Trying to make room for my father in my life again has been both easier and harder than I anticipated.
On the easier side, Dad graciously didn't ask for any explanation as to why I suddenly started talking to him again after so long or why I stopped talking to him in the first place. I appreciated that since I didn't really feel like getting into that with him, at least not at this time.
On the harder side, there are still big portions of my life from which I want to exclude my father. For instance, my mother decided to "help" by emailing him a photo of Teh Doggeh and me titled "your daughter and your grandson." (Side note: Dad didn't realize for several moments that the grandson was the dog and perused the photo for a real baby and got all mad at my brother for not mentioning the entire person I'd given birth to. Ha.) Dad emailed me referring to Teh Doggeh as his grandson, and it made me mad. I thought to myself that my stepfather is Teh Doggeh's grandfather and my dad is just some guy Teh Doggeh would like to bite. I guess it's progress that there are even tiny parts of my life in which I am willing to include my father.
Showing posts with label Teh Doggeh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Teh Doggeh. Show all posts
Monday, June 14, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Please Come to Boston for the Springtime
The law firm that shadily invited me in for an interview and then canceled almost immediately finally rescheduled with me for this coming Wednesday. I'm going to have to take a day off of work from my day job (or get permission to work remotely, which didn't work out for me very well the last time I did it) and travel to Beantown for the interview.
Since I used to live in the Bean, I have a lot of friends there. I didn't plan on telling any of them that I was coming for the interview. That probably won't seem strange to anyone who was ever done a very long-term job search. When I first started looking for a job, before I realized just how long a haul I was in for, I told my friends about every interview I went on. As the rejections started to pile up, I stopped. It's hard enough to deal with my own cresting hopes and crashing disappointments without also having to tell every well-meaning friend who inquires how a certain interview went that it didn't work out. The response is always the same: something else will come along, hang in there, keep your chin up. There isn't anything else for people to say, and it's not that people intend to be unsupportive (quite the opposite), but it's fucking irritating anyway. So, I just stopped telling people when I have interviews. I feel guilty about it in this instance since I'm traveling to a city I haven't visited since I moved away last June and since I could, theoretically, squeeze in visits to one or two people (though I'll be spending most of the day traveling, and I can't stay overnight because of work), but I'm assuming that people will forgive me if I end up getting the job and moving back.
In this case, I've had to make an exception. A friend of mine currently lives in the Bean but is moving to a foreign country this summer. She has asked me at least three or four times in the past two weeks when I'm coming to see her before she leaves.
What I want to say is, "Um...never?" I don't mean that in the sense that I don't like this woman or don't consider her my friend, but I have learned that I have a very different concept of friendship than other people do.
On the Myers-Briggs scale, I'm an INFJ. Like other introverts, I expend energy in social situations instead of gaining energy like extroverts do. Right now, I use up all my energy between Monday and Friday in sending out resumes and stopping myself from telling my supervisor to go fuck himself. When Saturday and Sunday roll around, I don't even feel like spending time with a friend in my own city. I sure as shit don't feel like hauling myself up to the Bean to run around seeing six different friends in two days. Just the thought of it makes me feel trapped and exhausted. Besides that, money is tight right now since I'm working as a temp, and I would have to put Teh Doggeh in an expensive kennel. Ideally, I would also like to stay in a hotel since that gives me some chance to have privacy and alone time to recharge my batteries, but that's just beyond the realm of consideration. Basically, I don't like to go visit people unless they live somewhere I haven't been before (visiting new places gives me energy, which balances out the energy I lose from the social interactions) or I think I might want to have sex with them (like London Calling). I consider email contact and the occasional phone call to be sufficient friendship maintenance.
My departing friend disagrees. She clearly enjoys spending time in the company of others. I think she's clingy, but that is probably just an introvert's bias toward solitude talking. (I envy extroverts for their ability to be perked up by social situations, but I am glad that I can enjoy being alone.) I'm going to try to have lunch with her when I go to the Bean on Wednesday because I have no intention of trying to make it up there any other time in the few weeks before she moves.
I'm put out about the situation though. I understand that it's fine for me to be an introvert but if I want to have any friends, I need to make an effort to spend time with them, even if it wears me out. I think that they should meet me halfway and be a little understanding about the fact that I'm unlikely to make big trips to see them on short notice or to want to hang out as much as they might want to. It doesn't seem right to me that I'm rewarding her annoying behavior by spending time with her when I'm not even telling my best friend Teeny that I'm going to be in town. It's my choice to do it, obviously, but I feel like the choice is between rewarding the bad behavior and losing the friend entirely. (Based on how much I'm complaining about her, it may sound like I don't care about losing her as a friend, but she actually is a nice person and I'd like to keep her in my life even though she's aggravating me at present.)
Since I used to live in the Bean, I have a lot of friends there. I didn't plan on telling any of them that I was coming for the interview. That probably won't seem strange to anyone who was ever done a very long-term job search. When I first started looking for a job, before I realized just how long a haul I was in for, I told my friends about every interview I went on. As the rejections started to pile up, I stopped. It's hard enough to deal with my own cresting hopes and crashing disappointments without also having to tell every well-meaning friend who inquires how a certain interview went that it didn't work out. The response is always the same: something else will come along, hang in there, keep your chin up. There isn't anything else for people to say, and it's not that people intend to be unsupportive (quite the opposite), but it's fucking irritating anyway. So, I just stopped telling people when I have interviews. I feel guilty about it in this instance since I'm traveling to a city I haven't visited since I moved away last June and since I could, theoretically, squeeze in visits to one or two people (though I'll be spending most of the day traveling, and I can't stay overnight because of work), but I'm assuming that people will forgive me if I end up getting the job and moving back.
In this case, I've had to make an exception. A friend of mine currently lives in the Bean but is moving to a foreign country this summer. She has asked me at least three or four times in the past two weeks when I'm coming to see her before she leaves.
What I want to say is, "Um...never?" I don't mean that in the sense that I don't like this woman or don't consider her my friend, but I have learned that I have a very different concept of friendship than other people do.
On the Myers-Briggs scale, I'm an INFJ. Like other introverts, I expend energy in social situations instead of gaining energy like extroverts do. Right now, I use up all my energy between Monday and Friday in sending out resumes and stopping myself from telling my supervisor to go fuck himself. When Saturday and Sunday roll around, I don't even feel like spending time with a friend in my own city. I sure as shit don't feel like hauling myself up to the Bean to run around seeing six different friends in two days. Just the thought of it makes me feel trapped and exhausted. Besides that, money is tight right now since I'm working as a temp, and I would have to put Teh Doggeh in an expensive kennel. Ideally, I would also like to stay in a hotel since that gives me some chance to have privacy and alone time to recharge my batteries, but that's just beyond the realm of consideration. Basically, I don't like to go visit people unless they live somewhere I haven't been before (visiting new places gives me energy, which balances out the energy I lose from the social interactions) or I think I might want to have sex with them (like London Calling). I consider email contact and the occasional phone call to be sufficient friendship maintenance.
My departing friend disagrees. She clearly enjoys spending time in the company of others. I think she's clingy, but that is probably just an introvert's bias toward solitude talking. (I envy extroverts for their ability to be perked up by social situations, but I am glad that I can enjoy being alone.) I'm going to try to have lunch with her when I go to the Bean on Wednesday because I have no intention of trying to make it up there any other time in the few weeks before she moves.
I'm put out about the situation though. I understand that it's fine for me to be an introvert but if I want to have any friends, I need to make an effort to spend time with them, even if it wears me out. I think that they should meet me halfway and be a little understanding about the fact that I'm unlikely to make big trips to see them on short notice or to want to hang out as much as they might want to. It doesn't seem right to me that I'm rewarding her annoying behavior by spending time with her when I'm not even telling my best friend Teeny that I'm going to be in town. It's my choice to do it, obviously, but I feel like the choice is between rewarding the bad behavior and losing the friend entirely. (Based on how much I'm complaining about her, it may sound like I don't care about losing her as a friend, but she actually is a nice person and I'd like to keep her in my life even though she's aggravating me at present.)
Monday, March 15, 2010
A Hard Day's Night
Ugh, rain.
This weekend's major rain storm was a real pain in my ass. Saturday night, the ceiling in my apartment started to leak. When I left a message on my property manager's emergency line demanding that someone come out tout de suite to fix the hole, the property manager could not have seemed less interested in or more exasperated by my call. He said that he'd received upwards of 75 calls on this subject, and that, basically, they'd get to it when they get to it. I love when my employees respond to my concerns with meaningless tautologies.
Last night, Teh Doggeh and I were rudely awakened by a colossal banging noise. It sounded like a cannon ball being dropped right onto our ceiling. I figured the rain and wind had loosened some roofing materials, which were now crashing about above my head, trying to find a way to pierce through the sheet rock into my apartment and kill me. On the off chance that a human being caused the noise, I called the non-emergency number for the police. Three kindly police officers came screeching to a halt in front of my apartment building within five minutes, so those were tax dollars well spent. Thanks, boys! One of them clambered up the ladder to the roof and looked around. He saw a lot of loose debris up there but no evidence of an intruder, which was half-good. Thanks to my giving them the big "aw shucks" eyes, the police officers assured me that I did the right thing by calling them and that it is better to be safe than sorry.
The noise continued throughout the night. Teh Doggeh was afraid of the noise and insisted on sleeping in my bed with me (curled up on the adjacent pillow, quite cutely) instead of in his own bed where he usually sleeps. Poor little feller.
This morning, my property manager (whose stupidity is exceeded only by his laziness and avarice) got both an email and a voice mail from me about the ceiling damage and the incessant, sleep-preventing banging. I also left a note on the door of the home owners association president. She is kind of a bitch, but it was the right thing to do to involve her. She immediately sent an email telling this fool to get on fixing my problem.
Lazy Dumbass claims that he sent someone to resolve the banging noise issue. I haven't heard it since I've been home this evening, but I don't know if that's due to his diligence or the more likely possibility that the decreased wind reduced the banging on its own. Supposedly, he's sending someone out to fix the ceiling this week. Maybe I can finally get a decent night's sleep.
This weekend's major rain storm was a real pain in my ass. Saturday night, the ceiling in my apartment started to leak. When I left a message on my property manager's emergency line demanding that someone come out tout de suite to fix the hole, the property manager could not have seemed less interested in or more exasperated by my call. He said that he'd received upwards of 75 calls on this subject, and that, basically, they'd get to it when they get to it. I love when my employees respond to my concerns with meaningless tautologies.
Last night, Teh Doggeh and I were rudely awakened by a colossal banging noise. It sounded like a cannon ball being dropped right onto our ceiling. I figured the rain and wind had loosened some roofing materials, which were now crashing about above my head, trying to find a way to pierce through the sheet rock into my apartment and kill me. On the off chance that a human being caused the noise, I called the non-emergency number for the police. Three kindly police officers came screeching to a halt in front of my apartment building within five minutes, so those were tax dollars well spent. Thanks, boys! One of them clambered up the ladder to the roof and looked around. He saw a lot of loose debris up there but no evidence of an intruder, which was half-good. Thanks to my giving them the big "aw shucks" eyes, the police officers assured me that I did the right thing by calling them and that it is better to be safe than sorry.
The noise continued throughout the night. Teh Doggeh was afraid of the noise and insisted on sleeping in my bed with me (curled up on the adjacent pillow, quite cutely) instead of in his own bed where he usually sleeps. Poor little feller.
This morning, my property manager (whose stupidity is exceeded only by his laziness and avarice) got both an email and a voice mail from me about the ceiling damage and the incessant, sleep-preventing banging. I also left a note on the door of the home owners association president. She is kind of a bitch, but it was the right thing to do to involve her. She immediately sent an email telling this fool to get on fixing my problem.
Lazy Dumbass claims that he sent someone to resolve the banging noise issue. I haven't heard it since I've been home this evening, but I don't know if that's due to his diligence or the more likely possibility that the decreased wind reduced the banging on its own. Supposedly, he's sending someone out to fix the ceiling this week. Maybe I can finally get a decent night's sleep.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Quand Il Me Prend Dans Ses Bras, Il Me Parle Tout Bas, Je Vois La Vie en Rose
A friend of mine from my Egypt trip invited me down to the boat house today to say hello while he supervised free kayaking. He didn't really act like he wanted me to come when he invited me, or so I assumed when he mentioned that I should come only if I was bored and that he would probably be busy. Even so, I was bored, and the boat house is about two blocks from my apartment, and I needed to walk Teh Doggeh. I was glad I went, and I was even more glad that I didn't look like shit while doing so. I spotted a guy that I was madly in love with in college.
The last time I saw this dude, he was headed off to Algeria. (Yes, he's a pretty religious Muslim. No, there is no need to feign surprise.) Of course, that was at least seven years ago, and apparently, he has found his way back. I've never been to Algiers, but I'm guessing that it lacks some of the amenities of New York or Paris, two other cities in which he has lived. He was shirtless and with three attractive, non-Muslim women, and I wasn't sufficiently sure it was he, so I didn't approach him at the boat house. Instead, I Facebook stalked him and messaged him. It turns out it was indeed he.
I'm hopeful that we might get together to catch up (read: make out). Even if we don't, I think it must be said that life is full of surprises and even the biggest city can feel like a small town at times. I didn't even get to talk to the friend who initially invited me because he was off kayaking, but I could not have cared less.
The last time I saw this dude, he was headed off to Algeria. (Yes, he's a pretty religious Muslim. No, there is no need to feign surprise.) Of course, that was at least seven years ago, and apparently, he has found his way back. I've never been to Algiers, but I'm guessing that it lacks some of the amenities of New York or Paris, two other cities in which he has lived. He was shirtless and with three attractive, non-Muslim women, and I wasn't sufficiently sure it was he, so I didn't approach him at the boat house. Instead, I Facebook stalked him and messaged him. It turns out it was indeed he.
I'm hopeful that we might get together to catch up (read: make out). Even if we don't, I think it must be said that life is full of surprises and even the biggest city can feel like a small town at times. I didn't even get to talk to the friend who initially invited me because he was off kayaking, but I could not have cared less.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Here is My Heart, Here is My Song, There Are Too Many Prophets Here
I watched the season finale of How I Met Your Mother yesterday, and it affected me unusually deeply. I daresay it affected me even more profoundly than Chuck's declaration of love to Blair -- an event that caused Teh Doggeh to kiss both Teeny and me. Specifically, I was moved by Lily's speech to Ted that he needed to stop trying to be an architect when the universe was clearly telling him that it wasn't going to work out and take a leap into doing something else. Lily urged Ted to forget about his rigid plan to be an architect and let his life unfold the way it is going to unfold without worrying about what is supposed to happen.
I am a total Ted, which is probably why I find that character a little dull and annoying. The Ted Show is playing all the time in my head. The main difference is that, unlike Ted, I occasionally do suit up. In this instance, I am married to my belief that I have to be a lawyer and, not only that, but a highly-compensated lawyer. (Frankly, I do not enjoy the law enough to be any other kind. The money is the only thing making this job worthwhile.) I feel like the universe (or whatever) keeps telling me that I'm not meant to do this, much like Ted with architecture. If I was meant to be a lawyer, would it be so hard? I went to a top five law school and yet this is the second time in my short career that I've faced a difficult employment search. I'm not saying that there are not other people out there who have encountered similar or more daunting obstacles, but what I am saying is (1) most of them didn't go to the school I went to and (2) maybe those people aren't meant to be lawyers either.
Where my life diverges from Ted's -- probably mostly because I'm not the main character on a hilarious sitcom -- is in the fact that the universe hasn't presented any obvious alternative path to me. In Ted's case, he had an offer to be a professor at Columbia. The dolt didn't want to take it because of the old saw that "those who can't do, teach." (It occurs to me that a professor of architecture might still be able to design the occasional structure and might, in fact, have enhanced credibility because of his professorial status.) I don't know what else to do or what else I would want to do.
My mom thinks I should be a writer. Obviously, I enjoy writing since I spend a lot of my free time writing a blog that is read by a maximum of two people. But I really only enjoy writing my little blog. I've tried to write fiction, and it never goes well. I have no gift for dialogue, pacing, plot or any of the other things I so enjoy in the fiction I read. My friend Teeny encourages me to go into the travel industry, but I think working in the industry would suck all the joy out of it for me. I have no desire to shepherd a revolving cast of drunk twentysomethings through a foreign country, trying to discourage them from raping the locals or each other, and most of the other jobs in the travel industry are analogous to jobs in any other industry.
I wish someone had left me at the altar so the person for whom he left me could come back to offer me a sweet teaching gig at an Ivy League university. What should I do next? Universe?
I am a total Ted, which is probably why I find that character a little dull and annoying. The Ted Show is playing all the time in my head. The main difference is that, unlike Ted, I occasionally do suit up. In this instance, I am married to my belief that I have to be a lawyer and, not only that, but a highly-compensated lawyer. (Frankly, I do not enjoy the law enough to be any other kind. The money is the only thing making this job worthwhile.) I feel like the universe (or whatever) keeps telling me that I'm not meant to do this, much like Ted with architecture. If I was meant to be a lawyer, would it be so hard? I went to a top five law school and yet this is the second time in my short career that I've faced a difficult employment search. I'm not saying that there are not other people out there who have encountered similar or more daunting obstacles, but what I am saying is (1) most of them didn't go to the school I went to and (2) maybe those people aren't meant to be lawyers either.
Where my life diverges from Ted's -- probably mostly because I'm not the main character on a hilarious sitcom -- is in the fact that the universe hasn't presented any obvious alternative path to me. In Ted's case, he had an offer to be a professor at Columbia. The dolt didn't want to take it because of the old saw that "those who can't do, teach." (It occurs to me that a professor of architecture might still be able to design the occasional structure and might, in fact, have enhanced credibility because of his professorial status.) I don't know what else to do or what else I would want to do.
My mom thinks I should be a writer. Obviously, I enjoy writing since I spend a lot of my free time writing a blog that is read by a maximum of two people. But I really only enjoy writing my little blog. I've tried to write fiction, and it never goes well. I have no gift for dialogue, pacing, plot or any of the other things I so enjoy in the fiction I read. My friend Teeny encourages me to go into the travel industry, but I think working in the industry would suck all the joy out of it for me. I have no desire to shepherd a revolving cast of drunk twentysomethings through a foreign country, trying to discourage them from raping the locals or each other, and most of the other jobs in the travel industry are analogous to jobs in any other industry.
I wish someone had left me at the altar so the person for whom he left me could come back to offer me a sweet teaching gig at an Ivy League university. What should I do next? Universe?
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Controlling, You Say That You Love Me But You Don't
I haven't heard from the new guy since our dust-up on Tuesday.
I've had so many other things going on that I haven't had as much time as I normally would to dwell on this. Last night, Teh Doggeh and I spent the night at a hotel to avoid the mice in my apartment. The landlord came in yesterday and stuffed crevices full of steel wool and caulk to impede rodent entry, but I didn't want to take the chance that a mouse would wake me up at three o'clock in the morning because I had a job interview today, and I needed to be as fresh and well-rested as possible. I slept for about 15 glorious hours.
I think the job interview went all right. I was the first candidate interviewed, so I think the interviewer was guarded because he doesn't know yet what my competition will be like. I thought the job sounded good, but it didn't sound like something I would be in love with. That said, I'll be disappointed if I'm not offered the position because I don't have any other interviews scheduled at the moment.
Between the rodent invasion and the job interview (and stress of finding other jobs for which to apply), I haven't had the energy to pander to the new guy's snit. I also don't think the onus is on me to call him, despite the fact that I've basically conditioned him to think that every time we have a fight, I'll make he effort to repair the breach. If anything good has come out of the frayed nerves I have from job searching and mouse eradicating, it's that I don't have the patience for asshole tolerating.
I've had so many other things going on that I haven't had as much time as I normally would to dwell on this. Last night, Teh Doggeh and I spent the night at a hotel to avoid the mice in my apartment. The landlord came in yesterday and stuffed crevices full of steel wool and caulk to impede rodent entry, but I didn't want to take the chance that a mouse would wake me up at three o'clock in the morning because I had a job interview today, and I needed to be as fresh and well-rested as possible. I slept for about 15 glorious hours.
I think the job interview went all right. I was the first candidate interviewed, so I think the interviewer was guarded because he doesn't know yet what my competition will be like. I thought the job sounded good, but it didn't sound like something I would be in love with. That said, I'll be disappointed if I'm not offered the position because I don't have any other interviews scheduled at the moment.
Between the rodent invasion and the job interview (and stress of finding other jobs for which to apply), I haven't had the energy to pander to the new guy's snit. I also don't think the onus is on me to call him, despite the fact that I've basically conditioned him to think that every time we have a fight, I'll make he effort to repair the breach. If anything good has come out of the frayed nerves I have from job searching and mouse eradicating, it's that I don't have the patience for asshole tolerating.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
I Get So Tired of Working So Hard for Our Survival. I Look to the Time With You to Keep Me Awake and Alive.
My morale is higher today than it was yesterday.
I had brunch with Teeny this morning, and we had a good chat. We didn't set out to sort out my life, but in the course of our discussion, I organized some thoughts that have been rattling around in my brain since I found out I'm losing my job. I guess that's one of the reasons Teeny is such a cherished friend -- she helps me to understand myself better.
As a smart, ambitious young lady, I have focused on clearly measurable markers of success. Specifically, I attended fancy-pants schools and scratched and clawed to practice at a fancy-pants law firm. Being able to say I went to a certain school or that I practice at a certain firm is like the grown-up equivalent of SAT scores -- it's a clear indicator of aptitude. Yet it is like the SATs in another way -- it is largely meaningless bullshit. I enjoy the law, but I don't love it. It's a means to an end, a way that I can pass the time and fund the things in my life that really matter to me.
What really matters to me? That's an easy question. My family, Teh Doggeh, my friends, yoga, baking, cooking, travel and writing. I need to find a job that will pay me enough money and give me enough time to pursue those interests.
Oh, and the new guy texted me this morning. He's coming to visit. He wanted to come today, but I think he might come next weekend instead.
I had brunch with Teeny this morning, and we had a good chat. We didn't set out to sort out my life, but in the course of our discussion, I organized some thoughts that have been rattling around in my brain since I found out I'm losing my job. I guess that's one of the reasons Teeny is such a cherished friend -- she helps me to understand myself better.
As a smart, ambitious young lady, I have focused on clearly measurable markers of success. Specifically, I attended fancy-pants schools and scratched and clawed to practice at a fancy-pants law firm. Being able to say I went to a certain school or that I practice at a certain firm is like the grown-up equivalent of SAT scores -- it's a clear indicator of aptitude. Yet it is like the SATs in another way -- it is largely meaningless bullshit. I enjoy the law, but I don't love it. It's a means to an end, a way that I can pass the time and fund the things in my life that really matter to me.
What really matters to me? That's an easy question. My family, Teh Doggeh, my friends, yoga, baking, cooking, travel and writing. I need to find a job that will pay me enough money and give me enough time to pursue those interests.
Oh, and the new guy texted me this morning. He's coming to visit. He wanted to come today, but I think he might come next weekend instead.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Put On Your Red Shoes and Dance the Blues
Okay. It's time to start drinking again. Possibly in some kind of bender situation.
This afternoon, I gathered my courage and went over to the restaurant where my salsa teacher bartends at lunch. At first, he didn't seem that excited to see me, and I felt awkward, but he warmed up quickly before I had a chance to escape without asking him to my friend's party. We chatted about a wide range of subjects: my recent trip, work, how he always wanted to be a lawyer, money and why it should be saved, and some other stuff. Finally, I just said, "If you don't have any plans on Saturday, my friend is having a party, and you should come." And his response was, "I do have plans." He's going with his co-instructor for salsa to something, which he proceeded to tell me about in great detail and basically reveal he was a little leery of going. However, at no point did he suggest that even though he was unavailable to hang out with me at my suggested time, we could hang out another time. I completely believe that he has these other plans, especially since it would be pretty retarded of him to invent fake plans with someone I also know that I could easily verify if I were so inclined. But I felt like he was horrified that I asked, and then I felt overwhelmed with awkwardness. Like, he's always so nice to me and acts excited and happy to see me, so why is he acting so appalled that I would invite him to a party? I mean, it's not like I asked him if he wanted to elope.
And then things got even weirder. After he finished telling me all about the plans he has that preclude him from being my date for the evening, he said, "There's something different about your eyebrows." Just take a minute to soak in that statement. There's something different about my eyebrows? Then he was like, "They look thinner." As my face increasingly displaced a "What the fuck?" expression, he added, as an after thought, "They look good though." What the fuck? Obviously, that means he thinks they looked weird. If he thought they looked good, he would have led off with, "Your eyebrows look nice," or some such thing. I wanted to kill myself. Especially since I haven't done anything to my eyebrows beyond routine maintenance, and I'm now wondering if Teh Doggeh is messing with them while I sleep.
So, I totally did not want to go to salsa class tonight or, indeed, ever, ever again, but everyone I told this to acted like: (1) he was giving me a compliment with the eyebrow remark, unusual as that compliment may have been, (2) he probably just didn't think to suggest alternate plans for Saturday, and (3) not going to class would make me a giant baby. I debated with myself until the last minute what to do but ultimately chose to go.
Class was not overtly awkward, but I felt weird anyway. I didn't say hi to him when I came in. Instead, I glued myself to my Blackberry and refused to look at him until he chased me out of the waiting room and into the studio a full ten minutes before class began like an imperious jackass. He flirted with me a little in class, but he mostly flirted with his co-instructor. I am trying not to hate her because she is actually very cool and nice, but between the fact that she already nabbed him for plans on Saturday and the fact that they have such a playful relationship and the fact that I am immature, I am really having trouble maintaining warm, friendly thoughts toward her.
I don't even know what to do with myself at this point. I have gotten much more invested in this man that I ever intended to, and now I feel like he's blown me off and criticized my appearance, and I feel like I'm too ugly to live and too lame for him to hang out with. I pretty much want to throw up, then cry.
This afternoon, I gathered my courage and went over to the restaurant where my salsa teacher bartends at lunch. At first, he didn't seem that excited to see me, and I felt awkward, but he warmed up quickly before I had a chance to escape without asking him to my friend's party. We chatted about a wide range of subjects: my recent trip, work, how he always wanted to be a lawyer, money and why it should be saved, and some other stuff. Finally, I just said, "If you don't have any plans on Saturday, my friend is having a party, and you should come." And his response was, "I do have plans." He's going with his co-instructor for salsa to something, which he proceeded to tell me about in great detail and basically reveal he was a little leery of going. However, at no point did he suggest that even though he was unavailable to hang out with me at my suggested time, we could hang out another time. I completely believe that he has these other plans, especially since it would be pretty retarded of him to invent fake plans with someone I also know that I could easily verify if I were so inclined. But I felt like he was horrified that I asked, and then I felt overwhelmed with awkwardness. Like, he's always so nice to me and acts excited and happy to see me, so why is he acting so appalled that I would invite him to a party? I mean, it's not like I asked him if he wanted to elope.
And then things got even weirder. After he finished telling me all about the plans he has that preclude him from being my date for the evening, he said, "There's something different about your eyebrows." Just take a minute to soak in that statement. There's something different about my eyebrows? Then he was like, "They look thinner." As my face increasingly displaced a "What the fuck?" expression, he added, as an after thought, "They look good though." What the fuck? Obviously, that means he thinks they looked weird. If he thought they looked good, he would have led off with, "Your eyebrows look nice," or some such thing. I wanted to kill myself. Especially since I haven't done anything to my eyebrows beyond routine maintenance, and I'm now wondering if Teh Doggeh is messing with them while I sleep.
So, I totally did not want to go to salsa class tonight or, indeed, ever, ever again, but everyone I told this to acted like: (1) he was giving me a compliment with the eyebrow remark, unusual as that compliment may have been, (2) he probably just didn't think to suggest alternate plans for Saturday, and (3) not going to class would make me a giant baby. I debated with myself until the last minute what to do but ultimately chose to go.
Class was not overtly awkward, but I felt weird anyway. I didn't say hi to him when I came in. Instead, I glued myself to my Blackberry and refused to look at him until he chased me out of the waiting room and into the studio a full ten minutes before class began like an imperious jackass. He flirted with me a little in class, but he mostly flirted with his co-instructor. I am trying not to hate her because she is actually very cool and nice, but between the fact that she already nabbed him for plans on Saturday and the fact that they have such a playful relationship and the fact that I am immature, I am really having trouble maintaining warm, friendly thoughts toward her.
I don't even know what to do with myself at this point. I have gotten much more invested in this man that I ever intended to, and now I feel like he's blown me off and criticized my appearance, and I feel like I'm too ugly to live and too lame for him to hang out with. I pretty much want to throw up, then cry.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Bad Dog
Teh Doggeh is trying to ruin my life. You would think that having a super-cute dog would be serious man-bait, but not in this case. He hates good-looking men, and he is even cantankerous with good-looking women, just in case I decided to try new things, I guess. He used to snarl and growl at men, but he is refining his technique. Today, this cute man was giving me the eye, so Teh Doggeh promptly took a giant poop next to his foot and then tried to clothesline him with his leash.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Doctor, Doctor, Gimme the News
I survived my surgery. I'm sore and uncomfortable, not to mention tired, but my mom is here taking care of me as is Teh Doggeh. Teh Doggeh knows something is wrong with me, and he has refused to leave my side unless dragged away, kicking and snarling, by my mom or his dog walker. He will go only on the briefest of walks. The dog walker tried to haul him around the block but said that after Teh Doggeh pee-peed, he just lunged at the house until he was brought home.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Raspberry Swirl
I was walking Teh Doggeh tonight and thinking about my upcoming surgery when something strange occurred to me.
I was considering whether (and this is not the strange part) my predilection for emotionally unavailable men is tied in with my physical difficulties with sex. It seems certain that this would be so. Back in high school, you could date someone for months, maybe longer, while not needing to consummate the relationship. As an adult, the general rule of thumb is three dates, which could mean anything between a few days to a few weeks. Knowing that the issue of sex is likely to arise quickly (heh), and also knowing that it is likely to be a painful and frustrating experience for both parties, it is understandable that I would be drawn to men with whom I unlikely to reach an intimate point because of their emotional unavailability.
The strange part is that it occurred to me that as much as these men are a pattern for me, I might be a pattern for them.
Doug Funny, during our brief romantic entanglement, told me that he and his girlfriend of four years had never had sex because it was painful for her even to try. Looking back on it, it sounds like she had (or perhaps has) the same problem that I have. I didn't then and don't now understand why she didn't go to a doctor to find out what was causing this pain, but that is neither here nor there. What I noticed is that he was in love with two women who had the same sexual dysfunction, two women unlikely to make sexual demands of him. Maybe our patterns (emotional unavailability and sexual unavailability) dovetailed, bringing the two of us together.
I initially dismissed this idea, reasoning that it is unlikely that Doug Funny could know at a glance that I would be sexually unavailable to him. But then I thought of something Humbert says in Lolita, talking about looking at a photo of young girls and knowing which one is the nymphet, and I realized that we all use subconscious cues or psychic impulses or scent or something to choose the people who offer us what we need. If someone who did not have my set of particular weirdnesses saw Doug Funny in a crowd of other men, he would not turn her head, but something in me recognized something in him and vice versa. I dated another guy once who turned out to be very sexually withdrawn because he was still a virgin in his mid-twenties. I would never have assumed that, but I was drawn to him for some reason, and maybe that was it. It makes me wonder whether some other guys I've liked, like The Only Living Boy in New York, have sexual issues of which I am unaware. It would explain a lot.
I made that last remark in jest, but it really would explain a lot. Most of the men I like share an atmosphere of emotional intimacy with me, but they are willing to go only so far with it and no farther. As soon as I want some kind of real investment from them, they tell me that they like me only as a friend and that they are sorry if I got the wrong impression. I am left feeling rejected and slightly crazy, as if I somehow imagined that there was something between us. But now it occurs to me that I may have trod on a major insecurity and that by pressing for an emotional commitment, I made these guys think I wanted more from them sexually than they could give. This may not be true in every case. Some of these guys may genuinely have seen me solely as a friend and unintentionally given me the wrong message, but not all of them. I can't believe it never occurred to me before because it makes so much sense that these guys would be choosing me because I could offer them the right amount of emotional closeness without physical demands and that they bolted when they discovered I wanted more.
It's weird and oddly comforting to think that my romantic problems could have a physical solution, or could at least be given a strong shove in the right direction by a procedure on my body. If I feel like I could have sex comfortably, what would that do to my confidence or my demeanor with men? Maybe I'll turn into a big ho. Here's hoping.
I was considering whether (and this is not the strange part) my predilection for emotionally unavailable men is tied in with my physical difficulties with sex. It seems certain that this would be so. Back in high school, you could date someone for months, maybe longer, while not needing to consummate the relationship. As an adult, the general rule of thumb is three dates, which could mean anything between a few days to a few weeks. Knowing that the issue of sex is likely to arise quickly (heh), and also knowing that it is likely to be a painful and frustrating experience for both parties, it is understandable that I would be drawn to men with whom I unlikely to reach an intimate point because of their emotional unavailability.
The strange part is that it occurred to me that as much as these men are a pattern for me, I might be a pattern for them.
Doug Funny, during our brief romantic entanglement, told me that he and his girlfriend of four years had never had sex because it was painful for her even to try. Looking back on it, it sounds like she had (or perhaps has) the same problem that I have. I didn't then and don't now understand why she didn't go to a doctor to find out what was causing this pain, but that is neither here nor there. What I noticed is that he was in love with two women who had the same sexual dysfunction, two women unlikely to make sexual demands of him. Maybe our patterns (emotional unavailability and sexual unavailability) dovetailed, bringing the two of us together.
I initially dismissed this idea, reasoning that it is unlikely that Doug Funny could know at a glance that I would be sexually unavailable to him. But then I thought of something Humbert says in Lolita, talking about looking at a photo of young girls and knowing which one is the nymphet, and I realized that we all use subconscious cues or psychic impulses or scent or something to choose the people who offer us what we need. If someone who did not have my set of particular weirdnesses saw Doug Funny in a crowd of other men, he would not turn her head, but something in me recognized something in him and vice versa. I dated another guy once who turned out to be very sexually withdrawn because he was still a virgin in his mid-twenties. I would never have assumed that, but I was drawn to him for some reason, and maybe that was it. It makes me wonder whether some other guys I've liked, like The Only Living Boy in New York, have sexual issues of which I am unaware. It would explain a lot.
I made that last remark in jest, but it really would explain a lot. Most of the men I like share an atmosphere of emotional intimacy with me, but they are willing to go only so far with it and no farther. As soon as I want some kind of real investment from them, they tell me that they like me only as a friend and that they are sorry if I got the wrong impression. I am left feeling rejected and slightly crazy, as if I somehow imagined that there was something between us. But now it occurs to me that I may have trod on a major insecurity and that by pressing for an emotional commitment, I made these guys think I wanted more from them sexually than they could give. This may not be true in every case. Some of these guys may genuinely have seen me solely as a friend and unintentionally given me the wrong message, but not all of them. I can't believe it never occurred to me before because it makes so much sense that these guys would be choosing me because I could offer them the right amount of emotional closeness without physical demands and that they bolted when they discovered I wanted more.
It's weird and oddly comforting to think that my romantic problems could have a physical solution, or could at least be given a strong shove in the right direction by a procedure on my body. If I feel like I could have sex comfortably, what would that do to my confidence or my demeanor with men? Maybe I'll turn into a big ho. Here's hoping.
Monday, May 12, 2008
You Say I Only Hear What I Want To
The Cindy Kim has forced me to face some harsh truths about myself. Specifically, I am confronted squarely with the fact that while I frequently profess to want to be in a relationship, my actions say otherwise.
It is no secret that I am routinely attracted to men who are unavailable, usually because they're involved in other relationships but sometimes also because they are too emotionally stunted to give of themselves to another person. I have blamed the girlfriend-having problem with the fact that, at my stage of life, most people are paired off, so most men you meet are already committing their resources elsewhere. That's true to an extent, but I think the real problem is that I don't feel safe enough to let my guard down enough to truly like a man and let him like me unless I know nothing can happen between us.
Sometimes, to be fair to myself, I have been surprised by the revelation that a girlfriend existed after I started to develop feelings for a guy. Such was the case with one whom we shall call The Only Living Boy in New York. He and I fraternized at my old job for about six weeks before he slipped the girlfriend into conversation, and even then, he mentioned her only in passing and only to point out something about which she liked to complain. I can't blame myself for being interested in him up to that point because I thought I was dealing with a single guy who was giving off the impression of being interested in me. But I continued (and continue) to invest in the relationship even after the girlfriend was revealed, I moved to a different city several hours away, and I told him how I felt about him and he told me he wanted to stay with his girlfriend. Don't get me wrong -- he's a nice guy and I enjoy emailing with him, but when I think about it, I see that his main appeal to me as a love interest is his unavailability. I can let him see me because nothing is going to come of it.
I don't know why I sabotage myself like this. I'm sure part of it is that being in a relationship is messy and unpredictable, and I like being in control. Another part of it is that as much as being in a relationship has its allure, I am accustomed to being independent and having only myself (and Teh Doggeh) to answer to. Another part of it is that I've been hurt in the past, and I'm not anxious to get hurt again (although this is really the lamest part, since liking unavailable people is like a trapdoor into Getting Hurt).
I also don't know what to do about this now that I've really identified and acknowledged it as a problem. My usual impulse is to formulate a plan of very intense action to eradicate the problem (this is why Blair is my favorite character on Gossip Girl, the greatest show ever on television). But this time, I think that's the wrong approach (sorry, Blair). I think I just have to give myself a break. The hardest part is probably owning up to this tendency and admitting that I have misgivings about being in any kind of romantic relationship. Once the problem moves out of the subconscious and into the conscious, maybe it will take care of itself while I take care of myself.
It is no secret that I am routinely attracted to men who are unavailable, usually because they're involved in other relationships but sometimes also because they are too emotionally stunted to give of themselves to another person. I have blamed the girlfriend-having problem with the fact that, at my stage of life, most people are paired off, so most men you meet are already committing their resources elsewhere. That's true to an extent, but I think the real problem is that I don't feel safe enough to let my guard down enough to truly like a man and let him like me unless I know nothing can happen between us.
Sometimes, to be fair to myself, I have been surprised by the revelation that a girlfriend existed after I started to develop feelings for a guy. Such was the case with one whom we shall call The Only Living Boy in New York. He and I fraternized at my old job for about six weeks before he slipped the girlfriend into conversation, and even then, he mentioned her only in passing and only to point out something about which she liked to complain. I can't blame myself for being interested in him up to that point because I thought I was dealing with a single guy who was giving off the impression of being interested in me. But I continued (and continue) to invest in the relationship even after the girlfriend was revealed, I moved to a different city several hours away, and I told him how I felt about him and he told me he wanted to stay with his girlfriend. Don't get me wrong -- he's a nice guy and I enjoy emailing with him, but when I think about it, I see that his main appeal to me as a love interest is his unavailability. I can let him see me because nothing is going to come of it.
I don't know why I sabotage myself like this. I'm sure part of it is that being in a relationship is messy and unpredictable, and I like being in control. Another part of it is that as much as being in a relationship has its allure, I am accustomed to being independent and having only myself (and Teh Doggeh) to answer to. Another part of it is that I've been hurt in the past, and I'm not anxious to get hurt again (although this is really the lamest part, since liking unavailable people is like a trapdoor into Getting Hurt).
I also don't know what to do about this now that I've really identified and acknowledged it as a problem. My usual impulse is to formulate a plan of very intense action to eradicate the problem (this is why Blair is my favorite character on Gossip Girl, the greatest show ever on television). But this time, I think that's the wrong approach (sorry, Blair). I think I just have to give myself a break. The hardest part is probably owning up to this tendency and admitting that I have misgivings about being in any kind of romantic relationship. Once the problem moves out of the subconscious and into the conscious, maybe it will take care of itself while I take care of myself.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Mothers Day
Today is my one-year anniversary of being a dog parent. My little guy, Teh Doggeh, and I celebrated by splitting a bowl of popcorn.
Teh Doggeh and I have had some rough patches in our first year together. When I first got him, I burst into tears because he didn't come bounding out of his carrier and jump up on me. In fact, it took him about two hours to come out of his carrier at all, and then, he mostly just shook with fear. He got used to me eventually. We also had a few incidents where he tore up my things and one occasion on which he pooped on my couch. But this morning, I woke up sleeping on my right side to see him sleeping on his right side with his head on the other pillow, and I was so happy that we were together.
Teh Doggeh and I have had some rough patches in our first year together. When I first got him, I burst into tears because he didn't come bounding out of his carrier and jump up on me. In fact, it took him about two hours to come out of his carrier at all, and then, he mostly just shook with fear. He got used to me eventually. We also had a few incidents where he tore up my things and one occasion on which he pooped on my couch. But this morning, I woke up sleeping on my right side to see him sleeping on his right side with his head on the other pillow, and I was so happy that we were together.
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