7b- G.O.P.G.s v N.G.O.P.G.s

There are 2 kinds of men in this world.  There are the Good On Paper Guys and the Not Good On Paper Guys.  The good on paper kind are nice, they have stable jobs, delightful manners and generally drive a 4 door sedan at the speed limit.  They have retirement plans, degrees, their own apartments and social intelligence.  They send flowers and remember anniversaries. They give foot rubs and listen to your problems.  They hold you softly and stroke your hair. They are the kind of man that your Mom would love.  They reek of stability and future. 

The not good on paper kind of man is always hot.  He might not be classically attractive but when he walks into the room, you notice.  They say all the right things (granted they usually never follow through) and they carry an atmosphere of all their own.  When they are around you just want to get caught up in their bubble.  They make you feel like you are the center of the universe with an intense eye gaze. They make you feel soft, safe, and feminine.  There is never any question of you coming home to a candlelight dinner because as the woman, you’re fixing his plate.  They fix stuff.  They are always either trying to get you in bed or keep you in bed. They are generally under-employed, at best.  If they have a license they always drive too fast in cars that might or might not be legally registered. They never send flowers or remember anything (except all of your spots).  And they generally don’t have a lease with their name on it.  But man, you can’t wait to show them off to your friends.

While it is common sense to get with the G.O.P.G. they just aren’t as much fun.  Maybe it’s part of the whole opposites attract thing, you crave what will balance you.  I am responsible by default. I have raised 2 kids virtually alone.  While my family is an amazing support system, I fully recognize that I created my kids so I am responsible.  I would never shirk that, that’s just not who I want to be.  Therefore someone who is equally responsible holds no allure. Granted we might have a fat bank account and a sweet retirement but… but… but… I want more than a future.  I want a sizzling hot present.

I’m at a crossroads in my life.  In a small space of time my stinkers will be legal adults.  I’ve worked my butt off to parent well so I am fairly confident that they will make good choices about their future.  Even if they don’t we have crafted them a deep enough toolbox to correct any interesting decisions that they may make. I won’t be overly anxious that I wasn’t a vigilant enough parent, I trust my parenting and their good sense.

What I will do is start dating again. This is the crossroad.  For the first time in a long time I can and will make a decision about whom I want to spend time with independent of worrying about the impact it will have on my kids.  Independent of worrying if they will like him or if he will like them (who am I kidding, everyone loves them) or if he will be good enough for them. Now my choice is about me. And I have to be honest, I love the N.G.O.P.G.s.  I love the swag and the interesting conversations.  I like the blatant masculinity that slightly boarders on obnoxious.

I am trying to tell myself that I need to try something different and that I should go with nice guys for a while.  But then I swear I hear my fallopian tubes recede deeper into my cervix.  It’s like they just curl up into the fetal position.  Which is SO unfair, I know.  But it’s SO true. I guess like most girls (the not-a-wreck kind anyway) I keep hoping that I can find a N.G.O.P.G. and once he finds true love he’ll magically remember to pick up roses on our anniversary.  I know, I know, too many Disney movies. But a girl can dream…

I’m shallow enough to know that attraction is really important to me. I’m wise enough to know that you can’t and shouldn’t try to change a person. I’m smart enough to know that “nice” doesn’t do it for me. I’m perceptive enough to be worried. But not worried in the anxious way, in the “this is going to be fun until its really not” way. My fallopian tubes need to grow up.  

I have in front of me 2 different choices.  One makes a lot of sense. The other promises a wild ride. Any girl reading this already knows which choice I’m inclined to make.  If you’re a guy reading this and you’re slightly confused, ask your closest girl friend/sister/aunt, she’ll know.  The part of me that loves to dance on tables refuses to be denied.  But the part of me that wishes she were wiser will not shut up, that girl craves stability and flowers. My head is a noisy place.

I am crossing my fingers that between now and the inevitable that the G.B.B. (Good Bad Boy) will show up and sieve a path of his own. This is the hopeful part of me that refuses to die.  Somewhere between my good girl and bad girl is one that is hoping for a compromise. Hot, employed, swag, flower buying, protective, intelligent, fast driving and well mannered.

I know, I know it’s a total fantasy.  But if I’m crafting fantasy I might as well wish for what I really want right?

-Dewb

6b- The Blog Dilemma

**Spoiler Alert*** In this Blog I Blog about the strangeness of having people not only read your blog but also feel like they know you as a result. You might need context as to why I blog and how it all started, in which case you should probably refer to my blog on blogging in Blogging 1.0. I get that it feels pretty oxymoronic, a writer complaining about being read. But I never promised to make sense.  It might also feel like false modesty that really hides shallow pride, it’s not.  This deeply bothers me and it makes me feel sad for a world that has yet to find it’s own unique voice. So this isn’t for you.  It’s for them.

I blog for me.  I’m a writer, I always have been.  I love words and the way that they caress your ideas and give them eloquence. I write because writing feels good.

Here is the weird thing- these days people read my blog.  I know this because on this site I can track how many “hits” my blog gets daily, weekly, and in total.  I looked the other day by accident (I was trying to figure out how to edit a post) and found that in the few weeks that I’ve started Blogging again I have had over 100 hits- in this country and out of it.  That left me feeling weirded out.  What I have to say is not that interesting, just amusing.

I have given the aforementioned Blog-site to exactly 3 people.  Initially I only gave it to one person as an alternative to real conversation.  Like a hat tip to rules that are both necessary and hard to adhere to. I have no idea if the intended target audience has seen my words.  But even if not, at the appropriate future date I know I can be like, “Read my blog.  Catch up on what you missed.”  It will save me the time of having to rehash all of the conversation.  I’m not extensive in my Blogging, just purposeful enough to leave a trail of crumbs for later.

I used to go to poetry cafes and get on the mic. And as in this situation, out of nowhere, in the days and weeks that followed invariably some random person would approach me and tell me that that had heard my stuff at the café and compliment me- make conversation.  That felt a little less weird than seeing that people read this Blog.  But it still felt weird. The idea of people remembering me or my words to the extent that they feel like they know me feels a little dirty.

This is actually why I stopped blogging last time.  My ex-husband, the most recent not the original, had asked me if I was writing about him.  That was one of the strangest conversations I have ever had.  He hates to read.  The idea that he would go looking for my words to give context to my thoughts blew me away.  I mean we were married, probably then would have been the time to figure me out.  I didn’t understand why he would wait until we were divorced to listen to what I had to say- and to assume that it was my way of communicating about him.  I am no slacker in the area of conversation. If he wanted dialogue we could have just talked when we were legally wed. His reading my blog and applying to himself felt passive- aggressive to me, no wonder we are divorced.  He made me not want to write anymore. Fortunately I give no one the power to own my words.

I kept trying to figure out how people would even think to find my blog….  Google Circles and Drive. Blast the Internet. I guess it would be easy to say if you don’t want anyone to read your blog- don’t blog it.  But I do.  It just happens to be a very select number of people. And again I get immense satisfaction from giving birth to baby ideas in the form of words. I suppose I just need to balance that with the idea that in a world characterized by it’s lack of creativity, people will sample a beat instead of create one. I just wish if I am going to be quoted- at least use quotation marks. And I guess maybe it’s human nature for people to assume that if they know you and they like what you are doing then they own a piece of you and trademark it as their own.  But they don’t and they can’t- or at least they shouldn’t try.

I do wonder if one day, once my stifled conversations can be had, I will publish the whole book and charge people to read my words.  Maybe it will feel better then. Not so much like eavesdropping on a private conversation but more like attending a soliloquy and retelling it to your friends later.  At least then when I write I will know that the target audience paid to reorder my thoughts into their words and tell the story later. Then maybe it won’t feel so passive- aggressively dirty.

I’m not sure what my solution is to this strange but true dilemma.  I do know I’ll continue to record the stories of my life for now. At least until those stifled conversations are had.

After that, all bets are off.

-Dewb

5b- Disconnection

I lost my phone the other day.  Actually I broke it.  Pretty Horribly. I was in the middle of a conference about how to differentiate math work up to the advanced levels and down to kids that need added support.  It was in my pocket and I must have leaned the wrong way.  I went to pull it out of my pocket and when I did it was cracked from one end to the other.

Fortunately my tech guy was on hand (who doesn’t love having a tech guy?!) and he took it with him, leaving me phoneless. I wasn’t sure how I would feel about that.  I thought maybe I would love it.  Maybe I would hate it. I decided I needed about 24 hours to figure it out. 

24 hours later and the verdict is in.  I love it! Now, I use my phone a significant amount.  I jokingly refer to boy Surri as my wife/secretary.  He (I have an Australian accented male voice) wakes me up.  He gives instructions.  He reminds me of what I need to do.  He tells me when to eat. I ask boy Surri questions and he always has a great answer. He’s never snide, never sarcastic.  He is always about the business, something I appreciate. 

But…

My phone is always ringing/binging/alarming/nagging me.  And when it’s not getting my attention I’m checking it for some random information. Now the air around me is silent. But it’s not.  Life has a cadence of it’s own that I had forgotten about in the noise of boy Suri.   It’s a softer twang but soothing none-the-less.

I think often about all of the information that I’m missing with boy Suri gone.  And I smile because life still goes on, even without me digitally plugged into it.  But it’s even more than that.  

I have spent so much time tied to a 2 inch by 4 inch product that I have forgotten to look up.  Life is interesting up. I also find that I leave work at work.  I’m not checking my emails or answering texts or calling parents, lawyers, or service providers.  I feel lighter.  I like this no phone thing.

I have a slight concern that the Mayors office will call and I won’t be able to respond in a timely fashion (my life plays like a movie- don’t ask). I have a slight concern that the people that text me daily or weekly will wonder if anything is wrong.  But honestly they know where I live. They have a loose understanding of my schedule.  If something is important someone will find me.  I understand, in the space of a day, why people pre-cell phone thought life was less stressful.  It is. You are limited to what is directly in front of you as opposed to having the cosmos at your fingertips.  As a result you interact with life much more intimately.

I have a slight concern that maybe there will be an emergency- well not really.  Emergencies will happen whether I have a cellphone or not.  And if I get into an emergent situation I’m sure I can figure it out.  People did for centuries. And if I’m being really honest, it’s not like I don’t have the Bat phone…

Have I mentioned that I really like this no phone thing? So I told my tech guy to take his time on the replacement.  I am more than willing to wait this one out. Life is calling and I’m interested in listening.

Happy looking up.

-Dewb

4b- Sleep

I hate going to bed. I don't know why. Seems boring I guess. There are so many things to do, to explore, sleep seems so mundane. Invariably I stay up way too late. Putzing around and collecting useless (but interesting) information. Always deducting minutes from the amount of sleep I'll get and weighing it against the research. If it wasn't proven that our bodies need sleep I would probably find away to get out of it.

It's not the actual sleeping that I dislike. It's the time between awake and asleep when you're waiting for sleep that's no fun. They say it only takes 7 minutes for the average person to fall asleep. Such a waste of time. I wish there was a wake/sleep switch that you could hit. 

It's the only time in the day that my brain has nothing to do. My most recent  endeavor while waiting for sleep is customizing my dreams. I plan what I want to dream about and whom. They're pretty tricked out dreams. That's pretty fun. 

I'm not sure if it works or not- actually it does. I'm at about a 50% success rate. It might be lower but I can't tell at which point the customization lends to the actual dream. What is the point that my unconscious mind takes over the conscious one? No idea. I do know that at least sometimes my dreams are exactly what I want them to be. And that when I wake up I remember that the extension of the dream was pretty awesome too.

Sometimes I can change them, the dreams, mid rem cycle. They tell me that's called lucid dreaming. I'm not sold on that either. I think maybe I kinda wake up and just order up a different dream. Who knows?

What I do know is that currently my pre-sleep agenda is the following- 

1) Adjust the fan

2) Read the Bible

3) Read the bible some more, wait for my eyelids to get heavy

4) Turn off the light

5) Immediately realize I'm not sleep yet

6) Check the time (run the sleep algorithm) 

7) Sigh

8) Try to Blog

9) Remember I don't have signal in the basement

10) Sigh again

11) Turn on a downloaded Radio Lab

12) Listen to the whole thing

13) Run another algorithm

14) Sigh

15) Check the time

16) Tell myself if I'm awake in 7 minutes I'll check the time again (I know, that makes no sense)

17) Decide what to dream 

 I recognize that I could just skip to number 16 but that is always the absolute last alternative to pre- sleep. My hope is that somewhere between 1 and 17 I'll nod off. I can't wait for a better bedtime routine. 

In the meantime I just ran the sleep algorithm. By the time I post this I will miss my 8 hour a night sleep goal. Sleep, such a bother. Too bad there isn't a sleep pill. As in "take instead of sleep" pill. Oh well. I better head to bed. 

Goodnight.

-Dewb

3b- Alone in a crowd

I do not generally struggle with aloneness. Well I never struggle with aloneness. Being alone does not bother me. What I mean to say is that I generally don't struggle with being lonely. I like myself, I like my life, my friends. 

I took a survey recently and it said that I was an extrovert. I don't know that I agree with that. I like most people in a scientific kind of way. In an alternate universe I'm sure I'm an anthropologist. I like anticipating how a person will react to a thing and then discovering if it will happen or not. I'm generally not emotionally invested, just curious. That being the case I'm not sure if I'm authentically an extrovert. 

As far as my actual friends go- when I leave them I feel full. I feel lighter. I feel ready to climb the next mountain. When I spend time with the circle of people with whom I socialize with I leave feeling drained. I am described as easy to get along with. I think that's because in most situations I listen rather than talk. 

I listen a) because it's polite b) because people can be interesting if you wait and c) because the world is a lonely place. Here is the thing that people that talk a lot don't realize, I don't care and I mostly wish that they would stop talking. They talk about silly things. Problems mostly of their own making and first world problems- like having to miss London for Paris but definitely next time... I think because I listen people like to talk to me. A lot. It takes a toll on my soul. I leave most parties exhausted. 

Tonight I was at a party for people I like, hosted by people I like, doing

things I like. I expected to have a great time. Here is the thing- I, in the middle of the party, went to a dark corner of the balcony to be alone. And I felt alone.

It was weird. I both wanted to be left alone and I had a flash of impatience at being alone. This has happened before- I go to an event and I recognize that I am the exception, the single in a maze of couples. And I feel left out. But in an odd way. I recognize that many of the couples are mad or sad or resentful at each other, I can see the tension. I've done that more than enough in a relationship. I don't want that thing.  I recognize that my being uncoupled allows for me to move with a flexibility that I like. It allows the promise of the undiscovered that I also love. 

I just want... I just want.... I don't know. I guess someone to say goodnight to. Not in the literal sense. But a friend, male in persuasion, of the non-demanding sort, that at the end of a day like today I can call or meet for coffee and ask them how their day went. Be soothed by baritone and bass, Liza Dolittle style.

Someone who knew me well told me once that I open like a tightly packed flower. He said that he could tell by my voice immediately when something was wrong but it couldn't be forced. Forcing it would disrupt the whole bud. It couldn't even be coaxed. He said, "I have to talk about nothing for however long it takes you to let your guard down then and only then will you spill it." That's true. It's like I need to communicate to my core that I can go off of deflect mode into absorb mode and then transmit. 

I don't need to be coupled. My life is pretty complete. I did feel alone tonight, I recognize that that probably had more to do with an acquaintance asking me if I was dating and why not and why I changed my name and where is my ex husband. She wasn't trying to be rude. I appreciate her asking me directly as opposed to making conjecture. But it did sting. 

What is the point? I don't know. If I had to summarize I would say that being the only single person in a room full of couples sucks, even if you are dressed as Captain Kirk. I would say that as much as I admire people that are willing to ask difficult questions, maybe don't ask. I would say that people that talk a lot should listen more. I would say that I need to remember that throwing parties is fun because you can hide behind the work but being a guest creates a tedium that's no fun, especially in a house full of nuclear families. I would say I need to fight past this night for tomorrow.

I would say maybe all I really need is sleep, that the people at that party were exhausting.

-Dewb

2b- Friends

I think that a large part of who we are is whom we love- whom we choose to love. Most of the people that we end up loving are not genetically related to us. We end up loving people that we can relate to and talk to; people that accept us and engage us.

Everyone needs something different from their friendships.  I need intellectual stimulation and lots and lots of laughter. I need the people I keep around me that look for and enjoy life's the shades gray. They generally see the black and white, not as opposites, instead as a circular continuum. The number of grays that they see are  unquantifiable. I love those kinds of people.

They never really take themselves that seriously because they recognize the world is a pretty serious place. They know that to be able to navigate it successfully you have to be fluid in thought and actions.  My friends generally realize that facts and truth are also pretty subjective, you can manipulate data to prove about any point, so what is the point? J

We would make a great team of lawyers, my friends and I, except that we could care less about the outcome.  It’s the teasing out of multiple sides that brings the joy. When we get together we don’t need television nor games nor other outsourced stimulation.  The conversation is the thing.  I love my friends. 

There is also something to be said for people who don’t need to be told the story because they were a part of it. On the average the handful of people that I count as my friends (as opposed to the circle of people that I hang out with) have been around for at least a decade. Some much longer, some much less. Average is about 10 years.  They usually get the blow by blow of my life as it happens.

I create space friends in my life.  I am ridiculously busy, like “every minute is sacred” kind of  busy.  But I purposefully schedule time in my week every week for my friends. This is important to me. They are important to me, so I create the space for them.  “People make time for what is important to them.”

I wish everyone had the depth in friendships that I do.  They are friendships so deep that they remind me of the deep sea fish in the bottom of the ocean that are so immersed in the depths that they don’t need eyes. If I could bequeath the world one thing it would be that everyone had a handful of friends like that.  The kind of people that know your faults but are blind to them because they understand you on a whole other level.  They love you on a deeper level.  They choose you and your quirks.  And that kind of acceptance feels like home. True friends always feel like home.

Friends are pretty awesome.

-Dewb