In Hollywood, everyone does it. How many stories have we all heard about young starlets, powerful directors/studio heads/agents/assistant grips/whatever, and casting couches? In DC, everyone does it. Chief of staff is always sleeping with the senator/congressman/tour guide and moving her way up the ladder. In small midwest offices, people do it. Some receptionist is working over the manager for her extra-long lunches and free hand at buying the office supplies. Work is boring and sucks most of the time, sex at the office is hot, and career movement is always positive. Nailing the boss is such a simple way to handle all of these urges. And from what I hear, it pays off quite often.
In the last couple weeks, I've had multiple unrelated conversations about various friends of mine sleeping with people at their jobs and there being some kind of power play involved. Two are sleeping with the boss, and the other...well let's just say I used to date the boss and lately that little connection has been helping with this whole pesky economy issue. I know it's frowned upon, is sometimes (always?) totally against the rules, and there's a whole barrage of morality speeches one could give on this topic along with legal implications--but let's just cut all of that crap and be realistic while we gossip. Anyone who has been out in the workforce has had and seen some office sex situations unfold. So let's explore this lovely way of networking and how it pertains to our increasingly scary economic conditions.
We can start with me, since outing myself before blasting my friends seems polite. So, I had a little thing going on with my MEGA HOTTIE manager for awhile and it didn't have anything to do with his job at all, that just happened to be how we met. But...it started to creep into things. It's one thing to have a key to someone's house and let yourself in after work, get into their bed, and sleep until they're off and climbing into bed with you. It's one thing to meet up for dinner and drinks twice a week and have a lovely time. It's one thing to bring home various pieces of your crazy work costume for extracurricular activities. It's an entirely other thing when you're at work and he has to ask you to do something in a completely awkward fashion because it's almost like he's being the...boss of you. Because...he kind of is. It's another thing to act like you didn't just see him naked the night before when you get to work the next day. It's also another thing to put on those same work costume pieces and wear them at work, both of you trying not to make eye contact and pretending like you're not having flashbacks while you're both busy working (no, for future reference I'm not a Disney character taking home the paws/gloves/mermaid fin for sex). Those moments are definitely "another" thing.
For the bosses sleeping with subordinates, they will keep having a hard time at work on finding that "normal" balance of telling the sextoy things to do at the office, while not either overdoing the boss act, or being too lenient. They're going to quickly see that you can't really go backward and re-establish that normalcy, because it's just gone. It's weird to just accept the fact that yes, from this point on, you will be telling the chick that was spanking you last night to please have that file on your desk no later than 5pm. Obviously this is awkward for all involved, but as adults we do the adult thing--pretend like the awkwardness is not there and never bring it up.
For those of us that are the subordinates, it's an odd mix of almost being turned on by his boss status, and sometimes possibly abusing the new situation. Did I start to be a little less diligent about being 5 minutes early? Sure. Did I make little jokes about, "What are you going to do, fire me?" Yes, of course I did. Did I fake-threaten a possible class-action sexual harrassment lawsuit a time or two? Well, obviously I did. This is to be expected! As adults I'm sure we all carefully weighed the pros and cons of pursuing a work-related sexual relationship and were ready to accept these issues before they came along. (Ha ha ha ha that actually made me laugh to type!) No, we all did the exact same thing: saw someone we were attracted to, lusted for awhile, started flirting at work and looking forward to each day, indulging in some copy machine make-out/hallway groping/parking lot kissing, which then led to sleepovers, and then we all woke up the same sobering way wondering how you're supposed to feel when this lover-boss-dude asks you to please grab him his coffee. Doesn't sex trump coffee duty?
The other tricky thing is that there are perks! Did I get water bottles brought to me every night without asking? Yes. Did anyone else? No. Did I know about events before everyone else? Yes. Did I overhear phone calls at night or early morning regarding work related issues with management staff? Yes. Was I the first one asked to take any extra shifts/events/etc? Yes. Did I get petted, talked to, joked with, and generally favored, and still am to this day even though we're no longer involved? Yes. Are these all perks? Well, yes! It's nice to be favored, it's nice to be privvy to information, it's nice to be the It Girl. Did I pursue him for these reasons? No way, he's got perfect facial features and a hot body with a seriously dry, almost mean sarcastic wit and a kind of asshole demeanor while working. That's all I look for in my time-filler men. But I still got the perks and fun of dating the boss all the same.
For me, I'm no cautionary tale, this little fling worked out well because we ended on a high note of agreeing it shouldn't go further (well, and my heart was out of the country unable for any other shows or performances). He and I have become good friends and recently he saved my job from ending. Was this because I've slept in his bed? Possibly. Do I care? Absolutely not, I'm thankful for the friendship and job! It doesn't go this well for all who play this little power game though. If things hadn't gone well with Mr. Play Secretary I'm the Boss Tonight, I could very well have had my job long gone when it was recently threatened. Work could be unbearable and I'd have to leave. A thousand things could have gone wrong. For my friends involved with these romances, it could get reallllll messy. Actually, 80% of them probably will. All I'm saying is, in this economy, sleeping with the boss might not be a horrible idea. I'm not saying go seduce your boss (that's an entirely other topic), but if you're in your boss' bed right now, there's no judgement here. Time's are tough, we're all getting creative!
Sunday, July 12, 2009
When Pop Songs Start Speaking to You
You know when you've reached the point of completely losing your mind? When you hear a pop song on the radio and you honestly understand every single lyric and how it directly applies to your love life. You find yourself singing so earnestly with Mariah Carey and understanding what she means by belonging together. You start thinking that Kelly Clarkson might actually be a genius with the way she has put all of your emotions into the most perfect lyrics known to the human race. You're driving along and nodding, agreeing, feeling it like she is, because you know exactly what she's saying! Suddenly the radio has not become a fun thing to drive with, it's a direct line of communication for your emotions. You start thinking that you could describe your entire life in a series of pop lyrics because these people really get it! This is the point when you need to get a handle on this whole "I'm sooooooo in love" thing.
Lately I feel like the female Rob Gordon (if you haven't seen and/or read High Fidelity, just stop reading this blog because I probably don't like you). When he organizes his records biographically, that's where I'm at, but not out of depression and despair, out of this stupidly happy love cloud I'm walking around in these days. Unemployed? Kinda broke? Unsure of the immediate future? Yeah, none of this is bothering me. He's almost home. (I bet that's a pop song, and if it's not, I'm totally writing it after I post this blog.) I caught myself belting out John Mayer's "City Love" in the car feeling like he knew me without even paying attention to the fact that: (a) he's singing about a girl (b) he's singing about a girl in a big city (c) he's singing about a girl in a big city that's leaving all of her hair around the place. I can now rationally see that this song actually has nothing in common with me and my lovely Mr. Magical. But it's the feelings he was singing of that I related to! And...well....I've gone insane.
I had dinner with two of my favorite girls in the world this weekend and when Mr. Magical was inquired about, I am now pretty sure I talked for the next 90 minutes non-stop about him in a giddy, schoolgirl fashion unable to get the words out of my mouth fast enough and not even noticing if they were wishing I would shut up and calm down to talk about more important things. My behavior at dinner is now playing out in my mind like the re-enactment of some horrid crime scene. Was I even stopping to see if they cared to hear this stuff??? Nope, I was just on a rushing rant about....I don't even know.... him?! How we met, meeting his family, what's going to happen next, it was sickening, I'm certain. I couldn't stop though! If I was Julie Andrews I would have been singing on a hill at that point, just spinning around and belting out my pop song. If I could bottle the excitement inside of me right at this moment in my life, I'm 98% sure that I could out perform the Dallas Cowgirls for enthusiasm. I can feel that my face hasn't stopped smiling in days. I can hear the unnatural soprano pitch my voice keeps squeaking into when I talk about any of this. I swear my hair and nails are growing faster and I am jumping out of bed each day. Everything is just so lovely in the world right now!
How on Earth did I get here??!!! I have never, ever, not ever behaved like this. The economy is ruining the country, no one has a job, all kinds of seriously traumatic events have gone down in my own life for years now....yet nothing could be better. Even if it all came smashing down tomorrow, how nice it is to know that I am capable of these emotions! I really didn't think I was, would be, or could be. I have always been such a psycho control freak about my emotions, that the very idea of something else controlling them and causing an unprecedented reaction in me was so far-fetched that I never even entertained the possibility. Part of me wonders if it is due, in part, to all the pain that has rained down in the last few years that make these emotions possible. Like maybe I tapped into a part of me that was numb for a long time because everything else got ripped open inside of my body. Or maybe I can feel this because I have such a renewed appreciation for so many things now that I have seen first-hand how horrible everything can get. Or...maybe it's just him. Whatever the reason, it's nice to be floating on cloud 100 lately. It's nice to give up the role of dominant, power lover and be the mushy, silly girl dancing around the house all day. It's nice to have something to look forward to.
The only little twinge that comes along is that voice saying, "Is this how he feels, though?" Every time that girl speaks up, I just turn up Natasha Bedingfield (whom I hated with a fiery burning passion until recent events) and sing along to, "When this life tries to keep us apart, you keep calling me back to your heart, I'm so glad you found me, wrap your world around me, never find a love like this!" (It's OK, I'm making myself puke too at this point)
Lately I feel like the female Rob Gordon (if you haven't seen and/or read High Fidelity, just stop reading this blog because I probably don't like you). When he organizes his records biographically, that's where I'm at, but not out of depression and despair, out of this stupidly happy love cloud I'm walking around in these days. Unemployed? Kinda broke? Unsure of the immediate future? Yeah, none of this is bothering me. He's almost home. (I bet that's a pop song, and if it's not, I'm totally writing it after I post this blog.) I caught myself belting out John Mayer's "City Love" in the car feeling like he knew me without even paying attention to the fact that: (a) he's singing about a girl (b) he's singing about a girl in a big city (c) he's singing about a girl in a big city that's leaving all of her hair around the place. I can now rationally see that this song actually has nothing in common with me and my lovely Mr. Magical. But it's the feelings he was singing of that I related to! And...well....I've gone insane.
I had dinner with two of my favorite girls in the world this weekend and when Mr. Magical was inquired about, I am now pretty sure I talked for the next 90 minutes non-stop about him in a giddy, schoolgirl fashion unable to get the words out of my mouth fast enough and not even noticing if they were wishing I would shut up and calm down to talk about more important things. My behavior at dinner is now playing out in my mind like the re-enactment of some horrid crime scene. Was I even stopping to see if they cared to hear this stuff??? Nope, I was just on a rushing rant about....I don't even know.... him?! How we met, meeting his family, what's going to happen next, it was sickening, I'm certain. I couldn't stop though! If I was Julie Andrews I would have been singing on a hill at that point, just spinning around and belting out my pop song. If I could bottle the excitement inside of me right at this moment in my life, I'm 98% sure that I could out perform the Dallas Cowgirls for enthusiasm. I can feel that my face hasn't stopped smiling in days. I can hear the unnatural soprano pitch my voice keeps squeaking into when I talk about any of this. I swear my hair and nails are growing faster and I am jumping out of bed each day. Everything is just so lovely in the world right now!
How on Earth did I get here??!!! I have never, ever, not ever behaved like this. The economy is ruining the country, no one has a job, all kinds of seriously traumatic events have gone down in my own life for years now....yet nothing could be better. Even if it all came smashing down tomorrow, how nice it is to know that I am capable of these emotions! I really didn't think I was, would be, or could be. I have always been such a psycho control freak about my emotions, that the very idea of something else controlling them and causing an unprecedented reaction in me was so far-fetched that I never even entertained the possibility. Part of me wonders if it is due, in part, to all the pain that has rained down in the last few years that make these emotions possible. Like maybe I tapped into a part of me that was numb for a long time because everything else got ripped open inside of my body. Or maybe I can feel this because I have such a renewed appreciation for so many things now that I have seen first-hand how horrible everything can get. Or...maybe it's just him. Whatever the reason, it's nice to be floating on cloud 100 lately. It's nice to give up the role of dominant, power lover and be the mushy, silly girl dancing around the house all day. It's nice to have something to look forward to.
The only little twinge that comes along is that voice saying, "Is this how he feels, though?" Every time that girl speaks up, I just turn up Natasha Bedingfield (whom I hated with a fiery burning passion until recent events) and sing along to, "When this life tries to keep us apart, you keep calling me back to your heart, I'm so glad you found me, wrap your world around me, never find a love like this!" (It's OK, I'm making myself puke too at this point)
Thursday, July 9, 2009
My Apology to THOSE Women
Ahhhhh those women. THOSE women. I'm so sad for those women and I wish I could do something for them. When I see one, I want to reach out my hand and pull them aside and just help. They wouldn't let me, though, I'm their arch nemesis. And therein lies the rub.
What women, Ms. Busy and Important? I'm sure you're all wondering this and eagerly awaiting my unveiling of who THEY are, to see if you're one. You're probably not if you're reading this blog. Anyway, I digress: Those Women. Those Women are the lost souls to being hip, youthful, fun, and who they once were. We all see them, we all know some, and we all try to avoid them at parties. They can be any age, from 25-75. They've all lost that sparkle, that thing that they USED to be, that thing that drew people to them. They've all lost themself in the process of congealing into the lifestyle they all thought they wanted. It's so tragic. It's so my deepest rooted nightmare. It's so fucking common.
I saw one of these women not that long ago and my heart shattered. Her husband liked me. It made the whole thing even worse when I finally saw her myself, up close and personal. From her overly brand-named shoes, to her gawdy designer purse 10 years too young for her, to her sadly unhip capri pants, to the exhausted look in her eyes as she tried to appear hot, her sorrow was so paramount it took up the entire room. She was wearing all her insecurity in her slightly off but highly expensive gear, like armor against all the pain inside her and my heart just split into pieces. I wanted to compliment her terribly ostentatious, tacky style and make her feel trendy. I wanted to give her an opportunity to be funny, to be entertaining, to be something other than the sad woman standing there wondering where on Earth she went so wrong inside herself. Wondering how she got so lost. I couldn't do anything though, but smile and be polite, and pretend that I was impressed by all I saw. Tragic.
These Women don't start out as Those Women, this is the scary part. You become one of them. They all started out as fun girls, wild girls, nice girls, party girls, serious girls, musical girls, dancing girls, flirting girls, etc. They all had something, they all had some spark that lit up a room, or at least lit up a corner of a room. They all had qualities that attracted men and excitement and romance. Then....they settled. They settled somehow, all women do, either for a man not worthy, for a situation that seemed safe, or for a life they really thought was right. From there, they began melding themself into their new "role". They were no longer identified by their girlhood and all they had been in that, they were now a new person, a new form of themself, and so they slowly made changes. Cut their hair, eased up on the eye makeup, had babies, stopped going to girls' nights, stopped those classes they loved, fretted over new cupboards, longed for a bigger car. Each little change was necessary: who has time for classes with babies in the house? Who has time for 20 minute makeup applications? Who can relate to that perpetually single girlfriend crying over a new relationship again? One by one, These Women chip away at all those little factors that made them who they were to create who they are. Singularly, they're not a big deal. Add them up over years....there's a new breed born.
The problem lies in the fact that pretty soon, the kids leave the house a little more, spare time creeps back in, and she looks around to see...she's not there. The person she used to be is gone, and the person who has replaced her is becoming useless. Her husband is not enchanted anymore, and why would he be? The person he fell in love with is long gone! These Women don't remember their likes, their passions, their needs, their wants, their dreams, because there hasn't been time. That girl is gone, the woman you wanted to be is far off-base from where you can get now, and this is who you're left with.
So....you buy tacky shoes that you think are trendy because they're covered in Coach C's. You buy a huge Juicy Couture purse because it looks young and hip to you, when in fact it looks stupid and outdated to the young and hip. You flatiron your hair, but you can't get the front to lay right. Ever. Instead of looking forward to who you can become from this point, you try to run backward into that girl who everyone liked so much. Backward into the young chick your husband's been lusting after. Pretty soon this doesn't work either though, of course. Time rarely moves backward, even in desperation. And there you are. Those Women. I'm sorry this is where you've found yourself, and I hope the road takes you somewhere better soon. Evolve past this point, past this man, past this house, past those shoes, past these ideas that youth holds all the best keys. It's not true. You can get somewhere BETTER if you take an honest look in the mirror and get brave. I'm sorry it's come to this for you, my heart goes out to you.
What women, Ms. Busy and Important? I'm sure you're all wondering this and eagerly awaiting my unveiling of who THEY are, to see if you're one. You're probably not if you're reading this blog. Anyway, I digress: Those Women. Those Women are the lost souls to being hip, youthful, fun, and who they once were. We all see them, we all know some, and we all try to avoid them at parties. They can be any age, from 25-75. They've all lost that sparkle, that thing that they USED to be, that thing that drew people to them. They've all lost themself in the process of congealing into the lifestyle they all thought they wanted. It's so tragic. It's so my deepest rooted nightmare. It's so fucking common.
I saw one of these women not that long ago and my heart shattered. Her husband liked me. It made the whole thing even worse when I finally saw her myself, up close and personal. From her overly brand-named shoes, to her gawdy designer purse 10 years too young for her, to her sadly unhip capri pants, to the exhausted look in her eyes as she tried to appear hot, her sorrow was so paramount it took up the entire room. She was wearing all her insecurity in her slightly off but highly expensive gear, like armor against all the pain inside her and my heart just split into pieces. I wanted to compliment her terribly ostentatious, tacky style and make her feel trendy. I wanted to give her an opportunity to be funny, to be entertaining, to be something other than the sad woman standing there wondering where on Earth she went so wrong inside herself. Wondering how she got so lost. I couldn't do anything though, but smile and be polite, and pretend that I was impressed by all I saw. Tragic.
These Women don't start out as Those Women, this is the scary part. You become one of them. They all started out as fun girls, wild girls, nice girls, party girls, serious girls, musical girls, dancing girls, flirting girls, etc. They all had something, they all had some spark that lit up a room, or at least lit up a corner of a room. They all had qualities that attracted men and excitement and romance. Then....they settled. They settled somehow, all women do, either for a man not worthy, for a situation that seemed safe, or for a life they really thought was right. From there, they began melding themself into their new "role". They were no longer identified by their girlhood and all they had been in that, they were now a new person, a new form of themself, and so they slowly made changes. Cut their hair, eased up on the eye makeup, had babies, stopped going to girls' nights, stopped those classes they loved, fretted over new cupboards, longed for a bigger car. Each little change was necessary: who has time for classes with babies in the house? Who has time for 20 minute makeup applications? Who can relate to that perpetually single girlfriend crying over a new relationship again? One by one, These Women chip away at all those little factors that made them who they were to create who they are. Singularly, they're not a big deal. Add them up over years....there's a new breed born.
The problem lies in the fact that pretty soon, the kids leave the house a little more, spare time creeps back in, and she looks around to see...she's not there. The person she used to be is gone, and the person who has replaced her is becoming useless. Her husband is not enchanted anymore, and why would he be? The person he fell in love with is long gone! These Women don't remember their likes, their passions, their needs, their wants, their dreams, because there hasn't been time. That girl is gone, the woman you wanted to be is far off-base from where you can get now, and this is who you're left with.
So....you buy tacky shoes that you think are trendy because they're covered in Coach C's. You buy a huge Juicy Couture purse because it looks young and hip to you, when in fact it looks stupid and outdated to the young and hip. You flatiron your hair, but you can't get the front to lay right. Ever. Instead of looking forward to who you can become from this point, you try to run backward into that girl who everyone liked so much. Backward into the young chick your husband's been lusting after. Pretty soon this doesn't work either though, of course. Time rarely moves backward, even in desperation. And there you are. Those Women. I'm sorry this is where you've found yourself, and I hope the road takes you somewhere better soon. Evolve past this point, past this man, past this house, past those shoes, past these ideas that youth holds all the best keys. It's not true. You can get somewhere BETTER if you take an honest look in the mirror and get brave. I'm sorry it's come to this for you, my heart goes out to you.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Crack and Gambling...same diff?
Everyone has an addiction of some sort, right? Some people over-eat, some people snort blow, some people shop until their house payment is gone, some people gamble, some people lie, I mean everyone has SOMETHING, right? So, when addiction shows it's lovely, glittering self, what does everybody else do? I'm asking because my addiction won't stop text messaging me lately and I'm trying SO HARD to keep this clean and sober thing going for another 20-some odd days. But, isn't that the very point and nature of an addiction? You typically cannot possibly turn it down. It texts you from a city four hours away and beckons you and you cannot, physically cannot, refuse to listen to it. And it keeps speaking in that hot Spanish accent....OK maybe I've gone off track.
So, I like hot guys. I really like really hot guys. Ms. Busy and Important seeing a hot guy is like Oprah seeing an educational need in Africa--it's going to get handled! Recently I took a little trip to a very well-lit city and met possibly the most beautiful man walking around the planet at this moment. He was tall. He was foreign. He spoke with an accent. He yanked my head back at the bar and kissed my neck telling me he didn't, "Give a ****," about the people trying to order drinks around us. Needless to say, I was impressed on all accounts by The Spaniard. But in all the fun and excitement I somehow gave him my phone number. My real phone number. I also somehow saw him every night I was in the bright city. I also somehow have been responding to his text messages for weeks now. Somehow.
This poses the question: how do you get to a point where sobriety feels like something you want???? I decided to have 30 days of hot man sobriety until Mr. Magical came home (2 weeks now!!!!) This was...is...a firm decision made out of my own desire! And then....that stupid Spaniard was leaning against the wall looking like pure sex and staring a hole through me! How strong is a person supposed to be??? Luckily 4 hours of driving separates us. Luckily I have no desire to break my sobriety because I really am THAT excited about Mr. Magical's homecoming....but it's like a twinge. You get flashbacks. You know how great it could be if you just simply hopped in your car and headed that way. You keep answering these stupid texts. You keep remembering he pronounced Brazil "brah-sssil". You recall how he said he, "loves in Spanish." Are we all following my drift here?
Is this just text book addict stuff? Me and the cokehead and the high-roller and the 700-lb-man all keep scratching that itch in the same needy, pathetic way? They feel that urge, that twinge, that deep-seated knowledge that for a little bit, this is going to be AWESOME, just like I do? The way I flirt is the way some people shoot up? That's....weird. Technically, I'm not doing anything wrong with my addiction though. I'm not in a commited relationship, yet. I'm free to flirt and dance and have my neck bit on a bar by as many Spaniards as I damn well please. But...it's gotta stop at some point. To quote In Her Shoes, "Middle-aged tramps aren't cute." So that's the cutoff? Once I get commited (no pun intended), or my body isn't quite so hot anymore, I no longer covet the seduction of Latino men (or whatever, insert your addiction here)? I suddenly wake up to a maturity I've yet to meet and I'm all cured? Or is it that hot men stop looking my way because I'm no longer the hot chick in the room? How incredibly, horribly, disgustingly depressing.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, we have to stop the addiction somehow, but it's going to suck. I mean, we all got addicted because it felt great. It was exactly what we wanted. It was a distraction. It was so much fun. It was 4:30am and he was cheaper than a taxi--whatever, I'm just saying that all bad behavior, once we KNOW it's bad, has to change or we'll never evolve past this weak thing we are today. I don't want to be a weak thing. I want to hear a Spanish accent coming from big, pouty, perfect red lips, and huge, round, brown eyes and have my response be....oh who am I kidding??!!! Cue the melting! He has perfect lips and a hard, manly body and a Spanish accent for freaking sake! I'm not going to grow an iron will against THAT! So, my only hope is to change my phone number. Good luck to the rest of you. When in doubt, chicken out...change your number.
So, I like hot guys. I really like really hot guys. Ms. Busy and Important seeing a hot guy is like Oprah seeing an educational need in Africa--it's going to get handled! Recently I took a little trip to a very well-lit city and met possibly the most beautiful man walking around the planet at this moment. He was tall. He was foreign. He spoke with an accent. He yanked my head back at the bar and kissed my neck telling me he didn't, "Give a ****," about the people trying to order drinks around us. Needless to say, I was impressed on all accounts by The Spaniard. But in all the fun and excitement I somehow gave him my phone number. My real phone number. I also somehow saw him every night I was in the bright city. I also somehow have been responding to his text messages for weeks now. Somehow.
This poses the question: how do you get to a point where sobriety feels like something you want???? I decided to have 30 days of hot man sobriety until Mr. Magical came home (2 weeks now!!!!) This was...is...a firm decision made out of my own desire! And then....that stupid Spaniard was leaning against the wall looking like pure sex and staring a hole through me! How strong is a person supposed to be??? Luckily 4 hours of driving separates us. Luckily I have no desire to break my sobriety because I really am THAT excited about Mr. Magical's homecoming....but it's like a twinge. You get flashbacks. You know how great it could be if you just simply hopped in your car and headed that way. You keep answering these stupid texts. You keep remembering he pronounced Brazil "brah-sssil". You recall how he said he, "loves in Spanish." Are we all following my drift here?
Is this just text book addict stuff? Me and the cokehead and the high-roller and the 700-lb-man all keep scratching that itch in the same needy, pathetic way? They feel that urge, that twinge, that deep-seated knowledge that for a little bit, this is going to be AWESOME, just like I do? The way I flirt is the way some people shoot up? That's....weird. Technically, I'm not doing anything wrong with my addiction though. I'm not in a commited relationship, yet. I'm free to flirt and dance and have my neck bit on a bar by as many Spaniards as I damn well please. But...it's gotta stop at some point. To quote In Her Shoes, "Middle-aged tramps aren't cute." So that's the cutoff? Once I get commited (no pun intended), or my body isn't quite so hot anymore, I no longer covet the seduction of Latino men (or whatever, insert your addiction here)? I suddenly wake up to a maturity I've yet to meet and I'm all cured? Or is it that hot men stop looking my way because I'm no longer the hot chick in the room? How incredibly, horribly, disgustingly depressing.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, we have to stop the addiction somehow, but it's going to suck. I mean, we all got addicted because it felt great. It was exactly what we wanted. It was a distraction. It was so much fun. It was 4:30am and he was cheaper than a taxi--whatever, I'm just saying that all bad behavior, once we KNOW it's bad, has to change or we'll never evolve past this weak thing we are today. I don't want to be a weak thing. I want to hear a Spanish accent coming from big, pouty, perfect red lips, and huge, round, brown eyes and have my response be....oh who am I kidding??!!! Cue the melting! He has perfect lips and a hard, manly body and a Spanish accent for freaking sake! I'm not going to grow an iron will against THAT! So, my only hope is to change my phone number. Good luck to the rest of you. When in doubt, chicken out...change your number.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Patience Eating Me Alive
I am not patient. I am probably the most impatient person I've ever known personally. If I just spent 2 hours picking out books at Barnes and Noble, and then see a long checkout line, I will leave the store. If I have to stop for gas on the way to an event, I will honestly become furiously angry at having to stop. If I want something done that depends on ANYONE else, and they are not moving at light speed, you can be certain I will soon just take over and complete whatever it is they were doing so damn slow. Yes, this is me, completely, utterly, totally impatient. So, tell me, how is it I have become involved in a romantic relationship that is alllllllllll about patience on my end???
Mr. Magical, man of my dreams, keeper of my whole heart, star cross'd piece of perfection that he is, has a lifestyle that forces infinite amounts of patience upon me. When I first met him, he left my town 2 days later and I had to wait ELEVEN days until he called me again (I don't call boys, I'm old school, I've read He's Just Not That Into You). The next time I saw him he came into my town during a snowstorm that caused his plane to delay an entire day and his drive in to be slowed by about 4 hours. After our first amazing 3-day time span together out of town, I had to wait a week until I could fly out to spend the holidays with him. Then I got the amazing gift of a seven-month separation via thouands of miles and an 11.5 hour time difference. Yes, you heard me, it's been SEVEN months since I have seen this man's face or he's walked on US soil. And I've been patient.
To me, being patient feels like being tortured for days and days and hours and hours and minutes and minutes in the worst way imaginable. It's not a skill I can seem to learn, because while I am actively waiting, I am not doing this is some graceful manner. To him, I'm a saint who is amazing and strong and busy and funny and supportive at all times. To everyone who is seeing the true story, I'm a freaking wreck!!! I'm unable to sleep, I am annoyed and irritable half the time, I'm constantly panicked that things will not work when he is finally back, and I'm in a general state of emotional disarray at all times. I hate it! I hate being patient! I hate waiting for things to work out! I hate waiting and seeing what will happen! I hate putting in this time for delayed gratification! I come from a generation of instant gratification damn it! With a click of a button or a dial on my cell phone, there isn't ANYTHING I cannot get from our world. Except him.
I think of bailing and upturning this whole thing sometimes and inevitably on those days I get a phone call from this farway land and hear that voice say, "Hey," and I'm back in the boat 200%. While we haven't made this commitment completely formal and exclusive and sealed up, I have gone on a lot of dates. I've liked some boys. But nothing compares. So I wait. I put on that stupid patience hat and I keep that light on for when he's finally home. The thing is, once he's home, my patience doesn't end. He needs time to settle back, he needs time to re-align his life and himself, and even after that and I am in front of him, we both know that call to take him away again could come. And there I'll be, waiting. All-in-all I'd say this was never my plan, but like all things, it came and I went for it, only to consider what I've gotten myself into this time after I'm in deep. I just hope this patience has a pay-out somewhere, SOON, because frankly, I'm really impatient.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Ordinary Living--My Worst Fear
People shopping for flooring at Bed, Bath, and Beyond, having "couple's" dinners, getting up at the same time each morning, sleeping at the same time each night, staying in the same career for 25 years, dying in their bed at 95. I'm sorry, but am I the only person absolutely terrified by this existence????? I've been having this little post-25 traumatic stress issue with normalcy in life and how the people around me all seem to embrace it excitedly for the last few years and I need to just get this out there and pray I'm not alone.
Ok.....is this all there is? I'm sure we all ask this constantly, but when I see all my childhood friends (save a few) buying houses and having babies to put in these houses and giving up eyeliner for bouncy chairs and having a big date night consist of the same restaurant they went to last Saturday, it's honestly freaking me out. Are they happy? I'm not trying to judge, if it makes them happy, then fantastic! Live on you happy go-getters living out your dream! But....I mean, how CAN they be happy? I know I obviously suffer from a serious thrill-seeking disorder, but even people less inclined to chase down feeling than I am must not be able to look around their living room every night and feel like THIS is the life they intended. Isn't there some little voice in them saying, "Remember that girl who wanted to do a Europe road trip and have a lover in every language?" Or "I wonder if I would have practiced a little harder on that guitar, if John Mayer would be opening for me...." Those voices happen right? I'm not the only schizophrenic in the room, riiiiiiiiight?
Here's the thing: I really love doing new things. I really hate doing the same thing. A lot of my life's misery can be summed up in those two statements, but it doesn't make them any less true. I understand the kind of people that move every 3 years, or have really freakishly dangerous jobs, or just cannot seem to sustain relationships. Actually, I think I just described all of my closest friends! But is our little gang of misfits the only group out there living this way? Are we the ones that are missing out? Is there truly some unimagined joy in that alarm clock starting your day like Groundhog's Day each morning that I am missing out on? I don't see it, but I've been wrong before!
Is this something we'll grow out of? My soulmate cousin and I have this conversation daily, in different states, in different lives, but continually asking the same question: Why didn't we WANT that? And more importantly...why do they want it so bad? I overheard a girl talking about the need to be married by the time she's 30 or she was going to "order a mail order husband immediately." She was so serious. This poor woman, who couldn't be more than 25 was completely distraught at the thought that she might be unmarried at 30. I wanted to grab her and shake her and slap her, mostly because I want to think people like this don't exist, because then it doesn't make ME the freak at baby showers wanting to bring an "I'm Sorry For Your Loss....of Freedom" card.
It isn't even the having of kids and marriage and all those lovely notions that are the core of what I recoil from in actuality. It's the normalcy. It's the fear that routine and monotony and blandness and predictability will become the forefront of my life. I just drove to a city full of lights and gambling last weekend and every single amazing event that happened there was unplanned. I took a job 4 months ago that opened a door to an entirely new lifestyle and set of people, night creature livers that I had never known before. Is there supposed to be an end to these new adventures? And if there is...why would people seek that out? If I stop searching for the new, what do I become? Does stagnant living stop the evolution of my being? Or is that the evolved state? Sometimes I wonder if my REAL fear is that I will love that life, and become one of them. I'll wake up one day in my minivan, halfway to Wednesday's soccer practice, and suddenly realize I'm one of them and loving it, and this person I've been so far is all gone. What a terrifying idea!!! Does age mean we must conform to this role of woman? This woman who puts herself last, her dreams on hold for possibly ever, her highlights grown out for months, her eyeliner in the bottom drawer, her daily activities focused on a calendar of events that have nothing to do with her? Is this mandatory? Because....I don't wanna.
Ok.....is this all there is? I'm sure we all ask this constantly, but when I see all my childhood friends (save a few) buying houses and having babies to put in these houses and giving up eyeliner for bouncy chairs and having a big date night consist of the same restaurant they went to last Saturday, it's honestly freaking me out. Are they happy? I'm not trying to judge, if it makes them happy, then fantastic! Live on you happy go-getters living out your dream! But....I mean, how CAN they be happy? I know I obviously suffer from a serious thrill-seeking disorder, but even people less inclined to chase down feeling than I am must not be able to look around their living room every night and feel like THIS is the life they intended. Isn't there some little voice in them saying, "Remember that girl who wanted to do a Europe road trip and have a lover in every language?" Or "I wonder if I would have practiced a little harder on that guitar, if John Mayer would be opening for me...." Those voices happen right? I'm not the only schizophrenic in the room, riiiiiiiiight?
Here's the thing: I really love doing new things. I really hate doing the same thing. A lot of my life's misery can be summed up in those two statements, but it doesn't make them any less true. I understand the kind of people that move every 3 years, or have really freakishly dangerous jobs, or just cannot seem to sustain relationships. Actually, I think I just described all of my closest friends! But is our little gang of misfits the only group out there living this way? Are we the ones that are missing out? Is there truly some unimagined joy in that alarm clock starting your day like Groundhog's Day each morning that I am missing out on? I don't see it, but I've been wrong before!
Is this something we'll grow out of? My soulmate cousin and I have this conversation daily, in different states, in different lives, but continually asking the same question: Why didn't we WANT that? And more importantly...why do they want it so bad? I overheard a girl talking about the need to be married by the time she's 30 or she was going to "order a mail order husband immediately." She was so serious. This poor woman, who couldn't be more than 25 was completely distraught at the thought that she might be unmarried at 30. I wanted to grab her and shake her and slap her, mostly because I want to think people like this don't exist, because then it doesn't make ME the freak at baby showers wanting to bring an "I'm Sorry For Your Loss....of Freedom" card.
It isn't even the having of kids and marriage and all those lovely notions that are the core of what I recoil from in actuality. It's the normalcy. It's the fear that routine and monotony and blandness and predictability will become the forefront of my life. I just drove to a city full of lights and gambling last weekend and every single amazing event that happened there was unplanned. I took a job 4 months ago that opened a door to an entirely new lifestyle and set of people, night creature livers that I had never known before. Is there supposed to be an end to these new adventures? And if there is...why would people seek that out? If I stop searching for the new, what do I become? Does stagnant living stop the evolution of my being? Or is that the evolved state? Sometimes I wonder if my REAL fear is that I will love that life, and become one of them. I'll wake up one day in my minivan, halfway to Wednesday's soccer practice, and suddenly realize I'm one of them and loving it, and this person I've been so far is all gone. What a terrifying idea!!! Does age mean we must conform to this role of woman? This woman who puts herself last, her dreams on hold for possibly ever, her highlights grown out for months, her eyeliner in the bottom drawer, her daily activities focused on a calendar of events that have nothing to do with her? Is this mandatory? Because....I don't wanna.
Dating Post WWIII
I'd like to think that amidst ALL the dramaramaville of my very serious situation, things like my empty savings account and career path to nowhere were the paramount issues weighing on my mind, but...they weren't. I had been excessively lucky to have a good job with family friends, roof over my head, the adorbale little VW Beetle from my best friend--I lucked out in the major creature comfort necessities of the world which allowed my mind to settle in that one area it had settled on since I was 11: Boys.
Disclaimer: I was truly distraught over the failed marriage to Mr. Perfection. It shook me up to the core and I'm still pretty shaken. But, let's not forget, it was his choice to leave. I had begged, I had promised all sorts of internal changes I'd never be able to pull off, and I had myself fully believing my commitment to change for this man that had done so much for me. But he left before I got to either dazzle or disappoint him. It truly felt like I had been through some war and I was emerging a battered and befuddled soldier a little unsure of which weapons I was supposed to use and when. So, there I was.
Now, I hadn't been on any kind of single person dating scene since...well...ever? I met Mr. Perfection at 19! I had been with him for 9 years and being single was honestly completely new to me in every way. For all of you who don't know me so well, I'm a bit of the adventurous sort, and new things, new people, new BOYS, well I get excited. The singlehood status became pretty exciting fast, especially since boys just like me. This is not conceit, it's plain fact. Boys like me. I am lucky enough to have my mother's hottie DNA coursing through my veins and the ability to think up a barrage of witty, smart-ass comments at will. I also have mastered the art of truly appearing to not need men. While in some arenas, say the medical field or culinary school, these talents may add up to nothing, but in the man arena it's pretty much a slam dunk. So dating quickly became my new sport, and a little mini-series of romantic entanglements have ensued from this beloved pasttime. Let's review each major saga in a summarized recap, catching you all up to speed on where I stand today on this majorly important issue:
Mr. Bahamas:
Sighhhhhh. That's all I could ever do around this man that made everything so easy, so thoughtless, so enjoyable that he made me feel like I was on vacation in the Bahamas every single day we were together. I met him ten years before and fell madly in crush with him as a silly little 16-year-old girl, while he was a very charming 23-year-old that led me into some minorly scandalous behavior and then disappeared into a distant memory of a crushed little girl. How it all resumed, how it all played out is so much less important than the fact that he offered a very safe and loving landing spot for this battered little woman. There may have been some love moments, may have been a marriage proposal at a totally inappropriate time...but there may also have been some unsolved baggage on his end that wasn't as disclosed as it should have been. Regardless, my Grandma Sally told me once, "The best way to get over one man is to get under another". She was a wise woman.
Mr. Magical:
So....this cannot be summarized. You know when singers write love songs? Or Shakespeare wrote anything? Or movies like The Notebook come out? Or books like The Time Traveler's Wife are published? Well, while I love these stories, I relish in them, I devour them, I never ever really believe them. I don't believe in that kind of star-cross'd-lover-we-fell-and-we-never-got-back-up-I'd-die-for-you kind of love thing. I don't think it's real. At all. I have always treated matters of the heart a little more business-like. I hold the most power, and I delegate my feelings accordingly. I decide how much my heart gets involved. I decide to what extent I will force this person to be in love with me. I orchestrate the blows and sabotage if necessary. But.....I changed last November. I'm pretty sure I got zapped by some accidental government laser or something to be exact because my actions toward this person are sooooooo far from normal for me that I have been wondering if I'm part of a science project. He doesn't even live here, met on accidental alignment of stars, and everything just FELL. He has literally the most inconvenient job in the world. We almost eloped after meeting 4 weeks earlier. He left the country months ago and comes home in a few weeks, yet we don't even discuss what that means in real concrete terms. We both play this little control role of not caring, I keep dating people that I could honestly not care less about while he's away. He pretends this is all OK with him. We act as if my daily phone calls with his mother are not a big deal, his calls each week from a country 12 hours off my time schedule are not a big deal, and I'm starting to think we're total idiots with all this acting. But I also love it. I get a little thrill from not knowing, the possibility that I could soon be crushed in love is intoxicating. I haven't been crushed from love since.....well...ever? Ahhh how exciting. The misery or joy I could be facing has to be better than heroin. (I'll just take my own word for it, I think the last thing I need these days is a heroin addiction)
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