missdre

Now that I'm going to be a mom do I need to redesign my journal to be more rainbows and daisies? It's actually a bit hard to read all dark like this but I still kinda like it.

Eight days until my due date. I can hardly believe it yet I am SO SO SO ready. And not just physically. I just feel like now that were basically here I want to get on with it. I have everything I need but the baby! I go through its clothes and touch all its soft little blankets and read its little books. I want to meet it!! To see and touch and smell the little thing. Will it have hair? The Boy's lips (God, please!), my toes?? Is it a boy or a girl?!? Who knows? I just want to meet it and say hello.

Being pregnant has been an immensely interesting experience. People LOVE a pregnant woman! They really do. Strangers smile at you and say and do nice things for you. Little kids are fascinated by you, but not in a scary, freakshow kind of way. Friends and family are concerned about your welfare way more than normal and want to be affectionate and loving toward you - it's all very, very sweet. And though I feel like I've complained a lot about the physical changes and discomforts, I've been incredibly lucky and really had a pretty breezy time of it all. I would even venture to say that being pregnant becomes me - my temperament has mellowed and matured in an unexpected way and I've been able to be active all the way through - not that I have been, mind you, but I've been able to! All in all, it's been a very special time in my life and I feel extremely fortunate to have had the experience and hope to again before too long. I'm sure the second time around is much, much different since you have that "old pro" mentality, but I think you can also relax and enjoy the specialness of it all a bit more as well. And I fully intend to should I be so lucky.

So, I was thinking about how I need to make some playlists for the birth and listening to some of my music yesterday trying to decide what would be most 'meaningful' to me yet 'soothing' at the same time. I don't know why the quotes, but they're necessary. Anyway, I realized a couple of things:

1. I need some new damn music! I have some new-ish stuff but it's like my collection came to a standstill about 2-3 years ago and I'm seriously on the verge of becoming someone who doesn't know fuck all about any kind of good new music - even by older, established artists who are/were my faves. What happened to me?

2. 'Meaningful' and 'soothing' don't seem to meet too often in my collection. And I found this to be meaningful in its own way. Somewhere down there I wrote a post about not being so angst-y anymore and well, I'm really just not. It's not that the music that had such strong meaning to me in the past doesn't anymore, but it's more of a nostalgic meaning than that "I would literally die if I didn't have this music in my life because everything else is shit and this artist is the only person who can touch my soul right now" kind of feeling. It's very bittersweet - a lot like falling out of love with someone.

3. I have a lot of music I don't really care for at all and never did. What is this about? There's a part of me that feels like one simply must have Aerosmith's Greatest Hits in their collection. And I suppose I really did love this album - when I was in the 9th grade! - but am I ever really going to NEED to listen to "Back in the Saddle" so badly that I need to keep the whole damn album in my library? I'm thinking probably not. But I can't get rid of it! And don't really have to for any reason other than the songs will continuously pop up when I shuffle and I'll curse myself for not having deleted them.

4. I'm going to have a kid who might like music that I completely cannot stand. How much of a bummer would that be? Our metal days must have tortured my poor mother! The Boy already listens to some stuff that I am seriously not into and that's problem enough. Hopefully, I'll like the kid enough by then that it won't matter too much. Of course, I'll be in my damn 50s when it's a teenager so maybe my hearing will be starting to go and it won't even be an issue.

All for now - I'll almost certainly officially be a parent the next time I post! IN-SANE!

I'm still struggling with how to/if I should really keep up with this thing. Since no one really reads it, it seems fairly pointless. But then, that offers a lot of freedom as well. I don't know. If I could just muster up enough interest to make it interesting - like learning how to do the photos and all that bit. Mood themes, etc. That might make it more fun. Or maybe just more work.

I was reading one of my favorite blogs, Smitten Kitchen, a few minutes ago and just absolutely marveling at how much work she puts into it. I mean the cooking alone seems exhausting, but then the photos and writing up a witty story. She's amazing! And OMG the food porn! I've only made her Israeli couscous salad so far (it's a bit heavy on the desserts) but it was yummy and has now become a staple. Anyway, I was thinking today that maybe I should do one month of cooking every night. I used to cook ALL THE TIME. And I loved it. I'm just out of the habit lately and feeling decidedly uncreative. I think cooking might help and what better time of year to start back up. I'll report back on my progress once I decide to maybe get started on that.

So, where should I live? I've decided to move no later than March of next year and now just need to decide where. There are many places that are clearly out of the question (anywhere in the middle, foreign countries where I can't get work - dammit!, and pretty much all of the east coast) but other than that, I'm totally open to suggestions if anyone happens upon this sad little ol' blog and wants to offer any. Does The Boy have any say in this, you might be asking? Well, sure. But let's face it, I'm the Decider. He's been to NYC, California, Seattle and the DC Metro area which, frankly, is not too shabby a list for someone who has been in this country for less than three years but, still, I'm the one who wants to move therefore, by default, I get decide where. That's fair, right? It's looking very much like back to Cali at the moment. There are certainly worse places to be (ummm, Nation's capital, I'm talking to you) but you know, I always love new places, too. New to Miami friend has suggested that I should check that out. There are reasons why that would be appealing, but I don't have any love for the FL so that might be a tough one. Decisions decisions....

I was up late last night reading about Che Guevara. Tomorrow is the 40th anniversary of his death. I guess in some circles that must seem like ancient history, but it feels like not so long ago to me and I sometimes feel a sense of a dissonance because he is so iconic it feels like he must have been around since the beginning of time. Now, obviously, there are things about Che that are pretty ugly and difficult to reconcile with the persona that has been marketed to us over the last 40 years but, in principle, I would say I believe in what he was trying to do. I am a socialist with communist leanings. I am honest about that – though only in certain company. So it’s not a big stretch for me to say that I agree with Che’s philosophy. His methods, on the other hand, are much more difficult to get on board with. I guess I’m a pacifist. Or maybe I should say, in theory I’m a pacifist. I mean, I have anger issues sometimes so it can be difficult to feel like a pacifist in my daily life but in theory, I believe that violence only begets violence and obscures issues that need to see the light of day in order to be resolved. It’s very hard to discuss things rationally and come to consensus when there’s killing in the streets (or homes!).

At any rate, Che. I’m inclined to see him as a hero, though he’s far too flawed for that. But he certainly was extraordinary. I once ignorantly said to someone (about George Bush) that at least he believed in what he was doing. His response was, “So did Hitler.” Touché. But I want to say the same about Che. He believed in the righteousness of the people and he lived as austerely as many of the poorest. He walked away from a comfortable life to literally be a rebel. How can you not romanticize that?! And the idea of uniting the Latin people is one that sends me into all sorts of Utopian fantasies. But then, taking a step back, “the people” are often ignorant assholes so it’s hard for me to philosophize (is that what I’m doing??) about them as though “they” know what’s right for everyone else. I suppose for me the ideal scenario would be one in which no one should be able to decide for someone else what’s right, by decree or custom, but then everyone should try to do what’s right for everyone else. And here I am back in Utopia. That’s the problem with us socialists.

Maybe that’s what turned Che from a man so moved by the plight of the poor and forgotten that he would give his life to help them, whatever their country or color, into a man who murdered with a cold ferocity. You can either fantasize about a world where we all hold hands and sing "One" together or you can get out there and try to do something about the injustice that you see. And action against injustice is often not pretty.

I cannot imagine being what he became, but on a day when my whole being feels heavy with the boredom that seems to have become the overarching theme in my life, I gotta say, I envy the passion. I really do.

Was just reading a review of a new movie about Kurt Cobain - "Kurt Cobain: About a Son" - and thinking about that uber-famous photo of him where he’s got the black eyeliner on and all the beard stubble and just looks so angry/sad/lost/defiant/beautiful and how he just so defined us all at that moment in time. By us all, of course, I mean all of us who were there, feeling all that post-80s, early-mid-twenties angst, feeling both put-upon and superior, alienated and in-the-know. It was such a defining time in my life, to be sure. And though I must admit, Nirvana was never my favorite – I was much more moved by Pearl Jam and, later, Soundgarden – they were the face of it all, for better or, in Kurt’s case, for worse.

Anyway, it got me to thinking about how that was 15+ years ago (WTF?!?!) and how being a part of that moment has defined how I have seen myself in all the time since and how that may not be an accurate lens anymore. There are things about my personality and values that were ingrained before the early 90s that perhaps came to fruition in those heady days and will probably always be with me, but there are other things that it may be time to let go of. Who or what would Kurt Cobain be today had he been able to deal? I like to think he would not have been the same kind of snotty, destructive, alienated, uncomfortable rock star that he was back then. I like to think that maybe he would have grown and matured (and dumped Courtney!) in a sort of Eddie Vedder vein. (Sorry Chris, I’ll love you forever, but dumping your wife of nearly 20 years and marrying a fucking publicist does not count as growing and maturing in my book. I am glad you’re off the bottle though. Kinda.) So, if I’d like to think of that for Kurt, shouldn’t I like to think of that for myself? I have certainly grown and matured and I can see that in very tangible ways. But I also hold on to this idea of myself as a rather angst-y, post-modern rebel without a purpose when it may not even be who I am anymore. Which is not to say that all of a sudden, I don’t feel on the outside anymore – I often do now more than ever – it’s just that maybe I’m ready to let go of being so angst-y about it. Maybe it seems more purposeful now to be questioning without being so damn angry or laissez-faire or both. And, I don’t know, maybe life’s not so terrible after all. Just some thoughts.

Someone just asked me the other day if I was still doing this blog. I said no and left it at that, but then this morning I was feeling like I had something to say and maybe I should check back in with the good ol' LJ. Problem is I got all lost in re-designing it and re-reading my old entries and now I can't remember what I thought was so compelling I had to commit it to cyberspace. Oh well!

Couple of quick thoughts and maybe I'll be back again soon:

1) Is it just a strange coincidence that it's been almost exactly a year since my last entry?? Coincidence, maybe. Strange, not so much. I thought it was interesting. Also "interesting", earlier this week I decided for the 784th time that I'm totally over the metro. Some things never change. And no, I still don't like people all that much.

2) I totally feel like I can do this blogging thing - I read tons of them. Just not sure what the disconnect is between feeling like I can, kindof wanting to and actually doing it. (Maybe it's the "kindof" part.) Hmph. Whatev.

3) After the "Rock of Love" finale this weekend (which I will be watching with RunningFriend while playing this drinking game), I'm really, really, really going to try to curb my reality TV addiction. Really. And also, my celeb gossip addiction. Honest. I'm going to fill the void(s) with baking and yoga. That's the plan.

4) After reviewing my previous entries, I realized that I have been in a virtually constant state of wanting to quit my job for the past three years. I'm absolutely sure that says something about me and my "issues" but I have no idea what and am not super inclined to figure it out. Maybe Dr. Linda, my new psychologist, will want to pull that thread somewhere down the road.

5) Speaking of issues, I had a dream that some people were trying to kill me last night. At one point, I was hiding in a bathroom and saw a woman through the window who was trying to sneak up on me with an assault rifle. When she came to the door I tried to push against it to keep her out but she was big and strong and I couldn't hold her off. When she pointed the rifle at me, I said fairly calmly that I didn't want to die and then I bent the the end of the rifle back with my BARE HANDS (yes, I'm a BadAss!). There's more (like the dream I had night before last where I was hanging out with Brangelina) but I need to run out for lunch with D. Haven't seen him in a while so it should be...well, we'll see.

This morning during one of the excessively long stops that have become commonplace on the metro, the driver announced that we would be traveling on opposite tracks due to an "emergency medical situation" on another train. I immediately thought one of the overstuffed suits must've had a heart attack. Then decided that it could have been a woman in labor; or a diabetic stroke; or someone jumped in front of a train; or maybe just a stabbing. (People get stabbed here a lot.)

What a serious bummer it would be to have an emergency medical situation on the metro during the Monday morning rush. No one cares. You would be such an inconvenience to everyone, such a spectacle. People would eventually make it into the office and spend the entire day telling everyone there about your situation. How many people all over the city would be privy to the details of what could be some of the most terrifying - and potentially final - moments of your life? The people you love and care about would be nowhere near - just a bunch of strangers, irritated that they happened to be on the same train as you when this happened.

None of this makes me want to be nicer or more caring toward my fellow passengers, btw. Just...what a bummer.

Completely switching gears, made the most scrumptious cinnamon rolls this weekend. I ate four yesterday. F-O-U-R. FOUR! And one this morning. And I know I'm gonna have another one when I get home because it's all I can think about. This is, perhaps, one good reason to have children: When you make insanely delicious, incredibly bad for you treats there are other people there to eat them all.

In closing, Boss is on vacation for THREE WEEKS!!!!! YYYIIIIPPPPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Have been sick for the last few days and just arrived back at work with that, "What the fuck do I do here?" kind of feeling. :P

Let me clarify the sick thing: I had a particularly busy weekend and woke up on Monday extraordinarily tired and with enough of a headache to justify calling emailing in sick. So I laid around all day in a lazy I'm-kinda-not-feeling-well sortof way. Though, I'm quite sure had I actually gotten my ass up off the couch and had something to eat and a cup of coffee all would have been right in my world. Instead I chose TV and intermittent napping - I don't even think I got up for drink of water until about 5:30pm!

Now, I have long held on to the belief that you must call in sick two days in a row for it to be believable - who gets sick for only one day?? So I emailed in again yesterday even though I was feeling pretty okay, if not slightly groggy from all the laying around on Monday. I cleaned a bit, watched some Celebreality TV on VH1, and had sticky toffee pudding flavored ice cream for lunch. As luck would have it, around about 6pm I started to get an insane headache accompanied by cold sweats and nausea. Shortly thereafter, I revisited the sticky toffee pudding ice cream in a much less pleasant way: I really am sick now!! But Part II of my you-have-to-call-out-two-days-in-a-row rule is that you can't do three unless you're actually hospitalized because then everyone will think that you're in the Bahamas or something. So here I am, at the office in front of my damn computer, with fever and nausea, and wondering desperately if Isaac from "Love Boat" is going to meet his target weight loss goal in the next episode of "Celebrity Fit Club". Fucken hell.

Have more to say today but not an ounce of energy and an enormous pile of paper to sort through...so that's it for now.

Was taking some time out of my busy schedule to peruse ohnotheydidnt and saw some pics of TomKat kissing. Eeeuuwwww! I know. Sorry. But after I grossed out for a minute I thought, "What if they are really in love and everybody is just hating on them in the most vicious way? How sad." <----- WTF?!?!? I really thought this! And I wasn't even forcing myself to try to be nice!

Then I thought, "He's such. a. fucking. fag. And not in a good way."

Sickening.

Alright, I was walking back to the office from the gym this afternoon and caught myself ripping some poor girl’s outfit like the cattiest little fashionista bitch you can imagine and realized: I’m just not very nice. No, really, I’m not. And I feel kinda bad about that. I guess I can be nice in certain situations, but I don’t think the word “nice” would roll off the tongues of any of my close friends or family when speaking of me. During the walk, I then made a concerted effort to find something nice to say think about every girl I saw: "Cute shoes. Good haircut. She’s trying to pull it together. Great skin – bitch!" See! I couldn’t do it. Not even for half a block! I don’t know. I’m not terribly worried about this. I seriously doubt I’m going to change now. But it probably makes me rather unapproachable, which is something I’ve heard for most of my life. I suppose having a not so nice inner monologue, whether it’s not so nice about oneself or others, probably emanates from you in such a way that people feel like they should steer clear. Which: yeah, most of the time they probably should. So, just a little pointless mindfuck.



So, that up there was yesterday and today I totally don’t care. Which leads me to:

Metro Musings, Vol. 27.8

Girl: I’ve had my coffee, thank God, but I still do not need to see the straps of your g-string riding up over your skirt or a sneak peak of your buttcrack at this time of day. Seriously, pull your fucking skirt up!!

Nasty, unkempt man who got on at Pentagon and was forcing his poor, wrinkled shirt to hold back a 60 pound beer belly that was smashing my arm against the pole: Do not fucking touch me! And GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY AT MY STOP!! And also, get some new shoes.

Hot guys who always brighten my depressing commute: Why do you always turn out to be foreign tourists?? No need to answer that, boys, we all know Americans are crap.

Male Metro drivers: thankyouthankyouthankyou for knowing how to drive your trains without giving me whiplash at every stop. Do you think you could share your secret with the ladies??

People at Apple: I will never, for the rest of my life, be able to thank you enough for my iPod. I have never felt as great a love for an object as I do for that little thing. Well, no, actually I had have a blanket I was am rather attached to that I got when I was a baby. But, other than my blankie, iPod, you’re it baby!!

AAACK! ETA: I forgot to mention Man who got on at Rosslyn with the gorgeous grey fedora: As much as I was hating on everyone else, your presence made me feel so dignified. Didn't get a look at your cuffs, but I'd be willing to bet they had links. If only everyone could be more like you. And me.

Oh, also, on a rather whatever note: I moved to the US 32 years ago today. It also happens to be Nixon Resignation Day. My mom has always joked that she wouldn’t come back to the country until he was gone – an uncharacteristic bit of humor I’ve always enjoyed. I can’t look back and say, “I wish we had never come here,” because who knows what my life would’ve been. But I also can’t look back and say, “It’s been so great. I’m so glad we came.” It’s always been a point of pride for me that I wasn’t born here. Something that made me separate and different than most other people one comes into contact with here. But I still long, really desperately loooooong to leave. I try not to think about it too much lately because I have other things going on and I failed so utterly in my attempt a few years ago. It just hurts, really. I have to block it. It’s too painful if I really let myself think about it too much. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance again. Not being able to pull it off is probably the greatest disappointment of my life. Other things have happened in the interim that have relieved some of that pain – namely, finding the boy – but could I have been just as happy fulfilled had I been able to really become an expat and make a new life for myself somewhere else? I can’t say for sure, but I kinda think so. A different kind of fulfilled, but fulfilled nonetheless.

I rode to the Metro station in the vanpool thingie this morning. I’ve been taking it quite regularly lately and even know the driver by name – Dean! HA! He’s from Egypt but lived in West LA for several years in the 80s. Small world. Anyway, YUK! I don’t know how many people the van actually holds but today we were verging on one of those college frat pranks where you pile like 75 people into a VW. I was sitting way in the back row, second from the corner with my body kind of tilted so that my left shoulder was in front of the right shoulder of the girl next to me and vice versa with the guy on my right. SO FUCKING UNCOMFORTABLE. Also, did I mention it’s 6000 degrees here? Oh, I must’ve forgot because parts of my cerebral cortex actually melted this morning when I stepped outside.

Metro continues to be bullshit. What the hell was I so enamored with last year when I didn’t actually have to ride the shit every day? I’ve noticed, much to my chagrin, that the woman “drivers” or whatever they’re called are exponentially worse than the men. They all drive like my mom with the constant lurching and inability to make a smooth stop. So every time I’m on a train with a woman driver I’m reminded of one of my biggest maternal pet peeves. Ugh. I am really, seriously considering starting to ride my bike to work. Of course, this is not possible when the DC metro area is actually hotter than the surface of the sun, but maybe once it cools down to a chilly 2000 degrees I’ll take a crack at it.

HA-TING my boss today – and yesterday. I mean seriously, like muttering shit under my breath, well okay, in my head, when he walks by. I just cannot deal. I’ve had a headache for three days, my throat hurts, I’m bloated, broke, and bitchy – and did I mention it’s 6000 degrees! Get off my back, Chump! Unless you have something good to say, which: Yeah right. He’s the King of Positive Feedback AFTER he’s already sapped every last bit of motivation you have from your defeated little body and could care less what he thinks. Whatev. Gone all next week – it’s my only solace at the moment.

Just this very second got an email from my mom saying how one of my aunts is hurt because she’s not invited to the wedding. You know what? Don’t want to hear about it. Really don’t. Keep that shit to yourself – unless you want to pay the extra $3000 to buy out the fucking restaurant just to invite our entire trashy-ass family who are too scared of non-processed foods to eat anything at a real restaurant anyway! Gee-Zus!!

On the lighter side, I desperately need some new music. BestFriend, give me your top three must have albums right now (OMG – they’re not even called that anymore, are they?!??! Fuck, I’m old.) and I will rush out and buy (stay in and download??) them today.

W's sister had her baby on Friday night. It was...there's no one word I can think of that aptly describes feeling so many emotions at once: fear, nervousness, humility, joy, overwhelm, sympathy, pride, privilege, thankfulness, intense love, and so much more. Being there, helping bring a baby into life, watching a mother see and touch and hold her child for the first time - it was, in the most sincere and true sense of the word, precious. Far and away the most precious experience of my life. I cut the cord!! How crazy is that?!

I won't go into all the details, cause really I couldn't do them justice anyway, but I was there for literally every second. I was translating for God's sake! Again, CRAZY! I get that this is America and we speak English here blah, blah, blah, but how is it that I was the only person in the labor and delivery unit for almost 24 hours who was even remotely bilingual?! Anyway, we arrived at 3:30am and she didn't have the baby until 8:18pm, so it was quite a long day. She finally got medicine for the pain around 10am, but I think either the medicine wore off or the pain was just too strong toward the end because it was truly awful. She was shaking and moaning and crying. It was so hard to watch someone in so much pain and not be able to do anything to help her except to say that she was getting closer. There cannot possibly be a more effective form of birth control than watching a woman in the throes of labor. Seriously. It scared the crap out of me.

So then, at the moment of truth, I had to try to tell her how to get the baby out. Now, I can communicate with W pretty well, but we've grown accustomed to each other's way. We speak slowly. We pay very close attention. We gesticulate. We understand each other's incorrect usages. But when I have a nurse telling me, "She's got to get this baby out RIGHT NOW! You need to tell her not to arch her back, to hold her breath, and to push like her baby's life depends on it because it does!!" That is some intense shit and, frankly, I was in way over my head. I used body language. I used every possible Spanish word I could think of, but I was also torn. She was in extreme pain. Her body was basically paralyzed from the waist down. She was weak and scared to death and didn't know how to do this. In that moment, I wanted to comfort her not scare her more. But I had to, I had to tell her if she didn't push the right way the baby would not come out and he was in danger. She was in so much pain that she seemed to be on the verge of passing out. I was really scared that she wouldn't be able to do it. Then the nurse took her hand and pulled it down so she could feel the top of the baby's head. Never in my life have I felt, just felt - emotions I couldn't even pinpoint - just felt so much. She started crying. I started crying. Then she did it and out he came! Beautiful and perfect. And then a whole new flood of emotions. It's as close to maternal as I've come as yet. Just immediate, overwhelming love and concern and protectiveness. They asked me to cut the cord. My hands were shaking like mad but they assured me that it was okay and that I couldn't hurt him. So I did it! In the midst of all the emotion, I was totally cognizant that I was separating this boy from his mother. It was so intense. I know I've said that like five times already, but there really just aren't words.

I spent the rest of the night with them, "slept" in the room and helped her feed and change him. It was quite a bonding experience. This is my new family! It felt really, really nice. I'm hesitant to complain even the tiniest bit given that she's the one who gave birth, but it was very exhausting. The emotions alone wore me out, not to mention all the brain power needed to translate and the fact that I really didn't sleep for almost two full days. Being around a brand new baby definitely gives you an adrenaline rush, but it all finally caught up with me yesterday and I actually got sick. I feel better today but still need a couple days sleep, I think. I'm totally not myself yet.

Another fantastic outcome of this whole event was watching W in action. He was amazing. He was so loving and caring. He rubbed his sister's feet, wiped her brow, fed her. He was perfectly wonderful. If even possible, my love for the boy grew exponentially and I was reassured in a most tangible way that he is the man for me. It was really beautiful to watch. She had a strict no pictures policy but I so wanted to capture those loving moments between the two of them. Aahh well, they are mine to remember forever.

Baby pics to come....

W and I got into a little argument last night after he asked me why I stayed at work so late and then I complained that when I answered he wasn’t listening to me. He then half-jokingly told me to shut up. So I did. We didn’t speak for the rest of the night. And you know what, it was kinda cool. He watched TV and played with the dog while I made myself dinner and did some work on the computer. I think we both rather enjoyed it. It was like taking break from each other, doing our own things, while still being physically together. I went to bed and several minutes later he came in and we had a nice little chat, kissed each other goodnight, and went to sleep. Maybe I will be able to deal with this whole marriage thing after all.

Speaking of, W decided to blow off his priest. HA! I was concerned at first but now I just find it kind of amusing. He doesn’t seem to be in any sort of spiritual crisis about the whole thing so why should I worry about it? Most Catholics must live a great part of their lives in sin so I guess it’s no biggie. He’ll just confess at some later date and be forgiven, right?

Wedding planning. Ugh! What a pain in the ass. No need to elaborate, but I’ve just been dealing with a lot of it this week and am SO. OVER. IT.

I got my hair cut on Sunday at a new place – my fourth since I moved to DC. I went to this place on the recommendation of several comments I came across on Yahoo Yellow Pages, so...yeah. When the guy came around the corner and called out my name I immediately realized why he came so highly recommended: Seriously, blazingly HAWT! So hot I got all giggly and bashful and could barely explain to him what I wanted. Which turned out to be a rather unfortunate state to be in because the hair, though perfectly acceptable, did not end up looking as fabulous as I felt when I was sitting in his chair. *sigh* Regardless, I’ll be returning, if for no other reason than to ogle.

My boss returns from Africa tomorrow after being gone for 10 days. I realized this morning that I was pretty bummed about this which was…a bummer. I just am sooooo tired of not being into my work. Of having to be responsible to someone else who is fairly irresponsible for himself (in my case it’s always men, though I know that women can be just as bad). Of not being given any clear direction on how to complete the (usually totally lame) tasks that are expected of me. Of being misled about the real day-to-day aspects of the job. Of having to manage my boss because he is so ill-equipped to manage me or his organization properly. In short, I am absolutely sick to death of working for other people. I can’t really see myself starting my own business though or becoming a freelance whatever so I am still struggling on a daily basis with the “what’s my thing” question. Apparently my thing is to never be satisfied!

I don’t know. I firmly believe that finding some great, perfect fit job is a bit of a fallacy. It’s like people who say they’ve found their soulmate. I mean I guess if they believe it, it’s true for them, but I would venture to say they’re a little out of touch with reality. I believe that there may be any number of people one can live a pretty happy life with. And by pretty happy, I mean that no one is going to be “happy” all the time, in a relationship or in a job. So, I feel that I am mentally and emotionally prepared to not joyously bounce into the office every morning because I am so happy to be there, but FUCK! I just want to be doing something that makes me feel good about myself at the end of the day. I got a little closer with this new job – at least I’m working for an organization that does truly good things around the world. But when I sit here and clean databases or burn (work-related) DVDs or research scanners all day, I can’t help but go home and feel like I’m not even remotely close to reaching my potential as a professional woman or a human being. Feeling a true sense of accomplishment, having done something I am really proud of – that’s what is lacking in my “professional” life. I’m just a fucking little office worker drone with no sense of importance or meaning. It’s depressing.

Wow. This took a direction I wasn’t expecting! I’m actually in a fairly good mood today, all things considered.

So yeah, I'm feeling decidedly judged and damned today. And more than a little offended and downright outraged over the whole thing. I think my feelings are actually intensifying as time goes on rather than dissipating. I talked to another friend today at lunch (cause I can't call BestFriend from my damn cell phone - fucking America) who brought up the point that the priest seemed to have an agenda other than trying to offer spiritual guidance to us. As in, he felt that the relationship was inappropriate from the get go and was more interested in making that point than actually helping us prepare for our marriage. I tend to agree.

I was just sortof caught off guard by the whole thing. I knew there would be some discussion of the fact that W needed to make a decision about what he wanted to do in these months before the wedding and there would be some friction there. But the whole fucking lecture about the inappropriateness of it really threw me. And instantly put me in a defensive frame of mind, obviously. I mean, there were points where it was a feat of superhuman ability not to blow my stack and tell that little mofo exactly what I really thought about all this. He actually, at one point, said it would be an easier situation if we were just dating. ???!! Unless by dating he meant holding hands and sipping cream soda out of the same glass at the drugstore, I don't get how that would be easier. AND!! Easier for who? And why? What the fuck is he even talking about?

And then starting to go at me over the age difference. FUCK YOU! You almost know about male-female relationships!! Seriously, who is this celibate little shit, who no doubt went into the seminary as a teenager cause he can't be more than 35 now, who the hell is he to try to talk two people in a relationship that he cannot even understand?! I guess this is a raging debate in the church, the whole celibate priest thing, but I just felt like it was the height of hypocrisy - and judgment. Implication being that neither of us have thought one iota of it, never discussed it, never had reservations, etc. Basically, that we are children who need to be told what to do by the almighty church because we are incapable of making our own, adult decisions. Fucking bullshit.

So, yeah. I still clearly have some rage that I was not able to express yesterday. I decided today that when we meet with him again in two weeks (fuuu-uuck, how much do I not want to do that?), I will tell him that I was offended by his tone and the implication that we had not thought this through, etc. I'm sure it won't make a bit of difference - with 2000 years of the church behind him he's not likely to be contrite - but I just need to say it for my own sanity. Not really having grown up with any kind of authority figure in my life, I am very unaccustomed to having to explain or justify my actions or feelings in this context and it was an experience I do not ever wish to repeat. I think I need to be very clear with him about that.

As for what W had to say about it, well, he was pretty angry himself. He was very upset about the priest bringing up the school and my role there. He felt it had no place in the discussion. He said that there were several moments when he was ready to just get up and walk out. In a way, that would have been super cool, but I'm glad he didn't. At the end of the day, the boy is a damn Catholic. He believes in the teachings of the church and it's a very important part of his life. It's just....(sweeping generalization here) Catholics are so unable to untie themselves from it, to stop and ask, "Wait a minute. Do my actual beliefs really align with those of the church?" They can disagree and see the hypocrisy but just will not take it to the next level and ask the hard question about whether this is really the right place for them.

So, that said, W is thinking on it. He's seriously considering no sex for the next three months which just seems completely crazy and, frankly, impossible to me. Maybe impossible isn't the right word but I would bet my life that there is absolutely no way on God's green earth we will not have sex for three months. This is a 22 year old Latin male, people. He freaks out if we only do it once a day! TMI, sorry, but it's true.

Unrelated: Boss leaving tonight for Africa for two weeks! YYYIIIIPPPPPPPEEEEEEE!

So, the meeting with the priest last night was, Dios me perdona, unequivocally fucked. First, W and I had the compulsory blowout on the way to the church about how quickly he got up to go when I said I was ready. Umm, anxious much? At one particularly shameful moment, I told him I didn’t care about getting married in a “damn church” and it wasn’t my “stupid priest” we were going to be late to see. Aaaahh, mood swings. Guess the boy should get used to it now since menopause is just around the corner. Anyway, needless to say, by the time we reached the priest’s office we weren’t actually speaking to or even looking at each other – this is really just the ideal frame of mind you want to be in as you meet with a Man of the Cloth to arrange for marriage preparation. Sigh.

The Father started off by asking us to tell him our story. First of all, I am not one of those women who enjoys telling the “Story of Our Love” to anyone, never have been. It’s just not me. Second, given the situation, I felt very much like a defendant at an arraignment or something, as though every word I said was going to somehow come back to haunt me. Third, well, that’s exactly what happened. I explained to the priest that we met at the school and that there was an immediate “connection” (in non-religious terms that means we both wanted to get down, Father) but that I told W it was inappropriate the first time he asked for my number. I explained that we saw each other a few more times at the school and that W asked for my number again and I gave it to him. And then I lied. Whatever, he isn’t my stupid priest! I said that we didn’t start seeing each other outside of the school until W stopped attending the weekday classes which is when I was there. He asked what sort of things we did (duh, hello?!?). I sortof fibbed again and said we went out to eat and went dancing and to the movies, normal dating things. I left out the sex part, assuming it was assumed.

So the priest grasps on to the inappropriateness of our relationship – the fact that I had recognized this in the beginning and chose to ignore it later – and starts to fucking lecture me! Telling me how the students in our program, though they are adults, are vulnerable and easily taken advantage of, not so subtly implying that this was his view of what was going on between W and me. W became pretty angry and was very articulate about his views on this subject, chivalrously coming to my defense, telling the priest that he pursued me and that he is not a vulnerable child, unable to make clear decisions about who to spend his time with. That we are not just playing around and having a good time, but are very serious and ready to make a commitment to each other in the church, which is why we were there. All memories of the earlier argument faded at this point, as we silently united in defense of our relationship in front of the father. After about 15 minutes (!!) of discussion on this topic the father segued into deeper territory when he stated outright that I could not serve as a role model to the students and be the head of a program if I was leading a life of sin. I reminded him that though I have intimate knowledge of Catholic doctrine, I AM NOT Catholic and it was not my soul we were there to discuss.

By this time, W had almost completely checked out of the conversation and was intently playing with his shoes. The priest repeatedly chastised W for choosing to not follow the word of God by living with me prior to marriage. My distinction that he has not “officially” moved in to my apartment carried little weight as it seemed that we were using the phrase “living together before marriage” as a euphemism for “having sex before marriage”. Thank God we didn’t get into birth control issues! Anyway, the more the priest pushed, the more W checked out. So much of the conversation ended up being between the priest and me. I told him that I felt that it was completely W’s decision and that whatever he decided to do I would support but there was no way I was going to force him to be a “good Catholic” in this situation. He asked me if I thought it would be valuable to know that W was a man who could keep his promises, and if he couldn’t what did that tell me about his ability to keep his wedding vows. I said to him that there are no guarantees in life, that we could follow Catholic teachings to the letter of the law and still break our vows somewhere down the road. He agreed but suggested that seeing that W was able to keep his commitment to God might offer me some protection. Whatever.

W finally checked back in with a few confrontational questions for the priest that made me want to leap over the table and give him a high five just for making the effort. First, he reminded the priest that we were there to talk about marriage preparation and when the priest said that he could not, in good conscience, begin marriage preparation with a couple that was, before even commencing, choosing to live outside the word of God, W began to question him about people who have children before they’re married. He relentlessly questioned the priest about how these people could possibly be married in the church when they had clearly – and with physical evidence in the form of actual children – been living outside the word of God, yet somehow the church found a way to bring them into the fold. The priest offered up some half-assed explanation about uniting families with God and tried to convince W that it was a different situation that had no bearing on us.

Perhaps it was W demeanor throughout the meeting, or perhaps it was the fact that he dared question the doctrine, or perhaps he really felt this way but he told W more than once that he needed to stop being immature and be a man about this, especially if he was trying to convince the priest that he was ready to take as big a step as marriage. Needless to say, every time he said this W became visibly irritated and pulled back from the conversation. This allowed an opening for the priest to question me about our age difference and why I thought W was ready for marriage. I shot back, asking him how he knew he was ready for the priesthood at such a young age. He did not appreciate this.

Finally, I decided to take charge of the meeting and lay shit down for the man. I told him that we were going to have a civil ceremony in CA in Oct. I explained to him that there are practical reasons for us wanting to get married fairly soon, such as W’s immigration status, lack of health insurance coverage, etc. I told him that we were there because it is important to W to get married in the church and we wanted to get information on how we can prepare to do this. W interjected here and reminded the priest that the reason he wants this is because he has love and respect for God, if he didn’t we would just have the civil ceremony and be done with it. However, there is no reasoning with the Catholic church. It’s their way or the highway. The priest said that W had to offer a “guarantee” that he was not living in sin prior to the marriage before he would even consider beginning marriage preparation with us. Then, it would be possible to complete said prep in time for our October wedding date, at which time either he could marry us or he could contact a diocese in CA to marry us BEFORE the civil ceremony so we would not be living in sin for even one measly little wedding night.

My thoughts about it all, and mine and W’s discussion to come maybe later this afternoon.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my impending marriage – as well I should, I suppose. Just thinking so much I almost can’t even articulate any actual, individual thoughts. But the overarching theme is that I’m feeling ambivalent. Not so much that I’m unsure about my decision but more in the sense of being of two minds about it. I have a very, very clear view of what I will be giving up in order to be one half of a committed couple and, well, it kinda sucks. Two people this week characterized my feelings as mourning a loss and that is definitely what it feels like. As the day approaches, I grow more and more excited, to be sure. It is a very happy time and we are very much in love, my boy and I. But I am a 36 year old woman with a very clear picture of who I am as an individual and I have some pretty well defined ideas about what kind of life I want to live from here on out. For a good part of the last few years, that did not so much include a husband and children. It didn’t not include them, per se, but I’m feeling rebellious about redefining these ideas which, of course, I have to do at least a little bit now that there is someone else who has a say.

It’s all so strange. For a good part of my life I was soooo focused on being part of couple – was almost never NOT part of couple, in fact. It was a point of pride that I would stick with it and make compromises and sacrifices and remain utterly committed until the always bitter end. Then, after the collapse of my last relationship I realized I just didn’t need it. I could lead a completely fulfilling, interesting, liberating life without being part of a traditional couple. This was a revelation! And that BestFriend was experiencing similar feelings at the same time fueled us both, I believe, to really rediscover who we are as women and take pride in that instead of who we were as girlfriends to stupid, undeserving boyfriends. It was, and remains, one of the greatest, most transformative periods of my life.

Yet, of course, I still wanted love in my life. I think I wrote somewhere in here months ago that I was afraid I had lost the ability to love. I really believed that when I wrote it. I just felt so closed and set in my ways that I didn’t see how (or why!) someone would get in. But I really did want to stop theorizing about how I would be different “next time around” and see if I could put all my talk into action.

So, anyway, here I am. I have not, thankfully, lost my ability to love and am about to be married in 3 ½ months. Sometimes it seems like the easiest, clearest decision I’ve ever made. Other times I feel like I’ve let myself down somehow, given in. What happened to my fabulous single life? (That I was NOT leading, btw.) The whole point of getting married is to make a change in your life but there are many things that I don’t want to change, that make me immensely, unbelievably sad when I think about how they will inevitably change. Of course, I want to be one of those people who says, “Marriage won’t change me, blahbitty blahbitty blah.” But that is the kind of thing that unrealistic, stupid, unaware people say. I know full well what I’m getting into and the weight of it. As I said, the whole point of it is to change – that’s why you have a damn ceremony! To mark this new chapter in your life.

I guess I’m just scared of crossing over to the dark other side and becoming not a smug married but a boring, non-risk-taking, unadventurous married. It is a big part of who I am to chuck it all at certain points and start back up from scratch. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose the ability to appreciate the Garden - and all that it stands for - either. BestFriend, you wrote the other day that if we went out only one of us would be on the make. True, I suppose. (Are you on the make?) But God, I still need to be able to look and talk shit and appreciate the fun of it all. If I can’t do that it’s all over. I also don’t want to ever take a look at my life and feel like I can’t make a drastic change if necessary. If I’m shacked up somewhere with my husband and kids and decide that we would all be better off if we moved to Bora Bora and opened a taco stand on the beach, I better damn well be able to do that!

These are the things that are making me crazy right now. Of course, in every day life, it’s easy to say, “I can’t do xyandz because I have responsibilities.” But I need to be able to feel the way I felt before I went to London, which was that a drastic change needed to be made in the course of my life and I needed to take this shit by the balls and move it forward before I shriveled up and died. That is never an easy thing to do, but I can only imagine it’s that much harder when you have to sling a family over your back for the ride. I am afraid and sad about possibly losing that freedom that was so inspiring and energizing.

Granted, looking back on it makes it much more romantic than actually living it felt. It was a struggle from day one and, in the end, I couldn't pull it off. I certainly had those days when I felt every bit the adventuress, out on my own (sortof), making this new, exciting life for myself, full of possibility and hope. Of course, none of it really worked out as I had hoped or planned but I did gain a new understanding about who I really am at my core, what I am capable of, and what I want for my life. And right now, in this moment, I want to be married to my boy and still be able to do whatever I want whenever I want and not have to explain, discuss, or justify it to anyone.

So. That’s a little bit of what’s been on my mind lately.

Today was the first time I really experienced that public transport crush that is so familiar during London rush hours. Here are some of the many thoughts that made their way through my overcrowded brain:

1. Americans just don't know how to do this. On the Tube people will literally push your ass further into the train in order to get on. Here, first of all, many people will roll their eyes and step back when they see a crowded train pulling in - they just will not even attempt it. Those that do make it on are uncomfortably crowded but still remain a "polite distance" from one another. (Can you say "fear of intimacy"?) There's just enough room to make one even more uncomfortable than if you were packed in to the point of near suffocation when really all your thinking about is survival. At least that's the way I felt about it.

1a. I brought my rather cumbersome gym bag today and had the little Express paper (a pale, pale shadow of my beloved Metro...) in my hand which was down at my side trying to reign in my bag and somehow make it smaller. A rather tall, not too bad looking gent got on right after me and was standing in such a way that the back of my right hand was touching his "thigh" during most of the ride. Now, as etiquette requires, I tried my best not to look down but the thought occurred to me more than once that depending on which side he packed his goods on this morning I could very well have been touching It for a full ten minutes. There's something that's simultaneously really cool and really creepy about that.

1b. I wondered several times how gross my ass looked to the people in the seats since it was all pressed against the glass by the doors. Gee-zus! Get over yourself!

2. American men do not know how to use hair products. I realize that's a rather sweeping generalization but consider the evidence: a) Many men do not use them at all; b) Those that do often use waaaaay too much and walk around with the always attractive crusty head; b) The wet look was never, EVER a winner.

3. Why is it that British women can wear gorgeous heels and weird genie flats and all sorts of other crazy shoes during their commute and look fabulous and carfree and American girls (self included) can only manage sneakers (the workout kind, not the cute fashionista kind) or flip flops and always look so schlumpy? Mental note: must find cute flats. Do they even exist?

3a. There is no fashion faux pas that rankles me more than the office suit (often with skirt and hose [who the fuck wears hose anymore?!?!]) and sneakers. Give me VPL! Give me the straps of your thong hanging out all over! Give me your ill-fitting, your insane patterns! Give me glitter! Hell, give me Bedazzling if you have to but, Ladies, keep the fucking sneakers away from your power suit!!

4. It's positively glacial on the metro. It's like 80 degrees outside (at 8am) with 100% humidity (hate it here!) and I'm considering buying a parka for the ride home. WTF?! No wonder everyone in this city is sick.

Alright that's enough from me. See you in another few months.

Instead of doing my work this morning I am scouring the internet looking for a horoscope that suggests I should quit my job today. This is the best I can find:

You are good at seeing both sides of an issue, but the problem is that this can lead to indecisiveness and an inability to commit to anything. Choose a path today, and stick to it.

So should I choose to quit my job before I have another?? This seems to have worked out quite well for BestFriend but I'm not sure I need to do everything the way she does it. The thing is, I do not have a fear of change or any of those kinds of issues but the utter failure of my recent job search(es) has left me feeling less than confident about my prospects. I feel very much at my breaking point though. Every single moment I am at work feels like some kind of battle of wills. The will to eat and pay rent and buy shoes against the will to be a functioning and contributing and satisfied person. I do not know how people stay at jobs they hate for years and years. My one year anniversary at this job is on the 14th and I (or someone else!) may not make it out alive. No, I'm not gonna go postal but let's face it, I could barely be called alive while I'm here.

The (potentially) good news is that I have yet another interview next week so there may possibly be light at the end of the tunnel but fuuuuuuuck! I cannot see it right now.

...on two previously discussed topics.

1) Attractiveness: It was reported here several months ago (in a link that no longer exists - sorry!) that parents tend to favor their more attractive children. Well, now apparently it's been "found" that ugly people are more likely to commit crimes than attractive people. Read the blurb here (and be sure to scroll down for discussion on my next topic).

So okay, we've already established that attractiveness is subjective. Haven't we? Maybe not. I watched four hours of "America's Next Top Model" last night so my brain is a little clouded on the subject right now. But, okay, yes, there are attractive people and not so attractive people in the world and I suppose some who are just downright ugly. Though, honestly, I would only use that word to describe someone who was ugly on the inside. Anyway, these poor, less attractive people are being ignored and even ridiculed in some cases by their parents, teachers, peers, and potential employers. They're being emotionally damaged from the earliest stages of life. Of course they're turning to a life of crime! Wouldn't you?!

In all seriousness, the people in this study (teenagers no less!) were rated on their attractiveness by the interviewers. Is it possible that kids who have already established behavior/attitude problems came off as less attractive? As a former teacher, I can say with complete honesty that a not-so-attractive kid who behaved well was far cuter to me than a traditionally attractive kid who was a little terror. I don't exactly know where I'm going with this, I mean I love to look at beautiful things just as much as the next person (if not more!) and I have repeatedly complained (and will continue to do so) about the extreme lack of eye candy in this city. But can we please just get off the backs of the ugly people? They clearly have enough problems.

2) Number of Sexual Partners: Okay, if you read the link above you noticed the section about how men inflate and women underreport their numbers. I think I need to state right upfront that, unless you're a virgin (in which case get away from me), I believe that numbers are totally, totally unimportant. Totally. So what is this fixation? Why do people even ask this question? I have NEVER had anyone ask me this question and I would never ask someone else.

So this little study found three things about how men and women report their numbers: 1) Men estimate when they count. (Cause they're lazy.) 2) Women actually count. (Which explains why that drunken night with ____ might not make the list.) 3) Both lie. So what's the fucking point in asking the damn question in the first place? Needless to say, I'm fixated on this last point because I believe with all my heart that based on the study previously reported on by BestFriend, women are seriously underreporting their numbers. Maybe it's just wishful thinking or maybe I'm just running with a slutty crowd, but I still cannot accept the impossibly low numbers being passed off as fact.

So, yeah, there ya go.

Also: SexyStudent is killing me. Seriously just vaporizing my bones with his hotness. :P

Because I have no co-workers to bitch to, dear reader, it falls to you to be my outlet.

Boss just walked by and asked me if I was having a bad day. I said no. He said, "It just seems like you are." I said, "You have seen/talked to me for all of 5 seconds today!" He said, "This is what I'm talking about."

OMG!!!!!!!! Leave me the fuck alone!!!!!!! I wasn't having a bad day until he insisted that I was! Now I'm fucking pissed. What does it matter to him if I'm having a bad day anyway?! Is he gonna try to make it better? NO! He's just going to point it out and judge me for it.

P.S. I look fabulous today and am feeling almost normal for the first time in over a week and apparently some mystery person has sent me flowers. So NO, dammit! I am not having a bad day. I'm having a bad job!! Oooooohhhhh! The FURY!!!!

ETA: Flowers just arrived!! Beautiful, happy, yellow daisies from my sweeties in California wishing me and my cookie a speedy recvoery. See! I'm NOT having a bad day!!!

Monday night I was soaking in the tub and thumbing through the latest edition of National Geographic Traveler (sooooo going to New Zealand, btw) when I came across a story about how Americans in border states are being "forced" to get passports due to new security regualtions. In this story I read the following astonishing statistic: 75% of Americans DO NOT HAVE A PASSPORT!!!! PEOPLE! This is why the rest of the world hates us! This, I believe, is why George Bush was elected - twice. Well, technically once, but I won't even get started on that. Point is, what are you people doing with yourselves? Get out of the house! Everything does not revolve around Target, McDonalds and BestBuy. I don't know why this sent me into Rantsville but it just really bothers me. And really highlights that misfit feeling I have about my own damn country.

Somewhat relatedly I read this story in the Washington Post yesterday. A new study has found that 84% of Americans would describe themselves as "pretty happy" or "very happy". My knee-jerk reaction to this was "that's because they're stupid." While I do totally believe that, totally!, I find myself in the unlikely company of Divorce Attorney to the Stars, Raoul Felder, who, when responding to another of the study's findings that married couples are happier than singles by a margin of 2 to 1, stated it was "mass delusion." Here here, Raoul! Drinks are on you.

There are numerous other "interesting" findings in this study: Republicans are happier than Democrats, richer people are happier than poorer, men over 65 are happier than those 18-29. But here's the thing, I think Raoul really does have a point and that is that if you think you are very happy you're probably delusional or emotionally handicapped. And I'm not being facetious. I don't want to get all OneLove on everybody but seriously, could our country be as violent and crime-ridden and unequal and depraved as it is if 84% of us were pretty-very happy?? There's just no way we would be able to walk by homeless people without seeing them. Or to watch people humilate themselves on television every night for money and "fame". Or to let kids graduate from high school not knowing how to read. I could go on and on and on and on with all the things a happy people would not allow. But let's discuss people's homes for a moment, shall we? Financially, Americans are the most debt-ridden people in the world. The most recent numbers I could find showed $2 trillion in consumer debt. I don't even know how many zeros that is but I do know that a big chunk of that was charged in order to make people feel "happy". Bet it's not working. As far as relationships and family, well, my feelings about people being "happy" in these areas are pretty well known but suffice to say if what I see is the happy people are reporting I don't buy it for a fucking second.

So what's one to think? Either, as my kindred spirit Raoul stated, people are delusional which they are. We all know that. [And by we I mean you and me. *wink*] Or people are just unable to be honest with themselves about their actual real true emotional state which, again, they are. And again, we all know that. So, yeah. WTF? I guess I just had to rant for a moment.