Continued from this post
The way we got together almost makes one believe in destiny, but not quite. It was merely one coincidence after another and another and another. Our boy meets girl story could be a whole movie in itself. But I'll try to explain briefly. Someday I'll write the details. They're really quite lovely in parts.
Four years before I dated this tainted love guy, I'll call him George, I had a crush on another boy. I didn't even know George then. The guy I liked was a regular at the coffeeshop where I hung out as an undergrad. He was in the punk scene and seemed to know everyone. But he was also a braggart. The night he found out I was Mormon he told me he had a Mormon friend he should set me up with. He described his friend George to me but I rolled my eyes, I didn't believe his friend really existed-- not the way he described him anyway. Because he just described my dream and well, that just wasn't possible. Later that night, my best friend laughed about how perfect the guy sounded and wouldn't I die if I ever met him. I told her I wasn't interested and he was full of crap anyway. But I didn't forget.
The next year, at a church dance I watched a tall guy walk into the gym. My jaw hit the floor and I began to drool. I had never seen him before. As I checked out the clothes and noted his red hair and Doc Marten steel toes, I remembered my coffeeshop friend's description: a tall red haired ska punk Mormon. That had to be him. How many red haired Mormon punks were running around town?. I let some months pass before I talked to him because he seemed to have a girlfriend with him. Finally, I saw him alone. So, very bravely, and out of character for me, I sat next to him and asked if his name was George? Yes. I told him I knew a friend of his. He didn't remember him at first. But then, Oh yeah! They used to hang out at the Masquerade. So. He told me was going on a mission soon, just waiting for the call. Yikes. Of course. He didn't look that young because of his strapping physique and the age in his eyes. But I figured I should sod off. So I did.
Two years and some months later, I saw him again at another church dance. Wow, he looked just as interesting as I remembered him. So I stopped him in the lobby to talk. Indeed, he had just come home. We chatted a few minutes, the usual 'what do you do' stuff. But not long after, he just turned and walked away. No, 'nice to meet you' or 'excuse me but I hate you so I'm leaving now.' Nice! Ugh.
The next year, in the spring, I showed up for a weekend job proctoring an exam run by people in my ward. They always hired other church members. It was a two day, semi-annual gig. We had to show up way early in the morning. The first day I rushed in late and had to pick from the remains of our catered breakfast. I sat on the floor near some friends. While eating dry biscuits and cold eggs I looked across the room and almost choked. It was him. What was he doing here? How did he know these people? But he looked so cute! All sleepy-eyed and with his glasses on. Crap! Why didn't I take a shower and fix my hair? I looked disgusting. Good thing I at least brought some make up. I kept my eyes on him and ducked into the bathroom to paint my face.
The next day, I showered but still hadn't fixed my hair because, what was the point?. That afternoon, one of my friends sidled up to me in the hall and whispered, "What do you think of George?" "What?" "He told me he thinks you're cute." "What?!" "He thinks you're cute." That was a shock. "Tell him to come talk to me. I think he's cute too." Then I waited. All day. We had opposite rotations so we hardly saw each other. But finally, he appeared in the lounge for the last 30 minutes and sat next to me at my table. I was playing cards, so my friends dealt him in and we started talking. Our words rushed out in that over-excited flurry of two people who've found a kindred and attractive person. We had too much to say to each other and every sentence out of the other's mouth just excited us all the more. Leaving, he walked me to my car and asked for my phone number. Woo-Hoo!!!! Finally, after four years of the myth and a distant crush, I might actually go out with this guy.
But, but. I had to decide if I was going to New York at the end of the summer. Now was not the time to date someone new. But how could I turn him down? I'd wanted him for years now. I had to make an exception. Nothing would come of it anyway so what's the harm?
He called and we dated. They were the best dates of my life. Oh, and I asked about his rude blow off the summer before and he was surprised. He said, "I didn't blow you off. I just felt stupid when you said you were getting a masters and I was just a freshman." "So you just walked away?" "I didn't know I did that." Anyway, as things unfolded he became a factor in my decision to stay or go. I made my decision conditional on several things. One by one, the staying factors fell while I for him. The last factor remaining was whether I got student housing or not. He knew all of this. We even worked out the odds of my getting a room. I think we came up with 30-something%. Neither of us liked the odds.
As I began to understand how much potential we had, and realized this was the first boy that I would consider marrying, I decided that it could be worth putting school off for a year to see where things went. But I wasn't sure how to tell him that. Only the week before he told me about his friend who knew a girl in Utah that he dated. The girl was moving to Georgia just to date his friend. He told me he thought that was psycho. Gulp. Ok.
About the same time I made that decision he made some decisions of his own. He began to act weird. Sigh. He cancelled on me rudely. I knew this routine. That's when I called and asked if he wanted to stop dating. He said he didn't know. So, ok, you don't have the balls to really tell me you want to break up. I maintained composure and said, "Why don't you call me when you figure it out." I tried to hang up but he blurted out, "Wait, I still want to see you. Can we still go out tomorrow night?" Fine. I hung up then cried until dawn. Heart break #1. I didn't think I'd ever hear from him again.
We did go out the next night and he played the friend thing. So I punished him for rejecting me. It was so utterly depressing. We sat in Waffle House in the boondocks of West Georgia and he put that cheesy Fleetwood Mac song "Landslide" on the jukebox. We were both so sad. The words seem to cut and we sat speechless. I can't hear that song now without remembering that night, as if it wasn't bad enough already. Then we played pool with the local rednecks, making fun of them and the hair bands on the jukebox. I tried my best to be flirty and attractive. I'm sure I tried too hard. He let me win one game. At the end of the night, he dropped me off at my car without even turning his engine off. A good southern boy does not kick a woman out of his car at night like that unless he wants her to feel slighted. I did. I remember driving home feeling like the last piece of my heart had been crushed forever. I lived in the city 45 minutes away from him, I sobbed the whole drive home believing this was the last time I could suffer like this. After this night, I'd have nothing left to break and nothing left to feel.
The rest of the summer was very weird. We still went out at least once a week but never alone. I wanted to talk to him about my feelings but he never gave me a chance. He brought his sister on our 'dates' or made sure we were too busy to talk. Even on the phone, he'd cut the conversation short before I could work up to anything. So I decided to go to New York. He wasn't behaving maturely enough for us to have an honest discussion, or any discussion. He just said one night in front of our sisters, that he didn't know what he wanted and his feelings confused him.
George had offered to help me move but he didn't show up. I tried calling him all day, I was leaving the next morning, but he didn't answer. Sometime after midnight when we'd gotten the trailer loaded, I called him. I left him a vulgar voice mail message calling him a certain kind of chicken excrement for not even saying goodbye to me. I think I yelled. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep that night so I left right then about 1 am. I also told him to have a nice life and didn't expect to ever hear from him again.
Obviously I did. He called my apartment the next day and my mom answered. He asked her to tell me he was sorry for missing me and he did want to say goodbye. So, I forgave him and called him as soon as I got a phone, leaving a message with my new number. He started calling me every weekend. We also saw each other in November when I went back to Atlanta for a weekend. He wanted to pick me up from the airport then he took me out to dinner. The next night we got into a fight over dinner after he told me about how much he disliked his current girlfriend and how he unsuccessfully tried to break up with her the night before. (Right after he dropped me off.) When I got back to NY we patched things up and started planning his trip to the city.
What got me about all this was that he couldn't seem to let go. He had multiple chances to gracefully drop contact. He kind of broke up with me but didn't stop seeing me. He didn't have to call me when I moved. With a few exceptions he was the one who always called me. After the fight in November, he could have stopped calling me. After the weirdness of New Year's I really wasn't expecting to hear from him again. Sure enough, he kept calling. After he told me about his new girlfriend, I thought for sure he'd stop calling me then. You can't call your ex-girlfriend to chat when you have a new girlfriend. But he called. I had had enough by then and that's when I didn't answer or return his call for the first time ever. I didn't understand what he wanted from me. It seemed like the healthy thing to do.
Then he called the night before his elopement trip to California. He didn't tell me they were getting married. So it was strange that he called to tell me he was going on a trip for spring break. We had a nice talk though. I still missed him. He said he had our pictures from our trip and he wanted to send some to me. I told him to call me after he got back because I wanted to about his trip. But he never did.
In April, a month after George's last call, my sister called and told me he eloped with the girl in California, then when they got back she got baptized into the church. His sister told her about it and also said their family was very upset. I couldn't digest that information for a long while. The sadness grew slowly. But I wanted him to be happy. I prayed for his happiness with her. That their marriage would work. I didn't understand this at all but who am I to understand everything? Someone joined the church who probably never would any other way so this was probably best. But I also figured I just lost my last chance for happiness. It took me 27 years to find someone compatible AND desirable who seemed to like me back. How long would it take for the next one to come along?
When I finally accepted that he was married, I mailed him a congratulations card with pictures of him from our two trips, so he'd know there weren't hard feelings. I wasn't angry at either of them, just confused and sad for myself. Of course, way deep down in the ugliest parts of my soul I couldn't help thinking, "it won't work, they'll get divorced. So don't give up yet." But those thoughts were evil so I suppressed them and I don't even like voicing them here. I really did wish them well. I did love him.
Read the Finale here: Tainted Love:Take my Tears
10.29.2004
10.28.2004
This night has opened my eyes
I have aged, really. I thought maybe I just felt colder on the inside but I've definitely changed. Not just over this weekend but since this whole episode with the boy. I almost finished the next post about him. After reading the last paragraph I realized that I am the one who pushed him away. Repeatedly. I can't believe I couldn't see that. This chills me to the bone. And I'm embarrassed reading the account of our relationship. Because it is so obvious to me now. Of course he left me for her. She chased him and lavished him with attention while I fortified my wall. Why couldn't I see that?
How did I get this way? Is this what I learned from a mother who told her crying child to stop feeling sorry for myself when I went to her for comfort--the last time I ever asked her for comfort. Or did I learn this from my father who locked himself in the study with his books and records or ran away to Brazil? Now, I've turned myself into him. Or did I learn this when I spent that long night alone curled up on the cold bed in the emergency room? They had to hold me until the psych ward opened in the morning. And no one in my family came to see me there. 72 hours they kept me after I almost died. Until recently, I didn't know how f**ed up it was that no one came for me. By that time I expected nothing from them; so it didn't occur to me that parents should go see their sick children in the hospital, even if they're hundreds of miles away.
I'm going to die this way. Of my own volition in the cell I've built with my own stubborn hands, grown too prideful now to let anyone in. Even when I want to. I never wanted to more than with him. But after the first time he hurt me I couldn't trust him anymore. That was it. Wall. And I really thought he was playing games with me but it was the other way around. He hurt me again because I didn't give him any other option. How the hell do I fix myself? I'm not getting better I isolate myself more each year. I grow harder, colder, stone.
My greatest trial in this life is me. I've been shackled with myself and I don't know how to get out.
How did I get this way? Is this what I learned from a mother who told her crying child to stop feeling sorry for myself when I went to her for comfort--the last time I ever asked her for comfort. Or did I learn this from my father who locked himself in the study with his books and records or ran away to Brazil? Now, I've turned myself into him. Or did I learn this when I spent that long night alone curled up on the cold bed in the emergency room? They had to hold me until the psych ward opened in the morning. And no one in my family came to see me there. 72 hours they kept me after I almost died. Until recently, I didn't know how f**ed up it was that no one came for me. By that time I expected nothing from them; so it didn't occur to me that parents should go see their sick children in the hospital, even if they're hundreds of miles away.
I'm going to die this way. Of my own volition in the cell I've built with my own stubborn hands, grown too prideful now to let anyone in. Even when I want to. I never wanted to more than with him. But after the first time he hurt me I couldn't trust him anymore. That was it. Wall. And I really thought he was playing games with me but it was the other way around. He hurt me again because I didn't give him any other option. How the hell do I fix myself? I'm not getting better I isolate myself more each year. I grow harder, colder, stone.
My greatest trial in this life is me. I've been shackled with myself and I don't know how to get out.
10.26.2004
Tainted Love: Enter Hoochie
Continued from this post. This narrative moves backwards but I hope it makes sense anyway.
Maybe I should have answered the phone that day. If he had told me about his new girlfriend in a more humane manner I would have. But calling me just after midnight on Valentine's Day seemed designed for cruelty. I'm sure he didn't intend it that way. More likely, he had just decided to go for it with her and wanted to tell me right away. He talked over everything with me, except for his love life. That's how I knew about that girl's machinations, because he had no romantic interest in her initially.
But, I couldn't take the ups and downs with him anymore. I abandoned him to her but did not think it was permanent. She wasn't a member of the church and he was serious about having a temple marriage and kids and the whole church thing. I figured he'd come back to me when he was done with her. I just couldn't watch it happen.
She was manipulative and cunning. She set her trap for him in the fall by suggesting he move into her big empty house instead of his trailer. He told me all about it and her. Despite my fervent warnings against the move, by December, she talked him into it but he brought his roommate with him.
We had been planning a New Year's trip for awhile. I'd left my car and some furniture in Georgia that I wanted to retrieve. He wanted to drive back up to New York with me. We'd spend a week together then he'd fly home. I couldn't wait. But he called me sometime before Christmas to ask if she could come too. She had invited him to her folks' place in Florida for Christmas but he couldn't take both trips. He chose to come to New York. Magically, her trip to Florida got cancelled, so could she come with us to New York? At first I said yes. I didn't know what else to say, I was so shocked when he called to ask me. I knew what she was doing. Trying to weasel her way into his life and his heart. She knew I was an obstacle for her. I couldn't even see straight I was so upset when I got off the phone with him, realizing what I had just agreed to. It would be a week-long hell of competition for his attention. She obviously wasn't adverse to playing dirty so she'd likely win.
No way could I let that happen. I called some friends and tried to put together a good excuse for changing my mind. I couldn't say, "I think your friend is a conniving hoochie trying to take you away from me." I called him later and told him that 3 people is just too many for a road trip in my car. We would all get on each other's nerves. So, I couldn't let his little friend come with us. He said he understood and that was fine. I told myself he probably wanted me to say 'no' because he couldn't. Surely he didn't really want her there?
On our trip, she called him several times a day. I could tell by the way he talked to her that he felt some affection. One time she called because the house was too cold. He said, "Well go put the heater in your room silly." I had to hold back the vomit. Boy, that was a necessary call. I know lots of people with masters degrees who can't figure out that a heater heats up a room. Every time she called he withdrew from me. She also called New Year's Day while we were in a movie theater. He picked up the phone and went to the lobby to talk to her. After fifteen minutes I went looking for him so we could leave. He saw me but wouldn't get off the phone. I went to the bathroom to try to save some face and cry. Predictably, he called me whilst I sat on the toilet, wanting to know where I had gone. And predictably, I answered whilst on said tiolet and told him where I was. I should have said, "Oh I see! I was supposed to stand in the lobby looking like an eegit waiting for you to finish talking to another woman on your phone. I'll remember that the next time you leave me alone in a movie to talk to another woman." That's how she managed to ruin the trip without actually being there.
New Year's Eve 2003 he broke my heart for the second time, when he said he wanted to stay in because he needed a nap. That's when I knew he had no intention of rekindling anything with me. Was he afraid I'd kiss him at midnight? Of course I would! Was he afraid he'd like it? Of course he would! So I left him in my apartment to meet some friends in the village, totally heartbroken. Up to that point I harbored hope that something could happen. That night I gave up;
I should mention that I wasn't exactly an innocent in this debacle. I'll only take abuse for so long. That night, when I went out without him, I made sure I met up with a guy who had seriously flirted with me. He kissed me first, after midnight. Just gave me a peck and I withdrew from surprise. But then I was the one who followed him outside, he went out to get some air and to retrieve his dignity. He didn't get either because we made-out on the streets for an hour or two or three. Whew! That boy can kiss! I felt a lot better when I got home about 5 a.m. with messy hair, hoping I had some hickeys. I didn't. But I got my secret revenge. I also sneaked a look at his phone to see who kept calling. These things made me ashamed of myself, no, only the phone thing did.
After New Year's he tried to avoid eye contact and physical contact; a man ploy I knew well, he wanted me physically but not rationally. We never got romantic but we still had a great time together. It was the most bittersweet experience of my life. The more fun we had running through icy rain on Ellis Island and getting lost trying to find our way to CBGBs, the more it hurt. We fit so well together, some people assumed we were married.
When he went home to Georgia, I had no idea what our relationship was supposed to be. Until then we had stayed flirty and talked about the future and there was an implicit understanding (I thought) that we wanted to be together. We only broke up because I moved 900 miles away. After the trip I knew the other girl was winning. If they hadn't dated yet, it was only a matter of time. She lived with him, he was a horny and frustrated 23 year old virgin man. She was not a virgin. She was probably a skank hoochie. How much effort does it take to get the interest of such a man in such close quarters? Not much, and I imagine she played every game she could pull out of her skanky butt. She even started taking the missionary discussions, because he had no intentions of dating a non-LDS girl. (I know I'm not being fair. But it certainly followed the pattern.)
So she stole his heart from me. The man who, had I placed an order with God for my ideal mate, would have been the delivery of that order with extras. He was the person I dreamt about meeting but didn't believe existed. He was more beautiful than I imagined, inside and out. So Christ-like in his love for people. We liked the same things and had the same sense of humor. We wanted the same kind of life and seemed to have the same ideas about what kind of family we wanted. So sweet and patient. And more fun than almost anyone I had ever known. Except he was sooo young. He still had to finish college and was confused about what he wanted from me and how he felt. I knew what I wanted, I usually do. He was the only man I'd ever felt for this way. I hadn't been in love since high school. I remember telling my sister how much I liked the way he nodded his head 'yes', he kind of threw his chin up a few times rather than move his head up and down. I liked his chin. I had memorized his profile, and the way his large blue eyes looked at me, and the feel and smell of his wonderful skin.
I really believed that given enough time, he'd come back. Their sudden marriage shocked everyone.
Continued HERE.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
Maybe I should have answered the phone that day. If he had told me about his new girlfriend in a more humane manner I would have. But calling me just after midnight on Valentine's Day seemed designed for cruelty. I'm sure he didn't intend it that way. More likely, he had just decided to go for it with her and wanted to tell me right away. He talked over everything with me, except for his love life. That's how I knew about that girl's machinations, because he had no romantic interest in her initially.
But, I couldn't take the ups and downs with him anymore. I abandoned him to her but did not think it was permanent. She wasn't a member of the church and he was serious about having a temple marriage and kids and the whole church thing. I figured he'd come back to me when he was done with her. I just couldn't watch it happen.
She was manipulative and cunning. She set her trap for him in the fall by suggesting he move into her big empty house instead of his trailer. He told me all about it and her. Despite my fervent warnings against the move, by December, she talked him into it but he brought his roommate with him.
We had been planning a New Year's trip for awhile. I'd left my car and some furniture in Georgia that I wanted to retrieve. He wanted to drive back up to New York with me. We'd spend a week together then he'd fly home. I couldn't wait. But he called me sometime before Christmas to ask if she could come too. She had invited him to her folks' place in Florida for Christmas but he couldn't take both trips. He chose to come to New York. Magically, her trip to Florida got cancelled, so could she come with us to New York? At first I said yes. I didn't know what else to say, I was so shocked when he called to ask me. I knew what she was doing. Trying to weasel her way into his life and his heart. She knew I was an obstacle for her. I couldn't even see straight I was so upset when I got off the phone with him, realizing what I had just agreed to. It would be a week-long hell of competition for his attention. She obviously wasn't adverse to playing dirty so she'd likely win.
No way could I let that happen. I called some friends and tried to put together a good excuse for changing my mind. I couldn't say, "I think your friend is a conniving hoochie trying to take you away from me." I called him later and told him that 3 people is just too many for a road trip in my car. We would all get on each other's nerves. So, I couldn't let his little friend come with us. He said he understood and that was fine. I told myself he probably wanted me to say 'no' because he couldn't. Surely he didn't really want her there?
On our trip, she called him several times a day. I could tell by the way he talked to her that he felt some affection. One time she called because the house was too cold. He said, "Well go put the heater in your room silly." I had to hold back the vomit. Boy, that was a necessary call. I know lots of people with masters degrees who can't figure out that a heater heats up a room. Every time she called he withdrew from me. She also called New Year's Day while we were in a movie theater. He picked up the phone and went to the lobby to talk to her. After fifteen minutes I went looking for him so we could leave. He saw me but wouldn't get off the phone. I went to the bathroom to try to save some face and cry. Predictably, he called me whilst I sat on the toilet, wanting to know where I had gone. And predictably, I answered whilst on said tiolet and told him where I was. I should have said, "Oh I see! I was supposed to stand in the lobby looking like an eegit waiting for you to finish talking to another woman on your phone. I'll remember that the next time you leave me alone in a movie to talk to another woman." That's how she managed to ruin the trip without actually being there.
New Year's Eve 2003 he broke my heart for the second time, when he said he wanted to stay in because he needed a nap. That's when I knew he had no intention of rekindling anything with me. Was he afraid I'd kiss him at midnight? Of course I would! Was he afraid he'd like it? Of course he would! So I left him in my apartment to meet some friends in the village, totally heartbroken. Up to that point I harbored hope that something could happen. That night I gave up;
I should mention that I wasn't exactly an innocent in this debacle. I'll only take abuse for so long. That night, when I went out without him, I made sure I met up with a guy who had seriously flirted with me. He kissed me first, after midnight. Just gave me a peck and I withdrew from surprise. But then I was the one who followed him outside, he went out to get some air and to retrieve his dignity. He didn't get either because we made-out on the streets for an hour or two or three. Whew! That boy can kiss! I felt a lot better when I got home about 5 a.m. with messy hair, hoping I had some hickeys. I didn't. But I got my secret revenge. I also sneaked a look at his phone to see who kept calling. These things made me ashamed of myself, no, only the phone thing did.
After New Year's he tried to avoid eye contact and physical contact; a man ploy I knew well, he wanted me physically but not rationally. We never got romantic but we still had a great time together. It was the most bittersweet experience of my life. The more fun we had running through icy rain on Ellis Island and getting lost trying to find our way to CBGBs, the more it hurt. We fit so well together, some people assumed we were married.
When he went home to Georgia, I had no idea what our relationship was supposed to be. Until then we had stayed flirty and talked about the future and there was an implicit understanding (I thought) that we wanted to be together. We only broke up because I moved 900 miles away. After the trip I knew the other girl was winning. If they hadn't dated yet, it was only a matter of time. She lived with him, he was a horny and frustrated 23 year old virgin man. She was not a virgin. She was probably a skank hoochie. How much effort does it take to get the interest of such a man in such close quarters? Not much, and I imagine she played every game she could pull out of her skanky butt. She even started taking the missionary discussions, because he had no intentions of dating a non-LDS girl. (I know I'm not being fair. But it certainly followed the pattern.)
So she stole his heart from me. The man who, had I placed an order with God for my ideal mate, would have been the delivery of that order with extras. He was the person I dreamt about meeting but didn't believe existed. He was more beautiful than I imagined, inside and out. So Christ-like in his love for people. We liked the same things and had the same sense of humor. We wanted the same kind of life and seemed to have the same ideas about what kind of family we wanted. So sweet and patient. And more fun than almost anyone I had ever known. Except he was sooo young. He still had to finish college and was confused about what he wanted from me and how he felt. I knew what I wanted, I usually do. He was the only man I'd ever felt for this way. I hadn't been in love since high school. I remember telling my sister how much I liked the way he nodded his head 'yes', he kind of threw his chin up a few times rather than move his head up and down. I liked his chin. I had memorized his profile, and the way his large blue eyes looked at me, and the feel and smell of his wonderful skin.
I really believed that given enough time, he'd come back. Their sudden marriage shocked everyone.
Continued HERE.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
10.25.2004
It's a Singles' BlogWard!
Announcing the brand new Singles' Blogward, an online singles' ward. OK, not really. It's a webring I started for single mo bloggers. Although I do have some ideas for things we can do with the blogward that go beyond just the usual blogring.
To read a description and/or join, click below:
JOIN HERE.
****UPDATE: We now have 8 fabulous members in our blogward. Yay!!! Keep 'em coming folks.***
umm...Davis? Are you signing up? We're waiting.....
*Thanks to Dave of Mormon Inquiry for his blog club which planted the seeds for this idea.
To read a description and/or join, click below:
JOIN HERE.
****UPDATE: We now have 8 fabulous members in our blogward. Yay!!! Keep 'em coming folks.***
umm...Davis? Are you signing up? We're waiting.....
*Thanks to Dave of Mormon Inquiry for his blog club which planted the seeds for this idea.
Tainted Love
Some things age us more quickly. I'm older today than I was Friday morning. The last thread of my innocence was snatched away. In it's place I feel stone. I didn't know that thread was even there, but the removal was sharp and painful. I went to Atlanta this weekend and saw something that broke my heart ten times over.
I've been afraid to write this story, not trusting myself with the memories. Really, the best thing was to put him out of my mind forever. I probably imagined half of everything I think happened between us anyway. He got married. The end. Nothing is so simple.
My sister had moved in with me the winter before we started dating. So when I moved to New York in August she stayed behind and kept my apartment. She met his sister that night they stayed over with the stranded kids from South Carolina. And it was my sister who told me because she ran into his sister who told her. I remember exactly where I was when she called to tell me, I was walking up Fifth Avenue on a beautiful April afternoon.
We hadn't talked in four weeks. Not since mid-March when he called to tell me he was going to San Fransisco for Spring Break. I only picked up the phone because I thought he might be calling to wish me happy birthday. (I turned 27 the day before.) We had a strange conversation. I knew he was taking her. He never even mentioned her name though. After the initial awkwardness we slipped back into our easy banter. I'm sure we laughed because he always made me laugh. I had never had so much fun with a man in my life. There were times when he made me roll on the floor until my sides ached and my eyes burned from laughing too hard at something he did. I made him laugh the same way too.
We talked for awhile that night. It had been a month since our last conversation on Valentine's Day. That was when he called to tell me he was moving back into his parents' house because he was going to date his housemate and didn't want to live with her. That was the third time he broke my heart. And I swore that was the last. He was just plain cruel to call me five minutes after midnight on February 15th--so technically he didn't call me on V Day. I had waited for his call all day and rented some Steven King movies and watched them while eating chocolate cake. I was so elated when my phone rang and I saw his name. Ugh. It took him half an hour to tell me his news and he was scared to say it.
That's why I didn't answer the phone when he called me the week after V Day, I decided to cut it off so I could get over him. He had called me every weekend since I left the south. We usually talked for an hour or longer. It was my favorite part of the week. He told me he wanted to apply to a summer program at one of the colleges here. And he was thinking about going to med school in the city. I wanted to wait for him. I wanted to marry him.
This is a long story and now I must go to bed. I thought I could just write about what happened on Friday but I can't. You're getting the whole thing. I can't convey the impact otherwise.
Continued here.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
I've been afraid to write this story, not trusting myself with the memories. Really, the best thing was to put him out of my mind forever. I probably imagined half of everything I think happened between us anyway. He got married. The end. Nothing is so simple.
My sister had moved in with me the winter before we started dating. So when I moved to New York in August she stayed behind and kept my apartment. She met his sister that night they stayed over with the stranded kids from South Carolina. And it was my sister who told me because she ran into his sister who told her. I remember exactly where I was when she called to tell me, I was walking up Fifth Avenue on a beautiful April afternoon.
We hadn't talked in four weeks. Not since mid-March when he called to tell me he was going to San Fransisco for Spring Break. I only picked up the phone because I thought he might be calling to wish me happy birthday. (I turned 27 the day before.) We had a strange conversation. I knew he was taking her. He never even mentioned her name though. After the initial awkwardness we slipped back into our easy banter. I'm sure we laughed because he always made me laugh. I had never had so much fun with a man in my life. There were times when he made me roll on the floor until my sides ached and my eyes burned from laughing too hard at something he did. I made him laugh the same way too.
We talked for awhile that night. It had been a month since our last conversation on Valentine's Day. That was when he called to tell me he was moving back into his parents' house because he was going to date his housemate and didn't want to live with her. That was the third time he broke my heart. And I swore that was the last. He was just plain cruel to call me five minutes after midnight on February 15th--so technically he didn't call me on V Day. I had waited for his call all day and rented some Steven King movies and watched them while eating chocolate cake. I was so elated when my phone rang and I saw his name. Ugh. It took him half an hour to tell me his news and he was scared to say it.
That's why I didn't answer the phone when he called me the week after V Day, I decided to cut it off so I could get over him. He had called me every weekend since I left the south. We usually talked for an hour or longer. It was my favorite part of the week. He told me he wanted to apply to a summer program at one of the colleges here. And he was thinking about going to med school in the city. I wanted to wait for him. I wanted to marry him.
This is a long story and now I must go to bed. I thought I could just write about what happened on Friday but I can't. You're getting the whole thing. I can't convey the impact otherwise.
Continued here.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
10.18.2004
A Question for Men
Inspired by some of the commenting going on for this post, I want to ask the men a question.
For you single males out there:
What is your ideal woman? Or, better yet: What kind of woman are you looking for?
Please describe her qualities in the comments and indicate if you are LDS or not, include your age if you don't mind.
For Example:
I'm LDS, 28 yrs old
Ideal woman: smart, college degree, pretty, LDS, etc.......
For the married men:
Please list the things you love most about your wife.
Women, join in with comments if are you so inclined.
Men, if you have more to say you are welcome to it.
I'm curious about the correspondence or lack thereof between what single men want and what married men love most about their wives. I'd also like to correct any misperceptions I may have about what men want. And you guys should have a chance to speak for yourselves.
***Is this thing on? Hello? Hello? Single Men?** If you don't correct my misperceptions now, then I will continue to believe I have nothing to offer that LDS men want. And I'll go call that nice Jewish boy. If you care about the well-being of his poor mother you won't let that happen!
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
For you single males out there:
What is your ideal woman? Or, better yet: What kind of woman are you looking for?
Please describe her qualities in the comments and indicate if you are LDS or not, include your age if you don't mind.
For Example:
I'm LDS, 28 yrs old
Ideal woman: smart, college degree, pretty, LDS, etc.......
For the married men:
Please list the things you love most about your wife.
Women, join in with comments if are you so inclined.
Men, if you have more to say you are welcome to it.
I'm curious about the correspondence or lack thereof between what single men want and what married men love most about their wives. I'd also like to correct any misperceptions I may have about what men want. And you guys should have a chance to speak for yourselves.
***Is this thing on? Hello? Hello? Single Men?** If you don't correct my misperceptions now, then I will continue to believe I have nothing to offer that LDS men want. And I'll go call that nice Jewish boy. If you care about the well-being of his poor mother you won't let that happen!
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
Collection:
Dating,
Single Living
To Marry Mormon or Not to?
That is the question. Ha ha I wish. I don't have to worry about that question now or in the near future. Except....I kind of do. Because I'm old enough now that I don't want to waste time dating someone I'm not interested in marrying. I get hit on by a lot more non-mormons. And there are plenty of good men out there who don't happen to share my religion.
I don't want to end up in a marriage to someone with a different religion. I've seen how that can create problems. But, if it came down to it I'd choose someone with whom I thought I could have a good life over permanent singleness. Even if that meant marrying someone who's not LDS. Realistically, my chances for marrying a Mormon are not great. Especially since I don't put much effort into meeting them. I don't go to the singles congregation or any of their activities because they make me ill. I also don't fit their ideal woman mold, I'm not the kind of woman most of them want.
I'm thinking about this tonight because I had lunch with a very nice guy this afternoon. We get along well and there is some fairly potent sexual tension between us. Is he interested in me? I don't know. It's hard to say with these nice guys. Normally I would tell a girlfriend who asked me that question, "Yes, he is interested. How old are you, 12? He is a grown man, single, who wants to spend time with you. Who invited you over to his apartment so he could fix you brunch. Except you slept too late so it had to be lunch instead. And then he took you for a walk on the very romantic promenade. And he said that anytime you wanted to stop by in the morning for coffee or anything you are welcome. And you could even come over in your bathrobe and he'd fix whatever you wanted." Umm, so aside from that I can't say for sure if he's interested.
He's very not mormon, part of another religion spelled with the first letter J. Which means he can't be interested in me for anything serious. But he's not the player kind of guy. Am I attracted to him? Yes, but not in an obvious way. So I wasn't immediately smitten when we met, though I found him very interesting and liked him. There has always been a strong sexual tension between us but I dismissed the idea of a romance between us because of the religion thing.
Today, I couldn't decide if I wanted to date him or not. So I didn't flirt at all. I think. And I ignored signals from him. So I couldn't even say how much he was flirting with me. He has no idea, but right now he's in a very good position. If he started pursuing me aggressively I would completely go with it. But I won't pursue him because of my reservations. This is the point where a lot of men blow their chances with women. He probably won't pursue me because he's too scared because I didn't show obvious romantic interest and nothing will ever come of this. I'll bet 100 dollars that's what happens.
FYI: Men, if a woman isn't sure about you the best thing to do is make her sure. You can do that by making your desire clear, do all those things men do to let women know they want them. Don't act like you want to be her buddy. That's the second way most men blow it with women. If you act like you only want to be her friend, then that's all she'll want from you. That's why the slimeballs who skip "Lets be friends first" always get the girls. Don't make a woman guess your intentions, that's a big turn off. And 90% of the time she'll guess on the side of friends-only because it's easier and you just turned her off by acting ambiguously.
Anyway, I'm hesitant but ok with marrying someone non-LDS, so that goes for dating them too. I'm ok with dating this guy, but I'd need to know more about his feelings regarding inter-religious marriage and how close he is to his mother. Which means I'd have to flirt with him. And he'd have to make some overtures. So this is likely all moot. And the single life continues.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
I don't want to end up in a marriage to someone with a different religion. I've seen how that can create problems. But, if it came down to it I'd choose someone with whom I thought I could have a good life over permanent singleness. Even if that meant marrying someone who's not LDS. Realistically, my chances for marrying a Mormon are not great. Especially since I don't put much effort into meeting them. I don't go to the singles congregation or any of their activities because they make me ill. I also don't fit their ideal woman mold, I'm not the kind of woman most of them want.
I'm thinking about this tonight because I had lunch with a very nice guy this afternoon. We get along well and there is some fairly potent sexual tension between us. Is he interested in me? I don't know. It's hard to say with these nice guys. Normally I would tell a girlfriend who asked me that question, "Yes, he is interested. How old are you, 12? He is a grown man, single, who wants to spend time with you. Who invited you over to his apartment so he could fix you brunch. Except you slept too late so it had to be lunch instead. And then he took you for a walk on the very romantic promenade. And he said that anytime you wanted to stop by in the morning for coffee or anything you are welcome. And you could even come over in your bathrobe and he'd fix whatever you wanted." Umm, so aside from that I can't say for sure if he's interested.
He's very not mormon, part of another religion spelled with the first letter J. Which means he can't be interested in me for anything serious. But he's not the player kind of guy. Am I attracted to him? Yes, but not in an obvious way. So I wasn't immediately smitten when we met, though I found him very interesting and liked him. There has always been a strong sexual tension between us but I dismissed the idea of a romance between us because of the religion thing.
Today, I couldn't decide if I wanted to date him or not. So I didn't flirt at all. I think. And I ignored signals from him. So I couldn't even say how much he was flirting with me. He has no idea, but right now he's in a very good position. If he started pursuing me aggressively I would completely go with it. But I won't pursue him because of my reservations. This is the point where a lot of men blow their chances with women. He probably won't pursue me because he's too scared because I didn't show obvious romantic interest and nothing will ever come of this. I'll bet 100 dollars that's what happens.
FYI: Men, if a woman isn't sure about you the best thing to do is make her sure. You can do that by making your desire clear, do all those things men do to let women know they want them. Don't act like you want to be her buddy. That's the second way most men blow it with women. If you act like you only want to be her friend, then that's all she'll want from you. That's why the slimeballs who skip "Lets be friends first" always get the girls. Don't make a woman guess your intentions, that's a big turn off. And 90% of the time she'll guess on the side of friends-only because it's easier and you just turned her off by acting ambiguously.
Anyway, I'm hesitant but ok with marrying someone non-LDS, so that goes for dating them too. I'm ok with dating this guy, but I'd need to know more about his feelings regarding inter-religious marriage and how close he is to his mother. Which means I'd have to flirt with him. And he'd have to make some overtures. So this is likely all moot. And the single life continues.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
10.15.2004
And now for something really different
It finally hit me. I have figured out a possible solution for multiple problems.
Problem #1: School has burned me out. I find it so hard to care anymore. The fact that I hate my students now makes it even worse. I expect to be insulted by my misogynist alcoholic professors--I got used to that as an undergrad, but getting it from my students is too much. Why am I killing myself with stress and living this ascetic life in the middle of a metropolis just so I can be insulted and disrespected by my students? [I know this is not the correct use of 'disrepect' but it's the way they use it and that's what they're doing.]
Once I loved the writing and reading and teaching. Now I hate it. I had a short paper due last week. I wrote out a detailed thesis, did all my research and was ready to go. I still haven't written one word! I don't know what's wrong with me, but this is a serious problem.
Problem #2: Nor do I feel like writing humorous dating stories anymore. I don't want this blog to die, it's been a great creative outlet that I've really enjoyed. And I know I'll want to get back to writing those stories at some point. I'm just not interested in my own love life these days. So I've been feeling stumped.
Insight #1: My most popular piece to date was the Post modern blog-date analysis. Not a humorous dating story. Nor a publishable paper or anything I would even consider handing in to a professor. But people seemed to express that they want more.
Insight #2: In the past, the supposedly celibate monks and clerics of Europe did all the academic work and philosophizing (or sophistry) and translating of Greek philosophers. They were also the only writers for most of the medieval period.
Insight #3: So...due to my academic and celibate states, I should proclaim myself a modern day cleric and combine these things with the craft of writing.
Soultion: I'm going to expand the repertoire of this blog. Originally, I tried to keep a very narrow focus because I felt my audience came here for the drama and humor. And those things are what I needed when I began blogging, so I could escape. Now, I've escaped too far--and can no longer find my way back to real life. My hope is that if I write about my work in a conversational manner, then I can learn to love it again. And maybe I'll remember why I'm putting myself through the torture of grad school. I can't seem to write one word for my papers, so maybe if I write informal abstracts here then it will lead me back to doing my work.
Justification: My audience has proven wrong my assumption that they only want soap opera-esque comedy. You are intelligent people who enjoy using your brains. My philosophical posts will be scattered amongst the other kind, I expect. Most thinking people crave philosophy, but they might not know it. Because philosophy is the contemplation and study of what it is to be human in this world, it's relevant to everyone. Our culture has minimized its importance to the point that most Americans have no idea what philosophy is. That is a travesty.
You have been duly informed that things may get very different around here.
Or maybe not. Sigh.
Problem #1: School has burned me out. I find it so hard to care anymore. The fact that I hate my students now makes it even worse. I expect to be insulted by my misogynist alcoholic professors--I got used to that as an undergrad, but getting it from my students is too much. Why am I killing myself with stress and living this ascetic life in the middle of a metropolis just so I can be insulted and disrespected by my students? [I know this is not the correct use of 'disrepect' but it's the way they use it and that's what they're doing.]
Once I loved the writing and reading and teaching. Now I hate it. I had a short paper due last week. I wrote out a detailed thesis, did all my research and was ready to go. I still haven't written one word! I don't know what's wrong with me, but this is a serious problem.
Problem #2: Nor do I feel like writing humorous dating stories anymore. I don't want this blog to die, it's been a great creative outlet that I've really enjoyed. And I know I'll want to get back to writing those stories at some point. I'm just not interested in my own love life these days. So I've been feeling stumped.
Insight #1: My most popular piece to date was the Post modern blog-date analysis. Not a humorous dating story. Nor a publishable paper or anything I would even consider handing in to a professor. But people seemed to express that they want more.
Insight #2: In the past, the supposedly celibate monks and clerics of Europe did all the academic work and philosophizing (or sophistry) and translating of Greek philosophers. They were also the only writers for most of the medieval period.
Insight #3: So...due to my academic and celibate states, I should proclaim myself a modern day cleric and combine these things with the craft of writing.
Soultion: I'm going to expand the repertoire of this blog. Originally, I tried to keep a very narrow focus because I felt my audience came here for the drama and humor. And those things are what I needed when I began blogging, so I could escape. Now, I've escaped too far--and can no longer find my way back to real life. My hope is that if I write about my work in a conversational manner, then I can learn to love it again. And maybe I'll remember why I'm putting myself through the torture of grad school. I can't seem to write one word for my papers, so maybe if I write informal abstracts here then it will lead me back to doing my work.
Justification: My audience has proven wrong my assumption that they only want soap opera-esque comedy. You are intelligent people who enjoy using your brains. My philosophical posts will be scattered amongst the other kind, I expect. Most thinking people crave philosophy, but they might not know it. Because philosophy is the contemplation and study of what it is to be human in this world, it's relevant to everyone. Our culture has minimized its importance to the point that most Americans have no idea what philosophy is. That is a travesty.
You have been duly informed that things may get very different around here.
Or maybe not. Sigh.
Collection:
Blog
10.13.2004
Request a Post
*Thanks for your input. The polls are still open. I'll try to fill your requests in the coming weeks. *
Way back in April I posted a list of titles of stories I planned to blog about. Then I asked for people to make requests. No one really did. So we'll try again. I'm too involved with current dramas to write about them properly. The best I could do would be a series of stuff like this one. Not my finest post. And the men around here are only confusing and annoying me, so all my posts about them would probably sound annoyed and confused. This is why I'm pulling the list back out.
I have already posted some of the stories from that original list. Some I've alluded to previously, and others I decided to nix. As a bonus, we have new ones added.
Here's the list of stories to come, recycled and reconstituted.
1. Poet at the Met
2. MoTab Romance at Lincoln Center
3. Oops! I did it again: Kissing a friend
4. Uturd, Unlimited Nights and Weekends
5. How Low can I go? Address: Manhattan Homeless Shelter
6. Craig’s List Teasers
7. The George Chronicles (a series on my serious heartbreak)
8. The Slimy Father in Savannah
9. New Year's Eve and the Day After: I'm not psycho!
10. The Sunday School Stalker
11. Dating 101: If she puts her head on the table in the
restaurant because you won't stop talking, it's not going well.
12. Dating 102: If you beg her to take more Xanax before you even order dinner, it's not going well. (ok this is the same as 11)
13. The Man who Interrupted Breakfast
14. Surprise! We're on a date now I'm going to screw you over
15. Just because you may be perfect for me
16. The Creepy Secretary of the Math Dept.
17. My Extremely Foolish Fishing Trip
18. The Italian on the Liffey
19. Deal Breakers
...it's 3:30 so I can't think of anymore right now. ...
If any of these sound interesting or there's something you'd care to read about sooner rather than later, please leave a comment. Also, if there has been a guy or situation that I referred to in a post which you would like me to discuss or explain, please leave a comment about that too.
* Titles and stories are subject to change according to whim.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
Way back in April I posted a list of titles of stories I planned to blog about. Then I asked for people to make requests. No one really did. So we'll try again. I'm too involved with current dramas to write about them properly. The best I could do would be a series of stuff like this one. Not my finest post. And the men around here are only confusing and annoying me, so all my posts about them would probably sound annoyed and confused. This is why I'm pulling the list back out.
I have already posted some of the stories from that original list. Some I've alluded to previously, and others I decided to nix. As a bonus, we have new ones added.
Here's the list of stories to come, recycled and reconstituted.
1. Poet at the Met
2. MoTab Romance at Lincoln Center
3. Oops! I did it again: Kissing a friend
4. Uturd, Unlimited Nights and Weekends
5. How Low can I go? Address: Manhattan Homeless Shelter
6. Craig’s List Teasers
7. The George Chronicles (a series on my serious heartbreak)
8. The Slimy Father in Savannah
9. New Year's Eve and the Day After: I'm not psycho!
10. The Sunday School Stalker
11. Dating 101: If she puts her head on the table in the
restaurant because you won't stop talking, it's not going well.
12. Dating 102: If you beg her to take more Xanax before you even order dinner, it's not going well. (ok this is the same as 11)
13. The Man who Interrupted Breakfast
14. Surprise! We're on a date now I'm going to screw you over
15. Just because you may be perfect for me
16. The Creepy Secretary of the Math Dept.
17. My Extremely Foolish Fishing Trip
18. The Italian on the Liffey
19. Deal Breakers
...it's 3:30 so I can't think of anymore right now. ...
If any of these sound interesting or there's something you'd care to read about sooner rather than later, please leave a comment. Also, if there has been a guy or situation that I referred to in a post which you would like me to discuss or explain, please leave a comment about that too.
* Titles and stories are subject to change according to whim.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
Collection:
Blog
10.10.2004
That Joke isn't Funny
I wish I could laugh, but that joke isn't funny anymore...
Unbelievable. The timing could not have been worse. For several weeks I have looked forward to the concert of a certain artist whose name begins with M and ends in oz. Through all the crap of the last few weeks I hung on to the anticipation of that event. Two weeks ago I missed the last bus to Boston while trying to see a friend there visiting from out west. I was disappointed but thought, "I've still got Morrissey." Last week, at the end of class a student asked if they could do group work more often because, she said, "today I actually learned something and when you're up there just talking I learn nothing." I thanked her for her "input" in my iciest voice and closed my eyes to remember.
When Saturday arrived, my friend and I planned to meet 8ish in front of Radio City. I needed an hour to get there, just in case. I started to get ready at 6:15. When I tried to go to the bathroom, the handle on my door moved but the door didn't. Ha, Ha, very funny. I turned it again. And again and again. I couldn't really be stuck in my room. This was a joke. Not laughing. I was really locked in. I pounded on the door and yelled. No one was home.
I didn't panic yet, I had my tool box in here. All I had to do was take the doorknob off. I'm a handy person it shouldn't have been a problem. But I couldn't get it. The knob had been coming apart for awhile and someone put sticky stuff inside to hold it together. After working on it awhile the panic started.
All I could think was that I might miss the show. That's when I picked up the hammer. I'd knock the knob off. I hammered. Hard. It got dented and bent. But it was still there. I had to hit harder. Smash! smash! Smash! My blood pressure rose with each satisfying crunch.
The knob on my side broke off. But the rest of it stayed on. I had to laugh and cry hysterically. I called my friend to let him know the situation, I was the one with the tickets. He offered to come help me out, but he wouldn't have been able to get in the locked front door. No point in that.
I attacked the handle again. It could not taunt me this way. After more hammering, this time with a lot more force due to my increased frustration, the knob went flying out of the door into the hallway, broken to bits. Yay! All I had to do was undo the latch-thingy. I moved parts of it around but it didn't budge. Huh. I called my brother the engineer to ask how I could get the latch loose. He explained the anatomy of the knob and told me which piece to turn. But it didn't move. I'd broken it. He said I should take the door off the hinges and explained how to do it. But the pins were painted over and I couldn't get them out. At that he told me to call the police. It was already after 7. I didn't have time to wait for the police or anyone else.
I yelled and pounded the door. My life of late has been joyless. I trudge through my days, getting by, trying not to drown under the work that forever hangs over my head. This concert would give me 90 minutes of pleasure. What kind of cruel joke was this? Was God trying to teach me a lesson? I didn't get it nor did I want to. How could I miss this show? It was so wrong. All out of options--I prayed. Please, please, please, let me get what I want. It would be the first time.... Then I rested awhile on the floor.
The hinges! I had to try the hinges again. Maybe if I got the pliers around the tops tightly enough? The needlenose pliers closed on the top pin perfectly. I worked it up a little until I couldn't anymore. The hammer? Yes! I pounded the pliers up with the hammer. Movement. I had hope.
Woo-hoo! It came out! The bottom hinge was next. That one was tougher, I had to chisel around the wood. But I got it out too. Now I just had to move the door. No! The door was still stuck! I pulled at the top with my feet pushing against the wall, infuriated all over again. So close to freedom, how could the door still be stuck!? I considered the hammer now lying on the floor. No. That was my last resort. The door was really heavy and paint encrusted but it should come off. If not, then the hammer and I would bring a violent death to the door. It would not stand between me and my little piece of joy.
By then it was almost 8 pm. Finally, I lifted the door off the hinges and got it out of the frame. I rushed madly then to get ready and go. I got off the subway on 42nd, 9 blocks away and it was near 9 pm. I ran most of the way on the street to avoid the stupid tourist crowds. I made it. Sweaty and breathless. My throat sore from screaming. We only missed two songs.
Near the end of the show, they played 'How Soon is Now'. I never thought I'd hear that song live. I nearly wept. That alone made it worth everything. For my short review go here.
One day this will be funny. I laughed at myself last night, but not for the humor. For the hideous ridiculousness of it, like the laughter of the damned who can do no more. Right now, this is still a cruel joke. One of the kind we all find ourselves in, our hand forced by the random or controlled chaos of life. Despite my fleeting thoughts to the contrary, I don't think God caused the sticking door. I think the world was programmed to work this way, so that obstacles burst from the ground, randomly pushed by the entropy of nature. We cross the landscape of our lives and inevitably run into mountains, boulders, rocks, and pebbles. I think God eases the passage just enough so we can get by.
It all worked out in the end. I enjoyed myself and had a nice dinner with my friend afterwards. But, had I not been able to get out of my room, you would now be reading about a Brooklyn massacre instead of a defunct door.
Well, it suddenly struck me,
I just might die with a smile on my face after all
--The Smiths
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
Unbelievable. The timing could not have been worse. For several weeks I have looked forward to the concert of a certain artist whose name begins with M and ends in oz. Through all the crap of the last few weeks I hung on to the anticipation of that event. Two weeks ago I missed the last bus to Boston while trying to see a friend there visiting from out west. I was disappointed but thought, "I've still got Morrissey." Last week, at the end of class a student asked if they could do group work more often because, she said, "today I actually learned something and when you're up there just talking I learn nothing." I thanked her for her "input" in my iciest voice and closed my eyes to remember.
When Saturday arrived, my friend and I planned to meet 8ish in front of Radio City. I needed an hour to get there, just in case. I started to get ready at 6:15. When I tried to go to the bathroom, the handle on my door moved but the door didn't. Ha, Ha, very funny. I turned it again. And again and again. I couldn't really be stuck in my room. This was a joke. Not laughing. I was really locked in. I pounded on the door and yelled. No one was home.
I didn't panic yet, I had my tool box in here. All I had to do was take the doorknob off. I'm a handy person it shouldn't have been a problem. But I couldn't get it. The knob had been coming apart for awhile and someone put sticky stuff inside to hold it together. After working on it awhile the panic started.
All I could think was that I might miss the show. That's when I picked up the hammer. I'd knock the knob off. I hammered. Hard. It got dented and bent. But it was still there. I had to hit harder. Smash! smash! Smash! My blood pressure rose with each satisfying crunch.
The knob on my side broke off. But the rest of it stayed on. I had to laugh and cry hysterically. I called my friend to let him know the situation, I was the one with the tickets. He offered to come help me out, but he wouldn't have been able to get in the locked front door. No point in that.
I attacked the handle again. It could not taunt me this way. After more hammering, this time with a lot more force due to my increased frustration, the knob went flying out of the door into the hallway, broken to bits. Yay! All I had to do was undo the latch-thingy. I moved parts of it around but it didn't budge. Huh. I called my brother the engineer to ask how I could get the latch loose. He explained the anatomy of the knob and told me which piece to turn. But it didn't move. I'd broken it. He said I should take the door off the hinges and explained how to do it. But the pins were painted over and I couldn't get them out. At that he told me to call the police. It was already after 7. I didn't have time to wait for the police or anyone else.
I yelled and pounded the door. My life of late has been joyless. I trudge through my days, getting by, trying not to drown under the work that forever hangs over my head. This concert would give me 90 minutes of pleasure. What kind of cruel joke was this? Was God trying to teach me a lesson? I didn't get it nor did I want to. How could I miss this show? It was so wrong. All out of options--I prayed. Please, please, please, let me get what I want. It would be the first time.... Then I rested awhile on the floor.
The hinges! I had to try the hinges again. Maybe if I got the pliers around the tops tightly enough? The needlenose pliers closed on the top pin perfectly. I worked it up a little until I couldn't anymore. The hammer? Yes! I pounded the pliers up with the hammer. Movement. I had hope.
Woo-hoo! It came out! The bottom hinge was next. That one was tougher, I had to chisel around the wood. But I got it out too. Now I just had to move the door. No! The door was still stuck! I pulled at the top with my feet pushing against the wall, infuriated all over again. So close to freedom, how could the door still be stuck!? I considered the hammer now lying on the floor. No. That was my last resort. The door was really heavy and paint encrusted but it should come off. If not, then the hammer and I would bring a violent death to the door. It would not stand between me and my little piece of joy.
By then it was almost 8 pm. Finally, I lifted the door off the hinges and got it out of the frame. I rushed madly then to get ready and go. I got off the subway on 42nd, 9 blocks away and it was near 9 pm. I ran most of the way on the street to avoid the stupid tourist crowds. I made it. Sweaty and breathless. My throat sore from screaming. We only missed two songs.
Near the end of the show, they played 'How Soon is Now'. I never thought I'd hear that song live. I nearly wept. That alone made it worth everything. For my short review go here.
One day this will be funny. I laughed at myself last night, but not for the humor. For the hideous ridiculousness of it, like the laughter of the damned who can do no more. Right now, this is still a cruel joke. One of the kind we all find ourselves in, our hand forced by the random or controlled chaos of life. Despite my fleeting thoughts to the contrary, I don't think God caused the sticking door. I think the world was programmed to work this way, so that obstacles burst from the ground, randomly pushed by the entropy of nature. We cross the landscape of our lives and inevitably run into mountains, boulders, rocks, and pebbles. I think God eases the passage just enough so we can get by.
It all worked out in the end. I enjoyed myself and had a nice dinner with my friend afterwards. But, had I not been able to get out of my room, you would now be reading about a Brooklyn massacre instead of a defunct door.
Well, it suddenly struck me,
I just might die with a smile on my face after all
--The Smiths
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
10.09.2004
Unsolved Mysteries
Not anymore. I have figured out the enigma that was HT. Whew. Glad that's done with. He is off the list of possible men. Back to his usual tricks the other night when we had dinner together.
More on this later because it's 4 am and I really should go to bed before I turn into an insomniac again.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
More on this later because it's 4 am and I really should go to bed before I turn into an insomniac again.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
Collection:
HT
10.06.2004
!!!BLOG Advisory!!!
Quality Control Bots report Security Level Red for : MELODRAMATIC OVERLOAD. Site owner advised that blogging privileges probationary until security level drops back to orange. As the second infractionwithin one week owner put on the federal watch list for weepy bloggers. Her template editor will now be monitored by the B.I.A.
Site owner responded petulantly demanding an explanation of the security color levels. Her favorite color is red so she thinks that's a fine security level for the blog. When Bots answered that color level determinations are at their discretion, none of her beeswax, and red is bad, she threatened to file a suit with the assistance of the ACLU--blogger division. QC Bots know owner is a slacker and won't get around to suing them. So they issued a list of required actions to remove her from blog probation and to lighten the mood around here--for the love of all blog readers, cheer up!!!
1. HT wants to see her. Owner must meet him in person this week for some social fun. To facilitate this she must phone him on Wednesday as she promised when he called her on Sunday offering her a ride to church conference. The fact that she has a paper due Friday which she has yet to begin is not a good excuse considering the sad state of her well-being. Additionally, he left her 3 messages and owner only returned the last call so she can't afford to snub him anymore. Regardless of her ambiguous feelings towards HT romantically, he has a car, knows lots of interesting people and is always doing cool things. MOST IMPORTANTLY, he needs her as a friend right now. Owner should get out of her self and show concern for another person.
2. NEXT time two best buddies want to go see a movie like Shaun of the Dead with owner, she cannot use any excuses to get out of it. QC Bots do not care how tired she is, get some iron pills already. And if owner had done her grading last week when she collected the quizzes then she could have gone guilt free. Owner must stay on top of her work instead of procrastinating and thus remove any legitimate excuses for socializing and enjoying pop culture.
3. Do everyone a favor and get a date! Wah, wah, wah "I'm so frustrated, I'm so lonely, I'm crazy" QC Bots don't care because it's the owner's fault and that's why God made Xanax. Blind date boy has emailed the owner again, replying to her email of two weeks ago. No he did not ask her out--yet again. But he was out of town so MAYBE the owner should give it up and ask him out. Although QC Bots aren't sure, they don't know what that one is playing at.
4. Owner needs to go to church, it's been 2 months. She always gets gloomy when she doesn't go. There might be an interesting man or two. Then she could get busy on #3.
5. This time, when owner goes to the Morrissey concert on Saturday, she absolutely MUST get the digits from any and all Moz-men who spend 3 hours hanging out with her --but not the ones who spill beer or molest her. And next time find someone over 21. WARNING: Owner NOT ALLOWED to post about her sick infatuation with Morrissey. The world read about it ad naseum in May. That very post was linked on another blog as one of the posts that made that blogger sick. QC Bots ashamed of such links back to their blog. Don't let it happen again.
6. Lastly, or firstly, blog needs a new post about one of the stupid bad men from the past so that owner can make fun of their stupid badness.
**And put up a new poll--QC Bots bored with that one!
Excuse me? Hello?This is JL here. If you're so bored with my poll then friggin make your own d**n poll! Who do you Bots think you are? Quality Control my rectum! You can expect to see the law suit papers first thing in the...as soon as the paper gets finished and then the lectures and handouts...well, don't worry, you're getting sued soon. I won't ~~~~Feed Interrupted~~~~
QC department is not worried about getting sued. *Yawn* Site owner is a predictable human. It is suggested that JL go away to finish reading about fragmented selves because Bots find that subject curiously disturbing.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
Site owner responded petulantly demanding an explanation of the security color levels. Her favorite color is red so she thinks that's a fine security level for the blog. When Bots answered that color level determinations are at their discretion, none of her beeswax, and red is bad, she threatened to file a suit with the assistance of the ACLU--blogger division. QC Bots know owner is a slacker and won't get around to suing them. So they issued a list of required actions to remove her from blog probation and to lighten the mood around here--for the love of all blog readers, cheer up!!!
1. HT wants to see her. Owner must meet him in person this week for some social fun. To facilitate this she must phone him on Wednesday as she promised when he called her on Sunday offering her a ride to church conference. The fact that she has a paper due Friday which she has yet to begin is not a good excuse considering the sad state of her well-being. Additionally, he left her 3 messages and owner only returned the last call so she can't afford to snub him anymore. Regardless of her ambiguous feelings towards HT romantically, he has a car, knows lots of interesting people and is always doing cool things. MOST IMPORTANTLY, he needs her as a friend right now. Owner should get out of her self and show concern for another person.
2. NEXT time two best buddies want to go see a movie like Shaun of the Dead with owner, she cannot use any excuses to get out of it. QC Bots do not care how tired she is, get some iron pills already. And if owner had done her grading last week when she collected the quizzes then she could have gone guilt free. Owner must stay on top of her work instead of procrastinating and thus remove any legitimate excuses for socializing and enjoying pop culture.
3. Do everyone a favor and get a date! Wah, wah, wah "I'm so frustrated, I'm so lonely, I'm crazy" QC Bots don't care because it's the owner's fault and that's why God made Xanax. Blind date boy has emailed the owner again, replying to her email of two weeks ago. No he did not ask her out--yet again. But he was out of town so MAYBE the owner should give it up and ask him out. Although QC Bots aren't sure, they don't know what that one is playing at.
4. Owner needs to go to church, it's been 2 months. She always gets gloomy when she doesn't go. There might be an interesting man or two. Then she could get busy on #3.
5. This time, when owner goes to the Morrissey concert on Saturday, she absolutely MUST get the digits from any and all Moz-men who spend 3 hours hanging out with her --but not the ones who spill beer or molest her. And next time find someone over 21. WARNING: Owner NOT ALLOWED to post about her sick infatuation with Morrissey. The world read about it ad naseum in May. That very post was linked on another blog as one of the posts that made that blogger sick. QC Bots ashamed of such links back to their blog. Don't let it happen again.
6. Lastly, or firstly, blog needs a new post about one of the stupid bad men from the past so that owner can make fun of their stupid badness.
**And put up a new poll--QC Bots bored with that one!
Excuse me? Hello?This is JL here. If you're so bored with my poll then friggin make your own d**n poll! Who do you Bots think you are? Quality Control my rectum! You can expect to see the law suit papers first thing in the...as soon as the paper gets finished and then the lectures and handouts...well, don't worry, you're getting sued soon. I won't ~~~~Feed Interrupted~~~~
QC department is not worried about getting sued. *Yawn* Site owner is a predictable human. It is suggested that JL go away to finish reading about fragmented selves because Bots find that subject curiously disturbing.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
10.03.2004
Somebody Save Me
Some days, I want someone to save me. Save me from myself and the quagmire of my mind. Years ago, when I descended to the bowels of madness and stayed there for near a year, a doctor finally correctly diagnosed me. He said, "She's lost in her own head."
Those memories haunt me. Lost in my own mind. I shiver at the slightest sign that the madness is creeping in again. It waits. Just outside the door sits the beast breathing heavily down my neck, pressing in so I can feel his presence. Never can I forget the weight of his possession, nor the fragility of the locks holding him at bay. Some days are better than others. Days when he stays quiet behind the door, sleeping perhaps, allowing me to feel secure. Then come the others. The days when he rattles the locks, beats the door, oozes through the cracks. His noxious scent begins suffocating me.
Those days, when the madness is restless, the world changes. Sounds get amplified and cacophonous. Lights shine too brightly, the sunshine hurts my skin and eyes, the colors and flashes of all the movement of life assault my senses. Sometimes it's so strong that I really do start suffocating (hyperventilating anyway). I feel trapped and rabidly try to escape the crashing noise and people crushing in from all sides. When I no longer think anything but the fear and escape and how hard it is to breathe.
But mostly, thanks to modern chemistry, the panic only hovers around me instead of attacking. I spend my days with a body locked in tension, mind cowering from the discomfort of my surroundings and imminent collapse of everything. Nothing is fun when you're on the precipice of panic. This state occurs in varying degrees for different lengths of time, maybe hours, days or months.
Now I'm in the thick of it again. The last few weeks have not been good. The beast is restless. I don't think I'm adjusting well to teaching again. I enjoy it (I used to.) But, performing in front of 3 classes twice a week drains every ounce of social energy I have. So when I'm done I crawl home to my bedroom and shut the door. I stay in for days. When the phone rings I shudder. Going out with friends is completely unappealing. When I do go out, I spend the whole time wanting to go home; waiting until I can escape the complicated confusion.
This intensified withdrawal and social allergy is new, only manifesting in the last year... and when I was mad. My mental disease might be worsening or mutating. But it might be the stress and nothing more. Maybe it's the city, too much stimulation, too many people, too much hassle, too much isolation. I'm nowhere near as depressed as I was then, I don't feel depressed at all. It's the irrational fear that's overpowering. It reminds me of when I was too sick to dress myself in the morning.
There are some people who would be happy to save me. But I can't call them. I don't know why. It's easier to sit in my room with my thoughts then deal. Wasting myself away chasing the next chimera of imagination. Not wanting to go back to the messy demanding world, all the while knowing I'll starve in here on my own. Lost in my own mind.
It's been weeks since another human has touched me affectionately. Maybe I just need a hug, (a real one, getting squished on the subway between people doesn't count). Somebody save me?
**[UPDATE: I wrote this on Saturday. On Sunday 3 of my friends (those who would save me) called wanting to see me, answering my prayers. I'll be OK. I get into these moods and then they go away.]**
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
Those memories haunt me. Lost in my own mind. I shiver at the slightest sign that the madness is creeping in again. It waits. Just outside the door sits the beast breathing heavily down my neck, pressing in so I can feel his presence. Never can I forget the weight of his possession, nor the fragility of the locks holding him at bay. Some days are better than others. Days when he stays quiet behind the door, sleeping perhaps, allowing me to feel secure. Then come the others. The days when he rattles the locks, beats the door, oozes through the cracks. His noxious scent begins suffocating me.
Those days, when the madness is restless, the world changes. Sounds get amplified and cacophonous. Lights shine too brightly, the sunshine hurts my skin and eyes, the colors and flashes of all the movement of life assault my senses. Sometimes it's so strong that I really do start suffocating (hyperventilating anyway). I feel trapped and rabidly try to escape the crashing noise and people crushing in from all sides. When I no longer think anything but the fear and escape and how hard it is to breathe.
But mostly, thanks to modern chemistry, the panic only hovers around me instead of attacking. I spend my days with a body locked in tension, mind cowering from the discomfort of my surroundings and imminent collapse of everything. Nothing is fun when you're on the precipice of panic. This state occurs in varying degrees for different lengths of time, maybe hours, days or months.
Now I'm in the thick of it again. The last few weeks have not been good. The beast is restless. I don't think I'm adjusting well to teaching again. I enjoy it (I used to.) But, performing in front of 3 classes twice a week drains every ounce of social energy I have. So when I'm done I crawl home to my bedroom and shut the door. I stay in for days. When the phone rings I shudder. Going out with friends is completely unappealing. When I do go out, I spend the whole time wanting to go home; waiting until I can escape the complicated confusion.
This intensified withdrawal and social allergy is new, only manifesting in the last year... and when I was mad. My mental disease might be worsening or mutating. But it might be the stress and nothing more. Maybe it's the city, too much stimulation, too many people, too much hassle, too much isolation. I'm nowhere near as depressed as I was then, I don't feel depressed at all. It's the irrational fear that's overpowering. It reminds me of when I was too sick to dress myself in the morning.
There are some people who would be happy to save me. But I can't call them. I don't know why. It's easier to sit in my room with my thoughts then deal. Wasting myself away chasing the next chimera of imagination. Not wanting to go back to the messy demanding world, all the while knowing I'll starve in here on my own. Lost in my own mind.
It's been weeks since another human has touched me affectionately. Maybe I just need a hug, (a real one, getting squished on the subway between people doesn't count). Somebody save me?
**[UPDATE: I wrote this on Saturday. On Sunday 3 of my friends (those who would save me) called wanting to see me, answering my prayers. I'll be OK. I get into these moods and then they go away.]**
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
Collection:
Insanity
10.02.2004
Dearest Readers,
Thank you for all the love and support. Despite all my recent talk of simulacra and pretend friends, I have found genuine warmth extended through the ether of the internet. Here is evidence that rather than isolate people, the internet can create new communities. I enjoy this community very much. And I'm not sure that going to a party to socialize with a bunch of phony people by putting on our masks to match theirs is a better social experience than communicating with people online who are brutally honest because they need no mask. Which brings us to the big news.
Here's the big news: No man can keep me down, this blog lives! I made some mistakes which I regret and will not repeat. I've mourned a loss. And even though I missed the last bus to Boston, I am de-funkdifying myself. I don't have time to be in a funk. Much has happened in the last two weeks with this blog and my life.
Several blog milestones passed in the last two weeks. Celibate in the City had its 6 month birthday. We had our 10,000th visitor! Soon to be 11,000 by the looks of things. The average daily hits have doubled since the blind date post, thank you Steve and Kaimi, the hits also stayed high by the linkage to the PoMo post, thanks to Naked Villainy and Times & Seasons again, and thanks to everyone else who also linked to it. [The discovery drama probably lured many of you back as well. I might post the details in the future, but I might not.]
Those of you who particularly enjoyed the PoMo post owe a thanks to the Maximum Leader of Naked Villainy (a quality group blog about politics, current events and the dissemination of Mike's World Order). I put up the post and he linked to it. Then a few hours later I pulled the post down, deciding that I didn't want to scare away my readers with something that boring. Well, I've learned my lesson and won't do that again! You can read the Maximum Leader's post about it here. As a direct result of his link and an email regarding the post, I put it back up for your viewing pleasure. In fact, the reaction to that post was so great that I plan to do more posts of that nature in the future. I'm not sure what that means yet but I'll figure it out.
In dating news this week, HT called out of the blue and wants to catch up, he was out of state and had all kinds of crazy bad things happening. I haven't gotten around to returning his call. And another forgotten man from my past (whom I did not post about yet) also called "because he just re-read a text message I sent him in March and wondered what I was up to." Right. He also told me his life story for the last few months on my voicemail. I did not care to call him back so he accosted me via IM. He signed on visibly for the first time since we stopped talking in March. He probably just got dumped so he was lonely on a Friday night. More about that guy to follow soon. Quite the dramatic week.
The final piece of blog business today is to thank Ebenezer Orthodoxy for the blogger comments hack, which I implemented a few days ago. So, if you hate blogger comments, you can now enjoy the improved version programmed by him. Help yourself to the code at EO's Blogger Hacks, and tip him for his trouble if you can. I'm still deciding if I want to add his recent comments hack or not. Let me know if you have an opinion.
Thank you everyone!!!!
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
Here's the big news: No man can keep me down, this blog lives! I made some mistakes which I regret and will not repeat. I've mourned a loss. And even though I missed the last bus to Boston, I am de-funkdifying myself. I don't have time to be in a funk. Much has happened in the last two weeks with this blog and my life.
Several blog milestones passed in the last two weeks. Celibate in the City had its 6 month birthday. We had our 10,000th visitor! Soon to be 11,000 by the looks of things. The average daily hits have doubled since the blind date post, thank you Steve and Kaimi, the hits also stayed high by the linkage to the PoMo post, thanks to Naked Villainy and Times & Seasons again, and thanks to everyone else who also linked to it. [The discovery drama probably lured many of you back as well. I might post the details in the future, but I might not.]
Those of you who particularly enjoyed the PoMo post owe a thanks to the Maximum Leader of Naked Villainy (a quality group blog about politics, current events and the dissemination of Mike's World Order). I put up the post and he linked to it. Then a few hours later I pulled the post down, deciding that I didn't want to scare away my readers with something that boring. Well, I've learned my lesson and won't do that again! You can read the Maximum Leader's post about it here. As a direct result of his link and an email regarding the post, I put it back up for your viewing pleasure. In fact, the reaction to that post was so great that I plan to do more posts of that nature in the future. I'm not sure what that means yet but I'll figure it out.
In dating news this week, HT called out of the blue and wants to catch up, he was out of state and had all kinds of crazy bad things happening. I haven't gotten around to returning his call. And another forgotten man from my past (whom I did not post about yet) also called "because he just re-read a text message I sent him in March and wondered what I was up to." Right. He also told me his life story for the last few months on my voicemail. I did not care to call him back so he accosted me via IM. He signed on visibly for the first time since we stopped talking in March. He probably just got dumped so he was lonely on a Friday night. More about that guy to follow soon. Quite the dramatic week.
The final piece of blog business today is to thank Ebenezer Orthodoxy for the blogger comments hack, which I implemented a few days ago. So, if you hate blogger comments, you can now enjoy the improved version programmed by him. Help yourself to the code at EO's Blogger Hacks, and tip him for his trouble if you can. I'm still deciding if I want to add his recent comments hack or not. Let me know if you have an opinion.
Thank you everyone!!!!
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
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