Malpighian Corpuscle

short update

2012-02-29T22:14:00.000-05:00

I've been here sporadically. So much in my head and so little time to get it all out.

I think I could maybe fall for Mr. Blackbelt.

I remember when an old coworker went through a scorching divorce. The pain was the visible part. Not so apparent was the healing. One day he had a girlfriend. The private part, the reopening, the re-trusting, the sharing of experiences and pain to divide the burden in half and the laughter to lighten the insides again... that all happened behind the scenes.

We're doing that. We're sharing. It's easy. It's a slow process, but there is an amount of trust and comfort that surprises me. I gushed about it to my sister and BFF but I'm less willing to gush about it here, right now. I don't want the underbelly of this sweet connection splayed open just yet. At least not until I understand where I am inside about it. But this is growing as a friendship and not just an attraction and that feels serene.

emotional availability is HOT.

2012-02-27T23:52:00.000-05:00

Just had date #4 with Mr. Blackbelt. It's like all the early reservations I usually have seem to be melting away with this one. We connect beautifully; things just feel... right for this pace and this kind of connection. He's attentive and funny and thoughtful and he makes me feel appreciated and valued. There's a genuine sweetness about him that's very endearing.

I had a bunch of other dates this past week, they all went well and I can imagine some nice friendships growing out of them, but this one somehow feels different.

So what stands out? How we seem to want to connect in similar ways. That whole reciprocity thing. I've been thinking about how much timing matters -- how much both partners have to be on the same page not just with attraction but with how they want to connect. Like, you both have to want to talk, text and see eachother with a similar consistency or someone will feel left out in the cold.

This elusive but oh so essential ingredient -- emotional availability -- has been off for me almost this entire 2 year post-separation state. Either someone wanted more of me than I could give or I wanted more than someone could offer. Timing. No one's fault, we do the best they can, right? But the antidote to longing is not pouring energy into the broken thing hoping one day it'll work, but facing reality.

"The first misconception is that everyone has the same capacity for intimacy. We've been raised to believe that every person can fall deeply in love (this part might well be true) and that when this happens, he or she will be transformed into a different person (this part is not!). Regardless of what they were like before, when people find "the one," they supposedly become adoring, faithful, supportive partners -- free of qualms about the relationship. It's tempting to forget that, in fact, people have very different capacities for intimacy. And when one person's need for closeness is met with another person's need for independence and distance, a lot of unhappiness ensues." From Attached: The New Science of Adult Attachment

So far, this isn't moving too fast or alarming me, it just feels really easy. Natural. It's quite nice. Date #5 Friday.

Hooonestyyy (sorry, I cannot SEE that word without channeling Billy Joel)

2012-02-22T06:00:00.001-05:00

So, date #3 with Mr. Blackbelt, the guy I met just three days ago, was last night. Rapport is easy and there are little things about him I find sweet, like the way he grabbed the leftovers and carried them to the car or how he goes out of his way to come to me. But sometimes I still feel naive in this process and not always sure about signs. He invited me to a formal work dance. I said "email me the date so I can make sure I don't have other plans" and he responded playfully, hugging me, "maybe I'll ask you to break those plans." Haha, except I don't break plans unless I'm sick. But then again, he was kidding.

He said later he didn't want to hurt me. I don't know if that meant he carried guilt over hurting someone else or what, but it's a sign to me to continue maintaining a little distance while we get to know eachother. But I appreciate the honesty. I told him he didn't owe anyone anything; the only thing we can do is be honest with ourselves and others, even if those truths are hard for someone else to hear.

awesome date canceled out sucky date

2012-02-21T20:07:00.003-05:00

Yesterday's lunch date was SO BAD I said to myself "OMG I am never breaking my 'coffee first' rule!!" The guy acted like making conversation was as terrifying as leaping out of a plane. His head swiveled wildly the entire time and he reached for and rattled everything within grasping or kicking distance. Conversation was awkward and full of unsmiling, hard stares. Like:

Him: So, do you have any siblings?

me: Yes! I have a sister who lives in NJ.

Him (staring, unsmiling): *crickets*

I kept looking at my watch and saying "Don't you have to go back to work now?" He said, "I'm good! I told them I'd be late!"

When the torture finally ended, I realized when I got home that I stank like rotting salmon and goat curry (even though that was not what I actually consumed). I aired out my car, took a shower and immediately threw everything into the wash, even my boots & jacket. I felt robbed of a leisurely afternoon off.

The evening date was with someone I just met the day before for a quick coffee. (Both of us had gotten small drinks to make it fast and then enjoyed the conversation so much, ended up chatting for 3 hours.)

Dinner was a completely different experience than lunch. Date #2 has a very calm and sweet demeanor and carries himself with confidence. He also seems kind. We closed out the restaurant chatting and then sat in the parking lot laughing at funny videos. Date #3 will be tonight.

what do you need?

2012-02-20T11:46:00.005-05:00

I leave out a lot of details from my posts to protect other people's privacy. I try to just concentrate on what I'm processing -- there's no reason to talk about what someone else said or did because that leaves them open for judgment. And since they can't present their side too here (I mean, this is MY journal), it feels unfair. Also, this is about me learning, not blaming, and I can't grow if I'm not humbly willing to examine my part.

But I have been thinking lately about how much of our circumstances contribute to our well-being. A comment from an earlier post touched there and then used chemistry as an example:

"The directions said to heat the components slowly over an open flame, and you used what? The microwave? No wonder it blew up."

Maybe the thing to learn is what you need.

I once heard someone say, "I had a really shitty past. But I learned that I need this type of life, these types of friends, that much sleep, this kind of food, a special schedule, this sort of job, this kind of free time, etc. So now I make sure I have those things. And my life is pretty awesome. I'm happy."

Knowing what you need means you can, well, go after it. How much of the suck comes from trying to change the shape of the unshapeable? Or forego our needs?

Try an exercise with me. What do you need? What feels good -- what kind of schedule, how much sleep, what kind of connections, etc.? You don't have to list it below. But think about it. And I will too. Awareness is half the battle, right?

steeped in suck

2012-02-19T22:37:00.006-05:00

That time when you have PMS and a little bit of a headache and a sore throat and the day was long and your worries heavy and accomplishments few, and then you think about things he said and ruminate and decide you meant nothing to him after all? And then, feeling hurt, you text him something you suddenly need to know NOW to make the past make sense, but your tone is bitchy, which is totally self-defeating because all you want is reassurance and connection -- but you fire it off anyway?

Yeah. Not my proudest moment.

And now I sit here, steeped in suck and I don't know how to apologize besides lame admittance of my failings.

It feels like true sorry-ness means you realize a weakness and fix it. But there's such a long road between realization and actualization and I'm only halfway there, even after all this time.

I know what I suck at now. But I haven't fixed everything yet. Maybe I'll never fix it. Maybe I'll never stop being insecure and sensitive. The thought makes me feel ashamed. The fucking new age shit people email me says stuff like "you are what you think!" "write the story of yourself you want people to see!" and I look at this blog and facepalm. Inner me can be so messy and raw sometimes.

Well, maybe that's what it means to be human. I don't really like the raw parts but I don't know how to numb them or transform them into things of beauty, say, by swirling them onto a canvas. I can only write.

Once, staring at a complex painting, I murmured with envy, "I wish I could create like that." The artist looked at me, surprised. He confessed that painting, despite stereotypes, was actually a brutally painful process where images poured out of him like tears. He created because he needed to siphon out the darkness. It's when we can't get it out that it hurts us, I guess.

Writing is like that for me. I get it out and then it's light again inside me.

But back to the text. We go back and forth a bit and then talk.

Because of my tone, this could have turned into an argument but he KNOWS me. "You're calamatizing," he points out. "You're rewriting stuff to remember only the bad parts." His voice calms me. He knew just what to say. He always did. I realize I'm not mad at him as much as I am at me, for things I wish I'd done differently now that hindsight revealed their damage.

I once read that when people in a relationship (any relationship) butt up against friction, they're also butting up against the edge of greater intimacy. But there's a little-girl fairytale part of my brain that feels like good relationships don't have misunderstandings and tension. So friction scares me. Not enough to recede from the need to get it out on the table all the time, but enough to worry about driving him away or being unlovable.

They say you should treat life like a playground. But even on playgrounds there are fights and tears and bruised knees. But we get back up and keep playing.

I almost didn't call.

2012-02-18T16:53:00.001-05:00

I almost didn't call. One of the guys I'd been messaging with online sent me his phone number last night. He was online too and wanted to talk. At first I thought, meh, some other time. Besides, I LOATHE the phone. I am almost never motivated to talk to ANYONE unless trapped in the car for hours. And I don't usually even get to the phone part with someone new until a date's been set. I like to avoid developing too much of a connection without meeting first. But last night I thought oh, whatever, and called.

And this totally hot voice picked up and caught me off-guard. I thought about that time my best girlfriend and I played voicemails for eachother, giggling and swooning over deep, husky, male tones.

I also noted that he didn't seem standoffish or guarded, which is not uncommon when strangers regard eachother for the first time. His voice was warm and welcoming and we instantly fell into conversation. It felt like I'd known him for decades. Five minutes into the call, I settled in for the long haul. I threw a pillow on my shaggy rug, sprawled out and spent the next hour and a half laughing my head off.

me: "So, I forgot what your profile even said you did. What's a typical day like for you?"

him: "Well, I get home and immediately start drinking. It's training season and... wait, I mean water, not alcohol -- I'm hydrating! I'm training for a trialthlon."

me (giggling): "I got a message earlier from someone who described their body type as "jacked." Is that a drop-down menu option or something? I never saw that before."

him: "Well, I dunno... MY body isn't "jacked." I do have six-pack abs though, under the fat."

Ha! We talked about food poisoning and what it's like when you're so sick, you start scanning the road for emergency pull-off spots and begin a desperate mantra of negotiations: "OMG if I have to pull over ohgodohgodpleasenopleaseno there's a shrub ohgodohgodplease I'll be home in 4 minutes omgpleaseplease..." And also that time I had a zit so large it hijacked my face and shocked strangers, one of which who stared, pointed and asked, "Good lord, what IS that???" (Which is maybe not the best story to tell someone you want to be attracted to you, lest they start imagining the pockmarked landscape awaiting their lips. So if he doesn't call back, I'll know why. heh.)

I think he's a software engineer, like my ex. Which would be a little strange. But I'm not going to be all, "um, you have the same profession as my ex so uh, no."

However, he lives an hour and a half away. I have no idea when we're going to actually meet, if we ever do, but man, I enjoyed that conversation. I got off the phone thinking about something another girlfriend had said when I described a different lukewarm date. She said, "I don't know. When I get home, I want to feel like 'wow, I cannot wait to see that guy again.' If you don't have that by date #4, maybe that's your answer."

sometimes he loved me too

2012-02-16T21:30:00.095-05:00

Little bit of rehashing, this morning, with an ex. I can see in the friction we both still wanted to be understood. Maybe that's why feeling understood can be so elusive -- what we really wanted was to feel forgiven.

I was tempted to reply to an impolite comment with an equal tone. I wanted to explain and justify myself all over again. But I thought about what it'd be like to open an email like that. How, if I were a third party and he regaled the conversation to me later, I'd see his hurt and wish there'd been more empathy in the exchange. Like how when I watch a movie and see a death avenged, I'll think, "the avenging could go on forever, can't someone step away from their pain?" I mean, what's more important? To be heard, or to have a bond?

It's so easy to repeat yourself, thinking, "well, if I just say it THIS way, they'll finally get it." There's that seductive pull towards wanting to feel understood. I'm not always good at this, but I didn't follow my impulse. Instead, I tried to be a friend even when the words stung.

It's hard to root for someone when you're hurt, especially when you're feeling wronged. But wrong is subjective, right? Neither one of us always did right by the other. But in the end, I loved him. And sometimes he loved me too. And that's all that matters.

Forgiveness is a funny thing. It warms the heart and cools the sting. ~William Arthur Ward

A Valentine's Poem

2012-02-14T06:00:00.000-05:00

One of my best girlfriends just sent this to me. It makes a perfect Valentine's poem, I think. She wrote "sounds like a real love poem to me." Yes. Yes it does.

. . .

She let go.

Without a thought or a word,

she let go. She let go of the fear.

She let go of the judgments. She

let go of the confluence of

opinions swarming around her

head. She let go of the committee

of indecision within her. She let

go of all the 'right' reasons.

Wholly and completely, without

hesitation or worry, she just let go.

She didn't ask anyone for advice .

She didn't read a book on how to

let go. She didn't search the

scriptures. She just let go. She let

go of all the memories that held

her back. She let go of all the

anxiety that kept her from moving

forward. She let go of the

planning and all of the

calculations about how to

do it just right.

She didn't promise to let go. She

didn't journal about it. She didn't

write the projected date in her

Day-Timer. She made no public

announcement and put no ad in

the paper. She didn't check the

weather report or read her daily

horoscope. She just let go.

She didn't analyze whether she

should let go. She didn't call her

friends to discuss the matter. She

didn't do a five-step Spiritual

Mind Treatment. She didn't call

the prayer line. She didn't utter

one word. She just let go.

No one was around when it

happened. There was no

applause or congratulations. No

one thanked her or praised her.

No one noticed a thing. Like a

leaf falling from a tree, she just

let go. There was no effort. There

was no struggle. It wasn't good

and it wasn't bad. It was what it

was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let

it all be. A small smile came over

her face. A light breeze blew

through her. And the sun and the

moon shone forevermore.. ♥

~ Reverend Safire Rose

Does size really matter? (From an earlier discussion)

2012-02-11T14:54:00.003-05:00

This is from an interesting discussion on a friend's Google+ page. They wanted to know how people felt: did size really matter?

I know some people feel it does -- I've seen painfully honest blog comments that surprised me about various preferences. Before I'd read those, I'd almost unequivocally thought "well, of course size doesn't matter!" But I guess to some, it does. I've never dated anyone with micropenis (yes, it is an actual condition where the penis, erect, measures about 2.5 inches) so I dunno, but I think it's not so much about meeting specific physical requirements. (Though being in shape is always hot.)

For me, it's not size but chemistry, and chemistry is more related to having a special connection with someone than just pure pheromones. I've lusted after people with imperfect bodies because I adored their minds. I've never dealt with anomalies or modifications but my drive to love someone wholly is pretty strong, I think I could deal with issues. Self-consciousness might be more of a barrier than the thing itself because inhibitions can dampen flow of expression. Love and reassurance seem like good antidotes though. And not every romp has to be soul-soaring, it's the sharing that's the important part.

You know how they say sex is 10% of a relationship unless something is wrong with it, then it's 90%? I don't completely agree with the breakdown, but maybe it's 30/70 for me.

I don't necessarily mean that just because people have "chemistry" it means they understand what each other want & like -- that's part of the exploration part. Some of great chemistry seems to be tied to the willingness to be open and learn, not that you already know.

What do you think? Does size matter? (You can comment anonymously.)

10 things about me

2012-02-10T06:00:00.004-05:00

Some facts about me: (I posted these on twitter when the meme #10factsaboutme was going around.)

1. I enjoy washing clothes and dishes, but hate putting them away. (YES, I do actually really enjoy washing stuff. Please don't make me put it away.)

2. I almost never use an alarm clock. I just tell myself when to wake up. (Works unless *severely* sleep-deprived.)

3. I haven't worn a real bra in over a decade. Sports bras or halters only (SO much more comfortable!).

4. I dislike sandwiches, cheesesteaks, burgers, pasta and rice.

5. I would rather injure myself carrying ALL the groceries in at once than make two trips.

6. I've only hurled my guts twice in my life: once when I was 10, the other when I was 19.

7. I once had black curtains b/c I cannot sleep unless it's pitch black. Now I just sleep with a black cloth over my eyes.

8. I don't get seasick. I spent a week on an 1800s sailing vessel in a storm that made 95% of everyone on board sick but not me.

9. I'm so sensitive to food poisoning that I subject each leaf plucked off a salad bar to great scrutiny.

10. I haven't cut my hair in over a year.

Bonus factoid:

I haven't taken a bath in over a decade. I'm not a bath person. Last time I took one, I had the flu and was shivering so violently I couldn't stand it. I was freezing and wanted nothing more than to crawl into boiling hot water. I didn't care if I was going to cook myself. My temp spiked to 104 for a few days with that horrible flu but I found relief in that tub and man, that was awesome. (It was also after that flu that I began getting flu shots. Haven't been that sick since!)

If you do this on your blog too, I'd love to see your answers, keep me posted!

The "not so much" conversation.

2012-02-09T06:00:00.128-05:00

So, last Saturday I went on this date and found out the guy had dated a girlfriend a few years ago, before I knew her. But this was someone I'm close to, not a casual acquaintance. Someone I trust with details I don't even always share on this blog.

He'd asked me where I worked and when I told him, he replied, "Oh! I met someone from there, the girl I was dating a while back was his roommate." I said, "You're kidding. That guy is one of my best friends. And I'm close to her too. What a strange coincidence!"

I emailed her after the date to see how she felt about me dating her ex, and, while she didn't mind (what a sweetheart!), I decided it was just too weird. That might bother ME. If my bestie dated someone I'd been head over heels with once? I just can't really imagine it. I'm not sure if they had the head over heels thing, but he did say the subject of marriage had been discussed, so there must have been some level of closeness. Of course, whether or not to date a friend's ex depend on the friendship, the level of seriousness the couple shared, reason for breaking up, maybe even who did the breaking up, comfort levels, time, maturity and all sorts of stuff. But here, it felt wrong.

Some of happiness depends on good choices, right? To think "if I do this, where could this road lead?" Well, my brain fast-forwarded to us old and married and farting in front of eachother and then I saw us at her holiday party clinking glasses and eating rum balls and I though oh no. That's just too weird.

So, no.

He'd been saying stuff all night like "I never felt this way on a first date" and "Out of everyone I dated since my divorce a decade ago, you're... different." It's hard to tell if people are just... hopeful?... at this age and want to believe the searching will end or what, but although it started strange it did end on a nice note. We had a good comfort level and good conversation. But between the weirdness of knowing my friend along with other flags of pushiness, it felt like it'd be a good idea to follow my gut.

The next day, I contacted him and said I didn't want to pursue this further (and explained why). Here's how the conversation went:

Me: "I really appreciate you showing me a nice time on our date. I have been thinking that it doesn't feel like a good idea to go out again because [explanation]."

Him: "But!! That was so long ago! We didn't even date that long! It wasn't even that serious!! I don't even remember her last name!"

Um. According to her, they dated 1.5 years. And what about that whole marriage thing?

Here's a word of advice: How to land a woman? Tell her how insignificant everyone in your past was so she'll know she's next. Also, lie a little.

WINNING.

He kept calling later to "discuss" things (what's to discuss?) and I emailed him when I saw the second missed call. "I saw your calls and I'm just getting ready for bed, will call you tomorrow." He wrote back, "I would prefer to talk tonight." I felt annoyed and wanted to say, No. You don't GET your preference right now. I am going to sleep and I don't want a serious conversation minutes before I plan to zonk out. And I know it won't be 5 minutes. This is not an emergency and it will wait. If someone is that pushy after date one, well, good for my gut listening.

Bitch & Animal.

2012-02-07T21:12:00.000-05:00

Sunday's date

2012-02-06T19:02:00.002-05:00

Sunday was date #4 with the runner. I invited him to yoga recently and promptly regretted it when the instructor demanded we straddle the floor in an amphibian sex pose:

My primary thoughts during the entire class were, "The human body is not supposed to bend like that," "Ohghd," "F*CK!" and "Why does this mat smell like urine?"

Since he already witnessed the floor fucking from a previous session, I invited him again to Sunday's class. I mean, let it all hang out. Whatev.

Afterwards we grabbed frozen yogurt and chatted and, while this is too new of a connection to even know what to write about, I like that he is honest, gentle, open and even-tempered. He doesn't seem like a game-player or embittered. He has a sweetness about him that is endearing.

For some reason, though, neither of us can eat in eachother's presence. It's like we're too shy. We held our frozen yogurts stiffly and watched them melt together. Isn't that romantic? He told me, "I know you're really busy but I would love to spend a whole day with you" and I immediately thought "but when would I EAT*??" (*my favorite activity ever, besides sex and sleep.) I can't chow down if HE'S not, and maybe he's not because I'm not? It's kindof an embarrassing date conundrum that I've not quite experienced before. Even hugs are awkward; when we greet eachother we're stiff and shy. At this rate, we're about 3 months away from handholding. But he listens and his eyes are kind. So we will see.

Saturday's date

2012-02-05T12:34:00.001-05:00

Me, texting girlfriend: "Going on date. In case I get stabbed, here's the info for the police."

He picked me up from the metro and, after an introductory hug, offered me a bottle of juice. "Are you thirsty?" I looked at the half-consumed container. "No thanks!" "But it has vodka in it!" "Um, yeah, no thanks." I repeated. "Ohh, are you worried that I put something else in it? I just thought it'd be nice to have a little vodka before the show." "Yeah, that's not for me. Thanks though."

That's how the date started. I was more preoccupied by the germophobe aspect (the juice was thick and pulpy and had a backwashed appearance) than the fact that it might be spiked with rhohypnol or whether he was a closet alcoholic. Drink from someone's mouth before I even decided if I wanted to kiss it?? My mom would be proud, her lessons have transferred well.

We went to see a play and then strolled through the streets until we arrived at some jazz place. "You like jazz?" he asked. "Um, I don't know much jazz but sure, I'll give it a try."

I think in my head, jazz seemed like relaxing instrumental music.

I blame Kenny G.

However, the reality of my experience was more like:

Have you ever been in a crowd and allowed yourself to listen to the collective din of hundreds of separate conversations, effectively soaking in an ultimate cacophany of the human voice? This jazz was like the musical equivalent. There were people playing piano, trumpet, base and drums but none of them seemed to have anything to do with each other. And the audience was so lame -- no one was even slightly nodding to the beat. (Was there even a beat?) The room was full of slack-jawed white people staring disaffectedly at the stage, the most still and unmoved group of musical listeners I have ever seen. Sometimes they'd start clapping during a set for no reason at all, while continuing to look bored. I didn't understand.

The musicians, though, at least looked INTO their playing. The pianist exhibited the most passionate display of the repeated striking of a single piano key that I have ever seen.

My date was the only one bobbing his head, fully immersed in the experience. (Then again, HE drank all the juice so maybe the rohypnol was working.)

Halfway through the performance, he put his hand on the small of my back and tried to slide it up my shirt. I tugged it back to neutral ground but he protested, "I just want to feel your skin!" I replied "That feels uncomfortable for a first date." (Something you should know about me: I don't have "rules." Comfort is comfort. Either it's there or it's not, and, while it usually increases the more times you see someone, that's not a given. I rely heavily on my gut.) He pressed a little more before I said, "Listen, it's very important to me that if I say I'm not comfortable with something, you respect those messages." He got very respectful then and we spent the rest of the show absorbing the music. (Or, rather, he absorbed it while I entertained myself by observing the dispassionate audience, which turned out to be almost as much fun as I thought the music was going to be.)

Afterwards we strolled to a food joint, scored a booth and chatted. Conversation was easy. "We have to have some differences!" he cried. "We have too much in common!" "Okay, want to know a difference?" I offered. "I didn't really like that jazz," I confessed. He laughed, at least not taking it personally. "Well, that wasn't the best jazz for a beginner."

Towards the end of the night, he offered that I could sleep over. "You can stay in the guest room! I'll be good!"

My reply, 2:15-2:26:

The eve was fun though, despite the awkward bits (which at least could be talked about). But I discovered that he had dated a good friend for a while pretty seriously and I don't think I'll feel comfortable about going on a second date.

We both matter, don't we?

2012-02-02T22:37:00.002-05:00

So, the past two days I've been wrestling great monsters inside my head. How do we forgive ourselves for mistakes and move forward? How do we come to a sense of peace when we feel like a fool?

I sank into bed the previous few nights, wrecked from, I dunno, food poisoning (or stress?) and I hadn't really slept since the awful "I don't care about you anymore" conversation.

I pounded at my core, hating myself for wanting, for trying, for believing.

I ache inside. My heart hurts. I've been cycling through the stages of grief but I'm not really an angry person so it doesn't feel good to stay in an angry place.

What does feel good? Thinking about how, when I try, I really try. I give my all. Am I a shitty person for loving so hard? Maybe a foolish person but damn if there aren't worse things to be.

I will remember we both tried, as much as we were capable. I choose to hold onto the joy and wish for his happiness. Because in the end, we both matter, don't we?

- Posted from my phone

that's it.

2012-01-31T21:33:00.002-05:00

The "closure" conversations may be the most painful conversations of all. Because you abandon all hope at the door. It's over. It's really over. It's never coming back.

But they're also the most merciful.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.”
― Pablo Neruda

Aight, I'll talk about it.

2012-01-28T23:59:00.001-05:00

Aight, I'll talk about it.

I don't feel like going into huge detail about the incident, but basically I came across something from an ex that seemed to rub the message "I'M SLEEPING WITH SOMEONE ELSE!!" into my face and it hurt so bad I spent most of yesterday morning trying to extract a knife from my windpipe. Which is decidedly not a fun way to spend a Friday.

But this isn't a NEW shitty feeling. It's happened a zillion times before. It comes accompanied with the horrible, awful, no good, very bad feeling of rejection. The "I'm not good enough but ________ (<-- insert prettier, bustier, more charming, etc. girl here) is" (because THEY are together, and WE are not). See? PROOF.

Even though the incident turned out to not be what I thought, I still need to examine this frailty of mine. Because the underlying issue is the same: how wrecked I get at the idea that someone I still love is intimate with another.

I've been trying to shift my perception of rejection since it triggers so much hurt and imagine it instead like a sweater.

If I try on a sweater, maybe I LOVE it, right? Maybe the knit is perfect! Maybe I'm excited about it but oh no, it's summertime and too hot.

Or maybe my arms are too long or it's too tight in the shoulders.

Does this mean the sweater sucks? Or I suck? No, it's just not a good fit.

If I could think about relationships this way, wouldn't that be freeing? Instead of me automatically assuming I'm not good enough. I mean, aren't we all trying others on to see how we fit? Some matches are better than others?

Until I figure this out, it's going to keep stinging for the rest of my life. Because everyone I love, or once loved, is going to either be with me, or be with someone else, and since there's only one BF at a time for me, this is a long string of people to torturously imagine having sex with other people.

I think the key is to love yourself so much and so hard that you take care of yourself. You fail and fall and fight and get the fuck back up like the line in this poem (towards the end):

And I will say: you are beautiful. And I love you so much.

I don't want to talk about it.

2012-01-27T09:21:00.000-05:00

"If you talk about pain, people will think you’re in pain." Penelope Trunk

I don't want to talk about it, then.

I guess time will tell

2012-01-26T20:12:00.004-05:00

Today, I unsubscribed from my ex's blog. I used to like to see how he was doing but I don't think I want to know anymore. At least not right now.

So I've been going on some dates, they went great but part of me feels blah inside. Plans exist to get together again and even meet more new people but I don't know... the thing that happened the first few times I tried this is happening again. It's like I long for closeness and I get as far as the "hope" part and then I stall.

Maybe it's the unfamiliarity. Nothing exists yet to draw me back. We don't know eachother yet; there's no bond and no sense of comfort. At least not yet.

So I'll keep trying.

I guess time will tell.

. . .

A memory:

I was lying next to aqua-eyed boy while Louis CK played in background. We were howling with laughter and suddenly I looked over at him, mid-laugh, and drank in his handsome, happy smile. I felt that rush of warmth, that intangible thing that ties me close.

I keep trying to put my finger on it, what is this thing?

Where does a sense of comfort come from?

I remember when he was foreign to me. And now I look at some feature and I know him, I understand him in some way that's difficult to put into words. That knowing feels sacred in some way.

Maybe it is the source of that joy.

. . .

Another memory:

The dark-haired boy held something in his hand and I looked at his forearm, there is something sexy about a man's forearm. I know that sounds crazy but there's something intimate about noticing someone's body; maybe because I don't let myself linger on those things unless my feelings cross into desire. So I sat there, allowing myself to see his smooth skin, thinking about how he was foreign to me just then. But maybe one day he won't be. And I thought, well, I guess time will tell.

I'll be brief. This is the kind of day I had:

2012-01-24T19:48:00.000-05:00

RAGE!!

2012-01-18T23:40:00.006-05:00

You know how a MILLION little annoyances can grate away at your mood until you're in a seething fury? Here's what tipped me over the edge today: trying to FUCKING CANCEL A MAGAZINE I DIDN'T SUBSCRIBE TO.

I have been trying to cancel this subscription for months. So, today I go to pick up my mail and that damned magazine is jamming up the whole box. I didn't feel like paying more for a larger slot just to house their shitty, uninteresting magazine so I figured I'd CALL them since cancelling via mail hasn't worked.

It took 20 minutes but I finally found a person to help me. I spent a long time on hold before she returned to the line apologetically. "I'm sorry, the system isn't letting me do this, let me transfer you to someone else." "Sure!" I chirp (because I'm not enraged yet) and the line softly clicks over to a dull, asexual voice saying... (wait for it...):

"This number is no longer in service."

This person WORKS at the magazine and yet doesn't know she's transferring people to a nonworking number?? How come so many of the numbers PRINTED in their shitty magazine have a weird busy signal or don't work? This issue was delivered today, I mean, don't they know?

Sigh. Whatever.

Irritated, I gently clicked the "end call" button (the most unsatisfying thing about a cell phone ever -- you can never SLAM the phone down) and start calling more numbers from the magazine's publisher list.

Finally I reached an automated machine, annoyed that even after all this, I still cannot talk to a person. But okay, it seems to have located my "subscription."

"What would you like to do? You can say "Order another subscription, cancel my subscription, or change my address."

I reply (extra super clear and loud because I'm talking to a machine) "Cancel. My. Subscription."

"Okay," automaton replies.

I felt the exasperation beginning to melt away at the seemingly smooth process thus far.

It's important to note here that I LOATHE the phone, even when I get a real person, and so I avoid using it as much as possible. I don't even chat on it for fun. Automated systems are LAYERS of hell below that. I'd enjoy extracting my appendix before I'd submit to a phone tree happily. In fact, the only way I cope with phone trees is by ignoring them. I stick my nose in a book (assuredly NOT listening) while the robot chants, "Please listen to our menu as our options have changed" and, while not listening, I engage "0" absentmindedly as many times as it takes until I get through. So the fact that I WAS actually submitting to and moving through this system was not a minor triumph.

I got to the final part of the process -- it was ALMOST done -- and heard the following recorded message:

"This subscription was made through a 3rd party service and we cannot honor your request at this time."

Wha--?? YOU CAN'T FUCKING UNSUBSCRIBE ME?

Who fucking subscribed me? Can I tear their face off? I just spent a HALF HOUR trying to unsubscribe from your piece of shit magazine that I never asked for in the first place and now you won't LET me? Oh no. Just... no. You don't own me. Mama will NOT lie down. Fine, I will just change my fucking address then.

I shoulda listed the new address as "1234 Eat Shit Way, Fuck You, Motherfucker 07724" but the automated system verifies authentic addresses instantly. So I had to supply a real address. (Apologies to the auto repair shop on Crain Highway.)

. . .

Earlier I was at the doctor's and someone turned to me and said "OMG you look like Alannis Morissette!!" (Unshowered and without makeup??) I replied, "Thanks! But I'm not really that angry."

But then I came home and tried to make those fucking phone calls and I thought YEAH, if I had an ounce of talent, I'd make a whole album RIGHT. NOW.

....

Followup: a friend read my post and sent me a useful resource on how you can counteract this kind of thing if it's happening to you:

"Under the Pandering Advertisements Statute, 39 USC 3008, you can apply for a Prohibitory Order from the US Postal Service against any mailer who sends you an advertisement which you consider to be "erotically arousing or sexually provocative and therefore is a pandering advertisement"....Note that it is *your* determination of "erotically arousing or sexually provocative", not that of the US Postal Service or anybody else." More -->

This makes the stress hormones I exuded reliving the experience worth it!

Why parts of the Internet will go dark on January 18

2012-01-17T06:00:00.003-05:00

Have you heard of SOPA - the Stop Online Piracy Act? It *sounds* like a good idea -- piracy bad! -- but a closer look at this act reveals something terrifying that may change the Internet as we know it.

Google (this includes blogger!), Facebook, Yahoo, AOL, Wordpress, Reddit, The Wikipedia, The Cheezeburger Network, Boing Boing, Twitter, Ebay, LinkedIn & some other major players are considering going dark to take a stand against SOPA because the wording of this proposed bill is so vague & penalties so steep that there may be potential for much abuse. Like, just *linking* to something might be enough to get you in trouble.

Right now the bill looks like it's going to be approved as the majority of senators are in favor of it. We need to reach 41 more senators to make a difference. The senate votes Jan. 24. Here's what you can do:

This page lets you put in a zip code and click a button to notify your local senators.

Please help keep the internet free.

https://wfc2.wiredforchange.com/o/9042/p/dia/action/public/?action_KEY=8173

Lady Gaga's shitty "Pokerface" lyrics (though yes, I still adore that song)

2012-01-16T23:50:00.003-05:00

Driving home listening to Lady Gaga's Pokerface, it struck me just HOW shitty the lyrics are.

"Luck and intuition play the cards with Spades to start
And after he's been hooked I'll play the one that's on his heart."

Here, love is a game and the ultimate power is to possess someone's heart. Then what? Stomp on it in stilettos? Make him forever long for you? Longing is power. We are such a fucking power-hungry species.

Then I contrast that to Jack Johnson's Cocoon.

"But you're bound to win
'Cause if I'm betting against you
I think I'd rather lose."

Sad lyrics of resignation: I love you too much to fight you pulling away.

I don't want power in love. It might be true that the person who loves less controls the relationship, but the one who loves more can allow themselves to feel more joy.

Sharing hearts is a gift and how lucky am I to have loved.... and it takes a not insignificant measure of awareness and strength to recognize when the balance is uneven and let go.

Ouch. (AKA why you should listen to what he says, because he's right.)

2012-01-15T12:29:00.001-05:00

Ouch. And boy, @hilarityinshoes has good taste. She pointed out the below blog post and it's so amazing I'm not even linking to it quietly but rather devoting a whole post to it:

"This situation is one of the only times in life that a person will look you in the eye and tell you, outright, that if you stick around, he’s going to screw you over. This is one of the only times in the course of your entire adulthood when someone is going to tell you he has no good intentions where your heart is concerned; that this is going exactly nowhere. This man is doing you a favor. You should be grateful. But no. You don’t see that. You see a challenge. You think you’re gonna change this man’s mind."

More -->

Friending a blogger

2012-01-08T11:36:00.000-05:00

Why it can be dangerous to friend a blogger:

"So, I have this big adam's apple, right? And so I'm a little sensitive to it being crushed. And so, this one time..."

"OMG can I blog about this?"

hard lessons

2012-01-07T11:31:00.001-05:00

What I learned growing up with someone in the household who can be excruciatingly difficult:

The amount of love someone has for you doesn't influence how they treat you or if they do terrible, hurtful things. They can still love you deeply and yet, in their damaged way, act incorrigibly.

The good thing about realizing this is how much less power it has. Because it's so easy to think "I must be a horrid person to deserve such treatment" -- especially when you know they're capable of such goodness too.

But pain makes people do dreadful things and, well, sometimes you're just in the crossfire.

yeah, that.

2012-01-06T13:33:00.000-05:00

I'm in a weird place today. Last night I was leaving a doctor's office in a crummy mood, so anxious over the visit that I registered, for the first time in my life ever, high blood pressure. HIGH blood pressure? Usually it's so low, I'm not even allowed to donate blood. I get that this is temporary, so I'm not worried about it long-term but I still drove home feeling extraordinarily alone. I don't HAVE anyone if something goes down anymore. That's what it feels like. If I get sick. If my car breaks down on the interstate at midnight. (And I'm *always* on the interstate at midnight.) Shut up. I was feeling sorry for myself. (Add that to the unwanted list of skills I've developed.)

But then friends called, reminding me I wasn't alone. And aqua-eyed boy invited me for dinner. I texted back, "I'm not at my best right now." He replied, "You saw me when I wasn't at my best last week. Come over, I'll make pasta."

So he cooked for me. We watched Hanna and talked about his documentary. Laughed and ran through the streets, like old times, kind of. Our connection is easy, our rapport strong. But sometimes there's still a little ache, for both of us. It can be hard to be friends with someone with whom you shared hearts.

fields of gold

2012-01-03T19:15:00.001-05:00

I had a dream once when I was married, in the early days when I thought I was happy, and my dream disturbed me. I was running through a field with someone else and we loved each other. And suddenly I realized my life was completely different. Who was this boy I loved? Where was my beloved husband? Whose life was I living? What happened to the life I had? How could it just disappear? I didn't know what to make of the dream then but today that once-disturbing image symbols, in a very abstract way, a sense of hope now. Maybe one day I will find love again. Maybe there will be a sense of deja vu and we will run through fields of gold.

I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We will walk in fields of gold.

Bring it!

2012-01-02T02:21:00.004-05:00

This past year I moved 3 times, tried to get over aqua-eyed boy, had one "real" relationship that lasted 4 months, shut down romantically, dealt with the aftermath of my failed marriage, sold my house, learned to draw, took beginner ballet lessons, started a business, paid off debt accrued from the pending divorce, took up yoga, went to GA, VT, NC, NY, NJ, PA, and FL. I fell -- for a brief moment -- into a near-stranger's arms (hint: exude the right immunoglobulin protein markers in your pheremones, make me laugh and be my penpal for months and you could be next! lol). I also intercepted a streetfight, did an odd interview for a TV show, carried (with help) someone passed out drunk to their ride home, learned to shoot a gun, shifted to an early morning schedule, and played my keyboard for the first time in years.

This has been a year out of my comfort zone.

Reflecting back is at times embarrassing, shameful, painful, joyful and peaceful.

So I have one New Year's resolution: take better care of myself.

I made it broad on purpose. Because everything I want to do falls under this giant umbrella.

Physically, I mean to spend an hour a day devoted to my well-being -- and this can be stretching or even a massage if I feel super shitty -- but mostly I mean to work the fuck out. It's about establishing a habit. I'm giving myself an out for days I'm sick or down so it'll be easier to keep this appointment with myself.

And emotionally, I mean for this to translate to not DOING things that make me feel shitty.

Noticing how many girls an ex has friended on their last club outing feels really crummy. Reaching out to a crush without an equal and positive response feels shitty. Berating myself for my frailties feels really shitty. I don't really want to feel this shitty all the time anymore.

So. 2012. The year of taking better care of myself. And not doing things that make me feel shitty.

Bring it!

a simple thank you.

2011-12-22T21:03:00.000-05:00

"See your relationships, even ones that have ended," she told me, "as having added to you, not as a loss."

So I'm thinking of this and I want to write a gratitude list as this year wraps up.

In random order, to those I have loved and appreciated since my marriage ended:

To the aqua-eyed boy:
The lessons you taught me were difficult but just knowing you has felt like a blessing. Thank you for trusting me.

To the artist:
Thank you for trying so hard to love me. You found me at a time when I was particularly vulnerable -- reeling from the loss of my marriage and aqua-eyed boy deporting to a war zone. You made me feel valued and appreciated when I needed it most. Thank you for believing in me.

To the armchair philosopher:
Thank you for buying me a bed even when you knew we would never lie on it together. I hope you are happy and your new lady treats you well, your gentle heart deserves to be cherished.

To the dark-haired boy whose arms I fell into unexpectedly (aka: mr. epic makeout session):
You reminded me that when it *really* clicks, the joy is palpable. If nothing comes of our brief union but that tiny lesson, it will have been one of my most important reminders this year. Thank you for lifting me (both physically and metaphorically).

I'm also so appreciative of all the great friends that have made me laugh, listened when I was down, checked in when I was silent (even on Twitter!), sang-shouted on city streetcorners, and shared their own achingly intimate stories to help me not feel alone. You make me feel like the richest girl in the world.

To anyone I inadvertently hurt during this awkward time in my life, I am so sorry. Being in a terrible place does strange things to the heart. I appreciated your effort to reach me anyway, even the smallest acts of kindness mattered even when I was not in a place to reciprocate or respond. Thank you.

And to the universe for the many hardships, lessons and beauty impressed upon me over the years: it is such a wonderful life.

he was my first love

2011-12-20T17:22:00.000-05:00

About 12 years ago, my old high school boyfriend called me. "I'm getting married in 3 weeks! It should have been to you. You were the one."

"You're just getting cold feet," I said.

No, he'd said. He wanted to call off the wedding and get back together. Unbeknownst to me at the time, he'd already met with my parents and talked to them, said he had a plan. He would get me a place to live, help me move back home and we could right the wrongs of our long-ago relationship.

He'd been my first love. We dated for 6 years, from 17-23 on & off. Then I found out he was seeing another girl when I thought we were exclusive. I don't remember how I found out. I think signs were there for a while but I didn't see them. The day I found out, I called him crying, scorched by the betrayal. "Me or her?" I asked in tears. "I can't decide!" he implored. "Then I'll decide for you!" I slammed the phone down and within two weeks I was dating the man I would marry. We moved in together within, I dunno, 6 months? I thought "Okay, I'm going to follow my head now because, well, fuck my heart. It doesn't know jack."

My then-new boyfriend (I'll refer to him as the engineer, as that's what he eventually became when he finished school) and I had a really tight friendship. He knew what happened before. He helped me heal.

I was shattered inside over that lost love, more than I allowed myself to acknowledge. He kept calling, wanting to talk, explain, get back together. I wouldn't have any of it. I didn't believe in second chances. I wanted to avoid drama, the kind of life where I couldn't trust my partner. Jesus, if he was cheating on me and we were that young, WTF would happen when we hit mid-life?

As I settled into my new relationship, my ex still called sometimes but I wouldn't let the conversation steer around to the "us" he tried to press. He made crazy excuses to see me. "I have a business idea but I have to tell you in person!" he'd say. "I'm not interested," I'd reply. "I have someone new now." "We need a web designer, will you make our website?" I turned down the job, uncomfortable about the implications of regular contact. I always told my new boyfriend about our calls -- being transparent is important to me. My heart still ached but I was healing.

Then six years later, my mom sent me an obituary she'd found in the paper. His father died. His dad, the one who welcomed me to their home so graciously, especially when I'd been so shy meeting my first love's parents. The father who offered me a place to live when my own home was filled with tumult. I didn't ever take them up on it but the gesture stuck. I loved his dad.

I called my ex to express sympathy. We hadn't talked in a long time -- years? I don't even remember -- but when he answered the phone I recognized his voice immediately and choked up, unable to get the words out. He immediately understood it was me, understood what I could not say, understood everything. That was the kind of bond we had.

That was the start of healing. Because for the first time I listened to what he had to say. I did it with respect for my new beau -- I am very good about not crossing lines -- but we had the talk we always needed.

When he called later, with cold feet, I wondered privately about getting back together. A part of me had never gotten over him. But I quickly extinguished the thought. I was very committed to the engineer. I encouraged my ex to either move forward with the wedding, or if he was that unsure, investigate why *without* me being the catalyst.

He married. I married. We stayed in touch briefly and sporadically during the following years, shifting into an almost sibling-like relationship, a closeness without words, having grown up together.

When I left my husband, I didn't tell him until almost a year later. "I didn't want to tell you right away because I didn't want you to think this was an 'in' to getting back together," I said, since it was something he still alluded to sometimes. But the shift into a deep friendship is a wonderful comfort. We root for each other's happiness. All that old stuff happened so long ago, it doesn't even matter anymore. Things are so easy now. If we don't talk for months, we just pick up where we left off. And sometimes he texts me Chuck Norris jokes.

I bring this up though for two reasons. One, the sense of perspective time has introduced. I need to remember that now. That one of the deepest loves of my life shifted into a place where there's no more pain is a very healing state. It's important to me to have a sense of peace with the past. I don't know that I'll ever get it with my soon-to-be ex-husband, but I hope for it anyway.

The other is that the dark-haired boy I am recently getting to know reminds me of this ex in the tiniest ways.

kidding, and not

2011-12-19T22:31:00.000-05:00

Just kidding about the STD, in my last post. I'm usually kindof a freak about trying to be conscious about my health.

On a more serious note, here's what I DON'T recommend: do not drive 450 miles in 24 hours, attend a family dinner in which you are scolded for not petting family member's dog long enough, and then drive to a movie to see a flick about a sex addict (Shame) with an ex boyfriend who will shut down because I dunno, maybe the movie makes both of you feel too raw or because he knows you miss him and that feels weird sometimes. Don't do all these things at once because when you feel rejected for the billionth time, it will suck JUST AS MUCH as it did the first million times. You will still feel alone and shitty and stupid and that piled on top of EVERYTHING ELSE will crumble even your normally strong self.

I dreamt I was writing a novel. I titled it TRUTH. In all capital letters, just like that. Awake, that seems like a terribly boring title, but in my dream it was shattering. There was some kind of groundbreaking revelation like I'm not going to lie to myself anymore.

The truth: admit when it's not working.

It's so easy when you feel unloved to stop loving yourself as well. To feel like you don't deserve it. But that's when you need it the most.

happening now, in chat

2011-12-19T15:07:00.003-05:00

why I will suck as your girlfriend.

2011-12-13T00:44:00.003-05:00

So, I went on a date tonight with a guy that was REALLY great but zero chemistry. So, if it comes up, how do I tell him? Rejection SUCKS. I really hate hurting people's feelings. It needs to be a FIT and not a feat. Plus, so much is subjective. Like, the things I think that make me suck as a girlfriend might be fine for someone, and the things that would make me an awesome girlfriend might drive someone else nuts.
For example:

Why I will suck as your girlfriend

I have a terrible sense of direction and if you thrust a map at me while we're passing an exit and exclaim "IS THIS THE ONE???" I will refuse to even GLANCE at it unless we pull over and I have enough time to figure it out. 0.03 milliseconds is not enough time.
I've got "back." (Pinch it if you don't believe me! Or, uh, actually, please don't.)
I like a lot of affection. If you text me "hi beautiful" I will melt inside and be especially lovey when I see you next.
I'm really sensitive and don't take criticism well. If you hate something about me, you'll have to be extra-diplomatic about voicing it. I'm not saying you have to LOVE, say, every errant nose hair, just be tactful. "YOU'RE FAT" is not going to be received well, even if true. Likewise with "YOU'RE STUPID" and "YOU SUCK" or even the literary distant relative "RELAX!" -- it's true that it's not what you say but how you say it.
That being said, I want honesty above all else whether or not the message is painful. If you're not into me anymore, tell me. If you don't, I will listen to what you don't say and break the fuck up because I'm big into actions speaking louder than words and I don't like passively waiting for the end.
I spend a long time getting ready in the morning: I need an hour to tame my mane and feel presentable.
I like to get dolled up. Yes, I wear makeup. (How MUCH is subjective: I think I wear a lot but most people don't even realize I have any on at all.)
I need to eat every 3 hours. If you can go 12 hours between meals and will look at me while I'm eating a pear like, "THAT'S why you're fat," then it's not going to work. I don't eat much, but I do eat often.
I won't really nag you about your food choices but I will notice and be secretly thrilled if you eat healthy. If you eat especially horribly, like nothing but fast food, it probably won't work long-term. I am pretty health-conscious.
I may nag you to stay in touch with your family IF you confess you wish you did and then I don't see you acting on it.
I might be difficult to read sometimes, usually because I'm not sure how to express what I'm feeling. I will hope you can understand me anyway. If you ask me what I'm thinking, I will try to tell you though it might make me tear up. I won't say everything is fine if it's not.
I will never be able to order quickly from a menu.
I do not have the kind of fancy red nails that look sexy gripping your cock. Sorry. Plain hands here. I paint them SOMEtimes but not that often because I can't deal with the maintenance.
I can be easily distracted.
I like time alone.
I hate foodshopping.
I hate to cook. I WILL, and I can even be good at it (sometimes), it just feels like a waste of time. (See "I hate foodshopping" above.) I'd rather be writing! :)
I'll want you to accept the struggles I've gone through and not judge me for them.
Strange things turn me off. If you don't take care of yourself that well, I'll notice.
I look especially AWFUL in the morning. If you need a trophy girl, I'm not it. I doll up IN SPITE of the hideousness, not to enhance it.
I am really busy. I will want to hang out sometimes while we are each doing our own thing. If I don't think we can do that, I will not want to hang out much.
I won't do your laundry. And no ironing. Shoot, I don't even iron my OWN clothes.
I have a weird family. Get togethers might be trying for you and I will hope you can try really hard to enjoy them anyway. I won't shove them down your throat but it would be so much less stressful for me if you looked like you were rolling with it.
I won't know enough pop culture references or enough about history. I was isolated growing up and didn't absorb what I should have. Now today am making up for lost time.

Why I will rock as your girlfriend

I will purr affectionately all around you when we're near. I probably won't be able to keep my hands off you.
When you're sick, I'll make you chicken soup and rub your back and be extra nurturing and doting.
I'll buy you presents sometimes just because I'm thinking about you, like a Newsweek if it has a story I think you'll find interesting or a teeshirt if I think it'll make you laugh.
I'll treat you out to dinner sometimes because I will enjoy making you feel special.
I am honest and will not lie to you.
I am faithful. My general rules: I won't date your friends if we break up, I won't talk bad about you even if I'm hurt, I don't stay mad or hold grudges so friends (once my broken heart heals) is cool. Because if I really care about you, I'm not going to stop just because the relationship is over. I will probably remain your biggest advocate, even if you never know how much I still silently root for you.
I will never snoop all up in your grill. I never have and never will read my man's email, look at his facebook while he's logged in, go through his drawers, look in diaries, look in wallets, look at bank statements, access phone, etc. and I expect the same back. I've been lucky to have very open relationships with a lot of trust this way. If I felt like I *wanted* to snoop (I never have), that would be a sign to me that something was going wrong with the trust aspect and thus we need to talk, not that I need to snoop. So yeah, I honor your privacy implicitly..
I don't nag about housework. I actually LIKE cleaning so I don't mind pulling more weight here. Maybe you could pull more weight and do more outside yard stuff since I hate that. Compromise is cool. But I will want you to have general neatness skills.
I'll be your best friend. Great love is enhanced by an even greater friendship.
I'm not a club girl but I am very social. I can talk to almost anyone about anything and have an awesome time.
I will probably like your friends and family. I'm easygoing and a people person and find the good in everyone.
I will want you to spend time however you enjoy. If it makes you happy, it'll make me happy.
I'll like exploring together.
I don't watch TV. In almost 17 years with my ex, I almost never touched the remote. You could put on whatever you want.
I'll keep your secrets forever and never tell anyone. Shoot, I'm still holding a secret my sis told me when I was NINE. I am open about me but ONLY me.
I can be madly silly.

Now see, any of these things might be dealbreakers to someone. See how subjective this is? People fit or they don't. (Or maybe a better way to phrase this is that they might, and so they see.) But so much has to fall together and it's so much less about their worthiness than my own odd makeup. I don't know how to convey this. "It's not you it's me" is so true and yet so cliche. This was only one date and yet I'm wracked with how to communicate this gently. And I have 2 other dates this week and a couple next week -- all these new people, we're all going to have to reject eachother at some point. How does everyone DO this?

on being terrified of posting

2011-12-08T23:57:00.001-05:00

"A lot of people will send me blog posts [where] they think it's really interesting because they're telling this high drama story but the truth is they've already worked all this out in their head. They've gone to therapy. It was interesting 10 years ago when they were IN therapy. Now, they're just like, you know, spitting it out on a page... If you're not like tormented about it, you're lying that you think that's interesting.... it was interesting to you when you were learning it. And if you're feeling scared, this is a good test. If you're scared to post something that means you are not sure if it's right, That's the best one to post. If I'm not scared, if I'm not a little anxious to post something, then it's probably boring to me and it's going to be boring to everyone else." -- Penelope Trunk

I am *always* scared to post. Every single time. So, yay?

That's how I roll.

2011-12-05T18:55:00.002-05:00

I am sitting here cross-legged because I cannot UNcross my legs. You know how every exercise guru on the planet says "START SLOW!" when easing into a routine? Not me. Forget the feel-good "I love my thighs" bullshit I posted a few days ago. They need to be punished!

I might whine a lot here but hell if I'm not proactive. I might take longer than most to get things through my thick skull and I might ruminate a lot, but I am not a lump. I DO stuff.

The bull fucks me up when I take it by the horns but that doesn't stop me. I've left apartments when conditions turned terrible (remember the winds of cat piss and plants growing out of the floor of the landlady's freezing garage last spring? Yeah. Her and her blue feet can enjoy the frigid filth. We're still on good terms, btw, because that's how I roll -- she just emailed me last week for help). I've also weeded out nearly all my belongings, taught myself new job skillz, switched careers, started businesses, reunited feuding folks (rather than get in the middle), and ended nearly every relationship I've ever been in (not because I WANTED to, but because I pay attention to signs). I'm proactive. I don't always do things soon enough or well enough or gracefully enough, but I do them. I'm not a passive fuck.

Right now, I'm on vacation in Florida and I have nothing on my agenda but eating and the wearing of shorts. So when BFF suggested a fun workout together, I agreed. That's how I found myself in Intro to Torture four days ago, taught by Attila the Hun's last female descendant.

"Okay, peoples... Feeeel the burn."

We started off with the "TRX" workout, which I think stands for "Terrible, REALLY (we are not kidding) test of Xercise stamina (in which you will f-a-i-l)" that centers entirely around straps hanging from the ceiling that you wrap around your body and call upon sheer muscle strength to pull into various positions. It's the most comical workout I have ever seen. But damn if it doesn't work a body the eff out!

You have to picture the straps.

About 20 minutes into the class, I realized a crucial lesson. NEVER enter a session without knowing how long. You need to mentally prepare for the ambulance. ("I can hang in here for another 14 minutes but ANY LONGER and I'm going to DIE!") But I was breathing too hard to ask. I looked over at my BFF and implored with my eyes but she was too busy passing away to notice.

This routine has gone on for the past four days. I woke up this morning contemplating the magic of feeling zero pain while dreaming and promptly fell out of bed on cramped, useless stumps. But vacation is awesome for establishing a new habit. Now if I can keep it up!

This is home now.

2011-12-04T00:30:00.002-05:00

So I'm doing this exercise. You're supposed to go into the place that hurts and rest there.

I close my eyes and go into it. It's easy to do. I still remember what it felt like to wrap my arms around him, the sensation. Warm little bursts punctuated by achy little stabs. This is what it means to love someone you shouldn't.

And so I go into the ache and sit. It's like I'm in a windstorm, dust swirling around me, a roaring noise drowning out the sounds of everyday. The cacophony is overwhelming.

I sit inside this place and I put a little quiet bubble around me. Guess what. I'm not the storm, the storm is in me. Instead of running for cover like I normally do, I observe it curiously. There are flashes of memory.

The time he pulled me into his lap and sang "Joey" while tenderly brushing my hair.

Joey, baby, don't get crazy
Detours, fences... I get defensive.
I know you've heard it all before
So I don't say it anymore
I just stand by and let you fight your secret war.

He was the first one I loved after 17 years with my ex sank into the ground as if into a giant sinkhole and disappeared. I wandered then like I was on the moon, no oxygen, no water, only a dusty craterscape barren of anything nurturing to a life form. My earth disappeared and banished me in the process. It was like my ex's pain set a curse upon me. You don't deserve to thrive, I felt. There was day and night but little else.

This boy, the one with walls around his heart, was the first one to reach out. A soldier in the war of life with battle scars on his heart, skilled at recognizing the wounded. He was my trauma unit. He wrapped gauze around my heart and tried to stabilize me. I loved him for that.

The wind continued to howl. Some scenes with my ex. The terrible look in his eyes when he realized I was gone before the words were said. But it was too late. It didn't feel right anymore.

A house twists by, Wizard of Oz style, except it 's mine. Lifted and raised and dropped and broken. We let it go. It was no longer home.

I feel safe and protected in my little bubble. The storm can no longer lash at me. Around me it can howl but I'm settling within, cozy and warm. This is home now.

from up here

2011-12-03T17:55:00.003-05:00

Everything is completely different from the air. The world has a different perspective from 20,000 feet.

I'm in Florida now visiting a BFF. I lifted into the air a few days ago, just when my knotted mind was sifting through the insecurities I described in my previous post. I saw the houses and cars shrink away and I thought "look at all the tiny homes and all the drama that can go on inside one of those little rectangles. Goodness, how small everything is from up here."

Like the time I was lying next to him while tiny knives stabbed at my heart, breathing him in and yet knowing I had to let it go or it'd destroy me. That time is so puny from here. Insignificance can be so comforting. This large beautiful world can swallow my worries. It really can.

Maybe this is how many imagine heaven, removed from the pains of lessons taught to our unwilling souls.

From here I can pretend I am looking down at that tiny girl whose arms were wrapped around the guy who couldn't love her and wrap my own around instead. The world is so much larger than you know, I want to say. It will be okay. The earth is big enough to hold a boy who will love you back. Don't punish yourself anymore sweetie. It's okay.

On healing my ass (and also my soul) (maybe)

2011-12-01T01:45:00.002-05:00

We were play-acting defense scenarios when he looked down at my legs and said "Holy cow, your calves got fat! You used to have ankles!"

I don't know how I didn't burst into tears right that minute, but I didn't.

(It took 5 minutes.)

I mean, we'd just been TALKING about exercise the day before. I complained about breaking my ass doing ballet. BEGINNER ballet, just to make it more even more pathetic. I could not clench my ass muscles for 9 months. (Sorry to inflict you with that vision, but that's a tear in the gluteus medius for you.)

I should have gone to the pool then, but an overwhelming schedule and an extreme hatred for cold water along with fighting depression over my shitty life circumstances made me crave soft warm blankets and sedentary activities. I read and wrote to heal both limb and heart. And physical therapy finally healed the injury about a month ago.

Those of you who know me will be all "but you're so thin!" which is both annoying and comforting. I need to hear it, to feel an external sense of affirmation and value (because there is no inner one) but also because I know the truth. Which is that, for my body, for my frame, I carry weight.

I don't fit into myself.

I haven't for some time, and I hate it. I don't talk about it or write about it because no one will hear me. I am not morbidly obese and plus there is nothing more annoying than someone who is thinner than you saying "I feel fat!" (As my friend A, who is half my size, exclaimed last week in my car.)

Anyway. So right after he announced his revulsion at my disgusting legs, I tried to roll with it.

"I know!" I admitted. I mumbled something about the injury but it felt weak, like an excuse.

Then I remembered jamming chocolate down my throat at lunchtime to quell some anxiety and instantly felt even more ashamed.

I could be doing more about this, and I'm not.

I felt tears welling up. The tidal wave of shame. I suddenly needed to be alone, goddammit. He had 5 more minutes before he was leaving and if I could just man up for a few goddamn minutes, I could be alone to wallow in my self-pity and he'd never know how much it hurt.

I didn't want him to know.

I am a sensitive type and I am sick of this being so obvious. (Helloooo, blog?? Juuust sayin'.) But especially with him, as he is blunt, not cruel, and struggles with the weight of misunderstandings past. There's a reason sick birds isolate themselves; they don't want to betray their weakness. I didn't want to be fat AND weak and give him one more reason to remember me pouting into the night. So I tried to hold the tears at bay.

I got it in my head that I could *tell* him. I wouldn't cry if I could tell him how I felt in a nice, non-dramatic way. Imagine that. I'd say it disaffectedly, I fantasized. Adults do this ALL THE TIME. I could say "hey, that stung, I know it's true but tell me in a different way next time." Whoa, communication which doesn't punish honesty and which returns my own truth.

So I did say that. And it sounded good!

For 5 seconds, until godfuckingdammit, I started welling up and my face reddened and suddenly I wasn't in control of myself anymore.

Fast forward.

He left. We hugged. Things are okay. I don't care for his callous side, but this post isn't about him. It's about me.

So now I am sitting here thinking, what the fuck was that about? Why is fat so awful? I know beauty is power, and I grew up without either, is that why I'm extraordinarily sensitive? Or is it the inner reservoir of shame? The constant stream of noise in my head which says I am not good enough, thin enough, pretty enough...? Enough.

In my head, enough looks like a woman who avoids sweets and wakes at dawn and rocks the P90x and maybe saved her marriage.

Enough is powerful, not ruled by vices and emotions. Fat is WEAK. Weak people eat too much and don't exercise or wash their cars. They indulge and self-soothe by buying and eating because they suck so bad. They make bad choices and then live in the terrible beds they made.

I am weak.

Okay, so that's where the tears are coming from. The shame at my weakness.

So, if one key to overcoming weakness is to love yourself, I'm not doing a very good job. The terrible things I say to myself, hoo boy. I need to rinse my brain out with soap.

Do I do this so I can say "no one else can tell me those things anymore because *I* already said them!" Is it my way of controlling terrible messages planted decades earlier? Or maybe it's just habit? I'm just not sure.

But I do like this unique idea of loving myself.

People take good care of things they love, right? They handwash sweaters, handle delicate jewelry gently, tenderly hug their dear friends.

Maybe I need to take my fragile ego and my fat calves and say "thank you for holding me up all these years. I am sorry I didn't appreciate you. I only knew to berate you. Tomorrow, I will try to take care of you."

I started with tiny movements when healing my glutes. Maybe tiny movements will heal my soul.

How it's going

2011-11-28T18:11:00.001-05:00

Latest update from online dating:

me: Nice profile! It's well-written.

him: zOMG you are amazing. I know you said you just want to get to know people as friends first but I can tell you that I don't connect with people like THIS on the intarwebz. There is something really special here. I can tell we would be perfect for eachother.

::facepalm::

update on the whole (Ra)2 + (ah)3 thing

2011-11-19T00:45:00.003-05:00

I mentioned earlier (and then took down the post) about how I was dipping my toes in dating waters again. I think I was doing it wrong before. I was too stressed about the process. I wasn't really ready to open up to anyone. I'm not sure I am now, but how about if I try this in a way that *doesn't* feel forced? Like, go slow and pay much closer attention to my gut?

So, I changed my profile to filter out even more people and decided to do one other thing differently: cut out early, as soon as it seems like things aren't clicking.

I'm not trying to be mean, just, I'm going to give myself liberty to listen to my gut. Sometimes, in my attempt to want things to work, I let my head talk me out of uncomfortable feelings (so let's try not doing that, mm'kay?). Let's see where this goes.

I'm in the email stages with a few guys who seem nice.

I'm consistently impressed with the number of (seeming) quality people out there, but everything boils down to chemistry. Nothing can be known until actually meeting. And even then, it takes time to get to know someone.

I have met some of the most amazing people during this weird transition but timing or something was off -- it wasn't a reflection of either person's suitability as a partner. I'm sure it'll happen a zillion times more too.

So, here's who STILL liked me enough to initiate contact even after reading my "careful, I suck!" profile. I'm recording first impressions here so I have an early record if I meet them in person. (Yeah, I admit it -- I'm old-fashioned like that. I'm not contacting anyone, only responding. I figure if someone likes me, they'll let me know.)

Peter Burns from Melrose Place (remember the blonde doctor dood that hooked up with Heather Locklear? Him? Yeah. I hope I don't accidentally call him "Peter" because the likeness is so shocking it's already seared into my brain.
The ZOMG man:: the dark-haired cutie from Baltimore who emailed me with "zOMG let's get married!" -- and freaked me out -- until he explained he was only kidding. Normally I'd GET this but since it happened for reals like 5 other times, I'm all "JESUS, again??"
Simpsons fan: who charms me because, well, SIMPSONS, right?
Cute Guy in Hat: this is the only guy so far who looks like I want to hug him from his picture alone. He looks like the free spirit type and we are talking about cumin.
Mr. Laidback: I love it when guys smile broadly in their profile photos. This one wrote me saying "yay, someone else who is laid back and wants to get to know people slowly!" So that's cool.
Mr. MyIndustry: We are sharing funny videos and he owns a company doing exactly what my workplace does, which is something weird and uncommon so now we have something uncommon IN common.
Mr. Advocate: travels a lot and does a lot of volunteer work.

Most meetings were agreed upon to happen after Thanksgiving. So, until then...!

my evening, in text screenshots

2011-11-16T22:06:00.000-05:00

Sometimes you have to throw money at a problem!

on the complications of clasping

2011-11-16T00:23:00.001-05:00

I didn't know how to explain what I was feeling.

I let him clasp me to his chest and I stood there feeling the warmth of his body as we leaned up against our cars in the parking lot. He pulled back to look at me and said one of the most romantic things I ever heard. "The more I look in your eyes, the more I want to keep looking."

But I found myself in the familiar struggling place. "I'm not alone in feeling this way, am I?" he asked.

I tried to explain but I didn't know how. This connection feels awesome, yes.

But last week, aqua-eyed boy put his arms around me in maybe the most healing, giving way anyone's ever held me. Later, I'd told him over drinks what I couldn't say right when I was all muffled grunts and sniffs. He understood, but I told him anyway. I had to thank him for the gift.

And a couple weeks ago, Mr. Awesome Epic Makeout Guy... his hugs opened a deep well of joy that lingers still.

I maybe don't want anything to supercede those hugs. I'm still enjoying them, even if they were one-time events.

But it feels so nice to be appreciated, so I let in some of the comfort.

And that was how I just met a longterm bloggy penpal who's visiting from 3,000 miles away. We hugged, and then I pulled away.

It was time to buy PANTS.

2011-11-14T00:08:00.003-05:00

When you spend a few days with one of your best childhood friends and her young family, they feel like your family. And it's not surprising: good friends ARE family. Family you get to choose.

The girl is 10 and the boy is 12. They kept cracking me up.

Mom: "You need pants!"
Boy: ::rolls eyes::

(repeat scenario: "You need ____!" <-- eyerolling ensues)

And that's how we found ourselves in the JC Penney.

Fifteen minutes later, mom handed an armload of jeans to the boy.

"I HATE this place," he said, trudging off to the fitting room.

I ran off with the girl to make fun of obnoxious jewelry.

Pants were eventually purchased and we left the store, much to the boy's relief.

But guys, the JC Penney is right next to a Walmart.

WALMART.

You see the problem is you only covered your lower ass and
completely ignored your upper ass. I mean, I guess I should
give you the benefit of the doubt because up until this moment
I’ve never heard of a double-butt, double-chin yes, but double-butt no.
However, we are all now on notice so ignorance is now no longer an excuse.
(Actual caption from this post)

Dudes, I'm visiting Vermont.

How can I not stop in Walmart?

It should be a mission: visit a Walmart in each state. Catalogue teh crazy. Where is it weirdest?

Of course I want to contribute to the People of Walmart (POW) blog. I consider it a civic duty, actually.

I explained this serious mission to the kids. (Actually the kids initiated the idea. "There were really strange people last time we were here.")

Me: "Ok kids, now if you see anything um, unusual, and want to point it out, let's have a code. Say 'I'm hungry.'" (Because, you know, kids want to say stuff like "LOOK AT THAT THOUSAND POUND LADY!" which is wholly embarrassing in public.)

(For the next 30 minutes -->) Kids: "I'M HUNGRY!! I'M HUNGRY!!"

I don't have pictures -- just had a blast walking around. My phone has almost no reception up here so I've barely been carrying it plus I'm afraid to get my ass kicked by rugged fleece-wearing tough mountain folk. But here are some delights from POW archive:

One other thing about Vermont? It's fucking COLD in this mofo. I packed 5 outfits for 5 days and have worn ALL FIVE OUTFITS EVERY DAY. And I was still fucking freezing. It's not even the dead of winter. I am clearly a tropical primate, not the advanced "WINTER IS COMING" northern species who can wear shorts in November because hot damn, it's not zero!

Cold or no, I love it here though. I'm already planning my next trip back.

I treated the family to dinner tonight. It may be extravagant when I do stuff like this but I can't think of anything more worthy than to share what I have with those I love. I feel like the richest woman in the world.

I've got terrible hair and an old car. Hollywood is 3,000 miles away.

2011-11-08T03:00:00.009-05:00

In the movie version of my life, I am driving down the interstate steeped in thought with tears streaming down my face, that conversation replaying in my head. Smiling though -- these are tears of gratitude and appreciation, not misunderstanding. They're the sweat of healing as it exerts old barbs of hurt from embedded places.

It's hard work, healing.

Some very appropriate song would be playing, perhaps one made specifically for me, right now. But this is no movie and all I've got is the radio streaming Adele, and so I listen to "Someone like you" and discard the bits that don't count. I'm left with:

Nevermind that I'll find someone like you

I wish nothing but the best for you

Don't forget me, I begged, I remember you said

Sometimes it lasts in love, sometimes it hurts instead

Aqua-eyed boy is home. He made it through deployment. There were a million times he was in danger and never told me lest I worried, but now he was home safe. I hugged him tight. He was in a war zone and yet stood beside me through all the tumult of this past year -- things I wrote about here, and much I didn't.

We didn't need to catch up because we were already caught up. We needed the inexpressible. To be understood. Not just to understand our ties together, but the kind of understanding that should have come from home delivered to young psyches by healthy parents and happy homes. Not homes struggling with fires and pain and loss and shame.

We sat on a park bench overlooking a small canal and held hearts, not hands. It was our deepest, most honest conversation yet. He reached into the darkest parts of my soul and gently picked out shards of glass. Monkeys pick nits from eachother's bodies, allowing themselves to be vulnerable for their own good. Evolved species we are, modern-day lice infest the cerebrum and can best be reached through the loving gestures of another.

In the movie version of my life, this scene marks a turning point. Scenes of friendship where the characters dance in the kitchen wielding spray cleaner and sponges, nap like kittens, read quietly from opposite sides of the room, make specialized chai and bristle over the discovery of raucous billing mistakes, and ends with the outpouring on the park bench. Fluidity that speaks of togetherness, where you can simply be because the sense of comfort is so great; how is unimportant. The turning point isn't all this, though. These things were there before. It's the peace with what will be.

If this were a movie, we'd maybe fall in love again. But go with what you've got, right? I've got terrible hair, an old car, a long drive down a boring interstate, and Adele on the radio. Absolutely NOT Hollywood material... but it is real life. We fall, yes. But this time into a deeper friendship. We acknowledge that one day there will be others and we will rejoice in each other's happiness. We hug. We love. And we laugh.

I wish nothing but the best for you.

Just had a birthday.

2011-11-06T10:20:00.001-05:00

(not really my age, but yeah.)

This is why I hate chat.

2011-11-01T14:01:00.001-04:00

This is why I hate chat.

Me: brb

Them: what's up?

Me: brb something needs addressing.

Them: yes?

Me: brb = be right back

Them: ?? asplenia?

Them: asplenia?

Them: ASPLENIA?

::immediately emails:: "Asplenia, is everything okay??? Do you need me to take off work and come get you?"

I just developed a nervous tic. DUDE ALL I SAID WAS "brb" -- not "I'M SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUSTING"! ::headdesk::

there is no knowing. (poem)

2011-10-30T17:10:00.001-04:00

You
Live in your head
Clear logic permeating your veins

I
reside in my heart
a million beats coursing through my brain

For years I have watched you from afar
drawn, at first unknowingly, to your company
The comfort I felt there
I didn't understand why
But I sought it anyway

We became friends
Then better friends,
and then even better friends.
The sense of comfort now immeasurable

I trust you

I still watch you
But I understand there is no road
Between your head and my heart
just yet

Maybe never

There is no knowing
But there's no mattering
In matters of the heart
which are not.

in response to my last post*, not right now

2011-10-29T17:02:00.000-04:00

But when it feels right, I'll know, right?

It doesn't just now though.

. . .

(*On whether it's worth the risk to try, as I wondered in my last blog post.)

is it worth the risk?

2011-10-28T22:35:00.000-04:00

HWSNBN (He Who Shall Not Be Named) and I joke easily. A recent topic was "A new hallmark series for those with personality disorders":

There's something special about this guy. I don't know if it's because he makes me howl with laughter or that he can write like nobody's business, or that he just does everything right, but I like him a lot. I'm worried I'll like him too much and get hurt. I don't know if that's a cue to pull back or if I should continue to let the friendship grow. And by "friendship" I mean one where we lock lips. So it's a bit different than, say, meeting up with my best girlfriend. Sigh.

How do people do this getting-close-to-others stuff? Knowing I'm very sensitive inside, do I just refrain or is it really actually better to try and lose than never to have tried at all? The last few times I went through endings, it felt like I'd swallowed glass. Is it worth the risk?

Dear beloved niece & nephews

2011-10-26T19:18:00.000-04:00

My niece and nephews are old enough to fall in love. I hugged them recently, thinking about how fiercely I love them and how much I wanted them to find someone who valued them as much as I do. If I wrote them a letter, if I offered advice, what would I say?

To my beloved niece and nephews,

I feel strange offering you advice as you seek your way. I don't have much input. But I do have unconditional love and support and an happy ear to listen and be there for you. I will share with you what I have learned about love: pay attention to how you feel.

1. Do you have a sense of home when you spend time with this person? Do they bring you warmth and comfort and make you feel calm? Does it feel like they could be your best friend, with your best interests at heart? A sense of joy in their company is huge, notice those with whom you feel replenished and recharged and seek out their company.

2. Do you find yourself laughing and smiling with them? Yay! Another wonderful sign. Listen to yourself -- you know how you feel. I've noticed that people have a tendency to rationalize how they think they should feel, but how you actually feel is most important. Grant your comfort level the space it needs to settle. If you're not sure how you feel, that's okay. You'll be unsure until you're not. It's all okay.

3. Do you find yourself worried if they like you? Pay attention to this too. Each of us are perfect in our imperfection and it's important to feel appreciated. If you find yourself thinking "Maybe they will like me better if I am ___" then this is a sign of possibly conditional love, which can leave you wanting down the road. Try to compare your feelings to the way your best friend makes you feel. Honor your feelings and give them room to breathe. Your gut will be one of the most valuable tools you carry with you throughout life.

4. Experience much and see if these experiences feel positive inside. You have a wise sage living right inside your chest and if you listen quietly, they will tell you how they really feel. If an experience doesn't feel positive, try to think about it with the perspective of learning a lesson. I am always here if you need anything.

5. Kindness is a wonderful attribute in a mate. You want someone who will cover you when you are cold, bring you aspirin when you are sick, empathize with your long hard day. And be sure to give as good as you get. Pick a partner who gives 100% of themselves and you do the same. If you both look out for eachother, the world will feel like a gentler place.

6. It can be hard to support what's best for your partner if it differs from what you think but it will be important to support them anyway (as they should you). As much as you can, put yourself in their shoes. Don't nag. Have fun.

7. It's okay -- indeed, crucial -- to turn off the wrong people. Don't fret if you like someone and they don't like you back. It will be okay in the end.

Love you so very much,
Aunt Asplenia

It's such a beautiful gift, to feel this swelling of heart, to love so completely. Such good kids, I want them to have the world. I want all kids to have the world, they deserve it. ::sniff::

recent times (aka honey badger don't care)

2011-10-24T22:42:00.004-04:00

Hi! Wanna be me, the past few weeks? Simple:

Catch plague. Move. Listen to hired dude's running commentary on the shittiness of everything you own. Throw neck out. Pay movers. Take massive painkillers. (Bonus: it lowers fever.) Get first meal of the day. Have car break in parking lot. Become agitated at delay in shrimp-eating. Limp to repair shop. Eat with fingers in Meineke waiting room. Think about how much unpacking is not happening. Receive word that car is hopeless. Limp to another shop. Drop off. Lament that enough time has passed to need more painkillers. Walk 2 miles home with high fever.
Unpack ibuprofen and bathrobe. Collapse for 24 hours.
Walk 2 miles with high fever to pick up car Pay hundreds of dollars. See doctor, get antibiotics. Zombify rest of week. Rise from crypt, unpack.
Fall in love.
Get dumped.
Actually, don't get dumped, get reassigned. Hello friendzone, you're awesome. I wanted to get to know you anyway.
Learn important lesson: when it "clicks" it clicks. Realize you learned this before and forgot. Slap forehead.
Realize it doesn't matter if they don't like you back.
Listen to Niel Diamond's "Love on the Rocks" just so you can feel extra shitty about losing something you never had. Croon hoarsely to "First they say they want youuuu....." Gchat melancholy videos with like-minded friend.
Work 10 hours. Clock off. Spend another 8 hours editing photos. Become annoyed that you have to adjust the levels on every fucking photo. Decide to buy better equipment. Add to huge to-do list. Know it'll never happen.
Quit editing photos at 1:45am. Drive home. Play Ani DiFranco's Providence on loops for extra shitty bonus points. Pass through college town, become even more depressed by the ruckus of youth. Slump.
See guy attacking girlfriend down street. Drop jaw. Turn into mama bear. Run flailing into traffic. Realize you are the size of a madagascar hissing cockroach and honey badger don't care.
Flail more. Attract attention. Girl gets freed, mission accomplished.
Consider 3am jog to unwind. Remember stumbling drunken shapes weaving through neighborhood. Write instead.
Set alarm. Recall promise of delivering a well-rested self 4 hours north for early family event. Snort bitterly.
Awake. Palpitate. Drive 200 miles.
Clutch onto parent. Begin sharing. Get shushed. (I believe exact words were "shhh omg don't tell crazy stories!") Sulk. Stuff sulking into inner well of despair.
Win family performance award for entertaining while empty husk.
Magnificently avoid argument for the next 5 hours.
Hour 6: cue PacMan death noise.
Drive more. See more people. One comments "you look a little stressed?"
Drive home. Decide food is optional and forego supermarket for bed.
Work. Become annoyed at the seeming random sudden interest in your boobs, especially when they have not been voluntarily submitted for review. Reply that all you want for birthday is BOOKS not garments, particularly none that require chest size notification. Return home. Buy Nutter Butters to offer starving roommates, blog and collapse.

There. You are now me.

he was holding her by the neck.

2011-10-22T04:07:00.002-04:00

I'm shaking so hard I can barely type. On my way home just now, I was driving through this local college hangout (which happens to be on my commute home) when I saw a big beefy white guy throw a girl fiercely to the ground. Then he picked up her shaking, crying, crumpled form and started screaming in her face, shaking a fist threateningly the whole time. I saw the scene unfold from down the street and couldn't believe it was even real. People milled about, no one paying attention, adding an extra layer of anesthetic to the surreal, out-of-place scene.

Real-life violence is nothing like the movies where music cues us and slow motion gives us time to process. In real life, fighting is clumsy and confusing and fear fills the air, becoming a thick smog filling your nostrils. The bully is afraid too -- that's precisely why he's so dangerous: he's not thinking. I don't know why it surprised me to instantly recognize the fright mixed with the crazy in his eyes but thinking about it now, aggression is often fueled by fear and desperation.

In a fight, Details get lost. 911 asked, but I hadn't paid attention to whether his shirt was dark gray or light gray when I was doing a panicked threat assessment ("Does he have a weapon?? What's the circumference of the whirling arc of flailing fists should he turn from her to me?") How come in movies all you have to do is scream the street address and cops are there in 4 seconds; why are they asking me questions I can't hear because I am breaking up a fight?

I didn't feel myself flinging open the car door or running but I did hear myself yell, "let go of her!"

The woman saw immediately, in the distraction, a chance to get away, and twisted out of his grasp. I was still running to them, calling at frozen bystanders to help when he grabbed her again. She looked at me gratefully, seeing reinforcement, and yelled more strongly for him to let go and, when he didn't, I pounded him in the back with the heels of my hands, thankful for remembering one small tidbit I'd been taught: fists are weak and a punch can hurt knuckles but a well-placed hit with the base of the hand is less likely to injure its owner. I was terrified he'd whirl and crush me but I didn't see a choice. I was reckless and unwise and mostly ineffective but if we don't attempt to stop bullies, if we don't stand up for eachother, who will? With each unchecked aggression, bullies grow even bolder.

I don't know if it's because I was a girl or if it was simply that someone was acting, or it was that I singled people out and asked, but the frozen bystanders leapt into action. A group of guys put themselves in danger relieving both the girl and I of the bully's attention. He turned to face them and began threatening the growing circle around him.

I was still on the phone. Fucking 911 transferred me and I was repeating "JUST GET A COP OUT HERE PLEASE" with the address when suddenly the guy wheeled around, mid-threat, and took off. It all happened so fast.

I tweeted afterwards that this was the first time I'd ever hit someone but it's not true. I remember now that when I was 11, my dog ran away and I found him in the schoolyard, some guy tormenting him. I yelled first, in a high-pitched bratty voice, "leave my dog alone!" But when he didn't, let loose a stream of completely ineffective girly punches as high as I could reach: his shoulder. He looked at me like I were an annoying insect and swung a good one into the side of my head. Knocked me down. The sound shocked me more than the sensation. Even if I knew how to fight, I don't think an 11-year old girl and a 16-year old boy are a good match but at least I got him away from my dog.

I hate confrontation. I hate fighting. I don't even know how to fight. But injustice lights a fury in me. Even though I was terrified, I couldn't turn my cheek.

As a youngster, I watched a movie on TV about actress Theresa Saldana. She'd been assaulted in broad daylight in Central Park by a deranged fan while scores of witnesses watched. No one helped. Even as a youngster, I grasped the concept of a crowd's power to intercept and never forgot the message. (Indeed, it's what brought flight 93 down in a Pennsylvanian field on 9/11.)

We are taught to read and write and make cookies and weave baskets but not how to defend ourselves, fight or face violence, even though many kids grow up experiencing it in their own homes. Shouldn't people learn conflict management as kids? I don't know how it'd best be introduced, but in a hierarchical society of primates, doesn't this seem like a necessary conversation?

Brain: you're not the boss of me! Love, Heart

2011-10-20T21:46:00.000-04:00

Dear Brain,

So, I saw Mr. Epic Makeout Session again. Our personality chemistry is amazing. I could see falling for him. He, like me, is recently out of a longterm relationship. Now is the time he *should* be exploring what he wants & needs and that means getting out there and seeing what types of girls are around. There are no demands, only simple companionship. I haven't been overthinking this too much yet and I'm not totally sure why. But one thing stands out: I don't have knots inside.

That is all.

xo,
Heart

Dear Heart,

You have learned much. Like how to appreciate someone for the time you have together, no matter how much or how little. The most blessed thing we all have is to be grateful for the gift of sharing life with those we value. That encompasses supporting what's important to them, whether or not that includes you.

You've got plenty of things to keep yourself busy and if something special arises sometimes, enjoy it. Live. Laugh. Love. Share. I've got a million things for you to do in the meantime. There's no need to overthink anything, it'll be okay in the end. Do what you like. I've got you covered.

Love,
Brain

The immeasurable value of kindness

2011-10-19T20:55:00.001-04:00

Went out with some married friends recently and watched them playfully pick at eachother. And thought about the thing I read recently about marital success (from Dr. Gottman's marital research on the 4 things that slowly destroy a relationship*) and wondered if they would last.

It bothers me when I see partners pick on eachother, even if seemingly in jest. Because there is usually an undercurrent of embarrassment, shame or hurt on behalf of the pickee. Giggles cover hurt looks but the sting still hangs softly in the air.

I like when I see people being a team, rooting for eachother, in eachother's courts. Not contemptuous & critical. That seems intuitive -- be kind to eachother, right? -- and yet I see so many who disregard their partner's feelings. There is a cost for this and over time, like a leaking faucet, gallons of intimacy wasted. Is this where the saying "familiarity breeds contempt" comes from? The seeming liberty to judge those closest to us?

. . .

*scroll to #9 for the 4 negative behaviors which can detrimentally erode a relationship over time:
http://www.gottman.com/49853/Research-FAQs.html

epic fat lip (and totally worth it)

2011-10-16T04:24:00.004-04:00

It is 4:24 am and I just got home from his house...

HWSNBN
(He Who Shall Not Be Named)

...And I have a fat lip from our epic makeout session.

It looks awful. My face is blotchy and red and chafed and I have sex hair (despite not having sex) and I'm pretty sure no one seeing me like this would ever call back for a second "date" (though it wasn't a date), so I may never see him again. But it's weird. I have this wonderful sense of peace inside anyway.

I don't really understand why. I mean, if you know me in real life or have been following this blog (hi sis!) (<-- my only reader, lol), all I talk about is how I have trouble getting close. Either I worry that I'd be sensitive to feeling used or there's some other perceived obstacle, so, as much as I love affection, I seem to stave off most opportunities.

And this is doubly unusual considering that one of my last posts was inspired by one woman's divorce story and how she gave up the dating game. "Chasing relationships down had not worked; it was time to put down my butterfly net," she wrote. I didn't include the part of that goddamn story which said she found someone the instant she stopped looking because I thought it was stupid, but here I am, 4 days after renouncing the whole process and I am grinning like a madwoman with grape-sized lips.

(Like this, but increase the lower lip by 300%)

One of my girlfriends was in a play recently and wrote about the glorious luxury of kissing her costar and I thought heh, wish that were me, but too bad -- I will NEVER be on stage, ever. Sucks to be me! No kissing for me evar again! But then, tonight? It felt like I was in a fucking movie. Where the guy is all awesome and does everything right and I'm free of the stuff that usually swirls around my head because it's a MOVIE. I can relax. And you know what? That's pretty sweet.

I'm not sure how to reconcile all this with the complicated feelings about my love life in general but for some reason, it doesn't feel like I have to. It can just be. And so it was. And it was awesome.

cupcakes!!

Desperado... why don't you come to your senses...

2011-10-13T01:21:00.004-04:00

I'm in a weird place. I'm in a place where I feel untouchable, unreachable. I want to be here, though, inexplicably, paradoxically. I am sitting from a place watching quality men from afar, unable to respond.

The philospher emailed me today about the "us" that never was.

"I would have thrown my heart and soul into loving you and being the best boyfriend possible if you had wanted me."

I felt that inevitable sadness at giving up without trying, at missing my chance.

Maybe I would have been really happy, I think.

But I am not ready.

I feel that same sadness with another guy paying me special attention, who wrote me a poem:

i can't slow down she can't catch up
hence my watching the red-head who isn't red
she's caught up
just not caught up
on me yet.

The only thing I can do, it seems, is embrace the line from the Steve Job's vid going around:

"As with all matters of the heart, when it's right, you'll know."

I listen to Desperado by the Eagles, soothed by the mournful tone, struck by the relevance.

Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
Come down from your fences, open the gate
It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you, before it's too late

And then I curl up in bed with a good book, alone.

The pimp lobe is workin' it

2011-10-03T21:30:00.004-04:00

While slaving away in school a few years back, I lamented on a message board about how my student loans were going to kill me. I must have written a pretty compelling post because months later, a TV executive stumbled across it and contacted me, saying, "hey, we're doing a show on financial ruin. Will you be on it?"

Me [as the "wtf are you talking about?" part of my brain lit up, then was quickly silenced by the larger frontal pimp lobe]: "Um... hm. Well how much?"

TV executive: "Oh, nothing. But they'll cover your flight. And you get to be on Oprah."

me: "Bitch! You don't call someone on the brink of financial ruin and offer to shame them on national TV for free. Show me the money!"

Um, just kidding. That's what I was thinking.

Really what I said was:

me: "Um, no thank you."

TV executive: "Are you sure? We'd put you up in a hotel in Chicago overnight too."

me: "How many nights? Like a vacation?"

[Shut up! I had to ask. Come on. Wouldn't you?]

TV executive: "Only one night because that's all that's needed for the show."

me: "pssht. That's it? No thanks."

TV executive [trying several more times]: "But you might like the experience. You'd be with others. And Chicago's a really neat town."

Um, yeah.

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my videocamera beside the golden couch!"

Yeah. Display us on stage, freaks that we are, for ridicule so we can collectively zombify and attach to eachother for support. A bunch of money mismanaging wrecks careening through life, united by their chosen shames. On stage. That's exactly what I want. Before my high school reunion too, just so anyone who ever tried to kick my ass then could see how much my life rocked right at that moment.

So, um, yeah, that didn't work out. But if they HAD offered to pay off my student loans, I would have signed up. I'm not THAT proud. ;)

**For the record, my loans are under control now. I can afford to eat every third Thursday and even bought a new pair of socks recently!

this isn't really the blog where I pour out rainbows, so...

2011-09-23T12:10:00.000-04:00

I am annoyed with myself today. Me and my goddamn self-absorbed blog, like anyone gives a shit about my stupid love life or inner turmoil. I mean, to be fair, I started the blog for *me* because I like having a record of where I've been emotionally, but I look back and it's fucking embarrassing sometimes. It's so obvious that I am lost and confused and struggling. That's human, yes, but also annoying. I mean, get yourself TOGETHER girl, right? Just fucking be normal, right?

This has been a shitty week. But then again, this isn't really the blog where I pour out rainbows, so despite my annoyance with my petty life, I'll continue.

The past two days, my ex (the 17-year relationship one) and I have been writing, for the first time in about a year and a half. I mean, we'd been in curt business-like contact about the house sale, tax stuff and pending divorce this whole time but haven't talked about the breakup. Until now.

Don't do this.

Wait, we're "writing"? More like frothing. It's like one big giant purple Barney song gone terribly wrong. "He hates meeee, I hate himmmm, la la la la la..." Or Spongebob kung fu fighting.

He's still angry, I'm still defensive and the pain is still so great. Could we ever heal enough to have a productive exchange? Actually it feels like we're making some headway but there's so much wrong that I don't know how much could be accomplished.

He used to be my best friend. I mean, I could understand his entire state of being with a single grunt. I haven't seen him in 1.5 years but I have seen pictures on his blog. Even worse then seeing his new beau is being struck by the deep sadness in his eyes. He smiles there but I can see a core of pain in those eyes and it about breaks me.

The timing is awesome too. I've been sick this week with a terrible sore throat that has prevented me from consuming more then 12 calories a day as the only method I've got for food intake is swallowing (no tube yet) and I just haven't perfected my serrated knife slugging skills. Tack on a crying fit and yeah, I feel GREAT.

But here, I'll try a stupid exercise. They say to list the things you're grateful for? Okay:

Friends who get me and lend support. <3<3<3
That a small line of communication was opened here, maybe it will be healing in some small way.
Maybe I'll lose weight because I can't eat!

My general life philosophy: don't be a dick.

2011-09-19T22:27:00.001-04:00

So, I don't talk much about work here. But I have a little rant brewing inside.

I pretty much love my job. I've enjoyed almost every job I ever had; I'm good with that whole "be content with what you've got and if not, move on" thing in life, and have been extremely fortunate to land great bosses, be surrounded by good people and gain interesting experiences. I'll say that even about the waitressing jobs I had when I worked my way through college. Working is easy.

I am proud to say I have never willingly participated in office politics but that doesn't mean I don't see when it goes on. It's inherent for groups to assemble themselves into hierarchical structures. It happens in flocks and herds and packs and societies, and the obviousness of it all is not lost to the nature documentary constantly playing in my head. So I notice dynamics and choose to celebrate mostly their positive aspects.

My general life philosophy is don't be a dick. It seems to work.

I am totally doing this the next time someone
parks like a dick during a snow storm.

I can be a bit of an outcast sometimes. Fashion bores me, I hate sports, bad attitudes annoy me and my head is usually wrapped around larger issues then the small world I occupy during business hours. I'm thinking about the things everyone wraps up tightly at work: the coworker whose family member suffers from a worrisome illness, my mom undergoing a nuclear stress test, the possibility of bugs entering the mainstream food supply as an actual food source, how the the moon's striking beauty continually grabs me, the usefulness of animal noises as a human communication medium, how happy my ex looks with his new life and how shitty that makes me feel, why can I never remember trash day, and myriad other goings on around the planet. Articles about people struggling don't leave my mind just because I click away. I pay homage to their experience by dedicating some time to them in my thoughts. It feels important.

Sometimes this can make me a shitty lunch conversationalist. I want to talk about things that matter and everyone else wants to talk about the one person at work they can't stand or some character on a reality show I've never even seen (my LIFE is a reality show, who has time for anything but living?).

Luckily my friends are fellow nerds also dissatisfied with superficialities and so it's rare that this is an issue. But sometimes all this observation makes me feel removed from the human performances compelled by our biology.

People in a group tightly wear a cloak of professionalism. And the nature documentary in my head narrates: superficiality is armor; animals that reveal their vulnerabilities are the first ones to be picked off. No one will admit they struggle. And so this isolates us in tight boxes of human flesh, released by keys of alcohol or passion.

Pretty sad when THIS is the escape.

In one way, this veneer of professionalism is an escape. No one could live steeped in darkness for an extended time and so it's good to move from the heart to the head to live and work and metabolize and function. But in another way it's a prison. We measure ourselves against each other. The most successful may just be better at cloaking their troubles but we can't tell that. And so the end result is that maybe we all feel isolated.

I fast forward to the series of interviews where some journalist asked people on their death bed what they really regretted. They said feeling alone. The deep connections in life are what matter.

See them connecting? It looks so deep.

So I think of this when people discuss superficialities and I wonder: why do people avoid so many opportunities to deeply connect?

</rant>

ps. despite the nature documentary in my head and the seriousness of so many posts, I do often carry a light heart and laugh much. It's just that my heart is not shallow.

2011-09-18T22:28:00.001-04:00

I wrote to a friend recently detailing how I felt hesitant to jump back into a relationship. I just don't feel ready, I said, but I wasn't sure how to communicate this or even why. His reply was instantaneously soothing:

You need to explain some shit to mother fuckers right now, and I hate to go back to this well, but the metaphor is apt: when you break a bone or have major surgery, you must be allowed time to heal. That's why an end to a relationship is called "BREAKING up," because you are breaking the part of yourself that was created in that relationship. You have to you heal that self next. When someone sees someone fresh out of a cast or with stitches from heart surgery, their first response generally isn't "Let's run a goddamned marathon." People need to understand that they are asking you to run a marathon when they insist on committed relationship. You have healing to do. When a bone is broken, you have to rehabilitate it. The muscles are weakened and atrophied, and have to be taught to bear weight again. I'm not saying tell people "I'll never run again," I'm saying tell them you're not even out of the cast yet.

Most of my crushes understand this, some maybe are even in a similar place themselves, which is wonderful. Someday I'll run again. When it feels right.

5 unavailable crushes = one actual man?

2011-09-14T00:03:00.002-04:00

He has a girlfriend. I only met him once; while looking at an apartment he was renting weeks ago. I spent ten minutes surveying the unit and then another two hours laughing my ass off and now I fear I am crushing hard for someone who not only may I never see again, but who is unavailable. But we've been writing, and I find myself more and more gleeful at every exchange. The emails are light and funny, not like the deeper ones I share with some other crushes, but they make me laugh and so it wasn't surprising to learn he was, among other things, a comedy writer. I'll call him Mr. Awesome.

I have some other crushes too. The philosopher is everything I'd want if I'd made a list and handed it to the universe. We write long tomes and debate everything under the sun. But I am shy around him in person for some reason, and so we haven't even so much as kissed yet. We agreed to be "just friends" right now because he seems to understand that's all I'm capable of now. In my head I wonder if it will grow to more.

Then there's the Rock Star. Emerging, like me, from a long relationship. We only have a friendship, but it's a comforting friendship that involves a special understanding from shared experience. An understanding that healing must come on its own terms and cannot be rushed. I told him that when I was in his boat, I didn't realize how important it was to have the sense that I could rebuild myself without being pressed. And that meant being free. Aqua-eyed boy knew this though and offered it to me even though I didn't know how much I needed it. Then, I'd wanted his jealous affections, a commitment of an "us," but that made him uneasy. Now I understand he didn't want to own me because he wanted ME to own me. I hope to pay this gift forward.

I still hang out with the Artist sometimes. He came with me to buy a shower curtain in Target and we danced The Cupid Shuffle in the parking lot. When we are not dealing with relationship issues (and there are a million!), boy can be fun.

Some dry part of my brain muttered yesterday, "well, THIS is why you're not feeling needy. You can crush on a few people without actually having a real relationship with any of them and then maybe that equals (the emotional equivalent of) one real boyfriend!

::facepalm::

I love my job but...

2011-09-08T05:29:00.002-04:00

Yesterday at work:

Annoying Coworker (AC): I need those files.

me: what files?

AC: those blog files.

me: what blog files?

AC: the files I said I needed.

me: I'm not sure what you're talking about.

AC: the ones I emailed person A & person B about.

me: ummm, check with person A or person B?

AC: what's their progress on those files?

me: I have no idea, check with them.

AC: do you know if they did them?

me: Um, I really don't know, ask them.

AC: I need them.

me: Yeaaaah, um, they're both sitting at their desk now if you want to ask them.

AC: okaaaay. ::annoyed huff::

I gotta save this for my screenplay. Seriously!

my current state

2011-09-07T12:38:00.000-04:00

Can you tell if a relationship will last? What makes them fail? What qualities should we seek in a partner?

2011-08-29T22:33:00.002-04:00

I came across Marriage researcher Dr. Gottman during my self-help frenzy, when I wanted to understand what went wrong before and how I could tell if it would happen again. He has put together a huge body of research on what makes relationships work or fail and has detailed his findings in over 190 academic papers and 40 books. He is considered one of the leading voices on successful marital relations.

Dr. Gottman has pinpointed a handful of the most corrosive negative behavior patterns found in partnerships and says that the presence of any of these are so intertwined with high levels of marital dissatisfaction that they each can singularly all but predict the likelihood of divorce.

What are these terrible traits that can wreck even the most solid-seeming union? There are only four. That's all you need to bring the tower of love crashing down. (Actually, you only need ONE of the four, but I digress.) I'm pasting them here from his site (but you should read the whole page of FAQs later if this topic interests you; I pasted the link below):

Criticism: stating one’s complaints as a defect in one’s partner’s personality, i.e., giving the partner negative trait attributions. Example: “You always talk about yourself. You are so selfish.”
Contempt: statements that come from a relative position of superiority. Contempt is the greatest predictor of divorce and must be eliminated. Example: “You’re an idiot.”
Defensiveness: self-protection in the form of righteous indignation or innocent victim-hood. Defensiveness wards off a perceived attack. Example: “It’s not my fault that we’re always late; it’s your fault.”
Stonewalling: emotional withdrawal from interaction. Example: The listener does not give the speaker the usual nonverbal signals that the listener is “tracking” the speaker.

These predict early divorcing – an average of 5.6 years after the wedding. Emotional withdrawal and anger predict later divorcing – an average of 16.2 years after the wedding.

Can physiological data really predict changes in marital satisfaction?

Yes. The more “diffusely physiologically aroused” (in other words, in “fight or flight” mode,) someone is during a conflict conversation, the more his or her marital satisfaction is likely to decline during a period of three years.

If you had to summarize Dr. Gottman’s 35 years of research into two key findings, what would they be? Happily married couples behave like good friends, and they handle their conflicts in gentle, positive ways. Happily married couples are able to repair negative interactions during an argument, and they are able to process negative emotions fully.

--From Dr. Gottman's FAQ page

So I'm thinking heavily about this stuff and also the wisdom detailed in "Too Soon Old, Too Late Smart" by Dr. Gordon Livingston -- an excellent text on how to have an awesome life. I bought it based on the zillion positive reviews because they moved me. The reviews haven't disappointed yet either -- I'm only on the third chapter and already have a lot to digest.

Like, the concept of choosing a good partner. What traits are important? Livingston writes:

What is it exactly that we need to know to decide if someone is a suitable candidate for a lifetime commitment? Perhaps one way to approach this screening process is to learn more about who is evidently not suitable. To make this judgment, one needs to know something about personality.

We are accustomed to thinking about character in the most superficial ways. "He has a lot of personality" is usually a statement about how engaging or entertaining someone is. In fact, the formal definition of personality includes our habitual ways of thinking, feeling, and relating to others. Most of us understand that people differ in certain characteristics such as introversion, fondness for detail, tolerance for boredom, willingness to be helpful, determination, and a host of other personal qualities. What most people fail to realize however, is that the qualities we value -- kindness, tolerance, capacity for commitment -- are not randomly distributed. They tend to exist as constellations of "traits" that are recognizable and reasonably stable over time.

Likewise, those attributes of character that are less desirable -- impulsivity, self-centeredness, quickness to anger -- often cluster in discernible ways. Much of our difficulty in developing and sustaining personal relationships resides in our failure to recognize, in ourselves as well as others, those personality characteristics that make someone a poor candidate for a committed relationship.

The psychiatric profession has taken the trouble to categorize personality disorders. I often think that this section of the diagnostic manual ought to be titled "People to avoid." The many labels contained herein -- histrionic, narcissistic, dependent, borderline, and so on -- form a catalogue of unpleasant persons: suspicious, selfish, unpredictable, exploitative. These are the people your mother warned you about. (Unfortunately, sometimes they are your mother.) They seldom exist in the unalloyed form suggested by the statistical manual, but knowing something about how to recognize them would save a lot of heartbreak.

What would be equally useful, I think, would be a manual of virtual character traits that describes qualities to nurture in ourselves and to seek in our friends and lovers. At the top of the list would be kindness, a willingness to give of oneself to another. This most desirable of virtues governs all the others, including a capacity for empathy and love. Like other forms of art, we may find it hard to define, but when we are in its presence, we feel it.

This is the map we wish to construct in our heads: a reliable guide that allows us to avoid those who are not worthy of our time and trust and to embrace those who are. The best indications that our always-tentative maps are faulty include feelings of sadness, anger, betrayal, surprise and disorientation. It is when these feelings surface that we need to think about our mental instrument of navigation and how to correct it, so that we do not fall into the repetitive patters of those who waste the learning that is the only consolation for our painful experience.

Wow. So I'm just going to let this sit with me for a bit. Those times when I feel disoriented, unhappy, sad or upset? Pay attention. Those are indicators that something isn't right. I've been terrible at listening to my gut before. I reason away my feelings. But it's important to heed them. So I am telling myself: Listen to that tiny voice inside. The quiet one that's unfamiliar. It needs to be heard most of all.

what went wrong?

2011-08-17T06:13:00.003-04:00

The divorce will be finalized soon. It's been over 1.5 years since I ripped my life in half.

People asked what happened since we looked so happy on the outside but I was unable to articulate it then. But now I'll try.
What went wrong?

First off, I should say that I'm terrible at identifying my own needs and understanding my comfort zone. So when I'm feeling hurt or uncomfortable, I try to ignore the uneasy feeling inside. (It's so much more convenient!) If I were a healthier, stronger and more self-aware person, I would have been able to assert myself better. But he had a stronger personality and I didn't view myself as being worthy enough to have equal regard and those two factors added layers of force to issues.

In the beginning, I willingly retracted my sense of self. He was the important one, he had the important hobbies, he needed the space in the household. I don't think I understood at first how this was starting to become a stressor for me.

Then we unexpectedly undertook huge projects for which we didn't fully have the resources. We moved into a house that we discovered (too late) (don't ask) was saturated with cat piss, infested with insects, and filled with mold and allergens. My life became a reality show. "SEE the spidery crickets popping out of the electrical outlets! SEE how they bounce off contestant A's naked body as she undresses for bed! HEAR her bloodcurdling shriek of doom as the crickets laugh and regroup!!"

For 10 years we struggled with the house and I don't think I realized how much it being in a state of flux contributed to it not feeling like a safe haven for me. Home became a stressful place instead of an oasis for both of us.

He never even wanted a house. It was my dream, not his. He said, as we signed the papers, that he was happy we picked a place that didn't need much work so he could spend his weekends hiking and traveling. [Universe interjects: BWAHAHAHAHA!!]

Take two people, oscillate wildly, insert into mixing bowl and turn on high. Leave on for 10 years or until any semblance of former molecular structure is completely dismantled.

Life felt so difficult from all this struggling. And this was on TOP of the really stressful job he juggled. There was never enough time and things were never "right." We stopped doing as many fun things as we should have, both together and apart. We didn't nurture our relationship enough or nurture our independent selves. And when we did do things together (travel, etc), there was so much stress there too that those things began to feel less fun to me as well.

Stress does funny things to people. It makes them snappy and irritable and unhappy and edgy. You know that whole quality of life thing that people say is key to happiness? And how it involves enough sleep and eating right and having time to recharge? Yeah. Not in our house.

Then sometimes he would be impatient with me and I was too ashamed to say how much that hurt my feelings and I began to feel smaller and smaller and even less-worthy and started to lose my ability to trust or open up. Shutting down is damaging to a relationship. But I retracted into a ball to protect myself from a life that felt very assaulting.

All of these things, coupled with an unhealthy dynamic for conflict, began to make the relationship an unhappy one for me.

Long before either one of us even realized it.

It's just... a little crush...

2011-08-07T00:05:00.000-04:00

Having a sense of hope feels important to me.

As much as I am scared of getting close...

I want to share my life with someone.

But I don't want to force it if it doesn't feel right.

And so, armed with nothing but gut feelings,

I yelled "Take three!" and set up a profile on another dating site after the artist and I broke up.

I had some nice email conversations with several guys but then the philosopher found me and introduced himself.

armchair philosopher, the best kind.

I'm not quite sure what it was that grabbed me in his first letter -- was it the depth? Warmth? Personality? Something though. We've been writing back and forth a bit and covering many topics but I don't like crushing on people I haven't yet met, so today, while apartment shopping, I pinged him to see if he wanted to meet up for not-a-date. If nothing else, I wanted to at least be friends with the man behind all those words.

Cupid keeps missing.

He called me from the lot. "I'm here! You'll recognize me because I'm the guy who looks like his pix but about 50 pounds heavier."

::long pause::

"Just kidding!!"

We grabbed a cozy booth over a plate of olives.

And this kept happening:

(discussing the perils of online dating)

me: Ha! Here's a pic of me when I woke up. I put this on an earlier profile pic thinking well, if someone still likes me after seeing me at my worse, awesome.
(Basically me in the morning, just add longer hair.)
him: I love girls in baggy PJs.

me (thinking) really?? Lounging around in fleece is not just tolerated but LIKED? (Pictures cozy movie date over Chinese take-out)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

me: I think it's important to have a sense of connection and also independence in a relationship.

him: me too!

::story sharing happens::

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

me: [Impossible set of ideals]

him: [XACTLY]

So, um, huh. We seem to relate well.

I'm losing some nerve posting my feelings all over the internet because it leaves me open for judgment.

But okay, a complicated love life now. A new crush, a persistent attachment to aqua-eyed boy, some ache over the failed relationship with the artist, much ache over the pending divorce, and a sense that I don't really deserve love and so engage in self-punishing behavior by choosing the wrong types of pairings.

As the torso turns...

where the f*** does someone get an 8-hour cock lollipop??

2011-08-04T00:16:00.001-04:00

So if you were following me on Twitter, you probably already know that I recently agreed to go to a private dominatrix party with the artist.

By accident.

Shut up! YES, by accident. I'll explain in a minute. But first, I must say this:

My entire night can be summed up in 7 words.

WHAT HAS BEEN SEEN CANNOT BE UNSEEN.

Thank you and good night.

Seriously, I don't know where to start. So let's begin with "by accident."

I can hear you saying,"How does someone get roped into a dominatrix party [heh, I said "roped"] BY ACCIDENT?"

Here's how:

Artist: So, I've got a gig tonight, want to assist? I'll be taking pictures at a private party.

Me: Private party?

Artist: It'll be really interesting. People will dress up like Lady Gaga.

Me: Okay. I think.

So I dunno, I thought it was like a Halloween party or something.

The first thing I noticed when pulling into the driveway were all the bumper stickers:

"I'm straight but not narrow!!"

"Slave for sale."

"Men belong at women's feet!"

Then we rounded the corner and I SAW WHAT WAS GOING ON IN THE GARAGE.

First, I need to mention that the part of my brain that had a vague awareness of this kind of thing -- fetish parties -- thought they existed only in the most abstract of terms, like yodelers or sword swallowers. Things that fall into the category of People (Who Are Not Me) That Do Weird Things (But Whatever).

Now I'm not saying it's weird to play in the bedroom. That's not what I'm saying at all. It's awesome when two people feel free enough to explore the limits of pleasure together. Chemistry rocks. But I mean, it DOES take a special kind of... (nerve? neuroses? I'm not quite sure how to label this) to dangle from the ceiling while 50 people watch your nipples get pinched, no?

It may take only one pervert to put in a light bulb,
but it takes the whole emergency room to remove it.

So, the first clue that this wasn't really a Halloween party (aside from the half-naked lady in the driveway dragging around a guy in a dog collar and leash) was the ass-whipping happening in the garage.

It was my first witnessed public ass-whipping.

A large woman, stood spread-eagle (can you stand spread eagle?) against the unfinished walls of the garage while a guy whose (erect?) junk, covered slightly by a soft fringe of leather, jiggled as he hurled a knotted black whip across her giant naked, bare ass. Usually I have the largest ass in any room, so my first thought was "Oh yay, I am not the largest-assed person here!" (followed shortly by "WTF?!?").

Also, Jesus Christ, was EVERYONE sucking a cock lollipop??

I turned to a woman wearing nothing but electrical tape and asked her where the bathroom was. "Oh, it's broken. Just go outside." She pointed to a lady peeing 15 feet away.

WARNING: This family-oriented blog may
contain sensitive imagery.

Dammit. All I wanted to do was find a private corner so I could text my friends "OMFG you HAVE TO SEE THIS!!"

The owners were ultra-concerned that everyone (like the Tall Diplomat -- no one used their real name), have absolute privacy. No photography allowed, unless it was the staff photog (yay Artist) who was using his own equipment but their memory card.

I "assisted" by holding the permission forms. I was a shitty assistant. I was too shy to LOOK at anyone so I kept swiveling my head to stare at the floor or the ceiling. I mean, they're getting their ASSES whipped. Don't they want privacy? I lived in a dorm once. When people start having sex under your nose, the protocol is that everyone in the room is supposed to act like it's not happening, right?

But wait, these people CAME here. They didn't stumble home. They got naked in front of a million people (okay only 60 but still) ON PURPOSE right?

I see what's hot here... but the gas mask??

People noticed my shy demeanor.

"Wow, how long can someone blush??" Someone asked me.

I blushed harder.

Apparently an hour.

Why was I surprised they had alcohol present? I mean, if you're GOING to hang from a chandelier once in your life, you need to be trashed, right?

Another thing. It's human nature to size oneself up against one's peers, except now all my peers were drunk, high, naked and strange. I looked down at my ankle-length skirt and thought great, I am the resident nun. Everyone else is wearing nothing but electrical tape and I'm folding my jacket closed like it's the Bathrobe of Modesty.

The Tall Diplomat shed his senatorial suit and sidled up to me in a chain-link thong. "When's that dress coming off?" "It's NOT," I replied stiffly. "I'm here with the staff photographer."

I tried to keep a low profile and disappear behind the cupcakes but people followed me, voyeuristically ogling my private indulgence exposed unawares: yes, the uptight chick has a yearning all her own and it involves chocolate icing. I ate two. It calmed the auditory assault of distant primal moans and repetitive ass whipping.

Then I met my first "furry." He was dressed as a dog (or a bad bear? I couldn't exactly tell).

"Furries" are people who like to have sex in costume. Specifically, fuzzy animal costumes. Legitimate costumes come with holes in all the right places so it never has to come off: penetration to orgasm can be successfully achieved whilst locked in the arms of a wildly unnatural representation of a beast. Nice.

And a few feet away I watched a naked lady settle onto a large table while her suitor carefully wrapped a stick in cloth before soaking it in alcohol, lighting it on fire and quickly swathing her breasts in flame.

I tweeted:

And now I'm watching someone set someone else on fire. My mom would be so proud. ::facepalm::

"I was born with three tits!" She told him proudly.

I didn't check.

After that, a couple at a picnic table next to mine started having sex. That was a wee bit awkward.

Sometime after the second cupcake, I started to get a little bored. I reached an ass-whipping/orgasmic scream saturation point. Here were all these people yanking and whipping and poking, eager to give flesh a hearty workover -- anything to illicit a reaction -- and yet all of it seemed devoid of passion somehow.

I kept thinking of the quote, "You can go a lifetime without feeling anything but skin." by Chuck Palahniuk.

More people came over to talk to me. John Mayer Lookalike (If John Mayer Ran Around Nude Wearing Nothing But A Trenchcoat) stopped by to say hello.

Work with me here on the John Mayer face, people.

"I'd REALLY like to get tied up. But I just don't see anyone appealing here," he said.

I pointed to some hot girls wearing nothing but electrical tape standing in line next to the ropes. "What about them? They look kinda receptive."

He shook his head. "Nah."

We stood in silence as one of them stepped into a harness and got raised and tied with ropes; just one in a long line of the willingly bound.

I wondered how much HPV coated the ropes.

In fact, I was quite sure every surface in that house had a film of HPV on it.

Great, now I am not just the covered nun girl, I am Howard Hughes in female form.

Picture taking ceased around dawn and the artist pulled me away from a 70-ish year old man describing, uninvited, the vagaries of orgasmic massage (thankfully I was ripped away before any unsolicited demonstrations began). We were warmly invited back. I thought "me? You're inviting ME, the most uptight girl in this entire place back??" I thanked the weird fetishy hosts and made a mental note to find out where the fuck does someone get an 8-hour cock lollipop??

Oh, and yesterday I saw the book "Wallflower at the Orgy" and bought it SIGHT UNSEEN because, well, that was me 2 Saturdays ago.

Funny chat convo (and poor planning on the part of the vicar with a potato up his ass)

2011-07-24T15:02:00.003-04:00

Me: gah! Caught by net nanny again at work. This never happens because I'm trying to look at porn on PURPOSE, you know. It's the bait-n-switch. Okay, www.whitehouse.com... um... oops, that doesn't look like the president.* (*true story, whitehouse.com used to be a porn site.)

Friend: Suuuure. Like that priest dude who slipped while hanging curtains naked and a vegetable got stuck in his ass? I hate when that happens.

Me: Haha! I remember that story. The veggie in question was a potato.

Friend: "I slipped" was the best he could think of???

Me: http://www.metro.co.uk/weird/382493-vicar-hospitalised-with-potato-up-his-bum

Friend: yeah that happened to me once. And then again a couple minutes later.

Me: Ha! I mean, what is he thinking? The ass is like a giant black hole with a huge gravitational pull, sucking in any object within a 5 foot radius? I mean, really!

I hate writing sometimes.

2011-07-16T12:16:00.003-04:00

Self destruction is interesting in the arts.

Art, music, dance, poetry... tortured self-expression can be captivating, mesmerizing, aching, enlightening, freeing and sometimes even hilarious (enter TFLN: "It never makes you rethink your life choices when you're breaking into my apartment at 3am to take a piss in my kitchen sink?").

But in blogs? No. In blogs, self-destruction is face-palmingly horrifying. It's a train wreck in words.

Why?

Because you get to see the whole picture.

"I smashed a lamp over my head. There was blood everywhere. And glass. And I took a picture." Penelope Trunk writes in a post on how to bounce back.

. . .

"I had basically been broken to the ground. I had 16 out of 17 businesses fail, I survived divorce, losing a home, depression, people dying on me, not seeing my kids for long periods of time, investments fail, and I was fired from about eight jobs simultaneously. What was the point? I was just going to write how I saw it. Screw it." James Altucher in Do You Have to be Rich to be Honest?

You shake your fist at the screen and say "WHYWHYWHY are you doing this, it's so bad for you!!"

You want to see these people happy. You wouldn't be reading their blogs if you didn't care, right?

Granted, writing about awesomeness is boring as fuck. What's the value in self-exploration if you're only going to present the side of yourself you want everyone to see? Bitches, I'm in the trenches here. I'mma fuck up and then talk about it because that's what I DO.

I'm seeing the artist today.

I just saw you roll your eyes.

You want to say, "THIS is how people have shitty lives! They make shitty decisions. They see the choices that are shitty and then do it anyway."

You will say this and then get to be right when I lament my choices later through a haze of tears.

I hate writing sometimes.

I wish I could croon these dark impulses in husky undertones instead, using poetic verses to express the unexplainable. The thing I can't articulate. The need I can't shake for a sense of peace amidst the chaos. If I could sing about this, maybe you could join me. Maybe I'd bring you to that time you were a little reckless too.

We romanticize recklessness. The cost for uncaging our insides is normally tightly hidden. But the biggest vices in society belie our wrapped exterior: food, drugs, alcohol, porn, sex, fantasy, entertainment... these speak of the desire to be moved, awakened, soothed.

I agreed to see the artist to calm the torrents inside. I want to understand what happened. I want to heal and learn how to be friends. I hope this isn't a mistake, but here I go, trying.

....

Epilogue: In the end, it could not be, although we agreed to be friends.

I signed up for what??

2011-07-15T17:04:00.001-04:00

Last time I EVER do this.

So I'm doing a favor for a friend's friend's friend's friend to feed their cats while they go on vacation. Somehow I forgot that this included scooping turds. I know what goes in must come out but somehow I neglected to imagine this as a part of the responsibilities when I said yes.

"So here are the two litter boxes. Drag these over to the toilets so you can empty the litter there. We don't believe in scooping the waste into a bag because it will sit in landfills for 1,000 years."

I hear you on the green aspect. But wait, you're saying you heave two littlerboxes across two rooms into a tiny bathroom every day? I'm sorry about destroying the planet and all, but REALLY?

"Now one of the cats doesn't LIKE the litter box. He just goes on the floor. So just use these papertowels and floor cleaner for that."

Here's where I began hatching the escape plan. I have to clean crap off the floor? THEY clean crap off the floor? Who puts up with this? Hello? When the ratio of ass care outweighs the endorphin release, it's time to either retrain, hire a cat whisperer, figure out why this is happening or find a new home.

"And here, give them four of these treats and 8 of these other ones every day."

They measure their treats?? Twelve a day PLUS the heaping bowls of food? No wonder both cats are fat as fuck.

"And the water! There's a bowl on every floor and several rooms of our very large and complicated house. Please clean and refill every visit."

Why do you want to hate your life? Just have ONE waterbowl. Put it near a sink and stop torturing yourself by making everything so difficult.

"Oh! And we will fill the tub with food, just in case there's an emergency. This upstairs one here. Our last petsitter thought we didn't trust her but it wasn't that, we just like to play it safe. Oh we're SO glad you understand."

Wha-? Were you saying something? Look, I checked out 20 minutes ago. I'm just nodding to get you to hurry the *&^% up so I can get home and write about this. Do what you want but don't expect me to deal with your subsequent insect (and rodent, if the cats are too fat to hunt) infestation.

"Oh, and can you play with them?"

That's about the only thing I was hoping to do, actually. At least until one of them just gave me cat scratch fever.

"Please text us every day. Let us know how they are doing!"

Oh god. I am going to hang myself now. You just spent 49 minutes telling me how to take care of your cats while you're away for 6 days. If it takes that long to detail their care plan, you're doing TOO MUCH! They're cats. Feed, water, play. Enough!!

So, anyone want a catsitting job? No pay. The joy of scooping feces is payment enough!

Fucking high road.

2011-07-14T15:22:00.001-04:00

The amount of energy required to forgive a difficult grudge is approximately 3 miniature kit kat bars.

And Facebook should have a "FINE. FUCKING ACCEPT" button for friendship requests.

The artist and I reconnected online.

"Taking the high road is usually not the easy one to take or the most popular. The low road seems to offer instant satisfaction. It may seem better for the moment, but if you compromise you principles and your integrity, it will always end up costing you far more in the long run."
- Billy Cox

::rolls eyes:: I don't like holding grudges. But I am wiser, so, okay.

"Sorry for being a dick. Bondage club?"

2011-07-14T11:15:00.003-04:00

The artist has invited me to a bondage club as a way of making nice. Awesome.

Seriously, we had the first normal conversation in weeks yesterday. I think because he'd gone on a date and felt less panicked about being alone.

Me: "WTF was that all about? Why were you such a dick?" (I didn't say it like that, more like the politically-correct "I was confused at why you handled your hurt so inappropriately.")

Him: "Well, that's what girls have always done to me."

Me: "Done what??"

Him: "Write on their Facebook page, insult me, badmouth me, etc."

Me: "I don't DO stuff like that."

Him: "I didn't know that."

Me: "Have you noticed that I never said anything bad about my exes?? Only that I was hurt that it didn't work out? I didn't assassinate their character, share details about the breakup, reveal private information or compromise their trust. Didn't you notice that?!?"

Him: "I'm sorry I was an ass. Friends?"

Me: "There is a huge amount of repair that would have to go into even being a FRIEND."

Him: "I didn't realize you would take everything I said so literally. I can get a little hotheaded but it's just venting."

Me (throwing hands up): "I didn't even *recognize* you. That was the worst part. It was so contrary to everything I'd come to know about you."

So, we talked. I'm still confused by the whole experience.

Aqua-eyed boy wrote "I reckon you understand now why I'm so cautious." It takes time for trust to grow.

I'm thoroughly convinced that the next time I get involved with someone, I am going to act like a teenage virgin and totally wait for comfort levels to grow before getting close. Fuck desire, fuck physical attraction, fuck loneliness, and fuck that heady "connected" feeling. I don't have numbers -- I'm not all "it'll be right by x date" -- just, whenever.

One friend advised me "Look, asplenia, you need to get out there and sleep around. You don't have that much experience dating and so now's the time to get it." I wrote back, repulsed, "I just can't DO that. I get attached and stuff."

Right after the breakup, one acqaintance offered to send me pix of his genitals. We handn't even ever held hands, let alone considered SexyTime (TM). I wrote back, "Listen, Captain Cock, shouldn't we at least know eachother first??" (which kindof killed the conversation). (Maybe guys don't like being called Captain Cock but then stop whipping it out uninvited.) (Ever since a fellow blogger used this term [http://arrogantass.wordpress.com] -- and I don't know how to make this linkable via phone as I am writing this on the bus-- I collapse in giggles just like Beavis. Great. I am a teenaged boy trapped inside the body of a grown woman. Nice.)

Anyway, if you are living it up, please share. I need to live vicariously through others while I center myself, however long that takes.

- Posted from my phone

"On a typical Friday night I am... sitting in my doublewide."

2011-07-01T19:07:00.003-04:00

Check this out. Whaddaya think, he's the one? This was an actual profile on Okstoopid a while back. Last September I saved it in my "funny haha" folder and today I'm cleaning electronic house and thought "this would be great for my blog!"

SELF-SUMMARY:

Hi, I'm Bubba, I'm 4'10" and 465lbs. I'm grossly unattractive, eternally unemployed, unquestionably impotent, repulsively pathetic, arrogantly narcoleptic, trailer park living, hygienically disregarding, genital scratching, incontinent wearing, patholigical liar with a nasty attitude, bad breath, fashionably hairy back, an IQ of 75 and absolutely no sense of humor.

I desire an angry, self absorbed, egocentric, narcissistic, control freak type woman that appreciates and posseses similar virtues to mine for a long mutually demeaning relationship.

Added bonus if you are moody, manipulative, materialistic, or tantrum throwing. I also have a thing for big haired chicks who have taken out a ceiling fan or two with their hair-do, but even if you don't got big hair, as long as you got some of the above qualities, i'm all for it.

FAVORITE BOOKS

I don't read books. They're bad for you. All they do is give you bad ideas. Movies? I only watch the ones starring Ron Jeremy. I like the music at the tractor pulls...and as far as food goes, anything deep fried, specially possum

ON A TYPICAL FRIDAY NIGHT I AM...

sitting in my doublewide watching my relatives on the Jerry Springer Show while drinking a case of PBR

MESSAGE ME IF...

You're into short, round, illiterate men.

I don't think I'm angry enough for him though.

another ending.

2011-06-24T23:42:00.000-04:00

Well, it's over between the artist and I.

I don't really know how to talk about this right now so I'm heading to sleep. All I know is I feel shitty, I never wanted to hurt anyone, why do people act so mean when hurt? What hope is there for world peace when people who care about eachother can conjure up daggers? Recognition of my frailties and the vagaries of human nature have me exhausted. How small and fierce we are and yet how little it all matters sometimes.

In the end, I guess it couldn't last because I didn't feel that elusive sense of home.

It doesn't mean that I am not mourning, however.

I am catching myself saying things like "okay, so you learned..." and then stopping myself short when I hear bitterness. I don't want to be bitter. I want to be grateful for the chance. Caring doesn't end just because it's not a good fit. I have loved sweaters that shrunk. They didn't shrink on purpose. We all try our hardest, right? Even when we're not. Even when we're having a terrible day and we've slept 4 hours and nothing seems right, even then we're trying our hardest. Maybe especially then.

Someday I will try again. I don't know when but it doesn't matter anymore.

The shitty year of love, summarized (aka the romances that mostly weren't)

2011-06-16T00:26:00.008-04:00

Since my marriage ended, here are those that were or might have been.

Actual Relationship:

Aqua-eyed Boy: Ah yes. The boy who made me feel dreamy but we could not be. I fell hard. He was the first one I dated after D & I broke up. I was crazy enough for him (and crazy, period) that I probably would have followed him to the ends of the earth. Why? He made me laugh. He helped me through more then I could express. He will always have a part of my heart.

The Artist: who I'm dating now. The wonderful artist who is patient and kind and accepts me despite my myriad flaws and barriers to getting close. He somehow always knows just what to say to reach me. He's still learning how to read me and what makes me edgy but his honesty, compassion and fiery nature draw and keep me near.

Maybes:

Mr. Videographer: made me laugh and hinted at more but I am not into unavailable men and he was taken.

Mr. Aquarium: a genuine gentleman with many ladies fawning over him on OkStupid. We only went on 2 dates before I realized I wasn't ready to be more then friends. We stayed friends though, that was cool.

Mr. Sean Penn: had a sparkly way about him that made me temporarily wonder about a romance but I couldn't deal with the dudeness aspect. I think he got high ALL the time.

Mr. State Department: warm eyes and smile, I could picture hugging him after a long day and being happy. But he confessed he had 144 cans of black beans in his house and I wasn't ready to advance to the burrito-making stage. He was very sweet though and we keep in touch via Facebook. He looks happy with his new beau.

Mr. Computer Genius Manager: Weirdly, it felt like I'd known him 20 years, that was our comfort level. But it was too soon after the breakup and when he tried to kiss me I burst into tears. Somehow he understood anyway (having been through similar trials) and didn't hold it against me. We still hang as friends and that means a lot.

High School Ex #1: approached me but dood is married, that's kindof a barrier, right? So, no.

Ex #2: we had an easy connection but even bigger barrier then the distance was that our psyches were in different places too.

Blonde High School Best Friend: I never allowed myself to think of him "that way" because I was friends with his ex once and so when he tentatively inquired, I still was not comfortable imagining more.

Mr. Texas: we teetered on the brink of a relationship back in college but nothing ever came of it. Still, I have a sweet memory of us sitting on a beach blanket together while his long hair flowed in the wind as we laughed at everything and nothing before he paused and sweetly said "I love you, Asplenia." But then we were too shy to even kiss. I fantasized about the possibilities a lot back then but we never did bridge the friendship-to-romance gap. Today, we are too different. Whatever moment may have been passed a long, long time ago. But I still adore him.

The Doctor: very compatible but our busy lives and the long distance would be tough to negotiate. Cuddling on the beach that one time rocked though. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him. I never found out.

Aqua-eyed Boy's friend #1: it's kinda not cool to date friends of exes, you know?

Aqua-eyed Boy's friend #2: And also, both his friends were too young. But they were good guys.

The Actor: great guy but I stiffened at his touch. I guess there was just no chemistry. We're still friends though too.

The Rock Star: I bet I could be totally crazy about this guy but cannot think about him like that as he had a beau and even though they had a short-term breakup didn't mean they were not still deeply attached. I am good at not crossing lines.

California Guy: never met in person but we wrote back & forth, having become friends through our blogs. We had a few flirty phone conversations and talked tentatively of meeting but then I met the artist.

Guys I liked but showed no reciprocal interest:

Friend #1: Indeed, the first and longest friend-crush I've ever had. He makes me feel at home. But I never reached out. If he wanted to explore something, he would have indicated as much. I did worry that a romance would strain the friendship if it didn't work out but I would have risked it anyway if he had been interested.

Friend #2: Has all the makings of a complete hearthrob, ladies love him. Which is a little daunting. But what's not to like? Still, we are just friends.

Mr. Galapagos: If he lived here, I would want to hang out with him all the time, that's how much I enjoy his personality.

Lately I've been going through more difficulties with getting close and if the artist and I don't work out, I am giving up on romance for a while. It's just too much. It just feels shitty to try and fail.

I wish.

2011-06-15T01:54:00.002-04:00

Tonight I saw aqua-eyed boy while he was on a short reprieve from his overseas deployment. Six months passed and yet it was like no time at all, the familiar joy and warmth of simply being in his company.

I wish... I wish so many things. I wish I hadn't been me, too shaken from life circumstances then to be myself. I wish he hadn't been him; too closed from life circumstances and fighting the futile battle of dwindling time.

I wish he hadn't had to go. I wish he didn't have to leave again. I hate that he must reside in a war zone and I hope he doesn't shoulder those burdens alone.

I wish we had more time.

I wish he had more time.

I wish we'd had a better chance.

I wish there hadn't been those misunderstandings. I wish I could take away the hurt when we didn't connect.

I wish there was such a thing as a happy ending.

Well, I guess the happiest ending is that we still have a bond.

And we watched Game of Thrones, so that was cool.

I am grateful the artist isn't the jealous type.

I wish for much and even more. (Add world peace while you're at it!)

Are you happy?

2011-06-10T09:06:00.118-04:00

My last post was really dark. The cobwebs of sleep were still clinging to me when I wrote it. I am getting more comfortable with seeing and sharing the darkness though; it seems easier to lift upwards when I grant the gloominess some stage time. Then I don't have to marinate in it forever.

While I have no control over what's transpired in the past, I still have an odd sense of hope. Maybe it's because I know what the darkness looks like? I don't LIVE there though -- just visit -- but man, what a shitty host! I could do better in the self-acceptance category. I need to stop flagellating myself for mistakes. They're really just lessons, right? I cried when a dear friend read that post and gently guided me away from the negativity.

He wrote:

Another thing I wanted to tell you is that after divorce, you feel like shit (and I'm actually candy-coating it). You imagine yourself as the biggest SUCK in the world. For me, I was old, fat, bald, ugly and didn't know who I was or wanted to be. Nothing, at the time, was going to change my mind. I visited friends shortly after the divorce and they really cut into me for being self deprecating. I wanted to hate them for saying nice things about me. My marriage was a failure, my life was a failure and I was a failure.... I fought to explain to everyone how horrible I was. I don't know why I felt I had to share these things with you, probably because I know you're a lot like me. You don't realize how awesome you are and sometimes will fight anyone who tries to change your mind.

And I thought huh. Maybe 2011's motto should be: It Gets Better.

HAPPINESS
is having a cheeseburger the cat doesn't

A recent article about happiness stated there two key components: 1. a sense of mastery and 2. optimism. Happy people feel in control and they also feel hopeful. The article then listed a bunch of questions you can ask yourself to see where you stand:

Sense of mastery:

1. I have little control over the things that happen to me.
2. There is really no way I can solve some of the problems I have.
3. There is little I can do to change many of the important things in my life.
4. I often feel helpless in dealing with the problems of life.
5. Sometimes I feel that I am being pushed around in life.
6. What happens to me in the future mostly depends on me.
7. I can do just about anything I really set my mind to do.

Optimism:

1. I still expect much from life.
2. I do not look forward to what lies ahead for me in the years to come.
3. I am still full of plans.
4. I often feel that life is full of promises.

Where do you stand? Do these questions ring true? Are you happy?

What do you do if you're not?

In Plug all of your leaks or you will die, James Altucher says in order to be happy, you have to establish a ritual or a practice:

"A practice needs four legs: Physical, Emotional, Mental, Spiritual. Ultimately the path to your own personal realization is inside of you. Everyone’s path is different.... But you have to build your own practice. And its called “practice” for a reason. The remaining 23 hours a day is when you put the practice to work."

Then he links to the practice that works for him.)

(Read both those links, they're worth it.)

So this is what I'm working on too. Thank you for visiting, for sharing my story, for caring. It means more then you could possibly know.

truly awakening after the battle

2011-06-09T10:03:00.005-04:00

The past two nights I've been having the first dreams ever of my ex husband being kind to me, of us being friends again. It's bizarre. I don't have these thoughts during the day but it's the first time I've been dreaming them, really.

This may mark the first time since everything broke up that I have truly started to miss him and wonder if I made a terrible mistake. It makes me want to howl with pain and loss.

I woke up both yesterday and today struggling with complex swirls of emotion. Warmth, emotional-longing, loss, pain, regret, anger.

Wishing I could explain what happened, have him understand what great emotional pain I was in, how two years earlier when I threatened to leave... THAT was the growl before the bite and yet he didn't realize how close I was to the end and what that would eventually mean: loss of our relationship, home, abandonment of our dreams and the discarding of memories. THAT was the edge, 2 years earlier. I was so close to leaving then and yet hung on for another two years.

THAT would have been the time to make the big changes and yet I hadn't been able to impress upon him my desperation.

And so things didn't change.

The few times we went to counseling then, expressing myself felt like a terrible experience and so I further locked down my feelings; tamping down a cauldron of emotion which would build in pressure until the final explosion which obliterated the entire relationship, destroying not only the cone itself but scalding the surrounding earth so that it'd be too sterile for any stray tendrils of hope to grow.

He still didn't grant me space, didn't make me feel safe enough to express my pain, and couldn't be there for my own problems. I didn't know how to tell him I was dying inside when he was fighting the battle of his life. He was always fighting the battle of his life. I thought I could keep swallowing my needs but I failed.

And so I ran, and I ran for a year and more, until now. I don't need to run anymore. I'm either too tired or settled enough or safe enough to face the demons. I don't know which. But here I am.

I am a realistic person and I recognize there would never be any way to reconcile or salvage any kind of relationship after what's transpired. I see the scorched and lifeless earth. I hang my head and move my aching self slowly and stiffly forward.

dysfunctional family dinner

2011-06-06T23:59:00.001-04:00

So yesterday, I introduced the artist to my mom and 5 minutes later he told her a story involving the statement "...back when I drank like a fish!" Great. Now she thinks I am dating an alcoholic.

The story about his friend's bullwhip fetish didn't go over so well either.

My mom's eyes widenened and I could literally SEE her picturing me swinging from chandeliers (to dry the wax on my nipples of course) while begging for a light flogging on my nether regions.

(Not that there's anything WRONG with the above scenario for two willing participants, just... do I really want to see it playing on my mom's corneas like a bad porn flick? Her daughter, the unwitting star? Dear god.)

After some other situationally-inappropriate stories, she cornered me in the kitchen and grabbed my shoulders. "OMG ASPLENIA, DO NOT MARRY HIM. He's a nice guy and all but zOMG DON'T!"

Now, my mom doesn't always have the best sense of timing. (Hello? We are only dating 3 months?) Or tact. She seems to feel most alive when topics get controversial. She can be a pretty difficult person, to put it mildly. But her words grated on me.

I don't like to admit this but there ARE flags.

I don't write about them so much because I like to concentrate on the positives but they're there. I almost ended things tonight, for example, because it's my time of the month and I feel like making my life SUCK even more then it already does. And that was even before the ALL CAPS ZOMG email I'm expecting from my mom, reinforcing her "you're going to ruin your life!" pronouncement. I am struggling enough withOUT her negative feedback. Although, being a soon-to-be-divorcee, I should be all my life is already ruined, lala, I can do what I want!

So really, why am I getting stressed?

The artist is still surprisingly patient. We've talked about everything completely openly. He's not scared off by my flags, my difficult mom, or her warnings but maybe that's what years of alcohol and bullwhips do.

Anyway. Stay tuned for as the torso turns.

The brontosaurus diaries

2011-06-04T23:20:00.001-04:00

I am sitting stiffly in a hotel in NJ with eyes nearly swollen shut from the anxiety of introducing the artist to family tomorrow. (Yes, I burst into tears both at the rest station AND shortly after checking in but he hasn't run screaming yet.)

I have transformed into a bloated, swollen and tense brontosaurus but he is stroking my hair gently, arms wrapped around my middle, tenderness in his gaze.

"You're letting me in," he told me. "That's probably kindof scary for you. But it is a gift for me. Thankyou."

I have never looked so hideous. (Except maybe during every other crying fit in my life. And a few flus.)

I don't know how he could possibly be sincere saying I am beautiful NOW but his eyes crinkle softly and envelope me with warmth.

I sniffle and lean into him. And put the dark thoughts of what-ifs behind me for a little while longer.

Maybe she will be fine tomorrow. But maybe not. That is the gamble family plays with instability. This is the part I didn't want to share. But I'm taking a chance.

- Posted from my phone

"What sized gift will give me entry to her vagine?" or how Borat's twin tried to woo me in my (late) teens.

2011-05-31T22:29:00.002-04:00

This happened so long ago I'd almost forgotten. I was about hmm, 19?

My sister had set me up with her hubby's nephew, a cute, funny, athletic, outgoing and talkative guy my age and I couldn't wait to meet him. I'd seen him at her wedding and thought he was totally hot.

We made plans to rent a movie and watch it at her house, the halfway point.

We both arrived and conversation was easy enough. We promptly popped in a movie and plopped down on the couch and my sis disappeared to give us privacy.

Shortly into the film, he looked over at me, paused and then shyly put his arm around me. I shifted toward him and then noticed his hand was balled into a fist. Hmm, I thought. A fist? Maybe he's nervous? Or just has itchy palms?

Whatever. I dropped the thought and continued watching.

Two hours later, the movie's almost over and his arm had not moved. Nor had his fist - still tightly balled up and resting on my shoulders.

I found this kind of curious and asked him sweetly, "Is your hand ok?"

He looked sheepishly at his fist and back at me. "Um."

Long pause.

"Well..."

I waited patiently. I'm not a judgmental person. If he had a disorder turning his hand into a claw, fine. I turned and smiled encouragingly in his direction.

"See," he began.

Another pause.

Then he looked back at me and down at his fist again, grinned innocently and opened his palm.

Nestled comfortably inside was a condom, wrapped and ready... warm, even!

I know this isn't really what it looked like, but this is what I SAW.

I looked at it, annoyed. Really guy?

He looked back at me hopefully. When I did not respond by tearing off my clothes, his grin faded.

The opposite of what actually happened.

"Uh," he began awkwardly, "I just thought maybe... I mean, um. I know it's good to be prepared and stuff."

I looked at the condom and back at him. "And what made you think that would happen?" I asked in my best cold, annoyed kindergarten teacher's voice.

I would like to point out that I am NOT a cold person, it's just that there are all these things that happen in between meeting and having sex. Like... um, a relationship.

He stuttered, "Well, I've never been with anyone before."

I stared at him.

"I'm a virgin! I've never done it before."

I continued listening to his confessional, not believing a word.

"I mean, I just met you but I just knew YOU were the one. I can tell. There's something about you. I knew it when we first met*." (*He could totally tell by the way I popped in the movie. That must be it.)

I just about died laughing. Which seemed to puzzle him. (My plan! She's not working!)

When and where did he think it was going to happen? On the couch in my sister's living room while her kids looked down the hall? On the floor in front of the couch while everyone peers from the dining room? Behind the palm fronds next to the TV? This sounds like a bizarre game of sex Clue. "Where could it happen?" "In the living room on a couch with a stranger!"

The date ended awkwardly and we never talked again. The End.

Maybe this guy was just practicing Borat's guide to dating:

"What sized gift will give me entry to her vagine?" lol!

TFLN faves

2011-05-27T03:00:00.000-04:00

Some of my favorites from Texts from Last Night:

* Maybe we should try and tone it down a notch. The neighbors changed the name of their wifi network to "i can hear you having sex".

* I walked into the bathroom and the toilet was on fire... I stood there for like a minute trying to decide whether I should put it out or get my camera.

* i really did not know you could catch crabs from a sofa until now

* let's get her a shirt that says "i went to key west for spring break and all i got was this illegitimate child."

* the pharmacist hit on me as i picked up my herpes medecine. i think we found a winner.

* seeing an 80 year old woman puke in the bushes changes everything...

* Fact: my bamboo plant has grown 2 & 1/2 inches since I started watering it with bong water

* I cant wait for your democrat phase to be over.

* got hammered last night, woke up this morning to 38 texts that varied from "you fucking asshole" to "i can be there in 10 minutes"

* is there any particular reason you took a shit in a zip lock bag and left it in my refrigerator?

* My morning has consisted of lying in a fetal position, eating a whole tub of ben and jerry's, talking to my cat, and setting all of our pictures on fire. Does that answer your question?

* checking your phone to see who you drunk dialed last night isnt as funny when you see you had a 17 minute call to your dad.

* do you think my med school application would be worse off if "I like helping others and shit" slipped into an essay I emailed last night?

But out of all of those? The toilet is top. How does a commode catch on fire?

make it or break it: how do you tell?

2011-05-24T22:00:00.000-04:00

Today's entry is from Quinn Cummings at The QC Report. She asked her readers "What should couples do to determine compatibility before actually dating?"

My favorite replies:

"To determine compatibility, I think nothing beats taking someone to the Emergency Room. You learn a lot about someone when you are bleeding profusely, waiting for them to transport you to the Land of Lidocaine, watching them figure out what to do for you. Are they the kind of person who is decisive enough to know when you need a doctor and when ice and a drink will suffice, and if it requires an ER visit, are they the kind of partner that can locate their car keys, your health care card, and some chocolate for the road, and has the forethought to grab change for the lobby coke machine, a book to read while they wait, and your purse and cellphone, or are they going to let you bleed half to death while they fumble around the house vaguely wondering if you 'need anything'."

"Have Sex First. Nothing like spending tons of time finding out you're mentally compatible and then spending 10 minutes to discover that sexually you are on different planets. Chemistry NOW, compatibility in the morning."

"Take a road trip overnight. Is your partner a nag about driving, speed, directions, etc? does your musical taste jive? can you sustain a conversation - or, can you handle the silence in comfort? what about sleeping accommodations? activities - lots of physical stuff, just eating, see the sites or relax in the room?"

"I recommend attending a large family gathering in the hometown of one of the participants. This combines travel arrangements, dealing with family, dressing appropriately, and handling uncomfortable questions. For illustration: I may not have told the entire truth about how long this family wedding was going to take. But my mother provided a very accurate timeline as we were leaving for the ceremony. Oops. Where is this country church exactly? Oops. No don't wear that, my mother will hate it. Don't tell my mother about that one thing. Or about that other thing. Or that either. And no one mention that thing about my uncle ever. No, I'm not acting weird. Why would you say that? I always act this way around my family. It's fine. Are you sure you want to drink that much? My aunt's been watching how many times you go to the bar. Why does my cousin want to beat you up exactly?"

"Having attempted this feat more times that I would like to count, I am convinced that you should never, ever, choose a long term partner until you have attempted to assemble a piece of furniture from Ikea. Your day begins around 10:30am, by taking a trip to Ikea to pick out a desk, you know..the kind that has 50 faux wooden pieces that are attached together with 100 tiny pieces of hardware. First you must choose a desk, agreeing on the style and function. Once the desk is chosen, you load up your vehicle with the ten (or so) boxes. When you get home, you unload the boxes and sort the pieces, quickly realizing that you forgot to buy the hardware (sold separately). You are forced to take a trip back to the store to pick up the pieces. Now back at home, a full 3 hours since you first embarked on this journey, you prepare to put together the desk. Since it is afternoon, you are both starving but are not allowed to eat until the desk is completely assembled. You pull out the instructions and show them to your potential partner. Both of you look at each other, then back at the instructions which are full of pictures and arrows and confusing diagrams. Finally, you are able to plod through and actually succeed in assembling, oh, about a third of the desk. At that point, after searching and searching for a piece of hardware that is pictured on the instructions, you conclude that it is missing from the packages. You have no choice but to, once again, return to Ikea. When you arrive, you see that there are at least 10 other people in line at Customer Service. You wait and wait and wait. Once you reach the desk, you explain the problem and are told that, because you did not return all the original hardware (by taking apart the parts of the desk you had already assembled), you would have to re-purchase the entire set of hardware. (I am exhausted and grumpy just typing this) Finally, you return home...for the third time...with all the needed pieces now in your possession. Hours later, as the sun starts to set, you fasten together the last two pieces. Feeling a grand sense of accomplishment, you both carry the desk into the room to place it in what was already deemed... the PERFECT spot...only to realize that the desk you chose...and just spent an entire day assembling..is entirely too big for the room."

"Someone must vomit, and not from drunkeness. I thought I was being helpful, and brought him a glass of cold water. Little did I know that I set it on one of those sink-indentations and actually poured cold water down his fevered back. His comment? Is this some weird family tradition of yours, pouring cold water down the back of the sick? Advance a few years to find me pregnant/giving birth. While I vomited, he announced that if I wanted him to, he would pour a glass of cold water down my back. My comment? Is this your idea of 'funny'? Thirty-one years of marriage and counting."

"Spend 10 mins in a two person kayak. it's make or break almost immediately."

"Backrubs. Can they give a good one? A properly thorough one that goes on until you've fallen asleep? and then cover you with something soft and tiptoe out without checking to see if it was "okay"? Are they complimentary about your backrubs, while understanding that really, you need one a lot more than they do virtually always? Do they have warm hands?"

"Garbage Jenga. Oh, you've never played? This is when two people ignore the garbage when it needs to be taken out. If your intended partner is a well-adjusted, rational person, he or she will remove the bag, and take it out to wherever the garbage goes. The other 99% of humans just keep balancing trash on top until the whole thing spills. Battle of wits or battle of twits? Find out in a hurry."

Have you tried any of the above? How do you test a relationship? What tips you to make it or break it status?

hives, or how I was the cause of his stress breakout

2011-05-21T16:12:00.001-04:00

This is the easiest relationship I have ever been in. The artist is good-natured, consistent, loving, kind, respectful, understanding, and has been granting me space. I only get to see him a couple times a week if I'm lucky because I've had the schedule of suck but it's been so nice that, while he's not happy with this, he isn't trying to guilt or manipulate me into different terms.

I'd been a little distant the previous few weeks while I was sorting out some complicated stuff. I tested things because, well, I'm still not sure about everything. (Though this is supposedly normal after a huge breakup, that's not much comfort because I don't really want to feel conflicted inside.)

Last time I saw him, he was covered in little red spots.

me: "What happened??"

him: "Oh, nothing, this just happens from stress."

me: "What was causing you stress?"

him: "Um, us..." (he smiles sweetly and squeezes me.)

me: "omg, I caused this??"

him: "Well, don't worry about it, I know what you're going through."

me: "I'm so sorry! I can't believe I caused this. How awful. I guess our talks were harder on you then I realized."

But, see, he didn't TELL me about the little bumps, he didn't complain about the stress, he just dealt with it.

There are some things that I'm trying to sort out about the relationship, and also about me. The recent friction has been enlightening. I am learning that it's okay to disagree, indeed, it can be done without either party getting out of hand. I've always hated confrontation. I grew up learning to either placate or run but conflict always meant damage. But he doesn't need to WIN, he just wants to understand. It's a completely different experience.

I found myself sliding into a familiar mantra during an argument. I thought "oh no, this is hopeless, it's over. It will never last." I said as much. He said, "Sweetness, this is what happens when people get closer. They argue. It doesn't have to mean the end. I mean, if it IS the end, if you want out, I will still treasure the time we spent together and respect your wish to go." I tried to pull myself out of the fear-hole and not run away. That he didn't attach expectations on me eased my discomfort a bit.

When my marriage was ending and I saw the hurt D felt, I thought I'd never attach to another person again. I am at heart a gentle soul and the idea that I made someone feel that kind of depth of pain killed me. I am starting to realize through counseling that just because it was my decision to leave didn't mean we didn't share the failure.

So friction with the artist is important. I also noticed frustration levels weren't that bad. We were arguing and we were angry but I didn't feel that scary sense of escalation indicating things could get out of control.

There are still obstacles. I am still in a weird place. I don't know how this will pan out. So I am taking it one day at a time and learning much.

why I hate talking on the phone

2011-05-21T14:53:00.003-04:00

I'm so irritated I'm going to scream. My phone SUCKS at making phone calls. Being on the phone is absolute torture for me. I was never a phone talker (after age 14) but new technology has made it even worse.

First, no one can hear me through the crappy earpiece, which, due to some anti-cell phone ear birth defect, does not fit. In fact, none have ever fit. This is how I know it is me. My grossly misshapen ear canals attempt to eject anything I put in, near, or around them, forcing me to hold the earpiece with one hand and the microphone with the other, effectively rendering me a paraplegic as once I settle into a position that works, I cannot move. I used to like cleaning or working while on the phone -- at least I could be productive, but now that's out.

Balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear is also out. The touch screen is so sensitive that my face invariably disconnects the call. (Not to mention that I don't want to throw my neck into spasms -- which HAS happened -- or get brain cancer, all highly motivating factors forcing me to use the also hated, but better option of speakerphone.)

Typical conversation:

Me: And that was the diagnosis.

Friend: What??

Me: It was piles.

Friend: I can't hear you.

Me (shouting): Piles!

Friend: It sounds like you're in a tube surrounded by cotton. Piles of what?

Me: Hemorrhoids! That's what he was dealing with.

Friend: Are you on your earpiece again?

Me: *sigh* yes. Here, I'll remove it. Hold on. Ok, that better?

Friend: Aweso--

CLICK

OR my face presses the mute button, adds a conference call, redials the previous number and enters my voicemail pin before hanging up on my victim.

Try this four times in a row and see how often YOU still want to talk.

So, if I haven't called you, this is why.

argh!

&*$# it

2011-05-21T14:45:00.005-04:00

A friend of mine emailed me today with the question, "What am I doing to make it a great day?"

Nothing. I am sitting here fighting with the fucking yahoo merchant account. Fuck website design. Fuck freelancing and fuck backend programming, fuck buggy html, fuck dreamweaver extensions that crash my program, fuck the developer I paid $20 for an extension that didn't work, fuck them because they'll think it's stupid user error and probably be right, and fuck deadlines that I unrealistically set because I like to punish myself. fuck it all!!! Fuck it.

Charlie Murphy singing "fuckit" in Sesame Street in the Hood on YouTube.

Kill it! Wait, it's already dead.

2011-05-17T22:19:00.000-04:00

This weekend, I found myself in the horrible dilemma of discovering a threat while hurtling down the Interstate at breakneck speed. An insect (notably one bearing the ability to pierce, sting, jab and threaten) revealed itself as my nemesis. There was a bee in the car.

I kept steeling glances at it to make sure I still knew where it was.

As long as it wasn't moving, I could remain calm.

Things were okay for a while until...

(dun dun DUN!)

They weren't!

Tweet stream:
........

"To the bee polishing his stinger that just ducked into my car during a rainstorm in which I stupidly left window open: friends?"

"Also, a side note to the universe: I would like now not to be the time to test possible allergy dr warned me about. #EpipenAtHome"

"He's kinda cute though, even if not exactly cuddly: http://twitpic.com/4y7le0"

"Not sure how he just ended up ON me but this experiment in insectivarian kindness has just ended. NEED not to be trapped in traffic now."

"This vehcle has just turned into a Far Side cartoon. Or a Seinfeld episode. Not sure which. In other news, the "fling" reflex is alive&well."

"I do not care if I look like a nutjob on the side of the beltway shaking out clothes. I will not rest until I locate the body."

"Not one, but TWO bodies located, the considerably-larger one dying. A mating pair? Does copulation kill them?"

........

I don't know if either bee stung someone else and got flung into traffic or HOW they otherwise ended up in my car during a rainstorm but I felt kinda bad for the poor critters when I saw they were dying.

No sympathy, though, for the thin, mean fucker that stung me on the first day of vacation to an exotic locale in California. FIVE minutes into a beautiful hike RIGHT after I finished reading the "Beware -- heavy bee activity!!!!" sign, I got pierced by a tiny thing helicoptering around me

He sent me to the hospital where they speared me with a giant needle: 1,000 mg of steroids right in my ass. (Steroids, by the way, make you moody as FUCK.)

I spent the rest of the vacation trying to keep the hot (very UNsexily) throbbing, wobbly tennis ball in my forearm from getting smashed.

Doc said I was either allergic to the venom itself or some bacteria on the stinger that got inserted when he jabbed me.

I am *very* grateful I didn't have to verify which 2 days ago.

I suppose I could be like a buddy of mine who was told he could have a fatal seafood allergy. He loaded up a plate of shrimp and drove to the emergency room to dine in their parking lot, figuring well, here's the test. If his throat closes, he'll just run inside!

Maybe I need to stage bee confrontations a little better.

Reflections on a past relationship

2011-05-16T22:03:00.001-04:00

"So, I'm going to color my hair."

"You're what??"

"Um, color my hair?"

"What's wrong with your hair?"

"Nothing, I just like to cover up some of the gray. I've been getting gray hairs since I was 19."

"Wait, I'm not sure I like this."

This was an early warning sign.

He loved me, but there were conditions.

romantic dreams as of late

2011-05-03T20:05:00.001-04:00

So, because I'm a hopeless romantic, I tend to have the dreams of one.

That is, dreams of drowning in great tsunamis, being struck by angry, mean lightning and getting attacked by vicious snakes.

It's very awesome and restful.

After waking from the recent snake-bite dream, I decided to look up the meaning from the prophet Miss Intarwebz and see what she has to say:

"In many dreams a single snake will come to bite you, and you may in fact be bitten after a brief struggle. To your amazement though, you will not die, and may find that the situation is not as bad as you thought.... You have this kind of dream if you are struggling with some problem, relationship or challenge. Such a snake-ordeal is an important signal that you are going through a kind of initiation; a psychological and spiritual trial that has the potential to change your life for the better if you deal with it bravely and with a clear heart. You may have to give up something you thought you couldn't, or take a stand for your principles or faith."

Huh.

I am never google-imaging "snake bite" again, that shit is terrifying!!

Now, if this piece of fortune-telling bs had added:

"You will also come across a boring fortune cookie."

Yes, this really was my fortune. Gypped!

Then I would have believed it.

Or maybe not.

Yeah, so I AM going through a struggle. But okay, whoever decides to BLOG about their love lives is struggling, right?

I mean, who writes about this shit and makes it public but tortured souls?

Souls determined to be tortured no matter what, I might add.

I say this because the artist and I had our first real friction.

Or at least, the first "conversation" ending with me in tears (a pillar of strength, I know).

He was completely puzzled.

What happened?

him: [presents observation of a personality flaw]

me: [defensive response]

him: [thoughts on said personality flaw]

me: [immature self-analysis]

him: [harping on said personality flaw]

me: [can we please leave the restaurant now?]

him: [no idea anything is wrong yet]

me: [in car, biting lip]

him: [suddenly noticing cataclysmic magnetic polar shift]

me: [I'm FINE]

me: [just kidding, I never say I'm fine when I'm not, and I hate people who do]

me: [But I would totally do it if I could get away with it]

me: [But my face turns beet red and eyes get all teary and it's totally obvious I am extremely UNfine]

him: [backpedaling & logical man explanation]

me: [blink]

him: ["so, okay?"]

me: [logic lobe is off]

him: [endearing man hug]

me: [lost in thought analyzing EVERY personality flaw]

Well, so I didn't want to blog about it at all. It's much nicer when I can come here and spew out rainbows because god knows I don't have enough of that in my real life but real life isn't always sunsets and unicorns. Relationships have friction and misunderstandings and tough spots, and times where we don't know if we want to be where we are. And so every day I wake up and I test my footing

At least though, he is granting me space and doesn't descend into the dark place of mistakes because that would just be awesome: two people involved in one very UNfine conversation. So, life is still okay. And it would be even if it wasn't.

(Where my brain is the old floppy that needs to be switched out)

patterns.

2011-04-19T12:58:00.001-04:00

image from PostSecret

The thing I don't talk about, indeed, don't know HOW to talk about is what it's like to be in a family with someone who struggles with a personality disorder. The angry kind. Ever hear of Borderline Personality Disorder? Ever see Mommy Dearest? Yeah. That kind. What it's like to walk around with the tight, aching kernel within from repeated stabbings of misdirected inappropriate rage. I am an adult, I tell myself, I don't have to be scared of this anymore. But it still stings. The attacks are much less now that I don't live at home anymore but any interaction opens up the possibility of being gutted. And after one such "session" Sunday, I am trying to navigate the land of reason with someone unreasonable. "Yes, they lashed out but their birthday is coming up and I was supposed to SEE them, what do I do now?"

I don't know.

trying on different shapes

2011-04-10T22:40:00.000-04:00

I told my counselor about the night of the artist's birthday. How we went out with a big family group and extended the invite to a friend undergoing a crisis. He gave freely of himself on a day where we are expected to only receive but he delighted in sharing. He didn't mind not being the center of attention, even on his special day.

She said that was the mark of a healthy person, someone without an agenda.

"When we have expectations for how things should be, we are often disappointed," she said. "His flexibility and consistency are good traits."

"I'm scared to trust in this," I said. "I'm afraid to believe in it."

"That's understandable," she said. "You've been through a lot in this past year."

"I got really attached to the guy I dated right after D," I said. "Maybe more then I should have but I fell hard."

"I saw that. I was watching, that's okay. You could have been worse."

"Worse? I ached for him. When he pulled away it made me crazy inside. How could I have been worse?"

"You could have leapt into a commitment. I've seen that happen before. But you didn't."

"Well, I would have. I guess it's a good thing he applied the brakes. I still miss him. We've shifted to a sweet place though and still offer eachother support and friendship. And I've been able to be very honest with the artist about everything from day one. I'm hesitant to throw myself into things the way I did last time but that seems to be okay. He accepts where I am."

"Good. This is healthy for you."

I'm slowly eking forward. I think about some of the other great guys who tried to get close to me earlier but I just wasn't in the right place. I hope they understand how much of this is me. Timing really can be everything.

"I'm starting to wonder if some of what helps a relationship be successful is two people being in the same place at the same time," I told the artist. "Not necessarily that there is only one fit, but the fit together that matters." "Yes," he replied. "I firmly believe this too."

And so we adjust the fit; trying on different shapes together.

Being heard

2011-04-07T20:44:00.001-04:00

The thing that stays with me about the artist is the way he looks into me. He will ask me a benign question ("what do you want to eat?") while tenderly curling my hair around my ear. He treats me almost with a reverence, as if I am a great treasure and this takes me off guard. It reaches past my flimsy makeshift barriers like soft light rays and I find myself flowering in the gentle light of his affection.

I am sometimes more reserved then usual but he understands when I need space. And so I am not as skittish, easily flustered or insecure; usual cues of a trigger. We are still learning to fold and bend with eachother and sometimes the shapes fit a little clumsily but we work to adjust.

The important thing is the kindness.

When I do get scared or want to run, he can tell. He holds me. "I'm right here," he says, lacing his fingers into mine. "What's going on? Tell me, I want to hear how you feel." He invites me to be heard. And then he listens. He really listens.

letter to my self

2011-04-05T22:44:00.000-04:00

Dear self one year (and some months) ago,

You tried to write kaddish for an ending. You tried to sketch the knots of pain and brush swirls of melancholy around the sharp edges to soften them. You picked up ballet slippers and attempted to move gracefully through the clumsy transition of marriage to singlehood. Over a year later, you won't feel much more graceful about things. You will still feel uncomfortable articulating why you left. You will still hesitate to tell your story because that's only half the equation and you still honor his side. You know you are not the only one who hurt and you will still feel protective over his feelings. You will still want good things for him. This has been a terrible time for you both.

But something beautiful will come out of this year. You, science girl, dove into the arts to help you heal. Learning how to draw, dance, to fall. You will become your own stunt double and learn how to dive into life without a net. And you will not lose hope for love. Hang in there.

Love,
your older self

catching up with old (VERY old) (and brief) boyfriend (or, more accurately, "boyfriend")

2011-03-31T21:22:00.003-04:00

So, last I wrote, some guy I crushed on EONS ago found me on Facebook. We dated for a short bit but I don't know, it didn't work out. I think he left me to go back with an ex. My young, naive heart was crushed then but I thought well, he's just not into me, okay, and tucked the memory away.We hadn't been that serious and it wasn't a long-term thing so, yeah.

Anyway, he writes me and we have the following exchange:

Him: How the hell are you? It's been a long time since you went away to camp. :) We gotta catch up. Hope all is well with you, you still look great. Drop me a line .

Me: My jaw dropped when I saw you on facebook. You look great! Life's treating you well, I hope? So nice to hear from you.

Him: I am SOOOO HAPPY to find you here. Call me sometime. I always wondered what would have been had you not gone to camp. Its nice to know that you still have the beautiful heart.You look awesome too!! Time has been VERY kind indeed! You were a wonderful girl when we dated, its great to get back in touch with you. It's put a smile on my face for 4 days now.

Me: What a sweet email! You know, I don't really remember how we lost touch. I don't remember any hard feelings when things drifted off though. My senility in my old age may be showing. What do you remember from those days? How nice to hear from you. :)

Him: We had a lot of good times for the short time we were together. I've always held a special place for you. You went to camp and I wasn't into waiting, stupid young guy shit, so I broke it off. Looked back many times and regretted it too!! Sorry.

Me: You actually thought of me sometimes over the years?

Him: Many times. I do wish you wouldn't have gone to camp. I was really really into you. I was falling for you when you went to camp.

Me: You're kidding! How did I not know this??

Him: You were one of the best GFs ever. We never fought, you got along with all my friends. They all loved you and thought you and I were forever. CAMP. I LOST you because of CAMP!! That's how unjust life can be... lol... I am depressed!

Me: You're totally kidding. I honestly had no idea!

Him: Do you remember how I got arrested trying to find your friend's house and you came and picked me up from jail?

Me: OMG I do not remember picking you up from jail! Tell me more!

Him: I was stopping and going down the street and a cop stopped me for odd behavior and I got popped for no insurance. You picked me up at the pd. I gotta tell you, thanks for just being you, you are truly one of the good ones.

Head asplode. He LIKED me afterall? Huh? Why are guys so secretive about this kinda stuff!?!

okay, this is weird

2011-03-29T23:09:00.003-04:00

So, I don't have too many facebook friends that are also romantic interests. 3, to be exact. But someone new just found me and I was squinting at their friend request.

"Hey, wait. That name sounds familiar. Is that the dude I had a massive crush on in high school and he hugged me by the sea wall near our group of friends?" Yes, actually, it was. Huh. This was epic because of the perceived rejection factor. I was into him but I didn't think he was into me.

I tried to remember why we "broke up" (especially as we weren't really even dating). You know how high school relationships are -- "dating" is getting together with someone three times. Maybe looking at your shoes awkwardly while your best friend jabs your ribs two of those times.

At the time I was totally into him. Like, crazy crushing. But he was hooked on an ex, I think, and so, whatever. It didn't work out. I don't totally remember the details. I was crushed but I got over it.

So I accepted the friend request thinking we'll never actually talk.

Then he sent me a message.

"I'm so glad I found you! I always wondered what would have happened if you hadn't gone off to camp."

Wait, what? You *thought* about me? "Us"? Huh?

This is like meeting people when you have amnesia and they help you piece together stories of your life that've been forgotten. Except I have to be wary for the revisionist version.

FOLLOWUP
(inspired by the awesome FreckledK!)

putting up walls

2011-03-28T22:19:00.000-04:00

He took my hand recently and said, "I am falling for you." Adventures in getting to know the artist thrill me even as they scare me. He is teaching me something important about myself: I am not easy to get close to. I didn't realize how effortlessly I put up walls but he knocks gently and searches for the door.

Most annoying legal exchange ever

2011-03-24T19:05:00.001-04:00

Me, to law office: "I believe I have a $40 credit with you?"

Law office: "Yes."

Me: "Great, can you mail it to me then?"

Law office: "Sorry, this exchange used it up."

::rips hair out::

This actually happened. Just now. I wish I were kidding.

- Posted from my phone

I am achy

2011-03-21T23:36:00.007-04:00

I am achy. I don't know how I could be happy and achy at the same time, but somehow that's what's happening.

I just got off the phone with family. "You sound great! Sooo much better than before." I must be getting good at muscling through shittiness.

The artist is patient and kind. I joke about the things that raise my hackles. We call them "flags." "You put up your flags, missy, but I don't think they're stop signs. They just help me understand you, that's all."

I am grateful he wants to understand.

We spent Sunday reading craigslist stories and laughing until we cried. (Well, I cried, he farted. Romantic, huh.)

If you want to know the story that made him howl until he lost control, this is it:

It was the fish
(Since this is such a family-oriented blog, I probably should mention a disclaimer: it's about sex. And diarrhea... two things which should never be uttered in the same sentence together.)

Achievement unlocked: farting comfort level. This means he can meet the family now.

Also good: I started ballet class Saturday. "Bend your legs, elongate your spine and hold your arms out... you know, pretend you're holding a beach ball!" the instructor bellowed as I strained to maintain a position which has since rendered useless two previously unknown muscles which snake from my groin down my inner thigh. I was probably the least-coordinated "dancer" in the class but you know what? I had a blast and don't care. (Arrogant Ass is right: apathy is the key to happiness.)

The achiness. Well, my ex posted photos of his new beau on his blog, for the first time since we broke up over a year ago.

I want him to be happy, and not in a sarcastic kind of way, but in a well, since I can't be that person I hope she can kinda way. But it still aches. It hurts to feel replaced, even though I logically know that's a ridiculous way of looking at things. No one has ever been "replaced" for me.

Also, I heard from aqua-eyed boy and remembered how he made me smile. I came home and assembled a care package for him because it makes me happy.

Happy and achy. I like ache. Muscles ache when they've been used. My heart has been used. But that's good, right? It's been filled and emptied and shaken and squeezed and though this means it's sometimes sore, it's there to be exercised.

workit!

Life is good even when it isn't always.

....................................................................................

Also, bonus pic for the so inclined faithful readers who got all the way down to this point. Boobs! (Although I don't think any guys read this blog.)

I'm not really sure where this fits in, but it showed up under my "life is good" google image search. Too hilarious not to post even if in no way related!