I've lived in DC for 6 years this month. That makes me practically native. I've learned much in the last six years, on my own and from the graciousness of others. Below is a list of some important lessons learned for survival in the nation's capital.
1. Live in Dupont. You will likely have to deal with a lunatic landlord and the ceiling may fall down on you while you sleep and it might only be a basement with no kitchen and you might live among happy rat families, but it is still better than Virginia.
2. If you want to make friends with all your neighbors (and be accosted by strangers relentlessly), get a Shih Tzu puppy.
3. Sometimes gay men do date women.
4. Always be kind to tourists...unless they are standing to the fucking left on escalators.
5. That honors degree you worked so hard for...yeah, you won't be needing it. Nice try though.
6. Be extra friendly with the convenience store owner around the corner. You never know when you may need a post 10pm wine run or to cash a check to yourself for cab fare (but need them not to deposit until next week).
7. Bartenders, while loads of fun, do not make good boyfriends. They are best kept behind bars.
8. Don't ever fool yourself into thinking politicians are celebrities. Even in DC, dropping names in government is just silly.
9. A freezer can also be used a cupboard. A stove can also be used a drawer. A hallway can also be used a closet. A trash area can be converted into a garden patio. Front steps can also be a dining room...etc.
10. Alcohol is the answer.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Trouble
Me: Hello darling. We need to talk. I’m afraid my love for you has come to an end and I must move on. That red wine the other night at Veritas was the last straw. I mean, sure, I really enjoy your company… I feel we’ve spent some amazing nights together and you always cheer me up. But it always hurts the next morning. There are other things I should attend to. Furthermore, I can’t really afford you.
Trouble: Hmph…you can’t get rid of me. You heart me. And you know there’s no chance I’ll ever really go away. We’re life partners, you and I. Like it or not… Now, do something with that hair so we can go get a martini.
Me: You’re right…i do love you, but like others I’ve loved before, there comes a time when I just need to walk the other direction. You understand, right?
Trouble: You won’t survive without me. You know this. I know this. One day of sobriety and yoga and you’ll be back. Really, honey, why bother?
Me: Oh alright! You win, as usual.
Trouble is a friend by Lenka
Trouble: Hmph…you can’t get rid of me. You heart me. And you know there’s no chance I’ll ever really go away. We’re life partners, you and I. Like it or not… Now, do something with that hair so we can go get a martini.
Me: You’re right…i do love you, but like others I’ve loved before, there comes a time when I just need to walk the other direction. You understand, right?
Trouble: You won’t survive without me. You know this. I know this. One day of sobriety and yoga and you’ll be back. Really, honey, why bother?
Me: Oh alright! You win, as usual.
Trouble is a friend by Lenka
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Took a long time to come
My birthday is in less than a week. I absolutely adore birthdays and look forward to mine every year. I don't think I’ve ever been more excited for one to hurry up and get here...not even when I was four.
Last year was such a special, beautiful memory...Just days before my birthday I had started a new job and was optimistic about where my career was headed. I had also just fallen in love. I was happy, really happy, and hopeful. I thought 28 would be my best year yet.
No dice.
Instead, I spent the first eight months of my new job in a nervous panic, terrified I had made the wrong career move. Also, my heart was broken, brutally, and I spent the next few months under my covers with a painful ache in my chest that will not soon be forgotten.
You cannot even imagine how glad I am to bid farewell to this year.
However, throughout the minor crisis that was age 28, I was constantly reminded by my friends that better days were ahead. They pulled me from the wreckage, hosed me off, and propped me up beside them on a barstool, insistent I look forward, not back. They are my heroes and I love and appreciate them for all they did and all they are.
So, here I am at age 29, happy...for the most part. And hopeful. Again. I have every confidence that this will be our best year yet.
This Will Be Our Year by The Zombies
Last year was such a special, beautiful memory...Just days before my birthday I had started a new job and was optimistic about where my career was headed. I had also just fallen in love. I was happy, really happy, and hopeful. I thought 28 would be my best year yet.
No dice.
Instead, I spent the first eight months of my new job in a nervous panic, terrified I had made the wrong career move. Also, my heart was broken, brutally, and I spent the next few months under my covers with a painful ache in my chest that will not soon be forgotten.
You cannot even imagine how glad I am to bid farewell to this year.
However, throughout the minor crisis that was age 28, I was constantly reminded by my friends that better days were ahead. They pulled me from the wreckage, hosed me off, and propped me up beside them on a barstool, insistent I look forward, not back. They are my heroes and I love and appreciate them for all they did and all they are.
So, here I am at age 29, happy...for the most part. And hopeful. Again. I have every confidence that this will be our best year yet.
This Will Be Our Year by The Zombies
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Should have seen it coming
Just after telling a boy suffering from noncompliance to hit the road the other day, I was awarded a long, luxurious laugh…he retorted that he was only in it for Olive anyway.
I’ve always suspected the sly Shih Tzu would try to steal the hearts of my suitors. A face like that cannot be trusted.
:-)
I’ve always suspected the sly Shih Tzu would try to steal the hearts of my suitors. A face like that cannot be trusted.
:-)
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Rare and Interesting Creatures
This morning I was laying in bed, pretending NPR wasn't insisting i go to work. A story came on about a scientist's futile quest to capture and tag a narwhal.
A narwhal is a a nearly mythical animal, one of the more mysterious of sea creatures, equal parts whale and unicorn. They are shy, intelligent animals and are only very rarely caught in nets and fitted with GPS tracking devices. They clearly don't like people or nets and avoid them both meticulously.
One narwhal described in the story got very close to a net, causing the whole tagging team (who had been patiently waiting for months to catch one) to suit up and prep for success. But, at the last minute, the graceful animal changed directions and glided away unscathed. I imagine the team sat silently for several minutes after that, reassessing the reasons they even try.
Ahhh, how many things in life are just as illusive?! Just when you think you've got it/him/them, it/he/them heads another direction just out of reach. Strange.
Another bizarre animal story walking home after work: A very lazy cicada, nearly five years late waking up, was frantically bumping into the window of an Italian restaurant making a terrible racket. I wondered how upsetting it would be to get to hang out with my fellow species only once every many, many years and to wake up only to find out that no one bothered to nudge me. Sad.
The first thing i would do is head straight to the nearest Italian joint as well.
I met a man the other day who I think I might want to get to know better. He is interesting and funny, masculine but seems evolved. He is also a former Marine. Rare and interesting, indeed. Not sure i believe in unicorns, but...
A narwhal is a a nearly mythical animal, one of the more mysterious of sea creatures, equal parts whale and unicorn. They are shy, intelligent animals and are only very rarely caught in nets and fitted with GPS tracking devices. They clearly don't like people or nets and avoid them both meticulously.
One narwhal described in the story got very close to a net, causing the whole tagging team (who had been patiently waiting for months to catch one) to suit up and prep for success. But, at the last minute, the graceful animal changed directions and glided away unscathed. I imagine the team sat silently for several minutes after that, reassessing the reasons they even try.
Ahhh, how many things in life are just as illusive?! Just when you think you've got it/him/them, it/he/them heads another direction just out of reach. Strange.
Another bizarre animal story walking home after work: A very lazy cicada, nearly five years late waking up, was frantically bumping into the window of an Italian restaurant making a terrible racket. I wondered how upsetting it would be to get to hang out with my fellow species only once every many, many years and to wake up only to find out that no one bothered to nudge me. Sad.
The first thing i would do is head straight to the nearest Italian joint as well.
I met a man the other day who I think I might want to get to know better. He is interesting and funny, masculine but seems evolved. He is also a former Marine. Rare and interesting, indeed. Not sure i believe in unicorns, but...
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Showtime
After months of loathing the tangle of cords and unsafe overuse of powerstrips, I finally swallowed my pride and signed up for cable. When Comcast gave me shit, I upgraded to swanky Direct TV. In just 24 hours, all the worthless digital converter boxes and rabbit ears were gone. In their place was a tiny black box filled with hundreds of channels and XM radio stations.
It wasn't just the constant struggle trying to get digital reception in my garden-level apartment that finally did me in, however. It was a conversation with my girlfriends, rooftop at the pool. I was quizzing my ladies for updates on the dating scene...just in case I'd missed anything in the last year. Now that I've reclaimed fabulocity and dusted off my dating gear after the recent male train wreck, it seemed only right to make sure i had all the latest gadgets.
One of my girlfriends wisely explained to me that all the cleavage and mascara in the world wouldn't get me very far without ESPN. Her stance was that men just need to flip channels to be happy; that I simply wouldn't score unless my next man could check the score. Cable, she said, was vital to my dating arsenal.
"Fair enough," I conceded. I've always worried that BUST magazine and Shih Tzu would loose its allure before long. Men who date me tend to do an awful lot of waiting and my Libra diplomacy could see I needed to compromise. Also, I was beginning to entertain the fact that if i want to lay on a couch and rest my head in man-lap ever again, I might need something more than local weather and the box set of Ab Fab.
Furthermore, there are lots of ways I can benefit from my new cable as well. I can hardly wait to rationalize all this wasted money during my first Project Runway party. I also needed to do research for my own series on Food Network, which is forthcoming.
When i told the man who installed my dish our hypothesis, he laughed. Hard. He checked my order on his log and concluded that if i really wanted a man, I'd have to add the mega-expensive sports package with 24 hour NFL. "Baby steps, dawling," i told him. I hope my dates don't have time to watch that much TV. *wink*
It wasn't just the constant struggle trying to get digital reception in my garden-level apartment that finally did me in, however. It was a conversation with my girlfriends, rooftop at the pool. I was quizzing my ladies for updates on the dating scene...just in case I'd missed anything in the last year. Now that I've reclaimed fabulocity and dusted off my dating gear after the recent male train wreck, it seemed only right to make sure i had all the latest gadgets.
One of my girlfriends wisely explained to me that all the cleavage and mascara in the world wouldn't get me very far without ESPN. Her stance was that men just need to flip channels to be happy; that I simply wouldn't score unless my next man could check the score. Cable, she said, was vital to my dating arsenal.
"Fair enough," I conceded. I've always worried that BUST magazine and Shih Tzu would loose its allure before long. Men who date me tend to do an awful lot of waiting and my Libra diplomacy could see I needed to compromise. Also, I was beginning to entertain the fact that if i want to lay on a couch and rest my head in man-lap ever again, I might need something more than local weather and the box set of Ab Fab.
Furthermore, there are lots of ways I can benefit from my new cable as well. I can hardly wait to rationalize all this wasted money during my first Project Runway party. I also needed to do research for my own series on Food Network, which is forthcoming.
When i told the man who installed my dish our hypothesis, he laughed. Hard. He checked my order on his log and concluded that if i really wanted a man, I'd have to add the mega-expensive sports package with 24 hour NFL. "Baby steps, dawling," i told him. I hope my dates don't have time to watch that much TV. *wink*
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Arithmetic
Leek parmesan smashed potatoes with chives from my garden next to Italian roast beef and sourdough...all on a vintage Holly Hobby plate that says “Count your blessings, not your troubles.”
I'm down with that.
I'm down with that.
Monday, June 15, 2009
I'm sorry
My dearest Music,
I'm so sorry for the nasty things i said about you the other day. I didn't mean it. I was just having a bad day. How about you come over later and let me make it up to you? We can have some nice wine, i'll get some Pierre Robert triple crème...we can make a night of it.
Also, to really demonstrate my unwaivering love, i've added a little of you back to the blog.
Let's never fight again.
rach
P.S. I Love You by Nellie McKay
I'm so sorry for the nasty things i said about you the other day. I didn't mean it. I was just having a bad day. How about you come over later and let me make it up to you? We can have some nice wine, i'll get some Pierre Robert triple crème...we can make a night of it.
Also, to really demonstrate my unwaivering love, i've added a little of you back to the blog.
Let's never fight again.
rach
P.S. I Love You by Nellie McKay
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Hard of Hearing
Not too long ago, I was listening to my usual collection of Pandora stations through the rose-colored headphones of a relationship. This week, after having my heart stomped on with boy cleats, all the songs sound differently. Just a few weeks ago cheesy love songs made me smile at my desk in the way only someone retarded in love can pull off. I now find myself skipping the sappy love songs, thumbs-upping the depressing, spiteful side of love music.
Only now can I even hear the lyrics warning me of playaz (Beyonce station), lyin’ cheatin’ hearts (George Straight station), and that boy in the front row (Toby Lightman station). Even Alice Smith’s Dream received an irritated eye roll and Mariah Carey’s Shake it Off suddenly makes sense. This is serious.
I clearly did not hear, let alone heed, the advice of a gazillion entertainers singing their poor hearts out about the red flags of letting yourself have feelings for another person. Clearly, I am hard of hearing.
On another note, Pandora seems to behave much like the weather this week: completely abnormal and crappy, grey, dismal, cold, depressing, and very, very unfair…all to match my situation, obviously. Thanks Universe, how clever!
If one more sad break-up song comes on Pandora, I may give up on music. Same goes for happy songs about people in love. No more! Isn’t there anything else to effing sing about?! Can’t someone make a song about how glamorous it is be single, gorgeous, and on the rebound? Or that feeling you get from slipping on the perfect pair of jeans…there’s a topic that is certainly as song-worthy as a sensual encounter with your man. Taking a walk around the city with a cup of coffee…another life experience on par with falling in or out of love. No one is singin’ about that, are they!?
Ok, Beyonce, let’s try just a bit more creativity if possible. That Halo song is making me gag.
Back to this impossible SEO document. As if this week didn’t suck enough already…
My Sweet Song by Toby Lightman
Only now can I even hear the lyrics warning me of playaz (Beyonce station), lyin’ cheatin’ hearts (George Straight station), and that boy in the front row (Toby Lightman station). Even Alice Smith’s Dream received an irritated eye roll and Mariah Carey’s Shake it Off suddenly makes sense. This is serious.
I clearly did not hear, let alone heed, the advice of a gazillion entertainers singing their poor hearts out about the red flags of letting yourself have feelings for another person. Clearly, I am hard of hearing.
On another note, Pandora seems to behave much like the weather this week: completely abnormal and crappy, grey, dismal, cold, depressing, and very, very unfair…all to match my situation, obviously. Thanks Universe, how clever!
If one more sad break-up song comes on Pandora, I may give up on music. Same goes for happy songs about people in love. No more! Isn’t there anything else to effing sing about?! Can’t someone make a song about how glamorous it is be single, gorgeous, and on the rebound? Or that feeling you get from slipping on the perfect pair of jeans…there’s a topic that is certainly as song-worthy as a sensual encounter with your man. Taking a walk around the city with a cup of coffee…another life experience on par with falling in or out of love. No one is singin’ about that, are they!?
Ok, Beyonce, let’s try just a bit more creativity if possible. That Halo song is making me gag.
Back to this impossible SEO document. As if this week didn’t suck enough already…
My Sweet Song by Toby Lightman
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Totem Animals and Other Nonesense
Today, in an effort to use up units and avoid feeling much of anything, I took my friend to the hardware store, a place filled to the brim with creativity and time suckage. I had come up with a list of unnecessary projects around the house that would keep me busy for the next few days.
We were nearly overwhelmed with helpful male assistance, helping us make decisions about paint color and wood density. These adorable lads found our complete lack of home improvement prowess irresistible. I would have most certainly given my number to whomever inquired. However, they were young and therefore not worth the effort in training.
We joked on the way home that we should adopt a “cougar” way of life, seducing far-too young men for fun and relishing in their naïve adoration.
I get a weekly newsletter from a metaphysical shop in Omaha in which a totem animal is described. Totem animals are meant to help make sense of personality traits, non-traditional medicine, and life events in a way only possible with the divine wisdom of the universe. If one encounters a totem animal, one should either remember and utilize the animal’s lessons or refrain from the unfabulous characteristics of that animal. Checking my email at 2:34 am, I laughed out loud when this week’s totem was the beautiful and elusive cougar.
A cougar is a natural leader, strong and powerful. They don’t hesitate when they attack and they don’t waste time and energy beyond what is require to get what they want. When threatened, they go for the most vulnerable place. They don’t lead by force or domination however. Their leadership is followed only by choice, not fear. A cougar leads by love, patience, and determination.
At a time so convoluted by confusion and sadness, the wisdom of the cougar is well taken. Cougar is not allowed to show vulnerability. If I am to take the hint from my totem animal, neither will I. Cougars learn by trial and error which hones their skills. Like it or not, I’ll have to do the same. A cougar must not be kept stationary. Often those who have accepted the status quo can try to contain the cougar and those folks must be avoided at all cost. Sigh…I’ve never been much for the status quo and will therefore have to yawn, stretch, and move on.
I don’t normally take things like magic, crystals, or folklore with much seriousness. But, I do enjoy a unique way to learn about myself and the world around me, mostly how to deal with one in the other. I realize that this week’s totem animal is purely coincidental. That being said, if cougar’s wisdom (however based on the rants of some drugged up gypsy) can guide me in any direction, I’ll take it at this point. The fact that I’ve had several gin and tonics tonight should in no way dissuade the universe from speaking to me. If cougar is trying to tell me that I should leap at the next opportunity, then, damn it, I’ll do it. I’d hate to turn down free therapy, after all
Meeeee-oooowwww.
We were nearly overwhelmed with helpful male assistance, helping us make decisions about paint color and wood density. These adorable lads found our complete lack of home improvement prowess irresistible. I would have most certainly given my number to whomever inquired. However, they were young and therefore not worth the effort in training.
We joked on the way home that we should adopt a “cougar” way of life, seducing far-too young men for fun and relishing in their naïve adoration.
I get a weekly newsletter from a metaphysical shop in Omaha in which a totem animal is described. Totem animals are meant to help make sense of personality traits, non-traditional medicine, and life events in a way only possible with the divine wisdom of the universe. If one encounters a totem animal, one should either remember and utilize the animal’s lessons or refrain from the unfabulous characteristics of that animal. Checking my email at 2:34 am, I laughed out loud when this week’s totem was the beautiful and elusive cougar.
A cougar is a natural leader, strong and powerful. They don’t hesitate when they attack and they don’t waste time and energy beyond what is require to get what they want. When threatened, they go for the most vulnerable place. They don’t lead by force or domination however. Their leadership is followed only by choice, not fear. A cougar leads by love, patience, and determination.
At a time so convoluted by confusion and sadness, the wisdom of the cougar is well taken. Cougar is not allowed to show vulnerability. If I am to take the hint from my totem animal, neither will I. Cougars learn by trial and error which hones their skills. Like it or not, I’ll have to do the same. A cougar must not be kept stationary. Often those who have accepted the status quo can try to contain the cougar and those folks must be avoided at all cost. Sigh…I’ve never been much for the status quo and will therefore have to yawn, stretch, and move on.
I don’t normally take things like magic, crystals, or folklore with much seriousness. But, I do enjoy a unique way to learn about myself and the world around me, mostly how to deal with one in the other. I realize that this week’s totem animal is purely coincidental. That being said, if cougar’s wisdom (however based on the rants of some drugged up gypsy) can guide me in any direction, I’ll take it at this point. The fact that I’ve had several gin and tonics tonight should in no way dissuade the universe from speaking to me. If cougar is trying to tell me that I should leap at the next opportunity, then, damn it, I’ll do it. I’d hate to turn down free therapy, after all
Meeeee-oooowwww.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
The more boys i meet...
Over the last week of emotional turmoil, I am again reminded of the blessing that is my dog. As I sulked around, feeling sorry for myself, she was there for me. Not in an overly happy, “Let’s go outside and play and get over it” kind of way; instead, she was appropriately subdued but ready with a friendly wag if I showed the slightest interest in a bit of fun. She was just cute enough when I was feeling sad and made perfectly timed gagging noises when anger filled our space.
In particularly difficult times, when even Gloria Gaynor couldn’t produce any hope, I would feel the gentle nudge of flat-faced Shih Tzu reminding me that everything would be just fine. There really is something about snuggling a pet that lowers your blood pressure and cheers you up.
Olive doesn’t just do this for me. When friends have come by to work through life’s troubles over cocktails, Olive generally occupies herself. But at the slightest of ocular dampness, she is at high alert. Her unusual ability to sense tears is truly amazing, like a shark sensing one drop of blood from 100 miles away.
Hopping off her velvet pillow at the exact right time, she has dried the tears of many with a gentle paw and uncanny ability to fit herself on any lap however closed off to the world the lap may be. She is always ready to do her only job… spreading smiles everywhere she goes and offering a bit of perspective that we humans often misplace, reminding us that the world isn’t really that bad. She’s in it, after all.
Thank goodness I never need to worry. I have my pack to protect and love me and make sure I get out of out bed every single day. One need never feel lonely when they have the love of a Shih Tzu.
The More Boys I Meet by Carrie Underwood
In particularly difficult times, when even Gloria Gaynor couldn’t produce any hope, I would feel the gentle nudge of flat-faced Shih Tzu reminding me that everything would be just fine. There really is something about snuggling a pet that lowers your blood pressure and cheers you up.
Olive doesn’t just do this for me. When friends have come by to work through life’s troubles over cocktails, Olive generally occupies herself. But at the slightest of ocular dampness, she is at high alert. Her unusual ability to sense tears is truly amazing, like a shark sensing one drop of blood from 100 miles away.
Hopping off her velvet pillow at the exact right time, she has dried the tears of many with a gentle paw and uncanny ability to fit herself on any lap however closed off to the world the lap may be. She is always ready to do her only job… spreading smiles everywhere she goes and offering a bit of perspective that we humans often misplace, reminding us that the world isn’t really that bad. She’s in it, after all.
Thank goodness I never need to worry. I have my pack to protect and love me and make sure I get out of out bed every single day. One need never feel lonely when they have the love of a Shih Tzu.
The More Boys I Meet by Carrie Underwood
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Sugarplums and other visions
A very wise friend of mine has been attempting to help me make sense of a very disturbing relationship dilemma in which i've found myself. Alternating between devastated and, well, devastated, the love i thought was "grown-up," real, and indestructible has turned out to be just the opposite. My girl has offered some sage explanations.
People (both men and women), it seems, sometimes create a vision for their life, complete with lodging, lineages, even transport. The stereotypical house, car, and kids is alive and well, i'm afraid. The plans are made, signed and sealed, and not up for discussion. And then the quest begins to find the right person, a soulmate i suppose, that you can plunk down in that dream life. This person matches all the decor and lives life by the same soundtrack. The person must have the exact same visionary life. That is how you know they are the one.
Now, i'm not opposed to dreams. I have them myself, of course. But my dreams are fluid, murky, without real definition and form. For instance, my future ideal family doesn't have a predetermined number of members, doesn't reside any one place in particular, and doesn't do certain things on the weekends. I've always thought that when I meet the person i'm meant to spend my life with, we'll work out those details together. Combining efforts seems way more interesting to me, not to mention sustainable as people's dreams change as they are sure to do. I like the adventure of it. I look forward to negotiating those details in true Libra fashion. Love is the binding force in my vision, not how well the person fits into my master plan of global diva domination. (JK...i don't really plan to take over the world with diva force...unless anyone is up for trying that with me.)
The love i thought i shared with my beau is in question. And it hurts. Turns out, he is unsure i fit in his vision. And that makes my vision (of an exciting life discovering even more about him and loving him even more) seem like it ain't gonna happen.
I could be wrong, but relationships of the past appeared to begin by finding someone you could stand and taking it from there. Love used to be all you needed. Identical plans is the new collaboration.
Shame, really. My vision was just starting to take on some lines and color. Not sure how this one will turn out because, as previously stated, it isn't up for discussion. Good thing my beautiful future is flexible like a yogi, taking on new positions even more challenging than before. Wish me luck though...this will be a tough one.
People (both men and women), it seems, sometimes create a vision for their life, complete with lodging, lineages, even transport. The stereotypical house, car, and kids is alive and well, i'm afraid. The plans are made, signed and sealed, and not up for discussion. And then the quest begins to find the right person, a soulmate i suppose, that you can plunk down in that dream life. This person matches all the decor and lives life by the same soundtrack. The person must have the exact same visionary life. That is how you know they are the one.
Now, i'm not opposed to dreams. I have them myself, of course. But my dreams are fluid, murky, without real definition and form. For instance, my future ideal family doesn't have a predetermined number of members, doesn't reside any one place in particular, and doesn't do certain things on the weekends. I've always thought that when I meet the person i'm meant to spend my life with, we'll work out those details together. Combining efforts seems way more interesting to me, not to mention sustainable as people's dreams change as they are sure to do. I like the adventure of it. I look forward to negotiating those details in true Libra fashion. Love is the binding force in my vision, not how well the person fits into my master plan of global diva domination. (JK...i don't really plan to take over the world with diva force...unless anyone is up for trying that with me.)
The love i thought i shared with my beau is in question. And it hurts. Turns out, he is unsure i fit in his vision. And that makes my vision (of an exciting life discovering even more about him and loving him even more) seem like it ain't gonna happen.
I could be wrong, but relationships of the past appeared to begin by finding someone you could stand and taking it from there. Love used to be all you needed. Identical plans is the new collaboration.
Shame, really. My vision was just starting to take on some lines and color. Not sure how this one will turn out because, as previously stated, it isn't up for discussion. Good thing my beautiful future is flexible like a yogi, taking on new positions even more challenging than before. Wish me luck though...this will be a tough one.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Don't Make Me
The other night I attempted to get dumped by inviting my beau to a folksy, estrogen-heavy performance by Toby Lightman. He usually reserves Monday nights for himself as a rule. He claims he is required by his laundry machine, though I believe he keeps his distance to avoid the inevitable CSI Miami episode. For this reason, it was particularly generous of him to drive me, in the rain, to Arlington and sit through equal parts acoustic man-bashing and sappy love ballads.
I was thrilled, giddy with her clever lyrics, thoughtful sentiment, and country/bluesy twang. He appeared to be ready to trade me in for a tattooed death metal drummer chick or throw himself from the nearest monument...i can't be sure which.
As in that weird movie Mating Habits of the Earth-Bound Human, i guess it is true that while dating it is not necessarily the activities we enjoy, but rather the company.
I did appreciate the company thoroughly. And for only a barbeque dinner in exchange, i think i made out like a bandit.
We joked that when the time comes for me to endure uncomfortable male activities, perhaps DC Meatfest or the National Beer Guzzling/Chest Beating Festival, he'll have an ace in the hole with which to convince me. In the meantime, I promise to only play the cd i bought last night solo so not to invoke any traumatic flashbacks.
Don't Wake Me by Toby Lightman
I was thrilled, giddy with her clever lyrics, thoughtful sentiment, and country/bluesy twang. He appeared to be ready to trade me in for a tattooed death metal drummer chick or throw himself from the nearest monument...i can't be sure which.
As in that weird movie Mating Habits of the Earth-Bound Human, i guess it is true that while dating it is not necessarily the activities we enjoy, but rather the company.
I did appreciate the company thoroughly. And for only a barbeque dinner in exchange, i think i made out like a bandit.
We joked that when the time comes for me to endure uncomfortable male activities, perhaps DC Meatfest or the National Beer Guzzling/Chest Beating Festival, he'll have an ace in the hole with which to convince me. In the meantime, I promise to only play the cd i bought last night solo so not to invoke any traumatic flashbacks.
Don't Wake Me by Toby Lightman
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Do the Jane Fonda
I joined a gym the other day. I even met with a personal trainer. What I thought was going to be a complimentary ass whopping turned out to be a sales pitch for mega-expensive PT sessions. Having never been a member of a gym before, I had no idea this was a risk.
Pinching chubby spots, the trainer’s brow furrowed. “What do you eat?” he asks.
“Pasta and cream sauce,” I reply. The brow tangles even more.
“Do you drink alcohol?”
“Yes, bourbon.” He shakes his head.
“How much?”
“A lot.”
And so the conversation went… He scribbled down notes and returned to me with a hopeful look. “I think I can help you,” he grinned, “but you’ll have to be on a diet and work out all the time.” Disappointed, I slump over to the elliptical machine.
What I think was missed in my PT evaluation was that I wasn’t at the gym with aspirations of supermodel stick-figureness. I like my curves and, even more, I like my lifestyle. I’ve already reconciled the fact that my love of pasta will never allow me arms like Madonna and I’m ok with that. Furthermore, I’m chronically lazy; the Mistress of Excuses, the Princess of Bad Influence.
What I’m looking for in an exercise program is the exact least amount of effort I need to put forth to keep eating and drinking whatever I like and stay relatively the same size, accounting for age and seasonal changes. I don’t need rock-hard abs or buns of steel…I just want to look ok naked and have a happy life. I need more than a celery stick, a cigarette, and a laxative (thanks for that C.V.) to be at my best. I’m not fooled by those starving, unhappy faces in magazines.
And for $75 an hour, I think personal training is for the birds. I usually don’t spend $75/hour having fun, after all.
I fired my PT before he even got to make me sweat. Not because I don’t think he could have transformed me into a 5’4” brick house, but because it just doesn’t sound like much fun to eat lettuce instead of noodles and run in place instead of sipping champagne with my friends.
I do plan to show face at the gym every now and then though. They do have some (almost) fun-looking classes and yoga. As long as nobody (and by “nobody” I mostly mean meathead D-bags looking for a screw) talks to me, I think I could be self-persuaded to lift a weight in addition to my pasta fork. Wish me luck!
Jane Fonda by Mickey Avalon
Pinching chubby spots, the trainer’s brow furrowed. “What do you eat?” he asks.
“Pasta and cream sauce,” I reply. The brow tangles even more.
“Do you drink alcohol?”
“Yes, bourbon.” He shakes his head.
“How much?”
“A lot.”
And so the conversation went… He scribbled down notes and returned to me with a hopeful look. “I think I can help you,” he grinned, “but you’ll have to be on a diet and work out all the time.” Disappointed, I slump over to the elliptical machine.
What I think was missed in my PT evaluation was that I wasn’t at the gym with aspirations of supermodel stick-figureness. I like my curves and, even more, I like my lifestyle. I’ve already reconciled the fact that my love of pasta will never allow me arms like Madonna and I’m ok with that. Furthermore, I’m chronically lazy; the Mistress of Excuses, the Princess of Bad Influence.
What I’m looking for in an exercise program is the exact least amount of effort I need to put forth to keep eating and drinking whatever I like and stay relatively the same size, accounting for age and seasonal changes. I don’t need rock-hard abs or buns of steel…I just want to look ok naked and have a happy life. I need more than a celery stick, a cigarette, and a laxative (thanks for that C.V.) to be at my best. I’m not fooled by those starving, unhappy faces in magazines.
And for $75 an hour, I think personal training is for the birds. I usually don’t spend $75/hour having fun, after all.
I fired my PT before he even got to make me sweat. Not because I don’t think he could have transformed me into a 5’4” brick house, but because it just doesn’t sound like much fun to eat lettuce instead of noodles and run in place instead of sipping champagne with my friends.
I do plan to show face at the gym every now and then though. They do have some (almost) fun-looking classes and yoga. As long as nobody (and by “nobody” I mostly mean meathead D-bags looking for a screw) talks to me, I think I could be self-persuaded to lift a weight in addition to my pasta fork. Wish me luck!
Jane Fonda by Mickey Avalon
Monday, March 30, 2009
Notes from a Cathedral
I went to a fascinating lecture on Friday night by the author of the NY Times best seller Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert. I knew it was going to be great…first, because it was held in the National Cathedral, a place where I expected to feel uncomfortably awestruck (like an atheist who accidently ends up in an evangelical revival) but instead felt absolutely comfortably awestruck. It is a beautiful, beautiful place. Secondly, because Eat, Pray, Love is one of the best, most honestly written books I’ve ever read; a book that clearly touched the heartstrings of American women in a way they wish their men would (there were over 2,000 people in the audience, 99% women).
Gilbert is effortlessly clever, unrehearsed, and refreshing in her honesty. She didn’t talk much about the book that made her famous. Instead she talked about being a writer and being a woman. After her journey through Italy, India, and Indonesia to try to reclaim mental health, she predictably returned to the U.S. relaxed and confused by American’s sense of unnecessary urgency, relentless self-criticism, and exhausting work schedules. (If you’re an American who has spent real time abroad, you have returned confused as well, wondering how your own priorities got so off-kilter.) She smartly disclaimed that she didn’t want to come off as one of those people who spends 3 months in Bali and then asks all her neighbors in the U.S. why they are so stressed. But she did wonder why we feel compelled to “reduce stress” or “manage stress.” Why not instead “eradicating stress,” eliminating stressful thing altogether. Easier said than done, obviously, but it is a nice mantra.
She also talked about having kids, an issue that presented itself to me several times over the last few days. My beau’s sis had a baby, I found out my ex’s family are expecting a new member, I hung out with new parents who were grateful to have a night without the little one, among other events.
I’ve always been of the strong opinion that momhood isn’t for me. Kids scare me. They have big soft heads that bobble around, swinging dangerously towards objects like the corners of tables. Not to mention being prego for ages…your body is taken over by a sizable parasite, your hormones go ape shit, and you can’t even have a drink to calm yourself. All that work and what do you get for it? You get flipped the bird by an angry teenager and sucked dry of money. Then you get a mother’s day card. My terror of childbearing is real, however misinformed and dramatized.
According to Gilbert, 10% of women historically don’t have biological children. Though these women don’t leave a genetic legacy, they support those that do financially, emotionally, babysitter-wise. More than once an aunt has saved the day by sending money to an impoverished college student. More than once a godmom has been the understudy of the lousy babysitter who canceled last minute. It seems that those women who don’t have their own kids might be an evolutionary requirement, vital to the survival (or at least, the mental stability) of the species. That takes a load off me. Just in case I really can’t swallow the jagged little pill that is motherhood, I can still be a kick-ass godmom and Auntie Rach. It isn’t selfish and it isn’t abnormal. It is just a decision like any other.
Also, Gilbert said that she saw a study that said that women who don’t have kids are actually just as happy as those who don’t in their old age. Turns out, the things that really determine a women’s happiness in old age is poverty and health. So as long as I save for retirement and eat healthy, I should be fine either way, thank goodness.
Anyway, whether you’ve ended up on the bathroom floor in a puddle of your own tears before or not, I highly recommend reading Eat, Pray, Love.
Gilbert is effortlessly clever, unrehearsed, and refreshing in her honesty. She didn’t talk much about the book that made her famous. Instead she talked about being a writer and being a woman. After her journey through Italy, India, and Indonesia to try to reclaim mental health, she predictably returned to the U.S. relaxed and confused by American’s sense of unnecessary urgency, relentless self-criticism, and exhausting work schedules. (If you’re an American who has spent real time abroad, you have returned confused as well, wondering how your own priorities got so off-kilter.) She smartly disclaimed that she didn’t want to come off as one of those people who spends 3 months in Bali and then asks all her neighbors in the U.S. why they are so stressed. But she did wonder why we feel compelled to “reduce stress” or “manage stress.” Why not instead “eradicating stress,” eliminating stressful thing altogether. Easier said than done, obviously, but it is a nice mantra.
She also talked about having kids, an issue that presented itself to me several times over the last few days. My beau’s sis had a baby, I found out my ex’s family are expecting a new member, I hung out with new parents who were grateful to have a night without the little one, among other events.
I’ve always been of the strong opinion that momhood isn’t for me. Kids scare me. They have big soft heads that bobble around, swinging dangerously towards objects like the corners of tables. Not to mention being prego for ages…your body is taken over by a sizable parasite, your hormones go ape shit, and you can’t even have a drink to calm yourself. All that work and what do you get for it? You get flipped the bird by an angry teenager and sucked dry of money. Then you get a mother’s day card. My terror of childbearing is real, however misinformed and dramatized.
According to Gilbert, 10% of women historically don’t have biological children. Though these women don’t leave a genetic legacy, they support those that do financially, emotionally, babysitter-wise. More than once an aunt has saved the day by sending money to an impoverished college student. More than once a godmom has been the understudy of the lousy babysitter who canceled last minute. It seems that those women who don’t have their own kids might be an evolutionary requirement, vital to the survival (or at least, the mental stability) of the species. That takes a load off me. Just in case I really can’t swallow the jagged little pill that is motherhood, I can still be a kick-ass godmom and Auntie Rach. It isn’t selfish and it isn’t abnormal. It is just a decision like any other.
Also, Gilbert said that she saw a study that said that women who don’t have kids are actually just as happy as those who don’t in their old age. Turns out, the things that really determine a women’s happiness in old age is poverty and health. So as long as I save for retirement and eat healthy, I should be fine either way, thank goodness.
Anyway, whether you’ve ended up on the bathroom floor in a puddle of your own tears before or not, I highly recommend reading Eat, Pray, Love.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Verizon has a consipracy against me
Over the last few months, i've attempted to join whatever century we're in now and sprinkle my life with a few electronic devices. I've always been years behind when it comes to gadgets and things with cords.
I didn't get a DVD player until just a couple years ago, after my mom realized how un-cool I was. I am forever in debt to my former music mentor from Colorado for gently encouraging me to give up my boom box by gifting me an iPod (filled with cool new music). He rightly predicted I wouldn't have a computer at home with which to charge the Pod so he included the wall charger. Brilliant! When the cable I was stealing got shut off, I signed up for Netflix and called it a day. I couldn't loose that crappy used cell phone in a cab to save my life. Spending money and time on such luxuries as wireless internet, communication by phone, and a working thermostat seemed a bit beyond my reach. I was doing fine without so why complicate my life?
I'm not sure if it was winter boredom, my new job at a software company (where EVERYONE has an iPhone), or my sports-loving beau who waits for me patiently with nothing but Bust magazine and Olive to keep him entertained...something inspired me to get wired.
In the last few months, i've added a digital converter box and space-age rabbit ears (I couldn't quite bring myself to get cable yet and the government was offering coupons), wireless internet (which I share with my neighbors to keep the cost down...less money spent on bills means more money to spend on denim), a new cell phone, and an Internet-based home phone so I can more easily work in my pajamas. I had to get two power strips for all those damn cords.
I have had several meltdowns over faulty equipment, low signal, and criminal billing practices. This shit simply isn't my thing.
While I am (sometimes...when it is working) happy to be able to stream old CSI Miami episodes wireless on my laptop while simultaneously watching the new CSI Miami episode on channel 7-1 WJLA-HD or whatever, I do question the necessity of it all. There are times I want to gather up all those ugly boxes with annoying blinking lights and their tangle of miserable cords and ritualistically burn them.
Olive and Beau do seem content watching March Madness while I blow-dry so perhaps it is worth it. Just no more effing cords please.
P.S. Thanks for the YouTube video, Tex. It made me feel the tiniest bit better about all the obscenities that have come from my mouth in your presence while trying to get all my fucking pieces of shit working.
I didn't get a DVD player until just a couple years ago, after my mom realized how un-cool I was. I am forever in debt to my former music mentor from Colorado for gently encouraging me to give up my boom box by gifting me an iPod (filled with cool new music). He rightly predicted I wouldn't have a computer at home with which to charge the Pod so he included the wall charger. Brilliant! When the cable I was stealing got shut off, I signed up for Netflix and called it a day. I couldn't loose that crappy used cell phone in a cab to save my life. Spending money and time on such luxuries as wireless internet, communication by phone, and a working thermostat seemed a bit beyond my reach. I was doing fine without so why complicate my life?
I'm not sure if it was winter boredom, my new job at a software company (where EVERYONE has an iPhone), or my sports-loving beau who waits for me patiently with nothing but Bust magazine and Olive to keep him entertained...something inspired me to get wired.
In the last few months, i've added a digital converter box and space-age rabbit ears (I couldn't quite bring myself to get cable yet and the government was offering coupons), wireless internet (which I share with my neighbors to keep the cost down...less money spent on bills means more money to spend on denim), a new cell phone, and an Internet-based home phone so I can more easily work in my pajamas. I had to get two power strips for all those damn cords.
I have had several meltdowns over faulty equipment, low signal, and criminal billing practices. This shit simply isn't my thing.
While I am (sometimes...when it is working) happy to be able to stream old CSI Miami episodes wireless on my laptop while simultaneously watching the new CSI Miami episode on channel 7-1 WJLA-HD or whatever, I do question the necessity of it all. There are times I want to gather up all those ugly boxes with annoying blinking lights and their tangle of miserable cords and ritualistically burn them.
Olive and Beau do seem content watching March Madness while I blow-dry so perhaps it is worth it. Just no more effing cords please.
P.S. Thanks for the YouTube video, Tex. It made me feel the tiniest bit better about all the obscenities that have come from my mouth in your presence while trying to get all my fucking pieces of shit working.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Let me count the ways
My sister is getting married this Spring. It is all very exciting because her beau is rather charming and fits in well with the family descended from pirates. Sis asked me for some music recommendations. This was touching since we have very little in common and I had no idea she even knew about my lust for quality tunes. I was shocked she wanted my input on her most important of life events.
She said she wanted romantic, yet interesting…something more than the usual Shania Twain gag-inducers usually played at Nebraska weddings. I devoted myself wholeheartedly to the project, not only to supply this wedding some suitable slow dances, but also to impress my only female sibling (a difficult challenge, indeed).
I’ve been working on it for weeks, arguing with myself about just how cheesy I wanted Wedding Mix 2009 to be, adding and then removing tracks that in one hormonal level sounded sweet and the next sounded revoltingly insincere.
Below is a sampling.
Fresh Feeling by Eels
My beau shared this one with me recently and it makes me smile every time I hear it. My personal favorite...
Make You Feel My Love by Adele
Just so beautiful. I can imagine them dancing to this at the wedding (which will result in a Kleenex stock increase...there's your insider tip from someone who knows NOTHING about the stock market.)
Shameless by Garth Brooks
This is a staple at Casa de Pirate and country-lovers will rejoice.
You Turn Me On by Ugly Americans
Darn cute and heaps cheesy. I've loved this one since high school.
Dream by Alice Smith
Simple, honest, passionate...just how love should feel.
And, of course, the usual classics: Method Man and MJB, Sade, Harry Connick, Jr. I need to burn the disk and ship it off to NE soon, but i'm still taking recommendations. I figured after the recent Valentine snog-fest, someone might have a love song to melt the hearts of my soon-to-be-inlaws. Am I missing anything?
She said she wanted romantic, yet interesting…something more than the usual Shania Twain gag-inducers usually played at Nebraska weddings. I devoted myself wholeheartedly to the project, not only to supply this wedding some suitable slow dances, but also to impress my only female sibling (a difficult challenge, indeed).
I’ve been working on it for weeks, arguing with myself about just how cheesy I wanted Wedding Mix 2009 to be, adding and then removing tracks that in one hormonal level sounded sweet and the next sounded revoltingly insincere.
Below is a sampling.
Fresh Feeling by Eels
My beau shared this one with me recently and it makes me smile every time I hear it. My personal favorite...
Make You Feel My Love by Adele
Just so beautiful. I can imagine them dancing to this at the wedding (which will result in a Kleenex stock increase...there's your insider tip from someone who knows NOTHING about the stock market.)
Shameless by Garth Brooks
This is a staple at Casa de Pirate and country-lovers will rejoice.
You Turn Me On by Ugly Americans
Darn cute and heaps cheesy. I've loved this one since high school.
Dream by Alice Smith
Simple, honest, passionate...just how love should feel.
And, of course, the usual classics: Method Man and MJB, Sade, Harry Connick, Jr. I need to burn the disk and ship it off to NE soon, but i'm still taking recommendations. I figured after the recent Valentine snog-fest, someone might have a love song to melt the hearts of my soon-to-be-inlaws. Am I missing anything?
Monday, February 2, 2009
Going out of style
I'm all for public access to information. Everybody should be able to read books for free, which is why I’m so disappointed in the DC Public Library system.
Today, in an effort to renew some interest in my job, I decided I should read some books related to my field. I have a list of recommendations from numerous conferences and seminars and some of them even sounded interesting. So, I went to the public library’s website. I was thrilled to find they had an online search option. This would save me from hauling it all the way over there if they didn’t have what I was looking for…brilliant!
One of the books I wanted was an interesting twist on how to change public attitude with simple marketing schemes: The United States of Arugula. I searched for “Arugula.” Sorry, term not found. I tried “United States.” Nope, never heard of that either. I search for some other books with no luck. Already irritated, I call. The man who answers is able to look up the books effortlessly and promises to hold them for me. I give my name with a sigh of relief. Things are looking up.
I head over after work to pick up my books. I stop at the information desk and ask if my books are there. With an annoyed pencil tap, an evil librarian, the likes of which stereotypes about cranky librarians were created, snapped that NO, my books obviously weren’t there and that I should try another identical information desk.
I get there, hand over my library card, only to be told that I haven’t returned the Amy Sedaris cookbook I had loaned over the summer. I am instructed to find the missing book on the shelf or be turned over the to the authorities for book theft. I frantically find cookbook and return to desk. Strange…turns out the book was returned after all. Woman shrugs.
May I please have the books saved for me? Certainly not! They are no where to be found. But, I can have another ignorant shrug. Perfect!
Dismayed, I walk back to the original desk, the one with the smug librarian. There are the books with my name in bright purple marker rubber banded around them, right next to Evil’s mouse pad.
If it wasn’t for my pre-existing soft spot for librarians (thanks to three years living with an actual smart one), I may have strangled someone. I grab the books, check out, and vow never to set foot in that shame hole ever again. No wonder there are only homeless people sleeping on all the tables instead of real patrons. Where are the days of helpful librarians, cheerful book displays encouraging reading, and book drops that don’t have electric fence around them? Shame that even information, it seems, is going out of style.
Today, in an effort to renew some interest in my job, I decided I should read some books related to my field. I have a list of recommendations from numerous conferences and seminars and some of them even sounded interesting. So, I went to the public library’s website. I was thrilled to find they had an online search option. This would save me from hauling it all the way over there if they didn’t have what I was looking for…brilliant!
One of the books I wanted was an interesting twist on how to change public attitude with simple marketing schemes: The United States of Arugula. I searched for “Arugula.” Sorry, term not found. I tried “United States.” Nope, never heard of that either. I search for some other books with no luck. Already irritated, I call. The man who answers is able to look up the books effortlessly and promises to hold them for me. I give my name with a sigh of relief. Things are looking up.
I head over after work to pick up my books. I stop at the information desk and ask if my books are there. With an annoyed pencil tap, an evil librarian, the likes of which stereotypes about cranky librarians were created, snapped that NO, my books obviously weren’t there and that I should try another identical information desk.
I get there, hand over my library card, only to be told that I haven’t returned the Amy Sedaris cookbook I had loaned over the summer. I am instructed to find the missing book on the shelf or be turned over the to the authorities for book theft. I frantically find cookbook and return to desk. Strange…turns out the book was returned after all. Woman shrugs.
May I please have the books saved for me? Certainly not! They are no where to be found. But, I can have another ignorant shrug. Perfect!
Dismayed, I walk back to the original desk, the one with the smug librarian. There are the books with my name in bright purple marker rubber banded around them, right next to Evil’s mouse pad.
If it wasn’t for my pre-existing soft spot for librarians (thanks to three years living with an actual smart one), I may have strangled someone. I grab the books, check out, and vow never to set foot in that shame hole ever again. No wonder there are only homeless people sleeping on all the tables instead of real patrons. Where are the days of helpful librarians, cheerful book displays encouraging reading, and book drops that don’t have electric fence around them? Shame that even information, it seems, is going out of style.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Basic Information
For the first time EVER, i took a deep breath, gulped, and updated my status on Facebook to “In a relationship.” I’m now having a glass of wine and some ice cream to calm myself.
I’ve always been shy about posting that kind of thing on a public website where my every move is sent presumptuously to all my friends on a mini-feed. My life really isn’t interesting enough to require urgent press releases and anyone who needs to know about my day to day already does because we talk.
Also, the problem has never been changing to IN. It has always been having to change it back to OUT that scared me. If I go in and then have to go back out, it hurts a lot more than the little broken heart icon next to my name suggests. I don’t feel the need to have my painful life events broadcast to my friends from elementary school.
Finally, I’ve never been “In a relationship” that I felt comfortable enough declaring to the world. In fact, I’ve been in relationships that lasted years and I only got as far “It’s complicated.” You have to be confident in your relationship to want to blast it out to the world and frankly, most relationships I’ve had included a fair bit of anxiety, mistrust, or lackluster.
I felt compelled to brave the relationship status dropdown menu for a variety of reasons. For one, I’m in a relationship…a happy, real, exciting, grown-up one. I’m totally smitten with this big shot from Texas and I’m gonna keep him, if I can. He has elevated my life to a whole new altitude (and attitude). He is simply fabulous. Also, he changed his and it seemed weird for him to be in a relationship and me to not be.
It is not that I don’t still worry about having to change it back to “Single.” I do. And it isn’t that Facebook is suddenly a replacement for having actual conversations. It is not.
I guess, for once, I kinda want people to know. I want my closest friends all the way down to random strangers on the internet to know that I’m taken and I like it. It is scary and presumptuous. But it is also genuine. (Not to mention that it is about effing time! *wink*)
Sorry to all my Facebook friends for the unsolicited mini-feed update. But, hey, I don’t send you annoying application invites or even poke you very much. Hopefully the shock of seeing that update come through from the previously accused Spiny Fish at least made you choke on your morning coffee (and then smile afterwards).
Halo by Beyonce
I’ve always been shy about posting that kind of thing on a public website where my every move is sent presumptuously to all my friends on a mini-feed. My life really isn’t interesting enough to require urgent press releases and anyone who needs to know about my day to day already does because we talk.
Also, the problem has never been changing to IN. It has always been having to change it back to OUT that scared me. If I go in and then have to go back out, it hurts a lot more than the little broken heart icon next to my name suggests. I don’t feel the need to have my painful life events broadcast to my friends from elementary school.
Finally, I’ve never been “In a relationship” that I felt comfortable enough declaring to the world. In fact, I’ve been in relationships that lasted years and I only got as far “It’s complicated.” You have to be confident in your relationship to want to blast it out to the world and frankly, most relationships I’ve had included a fair bit of anxiety, mistrust, or lackluster.
I felt compelled to brave the relationship status dropdown menu for a variety of reasons. For one, I’m in a relationship…a happy, real, exciting, grown-up one. I’m totally smitten with this big shot from Texas and I’m gonna keep him, if I can. He has elevated my life to a whole new altitude (and attitude). He is simply fabulous. Also, he changed his and it seemed weird for him to be in a relationship and me to not be.
It is not that I don’t still worry about having to change it back to “Single.” I do. And it isn’t that Facebook is suddenly a replacement for having actual conversations. It is not.
I guess, for once, I kinda want people to know. I want my closest friends all the way down to random strangers on the internet to know that I’m taken and I like it. It is scary and presumptuous. But it is also genuine. (Not to mention that it is about effing time! *wink*)
Sorry to all my Facebook friends for the unsolicited mini-feed update. But, hey, I don’t send you annoying application invites or even poke you very much. Hopefully the shock of seeing that update come through from the previously accused Spiny Fish at least made you choke on your morning coffee (and then smile afterwards).
Halo by Beyonce
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