We're moving!

I'll probably leave this site up since it doesn't cost anything but the rest of my thoughts are moving over to www.boodoggy.blogspot.com. Boodoggy of course an homage to the beautiful black lab who is also my profile picture. She had has made me laugh in the last two days as people have mistaken her for a boy because she insists on lifting her leg to pee and trying to mark poles like a boy. I don't get it. Can dogs have gender identity issues? Come join us (read: me) at Serendipitous Freelance Writer. It has already proved to be a fortuitous move as I logged in a few hours after creating it to find I had a follower. From the UK no less. She had discovered me by accident as she was logging off. Pretty neat, eh? I was also pleased to 'meet' Lodo and read a bit of his two blogs. Any guy who loves black lab mixes is all right with me. What are the odds? There is magic in happenstance.

Dancing Video

Oh the humanity

I know I'm not perfect but I do tend to be a word snob. I cringe when I read a profile that substitutes the word 'diversity' for 'adversity' as this college educated guy did but he seemed nice so I gave him my number. He had not received the memo instructing men not to tell a girl that you are talking to for the first time that you owe your ex-girlfriend money. It might be a good idea to never mention this unless you are about to be on Judge Judy. It is also a bad idea to talk at length about your ex as it invariably reveals more about you than her. I think that was in the same memo. The first conversation is rarely the right one to go deep, to talk about your abusive father or the death of your mother, to question a person's alcohol consumption and socializing habits, to talk about marriage at all. Too much information out of context is simply overwhelming. He seemed like a nice guy who was well rounded and while he didn't sweep me off my feet, I really thought we might have some stuff in common. This is why people are never hired from a resume. But at the end of the two hours I'll never get back, he said he hoped to hear from me and I didn't have the heart to tell him that I didn't feel the same way. He even told me that if I wasn't interested, I needed to tell him but I just couldn't. Is that bad?

A parting shot. It is also poor form to call a girl twice in the space of 20 minutes. If she's not picking up, it is not a good time. Seriously, were you raised by wolves?

Odds and Ends

I just read this book that spoke my heart on many things. I feel I can't yet do it justice but it made me want to have a long talk with a good friend. But I'm not quite ready for that either. I'm not sure what I would say and I'm not sure what I want her to know.

Match continues to thicken my skin and occasionally heighten my despair. A couple of friends have noted that match might be more of a hook-up place. I'm not so much a hook-up girl and I'm sure that comes across in my profile. Perhaps that's why Batman tried to give me an intimate massage on the front steps of the Art Museum on a busy Sunday afternoon. Another story for another time.

So I decided to try e-harmony again last night. The results of that were near laughable. Before I could even finish my profile, 4 guys had rejected me. I was so confused and kind of amused. I imagined a queue of guys walking up to my profile like it was a window and rapidly making up excuses about leaving the iron plugged in, the stove on, suddenly ill relatives, and ex-girlfriends that they planned to propose to that very evening. Glancing over their profiles, which are a far cry from the exhaustive e-harmony profile I filled out 8+ years ago, I wasn't missing much but still. It was so fast it was like these 4 random guys were buzzing in to answer a Jeopardy question. It was sitcom worthy. Tina Fey, are you there? This would totally happen to Liz.

I felt better tonight when I decided to subscribe and thus could see the pictures of these wouldn't-be suitors. Dodged a bullet. Several bullets. One guy was nice looking but in a frat boy way that didn't surprise me that I wasn't his type. Guys who list exercise as one of their top interests aren't usually falling over themselves to get to me, nor I to them.

Going back to the book, I felt like I needed to be alone for a weekend away from my home, responsibilities, and people I know. Then I would break the book back open, write down every statement that resonated with me and test it, weigh, tug at the thread and see what I unravelled. It's far to much work for a weekend, it is a lifetime of work but it would be interesting and potentially life changing to think about my relationship with God, what I assume about his nature, how that shapes how I move about in this world.

Outside of the book, I'm beginning to see something I never saw before in all of my relationships. I thought I had mastered my father. I understand him better than I ever have, recognize and no longer recoil from being more like him than any of the other kids. What I'm starting to realize is my reluctance to communicate disappointment, preference, or anything of substance with others is directly related to how I dealt with him growing up. My reluctance to depend on anyone or have anyone expect anything of me, my desire to anticipate what people want me to do before they can ask, and my shame when I think I have disappointed them, my inability or reluctance to communicate about that disappointment. My inclination to walk away rather than deal with their unmet expectations, even if I've never bothered to find out what they are.

It's all a bit much.

Just a tiny pity party

One person has visited the site in the last week. Strangely enough, they were from Australia. Not sure how they found me but they didn't stay long. This is my dilemma. I don't think this site is very compelling (and by extension, neither am I). Nothing that makes you want to stay a little longer if you happen to stop by. Something you can stand to miss. Kind of like a store you shop at twice a year. If it went out of business, you would briefly mourn that it wasn't there anymore but there wasn't anything there you couldn't get anywhere else. I kind of feel that way about match too. I'm missing that intangible quality--the best thing about me might be that I'm not as boring as I initially seem. That's not exactly compelling. I have intrinsic value as a living being, as we all do, but that doesn't mean that anyone would want to date me or read anything I write. I think that is a hard but necessary pill to swallow and digest. I want to be special, I think everyone does and everyone is. But I want to be extra-special and not everyone is extra-special. Being designated extra-special is a fickle and often arbitrary thing but to again marvel the phenom of Britney Spears as a "singer" she does have some sort of quality which allows her to stand out among all the other average looking, mediocre-voiced wannabes. That is what makes her extra-special. The more respectable marvel of extra-specialness is Tina Fey. She's worked the salt mines of her craft long before we even knew she existed. She is willfully non-glamorous and I'd like to think she recognizes quite sincerely that she's fortunate. Fortunate to have found her audience, fortunate to have the right combination of people around her to execute her vision, fortunate to have the support and time to build her audience, damn fortunate for the randomness of Sarah Palin's placement on the Republican ticket. I'm happy that opportunity met her preparation because when someone like her succeeds, someone who is quite ordinarily special, it keeps a tiny flame of hope alight for me. Although it is VERY unlikely anything will ever come of this random writing thing, perhaps, perhaps, something will. I've read some pretty crappy things in print. Maybe someday, some of my crap will be printed and bound for posterity. Maybe I should work on being even more crappy so that people will read me simply to be incredulous that someone thought trees should be felled to get my words out to more people. Fame through notoriety. Kind of like the Paris Hilton of writing. The kind of writing that makes you want to put down what you're doing to find someone and show them just how bad it is and how knocked over you are that it made it to press and has the nerve to have a price printed on it. Not fit for wiping bad. Though to be fair, I've never read a book fit for wiping. No matter how bad the prose, the paper is simply unsuitable for any kind of sanitary bathroom use. Not to mention the plumbing problems you invite with trying to flush that kind of paper. Book paper is really only suitable as worst-case, emergency side of the road wiping. Glad we got that cleared up.

So in conclusion, the dog is waiting for me to walk her, I just got invited to dinner with a neighbor, and I'm boring and my writing sucks. Yep, I think I covered all the bases.

What I've learned from Match so far

I've moved quite beyond the 30 contacts I vowed I would make before spitefully ending my membership even though I would get no money back. I've moved beyond another strange encounter with Batman on whom my bluntness is wasted. I have even moved beyond the disappointing results of my first completed determination of 2009 to ask a guy out. I've changed my profile many times, I've written many, many guys. To borrow an analogy from a previous post, I've moved from the shore to the water but I'm still pulling up sneakers, tires, and assorted non-fish material.

When I first started reading profiles and came across a funny, well written, clever profile, my heart would do a mini-swoon, delighted that such men even existed. I reflexively considered them one in a million and that they would naturally see that we were compatible after reading my witty and well composed profile. A couple of months later, I realize that male literacy rates were higher than I first estimated and the lack of interest from clever-turn-of-phrase guy is no longer as disappointing. They are everywhere. They grow their own vegetables and love to cook. They write short stories and do lead vocals in a local band. They are funny writers, they travel, they love to read, they help the disadvantaged. Some of them may be lying, but instead of resigning myself to imagining how many kids Batman and I might have together and figuring the odds against any of them being even remotely normal, I'm taking solace in the abundance of men that I am attracted to and hoping that sometime between now and August, someone I'm interested in will actually feel the same way about me.

What is good from all this, at least today, is that the rejection is starting to lose its sting. I saw CCO tonight while I was out walking and we let the dogs visit, made minor small talk and parted ways. No mention of the e-mail, nothing to suggest that we have even had contact outside of our random chance encounters. Ignoring the elephant, that is a way of addressing it, yes. I could have said something but I'm just not that quick on the take and was simply pleased that I was dressed nicer than the last time he saw me. He didn't say anything either so we parted satisfied that the dogs are at least making progress in their relationship.

The other thing I'm starting to realize is that I'm a very conservative (read: boring) dresser. I don't do cleavage. The few things I have that do show cleavage, I tug at all day and vow never to wear again. I'm fairly well endowed so I've always been consumed with keeping the girls under control, not tossing them around in people's faces. I envy anyone who doesn't have to consider military-grade support in dress decisions. I really didn't think to make sure I had a profile picture that made it clear that boobs were included with the witty banter and wry humor they would get in a date with yours truly. Then I combed through my photos and I only have one photo, which I hate immensely both for the cleavage, which was near obscene, and my horrible hair. It one of the least flattering pictures on file. Anywhere. Worse than mile-high teased middle school bangs. Ick.

I don't disagree with my friends who insist that a good picture with face and cleavage would probably increase the traffic on my profile. I find cleavage distracting and I'm a girl. A guy, even if he claims to be an ass man or legs guy or whatever, can not NOT stare at cleavage. I'm just not sure if I'm ready to hook a fish that way. If the boob factor sways an otherwise disinterested guy my way, is it likely that true love or even true like will follow? We'll see....to be continued.

Hater

Just saw a headline about fans offering Natalie Cole a new kidney. Pissed me off. Where's our f-ing kidney? I don't begrudge her long life and good health but I do begrudge a bunch of random people trying to be relevant to her because she's famous. I'd bet my right arm they can find someone who needs a kidney within a 5 mile radius of their house. I know I'm a hater but I'm just sayin, if you're anxious to unload a kidney on a stranger, our family is open and accepting donations. And for the benefit of the random passerby, which is rare here in the remix, before you wonder how I could be so haterific, and 'hey why don't you donate yours' comments, I did and wish I had another to give. So, about that kidney....

Fear

I'm tired. I'm think I'm tired because I'm always afraid and being afraid while appearing indifferent takes even more energy than just riding the wave of afraid. I'm very good at it but it still takes energy. BS has got me thinking which I appreciate, trying to identify the common themes between emotions of my formative years and my present malcontent. I feel I am skirting the edges of yet another epiphany. Not sure the newest epiphany, when it comes, will be worth anything, i.e. bring about a dramatic change in the way I move about life but I do think BS might be on to something. I've understood that my upbringing has made me who I am, it has made everyone who they are to some extent. But for all my introspection, moody self-absorbed posting, and confidence in my sometimes painful self-awareness, I think I'm finally getting a new way to consider old problems. I won't be cured of being me but I may make better decisions if I better understood the push-pull anxiety and emptiness of the jobs I've chosen and their relationship to the dynamic between my father and I growing up. I don't think it will drive me to seek a new career, rather, my hope is to approach the work with a lighter hand, heart, and mind. I love to daydream of a career in writing but a good statistician would tell you I'm more likely to work to a pensioner's age and if I'm lucky, live off my savings until life takes its natural course. I will remain famous in very small circles for things I did when I was 2, for the fender bender I had when I was 18, for 101 stupid things I've said or done in the presence of witnesses, and for several less than 101 nice things I did for friends or strangers. I'm happy I will leave this earth one day with a prominent 2 inch scar on my bicep; courtesy of the dog, a strange bump on my right thumb, suggestive of a past mangling; courtesy of a dog, a series of small burn scars on my right arm; one from a ridiculous straightening comb incident, the other from a spent M-16 shell casing, and all other manner of evidence of good stories in the roughs and tumbles of living.

Duck and Cover

So CCO wrote me back. Sent me a link to his blog which is really just an extension of his other marketing endeavors. It's nothing like this angst filled whiny one. He's a graphic designer. How neat-o. I wish my brother, who had what I think was a fledgling interest in designing some t-shirts was around so I could get the two of them together. Something tells me they would get along. Not in a 'I'm-making-plans-for-this-guy-to-be-a-part-of-my-family-way,' just because I like seeing creative people appreciate one another's work. I love CCO's designs. It is so cool to look at all these random logos and know that it came from his head. I dig creative people.

The post title was chosen because I'm tummy rumbling and gassy with fear at inviting him to give me a call if he wants to get together for a drink/coffee sometime. If I hit send, I will go from looking for him everywhere to hoping I never see him again. But one of my essentially abandoned determinations for this year was to ask a guy out. I don't think I could scream loud enough for how freaked out I am right now. It's not just because I'm afraid that he'll have a girlfriend or not be interested. It is because once I hit send my interest in him becomes real and if he's not interested, the daydream ends. Right now, I can be excited that I might see him and I can take every gesture out of context to possibly indicate mutual interest. If I actually do something about it, he doesn't get to be CCO anymore. That I'm asking a guy out over e-mail is lame enough. I could wait until the next random time I see him and see if it all comes together but I'm pretty sure I'll find a reason for it not to come together. I'll go for a walk and if I see him, I'll either give him my phone number and suggest we get coffee/drinks/hang out sometime or I will throw up on the sidewalk at our feet and my dog will once again abandon me.

I'll keep you posted. I look a hot mess today. I'll probably see him.

Grow the F@&k up

I'm cool now. I sent the e-mail. Took a walk, collected some poop, got a grip. We'll see what does or doesn't happen. I'm not even sure I like him anymore.

Oh, I totally admitted to him that I had to wikipedia Beer Pong. So there's that.

Yea, single girl staying single.

Heads up: God is doing a new thing

That's what one of my oldest friends just wrote me via the chat function on Facebook before abruptly signing off with promises to catch up soon. Apparently God's new thing is going down imminently. That phrase irritates me. I'm not sure why. Anyone else find that annoying?

PS on BS

I actually had an interesting session with BS yesterday. I spied the blue sweater in the corner, possibly shed in light of the mild weather. I might have to take a picture of the blue sweater before our time together is over. Maybe it is his Linus sweater. Anyway, what made the session interesting is that I unintentionally stumped him. I'm still delighted about it. He's puzzled because things that he thinks should be upsetting just aren't. I personally think he's stumped because he's used to dealing with white people (no offense). The caricature of black parenting has some truth in it. Sincerely believing that certain transgressions could be reasonably punishable by death, that spanking (which was straightforwardly referred to as beating) was not abuse, and that lip or attitude could certainly get you smacked or choked, was just the way things were. It wasn't done in secret with multiple trips to the emergency room, blackened eyes, broken bones, strange bruises; it was done upstairs while company was over, in the bathroom or hallway at church, in the car-a threat to take you out to the car made good. Observation of an out of control child is almost always observed with the comment, 'that child needs a good beating.' A conversation about dealing with a child like that inevitably provokes a mention of wishing that one could 'snatch' the child up. When I used to teach, I relished the challenge of a kid that didn't know discipline or beatings. They were difficult but they were also easy to shock. I loved wearing them down into accepting boundaries for acceptable behavior. I couldn't (and wouldn't) strike them but I sure could provide some immediate and non-negotiable consequences for non-compliance. I digress.

I guess what I'm getting at is that black parenting for me means that your parents nurture you in the sense that animals nurture their young. The objective is to get you safely into adulthood where you can take care of yourself. It is not to make sure you get to 'express' yourself or develop and nurture your passions. Activities are designed to keep you busy and out of trouble and work best if they are inexpensive (or free), aren't logistically complicated (i.e. picking up and dropping off) and require next to no parental commitment. The first time you complain about going to ballet is the last time you go (true story). No one is dragging you to anything even though it is generally understood that kids don't usually have the foresight to appreciate the long-term benefits of anything and will complain at least once about everything, especially when they are 5.

So against that matter-of-fact style of parenting that I think imbues me with a certain mental toughness* it was a challenge for BS because he just couldn't understand that I don't have any sadness or angst related to growing up with that kind of discipline. I don't see the links between that and my opinion of myself as not worth anything outside of what I can do for others. It's not the same set of emotions. I wasn't the kind of kid who needed much disciplining so I don't have a ton of reference material to draw from there anyway. So, I left satisfied that I had intrigued and challenged him. Yay for being interesting. We'll see what he comes up with.



*My father actually sent me off to military field training with an assurance that I would do fine because no one there could say anything worse to me than he ever had. He was absolutely right. In one of his more famous family quotes, he sent me off on a road trip with friends with the reminder that there "was nothing but death out there."

Seriously?

Sometimes I use the "next blog" button on the blogger page to see what random bloggers are up to. I came across a blog this morning that had a link to a blog catalogue with a subsection on blogs for women (whatever that means). For this site, it meant blogs about menopause, being lesbian and brown, being a middle aged married woman who discovers she is a lesbian, shopping, sex, and one random blog written by a guy who promises to dole out advice that will make the man your bitch. Naturally, I had to know more.

It was a poorly written blog with grammatical errors that annoy me. He didn't share anything particularly insightful or even entertaining but he's already written one book about nutrition and is working on a book based on his 'master dater' (his words) blog. If that swill is being bound and printed for consumption, I should probably at least self-publish something just because. Perhaps I'll be the Betamax to his VHS but people (who probably still didn't buy my book), would argue into antiquity that they knew I was the better of the two.

In other news, I took my dog to the groomer this morning and, I'm still incredulous about this, found out they make dog shampoo to bring out the color of dog's coats. They have one for black dogs, blond dogs, brunettes...just like the shampoo they make for people. My dog is already a shiny black coated dog but this is the only shampoo they use at this groomer so we'll see when she dries if she has salon-quality shine. I guess I could see a shampoo like that if you plan on entering a dog show but for my dog, who just turned around to bite her hindquarters and is now alternating between licking her blanket and her still damp paws, such vanity seems ridiculous. Seriously.

Seriously body, WTF?

So I'm sick again. Temp an even 100 degrees, throat feels like someone punched it from inside but all other systems ok. No cough, no runny nose, just achy, feverish throat punch. The scene at the back of my throat has progressed from red and angry to somewhat whitish but I'm not sure yet if that isn't because of the large bowl of vanilla frozen yogurt I ate in a futile attempt to soothe the throat punch. All the websites suggest strep so I will try to get an appointment tomorrow, miss yet another day of work, and try to figure out what the hell my body needs me to do to stay healthy for one whole month. I have been so sick since I moved here. I've been a regular Calamity Jane, twisting ankles, throwing up at friend's houses... One bright spot that would restore my faith in pretty much everything if it was repeated at our wedding was that I had another encounter with cute guy with dog, hereafter referred to as CCO (perhaps there will be reason to explain that later). Because I felt like crap, because I walked the dog late, and because as soon as I walked the dog, I headed straight back out to buy ice cream, I ran into CCO on my way home. I was dressed in two coats with two hoods and I'm sure resembled the unibomber. I didn't even see CCO but he said hi and I got to see him for the very first time without a hat or beard. He's pretty stinkin' cute in the dark. I'm not sure if he noticed I was ridiculously overdressed for the fairly mild conditions. He was on his way to play drums in his band and I said I was interested in hearing them play. He was clearly in a hurry so we had an awkward moment where people would normally exchange phone numbers and I said aloud 'I don't know how we do this.' He gave me his card, explaining it was his side business and told me to e-mail him to say hi and he would get back in touch. So yay on all that had to line up for that to happen, including my nth infection.

But wait for it, you know I court strange like no other, his side business is designing Beer Pong tables. I'm so lame, I actually had to wikipedia Beer Pong. I will never tell him that. I was afraid looking at his card that it had something to do with bongs so I was relieved that it was just a drinking game. So from the website, it looks to be a big deal and has been going on for years so that is kind of neat but certainly unconventional. I'm curious what his main business is if this is his side business. We shall see. Light a candle for me somewhere. Light two. One for health. Once for CCO.

An explanation

I was in line at the store this evening, clutching 3 winter coats and sweating, eyes bloodshot and focused on the next available register when this young tall thin Indian guy with long hair, hippy clothing but holding a suit started talking to me. He was so friendly, I'm still wondering about him and need an explanation for his friendliness. Weird...

Batman; how not to let down a superhero

Passive-aggressive avoidance--man, I could write a book of vignettes on how to pull this off with panache. Batman, who no doubt suspects me of being one of those girls who play games, called me several times trying to find out if I was up to hanging out with him decked out in his Batman inspired regalia. I couldn't simply pick up the phone and say no, I had to wait for him to leave increasingly annoyed messages, and waited until the next to last minute to call and give my regrets, getting quickly off the phone to take a fake nap. I'm hoping he'll be done with me now, disgusted and annoyed so that I don't have the untidy task of avoiding him or worse yet, telling him I'm not interested. I suspect we have not heard the last from Batman, but a girl can hope.

Working myself out of tight spaces

I spend a lot of time wishing. Creating with my imagination scenarios where I can see myself from the outside, looking like a million bucks, and beaming comfortably in my element. I make up fortunes on the spot; if the dog pees twice in one of the next three woodchip piles, I will meet my husband this year; if the elevator goes up without stopping, I will have a great day; if, if. I'm childlike enough to be excited when the elevator goes up without stopping but pragmatic enough to forget it happened or didn't happen as the day unfolds. I know that magic will seem possible for anyone if it ever happens for me and I do believe that something unknowable and intangible makes Britney Spears a star and that handsome and ridiculously talented guitar player I listened to in a 40-seat venue, known only in the smallest circles. A line from the David Foster Wallace book of essays comes to mind; "...people tend to be extremely similar in their vulgar and prurient and dumb interests and wildly different in their refined and aesthetic and noble interests."

I missed yoga this week because my tummy made me nervous and I was just wiped. I missed it not only as an opportunity to capitalize on the weight loss an intestinal virus will bring but as a opportunity to hear positive messages and reminders about dwelling in the present. It is physically impossible to be anywhere else yet my mind pulls me back and forth and that creates a figurative hour glass in my life, all processes hung up and stalled trying to reconcile the incompatible programs that are running. A shutdown is almost always the only way to get going again. It's so disruptive to keep shutting down just to get started again. I was thinking about and dreading work, thinking about all the other things I'd rather be doing and I realized, if I didn't have to leave the house at all, I probably wouldn't. Work isn't keeping me from having some fabulous life, it just doesn't add much to what is already a poorly developed life. I don't like having plans, I don't like having demands on my time. I like to wake up and decide what I'm going to do that day and wait to want to do something before doing it. The problem is that 90% of adult life falls outside of these parameters. What I'm essentially looking for is childhood.

When I'm not bending space and time, thinking on what I wish I'd done and what I should do tomorrow, I have been dwelling in this piece. I haven't found all the words I have for this but I think about this concept of love as a punch clock, love as doing time, the relationship between love, passion, and guilt both in how it relates to my relationships with others and in how it relates with my relationship to myself. I look at what I know of the love between some people I know and it is so perplexing to me, I think it either is not real or that I might be from another planet. I understand that it is not for me to understand or aspire to anyway, it is theirs and theirs alone. I know I shouldn't use their relationships, the innards of which are unknown to me, as a measure or goal for mine. I'm most fascinated though, with how they love themselves. How they punch the clock for themselves, taking care, but not out of vanity or selfishness. Maybe it doesn't run that deep, perhaps I'm stretching the analogy too far but there are some of us who are never doing enough, working hard to deserve something we can never earn, and there are those who seem to understand grace and love intrinsically, know they don't deserve it, that they can never earn it, and simply dwell in it. BS should be helping me with this, I think but I'm not sure our relationship will extend past this Friday's planned session. It is not his work to do anyway. It is mine.

A series of...events I would have rather skipped

Right now my torso is gurgling and rumbling with lingering resentment over the abrupt disruption of the circle of life that keeps our digestive track healthy and productive. I'm not sure if the troops are still fighting or if this bloated discomfort is a rally but I am quite ready for it to be over so I can venture into public spaces with confidence that I won't have to leave abruptly for reasons best left to the imagination. What I regarded as found time upon the last minute cancellation of my planned trip, my body took as a cue to break down. A funny moment from the onset of symptoms was the clearing of the room of animals when I started throwing up. I was staying with a friend and 2/3 of the dogs in the house had taken up in my room for the night. Until I started hurling. They cleared out promptly. It kind of hurt my feelings and honestly, I think damaged their reputations of providing comfort to the the sick. I know who's got my back and it's not a certain black lab whose vomit I'd been removing from my rug for a week before I got sick.

But before all that I made time to go into work for a day that pushes my 'f@%k-you' meter closer to seeking a new job to be frustrated with and spent entirely too much money on a underwhelming vacuum cleaner. Batman called while I was away and it turns out he's found an excuse to dress up in one of his costumes for a superhero costume thing-y at a local university. He told me he doesn't expect me to dress up but doesn't plan to go or dress up unless I come with him. I did not commit to walking around a university campus alongside Batman (who plans to dress as The Riddler) so that he can get $2 off of admission and take advantage of an opportunity to wear one of his costumes on some day other than 31 October. Dear God.

You all are probably convinced I'm a jerk but Batman has this other weird 'Johnson has lost his marbles' kind of vibe that coupled with his quirkiness makes me want to handle this carefully. He reported today that he finally snapped and freaked out on a couple of his students and that he hasn't been picked on since. I hear something like that I see myself blinded by a camera light making cliche comments about Batman seeming like a nice quiet guy while everyone else tries to make sense of the carnage. He seems like a delicate soul. I don't know. We'll see.

Magic moments

The story of how a thing came to be is often more magical than the thing they are or become. I'm thinking specifically of the story of how my dog and I came to be and all that had to come together for her to be in that shelter at that time, to resemble a dog that I had loved in the past, and to plainly solicit us to take her home (she literally picked up some random collar in the cage and tossed it at us twice while flat out staring at my sister and me). I like the story because she chose us. When considering a dog, I had it in my mind that I would get a beagle. I considered it a sign that my then next door neighbors had two beagles. But fate clearly had other plans for me. What has followed from that wonderful fated moment, especially this last week, is far from magical. There are some decidedly un-magical things about managing relationships following the supernatural that brings and binds two beings together. There are many things that would be markedly easier to accomplish without one another and time apart is usually refreshing. Still, I've built a life around 65 pounds of fur and flesh and I really wouldn't have it any other way.

I wonder if that is how married people feel.

Shits and giggles

Forgive me, faint of heart for the crudeness of the last few posts. When last we left our heros, non-food objects and general anal retentiveness threatened health and humor. Looming deadlines and pending travel added to the stress. I am happy to report that movement has occurred for all of us and serindipity continued in the postponement of our travel plans. It truly is the little things.