Maybe you've noticed

The blog keeps changing colors, font, and orientation. Or maybe you haven't because you have lives. No matter, I don't. So I've been messing around with the templates for no good reason.

Something about a new year makes me want to light a match and start over. It also makes me impatient with myself. And annoyed at what progress there remains, what demons remained unaddressed or unconquered. I want to take myself off-line and get repaired. I don't want to keep doing, keep producing and consuming, keep telling myself I can't live for the praise of others but refuse to prepare anything else to survive on. I want to do really well at work but it's all I can do to even get there lately. I woke up the other day, swung my legs out of the bed and thought, 'I am sick.' Working with my head like this is like going in with the flu, I don't get anything done, I run the risk of infecting others, and I'm worse off for using energy making an appearance that could have been used to get better. It isn't my circumstances that need changing, it's me. A new round of determinations is coming..

The Antidote

I'm sure we've all done it, maybe even if we're in a committed relationship. We've browsed the personal ads or dating sites just to see if we're missing anything. I browse them every blue moon to see if I see anyone compelling enough to consider jumping into the on-line fray. Over the weekend, I stumbled upon something on Craigslist called missed opportunities. I had never heard of it before but thought I would see if anyone had seen me out and about, picking up dog crap or wiping off the coffee I spilled on my jacket and had been utterly charmed but too shy to approach me. Some of them are cute (I saw you in the produce aisle, you said 'hi'), most are weird. The weirdest one was a guy who wrote this long treatise about how it was a deal breaker if his woman submitted to regular gynecological exams--unless he did them. He was an IT guy. Reading this stuff might make me sterile but it's been a great antidote to my predilection to think I'm missing something by not being 'out there.' There are some f-ing weird men out there.

It only gets better from here

I love the 21st of December, Winter Solstice, my father's birthday, the shortest, darkest day of the year. In my mind, we turn now toward spring as everyday lingers a bit longer than the day before. Winter Solstice lends itself so easily for comparative musings. Though we've reached our shortest and darkest day, this is really only the beginning of the painful part of winter. The light tells us that things are moving towards spring but everything else, the wind, the sleet, the snow, and ice, make it impossible to imagine needing a fan or wearing shorts ever again.

I read my brother's latest post and some stuff by the authors on my blog list and was a little jealous because they are so funny, smart, acerbic, and often poignant. I felt so PollyAnna in comparison, I could barely stand it. But that's me. I like musing over winter solstice in it's various parallels with the human experience. I was annoyed that I didn't bring my camera with me on our walk this morning because I wanted to take more pictures of frozen berries and tree limbs because I thought they were beautiful. I'm just a big dork. Someone has to be. So it's cool if Castron and Steve from The Sneeze, and most everyone at Burnside is funnier, smarter, or writes better than me. I'm glad they are here for me to enjoy and that they have in me, someone to feel superior to. *smile*

Classified ads and dating sites

If I read one more classified ad warning women that some random dude is not looking for drama, I may puke until my esophagus bleeds. I have got to stop reading this crap, it makes me want to have my tubes tied. This insomnia is eating me alive...

What they'll find

I was looking for a misplaced piece of paper among the endless other pieces of paper scattered throughout this place and I thought, if I die tonight what will people think? I think they will be amazed how much a labrador sheds or they will think I never vacuum. I think my boss will think he's right, women are sloppier than men. Perhaps they will marvel at the organization of the small spaces juxtaposed with the random sloth of the greater spaces. Those who know me will perhaps smile because that contrast is so 'me.' I think my friends will be surprised at just how often I thought about them in the unsent cards and unfinished letters they will find and how much I treasured them in the things I kept; cards and letters rubber cemented and methodically pressed into a notebook. Perhaps they will be surprised at just how many dresses I had that they never saw me wear or that I owned high heels.

Still, I couldn't bring myself to clean up tonight.

A short list of things that virgins like and hate

No one ever accused me of being original. An obvious knockoff of the white people site, here's my cover of an idea that surprisingly made someone money. It's actually pretty well written satire so I don't begrudge Mr. Stuffwhitepeoplelike his success. I think I just heard him sigh with relief. White people hate conflict, especially with minorities.

Things Virgins Like

1. Intellectual Stimulation: Need I say more? We love talking. We want to get as close as possible to your soul without actually touching your body. We swoon over an intimate conversation and often mistake it for romantic interest, even if the primary topic of conversation is other girls. "I've never told anyone this before" or "I feel so comfortable with you" are practically marriage proposals.

2. Animals: Nothing says ‘virgin’ quite like unhealthy devotion to non-human mammals.

3. Comfortable shoes: They're not just for lesbians and married women. Nothing says, "I'm not interested or interesting" quite like a comfortable pair of black and tan all-weather mocs.

4. Awesome guys that almost always turn out to be gay: All is not lost though, there's always a chance he can be your sperm donor when you decide on your 39th birthday to have kids on your own. And at the rate you're going, it will be an immaculate conception.

Stuff virgins hate

1. Purity rings: Give me an f-ing break. No. one. cares. Poser.

2. Clothing, makeup, and relationship advice: Nothing makes a girl feel more like a loser than advice from friends and strangers alike that invariably carries the subtext, 'this is why no one wants you.'

3. Talking about sex: It feels like everyone is repeating the catch phrases and inside jokes of a movie you've seen the trailer for but never watched with many of the same feelings you have when you fully intend to watch that movie one day; like you're hearing spoilers.

4. Making a big deal out of it: Any other new experience is normally fun.

Her: 'Oh, I've never had Thai food before.'
Him: 'Thai food is awesome! I'll take you to my favorite place. It will be fun and I'm sure we'll find something you like.'

Insert sex into that same exchange:

Her: 'Oh, I've never had sex before.'
Him: 'I'm not ready for a serious relationship and/or I think we should be friends. And by friends, I mean I should get to say we're friends but actually do my level best to never see you again. And I'm totally telling all my friends.' And then he'll tell his friends he was afraid you'd fall in love with him or want to get married because he was your 'first.' Ego check, please.

Lost and Found; advice for Oprah

It has been a horribly wasted night. I've discovered that I have limited cable, emphasis on limited. Among the entertainment options I had was some second chance to be famous for being a total f-up show on Vh1 with the ladies from Rock of Love. As I watched some random chick get eliminated, her exit monologue cued up, and she mentioned something about finding herself. I was flipping between that and King of the Hill and thinking, there's nothing to find. Not for her, not for me. There is no epiphany that holds the answer, there is no truth to uncover that makes it easier to get up in the morning, or makes pain hurt less, or love last or come at all. At the end, beginning, and middle of the day, something actually has to be done. Decisions are made, outcomes follow, and a new set of decisions are made. If I want different outcomes, I have to make different decisions. I already know that makes a difference in a day but struggle with whatever it is that makes it hard to string those days together. I consider this life to be an addiction, if nothing else, of habit. Change is hard. Keeping myself out of the quicksand is hard. Oprah, who I'm sure works terribly hard, has such tremendous access to resources that we could all stand back and say, there's no reason she should ever be a pound heavier than she wants to be. But she struggles because change is hard. She struggles against herself. I personally don't care what she weighs but she does and that's all it takes in her world to be unhappy with herself. Her lack of control in that one small area of her life. That defines her. She is generous, has a show, magazine, God knows what else but we keep coming back to the weight.

Thinking about Oprah's struggles, and the woman with pink hair extensions who looked rode hard and put up wet leaving a show people only watch to feel better about themselves, I really questioned the value of "finding" yourself. What fuels this desire for self dissection as if looking at the heart will teach us about love? If there are things in my life that I think cause me some degree of heartache or strife then I need to see if I can do something about it instead of turning the problem around in my hands and figuring out how to describe it. It reminds me of an earlier comment I left for myself (yes, I'm still doing that and yes, I know that is a little sad), regarding my tendency to build a watch to tell the time. Perhaps I use introspection as another way to put off doing something about the things that trouble me. Maybe there is some value in thinking through the 'why' but I think too much self-awareness can be crippling. Is it important that I know why I don't seek available men when I could just say yes to the next random dude that pursues me? Should I explore my 'daddy' issues as they relate to my drive to achieve, fear of failure, and need for acceptance or just accept that everyone is carrying some sort of parental baggage and stop trying figure out ways to unpack and repack it? I went to a Kundalini yoga class a few weeks ago and the instructor asked if all strife could not be reduced to some struggle against ourselves, something other than what we are, that we think we should be or do. I won't do the sentiment justice here but it resonates with me still. The thought of moving forward, having goals, absent despair about where I am now is potentially life changing.

So Oprah, I know you skim the web looking for small blogs actively read by three people to gain insights and advice so I just want to encourage you to abandon your shame about your weight as you are so much more than that. Anyone who really cares how much you weigh needs better hobbies. You've accomplished so much, I wish you success not in losing weight but in shedding the voices that won't allow you happiness as you are now.