Ordinary Extraordinary

Therapist-fu

Earlier today, VT and I were discussing the fact that it seems to be National Relationship Drama Week. Though VT and I both have strong therapist-fu, she's had more practice and consequently has these conversations down to a science:

She: . . . i have just had a METRIC FUCK-TON of practice with this
She: sometimes i catch myself thinking, 'hmmm... it's been 17 minutes. we ought to be hitting the 'i just don't know what he's thinking' point of the conversation... oh, yeah, there we go.'
Me: That's both awful and brilliant
She: 'minute 48... ooh, i'm overdue to say DTMFA. better work that in.'
She: and i mouth, 'but you don't know what they're like!' as they say it, or type it.
She: 'yeah, of course i don't know him as well as you do.' [thank all the gods]
She: when they say, 'i just have this feeling that we're somehow supposed to be in each other's lives!' i start waiting until the word 'destiny' comes up.
She: or 'karma.'
She: i ought to make a bingo chart.

She: . . .and then there's the Not Quite Ready To Break Up With Them conversation.
She: which also has its own pattern:

them: Snugglewumpkins is the most horrible person ever!
me: DTMFA.
them: i hate how they treat me like crap!
me: DTMFA.
them: they never do X, or Y, or Z, and i wish they'd stop doing Q.
me: DTMFA.
them: lots of tearful reminiscing about how it used to be good, and wondering what changed.
me, checking the clock: look, you can either go to a couples therapist and work it out, or leave them.
them: oh, it's not that bad.
me: sigh.

She: then it's time for Son of Not Quite Ready To Break Up With Them.

them: i just don't know what i should do!
me: DTMFA.
them: but i love them!
me: news flash -- they don't love you. DTMFA.
them: they're not that bad!
me: okay, look. if 'not that bad' means they lie to you, ignore you, cheat on you, manipulate you, and make you spend time wondering what they're thinking and crying a lot? they're that bad. DTMFA.
them: don't tell me what to do! *stomps off*
me: sigh.

Me: You have the patience of a saint.
She: depending on the person, you can go through: Grandson of Not Quite Ready To Break Up With Them; Second Cousin of Not Quite Ready To Break Up With Them; I Might Almost Be Ready To Break Up With Them;
She: No, Really, I Will Break Up With Them
She: Oh, Shit, I Was Going to Break Up With Them But Then We Had Sex
She: Okay, For Real This Time
She: Not Quite Ready To Break Up With Them, I Know, I Know
She: and HOLY CRAP THEY BROKE UP WITH ME!
She: HOW!?!
She: WHY?!!!
She: and then *those* conversations run like this:

them: they were horrible!
me: yep.
them: they were evil! they lied to me! ignored me! cheated on me! manipulated me! i spent all this time wondering what they were thinking! why did i waste all that time and energy on them?!
me: uh, yeah.
them: why didn't you SAY something?
me: come here and run your head into my fist, won't you?

She: time passes
She: and then, a couple of months later...
She: them: i met someone!
She: AUUUGGGGHHH

I was laughing out loud at my desk as this conversation unfolded; I'm pretty sure my co-workers think I've finally cracked.

A First

Several weeks ago, I decided to hold my breath and jump back into the online dating pool. I was a little reluctant at first (some of you may remember that things didn't work out so well the last time I tried this), but my policy about not dating people with whom I work combined with the number of hours that I work does make meeting new people a smidge challenging (read: impossible).

Since it seems unlikely that the Universe is going to drop Mr. Right on my doorstep wrapped in a bow, I plucked up my courage, threw together a profile, and hoped for the best.

I'm pleased to report that I have not lost my touch with Turkish men over 40; they love me! Also, insecure asshats still think that all women over 120lbs should be taken out to a pasture and shot. It's nice to know that some things never change.

The site I chose has a nifty feature that allows you to see who has viewed your profile and when and the stalker voyeur in me is completely fascinated by it; I like to click through and check out the men who've been checking me out.

As I was scrolling through the list one day, I happened upon Shy Guy. His main picture involved a pirate hat, so I simply had to click through and check out the rest of his profile. Imagine my surprise when I looked at his photos and realized that in one of them he was standing next to someone I knew.

Someone who passed away more than a year and a half ago.

I was understandably taken aback.

I knew I had to email him but I had no idea what to say. I wrote and re-wrote my introduction before finally sending off a message that started: I think my world just collapsed in on itself a little as I was looking through your pictures; I knew Xxxx too...

Hell of a conversation starter.

We got to talking via email and then the phone, and we went out for drinks (and then dinner, and coffee) on Saturday night. I can't say I was at all surprised when a song that reminded Shy Guy of Xxxx came on the jukebox; I whispered Thank you while he sang along quietly.

My friends have certainly orchestrated dates for me in the past, but I can honestly say that this is the first time anyone's ever done it from beyond the grave. Perhaps that's what was missing from all previous set-ups - none of those dates went particularly well, but this one was an unqualified success.

We had so much fun, in fact, that we decided to do it all over again and had our second date on Sunday night!

Life is strange, and serendipitous, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Preventing Assault

Kevin Apgar has launched his second Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign for Carly Milne's Sexography, and this time there's a twist:

April is National Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month, and it’s a big month for the Rape and Incest National Network (RAINN). The organization’s goal is to raise enough money to be able to offer victims of sexual abuse, sexual assault and rape an online hotline offering counseling and assistance 24 hours a day, seven days a week. RAINN’s Chelsea Bowers, Kevin Apgar and Sexography author Carly Milne have banded together to launch a one-of-a-kind online fundraising event to help RAINN reach that goal.

So for the month of April, the blogosphere is going to talk about sex to raise money for RAINN. That's win-win, right?

All things considered, my sexual history is largely unremarkable. Certainly there were a few awkward experiences (Um, I don't think it's supposed to do that...) and a few things I wish I'd known earlier (You're married? Really? And when exactly were you planning on mentioning that?), but overall I've been lucky. I've never been raped, molested, abused, or attacked.

My friends have, though.

When I turned 14 or 15 and started to express an interest in boys and dating, my father taught me two things: How to break a man's arm with my shoulder, and how not to fight like a girl - to hit soft, vulnerable tissue as hard as I could with my elbows, knees, and heels. My father is not a violent man, but he is a realist. He was very clear that pleading words or logic would be wasted on an attacker and that the only appropriate response was to fight like a caged wolverine.

Unfortunately, he is absolutely right.

In the fall of my sophomore year of college, my friend S and I went to a party at the TKE house with a bunch of other friends. Being savvy young women, we had a pre-arranged system for staying safe at huge parties; we stuck together. Arrive together, leave together. No exceptions.

This particular party was completely insane; people were packed into the house like sardines and spilling out all over the front and back lawns. S had quickly met up with the guy she'd come to flirt with (a cute second string linebacker from her Calculus class) and dragged him to the middle of the madness to dance, so I stuck to the periphery of the party with a few other friends and kept an eye on S as much as I could.

About an hour later I looked up from a conversation with the guy on whom I had a crush and noticed that S and the linebacker were gone. After scanning the room and finding them absent, I excused myself from Cute Guy and set off to look for them. Since I went to college in the Dark Ages, before everyone had a cell phone, there was no choice but to work my way through the crowd and see if I could find them. I was none too pleased that I had to stop my flirting to go hunting, but it a deal's a deal: we stick together at parties, period.   

I did a lap through the house and started to get concerned when I couldn't find either of them - the party was big, but not THAT big. Thinking that S and the linebacker may have taken off to go get some food or perhaps more beer, I recruited a couple of other friends to keep searching the party while I went to see if her car was still parked on the street.

It was, and they were in it. The linebacker had S pinned to the front seat and she was pleading with him to let her go.

S, the tough-talking Brooklyn girl who used to joke that she kept her acrylic nails long so they'd be more effective weapons, was absolutely frozen in terror and very close to being in a lot of trouble.

I don't know what I yelled when I saw what was happening, but it was enough to startle the linebacker. Though truly, I think he was more startled when I yanked the passenger side door open and hauled him out of the car. We ended up in a scuffle on the ground and I was doing my level best to hit him anywhere that would really hurt. S finally found her voice and screamed for help, which brought Cute Guy and a few other friends running. I'd managed to get a few good shots in, but Cute Guy was nice enough to finish the job: he picked the linebacker up by the collar, punched him square in the jaw, and sent him sprawling on the sidewalk.

I don't know what happened after that, S and I collected ourselves and left quickly, but I do know that the linebacker gave me a WIDE berth every time he saw me on campus for the next 3 years.

Later, when I asked S why she hadn't gouged his eyes out with her nails, she said that she didn't want to hurt him, that he was just drunk - as if that were some kind of excuse for his behavior.

When my father stood in the kitchen and taught me how to fight, he taught me so much more than the physical skills. He taught me that an assault is a breech of civilized behavior and that it nullifies all rules of ladylike comportment, and most importantly he taught me that it was RIGHT and GOOD to defend myself, and that I had the strength and power to do so.

Blue

How is it possible that an entire week has gone by since last I posted anything? Similarly, how is it possible that Thanksgiving is next week? Who put 2007 on fast forward all of a sudden?

I've been in a bit of a funk for the last week for a variety of reasons. We've been busy at work and my raise is still under negotiation, as it has been for the last 6 months. Money remains a constant source of stress, especially since my Treo committed ritual suicide during a meeting yesterday and I had to scramble to get a replacement. My knee is healing well, but I'm frustrated that I can't train as hard as I'd like to until I've built up more strength in my legs. The Fireman and I have been talking a lot lately, which is both wonderful and heartbreaking since it's very clear that we both want to be together but it's just not in the cards right now. Two of my friends are going through some icky health stuff and I'm worried about them. And, my friend James was killed on the 5 last week. Though we weren't terribly close, he was a shining spirit and the world is a bit darker for his loss.

Thanksgiving (my absolute favorite holiday) is only a week away and once again I find myself unable to treat a houseful of friends and family to food, drinks, and football. I love hosting Thanksgiving, but I haven't been able to do it for the past couple of years because of money & work issues. While I know that's not the end of the world, it still sucks and I'm bummed.

So, yeah. I've been a bit blue lately. There's a lot going on in my head and I've retreated while I struggle to sort through it all. There's a lot to sort.

I am so grateful that I found Muay Thai when I did - it allows me to shut off my brain for a couple of hours each night and that has been invaluable in keeping my sanity.

Beauty From Ugliness

My friends are remarkable people.

I was catching up with Grayson yesterday, with whom I haven't spoken in quite some time, when he dropped this casually into the conversation as his explanation for why he is now pursuing a degree in Human Services Management (quite a digression from what he's been doing up until now):

He: We adopted a (now) 17 year old who was going through hell in his life. After he was awarded to us I decided the system needs to be fixed and here I am.
Me: OMG!
He: LOL His name is Xxxx
He: It is funny telling people "hey this is my son" because he is black... You should see the shock it is great!
He: I have seen the ugly side of racism since he has come to live with us. My boss does not like him because he is black. He didn't know at the time that Xxxx was living with us and we were getting custody. That was an argument like you would not believe.
He: Still is at times.
Me Wow
Me: How did you meet this boy?
He: At the mall. He stopped in our store with a friend who told me was trying to keep him busy as he had tried to commit suicide
He: His mother is a piece of work. Alchoholic drug dealer who had never been caught. Xxxx is gay; she tried to have it beat out of him. He decided there was no reason to live if no one wanted him around
He: He does not know what a family is. Until recently he had a terrible time eating in groups.
He: He has post traumatic stress disorder from standing next to his best friend and first boyfriend when he got shot in a driveby
He: it is a story and a half
He: astounding of course and often times when I talk about it seems far fetched. But I am living with it and learning that people.... some people are truly just ugly on the inside and should never be allowed to have children

Let that sink in for just a second.

My friend Grayson met a teenage boy at the mall, realized that he was truly in mortal peril, went to court to legally adopt him, and and from that experience decided that he needs to do everything in his power to change the system that overlooked and neglected his (now) son in the first place.

Holy crap. I'm not even in a position to adopt a dog at the moment but Grayson saw someone in desperate need and up-ended his entire life to help this one young man.

This is why I say that I have little faith in humanity as a group, but every faith in the individual. A person, every person, has the power to work miracles.

Catching Up

It's Tuesday afternoon so I'm just about on time for my DaveL.A recap!

Oh c'mon, cut a girl some slack. Not only did I work 148.5 hours in ten days (and then 15 more yesterday), somewhere in there my dining room ceiling started leaking pouring water, my car battery died, and The Fireman and I called it quits. Oh, and I came home Friday night to find my landlord up on my roof trying to find the cause of the dining room waterfall; when I asked him how bad the problem was he just shook his head and said "Bad, very bad. Very not good at all." Awesome! (Dear Universe, WTF? No love, Me)

Given all that, I think it's safe to say that by the time Saturday afternoon rolled around I was NOT feeling terribly social. In fact, I was feeling like crawling into bed with a bottle of bourbon was the best idea I'd ever had. However, I'd RSVP'd for DaveL.A. weeks earlier and didn't want to be that blogger - the one who tries to attend but mysteriously never makes it (*coughPaulycough*) - so I dutifully threw on some clothes, brushed my hair, and headed over the hill to Lucky Strike.

Boy am I ever glad that I left the house; Dave throws a hell of a gathering, let me tell you. (And he looks awfully dapper while doing it, all dressed up in a zombie t-shirt and snappy blazer)

I'm always a little trepidatious about blogger meet-ups. Though I've had very good luck with the ones I've attended so far, there's something slightly nerve-wracking about meeting people you know (and who know you) only via blog.  A blog is not a person, it is a creative medium that reveals a small, edited fraction of a person. Consequently, gathering a bunch of bloggers together without the safety of an edit feature, or our thin veils of anonymity, can either go fantastically well or horribly awry.

Fortunately DaveL.A. fell into the former category and we all had a smashing time! Smashed being the operative word here as everyone had two or three (or ten) drinks while we ate dinner and bowled threw brightly colored balls in the general direction of some pin-shaped things.

Since the guest list was super-duper top secret, I was curious to see who would attend. I was pretty sure that Hilly would be there (And she was! And we got hit on! And now we're lovahs!), but I was pleasantly surprised by everyone else: the Atomic Bombshell and her Ninja, Neil and his lovely wife Sophia, Liz, SJ and her pro-bowler Bret, Catherine, Foo, Peggy, and of course our Master of Ceremonies - Dave!

(Why do I suddenly feel like Dorothy? And you were there, and you were there, and Toto - you were there too!)

Being in such exalted company, I was surprised and flattered that anyone at the table had ever read my blog; I very nearly blushed myself to death when Neil told me that he'd been reading for a couple of years. Citizen of the Month is one of my very favorite blogs so I was touched to hear that something I'd written so long ago stood out in his memory. Thanks, Neil :-)

We had PLENTY of time to chat both before we ordered our food and while we were waiting for our lanes (Lucky Strike is not known for its prompt service), which worked out well because there wasn't ever a pause in conversation longer than the span of time necessary to take a sip of beer or lemon drop. Since I was sitting in the middle of the table, I actually had the problem of being between conversations and wanting to take part in both! I should have followed Catherine's lead and hopped from one end of the table to the other.

When we finally got down to the lanes we split up into two teams and promptly laughed, danced, and high-fived our way through two games. I did my part to make sure the gutters were working properly and was very proud when I broke 70 on our second game. (Seriously, I cannot bowl. SJ has proof.) It all ended much too soon, but this is what happens when a bunch of old folks like us start drinking at 6pm. We're trashed and ready to call it quits by 11! OK I wasn't trashed, I was driving, but Dave & Hilly were fulfilling that role for all of us. Off we stumbled to our various cars and away into the night we went.

I came away from the evening with an official DaveL.A. lanyard, a handful of fabulous Artificial Duck pins, a gift certificate for an Artificial Duck t-shirt, a nifty Everyday Goddess sticker, some truly fantastic new friends, and a lesbian lovah. It was hands down the best Saturday night that I've had in quite some time.

Thanks, Dave, for giving such good party!

The Bounce Effect

I don't think I've mentioned it here yet, but one of the challenges that The Fireman & I are facing is the fact that we currently live about 1000 miles apart. I've been in a long-distance relationship before so I know what we've gotten ourselves into, but that knowledge doesn't make it any easier. The plain truth is that it can be emotionally exhausting to be so far away from the person you love.

However, The Fireman will be here for a week-long visit starting Thursday and I am absolutely giddy at the thought of seeing him in just a few days. I'm trying not to irritate nauseate my friends with my excitement, but Teece is very patient and lets me bounce at her for the good of all humanity:

Me: *bouncebouncebounce*
She: yay!
Me: *bouncebouncebounce*
Me: (Um, I'm going to be doing that a lot this week - sorry)
She: no.... believe me, it's totally fine
She: it's a nice counterpoint to this place. (manager girl walked out of big boss's morning meeting on the edge of tears... never a good indicator of his mood)
She: young happy love gives me hope for the world
She: so you bounce... bounce like the wind... for the good of all humanity
She: a butterfly flaps its wings and a breeze goes around the world. Someone has the love bounceys and ... well, that's got to cure somebody's cancer somewhere, ya know?
Me: LoL! *bouncebouncebounce*

Memento mori

dum loquimur, fugerit invida
aetas: carpe diem quam minimum credula postero.*
-Horace, Odes 1.11

It's a little after 8 on Sunday night and there are a lot of things I "should" be doing.

I "should" be hauling my clothes down to the laundromat. I "should" be cleaning my kitchen, or tidying up my living room. I "should" be scrubbing the ceiling in my bathroom so I can paint it (finally). I "should" be getting a head start on the absolute mountain of work that I'm facing come tomorrow morning.

Instead, I spent the afternoon reading and now I'm sitting in my un-tidied living room, thinking about the evanescent nature of life.

Our lives are so achingly short, and they can turn in an instant.

Though I haven't said much about it in this public forum, I have been reminded more than once in the last year that tomorrow is promised to no one.

• In June, I buried my friend Curtis.
• In September, Apollo's betrayal ended ten years of love and friendship in less than twenty minutes.
• In November, my father was diagnosed with Prostate Cancer. Although his doctor caught it very early and prostate cancer responds extremely well to treatment, he's still my father and cancer is a scary thing.
• In March, a member of my Santa Barbara family found a growth in his lung that, for several terrifying days, appeared to be extremely aggressive lung cancer. (Fortunately it turned out to be a rare but treatable infection instead)
• This month, a dear friend's wife had a miscarriage and Natara lost her best friend to a sudden heart attack.
• Next month, Rauri deploys to Baghdad.

Those are just the things that have happened to me personally, nevermind the ongoing tragedy of lives being lost in this quagmire of a war, or the casualties of a marginalized madman with a gun.

How many times must the Universe show us in brutal detail that life is so fragile, so tenuous? Why do we continue to cling to things that are so small, so petty, so completely inconsequential?

The old wisdom of What would you do if you won a million dollars? Why aren't you doing it right now? holds true. There is no perfect time, perfect place, or perfect set of circumstances. We will never be as ready as we think we need to be and there is no reason to waste time waiting. The Universe has reminded me of these things time and time again during the past year.

So perhaps you all will understand why, when The Fireman called me to tell me that he loves me, that he has always loved me, it ended up being the simplest thing in the world to let myself fall.

I have never felt my heart open the way it did when he said:

I have wanted you since the day that I saw you sitting under that tree. I couldn't say anything because I was with **** . . . But I'm single now, and so are you, and I needed to tell you. For years, I've needed to tell you. I wish I could have kissed you that first day and I've wanted to kiss you every day that I've seen you since.

I fought against it at first. I tried to be logical and cautious, to live within the walls I've built out of past hurts, but he & I were talking one night last week and suddenly I just felt my resistance break. It was palpable, as though I'd been bound with rope and suddenly cut free, and I drew what felt like the first truly deep breath I'd ever taken.

It was, without a doubt, the strangest and most wonderful experience of my life.

Memento mori my friends; remember that you are mortal. Whatever you've been meaning to do, or to say, do it now. You may not have the opportunity tomorrow.

-----
*Even as we speak, envious time runs away from us: seize the day, for you can believe very little about the future.

Who was I to make you wait?

I know... I've been cryptic lately.

Lets just say that you'll probably be hearing a lot about The Fireman from now on.

Thanksgiving

This year, as every year, we celebrate with our family before we celebrate with our relatives.
-Mongo, toasting the start of last night's annual pre-Thankgiving bash

It's been difficult to feel thankful this week.

Though I know academically that I am far luckier than many people, this week has worn me down. As I write this it's 55 degrees in my living room because my furnace is out again and, because of the holiday, won't be fixed until Monday. I've just lit the pilot on my water heater and am hoping that it will warm up enough water for a shower before it shuts off again (it also won't be repaired until Monday). Tomorrow I'm supposed to take my car in for one of the necessary repairs that I can ill afford. I'm worn down from a crazy week at work and stressed out about everything that needs to be done before I leave for the marathon and Nutcracker Weekend.

Try as I might, the ability to be thankful for the big things has eluded me this holiday.

As I was driving home from Mongo's party, though, I realized that I have lots of little things for which to be thankful. Little things that make coping with the big things so much easier.

• I am thankful for Mongo and his roommate Matt for including me in their family and for offering up endless amounts of wine, laughter, and deep fried turkey.


• I am thankful for friends who know exactly where to rub in order to unlock the tension in my shoulders.


• I am thankful for Boober, Boy 2 & Teece, all of whom included me (or offered to include me) in their Thanksgiving plans


• I am thankful for Firebug, who has always let me ask for help.


• I am thankful for Chana, who always has an ear and a fresh perspective.


• I am thankful for my cats, who have suspended hostilities in light of the cold temperatures and curl up peacefully next to each other on my lap.


• I am thankful for Teece and Tag, who have offered to buy me new running shoes (to replace the old ones) as an early Christmas present.


• I am thankful that I leave for Hawaii in ten days, even if I haven't quite figured out how to feed myself while I'm there yet *g*


• I am thankful for Ab, the Gas Company technician who came back to my house twice to try to fix my furnace & water heater - even going so far as to replace my regulater & gas meter at 9pm by flashlight. When it was clear that neither appliance could recussitated, he taught me how to light my water heater (and gave me the necessary tools) so I could at least have moderate amounts of hot water over the weekend.


• I am thankful that, although both other gas-powered appliances are dead, my stove still works perfectly.


• I am thankful for my co-workers, who always ask me how my marathon is going and who have donated nearly 80% of my fundraising total thus far.


• I am thankful (today and every day) for my family, both chosen and blood-related, who provide me love & support for no reason other than because they are my family.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

File Under: Huh?

In February of last year, I had a brief flirtation with a Southern musician. Things had been going along swimmingly until he was, of course, hit by The Bus and dropped off the face of the earth. I hadn't heard a thing from him since.

Until tonight, that is, when he IM'd me out of the blue. I'll spare you all the drivel details of the conversation, but basically he acted as though we'd just talked last week and then asked me what I'm doing next weekend.

Let's see. You vanished into thin air 8 months ago and have returned, with neither an apology nor a decent explanation, to ask me if I'd like to "hang out" again.

How about... no.

Planning Ahead

Am I the only single woman on the face of the earth who does not already have her wedding planned down to the last detail?

If I am, it's ok. You can tell me.

Since many people around me seem to be planning weddings again (dear god save me from a reapeat of last season's 5-wedding marathon), I've had more variations on this conversation than I care to remember:

She: What about you? How do you picture your wedding?
Me: I have no idea.
She: What? What do you mean?
Me: Err, that I have no idea...?
She: How can you not know what you want your wedding to be like?
Me: I haven't even met the man I'm going to marry yet, how can I plan the wedding?
She: *boggle* What does that have to do with anything?
Me: *boggle* Um, everything?

Invariably, She then looks at me as though I've lost my mind before going back to detailing the beading on her dress or the garnish on her hors d'oeuvres.

Am I really the insane one here?

I've never been the girl who had the big crazy wedding fantasies. I never played wedding dress up as a girl, never poured over bridal magazines with my girlfriends, never kept a book of wedding ideas "just in case." Even when I was engaged it wasn't for long enough to work out anything but the most basic of details, all of which I promptly forgot when he emailed me to break off our engagement. The whole idea of having an entire wedding planned with only the groom TBD always struck me as... odd.

I would like to think that my wedding, when & if it happens, will celebrate both me and my future husband. Is that really so hard to believe?

Part of the "problem," I think, is that I can't imagine myself having a conventional big-poofy-dress-stuffy-church-horse-drawn-carriage wedding. I'd probably go up like a roman candle if I were to walk into a church wearing a formal white wedding dress, anyway. Who am I trying to kid? Get me a vibrantly colored sash and a pretty outdoor location, though, and we're talking.

I've been to a lot of weddings in the past five years and the ones that were the most fun (and resulted in the most stable relationships) always reflected the couple's quirks and preferences: C & her husband wore sneakers with their dress & tux, blonde-haired blue-eyed D&V got married in traditional (red/yellow/orange) Indian wedding garb, K & her husband performed a swing number as their first dance, J's Best Man handed him the rings zip-tied together and then produced a ceremonial set of dykes with which to separate them (looong story). All of these weddings had the laid-back, celebratory atmosphere that I would want for mine - a ceremony built on our shared history and passions, no matter how unconventional they may seem.

I just have to find the guy who agrees that a wedding party could saunter down the aisle to Walk the Line and the rest of the details will fall into place. :-)

See Alyssa Be Petty

It's no secret that I'm not a fan of See Alyssa Date, Glamour.com's version of Sex & the City.

Candace Bushnell's column (and the resulting television series) managed to be at once sophisticated and light hearted, intelligent and entertaining; Sex & The City had both depth and relevance. See Alyssa Date, on the other hand, is vapid and poorly written. Take this sentence, for example:

LA is gorgeous and "chill" and I feel very serene and inspired there-- I write better, move slower and "enjoy the moment," much more than the busy Big Apple.

After the generous application of grammatical and punctuative rules, the sentence should read:

L.A. is gorgeous and chill; I feel very serene and inspired there. I write better*, move more slowly, and enjoy the moment much more than I do in the busy Big Apple.

What a difference the MLA makes.

The only thing that sets Alyssa apart from any other flighty woman who has ever whined about her dating life is the fact that Alyssa is getting paid to do it.

You want well-written tales of dating adventures? Go buy Candace Bushnell's book or peruse Hilary's archives. I guarantee that you'll find both of those women's writings more interesting and more entertaining than you will Alyssa's.

Until recently, my distaste for See Alyssa Date was passive. I read the blog when it was first introduced, I sighed that such poor writing was being rewarded with a paycheck, and I moved on. I think it's safe to say that unless someone brought the column up in conversation, I didn't bother to think about it at all.

Then she swept one of my friends into her serial dating whirlwind. We all know what happens when one of my friends is treated poorly, right?

My friend, known as "Boston Boy" on her blog, went on several dates with Alyssa, all of which were inaccurately chronicled on her blog. (We'll just chalk up to creative liberties, shall we?) The day after their last date, she  surreptitiously dumped him via blog and defended her actions by saying that since they only went on a few dates she didn't "owe" him an explanatory phone call or email.

It's simple courtesy to let someone know that you're not interested in future dates. This is called being an adult. If you don't want to be left standing around wondering if the person you're interested in got hit by the bus, don't do it to other people.

This is triply true if you write a dating column for a glossy magazine. Particularly if you have told said person about your column, therefore insuring that they will read it. Boston Boy did, of course, read it and voiced his opinion in a follow-up thread. Unsurprisingly, he received equal amounts of support and opposition after piping up and her response was largely to whine about people needing to "cut her some slack." Slack for what, exactly? Personally I think Boston Boy is well rid of her.

In all fairness, her blog did have one moment of truth and insight: her Sept 22nd self-assessment that she is an overgrown teenager desperate to be popular.

_____
*You are supposed to be a writer. Can you not come up with a more effective comparative than "better?"

Dreaming

I don't dream very often. Or at least, I don't remember my dreams very often. I have the same short vignette of a dream every night while falling asleep but after that, nothing. When something does stick in my memory, it's usually one of two things: nightmare, or prescience. Early this morning, however, I had what I would qualify as a very "normal" dream - one which fell into neither category.

I dreamed that I was on some kind of tour for work. I'm unclear as to whether it was a live show or a movie, but we were changing venues every few days. Though the project was definitely work, all the people involved were friends of mine and we were happy to be getting paid to have fun and explore exotic places.

Side Note: There were dozens of people in this dream, all of whom had faces, voices, and distinct personalities. None of them were people that I know in my real life. Isn't it odd how your mind can create such convincing realities out of whole cloth?

The dream was quite long and involved, but the part I've been thinking about today is a scene where a group of us were in a hotel suite, exhausted after a long day of travel and trying to sort out the next morning's plans before going to bed. I was standing in front of a couch & coffee table talking to the people sitting on the couch, on the floor, and on the table. My dream-boyfriend came up behind me and put his arms around me, resting his head on my shoulder while we all talked. At some point he had to leave the room for a minute so he took my left hand and kissed my palm before he left; I could smell his cologne as he leaned over and feel the touch of his lips on my skin. Later, when I panicked after discovering there had been a mix-up with the reservations and I didn't have a hotel room of my own, he stroked my hair to calm me and said that of course I would stay in his room. The last thing I remember before waking up was him tucking me into bed next to him and kissing my shoulder before we fell asleep.

What stands out about this is not the fact that I had a boyfriend in my dream, but that his presence exemplifies everything I miss about being in a relationship. The unconscious gestures of affection, the physical closeness, the trust that there is someone who thinks about your well being as much as they think about their own. I can go to the movies alone, attend weddings without a plus one, and find plenty of things to do with my Sundays that don't involve lazy mornings in bed, but I miss having someone on whom to rely.

Yes, I have friends. I love them dearly and wouldn't trade them for anything, but my friends fill a different place in my heart. There is something unique and special about a romantic partnership that can't be duplicated by even the closest friendship.

For now, that place in my heart is empty.

Birth Control

I laughed so hard at this commercial I nearly cried. Word to the wise: turn the sound down, particularly if you're using headphones.

It's a shame I didn't see this a few months ago, a couple of people I know really should have watched it.

The Return of Saturn: The Departure of Apollo

Saturn returned to me this weekend.

I knew he was coming; I'd seen the warning signs, tasted the blood on the wind, but it was culfinglin who calculated his exact arrival: Sunday night.

Right about the time that I was standing outside Apollo's house, watching tears well up in his eyes.

Cronus is not known for his subtlety.

There have been endings before of course, and they have been followed inevitably by more beginnings. This one was different.

I walked knowingly into a trap, ready to fight, but when I comprehended the full scope of the betrayal and dysfunction, I chose instead to withdraw. Had I stayed and engaged the annihilation would have been complete, but the victory hardly seemed worth the effort of the fight.

Apollo followed me to my car in silence. When he did finally speak it was obvious that even he didn't believe the words falling from his lips. When I asked him if he understood the magnitude of the choice he'd made, he responded that it was epic. I told him that I hoped he could live with it because he would never see me again.

When I looked in my rearview mirror, I could see the tears glistening on his cheeks.

Tragically, there was no nobility in The End; mighty Apollo was brought low by the one thing to which I thought he'd never fall: a cliche.

Never Say

10 Things You'll Never Hear Me Say (via Cinnamon Girl & Chronic Listaholic)

01. Bungee jumping? Sounds great!
02. Uh, ohmygodeeeeeew a spider! Eeeek!
03. I wish it was a little hotter out; I have a chill.
04. I would kill for tickets to Oprah's show.
05. High School was awesome!
06. Yum, soft shell crabs... my favorite.
07. Can we watch "Jackass" or "Viva La Bam?"
08. Go UCLA!
09. Get on a plane tonight? I couldn't possibly be packed in time.
10. Yes, Apollo, I will marry you.

Steady, as she goes

Find yourself a girl, and settle down
Live a simple life in a quiet town
                      . . .
Your friends have shown a kink in the single life
You've had too much to think, now you need a wife

Tuesday morning, I was eating breakfast and half-listening as the NBC morning news yammered amicably about about Zagat's new nightlife guide. Suddenly, a familiar voice echoed out of my television and I looked up to see a very familiar face - one of the players from my days as the Trainer for 'SC's rugby team.

I actually dropped my cereal spoon.

Though Roc and I lost touch nearly 7 years ago, I'd recognize him anywhere; there was no chance that the man on camera was anyone else. After a little creative Googling, I found an email address for him and dashed off a message; he got back to me almost immediately and promised to call me so that we could catch up properly.

Last night we finally had the chance to chat for awhile. We managed to talk for quite some time before approaching the most dreaded portion of any "catch-up" conversation:

He: So, you married yet?
Me: Nope, not yet.
He: No? No? How is that possible?
Me: Please, I barely have time to sleep much less sift through all the chaff in this city, looking for a kernel of wheat.
He: You don't need to bother with all that. Just find one you want, tell him you're going to marry him and be done with it!
Me: Club him over the head and drag him back to my cave, as it were?
He: Exactly.
Me: I'll have to try that.
He: What ever happened to Apollo?
My heart stopped.
Me: Actually, he lives less than a mile away from me.
He: And you're not married yet why? I figured you two would be long married by now, with a couple of kids.
Me: You did?

I laughed but my heart plunged into my stomach and stayed there, even after we'd changed the subject.

In my head I was thinking Yeah, me too.

_____
*Lyrics from Steady, As She Goes by the Raconteurs

Angelic Guidance

A Strange Sort of Angel recently said to me:

I used to not understand why you always came back together.

After seeing the two of you together, what I don't understand is why you always fall apart. I try not to pry, because mine is to be supportive and love you, not to grill you on the tawdry details and try to fix it all for you. . . .

Having now met him and been with the two of you together, I can't imagine anyone who could make each of you happier than the other, if the both of you are truly committed to that prospect. I get that it's a difficult road, for which I'm sorry . . . Beyond this, I don't know what to say.

Isn't it odd how thoroughly love can kick the crap out of us?

We were, of course, talking about Apollo.

Those of you who have been playing the home game will remember that Apollo reappeared in May. Since then, we have continued to talk regularly.

I know. I KNOW. I know. But...

Well, I'm not exactly sure what to say.

I went to his house last week and it all came rushing back. Every tingle, every lurch, and the entire flock (swarm?) of butterflies... all of them washed over me in a wave that made me slightly dizzy. The look on Apollo's face when I walked into the kitchen told me that he'd been overtaken by the same wave.

It's always been like this.

Apollo and I have a lot of history. 10 years of history. More than many married couples I know. Over the course of those ten years we have both (yes, both) done equal amounts of awful and wonderful things to and for each other. No matter what happened, or what we vowed (to ourselves and each other) about it being "the end," we always wind up exactly where we were last week: together. Talking it through, sorting it out, wondering why we keep snapping back together like a rebounding rubber band.

Every time we rebound, we come together a little bit better, a little bit more mature, a little bit more ready to face a Relationship. This time is no different; all signs for the future seem promising. But how many more times are we going to have to get together and break up before we're both "ready" to make it work for good?

After talking for nearly three hours that night, I'm not sure we got anything resolved.

How do we break this cycle? By resolving to get together and to stay together, or by finding a way to sever this adamantine connection?

I don't know.

The Plot

or, Why I spent a week and a half lying through my teeth

Forget what you learned in kindergarten... sometimes, it's perfectly acceptable to tell one or two (or forty-six) lies to someone close to you.

Last Tuesday, I had an Idea. It was the kind of idea that was so outlandish, so grand in its scale, that I immediately dismissed it.

But the Idea refused to be silenced.

Ready or Not

When there are two things on the table, it's easy to make a choice. When there are thirty? The whole decision becomes much more complicated.

So said my neighbor, F, on Sunday as we were standing outside chatting.

F & his finacee are expecting another child. After he shared this news with me and I'd offered my best wishes, we got to talking about why people our age (25-35, for the purposes of this exercise) are so consumed with the idea of being ready for everything.

We spend our college years trying to get ready for the outside world and our careers trying to be ready for advancement. We won't enter relationships unless we're ready, or contemplate getting married, buying a house, or starting a family unless both people feel ready for the challenge. Most days we won't even leave the house or return a phone call until we feel ready to do so.

While I certainly advocate being prepared for things (or at least aware of what you're getting into), we as a generation seem to be wasting years of our life pursuing this false sense of foundation... missing opportunities that don't wait for us to feel ready to take them.

Are we ever really ready? And what happens if we're not? Time doesn't stop and wait for us to catch up; the world, as we well know, moves heedlessly on. Why do we cling so desperately to this all-consuming need for preparedness?

F's first child was a surprise to say the least; he and G were only 23 and had barely admitted to being ready for a relationship - parenthood was at the end of several as-yet uncompleted checklists. But there it was, staring them in the face, whether they were ready or not.

Five years later the two of them are still happy together and they are raising a bright, happy, well-adjusted daughter whose laugh carries for a block and whose smile should probably be classified as a deadly weapon. F assures me that, though the experience has not always been easy, it has been rewarding and it's given him a unique perspective on the nature of self-imposed timelines and the need for readiness:

You can't think in timelines when it comes to relationships, just throw them out completely. She and I would never have met had we not both happened to be in the same place at the same time and we definitely wouldn't have had our daughter when we did if we'd waited until we were "ready." You can't plan that stuff and you can't ever be ready for it. All you can do is pay attention and hope that you can see, and rise to, the opportunities when they present themselves.

I think that's true of all areas of our life, not just relationships. We are blessed in that we have so many more choices available to us than previous generations did, but we are also crippled by the overwhelming number of those choices. Somewhere along with the limitless possibilities and big dreams, we also picked up this paralyzing fear of making the wrong choice - that one false move could somehow doom the rest of our lives.

And so, we plan. Endlessly. In fact we are so mired in planning, and timelines, and in the need to "sort ourselves out" that our lives are flying right past us and we are missing them.

Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans.
-John Lennon

Life is capricious, and savage, and serendipitous. You meet people with whom a relationship seems both impossible and inevitable. You stumble across a job that makes your heart sing, even though you have no formal training for it. A tragedy changes your life in just a few seconds. Things happen every day, regardless of whether or not you're ready for them.

And you know what? We will never be ready for those things. Ever. But isn't that the feral beauty of Life? That even if something seems ill-advised, or poorly timed, or not at all what you were expecting, you've no choice but to buck everything, cross your fingers, and dive right in?

Instead we hang back, preparing endlessly, and those opportunities pass us by.

What are we waiting for?

Ready or not, here I come.

Good Plan

Saturday night at the Arclight.

21+ screening of Over the Hedge.

Best date plan ever.

The Return of Apollo

Because anyone who's been playing along at home must have put even money on him reappearing at some point, right?

Right. And so he did, about ten minutes after I got home last night.

If you had asked me who was at the door as I was standing in my kitchen listening to the gentle but persistant rapping, Apollo would not have been at the top of the list. Hell, he wouldn't even have been ON the list. But there he was, standing hesitantly on my doorstep.

The first thing I noticed was my complete lack of physical reaction to him. For the last ten years, every time I've seen his name on my caller ID, or in my email InBox, or seen him standing in front of me, my heart has lurched. My stomach has turned over. My breath has caught. Last night? Nothing. There was the momentary "Um, wtf?" adrenaline spike but after that? Not even a flutter. The butterflies remained dormant.

The second thing I noticed was that he looks like hell. He's lost a lot of weight, and there are shadows under his eyes. He looks gaunt, and uncertain, and more than a little unhappy. Clearly the last few months have been much harder on him than they have on me.

When I invited him in, he paced my living room for awhile as we "caught up" on what had been going on for the last few months. I finally cut into the banal chatter:

Me: Apollo, why are you here?
He: Well, I noticed that there's "For Rent" sign outside on the lawn...
Note - There's no reason for him to drive down my street, except to see whether or not I'm home
He: ... and I wanted to see if it was you who had gone, or someone else.
Me: Why?
He: I was worried that I'd put you in a bad position, convincing you to move up here, or that I'd driven you to leave a good one when we broke up... I was afraid you were gone.
Me: You don't need to worry about that. I'm not going anywhere, I love where I live.
He: That's good to hear.
Me: But that's not the only reason you're here.
He: I bought a house. I want to show it to you.

A house. The house he talked about buying for the entire time that we were together. The house that he wanted to move me into. He finally bought it, and it's less than a mile from *my* house.

Me: I'd like to see it. But first, I want to be clear about something. If this is some sort of bid for reconciliation? There's the door. We have too many years of history behind us not to maintain a friendship, but I cannot imagine it ever going farther than that again. Your actions when we broke up were so reprehensible as to be nearly unforgiveable and I will not set myself up to be treated that way again.

He: I know, and you're right. But I still want you to be the first to see the house.

So we went to his new house. It's gorgeous... a spanish-style house built in the twenties that sits on a huge (for California) piece of land. Pool. Jacuzzi. Firepit. Wetbars both outside and in. Two fireplaces. Three bedrooms. Original tile. There was a moment where I thought to myself This could have been yours, but it passed quickly. It will be a lovely place for him to build a family.

With someone else.

After he showed me the house, we went to dinner. We chatted a bit more easily than we had earlier in the day, and I took the opportunity to sit across from him and express all of my thoughts about our break-up without having to fight back anger and tears. There was no anger, actually. Just a vague sense of nostalgia, and the realization that the man looked truly lost. He finally revealed that for the first time in a long time he's scared... about the house, about the PhD program he's starting this summer, about the future... and that there isn't anyone else he would call, no one else whose presence is as familiar or soothing as mine.

Somewhere between edamame and sashimi, The Irishman called and the thought of him woke my sleeping butterflies. I only spoke to The Irishman long enough to tell him that I was at dinner and would talk to him later, but every part of me sighed I wish I was sharing dinner with you, rather than with Apollo.

Here's to moving on.

LBC Pride

Whilst talking to The Irishman about the crime rate in the L.A. Metro area:

He: Well I'm just proud that our number of murders went up by like, 400 last year.
Me: Up! It's going down in the rest of Los Angeles, what the hell is wrong with Long Beach?
He: More Civics and Integras. Way more car jackings per capita, I'm sure.

You have to love a man who makes you laugh... and who will text message you the hockey scores because your *@#$%* cable system doesn't have OLN.

Sexual Dictionary

Because I'm still too scattered to write a real post, and because this result was too fun NOT to share:

amandarin -- [noun]: A perma-orgasm 'How will you be defined in the sexual dictionary?' at QuizUniverse.com

The First Day of the Rest of His Life

Reading Dan501's story about his engagement, my heart soared.

When people ask me why I cling so stubbornly to my hopeless romanticism, I'll point them to that post and say See? It does happen, and it happens to people I know.

I will never stop believing.

Dodging Bullets

Here's a fun little conversation that I had recently with a guy I dated briefly last summer (before Apollo and I reconciled):

He: So, you know when you came down to San Diego for the weekend, and you were all confused that I didn't lay a hand on you?
Me: Yes...
He: Well, it's because I'd recently stated dating [his current girlfriend] and thought that she and I might get serious
Me: Oh, ok. That makes sense.
He: Turns out that it was a blessing for you, though, that we didn't fool around that weekend.
Me: Um, why?
He: Seems that I was exposed to HPV sometime before you and I dated. Seems that men usually exhibit no symptoms at all. Seems that I could have passed it on to you unknowingly.
Me: Seems that I dodged a bullet* there.
He: Yeah you did; too bad I took it square to the chest.

And people wonder why I believe that everything happens for a reason.

*Yes, I have been tested since and yes, I did well and truly dodge the bullet.

Mojo Flow

Hallelujah, my mojo is flowing again.

Before Apollo and I reconciled and after we (finally) broke up, I was in a terrible dating slump; I could not have gotten a date if the fate of the world had depended on it.

(In retrospect, that probably should have been a good indicator as to the eventual fate of our relationship, shouldn't it? Hmm.)

Lately, however, it seems that I am no longer invisible to the men of the greater Los Angeles area. True, I haven't yet managed to successfully negotiate for a second date (boo), but I have been meeting a lot of new people (yay) and fielding lots of offers for various and sundry social activities (double yay). The realization that I was back in the flow didn't dawn on me until after today's episode, though...

I was sitting at my desk chatting with one of my co-workers about Frappuccinos when the conversation somehow turned to a bracelet that he's worn everyday since high school. Another co-worker overheard just enough of our chatter to be terribly confused:

He: Is it bad to wear the same piece of jewelry for, like, 15 years?
Me: No, I don't think so. I mean, people wear wedding rings for decades.
She: What, you're getting married?
Me: Yes, he just proposed!
He: turns bright red and starts to stammer before bolting from my desk under a flurry of giggles

--Later, He IMs me--

He: So, if we're marrried and all, ya think we can get a frappuccino one day from Starbucks?

This is a man who I would never guess would be interested in me at all. Mojo, baby!

I don't know if I'll take him up on the offer. On the one hand, I have a very strict personal policy against dating at work. On the other, I have to applaud the man for not only recovering gracefully from his embarassment but pressing the point to his advantage - that alone deserves at least a cup of coffee.

Either way I'm flattered... and feeling the flow!

F*ck That Noise

Often, you don't realize the bad habits that your relationship has created until long after that relationship is over.

I met The Irishman last weekend, while Adri and I were in San Diego. We traded info and chatted all last week, making plans on Wednesday night to get together on Saturday night.

For the rest of the week every time I talked to him, I tensed - mentally bracing myself for him to cancel, or reschedule. The Irishman couldn't be less likely to flake, it's not his style. So why was I bracing for it? Because with Apollo, it always took two or three tries before plans actually worked out.

When did THAT become OK? When did I start letting that disrespectful behavior slide?

As Adri so succinctly put it when I explained all this to her, Fuck that noise.

Fuck that noise, indeed.

For the record? The Irishman showed up exactly when he said he would and we had a wonderful time.

Here's to breaking bad habits.

The Bus

This is too funny to be hidden in the comments...

Hilary and her friends have discovered what happens to guys who never call: they've been hit by The Bus.

Don't mind me, I'll just be over here laughing hysterically.

Er... quoi?

Remember that date I went on last week? With the guy who was so promising? The date that Ben Brown referenced in an interview about Consumating.com's success?

Yeah... no word from him. Not so much as a peep. In fact, I think he even has me blocked on IM - he was online every single day before our date but hasn't logged on since.

So, let me get this straight:

• Boy meets Girl online.
• Boy and Girl go out for dinner, during which time conversation is consistently easy, engaging, and amusing.
• Boy invites Girl out for after-dinner drinks, which are accompanied by more animated conversation.
• Boy kisses Girl.
• Boy enthuses about having had a good time and tells Girl he'll talk to her soon.
• Girl follows up with a thank-you email the next day, and a quick voicemail while in Boy's neighborhood three days later.
• Boy disappears off the face of the earth, but continues to log in to Consumating from his new home in deep space.

Girl is perplexed.

First Date

There's so much that we share
That it's time we're aware
It's a small world after all*

Last night was my first date with the guy who shall henceforth be known as SW. Why SW? Because we share a very Small World. So far we've discovered that:

• He used to work in the office complex in which I currently work.
• He lives mere blocks from one of my first apartments in Hollywood.
• We have the same favorite bar and preferred cocktail.
• Not only do we work in the same industry, we work in the same narrow field of that industry.
• We were at USC at the same time... we even graduated the same year.
• In college, his roommate was good friends with a friend of mine.

Though we found each other online, it's incredibly likely that we've actaully crossed paths before at a party or two. World wide web? Ha!

We arrived at Luna Park for dinner at almost the exact same time and recognized each other immediately, thus avoiding any awkward standing-around-trying-to-look-nonchalant moments for either of us. He's cuter than his photo and his smile, which was what I'd noticed first on his profile, is even more engaging in person.

I had an unintentional back-up plan at the restaurant when I discovered a co-worker seated at the table behind ours, but fortunately I didn't need it... we managed to keep up an easy, steady stream of conversation through drinks, dinner, and dessert. When we were not-so-subtlely given our check (the waiter was rushing us endlessly last night... I'd never had that problem at Luna Park before and I was annoyed) we decided to head up to Birds to continue drinking and chatting.

Five hours, several drinks, and much laughter later I reluctantly called it a night so that I would be able to keep my eyes open on the drive home.

Next time (*crosses fingers*) we'll have to make less boisterous location choices... by the end of the evening I was a bit hoarse from talking loudly (and a bit sore from smiling so much *g*).

SW gets it. He paid for dinner, but graciously accepted my buying a round of drinks later. He put his hand on my arm, or on the small of my back while walking through crowds. He introduced me to his friends when we ran into them at the bar. And at the end of the evening, there was no hesitation... just his hand on my cheek and his lips on mine. Zing!

I grinned like an idiot the entire drive home.

-----
*It's been stuck in my head since last night so I thought I would share the magic. I'm a giver that way.

Promising Beginning

After reading my tales of woe, the ever-helpful Jason pointed me to consumating.com as a potentially skeeve-free alternative to the bigger, scarier personals sites.

Thank you, Jason.

So far Consumating seems to be a well-designed, well-executed site full of fun, geeky people like me. There are no stupid checkboxes, or awkward descriptive essays, or the frustrating feeling of trying to describe the entirety of your being in four limited categories. Instead there are photos, and tags, and weekly questions and contests. I wish there was a bit more search functionality, but it's a small price to pay for not having a creep in sight!

I've chatted with a bunch of interesting people since joining, including this guy:

He: i.e. i only speak portugese out loud
He: english is strictly written for me
Me: Hmm... well I speak French so I might be able to pick out a word here or there. I'll bring a pad of paper and a pencil though, just to be safe...
He:: i can already picture it....
Me: It'll be like a private game of pictionary.
Me: Oooh, or charades!
He: yes!
Me: The waitress will love us
Me: We'll act out our order, it'll be fantastic.
He: have you ever played charades on a first date?
Me: No, but I'm not ruling it out as a viable option
He: "I'm sorry sir, we don't serve "The Grapes of Wrath'"
Me: ROFL
Me: *dies*
He: hehehe

I am so looking forward to meeting this guy; I will totally play charades with him in a restaurant.

Helpful Advice

Online dating really is like a giant petri dish for social interaction, isn't it?

In an attempt to protect L.A.'s innocent bachelors fend off the asshats, there is a disclaimer at the bottom of my personals ad that says I'm unapologetically a BBW. I'm fit, athletic, graceful, and proportional, but I'm not a size 6. If that's not your style, I'm not your girl. ;-).

Who knew that would be such an incendiary sentence?

Amongst the offers for nights of degradation and the (very) few sincere replies, I found two emails with the same subject line:

#1

Subject: Helpful Advice

"fit" means not overweight.  I was overweight myself, so don't take this the wrong way - but if you're expecting an attractive man you'll have to lose weight.

And the bitchy tone you take with "unapologetically a BBW", etc. makes you sound bitter and mean.  Makes the average man want to run honey. (Ed: Good thing I'm not looking for an "average man")

Anyway, I really only means this as friendly advice coming from a girl who was once overweight too. 

Cheers

Cindy

First of all, honey, I didn't ask for your advice and emailing it to me isn't altruistic so much as it is arrogant. What are you doing reading ads in the Women for Men section anyway? If you're so thin now you must have "attractive" men throwing themselves at you, right?

Oh, wait, you're still sitting home on a Thursday night cruising the personals. What's wrong with this picture?

#2

Subject: Helpful Advice

you mentioned: I'm unapologetically a BBW. I'm fit, athletic, graceful, and proportional, but I'm not a size 6. If that's not your style, I'm not your girl. ;-)

Dear lose that weight do yourself a favor you would get a nice guy if you didn't have all that lard stuck to your carcass. There is no reasont to be hitting the "crisco jar" or the "betty crocker" aisle at the supermarket constantly. By stating the that phrase you have no desire to really please yourself and any man that you would like to be involved with. A real man wants to come home to a smokin hot chick who has curves not stare at some fat whale

Sergio

There are so many things wrong with this email I don't even know where to start, but it would be helpful if it was written in something resembling proper English. Clearly he's in too much of a hurry to get home to that "smokin hot chick" to worry about capitalizing or punctuating.

Hang on... he's browing the personals too.

Perhpas I should introduce Cindy to Sergio! I'm sure they'd be very happy together, running other people's lives.

It's time to cap this dish and throw it in the biohazard bin; thank god Margaret Cho is here to offer some perspective.

I am beautiful now.

Prince Charming

I have found my Prince Charming. I was his the moment I read his reponse to my personals ad:

Subject: Your place

Let me know what you think.

I'm available exclusively if you host.

I'm safe, sane, entirely discrete and very entertaining. I live in West LA. I'm 5'11" 170 fit. 7 x 4 3/4

Somewhat hairy chest.

I'm in and out so frequently that it's best you give me your number and the best time to call and I'll get in touch with you immediately!

I really do think you're a lowly pathetic piece of trash, and I'd enjoy treating you like a despicable whore. I promise I won't show you the least bit of respect, I'll just use you and toss you away.

I'll make you beg, crawl, eat and suck my scum, my ass, I'll gag you painfully, I might even plug your nose a little and watch you choke just for fun. I'd probably fuck your ass, it's probably loose on a little slut whore like, you. I might also pee and spit in your face.

Possibly put out my cigarettes on you.

Pretty much have a great time enjoying myself, ordering you around while you suffer.

You had me at "despicable whore."

*le sigh*

The Dating Pool

The singular disadvantage to having broken up with Apollo is that I've now been dumped unceremoniously back into the dating pool. The water is cold and, frankly, it could use some chlorine.

The first obstacle to this whole dating thing is, of course, finding someone to date. Given my crazy/long work hours and personal policy against dating at work, my options for meeting new people are limited. Although the meet-a-stranger-in-the-aisle-of-a-drugstore method has worked out swimmingly for Firebug, I really don't want to become known as the crazy girl at Rite Aid - I spend enough time there as it is.

So, bolstered by Adri's unqualified success in meeting her honey online, I thought I'd do some browsing amongst the personals sites.

In retrospect, that may not have been my best idea. Apparently it's not my long work hours that are keeping me from meeting a new guy... it's the hideous sight of my grotesque layers of fat oozing across the greater Los Angeles area. Who knew that my bloated visage could wreak such havoc on the innocent bachelors of Los Angeles?

I think caprine says it best in this LJ Metaquotes post:

I stayed up far too late reading personal ads. This was not a happy occupation. I have been reminded that, here in Southern California, I am a super micro nano niche market item. The majority of men posting ads seem desperate to evade fat women. They use all manner of pseudo-polite code phrases that translate as For the love of God and all that is holy, don't let the fatties get near me, as once glance at their hideous Lovecraftian soul-destroying blubber will force me to remove my own eyes with a spork.

That about sums it up, really. My personal favorite was a guy who thoughtfully included this disclaimer at the bottom of his ad:

Sorry to be honest, but if you really want a boyfriend and not a booty call, then you need to lose weight. You don't need to be ultra skinny. But if you're a BBW and planning on staying that way, then you will be used for sex. Guys don't want to be seen in public with you because its embarrassing. If ANNA NICOLE can do it, so can you. Don't hate me. I'm a guy that likes BBWs in the sack but wouldn't be seen with one in public.

Oh, I don't hate you sir... but I wouldn't exactly cry if a freak accident someday rendered you unable to pass on both your genes and your special brand of wisdom.

Of course they're not all like that... some of them thoughtfully list height:weight requirements, too!

Somebody call me after the pool guy's been here... the water's too gross for swimming at the moment.

A Word About Wedding Registries

Today's post boys and girls is about wedding gifts. I've reached that time in my life when I find myself purchasing lots of nuptial presents (5 weddings between now and June - whee!) and I would like to make an announcement:

People, your registires are getting out of hand*.

Silk bathrobes? Cosmetics? Pet items? $2500 leather couches? Picture frames?  Tealights?

Come on.

Weddings are joyous, glorious occasions wherein a couple's friends and family gather together to celebrate their union and wish them well for the future. They are not all-expenses-paid shopping sprees at Pottery Barn, Crate & Barrel, and Macy's.

I love you people, but I am increasingly tempted to adopt stars in your names or ship you lumps of coal wrapped in dove-embossed paper.

Let's go over some basic etiquette/ground rules, shall we?

• These are gifts, not the cover charge for your exclusive party. Guests are not obligated to do anything other than show up and behave themselves once they've RSVP'd.
• Including a "registry card" with your invitation is vulgar in the extreme. Blame it on my WASPishness, but for some reason this particular gaffe drives me insane. Registry information should only be given at a guest's request or included with shower invitations sent by someone other than the engaged couple.
• Unless you are asking your guests to donate to a specific cause (your "Downpayment for a House Fund" or your favorite charitable organization), requesting money in lieu of gifts is tacky.
• Exercise some common sense. Registries should be a tool for you to subtlely express your tastes (preferred china pattern and flatware style, for example) and your need for "big ticket" household items ($300 mixer - good. $1700 sleigh bed - bad). They should not be detailed shopping lists for your home makeover.
• Allow your guests some margin for creativity and personal expression in their gift giving. Making it known that you will be unhappy receiving a gift not found on the registry is tasteless, rude, and virtually guarantees you the aforementioned dove-wrapped coal.
• Send a Thank You note. Seriously. After your guests have been gracious enough to jump through your registry hoop, the least you can do is acknowledge their effort and expense.
• Before you send that note, though? Make sure you are absolutely certain you know what the gift is. I will never forget the day my parents got a note thanking them for the lovely linen napkins when my parents had, in fact, given the couple embroidered linen placemats.

___
*No, of course I'm not talking about you *g*

What This Girl Wants

The ever fabulous chowyunsmut recently blogged about what she's looking for in a mate* and that got me thinking.

It's often been said that the older we get, the less likely we are to find a long term relationship - not because there are suddenly less people in the world, but because we get "too picky" as we get older.

I prefer to think of it as having a more refined dating palette.

Other tastes mature (Remember all that Boone's Farm you drank in college thinking it was high-quality wine?), why shouldn't our taste in partners do the same? I've written before about what a girl wants and I still stand by these words: If you want to kiss me, fucking kiss me. But that's not really everything, is it?

The exits are located here and here...

To say that this week has been bizarre would be a massive understatement. The freakishness reached its apex today when in the space of 45 minutes Apollo called to "talk," my boss laid me off, and I got called in to interview for two jobs in drastically different industries (one in my curent industry, one in the farthest possible industry from where I am now). As I was mulling over all of these developments with one of the wise women with whom I am lucky enough to be friends:

Me: The Universe sure has thrown me for a few loops this week.
She: Welcome to your Saturn Return. Please make sure your seatbelts are securely fastened.

*buckles up*

Another One for the Jellyfish Files

Apollo and I broke up last weekend. It's a long story and certainly not how I had imagined our ten years of friendship & love to come to a close, but it was the right decision. We had to tie up some loose ends this week, though... the bittersweet exchange of the dross that remains after a relationship ends. 

Seems simple enough, right? Not pleasant, certainly, to have to meet to return those few meager items that come to symbolize your entire partnership, but not unbearable.

Unless, of course, you have joined the Jellyfish Brigade (founded by Girl 1's spineless ex), as it appears Apollo has.

When I got home tonight, I found my spare key sitting on top of a few $20 bills (money he owed me for the ill-fated trip back east) just inside my door. No note, not even a freaking envelope. Just the key, and the cash.

Stunning in its cowardice, really.