To recap: my not-soon-enough-to-be-ex, PdeFF, is insane. Really. Aside from the psychosis, there's the narcissistic personality disorder, lack of rational thought (about everything, but most particularly finances), complete unawareness of other people's needs or interests, and chronic stupidity.
I will not be posting much, unless things lighten up, for the next few days due to the many actions I need to take to keep my beloved babysitter from quitting (he thinks she should be cleaning his house, among other things) and otherwise protect my kids. Money will be spent on legal fees. I will be fuming. More later.
August 31, 2006
August 28, 2006
Back to Batshit Insanity-Land (Yes, It's the Not-Soon-Enough-Ex, Driving Me Crazy Again)
Grrr. Arrrgh. I wish holy water worked in this sort of situation. Or garlic. Or amulets against the stupid and selfish eye. But no. We just get to live with it. It's my own stupid fault. I married the guy. Of course, there's and upside to that: I had the two most wonderful kids on the planet with this man, but sheesh.
When PdeFF finally left the former ChezFoil (long after it had sold, mind you) he moved about 15 miles away from me. To another school district to be exact. When I moved out, almost a year ago, I moved into the FoilFlat which is about half a mile from the former ChezFoil. Our babysitter does not drive, so she could walk back and forth with the baby buggy. The FoilFlat is on the bus line to the babysitter's evening classes. Not the PdeFF-Pit-of-Patheticness. No, no, no. And it's in a mediocre school district.
So I made sure that TigerGrrl was registered in my school district (one of the better ones in this region, and the elementary school is just great). The bus drops TigerGrrl right at the front of our apartment complex where the baby sitter only has to walk a block to collect her after school.
PdeFF doesn't want the babysitter to be here during the day on days when he gets the girls at night. PdeFF has a job now, and works during the day. So do I. So TigerGrrl can either come home to the FoilFlat -- which requires the babysitter and the GaahGirl to be here at 3:30 -- or go to an after school program, which requires spending more money for childcare. I'm already paying for childcare during that time.
PdeFF objects to the babysitter and GaahGirl being here during the day (when I'm not here, because I'm working) because "that's his time". Also, he wants the babysitter (who I pay) to cook his dinner and clean his apartment. He also hasn't been able to line up after school care and asked me to arrange it. And pay for it.
I said no. He said, again, that he's going to pull the TigerGrrl out of her school (and do what?) and says I'm being hateful. Well, I try not to be, but I'm getting pretty damn close to being full of hate where he is concerned.
Let me say (and you'll probably read this phrase again) that PdeFF should bless his lucky stars that I actually do have a conscience and an understanding of consequences to actions. Otherwise, I would have asked Ex-Marine Fred to kindly explain to me how you kill someone with a spoon (Ex-Marine Fred is actually too busy sending flowers to Innana in sympathy for the loss of the late lamented lovely white cat Louise) or enlist his help. But I won't. Because that would be wrong. It would be unfair to subject someone like Ex-Marine Fred, whose picture is next to the definition of the words "chivalrous" and "protective", but not "chauvinistic" in the dictionary to such a temptation. He might just do it.
And that would be a relief.
But no. I'm just going to be living with this mentally off-kilter person, affecting the lives of my daughters who love him. And it's my fault really. At least he's done two good things in his life. That will keep him safe as far as I'm concerned.
When PdeFF finally left the former ChezFoil (long after it had sold, mind you) he moved about 15 miles away from me. To another school district to be exact. When I moved out, almost a year ago, I moved into the FoilFlat which is about half a mile from the former ChezFoil. Our babysitter does not drive, so she could walk back and forth with the baby buggy. The FoilFlat is on the bus line to the babysitter's evening classes. Not the PdeFF-Pit-of-Patheticness. No, no, no. And it's in a mediocre school district.
So I made sure that TigerGrrl was registered in my school district (one of the better ones in this region, and the elementary school is just great). The bus drops TigerGrrl right at the front of our apartment complex where the baby sitter only has to walk a block to collect her after school.
PdeFF doesn't want the babysitter to be here during the day on days when he gets the girls at night. PdeFF has a job now, and works during the day. So do I. So TigerGrrl can either come home to the FoilFlat -- which requires the babysitter and the GaahGirl to be here at 3:30 -- or go to an after school program, which requires spending more money for childcare. I'm already paying for childcare during that time.
PdeFF objects to the babysitter and GaahGirl being here during the day (when I'm not here, because I'm working) because "that's his time". Also, he wants the babysitter (who I pay) to cook his dinner and clean his apartment. He also hasn't been able to line up after school care and asked me to arrange it. And pay for it.
I said no. He said, again, that he's going to pull the TigerGrrl out of her school (and do what?) and says I'm being hateful. Well, I try not to be, but I'm getting pretty damn close to being full of hate where he is concerned.
Let me say (and you'll probably read this phrase again) that PdeFF should bless his lucky stars that I actually do have a conscience and an understanding of consequences to actions. Otherwise, I would have asked Ex-Marine Fred to kindly explain to me how you kill someone with a spoon (Ex-Marine Fred is actually too busy sending flowers to Innana in sympathy for the loss of the late lamented lovely white cat Louise) or enlist his help. But I won't. Because that would be wrong. It would be unfair to subject someone like Ex-Marine Fred, whose picture is next to the definition of the words "chivalrous" and "protective", but not "chauvinistic" in the dictionary to such a temptation. He might just do it.
And that would be a relief.
But no. I'm just going to be living with this mentally off-kilter person, affecting the lives of my daughters who love him. And it's my fault really. At least he's done two good things in his life. That will keep him safe as far as I'm concerned.
August 27, 2006
Fifty Ways Your Almost-Ex Can Make You Loathe Him
Let me just say, as I have said probably fifty-three times, in quick succession, to Innana: I could just kill my Not-Soon-Enough-To-Be-Ex. Due to unforseen circumstances, TigerGrrl starts school tomorrow rather than later in the week. PdeFF has been on vacation with the girls about seven hours from here. He couldn't see fit, after discovering the plan change, to head home from vacation yesterday rather than today. He couldn't hit the road by 6 a.m. rather than 8:30. TigerGrrl catches her bus to school from my home (and anyway, I want to meet her teacher) rather than PdeFF's home 10 miles north of me. But PdeFF, after traffic and stops on the road, didn't get TigerGrrl to his apartment until 10 p.m. (a seven-year old) on the night before school starts.
He refused to bring the kids over tonight, so we'll do all the logistical stuff tomorrow morning, which will mean it will take longer (with him, everything that could be done quickly isn't) and I will have to take more leave. He's been grumping to TigerGrrl about the change of plans, getting her all stressed out. Not good.
When I called to confirm that they were home and to make sure they would be by tomorrow morning, he informed me that I was making trouble. I, stupidly, asked him if he were taking his Zyprexa (antipsychotic, for those with less experience -- lucky you! -- with psychotropic drugs than I have). Nothing good happened then. He said if I didn't treat him nicely, he wouldn't bring his daughter to school. I reminded him that we have a legal obligation to make sure our daughter goes to school. He retorted: "If you don't stop being difficult, I'm not bringing her to school."
Well, that will definitely punish me, but you know who will be hurt the most by this? TigerGrrl, that's who. I could just kill that narcissistic and moronic son-of-a-bitch. Slowly.
Good for him I have some self-control and the knowledge that doing that will hurt TigerGrrl and GaahGirl. Especially the me-being-in-prison part. I think I'll go watch Buffy kill some monsters. Yup, that'll help.
He refused to bring the kids over tonight, so we'll do all the logistical stuff tomorrow morning, which will mean it will take longer (with him, everything that could be done quickly isn't) and I will have to take more leave. He's been grumping to TigerGrrl about the change of plans, getting her all stressed out. Not good.
When I called to confirm that they were home and to make sure they would be by tomorrow morning, he informed me that I was making trouble. I, stupidly, asked him if he were taking his Zyprexa (antipsychotic, for those with less experience -- lucky you! -- with psychotropic drugs than I have). Nothing good happened then. He said if I didn't treat him nicely, he wouldn't bring his daughter to school. I reminded him that we have a legal obligation to make sure our daughter goes to school. He retorted: "If you don't stop being difficult, I'm not bringing her to school."
Well, that will definitely punish me, but you know who will be hurt the most by this? TigerGrrl, that's who. I could just kill that narcissistic and moronic son-of-a-bitch. Slowly.
Good for him I have some self-control and the knowledge that doing that will hurt TigerGrrl and GaahGirl. Especially the me-being-in-prison part. I think I'll go watch Buffy kill some monsters. Yup, that'll help.
Back to School
I'm getting everything ready for TigerGrrl to start her first day back at school. Lots of supplies, lots of things to get ready. Meanwhile, I have a few books that I'm reading now that I'm enjoying, or in the case of Joan Didion, appreciating but not really enjoying (way too depressing). The Last Thing He Wanted by Joan Didion, The Body Artist, by Don Delillo, The Big Money (the first volume of Dos Passos's U.S.A. trilogy), and rereading Stones for Ibarra by Harriet Doerr. It's good to have enough concentration to read. I thought for a while that I would be stuck in genre reading for the rest of my life, and I'm glad to be out of that phase.
Meanwhile, I'm worrying about Innana, whose lovely cat had to be put down last week, and I'm trying to be an organized household manager. I gave away a lot of baby things to a young couple I know and threw away things that are broken and no longer usable. I cleaned out the coat and storage closet and have scrubbed down the bathrooms, and I've been vacuuming. I truly hate wall to wall carpeting and can't wait until the divorce is final and I can arrange my finances permanently and buy a condo. No matter what, it will have hardwood or tile floors. Wall-to-wall carpeting is unpleasant, unsanitary, and even if shampooed regularly, picks up smells and then doesn't let them go. Ugh. I am not a neatnick or a clean freak, but wall-to-wall carpeting just doesn't work. I hate it.
Anyway, there you are. I'm going to go wash my car at SNV's and Ex-Marine Fred's house, gas up the car, stop in at a few open houses, and stop by Innana's. Losing a pet is always hard, and this was a beloved pet.
Meanwhile, I'm worrying about Innana, whose lovely cat had to be put down last week, and I'm trying to be an organized household manager. I gave away a lot of baby things to a young couple I know and threw away things that are broken and no longer usable. I cleaned out the coat and storage closet and have scrubbed down the bathrooms, and I've been vacuuming. I truly hate wall to wall carpeting and can't wait until the divorce is final and I can arrange my finances permanently and buy a condo. No matter what, it will have hardwood or tile floors. Wall-to-wall carpeting is unpleasant, unsanitary, and even if shampooed regularly, picks up smells and then doesn't let them go. Ugh. I am not a neatnick or a clean freak, but wall-to-wall carpeting just doesn't work. I hate it.
Anyway, there you are. I'm going to go wash my car at SNV's and Ex-Marine Fred's house, gas up the car, stop in at a few open houses, and stop by Innana's. Losing a pet is always hard, and this was a beloved pet.
August 24, 2006
Seven Ways Of Realizing You Really Haven't Read Enough Literature and Have Wasted Your Life
No, no, no. Not you. Me. I just finished Seven Types of Ambiguity by Elliott Perlman and now feel like the least well read college-educated woman on the planet. I didn't even know Doctorow's Ragtime is considered derivative of Dos Passos's USA. I haven't ever read USA. When first reading the book, I thought the work whose title Perlman borrows from Empson that I have never read, and I just about fell into a deep shame spiral.
And I loved this book. Insight and people's lack thereof, my theme for this year. This book speaks to me. Obsessive love, mental illness, over-identification, the commodification of the male sex drive and the corresponding devaluation of the female sex drive*, and the compromises that people make in and out of marriage, the things people will do do keep others close or imagine that others are close. I don't even know where the whole thing begins and ends. Of course, spoiler alert, I desperately want Sam and Rachael to reconnect, but even though the book ends with that unsettled, I'll hazard that any writer who would let the annoying Anna** and the truly buggy-wiggy-batshit delusional Simon connect again (without explaining at all how this unlikely event could come to pass*** or how Simon gets a handle on reality after a decade of depressive obsessing and navel gazing while being a drain on society) would imagine that Sam and Rachael acknowledge the trueness of their, at least briefly, mutual love or crush or whatever it is.
But the shifting perspectives, even the ones that don't work so well (see Anna and Angelique, at ** below) really do make for a fascinating story (no, I'm not going to get all literary critic on you and call it a "text" or a "narrative" -- I don't know about them, but I still read stories and enjoy them -- I enjoyed this one immensely).
Truly, I could not put his book down, and now feel impelled to write about it. Enough so that I stopped reading the book at 3:15 a.m. and I not writing this post at 3:51 a.m.
Of course, the girls are still out of town with PdeFF, and that may be part of it. Sleep. But there are so many books to read.
*Although Perlman actually doesn't seem to get that part.
**And it bugs me that this woman is named Anna, as that is a beloved family name. Anna seems opaque. The two female characters really don't come alive the same way that the men do. Mr. Perlman, I loved this book, but women do not exist simply to love or not love men. We really do have lots of other agendas. But somehow Anna's fuzziness as a character is more annoying than Angela/Angelique.
***Trust me, maybe I simply don't fathom how other women think, but some ex-boyfriend from 10 years ago (or five minutes ago) who turns up and takes a child of mine without permission won't have the chance to beg for forgiveness in the criminal dock if I physically find him first. The idea that this fairly self-interested and rational woman would set aside her instincts to protect her child out of sympathy for the child's kidnapper, whatever connection they had in the past, simply does not ring true.
And I loved this book. Insight and people's lack thereof, my theme for this year. This book speaks to me. Obsessive love, mental illness, over-identification, the commodification of the male sex drive and the corresponding devaluation of the female sex drive*, and the compromises that people make in and out of marriage, the things people will do do keep others close or imagine that others are close. I don't even know where the whole thing begins and ends. Of course, spoiler alert, I desperately want Sam and Rachael to reconnect, but even though the book ends with that unsettled, I'll hazard that any writer who would let the annoying Anna** and the truly buggy-wiggy-batshit delusional Simon connect again (without explaining at all how this unlikely event could come to pass*** or how Simon gets a handle on reality after a decade of depressive obsessing and navel gazing while being a drain on society) would imagine that Sam and Rachael acknowledge the trueness of their, at least briefly, mutual love or crush or whatever it is.
But the shifting perspectives, even the ones that don't work so well (see Anna and Angelique, at ** below) really do make for a fascinating story (no, I'm not going to get all literary critic on you and call it a "text" or a "narrative" -- I don't know about them, but I still read stories and enjoy them -- I enjoyed this one immensely).
Truly, I could not put his book down, and now feel impelled to write about it. Enough so that I stopped reading the book at 3:15 a.m. and I not writing this post at 3:51 a.m.
Of course, the girls are still out of town with PdeFF, and that may be part of it. Sleep. But there are so many books to read.
*Although Perlman actually doesn't seem to get that part.
**And it bugs me that this woman is named Anna, as that is a beloved family name. Anna seems opaque. The two female characters really don't come alive the same way that the men do. Mr. Perlman, I loved this book, but women do not exist simply to love or not love men. We really do have lots of other agendas. But somehow Anna's fuzziness as a character is more annoying than Angela/Angelique.
***Trust me, maybe I simply don't fathom how other women think, but some ex-boyfriend from 10 years ago (or five minutes ago) who turns up and takes a child of mine without permission won't have the chance to beg for forgiveness in the criminal dock if I physically find him first. The idea that this fairly self-interested and rational woman would set aside her instincts to protect her child out of sympathy for the child's kidnapper, whatever connection they had in the past, simply does not ring true.
Insight
One of the key words psychiatrists use to describe the status of the mentally ill people they treat is "insight". PdeFF has minimal insight into his illness. That means he doesn't think he has perceptual problems: the world really is the way he imagines it, it's just everyone else that has the problem. Insight means the person understands that the problem really begins (and ends) internally. But really, lack of insight is pretty much part of the human condition.
Big Grampa has insight problems: it's LOS's fault that he has lost touch with his grandchildren, not his fault for moving to Kamchatka and Mongolia. A number of my depressed friends have insight problems: they're so depressed, therapy would be useless(!) and medication? Why switch -- if it's not working that means nothing will, right? Most of the men I saw before my marriage ended, whose wives didn't understand them, they had insight trouble: nobody understands them, and there's nothing they could do about it (right . . .).
I worry about my own insight into my own motivations or the complete lack thereof. Part of that is that 13 years of marriage plus and additional 3 years with PdeFF on his own private reality island have left me quite dubious about my own judgment, self-evaluation, and ability to gauge others in just about every aspect of life. Hence my delayed reaction to the annoying woman who didn't want me to read aloud to my daughter, to Dramatiste (the loud woman who talked about confidential stuff on the bus), and other incidents.
I want to trust my own judgment without being so certain that I start viewing the world through preconceived notions rather than actually trying to figure out what's goihng on. Oh, I'm too tired to tackle this now. Maybe I'll revisit this later.
Big Grampa has insight problems: it's LOS's fault that he has lost touch with his grandchildren, not his fault for moving to Kamchatka and Mongolia. A number of my depressed friends have insight problems: they're so depressed, therapy would be useless(!) and medication? Why switch -- if it's not working that means nothing will, right? Most of the men I saw before my marriage ended, whose wives didn't understand them, they had insight trouble: nobody understands them, and there's nothing they could do about it (right . . .).
I worry about my own insight into my own motivations or the complete lack thereof. Part of that is that 13 years of marriage plus and additional 3 years with PdeFF on his own private reality island have left me quite dubious about my own judgment, self-evaluation, and ability to gauge others in just about every aspect of life. Hence my delayed reaction to the annoying woman who didn't want me to read aloud to my daughter, to Dramatiste (the loud woman who talked about confidential stuff on the bus), and other incidents.
I want to trust my own judgment without being so certain that I start viewing the world through preconceived notions rather than actually trying to figure out what's goihng on. Oh, I'm too tired to tackle this now. Maybe I'll revisit this later.
August 23, 2006
My Girls
I spoke with TigerGrrl earlier this evening. She is having a nice second summer vacation, although her little friend is "having a tantrum." TG isn't. No sirree. She's too big a girl for that. Only four days until my girls come home to me. I'll get myself busy in the meantime, but I miss them.
Stop the Presses or Bait and Switch
Yes, last night I had a date. A blind date, fixed up by a colleague.
It went well. I have no horror stories to share. I have no criticisms to make. And no, I did not boink the guy, either.
I had a pleasant, civilized evening with an adult human being who was attractive (he would be more attractive to Innana, he has a beard) and able to carry on a conversation. And he has Scandinavian forbears.
I felt a bit disingenuous when I reached for my wallet when the bill came, but he insisted that he had invited me, and it was his treat. Of course, being as broke as I am (I had the money for my share, but really didn't want to spend it: that would buy a book for TigerGrrl as well as some nice cheese and a bottle of wine for my home), I did not offer to pay a second time. My feminist self made "you're being a hypocrite" noises in my head, but then I remember PdeFF who was always to willing to have me pay for everything, so I put my wallet back in my purse and let Mr. Pleasant, Intelligent, and Non-Egotistical Attorney in Private Practice (MPI&NEAPP -- a Mr., not a my, because really, this may be a first and only date) treat.
Now, I didn't feel any cosmic connection. I didn't think "He's the one!", but then I never do and I don't expect to feel such things and don't really want to do so. But I had an enjoyable evening that, while I ended it by saying it was time for me to head home, I didn't really want to end.
Now, whether MPR&NEAPP feels any interest in me whatsoever, I don't know. Certainly, I was honest enough about my circumstances that he may very well just say to himself "Pleasant and intelligent woman, but crap, her life is a disaster area! And her kids are SO young!" I mean, really, most men dating a woman my age will expect that if she has kids they'll be ten or older. And this guy is in his late 30s and never married (some long term relationships, but no marriages or divorces) so the idea of getting involved at any level with a woman with small children my be terrifying. And getting involved with an older woman with young children may be just not on.
But who knows. He wasn't trying to sneak away from the table (we just met for drinks). He would have ordered me another glass of wine (I decided that two nice glasses of a nice Blanc de Blancs was as much as I was going to drink with a stranger, even if he came recommended from a co-worker -- see? I have some self-control).
So whatever happens, happens. I have no control over what's going through in his mind, but I enjoyed seeing him, and would see him again if he, having heard a bit about me, still would like to see me. If not, either because he, like most men, is a total romantic (read: crush junkie) and hasn't fallen head over heels in love with me (a shocking concept, I know) or because he is a pagmatist and thinks, rationally, that he could find a woman, any woman, who will come with a lot less trouble and baggage than I do, or for some other, unanticipated reason than I'm not imagining here, no harm, no foul.
We'll see. But it was a nice time.
It went well. I have no horror stories to share. I have no criticisms to make. And no, I did not boink the guy, either.
I had a pleasant, civilized evening with an adult human being who was attractive (he would be more attractive to Innana, he has a beard) and able to carry on a conversation. And he has Scandinavian forbears.
I felt a bit disingenuous when I reached for my wallet when the bill came, but he insisted that he had invited me, and it was his treat. Of course, being as broke as I am (I had the money for my share, but really didn't want to spend it: that would buy a book for TigerGrrl as well as some nice cheese and a bottle of wine for my home), I did not offer to pay a second time. My feminist self made "you're being a hypocrite" noises in my head, but then I remember PdeFF who was always to willing to have me pay for everything, so I put my wallet back in my purse and let Mr. Pleasant, Intelligent, and Non-Egotistical Attorney in Private Practice (MPI&NEAPP -- a Mr., not a my, because really, this may be a first and only date) treat.
Now, I didn't feel any cosmic connection. I didn't think "He's the one!", but then I never do and I don't expect to feel such things and don't really want to do so. But I had an enjoyable evening that, while I ended it by saying it was time for me to head home, I didn't really want to end.
Now, whether MPR&NEAPP feels any interest in me whatsoever, I don't know. Certainly, I was honest enough about my circumstances that he may very well just say to himself "Pleasant and intelligent woman, but crap, her life is a disaster area! And her kids are SO young!" I mean, really, most men dating a woman my age will expect that if she has kids they'll be ten or older. And this guy is in his late 30s and never married (some long term relationships, but no marriages or divorces) so the idea of getting involved at any level with a woman with small children my be terrifying. And getting involved with an older woman with young children may be just not on.
But who knows. He wasn't trying to sneak away from the table (we just met for drinks). He would have ordered me another glass of wine (I decided that two nice glasses of a nice Blanc de Blancs was as much as I was going to drink with a stranger, even if he came recommended from a co-worker -- see? I have some self-control).
So whatever happens, happens. I have no control over what's going through in his mind, but I enjoyed seeing him, and would see him again if he, having heard a bit about me, still would like to see me. If not, either because he, like most men, is a total romantic (read: crush junkie) and hasn't fallen head over heels in love with me (a shocking concept, I know) or because he is a pagmatist and thinks, rationally, that he could find a woman, any woman, who will come with a lot less trouble and baggage than I do, or for some other, unanticipated reason than I'm not imagining here, no harm, no foul.
We'll see. But it was a nice time.
August 22, 2006
Create a Diversion
Years ago, a friend of mine explained that when she was worrying about something she couldn't do anything about, she self-distracted. At the time, I thought this involved wine, or chocolate ice cream or things like that. Now I understand better where she it coming from.
In reality, my real focus isn't a date this evening. Realistic chances of a pleasant evening: 35%. Chances of an amusing story to tell: 37%. Changes of death and destruction: .001%. Chances of meeting someone perfect for me (or at least acceptable and not repusive): 3%. Chances of me appealing to him for whatever reason: 3.5%. Chances of mutual attraction/commen sense/whatever being mutual: 0000000010135%. These are scientic numbers, definitely, which I will explain in more detail at some point.
But I won't be home, brooding, noticing that it's a Tuesday night and my girls should be with me. Tonight, I should be taking the round one and her big sister for a swim where they flirt shamelessly with the lifegard. When we're swimming, I ask G'Girl "Where's your boyfriend?" and she paddles herself (with flotation device that she probably doesn't need, because she looks pretty floatable) over to Alexander, the Eastern European slim hunk of almost-manliness she has decided is the boy for her. And then she looks up at him longingly and says (probably for one the of last times) "Gaah!" in dulcet tones, and simpers shamelessly. Works like a charm for me. He lifts her up, she helps him guard, cooing madly, and I get a coulple laps in. Meanwhile TigerGrrl bosses the young men (the 5-12 age range) around in games of Marco Polo and Monkey in the Middle.
They've only been gone 3 days, and they'll be home on Sunday. So Blind-Date-Bubba tonight is going to have to be mighty charming to supplant the thought of the fun evening I could have been having. But there you are. Misdirection. Gaah.
In reality, my real focus isn't a date this evening. Realistic chances of a pleasant evening: 35%. Chances of an amusing story to tell: 37%. Changes of death and destruction: .001%. Chances of meeting someone perfect for me (or at least acceptable and not repusive): 3%. Chances of me appealing to him for whatever reason: 3.5%. Chances of mutual attraction/commen sense/whatever being mutual: 0000000010135%. These are scientic numbers, definitely, which I will explain in more detail at some point.
But I won't be home, brooding, noticing that it's a Tuesday night and my girls should be with me. Tonight, I should be taking the round one and her big sister for a swim where they flirt shamelessly with the lifegard. When we're swimming, I ask G'Girl "Where's your boyfriend?" and she paddles herself (with flotation device that she probably doesn't need, because she looks pretty floatable) over to Alexander, the Eastern European slim hunk of almost-manliness she has decided is the boy for her. And then she looks up at him longingly and says (probably for one the of last times) "Gaah!" in dulcet tones, and simpers shamelessly. Works like a charm for me. He lifts her up, she helps him guard, cooing madly, and I get a coulple laps in. Meanwhile TigerGrrl bosses the young men (the 5-12 age range) around in games of Marco Polo and Monkey in the Middle.
They've only been gone 3 days, and they'll be home on Sunday. So Blind-Date-Bubba tonight is going to have to be mighty charming to supplant the thought of the fun evening I could have been having. But there you are. Misdirection. Gaah.
August 21, 2006
A Hunk of Burning Love
Well, no, not really. But I have a date tomorrow. A blind date, but a date. A colleague of mine asked if I had started dating again. This question prompted a fit of coughing. I disingenuously said: "My divorce isn't even final yet."* She then gave me a pep talk about "getting back on the horse" which gave me all sorts of improper visions, which I will not detail here. But the flip side of which is, she has a single male friend who is looking for someone.
I was about to say no, and then I remembered, hey, this could be great material for this blog. Never say no to the chance to make fun of a human being in need, that's my motto.
So, tomorrow evening, and a nice bar/restaurant, I'm meeting a lawyer a few years younger than I am. God only knows what he'll think of me. Chances of disaster: middling to high. Chances of a good story? Eminently possible. Since the girls are away right now, I might as well do some mingling. You never know, I could have fun.
Of course, he might launch into a list of his requirements or start quizzing me on my child-bearing capacity or some other retarded thing. I'd give just about anything to read a guy's review of a date with me. I'd probably die of mortification, after I picked myself up off the ground from laughing. Our self-images are so fragile and inaccurate. Who knows how people perceive me. Probably nothing like I think they do.
On the "nothing but fun" front, I'm loving my Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season One DVD. Speaking of hunks of burning love, David Boreanaz is pretty, but in season one he had the emotive range of the spoon I use to stir chocolate sauce. Actually, since it's a wooden spoon and absorbs flavor, that's probably inaccurate. He had the emotive range of my stainless steel salad fork. Yes, he is good looking. But he looks so dumb. Doesn't stop the get-back-on-the-horse thoughts, but even while having them one can't imagine wildly creative or passionate anything.
Clearly, I'm not supposed to be celibate this long, but rushing probably won't improve the situation, so I'll just suck it up. Oh, bad turn of phrase. Bad me. Or, if I'm lucky I'll be bad. I guess I need to get one of the Buffy seasons with Spike (James Marsters, yum, yum, yum). While I don't pick up a strong heterosexual vibe from the man, he certainly can act in a way to give than impression. Season Six (or as more than one wag has dubbed it, Season Sex), that's the ticket. That's what I want for Christmas.
Or I could just, oh, I don't know, read a book?
*Okay, so I left her with the impression that I haven't dated since my separation, which is probably deceptive. But I don't think one has to disclose everything. And I'm pretty sure it will just be the one date. That's just how these things seem to work. Although you never know. It's pretty rare to meet someone I really like and hit it off with, but it's always a chance, and it isn't going to happen if I don't go out and meet people.
I was about to say no, and then I remembered, hey, this could be great material for this blog. Never say no to the chance to make fun of a human being in need, that's my motto.
So, tomorrow evening, and a nice bar/restaurant, I'm meeting a lawyer a few years younger than I am. God only knows what he'll think of me. Chances of disaster: middling to high. Chances of a good story? Eminently possible. Since the girls are away right now, I might as well do some mingling. You never know, I could have fun.
Of course, he might launch into a list of his requirements or start quizzing me on my child-bearing capacity or some other retarded thing. I'd give just about anything to read a guy's review of a date with me. I'd probably die of mortification, after I picked myself up off the ground from laughing. Our self-images are so fragile and inaccurate. Who knows how people perceive me. Probably nothing like I think they do.
On the "nothing but fun" front, I'm loving my Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season One DVD. Speaking of hunks of burning love, David Boreanaz is pretty, but in season one he had the emotive range of the spoon I use to stir chocolate sauce. Actually, since it's a wooden spoon and absorbs flavor, that's probably inaccurate. He had the emotive range of my stainless steel salad fork. Yes, he is good looking. But he looks so dumb. Doesn't stop the get-back-on-the-horse thoughts, but even while having them one can't imagine wildly creative or passionate anything.
Clearly, I'm not supposed to be celibate this long, but rushing probably won't improve the situation, so I'll just suck it up. Oh, bad turn of phrase. Bad me. Or, if I'm lucky I'll be bad. I guess I need to get one of the Buffy seasons with Spike (James Marsters, yum, yum, yum). While I don't pick up a strong heterosexual vibe from the man, he certainly can act in a way to give than impression. Season Six (or as more than one wag has dubbed it, Season Sex), that's the ticket. That's what I want for Christmas.
Or I could just, oh, I don't know, read a book?
*Okay, so I left her with the impression that I haven't dated since my separation, which is probably deceptive. But I don't think one has to disclose everything. And I'm pretty sure it will just be the one date. That's just how these things seem to work. Although you never know. It's pretty rare to meet someone I really like and hit it off with, but it's always a chance, and it isn't going to happen if I don't go out and meet people.
August 20, 2006
Family Values: The Movie
If you haven't seen Little Miss Sunshine, go see it. Not because the lovely Australian actress Toni Collette (of Muriel's Wedding, yum, yum, yum) is in it. Not because Steve Carrell, late of the Daily Show and Forty-Year Old Virgin is in it. Not because Greg Kinnear (of the Daily Show before the truly magnificent Jon Stewart and numerous films) is in it. But because I said so. I loved this sick and disturbing movie.
Basically, the family that pushes a VW van together stays together. Even if the father is a loser bankrupt unsuccessful self-help guru. Even if the suicidal Uncle who was the erstwhile #1 Proust scholar in the U.S. (who does these rankings anyway) who is now down on his luck after losing his lover and professional ranking to some smarmy ne'er-do-well. Even if the older brother hasn't spoken in two years or so. Even if grampa snorts heroin. Basically, this is, as NPR says, a movie about family values. Families like mine. I just loved it.
Of course, this movie deals with the pedophile friendly (even encouraging and pandering) world of little girl beauty contests. And the host of the "Little Miss Sunshine" beauty contest eerily resembles the recently arrested Mr. Karr (who recent confessed to the murder of a child beauty queen, whether he did it or not), which added to the overall creepiness. Sick fuck that I am, I laughed throughout. At the start, at the two guys in their twenties, who separately walked into our theater to watch the movie, obviously by accident or because Snakes on a Plane or The Descent had sold out, but later, just to see the contest organizer get offended by the seven-year old's strip tease act, even after the highly vampy dances of five through ten-year olds wearing more make-up than I ever have in any given year on record (and I'm not opposed to makeup. I'm not granola-y).
Priceless. Of course, this made me think uncharitable thoughts about the Ramsey family, and I'm going to sound more Big Grampa like than ever, but here goes: it is a parent's responsibility to protect children. Setting seven-year olds up as objects of desire is not protecting them. It's pandering them. It's pimping them. Why not have them do strip-teases. Greg Kinnear's character seems like a monster until he, cluelessly (well, he's a guy, after all) is sitting watching the pageant, and you can see him realize: his daughter shouldn't be doing this, no-one's daughter should. Then you love the guy. And the Nietsche-loving brother Dwayne. And the suicidal Uncle. And the little girl, who walks like a little girl with her belly sticking out like an average seven-year old, not like a beauty queen.
A great movie. Remember, help your family push than VW bus. Francesca's family had a very similar VW bus. I don't ever remember pushing it, but I do remember it being parked on a hill in Vermont so that it could start in third by rolling forward and momentum. Nice memories.
Basically, the family that pushes a VW van together stays together. Even if the father is a loser bankrupt unsuccessful self-help guru. Even if the suicidal Uncle who was the erstwhile #1 Proust scholar in the U.S. (who does these rankings anyway) who is now down on his luck after losing his lover and professional ranking to some smarmy ne'er-do-well. Even if the older brother hasn't spoken in two years or so. Even if grampa snorts heroin. Basically, this is, as NPR says, a movie about family values. Families like mine. I just loved it.
Of course, this movie deals with the pedophile friendly (even encouraging and pandering) world of little girl beauty contests. And the host of the "Little Miss Sunshine" beauty contest eerily resembles the recently arrested Mr. Karr (who recent confessed to the murder of a child beauty queen, whether he did it or not), which added to the overall creepiness. Sick fuck that I am, I laughed throughout. At the start, at the two guys in their twenties, who separately walked into our theater to watch the movie, obviously by accident or because Snakes on a Plane or The Descent had sold out, but later, just to see the contest organizer get offended by the seven-year old's strip tease act, even after the highly vampy dances of five through ten-year olds wearing more make-up than I ever have in any given year on record (and I'm not opposed to makeup. I'm not granola-y).
Priceless. Of course, this made me think uncharitable thoughts about the Ramsey family, and I'm going to sound more Big Grampa like than ever, but here goes: it is a parent's responsibility to protect children. Setting seven-year olds up as objects of desire is not protecting them. It's pandering them. It's pimping them. Why not have them do strip-teases. Greg Kinnear's character seems like a monster until he, cluelessly (well, he's a guy, after all) is sitting watching the pageant, and you can see him realize: his daughter shouldn't be doing this, no-one's daughter should. Then you love the guy. And the Nietsche-loving brother Dwayne. And the suicidal Uncle. And the little girl, who walks like a little girl with her belly sticking out like an average seven-year old, not like a beauty queen.
A great movie. Remember, help your family push than VW bus. Francesca's family had a very similar VW bus. I don't ever remember pushing it, but I do remember it being parked on a hill in Vermont so that it could start in third by rolling forward and momentum. Nice memories.
Good Day Yesterday/Good Day Today
Well, I talked with Willow, and I think we'll be okay. We'll see. Meanwhile, I'm having a great weekend. PdeFF had the great good sense to have the girls call me when they got to the Adirondacks to let me know everyone arrived safe and sound. That's a good sign, and TigerGrrl sounded all pleased with herself.
Yesterday morning, I went to Price Club (oh, now it's called Costco, but I don't change with the times . . . it's been Costco for ten years, but its still PriceClub to me) and loaded up on diapers (GaahGirl's going to get acquainted with toilet training really, really soon), babywipes, and other goodies. I got some T-bone steaks (luxury!) really inexpensively and I'm going to do a barbecue tonight. I got TigerGrrl a globe, which she has been wanting. It's never to early to instill a love of maps in a kid. And, since the DVD is working (sound and all) I got season 1 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer ($15). Now I have to really watch my pennies for the rest of the month, but I never saw the whole first season, so this should be very enjoyable.
After PriceClub, I went to SNV's and Ex-Marine Freds, and put my perishables in their refrigerator while SNV and I walked to Mancini's, where Innana joined us for a coffee and pastry (well, I had a coffee and pastry: SNV had a bagel and Innana had they yummy Mancini's quesadilla). Then we browsed through the Del Ray antique and consignment stores, including one where Laura Bush often shops. Let me just get all upper-crusty, preppy, NQOKD-y, and FoilMormor's daughtery and say: just because junk is old doesn't make it anything other than junk. And no, old adverstisements and marketing devices? Not valuable artifacts in my book. No, no, no. My 1957 Hans Wehner Danish Modern table and chairs? That's nice, classic and valuable. It was a wedding present to FoilMormor in 1958 from a relative in Denmark, and she gave it to me when she married the second mate (thinking that wedding presents from her first marriage probably shouldn't dominate the dining room of her second marriage). My Queen Anne card table from the 1700s from my Mormor, FoilMormor's mother? A real antique: beautiful, valuable, and full of family history (I learned to play bridge on that card table, not that I play it well). Some badly made veneer wood furniture in a fussy style in the "antique" store? Just plane a wast of money and space.
Feeling superior, I bought a little cheese (rosemary manchego, which is actually yummy, and mordier, which is also yummy). Innana went back to her place and SNV and I snuck away (to discuss Innana's upcoming 28th (*cough*) birthday, among other things). I sat and petted SNVs cats, Trudi and Lucy (a redhead), and listened to Fred expound on TigerGrrl's golfing potential. Apparently, she has good focus and will probably have a good drive when she is older.
Fred then took SNV and me out for dinner, and we sat outside and gossiped in a desultory fashion about people at Fred's and Innana's office, weapons sales, a guy who went to jail on bribery charges, and the new Swedish Embassy, which a Swedish friend showed off to SNV. It's right on the water in Georgetown. Nice.
Today, Innana and I are going to go see Little Miss Sunshine, and I'm looking forward to that. Also, since Innana doesn't like surprise parties, I have to get her permission to throw a party for her. Mr. Studmuffin is travelling at the end of September: the key date is September 27, also the anniversary of me living on my own again. Clearly an auspicious day.
Maybe I can entice Innana to stay for a nice steak barbecue. I also have artichokes -- I really did go beserk yesterday. Or maybe ran amok. But amok is of Tagalog derivation, whereas beserk is Norse, so I probably went beserk. It's too hot outside. I got spoiled by the New England summer day-like weather last weekend. Now the weather is back in form. Oh well. At least I'll be in an air conditioned movie theater.
Yesterday morning, I went to Price Club (oh, now it's called Costco, but I don't change with the times . . . it's been Costco for ten years, but its still PriceClub to me) and loaded up on diapers (GaahGirl's going to get acquainted with toilet training really, really soon), babywipes, and other goodies. I got some T-bone steaks (luxury!) really inexpensively and I'm going to do a barbecue tonight. I got TigerGrrl a globe, which she has been wanting. It's never to early to instill a love of maps in a kid. And, since the DVD is working (sound and all) I got season 1 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer ($15). Now I have to really watch my pennies for the rest of the month, but I never saw the whole first season, so this should be very enjoyable.
After PriceClub, I went to SNV's and Ex-Marine Freds, and put my perishables in their refrigerator while SNV and I walked to Mancini's, where Innana joined us for a coffee and pastry (well, I had a coffee and pastry: SNV had a bagel and Innana had they yummy Mancini's quesadilla). Then we browsed through the Del Ray antique and consignment stores, including one where Laura Bush often shops. Let me just get all upper-crusty, preppy, NQOKD-y, and FoilMormor's daughtery and say: just because junk is old doesn't make it anything other than junk. And no, old adverstisements and marketing devices? Not valuable artifacts in my book. No, no, no. My 1957 Hans Wehner Danish Modern table and chairs? That's nice, classic and valuable. It was a wedding present to FoilMormor in 1958 from a relative in Denmark, and she gave it to me when she married the second mate (thinking that wedding presents from her first marriage probably shouldn't dominate the dining room of her second marriage). My Queen Anne card table from the 1700s from my Mormor, FoilMormor's mother? A real antique: beautiful, valuable, and full of family history (I learned to play bridge on that card table, not that I play it well). Some badly made veneer wood furniture in a fussy style in the "antique" store? Just plane a wast of money and space.
Feeling superior, I bought a little cheese (rosemary manchego, which is actually yummy, and mordier, which is also yummy). Innana went back to her place and SNV and I snuck away (to discuss Innana's upcoming 28th (*cough*) birthday, among other things). I sat and petted SNVs cats, Trudi and Lucy (a redhead), and listened to Fred expound on TigerGrrl's golfing potential. Apparently, she has good focus and will probably have a good drive when she is older.
Fred then took SNV and me out for dinner, and we sat outside and gossiped in a desultory fashion about people at Fred's and Innana's office, weapons sales, a guy who went to jail on bribery charges, and the new Swedish Embassy, which a Swedish friend showed off to SNV. It's right on the water in Georgetown. Nice.
Today, Innana and I are going to go see Little Miss Sunshine, and I'm looking forward to that. Also, since Innana doesn't like surprise parties, I have to get her permission to throw a party for her. Mr. Studmuffin is travelling at the end of September: the key date is September 27, also the anniversary of me living on my own again. Clearly an auspicious day.
Maybe I can entice Innana to stay for a nice steak barbecue. I also have artichokes -- I really did go beserk yesterday. Or maybe ran amok. But amok is of Tagalog derivation, whereas beserk is Norse, so I probably went beserk. It's too hot outside. I got spoiled by the New England summer day-like weather last weekend. Now the weather is back in form. Oh well. At least I'll be in an air conditioned movie theater.
August 18, 2006
Genetics and Regret
The things that bother me most about other people are actually the things I worry about about myself. It's so true it's a cliche. Big Grampa being judgmental is nothing on me.
About fifteen years ago Mr. Movie and I stopped being friends for a while because I got impatient with him. Twenty years ago Innana and I had a hiatus in our friendship for about a year for reasons that will not be detailed here, but you can be assured that it was all my fault.
Again, I am threatened with losing a valued friend through impatience and lack of empathy. And this is a friend who has been a good friend to me. Willow is more cerebral, more diffident, and more prone to self-doubt than I am, and she analyzes things way too much (that's not a bad thing, and the "too much" description means "too much for me" not "too much in reality" or at least that's probably the truth). This last year, Willow has been there for me, and been supportive, but for the last few months things have been getting tense.
Part of this is because Willow is prone to depression yet doesn't seem to be able to find a medicine that works. So she stays depressed. And I like to cheer people up, but this last year, I haven't had a lot of extra cheer to spread around. It's gotten so that I dread asking "How are you" because I'll hear the inevitable sigh "Sigh. I'm okay. Sigh." Today I called at work to see if we could get together. I wanted to do a quick in and out (slam-bam-thank you Ma'am would be the best analogy) call, connect, make plans, put down the phone, and then get back to work. Somehow, there had to be a discussion, and I voiced impatience. It's funny, I think at times like this I really am Scandinavian. Nordic types have short, directive phone calls: "Shall we meet for dinner?" "Yes. I want to go to Jaleo." "I'd prefer Zaytinya." "What about Drinx." "They serve alchohol, so that's good." "See you at 7." "7:30, let's allow for traffic." "See you then." "Bye."
As opposed to the Spanish/American/Mediterranean/Girltalk approach: "Hi, how are you?" "I'm okay. I was just finishing up some stuff. Nothing to do at work, so I'm reorganizing my address book and synching up my blackberry contacts and my cell phone contacts." "Do you like blackberries? I've still got a palm, but really, now that my cell has address book capability, I don't really need a PDA." "Oh, I love a PDA." [Conversation continues for 25 minutes, running through fashion in Glamour, movies playing, friends, and other topics.] After 25 minutes, the caller says: "I was wondering if you might want to get together this weekend?" "Well, what are you thinking of doing?" "What do you want to do?" (What about just saying: Let's go to lunch" or "let's go to a museum" and then the other person can respond?)
I'm just not wired for long fluffy phone conversations. I used to be able to do these sorts of chats, although I never enjoyed them. I understood them to be a requirement for friendship with a female (guys don't care, and I don't just mean guys who might want to have sex with me, I mean any guy who might want to get together: he'll want to make the plan and then, thank you, get off the phone). Since the FoilKids arrival on the scene, my diminished energy level, and diminished emotional resources (really, they're reserved for my daughters, who pretty much drain them like the little vampires that they are), I simply can't maintain lengthy phone friendships. I'd rather make the plan to meet and then meet. I offend much less in person than telephonically. Someone relying on the telephone to retain contact with me is really not seeing me at my best. I like to actually see the person with whom I am speaking, particular if actual sharing is going on.*
But back to Willow. She's a wonderful person, and cares for me a lot. I care for her a lot, too. I love her and think she loves me. Yet I'm not able to be loving toward her in the manner than she needs. Whenever I try to get off the phone, I feel guilty. I know she's aware of my growing telephone antipathy, and I can sense her trying to end the phone calls, but they still mostly end when I say "Well, I've got to run" and then cringe, guiltily. Except tonight, when she said something like: "I don't want to have this conversation now. I'm getting of the phone now." Which must have been hard for her, with her good manners, and to which I say "Bravo! You go girl."
Except she was really mad and hurt at my behavior. She'd called to make plans for next week (after talking this afternoon, she said she'd call me with some ideas for after work museums on Thursday). We made our plans, and then she started telling me about a confrontation in which she yelled at someone. This is uncharacteristic of her, and I actually felt very cheered by hearing this. If someone misbehaved and she called them on it, good for her. Except I somehow missed the subtext. She wanted to talk about her lack of control and was embarrassed about getting mad. I didn't want to do a play by play of the interactions leading up to the confrontation.** I said "You got Someone to quiet down, right? Not a problem."
Willow told me that I'm getting too irritable (true) and that I'm missing the point of whatever she says, and I responded with some stupid comment about overanalyzing (true from my frame of reference outside of the exception of this blog, where everything, but everything, gets overanalyzed), which resulted in the end of our conversation.
There's a subtext that I can't really describe, that I know I'm supposed to agree or go along with the play-by-play analysis of social minutiae (hey, I'm doing it now, that's for damn sure), but I just don't have the energy. I don't want to be a bad friend, but I'm not the right person for that kind of conversation. Talk to me about HOW to make someone shut up, or how to follow up the yelling with a good uppercut or left jab. I'll wax eloquent. Otherwise, I'm stymied.
Clearly, I'm missing some need or cue or comment (this would work better in person than it does over the phone, but that's moot at this point). I don't want to lose this friendship or diminish it, yet it's already feeling diminished.
Part of me is just plain old worried. Willow's medicine clearly isn't working, her doctor is just not trying new stuff, and there's no counselor in the picture. I can't do the talk therapy stuff right now. I'd like to, but (1) I'm wildly untrained, (2) I'm impatient and biased, and (3) I don't have the energy. I feel like I'm letting someone down, and while normally I would say "I'll do more, I'll do better" right now I don't know if I have more and better in me. It doesn't feel that way, anyway. Partly I feel guilty because I'm spending so much energy staving off my own depression (thank you Zoloft) that I have nothing to spare for someone else's. At the same time I feel a bit resentful (and selfish): Willow knows the burdens I'm trying to carry right now, and yet I still sense this expectation that I will step in. And still I feel like I should, but that's the impulse that got me into all the trouble I was in with PdeFF (the "I'll fix it for you, honey" impulse). I'm staying away from that behavior pattern: I hope I can find a way to respond and be supportive that is within my emotional resource means. I don't like feeling selfish, and I don't like the evoluation of Willow and my friendship.
Anyway, me: Giving Big Grampa a run for his money in the insensitivity stakes.
*Which reminds me of the Seinfeld motto: "No hugging, no sharing, no growing." Yup, I didn't watch the show, but that suited me.
**My analysis of the fight: Someone wouldn't keep quiet and talked in a very loud voice while Willow was on the phone at work; after trying to get Someone to quiet down quietly, Willow yelled: "Could you shut up, Someone, I'm on the PHONE!" Someone, who wouldn't keep quiet, deserved to be yelled at***. After this, Someone shut the fuck up. Problem solved, no?
***Willow yelling would be like me talking in a whisper, most likely, but let's take it as a given that it was an actual yell.
About fifteen years ago Mr. Movie and I stopped being friends for a while because I got impatient with him. Twenty years ago Innana and I had a hiatus in our friendship for about a year for reasons that will not be detailed here, but you can be assured that it was all my fault.
Again, I am threatened with losing a valued friend through impatience and lack of empathy. And this is a friend who has been a good friend to me. Willow is more cerebral, more diffident, and more prone to self-doubt than I am, and she analyzes things way too much (that's not a bad thing, and the "too much" description means "too much for me" not "too much in reality" or at least that's probably the truth). This last year, Willow has been there for me, and been supportive, but for the last few months things have been getting tense.
Part of this is because Willow is prone to depression yet doesn't seem to be able to find a medicine that works. So she stays depressed. And I like to cheer people up, but this last year, I haven't had a lot of extra cheer to spread around. It's gotten so that I dread asking "How are you" because I'll hear the inevitable sigh "Sigh. I'm okay. Sigh." Today I called at work to see if we could get together. I wanted to do a quick in and out (slam-bam-thank you Ma'am would be the best analogy) call, connect, make plans, put down the phone, and then get back to work. Somehow, there had to be a discussion, and I voiced impatience. It's funny, I think at times like this I really am Scandinavian. Nordic types have short, directive phone calls: "Shall we meet for dinner?" "Yes. I want to go to Jaleo." "I'd prefer Zaytinya." "What about Drinx." "They serve alchohol, so that's good." "See you at 7." "7:30, let's allow for traffic." "See you then." "Bye."
As opposed to the Spanish/American/Mediterranean/Girltalk approach: "Hi, how are you?" "I'm okay. I was just finishing up some stuff. Nothing to do at work, so I'm reorganizing my address book and synching up my blackberry contacts and my cell phone contacts." "Do you like blackberries? I've still got a palm, but really, now that my cell has address book capability, I don't really need a PDA." "Oh, I love a PDA." [Conversation continues for 25 minutes, running through fashion in Glamour, movies playing, friends, and other topics.] After 25 minutes, the caller says: "I was wondering if you might want to get together this weekend?" "Well, what are you thinking of doing?" "What do you want to do?" (What about just saying: Let's go to lunch" or "let's go to a museum" and then the other person can respond?)
I'm just not wired for long fluffy phone conversations. I used to be able to do these sorts of chats, although I never enjoyed them. I understood them to be a requirement for friendship with a female (guys don't care, and I don't just mean guys who might want to have sex with me, I mean any guy who might want to get together: he'll want to make the plan and then, thank you, get off the phone). Since the FoilKids arrival on the scene, my diminished energy level, and diminished emotional resources (really, they're reserved for my daughters, who pretty much drain them like the little vampires that they are), I simply can't maintain lengthy phone friendships. I'd rather make the plan to meet and then meet. I offend much less in person than telephonically. Someone relying on the telephone to retain contact with me is really not seeing me at my best. I like to actually see the person with whom I am speaking, particular if actual sharing is going on.*
But back to Willow. She's a wonderful person, and cares for me a lot. I care for her a lot, too. I love her and think she loves me. Yet I'm not able to be loving toward her in the manner than she needs. Whenever I try to get off the phone, I feel guilty. I know she's aware of my growing telephone antipathy, and I can sense her trying to end the phone calls, but they still mostly end when I say "Well, I've got to run" and then cringe, guiltily. Except tonight, when she said something like: "I don't want to have this conversation now. I'm getting of the phone now." Which must have been hard for her, with her good manners, and to which I say "Bravo! You go girl."
Except she was really mad and hurt at my behavior. She'd called to make plans for next week (after talking this afternoon, she said she'd call me with some ideas for after work museums on Thursday). We made our plans, and then she started telling me about a confrontation in which she yelled at someone. This is uncharacteristic of her, and I actually felt very cheered by hearing this. If someone misbehaved and she called them on it, good for her. Except I somehow missed the subtext. She wanted to talk about her lack of control and was embarrassed about getting mad. I didn't want to do a play by play of the interactions leading up to the confrontation.** I said "You got Someone to quiet down, right? Not a problem."
Willow told me that I'm getting too irritable (true) and that I'm missing the point of whatever she says, and I responded with some stupid comment about overanalyzing (true from my frame of reference outside of the exception of this blog, where everything, but everything, gets overanalyzed), which resulted in the end of our conversation.
There's a subtext that I can't really describe, that I know I'm supposed to agree or go along with the play-by-play analysis of social minutiae (hey, I'm doing it now, that's for damn sure), but I just don't have the energy. I don't want to be a bad friend, but I'm not the right person for that kind of conversation. Talk to me about HOW to make someone shut up, or how to follow up the yelling with a good uppercut or left jab. I'll wax eloquent. Otherwise, I'm stymied.
Clearly, I'm missing some need or cue or comment (this would work better in person than it does over the phone, but that's moot at this point). I don't want to lose this friendship or diminish it, yet it's already feeling diminished.
Part of me is just plain old worried. Willow's medicine clearly isn't working, her doctor is just not trying new stuff, and there's no counselor in the picture. I can't do the talk therapy stuff right now. I'd like to, but (1) I'm wildly untrained, (2) I'm impatient and biased, and (3) I don't have the energy. I feel like I'm letting someone down, and while normally I would say "I'll do more, I'll do better" right now I don't know if I have more and better in me. It doesn't feel that way, anyway. Partly I feel guilty because I'm spending so much energy staving off my own depression (thank you Zoloft) that I have nothing to spare for someone else's. At the same time I feel a bit resentful (and selfish): Willow knows the burdens I'm trying to carry right now, and yet I still sense this expectation that I will step in. And still I feel like I should, but that's the impulse that got me into all the trouble I was in with PdeFF (the "I'll fix it for you, honey" impulse). I'm staying away from that behavior pattern: I hope I can find a way to respond and be supportive that is within my emotional resource means. I don't like feeling selfish, and I don't like the evoluation of Willow and my friendship.
Anyway, me: Giving Big Grampa a run for his money in the insensitivity stakes.
*Which reminds me of the Seinfeld motto: "No hugging, no sharing, no growing." Yup, I didn't watch the show, but that suited me.
**My analysis of the fight: Someone wouldn't keep quiet and talked in a very loud voice while Willow was on the phone at work; after trying to get Someone to quiet down quietly, Willow yelled: "Could you shut up, Someone, I'm on the PHONE!" Someone, who wouldn't keep quiet, deserved to be yelled at***. After this, Someone shut the fuck up. Problem solved, no?
***Willow yelling would be like me talking in a whisper, most likely, but let's take it as a given that it was an actual yell.
A Little More About Big Grampa
I feel very guilty for having complained about my father. So let me list some very real positives: he put me through college, he's helped me out financially this year, when he divorced FoilMormor, he waited until she was through law school (which he paid for) and had passed the bar. He's very loyal, and has a strong sense of duty, even when he's emotionally on Pluto. He really loves the FoilKids. Really, really. He's an enthusiastic participant, at age 68, of childhood sports. And he fixed the DVD player so the FoilKids can watch the Wiggles tapes (actually, that's just the GaahGirl now) and Dora the Explorer and DVDs with sound. Off to work now.
August 17, 2006
Too Much Happening, Too Little Time
But I'll have a week to myself (the girls are visiting friends with PdeFF, and yes, I am nervous as heck about that, but the friends being visited are good and reliable), and maybe I'll even get caught up with library books (and fines!) and stuff like that. In the meantime, here goes:
NSLOS's two surgeries were deemed by her surgeon to be "complete successes." However, the last three before these two were also declared successes, the last of which left her with excruciating pain for twenty years, so, who knows? But she's moving around, not paralyzed (a definite risk), and apparently the spinal blockage was removed and the pressure alleviated. Oh, and they replaced the two Harrington rods in her spine, refused her vertebrae (including some that had been fused in the mid-80s, but never actually healed).
Now NSLOS is in a rehabilitation hospital for recovery, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed. It's her (and LOS's -- they're twins) birthday today, August 17th, and maybe her 48th year will be less pain filled than the last 30 or so.
Big Grampa came to visit to wild acclaim from TigerGrrl and GaahGirl. TG showed her Grampa how well she swims, how well she bikes (well, we still have to hold her on the bike, but hey), and how well she golfs. Ex-Marine Fred took Big Grampa and TG to a public golf course and TG got to drive the golf cart. I do believe everyone on the golf course was in dire danger.
My visit with Big Grampa was good. He can be very judgmental, particularly of women, so there was a lot of strain. He has made plenty of mistakes in his life (haven't we all?), but while he always wants other people to view him with understanding, he is quite fierce and harsh in his judgments of others, particularly women.
Big Grampa and LOS had a severe falling out (due to some rather bad behavior of Big Grampa, I might add) for a number of years, and he insists that LOS has "denied his access to his grandchildren"). The reality is that Big Grampa moved to a very remote part of the world (now he lives in Western Europe, but for a while, he might as well have been living in Mongolia -- actually he was there for a while) while he and LOS were estranged. Her kids don't know him because he moved away. So I got to hear a great deal about how mistreated he feels.
I love my father and feel sympathy for him, but he can be so tone deaf. During LOS's college years, NSLOS (LOS's twin) was falling apart and Big Grampa and FoilMormor were involved in a much more hate-filled divorce than my own (broken crockery, attacks with sharp objects, screams, embarrassing scenes in restaurants) and LOS lived a fairly not-very-surprisingly self-medicating life of drinking, drugs, partying, and boys. Big Grampa refers to this as LOS "whoring around" (???) and has other great comments to make about women who -- gasp -- appear to be sexually active.
So there was some discomfort as I listened to this, thinking "Um, probably not going to tell you this Dad, but women, unless the guy (or gal if they're gay) is doing something wrong, should like and want sex. Should we apologize?"
Obviously, issues galore here.
Oh, and he also went on at length about the sad, pathetic lives of people who, get this: Make friends on the Internet! Apparently this is a sign that there is something deeply wrong with that person. So: everyone who has ever written me a kind email, met me on vacation, called me, sent my girls things, helped me, or otherwise been supportive and friendly (and those of you who just read and feel some connection), I guess you and I are losers? I don't think so.
It's hard when someone you love is mean or stupid about stuff, and while Big Grampa is a wonderful grandfather to my girls, and is very helpful to me right now, he can be a jerk. He's lost touch with LOS's boys through his own actions (going to Kamchatka and Mongolia would really be actions that would tend to isolate one from one's grandchildren) and can't see that. It's her fault. And then all the needing to judge other people, all the time. Sometimes a harsh judgment is necessary, but most of the time, a little compassion and understanding goes a long way.
He also comments on how amazing it is to him that I have such nice friends that I've had for such a long time: Francesca (known since I was 14), Innana (known since I was 23), SNV (24), Mr. Studmuffin (24), Mr. Movie (25), the Professor (26), Lourdes (31), Lt. Col. Katie (31), Ex-Marine Fred (more than ten years, but I don't remember when he showed up on the scene on SNV's arm). It astounds me that this surprises him. I've made good friends, I know they are good friends, I try to stay connected. What's the mystery there? Yet it tells me how disconnected he has been from his life and the knowledge of how to retain ties with people.
The "Internet is for Losers" comment really got me thinking about writing and my hopes and ambitions. Yes, I hope to be published one day. No, I am not a successful writer. No, most people I know who blog a lot either are (1) paid to do it, or (2) aren't, and aren't super-successful in their careers. I mean, Bill Gates: I don't think he blogs. David Sedaris probably doesn't blog. Isaac Stern, Kathleen Battle: If they blog, it's for professional promotion. And no, I should use blog as a verb instead of writing "write a blog", but we'll just stick with the verbification of a non-word nounish sort of thing anyway.
This is a diary, of sorts, where I can get feedback, and for a while it almost was my life. Now I'm slowing down a bit as the crisis of the end of my marriage slowly resolves itself. But this serves a purpose, even if this doesn't lead to success in any material result. I definitely feel more connected to my own thoughts and recognize behavior patterns and problems more easily as I write about them.
Does it have to have a purpose? And the connections made through writing don't seem the least bit pathetic to me. I am amazed at the kindness and generosity people have shown me (Prom, Benny, Kira, Cookie, I'm looking at you) during a crisis period in my life. I just don't see anything there about which to be ashamed.
I may, at some point, regret writing some of the things I have, but the process of writing them and continuing to write them helps me. I realize that I woke up at 2 a.m. today, unable to go back to sleep mulling over some of Big Grampa's choicer misogynistic comments and wondering how to process them and what to do about it. I still don't know, but I'm thinking about it. He's a great grandfather while the girls are little, but as teenagers, well, I have concerns. Of course, as long as he lives on another continent, even Europe, exposure is pretty intermittent. I do love him, and I don't expect him to be flawless. I'm pretty sure I can figure out a way to handle him/minimize the hurtfulness of his blitheringly stupid comments (at times)/whatever, but that will take some review and thought. Which, natch, I will pathetically do right here. I'm a loser.
NSLOS's two surgeries were deemed by her surgeon to be "complete successes." However, the last three before these two were also declared successes, the last of which left her with excruciating pain for twenty years, so, who knows? But she's moving around, not paralyzed (a definite risk), and apparently the spinal blockage was removed and the pressure alleviated. Oh, and they replaced the two Harrington rods in her spine, refused her vertebrae (including some that had been fused in the mid-80s, but never actually healed).
Now NSLOS is in a rehabilitation hospital for recovery, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed. It's her (and LOS's -- they're twins) birthday today, August 17th, and maybe her 48th year will be less pain filled than the last 30 or so.
Big Grampa came to visit to wild acclaim from TigerGrrl and GaahGirl. TG showed her Grampa how well she swims, how well she bikes (well, we still have to hold her on the bike, but hey), and how well she golfs. Ex-Marine Fred took Big Grampa and TG to a public golf course and TG got to drive the golf cart. I do believe everyone on the golf course was in dire danger.
My visit with Big Grampa was good. He can be very judgmental, particularly of women, so there was a lot of strain. He has made plenty of mistakes in his life (haven't we all?), but while he always wants other people to view him with understanding, he is quite fierce and harsh in his judgments of others, particularly women.
Big Grampa and LOS had a severe falling out (due to some rather bad behavior of Big Grampa, I might add) for a number of years, and he insists that LOS has "denied his access to his grandchildren"). The reality is that Big Grampa moved to a very remote part of the world (now he lives in Western Europe, but for a while, he might as well have been living in Mongolia -- actually he was there for a while) while he and LOS were estranged. Her kids don't know him because he moved away. So I got to hear a great deal about how mistreated he feels.
I love my father and feel sympathy for him, but he can be so tone deaf. During LOS's college years, NSLOS (LOS's twin) was falling apart and Big Grampa and FoilMormor were involved in a much more hate-filled divorce than my own (broken crockery, attacks with sharp objects, screams, embarrassing scenes in restaurants) and LOS lived a fairly not-very-surprisingly self-medicating life of drinking, drugs, partying, and boys. Big Grampa refers to this as LOS "whoring around" (???) and has other great comments to make about women who -- gasp -- appear to be sexually active.
So there was some discomfort as I listened to this, thinking "Um, probably not going to tell you this Dad, but women, unless the guy (or gal if they're gay) is doing something wrong, should like and want sex. Should we apologize?"
Obviously, issues galore here.
Oh, and he also went on at length about the sad, pathetic lives of people who, get this: Make friends on the Internet! Apparently this is a sign that there is something deeply wrong with that person. So: everyone who has ever written me a kind email, met me on vacation, called me, sent my girls things, helped me, or otherwise been supportive and friendly (and those of you who just read and feel some connection), I guess you and I are losers? I don't think so.
It's hard when someone you love is mean or stupid about stuff, and while Big Grampa is a wonderful grandfather to my girls, and is very helpful to me right now, he can be a jerk. He's lost touch with LOS's boys through his own actions (going to Kamchatka and Mongolia would really be actions that would tend to isolate one from one's grandchildren) and can't see that. It's her fault. And then all the needing to judge other people, all the time. Sometimes a harsh judgment is necessary, but most of the time, a little compassion and understanding goes a long way.
He also comments on how amazing it is to him that I have such nice friends that I've had for such a long time: Francesca (known since I was 14), Innana (known since I was 23), SNV (24), Mr. Studmuffin (24), Mr. Movie (25), the Professor (26), Lourdes (31), Lt. Col. Katie (31), Ex-Marine Fred (more than ten years, but I don't remember when he showed up on the scene on SNV's arm). It astounds me that this surprises him. I've made good friends, I know they are good friends, I try to stay connected. What's the mystery there? Yet it tells me how disconnected he has been from his life and the knowledge of how to retain ties with people.
The "Internet is for Losers" comment really got me thinking about writing and my hopes and ambitions. Yes, I hope to be published one day. No, I am not a successful writer. No, most people I know who blog a lot either are (1) paid to do it, or (2) aren't, and aren't super-successful in their careers. I mean, Bill Gates: I don't think he blogs. David Sedaris probably doesn't blog. Isaac Stern, Kathleen Battle: If they blog, it's for professional promotion. And no, I should use blog as a verb instead of writing "write a blog", but we'll just stick with the verbification of a non-word nounish sort of thing anyway.
This is a diary, of sorts, where I can get feedback, and for a while it almost was my life. Now I'm slowing down a bit as the crisis of the end of my marriage slowly resolves itself. But this serves a purpose, even if this doesn't lead to success in any material result. I definitely feel more connected to my own thoughts and recognize behavior patterns and problems more easily as I write about them.
Does it have to have a purpose? And the connections made through writing don't seem the least bit pathetic to me. I am amazed at the kindness and generosity people have shown me (Prom, Benny, Kira, Cookie, I'm looking at you) during a crisis period in my life. I just don't see anything there about which to be ashamed.
I may, at some point, regret writing some of the things I have, but the process of writing them and continuing to write them helps me. I realize that I woke up at 2 a.m. today, unable to go back to sleep mulling over some of Big Grampa's choicer misogynistic comments and wondering how to process them and what to do about it. I still don't know, but I'm thinking about it. He's a great grandfather while the girls are little, but as teenagers, well, I have concerns. Of course, as long as he lives on another continent, even Europe, exposure is pretty intermittent. I do love him, and I don't expect him to be flawless. I'm pretty sure I can figure out a way to handle him/minimize the hurtfulness of his blitheringly stupid comments (at times)/whatever, but that will take some review and thought. Which, natch, I will pathetically do right here. I'm a loser.
August 11, 2006
About Pain
How people perceive and tolerate pain is fascinating. I'm writing about this right now because NSLOS is undergoing the fifth spinal surgery that she has had in her life. She has had three major (full spine) fusions, including rods, and now all the scar tissue has led to spinal stenosis, a ruptured disc, and impaired function of her nervous system below the stenosis which would, without surgery, result in her being a paraplegic in the near future. The fourth surgery was the first surgery to correct the complications of the first three, where the surgeons attack the stenosis on the inside of the spine, going in throught the abdomen. They've partially (or maybe completely -- sorry Dr. John and Your eminence but these guys are Olympian in their condescension and incomprehensibility) repaired the disc and are now working (probably right now) on opening up the blockage threatening her spinal cord.
NSLOS has spend all of her adult life in physical pain. Horrible physical pain. I haven't. NSLOS is truly a stoic and a Scandinavian. She wants her nurses to be happy. She wants her family not to worry. She wants not to be a bother. Meanwhile, she had trouble getting in and out of bed because it hurts so much.
I remember recovering from my second umbilical hernia (fairly minor surgery, comparatively speaking) and FoilMormor bullying the very nice doctor (and the HMO) into letting me stay in the hospital overnight with the painkiller drip because I was moaning so much.
I remember childbirth with TigerGrrl, thinkin "Oh, I can manage this" and then the real pain hit and I requested an epidural. After the epidural: all better. With GaahGirl, they didn't give me the epidural until two minutes before GaahGirl made her appearance. This was not good.
I remember dislocating my shoulder and not getting the drugs until the doctor had shoved my shoulder back in the socket. LOS tells me that whenever she's dislocated her shoulder (she used to ski competitively and discloated each shoulder a few times during bad falls)) they gave her the happy stuff before the joint reconnection.
What is it about being strong looking (ask Prom if I'm self-deceptive: I'm overweight, and have a large frame, but I think I look healthy, strong, and pretty hale and hearty) people and their perception by pain treaters? LOS is slight, and always gets the drugs. I'm not, and don't. NSLOS, well FoilMormor pulls the Shirley Maclaine in Terms of Endearment scene (I do too, for NSLOS) and despite her large frame and hearty looks (nice rosy complexion, etc.) and makes damn sure all nurses and doctors know to give NSLOS painkillers on demand. Things are better now than they were in 1978, the time of the first surgery. Then painkillers were on a schedule. Now you get a drip and get to dose yourself.
But in '78, with her spine scarred and hurting we had to beg for her. Actually, once FoilMormor grabbed the nurse and said: "You're late with the pain medicine." Nurse said, "I'm busy, I'll be there in a minute." FoilMormor said: "She's moaning now. Unless you want that to be you, walk with me." She did.
I hope NSLOS doesn't hurt too much. I hope the surgery works. I want to get a phone call from FoilMormor telling me that.
NSLOS has spend all of her adult life in physical pain. Horrible physical pain. I haven't. NSLOS is truly a stoic and a Scandinavian. She wants her nurses to be happy. She wants her family not to worry. She wants not to be a bother. Meanwhile, she had trouble getting in and out of bed because it hurts so much.
I remember recovering from my second umbilical hernia (fairly minor surgery, comparatively speaking) and FoilMormor bullying the very nice doctor (and the HMO) into letting me stay in the hospital overnight with the painkiller drip because I was moaning so much.
I remember childbirth with TigerGrrl, thinkin "Oh, I can manage this" and then the real pain hit and I requested an epidural. After the epidural: all better. With GaahGirl, they didn't give me the epidural until two minutes before GaahGirl made her appearance. This was not good.
I remember dislocating my shoulder and not getting the drugs until the doctor had shoved my shoulder back in the socket. LOS tells me that whenever she's dislocated her shoulder (she used to ski competitively and discloated each shoulder a few times during bad falls)) they gave her the happy stuff before the joint reconnection.
What is it about being strong looking (ask Prom if I'm self-deceptive: I'm overweight, and have a large frame, but I think I look healthy, strong, and pretty hale and hearty) people and their perception by pain treaters? LOS is slight, and always gets the drugs. I'm not, and don't. NSLOS, well FoilMormor pulls the Shirley Maclaine in Terms of Endearment scene (I do too, for NSLOS) and despite her large frame and hearty looks (nice rosy complexion, etc.) and makes damn sure all nurses and doctors know to give NSLOS painkillers on demand. Things are better now than they were in 1978, the time of the first surgery. Then painkillers were on a schedule. Now you get a drip and get to dose yourself.
But in '78, with her spine scarred and hurting we had to beg for her. Actually, once FoilMormor grabbed the nurse and said: "You're late with the pain medicine." Nurse said, "I'm busy, I'll be there in a minute." FoilMormor said: "She's moaning now. Unless you want that to be you, walk with me." She did.
I hope NSLOS doesn't hurt too much. I hope the surgery works. I want to get a phone call from FoilMormor telling me that.
August 10, 2006
Brief Update
No real time to post. I have many things to say (about love, about Mr. Movie's 17-year crush with someone who doesn't know he exists, about Seven Types of Ambiguity, about Sweetness in the Belly, about music, about life), but no time. NSLOS had her first of two operations (on the spine) to relieve spinal stenosis on Tuesday. It went well. Horribly enough, on this operation, they went in from the front (lots of shifted and bruised organs), but NSLOS is a trooper. The other woman in her room screamed when they rolled her over, but NSLOS didn't. She's tough. Another operation tomorrow (they go in through the back -- they're sadistic, but they're thorough). FoilMormor ordered Big Grampa (yes, he's her ex-husband, but he's no moron, he still does what she tells him to do) to travel to see me tomorrow rather than stay in New England (Big Grampa lives in Europe and doesn't get here that often). He's supposed to check on me.
So I rate like the daughter having two back operations in one week. I didn't realize they still thought I was such a basket case.
But TigerGrrl has big plans for Big Grampa. He has to see her karate class (she can break a board; she has a brown belt with a white stripe; she is incredibly impressive and proud of it) and take her to the pool (this is Nuclear Grammy's son and he's only 68 -- he can handle it) and take her golfing with Ex-Marine Fred. Oh, and I loaded up on the fine fighting wines of Australia (a nice Shiraz), Italy, and Argentina. Aside from Italy, nothing like the Antipodes.
I'm keeping my fingers crossed for NSLOS and looking forward to seeing my Dad.
So I rate like the daughter having two back operations in one week. I didn't realize they still thought I was such a basket case.
But TigerGrrl has big plans for Big Grampa. He has to see her karate class (she can break a board; she has a brown belt with a white stripe; she is incredibly impressive and proud of it) and take her to the pool (this is Nuclear Grammy's son and he's only 68 -- he can handle it) and take her golfing with Ex-Marine Fred. Oh, and I loaded up on the fine fighting wines of Australia (a nice Shiraz), Italy, and Argentina. Aside from Italy, nothing like the Antipodes.
I'm keeping my fingers crossed for NSLOS and looking forward to seeing my Dad.
August 7, 2006
Mirror In The Sky (What Is Love)
I enjoy romance, but I am not a romantic. I am not in search of the sensation of "being in love", whatever that is. To be honest, I don't think I ever have been in love.
That doesn't mean I don't love. I do love. I love my parents, my sisters, my children, my friends. I did love PdeFF, once upon a time, and that is one of the few times my love has gone. Well, even now, I still feel affection for him -- at times, when he's not totally screwing the pooch -- as the father of the two best girls in the galaxy.
But even though I will eventually be seeking a serious sexual and emotional relationship with a man that I hope will be, to some degree of another, romantic, I will not be seeking romance. I will be seeking a partnership.
SNV and I are very similar. She'll read and enjoy Anita Shreve and writers veering more or less into the romantic category, but that's fantasy, not reality. When SNV and Ex-Marine Fred got together, CNL asked SNV if she was "totally in love." SNV looked at CNL at said: "No. I care about Fred, and he's a good man."
It's funny. My more intellectual women friends would disdain reading any genre fiction, particularly chick lit or romance, but these women are much more likely to declare themselves "In love" or spend numerous hours trying to determine whether someone is "in love" with them.
Innana could tell you about the Foilwoman annotated version of Whitney Houston (before love and crack did her in)'s How Will I Know, the key trope being "You won't."
Most men who I have dated recently seem to have an unfortunate fixation on "being in love" or at least that crush-like feeling, that sense of excitement. Maybe that's just the subsection of men who are dating mid-forties and early fifties. I find it annoying.
I have crushes. My reaction to a crush, nowadays, is to acknowledge I have a crush and just enjoy the sensation. Most likely, if it's infatuation (1) nothing will come of it, and (2) the feeling will fade (or be squashed into non-existence by actually getting to know the objet de limerence and discovering, no, sliced bread is actually better).
I remember as a teenager and even into my twenties, having crushes and agonizing over how to get the crushee to notice me or how to maneuver casual bumping into one another and the like. The sensation would consume me. I actually thought that I would be happy if I felt that way about someone and he felt that way back about me.
Now maybe I just had a very bad crush selection procedure or mechanism or whatever, but I don't think that I missed much by my crushes being unreciprocated. Now, there's a guy who works for me who I think is pretty nifty. I'm doing nothing, and I'm not worrying about the feeling. I actually don't want anything to happen (I supervise the poor schmoo, and I have no interest in workplace romance with a direct report). That doesn't mean I can't appreciate a very dry sense of humor (and nice set of muscley shoulders). I can fantasize that he'll get promoted out of my corner of the universe or get a master of the universe job with a nearby investment bank or whatever and discover, his first day on the new job, that jeez, where's Foilwoman. He won't. And that's fine. It's still enjoyable.
But that's all it is. If he didn't work for me, I'd probably have arranged a lunch thingy by now. And maybe he would have reacted (or fled) or not. But even so, I would be operating on the assumption that my crush would fade.
The problem with new relationships at this point in my live (age 45, remember) is that I now know: you don't get to know someone in a week or a month or even six months. To know which friends are true friends and which loves are true loves (speaking of the agape more than eros), you need time. Lots of time. It's not only the mills of the gods that grind slowly, but grind exceedingly small. It's the test of love.
Maybe this is all just bitter-divorcing-woman crap, but I don't think so. I'm actually looking forward to relationships (in the future, when I have the energy and emotional resources to deal with them: not right now) with men. I'm just not looking for being swept off my feet. Most likely they can't do it anyway because I'm bigger than they are most likely. And I don't trust people who want to be swept off their feet. As adults, that's just asking for trouble.
The trouble is, how do you recognize an Ex-Marine Fred when you meet him? Or an SNV, if you're a guy. You don't. You only discover it over time. And by the time you've discovered it, that early infatuation sense of "Oh, we're soulmates" sense is long gone, so why even use it as a screening device?
I know overpowering love. I know about being the most important person in someone's life. Those people happen to be friends, and even more so, my children. No-one's ever going to love and need me as much as TigerGrrl and GaahGirl, and I really wouldn't want someone to do so.
Antiromantic or pragmatic. Oh, and this has pretty much nothing to do with sex, although if I ever get into a serious relationship with a man again, it would be nice if the sex were satisfying.
That doesn't mean I don't love. I do love. I love my parents, my sisters, my children, my friends. I did love PdeFF, once upon a time, and that is one of the few times my love has gone. Well, even now, I still feel affection for him -- at times, when he's not totally screwing the pooch -- as the father of the two best girls in the galaxy.
But even though I will eventually be seeking a serious sexual and emotional relationship with a man that I hope will be, to some degree of another, romantic, I will not be seeking romance. I will be seeking a partnership.
SNV and I are very similar. She'll read and enjoy Anita Shreve and writers veering more or less into the romantic category, but that's fantasy, not reality. When SNV and Ex-Marine Fred got together, CNL asked SNV if she was "totally in love." SNV looked at CNL at said: "No. I care about Fred, and he's a good man."
It's funny. My more intellectual women friends would disdain reading any genre fiction, particularly chick lit or romance, but these women are much more likely to declare themselves "In love" or spend numerous hours trying to determine whether someone is "in love" with them.
Innana could tell you about the Foilwoman annotated version of Whitney Houston (before love and crack did her in)'s How Will I Know, the key trope being "You won't."
Most men who I have dated recently seem to have an unfortunate fixation on "being in love" or at least that crush-like feeling, that sense of excitement. Maybe that's just the subsection of men who are dating mid-forties and early fifties. I find it annoying.
I have crushes. My reaction to a crush, nowadays, is to acknowledge I have a crush and just enjoy the sensation. Most likely, if it's infatuation (1) nothing will come of it, and (2) the feeling will fade (or be squashed into non-existence by actually getting to know the objet de limerence and discovering, no, sliced bread is actually better).
I remember as a teenager and even into my twenties, having crushes and agonizing over how to get the crushee to notice me or how to maneuver casual bumping into one another and the like. The sensation would consume me. I actually thought that I would be happy if I felt that way about someone and he felt that way back about me.
Now maybe I just had a very bad crush selection procedure or mechanism or whatever, but I don't think that I missed much by my crushes being unreciprocated. Now, there's a guy who works for me who I think is pretty nifty. I'm doing nothing, and I'm not worrying about the feeling. I actually don't want anything to happen (I supervise the poor schmoo, and I have no interest in workplace romance with a direct report). That doesn't mean I can't appreciate a very dry sense of humor (and nice set of muscley shoulders). I can fantasize that he'll get promoted out of my corner of the universe or get a master of the universe job with a nearby investment bank or whatever and discover, his first day on the new job, that jeez, where's Foilwoman. He won't. And that's fine. It's still enjoyable.
But that's all it is. If he didn't work for me, I'd probably have arranged a lunch thingy by now. And maybe he would have reacted (or fled) or not. But even so, I would be operating on the assumption that my crush would fade.
The problem with new relationships at this point in my live (age 45, remember) is that I now know: you don't get to know someone in a week or a month or even six months. To know which friends are true friends and which loves are true loves (speaking of the agape more than eros), you need time. Lots of time. It's not only the mills of the gods that grind slowly, but grind exceedingly small. It's the test of love.
Maybe this is all just bitter-divorcing-woman crap, but I don't think so. I'm actually looking forward to relationships (in the future, when I have the energy and emotional resources to deal with them: not right now) with men. I'm just not looking for being swept off my feet. Most likely they can't do it anyway because I'm bigger than they are most likely. And I don't trust people who want to be swept off their feet. As adults, that's just asking for trouble.
The trouble is, how do you recognize an Ex-Marine Fred when you meet him? Or an SNV, if you're a guy. You don't. You only discover it over time. And by the time you've discovered it, that early infatuation sense of "Oh, we're soulmates" sense is long gone, so why even use it as a screening device?
I know overpowering love. I know about being the most important person in someone's life. Those people happen to be friends, and even more so, my children. No-one's ever going to love and need me as much as TigerGrrl and GaahGirl, and I really wouldn't want someone to do so.
Antiromantic or pragmatic. Oh, and this has pretty much nothing to do with sex, although if I ever get into a serious relationship with a man again, it would be nice if the sex were satisfying.
August 5, 2006
Heat Wave
Finally, after five or more days in the upper 90s or low 100s, we had a clear day. TigerGrrl practiced riding her bike. Innana came over. We took the girls swimming (GaahGirl is truly oblivious of her complete lack of swimming skill: she's just certain she can throw herself in the water and I'll catch her. That's all.) and the water was below bath temperature. TigerGrrl and I made biscuits from scratch for breakfast.
Tonight, TigerGrrl and I finished Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (tomorrow we'll start on The Willows in Winter). Please note, if you haven't read the book, this is a spoiler alert, so stop reading. Now, I remember the fuss about Dumbledore dying, which he did do. But I'm sorry, maybe I've watched too much Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, but Dumbledore is clearly not dead and gone. He's coming back.
Heck, his familiar animal was a phoenix, and at his funeral the damn coffin burst into flames. Of course, if he comes back as a human baby, that isn't going to be too useful to Harry, now is it. Oh, and if I'm wrong, hey, it's a book. I'm just betting on some ressurection, resurgence, or return of some kind. Also, Dumbledore's picture is on the wall in the headmaster's office, so Harry could, in theory, have a conversation with Dumbledore in that manner.
TigerGrrl has asked me to write to J.K. Rowlings and explain to her that Book 7 needs to be completed post-haste. I do believe Ms. Rowlings has received plenty of missives along those lines. But really, J.K., cough it up quickly, okay? TigerGrrl is waiting. Thank you.
Tonight, TigerGrrl and I finished Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (tomorrow we'll start on The Willows in Winter). Please note, if you haven't read the book, this is a spoiler alert, so stop reading. Now, I remember the fuss about Dumbledore dying, which he did do. But I'm sorry, maybe I've watched too much Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, but Dumbledore is clearly not dead and gone. He's coming back.
Heck, his familiar animal was a phoenix, and at his funeral the damn coffin burst into flames. Of course, if he comes back as a human baby, that isn't going to be too useful to Harry, now is it. Oh, and if I'm wrong, hey, it's a book. I'm just betting on some ressurection, resurgence, or return of some kind. Also, Dumbledore's picture is on the wall in the headmaster's office, so Harry could, in theory, have a conversation with Dumbledore in that manner.
TigerGrrl has asked me to write to J.K. Rowlings and explain to her that Book 7 needs to be completed post-haste. I do believe Ms. Rowlings has received plenty of missives along those lines. But really, J.K., cough it up quickly, okay? TigerGrrl is waiting. Thank you.
August 4, 2006
Notify CNN (A Rare Event)
Well, news should be a rare event. Not things everyone knows. I.e., Jerry Falwell or Pat Robertson or Osama Bin Laden or Meir Kahane (I had to stretch to find a Jewish fanatic. Yeah, I know he's dead.) announces another group that they hate and doomto hell? That's not news.
Here's some news. I fell asleep at 9:10 p.m. and slept until 6 a.m. Almost 9 hours! I can't remember the last time I slept 6 hours much less 8. Needless to say, I'm rested and ready. Commuters, look out. I'm back!
Here's some news. I fell asleep at 9:10 p.m. and slept until 6 a.m. Almost 9 hours! I can't remember the last time I slept 6 hours much less 8. Needless to say, I'm rested and ready. Commuters, look out. I'm back!
August 3, 2006
Mountains of Things (Always on My Mind)
Phone Foibles
I'm having trouble with most relationships nowadays. I'm not withdrawing or becoming isolated, I'm just not really connecting right now, even with good friends. I've never been much of a phone person, but now, I'm busy at work, and can't talk there, and can't talk much at home because TigerGrrl and GaahGirl think Mother should not talk on the phone if they are not included. Not that I like the phone anyway.
I don't like long phone calls. I like to use the phone to arrange to meet, and then, damn it all, meet. No long discussion of what I bought at the store, my latest flirt (hypothetical -- no current objection of flirtation in my viewfinder), whoever's dinner plans. I prefer to actually see someone to talk. I not only don't understand people I see walking down the street nattering on about the quotidian minutiae of their lives on their cell phones, I don't understand the people who do this on land lines.
This is probably ADHD/ADD-related in that I am aware that I miss social cues, and over the phone, I'm sure to miss them. But also, phones are distant. To use them to connect is really to remain essentially disconnected. Obviously, with friends in foreign countries, a phone is essential, but otherwise I just find the phone a big fat irritation.
Alone, but Not Lonely
I really understand where friends like Mr. Studmuffin are coming from in recent months. Mr. Studmuffin is a friendly guy, but his friends have to make the effort. Otherwise, he'd stay home with his two cats (the girls, Hope and Pandora). He just doesn't need that much social interaction. And he hates the phone.
I spoke with Mr. Studmuffin a few weeks ago, and we agree that after his recent travels (California, the Midwest, an exotic locale) we'll get together for dinner somewhere around his and Innana's 28th birthdays (numbers may vary). I have to call Innana and line that up, but she wasn't home tonight. I hope she's doing something fun.
I used to worry about Mr. Studmuffin, but it dawns on me that with his oodles of younger siblings needing his assistance (8 or 9, I think) at various times (they're orphans) he really doesn't have a lot of energy for other relationships. Much like me with the girls and dealing with the divorce. It's funny how one's perspective changes as one experiences change.
Sociability
I visited with SNV and Ex-Marine Fred this weekend, and got goodies from the magic basement (a juicer, dishes, etc.), and had a nice meal, indoors because it was so darn hot. I still am not used to the protective/provider tack they're taking with me. I'm appreciating it, but it still surprises. We had lunch in Alexandria, and SNV would not let me pay. Both SNV and Ex-Marine Fred have been divorced, and they don't ask lots of questions about how I'm doing, but they do provide lots of support and assistance. Both make it clearer that my divorce is several orders of magnitude more messy and awful than theirs were. Lucky me.
Cauchemar (Nightmare)
TigerGrrl clambered into my room last night around 3 am (I'd been sleeping for about two hours) stating that she had had, as she phrases it "a night-nightmare". Treatment for this dread circumstance required her to press up against me in the return-to-the-womb clench and wiggle for the next three hours. At least she got a good night's sleep.
Heat and Exercise
Because of the excessive heat (101+ degrees Farenheit 37+ degrees Celcius), it's impossible to take real walks. I've been taking the girls swimming, except the pool now is more than lukewarm. Truly, it's hotter than a baby's bath. Well, I guess we don't need to exercise, since it's impossible to eat anything, because it's so hot. Ugh. Give me a New England summer day anytime.
Many other random and disparate thoughts, but I'll try to sleep now. Oh, and Jon Stewart (of the Daily Show) and Stephen Colbert (of the Colbert Report) are gods among mere men. I love them.
I'm having trouble with most relationships nowadays. I'm not withdrawing or becoming isolated, I'm just not really connecting right now, even with good friends. I've never been much of a phone person, but now, I'm busy at work, and can't talk there, and can't talk much at home because TigerGrrl and GaahGirl think Mother should not talk on the phone if they are not included. Not that I like the phone anyway.
I don't like long phone calls. I like to use the phone to arrange to meet, and then, damn it all, meet. No long discussion of what I bought at the store, my latest flirt (hypothetical -- no current objection of flirtation in my viewfinder), whoever's dinner plans. I prefer to actually see someone to talk. I not only don't understand people I see walking down the street nattering on about the quotidian minutiae of their lives on their cell phones, I don't understand the people who do this on land lines.
This is probably ADHD/ADD-related in that I am aware that I miss social cues, and over the phone, I'm sure to miss them. But also, phones are distant. To use them to connect is really to remain essentially disconnected. Obviously, with friends in foreign countries, a phone is essential, but otherwise I just find the phone a big fat irritation.
Alone, but Not Lonely
I really understand where friends like Mr. Studmuffin are coming from in recent months. Mr. Studmuffin is a friendly guy, but his friends have to make the effort. Otherwise, he'd stay home with his two cats (the girls, Hope and Pandora). He just doesn't need that much social interaction. And he hates the phone.
I spoke with Mr. Studmuffin a few weeks ago, and we agree that after his recent travels (California, the Midwest, an exotic locale) we'll get together for dinner somewhere around his and Innana's 28th birthdays (numbers may vary). I have to call Innana and line that up, but she wasn't home tonight. I hope she's doing something fun.
I used to worry about Mr. Studmuffin, but it dawns on me that with his oodles of younger siblings needing his assistance (8 or 9, I think) at various times (they're orphans) he really doesn't have a lot of energy for other relationships. Much like me with the girls and dealing with the divorce. It's funny how one's perspective changes as one experiences change.
Sociability
I visited with SNV and Ex-Marine Fred this weekend, and got goodies from the magic basement (a juicer, dishes, etc.), and had a nice meal, indoors because it was so darn hot. I still am not used to the protective/provider tack they're taking with me. I'm appreciating it, but it still surprises. We had lunch in Alexandria, and SNV would not let me pay. Both SNV and Ex-Marine Fred have been divorced, and they don't ask lots of questions about how I'm doing, but they do provide lots of support and assistance. Both make it clearer that my divorce is several orders of magnitude more messy and awful than theirs were. Lucky me.
Cauchemar (Nightmare)
TigerGrrl clambered into my room last night around 3 am (I'd been sleeping for about two hours) stating that she had had, as she phrases it "a night-nightmare". Treatment for this dread circumstance required her to press up against me in the return-to-the-womb clench and wiggle for the next three hours. At least she got a good night's sleep.
Heat and Exercise
Because of the excessive heat (101+ degrees Farenheit 37+ degrees Celcius), it's impossible to take real walks. I've been taking the girls swimming, except the pool now is more than lukewarm. Truly, it's hotter than a baby's bath. Well, I guess we don't need to exercise, since it's impossible to eat anything, because it's so hot. Ugh. Give me a New England summer day anytime.
Many other random and disparate thoughts, but I'll try to sleep now. Oh, and Jon Stewart (of the Daily Show) and Stephen Colbert (of the Colbert Report) are gods among mere men. I love them.
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