Saturday, January 19, 2008

The Upside of Reruns

The Return of Writer Guy!

He was, understandably, frustrated with me, and I did little to allay that frustration. To be honest, I was relieved when he backed off, as I didn't have it in me to really get into a relationship, but felt pretty stupid about that. I felt ridiculous every time I told him I wasn't ready for anything substantive between us because I never say shit like that. I hated how it sounded, every time I backed off, as I sounded like that chick, and I never wanted to be that chick. I just knew I wasn't in any position to have a boyfriend, and when it comes to relationships, I go up to 11. I am an all or nothing kind of girl when it comes to matters of the heart.

I had just put a fake log on the fire and was settling in for a night of quiet. Book in hand, FoodTV shows in the background, yoga pants, emanating dried sweat from a run with Darbs, and breath reeking of the tuna sandwich I had just eaten. Life was pleasant and comfortable. And then, the goddamn buzzer rang, alerting me to a visitor. I stealthily sneaked out on the deck and saw who it was, and was fully prepared not to answer the call. Then he started singing. Yes, he sung loudly and badly, to the tune of "I Hear You Knocking," but with much cheesier lyrics.

It was ballsy and honest, so I answered the call. I told him I was settled in for the night, but he could come up. That blew his mind away, as I rarely let him in. He came up, looking fantastic, and I was there in my yoga pants and dried sweat. We hadn't seen or spoken to each other in weeks, and I expected some awkwardness. He scooped up Darby, who hates everyone but me and the P and him, and said "shower, hot stuff, let's sing." I was all proud at my moment of looking like, well, how I look when I am lounging about the house, and said "no, I want to stay in." He said "how well has that been working out for you, [his silly nickname for me]? Take a shower and let's go sing."

I did. I jumped in the shower and got fully ready in less than half an hour. I came out of the bathroom and he whistled at me and said "damn, you clean up good and fast." He called a cab and we set off for that insane karaoke joint in Kent. The whole way there, he acted as though it was perfectly normal for us to resume this whole thing, despite not having spoken in weeks. He politely informed me that he was involved with someone else, but that he just wanted to hang out with me tonight.

Buzzkill. Not that he was seeing someone, as I expected that, but that he thought it was okay to go out with me nevertheless. I had a mild wig out in the cab about that, insisting that I was so far from wanting to pursue in someone involved with another person, and if I were the current object of his affection, I would really resent this whole outing. He was quite taken aback by that and said "K, I always thought of us as friends first, and hopefully more. I'm not shooting for the 'more' tonight, I just wanted to hang out with you."

Yes, that fucking line worked on me. It was a shit week, capped off by a shit day, so I was quite delighted to feel like desired company. We walked in, and he put his arm around the small of my back.I tensed, and he felt it and whispered in my ear "you can be attracted to your friends." When we sat down, I grabbed his hands and asked him to tell me about the screenplay he had been working on. The look on his face positively melted me, as he clearly loves someone taking an interest in his work. He now has an option on that screenplay and shyly asked if I would look over the contract. I said yes.

Then, the shots came. I don't do shots, as a general rule. I prefer to sip. I should add that the shots came because the man can sing. He sang Desperado and he killed it. After a shot, he asked me if I would sing Lying Eyes with him. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable request, so I sang back up, harmony vocals with him. Another round of shots. I was feeling no pain at this point, only a strong desire for my bed, and then he prodded me to do a solo act.

I belted out a Snow Patrol song - Open Your Eyes. I have a history with that song, and although I wasn't feeling particularly maudlin, I apparently had my eyes closed for most of my rendition. Writer Guy led a standing round of applause, but truthfully, at that moment, I just wanted to be home alone. When I got back to the table, he was markedly more affectionate and flirty.

He's so vain. He probably thinks that song is about him, he's so vain.

Our moment of truth came when he sang this song, albeit drunkenly, but earnestly.



You would have had to have seen him sing it. It was good.

Anyway, we cabbed it back here, holding hands the whole way back. That was surprisingly intimate. When we hit my condo, where I am certain he thought I would invite him up for some really good sex, I balked. I told him that I didn't want to get involved with anyone involved with someone else, and he tried to assure me it wasn't serious. I had no reason to doubt him, but at that particular moment, I was sure my judgment was dubious at best. Suffice to say, I once again left him blue balled and likely pissed off, and that was never my intention.

I think we can transition into a great friendship, if we can both let go of the attraction. We have good chemistry, which is hard to find, but our timing is still so off.

The Upside of Reruns

The Return of Writer Guy!

He was, understandably, frustrated with me, and I did little to allay that frustration. To be honest, I was relieved when he backed off, as I didn't have it in me to really get into a relationship, but felt pretty stupid about that. I felt ridiculous every time I told him I wasn't ready for anything substantive between us because I never say shit like that. I hated how it sounded, every time I backed off, as I sounded like that chick, and I never wanted to be that chick. I just knew I wasn't in any position to have a boyfriend, and when it comes to relationships, I go up to 11. I am an all or nothing kind of girl when it comes to matters of the heart.

I had just put a fake log on the fire and was settling in for a night of quiet. Book in hand, FoodTV shows in the background, yoga pants, emanating dried sweat from a run with Darbs, and breath reeking of the tuna sandwich I had just eaten. Life was pleasant and comfortable. And then, the goddamn buzzer rang, alerting me to a visitor. I stealthily sneaked;
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out on the deck and saw who it was, and was fully prepared not to answer the call. Then he started singing. Yes, he sung loudly and badly, to the tune of "I Hear You Knocking," but with much cheesier lyrics.

It was ballsy and honest, so I answered the page. I told him I was settled in for the night, but he could come up. That blew his mind away, as I rarely let him in. He came up, looking fantastic, and I was there in my yoga pants and dried sweat. We hadn't seen or spoken to each other in weeks, and I expected some awkwardness. He scooped up Darby, who hates everyone but me and the P and him, and said "shower, hot stuff, let's sing." I was all proud at my moment of looking like, well, how I look when I am lounging about the house, and said "no, I want to stay in." He said "how well has that been working out for you, [his silly nickname for me}? Take a shower and let's go sing."

I did. I jumped in the shower and got fully ready in less than half an hour. I came out of the bathroom and he whistled at me and said "damn, you clean up good and fast." He called a cab and we set off for that insane karaoke joint in Kent. The whole way there, he acted as though it was perfectly normal for us to resume this whole thing, despite not having spoken in weeks. He politely informed me that he was involved with someone else, but that he just wanted to hang out with me tonight.

Buzz kill. Not that he was seeing someone, as I expected that, but that he thought it was okay to go out with me nevertheless. I had a mild wig out in the cab about that, insisting that I was so far from interesting in someone involved with another person, and if I were the current object of his affection, I would really resent this whole outing. He was quite taken aback by that and said "K, I always thought of us as friends first, and hopefully more. I'm not shooting for the 'more' tonight, I just wanted to hang out with you."

Yes, that fucking line worked on me. It was a shit week, capped off by a shit day, so I was quite delighted to feel like desired company. We walked in, and he put his other around the small of my back.I tensed, and he felt it and whispered in my ear "you can be attracted to your friends." When we sat down, I grabbed his hands and asked him to tell me about the screenplay he had been working on. The look on his face positively melted me, as he clearly loves someone taking an interest in his work. He now has an option on that screenplay and shyly asked if I would look over the contract. I said yes.

Then, the shots came. I don't do shots, as a general rule. I prefer to sip. I should add that the shots came because the man can sing. He sang Desperado and he killed it. After a shot, he asked me if I would sing Lying Eyes with him. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable request, so I sang back up, harmony vocals with him. Another round of shots. I was feeling no pain at this point, only a strong desire for my bed, and then he prodded me to do a solo act.

I belted out a Snow Patrol song - Open Your Eyes. I have a history with that song, and although I wasn't feeling particularly maudlin, I apparently had my eyes closed for most of my rendition. Writer Guy led a standing round of applause, but truthfully, at that moment, I just wanted to be home alone. When I got back to the table, he was markedly more affectionate and flirty.

He's so vain. He probably thinks that song is about him, he's so vain.

Our moment of truth came when he sang this song, albeit drunkenly, but earnestly.



You would have had to have seen him sing it. It was good.

Anyway, we cabbed it back here, holding hands the whole way back. That was surprisingly intimate. When we hit my condo, where I am certain he thought I would invite him up for some really good sex, I balked. I told him that I didn't want to get involved with anyone involved with someone else, and he tried to assure me it wasn't serious. I had no reason to doubt him, but at that particular moment, I was sure my judgment was dubious at best. Suffice to say, I once again left him blue balled and likely pissed off, and that was never my intention.

I think we can transition into a great friendship, if we can both let go of the attraction. We have good chemistry, which is hard to find, but our timing is still so off.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Things I Know To Be True

5 things I believe:

1. Scientology is freaking weird.
2. Tom Cruise is delusional beyond any imagination.
3. Britney Spears won't make it through the year.
4. American Idol is utterly unwatchable. With perhaps this one exception:

5. I need a three day weekend.

5 things I don't believe:

1. Katie Holmes ran the NYC marathon.
2. I need the new Mac laptop.
3. Project Runway is as engaging as it has been in season's past.
4. Getting a cat for a companion to my dog is a good idea.
5. I will cross off all of my to-do items this week.

I had a maddening day, even though parts of it were reassuring and positive. Am still kind of sorting through it, but suffice to say, my boss senses my apathy and is making an emotional play to keep me around. It was sort of what I needed, and yet the very last thing I wanted. Fuck, let this week be over and give me three days to recharge.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Cravings

I am usually a pretty evenly balanced person. I don't get (typically) get depressed, I don't have manic highs, I don't binge eat, and I don't obsess. My mantra has long been "in all things balance." I am comfortable in the middle and not at the extremes.

Yet, as I climb out from the rabbit hole, I find myself absolutely craving certain foods. Now, I am prone to burger cravings fairly regularly, and indulge them because I believe in the healing powers of a great hamburger and fries. I also routinely need sushi, as it is "clean food" that tends to cleanse the mind and soul, plus the wasabi clears up any congestion or ickiness that I have. And yes, a few times of year, I just need Thai food and the rice noodley goodness that is Phad See Iw. But by and large, I have never understood the Ben-and-Jerry's-in-the-middle-of-the-night thing, or PMS chocolate cravings, or other such stereotypes. I don't ever think about candy or chocolate or ice cream (I actually can't eat more than three bites of the latter), and I can't remember the last time I ate something from a vending machine or convenience store.

Yet in the past two weeks, I have had crazy cravings. Thai, sushi, burgers, pizza - everything that I usually partake in moderation throughout the year. I haven't eaten a lot of anything, at least in one sitting, but in the past two weeks, I had leftover pizza, Thai noodles, crab wontons, egg flower soup, half a burger and (this one was a particularly weird craving) spaghetti bolognese in my refrigerator. I am a firm believer in indulging your cravings, so long as they are occasional and not regular. Otherwise, you get that whole feeling of deprivation, and when you go on a bender, you go nuts.

I am fortunate to live a life where I have to watch what I eat, and I am always mindful of that. I have never been an overeater or junk food person, and when I gain weight, it is always related to my level of exercise. Genetics sucks, but I have to play the cards I was dealt. Eat sensibly, most of the time, stay balanced with exercise, and eat whatever the hell I want if I really want it. But this weird two weeks of craving seemed almost manic. I ordered pizza one night last week and ate a single slice, after I heated it in a cast iron pan on the stove (I need a really crispy crust). I ordered two Thai dishes, ate about three bites of each, and they served as leftovers for the next three days. I have had leftover egg flower soup for breakfast nearly every day for the past five. I needed a medium rare burger tonight with steak fries, and I will have the other half for lunch tomorrow.

I thought it might be PMS, but then I looked at the calendar. Not so much. On one hand, I haven't had an appetite in nearly three years, so maybe I should be grateful. Yes, I have clearly eaten in those years, as I love dining out and trying the culinary creations of talented chefs, but I haven't been hungry in a long time. Thing is, this isn't really hunger. My stomach isn't rumbling and I am not light-headed because I forgot to eat the day before. This is pregnancy-style craving (No. No, not a chance. Nope.) and it is unsettling because I have never experienced such an intense desire for certain foods in a concentrated period of time. As I said, I used to indulge them when they came because they weren't a regular occurrence, but now, I have to resist. I can't (and don't) want to live on takeout or delivery, as I prefer to make my own food.

So my little bender has to come to an end, even though I enjoyed the idea of waking up to (reheated) hot soup or noodles, or a crisped up slice of pizza. It was sort of homey to look in my refrigerator and see a ton of options. But tonight, I tossed out all of the leftover containers, and roasted a chicken (great recipe, by the way) and onions and garlic, and chopped up a huge salad to enjoy for the rest of the week. Darbs and I went for an hour walk tonight in the still frozen snow and I am steering myself back to equilibrium. I don't ever want to be that chick who won't eat certain foods, but I need to get back to the middle of the spectrum.

And yet, even as I type this, full from my salad and roasted chicken quesadilla, I find myself fantasizing about how delicious a few bites of lasagna would taste. There is probably some insight to be gained by the fact that I only crave the savory (not sweet) things in life.

Unrelatd - this is hardly a decent picture of me, but I love it of Keegan. It completely captures him. My sister is equally unable to take a bad picture.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Manic Monday

God, I am still pissed off, and that is something, as I cannot sustain anger towards anyone or anything.

I am involved in a copyright case that presents truly interesting legal issues and a book that probably only Norm and the P would recognize (Jonathan, Seagull, anyone?), and I am intimately familiar with all of the facts of the case. I am the client's favorite contact, but not her immediate, as I have a lot of competing cases.

ANYWAY. Irritating Colleague, who has a solid background in appellate practice, was charged with writing the brief, which she completed two months ago. The thing about legal writing is it isn't that different from regular writing - authors tend to hate being edited. They are telling a non-fiction story and they know all of the facts that constitute the tale. You have to check your ego at the door. Yes, it might be part of the story you want to tell, but that doesn't mean it is the most effective way to tell the story.

ANYWAY. Irritating Colleague wrote the appellate brief, which was good on some levels, but desperately needed some editing. Our firm associated an 'expert' on certain appellate matters, and I wrongly assumed that meant I would not be needed, aside from a few hours of editing for voice and argument structure. Fuck, was I wrong. I got called in at the very last minute (less than a week before the brief was due) and was tasked with editing someone who hasn't learned to check her ego when it comes to editing.

Long story short, I spent the past week working around the clock, trying to edit someone who refused to be edited. If I were having a moment of optimism, I would say it taught me a lot about learning to surrender my own work product, but quite frankly, it all just pissed me off. I worked all goddamn weekend, making sound editorial revisions and more concise legal arguments, but the author was just too married to her work. Damn near every cut I made was met with a "no, this is how the argument has to sound," and there was no convincing her about the whole 'forest for the trees' perspective. The clincher was last night, as I was readying myself to leave the office after working all weekend, and the author of the brief remarked that she was going to "hit a double feature tonight." This was right after she asked me to write two critical sections of her brief. I finished this task around 1:45 am.

I was up until 2am, and back at the office at 8am. In the end, after much drama and constant revisions, the brief was in condition that I felt our office could stand behind. Irritating Colleague then demanded that my name be added to the brief and I balked. Had I written it, it would have read much differently, and truth be told, I was nothing more than a script doctor. Mainly, however, I am pissed because it is close to midnight and I am not sleepy. My whole schedule was fucked to accommodate someone who doesn't approach her work the way I do.

ANYWAY, this was all good information and confirms what I had tentatively decided. I am ready to move on, in so many ways, and I can't work like this. I am a loner when it comes to legal writing. My office's biggest complaint is that I won't let anyone see it until I can live with it in unedited form. Irritating Colleague will pawn any part off. I can't do that. I can live with editing, but not collaboration, at least in early drafts. Also, she comes to my office at least once an hour, even under a deadline, wanting to shoot the shit. This shouldn't piss me off, but it does.

Clearly time to move on. My only hesitation is that I am so grateful for the opportunities I have been given, and that I know my boss loves me like a daughter.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Meet the Family

Crazy, work-all-weekend kind of weekend, which leaves me pissy beyond words on this Sunday night. Nothing positive to say, but I was emailed some pictures tonight from my aunt's fiancee (that sounds so goddamn weird) that perked me up.

My aunt Arlene (my best friend and proof of goodness in the world) and brother Kyle (ditto)


Arlene and her son, my cousin Justin. Fantastic human beings, and I cannot believe I am related to them, to say nothing of the fact that they love me back.


Justin and his truly perfect wife, Jennifer. She is also a sister-in-law. She is so darling, and so much fun to be around.


Justin and Elisha (the bride and my new sister in law). I have three brothers, and all of them love Elisha.


My niece Kevan (I LOVE this picture of her), Jennifer, and Katie (Kyle's girlfriend, who is just that adorable, and, most likely, my next sister-in-law)


Jennifer (Justin's wife). I can't take my eyes off this picture. Great shot, Chuck.


That's enough for one night. More to follow, especially if I stay this pissed off and bitchy.

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

Thanks, Friend

Sometimes, you find friendship and kindness in the most unexpected places. I have a friend who is going through his own painful breakup,and it has been both an honor and an insightful experience to view it from the male perspective. We 'met' under pretty unusual circumstances and have developed a unique but meaningful friendship. Neither one of us are looking for a replacement for loves or relationships lost and have just paced ourselves towards a long term friendship.

In the madness of the holiday season and my brother's wedding, we didn't keep in touch in December as regularly as we had before, which really wasn't all that regular. We spoke when we wanted or needed to talk to each other, not out of habit or obligation. Sometimes, we would talk about divorce, but more often than not, we talked about anything else. Movies, books, food, politics, Los Angeles, Seattle - and we have slowly gotten to know each other.

I hadn't spoken to him in a couple of weeks when, on NYE morning, about a half hour after my divorce was final, I got an email and a text from him. Both said the same caring words of support and friendship, and I was touched. I sent him back a quick text message of thanks and told him I would be in touch in the New Year. Later that night, as I was scrolling through my missed calls and text messages from my brother's wedding, I saw one from him at 12:01am. It simply said "you made it, K. Here's to a great year of friendship." Another kind gesture.

I fell down the rabbit hole for a few days and didn't return a lot of calls and texts. I finally did a few days ago and spoke to him for a while. After our conversation, I sent him an email, thanking him for, among other things, the best new friendship of 2007, one I intended to protect and nurture in 2008. The next day, I sent him another email, gently encouraging him to resume writing. He is a successful writer by trade, but his well has dried up in the months since he filed for divorce. I included a link to some of my favorite stories of his, with annotations as to why each piece resonated with me.

Today, my assistant walked in my office with a beautiful bouquet and set it down by my window. I was taken aback by how beautiful and positively unexpected it was to see these beautiful dark pink roses and I think my jaw fell open. My assistant said "I don't care who they are from, it is just good to see you're back."

They were, of course, from him, with the most thoughtful note I could have imagined. The man is a goddamn writer. It never ceases to amaze me where you can find sources of support and friendship.

Monday, January 07, 2008

Silver Linings

Perhaps it is just the optimism the permeates a new year - or hell, sometimes just a Monday for me - but I am starting to see more silver than gray. Maybe just saying (or writing) aloud that I have been depressed was an important first step in seeing better shades of gray.

I suspect that those closest to me have known for a while that I haven't been me for some time, and to be truthful, I am not entirely sure who me is anymore. But whereas in the recent past, this was daunting and troubling and an excuse to check out, it is now something different. Not an overnight revolution, but maybe just a revelation. I can change things to whatever I want.

I kind of stood still for the past few years, believing that I needed to hold steady while things were shaking out around me. I don't know if that was the best course of action, but I don't really care or regret it. Can't rewrite history or erase anything, but I don't need to dwell on it, either.

I don't want to write this kind of shit for too much longer. I want to write about what is happening, not what has happened. The P and I had a great conversation Saturday night about this very subject -- positive change and new directions don't often come knocking on your door when you're checked out in front of the television, or in your fifth book of the week, or knee deep into a bottle of wine. You discover them when you venture outside your self-created comfort zone.

I have always been gregarious and ready for adventure, but I have started and stopped more things in the past few years than I could ever keep track of. Friendships, relationships, classes, teams, and a whole host of other things that I let fall by the wayside. I'm going to get back to some of them, one baby step at a time.

The New Year

It is way too easy to make grand resolutions, isn't it? I am going to work out for three hours a day, never drink again, cook more (obviously, not eat anything I cook), clean more, organize better, all of that shit. I'm going to do all of that.

But here is what I am really resolving. I am going to work against myself this year. I was fortunate, growing up, in that I wasn't prone to depressive tendencies and could always think myself out of any situation. My sister had it worse, as did my mother, and I had many friends who struggled with the dark side. I couldn't figure out why they couldn't rise above it, think logically about how very fortunate they really were and realize how self-indulgent they were being and just get forward with the business of better living.

This is hard to admit, but I caught the bug. In the last few years, I have had days where staying in bed all day seemed like a fantastic idea. I rarely indulged it, but I am more sympathetic now. There have been many, many days where I contemplated going on antidepressants, if only to know what it might feel like to not want to check the fuck out. Stubbornly, I didn't do it because I wanted to be in control of my brain chemistry. If I needed to check out, I could buy a bottle of wine or a really good book. Master of my destiny and all that.

I know this is situational depression (as opposed to chronic), and yet even as I type that, I think situational depression should be reserved to folks who don't have the means to eat for days. I have yuppie guilt about feeling blue. I really do. How do you feel depressed when you live in a beautiful condo, have loving family and friends, a well-paying career, a loving but neurotic dog? Answer: no fucking idea. Apparently, depression can be a luxury of living in America. And while I bounced out of this last round mostly intact, I have self loathing for having endured it. So very self-indulgent.

So here is my resolve for this year. When I want to have a couch party (my light-hearted term for vegging on my couch all weekend), I am going to do the opposite. I am going to live, not escape or check out, and I am going to live very fucking deliberately. I am going to get in touch with friends that I have failed or neglected and apologize. I am going to do the exact opposite of what my emo brain wants to do when I feel sorry for myself. When I want to drink myself in a bottle, I will go for a two hour walk. When I want to unplug the phones and computer, I will call an old friend and say hi. I will go on tremendously bad dates and live to tell about them. Life is better when it is lived out loud.

I will not be defeated by myself. I can and often am my own worst enemy. My goal for the year is to become my own best friend.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

How To Ring In A New Year

This was, without question, the very best way to welcome in a new year. Congratulations to my brother Keegan, and my new sister-in-law, Elisha. It was, quite frankly, a perfect night.

Elisha, walking down the aisle with her parents:



Reciting the vows. I should add here that their officiant simply did NOT show up. They had met with him two weeks earlier and went over every detail, yet he no showed at the wedding. At the last minute, they subbed in a friend of theirs who is ordained. I am guessing that 90% of the audience had no idea that he was a substitute officiant, and the ceremony was that much more personal because the officiant was a good friend of the bride and groom.



The bride and groom, with the best man (brother Kyle) and the maid of honor.



Last night was one of the best nights of my life. Everything and anything is possible and I am so goddamn fortunate to have amazing people in my life.