Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Endings

I've never been good at endings--the ending of an era, leaving a job (no matter how much I don't like it), ending relationships, ending friendships...all endings.

After I graduated college, I took the first job I could find that offered insurance and paid decently. It was as the manager of a small retail store. I H A T E D retail. I hated customer service when I did it in my first job, which I had from the time I was 16 through most of college (until the place closed, not until I chose to leave--perfect example of hating endings). I was going to work as a manager for a year or two until I figured out what to do next for my real career. I worked there for six years.

I think I have ended things with a guy once. When I was in seventh grade. In a note. Ever since then, guys ended things with me. Thinking back on my relationship with the Big X (Part I, Part II, Part III,and Part IV), I probably (if I didn't have this fear of ending things) would have ended things with him after 5 or 6 years, instead of . . . an unmentionable number of years. At which point he was the one who actually ended things.

I think I had a brief conversation with my therapist about all this at one point, in which I uncovered the fact that I moved away from my best friend when I was 4, and then a series of 3 childhood best friends moved away, leaving me with abandonment issues. Whatever the underlying reason, I hate endings.

I know that after only two dates, I hardly owed P. anything, but I also know that he is someone who would feel I owed him something. So I sort of settled and sent him an email. Now, I know email may not seem appropriate/kind, but first consider: 1. To meet him would constitute a third date, and it seems cruel to meet him to tell him I don't want to see him anymore. 2. To do it on the phone perhaps would be recommended but a. I was already bending by giving him a "breakup" when I don't think I owed that to him even; b. We had only spoken on the phone once in the past two weeks. 3. Our primary form of communication thus far had been email.

So I emailed him: "I've had a great time hanging out with you, but I have a lot going on with school and personal issues. I can't handle dating right now, so we should stop seeing each other. Good luck with everything." He didn't email me back for 3 days so I thought I was in the clear. But today he responded. It's sitting in my inbox, hounding me. I can't deal with endings. I don't want to read whatever he has to say.

I can't deal with endings. Especially if they get messy.

Monday, January 22, 2007

2nd Date, Part II: Tina is Crazy

So when we last left off, Tina had gotten too drunk due to cough syrup and wine combo and decided to play Questions with P...let's see where those two crazy kids ended up.

I must admit that I do not remember all of the conversation but here are some highlights: I told him all the little things he had done so far that bothered me, like RSVPing for both of us to the Dodd rally when I had already RSVPed for myself. See, I am freakish about my independence right now, which is probably why I haven't been dating. I told him how when he wrote to me in an email that he preferred speaking face-to-face instead of on the phone and instant messaging and he knew I felt the same way, that that really steamed me. We had only been out on one date. How could he know that about me? And this comment was in response to my asking him what his screen name was, so clearly I do IM and I told him, "You know what? I actually LOVE instant messaging. And it really bothered me that you would make an assumption about me."

I made several comments like this, and you know what? He didn't get upset and leave. I remember he asked me what would make me end things right away with someone, and I said, "Losing my independence, feeling smothered." I need my own space. I don't recall the things he listed in answer to that question, but I know that one of the things that he listed as a deal breaker is true of me. I didn't say so Friday night, though.

There were very good parts about the conversation. We shared what issues were most important to us politically, talked about what we want out of life, whether we want to move out of Connecticut, things like that. A lot of those answers made us seem pretty compatible.

We snogged more and more as the evening went on. He wants to run for office, which makes perfect sense to me after seeing him in action at the Dodd announcement. I told him that I would not picture myself as a politician's wife. Nothing I said seemed to throw him, so I thought, what the hell. Maybe my bad vibes about this thing are just me flipping out about dating. I decided to sleep with him.

Of course, the thing is, the thing that happened that should have let me know right away (were I sober) that I was not making a rational decision, is that part of my thought process on taking this step was, "Well, better to know now if we click in bed. If we really click, maybe I can get over some of the other stuff." And then--here is the first sign that Tina is crazy--the other part of that thought process was that while the "in bed" stuff was going on, the second part of the thought process was, "I should really sleep with Mike too because if I am giving P. this chance, Mike deserves it too. Mike and I have an equal or greater chance of working out."

Mike, who I often refer to as My Mike, is a guy who I've always been pretty sure is half in love with me but is incredibly shy. I've known him for years and occasionally have dinner with him, but nothing ever happens because he is so shy he won't try anything and even though I know how he feels about me, I have yet to develop a strong enough urge to care to try something from my end. Additionally, I think in the back of my head I know that if things worked out with Mike, it would be a Relationship. So we have dinner now and then and then don't talk for months at a time.

So here I am, sleeping with one guy and deciding that I should sleep with another, neither of whom I am convinced I want to Date. The sex was . . . sex. It's hard for sex to be bad. It wasn't bad. It wasn't great. As soon as it was over, I began to feel smothered. He was propped up on one elbow, looking down lovingly at me, caressing me. And I just wanted to be alone. I even made a joke about how he must be trying to figure out a way to leave now.

But he slept over. I remember waking up a few times during the morning and going back to sleep, hoping that if I slept long enough, he would just leave. By 11 AM, I knew this strategy would not work so I got up and took the dog out, then sat down to begin doing some homework. P. came out of the bedroom and sat down right next to me on the couch, put his arm around me, and kept trying to make out with me some more. I was having trouble breathing.

He wanted to cook me breakfast. I told him I don't eat breakfast and in fact don't have anything in the house to make breakfast with. He kissed me some more. I couldn't breathe. I would try to pull away and he would put his hand behind my head and pull me to him to kiss me some more. If I successfully pulled away, he pulled me into his arms and kissed the top of my head or caressed my cheek.

I said I really needed to get some homework done. (HINT HINT!) He said, "Okay, I guess I'll leave. . . in a little while!" And began sucking my face again. I couldn't breathe. I was having a panic attack for like an hour while he kept trying to make out with me! Tight chest, shortness of breath, you name it. And this guy seems like he's about to profess his love for me and all I can think is, "How can I make him leave?"

He asked when he could see me again. I said not this weekend. I'm doing my homework. And I'm very busy during the week. How about next weekend? Nope. I think I'm going to Washington for the peace march. More suffocating kisses. Then finally he left.

And I did not walk him out for fear that it would bring on another bout of kissing.

I told my story to two friends and received very different reactions. Whitney seemed amused and empathetic. Rose, on the other hand, told me what I sort of knew already--that I was a bitch to him and he's a really nice guy and doesn't deserve it. She thinks I should call him and meet for drinks again or something, that I should give him another chance and even though I don't think it will work out in the long run, he is good practice for dating again.

I think the longer I see this guy, the more likely his feelings will get hurt. I fear he's already picked out some Valentine's Day present for me and is planning on introducing me to his friends and family. Argh!

I don't know what to do!

Saturday, January 20, 2007

2nd Date, Part I: The Dodd Announcement

Oh boy. Oh no. Okay, I've really dug myself in deep this time.

It all began last night when I had my second date with this guy. Let us call him P. Our second date consisted of attending a Chris Dodd for President rally in Hartford, after which we were planning to have dinner "someplace quiet." He asked me to pick him up from work so we could drive to the rally together but I didn't want to do that. I am really afraid that this guy is much more into me than I am into him and I was trying to discourage him a little.

Ugh. I need to shower before I continue this story. I feel so dirty. Back in a bit.

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After a shower and changing the sheets, I realize that my introductory paragraph is perhaps on the alarmist side, a bit of an overreaction. Here is what happened next.

So we were at the Old State House, enjoying a glass of red wine and munching on appetizers, and we really didn't have too much to talk about. Luckily, we found a mutual friend and sort of latched onto him for a bit, and the conversation picked up with three of us. It quickly became apparent to me that he was here to see and be seen, as he went around finding the Speaker of the Ct House, the former Lt. Governor, several State Representatives and State Senators. I do believe most of them knew him, so bully for him.

I was there to see the announcement because I like political things, and to say hi to friends. I didn't realize I was there to be introduced to all the big shots by P., implicitly as his new girlfriend, even though we were only on the second date. He put his arm around me quite a lot and held my hand quite a bit. Once, I did not follow him across the room as he went to say hi to the former Lt. Governor, because a. I do not particularly like the man and don't want to be introduced to him and b. He was in the vicinity of another person I know well and definitely would have preferred not to see. P., when he realized I had not followed him over, called to me across the room so that I would join him and be introduced. I felt like such arm candy.

Then after the announcement, we had to stay around and chase Senator Dodd for 45 minutes so P. could meet him. I really don't care about meeting the famous people. I would have been fine just leaving. I mean, Chris Dodd is not going to remember me after meeting me among hundreds of people anyway.

So next was what to do afterwards. We were supposed to go, in P.'s words, "someplace quiet" for dinner, and it was my responsibility to choose a restaurant. Well, given the fact that I was still recovering from a cold and the cough medicine was wearing off, on top of the fact that I had (skip to the next paragraph if you don't want to hear about girl problems) a bladder infection which caused me to have to pee immediately when the urge hit, well, I just wanted to go home.

Since P. really does seem like quite the gentleman, I invited him home, so long as he was okay with my messy apartment. I also thought on my own turf where I'm more comfortable, I'd be better able to have a frank conversation with him, something I needed to do if we were going to have a third date. I needed to be able to tell him some things about me and know that he accepted them.

I had a bit of wine. He had a beer. Unfortunately, I forgot about the cough syrup and got much too tipsy due to the combination. So after about 90 minutes of television watching interspersed with a bit of snogging and some polite conversation, I finally got up the nerve to start playing Questions. Questions is my little game for calling off the normal rules of conversation and getting right at the crux of what you want to know about each other. The rules are pretty basic: You take turns asking each other any question you want and the other person must answer honestly. It's like Truth or Dare without the dare.

This is getting long so I'm going to split the post up. Stay tuned for the interesting part, where you say to yourself, Yes, Tina really is crazy.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Goober Footnote

Oops, I f'ed up the Goober link. Here it is.

Isn't she great? She was the star of the campaign. She even inspired the first Lamont commercial with a barking dog, but she is too well-behaved to bark so she couldn't star in her own commercial. Alas, she is still loved by all.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Birthday, a Date, and Rhode Island

Damn. I've got to remember to start saving the drafts of posts. I was nearly done with one about my birthday and now alas it is gone. And I am lazy so here is the short version: Woke up. Stayed in bed cuz it's my birthday. Finally got out of bed, legs were both asleep, did unnatural split. Yeow! Had a massage (first proffessional one I've had). Went to dinner with a friend, then drinks with a couple of friends. The end. Ah, but the highlight was picking out the panties for said massage, so here's the long version of that:

It was close to laundry day so I put on my natty panties, then realized that I do not know massage protocol. Do you leave them on? Or do you go with the full monty? So in case the massage therapist would see mine, I switched to a pair of nicer but still clean panties that are a bit tight. Then I thought, what if you are supposed to take everything off? Then the massage therapist will see the panty lines on my skin and think that I am in denial about what size I am. So I then proceeded to (don't read the following if you are faint of heart--just skip to the next paragraph) smell test my dirty nice fitting panties to make sure they were clean enough.

End result: Left them on, but was covered by a blanket the whole time. Nice massage. Would recommend.

Next up last week: A date. Gulp. I dread dating. I haven't really "dated" anyone since the beginning of my relationship with the Big X. I mean, I've been with guys, as you know, but I prefer to skip the whole contrived getting-to-know-you dating that the rest of the world goes through. Even with the Republican I was with for a month or so last year, we didn't really date so much as hang out and, well, you know.

And that has suited me just fine, but apparently, I'm told, if I would like to start some sort of real relationship at some point, I really need to date. I do want a relationship at some point, even if the last attempt (see Republican) caused me to have panic attacks. I'd like to think at some point I will get over the panic attacks and be able to settle down.

Okay. So I Dated on Friday. We had been emailing and had exchanged pictures. We know a lot of the same people through politics so we have a lot in common, and through several emails this guy hadn't done anything freaky so I deigned to meet him. I wanted to only meet for drinks because I still wasn't convinced that this was going to work, but drinks turned into dinner. He turned out to be pretty nice. We even made out a little when we said goodbye.

When I got home (I live 5 minutes from the place we had met up) I got a call from him--his car had been towed! So I turned around, picked him up, and drove 30 minutes outside the city with him to pick it up. You know, in New Haven when your car is towed, they bring it somewhere in the city. I know this because just the day before I had gotten my car towed in New Haven. With Goober in it, no less! I think I was more upset about that whole experience than she was.

So it was a bad thing to have happen on a first date in one way, but good in others. I got to see how he handles stressful situations--he does not get angry and yell and scream (which is what the Big X would have done). Instead, he said at least it allowed him to spend more time with me. And if this thing does turn into a real relationship, it makes for a good first date story. And we got to smooch again.

Unfortunately, the smooching was cut short because I really had to pee! I swear, my awful bladder acts up in the worst of times. He asked me if I would come in while he got his car and I said a quick, "NO!" I didn't mean to be harsh about it so I explained the sit as politely as I could and was on my way.

We are supposed to see each other again this Friday (provided my current cold stops kicking my ass) so I must have done something right.

Side note: I went on a literal Guilt Trip with my dad this weekend. After my mom went to Florida with the middle sister, Stacy, my youngest sister, Kristy, and I got guilted into going on a mini road trip with him to Rhode Island. It wasn't bad. We ate at a cool restaurant, Fire + Ice, in Providence, and saw some beautiful mansions in Newport. Plus there were little entertaining bits like when my dad said to me, "A lot of these mansions are free!"

I found that a bit hard to believe since when I was there a year and a half ago, they all cost money, so I went to look at what he was reading. "See," he pointed. "It says right here, 'Admission free.' " What it actually said was, "Admission fee!"

Sunday, January 07, 2007

Not-Completely-Used-Up Kleenex: Insomniac Ramblings

As I find myself stricken once more with insomnia, here is the great dilemma that I am pondering: To throw away a not-completely-used-up kleenex or not to throw away a not-completely-used-up kleenex.

I always used to throw kleenex away, even when I had only blown my nose once upon said kleenex, but over the years, I have become snifflier and snifflier. I am now, I suspect, a girl who is allergic to cats. However, I refuse to find out if this is true because I own two cats, so instead I use more and more kleenex. Take Benadryl? Can't. It interacts with my happy pills and could kill me. Fun, huh? (The killing me is a fact I found out all on my own, not something that my doctor or pharmacist ever told me, by the way.)

So since I began using more and more kleenex and since I am living alone for the first time ever (causing, among other things, me to become stingy with things since I pay all the bills alone and don't actually work full-time), I started not throwing away not-completely-used-up kleenex. If half or more of the kleenex remains virginal, I leave it on the bathroom counter next to the kleenex box so that I may reuse it later.

Tonight, I realized that my sister had stopped in and used my bathroom today and was forced to look at a not-completely-used-up kleenex as she washed her hands afterward. (At least, I hope she washed her hands afterward; you never can tell, you know, who does not wash their hands. It always amazes me in public restrooms.) I am suddenly mortified at having become someone who keeps not-completely-used-up kleenex hanging around the house.

I often have unexpected guests and don't have time to tidy up, so for a moment I considered beginning to hide my not-completely-used-up kleenex in the medicine cabinet so that it would be out of sight. I quickly decided that this would be a bad idea, as it is much, much worse to have someone discover that you are hiding not-completely-used-up kleenex inside your medicine cabinet than to find it laying on the bathroom counter. You see, I may have just accidentally forgotten to throw away a not-completely-used-up kleenex that is lying about on the counter, but a not-completely-used-up kleenex hidden in the medicine cabinet is clearly the work of a deranged mind. That indicates premeditated saving of this incriminating item.

So now as I try to make myself tired, I am wondering whether it is worth the money I save to keep the not-completely-used-up kleenex for further use, risking embarrassment if there are surprise visitors, or if I should just throw away the damn kleenex, whether it is not-completely-used-up or not.

Ah, the troubles of insomniac, cat-allergic, in-denial, cheapskates.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Get Your Merry On 2006, Part II

Christmas Day

11:09 AM—Let the Gluttony Begin

Victoria woke me up at 7:30 this morning. Seeing as how I was the only one sleeping on the couch instead of in an actual bedroom, I was the easy target. Plus she knows that I’m good-natured and won’t grump at her. She had read her note from Santa Claus and seemed very excited that he had written back to her. All seems well on that front.

We watched Vicky open her stocking presents while poor Kristy made extra stuffing; my mother was quite upset that there was no extra stuffing made last night. Never mind that Stacy was the one who said not to make any more; Kristy was the one who was at fault and therefore deserved to be yelled at.

I had not psychically known to bring folding chairs from my apartment, so that has been my big faux pas so far today. I made our traditional breakfast: Kielbasa, eggs, and English muffins. I varied a tiny bit from our usual and dared to add dill to the scrambled eggs, but luckily this went by without a comment from my mother.

Now we are preparing for the descent of my mother’s side of the family, including my grandmother (not the Grandmonster, mind you), four aunts, three uncles (by marriage), innumerable cousins, their children, husbands and boy/girlfriends. Grand total is usually around 40 people packed into four rooms of a raised ranch.

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12:23 PM—Hell in a Handbasket

Evil Mother is back. Kristy was dispatched to my apartment to collect the folding chairs and still wasn’t back after breakfast. Vicky was trying her best to be good all morning, asking what else needed to be done and doing whatever was asked of her. All she wanted was to be able to unwrap a few more presents, which we usually do before the Fam descends. Since Kristy wasn’t back, we didn’t really want to open more presents and Vicky was having a hard time understanding this. Finally, we gave in and as she searched for a present that my mother would approve of her opening, we all sat in the living room and looked on.

My mom asked my dad to start the fire because she thought that we had the fire going all day long while everyone was here. My dad insisted that it was lit after everyone left at the end of the day in previous years. They had at it, which is unusual nowadays because my dad will just give into whatever she wants. But in this case, there was no way he was pushing through a throng of forty people to constantly check on the fire that would increase the temperature in an already boiling house full of sweaty bodies crammed up against one another on a WARM winter day.

He finally gave in and banged things around as he went out to get logs, at which point my mother asked Stacy and I if she was right. Stacy said no, we don’t have a fire until later in the day. I said I don’t remember whether we have one earlier but I know we have one later. Vicky said no, we don’t have one earlier in the day. So she went outside and told my dad he didn’t have to build the fire. I don’t know what was said there, but he stormed off into the bedroom and didn’t come out for some time.

Back into the living room my mother comes and picks out a gift for Vicky to unwrap. Vicky is already upset because she has not been allowed to unwrap the ones she wanted to and no one else is unwrapping and everyone else is cranky and now my mother is snapping at her to unwrap this present. She does and then because my mother is not pleased with her reaction gets snapped at to open the box containing the origami kit and show everyone. Vicky does not want to open it now and is getting entrenched in a foul mood, so I try to cajole her into opening it by saying, “Gee, well why did you want to open the present if you don’t want to open the packaging?” to which my mother picks up the words but not the friendly tone and snaps sarcastically, “Yeah, Vicky, why do you even want to open your presents?”

This of course sends her crying into her bedroom. I waited a few minutes and went in and talked to her about how Mom is in a foul mood this holiday and she doesn’t realize it, how she’s hurt all of our feelings this Christmas and we just have to realize that she really does love us all but is sick and in a lot of pain, that this doesn’t make it right but sometimes right and wrong are very complicated and we just have to be understanding of her. I told her I would find a present for her to unwrap after she’d let herself have a good cry. I told her that bad things happen during Christmas but you can’t let them ruin the whole holiday for you. And then I let her stay in her room and sulk for a bit until she was ready to come back out.

In the meantime, most of the family has arrived. Let the fun begin…

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10:47 PM Thursday, January 4

It has taken me a week and a half to get over the trauma that was my Christmas after I last left you, dear reader. Only now can I look back upon that dark, dark day without bursting into tears, or at least sneezes.

Okay, not really. I just got carried away on Christmas, then got really, really lazy for a week, then really, really drunk for a night, then extremely hung over for a day or two, and here I am now. I lived through Christmas. I lived through New Year’s. And I am still standing to face the next onslaught of deep, personal sadness: My birthday. Six days from today.

So what happened with the rest of the day on Christmas, though, you ask? Well, the cousin-in-law known behind her back as tits (for her quadruple d boobies that she likes to sling against poor, defenseless male family members as they cower in the doorway and later confess to having had nightmares over, having woken up for weeks after such boobie rapings screaming, “No! Not again! My last cracked rib hasn’t quite healed!”) didn’t show up. So no trying not to look at the car wreck that is her 200 pound frame dry humping my stick figure cousin as they straddle a chair together.

My Aunt C came by for a bit, with 5 of her 9 kids in tow, and three of them with kids of their own. It’s always like a clown car, with them. We used to bet on how many kids Carol would have each year. To say that she was fertile would be like saying my ex had a few stray back hairs (a total exaggeration; the man was an ape, I tell you! The first time I slid my hand under his shirt and up his back, I gasped in shock). Now we bet on how many kids Carol’s kids will have each year. It’s all in the jeans, I tell you.

I am allowed to kid about these other family members, see, because my own blood—my brother—clearly takes the cake. If any single one of the forty-odd people under that room on Christmas was going to be the grand marshall of the Freak Parade, it would be him. He cuts his own hair—apparently while blindfolded and using a pair of blunt scissors—has teeth that look like they have been soaking in a mixture of maple syrup and pixie sticks for the last 40 years…oof. Don’t make me go on.

But for the handful of complete weirdos, there is another few dozen almost ordinary and friendly, loving family members. And I wouldn’t exactly sign myself up to run for Queen of Normal, either.

Best part of the day—the evening. We spend an hour or two sitting around the dining room table, our family and my Aunt Mary’s, catching up and shooting the shit about what went down during the day. My dad and uncle went off about my deceased grandfather for awhile (you know, about what a bastard the man was—abusive, rotten, racist father, husband, and overall human being) and gradually transitioned to my uncle, who, as soon as he was 18, got the hell out of Dodge and moved to Daytona Beach, where he could be as queer as he wanted to be without having to worry about the bigot he had for a father.

Then the immediate family gathers around the fire and exchanges gifts, sipping wine and oohing and ahhing over each other’s presents. Except for when my mom thought the Irish Breakfast (tea) that my dad gave her was oatmeal and pulled back on her mean face for a few minutes. Oh, well. Goober liked the rawhide I gave her.

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Happy (belated) Christmas to all, and to all a good night.