Monday, September 17, 2007

It's just not relevant anymore.

For a long time now I've been wondering why I'm not compelled to write here anymore, why I no longer have a burning desire to share my thoughts with the world. Is it creative emptiness? Is it writers' block?

No. It's just that I don't have anything to say here anymore.

Not because I'm empty or pointless. In fact, I feel fuller than I ever have in my life. But that need for anonymous validation is gone.

What love does for someone is deeper than just finding someone to share life with, to talk about dreams, to intertwine hopes. It fulfills. My love for God is filling in one way; my love for the man I love fills in another. And one of those voids was the hearing ear -- but not even that -- rather, the realization that I'm no longer reaching for someone to understand in some mysterious and potentially romantic way.

My life has been a search for meaningful relationships. My relationship with God goes way back. My relationships with my friends are profound. My relationship with my family is deep. And now, the one outstanding type of love has been recognized -- and by someone who understands me, in every sense.

This medium used to be a shield for me, guising my emotion in sarcasm and turns of phrase; now it's too exposing. The emotions I feel are too precious, and while I have profound faith and knowledge that mentioning the depth of emotion is not tempting fate, I also recognize it as something special and sacred that I'm not going to share with the world. No, it belongs to us; it belongs to those who I choose to share with through conversation, not for someone to find.

If others feel fulfilled by the open method of expression, then that is their choice. As for me, I've decided that the task, the mechanism the blog served for me in the past has been completed. I'll continue to write, when I feel inclined, and maybe someday I'll write something for the world to see. But it won't be my story.

It will be the story I'm truly meant to tell.

Monday, June 11, 2007

So very long...

Greetings, readers. Whoever may be left of you. I would say I'm sorry for the break in witty one-sided repartee, but I'm...really not. For you see, writing is my catharsis, my expression, my way of reaching out when reaching out is required.

But I haven't needed to reach, or connect, or express any further than my phone calls, my emails, and to the newest, most exciting part of my life: my boyfriend. Yes, despite being posted in what was formerly more akin to Siberia (and now seems to resemble Florida), I have not only met a man, but a fantastic man; not only a companion, but -- dare I say -- the love of my life. Yes, I am in love, and it's beautiful...more than beautiful. And someday, when I'm feeling more ambitious, I'll try to encapsulate this most grand, pure, and divinely based of emotions. But that's a task I'll leave to a less trivial medium. That may be a pen-and-paper assignment.

So what will I discuss here, if not the many splendors of romance? The strangeness of Pennsylvania.

I've essentially lived here for four months, and there are certain things you grow somewhat acclimated to: the weather, the lack of Pacific Ocean, the abundance of hip-hop stations on the radio. But as I am (well, I believe I am) wrapping up my time in Valley Forge, I'd like to ruminate on what I'm puzzled by...and what I certainly won't miss.

BYOBs. They're freakin' everywhere. And I do not get it -- oh wow! I can bring my own wine! Well, yeah, it's cheaper that way...but in a state where you have to go to a specific store to get wine (and spirits...but not beer; I'll get to that in a second), it's rather inconvenient. I consider the wine list to be a special part of a restaurant's offerings; I don't consider the lack of choice to be a benefit. The perfect compromise is to go to places that don't charge a corkage fee. Bring all the wine you want...or get a glass from their (hopefully extensive) selection. Or a bottle. I just like choice, and occasionally cocktails, thankyouverymuch.

Liquor laws in general. So here, you can't buy alcohol from a grocery store (what I've found to be a fairly common law in many states, save California, land of heathens and wine bottles sold in Target. Oh, how I miss you, California). You have to go to a liquor store to get liquor, but you can only get wine and spirits there, no beer. There are two kinds of places to get beer -- bars/restaurants that sell it by the pack or bottle, and beer/soda stores where you can only purchase it by the case. But of course, only go Monday-Saturday because...

Nothing is open on Sunday. OK, so I technically should be OK with this. I'm a Christian. I've been back at church. I think Sunday should be a day to spend with those close to you, a slow day, a reflective day. But I'm from California, the aforementioned land of heathens, where you can buy liquor until 1 a.m. on any day of the week, where most shops and restaurants are open at least PART of the time...and sometimes my family time involves a trip to the store or a nice glass of wine or a dinner out. And trust me, we are SPOILED in California. Shops are open, liquor is always available, and...

MY GOD, PEOPLE DRIVE SO MUCH BETTER IN CALIFORNIA. People mock California drivers, probably because they're jealous. People SUCK at driving here. Seriously, they're terrible. They can't merge, they make last-minute turns, they slow down for no reason, they switch lanes with apparently no thought in their pea brains. And you may say "well, people drive poorly everywhere!" Well, yes. But they're worse here, trust me. If you don't believe me, you can ask my boyfriend. He was born, raised, and lives currently in Colorado, and he thinks everyone here drives like idiots (his opinion of California drivers may not be as lofty as mine, but we agree upon this crucial point). If you don't believe either of us, ask Kathy; she visited. If you don't believe any of us, you need way more proof than necessary. But when stoplights have signs that say "wait for green" so...you don't GO before the light turns GREEN...you're not dealing with the cream of the driving crop.

I'll write something positive when this is all said and done. Really, I will. But for now, despite presence of wonderful boyfriend...I'd really, really like to get home. Soon. So I can escape humidity and buy a bottle of wine from the grocery store on a Sunday.

Yes, I lied about getting used to the weather.

Sunday, April 1, 2007

Babies.

I love babies. I would love to own one someday. And the greatest thing is, I can make one all by myself! Well, OK, not all by myself. Not that it's an arduous creative process. I really doubt anyone has had as much fun sculpting as they do making babies. Proof: many sculptors ALSO make babies, but not everyone who makes babies sculpts. Is it called "Sculpting in the City?" "The Joy of Sculpting?" Nay! ("Sculpt" is a very funny word, the more you type it, and it starts to look a little obscene. Sorry, tangent.)

It's very easy too. People spend years writing books, months painting...it takes, well, varying degrees of time -- up to 30 hours if you're Sting or Diddy, apparently, but that's just because they're inefficient -- to make a baby. Oh, and I guess the nine ensuing months of discomfort and hormone surges, but I'm going to discount that. BABIES!

Anyways, I've decided my babies (yes, plural; I like symmetry, and I think it will make my home all feng shui) will receive roughly half their clothing and all of their reading material from wrybaby.com. I stopped in at the stationery store a few blocks down and snapped up this gem for my expectant friend.

I usually don't cry from laughter in the middle of a store while reading a picture book -- I had to get a napkin from the coffee store across the street to clean up my laughter-induced snot -- but GOD IT IS FUNNY. I thought to myself, please, please, think of a pregnant friend or one with a baby to justify the purchase of this book -- and fortunately, I recalled that Therese is indeed with child. Thank you, Therese. Otherwise I'd have to go to the bar down the street and get knocked up tonight so I could legitimately buy it.

Of course, the snag in my plan is that I'll eventually have to let this book go when I give it to her. But that's OK. Like a child, we must let go of those (things) we love so they can bring joy to others...or mature...dammit, my metaphor is way too clunky. But I'll be ready to let it go. She's got a few months before she has a bonafide kid, after all.

Please, friends of mine, have some babies so I can buy these things for you. It's gonna be a while until you can buy them for me.

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Really? Really?

So I hop onto MySpace and see this ad:



Thoughts that ran through my mind:

1) Why is he ripping off Blue Steel? Oh wait. That's definitely more of a "Le Tigre" look. But nowhere near Magnum.

2) Apparently in the time he's spending waiting for me, he's waxing his chest hair and...other areas.

3) Does he not know he is radiating douchebaginess from every pore? The carefully cultivated stubble, the meaningless cross, the "hey girl, whassup, can I buy you a drink?" look he's been using at the club every weekend since he could illegally sneak in at 19?

4) He could either be a low-level thug, or a guy trying to look like a low-level thug. I'm not sure which is worse; either way, he looks like he'd slip me a mickey. *

If this is really what's waiting. For Me., I'd like to find out where it is so I can avoid it, please.


*Note: His tattoos have nothing to do with my impression of him. I rather like tattoos, with these exceptions: Southern Pacific tribal designs when you're as WASPy as me, or if you're Mike Tyson; Chinese characters that have no specific meaning to you; any religious symbol you've co-opted for the look; tramp stamps (I saw a chick with a "Baby Girl" tattoo across her lower back today...nuff said); boob tattoos. Rant done.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Trashy or fantastic?

I figured out how to open a beer bottle using an eyelash curler.

Friday, March 16, 2007

I admit it.

I kinda want to go to this.

Let me explain the evolution of my love (a great song) for Justin Timberlake. It started very, very reluctantly. I wouldn't even buy the album; I asked Sean to (OK, made Sean) burn it for me. He was still the guy from n*Sync! He wasn't even cute!

But then... "Like I Love You," and "Rock Your Body," and "Senorita" slowly wore me down. And really, if you aren't converted by "Cry Me A River," you have no taste, and possibly no soul.

Now even at this point I wasn't a full-on JT fan, though I did feel hip enough to initialize him. I didn't go to the "Justified/Stripped" tour, which may be one of the most egregious mistakes of my post-teenaged youth.

Yet when I heard he was working on a new album, I was a little bit excited. Hmm.

But lo, and hark, and behold, there was the advent of "SexyBack," and anyone who is not compelled to dance when he or she hears that song should really run to the convent or monastery now, or somewhere else where you can be secluded from normal human beings. That song is GENIUS. It doesn't sound like anything else. It doesn't even sound like "Justified" Justin. When that song comes on, I will pretty much stop doing anything else I'm doing at that point, and if I can't break out into dance in the given situation, I will dance IN MY MIND and lament the fact I can't tear up the floor. I've danced in many places to this song -- clubs, bars (many in Europe, at my and Shereen's request/behest), when I'm in line at the store, in my car (well, however you can dance while in the car), when winning a contest at Lucky Cheng's drag restaurant/bar in NYC (eh, if you really want to know what kind of contest it was, ask)...you get the picture.

Oh, FutureSex/LoveSounds, I pre-ordered you on iTunes, and I have no regrets. "My Love"...well, I think Shereen could wax more eloquently about that song. It's good stuff. And "What Goes Around" is a brilliant "Cry Me A River" sequel. I don't care who he says it's about. You don't fool me, JT! You are still haunted by the ghost of Brit-Brit! When she was hot! But yeah, genius. LoveStoned is really fantastic, and I'm surprised more people don't rave about that song. I love it. And he hasn't released it as a single, and probably never will, but the title cut off of that album is damn. sexy. Perhaps he hasn't released it because there would be roughly one million more babies nine months later. JT doesn't want to be responsible for overpopulation, aite?

And as a sidenote, anyone who could actually pull off the sheer ridiculousness of "D*ck in a Box" is stratospherically awesome.

So yeah, I would like to see Justin Timberlake in concert. Anyone want to come with me?

Wednesday, March 7, 2007

Loneliness broken.

Today it snowed, and it was gorgeous. It was that pretty, light powdery snow that falls really gently and drapes itself in a lace-like blanket over the evergreens. I watched it through the huge windows, thinking for the very first time that the snow here, when it's like this, is magical.

I've finally pushed past the sadness that's been pushing on me. I attribute my shift in attitude to two people, directly: Matt and Bob. They're both coworkers, and I'm close to both in different ways. Matt is like my more scatterbrained (yet possibly more ambitious) twin; Bob is like my work dad. Matt arrived to Valley Forge yesterday; Bob arrived today. I couldn't have been happier to see them. I'm even tearing up about it. Damned little bottle of pinot grigio...

But see, I'm drinking that little bottle because I'm happy. I'm not one to drown my sorrows, but toast my joy. To finally being OK with being here. To realizing that I need friends and people who care about me, and I need them near me and around me. To getting a whole hell of a lot of work done today, because those friends inspire me to get my butt in gear. To getting everyone together for a delicious dinner at a great restaurant, and handing off my laundry to my extremely gracious ex-boss who's going to take it to the fluff n' fold for me.

There are always things to be happy about, and through the loneliness it's been hard to see those things. But friendship and companionship open your eyes and make you realize that sometimes, snow is beautiful, work can be good, and living in a hotel isn't all that bad of a deal. After all, it is across the street from a great mall. :)

That being said, I can't wait to get home tomorrow. I look forward to temperatures that break 50 degrees, possibly seeing the Pacific Ocean, doing makeovers, seeing my wife, having a prime rib dinner, and riding CalTrain, which would seem a weird thing to anticipate, but when you miss California, you love each and every little train stop, because it reminds you that you're home.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

A new home.

MySpace is tired. Most of us have reached maximum friend capacity, we've met all the random people we'd like to meet, and you realize that not too much changes in our lives from day to day. We've all become marvelously connected and realized that much of life is marvelously boring. There's a reason we aren't all famous -- to live for an audience is to have no time to live for yourself. Ergo, I'm moving my blog over here, and eventually my "space" will disappear.

You realize that being connected, however superficially, to people you have disconnected from can reap sad consequences. Living an exposed life leads others to discover things about you that maybe you'd like not to reveal...yet there are others with whom you'd like to share the information.

To cut to the chase, two months ago I disconnected myself from a man who I cared about in a way I'd hesitate to call love, but perhaps was the closest I could come with the emotion I could spare. After all, I had only so much to work with, for he didn't feel the same about me. I knew he didn't, and after too many nights of smiling through slow heartbreak, I finally told him I couldn't be around him anymore, couldn't keep up whatever weird semblance of a relationship that we had.

He told me he couldn't emotionally connect. And even though I'm old and wise enough to have heard the silent "with me," it doesn't make it less painful when it's vocalized...well, vocalized in the insidious MySpace way where the status changes from "Single" to "In a Relationship" roughly two months after the "split."

I shouldn't have known that. I really shouldn't have even checked the profile. But we are curious beings who don't like to let things go.

Long story short, I got it confirmed: it wasn't anything I did, it was just that nothing was "there" for him. It hurts when you don't stir the same emotions in someone that they stir in you. I've been on both sides before. I get where he's at. But it doesn't stop it from hurting like hell. Sure, "closure" gives a sense of finality, but when you acknowledge that yes, This Chapter Is Over, it's depressing.

So with "Cut Off Contact, Round 2" I did what I should have done the first time. I deleted his emails, any past chats, removed him from the Google Chat "Friends" list. My phone is broken so the number is gone anyways. And yes, I took him off of my MySpace friends. This is not out of malice, even anger. This is because I can't keep connected with someone I'm not connected with. At this point, my desire to be emotionally healthy outweighs my curiosity.

Yes, this point -- a point I should have reached a while ago, and as much as I beat myself up for not getting here sooner, it doesn't matter: I'm here. This is the point where I am extremely grateful that God made me a strong person, strong enough to end something that was going nowhere, strong enough to see that now I, who actually had made myself emotionally unavailable, can now free myself to love those who can feel it and internalize it and want to return it.

The phrase "learning experience" is tossed around to try to bring value to the pain we feel, and though it may sometimes seem trite, it's almost always true. And rather than trying to pick apart everything I could have done differently, I can realize the only thing I did wrong was to constantly wonder what I was doing wrong. Yes, I've learned to not settle for semblances, but to embrace what's real. It truly is better to be alone, maybe even lonely, than crying at night hoping for something to change.

And another thing I've learned: not to hide what I feel. So this is why I'm writing, to you, my friends. Though it may be a clunky, even somewhat impersonal mechanism, this is where I am and the way I can truly best express my place.

I am sad, not devastated. I'd already moved on mostly; this is me moving on completely. But most of all, though I've been hurt, I'm already healing. I'll get through the bitterness and move on to a place of optimism and confidence.

I'm self-aware and reflective, to a fault. I pick apart every situation down to the insanest detail, trying to make it make sense to my emotional and logical sides all at once. But sometimes it's simple: it just wasn't meant to be. I couldn't have done anything to change that. And to my nature, being helpless and powerless is sometimes the most hurtful thing of all.

What I'm doing this time, however, is finding the freedom in that. For next time, I'll know what I want, and it certainly won't be emotional uncertainty, or shades of gray. He'll know, and I'll know, and even if it's not forever, it'll be right, and no matter what I "try" to do, he'll just love me. And whether it's for a season or a lifetime, someday I'll learn to love in the healthy way, the right way. The way in which someone loves me too. The way I deserve.