But I know someone and he makes me happy.
love
new computer:
talks back
disturbing alerts
dvd player skips
makes me laugh
fingerprints
so fast!!!
high resolution
new boyfriend:
talks back
forgets to shut the toilet
makes me laugh
makes good breakfasts
perfectly fast
fantastic company
I had a strange request the other day.
You ever get those strange requests? It’s like 9 a.m., and you’re checking your email with your head weight on. You know, the head weight that sets your spine for the day, and has changed your whole outlook on life. The one that your chiropractor requires you to wear for twenty minutes at the beginning and end of every day. That one.
So, you’re checking your email, and a little flustered already thinking about the day ahead. You got this promotion you didn’t really want, though you wanted it anyway, and now it’s stressing you out. Go figure.
And there it is. A long email from someone you haven’t heard from in awhile. Someone who was once very dear to you and whose absence was very much a subject for this blog. Someone who has given you years of entertaining stories, and……
You knew he was engaged. He told you over Christmas, and you weren’t surprised. It was years ago, and you’re so over it.
But then, here he is, asking you to be his maid of honor in leiu of a best man. In lieu of a best man!
What are you going to talk about?
Recount the first dinner you had together where you thought you were going to go out, and instead he said, “Well. Do you want to have what I’m having for dinner, or do you want to have something else?”
To which you responded, “Um. What are you having for dinner?”
1 can of salmon, wild.
2 apples
1 orange
16 tablespoons of peanuts
32 ounces of water
No, no that story is not appropriate. Neither is the one where you told him that you thought he’d sold your relationship short after he’d broken up with you with the line, “If you were on my maintenance crew, I’d have fired you by now.”
Cause you were always fashionably late.
Still are. It’s one of those endearing qualities that makes you so reliably unreliable.
The upshot: Come August 18th, I’ll have fashioned a speech out of none of my favorite stories, and maybe some mutual friends share.
At least I have some time. I might join Toastmasters so that I might present my speech with the greatest of ease. Not that I really have trouble with public speaking as long as I have a drink in me.
Cheers to BOOZE!! Oh, I mean, my ex-bf and his new love.
I’ve been home sick for five days straight.
This has given me plenty of time for mulling over my recent life decisions and resolutions, new plans and old promises.
I don’t know that I’ve gotten anywhere. If I am to believe my uplifting daily quotes, there is nowhere to go.
And I’d really like to believe that.
I’m making a mix tape of my favorite Tom Waits love songs. Tom, I believe, is a man unlike the typical man, with a thorough respect and understanding of that incomprehensible mental state called love. If only he were available for marriage, I dream.
These love songs, though! They used to be laced with wrenching memories of lost love. Now they echo within almost emptily, having lost a certain poignancy.
Maybe as a reaction to heartbreak, which I wrote about here, in the early years of this blog, I began a search for hilarity in the mundane. And I found it. You always find what you’re looking for, of course. And if you keep looking, you’ll find it again. I’ve found it again. And again and again.
I wonder, though, if I’d forgotten to keep an eye out, and a healthy respect for the heartbreak that is also so beautifully ubiquitous.
Or, rather, as a corollary, perhaps I’ve neglected the naively hopeful hope that is a necessary condition for true heartbreak.
Oooh, I’ve been heartbroken. In the two years of this blog, I was definitely heartbroken to learn that the domain name tupperwaresisters.com was against the rules. I was heartbroken to take my current job and not travel the world selling the EuroSteam. I was heartbroken late last year, but I won’t speak of that here.
When my sister got married this year, I couldn’t believe that she had shaken–or rejected–the healthy cynicism that is so becoming to a woman nowadays.
I wonder, sitting here today, gray as the skies are, if her skies might be blue.
It’s been a good year so far. It keeps getting better. It’s a year of finishing projects, and not beginning new ones. It’s a year for art museums and rekindling curiosities.
And, by god, it’s a year for falling in love.
I believed,
that it had been a number of years since my heart had fluttered. Since I’d caught myself happy in a moment; found myself rather completely serene.
It wasn’t a week ago that I was driving to work listening to Kfog or whatever, and I was thinking about how unfortunate it was that I had fallen so far in love so long ago, and never since.
Like so many things, perhaps a matter of interpretation?
A matter of evolution?
Delusion???
Only time will tell.
Good pickup line, adorable bartender. Goooood pickup line. Nice tattoos, too. I hadn’t noticed.
If you, dear reader, added my google calendar to yours, you would know right now that I was supposed to have three dates tonight. And if you were me you would know that two of them didn’t work out.
The BTSSB sent the following note:
Hi Susie,
Unfortunately, the date that was originally scheduled between Mike and you Tuesday, Nov 13 was cancelled.
The culprit was Mike.
He apologizes thusly:
Hi susie, I am sorry but I got stuck somewhere doing something and can’t make it tonight. if you still want to get together sometime you can email me at mike@sosorry.com.
Nerve.com guy was sick or whatever. No problem. I was glad, honestly, to have only one date this evening.
After my crazyblinddate.com date #1, I was rather terrified. I couldn’t escape thoughts like…What am I doing? Why am I doing this? For a stupid blog?! For love?! How does any of this make any sense whatsover?!
As I thought these terribly irrelevant and rather unempowering thoughts, I exited my truck right then, in front of the bar, ready for crazy blind date #2.
Thankfully, the date was to take place in a bar I had never been to. In Alameda, a city I had basically never been to. I was glad, and still am. I totes <3 new bars.
I was glad, also, when I realized my blind date was completely my kinda of easy-to-talk-to-outside-the-bar-kind-of-guy that I had met last night post exiting. It was a very decent, not regrettable at all, good time (awkward rating a new low of 1/100).
The bartender, though. I’d like to address him directly. Let’s be more than friends, Mr. I-don’t know-where-you-live-but-only-that-you-were-entertained-by-my-story-and-you-let-me-pour-my own-beer-from-the-tap. Let’s talk more.
“Well…” I thought for a minute when he asked me (see above). I remembered my list of 10 things-I-should-no-matter-what-for-gods’-sakes-say and instantly discredited them all.
“I want a boyfriend.” Honesty can feel so good sometimes. I looked into his adorable eyes. Still adorable.
Sigh.
So that’s that. A nice night in a new neighborhood, priceless. An adorable, appreciative bartender, priceless+. A blind date that isn’t 2/5 awkward, priceless++.
A good night, hands down.
These are two people.
(a Libra and a Sag)
and they have this life together…
…and now they want a third?
I’ll see them again. They were attractive. Interesting. Genuine.
There’s no room for me though, really.
Thank goodness.
I’d pretend my companion was some great love, and we were meeting years later in some NYC art gallery, remembering our forgotten love and reminiscing on those good times long ago. For years my companion was my high school crush. Ooh, how I loved him, that luscious blond hair and those sparkling blue eyes.
I haven’t had many imaginary conversations lately. Other than when I’ve worked myself into a senseless rage, I tend to be pretty distracted with work and life and all that bullshit.
So, tonight I’m half-drunk…or, maybe three-quarter’s drunk…and I’m sitting here: having a conversation with a picture. A color printer printed picture. It’s taped on my wall, and quite wrinkly. And quite cute. But I’m not only conversing with that picture. No, I’m dividing my audience between the one wrinkly print out and the other framed picture from years ago. And boy am I conversing. I’m really updating these pictures on all that fucking shit that went down this week, and beyond! This conversation is really hitting that deepest note that conversations so seldomly touch.
And that’s that. A good conversation with a photo or two. Good times, yo.
1. Wash the sheets.
2. Put the old pictures back in their frames.
3. Change your friendster status back to single. Again.
4. Debate which ex to call for rebound sex.
5. Pledge drastic life and/or hair style changes.
…you kiss someone and it’s as if ten years have collapsed into nothing…and then you realize that perhaps you were wrong. but said conclusion has few, if any, undeniable consequences.
I talked to a friend today who is moving out the country for good, presumably. He was short with me, and I was offended. I realized, finally, that I am one of fifty. A friend, but not intransiently.
(as a corollary.) sometimes, you realize that you just gave someone terrible advice. And that they believed you, but now it’s too late. It’s like smashing into a parked car in your dreams. It rudely wakes you up, and the rest of the day is consequently tumoultuous.
you feel like you’re always starting over…but somehow never getting anywhere.
“and that’s all you can do about some things.”
