My would-be cub stopped writing at the exact moment I relented. That didn't have legs anyway. Since then I've been chatting with a few guys, one divorced with three kids who threw down the gauntlet and said it wouldn't be very ninja of me if that scared me off (it does). Another who is doing his post-doc here but is originally from Europe and likes cartoons and general geekery. It would be nice the cartoon guy went somewhere-we'll see.
My grandmother is still alive and my father is coming back home today. Things are still not well and she's not expected to rebound significantly but she's better now than she was when he arrived. My father encountered incompetence and neglect to a degree that breaks my heart. It is a testament to his growth as person that he didn't just mow them down with a shotgun. She has two adults and their various relatives and children living in the house with her and no one does anything for her. To add insult to injury, he was hit up for money by relatives to help them get out of trouble as a result of their bad decisions. Example: person who can't afford a 40K truck gets someone to co-sign (never mind that it was stupid to co-sign). Person predictably defaults on the loan. Person asks my dad for money. Appalling.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
LA Story
So the wedding was beautiful and the bride and groom looked like they had a great time together and with their guests. I saw some old friends and got caught up, answered the question 'what happened to your foot' at least a half dozen times, and managed to avoid dancing at the reception without seeming like a wallflower (I think). I also lost my camera which is more annoying than it is distressing because I don't think I actually took any pictures. We had a strange encounter at what turned out to be a gay bar during our bachelorette night. We abruptly left the bar without finishing our drinks during a lull in the techno house music and the remaining patrons descended on our half finished drinks like they were homeless. One of the girls yelled as we were leaving 'we have herpes!' but that did nothing to slow their consumption. Fucking weird.
The next club was great and provided almost non-stop entertainment. The music was good, yours truly even danced a little, and the patrons were awesome. My girlfriend is a really cute redhead with a great figure. She loves to dance and I don't think she sat down the entire time we were there. Several creepy guys kept trying to move in on her and not only did we get pictures of them as they crept towards her but the minute they started trying to work their way into the circle, one of the other girls totally cock blocked them. It was awesome because she would just hurl herself off the couch and on to the floor, rockin' it hard and getting between them until he went away. It was hilarious. It reminded me of the Saturday Night Live skit (and movie), Night at the Roxbury. That is how our friend danced between the bride to be and the host of would-be sex offenders in that club.
Then there was the free porn. There was a couple there that...wow. If anyone ever needed a room, it was these two. They weren't going at it frantically, they were going slow and sensual like they were absolutely alone in the room. It was out. of. control. My favorite part of that couple was when they made their way to the front and were up against the DJ's booth. Then there was the girl multi-tasking, freaking the DJ booth while waiting in line for the bathroom. The girls coming up behind her were so confused. As always, there was a line of guys up against the bar, watching the girls dance like they were at a strip club.
I returned home to an early 4th of July fireworks display. I had been trying to make it back in time to join OG to watch the fireworks at Penns Landing but I ended up spending an hour and a half getting home because I had to be a cheap ass and take the train and then the bus instead of a 10 minute cab. I was pissed as I walked the remainder of the way home but I ended up catching the best part on the street right outside my building. So I stood outside with my suitcase on a fantastic Philly Saturday night and felt like the city was celebrating my return.
Video courtesy of OG who is a dear and recorded this on her camera phone because she thought I was missing it.
The next club was great and provided almost non-stop entertainment. The music was good, yours truly even danced a little, and the patrons were awesome. My girlfriend is a really cute redhead with a great figure. She loves to dance and I don't think she sat down the entire time we were there. Several creepy guys kept trying to move in on her and not only did we get pictures of them as they crept towards her but the minute they started trying to work their way into the circle, one of the other girls totally cock blocked them. It was awesome because she would just hurl herself off the couch and on to the floor, rockin' it hard and getting between them until he went away. It was hilarious. It reminded me of the Saturday Night Live skit (and movie), Night at the Roxbury. That is how our friend danced between the bride to be and the host of would-be sex offenders in that club.
Then there was the free porn. There was a couple there that...wow. If anyone ever needed a room, it was these two. They weren't going at it frantically, they were going slow and sensual like they were absolutely alone in the room. It was out. of. control. My favorite part of that couple was when they made their way to the front and were up against the DJ's booth. Then there was the girl multi-tasking, freaking the DJ booth while waiting in line for the bathroom. The girls coming up behind her were so confused. As always, there was a line of guys up against the bar, watching the girls dance like they were at a strip club.
I returned home to an early 4th of July fireworks display. I had been trying to make it back in time to join OG to watch the fireworks at Penns Landing but I ended up spending an hour and a half getting home because I had to be a cheap ass and take the train and then the bus instead of a 10 minute cab. I was pissed as I walked the remainder of the way home but I ended up catching the best part on the street right outside my building. So I stood outside with my suitcase on a fantastic Philly Saturday night and felt like the city was celebrating my return.
Video courtesy of OG who is a dear and recorded this on her camera phone because she thought I was missing it.
What I'm looking for
Perhaps a clue into the mystery of my relationship status, this profile rocked my world. I totally wrote this guy and judging from the deafening silence, he wasn't feelin' Ava. Still, this is the kind of thing that catches my attention. Ladies, wouldn't you at least like to hang out with this guy? Is it just me? Be honest.
--------
Here are some solid reasons you can feel good about dating me:
1. My name cannot be found in any sex offender registry.
2. My name cannot be found in any bridal registry.
3. I have a cat who only gets poop on himself once a week, maybe twice.
4. I am not perfection and I require perfection from no one.
5. I'm loving, affectionate, loyal, bitingly sarcastic, shy, self-deprecating, honest, and drama-free. I open doors and pull out chairs. I cuddle. I give good foot massages. And I'm looking for my best friend. Admittedly, I'd like a best friend who'll do questionable things to/with/in front of/behind/above/below me, but the best friend part is most important.
Things to be concerned about:
1. I watch Total Recall once every 6 to 8 weeks. You don't have to be present if this bothers you.
2. Repeated from the first list, but I have a cat. Dudes with cats. Creepy.
3. I probably won't like your dog, especially if it shakes or yips. Maybe if it's a cool dog. Like a wiener dog. They're pretty awesome.
4. I'm a night owl, which is why I'm updating my profile at 3 a.m. on a Thursday.
5. I'm a homebody, which is why I'm updating my profile at 3 a.m. on a Thursday.
First Date
Three words: Red F*ckin' Lobster. When you travel with me, you travel first class. Air France. Concorde. Before all those people died.
--------
Here are some solid reasons you can feel good about dating me:
1. My name cannot be found in any sex offender registry.
2. My name cannot be found in any bridal registry.
3. I have a cat who only gets poop on himself once a week, maybe twice.
4. I am not perfection and I require perfection from no one.
5. I'm loving, affectionate, loyal, bitingly sarcastic, shy, self-deprecating, honest, and drama-free. I open doors and pull out chairs. I cuddle. I give good foot massages. And I'm looking for my best friend. Admittedly, I'd like a best friend who'll do questionable things to/with/in front of/behind/above/below me, but the best friend part is most important.
Things to be concerned about:
1. I watch Total Recall once every 6 to 8 weeks. You don't have to be present if this bothers you.
2. Repeated from the first list, but I have a cat. Dudes with cats. Creepy.
3. I probably won't like your dog, especially if it shakes or yips. Maybe if it's a cool dog. Like a wiener dog. They're pretty awesome.
4. I'm a night owl, which is why I'm updating my profile at 3 a.m. on a Thursday.
5. I'm a homebody, which is why I'm updating my profile at 3 a.m. on a Thursday.
First Date
Three words: Red F*ckin' Lobster. When you travel with me, you travel first class. Air France. Concorde. Before all those people died.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Virgil
I've got to start bringing my iPod when I fly. Virgil had extensive mouth hardware that made his mouth dry and saliva thick. His hands were dirty and thick but looked strong. He was friendly in a classically Midwestern way that made it impossible for me to make a point of returning to my book in a way that didn't invite further conversation. He jokingly invited me to divert my vacation plans to join the rest of his family for a reunion and seemed honest, decent, and a little simple. Virgil's wife died from cancer about a year ago and he's lonely. He's been listening to a lot of talk radio hosted by self-help gurus and trying to figure out how to make himself happy. He asked me what I thought about all of that and I told him I thought it was BS and that those people make a living out of making you feel bad for not always feeling good. We talked about all sorts of random stuff and he unwittingly said something that made me feel better about the expensive and impractical purse I had bought.
I didn't expect for Virgil to ask to call me sometime, "just to talk." I couldn't reject him from the angle he approached me from. I could have actually, but I didn't. My compromise was giving him my work number so that I would probably miss his calls and had reason to keep them short or just not return them. I could not figure out what to say when he asked for my number. Here was this sweet, old, retired guy who just lost his wife (ironically enough, Virgil is white and his deceased wife was black--their son was sitting right next to me) and he, like all of us, is seeking companionship. If we had met when I was 23, I would have called him, not for romance (God, no) but simply out of obligation to be there for someone who needed company, certain that God would not have placed this person in my path if He had not meant for me to respond to Virgil's need for companionship. For a flash, I considered Virgil as the grandfather relationship I've never had. We could go fishing, he could give me advice and encourage me, we could go to family reunions and I could be a part of a family that celebrated family and welcomed me warmly. He would teach me how to take vacations and encourage me to spend what I work to earn without guilt. I wondered what the point of Virgil was, I'm always looking for higher meaning in strange encounters like this. I wonder if pulling the thread of that encounter would somehow lead to the person who will meet my own need for companionship. Stranger things have probably happened. Still, I'm hoping that he loses my number because it will be so much easier if he never calls at all because I won't call him back and I know I'll feel bad about it.
I didn't expect for Virgil to ask to call me sometime, "just to talk." I couldn't reject him from the angle he approached me from. I could have actually, but I didn't. My compromise was giving him my work number so that I would probably miss his calls and had reason to keep them short or just not return them. I could not figure out what to say when he asked for my number. Here was this sweet, old, retired guy who just lost his wife (ironically enough, Virgil is white and his deceased wife was black--their son was sitting right next to me) and he, like all of us, is seeking companionship. If we had met when I was 23, I would have called him, not for romance (God, no) but simply out of obligation to be there for someone who needed company, certain that God would not have placed this person in my path if He had not meant for me to respond to Virgil's need for companionship. For a flash, I considered Virgil as the grandfather relationship I've never had. We could go fishing, he could give me advice and encourage me, we could go to family reunions and I could be a part of a family that celebrated family and welcomed me warmly. He would teach me how to take vacations and encourage me to spend what I work to earn without guilt. I wondered what the point of Virgil was, I'm always looking for higher meaning in strange encounters like this. I wonder if pulling the thread of that encounter would somehow lead to the person who will meet my own need for companionship. Stranger things have probably happened. Still, I'm hoping that he loses my number because it will be so much easier if he never calls at all because I won't call him back and I know I'll feel bad about it.
Friday, June 26, 2009
To Do: Get more black friends
So I'm at this wedding right now--not literally at the actual ceremony but on location in L.A. and I just realized that I might be the only close black friend of all of my girlfriends and possibly the only black friend they have period. Not that any of that matters one way or another but it struck me tonight for some reason while sitting at the rehearsal dinner. I kind of felt like a stranger in a strange land.
I think I need some black friends. The time zone change and general weariness makes it hard for me to chose the precise language necessary to convey why this is a nuanced and complicated matter. Perhaps it isn't nuanced and complicated. Perhaps it is just that like seeks like, zebras feel out of place with horses or some other nursery story way of talking about a sense of belonging.
Weddings always fuck up my head. Too much, too much. Too much thinking. Too much implicit rejection from the crowd that comes to weddings to hook up. Too much food, too much money--I am seriously sick to my stomach over a purse I bought today-I can afford it but it was an impractical and frivolous purchase. I told my table that I am like an overstimulated 5 year old. I can only take so much people stuff and then I start to get weird and need some time in the mental equivalent of the fetal position. Then people think I'm not having fun because they don't appreciate that sitting in the corner watching people is actually fun for me. The bride asked if I would get drunk as a gift. That kind of hurts my feelings on some level my fatigue makes it hard to express. What springs to mind though is Fun Bobby from Friends who was no fun once he stopped drinking. I'm thinking she's hoping for me to become Fun Bobby before sobriety.
But I am fun. I was totally cracking myself up in church with a friend mocking the ridiculously stern church lady who told us all that they believe Jesus is present in the church and thus applause was the only appropriate response to the procession of the newly married bride and groom down the aisle. She specifically forbade "whooping and hollering" and someone muttered allowed about what she would do if someone violated that rule. I said the marriage would be annulled on the spot and we would have to do the whole thing over again. That's funny, right?
I'm totally fun. What. Ever. My new black friends will think I'm a freaking hilarious riot.
So there.
I think I need some black friends. The time zone change and general weariness makes it hard for me to chose the precise language necessary to convey why this is a nuanced and complicated matter. Perhaps it isn't nuanced and complicated. Perhaps it is just that like seeks like, zebras feel out of place with horses or some other nursery story way of talking about a sense of belonging.
Weddings always fuck up my head. Too much, too much. Too much thinking. Too much implicit rejection from the crowd that comes to weddings to hook up. Too much food, too much money--I am seriously sick to my stomach over a purse I bought today-I can afford it but it was an impractical and frivolous purchase. I told my table that I am like an overstimulated 5 year old. I can only take so much people stuff and then I start to get weird and need some time in the mental equivalent of the fetal position. Then people think I'm not having fun because they don't appreciate that sitting in the corner watching people is actually fun for me. The bride asked if I would get drunk as a gift. That kind of hurts my feelings on some level my fatigue makes it hard to express. What springs to mind though is Fun Bobby from Friends who was no fun once he stopped drinking. I'm thinking she's hoping for me to become Fun Bobby before sobriety.
But I am fun. I was totally cracking myself up in church with a friend mocking the ridiculously stern church lady who told us all that they believe Jesus is present in the church and thus applause was the only appropriate response to the procession of the newly married bride and groom down the aisle. She specifically forbade "whooping and hollering" and someone muttered allowed about what she would do if someone violated that rule. I said the marriage would be annulled on the spot and we would have to do the whole thing over again. That's funny, right?
I'm totally fun. What. Ever. My new black friends will think I'm a freaking hilarious riot.
So there.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Sun Tzu's Art of Distraction and Avoidance
Any distraction is a good distraction. Kept a date to go with a girlfriend to AC. Won six dollars at the nickel slots but mostly sat outside and read while she played craps. Called my mom, tried to talk to my Grandmother who didn't fuss and only repeated that she was Grandma Margaret twice before the home care person took the phone and told me she had fallen back asleep. Text messaged my dad, wishing him a Happy Father's day and letting him know that I loved him and was thinking about him. I'm dealing by not dealing because I'm not sure what else to do. I'm not very good at this, whatever 'this' is.
My dad told my mom that it was the weirdest Father's Day, he'd ever had. He cleaned his mother up, washed her face, feet, and hands, put something on her lips to keep them from chapping and bought her ice cream. She is emaciated and not often awake but she knows that he is there. She refused a feeding tube because she did not want to be cut and had not seen it substantially improve the condition of her late husband or her own mother, a long living woman who passed only 6 years ago. Everyone knows that my father is her favorite, although he is the only one who left Memphis.
My father is really good at caring for the infirm. He has a deep well of compassion for those who can not do for themselves and a strong intolerance for those who can do and do not. When my mother was in the hospital and not even able to leave her bed to use the bathroom, he cleaned her and did everything he could to make her comfortable and preserve as much of her dignity as could be had. My dad is a complicated man, and he is a hard man to live with. But seeing him with my mom, caring for her in that way, that is why we pair up. Why it is better to have a partner to go through life with. He may joke about his death not being an accident on account of all the Lifetime movies my mom watches and she may never take an interest in any of his hobbies or passions but for reasons that are an absolute mystery to me, they work.
All of this is naturally dredging up a lot of random stuff. Some things are of the cat in the cradle and silver spoon type of thoughts about how easy it is to put off being with family or doing a lot of other things in favor of the fleeting empty obligations of work. My family is HORRIBLE with that. My mother, bless her cotton socks, does dialysis 5-6 times a day and only recently made arrangements to telecommute 2 days a week. My father works all the time. He's even come to Philly for business and only had time for a drive by visit. He could have stayed for dinner but it was less wear and tear to just get back on the road to VA. He said once to me, "I want to live, I just don't know how." And I'm his daughter. The one everyone likes to joke is just like him. And I am. But I fight more to not be like him in that way. I'm not really that good at it but I'm fortunate to have the company of great friends who are nothing at all like me and challenge me in the way they live and love to channel their example from time to time.
I read something long ago in a magazine about a couple dealing with the loss of a parent they were both very close to. The wife asked the husband (it was his father who was dying) what she could do to comfort him. He replied, "Have sex with me every night." When faced with death, he wanted to affirm life. It was handled far more elegantly by the author but as I walked on the near-empty beach this morning in Atlantic City and thought about my mother at home crying for her husband and for her last child leaving the nest, my sister's text message at 5 am this morning asking me to call mom because it was going to be a hard day for her, my father traveling to be with his mother, and a kaleidoscope of other random images and thoughts, it felt like the right place to be. I was affirming life. I was affirming the inevitability of death. I was living. And it was a lovely day.
My dad told my mom that it was the weirdest Father's Day, he'd ever had. He cleaned his mother up, washed her face, feet, and hands, put something on her lips to keep them from chapping and bought her ice cream. She is emaciated and not often awake but she knows that he is there. She refused a feeding tube because she did not want to be cut and had not seen it substantially improve the condition of her late husband or her own mother, a long living woman who passed only 6 years ago. Everyone knows that my father is her favorite, although he is the only one who left Memphis.
My father is really good at caring for the infirm. He has a deep well of compassion for those who can not do for themselves and a strong intolerance for those who can do and do not. When my mother was in the hospital and not even able to leave her bed to use the bathroom, he cleaned her and did everything he could to make her comfortable and preserve as much of her dignity as could be had. My dad is a complicated man, and he is a hard man to live with. But seeing him with my mom, caring for her in that way, that is why we pair up. Why it is better to have a partner to go through life with. He may joke about his death not being an accident on account of all the Lifetime movies my mom watches and she may never take an interest in any of his hobbies or passions but for reasons that are an absolute mystery to me, they work.
All of this is naturally dredging up a lot of random stuff. Some things are of the cat in the cradle and silver spoon type of thoughts about how easy it is to put off being with family or doing a lot of other things in favor of the fleeting empty obligations of work. My family is HORRIBLE with that. My mother, bless her cotton socks, does dialysis 5-6 times a day and only recently made arrangements to telecommute 2 days a week. My father works all the time. He's even come to Philly for business and only had time for a drive by visit. He could have stayed for dinner but it was less wear and tear to just get back on the road to VA. He said once to me, "I want to live, I just don't know how." And I'm his daughter. The one everyone likes to joke is just like him. And I am. But I fight more to not be like him in that way. I'm not really that good at it but I'm fortunate to have the company of great friends who are nothing at all like me and challenge me in the way they live and love to channel their example from time to time.
I read something long ago in a magazine about a couple dealing with the loss of a parent they were both very close to. The wife asked the husband (it was his father who was dying) what she could do to comfort him. He replied, "Have sex with me every night." When faced with death, he wanted to affirm life. It was handled far more elegantly by the author but as I walked on the near-empty beach this morning in Atlantic City and thought about my mother at home crying for her husband and for her last child leaving the nest, my sister's text message at 5 am this morning asking me to call mom because it was going to be a hard day for her, my father traveling to be with his mother, and a kaleidoscope of other random images and thoughts, it felt like the right place to be. I was affirming life. I was affirming the inevitability of death. I was living. And it was a lovely day.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
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