Traversing in Traverse

Weekend Update: with Chickadee

2006-06-05T18:35:00.000-04:00

I'm beginning to feel like a rat on a wheel at work, which is not good, because I'm getting restless. Today, after being excluded from a meeting about a project that I'd ultimately be doing the design work for, I've decided to actively start looking for other employment. The prospect scares me beacause right now, I have a coveted and well-respected position at a place that is nearly impossible to land full-time employment at, but I'm so frustrated with the pace at which things move there. It's a lot of talking and not much doing. In my opinion, everyone is so afraid of making waves that no one is willing to take risks. What we really need is full-on honest communication. I know that's an old gripe, but come on! My office is full of creative, intelligent, energetic people. Why can't we harness all that to create something great, instead of something just good? I'm realizing that I need to be at a place that's either willing to take risks, or affords me the responsibility I need to remain stimulated. Oh well, I'll keep you all updated. For now, I just need to concentrate on getting my portfolio and resume together.

In lighter news, I had a nerdy internet radio moment this weekend. While posting my stuff on ebay, I was listening to my favorite internet radio talk show, Radio Tiki. It occured to me that I wrote a letter to them recently inquiring about a song I'd heard on a past show, and that perhaps they would read my letter on-air. They did! I was geeked (pun slightly intended), and called the redhead in to listen along. I'm tempted to send them a picture of the redhead and I, but maybe that's just a bit too much? I don't know, I may be a write-in-and-listen-to-see-if-they'll-read-my-mail addict. I'm currently composing my next letter in my head. ;)

Other than that, not much is new. I had a really great weekend with the redhead. We stayed home and did house things. On Saturday night, we went out to dinner at a place called Scott's Harbor Grill(e?) (Alyson, I thought of you and smoking in the parking lot while waiting for you to finish your shifts). We were both in the mood for fish and sitting in the evening sun, so we nabbed a table on the patio and had a relaxed meal overlooking Grand Traverse Bay. In the summer Traverse City becomes a tourist town of the most touristy variety (sweaters tied around shoulders, women wearing visors AND sunglasses, expensive perfume and imported beer, etc.) and most of the time, we try to go places where we know tourists won't be, but in all honesty, it was nice to be out at a place that really does make you feel lucky to reside in such a beautiful and abundant place. We had a great view, great food and beer, and great conversation. For an hour-and-a-half, I kind of felt like we were tourists, too.

The rest of the weekend left me totally and utterly in more love with the redhead than I thought possible. Over the course of our relationship, we've had some serious ups and downs, but we always emerge from the downs stronger and more victorious as a couple than I could ever wish for. I know, it all sounds so sappy, but it's the goddamn truth! That man makes me crazy! What can I do? He's due home in fifteen minutes, and I'm so excited to see him. I keep waiting to get disinterested, or to realize that we just can't go any further together, but it keeps not happening. This relationship has surprised me and delighted beyond my own comprehension. It's the real thing, ugly and beautiful and everything in between. Giddy girl aside: He's got a beard now, which is, I think, the sexiest thing ever. Okay, I'm done gushing.

So that's that. Work, eats and luhv. On the whole, it's been a good few days. Until my next post...

Lights, Camera....ACTION

2006-06-02T19:17:00.000-04:00

I had a strange experience today. I was standing in the lobby of our downtown post office, which is very industrial/art deco, holding a package of divorce papers, a mix CD, and insurance crap I had to send my husband for this leg of the proceedings. So there I was, staring at his Chicago address and my return address (my name hyphenated with his last name), knowing that my official signature was on three copies of papers that would tell some judge in Cook County, Illinois that yes, indeed, my husband and I do not want to be married anymore.

I was about to slip the envelope into the "out of town" box, but I stopped myself. What was I thinking? That maybe it could work out? That if I called him tonight, packed a suitcase and showed up at his doorstep (via a car ride, train ride and cab ride) that everything would be just fine? I had visions of he and I in a tearful hug, tearing up the papers and laughing out of pure joy and emotional hysteria. I guess a part of me just wants that to be something possible. Really, I think, I just want him to be happy and for everything to be easy for him. And I miss him. In that instant, the reality of divorce, my situation here in Traverse City, and the turns my life will inevitably take came rushing at me like a tidal wave, and it stopped me from doing what I had walked to the post office to do. I felt like the sympathetic character in some dramedy. Aw, poor Chickadee, will she ever figure things out? Stay tuned!

Last night, I had a dream about my husband. In real life, he's a tall and skinny man, prone to nervous laughter and willing to do whatever someone else wants to make them happy. But in my dream, he was rugged and robust, clutching a child at his side and handling him with the strong sort of love that good fathers give. He and I spoke warmly to one another (we were in the laundry room of my parents' house and I was surprised to see him). Then the redhead stepped in who, in real life is robust and handles me with the sort of strong love that good boyfriends/husbands give. But of course, in my dream, he was two-thirds his normal size, whining for me to pay attention to him.

I can pinpoint all the things about my dream that made it happen the way it did. I always wished my husband was the kind of man I could see fathering our children. I wanted him to be stronger and more independent. We were in my parents' laundry room because the redhead and I recently took a trip to my parents' house. He kissed me in the laundry room, just like my husband used to, and instead of enjoying the moment like I wanted to, my thoughts drifted to my husband. That happens a lot. When you spend six very intense years of your life with someone, it's just impossible to avoid thoughts of them at any random moment. I know that being in the kind of relationship that warrants a trip to the parents isn't helping me. There are just too many patterns a committed relationship follows. But like I've said before, what am I gonna do? Like stomach aches or bouts of sadness, I've learned to ride these memories out, to take them and recognize them as important and happy things, but to also know that I'm building a new life now. I want those memories to make me a better person, but right now, I'm just trying to get through them all. Things will always remind me of my husband, that I know. But somehow, when I have a memory I haven't yet visited, it's a little harder. A lot harder actually. Have I mentioned that I miss him?

Ugh, this post has turned into the kind of lament I didn't want it to turn into. It's probably best I sign off. I have an open weekend ahead of me and I'm looking forward to a trip to the farmer's market and lunch downtown tomorrow. Until my next post...

L-O-V-E and other new dewelopments

2005-08-04T03:39:00.000-04:00

Okay, so it's been a while. I'd be surprised that is anyone reading this is a frequent visitor (I've seen my bravenet stats, people), but I have to give my apology, nonetheless. So I'm sorry. Here I am.

Things have happened since my last post. A lot of things. Some good, some bad, and all too convoluted to write about in detail. It's been a year, for God's sake.

I'm still with the redhead. I love him. He's warm and funny and smart and oh-so-sexy. We've grown leaps and bounds together over the past year, and he's moved into my place. In fact, he just got home from work. Yep, we've settled into something quite like a committed relationship, which I'm both enjoying and (as my freaky-ass dreams have been telling me lately) am scared shitless of. But what do you do with all of it? Do you pretend like it's all good and fine because you're recovering from a divorce or do you push yourself away from something that could be lifelong and beautiful when you've finally recovered from grieving for your ex-husband? Of course, I've been as honest with the redhead as I can be without making him want to break something, but sometimes, I miss my husband so bad it makes my stomach hurt. That I don't tell anyone, except you blog readers, and what kind of sense does that make? Ugh. I can't stop thinking about it, but I've had enough already. I've said it before and I'll say it again—when does all of this get easier?

My husband and I are in the final stages of our divorce, which has gone appallingly worse than I thought it would. At one point, we got pretty nasty with one another, which is something we never did over the course of entire relationship, even when he was moving out of our house and to a different state. It's hard to be apart from someone that you've shared every little thing with—love and hate and everything in between—and we truly care about one another, which has kind of made everything harder in a lot of ways. We want to reach out to each other, but we can't. I can't because I know it gives him this weird sort of hope that things will work out. He can't because he knows it won't work out. Somewhere in the middle of all of that we make assumptions about what the other needs, and we break down as a team. I guess that's our natural cycle, but it's been really really hard. The whole process is like grieving, but he's not dead. I can see him, but I really can't because, at this point, I don't think it's good for either of us. So that's where things are. I have a pending court date in Cook County, Illinois to make all of this final. I will visit him. We'll have a good time. And then I will spend the entire train ride home trying to hide my tears from the other passengers. Ah well. This is my life. Mine and mine alone. Lately though, it's been a bit more achingly beautiful than I'd like. Onto the pure beauty, please.

I ran my course as the design advisor for the college newspaper, which was, at best, a learning experience and at worst, a nightmare. I did make a kindred-spirit sort of friend out of the deal, which has been nice. He's the editorial advisor (I'll call him Press) and as I came to find out, a great friend but (dare I say it?) a shitty coworker. He's the kind of guy that tells you what you want to hear with conviction, then doesn't follow through, which makes for hard times in the newsroom. Especially when you want to yell at him within inches of his face but you have a certain professional and personal decorum to uphold in front of your students. I have signed a contract to stay on for another year and in all honesty, I think I can do it, but I'm not sure if I want to. I've given Press two months into the semester to get his shit together. If that doesn't happen, I'm out, despite all the doe-eyed pleading and showering of compliments he may employ. Our deadlines became brutal as a result of his lax supervising, and I'll be damned if I spend another four consecutive days in the design lab until three in the a.m., only to get up for my REAL and somewhat better-paying job at the mag. He's a charming man, but at this point in our friendship, I can resist falling victim to his empty promises. Quite simply, I know him better than that. We'll see how it goes. That's all I'm sayin'.

My job at the mag has progressed, though slowly, which I'm finally finding out is all I can hope for there. They've hired someone to relieve me of some of my production duties so I can focus more on design, but it doesn't mean much. I'm considering taking all that I've learned and high-tailing it out of there. Unfortunately, though, this area doesn't afford much in that regard. What I really want to do is just open my damned shop. But for now, all my financial resources are all focused on buying a freakin' house, already. It would be nice to apply for a small business loan with a little collateral, and I think the bank would laugh in my face if I pointed to my rusted out '92 Toyota Corolla in the parking lot and said, "There's my collateral. $30,000 please."

Yeah, so that's the skinny. Realtionships, work, money, blah blah blah. Other than that, I've been hangin' with the same old crew, doin' the same old things, rearing the cats into the world-conquering tigers I know they'll be someday. And with that, I'll sign off. I have a cold beer and a hot man waiting for me. It's good to be back. Until my next post...

This time tomorrow night

2005-07-23T00:23:00.000-04:00

Less than 24 hours before the redhead's return, and I'm antsy antsy antsy.

I had a particularly crazy day at work, which was good, because it kept me busy and not thinking about him. I feel sort of hurried to see him, but I think it's due, in part, to the fact that I have so much going on after he gets here.

I am volunteering for the first annual Traverse City Film Festival, founded in part by Michael Moore. It's shaping up to be an absolutely amazing event, with the premiere of at least 7 independent films right here in my little town. Honestly, there's not one of the over 30 films on the bill that I wouldn't love to see. But alas, I'm stuck doing clean up at the open space (a grassy park on the shore of the Grand Traverse Bay), where they'll be showing free family films. I'm not complaining, but I was hoping to at least get to usher at one of the amazing historic venues they're opening up for the festival. Ushering (which I was originally slated to do) included seeing the film I would be ushering for. But, in my enthusiasm, I told the volunteer coordinators that I could work late nights, and I got clean-up duty. Oh well, I also bought tickets to two films I'm really excited about. An exciting sidenote: There will be celebrities in this town. Jeremy Piven will be in Traverse City. What the? I love Jeremy Piven! I will not stalk him, but I will hope to run into him at 7-11. Maybe we can chat it up over slurpees? Maybe I'll be wearing my Film Festival crew T-shirt! I'm kidding. But I am excited about the T-shirt.

Anyway, I have a mandatory safety and security meeting at the open space at 9 a.m. on Sunday. I was considering just saying "screw it" and lying around with the redhead all morning, but damnit if I don't want to be a part of the festival! Who knows how long the redhead will be around? If the festival gets off the ground, I'm planning on volunteering every year, and I should just be serious about that commitment from the get-go.

I'm also leaving for Grand Haven Sunday afternoon. I have a rheumatologist appointment in Grand Rapids on Monday morning, and my mom and I are planning on taking the day to lollygag around Saugatuck (a little Lake Michigan coastal town) afterwards. When the redhead left, I thought my neighbors' wedding was this Sunday, but they've since changed the date, and I have to disappoint him by telling him that a) the wedding isn't until next weekend, and b) I'm leaving town for a couple days. Will we ever get to be together again? I'm being dramatic, but after two weeks, come on! I want a little uninterrupted romance, you know what I'm sayin'?

My friends, Amy and Marty, came over this evening and we had a couple beers and went to see "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory." It kicked serious ass, and I loved the fact that we all laughed at the same parts. They like the little things, as do I.

I've also been reading "Wild Swans," which is a wonderful book. So I've been keeping myself occupied in these few short hours before I see the redhead. I only hope I don't get all flustered tomorrow. I have a tendency to do that at times like these. And really, I have no plans tomorrow, save for tying up some loose ebay ends and posting a few more items. I'm going to go mad with anticipation, I suspect. In my idle moments, I've resolved to shave my legs and pluck my eyebrows. I will also pick out the sexiest outfit (within reason) that I can put together out of the mishmash that is my wardrobe. If I'm really desperate, I'll paint my toenails.

And on that note, I'll sign off. This post has taken a turn for the worse.

Until my next post...

Missing them

2005-07-21T19:20:00.000-04:00

I've decided that I am completely comfortable missing those closest to me. Somewhere in the middle of my being separated, I began to divide my life into chunks, the boundaries of which were defined by when I would see the people I missed most. Then, a lot of really good things started happening between those boundaries. Life reconstructed itself in those in-between times, and I think in realizing that, I've become a sort of lifestyle chameleon.

I bring it up because I'm missing two men in different ways. When the redhead left for France, I was sad to see him go, but felt confident in his coming back here to me and what we've started. He's due back here in two days, the majority of which I will probably spend in a haze, wondering just how great it will be when I go to see him the night he gets back, when he opens the door to his place, smiling and full of stories for me. He actually called me a couple days ago, just to let me know he was safe and missed me. He also says he has a ton of presents for me, which is surprising and fun. I'm curious to see what he's bought for me. You learn so much about a person through the presents they give. But I digress. The point is, I'm missing him, but not intensely, which makes me feel really good about where I am emotionally. I had fun while he was gone. I could have fun. There was a time in my life when I would have pined for him. Somehow I've grown out of that.

And then there's Mark, who I'm missing because we're divorcing. I did tell him that I was ready, and I am, but the instant I said it, I felt like someone I love had just died. It's an empty feeling that nags at me. I know what I'm feeling is due to the fact that, in a way, the entity that was Mark and I as a married couple will never be with us again. As I've said before, I rely on Mark for so many things. He knows me better than anyone, and to know that we're not going to be legally bound is a scary thought. Even though we've agreed to see each other regularly after we actually do divorce, I get scared that I'll lose him completely. Though I'm ready to be on my own again, the thought of him not being a part of my life throws me into a panic. I can go weeks at a time without talking to him, but it's the knowing that he's there, that we can pick up where we left off, that we love each other and will always love each other, that I'm afraid I'll lose. Ah well, there's no sense in worrying about it until it becomes a problem, right?

I don't know if I have a point, really. Basically, I'm a big mess of "What happens next?" right now. Only time will tell, I suppose. And really, that's okay with me.

Until my next post...

Love and Marriage

2005-07-14T00:20:00.000-04:00

So this weekend is the weekend I tell my husband I want a divorce. I'm trying to pretend it's not happening, which may or may not be a good thing. There's a part of me that wants to prepare a speech with notecards and possibly some sort of visual aid, sit him down, and deliver my prospectus. There's another part of me that wants to get piss-wasted and blurt it out nanoseconds before I pass out. Both options have their pros and cons, but I'll probably just take him out to dinner and after, give him the news. As I've said before, this is perhaps the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It doesn't help that I love him a lot and want him to be happy, with or without me. But it's gone, and there's no getting it back. What am I gonna do?

On the flip side, I'm happier with the redhead than I remember being with any man. So happy, in fact, that I actually wrote my first name hyphenated with his last name in my journal. Silly, I know, but it's a compulsion. He's actually in France for his sister's wedding until next weekend, and I haven't told him about my plans to start the divorce process with Mark. I hate the timing of it all, because it seems like I'm leaving Mark for the redhead, but the truth is, I'm leaving Mark because through my relationship with the redhead, I'm realizing how devoid of some very important things my relationship with Mark is. I'm also realizing that I do have the capacity to love someone else, and in my opinion, no marriage should have that sort of wiggle room. I know that you don't always have to be absolutely smitten with your spouse, but you should be pretty damned sure they're the one, even when they leave the toilet seat up and you fall in in the middle of the night. If things don't work out with the redhead, I'm confident that I won't regret my decision to split with Mark. I'm ready to let him go, and am willing to face all the consequences that come with it. It's time.

I think that's all I have this evening. The divorce thing is too big. It fills my head and wears me out. Until my next post...

What's happening?

2005-07-07T17:55:00.000-04:00

Things are good here in the great north for a number of reasons. Most notably, I'm in intense like with the redhead. He's good. Really really good.

Where to begin? Let's see, well, as I mentioned before, we were planning on spending all of Friday together. I drove to a nearby town to renew my driver's license and avoid the festival traffic, then went over to his place. We went downtown to grab lunch, and he talked about his frustration with card games. I suggested he learn Rummy, and he agreed to let me teach him. The rest of the afternoon/evening was a seemingly endless string of one Rummy game after the other, all of which I beat him at. Nevertheless, it was really fun. He didn't mind me trash-talking, which I noted, and loved.

That night, I told him about Mark, and he really did understand. He kissed me better than ever, and it made me feel like things were really okay. On Saturday, I left his apartment in the morning, feeling so good about him I could barely stand it. I decided to celebrate my new giddiness with a little Godwill shopping. I spent that evening at my friends' parents house on Rennie Lake, tooling around on the pontoon and listening to Johnny Cash again.

On Sunday, I met my friends with the twins downtown for lunch and beer, and we spent a couple of hours wandering amongst the throngs of festival-goers. I don't know if it was the beer, the big lunch, the sun, or the crowds, but I suddenly felt really tired and kind of sick, so I split a little early, inching my bike through the mass of people. After my ride home, I felt so yucky that I passed out on the sofa until the evening.

I stepped out to deposit my paycheck and get my daily Slurpee, and returned to a note from my neighbors posted on the door. They were drinking, it said, and I should come right over. I did, and we spent the evening watching Scrubs on DVD and smoking on their back deck. It was a nice night, cool and kind of breezy, and everyone was in a good mood. I haven't hung out with them like that in a while, and I felt reconnected. I also finally finished their wedding invitations and got them ready for the printer. All in all, it was an evening of good things.

The redhead had Monday off, and we had planned to spend the day together again. He worked really late on Sunday night (he got off at 2:30 a.m.), and I was hanging out with my neighbors until then. So, in a somewhat weak moment, I called him and asked him if he'd be down with getting together earlier than we'd initially planned. He was all about it, so he came over. Normally, I wouldn't call a man at 2:30 in the morning when I'd be seeing him later in the day. It's the kind of impulse that I have frequently, but I know that it can potentially make me appear much more interested in someone than I actually am, and in turn, freak the dude out. My point here is: The redhead was not freaked out. In fact, he was excited, and we stayed up until six kissing and talking.

On Monday, we slept in and went out to lunch. He suggested we swing over to the mall to visit an old friend of his, which we did, and as we were leaving, he put his arm around me and said, "Matt said that out of all the girls I've dated, you were one of his favorites." I wanted to say, "Not THE favorite?" just to be a smart ass, but didn't, and just loved that he 1) told me and 2) took me to the mall to see Matt. I get the feeling he likes to parade me around in front of his friends and family. And to be honest, I don't mind a bit.

We came back to my apartment and lazed around a bit. I felt a little queasy from the tamales I stuffed myself with at lunch, so we curled up on the sofa and he rubbed my back. It reminded me of Mark, which kind of freaked me out a bit, but I'll get to all that later. After my stomach settled, we ran to the store to get beer with the intention of drinking it while playing more Rummy. We did, and again, I kicked his ass, even after the beer. But again, he was cute about it.

At some point during our card-playing, we broached the subject of sex, and he admitted that he wasn't sure what pace I wanted to move at. He knew me before I was married, and he knew I was waiting until I got married to have sex. I told him I hadn't waited, though Mark was my first. I also told him he could be free to have his way with me, which cracked him up. I was semi-serious, but found myself surprised to say it. Like I've said before, the idea of sex with him is unbelievably exciting, but I want it to be the right time. But I have to say, after spending whole days with him on end, I feel safe about it.

From there, we launched into this whole talk about everything having to do with our relationship; My marriage, how he does and will fit in should we continue to see one another, etc. He pretty much told me that he'd hang in whatever I decide, and I warned him that should I get a divorce, he'd have to deal with the fact that Mark will still be in my life, no matter what. At that, he seemed pensive, but didn't say I was crazy. I think he just has to let it stew.

From that point on, he said a myriad of lovely things that I think about at various times during the days I don't see him. He told me that he's always thought about me, through all of his relationships, and wondered why we ever broke up in the first place. At one point he said, "You're it. I don't think I could ever want anything more from a partner." He then launched into all the reasons why he likes me, which I won't bore you with. My favorite, however, was when he told me I was "wicked smart" in a Boston accent. He also likes to tell me I'm "frickin' hot," which I also love.

So after all of the mushy-mush, we kissed a bit and he said, "You wanna go lay down?" I said, "Uh, yeah." and we did. The next minutes were a mess of us making out like crazed animals and tearing each others' clothes off. At one point he looked at me and said, "We're naked together," and we cracked up. The whole thing was just insane. There he was, this guy who I've known forever, sexy and funny and really, my friend above all else, making me feel insanely good and good about us, and I just couldn't take it. We started to actually do it, and it felt amazing, but we didn't have a condom, so we stopped. And then, looking at each other and just loving that we were there together, we decided to wait. I think it was just too much for the both of us. My god, that man is sexy AND a good friend. What the?

So yeah, I'm in a haze. I just really like him. And the prospect of loving him doesn't scare me either. He brought me flowers yesterday at work, with a card that said "You are mahvelous." How can I not be enamored? I'm just hoping we can keep this crazy-about-each-other-thing up, because it rocks.

My lillies:

And that brings me back to Mark. He's possibly coming up to visit in two weeks, and I'm going to tell him I want a divorce. I have to. I can't have a man on the side. Especially not one like the redhead. It's not fair to either of them. I'm really scared about how Mark will handle everything. I hate hurting him more than anything. I wish he could be the one making the final decision, but I know that he'll keep waiting for me, and I can't put him through it while I live it up with someone else I really like. It's just wrong. Ugh, the thought of all of it makes my stomach hurt.

So that's that, I guess. I'll have more news as time wears on. Until my next post...

Pints aplenty

2005-06-29T23:29:00.000-04:00

So I'm back from pint night, with a few things to report. Most notably, I have had three beers with only a hint of dinner (a slurpee) so forgive my ramblings, if that's what this amounts to.

I talked the redhead situation over with my close girlfriends (Allison, Amy, and Psaira) and they all agreed that I should tell him about Mark and my trepidation with the trepidatious (is that a word?) kissing. Of course, I agree with them, because that's what I feel needs to happen, but the prospect of bringing all that up is still a little scary.

In other man news, I got a call from my male coworker. The message went as follows:

"(My name), this is your neighbor. You should stop undressing in front of you bathroom window. (laughing) This is (his name). Can you tell I need a drink? You're probably already out with your posse, but one of these hot summer nights, we should get together and throw a few down. Talk to you later."

What the? I actually considered calling him tonight, because it's been a while since we've hung out outside of work, I should've, I guess, but I didn't want to deal with all the self-depreciating crap. But now that he's actually called me, and sort of asked me to go out (not on a date, mind you), I'm actually considering calling him to go out tomorrow night. Should I? I have no idea. As it stands, the night will be me and my friend, Amy, drinking at this kick-ass brewery outside of town and listening to kick-ass Michigan music. It's totally something I know he would be into, but I don't want to step on anybody's toes, so I think I'll clear it with Amsta before I actually extend the invite.

Okay, I'm now officially embarrassed about this post's lack of content. Hopefully, I'll have more to report later.

Until my next post...

I feel the small town closing in

2005-06-29T20:06:00.000-04:00

Cherry Festival starts in a couple of days, and as a result, this town is gettin' busy y'all. I live right downtown, so I'm experiencing a little congestion on my bike ride to and from work. Nothing major...yet, though I'll have to start taking my bike up the elevator come Monday to get it off the street. It's a drag, and really, the whole Cherry Festival has become sort of a drag. It used to be this wonderful gathering of all the small businesses and families in town, but it went and got all corporate on us, and now it's just sad. You can't look anywhere without being assaulted with some sort of Pepsi banner, promo stuff, T-shirts, etc. Whateva. It's just one week, right?

It was my ex in the car yesterday! He called me around lunch today, and though he's leaving tomorrow to go back to school, he had a few free hours for lunch, and he took me out. It was really nice to see him again. When we dated, he was this shy, awkward, funny guy, but he's really come into his own. Even his mannerisms are more confident. He's now a seasoned world traveler, fluent in German, and will be teaching at a university this fall, then completing his dissertation at Princeton. I wished we would have had more time to chat, because by the end of lunch, after we'd caught up on all the latest townie gossip, we were just falling back into a comfortable repoire. But I hugged him goodbye, and that was it. Who knows when he'll be back? Ah well, I kind of like it that we can still have a good lunch after running into one another unexpectedly. He's a dependable friend, and I hope we always keep in touch.

After obsessing about the redhead all day today, I called him and acted casual. And now it's like nothing ever happened. I'm taking the day off on Friday and am planning on spending the day with him, so maybe we'll talk about the kissing, maybe not. Knowing me, I probably won't be able to stand it, and we will, but who knows? I'm just excited to see him again. Have I mentioned I like him? A lot? Yeah, well I do.

Speaking of which, my neighbors called me and invited me out to a mutual friend's birthday barbeque. I went, and a mutual friend of the redhead and me was there, because she's seeing the birthday boy. She asked me about him, and I said he was "sorta my boyfriend, I guess." She then asked me what my intentions were with him, because he's a good guy, etc. I told her that I like him alot, and we're seeing how things go. Then she said, "I just don't want you to stop calling him or anything." I was a little bit hurt, but I said, "I only stop calling men that are mean and selfish." She then gave me the doubting "Okay, because he really is a good guy." And I just wanted to scream, "I know! I've known that since I was sixteen! Back off!" But, of course, I just said, "I know. I have no intention of hurting him. I can't." But I feel yucky about it all, like I'm some sort of dangerous woman with a sordid past.

Granted, I just started hanging out with her after I separated, and really, the only me she knows is the one who stops calling men routinely. But, please, I'm not an insensitive person! All that debauchery was new and scary to me, so I freaked out. But with the redhead, things will be different, whether we end up together for a while or not. I can honestly say I'm done running like that. Now, if I can just convince her. But I sort of feel like I have this watchful eye one me. If the redhead and I get into some sort of spat, will I be hearing about from her later? How much does she know about what's already happened? The whole thing just makes me feel icky, for lack of a better term.

I hate to leave this post on that note, but I must. It's pint night again, I'm riding my bike, and I've yet to pick out an outfit.

Until my next post...

Boobs, hockey, typography, the ivy league and quarters

2005-06-28T21:29:00.000-04:00

Today was a quiet one. I spent the majority of it in the comfort of my headphones, processing pages for the printer and designing promos, only emerging when a coworker tapped me on the shoulder or I needed a snack. It was somewhat frustrating, because it seemed that everyone wanted everything right away, but I got it all taken care of, so I felt like I had accomplished quite a bit by the end of the day.

At lunch, I walked down to my favorite lunch place to get a salad and ran into one of my old coworkers from the newspaper, where I used to write obituaries. He's a big guy, kind of quiet, and I always thought he was kind of sweet. But I was wearing a lower-cut top today, and I'll be damned if that man wasn't staring at my breasts the whole time we were talking! Nice, real nice. Nothing like being made to feel like an object on your lunch break.

After work, I met with the editor of the newspaper I'll be advising at this fall to discuss some design strategies and look over papers that he likes. I get the feeling that the design program at the college isn't teaching the students what they need to know in terms of typography, which is kind of disappointing but challenging for me. I think I'll actually have some knowledge and advice to extend to the staff of the paper, and the editor seems really excited about the prospect of me being around. It's shaping up to be an interesting job, methinks.

I came home to a sauna-like apartment, with only my little fan to cool me, read The Onion, and passed out on the sofa. At some point during my nap, the redhead called, and though I heard the entire message, didn't get up to answer the phone. He plays hockey on Tuesdays, and I get the feeling he'd like to see me when he gets home, but I don't know how I feel about it. I have a tendency to make resolutions in terms of my actions like, "I won't touch him until he touches me" or "I won't say anything about the conversation we had yesterday," and then I go back on them when I'm actually faced with the challenge. Like I've said before, I'm a complete wimp when it comes to men. So lately, when I know I'll be faced with some sort of emotionally challenging situation, I've been running away. Only I don't want to do that with him, because he really is great in a whole lot of ways. But in the same regard, I know there's a possibility that I'll totally freak him out because I feel the need to talk about what I'm thinking all the time. Ugh. Anyway, I called him back when I knew he'd be at the ice rink, and he should be getting home soon. We'll see what happens I suppose.

After my nap, I ran a couple errands. I was pulling into the video store and I swear I saw another ex-boyfriend pulling out. He goes to Princeton, but he may be home for the summer. So I emailed him just to confirm that it was, in fact, him. We've kept in loose touch over the years, but we always have a good time when we do reconnect, so I'm hoping he'll ring me up and we can grab a drink or two. If so, I think I may be able to officially deem this the "Summer of My Exes."

So yeah, I got done running errands, emailed the ex, and then got a knock on my door from my neighbor downstairs, looking for quarters for the dryer. I gave him a couple, and we chit-chatted a bit in my hot hot kitchen. He's a good guy, really nice. I invited him out to see a band I like on Thursday. They haven't played in town recently, and some friends and I talked about going. He's been complaining about his lack of a social life, and though I've considered asking him to join us for pints on Wednesday, I don't think it would really be his scene. The show, however, would be a little more laid back, so maybe I can rope him into it. Again, we'll see.

So that's that. A series of little encounters and one steamy apartment.

Until my next post...

The yellow-bellied redhead

2005-06-27T14:41:00.000-04:00

Things happened this week with the redhead. Initially, I wasn't planning on seeing him until the following weekend, but last Sunday, he called me and asked if I'd like to go for a walk on the beach, which we did. We then walked downtown to get drinks and went back to his place, where we proceeded to spend a frustrating three hours in two separate recliners watching Adult Swim, smoking, and making eyes at each other over the coffee table. He's a shy man to say the least, and as much as we both knew what would probably happen before the evening was through, neither of us could bring ourselves to just scoot over to the other recliner for a little smoochie poo. Plus, it all just seemed so crazy, since I'd already clocked several hours in those recliners when we were just friends.

So I finally asked him to come snuggle in my chair and we kissed. Thus began our descent into madness as a brand spankin' new couple. At one point during the evening, he asked me if we would be dating exclusively, and I got funny. The thought of dating a man like him exclusively is an attractive one. He's adorable, sweet, witty, compassionate, and he likes me for all the right reasons. He's been a great friend to me, both in the past and just recently, and I trust him. So yeah, I can see things going really well with him. So well, in fact, that I think we could date exclusively for a very long time. On the other hand, he has suddenly become the other man, more so than past men I've seen since my separation, and it scares me.

We spent the entire weekend together at my friends' parents' house on Rennie Lake on Saturday, and at my apartment on Sunday. They just a bought a cabin out there last year, and Marty and Amy have an open invitation to stay out there whenever they want, which is practically every weekend in the summer, especially when it's as hot as it's been in recent weeks. So we went out and drank beer on the boat, swam in the lake, had a bonfire, and slept in Marty and Amy's new camper, which they've set up in the cabin's back yard. It was so much fun. Lazy and cool and absolutely gorgeous. Amy rode me around on their jet-ski, which was hilarious, and we saw a family of loons. We listened to Johnny Cash while puttering around the lake on the pantoon as the sun set. Perfect.

On Sunday afternoon, the redhead and I headed back to my place, showered, and walked downtown to get lunch and stroll around the art fair on Union Street. It was nice to be with someone on Sunday, easy and quiet and what I've been missing. It really is just nice to know you're enjoying the company of someone who enjoys yours as well. In the evening, we rented movies, got slurpees and snuggled on the sofa. I love holding him. He's big and I fit in the crook of his arm, and he smells great. After watching both movies, I asked him if he was ready to go, and he said no. So he stayed here, but nothing happened but a little kissing and leg intertwining. And therein lies the first problem I have with the redhead.

Let me just start by saying that I have no intention of sleeping with him until I feel like things are absolutely good and right. In fact, the thought of sleeping with him at this point in our relationship, while exciting to think about, kind of scares me. This is a good thing, I think. In my experience, sex ruins things, but I know that when it's right, it can be really right. And I have a sneaking suspicion that will be the case with the redhead (if we get that far). As I mentioned before, he is extremely shy, and while I enjoy his little kisses, we have not had anything even close to a make-out session, and by god if I'm not frustrated! It's like I'm looking at him, looking at me with complete adoration, and then he kisses me like we're fourteen. No wait, like we're twelve and it's our first kiss ever. And I'm somewhat confused. When he and I dated years ago, I remembered him as a more passionate kisser. Was I dreaming? Or could it be that, while reminiscing, I made him into a passionate kisser? This cannot be the case, because I've kissed a good lot of boys/men in my life, and I've always said he was one of the best. Anyway, something has happened to the man I remember making out with in a tent after a night of skinny dipping. He's gone all timid on me.

He called me at work today to tell me he didn't have to go into work until 8, and asked if I wanted to come over. I get off work at 5 on a typical day, and after going home to change and driving to his place, it's nearly 6 before we're actually facing one another. When he invited me over for less than two hours, I assumed he wanted to snuggle and smooch, which, I think he did want to do, but he is bad at the moves! He can't make 'em, though he constantly alludes to making them, and I'm already tired of initiating things. I've been in several relationships where this has been a problem, including my marriage. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm just a girl with an incredible libido, or if I'm somehow scaring these men into thinking that if, heaven forbid, they do try to kiss me passionately, I'll slap them and never call them again.

In my past good relationships, things moved along at a pretty even pace, but this is mostly due to the fact that I was getting to know the man I was seeing. But with the redhead, we already know each other quite well. More so than most new couples I'd say. He even brought me back to his place yesterday because his parents were stopping by and he wanted us to re-meet. Seriously. And, AND, he said that he's been wanting to ask me out ever since we ran into each other at the bar months ago! To me, that should equal some sort of oh-my-god-I'm-finally-kissing-you passion. The lovey-dovey stuff is somewhat new to us. I'll wholeheartedly admit that the thought of us getting all sloppy kissy together makes my heart race. It seems as though this should be the case with him as well. But, like my husband, it's like he has some sort of mental block that prevents him from just taking me in his arms and kissing me crazy.

So anyway, I go over to his place this afternoon and we hang out and talk. As usual, it was great. We end up kissing a little bit, which again, was nice, but not I-want-you-nice. I then asked him if he was scared of me. To which he replied, "No, not at all. Why do you ask?" I then expressed my complaints about our recent romantic interludes and told him I've had it with puttin' the moves on him. He then asked me if I was serious, and I said: "Yes. I need you to kiss me like you want me." To which he said, "But I do want you." And I said, "But I don't feel it. I feel you being shy. I need you to not be afraid of me, seriously." To which he said, "You're a little intimidating." This is not the first time I have heard this, and when I asked him why, I kind of already knew how he'd answer. His answer was this, "You're so smart. Frighteningly smart." Ah, the smart comment. It's like an aphrodisiac and a mood-killer all at once. On one hand, it's flattering and I know that it's a lot of why he's attracted to me, and I love that. On the other, am I simply on repeat, stuck with an incredibly adorable man that wants me for exactly what I am, but can't believe I'd actually want him?

Okay, granted, I may be making too much of all of it. But in my defense, the familiarity of it all is freaking me out. We talked a little bit more about it and he had to get ready for work, but I could tell he was sort of scared, like I was going to walk out the door and never call him again. And to be honest, at that exact moment, it's exactly what I wanted to do. He kissed my neck and said, "It's been a while. I just think I'm a little rusty." To which I said, "Okay, but I need the good kissin'." I got up to fix my hair in the bathroom mirror, and I could hear him calling from the next room, "But what if I'm just not a good kisser" To which I said, half-joking, because I know he is a good kisser, "I don't know. What will I do?" And he said, "I don't know. What will you do?" I just shrugged and got my purse. He then grabbed me by the waist and gave me a good kiss, really. He looked at me and smiled with his eyebrows raised like, "eh?" And I said, "Much better." So I left, and as I walked down the stairs he said, "See you soon. Stay hot." I rolled my eyes at him, but I loved it. Wimpy kisser or not, he's full of cute lines like that. He may be quiet, but he's a dangerous flirt. I can't help but be a little smitten.

Whew, so there it is, the update. I'm a little embarrassed about how much space I've dedicated to the status of my love-ish life, but give me a break, I'm a little rusty as well. All of this relationship business, though incredibly exciting, is absolutely exhausting. So we'll see how it goes. I may want to run like hell next week. If this wimpiness keeps up, I'm just going to end it, because I really can't do it again. Not after five years of trying to get my husband to just relax and accept the fact that I would actually be happy if he threw me down like a rag doll and ravished me with the passion he claims to have for me. I'm a smart, passionate woman, and I know what I want. If the redhead can't handle it, we can go back to being friends. I'd be just as happy having him in my life without having to worry about whether or not he feels comfortable enough to unhook my bra. Ah, the men in my life. Will they ever learn?

Until my next post...

I'm a sucka for redheads, I guess

2005-06-19T01:27:00.000-04:00

As I've mentioned in previous posts, I've been hanging out with an ex-boyfriend of mine, the redhead, a bit lately. He called me on Thurday eve, but as I mentioned before, I was passed out after my printing trip. So I called him from work Friday afternoon, and although he was having a friend over to his place later in the evening, he asked me if I wanted to grab a cocktail after work. I agreed, and picked him up after going home to change. I hate wearing my work garb any longer than the workday.

We went to the same place I go for pints on Wednesdays and had a great time. During our conversation, which was a good one, he kept sort of flirting with me. I wasn't completely receptive, though I was flattered because, in all honesty, I still find him adorable. At some point, he asked me what I was doing later in the evening. I mentioned I may be calling our new photo intern at the magazine, a young guy whom I find extremely witty and fun to talk to, though I have no interest in him romantically. He seemed a bit put off and I laughed it off. After all, the redhead knows my situation and I figured his interest in me was pretty platonic, save for a little harmless flirting now and again.

But, as I'm driving him home, the conversation goes as follows:

Him: I'd much rather keep hanging out with you than with Tim (his friend).

Me: Really? Yeah, it's too bad you have to go.

Him: And you'll probably be out on some hot date, and I'll be jealous.

Me: Jealous? Why? Because I'm on a hot date, or because I'm on a hot date with someone else?

Him: Both, actually.

Me: I won't be on a hot date.

Him: Would you like to go on a date sometime?

Me: Me and you?

Him: Yeah, well, yeah.

Me: Are you sure?

Him: Yeah.

Me: I won't be the last girl you date. (He had mentioned earlier in the evening that he wants the next girl he dates to be the last. He's ready to settle down.) I am married and everything.

Him: It's okay. I think it would be okay.

Me: Well, okay, yeah. I'll go on a date with you. Where do you want to go?

Him: Where do people go on dates these days?

Me: I'm not sure (laughing). I'm a little embarrassed.

Him: Me too.

I dropped him off at his house and it was a strange. Our dynamic completely changed. He said he'd call me later if Tim went home early, which he did, and again, I stayed up late at his house, though we agreed it wouldn't be our pre-planned date. He walked me out to my car and the following conversation ensued:

Me: Are you sure you want to date me?

Him: Yeah, I think it would be really nice.

Me: I'm kind of a mess. I AM married.

Him: You're not a mess.

Me: Because you can back out now, and we can pretend like nothing ever happened.

Him: I don't want to back out.

Me: Will it be weird? Will we be weird? Because I don't want things to get weird.

Him: It won't be weird.

Me: Okay. Because I'm absolutely interested. I find you completely adorable.

Him: Yeah, you too.

Me: Okay then.

Him: Okay. I'll call you on Friday or Saturday.

And that's that, I guess. I'm going on a date with the redhead. Although I'm excited because I enjoy talking to him and find him completely adorable, I do worry that it will ruin the friendship we've just rekindled. But as my friend, Amy, said today. "You wouldn't even be hanging out with him had you not run into him at the bar. It's not like you guys have been close these past five years or anything. It won't be weird. Just have a good time."

She's right, but I have a hard time because I know things won't end well. I know I won't be able to commit to him, and because he's so sensitive, he'll be heartbroken. But I've been honest with him about all of it, and I want to date him. What more can I do? But, the thing is, in the past, the guys that I've dated briefly and broken up with haven't meant much to me. The redhead does. I know his motives are more than sexual, and the thought of hurting him pains me. But damnit if I don't want to make out with him! Whateva. The date's this weekend, and I have every intention of recording the details in the ol' blog.

Until my next post...

Adventures in Midland

2005-06-17T13:24:00.000-04:00

At 6 a.m. yesterday, I departed for a printing conference in Midland with my production director. I won't bore you with the details of the day, but I will tell you this: printing is a complicated business. I will also tell you that I am in love with any kind of printing machinery. The speeds at which they operate are mind-boggling. At 7 a.m, after a trip to the Midland Salvation Army, three fast food meals and countless snacks, and a canvas tote full of all sorts of printing goodies, I was deposited in front of my apartment, only to stumble up the stairs, change into my pajamas and pass out until 8:15 this morning.

Oop, my lunch breaks is over. More to come later...

What day is it?

2005-06-12T22:39:00.000-04:00

I had a good, full weekend, and really, I think it kicked my ass a little bit. I took one of my best friends out for a birthday dinner on Friday. We had good Italian food and good Michigan beer, and lumbered back to my house for a drink and a smoke.

Earlier in the day, I had been invited (by my male coworker) to a semi-birthday party one of the freelance photographers at the magazine was throwing for himself. As usual, my male coworker sort of treated it as a date, but then sort of retracted his offer, so I said I had other things going on and maybe I'd call him. After dinner, though, my friend, Amy, and I were not ready to part, so I mentioned the party and she said she was interested. We also called the ex-boyfriends I've been hanging out with (one of which she also dated), just to catch up and strengthen our posse. We picked up the dudes and set out for the party (which was four blocks from my house, supposedly) but after circling the block a couple times, saw nothing looking like a party, and decided to head to a bar downtown for drinks.

I did call my coworker upon our return to my place, and I suspect he called me back at 2 a.m. and again at 2:30 (I could hear the phone ring), but by then, we were out in the backyard chattin' it up with the guys and my neighbors. One of my ex-boyfriends (I'll call him the redhead) doesn't have a car, and I was slated to drive him home, but I had a few too many beers and the prospect became impossible. I offered him my sofa, which he accepted, and after everyone left, we stayed up talking until 5 a.m. It was so much fun! First of all, I haven't stayed up that late since visits to my friend, Allison's, apartment in Lansing, when used to stay up talking until the sun came up. Second, the redhead cracks me up. He's incredibly quiet, extremely witty, and he always surprises me. Example: I was wearing a T-shirt from the BATA Shoe Museum with all these Edwardian shoes on it, and he kept calling me "boots and shoes." He also tackled me from the side, picked me up, and walked me down my hallway. No one's carried me that far since I was 7. It killed me. When I drove him home the next morning, we made plans to go swimming that night, and I drove home feeling completely reconnected with an old friend.

Saturday was my mom's fiftieth birthday, and my stepdad had arranged for my extended family to have dinner at Charley's Crab (a seafood restaurant) in Grand Rapids. I went shopping for her gift early in the morning, got ready, and drove to my cousin's house to carpool down with her. We spent the ride chatting and drinking coffee. It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, and it felt good to be a passenger.

Dinner was indescribable, delicious and fun. I had to stop myself from crying when my mom arrived and started hugging all of us. She hates being the center of attention, but the look on her face was different than anything I've ever seen. She looked happy and gratified and appreciated. She glowed all through dinner (which may or may not have been from all the wine we were drinking). The night was perfect for her, which was exactly what we all wanted, and as we all lingered in the parking lot, chatting and laughing, I suddenly felt a pang of sadness knowing we'd all be going to our respective houses in a few minutes.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, my cousin and I agreed that it was a good time. We then proceeded to smoke too many cigarettes and sing/yell along to every song on the radio. My cousin has four kids all under the age of eleven, and when I vist her or even go out with her in town, I forget who she really is. But removed from all of that, from the pressures of being a mom and a wife, she's the girl I camped out with in the backyard again, only older and wiser. It was nice to see that side of her again.

I got back to my place at 1 a.m., and proceeded to call the redhead. He works late and stays up later, and I still wanted to go swimming. So I dug my swimsuit out of the recesses of my dresser, geared up with a towel and headed over to his place. We went to my favorite beach on the bay, kicked off our shoes, and ran towrds the water. It's been extremely hot up here, and a friend told me that she'd been to a Lake Michigan beach the day before and the water was warm. So, I thought maybe the water would be swimmable. It was so not. I stuck my feet in and my legs started to hurt. It was that cold. But the redhead whipped his shirt off and ran in. Just the sight of him, half-naked and running in what I knew was freezing water, made me shriek. He stooped just short of going under because (he later told me) the water was so cold he felt like he couldn't breathe.

Despite the fact that the water was unswimmable, we decided to hang out on the beach. The air was perfect, kind of humid and cool, and we stretched out our towels and dug our hands in the sand. The sky was clear and full of stars, and I could hear a group of ducks complaining in the distance. So nice. After the beach, we were both still awake, so we went back to his house to hang out. We talked more, and both ended up falling asleep watching infomercials in his recliners. I woke up at 5:30 a.m., drove myself home, and proceeded to pass out in my bathing suit.

I woke up late, cleaned my apartment and ran errands, posted stuff on ebay and worked on a freelance job I just got. And that brings me to right now. It's still hot here, and I'm sweating like a pig, wondering what I'll do for the rest of the evening. Because of my recent late nights, my inner-clock seems to be a little off, and the thought of going back to work tomorrow seems funny to me. If only I had three more days to hang out. Ah well. I guess summer is officially here.

Until my next post...

Martinis and good conversation

2005-06-08T01:19:00.000-04:00

The other day, while running errands around town on my bike, I ran into my musician friend (mentioned in previous posts) also riding around town on his bike. He invited me to dinner, but I had just ate and was trying to get all my errands done before dark, so I turned him down. I did, however, tell him that I'd be happy to take a ride around town any time and told him where I lived, and he said he'd stop by sometime. He did tonight, and we set out into the evening on our cruisers.

It was half-off martini night at the Top of the Park, a bar at the top of one of the oldest hotels in town. I'd never been up there, save for a short ride up the elevator in high school, and after seeing it, realized what I was missing. The bar is lined with windows, and from up there, you can see the West side of the city (my favorite side) entirely. It was twilight when we got there, and breathtaking. The bay on one side, Boardman Lake on the other, and my little downtown, sleepy under the streetlamps, looked so old and so perfect.

So we sat down, ordered our drinks, and chatted until the bar closed at midnight. I learned more about him, all of which I liked, and found out that he loves the area for the same reasons I do. He paid, which was a littte strange, because it made me feel like we were on a date, and really, I'm not sure if we were or not. Normally, drinks and an escort home is a date, but I'm not sure with him, and I think I'd like to keep it that way.

I like him and he think he may be interested in me, but he's quite a bit older than me, and to be honest, I think it may be too much of an age difference. But I do feel like we have an amazing connection, and I enjoy our conversations so much. It's funny, I was thinking about skipping pint night tomorrow, but was sad that I wouldn't get the chance to talk to him. But now that he's been over, I feel like I can skip it and not miss anything. I guess in recent weeks I've been going just to see him. Who knew?

For now, I'm happy keeping things the way they are. He gave me his number, and I know I have a friend to ride around with on perfect summer evenings like this one. Pretty nice, I think.

Until my next post...

Age ain't nuthin but a numba (I wish)

2005-06-06T13:12:00.000-04:00

I met a guy yesterday. He's intelligent, sweet, funny, and driven. He likes ballroom dancing, is good with kids, reads a lot, is interested in music and independent films, asks good questions and is a good listener, and he writes. What does he write, you ask? Articles for the college newspaper I'll be working for this fall. And therein lies the problem. He is a young man. Twenty to be exact. That's right. Twenty frickin' years old.

Why do things like this happen? First and foremost, why is there such a shortage of guys like him in this town my own age or older? And second, why was I fated to meet a guy like him when it's impossible for us to forge any sort of relationship that won't be weird?

We met at a barbeque one of the women that works for the paper threw at her house yesterday afternoon. I was nervous about the whole affair, because I had really only met a handful of staff members previously, and I wasn't sure how to act as an advisor amongst my future advisees. I was also afraid that they'd all be a well-established clique that would take a while for me to work myself into. All my fears were for naught, however, because I was warmly received the moment I got there, and everyone turned out to be welcoming, friendly, and interesting. I ended up staying way longer than I thought I would, and as a result, have a T-shirt tan from sitting by the pool and gut rot from beer and barbeque food.

The guy I met and talked to most of the afternoon started asking me questions immediately, and we pretty much stayed within close proximity of one another the whole afternoon. I was under the impression that he knew I was the design advisor and that's why he was so interested in my background and opinions, but he didn't, which I found out just as I was about to leave. Luckily, I won't be advising him because he's studying in Europe next semester, but god damnit, it was the best conversation I've had with a guy in a long time. I can't stop thinking about him, even though I know I should. My god, he took a ferry to Mackinac Island last weekend to ballroom dance at the Grand Hotel! That is my idea of a perfect night. Ugh.

On my way out, he shook my hand and told me it was nice to meet me, and as I walked out to my car and he was pulling away, he waved at me out the window. And that was it. I have a secret hope that he'll track me down and ask me out, but I'm not a fool. What a drag.

So yeah, all in all it was a good afternoon. I met a guy I liked, got to know a lot of the paper staff, got a freelance job designing a brochure, swam in the pool, and ate way too much. I left feeling great about the paper and my role in it. August can't come soon enough. And on that note, I'll sign off.

Until my next post...

I don't like you that way, I swear

2005-05-25T19:23:00.000-04:00

I worked late tonight, just like I have many nights in recent weeks. There's just too much to do and too little time.

Last night, I went out with the first man I ever loved again (let's call him, um, Mitchell, since I've always liked that name). So yeah, Mitchell and I met at my place, drank beer and caught up on the past week's events. He makes me laugh so hard I cry. I forgot how funny he was and is. After a couple beers at my place, we headed to a local bar for some jazz fusion, which turned out to be disappointing. The conversation, however, was not, and we ended up having a really good time. At some point in my beer-haze, I made reference to when we dated, and I think it freaked him out. I get the feeling he thinks I like him all over again, which is so not the case. Knowing this, I still invited him up to my place after our bike back, which, in hindsight, I shouldn't have done. He said he better let me sleep (it was 1 a.m.), which was a good thing, but left me feeling like a predator, even though my motives were nothing but wholesome. I really just wanted to keep talking. But now I'm all freaked out that he thinks I'm trying to rekindle something and things will be weird. Sometimes, I wonder how I let things out of my mouth. I know they're potentially dangerous before I say them, yet I go ahead and say them anyway. I have a compulsion to let my feelings and thoughts out with people I trust. Ah well, that's me I guess. Take it or leave it.

I got a sad phone call from the Tall Guy today, who said he'd still like to hang out, but not at the bar. I'm not really interested, but agreed nonetheless. He sort of gave me an out by telling him to call him sometime. I won't, and though I feel a little bad about it, I can't help it. Besides, he was selfish when we were seeing each other, wasn't a good listener, and he frustrated me. Of course, I've told him all this (and did when we were seeing each other), so I don't feel like I didn't give him a chance. I just can't help thinking that even though they were magnified because of our sleeping together, those are qualities that I have a hard time dealing with in friendships. Why would I want to be friends with someone who can't look outside himself? As honest as I was with him during our thing, I still can't tell him exactly how I feel, because in a friendship situation, those are the kinds of criticisms that hit below the belt. So, as it stands, I'm kind of stuck. Whateva.

Tonight, is again the infamous pint night. I've given myself a three-beer limit, am looking forward to chit-chatting with my musician friend, and am also looking forward to feedback from my neighbors, whose wedding invitations I'm designing. I just gave them the first set of proofs on Monday...hope they have some things to say. That said, after last night's Mitchell business, I should take a quick nappie-poo before getting ready. Oh shit, I also have to see the damned bouncer again. Bleck.

Until my next post...

What the?

2005-05-23T00:12:00.000-04:00

So Wednesday night turned into a crazy one. I spent the majority of the evening trying to avoid conversation with the Tall Guy, who I have to admit, was trying to make friendly conversation and mildly flirting with me. He made no mention of taking me home with him, which I was happy for. But after we were about two hours into our beers, he got up to circulate, then plopped down next to me, proclaiming, "I don't know about the people around here. Is it just me?" To which I said, "This is what they are. This is the area. Love it or leave it." He said he was thinking about leaving, but he won't. I can't tell you how many times I've heard that from men up here. They're leaving. There's nothing up here. Blah blah blah. But the truth is, they'll never leave, because it's so safe here for men like them. They can get a low- to mid-level job, blend into the fold, and live the rest of their lives complaining to each other and threatening to leave. I have no tolerance for it. If you want to do something, do it. And if you don't or can't (for whatever reason), just resign yourself to the fact that you like it here and/or you're too afraid to leave. It's so insulting and pompous to pretend you're better than "the people around here." Ugh.

As usual, I spent a lot of time talking to a musician friend I see every Wednesday. I met him two years ago at a music festival, when he sidled up to our campsite and played his lapsteel guitar for us. He's an older guy, an amazing and sweet person, and he knows a ton about music. He asks good questions, is interesting, and is a great listener. I can tell him about all the little things I see during the week that I normally don't tell anyone, and he shares his little things with me. I look forward to seeing him every week.

Speaking of another man I see every week, I've had a casual crush on the bouncer at the bar, who I found out through friends, is a prison guard and has a child. I find the guard thing sexy, the child thing not. But, I have to say, the details of his life, though interesting to me in a whispery giggly sort of way, have never been consequential or pertinent, because I had no intention of striking anything up with him, despite the eggings on of my friends. Anyhoo, this past Wednesday, I was joined by a friend of mine who is dating a man that knows about my crush and is constantly trying to get me to go talk to him. To which I always reply, "Why? It's not like I want to go out with him." Well, he had a few beers and decided he would take matters into his own hands, told the bouncer I wouldn't mind if he kissed me on my way out, then reported back to me, "You're all set up." I panicked, because I had no idea what he had said to him. For all I knew, the bouncer was operating under the notion that he could take me home with him. I was supremely embarrassed, but not for the reasons one would normally be embarrassed about something like it. I had no problem with the fact that the guy knows I think he's attractive. I didn't, however, want him to think that he had any sort of power over me. Like if he sidled up to me and asked me to come home with him, I would. Because I wouldn't have. Like I said before, I have no interest in pursuing him. But I digress. The bouncer did sidle up to me, whisked me aside, told me my friend said I was "sweet on" him (his words) and kissed me, right on the lips! I was shocked. I think I pushed him away, said thanks, and we chatted a bit. He knew a few things about me I hadn't told him, and even though I was in a similar situation, I pretended I knew nothing about him and asked him what he did when he wasn't working at the bar. He told me, and went into a little detail. At some point in the conversation, he said "Convicts are stupid." To which I politely excused myself from the conversation and joined my friends, who were then patting me on the back with congratulations.

I have a few problems with all of it. One: How many lips have those lips touched, if he's willing to kiss a girl he hardly knows? Two: I'm not sweet on him. I just think he's cute. Three: I hate the idea of him thinking I'll continue to like him after Four: He said convicts are stupid. I have a huge problem with that, not because I want to date him, but just because that is so insensitive and ignorant! Convicts do stupid things. They are not stupid. People operate on what they know, however they've acquired that knowledge. I could go on forever arguing the exact opposite of what he said, but to someone who says things like he did, why would I? It just seems so futile. In my experience, If someone vocalizes a generality like that, they've got their mind made up. And no amount of talky talky from me is going to change that. I left the bar feeling angry and depressed. Contrary to other Wednesdays of my past, I will not spend the evening exchanging smiles with him as I sashay to the bathroom. I may, however, scowl at him. Ah well, another chapter closed, I suppose. Dork.

This weekend, I hung out with my friend (and ex-boyfriend mentioned in previous post), Joel, went to garage sales in my best friends' neighborhood, played with their twins, helped erect a screen tent on their deck, proceeded to drink a lot of beer and listen to her dad's stories under the screen-tent, and went to the college barbeque this afternoon. All in all, it was a full and lazy weekend. In a surprise twist, I'm really looking forward to getting back to work tomorrow. Right now, it seems it's the one thing that can keep me grounded, and I really appreciate it.

That said, it's getting late, and I should be scooting off to bed. Until my next post...

The boys, uh, men I know

2005-05-18T20:21:00.000-04:00

I have about 45 minutes to write, then I have to get ready for pints of the dollar variety.

My husband has moved into his aprtment in Chicago, and from what he writes me, it sounds like he likes it. I'm missing him pretty badly, which confuses me. We've agreed that we're not on any sort of timeline, and if we do reunite or divorce, we both absolutely MUST be completely ready, but I know what a good man he is, and suddenly, I feel thrown back to before the separation, where I was kicking myself for pushing such a good man away, but not really knowing if he was good enough. I know we're doing the right thing for us right now. I know we can't be together every day. But I would like to see him every now and again, and that's hard when we're both struggling to make ends meet and we live hundreds of miles apart. Ugh.

My male coworker mentioned he may be joining me for pints this evening, but I feel blase about the whole affair. He has issues, seriously. The kind of issues that make a grown man act like a 14-year-old boy. Not attractive. But he is funny when he loosens up, he tells great stories, and he's very talented, so I think I can put up with a pint or two.

The tall guy will also be at the bar tonight, which I'm really not looking forward to. He is completely self-absorbed, doesn't listen to a word I say, and keeps coming on to me, after I've repeatedly turned him down. It's like he thinks he can wear me down, which is so not the case. If he says one thing about us sleeping together tonight, I'm leaving. That, or I'll give him a piece of my mind. He wants us to be friends, but I'm not sure it's gonna work. Right now, my tolerance is wearing very thin, and I'm just not into the casual sex thing. Can't do it anymore. That ship has sailed.

Last week, while riding my bike downtown, I saw my the very first man I ever loved, so I emailed him and asked him if he wanted to get drinks. We went out Monday night and had a great time. So many things came flooding back to me - the things I loved about him, the things I hated about him, how much fun we have. We walked to and from the bar in the damp, and it reminded me of when we used to ride our bikes down the empty streets at night, lit by the streetlamps, with the warm air flowing over and between us. He used to try and hold my hand while we were riding, which scared the hell out of me and made me laugh. He was good for me then. So, I'm hoping we can keep this hanging out up, because he really is amazing company, especially now that we're both older and perhaps, a little wiser. I have no plans to rekindle anything between us, but it was nice to be with him. I also hung out with another ex-boyfriend last week, which was also nice. I have plans to see him again on Friday, and am really looking forward to it.

It's funny, when I met the two of them again, I remembered exactly why I liked each of them in the first place because those things, the good things, seemed to stick with them. They are both good men - compassionate, smart, easygoing and funny. I'm proud that I dated both of them, even if we eventually didn't work out. I can't say that about all of my exes, but most, and I love that.

And on that note, I must get to getting out of here. I still haven't picked out an outfit and my hair is a rat's nest. Until my next post...

Weird conversations in the Art Department

2005-05-11T20:11:00.000-04:00

The following are excerpts from conversations I had with my male coworker today:

He walks in and sets his stuff down...

HIM: Hey.

ME: Hey. How are you?

HIM: Me?

ME: Yeah, you

HIM: I'm good. Status quo.

ME: That's good.

HIM: So a non-answer's okay with you?

ME: Uh, yeah, fine.

HIM: Okay.

------------

HIM: You might be mad at me because I messed up the shadows on the cutouts.
(Explanation: Cutouts are photos I doctor, and the weirder the shadows are, the harder it is)

ME: I'll just secretly hate you.

HIM: I did it on purpose.

ME: Why would you do that?

HIM: I need attention.

ME: (laughing) That's sad.

HIM: It's not funny.

ME: Yes, it is.

-------------------------------

I was working with my headphones on and he said my name...

ME: Did you just say my name?

HIM: Yes, I said your name.

ME: What do you need?

HIM: Can I clear some of this stuff off my desktop?
(Explanation: I use his computer to burn archive CDs when he's not in the office. It frees up my machine.)

ME (sliding my chair over to his desk to look at the screen): What did you want to get rid of?

HIM: These PDFs.

ME: Those aren't mine. (I proceeded to tell him which files were mine and trashable)

HIM: I'll buy you a beer.

ME: What? Okay. For what? Do you want to go out?

HIM: Yeah, but it's never what I expect when I go out.

ME: What do you expect?

HIM: Fun.

ME (pissed, sliding back to my desk): Okay, well just let me know if you're unsure about any more files.

---------------------

HIM: We could grab a beer sometime.

ME: I would, but you never call.

HIM: I've been running lately.

ME: Oh, okay.

HIM: Away from things.

ME (laughing): Okay.

----------------------

And that concludes this edition of Art Department Theatre. The dude likes me, I think, but he's a big crab and he drives me crazy. He's completely unable to function emotionally and can't even really ask me to just grab a friendly beer in a normal way. Whateva.

Until my next post...

Recent weeks

2005-05-07T17:58:00.000-04:00

Its almost Saturday evening, and I think enough time has passed for me to start posting again. I was feeling pretty stagnant for a while, sad about my illness and how expensive it is, and sad about the fact that my marriage isn't going anywhere. But now, today, things, though still muddy, seem clearer.

The last three weeks have been pretty uneventful, well, sort of. I did finally go to see the rheumatologist, and he officially diagnosed me with mixed connective tissue disease. I've started taking a drug that is supposed to help me, though it typically doesn't start working for 6-8 weeks. All in all, though I'm still a little mad about the whole thing, I'm relaxed about it. I'm sick. I will get somewhat better, though I'll have to deal with it for the rest of my life. And that's that, I guess. What am I gonna do? Much to my chagrin, this is the body I've got. And it could be so much worse.

My friend from Boston came to TC for her grandmother's funeral, and I was able to snag her for a lunch and an evening. We had a great time, and I miss her being here, though I know she's doing things she needs to do in Boston, with a partner who is good for her. We spent our day/evening together thrift shopping, eating, and drinking a little too much. We ended up at my favorite bar, where she had her sweater licked and gave her email address to a man notorious for handing out whatever he's carrying around in his knapsack (I recently saw him downtown with said knapsack, wearing shorts and a pair of knee-high cowboy boots). She also got a string of lovely beads, which are now in my bathroom. Al, if you want them back, they're all yours. ;)

I've developed a sure-to-be-unrequited crush on the head chef at a local restaurant, whom I met through a friend. He's not perfect, but he's beautiful, and I have a good time talking to him. But, like I said, I know when a man I'm interested in isn't interested in me, and I'm happy with him being a guy I secretly pine for and have good conversations with when I run into him. I actually saw him last night when out with the friend I met him through and we chatted until the bar closed. He has a cute way of smiling and nodding in agreeance when I say something he thinks is funny. His eyes get all squinty and his face turns red. Ah, the chef. I just want to make out with him...just once. But, like I said, I have a feeling it isn't to be, and so it goes.

I have three invites to hang out with three different groups this evening, with plans to hit two of said groups. I should actually start getting ready. I'm off to a barbeque at the recently married couple's I mentioned in a previous post, then on to drinks with three of my oldest friends. I may meet up with my neighbors later in the evening, but I'm not sure. It all depends on how late drinks go. That said, I should skeedaddle. I still don't have an outfit picked out and I need to get gas.

Until my next post...

Missing and (lack of) kissing

2005-04-18T02:58:00.000-04:00

The weekend has come and gone without much event. I spent most of it tyng up loose ends and getting my application materials together for the adjunct position. I also hit every thrift store in town and scored the sweetest pair of lace-up platforms I've ever met. Yes indeedy, this summer will be a fashionable one.

I spent two of my weekend nights with the Young Guy and friends, and I think I've sufficiently scared him off with talk about my bad behavior. In a way, I'm sad I won't be kissing him again, but on the other hand, it's a good thing for both of us. And again, I'll have more time to concentrate on what's actually happening in my life, as opposed to what will happen should I come face to face with my most recent endeavor. I'm a sucker...what can I say?

I did pick up with a short story I started writing about a year ago, which, if I do say so myself, was much less cheesy than I thought it was before I opened the file. I started writing it while going through my separation, and it started out as an exploration of the emotional ramifications of infidelity. But now that I've done a little of my own experimenting, I'm developing it into more than that. I hope the final product doesn't turn into something I hate two years from now. Only time will tell, I guess.

Oh yeah, and I'm missing Mark the most. Right now, I would kill for a few stiff drinks and some art talk. And I know Mark is just the man to give it to me. I do love this area, but I miss the art and culture that was at my disposal in Ann Arbor. I never thought I would, but I miss thick conversations over wine at art openings, even with the pretention (ugh, I can't believe I'm saying that!). That just doesn't happen up here. At least amongst the under-30 set. The people who are truly interested in what I am are kids, just beginning to familiarize themselves with what's out there art-wise. But they're young, and they act it, which I don't have a problem with. I just don't want to talk about how their parents won't let them borrow the car, you know? Where are the weirdos like me, who find everything interesting and somewhat overwhelming because of that? Where are the over 25s that turn to Traverse City for solace, but not to completely turn off? Seriously. If you know of any, send them my way, because I'm dying for a good debate about minimalism and/or science as it pertains to modern art.

So yeah, that, my friends, was my weekend and my most recent thoughts about what the hell I'm doing with myself. Pretty quiet, but mine all the same. I think I got what I needed out of these two days. I feel fully refreshed and actually ready for another week of work.

And on that note, I'm going to sign off. It's much too late and I've got a good book to fall asleep to. Until my next post...

This is the afternoon that never ends

2005-04-13T13:24:00.000-04:00

I'm on lunch, at work, with nothing better to do than type in the ol' blog. I treated myself to my most favorite bagel and cream cheese from a cafe behind the mag.

Work is what can only be described as humdrum today. I've spent the morning updating our website and sales flyers. Yep. Exciting stuff.

Out of laziness, I skipped my usual shower this morning and threw my hair into a ponytail. Why, you ask? Because I can, that's why! I'm scarfless and loving it, though I'm not comfortable enough to get my old haircut again, I can wear my hair down when it's curled and put it back in a ponytail without worrying about grossing people out. New kitten that I've become, I did paint my toenails last night. And very responsibly at that. I even took time between coats and everything.

It's cold here. My bike to work was absolutely frigid this morning, and the walk to the cafe wasn't any warmer. Luckily, I left an extra cardigan here last night, so I'll be doubling up on the sweaters for the trek home.

This is the most boring post...EVER! I apologize for subjecting the three of you that read this thing to this menial account of what happens when I'm not out with the menfolk. You may have started to think that I was completely obsessed and consumed by my escapades, but such is not the case. It's just that this, this post, is what happens the rest of the time. Well, this and hanging out with friends, but I don't want to share the details of their lives with you, and I'm pretty sure they'd support me in that decision.

Now that I've completely bored you to tears, I think I'll sign off. Tonight will be of the pint variety, and I'm sort of planning on pushing the young guy away, though I'm not sure how I'm going to do it. Like I said, I'm hoping he just does something juvenile and I can be like, "See? You're too young. I'm done." But I know that won't happen, so it's probably best if I develop some sort of strategy. Hmmm.

Until my next post...

Celebrity sightings and college writings

2005-04-12T22:18:00.000-04:00

Today was a weird one. Work was pretty uneventful, save for a little tiff between two coworkers of mine over a splash of salad dressing. I would go into it, but it's all very ridiculous. I will say, however, that it drove me into a headphone-wearing cocoon for the majority of the afternoon, and one of my coworkers left in a huff. Silly, but I'm sure I'll hear about it later and have to sympathize with each party.

After work, I met the staff of the student newspaper I'd be working with as an adjunct. Nothing is set in stone at this point, because I still have to go through the application process, but it's pretty much a go. It starts in September, which is kind of a drag, but despite that, I'm really excited about it. I really really really want it to start next week. Ah well, such is life.

On my way back from the college and to Target, I drove by Michael Moore buying a newspaper from a machine downtown. He has a house up here, and we always get the word as to where he is when he's tooling around town, but I've never actually seen him. All I kept thinking about was his acceptance speech at the Oscars when he won for "Bowling for Columbine." He's a politically revolutionary filmaker, and he buys his papers from a machine. I have no thoughts about that really...just stating it. Funny. I thought about turning my little car around and saying, "Hello," but didn't. I only hope he caught a glimpse of my sticker-laden bumper and thought, "Right on, sista."

At Target, I bought gold nailpolish and am planning to indulgently paint my toenails while watching Conan O'Brien. Lately, it's really the only show I watch, and I don't set time aside for it specifically. I don't have basic cable or a remote, just two fuzzy channels that I click on when I'm paying bills or trying to fall asleep. But tonight, I'm planning on vegging and beautifying.

So yeah, I think that's everything new. Nothing scandalous for a change. Just li'l ol' me, running errands and gettin' my shit together.

And on that note, I'll sign off and prepare my toes for their new lustre. Until my next post...

Rock the cradle of love...er...I mean lust

2005-04-11T19:27:00.000-04:00

I got together again with the young guy...against my better judgement, I guess, though I’m starting to wonder just where my judgement lies. He spent the night and we didn’t have sex, though we got pretty damn close. He wanted to, but I ultimately said no, and he left the next afternoon with some good kisses. He’s cute. I’m a weakling. What can I say?

Although I have no plans to sleep with him, and really, am pumping myself up to give him the boot, I’ve decided that my ideas about sex have definitely evolved. I have no qualms about the actual act, it’s just the repurcussions that bug me. With the men I’ve been with since Mark and I separated, I’ve known from the get-go that our escapades will not evolve into long-term relationships. I’ve been frank and honest about my situation, who I am, and what will probably happen should we continue to do what we’re doing. After my explainations, the men still seem comfortable with everything, and we continue on. But, every time I do break something off, it seems like I’m leaving another heartbroken man behind me, and I’ve got another notch in my belt with really nothing but experience to show for it. I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with all of it or not. In a way, it’s nice to be the one in control, calling the shots, keeping men at arm’s length. But on the other hand, even though I’ve made pains not to, I hate hurting these men, because I know what it’s like to be the one who wants someone they can’t have, and it sucks. That’s not to say that they definitely won’t get over me (they probably have already), but it still sucks being the dumpee.

With Mark, the sex was about our emotional connection, and when problems arose between us, we went months without having it. It wasn’t an animal attraction, but rather, and emotional and intellectual one. So now, when I’m interested in someone and they’re interested in me, I find it nearly impossible to control myself. Maybe if the men around here weren’t so easy to lure in...I’m kidding! I have no one to blame/congratulate for my sexcapades but myself. I do have the ability to say no, after all. Really.

But like I said, the young guy is adorable, and damnit if I’m not a woman with sexual drive, and how is one supposed to say no to someone they’re attracted to simply because they know it won’t pan out? Is it right to want someone for a little while? Is it morally questionable if you’ve explained that you’ll be dumping them sooner or later and they still seem interested? Have I turned into a woman who treats sex like a man does? Do I want to be that woman? There’s part of me that says “Hell yeah, I do!” and another part of me that says it’s all bad bad bad and a complete waste of time. All I really know is that I suddenly feel like a character on Sex and the City.

I know I’ll be seeing the young guy again, because he frequents pint night with me and my neighbors, and I know that we’ll do the sam footsie-under-the-table-meaningful-glances-above-the-table dance that we’ve done the past couple times we’ve seen one another. I may or may not make out with him again. I’d be lying if I said I don’t like being with him. But my god, he’s so young! But maybe that’s part of his allure. I’m not old enough to want a younger man to make me feel younger, but I do find his voracity and cockiness sexually appealing, though it doesn’t go beyond that. Ugh. Who knows? Maybe like with the Tall Guy, I’ll see him on Wednesday and decide it’s time to call all this makeout madness quits. Only time will tell, I guess.

In other news, I’ve been offered an somewhat-adjunct position at the community college. I’ve been looking for something to round out my personal development, whether it be volunteer work or a new hobby, but this trumps anything I’ve considered in the past. Yahoo.

No other noteworthy news to report. The rest of my life has been an endless string of running errands, work, and hanging out with friends.

Until my next post...

She gingerly sipped her Ginger Cosmo

2005-04-08T18:06:00.000-04:00

In celebration of our sales team overselling their budget, the mag went out for drinks. I've had one-and-a-half Ginger Cosmos, and I'm a little tipsy. So please forgive the rambling, if there is any. A few things have changed since my last post, though nothing monumental.

Pint night was a good one, full of surprises and debauchery. I was in a good mood from the get-go, and once our complete party made it out of work and to the bar, it was fun.

Important backstory: Last Sunday, I went to a friend's for a lazy afternoon barbeque and movie watching. I rode my bike there, because he lives in the 'hood, and over the course of the afternoon/evening, drank so much that I ended up throwing up in his nasty-ass toilet. I'm not sure what got into me. I haven't puked since I was probably twenty. In my post-puking drunken stupor, I started haphazardly flirting with the younger brother of the barbeque host. And by the end of the evening, I was nestled on the sofa with him, happily watching movies and holding his hand. I've always thought he was cute and got the feeling he was interested in me, but because of his age (he's 21), made pains to not provoke the furthering of any sort of romantic relationship. Of course, that all went out the window after a few too many. What the?

I knew he would be at pint night, so I got myself all pumped up to explain just how drunk I was, how our age difference was not a good thing, and how nothing would ever happen between the two of us. Seriously. But he showed up, as cute as ever, and although I did constantly tell him that nothing could happen, he continued to put the moves on me. As you maybe have gathered from my previous posts, it seems that I'm easily plied. I knew that if he continued to do what he was doing, there was a good chance I'd be making out with him by the end of the night. I then tried to appeal to his sensitivity, and told him my history: I'm married, I'm fickle, and I have a recently honed history of going out with men and dumping them quickly. I don't know if it's his age or what, but he somehow found all that quite intriguing, and the moves didn't stop. Boys and men are fools. I'm a maneater and they should just stay away, but they don't. Why is that?

Anyhoo, after midnight, my male coworker, who I'm officially dubbing the Crab, showed up. I invited him out, but he said he had family in town to visit, so I assumed he wouldn't come. But he did, birthday beer in hand for me, and we chatted until last call. He's quite a bit older than me, and over the course of the evening, I became just inebriated enough to ask him just how old he was. He would not, and still will not, tell me. I then asked him if he thought it would scare me off somehow. He then looked at me straight in the eye, and said, "Maybe I have alterior motives." To which I smiled and said, "Do you? Do you have alterior motives." He turned crimson and shrugged. I had to drive my neighbors home, and he accompanied me. We then returned to the bar, and after a little more chit chat, I walked him out and tried to get his age out of him one more time. Upon my asking, he hugged me and said, "Happy Birthday." I don't know about him. I know he's crabby and I know he's probably too old, but he's intriguing. I'd be lying if I said I don't think about kissing him, but I can't like him. I just can't! And he's the kind of man that would respect all the things that intrigue the 21-year-old, and that's the kind of man I want. Ugh. After drinks with coworkers tonight, he invited me out with his nephew (who's in town visiting), but I've already made plans to hang out with my cousin this evening, so I declined. There's a chance I'll see him tomorrow, but I'm not banking on anything. I don't know what's going on. My dynamic with him changes every day. One day I'm sort of interested, the next I'm not. Aw, who the hell knows? Only time will tell, I guess.

So yeah, the younger guy ended up walking me to my car at the end of the night. We chatted for a bit at my car door, and he kissed me. And I swear to god, he's the best kisser I've ever kissed. Ever. So I invited him into my car, and we talked and kissed a bit more. We both had to pee somethin' fierce, but we were enjoying the kissing, so he suggested he follow me to my place where we both could use the bathroom. I knew what I was doing, but I was freaked out, so I told him that nothing was going to happen. Just kissing, nothing below the waist, not really anything above the waist either, for that matter. He said he was fine with it and followed me home.

And what happened at my apartment was exactly what I thought it would be. We made out on my sofa, and he left at 4 a.m. That's that. Again, there's a chance I'll see him this weekend, but I've made my mind up. In true me-fashion, I'm not planning on pursuing anything with him. The kissing was great, but that's where it will stay. It has to be that way. He may be cute, but he's 21. And not only am I 26, but I feel like an old 26. We can't meet in the middle, no matter how good a kisser he is. It's not worth pursuing. But as is the case with most of the men I've met since I've been separated, I'll be happy being his friend.

And that's the last two day's report. I may have more crazy stories as the weekend unfolds, but for now, I'm just going to relax a bit before heading out with my cousin. Until my next post...

The mane event

2005-04-06T19:45:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow is my birthday. Tonight is pint night. So, in celebration of my turning 26 and my hair slightly growing back, I'm gussying up and going scarfless. That's right, bitches. No more hiding behind vintage patterns on silk and cotton. At least not tonight, anyway.

The last few days have been good ones, full of happy things and time alone.

I was riding my bike downtown the other day and I heard someone shout my name. When I turned around, my friend and her long-term boyfriend were parked at a stoplight, he wearing a boutinierre (sp?) and she in some willowy crocheted shawl thingy. My friend yelled, "We just got married!" And of course I yelled back a myriad of things that expressed how happy I am for them. It was a beautiful day, perfect for an impromptu wedding, and I smiled as I watched them drive out of town. I actually smiled all the way home. If ever two people could make it and love each other until their dying days, it's those two. They are genuinely wonderful people and wonderful for each other. It just made my day. I smile every time I think about it.

Other than that, nothing too noteworthy has happened. Work has been especially crazy, but challenging, which I like. And generally, I just feel like I'm finally back into the community again. I run into people when I'm out and about, and have good little conversations here and there. This town is filled with good, nice, genuine people, and I'm again fully aware of why I moved back up here, even though right now, I guess I'm in the position to go anywhere. But it's here I love, and in the Spring warmth and thaw, everyone seems to be happier and smiley. Even the girls at the Burger King drive thru give me a hearty "Have a nice day."

Yesterday, I went hunting for beach glass on the beach, which is one of my favorite things to do when I'm alone. I always say that when I die, I want to be cremated and tossed into the bay on that beach. I know it's against environmental regulations, and it seems somewhat morbid to even think about it now, but I love the idea of being mixed with all those stones and glass, deep in the water that I love. Ahh, Traverse City...I've come to think of it as my home, my friend, and my family. I know, nerdy, isn't it? But I can't help myself. It gives me everything I need and want. How can you not love anything that does that for you?

And on that note, I have to get to gussying. My hair is already in curlers and I'm planning on donning some smoky eye makeup. Until my next post...

Lazy Saturday

2005-04-02T19:02:00.000-05:00

Last night was strange. I met two of my coworkers for dinner to take their waiter friend out for drinks. It was initially looking like I'd just be going out with my male coworker, the one I said I had a crush on, but my female coworker joined us, and to be honest, I was glad. I was in no mood to go on an accidental date.

Dinner was nice, and we agreed to meet the waiter at Streeters, this ginormous bar that used to be a roller-rink. It was the first time I had been there, but the work guy likes the vibe, so we went. We had two drinks with our female coworker and she split. My male coworker and I ended up staying for a few more drinks. It was okay, but I've decided I have no crush on him afterall. He's a complainer, and that just doesn't sit right with me. But we had a good time, nonetheless, and like I said before, we could be friends. Anything beyond that is just out of the question.

So I woke up today in alone mode, with plans to do a number of things, but only ended up doing about half. I rode around town on the green machine, pictured below:

Past my very favorite park in town, pictured below:

Took a little trip to the Salvation Army, and hung out with my monkeys, pictured below:

I also posted quite a few things on ebay, which I've been meaning to do for quite some time, but just haven't had the energy because of all the health bidness that was going on.

So yeah, that's that. I may be more in the mood to write later. Until then...

Tomorrow is another day

2005-04-01T00:04:00.000-05:00

Yesterday and today's events were somewhat humdrum.

I woke up yesterday morning with the tail end of a hangover and stumbled into work, where I met my other Polish feast cohorts with the typical post-drinking grunt. We all agreed we should get together again sometime, and actually, I think we're going out for drinks tomorrow night. There's a server at this authentic Mexican restaurant in town who likes to drink this specific tequila they serve at another retaurant in town, and I guess we're all taking him out for a night o' tequila. I'm really looking forward to it. As I stated before, I really like my coworkers, and I'm looking forward to getting to know them better.

After a good breakfast, I made it through work rather productively, and went home to take a nap, not sure whether I was ready to take on another pint night. But, after my nap, I was able to put on a respectable outfit and show my face for a beer or two. And that was pint night in a nutshell. Not as crazy as weeks past, but after my previous night's activities, that was quite alright with me.

Work was crazy today because we're working on four issues right now, three of which have to be to the printer by 5 tomorrow. I'm pretty sure I'll wind up staying late tomorrow, but whatev. I'm just looking forward to being done with the damn things. It seems like we've been working on them forever.

I kind of think one of my coworkers is interested in me, and I kind of think I'm sort of interested in him. And it's kind of freaking me out. He was at dinner on Tuesday, and he's been a little flirty with me the past couple weeks, although I can't figure out if he just thinks I'm cool and wants to hang out more, or if his intentions are further than that. But here's the thing: a few of my coworkers were going to this wine-tasting thing tonight and asked him along. I guess he asked if I was going to be there, and when my friend said no, he said he was going to pass. I was invited, but again, I just cannot drink every night of the week. And wine, oh wine is bad. There's something about that topping off of the glass that makes me lose track of how much I've had, and suddenly, I'm drunk. But anyway, now there's this thing. Even if it doesn't go anywhere with him, I'm harboring the tiniest of crushes, and I'm so afraid I'm going to slip into my dumb-girl-with-a-crush mode. And if I do that, I'm afraid I'll risk ruining the friendship we're slowly developing. So, for now, I'm on a mission to be totally cool. Drinks tomorrow? Yeah, sure. I've got nothing better to do.

I did end up going to my friend Allison's tonight. Her sister and I whisked her away from the twins and went out for a beer. One beer. So here I am, back from my night of squeezing baby fingers and catching up, and I'm feeling pretty good. I've also been away from doctors and hospitals for a good 24 hours, so I'm pretending I'm not sick, which is also nice. I won't even be able to see a rheumatologist for another month, so I'm hoping I can maintain this quasi-denial I've developed. Also, my hair seems to be growing back slowly, so I'm thrilled about that. Things are sort of looking up, I think. It's been an okay week.

And on that lukewarm note, I'm actually going to turn in before 1 a.m. Until my next post...

Polish? Yes I am.

2005-03-30T02:11:00.000-05:00

So I was invited over to a coworker's house for an intimate Polish feast. She had just visited her grandmother's house over Easter and as a result, had a bunch of Polish food for us to gorge on.

I arrived late, measley baguette in tow, and proceeded to eat so much food I can barely stand it. I also partook of a variety of libations, mostly wine, but also a generous shot of jalapeno infused Russian vodka, which, in all honesty, is preventing me from typing at a normal rate/caliber.

But it was good. I got to know my coworkers a little better, and I got a little dirt on the magazine staff, as well as a little dirt on the personal lives of a few coworkers who I've suspected I'd get along with, though we've had no chance to socialize outside of work.

The point is, though I'm too inebriated to type right now, I'm glad I got 1) the invite to hang out with the mag staff 2) the chance to break down a few of the barriers that seem to separate the editorial of the magazine from the art department. We had talks about where we think the magazine should go, current politics, past and current relationships, etc. And as a result, I feel more connected to my coworkers than I did before the drive over to dinner. I'm sure I'll have much more to type about tomorrow (i.e. the Tall Guy has been calling every day since our "breakup" and I've been through a series of lab tests since yesterday), but as I've stated before, I'm too drunk to even go into it.

Tomorrow is another day, however, and I have plans to divulge before I venture into the lion's den that is pint night yet again.

Until then, I remain, the Polish princess....

Oh hoppy day

2005-03-27T21:31:00.000-05:00

It's Easter, and after a drive back from my parents', I'm home again. I like being home. I like being alone here, free to putz around in any way I please, free to smoke my cigarettes and drink the glass of wine I poured myself. And free to eat half the stash of chocolate my parents bestowed upon me this morning. It's the good stuff, no nickel and dime Hershey eggs filled with god-knows-what, let me tell you. All dark chocolate (which is my favorite) and all deeliscious. Yep, it's shaping up to be a healthy Easter.

The drive from my parents' house seemed short, probably because it was so gorgeous today. It felt so good to roll my window down and let the smell of the spring thaw fill my little car. And the landscape is so poetic now, bare trees and thawing ground stretched out for miles, just waiting for buds to burst like a chartreuse wave from the south up. Amazing. I plan to ride my bike to work tomorrow, and really, until the snow comes next fall. Things are changing again, for the better I hope. Maybe, like the ground and trees, I can emerge from this winter green and full of the possibility of new growth.

I was diagnosed again on Friday, this time with what my doctor says is mixed connective tissue disease. It seems that half of the tests they did on my blood came up positive, leading him to the conclusion he relayed to me over the phone. From what he told me, it's a disease similar in nature to Lupus; my body is attacking proteins as if they were bad cells, throwing my immune system into constant overdrive. He also told me that most people with the disease do fine, and it's just a matter of pinpointing exactly what's happening and regulating what needs to be regulated with medication. Again, we can't be sure what is happening exactly until I see a rheumatologist, which we don't have up here. So, I'll probably be making a few trips to Grand Rapids or Ann Arbor, depending on where the best rheumatologist is, and hopefully, we can get this all under control. It's a drag, but for now, it doesn't seem that I'm dying, so that's a good thing. Whatever. Each day is a new one. I'm prepared to do what needs to be done to make my body happy again.

Speaking of making my body happy (or rather, not making it happy), I broke it off with the Tall Guy. He came over Friday night and did a series of things that annoyed the hell out of me, and I told him I just wanted to be friends. It turns out, though, that he doesn't want to just be friends, and all that stuff we discussed and were so adult about were not wholly accurate.

I can't say that it was an easy break like I expected, probably because it was a little sooner than I think we both thought it would be. He did and said a number of things that made me feel sorry for him, and sorry that I let things go as far as they did. I should have known I couldn't ever fully detach myself in the way that I need to when I'm with him. Like I said before, I really do enjoy his company. But I started to feel too close to him, and with that feeling of closeness came expectations. I wanted him to be someone I could be with for while, and I found myself asking him to do things that he naturally wouldn't do. And I can't do that without the intention of pursuing our relationship beyond the boundaries we agreed upon. It's not fair to him. He should be with someone he can invest in. If he changes for someone, there should be a prospect of something more. I will miss the way he makes me feel, but I can live without it. For now, we've agreed to see one another platonically, but I'm thinking I'll give it a few weeks before actually doing anything. He needs time to adjust, as do I. Plus, we find each other attractive and know we can have good sex, and I'm afraid the temptation will be a little too much to resist.

So here I am again, man-free and really pretty happy about it. This time, I really do want to take some time for myself and not get sucked in to some relationship-ish thing with Mr. Handsome Stranger that waltzes into my frame of reference. I want a companion with a good head on his shoulders, first and foremost. Mature and honest and sensitive. Someone who doesn't need me, someone who has ideas about what and where he wants to be, with good reasons for each. It may be a tall order, but I'm willing to hold out. Too often I find myself with someone I make the wrong allowances for. No more. I'd rather be alone than wondering when my thirtysomething manfriend will finally get his shit together and be an adult.

Everyone has a platform that their realtionship should start from (both emotionally and intellectually), and sometimes, I think mine is a little higher than most women my age, simply because I've been through a few things that aged me beyond my years. I hope that doesn't sound elitist, because in fact, the things I've experienced have made me anything but. I don't pass judgement about anyone, because you can't truly know why a person does what they do until you've known exactly what they've done or seen before that moment you came to know them or of them. And although this understanding in invaluable in terms of enjoying people and life in general, it makes things a little harder for me in terms of close relationships, especially with men. We all want an equal, and quite often, I find find myself playing the matriarch, doling out advice and helping my companion along. I'm not complaining, but it is a little lonely sometimes.

But my lord, there has to be a sweet man out there, who sees and feels the things I see and feel, who is moving forward and not trying to make up for past mistakes. Who knows that life is what it is - surprising and challenging and so wonderful always, even at the most mundane and trying. I don't know if I'll find what I need up here, but I know that right now, I want to be here, manless or not, enjoying what's here right now and what will be here the next day. I could spend the rest of my life alone, wind up in a tiny pink house on one of the numbered streets in my neighborhood, raking my lawn and retiring in the evening to chats with my elderly neighbors over coffee in the dim kitchen. If I've learned at least one thing every day until that happens, I'll be happy.

Ah, the wine-induced ramblings of a woman with mixed connective tissue disease. Maybe it's the onset of my 26th birthday that's making me think about where I'm heading more than I usually do, or maybe it's the spring. Or maybe, just maybe, it's the wine. Whatever it is, I'm comfortable here, with the windows of my apartment wide open, smelling the thaw, on what seems to be the threshold of something more, even if it's just the Monday after the holiday weekend. Whatever it is, I'm ready for it.

Until my next post...

Where am I?

2005-03-23T18:01:00.000-05:00

In a weak moment the other night, while on the phone with the Tall Guy, I invited him over to my place. I had work to do, and I'd just seen him two evenings before, but damnit, I kind of missed him. He'd been in Colorado for about two weeks prior to Sunday's visit, and before he came over that evening, I was almost, almost determined to break our romantic relationship off. But he came over, and I remembered what I find so attractive about him, and he ended up spending the night.

Even though I know my relationship with him can go nowhere, I find him adorable. He's sweet and sensitive and a stone-cold fox with big muscles. He's also a good kisser and pretty aggressive when it comes to gettin' it on, which I really love.

So we made plans, and I ran to the store to get condoms, the whole time thinking, "What the hell am I doing?" You may recall that before I met him, I was determined to swear off the menfolk. I think I still have that in the back of my mind. Like I'm just waiting for him to do something really asinine, so I can just break it off. But he really doesn't do anything asinine, and I find that each time I see him, I like him more. And despite the fact that we've only been seeing each other for a little over a month, we've slipped into a place that's fun and comfortable. This leads to us actually going out on dates and playing Scrabble and footsie simultaneously. And because there's no pressure for either of us to commit to each other, we enjoy each others' company pretty worry-free.

But sometimes, it's weird. Like the other night we were lying in bed, and he asked me why my phone was busy earlier in the evening. I joked that I was talking with my other boyfriend. Then I looked at him and said, "I don't know why I said that. You're not my boyfriend." And then I didn't know why I said that aloud. And then we were quiet. I know what he thinks about our situation, because we've talked about it and agreed that we are just what we are, and if one of us decides to back out of what we're doing, it's understandable and we'll remain friends. I know this is not only the right way to be thinking about the two of us, but completely possible, so I don't fear our break-up of sorts. It's just a new way of thinking for me, and every once in a while, it throws me into a spin.

But I'm not tied down. If I were to meet someone else who I was interested in pursuing a long-term relationship with, I could break it off with the Tall Guy. I know that if he found someone he felt more serious about, I'd be perfectly comfortable ending things and just having the memory of what we had: fun times. As is my way, I've already brought all of this up to him and we've discussed it at length. For now, I guess I should just enjoy the fact that I'm in an honest, open relationship with a man who makes me feel good in a lot of ways.

Sheesh. What a confusing and ethereal life I lead right now. Sometimes it's good and sometimes it's really bad. But what am I gonna do, lock myself in a closet and never do the things I want to do? So what if the things I want to do aren't the simplest things? I can handle it...I think.

Until my next post...

Ludington, Land of Dreams

2005-03-20T19:11:00.000-05:00

The travelogue continues...

I've had a particularly bad week with my body. It seems I have Discoid Lupus, which, for those of you who aren't familiar with the disease, means that my body is essentially attacking itself because it can't determine the difference between good and bad things in my body. This is both good and bad news. Good, beacause I kind of know what's happening and can take action from here, but bad because it may be an indicator of other health issues, which means that in the next few months or longer, I'll be subject to a battery of tests that should determine what is happening exactly.

I hate this so much, I can't even tell you. I am terribly squeamish about doctors and needles, and really of any sort of doctorish examination. For example, I had to have a handful of vials of blood drawn on Thursday. I made it through the actual drawing of the blood okay, but when I was led to the bathroom for a urine sample, I started blacking out and had to sit on the toilet with my head between my legs for a good five minutes before I was coherent enough to write my name on the little urine cup. It's my MO I guess. I can be tough when things are actually happening, but afterwards, I just sort of melt down. They think that my Lupus may have actually been triggered by the extreme stress of my separation and moving and all that bidness. I've experienced big stress before, an usually it just manifests in stomach and headaches. But no, this time, I lost my hair. Seriously. What the fuck?

So yeah, I got the diagnosis on Wednesday, and just sort of crashed from there. After a series of crying phone calls to Mark, we agreed that we should see each other this weekend, and worked out a plan to meet at sort of a halfway point for the both of us, where we would stay in a hotel room, and, I was hoping, he would hold me until I forgot about my Lupus and life in general for at least one night. The midwayish point happened to be Ludington, and our hotel was to be the Ramada. Classy.

The roads were terrible yesterday. A snow storm was covering the entire area, and I spent the entire ride going 35 mph. Normally, I would have turned around, called Mark, and told him to just forget it. But the desperate woman in me somehow took over, and I made it to our meeting point, a little shaken up from the drive, but so happy to see him I didn't even care.

Ludington is a weird town in the winter. It's on Lake Michigan, and it has a huge marina. I imagine it's pretty bustling in the summer, but in the winter, it's almost a ghost town. We ate in a few places, none of which had more than twenty people in them, and we tooled around in thrift and antique shops until they closed, which was alarmingly early. We also had drinks in this little bar with Karaoke and the most awesome nachos ever, so that was fun.

All in all, it was a good weekend, and I did get to hold Mark until the wee hours of the morning. It was just what I needed. I've said it before and I'll say it again, he is the only person who can make me feel better about things, however big or small. When I get overwhelmed (which isn't often), he keeps me sane. Our relationship is and always will be a wonderful one, no matter what happens between us. We're definitely two peas.

After more than a few tears, we left Ludington under gray skies this afternoon. We still haven't decided what to do about us. I don't think either of us are ready to go one way or the other, and for now, we're getting comfortable in the limbo. I'm kind of getting used to not knowing what's happening to me, both physically and emotionally, and I'm hoping I can find some sort of security in the fact that I just won't know for a while. Until things do become clearer, all I can do is go about my business and enjoy everything as much as possible.

Until my next post...

Take me to Cadillac, no wait, take me back

2005-03-13T00:19:00.000-05:00

So much happens on a Saturday. How to fit it all in?

I woke up this morning to a loud knock on my neighbor's door. He moved in about three weeks ago, and since then, I've been awakened by many a loud knock on his door. I suspect he's selling drugs because I've had neighbors who sell drugs before, and I know the scenario. Cars parked with their lights on in the street, knocks and quick exchanges, then the car speeds away. When Mark and I lived in Ann Arbor, we had two guys living below us who (we think) sold drugs out of their apartment. They also played mariachi music at all hours of the night and wrestled loudly in what sounded like their kitchen. There's nothing like going to bed at three after finally completing your design project, only to be awakened by the sound of two grown men slamming each other against cupboards. But I digress.

So anyway, the knocks were really persistent this morning, so I looked out my peephole to see who was causing such a ruckus. It turns out the loud knockers were the cops. And that's not the end of it. They've been patrolling in front of our house ever since. My neighbor seems to be hiding from them somehow, though all he really does is not answer the door and close his blinds. You know, I don't really care what he does with his time or resources. I just hate having to wake up at 8 on a Saturday to the cops knocking on his door. It's my day to sleep in, yo. Throw me a bone.

When I finally woke up officially, I did my usual Saturday things, like clean my apartment and sort my laundry. Mark called in the middle of my laundry sorting, and I broke down about my hair. Mark is the one person I completely trust with everything. He's the one person I let take care of me. With everyone else, I remain slightly detached, because I hate the thought of depending on anyone else, and I especially hate the thought of anyone worrying about me. But with Mark, those things aren't an issue. With him, I can cry and blubber, and I don't think twice about it.

My mom called later in the day and offered to come up and be with me. I told her I was fine, and she said, "You don't need your mom any more?" To which I said, "I just need Mark." When we were together, I used to have these dreams that he died. I would wake up, soaked in tears. The prospect of losing him scared me so much. It still does. But what do I do with that? I know that Mark and I are supposed to be together until the end, but to what extent? He's my best friend, my confidant, my mine. I love him all the way. Why can't things be easier for us?

Well, after my crying episode, I ran some errands I've been putting off all week because of this menu I'm designing for my aunt and uncle's restaurant. When that was done, I arrived home to three invitations to go out tonight. My neighbors were cooking dinner and having our Wednesday night cohorts over, my coworker was going to a martini bar downtown, and my friend, Allison, was going to see a band we like in Cadillac. It was a tough decision, but I chose Allison. Gotta stay true to the old school friends, especially when they have twins and we don't see each other as much as we used to.

So Allison and her parents (pictured in a previous post) picked me up and we made the sojourn to Cadillac, which is about 45 minutes from Traverse. We ate donut holes in the car and shot the shit. It was nice. We fully expected to see this band that we like. I'd seen them live in Ann Arbor two years ago, and Allison has one of their CDs.

We arrived in downtown Cadillac and walked to the venue in the freezing cold. I was silly enough to not wear a real jacket. Actually, none of us was appropriately dressed for the weather. I think that happens to you when you've lived here too long. You get this crazy "screw it" attitude about the cold, and throw on a sweater and a hat and think you're good for the subzero air. It's crazy, really, but I can't make myself wear my winter coat every day. It becomes oppressive and just plain sad. So we made it to the door in our scant attire, only to find that the show was not only sold out, but oversold out. Bummer.

But we couldn't be daunted, and shimmied across the street to a little dive bar for drinks. This place was like someone's basement: low ceiling, tiny bar, and an even tinier stage where a three piece band was hanging their custom-made banner and getting ready to play. We hung around for a cheap drink and a smoke, then made our way upstairs to the extension of the basement bar (or maybe it's the other way around?). We met a friendly man in the hallway who ushered us into the second place, announcing that he was heading up the "party train." After we ordered our drinks and settled in, the friendly man took his place at the front of the bar, where he was the DJ: DJ Pizza Tony. I am not making that up. And if that isn't cheesy enough, he proceeded to play Bonnie Raitt and set up a stuffed penguin on his console, complete with oversized sunglasses. Say what you want about Cadillac, but they've got DJ Pizza Tony, and that's enough for me.

So we enjoyed the badass lite FM tunes of DJ Pizza Tony for as long as we could stand, and started back towards Traverse. On our way back, we hit one more bar in Kingsley, where we were subjected to the ear-splitting sounds of five boys that looked about eighteen doing rap-metal covers and chili cheese fries with jalapeno nacho cheese. It's the kind of place that has reserved snowmobile parking and flourescent lighting over the pool tables. Needless to say, it was an interesting crowd. I think we all felt like anthropologists, observing the mating rituals of the Kingsley natives. Allison's mom got a come hither look from the bass player of the band, and there were way too many girls in too-tight tops throwing themselves at men with mullets. They also served us a pitcher of beer with plastic cups, saying they had run out of beer mugs. But there were only about twenty people in the bar! I suspect they bought a beer mug set at Walmart and never thought they'd have to use more than eight. Whatever, I'm happy with plastic. I just hope they recycle. ;)

So yeah, that was my evening. They dropped me at home and here I am, relaying it all to you while I still remember it. I have big plans to work on my friends' wedding invitations and actually wash the laundry I separated today. If I get one of those things done, I'll be satisfied.

Until my next post...

Pints with a twist

2005-03-09T18:29:00.000-05:00

I arrived at work this morning to find an email from my very good friend, Adam from Chicago, who, because his sister is having labor pains, and because he has today and tomorrow off, decided to gallavant up here on whim. Let me tell you, I am geeked. As those of you (if there are any of you) who read my blog know, tonight is pint night, and dude, I'm takin' Adam with me.

Adam is the best. And I mean the very best. He is just an all around stand-up fellow. We've been friends since high school, but due to circumstances being what they were (us both going to school and all that bidness) we lost regular touch for a few years. But on Christmas Eve eve of this year, he called me from a hotel bar in my neighborhood at 10:30 and dropped by for a visit. We ended up talking until 3, when he finally ambled to his parents' house, and ever since then, we've been the same good friends again. I couldn't be more thrilled.

About three weeks ago, when I went to Chicago, I stayed at Adam's and we did an all-gay tour of the bars in his neighborhood (he's gay, by the way), and it was seriously the most dirty-bad fun I've had in a long time. Nothing brings you closer to a friend than having a large (and I mean that in every sense) Brad Pitt look-alike with a Bulgarian accent rub himself against you both at the same time. Priceless.

I'm assuming this evening won't be nearly as provocative, but I'm looking forward to it nonetheless. Too bad Keanu is in Tennessee and the tall guy is in Colorado...I'd like his feedback on the menfolk. Ah well, such is life I guess.

If anything happens tonight worth mentioning, I'll be sure to fill you in in my next post. Until then...

Get this thing offa me

2005-03-07T21:34:00.000-05:00

It's almost Tuesday, which will make it an exact week since I had two chunks taken out of my head. The holes were neatly sewed back up (I'm assuming, since I never had the nerve to actually look at them), leaving me with two little gathers of stitches that feel similar to my high school attempts at repairing the "as is" polyester blouses I bought from the Salvation Army. I hate my stitches, and really, my whole head at this very moment.

Although I've tried to romanticize the fact that I have to wear these damn scarves by likening myself to various and sundry historical figures, nationalities, and popular characters, I'm sick of looking like Rosie the Riveter/a Soviet factory employee/Jane of "Dick and Jane"/a gypsy/the Little Match Girl. It's cute if you see me once, maybe, but not so cute when you see me trying to desperately pair a bandana with a long skirt without looking like I'll be dropping in on Laura Ingalls on my way home from my one-room school day. Half my wardrobe is out of commission, and I just can't afford to beef up my scarf collection enough to change it. It's kind of a drag.

Please, listen to me! Have I become a complainer? On a more positive note, my stitches are coming out tomorrow morning. And although it doesn't mean I can stop wearing my lovely headwraps, it does mean that I will no longer be grossed out by the fact that I am stitched up and have to try to keep my cat from playing with the stitches when she's trying to wake me up in the morning. Bleck. Gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it.

And I don't know what it is, but for some reason, I have this compelling need to take my frustration and turn it into something good. Or at least something. But what? Do I take pictures of myself in my various getups so I can pull them out for laughs if /when my hair finally grows back? Do I write a short story with a balding character? Do I donate my time to Locks of Love? What is the end to all of this? Is there and end? Or do I just break down and become a member of some online hair loss support group?

It's exactly one month until my 26th birthday, and I'm losing my hair. Thank the lord for insurance and a wonderful, supportive group of family and friends. Without those things, I may be either losing more hair or harboring a heroine addiction. Enough! I can't think about it any more.

Until my next post...

Backstory

2005-03-07T13:38:00.000-05:00

I just shuffled out my office door to get lunch, only to find that the sweater and vest I donned in this morning's temperate air were just not enough. Suddenly, this place is windy and sleety and just downright nasty. Bleck. After months of rough weather like this, everybody seems to be reaching their inevitable breaking point. People are mopey and crabby. It's just so hard to stay motivated when you wake up to grey, and it's freakin' freezing outside.

I do exaggerate a bit. This weekend was actually quite beautiful. Granted, I spent most of it working on freelance design stuff indoors, but through my open windows, I could smell the thaw and feel the sunlight. Even the cats seemed more content. God, I can't wait for spring.

On Friday night, I finally lured the tall guy out in public and away from our usual routine of watching movies and fooling around. It wasn't easy, but the struggle was worth the reward. It's so easy to just go lusty crazy with him for a number of reasons, all of which are valid, but don't make me feel any better about the fact that it seems like all we ever do is sleep together. Granted, that's pretty much what we've defined our romantic relationship as, but it's hard to keep up the meaningless sex when you actually find the person you're sleeping with to be a stand-up fellow. So we ate, talked, and held hands, and as I suspected it would be, it was pretty nice.

When I'm with him, I feel like we have this secret, undefinable, but there, and we have no intention of ever sharing it with anyone else, and we can't even really define it ourselves. But it's like the best secret...the secret to happiness, or maybe just giddiness. And we have it, just there, between us. It's a weird feeling, because like I said before, I'm not really invested in our relationship. But I do feel like we have something good going on. I guess I just feel like we'll be friends for a very long time. He likes to tell me that he wants to know me forever, no matter what happens. I think I could deal with that.

Oop, gotta go. My lunch break is over and I have layouts to do.

Until my next post...

Keanews

2005-03-06T23:35:00.000-05:00

An announcement: I'm officially renaming pint guy Keanu, because as I mentioned before, he bears a striking resemblance to Keanu Reeves, and we all call him Keanu anyway. And now, for the Keanews...

I was at pint night as usual, doin' the regular old dollar beer thang. I arrived at the bar with my neighbors, but they went home early, and I had run into other friends who were giving me a ride home. They had a few drinks (I was done for the night), and we caught up.

My flirty friend was on the lookout for a guy she's been seeing and dragged me back to the pool tables. I think I mentioned it before, but it bears repeating: The pool tables on Wednesday nights are swarming with guys. If you want to pick up a friend for the night (wink wink), that's where you head. I typically stay away from that general area, save for my frequent trips to the bathroom, but my friend, being flirty, was gussied up in her low-cut top and ready to dive in. So I followed her back, feeling sort of awkward carrying my coat and a huge purse and wearing my headscarf (which has now become my uniform...bleck). I was in no mood to be flirty, so I took a seat at one of the tables on the perimeter to survey the goings-on. My friend and I chatted for a bit, then she spotted the guy she's been seeing and told me she'd be right back. I was talking with a girl who had sat down at the table with me, so I wasn't sweating it...until I saw Keanu. Damn that sexy man.

My immediate impulse was to go look for my friend, but I was stopped by a guy who knows the guy I've been seeing, and we ended up talking. The whole time I was engaged in conversation, I kept looking at Keanu, and he at me. I swear to god, there's something so electric about that looking and smiling. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I just can't get enough of it. Well, the guy I was talking to left, and I gathered up my things and headed for the main room. I got as far as the doorway before Keanu stopped me. And right there, until the lights came up and the bartenders starting ushering us out, we talked. And it was nice.

At one point in our conversation, I said approximately this (please please please keep in mind that I had three pints prior to this): "(his name), we do this every Wednesday. You look at me and I look at you and we're like, "Yeah, you're cute" and we never really talk. So will you please just come to my place? I swear to god, I won't put the moves on you, you can sleep on my sofa, we can just hang out." To which he grabbed my hand and said approximately this: "I would love nothing other than to do just that, but I have to get up at 7 tomorrow because I'm leaving for Tennessee." He then launched into exactly how grueling his day of travel would be, but of course, I heard none of it because he was holding my hand.

First of all, I can't believe I actually said what I said. It was like I couldn't catch up to myself, hearing the words aloud, but not being able to stop them from being real. Second, he'll be in Tennessee for six weeks. Why do things like this happen?

It's all push/pull with him. We run into each other, have good chats and bad chats, make mistakes, stare at each other, exchange email addresses, he leaves, blah blah blah. Honestly, I don't really think about him when I don't see him because of all that. He just becomes that cute guy I slept with and sort of talk to every once in a while. But when I do see him, I want him all over again, and I end up doing really inane things. What the hell? Who is that?

He did ask for my email address, which I gave him, and he gave me his. We eventually made our way to the door, and he hugged me twice. God, I feel ridiculous even writing about it. It's like I have a high school crush that takes place primarily in a bar, and instead of an awkward first kiss, we had an awkward first lay, and I can't take anything back.

So yeah, he emailed yesterday from his hotel room...short and sweet. Like I said, I won't even try to make anything of it. For now, I have a new email friend...and that's fun. So what if I think he's about the sexiest man in this town? Smart women don't obsess about men, damnit. And damnit, I'm a smart woman.

That having been said, I'm done writing about him. The whole thing is just ridiculous and I'm becoming increasingly ashamed of how much time I've dedicated to him in the past. Keanu be gone. From now on, I'm not writing anything about him unless it's really big.

And with that, I'll sign off. Until my next post...

Loss

2005-02-27T23:58:00.000-05:00

Things are happening in the great north. The snow is falling, as is my hair, and after a recent trip to the dermatologist, I've discovered that the cause may be a little more serious than just my body's inability to make enough thyroid hormone. I won't know until I have a biopsy done on Tuesday, but it looks as if I may have some sort of auto-immune disease. I know, fun stuff. It's all very complex and multi-faceted, so for now, I'm just waiting for the diagnosis. I'm hoping it won't take long to pinpoint what's happening, but my doctor has mentally prepared me for a series of tests.

I've also been told that it's possible I won't get all my hair back, which really just pisses me off. Quite frankly, the novelty of matching my scarves to every outfit is wearing thin (pun intended), and I hate the idea of having to strategically comb over my spots. It will most likely require hairspray, which I hate, and some sort of poofy 'do, which I just won't do. Ugh. Well, if it's going to happen to anyone, it might as well be me. I'm optimistic, and I can handle the baldness, as frustrating as it is. Things could be a lot worse.

On the sort of plus side, I've been seeing the tall guy from the bar, and it's going okay. I know things won't pan out in the long term with him, and I'm learning to be okay with it for now. He and I differ in a couple really crucial ways that make it impossible for us to actually be together, and in all honesty, that's okay with me. I do, though, feel a little crazy when he drives the 30 miles he lives away to lie in bed with me. He knows everything about my situation because I've laid it all out for him about 20 times, and he's said that it's okay that we aren't moving towards anything serious, but he still makes comments that make me think he'd like more than what we've got already, and that sort of freaks me out. It's funny, I thought I wanted this, someone to just be with with no strings attached, but now that I have it, it all seems so empty. I like the freckles on his shoulders and the way he breathes on my neck when we're kissing, but what good is all of it when it just will not last? Can I be a girl with a regular? I think I would feel much better about all of it if we actually did anything other than watch movies at my apartment and fool around. I'm hoping to lure him out to pint night this week. I'd like to experience us out in public again.

You know, I thought I was in the mood to write about every little thing (I went to Chicago last weekend and have yet to document my escapades), but I'm just not. I'm tired and sad. My biopsy is tomorrow morning, and if I feel yucky enough to stay home, I'll be home all day. Maybe I'll be more in the mood to let it all out then.

Until my next post...

I'm not dead, just bald

2005-02-16T16:36:00.000-05:00

Sheesh, it's been a long time since I've written. So much has happened! Where to begin?

A couple days after my last post, I started having health problems that were manifesting in ugly (and I do mean that in the most literal sense) ways. I'll explain: About three months ago, I was burned with a blow dryer at my salon, right smack dab on the crown of my head. Well, as burns usually do, it turned into a little sore and hung around for a while. I kept waiting for it to heal and waiting for it to heal. It didn't, and one day, while fixing my hair at my parents' house over Christmas, I noticed that not only was my burn not healing, but I had developed a bald spot as well. As you can probably imagine, I was freaked. I spent the entire drive from my parents' obsessing about my little quarter-sized spot, and called the doctor immediately upon arriving home.

The doctor informed me that the baldness was a result of psoriasis brought on by trauma (as he so dramatically named my little burn) and sent me on my way with a tube of steroid cream and assurance that I wasn't, in fact, going chronically bald. Well, the cream didn't work, so I went back, and he gave me something else. Not only did that something else not work, it may have made me balder. Yes, that's right, balder. My little quarter-sized spot has grown to a silver dollar. Not only that, but to its immediate left, it has spawned another little bald spot. Suspicious of my immune system, my doctor ordered a blood draw, saying it was possible I had diabetes or thyroid problems. Fortunately, I don't have diabetes. Unfortunately, I do have a thyroid hormone deficiency, and will most likely take replacements for the rest of my life.

My reaction to all of this has changed dramatically since my initial diagnosis. Naturally, I was angry at first, but now it just makes me laugh. Seriously. I'm 25 years old, trying to live it up, and my hair is falling out. What the fuck? Because thyroid problems can lead to hair loss, I'm hoping that my replacements will take care of my little spots in as much time as it takes for the hair to grow back. For now, I'm just waiting, in all my bald glory, wearing a myriad of scarves from my high school collection. a la Elizabeth Taylor in "National Velvet." I'm hoping I can put this episode of my life behind me and one day affectionately refer to it as "my bald period", but who knows? I may have to beef up my scarf collection and start referring to myself as Ms. Clean. Or I could just call out to Los Angeles and have some wigmaker to the stars make me an incredible tiny weave. Oh, the possibilities.

Surprisingly, my lack of hair has not hindered happenings on the man front. They may find my new look intriguing...who knows?

My first man story begins about two weeks ago. We were at Wednesday pint night as usual, packing it up and getting our coats on, when a very tall man stopped me and said, "Where are you going?" To which I replied, "Home." He then told me that he just got up the nerve to talk to me, I couldn't go now, could he at least have my number, could he give me his email address, etc. He was obviously drunk, and my friends had already made it out to the parking lot, so I agreed to take his email address, just so I could go. He made me promise I'd email him, and I said I would, thinking that I probably wouldn't. But he was cute, and very sweet. He walked me out to my friend's car, made me promise again that I'd email him, and that was that.

Well, Thursday came and went, as did Friday, and I made a very sober decision not to email him. Like I said, he was obviously drunk when he approached me, I was still reeling from my thyroid diagnosis and hair loss, and I just wasn't in the mood to start anything up.

What next? He was there the following Wednesday, found me, and told me he came hoping to run into me. We chatted off and on (I had to stay true to my Wednesday night buddies), and exchanged email addresses again. During the course of the evening, I was assessing him. He had come to the bar with a group of his friends from outside of town, and they were extremely nice. He was cute, had no problem making conversation, and he continually told me how how glad he was that I had come back. All in all, it was an interesting evening. By the time his ride was leaving, I was comfortable enough with him to agree to walk him out to the parking lot. It was there that he kissed me, soft and sweet, and I kissed back. I don't know what got into me. I'm not a kiss-boys-at-the-bar kind of girl. But there was something about the way he leaned in, I just couldn't resist.

The next day, he sent me a very sweet email, and I agreed to see him, though I told him I was leary of dating and we'd have to just see how things went.

They went. He came over Thursday evening and didn't leave until Friday morning. We didn't do anything too questionable (I stopped him before the nudity), and all in all, we had a good night of talking and kissing. I'm not sure how I feel about any of it really. Him, or the fact that if I said I wanted to date, he'd be right there. We're seeing each other again tomorrow, and although I've already laid my situation and feelings out on the table, I think I'll have to reiterate. Like I said way way back, I'm just not ready (or in the position, for that matter) for anything too big. For now, I'm just happy having met a new person.

Onto the second man story: As I mentioned in my last post, I had a night of flirty flirty with Pint Guy a few weeks back. I ran into him again last Wednesday, again coming out of the bathroom, and we chatted for a bit. The conversation was moving along quite nicely, and at some point, I said his name. I'm a name-sayer by nature. I think it puts people at ease and makes conversation more personal and directed. Anyway, I said his name, and for some reason, asked him if he remembered mine. To which he replied, "Jessica?" My name is not Jessica. I looked right at him, said, "You've seen me naked and you can't remember my name? Take care," and walked away. I was livid. He may be a beautiful man, but come on! I then realized what I fool I had been for harboring my little crush on him, and vowed to not be vexed by his beauty henceforth.

Okay, you think the story's over, don't you? It's not. The following afternoon, when I finally got around to checking my answering machine for messages, who did I hear but Pint Guy? His message went as follows...

"(My name), it's (his name). I am very, very, deeply, from the bottom of my heart, sorry about tonight. I had been drinking, and I didn't expect to see you. I was flustered. Anyway...you can call me back...if you want. My cell phone number is _______. Okay. Bye."

There are a number of things that this message brought up:

1. He still has my number, which I gave to him on a napkin about three months ago, and still didn't remember my name.
2. He was at least nice enough to apologize.
3. He thought that I'd really want to call him back!

Wait, wait, there's more! I saw him again, at the same place, after a Valentine's Day Celtic concert my neighbors invited me to. I have never seen a man look so sheepish in my life. Like a good scorned woman, I said nothing to him, but as I was leaving, not being able to resist, I looked up at him before I walked out the door and again, there he was, looking back. I think that he may stare at me for the rest of our mutual existence in Traverse City, and like my upcoming date with the tall guy, I don't know how I feel about that either. On one hand, I think I should just actively hate him for the sex-and-run-then-forget-my-name string of events. But on the other hand, I'm drawn to him. It's not self-respecting woman behavior, but it's the way I feel and I can't do a thing about it. Again, damn that sexy man!

So, in a nutshell, those were the major happenings of the last three weeks. Of course, I've done other things besides talk to guys and go bald, but to really fill you in would require many more paragraphs and more time than I have.

Tonght is pint night...again. I'm hoping for a relaxing evening of idle conversation and low drama. Until my next post...

A funny thing happened on the way to the bathroom

2005-01-31T13:17:00.000-05:00

It went like this:

Last night at around 10:30, I got a call from my flirty friend (see previous posts). One of her friends from Cleveland (where she went to school) was visiting and she wanted me to meet him. Normally, I wouldn't have gone out so late on a Sunday night, but I got the feeling she really wanted to rustle up a group, and it's always fun to meet someone new. So, even though I was in my sweaty workout gear and was just about to eat a grapefruit, I agreed. We were to meet at the place we go for pint night. I changed into a totally eighties outfit complete with old-school converse, cuffed jeans and a zip-up cardigan. Quite frankly, I felt like a cutie-patootie.

I should add here that within the past few days, I have resolved to not let myself get consumed by the men-folk. To do this, I've decided to officially stop looking for someone to date. For me, this is not an easy resolution. Like deciding to quit smoking or lose weight, to stop looking was a decision I had to be completely comfortable with and ready to commit to. And like quitting smoking and losing weight, the results have left me feeling much healthier. I've found that since I decided to stop looking, I generally feel better about myself. I spend my time doing more constructive things, my wit is quicker (probably as a result of those constructive things), and I just feel sexier. Okay, now before you start to think "This chick's got it together," read on.

So, I was the first to arrive at the bar, which often seems to be the case and can be awkward, especially if it's slow like it was last night. Usually, if it's a bit busier, I run into at least one person I know. In this case, the bar was a quarter-full of strangers with semi-familiar faces all engaged in private conversations...not anyone I'd be comfortable approaching. So I sidled up to the bar and ordered a beer, and like I always do while I'm waiting for my drink, glanced around to survey the scene. To my right: A greased up guy in a backward visor hitting on a girl wearing (I'm not kidding you) pro-wrestler boots and what looked like a black bodysuit. Behind me:The Middle-aged Regulars. And to my left: What's that I see? Who could be here, on Sunday, when I'm never here, and the bar is so slow that I can eavesdrop on several conversations at once? If you guessed Pint Guy, you're correct. Yeah...fun times.

This is not the first time I've seen him here since our pint night rendezvous a few months ago, but as I said before, it's usually packed on Wednesdays, and I've made an active effort to dart in and out of crowds to avoid him. But due to the lack of patrons last night, our seeing one another was inevitable, as hard as I tried to pretend I didn't see him.

Totally unnerved but trying to act anything but, I grabbed my beer before it hit the bar and high-tailed it to a booth far far away. Conversation averted for the time being.

My friend and her friend arrived, as did her parents, pictured below (because I'm a photo-posting nut now):

We slid into our usual chit chat, which led to more beers, and inevitably, a trip to the loo. The bathrooms are at the back, past the pool tables, where I had seen Pint Guy head with his beer, so I enlisted the moral support of my friend and her mother for my sojourn. We had a gab fest in the bathroom, during which, after I confessed that my experience with Pint Guy was not the greatest, they told me some of their sex-gone-wrong stories. We were still laughing about them on the way out of the bathroom. I was making pains to make it appear as if I were completely engrossed in our conversation, and not at all distracted by the fact that if I should make a wrong turn of my head, I'd meet direct eye contact from Pint Guy. Apparently. my charade was successful, because after we all sat back down, my friend told me he was smiling at me when I came out, but when I didn't look at him, he looked away kind of dejected. I have to admit, it felt pretty good. I also have to admit, I still have the hots for him big time.

So we kept drinking and peeing, and during one of my potty breaks with my friend's mom in tow, who should come out of the bathroom at the same time I did, but him? The men's and women's bathroom doors face one another, so we literally bumped into one another coming out. Sheesh.

Our conversation went as follows (approximately):

Me (surprised): Hello.

Him (touching the small of my back): Hi.

Me: How are you?

Him: Good. How are you?

Me: Good. The same. What have you been up to?

Him: Not much

Me: Did you find work for yourself?

Him: Um, yeah. I got my old job back temporarily, traveling.

Me: That's great. Congratulations.

Him: Thanks, I'm excited about it. (motions towards the stage, where open-mic night is in progress) Are you going to sing?

(sidenote: I used to sing classical music in high school. All my friends did, in fact. During our night together, my friend told him, and he spent the rest of the evening asking me to sing for him. Of course, I never did, but nice that he remembered)

Me: Uh, nope. Are you? (Another side note: he played a little guitar for me) I'm sure they have a slot for a finger-picker.

Him (laughing): Not gonna do it.

Me: Well, if you do, you can rest assured that you'll have at least one clapping audience member (pointing to myself).

Him (nodding and smirking in the sexy way he does): Thanks.

Me: It was good to see you.

Him: Yeah, you too.

Me (touching his arm): Take care.

Him: You too.

And that was it. That was the conversation I had been dreading since I saw him to my left. It wasn't so bad, and like I said, since I've sworn off the men, I was feeling pretty good. What better time to run into someone you've had not-so-great sex with after a night of drinking?

But the thing...THE THING...is this: He is perhaps the sexiest man I've ever met. No joke. Something about him turns me into goo. Maybe it's the smirk. Maybe it's the fact that he looks like Keanu Reeves, but cuter. Maybe it's the fact that he's a few inches taller than me, and that seems to be the perfect kissing height. Maybe it's the fact that he's a little shy but still likes to get really close to me when I talk to him. I don't know what it is, but he is intoxicating. So intoxicating, in fact, that I am shamelessly writing a novel about him right now.

And the other thing is this: We did the looking over at each other and smiling thing for the rest of the night, which is something I just cannot get enough of. Even as we were both leaving, and a guy I had been talking to was trying to get me to go home with him, I was fixated on him, and he on me. When we both walked to our cars in the parking lot, I glanced over in his direction for one last peek, and he was still looking at me. I swear to god, he likes me, I like him, and we have this amazing flirty chemistry, but is that it? That's all I get? Ugh. Damn that sexy man!

So, yeah, so much for not thinking about men. But in my defense, as I've stated before, he's got the magic. What can I do? I'm not investing anything in our exchanged glances, nor will I be trying to run into him again. But seriously! Why does he taunt me so?

And on that note, I will sign off. I've been writing for an inordiante amount of time, and I'm sure you're all sick of my crazy man-rambling.

Until my next post...

Oh baby baby

2005-01-29T02:28:00.000-05:00

My evening went as such:

I was being a nerd, researching costume jewelry on various websites/ebay. This was going on for hours. HOURS, I tell you. I probably could've continued indefinitely, had I not heard a knock on my door. Let me also tell you that I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, spending Friday night researching jewelry and attending to my aforementioned Friday night companions. But...BUT...the knock at the door was my friends...my good friends that just had the babies, and they were heading out for an evening of greasy snacks at the bar that was our regular Friday night place before the babies.

I cannot tell you how excited I was. Normally, I'm the girl that makes everyone wait while I put on my eyeshadow, but because I've been actively antisocial for the past week (save for pint night, of course), all I needed was my sneakers and some respectable pants, and I was out the door.

So we ate at our usual place. Nick and I split escargot, chili cheese fries and hot wings (most of which are now in a take-out box in my fridge), and we drank beer and caught up. It was excellent. Now that I'm single-ish, my time with friends is really the only intimate social contact I have. I'm friendly with my coworkers, but not eleven-years-friendly, and there's just no replacement for a group of people who know you inside-and-out and love you anyway.

After dinner, Nick and Allison seemed like they still wanted to hang out, and Nick mentioned playing Karaoke Revolution at their place. For those of you who aren't familiar with this technological marvel: it's a Playstation game played by wearing a headset and trying to match the pitch of pre-recorded pop songs. Last winter, when Mark lived here and we were all babyless, our weekend ritual was this: we had drinks at Dillinger's, then retreated to Allison and Nick's to either play Karaoke Revolution, Mario Party or Soul Caliber, all while drinking various and sundry cocktails, which inevitably led to trash talk (i.e. "Wario ain't got nothin' on Toad, beeeatch" or "Your Avril may be good, but check my Britney"). So, in honor of our old traditions, we retreated to Al and Nick's for a Karaoke showdown. Nick is pictured below, baby Elvis (yes, Elvis) in tow, getting his groove on:

Speaking of the twins...I introduce to you Hank and Elvis.

Cute? Yes. Spit up machines? Yes. But they're so damned cute, I'd let them spit up all over me any day. As long as they call me Aunt Kelly and come over to my house to make pine cone bird feeders with me when they're old enough not to eat the seeds, they can spit up on me until they're eighteen. But I digress...

To make a long story a little less long, I beat everyone at Karaoke and hitched a ride home with my friend, Sara. In terms of drunkenness, this night couldn't hold a candle to last January. But in terms of babyness, it beats last January by leaps and bounds. Times they are a changing...and it turns out it's not so bad. I've said it before and I'll say it again: There's nothing like good friends. They can be challenging, but they're the family you get to choose, and what an amazing opportunity that is.

Until my next post...

CATS!

2005-01-28T17:43:00.000-05:00

My Friday night companions:

This is Sam/Sammy/Sammy Roo/Big Sam

His favorite activities include: drinking out of the bathtub faucet, begging for the milk in my cereal bowl, chasing fur-covered toy mice, lying on my stomach when I'm watching television, eating and pooping

This is Fern/Fernie Girl/Fernie Roo/My Munchkin

Her favorite activities include: leaping for fur-covered toy mice, scratching the sofa, lying on top of the computer monitor, stalking Sam, lying next to me when I do Pilates, purring in my face in the morning, and meowing about every little thing

They are brother and sister from the Baty Cat Clan (a friend's parents), direct descendents of Spooky, a cat who has had more kittens than any of us probably realize. Mark and I rescued them from the Batys' porch on a -11 degree night, and they haven't tried to go outside since. Speaking of going outside, I have to get out of here! I'm posting pictures of my cats on my blog, for god's sake.

Until my next post...

M-I-S-S you much

2005-01-28T13:51:00.000-05:00

Well, the weekend is fast approaching, and I have no plans to do anything. I think I can rustle up a little Friday/Saturday night activity, but right now, when I'm well into a Friday afternoon at work, it's just the fact that I don't have anything to go home for. I could sit here until Monday morning, and no one would be the wiser. How depressing is that? Seriously.

It's in socially barren times like these, when I spend my evenings cleaning out my purse and clipping my nails, that I really miss Mark. And to intensify the longing, I stumbled upon two of the notes he used to leave in my lunch sack snuggled in one of the tinier pockets of my purse:

They may seem ridiculous, but to me, they're just perfect. Very Mark - simple and dry and very sweet. The garbage one was written when he was working as a maintenance guy at this horrible apartment complex in Ann Arbor, where one of his duties was to pick up tenants' garbage. The other was written when we were moving from Ann Arbor to Traverse City and there were, as the note so clearly states, piles of shit everywhere.

Ah Mark - It's possible I'll never find another man who understands me like he does. But you know what? That's okay. I feel fortunate just to have found him. Even if we don't end up together, we'll always belong to one another. And that's quite alright with me.

Two left feet

2005-01-25T19:51:00.000-05:00

A strange day so far...

I had to stay late at work because I designed a cover for this supplement to the magazine that was going to the printer at 5 today, only to find out (at 4:30) that four of the six photos I used weren't licensed to us, but taken by freelance photographers. If you're not familiar with copyright law, that means that I couldn't use them, and had to frantically search three years' worth of back issues to gather enough material taken by our staff photographer to make a new cover in fifteen minutes. Needless to say, I was a bit harried, but got it together at exactly five, leaving us with the seemingly simple tasks of formatting the pages and getting them on disk for shipment. Well, all was going well until two of the pages formatted themselves sideways (something that happens on occasion). Needless to say, when all was said and done, I was happy to get out of there.

After work, I rushed home to get a bag full of shoes to return to Goodwill. I bought them last night and returned home to find that I had grabbed two left shoes of the same style. They are brand new, probably one of those closeouts that stores donate to get tax write-offs. Anyhoo, I exchanged the wrong left, replacing it with the right right, and all is well. If you're interested, I'll be posting them on ebay as soon as my digital camera arrives They're gold mary janes, size 8, and very comfortable. I bought a pair for myself and have worn them around the house extensively. Hopefully, they'll make their outdoor debut in the next couple of months. But with the weather we've been having, I'm not holding my breath.

I then spent a good half-hour driving around my neighborhood and peeking in windows while listening to NPR and drinking a slurpee (my therapeutic drink of choice). I love my neighborhood in the winter. It's quiet and the street lamps make the snow sparkle as it falls. When I lived here before, when my family lived here as well, my mom would pick me up from whatever I was doing and we'd drive around just like I did tonight, usually eating ice cream, talking.

It seems I've inherited the peeking gene, though not for the reasons you might think. I just love seeing how people live...how they make their houses theirs. I couldn't care less if I catch a glimpse of anyone, I'm just interested in paint and pictures and furniture and architecture. If it were socially acceptable and people didn't get suspicious, I could drive around for hours in the snow, bumping over the plow piles and tire tracks, with the heater in my little car blasting on my feet. When I do that, covered by the canopy of calligraphic bare branches and the glow of the lamps, I feel safe. It's as if my car is my outside room, an extension of my apartment, completely comfortable and capable of taking me anywhere in the city. Ahhh.

So here I am, still with the slurpee, wondering what else I can do with myself for the next five hours or so before I go to bed. I'm contemplating adding photos to this here blogaroo, but am still up in the air as to what I'd include. Any suggestions?

Until my next post...

Funk this

2005-01-23T23:10:00.000-05:00

I'm in a funk, and I'm not sure why. Although I suspect it has something to do with the fact that my weekend was particularly slow...too much time to sit around and wonder what I'm doing with my life.

There's my job: I have a good job. It's rare to find design work in Traverse City, but I've done it. I work with a wonderful group of people who are not only in tune with this area and what it has to offer, but make an effort to explore beyond Northern Michigan proper. They are thoughtful, compassionate, intelligent and funny, every last one of them. And really, how many people can say that about their coworkers?

There's my apartment: It's beautiful and lovely and everything I imagined for myself, if not more. It has the charm of a 1920's working girl's apartment, stucco on the walls, vinatge light fixtures, an adorable kitchen with a hardwood floor, a huge bathroom with a tub, and a long hallway for the cats to race up and down. I have fun neighbors who invite me over for dinner and are dependable Wednesday drinking cohorts. Not to mention my neighbors downstairs, who put up with the clunk-clunking of my stairclimber and let me pet their dog when she's out to do her business in the backyard.

There are my friends and family: Oh what to say about them? They're perfect - open and honest and loving. They've seen me at my worst, and they still love me. I'm so fortunate to have found them, all of them.

But then there's my personal life: Fucked up. I have a husband whom I love very much but can't seem to love enough, and since I've been separated, a string of tawdry sessions with men I have no intention of being involved with. I think that I should be learning from my experiences with them, but in all honesty, I'm not sure that I have. The only thing I've really figured out is this: I was desperate for good, hot, uninhibited sex. But now that I've had it, all that's left in my head are numbers - two guys since Mark, and a make-out session with an ex-instructor. I can't go on doing what I've been doing because it leaves me feeling (at the risk of sounding cliche) empty, and because I'm convinced it won't amount to much. What self-respecting man wants to date a woman who's confused about her marriage? But I can't just get a divorce. I'm not sure that I'm ready for that.

Mark and I decided to separate after a good year-and-a-half of trying to work things out together. Separation seemed like the next step, and I think we made the right choice, though it hasn't been as I expected. I guess I thought that if we were apart, I'd realize how much better things could be if I was on my own. Some things are better. Some things aren't. It's easier without him around to make messes and careless decisions, but it's hard to not come home and tell him every little thing about my day. And it's hard to spend three days alone when all I want to do is spend three days cuddled with him on the sofa, imitating the commercials, yelling at the top of our lungs because it makes us laugh, or dancing around to made-up songs about the cats or the mess in the sink or whatever appliance is currently giving us trouble. I miss those things. I love those things. Those things make other things easier.

So yeah, I guess spending the weekend primarily in the house turns me into a mess of thoughts, thoughts and more thoughts. That, and a girl who wears the same outfit for the entire weekend: workout pants, a stretched out T-shirt, zebra slippers and a bandana. I've also smoked more than I care to admit, as well as eaten my entire stash of Christmas chocolate. Oh yeah, and I've watched a total of twelve episodes of Futurama on DVD, with plans to squeeze in a few more before I hit the sack.

That having been said, I might do just that. Nothing clears your head like watching an animated robot binge-drink. Until my next post...

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night

2005-01-23T01:12:00.000-05:00

Well, today could be classified as one of the most uneventful days of my adult life. I woke up with plans to do oh so much, but as the day unfolded, it became clear that the things I planned to do wouldn't get done.

The weather here can only be compared to the tundra, icy cold, windy and blowing snow. It's absolutely beautiful and so peaceful if you can brave it. There's so much snow that it muffles most noise, and all you can hear is the noise you make. Tromping through my backyard, surrounded by Saturday houses full of kids and dogs and televisions, all I could hear was the crunching snow under my boots. It's one of those things I love each winter I'm here, but forget about until it happens. I also love that this weather keeps people in, so traffic is sparse and stores are less crowded. It reminds me of when I lived here when I was younger, before Traverse City started growing at the alarming rate it is now.

I did manage to finally buy a carton of milk to replace the two spoiled cartons in my fridge. I also posted several items on ebay, which I've never done before, and I finally got all my photos scanned, touched up, and in frames. Oh yeah, and I took my Christmas decorations down. Damn. I did more than I thought!

In between my various projects, I wondered whether or not I should apologize for my recent email tirade, but haven't caved yet.

Tomorrow should be equally as thrilling. I'm filling in at a children's store downtown, and if the weather is anything like it was today, I'm not expecting much by way of customers. I'll most likely spend the majority of my day making displays and obsessively monitoring my ebay auctions. If I'm lucky, I'll get to smile at a few babies and eat whatever snacks they have stashed in the back office. Last time it was caramel corn with big nutty clusters. Mmm.

And on that note, I'll sign off. Gotta rest up for tomorrow's excitement. Until my next post...

Ahhh

2005-01-21T22:21:00.000-05:00

Okay, I'm back from dinner with a belly full of a particular sandwich I've been fantasizing about all afternoon. It was nice to be out with good friends.

Everyone at the table agreed that my ex-photo instructor was in the wrong, which made me feel better about the whole thing. I was starting to regret flying off the handle like I did. But after re-reading his initial message, I don't feel so bad. He has responded to my email with a defensive email about how his message wasn't a personal attack. I know this, but as I said in my angry angry letter, it was presumptuous, condescending and insulting.

What made him think he could be such a part of my separation with Mark? What made him think I wanted his advice? And what made him think I haven't thought about everything inside and out? After six years of communicating, you'd think someone would have a handle on your personal boundaries and modes of operation, but apparently, they weren't six years well-spent. In all honesty, I don't know if our friendship can recover after this. But if he's the type of friend who thinks it's his place to give me a dime-store psychoanalysis of me and my marriage without prompting (and without all the facts), I'm not sure I want him in my life.

It's always been my policy to trust and know my friends enough to let them do what they will, tell them I'm always around for them, and step in if they need or want me to. Friends go through bad relationships you know won't work out, but you let them figure that out for themselves. Unless a situation is physically or psychologically dangerous, you don't intervene. You feel your way through the bad stuff. I've had friends thank me later for not judging them, not holding their bad decisions against them, and for hanging in when the going got tough. We've stuck with each other for roughly ten years or so; we must be doing something right.

So, to my ex-photo instructor, Adam: your friends' relationships are not hypothetical psychological situations for you to sort through. They're real, and often confusing, and theirs alone. Help if they ask for it, but otherwise, you owe it to them to step back and let them figure it out. Let them learn for themselves. That's what life is all about, making decisions and learning from them as you go. Dummy.

Until my next post (which, I promise, won't be nearly as bitter)...

I didn't ask

2005-01-21T13:40:00.000-05:00

Something very interesting happened to me this morning. It was slow at work, so I decided to check my personal email account, only to find a message from my friend, the photo instructor. We've exchanged a few messages since our interlude, all friendly and pretty typical. But this message was a bit different. It was an attempted analysis of my problems with Mark, complete with half-assed advice and his definition of marriage. I can't tell you what a tizzy it threw me into.

I'm not one to start conflict, nor am I one to write an angry letter and actually send it. But something about his tone was so condescending. He was treating me as if I haven't thought my marriage through enough, like I'm naive. So while I was formatting pages and preparing them for the printer, I wrote him a response, whole and beautiful, and very very angry. Can you imagine? Marriage advice from a married man who tries to sleep with his ex-student? Please. I'm absolutely livid.

More about all of it later. I'm having dinner with friends and have yet to put my face on. Until my next post...

Me again

2005-01-19T01:39:00.000-05:00

Tonight, I watched the last half of the final season of Sex and the City on DVD, made myself a Gardenburger, and did my stairclimber and Pilates. It feels good to be alone again, back into my routine, with no one to answer to but myself. After this weekend, I needed some quiet time.

The craziness started on Thursday evening (with one interlude I've already explained in the previous post), and primarily concerns my husband, though the Scot makes two appearances, both in reference and in speech.

After two weeks of laying low and only communicating with my husband via email, we both decided it was time for a phone call, arranged a time, and sat down to have a chat. The conversation was moving along as usual. He was reporting his last two weeks, as was I, save for my brief stint with the Scot. The whole time we were talking, I was having an inner debate over whether or not to tell him what had happened. On one hand, I didn't want to keep it from him, because we have an honest, open relationship, even during this separation. But on the other hand, I wanted to save him from the information, because I knew it would be hard for him to hear. Well, honesty eventually won, and I told him...everything: the way we met, us sleeping together...everything. He was hurt, which I knew he would be, but he said he was glad I told him, which I also knew he would be. And we cried. And I told him I was sorry, which I am, for so many things.

We've agreed to see other people, and I want to, but I feel so bad about it. Even though I have this wonderful man telling me to go out and do what I need to do, I can't make heads or tails of what that is. What am I supposed to do? Who am I supposed to be? Should I be alone? Should I be dating? I'm searching for answers, but all I seem to unearth are more questions, and quite frankly, I don't like it. I know who and how I am...but how does that fit into where I am or should be? I don't even have the slightest idea how to handle all of this, and it's driving me crazy.

Anyway, on Friday night, my husband called to tell me he'd like to come up if I'd have him, which I agreed to, with some trepidation. I know what happens when he comes to visit. We have a great time because the pressure of us being married is somewhat lowered, he leaves, and I'm confused.

And that's exactly what happened. He arrived on Saturday morning, as beautiful as ever, and we had fun until he left this morning. We went out to eat (something I hardly ever do because of my new tight budget), rented videos, played board games, drank wine, talked and made love (not necessarily in that order). When he's here, it's like nothing's changed. Everything is so easy. I know him inside and out - every idiosyncracy, every catchphrase, every glance. It's as if we're still living together, only in an apartment I've decorated. So yeah, as is the pattern, he left, and I'm confused. I love that man. But how do I love him? For better or for worse? Definitely. But as a husband? Maybe, maybe not. I know things will become clearer to me as we roll on doing what we're doing, but I wish I knew now. Separation is a trial, in more ways than one.

A semi-related tidbit: the Scot called to tell me that he felt blown off last week and he's still interested in seeing me. Why wait a week to call? I'm not interested in seeing him, but please, a week?! You'd think if he was really interested in seeing me, he'd have called the next night, or even the night after that. It's that lack of, um, for lack of a better word, aggressiveness, that brought me to my senses. His last-ditch effort to salvage what little we had only made me realize how little we did have.

So yeah, I guess that's it. The Scot is out of my system and my husband has weasled back in. Now what?

Until my next post...

Picture this

2005-01-14T01:22:00.000-05:00

I've found myself in one of those weekends that doesn't completely make sense until the dust settles. It's been a whirlwhind.

On Thursday night, my aunt came to see my apartment. She's works at a laundromat in town and has been pretty antisocial for the duration of our relationship, although she's always taken a bit of a shine to me. Before she came over, I was kind of nervous, just because it's been quite a while since we've had a long talk together. The last time I can remember actually sitting down with her was at Big Boy about five years ago. So she came, looked, commented on how homey my apartment is, and we sat down for a long chat...longer than I thought we would have. She ended up staying about three hours, during which there was hardly a break in the conversation. I don't know what's happening to my family, but suddenly, everyone is much more open. It's so much easier to talk with them now. And I can't quite put myself in the position to make sense of it all, because I suspect it may have something to do with me getting older. But I also think everyone else is maturing. It makes me wish my grandparents were alive to see all the intricate relationships we're fostering amongst ourselves. They would be proud. My aunt and I have made tentative lunch plans I'm hoping she'll keep. She's a good person, as are all my mom's siblings. I know they went through great trauma in their house, but I also know there was great love. I can only hope my children (if they ever come to be) are as good as the Kolakowski family.

Friday night brought my ex-photo instructor, who (if you've read previous entries) also brought much sexual tension. He was a grad student when he taught my class, and we've kept in contact since his graduation and my moving away. I had a crush on him while taking his class, and he's only recently admitted that he had a crush on me as well. So, during the duration of our communcation (I haven't actually seen him in about six years), we've maintained a friendly, mildly flirtatious repoire, including emails and phone calls, and about a month ago, he announced he'd be making a trip up here to his parents' cottage with his oldest friend. We made plans for him to stay one night at my place. I think I knew what was looming, and got freaked out, so I made pains to make it clear that nothing would happen, even though the thought of kissing him has haunted me since I said goodbye to him during our last class.

He arrived on Friday night, looking like I thought he would, the same but different, and in my kitchen. It was surreal. We uncorked our first bottle of wine and talked and talked. After we had finished the first bottle, it became clear we'd need more, so we ran to the corner store. And it was so easy, like no time had passed. There he was, in the passenger seat of my car, physically a stranger, though I've known him almost as long as my college career, and I couldn't have been more comfortable. It was perfect, exactly how I thought it would be if we ever did find one another again, amongst our many moves, degrees, and career changes. It felt good.

After we returned from the store we: turned down an invitation to meet my friends at our regular place, finished the second bottle of wine, explored the basement of my building (an old victorian in an old victorian neighborhood), tried to spy on my neighbors though my peephole, went through my old assignments from the class he taught, went through my old and embarrassing drawings, looked through my CD collection, and argued over whether or not he could see my blog. Somewhere between pulling him away from my computer and making our way to the kitchen to replenish our glasses, he kissed me. And I kissed him back, and it was the craziest thing...the craziest thing. He's a good kisser, and I just couldn't help myself. After six years of wondering what the hell it would be like, I knew, and I wanted more.

The next few hours were a flurry of making out on my living room floor, and then in my bed, where our clothes came off and the sex almost happened, but I stopped him. So we fell asleep together, naked. When I woke up, nestled in the crook of his arm, I looked at him and said, "Well, at least that's over with. We've kissed and seen each other naked." He said he didn't do anything he hadn't wanted to do for a long time. I agreed. He left shortly afterward to meet his friend at the cottage, and I felt good. I know the dynamic of our realtionship will change after all this, but honestly, it's okay. I don't feel like I made a mistake, nor do I feel our friendship will suffer. We did something we needed to do, and it's done. Case closed. He did call me this evening to thank me for having him over and to tell me he'll be up again before the winter's over, but I don't know how much stock to put in that. I'm happy with our drunken night of naked kissing. I can move on.

I have more to write about concerning my husband and the Scot, but for now, I'll have to sign off. It's late, I have a guest, and I'm being a terrible hostess. Until my next post...

Scot free

2005-01-11T16:25:00.000-05:00

As previously mentioned, the Scot and I were supposed to have dinner last night. I was going to make something, but the thought of cooking for him started to freak me out. It did seem too binding and domestic. So I resolved to order a pizza and rent "Napoleon Dynamite", all of which would be gathered upon our making plans. Well 9 rolled around, and with no call, I got frustrated and called him, leaving a very curt message on his machine. A half-hour later, I called him again, just to tell him I was going to Jazz Night and I'd see him when I saw him. I don't know what bothered me most about calling him, the fact that he wasn't there, or the fact that I actually did it - twice! What is it about men that completely obliterates my resolve? All night long I was telling myself I wouldn't call him first, but I did. Who is that girl? Even typing it now, I'm a little ashamed of myself. Bleck.

I met my flirty friend at the bar, and had a very nasty dirty martini, followed by a nasty glass of cheap wine. With no dinner in me, I was toast. We spent the majority of the night chatting with two men currently working at Home Depot, one of which was in Reconnaisance in the Army. The conversation was somewhat interesting, though lacking - too much talk about special deals on lawn mowers and 2x4s. Even the most passionate of Home Depot shoppers can only feign being impressed by hand tools for so long, you know what I'm sayin'?

I also ran into my mover again, who never fails to tell me how special I am and how much he loves me. Of course he's always carrying a beer and acts way too offended when I ask him how much he's had, but I'll admit, it's nice to hear every now and again.

When I arrived home at 2 a.m., sobered by a few glasses of water, I found a message from the Scot on my machine. It seems he fell asleep and didn't even get my message until 10. He kept going on about how he didn't hear from me, so he didn't know what was going on, etc., etc., but I don't care. If he had wanted to see me bad enough, he would have called before taking a nap. Or he could have called to ask me to join him in napping. I would have been up for it.

God, I hate it when men don't call! What is wrong with them? In my next relationship, when a guy says he'll call, I'm going to ask him for specifics-date and time please. That way, I can carry on with my life without worrying about missing that one little ring. It's ridiculous and it makes me feel like a dumb girl. I hate feeling like a dumb girl.

That having been said...it's over with the Scot. He called tonight at 10 again, after suggesting we see each other this evening, but when I picked up the phone, the mere sound of his voice turned me right off. I told him I was in the middle of my Pilates (which was true) and wanted to get back to it. To which he said, "Yeah? Well...okay. I hope to talk to you again soon." To which I responded, "Okay." and hung up the phone. He may be adorable, but he's certainly ot worth all this obsessing.

And on that note, I'm going to shuffle off to bed. I'm still worn out from staying out so late last night and I've got a book waiting for me. Until my next post...

Lost in Translation

2005-01-10T01:17:00.000-05:00

She came, she saw, she shopped. Now she's staying at my aunt's for the night.

I was sort of dreading the visit, just because of the inordinate amount of time I've been spending with my family lately, but, as always, it was nice to spend time with her. We have fun, my mom and I. She's a good mom and a good friend. But oh, the road that has brought us to where we are now. It hasn't been easy between the two of us. We have the most intense relationship, and sometimes that makes things difficult. When you love someone so much you think your heart will burst, things can get complicated. But we're finally at that place where we can just be, and all that shit we went through before was just the admission price. Knowing that, I'd do it all over again.

Our weekend included (in approximate order): chinese food at the place we always used to go, four episodes of Sex and the City, a family birthday party, shopping for jeans, and margaritas and Scrabble. She's the only person I've played who can beat me at Scrabble. I would blame it on the margaritas, but I know better. That lady can work a triple word score like no other.

At my cousin's birthday party, we were discussing movies, and "Lost in Translation" came up. Everyone pretty much agreed that they hated it. Everyone except me, of course. I loved that movie. The whole thing-every frame, every sentence-was exactly right and perfect. It made me absolutely happy. I was waxing poetic in that very same direction to a living room full of blank faces, when my mom turned to everyone and said, "but (points to me) sees things differently." To which everyone nodded and the subject was dropped. It's a recurring event when we get together. Among my family, I do see things differently, and it's always frustrated me. I mean, that movie won an oscar for Best Original Screenplay, for god's sake! Doesn't anybody related to me by blood see the genius?

I want a cohort when we're gathered. Someone to fold into the corner and talk with until everyone starts putting their coats on. But instead, I make random comments that hang in the air and the subject is changed. Please don't pity the artsy-fartsy nerd. I can small talk, and even big talk, with the rest of them. I have spent perfectly pleasant afternoons discussing work, my cousin's recent college choice, upcoming elections, environmental issues, the war, and even gay rights. But there's something about the art talk that just makes my family uncomfortable and speechless. They just don't know how to handle it.

It's in situations like that, when I seem to be the only one in the room who understands the latest indie flick, that I miss Mark. We could talk about art for hours. In fact, when we first met, he was the only person I knew with whom I could discuss all that business. It's one of the things that amazed me about him. As I've gotten older, more people have come into my life with similar interests, so it's not like I'm starved to talk about the latest cultural developments. I just value that part of my relationship with Mark, that thinky connection part, and I guess I always will.

Speaking of relationships, in a weak moment, I invited the Scot over for a home-cooked meal tomorrow night. Domestic? Yes. Binding? No, although I know I'm venturing further into the minefield. A sidenote: he has Tuesday off, so I may be looking at an overnight stay.

But forget all that business-What am I going to make? As many meals as I've cooked in my lifetime, I still have no specialty. What's the one dish that defines Dinner at My Place? I can make lasagna, but is that too boring? Moussaka seems to risky. And any sort of meat and potatoes meal seems, well, too meat and potatoes. Noodles with tofu and greens, perhaps. He's a health food eater, and I still need to break in the skillet I got for Christmas. Points to ponder and post about later.

Until we meet again, I remain, the girl that sees things differently...

Waiting

2005-01-08T15:19:00.000-05:00

Well, my apartment is spic and span, I ran all my errands, and I paid my bills. There's nothing left to do but wait for my mom. She's due here any minute, but she's a slow driver, so I'm not expecting her on time. So what better to do while I wait than update the blog?

It's freakin' freezing in this building. I have no thermostat in my apartment, and I'm pretty sure my neighbor downstairs controls the heat. Sheesh. Throw me a bone (or five degrees), why dontcha? It's like the tundra in here.

I spent last night at my friend, Amy's, house. She and her husband live about fifteen miles out of town, and when it snows in the winter, they tend to hibernate a bit. I don't blame them-it's freezing and the roads are not always safe to drive on-but I miss them. So I made the journey out to their little ranch in Lake Ann for a good, old-fashioned night of hangin' out with my girlfriend (her husband, Marty, was watching a boxing match at a hotel downtown). The evening went as follows: arrive, eat bread and cheese, drink boxed red wine, eat more bread and cheese, drink more wine, have a smoke in the garage, drink more wine, play ping-pong in the basement, drink more wine, have another smoke, eat leftover Christmas treats, and fall asleep in the spare bedroom. I awoke to the fuzzy muzzle of their golden retriever in my right ear, still stuffed, and completely parched. But I made it out alive, and like every time I stay over, wondering why I don't do it more often. She's a good friend.

Other than my girl-party last night, nothing much is new. I haven't talked to the Scot since our last meeting. I'm not quite sure where that puts us, but to tell the truth, it doesn't really matter. It won't work, even if we do really like one another. Things are just too crazy from the get-go, and I'm not ready to be in any sort of real relationship, especially not one with two kids, an ex-wife, and a huge age difference attached to it.

I hear a knock at my door. Until my next post...

Clean it up, lady

2005-01-06T13:15:00.000-05:00

I'm at work, and it's making me antsy. I like my job, I do, but there are days, weeks even, when I just want to be anywhere but here. It's not that I don't have interesting things to do. I do. This afternoon, for example, I have two interesting things to do: make a map and design a cover. Both of these tasks interest me, and each is challenging in its own way, but I'm dreading starting them. If I were three, I would throw myself down on the carpet and kick and bang my fists until my art director told me to go home. Unfortunately, that behavior is not becoming nor professional.

I think I'm sort of anxious because my mom called yesterday to inform me that she may be visiting this weekend. If weather permits and she's able to drive up, she'll be staying (eating, drinking, living, breathing) in my apartment, which means I have to completely wash it of all its sins by Friday night. That entails finally vaccuming the cat hair off of throw pillows, dusting the baseboards, scrubbing the tub, taking my recycling out...the whole bit. There's "clean", and then there's "clean for mom."

Think I'm exaggerating? Sadly, I'm not. Dirt, grime and dust make my mom extremely and visibly uncomfortable. If the place isn't spotless, she'll perch on the sofa, hands folded in her lap, with this indescribable look that rests somewhere between fear and disdain. I'll bet any of you five dollars that she mentions how dusty my blinds are, and she'll roll herself with my lint roller at least three times before we leave the house. But what am I gonna do? I love my mom and I want her to be comfortable, and if that means scrubbing my place from top to bottom, I'll do it. That woman, I swear.

Oop, gotta go. My hour break has expired, and unfortunately, I've got a map to make. Until my next post...

But does he own a kilt?

2005-01-06T01:41:00.000-05:00

I'm back from another pint night. No man in my bed, just a little intoxicated, and completely happy. I had a good evening of man-talk with my neighbors. They have also started referring to the Scot as the Scottish Warrior, which not only cracks me up, but makes him more attractive in his absence.

Speaking of which, he came over last night. It was really nice, but again, strange. He came in, smelling like the cold (the temperature was zero last night), a bottle of wine and "Garden State" in tow, wearing the cutest little hat. He looked like a Nova Scotian fisherman. I know...could I romanticize our dysfunctional relationship any more? I can't help myself...it's a disease. Something I see reminds me of something else I've seen, and suddenly, I'm head over heels in lust with a 39-year-old man with kids. You think watching dark, independent films and reading novels concerning man vs. nature are good for you intellectually, but in my case, they lead me down the wrong sexual path. What is that all about?

After watching the entire movie (with a short kissing interlude), the Scot and I couldn't take it any longer. and we jumped into bed. And again it was wonderful, despite the fact that I had to stop everything mid-foreplay to get a condom on that man and put my spermicide in. He was a bit taken aback by the whole process, but understanding, which was good. I'm a bit of a neurotic when it comes to protection, but how can I not be? I read. I know people who've been through a lot of hardship as a result of casual sex, and I just don't want to put myself in that position (no pun intended). The man I'm with has to, and I mean HAS TO, be understanding in that regard. In a way, I sort of wanted him to be an ass about it, so I could get mad and send him home, but he wasn't, and told me he'd get used to it and he loved being with me. Nice to hear, but again, it freaked my shit out.

I know the Scot is wrong for me, but we have a good time together, and right now, that feels right. But I also know he's looking for more from me. I know he wants to meet someone who he could potentially spend the rest of his life with. When he's looking at me, glowing from kissing or whatever we've been doing, I know he wants that, but I just can't return it, and in those moments, when he's so sweet and vulnerable, I feel horrible. And that's not the way it should be! Those are the moments people dream of and wish for when they've spent yet another night alone. I'VE dreamed for those moments. Argh. It's like everything is good on the surface, but if we scratch a little deeper, the layer below, the actual truth, will be marred and ugly.

In my defense, I did tell him that I wasn't looking for a relationship, but he just kind of shrugged it off and said, "Lets just see where this goes." But the thing is, I've never been a let's-see-where-this-goes kind of gal. I like to know where things are headed. I like to be able to prepare. I like to toughen my skin for the inevitable breakup, or open my heart for the man who's opened his to me. But with the Scot, all that is fluid. There's no right or wrong, just the two of us, enjoying each others' company and having amazing sex. And I just don't know if I can surrender myself to that. It makes me happy when it's happening, because it's so relaxed and feels so good, but really, when all is said and done, it makes me more anxious than anything else.

So what do I do? Do I continue seeing him? What's the point if I feel like we have no future together? I like sleeping with him, but I don't need it. What I need is a man with goals and independence. What I need is a man who I look at and say, "You amaze me." But is that man here? Will he be here later? Is it acceptable to sleep with Mr. Right Now while I'm waiting for Mr. Right?

More on all of this madness when it's not so late and I've ingested less alcohol. Until my next post...

Bowl-a-rama

2005-01-04T13:02:00.000-05:00

Well, bowling was a bust. We strolled in, me in my circa-1946 bowling outfit (I stopped myself from wearing a handkerchief), and my neighbors all in black. It was packed, and lets just say we were a little out of place. Save for the employees, we were probably the only ones in there able to purchase alcohol, and the place reeked of mall perfume and cologne. It was fun to watch, but definitely not our scene. Who knew dollar-bowling could be such a draw?

And when did high school students get so attractive? I never got that gussied up when I was sixteen! All the boys looked like a cross between pictures of my father before I was born and members of The Strokes. They were all dressed the way I wished boys dressed when I was that age-all messy and cute. The girls, however, were the complete opposite of messy. They were dolled UP. If anything, it's become harder to be a stylish teenage girl since I graduated. Or was I stylish and high-maintenance too, and I just didn't realize it at the time? I suppose it's a mystery that will remain so. Until my children pull out my high school snapshots and tell me how cool my hair was, that is.

Back to bowling: After chatting with the other members of our party already waiting for a lane, we decided to high-tail it out of there. Going out for a drink was discussed, but seeing as though none of us have expendable income to speak of, we ended up buying a six-pack at 7-11 and bringing it back to my place. We had a nice chat. I lamented about the Scot and they listened patiently. At one point, my neighbor looked at me and said, "How does one go about even meeting someone who's 39?" which made me laugh, and sadly, made me feel old myself. The Scot is older than any man I've ever been romantically involved with, but I'm generally attracted to older men. They're more self-assured, typically more directed, and have had plenty of time to sort through whatever it was they needed to sort through. Unfortunately, as is the case with the Scot, that sorting often results in armloads of baggage, but I'm not really frightened or threatened by it, so much as I feel like I don't want to deal with it right now. But I digress.

What I was getting to is this: I like my neighbors. They're nice people and an adorable couple. They are aspiring artists and we talk about art and music. They tape photos to my door and I drop food on their doorstep when I've made too much. It's all very Leave It To Beaver and wonderful-the perfect situation for a single-ish girl like myself.

So that's that. I should probably get offline. The Scot will be calling, and I've been bogarting the phone line in one way or another since I got home. Until my next post...

Whistle while you work

2005-01-03T20:47:00.000-05:00

Things are semi-normal again, I guess. The Scot is sick with the flu, which he caught from his daughter over the weekend. I couldn't bring myself to break things off over the phone, partly because he's sick, and partly because he's sexy. He may or may not be coming over tomorrow depending on how he feels, so we'll see how things go. I'm hoping the mere sight of him will freak me out enough to just say forget it, but I know myself too well. As wrong for me as he seemingly is, my chin is chapped from kissing him so much, and I like to think of him as my Scottish Warrior, which is dangerous. Can I have a casual relationship with someone who is more into me than I am him? I suppose it's possible, but not ethical, and definitely not something I would have ever done before. I just have to level with him. Right? Right.

My coworkers and I made our triumphant returns to work this morning, and exchanged the typical after-holiday greetings. It seems everyone had pretty relaxing holidays. We were all in this sort of "whatever" mood that made coming back really easy, and everyone was pretty chatty, especially those of us of the single-ish variety. You spend enough time at home with (insert pet/s here), and you're bound to be full of all sorts of interesting news to say aloud.

Despite the general good attitude in the office, the day began to seem unbearably long about a half-hour before quittin' time. I think I had adapted to my vacation schedule: roll out of bed at around 9:30 or 10, drink tea, check email and write, take an extra long shower, eat lunch, and then whatever happens happens. But I can get back in the saddle again. Just give me about two more of these nine hour days and I'll be like, "Holidays? What holidays?"

Well, that's all that's new on my end. My neighbors have invited me out for a night of bowling, but I'm not sure if I'm in the mood to roll. Bowling is one of those things you really have to want, you know? But, I have changed into a bowling-esque shirt and rolled my pant cuffs up, and I'm prepared to give it all I've got. Why pass up an opportunity to get to know my neighbors better simply because I'm in a blah mood? Bring on the watered down Budweiser and smokes. Mama's lookin' for a strike. Until my next post...I remain, the babe with the nice pins.

Another day gone by...

2005-01-02T22:30:00.000-05:00

That's the last time I make a list of what I'd like to do for the day, seeing as though I got not one of those things (see previous post) accomplished, and spent most of my day frittering around my apartment. If I don't document what I'd like to do, it just slips away. I viewed that as a problem before, but am now coming to realize that it's not a problem at all. If I simply make a mental list, and forget half the items on it, not accomplishing them doesn't seem like such a failure. I did actually make the sojourn to buy the camera, but none of the ones I wanted were in stock, so I guess I'll just have to wait. Ah well, more time to plan the clever and catching copy that will bring throngs of buyers to my ebay junk, er, I mean, treasures.

My neighbors invited me over to watch the Big Lebowski and eat pizza, which I did. It was pretty fun, although I wasn't in too social of a mood. It's funny, when I got up this morning, I wanted nothing more than someone to call me and drag me out, but once I did get out, I just wanted to come back and curl up into a little ball on my tiny sofa with my slippers on.

It's just been one of those heavy, gray, blah days I guess. I felt like I was walking around with a blanket over my head, floating from one mindless activity to the next. Like I said before, I had things to do, but nothing seemed quite right. It's all this time off. I get what really needs to be done over with, and then I get bored. I thought about painting. I thought about starting a short story. I thought about the aforementioned list. I'm looking forward to getting back to work tomorrow. I know I'll have a pile of projects waiting for me and lots of holiday gossip to catch up on. Until my next post...

Projects pending

2005-01-02T11:30:00.000-05:00

Today, in order to prepare for tomorrow's impending pseudo-breakup, I'll be convincing myself that the Scot is completely wrong for me. I'll also be trying to forget how good he made me feel, and just revelling in the fact that I can have good sex...but not with the Scot. But I want to. But I can't. So that's that. By tomorrow evening, I will be Scot-free. (pun intended)

Also, in order to give myself an overall feeling of accomplishment concerning my recent days off, I will be (finally) purchasing a digital camera, posting a few goods on ebay for the first time, AND framing some photos for this little abode of mine. My friends and family are such an important and prominent part of my life, yet I never seem to get around to framing their lovely mugs. What's up with that?

I would also like to go to the library to research costume jewelry, but I'm not sure if that will happen, since their hours are limited on Sunday, and by the time I usually get over there, I've inevitably forgotten they close early and am running around upstairs like a madwoman, trying to grab all my books before they lock the doors. Maybe I'll make that the first stop on my Kelly Does Things Over the Holidays Tour. Or maybe not. Who knows what the day will bring?

Scotland forever

2005-01-01T14:38:00.000-05:00

I met someone at pint night...again. And now I'm in this horrible state of confusion. My libido says keep seeing him, my head does not. I know...it's impending disaster.

The story: I went to pint night, as you know, hoping to bump into the personal chef. As usual, my compadres in dollar beer-drinking were my neighbors and their friend, Emily. The evening went pretty smoothly, we sat at our usual spot and talked amongst ourselves. Fun, but nothing new, and I was happy just being there. My neighbors left pretty early, and Emily and I stayed, migrating towards the back of the bar, where all the cutie boys hang out and play pool. Let me add that this was Emily's idea. I would have been content in our little nook, but she wanted to get up and circulate. So we found a little table to rest our stuff on, and chatted for a while.

A guy comes up, Emily introduces me to him, and we talk. Emily met him at a Celtic concert a few nights earlier, so she's casually acquainted with him. He was born in Scotland and has dual citizenship, graduated from Michigan State with two degrees (one in History and one in Political Science, with minors in English and Philosophy), was a medic in the army, among other odd jobs, and now works in construction here in town. He is also 39 and has two daughters, one of which he has half-week custody of. Red flags! But at the time, we were just talking. He was interesting, attractive and, as I came to realize by the twinkle in his eyes, interested in me.

The conversation changed in dynamic from a three-person to a two-person, and Emily excused herself to really circulate. I continued talking with the Scot until last call. Let me also mention that I did have the rest of the week off, so I was not due in the office the next morning. So at last call, we'd been talking for a couple hours, I was interested, but not overly so, and he invited me back to his place to hang out. I trusted him, but hated the thought of being in someone else's space again, so I invited him to my apartment. I mentioned I had a fold-out couch, so he could sleep there. I also said something about not getting his hopes up, because I wouldn't be sleeping with him. He said that was fine with him, and we left. At this point, I knew what I was doing was not smart. I knew it. As we were driving, I looked over at him and said, "I can't believe you're in the passenger seat of my car. What am I doing?"

Well, we got back to my place, I put John Coltrane on the Hi-Fi (I'm kidding, I have no Hi-Fi, but I do have a stereo), and poured the wine. We squeezed onto my little sofa, sipped and talked. It was really nice. Like I said, he's smart and sweet. But again, he was so new, and the thought of starting anything scared the shit out of me.

Have I mentioned how handsome he is? He is. He's a little shorter than the men I'm normally attracted to, but a babe nonetheless. Blonde hair, blue eyes, really pronounced facial features, broad and strong. He has a "Scotland Forever" tattoo on his back. He's adorable and sexy. I get all tingly just thinking about him. Uh, that's the libido talking. The same libido that let him kiss me that night...and then let him touch me...and let him take my clothes off. Thankfully, I had some sense and ultimately said no to sex, even though I wanted him....so bad.

So we kissed more, touched more, and fell asleep in bed together. And it was nice to wake up next to him, but so scary. It still is. Scary because I know he likes me more than what I let him do to me, scary because I'm interested in him. Scary because we not only spent the whole of Thursday together, but the night as well, when we did have sex. Aside: it was good. Not just like, "yeah, that was nice", like "yeah baby, that was somethin' else!"

He went home yesterday morning and called me last night, just to tell me what a wonderful time he had. I could hear his daughter in the background asking for her crayons. It frightens me that he has children. It frightens me that he's so much older than me. But I like him...I do. He's nice. He's intelligent. He's not afraid of me. He's aggressive in bed, which is a first for me, and he calls me baby, which surprisingly, I enjoy. But where does it go from here? Let's say we get really serious about one another and I meet his daughters, and then we break up. I don't want to be a part of their lives and then not be. I'm not ready to be any sort of adult figure in a child's life. I'm too freakin' young! Not to mention too freakin' married. It's all a very big disaster waiting to happen.

So I have to file for divorce. I can't keep doing this, because every time I so much as talk to another man, even though Mark and I have agreed to see other people, I feel like I'm cheating. And as much as I'd love to see where things go with the Scot, I have to break it off. I'm seeing him on Monday, and that will be that. He already knows I'm having trouble with our circumstances. I can't make things more difficult for everyone just because of some sexy man I met at a bar. Things are crazy enough already. Okay, so that's it. As always, I'll keep you posted.

I love the smell of paint in the morning

2004-12-29T17:26:00.000-05:00

I painted my bedroom turquoise. I can't afford it, but I did it anyway. And damn, does it look good! Waking up to beige was starting to drive me crazy. It was reminding me of my first apartment with my roomates in college, which we tried to warm up with various thrift store throws and scarves and posters and vases, but never really felt like anything more than a beige apartment. I know you've been there. Pehaps you're there now. If so, I highly recommend a gallon of Pacific Aqua, or Bermuda Blue (what I've named it in my head). Now I open my eyes and feel more like I'm in a seaside villa. Much better.

I've also been going through my old journals, which I discovered in a crate when I was (finally) organizing my second bedroom, or my office, as I like to call it, though I do no actual work in here. I couldn't have stumbled upon them at a better time, because I was starting to feel sort of stagnant emotionally. Like I'd hit a wall and nothing was going to change until something monumentous happened. But now I realize how far off I was. It's funny, reading over all the entries I'd written, I remember feeling the words so honestly at the time, and also feeling like I had things pretty much figured out. Again, how far off I was.

The first journal I ever really used was a gift from my friend, Alyson. I used it from the front page to the last, copying quotes I loved, pasting pictures in it and writing around them, saving cards and notes from friends and boyfriends. It's a complete documentation of my very personal life at a time when things were in limbo and I wasn't sure where or what I would be from one day to the next: my days after high school graduation, my first and second years in college, meeting my husband.

I read through my mostly long-distance relationship with the first boy I ever felt love for. He wrote the most beautiful love letters, which I don't remember appreciating at the time, not like I do now. He's studying Musicology at Princeton now, and we connect every now and then. Actually, I should try and connect with him again.

I read through when I was studying to be a math teacher, then an art teacher, then a graphic designer, and what I refer to as "my breakdown", before my transfer from Western Michigan University to the U of M, when I was sure I was supposed to be studying something somewhere, but not sure what or where, so I went home to Traverse City, where I met a man I really fell in love with. He came along at a time when I wasn't ready to date, so I took things slow, and we wound up having a good relationship. My first regular relationship, actually. We turned out to be an ill-matched pair (I was motivated to make something of myself, he wasn't), but it was a good experience.

And then I read through my first date with my husband, and the feelings I had for him after that. We were so in love. So in love, in fact, that I teared up reading about our afternoons together in his messy bedroom, eating at this Thai place in the mall in Kalamazoo, and our road trips to destinations unknown. After two weeks of dating him, I knew we would get married. We had, or have, I should say, such an amazing connection. At the time, I was so smitten with him because he was exactly what I needed. But I changed, and he didn't, and here we are, living in separate states and talking to each other once a week. But we had it once, that magic. And I wouldn't trade those days for anything.

So here I am, 25, mostly alone, and mostly loving it. In all my journal entries, I was so hungry for the future. I wanted to know where I was going to end up, and who I would end up with. But now, now that I've met someone nice, gotten married, and am probably on the verge of divorce, I no longer feel the need to know my future. I'm perfectly content living out each day as it unfolds. And I don't think anyone could have helped me realize that other than myself at 19 and 20.

And that having been said, tonight is pint night, and I'm hoping to run into a man I met there last week. He's a personal chef, and I know nothing of him other than, based on the really great conversation we had, he's intelligent, funny, and seemingly nice. Like many men that fit that description in this area, he's probably also married, but I'm still planning on wearing something a little nicer than the bleach-spotted T-shirt I'm wearing now. I'll keep you posted.

Someday my prince will come

2004-12-26T13:34:00.000-05:00

The majority of men in my life disappoint me. A big statement, I know, but don't worry...I have no agenda. To be fair, there are plenty of women in my life who disappoint me as well, but not on as regular a basis as the men I know. Why is this? Do I expect more from men? Do I expect different behavior from them? It doesn't seem that way. I mean, I rely on them for friendhip, first and most immediately, but there are other things, personality traits and behaviors, that when I closely examine them, peeve me. It may have to do with the fact that my father died when I was six and I was raised primarily by my mother, with my stepfather paying the bills and being supportive and fun, but never fatherly. The few times he tried to discipline me, I think I made him regret it. Although don't remember what was said exactly, I do remember being very nasty, which is a face I hardly ever put on.

This general dissatisfaction with men in no way affects any of my close relationships with them. Like any relationship I have, I feel things out and decide where me and the person I'm relating to fit, make allowances for those things we don't have in common, and generally forgive any bad behaviors that are forgivable. But I find myself wanting more. Where is that one perfect man who will sweep me off my feet, either romantically or just platonically? Where is that one man who is a man in all regards? I ask myself this, and then I think it's dangerous to think this way. If I hold such a high standard, am I missing out on relationships that could evolve into something satisfying? Or is that initial spark the telltale sign that two people are compatible? If so, I should be with the pint guy, and I know that's not true.

I just started thinking about all of this because I heard my brother and stepfather bickering. My brother frustrates my stepfather, but my stepfather is essentially the one who made my brother what he is. It's this horrible infinite equation that grows all these ugly tentacles and is beginning to become rather serious. And I sort of have the power to get in and regulate if need be, but I know they need to work it out with each other. It's painful for me, and it makes me mad at both of them. It's a very old and complicated problem, so there's no use explaining any further. It just got me to thinking, sadly. I'm just looking forward to getting out of this house and going to the mall with my mom. That's right, the mall: better than this carpeted vortex and full of ladies. :)

There's no place like home for the holidays

2004-12-26T08:04:00.000-05:00

And that's just where I am, swaddled in my brother's giant sweatshirt, sitting at my mom's desk-turned-gift-wrapping-station, drinking a cup of coffee I made, since I was the first one to get up this morning.

I arrived here on Christmas eve morning, and what a long, strange trip it's been. There's something about this holiday that just seems so adult and detached. Like we're all aware that our previous ideals about Christmas won't be met, so why even have them this year? That's not to say that certain traditions haven't played themselves out in one way or another. We've been eating a lot, which, of course, we're excellent at. Since my parents' most recent vacation (to Napa Valley) they've joined a wine and food club that delivers various and sundry sweet and savory treats to their doorstep monthly. My mom, who is perpetually trying to lose weight even though she has always looked great and always will, feels the need to drag all of her recent food and wine acquisitions out of her cupboards when I'm here. I think her motivations lie somewhere between getting rid of the food and truly enjoying it with me. Regardless, she's starting to resemble a squirrel, hoarding her most perfect bleu cheese-stuffed olives and dulce de leche for when they're appropriate. Last night, we had peppermint ice cream with these crazy chocolates/cookies that resembled seafoam. Delcious and well-timed, but...what the hell? My mom just has those lurking in her cupboards?

Another tradition that transformed itself this year: gift opening and church. When I was younger and we all lived in Traverse City, my brother and I would open one gift on Christmas eve (mine was typically pajamas) and then proceed to the candlelight service at Central United Methodist Church, which resembles a movie set, it's so Christmasy: evergreen swags on the stained glass windows, candles at the end of each pew, poinsettias everywhere, and a good church choir. It's like stepping into your own personal Christmas story. Every year, when the choir sings "O Come, All Ye Faithful" at the beginning of the service, it's so beautiful I burst into tears. And when we all sing "Silent Night" with our candles lit at the end of the service, I again, burst into tears. And as embarrassing and revealing as crying is (especially since I usually run into people I haven't seen in years), I miss it. I'm not a Christian, but the music moves me. It fills me with more understanding than words alone ever can, not about Jesus or God, but about community and spirit and respect and love. It's hard to explain, but it's all there, between those lines everyone knows by heart. But I digress...Back to this year's events.

This Christmas eve played out a little differently. We all partook of a few libations, after which, my parents decided we should open our gifts, all of them, that night. I put up a little fuss because I knew we were letting out all our Christmas steam pretty early, but my parents insisted, and, what the hell, they're their gifts to give anyway. After that, we proceeded to a Presbyterian church in Spring Lake, where the music was well-intentioned but pretty bad, and the reverend was nice, but cheesy. I just felt like the cynical stranger, stuffed full of pork tenderloin and cheesy potatoes in the back pew, waiting for both my dinner to digest and the hymns to be sung. But, we did light candles and sing "Silent Night," so all in all, I was happy.

And really that's about it. That was Christmas. We spent the actual Christmas day working out, going to see a movie, eating another big dinner, and drinking wine. Because my brother had gone to bed at 7 a.m. that morning, he spent Christmas sleeping, and when he finally did wake up, he was a crab, which kind of pissed me off, since I see him so seldom. My brother has a tendency towards inconsiderate, disrespectful behavior, but that's a whole new post altogether...one that is full of bitterness and years of crrrrap.

So, here I am, not really full of any new insight or disappointment, just here. My mom is up and making coffee, and I have a sneaking suspicion she'll bring out a weird and wonderful breakfast treat. Anise biscuits? Cherry-clove jelly for our 17-grain toast? I think I'll go investigate.

What's love got to do with it?

2004-12-21T13:21:00.000-05:00

I am a woman with informed opinions. I try to think about things comprehensively, and I don't typically speak unless I've thought about what I'm saying. But...something about my husband throws me into a spin. Our relationship is the first problem in my life that is so much larger than me that I just can't wrap my head around it. I find myself talking talking talking in no direction in particular, to him, to myself, to my friends, to my mom, to the ceiling while I'm lying in bed at night. The words come out and I want desperately for them to form a phrase, proverb-like, some nugget of wisdom that makes the nature and fate of our relationship clear and easy, but of course, they don't, and I'm left swimming in them, around me, inside me, words words words.

I just don't think I can come up with anything definitive because our situation has never been definite. Well, that's not exactly true. We love and respect one another...that has always been. And no matter what happens, I know in my heart it will always be. I do feel fortunate to have found him. I feel fortunate to have his love. He makes me laugh. He comforts me. He supports my decisions. But I look at him, and I feel lost. Why is that? How can someone so lovely be so wrong? God, I wish I loved him like he loves me. Things would be so much easier.

Like I've said before, I'm happy alone. I miss Mark when we're apart, but not in the way a wife should miss her husband. I miss him like you miss a friend. When something funny happens or I see something great, I want to share it with him. When I bike to the farmer's market or go to the bookstore, I wish he was with me, just to be there, feeling the squash or cracking jokes about something he's read. But I don't wish he was there so we could feel squash, crack jokes and then have sex in the afternoon, you know?

We should divorce. Neither of us will be able to go forward if we don't. I know this. I just hate it.

Ho Hum

2004-12-17T14:30:00.000-05:00

I'm at work, bored out of my gourd, with nowhere else to turn but this here blog. It borders on official looking, so when my superiors stroll by, it at least looks like i'm doing something productive....much more respectable than searching for recipes on Epicurious.com.

Mark (my husband) is coming up north, weather permitting, to visit this weekend, and I'm just not sure how I feel about it. On one hand, I'm looking forward to seeing him, but on the other hand, I feel like the distance has been good for me, and I sort of want to see how my attitude evolves the more time we spend apart. Quite frankly, I like being alone. I'm stronger, more adventurous, and definitely more outgoing. I do more with my time, and I'm not always wondering about how my relationship is going, if I'm really happy, or if I made a mistake. I just have this sickening feeling that the weekend will produce a crying fight, during which we both will tell each other how much we love each other and wish it could work. I'll have to tell him that I like being without him. I have to tell him soon, anyway. It's not fair for me to string him along if I feel this way, is it? But I want him to be the one I want to be with. Ugh. What is the right answer?

I've also volunteered to have the annual friend Christmas get-together at my place, a decision that is both exciting and frightening. Exciting because I haven't had anything entertaining-ish at my apartment yet, but frightening because of my less-than-minute budget and space. To save myself a little time and moolah, I've declared it a sort of putluck, and am hoping my most favoritest artichoke dip and egg rolls will show up, as well as extra booze. I'll let you know how it all turns out.

Until my next post...

The goose is getting fat

2004-12-14T22:37:00.000-05:00

First and foremost, to those of you who answered my most recent query...thanks. :) And to Alyson: Thanks lady...I hope your final projects aren't eating you alive. ;)

Well, Christmas is coming and I'm again overwhelmed at the ripeness of it all. From the moment my Martha Stewart Living arrives in mid-November, I descend into a flurry of ideas, only a small fraction of which I ever really finish. I did manage to eke out my Christmas cards, and have enrolled at the cookie exchange at my office, so I know at least some cookies will be baked. But otherwise, I'm having a hard time getting motivated this year. There's something about being alone that just makes me want to crawl into myself and do purely selfish things like read and smoke all night, or burn CDs and design really complete packaging for them. So what if I haven't done my dishes in four days, and my entire closet full of clothes is in a heap on my bedroom floor? I only use a few dishes at a time and the cats like to nestle in my sweaters. They need them on the floor!

I went to jazz night at a local bar with a friend last night, and had a sub-par time. I did happen to meet a few characters however, who I will describe to you in the following paragraphs.

First there was the guy who was obsessed with "weed". Everything he said had something to do with pot. Apparently, I looked like the pot-smokin' type, because he repeatedly asked me where he could get some, and after telling him about six times that I really had no idea, he kind of left me alone. I actually had to enlist the help of the guy that my friend was with, who slipped his arm around me and pretended we were having an intimate conversation. It seemed to work in intervals, but I never really truly got rid of the weed guy.

I also met another man who gave me an eerily accurate personal profile/psychic reading based on my three favorite movies. I don't know how psychic this man actually was, but he was very intuitive. The really odd thing: He knew I had a scar on my knee. Lucky guess? He's a traveling magician who is up here for a few months en route to Amsterdam...you be the judge. All in all, he was incredibly entertaining and fun to talk to. He also helped me fend off the weed guy. Oh, and I forgot to mention...the weed guy had a laugh (heh heh) like George Bush. Really.

The third in the jazz night menagerie was one of the movers who helped me move into my apartment, a young guy who asked a lot of questions and kept telling me he was not "a mover", although I can't seem to get him to tell me what he does when he's not being a mover. He must've had a few too many last night, because he told me that I'm special, and he sometimes sees my light on in my apartment. Ordinarily, I would find that completely creepy...but there's something about that kid...I think he has a good heart...really. And I think he never would have admitted to looking up at my window had he been sober. So, in the future, I will never mention that he said that to me, and one day I will find out what he really does with his days. I'll keep you posted.

The fourth and final character from jazz night was the guy who told me my glasses made him feel stupid, and asked if I do private tutoring, to which I told him I only appear smart, put on my coat and hat, and left. That really did creep me out. Since Mark and I have been separated, I've had guys ask for my phone number, ask to take me home, ask me what they can say to get me to come home with them, tell me they can rock my world, etc. The lines never work, but at least the guys are direct and honest. I know what they're thinking, tell them no, and we end up talking for a while. There is just something so dirty about asking me if I do private tutoring...it's veiled and full of naughty teacher possibility. And the guy had such a sneer....grrrrross.

Well, that's about it. I have my office Christmas party tomorrow evening, and am looking forward to the white elephant gift exchange. I'm offering a hideous painting of a conquistador in shades of turquoise and taupe. I had to wrap him soon after bringing him home because I couldn't stand him staring at me, triumphantly, yet disdainful, as I ate my macaroni and cheese and vaccumed the living room. Someone's gettin' lucky tomorrow night, that's for sure.

And on that note, I'll sign off. It's getting late, and I have the sniffles, so I should shuffle off to Buffalo (or bed, whichever is softest). Until my next post...

Does anyone read this?

2004-12-14T02:08:00.000-05:00

I'm just curious....does anyone read this? If so, drop me a hey-o. :)

K

I feel a change a comin'

2004-12-10T13:54:00.000-05:00

Do you ever feel like you're trying to wrangle your life into one neat bundle, but it's too odd a shape, and parts of it keep popping out, making themselves prominent and difficult? Things just seem crazy with a capital 'K', and I'm not really sure why. But I always have this feeling in my gut, like things are happening around me and within me, but I can't quite put my finger on them...Like there's this huge change on the horizon, but I'm not really sure what it is or how I can be preparing myself for it. Although I have the sneaking suspicion that what I'm doing now, just living and thinking about it, is what I'm supposed to be doing, it doesn't seem to be enough, and I have this inexplicable impatience. It's exciting, but a little miserable, quite frankly. If something monumentous is going to happen, I just wish it would.

It doesn't help matters that I have no routine. I get up and go to work, but that seems to be the only thing I can absolutely count on. Before, things were simple. I got up, went to work, came home, made dinner and ate it, ran any errands that needed to be done, did some sort of relaxing thing, then fell asleep watching late night televsion. I knew who I would see on what days (for example, coworkers and my husband during the week, friends and family on the weekends), and what I would do with those people. Things have changed. My weeks seem busier. I meet more people, with whom I do a variety of things. All in all, I think I'm more fulfilled personally. This is good, of course, but as change always is, it's a little unnerving.

Well, since my last post, I sued my ex-landlord. Ugh. What a pain in the ass. We (my husband and I) had left over six messages for him in a month-and-a-half, during which time he told us he would send us the checks "within a couple days'". Well, two weeks and two threats to sue later, with no checks in hand, I finally broke down and sued him. I felt horrible about it, but because of the transition from living with someone else to living on my own, I budgeted with that money to get me through that weird time between apartments and paychecks. When I didn't receive the check, my bill-paying turned into this weird timing-to-avoid-late-charges game, which I'm still trying to recover from. And, to make things even more ridiculous, my landlord sent the checks the day I filed. I know! I called the courthouse to drop the charges, and the small claims clerk suggested I wait until the check had cleared, which I thought was a good suggestion. Can I be naive or what? I let this guy walk all over us, and then get ready to drop the charges when I'm not even sure if the check is valid...nice. Ah well, another lesson learned I guess. Although I'm hoping I never have to use my knowledge of how to sue someone again. It makes me feel vindictive. Why can't people just be nice?

I had a strange and somewhat satisfying conversation with my ex-photo instructor/friend I mentioned in a previous post. We had a lengthy conversation about the nature of relationships, during which I admitted I used to have a crush on him, and he admitted he used to have a crush on me. We've been friends since I took his class, which is roughly about six years. Like I mentioned before, I always suspected he liked me, but never really wanted to ask him about it or admit that I liked him. So I assumed it was this unspoken understanding between the two of us. But, after a long conversation, during which he had a bit of the booze and I was completely sober, he admitted that he, in fact, did like me and if we did meet again, he may try to put the moves on me. It's a dangerous prospect, especially since he's very married, and I have no intention of doing anything with him. Needless to say, since that conversation, the dynamic of our friendship has changed considerably, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. I hate knowing that if we see each other, he'll want that and I won't. I suddenly have all the power, and I just don't want it. Oh well, I guess it's not the worst thing.

I went to my parents' house for our extended family Christmas celebration that can only be described as an all-out eating extravaganza. Everyone seemed to be in high spirits, the kids were adorable, and everyone seemed to stay longer than usual, which was a nice surprise. After everyone left I turned to my mom and said, "Best Christmas ever" and gave her a high five. It was just that good.

I think that's all there is to be said so far. Until my next post...

Another sleepy Sunday morning

2004-12-05T13:07:00.000-05:00

Well, I've had time to cool off after what I can now safely refer to as "the incident". He hasn't called, which doesn't surprise, dismay, or delight me, and I've tested and satiated myself by not going home with the couple guys that asked me on Friday night. Granted, I was sober when they propositioned me, and they weren't as attractive or seemingly interesting as the bar guy, but I had no desire to crawl into bed with another stranger. I'm hoping it's all out of my system. Like having cold water poured over your head, I've been shocked and revived. No sex without good conversation, including a discussion of previous sexual partners. Period. You can hold me to it.

My weekend has been sleepy compared to my mid-week, that's for sure. As I said before, I went out on Friday night with my new-parent friends, the friend that was with me at pint night (who is the new mom's sister), and their parents. They kept teasing me and trying to drag me to the place I'd met the bar guy, but I wasn't having any of it. If I run into him now, it will be pure and mortifying coincidence.

I spent yesterday running errands around town on my bike. The snow had melted enough for me to ride down the middle of the street without sliding, and the air was warm and thick. After the Wednesday madness, it felt good to be doing something just for me, alone and riding as fast as I could down the streets of the neighborhood. I stopped downtown and drank soda and read my book at a coffee shop. It's the new one by David Sedaris...if you haven't read it, do. I finished it in bed this morning, and like every time I'm done with one of his books, I'm sad there isn't more.

Last night, I went to a thirtieth birthday party for one of my coworkers, which was fun. She's an energetic and wonderful person, and all of us from the office got to meet her family, who was equally as wonderful. They're Polish, as am I, but they seem to be so in tune with their heritage, much more than my family ever was or will be. Our native language is aging with the eldest members of my mom's side, most of which I don't see, save for weddings and funerals, and any questions I have about our past requires some poking and prodding. My aunt has gathered an album of old photographs and has filtered bits and pieces to me, but it's just not the same as having "Happy Birthday" sung to you in Polish like my coworker's family did.

As I was driving to the party, it occured to me that most of the people I work with don't know that I've separated from my husband, and that I would have to quietly explain it to anyone who asked me where he was. I did, and it was a bit awkward. They all give me the sympathetic nod and "I'm so sorry", and I have to explain to them that it was mostly my idea, we're still on good terms, and I'm living by myself and am doing just fine. I like to think that I'm getting pretty good at it, but it still leaves whoever I'm talking to feeling discombobulated. I often feel like I'm comforting them. So it goes, I guess.

So yeah, that's me so far. It's now the afternoon, I'm still in my PJs, and I have no plans for the day. There was talk of me meeting a friend for something later, but we made plans at the bar on Wednesday, and I have a slight suspicion he had too many Oberons and won't remember even running into me. Maybe I'll bike to the library and see what I can dig up. Or maybe I'll finally go to the store and get some milk. Oh, the possibilities.

Wha happened?

2004-12-03T13:33:00.000-05:00

A lot has happened since my last post. Well, really one thing in particular, but it amounts to quite a bit when all is said and done.

Wednesday night is pint night at a local bar in town, where all pints, no matter what the brew, are $1. Since I moved into my new apartment, I have been going with/meeting my neighbors there for a pint or few, and this previous Wednesday, I took another friend along. She's cute as the dickens and is a hopeless flirt, among many other charming and wonderful things. The first time I went our with my neighbors, sans aforementioned friend, after numerous exchanged glances and a few pints without dinner, I haphazardly sidled up to this attractive guy and gave him my my phone number. He told me he liked my glasses and I said I liked his hat - it was all very intellectual and spiritual, of course. I have never done anything like that before, EVER, but something about him was intriguing. He had this easygoing manner that, after living with my self-conscious husband, was so new and compelling. And he seemed interested in me, so I thought, what the hell?

As I've stated in writing, thought, said aloud, and almost printed on a T-shirt, I am not looking for anything serious at this point. My thoughts of the bar guy, whilst exchanging glances with him over the pool table, or after that evening, never turned to holidays at our parents' houses or what our children would look like. I just wanted to ask him questions about himself, tell him some things about myself, and fool around with him until the sun came up. I really have no commitment expectations when it comes to prospective partners. In fact, I'm worried that my casual dating attitude might actually turn the nice guys off. But I digress...

Back to the guy...that was a month ago, and he never called, the bastard. My neighbors' friend started calling him my boyfriend and we'd all laugh. She'd say things like, "I saw your boyfriend the other day." and I'd hide my face in my hands and say, "I can't believe I gave him my number. Who WAS that girl?" But secretly, even though he hadn't called and could have been a serial rapist, I was proud of myself for being assertive and making a move. Fucked up, I know, but it's been a long time since I've dated, and I was never really good at it in the first place, so actually putting myself out there is a difficult thing for me to do. Things are so much easier in writing. My ideal relationship would be one that started with written correspondence. I have romantic ideas about writing to a mysterious pen pal and falling in love with them, only to find it's someone I've known all along, just like in "The Shop Around the Corner."

So back to this past Wednesday. I returned again to Pint Night, with a slight fear that I would run into him, this bar guy, and subsequently suffer, not a series of glances as we had before, but a series of avoidances and dodges, and finally when I'd had enough to drink, me stumbling up to him and telling him how sorry I was for acting like a fool BEFORE. Oh, the comedy/tragedy I was imagining. It wasn't pretty, but it was possible, and I didn't want to take the risk. However, when I did see him at the bar on Wednesday, quite the opposite happened. In true Kelly fashion, I did avoid him, but he didn't avoid me. He walked right up to me and said, "I still have your number on the napkin on my nightstand." This is just the first of many opportunities I had during the rest of the evening to completely cut off all ties with him and call it a night. Despite where that damned napkin was, he hadn't called. Even though I have to admit that I imagined it being wiped from the table on which I had set it that first night, and the thought of him taking it home and keeping it visible was somewhat flattering, I still considered him an ass. But, of course, I was again so taken by that face and that body (sigh), that I lost all my moxie; all I said was, "Why didn't you call me?" to which he replied,"I was in Tennessee." A story I half-believe, since his job did (he was just "let go") require long periods of travel. Regardless of whether he was lying or not, this was the beginning of the end.

To make a long story short so I can get to the part where I try to figure out what the hell happened, the rest of the evening went as follows: We had a perfectly pleasant and adult conversation, he played pool with the guys he was with, pausing to look over and flirt with me, he and his friends left to go to another bar (he stopped to say goodbye and that he would call), they all came back, he and a friend of his invited my friend and me over to their house to watch a movie, my friend and I went (against my better judgement), the guy and I kissed while watching the movie, we went up to his bedroom, and, um, we slept together...!

Okay, now at this point, you're probably wondering about me, aren't you? You're probably wondering if I'm as smart as I think I am, how drunk I was, how hot this guy actually was, if I do this sort of thing often, and, um, aren't I still married? I wonder about all those things each minute that has passed since I left his house in the morning, after searching for my clothes on his bedroom floor in the cold dark of his room, dehydrated and smelling like an ashtray. Nothing about that night was good. No decision I made seemed right. Wait, I'm lying. We used a condom, and I felt good about that at the time. I actually remember thinking, "Well, at least we're using a condom." I know...stupid.

I have never ever ever had casual sex in my life. I was a virgin when I met my husband, and he's been my only partner since then, so I'm at a loss when analyzing the events of the night/morning we spent together. To me, the sex itself seemed horrible, but I have no idea how it's all supposed to go. Does anyone have good drunk, casual sex? To me, it seems impossible. How can you enjoy it when you're only fractionally coherent and you barely know your partner? And don't even get me started on STDs and pregnancy. Ugh. Even in the late morning, when the beer wore off and we had snuggled, talked, slept a bit and tried again, it just didn't feel right.

And the conversaitons we had, though sweet at times, seemed so trivial to me as well. There I was, lying naked (naked, mind you!) next to a man I hardly knew, and he was telling me about how he wanted to wait until he was forty to get married and have children, and how he feels like he's maturing faster than his friends, and how he thinks we would have cute babies (seriously!), and I just felt so detached and uninterested. And that's just not me either! I love talking to people, whether I'm romantically interested in them or not. I love hearing what people think, and the differences between people are what make relationships interesting and challenging. Had the circumstances been different, had we waited to do what we did BEFORE he said these introspective things, I might have thought him sweet. Young and somewhat naive, but sweet.

I could go on and on and on about what happened that night, but I won't. Everything was just so backwards and weird and totally and absolutely new, that I felt like I couldn't process things fast enough to be myself. I ended make a long list of bad decisions, none of which resulted in anything horrible, necessarily, but that left me feeling like we'd used each other, which is something that never feels very good. At least I used him. With no intention of continuing any sort of relationship with him, I slept with him because he was so hot (and I mean hot). Why didn't I tell him what I wanted first? Why didn't I tell him to stop? Why am I turned to goo in the face of an unbelievably attractive man? I don't know the answer to those questions, and it kills me. The only rationalization I have for that evening is this: I really needed to do what I did. I slept with an attractive man and don't plan on seeing him again. That's okay this time. But, and mark my words, I will never, ever do it again.

And on that note, I'll sign off. I'm sick of thinking about all of it.

Two babies and a phone call

2004-11-30T01:51:00.001-05:00

Today was one of those days that transformed itself at the very end in such a good way.

It started with an inviation to the hospital from my friends who just had twins. I should explain: The babies were monoamniotic, which put them at high risk for entanglement during childbirth, so they were born early by cesearean section. They are doing really well, better than monoamniotic twins usually do, as a matter of fact, but they they will be in the neonatal unit for the next month or so. During their feedings, they are taken out of their incubators, and the parents are allowed to hold them. I went along for the trip, and it was amazing. How wonderful it was to walk in from the cold dark, into that warm room, where these two little people were waiting for whatever was next. They were red, fuzzy, wiggly, and beautiful. They didin't know how cold it is tonight, or that other babies don't eat through tubes. All they want is a warm place to sleep and to be wrapped in blankets and held by their parents. You think you know someone after 11 years of friendship, but then you see them holding a baby, and everything changes. Incredible.

When I got home, I changed into my pilates gear and had fully intended to work out, but got a phone call from my old photography instructor and friend from about six years ago. It was a somewhat surreal surprise, and much needed. In a time when things are changing and I'm not really sure what's coming next, it was nice to reconnect with someone who knew me before. Of course, we're both different people now, but we've kept in touch since I left the college he taught at, graduated from another school, got married and separated. There was a time when I was about to date him, but I met my husband and it never materialized. In hindsight, I'm glad for it...but he's a good guy in his own ways. I'm glad our not dating didn't hinder our friendship.

Yeah, so that's it. If I had a list of favorite things, I'd add new babies and late-night phone calls to it. Until tomorrow...

Christmas is for lovers

2004-11-29T03:13:00.000-05:00

A non-eventful drive, and I'm back in Traverse. After sorting out the miscellaneous goods my mom sent home with me (old china, books, a painting, fettucine alfredo and a skillet among them), I spent the remainder of the evening putting up Christmas lights and decorating my tree. It's one of those outdoor/indoor numbers covered in lights, twinkly and shiny and all those other great Christmas adjectives.

Putting the tree up without Mark was strange. We used to make decorating into a day-long event...going to the store to pick up whatever we didn't have/broke last year, making hot cocoa or tea the good way, then deciding just what went where. I miss it like I miss a lot of things we used to do together. Mark was fun in an open-minded, nerdy sort of way that made everything easy. With the holiday season now fully upon me, I'm missing his company when I'm looking at cookie recipes and deciding which wrapping paper to buy. And in a surprising twist, I've even been moved to misty tears by cheesy jewelry commercials where the man buys the woman something gold, then she remembers that she loves him and they kiss. What is going on? I'm becoming this other person when I'm alone in my apartment at night- the cliche almost-divorcee in pajama pants and a t-shirt, making soup for one and talking to her cats. I made jokes about this happening before, but now that it's actually happening, it's not so funny. Okay maybe it is. Or maybe I should read this in two months and then decide whether it's funny or not. Good plan, I think.

Well, that's all that's worth writing about this evening. Until my next post...

2004-11-28T10:55:00.000-05:00

It's Sunday morning, and I'm next in line to use the shower. I hate waiting. My shower at home may have no water pressure, but at least I know I don't have to wait to use it...unless my cat, Sam, is drinking out of the faucet. Then I just let him do his thing. Ooop...it's open. Gotta run.

A slow Saturday in Grand Haven

2004-11-28T04:50:00.000-05:00

Well, another day has come and gone without much event. My mom and I have spent the entire day meandering from one errand to another. There's something hushed and serene about my parents' house. It sucks you in and lulls you into some sort of trance, causing you to forget your ideas about what you had hoped to get done, and beckoning you to take a longer shower than you normally would or fall asleep on the sofa in the middle of the afternoon. I just can't do those things at my apartment. My water pressure is virtually nil and my sofa is about the size of a walnut.

One of my oldest friends had twin boys on Wednesday, and I can't stop thinking about all of them. The whole time she was pregnant, I was looking at her belly and marvelling at not only the fact that she had two babies in there, but at what happened before those babies-all the things we've gone through over the course of our friendship-and somehow it all didn't seem real, like she'd just gotten rounder, and she would remain that way indefinitely. Now that the boys have been born, it all seems so right and natural, and the world is suddenly warmer. I can't wait to spoil them as only a fun aunt can.

Back to Traverse tomorrow. I'm definitely ready.

Drinking only leads to more drinking

2004-11-27T04:08:00.000-05:00

I've spent the evening drinking beer with my mom (gasp) and coffee with my brother (sigh). While both activities shed new light on my familial relationships, each failed to result in a much needed make-out session with (insert intelligent, foxy man here).

It's been a month since I've separated from my husband, Mark, although I feel like I've been ready to date for six, and because of my independence and , um, quirks?, I'm already starting to get that cat lady feeling...like I'll be living forever alone with my 5-12 cats whom I've named adorably yet creepily. I know this is silly, and all my happily married/dating friends can attest to the fact that they, too, once felt similar at one time or another, but it doesn't make my search for a weekend companion any easier, or more fun for that matter. Besides, I only own like, two sexy shirts, and with winter upon us, they're just not practical.

Is there a man out there who would prefer my fuzzy boots to pointy-toed shoes? And while we're at it, would that person also enjoy talking about intellectual things in a non-pretentious, whole-hearted sort of way? I seriousy doubt it. Okay, not seriously, but geographically. Northern Michigan may be the place to find the former, but not the latter. This is frustrating for me, because I love the area so much, but it also makes my search challenging and interesting...like maybe there's a pearl being cultivated in the deep recesses of the backwoods neighborhhoods and little cabins of up north, or someone knows someone who knows someone else who just happens to look like Adrien Brody with a sense of humor like Matthew Broderick. This prospect is exciting in its almost utter impossibility, and as rewarding as that rare find might be somewhere down the road, right now I'm just looking for a smart man who's a good kisser...is that too much to ask? I don't think so, but I can't be sure. I can be sure, however, that I'm lamenting at my parents' house, on my brother's laptop, at the foot of my old bed, wrapped in my old comforter, with smoky bar hair. What happens next? God only knows.

Here's to a new literary accomplishment?

2004-11-26T18:49:00.000-05:00

I'm at my parents' house, at which I've snagged my brother's laptop and am drunkenly beginning my new adventure in blogging. In my defense, my stepfather has also had three glasses of wine, and my brother doesn't think my blog title is that lame. Happy Holidays one and all...more coherent and interesting posts to come...