Social Networking

This can't be happening to just me...

Lately I've been getting these random Facebook, LinkedIn, Classmates.com messages from people I haven't thought about in what feels like a bazillion years. Interestingly, it seems like more and more they're from boys. Boys I may or may not have dated during a previous life phase.

I don't know about y'all but I've always thought of skulking about on social networking websites as strictly "girl territory." What could this possibly mean? Are boys getting in touch with their feminine side? And if they are, why now?

Big surprise, I have a theory. I suspect that these boys have reached some random pinnacle in their lives when they discover they're no longer full of the old vim and vigor. They're starting to look around and wonder what they missed while they were busy being self-obsessed. If you read the books or watch reality television you probably know this behavior has historically been confined to the stereotypical Mid-Life Crisis - and we're generally comfortable with that. However, if you take a good look around, you'll realize too that it's happening in much younger boys than it used to. Young like 25-30 year olds! Now, somebody please tell me what they could possibly be having a crisis over...

Moving on.

So boys, though I can't help you with your new paunch (hey, step away from the trough), the receding hairline (plugs are never a good idea), or the post-collegiate realization that you ain't actually The Shit (buddy, you never really were - embrace it), I can say that Internet stalking, Ex-Girlfriend Googling, and mysterious posts on social networking sites are not the answer to whatever your damage is. And it's creepy. I can't imagine what you think you're going to get out of it but here are a few heart-felt responses to this activity:

1. No, I am not going to be so surprised and excited that I send you naked photos of myself.
2. No, I am not going to be so flattered by your sudden attention that I start sneaking about to have Dirty Talk Time with you.
3. No, I am not going to be so bowled over by your sweet remembrances of our time together that I meet you for drinks while your wife / girlfriend / mother is away.
4. No, I am not going to be so stupid as to think that if "we" meet "you" for dinner that you don't have ulterior motives - most of which you'll try to convey beneath the tablecloth and out of sight of our companions.

What are you up to, Creeps McGreeps? If any of the above applies to your sudden need to contact me, you should just slink away with the knowledge that I'm a suspicious, cynical girl and it's fairly unlikely you'll receive a response from me not laced ridicule.

*shrugs*

Move along, Pal. There's no show here today.

The One I Couldn't Title

"Spirit move me, every time I'm near you. Whirling like a cyclone in my mind..."
~ Barry Manilow

Don't judge my Barry Manilow lyric recitation. Everyone has an artist they're embarrassed to admit to knowing every lyric to every song said artist ever performed. Besides, I didn't post it as a jumping off place for ridicule - though I am rather in the mood for that. No, I opened with Barry because I miss that feeling. I miss that excitement. I miss the feeling of missing someone when we're apart. I miss the feeling of anticipation!

Some would say it's simply relationship evolution. They'd be right. It is. I've certainly been in enough of them to recognize the signs. In a drunken conversation with a girlfriend recently, she confessed to wishing she was through all of the "excitement" and moving squarely into where I am. In her head, the "security" of marriage is 1000% preferable to the waiting and wondering.

*sigh*  *eyeroll*

wtf... It's as if no one even reads me when I type... *shakes head in exasperation*

Even married, you will wait... and wonder... and suspect... and usually you'll be wrong but sometimes you'll be right. The only measurable difference is in the amount of laundry under foot and general disarray in your life.

Oh sure, for some the element of romance will live a lovely married life... for awhile. Frankly, I think marriage is overrated. It's really just a pot commitment and a fuckin' hassle to get out of. Sheer laziness keeps most of them alive. What? You don't want to believe me? Well, you watch too much television.

I think the true test of a relationship is how long you'll do the work to stay together when it's still so easy to walk away. How hard will you work at something that isn't mandatory? I love the idea of being in a relationship with someone who's there because they want to be; not because during a multi-month bender and associated whirlwind of newness, the choice was removed.

I haven't always been cynical on this topic. I used to be a believer in lasting romance, and marriage, and being a part of something bigger than one's self. BA! It's all bullshit perpetuated by glamorous actors appearing in slick programming designed to make you feel so shitty about yourself that you stay secreted away at home watching the television, thus making their sponsors happy and lining everyone's pocket except your own. You go to bed believing that tomorrow is The Day your life is going to become full of joy de vie, flowers and singing birds... but first you need to dash out for that age defying moisturizer, or new Blackberry, or whatever else it is you're lacking that stands between you and your ultimate happiness.

Wow. This is not where I anticipated going when I typed Barry's lyric. Somewhere in this disorganzed wreck of writings, I penned something about romance once. Oh right! It's "Don't Judge..." from March '09. What a difference half of a year makes...

*sighs*
I miss romance...

Ohhh, Yoga!

Super cute, shaggy-haired yoga instructor guy falls out of one-legged chair pose, laughs and says, "it's okay to fall. Balance is a day-to-day thing. Don't worry so much about it!"

Pretty sure when those words left his lips in an effort to cover the fact that he wasn't paying much more attention than the rest of us, he didn't realize what he was saying intinsically, or how it resonated in my head... or why after being incessantly coaxed and harangued to smile through yoga, I finally had a reason to.

My inner bitter skeptic immediately had a question, "is it then okay to assume that unbalance is a day-to-day thing as well?" After all, this could be really good news!

I would have asked out loud except only my dogs would have heard me since I've taken to doing yoga via cable television.

There are several reasons I quit going to an actual yoga class. Time, work, lack of dedication, my endless need to clean stuff, the "air of communal gas" that permeates the yoga studio and leaves me unable to hold poses due to sometimes uncontrollable laughter.

Yes. I laugh when people break wind. I don't care how old or sophisticated you become, it's still just funny. Made even more so by a room full of people doing it. In case you've not had this particular life experience, yoga works the muscles in such a way as to alleviate bodily gases - which is no laughing matter - until I start thinking about marching bands... woodwinds... tubas... an occasional toot from the brass section.

This combined with the fact that those people frown upon my ever-present coffee go-cup and ability to sip while in downward facing dog - well, it was all quite enough for me.

Besides, in my living room there are no witnesses to my day-to-day unbalance... which I've decided is okay even without confirmation from super cute, shaggy-haired yoga instructor guy!

Namaste!

Crosseyed and Painless

I'm not lazy about this writing thing. I'm not... contrary to how it may appear given my erratic at best efforts. No, you see, I have a problem.

Look at the masthead of this page. What do you see? You see me talking about how we all have this persona we present for public viewing and how it's really all just a big farce. The original premise was that here, on these pages, I would rant the truth about life and love and how fucked-up things and people can be. Oh, damnit! I'm trying to not type "fuck" anymore.

Here's the problem. As of late it seems a number of people with nothing better to do with their time are spending it.... WHOA!

*sits back with mouth agape, fingers still poised over keyboard*

I just had a Mack truck epiphany!

OK. I was about to tell the tale about how I can't seem to do this because I'm tired of people dragging my life around like it should be appearing on the cover of one of the trashier supermarket tabloid magazines so the whole world can know about my complete shit year of horror and they're going to make sure no one forgets by judging and talking and acting like they're still in the junior high school... when it struck me in that way that only a truly unexpected truth can: I really, honestly, wholly, and completely do not give a fuck what anyone thinks about how I handle MY LIFE!

*smiles broadly*
*slides dollar into Fuck Jar*

Weird thing is, I thought I did care. I thought I didn't want to fan anyone's imaginary fire; type something "offensive" (what???); or generally call attention to myself in any way. BA! Balderdash to that, I say!

*cranks up Talking Heads*

I almost can't believe I got so far into my own head that I would fuck myself out of so much fantastic material. We all know that some of my best work is borne of my own public humiliation.

*whew*

Well, this feels great! Thanks for being here so I could have this revelation! I'm so fucking happy right now! And I just paid myself $6 for it! Four more and there's a bottle of Woop Woop wine in it for me.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Cheers!

Whimsy

I love whimsy.

That might come as a surprise to those of you who think I'm just an uptight control freak with abandonment issues. But it's true.

I think the Bedazzler was a fantastic idea; that chiffon should never go out of style; that there's room in everybody's life for crazy up-dos.

I think the best part of having a yard with trees is the autumn when I can rake up a big pile of leaves and jump into it like I'm still 7 years old.

I think that hats should be worn everyday by men and women.

And isn't it true that the best dates happen in unexpected, quiet places!

I love parades - of any type or magnitude; shivering in the snow eating an ice cream cone; wildly mismatched clothes; singing at the top of my lungs; and dancing alone in my living room letting the music rattle the windows.

I also happen to love doing things on the spur of the moment. Some of you might guffaw upon reading this, but that also happens to be true.

What I don't love is a surprise. I always seem to be wearing the wrong shoes...

09-09-09

Disclaimer: This may very well be the worst thing I've ever posted. But in the spirit of exposing myself, here it is nonetheless.

It’s the 9^th.

Not the 11^th. The 9^th.

Is it weird that 8 years later my stomach still drops at the sound of a military helicopter overhead? We don’t see many of those here, but it’s a gruesome reminder of that fateful day when it’s ALL we heard; the only thing breaking up the eerie silence.

I live 120 miles south of New York City; 108 miles north of Washington DC; and 199 miles east of Shanksville, Pennsylvania. I remember feeling surrounded by horror.

From the Ben Franklin Bridge, you could see the smoke rising from Lower Manhattan.
From my living room, you could hear the drone of military aircraft coming and going from Dover AFB and whatever that facility is just over the Delaware state line. This wasn’t happening on TV. This was happening in our yard.

Funny thing about the 11^th. I was on a plane on that day last year (read blog titled September 11, 2008) and never felt safer. Well, I say that… guess you’d have to read the blog to really know what I was feeling…

So today. Today I feel… like maybe I found my coffee limit; irritated because my data hasn’t shown up which is putting me behind; a bit like buying a chainsaw to take care of the newly downed tree out back; and more curious with every passing whirly-bird. I can’t help but wonder, why today? What’s going on in that secret government cave that it’s releasing low-flying aircraft again? Probably just routine exercises. Nonetheless, maybe I’ll take a drive up the street to the private airport.

Nostalgia

“Don’t have much to say,
Thought I’d call you up anyway.”
~ James Taylor

Nostalgia. It’s the classic example of “hurts so good.” I’ve been feeling rather nostalgic lately and I don’t know why. I do know I’ve been wallowing in it as if expecting some grand ROI for having done so...Yes, seems a little unbalanced.

Which of us is who we thought we’d be while playing “grown up” as a child? How many fulfilled the promise of that 6th grade essay question asking, “what do you want to be when you grow up?”

When we started college, with our big plans and bigger dreams, did we believe for a moment that today we’d be looking back at that time wondering, “how could I possibly have been so naïve? So idealistic?”

And finally, during which drunk did that person completely disappear only to be replaced by this one? Not that there’s anything innately wrong with this one, it’s just… different.

What if…
… we went left instead of right?
… we’d said yes, instead of no?
… we’d said no, instead of yes?
… we’d thought it through?
… or not thought about it at all?
“There are faces I remember
From the places in my past
I said all the dead head miles
And insincere smiles
Sometimes I can laugh and cry
And I can’t remember why
But I still love those
Good times gone by
Hold on to them close or let them go
Oh no, I don’t know.” ~ James Taylor
I made one very definitive decision very early in my life – and it changed every aspect of my future. It’s the ultimate, “what if…” So since I’m waist deep in feeling nostalgic, the question to ponder over our collective cocktail is, “would I make that same decision again if I could?”

And what if I didn’t?
We all know how I feel about The Universe and it’s methodology for ensuring you end up exactly where you’re supposed to be, when you’re supposed to be there. Would it have made a difference? I’m looking for a genie in a lamp here. Or better yet, a visionary in my vodka.

Here’s something to mull: If a neutron can be in two places at one time, and it stands to reason then that an atom can also be in two places at one time, and since we are comprised of atoms, is it possible that in a Parallel Universe I am who I thought I’d be when I was so very young? Are you?

I think I’m going to go put on my “H-town uniform”; wonder at my White Tag Levi’s; open some wine; play some old CDs; read some letters; flip through some photos; then paw around in my still half full college satchel. Maybe I can get this out of my system.

“Things may always stay the way they are,
Still my head looks for a change from time to time.
I don’t really need to look that far.
Turn on the music, strike up the music
Let the music change my mind.”
~ James Taylor