It felt like we were gone a lot longer than we were and I had only missed four days of work. But damn is it a PITA to get things back to normal. Let's review, shall we?
1. When I picked up Darby, I was advised she had had bloody stools that morning. Bloody stools? She was eating her regular food and hasn't been anywhere near a dog park, where Giardia festers like herpes in Paris. She just got a (heh) clean fecal two weeks ago. This morning, I took her for a walk and I saw the symptoms myself. Fucking fantastic. Collected said output and called the vet. Diagnosis? Yep, Giardia.
2. I have a iron stomach and don't get sick overseas. Was fine the entire time in Mexico. But yesterday, I experienced some.....intestinal issues. The hell? Montezuma's revenge? Yep, I have it and can't seem to hold anything down today. I went to the doctor, scored some Zithromax (or however it is spelled). I am going to order my favorite pizza in a few and hope for the best. I haven't eaten since Copper River salmon last night at our weekly Sopranos get together at the Ps.
3. Clients. Oh sweet hell, am I behind on basic communications. Tomorrow will be a long day.
4. Personal stuff. Been circling around a decision in my head and I think I am really close to doing what needs to be done. Timing is everything and my timing sucks out loud these days. Don't you hate it when you discover exactly what you want at precisely the wrong time?
5. B. As I alluded to in an earlier post, for whatever reason - and alcohol was not a factor - I sent him a text message while in Mexico. I apologized for my role in the demise of our marriage and related thoughts. His response (I read it the next morning) absolutely floored me. B very, very rarely said the right thing at the right time, but he nailed it. I was stunned to tears. We exchanged a few quality text messages and I think (and hope) I obtained whatever closure I still needed. We haven't spoken since I have been back home and it is probably too raw to do that yet. We can't be friends anytime soon, but there are a few fundamental truths about us that remain.
6. Change. I need it. I have been in limbo for entirely too long and the inertia is stifling at this point. Having moved every two years for most of my childhood and a good part of adulthood, combined with the events of the past three years, I am overdue for some big, overhaul changes in my life. Career, home, personal, everything.
7. Physical activity. Have been back at the plan for a while, but am bored and need something else. I signed up today for a soccer team and registered for a weekly rowing club. God, I love summer in Seattle.
8. Further to #6, it is time for some overdue spring cleaning. I need to clean out my closets (literally and figuratively) and get rid of what I don't need. Also need to get B his remaining personal effects. I also am embarking on a plan of redecoration, to make this place my own. Right now, it is a graveyard of a dead relationship and a life that no longer exists. I am going to take it in baby steps, as it is likely that I might not live here for too much longer.
9. Catch up. I can't believe what I have blown off in the past six months. So unlike me in the context of my 36 years. I have friends I have ignored, obligations I just shunned and a shit ton of things I need to do. I think I just got overwhelmed and checked out for the early part of this year. It is sort of amazing how I can mentally check out when I need to.
10. Family. I want to see my brothers more and now my mother is here. The latter is more of a PITA than anything else, but I am going to try to readjust my attitude and not see it that way. I don't know my mother well at all and what I do know usually irritates the shit out of me. My summer goal is to get to know her better (and vice versa) and spend some quality time with her.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Monday Morning Review
I write on this blog largely for my own, no-charge therapy and to serve as a written record of where I've been, so it makes absolutely no sense to add a weekly review of movies or books. If nothing else, it will serve to remind me how much time I spend reading or watching other people's creativity. I'm guessing I'll keep this up for a month, tops. Until then, Sundays are my reviews of what I read or watched in the previous week.
As chronicled in the last post, I was in Mexico this past week. The weather was hot, humid and rainy, so the P and I spent a good deal of time indoors. I was also on planes and I read on planes, so my inaugural post will be much longer than usual.
Books
The Good Life, by Jay McIerney
Having read a few of McIerney's books, I was somewhat ambivalent about this book, but the NYT Book Review prompted the purchase. In short, I loved this book. It haunted me and as soon as I read the last word, I started over. It is a story about Manhattan's upper echelon post-9-11, and while I don't relate to most of that scene, the stories of the characters were haunting, if not startlingly, familiar. This is probably too personal of a review to do, but suffice to say, it captured my imagination for more than a few days. I can't stop thinking about it.
Darkly Dreaming Dexter
This is the book on which the Showtime series is based. Having watched the show religiously, the book had few surprises, and, of course, the series gave me a complete visualization of the characters. I wish I had read it (and its progeny) first, although there is another book coming out this summer.
Elements of Style: A Novel , by Wendy Wasserstein
A little more meaty than most chick lit books, this one is also about NYC's upper echelon and their fucked up relationships. The characters are better written than most and the story more engaging than I had anticipated. It was hard to relate to the social climbing aspirations of some of the characters, to say nothing of their lifestyle, but, as always, the trials and tribulations of complicated relationships makes for an entertaining read. The author is a playright and it shows - Janet Maslin of the NYTBR called it "chick lit with a pedigree".
MOVIES
Knocked Up
From the director of the 40 Year Old Virgin, this was an entertaining romantic comedy that was really well written. Lots of laughs, snappy dialogue, interesting characters. I do think the lead actress (the chick from Grey's Anatomy) was miscast and her big, white teeth were a little distracting. I didn't think she and the male lead had any palpable chemistry and certainly nothing in common (aside from impending parenthood). I also detected the slightest suggestion that women are inherently irrational, at least during pregnancy, and that you shouldn't judge a (male) book by its cover.
The Dead Girl
Interesting storytelling, to say the least. I can't say much without giving away entire plotlines, but it is basically just the story of the death of one girl and its effects on several people around her. Some really good casting on some levels, but at the end of the whole thing, I found myself thinking "well, that was weird."
Breaking and Entering
An Anthony Minghella film, this one has very well written characters and explores the familiar themes of trust, love, desire and the need for intimacy. It is remarkably well cast, with Jude Law, Robin Wright Penn, who rocks quite an accent, and an amazing performance by Juliette Binoche. Pretty heavy on the dialogue, which is my kind of flick, and some interesting twists that keep the story engaging. The gist is that Jude Law's environmental landscaping business keeps getting robbed of its high tech gadgets and when he discovers who it is, he becomes involved with the thief's mother (Juliette Binoche). His wife (Robin Penn) has a precocious but troubled daughter from a prior relationship and she keeps them both emotionally estranged from him. At its core, the movie is about Jude Law looking for an intimate relationship with someone -- anyone -- and eventually realizing that what you don't say is almost always more interesting than what you do say. I call that negative space and I find it fascinating.
As chronicled in the last post, I was in Mexico this past week. The weather was hot, humid and rainy, so the P and I spent a good deal of time indoors. I was also on planes and I read on planes, so my inaugural post will be much longer than usual.
Books
The Good Life, by Jay McIerney
Having read a few of McIerney's books, I was somewhat ambivalent about this book, but the NYT Book Review prompted the purchase. In short, I loved this book. It haunted me and as soon as I read the last word, I started over. It is a story about Manhattan's upper echelon post-9-11, and while I don't relate to most of that scene, the stories of the characters were haunting, if not startlingly, familiar. This is probably too personal of a review to do, but suffice to say, it captured my imagination for more than a few days. I can't stop thinking about it.
Darkly Dreaming Dexter
This is the book on which the Showtime series is based. Having watched the show religiously, the book had few surprises, and, of course, the series gave me a complete visualization of the characters. I wish I had read it (and its progeny) first, although there is another book coming out this summer.
Elements of Style: A Novel , by Wendy Wasserstein
A little more meaty than most chick lit books, this one is also about NYC's upper echelon and their fucked up relationships. The characters are better written than most and the story more engaging than I had anticipated. It was hard to relate to the social climbing aspirations of some of the characters, to say nothing of their lifestyle, but, as always, the trials and tribulations of complicated relationships makes for an entertaining read. The author is a playright and it shows - Janet Maslin of the NYTBR called it "chick lit with a pedigree".
MOVIES
Knocked Up
From the director of the 40 Year Old Virgin, this was an entertaining romantic comedy that was really well written. Lots of laughs, snappy dialogue, interesting characters. I do think the lead actress (the chick from Grey's Anatomy) was miscast and her big, white teeth were a little distracting. I didn't think she and the male lead had any palpable chemistry and certainly nothing in common (aside from impending parenthood). I also detected the slightest suggestion that women are inherently irrational, at least during pregnancy, and that you shouldn't judge a (male) book by its cover.
The Dead Girl
Interesting storytelling, to say the least. I can't say much without giving away entire plotlines, but it is basically just the story of the death of one girl and its effects on several people around her. Some really good casting on some levels, but at the end of the whole thing, I found myself thinking "well, that was weird."
Breaking and Entering
An Anthony Minghella film, this one has very well written characters and explores the familiar themes of trust, love, desire and the need for intimacy. It is remarkably well cast, with Jude Law, Robin Wright Penn, who rocks quite an accent, and an amazing performance by Juliette Binoche. Pretty heavy on the dialogue, which is my kind of flick, and some interesting twists that keep the story engaging. The gist is that Jude Law's environmental landscaping business keeps getting robbed of its high tech gadgets and when he discovers who it is, he becomes involved with the thief's mother (Juliette Binoche). His wife (Robin Penn) has a precocious but troubled daughter from a prior relationship and she keeps them both emotionally estranged from him. At its core, the movie is about Jude Law looking for an intimate relationship with someone -- anyone -- and eventually realizing that what you don't say is almost always more interesting than what you do say. I call that negative space and I find it fascinating.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Blog, Mexico Style
So the story of the wedding, as told by my eyes....
Saturday, May 27th, 8am:
Am at work. Have huge, HUGE case going on while I am gone and I don't want to make my boss or anyone else feel like I am phoning it in. Begin work early, plan to stay all day.
1pm.
We all get fake tans. Yes, we drop trou and get airbrushed with perfect tans. By 10 that night, we look like we had just returned from Mexico, not about to go. This is what women do to avoid the sun -- we pay money to look like we are in it, because none of us fair-skinned women can afford the aftermath of skin damage.
2pm until 11pm:
I work.
Sunday, May 28th:
I work from 8am-11pm
11pm: Call P, ask her to make sure she calls me to wake up for our 7am flight. Call often and regularly. Call other person who is three hours ahead and make same request. Am loopy from no sleep and need to pack and get something approximating sleep.
Monday, May 29th:
5am: 14 phone calls unanswered, P shows up at my place at 5am, dragging my sorry ass out of bed. Had been up most of the night working and sending emails. Take world's quickest shower and we head to airport. Really haphazard packing job.
6:15am: Realize (at airport) that I have somehow left my wallet in P's car. Cab back to parking lot, grab wallet, hope this is the worst.
5pm (Cancun time): P's luggage doesn't arrive. Rental car place requires energy. Not so much vacation.
8pm: Where are J&K? The tequila bar, of course. We rally, hang out with them. Unpleasantness ensues between the two of them, most likely owing to nerves. We temporarily wonder if we are going to be kicked out of this fine resort, owing to late night altercations.
Tuesday, May 30:
9 am: Great breakfast. Weather sucks. Humid and rainy, most of the time. We decide to just read and drink, except for when I have to work
11am-4pm: I work. Bothersome to everyone. Also, I check Blackberry constantly.
5pm: Fuck it, work sucks. Let's drink
5pm-??? Earlier plan rules the day. We drink, laugh and have fun. Make new friends with cool wedding party. BEST FRIENDS FOREVER.
Wednesday, May 31:
9am: Breakfast? Hell yes, they get that right.
11am: Go to Talum. Let's blow this popsicle stand. P and I head out for a day away. Check out Mayan ruins, people watch, etc.
11am-5pm: Afternoon at our leisure. We see the ruins, stroll Playa de Carmen, have kickass lunch on the beach, resolve to come back to Playa on Friday
6:45 pm: I show up at rehearsal dinner scheduled for 6:30. NB: Seattle folks should never, ever order salmon unless in a proper west coast city. I read my blackberry, talk to my colleague about the days' events that I missed and berated the Carribean salmon.
8:00 pm: Dinner is over, have sudden, inexplicable need to apologize to B for the demise in our marriage. Send said text message. Get increasingly drunk.
11pm: Fall and hit my head. Am mercifully and sufficently intoxicated that I apparently jumped up and apologized for the distraction. P walks me back to the room and I do the honorable act of passing out.
Thursday, May 31: Day of Wedding
7am: Wake up with huge goose egg on my scalp. Can't quite remember how I got back to the room, so I assume the bump indicated I had a good night. P comes out and explains how worried everyone was the night before, as apparently, I can take a beating to the head whilst under the influence of tequila. Am over it.
10 am: Eveyone we know asking if I am okay. I assure them that I am, and if I start seeing double, I will go to town. Also? Huzzah to me, having hit the hell out of my head and being no worse for the wear. But holy fuck, my head hurt.
3pm: Beginning of the wedding preps. I dried K's hair painstakingly, as the hairdresser failed to show. Until one hour before the wedding. In which case, K's hair having been "done" -- she did mine. And big ass hair ensued.
5:30: Holy fuck, how are we running so late
5:55: Them: Um....it is time for all of you to leave the room and get going to the whole ceremony thing. Us: Not so much.
6pm: We leave the room. 15 seconds later, K realizes her written vows are in the room. We get security, fresh keys, etc. Crisis avoided.
6:04: Did I mention the beachfront wedding was redirected to the hotel lobby on account of crazythefuck rains? It was nutty - the weather the whole time was nutty -- but right before 6pm, it was dumping. Unfortunately, this made it more slippery for us and K nearly took a header on her way to the altar. I will NEVER forget the look on her face when she steeled herself after a near miss. Am carrying, at this point? Two vows, two rings and my maid of honor bouquet.
6:05pm: I suppress my laughter at how she almost bit it. Judge me all you want, but people falling down --including my near-certain concussion the night before -- is just funny. On top of the impending hurricane, the forgotten but recovered vows -- it was all funny. K looked amazing, by the way, as did Natalie.
6:15pm: We're all in place. Here we go
6:20pm: Holy fuck, is that a tear? I don't tear up at weddings. Must be the humidity.
6:25pm: Nope. Am actively tearing up. Thank bob no one is taking pictures, except for her goddamn wedding photographer and everyone else watching. I know people with mad Photoshop skillz that can 'shop me right out.
6:20-6:45pm: Great wedding. Honest, real, pure and raw. You had to be there. You really had to be there. Fanfuckingtastic wedding.
6:50pm-7:30: Photographers ask the least camera-friendly folks to pose. You can probably imagine how that works out.
7:30-???: Reception. Great times. All good. Hopefully none caught on camera, except all anyone seemed to be doing was taking pictures or reviewing the ones they just took. I made friends with the wedding crashers. Suffice to say, the donkey really was a great uniter.
11pm: Done.
Friday, June 1
9am: Breakfast, relaxation, swim in the beach.
5pm: Head to Playa del Carmen
6pm: Drink margaritas, eat our weight in guacamole and live it up. Great night.
11pm: Nightcap in Puerto Morales. We bond with a dog. We are clearly missing home at this point.
Saturday, June 2:
7am: Rise and shine for breakfast and final packing. The Seattle contingent gets home at 7pm.
10:00pm: I blog this whole story. So much more to come.
Saturday, May 27th, 8am:
Am at work. Have huge, HUGE case going on while I am gone and I don't want to make my boss or anyone else feel like I am phoning it in. Begin work early, plan to stay all day.
1pm.
We all get fake tans. Yes, we drop trou and get airbrushed with perfect tans. By 10 that night, we look like we had just returned from Mexico, not about to go. This is what women do to avoid the sun -- we pay money to look like we are in it, because none of us fair-skinned women can afford the aftermath of skin damage.
2pm until 11pm:
I work.
Sunday, May 28th:
I work from 8am-11pm
11pm: Call P, ask her to make sure she calls me to wake up for our 7am flight. Call often and regularly. Call other person who is three hours ahead and make same request. Am loopy from no sleep and need to pack and get something approximating sleep.
Monday, May 29th:
5am: 14 phone calls unanswered, P shows up at my place at 5am, dragging my sorry ass out of bed. Had been up most of the night working and sending emails. Take world's quickest shower and we head to airport. Really haphazard packing job.
6:15am: Realize (at airport) that I have somehow left my wallet in P's car. Cab back to parking lot, grab wallet, hope this is the worst.
5pm (Cancun time): P's luggage doesn't arrive. Rental car place requires energy. Not so much vacation.
8pm: Where are J&K? The tequila bar, of course. We rally, hang out with them. Unpleasantness ensues between the two of them, most likely owing to nerves. We temporarily wonder if we are going to be kicked out of this fine resort, owing to late night altercations.
Tuesday, May 30:
9 am: Great breakfast. Weather sucks. Humid and rainy, most of the time. We decide to just read and drink, except for when I have to work
11am-4pm: I work. Bothersome to everyone. Also, I check Blackberry constantly.
5pm: Fuck it, work sucks. Let's drink
5pm-??? Earlier plan rules the day. We drink, laugh and have fun. Make new friends with cool wedding party. BEST FRIENDS FOREVER.
Wednesday, May 31:
9am: Breakfast? Hell yes, they get that right.
11am: Go to Talum. Let's blow this popsicle stand. P and I head out for a day away. Check out Mayan ruins, people watch, etc.
11am-5pm: Afternoon at our leisure. We see the ruins, stroll Playa de Carmen, have kickass lunch on the beach, resolve to come back to Playa on Friday
6:45 pm: I show up at rehearsal dinner scheduled for 6:30. NB: Seattle folks should never, ever order salmon unless in a proper west coast city. I read my blackberry, talk to my colleague about the days' events that I missed and berated the Carribean salmon.
8:00 pm: Dinner is over, have sudden, inexplicable need to apologize to B for the demise in our marriage. Send said text message. Get increasingly drunk.
11pm: Fall and hit my head. Am mercifully and sufficently intoxicated that I apparently jumped up and apologized for the distraction. P walks me back to the room and I do the honorable act of passing out.
Thursday, May 31: Day of Wedding
7am: Wake up with huge goose egg on my scalp. Can't quite remember how I got back to the room, so I assume the bump indicated I had a good night. P comes out and explains how worried everyone was the night before, as apparently, I can take a beating to the head whilst under the influence of tequila. Am over it.
10 am: Eveyone we know asking if I am okay. I assure them that I am, and if I start seeing double, I will go to town. Also? Huzzah to me, having hit the hell out of my head and being no worse for the wear. But holy fuck, my head hurt.
3pm: Beginning of the wedding preps. I dried K's hair painstakingly, as the hairdresser failed to show. Until one hour before the wedding. In which case, K's hair having been "done" -- she did mine. And big ass hair ensued.
5:30: Holy fuck, how are we running so late
5:55: Them: Um....it is time for all of you to leave the room and get going to the whole ceremony thing. Us: Not so much.
6pm: We leave the room. 15 seconds later, K realizes her written vows are in the room. We get security, fresh keys, etc. Crisis avoided.
6:04: Did I mention the beachfront wedding was redirected to the hotel lobby on account of crazythefuck rains? It was nutty - the weather the whole time was nutty -- but right before 6pm, it was dumping. Unfortunately, this made it more slippery for us and K nearly took a header on her way to the altar. I will NEVER forget the look on her face when she steeled herself after a near miss. Am carrying, at this point? Two vows, two rings and my maid of honor bouquet.
6:05pm: I suppress my laughter at how she almost bit it. Judge me all you want, but people falling down --including my near-certain concussion the night before -- is just funny. On top of the impending hurricane, the forgotten but recovered vows -- it was all funny. K looked amazing, by the way, as did Natalie.
6:15pm: We're all in place. Here we go
6:20pm: Holy fuck, is that a tear? I don't tear up at weddings. Must be the humidity.
6:25pm: Nope. Am actively tearing up. Thank bob no one is taking pictures, except for her goddamn wedding photographer and everyone else watching. I know people with mad Photoshop skillz that can 'shop me right out.
6:20-6:45pm: Great wedding. Honest, real, pure and raw. You had to be there. You really had to be there. Fanfuckingtastic wedding.
6:50pm-7:30: Photographers ask the least camera-friendly folks to pose. You can probably imagine how that works out.
7:30-???: Reception. Great times. All good. Hopefully none caught on camera, except all anyone seemed to be doing was taking pictures or reviewing the ones they just took. I made friends with the wedding crashers. Suffice to say, the donkey really was a great uniter.
11pm: Done.
Friday, June 1
9am: Breakfast, relaxation, swim in the beach.
5pm: Head to Playa del Carmen
6pm: Drink margaritas, eat our weight in guacamole and live it up. Great night.
11pm: Nightcap in Puerto Morales. We bond with a dog. We are clearly missing home at this point.
Saturday, June 2:
7am: Rise and shine for breakfast and final packing. The Seattle contingent gets home at 7pm.
10:00pm: I blog this whole story. So much more to come.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Viva Mexico!
Holy shit, I am headed out of the country on Monday to go watch K&J get married on the beach. Sofa king excited. I am the maid of honor, emphasis on honor. I do have a housekeeper, so I think I fit the bill.
They truly met at my house (K&J). Two of my very good friends. When does that ever happen? Not often enough. Although a case of mine is blowing the fuck up and I will be working most of the vacation, I can't wait to get there. It can't be a vacation, but I can still chill and unwind. I need these five days to just shut up and think. Fuck me.
We've all done the airbrushed tans and are looking good. We are so overdue for some fun in the sun. All of us. We all work hard and have dramas and issues and it will be nice to get away to another county and deal with it from a distance. Also? Guacamole. Enough said. I intend to eat my weight in it and have nothing else. Huevos and guac for breakfast. Salad with grilled chicken and guac for lunch. Guac and {fill in the protein} for dinner. I can't wait. So excited.
My friends, K&J, they love each other in a way that defies explanation. I dig that. I get it. Quite franky, I know about that. I am long past the point of judging other relationships, but I do get a magical feeling where they are concerned. I am batting a thousand when it comes to being a bridesmaid in a successful relationship and am supremely confident my average will stand with these two.
I am fond of saying that love is a necessary but not sufficient state of mind. These two get it, I think. They are very much in love, have really open lines of communication, and look at each other the way partners -- true partners -- should look at each other. Maid of Honor? Honor, indeed.
On an aside, I saw my brother (elusive #3) tonight and his bride to be. She asked me to be an attendant for her and I couldn't have been more honored. I haven't been the best sister-in-law and I didn't deserve the honor, but take it, I will. She truly is the perfect woman for my perfect (okay, not so much) brother and she loves him deeply. She gets him, knows him, loves him and tolerates him. He seems to know it now, too. I took a picture of them tonight that warmed my heart. My brother waited until he knew, and now? He knows.
Well, fuck, imageshack is down. I'll post it another time. Suffice to say, brother #3 is doing well. And he hugged me tonight as I left -- it was different and awesome. I was MIA for a while and failed him (and the others) as a sibling. Not anymore. We all showed up at my cousin's 30th birthday and that? That is why my family rocks out with our collective cocks out.
They truly met at my house (K&J). Two of my very good friends. When does that ever happen? Not often enough. Although a case of mine is blowing the fuck up and I will be working most of the vacation, I can't wait to get there. It can't be a vacation, but I can still chill and unwind. I need these five days to just shut up and think. Fuck me.
We've all done the airbrushed tans and are looking good. We are so overdue for some fun in the sun. All of us. We all work hard and have dramas and issues and it will be nice to get away to another county and deal with it from a distance. Also? Guacamole. Enough said. I intend to eat my weight in it and have nothing else. Huevos and guac for breakfast. Salad with grilled chicken and guac for lunch. Guac and {fill in the protein} for dinner. I can't wait. So excited.
My friends, K&J, they love each other in a way that defies explanation. I dig that. I get it. Quite franky, I know about that. I am long past the point of judging other relationships, but I do get a magical feeling where they are concerned. I am batting a thousand when it comes to being a bridesmaid in a successful relationship and am supremely confident my average will stand with these two.
I am fond of saying that love is a necessary but not sufficient state of mind. These two get it, I think. They are very much in love, have really open lines of communication, and look at each other the way partners -- true partners -- should look at each other. Maid of Honor? Honor, indeed.
On an aside, I saw my brother (elusive #3) tonight and his bride to be. She asked me to be an attendant for her and I couldn't have been more honored. I haven't been the best sister-in-law and I didn't deserve the honor, but take it, I will. She truly is the perfect woman for my perfect (okay, not so much) brother and she loves him deeply. She gets him, knows him, loves him and tolerates him. He seems to know it now, too. I took a picture of them tonight that warmed my heart. My brother waited until he knew, and now? He knows.
Well, fuck, imageshack is down. I'll post it another time. Suffice to say, brother #3 is doing well. And he hugged me tonight as I left -- it was different and awesome. I was MIA for a while and failed him (and the others) as a sibling. Not anymore. We all showed up at my cousin's 30th birthday and that? That is why my family rocks out with our collective cocks out.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Original Ex
I had a truly unpleasant sexual experience my first year of college and, for reasons that don't quite fit with this post, had the potential to cause permanent, long-term damage. My perceived self-awareness notwithstanding (and I had not yet arrived at my groundbreaking conclusion), I believed that just living and moving forward meant I would put it behind me. In present day terms, we call this coping mechanism denial or, in practical effect, avoidance, but in any event, it provided a great cover for not getting involved with anyone for a year. If I didn't have to be physically intimate with anyone, I wouldn't have to deal with it and certainly wouldn't have to think about it.
And then I met someone. Someone who was all wrong for me on paper but all right for me at the time. In fairness to him, we weren't that different, notwithstanding our respective "social differences" at the time. He was on a break from college, came from a very poor background and certainly didn't have the safety net that I enjoyed from my upper middle class parents who were footing the bill for college (and my rich bitch dorm). He worked at the 7-Eleven down the road from said dorm and he was just goddamn cute. Twinkling eyes, great grin, sharp, witty and utterly oblivious to whatever perceived class distinctions I may or may not have thought existed between us. In retrospect, I think he saw the situation clearer than I did.
In any event, we ran into each other at a neutral setting (w00t - Stray Cats concert) and the chemistry was off the charts. He drove me home on his motorcycle -- hello, bad boy -- and we immediately started a pretty intense relationship. He (later that summer) was the first guy to ask me to marry him and, at the time, although I had no interest in marrying anyone, it seemed completely possible eventually. He was my kind of guy - no bullshit, straightforward, hardworking, smart, clever, funny and so charming. We had the proverbial first love experience - staying up nights talking, trying to learn every detail about each other, having great sex (first guy I ever gave myself to and I couldn't have asked for a better partner at the time) and just enjoying the hell out of each other.
And then the pigeons came. He wasn't exactly cheating on me, he was cheating on his on-and-off girlfriend of the past eight years with me. I was blown away, as we had spent almost every waking and sleeping hour together, at least when I wasn't in school, and I never sensed a thing. In fairness, they were pretty clearly on an "off" period, but it was nevertheless evident that there was unfinished business where they were concerned. Our breakup was rather unremarkable, as I (as always) thought I was taking the high road. Got the stuff that inevitably ends up at your boyfriend's house and retreated to my cave to lick my wounds and regroup.
I did what any self-respecting 18 year old would have done. I cried a lot. I replayed scenes of a whirlwind relationship over and over in my head and couldn't figure out how I had been so duped. But I don't revel in the crying part and I don't feast on ice cream. I got pissed. Oh holy hell, I was pissed off. I trusted this guy and loved him and spent all this time with him and he had this whole other side to him. Just like that -- depression to anger.
And then anger gave way to revenge. I wanted him to hurt and feel as shattered as I did. The opportunity presented itself when I learned his twin brother was in town. He had told me that the two were not close, owing to the twin brother's now defunct relationship with Original Ex's former girlfriend, and how there were some lines brothers should never cross.
A chance encounter with said twin? Yeah, you know how this ends. I fucked the twin brother. Started dating him, even. Hell, if memory serves, I dated him longer than I dated my Original Ex. I fell for him in an entirely different way, as the term "identical twins" is misleading.
As revenge relationships are wont to do, we fizzled out. Too much baggage, fucked up circumstances, and all of that. We were doomed from the start, of course, although I will say that I learned a lot about baseball from him and he was a great guy in his own right. But it was just still a little sleazy, even though I stopped considering the Original Ex about a month into the relationship with the twin. It was just doomed.
Aside #1: Twin and I had a rerun about a year later, after I ran into him in neutral territory (Living Colour concert). That time around, we had a much better relationship, but the old baggage ultimately proved insurmountable.
Aside #2: After I had left TX, Original Ex came to Seattle and looked me up. I will never, ever forget the feeling of satisfaction and closure when he looked me in the eye and told me that he knew he fucked up the best thing that ever happened to him. I had waited years to hear that, but at the time, I had just started dating B and all I could think about? B is going to walk around that corner, see me talking to you, ask questions, and after I gave him the back story, he would feel as insecure about me and Original Ex as Original Ex made me feel about us. I thanked him for the closure, told him I was in love with someone else, and begged him to please just leave, before B came back. I never wanted to make anyone feel the way he had made me feel -- doubtful in what I believed was real.
I thought of this tonight because I got an email at work from Original Ex - behold the power of Google. It amazes me how this three or four month relationship really affected the both of us. The email was terrific -- great update on his life, what he has accomplished (for the record? Don't dismiss the 7-Eleven clerks. If they meet the right girl, they can become positively inspired and do amazing things) and what he has been up to in the past (egad) nearly 20 years. The subject line of the email was "The One That Got Away" and it concluded with this (cut and paste) excerpt:
"I thought you should know that rarely does a week go by that I don't think about you and the time we were together. You are the kind of woman that haunts a man, if for no other reason than your laugh, and you are the kind of woman that can change a man forever. You changed me and I will always be grateful that I had that one summer with you. Best time of my life."
Until I read that, I was ready to respond to him, apologize again for dating his twin brother and wish him well. But after reading that, I realized that we have said everything we needed to say and we were both better off for having had that failed relationship. I didn't need closure, as I had closed the book on that years ago, but nevertheless, that email and those words validated that I hadn't overvalued the relationship, as I am clearly wont to do. It was a big deal, even if it took almost twenty years to fully figure out.
Right back at you, Original Ex.
And then I met someone. Someone who was all wrong for me on paper but all right for me at the time. In fairness to him, we weren't that different, notwithstanding our respective "social differences" at the time. He was on a break from college, came from a very poor background and certainly didn't have the safety net that I enjoyed from my upper middle class parents who were footing the bill for college (and my rich bitch dorm). He worked at the 7-Eleven down the road from said dorm and he was just goddamn cute. Twinkling eyes, great grin, sharp, witty and utterly oblivious to whatever perceived class distinctions I may or may not have thought existed between us. In retrospect, I think he saw the situation clearer than I did.
In any event, we ran into each other at a neutral setting (w00t - Stray Cats concert) and the chemistry was off the charts. He drove me home on his motorcycle -- hello, bad boy -- and we immediately started a pretty intense relationship. He (later that summer) was the first guy to ask me to marry him and, at the time, although I had no interest in marrying anyone, it seemed completely possible eventually. He was my kind of guy - no bullshit, straightforward, hardworking, smart, clever, funny and so charming. We had the proverbial first love experience - staying up nights talking, trying to learn every detail about each other, having great sex (first guy I ever gave myself to and I couldn't have asked for a better partner at the time) and just enjoying the hell out of each other.
And then the pigeons came. He wasn't exactly cheating on me, he was cheating on his on-and-off girlfriend of the past eight years with me. I was blown away, as we had spent almost every waking and sleeping hour together, at least when I wasn't in school, and I never sensed a thing. In fairness, they were pretty clearly on an "off" period, but it was nevertheless evident that there was unfinished business where they were concerned. Our breakup was rather unremarkable, as I (as always) thought I was taking the high road. Got the stuff that inevitably ends up at your boyfriend's house and retreated to my cave to lick my wounds and regroup.
I did what any self-respecting 18 year old would have done. I cried a lot. I replayed scenes of a whirlwind relationship over and over in my head and couldn't figure out how I had been so duped. But I don't revel in the crying part and I don't feast on ice cream. I got pissed. Oh holy hell, I was pissed off. I trusted this guy and loved him and spent all this time with him and he had this whole other side to him. Just like that -- depression to anger.
And then anger gave way to revenge. I wanted him to hurt and feel as shattered as I did. The opportunity presented itself when I learned his twin brother was in town. He had told me that the two were not close, owing to the twin brother's now defunct relationship with Original Ex's former girlfriend, and how there were some lines brothers should never cross.
A chance encounter with said twin? Yeah, you know how this ends. I fucked the twin brother. Started dating him, even. Hell, if memory serves, I dated him longer than I dated my Original Ex. I fell for him in an entirely different way, as the term "identical twins" is misleading.
As revenge relationships are wont to do, we fizzled out. Too much baggage, fucked up circumstances, and all of that. We were doomed from the start, of course, although I will say that I learned a lot about baseball from him and he was a great guy in his own right. But it was just still a little sleazy, even though I stopped considering the Original Ex about a month into the relationship with the twin. It was just doomed.
Aside #1: Twin and I had a rerun about a year later, after I ran into him in neutral territory (Living Colour concert). That time around, we had a much better relationship, but the old baggage ultimately proved insurmountable.
Aside #2: After I had left TX, Original Ex came to Seattle and looked me up. I will never, ever forget the feeling of satisfaction and closure when he looked me in the eye and told me that he knew he fucked up the best thing that ever happened to him. I had waited years to hear that, but at the time, I had just started dating B and all I could think about? B is going to walk around that corner, see me talking to you, ask questions, and after I gave him the back story, he would feel as insecure about me and Original Ex as Original Ex made me feel about us. I thanked him for the closure, told him I was in love with someone else, and begged him to please just leave, before B came back. I never wanted to make anyone feel the way he had made me feel -- doubtful in what I believed was real.
I thought of this tonight because I got an email at work from Original Ex - behold the power of Google. It amazes me how this three or four month relationship really affected the both of us. The email was terrific -- great update on his life, what he has accomplished (for the record? Don't dismiss the 7-Eleven clerks. If they meet the right girl, they can become positively inspired and do amazing things) and what he has been up to in the past (egad) nearly 20 years. The subject line of the email was "The One That Got Away" and it concluded with this (cut and paste) excerpt:
"I thought you should know that rarely does a week go by that I don't think about you and the time we were together. You are the kind of woman that haunts a man, if for no other reason than your laugh, and you are the kind of woman that can change a man forever. You changed me and I will always be grateful that I had that one summer with you. Best time of my life."
Until I read that, I was ready to respond to him, apologize again for dating his twin brother and wish him well. But after reading that, I realized that we have said everything we needed to say and we were both better off for having had that failed relationship. I didn't need closure, as I had closed the book on that years ago, but nevertheless, that email and those words validated that I hadn't overvalued the relationship, as I am clearly wont to do. It was a big deal, even if it took almost twenty years to fully figure out.
Right back at you, Original Ex.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Tales From the Crapper
My toilet broke last night. Yes, just the stupid floater thingie, but I have some uber toilet (low flush? who knows?) that didn't lend itself well to quick repair. I hated to call a plumber, so I called D, who is (one of several of) B's assistants and someone with whom I have a curious relationship.
By way of background, B "discovered" D in a supermarket checkout line. D is a quality human being. Son of a D-list celebrity who is batshit nuts, D has managed not to turn into a train wreck of a human being. After B discovered him and hired him, B sort of groomed him. Gave him a job and D has a work ethic. But B took advantage of him over the years and treated D as our errand boy. Not my errand boy, to be sure, but looking back, I can remember a few weekend days where he was washing my deck because he felt indebted to B. Sure, we lent him a down payment for his condo, but he paid it back. Sure, we got him back in college and paid his tuition, but he paid that back, too. Just a great guy.
During the separation, B would dispatch D to wash my deck or do household repairs. It always made me uncomfortable, as the relationship was between B and D, not me and D. I felt not unlike a user -- using him for menial tasks -- just distasteful. I always left money for him and he never took it. That made it worse -- me offering money, him rejecting it -- was I wrong to offer it?
In any event, D is just good people and we have developed our own friendship. He was here shortly after I called him, asking him about the toilet situation. Tonight, he came over, assessed the situation, realized it called for better equipment, then gave a temporary solution. As I said, I am helping him with a legal issue, but felt unsettled that this seemed like quid pro quo. I don't operate that way. I give favors without expectation and expect the same in return. No one keeping score or thinking entitlement.
I said as much to him and that just sort of released a floodgate for him. "K, you have gone above and beyond the duty for me so many times and I am so grateful." I responded that I hated every time he did a favor for me at B's direction, as it reeked of quid pro quo (e.g. "we've helped you, now help us"). In any event, the things he said tonight? Wow. Definitely an independent friendship of B. I was stunned. Wow. I had assumed many casualties in the great B&K breakup and he is not one of them.
The part that made me write this post was when he told me that "K, you were B's soul. You really were. He isn't the same man anymore." My instinct was to protect and defend B, as that is what I did for over a decade. But I know he is right. B is not the same guy -- I get glimpses of him, to be sure -- but he isn't the same guy D once knew. Nor the guy I married.
Right before I left work tonight, a family friend sent a couple of old pictures. One, which I am posting because I love it, is of my mom and my bio dad. It is easy to look at the picture and think I resemble my mother, but I really look like my bio dad. It made my smile and miss the bio dad like I suspect amputees miss their limbs. My bio dad was one of my best friends and I have missed him like no other since January 9, 1998. I miss you, sir.
The other picture, which I probably won't post, was of me and B about 6 years ago. That provoked an entirely different reaction.
By way of background, B "discovered" D in a supermarket checkout line. D is a quality human being. Son of a D-list celebrity who is batshit nuts, D has managed not to turn into a train wreck of a human being. After B discovered him and hired him, B sort of groomed him. Gave him a job and D has a work ethic. But B took advantage of him over the years and treated D as our errand boy. Not my errand boy, to be sure, but looking back, I can remember a few weekend days where he was washing my deck because he felt indebted to B. Sure, we lent him a down payment for his condo, but he paid it back. Sure, we got him back in college and paid his tuition, but he paid that back, too. Just a great guy.
During the separation, B would dispatch D to wash my deck or do household repairs. It always made me uncomfortable, as the relationship was between B and D, not me and D. I felt not unlike a user -- using him for menial tasks -- just distasteful. I always left money for him and he never took it. That made it worse -- me offering money, him rejecting it -- was I wrong to offer it?
In any event, D is just good people and we have developed our own friendship. He was here shortly after I called him, asking him about the toilet situation. Tonight, he came over, assessed the situation, realized it called for better equipment, then gave a temporary solution. As I said, I am helping him with a legal issue, but felt unsettled that this seemed like quid pro quo. I don't operate that way. I give favors without expectation and expect the same in return. No one keeping score or thinking entitlement.
I said as much to him and that just sort of released a floodgate for him. "K, you have gone above and beyond the duty for me so many times and I am so grateful." I responded that I hated every time he did a favor for me at B's direction, as it reeked of quid pro quo (e.g. "we've helped you, now help us"). In any event, the things he said tonight? Wow. Definitely an independent friendship of B. I was stunned. Wow. I had assumed many casualties in the great B&K breakup and he is not one of them.
The part that made me write this post was when he told me that "K, you were B's soul. You really were. He isn't the same man anymore." My instinct was to protect and defend B, as that is what I did for over a decade. But I know he is right. B is not the same guy -- I get glimpses of him, to be sure -- but he isn't the same guy D once knew. Nor the guy I married.
Right before I left work tonight, a family friend sent a couple of old pictures. One, which I am posting because I love it, is of my mom and my bio dad. It is easy to look at the picture and think I resemble my mother, but I really look like my bio dad. It made my smile and miss the bio dad like I suspect amputees miss their limbs. My bio dad was one of my best friends and I have missed him like no other since January 9, 1998. I miss you, sir.
The other picture, which I probably won't post, was of me and B about 6 years ago. That provoked an entirely different reaction.
Unintentional Cryptic Comment
So we're clear, there is no present drama on the horizon. I have a solid history of breast cancer in the family and, since a manufactured scare in college, have been diligent about the annual (or, in my case, more frequent) screenings. I have had irregular biopsies several times in the past few years and this was not even remotely worrisome. What struck me was my doctor's attitude of "you are going to get it eventually, let's bring it on." To this end, the passive end of the treatment scale is a drug to stave it off, or, to be more proactive, radiation to bring it on.
Neither option is working for me at this point. I don't fuck with my body's chemistry unless I absolutely have to and I don't think I'm there yet. Yes, solid history of cancer in the family. Yes, big tits and all that. Yes, other factors that would suggest a likelihood. But right now? I don't have it and I am pretty goddamn proactive about screening for it. They aren't going to find a lump, years after the fact and pronounce me in stage 3. If I am going to develop it, I will catch it early and often.
No cause for drama queen just yet. I simply take issue with the notion that you need to fight a battle where no one has thrown the first punch. After doing some research (and hearing from z), I'm inclined to believe the preventive approach probably creates more problems than it solves, and, in any event, isn't for me, at least right now.
I have a friend who just had a double mastectomy in March and I feel stupid for even worrying about this. I have seen what the battle looks like and right now, I am but a scrappy little kid, wondering if I am going to get into a fight.
But thanks for the concern, folks. It means a lot.
Neither option is working for me at this point. I don't fuck with my body's chemistry unless I absolutely have to and I don't think I'm there yet. Yes, solid history of cancer in the family. Yes, big tits and all that. Yes, other factors that would suggest a likelihood. But right now? I don't have it and I am pretty goddamn proactive about screening for it. They aren't going to find a lump, years after the fact and pronounce me in stage 3. If I am going to develop it, I will catch it early and often.
No cause for drama queen just yet. I simply take issue with the notion that you need to fight a battle where no one has thrown the first punch. After doing some research (and hearing from z), I'm inclined to believe the preventive approach probably creates more problems than it solves, and, in any event, isn't for me, at least right now.
I have a friend who just had a double mastectomy in March and I feel stupid for even worrying about this. I have seen what the battle looks like and right now, I am but a scrappy little kid, wondering if I am going to get into a fight.
But thanks for the concern, folks. It means a lot.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Friday, May 18, 2007
Whoa Nelly
I can't shake the pissed off state of mind. Am now convinced that I have some quirky, odd-ball style of dealing with real and perceived transgressions, such that I don't deal with them in real time. So, in the interest of improving mental health, let's just compose a fuck you list, assembled in no particular order:
1. Fuck you, profession of law. It is rarely about really helping someone navigate the morass of regulations and formalities and more about ways for businesses to gain a competitive edge or people finding ways to fuck with each other with the government's stamp of approval. The rare time that you encounter someone who has a legitimate, bona fide problem that needs redress? The system is stacked so far against them that they might as well blow the clueless, just-collecting-my-paycheck judges who think their black robes act are halos. Judges? Not just fallible. Often - hell, almost always -- lazy government employees who long ago lost their faith in the system.
2. Fuck you, law firm business model. Charging for 1/10th of an hour is just bullshit. Invent a better mousetrap - this one is no good for the client or the attorney. Note to clients: stop suing your attorneys for not getting the result that you wanted. It drives up the cost of malpractice (see, e.g. health care industry) and prevents us from representing you in the best way we know how.
3. Fuck you, irritating fellow associate: Look, I know you are a nice person and that no one has ever pointed out your ridiculously irritating quirks because they know that. But finishing my sentences for me? Okay, mildly endearing when your new paramour does it, but even then, it grows old really fast. I don't care how much we think alike or how you are on the same page intellectually. Cupcake? I am hundreds of steps ahead of you. Also? Your voice gets really crackly when you think you are making a point that everyone else knows. A strong voice is much more assuring and communicates confidence in the message. You sound like the kid in The Shining ("red rum!") and the inexplicable burst into laughter? Very little about the law is funny, unless you are reading a Scalia opinion. You should also take active steps to reduce your tendency to roll your beady eyes. Not a good look. It scares me each and every time.
4. Fuck you, people with very little situational reading comprehension and social skills. There is a reason you look around and find yourself without friends that don't live on your computer screen. Seriously. What is it about the internet that gets people so worked up and so utterly estranged from traditional social skills? Have an issue with someone? Talk to them directly, lay your cards on the table and resolve the issue one way or the other. If you lived next door to each other, would you really pull your curtains shut, barricade the door and randomly toss out messages in a bottle? Who the fuck does that? You might find that your perception of things isn't the end all, be all of reality. Jesus. Some people only exist online.
5. Fuck you, carbohydrates (generally) and unbleached white flour (specifically). There is no good reason I shouldn't be able to enjoy a turkey panini with pesto on ciabatta bread or Phad See Iw without feeling completely bloated. I take care of my body (HA) and should be able to eat whatever the fuck I want if I give you an hour's worth of exercise each day.
6. Fuck you, irregular cells. Things evolve and maybe just because they don't look like everything else in my body doesn't mean the sky is falling, Dr. Chicken Little. I know we have a few dates together and I will be no worse for the wear, but fuck you for giving me another thing to worry about. Double fuck you for the suggestion of Tamoxifen, or, my personal favorite, radiation-induced treatment.
7. Fuck you, aging. I believe that people grow into their features and get better with age. Fuck you for hating suntans and a healthy color in your face.
8. Fuck you, Home Owners Association. You want to assess us to improve the building? Don't fucking piecemeal it. Hit me with your best shot. Fire away. Just do it right the first time and don't ask me to come clean up your mess three years later because you tried to solve the problem on the cheap. Am not cheap. Perfectly willing to solve the entire problem in one fell swoop.
9. Fuck you, I-really-believe-you-are-my-ex-husband: So tired of arguing whether we are divorced. I have the decree, but keep on keeping on with the whole "we're still married" bullshit. Don't know what to make of the notice I got AT HOME about our proceeding, but suffice to say, in the snowball's chance in hell we are still married? I will handle it, as I handled every fucking misstep in our marriage. Related: stop trying to sleep with me. It isn't going to happen. Wasn't good then, no expectations that profound anger will make it better. And no, I don't want to stay married indefinitely. Grow the fuck up. Oh, and no. I don't want to be GC at your company. The idea of working with you every day? Worse than morning sickness, at least as I have heard it described.
10. Fuck you, romantic fate. This is the card you dealt me? Sofa king rude.
Fuck everyone. I am just tired and done. Fuck me, I am just pissed off.
1. Fuck you, profession of law. It is rarely about really helping someone navigate the morass of regulations and formalities and more about ways for businesses to gain a competitive edge or people finding ways to fuck with each other with the government's stamp of approval. The rare time that you encounter someone who has a legitimate, bona fide problem that needs redress? The system is stacked so far against them that they might as well blow the clueless, just-collecting-my-paycheck judges who think their black robes act are halos. Judges? Not just fallible. Often - hell, almost always -- lazy government employees who long ago lost their faith in the system.
2. Fuck you, law firm business model. Charging for 1/10th of an hour is just bullshit. Invent a better mousetrap - this one is no good for the client or the attorney. Note to clients: stop suing your attorneys for not getting the result that you wanted. It drives up the cost of malpractice (see, e.g. health care industry) and prevents us from representing you in the best way we know how.
3. Fuck you, irritating fellow associate: Look, I know you are a nice person and that no one has ever pointed out your ridiculously irritating quirks because they know that. But finishing my sentences for me? Okay, mildly endearing when your new paramour does it, but even then, it grows old really fast. I don't care how much we think alike or how you are on the same page intellectually. Cupcake? I am hundreds of steps ahead of you. Also? Your voice gets really crackly when you think you are making a point that everyone else knows. A strong voice is much more assuring and communicates confidence in the message. You sound like the kid in The Shining ("red rum!") and the inexplicable burst into laughter? Very little about the law is funny, unless you are reading a Scalia opinion. You should also take active steps to reduce your tendency to roll your beady eyes. Not a good look. It scares me each and every time.
4. Fuck you, people with very little situational reading comprehension and social skills. There is a reason you look around and find yourself without friends that don't live on your computer screen. Seriously. What is it about the internet that gets people so worked up and so utterly estranged from traditional social skills? Have an issue with someone? Talk to them directly, lay your cards on the table and resolve the issue one way or the other. If you lived next door to each other, would you really pull your curtains shut, barricade the door and randomly toss out messages in a bottle? Who the fuck does that? You might find that your perception of things isn't the end all, be all of reality. Jesus. Some people only exist online.
5. Fuck you, carbohydrates (generally) and unbleached white flour (specifically). There is no good reason I shouldn't be able to enjoy a turkey panini with pesto on ciabatta bread or Phad See Iw without feeling completely bloated. I take care of my body (HA) and should be able to eat whatever the fuck I want if I give you an hour's worth of exercise each day.
6. Fuck you, irregular cells. Things evolve and maybe just because they don't look like everything else in my body doesn't mean the sky is falling, Dr. Chicken Little. I know we have a few dates together and I will be no worse for the wear, but fuck you for giving me another thing to worry about. Double fuck you for the suggestion of Tamoxifen, or, my personal favorite, radiation-induced treatment.
7. Fuck you, aging. I believe that people grow into their features and get better with age. Fuck you for hating suntans and a healthy color in your face.
8. Fuck you, Home Owners Association. You want to assess us to improve the building? Don't fucking piecemeal it. Hit me with your best shot. Fire away. Just do it right the first time and don't ask me to come clean up your mess three years later because you tried to solve the problem on the cheap. Am not cheap. Perfectly willing to solve the entire problem in one fell swoop.
9. Fuck you, I-really-believe-you-are-my-ex-husband: So tired of arguing whether we are divorced. I have the decree, but keep on keeping on with the whole "we're still married" bullshit. Don't know what to make of the notice I got AT HOME about our proceeding, but suffice to say, in the snowball's chance in hell we are still married? I will handle it, as I handled every fucking misstep in our marriage. Related: stop trying to sleep with me. It isn't going to happen. Wasn't good then, no expectations that profound anger will make it better. And no, I don't want to stay married indefinitely. Grow the fuck up. Oh, and no. I don't want to be GC at your company. The idea of working with you every day? Worse than morning sickness, at least as I have heard it described.
10. Fuck you, romantic fate. This is the card you dealt me? Sofa king rude.
Fuck everyone. I am just tired and done. Fuck me, I am just pissed off.
Feeding off Z
Holy fuck, I am just pissy today and have been for days.
Everybody - and I mean damn near everybody - is pissing me off. I could easily jump down the throats of a dozen people today and I feel like I am just seething underneath my skin. Although I am not typically an angry person, I am taking on the role with restrained enthusiasm. If I lived like this all the time? Yeah, I am starting to understand those folks who say horrible things out of anger. It is definitely a struggle to not react, not let that edge in your voice affect someone else and, above all else, not to respond to the fuckwits.
I am going to have to figure out where to channel this very strong energy. I am behind on so many personal things and am going to account for all of them this weekend. Or, at the very least, make a list of people with whom I need to touch base and fulfill certain obligations. I am going to do some spring cleaning, which I think will generate some much needed momentum in other ways. Organized and clean house, organized mind and all that. I need to rid my physical and mental closets, so to speak.
I have wandered into some really interesting places on the internet. Kind of amazing how much time I spent in just one little corner and, incidentally, holy sweet mother of god has that corner up and gone batshit. But I have discovered some amazing sites and writers and rediscovered my complete awe of the internets. Holy hell - what a resource.
Everybody - and I mean damn near everybody - is pissing me off. I could easily jump down the throats of a dozen people today and I feel like I am just seething underneath my skin. Although I am not typically an angry person, I am taking on the role with restrained enthusiasm. If I lived like this all the time? Yeah, I am starting to understand those folks who say horrible things out of anger. It is definitely a struggle to not react, not let that edge in your voice affect someone else and, above all else, not to respond to the fuckwits.
I am going to have to figure out where to channel this very strong energy. I am behind on so many personal things and am going to account for all of them this weekend. Or, at the very least, make a list of people with whom I need to touch base and fulfill certain obligations. I am going to do some spring cleaning, which I think will generate some much needed momentum in other ways. Organized and clean house, organized mind and all that. I need to rid my physical and mental closets, so to speak.
I have wandered into some really interesting places on the internet. Kind of amazing how much time I spent in just one little corner and, incidentally, holy sweet mother of god has that corner up and gone batshit. But I have discovered some amazing sites and writers and rediscovered my complete awe of the internets. Holy hell - what a resource.
Monday, May 14, 2007
That Time of Year
I managed to get a quick Mother's Day note out to the mother unit last night (one of the benefits of your parents living abroad is not having to do the Mother's Day brunch in real time) and got a reply back this morning. She gets here on the 31st.....for four months.
Four months. My mother has taken vacationing and annual vacations to the next level.
My parents have a house about an hour and a half north of Seattle. Brother #4 somehow managed to talk my parents into buying a house on a golf course in the town in which he attends college. Same brother also managed to convince them, after a few shitty roommate experiences, that roommates were a bad idea. To recap, said brother lives in a 5 bedroom house on the golf course, rent free, by himself and the folks pay the bills. Did I mention that said house on the golf course is about an hour from the border (Canada) and about the same from Mt. Baker? And the no-bills thing?
I was pretty proud of my "no curfew" status in high school until Brother #4 utterly schooled me in the fine art of obtaining parental concessions.
Mother unit informed me that they were purchasing some land in another town an hour and half away (different direction) with Seattle views and all that. Looks like the 'rents are going to be neighbors in their retirement years. We haven't all lived in the same country, let alone the same state, since....1986. Although technically, one sibling is still in CA. I don't think she'll be there for the long haul. Once one of us has kids, she'll be here.
UNRELATED: Perk of divorce? You are no longer the matron of honor, you are the MAID of honor. I would rather be a maid and will be next week. One of my closer friends (K -- of K and J fame) is getting married in Mexico and we're flying down on Memorial Day for five days of margaritas and cervezas in el sol. Couldn't come at a better time.
Four months. My mother has taken vacationing and annual vacations to the next level.
My parents have a house about an hour and a half north of Seattle. Brother #4 somehow managed to talk my parents into buying a house on a golf course in the town in which he attends college. Same brother also managed to convince them, after a few shitty roommate experiences, that roommates were a bad idea. To recap, said brother lives in a 5 bedroom house on the golf course, rent free, by himself and the folks pay the bills. Did I mention that said house on the golf course is about an hour from the border (Canada) and about the same from Mt. Baker? And the no-bills thing?
I was pretty proud of my "no curfew" status in high school until Brother #4 utterly schooled me in the fine art of obtaining parental concessions.
Mother unit informed me that they were purchasing some land in another town an hour and half away (different direction) with Seattle views and all that. Looks like the 'rents are going to be neighbors in their retirement years. We haven't all lived in the same country, let alone the same state, since....1986. Although technically, one sibling is still in CA. I don't think she'll be there for the long haul. Once one of us has kids, she'll be here.
UNRELATED: Perk of divorce? You are no longer the matron of honor, you are the MAID of honor. I would rather be a maid and will be next week. One of my closer friends (K -- of K and J fame) is getting married in Mexico and we're flying down on Memorial Day for five days of margaritas and cervezas in el sol. Couldn't come at a better time.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
All in the Family
My brother (the elusive sibling #3) got engaged last weekend to his long-term, very patient girlfriend. He is 29. I got the news right as I was sitting down to dinner on Saturday night and I think I was beaming for the next six hours. His bride is already a part of our family and a great member at that. She just fits and is an ideal sister-in-law. Despite whatever pessimism I may have about marriage, I have no doubt about them. She has the patience of Job and my brother knows just how lucky he is to have her.
I got married at 23, having met B when I was just 21. At the time, I don't know that I even really thought about marriage in any substantive way. We basically moved in together a few months after meeting. I was housesitting (aside: remarkably cool place. Converted maid's quarters at an old Seattle mansion) and he stayed the first night and never left. We got our first apartment together after the housesitting gig ended and bought our first boat six months after that. We became engaged about a year after our first date and married a year later. We lived together in close confines (a 30' boat) and worked together every day. When he asked me to marry him, it was less of a question and more of a given. I didn't really think twice about it - it just seemed like the natural next step. A no-brainer.
I have often said there is a grand canyon between the ages of 23 and 28. I was 28 when I started law school and my classmates were almost all around 23-24. Had nothing in common with them, especially since most had lived pretty different lives than me. I had been married for five years. I had run two businesses, lived on a boat, grown up overseas and been living off the family dole.
One of the things that my brother's engagement has had me pondering is whether I would have made the same choice at 29 as I did at 23 (or, to be accurate, I said yes at 22). Hindsight is 20-20 and I can see all of the red flags that I apparently ignored back then. As close as we were, we had distinctly separate lives, particularly when it came to family. I jumped into his and his mother and I became fast friends. The same was not really true for B, although to his credit, he didn't balk when sibling #3 came to live with us, on the boat, after only a year of marriage. Having just typed that, I have to give him credit, as that was just one of the many unconventional parts of our marriage. We were two young adults who grew up together, and although he was 28 when we got married, he was still just becoming his own man. He had had his own interesting past and was just learning what it meant to be a responsible adult.
We taught each other a few things along the way. There were a host of things I just didn't know about living in the US, let alone about being an adult in the US. B had common sense and "street smarts," which was something I was sorely lacking. I had organizational and academic skills that balanced that out. All in all, we were sort of a complement to each other back then -- two young adults, partners in crime and just figuring it out.
What prompted this dance down memory lane? I realized that we kind of lived in a bubble, B and me. Or, perhaps more accurately, I moved in and out of the bubble. Our life was firmly established in the bubble, but I kept a lot outside of it. My family, for one. I have a great family -- stellar siblings who are the best part of my life. My primary regret in my marriage is that I ignored them (or at least back burnered them) for the sake of the bubble.
I don't know if I would have done that at 28. I know I won't at 36.
I got married at 23, having met B when I was just 21. At the time, I don't know that I even really thought about marriage in any substantive way. We basically moved in together a few months after meeting. I was housesitting (aside: remarkably cool place. Converted maid's quarters at an old Seattle mansion) and he stayed the first night and never left. We got our first apartment together after the housesitting gig ended and bought our first boat six months after that. We became engaged about a year after our first date and married a year later. We lived together in close confines (a 30' boat) and worked together every day. When he asked me to marry him, it was less of a question and more of a given. I didn't really think twice about it - it just seemed like the natural next step. A no-brainer.
I have often said there is a grand canyon between the ages of 23 and 28. I was 28 when I started law school and my classmates were almost all around 23-24. Had nothing in common with them, especially since most had lived pretty different lives than me. I had been married for five years. I had run two businesses, lived on a boat, grown up overseas and been living off the family dole.
One of the things that my brother's engagement has had me pondering is whether I would have made the same choice at 29 as I did at 23 (or, to be accurate, I said yes at 22). Hindsight is 20-20 and I can see all of the red flags that I apparently ignored back then. As close as we were, we had distinctly separate lives, particularly when it came to family. I jumped into his and his mother and I became fast friends. The same was not really true for B, although to his credit, he didn't balk when sibling #3 came to live with us, on the boat, after only a year of marriage. Having just typed that, I have to give him credit, as that was just one of the many unconventional parts of our marriage. We were two young adults who grew up together, and although he was 28 when we got married, he was still just becoming his own man. He had had his own interesting past and was just learning what it meant to be a responsible adult.
We taught each other a few things along the way. There were a host of things I just didn't know about living in the US, let alone about being an adult in the US. B had common sense and "street smarts," which was something I was sorely lacking. I had organizational and academic skills that balanced that out. All in all, we were sort of a complement to each other back then -- two young adults, partners in crime and just figuring it out.
What prompted this dance down memory lane? I realized that we kind of lived in a bubble, B and me. Or, perhaps more accurately, I moved in and out of the bubble. Our life was firmly established in the bubble, but I kept a lot outside of it. My family, for one. I have a great family -- stellar siblings who are the best part of my life. My primary regret in my marriage is that I ignored them (or at least back burnered them) for the sake of the bubble.
I don't know if I would have done that at 28. I know I won't at 36.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Joss
Listen to this woman's voice. She's not even legal. I heard this song a few years ago and fell in love with her voice. I dig her style. This is an old tune of hers (relatively speaking), but damn if I don't still hum it from time to time.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Rear View Window
Today (and last night) was interesting on the B front. He had sent me a text message on Sunday (after getting reports of seeing me with another man - SCANDALOUS) that said "let's talk on Monday in Florida" (he was in Florida, apparently). I didn't respond. My head was somewhere else.
Last night, I got home from a friend's birthday dinner and heard the Blackberry chime - text message. It was B, asking "can we talk on Thursday?" I was just relaxed enough to respond and I called him. Got voice mail. Odd, in that he just sent a text message, but okay. I didn't leave a message and just sent a text saying "what is on your mind?" A few seconds later? Another chime, another voice mail. Fucker was awake, but not answering his phone. I called him again. Voice mail again. The hell? Who prefers texting over voice? I replied to his text (wherein he expressed a desire to "see where things were") and said "answer your phone and we can talk." Again with the chime - another text message. This was an alternate universe.
We exchanged seven text messages, each weirder than the previous. In all the time I was with him, I never knew him to choose written words over voice. It was irritating. At one point, he told me he "didn't want any drama. I know it is hard, but try not to have drama."
I was furious. Not once in all of this did I opt for drama where he was concerned. Not once. I have been coasting on the high road, at least where our relationship was concerned. I stopped with the texting and went to bed. Fuck that noise.
I woke up, still pissed off and sent him a text to that effect. "Bullshit on insinuating I have ever created drama in all of this. Quite the opposite. You initiated a conversation that I preferred to have in voice and in real time, not via short text messages. Don't rewrite history to make it seem as though I behaved as a drama queen in this." That got a rambling voice mail in reply that made almost no sense. He retracted the drama comment and instead criticized my failure to communicate. Laughable, but there you go.
I had a meeting that went very well, and afterwards, I called him back. We started off sort of combative (at least on his end) and it looked as though the conversation would end badly. But somehow, we managed to get past the stupid stuff and somehow launched into a really terrific conversation. For an attorney, I really seem to have an aversion to conflict and that goes for B. Although it is way too soon to be friends, we will always have a connection to each other that transcends a lot of things. We grew up together as adults. Right or wrong, we have a history together and a style of communication between us that is brutally honest at times.
At one point - after the combat -- we were just laughing and joking and being B&K. We can do that well after many years of practice. During one exchange, he called me "P" (the name of his current girlfriend). I threw my head back and laughed so hard. He tried to move past it, but I insisted it was worth a quality laugh. I told him that he better not make the same mistake the other way, as she might not find it as amusing. There was a hearty, hearty laugh at that point and, for maybe a few minutes I was talking to the guy I married. Didn't miss being married to him, but I had a few minutes with that man - my friend, my history. We shared some of the details of our life (my brother got engaged, my great aunt died, I had a biopsy today, the status of his parents, his job, his interests).
It was good. I have reasons to hate B, but I can't. I loved him for too long and we have too much history to be enemies. We can't be friends just yet -- he kept saying "we will always be each other's touchstones, Kari" -- but I cut him off and told him we wouldn't. Not now. We agreed to meet on Thursday to settle out a few things that need settling. I am actually looking forward to it. I do miss B, but in ways I can't really explain. It is not unlike missing an old friend, years after you realized that you stopped being friends because of past slights.
I just can't live in a world of ongoing conflict. I confront it, stare at it, deal with it and move onward. I know that B and I will always love each other. I know that. I know that I could say the right words and we could probably make a second go at us. I don't want that. I don't think I am ready to have B as a friend, as I know how tenuous his grasp on the concept really is. But as far as I am concerned? He and I? We're cool like Fonzie.
Last night, I got home from a friend's birthday dinner and heard the Blackberry chime - text message. It was B, asking "can we talk on Thursday?" I was just relaxed enough to respond and I called him. Got voice mail. Odd, in that he just sent a text message, but okay. I didn't leave a message and just sent a text saying "what is on your mind?" A few seconds later? Another chime, another voice mail. Fucker was awake, but not answering his phone. I called him again. Voice mail again. The hell? Who prefers texting over voice? I replied to his text (wherein he expressed a desire to "see where things were") and said "answer your phone and we can talk." Again with the chime - another text message. This was an alternate universe.
We exchanged seven text messages, each weirder than the previous. In all the time I was with him, I never knew him to choose written words over voice. It was irritating. At one point, he told me he "didn't want any drama. I know it is hard, but try not to have drama."
I was furious. Not once in all of this did I opt for drama where he was concerned. Not once. I have been coasting on the high road, at least where our relationship was concerned. I stopped with the texting and went to bed. Fuck that noise.
I woke up, still pissed off and sent him a text to that effect. "Bullshit on insinuating I have ever created drama in all of this. Quite the opposite. You initiated a conversation that I preferred to have in voice and in real time, not via short text messages. Don't rewrite history to make it seem as though I behaved as a drama queen in this." That got a rambling voice mail in reply that made almost no sense. He retracted the drama comment and instead criticized my failure to communicate. Laughable, but there you go.
I had a meeting that went very well, and afterwards, I called him back. We started off sort of combative (at least on his end) and it looked as though the conversation would end badly. But somehow, we managed to get past the stupid stuff and somehow launched into a really terrific conversation. For an attorney, I really seem to have an aversion to conflict and that goes for B. Although it is way too soon to be friends, we will always have a connection to each other that transcends a lot of things. We grew up together as adults. Right or wrong, we have a history together and a style of communication between us that is brutally honest at times.
At one point - after the combat -- we were just laughing and joking and being B&K. We can do that well after many years of practice. During one exchange, he called me "P" (the name of his current girlfriend). I threw my head back and laughed so hard. He tried to move past it, but I insisted it was worth a quality laugh. I told him that he better not make the same mistake the other way, as she might not find it as amusing. There was a hearty, hearty laugh at that point and, for maybe a few minutes I was talking to the guy I married. Didn't miss being married to him, but I had a few minutes with that man - my friend, my history. We shared some of the details of our life (my brother got engaged, my great aunt died, I had a biopsy today, the status of his parents, his job, his interests).
It was good. I have reasons to hate B, but I can't. I loved him for too long and we have too much history to be enemies. We can't be friends just yet -- he kept saying "we will always be each other's touchstones, Kari" -- but I cut him off and told him we wouldn't. Not now. We agreed to meet on Thursday to settle out a few things that need settling. I am actually looking forward to it. I do miss B, but in ways I can't really explain. It is not unlike missing an old friend, years after you realized that you stopped being friends because of past slights.
I just can't live in a world of ongoing conflict. I confront it, stare at it, deal with it and move onward. I know that B and I will always love each other. I know that. I know that I could say the right words and we could probably make a second go at us. I don't want that. I don't think I am ready to have B as a friend, as I know how tenuous his grasp on the concept really is. But as far as I am concerned? He and I? We're cool like Fonzie.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Grand Gestures
In the years that we were separated, B and I didn't do much in terms of working on reconciliation. That is one hell of an understatement. We were pretty much equally to blame, even though I am not sure I realized it at the time. Back then, I was waiting for the Big Moment. The moment of clarity and realization that THIS WAS US that was on the line and we always managed to save US from disaster. The moment when B would make his GRAND GESTURE and show me that I was and would always be the most important thing in his life and that nothing could ever break us up.
I waited for the grand gesture for over two years. It never came.
Looking back, I don't know what, exactly, I was waiting for or what gesture I had in mind. I sometimes wonder if I watched one too many bad 80's romantic comedies. However, I didn't want the guy to pull up in a Porsche and bake me a birthday cake. I didn't fantasize about giving a guy my diamond earring and having him wear it unironically. I didn't dream about a heartfelt kiss in a parking lot after he finally realized that he screwed up and I had moved on.
Nevertheless, I was waiting for that grand gesture that I would always remember as proof positive that he loved me, would do anything to keep me, and that no matter how far apart we had grown, we would find our way back to each other. I really believed in that, even as I completely backed away from him during our separation. I think I wanted the grand gesture no matter what, even if I realized that I didn't want to stay with him. I just needed the grand gesture. I needed it as validation of the wifetime I had spent with him. I needed it to prove to myself that all of those years together meant something and that even if we didn't ride off into the sunset, I could still know that he loved me beyond reason and was willing to do anything to show it.
Again, said gesture never came. What's worse is that in the two years we were separated, I myself made a few grand gestures. The one that comes to mind the most vividly was leaving a trial (I was third chair, so not the most vital) in the middle of the proceedings because I got a scary text message from B that indicated he might do something stupid (like commit career suicide). Even though this was a full two years after we separated, even though we had made no meaningful strides to reconcile and even though I was pretty sure it was time to file for divorce, still, the idea that he was hurting and pained and scared? I couldn't bear him going through it alone and I flew to be by his side. He was, of course, stunned and grateful and eventually, I talked him down off that ledge. Tellingly, the experience was very difficult on me as well and as soon as he had his sea legs back, he promptly disappeared again and I was left picking up the pieces by myself.
(This all makes me sound like a saint. I wasn't by any stretch of the imagination. This is just an entry about grand gestures.)
Habits die hard. B had abdominal surgery earlier this year and listed me as his emergency contact and next of kin. He instructed the surgeon to discuss everything and anything with me and all that, even though he had moved on and in with someone else. He was always a complete baby about all things medical and I learned that he had downplayed the whole thing and was going to wake up alone after his first major surgery. I drove to the hospital (Eastside! Bridges and tunnels!) to be there when he woke up. The idea of him waking up alone scared and confused and disoriented just unsettled me, even though I know just what kind of a man he is these days. I just thought I was honoring our long term relationship and that is what a good friend does, no matter the pain inflicted. Friendship is forever and all that.
I was thinking about this last night for reasons that make sense only to me. I know I didn't do any of those things out of some martyr complex. I really hope not, at least. I was genuinely concerned for B both times and didn't want him to feel alone. I wanted him to know that when push came to shove and the big things were on the line, I would support him, no matter what. But looking back, there was only one of us doing the grand gestures. There was never a point that B became concerned that I might be feeling alone and scared and all of that. Never. I don't think he did that at all during our marriage. Empathy was not his strong suit.
In any event, I think I realized last night that I am holding out for a man capable of grand gestures. Someone who can give as good as he can get. I can think of another few traits for the list, but at the moment, I am easy to please. Grand gestures require as much confidence as they involve risk, and that combination just sort of works for me. Confidence, risk, humility, even temperment, and a great sense of humor - all are required for a proper grand gesture. At its very essence is the willingness to make a complete ass out of yourself and not be destroyed if you actually do.
I've said it before in this here blog and I'll say it again. I think the making of mistakes is one of the most underrated parts of living, because it is only through making mistakes and trial and error that you finally get it right. I think I am going to win the relationship battle because I believe in grand gestures, whether properly executed or horribly miscalculated. And, as the great waxer May would say, people falling down is always funny. Always, no matter what.
I waited for the grand gesture for over two years. It never came.
Looking back, I don't know what, exactly, I was waiting for or what gesture I had in mind. I sometimes wonder if I watched one too many bad 80's romantic comedies. However, I didn't want the guy to pull up in a Porsche and bake me a birthday cake. I didn't fantasize about giving a guy my diamond earring and having him wear it unironically. I didn't dream about a heartfelt kiss in a parking lot after he finally realized that he screwed up and I had moved on.
Nevertheless, I was waiting for that grand gesture that I would always remember as proof positive that he loved me, would do anything to keep me, and that no matter how far apart we had grown, we would find our way back to each other. I really believed in that, even as I completely backed away from him during our separation. I think I wanted the grand gesture no matter what, even if I realized that I didn't want to stay with him. I just needed the grand gesture. I needed it as validation of the wifetime I had spent with him. I needed it to prove to myself that all of those years together meant something and that even if we didn't ride off into the sunset, I could still know that he loved me beyond reason and was willing to do anything to show it.
Again, said gesture never came. What's worse is that in the two years we were separated, I myself made a few grand gestures. The one that comes to mind the most vividly was leaving a trial (I was third chair, so not the most vital) in the middle of the proceedings because I got a scary text message from B that indicated he might do something stupid (like commit career suicide). Even though this was a full two years after we separated, even though we had made no meaningful strides to reconcile and even though I was pretty sure it was time to file for divorce, still, the idea that he was hurting and pained and scared? I couldn't bear him going through it alone and I flew to be by his side. He was, of course, stunned and grateful and eventually, I talked him down off that ledge. Tellingly, the experience was very difficult on me as well and as soon as he had his sea legs back, he promptly disappeared again and I was left picking up the pieces by myself.
(This all makes me sound like a saint. I wasn't by any stretch of the imagination. This is just an entry about grand gestures.)
Habits die hard. B had abdominal surgery earlier this year and listed me as his emergency contact and next of kin. He instructed the surgeon to discuss everything and anything with me and all that, even though he had moved on and in with someone else. He was always a complete baby about all things medical and I learned that he had downplayed the whole thing and was going to wake up alone after his first major surgery. I drove to the hospital (Eastside! Bridges and tunnels!) to be there when he woke up. The idea of him waking up alone scared and confused and disoriented just unsettled me, even though I know just what kind of a man he is these days. I just thought I was honoring our long term relationship and that is what a good friend does, no matter the pain inflicted. Friendship is forever and all that.
I was thinking about this last night for reasons that make sense only to me. I know I didn't do any of those things out of some martyr complex. I really hope not, at least. I was genuinely concerned for B both times and didn't want him to feel alone. I wanted him to know that when push came to shove and the big things were on the line, I would support him, no matter what. But looking back, there was only one of us doing the grand gestures. There was never a point that B became concerned that I might be feeling alone and scared and all of that. Never. I don't think he did that at all during our marriage. Empathy was not his strong suit.
In any event, I think I realized last night that I am holding out for a man capable of grand gestures. Someone who can give as good as he can get. I can think of another few traits for the list, but at the moment, I am easy to please. Grand gestures require as much confidence as they involve risk, and that combination just sort of works for me. Confidence, risk, humility, even temperment, and a great sense of humor - all are required for a proper grand gesture. At its very essence is the willingness to make a complete ass out of yourself and not be destroyed if you actually do.
I've said it before in this here blog and I'll say it again. I think the making of mistakes is one of the most underrated parts of living, because it is only through making mistakes and trial and error that you finally get it right. I think I am going to win the relationship battle because I believe in grand gestures, whether properly executed or horribly miscalculated. And, as the great waxer May would say, people falling down is always funny. Always, no matter what.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
State of Affairs
Holy shit, it is May. 5 months into 2007 and it feels like it was just New Years. I have either become one of those people who laments how fast time flies or, more optimistically, life is just moving on. A few milestones:
Number of:
+ Exercise-related injuries: 3
+ Months out of the gym: 1.5
+ Weeks back at the gym: 1.5
+ Months to get body back in shape: I'm guessing 3. You get to 36 and you realize that for every month you take off from exercise, you have to double that in terms of rehab time.
+ Pairs of crutches: 1
+ Ulcers: 1 (eye ulcer - seriously, how fucked is that? N.B.: apparently, you can't wear and sleep in your contacts for months while you are kind of slowly losing your mind)
+ Friends met from the internets: 2 (to be updated in the near term)
+ Divorces: 2 (one from B, one from the internets as I once knew them)
+ Friends gained: 4
+ Friends lost: 3
+ Pounds lost: I don't do scales, but the size 8's fit much better right now.
+ Times I have spoken to B since the finalization of the divorce: 0
+ Times I have missed B since the finalization of the divorce: 2 (but not as my husband)
+ Times I have uttered the words "My marriage came to its successful conclusion and I wish B well in all of his new adventures": Too many. It is my go-to phrase when encountering mutual friends. It seems to put everyone at ease, changes the subject, and, for better or worse, allows us to perpetuate the myth that our breakup was amicable and that we remain close friends.
+ Books read: Just 3. Pathetic.
+ Cell phones lost or destroyed: 2. Technically, I got both of them back, but I have an uncanny ability to lose phones.
+ Dates: I think technically 6, but I just wasn't ready. Have some new friends, though. My heart is elsewhere.
+ Trips planned but not taken: At least a dozen.
+ Trips booked: 2. Mexico for K-n-J's wedding and NYC in June. I'm looking at you, Connoisseur.
+ Times I have had scarily dark thoughts and all out pity parties: At least 4.
+ Times that I have felt blessed, loved and lucky: More than 4.
+ Times I have fallen in love: 1. You know, that phrase is eerily accurate. It does feel like you're falling, doesn't it?
+ Lessons learned about love, life and friendships?: Entirely too many. You really can't appreciate a great love or friendship until you have lost one that mattered to you. Today's useless piece of wisdom. No charge.
The passage of time is really the only anecdote for the trials (no pun intended) and stresses in your life. This too shall pass? I fucking hate those words, but they ring true and if you are a smart girl, you will take from each episode something that will make you a better person and a better friend and lover. I'll go to my grave not understanding the black and white, myopic view of life kinds of folk. Shit happens, people fuck up, life changes and everyone moves on. People can and do recover from these episodes and relationships can be reconstituted.
I think that perhaps, one day, B and I will again be friends. You can't love someone for that long and suddenly and completely turn it off, no matter how many sins you committed against each other. I can't wish him any ill will and I hope he once again becomes the man I married. That man was supremely unique, interesting and challenging. I know that parts of me also went sideways, so I cannot begrudge him anymore.
Without being unduly cryptic, I feel as though I am standing on the edge of something and am about to leap into something that I might regret. But here's the great thing about living - unless you fuck up and make mistakes, which necessarily means taking risks (some more stupid than others), you are living in the margins. I like margins. I like healthy lines and boundaries and, above all else, good common sense. But I am also humble enough (now) to know that sometimes? The benefit outweighs the risk. Here's to leaping without abandon with the confidence that (1) you have fucked up royally before and (2) you can recover from another mistake and (3) Sometimes? Your instinct about people is spot on. You've been wrong before and will be again. Most often, you aren't all wrong, but partially. But life -- my life -- is about taking chances and putting my cards on the table and playing my hand.
I love that about myself. I am still an optimist, despite all evidence to the contrary.
Number of:
+ Exercise-related injuries: 3
+ Months out of the gym: 1.5
+ Weeks back at the gym: 1.5
+ Months to get body back in shape: I'm guessing 3. You get to 36 and you realize that for every month you take off from exercise, you have to double that in terms of rehab time.
+ Pairs of crutches: 1
+ Ulcers: 1 (eye ulcer - seriously, how fucked is that? N.B.: apparently, you can't wear and sleep in your contacts for months while you are kind of slowly losing your mind)
+ Friends met from the internets: 2 (to be updated in the near term)
+ Divorces: 2 (one from B, one from the internets as I once knew them)
+ Friends gained: 4
+ Friends lost: 3
+ Pounds lost: I don't do scales, but the size 8's fit much better right now.
+ Times I have spoken to B since the finalization of the divorce: 0
+ Times I have missed B since the finalization of the divorce: 2 (but not as my husband)
+ Times I have uttered the words "My marriage came to its successful conclusion and I wish B well in all of his new adventures": Too many. It is my go-to phrase when encountering mutual friends. It seems to put everyone at ease, changes the subject, and, for better or worse, allows us to perpetuate the myth that our breakup was amicable and that we remain close friends.
+ Books read: Just 3. Pathetic.
+ Cell phones lost or destroyed: 2. Technically, I got both of them back, but I have an uncanny ability to lose phones.
+ Dates: I think technically 6, but I just wasn't ready. Have some new friends, though. My heart is elsewhere.
+ Trips planned but not taken: At least a dozen.
+ Trips booked: 2. Mexico for K-n-J's wedding and NYC in June. I'm looking at you, Connoisseur.
+ Times I have had scarily dark thoughts and all out pity parties: At least 4.
+ Times that I have felt blessed, loved and lucky: More than 4.
+ Times I have fallen in love: 1. You know, that phrase is eerily accurate. It does feel like you're falling, doesn't it?
+ Lessons learned about love, life and friendships?: Entirely too many. You really can't appreciate a great love or friendship until you have lost one that mattered to you. Today's useless piece of wisdom. No charge.
The passage of time is really the only anecdote for the trials (no pun intended) and stresses in your life. This too shall pass? I fucking hate those words, but they ring true and if you are a smart girl, you will take from each episode something that will make you a better person and a better friend and lover. I'll go to my grave not understanding the black and white, myopic view of life kinds of folk. Shit happens, people fuck up, life changes and everyone moves on. People can and do recover from these episodes and relationships can be reconstituted.
I think that perhaps, one day, B and I will again be friends. You can't love someone for that long and suddenly and completely turn it off, no matter how many sins you committed against each other. I can't wish him any ill will and I hope he once again becomes the man I married. That man was supremely unique, interesting and challenging. I know that parts of me also went sideways, so I cannot begrudge him anymore.
Without being unduly cryptic, I feel as though I am standing on the edge of something and am about to leap into something that I might regret. But here's the great thing about living - unless you fuck up and make mistakes, which necessarily means taking risks (some more stupid than others), you are living in the margins. I like margins. I like healthy lines and boundaries and, above all else, good common sense. But I am also humble enough (now) to know that sometimes? The benefit outweighs the risk. Here's to leaping without abandon with the confidence that (1) you have fucked up royally before and (2) you can recover from another mistake and (3) Sometimes? Your instinct about people is spot on. You've been wrong before and will be again. Most often, you aren't all wrong, but partially. But life -- my life -- is about taking chances and putting my cards on the table and playing my hand.
I love that about myself. I am still an optimist, despite all evidence to the contrary.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
End Of Limbo, at Least for Catholics
and just like that, there was no more limbo.
I think the most telling part of the story is this:
The document published Friday said the question of limbo has become a "matter of pastoral urgency" because of the growing number of babies who do not receive the baptismal rite. Especially in Africa and other parts of the world where Catholicism is growing but has competition from other faiths such as Islam, high infant-mortality rates mean many families live with a church teaching them that their babies could not go to heaven.
Although this part was equally blunt:
It would also deprive Catholic leaders of a tool in their fight against abortion, Wolfe said. Priests have long told women that their aborted fetuses cannot go to heaven, which in theory was another argument against ending pregnancy. Without limbo, those fetuses would presumably no longer be denied communion with God.
The whole thing is ridiculous, but at least in this case, the lunacy is utterly transparent.
I think the most telling part of the story is this:
The document published Friday said the question of limbo has become a "matter of pastoral urgency" because of the growing number of babies who do not receive the baptismal rite. Especially in Africa and other parts of the world where Catholicism is growing but has competition from other faiths such as Islam, high infant-mortality rates mean many families live with a church teaching them that their babies could not go to heaven.
Although this part was equally blunt:
It would also deprive Catholic leaders of a tool in their fight against abortion, Wolfe said. Priests have long told women that their aborted fetuses cannot go to heaven, which in theory was another argument against ending pregnancy. Without limbo, those fetuses would presumably no longer be denied communion with God.
The whole thing is ridiculous, but at least in this case, the lunacy is utterly transparent.
Monday, April 16, 2007
You Ever?
Write a blog post about one thing on your mind, only to realize it can easily be interpreted to apply to something else entirely? You can either delete or laugh at the sense of humor of the internet karma gods.
I have a friend (K) who has a friend going through a mountain of shit right now. Said friend's friend has completely withdrawn, isolated and cut everyone off because that's what she does when she gets backed into a corner. Burns bridges, crosses lines, all of that.
I guess I'll never understand those people. I think that is attributable to the manner in which I grew up. You could leave an entire country behind, only to run into a former friend in a new country, in a new school, with all of the old wounds unresolved. That happened more than I ever thought possible.
(Random story: There was a completely dorky guy in Saudi who had almost every annoying and unattractive quality and tic. Coke bottle glasses, spit when he spoke, generally nerdy, etc. I wasn't as big of an asshole to him as most, but I certainly wasn't friendly. Fast forward many years later and he is living in the country my parents were in. My parents had his family over for dinner and he was still a dork, albeit an older dork and one I could relate to better with the wisdom of a few more years of life experience. He and I ended up going on a trip that weekend that remains one of the better vacations I've ever taken.)
Another thing I'll never understand is the failure to directly communicate. So sayeth the recent divorcee, so there is plenty of irony poisoning on all fronts. In the early to middle parts of my marriage, direct communication was the norm - almost to a fault. If B had an issue? Oh I heard about it immediately - loud and clear, and the same was generally true from me, although I fancied myself a better communicator. It wasn't until the last two years that we stopped really communicating with each other and started avoiding.
That is the case with most of my relationships, especially my family. We are startlingly direct. Painfully so, much of the time, at least among the siblings. I am so much more comfortable with direct, head on collision, full on body contact communication. Put all the cards are on the table and there is a chance for resolution (not necessarily reconciliation, but resolution). Passive aggressive is not my style, doesn't look good on anyone and doesn't solve anything beyond perpetuating conflict. It continues to amaze me how many people don't realize that.
I have a friend (K) who has a friend going through a mountain of shit right now. Said friend's friend has completely withdrawn, isolated and cut everyone off because that's what she does when she gets backed into a corner. Burns bridges, crosses lines, all of that.
I guess I'll never understand those people. I think that is attributable to the manner in which I grew up. You could leave an entire country behind, only to run into a former friend in a new country, in a new school, with all of the old wounds unresolved. That happened more than I ever thought possible.
(Random story: There was a completely dorky guy in Saudi who had almost every annoying and unattractive quality and tic. Coke bottle glasses, spit when he spoke, generally nerdy, etc. I wasn't as big of an asshole to him as most, but I certainly wasn't friendly. Fast forward many years later and he is living in the country my parents were in. My parents had his family over for dinner and he was still a dork, albeit an older dork and one I could relate to better with the wisdom of a few more years of life experience. He and I ended up going on a trip that weekend that remains one of the better vacations I've ever taken.)
Another thing I'll never understand is the failure to directly communicate. So sayeth the recent divorcee, so there is plenty of irony poisoning on all fronts. In the early to middle parts of my marriage, direct communication was the norm - almost to a fault. If B had an issue? Oh I heard about it immediately - loud and clear, and the same was generally true from me, although I fancied myself a better communicator. It wasn't until the last two years that we stopped really communicating with each other and started avoiding.
That is the case with most of my relationships, especially my family. We are startlingly direct. Painfully so, much of the time, at least among the siblings. I am so much more comfortable with direct, head on collision, full on body contact communication. Put all the cards are on the table and there is a chance for resolution (not necessarily reconciliation, but resolution). Passive aggressive is not my style, doesn't look good on anyone and doesn't solve anything beyond perpetuating conflict. It continues to amaze me how many people don't realize that.
Reality is a Harsh Mistress
You ever feel like you finally have your shit together and your head screwed on properly, only to realize that you have just been sticking your head farther in the sand than you ever thought possible? That you weren't moving forward or anything approximating that, but really just sinking past several red flagged false bottoms with willful blindness? That for as fast as you thought you were running, it was just in circles and -- by the way -- running in circles? Makes you dizzy and disoriented.
When you find yourself confronting such a reality, you have several distasteful options:
1. You can continue the pattern unabated and throw yourself firmly and permanently under the bus. Flame the hell out and really see it through to the true bottom. There is a certain commitment with this option and it very may well end in white jackets and medications. At the very least, you saw it through.
2. You can wallow in your stupidity and revel in the fact that you're soaking in it. This could involve anything from never leaving your bed to tearful drunk dials to "friends" whom you haven't spoken with in years. I am fairly confident this option ends in a wholesale adoption of The Secret or some other self help mantra, which will make you popular with your more well-adjusted friends. Particularly when you offer your insights once you've figured it all out.
3. Denial. Pretend you had it together the whole time and act "as if." As if you were always in on the joke and always knew you weren't fooling anyone. It takes some steely nerves to pull this one off and almost no one will buy it, but if you stick to the script, you can at least be consistent. Consistency should not be underrated.
4. Own it entirely. Confront it, take responsibility for it, learn from it, change your behavior, one step at a time, and don't let it paralyze you. The only way to make progress and move forward is to build some momentum towards where you are trying to go and momentum requires steps forward, no matter how small.
4 is my lucky number, so I'm going to circle that choice.
When you find yourself confronting such a reality, you have several distasteful options:
1. You can continue the pattern unabated and throw yourself firmly and permanently under the bus. Flame the hell out and really see it through to the true bottom. There is a certain commitment with this option and it very may well end in white jackets and medications. At the very least, you saw it through.
2. You can wallow in your stupidity and revel in the fact that you're soaking in it. This could involve anything from never leaving your bed to tearful drunk dials to "friends" whom you haven't spoken with in years. I am fairly confident this option ends in a wholesale adoption of The Secret or some other self help mantra, which will make you popular with your more well-adjusted friends. Particularly when you offer your insights once you've figured it all out.
3. Denial. Pretend you had it together the whole time and act "as if." As if you were always in on the joke and always knew you weren't fooling anyone. It takes some steely nerves to pull this one off and almost no one will buy it, but if you stick to the script, you can at least be consistent. Consistency should not be underrated.
4. Own it entirely. Confront it, take responsibility for it, learn from it, change your behavior, one step at a time, and don't let it paralyze you. The only way to make progress and move forward is to build some momentum towards where you are trying to go and momentum requires steps forward, no matter how small.
4 is my lucky number, so I'm going to circle that choice.
Friday, April 13, 2007
The Story of Tiffany
Very few people who know me personally haven't heard me tell this story, but I truly love telling it. It is the story of the most important lesson a friend has ever taught me.
I met Tiffany in college - we both lived in the "rich bitch" dorm (although in my defense, I didn't know that when I signed up to live there). She was roommates with Hilarie, who is worthy of several blog entries herself. Hilarie and I were good friends, as were Tiffany and I, but the friendships couldn't have been more different. Those two were as different as night and day - Hilarie remains one of the most beautiful friends I've ever had, and with great beauty usually comes some personal issues. Hilarie was no exception, despite bearing a striking similarity to Paulina Por...whateverthefuckherRussiannameis. Tiffany was also a beauty, albeit in a girl next door sort of way. Long, gorgeous brown hair, big blue eyes, the unmistakable aura of a girl raised in the right part of Houston (River Oaks). Refined. Mannered. Polite. Good breeding.
(By way of contrast, I'll never forget asking Hilarie if my ass looked fat in a particular pair of shorts, just a few minutes before heading out to a party. She said -- and I quote, nearly 20 years later -- K, are you going to do squats and drop five pounds tonight? No? Then don't worry how your ass looks like. You can't do fuck all about it right now. Looking good is a state of mind and if you think you look fat, you'll look fat to everyone.) It probably comes as no surprise to know Hilarie and I are still friends. And I have never since asked that question right before I go out.
In any event, Tiffany and I ended up moving to the same apartment complex during our sophomore year. Tiffany was the very model of anal retentive -- seriously, she and B would have been a great match in that regard. Her place was not lived in - it looked like a museum, especially her closet. My place, on the other hand? A loft - very hip, very lived in. We never hung out at her place - we were always at mine. We worked at the same restaurant at night and took classes by day. Tiffany had financial issues owing to her dad's declining bond business while I was (partially) supported by my parents. I had a solid safety net, even if I never used it. Her family, however, was in real financial trouble.
The financial issues became pretty intense and she had to drop out and work full time to keep her apartment. She didn't have a car, either, so there were transportation issues to boot. Then the depression came. She was prone to the "can't get out of bed" moments that I couldn't fully (or even partially) understand at the time. She basically lived at my place whenever I was home and that? Got a little exhausting. I began relishing my nights out with others (including Hilarie, who couldn't stand Tiffany), even though I positively loved Tiffany.
The whole thing came to a head that December, when her dad had to come to Austin to move her back home. She was really troubled and blue and the three jobs had exhausted her. She had gained 40 pounds, she didn't like herself and nothing was going right for her. She needed to recharge. When she left, I hugged her and promised her I would come to Houston the next weekend and see her. Truth was, I had no intention of doing that. I was secretly relieved, as she was ALWAYS at my place and I felt responsible for her happiness, which was elusive. I am generally a pretty upbeat person and had no experience with her kind of depression.* As they drove away, I actually felt lighter. No more taking care of Tiffany - emotionally, financially, socially, etc.
The next week, if memory serves, I called her (I think I got voice mail) and gave some utter bullshit excuse on why I couldn't come that weekend. I lied. I was so looking forward to my first weekend alone, with no obligations. I told her I would be there the next weekend, and the next weekend, I didn't call and dodged her phone calls. Knowing she would be mad and hurt, I didn't call her that weekend - or the next week. Which gave way to another week, then another.
That was December. I didn't speak to Tiffany for six months. I missed our birthdays (days apart), important milestones in our personal lives, etc. Tiffany didn't call me, either. She was understandably disgusted with me. I abandoned her when she probably needed a friend the most. It was a shitty, shitty, self-centered thing to do.
Come July, I was ready to move to WA. I was done with TX - we weren't a good fit, me and TX. It caused all sorts of family strife, but I decided to move "home" (even though I had never lived here for more than 3 mos at a time since I was 7, WA was home to me). I couldn't leave, knowing I had burned that bridge. I believe in friendship more than anyone I know. There are no sins beyond forgiveness when it comes to true friendship. I hoped Tiffany felt the same way.
I called her at work and when she answered, I said "please don't hang up. This is K. I owe you a tremendous apology and if you will give me a few minutes, I'd like to offer it." She said "hold on, I'm going in the back" -- she then worked retail -- and got back on the phone and said "okay, K, go." I said "Tiffany, I owe you such an apology. I valued our friendship and took so many actions contrary to that friendship. I have no excuse other than a failure of my character. I am so very sorry. You earned more consideration over the course of our friendship and I completely fucked up. I am sorry, I thank you for your friendship and I hope that one day, you will once again consider me a friend. I am moving to WA next week and couldn't leave TX without saying goodbye to the best part of TX. I love you and thank you for one of the better friendships of my life."
The line went quiet and I thought she might have hung up. She then said "Are you driving to WA?" I said yes and she asked when. She then put me on hold and came back a few minutes later, asking the dates of my travel. She said "Do you have room for a passenger?" I confess that this nonsap burst into tears and said "yes, for you, yes." To make this long story short, she flew to Austin, we went and watched Thelma and Louise (oh fuck off, I was young) and we drove to Washington from Texas, evaluating chicken fried steak at every roadside diner we stopped at along the way. It was one of the best experiences of my life. The pictures alone are great.
At one point during the trip, I asked her why she was there and why she forgave me for my unspeakable acts against our friendship. She looked me dead in the eye - this refined girl next door from Houston -- and said "K, you owed me an apology and you gave it the right way. No conditions, no excuses. We all fuck up, when it comes to friendship, we're allowed to fuck up. We have friendship. We will be friends when we are old, ugly and flabby. We're allowed to fuck up, so long as we acknowledge the fuck ups and talk about them. You fucked up, you apologized, I forgave you and we still have the friendship that we spent a long time building." She probably said the f-word more in that speech than she did in our (then) three year friendship.
I got it. I really did. You don't burn bridges, you don't draw lines in the sand, not with people you love. The relationship can change - that is to be expected -- but once you love someone, male or female, really love them? I don't think I can ever really hate them. Tiffany was the first person I called after I took the bar exam. That is probably telling on other levels, but I digress. I will always love B, too, even if right now? I'm pretty indifferent. Friendship is just pretty sacred to me. I don't burn bridges and I don't commit sins beyond forgiveness. Tiffany - this rich bitch girl from River Oaks? She taught me that. And there are few days where I don't remember that whole thing. Friends are the family you choose. I believe in that.
*I had a week in November, 2004, where I slept all the time and took five days off work. I finally understood the "don't want to get out of bed" thing. I had a similar experience in August, 2006. I didn't eat for days and was utterly unmotivated. I can't imagine battling that every day. I don't pretend to understand it now, but at least have some personal experience with the overwhelming thoughts of heavy sadness.
I met Tiffany in college - we both lived in the "rich bitch" dorm (although in my defense, I didn't know that when I signed up to live there). She was roommates with Hilarie, who is worthy of several blog entries herself. Hilarie and I were good friends, as were Tiffany and I, but the friendships couldn't have been more different. Those two were as different as night and day - Hilarie remains one of the most beautiful friends I've ever had, and with great beauty usually comes some personal issues. Hilarie was no exception, despite bearing a striking similarity to Paulina Por...whateverthefuckherRussiannameis. Tiffany was also a beauty, albeit in a girl next door sort of way. Long, gorgeous brown hair, big blue eyes, the unmistakable aura of a girl raised in the right part of Houston (River Oaks). Refined. Mannered. Polite. Good breeding.
(By way of contrast, I'll never forget asking Hilarie if my ass looked fat in a particular pair of shorts, just a few minutes before heading out to a party. She said -- and I quote, nearly 20 years later -- K, are you going to do squats and drop five pounds tonight? No? Then don't worry how your ass looks like. You can't do fuck all about it right now. Looking good is a state of mind and if you think you look fat, you'll look fat to everyone.) It probably comes as no surprise to know Hilarie and I are still friends. And I have never since asked that question right before I go out.
In any event, Tiffany and I ended up moving to the same apartment complex during our sophomore year. Tiffany was the very model of anal retentive -- seriously, she and B would have been a great match in that regard. Her place was not lived in - it looked like a museum, especially her closet. My place, on the other hand? A loft - very hip, very lived in. We never hung out at her place - we were always at mine. We worked at the same restaurant at night and took classes by day. Tiffany had financial issues owing to her dad's declining bond business while I was (partially) supported by my parents. I had a solid safety net, even if I never used it. Her family, however, was in real financial trouble.
The financial issues became pretty intense and she had to drop out and work full time to keep her apartment. She didn't have a car, either, so there were transportation issues to boot. Then the depression came. She was prone to the "can't get out of bed" moments that I couldn't fully (or even partially) understand at the time. She basically lived at my place whenever I was home and that? Got a little exhausting. I began relishing my nights out with others (including Hilarie, who couldn't stand Tiffany), even though I positively loved Tiffany.
The whole thing came to a head that December, when her dad had to come to Austin to move her back home. She was really troubled and blue and the three jobs had exhausted her. She had gained 40 pounds, she didn't like herself and nothing was going right for her. She needed to recharge. When she left, I hugged her and promised her I would come to Houston the next weekend and see her. Truth was, I had no intention of doing that. I was secretly relieved, as she was ALWAYS at my place and I felt responsible for her happiness, which was elusive. I am generally a pretty upbeat person and had no experience with her kind of depression.* As they drove away, I actually felt lighter. No more taking care of Tiffany - emotionally, financially, socially, etc.
The next week, if memory serves, I called her (I think I got voice mail) and gave some utter bullshit excuse on why I couldn't come that weekend. I lied. I was so looking forward to my first weekend alone, with no obligations. I told her I would be there the next weekend, and the next weekend, I didn't call and dodged her phone calls. Knowing she would be mad and hurt, I didn't call her that weekend - or the next week. Which gave way to another week, then another.
That was December. I didn't speak to Tiffany for six months. I missed our birthdays (days apart), important milestones in our personal lives, etc. Tiffany didn't call me, either. She was understandably disgusted with me. I abandoned her when she probably needed a friend the most. It was a shitty, shitty, self-centered thing to do.
Come July, I was ready to move to WA. I was done with TX - we weren't a good fit, me and TX. It caused all sorts of family strife, but I decided to move "home" (even though I had never lived here for more than 3 mos at a time since I was 7, WA was home to me). I couldn't leave, knowing I had burned that bridge. I believe in friendship more than anyone I know. There are no sins beyond forgiveness when it comes to true friendship. I hoped Tiffany felt the same way.
I called her at work and when she answered, I said "please don't hang up. This is K. I owe you a tremendous apology and if you will give me a few minutes, I'd like to offer it." She said "hold on, I'm going in the back" -- she then worked retail -- and got back on the phone and said "okay, K, go." I said "Tiffany, I owe you such an apology. I valued our friendship and took so many actions contrary to that friendship. I have no excuse other than a failure of my character. I am so very sorry. You earned more consideration over the course of our friendship and I completely fucked up. I am sorry, I thank you for your friendship and I hope that one day, you will once again consider me a friend. I am moving to WA next week and couldn't leave TX without saying goodbye to the best part of TX. I love you and thank you for one of the better friendships of my life."
The line went quiet and I thought she might have hung up. She then said "Are you driving to WA?" I said yes and she asked when. She then put me on hold and came back a few minutes later, asking the dates of my travel. She said "Do you have room for a passenger?" I confess that this nonsap burst into tears and said "yes, for you, yes." To make this long story short, she flew to Austin, we went and watched Thelma and Louise (oh fuck off, I was young) and we drove to Washington from Texas, evaluating chicken fried steak at every roadside diner we stopped at along the way. It was one of the best experiences of my life. The pictures alone are great.
At one point during the trip, I asked her why she was there and why she forgave me for my unspeakable acts against our friendship. She looked me dead in the eye - this refined girl next door from Houston -- and said "K, you owed me an apology and you gave it the right way. No conditions, no excuses. We all fuck up, when it comes to friendship, we're allowed to fuck up. We have friendship. We will be friends when we are old, ugly and flabby. We're allowed to fuck up, so long as we acknowledge the fuck ups and talk about them. You fucked up, you apologized, I forgave you and we still have the friendship that we spent a long time building." She probably said the f-word more in that speech than she did in our (then) three year friendship.
I got it. I really did. You don't burn bridges, you don't draw lines in the sand, not with people you love. The relationship can change - that is to be expected -- but once you love someone, male or female, really love them? I don't think I can ever really hate them. Tiffany was the first person I called after I took the bar exam. That is probably telling on other levels, but I digress. I will always love B, too, even if right now? I'm pretty indifferent. Friendship is just pretty sacred to me. I don't burn bridges and I don't commit sins beyond forgiveness. Tiffany - this rich bitch girl from River Oaks? She taught me that. And there are few days where I don't remember that whole thing. Friends are the family you choose. I believe in that.
*I had a week in November, 2004, where I slept all the time and took five days off work. I finally understood the "don't want to get out of bed" thing. I had a similar experience in August, 2006. I didn't eat for days and was utterly unmotivated. I can't imagine battling that every day. I don't pretend to understand it now, but at least have some personal experience with the overwhelming thoughts of heavy sadness.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
I SAIL!
One of the stranger things I've discovered after a few years of being a practicing attorney is that I am almost the opposite of the stereotypical shark lawyer. I don't crave conflict and, for the most part, am much more geared toward resolution. So much of the job is trying to resolve conflicts, even though the perception is that attorneys are bloodthirsty opportunists.
Reading back over this blog, I realize that is true in my personal life. I didn't pick many fights during the course of the divorce. I was so angry at so many times and so hurt, but it never really occurred to me to launch a battle. B was always so capable of getting angrier and meaner than I could ever muster and truthfully, living in that state of mind was so far from where I wanted to be. It isn't stable and never leads to anything positive and rewarding.
The relationship as I knew it ended. Both our faults. We both let it end. It was probably just time, as we were no longer working towards the same thing. I am just as responsible as B - he just pushed the issue to the forefront. We both buried our heads in the sand during the separation and completely ignored the issue. I said (at the time) that I was waiting for a grand gesture from him, to show me that he would do anything and everything to keep the story of us together. I really believed that at the time, but in hindsight, where everything is clear, the truth is that I while I was not quite ready to surrender the idea of that story, I didn't do everything and anything to keep us together. I just sort of avoided it and escaped elsewhere.
I regret that the most, I think. I lost a few years, numbing the fuck out and not really working towards becoming the woman and person I really want to be. I think I am just now on that road and it is a daunting road ahead. There is certainly value in learning from my mistakes and not repeating them, so I spend a certain amount of time revisiting the mistakes of my past. Humbling, that. Humiliating, even. But I am working not to dwell on it - it is now out of my control - I can't rewrite history or revise it to support a different conclusion. But I can make changes now and rewrite the future. One that veers away from the mistakes and missteps of the past.
That seems entirely more productive that rubber necking over my shoulder and wallowing in regret. Forgiveness is perhaps the most proactive thing I can do, both of B and of myself. Forgiveness requires humility and self-awareness and acknowledgement and ownership of your mistakes, and ultimately, it also assures forward movement. I need to build some momentum and I think it begins with a pretty thorough accounting. I am almost there and that feels like considerable progress.
This sounds remarkably like a fucking self help post. It isn't intended to be. I've just found that writing this shit down? Really giving it some quality and intense analysis? Well, that kicks the shit out of self pity and regret and is something I can do to take control when my thoughts become defeating. At the end of the day, I have to look myself in the mirror and question whether I am proud of who I am.
Getting there. Baby stepping like Bob.
Reading back over this blog, I realize that is true in my personal life. I didn't pick many fights during the course of the divorce. I was so angry at so many times and so hurt, but it never really occurred to me to launch a battle. B was always so capable of getting angrier and meaner than I could ever muster and truthfully, living in that state of mind was so far from where I wanted to be. It isn't stable and never leads to anything positive and rewarding.
The relationship as I knew it ended. Both our faults. We both let it end. It was probably just time, as we were no longer working towards the same thing. I am just as responsible as B - he just pushed the issue to the forefront. We both buried our heads in the sand during the separation and completely ignored the issue. I said (at the time) that I was waiting for a grand gesture from him, to show me that he would do anything and everything to keep the story of us together. I really believed that at the time, but in hindsight, where everything is clear, the truth is that I while I was not quite ready to surrender the idea of that story, I didn't do everything and anything to keep us together. I just sort of avoided it and escaped elsewhere.
I regret that the most, I think. I lost a few years, numbing the fuck out and not really working towards becoming the woman and person I really want to be. I think I am just now on that road and it is a daunting road ahead. There is certainly value in learning from my mistakes and not repeating them, so I spend a certain amount of time revisiting the mistakes of my past. Humbling, that. Humiliating, even. But I am working not to dwell on it - it is now out of my control - I can't rewrite history or revise it to support a different conclusion. But I can make changes now and rewrite the future. One that veers away from the mistakes and missteps of the past.
That seems entirely more productive that rubber necking over my shoulder and wallowing in regret. Forgiveness is perhaps the most proactive thing I can do, both of B and of myself. Forgiveness requires humility and self-awareness and acknowledgement and ownership of your mistakes, and ultimately, it also assures forward movement. I need to build some momentum and I think it begins with a pretty thorough accounting. I am almost there and that feels like considerable progress.
This sounds remarkably like a fucking self help post. It isn't intended to be. I've just found that writing this shit down? Really giving it some quality and intense analysis? Well, that kicks the shit out of self pity and regret and is something I can do to take control when my thoughts become defeating. At the end of the day, I have to look myself in the mirror and question whether I am proud of who I am.
Getting there. Baby stepping like Bob.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Chasing Pea
I have never really used this as a place to dump my random links, but fuck it. I'm in the mood.
I have a current love affair with this song. Yes, it is ridiculously cheesy. Yes, I have a thing for voices in harmony. Yes, it strikes a chord with me right now. I make no apologies.
Incidentally, I like that song in part because it reminded me of this scene in Six Feet Under, which didn't really work at the time but I now appreciate.
Also, as a companion piece to my last post, I submit that Clooney shares my general malaise with the internet. Coincidence? I think not.
I have a current love affair with this song. Yes, it is ridiculously cheesy. Yes, I have a thing for voices in harmony. Yes, it strikes a chord with me right now. I make no apologies.
Incidentally, I like that song in part because it reminded me of this scene in Six Feet Under, which didn't really work at the time but I now appreciate.
Also, as a companion piece to my last post, I submit that Clooney shares my general malaise with the internet. Coincidence? I think not.
Meat and Greet
Well, long time no blog. I have had a few soul searching weeks and have come to the conclusion that I don't much care for the internets at the moment. This is primarily owing to my mistakes and errors in judgment. No matter how much it may seem otherwise, items appear differently on the internet than they appear in your mind. It is a social distortion of day to day reality and everyone plays a part of that distortion, even yourself.
Fuck - even I don't understand that last sentence. And no, this has nothing to do with my online married friend. Not anywhere near that ballpark.
But I am nothing if not competitive and the pea is outblogging me and that? I cannot abide. Also, I started this whole thing is a chronicle of where I was and where I was headed. I wish I had stuck to it better, as I have reviewed some of my conversations in the past three months and I realize I wasn't doing as well as I thought. As a wise mentor once told me, you can either strain yourself looking behind you or put your efforts into moving forward. As another wise friend also reminded me, some of my most important relationships and friendships originated online and not everything is distorted.
Along those lines, I am going to meet one of my favorite people from the internets tomorrow, even though I have broken up with the internets for the forseeable future. N has been an internet friend from the beginning and very high on the short list of folks I wanted to meet in person. I think that is because certain friends and relationships transcend the internets and become part of your meatspace existence, even if you haven't met. Other relationships never really ever leave the internet, even if you meet them in meatspace. In any event, I will be meeting N and having meat at some point.
Fuck - even I don't understand that last sentence. And no, this has nothing to do with my online married friend. Not anywhere near that ballpark.
But I am nothing if not competitive and the pea is outblogging me and that? I cannot abide. Also, I started this whole thing is a chronicle of where I was and where I was headed. I wish I had stuck to it better, as I have reviewed some of my conversations in the past three months and I realize I wasn't doing as well as I thought. As a wise mentor once told me, you can either strain yourself looking behind you or put your efforts into moving forward. As another wise friend also reminded me, some of my most important relationships and friendships originated online and not everything is distorted.
Along those lines, I am going to meet one of my favorite people from the internets tomorrow, even though I have broken up with the internets for the forseeable future. N has been an internet friend from the beginning and very high on the short list of folks I wanted to meet in person. I think that is because certain friends and relationships transcend the internets and become part of your meatspace existence, even if you haven't met. Other relationships never really ever leave the internet, even if you meet them in meatspace. In any event, I will be meeting N and having meat at some point.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Pea will NOT outblog me
I can't get this song out of my head
I haven't been this crazy about a song in a long time. I first heard it at the conclusion of the Black Donnelly's pilot. If you haven't seen this show, you're missing out - can't believe it is network television. Go here to watch the episodes for free! Free!
I am less that two weeks out from the conclusion of my marriage. I have much to blog about that before I sleep.
I haven't been this crazy about a song in a long time. I first heard it at the conclusion of the Black Donnelly's pilot. If you haven't seen this show, you're missing out - can't believe it is network television. Go here to watch the episodes for free! Free!
I am less that two weeks out from the conclusion of my marriage. I have much to blog about that before I sleep.
Friday, February 09, 2007
Andy
This is the point where I start to confess my infidelities in my marriage. Not your run-of-the-mill affairs, but rather affairs of the heart. I preface all of this by saying that I believe in the power of crushes -- I really do -- but Andy was a little different. And I own my part in the demise of my marriage.
Okay - some background. Law school. This would take forever to fully explain, but suffice to say, I always knew I was headed to law school eventually. Knew that as a pre-teen. When I met B, however, I had just moved to the States (had been here three years) and was just a kid (21 when I met him). Granted, I had spent three years in TX, but that was as much a foreign country as any place I had lived. I was about a year and a half away from graduating college when I finally left TX and came to where I belonged. I was in TX for all the wrong reasons, but that is a post for another time.
So yeah. Came to WA in the summer of '91. Moved in with real dad. Bad fight with stepdad ensued. Met B in the spring of '92 at UW. I'll tell that story another time, but I was enchanted by him. We were living together (again, age 21) by the fall (never planned on that, but I was housesitting and he just came and never left). He had started a business a few weeks before we went on our first date, and by the third or fourth date, I was his partner. We just fit.
I'll skip over the next few years, as they aren't relevant to this post, but we started another successful business and had a lot of adventures together. Thing is, they weren't really my adventures -- I was just along for the ride and game for anything. I stopped going to college full time and threw myself into these adventures and I don't regret a day of it. I learned so much - I call it my real-world MBA. But about 1997 (we married in '94), I realized I wanted something of my own again and not to be B's supporting player.
Long story - I ended up finally graduating (which is funny, as I graduated high school in three years but took nearly 9 to get my degree). I studied and prepared my ass off and I got a really high LSAT score -- enough to get me into almost anywhere. Except I was vain and didn't want a reject notice -- to this day, I regret not applying to a few schools. I applied to a ton of schools, even though we were firmly grounded in Seattle. I am a nomad at heart, I think, plus I knew I probably needed to get away from B to have my own identity.
I accepted a full ride to ND (I wanted to go to Georgetown, but that was vetoed as too far away, as was NYU, plus B is Irish and loved the idea of me at ND), and although there was early talk of B coaching soccer at ND, he got a position at his current company. For whatever reason, it didn't seem weird to me for us to be apart for this. We were always nonconventional and we could do this.
Looking back, I needed to get away. I wasn't cut out for a supporting role and wanted something that I alone could accomplish and be proud of.
Holy fuck - so long and not even to Andy.
So in law school, I was happily married chick who wasn't looking to date but still fun to hang out with. Most of my best friends from law school are men, as a result, as the women friends were suspicious and jealous of those relationships. School B (again, another post) was my best friend -- we became close the day we really met. There was great chemistry between us, but sort of a "never-the-twain-shall-meet" chemistry. I kept hearing about this guy named Andy who was "hysterical," "awesome," "smart," "irreverant." We were in different sections in law school and had never met.
Cue to post-first-semester-law-school-exams. We finally met and I would be lying if I didn't admit I had a total crush on him before I met him. And then I met him. Oh dear lord, was he my type. Twinkling eyes, great smile, great personality, completely confident -- we were doomed. Within minutes of us meeting, we had our arms wrapped around each other (friendly) and were flirting and laughing like you wouldn't believe. It was a blast - we had a great connection. Both of our respective friend groups saw it and were worried someone would get hurt, most likely Andy. His friends dragged him away from me and so did mine (School B - again, a story for another time). I left that night not knowing where he was, but being ushered into a cab.
Turns out, Andy was pretty bummed to learn I was happily married chick and left the bar on foot. This was IN in December and ice was everywhere. He had been drinking and was a little down on himself and ended up slipping and breaking his nose. I was deemed the cause of his injury.
(I went home that x-mas and B and I took our first trip to the courthouse, ostensibly to file divorce or separation papers. We chickened out and decided we could weather anything)
Came back to ND and his friends had built a fortress around him. No contact with me whatsoever. I spent that second semester at an arm's length from him, until ST. Patty's Day. Big occasion at an Irish Catholic school. We both went to a party and eventually, were back in the same position. Laughing, talking politics, talking sports -- it was again very bad. Our friends again removed us from one another, but we kept sneaking back. Chemistry is a wild thing.
We ended up sneaking out of the back together, laughing how everyone had such impure thoughts about us. Then we walked to his place and ended up watching a tape of him on the Congressional floor (yes, these things are interesting to me). At one point he became rather emotional and told me that I had to leave. I obliged, ashamed, and he grabbed me and kissed me.
I won't lie. It was a great kiss.
But Andy then felt really conflicted (also? Andy? lone Jewish guy at ND), as, of course, did I. This was beyond a flirtation -- this was toe curling chemistry. We lived close to each other and I needed to clear my head, so I said I would walk home. Andy is nothing if not a gentleman and kept saying "the cab is coming." I needed to walk.
When I got home, there was a message on my machine. "Am utterly crazy about you and can't be. I can't see you anymore."
I have a few more stories about Andy in the next year, but that was pretty much it. The saddest day I can remember was the day I left ND. He saw me packing my books and came up to me, cupped my face, and said "you were the one." I felt very much the same way, except he loved IN and I hate the midwest. He ended up marrying the girl he told me he could never love as he loved me. I haven't spoken to him since the day he held my face in his hands and said that.
All this came to light, as a friend needed an attorney in Indy. I looked him up and he isn't listed right now. I have to hope that he is on some Democrat's campaign. He will, MARK MY WORDS, be the governor of Indiana some day.
Timing is everything, and Andy and I didn't have timing. Still adore him, though
Okay - some background. Law school. This would take forever to fully explain, but suffice to say, I always knew I was headed to law school eventually. Knew that as a pre-teen. When I met B, however, I had just moved to the States (had been here three years) and was just a kid (21 when I met him). Granted, I had spent three years in TX, but that was as much a foreign country as any place I had lived. I was about a year and a half away from graduating college when I finally left TX and came to where I belonged. I was in TX for all the wrong reasons, but that is a post for another time.
So yeah. Came to WA in the summer of '91. Moved in with real dad. Bad fight with stepdad ensued. Met B in the spring of '92 at UW. I'll tell that story another time, but I was enchanted by him. We were living together (again, age 21) by the fall (never planned on that, but I was housesitting and he just came and never left). He had started a business a few weeks before we went on our first date, and by the third or fourth date, I was his partner. We just fit.
I'll skip over the next few years, as they aren't relevant to this post, but we started another successful business and had a lot of adventures together. Thing is, they weren't really my adventures -- I was just along for the ride and game for anything. I stopped going to college full time and threw myself into these adventures and I don't regret a day of it. I learned so much - I call it my real-world MBA. But about 1997 (we married in '94), I realized I wanted something of my own again and not to be B's supporting player.
Long story - I ended up finally graduating (which is funny, as I graduated high school in three years but took nearly 9 to get my degree). I studied and prepared my ass off and I got a really high LSAT score -- enough to get me into almost anywhere. Except I was vain and didn't want a reject notice -- to this day, I regret not applying to a few schools. I applied to a ton of schools, even though we were firmly grounded in Seattle. I am a nomad at heart, I think, plus I knew I probably needed to get away from B to have my own identity.
I accepted a full ride to ND (I wanted to go to Georgetown, but that was vetoed as too far away, as was NYU, plus B is Irish and loved the idea of me at ND), and although there was early talk of B coaching soccer at ND, he got a position at his current company. For whatever reason, it didn't seem weird to me for us to be apart for this. We were always nonconventional and we could do this.
Looking back, I needed to get away. I wasn't cut out for a supporting role and wanted something that I alone could accomplish and be proud of.
Holy fuck - so long and not even to Andy.
So in law school, I was happily married chick who wasn't looking to date but still fun to hang out with. Most of my best friends from law school are men, as a result, as the women friends were suspicious and jealous of those relationships. School B (again, another post) was my best friend -- we became close the day we really met. There was great chemistry between us, but sort of a "never-the-twain-shall-meet" chemistry. I kept hearing about this guy named Andy who was "hysterical," "awesome," "smart," "irreverant." We were in different sections in law school and had never met.
Cue to post-first-semester-law-school-exams. We finally met and I would be lying if I didn't admit I had a total crush on him before I met him. And then I met him. Oh dear lord, was he my type. Twinkling eyes, great smile, great personality, completely confident -- we were doomed. Within minutes of us meeting, we had our arms wrapped around each other (friendly) and were flirting and laughing like you wouldn't believe. It was a blast - we had a great connection. Both of our respective friend groups saw it and were worried someone would get hurt, most likely Andy. His friends dragged him away from me and so did mine (School B - again, a story for another time). I left that night not knowing where he was, but being ushered into a cab.
Turns out, Andy was pretty bummed to learn I was happily married chick and left the bar on foot. This was IN in December and ice was everywhere. He had been drinking and was a little down on himself and ended up slipping and breaking his nose. I was deemed the cause of his injury.
(I went home that x-mas and B and I took our first trip to the courthouse, ostensibly to file divorce or separation papers. We chickened out and decided we could weather anything)
Came back to ND and his friends had built a fortress around him. No contact with me whatsoever. I spent that second semester at an arm's length from him, until ST. Patty's Day. Big occasion at an Irish Catholic school. We both went to a party and eventually, were back in the same position. Laughing, talking politics, talking sports -- it was again very bad. Our friends again removed us from one another, but we kept sneaking back. Chemistry is a wild thing.
We ended up sneaking out of the back together, laughing how everyone had such impure thoughts about us. Then we walked to his place and ended up watching a tape of him on the Congressional floor (yes, these things are interesting to me). At one point he became rather emotional and told me that I had to leave. I obliged, ashamed, and he grabbed me and kissed me.
I won't lie. It was a great kiss.
But Andy then felt really conflicted (also? Andy? lone Jewish guy at ND), as, of course, did I. This was beyond a flirtation -- this was toe curling chemistry. We lived close to each other and I needed to clear my head, so I said I would walk home. Andy is nothing if not a gentleman and kept saying "the cab is coming." I needed to walk.
When I got home, there was a message on my machine. "Am utterly crazy about you and can't be. I can't see you anymore."
I have a few more stories about Andy in the next year, but that was pretty much it. The saddest day I can remember was the day I left ND. He saw me packing my books and came up to me, cupped my face, and said "you were the one." I felt very much the same way, except he loved IN and I hate the midwest. He ended up marrying the girl he told me he could never love as he loved me. I haven't spoken to him since the day he held my face in his hands and said that.
All this came to light, as a friend needed an attorney in Indy. I looked him up and he isn't listed right now. I have to hope that he is on some Democrat's campaign. He will, MARK MY WORDS, be the governor of Indiana some day.
Timing is everything, and Andy and I didn't have timing. Still adore him, though
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Insanity
So I am so very tired of speaking about my divorce and all that, but I want to write this out so I remember it.
Yes. B has new girlfriend and new life. As do I. Life is moving the fuck on. Good times.
He called me yesterday (N.B. - this blog entry took me two days to compile, so this was Tuesday) to "update me" on all things B. I laughed, made a few remarks about how I am not interested in his life. Such is divorce. Not his wife, friend, attorney or lover. Don't care. We shared a few joking moments about my need to know everything and some remnants of our former life. Is awkward -- this whole thing. But at the end, I was feeling cool about where I am. Not angry, not bitter, just not wanting to be involved. It isn't my role anymore. I was content and I thought I made the point. Not your best friend. Not your attorney. Not your touchstone. Not your lover. Talk to your girlfriend about this shit. I don't care.
Next day (yesterday), I am totally under the bus at work and am about to start an at least two hour conference call with a very demanding client. B calls and says "do you have a minute? I need to ask you a question." I said "you have five minutes -- go." He said "no, I need more than five minutes, call me later." We go back and forth with me asking him to just tell me what the hell it is, but he won't budge. I get off the phone wondering WTF is the latest drama. Divorce related? Is he going to fuck with my hearing date? WTF?
Conference call has an abrupt end half an hour later and I get a phone call from J (his employee), who opens the call with "have you spoken to B?" Oh shit - this is bigger and worse than I thought. I said "no, he wouldn't tell me what was up -- WTF is up?" J tells me that B absolutely lost it at work - unleashed on his CFO. Unleashed has a different meaning here - when B loses his shit, all bets are off. He said some incredibly actionable things to his CFO (a woman), including cunt, "glad you never had kids," etc. Really bad. Is a cunt's hair away from losing his job, quite frankly.
Q. Why is this my problem?
A. It isn't, except I always rescue B.
Inevitable phone call with B ensues, wherein he relates his most recent act of self-destruction. I lay into him about how I am not his problem-solver anymore, these are inevitable consequences of being an asshole, blah blah. I finally said "B, what is your gut instinct to solve this problem?" His answer? "to call you."
Holy fuck. I have a decision to make. Tell him to man up and solve it himself or do what I believed at the time was the right thing - solve the fucking problem. So I said some unkind things about how I shouldn't be doing this shit, but gave him the right advice and solution to solve the problem (hint: it involves an unqualified apology to the CFO and a lot of humility). I am brutal in my advice but very specific in its application and he says "okay, I am going to do exactly what you said. I know I don't deserve this conversation, K, and you are an amazing person to do this."
No shit, Sherlock. I unleash a few more barbs, then tell him to get it done.
So here we are today -- big day where he has to somehow undo what he did, following my advice. As he is utterly wont to do, he followed it but put his own stupid, idiotic twists on it that changed it from a solution to a band aid, but the man is still employed.
You probably are expecting the paragraph about the conversation where he thanks me, yet again, for saving his ass. Except it didn't happen. Heard nothing today from him. Only from J, who told me what happened.
They say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result. I did the same thing I did throughout our marriage, expecting that he would be grateful and appreciative and at least say thank you.
That, my few loyal readers, means I am insane.
Yes. B has new girlfriend and new life. As do I. Life is moving the fuck on. Good times.
He called me yesterday (N.B. - this blog entry took me two days to compile, so this was Tuesday) to "update me" on all things B. I laughed, made a few remarks about how I am not interested in his life. Such is divorce. Not his wife, friend, attorney or lover. Don't care. We shared a few joking moments about my need to know everything and some remnants of our former life. Is awkward -- this whole thing. But at the end, I was feeling cool about where I am. Not angry, not bitter, just not wanting to be involved. It isn't my role anymore. I was content and I thought I made the point. Not your best friend. Not your attorney. Not your touchstone. Not your lover. Talk to your girlfriend about this shit. I don't care.
Next day (yesterday), I am totally under the bus at work and am about to start an at least two hour conference call with a very demanding client. B calls and says "do you have a minute? I need to ask you a question." I said "you have five minutes -- go." He said "no, I need more than five minutes, call me later." We go back and forth with me asking him to just tell me what the hell it is, but he won't budge. I get off the phone wondering WTF is the latest drama. Divorce related? Is he going to fuck with my hearing date? WTF?
Conference call has an abrupt end half an hour later and I get a phone call from J (his employee), who opens the call with "have you spoken to B?" Oh shit - this is bigger and worse than I thought. I said "no, he wouldn't tell me what was up -- WTF is up?" J tells me that B absolutely lost it at work - unleashed on his CFO. Unleashed has a different meaning here - when B loses his shit, all bets are off. He said some incredibly actionable things to his CFO (a woman), including cunt, "glad you never had kids," etc. Really bad. Is a cunt's hair away from losing his job, quite frankly.
Q. Why is this my problem?
A. It isn't, except I always rescue B.
Inevitable phone call with B ensues, wherein he relates his most recent act of self-destruction. I lay into him about how I am not his problem-solver anymore, these are inevitable consequences of being an asshole, blah blah. I finally said "B, what is your gut instinct to solve this problem?" His answer? "to call you."
Holy fuck. I have a decision to make. Tell him to man up and solve it himself or do what I believed at the time was the right thing - solve the fucking problem. So I said some unkind things about how I shouldn't be doing this shit, but gave him the right advice and solution to solve the problem (hint: it involves an unqualified apology to the CFO and a lot of humility). I am brutal in my advice but very specific in its application and he says "okay, I am going to do exactly what you said. I know I don't deserve this conversation, K, and you are an amazing person to do this."
No shit, Sherlock. I unleash a few more barbs, then tell him to get it done.
So here we are today -- big day where he has to somehow undo what he did, following my advice. As he is utterly wont to do, he followed it but put his own stupid, idiotic twists on it that changed it from a solution to a band aid, but the man is still employed.
You probably are expecting the paragraph about the conversation where he thanks me, yet again, for saving his ass. Except it didn't happen. Heard nothing today from him. Only from J, who told me what happened.
They say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result. I did the same thing I did throughout our marriage, expecting that he would be grateful and appreciative and at least say thank you.
That, my few loyal readers, means I am insane.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
And, We're Back
I realized after three weeks that this place was my release and my place to tell stories. I missed it, even though I have had little to say. Except I do. More to come later. Now, a story.
Dateline 2004 -- April, I think. This is a random story, but this is my corner of the internet, so whatthefuckever.
Angela is my brow waxer. She is amazing and written up everywhere in girly magazines. I got an appointment through a friend. I had had my brows waxed before (many times), but Angela? She does her job really well -- deride as you will for her chosen profession, but she is as good at her job as I am mine and that is just fucking cool.
So, I am having my brows (and face) waxed by Angela when I decide now is the time to make a comment on the trend of women to "take it all off." I found it bothersome and gross and whatnot. Women wanting to look like preteen girls. Gross. How awful. I had an opinion and I wasn't afraid to share it with Angela, who is also reknown (didn't know) for her quasi-Brazillians.
Angela is a different breed of the human species. She listened to my rant about men wanting pre-teen girls, etc. Then she said "K, there is another viewpoint you might consider." I, not being wont to listen to alternate viewpoints, was skeptical. She said "I think women grooming their (nether regions, she is more clinical), is a positive sign. Women are more comfortable expecting, receiving, and enjoying oral sex, whereas decades prior, they were considered whores for doing it in return."
It made me think, albeit from the odd place where you are half naked, asked a friend to get rid of unwanted hairs from your nether regions. It was an interesting point, to say the least. I know Angela -- she is a client - and I wasn't ready to go full monty on her. But I did do my first bikini wax, which was painful and interesting.
After she waxed me, she recommended that I visit May, her equivalent in the nether regions market, at a totally different salon. I met May and BOOM, we clicked. She explained the whole process in detail, with no shame and, as I was about to go to Cabo for Christmans (first x-mas sans B), I agreed. She shared Angela's philosophy about waxing "down there" and I had my first true Brazlillian wax. It was at once liberating and indignified. Something about hearing her order of "spread your butt cheeks, yes!" threw me off.
And yet. That was over a year ago and I still do it. I don't really know why, although I do agree about the power issue. Mostly it is a question of feeling like I control something, although I don't know what. I don't think that women should look like this -- public hair serves its purpose -- but I'll just let it ride.
Welcome back, loyal readers. I'm sure this was worth the wait.
Dateline 2004 -- April, I think. This is a random story, but this is my corner of the internet, so whatthefuckever.
Angela is my brow waxer. She is amazing and written up everywhere in girly magazines. I got an appointment through a friend. I had had my brows waxed before (many times), but Angela? She does her job really well -- deride as you will for her chosen profession, but she is as good at her job as I am mine and that is just fucking cool.
So
Angela is a different breed of the human species. She listened to my rant about men wanting pre-teen girls, etc. Then she said "K, there is another viewpoint you might consider." I, not being wont to listen to alternate viewpoints, was skeptical. She said "I think women grooming their (nether regions, she is more clinical), is a positive sign. Women are more comfortable expecting, receiving, and enjoying oral sex, whereas decades prior, they were considered whores for doing it in return."
It made me think, albeit from the odd place where you are half naked, asked a friend to get rid of unwanted hairs from your nether regions. It was an interesting point, to say the least. I know Angela -- she is a client - and I wasn't ready to go full monty on her. But I did do my first bikini wax, which was painful and interesting.
After she waxed me, she recommended that I visit May, her equivalent in the nether regions market, at a totally different salon. I met May and BOOM, we clicked. She explained the whole process in detail, with no shame and, as I was about to go to Cabo for Christmans (first x-mas sans B), I agreed. She shared Angela's philosophy about waxing "down there" and I had my first true Brazlillian wax. It was at once liberating and indignified. Something about hearing her order of "spread your butt cheeks, yes!" threw me off.
And yet. That was over a year ago and I still do it. I don't really know why, although I do agree about the power issue. Mostly it is a question of feeling like I control something, although I don't know what. I don't think that women should look like this -- public hair serves its purpose -- but I'll just let it ride.
Welcome back, loyal readers. I'm sure this was worth the wait.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Searching for Sean Maguire
I am in the process of interviewing shrinks.
I am sort of ambivalent about psychiatrists/psychologists/therapists/counselors. On one hand, I recognize that they, like I, provide a valuable service for people in crisis. On the other, I think a lot of it is self-indulgent emo bullshit, especially when I think of the real problems (hunger, disease, war, etc.) facing other people. When this is your biggest problem -- mourning a lost love and relationship -- I think you are getting off easy.
I had written a funny scene in the screenplay where the protagonist "auditions" shrinks. Today's experience provided a helpful addition. He was a very serious man who was interviewing me as much as I did him. I don't think I passed. He explained that his speciality was "deep psychotherapy" and he thought I was looking for something else -- a place to vent, mourn, and heal from the divorce. I threw my head back and laughed and said that was like holding a red flag up to a bull - challenging me. He managed to get even more serious and said that he was concerned that our different personalities would get in the way of the process. He said he was committed to working with people who wanted a deeper level of meaning in their life and who were dedicated to living that kind of life.
I confess that I burst out laughing. I do not mean to mock the process in any manner, shape or form, and I don't doubt this man's commitment to his profession. I have every confidence that he is a very valuable resource for many a troubled folk, as he came highly recommended. I told him that I didn't know anyone that didn't want a deeper purpose and meaning in their life, but in all things, balance.
We had a couple of really meaningful exchanges. One was when he asked me what I wanted. I rambled through the usual "learn from my mistakes, become a better human being, etc." but it all seemed trite as it came out of my mouth. I then said something that shocked the shit out of me. I said "I want and need more fulfilling relationships in my life." What tumbled out of my mouth after that shocked and horrified and rattled me. I realized something pretty profound, and that alone was worth the (free) hour.
I started to wonder if I could "interview" shrinks all over the city (for free) and gain a higher consciousness. I confess that that thought had me laughing (and writing tonight) for a while.
I got teary only at a few points, mostly when he said "I don't know you, but based upon our time today, I would say that you keep most people at a distance and don't trust anyone." I hated that assessment. He then said "I can also see that you have excellent masking and coping skills and are not comfortable being vulnerable." Bitch, I got teary at that, too, so shove that diagnosis up your ass. Finally, and here is when I thought I was going to lose it, he hit the proverbial nail. He said "look, K, yeah, you're going through a lot of shit, but you aren't desperate. You probably have desperate moments, but you aren't a desperate patient. You want therapy because that is what everyone tells you to do in a divorce, but you aren't desperate for it."
Somehow, that vote of confidence brought me to tears. By Mr. Intense Therapist. He isn't the one for me -- I'm sure I need "deep psychotherapy" but the time isn't right. I just need better coping skills and probably a sounding board. I have friends for that and need to use them. That said, I do need a professional to help me organize all of this crap and keep me grounded. I am going to keep interviewing them and getting as much free treatment as possible.
Watch this space for more tales from the therapy-crypt.
I am sort of ambivalent about psychiatrists/psychologists/therapists/counselors. On one hand, I recognize that they, like I, provide a valuable service for people in crisis. On the other, I think a lot of it is self-indulgent emo bullshit, especially when I think of the real problems (hunger, disease, war, etc.) facing other people. When this is your biggest problem -- mourning a lost love and relationship -- I think you are getting off easy.
I had written a funny scene in the screenplay where the protagonist "auditions" shrinks. Today's experience provided a helpful addition. He was a very serious man who was interviewing me as much as I did him. I don't think I passed. He explained that his speciality was "deep psychotherapy" and he thought I was looking for something else -- a place to vent, mourn, and heal from the divorce. I threw my head back and laughed and said that was like holding a red flag up to a bull - challenging me. He managed to get even more serious and said that he was concerned that our different personalities would get in the way of the process. He said he was committed to working with people who wanted a deeper level of meaning in their life and who were dedicated to living that kind of life.
I confess that I burst out laughing. I do not mean to mock the process in any manner, shape or form, and I don't doubt this man's commitment to his profession. I have every confidence that he is a very valuable resource for many a troubled folk, as he came highly recommended. I told him that I didn't know anyone that didn't want a deeper purpose and meaning in their life, but in all things, balance.
We had a couple of really meaningful exchanges. One was when he asked me what I wanted. I rambled through the usual "learn from my mistakes, become a better human being, etc." but it all seemed trite as it came out of my mouth. I then said something that shocked the shit out of me. I said "I want and need more fulfilling relationships in my life." What tumbled out of my mouth after that shocked and horrified and rattled me. I realized something pretty profound, and that alone was worth the (free) hour.
I started to wonder if I could "interview" shrinks all over the city (for free) and gain a higher consciousness. I confess that that thought had me laughing (and writing tonight) for a while.
I got teary only at a few points, mostly when he said "I don't know you, but based upon our time today, I would say that you keep most people at a distance and don't trust anyone." I hated that assessment. He then said "I can also see that you have excellent masking and coping skills and are not comfortable being vulnerable." Bitch, I got teary at that, too, so shove that diagnosis up your ass. Finally, and here is when I thought I was going to lose it, he hit the proverbial nail. He said "look, K, yeah, you're going through a lot of shit, but you aren't desperate. You probably have desperate moments, but you aren't a desperate patient. You want therapy because that is what everyone tells you to do in a divorce, but you aren't desperate for it."
Somehow, that vote of confidence brought me to tears. By Mr. Intense Therapist. He isn't the one for me -- I'm sure I need "deep psychotherapy" but the time isn't right. I just need better coping skills and probably a sounding board. I have friends for that and need to use them. That said, I do need a professional to help me organize all of this crap and keep me grounded. I am going to keep interviewing them and getting as much free treatment as possible.
Watch this space for more tales from the therapy-crypt.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Lemons Into Lemonade
What started as kind of a joke has sort of morphed into a full on project. When I recounted the "will by the light of the convenience store" story here, I was thinking what a great scene in a movie it would have been. Truth is, I think I see a lot of things like that, which is probably a coping mechanism or other such psychobabble. In any event, I told the story to my online friend and he had the same reaction (as well as the divorce story of using B's check for the filing).
Yes. I know. Stop with the chats with the married guy. I know. But hold on.
Online friend is a very talented writer, which is how I first noticed him. He has a very respectable, well-paying day job at which he is quite good, but he is a frustrated writer. He writes short stories for his kid (amazing, I might add, and I intend to sign him as a client in the very near term) and has tackled a few screenplays, but not finished any of them. He doesn't have much time for them and has a demanding work and personal schedule that precludes any pure attention to such pursuits. This is one of the principal topics of conversation between us, as I have encouraged him to get his own supersecret blog and just start writing (he does not know where this one is). He has also had something of a writer's block for a year or so, frustrated with the tension of wanting to do it full-time, but not being able to put his life on hold while he did it.
Anyway, we got to talking about a potential story to be written, brainstorming about various arcs and whatnot. It led to my purchasing a screenwriting software program (he already has it, but I do not use pirated copies) and we are now something of writing partners! Shut up, it is the next best thing. Channeling what is probably unhealthy or otherwise self-defeating thoughts into something therapeutic and creative.
I have had a blast. I started out writing individual scenes, but that was utterly frustrating. No common thread, no sense where the bus was headed, so to speak. I know nothing about structured creative writing and he does and he started an outline, which was about half a page. Last night, I took it to nearly ten pages. Holy fucking shit, that was fun. Imagining a story from start to finish and putting the marker points in to guide the tale. Unreal. It is very much in raw form now, but it is a productive hobby that probably has multiple benefits. He has seen it like this and is contributing rewrites and offering suggestions. By the way, there is nothing quite as revealing as showing someone your private thoughts. My three readers would probably agree, as this corner of the internets is not for public consumption and is a portal into my thoughts. I am here to tell you that it is slighly more revealing when the work is quasi-fiction.
While the crush remains intact, I do believe that I am taking what could be a bad thing and turning it into something positive and productive. If I get up the nerve, and when it is better, I will probably post a link to it and get your feedback. I haven't done this kind of writing since college and can't believe how much I enjoy it. It is better than any therapy I can think of, it challenges me creatively and intellectually, and, perhaps most importantly, it has given me something better to do than feel sorry for myself or angry.
I less than three you, 2007 and you're only three days old.
Yes. I know. Stop with the chats with the married guy. I know. But hold on.
Online friend is a very talented writer, which is how I first noticed him. He has a very respectable, well-paying day job at which he is quite good, but he is a frustrated writer. He writes short stories for his kid (amazing, I might add, and I intend to sign him as a client in the very near term) and has tackled a few screenplays, but not finished any of them. He doesn't have much time for them and has a demanding work and personal schedule that precludes any pure attention to such pursuits. This is one of the principal topics of conversation between us, as I have encouraged him to get his own supersecret blog and just start writing (he does not know where this one is). He has also had something of a writer's block for a year or so, frustrated with the tension of wanting to do it full-time, but not being able to put his life on hold while he did it.
Anyway, we got to talking about a potential story to be written, brainstorming about various arcs and whatnot. It led to my purchasing a screenwriting software program (he already has it, but I do not use pirated copies) and we are now something of writing partners! Shut up, it is the next best thing. Channeling what is probably unhealthy or otherwise self-defeating thoughts into something therapeutic and creative.
I have had a blast. I started out writing individual scenes, but that was utterly frustrating. No common thread, no sense where the bus was headed, so to speak. I know nothing about structured creative writing and he does and he started an outline, which was about half a page. Last night, I took it to nearly ten pages. Holy fucking shit, that was fun. Imagining a story from start to finish and putting the marker points in to guide the tale. Unreal. It is very much in raw form now, but it is a productive hobby that probably has multiple benefits. He has seen it like this and is contributing rewrites and offering suggestions. By the way, there is nothing quite as revealing as showing someone your private thoughts. My three readers would probably agree, as this corner of the internets is not for public consumption and is a portal into my thoughts. I am here to tell you that it is slighly more revealing when the work is quasi-fiction.
While the crush remains intact, I do believe that I am taking what could be a bad thing and turning it into something positive and productive. If I get up the nerve, and when it is better, I will probably post a link to it and get your feedback. I haven't done this kind of writing since college and can't believe how much I enjoy it. It is better than any therapy I can think of, it challenges me creatively and intellectually, and, perhaps most importantly, it has given me something better to do than feel sorry for myself or angry.
I less than three you, 2007 and you're only three days old.
Monday, January 01, 2007
Hello, Lover
I've been waiting for you, 2007. The anticipation and the longing, I know it was worth it.
I don't have unrealistic expectations for you. In fact, I expect very little from you. I hope you are downright boring and stable and safe. You are my transitional year - my rebound fling. I know the best is yet to come and 2008 may well be my soul mate. Nevertheless, I am glad you are here and I promise I will give you my undivided attention.
I will not reminisce or look back on the year whose name we will not speak. I can't very well move forward if I am always looking back over my shoulder. Truth be told, there isn't much to look at back there anyway. Everything worth seeing and discovering is on the road ahead.
So here's to 2007. I look forward to our time together.
I don't have unrealistic expectations for you. In fact, I expect very little from you. I hope you are downright boring and stable and safe. You are my transitional year - my rebound fling. I know the best is yet to come and 2008 may well be my soul mate. Nevertheless, I am glad you are here and I promise I will give you my undivided attention.
I will not reminisce or look back on the year whose name we will not speak. I can't very well move forward if I am always looking back over my shoulder. Truth be told, there isn't much to look at back there anyway. Everything worth seeing and discovering is on the road ahead.
So here's to 2007. I look forward to our time together.
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