Balance

You've had to handle a lot of the not-good-things in my life as of late. So has the boy, as I do everything in my power to make him ABSOLUTELY PERFECT.

I don't really want him that way. We have such different tastes in literature, art, humor, movies, music...everything that matters. (?)

Tonight, we had a chat before he had to get involved in his passion, but during that conversation, it reminded me of the things we have in common:

- General common courtesy

- Parenting plans (although I'm a bit tougher on rules than him)

- Need to be alone to regroup

- Ability to find humor in odd situations

- Endless need for attention

- Want for essential fairness, even for people we don't like

- Narcissism

I think that's enough, don't you?

Pity Party

Forgive the self-indulgence here; I’m just feeling a little badly for myself. There’s so many things I’d love to see and do, and either I don’t have anyone to go with me, or I can’t afford to go, or even worse, both. This weekend Henry Rollins, one of my favorite performers, is playing Birmingham. I asked Date if he wanted to go, and he did his usual sputtering and avoiding until I finally just said, “The answer’s no.” How hard is it to tell me no? If you don’t want to go, don’t hem and haw around, just say no. I can handle it, I promise. I’m a big girl. I don’t particularly like being told no (and I can’t imagine that you love it either) but it’s not that big a deal.

At lunch I read the AV Club and I noticed that Public Image Limited is touring this spring. I got pretty excited until I saw that there’s not a single show scheduled anywhere in the South. The closest I could figure with my not-great geographical skills is Kansas City. They are, however, playing in Seattle. I told the boy that he has to go because there are no dates scheduled near me, and he texted back “!!!”. WTF is that? Anyway, another show I’ll miss.

And now for my rationalizations for why missing these shows don’t bother me: The last few Rollins shows I’ve seen contained a whole lot of recycled material, which made the shows less funny and not nearly as enjoyable. Half the fun of a good joke or story is anticipating the ending, so once that’s gone, it’s just not as good. Plus, I really need to color my hair, and since I can’t wash it for 24 hours after applying color, Saturday night is the only good time to do it. As for PiL, well, the last time I saw them in concert, it wasn’t a really electrifying performance. Now mind you, the last time I saw them was in 1989, but they’ve probably not gotten any better, right?

An Idle Threat, I’m Sure

It’s now twenty-nine days until my birthday. You might already know that I consider my birthday my very own national holiday, and if you didn’t know that – well, now you do. Although I’m not giddy about the new number, I still have the same excitement about the day that I had as a little girl. I have it even despite the fact that this year’s Christine’s National Holiday falls on a Tuesday, and I generally hate Tuesdays.

There’s a special anxiety about this day for me though. See, for Christmas, I spoiled the boy with gifts. They were so much fun to buy, I loved getting special wrapping paper and ribbon solely because I knew he’d love it, and I particularly enjoyed watching him open his presents. One, that’s an extremely rare treat considering the distance. Two, he was just so overwhelmed with his gifts. He kept asking, “How did you know?” Fortunately, I always keep a pen and paper on the coffee table and next to my bed, so if something needs to be written quickly, I can jot it down.

What did I receive from him, you ask? Nothing. He didn’t get me anything for Christmas. This hurt – a lot – but I tried to rationalize it away by reminding myself that one never gives a gift in order to get a gift. That that sort of thinking undermines the point of exchanging gifts at all, because the act then becomes a requirement and not something from the heart. It stewed in me, but bit by bit, I pretended to get over it.

Valentine’s Day was approaching, and I made sure to remind him about it, as subtly as I could. (Sure, some of you think I’m as subtle as a sack of hammers, but I can be discrete when necessary.) I mentioned in passing about buying him a card. I could get away with it because that part was mixed in with the story of buying my sister her birthday card (her birthday is the 13th) and how once again, I was unable to resist the lure of a new Yankee Candle. I might have mentioned how honeysuckle is my favorite scent EVER as well. Perhaps.

So Valentine’s Day rolls around, and while the boy received not one but two! cards, I did not get any mail. I knew I wasn’t getting a present, because we don’t do that, but I did ask him to make up a story for me to tell me that night so I could sleep. Nope, before you ask. No story either.

And in my infinite wisdom, I picked Valentine’s night to lay all this out to the boy. I’d been trying to tell him for weeks that the Christmas stiff hurt, but how can you not feel like an absolute asshole when whining about not getting a Christmas present? Is there such a conversation that can be had without sounding like some kind of controlling female lunatic?

Apparently not, but I did it anyway. I told him that it hurt. I told him that it also hurt that he didn’t take the time to send me a card. That it makes me wonder about the relative emotional investments in our relationship. He tried to play it off. He tried to use the “bad boyfriend” card. I didn’t buy it. I simply told him that he’s selfish.

So yesterday he told me that I’d be getting my birthday present early. He also told me that he did get me Christmas presents but couldn’t get them into his luggage (r-i-g-h-t) and that they’ll be coming along in the box. And I hope. I try not to, but I do.

He mentioned the other day something he wanted for his birthday. (I don’t remember what; quite honestly, I wasn’t listening.) I told him that I wasn’t getting him a birthday present. And at that moment, I meant it. I kinda still do.

I don’t want this to become a tit-for-tat situation. But it still hurts. And I don’t know when I’ll get over it. Maybe if I got a real apology, which will never happen. So I’ve got to just LET IT GO. Not the easiest thing for me, but in the long run, is it really that important?

YES.

A Short List

I was talking with Lucy's mother last week about blogging and how tricky it is to be really real on here.  At the same time, the blogs I like most are the ones who are a bit more open about their lives.  So, we'll try a little experiment, and I will tell you some things about me.

1.  Sunday morning I was lying in bed, watching a biography of Freddie Mercury.  Tonight, when Bohemian Rhapsody came on, I sat in the car and danced and sang off-key, loudly.  Hi, Freddie.  I still miss you.
2.  I worry that my bad habits are killing Biggs.  Even worse, I feel like watching him is a preview of my own decline.
3.  I want to propose to the boy, if only so I can pay one filing fee and get two of my names changed at once.  I'm more in a hurry to get rid of my first name, but why not save the money?
4.  I don't understand people who don't plan.  I can barely tolerate not knowing at least a little of what to expect.  There's so little in life I can control, is it so bad that I love my schedules?
5.  I really dig that Two Is Better Than One song.  At first it felt like a cheesy "our song", but I've since realized that the boy's and my relationship is no longer in the infatuation stage.  Thank goodness.  That was a lot of stress.  (But secretly I sometimes miss the romance and grand gestures.  OK, comparably grand gestures.)
6.  I'm so worried about money that I haven't slept through the night in months.  The last time I did was New Year's Eve, when the boy stayed with me.  I take sleeping pills to help now, and I still wake up around 3am.
7.  I am loyal to a fault, and it takes a whole lot of work to make me give someone up completely.  And yes, if you're wondering - I still think about you, too.
8.  I'm getting closer.  Closer to health, self-assurance, understanding, freedom.  This is electrifying and terrifying,
9.  It makes me sad when people tell me they don't like to read.  And more than sad, it's completely unfathomable to me.  How can you not like to read?  I can understand not wanting to read the sorts of "classics" forced upon you in high school and college (hell, you'll never catch me reading Dickens), but nothing at all?  Why?
10.  I hope I am able to stay mysterious enough to keep my relationship going long term.

11.  Enough people have told me that I could have done it.  So I wonder if I really should have been a stand-up comedianne.  When I'm on, people, I'm really on.

I Love Lucy

This weekend, I got the chance to see little Lucy again. (Not so little, but we'll get to that.) One of the numerous reasons why I love spending time with her is because it reminds me that I'm not so important in the world. And honestly, who else could tell you that you don't really matter more than an infant?

Except she's not such an infant anymore. She's a verified, for real baby. She knows how to manipulate the taller two-leggers into giving her what she wants. To wit, when I was cuddling her, she decided to start crying. So of course I got up to distract her.

And I've not said it yet, but I should: What a stunningly gorgeous child. I mean, really. All fat baby arms, fat baby legs, and a desire to stand up. With her on my lap, feet on my legs, she's as tall as I am. Amazing.

She's got a good temperament as well. Giggly, interested, grabby - all the things that an almost-five-month old should be. I wonder if she'll barely crawl before she walks. Momma tells me that my brother was never interested in crawling. Maybe she'll be the same.

She's already mastering spoons! I mean, really.

Oh - and her parents so adore her. They let her be her, even though I don't think they know exactly what she wants.

I adore her as well. Her mom needed to tend to laundry, so I had Lucy on my lap, sitting like a grown-up, and one of her cats next to me. She was so calm, so sure, that she reminded me that calm is the best place to be.

I'm not so important. She is, because she's so little and big and gorgeous and angry at the world and exactly why I love her.

Photo to come. Stupid T-Mobile album access is down right now.

Here she is! Tell me how to avoid eating this creature:

It's Not Stalking, It's Google

I’ve had apparently an overabundance of free time as of late, and I’ve been thinking about significant exes of mine. This always seems to happen around Valentine’s Day (hope yours was lovely!), when I get the wild idea to write down my favorite memories of favorite exes. OK, to do honest, they’re not all favorite exes. But each man did something significant that I loved. I do love a gesture.

So, in the midst of trying to remember five separate incidents of gestures (couldn’t do it), I decided to Google the exes. Oh, c’mon, we all do it from time to time. To be honest, I generally am Googling myself, because the first time I did it, I found all sorts of information available to anyone that I didn’t want in the public domain. Goodbye, MySpace page, hello, freakishly high privacy settings on Facebook. My Twitter accounts don’t directly identify me either, and since this little ol’ blog doesn’t have my last name, you pretty much have to know the direct address to find it. (Or be my friend on Facebook, I know, hush! And most people on Facebook don’t bother reading this, which is just time with me. It leaves more bandwidth for you, dear reader.)*

Anyhoo…back to Googling exes…

I always check on the boy, just because you never know what’s out there. I still think it’s nifty that he’s on IMDB. Next I checked for this guy, who is trickier to narrowly Google because he’s got a slightly more common name. Not really common, but you’ll get more results if you Google him than me. Next I checked for this guy, who, while he was a crappy boyfriend, gave me the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had. That’s not something I can readily forget. Bonus! Looks like he’s living in New Jersey now, which means I can stop laughing every time bad weather happens to Baltimore. Next I checked for the ex-fiance, and he’s almost untraceable. I feel safe enough telling you his last name – Simpson. Yeah. Try Googling a Simpson. You’ll be searching through results for at least two weeks. Last, but not least, I Googled my first love. Because that’s a totally normal thing to do – wonder about a man I’ve not seen since I was nineteen. I did mention that it was an intense relationship, didn’t I? Of course it was; we were teenagers and everything’s dramatic at that age. He’s easier to find, mostly because he’s one of about, say, six people who still let Google publish their telephone number.

But no, I won’t be calling. Last time we talked, a few years ago, I offered to knit him a hair shirt. It’s not easy to come back from a comment like that.

(I don’t knit, but I totally would have learned. Sheesh! Listening to him gripe and moan made me feel for his wife.)

* This paragraph is not meant to constitute a challenge to you, if you don't already know who I am. K? Plz?

Happy Birthday and Tonight's Poem

Happy birthday to my fabulous, amazing, generous, strong sister.

Tonight's poem:

To Say Before Going To Sleep

I would like to sing someone to sleep,
have someone to sit by and be with.
I would like to cradle you and softly sing,
be your companion while you sleep or wake.
I would like to be the only person
in the house who knew: the night outside was cold.
And would like to listen to you
and outside to the world and woods.

The clocks are striking, calling to each other,
and one can see right to the edge of time.
Outside the house a strange man is afoot
and a strange dog barks, wakened from his sleep.
Beyond that there is silence.

My eyes rest upon your face wide-open;
and they hold you gently, letting you go
when something in the dark begins to move.

- Ranier Maria Rilke

Poetry Days

We're getting closer to Valentine's, and I have been reading a lot of poetry lately.  You'll find that the ones that I post are very much symbolic of my crazy up-and-down relationship.  Thanks for riding the roller coaster with me.  I know I can be exhausting about it.

The Philosopher

And what are that, wanting you,
     I should be kept awake?
As many nights as there are days
     With weeping for your sake?

And what are you that, missing you,
     As many days as crawl
I should be listening to the wind
     And looking at the wall?

I know a man that’s a braver man
     And twenty men as kind,
And what are you, that you should be
     The one man on my mind?

Yet women’s ways are witless ways,
     As any sage will tell, --
And what am I, that I should love
     So wisely and so well?

- Edna St. Vincent Millay

If I Had $1,000,000

The other day on Above The Law, I saw that a law firm out of San Francisco had folded.  Sad, yes, but the awesome that came from it?  The auctioning off of the extensive art collection the firm had.  I saw some pieces that I really loved and wished that I could bid for.  I'd post the entire catelogue, but the auction house has removed it since the auction was yesterday.

But phew!  I saved out images of the pieces I loved.  So now, without further ado, here are pieces of art that I find pretty and would love to own.  You know, or something similar, like demented chicken.  I can't wait to be able to afford art.

Aaron Fink - Tomato II

Gary Stephen - 1990 III

Ray Charles White - Cadence

(I can't believe this is art and not a photograph.)

Peter Waite - Corridor

Michael Gregory - Latah

Robert Maki - Obsidian

Jeffrey Simmons - Shift

Recession Fatigue

Folks, I really love that term. I am so tired of pinching every damn penny and being so careful. I can imagine that many others feel the same way. So I decided to do something about it. Also, I'm impetuous and difficult to deny when I want something.

So I bought myself a little present from Etsy. Not just from Etsy, but from a very cool designer. It's lovely, and since I can't have exactly what I want, it'll do.

Plus, a few weeks ago when I let my most awesome hairdresser (Hi, Jen!) cut off half of my hair, the shampoo girl said to me, "You wear a lot of hair ties on your arm." I do/did. I told her that she was right and that I needed a bracelet.

To summarize: I hate being poor. I occasionally need something pretty to remind me that this won't last forever. Jen does amazing hair.

And this is pretty.