If

'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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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: