The Emperor's New Tailor

I'm slowly warming to the idea of getting my clothes tailored. Instead of having my fat pants and post-food poisoning (aka skinny) pants, I could just have pants, shirts, and jackets that fit year round and look better. So I was pleased when I saw a sandwich board on the sidewalk near my house boasting of alterations from an expert seamstress who had done work for Yves Saint Laurent. Having worked with Carol a few times now, I think perhaps she did an alteration once on a Yves Saint Laurent garment and the shop owners took liberties with that resume bullet.

The other two people who work there and may even be owners of the vintage-retro-designer hell of the place, are weird. The guy is one of those gay men with a syrupy voice whose eyes are never as warm as his white smile. The woman is a passive aggressive snob who is perhaps used to fussing over more important people. They both refer to Carol and treat her a little like she is on a work release program or in transition from a half-way house. They gush about her work as if I'll never wear any other pants once I try on the ones she hemmed. Their prices aren't cheap either. I can't figure out why they feel the need to pump her up when the work pretty much speaks for itself. I was ready to write off their excessive enthusiasm until I got my clothes back. The pants were awesome but my shirt, which had a tie threaded through it when I dropped it off was returned to me in two pieces, unthreaded and inexplicably cut. Not a word was mentioned when I picked it up, all they did was gush about how well everything had come out. Then Carol altered a dress that I had been swimming in to something I could no longer zip up. She asked me if I was wearing a different bra as if that would make it physically impossible to zip up. My favorite part was when she indicated there would be no charge for fixing the dress and my shirt.

Phffft. So hard to find good help.

Bare necessities

Best lyric:
"And don't spend your time looking around for something you want that can't be found, when you find out you can live without it and go along not thinking about it."

So I married an axe murderer

If you're one of those single people with limited cable options like me, you may find yourself inside all day on a perfectly fine Saturday watching back to back episodes of Forensic Files, Dateline Mystery and all other manner of true crime stories. Nevermind that this is among the lamest ways to spend a Saturday, especially if you aren't doing laundry or other housework to justify 80 year old shut-in behavior. But if you DO find yourself in similar circumstances, I'm curious if you went to bed that night sincerely doubting your ability to chose a mate that wouldn't later murder you. When I'm putting the cart in front of the horse, worrying/thinking about marriage, I think about losing physical interest in one another, or whether we'll agree on money, or household division of labor, pets... But now I add to that whether the financial implications of divorce, or my intolerance of his hard core porn addiction, or his infidelity will serve as a strong enough motivation for him to kill me and pretend to be consumed with finding the real killer, at least for the first 72 hours. Relationships sure are complicated.

In unrelated news, about a month ago, I found my neighbor's keys in their mailbox. It had charms with little paw prints, and miniature dog, and hearts, obviously a girl's keys. I knocked on the door and was surprised to see a really cute guy who had just moved in answer the door. I met him the weekend he moved in when he held the elevator for me and we joked around a bit about leaving the friend I was with. After that first encounter, I saw him almost every day for a week and he always ended up holding a door for me. He knew who I was but was understandably confused to find me at his door on a Sunday night and even more confused that I had his keys and knew that they belonged to him. I explained they were left in the mailbox which is why I knew who they belonged to and the wrinkles on his forehead relaxed into a warm smile as he thanked me for bringing them up. I could hear him talking to someone about leaving their keys in the mailbox as I walked away.

After a long break, I saw him again yesterday. He was with what I'm guessing was his family. When I returned from my walk that evening, I found one of the charms from the keys I had returned on the ground near our mailboxes. I put the charm on his mailbox and wondered to myself how and why our orbits keep intersecting in such interesting ways. I saw him this morning going out for my walk and when I returned from my walk, the elevator door just happened to be open as I passed by and we saw eachother again. I know it doesn't amount to anything but I'm intrigued by the intersections nonetheless. It takes a lot to run into someone multiple times over the same day in a sizable complex. I don't even routinely bump into OG and she lives one floor up from me. When I got inside, I of course checked the mirror to see if I at least looked okay. Nope. Hair sticking out both sides of my temple like lopsided horns. Awesome. That guy is way too pretty to go to jail for my murder anyway.

The drinking week

Every now and then when I go to the doctor, I get to fill out one of those wonderful questionnaires they never even actually review asking me my entire health history; first day of my last menstrual period (why do they always act so put out when you don't remember this date? I regularly miss friend's birthdays, why would I commit that date to memory every single month?), family history, and questions about my drug, alcohol, and caffeine consumption. Well this week wrecked my drinking average big time. And because of all the drinking and blacking out and random guys, it seemed like a years worth of living in one week.

That was joke for those who missed it.

Moving on, I think I'll go ahead and remove yesterday's video attachment because about 12 hours after I thought I had found something unique, it was on Good Morning America. It's still fun and exactly what I told my mom I wanted to do years ago if I ever got married (she said no), but having gone viral, you can get it anywhere and I hate looking like a trendy follower.

I'm thinking of getting back on match.com for a supernova moment right before the star burns out completely. I am paid through the beginning of August but have had no presence on the site since May or June. We'll see how desperately boring the weekend becomes. I saw StairMaster for the first time in weeks this morning. He was on his usual intense climb to nowhere, lifting impossible weights over his head. OG is having regular sightings of the resident hot guy and I am having semi-regular sightings of Daryl, our new maintenance guy. He looks and acts exactly like you expect a maintenance guy named Daryl to look and act.

I've also got a prospective stalker who accidentally (I think) let it slip that he looks for me in the morning when I'm out with the dog and walks around where he thinks I might be, looking for me. He repeatedly asked me if I would let him buy me a cheesesteak and told me that I looked "natural" and seemed like a really nice person. I did not press him for an explanation on what about me he found natural. He told me he was afraid to talk to me because he didn't know what he would say and said something about the few times I've seen him on previous walks that implied it wasn't an accident that he was there. He would have been sweet were it not for the admission of clear stalking behavior and a touch of obsession you should not admit to the object of your obsession if you don't want to tempt a restraining order. I've taken care not to walk by his shop since then but yesterday saw him in a place I've never seen him before. Might be time to start carrying the asp. I will beat a mother-fer for real.

New blog friends, I shall be visiting you this weekend and getting acquainted with your fine work and interesting souls.

Muses

I had a comment the other day asking me who/what provoked my gushing about some of the amazing writers in/on the blogsphere. If I can only visit 5 blogs, these are the ones I would click on and why:

1. LODO GRDZAK STAYS PUT AND WATCHES THE WORLD GO ROUND

Lodo has a very interesting life but more than that, Lodo is very good at telling stories about his interesting life. And he doesn't pull punches or file down his edges for public consumption. If he does, Dear God.

2. The Curious Adventures of Angela Christine

Before Angela was here, she was here. She had a previous blog before that one and perhaps even another before then. Perhaps at the beginning there was God and Angela's writing. Angela has a beautiful expressive heart and she writes in a way that touches me. She is an ethereal churn of emotion, sensation, observation, and humor. I'm not even sure what that means but it just sounds like it fits.

3. ;)semicolonsmile

Tamara is only awesome. She takes us with her on her walks and shows us the funny signs, statues, and suggestive packaging she encounters on the way. I like the way she uses words. I like that about all the writers on this list.

4. The Sneeze

Steve is freaking hilarious. He's a great writer too. There are a few insightful quiet pieces tucked here and there in the site. I have his Steve Don't Eat It! series on my growing sidebar of links. Don't read it at work because I swear at least once, you will laugh until you cry or at least far too loud and inappropriately for work.

5. She hates my futon

Available only as a web archive, this was my first web obsession, circa 2000. Back when nothing was free and I'm not even sure the word 'blog' existed, this still unfinished novella existed. I got my then cubicle mate hooked on this story and he and I were equally obsessed with Craig Mitchell. I don't know where he is now but almost everything that comes up when you google 'she hates my futon' is some message board or blog full of comments lamenting this unfinished experience.

Within my newest blog-mates, the few snippets I've had the time to read in these past hectic heavy weeks, make me excited to read more. I've left comments on the few that I've had a chance to visit that just floored me. Write on!

I love it when a plan comes together

Once in a very great while, I have a day that seems like it has been in the making my entire life. One that ties a bunch of random strings together in a complicated and fascinating little bow. For those inclined to attribute that wonder to God, I think it serves as a reminder of how masterful God is at making all things good. It's also reminiscent of the Mr. Coffee Samurai adage to mind only the small things. There is clarity in how all the pieces of your life matter at moments like that. A very 'a-ha' moment.

Sometimes

Sometimes an $18 dollar cocktail is worth every penny. Especially when someone else buys it. It's a good thing I'm too cheap to become an alcoholic. I otherwise might be able to have the sage gin fizz from this place every single night (and morning) to take the edge off the pointy parts of life. It would only take one, I'm such a wonderfully cheap date, even at a swanky place.

Sometimes I stumble across writing in this blog world that helps me put my would-be dream of writing professionally in perspective because they are just so amazingly talented and moving, I'm a child's coloring book in comparison. It won't make me stop writing but I do appreciate what writing has done to help me recognize just how awesome some of these writers are.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever challenge myself to live like I just found out I'm dying. It makes no sense since I don't get to stay here forever no matter how long I actually end up living. But given the opportunity of advance knowledge (what/when), I think I would take the elevator to mysterious, might be gay, handsome tux wearing guy who also has an impossibly masculine name and just ask him out. Or not. Knowing me, I'd probably use imminent death to avoid talking to any guy I might possibly care about and instead enjoy a string of meaningless affairs with bus drivers and any random dude who tried to get my number.

I heart: Beer

Off to walk to the dog but wanted to note for the record that beer is awesome and that I'm glad it only takes two to put me on my ass.

She's single, boys...

Call your Mom (and your Dad)

I think it will be heavy for a while here on the site. Just returning from a perfectly lovely visit with my parents. An ache is creeping into my arms and back from a night of bowling, golfing, baseball, and tennis in the Wii (note to self. join gym. being sore after playing fake sports is unacceptable). All three of us bowled and my dad trash talked the entire 3 games. He told stories about his mom and stories about my mom, including a new one about how she flipped him by his neck when they were newly married. My dad said he couldn't swallow for three days. She says he was exaggerating and embellishing the story but does admit that she flipped him. I always, always knew she was a ninja.

We laughed a lot, my dad crashed one of his expensive hobby helicopters, he sometimes fell moody as he remembered that his mother was gone. I think of the ache I feel when even considering how I would feel if they were gone and I'm glad I don't have to know that pain just yet. Seeing my parents together, talking about their history, I think of all the things we (okay I) think I want in a partner and how many things I've determined I won't put up with. I don't think either of my parents would consider the other an ideal mate if they were picking one out of a catalogue. But they are committed to one another and love one another. As a reminder of mortality and my mother's always tenuous health loomed in my mind during this weekend, I felt a sense of urgency to make something that really mattered out of my life. Something everyone could enjoy. Something that makes us all immortal. Babies. I also thought about the man I hoped for and the rough list that normally tumbles around in my head and expanded it to allow for someone who doesn't think Frisky Dingo is funny, prefers the American version of The Office, and is not really into animals. I'm not even sure I would say hello to a guy like that normally but off the top of my head, I can't think of a single intersection of hobbies and interests between my mom and dad and they have made it work for almost 35 years.

I don't know...the 30's are treacherous waters. There is a feeling as I peruse the Facebook pages of my peers that my life is on pause. Even many of my unmarried peers have children and while I know that is probably not the way they would have preferred to have children, their lives are different than they were in high school. My life is still the same. Dating life is a famine, I'm accomplished in some sense professionally, and I still spend a lot of my spare time reading or writing and fending off the advances of completely inappropriate men. Tempting as it is to give the next homeless guy asking for the digits my number to see where it goes, I think I'll just get myself back into the mix. I do hope he's out there and not too far away from entering my life. We could use some company (and someone else to walk the dog).

Just some random heavy thoughts

Tonight I am tired. I've been dragging ass all week and I don't really know why. Today I entertained the notion that when people you love are hurting it drains you a bit. Realistically, I've probably just been around too many people who are getting over colds. I'm taking a very early train to D.C. tomorrow to see my parents and dreading it. I'm not dreading seeing them, I dread getting up in the morning. I made a hair appointment with my girl in Virginia for tomorrow and thought I would call my folks to be sure they wouldn't mind me being out for an hour or so. My dad answered the phone in the saddest voice I think I've ever heard and told me he had been sleeping a lot and had good times and bad times. The good thing about my weird text messaging family, at least my dad, is that he's pretty good about talking. Already, he's telling stories about his mom and dad, who passed away over 20 years ago. I'm remembering her too. I still can't believe that she is gone. It's not shock, it's just well worn troughs of thought when I think of her that have to be filled in over and over again with 'she's gone.'

I should probably call her.

She's gone.

Before she calls me.

She's gone.

Before my dad mentions that she mentioned me and told him to tell me to call.

She's gone.

My dad said something to my mom about driving 16 hours to the funeral to punish himself. I'm not sure for what but I imagine it's at least in part for not coming home for her birthday last year like she asked him too. He was the only one who wasn't there. I'm sure he helped with the party (i.e. sent money), but he didn't go. Her birthday was actually the last time I talked to her. It is no matter to her now, why should it matter so to me? Looking for bad feelings to cling to and hold close is hardly a way to grieve or remember her. I think it is harder when you have ambivalent feelings about a loved one when they die. I think that is because you are as much grieving them as you are trying to sort through your feelings and history with them. No amount of grief they caused makes you actually relieved that they died, even as an end to suffering--even when it ends your pain of witnessing their suffering. I think death helps us see people for what they were, not what they weren't.

She remembered my birthday always.

Not, she single mindedly pursued me when she felt it had been too long since my last call.

My father was her favorite.

Not, he left home running away from her.

It can be an interesting and difficult task for the living to sort out, how we settle on who they really were now that we don't have to figure out how to live with them. What we can hold dear and what can we finally dismiss now that there is no one to settle the score with or satisfy.

It's 11pm now. I am going to be HURTING tomorrow. What is WRONG with me? Maybe is picking me up at the train and I'm going to look a hot mess. Must. get. ready.

Naked people in glass houses

You know that feeling? That feeling that you might really be alone, no one is going to surprise you and you can finally fart or burp, dig that underwear out, adjust that bra, see if you have something in your nose or teeth? That's how I feel on blogger right now. After basking in the euphoria of comments everyday, then getting mildly freaked out that people were actually reading, then feeling disappointed when people stopped, I'm back about where I started. I feel a little like I can stretch out in unladylike ways and use this space as a writing exercise pen. Enjoyed the guests, would love to have them over again but until then, am feeling emboldened like I'm walking around naked in a glass house and no one has noticed. I feel safe because no one sees me, I feel excited because somebody might.

Crap

I have a great mourning dress. The death of someone you know is like a splash of cold water to the face that you have to keep reminding yourself happened when you forget for a moment why your face is wet. I know if I ask my dad if he wants me to be there, he won't want to be involved in the decision. I've been looking at flights and for a moment entertained silly thoughts of driving 16 hours. I've talked to my mom who probably isn't going and if I know my dad, he'll both understand and resent that. I'm thinking instead that I might visit my own mother while my father is away, especially if my brother ends up going to Memphis to be with my dad. She'll really wish she was there if my brother goes, The thought of most of her children actually being in one place without her would make her sad and maybe a little jealous of dad. I'll be sloppy seconds to my brother but I'm sure I'll do in a pinch if she's got no other kids around. I'm pretty sure that if I go to Memphis instead, I'll be glad I went even if it is pure misery but thinking about it in the abstract, it seems like too much trouble. I know I'm not supposed to be thinking or saying any of this but this is one of those honestly ugly streams of thought.

On a related but lighter subject, I have family in town! I've known that they live here but I've never met them before. He is my father's half brother born of another woman long before my grandfather met my grandmother. Even though he wasn't related to my grandmother, someone called to let him know that she had passed and he and his wife called my dad. They talked and I was mentioned and they want to meet me. If that ever happens, that will be cool. My would-be uncle (Snapper) looks so much like my grandfather my dad says that looking at Snapper sometimes makes him want to cry. I think I want to meet him.

Original Blog: "Wonders never cease"

19 Mar 08

Wonders never cease

Mr. Coffee must subscribe to the blog and felt compelled to do something so bizarre that I would be sure to write about it.

A necessary prologue; last week, Mr. Coffee asked me to lunch. We met up, started to talk and eat when two gentlemen passed by that he recognized. They recognized him as well, said hello, exchanged quick pleasantries and sat down at a table right next to us. Mr. Coffee told me that he was going to go over to their table to have lunch with them for a little while and then come back to me. They had not invited him or even expressed any interest in meeting up with him later. He then proceeded to gather his entire lunch and moved over to the adjacent table, asking me as he left to make sure he didn’t forget his lunch cooler. I was stunned and hurt. I conspicuously finished my lunch and tried to appear perfectly okay to have been so thoroughly dissed. While sitting there I decided that he was dead to me and that this would be the last time I talked to him. I’m not one for scenes or confrontation so when he returned, resuming our conversation like he’d never been away, I let it be and didn’t call him out on it.

Later that day, he called me and I then informed him that he was dead to me. Yes, I used those words exactly. I explained that what he did at lunch was the rudest thing anyone has ever done to me. He tried lamely to provide some sort of justification before giving up and saying that he 100 percent agreed with me and that he was wrong and was very sorry. I told him that I would take his apology under consideration. He asked if he should keep apologizing and I told him no. He asked what he could do and I told him, “show me.” He said “ok” and then we hung up.

I hadn’t heard from him since and didn’t expect to. Today, he called me. I answered the phone and he began to sing to me;

“imagine me and you, I do
I think about you day and night, it's only right
To think about the girl with the hurting hand (or something like that)
So happy together.” I’m not even sure I need to go on. But I must.

So after he stopped singing he told me that he’d been thinking about my hand and wondering how I was doing. He was concerned about nerve damage and what feeling I may have lost. I know, totally bizarre. But it gets better.

I mentioned that I had a doctor’s appointment tomorrow and he asked if I wanted him to come with me. I told him that I didn’t even know why he would say such a thing as we both knew he would do no such thing. He was adamant that he would and insisted that I take down his phone number to call him if I didn’t feel like driving to work from my appointment. It’s worth noting that my appointment is 45 minutes from work.

Let the record reflect reasons 46 and 45 why I’m single.

**This concludes the Mr. Coffee series**

Kodachrome

I haven't been on Facebook in a while but restlessness and a determination to waste time no matter what found me there tonight, cyberstalking people I haven't seen in at least 17 years. Right after I wrote that sentence and was all set to wax eloquent about how much more wonderful everyone else's life in pictures looks and how no one posts pictures of them fighting with their spouse or yelling at their kids, I got a text message. It was from my Mom on behalf of my Dad letting us know that my grandmother passed away this evening. I think my family is showing a disturbing over reliance on text messaging as a medium to knock the wind out of people. I asked my mother how my dad was doing and she told me that he was vacuuming the basement. My family is weird.

Conversate is not a word

So I'm reading this profile and came across this sentence: "I like to conversate." I screamed with delight when I went to google and the first thing that popped up in the search helper was 'conversate is not a word.' Those with better halves wondering what the grass is like over here, just stay put unless you want to conversate.

Original Blog: "Why I like the Samurai"

28 Jan 08

Why I like the Samurai

In my one substantive conversation with Mr. Coffee we were talking about making big decisions and he said something that I just loved; “Mind only the small things.” He said it was from something he read about the Samurai philosophy. I wouldn’t do it justice to try to recount it all but it moved me. It would have nice to get to know him had he not been him. A guy like him who actually knew what divorced meant before he used it in a sentence to describe his marital status. Very un-Samurai.

Original blog: Embarrassment of Riches

21 Jan 08

Embarrassment of Riches

I’m stuck. Do I write about my embarrassing breakdown when my mother was admitted to the hospital over the weekend? Or what about the poignancy with which my father entertained moving to Baltimore because he loved my mother and wanted her to be near the hospital in the city we’ve all grown to hate?

I could write about my new seamstress who is so classic sweet old lady that she deserves her own sitcom. Her blond hair stands at least (and I swear I’m not exaggerating) 4-6 inches from her head, teased to high heaven and frozen with still visible beads of hair spray. She has now twice held me hostage in her house for interminable periods of time telling stories, showing pictures, educating me on my ill fitting bra and recommending sizes I’ve never heard of or seen in stores, showing me her ‘certified undergarment fitter’ pin, and various other things. She is so sweet but I left her house tonight thinking I might either never return or I would have to engineer natural and timely escapes for every visit.

Even still, I could write about lunch with Mr. Coffee where his wife is making steady progression. Today she was estranged and the “r” word (reconciliation) was even used. My God, I must run far, far, away from this man.

Or I could write about how exposed I feel now that I’ve given the blog wider (but still ridiculously modest) exposure and explore what it means that I think I’d be more comfortable with total strangers reading it.

Or I could just go to bed.

Original blog: "Put on a Happy Face"

17 Jan 08

Put on a Happy Face

Eek. Faithfully following through on my determinations, I sent the link to several people. I now fear an intervention. I added a fourth bullet to the FAQ page explaining that I’m not about to off myself and I’ll add to that a Captain Obvious point; I’m a little melodramatic. Normal people would take a little bump on the head like Mr. Coffee and hardly find it worth mentioning. I’ve managed to turn it into a mini-series. This blog is like a small town paper; you can tell a lot about the town by what makes the news. I clearly don’t have a lot going on and it takes very little to make my life interesting enough to inspire me to write about it.

Moving on...and speaking of Mr. Coffee, there is nothing further on Mr. Coffee. He has become industrious and busy beyond compare. Today I got a “hi, omg, geez are we super busy here today.” I so favor bluntness in favor of that tack. It would be super lovely to hear instead “hi omg i totally called this one wrong. i’m not ready for this/upon further reflection, i’m not into you/my wife was actually just mad at me and has now moved back in...” It would be nice just to tie a little bow on this once promising blip. I’m resisting (for now) the temptation to dissect our few interactions to figure precisely when I freaked him out or turned him off. I’ll save that for when I feel like popping in High Fidelity and ruminating over my failed relationships with John Cusack. Such an awesome film.

I’ve often told my friends that I know I will be okay if I never meet anyone and live happily; it just doesn’t happen for everyone and that kind of thing does not come easy for me if it comes easy for anyone. But all that went out the window the moment that someone showed an interest in me. I will have a good life regardless but there is really nothing in life that compares to the feeling that it might just be happening after all.

Amos Lee

This was the concert I was at when I saw Amos for the first time. So funny I found this on YouTube. I would be pissed if a bunch of girls were singing over me but this is why I think the man has a lovely soul. I saw this concert about a month before the transplant and bought the CD ASAP. I listened to it so much, the clarity and sincerity of his voice meant so much to me during that weird time. I thought about writing him to tell him that in a way I couldn't explain, his voice in particular was soothing to me at a time when little else was. But I didn't because I would want him to write back. I would want to be relevant to him like he was to me and that's a pre-pubescent (or stalker) place to go. This first video is just for me, it does little to showcase his talent. The second video is pure proselytizing. He's awesome.





Label version of the same song can be found here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5hPVqPMywc

Wondering

So I'm wondering what this night should be. Should it be me and you talking till the wee hours of the morning, each of us framing out a fantasy, making it harder and harder to ever have anything real? Perhaps a pair of candy apple red pumps, a clutch, and the intent to do something irresponsible. Thrilling to consider but more fun to wonder what could happen than to know. Or I could just stay here and wait for you to come.

I just got back from keeping OG company while she's under the weather. She's in the throes of guy related angst and so naturally there was talk of exes and unrequited affection. A far more banal and less witty version of High Fidelity, if you will. I talk about my guy just to have something to talk about. It was all so long ago that there is no more emotion attached to it and it feels strangely false to trot it out as the 'guy who broke my heart' story. But you can't empathize and commiserate with your girlfriends if you don't have a guy story to share even if you know that all it will do is kind of fuck up your head for a day or so because you raised the dead. Even if you wouldn't have them if they worshiped you and gave you the world, conjuring the memory of a past relationship just makes the house seem quieter and lonelier when you get home.



But then this one starts sleep wagging her tail or barking in her sleep and there's no room for all those thoughts. I think she knows when I need these ghosts chased away.

Original blog: "Lowered Expectations"

Original post date: 15 Jan 08

Lowered Expectations

The Beatles were on to something. I’m already nostalgic for yesterday. Yesterday, Mr. Coffee asked me out and I was so overcome with !YAY! that I had to leave the room as soon as I got off the phone with him. I couldn’t wait to call my girlfriends. It was pretty awesome. We squealed, and described him, and provided verbatim transcripts of the conversation. It was all great girly fun.

Today wasn’t as awesome.

Fresh from an evening and morning full of daydreams and excitement, I went to see him today and learned a new euphemism for “divorced,” which is what he was yesterday. Today he was “technically” married. I’ll give him credit for not dropping that on me six months from now but it goes without saying that my excitement from yesterday has cooled considerably. He is legally separated so I suppose I’m not a home-wrecker but it still seems vaguely wrong.

I’m torn. This is very unlikely to end well. Not because he isn’t the swell guy he seems to be but because he’s already been more of a distraction than I welcome. I’m already a person I don’t like. That person who reacts to a flicker of interest by becoming super excited and obsessive. I’m the person already with the most to lose--the one who is more into it. The person who has to work to dial it down a notch. People in relationships rarely respect that person. I’d like to feel more like my approach to grown-up relationships reflects that I’m in my 30’s. Instead I’m writing in my grown-up journal about a boy who hasn’t called me yet.

I’m putting ‘being over this’ on the to-do list.

It seems wrong, however to write him completely off and treat him like a pariah just because things didn’t work out quite they way I’m sure he hoped it would when he married. I don’t want him to feel that he’s doomed to be alone because he’s in between the life he knew and whatever is next for him. Ugh...I do this every time. I get wrapped up in not hurting people’s feelings. He’s a big boy. Big enough to pursue me through the pain and big enough to find a suitable substitute for me. I’m not that important and it’s not that deep for him.

I’ll always have yesterday. It was fun to imagine the possibilities. It’s the one thing I think I might miss if I inexplicably end up being married. No more moments of delighting in the potential of a new person and no more marveling the seemingly magic coincidences that bring those people into your life. Onward and upward.

Original Blog: "It's still pretty much about a boy"

It's still pretty much about a boy

Original post date: 10 Jan 08

Tomorrow promises to be a busy day and I believe that Mr. Coffee and I are supposed to grab a coffee and see if we’ve exhausted everything that we have to talk about or if we might want to have even more coffee together. I’m hoping he doesn’t ask me what I do for fun. Mostly because I’ve just realized what a lame question that is. I’m probably just showing what a dull person I am but I don’t do anything for fun. I have fun but I don’t do fun. I’m not even sure what fun means. If I tell him what I do with my spare time (read, write, walk dog, take pictures of leaves, occasional zip lining*) as my version of fun, he’s likely to have an important meeting to get to.

And to think, I’m still single. This guy is so in for a treat. Lucky dog.

*With the exception of sandwiches, I’ve never zip lined anything. That would make me interesting which is why I’ve never done it and I'm not even a 100% sure what it is.

One of those days

I'm staring at the stoic profile of my waiting dog and wishing I could just take my carbohydrate filled belly to bed instead of putting on pants to take her for a walk. Sometimes I imagine I would do all sorts of things with the time I spend walking her like going to the gym, taking in a movie, getting to work on time. Of course that is all horse poo. I had to be cajoled to happy hour yesterday, and it had nothing to do with needing to get home to walk my dog. Truth is, she is the single best decision I've made in the last 7 years. She's opened my world. Almost everyone I know has a Baloo related genesis of contact and I've met some tremendous people in the last 7 years and seen some great things walking through the forests, beaches, and sidewalks with her.

So I guess I'll put on some pants and get going.

Recycling; it's not just for bottles and cans aka Old posts from the first blog

From a previous blog, devoid of patrons, I am retelling the story of Mr. Coffee. I have been meaning to get the old blog, created on Apple's unfriendly iWeb app, archived with this blog so tonight when my head is full of competing streams of thought, I thought I would resume the archival process by documenting more of my encounters with strange men. Sigh.



Original post date: 7 Jan 2008

About a Boy

I met a cute guy today and it was great. We had been flirting on the phone the week before and today he stopped by. His pretext in doing so was plausible but fairly transparent. He wanted to check me out and it looks like we might go out for coffee later this week. I’m pretty excited about it but trying sorta hard not to be. It just so happens that I’m going out of town for a few days and can’t even begin to think about coffee with him until Friday. What fortuitous timing. I’m going to have a great distraction and perhaps by Friday I can count on being a little less spastic. He’s got great eyes and warm, soft hands. I’m so happy that he’s cute! When he was flirting with me last week, I thought, oh great, some guy with a face for radio is coming on to me over the phone. There’s no way he’s cute and even if he is, I don’t like making a connection with people that can’t see me. I need them to know what they are getting into. No one needs the ‘oh’ face when someone sees you and isn’t attracted to the in-person you. I totally hope we at least hang out long enough to kiss. How twelve am I?

The best part of this all is that I’m happy. Having a little flirt, having the potential for something fun and light to come into my life--it feeds my soul. And if my good fortune continues and there’s at least enough contact for there to be contact, that’s some pretty great stuff too. Intoxicating and addictive stuff but pretty great all the same.

**I'll be posting this thread in its entirety over the next week, with one archival post a day.**

The problem with penance

1 July 2009

I've been feeling guilty about this stupid purse for days. I've been trolling the internet, looking for prices, hoping that if I find I got a tremendous deal on it, it would help assuage the veil that comes over my eyes whenever I look at it. I've even identified a shop to take it to that might buy it from me. Everyone within earshot has heard of my angst over my purchase of this purse. I titled this post the way I did because I felt I needed to make up for my lapse in judgement by withholding something from myself. Like a quicker and more comfortable 10 minute cab ride home instead of 2 hours on trains and buses. The problem with penance isn't paying for your sins, it's not knowing how much they cost. For some people, it works out in their favor as they have a tendency to lowball. For people inclined to round up (yours truly), it never ends.

At the center of this knot producing silliness are two things. One, I'm not the girl who carries this purse. The purse matches nothing about my personality or dress. Sure it's brown and brown goes with everything but it is stylish in a way I'm just not, no matter what I have on. When I get dressed in the morning my goal is to leave the house with clothing on. On rare days, my hair, clothes and suggestion of make-up come together for the best version of me that I know how to be. That purse barely goes with that girl, much less the one who is normally falling out the door. The purse is lipstick on the the otherwise slovenly presentation that is me most days.

The second thing, and both things are simply scratching at the surface of stuff I just need to grow into or out of, is that I can't give myself permission to purchase things like that or go places that aren't attached to an obligation or do anything really, without permission or external influence. I read something in a short story* over the weekend that nearly knocked the wind out of me, it convicted me so. "After that night, I thought a lot about why he never went out to Arizona and finally decided it was fear-of having the experience fall short, of realizing too late that he should have made a different choice. For him it was better to not know for sure what the Grand Canyon looked like, to retain the splendor of his dreams."

Not only do I retain the splendor of my dreams, I retain the terror of my fears by letting them go unchallenged and unsubstantiated. I'm afraid of the real thing. I don't like making mistakes. One of the things I treasure in many of the people I love is the ability to disagree and voice their needs. I'm not very good at reciprocating but I love that they can be so much less agreeable than me and still accept and expect love. Another line from the same story, "He lets me do what I know best: acquiesce, accommodate, allow my desires to melt like wax around someone else's life." I'm light years different in countless ways from the woman I was 10 years ago at 24, but I can still read my journals from when I was 13/14 and see fundamental me. Many of my habits, attitudes, and behaviors have changed but I really haven't. I still keep looking for a pat on the head, a boy to like me, and a place I fit in.

*Laura van den Berg, Where We Must Be.

If I should die before I wake

I do pray the Lord my soul to take but I also hope that people will tell the truth about my life. Perhaps I have a black heart but I found the parts of the Michael Jackson memorial service that I did catch to be schmaltzy and subtly self-promoting. MJ who spent his life getting lighter and lighter and purposely sought to have children by a fair white woman because he sought those features in his kids, was given credit for breaking down racial barriers. Magic Johnson gave MJ credit for his and Kobe's ability to become household names in their career as basketball players. Really? And the "greatest entertainer/musician in the world" titles being thrown around just emptied those proclamations of their meaning. Sure he was beset on all sides with notoriety and flat out weirdness but to those who actually knew and loved him, you would think they would have more to say than something a random person off the street would have or could have said about him. But that is hardly my point and I don't speak ill of the dead, I speak ill of the living who spoke of the dead. One more thing...Al Sharpton? Really?

When I die, I want those who are around to remember me to remember ME. Not some airbrushed deified version of me that softens all my edges, makes my blemishes and foibles all part of the charm. I want something between a memorial and a roast. I want funny. I want people to laugh and sometimes grimace at some of the pain in the ass things I did. I want the friend whose healthy lifestyle all but guarantees she'll outlive me to tell everyone about the time I uninvited her to my house. I want my brother to tell everyone about the time I locked him out of the house to contend with the wasps he was deathly afraid of because I had been asking him all day to take out the trash. I want that guy who tried to kiss me in 7th grade to tell everyone that as he was leaning in, I told him his breath smelled like Doritos. Okay, he won't be there but I totally love that story because I can usually come up with something inappropriate to say when a guy is trying to make his move, not because I want to cut him down but because I'm extremely socially impaired. I don't want people kicking my coffin but I'd like anyone in attendance to think at least once during the service:

'God, she could be a bonehead.'

'Crap, she was SO neurotic.'

'Boy did she have a way with words.'

I'm out

Closely on the heels of my disappointing conversation with Down Low, I got an e-mail from another guy. I should know better by now not to answer an e-mail when all a guy has to say is 'hi' or 'what's up.' But I did. I responded with a short 'hi yourself' and he responded by asking me if I liked his pictures. What? Who the hell asks someone a question like that? I responded that I felt that was a pretty random question and he could assume if I was writing him back, I thought he was a nice looking guy. Another short message followed, 5-10 words max and I started to wonder what the point of this was when I got this message (note: what follows is the ENTIRE message):

"Family party yesterday...just relaxin today...naked in bed right now,lol"

Oh brother...

So, I think I've given it the old college try and then some. I'm completely over internet dating. The next person who tells me their best friend/guy at church/neighbor/co-worker, met their spouse on the internet is going to get a dirty look and possibly a punch in the crotch.

Oh the pressure of a beautiful day

The weekend has been absolutely awesome weather-wise. It is the perfect mix of warm and cool, a day you can spend entirely outside and never really get gross and sweaty. The pooch and I spent a few hours out yesterday to watch the parade which made me predictably sappy about how awesome America is. I loved how many creeds and colors were represented in the parade, how there was a black guy on the drum of the Japanese float, how there was a little black girl performing with the Irish dancers. The pup ate various things off the ground and got plenty of love from fellow parade watchers. I sort of wish it would rain so I wouldn't feel like such a dork for being inside watching Extreme Forensics and putting off some much needed housework.

In the "this is why I'm single" file, I got a nice note from a guy on the dating site about a two weeks ago. He seemed like a nice guy through our several e-mail exchanges. In the minus column, he is divorced with three kids. His kids stay with him through the week and with his ex on the weekend. I told him that I was concerned about talking to him because I didn't want to flake on him after getting to know him better because I really didn't want any baby's mama drama and all the other complications of joining a family in progress. I'm at the point however, when I'm trying harder not to throw out the baby with the bathwater so I decided to press on and see where this might go. So we talked on the phone a few nights ago and I was underwhellmed but still feeling like I shouldn't rush to judgement. Last night we talked and he mentioned he was working on second book. Naturally, I was intrigued. Then he told me what the book was about. It's about a "strong black woman" who is secretly insecure and "experiences things she never thought she would." The tags from the website where it is listed include "lesbian" and "down low", which for the uninitiated is engaging in homosexual activities while maintaining a heterosexual lifestyle. The people doing this usually insist they aren't gay or bi-sexual. That's just weird enough to tip the scales for me.

Fun

I've decided that people rarely ask you if you are having fun unless they suspect you are not.