I had chorizo and eggs for breakfast. It's a beautiful day in LA. And I'm still a little disappointed from last night. I also slept in. For me that's 9:30. I know it's New Year's Eve, but that's what sleeping in feels like to me. I'm not a wake up at 1 PM kinda gal.
I went to LACMA with my best friend yesterday. Her Mom works there, so she showed us around all of the different exhibits. I've been to LACMA a bunch of times, but it was nice to get a guided tour. I love that my best friend understands so much about art because her Mom taught it to her. And I love that her Mom still acts like her daughter is six: "Look at that, _____! Did you see that, _____? Are you paying attention, _____?" It was the best.
Then we went to the restaurant at LACMA and had a little wine and snack. Ran into a good friend of mine, who's a well-known Asian-American actress. Let's call her Karla. Karla looked amazing as always and I always love seeing Karla because she's from Hawaii and whenever I see her I think about my Dad's side of the family. It's like having a cousin you didn't know you had. But I had to break the news that the Ex and I broke up. It was awkward, but she said the same thing everyone else has said:
"Weren't you together like a REALLY long time?"
Yes. Five years. We were together for five years. I just did this thing on Facebook today called "My Year in Status." It compiles a bunch of your status updates into one document for 2010. And it was interesting looking at what Facebook had chosen randomly. A lot of it was about "my man." Waiting for my man. Working downstairs while my man works upstairs- that's modern love, I guess. Need more dude time with my dude. Up early at Urth Caffe with my man - he makes the douchebaggery more bearable.
I have to admit. I'm really nostalgic right now. I miss "my man." The guy who was my man at least. I guess it's appropriate. It's happening on New Year's Eve. I should be reflective today on the year that passed. Normally, I wouldn't have to think much about what we were doing. I knew we'd be together. The first year we went to a party at Reichen's house in Culver City. And it's not like I'm just saying Reichen because he's a one-name star like Cher or Madonna. I just don't remember his last name. I got drunk, threw up when we got back to his house. And there was apparently a bunch of nasty gay activity that went on that I don't remember.
Another year, we had people over to the house. Made a big dinner. That was great.
Then there was the year we went to the party in Berkeley. We drove up the coast and found our favorite sushi restaurant called Harada. Loved that place. Great memories. Spent the night with Andy Samberg and the male cast of SNL. I guess not "the night" although I would have totally blown Jason Sudakis. Just saying.
Last year was another group thing. I'm not going to be mad at myself for missing him.
My best friend's Mom remarked yesterday that I seemed so cavalier about the whole thing. Even though we had been together for FIVE YEARS (as people keep reminding me). I don't know if the five year thing is a shock because it was so long and why would you break up after that amount of time. Or if it was unbelievable that I stuck around for five years. It was five years I was happy to spend with that one person. Until I wasn't. She seemed to be shocked that I just had enough and left.
I suppose some of that attitude came from the fact that I'm still trying to hold it together. I'm trying to have some dignity about the whole thing. Maybe some big leveling dose of depression is still to come, which New Haven has hinted at. I don't know.
All I can say today is that I'm looking across the 5 freeway and I see beautiful mountains and greenery. I'm in a place I wouldn't be staying if I was still in a relationship. Most likely, I'd be inside today. Waiting with the boyfriend. For him to get up. I might even miss out on New Year's Eve. He would be depressed for some reason. He would probably get mad at me for something small I had done, which would seem to wreck his day. The clock would strike midnight. I might be in bed by then. Or downstairs feeling resentful and looking at guys on Grindr. Or I might go out anyway, like I did on Halloween. Because I was sick and tired of missing out on fun because going out to me meant policing. And that would probably instill a great deal of anger. And I'd get texted messages telling me to come home and accusing me of being a bad boyfriend.
If I hadn't left, I would most likely be breaking up with my boyfriend on New Year's Eve. How depressing. And sad. And tragic. And definitely MORE TRAGIC than breaking up with someone two months earlier on Halloween.
Which I did.
All of a sudden, I'm not as depressed. I've had a good two months. And maybe I look cavalier because my head is held high. Because I actually do have dignity again. This two months has been good because I've been up and down, happy, sad, angry, distracted, slutty, pretty, fantastic, a wreck, a joy to be around and a horror. But at least I've been comfortable in my own skin.
I miss him a lot less now that I did at the start of this thing. I guess writing this blog IS a healing experience.
Friday, December 31, 2010
The Right Thing to Do?
New Haven just left. We had a great date. Wine and cheese. A Pinot Noir from Oregon and cheeses and spanish ham from Surfas in Culver City. Some sliced Roma tomatoes with basil and avocado from my parents' tree. Then a nice dinner out. Then we tried out this new wine bar. Lots of flirting along the way. Great talks. Then he comes up and finds himself on the bed while I'm in the bathroom. He's playing with the dogs on the bed. It's all very cute. We make out. A lot. And then he decides not to spend the night.
Why do I feel a bit disappointed? Because it's the fourth date and I think I should get some. Does that make me a whore?
And now I'm doubting myself. Am I going too fast with this thing? I like him and I want to say that I'm taking it one step at a time. But maybe I'm forcing it. Maybe it needs to be more organic.
The good thing about sleeping alone is that I can crawl into bed in my blue sweatshorts by Gypsy 05 and relax. I can listen to music. I can cuddle with the dogs.
Maybe I'm not ready to have a man in my bed. Maybe New Haven senses that and is being mature. Maybe I'm making too much out of this. But right now I just feel rejected. And I shouldn't because the rest of the night was amazing. I should just go to bed, it's late already. I'll have some new perspective in the morning.
After I make myself eggs, spanish ham and baguette for breakfast. Myself.
Why do I feel a bit disappointed? Because it's the fourth date and I think I should get some. Does that make me a whore?
And now I'm doubting myself. Am I going too fast with this thing? I like him and I want to say that I'm taking it one step at a time. But maybe I'm forcing it. Maybe it needs to be more organic.
The good thing about sleeping alone is that I can crawl into bed in my blue sweatshorts by Gypsy 05 and relax. I can listen to music. I can cuddle with the dogs.
Maybe I'm not ready to have a man in my bed. Maybe New Haven senses that and is being mature. Maybe I'm making too much out of this. But right now I just feel rejected. And I shouldn't because the rest of the night was amazing. I should just go to bed, it's late already. I'll have some new perspective in the morning.
After I make myself eggs, spanish ham and baguette for breakfast. Myself.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Gym Update
I've been running. My sister in law and I went for a few good runs while she was in town. Still thinking about the LA marathon. But will most likely just be a half, if they offer that option.
Been at the gym. I've been going to the Pasadena LA Fitness and I have to say that I really like that gym. Maybe it's the windows everywhere. Lots of light. Maybe it's the fact that it's never busy. Maybe it's the hot guys.
There are a lot of hot, white, athletic looking dudes who go to that gym. It's not crazy gym rats. And it's not Weho Queens. It's not actors. It's just hot jocky suburbanites. Some of whom are gay. I won't tell you how I know that.
It's a feeling. Maybe a rubbing. But mostly a feeling.
Hitting the weights hard has been good therapy. I want to look hot. It's a part of the transformation. And not hot in that Weho way. Or in that too skinny actory way. I certainly don't want to be a puffed up gym rat. Athletic. Like I take care of myself, but in a healthy way. Kind of like a hot jock suburbanite.
Oh, so that's why I like this gym. This is what I'm aspiring to. Okay, that works.
Been at the gym. I've been going to the Pasadena LA Fitness and I have to say that I really like that gym. Maybe it's the windows everywhere. Lots of light. Maybe it's the fact that it's never busy. Maybe it's the hot guys.
There are a lot of hot, white, athletic looking dudes who go to that gym. It's not crazy gym rats. And it's not Weho Queens. It's not actors. It's just hot jocky suburbanites. Some of whom are gay. I won't tell you how I know that.
It's a feeling. Maybe a rubbing. But mostly a feeling.
Hitting the weights hard has been good therapy. I want to look hot. It's a part of the transformation. And not hot in that Weho way. Or in that too skinny actory way. I certainly don't want to be a puffed up gym rat. Athletic. Like I take care of myself, but in a healthy way. Kind of like a hot jock suburbanite.
Oh, so that's why I like this gym. This is what I'm aspiring to. Okay, that works.
Crushed Out
I'm totally crushed out.
And yes, I know I should like a valley girl or a surfer from the 1980s. I'm an LA native. I have no shame in that.
So while I"m dealing with that, I'm going to just refrain from speaking about it. It feels a bit too soon to be this crushed out. And yes, I'm not substituting "crush" for another word. But it's just super unexpected. I actually like someone. And he's completely understanding about where I am right now. He seems happy for whatever happens and it's not indecisiveness, either.
I've never been here before. A guy who's totally available. Who I happen to like. It's usually more of a struggle.
I don't know why I think I should just be in more pain. I still have this thing where I think that the more suffering I feel, the deeper the love was. It was a deep love. No doubt. But I'm also in the middle of a huge sense of relief. Doesn't mean I'm not sad. Doesn't mean it was easy to leave. But when I make a decision, that's kind of it. And it usually takes me a long time to make a decision.
It's raining again in LA. I think it's making me reflective. I can't believe I haven't talked to the Ex. It's a good thing, but I just wanted things to be different. I think I'm worried that he hates me. And no one wants to be the bad guy.
But no one wants to be in a relationship that isn't working either.
And yes, I know I should like a valley girl or a surfer from the 1980s. I'm an LA native. I have no shame in that.
So while I"m dealing with that, I'm going to just refrain from speaking about it. It feels a bit too soon to be this crushed out. And yes, I'm not substituting "crush" for another word. But it's just super unexpected. I actually like someone. And he's completely understanding about where I am right now. He seems happy for whatever happens and it's not indecisiveness, either.
I've never been here before. A guy who's totally available. Who I happen to like. It's usually more of a struggle.
I don't know why I think I should just be in more pain. I still have this thing where I think that the more suffering I feel, the deeper the love was. It was a deep love. No doubt. But I'm also in the middle of a huge sense of relief. Doesn't mean I'm not sad. Doesn't mean it was easy to leave. But when I make a decision, that's kind of it. And it usually takes me a long time to make a decision.
It's raining again in LA. I think it's making me reflective. I can't believe I haven't talked to the Ex. It's a good thing, but I just wanted things to be different. I think I'm worried that he hates me. And no one wants to be the bad guy.
But no one wants to be in a relationship that isn't working either.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Did I play baseball?
This has to be one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard in my life.
"You've got some serious legs. Did you play baseball?"
Okay, I've never even remotely thought that I could EVER pass as butch. But I think that this person, who I met at the gym and was no doubt coming on to me, implied that my legs were somehow manly.
Here's my response:
"I'm a marathoner. I run marathons."
He nodded his head as if to say "Right On." Two dudes at the gym, pumping iron and talkin' about the athletic things they do.
Before I opened my mouth to say the following, I thought better:
"I was also a dancer in college. Ballet. Jazz. Modern. Lots of leaps. You should have seen my legs in tights. I was skinner back then, but my legs have really held up. Muscle memory. My legs? Plies. Grande jettes. All barre work."
THANK GOD I didn't say any of that. But this masculine guy in his early 40s with salt and pepper hair and a hot body came up to ME and asked ME if I had played some sort of competitive sport. And it was BASEBALL. Those guys have killer legs. Tree trunks. He thought MY legs were tree trunks. Athletic. Grrrr. ME!
Well, if he figures out who I am and reads this blog, he will certainly not even remotely think that I'm manly. But it was nice to fool someone for a second.
"You've got some serious legs. Did you play baseball?"
Okay, I've never even remotely thought that I could EVER pass as butch. But I think that this person, who I met at the gym and was no doubt coming on to me, implied that my legs were somehow manly.
Here's my response:
"I'm a marathoner. I run marathons."
He nodded his head as if to say "Right On." Two dudes at the gym, pumping iron and talkin' about the athletic things they do.
Before I opened my mouth to say the following, I thought better:
"I was also a dancer in college. Ballet. Jazz. Modern. Lots of leaps. You should have seen my legs in tights. I was skinner back then, but my legs have really held up. Muscle memory. My legs? Plies. Grande jettes. All barre work."
THANK GOD I didn't say any of that. But this masculine guy in his early 40s with salt and pepper hair and a hot body came up to ME and asked ME if I had played some sort of competitive sport. And it was BASEBALL. Those guys have killer legs. Tree trunks. He thought MY legs were tree trunks. Athletic. Grrrr. ME!
Well, if he figures out who I am and reads this blog, he will certainly not even remotely think that I'm manly. But it was nice to fool someone for a second.
What are YOU doing New Years Eve?
It will be either "New Years Eve. A Cup O'Noodles." Like Carrie in S&TC1 or I'll go do something. I haven't quite figured it out. A big part of me wants to do brunch or a fun lunchtime party. Then just spend the night watching old movies by myself. That might be a good thing.
I won't be kissing anyone this New Years Eve. Well, at least I won't be kissing New Haven. We both agreed not to put that pressure on ourselves. And that doesn't mean that last night's date didn't go well. It went super well. I don't want this blog to all of a sudden be just about the guys I'm dating. Even though a part of rebuilding does have to do with starting over in that department. We had the tamales I made with my family, some black beans and a field greens salad. He brought the wine.
I will mention the things that are clicking:
1) He talks about his feelings a lot. And I love that because I probably talk about my feelings more. And it's nice to talk about things that matter. Other than just art and culture and the daily news. I love those things too. But I don't want to just be having a relationship with a news ticker. I need some humanity.
2) We didn't wait until dinner to make out.
3) He's really unassuming. He's got an Ivy League education, but he's not a snob. Like DVF said on Bravo's Watch What Happens the Other Night, "I don't like pretension."
4) We held hands in public. I grabbed his arm. It was natural.
5) I get to cook for him.
6) There's no pressure. We both understand that I'm in a strange place right now. Really in transition. And the last thing I should be is tied down to another man. But he's a great partner in crime. And I don't mean partner in that way. We are having fun. And I'm completely myself.
So the date went well. Everything went over well. And I'm not obsessing. I'm just smiling from time to time throughout the day thinking about how relaxed it all was.
Back to New Years Eve: No Pressure. I want to see friends at some point during the day, but it doesn't have to be at night.
I won't be kissing anyone this New Years Eve. Well, at least I won't be kissing New Haven. We both agreed not to put that pressure on ourselves. And that doesn't mean that last night's date didn't go well. It went super well. I don't want this blog to all of a sudden be just about the guys I'm dating. Even though a part of rebuilding does have to do with starting over in that department. We had the tamales I made with my family, some black beans and a field greens salad. He brought the wine.
I will mention the things that are clicking:
1) He talks about his feelings a lot. And I love that because I probably talk about my feelings more. And it's nice to talk about things that matter. Other than just art and culture and the daily news. I love those things too. But I don't want to just be having a relationship with a news ticker. I need some humanity.
2) We didn't wait until dinner to make out.
3) He's really unassuming. He's got an Ivy League education, but he's not a snob. Like DVF said on Bravo's Watch What Happens the Other Night, "I don't like pretension."
4) We held hands in public. I grabbed his arm. It was natural.
5) I get to cook for him.
6) There's no pressure. We both understand that I'm in a strange place right now. Really in transition. And the last thing I should be is tied down to another man. But he's a great partner in crime. And I don't mean partner in that way. We are having fun. And I'm completely myself.
So the date went well. Everything went over well. And I'm not obsessing. I'm just smiling from time to time throughout the day thinking about how relaxed it all was.
Back to New Years Eve: No Pressure. I want to see friends at some point during the day, but it doesn't have to be at night.
Virtual Vision Board: On the Street Where I'll Live 2
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Virtual Vision Board: On the Street Where I'll live 1
Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Waiting for the man
Not that he's MY man or even THE man...I just thought I should preface that. But I am waiting for a man. And that man is coming over to the place I'm dogsitting at.
I've prepared a dinner of pork tamales, black beans and salad. I've lit candles. I have a "Sophisticated Party Mix." I'm prepping to have a man come over to "my" house.
I've kept the dress casual. A Number Lab grey cardigan, Splendid Mills grey and navy striped polo (a Christmas gift from my friends) and a pair of Levis (514s). Not sure why I thought it was important to give you the fashion breakdown, but there it is. I spruced up the hair a bit with some molding clay.
He's supposed to be here at 7ish. It's 7:15. I'm kind of watching the clock. Oh, jesus.
Everything's ready. Tamales in the oven. Black beans resting and thickening. The only thing to do is the salad dressing and adding the avocado to the salad (last minute to it doesn't oxidize and get brown). And maybe a little Feta.
Wine glasses laid out on the coffee table. Actual glasses, which is how I like to drink wine. Not stemmed bulbous WINE GLASSES. But little cylinder wine glasses. Like the Spanish. I've got a wine from the Willamette Valley that my brother and sister in law brought for me from Oregon. A Pinot Noir. You know that Oregon is known for their Pinots. It's now 7:18. Hopefully, he's not reading this from his iPHone in the car and crashing somewhere.
Diana Ross, "Remember Me" from her 1971 album Surrender is playing. I'm using that song in the Medea adaptation I've written. Still waiting to hear back from a few theatres to see if they're going to develop it in the Spring.
The Candles look good. I'm typing at the computer...it's all very adult. Working to the last minute. Productive. Focused. Driven.
Should I have a drink? While I"m waiting? No. Probably not. Don't want him to get here and see me all drunk. Smelling of Jack and Ginger (I already thought about the pre-drink I would have, but never had time).
Now it's Ray Charles, "Look at what they done to my song, Ma." He sang this on the 1973 CBS TV special "Barbra Streisand and Other Musical Instruments." That reminds me, "The Kennedy Center Honors" is on Tuesday. I have to make sure I'm somewhere I can watch it. There's no TV here at the house. And I'm not sure they're going to replay that on the CBS website. It's a bit of a tradition, since I was a kid, to watch the Kennedy Center Honors on TV. I love watching how many random performers they decide to perform musical tributes. And I love the musical tributes to people like Oprah. She's being honored this year and I know they're performing at least one song from "The Color Purple", which she produced (and also she was in the film). But it's weird. Does Sondheim have to write a special number for someone like the Big O, who has no association to music? What would that song be called? "The Changing Face?" "Miss Television?" "Oprah/Harpo?"
It's 7:26. He's not late. We said 7ish. I thought we said 7:30 on the phone, but then he said "see you at 7ish" on the text message he sent.
Kelly Clarkson. "Don't Waste Your Time" from My December, the album that everyone hated. I love this song. I totally think it's pop. He's missing some good selections.
I think he might be getting the hot sauce I asked him to bring if he had it but told him he didn't need to bring. No need to go out of his way, right? But he's the kind of gentleman that would do that. I need to go check the tamales.
They're fine. Warming up in the oven. Just turned it down a bit. Beans look good. I'm getting HUNGRY. Went to the gym this afternoon to get a good workout in since I haven't gone since the 23rd. But I have gone on some runs. But really I went so I would look good in this new polo shirt, which has a flattering way of hugging my body. There's no fronting. I totally worked out so I would look hot for this date.
You should have seen me at the gym. I was doing some of the core exercises I learned from watching "Insanity", from the makers of Beach Body who are the people who do P90X. I am such a walking infomercial. I went to the exercise studio at the gym, listening to my iPod, rocking out to the Glee version of "Telephone" by Gaga and Beyonce. Just doing the stink face, which is supposed to look like I"m into it and kind of "Thug Life." It just looks like a gay guy with a dancer's background doing knee ups. Then I did my Shoulders and Arms workout. The bicep curls, the Chair Dips, the Concentration Curls, all of it. Twelve exercises. Then a break. Then the same 12 exercises all over again. Dirty hot stink face all over the gym. And I tend to act like no one else is around me (aka like I"m dancing in my bedroom by myself). So I'm doing my tricep stretches and mouthing "5...6...7...8." I'm doing shoulder roles to "Come On Over" by Aguliera. I'm curling to "She's a Bitch" by Missy Elliot. I'm doing a street strut to "Empire State of Mind" while I'm in-between exercises to give my muscles a break. I am an hour-long musical comedy live in the LA Fitness in Pasadena. I'm rocking out and I'm sure I'm getting some looks. Whatever, breeders!
Gosh, I really am kind of hungry. It's 7:38. I hope I don't either fall asleep or get wasted after that first sip of red wine. Dogs are barking. He might be here.
Okay. SO he is. Details to follow.
I've prepared a dinner of pork tamales, black beans and salad. I've lit candles. I have a "Sophisticated Party Mix." I'm prepping to have a man come over to "my" house.
I've kept the dress casual. A Number Lab grey cardigan, Splendid Mills grey and navy striped polo (a Christmas gift from my friends) and a pair of Levis (514s). Not sure why I thought it was important to give you the fashion breakdown, but there it is. I spruced up the hair a bit with some molding clay.
He's supposed to be here at 7ish. It's 7:15. I'm kind of watching the clock. Oh, jesus.
Everything's ready. Tamales in the oven. Black beans resting and thickening. The only thing to do is the salad dressing and adding the avocado to the salad (last minute to it doesn't oxidize and get brown). And maybe a little Feta.
Wine glasses laid out on the coffee table. Actual glasses, which is how I like to drink wine. Not stemmed bulbous WINE GLASSES. But little cylinder wine glasses. Like the Spanish. I've got a wine from the Willamette Valley that my brother and sister in law brought for me from Oregon. A Pinot Noir. You know that Oregon is known for their Pinots. It's now 7:18. Hopefully, he's not reading this from his iPHone in the car and crashing somewhere.
Diana Ross, "Remember Me" from her 1971 album Surrender is playing. I'm using that song in the Medea adaptation I've written. Still waiting to hear back from a few theatres to see if they're going to develop it in the Spring.
The Candles look good. I'm typing at the computer...it's all very adult. Working to the last minute. Productive. Focused. Driven.
Should I have a drink? While I"m waiting? No. Probably not. Don't want him to get here and see me all drunk. Smelling of Jack and Ginger (I already thought about the pre-drink I would have, but never had time).
Now it's Ray Charles, "Look at what they done to my song, Ma." He sang this on the 1973 CBS TV special "Barbra Streisand and Other Musical Instruments." That reminds me, "The Kennedy Center Honors" is on Tuesday. I have to make sure I'm somewhere I can watch it. There's no TV here at the house. And I'm not sure they're going to replay that on the CBS website. It's a bit of a tradition, since I was a kid, to watch the Kennedy Center Honors on TV. I love watching how many random performers they decide to perform musical tributes. And I love the musical tributes to people like Oprah. She's being honored this year and I know they're performing at least one song from "The Color Purple", which she produced (and also she was in the film). But it's weird. Does Sondheim have to write a special number for someone like the Big O, who has no association to music? What would that song be called? "The Changing Face?" "Miss Television?" "Oprah/Harpo?"
It's 7:26. He's not late. We said 7ish. I thought we said 7:30 on the phone, but then he said "see you at 7ish" on the text message he sent.
Kelly Clarkson. "Don't Waste Your Time" from My December, the album that everyone hated. I love this song. I totally think it's pop. He's missing some good selections.
I think he might be getting the hot sauce I asked him to bring if he had it but told him he didn't need to bring. No need to go out of his way, right? But he's the kind of gentleman that would do that. I need to go check the tamales.
They're fine. Warming up in the oven. Just turned it down a bit. Beans look good. I'm getting HUNGRY. Went to the gym this afternoon to get a good workout in since I haven't gone since the 23rd. But I have gone on some runs. But really I went so I would look good in this new polo shirt, which has a flattering way of hugging my body. There's no fronting. I totally worked out so I would look hot for this date.
You should have seen me at the gym. I was doing some of the core exercises I learned from watching "Insanity", from the makers of Beach Body who are the people who do P90X. I am such a walking infomercial. I went to the exercise studio at the gym, listening to my iPod, rocking out to the Glee version of "Telephone" by Gaga and Beyonce. Just doing the stink face, which is supposed to look like I"m into it and kind of "Thug Life." It just looks like a gay guy with a dancer's background doing knee ups. Then I did my Shoulders and Arms workout. The bicep curls, the Chair Dips, the Concentration Curls, all of it. Twelve exercises. Then a break. Then the same 12 exercises all over again. Dirty hot stink face all over the gym. And I tend to act like no one else is around me (aka like I"m dancing in my bedroom by myself). So I'm doing my tricep stretches and mouthing "5...6...7...8." I'm doing shoulder roles to "Come On Over" by Aguliera. I'm curling to "She's a Bitch" by Missy Elliot. I'm doing a street strut to "Empire State of Mind" while I'm in-between exercises to give my muscles a break. I am an hour-long musical comedy live in the LA Fitness in Pasadena. I'm rocking out and I'm sure I'm getting some looks. Whatever, breeders!
Gosh, I really am kind of hungry. It's 7:38. I hope I don't either fall asleep or get wasted after that first sip of red wine. Dogs are barking. He might be here.
Okay. SO he is. Details to follow.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Am I Just Lonely?
I woke up this morning to find that the sun was shining. And that is an appropriate image to how I was feeling last night.
I'm staying in this house in Silverlake and I'm loving it. I'm dogsitting. This is the first place I've stayed where I'm all by myself. So it makes sense that eventually I would notice that. I've been running around, wrapping up my current job, getting ready for the next one, working on the new play, working on the story for the new spec pilot, going out with New Haven, running to my friend's house to make sure her roof isn't leaking...suffice it to say there have been a lot of distractions in my life lately. And now I'm here with Wally and Midge (the dogs). They cuddle with me in bed. They scooch me over so I'm sleeping in weird positions and I wake up with my back aching. And they are tiny dogs. They remind me of Penny and Franc.
Oh.
What are Penny and Franc doing this holiday while their Daddy's skiing? So I think about that for a while. And I interact with Wally and Midge and talk to them as we go on our walks. Like I did with Penny and Franc. And it hits me. It's two days before Christmas. I'm not in a relationship. I'm not exchanging gifts with my boyfriend. And I'm alone.
And it's not the kind of alone that feels like dispair. It just feels a bit sad. And it feels like maybe I'm doing things that are trying to replicate a life I no longer have. And does that mean I want that life back? Does it mean that I'm trying out things that are similar because I actually did like that sort of domesticity. But I just didn't like all of the other trappings that came with it. And ultimately, I couldn't make him happy. No matter what I tried to do.
And is the answer to change everything? It's been what I've been trying to do. Because why not? I didn't think I wanted to live on the east side, but maybe I like it. I'm sitting at this computer, next to a big window, looking down on the 5 and staring into the hills and mountains. It's peaceful. And walking around this neighborhood reminds me of places in East LA where my grandmother lived growing up. And it is the eastside. So it's very Latin friendly. And even though I am also half Chinese, I always say I'm Latin. Maybe because I want people to know I'm a fiery lover.
But I'm also realizing that it's just me on this journey right now. And I don't have to be alone. But I don't have to add a partner to the mix just for companionship. Which for the record is not what I think I'm doing. And I'm actually going to have a private conversation if I need to with the person who's making my life a lot more pleasant these days. Let's just say he's worth raising the question for.
I think I've done a pretty good job at this single thing. I've always said I was a good single person, which made me a good partnered person too. I love my independence. But when I'm all in, I'm all in. That's in singlehood and partneredhood. I love laying around the house with the dogs and talking to myself. That's probably why I love being single! I talk to myself anyway. So there's always a dialogue happening. And now that my niece is coming to town in a few hours, I can talk to her. She's only 17 months so she won't talk back. But she'll just listen. Riveted.
The lonely thing came up because my friend "Bensemmon" brought it up. Ben's harsh. Ben said that I was distracting myself with New Haven maybe because I'm just lonely. He kind of said it like that. "Well, sweetie. You're lonely."
Oh. I'm lonely. And of course I couldn't stop thinking about it after that. Partially because he said it so matter of factly. And partially because I do really respect Ben's opinions. And now on this beautiful Thursday morning where I don't have to be at work, I'm thinking of it again.
Am I lonely?
Or do i just enjoy being alone. And inviting the cuddles in when I need them. There is no pressure from New Haven, which is amazing. We did set up the "third date", as it were. I'm looking forward to it. And not in a "that's all I can think about way." And it's not like I don't care either. Let's just say I'm warmed by the thought.
I think that's a nice way to put it. It's a feeling that's going through my whole body, but I can still function. And it makes me a little less cold. Still alone. But just a bit warmer.
I'm staying in this house in Silverlake and I'm loving it. I'm dogsitting. This is the first place I've stayed where I'm all by myself. So it makes sense that eventually I would notice that. I've been running around, wrapping up my current job, getting ready for the next one, working on the new play, working on the story for the new spec pilot, going out with New Haven, running to my friend's house to make sure her roof isn't leaking...suffice it to say there have been a lot of distractions in my life lately. And now I'm here with Wally and Midge (the dogs). They cuddle with me in bed. They scooch me over so I'm sleeping in weird positions and I wake up with my back aching. And they are tiny dogs. They remind me of Penny and Franc.
Oh.
What are Penny and Franc doing this holiday while their Daddy's skiing? So I think about that for a while. And I interact with Wally and Midge and talk to them as we go on our walks. Like I did with Penny and Franc. And it hits me. It's two days before Christmas. I'm not in a relationship. I'm not exchanging gifts with my boyfriend. And I'm alone.
And it's not the kind of alone that feels like dispair. It just feels a bit sad. And it feels like maybe I'm doing things that are trying to replicate a life I no longer have. And does that mean I want that life back? Does it mean that I'm trying out things that are similar because I actually did like that sort of domesticity. But I just didn't like all of the other trappings that came with it. And ultimately, I couldn't make him happy. No matter what I tried to do.
And is the answer to change everything? It's been what I've been trying to do. Because why not? I didn't think I wanted to live on the east side, but maybe I like it. I'm sitting at this computer, next to a big window, looking down on the 5 and staring into the hills and mountains. It's peaceful. And walking around this neighborhood reminds me of places in East LA where my grandmother lived growing up. And it is the eastside. So it's very Latin friendly. And even though I am also half Chinese, I always say I'm Latin. Maybe because I want people to know I'm a fiery lover.
But I'm also realizing that it's just me on this journey right now. And I don't have to be alone. But I don't have to add a partner to the mix just for companionship. Which for the record is not what I think I'm doing. And I'm actually going to have a private conversation if I need to with the person who's making my life a lot more pleasant these days. Let's just say he's worth raising the question for.
I think I've done a pretty good job at this single thing. I've always said I was a good single person, which made me a good partnered person too. I love my independence. But when I'm all in, I'm all in. That's in singlehood and partneredhood. I love laying around the house with the dogs and talking to myself. That's probably why I love being single! I talk to myself anyway. So there's always a dialogue happening. And now that my niece is coming to town in a few hours, I can talk to her. She's only 17 months so she won't talk back. But she'll just listen. Riveted.
The lonely thing came up because my friend "Bensemmon" brought it up. Ben's harsh. Ben said that I was distracting myself with New Haven maybe because I'm just lonely. He kind of said it like that. "Well, sweetie. You're lonely."
Oh. I'm lonely. And of course I couldn't stop thinking about it after that. Partially because he said it so matter of factly. And partially because I do really respect Ben's opinions. And now on this beautiful Thursday morning where I don't have to be at work, I'm thinking of it again.
Am I lonely?
Or do i just enjoy being alone. And inviting the cuddles in when I need them. There is no pressure from New Haven, which is amazing. We did set up the "third date", as it were. I'm looking forward to it. And not in a "that's all I can think about way." And it's not like I don't care either. Let's just say I'm warmed by the thought.
I think that's a nice way to put it. It's a feeling that's going through my whole body, but I can still function. And it makes me a little less cold. Still alone. But just a bit warmer.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Second Date
Yes, this was an actual date. And come to find out, that the first one was too. We talked about it.
We actually talked about a lot of things, which is so me, but hasn't been for the past five years. I don't want to paint a picture that in my last relationship we didn't talk about anything, but we didn't talk about EVERYTHING. And while some people might find that annoying, it's kind of how I walk through life. I'm a writer for fuck sakes. I process everything. I like to talk about everything. There's something about all thoughts being public that appeals to me. Clearly, because I'm writing these thoughts in my blog. As a kid, there were so many things that were said, but so many things that I felt couldn't. So in my adult life, I don't want to have a lot of those things that can't be said. THAT being said, there was a lot in my relationship that just wasn't talked about. And I allowed that.
Enough about that. On to the date.
So we just decided to go to the Arclight for both dinner AND the movie. And even though LA is being blanketed by sheets of rain, he decided to pick me up even though the Arclight was only five minutes from his house. As was noted, that was a gentlemanly thing to do. Okay, so I have to give him a name now because I can't just refer to him as the Nameless Date Guy. There was cuddling in the movie. The man deserves a name. And only because it's where he went to school, I'm going to call him New Haven. Yalie might be a bit much. And inside joke: another person I know who went to Yale used to say that he went to school in New Haven. I actually did think this was obnoxious. Where did you go? New Haven Junior College? No, you went to Yale. New Haven's not obnoxious, but just in case he has an issue with me referring to him as Yalie, as if that defines him, I think New Haven's a good compromise. Better than choosing a name that starts with his first initial or rhymes with his real name.
Wow, this is a lot of preamble to get to the good stuff.
We decided to see the new Harry Potter because New Haven has seen every movie either on screener or in the theatres. I have not. Black Swan? Seen it. The Fighter? Loved it. Somewhere? Fantastic. So we were left with either Harry Potter or The Tempest and we both figured that bad Shakespeare would have been misery to sit through. Especially late at night. Our movie was at 10:15. He's a real sweet guy to first pick me up and then agree to a later dinner and a movie.
And then there's that. He's a sweet guy. And not sweet in that "I'm going to walk all over you sweet." I've been THAT sweet. He's just a gentleman. And I don't think that's a blogosphere exclusive. I think he knows I feel that way.
So we talked - which I love. We talked about family dynamics and our fathers and about my brother who's a new father. We talked about my best friend who had the two most important men in her life tragically die. We covered a lot of ground. We talked about his network notes on the pilot he's working on. It was kind of great. It was like a buffet of my favorite things: cucumber kim chee, veggie chow fun, seared foie, oysters, a great burger, chicken tacos, and strawberry ice cream. And even though the selection was all over the place, none of it made my stomach upset. It was just yummy goodness.
And he said something REALLY gentlemanly. He acknowledged that here I am, six weeks out of a relationship, and that that has to be tough. And suggested that we just enjoy this as it comes. No pressure. He kind of let me off the hook. I was actually thinking that maybe at some point I might have to initiate this conversation. And he just took care of it. It's out on the table. I like him. He likes me. But here's the circumstance. And you can't runaway from the time factor. I have been broken up from my ex for six weeks. It's funny because when he said that, I had this thought that it felt like months. I don't think that means that it's totally behind me. But I feel far removed from that life. It's like I was playing a role and now I have to go back to my regular life. I've played that part. The part of the supporting player, in the background. And now I have to get back to myself, to get comfortable in my own skin.
One of my favorite things to do is to go to the Arclight and eat at the Cafe. It's like when I was a kid and JC Penny's had their own restaurant in the department store. I used to go with my Mom and get crinkle cut french fries. Those were my favorite. With lots of ketchup. It feels like a lowkey thing to go. Easy. But I love a great restaurant as well. New Haven and I talked about food as well. In some ways, probably mapping out our next few dates. The Kid (meaning me) loves to eat. I got a burger and the Caesar salad. So full disclosure, the Ex and I used to go places and order Caesar Salad when it was on the menu. So I guess it was kind of our thing, and there's still this nostalgia thing I'm doing. I'll get over it. But right now I'm definitely feeling it.
It's partially because I've been on two dates with a smart, well-educated guy from Virginia. And I know it's not the sequel. But New Haven reminds me of all of the good things. And then he brings a lot of great things to the table. He's absolutely a different person to me - and I know he's reading this - so the in depth part of this conversation, if it needs to happen, will happen in private. Maybe it just means I've got great taste. And whatever it means, that's what I'm going to choose to believe for now.
Harry Potter is a long movie. I pretty much immediately lifted the arm rest and cuddled with him. I might have fallen asleep for twenty minutes. But it was nice. And definitely a date. A great second date.
We actually talked about a lot of things, which is so me, but hasn't been for the past five years. I don't want to paint a picture that in my last relationship we didn't talk about anything, but we didn't talk about EVERYTHING. And while some people might find that annoying, it's kind of how I walk through life. I'm a writer for fuck sakes. I process everything. I like to talk about everything. There's something about all thoughts being public that appeals to me. Clearly, because I'm writing these thoughts in my blog. As a kid, there were so many things that were said, but so many things that I felt couldn't. So in my adult life, I don't want to have a lot of those things that can't be said. THAT being said, there was a lot in my relationship that just wasn't talked about. And I allowed that.
Enough about that. On to the date.
So we just decided to go to the Arclight for both dinner AND the movie. And even though LA is being blanketed by sheets of rain, he decided to pick me up even though the Arclight was only five minutes from his house. As was noted, that was a gentlemanly thing to do. Okay, so I have to give him a name now because I can't just refer to him as the Nameless Date Guy. There was cuddling in the movie. The man deserves a name. And only because it's where he went to school, I'm going to call him New Haven. Yalie might be a bit much. And inside joke: another person I know who went to Yale used to say that he went to school in New Haven. I actually did think this was obnoxious. Where did you go? New Haven Junior College? No, you went to Yale. New Haven's not obnoxious, but just in case he has an issue with me referring to him as Yalie, as if that defines him, I think New Haven's a good compromise. Better than choosing a name that starts with his first initial or rhymes with his real name.
Wow, this is a lot of preamble to get to the good stuff.
We decided to see the new Harry Potter because New Haven has seen every movie either on screener or in the theatres. I have not. Black Swan? Seen it. The Fighter? Loved it. Somewhere? Fantastic. So we were left with either Harry Potter or The Tempest and we both figured that bad Shakespeare would have been misery to sit through. Especially late at night. Our movie was at 10:15. He's a real sweet guy to first pick me up and then agree to a later dinner and a movie.
And then there's that. He's a sweet guy. And not sweet in that "I'm going to walk all over you sweet." I've been THAT sweet. He's just a gentleman. And I don't think that's a blogosphere exclusive. I think he knows I feel that way.
So we talked - which I love. We talked about family dynamics and our fathers and about my brother who's a new father. We talked about my best friend who had the two most important men in her life tragically die. We covered a lot of ground. We talked about his network notes on the pilot he's working on. It was kind of great. It was like a buffet of my favorite things: cucumber kim chee, veggie chow fun, seared foie, oysters, a great burger, chicken tacos, and strawberry ice cream. And even though the selection was all over the place, none of it made my stomach upset. It was just yummy goodness.
And he said something REALLY gentlemanly. He acknowledged that here I am, six weeks out of a relationship, and that that has to be tough. And suggested that we just enjoy this as it comes. No pressure. He kind of let me off the hook. I was actually thinking that maybe at some point I might have to initiate this conversation. And he just took care of it. It's out on the table. I like him. He likes me. But here's the circumstance. And you can't runaway from the time factor. I have been broken up from my ex for six weeks. It's funny because when he said that, I had this thought that it felt like months. I don't think that means that it's totally behind me. But I feel far removed from that life. It's like I was playing a role and now I have to go back to my regular life. I've played that part. The part of the supporting player, in the background. And now I have to get back to myself, to get comfortable in my own skin.
One of my favorite things to do is to go to the Arclight and eat at the Cafe. It's like when I was a kid and JC Penny's had their own restaurant in the department store. I used to go with my Mom and get crinkle cut french fries. Those were my favorite. With lots of ketchup. It feels like a lowkey thing to go. Easy. But I love a great restaurant as well. New Haven and I talked about food as well. In some ways, probably mapping out our next few dates. The Kid (meaning me) loves to eat. I got a burger and the Caesar salad. So full disclosure, the Ex and I used to go places and order Caesar Salad when it was on the menu. So I guess it was kind of our thing, and there's still this nostalgia thing I'm doing. I'll get over it. But right now I'm definitely feeling it.
It's partially because I've been on two dates with a smart, well-educated guy from Virginia. And I know it's not the sequel. But New Haven reminds me of all of the good things. And then he brings a lot of great things to the table. He's absolutely a different person to me - and I know he's reading this - so the in depth part of this conversation, if it needs to happen, will happen in private. Maybe it just means I've got great taste. And whatever it means, that's what I'm going to choose to believe for now.
Harry Potter is a long movie. I pretty much immediately lifted the arm rest and cuddled with him. I might have fallen asleep for twenty minutes. But it was nice. And definitely a date. A great second date.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Downpour
LA is in a state of torrential rain right now. I'm writing this from Silverlake, the third place I've stayed since the breakup. This is a great place to retreat - I'm housesitting for friends of friends. A really sweet couple who will probably become friends - they kind of already are. That seems to be the theme of this breakup. More people are coming into my life or staying, than leaving. I think I sound surprised by that. My friend "Bensemmon" (as in Kelly, although that's not his real name) said that tonight. So something like that. Basically, his point was that I shouldn't be so shocked that people are coming back into my life or into my life for the first time because I broke up with the ex.
So in this crazy rain, I decided to drive to Orange County yesterday. Apologies to Caitlin, whose party I missed on Saturday because of the rain. As you'll read, I made a great decision to not go to the party because of weather. This is something I realized as I was driving home from the OC last night. Scared for my life several times. I have an ex-boyfriend, who I nicknamed Pillows, who had a Holiday party last night. Very sweet. He wanted to introduce me to his friends, some of whom he thought might be interesting guys to date. I love Pillows, but it's hard to go to the OC for just a party, let alone a relationship. I should know. I did that with him for six months. But before I get to the Pillows of it all, I should also say that it was a kind of nostalgia-filled day because I figured that I would ALSO go see my friend JJ, who used to hangout with both me and Pillows years ago. JJ has a fiance (she's a girl, btw) and has been living in Alabama. She's just been out here to close the clothing store she ran for seven plus years. So I thought it would be good to see her and catch up.
JJ thought I should come to her brother's house on Balboa Island, which is so Mayberry I can't stand it. They even have a candy shop and people leave their umbrellas unguarded outside. They pass you on the street and wave. It's because there are no brown people there. I'm convinced. I'm brown, but they probably thought I was either Italian or one of the wealthy Asians. Not the case. So JJ and I grabbed two umbrellas and started walking around Balboa. It was kind of romantic and sweet. Two friends walking down the street, sharing stories, talking about men, and having crass conversations. Holy Carrie Bradshaw! It was pretty great. We were well-dressed, in the rain and just having a blast catching up. Then I had to get on the 73, a toll road that made me fear for my life. It was foggy and misty and I couldn't see. I just was hoping I wouldn't go over a cliff.
But eventually I made it to Pillow's house and the first thing that happened when his boyfriend saw me was give me a big hug. It's funny how familiar we all get because we've seen each other on Facebook. I mean that in general. Everyone assumes a level of familiarity because of it. So I decided not to drink because I had to drive. And I met his friends. Two of them were totally my type. Pasty, stocky wide dudes. With beautiful eyes. That's totally what I go for. I have to stop denying it. I might be changing that, but for now I have to stop denying that's my type. We chatted for a while, but I realized that one of them either wasn't into me or was too shy to talk to me. The other one couldn't stop talking. He's an actor (and a nice guy for the record), but he's the one who definitely got my attention.
At the risk of offending someone I hardly know, this is why I kept talking to him. He conveniently revealed at some point that he's both a TOP and a BOTTOM. He's VERSATILE. Dudes love that. I want to know that on Sunday you're going to stick me from behind, but on Tuesday you might throw your legs up in the air. And he's kind of straight looking and he's got a hot barrel chest. Truth be hold, I would have gone home with his friend in a second. He had kinder eyes. Wasn't in as good shape as the Actor. But there was a sweetness that was there. Too bad he lives in San Diego. The Actor, on the other hand, lives in the OC, but commutes to LA for auditions. I won't go on and on and on and on about this guy. That'll make one of us. Hey, listen! To the Actor, should he ever read this: I think you are hot. I would let you...do things. I would even be extremely loud upon entry. HOWEVER...just not my thing. I'm sure you're a good Christian.
Leave it to Pillows to tell me about all these guys he wants me to meet and then he invites them all to the same party. It was fine. It would have been better if we had a Circle Jerk in the master bedroom. But I'm okay with the fact that I just drove home. And on that drive...I was FRIGHTENED. I was like Bette Midler in BEACHES driving from LA to San Francisco to see Barbara Hershey before she died. And I actually thought that my life might flash before my eyes. So I thought of calling my friend that I went out with last week. The one I cooked for. (See the entry titled "FIRST DATE"). I've been thinking about him a lot lately. I still kind of like him. He's the type of person I want to talk to late into the night as I sit here on the sofa and watch the traffic pass on the 5. I can see the lights into the distance - this is so very LA. I love this little bungalow. I hope I'm not insulting the owners by calling it a bungalow. But to me, that's romanticizing. I mean it as an extreme complement. But I did want to call my FIrst Date guy while on the road, but decided that it would be better to not have him near me spin out or crash on the freeway.
We do have a date tomorrow. And this one I can call a date. It's at the Arclight and we're going to see a movie. And we're going to an actual restaurant. Although, I wouldn't mind cooking for him again. I like cooking for men. Actually, for anyone. But I like that as one of my roles in a relationship. But more on that after it actually happens.
It was great to see JJ and Pillows. JJ's Mom said something interesting to me last night. I haven't seen her in years and when JJ told her I was now single, she grabbed me by both hands and said, "We just want you to find someone who deserves you. And I only met him once, but it was clear to me that was not the case." I appreciated the sentiment, but I was shaking my head on the inside. I don't remember actually where we all ran into each other, but I didn't realize that he had left such a strong impression. And then Bensimmon mentioned that a friend of a friend had mentioned to him that I wasn't invited to a friend's special day (I don't want to get more specific than that because I kind of don't want the friend to know I'm talking about them) because of the Ex. And I'm still shaking my head (on the outside because I"m alone) because I can't believe it. Not that I don't believe Bensimmon. But I can't believe that I didn't see that. It's almost like everyone else was seeing one relationship and I was seeing another.
Again, I guess I wasn't keeping as good a secret that things were wrong as I thought I was. I'm fascinated to see what my grade school friends thought of him when I see them later this week.
There are so many people who weren't allowed to be a part of my life because of this guy. I decided to pull away from a lot of people. And I was told that these people weren't good for me, including my parents. And either I was choosing to be totally blind to the fact that he was trying to separate me from people who were in my life, or he was really subtle. I'm still not sure which of the two it was. But he didn't like any of my friends. He always said he didn't like the way certain people treated me. And I thought he was being protective. That might be the case. But just because someone is a little rude or oblivious or particular every now and again, there are just things you accept about people because you love him. There was a lot of criticism - something he can't stand about his own family. But there it is in his own backyard.
I'm still processing all of this because I can't believe I didn't see it. And this new information about the friend whose special day I wasn't invited to. God, I hope that's not true. See, I still don't believe it. Isn't that nuts? It makes me really sad.
But at the same time, I'm excited because that means there's a lot more to my life that's about to come my way. The thing that was making me stuck was him. Fuck. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.
So in this crazy rain, I decided to drive to Orange County yesterday. Apologies to Caitlin, whose party I missed on Saturday because of the rain. As you'll read, I made a great decision to not go to the party because of weather. This is something I realized as I was driving home from the OC last night. Scared for my life several times. I have an ex-boyfriend, who I nicknamed Pillows, who had a Holiday party last night. Very sweet. He wanted to introduce me to his friends, some of whom he thought might be interesting guys to date. I love Pillows, but it's hard to go to the OC for just a party, let alone a relationship. I should know. I did that with him for six months. But before I get to the Pillows of it all, I should also say that it was a kind of nostalgia-filled day because I figured that I would ALSO go see my friend JJ, who used to hangout with both me and Pillows years ago. JJ has a fiance (she's a girl, btw) and has been living in Alabama. She's just been out here to close the clothing store she ran for seven plus years. So I thought it would be good to see her and catch up.
JJ thought I should come to her brother's house on Balboa Island, which is so Mayberry I can't stand it. They even have a candy shop and people leave their umbrellas unguarded outside. They pass you on the street and wave. It's because there are no brown people there. I'm convinced. I'm brown, but they probably thought I was either Italian or one of the wealthy Asians. Not the case. So JJ and I grabbed two umbrellas and started walking around Balboa. It was kind of romantic and sweet. Two friends walking down the street, sharing stories, talking about men, and having crass conversations. Holy Carrie Bradshaw! It was pretty great. We were well-dressed, in the rain and just having a blast catching up. Then I had to get on the 73, a toll road that made me fear for my life. It was foggy and misty and I couldn't see. I just was hoping I wouldn't go over a cliff.
But eventually I made it to Pillow's house and the first thing that happened when his boyfriend saw me was give me a big hug. It's funny how familiar we all get because we've seen each other on Facebook. I mean that in general. Everyone assumes a level of familiarity because of it. So I decided not to drink because I had to drive. And I met his friends. Two of them were totally my type. Pasty, stocky wide dudes. With beautiful eyes. That's totally what I go for. I have to stop denying it. I might be changing that, but for now I have to stop denying that's my type. We chatted for a while, but I realized that one of them either wasn't into me or was too shy to talk to me. The other one couldn't stop talking. He's an actor (and a nice guy for the record), but he's the one who definitely got my attention.
At the risk of offending someone I hardly know, this is why I kept talking to him. He conveniently revealed at some point that he's both a TOP and a BOTTOM. He's VERSATILE. Dudes love that. I want to know that on Sunday you're going to stick me from behind, but on Tuesday you might throw your legs up in the air. And he's kind of straight looking and he's got a hot barrel chest. Truth be hold, I would have gone home with his friend in a second. He had kinder eyes. Wasn't in as good shape as the Actor. But there was a sweetness that was there. Too bad he lives in San Diego. The Actor, on the other hand, lives in the OC, but commutes to LA for auditions. I won't go on and on and on and on about this guy. That'll make one of us. Hey, listen! To the Actor, should he ever read this: I think you are hot. I would let you...do things. I would even be extremely loud upon entry. HOWEVER...just not my thing. I'm sure you're a good Christian.
Leave it to Pillows to tell me about all these guys he wants me to meet and then he invites them all to the same party. It was fine. It would have been better if we had a Circle Jerk in the master bedroom. But I'm okay with the fact that I just drove home. And on that drive...I was FRIGHTENED. I was like Bette Midler in BEACHES driving from LA to San Francisco to see Barbara Hershey before she died. And I actually thought that my life might flash before my eyes. So I thought of calling my friend that I went out with last week. The one I cooked for. (See the entry titled "FIRST DATE"). I've been thinking about him a lot lately. I still kind of like him. He's the type of person I want to talk to late into the night as I sit here on the sofa and watch the traffic pass on the 5. I can see the lights into the distance - this is so very LA. I love this little bungalow. I hope I'm not insulting the owners by calling it a bungalow. But to me, that's romanticizing. I mean it as an extreme complement. But I did want to call my FIrst Date guy while on the road, but decided that it would be better to not have him near me spin out or crash on the freeway.
We do have a date tomorrow. And this one I can call a date. It's at the Arclight and we're going to see a movie. And we're going to an actual restaurant. Although, I wouldn't mind cooking for him again. I like cooking for men. Actually, for anyone. But I like that as one of my roles in a relationship. But more on that after it actually happens.
It was great to see JJ and Pillows. JJ's Mom said something interesting to me last night. I haven't seen her in years and when JJ told her I was now single, she grabbed me by both hands and said, "We just want you to find someone who deserves you. And I only met him once, but it was clear to me that was not the case." I appreciated the sentiment, but I was shaking my head on the inside. I don't remember actually where we all ran into each other, but I didn't realize that he had left such a strong impression. And then Bensimmon mentioned that a friend of a friend had mentioned to him that I wasn't invited to a friend's special day (I don't want to get more specific than that because I kind of don't want the friend to know I'm talking about them) because of the Ex. And I'm still shaking my head (on the outside because I"m alone) because I can't believe it. Not that I don't believe Bensimmon. But I can't believe that I didn't see that. It's almost like everyone else was seeing one relationship and I was seeing another.
Again, I guess I wasn't keeping as good a secret that things were wrong as I thought I was. I'm fascinated to see what my grade school friends thought of him when I see them later this week.
There are so many people who weren't allowed to be a part of my life because of this guy. I decided to pull away from a lot of people. And I was told that these people weren't good for me, including my parents. And either I was choosing to be totally blind to the fact that he was trying to separate me from people who were in my life, or he was really subtle. I'm still not sure which of the two it was. But he didn't like any of my friends. He always said he didn't like the way certain people treated me. And I thought he was being protective. That might be the case. But just because someone is a little rude or oblivious or particular every now and again, there are just things you accept about people because you love him. There was a lot of criticism - something he can't stand about his own family. But there it is in his own backyard.
I'm still processing all of this because I can't believe I didn't see it. And this new information about the friend whose special day I wasn't invited to. God, I hope that's not true. See, I still don't believe it. Isn't that nuts? It makes me really sad.
But at the same time, I'm excited because that means there's a lot more to my life that's about to come my way. The thing that was making me stuck was him. Fuck. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.
Friday, December 17, 2010
A Life Sentence with No Chance at Parole
I was just watching an old episode of Roseanne on TV Land. It's the one where they decide to use their 2-for-1 coupons on a Tuesday night at the Lanford Inn for a date night.
They're arguing and joking with each other about what they would do if they got divorced. Then they saw Patsy, an acquaintance of theirs they hadn't seen in a while with a younger man. When she came up to them, they found out Patsy had divorced her husband because he didn't support her desire to go to college. Come to find out, that Patsy was inspired by Roseanne because she said she wanted to become a writer and that inspired Patsy not to give up on her dream of college.
When Patsy left, Roseanne and Dan debriefed. Dan was sullen because he thought he might be holding Roseanne back. "You have dreams too. Don't you?" I don't think he did. But he asked her what would happen if her dreams were more important to her than him. She said that they'd work it out. That their marriage was strong enough to weather the ways that they may change as people.
I always thought that I would be like Roseanne and Dan. That I held the relationship together emotionally, but that I was there with my Dan. Roseanne says to Dan, "Face it. This marriage is like a life sentence with no chance of parole." She laughed. They were in it for the long haul.
Then Dan asked her to dance, which she had been begging him to do the whole night. I remembered why I love that show so much. And then I got a little misty. It doesn't take much these days.
With the way I was feeling today, I started thinking. Am I losing my gusto? I seemed so sure of myself a week ago. I even had a date last night. I like where my life is going. But I would be lying if I didn't say that I thought, as my Nameless Date and I were holding each other and stroking each others...arms. Seriously, we were petting each other. It was cute. As we were holding each other, and as I looked at this meal I had made for him (I haven't cooked for anyone since my ex) that those were the things I missed. I missed having a man to come home to. I missed him specifically. And I really loved holding this man next to me. We had some history and it felt comfortable. I felt a little guilty. Like I was cheating on my ex (God, I really just want to say his name. It would be so much easier). I can't believe that's how I felt, after everything. I know you don't stop loving someone even though the circumstances for leaving were the right ones.
I mean, come on! I drove by the house today. I clearly am feeling nostalgic. And I wish it would stop. I wish I could just continue to be pissed off and disappointed. I know those feelings would return. I just wish they never left because it would be so much easier. But I even looked at the salad I made and thought of him. Because I used to make the same salad! Ridiculous. He hasn't trademarked a romaine, tomato, carrot and feta salad with fresh lemon juice and olive oil.
I want to call him. And I'm really hoping by writing it in this blog and making it public that something will stop me. It's December 17th, a week before Christmas Eve. Normally, this would be the weekend before he'd go home to see his family and we would be exchanging gifts. Having our own Christmas. Maybe that's why I'm thinking of him right now and feeling nostalgic.
I keep telling people that I'm happy to be rid of the anxiety that came with getting him a gift. The truth is that I'm not as happy to be rid of it as I claim I am. That fucker. He's still in there.
I'm going to go see my friends and have dinner with them. Maybe it's not good for me to be alone right now.
They're arguing and joking with each other about what they would do if they got divorced. Then they saw Patsy, an acquaintance of theirs they hadn't seen in a while with a younger man. When she came up to them, they found out Patsy had divorced her husband because he didn't support her desire to go to college. Come to find out, that Patsy was inspired by Roseanne because she said she wanted to become a writer and that inspired Patsy not to give up on her dream of college.
When Patsy left, Roseanne and Dan debriefed. Dan was sullen because he thought he might be holding Roseanne back. "You have dreams too. Don't you?" I don't think he did. But he asked her what would happen if her dreams were more important to her than him. She said that they'd work it out. That their marriage was strong enough to weather the ways that they may change as people.
I always thought that I would be like Roseanne and Dan. That I held the relationship together emotionally, but that I was there with my Dan. Roseanne says to Dan, "Face it. This marriage is like a life sentence with no chance of parole." She laughed. They were in it for the long haul.
Then Dan asked her to dance, which she had been begging him to do the whole night. I remembered why I love that show so much. And then I got a little misty. It doesn't take much these days.
With the way I was feeling today, I started thinking. Am I losing my gusto? I seemed so sure of myself a week ago. I even had a date last night. I like where my life is going. But I would be lying if I didn't say that I thought, as my Nameless Date and I were holding each other and stroking each others...arms. Seriously, we were petting each other. It was cute. As we were holding each other, and as I looked at this meal I had made for him (I haven't cooked for anyone since my ex) that those were the things I missed. I missed having a man to come home to. I missed him specifically. And I really loved holding this man next to me. We had some history and it felt comfortable. I felt a little guilty. Like I was cheating on my ex (God, I really just want to say his name. It would be so much easier). I can't believe that's how I felt, after everything. I know you don't stop loving someone even though the circumstances for leaving were the right ones.
I mean, come on! I drove by the house today. I clearly am feeling nostalgic. And I wish it would stop. I wish I could just continue to be pissed off and disappointed. I know those feelings would return. I just wish they never left because it would be so much easier. But I even looked at the salad I made and thought of him. Because I used to make the same salad! Ridiculous. He hasn't trademarked a romaine, tomato, carrot and feta salad with fresh lemon juice and olive oil.
I want to call him. And I'm really hoping by writing it in this blog and making it public that something will stop me. It's December 17th, a week before Christmas Eve. Normally, this would be the weekend before he'd go home to see his family and we would be exchanging gifts. Having our own Christmas. Maybe that's why I'm thinking of him right now and feeling nostalgic.
I keep telling people that I'm happy to be rid of the anxiety that came with getting him a gift. The truth is that I'm not as happy to be rid of it as I claim I am. That fucker. He's still in there.
I'm going to go see my friends and have dinner with them. Maybe it's not good for me to be alone right now.
The Drive to Work
I got in the car this morning and headed West to work. I drove North first, actually. Then went West on Melrose. I had to stop and get gas because yesterday I had left my credit card at the restaurant I had lunch at and only had five dollars in my wallet to get some gas. I was on empty. So this morning I had to fill up. I did. Then I figured that Fairfax was too crowded to head all the way down to Venice. So I drove West on Melrose.
"I'm really close to the house," I thought. "But I shouldn't go."
I kept driving. "I really shouldn't go. That is such a bad idea."
Past Crescent Heights. "This is so pathetic. It's like a bad movie. THE BREAK UP. That's actually the title of an actual movie, which I never saw. Maybe the movie was good. This is not."
Heading up to La Cienega. "Oh Jesus." Across La Cienega. "I'm actually doing this." Seeing the light ahead of me. Traffic sucks. I could turn around and no one know. "What if he sees me." I turn left at the light on our street. OUR. Formerly our. I turn.
I'm careful to not go too fast because cars are always speeding down this street. What would be more pathetic than doing a drive by past your old apartment is getting an accident outside your old place. And having your ex come out WITH THE GUY HE'S NOW USING TO REPLACE THE THOUGHT OF YOU (this is ALL conjecture. I'm sure he's playing Scrabulous by himself at night) and seeing your car out front.
I slow down. His car is not in the drive way. Phew! But there's the place. And our dogs are inside. Do they know I'm driving by? Are they barking for me? Do they smell me? Are dogs' senses of smell that good?
I drive past.
I couldn't help myself. I had a date last night. That date or non-date or faux date was good. I'm having a reaction to that. If he ever found out that I did a drive by, that's the story I would stick to:
"We're both suffering here. It's tough on everyone. So I drove by your place. Big whoop. I'm not afraid to say that I'm sad. I'm adult enough to say that. Well, I should get back to my friends. Our movie starts in a few minutes. BLACK SWAN...You liked it? Good. Well, say hi to the guys at the office. If that's not too awkward. And have a great holiday." I look at the guy he's with, not sure if that's a scowl or bells palsy. I look back at him.
"Your girl is lovely, Hubbell."
In my fantasy, we run into each other at the Arclight instead of The Plaza. We're on the West Coast and that's very 2010. Or 2011, which is probably when I'd run into him again.
I continue with the drive, the route I used to take to work. I turn up KCRW hoping that there's some sort of Afro Cuban rendition of "The Way We Were" that comes on to complete the mood.
It never comes on the air. I pull into the drive way, get my coffee from next door and start my day.
"I'm really close to the house," I thought. "But I shouldn't go."
I kept driving. "I really shouldn't go. That is such a bad idea."
Past Crescent Heights. "This is so pathetic. It's like a bad movie. THE BREAK UP. That's actually the title of an actual movie, which I never saw. Maybe the movie was good. This is not."
Heading up to La Cienega. "Oh Jesus." Across La Cienega. "I'm actually doing this." Seeing the light ahead of me. Traffic sucks. I could turn around and no one know. "What if he sees me." I turn left at the light on our street. OUR. Formerly our. I turn.
I'm careful to not go too fast because cars are always speeding down this street. What would be more pathetic than doing a drive by past your old apartment is getting an accident outside your old place. And having your ex come out WITH THE GUY HE'S NOW USING TO REPLACE THE THOUGHT OF YOU (this is ALL conjecture. I'm sure he's playing Scrabulous by himself at night) and seeing your car out front.
I slow down. His car is not in the drive way. Phew! But there's the place. And our dogs are inside. Do they know I'm driving by? Are they barking for me? Do they smell me? Are dogs' senses of smell that good?
I drive past.
I couldn't help myself. I had a date last night. That date or non-date or faux date was good. I'm having a reaction to that. If he ever found out that I did a drive by, that's the story I would stick to:
"We're both suffering here. It's tough on everyone. So I drove by your place. Big whoop. I'm not afraid to say that I'm sad. I'm adult enough to say that. Well, I should get back to my friends. Our movie starts in a few minutes. BLACK SWAN...You liked it? Good. Well, say hi to the guys at the office. If that's not too awkward. And have a great holiday." I look at the guy he's with, not sure if that's a scowl or bells palsy. I look back at him.
"Your girl is lovely, Hubbell."
In my fantasy, we run into each other at the Arclight instead of The Plaza. We're on the West Coast and that's very 2010. Or 2011, which is probably when I'd run into him again.
I continue with the drive, the route I used to take to work. I turn up KCRW hoping that there's some sort of Afro Cuban rendition of "The Way We Were" that comes on to complete the mood.
It never comes on the air. I pull into the drive way, get my coffee from next door and start my day.
First Date
And I know he's reading this or will eventually, so I won't try to embarrass you, Subject of This Blog Post.
First of all, if I'm being presumptuous in thinking that this was a date, then I apologize. But it felt like a date. And it was the first real "date" I've been on since the break up. Weird.
Okay, so given the fact that we had this whole conversation about what was On the Record and Off the Record (it was an "in general" conversation, not about us - allegedly), I'm going to disclose the facts that I think are safe.
1. I went over to his place.
2. I brought food over.
3. I made meatballs and mac and cheese - because he said he wanted comfort food.
4. I cheated with the meatballs - in MY opinion. I was in a hurry so I bought taco seasoning from Trader Joes and used that in the meat mix.
5. I thought the mac and cheese was a little dry. Although the flavors were good.
6. I didn't totally think I was going over to have a "just friends" dinner. Although I probably tried to play it off that way.
7. It's impossible for me to "play it off."
8. We had wine. It was red.
9. We watched RABBIT HOLE w/ Nicole Kidman and Aaron Eckhart. A screener.
10. We ate too much.
11. The movie was okay - we both agreed on that.
12. We both kept finding ways to look over at each other and make a clever comment about the movie.
13. They weren't always all that clever.
14. We kept creeping closer to each other on the couch.
15. I thought we were going to cuddle or make out at least once or twice during the movie.
16. We practiced restraint.
17. And by restraint, I mean we were probably a bit gun shy. And nervous.
18. I can only speak for myself. I was nervous.
19. The movie ended. We stared at the credits for a while. More filler conversation.
20. Finally made the move. Not sure who did. But it was a mutually well-received.
21. That's it. I didn't spend the night. I was not whorey.
22. Talking in the kitchen over wine, while I was making the salad was probably one of my favorite parts of the evening. It felt really natural.
I'm going to leave it at that. No more disclosure. But let's just say it was nice. And for a first date, if that's what it was, it was a success. And if it wasn't a first date, in my head, it was MY first date since this new found freedom. I think I did okay. I'll probably have a better idea after next week, when we're going to do this again.
23. This is so weird. Nice. But weird.
First of all, if I'm being presumptuous in thinking that this was a date, then I apologize. But it felt like a date. And it was the first real "date" I've been on since the break up. Weird.
Okay, so given the fact that we had this whole conversation about what was On the Record and Off the Record (it was an "in general" conversation, not about us - allegedly), I'm going to disclose the facts that I think are safe.
1. I went over to his place.
2. I brought food over.
3. I made meatballs and mac and cheese - because he said he wanted comfort food.
4. I cheated with the meatballs - in MY opinion. I was in a hurry so I bought taco seasoning from Trader Joes and used that in the meat mix.
5. I thought the mac and cheese was a little dry. Although the flavors were good.
6. I didn't totally think I was going over to have a "just friends" dinner. Although I probably tried to play it off that way.
7. It's impossible for me to "play it off."
8. We had wine. It was red.
9. We watched RABBIT HOLE w/ Nicole Kidman and Aaron Eckhart. A screener.
10. We ate too much.
11. The movie was okay - we both agreed on that.
12. We both kept finding ways to look over at each other and make a clever comment about the movie.
13. They weren't always all that clever.
14. We kept creeping closer to each other on the couch.
15. I thought we were going to cuddle or make out at least once or twice during the movie.
16. We practiced restraint.
17. And by restraint, I mean we were probably a bit gun shy. And nervous.
18. I can only speak for myself. I was nervous.
19. The movie ended. We stared at the credits for a while. More filler conversation.
20. Finally made the move. Not sure who did. But it was a mutually well-received.
21. That's it. I didn't spend the night. I was not whorey.
22. Talking in the kitchen over wine, while I was making the salad was probably one of my favorite parts of the evening. It felt really natural.
I'm going to leave it at that. No more disclosure. But let's just say it was nice. And for a first date, if that's what it was, it was a success. And if it wasn't a first date, in my head, it was MY first date since this new found freedom. I think I did okay. I'll probably have a better idea after next week, when we're going to do this again.
23. This is so weird. Nice. But weird.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Sorry Grateful
This might be my favorite Sondheim song
ROBERT [speaking]:
Harry, you ever sorry you got married?
HARRY:
You're always sorry,
You're always grateful,
You're always wondering
What might have been--
Then she walks in.
And still you're sorry,
And still you're grateful,
And still you wonder
And still you doubt--
And she goes out.
Everything's different, nothing's changed.
Only maybe slightly rearranged.
You're sorry-grateful,
Regretful-happy.
Why look for answers
When none occur?
You always are what you always were,
Which has nothing to do with, all to do with her.
DAVID:
You're always sorry,
You're always grateful,
You hold her, thinking:
"I'm not alone."
You're still alone.
You don't live for her,
You do live with her,
You're scared she's starting
To drift away,
And scared she'll stay.
LARRY:
Good things get better, bad get worse.
Wait, I think I meant that in reverse.
HARRY, DAVID, LARRY:
You're sorry-grateful,
Regretful-happy.
Why look for answers
When none occur?
You'll always be what you always were,
Which has nothing to do with, all to do with her.
HARRY:
Nothing to do with, all to do with her.
ROBERT [speaking]:
Harry, you ever sorry you got married?
HARRY:
You're always sorry,
You're always grateful,
You're always wondering
What might have been--
Then she walks in.
And still you're sorry,
And still you're grateful,
And still you wonder
And still you doubt--
And she goes out.
Everything's different, nothing's changed.
Only maybe slightly rearranged.
You're sorry-grateful,
Regretful-happy.
Why look for answers
When none occur?
You always are what you always were,
Which has nothing to do with, all to do with her.
DAVID:
You're always sorry,
You're always grateful,
You hold her, thinking:
"I'm not alone."
You're still alone.
You don't live for her,
You do live with her,
You're scared she's starting
To drift away,
And scared she'll stay.
LARRY:
Good things get better, bad get worse.
Wait, I think I meant that in reverse.
HARRY, DAVID, LARRY:
You're sorry-grateful,
Regretful-happy.
Why look for answers
When none occur?
You'll always be what you always were,
Which has nothing to do with, all to do with her.
HARRY:
Nothing to do with, all to do with her.
Spinoff: 50 One Night Stands
Isn't there a Drew Barrymore/Adam Sandler film called 50 FIRST DATES where she's got some weird amnesia where her memory is erased at the end of every day?
I had a light bulb moment last night when I was driving all around LA in mid-afternoon traffic, trying to get from the Westside to Silverlake. I needed something distracting. Then the phrase
50 ONE NIGHT STANDS
popped into my head. I have tried various forms of healing from this relationship. But I haven't yet had 50. I don't know if that's a goal. It seemed like a round number. Smaller than 365 - no pressure of having to have one every day for a year. That seems a little ambitious. And it's more than the few I've had. At least it's a round number I'd be able to remember. I think I've had two or three since the break up.
And what exactly is a one night stand? Does that mean that I had to sleep over? Does it mean it had to happen at night? What about a quick CL blow job? Not that that has EVER happened.
Okay, so definition - to me, a one night stand will constitute a one time sexual experience. Or a sleepover of sexual nature, even when sex didn't occur. Hopefully, these experiences will have taught me something.
I can't believe I'm thinking of writing about my one night stands. Well, that's exactly it. I'm just thinking of it. No pressure. I don't have to do anything now.
I've had some legendary one night stands in my life - no, I won't be writing about those. Those don't count. They taught me different lessons. There are just ones that stay with you for very reasons.
You'll see. I think.
Oh, Jesus.
I had a light bulb moment last night when I was driving all around LA in mid-afternoon traffic, trying to get from the Westside to Silverlake. I needed something distracting. Then the phrase
50 ONE NIGHT STANDS
popped into my head. I have tried various forms of healing from this relationship. But I haven't yet had 50. I don't know if that's a goal. It seemed like a round number. Smaller than 365 - no pressure of having to have one every day for a year. That seems a little ambitious. And it's more than the few I've had. At least it's a round number I'd be able to remember. I think I've had two or three since the break up.
And what exactly is a one night stand? Does that mean that I had to sleep over? Does it mean it had to happen at night? What about a quick CL blow job? Not that that has EVER happened.
Okay, so definition - to me, a one night stand will constitute a one time sexual experience. Or a sleepover of sexual nature, even when sex didn't occur. Hopefully, these experiences will have taught me something.
I can't believe I'm thinking of writing about my one night stands. Well, that's exactly it. I'm just thinking of it. No pressure. I don't have to do anything now.
I've had some legendary one night stands in my life - no, I won't be writing about those. Those don't count. They taught me different lessons. There are just ones that stay with you for very reasons.
You'll see. I think.
Oh, Jesus.
Monday, December 13, 2010
The Little Things We Did Together
My favorite play is WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF.
My favorite musical is COMPANY.
My favorite TV show is SEX AND THE CITY.
My favorite pieces of popular culture are about dysfunctional relationships! What does that say about me?
Some of my favorite songs have titles like:
"Didn't We Almost Have it All?"
"Neither One of Us (Wants to be the first to say Goodbye)"
"Heartbreaker"
"Fooled by a Feeling"
"A House is Not a Home"
"Don't Waste Your Time"
"Don't Cry Out Loud"
"She's Out of My Life"
"Please Don't Leave Me"
"Why You Wanna Treat Me So Bad"
AM I ROMANTICIZING HEARTBREAK? I think I love a complicated relationship. And on some level, I think that relationships are supposed to be difficult. I think they are difficult, but at the same time I am starting to believe that I don't have to work to make them difficult. I'd be nice to be treated well. And I don't think that's just for my romantic relationships. It's for more than a few relationships in my life.
It makes me think about suffering. And why I feel I need to suffer to make a relationship significant. That's all on me. I can't blame any of the exes for that. I like to earn things. Do I think I'm earning my relationship by having it be so difficult. "Look at what I had to OVERCOME!" It's like I was banking on some sort of future lesson or pride where we look at each other, grey haired and reminisce on how difficult the early days of our relationship were. "But thank God we stuck it out."
It's not talk of God and the decade ahead that allows you to get through the worst,
It's "I do" and "You Don't" and "No body said that" and "Who brought the subject up first."
Maybe it's just that I'm a frustrated torch singer. I love a painful, moment of regret.
Ugh. Strike up the band! Enough with the sad sack sentiments.
First I was afraid
I was petrified
Kept thinking I could never live
without you by my side
But I spent so many nights
thinking how you did me wrong
I grew strong
I learned how to carry on
And now I'm just a gay cliche.
Or maybe I've always been one and never knew it. Because I think that Carrie and Big should be together! She's this wonderful, blossoming flower who's smart and witty. But when she's around him she puts on the tiara, waves her princess wand and expects to be carried away (pun intended, and totally appropriate) by her knight in shining armor. I do love Big. I don't mean to be SO critical. But why do I love him really?
How many times during my relationship did I say that my ex was my Big? Probably too many to admit. And how embarrassing if people knew the amount of times I didn't say it, but thought it.
Oops. Hello, blogosphere.
It's probably because I fancy myself Carrie (who doesn't). I'm a writer. I'm now writing my own column (blog) for a prestigious New York weekly (my own free website where I post whenever I want). I express myself through fashion (a lot of clothes the ex bought me and wanted to see me in). And I've got a group of girlfriends (mix of straight and gay guys and girls who don't know each other but who are in my life and who I've abandoned to be in said relationship with said Big) who support me every step of the way. I love an au courant cocktail (Bud Light or a mix of whatever's left in the house) and a good pair of shoes (my worn out Purple and Neon Green Pumas I purchased MYSELF on Gilt.com).
I am SO Carrie.
Is that the dynamic I'm going for? I guess it could be worse. I could have ended up with my version of:
AIDEN - the sweet ex who did everything I wanted him to. I kind of treated him like shit despite all of the wonderful things he did for me. He caught me making out with someone. Then it was over. Kinda like Carrie.
BERGER - the writer. It was too much for him. He didn't break up with me on a Post It, but he did break up with me via email or a short phone call after what was a great night together.
PETROFSKY - Have I met him yet? Maybe not. But he's just another version of Big, in a way. A guy who puts his needs before my own. A guy who's got a seemingly more important career than mine. A guy who loves me for my individuality, but eventually comes to resent it. So he supresses it. Oh wait...maybe I just sended my Petrofsky season.
So I'm still looking for Big. If that's what I really want. A guy that put me through the ringer, but eventually settles down. A guy who knows what he wants, despite the fact that I'm not always listening. A guy who's strong, debonair, but makes me laugh. A guy I just click with. The guy I've been pursuing.
Still Looking for Big. That's a title. But is it the story I want to tell?
I can't help but wonder...
My favorite musical is COMPANY.
My favorite TV show is SEX AND THE CITY.
My favorite pieces of popular culture are about dysfunctional relationships! What does that say about me?
Some of my favorite songs have titles like:
"Didn't We Almost Have it All?"
"Neither One of Us (Wants to be the first to say Goodbye)"
"Heartbreaker"
"Fooled by a Feeling"
"A House is Not a Home"
"Don't Waste Your Time"
"Don't Cry Out Loud"
"She's Out of My Life"
"Please Don't Leave Me"
"Why You Wanna Treat Me So Bad"
AM I ROMANTICIZING HEARTBREAK? I think I love a complicated relationship. And on some level, I think that relationships are supposed to be difficult. I think they are difficult, but at the same time I am starting to believe that I don't have to work to make them difficult. I'd be nice to be treated well. And I don't think that's just for my romantic relationships. It's for more than a few relationships in my life.
It makes me think about suffering. And why I feel I need to suffer to make a relationship significant. That's all on me. I can't blame any of the exes for that. I like to earn things. Do I think I'm earning my relationship by having it be so difficult. "Look at what I had to OVERCOME!" It's like I was banking on some sort of future lesson or pride where we look at each other, grey haired and reminisce on how difficult the early days of our relationship were. "But thank God we stuck it out."
It's not talk of God and the decade ahead that allows you to get through the worst,
It's "I do" and "You Don't" and "No body said that" and "Who brought the subject up first."
Maybe it's just that I'm a frustrated torch singer. I love a painful, moment of regret.
Ugh. Strike up the band! Enough with the sad sack sentiments.
First I was afraid
I was petrified
Kept thinking I could never live
without you by my side
But I spent so many nights
thinking how you did me wrong
I grew strong
I learned how to carry on
And now I'm just a gay cliche.
Or maybe I've always been one and never knew it. Because I think that Carrie and Big should be together! She's this wonderful, blossoming flower who's smart and witty. But when she's around him she puts on the tiara, waves her princess wand and expects to be carried away (pun intended, and totally appropriate) by her knight in shining armor. I do love Big. I don't mean to be SO critical. But why do I love him really?
How many times during my relationship did I say that my ex was my Big? Probably too many to admit. And how embarrassing if people knew the amount of times I didn't say it, but thought it.
Oops. Hello, blogosphere.
It's probably because I fancy myself Carrie (who doesn't). I'm a writer. I'm now writing my own column (blog) for a prestigious New York weekly (my own free website where I post whenever I want). I express myself through fashion (a lot of clothes the ex bought me and wanted to see me in). And I've got a group of girlfriends (mix of straight and gay guys and girls who don't know each other but who are in my life and who I've abandoned to be in said relationship with said Big) who support me every step of the way. I love an au courant cocktail (Bud Light or a mix of whatever's left in the house) and a good pair of shoes (my worn out Purple and Neon Green Pumas I purchased MYSELF on Gilt.com).
I am SO Carrie.
Is that the dynamic I'm going for? I guess it could be worse. I could have ended up with my version of:
AIDEN - the sweet ex who did everything I wanted him to. I kind of treated him like shit despite all of the wonderful things he did for me. He caught me making out with someone. Then it was over. Kinda like Carrie.
BERGER - the writer. It was too much for him. He didn't break up with me on a Post It, but he did break up with me via email or a short phone call after what was a great night together.
PETROFSKY - Have I met him yet? Maybe not. But he's just another version of Big, in a way. A guy who puts his needs before my own. A guy who's got a seemingly more important career than mine. A guy who loves me for my individuality, but eventually comes to resent it. So he supresses it. Oh wait...maybe I just sended my Petrofsky season.
So I'm still looking for Big. If that's what I really want. A guy that put me through the ringer, but eventually settles down. A guy who knows what he wants, despite the fact that I'm not always listening. A guy who's strong, debonair, but makes me laugh. A guy I just click with. The guy I've been pursuing.
Still Looking for Big. That's a title. But is it the story I want to tell?
I can't help but wonder...
Choosing Your Own Adventure
There are these two new apps that have swept the gay world. And I know there are other bloggers who have spoke out about them before: Grindr for the iPhone/iPod Touch and (the newer) Encountr for Android.
I never thought they would be conduits for greater communication of a non-sexual kind, but they've turned out to produce some interesting results. It's like when you have a kitchen appliance and you realize "Wow, it does THAT too?!" Amazeballs!
I've definitely met guys to hook up (I'm ALWAYS careful, folks). And I've always felt weird about the on-line dating thing. But somehow this seems much more efficient, and therefore more doable. Basically people can locate you based on their proximity to your location. It makes hooking up easier. But it also lets you know who's nice to talk to in your area. Or who shares your interests. I mean, you have to put a little more effort into it if you aren't just looking for a bj. And I've always been skeptical of the guys who are "just looking", or "have a boyfriend, so not looking to hook up", or want to "just get coffee first and see where that goes." I don't like that immediate resistance to casual, easy sex. I find it judgmental, especially on a site that's mainly for sex. It's like saying, "I'm not like THOSE people." But you are. And if you aren't, then go to Match.com if you want friends. Or better yet, join a book club or swim team or Habitat for Humanity or a softball team or go run a marathon for an AIDS charity.
I've done MOST of those things. Well, I've run a marathon for APLA. I was a part of a writers' group, which is LIKE a book club kind of. And I have done stuff for Habitat. So there!
Here's the thing that happened that was unexpected. I started talking to guys, about sex, to see if we're compatible. And then we realized that we were witty or liked the same things in bed or had the same cultural references or had the same complaints about guys online. In other words, we had chemistry. And if you have chemistry, then you're going to be good in bed together. And maybe as friends. I'm certainly not looking for a relationship right now. And I'm not sure if I'd look for that online. The jury's still out on that. I'm old school.
But it has been a bit like those "Choose Your Own Adventure" books. You start out in one place and end up completely somewhere unexpected. I met this guy who lives 1775 feet from where I'm staying and he was great. I was heading out on a run and he was walking his dog. I walked him to his corner and I think we're going to meet up for coffee or at least some dirty roleplay. Options.
And then there's this other guy who I met through one of these apps. It was a full-on sexual flirtation all the way. We were going to do dirty things to each other. And different circumstances kept us from meeting up. He left town for the weekend. Then he had emergency dental surgery. But I ended up finding out that he had a relationship that had similar aspects to mine. But it ended tragically.
I'm not sure if that's the universe sending me a message that I need to reach out to my ex. Or that it sent me someone who could be a voice of reason or give me some perspective on what's going on right now. But this guy and I shouldn't have even been in contact. The app's satellites were off. It said we were 2 miles away from each other and he ended up being more like 7 or so miles away. And I randomly reached out to him.
God works in mysterious ways. I keep hearing my mother's voice in the back of my head. And she's still alive and loud, so it literally could be her voice.
If God delivered his message through prostitutes, he could certainly do it through gay sex apps. Right?
I don't know where that will lead. I'm clearly not looking it to lead somewhere serious. And I wasn't looking for it at all. He wanted to have dirty sex talk. That was enough for me.
But this whole thing could lead to some sort of revelation. That's the most shocking part of all.
I never thought they would be conduits for greater communication of a non-sexual kind, but they've turned out to produce some interesting results. It's like when you have a kitchen appliance and you realize "Wow, it does THAT too?!" Amazeballs!
I've definitely met guys to hook up (I'm ALWAYS careful, folks). And I've always felt weird about the on-line dating thing. But somehow this seems much more efficient, and therefore more doable. Basically people can locate you based on their proximity to your location. It makes hooking up easier. But it also lets you know who's nice to talk to in your area. Or who shares your interests. I mean, you have to put a little more effort into it if you aren't just looking for a bj. And I've always been skeptical of the guys who are "just looking", or "have a boyfriend, so not looking to hook up", or want to "just get coffee first and see where that goes." I don't like that immediate resistance to casual, easy sex. I find it judgmental, especially on a site that's mainly for sex. It's like saying, "I'm not like THOSE people." But you are. And if you aren't, then go to Match.com if you want friends. Or better yet, join a book club or swim team or Habitat for Humanity or a softball team or go run a marathon for an AIDS charity.
I've done MOST of those things. Well, I've run a marathon for APLA. I was a part of a writers' group, which is LIKE a book club kind of. And I have done stuff for Habitat. So there!
Here's the thing that happened that was unexpected. I started talking to guys, about sex, to see if we're compatible. And then we realized that we were witty or liked the same things in bed or had the same cultural references or had the same complaints about guys online. In other words, we had chemistry. And if you have chemistry, then you're going to be good in bed together. And maybe as friends. I'm certainly not looking for a relationship right now. And I'm not sure if I'd look for that online. The jury's still out on that. I'm old school.
But it has been a bit like those "Choose Your Own Adventure" books. You start out in one place and end up completely somewhere unexpected. I met this guy who lives 1775 feet from where I'm staying and he was great. I was heading out on a run and he was walking his dog. I walked him to his corner and I think we're going to meet up for coffee or at least some dirty roleplay. Options.
And then there's this other guy who I met through one of these apps. It was a full-on sexual flirtation all the way. We were going to do dirty things to each other. And different circumstances kept us from meeting up. He left town for the weekend. Then he had emergency dental surgery. But I ended up finding out that he had a relationship that had similar aspects to mine. But it ended tragically.
I'm not sure if that's the universe sending me a message that I need to reach out to my ex. Or that it sent me someone who could be a voice of reason or give me some perspective on what's going on right now. But this guy and I shouldn't have even been in contact. The app's satellites were off. It said we were 2 miles away from each other and he ended up being more like 7 or so miles away. And I randomly reached out to him.
God works in mysterious ways. I keep hearing my mother's voice in the back of my head. And she's still alive and loud, so it literally could be her voice.
If God delivered his message through prostitutes, he could certainly do it through gay sex apps. Right?
I don't know where that will lead. I'm clearly not looking it to lead somewhere serious. And I wasn't looking for it at all. He wanted to have dirty sex talk. That was enough for me.
But this whole thing could lead to some sort of revelation. That's the most shocking part of all.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Too Personal?
I definitely am revealing a lot about my personal life in this blog? Is it too much?
I was at a party last night with my friend Susan and we ran into another friend of ours. "I started reading your blog. But then it got real personal."
I nodded my head. "It's...personal." I happen to be watching "Annie Hall" on cable right now. That's personal, too.
Personal. I'm hung up on this. It's a trademark with me. I don't have a problem talking about any detail of my life. But there are things I do protect. Like the reason I broke up with my ex. His name. Although it probably wouldn't be hard for people to figure out. But as I once said to him:
"We're not Brad and Angelina." I don't think anyone cares about the whos. They care about the whys and the whats. I'm not writing this blog to out anyone or to expose their dirty laundry. As I said at the beginning of this thing, this is for me. And I guess in order to learn something, I have to get personal.
But do I have to do it in public? Yeah. Yeah, I do. It's been pretty amazing how many people have come forward to share their stories with me after they heard that I had broken up with my ex after five years.
We don't talk about things. We don't expose ourselves. I think that's a real problem. I guess all the work I do is personal. It comes from a personal place. I have a very good friend Dave who said once, "You just can't help but be yourself all of the time." He meant that as a complement.
He did. He's a priest. He wouldn't be sarcastic. Or patronizing. Or mocking. I don't think those are vows or sacraments they need to partake in. Sincerity. Priests are all about sincerity.
God, I hope he meant that as a complement. (And I mean God in the Gosh sense, not God in terms of the entity Dave's got a special in with)
But that's just who I am: me. It's kind of hard to escape. Outside of this blog, I write about things that concern me. Subjects that are personal. My friend Susan said that there's usually someone who represents her in every play. Or some aspect of her life, or a relative. I suppose SHE'S like Woody Allen in that way.
Everything's personal to me, even if it's not directly autobiographical. Because then, why not be an accountant or a lawyer. I probably was smart enough to do that. But I'm a writer. I'm the subject. I'm the conduit. I'm the interpreter.
That probably makes me sound like a bit of a narcissist. Oh, there I go again. Revealing too much.
I was at a party last night with my friend Susan and we ran into another friend of ours. "I started reading your blog. But then it got real personal."
I nodded my head. "It's...personal." I happen to be watching "Annie Hall" on cable right now. That's personal, too.
Personal. I'm hung up on this. It's a trademark with me. I don't have a problem talking about any detail of my life. But there are things I do protect. Like the reason I broke up with my ex. His name. Although it probably wouldn't be hard for people to figure out. But as I once said to him:
"We're not Brad and Angelina." I don't think anyone cares about the whos. They care about the whys and the whats. I'm not writing this blog to out anyone or to expose their dirty laundry. As I said at the beginning of this thing, this is for me. And I guess in order to learn something, I have to get personal.
But do I have to do it in public? Yeah. Yeah, I do. It's been pretty amazing how many people have come forward to share their stories with me after they heard that I had broken up with my ex after five years.
We don't talk about things. We don't expose ourselves. I think that's a real problem. I guess all the work I do is personal. It comes from a personal place. I have a very good friend Dave who said once, "You just can't help but be yourself all of the time." He meant that as a complement.
He did. He's a priest. He wouldn't be sarcastic. Or patronizing. Or mocking. I don't think those are vows or sacraments they need to partake in. Sincerity. Priests are all about sincerity.
God, I hope he meant that as a complement. (And I mean God in the Gosh sense, not God in terms of the entity Dave's got a special in with)
But that's just who I am: me. It's kind of hard to escape. Outside of this blog, I write about things that concern me. Subjects that are personal. My friend Susan said that there's usually someone who represents her in every play. Or some aspect of her life, or a relative. I suppose SHE'S like Woody Allen in that way.
Everything's personal to me, even if it's not directly autobiographical. Because then, why not be an accountant or a lawyer. I probably was smart enough to do that. But I'm a writer. I'm the subject. I'm the conduit. I'm the interpreter.
That probably makes me sound like a bit of a narcissist. Oh, there I go again. Revealing too much.
Post Script: iPod Play List
Here's what I'm listening to. The iPod playlist I made for our fourth anniversary last year.
First of all, I called it "What Four." Signs.
Jeff Buckley - "Everybody Here Wants You" - LOVE. I wanted him to know what people, including love him and want him. Desperate plea.
Lady Gaga - "Paparazzi" - I think I put it on here because I was working on a modern day MEDEA adaptation and I wanted to share what I was working on. I wanted to be heard and acknowledged.
Linda Clifford - "Red Light" - It's a disco song from the 70s that I had recently heard on KCRW on a Sunday drive to the farmer's market. I'm a great dancer, a fact that he would always make fun of. Passive aggressive on my part.
Neil Diamond - "September Morn"
September morn
We danced until the night
Became a brand new day
Two lovers playing scenes
From some romantic play
September morning
Still can make me feel that way
Yeah. "Two lovers playing scenes from some romantic play." Were we just playing scenes? Were those scenes from "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?"
P!nk - "Mean" - foreshadowing? "How'd we get so mean? How do we just move on? How do you feel in the morning when it comes and everything's undone?" I thought I was just chronicling the good and the bad times. Being honest. What was I saying?
"This Old Heart of Mine (Alternate Version)" - Rod Stewart - Romantic and sad. "This old heart of mine/been broke a thousand times." Now 1001.
"Off the Wall" by Michael Jackson. "Leave the nine to five upon the shelf." Probably a bit of a plea. But also my favorite MJ album, which is why I put it on here. He hated R&B and what he called caterwauling music. I love myself some ass shaking music.
"Crying" by Liza Minnelli. The Roy Orbison song. Just beautiful. Sad. And true. A year later I am crying over him.
"Don't Waste Your Time" by Kelly Clarkson. Gosh I had a lot of anger with a pop sensibility.
"Somebody to Love" and "Alone" by the Glee Cast. Because we were just getting into it and it was our special time together. It's the one time the 10 year old versions of us got to spend time together. The boys who were targets and would have been better if they had found each other then. At the core, we were there together for those boys. The boys who were relentlessly teased. The boy who couldn't help but be himself and got attacked for it. And the other one who "passed" (or thought he did). The one who overcompensated for the person he knew he'd become. The one who almost 30 years later is still overcompensating. That's the one that my adult self would kiss on the forehead until I couldn't any more.
The other reading on these two songs would be that we both wanted so badly to find "Somebody to Love" and thought we had found him in the other. And I constantly was trying to figure out "how do I get you alone?" Away from all of the distractions, the colored lights, the baubles, the craziness. I was just trying to help.
This has been an interesting exercise. Reflective. Sad.
Well, it's a beautiful day. I need to go find myself in it.
First of all, I called it "What Four." Signs.
Jeff Buckley - "Everybody Here Wants You" - LOVE. I wanted him to know what people, including love him and want him. Desperate plea.
Lady Gaga - "Paparazzi" - I think I put it on here because I was working on a modern day MEDEA adaptation and I wanted to share what I was working on. I wanted to be heard and acknowledged.
Linda Clifford - "Red Light" - It's a disco song from the 70s that I had recently heard on KCRW on a Sunday drive to the farmer's market. I'm a great dancer, a fact that he would always make fun of. Passive aggressive on my part.
Neil Diamond - "September Morn"
September morn
We danced until the night
Became a brand new day
Two lovers playing scenes
From some romantic play
September morning
Still can make me feel that way
Yeah. "Two lovers playing scenes from some romantic play." Were we just playing scenes? Were those scenes from "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?"
P!nk - "Mean" - foreshadowing? "How'd we get so mean? How do we just move on? How do you feel in the morning when it comes and everything's undone?" I thought I was just chronicling the good and the bad times. Being honest. What was I saying?
"This Old Heart of Mine (Alternate Version)" - Rod Stewart - Romantic and sad. "This old heart of mine/been broke a thousand times." Now 1001.
"Off the Wall" by Michael Jackson. "Leave the nine to five upon the shelf." Probably a bit of a plea. But also my favorite MJ album, which is why I put it on here. He hated R&B and what he called caterwauling music. I love myself some ass shaking music.
"Crying" by Liza Minnelli. The Roy Orbison song. Just beautiful. Sad. And true. A year later I am crying over him.
"Don't Waste Your Time" by Kelly Clarkson. Gosh I had a lot of anger with a pop sensibility.
"Somebody to Love" and "Alone" by the Glee Cast. Because we were just getting into it and it was our special time together. It's the one time the 10 year old versions of us got to spend time together. The boys who were targets and would have been better if they had found each other then. At the core, we were there together for those boys. The boys who were relentlessly teased. The boy who couldn't help but be himself and got attacked for it. And the other one who "passed" (or thought he did). The one who overcompensated for the person he knew he'd become. The one who almost 30 years later is still overcompensating. That's the one that my adult self would kiss on the forehead until I couldn't any more.
The other reading on these two songs would be that we both wanted so badly to find "Somebody to Love" and thought we had found him in the other. And I constantly was trying to figure out "how do I get you alone?" Away from all of the distractions, the colored lights, the baubles, the craziness. I was just trying to help.
This has been an interesting exercise. Reflective. Sad.
Well, it's a beautiful day. I need to go find myself in it.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
The Biggest Loser Marathon Episode Makes Me Cry
Why do I do this to myself?
The Biggest Loser is a show that makes me cry anyway. I have a mother who's always struggled with her weight and it's made me sad to see her hold herself back. And I've always identified with the show because of the ways I've held myself back. So I'm watching The Biggest Loser, identifying with my mother's struggle and my own struggle to break out of the non-fat shell I've created for myself and inevitably I sob.
I cry for my mother. I cry for my childhood bullying. This year I cried watching Ada on the first episode. Ada is this Asian woman who started out pretty overweight. She had a brother who died in a kiddie pool next to her when she was a child. And her parents blamed her. Then she was in a car with she was a teenager with the other child then had. They got into a big accident. And her father (I think it was) slapped her across the face and said: "What are you trying to do? Kill another one?"
Waterworks. Because as an Asian kid, I get that sense of constant disappointment that is conditioned in us early. I know how hard it is to always feel like you aren't giving your parents enough. That the only thing you're giving them is reasons to be disappointed. So when I saw Ada on the first episode and she told that story, I immediately identified.
And then I saw her constantly stand out. She was so much better than she believed. She worked harder than anyone on the ranch. She was a constant force to be reckoned with. And she didn't even know her own strength. Because she had suppressed all of her anger and her resentment and pushed it deep down, she didn't think she was worthy of taking care of herself. Oh, Ada. I so know you.
And every week she got stronger and more self aware and had a breakthrough where she finally got in touch with her anger. And then there was the week where everyone got packages from home except for her.
But I wasn't ready for the episode where the final four goes home. Because Ada goes home and is told by her parents how much they love her. Probably for the first time. And her mother loses it. She cries for how she unknowingly made her daughter feel.
And if that wasn't enough, they run the marathon in this episode. As I mentioned before in this blog, I ran the Florence Marathon with my ex a few years ago. And it was one of the highlights of our relationship. Two catholic boys running a marathon and finishing together hand in hand in Italy, an intensely Catholic country. And besides that the commitment of marathon training and it really brought us together. So when I watch Ada cap off her journey with the life changing/image breaking/condition breaking running of a marathon, I just thought about how my life has changed in the past five weeks.
I've run a marathon in the past five weeks. Running past barriers I never thought I'd cross. Breaking thought processes that I thought were just stuck and ingrained. And I'm stronger and have more stamina than I ever thought I did. I did the impossible and I'm starting to really change the patterns for my life.
But I also cried because I remember what that moment was like, crossing the finish line with the person was the love of my life. How I thought that would be one of the stories we'd tell at our wedding. The event that bound us together. How proud I was that I had chosen this person and that he had chosen me and we had done something wonderful for ourselves. And for charity. We raised a ton of money with our friends Tim and Gina.
And now it's over. I'm sitting here typing this on my friends' couch in tears. And the Biggest Loser is allowing me a catharsis that I don't let myself have. I can cry as long as I'm crying about someone else - a TV show. Someone else's journey. I know how strong I am. Like Ada, I've come to that conclusion and I'm at a place where I can acknowledge my accomplishments and accomplish more because of that confidence.
But it's Christmas soon. And while I don't have the anxiety of buying him a Christmas gift he may hate, I don't have the possibility of giving him something he may love. I won't go back. And it would be wrong and unhealthy to. But I loved being Mrs. ____ _________. As much as I joked about it and I'd call our favorite neighborhood spot and say, "This is Mrs. ___ _________. I need a table.", it was nice to be thought of that way.
And I'm getting to that place of anger. Right now that anger is in my running and my workouts. It's in this blog. It's "healthy." It has an "outlet." But I think that at some point you just need to go hit something. Or you just need to shit in a bag, light it on fire and leave it on someone's doorstep. I know it's supposed to be dog poop, but I think I have a lot of anger still not dealt with. Enough anger that would warrant me defecating into a bag.
My friend Brian and I used to talk about "the one you learn from," the relationship before the one you have for the rest of your life. It's the one that makes that relationship better. And it's a myth. You learn from all of them. And it's unfair to put any relationship on such a pedestal. Well, THAT was the one I learned from that this is the one that I will have FOR LIFE. Even if we die trying.
I hate that phrase just as much as I hate the phrase "white knuckle." But that's another story for another time.
I stuck in a relationship because I was so afraid it would be the one I was learning from and not THE ONE.
I have another friend, my best friend's sister, who had to end a short marriage that was actually at the end of a 10 year relationship (dating for 10, married for 1). And while we cried about it and lamented the loss of a wonderful relationship, she came to a conclusion.
She shrugged and said, "Well, it was a great run."
And sometimes that's what they are. They're just a great run.
The Biggest Loser is a show that makes me cry anyway. I have a mother who's always struggled with her weight and it's made me sad to see her hold herself back. And I've always identified with the show because of the ways I've held myself back. So I'm watching The Biggest Loser, identifying with my mother's struggle and my own struggle to break out of the non-fat shell I've created for myself and inevitably I sob.
I cry for my mother. I cry for my childhood bullying. This year I cried watching Ada on the first episode. Ada is this Asian woman who started out pretty overweight. She had a brother who died in a kiddie pool next to her when she was a child. And her parents blamed her. Then she was in a car with she was a teenager with the other child then had. They got into a big accident. And her father (I think it was) slapped her across the face and said: "What are you trying to do? Kill another one?"
Waterworks. Because as an Asian kid, I get that sense of constant disappointment that is conditioned in us early. I know how hard it is to always feel like you aren't giving your parents enough. That the only thing you're giving them is reasons to be disappointed. So when I saw Ada on the first episode and she told that story, I immediately identified.
And then I saw her constantly stand out. She was so much better than she believed. She worked harder than anyone on the ranch. She was a constant force to be reckoned with. And she didn't even know her own strength. Because she had suppressed all of her anger and her resentment and pushed it deep down, she didn't think she was worthy of taking care of herself. Oh, Ada. I so know you.
And every week she got stronger and more self aware and had a breakthrough where she finally got in touch with her anger. And then there was the week where everyone got packages from home except for her.
But I wasn't ready for the episode where the final four goes home. Because Ada goes home and is told by her parents how much they love her. Probably for the first time. And her mother loses it. She cries for how she unknowingly made her daughter feel.
And if that wasn't enough, they run the marathon in this episode. As I mentioned before in this blog, I ran the Florence Marathon with my ex a few years ago. And it was one of the highlights of our relationship. Two catholic boys running a marathon and finishing together hand in hand in Italy, an intensely Catholic country. And besides that the commitment of marathon training and it really brought us together. So when I watch Ada cap off her journey with the life changing/image breaking/condition breaking running of a marathon, I just thought about how my life has changed in the past five weeks.
I've run a marathon in the past five weeks. Running past barriers I never thought I'd cross. Breaking thought processes that I thought were just stuck and ingrained. And I'm stronger and have more stamina than I ever thought I did. I did the impossible and I'm starting to really change the patterns for my life.
But I also cried because I remember what that moment was like, crossing the finish line with the person was the love of my life. How I thought that would be one of the stories we'd tell at our wedding. The event that bound us together. How proud I was that I had chosen this person and that he had chosen me and we had done something wonderful for ourselves. And for charity. We raised a ton of money with our friends Tim and Gina.
And now it's over. I'm sitting here typing this on my friends' couch in tears. And the Biggest Loser is allowing me a catharsis that I don't let myself have. I can cry as long as I'm crying about someone else - a TV show. Someone else's journey. I know how strong I am. Like Ada, I've come to that conclusion and I'm at a place where I can acknowledge my accomplishments and accomplish more because of that confidence.
But it's Christmas soon. And while I don't have the anxiety of buying him a Christmas gift he may hate, I don't have the possibility of giving him something he may love. I won't go back. And it would be wrong and unhealthy to. But I loved being Mrs. ____ _________. As much as I joked about it and I'd call our favorite neighborhood spot and say, "This is Mrs. ___ _________. I need a table.", it was nice to be thought of that way.
And I'm getting to that place of anger. Right now that anger is in my running and my workouts. It's in this blog. It's "healthy." It has an "outlet." But I think that at some point you just need to go hit something. Or you just need to shit in a bag, light it on fire and leave it on someone's doorstep. I know it's supposed to be dog poop, but I think I have a lot of anger still not dealt with. Enough anger that would warrant me defecating into a bag.
My friend Brian and I used to talk about "the one you learn from," the relationship before the one you have for the rest of your life. It's the one that makes that relationship better. And it's a myth. You learn from all of them. And it's unfair to put any relationship on such a pedestal. Well, THAT was the one I learned from that this is the one that I will have FOR LIFE. Even if we die trying.
I hate that phrase just as much as I hate the phrase "white knuckle." But that's another story for another time.
I stuck in a relationship because I was so afraid it would be the one I was learning from and not THE ONE.
I have another friend, my best friend's sister, who had to end a short marriage that was actually at the end of a 10 year relationship (dating for 10, married for 1). And while we cried about it and lamented the loss of a wonderful relationship, she came to a conclusion.
She shrugged and said, "Well, it was a great run."
And sometimes that's what they are. They're just a great run.
Friday: Out
So I did finally bust my ass out of the house and headed over to Fubar, the scene of the crime from last Friday. That's where I ran into the ex.
And I'm glad I went out. I always tell friends I don't have a problem going out by myself. And I really don't. If I feel lonely or sad or like a loser standing in the corner at the junior high dance, I've got a car and I can just drive "home." That's easy.
It's not like when I lived in New York. I actually did go home a lot from the bars in Brooklyn. I didn't really want to go up and talk to anyone and I think I gave off this vibe of "don't approach me." And if that's the worst of it - because I did feel like a big loser - then that's the worst of it. I can handle that.
And I already had the first run in with the ex, so this was going to be less intense. Until I ran into the guy who I went home with last weekend. I left my hat at his place, so I knew I'd have to reach out to him eventually. I love that hat. The ex gave me that hat and I look fucking great in it. It's part of my newsboy look. And he was all over me.
But that was after I ran into another guy that I made out with that same night, who didn't remember what I looked like clearly because he didn't remember we had made out.
"Hi, handsome."
"Yeah. We made out already. What was your name?"
That's pretty much it. And then the two of them kind of got into it a bit. I wouldn't say they were fighting over me, but there was definitely some tension. Guys, I just wanted to have a relaxing evening. Single, fun!
And THAT was after I had started talking to this guy, Marty, who has a shaved head and I think does construction or something. But he looks like a more handsome version of the lead singer of Judas Priest. Definitely a daddy type. But very nice. So we spoke for a little bit, but it wasn't really going anywhere. He was nice enough. But nice enough ain't cutting it these days.
So just when I figured I had had enough and it was time to go home, I ran into my friends Jerry and Jim, who are also friends with the ex. I haven't seen them since we were still together. I felt like I had my people with me. So we danced a bit and then I went home.
It was a full night. I had talked to three guys, seen two friends and come home solo. That's fine with me. Besides, I had to get up this morning for a run and then I'm going to go see the parents and go to a couple of holiday parties tonight.
This singlehood is hard to manage. So many suitors, so little time.
And I'm glad I went out. I always tell friends I don't have a problem going out by myself. And I really don't. If I feel lonely or sad or like a loser standing in the corner at the junior high dance, I've got a car and I can just drive "home." That's easy.
It's not like when I lived in New York. I actually did go home a lot from the bars in Brooklyn. I didn't really want to go up and talk to anyone and I think I gave off this vibe of "don't approach me." And if that's the worst of it - because I did feel like a big loser - then that's the worst of it. I can handle that.
And I already had the first run in with the ex, so this was going to be less intense. Until I ran into the guy who I went home with last weekend. I left my hat at his place, so I knew I'd have to reach out to him eventually. I love that hat. The ex gave me that hat and I look fucking great in it. It's part of my newsboy look. And he was all over me.
But that was after I ran into another guy that I made out with that same night, who didn't remember what I looked like clearly because he didn't remember we had made out.
"Hi, handsome."
"Yeah. We made out already. What was your name?"
That's pretty much it. And then the two of them kind of got into it a bit. I wouldn't say they were fighting over me, but there was definitely some tension. Guys, I just wanted to have a relaxing evening. Single, fun!
And THAT was after I had started talking to this guy, Marty, who has a shaved head and I think does construction or something. But he looks like a more handsome version of the lead singer of Judas Priest. Definitely a daddy type. But very nice. So we spoke for a little bit, but it wasn't really going anywhere. He was nice enough. But nice enough ain't cutting it these days.
So just when I figured I had had enough and it was time to go home, I ran into my friends Jerry and Jim, who are also friends with the ex. I haven't seen them since we were still together. I felt like I had my people with me. So we danced a bit and then I went home.
It was a full night. I had talked to three guys, seen two friends and come home solo. That's fine with me. Besides, I had to get up this morning for a run and then I'm going to go see the parents and go to a couple of holiday parties tonight.
This singlehood is hard to manage. So many suitors, so little time.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Friday: In
It's 8:07 on a Friday night. Most boys are home from the office, eating steamed chicken and broccoli and doing their Friday Night Enema, ready for whatever might come their way.
Manscaping. There's probably a lot of manscaping. Fresh balls attract fresh meat. Isn't that the saying?
It's A saying. That's for sure.
Me? What am I doing tonight? I am sitting up in the bedroom of the house I'm staying in (my friends are gone for the weekend) and I'm trying to decide what to do. Maybe I should go and get an enema from Ralphs. But right now I'm in my Andrew Christian underwear that my friend Marc got me years ago. They were packed away in my trunk. I found them when I had to clear my trunk to put my portable plastic bins in. This is what happens when you don't have a permanent residence. You have things in compartments in your trunk. Well organized. Ready to pack and unpack at a moment's notice.
So I'm in my undies, which - Thank You Marc - make my ass look amazing. I will be keeping these on tonight. Well...I'll be keeping them on so that I can maybe take them off later. Ha. Ha.
I just had three separate frozen meals for dinner. Just being lazy. It's hard when I don't have a kitchen. I really want to cook something, but my friends' have a full refrigerator and I don't want to infringe on them. They're being really great for letting me stay here. It's not my house. I don't have my own olive oil. Trust me, to a cook, these things matter. Not my own pans...it's difficult.
I can hear the sounds off the street. It sounds like Friday night is roaring. People are getting ready to start their evenings.
It's now 8:16. Still no decisions have been made.
I had a Stouffer's Spaghetti w/ Meat Sauce. The noodles were one big lump. Overcooked. The Schechuan noodles weren't any better. Although, at least those were cooked well. And I had some left over roast chicken from the other night that I bought already cooked at Ralphs. It's like that scene in the SEX AND THE CITY movie.
New Years Eve. A Cup o'Noodles.
I feel like that right now. Especially as I type on my laptop and recount all of this. The difference is that I don't feel like I'm answering any of life's or singlehood's big questions. I'm just exhausted from a long week of wrapping up one job and waiting to start another. It's frustrating to be completely in transition. But I haven't really looked for a place yet. So that's my own fault. Although I did say a few posts ago that I really was enjoying the transition. I probably was.
8:19. How fast am I typing? Better question: How fast are the thoughts coming out?
8:20. Not that fast.
Something that is making this evening a bit better is listening to Robyn on iTunes. I can't believe how good she is. It's dance pop electronic music with real feeling. Anyone remember Robyn from her first incarnation? "Show Me Love?" "Do You Know (What It Takes)?" Classics both.
And then we have new Robyn. "Dancing on My Own." I'm in the corner watching you kiss her. Oh oh oh./I'm right over here. Why can't you see me? Oh oh oh. I'm giving it my all. but I'm not the girl you're taking home./I keep dancing on my own.
Unrequited pop goodness! That's how I knew I'd feel if I didn't go up to my ex last Friday at Fubar. I'd create this whole drama in my head. Billy Francesca would put this song on, I would get up on the dance floor. Turn my head in his direction. Then look away. Then turn. Then away. Then stare straight at him, with my arms in the air. Lost in the ecstasy of the moment. Giving him what for. Look how good I am now!
I'm still dancing on my own.
But I didn't do that, if you recall. I just confronted and went about my business. That might be why I'm staying in tonight. Or thinking about it. I don't want to run into him. There's another club that I might go to where I know I won't run into him. It's totally not his scene. But I love Dance Bitch at Fubar on Friday nights. And tonight it's Gaga vs. Christina. And as much as I like to think I'm grown past all of that. I just love to dance.
I'll even go out by myself. I don't care. As long as I have the music, it doesn't really matter all that much.
I keep dancing on my own.
What am I going to do? Stay tuned. Either it'll be more posts. Or more posts tomorrow. 8:29.
Manscaping. There's probably a lot of manscaping. Fresh balls attract fresh meat. Isn't that the saying?
It's A saying. That's for sure.
Me? What am I doing tonight? I am sitting up in the bedroom of the house I'm staying in (my friends are gone for the weekend) and I'm trying to decide what to do. Maybe I should go and get an enema from Ralphs. But right now I'm in my Andrew Christian underwear that my friend Marc got me years ago. They were packed away in my trunk. I found them when I had to clear my trunk to put my portable plastic bins in. This is what happens when you don't have a permanent residence. You have things in compartments in your trunk. Well organized. Ready to pack and unpack at a moment's notice.
So I'm in my undies, which - Thank You Marc - make my ass look amazing. I will be keeping these on tonight. Well...I'll be keeping them on so that I can maybe take them off later. Ha. Ha.
I just had three separate frozen meals for dinner. Just being lazy. It's hard when I don't have a kitchen. I really want to cook something, but my friends' have a full refrigerator and I don't want to infringe on them. They're being really great for letting me stay here. It's not my house. I don't have my own olive oil. Trust me, to a cook, these things matter. Not my own pans...it's difficult.
I can hear the sounds off the street. It sounds like Friday night is roaring. People are getting ready to start their evenings.
It's now 8:16. Still no decisions have been made.
I had a Stouffer's Spaghetti w/ Meat Sauce. The noodles were one big lump. Overcooked. The Schechuan noodles weren't any better. Although, at least those were cooked well. And I had some left over roast chicken from the other night that I bought already cooked at Ralphs. It's like that scene in the SEX AND THE CITY movie.
New Years Eve. A Cup o'Noodles.
I feel like that right now. Especially as I type on my laptop and recount all of this. The difference is that I don't feel like I'm answering any of life's or singlehood's big questions. I'm just exhausted from a long week of wrapping up one job and waiting to start another. It's frustrating to be completely in transition. But I haven't really looked for a place yet. So that's my own fault. Although I did say a few posts ago that I really was enjoying the transition. I probably was.
8:19. How fast am I typing? Better question: How fast are the thoughts coming out?
8:20. Not that fast.
Something that is making this evening a bit better is listening to Robyn on iTunes. I can't believe how good she is. It's dance pop electronic music with real feeling. Anyone remember Robyn from her first incarnation? "Show Me Love?" "Do You Know (What It Takes)?" Classics both.
And then we have new Robyn. "Dancing on My Own." I'm in the corner watching you kiss her. Oh oh oh./I'm right over here. Why can't you see me? Oh oh oh. I'm giving it my all. but I'm not the girl you're taking home./I keep dancing on my own.
Unrequited pop goodness! That's how I knew I'd feel if I didn't go up to my ex last Friday at Fubar. I'd create this whole drama in my head. Billy Francesca would put this song on, I would get up on the dance floor. Turn my head in his direction. Then look away. Then turn. Then away. Then stare straight at him, with my arms in the air. Lost in the ecstasy of the moment. Giving him what for. Look how good I am now!
I'm still dancing on my own.
But I didn't do that, if you recall. I just confronted and went about my business. That might be why I'm staying in tonight. Or thinking about it. I don't want to run into him. There's another club that I might go to where I know I won't run into him. It's totally not his scene. But I love Dance Bitch at Fubar on Friday nights. And tonight it's Gaga vs. Christina. And as much as I like to think I'm grown past all of that. I just love to dance.
I'll even go out by myself. I don't care. As long as I have the music, it doesn't really matter all that much.
I keep dancing on my own.
What am I going to do? Stay tuned. Either it'll be more posts. Or more posts tomorrow. 8:29.
Is My Groove Back?
Or Horndog Friday.
I don't know what it is this morning, but every guy I see looks like he's slathered in bacon fat.
Cause I wanna eat 'em.
Just checking. It's Friday. We're all a little slow on the uptake. I was at the gym this morning.
Yes, I realize I'm at the gym a lot. Sometimes exercising my body, sometimes exercising my dirty mind, sometimes exercising isolated body parts.
So I was at the gym and everyone looked good. There was the 20-something who had porcelain skin, dark shaved hair, and looked like a little fireplug. He also had the most beautiful blue eyes and bright lips. And he kept looking at me.
Then there was the guy in the sauna who was kind of a surfer type. Brown hair, bronze skin, six pack and just wearing navy workout shorts. He kept looking at me too.
And there's the guy who I see every so often. Silverfox. Pinkish skin. White hair. Bright blue eyes. He's always "shaving" in the steam room. I know that he looks at me.
So this is due to one of two things: Either, these guys are as horny as I am and feel the sexual chemistry at 7:45 in the morning.
OR...because it's only 7:45 in the morning, I probably zone out and stare a bit too long at these guys and they're wondering, "Why is this homo looking at me? West Hollywood is THAT way" and they point West. I do have a bit of a lazy stare that early at the gym. Maybe I'm reading into it.
But there was one really cute guy this morning who I saw running in. A bit of a hipster by way of the South. Big thick nerdy frames. Red jacket. Maybe vintage. He was in a hurry and almost bumped into me. But not before our eyes met. Okay, so at that point it definitely could have been my lazy stare and he couldn't help but look away. It's like a tractor beam.
So I do my workout and I get back to the locker room. I go into the steam room and then notice that the cute Southern hipster has finished his work out. He looks around the locker room a bit and then starts getting undressed. Okay, so I might have stopped to look for a second. Just a second. I get in the shower and head back in the steam for one more sit down.
When I get out I notice my little friend. Not my penis, I'm affectionately referring to the Southern hipster in the diminutive. He's got his curtain wide open and he's naked. His ass is fluffed up like a set of mama's biscuits. Okay, when did I get all twangy. My people aren't from the South. Well...that's not true. My mother's people are from South...of the Border. And my father's people are Southern. Southern Chinese. So that kind of counts, right?
Anyway I notice he's got this University of Birmingham beach towel and then he closes his curtain. Oops. I was staring too hard. But only half way. Interesting.
He gets out of the shower soon after that. But totally towel dries outside of his shower. All the kibbles and bits are there for display. And they were delightful. Like an andouille sausage. I know, I'm too much.
But then we both got dressed and left. Maybe fate will bring us together. Or at least fate assisted by "Missed Connections." I'm totally all over that shit. I think it's because I'm a writer and we have this intense romanticized idea of fate.
We met in the shower at the gym...through the steam his piercing blue eyes found me.
I know. It's ridiculous. But it helps pass the time.
I don't know what it is this morning, but every guy I see looks like he's slathered in bacon fat.
Cause I wanna eat 'em.
Just checking. It's Friday. We're all a little slow on the uptake. I was at the gym this morning.
Yes, I realize I'm at the gym a lot. Sometimes exercising my body, sometimes exercising my dirty mind, sometimes exercising isolated body parts.
So I was at the gym and everyone looked good. There was the 20-something who had porcelain skin, dark shaved hair, and looked like a little fireplug. He also had the most beautiful blue eyes and bright lips. And he kept looking at me.
Then there was the guy in the sauna who was kind of a surfer type. Brown hair, bronze skin, six pack and just wearing navy workout shorts. He kept looking at me too.
And there's the guy who I see every so often. Silverfox. Pinkish skin. White hair. Bright blue eyes. He's always "shaving" in the steam room. I know that he looks at me.
So this is due to one of two things: Either, these guys are as horny as I am and feel the sexual chemistry at 7:45 in the morning.
OR...because it's only 7:45 in the morning, I probably zone out and stare a bit too long at these guys and they're wondering, "Why is this homo looking at me? West Hollywood is THAT way" and they point West. I do have a bit of a lazy stare that early at the gym. Maybe I'm reading into it.
But there was one really cute guy this morning who I saw running in. A bit of a hipster by way of the South. Big thick nerdy frames. Red jacket. Maybe vintage. He was in a hurry and almost bumped into me. But not before our eyes met. Okay, so at that point it definitely could have been my lazy stare and he couldn't help but look away. It's like a tractor beam.
So I do my workout and I get back to the locker room. I go into the steam room and then notice that the cute Southern hipster has finished his work out. He looks around the locker room a bit and then starts getting undressed. Okay, so I might have stopped to look for a second. Just a second. I get in the shower and head back in the steam for one more sit down.
When I get out I notice my little friend. Not my penis, I'm affectionately referring to the Southern hipster in the diminutive. He's got his curtain wide open and he's naked. His ass is fluffed up like a set of mama's biscuits. Okay, when did I get all twangy. My people aren't from the South. Well...that's not true. My mother's people are from South...of the Border. And my father's people are Southern. Southern Chinese. So that kind of counts, right?
Anyway I notice he's got this University of Birmingham beach towel and then he closes his curtain. Oops. I was staring too hard. But only half way. Interesting.
He gets out of the shower soon after that. But totally towel dries outside of his shower. All the kibbles and bits are there for display. And they were delightful. Like an andouille sausage. I know, I'm too much.
But then we both got dressed and left. Maybe fate will bring us together. Or at least fate assisted by "Missed Connections." I'm totally all over that shit. I think it's because I'm a writer and we have this intense romanticized idea of fate.
We met in the shower at the gym...through the steam his piercing blue eyes found me.
I know. It's ridiculous. But it helps pass the time.
The Call
It's early Friday morning now. I just got back from a booty call. I am so devoted to my followers that I have to report what I'm up to minute to minute.
I went on a certain website because I was a bit bored. Then I posted an ad. Then I responded to someone who was interested in my ad. Exchanged pictures. And soon I was over at his house, which about 5 minutes from where I'm staying.
And I have to say, this was pretty good. He actually fit the profile for me. Irish with a bit of an accent. I actually did have my doubts about whether or not I was dipping into the pool or not. But it was nice. Lots of kissing and touching. Staring into each other's eyes. It feels strange being on the other end. I was in an old, married couple for a long time. And I was the one listening to stories of young friends recount first dates or first booty calls or whatever. And now here I am. A bit giddy.
He was nice and I'll see him again. We just made out A LOT. Yes, it felt GREAT. To be held. To be kissed. To be stared at. And I was doing plenty of holding, kissing and staring back. It's been awhile since I've been in that situation. Connected. Gentle. Sweet. I kind of wanted to climb in his arm pit and rest there.
It's essentially what could amount to a one night stand. But it had enough impact for me to blog about it. I have to admit, I had some feelings. Ones of infatuation. But it just felt so good to be held and wanted. And it was a strange experience to be so wise that I knew it was time to leave. I could always go back. He has my number. Just wanted to go back when we can fall asleep in each other's arms.
Wow. That kind of did a number on me. I need to be careful.
I went on a certain website because I was a bit bored. Then I posted an ad. Then I responded to someone who was interested in my ad. Exchanged pictures. And soon I was over at his house, which about 5 minutes from where I'm staying.
And I have to say, this was pretty good. He actually fit the profile for me. Irish with a bit of an accent. I actually did have my doubts about whether or not I was dipping into the pool or not. But it was nice. Lots of kissing and touching. Staring into each other's eyes. It feels strange being on the other end. I was in an old, married couple for a long time. And I was the one listening to stories of young friends recount first dates or first booty calls or whatever. And now here I am. A bit giddy.
He was nice and I'll see him again. We just made out A LOT. Yes, it felt GREAT. To be held. To be kissed. To be stared at. And I was doing plenty of holding, kissing and staring back. It's been awhile since I've been in that situation. Connected. Gentle. Sweet. I kind of wanted to climb in his arm pit and rest there.
It's essentially what could amount to a one night stand. But it had enough impact for me to blog about it. I have to admit, I had some feelings. Ones of infatuation. But it just felt so good to be held and wanted. And it was a strange experience to be so wise that I knew it was time to leave. I could always go back. He has my number. Just wanted to go back when we can fall asleep in each other's arms.
Wow. That kind of did a number on me. I need to be careful.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Miss Independent
Oops. I think I was feeling my independence too much. Overdrawn on bank account. Fortunately had a check to deposit. Need to watch myself. At least I had fun, but in order to start my new life I need to find a place to live. And that requires money. Didn't dig myself into a hole, but need to watch it.
I did have fun though. It's made these past five weeks memorable.
Lesson learned.
I did have fun though. It's made these past five weeks memorable.
Lesson learned.
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Weight Off My Shoulders (and my stomach)
I've gotten skinnier. A little skinner.
One of the major changes a lot of people make after a break up is that they lose weight (some people gain weight, but that's not what I'm talking about here and that's just depressing). A friend of mine lost 40 pounds after her breakup, and about 15-20 in the 2-3 weeks immediately after.
There are a few reasons for this:
1) You're no longer going out to eat as much. Or ordering in as much. Can't afford to.
2) You now have to be ready to disrobe at a moment's notice (maybe that's just me).
3) You no longer feel complacent.
4) Depression. Sad but true.
5) You actually now have time to go to the gym. And to spin class. And to dance class. And to train for a marathon. And to do those at home DVDs that you've had stored away because you didn't want to wake him up.
6) You can actually go to those Nude Yoga classes on a regular basis. (And that IS just me)
For me, working out has been a great release. It allows me to get out any frustrations that are still left after working and writing this blog.
And this goes back to the hotness thing (earlier blog), but I never really thought that I could have that hot body, so why even try? I was always going to be more interesting (or so I thought) than attractive. And I never thought I could be both. But since I'm already well-read and articulate, I figure I might as well also be cut.
I was at the gym today and I see my gym crush. He's usually wearing a pair of green workout pants with a yellow stripe on the side, maybe by someone like Adidas or Puma. This guy has a cute face. But he's got an amazing ass. Anthony Marintino (Mario Cantone) from Sex and the City would describe it like this: "Like two scoops of butter pecan ice cream." I would say: "Ass Amazing."
And now I know his secret. I went into the exercise studio to do some push ups this morning and I see this guy. He's got a medicine ball and he's twisting from side to side WHILE doing backward lunges. Then he's doing phantom jump robe jumps. And some other sort of weird plyometric (jump training) exercise.
I thought I had gone as far as I could possibly go with my ass. Like I had reached my ass' biological glass ceiling. As a kid my ass was super flat. Then I started dancing in college and gained enough weight to look like a normal person. So my ass was cute. Then I started training for a marathon and running became a part of my regular routine. So now my ass is compact, but cute. However, it's not a plump ass and it's certainly not a double scoop. But staring at this guy's onion, I realized that maybe it IS possible. Maybe he was also teased for being flat as a board in the backdoor, so that he developed a complex. Then he researched "ass exercises" on Google and found exercises that accentuate the derriere.
Or maybe he comes from a family of hot assed guys. No matter, he knows the power of maintenance. Even a double D has to keep their tits firm. So the same holds true if you have a Double D ass, right? Right now I've got B cups that I'm trying to get to a solid C. If I'm successful, I promise there will be photos. And that IS a threat.
One of the major changes a lot of people make after a break up is that they lose weight (some people gain weight, but that's not what I'm talking about here and that's just depressing). A friend of mine lost 40 pounds after her breakup, and about 15-20 in the 2-3 weeks immediately after.
There are a few reasons for this:
1) You're no longer going out to eat as much. Or ordering in as much. Can't afford to.
2) You now have to be ready to disrobe at a moment's notice (maybe that's just me).
3) You no longer feel complacent.
4) Depression. Sad but true.
5) You actually now have time to go to the gym. And to spin class. And to dance class. And to train for a marathon. And to do those at home DVDs that you've had stored away because you didn't want to wake him up.
6) You can actually go to those Nude Yoga classes on a regular basis. (And that IS just me)
For me, working out has been a great release. It allows me to get out any frustrations that are still left after working and writing this blog.
And this goes back to the hotness thing (earlier blog), but I never really thought that I could have that hot body, so why even try? I was always going to be more interesting (or so I thought) than attractive. And I never thought I could be both. But since I'm already well-read and articulate, I figure I might as well also be cut.
I was at the gym today and I see my gym crush. He's usually wearing a pair of green workout pants with a yellow stripe on the side, maybe by someone like Adidas or Puma. This guy has a cute face. But he's got an amazing ass. Anthony Marintino (Mario Cantone) from Sex and the City would describe it like this: "Like two scoops of butter pecan ice cream." I would say: "Ass Amazing."
And now I know his secret. I went into the exercise studio to do some push ups this morning and I see this guy. He's got a medicine ball and he's twisting from side to side WHILE doing backward lunges. Then he's doing phantom jump robe jumps. And some other sort of weird plyometric (jump training) exercise.
I thought I had gone as far as I could possibly go with my ass. Like I had reached my ass' biological glass ceiling. As a kid my ass was super flat. Then I started dancing in college and gained enough weight to look like a normal person. So my ass was cute. Then I started training for a marathon and running became a part of my regular routine. So now my ass is compact, but cute. However, it's not a plump ass and it's certainly not a double scoop. But staring at this guy's onion, I realized that maybe it IS possible. Maybe he was also teased for being flat as a board in the backdoor, so that he developed a complex. Then he researched "ass exercises" on Google and found exercises that accentuate the derriere.
Or maybe he comes from a family of hot assed guys. No matter, he knows the power of maintenance. Even a double D has to keep their tits firm. So the same holds true if you have a Double D ass, right? Right now I've got B cups that I'm trying to get to a solid C. If I'm successful, I promise there will be photos. And that IS a threat.
Virtual Vision Board: Cities
In the Facebook conversation I just had with my friend from NYC, we talked about which cities were friendly. Mainly from the POV of which cities might be easier to date in or have the types of guys he likes.
As he knows, my choice for fave city is the one he lives in. But he's never been to SF or San Diego. I love San Francisco, but I can't help but expect it to be NYC and it just disappoints. Maybe it's because I'm a native Los Angeleno who has always romanticized NYC, even when I lived there. And the real reason I don't love SF is that I've never had any luck there. And this makes absolutely no sense because I'm half-Asian and it's a city with a big Asian population and therefore a big Rice Queen population. But I gets no love from SF.
San Diego is fun and cute but just not a lot going on for me. Although I love Del Mar because of that exact reason. It has nothing going on for me, but it's cute and beachy. And lots of hot young surfers about. All straight, but lots of eye candy.
And then we talked about Boston. Cute white guys with working class accents? Sign me up. It's the white version of a cholo or a thug. Loves it. I've never had a Bostonian. I think it might be time.
And that just lead to the thought of where I'd like to live. I've got this new job that's starting, but that's only for a short amount of time. If the show doesn't get picked up, will I pick up and leave?
At a theatre festival this year, I met a ton of guys from Chicago. And there's a great theatre scene there. Also, mid-westerners. But a lot of great restaurants. And there's the cold, of course. And the wind. But it's an area of the country I've never lived in.
When I was in college, I had this fantasy of living in every region of the country. I grew up on the West Coast. I lived in the Pacific Northwest after college. And then I moved to the East Coast. That still leaves the mid-west (Chicago) and the South. Would I move to Georgia? Atlanta? I loves me some NeNe Leakes, but would I want to be her neighbor? Does Austin count?
The great thing about this time in my life is that it leaves me open. And I can be a playwright anywhere. All of those places have some sort of theatre community. Maybe it's about making my life the most interesting and then the work will follow.
Am I done with LA? Is it done with me?
As he knows, my choice for fave city is the one he lives in. But he's never been to SF or San Diego. I love San Francisco, but I can't help but expect it to be NYC and it just disappoints. Maybe it's because I'm a native Los Angeleno who has always romanticized NYC, even when I lived there. And the real reason I don't love SF is that I've never had any luck there. And this makes absolutely no sense because I'm half-Asian and it's a city with a big Asian population and therefore a big Rice Queen population. But I gets no love from SF.
San Diego is fun and cute but just not a lot going on for me. Although I love Del Mar because of that exact reason. It has nothing going on for me, but it's cute and beachy. And lots of hot young surfers about. All straight, but lots of eye candy.
And then we talked about Boston. Cute white guys with working class accents? Sign me up. It's the white version of a cholo or a thug. Loves it. I've never had a Bostonian. I think it might be time.
And that just lead to the thought of where I'd like to live. I've got this new job that's starting, but that's only for a short amount of time. If the show doesn't get picked up, will I pick up and leave?
At a theatre festival this year, I met a ton of guys from Chicago. And there's a great theatre scene there. Also, mid-westerners. But a lot of great restaurants. And there's the cold, of course. And the wind. But it's an area of the country I've never lived in.
When I was in college, I had this fantasy of living in every region of the country. I grew up on the West Coast. I lived in the Pacific Northwest after college. And then I moved to the East Coast. That still leaves the mid-west (Chicago) and the South. Would I move to Georgia? Atlanta? I loves me some NeNe Leakes, but would I want to be her neighbor? Does Austin count?
The great thing about this time in my life is that it leaves me open. And I can be a playwright anywhere. All of those places have some sort of theatre community. Maybe it's about making my life the most interesting and then the work will follow.
Am I done with LA? Is it done with me?
Life Review: Shared Experiences
When Jane Fonda was on OPRAH a few months ago (for the "FAREWELLLLL SEASONNNNNNN!!!!) she talked about doing a "life review." I think she did hers after she divorced Ted Turner. She did it around 60. At the time I saw the show, I thought it was a good idea, but I figured there would be a great milestone where it would make the most sense to do it. And since I don't have a big birthday coming up any time soon, I'd just have to wait.
But the universe had other ideas. So here I am, 39 days into my breakup, and at the beginning of what's become a life review: this blog. It's a time to assess the choices I've made. To break patterns. To renew. And it's been helpful. And this life review is starting to have affect in the rest of my life. Friends are reading this blog and coming forth with their own stories. And they're actually taking part in my life review because there are experiences that will trigger a new thought.
Like yesterday, I had lunch with my friend and she said something about having to start all over. She didn't have any friends after she broke up with her guy (she's now happily married - so there's hope). And the people who reached out to her were people who just knew her casually - work associates and acquaintances. But those are the people who have become her closest friends. She literally rebuilt her life from scratch. It's like she cleared away all the dead leaves and made way for new life.
I love that. And I love that she shared that with me. It's really helping.
I'm having a FB chat with a friend (who will remain nameless because he just mentioned to me how hard it would be if he went on a date with someone and the review of the date appeared on my blog). He's someone I knew in NYC and always adored. I think I even had a crush on him once and we might have fooled around. But he just commented on something I shared with him about dating. He said it was a healthy outlook. And I remarked that it was a kind of health that I've fought really hard for. I didn't come out of my mama's coochie this smart. Trust me.
He had remarked that he felt really comfortable being alone. And I shared with him that I had made a decision before I dated my ex. I was going out on these dates with guys - and this felt really typical of LA, but I'm sure it's typical of anywhere - guys would put up with the most ridiculous shit just to get laid. It's the whole "he's just not get into you" vibe. Guys would go out on dates just not to be lonely. And it's not like they were presenting much criteria up front. I went out on a date with a guy who was SO BORING, my cock wasn't even hard when we were laying in bed together. He had this weird body. It's what we now call "skinny fat." He looked thin, but had NO MUSCLE TONE WHATSOEVER. It's creepy. It doesn't feel good and it makes them feel like some sort of amorphous blob. But he just didn't have anything to say. We watched "The Mirror Has Two Faces" at his condo in Orange County (which might be the other problem, although I have had great fortune in the OC). And I completely stopped paying attention to him. He'd say something like, "I love Barbra's hair in this scene." And I'd say something like, "Oh, no I'm not hungry." And I thought: WHAT AM I DOING? This is a total waste of time. IN the amount of time I've been hanging out with this body snatcher, I could have worked out at the gym, done some window shopping at South Coast Plaza, jacked off a couple of times, caught up with some friends on the phone in NYC, and made a bolognaise. That's probably exactly what I was thinking when I said, "Oh, no I'm not hungry."
So here's the wisdom:
I don't want to date any more just to have companionship of any kind. If I was going to go out and get laid, then that was going to be it. Of course, I would always be protected and safe. But if I wanted to fuck, then that's all it was going to be.
If I wanted companionship, I had friends.
But if I met someone and we clicked, then I'd meet him for a drink or brunch. And if it didn't work out, then I still had my friends and fuck buddies.
I didn't ask one relationship to be something that it's not.
But it's difficult. Because most of us are afraid of being alone. And even though we wouldn't be alone if we had fulfillment on a solo level, the IDEA of JUST ONE instead of PLUS ONE is scary. That's what keeps us dating the skinny fat guys from the OC.
So if I could say something to my dear friend, who I am so glad I'm back in touch with because I still think he's cute, I would say this: You live in the best city in the world. And like my favorite fictional iconic New Yorker Carrie Bradshaw says, "You're never alone. The city is your date." But it has the best looking guys in the world and the best cunning linguists. The Apple has great places that are inexpensive to run into people. It's a great place to run in and to run into people in. You're smarter, cuter, and wiser because you live there. The city has made you a catch. Now you just have to decide if you want to get caught.
Or move to Boston.
But the universe had other ideas. So here I am, 39 days into my breakup, and at the beginning of what's become a life review: this blog. It's a time to assess the choices I've made. To break patterns. To renew. And it's been helpful. And this life review is starting to have affect in the rest of my life. Friends are reading this blog and coming forth with their own stories. And they're actually taking part in my life review because there are experiences that will trigger a new thought.
Like yesterday, I had lunch with my friend and she said something about having to start all over. She didn't have any friends after she broke up with her guy (she's now happily married - so there's hope). And the people who reached out to her were people who just knew her casually - work associates and acquaintances. But those are the people who have become her closest friends. She literally rebuilt her life from scratch. It's like she cleared away all the dead leaves and made way for new life.
I love that. And I love that she shared that with me. It's really helping.
I'm having a FB chat with a friend (who will remain nameless because he just mentioned to me how hard it would be if he went on a date with someone and the review of the date appeared on my blog). He's someone I knew in NYC and always adored. I think I even had a crush on him once and we might have fooled around. But he just commented on something I shared with him about dating. He said it was a healthy outlook. And I remarked that it was a kind of health that I've fought really hard for. I didn't come out of my mama's coochie this smart. Trust me.
He had remarked that he felt really comfortable being alone. And I shared with him that I had made a decision before I dated my ex. I was going out on these dates with guys - and this felt really typical of LA, but I'm sure it's typical of anywhere - guys would put up with the most ridiculous shit just to get laid. It's the whole "he's just not get into you" vibe. Guys would go out on dates just not to be lonely. And it's not like they were presenting much criteria up front. I went out on a date with a guy who was SO BORING, my cock wasn't even hard when we were laying in bed together. He had this weird body. It's what we now call "skinny fat." He looked thin, but had NO MUSCLE TONE WHATSOEVER. It's creepy. It doesn't feel good and it makes them feel like some sort of amorphous blob. But he just didn't have anything to say. We watched "The Mirror Has Two Faces" at his condo in Orange County (which might be the other problem, although I have had great fortune in the OC). And I completely stopped paying attention to him. He'd say something like, "I love Barbra's hair in this scene." And I'd say something like, "Oh, no I'm not hungry." And I thought: WHAT AM I DOING? This is a total waste of time. IN the amount of time I've been hanging out with this body snatcher, I could have worked out at the gym, done some window shopping at South Coast Plaza, jacked off a couple of times, caught up with some friends on the phone in NYC, and made a bolognaise. That's probably exactly what I was thinking when I said, "Oh, no I'm not hungry."
So here's the wisdom:
I don't want to date any more just to have companionship of any kind. If I was going to go out and get laid, then that was going to be it. Of course, I would always be protected and safe. But if I wanted to fuck, then that's all it was going to be.
If I wanted companionship, I had friends.
But if I met someone and we clicked, then I'd meet him for a drink or brunch. And if it didn't work out, then I still had my friends and fuck buddies.
I didn't ask one relationship to be something that it's not.
But it's difficult. Because most of us are afraid of being alone. And even though we wouldn't be alone if we had fulfillment on a solo level, the IDEA of JUST ONE instead of PLUS ONE is scary. That's what keeps us dating the skinny fat guys from the OC.
So if I could say something to my dear friend, who I am so glad I'm back in touch with because I still think he's cute, I would say this: You live in the best city in the world. And like my favorite fictional iconic New Yorker Carrie Bradshaw says, "You're never alone. The city is your date." But it has the best looking guys in the world and the best cunning linguists. The Apple has great places that are inexpensive to run into people. It's a great place to run in and to run into people in. You're smarter, cuter, and wiser because you live there. The city has made you a catch. Now you just have to decide if you want to get caught.
Or move to Boston.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
The Wagging Tails Left Behind
I had lunch with a very good friend today, who also happens to be a successful TV executive. She's the person I go to whenever I have a fresh idea, just to run it by her. If she likes it, then I start writing. I don't know if she knows that, but since she reads this blog, she does now.
We both have dogs that we love and would find it hard to live without. Although, right now I'm living without them. Or at least away from them. I don't remember if I've shared this already, but when I went to get the last of my boxes, Franc followed me all around the house. Penny couldn't be bothered. She just laid on the floor eating her bone. She's so self-involved.
But Franc followed me upstairs and downstairs. Then he waited for me as I loaded up my car. I haven't talked about them much because it's too painful. I feel like the next time they see me, they'll hate me. Or they'll want to bite me. Or worse. They won't recognize me.
And I know they're dogs, which means that they'll love me just as much as if they had seen me five minutes ago. But I haven't talked about them because the guilt is pretty major. I started crying at lunch with my friend because she asked about how they were. The conversation started because I talked about getting them gifts for Christmas (see previous blog). And the idea of splitting them up is heartbreaking. They have each other and they should continue to have each other. Right now they're living with their other Dad (I refuse to refer to myself as Mommy, although Daddy Bestest I will answer to). And as soon as I get a permanent place, hopefully we can share custody a bit.
It's not like I can explain to them why I had to leave. I can't go see them everyday either so that they don't forget me. I know they won't. But that doesn't make it any easier to have left them.
I wasn't a dog person when we got Penny and Franc. My parents didn't allow pets. My ex always said that he wanted dogs again after his last dog had died in his arms a couple of years before we met. One of the two only times I really saw him lose his shit was talking about Lily. And in looking back, even though I was reluctant, he kind of gave me an ultimatum. He said that he was ready for a dog and it could be now or later, but it would be at some point.
Those first six months were so difficult. I cried. I was so mad that he talked me into it. It was because he had left me to deal with the dogs after work every night. His schedule never adjusted to accommodate these new additions to our lives. And he made it clear that he wanted two. I was completely resentful. And then I just grew to love them. Just like that. I saw their personalities and they had me.
I saw my ex openly praise Penny over Franc. And it reminded me of my childhood. I felt like the odd one out, even though my mother did treat me differently than my brother because it was so clear that he was my Dad's favorite. SO of course then I took care of Franc. I love them both, but I don't like that Franc has to feel like that. It was too painful for me and I do realize that I'm projecting.
I miss my boy Franc. I miss how pretty he is and how loving and mellow he is. He's his papa's boy. And Miss Penny loves attention, will step over her brother to get it, and loves been the Queen Bee. Just like her Daddy. They are a great pair. And I wish they could read so they could know how much I love them and how sorry I am that I had to leave.
And now I'm crying again.
We both have dogs that we love and would find it hard to live without. Although, right now I'm living without them. Or at least away from them. I don't remember if I've shared this already, but when I went to get the last of my boxes, Franc followed me all around the house. Penny couldn't be bothered. She just laid on the floor eating her bone. She's so self-involved.
But Franc followed me upstairs and downstairs. Then he waited for me as I loaded up my car. I haven't talked about them much because it's too painful. I feel like the next time they see me, they'll hate me. Or they'll want to bite me. Or worse. They won't recognize me.
And I know they're dogs, which means that they'll love me just as much as if they had seen me five minutes ago. But I haven't talked about them because the guilt is pretty major. I started crying at lunch with my friend because she asked about how they were. The conversation started because I talked about getting them gifts for Christmas (see previous blog). And the idea of splitting them up is heartbreaking. They have each other and they should continue to have each other. Right now they're living with their other Dad (I refuse to refer to myself as Mommy, although Daddy Bestest I will answer to). And as soon as I get a permanent place, hopefully we can share custody a bit.
It's not like I can explain to them why I had to leave. I can't go see them everyday either so that they don't forget me. I know they won't. But that doesn't make it any easier to have left them.
I wasn't a dog person when we got Penny and Franc. My parents didn't allow pets. My ex always said that he wanted dogs again after his last dog had died in his arms a couple of years before we met. One of the two only times I really saw him lose his shit was talking about Lily. And in looking back, even though I was reluctant, he kind of gave me an ultimatum. He said that he was ready for a dog and it could be now or later, but it would be at some point.
Those first six months were so difficult. I cried. I was so mad that he talked me into it. It was because he had left me to deal with the dogs after work every night. His schedule never adjusted to accommodate these new additions to our lives. And he made it clear that he wanted two. I was completely resentful. And then I just grew to love them. Just like that. I saw their personalities and they had me.
I saw my ex openly praise Penny over Franc. And it reminded me of my childhood. I felt like the odd one out, even though my mother did treat me differently than my brother because it was so clear that he was my Dad's favorite. SO of course then I took care of Franc. I love them both, but I don't like that Franc has to feel like that. It was too painful for me and I do realize that I'm projecting.
I miss my boy Franc. I miss how pretty he is and how loving and mellow he is. He's his papa's boy. And Miss Penny loves attention, will step over her brother to get it, and loves been the Queen Bee. Just like her Daddy. They are a great pair. And I wish they could read so they could know how much I love them and how sorry I am that I had to leave.
And now I'm crying again.
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