Misc.

There are only two ways to be bad, as far as I'm concerned: You can do some bad things and never tell anyone, or you can be totally evil and wear it as a badge of honor like a classic comic villain. Anything in between and you get screwed over. Of course, there are those who would say that if you're bad, you deserve to get screwed over. . .

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I was talking with my friend Mike (not MY Mike--I've given up on him, I think--but another friend Mike). I'm having a game night at my apartment on Friday the 13th. Mike said we should use a Ouija board. I said that I was not crazy about the idea, seeing as how my apartment is in a very old house and perhaps there would be real ghosts. He said, "Don't worry. I know the rules. I saw Witchboard."

You know what? I miss being with people who were old enough to watch Witchboard when it came out. There's something to be said for spending time with people from your own generation, people who have shared experiences with you because you came of age in the same era. Then there are the people who I normally hang out with (and date and sleep with) who say things like, "Remember being in 6th grade listening to Nirvana?" And I say, "No. I remember being a senior in high school listening to Nirvana. I remember being in 6th grade and listening to Madonna sing Material Girl ON A RECORD PLAYER."

I'm old, man. I need to hang out with more old people. And FYI I do not still listen to Madonna.

Old Lovers

The Big X was a selfish lover. I of course didn't quite realize this at the time, having only ever been with him, but in the years since, I've come to realize what it is to be with a man who is a generous lover.

I'm thinking of old lovers right now because I've recently heard from two of them, and of course am planning on attending my cousin's wedding where the Big X will be the best man. On the wedding front, I have lost 5 pounds--not nearly enough, but a start--and have extracted a promise from a good (cute) friend to be my date should I not have met my fabulous new love by then. And he understands that being my date will require a pretense that we are madly in love and can't keep our hands off each other (at least whenever the Big X is around). So I'm feeling more at peace with that impending date with destiny.

The old lovers--first is my most recent one, actually. P. emailed me. He wanted me to know that he's met someone new, someone at work, and even though he knows that relationships in the workplace don't generally work out, this one is different. And they are saving up to purchase a condo together. So, let's sum up: P. met and began dating a girl at work approximately 4 weeks ago and now they are planning on purchasing real estate together.

Boy was I on the mark when I ran away because he was moving too fast.

The other old lover is my former Friend With Benefits (FWB), to whom I haven't spoken since last June. We didn't leave things poorly; we just left them. I got caught up in the campaign and then just never bothered to contact him again (but neither did he contact me).

He was recently dumped via text message. He admits that this is quite funny, and isn't too upset by it since he was thinking of ending things with her as well. He says he's been thinking of me a lot lately. He says I'm the best he's ever had. (This is such a line. I can't even be flattered by it, it's such a blatant line.) He hopes I don't think poorly of him (I'm assuming this is because he hasn't contacted me in so long) and wants to know if I'm interested in getting together sometime.

I don't know if I am interested in getting together sometime. We had a really good arrangement, when we had it. We were strictly in it for the physical aspect, though we were also friends of a sort, but neither of us was looking for a relationship. We were exclusive sexually during that time, but were free to date. The only two rules were that if either of us was intimate with someone else during that time, we would let the other know (for safety reasons only), and that neither of us would get emotionally involved with the other. I stressed this last rule every time we saw each other. I was dead serious about not wanting a relationship.

I'm pretty sure based on the tone of his email that he is looking to pick up the FWB situation, and I can tell that whether he was about to end things with this girl or not, he's on the rebound. Which makes things messy no matter what. Should I choose to accept the FWB situation again, I fear that because he is on the rebound, he may be looking for more from me.

On the other hand, I'm not clear on what the hell I'm even looking for at the moment. I rejected P. because he wanted a Relationship and he wanted it fast. I do clearly have commitment issues, but I think there is now a part of me that wants to try again. Otherwise, why would I have been interested in starting to date again to begin with? Not knowing my own intentions further complicates things with an FWB situation, because the only way that such an arrangement will work with no hurt feelings is that both people really mean it when they say they want only sex and they follow the rules.

Or, I suppose, it could work if both people really don't mean it when they say they want only sex, and they end up falling madly in love and get married and blah blah blah. But I think you can tell from my blahs that I don't really think this second possibility is very likely. More likely is something somewhere in between, where one person is more vested in things and ends up getting hurt.

I don't think poorly of him. I never expected anything from him, so losing contact wasn't a big deal to me. As far as I'm concerned, neither of us ever owed the other any explanations. I was clear that last time we saw each other in June that the earliest he would hear from me was August 9 (the day after the Primary election), and when we won that, I figured it was understood that I would be busy until November. I'm not sure what to read into the fact that he thinks I may be upset with him for not contacting me. Did he think he was blowing me off? If so, does that mean that all along he thought there was something more than I thought there was? I don't even know.

So if I begin things with FWB again, I must be prepared for the possibilities and know whether I'm prepared to hurt him or be hurt by him.

Or I can say to hell with it. There are no other prospects on the horizon right now and the sex was good (the best I've ever had? Don't know about that). I'm nearly certain that in the short term I won't be the one who would end up hurt. The best I can do is be honest with him, I suppose.

After all, FWB is a generous lover. And a generous lover is a good thing to have.

Making Snow Doggies: Why I Was Late Today

I was fifteen minutes late to work today, and here's why. I went out the back door to get to my car. I had allowed Goober to come for the ride today since it's in the 30's and she's perfectly comfortable anytime the temperature is above 20, due to her heavy double coat. Also, she would rather come wait in the car for a few hours than wait at home for a few hours. I think she can somehow sense that she is much closer to me in the car.

So while I was putting my bags in the car, Goober ran over to the snow in the backyard. There is now about 6 inches of fairly fluffy snow, the first time we have had so much fluffy snow all winter. The Valentine's Day storm, the only other significant storm this season, was about the same as far as accumulation, but was heavy, packed snow covered in ice.

Why is the fluffiness so important? Because Goober absolutely loves the fluffy snow. This nearly-11-year-old elderly dog, who barely gets up the energy to fetch her toys more than once or twice, will tear around in the snow for a minute before shoving her snout deep into it, then flipping onto her back and wriggling her whole body side-to-side, much in the manner of a little kid making snow angels. I call it making snow doggies.

Well, she was at it this morning, playing in the first good snowfall of the season. She'd get up from one successful snow doggie, run a few feet, snout around a bit, then roll over to make another. I just couldn't bring myself to stop her fun, and it was such fun to watch her play as well. So I let her continue playing until she had worn herself out.

And so I was late to work.

Cuticles and the Peace Corps

I wonder if I should wax my arms. Some women do. Once when I was a kid at summer camp, someone made fun of the amount of hair on my lower arms, but on the other hand, everyone I think to ask nowadays says they never noticed my arm hair, and that I'm the only one that thinks it's bad. Or maybe they just don't want to hurt my feelings.

I was getting a mani-pedi today. I go to a place where they give you massages and all that stuff too. I read once how you're not supposed to let them trim your cuticles because that's one of the most frequent ways people get infections at the nail salon. Still, I just love having my cuticles cut. I love watching them use those tiny clippers and how the dead skin keeps collecting on the clippers until the last pinkie finger, when there is a whole lotta dead skin on them, and no longer on my body! It's a sort of purging, I guess. (It's probably similar to the feeling those people who love enemas get when they're done with those. Still, I'll skip trying an enema, thank you very much.) I wouldn't give up having my cuticles trimmed for the world, though.

Right now I am having an argument with myself about whether to leave my nice, warm apartment to go to the Irish pub down the road and hear Black 47. This will also attract some fellow Lamont alumni. However, having been sick with a stomach flu for the last 3 days, going out for a mani-pedi took a lot out of me and now I may want to just stay home in my hot pink and green frogs-holding-martinis pj's and drink some wine (or, depending upon how my stomach is feeling, Gatorade) while watching my latest Netflix booty.

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I did not go to the bar to see the band. I drank lots of water and now am attempting a gin and tonic to see how it does. I've been melancholy of late. Being homebound for 3 days can do that to a person. I know that if I were motivated enough I would have made it the 3 blocks to the pub tonight, but I were not.

I spent some time on the Peace Corps website tonight. It's been a long-standing dream of mine to join the Peace Corps. The best time in my life to have done so would have been immediately after high school. That was when I first decided I wanted to, and if I had, perhaps I wouldn't have majored in the wrong thing in undergrad. I definitely wouldn't have spent so many years with the Big X. Unfortunately, the Peace Corps really doesn't want you unless you have a college degree.

I nearly applied when I was about to graduate from undergrad. I had broken up with the Big X, even. It was a period in my life when I was recognizing that he was not maturing at the rate that I was and that if I stayed with him, he was standing in the way of some of my dreams. Smaller than standing in the way of Dreams, he was holding back my everyday life. It was a very tumultuous time in my life.

Within a period of two or three months, I researched and began the application process for the Peace Corps, broke up with the Big X, got engaged to another guy, ended the engagement, took the Big X back, and decided to give up on one certain path that my life might have taken so that I could pursue a future with him.

Now would be a perfect time to join the Peace Corps, if not for my mother's illness. I may have lost the anchor that was the Big X, but my mother's cancer is an even bigger anchor. The best jobs in my chosen profession are in NYC or DC. I cannot leave the state. I know it's a bit of a self-imposition. I could if I wanted to, so perhaps a better statement is I won't leave the state while my mother is ill.

It's a Catch-22. So long as my mother is sick, I feel honor-bound to remain close to her. So long as she's sick, she's alive.

The truth is, she will probably not recover. She may have a remission that lasts 3 months or 6 months, even 9 if we are lucky. But she--and we--are all biding time until the end comes.

Maybe that's all we ever do in life, and it's just so much more apparent in this situation, but still...knowing that things are as they stand, I cannot commit to 27 months outside the country.

So right now I put that dream away. One day perhaps the circumstances will be right and I will get to immerse myself completely in another culture, give of myself to help a community so far from my own. It's something I've always known I wanted to do.

I don't, however, think it will be the next chapter of my life either unless I give up once and for all on wanting marriage and a family, because of that wonderful timer God put on that activity. Kids mean, of course, devoting the following 18 (really more) years of your life to someone other than yourself. Which all means that when--if--I pursue that Peace Corps dream of mine, I will be one of the "older" members to whom they refer on their website.

Do I wish my mother weren't ill anymore? Not if the tradeoff is that she's no longer around. But damn, I wish that just once in my whole life I got to have ALL my options open. I wish I got to choose my own path--completely my own.

The Aftermath

I did not finish the story of Mike sooner because after he left, my dog knocked my beverage onto the computer, frying the keyboard. So now I may have to spend over a thousand dollars to buy a new computer. I am now using my crappy old Dell, which abruptly ends programs and also cannot be moved at all or the power cord will fall out and the battery no longer has the ability to charge.

But Mike...

I did not make a move. Nor did I have the Adult Conversation. I chickened out. And I know now that I clearly need therapy. I mean, here is this perfectly nice guy. And his politics are great. (My friend Jerry jokes with me that the first thing I say about any guy is what I think of his politics. That is very important to me. I can't help it.) And I think he's cute. And I feel an electricity when I am with him--something I did not feel with P., or with just about any other guy in the past year or so.

I know that what I'm feeling for Mike is special, and yet I minimalize it to everyone, including myself. I make up a stupid excuse not to take a next step. That is what the "Waiting" post was--a stupid excuse. Rose even said so. As soon as I had gotten the words out about that bit of logic, she told me that before I spend money buying a new couch (I currently have one with a hideous print, one broken leg, and one arm torn apart that I inherited from the Grandmonster), I must spend money on the therapy I need to stop being crazy.

I'm afraid to start something because it will end one day? Why the hell be born then? We will all die one day. Everything ends. And yet--and yet that is really the crux of things with me, isn't it? Endings. I've now become so afraid of endings--at least with guys--that I will not permit myself to even start something. How pathetic is that?

After Mike left and I was left alone with my thoughts, I even began to compose an email, wherein I would give the little Adult speech I had worked out. It went something like, "I've been noticing this vibe between us lately, and I think you've noticed it too. Maybe I'm way off here, but if there is something between us, I'd like to give it a try. What do you think?" However, halfway through composing the email was when the dog broke my computer.

I sort of took that as a sign that it was better to not send that email anyhow. But now I am left to ponder what to do next. And then there is always the doubt. Perhaps I've been wrong all these years. Perhaps Mike really doesn't like me romantically after all, and it's all just been wishful thinking. Perhaps I am just setting myself up to be made a fool of.

And so I never re-composed that email. And so I sit here, pondering endings and signs and all those perhaps... (Is the plural perhapses? Or perhaps? Perhaps is more poetic than perhapses.)

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.