Bitten by Twilight

My Christmas break involved the usual amount of retreating from the world, and I decided to use some of that time to finally pick up Twilight. I knew I had to try them in order to maintain my status as relatively knowledgeable about pop-culture (i.e., street-cred with my tween girls). And I knew enough reasonable people who loved them to be fairly sure it would be a fun frivolous way to escape for a while.

Of course, this time of year I am incredibly susceptible to being irrationally swept away by anything that helps me avoid my actual life, but I was immediately sucked in (like they warned). By the middle of day-two in bed with a cold and halfway through the second book, I realized that I desperately needed the next two books before I ran out. I NEEDED them. So three days, 2,548 pages, two movies, and one Google search for whether Kristin Stewart and Robert Pattinson are really dating later... I was done, but only mildly satiated.

I can't quite figure it out. I was literally laughing out loud at the ridiculousness in my hands and at my level of investment in this vapid teenage vampire soap opera. In addition to just bad writing, I had some major thematic concerns. I can forgive the ridiculously heavy abstinence message, whatever. I can just about forgive that Bella is always the one in the kitchen cooking for the men, probably because I'm jealous that she's obviously a better cook than I am. But I'm pretty sure this uber-popular model of undying true love is a actually a cleverly disguised sadomasochistic, codependent, generally dysfunctional relationship. As she is tossed around like a helpless rag-doll from one superhuman protector/ love interest to the next, all while worrying about keeping them happy, I wish more than anything that she would be allowed to unleash just one small dose of Buffy Summers. And does Bella even have any self-esteem?!

And yet I was compelled to read. I could barely put it down to go get something to eat. Heartbroken then sedated by each sliver of tenderness coming from her cold dark overprotective and isolating vampire love - right there in the alarming cycle of emotional control with her.

It must fill some kind of emotional need, right? I'm sure that in the sad state of my current (non)love life, a good dose of undeniable undying first love is attractive. Especially since my own relatively-magical first love is getting ready to marry someone else. And I know a little about Bella's constant need for validation from either Edward or Jacob and her happiness depending on how she perceives they feel about her (I very nearly was that girl once upon a time).

FYI, until book 4, I was pretty much Team Jacob. Not surprisingly, I prefer the warm best friend love-the-one-you're-with comfort of a werewolf to an all-consuming star-crossed infatuation with a stone cold vampire.

Thank god there are only four books. I really don't think that this is helping me maintain my ability to identify and participate in realistic and healthy romantic relationships...

UPDATE 1/10/10: But look, it's a teaching tool! That's why I was reading it... um, yeah. Rachel Simmons (my idol) developed activities to generate healthy discussion about Twilight with girls. Yes, I promise to put myself through the intervention first.

Cheez-It Based Management

Loving my job...
I am wondering how you're supposed to scold 5th grade boys for shouting "Ms. [my name here] is awesome" in the lunchroom. At least they're starting to use their powers for good instead of evil, right? They haven't been able to shut their mouths or follow directions to save their lives on Fridays in the lunchroom. And since when do we throw things or poke/punch people? But somehow at least we bonded - mostly over Cheez-Its. First someone shared a few with me when they found out my Cheez-It weakness, then someone gave me their whole bag, then some one dropped off a whole box... Pretty funny. Especially for 5th grade boys. Not that any of this helps them shut their traps in the lunchroom. But at least we enjoy one another more while they are misbehaving.

Not so much loving my job...
Super quirky Ramona Quimby-esque first grader looks up at me as if we hadn't met fifty bazillion times before and says, "You look like my teacher!" Which would be a lovely compliment... if her teacher didn't happen to be over six months pregnant with twins at the moment. Hmm. Maybe too many Cheez-Its?!

Waiting for Gilbert Blythe

I recently re-watched Anne of Green Gables the Sequel (my official excuse is girls weekend with my preteen niece, btw). Apparently, I swoon like a 12 years old girl all over again when Anne finally says yes to Gilbert on the bridge over the pond after having turned him down a year earlier when she foolishly thought she needed more glamor and romance than her small-town childhood sweetheart could give her...

I realized I might be holding out for Gilbert. The perfect handsome rival/best friend/boy next door/love of your life who is devoted to you despite knowing full well all of your faults, defenses, and silly romantic notions. The person you were supposed to be with all along, who was under your nose the whole time. Who fate handed to you. Complete fantasy?! Possibly.

Regardless, it's a far cry from online profiles, blind dates, messy break-ups, and running into a former flame for the first time since you parted ways only when you've gained ten pounds, have a cold, and haven't showered in two days.

My new approach to finding love: let other people do the dirty work for me. I'm recruiting a few select moms from school to find the love of my life for me. I'm picking good people who know good people... who might know a Gilbert-like adorable well-grounded guy, right? I am choosing these agents carefully, of course - the few down-to-earth parents who I'd hand my own children over to in a minute because they'd probably do a much better job than I could, who are socially connected but for all the right reasons.

We'll see how that goes or doesn't go for a while. Meanwhile I have a few other things to attend to...

Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

The season has changed. School is underway. Darkness is descending, inside and out. Squash soup. My birthday. Halloween. Rain.

Every time my windshield wipers stop mid-window when I turn off the car, I remember my big love at 20-22. He was generally an easy-going guy, but he was passionate that all windshield wipers should always return to their rightful fully-down resting position when you leave your car. I probably wouldn't be here today if that windshield wiper guy hadn't gotten it into his head to blindly love me an unreasonable amount when I happened to desperately need it the most, and I still carry his playful spirit with me everyday. I send a little cosmic apology out to him if I'm in too much of a hurry to turn the car back on to right the wiper situation. It's an odd but pleasant fleeting reminder of having really loved.

Quite a few gentlemen have come in and out of my life, each leaving a unique imprint - whether big and momentous, or small and odd, or both. They linger. Become a little part of who I am.

One of my best friends comes out of the radio with every song that makes me ask "who is that?", thanks to the year with my own personal DJ. The civic-minded environmental consultant who convinced me to use the library again comes out in overdue fines (and a smirk at old Kerry/Edwards bumper stickers which got him so worked up). I can't go through a produce section without a visit from the 7th grade boyfriend and a quick glance to see if they illegally placed organic produce on the same display as regular. Of course, I can't grab green tea mochi ice cream from the freezer case without thinking of the creativity I enjoyed with the Trader Joe's guy. I can't go around Greenlake without the Banker and his dog on my mind (and a quick stop to look for the turtles).

I owe this very blog to a combination of the Med Student and the Ironman triathlete - neither anywhere near qualify as boyfriends, but worth a mention.

The only spooky ghost is that of my high school sweetheart who is instantly conjered up by cheesy 80's love songs, Kidd Valley burgers, Lake Washington Blvd, any early 90's grey Toyota Camry that goes by... I know I am capable of loving with my whole heart in the first place because of him. Also because of him, I know how easily you can deeply wound yourself and the person you love. How you can scare off the people you need most when you withdraw in the face of Chaos instead of leaning and trusting. Still working on that one. Maybe a little haunting is good for me.

Why I Love My Job #216

At the beginning of every year we take the new 8th graders to "Leadership Camp" for ropes course and community building activities (and for handstands, volleyball, and finding out who is going out with whom). I get to use my outdoor education experience and stretch my wings building an experiential program for the kids I know so well in another context. Every year I feel simultaneously exhilarated and exhausted by my worlds coming together. Like I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing. But it makes me so tired that I can't imagine teaching kids full time (God bless those of you who do).

New this year to my ever-expanding job, I have an Advisory of nine exuberant 7th grade girls who come to my room 30 minutes every day to get organized, talk about social and emotional life, and bond as a group with an adult they trust. Basically all of my favorite things. So suddenly I'm filled with professional inspiration. Staying up late reading research, writing plans for relational aggression lessons, getting advice from teachers, parents, and counselors, energized and excited to try things, lots of love and patience for students...

It occurs to me: isn't that supposed to be what you do when you get a degree in all this stuff? But I'm more that a little gun-shy when it comes to graduate school. You can only drop out miserable from so many institutions of higher learning before you begin to loath the thought of opening yourself up to torture again. Am I finally really personally invested in what I want to learn? Enough to outweigh the old paralyzing perfectionism? If so, how and where? Teaching certification/masters? Finish the school counseling degree?

Despite uncertainty about the particulars, it seems like I might have to consider giving in to that teaching degree I've been trying so hard to avoid. And maybe happily. Hard to fight with that feeling of doing what you are meant to do.

Bring It Back To The Breath

Take a little Chaos. Add two parts Greener Grass. And some Goldilocks. Welcome to my summer. Lovely. I'm looking into filing for a do-over.

My initial strategy to cope with change and loss in my life was Deny & Distract for as long as possible. Don't get enough sleep. Don't exercise enough, and eat too much. Then cry in public at inappropriate moments. (They still don't know what to do with me, but at this point I can barely work up the energy to care.)

My body has been nearly as much of a mess as my emotional state. At the ripe old age of 32, I don't seem to recover from late nights, overindulgence, injury, etc. quite like I used to. The handstand incident injury and my knee issues linger. Apparently, you are supposed to actually do your physical therapy for things to get better, or something. Also as strangely, eating more and exercising less doesn't so much help you fit into your favorite jeans. For me, momentum is everything when it comes to taking care of myself. When the emotional slump starts and exercise goes out the window, it feels insurmountable to get back on track. Even the threat of public humiliation didn't get me going. I did one mini-triathlon at the beginning of the summer, but I let it slide so much that I didn't even try to do the Danskin, therefore wasting a ton of work over the winter and spring.

When my Mom suggested trying yoga again and offered it as a birthday present, I was intrigued. And of course, slightly desperate.

My first class in years started a little rough, but I knew it was good. I was astounded by how sweet it tasted to take a purposeful deep breath. I think I kind of forgot about breathing for a while there. Though my brain won't hold still for more than two seconds - except to focus on counting Lululemon labels around the room and wonder if I would be better at yoga if I was wearing $60 tank top ('cause I know the point of yoga is soooo all about materialism). A moment of mixed success came when the teacher led us through a breathing exercise where you press one nostril closed at a time - which did stop the rest of my brain for a while as I became consumed with how frustrating the exercise was. Baby steps, I guess.

It's been about a month of yoga, and my muscles now beg for it if I skip a day. Which makes me slightly alarmed about how stiff and disconnected I must usually be. I am also attracted to yoga's potential for spiritual connection as well, since it didn't seem fair to sit in church and complain about them talking about Jesus too much. But I need sources of wisdom. And to feel some grace.

I'm hoping breathing can help.

The Leftovers Test

The last one was a tortoise that started 20 years ago and never got anywhere. Then it's too fast, too soon, and I jump ship. Apparently.

The Banker could not have been more sweet or interesting or attentive. He made me laugh and made me feel appreciated. But when it all came at me at once, I backed away. Perhaps less than two weeks between romantic entanglements is not enough. Was it rebound? Was it timing? Or do we blame timing when things just aren't falling into place? I was incredibly appreciative of his willingness to put his heart out there. I wish mine could have jumped out to meet it. Maybe it was difference in style and communication. Maybe it wasn't meant to be.

It could also be that I am just the problem. A lot is changing around me at the moment, and I've been having kind of a hard time holding it together. I have not been my usual relatively-generous self, and I'm afraid he felt the impact of my angst. In my less-than-patient state, what was once charming became annoying; what was welcomed invitation became imposition. And I didn't handle it so gracefully.

All I know is that when he started eating the Pad See Ew left on my plate and I realized that I wanted those leftovers more than I wanted to be nice and share with him, I knew I was not in a place to be a good partner.

Perhaps a new dating test: if you have trouble choosing between him and the leftovers, let him go. Preferably earlier, rather than later - not after you've tried and failed to change this reality, which did more damage and made a further mess of things. Not that I would know anything about that...

Must Love Dogs

I have discovered a new potential dating perk that I hadn't given enough attention before... a surrogate dog! I haven't been sure that I'm ready to have my own dog, but it turns out I am definitely ready to date a guy with a dog. The Banker's shepherd mix has been the center of many of our favorite activities: walks around the lake, dinners al fresco, hikes in the mountains, trips to the dog park, etc. At just under 50 lbs, she's the perfect size for active adventures, but doesn't take up too much room in my small house. Though I've been careful not to take things too fast with the boy, I have to fight off the impulse to dive right in with the dog. I find myself daydreaming about picking her up and taking her for a run or just hanging out playing fetch while I garden. I freely admit to him that I might be dating him just for his dog. Luckily, he thinks this is funny.

Seeing a dog-owner life up close has got me thinking... and longing. I recently fell instantly, madly, in love with my uncle's new golden retriever, Rosie. And my latent dream of having a golden has been reignited, especially if I can find a small, very sweet young one to rescue. (Let me know if you know of one who needs a home!)

I'm sitting with the idea to make sure I'm really ready. Funny how I sometimes complain about being left behind while everyone else gets married, buys houses, has babies, etc... yet I keep hesitating to even make a canine commitment.

But perhaps it's time to trade some freedom for a little more love in my life.

Love Him, Love His Snakes?

I would like to put on the record, how incredibly open-minded I am in my dating life. Just in case anyone is tempted to call me too picky or compare me to Goldilocks. I say this because it turns out that other than being nice to grandpas, playing bass, hiking/hugging trees, writing a novel, making me howl with laughter, playing with his amazing dog, etc... the Banker has another little hobby. To which I believe I am being incredibly tolerant, open-minded, and generous.

It turns out he has snakes. Small harmless ones, but slithery little snakes nonetheless.

I have to say he played this one well. He made sure I was pretty well won over by his charming personality and appreciated his many other interests and talents before he broke the news. And he prefaced the announcement with a set-up that I was sure was going to end with "...but we're separated" and/or "she isn't even sure I'm the father". So snakes were actually almost a comical relief.

In an incredibly nerdy kind of way, it is kind of cool. Apparently he has bred and sold them pretty successfully. I appreciate his enthusiasm for the natural world and it's creatures, and I admire his entrepreneurial spirit. But snakes?!

Luckily, he gets that people think it's unusual at best (his own mother calls them "the f***ing snakes"). He assured me that they are actually on the way out, even before I gently made it clear that I, and most women I know, would probably have an very hard time ever spending the night in the same house with his little friends. Not that I'd ever want to ask someone to give up something they love, especially so early in a relationship. But I'm just saying...

Reasons To Respect Your Elders

Just recently, my 92 year old grandfather was nearly on the brink of being thrown out of his retirement housing because he couldn't get organized enough to pay his rent on time or keep his apartment clean. My grandfather refuses to admit that his age might have any effect on his ability to live (and roam about the city with his walker) completely independently and hates it when people offer him help. He is also a compulsive philanthropist who gave away all of his money, so he's on a pretty limited budget. These traits of determination and selflessness would be quite admirable if they weren't so frustrating in his current situation.

My grandfather was refusing to speak to my parents who have been trying to help, so I took my batting eyelashes and my "Grandpa, don't make me cry!" over to talk some sense into him and lend a hand, if possible. Luckily, he was willing to let me try to help straighten things out.

In order to get a handle on his financial stuff, he took me to sit down with his favorite guy at his bank. This guy (who my parents had already been talking up to me) has been extremely kind and patient with my grandfather and even made him a budget which is printed out in huge font to help him see it, which thoroughly impressed me. He was cute and funny. He asked about my garden when I mentioned it. I was intrigued. So I sent a "thank you" email. He replied, then later found me on Facebook. A few rapid email/Facebook/supposed-grandpa-related exchanges later, we met for a walk around Greenlake and dinner, made out in the car like teenagers, and made plans for more dates.

If I had known that hanging out with my grandpa would have been good for my love life, I probably would have been a much more attentive granddaughter up until now.

My grandpa has his own relatively romantic story. He met and married my grandmother (who went out with him because he had a boat) before he went off to England during WWII (ever the radical, he was actually a conscientious objector/medic). He never considered another woman romantically even after her death in 1994, though he never turns down attention from women. I recently asked him how he knew Grandma was The One and he said "because I fell in love with her". As if it's that easy. Apparently, I didn't inherit his ability to embrace the simple and the obvious when it comes to love. But maybe it's not too late to rub off on me...

He's Just Not That Into You?

The good news is that it wasn't just my neuroses inventing things that weren't going well. The bad news is that things just weren't going.

When we finally acknowledged it, he gave me an earnest "it's not you, it's me/ bad timing/ not ready for a serious relationship right now" explanation. Which I thought was generous. I contend that if he was really that into me, working me into his busy life wouldn't seem so hard. At least for me - even with a full life, I naturally make room for someone I am really excited about. Also, I think that if I was really that into him, I would have been able to be more patient with his process along the way. I had a sinking feeling that he wasn't all that I wanted/needed either. But I liked what it was for the moment and wanted it to last awhile at least. We did have a great time together. And the novelty of our past was so much fun.

I was surprisingly accepting that this wasn't it. My sense of worth is still in tact (I'm still pretty sure I'm a g*ddam catch), and I'm willing to hold out for mutual heads over heals. So the adjustment back to single has begun. With some sadness and loss and permission to act out, of course.

Interestingly, I had another of those strange experiences where I felt like the break-up discussion was one of the best conversations we ever had. Refreshingly honest and caring. But why are we so often only able to connect on that level when saying goodbye? Funny. Regardless, it felt good to part ways on good terms.

And so ends the saga of the 7th grade boyfriend.

So, what's next?!

Dating Life of Goldilocks

So the initial flurry has settled a little, and my first concern/ issue/ reason to freak out came up.

Here it is: I started feeling rejected because I didn't think we were making out enough. Yep. That's it. Apparently, spending time doing things like having fun and actually getting to (re-)know each other wasn't what I wanted after all (even though I would have insisted on that as my ideal scenario). Ideas of how I thought things should be going started in the back of my mind, then grew and grew until I became really concerned and upset.

This, some may remember, is in contrast to the last guy who I was upset with because he wanted to make out with me too much. The guy before that seemed to want to make out with me an acceptable amount, but I was busy complaining about the other ways he should be showing his affection more.

Yes, I see a pattern, thanks. It appears it might not be them.

But I'm pretty sure it's not just that I'm chronically too picky (I hope). As I wade into each new relationship, I keep getting frustrated and hurt because I don't think the guy likes me enough. I think that insecurity can still get the best of me at times. And I start to look a lot like a girl who needs a lot of reassurance.

Interestingly, my biggest/longest relationships have been with people who were thoroughly convinced about how much they liked me from the beginning and had no trouble expressing it. So I was free to relax and be worshiped. But this kept the balance of power in my favor, since I knew I was the one who could walk away more easily. That doesn't sound much like the equal partnership I say that I want. But I'm not sure I know how to trust if I can't guarantee how they feel about me.

My friends want to sign me up for Tough Love, and I'm beginning to think it might be a good idea. The general consensus is that I need to relax and STOP thinking too much. Enjoy what is, rather than constantly looking for what might be wrong. Easier said than done, of course...

The dizzy dancing way you feel...

...when every fairy tale comes real. I've looked at love that way.
-Joni Mitchell (from the song Both Sides Now)

Powerful drug, that first spark of romance.
Happiness startles me awake in the morning.
I don't really need to eat. Except a little chocolate.
I walk around smiling. Catch myself whistling.
I feel generous and patient.
I see human kindness and love wherever I go.
I am full of Hope.

But then, good old Fear starts nibbling away.
Sometimes even jumps out and grabs hold of the whole thing.
If it's good enough to make you dizzy,
it must be too good to be true, you see.
So prepare for the worst.
If you start to attach and depend, you'll have too much to lose.
Protect yourself, it tells me.

...if it hurts don't let them know. Don't give yourself away.

Isn't there a way to live somewhere in the middle? Where you relax and enjoy the fun and possibility of a new connection? My brain knows this, but my heart has been so well trained to defend itself fiercely.

If only we could convince my heart to stay open. No matter what happens, I am bound to at least learn something along the way - if I can hang in there and pay attention. God knows, I could use a little more learnin'.

I really don't know love at all.

Why I Love My Job #163

Third grader Maggie unexpectedly pops her head into my office and says: "I have no idea why I'm running in the hall with no shoes!"

Um. Me neither. Thanks, Maggie.

Once and Again

So, I appear to be dating my boyfriend from 7th grade - again. Or finally. [See disclaimer for liberal use of the term "boyfriend" to describe the previous relationship.] However we want to define it... once upon a time, he was a first toe in the water. A boy I really liked in middle school who I "went out with" twice actually, but wasn't ready or able to do much more than giggle and turn red over.

It all started (this time 'round) on Facebook. He followed the link to my blog and emailed me that he didn't think I should go online for dates because it is "weird and unnatural". I thought this was hilarious - that he had the nerve to say that and because it was feeling completely true as I was trying to do it again. I asked if he had any better ideas. Someone mentioned Thai food. One thing led to another...

The whole thing is a little surreal. But definitely good so far. He is comfortably familiar, and yet new and exciting. We seem to speak the same language, and are making up for that lost phone time. And I appear to be getting guitar lessons out of the deal. :)

I am a little cautious about letting this great story of re-meeting overshadow the actual experience of how we relate, like may have happened when I got swept up in the grand beginning of the Trader Joe's/Craigslist experience. But so far, the connection feels rooted in our present adult selves and parallel life experiences (and having fun), not just novelty or nostalgia. Although the nostalgia is fun, too - once I get past the uncomfortable images of hairspray-plastered bangs and Laura Ashley dungarees.

Best of all, it is satisfying to notice the measurable personal progress that I've made... since I no longer giggle uncontrollably whenever he gets close to me. Though he still has the uncanny ability to make me turn bright red...

Blast From the Past

One of the fun things about Facebook is people from my former lives suddenly falling back in my lap. This has actually been a healing experience for me in many ways. It is really nice to be in constant relaxed contact with people I loved in the past but cut myself off from while I was busy battling my demons.

Most recently, people from the way-back past of elementary school have shown up. People who knew the totally different (and yet so much the same) person I was way before Al Gore even invented the internet are on my computer every day. Among these people is my (still single and still charming) boyfriend from 7th grade. Please note: I use the term "boyfriend" extremely loosely here. As he reminded me - I apparently had a friend call him and say, "She wants to go out with you, but you can't call her." So, as you can probably guess, it didn't go a whole lot further than that. HA! Sorry, my parents seriously frowned on even talking to boys on the phone, and I wasn't willing to risk their disapproval. Even though I really liked him. But I suspect it was also convenient because I was also deathly afraid of him. Ah, pre-adolescent romance.

So I was planning to go to dinner with my 7th grade boyfriend, which was already kind of tripping me out, when low and behold, my 7th grade teacher (who I hadn't seen since the last day of 7th grade) walked in the door of a volleyball game I was coaching at. It turned out that he had an 8th grade daughter on the opposing team. But in the meantime, I was hit by the Twilight Zone reality of being in the presence of my 7th grade teacher... while back at a CYO volleyball game... texting "OMG!" to my 7th grade boyfriend... having just woken up at home in the same house where I lived all this the first time around...

When I said moving back into that house might a healing, full circle kind of experience, how was I to know that could be just the beginning?!

The universe is definitely trying to tell me something. Exactly what I'm not sure. Something still unresolved about my past? Something about karma or fate? Just playing a funny joke?! Or perhaps coming back home after a long hard journey...

Bad Date Hostage

So I did go back online. Briefly. In some ways the diversion did disperse some of my anxious/anticipatory dating energy as I'd hoped, but in other ways, it really did just multiply it. Apparently, there is no cure for dating angst.

The response I got was interesting. I think my sassy lead photo attracted something different. And I had toned down my profile a little, not feeling like I had anything to prove this time around. I got an interesting mix of more artsy guys, rather than just athletic and outdoorsy. But also, apparently I still attract the guys who are just slightly off for some reason or another - which still seems like the majority who have ever contacted me. Lovely.

I agreed to a date with a cute Britpop obsessed hipster who was really engaging over email. As I approached the great little dive bar where we were meeting, I yet again barely survived that excruciatingly painful point just before the threshold of entering a blind date. I bribed/coerced/comforted myself saying, "if nothing else, at least you'll have something to blog about". And I remembered that the anticipation is by far the worst part of any first date (or so I thought).

But you know when you know within the first 2 minutes that this isn't it?! Not even close. Perhaps as a writer, he was better in writing. Nice enough, but speaking a different language in person. Not a kindred spirit after all.

Realizing this, I tried to convince myself that he was still fun and interesting, and I could enjoy his company for an evening. Unfortunately, it became more and more painful as struggled internally with why I couldn't just leave... all while I went on making forced pleasant conversation. (Where is the Sass when I need it?!) Somehow my drink got on his tab, so I felt like I had to ride it out until the natural end. I texted a friend when he went to the bathroom, seriously considering initiating the "call me with an emergency" extraction protocol. But no such luck.

I just didn't have the words to let him down gracefully, especially when I obviously hadn't given him much of a chance. And in the back of my mind, I'm thinking you never know what kind of weirdo he might become when provoked. Or maybe I wasn't willing to make things uncomfortable by doing anything other than what was expected of me. I figured it was much easier to email him later and tell him I'd met someone else. I mean, I'm big on integrity, but isn't that the kind thing to do?

So I was held hostage for two hours by my own niceness (or perhaps cowardice). Then, I made things even worse by agreeing to go out with him again. And somehow I wasn't fast enough to avoid his lips flying at me. Really, he thought we were having that much fun?! Ahhhh!

I did send him a very nice email a few days later. I explained at length that I was sorry for the abrupt change in course, but someone else had shown up who I felt the need to focus on (which lucky for me turned out to actually be true). He replied that he was disappointed, but appreciated my honesty. So my conscience was let off the hook. In the meantime, I swore off online dating forEVER. I'm so glad it works for some people, but I cannot handle any more of it. Dear lord.

If you do choose to bravely enter this dangerous land, here is your only chance for survival: always buy your own drink, pay cash, and have an extraction plan on speed dial!

Courtship in a Digital Age

Hypothetically speaking: If you met a guy once and we haven't seen each other or spoken since, but he has commented on several of your Facebook statuses... does that mean he likes you?

The Sass

So I got a sassy new hair cut...
And it seems to have gone to my head. Or I'm just doing really well with resolution #1 this year.

Things that the old "nice girl" filter used to catch are instead flying out of my mouth.

First, I opened my big mouth at work when I experienced more of the completely predictable yet totally surprising antics of parents (wanting me to help them bend the rules). I was outraged by the repeat offense of a particular family who never think the rules apply to them. So I shot my mouth off in a classic unprofessional manner, telling anyone who would listen, including everyone in charge. As if I am a paragon of virtue. I immediately regretted it once I calmed down a little.

Then, in the everyday tangle of normal group social dynamics, I made a poorly executed attempt to bring things out into the open after a few of us had been comparing notes about feeling left out. I waltzed over to a group of coworker-friends and said, "Just so you know, we have a bet that you four will sit together at these meetings." (i.e., nice job being exclusive). Which was overstating the level of discussion that had gone on about where they did or did not sit and who they included or not, and I felt awful as soon as the words flew out of my mouth. Of course, they were taken aback and mildly defensive.

Later, after enduring the entire meeting with my heart sliding down to my feet, I went back over, formally apologized, and tried to compliment them with a Sex and the City comparison. It seemed to help clear the air a little, but I still felt awkward.

Then, a relatively new coworker who had been slow to warm to us all was telling me a story about a frustratingly stand-offish parent. My coworker explained how she thought it was so unnecessary that this parent responded in a put-off manner when she was trying to make friendly conversation about their mutual love for their cute little dogs. And I looked straight at my coworker and just had to say, "It is so funny that you're telling that story because that was exactly my experience of you!"

I couldn't help it. It was the truth just hanging there in the air between us! Luckily, she took it relatively well.

Finally, I walked in late to a volunteer project with a few people I know well, but many I don't know at all, and practically immediately, details about my underwear come shooting out of my mouth. (For some reason, I was telling them about my friend who thinks I am still single because I don't wear a thong. To which, btw, I insist that I find lovely pieces that are both attractive and functional. Tyvm.) I think later I also announced how much money I make (or don't make)...

Breaking free? Or falling apart. We'll have to see.

Hazards of Being Single

Have you seen the episode of 30 Rock when Jack tells Liz that he thinks a single woman's biggest fear should be choking to death alone in her apartment? [Cut to Liz trying to give herself the Heimlich while choking on her dinner that night...]

I'm afraid they might have a valid point. Especially since people are used to me falling off the face of the earth for days at a time. It could be a long time before anyone comes looking for my body.

I began seriously wondering about this last week when I got a bad flu bug. I became pretty weak and out of it, and I wondered what would happen if it got much worse. I wished I had someone to keep an eye on me, and wondered what it would be like to have someone to bring me my clear liquids or go buy saltines. Whether I would actually let anyone take care of me much is another issue, but in my illness induced delirium, it felt unfair that I was being deprived of the option.

I also wonder if lack of access to built in care-taking could also prolong illness. I'm willing to bet that you recover faster if you are less taxed in caring for yourself. Although I suppose it depends on how willingly and patiently your caretaker does their job. If nothing else, if there is someone else around, isn't the return to normalcy easier? I can lay around for days beyond when I really still need to if there is no accountability.

So there you have it. My new theory on actual health hazards of being single. So much for the merits of being an independent woman. Or maybe I don't need a partner, I just need a good roommate...

But the real point is that I am kind of hoping I have found the mysterious answer to why I get sick so often and stay sick for so long. Do you think that is too big of a leap? I also happen to blame not being able to get up on time in the morning on being single, as well. (Come on, it is so much easier to get up when someone you are happy to see in the morning is getting up too.)

But I have vowed not to blame my problems on men, or my lack there of. So, I'm going to stop there.

Eggs in One Basket

I met someone interesting. ("Facebook me" is the new "can I have your number", btw.)

Immediately the familiar old "did he like me?" and "what do I do now?!" neurosis set in. And I'm really tired of putting myself through all that. So my thought is, #1, chill out and try to enjoy the ride, lady. (Ha. Good luck with that.) And #2, why not disperse anxious energy by focusing on more than one person at a time? Put some eggs in other baskets, so to speak, hoping that wouldn't just multiply the angst, which is entirely possible.

Long story short, since there are currently no other eggs or baskets, I thought of going back online.

I signed back into match.com to at least take a look. I started halfheartedly reading profiles. I spruced and pruned my profile from over a year ago in case I actually decide to make it public again. I considered how to proceed. But I HATE it. It is so much work for so little return.

At first glance, everyone seems to be 5'4'' or 6'6''. And/or they are either a complete jerk or trying way too hard; I don't need to see you with your shirt off ten years ago or standing between hot cleavage twins. And we all pretty much have the same profile... have a good life but looking for someone to share it with, like to go hiking/camping, listen to music, eat sushi, travel, or just read/cuddle by the fire ("cuddle by the fire" is the new "long walks on the beach").

Why am I so cynical? I think that when I was online before, I was usually going through some sort of phase (triathlons, fly fishing, climbing, etc.) which made it exciting to look for that specific connection. But at the moment, I am comfortable with my own mediocrity in all of those activities and am looking for good old chemistry. Which is impossible to measure on a flat screen.

I'm considering it, but currently resistant to say the least. I think I just want to hang out with the one I already met. We'll see.

Pushing Daisies

Sadly, ABC has canceled one of my favorite shows. Pushing Daisies was a unique, stylized, and charming show, unlike anything else I've seen on TV (except maybe the creator's other under-appreciated show, Wonderfalls).

When I first saw the ads for it, I wasn't interested. It was a weird looking show about a man who can bring the dead back to life for a minute. How would it help to bring someone back for only a minute? That's just playing with corpses. Ew.

But I happened to catch the show, and I was immediately won over. Extremely well-cast and well-written, the characters, the stories, every visual element, even the lilt of the narrator's voice fit a consistent creative vision for a product that was quirky, magical, heart-warming, and tragic, all at the same time. The colorful subtly vintage-inspired costumes (of course, I'm a sucker for that). The equally colorful just slightly cartoonish sets. The slightly ridiculous murder mysteries they solve along the way - at the circus, at the dog show, at the magic show, at a showroom for cars that run on dandelions, at a honey-based beauty product company where someone fell victim to a killer swarm of bees, and of course, the olfactory assistant who was killed when her scratch-'n-sniff book combusted.

How could we not love the former synchronized swimming aunts, Vivian and Lillian (Swoozie Kurtz), with their hit "mermaid" carnie act?! Or Olive Snook (Kristin Chenoweth), the "Pie Hole" waitress and former jockey, so worried she'll give away a secret that she goes undercover at a convent?! Or Emerson Cod, big gruff opportunistic PI, who spends his free time knitting and making pop-up mystery books?! And, of course, the bittersweet tragedy of childhood sweethearts, the once-dead bee-keeping girl named Chuck and Ned, the humble pie maker whose strange gift accidentally killed her father. A love that has precariously circumvented death, but is condemned to never be able to actually touch [sigh].

Right now, we need magical realism. We don't need more grim crime-solving shows lingering in the darkest parts of our society (much as I love them). We need to be charmed and delighted, and gently be made to feel longing and compassion.

Apparently, there are three more episodes that ABC may still air this summer. And we can relive it on the internet and DVD. But like Arrested Development before it (and My So Called Life, Sports Night, Studio 60, Veronica Mars...), it is gone before it's time. And it is entirely our loss.

Rest in peace, Pushing Daisies.

Why I Love My Job #147

Me: Quiet down back there, you crazy kids. You are getting too loud!

Good-natured middle school Ski Bus participant: Have you ever considered that you are too quiet?

Me: Well, no one has ever accused me of THAT before! Probably, you should just reel it in a little.

Kid: Yeah, you're probably right.

This, on the heels of the best ever Sound of Music Ski Bus Sing-a-long(!!). And getting paid to ski... Sometimes, I don't hate my life. :)

A Few Lingering Wild Oats

A couple of weeks ago, my phone rang at 2am on a Saturday night. Having been fast asleep, I was understandably alarmed and disoriented. Doesn't a phone call at 2am mean somebody is in the hospital?

But no. To my surprise, I saw that it was the "I insist I'm not flirting with you while I am blatantly flirting with you in strangely entertaining 7th grade manner" football coach. Who I probably hadn't heard from since this time last year, the season when our paths usually cross for coaching stuff.

Really? That guy? 2am?! I let the call go to voice mail and went back to sleep laughing. Wondering where that came from.

I texted him the next day to ask if the call was an accident or perhaps an end-of-evening attempt to procure female attention, a.k.a. good old fashioned booty call. He responded neither confirming nor denying his intentions. That led to a series of familiarly maddening flirtatious exchanges, during which he again vehemently denied any mutual attraction - even when I very astutely pointed out that if we were in first grade, he would have just pulled my hair and ran away. Hey, you called me, buddy!

So the next weekend when the phone rang late at night, I started laughing before I even saw who it was. Then I accidentally answered the phone while trying to text him to go away. Which led to a hilarious conversation. Which may have lead to him talking his way over to my house... Sorry, curiosity won out. And I was determined to prove that I was right.

And of course he made a move. HA! You don't need to hear the rest of the gory details. But rest assured that I conducted myself like a lady and sent him on his way. Eventually.

I'm still surprised I let that happen. Completely ridiculous. Fun as the banter might be, he is nowhere near what I am looking for. And it was obvious what he was looking for. But strangely enjoyable. For an evening. Chemistry experiment. Living in the moment.

A girl has the right to amuse herself in the meantime, right?!

25 Things

There's a chain-letter like activity spreading like crazy through Facebook called "25 Random Things About Me". When someone sends it to you, you write a list of 25 random facts, habits, or goals about yourself. Then you send it to 25 friends, including the person who sent it you. It's a big online "get to know you" game.

Unlike many other viral fads, most people are actually doing it. Something about the format and the popularity make it worth the effort. I think we want to share ourselves. And there is beauty in the mundane details. Every list I've read has something delightfully surprising about the person and something that makes me feel a little less alone in my "hidden" foibles and neuroses. Here's my 25:

1. My greatest fear is going crazy/losing my mind/losing touch with reality. I honestly worry about it happening to me. And then I panic that I might really make it happen by worrying about it too much...

2. I’ve kept a list of favorite kids’ names since I was 12 (even through my phase when I wasn't sure I wanted kids), but I've started using them on pets (and cars) just in case I never get to use them on kids.

3. I am at my most content on the way back down a mountain with a happy dog at my side.

4. I have always wanted to be a foster parent.

5. I don’t think I like my cats (Oliver and Violet) as much as I should. I take their rejection personally.

6. I take everything personally. Or at least I used to.

7. I hate talking on the phone; I rarely answer it and often don’t call people back (please don't take it personally!).

8. I love Facebook because I can communicate with lots of wonderful people without the pressure of having to actually talk to them. And I love blogging because I can pour my heart out without the immediate risk of judgment or rejection. Yes, I hide behind technology. But I used to just hide, so I see this as major progress.

9. I really enjoy picking my nose.

10. I’ve watched General Hospital on and off for about 15 years, at times taping it daily.

11. I love to sing Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now” to my cabins/tents of kids at lights out, but I’m always terrified when I start it. Then they always love it (or at least don’t complain) which gives me faith in sharing your heart.

12. My favorite movie is easily Dirty Dancing. But one of my other favorites, the Philadelphia Story, is the one I usually claim in public.

13. I think there’s nothing in the world like someone sticking up for you.

14. I am often simultaneously confident that I know everything and convinced that I am completely wrong about everything.

15. I usually cry whenever I see someone else tear up. But I often have trouble crying when I am upset.

16. I'll drink champagne for any reason from celebration to misery.

17. My glory days seem to have been breaking summer swim league records as an 8 & under and starring in my middle school musicals. Oh, and winning Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movie tickets in a hula-hoop contest at a St. Bridget’s dance in 6th grade - that was rad.

18. What I want to “do” with my life changes weekly, sometimes daily. Currently rotating between school counselor (again), art teacher, and interior designer. Or dream job: children's book author/illustrator.

19. I am very grateful that I love my current job so I have some time to maybe figure out what's next.

20. I wish people would ask me more questions, especially about the challenging things in my past.

21. I’ve been in love 3 times. And still love each of them.

22. I’ve never broken a bone or had a cavity (yet).

23. I’ve always wanted glasses for their fun fashion accessory potential.

24. I am afraid of the dark, and I have to sleep with a light on in the hall.

25. I am a often paralyzed by perfectionism (and typed this list in Word first).

Go ahead, make your own list... everyone is doing it!

Greener Grass Syndrome

When the sky is perpetually gray and the holidays felt like something was missing, I suddenly feel a lot less OK with being where I am in life. Really, single again? Really, still trying to figure out what to do with my life? What is wrong with me? When do I get to be a grown-up?! (In this mood, it does not help that my single thirty-two-year-old self with two cats just moved into my parent's house, whether the parents still live there, or not.)

I hear my little niece once innocently asking, "Where's your family?"

It seems like everyone I know is having babies. Or at least trying. And I am so happy for them. But I also can't help but feel like the train left without me. Not that I'm even ready for all that. But as they enter a different world, there is no way I can completely relate. I'm still trying to imagine what it is like to live with a boy.

And who knows what my life will bring?! Who knows if I'm ever meant to be a mother or even be in just one long-lasting relationship. Who knows how long I will even be around? Maybe this is as good as it gets! Carpe diem!! (A close call with a freak eyebrow plucking tweezers-in-eye incident just gave me renewed appreciation for my sight and health; bear with me.)

On my good days, I'm open to whatever life will bring. I am grateful for my unique path and am happy I still get to look forward to falling in love again. I am confident that I am doing things with my life that uniquely fit my gifts and positively contribute to the world. I am making the most of each effing opportunity for personal growth...

But sometimes, I wonder what it'd be like to be a "normal" thirty-something woman walking around Greenlake complaining about my partner leaving wet towels on the floor and having to religiously monitor my ovulation. As if replacing my issues with a set of more conventional ones might help anything. As if that woman never wonders if she made the right choices and wouldn't trade to be free for a while.

Greener grass syndrome hits again. (I know, I know. Don't compare my insides to others' outsides...)

Pharmaceutical Haiku

Who gets sick five times in one winter? (And it's only January.) It might have something to do with not actually sleeping. And cold, dark, damp gray days in Seattle. And a little physical manifestation of emotional turbulence.

In the meantime, I have discovered a new way to cope during the thick of it (ew, sorry). I had been operating under the assumption that cold and flu symptoms are your body's way of working out the virus, and the best way to combat these illnesses is to rest and to bombard your system with natural immune boosting things like Vitamin C, zinc, ginger, lots o' water, etc. I thought artificially suppressing your symptoms just prolonged the whole thing. But I have come to the end of my rope and am wearing out the sick days.

I will now share with you my delightful new discovery, which you probably knew about all along (in the form of inverse haiku, if there is such a thing).

Ode to Cold Medicine
I did not know about you.
You pack quite a buzz.
How on earth are you legal?

(If it gets me through my day; I'm not asking too many questions.)

Resolutions

1. Be more of a bitch (less putting everyone's feelings before my own).
2. Be less of a slave to bad habits (take responsibility for my choices).

Doing pretty well on the first one. Sorry, Donald.