewives of Anywhere at all: RIP. Will not miss coming home to you blaring out of the TV speakers while Ashley reclined outstretched on the sofa.

Sound Machine: I sleep like death once I am asleep but it must be quiet and I absolutely can not do snoring which Ashley has been known to do from time to time when she fall behind on her allergy meds. Finally bought a sound masking machine so I could fall asleep without listening to her yawn and move around in her floor covers:

The Room: Before and after pictures coming as this can not be adequately captured in words.

How to run your shit

2011-07-26T00:37:00.000-04:00

Of course I have an opinion on this. Of course. But I only have an opinion when I observe someone not running their shit and I see them suffer as a result. As a general rule, I do not ask my bosses for anything. Nothing. I tell them. I'm not disrespectful, and I'm not even terribly strident. I try to be the kind of employee I want to supervise. I handle my shit, I manage my time, and I believe they care more about the results than how I get there. Not in an unethical way but in a pragmatic 'hundred ways to skin a cat, pick one' way. If they wanted to tell me step by step how to do my job, and there are some who do, they most certainly will. Most however, work like most things in the universe do and they chose the path of least resistance; they have shit to do too so it would be most helpful if you just do yours without tying them up into how the hot dog is made. If there is a question, it is framed as 'here's what I plan to do, how's that sound' instead of 'what should I do.' I may be wrong but it's easier to edit my idea than it is to think for me.

It is burdensome to supervise people who need direction, advice, or a sounding board for everything; people who have little sense of perspective for when something is truly important and merits supervisory attention. They think everything that bears their watermark has to perfect. That sense of integrity and attention to detail is just the person you want manning our nuclear arsenal but not the person you want putting together the monthly birthday celebration. If that type of person believes the birthday celebration is important to anyone, it will be the best damn birthday celebration their attention to the other minutiae of life allows. It will be better than anyone else is likely to pull off but still not as good as they would have liked and thus brings them little joy. It is a stupid way to live. I live stupidly in many other ways so I consider myself an authority on stupid living and feel I can say that.

My replacement seems to be this kind, the kind that outsources their initiative, distracted by what everyone else thinks instead of wanting to own her success and failure as something of her own invention. She has pinged me on so many questions of zero significance or relevance that I'm irritated in advance of even meeting her. I already don't have confidence in her ability to communicate or in her ability to triage and figure out what is going to hit the cutting room floor because it is not possible to do everything. I feel she will consult her boss for everything from what time she should go to lunch to what the policy is on leaving 15 minutes early. And here's the thing, power, even insignificant power of the kind she is yielding to her management will never be refused. If you give your boss the option of having a registered opinion on when you take lunch, they are going to feel entitled to one. But here's the rub, it will only apply to you. And eventually you will resent it because one day you will break set with his expectation and he will give you feedback that seems unfair in light of how no one else seems to be held to taking lunch at his convenience. But there are no take backs. You gave them purview over that area of your life and now they feel it is owed to them. Further, because you asked them to register an opinion on something they would not ordinarily care that much about, you just took a hit on judgement too because you seek direction others don't.

I really love to be value added, to help people, to make my work place better. I will not however, be asking my boss to run my life, personally or professionally or imply I seek that kind of direction from them. I know I'm on trial with every new person I work for and it is new boss 101 to have a guard up and project a 'prove yourself to me' vibe. I have the same guard up and the pros and cons column is being worked fiercely during every interaction. I'm I'm lucky, the work eventually bears me out and they respect me and trust my judgement and ability to handle myself. Some iteration of "self-managing" or "works well with little or no oversight", has been written on more of my evals than probably any other phrase. If more bosses cleanly laid out their expectations there would probably be less wringing of hands from the approval seeking type (not that we don't all need or want approval). But most bosses don't. That sucks but I prefer the anxiety of setting my own professional boundaries and risking correction over the anxiety of 'mother may I.'

And that's how you run your shit.

Flow

2011-07-25T23:16:00.002-04:00

Here's how I flow; work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work-maladaptive, self-destructive, self-defeating procrastination-work, work, work, work, work, work work, work (much of which could have been less stressful if not for that maladaptive middle piece). I'm in the middle right now following a day of fairly productive list checking. I'm staying up too late and I'm not exercising. So I'm fat and restless. It's awesome. Also, I'm tired all the time because I go to bed late so at both ends of my day, beginning with the achy tired, and ending with the bleary tired, the last place I want to be is the gym. If I would take more than a day here or there to recharge, I'm sure I could probably do better but I'm not seeing that space right now. Everything is up in the air. There are decisions to be made that will settle a lot of these variables but I'm in that space where everything seems like it should be doable if everything works out perfectly. Which makes it seem like it should be done, which stresses me out. I should be able to find a house, get completely organized taking only the things I actually need and use, see everyone who wants to take me to lunch/coffee/dinner before I leave (which by the way is starting to irritate me), go to the gym regularly, keep the house spotless for the 24 hour notice showing, do my work with accuracy and dedication, and remain in a good mood throughout.

Going back to the obligatory luncheon/coffee bullshit, I grieve it terribly. Aside from old boss (OB) and a lady I've already gone to dinner with, my relationships at work don't rise to the level of anyone I'm really going to miss or who is going to miss me so much so that a formal living wake is required. So that means it is insincere which puts me in a foul mood and biting my tongue bloody not to call it what it is and send everyone back to their desks grumbling about what an ungrateful a-hole I am. The other thing that irritates me from neighbor to co-worker is the 'we've got to do something before you leave' empty remark. First of all, I don't need another damn thing to do. Let's say goodbye today because I'm not making any holes in my schedule to do something that is already above and beyond the actual level of our relationship. And those people who treat my departure like a countdown that they want to rush at the end to take me out for drink or something else I can do without them might be the most irritating of all. I have actual friends to make time for, people who want to talk to me and see me even when I'm not leaving town. Those are the people I make time for and try to figure out how/when to see. Nothing at all against what we are to each other, it's been lovely. This is just not the time to stretch that so you can interview me about moving, how I'm doing, and my future plans while "sending me off"; I've already covered that ground with the people who actually care. We both know it is unlikely you'll visit, and even more sure I won't be visiting so maybe we just wish each other well now and go back to how it normally is with you and I both getting along in life without thinking much of the other at all. I'll keep you posted on the highlights via Facebook or something.

A busy time for parents

2011-07-25T15:20:00.002-04:00

Ashley spent her first night in her new place last night. Wonderful to have a space of my own back, sad to think of her alone and a little frightened with what she's bit off; it's the Ashley show now. Sibling parenting is challenging. :-)

More to come...just running and gunning right now.

Look at all the pretty colors

2011-07-15T22:39:00.002-04:00

Not sure how or when it happened but I have become a purse girl. Behold:

Arg

2011-07-13T23:46:00.002-04:00

I fucking hate tiny dogs. Just because your outside shitting barking cat weighs 10 pounds doesn't mean you don't have to train it or keep it under control on a leash. I am 2 Aleve into what promises to be a fun ride of discomfort after wiping out beautifully on the street trying to keep my dog from murdering a punk ass little dog that was not under control by the idiot walking them.

Warping the halo

2011-07-12T22:57:00.003-04:00

Oh how it sucks to be left behind. It's like selling your house but hanging around to watch folks throw out your shit and comment on the handyman things you didn't get done.

Some other things a coat of paint won't do (vignettes from apartment hunting in the ghetto)

2011-07-12T00:33:00.003-04:00

Remove mouse droppings from your freshly painted would-be apartment. Also won't remove dismissive landlord comment about 'well look where we are' about the downstairs neighbor's mouse sighting.

Remove ominous smokestacks from foreground of your center city view or make a feral cat colony count as evidence of a pet friendly neighborhood.

Shuffle up the ratio of pit bulls to any other kind of dog.

The witching hour

2011-07-10T01:28:00.005-04:00

I can't sleep. I'm restless like I remember being as a child. Itchy, too warm, not tired but a tad irritable. Unlike a child, I know I should be sleeping but it won't come. So I'm up and writing because nothing puts me to sleep faster than my own words. Laundry is done for the weekend though not completely folded and put away just yet. Today when it's actually daylight I may fix some clothing too dear to part with and fix a meal that will make me feel less bad for having the remainder of a obscene slice of red velvet cheesecake for dinner. Maybe I'll even prepare some more for this move, the stress of which is probably responsible for this restlessness. Ashley is looking for apartments in earnest now. We went to a horrible place today that was an object lesson in what a fresh coat of paint won't do. It's a place that would worry my mother. Then we went to a place where the saddest woman in Philadelphia sat on her stoop and smoked a cigarette. We brainstormed what manner of circumstance would convey despair that rolled of a person like that. We settled on 'fresh out of crack' but if Ashley, determined always to do the opposite of what makes the most sense has her way, she will be able to report back from her new digs right across the street if our sad woman ever finds happiness. Or crack. I don't think I can handle watching a kid piss away every advantage I worked to give them in life. She's my sister and I sometimes just want to clock her with an anvil (wherever they make those outside of Warner Brother's cartoons).

But in happier news, I am sublimating all the stress I'm not eating or writing on shopping. I started to feel bad tonight about my shopping bug but then reminded myself my version of a shopping spree is buying a new hallway runner and some flip flops at Ross (I totally bought more than that, but it was still at Ross). With the exception of the the excessive amount of purses I've purchased over the last month, everything else has been reasonable and on crazy sale, like 4 dollars for a bracelet sale. And the purses I *just* bought, also on crazy sale.

Every now and then when I'm inclined to be disappointed with how well I'm not holding it all together, I try to give myself some grace. It's been quite a spring. We seem to be so far from where we were it is hard to process that I was preparing myself for my mother to die, the government was being furloughed, I was cleaning my mother up after she used the bathroom and holding a bucket for her to spit in while acting like it was the most normal thing in the world. It was for me in that moment. That was my normal. Now I call the house and talk to my mom like I wondered if I ever would again. Then the shit baton was passed from family to work, and I had a terrible month at work in June. Really shitty. And work appears to have designs on making July shitty too.

I cracked sometime in June, driving for the nth time towards Washington D.C. and cursing a blue streak over the shitty work situation on the phone with my soul twin. I surprised myself with the words that came out of me. I was done. I was ready to die, I had/have no expectation that life was ever going to be any different than it was now. I will always be without a significant other, I will always grieving the stupid stubbornness of someone in my family (or myself), I will never be 'that girl' for anyone, nothing I ever try to accomplish at work will ever actually happen. I was done. I had seen enough and I wanted to be done. Soul Twin said she had been waiting for me to crack for some time and had not understood how I could just keep going, keep absorbing the little shit storm life had become and be so seemingly okay with it. I might be wrong but I could swear she was even a little delighted she was there when it happened. I was completely over it though. The only thing keeping me from the single car accident that would release me was a sidewalk snacking Labrador who I decided just wouldn't understand and wouldn't be taken care of as well without me. It was weird to hear myself say those things. It was an out of body experience. I wasn't upset or crying, just completely over it. Light a match and walk away over it. I can't make good happen in this world, I don't want to stick around and watch it be bad.

I don't have the time to give that episode the consideration I think I ought to so in the interim, I shall buy purses, write when I can't sleep, and eat red velvet cheesecake for dinner when I need to.

Bemoaning the long distance friendship

2011-07-09T08:59:00.006-04:00

It's very early on the west coast but I can see my old boss (OB) is up. I want to ping him--and I just did and now I'm horrified because his status went from green to away. It doesn't matter really, if he's not really up then he will ignore me. But it bothers me. It takes a while to get comfortable in a relationship. There is a settling period and in that settling period your relationship norms are set. Those norms are reset every time there is a big change; getting married, moving away, having children. With the exception of moving, those big changes haven't happened in my life so I don't really understand where I fit when the dust settles on those other things or even how it works when those situations are present when I meet someone. With age, the demographics are really starting to work against me. We all have less time for everything and most of the people I know are married with kids AND moving every few years. There is a churn of new people in their lives that move them further and further away from the things we used to have in common and further and further away from our history and shared experiences with one another. It's hard to manage long distance relationships of any kind and most don't survive. OB may be my most favorite boss/friend since my first boss out of college (still the best person I have EVER worked for) but there will be others for both of us.

I'm always prepared to be left behind or dropped because there is only so much room and time in anyone's life. You simply can not take everyone with you and I don't understand why 9/10 of the people who talk to me would even call me their friend. I say this without an ounce of self hatred but I really don't understand what most people get out of being friends with me or what they even consider me to be. I don't understand invitations to visit and I am always, always nervous whenever I accept them that this will be the time I failed to understand it was not an invitation they ever expected to be accepted. That is a terrible feeling and I want to avoid that feeling. I basically have to be begged to visit. Not because I'm awesome but because people say things they don't really mean because they are polite and well meaning. If you have a wife/husband, kids, family, etc, I'm not sure what I'm adding to the mix that you aren't getting somewhere else and I don't want to add to the chaos in your life. Maybe one day I'll get over that and not fear that feeling of 'wow, I totally called that invitation wrong' but until then...

I think that's why I cried so much when OB left. I was absolutely crushed to break up our small team but I was also grieving the loss of him in my life. I don't think we'll survive. Being friends with married people is the worst, and especially married men because I am mindful/wary/careful about how my relationship may be perceived by their spouse. I've had issues with husbands being jealous of the time their wives want to spend with me too and that sucks just as much as a wife being wary of my relationship with her husband. I believe in both cases, I'm a catalyst for something bigger in their relationship but I'm not interested in being a catalyst or a lightening rod for some bigger discussion a couple needs to have. Most people aren't interested in digging past the 'why am I jealous of your relationship with Ava' to whatever the bigger issue is. It's easier to let me be the issue. And maybe I am the issue and their lives would be without strife were it not for me. This is why it sucks to be friends with married people. I'm in my mid-30's so almost everyone I know is married. I have one very close single friend. Thank God for her. She is the person I can call with all the insignificant minutiae of life that is the fabric of intimacy in a relationship. No one chasing toddlers or eating breakfast with the Mrs./Mr has time to hang out on the phone for 45 minutes trading notes on the individual threads that compose the fabric of my life. Further, it's actually not that interesting. We're both just really bored.

I have to make a note of the couple that is the exception to this general rule, not only because she's a faithful reader who calls me with comments when she objects to something or finds something particularly funny but because they really are unique. I can hang out with both of them. Her husband and I like a lot of the same shows, have similar senses of humor, I don't feel like we need to talk when we have nothing to talk about just to make conversation. We can hang out, watch tv, talk about whatever, and it's all good. I am not afraid that I need or like them more than they like me, I'm not afraid of any weird opposite sex vibe, they have stayed at my house without me even being there, and I treasure their unique place in my weird little universe. It may not stay that way but I do treasure what it is now. I know you're going to call me anyway but at least you're going to call to say you were going to call me to set me straight and then you got to the end of this and are now calling to say you are glad I am not "ridiculous" as it concerns you.

Happy Birthday America; My love letter to Philadelphia

2011-07-04T22:49:00.004-04:00

I love this place. This is America. Macy's Day parade is a very white celebration with cameos of diversity, at least the way they broadcast it. Philly is a sweaty messy melting pot, no cameo needed. A crowd shot gives you everything. White next to black, next to old, next to Asian, next to everything. Our parade is step team followed by Falun Gong, followed by the Mummers, followed by a military color guard, followed by the Philadelphia Eagles mascot on a 4-wheeler. We celebrate for 11 days, we eat, we party in the smallest big city I've ever lived in. I love you Philly. I love you for your pretzels and pizza crusts strewn on the sidewalks. I love you for being so very real. For being what I love about being American, where I can't tell who is visiting and who lives here when they aren't traveling in groups of 20 with the same color t-shirt. As I prepare to live abroad, I will miss this about you. I will miss fitting in because absolutely nowhere in the world I've been is as beautifully diverse as our amazing country and Philly you are America. You are hipster (which can strike any creed), and African, and Black, and White, and Jewish, Hispanic, Asian, East Asian, Jersey, Irish Catholic. I can easily run into all these folks on my 10 minute walk to work, not to mention a 30 strong group of 6th graders visiting the Liberty Bell. For this one evening, we'll let how far we've left to go to improve on this great experiment go and just enjoy and celebrate what great thing we are.

Empath: aka the ties that bind

2011-06-30T22:26:00.005-04:00

I probably stole this from somewhere but as it concerns pessimists and optimists, pessimists truly appreciate good fortune because they understand its rarity and value. They don't expect good things to come of everything they do, not because they don't want good things but because they realize the world isn't Candyland.

I'm stressed because my old boss can't find a place to live and his family is miserable and cramped and uncertain. I don't know what in me wants everyone to land softly, to feel no pain, to have someone make their lives easier. Maybe I am putting into the world what I hope to get back. Maybe that's just one of my needs, to be needed, to care for something, to facilitate. I just want everything to work out and I kind of want to be a hero if I'm unflatteringly honest. I want to be someone's hero. I want them to admire and respect me, to see me as capable. That is my fuel. The assist is my calling card, acknowledgement is my reward. I need a place to live too but I would honestly rather spend my time looking for a home for my old boss' family.

I've thought about this before, this need of mine, examining it as evidence of lack of self worth or something else sad and dark. I'm not ruling it out but I don't think it is that deep. I think I just don't care about most things. But I care about some people and if I care about you, I care about everything. If I think I can help you, I really want to help. It makes me feel good to think about you having one less thing to worry about. But there's also something about my boss that makes him different. He's ridiculously disorganized. I'm not sure if he thrives on chaos or like a shark must keep moving or he'll die but I have a hard time even imagining him sitting down without doing something else at the same time. And his attention to detail on something like finding a home-he just doesn't organize himself in the same way I would. I found working with him that it was better if I handled the details. He just didn't think most of them were important. And he is frankly smart enough to usually pull out of the face plant his oversight causes. But over time it becomes a drag on progress, a death by a thousand cuts situation. Though I didn't realize when I started writing this, I hate watching people suffer at their own hand. I hate watching Ashley piss away her time. I hate seeing anyone make their lives harder. Life is hard, why not make it easier where it can be?

I've been dabbling a little in string theory (note: most pretentious and ridiculous sentence ever written). I understand none of it and actually looked it up purely for mocking someone else who claimed to dabble in it. But I like the concept, to the extent I understand it and have started using it in a literary way to describe that which tethers us to one another. The theory was developed to mathematically explain gravity which doesn't behave mathematically like any of the other elements/forces from the standard model of particle physics (string theorists, physics majors, anyone else, jump in here if I'm already way off). String theory seeks to address this and provide the math to explain everything. Not sure why I had to explain that but it's done now and I don't feel like hitting backspace.

What I like about string theory is the strings. Instead of electrons and atoms bouncing all over the place, there is some unifying force holding it all together, connecting it all. Beyond the very complicated math and theory, it sounds very hippie, very metaphysical, and I can see how a pizza delivery guy can claim to dabble in it. When I have a really bad day and find out a close friend was hurting as well, I feel like our difficulty resonates on the strings that tie us to one another. Maybe string theory will one day explain how a mood can color a room. Maybe bad moods have a gravity that overwhelms the short powerful wavelengths of happiness. Maybe I like learning new words and concepts just enough to use them in sentences that only make sense to people who know even less than me about string theory, and maybe not even them.

Stupid stubborn

2011-06-30T07:50:00.004-04:00

My sister is stupid stubborn. She got it from my mother who is also stupid stubborn. My brother and I were talking, me trying to get notes from him from when he was in full prick mode with the family. Asking for money, blowing up my phone and writing me every three hours then becoming a ghost once he got the money, not even calling to acknowledge receipt, that kind of bullshit. I was trying to figure out why it wouldn't occur to Ashley to try to remedy or even apologize for again spilling crap on my rug and nearly ruining my vacuum cleaner by vacuuming up wet salt. Instead she hasn't spoken to me at all in the last week. Who does that? Just refuses to talk or acknowledge their wrong. Just gets up and moves about their business, using my shit, living in my home, with 'fuck you' rolling off their body in waves. No, fuck YOU. That's fucking insane and I suggest you investigate if they make a pill for that because you need to take it.

What bothers me about both of them is this victimhood they carry around as it concerns my father. You really can not help what baggage you arrive into adulthood with. You don't have the coping skills or perspective to deal with your rearing until you are out of it and can survey the damage. And everyone has something. Everyone. Since I have some authority on the subject of growing up in our house, I feel I have a valid opinion on the matter. I recall bitterly talking about some of the things my father had done and how it had fucked me up to my best friend while we were in college. While talking I had an epiphany. I could hear myself talking for the nth time about how I was fucked up because of someone else and it sounded really bad to me. It sounded like an excuse. It sounded like an explanation for why I was never going to move from that spot in my life. I didn't like it. I don't recall if I said it or thought it but I do know I made a decision that I wasn't going to give him that kind of power over me, he wasn't going to be my excuse for everything I couldn't achieve or any happiness that eluded me in life. I spent so much time growing up wishing he was someone else, would act differently, be less abrasive or unconcerned about my delicate feelings and self esteem. But you can't make people over to be what you want or need and insisting on that as a condition for your happiness or well being is a recipe for an unhappy life.

Nowadays I don't have a greater champion than my father. He thinks I hang the moon. He trusts my opinion. He consults me. That man is my friend and I love him so so much. He is flawed. I am flawed. That is our lot, us mortals, to be flawed. Time has burnished his standing with me and tarnished my mothers--that is another consequence of age and perspective. I see in my mother the personality traits that are the millstones around the necks of my siblings. I understand why my father felt alone and complained he had no help. I understand why I did the family finances when he was away. My brother, sounding conflicted and slightly choked up observed the other night that everything good about us, drive, ambition, intellect, it all came from our father. The part of us that digs in or gets overwhellmed when the flood waters are rising, that's our mother. She's the person who forces you to rescue her, fighting you every step of the way and then cries with resentment because she never asked you to rescue her. I guess that's the yin and yang of our family dynamic. People who can't watch a person drown and people who will stare you dead in your face as the water rises resenting the higher ground you climbed for and thinking somehow climbing is easier for you. I guess I could turn away and not watch the water rise around them but I love them so I watch and let them refuse help until I feel I have to dive in. It's not unique, our codependency and the results aren't unique either.

A silver lining

2011-06-29T22:39:00.004-04:00

Where does one start? I think enough people I know are in a particularly slow moving shit storm weather pattern that I think that it qualifies as a trend. As much as I find the phenomenom lamentable, I find it very curious. Is it metaphysical, yin and yang, a tremor in the cosmic matter that keeps us tethered to the earth and one another or simply misery seeking company; me, you, and everyone we know are miserable because we seek miserable people to commiserate with?

But I had a good day today. I got a pedicure, ate lunch outside, and met a strange guy named Larry who mispronounced the word gauge in the most ironic sentence I've ever heard. He also described the Japanese first as NOT homogenous and then when I corrected him conceded given their lack of diversity, he should have used the word monolithic. So Oswald Bates is real y'all. I totally met him today.

Then I napped in the sun, took my dog for a long walk, and continued not speaking to my sister. Good times.

2011-06-21T21:55:00.002-04:00

I am lonely or bored--they kind of both feel the same. I'm waiting for something to happen. For someone to notice me so I matter. I've become semi-attached to Facebook, not posting but looking at everyone's super fun lives or super witty status' or terrible inane updates that still get comments and likes (which pisses me off on some level). I've been trying to figure out the critical mass of 'friends' you must have on Facebook to ensure you never post a status that is completely ignored by all (which happens to yours truly quite often). To be fair, 2/3 of my Facebook friends are people I haven't seen since 1992 and have no plans to see.

I've looked at my posts over the last year and especially over the last month or so and I am frustrated with the quality. This has always been a bit of an online diary/diatribe but lately it's just been poo. Ohhh, I have an unhealthy relationship with my boss/work, oooh, I'll never have a boyfriend or husband, oooh, Ashley is irritating again, ooh I'm melancholy. I'm just off. I have no space for this. I am constrained in my own space both here and in this apartment. I'm wondering about stupid unproductive things; will anyone ever make me feel that way again, what time should I leave tomorrow, what should I wear, should I drive or take the train, which car should I take...

Very irritated with myself right now.

Still haven't found what I'm looking for

2011-06-20T01:37:00.002-04:00

Who has really? If you even know what you're looking for, you're probably ahead. That's all I really had to say about it. I was just sitting here decompressing after a long drive back home from our Father's Day visit, browsing the interweb and daydreaming. The former (browsing) led me to a few so/so tribute posts on the theme of Father's Day and instead of following suit with my own schmaltzy take, I decided I just must write anything at all. Even if was about nothing, it would probably be better than the stuff I just read.

Yes, I had some haterade earlier, why do you ask?

Still crying: Seriously, transitions suck

2011-06-16T07:58:00.003-04:00

Today I'm just going to let myself be sad. I had told my boss I would be putting on the big girl pants today after letting myself be miserable last night but maybe an entire 24 hours is a more acceptable grieving period. I don't want to go to work (really, when do I ever) and see his empty crumb-strewn desk. I woke up this morning and for a few minutes I was fine and then I was really sad again and crying. So I'm just going to give in today and let myself cry, do laps in my sorrow and anxiety now that my chief counsel and best friend in Philly is gone. I might also buy some espadrilles I've had my eye on and if I don't give myself another terrible crying headache I might even work out this evening.

I am pleased I got to him as much as he got to me, that I wasn't alone in my delight to work with him and in how much I looked forward to sharing stories with him. He was a handful and leaned on me for far more than he asked of anyone else but that was both a point of frustration and of pride. He trusted me. Winning the trust of a wary man is an achievement and privilege. I'm sad for a lot of reasons right now but grieving really because I've never worked with anyone twice so this was probably it for us. We will intersect professionally for sure, tangentially or directly. But you can never go back, this was what it was. Talk of trying to serve together again is an expression of our deep respect and admiration for one another, not something that is likely to happen. We did try to have me follow him to his next post but it didn't work out. I'm disappointed I don't get to work with him but I do think what lies ahead for me will be an interesting professional detour and will serve us both if we beat the odds and are fortunate enough to serve together again.

Can't wait to get out of here.

Reciprocity

2011-06-15T22:48:00.002-04:00

You like me! You really, really like me!

This week has been tough and today especially was tough. My head hurts and my nose is raw from all the crying I did. Last day for the boss and I woke up this morning thinking ugh, I can't to this. I'm miserable already. Tomorrow I will get up and think, ugh, I can't do this. This is too much. He's not going to burst through the door, we're not going to make each other laugh and he's not going to drive me crazy with random questions and random emergencies. I wished we had hung out more, had more than work between us because I feared I adored him more than he adored me. That he liked that I really enjoyed working for him but he wasn't all torn up about it. But he was and while I hated to know we were similarly miserable about not being able to work together, a part of me was relieved not to be the only one having a tough day. We hugged, we wrote each other goodbye e-mails at work, wrote another good bye email tonight and hope we can reconstitute the team again someday. Just a year ago, I was disappointed to have to continue working here because I felt it was time to move on. I remember asking my boss if he thought our boss would support me leaving sooner and his answer was simply no. I would have never guessed I would be sitting here a year and half later, dehydrated from crying over his departure. What a guy. I'm super fortunate. Last year I complained that God was blocking my shots but I now appreciate that I needed to stay at least for this. Totally worth it. What. a. guy.

Daydream Construction

2011-06-14T23:14:00.000-04:00

I could be accurately accused of living a life of the mind. Most of the best things that ever happen to or around me happen in my imagination. I was thinking in the middle of a daydream about my daydream themes, what they are, what they are about, the likely cast and roles. From my analysis I determined my daydreams fit into 4 categories; about a boy, fears of violence, revenge, king of the world.

About a boy: Just what you think it is. It can be romantic or just an important man in my life. A boss, a really nice guy I ran into the other night and wished I had talked to more. A guy I haven't met yet that I hope exists and hope even more that he's amazing and into me without some fatal flaw that explains why he's available and interested in me.

Fear of violence: Ninja scenarios. Mental rehearsal for what I might encounter on the street. Useful in that it led to my consideration of dog poop as a weapon. It hasn't been deployed as such but I always feel good knowing it's there and really likely to buy me some time should I have to whip it at someone's head. Also why I sleep with batons and sticks around my bed because I figure with my eyesight, better to swing a police baton in the dark than fire a weapon.

Revenge: Setting people up without getting my hands dirty. Provoking a terrible boss into sinking their own ship, meeting the crap sack I once dated looking awesome while he wants me so badly it dents his happy little life. These daydreams are my emotional editing room. I spend a lot of time within the daydream working through scenarios, trying to figure how to make things work as if they might someday happen. Like how can I be sure I will look amazing the day I run into crap sack ex when on balance my look is usually somewhere between homeless chic and soccer mom who hopes she doesn't run into anyone important. Occasionally, I rock out the 'I have a meeting today' look but that won't be the day I see anyone but a new old black man I hadn't previously noticed. So I've worked out that I will only daydream about seeing crap sack ex in conjunction with a reception or formal affair.

King of the World (aka, I get to meet and work with Tina Fey who thinks I'm pretty swell): I do something awesome and everyone else thinks it's awesome too. Whether I save a box of kittens, make some overwhelming contribution to the nation, or publish a book, the awesome thing ends up giving me access to people I wish I knew now because I admire what they do. Like Tina Fey. Or President Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama. Or Tina Fey.

Seriously, daydreaming is awesome.

A quiet night

2011-06-12T18:36:00.004-04:00

Right now I'm getting the silent treatment because I requested a TV free night. I also hid the remote control. The bathroom is the only room with real walls in this place which means when Ashley decides to watch her typical Sunday night Real Housewives marathon, I'm watching too. I had never seen or cared to be a regular viewer/judger of these women but anyone who has seen it more than once knows the damn thing sucks you in. Especially when the calculus is fold laundry or watch some self-absorbed insecure whack job go ape shit at their son's christening. Laundry loses every time. Even though I'm stopping mostly to comment how stupid the show is or how stupid the people on it are, I'm still freaking watching it. Which means I'm not writing. I bought a white noise generator for the bedroom, thinking I could just get ready for bed and write then but waiting until bed time doesn't work. I'm near incoherent by then and barely able to keep my eyes open.

The sheets are freshly laundered as are most of my clothes. The dog is fed and in two minutes my food will emerge magnificent from the microwave. I have unclogged the shower for the third time since Ashley moved in and when I get back from walking the dog, I will put away dishes. This is the last week for my boss and I have written him my final fanboy tribute e-mail. I will get sloppy this week I'm sure and miss him acutely all over again since every day will be one day closer to likely never seeing him again. And then I will be over it and holding auditions for my next obsession. I'm too exhausted to give a proper angst filled poring over of yesterday's bad decisions and I'm drawing a complete blank on whatever I'm supposed to worrying about for tomorrow. So it will be a quiet night.

Ode to shameless men

2011-06-09T23:04:00.002-04:00

Today was one of those days. It was ass crack hot, my pants were too high for my shoes, I felt frumpy and lumpy, had a zit on my chin, a bad hair day, just eww all around. But then old black men (OBM) came to the rescue. OBM are my key demographic. Eye contact usually gives way to a comment, solicitation, or compliment but eye contact is not necessary. Today OBM said if he had seen me trying to catch the elevator, he would have stuck his head in the door to hold it for me. Strange but wonderfully awkward to ride down with him and his buddies who joked with me about it. Couple of weeks ago in Baltimore, it was the guy who yelled at me as I crossed the street that I was lucky he didn't hit me and then said I was prettier than a motherfucker. Then suggested I get in his car. I started the day feeling like a soccer mom and ended the day wondering if prostitutes wore khaki shorts and mary jane Clarks. Don't know what a motherfucker looks like but I do know that OBM thought I was prettier.

And then there's Larry. Bless his cotton socks. He's not an OBM, he's a would-be cub to my would-be cougar, which for him is just a matter of perspective. I don't feel a woman in her mid-30's qualifies as a cougar but he's clearly got a type and that type is older than him. I met him over a year ago and haven't seen him since. I've told him no every time he's asked to see me again. He is persistent without crossing over into stalker though I am probably being generous in that assessment. He forgot my name but that didn't prevent him from jumping right back into the discussion of seeing me. He can not be shamed away. I told him I was leaving Philly and was solidly booked until I leave. He responded, 'sure you are', waited a week and then asked when we were going to dinner. I responded 'booked solid must mean something different in your language.' It doesn't make him go away.

So I salute you shameless men. I needed a boost today and there you were, the cancer causing saccharine substitute for my sweet tooth.

2011-06-08T22:44:00.002-04:00

I wanna be a writer when I grow up. Just like I want to be skinny, more interesting, less reserved, better at street math. Truth is, I'm a lazy undisciplined writer. I write when I want, I pout if I can't get that stream of consciousness down to paper while it's happening. I don't try to recapture fleeting thoughts. I don't try to create with discipline what sometimes comes to me in a tumble of every word I ever wanted to use to capture a particular thought or feeling. I look back at those words and they are still pretty babies to me. It's like having that perfect comeback when the person is actually in front of you. It may be absolutely stupid (that's what she said comes to mind) but sometimes it's just pure genius.

I haven't had one of those days in a long time, when the words come to me AND I'm somewhere I can get it all down. The TV is almost always on--it's on right now. Ashley is doing something or doing nothing, both irritate or distract me on some level and by the time the house settles down, I'm barely able to keep my eyes open long enough to post or even think. Ashley is seriously disabusing me of the notion that sharing your life or space with another makes anything easier. It makes some things, on rare occasions, nominally easier. It makes everything else exponentially messier and harder.

I'm the girl that taken guys imagine they might be into if they hadn't locked it down with someone else. If I were a guy or a lesbian, I would be one of their closest friends. But as an anchor-less single gal, I don't get to be best friends with married men. Nor should I be. It's kind of a waste of time. It's a challenge to be friends with any couple because you always know one better than the other and you are always vacillating between second wheel with the partner being left out or third wheel with you making it weird for the couple.

So yea, that's what's on my mind tonight.

Gene Summers

2011-06-07T22:45:00.002-04:00

I failed Japanese culture in the 7th grade. It was the only subject in school I ever failed. I failed because I cared more about Gene Summers than I did about doing anything at all in class. If I could have seen myself back then, I'll bet I was really, really, really creepy and sad. People naturally payed attention to Gene because he was full of antics and general popularity but I studied Gene. I studied his girlfriend Kristen trying to find out what about her appealed to him, what was special about her that I didn't have. I didn't want to miss a thing and I'm pretty sure I didn't because I sure as heck got an F from Mr. Towada.

I will miss my boss because I have a work crush on him. I had been a little confused about how I felt about him-not how I actually felt but more concerned with the level of devotion and attention I gave him and whether it meant more than I wanted to admit. That was until Ashley commented how much my boss seemed like our Dad. Bingo. He's a walking contradiction and not as nurturing person as I wish he could be but what I do get from him is special and not dispensed to everyone. My dad once told me that I elevate the humanity of every place I serve. I don't know how he could say that since we've never worked together but when my boss got a little emotional over the gift we gave him, I thought of what my Dad said and I was happy to have pricked my bosses heart just a little bit. He claims he hasn't cried since he was a teenager but his voice cracked when we presented him with his gift and he later admitted he did get emotional. I'm still super proud we conveyed how much he means to us in a way that touched him. I eat that kind of shit up. With a giant ladle even.

Gene Summer's ghost lingers though. I wonder if my boss likes me as much as I like him. I wonder if I'll be a part of his life after he leaves. I feel like it's not appropriate for me to make plans to visit him because I've only met his wife once and while I like her, her husband is the one I know. I refuse to be fight fodder because my intentions are misconstrued or our friendship is used as cannon fodder in fights that are about other things. Which means regardless of whether we both enjoy hanging out and working together, both things are over now. Another casualty of this lifestyle. Sadness of leaving people you would have never met if you didn't keep moving.

Also in the bittersweet column is finally having a conversation with a woman in my neighborhood that I've seen for a couple of years. One of the top 5 random conversations I've had with strangers in this city. It was great. Even in this well worn experience, same commute, same people on the streets, same hot garbage smell on hot days, this city-every city, can bring a new experience that makes you a little sad for the potential that can't be realized.

I wanna go back

2011-05-30T23:41:00.003-04:00

I wish I was young again. Not because of the body I wouldn't appreciate or do proper maintenance on anyway. I've just been thinking about what makes it harder to link up with someone once you exit your 20's. The guy you marry at 21 or 25 or even 27 is a lot different than the man you marry at 36. The 27 year old guy can still be finding himself in some ways. He could be finishing extended curriculum like med school or a law degree. He still feels lucky to find someone to love him earnestly even though he's choking with debt and just getting started in life. Or he's somewhat established but he's still that 20-something guy wherever he works and relates more to his peers from college and high school. You marry in your 20's and you literally build a life together.

Getting married or even seeking each other beyond mid-30's is another thing altogether. It's a major purchase, pored over like a mortgage, negotiated like a car deal, and with the wariness that comes with wondering if there is something seriously wrong with your betrothed. They have either managed to come this far in life unattached for reasons you can't imagine as the smitten kitten you are. Or they have exes and often children with THAT backstory and potential fatal flaw that you may see repeated in your relationship. I want to go back to just hoping he likes me too.

It's a me thing

2011-05-28T01:54:00.002-04:00

I was sitting here scratching my head wondering what makes my boss' life work and why he seems content with things I would not be and seems to be able to participate in life with a far heavier millstone than the one I carry. But you know what, I'll bet someone somewhere wonders how I'm able to do something they don't do. It's not important for this discussion that I have specific examples. We're talking about a concept here, not something that is necessarily true. But it would be cool if someone thought I was amazing in trivial ways, assigning great weight to something ordinary like walking Baloo. That my ordinary just taking care of life baseline could be amazing to someone.

Yea, that just happened

2011-05-26T23:43:00.002-04:00

Is this why I'm single?

Actual message sent to actual guy. I decided he wasn't cute enough for me to care. Yea, I know that sounds awful but that IS why I did a manual override on common sense and hit send.

Okay. I've decided to go for broke and let you know I've already figured out how what our little mocha babies would look like and how much you're going just LOVE Romania which by the way is where we're headed next. My job makes me move about every three years but we'll get to that. So much catching up to do.

Hope you can back up your love of sarcasm because I just laid it down. What you got?

Open letters: family edition

2011-05-26T22:56:00.004-04:00

Ashley is looking for an apartment and responded to an ad on craigslist. She received the following response:

Hi
I did get your response concerning the AD I posted on craiglist. The house is still available but presently I'm not around.. I AM REVEREND Adams Robert the owner of the house.This house is still available for rent but we will only be interested in renting it out to a very caring and God fearing person that will take very good care of the house,we have just move down to WEST AFRICA due my Transfer to WEST AFRICA with my Entire Family as a Missionary Worker as a very Good christian , So we have decided to rent out my house to caring family that will keep the house clean and tidy, I came over here with my wife, we both built the house when we got married. As soon as we settle down here I had a thought of selling the house so I have to look for an agent, after getting one, we got a deal but later my wife advised against that.. She said we may not be able to win the bidding next time, in other to keep our head when we return that we have to keep the house. I reasoned with her and accepted her advise. So I contacted the agent back and requested for my keys and documents. Later we decided to have the house rent out, we would have give the same agent this job also but the truth of the matter is that the agent would want to handle it professionally and the occupant may not be able to reason along with him later. If you notice, you will discovered that the price we are offering is far below standard price, this is enough for you to know that we are not after the rental fee but the absolute care for the property. I know there is no way I can be sure that you are the right person to live in the house because we won't be able to see physical before sending you the keys and the documents to occupy the space. But I just had a feeling that anyone who knows what it takes to put the kind of structure down should know that maintaining a building is mandatory, so if you belief you can take good care of the house and handle it like yours then I will be more than happy to let you rent the
house.

You could give me a call as soon as possible so we could proceed asap..

Please note than you will only be able to drive by the house for now but not have a look at the interior until i have sent the keys and documents of the house to you..and the requirement for getting the keys and documents of the house is a fully refundable payment of $600 USD,which is the security deposit.

Please note that the deposit made is fully refundable should in case you finally gain entrance into the house after receiving the keys and documents and feel unsatisfied or uncomfortable with the interior,but i am giving you a benefit of doubt that you will love everything about this lovely home....

I Await your response so that we can discuss on how to get the document and the keys to you.

You can reach me on the +23470677XXXXX
Best Regards
Adams Robert

Ashley was pissed. She forwarded me his e-mail with this exact quote "He must really think I'm the dumbest motherfucker on the planet..I cant wait to rip him a new asshole." And then she did exactly that. I love that girl.

Dear Adams,

Thank you for your expedient response, it is much appreciated. I'm sorry to hear that you are not personally available (nor an agent) to show the place. I am also very dissappointed to see that the 1 bedroom flat you advertised is now a house you and your wife built and that you are now doing missionary work as a 'very good christian', in West Africa no less. Which by the way I was not aware that 'very good christian's was an occupation and not just a pitiful method to make swindling unsuspecting tenants out of $600 or more.

Let me be clear with you, I am not interested in putting any amount of money down unless I am signing a lease and have fully inspected the apartment. And for what it's worth, I do not believe that you are in West Africa, I think you are somewhere in the area with your thumb up your ass. But on the offchance that you're trying to screw people from international lines one would hope the village or urban area that you occupy is invaded and you are strung up and beaten in front of your family for the charlatan that you are.

If you have made it to the end of this letter, please be advised that I have reported you and will continue to report any posts by you. I have also requested this post to be deleted.

Suck a dick Asshole & thank you wasting my time,

Ashley

Is it just me?

2011-05-25T22:45:00.002-04:00

Sunday night I noticed something in the hallway of our condo which turned out to be poop. There was also a small turd in the breezeway near the common entrance. I tried but I couldn't make up a story that explained how where and why the poop was. I wondered if anyone would end up stepping in it and I wondered how much life would suck for the guys who clean the complex during the week to be welcomed back on Monday with mystery poop in the hallway that had clearly been there long enough to be noticed by someone else. I thought of Max, the guy who came in on his day off to bring me a birthday card, cleaning 24 hour old poop off the carpet and floors and went into the hallway and cleaned it. It wasn't much but it was poop. I'm still wondering who in the world would leave shit in a hallway. Tonight while walking the dog I kept hearing folks run over a hubcap that was sitting in the middle of the road. I went into the road, picked it up, and threw it away.

Am I the only one who does things like that and feels so good?

An experiment

2011-05-24T23:44:00.002-04:00

I've been adrift these last few months, dealing with life, pining for what I don't have, feeling frustrated lonely and miserable. At times, I've shared these things. There are no new stories, only varying ways to tell the tale and this blog/journal circles like vultures over carrion with the same themes. Mocking men who approach me online and in life and lamenting the poor selection of men in general (side note: alarming number of men online rocking only the high school diploma), hating on the people who do link up (seriously though, I see a troll of a person kissing their honey goodbye and really wonder about that backstory. Then I earnestly compare myself to someone I don't even know, thinking her skin is smoother than mine, she dresses sluttier, she probably does x sex thing to/for him). She could be a miserable human being but she's validated because someone wanted to lock it down with her.

Anyway, for the next five posts I'm going to try to leave those things behind for a while, let them fester and get nice and crusty. I shall try something different.

Stay tuned.

Guess I'm having a good day

2011-05-19T21:01:00.003-04:00

So the rapture is right on schedule for whenever it actually happens years after Saturday. People predicting the end of the world are like people who drive with a turn signal on, eventually it will be right (or left-whichever one you've got blinking). What gets me, among the many, many things that get me on any given day is people meeting the end of the world with fear. Now trust me, if hell beasts start roaming the streets and I have to survive on whatever is in my house right now while I fend off my former friends and polite acquaintances for what's left of this wretched earth, this girl will not be having a good time. Those who don't survive the first pass would count themselves lucky for the horror they are spared. But the notion of fear based on the end of life, while natural, is stupid. No one gets out alive. No one. And we cling to it as if one can escape a brush with death and be done with it for all time. I rejoice and thank the Lord a thousand times over that my Mom is still here with us but it has occurred to me that one day, if things progress in the natural order and I don't precede them, I will have to grieve my parents.

But what a good life is about is feeling that shock and grief and loss because truly while there is life there is hope. We can't even help ourselves. The minute we start breathing again on our own, we're sad that we can't walk. We immediately take breathing for granted. Something a machine did for us for over a week we take as a given and wonder when we're going to drive again. That's amazing. That's got to be why we keep searching, keep inventing, keep wanting more than we have. There's a spirit in every living thing that seeks to reach capacity. To be as much as the environment permits. To exceed the environment. The more we take for granted, the better the run at life we're having. I didn't think anything of walking until I watched my Mom struggle to wipe her nose. I get to itch all my scratches, type, shower, wash my hair, complain about how much my feet hurt (and they do hurt-Lord, it's like I'm being stabbed) after a long walk or a run. I don't even think twice about being grateful for mobility.

Just when I try to be grateful effin blogger loses half my post and all my changes. Got your number blogger....we'll see if you're among the chose this Saturday. My guess is you are heading for a world-of-hurt-apocolypse. Serves you right.

I hate computers.

Grape Drank Haterade

2011-05-18T21:19:00.002-04:00

Seriously. I just want to be through. I argued with a friend this morning because she projects her bad management experience on to every story about management difficulties like she's the only one who ever had a bad boss. And who wants to get into a shittiest boss pissing contest? But that's what happens when you try to tell a story and she reacts like she's the one being persecuted. She's full of cautionary tales like I don't know how to handle myself. If anyone should be telling stories it's me. I handle my shit and I prevail. When I say fuck them, I mean fuck them, not 'I wish you would like me and be nice to me.' I mean 'even when you come around and realize I am value added to this operation, I still don't respect you. Oh, and we aren't friends and you'll never be confused about that.'

Hate weak ass behavior. Hate it when I do it. I'm a weak ass on the boy/girl scene. No game, no game face, no 'you know how I do.' Nothing. Just punk ass 'wish-he-would-look-past-the-skanks-and-notice-me-wearing-sensible-shoes-and-khakis-with zero-decolatage.' I know that shit is weak, I do. I really do. But I want to win this way. Because if we could get the same amount of attention from each other and from men wearing comfortable clothes, 9/10ths of women would never wear heels or half the shit they put on. Because I managed to snag a cute boy once who thought I was awesome back when I was doing horrible things to my eyebrows (eyebrow famine of 2000, we will never forget. I looked like a drag queen before the makeup) and even less flattering things with clothing. It meant everything to find home and even more that I didn't have to be any more than myself to be desired by someone I actually wanted to want me. I know I could get used to it if I tried but I get so much more attention when I try to look nice that I'm really uncomfortable. Like sweaty, avoiding eye contact uncomfortable. And it's from the same guys who talk to me now; street people, the guy in the cafeteria who wears the 'Mount and Do Me' t-shirts, and building security guards. They just leer more and roll out their super creepy, 'I'm totally going to ask you for your number again' vibe.

Just because I'm a weak ass though doesn't get my girlfriend off the hook. So I'll die alone. Likely to happen whether I skank it up or really just embrace the 'is she a lesbian or just already married with 4 kids' look. Won't keep me from getting shit done at the place I spend most of my life, work. A part of me wonders if men are looking for women who care about what other people think. They roll their eyes when their girlfriends and wives freak out about stuff but I think they would rather have that than someone more like them. Unscientifically I know this. Haven't met a married guy yet who didn't think I was cool but I'm cool in the 'my wife isn't at all concerned that I'm hanging out with you because you're kind of like a dude.' And I kind of work at projecting that vibe because the thought of being sexually threatening to a friend's husband or boyfriend turns me inside out. Total party foul.

Anyway, all that crap took the steam out of my haterade. But for the record, I'm *this* close to punching a box full of kittens. Yes, that's awful because I'm allergic to cats but I would totally take a Benadryl so their little claws don't welt up my fists. That's the last thing I need.

Vignettes

2011-05-16T16:09:00.004-04:00

Mom

A light has appeared in the tunnel and though it's not yet clear if it's the end of the tunnel or an oncoming train, it's the first light we've seen in six weeks so we're hopeful even as we keep our ears open for the sound of a train.

I was talking to my dad last evening as I headed back from the hospital, both of us buoyed by the latest developments and having a generally fun conversation when he just blessed me-I don't know how else to describe it. He trusts me. He said it. He trusts no one and he trusts me. What I say matters to him. Perhaps only one person who may read this will have a sense of context about this, having known me since my late teens when I would have bet all my future income against anyone who suggested I would ever even have a cordial conversation with him. I am grateful for many things today but more than anything I'm grateful for time. Time for things to evolve and become, to repair and mature. I'm grateful my mother didn't die six weeks ago without us every really knowing why she got so sick. I hate that we've been chasing this monster for three years and on day 45 of her crisis, people finally start doing some earnest research but what's done is done and we were given time to have this day. Grateful, just grateful that my mom to got vindication/validation of the thing that has ailed her so long and made her wonder if she was capable of creating such a pathology in her head.
----
Trust

When my dad tells me he thinks I am noble, that I would be a wonderful mother, and I have a wonderful heart, a part of me wonders what in the world I did to make him think that, a part of me swells with warmth, pride, and love, and yet another part of me worries about the things I have done and will do to challenge and disappoint the high esteem of a man whose esteem is really hard to win. I have never met anyone whose opinion I care more about than his. I am sure it feeds both my militancy and my worship at work. Anyone who governs with the assumption I give two shits what they think of me will see me going out of my way to project how little I care about what they think. The things I tend to admire about the managers I do like all hearken back to my father. Wary people are my kind of people. When you're in, you're totally in; they trust your judgement and give you the benefit of doubt. Before that, it's polite but not terribly warm. It sucks but it feels so good to have the trust of someone who trusts so few people. I know that doesn't do it for everyone but it motivates me.

----
Loquacious me

"You walk in the door talking." This from my sister coming back from the hospital two weeks ago after a tough visit. We drove a portion of the trip back in silence until my fatigue demanded distraction and I turned on the radio in an area of terrible reception in Delaware. All I could get to tune in was a country music station and Delilah which was playing Josh Grobin. It was terrible but I settled on Grobin and that's when Ashley broke her silence and insisted talking would be better than Grobin whose music she was convinced would be playing in the elevator down to hell (because Satan loves the irony of 'You lift me up' perhaps?). I asked her what she wanted to talk about since she was insisting Grobin wouldn't do and she replied, 'I don't know, you're the talker, you walk in the door talking.' Whatever. I believe talking is healthy and describing me as a talker is clearly relative. Which segues into...

----
Whatever you do, don't ask me how things are going or how I am doing

Everyone deals with things differently. In this situation, one of things that made it easier to share with my boss as things were evolving that first week was he wasn't focused on me, my feelings, how I was coping, any of that stuff. I assume he is that way for the same reason he hasn't cried since he was a teenager, it doesn't make anything better. Might also be a man thing, I don't know. He said he was sorry about what was happening once, he didn't continue to lament the situation or inquire about how people were holding up. He just let me talk when I wanted to talk and kept me dialed into what was going on outside my crisis. He checked in but I didn't feel chased. I understood how he was approaching it because it's how I would have approached it. It doesn't have to come up every single time we talk. It isn't an obligatory conversation topic.

I really feel most people want to be able to freak out or vent when they want and don't really want to explain how they feel in response to prompting because if it is a ongoing situation; illness, stress at work, relationship issues, the reality is there are no great days relative to a generally crappy situation. But there IS the rest of life so we don't have to be like network TV and drown ourselves in 24/7 coverage of a shitty circumstance. Yes, I know you aren't living much worse in the United States than folks in Shelby County Tennessee right now but does it have to be the first thing I hear about every single day, milking the story from every possible angle even when there is nothing new to report? I do understand the concern behind the 24/7 mode of the friends who make my situation front and center of every conversation but I still resist giving eyewitness interviews. I don't doubt if I wanted to talk to them, assuming they were around and could talk, that they would listen to me ramble. Emotion is a lot like a passing squall though. Timing is everything and the older we get the harder it gets to connect to people when we actually "need" them as an umbrella (like the way I worked that Rhianna reference in there? Thought you would). So I find shelter where I can and don't want to talk about squalls after they have passed or about past present or future rain while I'm waiting for the river to crest.

----
Isn't it always about a boy eventually?

Everyone I know is hitting their milestones in career, life, and love and I am languishing behind. Even my birthday twin who seemed to be right on track with me to spinsterhood is married now. My soul twin, still divorcing has already had to decide between two men competing for her affection. She will no doubt be beguiling to someone in her new office as well. If I were to make a hopeful observation about how things tend to go for me, even though I am the girl no one notices (except guys who are married or engaged, those guys think I'm awesome which is not at all helpful), is eventually something will break my way. I hope I'm not 60 when that happens. It's entirely possible though. It's not life or death God but it would be really nice if 'Ava, party of 2' was close to getting a table up in this joint.

Fat people can't eat cookies

2011-05-11T21:22:00.000-04:00

In a former life I was in the military. The military has weight standards. The Air Force, which does the least amount of front-line combat related stuff, had the strictest standards and for a time the most laughable fitness test. If you did not make your weight and body fat measurements by even a pound or a percent, you were put on the weight management program. As if that wasn't enough, while you were on the weight management program, you couldn't be nominated for awards, attend military schooling, and you couldn't get the highest marks on your performance evaluation. You could otherwise be doing a stellar job by any other standard. Straight A's in astrophysics but flunk PE and you were pretty much a failure. I hate to speak for all women but I really think I do speak for almost all of us when I say we all have some body issue and recognize someone somewhere, often within eye's reach, looks better than we do, jiggles less where we jiggle, jiggles more where we wish we could. Even that girl switching side to side working it out wishes her arms were a little smaller and her boobs a little bigger. So the weight management program of which I was an alum was an extra special mind fuck on top of all the tools a woman is already equipped with to loathe her body.

While I was in the program, I felt eyes on me every time I raised my hand to my mouth. Birthday celebration in the office, no cake for Ava. Lunch, I'll have a salad. Snacks? No thank you, I'm headed to the gym. Mind you, I may have been 6 pounds over the weight limit but if the people you work with see you eat a cookie and you also fail to make your weight again, that cookie becomes an indictment. Sgt Iler over there, sure he has a beer gut but Sgt Iler makes his weight so he can have a cookie, you can not. That badly shaped woman with football neck (it paid to have a thicker neck as they subtracted that number from your waist/hip measurement), tiny waist and hippo hips, more fit than you. Did I mention she was a smoker too? I hated that program. I could write a book about it. One of the reasons I couldn't see a career in the service.

But life is like that isn't it? Arbitrary, unfair. You're naturally thin. You eat pretty much whatever you want but people still think better of you and examine your choices like they can replicate your results. You even give yourself some credit you probably don't deserve for eating an apple every now and then like it cancels out pizza. You figure somewhere along the line you are making superior choices to those of your fatter friends. You're obese. You don't get to eat cookies without people judging you. Even while you are losing weight, you're one of those people who just can't have cookies. If you talk about a craving in front of people who know you're trying to lose weight (or just think you are fat), it becomes an awkward conversation with the silent thought balloons over people's heads reading 'this is why you're fat.' If my projects go well, I'm awesome. If they crash and burn, it was stupid of me to invest my time in them. History belongs to the victors. No one wants to hear the loser's story.

In dating, something I have not accepted is that I can not be myself. No one is going to look at me ever if I insist on being me. I think I look good in khakis and an argyle v-neck cardigan but that's not bringing the sexy and the men I think I want will continue to overlook me. I want there to be a goddamn contest for my affection because I really am the shit. Instead, 9 out 10 normal men (not sweeping, repairing, or living on the street) wouldn't remember I had walked past them 2 seconds after I passed by. I have a standoffish personality. I can't afford not to look irresistible almost every time I leave the house if there is any hope at all a normal man will want to even say hello to me. One of the guys I went on a exercise deployment with said I was like 'sweat pants, no make-up, love me!' I told him he was right, that's exactly what I expected. And how has that worked out for me? Not so much. I could probably make up for in personality what I lack in curbside sex appeal but I'm not good at that either so it's kind of a loss all around.

But I understand the dynamics at play even as I'm at a loss to address them. So when someone says, 'oh you'll met someone' I kind of want to hit them in the face or say something mean. Not just because it's trite and they don't actually know that but because I do hope (though I sincerely do not believe) in spite of everything working against me (including myself) that I will meet someone. Someone who actually is what I thought my first love was. I don't think that exists and if it does, it probably exists for as long as it take for our Dateline 20/20 murder mystery or 'Who the @$#% did I marry' narrative to play out.

With my mom, there is a deck of things stacked against her leaving her little margin in any arena. She has to try to eat, she has to try to get her mobility back. Most of us when we suffer, we can just lie there and let it wash over us, lie there until it passes. If we don't want to eat, it's okay, we can afford a day with just a saltine to carry us through. She has to struggle while she struggles just so she's not even worse off if we ever manage to beat this thing. It's just not fair at all.

That my friends, is life. In luck and in despair, completely arbitrary. I sent a card to someone today with some lottery tickets and scratchers in them. They've had a bad run lately, they also have a mother in poor health, and have been recently sidelined with illness themselves. I thought about the implications of buying someone a lottery ticket and if I would be upset if they won big-if my one really lucky day ended up not even benefiting me. Odds really are that I'll never have to worry about what happens if they win because so few people do. But if they did, I think I would be happy knowing I was the vehicle for someone's amazing fortune. I think it would feel great and I would consider it a sign that anything is possible not just for others but for me, even when the odds are so amazingly slim.

Ok Fellas

2011-05-10T21:32:00.003-04:00

'Income protection' is not an occupation. Neither is 'collecting unemployment.'

Also, I have a hard time believing you went to an accredited 4 year school if you say you hate 'liers.' Maybe you mean a degree in being a bachelor. Yea, that's probably what you mean.

The 'good' taken men on balance aren't even that good. What does that say about what is left...

Wonder if I should get a cat now or later.

Heavy

2011-05-09T23:22:00.004-04:00

It's not fun here right now. Kaleidoscopes, usually they are transfixing because they are beautiful. My kaleidoscope is a pattern of Ashley taking cold medicine with alcohol, bedsores on my mother, shit at work that makes me genuinely homicidal at least once a day, things I want to do, things I have to do, things that come up and demand to be done while I'm considering the other two, resentment, frustration, worry, pain, loneliness. I'm really resenting among other things my inherently repelling qualities which find me in the current circumstance without anyone to care for me, about me. Which bless my cotton socks, makes me even more determined not to need anyone because it feels terrible to need and not have. I will have my hypoallergenic cats, I will. You heard it here first.

If I could be so bold as to open letter God, it wouldn't be just why, it would be why won't you fucking do something? Why does this persist? Why make her wish for death? Why take all the joy and pleasure from her life? Why does she always have to be cold? Why does she always have to feel hunger and fear pain when she can eat while not even enjoying food? This is jail. This is hell. But it's not the kind of hell that makes me want to go to heaven, it's the kind of hell that makes me wonder if there is a heaven.

We watched one of those black people movies at the hospital on Mother's Day. One of those movies that makes it hard for me to deal with white people the next day, such is my anger over a past I didn't even live, whites only signs, killing and harassing with impunity, the entire sick history. The history manifest in the drive to the hospital through the literal ghetto of east Baltimore. And still in these movies, the central character depends on the Lord to see her through, through the murder of her husband, the burning of her church by some white boys upset that Joe Frazier knocked out a white man, through everything she endured, still in church, still praying for God's intervention. Just don't understand what He's waiting for. It's time for a miracle. It's time for an answer, what ails her, when can she come home. Not to you. To us.

You haven't lived until

2011-05-09T23:08:00.002-04:00

You change a parent's diaper. I am sure there are more terrible things in the world than to see your parent that helpless but I am also sure I want no part of those more terrible things.

You show up at a meeting and someone tells you they were expecting someone white. (Need some Excedrin Racial Tension for that one)

You hear yourself telling someone your boss is the man in your life. Naturally followed by an evening of trying to figure out how the wheels came off because it's absolutely true.

Some random shit I did this week

2011-05-05T22:34:00.002-04:00

I tried to help a homeless man who crashed his bicycle, probably because he was ridiculously drunk. I called the non-emergency number hoping someone would just come out and make sure he didn't freeze to death and she told me to call 911. I waited with him for 20 minutes and he eventually asked me if I was single. He was 50 years old with 2 children and 3 grandchildren. No good deed goes unpunished. The park ranger eventually came over and yelled at him, told me it was nice to know people still cared but no one was going to do anything even though he was clearly drunk in public. Guess when the nickname of your city is Killadelphia, it's cute when some girl calls 911 so a homeless drunk doesn't freeze to death.

I worked out in the morning before work. Notable because I haven't done that since I was 22 and because I will probably never do it again. And by work out I mean I did 30 minutes on the eliptical (how does that burn 200 calories?). Still it was good.

I've decided that it's not that I don't want to be in a relationship, I don't want to want a relationship. I hate wanting something I don't/can't have.

Rush to the good stuff

2011-05-04T22:39:00.002-04:00

Man am I going to miss my office. I came in and my boss had bought me a cupcake. Peanut butter and chocolate. Man of impeccable taste. Did I mention lately how much I dig him? He's just on balance a decent human being. I spent the first year and half of our 3 years together not liking him and trusting him even less. I got a lot more done in that first year and a half but the misery of the job compounded with the misery of no friends at work. Ick.

Baloo my beautiful black thug finally has a dog friend in Philly. She's known him for a year and she's been wary of him, like she is of all dogs for about as long. And then one day she understood he wasn't going to flex on her, didn't mean her any harm, and really didn't have much of an agenda. He was a dog, she was a dog, and he just wanted to do dog stuff. That was Monday night. We let our dogs off the lead and she was fine, even a little playful. We walked for a half hour with her totally chill and not at all gangsta. I was delighted but she could have had this friend a year ago. At the end of this tour, totally smitten with my boss (in a completely proper way) I wish we had been friendly earlier even though I know things didn't happen any quicker than they could have and goodbyes have a way of softening the blemishes that would bother us if we knew we had forever to work with someone. It's a wake with the living. We get to be wistful and reminiscent, we do things together we wouldn't normally do, we say nice things to each other and leave the bad stuff for someone else to point out. So I'm glad we get this.

The sweet sorrow of parting makes me wish we could rush to the good stuff. The 'I'm glad to work with you' stuff. The 'I trust you' stuff. The 'I'm not perfect, but I know you know I'm at least good' stuff. The 'I'm unhappy with you and I can tell you' stuff. Gonna miss you boss. You are a remarkable talent and just good people.

Random Confession

2011-05-03T23:34:00.002-04:00

Dear friends,

Much of the e-mail and texting you receive from me is composed in the bathroom.

What can you do?

2011-05-02T22:48:00.002-04:00

What CAN you do? What can YOU do? No matter what word is emphasized, the bottom line is you can't do anything to make it better. In a perfect world, I would have a wonderful person by my side with the ability to drop their existence to co-opt mine and take everything that isn't this away from me so I could be present mentally and physically. That's what I truly need. I need my sister to wash her damn dishes and pick up so I can steal a little joy from seeing an empty sink or a clean floor. I need her to figure out how to get to Baltimore on her own so my movements aren't tied to hers. I need the house to myself so I can have company if I want. I need work to get less busy, I need my boss to stay so going is a little easier. I need life to slow down so I can catch up and keep up. I wish the guy I thought was the one was here right now, the actual guy sucked but the guy I thought was the one, the one he claimed was the man he wished he was, I wish that guy was here right now. That guy would know what to do right now.

Why I don't like parties

2011-04-29T23:49:00.004-04:00

On balance it would have been more satisfying to stay in but had I stayed in, I would have made the mystery of what the evening could have been a reason to be disappointed in myself. The party was a lot of standing, a lot of small talk, a lot of people surprised to see me there, and a lot of relief when I left to go home. I'm still not happy with myself and for practically the same reasons I'm always unhappy, but at least my instinct about the fun I was sure I was not going to have was spot on. There is at least that. I wore my good blue jeans, a flattering top. Truth is most women don't dress for each other and they don't dress for all guys. They dress for the guy they hope will notice them. And not just notice them but appreciate them in a way that makes them wonder what you're all about.

I grow sad on many things, especially lately, but right now I am sad over missing that rare fitting puzzle piece for me in relationships. The one where the guy thinks I'm awesome, the guy who likes the things about me I never expected in addition to the things I hoped he would admire or like. The one where I never once wish I was someone else. Where I'm so glad I'm me and not more or less of anything. It's a real damn shame that didn't work out when I did have that. It's made it impossible to want anything else. I do genuinely get people who feel they've peaked. That life has nothing more to offer them but sorrow, struggle, and disappointment. Everyone has sorrow, struggle, disappointment, the insult of my existence is there is nothing good to break it up. I've made my absent minded, work friend boss the best thing in Philly to happen to me. He's my closest friend here and we aren't even friends. But he's good to me so I'll try not to diminish our relationship by outlining what it isn't.

Rejection

2011-04-28T23:59:00.003-04:00

Man....it's been a whole month since this started. My mother transfers to a new hospital tomorrow where they will investigate why she's not getting better. One of the theories is an infection of the donor kidney. I really don't think I could do much worse in trying to do good. First she suffers then she almost dies. Great job Ava. Got any other assassin organs you want to donate? As Homer Simpson would say, "Never try."

Would it be wrong to consider this an object lesson for anything I try to love? The head knows that sentence was uber-dramatic, the heart wonders if it's true.

Hatin on a G

2011-04-27T22:56:00.003-04:00

There's a great piece of poetry by the rapper T.I. in his single You Don't Know Me;

Contrary to your belief, I'm as a real as can be,
Fuck your thoughts and your feelings * you don't know me.

I just like that song. No particular reason to bring it up other than I just discovered it and by discovered I mean my Dad told me about it. My Dad is into trip hop too. I don't even know what that is but my brother does and it kind of messed with his head a little to see it in my Dad's play list. That man loves him some music. I love that about him. He doesn't care if it's Sinatra or whatever trip hop is, if it speaks to him on some level, he likes it.

I just got an e-mail on the dating website I insist on being on so I can maintain a baseline depression. He sent me a picture of a puppy and the following:

Hello, you are really friendly--and---cute!
Would you consider an interracial?

I responded:

Thanks for the gift (the puppy picture). A puppy picture-you really can't go wrong with baby animals. So you're an interacial, eh? As soon as I know what races those are, I can make a final determination as to whether I do your particular mix. That's only because I'm insanely racist against certain Caucasian heritages and really fond of others. Sorry, sometimes I
can't help myself.

I am open to dating anyone I get along with.

Ava
--
I keep seeing guys only three years older than me and forgetting we're only three years apart. I'm getting old. 39 is not too old for me. When did that happen? My gray hair is making an increasingly visible march through my hair and while it's still a bit of a novelty, I'm starting to think it ages me a bit. It's one thing to wonder if something is going to last forever and quite another to wonder if you'll ever have something at all. I keep wondering if I should stop being so hard on myself and get my hook up on because I'm simply not a relationship person or keep waiting for nothing to happen while I nurse impossible crushes on the worlds least available men (to me). I have no reason at all to think I will ever be a different kind of girl. I'm just not the girl who always has a guy, I'm the girl who never has a guy and who I'll bet had her girlfriends wondering at one time or another if maybe I wasn't into guys (not that there's anything wrong with that). I wish I was that girl but that girl can no better survive without a guy than I can manage to have a guy of any sort interested in being with me for any reason. And no, I am NOT counting bus drivers, security guards, or street sweepers. If my girlfriends dated those guys, I would but they don't so I won't.

Arg

Sometimes I wonder

2011-04-23T22:41:00.003-04:00

Every family has their dynamic and likely to outsiders it seems strange or dysfunctional but in our family, I think I've always kind of been one of the grownups. When my father was away in training, I balanced the checkbook and reconciled the books with him. When I was in college, I arranged my classes to pick up my sister from school. When I left home I sent for her during summer vacation, paid for her summer camp. I've slept on the floor next to my sister's bed while she was sick so I could catch her vomit in a bucket and my Mom could get a full night's sleep; now I'm holding a bucket to my mother's mouth so she can spit her phlegm. I have told my sister repeatedly she is the reason I won't have kids but perhaps I've had my kids. Perhaps I've done it all already or at least my version. Sometimes I wonder if this role of being a third parent and helper to my dad is supposed to be preparing me for something or if it is the substitute for the family I'll never create.

Something, Anything

2011-04-20T23:25:00.003-04:00

I thank the Lord for a sound mind and the activity of my limbs. I grew up hearing people say that. It was a common preamble during testimony service, one people would say but rarely have any experience losing either faculty. I know I had my moments during boot-gate 2009 when I lamented my foot jail, sleeping with it, hot muggy days in it, not being able to drive because it was on my right foot, the totally clashing ankle brace I wore for a month after including to a friend's wedding (the one picture I saw-not happy, eyes go right to the ankle). Total bummer. But tonight at the gym (which I badly needed), I was taking a break between sets and thinking of my mother who can't even sit up without assistance. The shoulder presses were hard but not as hard as it is for her to go from the hospital to rehab so she can try to walk again even while she struggles to eat still. A person who has absolutely no expertise in renal patients told my father there was nothing they could do about her inability to eat or keep anything in her she does eat, that's what renal patients to. Total sack of shit community hospital fucking attending physician said that to my father. What. the. fuck. I seriously want to burn the place down--actually I just want to lock him in his car covered in napalm and set him on fire, just him. Tell him that's just what napalm does, nothing I can do about it. My father wrote us devastated. I told him no one is less credible than this attending since Mom's doctor at Hopkins (a diabetic nephrologist-kind of an expert at this) kept hunting for this thing that has ailed her since the transplant and made it really hard to stay healthy. Same thing with her less competent current nephrologist. Never said what was going on with her was normal. Kept trying to figure out what it was. My god. Every vet I've ever met is leaps and bounds better than any medical doctor I've ever met. That's what's wrong with healthcare. Not a damn thing caring about it.

So I started this post intending to speak of how lucky I am to have the activity of my limbs, that I dug deeper tonight knowing my Mom is struggling far harder than I am with a bicep curl. I'm conflicted about what to do next. A part of me says stop everything, go home, stay until everything is better. Or stay until...until what? I stayed until the transplant, now I wish we hadn't done it. This is just a very hard time. I've been short with friend and foe alike. A person I do not like is coming into our office tomorrow and I'm not sure I'm going to make it without saying something inappropriate. My mother said she understood how people become addicted to drugs when I saw her last weekend. They had to give her morphine for her pain and she felt so good after, she said she wished she could always feel that way. This is a woman who wouldn't take tylenol after her hysterectomy. Seriously God, coming through with that healing would be pretty great and well-timed right now.

We're all coping or not coping in our own way. I'm trying to use exercise but I do feel often like none of this matters and I should just invite either one of the worthless guys I knew over just to have the company and distraction. I just want something else to think about before I go to bed and wake up in the morning and throughout the day. I want something good to happen.

I'm on my period

2011-04-19T00:18:00.002-04:00

That's more an alibi for what follows than a piece of information the world just needed to know about me. I read a story long ago written by a woman who was very close to her dying father-in-law. She wrote about her grief and about her husband's grief. She asked her husband at one point what she could do for him and he told her, have sex with me every night. He wasn't being facetious or crass, he just wanted the comfort, release, the life affirming thing that sex can be. Most of my girfriends have rarely been without a man in their life. Even when they say they need to not be with someone, they are still kind of seeing someone. I've only met 2 other people who are, as Ashley coined, 'sex camels' who go without for long stretches. I am without a man in my life and at times like these, I could really use the affirmation, the comfort, the release.

I know I *just* said I was happy being unmarried but can a girl get a boyfriend or something?

This is the hard part

2011-04-16T22:30:00.003-04:00

Dear Dad,

Oh holy mother of god. I've been thinking about it and yes, you did say absolutely every soul crushing, hope stealing, deadly thing you could have said to Mom tonight. The part of me that wondered as a teenager why she stayed married to you kind of hoped she would ask for a divorce instead of turning her head and looking out the window to be somewhere other than listening to you say she couldn't go home. A part of me wondered if it would have been better for her to have slipped away from us without having to endure this hardest part, especially since she has to do it with you.

~Ava

It is only a matter of time before we blame the sick for their ills. Why do we do this? Why do we pretend life is fair? That if you eat healthy and blah, blah, that life won't just steal your health anyway. Why do those of us who enjoy health feel like we've done something to earn it? Don't get me wrong, my chubby ass is in the gym working it out to try to mitigate the ass kicking life has in store for me but I'm not 'healthy' because I'm good, I'm healthy because my ass is lucky. I want to tell my mom it's okay if she doesn't want to fight to stay here. I hate to see her so miserable, so alone, so without hope that she can even eat normally again. Who would force someone to stay here under those circumstances? I want to quit my job and just stay home to get her better. I don't want to leave her to the psychological torture of my Dad. It was truly awful. He went without a breath for 3 minutes covering themes like the hospital sending her home to die, sending her a shitty rehab place where she would be left in a corner, all the things she couldn't do right now, how he would figure out how to live on a fixed income so they could both retire, things he needed to do for work, how he didn't want to move to be close to her family.... I finally said, 'this isn't really hospital talk.' I mean, Jesus man why do I have to tell you that? We didn't know this time last week if she was brain dead or would ever regain consciousness. She sat up today. For fuck's sake, calm yourself man. She's in a really tough spot. It's hard to be so weak you can't reposition yourself on the bed. Give. her. a. break.

Dear Mom,

This is not your fault. You are a trooper and continue to be. We didn't help you as much as we should. We left you to your own care and hoped our nagging and goading would motivate you when you were clawing your way through every day just trying to get by. We failed you. I'm sorry. I love you and I want more than anything for you to be well. I question my very faith in the face of your suffering and I know you wonder if it will ever be better, if it's worth all the hard work just to be here miserable. I know my answer will always be yes, I want you here in whatever condition you are in, but I also know my answer is selfish. I love you and want more than anything to see you healed whether this side or beyond. I guess what I'm saying is you don't have to stay here for me. I will never be over you and I wish you didn't have to suffer.You have done so much. You have seen the world, visited me every place I've lived, held wise counsel both in my youth and now. You have remained married to a very flawed man. I don't know how you did it. Seriously. I mean, you had some money and you know your family would have helped raise us. If they were handing out Nobel prizes for living with him, I think you'd sweep. I hope it's the gall bladder. I want so much for you to feel better. If there were justice your drug addict sister wouldn't be the healthier of the two of you.

A good old fashioned fight

2011-04-16T16:45:00.002-04:00

Most times my tack in confrontational situations is to write a letter or just ignore it until I can discuss it in good humor or not at all. I rarely want to talk about something at the moment it bothers me. I like to examine it, figure out what bothers me, what parts of the interpersonal conflict are mine (i.e. I'm more mad at me than them), what parts are useless staying mad about because they are things that can't be changed, and then press on. I don't like emotional conversation because it's messy and rarely drills down to actual issues, it's name calling, it's walking out, it's accusatory tones, it's just not usually useful and it wasn't useful this morning when Ashley and I had it out either. But it felt good to leave her ass at home to take the bus to Virginia and I hoped she had a horrible trip because I'm evil but also because her sense of entitlement pissed me the fuck off.

No fight, even between strangers is ever just about whatever set it off. This fight was no different. We're rounding the corner on a year of occupation. She's a semi-terrible roommate (the semi an allowance for the times we enjoy in spite of ourselves). Her room is terrible, she does next to no household work. I even wash her clothes because she refuses to pay attention to where the soap goes and I don't want to buy a new washer before I go. She has never vacuumed, she's destroyed my property, disrespected my home, and daily disrespects me by not showing the simplest considerations. And though I shouldn't, I get overly emotionally involved when I see people making stupid or inefficient decisions. She makes them all the time and then argues her stupid position with conviction I wish she had for making better decisions.

The details of this fight are not important. The upshot is I left this morning to visit my Mom and she could have gone with me. She didn't and she is still on her way here. If my calculations are correct, a three hour trip has taken her over 8 hours. Time she could have spent with Mom. I never expect her to acknowledge I was right but I do wonder what she'll do next time. I'm usually pretty good about not rubbing it in. We'll see how I hold up.

It's that time again

2011-04-15T22:05:00.002-04:00

It's that still time between big things when I have just enough time to be wistful and sad. I'm not proud of this and can probably rationalize it but I think I fall in love with someone I work with everywhere I go. They can be a boy or a girl but it's that one person that makes leaving so hard. I've worked in small organizations my entire adult life and have never worked with anyone twice so as much as I hope to work with my boss again, I'll be lucky to grab a drink with him or catch him by chance in the hallway and that makes me sad. When I left for Philly, it was time. And leaving Philly, it's time for that too. Even if I stayed my boss would be gone and he's the best part of coming to work.

So I'm doing that thing. That thing that fills the quiet with noise. When it's quiet I'm sad or I worry. I think about increasingly awkward ways to be a total fan boy to my boss; the heartfelt letter, the ridiculously inappropriate expensive gift. Arg how I hate change and losing things. How I hate breaking new people in, feeling them out, treading lightly. How I hate finding where to shop, where not to shop. But I keep choosing it because I hate being bored more. Because I know there's a small town girl in me that would be content to stay and never even know what the people do three towns over. That hates seeing the same thing over and over again. That feels relieved and blessed that I sold my home and no longer have a place I have to come back to. I love feeling unattached. I feel both claustrophobic and nostalgic when I go anywhere I've already been even though a part of me really hates going somewhere new. Mostly because of the people. So it's that time again.

Boo-hoo. Sniff-sniff.

I hope you new people are awesome.

Getting back into the swing of things

2011-04-14T23:16:00.002-04:00

I forgot my password so I was locked out of here for a few days but now I'm back. (Yay). Much to cover, much of what I meant to post will never make it here but before I lay my head down for the evening, the high points follow:

-Mom is doing better. Though she is still in the hospital and we still have much ground to cover, she is awake, she is talking, she is here.

-I woke up this morning feeling badly. I stayed home. I ended up taking several extended naps in the sun. I'm pretty sure my sun napping habit is to blame for the number of people in the hospital who mistook me for my mom's sister. Her face was smooth, soft, and unlined even unconscious. We were all a little worse for wear but I'm apparently wearing it worse than everyone else.

-Sometimes I wish I were married. Most times I'm happy I'm not.

-I really like letting Baloo loose to chase squirrels. She's sprawled out on her doggy couch totally pooped.

What I've learned (I think)

2011-04-09T11:50:00.003-04:00

I've learned that while I will never be ready for my parents to pass, there is nothing unsaid between us. There are potential milestones in my life I would like for them to be present for (marriage, children), and things I wish we had done (family vacation) but I'm not estranged from either one of them like my brother and sister are from my dad. Probably takes twice as long to work that stuff out in the vacuum of loss so I hope they both make it a point to try to get there before a very sad time.

I've enjoyed the conversations with my father during this time. We're not a TV family but some of the conversations we have feel like they could have been written for a movie. They are honest, articulate, funny, deep. I know my brother and sister are still figuring out how to have that kind of conversation with dad but I think it will come.

I think dad is right, my mom would do better emotionally without him than he would do without her. He's been a mess. That woman is his entire world. But on any given ordinary day, we all take each other for granted. We take ourselves for granted. We make plans assuming we will be able to follow through on them. We hurry off the phone assuming we can call someone later. We get pissed at one another and don't speak. Whenever we don't have to acknowledge our mortality, we live like we are here forever. This time last week, I was attempting to get my mind around losing my mother at any moment. Anytime we weren't physically in the room, we panicked thinking she might slip away and would have been alone. Even driving back Monday night to drop Ashley off, we figured we might miss her so we lingered in her room talking and hoping she could hear us so she would at least know we were there.

Mercifully, cruelly, callously, life does go on. It reminded me in the occasional call from work from someone who didn't know and in the updates I received from my boss. People are having bad days because they broke a nail or got a flat tire or because they don't know how long it will be before they fully recover from an injury. In the middle of all the family drama, I went one morning before going to the hospital and got my car washed and my eyebrows shaped. It felt so weird to do. It felt weird to decide I was hungry and leave the room to eat. Seemed selfish and pragmatic at the same time. My eyebrows were out of control, my car was filthy, I'm glad both are looking good now. Still kind of felt like a BP executive taking a vacation.

As much as I want to seize this moment as a carpe diem live fearlessly moment, I still won't ask the cute guy who parks next to me out for a drink though I just adore his way. Saw him this morning. He noticed I had washed my car (he was giving me crap about how filthy it was last time I saw him) and then he gave me a hug and told me he was on his way out of town for a week to see family. Bless his West Virginian accent cotton socks. I just want to put him in my pocket. If I knew that was the last chance I had to make my move, I might have taken the plunge and just proposed we grab a drink sometime. Instead I told him I would see him when he got back. So basically, I've learned nothing from the last week.