Got an email from Dan tonight. He’s so funny, and he always has me giggling by the end of his emails. He writes his emails in bullet format. I email him back in bullets, too, responding to all of his stuff.
Here’s one of his bullets:
“Spent $20.00 today and had my genitals fondled by an Asian lady. Okay, her name is Chelsea Nugent, I had to cough, and she's my doctor. Still, it cost me $20.00 and she gave me something to look forward to.”
My response:
“What? No happy ending?”
We’ll do this back and forth a couple of times, and then we'll do it again a month or so later.
I just adore him.
I’ve got so much to do that I can’t decide what to do first. The answer to this question is, of course, have a beer and then figure it out.
So I am.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Silver and Gold
Today I talked with a good friend I hadn’t talked to for years. She was my best friend when I was in my early twenties. We were so close that we spent every day together. We’d eat dinner together every night. And we’d fall asleep watching movies together. She’s beautiful and funny and so much fun to be around.
It never ceases to amaze me how, with some friends, years can go by but when you talk with them it’s as though no time has passed at all. She’s living in San Juan, Puerto Rico now, and we’ve already made plans for me to fly out to visit her. I can’t wait!
I got to the barn today, and the trainer told me to saddle up a different horse.
“But, why?” I asked, immediately upset.
“Um,.. For experience, for variety, and because I gave Kahlua the day off,” she told me.
“Oh," I said, thinking that makes sense. "Okay.”
When I got to the tack room, she said, “I changed my mind. You can ride Kahlua.”
And I was really happy and very relieved. As big a bitch as Kahlua can be, I’m used to her. My apple bribes have totally been working. When I brush her, we lean into each other a little now. I give her kisses on her nose and tell her what a sweet girl she is. We’re a team. We have a rhythm. And as time goes on, I get the sense that she’s becoming more and more like a giant female version of Dog.
There was an obscure little movie that I saw years ago and loved, The Night We Never Met. It starred Matthew Broderick and some others. When the Matthew Broderick character is talking to this woman who believes her fiance is cheating on her, he gives her a little pep talk with regard to getting back her man. He tells her, and I’m paraphrasing, “Love is a little like politics. The incumbent always has the advantage.”
The reason I believe this line is true is because we are, all of us, creatures of habit. We don’t like new. We like what we know. We crave familiar. And in order to make a change in our routine, our mate, our bath soap, we must be forced to due so out of necessity, pain, discontinuation. Change is not easy. We fight it every step of the way.
For me, I wear the same perfume I have for years: Ralph Lauren’s Romance. I use the same shampoo: Desert Essence Organics Green Apple and Ginger. I have a moisturizer I adore: Dr. Hauschka’s. I wear the same jeans: Seven for All Mankind. I go to the same nail salon, take the same route to work, shop in the same stores. Not because it’s convenient - that’s just how the habit started - but because it’s what I know. It’s what I like, because it’s what’s familiar.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m willing try something new, but only when I can’t find what I know.
I come by this trait honestly. My grandfather would show up at his local Publix Supermarket every morning for decades. He got there as they opened. He’d have his list of things to buy for dinner that night. He’d buy his lottery ticket. He’d flirt with the checker. Yeah, the flirting thing is in my genes, too!
When my grandfather died, someone from my family, I think it was my uncle, went down to the store to let them know he wouldn’t be by anymore.
That’s what it took to break that routine.
I went to a different Publix today. The Boy complained that there’s never food in the house, and he’s out of toothpaste – Tom’s of Maine, in case you wondered – and I was just exhausted this evening and didn’t feel up to fighting for a parking space at the South Tampa location. So I popped into the Publix down the way from the barn.
How much could a grocery store vary from location to location? Well, this one carried Fried Green Tomato batter mix but didn’t have Challah bread without raisins. When's Rosh Hashanah, again?
There was stuff I knew at this store. It was on my way home. I got rock star parking. Heck, it was even cheaper. I’ll go back to this store. But it won’t replace my regular store.
My store is the one I know. There’s a familiar smell. There are familiar faces. Even the walk from where I have to park the Volvo way out in Timbuktu is familiar.
And when it comes to relationships, the people we know are the ones we keep around, too. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t. That’s why the incumbent has the advantage.
And no matter how bad a relationship may seem, it’s so much easier to stay with what we know than it is to start all over again with someone who’s just... different.
It never ceases to amaze me how, with some friends, years can go by but when you talk with them it’s as though no time has passed at all. She’s living in San Juan, Puerto Rico now, and we’ve already made plans for me to fly out to visit her. I can’t wait!
I got to the barn today, and the trainer told me to saddle up a different horse.
“But, why?” I asked, immediately upset.
“Um,.. For experience, for variety, and because I gave Kahlua the day off,” she told me.
“Oh," I said, thinking that makes sense. "Okay.”
When I got to the tack room, she said, “I changed my mind. You can ride Kahlua.”
And I was really happy and very relieved. As big a bitch as Kahlua can be, I’m used to her. My apple bribes have totally been working. When I brush her, we lean into each other a little now. I give her kisses on her nose and tell her what a sweet girl she is. We’re a team. We have a rhythm. And as time goes on, I get the sense that she’s becoming more and more like a giant female version of Dog.
There was an obscure little movie that I saw years ago and loved, The Night We Never Met. It starred Matthew Broderick and some others. When the Matthew Broderick character is talking to this woman who believes her fiance is cheating on her, he gives her a little pep talk with regard to getting back her man. He tells her, and I’m paraphrasing, “Love is a little like politics. The incumbent always has the advantage.”
The reason I believe this line is true is because we are, all of us, creatures of habit. We don’t like new. We like what we know. We crave familiar. And in order to make a change in our routine, our mate, our bath soap, we must be forced to due so out of necessity, pain, discontinuation. Change is not easy. We fight it every step of the way.
For me, I wear the same perfume I have for years: Ralph Lauren’s Romance. I use the same shampoo: Desert Essence Organics Green Apple and Ginger. I have a moisturizer I adore: Dr. Hauschka’s. I wear the same jeans: Seven for All Mankind. I go to the same nail salon, take the same route to work, shop in the same stores. Not because it’s convenient - that’s just how the habit started - but because it’s what I know. It’s what I like, because it’s what’s familiar.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m willing try something new, but only when I can’t find what I know.
I come by this trait honestly. My grandfather would show up at his local Publix Supermarket every morning for decades. He got there as they opened. He’d have his list of things to buy for dinner that night. He’d buy his lottery ticket. He’d flirt with the checker. Yeah, the flirting thing is in my genes, too!
When my grandfather died, someone from my family, I think it was my uncle, went down to the store to let them know he wouldn’t be by anymore.
That’s what it took to break that routine.
I went to a different Publix today. The Boy complained that there’s never food in the house, and he’s out of toothpaste – Tom’s of Maine, in case you wondered – and I was just exhausted this evening and didn’t feel up to fighting for a parking space at the South Tampa location. So I popped into the Publix down the way from the barn.
How much could a grocery store vary from location to location? Well, this one carried Fried Green Tomato batter mix but didn’t have Challah bread without raisins. When's Rosh Hashanah, again?
There was stuff I knew at this store. It was on my way home. I got rock star parking. Heck, it was even cheaper. I’ll go back to this store. But it won’t replace my regular store.
My store is the one I know. There’s a familiar smell. There are familiar faces. Even the walk from where I have to park the Volvo way out in Timbuktu is familiar.
And when it comes to relationships, the people we know are the ones we keep around, too. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t. That’s why the incumbent has the advantage.
And no matter how bad a relationship may seem, it’s so much easier to stay with what we know than it is to start all over again with someone who’s just... different.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Playing the Part
The Boy was in a play at his school tonight. And I know I'm biased, but he totally nailed it. This is the first time he’s been in a play since he was four-years-old and had the role of Simba in his preschool’s presentation of The Lion King. And he did awesome that time, too!
Boy’s been a ham from birth, and he's quite the actor. He had this activity toy that hung from the side of his playpen that had a mirror and there were times I caught him practicing his facial expressions in it...
It’s got to be inborn for him, because he sure didn't get it from me. I’m definitely not a performer. Never have been. Can't even lie successfully. Everything's right there on my face.
My sister, Sadie, came to watch the play and brought my niece and nephew with her. We sat together, even though she’s been angry with me since we spent this past Christmas together at my parents’ place with the rest of the family. Apparently, I was especially bitchy this year. So bitchy, in fact, she won't even return my calls.
I didn’t even know she was angry with me until days afterward, but once I found out, I was completely thrown. Had no idea. I even asked my mother if she’d noticed that I was rude to anyone in particular. And she’d told me that, “No, I thought you were a bitch to everyone equally.” So there you go.
Still it was really nice that Sadie and the kids came. Family is family.
Life is going to be super crazy for the next couple of weeks. Running around getting ready to head up for Carrie’s wedding. I’m the unofficial maid of honor and sharing the title with one of her friends who lives close enough to her to have gone with her to try on her dress and throw her a bridal shower. Unofficial is good, because I’ve already had my Bridal Party Member punch card all filled up.
I’m big at weddings. My friends mention that movie, 27 Dresses, every time I talk about heading out for another wedding. Really, though, I’m not that bad. I mean, at least I’ve never double booked.
And I’ve already told my mom that if I ever do decide to get married that hundred-year-old chapel on the beach that we were looking at for the first one is out. She’s just going to get a call from Mexico or somewhere because I’m gonna elope.
I've been thinking a lot about the roles we play in the lives of others. It's always a struggle, isn't it? Finding that happy medium between who you know you are and who you try to be for others. What makes it harder still is the way the people you know project their ideas of who they think you are or how they think you should be based on their own experiences with others.
I remember getting into a huge argument with a boyfriend over him going out with his friends. It was so memorable that he and I discussed it recently, and he actually apologized for it. So, I let him say his peace, and then I finally took this opportunity, seventeen years later, to set him straight.
The argument was that he thought it bothered me that he went out with the guys to play cards or go to clubs or whatever it is guys that age do. I told him that, actually, that hadn't bothered me. With an infant at home, I had a little more going on than worrying about where he got his entertainment.
What bothered me is that he thought it bothered me. He thought I was the type of girl who needed to be told this or treated like that because of what he'd experienced in previous relationships.
Nothing drives me crazier than when people project their crap on you, so I didn't correct him at the time, thinking that, if he believed that was the way I was, he didn't know me at all. Still, I have to admit it felt really, really good to finally get that off my chest.
Look. For people I love, I will happily fill whatever role I'm asked to star in, but please just remember to write my part true to who I really am. And if you're confused about who that is, do us both a favor. Don't assume. Ask.
Boy’s been a ham from birth, and he's quite the actor. He had this activity toy that hung from the side of his playpen that had a mirror and there were times I caught him practicing his facial expressions in it...
It’s got to be inborn for him, because he sure didn't get it from me. I’m definitely not a performer. Never have been. Can't even lie successfully. Everything's right there on my face.
My sister, Sadie, came to watch the play and brought my niece and nephew with her. We sat together, even though she’s been angry with me since we spent this past Christmas together at my parents’ place with the rest of the family. Apparently, I was especially bitchy this year. So bitchy, in fact, she won't even return my calls.
I didn’t even know she was angry with me until days afterward, but once I found out, I was completely thrown. Had no idea. I even asked my mother if she’d noticed that I was rude to anyone in particular. And she’d told me that, “No, I thought you were a bitch to everyone equally.” So there you go.
Still it was really nice that Sadie and the kids came. Family is family.
Life is going to be super crazy for the next couple of weeks. Running around getting ready to head up for Carrie’s wedding. I’m the unofficial maid of honor and sharing the title with one of her friends who lives close enough to her to have gone with her to try on her dress and throw her a bridal shower. Unofficial is good, because I’ve already had my Bridal Party Member punch card all filled up.
I’m big at weddings. My friends mention that movie, 27 Dresses, every time I talk about heading out for another wedding. Really, though, I’m not that bad. I mean, at least I’ve never double booked.
And I’ve already told my mom that if I ever do decide to get married that hundred-year-old chapel on the beach that we were looking at for the first one is out. She’s just going to get a call from Mexico or somewhere because I’m gonna elope.
I've been thinking a lot about the roles we play in the lives of others. It's always a struggle, isn't it? Finding that happy medium between who you know you are and who you try to be for others. What makes it harder still is the way the people you know project their ideas of who they think you are or how they think you should be based on their own experiences with others.
I remember getting into a huge argument with a boyfriend over him going out with his friends. It was so memorable that he and I discussed it recently, and he actually apologized for it. So, I let him say his peace, and then I finally took this opportunity, seventeen years later, to set him straight.
The argument was that he thought it bothered me that he went out with the guys to play cards or go to clubs or whatever it is guys that age do. I told him that, actually, that hadn't bothered me. With an infant at home, I had a little more going on than worrying about where he got his entertainment.
What bothered me is that he thought it bothered me. He thought I was the type of girl who needed to be told this or treated like that because of what he'd experienced in previous relationships.
Nothing drives me crazier than when people project their crap on you, so I didn't correct him at the time, thinking that, if he believed that was the way I was, he didn't know me at all. Still, I have to admit it felt really, really good to finally get that off my chest.
Look. For people I love, I will happily fill whatever role I'm asked to star in, but please just remember to write my part true to who I really am. And if you're confused about who that is, do us both a favor. Don't assume. Ask.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Drops of Jupiter
I’d like to say that after I got that extension on my portfolio that I came right home and worked diligently to get my story done, so I could spend the rest of the weekend doing fun stuff.
I’d be lying, though.
No, I left the campus and went straight to Target to buy a birthday gift for a very special little boy. Then I went to Whole Foods to pick up lunch. Then, as I was checking out at the register, one of my ex-boyfriends called.
“Hey there, Goldilocks.”
We hadn’t talked since he'd called on my birthday last month, so we spent a good forty minutes or so catching up. He told me he’s doing really well. He told me that the wife and kids are doing well, too. Then he told me that my friend Josh was right about me being worth the trouble. Awww.
My best friend, Carrie, says it’s unusual that I’m buddies with so many of my old boyfriends. I’m kind of used to it now. I pretty much always end up being friends with the people I date for any length of time. I think because I always stress the whole, “I hope we can be friends” thing. And, well, because I actually mean it.
When you think about it, even if things end badly, there was good stuff there at some point. So, weird or not, I’m really glad they want to remain friends with me. I’m glad they cared enough to still care.
I drove out to Clearwater for a birthday party/barbecue late Friday afternoon. One of my co-workers has a son who is turning three. My co-worker is new to our office, and having met and become friends with his last boss while I was out in California last year, I feel a little connection with him already. We’re still circling each other, though, trying to figure out if we’re going to be friends, too.
I bought the little boy a bubble maker. I sat out on the front lawn with him and his older sister while they chased after bubbles that filled the air and fell on us like raindrops on a sunny afternoon. Then, the little boy pulled a flower from his lawn and handed it to me with a kiss.
I left the barbecue to make it out to the barn in Seminole, which is about thirty minutes away, roughly twenty minutes before I was supposed to be there to tack Kahlua. So I changed out of my party clothes and into my barn gear on the road.
It’s not as hard as you’d think, if you remember to take off the seat belt first. But, now I can honestly say that I’ve done everything you could possibly imagine doing in a car.
And in chaps, no less.
I’d be lying, though.
No, I left the campus and went straight to Target to buy a birthday gift for a very special little boy. Then I went to Whole Foods to pick up lunch. Then, as I was checking out at the register, one of my ex-boyfriends called.
“Hey there, Goldilocks.”
We hadn’t talked since he'd called on my birthday last month, so we spent a good forty minutes or so catching up. He told me he’s doing really well. He told me that the wife and kids are doing well, too. Then he told me that my friend Josh was right about me being worth the trouble. Awww.
My best friend, Carrie, says it’s unusual that I’m buddies with so many of my old boyfriends. I’m kind of used to it now. I pretty much always end up being friends with the people I date for any length of time. I think because I always stress the whole, “I hope we can be friends” thing. And, well, because I actually mean it.
When you think about it, even if things end badly, there was good stuff there at some point. So, weird or not, I’m really glad they want to remain friends with me. I’m glad they cared enough to still care.
I drove out to Clearwater for a birthday party/barbecue late Friday afternoon. One of my co-workers has a son who is turning three. My co-worker is new to our office, and having met and become friends with his last boss while I was out in California last year, I feel a little connection with him already. We’re still circling each other, though, trying to figure out if we’re going to be friends, too.
I bought the little boy a bubble maker. I sat out on the front lawn with him and his older sister while they chased after bubbles that filled the air and fell on us like raindrops on a sunny afternoon. Then, the little boy pulled a flower from his lawn and handed it to me with a kiss.
I left the barbecue to make it out to the barn in Seminole, which is about thirty minutes away, roughly twenty minutes before I was supposed to be there to tack Kahlua. So I changed out of my party clothes and into my barn gear on the road.
It’s not as hard as you’d think, if you remember to take off the seat belt first. But, now I can honestly say that I’ve done everything you could possibly imagine doing in a car.
And in chaps, no less.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Questions and Deadlines
Took the day off to work on my portfolio for writing class, which was due today. True to my reputation as a world-class procrastinator, I didn't start working on it until today.
Initially, I was supposed to do rewrites on the short blog story I’d presented to the class, but earlier this week, I'd told my instructor that I just wasn’t feeling it right now. She'd agreed to let me work on the older pieces I submitted directly to her a month ago.
So, I woke up this morning, walked Dog, grabbed a cup of coffee, and sat down at the computer. First, I went ahead and made all the changes she initially suggested as far as formatting and line edits. Then I read her notes on content:
“If you want to write a story about love, you have to show it, and if you’ve been in love, you can probably do that.”
Fuck.
So I check the syllabus to see when her office hours are, jump in the shower, get dressed in one of Boy's t-shirts and a pair of jean shorts, and head up to the campus. I park my car in front of Plant Park in admissions parking, grab my story and her notes, walk across the cobbled street past the fountain, climb up the marble steps, and wade through a group of eight-year-old's visiting the school’s museum on a field trip to climb up the big mahogany staircase to the second floor where my instructor’s office is located.
I sit and wait patiently on a bench outside her office while she consults with another student on his work. Then, I wait while she talks with the young man who’s come up to speak with her about a visiting lecturer whose trip he’s organizing. When it's my turn, I sit down in the leather chair across from where she sits at her desk, purse still on my shoulder, notes in my lap.
She looks at me expectantly. “So what’s going on?”
I show her the story I’m working on with her notes. She nods. She remembers. I tell her what I’m trying to do, and what the story is supposed to be about.
I tell her, “I wrote this ten years ago, and I don’t feel as close to it as I did then. So I feel like I have to approach it from where I am now, who I am now.”
She nods again. “You should do that. You should steal from yourself for all your characters. Steal from your life.”
I nod and say, “Okay. So, how do you know what was love?”
She laughs. Then she sees I’m serious and says, “Hmm,.. Do you think you’re going to need more time to work on this?”
My portfolio is now due on Monday.
Initially, I was supposed to do rewrites on the short blog story I’d presented to the class, but earlier this week, I'd told my instructor that I just wasn’t feeling it right now. She'd agreed to let me work on the older pieces I submitted directly to her a month ago.
So, I woke up this morning, walked Dog, grabbed a cup of coffee, and sat down at the computer. First, I went ahead and made all the changes she initially suggested as far as formatting and line edits. Then I read her notes on content:
“If you want to write a story about love, you have to show it, and if you’ve been in love, you can probably do that.”
Fuck.
So I check the syllabus to see when her office hours are, jump in the shower, get dressed in one of Boy's t-shirts and a pair of jean shorts, and head up to the campus. I park my car in front of Plant Park in admissions parking, grab my story and her notes, walk across the cobbled street past the fountain, climb up the marble steps, and wade through a group of eight-year-old's visiting the school’s museum on a field trip to climb up the big mahogany staircase to the second floor where my instructor’s office is located.
I sit and wait patiently on a bench outside her office while she consults with another student on his work. Then, I wait while she talks with the young man who’s come up to speak with her about a visiting lecturer whose trip he’s organizing. When it's my turn, I sit down in the leather chair across from where she sits at her desk, purse still on my shoulder, notes in my lap.
She looks at me expectantly. “So what’s going on?”
I show her the story I’m working on with her notes. She nods. She remembers. I tell her what I’m trying to do, and what the story is supposed to be about.
I tell her, “I wrote this ten years ago, and I don’t feel as close to it as I did then. So I feel like I have to approach it from where I am now, who I am now.”
She nods again. “You should do that. You should steal from yourself for all your characters. Steal from your life.”
I nod and say, “Okay. So, how do you know what was love?”
She laughs. Then she sees I’m serious and says, “Hmm,.. Do you think you’re going to need more time to work on this?”
My portfolio is now due on Monday.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Goldilocks and Her Three Friends
I swear I am the Goldilocks of dating.
Come on too strong, I’m running for the hills. Come on not strong enough, I’m wondering what’s wrong.
I am far more trouble than I’m worth.
Anyway, talked with Josh today for the first time in a while. Let me just tell everyone again that he is the most awesome guy ever, and if he wasn’t so completely in love with his on-again, off-again girlfriend who he’s known since grade school, I’d have a major crush on him myself.
His voice just calms me.
And even when I’m going crazy over work or whatever, he talks to me in that deep, low voice of his and reminds me that I can handle anything.
“By the way,” he tells me as we’re getting off the phone this evening, “you are worth the trouble. You’re exactly the type of trouble guys want.”
Isn’t he the best? Clearly biased. But still the best.
Email Buddy Eric and I managed to have an entire conversation about cookies today. He has this weird thing for chocolate chip cookie dough. And he has the nerve not to like peanut butter cookies. Can you imagine?
So, just like that, I told him we were through.
Then he emailed me back and told me that he guessed peanut butter cookies were okay if they had chocolate chips in them.
Gross, right? But he was willing to compromise, so I emailed him that we were back on.
I got his email a beat later: “Whew!”
Carrie called me tonight, and we talked about her wedding and their plans for the future. I’m so happy that she’s happy.
I’m flying up in a week and a half to spend some time with her before the big day and help her get ready. Unfortunately, with dress fittings looming, we won’t be able to do our All-Night-Junk-Food-Chick-Flick-Fest on this visit either. No chocolate cake for us. :o(
Still, we’ll get to hang out and drink and talk about boys together while we’re sitting on her deck under the Carolina sky. We’ll get to try on pretty dresses together and walk around her house breaking-in our high heels. We get to do all the things we miss doing together because there are so many miles between us.
We’ll go on walks with her little girl, my other favorite little blonde five-year-old, and talk forever about the things you can only talk about with your closest friend in the world, because they see all of you and love you anyway.
And best of all, I’ll get to watch my best friend marry the guy who knows just how lucky he is that she picked him.
All in all, I'd say that's worth giving up chocolate cake.
Come on too strong, I’m running for the hills. Come on not strong enough, I’m wondering what’s wrong.
I am far more trouble than I’m worth.
Anyway, talked with Josh today for the first time in a while. Let me just tell everyone again that he is the most awesome guy ever, and if he wasn’t so completely in love with his on-again, off-again girlfriend who he’s known since grade school, I’d have a major crush on him myself.
His voice just calms me.
And even when I’m going crazy over work or whatever, he talks to me in that deep, low voice of his and reminds me that I can handle anything.
“By the way,” he tells me as we’re getting off the phone this evening, “you are worth the trouble. You’re exactly the type of trouble guys want.”
Isn’t he the best? Clearly biased. But still the best.
Email Buddy Eric and I managed to have an entire conversation about cookies today. He has this weird thing for chocolate chip cookie dough. And he has the nerve not to like peanut butter cookies. Can you imagine?
So, just like that, I told him we were through.
Then he emailed me back and told me that he guessed peanut butter cookies were okay if they had chocolate chips in them.
Gross, right? But he was willing to compromise, so I emailed him that we were back on.
I got his email a beat later: “Whew!”
Carrie called me tonight, and we talked about her wedding and their plans for the future. I’m so happy that she’s happy.
I’m flying up in a week and a half to spend some time with her before the big day and help her get ready. Unfortunately, with dress fittings looming, we won’t be able to do our All-Night-Junk-Food-Chick-Flick-Fest on this visit either. No chocolate cake for us. :o(
Still, we’ll get to hang out and drink and talk about boys together while we’re sitting on her deck under the Carolina sky. We’ll get to try on pretty dresses together and walk around her house breaking-in our high heels. We get to do all the things we miss doing together because there are so many miles between us.
We’ll go on walks with her little girl, my other favorite little blonde five-year-old, and talk forever about the things you can only talk about with your closest friend in the world, because they see all of you and love you anyway.
And best of all, I’ll get to watch my best friend marry the guy who knows just how lucky he is that she picked him.
All in all, I'd say that's worth giving up chocolate cake.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Touch of Grey
Talked with my sister, Julia, tonight for about an hour.
It’s her birthday today, and her husband had to work. I called her this morning to sing “Happy Birthday” to her, and by the time she called me back, I was in my writing class. So, I did what any good sister would do. I cut out of class early tonight and came home to sit on my back porch and have a beer or two with her over the phone while we talked about childhood, life, and getting older.
Even though he had to work, my wonderful brother-in-law managed to surprise the wife to whom there is no surprise when she woke up this morning with a keyboard she’d been coveting and planned on buying for herself. She just went downstairs to get a cup of coffee, and there it was.
She told me, “I can’t believe it, but I cried. And you know I’m not a crier.”
I laughed because I’d just said the same thing to my class tonight right before she called when we were talking about books that do a good job of showing two people falling in love. I brought up one book and how I just bawled after reading it “and I’m not a crier.”
Truth is, I totally am a huge crybaby. I just do a good job of hiding it behind my Swedish stoicism.
Her husband got her a very cool card, too. There was a Ghandi quote on the card. It’s the one about happiness…
“Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.”
It’s a good quote, and it’s a nice thought - to think that everyone could live his or her life that way. But it’s just not that simple, is it?
As social creatures, we’re conditioned to do just the opposite. We think and say things that aren’t always in harmony with what we do. We do that to get along.
I rarely tell people what I’m thinking when I’m actually thinking it because, well, I have to work it out in my head, look at it from all sides, and weigh out the way what I think will be taken before I share it.
I say things or don’t say things to keep from hurting the feelings of others or because it’s easier than dealing with the consequences of being completely honest.
I do what I have to do instead of what I'd necessarily choose to do sometimes because, even though it may not be what I might believe or even preach, it’s what I’m obligated to do.
Life is not black and white.
I think we all live somewhere in the middle, in the grey. In that place where reality meets your ideals in a compromise with what society expects of you.
And, in my experience, it’s the people who can’t find that middle ground who never seem to find happiness either.
So, in this instance, I think Ghandi was wrong.
Maybe happiness is just when you can find your way to a middle ground and still live your life in harmony with what you believe.
And you know what?
You can quote me on that.
It’s her birthday today, and her husband had to work. I called her this morning to sing “Happy Birthday” to her, and by the time she called me back, I was in my writing class. So, I did what any good sister would do. I cut out of class early tonight and came home to sit on my back porch and have a beer or two with her over the phone while we talked about childhood, life, and getting older.
Even though he had to work, my wonderful brother-in-law managed to surprise the wife to whom there is no surprise when she woke up this morning with a keyboard she’d been coveting and planned on buying for herself. She just went downstairs to get a cup of coffee, and there it was.
She told me, “I can’t believe it, but I cried. And you know I’m not a crier.”
I laughed because I’d just said the same thing to my class tonight right before she called when we were talking about books that do a good job of showing two people falling in love. I brought up one book and how I just bawled after reading it “and I’m not a crier.”
Truth is, I totally am a huge crybaby. I just do a good job of hiding it behind my Swedish stoicism.
Her husband got her a very cool card, too. There was a Ghandi quote on the card. It’s the one about happiness…
“Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.”
It’s a good quote, and it’s a nice thought - to think that everyone could live his or her life that way. But it’s just not that simple, is it?
As social creatures, we’re conditioned to do just the opposite. We think and say things that aren’t always in harmony with what we do. We do that to get along.
I rarely tell people what I’m thinking when I’m actually thinking it because, well, I have to work it out in my head, look at it from all sides, and weigh out the way what I think will be taken before I share it.
I say things or don’t say things to keep from hurting the feelings of others or because it’s easier than dealing with the consequences of being completely honest.
I do what I have to do instead of what I'd necessarily choose to do sometimes because, even though it may not be what I might believe or even preach, it’s what I’m obligated to do.
Life is not black and white.
I think we all live somewhere in the middle, in the grey. In that place where reality meets your ideals in a compromise with what society expects of you.
And, in my experience, it’s the people who can’t find that middle ground who never seem to find happiness either.
So, in this instance, I think Ghandi was wrong.
Maybe happiness is just when you can find your way to a middle ground and still live your life in harmony with what you believe.
And you know what?
You can quote me on that.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Kahlua and the Little Red-Haired Girl
In observance of the holiday, my friend Josh sent me a St. Patty’s Day joke via text tonight.
Why do leprechauns laugh when they run?
Because the grass tickles their nuts. ;p
It’s been a crazy week. How is it only Tuesday?
A big project at work is keeping me so busy. I had to make myself stop to order lunch, a really yummy eggplant parm sandwich on focaccia bread, because I was going riding this afternoon.
Got out to the barn at five. Had so much fun with Kahlua who was, true to character, a complete bitch. Here’s a picture of the horse I love to hate.
After I got Kahlua away from her dinner - not as easy as it sounds - and tacked up, the trainer and I talked about boys for a few minutes before we got down to business.
She’s just met someone new, and we discussed her theory of the new dating dichotomy where it seems men are more in need of encouragement from the women they date. As opposed to the old theory that a woman just had to show up, which is the one I personally ascribe to.
She said that women her age have to take on more of the role of the man, do a little more of the pursuing. I’m not sure I agree, but who knows? We’re in slightly different dating generations. Maybe men in their twenties do need more courting. I’m just so happy not to be dating men in their twenties anymore, you know…
I don’t know about the whole woman as pursuer thing. It just feels wrong. I’m still a big believer in the adage that whatever you chase will run away. But, hey, whatever works. Every generation is a little bit different.
It's just that, in the beginning dating is such a delicate balance of give and take. Everyone has their guard up. No one wants to get hurt. You keep watching for signs that this person you kinda like could be a freak. It's easier to cut and run in the beginning before you have too much invested.
I swear the whole thing sometimes seems to me to be a little like patting your head and rubbing your tummy. It’s just kind of awkward and foolish. But as long as you can keep your sense of humor about it and keep it in perspective, when you get it right, it’s totally worth the trouble.
So at the barn today we tied the stirrups to the saddle again, and it was better. My feet are finally staying where they’re supposed to stay. I’m now consistently mediocre instead of periodically crappy.
Then, the trainer put the horse on this lunging thingy, where she controlled Kahlua, while I rode around in a circle posting (squat down, squeeze up) with my hands on my hips and then my hands on my head. Did really well there, too.
There’s a little red-haired girl who comes out to watch me ride sometimes. She’s eleven and a total doll. Whenever there’s a lull in the action, we chat together about school and horses. As I was walking Kahlua back to her stall today, I asked her if I was doing any better with my riding.
She smiled at me, very sweetly and shyly, and told me that I was doing better.
“Much.” :o)
Why do leprechauns laugh when they run?
Because the grass tickles their nuts. ;p
It’s been a crazy week. How is it only Tuesday?
A big project at work is keeping me so busy. I had to make myself stop to order lunch, a really yummy eggplant parm sandwich on focaccia bread, because I was going riding this afternoon.
Got out to the barn at five. Had so much fun with Kahlua who was, true to character, a complete bitch. Here’s a picture of the horse I love to hate.
After I got Kahlua away from her dinner - not as easy as it sounds - and tacked up, the trainer and I talked about boys for a few minutes before we got down to business.
She’s just met someone new, and we discussed her theory of the new dating dichotomy where it seems men are more in need of encouragement from the women they date. As opposed to the old theory that a woman just had to show up, which is the one I personally ascribe to.
She said that women her age have to take on more of the role of the man, do a little more of the pursuing. I’m not sure I agree, but who knows? We’re in slightly different dating generations. Maybe men in their twenties do need more courting. I’m just so happy not to be dating men in their twenties anymore, you know…
I don’t know about the whole woman as pursuer thing. It just feels wrong. I’m still a big believer in the adage that whatever you chase will run away. But, hey, whatever works. Every generation is a little bit different.
It's just that, in the beginning dating is such a delicate balance of give and take. Everyone has their guard up. No one wants to get hurt. You keep watching for signs that this person you kinda like could be a freak. It's easier to cut and run in the beginning before you have too much invested.
I swear the whole thing sometimes seems to me to be a little like patting your head and rubbing your tummy. It’s just kind of awkward and foolish. But as long as you can keep your sense of humor about it and keep it in perspective, when you get it right, it’s totally worth the trouble.
So at the barn today we tied the stirrups to the saddle again, and it was better. My feet are finally staying where they’re supposed to stay. I’m now consistently mediocre instead of periodically crappy.
Then, the trainer put the horse on this lunging thingy, where she controlled Kahlua, while I rode around in a circle posting (squat down, squeeze up) with my hands on my hips and then my hands on my head. Did really well there, too.
There’s a little red-haired girl who comes out to watch me ride sometimes. She’s eleven and a total doll. Whenever there’s a lull in the action, we chat together about school and horses. As I was walking Kahlua back to her stall today, I asked her if I was doing any better with my riding.
She smiled at me, very sweetly and shyly, and told me that I was doing better.
“Much.” :o)
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Sticking Points
Woke up this morning thinking about Carrie, and a couple of minutes later, she called. I just love it when that happens. It happens most with my younger sister. I’ll call her, and Julia will pick up the phone saying, “I was just thinking about you. Stop that.” I just laugh.
Since Julia got married last June, it happens less, though. I think because she’s becoming more and more bonded to her husband, whom I just adore. They complement each other, and he makes her happy.
I actually love my brother-in-law’s entire family. His sister is like my fourth sister, and his mother and I share the same birthday. She’s an actress, a writer and an English teacher, has this gorgeous old house a block from the boardwalk in Atlantic City, and we have a ton in common.
I spent a lot of holidays with them while I was living in Jersey, and since they’re Polish, I’ve gotten to try lots of fun foods I never would have tried otherwise. Is that two types of herring I see on the table? Really?
Anyway, we’re gearing up for Carrie’s wedding in April, and so Carrie and I are spending a lot of time on the phone discussing details. She did a registry with all her dream items and had me log on to check it out. She’s got such great taste. And she’s really practical, too.
I’ve found that all my friends are people I admire because they have some quality I feel I lack. (I’ve also found that my closest longtime friends were born in either February or August. Weird.) With Carrie, an August baby, it’s that she’s so straightforward. And she makes a decision and sticks to it.
Even when I was off traveling and living life in all these different places among strangers, she was always there in a letter, an email, or a phone call to make me feel less alone. There’s just something solid about her. Her heart is true.
And Carrie watches the news for me. No, I don’t keep up with the news. She does, though, and weeds through it and then filters it down to tell me what I need to know. In so many ways, I’d be lost without her.
I wonder sometimes just how much we choose our friends and how much life chooses them for us.
When I got back from the barn yesterday evening I was frustrated, sore, and completely wiped out. We’d tied the stirrups to the saddle to get my legs in the right position and keep them there. Kahlua tried to nip me. I had to swat her with the crop to get her going after the trainer told me, “Don’t let her pull that crap with you. She’s testing you.” Ugh! Not another test. Can’t we all just get along?
Between the writing class and getting sick, the trainer’s schedule and mine, I haven’t been able to make it out to the barn as often as I should. Twice a week has petered down to once a week, if we’re lucky. And I’m not making the progress I should be. Well, not the progress I think I should be making. For a second I thought about abandoning it all together, which is what I usually do when things get hard.
I walked Dog, took 800 mg of Motrin, and called the trainer.
“I think I need to come out more.”
“I thought you did really well today,” she tells me.
“Thanks, but I’m not getting there.”
“Well, what are your goals?” she asks.
“To not be such a dork.”
So, I’m making the trek out to Seminole on Tuesdays and Fridays until life pushes through again.
Rereading this great book that I’d forgotten about until Lily returned the copy I’d loaned her. It’s called In the Cut.
If you’re going to check out the movie version, do so only for Mark Ruffalo. He’s amazingly sexy in it. There's actually a line in the book/movie where his character says, "Listen, I can be anything you want me to be."
Now, were someone to say this to me in real life, it would be a big red flag... But it's a book or movie or whatever, and it's Mark Ruffalo being way hotter than he could possibly be in real life. So all I'm thinking is, "Um,.. Okay!"
The book is so much better than the movie, though. It’s extremely well written and kind of hot in a twisted, erotic thriller sort of way.
That’s what I was reading last night when I fell asleep at nine o'clock, exhausted and demoralized, in my big comfy bed under my big fluffy comforter to dream about Mark Ruffalo, horses that won’t test me, and friends who stick.
Since Julia got married last June, it happens less, though. I think because she’s becoming more and more bonded to her husband, whom I just adore. They complement each other, and he makes her happy.
I actually love my brother-in-law’s entire family. His sister is like my fourth sister, and his mother and I share the same birthday. She’s an actress, a writer and an English teacher, has this gorgeous old house a block from the boardwalk in Atlantic City, and we have a ton in common.
I spent a lot of holidays with them while I was living in Jersey, and since they’re Polish, I’ve gotten to try lots of fun foods I never would have tried otherwise. Is that two types of herring I see on the table? Really?
Anyway, we’re gearing up for Carrie’s wedding in April, and so Carrie and I are spending a lot of time on the phone discussing details. She did a registry with all her dream items and had me log on to check it out. She’s got such great taste. And she’s really practical, too.
I’ve found that all my friends are people I admire because they have some quality I feel I lack. (I’ve also found that my closest longtime friends were born in either February or August. Weird.) With Carrie, an August baby, it’s that she’s so straightforward. And she makes a decision and sticks to it.
Even when I was off traveling and living life in all these different places among strangers, she was always there in a letter, an email, or a phone call to make me feel less alone. There’s just something solid about her. Her heart is true.
And Carrie watches the news for me. No, I don’t keep up with the news. She does, though, and weeds through it and then filters it down to tell me what I need to know. In so many ways, I’d be lost without her.
I wonder sometimes just how much we choose our friends and how much life chooses them for us.
When I got back from the barn yesterday evening I was frustrated, sore, and completely wiped out. We’d tied the stirrups to the saddle to get my legs in the right position and keep them there. Kahlua tried to nip me. I had to swat her with the crop to get her going after the trainer told me, “Don’t let her pull that crap with you. She’s testing you.” Ugh! Not another test. Can’t we all just get along?
Between the writing class and getting sick, the trainer’s schedule and mine, I haven’t been able to make it out to the barn as often as I should. Twice a week has petered down to once a week, if we’re lucky. And I’m not making the progress I should be. Well, not the progress I think I should be making. For a second I thought about abandoning it all together, which is what I usually do when things get hard.
I walked Dog, took 800 mg of Motrin, and called the trainer.
“I think I need to come out more.”
“I thought you did really well today,” she tells me.
“Thanks, but I’m not getting there.”
“Well, what are your goals?” she asks.
“To not be such a dork.”
So, I’m making the trek out to Seminole on Tuesdays and Fridays until life pushes through again.
Rereading this great book that I’d forgotten about until Lily returned the copy I’d loaned her. It’s called In the Cut.
If you’re going to check out the movie version, do so only for Mark Ruffalo. He’s amazingly sexy in it. There's actually a line in the book/movie where his character says, "Listen, I can be anything you want me to be."
Now, were someone to say this to me in real life, it would be a big red flag... But it's a book or movie or whatever, and it's Mark Ruffalo being way hotter than he could possibly be in real life. So all I'm thinking is, "Um,.. Okay!"
The book is so much better than the movie, though. It’s extremely well written and kind of hot in a twisted, erotic thriller sort of way.
That’s what I was reading last night when I fell asleep at nine o'clock, exhausted and demoralized, in my big comfy bed under my big fluffy comforter to dream about Mark Ruffalo, horses that won’t test me, and friends who stick.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Adult Beginner
I filled out The Boy’s application for housing at the university today. Time to cut the apron strings and break his plate.
I’m vacillating between pride and tears. And I’m feeling a little sad that my child will be gone in a few short months, and my life will never be the same.
In my adult life, I’ve never not had someone to take care of, to fill my days. I’ve never lived alone, and it’s never actually been on my list of things to try.
I’m not freaking out yet. And, yes, I’ll be fine. I’ll adjust. It’s just... new. And I’m trying to get used to the idea.
Email Buddy Eric and his wife just sent off their eldest, and so empty nests were the focus of today’s discussion. He told me that I needed a hobby.
Because, like all Southern women, I like to foster the illusion that I’m a lady and therefore effortlessly beautiful and graceful, I stopped myself before I told him that I do have a hobby: It’s called MAINTENANCE. Men have no idea what goes into all this. And part of our job is to keep it that way...
So, I’m at the nail salon doing some maintenance this afternoon, and literally watching paint dry, when this breathtakingly beautiful, Michelle Pfeiffer but with bright green eyes, plops her Vuitton down next to my well-worn Coach bag and her BMW keys next to the keys to my beloved Volvo wagon. We smile at each other.
She looks down as she eases her feet under the nail dryer and remarks, “I don’t know how the polish on my toes lasts longer than the polish on my fingers.”
I look down at her tiny little toes and am gratified to see that though her bag and her car are nicer, I’ve got the better feet. Yeah, I truly am a tremendous bitch.
I look back up at her, smile again, and say, “Well, you just use your hands more.” Duh.
“Not really. I actually use my feet a lot. I practice ballet.”
My heart literally leaps in my chest and starts beating furiously. My nail dryer goes off, but I’ve stopped caring about my nails or even who has the better feet. “Ballet?”
“Yes, I audit a class at the community college.”
“Really?” I’m a little breathless and beginning to sound like a complete idiot, and we both recognize it.
I take a moment to compose myself and pull the rubber separators from my toes. Okay, where did all this come from?
“That’s just on a semester basis then.” I say.
“Well, yes,” she says back.
“I used to practice a little, but as soon as they told me I’d have to be in The Nutcracker with the rest of the school, I stopped. I’m just not a performer.”
“Where was this?”
“Oh, out of state,” I tell her. Then, trying to seem nonchalant, “So, do you know of any schools in the area that offer adult lessons?”
And she does and tells me where it is. And she tells me to tell the director she sent me. And I leave the nail salon and drive straight there without stopping at the grocery store to pick up the angel hair pasta I’d planned on making for dinner.
I park the Volvo and practically skip through the gate and down the path to the side door. I don’t even hesitate at the door, walking right into an office and glancing to my left to see an advanced class in session.
Women in mismatched leotards and tights up on pointe. Nary a tutu in sight. I see a bulletin board on the right and quickly check it out. Recitals, yes, but only for the child age classes. Woohoo!
I turn as a gray-haired man comes into the office. “Are you Frederick?”
“Yes.”
“Jane sent me.”
He knows Jane.
“I’d like to take classes, but it’s been so long I should probably just start over. Do you have any classes for adult beginners?”
“My dear,” he says taking one of my hands and holding it in two of his, “that’s all I teach.”
And I let out the breath I've been holding and smile.
He tells me when to come. I can still make it out to the barn on my regular days, but there’s a conflict with my writing class. I tell him I can start the second week of May.
“That’s fine. Do you want to leave me your number or email address?”
I do. I write down all three numbers and two email addresses.
“Will you need any gear?” he asks.
I try to remember in which state I’d abandoned my ballet slippers.
“Well, yes,” I say, finally. “I think I’ll need everything.”
“That’s fine. How long has it been?”
I notice a woman in the class has stopped and is watching me with a friendly smile on her face. I look back at Frederick and into his eyes to see if they hold judgment, but I only see reassurance.
“Forever,” I tell him. Then I smile and say. “But I’m a fast learner.”
I’m vacillating between pride and tears. And I’m feeling a little sad that my child will be gone in a few short months, and my life will never be the same.
In my adult life, I’ve never not had someone to take care of, to fill my days. I’ve never lived alone, and it’s never actually been on my list of things to try.
I’m not freaking out yet. And, yes, I’ll be fine. I’ll adjust. It’s just... new. And I’m trying to get used to the idea.
Email Buddy Eric and his wife just sent off their eldest, and so empty nests were the focus of today’s discussion. He told me that I needed a hobby.
Because, like all Southern women, I like to foster the illusion that I’m a lady and therefore effortlessly beautiful and graceful, I stopped myself before I told him that I do have a hobby: It’s called MAINTENANCE. Men have no idea what goes into all this. And part of our job is to keep it that way...
So, I’m at the nail salon doing some maintenance this afternoon, and literally watching paint dry, when this breathtakingly beautiful, Michelle Pfeiffer but with bright green eyes, plops her Vuitton down next to my well-worn Coach bag and her BMW keys next to the keys to my beloved Volvo wagon. We smile at each other.
She looks down as she eases her feet under the nail dryer and remarks, “I don’t know how the polish on my toes lasts longer than the polish on my fingers.”
I look down at her tiny little toes and am gratified to see that though her bag and her car are nicer, I’ve got the better feet. Yeah, I truly am a tremendous bitch.
I look back up at her, smile again, and say, “Well, you just use your hands more.” Duh.
“Not really. I actually use my feet a lot. I practice ballet.”
My heart literally leaps in my chest and starts beating furiously. My nail dryer goes off, but I’ve stopped caring about my nails or even who has the better feet. “Ballet?”
“Yes, I audit a class at the community college.”
“Really?” I’m a little breathless and beginning to sound like a complete idiot, and we both recognize it.
I take a moment to compose myself and pull the rubber separators from my toes. Okay, where did all this come from?
“That’s just on a semester basis then.” I say.
“Well, yes,” she says back.
“I used to practice a little, but as soon as they told me I’d have to be in The Nutcracker with the rest of the school, I stopped. I’m just not a performer.”
“Where was this?”
“Oh, out of state,” I tell her. Then, trying to seem nonchalant, “So, do you know of any schools in the area that offer adult lessons?”
And she does and tells me where it is. And she tells me to tell the director she sent me. And I leave the nail salon and drive straight there without stopping at the grocery store to pick up the angel hair pasta I’d planned on making for dinner.
I park the Volvo and practically skip through the gate and down the path to the side door. I don’t even hesitate at the door, walking right into an office and glancing to my left to see an advanced class in session.
Women in mismatched leotards and tights up on pointe. Nary a tutu in sight. I see a bulletin board on the right and quickly check it out. Recitals, yes, but only for the child age classes. Woohoo!
I turn as a gray-haired man comes into the office. “Are you Frederick?”
“Yes.”
“Jane sent me.”
He knows Jane.
“I’d like to take classes, but it’s been so long I should probably just start over. Do you have any classes for adult beginners?”
“My dear,” he says taking one of my hands and holding it in two of his, “that’s all I teach.”
And I let out the breath I've been holding and smile.
He tells me when to come. I can still make it out to the barn on my regular days, but there’s a conflict with my writing class. I tell him I can start the second week of May.
“That’s fine. Do you want to leave me your number or email address?”
I do. I write down all three numbers and two email addresses.
“Will you need any gear?” he asks.
I try to remember in which state I’d abandoned my ballet slippers.
“Well, yes,” I say, finally. “I think I’ll need everything.”
“That’s fine. How long has it been?”
I notice a woman in the class has stopped and is watching me with a friendly smile on her face. I look back at Frederick and into his eyes to see if they hold judgment, but I only see reassurance.
“Forever,” I tell him. Then I smile and say. “But I’m a fast learner.”
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Houston, We Have a Problem
Email Buddy Eric and I were chatting online yesterday. He'd sent me this article called "Why the Smartest People Have the Most Trouble Dating," or something like that. He prefaced the email with the statement, "Not that I think you have any trouble in this department."
Yeah, right... Wait. Does he mean he doesn't think I'm smart, or does he mean that he doesn't think I have trouble with dating?
Anyway, the second of the reasons the article gave for this problem is that smart people think they deserve love just because of their accomplishments. I emailed Eric back and told him that I thought I deserved love just because I'm hot. Ha ha.
So, the Boy is cooking dinner for a girl tonight. I felt a brief glow of pride for having raised such a gentleman before he gave me a crooked smile and told me that this girl’s boyfriend just cheated on her, and he wanted to give her a good night. I blinked. The Boy is trying to move in on some chick who's just had her ego walloped.
Before I let myself get started in on the whole “that’s just as sleazy as Ben Affleck asking J-Lo to marry him before the ink on her last marriage license was dry and please don't be that guy” speech, I bit my tongue and said, “That’s nice of you.”
He’s at that age when you have to let them be their own person and make their own mistakes. If this is the worst he does, I think I did an okay job. But, boy, it’s hard to let go.
I think I must come off as a sensitive person people can talk to.
I have no idea where people would get that idea either.
Here’s what happened:
I was talking with a co-worker/friend the other day. We hadn’t seen each other for a while, and we’re both terribly busy. He supervises this huge department, and he’s a really strong, gruff man. You have to be when you’re in charge of that many people, right?
I get a kick out of verbally sparring with him, and we have our days where we'll just email back and forth before daily demands pull us back into the real world.
So, I ask him to take some time off to go with me to take care of something for this project we’re working on together. “We can grab a bite on our way. Get you away from the hustle and bustle of the office.”
Then, I realize that he may have taken that as me asking him out. Ridiculous. I know this. You know this. But does he?
So, I do what I always do when I’m worried about blurring lines. I ask him how he and his girl are doing. Okay, this may also send the wrong message, but it always makes me feel better. And he tells me they’re good, and then he tells me something personal. Not personal, like, TMI. Personal, like, these are my feelings.
Now when someone flips open their latest issue for me, and I don't already know the person really, really well, my mind goes completely blank. And this is not the first time it’s happened. Recently, another man told me he and his wife were having problems. Another told me he regularly cheated on his wife. Another told me he thought his wife was cheating on him.
See what I mean? What kind of vibe am I giving off that people think I know what the heck I’m talking about? Or that I’d know what to say? Or that I’d know what they should do? Well, except the guy who keeps cheating. Him I’d like to tell to either keep it in his pants or cut his wife loose so she has a shot at something real with someone who loves her. I mean, holy crap! I’m just as clueless as the next person when it comes to relationships.
It’s not that I don’t care. I do. I just don’t immediately know what to do with all these problems. I’m really more into my particular brand of logic than I am into the sensitive stuff. I need to think about the person I know. I need to think about the situation. I can’t just spew out advice willy-nilly. I mean, what if I’m wrong?
So, getting back to my story, the big guy has told me his feelings, and I’m stunned into silence for a second before I say something flip and jokey. Yeah, I’m graceful like that.
We go our separate ways, and then it hits me what I just did. But I tell myself to just let it go. Then, five minutes later, I find myself calling him on his cell. He doesn’t pick up. I hang up without leaving a message.
There, a clear sign that I shouldn’t worry about it. It’s nothing. He’s already forgotten about it.
Two hours later I get an email from him thanking me for taking care of something for him.
There, a clear sign that he forgives me for being a butt head. I'll just put it out of my mind...
Five minutes later, I find myself emailing him back:
“Hey, I tried to call you but figured that what I had to say was completely inappropriate. But since you've come to expect "inappropriate" from me,..”
And I wrote that I was sorry I'd brushed him off and that he didn’t deserve that. And then I wrote that I understood where he was coming from and why.
And I do.
I mean, I’ve got problems.
We all have problems.
And whether we feel qualified to give advice or if we just listen when someone reaches out to us, it’s kind of our responsibility to look out for the people who trust us with their problems, too.
Yeah, right... Wait. Does he mean he doesn't think I'm smart, or does he mean that he doesn't think I have trouble with dating?
Anyway, the second of the reasons the article gave for this problem is that smart people think they deserve love just because of their accomplishments. I emailed Eric back and told him that I thought I deserved love just because I'm hot. Ha ha.
So, the Boy is cooking dinner for a girl tonight. I felt a brief glow of pride for having raised such a gentleman before he gave me a crooked smile and told me that this girl’s boyfriend just cheated on her, and he wanted to give her a good night. I blinked. The Boy is trying to move in on some chick who's just had her ego walloped.
Before I let myself get started in on the whole “that’s just as sleazy as Ben Affleck asking J-Lo to marry him before the ink on her last marriage license was dry and please don't be that guy” speech, I bit my tongue and said, “That’s nice of you.”
He’s at that age when you have to let them be their own person and make their own mistakes. If this is the worst he does, I think I did an okay job. But, boy, it’s hard to let go.
I think I must come off as a sensitive person people can talk to.
I have no idea where people would get that idea either.
Here’s what happened:
I was talking with a co-worker/friend the other day. We hadn’t seen each other for a while, and we’re both terribly busy. He supervises this huge department, and he’s a really strong, gruff man. You have to be when you’re in charge of that many people, right?
I get a kick out of verbally sparring with him, and we have our days where we'll just email back and forth before daily demands pull us back into the real world.
So, I ask him to take some time off to go with me to take care of something for this project we’re working on together. “We can grab a bite on our way. Get you away from the hustle and bustle of the office.”
Then, I realize that he may have taken that as me asking him out. Ridiculous. I know this. You know this. But does he?
So, I do what I always do when I’m worried about blurring lines. I ask him how he and his girl are doing. Okay, this may also send the wrong message, but it always makes me feel better. And he tells me they’re good, and then he tells me something personal. Not personal, like, TMI. Personal, like, these are my feelings.
Now when someone flips open their latest issue for me, and I don't already know the person really, really well, my mind goes completely blank. And this is not the first time it’s happened. Recently, another man told me he and his wife were having problems. Another told me he regularly cheated on his wife. Another told me he thought his wife was cheating on him.
See what I mean? What kind of vibe am I giving off that people think I know what the heck I’m talking about? Or that I’d know what to say? Or that I’d know what they should do? Well, except the guy who keeps cheating. Him I’d like to tell to either keep it in his pants or cut his wife loose so she has a shot at something real with someone who loves her. I mean, holy crap! I’m just as clueless as the next person when it comes to relationships.
It’s not that I don’t care. I do. I just don’t immediately know what to do with all these problems. I’m really more into my particular brand of logic than I am into the sensitive stuff. I need to think about the person I know. I need to think about the situation. I can’t just spew out advice willy-nilly. I mean, what if I’m wrong?
So, getting back to my story, the big guy has told me his feelings, and I’m stunned into silence for a second before I say something flip and jokey. Yeah, I’m graceful like that.
We go our separate ways, and then it hits me what I just did. But I tell myself to just let it go. Then, five minutes later, I find myself calling him on his cell. He doesn’t pick up. I hang up without leaving a message.
There, a clear sign that I shouldn’t worry about it. It’s nothing. He’s already forgotten about it.
Two hours later I get an email from him thanking me for taking care of something for him.
There, a clear sign that he forgives me for being a butt head. I'll just put it out of my mind...
Five minutes later, I find myself emailing him back:
“Hey, I tried to call you but figured that what I had to say was completely inappropriate. But since you've come to expect "inappropriate" from me,..”
And I wrote that I was sorry I'd brushed him off and that he didn’t deserve that. And then I wrote that I understood where he was coming from and why.
And I do.
I mean, I’ve got problems.
We all have problems.
And whether we feel qualified to give advice or if we just listen when someone reaches out to us, it’s kind of our responsibility to look out for the people who trust us with their problems, too.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Ebb and Flow
Went to see Lily last night. She was busy painting this chair in bright green and blue with plans to finish it off by painting a palm on the backrest to make it really special for an auction at her daughter’s school parents’ association annual bash.
I love that she’s so creative. Right now, I'm watching this candle burn in an old coffee can that she’d punched holes in to make this gorgeous design before giving it to me as an impromptu gift. She has this way of making simple things beautiful that just humbles me.
Lily and I had just gotten started with our weekly “so what have you been doing?” when Dog pushed open her door and barreled in all wagging tail and gleeful barks. He had followed my scent over to her place after having gotten through the front door that I must have left cracked and through the front gate, that I must have left unlatched.
Dog’s got some severe separation anxiety going on. I came home yesterday to find my bed destroyed, and it’s like he’s super glued to my hip. What a weirdo! Not sure what’s up with him. I’m fairly certain the breeder’s guarantee didn’t come with a neurosis clause, so I suppose I’m stuck with him now…
Tonight, we critiqued a story written by this 20-something man in my writing workshop. In his story, he explored love affairs at different stages. There was a couple who were dating, a newlywed couple, two people who had been long married and just finished raising their children, and then an elderly couple.
This guy’s story conveyed such a negative view on relationships. All the couples were screwed up or on the way to being screwed up. The author is so nice, but his take on relationships just made me sad. I really wanted to be wrong about his story. So I told him what I thought he was trying to say, and, dammit, he said I was right.
He said that people settle and stay in relationships because it’s easier than starting over. And, I agreed with him that, you know, some people do.
Then I gave him my argument.
I told him that relationships evolve. And what can appear on the outside as “settling” may in fact just be ebb and flow. You have to know going in that you probably will not always be in love. I mean, who could possibly sustain that? But as long as there’s still love, isn’t that what counts?
I went on to tell him that I don’t believe that the quality of a relationship can, or should, be judged by a person who’s not a part of it. Often, it’s the things that outsiders aren’t privileged to see, and couldn’t possibly understand, that make a relationship work.
I said that whether it’s being with the person who can make you feel loved just by resetting the timer on the coffee maker for you the night before you have to get up extra early or being lucky enough to get to wake up every morning with the person who can make your heart beat faster just by squeezing your hand, all relationships will ebb and flow.
But if you’re still clinging to the beach with your hands dug into the sand, even when things are going through a particularly long ebb,.. Well, that’s more about being convinced than it is about settling, isn’t it?
So, then, I caught my breath and told this man with the dim view of love and any possibility of a happy long-term commitment that I hoped that someday, someone would show him he was wrong.
And, you know what?
He just smiled at me, and said, "I hope you're right."
I love that she’s so creative. Right now, I'm watching this candle burn in an old coffee can that she’d punched holes in to make this gorgeous design before giving it to me as an impromptu gift. She has this way of making simple things beautiful that just humbles me.
Lily and I had just gotten started with our weekly “so what have you been doing?” when Dog pushed open her door and barreled in all wagging tail and gleeful barks. He had followed my scent over to her place after having gotten through the front door that I must have left cracked and through the front gate, that I must have left unlatched.
Dog’s got some severe separation anxiety going on. I came home yesterday to find my bed destroyed, and it’s like he’s super glued to my hip. What a weirdo! Not sure what’s up with him. I’m fairly certain the breeder’s guarantee didn’t come with a neurosis clause, so I suppose I’m stuck with him now…
Tonight, we critiqued a story written by this 20-something man in my writing workshop. In his story, he explored love affairs at different stages. There was a couple who were dating, a newlywed couple, two people who had been long married and just finished raising their children, and then an elderly couple.
This guy’s story conveyed such a negative view on relationships. All the couples were screwed up or on the way to being screwed up. The author is so nice, but his take on relationships just made me sad. I really wanted to be wrong about his story. So I told him what I thought he was trying to say, and, dammit, he said I was right.
He said that people settle and stay in relationships because it’s easier than starting over. And, I agreed with him that, you know, some people do.
Then I gave him my argument.
I told him that relationships evolve. And what can appear on the outside as “settling” may in fact just be ebb and flow. You have to know going in that you probably will not always be in love. I mean, who could possibly sustain that? But as long as there’s still love, isn’t that what counts?
I went on to tell him that I don’t believe that the quality of a relationship can, or should, be judged by a person who’s not a part of it. Often, it’s the things that outsiders aren’t privileged to see, and couldn’t possibly understand, that make a relationship work.
I said that whether it’s being with the person who can make you feel loved just by resetting the timer on the coffee maker for you the night before you have to get up extra early or being lucky enough to get to wake up every morning with the person who can make your heart beat faster just by squeezing your hand, all relationships will ebb and flow.
But if you’re still clinging to the beach with your hands dug into the sand, even when things are going through a particularly long ebb,.. Well, that’s more about being convinced than it is about settling, isn’t it?
So, then, I caught my breath and told this man with the dim view of love and any possibility of a happy long-term commitment that I hoped that someday, someone would show him he was wrong.
And, you know what?
He just smiled at me, and said, "I hope you're right."
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