How has a quarter of the year flown by already? Spring is upon us and there is so much I need to clean out. The robe is staying, but the cookies gotsta go. I put on 36 pounds this winter. Though my bosom looks fabulous, when I put on my panties I feel like they're on backwards. Nope, just my ass getting too fat to fit in them. Sigh.
It's not that I'm in bad shape for the shape (round) I'm in. I just pumped out eight miles on my elliptical and have done 300 so far in 2011. Softball has started back up, and I signed up for yoga, too. Though, I did skip tonight to get my hair done. Priorities. I love exercise, almost any and all.
However, I also love eating french silk oreo Blizzards, copious amounts of cheese, and ribs with a side of steak. Enjoying any of these things in moderation would be fine, but "splurging" almost every night in quantaties that would make sumos and linebackers groan has taken it's toll. Lately, I have been heading to the kitchen when searching for endorphins. And I never feel full. I get that food is just a replacement for any number of things, but I also know that it's not going to satisfy me no matter what or how much I throw down the old pie hole.
I need a change. It's not about reaching a certain number on the scale or looking good naked. Who would know? The kitties like me on the plumper side, more lap to lay on. Instead, my goal is to eat responsibly for the next 50 days and see how I feel. If I don't like it I can always revert back to my decadent ways.
As one of my friends, which I assume you are if you're reading this, please encourage me to stick to my guns. Wish me luck on eating healthier and feel free to slap the cookie from my hand if you see me slipping.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Monday, January 3, 2011
New Year, Old Habits
Though I had planned on diving back into the 'ol blog at the beginning of 2011, fingers banging out my rumbling, tumbling thoughts, it is day three of the new year and I'm not so sure even these words will find themselves posted. Not only have I been flexing my procrastination skills, but as of late I'm building up my mildly self-destructive muscles, too. Today I bought an ugly red robe I plan on moving into between work hours and the miles on the elliptical machine. So, why bother with the rewarding job, healthy working out, or theraputic blogging when I'm going to counter balance it with the sickness, i.e. sitting in front of the tv and computer, eating way too much deliciously bad food, and turning by phone off so I don't have to talk to anyone? I don't know.
It's a new year, and yet resolutions, goals, and hope for 2011 are slow and low. This is what I've got so far:
1. Don't beat Cassie. I did pretty good with this one in 2010, but it gets harder and harder everyday.
2. Get healthier. Exercise check, diet...not so much.
3. Establish good sleep cycle. Much easier said than done. Last night I tossed until about 5 a.m. The alarm went off at 6, of course.
4. Write more. Write more what?
5. Keep the house tidier. The best way to do this would be to lock everyone except me out. Tempting.
I'm sure after I've recovered from the holiday blahs, my optimism will rally, and being proactively positive will become increasingly easier. But until then, the robe and chocolate chip cookies and Family Feud and Bridalplasty are my friends....I'm so ashamed.
It's a new year, and yet resolutions, goals, and hope for 2011 are slow and low. This is what I've got so far:
1. Don't beat Cassie. I did pretty good with this one in 2010, but it gets harder and harder everyday.
2. Get healthier. Exercise check, diet...not so much.
3. Establish good sleep cycle. Much easier said than done. Last night I tossed until about 5 a.m. The alarm went off at 6, of course.
4. Write more. Write more what?
5. Keep the house tidier. The best way to do this would be to lock everyone except me out. Tempting.
I'm sure after I've recovered from the holiday blahs, my optimism will rally, and being proactively positive will become increasingly easier. But until then, the robe and chocolate chip cookies and Family Feud and Bridalplasty are my friends....I'm so ashamed.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Patience--my least favorite fruit of the spirit
Two weeks ago the sermon was dedicated to Joy, yay. The following week I was in Washington DC, so I missed the sermon on Peace. Though ironically, I found quite a bit of peace surrounded by hundreds of thousands of strangers. This week we explored the next fruit of the spirit, Patience. Ughh.
Patience is a struggle. Before the sermon I would have said I possessed very little patience. Trapped behind a texting teen at a green light. Telling my daughter to put her clothes away so they don't migrate to her floor and back into the laudry basket without ever touching her body. Explaining for the fiftieth time that a student needs to capitalize the personal "I." My prayers being answered with silence. All of these things suck any vestige of patience I thought I may have scraped together. Right now I feel flush with patience, but in an instant impatience can obliterate all of this current peace, or so I thought.
Yet again, a little church has set my mind at ease a bit. Irritation is not the lack of patience. Patience is the ability to endure without retaliating. With all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love. Ephesians 4:2 I may not like certain things that happen in life, but I can endure them all easily when I take heart in them being a part of life because God made them so. Showing self-control in the face of difficulty is patience.
I can forgive as I've been forgiven. There are no circumstances that can't be patiently and joyfully waded through. Nothing anyone has done is any worse than the trespasses I have committed. I have renounced God out of anger and ignorance, and yet he has always lovingly brought me back without prejudice. For the most part, I am able let my irritation ebb from my heart knowing I really have no right to expect perfection from another. Everything that happens (or doesn't happen) can be turned over to God, and therefore be rendered no longer troubling.
The length of our patience is directly tied to the depth of confidence we have in God. I have full confidence in God running the universe because I have already proven that I can't. I don't have to lose my patience over Barbie being absorbed by her phone. I will arrive at my destination when I arrive. If I want to avoid rushing, I can leave earlier. My kiddies not minding doesn't have to lead to me speaking roughly to them. They will have to roll with the calmly-implemented consequences and learn not that they have an angry mom but a patient one. The little i will make just as much sense, and when the student is ready adopt the English standard he will. I can gratefully accept that silence is sometimes the answer to my prayers, if not right away, gradually. Patience always wins out.
Patience is a struggle. Before the sermon I would have said I possessed very little patience. Trapped behind a texting teen at a green light. Telling my daughter to put her clothes away so they don't migrate to her floor and back into the laudry basket without ever touching her body. Explaining for the fiftieth time that a student needs to capitalize the personal "I." My prayers being answered with silence. All of these things suck any vestige of patience I thought I may have scraped together. Right now I feel flush with patience, but in an instant impatience can obliterate all of this current peace, or so I thought.
Yet again, a little church has set my mind at ease a bit. Irritation is not the lack of patience. Patience is the ability to endure without retaliating. With all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love. Ephesians 4:2 I may not like certain things that happen in life, but I can endure them all easily when I take heart in them being a part of life because God made them so. Showing self-control in the face of difficulty is patience.
I can forgive as I've been forgiven. There are no circumstances that can't be patiently and joyfully waded through. Nothing anyone has done is any worse than the trespasses I have committed. I have renounced God out of anger and ignorance, and yet he has always lovingly brought me back without prejudice. For the most part, I am able let my irritation ebb from my heart knowing I really have no right to expect perfection from another. Everything that happens (or doesn't happen) can be turned over to God, and therefore be rendered no longer troubling.
The length of our patience is directly tied to the depth of confidence we have in God. I have full confidence in God running the universe because I have already proven that I can't. I don't have to lose my patience over Barbie being absorbed by her phone. I will arrive at my destination when I arrive. If I want to avoid rushing, I can leave earlier. My kiddies not minding doesn't have to lead to me speaking roughly to them. They will have to roll with the calmly-implemented consequences and learn not that they have an angry mom but a patient one. The little i will make just as much sense, and when the student is ready adopt the English standard he will. I can gratefully accept that silence is sometimes the answer to my prayers, if not right away, gradually. Patience always wins out.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Gently down the stream
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.
What a weekend!!! I could write a book on my recent trip to Washington DC to support the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear. Instead, I'm going to save the fragments as fodder for bigger things down the road. For now, I'd like to talk about one irrelevant analogy that came from the hours spent traversing the continent reflecting on some loose material floating around courtesy of Anne Lamott, several friends, and my own inabilities.
I've been living backwards. And not just me, many of my favorite people have been doing the same thing. Life is very much like the plot of a story. Our more productive days often follow a familiar pattern. Setup--buildup--payoff. As formulaic as it sounds, when we mess with this process, progress is stilted and we end up doing rewrites.
The setup is about knowing one's self. It's the phase where we establish who we are, what we're like, the dimension of our past and our dreams for the future. Setup is the part of the process where we define our character and the environment we find ourselves in at any given moment. It's important. Someone without stable setup is begging for trouble.
Those of us who want to run from the unpleasantness of the past, the personality quirks of the present, or the insecurity about the future is operating with only a partial foundation. If we do not truly know, accept, and love all of ourselves and our current states of being, it is very difficult to move forward toward any sort of lasting evolution. Not that this stops us from sweeping much of the setup under the rug. All too often we try to cover up the real with the should. We try to make the "is" something it is not because we want to skip to the good stuff. We want to arrive at the boon without acknowledging the less than ideal state of affairs we are currently in.
"I'm perfect," you may claim. Very well, go catch up on Dancing With the Stars over a pint of ice cream. I'm not talking to you. However, if you're at all like me, you have your work cut out for you. How does one know thy self? Prayer, meditation, journaling, posting random thoughts on an ill-conceived blog for the world to see and comment on--these are all worth a shot. Talking to people who are already a part of the fabric of your being is good, too. Who knows? Laying the ground work for the setup is a work in progress until the one is without a pulse. Until then, I'm open to suggestions on how to form a foundation for which the rest of life can play out.
Buildup is suppose to be the next phase. Buildup is where we interact with other people, places, things, ideas, etc. in order that we can experience change. Buildup is the person who inspires new feelings, the idea that shapes our beliefs, or the challenge that exposes us to our vulnerabilities or strengths previously hidden from the light of awareness. Usually buildup is the fire we walk through in order to be reborn. It's where the magic happens. It's being a parent, finding a job, hurting a friend, falling in love, writing a song. There are endless possibilities what form the buildup may manifest as. It can be big, getting married, or small, making breakfast. Each activity and experience is all at once the metaphor for life and life itself playing out. We, as simultaneous narrators and spectators, make meaning out of life in the arena of buildup. If we try to skip this phase, we are just lying to ourselves. We are saying what we want to be true without putting our new truths to the test. Living is buildup.
Last comes payoff. This is the joy and growing sense of completeness derived from knowing more about one's self and the reality we inhabit. It is the point we feel more connected to God, our fellow man, or maybe some tasty lamb chops. Payoff feeds back into knowing and loving the self more completely, a.k.a. the perpetual setup and buildup.
Easy enough, right? Not so much for me. I like to skip to payoff without so much self awareness, suffering, or patience. Instead of taking the time to understand the characters and the background of the now, I leap to what I want the details to be and try to narrate my payoffs early. Sometimes I focus so intently on the yahoos life gives me (and there are many), the shadows are temporarily hidden. Other times I tell myself the now is something it isn't because I want so desperately to experience a payoff that I'm not as ready for as I'd like to think I am or just plainly doesn't exist. It often goes back to trying to fill an emptiness with something or someone who doesn't fit, but I wish they did.
The way I see this process get flubbed up the most is with "love," the passionate sort, not agape. Instead of building a sturdy framework based on a healthy pre-setup foundation, we tack up some water colored paper mache, jump into to bed for some immediate gratification and call it love. Love takes many forms, fair enough. But this fleeting, often disappointing form is more prevalent amongst single middle-aged people, myself included.
It often goes payoff, setup, buildup, crash. Men and women interchangeably want comfort, orgasms, companionship, support, physical touch, to know and be known in various combinations, usually at an alarmingly fluctuating rates. We want this sort of love, built without the setup of knowing ourselves, the other person, or the working logistics involved in said relationship. We want love without the trial of buildup because we are so focused on the false concepts of what the payoff of love really is.
After the payoff of "closeness," we start trying to establish the setup by getting to know the other person and ourselves with that person. We may be shocked to find that he, she, I, or you aren't the same as the hastily scribbled image. Often we start to make deep compromises in an effort to build upon a relationship that really didn't have a chance to begin with. We ignore red flags and warnings from our contractor friends that see the looming collapse. When the house of sticks finally comes down we want to move on quickly without processing how the event feeds back into our setup, and in so ignoring we are doomed to repeat the cycle again.
Other times people, not so much me on this one, try to start a relationship with buildup. In these cases, buildup resembles manipulation because it is not based on the real setup. The payoff is often empty because one can't differentiate between the manipulations and who each person truly is. A man may tell a woman he loves her, doesn't want to live without her, he's never felt this way before. His desire becomes an irrisitable web. Who doesn't want to be wanted? It may be that he is lying to her, but he could very well be lying to himself as well. Sooner or later, heated passion cools into a growing sense of dread when his cell rings. She wants him to meet her parents? He isn't supposed to chat with other women on-line? This isn't the payoff he was looking for. Fast forward to the inevitable chewing of the arm.
Don't sit there nodding your head ladies, fickle passions are perpetrated by both sexes. As is the following shoddy buildup: There are women (or men) who feign victimhood looking for their psuedo-knight(nurse) to rescue them. Some men find playing the hero irrisistable and come to the fair damsels aid over and over. However, the maiden is never fully saved. Her plights deepen. As her demands increase, so does the day to day drama. The reality that her man can't ever save her begins to seep in and a lot of finger pointing and emasculating ensues. What happens? Eventual demolition after several painful remodeling attempts.
Does this mean we avoid looking for someone to be build a Casa de Amor? No, but perhaps by being more honest and aware, more compassionate and loving, more patient and accepting with ourselves and others we can avoid some of the waste. It all works out in the end despite our flailings. However, paying attention to the phases might help limit the pain. I'm hoping anyway.
What a weekend!!! I could write a book on my recent trip to Washington DC to support the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear. Instead, I'm going to save the fragments as fodder for bigger things down the road. For now, I'd like to talk about one irrelevant analogy that came from the hours spent traversing the continent reflecting on some loose material floating around courtesy of Anne Lamott, several friends, and my own inabilities.
I've been living backwards. And not just me, many of my favorite people have been doing the same thing. Life is very much like the plot of a story. Our more productive days often follow a familiar pattern. Setup--buildup--payoff. As formulaic as it sounds, when we mess with this process, progress is stilted and we end up doing rewrites.
The setup is about knowing one's self. It's the phase where we establish who we are, what we're like, the dimension of our past and our dreams for the future. Setup is the part of the process where we define our character and the environment we find ourselves in at any given moment. It's important. Someone without stable setup is begging for trouble.
Those of us who want to run from the unpleasantness of the past, the personality quirks of the present, or the insecurity about the future is operating with only a partial foundation. If we do not truly know, accept, and love all of ourselves and our current states of being, it is very difficult to move forward toward any sort of lasting evolution. Not that this stops us from sweeping much of the setup under the rug. All too often we try to cover up the real with the should. We try to make the "is" something it is not because we want to skip to the good stuff. We want to arrive at the boon without acknowledging the less than ideal state of affairs we are currently in.
"I'm perfect," you may claim. Very well, go catch up on Dancing With the Stars over a pint of ice cream. I'm not talking to you. However, if you're at all like me, you have your work cut out for you. How does one know thy self? Prayer, meditation, journaling, posting random thoughts on an ill-conceived blog for the world to see and comment on--these are all worth a shot. Talking to people who are already a part of the fabric of your being is good, too. Who knows? Laying the ground work for the setup is a work in progress until the one is without a pulse. Until then, I'm open to suggestions on how to form a foundation for which the rest of life can play out.
Buildup is suppose to be the next phase. Buildup is where we interact with other people, places, things, ideas, etc. in order that we can experience change. Buildup is the person who inspires new feelings, the idea that shapes our beliefs, or the challenge that exposes us to our vulnerabilities or strengths previously hidden from the light of awareness. Usually buildup is the fire we walk through in order to be reborn. It's where the magic happens. It's being a parent, finding a job, hurting a friend, falling in love, writing a song. There are endless possibilities what form the buildup may manifest as. It can be big, getting married, or small, making breakfast. Each activity and experience is all at once the metaphor for life and life itself playing out. We, as simultaneous narrators and spectators, make meaning out of life in the arena of buildup. If we try to skip this phase, we are just lying to ourselves. We are saying what we want to be true without putting our new truths to the test. Living is buildup.
Last comes payoff. This is the joy and growing sense of completeness derived from knowing more about one's self and the reality we inhabit. It is the point we feel more connected to God, our fellow man, or maybe some tasty lamb chops. Payoff feeds back into knowing and loving the self more completely, a.k.a. the perpetual setup and buildup.
Easy enough, right? Not so much for me. I like to skip to payoff without so much self awareness, suffering, or patience. Instead of taking the time to understand the characters and the background of the now, I leap to what I want the details to be and try to narrate my payoffs early. Sometimes I focus so intently on the yahoos life gives me (and there are many), the shadows are temporarily hidden. Other times I tell myself the now is something it isn't because I want so desperately to experience a payoff that I'm not as ready for as I'd like to think I am or just plainly doesn't exist. It often goes back to trying to fill an emptiness with something or someone who doesn't fit, but I wish they did.
The way I see this process get flubbed up the most is with "love," the passionate sort, not agape. Instead of building a sturdy framework based on a healthy pre-setup foundation, we tack up some water colored paper mache, jump into to bed for some immediate gratification and call it love. Love takes many forms, fair enough. But this fleeting, often disappointing form is more prevalent amongst single middle-aged people, myself included.
It often goes payoff, setup, buildup, crash. Men and women interchangeably want comfort, orgasms, companionship, support, physical touch, to know and be known in various combinations, usually at an alarmingly fluctuating rates. We want this sort of love, built without the setup of knowing ourselves, the other person, or the working logistics involved in said relationship. We want love without the trial of buildup because we are so focused on the false concepts of what the payoff of love really is.
After the payoff of "closeness," we start trying to establish the setup by getting to know the other person and ourselves with that person. We may be shocked to find that he, she, I, or you aren't the same as the hastily scribbled image. Often we start to make deep compromises in an effort to build upon a relationship that really didn't have a chance to begin with. We ignore red flags and warnings from our contractor friends that see the looming collapse. When the house of sticks finally comes down we want to move on quickly without processing how the event feeds back into our setup, and in so ignoring we are doomed to repeat the cycle again.
Other times people, not so much me on this one, try to start a relationship with buildup. In these cases, buildup resembles manipulation because it is not based on the real setup. The payoff is often empty because one can't differentiate between the manipulations and who each person truly is. A man may tell a woman he loves her, doesn't want to live without her, he's never felt this way before. His desire becomes an irrisitable web. Who doesn't want to be wanted? It may be that he is lying to her, but he could very well be lying to himself as well. Sooner or later, heated passion cools into a growing sense of dread when his cell rings. She wants him to meet her parents? He isn't supposed to chat with other women on-line? This isn't the payoff he was looking for. Fast forward to the inevitable chewing of the arm.
Don't sit there nodding your head ladies, fickle passions are perpetrated by both sexes. As is the following shoddy buildup: There are women (or men) who feign victimhood looking for their psuedo-knight(nurse) to rescue them. Some men find playing the hero irrisistable and come to the fair damsels aid over and over. However, the maiden is never fully saved. Her plights deepen. As her demands increase, so does the day to day drama. The reality that her man can't ever save her begins to seep in and a lot of finger pointing and emasculating ensues. What happens? Eventual demolition after several painful remodeling attempts.
Does this mean we avoid looking for someone to be build a Casa de Amor? No, but perhaps by being more honest and aware, more compassionate and loving, more patient and accepting with ourselves and others we can avoid some of the waste. It all works out in the end despite our flailings. However, paying attention to the phases might help limit the pain. I'm hoping anyway.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Bloggin' via the cell phone
I am not a fan of texting. As a friend once said, "If there is a hell, texting would be it's only means of communication." I'm in full agreement. It stunts the flow of thought, leads to published errors, and more often than not makes you look douchey being so absorbed by a little plastic gadget while life moves and breathes in the background. What could be so important that I would tune out to post?
Nothing. I'm sitting in the Pasco airport shortly before my plane boards. There are over 100 people milling about, mostly people on business returning home after a week if work in the Tri-Cities. I met a nice gent headed home to San Fran, but my usually chatty nature is still in the sheets. Getting up at 3 inhibits my inner Pollyanna.
...
Nothing. I'm sitting in the Pasco airport shortly before my plane boards. There are over 100 people milling about, mostly people on business returning home after a week if work in the Tri-Cities. I met a nice gent headed home to San Fran, but my usually chatty nature is still in the sheets. Getting up at 3 inhibits my inner Pollyanna.
...
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Joy is my favorite fruit of the Spirit
While talking to my dear friend Karin this morning, I started hopping in place because I felt so full of love and happiness about life in general. She said, "Keep jumping an lots of people will be feeling some joy." She was referring to my jumblies, but nonetheless, my joy was uncontainable. Since I don't have a tail to wag, jumping up and down is sometimes the best way to release pent up joy, right up there with singing off-key and hugging. Joy is one of the most contagious and rewarding emotions. As one exudes it, joy returns multiplied by the sharing, a gift from God that we can give and get inexhaustably.
Now, today at church Pastor Dave talked about a different kind of joy, not in the sense of being happy but in the sense of knowing God is in control of our lives as well as the rest of the universe. He said true joy isn't about smiling and laughing necessarily; it's about trusting that whatever worldy things are going on, God loves and is caring for us. True joy is best measured in times of woe because that gives us the opportunity to count it all joy. I like this--suffering as a doorway to joy. Pastor Dave analogized joy to diamonds. When you put a real diamond underwater it intensifies it's brilliance. Unlike with a fake one, the genuine shines forth.
Even when I'm wrestling with life, the faith that nothing stands against me besides self makes all my worries transient. Fortunately, I don't have a lot of woe in my life. This is probably the most reletively woeless times I've experienced. The only reason I'm able to enjoy this current boon in life is because God delivered me from harder times. I frequently pray for memory so that I will remember these moments when the worm of life inevitably turns. However, he has also turned my suffering into understanding, expanding my capacity for joy. It makes it easy to be thankful hardship in the aftermath. Hopefully, I'll allow the light of joy to light my way throughout the upcoming seasons in life, no matter how dark those times may seem. If you're a friend, you may remind me of this when you catch me whining.
Now, today at church Pastor Dave talked about a different kind of joy, not in the sense of being happy but in the sense of knowing God is in control of our lives as well as the rest of the universe. He said true joy isn't about smiling and laughing necessarily; it's about trusting that whatever worldy things are going on, God loves and is caring for us. True joy is best measured in times of woe because that gives us the opportunity to count it all joy. I like this--suffering as a doorway to joy. Pastor Dave analogized joy to diamonds. When you put a real diamond underwater it intensifies it's brilliance. Unlike with a fake one, the genuine shines forth.
Even when I'm wrestling with life, the faith that nothing stands against me besides self makes all my worries transient. Fortunately, I don't have a lot of woe in my life. This is probably the most reletively woeless times I've experienced. The only reason I'm able to enjoy this current boon in life is because God delivered me from harder times. I frequently pray for memory so that I will remember these moments when the worm of life inevitably turns. However, he has also turned my suffering into understanding, expanding my capacity for joy. It makes it easy to be thankful hardship in the aftermath. Hopefully, I'll allow the light of joy to light my way throughout the upcoming seasons in life, no matter how dark those times may seem. If you're a friend, you may remind me of this when you catch me whining.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Datestravaganza
In the last six weeks, I've been on more dates than the rest of my life combined.
Growing up, I was a late bloomer--no boobies until 19; a social pariah--I was never asked to a school dance, ever; and the owner of a plethora of annoying personality quirks--talking too much, getting overly excited at little things, telling painful truths, and randomly falling down are only the tip of the ice burg. No dating, no surprise. When I joined the Navy a recruiter, PN2 Scott, warned me that they would "be coming out of the woodwork" after me, and I couldn't have been happier.
He was sort of right. Many a ill-intentioned sailor took interest, but very few had much see through. The first three dates I said yes to, I was painfully stood up. Lots of apologies, extenuating circumstances, give me another shot, yada, yada. No thanks, didn't want to get burnt. I was jaded. Dating had become synonymous with rejection and humiliation. Now, this isn't to say I didn't have intimate relationships, but we would usually go from buddies to "buddies" without all the formal games. I don't really care to speculate on how many boyfriends I had between the ages of 18 to 20, but the no dating policy remained firmly in effect until I was getting ready to go overseas.
I had a friend, Jason Kimlinger, who had asked me out at least three hundred times. He would come hang out at my room--like everyone else, "Party in 824"--but he would make up songs about my feet and rub them for hours. Though our friendship was strictly platonic, he'd bring little tokens of affection like hundreds of four-leaf clovers or especially pretty metal shavings from work. Day after day, the answer to his requests remainded no. This was probably because he was always filthy, never shaved, wore the same ripped shorts and dirty t-shirt everyday, and mooched like a pro grifter because all of his dough went into working on his ugly truck. He was an asshole, too. Jason once broke his hand punching my wall because I wouldn't let him beat up my smartass little brother who was begging to get knocked out (a feat Shawn accomplished shortly after). So it was to both of our surprises that I finally said yes to a date two days before transferring overseas.
Jason showed up with a dozen long-stem red roses, a corsage, and a card telling me I looked moovalous with a picture of a fat Holstein on the front. He was wearing a new white button-down shirt, slacks, tie, and dress shoes. He'd even gotten a haircut and a shave. His truck was clean for the first time I'd ever seen, and instead of blaring country, he had it tuned to my favorite oldies station. He hated oldies. We went to a fancy riverboat restaurant and then walked around Seaport Village. Jason had even packed my favorite beer instead of his usual Bud. He didn't try kissing me goodnight, thankfully, but he did rub my feeties until I fell asleep. <--- Right, there. That was fifteen years of positive dating karma in one night. That was the last time I saw or heard from him.
Flash forward to September of 2010, I'd had four more dates. One decent '96, one ok '09, one horrible '09, and one I got married the day after '00. I'd more or less settled back into the thanks, but no thanks mentality. That's when a friend whom I'd met on Plenty of Fish--don't judge me--shared his serial dating experience. He had taken the anxiety out of dating after divorce by just doing it. He went on lots of dates, made lots of friends, and even found a couple of women he was really into, some more than others, pun intended. Sounded like a good idea to me, so I jumped in with both feet. Though I still said no more times than yes, eight dates later I discovered dating isn't that big of a deal. In fact, I think I may have been dating all my life but not categorizing it as such because I was over thinking the whole thing. Also, it wasn't much fun.
I've found that my life is very full with or without dating. More often than not, going to the movie with a friend or the kids is better than with a stranger fellow I want to impress. Wine tasting with my girl friends is way more fun than doing the same with someone I'm on guard against trying to get in my pants. Though I'm thankful for my recent experiences and the friends I've made, I'm putting the breaks on the revolving dating door. I like my time too much to squander it in awkwardness or boredom. BBQ's, the occasional Friday-night karaoke, or a brisk walk are fine, but my online profiles are going bye bye. This doesn't mean I'm embracing spinsterhood just yet, but I am going to start valuing my time a little more preciously.
So, what is a date? <--- Really, I'd like to know what everyone thinks on this one. Please. It's for posterity.
Growing up, I was a late bloomer--no boobies until 19; a social pariah--I was never asked to a school dance, ever; and the owner of a plethora of annoying personality quirks--talking too much, getting overly excited at little things, telling painful truths, and randomly falling down are only the tip of the ice burg. No dating, no surprise. When I joined the Navy a recruiter, PN2 Scott, warned me that they would "be coming out of the woodwork" after me, and I couldn't have been happier.
He was sort of right. Many a ill-intentioned sailor took interest, but very few had much see through. The first three dates I said yes to, I was painfully stood up. Lots of apologies, extenuating circumstances, give me another shot, yada, yada. No thanks, didn't want to get burnt. I was jaded. Dating had become synonymous with rejection and humiliation. Now, this isn't to say I didn't have intimate relationships, but we would usually go from buddies to "buddies" without all the formal games. I don't really care to speculate on how many boyfriends I had between the ages of 18 to 20, but the no dating policy remained firmly in effect until I was getting ready to go overseas.
I had a friend, Jason Kimlinger, who had asked me out at least three hundred times. He would come hang out at my room--like everyone else, "Party in 824"--but he would make up songs about my feet and rub them for hours. Though our friendship was strictly platonic, he'd bring little tokens of affection like hundreds of four-leaf clovers or especially pretty metal shavings from work. Day after day, the answer to his requests remainded no. This was probably because he was always filthy, never shaved, wore the same ripped shorts and dirty t-shirt everyday, and mooched like a pro grifter because all of his dough went into working on his ugly truck. He was an asshole, too. Jason once broke his hand punching my wall because I wouldn't let him beat up my smartass little brother who was begging to get knocked out (a feat Shawn accomplished shortly after). So it was to both of our surprises that I finally said yes to a date two days before transferring overseas.
Jason showed up with a dozen long-stem red roses, a corsage, and a card telling me I looked moovalous with a picture of a fat Holstein on the front. He was wearing a new white button-down shirt, slacks, tie, and dress shoes. He'd even gotten a haircut and a shave. His truck was clean for the first time I'd ever seen, and instead of blaring country, he had it tuned to my favorite oldies station. He hated oldies. We went to a fancy riverboat restaurant and then walked around Seaport Village. Jason had even packed my favorite beer instead of his usual Bud. He didn't try kissing me goodnight, thankfully, but he did rub my feeties until I fell asleep. <--- Right, there. That was fifteen years of positive dating karma in one night. That was the last time I saw or heard from him.
Flash forward to September of 2010, I'd had four more dates. One decent '96, one ok '09, one horrible '09, and one I got married the day after '00. I'd more or less settled back into the thanks, but no thanks mentality. That's when a friend whom I'd met on Plenty of Fish--don't judge me--shared his serial dating experience. He had taken the anxiety out of dating after divorce by just doing it. He went on lots of dates, made lots of friends, and even found a couple of women he was really into, some more than others, pun intended. Sounded like a good idea to me, so I jumped in with both feet. Though I still said no more times than yes, eight dates later I discovered dating isn't that big of a deal. In fact, I think I may have been dating all my life but not categorizing it as such because I was over thinking the whole thing. Also, it wasn't much fun.
I've found that my life is very full with or without dating. More often than not, going to the movie with a friend or the kids is better than with a stranger fellow I want to impress. Wine tasting with my girl friends is way more fun than doing the same with someone I'm on guard against trying to get in my pants. Though I'm thankful for my recent experiences and the friends I've made, I'm putting the breaks on the revolving dating door. I like my time too much to squander it in awkwardness or boredom. BBQ's, the occasional Friday-night karaoke, or a brisk walk are fine, but my online profiles are going bye bye. This doesn't mean I'm embracing spinsterhood just yet, but I am going to start valuing my time a little more preciously.
So, what is a date? <--- Really, I'd like to know what everyone thinks on this one. Please. It's for posterity.
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