a wedding anniversary

Ohhh boy, it was SIX years ago today!!! Tom picked me up at my office, drove me to SFO, and after acquiring both tickets and cocktails, we flew to Las Vegas.

A fatherly, chubby cab driver named Earl carted us to City Hall. He waited outside while we completed our wedding applications with golf pencils. Earl then suggested the Silver Bells Wedding Chapel, where he waited for us again, despite our protestations. (But I was really attached to Earl by this point, so didn't protest too much!)

Inside the chapel, we rummaged through an enormous cardboard box of sterling-silver rings, finally finding a couple bands which fit. A little old lady in a pale, creamy skirt and jacket served as reverend. The cashier, smelling strongly of cigarettes, stood as witness.

The ceremony itself took place under plastic pink flowers, and was all over less than five minutes. (Much to my dismay, I started crying right in the middle. But the woman handed me a Kleenex and said, "Here's what we call a 'happy napkin'!" Tom rolled his eyes. I cried more.)

I wore an old, slip-like black dress covered in red roses, along with fishnet stockings and my best platform shoes. Tom wore a suit and tie. We'd been dating for nine months.

Earl dropped us at a restaurant around 11 p.m., where the champagne came free. I fluttered the official certificate around until Tom shoved it irritably in his pocket... We weren't very hungry but felt we should commemorate the occasion with some type of fancy dinner.... We then tumbled ourselves into an inexpensive Tropicana room and collapsed with happiness - and probably a little bewilderment.

The next morning, still tangled up naked in the sheets, we called our respective parents to get that over with. I was shaking with nervousness. His parents sounded happy and excited, asking me questions like "where are you from?" and "is it warm in Las Vegas?" Mine sounded wary and anxious; my mother asked how we met. My father said to Tom: "Well... I guess you're my son-in-law now..." Tom said: "I love your daughter very much."

We flew back to SF on Sunday. Tom sent a dozen red roses to my office on Monday morning (very unlike him, so it meant all the more). After my co-workers got the news, they had champagne delivered and we partied the rest of the day.

I felt absolutely high. I felt nothing else mattered; only this... I hoped this feeling of trust and envelopment, of having someone at the end of each day, would never leave me.

Now I'm worrying about an outfit for tonight, and trying not to eat too much this morning. Tom teases: "What's the big deal? It's just an anniversary." But I know he is secretly reserving a fancy dinner somewhere. (He also had pink roses delivered to me at work; the card read: "I can't believe you haven't accidentally set me on fire or pushed me out the window yet!")

I know this is all a bunch of sickening mush, but it is a date to note! And it's making me feel a little giddy... I'm allowing that feeling to drive away the usual anxieties of the week... So thanks for listening my loves! Hope you have a fabulous weekend!

near-fatal dental mishap

I have enough to do in overlooking my physical insecurities during sex... now I must be watchful of my physical strength.

I was about to get some very rare 'o.p.' reciprocation last night... Rare for me - but he gets it like it's a bulk-item on sale while circling a drive-thru with a fat wallet. (In fact that's how we first met - I was the type of sad girl who used a bj as an icebreaker.)

Anyway, in the seconds it took me to get over the surprise at what he was trying to do, plus the consternation at how my thighs looked in what position, I almost knocked his front-tooth out with my pelvic bone. (It's a veneer too - got cracked when he was younger.)

He held his hand over his mouth with an exaggerated look of anguish for about three minutes, reprimanding me about being more careful. (Of course, when done reprimanding me, he saw no reason why he shouldn't finish his own business otherwise.)

I fear I will never get such a treat again.

an invite to C.'s graduation

I met C. over three years ago at a Tenderloin-neighborhood youth center. He was seven. (I’d been volunteering at the center for some time; have been going there about six years by now.)

When introduced, he looked up at me with these huge, wide eyes – he thought he was in trouble. I assured him I was only supposed to help him with his homework. We sat in a small conference room next to the play-area, he with some arithmetic sheets, me with a hard-won pencil.

Back in Boston, I spent some years each with two girls through the Big Sister program. One was seven years-old; the other 12. I didn’t have much experience with boys one-on-one; only as part of a group. But as I tried to help C. catch-up with addition and subtraction (no easy feat, math's not my subject), I began to look forward to our Tuesday nights.

I learned I could cause him happiness by the most insignificant actions… I Googled his favorite comic-book heroes (Spiderman, Superman, Yu-Gi-Oh) and brought printouts of them. I brought him some crayons, a pen, a Kleenex… a cookie. I brought my digital camera and we roamed the halls, photographing each other in crazy poses. Then I would bring printouts of those, and he would put them into a small photo-album I gave him. We got in trouble for not doing enough maths, for sneaking up to the roof, and for making too much noise.

I remember one week I couldn't meet him due to deadlines at my job. I called the instructor to ask she notify C. of my absence. The following Tuesday, as I entered the building, one passing instructor said "Oh, C. was so upset last week! He told me he was so mad, he said he never wanted to see you again, and that he hates you!! But don't worry about it, he'll get over it." I sweated in the hallway for a minute, then went out into the play-area to locate C. He saw me, ran to me, and hugged me for the first time round my knees. I thought I would faint from emotion. I said "I'm so sorry for last week! I had to work, I couldn't help it, I am so sorry!" I babbled like an idiot. He stepped back from me, just a little thing, and said "I'm sorry I was mad; I just missed you. I got so mad." He then held up a pencil and winked, thus leading my sorry-self off to the homework-enclave.

Right after that, the youth-coordinator met with me and explained that C. had been on the waiting list for a Mentor for a long time. (The Mentor Program is similar to Big Sister/Big Brother; I highly recommend both orgs.) She said no one would take him because he was so troublesome, due to the violence in his background. (His mom was beaten to a pulp in front of his eyes, and worse things, etc. He was getting into a lot of trouble at school... And this childhood trauma actually affected him physically to the point where he had to take seizure medication.)

The instructor said that he wouldn't talk to or be with any other adult except me. I was flabbergasted. I didn't know any of this... plus I hadn't done ANYthing! I am baffled to this day. And I am thrilled with my luck - how lucky I am to know him.

So a meeting was setup with his mother and I signed on. I was nervous... could I do it? But how could I say no?? (C. had to translate, as his family only speaks Spanish. After the meeting his mom said something to him and laughed. C. told me later "She thought you were a seven year-old... when I talked about you before she thought you went to my school with me!")

Though it started out with me taking him to dinner once a week and then spending every Saturday with him, I've now started seeing him only about two or three Saturdays a month. (He's getting older.) Most times we go to the playground, or a movie, or lunch, a museum... sometimes we just watch videos and play Uno. A few times I've rented a car so we could go to the beach for a picnic and soccer.

He usually calls me on Wednesdays, shyly blurting out "What are we doing this weekend?!!" I say: "Whatever you want - I'm making it National C. Day!" And he says: "Kim, you are so silly." Then we hold a long conversation about which super-power would be most effective - flight or strength? And what's the best outfit - a cape, or something fire-resistant? This is important, because he wants to be a super-hero when he grows up.

But to me, he's already turned into a small adult. He doesn't throw tantrums anymore, he is polite as all hell... He's stopped asking me if Tom "hits me", and he's started to bring me report cards. I love him to death. He says if he can't be Spiderman he wants to be a doctor. Or a school counselor. Or a comedian. He wants to paint. He wants to hold hands with a girl.

He's almost 11 years-old now. I can't believe it. I guess I'm reminiscing because he just called me at work. He said "Kim, can you come to my graduation - it's in June sometime." (I guess they have a ceremony for his grade-group.) I feel funny as it is probably just for family-members. I'm still not sure if I'll go.

But as for getting time off work that day, C. says: "If you want, I can talk to your boss and tell him it's ok."

no come-ons for me!

Well, this weekend with my folks actually turned out to be less anxiety-ridden than I'd anticipated... I actually found myself enjoying myself over 60% of the time, which is a record whether in parental-company or not.

I think it helps that I over-romanticize getaways with Tom (much to his annoyance) even if they are just a weekend drive, a walk to the pier, or an accidental rendezvous in our bathroom.

(Of course longer, more exotic vacations are better... but when those times are rare for two working people, why not find fun in other moments??!! Jeesh!)

I don't know.... I just put on my best nonchalant, witty, laid-back act, and just passed the time, and it was all over quickly. (Things are always easier too when Tom's by my side, though I have to watch myself from getting too reliant on that, too comfortable.)

I actually found hilarity in some moments... While walking to dinner on Saturday, Tom did the familiar "COME ON!" jerk to me when I was two seconds late moving at a walk-signal. You see, while waiting at a traffic-light, I sometimes start people-watching and don't pay quick enough attention.

(It doesn't matter that most times I AM paying attention, and am even quicker than him... but he still takes the initative to yank me along, as if he's pre-empting an apocolyptic reverie of some sort.)

So I invented this routine: If we're at a stopwalk and the light turns green, he will say "COME ON!" and walk irritably ahead. Then I say "DON'T 'COME ON' ME!" loudly.... and 90% of the time he will start laughing.

This time, the "DON'T COME ON ME!" retort didn't fit his comfort level very well... being as it was in front of my parents. (And some fresh-scrubbed, innocent Portland bystanders.)

But I still thought it was kinda funny. Cuz I'm a dork.

 

Happy Monday to all you lovelies!

those who've known me

As it's been a couple months since we've seen my parents, Tom & I are leaving this afternoon for a weekend visit. (The flight up to Portland only lasts an hour-&-a-half.)

So, this weekend I'll have to resist urges which range from punching the wall to slitting my wrists. I will be confronted with my own failings - failings from the moment I was born, until the moment where I am now. (You see, most of the time I am in denial about anything bad/unfavorable... It's easy to pretend some things are non-existent, they never happened, when you're not around people whose witness can prove otherwise!!!)

So though the guilt over adolescent cruelties toward my parents has decreased over the years, it's still in the back of my mind. And though I've since found the love of my life, and things are much different now, my conscience is still weighted with guilt over my recent depressive episodes, which so greatly affected all their lives and which I wish I could take back.

I will soon be in that rare situation (for me) where I'll be with people who have known me since I was born, at the same time as with a person who's known me since... now. Since I've become me.

This weekend I'll have to curb my annoyance and guilt every time I find one of them looking at me in a scrutinizing-way... I will feel anxious every time I express exuberance, every time I express emotion. I won't be able to curtail my facial expressions fast enough. They will be suspicious of my every move.

I am naturally clumsy; but this will become magnified into something un-natural. I will be so nervous under their scrutiny I will trip on stairs, fall, and rip my stockings. (This has happened before on their carpet... while barefoot! How is that?!) I might bump a wall with my elbow. I might knock into a lamp. I might spill something.

I will do and say idiotic things, adding to their agony and suspicion. I don't mean to do this; they just make me so shy and nervous. All three of them - my mom, dad, and Tom.

I just have to remember: It will all be over in a couple days; it won't last forever... it gets better every time. I need to be understanding. I need to wait.

if i could only be old...

When I was younger, my wish to stay young grew more intense as I got older.

But now that I'm older, it seems my wish to be 'old' has been increasing as I age.

(I'll be 36 in May, which isn't necessarily 'older'.) But what I'm trying to say is: Over the past couple years, I have been daydreaming/wishing I was 'old' - a.k.a 'elderly'. (This desire is in striking contrast to my overwhelming insecurities over wrinkles and other vanity-related aging issues.)

In fact I have recently been fantasizing about being old to the point of tearful hopelessness... The kind of feeling I used to experience when I was in my teens, wishing I was still a little girl - good and innocent and unhurt.

For example, I was walking along the sidewalk to work this morning, holding back sobs because suddenly the yearning for old-age was so overwhelming. And EXTREMELY troubling: Was I imagining myself back to being alone, after Tom (god forbid) was dead...? Of course if he was gone, I know I would die... I would just die of heartbreak. But if I'm imagining it, does that mean I somehow, subconsciously, want it to be true? Is it because I want that final feeling of security, that final accomplishment of having lived (not killing myself) during his lifetime, of proving that final proof to him of my love, that I have survived as long as he, even longer?

I think so. I feel I must continue living to prove to him my past, my wrongs, have been my own... nothing to do with him. I have lived and been happy doing so because he has been there. If/when he's not here anymore, I guess I don't have to try so hard anymore... I'll have solitude without having to prove anything to anyone. I won't have anyone to live better for.

I know that being old is also something I want because of the comfort-factor (have you ever heard Meg Ryan's speech in "Prelude to a Kiss"?). I want to be able to walk down the street and have nobody notice me... no one will harass me... I will blend in...

I won't feel the awkwardness every day of what I'm wearing, how my hair and makeup is, what people are thinking of me - I can wear shoes of comfort, wear 'normal' hair, walk without purpose. I won't have to worry so much about weight, I might get to treat myself more often to the tiniest things. Will I work at a non-stressful, enjoyable, rewarding job? Will I even have to work? Will I finally get to commit my time entirely to volunteering?

Basic acts of kindnesses and politenesses might then be able to stand for themselves. I won't always be looked upon so suspiciously by others, both men and women, when I do something... I might be able to act on impulses, I might be able to act without every action being mis-construed or suspicious. For example, I might get to do silly little things like bring cake to a neighbor who's feeling sick or sad, or to a neighborhood child who's had a birthday, and NOT be thought of as either 'weird' or 'flirting'. I will be able to do my volunteer work at the youth center without imagining hidden snickers behind my back. I'll be able to jog in baggy sweats without getting leered-at.

And maybe the nightmares, the all-encompassing anger, and all the agonies of all my post-traumatic-stress syndromes (as 'they' have defined them) will go away. Maybe this is what I wish for most. Maybe this is what will make everything else go away... make me confident, secure, successful.. peaceful...

Maybe everything I do might then be taken as it's coming from a real, sincere person, not as a 'come-on' or something like that... Or as a person who might be taken as 'fake' or 'stuck-up', when I'm really just so introverted I can hardly speak. Tom won't ask me about every little thing I do, question me every time I walk across the street for a soda... he won't think that my tears at a sad commercial means the end of the world and that I must be going insane and need hospitalization.

I will have solitude. I will feel like I've reached the top of the stairs, and can finally relax.

I feel guilty and feel like I'm complaining, because I know there are lots of worse, horrid things going on in the world. And I don't want to be construed as ungrateful or unloving of my family and friends.... so I guess I'm just venting. Things are so fucking hard sometimes for no reason.... and I just feel like if I'm an old woman, I might be finally at peace. I won't be treated as an object, I won't be so shy, I'll finally be a real person. This is probably just a stupid, inane fantasy... I know there will still be cliches and other disagreeable ways I'll be treated when I'm old. I don't think I'm really putting this into words right...

mr. Monk understands...

While watching TV a couple nights ago, Tom was flipping through the channel-guide as usual. (And, as usual, I lay by his side, trying to ease my body in slowly to get some cuddlin' without him noticing.)

But when he passed by the words "Wonderfalls Marathon!" in his attempt to locate Sci-Fi, I let out a yelp of dismay. This proved to be a mistake. As is his custom, he began crowing (in a voice emulating a person of sub-average intellect): "Dogs With Jobs!!! Andy Griffith!! Perry Mason!!! MONK!!" And then he laughed hysterically and patted me on the back a few times.

You see, what he's trying to do here is say that my choice of tv-show can be... sub-par. Not at his level of intellectual ability.

Oh, isn't he clever!

Then he clicked onto a Lifetime movie starring Eric Roberts and Ann Heche. He watched the entire thing, engrossed.

mushy blah

I came across this article while browsing news.bbc.co.uk today.

I don't know why but it touched me so much; to read about other people's little moments from all over the world like that. Some heartbreaking... some comical... all fascinating.

I think it is the same thing with all of you: How I love reading each of your blogs, and hearing from you. I can't tell you how much it means to me, even though we don't know each other.

(I know that is mushy and dumb, but I had to say it. It won't happen again I promise!)

so much chicken

At a meeting today, the boss bought us all lunch from a cafe across the street. I asked for a garden salad. He brought me a chicken Caesar.

• Me (to a co-worker): "Would you like the chicken from my salad?"
  
• Him: "Sure! You don't eat chicken?"
  
• Me: "Nope."
  
• Him: "So... why did you order a chicken salad?"
  
• Me: "I didn't; the boss must have mis-heard me."
  
• Him: "You should order the garden salad next time, not the chicken."
  
• Me (frustrated): "But... I didn't order it."
• Him (looking at me like I'm lying!!!??! Like I'm crazy??!!): "Oookaaay....."

Why would he not believe me about the chicken? How would he have gotten any chicken if not for me? Very unpleasant, that chicken-eater.

Oh nuts! I used to employ the phrase "twitterpated" to describe myself in moments of extreme spastic-ness. (Or moments when, for example, Tom breathes on my neck and I get all discombobulated.)

But I just learned the word has now been defined as "To be overwhelmed with Twitter messages."

Hmmph.

my general malaise

I am so bored. I. Am. Bored. All. The. Time.

Why this has to be OK/normal with me:

• So I do not go to the loony bin
  
• So I do not go crazy in the head
  
• So I can function as a normal person, on a day-to-day basis, socially
  
• So I can function as a professional, making a salary, on a day-to-day basis
  
• So I can watch the news without going into a full-blown rage
  
• So I can watch sad &/or violent movies without going psycho
  
• So I make Tom happy
  
• So I do not feel so unworthy of Tom
  
• So I am a good person
  
• So I am a good friend
  

But most importantly (to me) is:

• So I do not make Tom feel afraid/bad
  

So I should just deal with this general malaise I feel all the time... right? I mean, who fucking cares - I just live and then I die. If I can make the living better for Tom, that is really all that I should care about... I have done so much bad already.

Right? Should I be so fucking angry all the time? So what if he gets apprehensive about me meeting a girlfriend for lunch? So what if he doesn't let me have wine with dinner anymore? Shouldn't I be grateful, and not irritated? Shouldn't I feel lucky? I mean, why do I continue to feel like such crap? I am LUCKY he would have me. You don't know - I was a horrible, damaged person. Not many women like me get to experience the true kindness of a man like him.

This is my pitiful rant for the day; just had to get it out.

Sometimes, if I get 'triggered' (as the therapists call it) over something, I start having these sleeping-&-waking nightmares about things that happened to me in the past.

There are symptoms I'm supposed to watch for, both physical and mental. I watch out for them so my mind doesn't go crazy again. The main reason is Tom: I will NEVER put him through that again, I would rather die. It is NOT going to happen again.

My stint at the loony bin

I also watch for these symptoms of depression because I will NOT end up again at the 'hospital' I was put in last year. I am so ANGRY whenever I think about that place.

I am still unclear how long exactly I was in for, but am told it was about two weeks. I say it wasn't clear because it seemed like every minute dragged on for an excruciating, horrific lifetime, all in a blur of depression.

Now I can't remember when I woke up in there, nor how I came about realizing I was there. It is a sudden-memory - no beginning, but just there... Sort of like how you can't remember your birth, or when you first were really aware of your surroundings. It was like: Suddenly, just suddenly, you were present.

I remember, after the feeling of surprise and shock at my surroundings had passed, the feeling of tedium that set in... of things happening around me without me actually doing any of the work. It's like, for example: Your pajama-bottoms from home suddenly appear, sans belt-string. Who brought them? You wear them. You learn to do your hair without a hair-dryer. You sit in the proper chair, on time for meals. You learn how to ask for toothpaste. You learn you cannot get soap without permission. You learn to navigate your roommate. You learn which two channels work on the communal tv. You learn not to walk the hallways when the lights are out.

You suddenly remember there is a world outside - and you'd rather be there. And you are aghast at knowing you've caused this situation, that you are the cause.

So first I felt the tedium. Next it was the anger. Next, the hopelessness. Next, the frantic whiling away of minutes.

If you said certain things to certain nurses, you got additional pills that helped ease the boredom. You don't want the pills, you don't need them, you hate them - but you are SO BORED and SO heartsick, so utterly frantic with melancholy that you need to take SOME kind of action.

You got a great shock to learn you couldn't shave your legs without a nurse watching. You, who harbors intense shyness anyway, but who feels a frantic need to retain normalcy, try doing it. You shower wearing a bra and undies because you're so insecure, even in front of this smug stranger. The razors they supply are plastic pieces of shite that practically cut your leg to ribbons. (Weren't they trying to prevent that in the first place...?)

As you lie in bed, in the dark, you hear a woman screaming in the hallway, threatening to "cut off her tits". Then you hear her getting shackled to a gurney. You think "I am glad I'm not like that."

A male nurse (guard?) walks in to check you every 30 minutes. You feel him watching you. You never sleep. EVER.

Then, you alert the nurses station about a girl who's sitting comatose in the hallway without any clothes on. (You have tried to help her before but were reprimanded for touching another patient.) People are gawking and ridiculing her, and you feel bad. But fifteen minutes later you look and see the girl is STILL sitting there. You run back to the nurses station and shout in frustration about her needing help. The nurses report that you are "troublesome"; you get more pills.

You start to be aware of yourself, of steps you should take in order to go home. You do your makeup in the morning. You do your hair. You get accolades for "paying attention to your appearance", and you think there's hope. But then you get negative remarks about "pestering the nurses for shampoo and soap". You hide a hairbrush and lipstick in your bedsprings.

You don't want to talk to anyone, and take your food tray to a corner of the room at mealtimes. But you're deemed "anti-social". So you try being friendlier, but are then inundated with troublesome come-ons by the male patients.

No doctors EVER talk to you. Nobody knows anything about you. They don't exist to help you; they are there simply to deem you ready to enter and ready to exit.

Finally, after these weeks of hopelessness, of extreme depression - a doctor says you can go home.

And you vow NEVER to let that happen again. NEVER.

my conversational wit

Three conversations from yesterday, in which I attempted frivolity and wittiness --

Arriving at Tom's office after work:

• Me (on cellphone): "I'm at your building; I'll be waiting outside."
  
• Tom: "Ok I'll be down in a minute."
  
• Me: "So you want to go home together? Heehee!"
  
• Tom: "What?"
  
• Me: "Would you like to come home with me, spend the night together? Harhar."
  
• Tom (pause): "Are you high?"
  
• Me: "Ok then, see you in a few!"
  

Discovering office's monthly group-bday celebration:

• Me: "Wow, two kinds of cake!"
  
• Co-worker: "Yes, very yummy."
  
• Me: "So what's the etiquette here... how many pieces of cake are we allowed? Harhar."
  
• Co-worker: "Just one."
• Me: "Oh, of course; I was just joking... I might not even eat this whole piece..."
• Co-worker: "Hmmm."
  
• Me: "Ok then, see you in a few!"
  

Lurching onto a stranger's lap during morning bus-ride:

• Me: "Whoa, so sorry!"
  
• Stranger: "Are you ok?"
  
• Me: "Yes, thanks... Boy, this is going to be a great day. Haha!"
  
• Stranger: "Yep."
  
• Me: "Poor you - getting groped this early in the morning!! Heehee haha."
  
• Stranger: "--"
  
• Me: "Ok then! See you!"

 

It's really no use; I should just keep my mouth shut.

Happy St. Patty's Day!

me and my stylesheets

You may remember the explanation of my standing in the workplace - a front-end developer in the midst of high-tech programmers.

Well, a (very nice) co-worker just came over asking if I knew about "Spring MVC". He continued on about how favorable it would be to conform our current Java platform to it. I interjected with nods, confirmations, and 'hmmms'... all the while feeling my insides shrink in embarrassment, in contrast to the size of his brain.

Obviously my portrayal of equal intelligence was encouraging, so he eagerly loaned me a new book on the subject, asking that I return it by end of day.

First chapter: "You might hear the terms 'Inversion of Control' and 'Dependency Injection' used interchangeably, but in fact they are not the same thing. Inversion of Control is a much more general concept, and it can be expressed in many different ways. Dependency Injection is merely one concrete example of Inversion of Control."

 

Now I've got to wait for a time when he's away from his desk... If I return the book in his absence, I'll prevent having to offer my take on the reading, thus exposing myself as the fraud I am.

And now I shall go back to my humble stylesheets.

misc. politic-alities

I wonder if it makes me sound inarticulate or a big stupid to admit I feel some accordance with these sentiments regarding Hillary Clinton-

...Since we have so few women in elected office, is seems to me that it is vital to get a female president into office - no matter who it is. But then, how can we be expected to vote for someone that we don't agree with?.... Does that mean I shouldn't vote for her, even if she can make this backward little country of ours a little better by opening that door?...

 

Here's some notes regarding Women's Day, contributing to my blueness:

In almost all countries, women continue to be underrepresented in decision-making positions... Worst of all, violence against women and girls continues unabated in every continent, country and culture... Most societies prohibit such violence - yet the reality is that too often, it is covered up or tacitly condoned.

 

And some additional real and well-documented facts of disgusting nature:

...We always have enough money for things we don't need – like funding the war in Iraq, or boondoggle projects that will make developers a lot of money. But when it comes to things we do need – like dental care for kids – suddenly there's no money...

 

Oh - you'll love these screen-captures. They need no description. They speak for themselves.

 

Finally, I also cannot shake depression from Saturday's lunch, when four of my best girlfriends came over. My hors d'oeuvres were devoured and admired; the setting & weather was perfect; I was in complete bliss at being surrounded by these amazing women and their conversation; I felt a high from it the rest of the day... I am so lucky to know them, and to have them count me as a friend.

However, despite my attempts at regaining that high this week, I just feel unworthy of them. I feel like I should not get too comfortable - that I should not count on such luck forever. Because they really are so above me - in personality and temperament and dignity.

I guess I just can't believe that after my last year of troubles they have continued to be so unassuming, so present, so truly and sincerely my friends... with such easy and loving acceptance. I know I would do the same for them; but it is different - they are so much better than I. I just need to work very hard.

how i know Faulkner

I find it hard to believe I was once a graduate-student in the "Writing, Literature, and Publishing" program at Emerson College. And that I once wrote an entire paper on the use of italics in William Faulkner's novels.

I mean, what was the point? To prove my obsession with Faulkner? To show-off to a professor I had a literary-crush on? Because it certainly did not help me achieve any sort of career I'd love to have... one that I'd want to commit my life to. But in my loneliness I really believed that Faulkner, in his infinite wisdom, was trying to relay something special to me with his italicized prose.

I don't know why, but I'll always remember that paper. It was 24 pages long, typed and single-spaced. I scribbled most of it on bourbon-stained notebooks while daydreaming on a Boston Common bench. I typed most of it at the Starbucks on Beacon Street, sipping Chai tea. I edited stacks of papers at the Beacon Hill Pub, flirting all the while.

The Faulkner excerpts I chose were carefully indented, footnoted, and philosophized-to-death. I had no idea what I was talking about; except I felt (shamefully) that whatever I typed with italics would sound so grandiose my professor wouldn't dare make criticism.

And, disappointingly, he didn't. He gave me an A. He did not refute anything, nor give me any suggestions. He briefly asked me in a thesis meeting if I'd actually read all of Faulkner's books. He didn't appear to believe that I had. And I could tell he really didn't care.

More disappointingly, it might have had to do with the fact that he'd once made sexual advances toward me, and I had complied... because I was in awe of him as a published writer, because I was too shy to say no, because I was lonely, because I read too much, because I drank too much... because I had no self-respect. Same excuses as I always had, since I was young.

Prior to this and afterwards, I'd continuously put myself in such asinine, awkward, delusional, and demeaning positions. I couldn't seem to help myself. But now I'm with Tom, and things are better. I am so grateful. I am trying to be happy.

And I will always love re-reading my old, battered Faulkner paperbacks. I will always be drawn into them; they will always reward me.

a little sidewalk drama!!

While walking down the sidewalk with Tom, a man walking in the opposite direction stared blatantly at me as he passed. A 40s-50is aged man in a suit, staring directly at me as he walked by, for at least a block in advance. As usual I kept my eyes turned down to the ground, because when remarking upon such events Tom's usual reply is something along the lines of "nobody is looking at you; get over yourself". (And I of course think I must have imagined it, as I feel completely hideous.)

But this time, after the man passed, I heard Tom mutter under his breath: "What the hell! I'll punch his face in!!"

Though Tom did nothing of the sort, and we just kept on walking, it was still so unlike him to say that I was immediately plunged into a dreamland of movie-like scenarios where I was a raging beauty (Salma Hayek? Nicole Kidman? Penelope Cruz?) and Tom was seething with utter, frantic, violent desire over my body and my protection (Antonio Banderas? Clive Owen? Johnny Depp?).

And then we arrived at Pinecrest Diner, ordered tuna-melts, and got grease all over our shirts. I was at my happiest.

upcoming weekend events

Highlights regarding this upcoming weekend:

• Friday Date-Night (Whereupon I shall dress in a provocative and overly-dressy way, compensating for a week of boredom, building-up in my romanticized-head an event that will probably turn out to be just a casual dinner across the street. Will subsequently be treated to some quality eye-rolls from hubby's famous Eye-Roll-Repertoire...)
  
  
• Saturday Girls Lunch (Whereupon I shall create enormous quantities of complex finger-foods for five lovely ladies. Will subsequently be named Hostess of the Year, and be described 'round the globe as the most spectacularly witty, bright, and endearing friend one could ever have...)
  
  
• Saturday Night Smooth-Talkin' (Whereupon hubby will return from exile, having fled aforementioned house and its brazen hussies. I shall calm those ruffled-feathers with irresistible smooth-talk and sexual-wiles... he'll rebuff my advances of course, but he'll at least be soothed back into his usual stoicism...)
  
  
• Sunday Open-House Tours (Whereupon I shall exclaim "I LOVE it! We'll TAKE it!" upon entering each condo, causing more eye-rolls and reprimands from the big H. He will subsequently take me aside to explain the subtle interactions between prospective-buyer and realtor... which will be of no interest to me, of course...)
  
  

I won't go into the Sunday Night Letdown, where I shall fall into a pit of deep despair, and eat pizzas which are so large that most humans cannot look directly at them (bloating-by-proxy)...

more social anxiety

Arrggghhhh. I am feeling that rage & anger bubble up again today and I am not handling it very well. I have to try and sit still, and just do my work. Soon this day will pass. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Never go outside, never work, never be a part of the world? Never watch the news due to reports of rape and other atrocities toward women, because hearing about that could be triggering... makes me remember too much, think too much...?

This is a quandry. What's better: To position myself outside of a sociable society in order to prevent any frantic feelings one way or the other... Or to be within society, to interact, to get the good despite the bad....

 

Well, I am having my girlfriends over on Saturday, which I'm VERY excited about. I love them so much. Tom is apprehensive and uncomfortable, though I have assured him vehemently I will not drink (as it makes me go crazy). I know it is my fault that he is thinking of me this way, and I know I should be grateful as he is only worried about me, he loves me. But I still get mad at his apprehension about my doing things, it only adds to my anger - toward myself mostly, for having anger toward him, when I should be feeling lucky to have him.

Though I have my whole shopping list planned I'm still nervous; it's been almost over a year that I've done this. I want to be a fun conversationalist, intelligent, witty, loving, enjoyable, nonchalant, worry-free....

This is what normal people do, they have friends over. (However, normal people do NOT make a list of what to clean, and in what order, prior to a lunch-party. They do not order their shopping lists by aisle, cross-referenced by perishable-status. They do not daydream the workday away on celeb-gossip either.)

Hmmm.... Maybe I need another list.

workday slowness

Things to do while not having anything to do at work:

• re-apply lipstick too many times
  
• stare at the company homepage, causing hours of horrific boredom, so your screen doesn't show a non-work-related site
  
• annoy husband (your 'stoic' husband) with numerous e-mails containing "do you miss me?" messages
  
• stare out the window, estimating the distance between your building and the next, wondering if you would be able to jump it if your building was on fire
• wonder if Nicole Kidman ever learned to make goat cheese
• wonder if you will ever stop wishing you were like Nicole Kidman
  
• execute the Microsoft DST patch
  
• anxiously await the next update of pinkisthenewblog.com

There's only so many times can I ask co-workers "Is there anything you need help with?" (Not to mention it takes me so fucking long just to ask a simple question, because of my shyness-problem.) It's just excruciating.

It's a slow week; it happens. So just relax.

stockings feax-pas

Apparently I have made (yet another) outfit-feax-pas.

While leaving this morning Tom laughed at the light-colored stockings I had paired with my black mary-janes. He said I looked like Holly Hobby.... (I don't know what she looks like, nor what kind of shoes she wears, so clearly he knows more about it than I.)

And then I stopped at Walgreens later (I wish they had Frequent Flyer Miles!) and the cashier asked if I was Russian. I said no (are there many redheads in Russia?) and he pointed at my legs and said "because your outfit, it is how the Russians dress!"

I decided to feel flattered. But then a co-worker mentioned I look like a little girl "in that outfit".

So I am emulating a very young, and Russian, Holly Hobby today. I couldn't have planned it better if I tried.

February Book End

I stopped at our neighboring Geary Street Walgreens this morning (the "Walg":)) to purchase tupperware, Oil of Olay, and gym socks - oh such crucial items! (Is it tacky to buy clothing at Walgreen's? I just find their supply of colored stockings so convenient - and cost-effective!)

Anyway, they're always surprising me with what new products they decided to offer... Like sequined-wallets, underwire bras... This morning I noticed they had fishing rods for sale. Who decides these things? (Yet they haven't caught up to Rite Aid, where you can buy wine-in-a-box! Not that I've ever...)

 

In other news: I read like crazy; so we've got our monthly trip to Green Apple planned for this weekend. (I welcome any suggestions!)

It's about a twenty-minute ride on the #38 from our apartment. For those of you unfamiliar: It's a mildly grungy bookstore in an area of the Richmond that's kind of our second Chinatown. Floor-to-ceiling stacks of both used and new books, all dusty and lovely. They usually have some haphazard stacks of books under $5 out on the sidewalk - always worth searching through.

(Tom does come along, backpack in hand, to heroically carry my purchases. He browses the architecture section for about 30 seconds, then, grumbling and grouching in his good natured way, heads to a nearby coffee shop to wait. OH how I adore him!)

Well! On with it then. I just discovered Rachel Cusk; finished The Lucky Ones and The Country Life. I am DYING to get more of her; I can't believe I'd never heard of her.

I also just finished On Beauty by Zadie Smith - I was very lucky to come across that. I was browsing a table, and this beautiful woman with gray hair and a black pencil-skirt piped up next to me: "You should read this; my literature professor gave it to me and I LOVED it!" I just about fell over at my good fortune and had to stop myself from following her around the store.

I RE-read The Diaries of Jane Somers by Doris Lessing, something I do every year or so. I just cannot convey how much this book affects me. If you haven't read it, you must leave your desk IMMEDIATELY!

And, my last batch also included The Magician's Assistant by Ann Patchett, and The Road from Coorain by Jill Ker Conway. Both were #$*%ing amazing.

If I may say so.

a mid-day disruption

Oh shit, I was doing so well. I had a slow day so, feeling very brave, I went to the Starbucks across the street (there are no good neighborhood coffee-shops near my office!!) to sit in a comfy chair, away from my desk for a while.

I thought it would be comfy and a good break, and I felt so great that I left my desk in the first place! But as I ordered from a young man at the register, I felt so down... he asked me how my day was, I answered "fine, thank you!" and progressed to "how about you" because I wanted to be polite. And he answered "good, I just started work". And I was being all cheerful because I felt so confident, and then suddenly he was asking if I'd like to see a band with him tonight. So I pointed out my wedding ring, and said "no - but I'm flattered, thank you".

I then went to sit down. I picked up an Examiner so that I had something to appear preoccupied with, and was almost at ease again until I noticed an older man staring at me from another table. He finally came over and asked if he could sit next to me. (The place wasn't crowded this time of day either.) And I went into my 'shy-shock' syndrome where I am totally paralyzed... and I know I'm pitiful. I know this sounds dumb, but I just sat there like a moron, a zombie, as he said all sorts of indirect things, like "if you like chai tea, you should come see MY condominium, I have a great coffee-maker". Hmmm???

Finally, after nodding like an idiot, I just got into the mode where I can't even speak and I had to flee. And as I left I felt the look he was giving me: I am a strange and weird woman, a freak....

Now I'm back at my desk, and I just don't feel well, I am trying to ward-off that feeling. (I am supposed to be watching out for it so I don't go down a spiral again.)

All in all, it's just so indescribably asinine that this has made me feel so down. I need to keep that in perspective.

I just want this day to be over so I can go home, and START OVER tomorrow.

a dinner conversation

A typical conversation:

• Tom: "Do you want dinner?"
  
• Me: "Yes, should I make something or do you want to go out?"
  
• Tom: "I'm asking what YOU want to do."
  
• Me: "Let's go somewhere?"
  
• Tom: "Where would you like to go?"
  
• Me: "I could go for sushi..." then "or Thai, or Indian"... then "or Turkish"... (frantically calling to mind all the places on our street)
  
• Tom: "I'm asking what YOU WANT! Do you want Thai?"
  
• Me: "Well yes, but only if that's what you want, I am flexible... I mean do you want Thai or Indian?"
  
• Tom: "Thai!!"
  
• Me (two minutes later): "Are you sure you want Thai? I wouldn't mind if you want to go for Tapas?"
  
• Tom: "Goddammit, Thai it is!"
  

The IDEAL conversation:

• Tom: "Do you want to get some dinner?"
  
• Me: "Yes, I would like to go for Thai."
  
• Tom: "Ok, let's go."
  

Why WHY can I not be a normal person, and hold a normal conversation? I feel myself getting all buggy like that, but the insecurity just keeps intensifying as I keep thinking about it. And I know I just keep getting more and more annoying. I. Feel. Hopeless.

I bet that sort of thing never happens to Nicole Kidman.

 

Very bored at work today. Plans for a site I was supposed to be developing just fell through - after I spent a week working on it.

I wonder what Nicole Kidman is doing right now.